The Oort Plague

by Cliff Deane

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Zoo

  26-29 April 2118, 0200

  3rd Floor, Zoo Administration Building

  Atlanta, GA

  After arriving at the Zoo Blind, Jake first directed Plato to make a commo check with Sergeant Rainier before he and Gale spent the following hour organizing themselves in their observation blind.

  The plan was to then get a few short hours of sleep, but try as they might, sleep evaded their efforts for another hour. The excitement of actually witnessing a Cro-Magnon encampment with live Mags, rather than digging up old bones made sleep difficult to come for either of them, but Russel, the laid-back K-9 was snoring before the gear was even laid out.

  The Mags began to stir along with the rising of the sun. “Jake,” exclaimed an excited Gale, “this is amazing. Again, we have viable and specific evidence of ancestral memory. I mean, we’ve known for perhaps a hundred years that Cro-Magnon had begun permanent settlements in the latter stages of their run as the dominant human species. We know they grew wheat, kept sheep, goats, and pigs.”

  Jake, who was equally excited also commented that animal husbandry went back in time for, at least, fifty-thousand years.

  “Gale, what we have here is a living, breathing laboratory of a Cro-Magnon encampment. Plato, access a database on the physical characteristics of the Cro-Magnon. There are some interesting traits I’d like to check on.”

  Almost immediately, Jacob was able to see a re-creation of the anthropological makeup of the Cro-Magnon Man. Plato had given him a couple of pages on what was thought to be the appearance and lifestyle of the Mags. Jake recorded his thoughts on the metamorphosis from Man to Mag.

  It appears that the transformation takes considerably longer than just four days, as initially thought. We have noted that the bodies of the Mags are still in varying forms of transition.

  Their bodies and skull formations are slowly becoming distorted, no wait, make that, still devolving into the bone structure of the Cro-Magnon sub-species. There have been discernable changes in body and facial features since our arrival, four days ago; at least in those I have recognized from their attire.

  From their clothes, there seems to be no question that Mags come from every walk of life. I’ve even seen soldiers and clergy. We have recorded a video showing that the Mags have managed to remove their lower garments. Our estimate is that sanitation and hygiene have made this a necessity.

  My initial theory is that when they sleep, the bones somehow soften to allow for the continuing change from Human to Mag. Their faces are definitely becoming more square along with a developing slope to the progressively expanding brow ridge. Even the eye-sockets have become squared, no wait, make that more rectangular in appearance.

  For three days Jake and Gale made notes and recorded videos of the Cro-Magnon living in this pastoral setting. They were tending some Zoo animals and using others for food. Females were preparing a field for planting, though neither Jake nor Gale could imagine what they intended to grow.

  Jacob began a final subliminal recording to his Artificial Intelligence partner, Plato, “Plato,” said Jake,” you awake?”

  Yes, Jacob, really, you know full well that I am always here, and, with baited breath, I await your every command, replied a somewhat snarky Plato.

  “Dang, son, did you get up on the wrong side of your algorithm this morning, or are you just hungover?” smiled Jake.

  Jacob, please belay your feeble attempts at humor. You know full well that I do not have a humor chip. Jake could swear he could feel Plato’s smirk. “Okay, okay, no need to get snippy. It seems odd that you don’t have a humor chip, but you must have the cranky version. Okay, Plato, time to get serious so listen up; record our location and make a visual of the surroundings. I’ll look out the window so you can see the Mags wandering around the encampment.”

  Done, oh my goodness, there are a lot of those ugly beasts, aren’t there?

  “Yep, there sure are. Keep recording everything, well, everything except when I gotta take a crap, okay?”

  Droll, Jacob, very droll, and yes, I’ll keep recording, except when you are forced to have a bowel movement.

  “Good man, Plato, now, notes to be recorded; We’ll remain in place until a couple of hours after dark before we make our way outta here. Easy, Russ,” said Jake to his K9 companion, “I see ‘em.”

  When Jake chose to purchase an AI for use as a Secretarial Assistant, he had been asked to select a series of personality traits. The options list was long, and Jake wanted an AI that would keep him thinking and interacting with his new assistant. As a result, he decided on a personality that was mildly aloof, somewhat British in speech patterns, and totally dedicated to fulfilling Jake’s secretarial needs, even if Plato could be a bit snobbish and snarky. The banter between them kept Jake’s mind active and focused on the issue at hand. Ultimately, however, when Jake needed Plato to knock off the attitude, he used the magic phrase time to focus. This caused Plato to become more amenable and cooperative. Over the years Jake came to realize that he was honestly fond of his somewhat snooty Plato.

  Plato patched Sergeant Rainier through. “Sir, we have an excellent opportunity to capture both a child and an adult. If we move in the next fifteen minutes, we can take them both down with the dart guns. What are your orders, sir?”

  “Sergeant,” said Jake, “go ahead and take them down. Once you have them, pass them off to Reaction Force Bravo. It doesn’t look like we’ll have an opportunity to grab a young one here. Contact First Sergeant Tomlin and tell him to have a chopper ready to transport the two Mags to the CDC immediately upon Bravo’s arrival. Any questions?”

  “No sir, I understand that we are to take them down, turn them over to Bravo, then wait for you at this location.”

  “Roger, we should be at your location around 2330 hours, Plato, send a message to HQ that the primary mission has concluded. We should be able to reach home plate forward by around 2400 hours. Okay?”

  Yes, done. I’ll let you know when I receive a response. Okay?

  “Dang it, Plato, knock off being the crabby, okay stuff. It’s just a habit of mine. Let’s stay focused, okay?”

  Oh, all right. Tell me, Jacob, is it getting hot, or could one of my chips be overheating?

  “Oh, hell no! Plato, it is not hot out here, so get your chips under control. Schedule a tune-up for yourself, you know, change the oil, plugs, and kick the tires kind of thing.”

  Yes, all right, I think you may be right. I’ve sent a request for an eval first thing in the morning, or whenever you can drag yourself out of bed. And don’t you think for one second that I missed your tune-up comment; talk about snarky.

  “Okay, okay, I apologize, geez, you’re as bad as all my ex-wives. No, don’t respond, I’m only kidding, you know I’ve never been married. I guess I’m just really tired.”

  Plato immediately halted his bantering with Jake and took on a tone of concern. He said, Jacob, do you want me to trigger a stimulant injection?

  “No, no stims right now, but maybe in a couple of hours.”

  Plato had the ability to confer with, and manage, billions of nanobots moving through Jake’s bloodstream. Many of these microscopic bots contained highly concentrated stimulants and pain reducers, which they could inject directly into Jacob’s brain and bloodstream. Other bots kept Jake healthy and immune from every known disease, except one; the pandemic which had resulted from passing through the tail of the Holly Thorne Comet.

  Still, other bots worked to repair damage from an injury, not immediately, of course, but they were able to stabilize most non-lethal wounds and keep Jake moving until he could hopefully get to more comprehensive medical care.

  He and Gale had both come through the Mag flu, as it had been named. Jake had suffered mightily, yet Gale had reacted with only a slight head cold. He was convinced that he would not have survived without Gale nursing him back to health. In the six weeks since that freakin’ comet passed by he had nev
er heard of anyone being only mildly sick. They decided to keep Gale’s case to themselves. Jake definitely did not want her to be carted off to some CDC house of horrors.

  Jake began recording a draft consolidation of the four days of notes made by himself and Gale on their observations of Mag behavior.

  Initial assessment: at first, we were somewhat surprised that we are seeing far fewer Mags than we anticipated. In 2117 the city of Atlanta and the surrounding areas held a population of nearly fifteen million people. Gale and I believe that we would find few dogs, cats or other animals in the Greater Atlanta Area as they would have been the initial food source of the Mag diet. Now that they are mostly gone, I fear the predominance of the Mag population has begun to move into the more rural areas. With Atlanta’s 2117 population we can extrapolate that there would be roughly 1.5 million Mags, but we believe that the total population, still in the Atlanta area to be less than one hundred thousand.

  We hear gunshots daily as the local population along with the military from Fort Stewart takes the fight to the Mags. While this is a good thing in many respects, it does not bode well for the more rural areas which will quickly run out of ammunition and be overrun before we can get to them to provide arms and ammo.

  Note to self: if most of the world is now populated primarily of these monsters, can mankind ultimately survive?

  A shot rang out, three stories below Jake, interfering with his review. He peered out the window and saw a Mag, still wearing the top half of a policeman’s uniform, laying on the ground, dead from what surely must have been an accidentally self-inflicted gunshot.

  Other, nearby Mags rushed to the downed former cop. One Mag picked up the pistol and began looking at it from all angles. He sniffed the barrel, and quickly pulled his head away from the smell.

  As Jake watched, he recorded the Mag holding the pistol. He was mildly surprised at how quickly the creature learned how to properly place it in his hand. Further inspection took his finger to the trigger. He moved the gun around and without realizing how or why, he pulled the trigger, causing the weapon to discharge with a very loud bang and a 9 mm hollow-point round directly into the Mag standing beside him. The bullet struck the left shoulder, spinning him around as he fell to the ground. Other nearby Mags began attempting to assist their wounded brother.

  The Pistol Packing Mag stood looking at his mate who was now sitting up and screaming in pain before returning to his inspection of the 9 mm. Within moments the wounded Mag bled out and died.

  Jake was most interested in the reactions of these creatures, especially those of the shooter, as he scratched the top of his head and continued to inspect his prize. He soon walked away, still holding his new toy.

  Oh, crap, thought Jake, that one is going to learn how to use that pistol. The only upside is that he will soon fire the remaining twelve rounds and then what? No, he’ll associate it with magic and then throw the pistol away, I hope.

  Jake made a mental note that the pistol packing Mag must not escape when the Rangers destroyed this village.

  28 April 2118

  East Wyatt Earp Rd

  Dodge City, Kansas

  The clan of twenty-six traveled westward, crossing E Wyatt Earp Road at 11:00 a.m. They had done well since leaving Fort Riley. The small group began as four former soldiers from the 1st Armored Brigade Combat Team, The Big Red One.

  The first morning of the awakening had been bitter and bloody as the Mags took a terrible toll of the surprised and disbelieving Human survivors. Yes, the early hours cost the Humans dearly, but within hours they began to rally. Their clubs spat fire and death. By dawn of the second morning, the Mag presence was reduced to a few hundred individuals and small groups. They had gone into hiding as the light began to fade into darkness.

  The Mags sought refuge in the darkness, but safety did not come as the Humans continued to search out Mag survivors. A few small bands of Mags fled the fury and unending terror caused by these Humans whose thunderous weapons brought fire and death.

  A four Mag clan escaped the fury of the Humans and began making their way west. They chose a westward path as that was the first direction away from the Humans.

  Late in the morning of the second day, the Red One Clan was safely away from Fort Riley, they came upon the southern edge of Milford Lake. Here, the forests provided concealment, game for hunting, and fresh water. Two members of the clan wanted to remain in what seemed like the promised land. The leader, a former Army First Sergeant, insisted that they were still much too close to their enemies. The leader thoroughly drubbed the most vocal protester into submission. This action secured the leadership position. The clan moved on to the west.

  Within two hours of travel around Lake Milford, the Red One Clan came across three female Mags who were seeking the protection of males. They begged to be added to the Red One Clan. As they continued west, other pieces of ancestral memory kept kicking in. The females were placed in the center of the clan formation to be protected by the males. Hunting was good, and the females knew instinctively how to prepare the ripened winter wheat into a mush.

  Red One had picked up other singles, and by the time they arrived at Manchester, Kansas, their numbers had grown to eighteen. Manchester had been a small farming town with a population of ninety-five. The plague had reduced the population to around twenty or so, and by noon of the awakening, the population of Manchester was eight, eight Mags. Their surroundings were familiar, and the area supplied their needs, so they remained. The Red One Clan arrived on 10 April. The leader of Red One wanted a few more in his clan. After killing the Manchester Clan leader, the Mag survivors were incorporated into the Red One Clan.

  28 April 2118

  Atlanta Zoo

  Atlanta, GA

  The night air was becoming heavy, as storm clouds began to block the stars. Another April Stormfront began to enter the Greater Atlanta area. A moderate breeze was building as it preceded the oncoming rain.

  Jake and Gale decided to abandon the majority of the equipment. He would direct the Rangers sent to destroy the Mag Village to retrieve the remaining gear. The combat exoskeleton had taken a bit to get used to, but he and Gale had become comfortable in their use before departing Fort Benning. The suit was lightweight and easy to maneuver. The most difficult part was becoming accustomed to the added strength supplied to the M24-A3, suit, combat, exoskeletal. They both still found it funny to pick something up too quickly and accidentally toss it high into the air.

  Jake and Gale were discussing the many opportunities for study that this village presented. Gale wanted to preserve it and study the daily lives of the Cro-Magnon, but Jake stopped that idea cold. He made it clear to Gale that most of the world now had these quaint little villages. He also reminded her of the war which existed between Human and Mag. No, this village would be destroyed by a Ranger Company immediately upon the completion of their mission.

  Gale was distressed at this missed opportunity, until she witnessed the return of what could only be construed as a war party. Eight Mags returned to the encampment and each proudly carried human heads. Gale needed no more explanation of the need to rid the world of these vile creatures.

  Jacob Abraham and Gale Storm along with the teams Chocolate Lab, Sergeant Russell, sat in their third-floor observation blind. Both watched in horror as the returning raiding party impaled the severed human heads on long poles, near the entrance to the settlement.

  They sat in quiet anger, waiting for the sun to set.

  29 April 2118, 0030

  Two blocks from Observation Blind

  Atlanta, GA

  Sergeant Jersey Jack Rainier and the two Privates on his Reaction Team moved silently from their security position in a house two blocks from Jake’s Observation Blind.

  Jack had spotted the two making their way home to the Zoo but being dark they were making every effort to remain hidden. The luck of this apparent father and son duo was about to run out. Being stealthy does not shield one from night vision or
Infrared.

  Sergeant Rainier would have preferred to take the elder Mag out first, but the critical capture was the kid. He positioned one shooter forward of the Mags as they tried to make their way home. The second shooter remained by Rainier’s side in case of trouble from the dart gun, or the dart’s potency.

  Rainier aimed at the smaller Mag and fired the air gun’s dart, hitting the target squarely in the neck. The young Mag roared in pain as he reached for the dart.

  The elder, and much larger Mag turned in the direction of Sergeant Rainier and spotting him, roared a challenge and began charging the young Sergeant.

  The Private raised his weapon to fire, but Rainier ordered him to hold fire. Sergeant Jersey Jack raised his reloaded air gun and fired at the charging Mag. The dart struck the Mag in the right arm, causing another loud shriek of anger and pain. Still, the Mag ran on and at twenty-five feet away Rainier yelled, “Fire, damn it, fire!”

  The Private placed a three-round burst into the chest of the enraged Mag, who dropped nearly at Rainier’s feet.

  “My God,” said the Private while taking a deep breath, “that dart didn’t even slow that big bastard down. Did you see that? I mean, holy crap, Sarge, I think I might have just pissed myself.”

  Sergeant Rainier patted the Private on the back and said, “You did good. I’m glad we both were able to avoid crapping our pants, look at that damn thing. He dropped not four feet from me. Damn good shooting. Tell me, would you have held your fire if I had not given the order?”

  “I’m sorry, Sarge, but by the time you yelled, I was already pulling the trigger, and as far as crapping myself? Well, I have to be honest and admit that the only reason I didn’t is because my asshole is puckered so tight right now. Hell, Sarge, I may not be able to crap for a week,” said the young soldier, as he laughed nervously.