The Sleep of the Gods

by James Sperl

  “So are we able to call dad?” Josh asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean, ‘not exactly’? And how come we didn’t have one of these on the boat? We could’ve saved a lot of time and hassle if we’d been able to call from sea.”

  Catherine faced her son. “I know it seems logical. I felt the same way. But he assured me that phone calls, even Sat phone calls, would be a difficult if not impossible connection to make where he’d be. Add to that, your father was exceptionally paranoid at the thought of equipping the boat with the necessary hardware required to make such calls. Remember, the government took their security protocols seriously. Any breach at his level was considered an act of treason. He felt that if any of this machinery were discovered onboard, it would be viewed as a threat against national security.”

  “Mom?” Abby said meekly from behind the group.

  “Yeah, kiddo?”

  “If you can’t call dad, then how do we reach him?”

  Catherine forced a delicate smile. “I’ll show you”

  Reaching for the phone, Catherine powered it on, connecting it to a USB cable that snaked up from the PC tower on the floor. Glancing over the keypad she thought recalling the long series of digits would escape her. But one look at the softly illuminated numbers on the phone face and the crisscrossing pattern she’d built in her mind for memorization came rushing back with visual clarity. Cupping the phone in her hands, she pushed buttons in rapid succession with both thumbs. When done, she set the phone back in it’s cradle and activated the speaker.

  If there was a more important string of numerals to remember, Catherine didn’t know what they could possibly be. Much like the other information she’d been trained to retrieve at the drop of a hat, this last set of numbers had proven to be the most important. Risking Homeland Security violations and a most certain imprisonment if caught, Warren had divulged the access number to his department’s LAN, an immensely top-secret computer network. Insisting that it never be written down and committed only to memory, Catherine had spent many a sleepless night mentally regurgitating numerals instead of counting sheep.

  Wherever Warren was, he had guaranteed Catherine that the facility would most assuredly be equipped with satellite capability. If she was able to dial out, the shelter could receive the signal.

  A series of digital burps and high frequency pitches pulsed through the speakers in a cacophonous wave. A moment of silence followed. Then a pale blue screen blinked to life on the phone’s miniscule LCD screen.

  “I think...I think we’re in,” Catherine said, astonished that all her training and memorization had yielded actual results.

  She grabbed her mouse and clicked on a peculiar looking icon on her desktop, the tiny image from the LCD on her phone immediately replicating itself on the seventeen-inch monitor. A U.S. Government security warning filled the viewing area, words such as “authorized” and “violation” and “imprisonment” held prominence across the top in large white block lettering. At the bottom were two entry fields requiring another username and password set. Catherine typed rapidly, pressing “Enter” when finished.

  “If I may ask, what are you doing?” Alvin said.

  Catherine watched the progress on her screen, waited impatiently for the next step. “I’m accessing SIPRNet.”

  Heads turned and brows creased as everyone sought knowledge in one another, but found only ignorant stares.

  “I’m sorry, Catherine,” Alvin said. “Sipper what?”

  “The Secret Internet Protocol Router Network. It’s what the Government uses to transmit classified information over the Internet. The same Internet we use although a much more encrypted and security laden system to access hence these gizmos here.” Catherine patted a small stack of cable-rigged hardware. Tiny LEDs blinked red and green.

  “What are those?” Oliver asked.

  “Encryption devices. Set to Warren’s IP address to fool the system into thinking we’re him. Without them we get shut out and blocked.”

  A second screen popped up. This one requested a security clearance PIN and numeric access code. Catherine entered the five digit PIN and followed it with the sixteen-digit code Warren had made her repeat until she was able to recite it without thinking.

  “We are now going to attempt access to SIPRNet,” Catherine said plainly. She swallowed hard and pressed “Enter”.

  “So, what then?” Oliver said, stepping forward, “You saying you’re able to connect to a government server via wireless? How can that be possible? The security risks of that must be astronomical.”

  A pale blue filled the screen, that ubiquitous hourglass icon residing in the center of it all, working. Catherine spun in her chair toward Oliver.

  “The way I understand it, there is no actual server. Only different series of computers connected together via a LAN. When you access that LAN you access the information stored on all the computers connected to it. And you’re right, the risks are huge. But I don’t think there’s much in the way of law enforcement left to do anything about it.”

  With a brief smile she turned back to the monitor just as the screen switched to a generic welcome page, the drab colors and barren layout existing in stark contrast to its designation. A faint gray government seal filled the background.

  “Is that it?” Josh asked.

  “That’s it,” Catherine confirmed as she adjusted her chair to better face the computer.

  “It looks just like the Internet,” Janet said.

  “In effect, it is the Internet,” Catherine explained. “Other than the localized server system, the only other real difference is the web page extension. Whereas the public uses .com or .net and the like, SIPRNet utilizes a proprietary extension system of either .smil.mil or .sgov.gov.”

  Catherine typed a long and character-laden web address in the search field then clicked on an arrow graphic to the right of the address bar. “Other than that it’s virtually the same. It uses the same browsers. It’s built on HTML, can send and receive e-mails and is able to upload and download via file transfer protocol. All just like the public Net.”

  The screen flickered as the destination page loaded. A simple, cobalt blue hyperlink appeared dead center onscreen set against a jet-black background. The link read “4 Star Retreat”.

  “Hey, that’s the name of our boat!” Tamara said excitedly.

  “That’s right, sweetie,” Catherine said, a slight quiver in her voice. She navigated the cursor over the link and let it hover for a minute, the blue shifting instantaneously to bright red. Here it all was, she thought. Illumination with a click of a button. She knew Warren would have all the answers. Would be able to explain what had decimated the world and ruined everyone’s lives. He had been right all along, even in his overzealous preparation for a day that Catherine, quite frankly, thought was a paranoid delusion more reserved for doomsday militias and fanatic cults. And yet, here she was. And on the screen, there it was.

  Catherine released the mouse and wiped her sweaty palms on her dingy pants.

  “You all right, mom?” Josh asked.

  She turned, forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

  Then she clicked on the link.

  16

  Answers

  A freeze-frame image of Warren filled the center portion of the screen, his pixilated visage residing inside a media player as the remaining movie to which it was attached continued to download at a snail’s pace.

  Catherine unconsciously moved toward the screen, stared at this man who was her husband, yet bore little resemblance to the person she had kissed goodbye as he left for work so many weeks ago.

  A natural athlete, Warren had always maintained a well-toned physique despite his infrequent trips to the gym or his aversion to sports. His full head of short-cropped hair complemented his strong jaw line as if he’d been constructed in a super hero laboratory somewhere. His hazel eyes always reflected honesty and his presence left no question as to his air of confiden
ce.

  But the figure on the computer in no way resembled that man.

  “Is that...is that daddy?” Abby asked, her barely veiled shock representative of what everyone else was surely thinking.

  “Yes, baby,” Catherine answered, covertly smearing away a tear before anyone could see it.

  “Why does he look so different?” Tamara asked as Josh laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “I don’t think it’s that he looks so different,” Catherine began, “but just that you haven’t seen him in so long.”

  She had lied through her teeth. Warren’s appearance was anything but familiar. His full, whisker-free face had been replaced by a gaunt, sunken-cheeked person whom Catherine barely recognized. His modest but shaggy beard suggested he hadn’t met a razor in weeks. His perfectly trimmed hair was now lengthier and appeared to be finger-combed over his pate. Bags were clearly visible under his eyes and Catherine could only imagine the stress he lived under both in his job and the uncertainty of whether or not his family had survived.

  Catherine aligned the cursor over the “play” arrow below Warren’s frozen face. The download status bar was far from complete, but Catherine could wait no longer.

  With a swift click, Warren’s inanimate image suddenly became alive. Shifting and adjusting in a chair he stared into the camera, his movements only emphasizing his drawn and tired features. His hand reached toward the screen, corrected something on the camera as his image became sharper, clearer. Then he sat back and took a deep breath.

  “Hello, Catherine,” he said. “Josh, Abby, Tamara? I hope you’re here as well.” Warren turned his head, his voice cracking with this last sentence. Tears glistened in his eyes as he fought to maintain composure. He looked again at the camera.

  “Before I begin, I just want to tell you all how much I love you. Being away from all of you for so long, not knowing...” He stopped again, cleared his throat. “Not knowing if you made it or not has been the hardest thing I’ve ever encountered in my life. I can only imagine how it’s been for you.” Warren dabbed at his eyes with his sleeves.

  “If you’re watching this, and I pray to God that you are, I know you have a million and one questions. And I’m going to do my best to answer all that I can for you. But I need you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say: Time is running out. And it’s running out in a way you probably haven’t considered.”

  Warren sat more upright, the urgency in his voice reflected in his posture. “I’m recording this message on September first. I’ve left other countless messages prior to this on this site, but removed them all after what we learned, leaving only one. This recording will replace that one when I’m finished. There...” Warren hung his head then looked back up. “There’s been a development.”

  Concerned looks darted back and forth among Oliver, Janet and Alvin. Catherine reached blindly behind her and took Josh’s hand, Tamara and Abby grabbing at their mother’s hand as well. Madeline wrapped her arms around Shelby as Derrik glared at the screen indifferently.

  “But I’m getting ahead of myself,” Warren continued. “I’ll be as brief as I can, but you need to know what you’re dealing with if you don’t already. So let me begin.” Again, he situated himself on the chair, this time leaning forward.

  “Somewhere in the end of June or the first part of July, there was an event. For two months prior, a joint pharmacological research team consisting of members from America, the EU and Japan traveled to a remote part of the Amazon in the Campinas Indian Reserve of Brazil. They were there to assess the biotechnological possibilities of harvesting aspects of an indigenous poisonous tree frog, known locally as kambô. The medicinal properties of the slime that coated its skin were said to have been used to treat everything from sickness to lethargy and the prospects of utilizing it for the treatment of strokes, among other things, appeared promising and drew the attention of the international pharmacogenomic community. But then something started happening.

  “At first they thought it was human error,” he continued. “But after a few more days they realized something bizarre was occurring. In tracking certain populations of the tree frogs, the scientists noticed wild swings in numbers; for several days there would be a sizeable, accountable population, then, just days later, a dramatic decrease with no evidence of migration or corpses. The scientists were truly puzzled. Then, as days progressed, they started hearing of similar accounts from local villagers, panicked at the sudden decline of other wildlife. Birds, certain species of monkeys, rodents. At this point, the team was convinced they had an anomaly. Perhaps a virulent biological strain. It was here the CDC and the World Health Organization was called in.” Warren cleared his throat, coughed once. The movie flickered for a moment then resumed.

  “But they were just as mystified. Animals they tested showed no signs of disease and by all accounts, the jungle life appeared to be normal. Then the first person went missing.” Warren crossed his arms and wiped his palms on his sleeves. “A German scientist. There was no evidence of foul play or even a reason to suspect it since the local tribe had not only welcomed the research group but also sought to invite them in. He was never seen again. Villagers told of others in their tribe who had also vanished. Until one day when a group of children told of a demônio, or monster they had seen. Said it had exploded out of a man then gave birth to the same man.” Warren stared intently into the camera.

  “Fucking tree frogs?” Oliver interjected with a nervous laugh.

  Warren sat back, scratched absently at his scraggly face. “As we would eventually conclude, this tiny, remote village became ground zero. But ground zero to what? And where did it come from? This was unlike anything anyone had ever seen and before they could get an accurate grasp on how to manage it, had sent entire teams ranging from doctors to microbiologists to pathologists down to investigate. Even some from the field of nanotechnology.” Warren placed his hands over his mouth. He parted them slightly as if to allow the words to escape his lips. “This confluence of investigation, it turned out, was our undoing.” He seized a bottle of water from somewhere off-camera and drank deeply. He returned it quickly to its spot then eyed the camera, seemingly trying to decide where to resume.

  “So that’s the history. The genesis. Now, I’ll tell you what we know.” Warren ran a splayed hand through his hair. “Once people began disappearing, certain non-essential team members were ordered back home. But they...they didn’t realize what they were carrying. It took a few days for us to narrow it down, but once we did...” He shifted unexpectedly, gestured animatedly as he spoke.

  “This is not a virus. It’s not a bio-weapon, it’s not an alien invasion or even zombies for that matter. What we, and the rest of the world, are dealing with, quite simply, is a brand new organism. A life form. One with incredible strengths and debilitating weaknesses. Now, Catherine, I need you and the kids to pay close attention to what I’m going to tell you because it could save your lives. We’ve been studying variants of this species intensively for weeks now and have gathered some valuable data that can aid in our defense against them.

  “This organism, this species, under the right circumstances, would otherwise be unstoppable. They can easily contaminate a subject. A simple touch from one of these afflicted beings would constitute an infection, initiating an incubation process which can range anywhere from twenty-two to twenty-three hours, depending on the size of the individual. Tiny eggs or spores are suspended in the secretion that’s emitted by the contaminated host, it being able to penetrate the subcutaneous layers easily and begin a rapid, accelerated life cycle once it hits the bloodstream. As a side effect, it has been well documented that sleep or severe drowsiness immediately accompanies the initial infection, although there have been reports of people suffering little to no symptoms with minimal contact. But make no mistake—they are still just as infected. Do not let one of these things touch you. As of now, there is no known cure.”

  Looks of anxiety passed among the
group as they crowded around the computer monitor.

  Warren checked his watch then resumed. “What exactly happens next in the process is still a little unclear. But if you’ve had the unfortunate instance to witness or even hear of what occurs then you know the horrific suffering a person endures when one of these things is born, and I use the word ‘born’ loosely. How it’s even possible is a study for a future time, that something so large could emerge out of something so small as a human. But the working theory is to think of them like a dried sponge just as it hits warm water. The sudden introduction to liquid—in our case oxygenated blood—causes a rapid expansion where the sponge can more than double in size. We believe a similar process is taking place at the time of birth. For when the incubation period is over...” Warren exhaled heavily and rubbed his face with his palm. “I hope for your sake you never have to see what I’ve seen. No living thing should ever have to suffer in this way. If you’ve been fortunate enough to be spared this grisly sight then I won’t fill your heads with the horrendous details. Suffice it to say, stay away from these things at all costs and under no circumstances allow them to come into contact with you. I repeat, stay away. This also includes animals.

  “Now, I told you these things are exceptionally adaptable. But there’s a startling and revelatory weakness they have: Light. They absolutely must be in direct contact with it. They especially thrive on light that contains ultraviolet radiation, specifically UVA and UVB. The sun is a natural emitter of ultraviolet radiation but there is another source out there that can provide it in the form of full spectrum lighting. While they can survive on standard incandescent and fluorescent light, it’s in a highly weakened state, the preferred source being light containing UV. We’ve received stories of these things keeping themselves alive through the night by rigging these specialized lights in warehouses and homes, effectively turning them into light farms. We’ve even heard reports of them affixing lights to vehicles so they can remain mobile at night, powering them from portable generators or car batteries. They cannot survive without it.”