The Way of the Seed_Earth Spawn of Kalpeon

by Richard Dean Hall

  As the chanting reached a fevered pitch, the shaman threw his arms above his head. Everyone followed suit, and a cacophony of whoops and yells welled throughout the village. In the nearby fringes of forest, deer and other animals sprang away startled, while on the edges of the long grass, bison and horses stopped grazing and stood with cocked heads as the sounds from the village swelled in the night air and the feasting began.

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  From the day of the first bison hunt, Ott and the others were accepted by Tarek and the clan. They contributed their skills and knowledge to a people who lived in harmony with their environment. Ott and Graf joined the bison hunts on a regular basis, while Cha and Yaan hunted smaller animals, gathered edible plants and roots, made tools, and helped prepare the hides. In addition, Cha began painting animal images on the walls of the cave, and at Tarek’s request, she created a large likeness of a bull bison on the far wall in the vaulted cathedral of horns. Accepted and respected by all the clan, Ott and the others settled into the routine of the village.

  They were into their ninth winter with the clan of the bison when a boy approached their fire with a message. Tarek would like them to meet him at the cave. With Ott in the lead, they wove their way through the village and moments later approached the cave entrance. A large fire crackled and snow flurries swirled in the clear night air as Tarek waved them forward. Clustered around the fire stood a group of men, women, and three shamans, all clad in thick, full-length bison robes. Tarek motioned toward the cave and with a grim face explained that his father was dying. He wanted to see Ott and the other sun people before he passed to the spirit world.

  The entire group headed into the cave, where in an alcove to the side of the cavern of horns, Erek reclined on a bed of robes. The entire area was warmed by several fires and illuminated by torches placed on the surrounding walls. Several elders sat and stood around Erek. They separated and made room as Tarek approached and knelt by his father’s side. Everyone remained silent and still in respect for the man who had led the clan for so long before passing leadership to his son.

  Erek’s face was craggy with deep-set lines of age, and his silver-white hair splayed out in stark contrast to the dark bison hide. Through rheumy eyes thick with white cataracts, he strained and squinted at Ott, who knelt beside Tarek. Then, with a quivering hand, he reached to his side and raised the small bow he had possessed since his childhood. He laid the bow on the robe covering him and feebly grasped Tarek’s hand, pulling him closer to speak in his ear. Tarek leaned in and listened to his whispers.

  The old man’s gaze stayed locked on Ott’s face. Then, as a soft smile turned the corners of his mouth, his eyes fluttered shut and he was gone.

  Tarek turned to Ott. “He said you were like a father and like a son, and will be the same to many others. He said you are from the world of spirits.”

  Ott remained silent as the old man’s dying words echoed in his mind.

  As the seasons slipped by and streamed into years, Tarek, like his father before him, grew old and entered the latter part of his life. In failing health, he approached Ott and offered him leadership of the clan. Ott refused, explaining that someday he Graf, Cha, and Yaan might be gone for reasons he could not explain. Though they lived with the clan, they were not of the clan. Tarek understood, and at a ceremony a few days later, he passed the role of clan leader to his eldest son. Less than a month later, he died in his sleep and was buried beside his father in the chamber of horns.

  As many generations passed, Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan were always regarded in what became a familiar pattern. From childhood through adulthood, everyone viewed them as respected leaders, but as time went on, people became confused by their never-changing appearance and vitality. As each successive generation grew into old age, that confusion turned into a quiet sense of wonderment toward those called the sun people.

  For Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan, life was a seamless passage of time among a people who were peaceful and comfortable in a bountiful natural environment. Then, in a matter of days, everything changed.

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  The gray dawn burned away to reveal a crimson-streaked sky that bled shafts of morning sunlight over the village with the promise of a warm day. The old man chewed on strips of dried meat, then gathered up his pouch and spear. He was ready. The day was light enough, and he was anxious to begin his trek. Like many others of the clan, he had grown too old to hunt bison and other large game, but he had other skills to contribute as long as he could use them. Today he would make his way to a large pond located in a low, open area to the south of the village. It was not too far, and if he left now he would arrive well before the sun reached midpoint in the sky. At the pond, he would have enough time to probe his way around the bank and spear fish swimming near the surface looking for insects that had fallen from the brush and trees that dotted the bank.

  He set a brisk pace along the worn path and by midmorning reached the pond. He stopped well back and scanned the entire area for any sign of animals, especially predators. There was nothing in sight. The animals that drank at this pond came at dawn and dusk, when it was safest. He continued watching for a few moments and then headed for the nearest trees and shrubs that hung over the closest section of bank. With a stealth gained over years of experience, the old man maneuvered in and around the trees and brush. Moving slowly along the bank, he scanned the shallow water and spotted a fish. He raised his spear and adjusted it for the thrust. A few seconds later, he secured the fish on his string line and began looking for another. With experience and skill, the old man rarely missed with the finely crafted barbed point, and before noon he had speared as many as he could carry. He secured the last fish, attached the line to a shrub, and dropped the fishes back into the water.

  With the string of fish secured, he eyed the stand of fruit trees jutting from a grassy area nearby. The green, sausage-shaped fruit was sweet and moist, but hard to gather. The trees were too tall and spindly to climb, and the fruit was too high to reach with a spear. Sometimes, though, they could be found on the ground shaken loose by a storm or the birds that fed on them. He would look and gather whatever he could find and then head back to the village. With a full catch of fish and some fruit, it would be a good morning. He headed for the trees.

  A bat hung upside down from a branch high in the largest tree, clutching the branch with one clawed foot. In the other it held a ripe fruit. The bat stretched to almost three feet long with a torso and head resembling that of a ground-dwelling fox. Its torso shrouded in leathery wings, the bat brought the ripe fruit to its mouth and bit into the juicy pulp. Saliva drooled and seeped into the pulp as sharp teeth pierced the fruit’s skin. In that saliva was a predator deadlier to humans than any other on the planet.

  The virus in the bat’s saliva was DNA-directed to do one thing: reproduce in a human host. To the bat it was harmless; the reproductive efficiency of the virus required a human to launch its replication. If it found its way into a human, it could reproduce and move on to its next host before the previous host died of the horrific damage the virus would inflict during the process.

  The old man pushed through the low-growing brush and stumbled into the clearing surrounding the stand of fruit trees. Startled by the commotion, the bat released its grip from the fruit and flapped away. The fruit landed at the base of the tree, where the old man spotted it a moment later, picked it up, brushed it off, and took a small bite. It was ripe, juicy, and sweet. He devoured it and began looking for more. Recovering a few that were firm and edible, he dropped them into his pouch, adjusted his string of fish, and turned back to the village. It had been a good morning. He began the walk back with his head held high and his shoulders squared. He could still contribute!

  Before dawn of the following day, the virus had attacked the cells of the old man’s intestinal track. Penetrating the walls of each cell, the virus would use the DNA of the cell to replicate. The cell would eventually become packed and rupture, releasing the virus particles to a
ttack other cells until the entire organ or tissue structure would disintegrate, liquefy, and further spread the virus.

  The old man woke the following morning with cramping and pains in his entire lower torso that were followed by waves of nausea in rapid succession. He curled himself on the floor as the vomiting began and his bowels gave out in a continuous flow. The virus was fully active now and attacking the cells of his stomach lining and intestinal track. The speed of the attack was exponential. By midmorning the virus had found its way to every organ in his body. Blood flowed from his nose as the soft tissue of the nasal passages came under attack, and red flecks of blood blotted out the whites of his eyes.

  He was found midday by two older men who usually sat with him on warm afternoons. As they entered his dwelling, they stared horrified as the old man lay trembling on the floor. He was completely disassociated from the pain and stared in a catatonic stupor, his entire body and brain in a state of severe shock. His eyes showed no white. Blood pooled around his eyelids and dripped freely down his cheeks and flowed from his ears. His face had sagged to a misshapen sack from the destruction of the connective tissue.

  One of the men bolted from the dwelling and ran about pointing to the hut. Several people nearby cautiously entered as others gathered at the entrance. Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan sprang to their feet at the yelling and made their way toward the commotion. They arrived at the dwelling, pushed their way through the noisy crowd, and entered.

  The old man’s trembling had roiled into twitching, jerking spasms. He bled over his entire body from the destruction of the capillaries in the tissue beneath his skin. Surprised and horrified everyone froze in place, and in that instant, with a massive involuntary contorted motion, the old man sprang to his feet and with arms flailing twirled into the group. He thrashed about in a macabre dance of death as liquefied tissue and virus-saturated blood froth spewed from his mouth and flecked off his blood-soaked arms and body. The sputum and blood splashed over the entire group and splattered across Cha’s face and into her eyes.

  The blood-drenched old man burst from the hut into the milling crowd. In instant panic, the crowd pushed over and around each other and formed a circle, in the middle of which the old man thrashed and twirled like a demented dervish before freezing still and collapsing in a bloody heap. Liquefied tissue and blood flowed from his every orifice.

  The virus had claimed its first victim. It was functioning with the near perfection of a biological organism evolved over millions of years with a simple DNA-directed imperative to find a host, replicate, spread, and perpetuate its species. It had no thought process, no reason, no malice, no remorse, and no awareness of itself or its victim.

  Cha and many others wiped the viral-laden blood from their faces as they stared at the bloody remains of what had been a man the day before.

  As the crowd settled to a frightened silence, Ott stepped into the old man’s dwelling to pull a bison robe from the floor and position it next to the gruesome remains. With a spear, he maneuvered the blood-sodden body onto the hide and covered it. He directed several individuals to stack wood for a pyre in an open area off to the side of the village. When the pyre was complete, Ott and Graf, with the help of two others, carried the remains wrapped in the hide and placed it on top. The wood was torched, and as snapping flames engulfed the body and black smoke swirled above the pyre, Ott hoped the old man would be the first and last to die from these spirits.

  He was wrong.

  More than a dozen people were already infected from the virus-laden fluids that had splattered into the crowd. They would infect twice that many before the day was over. A deadly efficient virus that had remained dormant in its bat hosts for countless years was now burning through the clan of the bison. In modern times, the virus would reemerge on the African continent and be described as the most virulent pandemic threat to humankind ever identified. It would be named for a river near where it emerged: Ebola Zaire.

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  As the smoke whipped into the sky, Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan stood in the stream behind their dwellings and washed the blood and fluids from their bodies. In a few minutes their skin was clean, but the virus particles that had entered through their eye membranes and nasal passages were already flooding through their bodies to begin their onslaught. Within hours, the Ebola virus would attack the cells of every organ and reproduce by tens of millions.

  In less than two days, the virus would spread through the village, causing horrific death as it did in all normal humans—but Ott, Cha, Graf, and Yaan were not normal humans.

  As the Ebola virus raged through Cha’s body, something was massing to meet the onslaught. From her nerve endings, organs, muscles, and all connective tissue, the synthetic B-virus created by Robfebe stirred from a harmless dormant state to the agitated, efficient killer it had been designed to be. It swarmed by the tens of millions throughout Cha’s body. The B-virus particles were massing with one DNA-directed function: to destroy the pathogen invading the body they were programmed to protect.

  As night fell and the fires crackled at each dwelling, the village grew quiet and strangely still. The people were apprehensive and frightened at what they had witnessed that morning. They knew the death spirit could come to others . . . and it did.

  The crescent moon had climbed to midpoint in the night sky when Ott and the others felt their bodies flush with warmth. The Ebola particles had just begun penetrating cell walls when the synthetic B-virus created to protect them reached full swarm and attacked the invaders. In mere seconds the deadly Ebola virus would become, for the first time, the prey of a biotechnological predator created to protect its host.

  The synthetic B-virus was the result of a civilization that had mastered the secrets of biomolecular engineering, and its effectiveness was both swift and absolute. As the Ebola virus particles attached to cells, they were in turn attacked by the B-virus particles. Replicating exponentially and now swarming by the billions, the B-virus particles attached to the Ebola particles and engulfed them while releasing a toxin that destroyed them instantly. The B-virus particles destroyed the invaders in minutes. Any body cells even partially damaged were repaired by the synthetic stem cells that swarmed with the B-virus, and in less than an hour the biological battle was over. Not a single Ebola particle remained in their bodies. The deadliest viral predator to have ever evolved had fallen prey to the science of biomolecular engineering.

  While the altered immune systems of Ott and the others protected them from the horrible ravages of the Ebola virus, the rest of the clan succumbed to the virulent pathogen wreaking havoc on their bodies. The young and elderly died first, but no less horribly than those who followed in a steady parade of death as the virus burned through the entire village. Ott and the others continually hauled bodies to where others not yet infected stacked more and more wood on the roaring fire, but by the second night it was a useless effort. There were too many bodies. By the end of the third day, the village was growing quiet as the screams and sounds of suffering died with the last breaths of the victims. By late afternoon on the fourth day it was finished, and the only survivors made their way to the far end of the village, where they had entered so many generations before. A silent pall of death hung in the air as broad-winged vultures glided in the still air.

  It was over.

  In four days, a clan that had thrived for millennia had been decimated by the smallest species of predator on the planet. In the grasslands and forests, the predators and scavengers picked up the scent of death and began drifting toward the village.

  The four survivors sat on the rise by their dwellings overlooking the village. Their sorrow was heartfelt and mixed with what they did not understand as remorse. They were alive, but everyone they had ever known except for each other was gone. They rested from their physical and emotional exhaustion through the rest of the day, and as the sun slid low to the horizon, they decided they would set out in the morning to find the first place they had ever known. They would retu
rn to the valley of the natural bridge and the cave where Cha had first painted the animal spirits.

  That night as the moon began its ascent in the night sky and the predators began to prowl, they stood by their fire with their bows. The tips of their arrows were wrapped in thin strips of hide and coated with a mixture of resin and tallow. They stood for several moments gazing out in reverence over what had been their village for so long. Then, as a distant lion coughed into the night and a hyena pack yelped excitedly, Ott tipped an arrow to the flames. He nocked the flaming shaft, pulled his bow full, and loosed the flaming arrow far above and to the center of the village. Graf, Cha, and Yaan followed suit, and their arrows flew in different directions to dwellings at the edges and front of the village. Small, sputtering fires pocked through the darkness, and moments later flickered higher and spread in all directions. A breeze whipped through the air, fanning the flames that quickly spread to every dwelling. Roiling black smoke soared above the flames, and what had been a dark village devoid of life became a raging inferno. The fire roared, and wind-driven cinders ignited surrounding trees that carried the flames through the forest to the plains of long grass that soon became a sea of spreading flames. The bison herd stampeded and thundered away into the night.

  Ott and the others retreated to the cave of horns and slept as the fire raged in the night sky.

  They awoke the following morning with the sting of acrid smoke in their nostrils. Every dwelling had burned and collapsed to smoldering ash. Curiously, the upright horns at the front of many of the dwellings stood blackened but not consumed by the flames. The horns would slowly fossilize and stand for millennia as a mute testimony to what had been the village of a proud people. The clan of the bison was gone forever.