Chapter 1
8:45 pm EST January 15, 2038
Washington, D.C.
President Martin Diaz slammed the door to the Oval Office. He was sick of all the damned bureaucrats and their endless doubletalk. No one on Capitol Hill—the scared little rats—wanted to take risks. Diaz didn’t make it to the highest office in the land by playing it safe. He didn’t make it out of the Cuban ghettoes of Miami by being timid, and he wasn’t about to run scared today.
He had just finished up a meeting with the Speaker of the House, a mealy-mouthed, fat little man who’d been in office far too long to remember what the real world tasted like. If Diaz had had to deal with him back in the barrio, he would’ve bitch-slapped his fat face. But here in Washington, he had to be civil.
“You can come out now, Natalia,” Diaz said.
A young Venezuelan intern emerged from the closet with a coy smile on her face. Diaz kissed her on the forehead.
“You don’t want to forget these,” he said, reaching under his desk and pulling out her bright red panties.
Natalia smiled and quickly put them back on under her short skirt. “Sounded like you were ready to punch that guy,” she purred in her thick Latina accent. “That’s so sexy.”
Diaz smiled and kissed her again, then swatted her ass to scoot her out of the room.
“Budget talks, dear. That’s how we do it here in Washington. Now run along; I have to get back to my speech.”
Natalia was young and beautiful, but he didn’t want her to get too clingy, to ask too many questions. Their little affair was nothing more than that, just heated physical attraction. Anything more and people would talk. His wife might even get wind of it and that was the last thing he needed. Diaz wasn’t intimidated by anyone, but when his jealous wife’s fiery blood started boiling, he knew to get the hell out of the way.
He sat behind his desk and pulled up his speech on his portable again. He’d been reading it over for about the tenth time when Natalia had walked in with coffee, looking sultry and sexy and wearing that perfume that drove him crazy. He figured he could take a quick fifteen-minute break from his speech.
But then the damned Speaker came knocking on the door before Natalia had a chance to leave. He was worried about Diaz’s latest proposed cuts to Social Security. The system was going to go bankrupt this year if something wasn’t done, so Diaz was taking a bold initiative to solve the problem, something the “old” Washington was fighting him on.
He threw his feet up on the antique desk and sipped his coffee as he scrolled his fingers across the pad of his portable and smiled.
Among her other talents, Natalia did make a damned fine cup of coffee.
It was Diaz’s second time addressing Congress and the American people as president, and he wanted everything to go perfectly. His had been a hard-fought campaign, as he supposed they all must be. But he’d come out on top largely because of his raw determination and the fighting spirit gained from the streets of Little Havana.
As he was going over the wording on his closing remarks, Diaz received a call from the Secretary of Defense. He quickly punched up the video showing the Secretary’s stern face.
“Mr. President, I’ve spoken with several scientific organizations, and they confirmed that those lights in the sky earlier were simply small meteors burning up as they entered the atmosphere. Basically, it was just Earth passing through a dust cloud, nothing else.”
Diaz had seen the millions of tiny meteor trails earlier that night just after sunset. News broadcasts from all over the world reported the same event. It had been quite spectacular, lasting about an hour, and had terrified most of those who’d observed it.
“Any danger?” he asked.
“No, sir. The end result was simply an elaborate fireworks show around the world.”
“Why didn’t anyone know this was coming? Aren’t there scientists, astrophysicists or something, who search for this type of thing?”
“There are, sir, but they tell me that the dust cloud was spread over too wide an area to be seen clearly with our telescopes and Earth passed through it quickly. We had minor damage to several satellites, but nothing else.”
“Okay, thanks for the update, David. I’ll make a short mention of it in my speech since so many got worked up by it. You know, all that talk of the end of the world.”
“No, Mr. President, the sun will come up tomorrow just fine, and we’ll all have to get up and go to work, same as always.”
Diaz smiled. “Yeah, and some of us have to go to work right now. Back to my speech, David. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He ended the call and touched the screen to return to his speech. As he was looking down, a clear stream of fluid dripped from his nose onto the screen.
“Damn.” I can’t be sniffling and blowing my nose on camera in front of millions of Americans and everyone else watching around the world.
“Patty,” he said to his secretary through the intercom, “get me some cold medicine please. I feel like my head is going to explode in here.”
Diaz made a couple of last-minute changes to his speech and sent it over to the teleprompter in the House chamber. Then he closed up his portable and reattached it to his wristband.
As he was preparing to leave, he noticed an unfamiliar folder on his desk, one marked “Top Secret.”
Where’d that come from? And who the hell used physical files rather than digital anymore?
Patty hadn’t brought it in, had she?
Had Natalia been carrying it?
When she’d walked in earlier, Diaz wasn’t paying attention to what she was holding, only to what she was wearing. Or not wearing, as was the case. She could have left it.
“Patty did you leave this old file on my desk?” he yelled out the door.
“Yes, one of the Secretary of State’s assistants just gave it to me. The assistant said he found it in a pile of documents in the in-box on Farrow's desk when he was looking for something else. He saw the date and the Presidential Seal and thought it best to pass it along to me. I don't think the Secretary ever saw it.”
The Secretary was always traveling, so the document could’ve easily gotten buried under all the other information vying for his attention. Damn, Diaz knew he should check it out before he left to give his speech.
He picked up the folder. The edges were worn and the paper was old and faded. It was had been sealed shut with the official Presidential Seal of William Jefferson Clinton, forty-second President of the United States of America.
The damned thing was over forty years old.
Diaz was born during the first Clinton administration, so he had no memory of the man as president, only what he could recall from history books. His interest piqued, Diaz broke the seal and looked inside. The cover page said, “Project Chronos: For the President’s Eyes Only, January 14, 2038.”
He grunted and shook his head in disgust. A day late, of course. Somebody screwed up, as usual.
The next page was a handwritten letter from President Clinton.
“Dear Mr. President, I hope this letter has made it into your hands in time. An overwhelming disaster is about to overtake you and the nation. In fact, the entire world is at risk. You need to be prepared. This file contains data on a top-secret project we have only just begun working on but that will prove to be crucial for the survival of the United States of America.”
“Knock, knock!” yelled Brent, Diaz’s chief of staff, poking his head in the door.
What the hell was Patty doing? She should be screening people, keeping them from just opening the door like that. He was the president, after all, and deserved a little privacy.
“Sir, they’re ready for you,” Brent said as he bounced into the Oval Office full of his usual energy. “Now’s the time to make your mark. You ready?”
“Aaaaa-cho!” Diaz couldn’t hold back a nose-clearing sneeze.
“You should take care of that before you head out,” Brent said, gesturing toward Diaz’s nose.
“No shit, Brent. Patty! Where the hell is that cold medicine!”
His secretary came running in, frazzled even more than usual, and handed him a pill.
“I’m sorry, sir. We’d run out, and I had to go to medical to get more. Apparently a lot of colds are going around.”She was sniffling as well, and pulling a tissue out of the sleeve of her sweater.
He popped the pill and put down the top-secret folder. It had certainly grabbed his attention, but it would have to wait until after his speech. He couldn’t keep Congress, or the American people, waiting. As he stood, he felt faint and pressed his hand to the desk to steady his legs.
“Are you okay, sir?” Brent asked, reaching over to grab his arm.
“Aaaachooo!” This time it was Brent doing the sneezing.
“I’m fine,” Diaz said.“Just a headache from this cold. Sounds like you’ve got one too.”
“I think we all do,” Brent said as he wiped his nose with a tissue he pulled from a fancy box on Diaz’s desk. “This one’s come on quick.” He sneezed again. “Maybe it’s allergies.”
Diaz left the Oval Office and hopped in his limousine for the short drive over to the House chamber. Once inside, he paused to greet and shake hands with staffers and well-wishers along with a crowd of elected officials, reporters, and other audience members. Everyone wanted his attention so they could get their picture taken with him or just wave a greeting.
Diaz loved all of it, loved being the center of attention. But more than that, he loved the power. He loved being the man in control, the one they all listened to, the President of the United States of America. Diaz made his way to the podium at the front of the chamber, continuing to shake hands and smile. He knew all the senators, and many of the House members, personally. He asked several how their families and children were doing.
As he stepped up behind the podium, he felt a lump in his throat and coughed lightly. His nose was still running and his head was killing him. He’d just ignore all the crap for now, though, and power through the speech.
The main thing was not looking weak. He shook hands with the Speaker of the House and then the Senate Majority Leader. The vice president was traveling that night, flying the friendly skies on Air Force Two, and not in attendance.
Diaz stepped up behind the podium, and thunderous applause rose from the floor of the Congressional Chamber. He smiled and waved, feeling the excitement and energy from the crowd. When the applause started to die down, he began his speech by thanking everyone for coming out and wishing them all the best. Then he went into a short moment of silence as he asked everyone to remember the fallen soldiers from the recent conflict in Venezuela. The U.S. was conducting joint operations with several Latin American countries to try to control the chaos that had sprung up after the recent death of Venezuela’s latest quasi-dictator.
“Vaya con Dios, go with God,” Diaz said at the end of the moment of silence. He then started on the meat of his speech. As he was talking, Diaz noticed a lot of people sneezing and blowing their noses, far more than normal even for a cold January day. His head was throbbing, and his body was icy cold one minute, burning hot the next. Combine that with aches and pains and he knew it was more than just a cold and likely a full-blown nasty flu coming on. When he got to the section of his speech on the budget, he had to stop to sneeze. There was no holding that one in.
When he turned back to the podium he joked, “I think I’m allergic to deficit spending.” Everyone laughed, even some opposing-party members. “From the sound of it, I think we all are.” More laughs and scattered applause followed.
Diaz continued with his speech for a few more minutes until excessively loud coughing drowned him out. Perhaps the guy was truly going to cough up a lung. It might prove to be a medical emergency, but it could be some ploy, a protestor determined to disrupt his speech.
Then more coughing started—a spreading pestilence through the room.
What the hell!
He tried to say something into the microphone, but choked over a huge lump in his throat. Then he started coughing. Just a little at first, then deep, body-heaving coughs. Struggling to take a breath, he felt fluid fill his lungs, as if he were deep underwater, drowning. He covered his mouth as he hacked, trying to clear his lungs, then looked down at his wet hands to discover they were covered in blood. It was suddenly pouring from his nose and mouth.
“Can’t breathe,” he tried to say, but nothing came out except a gurgle and more blood.
He fell to his knees as his legs gave out, still coughing in heaving spurts, his whole body convulsing. The pain was searing as he struggled to draw air into his burning lungs. Secret Service agents ran to his aid, but they too were coughing and then falling to their knees, blood pouring from their noses.
Was he dying? Was it a terrorist attack?
Waves of horrible pain pulsed throughout his body.
Hell no, he wasn’t going out this way.
He’d fought too long and too hard to be president, and he still had so much to do. And what about his wife and son? He couldn’t leave them behind. He wanted to see his son grow up, he wanted to kiss his wife again. Despite all the many affairs, he loved her. She was in the front row, close to the podium. He looked down to where she was seated—she was sprawled out, convulsing on the carpet.
As President Diaz lay in a pool of his own blood on the side of the podium in the House Chamber of the United States of America, he watched his wife reach for him. Her beautiful face was painted in blood. The color of death streamed from her eyes, nose, and mouth. She struggled to raise a quivering hand toward him. Martin Diaz’s last thoughts as the world faded to darkness were of his wife and his love for her.
“Goodbye, mi amor,” he whispered without sound. His eyes closed and all was quiet.
Chapter 2
9:30 pm EST January 15, 2038
Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico, USA
Thirty-five-year-old Congressman Jeff Madison sat watching TV, drinking a delicious glass of Pinot Noir, and reading the day’s news on his portable. He was alone in a small conference room furnished with a table and a few hard chairs. The State of the Union address was droning on in its usual boring monotony, senators and congressmen rising to applaud on cue. Jeff half listened and gave half his attention to the news. His thoughts were turned more toward next fall’s election. He was gearing up for his second term as a congressman from Virginia and was preparing to move into full money-raising mode. That meant a lot of meetings with business owners and so-called powerful people in his district. Jeff thrived on the action—on making things happen.
He loved seeing his name in the papers. He loved having strangers come up and shake his hand. He loved having his picture taken with female fans from his district. His minor fame as a good-looking, energetic young congressman was intoxicating. In his field, Jeff was a mover and a shaker, and people came to him to get things done. The main desire he had, however, was to play on a bigger field. Outside of his district, no one knew who he was. He intended for that to change. In a few years, after a successful run in Congress, Jeff planned to make a grab for the governor’s office or even a senate seat.
In the meantime he’d enjoy the perks of the job, which right now included a glass of wine, a couple of Secret Service agents guarding him, and a private plane ride back to Washington tomorrow morning. Jeff pictured the flight attendant who’d waited on him on the way to this base. Not more than a seven, but she had a killer body and she’d been quite flirtatious, leaning over him when she served his food and touching him on the arm and shoulder frequently. Jeff knew all the cues. On the way back, he’d definitely see if she wanted membership in the exclusive Jeff Madison mile-high club.
Well, not all that exclusive, Jeff thought, chuckling slightly.
He wished he was in Washington today, but this was his day in a secure location playing “designated survivor.” To maintain continuity of the government in case of a disaster or terrorist attack, one member of the government was sent to a secure location and given the full protection of the president. It should have been the vice president here today, but a member of his staff asked that Jeff switch places with him. So that made him kind of the backup designated survivor. The VP had more pressing issues to take care of, so Jeff was left with this year’s short straw. Of course nothing exciting ever happened.
The secure location seemed pretty secure to Jeff, to the point of overkill. The secret base was located just outside of Carlsbad, New Mexico, near the Carlsbad and Lechuguilla caverns. When he’d arrived at the base around two p.m. this afternoon, he’d been taken underground at least ten floors. They told him the base had been built into the cavern system of the Carlsbad Caverns National Park. What they used the base for, he had no idea. It was curious, though, that they built a base this far out, basically in the middle of nowhere, and buried it deep in a hole.
Jeff finished reading the news and had started loading a movie from NetCloud onto his portable when his attention was caught by odd noises from the House chamber.
One of the distinguished gentlemen in the audience was coughing obnoxiously loud, disrupting Diaz’s speech.
How rude.
Jeff didn’t agree with the president on every issue, but he’d never dream of interrupting a public speech. He had too much respect for the office, if not necessarily the man in that office.
What started as a single cough progressed into a cacophony; another senator or congressman chimed in with outrageously loud coughs.
“What the hell is going on?” Jeff said. “A ploy to direct attention away from the president’s message?”
The president stopped talking and grabbed at his throat. The camera wobbled as Diaz started coughing up blood. Then it was running, almost gushing, from his nose and mouth.
The news anchor raised his voice to say, “There appears to be an attack of some type, invisible gas, we can’t make out . . . Oh my God!”
Jeff leaned forward as the scene played out on his portable.
There was a long pause and then the anchor screamed, “Get them out of there!”
With cameras rolling, everyone in the House chamber started to drop, kicking convulsively, blood streaming from their faces. Secret Service agents tried to help the president, but they too collapsed and fell helplessly, grabbing their throats in the throes of death.
Jeff sat watching in disbelief. Someone had to do something! Do something, he silently urged.
The door to the room where he was waiting burst open.
In rushed two of the Secret Service agents who’d accompanied him to New Mexico.
“Congressman, we need to move you immediately,” said the younger of the two agents. “There’s been an attack,”
“What’s going on, does anyone know?” Jeff asked, panic rising in his voice.
“We don’t know, sir. We were just given orders to take you deeper into this facility.”
“We’re already ten floors underground; how much deeper does this thing go?” Jeff had assumed they were at the bottom of the base.
“Quickly, sir.” One of the agents grabbed him gruffly by the arm, and they all headed into the corridor. Down the hallway was the elevator where another man, in a white lab coat, was waiting, holding open the elevator door. The guy seemed to be late sixties, bald, with a thin build. A gold cross dangled from his neck.
Jeff ran with the agents to the open elevator. After they were inside, the man in the lab coat placed his hand on a scanner by the elevator panel and said, “Research level, Dr. Abraham Conner, alpha nine nine eight five.” Then he typed something into the keypad on the wall and turned to Jeff.
“Congressman Madison, I’m Abraham Conner, assistant director of this facility. There’s been an attack of some type, as you’ve seen on LiveStream. None of us know what’s going on, but the facility director said we needed to take you deeper until we understand the extent of the attack.”
“Just point me where I need to go. How deep is this place; are we safe?”
“The main facility is located in a cavern about a mile down or in structural terms, four-hundred-stories down,” Dr. Conner said.
“Jesus!” Jeff’s breath caught. “What the hell do you do down there?”
“I’m sorry, sir, that information is classified. The director, Dr. Patrick Chen, may be able to give you more information.”
As they descended deeper and deeper into the bowels of the research facility, Jeff wondered what was happening above. He pulled out his portable and immediately logged on to the Stream to get the latest report. The LiveStream from the Capitol was still running, but there was no movement from the House chamber. It had been maybe five minutes, five measly minutes, since the attack had started, but there appeared to be no survivors, at least from what he could make out on the feed.
Jesus! He couldn’t believe this was happening.
The newscasters were trying to get information from a reporter on the scene outside the Capitol. She broke in with a panicked voice, saying, “Brian, it looks like there’s been a vicious terrorist attack inside the Capitol, maybe focused on the House chamber. We’re flying a camera drone in to get a better picture. Let’s head over to that feed.” She turned her head to sneeze.
She continued to sneeze and seconds later started to cough just as deeply and horribly as the president had moments earlier. She stared at the camera, eyes wide with horror, and coughed up thick, deep blood right into the lens. As the blood dripped down, obscuring the view, the reporter fell to the ground, clawing at her throat.
Behind the reporter, the typical large crowd of protestors had gathered to promote their various causes. People in that group started to bend over, choking and coughing horribly as well. Soon they were jerking in convulsive fits. The signs they’d been waving dropped to the ground like a forest of fallen trees. Some of the protestors tried to crawl when they hit the ground. They didn’t get far and collapsed in bloody messes.
It was the most horrible scene of gore and agony Jeff had ever witnessed.
Finally the cameraman succumbed, dropping his camera but leaving it running. Soon all was quiet and there was no movement at all.
They were all dead.
Jesus.
Dr. Conner, his breathing rough, watched from over Jeff’s shoulder. His face was pale. The Secret Service agents had pressed close, and their faces held the same shock Conner’s showed. Jeff imagined he was just as white.
Conner started mumbling to himself. “It’s actually happening,” he said.
When he repeated himself, louder, and backed away. Jeff asked, “What do you mean? Did you know about this threat?”
Conner looked down for a second. Then his eyes went wide and he pulled out his own portable and frantically yelled into it, “Call Gwen!”
A woman answered, and Conner said, “Honey, remember what I told you last night? Get down to the safe room right now. You need—” He collapsed against the elevator’s wall. “Why are you in the car? I told you to stay there the whole night.” He was screaming, his face turning red and his eyes getting wider and more desperate.
“I can’t hear you . . . What wreck? Just slow down. Where are you? Honey, where are you?” He started to cry. “No, honey, don’t help them. Just turn around and get out of there! Gwen? Gwen!”
Rasping coughs spewed from the phone.
“Gwen, Gwen!” Conner screamed louder and wilder. He dropped his portable and reached over to the elevator pad. He tried to hit the button for a return to the ground level of the facility, but one of the Secret Service agents grabbed his arm and pulled it away.
“But I have to get my wife. I need to save her!” Conner screamed, tears flowing as he struggled with the agent.
“We have our orders,” the agent—Tom—said. Jeff thought the agent’s name was Tom. “We need to get the congressman to a secure location.” Tom spoke sternly, but he was clearly shaken; his voice was cracking.
Conner made a sudden lunge for the agent’s gun, but Tom was too quick and smacked his hand away. Then the other agent grabbed Conner from behind, putting him in a full nelson submission hold. Conner slumped down, still struggling. Then he started kicking and fighting violently.
Jeff moved to the far side of the elevator.
“No, no, let me go, you motherfuckers!” he yelled. “I need to get to the surface!” When he couldn’t free himself, he spat furiously at the agents.
The elevator continued its smooth descent. Jeff tried to stay out of the way as best he could, but he easily understood why Conner was distraught. Jeff had no way of knowing if his own ex-wife and his son and daughter were okay. Virginia Beach, where they lived, was about four hours from Washington, D.C. It wasn’t that close, but he didn’t know the extent of the attacks. He didn’t know where Dr. Conner’s wife was driving, but he assumed she was nearby, probably right in Carlsbad. If they were being attacked here, then it could very well be happening all across the country, including in Virginia Beach.
Could it be that widespread? Why would terrorists target Carlsbad?
More unsettling was Dr. Conner’s knowledge that something dangerous was going to happen, today specifically, and that he’d apparently had built a safe room for his wife to hide in. Jeff needed to find out more, but first he needed to call his ex-wife and check on Amanda and Aiden. His hands shook as he called her portable, but it went straight to voicemail.
What the hell was going on out there?
He tried to make eye contact with Tom, but the man was busy with Conner. The other agent stared at the wall, eyes unblinking. The elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal a long hallway. They all stepped out and the elevator slammed shut behind them. As they walked forward an alarm began to sound.
“What about him?” Jeff asked, gesturing toward the doctor.
Tom said, “I’m going to let you go now, and you can do whatever you want. Just don’t go for my gun again, or I’ll take you into custody.”
Conner’s head tipped forward and his shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing I can do now,” he said in a soft, defeated voice. “The alarm has sounded, so the facility is in lockdown. The elevators no longer work; no one can go in or out.” He inhaled a long breath and lifted his head. “Let’s find Dr. Chen. Perhaps he can tell us more.”
They walked the length of the hallway and opened the doors at the end. As they entered, Jeff was overwhelmed. Spreading out as far as he could see was a sprawling base built under a cavernous dome of smooth rock. He couldn’t take it all in immediately, but it looked to be the size of two or three football fields, with a roof rising several stories.
The base—what he was looking at had to be the main base, the heart of the facility—was mostly quiet. There was activity, however, centered on a large white dome in the middle of the cavern where welding sparks were flying. A variety of metal tubes, pipes, circuits, and other pieces of plastic and glass protruded from the dome, and trails of steam hissed out from the bottom. The dome was connected to a metal pipeline that extended around the entire underground structure and outward, into the rocky cavern that surrounded everything. Around the center dome were several smaller buildings and one three-story tower that looked like a command center.
As they walked, men in white coats sped by in small golf carts and on Segways.
It was an amazing sight this deep underground, cut into the limestone cavern in New Mexico. Jeff didn’t know how much more he could absorb.
Dr. Conner gestured at the huge development before them. “Mr. Madison, welcome to the Chronos Project. We should find Dr. Chen in the control tower.”
As they walked, mobiles began pinging like a symphony orchestra as techs and scientists and whatever else they were started getting messages from outside. Shocked looks spread from face to face. A woman screamed. Several people ran for the closed doors leading to the elevator. An argument broke out between two men in white coats and two security guards who’d apparently recently been stationed at the elevators.
Jeff could feel the tension and panic spread as he, Dr. Conner, and the two Secret Service agents hustled toward the control tower.
“Are we locked in here?” Jeff asked.
“The facility is designed to go into automatic shutdown in case of an outside emergency,” Conner said. “We have our own fuel source and enough food and water to last for up to a year. We also recycle our own air using the hydroponics lab we constructed in an adjacent chamber.” He had himself under control, at least momentarily, and was acting more rationally now. But his voice was still rough, and his eyes were glassy.
“I hope your Dr. Chen can shed light on what’s happening. Otherwise he’s going to have a riot on his hands with people trying to get out of here,” Jeff said. “If you guys knew something was going to happen, and from what I’ve seen and heard, you did, why didn’t you warn the rest of us?”
“Dr. Chen mentioned a few days ago that there was the possibility of an attack, but we had no idea of its nature or scale. The terrorist attack on Washington caught us by surprise.”
“Right . . . So what about the safe room you had for your family?”
“I tend to worry more than most people. And I like to be prepared for any contingency. Even the remote ones. My wife, on the other hand, thinks nothing could ever happen to her and that my prognostications are just fairy tales.” He paused to press his hand to his heart. “I should’ve done more to convince her.” His voice trailed off, a tear rolled down his cheek, and he looked desperately to the cavern’s roof, as if pleading with the heavens to roll back time.
They finally reached the tower and entered an elevator. The smell of fresh paint was still in the air as the elevator gently rose from the ground floor. The busy sounds outside were closed off and they were all left with their own thoughts until a man greeted them when the doors opened.
“Abe, thank God you’re here and safe.”The speaker was a tall, wiry, olive-skinned man with thick white hair. His accent was slightly British. He had western European features, with a thick jaw and long face, but his eyes were slanted and dark, declaring his Asian ancestry. He looked to be about seventy. “And this gentleman?” he asked, pointing rudely at Jeff.
“Congressman Jeff Madison at your service,” Jeff said, extending his hand, pressing his lips together, and nodding in acknowledgment of the gravity of their circumstances.
In return, he got a glare rather than a handshake.
“I thought the vice president was going to be here. What the hell happened?” The man actually yelled at Conner.
“I don’t know. When I went to the waiting room, he was the only one there.”
Tom, who’d followed at Jeff’s heels the whole way, said, “Dr. Chen, I presume?”
“Who else would I be?”
“The vice president had a last-minute change of plans and is currently on Air Force Two being taken to another location. We were sent here to guard Congressman Madison. We don’t have knowledge of the vice president’s current location.”
Dr. Chen snorted. “Last-minute fuck-ups.” He turned abruptly and marched over to the bank of computer screens and started giving orders to the scientists and technicians in the control room. Then he pressed a button and leaned toward a microphone.
“Men and women of Project Chronos, I’ve sure you’ve all seen the news on the Stream by now. We’re closely monitoring the situation. I will be talking with Defense Command momentarily to find out more information. In the meantime, do not panic. Return to your duties. Final preparations need to be completed very quickly now, and I need everyone to focus. Remember, the work we are doing could save everyone. I’ll keep you posted as I find out more.”
Down below, on the other side of large glass panels, a dozen or so people looked up at the control tower as if God himself had just spoken from the clouds. After Chen’s speech, a few of the scientists were still sobbing and milling around; however, most folded away their portables and shuffled back to whatever tasks they’d been working on.
“I think it’s time you told me what the hell this project is and how Dr. Conner here knew that something horrible was going to happen today.” Jeff was pissed off, and the tension of the last few minutes was wearing down his patience.
“I’m sorry, Congressman, but you don’t have clearance to know any more, and you’ve already seen too much as it is,” Chen replied, thrusting his hand dismissively toward Jeff. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got a lot on my plate. We have a conference room downstairs where you can wait until things settle down.”
Jeff had no intention of being so cavalierly dismissed. He’d just watched the entire Congress and the president die horrific deaths. He couldn’t get in touch with his ex-wife and son and daughter. People were dying outside the Capitol building and around Washington. He didn’t want to be stuck in some damned conference room while the action was clearly centered right where he was now.
“With all due respect, Dr. Chen, I think I’ll wait right here. As a representative of the U.S. government, I have the right to monitor this situation, and it seems you have just the information I need streaming right into this high-tech control room.”
“As you wish,” Chen said, rushing off to another work station. He was obviously not willing to argue or waste time on Jeff. “Just stay out of the way.”
Jeff looked around the control room and saw maybe twenty workstations, about half of which were filled with scientists. Each workstation had one or two large computer screens flashing information. Some of the screens showed the large domed device—or parts of it—in 3D detail, with pop-up data boxes streaming numbers and other engineering information that Jeff didn’t understand. Several other screens showed data from around the world, including proprietary feeds from news agencies and LiveStream.
LiveStream, developed about twenty years earlier, allowed any user with a mobile device to instantaneously stream video and audio to the web. It became so popular that now all devices were equipped with it. Basically, everyone had their own personal TV station broadcasting their life as it unfolded. With millions of LiveStreams hitting the net, search engines had been developed to sort through the broadcasts. Viewers could find just about anything on the stream and watch every second of someone’s life, from the lives of pro athletes to accountants. There were even pet streams that allowed viewers to follow dogs around all day, if that was their interest.
Jeff clenched one hand; following poodles and Yorkies was one of his daughter’s favorite pastimes.
Users could turn off their own streams if they wanted, but most people never did. Personal privacy had become a dated concept left forgotten in the past.
Although a lot of useless crap passed through LiveStream, the system provided real-time coverage and firsthand accounts of what was going on during newsworthy events. So Jeff found a seat at the side of the room and starting checking out the streams.
He quickly discovered that the terrorist attack went far beyond the Washington beltway. People were dropping and dying all over the world. He felt almost numb to all the death, as if it wasn’t real, as if he was watching another disaster movie from Hollywood. But the thought that he could’ve actually lost everyone and everything he ever cared about made him feel like he’d been stabbed deep in the stomach. He swallowed to suppress the bile and vomit building at the back of his throat.
Several Asian scientists were gathered around one screen that showed Tiananmen Square in Beijing. The square was filled with bodies and blood, not a single soul moving. Another screen showed downtown New York City, where cars had crashed and lay smoking in the streets. In Moscow, Red Square was indeed red, with the blood of hundreds. In Paris, trails of smoke rose around the Eiffel Tower as people died. Several planes fell from the sky, crashing in fiery explosions, and chaos made its way across the land.
“It looks like the major cities around the world are being hit at the same time,” one young scientist said. “Let’s look at a rural area, something like central Iowa.”
A view high above a small Corn Belt town appeared on the feed. Using a satellite, they zoomed in on an isolated farm. Outdoor lights were still shining, showing cattle, sheep, chicken, and horses eating and strolling around casually, as if nothing unusual were happening. The map overlay indicated a feed streaming from inside the farmhouse. The scientist touched the screen to access the feed.
The scene changed instantly to a little girl holding her portable in front of her face, talking with someone via video chat. In the background her mom cooked at a stove. Her father walked in the door wearing dirty coveralls. Two steps into the room, he started coughing the same horrible, deep cough Jeff had been hearing all night. Blood starting dripping down his face. The girl screamed, “Daddy, daddy! Mommy, come help daddy please!” He fell to the floor. Then the mother and the little girl started to cough at the same time. As the girl fell forward, she dropped her portable and it slid across the kitchen tile. All that was left of the feed was the ceiling, choking sounds, and then silence.
The room grew quieter as feeds poured in from around the world. What started in major population centers spread within a matter of minutes to even the most rural areas. The human population was being massacred. Jeff searched the faces of the scientists. They had no more answers than he did. But he did recognize one fact.
This was more than just a terrorist attack.
Chapter 3
Midnight, January 16, 2038
Air Force Two Flying Over Atlanta, Georgia, USA
Vice President Charles “Buddy” Paulson sat in his leather chair in the presidential office aboard Air Force Two, trying to take in the gravity of the catastrophe.
The bastards! When they sorted this out, whoever did it would pay. They’d kill them all. Damned terrorist dogs.
He felt a stroke of grief that quickly festered into searing anger as he thought again of how Martin had collapsed on the floor of the House chamber.
“I’ll get them,” he quietly promised.
“Sir, they’re ready for you,” Melinda told him as she poked her head into the office. She was one of his young, very young, staffers. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she was holding it together.
Paulson rose slowly from his chair.
It was time.
He walked down the short corridor to the main conference room, where six or seven staff members and a couple folks from the press corps were waiting. He circled to the head of the table, where U.S. District Court Judge Jennifer Hughes also waited.
“Are you ready, sir?” she solemnly asked.
Paulson nodded.
“Repeat after me,” she said.
And somewhere high above the Eastern seaboard, unseen by most of the world, Judge Hughes administered the presidential oath of office that legally made Charles Paulson the forty-ninth President of the United State of America.
Paulson drew in a deep breath, raised his right hand, and repeated the simple words. “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of the President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
There was no joy in what Paulson said. He felt no thrill to be president, not at the expense of Martin Diaz’s life. There was only the aching loss, the grief at lives needlessly and ruthlessly wasted. He inhaled another deep breath, knowing he carried a heavy burden into office. The scope of the tragedy was just unfolding, but the devastation was unlike anything America or the world had seen before.
After the oath was administered and the scattering of staff, observers, and press wished him luck, he returned to his office. He’d been trying to get updates from military bases and government installations over the last few hours, but hadn’t had much success getting any more information than he was finding on the streams.
“Sir, NORAD is on the line,” Melinda said over the intercom. “They have updates for you.”
“About fucking time,” Buddy muttered under his breath. He tapped the screen at the right side of his desk and pulled up the video call from General Thaddeus T. Rowan, commander at NORAD.
“General, I hope you have good news.”
The General’s hard face came into view in a hologram above the desk. He was just a few years younger than Paulson, and they’d known each other for years. Rowan’s face normally showed no emotion about even the gravest of national threats, but today, Paulson read the stress, the ignorance, in his eyes.
“Sir, unfortunately there is no good news. The attack began at twenty-one thirty hours—about nine-thirty p.m. in Washington—and was near simultaneous around the world. There is no response from any of our major bases. Drones and video feeds show that everyone on those bases is dead. Our military has been decimated. All above-ground bases likely have a one hundred percent casualty rate. This attack, sir, is unlike anything I’ve seen before.” He shook his head. “Unlike any scenario I’d ever imagined, sir.”
Paulson slumped into his chair. Everyone wiped out. Almost the entire U.S. military, thousands of good men and women defending freedom, now dead. The largest fighting force the world had seen since the dawn of civilization, destroyed in moments.
Paulson recalled his own military career. He’d been a member of the elite Navy SEALs, and he’d seen combat in Desert Storm, the second Gulf War, Afghanistan, and various other hellholes around the world. He’d been injured and decorated for heroism multiple times and he sure as hell had no intention of folding before this enemy, whoever it was.
“We’ve been able to get in touch with a few bases and operating networks, as well as several subs in both the Atlantic and Pacific. It seems that the only military survivors are in underground facilities or underwater, with their own independent air supply. I’m alive because I’m underground, and you’re still alive because of your sealed and pressurized plane.”
Rowan frowned at someone speaking at his side and then added, “A few remote scientific bases in the Arctic and Antarctic are still untouched.”
“And the civilian population?” Paulson asked, not wanting to hear the news.
“Sir, I have Dr. Samuel Bellany, from the CDC, who can provide more detail on that. Yet I have to say that we expect the civilian population is being cut down as well and not just here in the U.S. but worldwide. This attack, the devastation, is unprecedented.”
Paulson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d watched various feeds coming in from around the world, but the scope of what they were dealing with was beyond anything he could even imagine. Paulson was a strong man, not prone to outbursts of emotion and certainly not given to crying in public, but it was all he could do to contain himself. Yet he had to focus now, focus on the tasks at hand—keep the nation functioning and maintain strong leadership. He touched the icon on his screen showing the video call from Dr. Bellany. He pulled the widow up beside General Rowan’s so all of them could talk. Bellany’s torso appeared as a hologram beside Rowan’s.
“Dr. Bellany,” Paulson said.
“Mr. Vice President, glad to see you’re okay.” Dr. Bellany was wearing full contamination gear, including a large white helmet with a clear plastic visor.
“It’s Mr. President now, Doctor. So what can you tell me about this attack?”
“Sir, we believe this is a virus, a virus unlike anything we’ve seen before. It even hit the CDC hard. The only survivors were already in containment suits or airtight chambers at the time of the attack.”
“I thought that most viruses took at least several days to spread through and infect the population, that there was an incubation period before people start dying,” Paulson said. “This virus seems to have infected people and killed them in a matter of hours.”
“You’re right, sir,” Bellany said. “But this is no ordinary virus. Now keep in mind I’ve only had about three hours to gather data, so this is very preliminary. Most of our staff was at home at the time of the attack, so we're woefully short-staffed. There were only a dozen or so of us working late tonight, and just four of us were in the containment chamber suited up when the virus struck. The others . . . the ones outside, are all dead.”
Bellany wiped a shaky hand across his visor, as if he could wipe the tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, it’s just that this has happened so quickly and we’ve lost so many good people—friends, colleagues, my family. I . . . I don’t know what’s happened to them.”
“It’s okay, Doctor,” Paulson said. “We’ve all lost people in this attack.” He thought of his wife, his two sons, and his daughter, as well as all the grandkids. He didn’t know for sure, but it was likely all were gone. He pushed the thought from his mind. There would be time for grieving later. First they had to get organized, care for the survivors, and prepare a defense. That meant finding out what caused this and devising plans to fight it.
“Based on the evidence,” Dr. Bellany was saying, “my first thought was that the virus has already gone airborne and has been that way since symptoms started to appear. I confirmed that with air samples taken here in our offices. We’ve been able to isolate the organism, filtering out dust, other microbes, and small particles. It’s something we’ve never seen before. Our analysis shows that it’s part organic and part mechanical, and about twice the size of your standard virus. I’m sending a picture to you now.”
A strange organism appeared, floating silently across the screen. It was circular, with short spikes jutting out at odd angles all around it. Some parts were light and others dark, similar to the look of an X-ray of a bone repaired with metal parts.
“Is that metal, Doctor?” Paulson asked. “Something that can occur naturally?”
“No, sir. These miniature components were definitely constructed by someone.”
Paulson frowned. That meant that this virus was engineered to kill. His worst fears were now confirmed; this was indeed a terrorist attack.
“It’ll take us a while to determine exactly what it is,” Bellany continued. “But we do know that it’s all over the air, twelve hundred parts per cubic meter, which is about the same quantity of pollen you’d see at the peak of allergy season. In other words, it’s everywhere, and there’s really no way, without wearing a gas mask, to keep from breathing it in. We’ve had limited contact with other CDC offices in the U.S. as well as our colleagues in other countries, and they’re reporting similar concentrations in their locales. So, basically, this virus is all over the planet.”
“How is this possible?” Paulson asked. “How the hell has it been able to spread so quickly?”
“We’re not sure, sir,” Bellany said. “Normally a naturally occurring virus starts in one location and spreads through human contact over time. If a virus becomes airborne, it typically is only able to survive for several hours at the most outside a host body. This virus is airborne, but we have no idea yet how long it can survive in the open. As for the spread, it had to occur at almost the same time throughout the world for everyone to get sick so quickly in a half-hour period. I can’t imagine how whoever did this coordinated the spread so precisely.”
“I can shed light on that, Doctor,” General Rowan said before muting the video feed from Dr. Bellany. “Mr. President, I think it best that we talk about this in private.”
“Go ahead,” Paulson said.
“That light show that we saw about six hours ago? Well, we think the virus may have come from that.”
“You mean the meteor shower?” Paulson shifted in his seat. This conversation was becoming more and more incredible, one unprecedented situation after another.
“Yes, sir. Several atmospheric analysis satellites obtained detailed information during and after the time Earth passed through the meteor cloud. At first we thought it was just a routine meteor shower and reported that to President Diaz. Upon further analysis, though, we discovered that the meteor particles didn’t burn up upon entry into the atmosphere but instead dispersed throughout the planet’s ecosystem. One of the satellite’s collectors also grabbed a sample of the meteor cloud. Sir, the sample contained dense concentrations of the same organism that Dr. Bellany just showed us. The pictures I’ve seen look like the virus was in a spore form in space, with a strong outer hull that allowed it to survive entry into the atmosphere.”
Paulson’s anger boiled as he balled his hands into firm fists, his seventy-two-year-old knuckles cracking and turning white. “So one of our enemies launched this thing into space?”
“We’re still gathering data, sir, but it’s certainly possible. We’ve been watching all known terrorist groups, both domestic and foreign, for years, and they have nowhere near the level of sophistication to launch such an attack. That leaves the Chinese or the North Koreans. Or perhaps the Indians have the expertise. To do this, they would have had to launch a rocket far out into space, one that would hold the virus in its dormant form. And from the size of the virus cloud, it would have taken several rocket launches to transport that many tons of viral material into space.”
“The Chinese have launched a lot of satellites the last several years,” Paulson said. “They could have simply switched out the payload in exchange for this engineered virus.”
“It’s certainly possible. But then there’s the question of why. As we’ve seen, every country on the globe has been hit. If the Chinese or some rogue country wanted to do this, there would be no way for them to prevent large portions of their own population from being killed.”
“Unless they had an antidote,” Paulson said, a cold shiver crawling up his spine. “God help us if this is something that they created and let loose.”
“Intelligence is only trickling in, but we haven’t seen any population-scale immunity anywhere. Everyone is dying.” Rowan paused, flashing his eyes quickly to the side and then the ceiling before focusing back on Paulson. “However, the only data we have now is coming in from the Stream and feeds. We haven’t been able to get in touch with any agents on the ground.”
Paulson knew what Rowan was thinking. “The Chinese have hacked the Stream before. We could be looking at false data, fake videos.”
“I know. What should we do, sir?”
Paulson thought for a second. This could very well be a planned strike from the Chinese against the U.S. and the entire world, something they’d been planning for years. The hack on the Stream a few years ago could have simply been a test for the larger attack. Inoculate their leaders and citizens, then spread this virus all over the world, killing everyone, leaving the entire planet to themselves.
“I have the nuclear football here. Ready ,” Paulson said emphatically.“If it comes to that.”
“We should be prepared for all contingencies,” Rowan said, nodding. “Right now we need to continue gathering data about what’s happening around the world and what the virus is doing.”
“Let’s bring Bellany back on.”
Paulson quickly briefed the doctor about the origin of the virus in the meteor cloud, but he was careful not to reveal anything about their speculations concerning China.
“Incredible,” Bellany said, eyes wide. “But theoretically possible. I’m a microbiologist, and I’ve seen species of viruses survive in extreme conditions for long periods in a spore-like state. When a more hospitable environment presents itself, the microbes become active. Other, larger, organisms can survive droughts for decades and then come back to life when it rains again.”
He leaned close to the camera.
“Also, if what you say is true, that this virus originated in the meteor cloud, that would explain the degree of saturation in the atmosphere. This is truly an incredible virus.”
Paulson grunted. He knew how these scientist types could get all gushy over their organisms, even the deadly ones.
“Yes, Doctor, it’s an incredible killing machine that spreads with the wind. How the hell do we stop it?”
“Let me start by explaining the nature of the virus,” Bellany said. “It seems that it attacks only human cells. No plants or other animal species are being affected.”
Paulson had guessed that to be the case. So whoever was left standing would have access to all of earth’s resources.
Bellany cued up a video feed of the virus.
“One of the robotics units was able to conduct a preliminary autopsy on one of our scientists. Here’s what happened inside his body.”
The video showed a microscopic view of the victim’s blood and from what Paulson could tell, it looked like a warzone. Cell matter and debris were scattered everywhere.
“As you can see, cells from all over the body have been destroyed from the inside out.” Bellany circled and enlarged one area of the video. “The nanovirus enters a cell, replicates itself using the cell’s DNA, and then bursts out to do the same damage to the next cell. This is typical of any virus, but this one is able to replicate at an astounding rate, faster than any virus we’ve ever seen.”
Paulson could see the virus inside one of the cells, a metal and organic killer capable of ripping through human blood cells, devouring their host from the inside out.
“But the mechanical parts, how are they reproduced?” Rowan asked.
“It appears to use the iron present in the blood as well as naturally based carbon to create its mechanical parts,” Bellany answered. “All the nanoviruses then work together to destroy the host from the inside out. Each creature . . . ”
Both Paulson and Rowan scrunched their eyes up and frowned when Bellany referred to the virus as a creature.
“ . . . is also equipped with its own microscopic atomic memory cell and chemical power source, like a battery. You can see that here.” He pointed to a spot inside the nanovirus.
“The technological components built into this virus are beyond anything we’re capable of, even at the most forward-thinking research facilities. The processor memory on this thing is incredible. It’s engineered and controlled on an atomic level and looks to be even more advanced than the processors that run the average household laptop.” Dr. Bellany was clearly in awe of the virus’s makeup. “If we had time to study this thing, we’d be able to make huge leaps in medical science and computer engineering.”
“You mean if any of us are left,” Paulson said, unable to rein in his sarcasm. “So you’re telling us that one of these microscopic nanoviruses has more computer processing power than a full-sized computer? And there are millions of these things floating around in the air?”
“Billions, and growing in number as they pass from person to person. I know how that sounds, but that’s what I’m seeing here, Mr. President,” Bellany said.
“Does that mean they could be intelligent in any way?” Rowan asked.
“I have no way of knowing. They were clearly built or evolved to do a task, and they’re damned efficient at that task. And that is to kill us. Humans. Watch this.”
Bellany touched his screen and the video showed several large drops entering the screen near the inert nanovirus.
“I’ve added cow’s blood to the mix here. Look how the nanovirus remains inert, not moving in any way. Now here’s blood from one of our monkeys.”
The virus shuddered, and its small sharp edges started to unfurl as it spun toward a large semi-circular object on the screen. Other nanoviruses entered the picture as well, heading for the object.
“See how they respond to this chimp red blood cell? Now watch.”
The viruses swarmed the red blood cell and one used its sharp edge to cut in. Once inside, it appeared to absorb some of the cell’s material, then it stopped moving. Its sharp edges retracted and it immediately returned to its dormant state. The cell remained intact, relatively uninjured.
“You can see what happened here. It ignored the cow blood but homed in on the chimp blood cell. But when it entered the cell to start replicating, it absorbed some DNA material and then stopped the process. Now watch this. This is human blood.” Bellany moved a robotic arm to add more drops to the mix.
A sudden flurry of activity lit up the screen. Thousands of nanoviruses starting attacking the human blood cells, sharp spikes flying and spinning as they cut their way inside. Within each cell the virus replicated itself until eventually there were so many in the cell that it burst open, releasing thousands more viruses which then moved on to the next cell. The slaughter subsided when all the red blood cells in the sample lay ruptured. The thousands of new viruses returned to their dormant stage and drifted in a dark cloud across the screen.
“Shit,” Paulson whispered.
Bellany said, “Now imagine this happening to every cell in your body. You literally explode from the inside out at an incredibly fast rate. Extrapolations from our computer algorithms show that just one nanovirus in the average human body would spread and kill that person in less than an hour. The only symptoms would be a slight fever and cough or runny nose. That is until the very end when he’d start coughing blood, every organ in his body turning to mush, and his lungs collapsing.”
“So this thing knows to target only humans? How is that?” Paulson asked.
“It apparently uses its sophisticated processors and chemical readers to target cells that contain only human DNA.”
“So they’re just out there hunting us?” Rowan asked.
“Yes, they’re out there in very large numbers hunting us. If you go outside and breathe contaminated air, you’ll be exposed.”
Paulson pressed his hands to his eyes, squeezed hard, and then dropped his hands back to his desk. He could feel the plane shake lightly as they hit some turbulence. “How long can they survive? And how do we kill the bastards?”
“As for how long the virus can survive, we don’t know. I would assume that if it can survive in space as a spore, then it could survive on earth for a very long time. And as for a cure, we’re working on that. So far we haven’t been able to find anything that will kill the virus without killing the host. Keep in mind too, gentlemen, that this is a process that would normally take months or years with a full staff of over a hundred researchers and lab technicians.” Bellany turned to look at the room behind him before he added, “With just four people, I can’t even guess how long it will take.”
“Doctor, let me ask you this,” Paulson said. “Based on your computer modeling, how many dead are we talking here, hundreds of thousands? Millions?”
“Billions, Mr. President,” Bellany said with conviction. “The level of saturation in the air, its virulent targeting of human DNA and rapid reproduction, and its apparent ability to survive in a dormant stage for long periods make this virus essentially a species killer.”
Chapter 4
1 am EST, 11:00 pm local time, January 16, 2038
Project Chronos, Lechuguilla Cave, Carlsbad, New Mexico, USA
Congressman Jeff Madison had been sitting in the control tower at Project Chronos for several hours, watching the feeds streaming in from all over the world. He saw Vice President Paulson sworn in as president. Slowly though, the streams started to fall silent, portables dropped to the ground showing the floor or empty sky. News agencies went off the air as reporters died, leaving no one to cover the growing planet-wide horror.
Jeff also watched the scientists work on the imposing dome device. Several of them had left, overcome with grief. But eventually each returned, sometimes supported by a fellow griever. Jeff was surprised anyone could stay focused on their work in a time of such crisis. But he guessed that work, meaningful work, might be all that most had left when so much else had been taken away.
Reports came in from other levels of the base, showing that anyone not deep underground had become infected and died. Dr. Chen assured everyone that they were safe as long as the elevator doors remained sealed. They had enough air and food to last many months if they needed it to.
Jeff still hadn’t been able to determine what it was they were working on, and Dr. Chen was no help at all. He was too busy working and coordinating various aspects of the project. There were too many unanswered questions. What were they building here deep underground that could save everyone? A cure? A weapon? Who were they even fighting? Who was behind the attack and why? Yes, too many questions and not one helpful answer.
Maybe someone in the government, if there was anyone left, could shed light on what was happening.
He turned to one of his Secret Service companions. They’d been whispering on and off for an hour.
“You wired in to all other agents?”
“Yes, sir, I have direct contact with all other agents at all times.”
“Well, what’ve you learned?”
“At this time I can only reach the five agents on board Air Force One. There is no response from any others anywhere.” The agent maintained a neutral voice and was trying to stay cool, but Jeff had seen the man fingering his service pistol. Both agents had been compulsively checking out the room and the large space at the base of the tower.
“What’s your name?” Jeff asked.
“Victor Mullins, sir.”
“Agent Mullins, can you put me in touch with President Paulson?”
“Yes, sir. Give me just a second.”
Agent Mullins pulled out his portable and quickly found a patch to one of the agents with the president. Jeff was speaking to Paulson moments later.
“Mr. President, this is Congressman Jeffrey Madison. I was contacted by a member of your staff to take your place during the State of the Union address as you had the memorial service at the University of Georgia to attend. I’m currently located underground at a base near Carlsbad, New Mexico. Do you have any idea what’s happening? What type of attack this is?” Jeff had met Paulson once before, but he doubted Paulson would remember.
“Congressman Madison, the attack is an airborne virus.” The president’s booming Southern Texas drawl came through clear on the video feed. “We believe it originated from the meteor cloud that Earth passed through earlier this evening. There doesn’t appear to be any terrorist group involved that we know of at this time. However, we’re speculating that the Chinese could have initiated the attack.”
“The Chinese? But why would they do this? Aren’t they killing their own people?”
“General Rowan and I believe that they could be manipulating the Stream and the video feeds to show false information.”
“So people aren’t really dying? The videos are all fake?” Jeff was shocked. He couldn’t believe that everything he just saw wasn’t real.
“No, people are certainly dying, at least here in the U.S.”
Paulson paused for a second, then continued, his voice shaky. “I haven’t seen anyone die with my own eyes, in person . . . ”
He paused again, then spoke more firmly. “We’re still gathering data. I don’t think that we can assume that everything is fake. There are too many of our people not responding. The logical scenario is that the videos from China or another one of the countries outside of the U.S. are fake, while those in the U.S. are real. But we can’t be sure.”
“So those people in China are not dying. How is that possible? Have they been inoculated?”
“That’s what we’re assuming, but nothing has been confirmed.”
Jeff couldn’t believe that China would initiate such a horrendous attack. He knew that U.S. and Chinese relations had deteriorated over the last few years, especially after the U.S. had defaulted on all of the debt they owed, but would the Chinese really resort to killing everyone? And everyone in other countries as well, just to get back at the U.S.?
“So what now?” Jeff asked.
“We have to assume that this is a real attack. Based on conversations I’ve had with the CDC and NORAD, they tell me the virus is everywhere, saturating the air. No one is safe. The only large pockets of survivors are those in secure, isolated locations with their own independent air and water supplies. You can’t go outside without a specialized gas mask or you’ll be infected. We’re telling survivors to stay put until we find a way to destroy the virus and inoculate them. As for the elected government of the U.S., right now it appears to be only you and me left, and Secretary Farrow is here with me as well. Everyone else is dead.”
“My God, Mr. President, what are we going to do?” Jeff was unable to keep despair from his voice. Everyone was dying and the U.S. government had been wiped out. He had a sudden urge to throw up or to scream his rage into the strong walls of the cavern.
“I suggest you pray, son. I’ll be in touch as I learn more from NORAD and what remains of our government and national defense. I’m also trying to contact any other governments still operating, see if they have answers. Stay safe, and God save us all, Congressman.”
Jeff could hear chatter at the other end as President Paulson signed off. He quickly looked around and saw the work still continuing frantically on the dome and in the central control room. There was nothing for him to do here, so he got up and headed out to see if he could uncover information on Project Chronos. The two Secret Service agents followed him, mumbling to themselves about what they had just heard from Paulson.
He knew the best place to find loose tongues was in the break room or cafeteria. He noticed Dr. Conner, looking agitated, sitting at his desk near the exit of the control room, and walked over to him.
“Dr. Conner, I’m starved. Is there somewhere to get some something to eat?”
“There’s a twenty-four-hour cafeteria in the building right beside this one. You can’t miss it.”
Jeff headed out from the control room, glancing at Dr. Chen as he left. The man was so busy talking with a colleague that he didn’t notice Jeff leaving. He and the two agents made their way across a short walkway to the next building. Several of the Project Chronos workers walked by them, whispering and casting nervous glances in their direction.
They quickly found the cafeteria. It was a modern facility, with chairs and tables neatly laid out like a fancy college dining hall. It was after eleven at night, but there were still a couple people eating and talking among themselves. With all the trauma of the last several hours, Jeff didn’t see how anyone could sleep. As he surveyed the room, he saw an attractive young woman sitting by herself in the corner, staring at her portable. He quickly ordered a burger from the cafeteria line and then turned to the agents.
“Maybe you two could sit over there. I’m going to ask our young friend here a few questions and don’t want to intimidate her too much.” The agents found a table close by.
He eased his chair up beside the young woman. She was so deeply absorbed in her device, she didn’t even look up.
“Can I join you?” he asked casually. Jeff knew his physical gifts and had learned how to charm even before politics had drawn him. He was never shy about talking to women and considering the circumstances, he figured anyone would want to talk.
The woman barely glanced up and just said, “Sure.”
Jeff bit into his burger and said, “Not as good as Mickey D’s but still pretty tasty. Can I get you anything?”
“No thank you.” The woman looked up from her portable and gave Jeff a closer look. “I’ve lost my appetite over the last couple of hours.”
“I know what you mean. It’s horrible what’s going on. We’re lucky to be alive down here. I’m Jeff Madison, by the way. I’m new here, helping Dr. Chen personally.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He knew from his short time in politics that the best deceptions were laced with a kernel of truth.
“Holly, Holly Scarborough,” the woman said. “What does Chen say about all of this; does he know what’s happening? We knew about an event today, but no one had any idea it was going to be this . . . this . . . encompassing.” She again looked at her portable. “This horrific.”
“I know,” Jeff said, playing along. “Chen is telling everyone to stay focused on their work, that completing the project is top priority. As for what’s causing this, I just found out that it’s a killer virus that’s spreading across the planet.”
“What? My God.” Holly was clearly shocked. “If the launch goes as planned, we can fix this. I hope.” Her voice trailed off.
“What do you mean you hope?”
“Well, part of my work deals with paradox theory, and we simply don’t know exactly what will happen to us when we launch. It’s all so complex and hasn’t been tested enough. I wish we had more time to run trials, but that’s obviously not possible now.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Jeff said. “My expertise is in another area. Perhaps you could explain a little more.” He knew any scientist type wouldn’t hesitate to explain everything about his or her work, even to a total stranger, if that stranger showed the slightest interest.
Holly started pouring out details. Much of what she was saying was over his head, but Jeff was able to get a few of the salient tidbits he needed.
“I’m not as up on my theoretical particle physics as I should be,” Jeff said truthfully, as he’d never even taken a basic physics course in college. “So maybe you should start at the beginning.” Physics hadn’t been a requirement for law school and as a general policy, he tried to avoid anything math related.
“What’s your specialty?” Holly asked.
“I’m more a builder of things,” he said matter-of-factly. “But your work sounds interesting. Please tell me more.” Under normal circumstances he would’ve complimented her, praised her work even more, since he’d found compliments and an interest in someone opened both minds and mouths, especially in women. “I wouldn’t mind having something else to talk about, think about, for a few minutes.
Holly blushed. She was attractive—mid-twenties—thin and athletic with long blond hair pulled back tightly. She had high cheekbones, full lips, and bright green eyes.
“I’m just a graduate assistant working under Dr. Conner, so not many people around here take my ideas seriously. Dr. Chen does seem to understand the importance of my work, however. My field is largely theoretical whereas much of the staff here focuses on practical-based disciplines, especially engineering. When I was interning at CERN and everyone was analyzing the so-called God particle, my theories on quantum mechanical black holes were largely overlooked. That was until we starting seeing anomalies in the data, strange readings that matched my theories but no one else’s at the time. You see, it was my idea that these mini black holes were actually small gateways to other dimensions. I wrote a paper on it that was largely dismissed, although many said that the equations did make sense. Then it was probably two days or so after my article was published that Dr. Chen called. He asked if I would like a chance to prove my theories, even if it meant leaving CERN.”
She sipped from a cup on the table, then played with her napkin. “CERN’s Large Hadron Collider was still the largest particle collider in the world and at the time there were no plans to build another. There was nowhere else on the planet that could create the mini black holes that I needed to test my hypotheses. I told Patrick this, but he was persistent. He wanted me to come out to the New Mexican desert and see a project they were working on that would change my perspective, change everything, he said.
“I’d heard of him before, everyone had. A Nobel Prize winner in physics at the age of thirty-four and chair of the Theoretical Physics Department at Harvard, he was world renowned. The problem was, no one had heard from him in about ten years. He just up and quit his post at Harvard and said he was going to work on a government project that would take up all his time. No one knew what that project was, and Patrick was very aloof about the whole thing. It was quite a shock to the intellectual community. So when I got a call from him out of the blue to work with him on this secret project, I was out the door and in Carlsbad a week later. That was two years ago, when the first tests started.”
Holly paused to take another sip of coffee, and Jeff said, “The testing of your theories, the mini black holes?”
“Well, yes. When I got here, Patrick showed me the underground base. Much of what you see here today.” She waved a hand over her shoulder. “Of course we had a much smaller prototype dome at that time. But the particle collider, the one you see stretching out in the cavern, that was here and in place. Who would’ve thought that the largest particle collider ever built was located underground and kept secret all these years? Even today the scientists at CERN don’t know about it. I have no idea where they received their funding from to get this thing going, but it had to have cost billions. Multiple billions. And the scientific talent they’ve pulled in is just amazing. Of course the pay is better than anywhere else I could’ve gone. The only drawback is that we aren’t allowed to publish anything since what we develop is strictly top secret.”
“It is incredible, isn’t it,” Jeff said, playing along. “I feel lucky just to be here.” Very true since Jeff knew full well the cost of not being there would have been his death tonight. “That must have been an exciting time for you when you arrived.”
“You wouldn’t have believed it. It was like waking up to Christmas every morning. When Dr. Chen showed me what they’d developed, I couldn’t take it all in. Not only had they been able to re-create my theories on mini black holes, but they’d even been able to develop an idea that had been in my head for years, almost like they were reading my mind. I’d always thought there must be a way to stabilize the mini black holes so they wouldn’t decay instantly and release Hawking radiation.”
“Okay, now you’re talking over my head,” Jeff said.
“You see, a stable mini black hole in the right containment field could theoretically bend space and time. Dr. Chen was able to design a machine that would create microscopic black holes, large and stable enough to manipulate, but not so large that they suck up the planet.” She chuckled lightly.
“Wow, amazing. And what did they start using these black holes for? Were you able to peer into other dimensions?”
Holly stared at him, one eyebrow raised, her fingers tightening on her coffee cup. Jeff had hidden away his guest badge, so she couldn’t see his security credentials, but he was obviously moving into sensitive territory with his questions.
“What part of the project did you say you were working on?” she asked.
The lady was not only smart, but shrewd. He didn’t think now was the time to pretend he was some type of engineer; Holly would probably ask him to solve a math problem and that would be the end of his ruse. He didn’t want her to stop talking; he’d gotten only a tease of what was going on, but no real answers yet.
“It’s okay, Holly,” Dr. Chen said from the door. “The congressman is just curious about what we’re doing here.”
“Congressman!” Holly said, leaning away from him. “I thought you were a project engineer.”
“I never said that,” Jeff replied, smiling. “I was just interested in you and your work.” He pushed his empty plate to the side. “I’m a congressman and a lawyer, two occupations most people hate. So when I meet someone, especially an attractive young lady like yourself, I try not to just blurt that out.” Sincerity with a touch of humor would work best here, he thought. “I just want to help out on this amazing project in any way that I can.”
Holly wasn’t buying his BS, but he tried to smooth things over anyway. Collecting friends was always good. And Holly was pretty hot too. If he was going to be trapped underground for any length of time, he could think of worse-looking women to be stuck with.
“Yeah, I’d be embarrassed too,” Holly snapped back, frowning.
Dr. Chen stepped closer. “Congressman Madison, I apologize for my rude behavior earlier. But I’ve just been informed that the president has given you full security clearance. It seems that no other elected members of the federal government can be located and are presumed dead, which leaves just you and President Paulson. I’ve been ordered to provide you with full access to this base and all the background information you need. Follow me.”
Chen still seemed angry that Jeff was there, and he definitely didn’t like be ordered to do something. Jeff could tell that the man had a real distaste for authority figures. Chen walked out into the cavern and Jeff and Holly, trailed by the Secret Service, followed him along a walkway to a construction platform on the side of the control tower. Chen pushed a button and the platform rose until it stopped several feet above the control tower.
“We can see just about everything from here,” Chen said. “So, Congressman, how far did Miss Scarborough get in her explanation of our project?”
Jeff looked from Chen to Holly. She met his gaze with a direct one of her own. “Well, she was talking about mini black holes and other dimensions. But she didn’t say if you actually found anything.”
Chen smiled at Holly. “Her theories were dead on. Amazing, I might add. I was able to take what she discovered and amplify the effect.”
“You mean you created giant mini black holes?” Jeff asked. “Isn’t that dangerous? And what would you use them for?”
“Don’t worry, Congressman, we’re not making weapons here. Although I suppose some of the technology we’ve developed could be weaponized, just as almost any technology could be, if in the wrong hands. No, the black holes never get large enough to do any damage and they’re held in a very stable containment field. It’s what happens when you get them stable and spinning in unison that is the real breakthrough.” He rubbed his hands together as his lips slowly curled into an egotistical sneer.
“You see, we’re surrounded by the largest particle accelerator in the world. The accelerator is basically the engine that generates power for the entire machine. Of the many particles it creates, we are interested primarily in the subatomic black holes which serve as fuel for the device. Those black holes are collected in the dome you see before you. Without going into too much of the science and engineering behind it, inside that dome, the unstable black holes are stabilized and set spinning close to the speed of light. The spinning and the immense warping of gravitational forces generated by millions of mini black holes create a vortex that bends space and time. And that vortex creates a gateway, an opening, if you will.”
“An opening to what, another dimension?” Jeff asked.
Chen rubbed his hands again. And then he smiled.
“Yes, an opening to the fourth dimension. You see, Congressman, what we’ve created here is a time machine.”
Chapter 5
2 am EST, January 16, 2038
Air Force One Flying Over Richmond, Virginia, USA
“Mr. President, we’re running low on fuel.” said the pilot of Air Force One, tension clear in his voice. “There’s no response from air support and no refueling tankers are queued. We’ll need to land soon.”
“How far can we go, Colonel?” Paulson asked.
“We can continue flying for another two hours, sir. After that I’ll have no choice but to put her down. Do we have a destination yet?”
“I’ll get back to you on that one. Maintain your current heading for now.”
Paulson knew that if they landed, got out of the plane, and started breathing the air, they would die. But they couldn’t keep flying much longer. They needed to land and refuel or enter a secure location, one with a sealed air supply. But where the hell would that be?
“Cameron, can you come in here please?” Paulson said into his intercom.
Moments later Secretary of State Cameron Farrow entered the office. Paulson had known Cameron for years. He was of mixed Asian and Caucasian ancestry, in his early seventies but looked at least twenty years younger, tall and fit. His dark hair was touched with a single streak of white, straight down the middle. He was a self-made man, starting from virtual obscurity and building a private government contracting business, while still in his twenties, into a powerhouse by the late 1990s. He had incredible, almost clairvoyant vision and a negotiating ability that allowed him to acquire contracts and place his business interests in the right places at the right times.
When he merged his company with Bechtel in the early 2020s it went from earning thirty billion a year to more than double that. Then just a couple of years later he gobbled up Halliburton, and earnings went into the stratosphere, making him one of the richest individuals in the world. Cameron served as Chairman and CEO until he moved into politics in the early 2030s, serving as Secretary of Commerce for four years, then as Secretary of State in the Diaz administration.
Paulson had a lot of respect for him, but they’d never been close, instead keeping a distant working relationship. This was fine with Paulson because there were many people he loved having a beer with but would never work with. Farrow was stern, professional, and a man to get things done.
Secretary Farrow had been briefed, as had everyone on the plane. Paulson felt they should know almost everything. There was no more need for national secrecy or security clearances. Hell, they were probably the only government officials left anyway.
“Cameron, we need to land somewhere safe to refuel quickly, or we need to find a base that has an independent air and water supply. We’re flying over Richmond now. Do you recall any bases near here that could offer us sanctuary?”
“Well, we could reach Naval Station Norfolk or Oceana,” he said. “But neither base offers the type of refuge you’re talking about. We could refuel, but we’d need the help of staff on the ground, which isn’t going to happen. We could try sending out a few of our own guys to do the refueling with the pilots offering direction. But there are no guarantees that it would be done correctly. Besides, even if we do refuel correctly, then we’re back in the same situation, which is just flying around. Plus, at some point the HEPA filters catching the virus and preventing it from entering the cabin are going to need to be changed.”
They had learned from the pilots that Air Force One was equipped with standard hospital-grade HEPA filters that would remove about 99.97% of the particles carrying the virus. That meant the air in the cabin could be refreshed at a normal rate of about fifteen times an hour, giving the passengers clean, breathable air.
“So we need to get this bird on the ground,” Paulson said. “But where if not the major naval bases along the East Coast?”
Farrow paced for a moment. Paulson could see the wheels turning in his head.
“There is a place. An old Cold War bunker that was updated and refurbished a few years ago. I don’t remember all the details, but I think it might be just the spot we need. Pull up your files on the Greenbrier, West Virginia.”
Paulson knew of the Greenbrier. He’d vacationed there with his wife many years ago. There was an old bunker, built under the hotel to house members of Congress in the event of a nuclear strike. He and Gretchen had even taken the tour. The bunker boasted a few ancient mainframe computers and a staging area with a podium where the president could address the country on broadcast television. It was basically a museum to the Cold War hysteria of sixty-plus years ago. Paulson didn’t know it had been refurbished.
“I thought that place was a museum.”
“Oh, it’s meant to look that way,” Farrow said. “But it’s fully operational and ready for government officials who need refuge. Folks like us. It’s hidden in plain sight, so to speak.”
A sharp one, that Farrow, always on the ball. Paulson was lucky he was here beside him during this crisis. Normally the Secretary of State would be at the State of the Union address or travelling overseas. But Farrow found out that Paulson was going to be attending the memorial service for the shooting victims of the University of Georgia massacre and he had asked Paulson if he could attend as well. Several of the students killed had been Chinese nationals and Farrow thought it was a good idea that he personally talk to their families. The last thing they needed was more conflict with China.
Paulson used his high-level access to pull up files on the Greenbrier. He studied the data with Farrow looking over his shoulder. The base was underground and equipped with decontamination equipment, a quarantine area, and living spaces and food for up to 400 people. It also had its own air filtering system.
“This looks perfect. However weather reports show a blizzard due to hit the area within the hour. Then there's the problem of getting everyone there from the airport.”
“We can't do anything about the weather," Farrow said matter-of-factly. "As for this damned virus, since it's all over the place, we can’t breathe the air without filtering masks. Of course, this being Air Force One, we may have some on board. Unfortunately, standard masks may not be enough, according to the recent conversation I had with the CDC. The doctor told me that a common medical mask will offer some protection, but the virus could also enter the body through the skin and sweat glands. That means to be truly protected, someone would have to be wearing a full biohazard suit.”
Paulson clicked on the intercom. “Dr. Peebles? President Paulson and Secretary Farrow here. We have a question for you.”
Paulson had met the doctor just a few times in passing. She was a permanent member of the Air Force One staff, flying with the president or vice president on a regular basis.
“How many gas masks and biohazard suits do we have on board?” he asked.
“Sir, we have over a hundred gas masks on board, but there are only eight full biohazard suits that offer complete body containment.”
“What? Why only eight?”
“Mr. President, the simple answer is budget cuts. I asked for more, but the suits are expensive with those new Med-AIs built in. I was lucky to get eight per plane. I was able, however, to get the upgraded HEPA gas masks.”
Shit. Paulson exchanged a long look with Farrow.
There were sixty-seven people on board Air Force One tonight, not a full complement. Most who’d normally be on board had been in and around Washington watching the president’s speech. But eight bio-suits for sixty-seven people was not a number that Paulson wanted to hear.
“Damn budget cuts,” he growled. “Very well then; we’ll have to make do with what we have.”
“What are you planning, sir?” Dr. Peebles asked.
“We’ll be landing soon and we’ll need to go from the airport to a base in the mountains. The trip in the snow, on icy roads, is going to take about a half hour. The base has a full decontamination facility, and we should be safe there. The problem is getting everyone from Air Force One to the facility while minimizing exposure to the virus.”
“Well, the masks will filter the virus so that people can breathe without being infected,” she said. “The problem, however, lies with skin exposure.”
“Dr. Peebles, would thick clothing covering the entire body offer enough protection?” Farrow asked.
“It would be better than nothing,” she said.” If the clothing is thick enough and you have enough layers, then it would certainly prevent initial contact. But all casual clothing, even thick winter jackets, are breathable, meaning they let air pass through. Those air passages are small enough for a virus to get through eventually. Yet with enough layers, you’d at least buy yourself some time.”
“How much time, Doctor, a half hour at least?” Paulson asked.
“It’s hard to say, sir. It would depend on the type of material and the number of layers. We’re lucky that it’s winter, so many of us may have a lot of clothes with us. If it were summer, we’d have no chance.”
Paulson wished someone could give him a straight and short answer just once this godforsaken day. He blew out a long breath, tamped down his temper, and asked, “So what do you recommend for maximum safety, Doctor?”
“Tell everyone to wear every piece of clothing that they brought with them—gloves, scarves, jackets, boots, everything.”
“I’m sure they have clothing in their bags in the hold. Would that be contaminated?” Paulson asked.
“That part of the plane is not pressurized and the air isn’t filtered,” Farrow said.
“If that’s the case,” Dr. Peebles said, “then all that clothing, if it hasn’t been contaminated already, will be when we land. No one can use it without being exposed to the virus.”
“Thank you, Dr. Peebles, that will be all for now,” Paulson said.
“Ah, sir . . . ” Dr. Peebles jumped in before Paulson could cut the intercom link. “About the eight bio-suits? Who’s going to get those?”
Paulson and Farrow looked at each with steely eyes. They’d both made decisions with the lives of men and women in the balance. Both knew they’d have to do the same here.
“We’ll be making that decision shortly, Doctor,” Paulson said.
“Thank you, sir.” The doctor’s voice broke slightly.
Paulson turned off the intercom link. “I wish we could keep the plane pressurized longer after we land.”
Farrow nodded. “Me too. But the pilots tell me that the pressurization systems are connected to the landing gear so that when we touch down, the cabin automatically depressurizes. They have no way of altering that.”
“Very well then, we have some choices to make.”
The Secretary looked squarely at Paulson with his dark narrow eyes. “You know what you have to do, Mr. President. We have to preserve what’s left of the United States government above all else. That means one of the bio-suits needs to go to you and at least two Secret Service agents for your protection. The other five should go to staff or elected officials based on seniority.”
“There are no other elected officials on board. And as for protection, I think one agent is sufficient.”
“I strongly disagree, sir. You need at least two. We have no idea what the situation is on the ground. There may be survivors at the base. We’ve seen what happens when people start to panic; they can become animals. No, we need to keep you protected at all times.”
“Very well then,” Paulson said, his head nodding in a slow bob. “Which two do you recommend?”
“Colonel Steve Demetrius is our most knowledgeable security expert, with over twenty years’ experience. He’s a good man—smart, strong, and able to handle diverse situations. He’s my first pick. Second would be Special Agent Dante Jones. He’s a bit younger than Demetrius and has about fifteen years of experience. He’s highly skilled in multiple weapons and is a former special ops.”
“I know both men; they’re good choices. So that leaves us five spots.”
“I would also recommend including a doctor in the group. Rosemary Peebles is the best choice. She’s trained in emergency medicine as well as surgery. She’d also know how to operate any of the medical and decontamination equipment that we’ll encounter at the Greenbrier base.”
“Good idea,” said Paulson. “So that knocks us down to four spots. I think you need to have one of those spots, Cameron. It’s crucial for this government that you remain safe. I’ll need your expertise when we get to the base and set up operations.”
“Very well, Mr. President. I accept and will do everything in my power to ensure that this country survives. Now for the last three spots.”
Farrow pulled up the roster listing everyone on Air Force One, along with their vital information including job titles and descriptions. They both scanned the list.
“Everyone is equally valuable in their own way,” Paulson said. “What criteria do you think we should use?”
Farrow stood and began to pace, his posture for thinking mode. “We have to account for the fact that none of the passengers without bio-suits may survive the trip from the airport. So the eight individuals in bio-suits may be responsible for trying to rebuild the government. I think you need people with the broadest knowledge base. Specialized experts just won’t cut it in this new world.”
Paulson studied the list again.
Who would be the best generalists?
No one really stuck out. Other than military and security personnel, there were lawyers, businessmen and women, and Washington bureaucrats. No survivalists, that was for sure.
“I’ve met just about everybody on the flight and know several of them well,” Paulson said. “But I don’t know how any of them would perform in such a stressful extreme situation. I would just be guessing.”
Farrow looked at the list, squinting at the names and profiles. “I have to agree with you. No one really stands out based on the limited information we have here. If we had more time to interview and vet them, we could make a better decision.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have that luxury. I could just randomly pick them myself, but I think we need some sort of buy-in from the people, otherwise we may have a riot on our hands for the suits.”
“A lottery,” Farrow said, snapping his fingers. “Draw straws?”
“It’s as good an idea as any. Can you get the straws? We’ll need fifty-nine long and three short. The three short ones will get the suits.”
“Let me run to the mess and get the straws, and we’ll be ready to go.”
“I’ll call a meeting in the main cabin on deck two. I’ll explain the situation and then we’ll draw. And send in Demetrius and Jones; I want to let them know what we’ve decided before the meeting.”
A half hour later, President Paulson called a meeting of everyone on board, with the exception of the pilots. Moments later he was standing before them in the main cabin. Paulson had given many speeches in his lifetime, but the one he was about to deliver was no doubt the gravest.
“Everyone has been briefed on the situation before us. It is unprecedented. We have no idea who or what is behind these attacks. The evidence indicates that much of the world’s population has been eliminated. Billions are dead. Our nation has been reduced to just a remnant of its greatness. And all this has happened in fewer than five hours.”
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt.” A young congressional liaison, Richard, waved his hand. He was a representative of the Speaker of the House. He was, of course, from the other party, and had been a real thorn in Paulson’s side since the start of the Diaz administration. It seemed that Paulson couldn’t get away from politics even now, in a time of unparalleled crisis.
“Mr. President, we’ve seen the feeds and all the news coverage and everyone just dying on camera. But we’ve seen nothing with our own eyes. We’re here in the air, thirty thousand feet above everything. We don’t know if this is some sort of ruse. The Chinese have hacked us before. This could be part of an elaborate hoax designed to compromise us and throw the government into confusion. The real attack could be coming later.”
Hmmm. So others were starting to doubt the validity of the videos as well. Paulson was still waiting to hear back from General Rowan to get confirmation of the attack and the possible involvement of the Chinese, so he couldn’t go off half-speculating in front of everyone.
“Richard, until we have information showing us otherwise, we have to assume that this attack is real. I know the whole thing seems incredible and that we don’t want to believe it’s really happened, but I’ve received firsthand accounts on secure channels from General Rowan in NORAD as well as other government and military officials in secure bases around the globe.”
“But, Mr. President, I just don’t see how it’s possible that so many people could have been killed all over the planet so quickly.”
“It is unbelievable, I agree, but the CDC has confirmed the numbers. They could be wrong in their analysis. There could be more survivors out there. We just won’t know until later. And as you’ve seen from the information I provided, this is an engineered virus. It was designed to kill us.”
“But who would have done such a thing?” asked a woman to his right. One of the reporters, Myra Goldstein.
He couldn’t tell them everything he knew, especially with reporters on board. Anything he said would be broadcast to the world, and that meant the Chinese would hear.
He took a deep breath. Released it. “We’re still investigating at this time, and I’m not prepared to speculate. NORAD has informed me that this virus originated in the meteor dust cloud that saturated the planet yesterday afternoon. That’s all I can report right now. So, if you could please hold your questions and comments until I’ve said what I need to say. It’s the reason I called you here.” He deliberately took the time to meet the gaze of everyone in the room. “The pilots tell me that we’re running low on fuel and have to land. Air Force One is capable of being refueled in the air, but there are no other planes running. So the nearest and best option for us is to land at a secure base in the mountains of West Virginia. The base is located about a half hour from the airport, underground at the Greenbrier Resort. The base has a full decontamination facility as well as food, fresh water, clean air, and space for housing all of us for months.”
There were sighs of relief and smiles from most everyone, along with exclamations of “Thank God!”
“There is a problem, though,” Paulson said, holding his hands out to settle the group. “We have to get to the base. The CDC informs me that the air is still filled with the deadly nanovirus. Anyone coming in contact with it, either breathing it in or through skin contact, will become infected. Once infected, death occurs in less than an hour. On board we have enough gas masks for everyone, which will filter the virus from the air as you breathe it. But . . . ” He looked over the anxious men and women hanging on his every word, studying their faces, hating to destroy their hope. “But we only have eight full biohazard decontamination suits to guard against skin contact.”
Several people gasped, and murmuring rustled through the group. Someone started to sob.
“These suits were designed to protect the wearers from nuclear fallout or an extreme biological weapon attack, so they’ll keep the virus out. Each is also equipped with the latest Med-AI system to monitor vital signs and provide medical care as needed. For the sake of the continuation of the United States government, it’s been decided that I and the Secretary of State will each get a suit. Two other suits will go to senior security officers, Colonel Steve Demetrius and Special Agent Dante Jones, who will be able to protect all of us. Another suit will go to the chief physician on board, Dr. Rosemary Peebles. For the remaining three suits, I have decided that everyone else will draw straws. The three shortest will get the bio-suits.”
“You’re going to leave the rest of us to die!” yelled out one woman.
Paulson turned to Dr. Peebles, who was standing close to him, and nodded to her. “No, we are not, but Dr. Peebles can give you more information,” he said.
Dr. Peebles cleared her throat. “You can protect your skin from exposure for a short time by dressing in multiple thick layers of clothing and covering all exposed skin. If you have gloves and scarves, wear them. If you have sweaters and ski jackets, wear them as well. Wear socks on your hands if you don’t have gloves. Those of you with extra clothing in the main compartment, please lend some to others who may not be so fortunate. All the luggage stored in the baggage area has been contaminated and cannot be used.”
“I only have this suit, no winter jacket, no gloves,” yelled out one man.
“Me too,” said another.
“I’m wearing a skirt and don’t have any long pants or even a jacket,” yelled out a woman in panic.
Paulson stepped forward again. “The military personnel on board will help with the sorting of clothes. I suggest you lay everything out in a pile and those without proper cover will be given something.”
“Is that going to be enough?” Richard, the Speaker’s aide, asked. “Can a jacket really keep the virus out while we drive to this base?”
Dr. Peebles nodded. “It is possible. I haven’t tested this virus, so I don’t know its specific properties, but other airborne viruses that are infectious via skin contact can be held at bay for short periods by just layering clothing. The thicker and less breathable the material is, the safer you’ll be. This means clothing made out of nylon is best and worst would be thin cotton. This is all I can tell you right now.”
Several more from the crowd started yelling and complaining.
“It’s the best shot you have,” Paulson said. “You can cover up as best you can and try to make it to the base alive, or you can stay here on the plane and die. It’s up to you.” He was tired of dealing with sniveling bureaucrats. “If you want to live, you’re going to have to fight for it.”
That dose of stern reality seemed to hit the crowd and they quieted down.
“We land in forty-five minutes,” he told them. “Those with bio-suits will exit the plane using the emergency exit chutes so that contaminated air won’t be able to enter the cabin. We’ll find shuttles and other forms of transportation to take everyone else to the base. Then you’ll exit the plane and make your way as fast as possible to the transport vehicles. The drive should be about thirty minutes. Once inside the bunker, we can enter the biohazard decontamination area and wash to remove any virus clinging to our clothes. Everyone will be quarantined upon arrival at the base to see if you’ve contracted the virus. Dr. Peebles will coordinate our efforts there. Questions?”
“Why are there only eight suits on board?” one woman asked.
“Budget cuts,” Paulson said simply.
Looking like sad puppets, everyone nodded. Having worked in Washington, they knew all too well about budget cuts.
“Anyone else?” Paulson asked. “I wish there were enough bio-suits for all. I wish we hadn’t been attacked. I wish that billions of people hadn’t died.” He touched the shoulder of the woman on his right, the man on his left. “I wish your loved ones and mine hadn’t died.” He paused again, not sure his voice would hold. Then he said, “This is not only the gravest threat that the United States has ever faced, it’s the greatest threat humanity has ever faced. It’s up to us to do what we can to survive. I’m sorry I don’t have better news, people. But now is the time you look deep inside yourselves and draw up the energy and strength that I know you have in there. We can do this.” Paulson looked over the crowd again, searching for courage, for strength, in them. He saw hope, some hope, returning to their faces.
“Now for the straws.”
Colonel Demetrius stepped forward. “I have three short straws here, and the rest are long.” He showed the straws. “I’ll hold them in my hands, and everyone will get a chance to choose. Those that pick the short straws will walk to the next cabin and receive instructions on how to put on and operate the bio-suits. The rest of you will receive gas masks and instructions on how to use them and how to best cover any exposed areas of your body.” Demetrius was firm, his voice strong and direct.
Several responded with “Yes, sir,” and others nodded.
“Very well then. Here we go.”
Paulson watched as the colonel extended his hands and each person—senior staffers, assistants, military personnel, reporters, and a few businessmen and financial donors, plus many good friends—walked forward to pick their straw. The mood was somber and as silent as a funeral as people drew their potential fate.
The first short straw went to Melinda Rider, one of Paulson’s staff. He smiled, just a small stretching of his lips, when she waved her straw at him.
There was some scuffling as two men tried to reach for a straw at the same time. One of the security staff, Lieutenant Darren McMiller, in fatigues and carrying a Colt Enhanced M4 Individual Carbine machine gun, stepped over and both men quickly backed away. Colonel Demetrius then extended the straws to the lieutenant. He pulled the second short straw, and both of the other men looked angry.
“Is there going to be trouble here, gentlemen?” Demetrius asked.
“No, sir,” they said in unison.
Paulson recognized them both as wealthy campaign donors. One was Chilton McIntosh, and both had given sizeable donations for the privilege of riding with the vice president on Air Force Two while the president was delivering his State of the Union address.
The drawing continued, with one short straw remaining. They were down to about ten people. Demetrius drew straws for the pilots, both long. The final short straw ended up going to a reporter with the Washington Post, Harold Bigsby. Paulson frequently read his column and felt that he generally portrayed both sides of a story well. The man was extremely overweight, however. Paulson guessed he was over 300 pounds. That could be a problem if they needed to do any physical activity. Paulson also thought there was a chance that the bio-suit would be too small for him.
So that was the three. With the exception of Bigsby, everyone was in good physical condition. Even Paulson, who was easily the oldest in the group, still got up every morning and ran five miles. He also swam when he could. Staying in top physical condition was a habit that had started when he was a SEAL, and he’d stuck with it through his whole life.
Before the lucky three with the short straws moved to the next cabin and everyone started getting ready for the landing, Paulson had one last thing to say.
“I want to take a moment. There are many religions represented among you, so you can take the time to pray to your God or Gods as you see fit. But the one tie that binds us is that we are Americans. So I thought it fitting that we stand together and recite the Pledge of Allegiance and then, if Miss Rider would come forward and sing the National Anthem, I would appreciate it.”
Melinda had sung the anthem at several baseball games and had an excellent voice. The whole reciting of the pledge and singing the anthem might be overkill, but in times of crisis, people needed inspiration. They needed to feel that they were part of something great, something that could motivate them to accomplish deeds they didn’t imagine they could possibly do alone. The pledge and the National Anthem had inspired Americans throughout the nation’s history and they would do so again tonight.
The American flag was painted on the back wall of the main cabin and the group turned to face it. Paulson began the pledge, and the others followed in unison, their voices building with the power and strength of hope as they finished with the words and the promise, with liberty and justice for all.
Then Melinda sang a hauntingly moving rendition of the national anthem.
After she was done, several people hugged each other; others kept their heads bowed for several extra seconds, reciting private prayers to themselves. Many were sobbing quietly. Paulson even saw Colonel Demetrius, the stoic war veteran, wipe a tear from his eye.
Paulson gathered himself and said, “Okay, people, let’s get ready.”
The short-straw group began moving to the back of the aircraft to get their bio-suits, when one of the political donors approached Bigsby, the Washington Post reporter.
The man tried to whisper, but most could hear what he said in the close quarters of the plane.
“I’ll give you one million for your bio-suit.”
Chilton McIntosh approached Melinda Rider with an offer of two million dollars. Melinda and Bigsby both turned down the offers. Then the businessmen attempted to argue and negotiate with higher offers as all three short-straw winners continued toward the back the plane. McIntosh screamed out, “Ten million dollars!” but was ignored.
When they got to the next cabin and the door was closed, Melinda said, “A lot of good ten million will do me if I’m dead.”
Paulson listened carefully as Dr. Peebles explained how to put on and use the bio-suit. He glanced through the window to where the others were covering up with heavy coats, sweaters, gloves, and anything else they could find in their carry-on luggage. Clothes and bags were strewn around the cabin.
“I feel like an astronaut in this thing,” said Lieutenant McMiller, his eyes glistening as he suited up beside Paulson. “I always wanted to be an astronaut, fly into space, see the stars. But after our three daughters were born, my wife and I decided I should take a job closer to home.” He looked away after he spoke and stared at the wall in front of him. “Janie’s not answering her phone . . . ”
As he spoke, Paulson thought he caught a faint hint of alcohol on his breath. He didn’t know the man very well, but from what he had seen, McMiller was always very straight-laced. Paulson couldn’t believe that he'd been drinking, not in this time of crisis. But seeing everyone die around you, including your family, could cause unexpected reactions in even the hardest of men.
As Paulson struggled to get inside his bulky bio-suit, one of the pilots announced, “We’re coming in for final approach and should be on the ground in about twenty minutes. Please return to your seats and buckle up. We have automated landing assistance but no human contact from the tower. I don’t see any other planes in the area though, so we should be fine.”
Paulson finished putting on his bio-suit and returned to his seat, as did all the others in his cabin. He felt the tension build as they waited in anticipation of the landing. He’d been in high-pressure situations before, so this was nothing new. He’d grown up in Texas cattle country on a sprawling ranch owned by his family for generations. He came from a strong stock of people, hard-working cowboys and cattle farmers. His father had expected him to continue in that line but when Paulson was a young man, he wanted to see the world. The Texas ranch was just too small for him. So he applied to the United States Naval Academy and over the course of a twenty-year naval career, he got his wish and then some.
A few minutes later the plane was coming in low for landing. Paulson could see the lights at the small Greenbrier Valley Airport, but no ground or air activity. Snow was falling, the start of the expected blizzard. The runways were brightly lit, and he could make out two planes that looked like they’d been heading for a takeoff and had collided. A baggage car had careened into the side of the hangar, dumping luggage out onto the tarmac, its driver nowhere to be found.
“I suggest we all put on our helmets,” Demetrius said. They tested the coms in their helmets, finding them to be clear and the volume strong.
Moments later the plane touched the runway, smoothly at first, gliding along the tarmac. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a muffled explosion rocked the plane beneath their feet. The floor started rattling and shaking and the plane jumped violently into the air and then dropped down, lifting everyone out of their chairs and slamming them back down again. The plane swerved to the right, and Paulson was jerked so hard that his seatbelt cut deep into his stomach.
“There was an explosion in the baggage area; the landing gear has been destroyed!” one of the pilots yelled out over the intercom. “Hold tight!”
Paulson heard the men directing one other as they tried to slow the aircraft, but then the plane started shuddering as a horrible grinding screeched through the cabin. Then an exploding, wrenching sound, of thick metal being torn asunder, pierced Paulson’s ears. The cabin lights blinked once, then went out, and still the plane was moving forward at an incredible speed.
Another bump and the plane flipped forward, end over end. As it did, the floor under Paulson’s feet was ripped away, leaving him dangling in midair.
Still strapped to his seat, he spun two or three times. Luggage, broken pieces of the plane, food, and other debris flew through the cabin, smacking him in the face, on the back of his neck, on his chest.
The plane came to a grinding halt with Paulson lying sideways and the others strewn like rag dolls around the cabin, groaning and crying.
A sharp pain shot up from Paulson’s leg through his whole body and up to his teeth. In the darkness he reached down and felt his leg. It was trapped under twisted metal, bent violently to the side, certainly broken. He just hoped his bio-suit wasn’t breached.
Live wires were sparking all around them, and flames began to flicker in the darkness.
There wasn’t much time. Paulson had to free his leg and get himself and the others out of the wrecked plane before the fire spread and the plane exploded.
Chapter 6
2:30 am EST, 12:30 am local time, January 16, 2038
Project Chronos
“A time machine? You gotta be kidn' me,” Jeff said incredulously. He was not a big science fiction fan, and this was right out of Star Trek. “Does this thing actually work or is it all just theory?”
Jeff, Dr. Chen, Holly Scarborough, and the two Secret Service agents stood on the construction platform overlooking the giant dome and the underground base.
Dr. Chen pointed to the dome. “It works all right. The entrance is there, through the enclosed tunnel. Anything we put inside when the vortex is active and powered up is sent up or down the time stream and will appear in the exact same spot at the time we designate.”
Jeff took an involuntary step toward the tunnel. They had to be pulling his leg. He pointed at the tunnel and then spun to face Chen.
“So you’ve actually been able to confirm that an object goes back in time when you send it through this, this vortex?”
“Yes, many times,” Chen said smugly. “Oh, it hasn’t been easy, and there was a lot of trial and error at first, but slowly we’ve been able to pinpoint exactly how much mass the machine can handle and how much power is needed to send that matter up or down the time stream. The farther we send an object, the more fuel, in the form of miniature black holes generated from the particle collider, we need. And the more matter sent, either all at once or in quick succession, the more power is needed. After each time jump, the black holes naturally decay and dissipate. So for each launch we need to collect fuel.”
“So . . . ” Jeff studied Chen. And then Holly. They didn’t look crazy. “You’re saying you have the power to send someone back and warn the world about this virus?”
“We think we do,” Chen said. “We’ve never sent a human through the vortex, just animals, most recently chimpanzees. We’d planned to send our first test pilot this morning, hence all the activity you see around you. Unfortunately, he had left the base last night and we can’t get in touch with him now. We’ve been trying to decide whether we should send another volunteer back or not.”
“Well, you have to send someone back,” Jeff said. “We have to warn everyone.”
Chen’s portable buzzed, breaking up Jeff’s thoughts, and Chen looked down to read the message on the screen.
“There’s been a break-in at my office!” Chen yelled out, panic thick in his voice. “Security is on the way and I need to go now!”
“We can help,” Secret Service agent Mullins said.
“Come on!”
Chen lowered the construction platform then took off running. Everyone else followed. They beat security to his office and found the door wide open, with the area where the doorknob should have been simply burned away. The furnishings were sparse, just a desk and computer. Behind the computer, what looked like a safe had been blown open, just like the door. A round, smoldering hole had been cut deep into the thick wall, and pieces of hot metal were still dripping on the floor. Sitting behind Chen’s desk, eyes fixed on his computer screen, was Dr. Abraham Conner.
“Abraham, what are you doing here?”
“Shut up, old man!” Conner spat out, his eyes red with fury. “You know what I’m doing here. I knew you had something in here, and I found it. I know all your little secrets now. I know you’re responsible for the death of my family and millions of others! And now it’s time for you to pay for what you’ve done!”
Conner picked up a small cannon-like weapon that was sitting beside the computer screen and aimed it at Chen. The Secret Service agents both fired at Conner, no hesitation and no warning, hitting him in the shoulder and chest, knocking his weapon to the side. As the weapon swiveled, it fired. A thick, searing substance, like lava, poured from it, arcing out toward the agent to Jeff’s right. Tom.
It cut him in half.
The man didn’t even have time to scream as part of his chest, arms, and his head fell onto two collapsing, burning legs.
Conner spilled out of the chair and dropped his weapon. The other agent, Victor Mullins, ran up to him and kicked the shocking weapon away. Conner was bleeding from the mouth and from wounds to his chest and shoulder.
He spat out blood as he spoke, gasping for air. “Don’t let him get away with it, Holly. Patrick had data from the future that showed the virus killing everyone. He knew the attack was going to happen.” He coughed, spitting up more blood, and his breathing grew labored.
“He had . . . information about Chronos . . . from the future. He knew exactly how to do . . . everything. He’s a fraud, a liar, and a murderer!”
Conner glared at Chen and tried to raise his hand, but couldn’t, and dropped it back down. “The blood of millions, billions, is on your hands, Patrick!”
Conner’s breathing slowed until it eventually ceased, leaving his eyes frozen and gray, still fixated on Chen. Agent Mullins bent over to check his pulse and shook his head.
“He’s gone.”
Two men from base security came running into the office.
“What happened?” asked one of them.
“It was Dr. Conner,” said Chen, surprisingly without a lot of emotion in his voice. “The stress of the day finally got to him, and he went crazy. Please take him away.”
The two security men bent down and carried off the bloody body.
“And clean up that mess too when you come back,” Chen said, pointing to the gruesome remains of the Secret Service agent lying in a pile in a corner of the office.
Chen was about to leave with the security men when Jeff slammed his hand against the doctor’s chest. It was all he could do to keep from vomiting. He was still in shock from just seeing two men gruesomely killed right in front on him. Other than in videos, it was the first time he’d seen someone killed.
“I think you need to explain what just happened,” Jeff said firmly. Then he swallowed to force down the lump climbing up the back of his throat.
“Get your hand off of me, Congressman, before I break it.”
Jeff wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction from the scientist, but Jeff wasn’t one to back down, and he gave the doctor a slight shove. Tensions were high after what just happened and both he and Chen were on edge, not thinking clearly, simply reacting, fervently, to what was right in front of them.
Chen crouched low, grabbed Jeff’s hand, and used his full body weight to twist it violently to the side, throwing Jeff off balance, bent over, face forward. Chen’s knee shot up with speed, belying the supposed strength of a man in his seventies, and cracked Jeff in the nose. The pain was searing, and Jeff fell groaning to the floor.
Agent Mullins sprang into action, tackling the lanky Chen, and was able to get on top of him, one knee in his ribcage and holding his right arm fully extended in a position where it could easily be broken.
“Everyone needs to calm down here!” Mullins said. “With all the death we’ve seen today, the last thing we need is to kill each other. Do we all understand?”
“You can let me go, agent,” Chen said, his face buried in the carpet. “Please don’t break my arm. I may need to use it more today.”
Mullins released his hold on the doctor and helped Jeff to his feet. Holly was crouched in the corner, gaze locked on the ceiling, counting frantically in a hushed voice. Her shirt was covered in blood and bone from the slain agent, and she picked at it with shaking fingers.
“Holly? Holly, are you okay?” Jeff asked her, shaking her by the shoulders and wiping what looked like intestines from her face.
Holly broke out of her counting trance and turned to Jeff. “There are one thousand four hundred and twenty-four different spots total on three hundred and seventy-five tiles on the ceiling. I need to finish my counting, please.”
“Holly, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we need to find out what Dr. Conner meant.”
“Dr. Conner? No, no! Get away from me!” Holly pushed his arms away and looked back up at the ceiling, resuming her counting.
She was clearly in shock from the shooting, but there was nothing Jeff could do for her, so he turned to Chen.
“So, Doctor . . . What was Conner talking about?”
“Very well,” Chen said, his anger clear. “I suppose the time for secrets is past. It’s the moment for you people to learn the truth about what’s behind the curtain.”
Chen turned to his desk and pointed to a metallic silver, palm-sized portable device. It was scratched, and etched into the casing was the name Dr. Patrick Chen.
“This is what was in my safe and what Dr. Conner was after. I don’t know how he knew it was here. It’s a standard portable with a built-in camera of the same type that you would’ve seen on the market a few years ago. It contains vast amounts of information.”
Jeff had recently bought a new portable for his daughter. After having suppressed them for a couple hours, Jeff’s thoughts went immediately to his family, to his pretty little girl. He still couldn’t believe that she was likely dead, along with his son. He’d last seen them over the weekend, when he dropped them off at his ex-wife’s home in Virginia Beach. Events had been happening too fast, and Jeff hadn’t had time yet to even think about grieving. Anyway, there was always a chance that they were alive, so he held on to his hope. Hoping couldn’t hurt. For now, though, he pushed his emotions back down and listened to Dr. Chen.
“Most of the technology used for this device is common today and has been for a few years. What’s significant about this drive is that it was found at a construction site near Harvard University.” He paused a second before adding, “Twenty years ago, in 2018.”
Jeff looked at Chen, eyes wide, mouth open. As his jaw dropped he felt the pain in his broken nose. He pulled tissues from his jacket pocket and jammed them into his nostrils to try to stem the bleeding. Chen continued talking, smirking slightly at Jeff’s obvious pain.
“Twenty years ago I was enjoying my physics chairmanship at Harvard. My research and work at CERN had led me to a deeper understanding of quantum particles. I wanted to build a research facility beside the main science center on campus to house a small particle accelerator and look at practical uses for the technology, preferably related to renewable energy. I’d received grants from the U.S. government and several private donors to begin work on the facility. The bulldozers had just started digging the foundation when they uncovered this. They could clearly see my name etched on the cover, so of course they brought it to me.
“I didn’t know what to think when I first saw it. So I accessed the device and here’s what I found.” He moved over to his desk, tapped his computer screen, and an image flashed up. It was Chen, looking basically the same, although slightly younger, with a little less white in his hair. The video started playing.
“Dr. Patrick Chen here, Journal entry four thirty-eight. We’re having trouble holding the energy field stable. The subatomic black holes are proving more difficult to capture than I expected. I’m still optimistic, however, that we’ll be able to do this. The energy released in the process is immense and if harnessed, could meet our power needs for decades.”
Chen wiped Conner’s blood off his leather chair with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. Then he dropped down into it, apparently unfazed that a man, someone he must have considered a friend, had just been shot to death in it.
“As you can see from this video entry, I was working to control the energy output for the device we had constructed in the facility next to the science building at Harvard. And make note of the log entry date here in the corner of the video.” Chen pointed to the screen, and Jeff could see the date of June 17, 2022. “This device was found in May 2018, a full four years before this video was made. Strange things often happen in science; many of the greatest discoveries are made accidently when you least expect them. But this . . . ” He pointed again. “Here, look at this next entry a year later.”
A new image showed a very excited Chen. “Journal entry five ten, July 6, 2023. An incredible breakthrough happened today. We were finally able to stabilize the spin rate of the subatomic black holes and when we did, we expected an energy output. But instead, a strange vortex formed. It doesn’t match any of the equations that we’d formulated, and basic physics seem to have broken down within the vortex. We’ll be sending a probe through tomorrow to find out more.”
Chen clicked forward to the next video, where his doppelganger continued speaking.
“We sent the first probe in to test the parameters within the vortex, and it completely disappeared. We haven’t been able to contact it. The vortex collapsed, and all the particles that we’d collected dissipated. We’ll have to collect more overnight, and tomorrow we’ll try the experiment again, this time with the probe tethered.”
Chen fast-forwarded to the next video entry.
“Surprisingly, the first probe was back in the lab this morning, right where the vortex had formed yesterday. I don’t know where it came from. And a duplicate of the second probe we were going to send was sitting right beside it. It had a rubber tether attached, but that was broken. It seems someone is playing a joke on us. The first probe had no data on it other than us putting the device into the vortex and then it sitting in an empty lab. We sent the second probe this afternoon and it too disappeared when it hit the vortex. The field remained active so Dr. Conner, who was eating a sandwich at the time, said, ‘Let’s throw something else in and see what happens.’ I know, I know, not very scientific, but Abraham is a bit of a joker, so I said, ‘What the hell, go for it, Abe.’
“Abe’s wife always fixes him chicken salad on Tuesdays, so of course he tosses in his sandwich with a little sticky note attached: Do not eat—property of Abraham Conner. After he threw it in, the vortex dissipated. So much for science and chicken salad. We’ll figure this out eventually though.”
Funny that these serious scientists actually had a humorous side, Jeff thought. Throwing random objects into a mysterious vortex was something he and his buddies might do after a night of drinking.
Dr. Chen touched the screen a couple of times and forwarded through about a week’s worth of videos. “Here’s when the light bulb goes off and he, or I, that is, figure out what’s going on.”
The Chen in the video was even more excited. Jeff moved closer to the screen.
“I was sitting at the lab today, staring at the quantum device, wondering how the hell I was going to get that stupid vortex to generate any usable energy, when out of nowhere, Pop! a chicken salad sandwich goes flying out of the other side of the machine. This was the same sandwich that Dr. Conner was eating last week. I tested it and found his saliva still fresh on it. The sandwich showed no sign of mold or decay at all. So my new hypothesis, as fantastic as it sounds, is that the vortex is some sort of temporal transport mechanism. We’ll be doing further testing based on this hypothesis.”
Chen pounded on his desk a couple of times, startling Jeff. But the doctor was grinning.
“The greatest discovery in the history of mankind comes as a result of a chicken salad sandwich,” quipped the present-day Chen, shaking his head. “The video entries continue on, discussing various experiments and the tweaking of the device, largely through trial and error. We eventually figured out that the directional spinning and polarity of the subatomic black holes can be reversed to send objects into the past as well as the future. We also learned how to calibrate the number of subatomic black holes, the fuel if you will, to control for the distance that objects can be sent forward or backward as well as for the mass of the objects. Of course, the prototype device at Harvard that my younger self and staff were working with was only a couple of feet high and a couple wide. Much, much smaller than the Lechuguilla device that you see out there.”
Jeff could see what Chen had here, basically a treasure trove or a time capsule from the future. “So you received all this information—the video journal and I presume all the relevant data from the experiments, all the calculations and so forth—twenty years ago. This was basically a blueprint from the future on how to build a time machine.”
“Yes, Mr. Madison.”
“So all along you had this information and didn’t share it with any of us?” Holly yelled out in disbelief from the corner. She had come out of her counting trance and had obviously listened to Chen. “We all thought you were a genius the way you planned this project. Solving complex quantum equations in your head and guiding the calibration of the device with little to no errors. Each day coming up with breakthroughs that even our brightest scientists had never thought of. The whole time you were just reading off a script.”
“A script that I wrote, Holly. Remember that,” Chen said fiercely, his face flushed. “I made these discoveries, along with most of the other scientists here, once before. The hard way. The second time around with this information just accelerated the process. And we’ve already passed what was done before in scope and complexity by at least a decade. Besides, I had a reason to accelerate the project along much faster than it would’ve progressed normally. Have a look at this last video entry dated yesterday, January 15, 2038.”
A new video popped up in the screen. The familiar Harvard lab came into view again but this time it was Dr. Conner speaking. His speech was slurred and his nose was bleeding. “This last message is to those of you in the past. Dr. Chen is dead, as are most of the others. We don’t know . . . ” Conner began the fit of coughing that Jeff had seen many times over the last few hours. Conner fell over, blood streaming from his face. He was still holding his portable, trying to talk into the camera. Then a hand covered the camera lens and the room started to spin. It looked like Dr. Conner had thrown the portable with the last of his strength.
As the camera spun, they could see several people slumped dead over their computer desks in the lab, then suddenly the video showed blue sky. The camera continued to spin, flashing between sky and dirt until finally it lay pointing to the sky. Sounds of a construction bulldozer rumbled in the background. A few seconds of darkness flashed on the screen, a crunch was heard, and then a man with a construction hat bent over the device.
His chunky, bearded face appeared on the video as he picked it up. In the background was the construction site of the future location of the experimental time travel prototype device. Bulldozers plowed the ground beside the Harvard Science Building.
“What the hell?" said the burly construction worker. "Hey J. P., come look at this. Seems like somebody’s lost their computer equipment. Shit, I ran over it. I hope I didn’t damage it too much. Name says Dr. Patrick Chen. You mind taking this to the office? I’m sure the good doctor is looking for his stuff. Wow, this is a cool cellphone. Wonder where he got it.” The construction worker starting fiddling around with the device, and the video shut off.
Dr. Chen pointed at the video. “So, as you can see, I knew something horrible was going to happen, I just didn’t know what. And more importantly, I didn’t know the scope of the incident, whether this was something that happened just in the Harvard lab or on campus or what. At least not right away.”
He swiveled to face Jeff.
“At the time I received the data drive, it was twenty or twenty-five years in advance of the technology we had at the time. I could figure out some of the basics, but not everything. And it had been damaged slightly when the bulldozer ran over it. I knew there was more data that could be recovered, so I sought out the smartest computer expert I knew at the time, a former student who was an instructor in the computer science PhD program at Harvard, Franklin Whittenhouse.”
Jeff peered at Chen, eyes wide. “The founder and CEO of Whittenhouse Electronics? The billionaire?” Franklin Whittenhouse was one of the richest men in the world.
“The same. Franklin was smart enough to figure out how the device worked and bold enough to build a business around what he learned. That one device, with technology from twenty years in the future, enabled a small renaissance in electronics and communications and is largely what runs most of our electronics today. Whittenhouse was able to build on what he learned and take that knowledge to new levels. Anyone without his skills wouldn’t have been able to do the same.”
“Amazing,” Holly said. “What other data was Whittenhouse able to uncover from the device?”
“This,” Chen said as he pulled up one more video. “This is information taken from the Internet and saved in the device’s cache. It’s a satellite image of the grounds at Harvard.”
The screen showed small dots on the ground. As Chen enhanced the video, Jeff realized the dots were bodies, scattered everywhere.
“We were also able to enhance video from other areas around Boston, and the scenes showed much of the same death.”
“So you did know,” Jeff said, his anger rising. “Dr. Conner was right; you knew that everyone was going to die and you did nothing to prevent it!”
“Why didn’t you tell us about all of this.” Holly was sobbing. “You said a few days ago only that there was the chance of a terrorist attack. You never said you had a video from the future showing that attack killing everyone in Boston. We could have done something to help our families. Everyone is dead because of you. Conner was right to call you a mass murderer!”
“Wait, wait, let me explain,” Chen said, thrusting his hands angrily into the air. “I went to the U.S. government immediately after learning about the video. No one believed me. I was talking about a time machine that I hadn’t even invented yet. They thought I was a nut-job, some crazy scientist who’d lost his marbles. It wasn’t until I’d built a prototype of the device and showed it to the government brass that they started to take me seriously.
“Even then, though, they were thinking that this would be a localized terrorist attack on the Boston area. We had no evidence to show us otherwise. None of us knew the scope of the deaths, nor did we know about the virus. The general with oversight on the project suggested that we move everything to a safer location outside the city. I thought that was a good idea and given the larger scope of construction and the need for a large particle collider, I thought it best to move the facility to a remote location, underground, in case there was any sort of accident. The result was this base.”
He stood, paced a few steps, and returned to his chair. Jeff made room for Holly, who had come close. Her face was flushed, her eyes red and wet. Jeff guessed his face was as pale as hers was red. Agent Mullins was standing stoically beside the remains of his fallen comrade, guarding him even in death. Jeff wished that someone would come and take what was left of Tom so that they could start to prepare a decent burial for him. He didn’t even know if the man had a family. Of course that family might all be dead as well. Chen too glanced at the man, pausing for a second before continuing.
“As today, D-Day, approached, I urged the general to look at evacuating the Boston area or at least issuing a warning. A few days ago he contacted me and said that there was no valid intelligence indicating any type of attack. They’d been closely tracking governments and extremist groups to see if there was any chatter, planning, or movement in the Boston area, and he said there was none. He saw no reason to create a panic by evacuating a large city. I discussed with him the real possibility that we had changed the time stream, that an attack was being planned but with all the attention on Boston, they had changed the target city.”
Jeff knew how hard it was to get the government moving on anything, even a threat like this. There were always doubters and there were always lazy bureaucrats who didn’t want to get off their asses for anything. He could imagine what the leaders in Boston had been thinking. That if they evacuated the city and nothing happened, they would look like idiots and probably lose their jobs. Besides, what would they tell people, that a video from the future told them there would be an attack? The resulting panic would cause millions of dollars in damages and probably result in deaths as well.
“The general felt that there was a small possibility that another city could be attacked,” Chen said. “So, as a contingency, since the president’s State of the Union address was planned for that night, he thought it might be wise to send an elected member of the government to this location for safekeeping. We are underground here, after all, and security is tight. I specifically asked for Vice President Paulson because if something were to happen, with his experience he’d be able to take charge. No offense, Mr. Madison.” Chen raised a brow at Jeff, his sarcasm clear.
“None taken, Doctor. Paulson is a seasoned military and political veteran, and certainly able to take over the presidency at a moment’s notice, just as he has done in the last few hours.” Jeff directed a smile at the asshole, wondering if he’d get another shot at punching the old man’s face in.
“The vice president had a scheduling conflict and apparently needed to be somewhere else,” Chen said, disgust coloring his voice. “So, I told the staff here a few days ago that we had information that a terrorist attack could happen on the fifteenth, but that we didn’t know the extent of it. I told them to warn their families but to keep it quiet to avoid a panic. Some people have simply become desensitized to warnings and chose to do nothing. Others, like Dr. Conner, quickly built safe rooms for their families in case something did happen.”
He opened his hands, as if offering a rationale. He certainly wasn’t apologizing, Jeff guessed.
“So I did everything I could with the information I had. If I had known the attack was going to be so extensive, then I would’ve tried to warn more people. Although I'm sure many wouldn't have believed me, and from what we’ve seen, there is really nowhere to hide from this virus.”
“Oh, I think you could have done more, Chen,” Jeff said. “A hell of a lot more. It may be hard to get the government moving, but that’s no excuse. By the way, where is your family?”
“None of your goddamn business,” Chen said, fire in his eyes. He jumped to his feet, though Jeff hadn’t moved any closer to him.
As they glared at each other, fists clenched, Mullins drew his pistol and stood between them. He was an imposing figure.
“They’ll be no more of that, gentlemen.”
“He’s right,” Jeff said. “We need to keep our heads.”
“What should we do?” Holly asked.
“For now we continue with our work,” Chen told her. “Let’s head back to the control center and see how the launch preparations are going. If we can send enough information back in time about this attack, we can prepare a defense next time.” His eyes widened as he added, “We have the chance to rewrite history.”
Chapter 7
2:50 am, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier, West Virginia, USA
“Who’s hurt?” Colonel Demetrius hollered over the internal speaker.
“My leg is broken, and I’m pinned in over here,” Paulson said.
“I . . . I think I’m okay,” said Melinda.
“My arm, it feels like it’s broken!”
“Who said that?” Demetrius demanded.
“Cameron Farrow. I’m having trouble breathing too. I think I have several broken ribs!”
“Special Agent Jones, Colonel. Just bruised up over here.”
The fire, crackling and noxious, was quickly growing. They had only moments to get out before the plane burst into flames. Paulson wrenched and pulled at his trapped leg. The pain was excruciating. He tried to move the twisted metal that was wrapped around the leg like a bear trap, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Mr. President, where are you?” Demetrius bellowed.
“Over here!” He banged some piece of metal next to his arm.
Demetrius was a shadowy figure crawling over the broken debris of Air Force One. He found Paulson and reached down to feel his leg. He pulled at the metal, bracing against a twisted seat, but it wouldn’t move.
“Agent Jones, get over here! We need to free the president.”
Jones crawled over and both men tugged at the steel trap.
“I can’t get it to move at all,” Jones said. His face dripped sweat and creased with strain.
Melinda had found a fire extinguisher and was frantically spraying wherever she could, but the fire was tricky, growing and getting closer by the minute. Smoke started to fill the cabin.
“Is everyone getting oxygen through their helmets?” Demetrius asked.
Everyone acknowledged yes.
From the light of the flames flickering around him, Paulson could see fairly well. He looked down at his mangled leg, saw how it had been twisted up and to the side at an unnatural angle right at the knee. He knew the ligaments had been ripped apart.
“Melinda, bring me that fire extinguisher,” Paulson said.
She handed it over, no doubt expecting him to put out the flames around them. Instead he raised it above his head and swiftly swung it down with both hands onto his broken leg.
There was a loud cracking snap as the extinguisher hit his contorted leg, and the flash of pain was so severe, Paulson thought he was going to vomit.
“Ahhhhh!” he screamed over the sound of the flames and the still falling debris. “Motherfucker!”
Paulson peered down, saw that he’d accomplished his goal. His leg was straight enough to be pulled from the metal surrounding it, which was good, because he didn’t think he could bash it again.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, grunting, trying to stay conscious.
Demetrius and Jones pulled him out of the seat and they made their way to the nearest opening in the fuselage. Melinda, helping Farrow, followed.
“Here’s Bigsby!” Farrow hollered. “I think he’s unconscious.”
Melinda bent over and tried to pick up the Washington Post reporter, but she straightened up quickly.
“I need help! He’s too damned heavy!”
“You go, Colonel,” Paulson said. “Agent Jones can carry my old bucket of bones out of here.”
Demetrius and Melinda grabbed Bigsby as best they could by both arms and struggled to pull him from the wreckage. Lieutenant McMiller rushed over to help as well. The group managed to jump a few feet down to the ground through a large, gaping hole in the side of the cabin and land on the runway tarmac. Paulson watched them pull Bigsby to the edge of the wrecked plane.
“This guy’s got to weigh over four hundred,” Demetrius said. “I don’t know how we’re going to get him away in time; the plane is about to go!”
The entire plane was covered in flames, and dark smoke billowed into the night sky.
“Look!” Melinda ran off and almost immediately came rushing back, pushing a luggage cart that had fallen out of the storage compartment. “Here, put him on this,” she said.
Somehow they were able to flip Bigsby over onto the cart and start rolling him away from the plane. Paulson limped away as fast as he could with his arm around Jones’s shoulder, using the agent for support.
“Wait!” Paulson suddenly remembered that Dr. Peebles had been in their cabin as well. “The doctor is still in there!”
“I’ll get her,” Demetrius said through his intercom as he ran back to the burning plane, disappearing into the smoke.
Paulson and the others kept moving, as far as they could away from the plane. Other passengers were streaming in all directions. Some were carrying and helping others who’d been injured. Everyone was wearing thick winter clothing and gas masks. A steady snowfall whirled around them and with the plane burning in the background, lighting the night sky, the scene looked like something out of an eerie apocalyptic thriller.
A small explosion ripped through the back of the plane, then another tore open the front as the fireball continued to grow. The American flag on the tail darkened and melted away. Finally a violent booming explosion rocked the earth.
The force of the blast hit Paulson in the back like a tank and knocked both him and Agent Jones to the ground. Millions of pieces of flaming debris fell around them. A sharp piece fell inches from Paulson’s head. Painted on it was one of the stars from the U.S. flag.
Air Force One lay in shambles behind them, flames eating away at the once great plane.
The heat from the fire was intense on his bio-suit as Paulson sat in the snow. A chill winter wind cut sharply through the air and ran up his spine. As he watched the plane burn, three shadowy figures rose up from the tarmac and struggled to move away from the wreckage. They were all wearing bright orange bio-suits.
Agent Jones left Paulson’s side and ran toward them. One of the three was limping. Jones managed to get the injured person over to where Paulson was sitting and the others followed.
“Glad to see you're alive, Mr. President,” Dr. Peebles said. “I would never have made it out without the help of Colonel Demetrius and Lieutenant McMiller here. I owe them my life.” She tapped her side. “I hurt my hip, but I can start treating the injured as best I can right now.”
“I’m happy to see you as well. It looks like we have a lot of injured, but we need to make it to the Greenbrier base first. Treating people here just ensures that they’ll be exposed to the virus and die later on.”
“He’s right,” Demetrius said. “We need to move out as fast as we can. I’ll check all around the wreckage of the plane and tell the survivors to head to the parking lot. We need to find a shuttle or enough cars to get us to the base.”
Demetrius ran out to the haggard shapes standing huddled in small groups watching the burning plane. Paulson struggled to his feet with the help of Agent Jones.
“We need to get moving,” Paulson said. “Come on.”
The group made their way across the tarmac. Lieutenant Darren McMiller was in the lead, pushing the luggage cart still holding an unconscious Bigsby with Dr. Peebles hanging onto it for support, followed by Agent Jones assisting Paulson, and Melinda helping Secretary Farrow.
The bulky spacesuit-like bio-suit was tight, scratchy, and constraining. Paulson wasn’t one to normally feel claustrophobic, but the helmet made him feel he needed to be out in a field breathing fresh air. As he walked, the suit made a plastic rubbing sound, and the edges of the visor were starting to fog up, making it hard to see.
“That was an explosion back there, just after the plane touched down, wasn’t it Cameron?” Paulson asked Secretary Farrow after switching over to a private com-line.
“I believe so, sir,” Farrow said solemnly.
“Then someone sabotaged the plane. How the hell would they be able to do that? Air Force One is one of the most secure aircraft in the world.”
“I don’t know how it happened, sir. It looks like we’ve been infiltrated on multiple levels in a highly coordinated strike.”
“The last few hours have certainly been unprecedented.” Paulson gritted his teeth in anger. “We have to move forward from here with the assumption that we have a traitor in our midst, one willing to die for their cause.”
“That blast was certainly meant to destroy the plane and kill everyone on board. If the saboteur survived the crash, he’ll be looking for the next opportunity to finish the job.”
“We need to be on guard at all times, Cameron.”
Melinda watched Paulson, a concerned look on her face as she helped carry Farrow. She obviously overheard their conversation. Although he couldn’t be truly sure, Paulson felt he could trust her.
“Melinda, if you heard any of that, I ask you to keep it to yourself.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
It was dark and nothing was moving out on the tarmac, so they headed to the entrance to the terminal as fast as they could. The pain in Paulson’s leg was cutting through his entire body, but he tried to put it out of his mind. He’d been injured in combat and this was no different.
When they entered the gate area, they found it eerily quiet. There were no people around, living or dead. The only movement was the flickering of computer screens automatically updating flight arrival and departure times. They passed through the waiting area into a retail corridor with a few shops and restaurants.
Where were all the people? Could they all have just gone home when word of the virus hit the news? At such a small airport very few travelers, if any, would be expected at this hour and most of the airport night crew would probably have left before the blizzard hit.
A loud and frantic high-pitched bark broke the silence and echoed through the halls of the dead airport. As they passed a small coffee shop, they found a pet crate, complete with barking pet, its owner nowhere in sight.
Melinda, Paulson’s staffer, broke momentarily from the center of the group and headed over to the crate.
“The poor thing is going to starve to death,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “We can’t just leave it here, trapped in the cage to die.”
She reached down and opened the cage, and a small white poodle came out slowly, hesitating at first. Then it walked over to Melinda and began whining, pitifully. Melinda reached down to pet it, but the dog growled and barked loudly at her.
“Aw, poor baby, she’s scared,” Melinda said.
“Don’t touch anything,” McMiller yelled. “Leave the dog where it is and just keep moving.”
The group had started walking when the dog turned and suddenly charged toward McMiller. Before he could move, the little thing bit him on the leg.
“What the fuck! Stupid little dog,” he yelled, trying to kick it away. But the little poodle was strong and held on tight. It was obviously panicked and confused by the absence of its owner and the empty, unfamiliar surroundings of the airport. It didn’t help that they were wearing biohazard suits, so the dog couldn’t tell what they were.
McMiller kept kicking his leg, trying to dislodge the dog, and finally he reached down and grabbed it by the neck to wrench it away. As he did so, the dog tore a small hole in the leg of his biohazard suit and cut him with its sharp little teeth. Paulson watched a small line of blood trickle down McMiller’s calf. He threw the dog to the side and quickly reached down to cover up the hole. The little dog continued its terrified, frantic barking from a distance.
Apparently the suit had been weakened from the heat of the flames back on the plane. That was the only explanation for such an easy breach of a sturdy bio-suit. Paulson wondered if his suit was weakened as well. They would have to be very careful until they made it to the base.
“It’s just a small tear, I’ll be okay,” McMiller said into his microphone. “I have a repair kit with the suit.”
He pulled a repair can from his waist and sprayed it on the tear. The spray sealed the hole completely, but Paulson didn’t know whether it was already too late for McMiller. The virus was in the air all around them, so even a tiny breach in one of their suits could be enough for it to get in and cause an infection. Paulson hoped McMiller was lucky. Surviving a plane crash only to die from a poodle bite minutes later would be a cruel irony.
“Shit, come on,” Demetrius muttered. “Let’s keep moving,”
Paulson glanced around as he walked. The small airport looked pretty much the same as it had when he visited before. It served the small town of Lewisburg, West Virginia, and Greenbrier County. The rural, sparsely populated area was a popular outdoor tourist destination offering hiking, skiing, and rafting on the rivers that ran through the Allegheny Mountains. The Greenbrier resort was actually located in the White Sulphur Springs, a small West Virginia town of about 3,000 people.
They continued through the airport past the check-in aisles. An alarm when off when McMiller crossed through the metal detectors.
“I guess they don’t get many passengers packing this sort of weaponry,” he joked, waving his gun in the air.
Once they exited the main terminal, they hurried to the parking lot and found no hotel shuttles in sight. There were only a few cars in the lot and one truck. It was not enough to carry everyone, so Dr. Peebles suggested they try the rental car parking lot. In the Avis and Alamo lots they found three vans as well as a number of larger passenger vehicles.
McMiller broke into the rental office and found the keys they needed, neatly labeled, on a pegboard. Paulson glanced around at the other survivors from the crash. They were a haggard bunch; many were injured. Paulson didn’t do a head count, but it looked like maybe thirty or so total. That meant they’d already lost over half of the original group. Damn, they weren’t having very good luck.
Those who could drive grabbed keys from McMiller, and the injured were helped into the vehicles. Demetrius helped Paulson into a car and took the driver’s seat.
They left in a caravan of about a dozen cars. They knew time was crucial and that the longer they were exposed to the air, the more likely that they’d contract the virus. As they drove down the long, quiet road leading away from the airport, Paulson looked back and saw the still burning remains of Air Force One lighting up the night. Whoever was responsible for the explosion would pay. He would see to that.
The drive was slow. They pulled onto U.S. Route 60, according to the vehicle GPS. Because of the full moon, the outline of the Alleghenies was visible on the horizon in between passes of snow clouds. The highway was a long stretch of lonely road with leafless trees on both sides punctuated by small farms and several upscale housing developments.
They passed one vehicle that had skidded off the slick road. Deep muddy skid marks showed where the driver tried to pry it loose from the snowpack. He or she had eventually given up and abandoned the car, probably hoping that a tow truck could come to the rescue later.
The two-lane road ran along the valley floor and was fairly flat and straight, with just a few curves. It was, however, becoming slicker by the moment as the snowfall picked up. As Paulson’s body finally relaxed, he allowed his mind to wander.
Gretchen should be at home now, asleep at the vice-presidential residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory. He still couldn’t believe she might be gone. Probably was gone. They’d met when Paulson was at the Naval Academy and had been married fifty years. They’d raised three outstanding sons: Charles Junior, Chuck, who was in the military; Brent, a businessman in Seattle; and Jacob, long dead, but still in their hearts. And there was his little girl Charlotte, a homemaker and mother of three, who still called and talked to her old man at least three or four nights a week. Could they all be dead? Paulson had to hope that they somehow survived this horrible plague. They couldn’t be gone. They just couldn’t.
Demetrius, cursing, suddenly jerked the steering wheel, and Paulson was pressed into the door, his broken leg pounding against it. A stabbing pain shot down his whole right side as the crushed bones scraped against each other, and Paulson let out a scream of agony.
The car spun in one, two, three circles on the icy road and stopped after crashing into the vehicle in front of them. Only Demetrius’s skillful driving saved them from a direct hit. The vehicle up front had flown off the road and run head-on into a tree. Steam poured from the mangled front end. Demetrius jumped out and opened the door of the crashed vehicle.
The motionless driver wore a bright orange bio-suit. Demetrius lifted the body up and tapped on the cracked visor. No movement. In the dim light, Paulson thought he saw blood, dripping in streaks, inside the visor.
When Demetrius unhooked the helmet and pulled it off, Paulson saw the true horror inside. It was Lieutenant McMiller, whose suit had been ripped by the poodle just a short time earlier. His eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly, and his mouth and nose were covered in blood. Demetrius checked for a pulse and then shook his head.
“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Demetrius said. “You two in the back, are you hurt? Hop in our car; we’ll take you the rest of the way.”
As Demetrius got back in the car and backed it away from McMiller, he looked at Paulson and said, “It’s been only thirty minutes since his bio-suit was ripped by the dog. The CDC was right; this virus is an aggressive son of a bitch.”
Paulson said nothing. He had his suspicions that McMiller had been drinking earlier. Had he run off the road as a result of being infected with the virus, or had he been driving drunk and lost control of the vehicle? Paulson didn’t recall him coughing or showing any of the symptoms of infection.
Ten minutes later they arrived at the resort. It was just as picturesque as Paulson remembered. A five-star resort with a spa and golf course, it was a secluded getaway that catered to high-end clientele from around the world. The main building was an expansive white 1700s-style colonial manor house with over 700 rooms.
It was beautiful in the snow.
The secret 200,000-square-foot base was housed under the tennis courts. It had been designed as a Cold War bunker in case of a nuclear attack. Information on it had been made public in the early 1990s as the Cold War wound down, and hotel visitors could actually tour the bunker. As far as the public knew, the bunker had been declassified and decommissioned, with no plans for it to ever be used. The resort played up the link to the past by offering themed dinners in the main hall; the James Bond evening was a favorite. However, as Paulson had recently found out, the base was actually still operational and fully ready to house every elected federal official in an emergency. Military personnel typically staffed parts of the base as well. The top of the bunker was just a small part of the actual base, which had been expanded over the years.
Ironic, wasn’t it, Paulson thought. A fully functional base right out in the open near a major resort. No one ever thought to look in the most obvious places.
“The entrance to the shelter is located in the west wing,” Demetrius told Paulson, “under the medical clinic.” He gestured to the others as they got out of their cars and called out, “Follow me.”
Demetrius helped Paulson out of the car, and they walked through the entrance of the grand old resort. The lobby was spectacular with its glorious chandeliers hanging from the domed ceiling. The walls were painted in wildly elaborate frescos depicting scenes from the Revolutionary War and other noteworthy events of American history.
But there were no guests or hotel workers in sight. Where was everybody? The resort should be crowded with people this time of year. Paulson had a deep ache in his gut, a building fear that something wasn’t right.
Demetrius had downloaded a blueprint of the resort onto his portable, so he knew where to find the bunker.
After crossing through several large lavishly decorated ballrooms, they reached the entrance of the underground fallout bunker where they found the thick steel blast door standing wide open. A security guard post at the door was left unmanned.
The base was coded into the classified net of the U.S. government. That meant Paulson could open the blast doors without a key by simply using a hand print, and facial and voice recognition. Of course the first blast door was a fake, there solely for tourists. The real blast doors to the secret base lay further inside.
Demetrius walked in and the rest of the group followed him through the open blast doors. They walked down a long hallway into a dining hall where the resort conducted the themed dinner parties. Past that was a large lecture hall where the president was meant to address the nation in front of the full Congress. It was staged with Cold War artifacts, including a bulky old microphone, giant mainframe computers with tape-recording data reels, and various other technological relics.
“This way,” Demetrius said. “The real entrance is behind the podium.” He pulled down the large American Flag and started running his hands over the wall. “I was told in a briefing several months ago that there was a switch here.” Before he finished speaking, a click sounded and part of the wood panel slid to the side, revealing a hand pad.
Paulson hobbled up to the panel to place his hand on the pad and then stopped. The panel operated by scanning the palm of a hand, which it could not do while he was wearing bulky bio-suit gloves.
“Damn, of all the things,” Paulson spat out. “Is there any other way to get this damned thing open? A key maybe or a passcode?”
“Everything was linked up through the GovNet a few years ago, sir,” Demetrius said. “As I recall, this particular facility is coded alpha four, for high-ranking government officials and members of Congress as well as certain military officers. I’m not on that list, sir. You can ask the group if anyone has clearance at that level. It’s certainly possible.”
“But that would mean that they would have to take off their gloves and touch the panel.”
“It would, but it’s most likely that they’ve already been exposed to the virus.”
“We don’t know that,” Paulson said.
“Mr. President, you need to ask.”
Paulson stood behind the president’s podium on one leg and held on to it for balance. He eyed the ragtag group and said, “Does anyone here have alpha four clearance?”
“I’m alpha three,” yelled out one man, his voice sounding hollow and empty through his gas mask.
Not quite good enough, thought Paulson. “Very well, thank you.”
With the help of Demetrius, President Paulson sat in a seat next to the panel. “Well, this part of the base is deep inside the resort. It’s possible the nanovirus hasn’t made its way in here yet.”
“I’m no biohazard expert,” Demetrius said. “But I’m pretty sure that everyone has the virus on their clothes now. As to whether it’s spread out into the room, I don’t know.”
Danny Phelps, White House intern, jogged up to where they were talking and asked, “Is there something wrong, Mr. President? It’s been forty-five minutes or more since we left the plane. We should really be getting into decontamination as soon as possible.”
Paulson studied the group. Everyone looked tired, many were hunched over, and a few had dropped into the auditorium seats.
Paulson waved one arm. “Everyone, if I can have your attention please. We’ll be getting into decontamination in a minute. We’re just having a few problems with the security codes, but it’s nothing to worry about. Just stay calm and rest; feel free to sit in the auditorium and just be patient with us for now.”
Paulson hoped that would be enough to keep everyone calm and allay their fears. Most of the group meandered into the auditorium and sat, still bundled in their thick winter clothing.
He turned to Demetrius. “We need to do something fast, Colonel.”
“Let me run to the security office. They may have a backup key for emergencies.” Demetrius turned to the man at his side. “Jones, you’re with me.” They started moving and Demetrius added, “We’ll find a key, sir. I know it’s a long shot, but just wait. Don’t do anything rash.” He and Jones ran out of the auditorium.
After they left, Farrow walked up to stand beside him, then contacted him on a private com-link.
“Anything I can do to help, sir? You know I have Alpha Four clearance.”
“No, thank you, Cameron. You’re too valuable to risk.” Paulson was not about to let Farrow be exposed to the virus. If they couldn’t find another way into the decon chamber, then he would be the one to take the risk.
As he sat watching the others sobbing and comforting each other, his mind wandered back to the situation they were in. He couldn’t contain his doubts any longer.
“Cameron, we have yet to see anyone, in person, die from this virus. We’ve only seen videos. We have no concrete proof. What if this whole thing is just a ruse, an elaborate deception by the Chinese? They could be preparing an invasion force right now while we’re here isolated, away from everyone, wearing these ridiculous bio-suits to prevent infection from an imaginary virus.”
“But we talked with General Rowan and Bellany from the CDC. They showed us the virus.”
“All of that could’ve been hacked and Rowan and Bellany could’ve been Chinese impersonators using video avatars. We know they have the technology to do that.”
“I. . . I don’t know, sir. I suppose it is possible,” Farrow replied, his brow furrowing in doubt. “What should we do?”
“We should drive back to Washington,” Paulson said emphatically, making up his mind that this whole thing had just been Chinese subterfuge. “If there is an attack underway, I need to be there.”
He paused for a second before adding, “And I’m going to take off this stupid goddamn bio-suit right now!”
Paulson reached up to unhook his helmet.
Then the sneezing started.
Chapter 8
4:30 am, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier, West Virginia, USA
The first sneeze came from a man dressed in a long black overcoat and suit. He wore a tie and had two more ties wrapped around his neck to cover any exposed skin. He sneezed a couple of times at first and then was overcome by a sneezing fit seconds later. Others also started sneezing, as if the sneezing itself was contagious. Paulson couldn’t tell how many, but what at first seemed like just one or two quickly become a dozen or so.
Paulson slowly moved his hand away from the release latch on his helmet.
“It seems I may have been wrong, Cameron.”
Paulson and Farrow were flanked on both sides by two armed Secret Service agents wearing gas masks. A woman in the front row wearing a heavy gray wool sweater started to cough. Paulson didn’t know much about virus transmission, but even though a wool sweater was warm, it still had areas between the threads where a microscopic virus could enter and move close to the skin. As the woman started coughing, everyone else moved away from her. Then she began scratching at her skin and trying to grab at her head, which was still covered by the gas mask. She yelled out, “Help me someone, please,” but the rest of her words were drowned in a fit of coughing.
She reached violently for a man standing close to her, and a couple of people screamed. The man shoved her away as she pulled at his ski parka, unzipping it.
“She’s infected, get away!” someone screamed.
“Can’t breathe . . . skin so itchy,” the woman cried out as she ripped off her gas mask. She fell to her hands and knees as her body was overtaken by fits of violent coughing. Dr. Peebles rushed to her side and knelt.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the doctor said. “We’ll be inside soon.” Then over the private intercom connection between bio-suits, she told Paulson, “There’s nothing I can do for her except try to ease her suffering.”
Dr. Peebles opened the MedKit she’d taken from Air Force One and pulled out a syringe. She gave the woman a shot, which seemed to ease her pain. Moments later, however, the woman was coughing blood and mucus all over the floor. Everyone but Dr. Peebles had moved away from her and toward Paulson and the locked bunker door. They were bunched together. The Secret Service agents stood menacingly in front of Paulson and the door, keeping the mob from trampling him.
The woman looked up from the floor. Paulson recognized her as one of his secretaries, Brenda Harkins, a forty-year-old mother of two. Her face was streaming with blood now, from her eyes, nose, and mouth. She struggled to breathe and then collapsed in convulsions, grabbing at her throat. Seconds later she let out a blood-curdling gurgle, and her body stiffened. Then she was silent. She lay on the floor, her mouth and eyes wide open, a look of horror and pain on her blood-splashed face.
Others were screaming now and starting to panic. Several stood weeping, and two had dropped to their knees to pray. “We have to get in now!” hollered one man.
Paulson looked up at the sound of more coughing. The man with the ties around his neck was backing toward the door, as if to escape his own heaving. He bent over as the attack became more violent. Panic hit the group and a couple of people grabbed at Harold Bigsby, who had regained consciousness on the way to the resort, trying to rip off his bio-suit.
“Give me that damned suit, Bigsby!” yelled one of the mob as they clawed at the bright orange suit.
"No! No! Leave me alone!" The large man yelled out.
Bigsby did his best to shove the attackers away, but they ripped his helmet off and then peeled the top of his suit away as he kicked and screamed. Paulson could hear the bio-suit rip as four people fought over it. Bigsby tried to get it back, but one of the attackers hit him in the face and he crumpled to the floor. The mob left him lying there in a T-shirt and jeans, the top half of his bio-suit ripped apart. Two of the attackers were holding pieces of it, which they threw down. Then they turned toward Melinda Rider, who was now moving up to the podium beside the others wearing bio-suits.
“Get that suit!” yelled out one voice from the suddenly crazed mob.
The two Secret Service agents moved close to Paulson and the others with the bio-suits, guns drawn. Agent Eugene Schwartz fired in the air. “Back off!” he yelled. “We’ll protect the president at all costs!” He lowered his weapon and trained it on the mob.
Paulson didn’t have time to think. The situation was beyond volatile and deteriorating rapidly. Calm, conservative civil servants had turned into a crazed, murderous mob. No one was thinking clearly; they were in full-on panic survival mode.
Paulson could sit there in the safety of his bio-suit and watch everyone die from the virus or get shot by the agents assigned to protect him, hoping that Demetrius and Jones would get a key here in time, or he could open the door himself, now, risking exposure and certain death. Paulson didn’t think Demetrius and Jones would be fast enough. Every second counted, and those seconds were ticking.
Paulson had never been never a coward. He’d risked his life to save others during combat in operations in Iraq and Afghanistan as a young SEAL. He’d sent men and women to die as a commander. He had lived a long, full life and wasn’t afraid to die to save others. He knew what he had to do.
Paulson ripped off his glove and placed his hand on the keypad before any of his security detail could stop him. There were a few beeps and flashing lights as the pad scanned and recognized his hand print. Then the huge blast door swung open. Paulson had already pulled his glove back on. He hoped he’d been quick enough and that his exposure to the contaminated air had been without consequence.
Inside the blast doors was a small entrance room with two other solid metal doors. The door at the other end of the room was marked “Main Entrance” and the one on the side said “Biohazard Entrance.”
Paulson’s security detail picked him up and helped him inside. On the door to the biohazard entrance were detailed instructions in several languages, with pictures, on what they needed to do in case of contamination by biological agents, chemical weapons, or nuclear fallout. They could send up to three people through at a time. They’d be washed down in the first room, remove their clothes, and then move to the second room where they’d be washed down again. Fresh robes would be waiting for them at the end. The process was designed to be automated, and each person could handle their own decontamination with the help of the in-house AI and a few mechanical drones that would do the scrubbing.
The instructions said that for a biohazard incident, individuals would be separated from the others in a private quarantine area after decontamination. There were a hundred of the small cubicles where a person could lie down and be monitored for medical problems.
The government didn’t get many things right, but we did a good job on this facility, Paulson thought.
“Mr. President, you should go in the first group,” one of the agents, Schwartz, said.
“No, I have my suit. If I was exposed touching the pad, then there’s nothing I can do about it now. Dr. Peebles should be in the first group so she can prep the medical suite. Also get Secretary Farrow in that group so the doctor can treat his injuries and he can start getting the base set up and ready for operation. Then send through those who have the heaviest clothing and show no signs of infection. Those already sneezing or coughing should be in the back; there is nothing we can do for them.”
It was a tough decision to basically write off as dead those who were infected, but Paulson had to do it. The ones that looked infection-free and who had the most protection needed to get decontaminated first. They had the best chance of coming out alive.
By this time, everyone was crowding the entrance, held back only by Paulson’s security staff. Agent Schwartz yelled out, “We’ll be sending those with the heaviest dress through first. Anyone sniffling, sneezing, or coughing goes to the back. You need to move forward three at a time.” He tapped the wall. “There’s a light on the door that will tell us when the next group can pass. If you line up single file, we can get through this faster.”
Despite Schwartz’s firm, thorough instructions, the group was becoming more and more desperate. There were arguments about who was sick and who wasn’t, who had heavier clothing and who didn’t. One man, a reporter named Vernon Hale, who’d proved to be one of Martin Diaz’s most vocal supporters, tried to rush to the front of the line, knocking others out of the way. When he got close to the front and could almost touch the president, Schwartz shoved him back violently. He kept pushing, though, and there was a struggle for Schwartz’s gun as Hale tried to take it away. In the struggle, a shot was fired.
Hale fell back into the crowd and bent over, both hands cradling his stomach. Dark blood seeped through the man’s tan overcoat and out through his fingers. He looked at Agent Schwartz and the crowd in shock.
“You shot me,” he said incredulously. “I can’t believe you shot me, you bastard!” Hale fell to his knees still holding his stomach. More blood poured through his hands, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell forward, face first, as the crowd gasped and screamed.
Schwartz fired another round into the air.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” he yelled, “but I will protect the president. Everyone needs to stay calm. You will get inside!”
The group quieted somewhat with the realization that they could be shot if they didn’t comply.
“You two need to sort the people now!” Paulson yelled.
Schwartz and another agent quickly looked over the group and selected one man who appeared to be uninfected and wearing relatively heavy clothing. The agents hustled him, Dr. Peebles, and Secretary Farrow through the door into the decontamination room, and Schwartz slammed the door behind them. A red light came on, which meant they needed to wait. A green light would indicate that the first decon cycle was complete.
It took six long, harrowing minutes before the light turned from red to green.
Schwartz turned to Paulson. “Sir, at this rate it’ll take over an hour before the last person is through to the other side. Can we send more at a time, do you think?”
Paulson had been considering the same idea, but said, “We better not risk it. Most of the decontamination process is automated, and adding more people could compromise the procedure for the others.”
The minutes ticked away as each group of three entered the chamber, the lights flicking ever so slowly from red to green and back again. Paulson lay near the end of the hallway, waiting as each group made their way through. He shifted and turned as best he could, but could never find a position comfortable enough to ease the pain of his leg.
More coughing came out of the auditorium. Agent Schwartz also began hacking, doubling over. Two more people fell to the floor, dying in violent convulsions as they waited to enter the decon chamber. They were about halfway through, with fifteen or so people left, when Paulson felt the panic start to build again.
One of the women, Pauline Jones from the budget office, pleaded with a security officer. “Let me through, please!” she begged. “My family, my little girl, I need to be alive for them!” The realization that her family was dead had not yet set in for Pauline. Paulson felt sorry for her. He knew that many of them were in denial, himself included. Moments later she collapsed into a fit of coughing.
Paulson glanced at Agent Schwartz, who was doubled over on the floor, coughing blood, holding his stomach. Before anyone could stop him, before Paulson could move or call out, he raised his revolver to his head and pulled the trigger, ending the pain. Blood splattered over the wall and floor. Paulson felt the pain in his own heart at the loss of a good man. Schwartz chose to go out on his own terms; Paulson wondered if he too would soon be faced with such a decision.
The light on the door turned green again, and the next group of three entered. After nearly forty-five minutes of excruciating waiting, the only ones left were Paulson, Melinda Rider, and Secret Service agent Ray Farwell. About a dozen lay dead in the lecture hall, including Harold Bigsby, the poor Washington Post reporter, who lay in his ripped bio-suit, never having regained consciousness after being attacked. Colonel Demetrius and Agent Jones had not returned.
Finally, the last group was able to enter the decon chamber. Paulson glanced back into the lecture hall. All was quiet, and there was no movement except for the quivering hand of Colonel Ranier, one of the pilots from the plane, in the last throes of death.
Paulson hopped inside, hanging onto the shoulders of Agent Farwell. The heavy metal door closed behind him and hot water began pouring from the ceiling. It was like a large shower or steam room. Mechanical bots sprayed disinfectant and some type of foam Paulson had never seen before. After several minutes a female computer voice told them to strip down, leave their clothes, and move to the next area.
Naked, wet, with steam coming from their bodies, they walked to the next room and the door shut loudly behind them. Then the next round of cleaning and scrubbing started. The smell was strong, like bleach, and stinging, but not caustic. This time Paulson felt like he was in a car wash without the car. This stage was also completed by mechanical bots. After it was over, Paulson knew he had never been cleaner. His whole body was red and pink, although he was sure he was missing the top layer of his skin.
The final station was for drying and getting their robes before they’d go to individual quarantine cubicles. As they were dressing, Paulson couldn’t help but glance at Melinda’s naked and nubile young body. He was old, but not dead, not yet anyway, and he remembered very well the torrid affair they’d enjoyed a year ago.
“See you on the other side,” Paulson said to the others as they crawled into the cubicles.
“We’ve made it this far, we’ll get through,” Melinda said, offering a tight smile.
The cubicle roof closed down around Paulson, like an old-style tanning booth. Several automated devices emerged from the side walls of the cubicle, like mechanical spiders, to monitor his vital signs. He felt a slight prick on his arm as blood was drawn.
“Quarantine time set for one hour,” the computer said.
Well, Paulson thought. I’ll know pretty soon whether I was infected or not. Damn, I was tragically wrong thinking that the whole virus was a hoax.
The weight of what had happened finally hit home. The videos, at least those from the U.S., were real. Everyone was dead. The President, members of the government and military, millions of Americans, his wife, children, and grandchildren, all gone. A tear dripped down the side of his wrinkled face.
“You’ve sustained substantial injuries,” the computer said emotionlessly. “Inducing sleep.”
He felt a warm current coursing through his veins, slowly forcing his eyes closed in the small, silent space. In the last moments before falling asleep, he thought of his beautiful Gretchen, their long years together, and how much he was going to miss her.
Chapter 9
2:00 am local time, January 16, 2038
Project Chronos
Jeff gently touched his throbbing nose as they walked back to the control tower. The bleeding had stopped, so he pulled out the blood-caked tissue he had jammed in there earlier and shoved it into his pocket. He cast a sour glance at Chen. The man was an asshole, but a genius.
Jeff thought about the situation they were in. They had a chance to change events, to rewrite history. He didn’t completely understand all the nuances and paradoxes associated with time travel, but it sounded like the past could be changed. They could send back data on this holocaust and prepare their defenses, fight whoever was responsible, and save everyone.
Jeff couldn’t help but wonder, however, what would happen to the people left here after the time jump. Would they change instantly and never know the difference? Or would they continue in this timeline, population decimated, trying to fight an unknown enemy whose advanced technology far surpassed theirs? Or would events change to where he’d be sitting in the House chamber while Vice President Paulson was in the spot where Jeff now stood? Could he save his son and daughter, get them to a secure location before the attack happened? There were just too many unanswered questions.
“Doctor, if we send the data back, will that be enough to change the outcome here or should we send a person back to help coordinate the defense? You said yourself you had a hard time convincing government officials that the video from the future was real.”
Chen shook his head. “It would make sense to send a team back, but we’ve never sent a human through the vortex before. This morning was going to be our first test and with the pilot dead, we have no one to replace him.”
“You don’t have a backup, someone on your staff who is qualified?” Jeff asked.
“We did have a backup pilot, but he was off base with his family when the virus hit. I’m sure he’s dead as well, but hmmm . . . ” Chen had stopped walking and tapped his chin. “There may be other possible candidates on base now. However, both test pilots had been thoroughly vetted and had been training in preparation for the time jump.”
“But all the person needs to do is step or jump into the vortex, right?” Jeff tried to work out what the drawbacks would be.
“Basically that’s it, but the physical trip through time can be jarring, as we saw in the animal trials. The test pilot had been going through physical training and specialized conditioning to ease the impact of the time jump.”
“But wouldn’t someone in top physical condition be able to do it?” Jeff asked.
“Yes, theoretically,” Chen said, walking again. “If you peel back the layers, anyone with the right physical properties and minor training could travel through the vortex. However the real story behind having a test pilot is that the general assigned to oversee Project Chronos wanted to have a military professional make the first jump, thereby exerting military control over time travel. It was more of a power-play decision than anything else. I suppose we could just as easily find someone on staff who meets the physical requirements to survive a jump.”
Jeff laughed. “The question of control is pointless now, don’t you think?”
Holly grabbed Chen’s arm. “I think it’s time we call a senior staff meeting to discuss all of this. We need to decide who to send back with the data drive and how far back we need to go to warn ourselves about this virus. To prepare the defenses of the United States against a foreign attack, especially one using such highly advanced technology, would require a time jump of more than a few years, I would think. Plus we may have more people who feel as Dr. Conner did.” Holly looked over her shoulder, no doubt remembering what had happened to Conner and the Secret Service agent. She shuddered and turned back around. “We should address their concerns before things get out of hand again.”
“Good idea. We don’t want a revolt on our hands,” Chen said. “And perhaps it would be a good idea to keep quiet about the video you just saw.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeff said. “We won’t damage your holier-than-thou reputation, Mr. Genius.” Jeff fingered his broken nose, still throbbing in pain.
Chen glared at him. “You might want to get that checked out.” He pointed at Jeff’s nose.
If Chen wanted to throw down again, Jeff was ready. But instead he turned, bumping Jeff in the shoulder. Jeff and Holly followed him as he spoke into his portable to call the meeting. A scattering of people working in the area checked their portables at the same time and then started moving toward the tower. When Jeff, Chen, and Holly got there, others had begun to gather in the main conference center on the first floor.
Minutes later five researchers were seated around the conference table looking exhausted, both from work and the stress of personal losses in the wake of the viral attack. Chen stood at the head of the table. He introduced Jeff to everyone, then said the other's names. There was Max, a very young man with a boyish face, Nelson, another young man with curly blond hair, Jing Wei, a middle-aged woman with long dark hair and delicate features, Howard, a middle-aged bald man with a paunchy white face, and Rohit a middle-aged dark skinned man.
“Thank you for coming so quickly. First of all I want to thank you for continuing with your work despite the tragedy we’ve suffered over the last several hours. Most of our staff has been presumably lost, over two hundred souls. I think it would be appropriate to have a moment of silence for those who are gone. If everyone could bow their heads, please.”
Jeff looked down and thought of Amanda and how he’d never see her grow up. He pictured Aiden who, because of autism, had never spoken during his five short years. Jeff would never admit it to others, but he was embarrassed that his son had the disease. He always wanted a high achiever, an athlete, and Aiden would never be that. Now he’d never even get the chance. A wave of anger laced with bitterness flooded his thoughts. Jeff was angry at his insecurities over Aiden and angry that this damned virus had taken him away. He couldn’t imagine Aiden and Amanda coughing and dying with blood pouring from their little faces, their mother frantic and helpless. It was a horrible thought and enough to drive anyone crazy. He hadn’t cried yet and despite how much he wanted to, he held it in. Now was not the time. Now was the time for action.
Chen lifted his head.
“The viral attack is killing people all over the world. We have reason to believe that the virus was engineered somehow, but government officials tell me at this time that they can only guess who is behind the attack. Dr. Samuel Bellany of the CDC says that the death rate from the virus in the general population will approach ninety-nine point eight percent in the next forty-eight hours. As you’ve seen, most of the United States government and its defense forces have been destroyed. Whoever is orchestrating this attack has left us defenseless.”
“Who could have done such a thing?” Rohit asked.
“Like I said, the government has their suspicions, but they have no firm data to support a conclusion. Besides, if they did know, I doubt they would tell me.” Chen frowned, rapping his knuckles against the table.
“Data we received from the CDC shows that the virus has both organic and technologically designed inorganic components.” He met the eyes of everyone at the table. “Someone made the virus, programmed it. I’ve seen the data, and it’s like nothing anyone has ever seen before. Far more advanced than anything we could have created.”
Chen pressed his portable and showed a video on the conference room’s main screen—the virus attacking and destroying some type of cell.
“I received this video from a member of the president’s staff, who received it from the CDC. These are human blood cells, which the virus is designed to attack and destroy. They tell me that each engineered viral cell has the equivalent computing power of the average laptop on the market today.”
Several people gasped and everyone shared the same look of astonishment.
“But that’s impossible,” said Nelson. “That’s in complete defiance of Moore’s law, which has held true for decades.”
“We probably have the most advanced computing technology on the planet here at Chronos," Jing Wei said. "And yet we’re at least fifty years away from being able to shrink down that much computing power to a viral level. And to integrate that with organic components is something else entirely. I wouldn’t even know where to begin on that.”
“It’s possible that the technology could have come from the future,” Max said solemnly.
The conversation stopped and everyone gawked at the young man.
“But we’re the only ones with a functional time machine,” Howard said, uncertainty in his voice.
“That we know of,” Max responded. “It’s possible other governments have developed the same technology.”
“The Chinese.”
Jeff was startled because several said the words at the same time.
“We could be looking at a temporal war here,” Max continued. “Weapons from the future sent into the past to destroy adversaries before they pose a threat. Everyone here is smart enough to see that possibility.”
“I’m sure the government was thinking about this when they placed additional oversight on the project,” Jing Wei added.
“The government has always felt that time-travel technology was a threat.” Chen jumped in, obviously agitated by the mention of government oversight. “They’ve always wanted to control every aspect of this project. But as for this temporal war that Max mentions, I find it doubtful that anyone other than this group could’ve built a time machine.”
“I seem to recall something like that being said about the atomic bomb in the late 1940s,” Jeff said sarcastically, “just before the Soviets detonated a nuclear device.”
Chen glared at him and the others around the table nodded. And turned to look at him, faces showing their curiosity.
“What the congressman says is true,” Max said. “Even though we may think or hope that we’re the only ones to have developed time-travel technology, history has shown us that technological advancement is a very, very difficult phenomenon to keep bottled up.”
“Once the genie’s out of the bottle, there’s no putting it back in,” Jing Wei said.
“At this point, all of that is just speculation,” Chen said. “We have no data or proof, but we need to do something now. So what do we do?” He eyed them one at a time. “We were preparing for our first human launch, but we lost both men. We’d planned a forward time jump of ten minutes. We now have to look at sending information about this attack into the past to warn everyone so that a defense can be planned. Perhaps even some offense. The questions now are how far back do we send the information and do we need to send a person back as well, to corroborate the evidence on the data drive?”
“Send someone back,” Jeff muttered. “Send a couple of someones back.”
Chen glared at him again before turning to the others. “You are all highly intelligent and the tops in your respective fields, and that’s why you’re part of the Chronos Project. I want your opinions so we can decide on the best course of action to save this country.”
Everyone sat silently for a few seconds. It didn’t take long, though, for Howard to speak up. “But how can we fight an enemy that has such advanced technology? We don’t have anything that can stop them.”
Rohit was shaking his head. “Howard, we would have foreknowledge of their exact attack method. We’d be able to study the virus and develop a countermeasure. As we gather data about our adversaries’ capabilities, we could keep updating the data we send back, allowing the planning of an even better defense. And we know the exact date and time of the attack, so we’ll be ready with a surprise attack of our own.”
Max jumped back in. “Yes, even if whoever has done this has much superior technology and weapons in comparison to our own, if we know exactly what they’re doing and what they’re capable of, we take away the element of surprise and equalize the battlefield as much as we can. The United States does stand a chance, and we’re it. We need to warn people, scientists and the military, in the past and prevent this from happening.”
“I wasn’t saying that we didn’t stand a chance,” Howard said. “I just think that merely sending a warning back a few months or even a year wouldn’t be enough time for us to prepare.”
“So how far should we go then?” Jing Wei asked. “And how far can we go? Rohit, how much fuel do we have now?”
Rohit started furiously tapping away, running the numbers on his portable. “Assuming a small portable hard drive of mass one point three six kilograms and using the gathered fuel material that we’ll have in place by oh nine hundred hours, we’d be able to send it back, oh, sixty point eight years, maximum.”
“Since the object will land in the exact spot of the vortex, we’ll need to keep it as close as we can to when we actually had a base here,” Chen said. “Construction started about twenty years ago, in 2017. The cavern where the base is located was sealed, and they needed to drill down to it. I would have to check my records for the exact date of the drilling. Anyway, the bottom line is that we’ll need to stay within a twenty-year timeframe, beginning in 2017, otherwise whatever is sent back will just be sitting there until construction crews find it.”
“Why was the base built in a cavern like this anyway?” Jeff asked, jumping into the discussion.
Chen met Jeff’s gaze.
“Mr. Madison, I decided to locate the base here for several reasons. One, it’s a secure, protected underground location away from major population centers, in case of accident.” He held up two fingers. “Secondly, this cavern is hundreds of thousands of years old and has been stable and untouched during that expanse of time. If we were ever to get to the point of doing long-range time jumps, then this is a perfect spot geologically. In other words, if you jumped back one hundred thousand years, you wouldn’t land in the middle of a glacier. As far as getting out of the cavern, we planned on sending drilling equipment with any team going back in time so that they could easily make their way out of the cavern.”
Jeff nodded. “That makes sense. Now, for the important question: what about sending a person back? I know you’ve never sent a human through the vortex before, but if you just send a data drive back, then you’re leaving too much to chance. Suppose you send the drive back to when the facility is under construction? Heavy machinery could damage it, or it could be buried, never to be found. If you send it back just a few years, then you still run the risk of someone here overlooking it or thinking it’s just another spare storage device and putting it in a filing cabinet somewhere.”
He drummed his fingers on the table and glanced around the room, picturing the cavern’s setup, before again meeting Chen’s gaze. “Then there’s the real possibility that someone finds it, looks at it, and figures it’s a hoax and ignores it. You have to admit that a deadly techno-virus that kills off most of the human race would be a bit hard to believe if you didn’t see it with your own eyes.” He pointed at the scientists around the table and then painted a circle in the air, including all the others in the base when he said, “And I bet some of the folks here, in this base and maybe even in this room, are still wondering if this is some kind of hoax.” He leaned against the conference table. “By sending someone back with the data, you’re assured that the information will be looked at and you greatly increase your chances that it will be believed.”
Several nodded or voiced their agreement. They all turned to Chen, but Howard waved his hand.
“This is assuming the person will live,” he said. “Our primate testing showed that time travel is extremely hard on the organic body at a biochemical and cellular level. And those tests were for very short time jumps of less than an hour forward and backward. We just don’t know what will happen to a human body going back farther in time.”
“What are the alternatives?” Jeff asked. “Starve to death underground or wait for the virus to eventually seep down here to infect us so we can die a painful death?”
Again the group looked to Chen and then at one another.
Holly said, “We recycle our air through the hydroponics lab, so it’s not likely that the virus will get down here, and we have food stores for months and we grow our own vegetables. And this base is top secret, so any enemy out there plotting against us probably doesn’t even know we exist.”
“Oh, I bet they do,” Jeff told her. He was getting frustrated at this measured discussion among the plodding scientists. It felt like he was back in a congressional committee meeting discussing budget proposals. As they sat talking, more people were dying on the surface. Of course they did have a time machine, so the whole issue of not having enough time or having to rush was kind of a baseless argument, right? Jeff still couldn’t quite get his head around the whole thing.
They had created a time machine.
Chen jumped back in, “I agree with Congressman Madison. It’s highly likely that whoever engineered this virus knows we’re here and they will find us at some point and try to kill us and destroy the base. There’s too much at stake not to take the risk and send someone back. Do you all agree?”
Everyone eventually nodded. That—full agreement—was certainly different than in Congress.
Max cleared his throat and said, “Statistically speaking, sending one person and the data back is still risky. I’ve always encouraged having backups in case of an initial failure. In this case, if one person were to succumb to the rigors of time travel, then the second would be there to tell the story.”
Holly nodded her head. “We should send a team of two, and we should send them back to the start of the project. This would give the world nearly twenty years to prepare for the virus.”
Rohit was tapping away on his portable. “We should have enough fuel collected over the next six and a half hours to power the vortex for a jump with two people carrying minimal equipment and going back in time twenty years. I’ll have the exact calculations within the hour.”
“Now,” Chen said, “we come to the question of who to send back. We have to exclude anyone with a preexisting medical condition. That would be me due to my recent bout with heart disease. The team members need to be young and strong, certainly not overweight, and in very good physical condition overall. I also want scientists knowledgeable about Project Chronos, volunteers who can jumpstart the project.”
“You’ll also want someone who can convince the government that the viral threat is imminent and that they need to act for the defense of America,” Jeff said. “In the eyes of government and politics, something that may happen twenty years in the future is a distant target and not even on the radar screen.”
Jeff knew it would take special effort to move the bureaucratic machine into taking the extreme defensive efforts needed to combat the viral attack. He’d been a teenager twenty years ago, but he remembered his father talking about budget cuts and a shrinking U.S. defense budget. They would also have to convince allied governments to work on the project; the United States could not go it alone.
“I have to agree,” Chen said reluctantly. “To succeed we need not just technological expertise but political acumen as well. This will be no easy task, and it will take two very special individuals. First things first: I need to search the medical database and narrow the candidates down based on health conditions. Before we go, does anyone have questions or anything to add?”
There was a moment of silence until Jeff asked the question that had been dogging him. “If these two people are able to go back and change the timeline, what happens to us?”
There was a moment of silence as everyone focused on him, unblinking, and then each looked down at the table. They were scientists, all rational, logical people. But the thought of dying a painful death or being left behind in some apocalyptic nightmare world would expose raw emotion in even the most stoic of individuals.
Holly said, “You’ve all seen the results of my experiments on the paradoxes of time travel. They show that this present will change instantly. We’ll never know the difference.” Her voice was calm but not flat—she believed what she was saying.
“So we’ll have no memory of these horrible events? And our families will be alive again?” Jeff asked.
“If we can defend ourselves against this virus, then yes, everyone will be alive again,” Chen said. “There are no guarantees though. But at least by doing this we’re giving America a fighting chance. I’ve always said that this project was one of the greatest scientific achievements in the history of mankind. And now it could very well be our salvation.”
The room was silent.
Chen pushed back his chair and stood. “Give me an hour or so to get back to you with my two chrononaut choices. In the meantime, it’s very, very late; if anyone needs to get some shut-eye, please do so now. The hours to come will be eventful, to say the least.”
A short time later, Jeff received a text from Chen saying that the meeting of senior staff was reconvening. He’d managed a quick nap on one of the couches in the lounge, but his sleep was troubled with nightmarish images of people dying. Plus he was having flashbacks of Tom, the Secret Service agent who’d been guarding him, getting cut down by that powerful plasma cannon. It was one of the newer and more devastating weapons of the day. Jeff had never actually seen anyone die in real life, with his own eyes. It was a horrible, horrible sight, one that he’d never forget.
Jeff checked his portable to see if there was any more news and found the same bloody scenes on the streams. Much of it the same footage from earlier on an automated loop since no human was left living to update it.
He turned his portable off in disgust.
It was rare to be without a constant stream of data and instant access even for mere minutes anywhere in the world. Jeff felt cut off and quite alone deep underground with no access to anyone or anything familiar. Worse yet was not knowing what was really going on outside.
Back in the conference room, the same group was sitting down to learn Chen’s recommendations. He was pacing in front of the table and said, “I’ve identified two candidates. Ms. Scarborough is one. She’s one of the brightest here and even though she’s a graduate assistant, she knows just about everything there is to know about the project. She also meets the physical criteria—twenty-five years old, no health problems, and she’s a triathlete. Her muscularity and overall fitness and endurance levels are in the ninety-ninth percentile.”
Holly’s breath caught, but she nodded. “Thank you, Patrick. I’ll do my best.”
Jeff was sitting right beside her and could see her moving her fingers under the table, tapping them in quick, successive, repetitive movements. One tap of the thumb, two taps of the index finger, three of the middle finger, four of the ring finger, and five of the pinky. Then again and again. Jeff thought back to the counting in Chen’s office after Dr. Conner and Agent Tom had been shot. He knew a traumatic situation would rattle just about anyone, but this was the type of behavior that he’d only seen before in his son. Could Holly have a mild form of autism? Or maybe obsessive compulsive disorder?
Chen continued. “Now, as for the recommendation of having someone to influence and successfully persuade those in the past to believe the data we’re sending is indeed factual, I have the perfect candidate—Marcus Welston. He meets the physical criteria. He’s been a senior project manager here for several years and knows all the ins and outs of the project. More importantly though, his father is a retired U.S. Senator. At the time we plan to send this team back to, twenty years ago, his father was already a two-term senator and on the Armed Services Committee. Marcus can meet with his father, they can prove who he is using DNA testing, and his father can use his power to move defensive forces into place. It’s perfect!”
Chen was obviously very pleased with himself and his two candidates. He got up and opened the conference room door to a young man with a dark crew cut. Chen explained the situation to Marcus and as he was talking, the man looked more and more shocked, his face turning shades of red and then white. Jeff thought he was going to faint.
Marcus turned to Chen and said, “Sir, can I have time to think about this?”
“Well, certainly, Marcus,” Chen said, eyes wide with surprise. “This isn’t the military; we can’t force you to do anything. It has to be your choice. I know the risk and I know the fear you must be feeling.”
Marcus furrowed his brow in apparent anger. “I’m not scared, sir. The risk is there, but I can live with it. It’s just that . . . ” He pressed his lips tight together for a moment. “Zoey is here with me. We were working late together.”
“I see,” Chen said. He looked over to the rest of the group. “Marcus and Zoey are engaged, planning to be married next weekend.”
“I don’t want to lose Zoey. If I go back in time twenty years, she’ll just be a little eight-year-old girl and have no idea who I am, while my Zoey here is left alone. I love her so much, I don’t think I can do that. I know all the theories on time travel, but none of us truly knows what will happen to this timeline. But whether there is a change or nothing at all happens, I want to be here with Zoey when it takes place.”
Jeff had to admire Marcus. He wasn’t scared, he just wanted to be with the woman he loved. He couldn’t fault anyone for that. With all the death and chaos around them and a truly uncertain future ahead, maybe that was the smartest approach any of them could take.
Chen patted Marcus on the shoulder. “I’ll find someone else, Marcus. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you, sir,” Marcus said as he left the room.
Chen looked back at his portable. “The trouble is, we don’t have that many other candidates. We have a lot of good, strong, smart, and healthy young people, but none of them have any type of political or military connections that would help move the decision-makers of twenty years ago.”
Jeff thought about what Chen was saying. Jeff was certainly no daredevil test-pilot type, willing to risk his neck and getting a rush out of it. Hell, when he went kayaking with some friends a few years ago, he was terrified of the class four rapids they had to go through. But he had to look at the bigger picture here. He had to look at what he could contribute, and that was what allowed him to put his fear behind him, at least for now.
“I’d like to put my name in the hat,” he said. “My father was a senator, and I’m in relatively good health. I don’t have any scientific expertise and I know next to nothing about the project, but I always had a good relationship with my father. He’ll listen to me, even a me twenty years older than the me living in his house. We just need to decide if it’s more important to send someone back who knows about the project or someone with a political connection.”
Chen looked down his nose at Jeff. “As much as I’d like to put the fate of the world in your hands, Congressman, you may be needed here.” The sarcasm was dripping from Chen’s words. “Neither President Paulson nor the military officers stationed at NORAD know exactly how many survivors there are out there. This means that you are now one of the few elected leaders left in the U.S.”
“We don’t know that yet, Doctor.” But Jeff knew that they had to consider the possibility. With global chaos, they had no idea what was going on.
“No, we don’t, but if that’s the case,” Chen continued, “then you should stay here in this timeline to help lead what’s left of the military and civilian government.”
Jeff’s heart started pounding at the thought that he might be the de facto President of the United States right now. It was something he’d dreamed about since he first went into politics. The circumstances weren’t how he’d envisioned it happening, but he would take it nonetheless. Yet his mind was thinking a step or two ahead—if he stayed here, he’d be left leading a fragile government and directing a war with a woefully feeble, if not annihilated, military. And he’d have to do it from an underground cave.
No, Jeff would take his chances in the past.
“Doctor, although I have some great leadership qualities, I have no military background and no experience leading defenses or assaults.” Jeff thought the best approach here would be contrived humility. He was a good actor and a good liar. “I’ve only been a congressman for just over a year, and before that I was a defense attorney in Virginia Beach. I may talk a good game, but as far as leading military forces, I’m not the guy. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to run from this fight, but I think I could have the greatest impact in the past.”
Chen sneered at him, apparently thinking that he was shirking his duties. “Very well, then,” he said. “Let me think about it. Why don’t you head to the medical lab and get your physical now. If I’m going to consider this, I want to make sure you’re in the best of health. In the meantime I’ll scan through these files to see if there are other potential candidates I may have missed the first go round. Other comments or questions?”
Before anyone could speak, an alarm started to sound, loud and shrill throughout the room. Chen’s eyes widened.
“That’s the breach alarm. Someone from the base is trying to get to the surface. They could let the virus in and contaminate us all! We have to stop them!”
Chapter 10
6:20 am EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
President Paulson woke to an annoying buzz. He was lying down, but he could see a readout on the display in front of him that showed his vital signs. A stopwatch displaying his time in the quarantine chamber was slowly ticking down from the sixty minutes needed to determine viral infection—ten, nine, eight, seven . . .
At zero, the chamber beeped and the display read, “Infection negative. Quarantine lifted.” Paulson felt incredible relief. He was still alive. The chance he’d taken when he removed his glove had paid off. He’d been able to get everyone into quarantine and not been infected himself. He felt exhilarated and ready to take on the next challenge.
The lid to his capsule popped open and light flooded in. Paulson found himself in the medical lab where Dr. Peebles was waiting in a white lab coat to greet him. He tried to sit up, but the pain from his broken leg returned in waves, and he grumbled from the exertion.
“Mr. President. Glad to see you’re okay, sir!” Peebles said. “I was worried when you took off your glove. That was an incredibly selfless and brave thing you did back there, but you were lucky to make it through alive. Now that you’re out of quarantine, I can start treating that leg.”
“How many others?” Paulson asked, his voice raspy from his quick nap.
She sighed and looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, sir, out of the original sixty-seven on the flight, there are only fourteen who made it through the crash and the quarantine alive and uninfected. A few registered positive for the virus in quarantine, so I administered an anesthetic so they could die peacefully in their sleep. I. . . I just didn’t know what else to so, sir. I didn’t want them to suffer.”
Her eyes began to tear up. She did the right thing, but Paulson could see that she was crushed at not being able to help those people and for basically having euthanized them. Paulson put his arms around her.
“You did what you had to do, Rosemary. You saved them from suffering. They died peacefully.”
She wiped away her tears. “The survivors are through that door, in the main operation center. They’re waiting for you. But I can’t let you go until I treat this leg.”
“Just give me a painkiller for now,” Paulson growled. “I need to get in there and assess the situation.”
“But, sir . . . ”
“Just do it! And get me some crutches too, no damned wheelchair.” Paulson didn’t want to look weak. Whatever was facing him out there, he wanted to meet standing up.
After a quick shot from the doctor, Paulson hobbled into the central command area. The base had been updated with the latest equipment, including a direct feed into the LiveStream as well as coordination with GovNet. All information that currently existed in electronic form could be accessed instantaneously from this hub, with on-ground video and satellite feeds available in real time as well. Two main access terminals were occupied by survivors from Air Force One. The other survivors were sitting in a lounge area off to the side, checking their portables to see if any new information was available. By the frustrated looks on their faces there apparently was not.
Paulson was happy to see Secretary of State Cameron Farrow pacing the floor of the command center.
He’s one tough old guy, that’s for sure.
Everyone turned as Paulson walked in. He held up his hand in greeting and mustered a half smile.
“Oh, thank God,” Melinda said. “The president’s alive!”
Cheers rang from the group and everyone started clapping. Many came over and greeted Paulson, shaking his hand, patting him on the back, hugging him.
“Thank you, everyone,” he said, touched by their enthusiasm. “I’m glad you all made it. I wish we could’ve saved more. I want everyone to keep those we’ve lost in our thoughts and prayers.”
Farrow shook the president’s hand. “I knew you’d make it through, you old coot.”
Paulson said, “I couldn’t leave you to run the place. You’d have everyone taking orders from the French.”
Farrow chuckled and bowed with a flourish of his arm, “Oui, oui monsieur.”
Both laughed.
“Now what about Demetrius and Jones? Has anyone . . . ” Paulson stopped midsentence when the door from the medical lab opened and the colonel and Agent Jones came through, both looking relieved to see him.
Paulson embraced them both. “Glad you guys could join us. Don’t tell me you found the key.”
Demetrius and Jones glanced at each other. Then the colonel said, “No luck, sir. You did the right thing opening the door. Without your bravery, more would've died. But you are a stubborn, reckless old son of a bitch, with all due respect, of course, Mr. President.”
“I’ve been called worse, Colonel. I only did what I had to do and I was lucky not to have been infected. It’ll take more than a virus to take me out.” Paulson smiled; he could tell the colonel was lying. He did find the key, but had Paulson waited, more would have died. He'd made the right choice.
"Oh, and sir," Demetrius said with a grim look on his face. "We found some bodies in the hotel infirmary—several families who looked like they'd been on the way to a formal dinner reception of some type. We also checked a few rooms and the kitchen and staff areas and found more bodies. Seems like the staff knew there was some type of outbreak and asked guests to stay in their rooms, with the doors locked."
Well that explained not seeing any dead bodies in the hallways. As for the lack of bodies at the airport and in the town, it was likely those people went to the hospital as soon as they could. Or perhaps with the late hour in a small town and a blizzard on the way, everyone left work early and just decided to stay home.
“Now we get down to business. Agent, report!” Paulson said to one of the men at the terminals.
“We’re patched in to NORAD, and we were just waiting for you to come out of quarantine, sir. General Rowan is on the line. And, Mr. President, I’m not an agent; I’m Chad Theobald, a civilian computer consultant working on congressional data encryption. I was on Air Force One to upgrade the servers.”
“Thank you, Mr. Theobald. So you’re familiar with these systems?” Paulson asked, not really caring who the guy was, just that he could do the job and do it well.
“Yes, sir, very much so.”
“Excellent.” Paulson eyed the computer screen. “I’ll be taking this call privately. Is there somewhere I can talk?”
After the bomb on the plane, he was still wary that there might be a traitor in their midst. It was unlikely that the spy survived the plane crash and the virus, but he wasn’t willing to take chances.
“Sir, there’s a private presidential suite over here,” Demetrius said, gesturing toward an open door off to the side.
“Secretary Farrow, you’re with me. Mr. Theobald, continue to monitor the situation outside and let me know if anything new pops up.”
Paulson and Cameron walked into the private suite. It was no Oval Office, but was plush by secret-government-bunker standards. A holographic projector sat in the middle of a round table surrounded by comfortable leather chairs. Cameron and Paulson sat, and General Rowan popped up on the video feed. Despite the obviously long hours he’d put in, he still looked fresh and crisp in his full dress uniform. Of course the image could just be an avatar, which many folks used in video conversations. The avatars could look however the individual wanted them to look and would automatically follow the speech patterns and mannerisms of the speaker in order to appear lifelike.
“General Rowan, we’ve been able to make it off Air Force One and into quarantine in the base at the Greenbrier. There are fourteen of us left alive, uninfected. Secretary Farrow is here with me. What new information do you have?”
“Glad to see you’re both safe, Mr. President, Secretary Farrow, and I’m thankful that at least a handful of others made it as well. Let me first update you on a conversation I had with Dr. Bellany from the CDC. Their data and the extrapolating models indicate that ninety-nine point seven percent of the world’s population of roughly nine billion is already infected. Based on the concentrations in the air and water, that will move to ninety-nine point eight percent in the next forty-eight hours. The point-two percent not infected will be those of us underground, underwater, flying in airplanes, and because of the nature of the jet stream and air transport of the virus, remote locations like the Amazon, Saharan desert, polar regions, and Siberia will not have been hit yet. Based on the virulent nature of the virus, maybe only about point zero, zero, five percent of the infected population could be naturally immune, although I think that number may be much, much lower. In total, that’s about one point eight million people left alive on the entire planet after forty-eight hours. Without—”
“Less than two million?” Pain stabbed through his leg as Paulson tried to rise to his feet, momentarily forgetting about his injury. “Are you fucking kidding me, General?” He banged on the table.
“I’m sorry, sir. Yes, sir. Fewer than two million.” Rowan stared until Paulson sat again. “Should I continue?”
“I want to say no, but you’d better tell us everything.”
“Okay . . . Without specialized air filtering masks and water purification equipment, those remaining alive but not sealed off in protected areas will be exposed to the virus and die within the next several days.”
“So it’s worse than we originally thought?” Cameron asked.
“That’s what the data shows,” Rowan said, nodding.
“Okay, General, we have to go with the data we have. Now what have you been able to find out about who’s behind this?”
“We still haven’t been able to contact agents in the field to confirm death tolls in other countries. I have several computer experts here working on the validity of the videos and streams. So far they haven’t been able to find any anomalies to indicate that the videos have been modified in any way. They aren’t one hundred percent sure though, and I’m still unable to contact our best cyber ops guys.”
“So basically we’re still flying blind,” Paulson retorted, disgusted at the lack of information. “What about the Chinese, have you talked to anyone over there yet?”
“I was waiting for you, sir.”
“Get me someone on the line then, General. I want to hear what they have to say.”
“Yes, sir. Give me a minute.”
The holographic image of General Rowan’s torso faded from view and Paulson was left staring at Secretary Farrow.
“What do you think, Cameron? You know the Chinese well. Could they be behind this?”
“As you know, relations between our countries have not been the greatest over the last few years, but I still don’t think that they would ever resort to this, this plague.” Cameron swung out his hand.
“What about the leadership over there? They’ve had some strange changes at the top recently. New Party members moving into power, others falling by the wayside. Could some crackpot have taken power without our knowledge?”
“Maybe,” Cameron said, thoughtfully, tipping his head toward the ceiling. “But we monitor them pretty closely and have intricate psychological profiles drawn up on all their leaders. None have been red-flagged as maniacal threats. But something like this virus requires time to be engineered; experiments run over years. It’s not like pushing a button and something blows up.”
General Rowan’s torso popped back up on the holo.
“Sir, the only person I’ve been able to contact is a general named Jung Wang. He claims to represent the Chinese government.”
“What about Premier Chao Mang? Did you tell them that the President of the United States wanted to talk directly to him?”
“I did, sir, but I couldn’t get past this general.”
That wasn’t a good sign. If the Chinese premier wouldn’t even take his call during such an unprecedented crisis, then diplomacy was unlikely. Moments later a Chinese military official appeared on the video screen.
“Sir, this is President Charles Paulson of the United States and I have Secretary of State Cameron Farrow here with me as well.” As Paulson spoke, the automatic translator delivered his words in Chinese. He decided it was best not to start out accusatory, but instead to treat the general with respect. “I’m sure you’ve experienced losses similar to what we’ve seen here in the United States. The Chinese people have our sympathy, and we’re here to provide assistance as best we can. I know we’ve had differences in the past, but now is the time to put those behind us and work together to solve this horrible tragedy that has befallen all of humanity. This is a threat not just to the Chinese people or to the American people, but to the entire world.”
“Mr. President, this is General Jung Wang.” The voice came out almost instantly in English. The general was using a light-skinned, blond, blue-eyed avatar dressed in an elaborate Chinese military uniform. The handsome face of the avatar was nearly perfectly symmetrical, with young chiseled features. It had become popular for people to adopt what in their mind was the most attractive avatar they could find, even if the particular avatar looked nothing like them. Asians tended to go for more Western-looking avatars, which, for whatever reason, was the trendiest look right now.
“Our government and our people are strong,” continued the Aryan General Wang. “We thank you for your offer of assistance, but we are confident that our scientists can devise a vaccine for this horrible virus. We can work together as needed.”
“General, have you been able to determine who may be behind this attack?”
The avatar’s eyes widened in rage. “You have some nerve asking me that, Mr. President.”
“Ah, what do you mean, General?” Paulson asked, surprised at such a strong reaction.
“You know what the hell I mean. All of our analysis shows that the United States is the only one with the technological capability to pull off such an attack.”
“But, General, all our people are dying. Why in the hell would we kill ourselves!” Paulson was livid.
“Yes, so the video stream tells us.” The general stared right into the camera. “But as we both know, the streams have been hacked before. False videos and news reports are simple enough to make that Chinese schoolchildren can do it. For all we know, you stupid Americans are sitting there in the comfort of your homes while the Chinese people are being wiped off the face of the planet!” The general was screaming.
“If anyone has hacked the Stream, it’s you, you dirty bastard!” Paulson was losing his temper now. He’d been through too much over the last few hours to contain his rage any longer. “Americans are dying. I just watched dozens of my own people cough up blood and guts and die in agony. Don’t you fucking try to tell me we’re behind this!”
“General,” Farrow jumped in to try to calm the situation, “is there someone else we can speak with? Chao Mang perhaps?”
“Chao Mang is dead,” Wang spat out. “As are millions of others. But don’t confuse this for weakness. China may be hurt, but we are still strong. We are an injured tiger that still has claws and teeth to rip your American flesh from its bone.”
“You’re not going to rip any flesh from anything. Not on my watch,” Paulson replied coldly.
Wang snorted. “I am prepared to use all means at my disposal to protect China.”
Paulson wondered if that meant nuclear strikes.
“Is that a threat, General?”
“Take it however you want. Just let me tell you this, Mr. President. China will not go quietly into the night. But if we do fade from this earth, then the United States will go with us.”
The video flicked off, and Paulson and Farrow were left with Wang's chilling threat.
Chapter 11
6:15 am local time, January 16, 2038
Project Chronos
Daniella Ruvstovski stood at the back of the elevator, the breach alarm echoing through the cavern below. She was exhausted but ready to hold her little baby girl Illiana. It was feeding time, and her baby daughter was upstairs in the daycare center. Little Illiana was only eleven months old, and had just recently started sleeping through the night. Daniella knew she’d be waking up hungry, crying, and screaming at any moment. Daniella needed to feed her. Work could wait. The thought of her baby girl crying all alone in the empty daycare tore her apart.
Daniella had been working on Project Chronos for about a year, in the computer systems design area. The work was challenging and stimulating. She and her husband, Sergey, had immigrated from Russia about ten years ago on student visas and had since become permanent U.S. residents. Life in the United States had been good for them, much better than Russia, where poor economic conditions still pulled down the once great nation.
She and Sergey had tried for years to have a child, and Illiana was their miracle baby, their little angel. Daniella loved her so much. Normally she wouldn’t have brought her to work so late, but Sergey was on the night shift at the hospital and their normal sitter was sick. Daniella had last breast feed her daughter just before the base locked down about eight p.m. the night before. This was in between her efforts to finish some programming on the system before the scheduled morning launch.
She'd been working all night and was exhausted. Her feet felt like lead blocks as she shifted her weight anxiously in the rising elevator. One thing was certain; she never thought she’d be stuck underground. When they sealed the doors to the base to quarantine the area and prevent the so-called virus from coming down and infecting them, Daniella had been cut off from Illiana.
When the reports of the horrible chaos and death around the world started to come in, she couldn’t believe it. So many dead.
She understood computers very well. She'd learned all the ins and outs of complex systems and programming. She was also privy to all the programming and hacking tricks out there on the Stream. And she knew this so-called catastrophe was a trick.
She knew what the Chinese were capable of. She’d seen the mastery of their video simulations and gaming technology. She knew they could hack the Stream and place fake videos out there to make it look like there was a killer virus and that millions were dying. But what was more likely, that everyone on the planet was dying from a virus or that the videos were all fake and part of a sabotage campaign or a hacker group’s sick joke?
She'd spent the last eight hours pretending to work while actually hacking into the base security system. It was a complex, delicate process as the system was one of the most highly advanced in the world. But Daniella was determined. Eventually she had an access code and clearance override for the elevator to take her to the surface. Nothing would stand between her and Illiana.
Daniella needed to get to the surface. She needed to get to the daycare center and make sure her daughter was okay. She wouldn’t be held hostage by some teenage hackers looking to screw with people’s lives. Her daughter would be waiting, probably awake and crying and definitely hungry.
She could feel the panic and desperation start to build deep down inside her, panic she’d suppressed for the last few hours. Nothing would stop her from reaching Illiana. Nothing.
Jeff, Holly, Chen, and his staff bolted up the stairs from the conference room to the top of control tower to see what had set off the alarm breach. When they arrived in the control room, several other team members were huddled around a screen.
“What’s going on?” Holly asked.
“It seems one of our staff had a breakdown and is trying to get to the surface,” a young man at one of the control stations said. “Daniella Ruvstovski. She was talking last night about how she believed that none of the video images, none of the deaths, were real. About how the Chinese had the ability to alter the Stream and send false images as a form of sabotage.”
“She also said that her baby was up there all alone and she needed to take care of her,” Jing Wei added.
Max continued in a more urgent tone. “Her eleven-month-old baby was sleeping in the daycare on the ground floor level at the time of the lockdown. Daniella was caught down here when the quarantine doors closed. When I saw her a little while ago, she had a wildly desperate look in her eyes. But I didn’t think she would do this.”
“Can she get to the surface?” Jeff asked.
“She works in our systems design area,” Chen said. “A software expert. If there’s a way to override the lockdown, she’ll figure it out. And apparently she has.”
“I have her on video; she’s in the elevator,” Howard said from in front of one of the computer screens. “I’ll put it on the main screen, and we can follow her. I’m trying to stop the elevator, but she patched in a manual override. I have no control over it.”
“If she gets to the surface, will the virus travel down the elevator shaft and infect our air down here?” Jeff asked.
“I’ve sealed the doors at this level,” Howard said. “The air within the elevator shaft will likely be contaminated, but it won’t get in here. At least I hope it won’t.” His face was pale.
And he looked too unsure for Jeff’s peace of mind.
He and the others watched Daniella stand patiently in the elevator as it sped to the surface. Jeff felt a deep sadness for her. He knew something of what she was feeling, but the love of a mother for her child went beyond anything he could fathom. She was doing what she felt was right, like any other person in this unprecedented time of crisis. There’d been moments during the last few hours when he’d felt he was walking through a dream and that he was going to wake up any minute. And it was true that they’d seen nothing with their own eyes, only video feeds, which Jeff knew could be faked. Was the whole thing just an elaborate ruse? Nagging doubt tickled at the back of his mind.
The elevator stopped at the ground floor a mile up and Daniella exited, walking silently down the corridor, still holding her bottle. They watched her from the hallway video feed and then the scene switched to the daycare.
The walls of the daycare were painted with colorful cartoon characters and a mural of rainbows and flowers. Toys and games were stacked in nice orderly little piles on the side of the room. Several cribs were positioned along the back side, near a window. Nothing moved and everything was eerily quiet.
Daniella walked in and called out, “Illiana? Illiana, Mommy’s here. Are you hungry, baby girl? I’ve got some milk for you.” She ran to the crib. When she got there she stopped and looked down. The camera showed only her back, at first relaxed and then rigid with tension. Her bag dropped to the floor with a muffled thud and she stood there, arms by her sides, shoulders slumping.
A low keening came across the speakers, a sound that built until Daniella was wailing without pause. The sound of unrelenting loss.
She reached down to the crib and pulled out the lifeless body of her baby girl, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, and cradled her, rocking slowly and smoothly as mothers do, as if to soothe her. As if to soothe them both.
And then she turned and carried her daughter out of the room.
“No, no, no,” she kept saying, weeping as she walked.
Jeff’s heart went out to her. Needing to turn away, he focused on the others. Tears were falling down their cheeks.
When Daniella fell silent, Jeff turned back to the screen.
Head low, she walked out of the daycare center, back down the hallway, out to the main lobby of the facility and right out the front door, still holding her baby. And she just kept moving. The video feed in the parking lot showed her leaving the base and walking slowly, methodically, down the highway and off into the rising sun.
Jeff and the others watched her leave. No one said a word.
Chapter 12
7:30 am EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
“Hrumph!” grunted Paulson. “General Wang was direct and to the point. Do you think the Chinese are bluffing?”
“It’s hard to tell with those avatars, sir,” Farrow said. “But I really don’t know what to believe now. If not the Chinese, then who? The Russians?”
“Any thoughts, General?”
Rowan’s torso popped back up on the holo.
“We simply need more time to figure that out, sir. But now we need to turn our attention toward what we need to do next. And that’s to get this virus out of the atmosphere.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Paulson asked.
“The CDC believes that they can render the mechanical components of the virus inert using an electromagnetic pulse. The EMP will prevent the virus from communicating and from targeting human DNA. This technique should work on a small scale, but the virus has saturated the air around us. That means in order to truly eradicate it, we need to cover a large area with an EMP blast. The only way to do this is by using multiple high-altitude nuclear explosions.”
Paulson and Farrow looked at each other in disbelief.
“To add to our problems, these detonations would have to take place at exactly the same time and be coordinated at precise locations around the world. If one area were left open, uncovered by the EMP blast, then the virus would still be alive and keep spreading. The supercomputer here at NORAD is running simulations to determine the best locations, altitudes, and yield level for the nuclear detonations.”
He turned away but almost immediately turned back.
“Mr. President, the other problem, if we decide to go with this option, is the damage that the EMP detonations would cause to our electronics. The high altitude of the blasts would limit the amount of nuclear fallout, but the gamma ray bursts and EMP would be maximized. As a result, almost all electronic devices both civilian and military would be destroyed. Their circuits would be fried. Nothing would work—not cars, planes, factories, not computers, not any type of communication device. We would be blasting the entire planet back to the Stone Age.”
“But we would rid the planet of this virus, and those of us left alive would not be infected?” Farrow asked.
“That’s correct. We’d be alive, those that have been able to survive. But our civilization would basically have to start over. Living conditions would be as they were a thousand years ago.”
“Does the CDC think there’s any possibility of this virus dying on its own over a certain time period?” Paulson asked. Now that he had time to think, the questions were speeding furiously through his mind.
“No, sir, they don’t. They think it’ll be around for centuries, if not millennia. They’ve already started seeing some of their test viruses reverting to the dormant spore stage they were in when they were in the dust cloud in space. In that stage they survived the extremes of a space vacuum and atmospheric entry, which means they can easily survive for a long, long time here on Earth. We can’t wait it out. Our only option to truly eradicate the virus is to use the high-altitude nuclear EMPs all over the planet.”
A nuclear strike of that magnitude would be a horrible and devastating thing, Paulson imagined. Even though Rowan claimed little to no nuclear fallout would reach the ground, Paulson wasn’t so sure. They could just be trading one horror for another. If the virus didn’t kill them, the nuclear radiation would. And then there was the issue of having no working electronics. Paulson could get by without Stream access to reruns of Bootah Call, but his horse-riding and sword-fighting skills were a little rusty, as were his farming-with-stone-tools skills.
Then there was the whole issue of leaving the entire United States defenseless. If the Chinese or Russians were behind this whole thing, they would have likely upgraded their electronics to make them less vulnerable to an EMP blast. That would leave them with functioning planes and tanks to invade what was left of the U.S.
“How quickly would we be able to do this?” he asked.
“The nuclear silos are prepped and ready to go, sir,” Rowan replied. “We have more than enough warheads to accomplish the task. As soon as the calculations are complete, we can start the countdown, given your permission, of course. The calculations for the strike are extremely complex. The AI must take into account existing atmospheric conditions, prevailing winds, variations in the Earth’s magnetic field, the expected blast radius and kiloton yield of the various warheads we have in stock, and numerous other factors. If we get this wrong and the warheads are detonated at the wrong altitude or the wrong place and time, then either the virus will survive or virus survivors will be killed by the nuclear blast.”
“What about other governments around the world? Have you been able to contact anyone?” Paulson asked. Before he fired off any nuclear weapons, he needed to get a buy-in from other leaders, if any were left.
“The Brazilians have a remote outpost in the Amazon, where several government officials seem safe for the time being. They agree that an EMP strike is the best option.”
Rowan tapped his screen, leaned close, and then resumed his strict posture.
“Russia has two outposts remaining in the Arctic Circle and Siberia with limited capabilities. We’ve advised them of our planned EMP strike, and they are adamantly opposed. They say they can develop a vaccine for the virus, given time.”
“Of course they can.” Paulson said sarcastically.
“Sir?”
He waved a hand in front of his screen. “Continue, General.”
“The Canadians also have several outposts in the Arctic Circle with limited governmental authority. They’ll support whatever we decide. Also in support are the Norwegians, who have a base at Svalbard, and the Argentineans, who have an underground facility in Patagonia. The Indians and Pakistanis both have bases in the Himalayas, but I’m not sure what type of governmental authority they have. Whoever is in charge there is opposed to any type of nuclear action. I haven’t been able to contact any other governments at this time. Everything is just too chaotic. That’s not to say they aren’t alive, however, and just trying to get organized.”
“So, General, other than the Chinese, the Russians seem to be the greatest opposition to a nuclear strike. Do you think that they can develop a vaccine?”
“I don’t know, sir. They have advanced medical facilities.”
“Have the CDC coordinate with them. I want the entire world working on this. Now is not the time to play territorial politics. If we were to launch the nuclear strike, what will the Russians do?”
“Mr. President, SEER has run prediction simulations which have them launching a low-altitude nuclear strike against us, which would destroy most of the U.S.”
SEER, the computer program designed to predict the outcome of future events, was only in its infancy, but was still surprisingly accurate for many situations. However, it seemed to break down when events became increasingly interwoven and complex. Also, when there was a high level of human involvement, SEER predictions had a much lower success rate. It seemed that people were real wildcards, unpredictable and highly illogical and emotional in their decision-making. Paulson grunted. Big surprise there.
“Sir, the CDC tells me that a cure for this virus will take weeks, if not months, to develop, if we can even develop one at all.” Rowan said. “By that time, everyone on the surface of the planet will be dead. Those few of us in research labs and bases underground or under the ocean will be too few to repopulate the planet. The human race will die off. The EMP strike is our only real option and it has to be done within the hour, otherwise it’ll be too late.”
“I need time to think about this, General Rowan. Please call me again when the strike calculations are complete and you’re ready to launch. I’ll have my decision then. In the meantime, if everyone could please give me some privacy, I have a message to send.”
Farrow looked at him a bit strangely, but left the room without saying anything. When he was gone Paulson said, “Computer, put me in contact with Dr. Patrick Chen at Project Chronos. Private, encrypted channel, please.”
Paulson had learned about Chronos when he was Secretary of Defense in the last administration. Paulson hadn’t believed time travel was possible until he went to the base personally and met with Dr. Chen, who showed him what the machine they’d built could do and explained the complex workings of the device. Very few others in the government knew the project existed. Paulson had never mentioned it to President Diaz, so he doubted even he knew about it.
A few minutes later the doctor’s face appeared on the holo.
“Hello, Patrick. I trust that you’ve received the latest data on the virus.”
“Yes, Mr. President. The hard drive we’re preparing is being updated in real time as the information is collected by the Chronos mainframe. When you give the word, we’ll be ready to send the drive back along with two chrononauts.”
“Good. Have you decided who's going back yet?
"I have one of the candidates but I'm still deciding on the other."
Paulson nodded his head. "I need you to send something else back as well.”
Chen frowned and pursed his lips.
“I know sending the drive and the people back will give us some warning about this attack, but I feel I need a contingency plan as well. There are too many unknowns with this crisis. So I want you to send one of the latest cutting-edge portables back, complete with a neural AI and predictive algorithms. Then attach that to an auto-drone, one that is capable of flying long distances. I'll send its flight coordinates as well. I have a video that I made on Air Force One that I want played when the portable is first accessed. And I need you to code it to open with my fingerprint only.”
“So you’re sending a message back to yourself. Clever. How far back should it go? We need to make sure we have enough fuel for the next jump with the other drive and the chrononauts as well.”
“I’m sending you that information now, encoded. We’ve had a security breach here and there may be spies elsewhere, including at Project Chronos. No one should see it but you, and you must conduct the time jump for the device in secrecy as well. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have it ready to go immediately. When should I send it?”
“Send it as soon as you have enough fuel. Patrick, we’re doing everything we can here, but at this point Project Chronos may be our only hope. Don’t fail us.”
“I won’t, Mr. President. You can count on me.”
Chen signed off, and Paulson spent the next few minutes updating and organizing his video and all of the data they had on the virus and Project Chronos. He also decided to include historical news archives. When he was done, he sent it.
“I hope that works,” he muttered to himself.
“Computer, get General Rowan back.”
Rowan popped up on the holo.
“General, I want to talk to the Russians and see what they have on the virus. Can you link me in?”
“Yes, sir. I have Sergey Emli . . . ”
The video feed of General Rowan faded and static filled the holo.
“General, are you there? You’re breaking up,” Paulson said. “What’s wrong with this thing?” He tapped a button. “Theobald, we just lost the feed in here.”
“I know, sir,” Theobald said through the intercom from the next room. “We lost the satellite feed. I’m going to reroute through another satellite connection. Wait, what the hell? Mr. President, I think you should come out here.”
Paulson left the private suite where he’d had been talking remotely with Rowan and the Chinese General Jung Wang and entered the main control room of the bunker. Several people were standing behind Chad Theobald, who was frantically sliding hands and fingers across several windows, opening and closing them in rapid succession.
“We have a security breach here in the base,” Theobald said, panic rising in his voice. “Someone just broadcasted a coded signal from this location.”
“What do you mean we sent a signal?” Paulson snapped, his worst fears about their spy being alive now confirmed. “Where, what did it say?”
“It was encrypted using some type of code I’ve never seen before. It looks like the signal came from one of these terminals and went up to one of our communications satellites. I just sat down and I’m the only one working here, so it must have been coded to automatically go out at this time. I can’t tell exactly where the signal went after bouncing off the satellite.”
Paulson thought for a second that Theobald could be the spy. He was an outside government contractor, after all, and could have been compromised. Plus he was working on Air Force One’s servers, giving him security access to areas where a bomb could have been placed.
“Travis, are you confirming this?” Paulson asked the man sitting at the terminal beside Theobald. He was a Pentagon analyst that Paulson knew was trustworthy.
“It’s just like he says, sir. Wait, a large section of our satellite grid just went out. I’m not sure what happened. Satellites are going down all over the place. We have no control over much of the network.”
“What about ground-based communications through cell towers?” Demetrius asked. He stood just behind Paulson.
“Rerouting,” Theobald said, flicking through more screens. “They’re nonoperational as well. Everything is being disrupted by some sort of electromagnetic field, originating from . . . This says from multiple locations above the planet.”
“What the hell could that be?” Paulson asked. “Is there a way to get a visual to see if there are weapons satellites firing on us or, God forbid, a detonation of some type causing this disturbance? Could the Chinese or Russians have already initiated a nuclear strike?”
There was the real possibility that the crazy General Wang decided he was going to attack the U.S. while he had the chance. Paulson was also terrified that they could be under attack by a rogue government. With so many leaders and government officials dead, there was no telling who was running the countries around the world. Or even whether countries were still in existence.
“I don’t know what it could be, sir. Damn it, all our satellites are offline now,” Theobald said frantically. “Oh, wait, one just came back on. But . . . The configuration is all wrong. I can’t make sense of this code.”
Huge amounts of data flashed rapidly across the screen at Theobald’s terminal.
“We’re being hacked!” Demetrius said. “Cut this line. Quick! They’re getting everything!”
“There is no line, sir. Everything is wireless and mostly housed on a centralized server in the main government cloud in Washington,” Travis told him. “It looks like they tapped into that and are downloading the entire database at an astonishing speed.”
Theobald and Travis tried several times to move data screens up and out of the way and to access the system with keyboard commands, all to no avail. After several minutes of data flashing across his screen, Theobald pushed his chair back and threw his hands up in frustration.
“There’s nothing I can do here. I’m completely locked out. Even if I turn the computer off, they still have a link into the GovCloud through the satellite.”
Paulson checked his portable to see if there was any Stream access at all. Nothing. Everything seemed to be down now, even ground-based communication towers. He knew what that meant: retrieve data from the enemy, cut communications, then come in for the attack. It was a strategy employed in modern warfare campaigns throughout the world. Paulson knew what was coming next, and there was little they could do about it.
The computer screen went blank.
“They’re coming,” Paulson said.
A thunderous boom shook the room. Dust and small pieces of concrete fell from the ceiling.
Paulson looked at Farrow with knowing eyes. Farrow nodded, lips firm, back rigid, fists clenched. Paulson felt the bile building in the back of his throat. His heart started to pound. His senses heightened. His muscles tensed as the blood pumped through the veins of his old body.
The battle was at hand.
Chapter 13
8:30 am local time, January 16, 2038
Project Chronos
Jeff passed his physical with flying colors. He stayed in good shape by running, lifting weights, and playing basketball a couple of days each week. While in the MedLab, he was also able to get his broken nose reset and although it had stopped hurting physically, Jeff’s pride still smarted. He couldn't figure out how a seventy-something skinny old man could have gotten the best of him.
A short time later, when he was back in the cafeteria, he received word from Chen that there were no other viable candidates and, if he still wanted to do it, Jeff would be the other chrononaut. He took in a long, deep breath, thinking of his kids, and accepted without a murmur.
After the horrible tragedy with the scientist and her baby, he was more determined than ever to go back in time and change their fate. He now knew that the whole disaster was real. Deathly real. There’d been no hacking of the Stream or fake videos from the Chinese. The virus was all around them and it was killing everyone.
Normally Jeff would be excited about the adventure he was about to embark on, making history as one of the first time travelers. He would be Neil Armstrong, Columbus, and Marco Polo rolled into one. But the tragedies of the past twelve hours had taken their toll. He’d lost everyone and everything he’d ever known. The United States had been cavalierly destroyed by an unidentified terrorist force or hostile foreign government, one that had brought the fight to them. They’d been blindsided, and Jeff was reeling.
Where excitement should have had him jacked up and buzzing, dread and apprehension filled him.
He wasn’t heading out on a lark, seeing what he could discover from a trip back in time. He was responsible for convincing men and women of the past to believe that an attack force would one day destroy the people of America in mere hours.
He was tasked with saving the country, possibly the world.
Laughing harshly, Jeff pushed his coffee cup away. The sad thing, the very sad thing, was that he wasn’t being melodramatic. There’d been no word for hours from any of the government bases scattered around the world. He didn’t know what had happened to NORAD, the CDC, or President Paulson. It was highly likely that they’d succumbed to the virus. The only chance they had now was to go back and change the past, prepare the world for the coming virus, and then fight like hell. They wouldn’t be exterminated like rats. Jeff would do everything in his power to see to that.
T-minus 35 minutes and 29 seconds until launch
Jeff and Holly were suiting up in the clean room in preparation for the time jump. The metallic silver bio-suits they were using came fully equipped with the latest Combat MedKit, which included a highly advanced artificial intelligence program.
The suits were precisely measured for mass, and decontaminated so that no foreign material could cling to them when they entered the vortex. The vortex itself would be generated in the dome in the center of the cavern. Everything had to be precise because the slightest variance in mass would throw off their jump and they’d come out at the wrong time. The more mass they had, the shorter the time jump would be.
Jeff had been thinking about some of the topics the lead scientists had been talking about in their last meeting. Specifically he was curious about time travel paradoxes and what would happen when they went back and started changing events.
“So, Holly, what will happen after we time jump?” Jeff gestured toward the cavern with a wave of his hand. “Is all of this just going to disappear?”
Holly cleared her throat. She hadn’t said anything to Jeff since they’d both watched the grieving woman pull her dead baby from the crib. Clearly she was still shaken. And he knew nothing about her friends and family; maybe she was grieving over the loss of dozens of loved ones.
“I have a whole book on the equations and the theory behind it, possibilities and conclusions that I developed during my time here on Project Chronos, but it basically boils down to this: the time stream is extremely strong. If you think of it as a river, think the mouth of the Amazon or the Mississippi. You throw a pebble in, or even a hundred pebbles, and it keeps on flowing unchanged. The same is true with time travel. Sending people or information back in time can create ripples, but the basic current and nature of the river of time are not changed.” She turned to him and lifted one brow. “Unless, of course, you make a drastic change.”
“Like damning the river or digging an artificial tributary?” Jeff said, continuing her river analogy. “What would that take? And what about the so-called butterfly effect I’ve read about, where you step on a butterfly in the past and come back to find Hitler won World War Two.”
“Well, I’ll answer your butterfly-effect question by saying there is no butterfly effect,” she said matter-of-factly. “To make any significant and noticeable change in the time stream, you need a much more dramatic impact than simply stepping on a butterfly. Killing one butterfly even in the distant past would have almost no impact on the future, just as throwing a pebble into the Amazon would have no effect on that mighty river. However”—she held up her finger to emphasize her point—“the farther back in time you go, the less powerful the event needed to impact the time stream. So if we had the ability to go back to the Cretaceous age and wipe out all the butterflies, then we’d likely see a significant change in our time period.”
“But how do you know this?” Jeff asked incredulously. “Have you tested it?”
“For some of the extrapolations used to explain time-change impacts to the main time stream, we of course use only theory and mathematical modeling. But we’ve been able to test some of the concepts as well. Think of it as testing on a small stream that branches out from the Amazon.”
“What do you mean you’ve tested it? How do you test something like that?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the classic time-travel paradox where a time traveler goes back in time and kills his father so that he could never be born, right? So if the traveler was never born, then how could he go back in time to kill his father? Hence the paradox. Now, there have been all sorts of theories and speculation to explain this. There’s been talk about alternative dimensions and such, that for every infinite possibility throughout time there is a separate world or dimension where it’s happened. Each choice we make or each random event that takes place spawns a new dimension. Sounds like it could be plausible, right?”
Holly didn’t wait for an answer, just took a deep breath and plowed ahead.
“Well, I’ve always had a problem with that explanation. For one, I could never get my head around the equations that were being thrown around to explain it, and I’ve never found an equation that didn’t make sense to me. Then there’s the energy and matter issue. With a new dimension or universe essentially being born every instant, there would be tremendous amounts of energy and matter being created in a constant flow of Big Bangs. We’d be able to detect that, just as we’re able to detect the residual echo of our own Big Bang. And many of these new universes would essentially be unstable and hence detectable in some way. We haven’t been able to find anything like this. Anyway, I’m always open to new ideas, but until someone proves it either mathematically or through empirical observation, I’m going to say that the multiple-dimension theory to explain time-travel paradoxes is rubbish.”
Jeff rubbed at a spot over his left eye. He found this whole talk of parallel alternative dimensions and time-travel paradoxes confounding . Perhaps there were math equations that could explain it better than mere words. Of course to him those equations would be a foreign language. The one thing that intrigued him about this whole thing was that time travel made anything possible. You could go back in time as often as you wanted to change events and mold the future to your desires. With a time-travel device you’d have unlimited power over the path that the human race would take. It was god-like power. He’d never been particularly power hungry, but something about that much power stirred a kernel of desire deep down inside him.
“Okay, so how do you account for the time-travel paradox then?” he asked, still not understanding that piece of the puzzle. If he was going to be involved with time travel, he wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t just be erased out of existence if some careless time traveler happened to bump into his grandfather walking down the street.
“In one of my experiments I created a paradox and was able to show what happened.”
“You mean you sent someone back to kill their father?” He didn’t bother to mask his sarcasm.
“Yes, I did exactly that.”
Jeff stopped dressing and blinked.
“We didn’t send a person back, we sent a rat,” she said. “We set up a series of experiments where we sent baby rats back to kill their fathers, before they were born, to see what happened. The results were surprising, to say the least. Each time we also sent back cameras and sophisticated recording equipment. The father rats were hooked up to a lethal IV of drugs that would peacefully and painlessly kill them. The baby rats simply needed to press a lever that they’d been trained to press, which would then release the toxin.
“Each time we sent the baby rats back, they accomplished their task and each time their fathers died. But nothing happened to the baby rats, at least not immediately. It wasn’t until the exact moment was reached when we’d sent them back in time that we saw something happen. The baby time-traveling rat was replaced by another rat instantaneously. The baby that was sent back no longer existed and was replaced by another rat from the colony. So basically the paradox existed for a short time, then disappeared or righted itself. The knot was untied.”
“So it was as if you had sent the other, new rat, back in time?” Jeff asked.
“Exactly. And the curious thing to the observer in real time was that nothing appeared to happen. The change was instantaneous and only observable through the recording equipment that traveled with the baby rat through the time vortex.”
“So rats were swapped out, but you didn’t really change anything else. A rat still killed a rat.” Jeff wondered what the point was. And it still looked to Jeff like if they’d done this experiment with a person, that person would cease to exist, just like the baby rat.
Holly wasn’t done.
“For small changes there is no discernible effect on the time stream. It wasn’t until phase two of the experiment that we really started to see some strange results. In that phase we hooked up the entire colony of rats, a dozen or so, to the same lethal dose that we gave the one rat father. Since the replacement baby rat was coming from within the colony, we wanted to see what happened if the time-traveling baby rat went back and killed off the entire colony. Well, everything was the same as the other experiment, right up until the time we sent the baby through the vortex. Then, well, everything changed.”
Holly held her gloves in her hand and slapped them down onto the side of her seat to emphasize her point.
“We didn’t know it ourselves in real time. It wasn’t until we viewed the recording devices and were able to see our future selves conducting the experiment. The future me and the other future scientists had actually sent back a cockroach who had killed a colony of cockroaches, not rats. A major and significant difference. There was no trace of the cockroaches at all—in our memories or in any other real-time recording devices. We remembered only the rats and sending a baby rat back in time. It was as if the cockroaches never existed. The rat colony that we originally thought we’d altered was fine. The baby rat we thought we’d sent back was there in the colony, like nothing happened.”
This time Jeff pressed two hands to his head. “So what you’re saying is that time can be changed, but the people who didn’t time travel, those that are in real time, as you say, have no knowledge of it?” Jeff asked. “How do you know that some future Holly Scarborough hasn’t already tried to change things here?”
“We don’t,” she said. “It’s entirely possible that we’ve been on this very spot before having this same discussion.”
Jeff whistled. “Talk about déjà vu.” And migraines. The possibilities were endless and mindboggling.
Even though Holly said that you needed to make dramatic changes in the past, like killing off an entire population, to have an impact on the future, Jeff wondered if smaller, more precise, surgical changes would have the same impact. For instance, there was the old time traveler’s dream of going back in time to kill Hitler to prevent the Holocaust and World War Two. Jeff wondered if killing just one man would have prevented all that or if one of Hitler’s deputies would have risen to power and filled his role. Did the circumstances create the man, or did the man create the circumstances?
Jeff had read about the so-called “Great Man” theory. The theory stated that a few significant men and women throughout history were in fact the drivers of the future, that without them our history would look dramatically different. Then there were the proponents of the opposite case, the theory that proposed that the great men and women were in fact just by-products of the times. Had they not existed, another person would have risen to the occasion and filled that particular role in history. Jeff wasn’t sure what the right answer was, but he tended to lean toward the Great Man view. He didn’t think that just anyone could fill the role of a George Washington or Abraham Lincoln in U.S. history. He also believed in the power of just one man or woman to make a difference, to take control of their own destiny and with the force of their own will, move nations.
As Jeff was reflecting on history and destiny, Dr. Chen’s voice came over the speakers in their bio-suits.
“Are you two almost ready? Something’s happened. As soon as the vortex takes form, you’ll need to make the jump. We’re not going to have much time. Take a look at your portables; I’m sending you a video feed from the surface.”
Jeff lifted his arm so he could see the portable on his wrist through the clear visor of the bio-suit.
The video feed from the surface showed something hitting the ground at a high velocity, just outside the base. The fireball came crashing in from the sky with an explosive impact that churned up dirt and asphalt as it hit the parking lot. The few cars there went flying from the force of the blast and were left in charred humps circling the impact crater.
Moments later something rose up out of the crater.
Holly gasped and Jeff stared in wide-eyed shock.
Chapter 14
8:45 am EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
After the dust from the impact settled, everyone sprang into action.
“We need eyes above,” Paulson said, turning to Demetrius. “Colonel, see if you can find a fighter drone in this hole.”
“Yes, sir.” Demetrius ran out of the command center.
Moments later he returned with a helmet and a drone control suit.
“This was all I could find in the munitions area. It's one of the older style human-operated drones, not like the AI controlled ones currently in use, but it should do the trick. The actual drone is in another section of the base, where it can be launched. I’ve had some brief training on drone operation, but I’m no expert.”
Damn budget cuts, thought Paulson, again—leaving the entire base with just one old drone fighter.
“Does anyone have drone piloting experience?” Farrow asked the group.
Christine Cutright, who worked in Diaz’s office, raised her hand.
“I flew drones in the military before I joined the president’s staff, sir. It’s been a couple of years, so I may be rusty, but I’m sure that my training will come back to me. It’s just like playing a video game,” she said with a smile.
“Okay, get to it then. We need to find out what’s up there,” Paulson said.
Christine climbed into the suit, sat in the bio-swivel chair that came with it, and put on the helmet. The suit was used to control the flight of the drone. Subtle body movements would bank the drone left or right, up or down. Someone skilled in using the interface could maneuver a drone with unmatched precision. With the helmet on, the pilot would also be able to see through the drone’s onboard cameras. It was a means of complete immersion.
Demetrius plugged his portable into a connection on the drone suit as Christine initiated the start sequence. The connection would allow everyone to see the video from the drone. Paulson and about a dozen others huddled around the colonel’s portable as he switched it to display mode. A larger holographic image flashed up from the device in clear color.
A darkened interior, which had to be the drone hangar, was the first image to appear. Then a buzzing noise started and an opening appeared at the top of the hangar, showing the morning sunlight and dark clouds overhead. The drone shot out of the hangar.
It was still snowing, and the grounds of the resort were covered in white. On any other occasion Paulson would consider it beautiful. The drone flew rapidly over the area, gaining altitude. Nothing looked amiss until it flew over the golf course.
“What’s that?” someone yelled.
The drone banked and returned to a spot on the golf course. It paused and then hovered over a large impact crater, one that hid the charred remains of something burned deep into the ground. Whatever it was, it was still smoldering in the cold air. The crater it left behind trailed out from it about 100 yards, leaving the ground blackened with ash.
“What is that? Something’s coming out of the crater!” Farrow yelled.
Something silvery and green slowly rose out of the impact crater. It floated up and out into the morning light. It was shimmering and flowing through the air as it started moving forward, heading straight for the resort.
“That doesn’t look good,” Melinda Rider said. Paulson glanced over at her, and nodded his head in agreement.
“Any ideas, gentlemen?” he asked. “I don’t think that’s Chinese.”
“It could be a probe of some sort,” Demetrius said. “Maybe we should just lay low. It may not find us here.”
“Oh, it knows we’re here,” Paulson said. “It hacked and downloaded our files, including those concerning this base. I don’t think there’s any doubt about why it’s here.”
“Sir, we can use the drone to attack it while it’s out in the open,” Christine said as she banked the drone high to the left. “I have all the firepower I need to take down an entire tank division. That little green ball won’t have a chance.”
As they talked, weighing options, the silvery green ball continued floating across the grounds toward the resort’s main building.
Paulson knew how scout drones behaved. They covered a large area in organized sweeps, observing and looking for potential threats. This thing was coming straight for the resort and the underground base; there was no scouting involved. It knew exactly where it was going.
“Maybe we should try to contact the probe,” Melinda said. “Perhaps whoever is behind the attack can be reasoned with. Shooting at this thing first would mean war without talking or negotiating.”
Paulson thought for a moment. If they attacked this probe right now, there would be no turning back. There would be no peaceful negotiation, no compromise, no end to the carnage. It would mean all-out war with an unknown assailant, and Paulson knew the horrors of war. It should be a last resort only. But he had also seen the destructive power of the virus. There was no doubt it was designed to kill Americans. That was not any mistake in communication. Releasing the virus was not the action of anyone who wanted to negotiate in any way; it was a tactic to kill as many of the enemy as possible, as simple as that. No, this invading force didn’t want to talk. They didn’t think America was worthy of a discussion. They only wanted them dead.
“Fire everything you’ve got at that ball!” he yelled.
Christine’s fingers instantly twitched, and five missiles streaked away from the drone. Just before impact, the ball spread apart like a cloud of smoke. The missiles simply passed through it, ramming into the front of the Greenbrier. Several huge explosions rocked the bunker as the missiles blasted the hotel.
The entire front of the building was ripped apart in a ball of fire that stretched to the sky. Pieces of debris flew out in all directions, covering the beautiful landscaping in front of the hotel. Trees and shrubs burned as the great white columns at the north end of the hotel crumbled.
The probe was untouched.
The attack drone was still hovering above the carnage when the probe came for it swiftly and silently. Christine reacted by moving the drone away from the rushing cloud, but the front end of the cloud brushed the drone as it was speeding away.
“Firing heavy rounds,” Christine said as the drone started chugging away with heavy munitions fire.
“What is that on the video screen?” Paulson asked as a small blue-green creature crawled across the camera lens.
“I don’t know, sir,” she said. “But I’m having trouble controlling the drone now.”
The drone continued speeding over the resort, then suddenly it turned down, and the ground rushed toward it faster and faster. Christine was jerking in her seat, trying to maneuver the drone up and back on course. She had no luck. The ground continued rushing forward and then the screen went black. She jerked in her seat and pulled her helmet off.
“The drone is down, sir. I lost all maneuverability. I’m sorry.”
“You did what you could.” Paulson moved to stand, then, when his leg screamed at him, he merely shifted positions. “Can we pull up any video feed from the hotel? I want to see what the ball or cloud or whatever it is, is doing.”
Mr. Theobald stepped up again and plugged his portable into one of the terminals.
“Even though these computers aren’t functioning anymore for outside access, I can still reach the hotel’s internal systems.”
After a few moments, Theobald had a display of one of the hallways off the main entrance. Fires were burning and the hotel lobby had been destroyed by the missile strike. The cloud had reformed into a tight ball and was coming down the hallway.
It was constantly changing shape, like liquid metal, and shimmering in the hotel’s lights. The video feed switched to the hallway leading to the bunker blast doors. The ball continued its slow and methodical advance toward them, reflecting images of the hallway around it as it came.
“What the hell!” Theobald exclaimed loudly. “I’ve just picked up a signal being sent out from that thing. And, sir, the signal was sent using the same encryption code as the signal that was sent from here earlier.”
“Where was it sent to?” Paulson asked. Perhaps they would be able to track the saboteur using the signal.
“Tracking, tracking,” Theobald said. “It looks like it was sent to this control room.”
Everyone looked at each in disbelief, knowing that the traitor could be the person standing right next to them.
All the computer screens went suddenly blank.
“Shit, someone’s blocking our every move,” Paulson said. “Whoever you are, you goddamn dirty traitor, I’m going to kill you.”
“Mr. President, we need to mount a defense,” Farrow said. “That thing, whatever it is, is coming for us. We need weapons, and lots of them.”
“I’m on it, sir!” Demetrius said. “The munitions locker is this way.”
“Colonel!” Paulson yelled out as Demetrius was running out of the room. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need a big fuckin’ gun.”
Buddy Paulson was ready for a fight.
Chapter 15
9:30 am local time, January 16, 2038
Project Chronos
Jeff watched as a greenish-blue reflective ball rose from the crater and started floating toward the main ground-level building of the Chronos Project.
Multiple cameras tracked it as it cleared the parking lot and hit the wall of the facility, which melted away as the object passed through it. Once it was inside, more cameras followed it until it reached a small break room where it hovered briefly over an abandoned laptop on a table. A small bit of the ball dripped down onto the laptop.
Chen’s voice came over the portable as he spoke to someone else in the control tower. “It’s hacking our system. Can we remotely turn off access from that laptop?”
“I’m trying to cut it now,” someone else yelled out. “Damn, that thing is fast. It managed to get some basic data, but most of the core information on the project was hidden. I’ve cut all wireless feeds to any remaining electronic devices on the surface.”
“Cut the video feed as well,” Chen said. “That thing is looking for us, and I don’t want to leave it any breadcrumbs.”
“Trying to, sir, but there appears to be a virus already in the system. I’m losing remote control to the surface. All systems underground remain functional, however.”
The video feed continued to play. The sphere floated away from the computer and moved silently out of the break room. It passed from room to room, pausing briefly at any electronic device. In the hallway it moved up to one of the cameras. Suddenly the camera switched from a view of the greenish-blue ball to the control room. Several people, including Dr. Chen, were huddled in front of a computer screen.
“It’s tapped into the camera system! It can see us! Quick, cut the link!” Chen hollered.
“Trying, sir,” said a man at the console as his fingers slid rapidly across the screen.
Suddenly the screen went blank, and there was nothing but darkness.
“Dr. Chen, can you hear me?” Holly yelled into her portable. There was no response.
Jeff turned to Holly. “I think we better hurry up. That thing is hunting us, and it’s only a matter of time before it finds us.”
Jeff waved to a nearby technician who hurried over and helped him into his launch suit, then he and Holly moved out of the staging area and down an enclosed, windowless white hallway toward the dome and the launch room.
A clock in the hallway was slowly ticking down the time until launch: 19 minutes, 31 seconds. They passed through the hallway and entered the main dome, which rose twenty or thirty feet overhead, enclosing them on all sides. Several scientists in clean suits hovered over computer terminals. At the center of the dome stood a white plastic and steel doughnut device connected to a platform. The doughnut was probably twenty feet high and the center circle, which was much smaller than the entire device, looked to be about seven feet in diameter.
On each side of the exterior of the doughnut were large upright cylinders attached to the base. The entire mechanism was then attached to the tubing that ran outside the dome.
“The tubing runs around the entire base out into the cavern and out underground for several miles,” Holly explained. “It’s the particle collider that produces the fuel for the vortex. The cylinders on the side are where the microscopic black holes are collected.” She pointed at them.
“When enough fuel has been stored for a specific destination in time, based on the mass of the material to be transported, the fuel is injected into the doughnut. Once it’s inside, high-graviton magnetic devices and other specially engineered materials send the micro-black holes spinning concentrically. The resulting gravimetric forces are enough to bend space-time, creating a vortex in the center of the doughnut. After the calculated amount of matter goes through the vortex, it closes up. We then have to wait to collect more material from the particle collider. It’s an extremely tedious process.”
“Sounds like it,” Jeff said. He understood the basic concept behind the device, but the science and engineering were way beyond him. “Not something a guy could build in his garage.”
“Not unless he had about a trillion dollars and four hundred of the brightest scientists in the world working with him,” Holly said sarcastically.
Chen, wearing a clean suit, emerged from the hallway behind them.
“I wanted to come down here personally to make sure there were no screw-ups,” he said smugly. “Follow me.”
Chen strode to the platform. “This is where you enter the vortex when it forms. You’ll come out on the other side about two feet above the ground, so expect a drop. I suggest jumping through instead of simply taking a step.”
“Inside the vortex, what should we expect?” Jeff asked. He was surprised to find himself sweating inside the bio-suit.
“Animal testing has shown the vortex trip can be pretty jarring. Stepping through and emerging on the other side will feel instantaneous to you, so inside the actual vortex you probably won’t feel anything, but when you get to the other side you can expect a fair amount of vomiting. Several of the larger primates came out unconscious, so that’s a possibility. When they recovered, they were disoriented for about ten minutes. In case anything serious happens, you each have a full combat MedKit built into your bio-suits.”
“Great,” Jeff said. “Scrambled eggs are never good the second time around. And what about our arrival time?”
“We’ve set the date for you to arrive as April 22, 2017, ten thirty a.m. That puts you arriving three days after the tunnel to this cavern has been built and the area cleared for the first pieces of equipment to be shipped in from my lab at Harvard. The ground should be smooth and there should be a few construction workers here planning the next stages of the base.”
“And what if one them happens to be walking right where we come out?” Jeff asked.
Holly opened her mouth, but deferred to Chen when he said, “When the vortex forms in the past, it will push all matter out of the way. Rather forcefully, I might add. If there is any fixed matter on that side impeding the formation of the vortex, like rock—which it shouldn’t be—it’s blasted aside in an explosive manner. If it’s just air being pushed aside, then a forceful wind will shoot out from the vortex into the surrounding space. If a person is standing right where the vortex forms, then he or she will be shoved violently away. Whether that shove would be hard enough to severely injure or kill that person, we don’t know; we haven’t been able to get accurate readings on the exact force exerted by a new vortex forming in the past or future. We’d planned to test and measure that in the coming weeks.”
“And the data drive?” Holly asked.
“It’s here.” Chen passed her the small hand-sized device. “It contains all the project data and everything we currently have on the virus. The information is date coded and authenticated using the methods and technology available to people twenty years in the past. When you get this to the younger me, I’ll know it’s the real deal.”
“Thank you,” Holly said as she placed the data drive into a pouch in the top of her suit and sealed it up.
“Great, then, any other questions? It looks like you have about ten minutes before launch,” Chen said.
Before Jeff could say anything, an alarm sounded. It was the same tone as the breach alarm that went off earlier.
A panicked look hit Chen’s face as he looked down at his portable. “Whatever that thing was that we saw on the surface, it's found us. It just came through the elevator.”
Chapter 16
9:45 am EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
The ominous blue-green cloud was making its way slowly and silently down the hallway of the plush Greenbrier resort, heading for the secure bunker. It had come in through the main lobby, which had been blasted apart during the failed drone attack.
Paulson and the others had been watching it float along via the hotel security video feed before all the screens went blank. It was coming for them. And Paulson was waiting for it with his big-ass gun.
As he stood in the control room, he couldn’t help but compare this moment with other war experiences. In one operation, during Desert Storm in the first Gulf War, he’d been a Navy SEAL tasked with the job of clearing out remaining Iraqi fighters holed up in the Saudi city of Khafji. During that mission, danger was constantly present and death could've come at any time. Now he tightened his hand on his weapon as he pictured his men. He wouldn’t let this attacker take out any more of his people. Not as long as he could hold a weapon, aim, and shoot.
Demetrius and several of the other men were finishing sorting through the bags of weapons and ammunition they’d retrieved from the munitions locker.
“We’re not sure what this thing is capable of,” Demetrius said, “so we grabbed Colt Enhanced M4 individual carbines as well as several grenade launchers. There was also one missile launcher that can be used as a last resort. Using it in a closed space, however, is not recommended.” He started laying out the weapons on the table. “We’ll need to take up defensive positions around the entrance to the bunker. Who here has military experience or weapons training?”
A few of the men said they did, and also two women, including Christine, who’d piloted the drone fighter.
“Of you others, has anyone ever fired a gun?”
They rest of the group shook their heads.
“Very well. All of you will move to one of the back rooms as far away from the blast doors as possible. I’ll leave weapons in there with you just in case this thing gets through us. My suggestion, though, is to hide and stay as quiet as possible. That includes you too, Mr. President.” Demetrius stared hard at Paulson.
“You know I can’t do that, Colonel. I have more combat experience than anyone here. And I may be old, and on crutches with a broken leg, but I know how to handle a weapon and fight. I’ll be right there with you on the front line.” Paulson returned the colonel’s stare. There was no negotiating on this. If this was going to be a last stand, Paulson wasn’t going to be cowering on the sidelines of the battlefield.
“Very well, sir. I don’t like it, but I respect your choice. Just meet me halfway on this. I want you to take up the rear position in the entrance room, close to the door to the next room. That way if things go bad, you can move back and defend the women and other noncombatants.”
Demetrius didn’t say Paulson could retreat and save his own skin, but the message was in there. Paulson could live with that subtle phrasing and nodded his agreement.
“Just one thing, Colonel. I want that missile launcher in addition to the M4.”
Demetrius handed it over with a curt nod.
“Sir, since this thing may be able to breach the door, we should also get everyone back in their bio-suits,” said Dr. Peebles, who had just come in from the medical lab carrying the suits. “The suits have all been scrubbed clean of the virus.”
“Good idea, Doctor,” said Paulson as he grabbed his suit and waved over Farrow and Melinda to put their suits back on.
Demetrius then gathered everyone and gave quick instructions to those with no weapons experience on where the safety and firing triggers were located on their guns. Not much training for someone who’d never fired a high-caliber weapon before, but better than nothing.
Everyone with experience then moved down the hallway into the main entrance hall, where the blast doors were located. Demetrius pointed out strategic positions in the main room and around the entrance to the hallway, where the few military, ex-military, Secret Service agents, and experienced civilians could mount a defense.
They overturned chairs and desks and anything else they could find as cover, not knowing what might help since they had no idea what weapons that thing would have. Others started moving deeper into the bunker, away from the main blast doors.
Demetrius turned to see where Paulson had wedged himself, then he ran back and bent low.
“Watch your back, Mr. President. I don’t know who the traitor is, but I’d bet my left nut he’s gunning for you.”
Soon everyone was in position and waiting for the attack. Several minutes passed and they heard nothing. Paulson had learned to be patient in the military. An attack could occur at any time and you always had to be on your guard. Others in the group didn’t have such patience.
The minutes ticked away and still nothing. Eventually Chilton McIntosh, one of the rich political donors who had tried to buy his way into a bio-suit, jumped up.
“I’m tired of this bullshit!” he spat out, holding his gun in the air. “There’s nothing coming through those blast doors. Haven’t you all figured it out by now? Somebody’s hacked the Stream and they’ve hacked our video surveillance. That floating ball thing is straight out of some video game; it doesn’t exist.”
He shook his gun to emphasize his point.
“You so-called military experts should be planning our retaliation, not sitting here cowering behind tables, hunting ghosts.”
“McIntosh, get back under cover!” Demetrius bellowed.
“Fuck you! I don’t take orders from you.”
“Sit the fuck down now,” Special Agent Jones demanded. “You’re in the line of fire.”
“Line of fire, ha!” McIntosh laughed. “Do you really think that something is going to get through these doors. They’re eight feet thick and built of solid concrete and steel.”
He crossed the room and tapped on the door.
“They’re built to withstand a nuclear blast, you idiot!”
He slammed the butt end of his weapon into the door, and a clanging rang out through the room. A second later something popped, like bacon frying in a pan. Chilton looked closer at one section of the door.
“What the hell? There’s something leaking here,” he said.
He touched the door with his finger and held it up closer to his face for a better look.
“Ants?” he scoffed. “Oww! They’re biting me! Little fuckers!”
He tried shaking his hand to get the creatures off. Behind him the leak in the door grew. Within seconds a hole formed, then another and then another, each one spreading. It was as if the door was being devoured by a swarm of termites.
When the holes were large enough, millions of tiny flying creatures poured through. They hit McIntosh in the back first, nearly knocking him off his feet. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Instead, a swarm of creatures ate their way through the back of his head and shot out of his mouth like vomit.
“Fire!” Demetrius yelled.
And the rain of bullets began.
The silvery sphere changed shape as it burst through the holes in the door. It was no longer a uniform sphere but looked like a swarm of bees. As the bullets hit the swarm, it shimmered and shook, its shape constantly varying. The bullets did nothing to stop it as it inched forward through the rapidly decaying blast doors. McIntosh disappeared into the cloud, his body melting away in agony.
When Demetrius fired a grenade, Paulson felt the heat on his face. Part of the cloud fell to the floor in a metallic sleet storm, small drops clinking as they hit. But it was only a small part of the cloud, and the bulk of it continued moving forward, down the hallway, coming for them.
Several more grenades hit the main bulk of the cloud, with a little more being destroyed. It was moving too quickly, however, and seconds later it had cleared the hallway and was flowing into the main lobby of the bunker.
The men in front, behind overturned desks, were the first to be attacked. It happened so fast, Paulson could barely take in what was going on. The men were simply covered by the swarm as it passed over them. They began screaming and violently shaking their arms and legs, clawing at their faces. They started to convulse, their heads turning to the sky as the swarm clawed its way down into their throats and eyes. As they fell to their knees, their faces were eaten away, exposing first raw skin, then bloody muscle, and finally bone. Their skulls and skeletons were covered by the swarm and then they were gone, reduced to dust. Most of their clothes, guns, and ammunition remained relatively intact, although in tatters, but anything organic, anything human, was gone. And still the swarm advanced.
It was a horrific sight, even to a man who’d seen many horrors in war. To be eaten alive, to have the flesh ripped from your bones as you watched, that was an atrocity that shook even Paulson to the core. He felt no anger now, and the shock and disgust were starting to fade as fear began to take their place. Paulson hadn’t known such fear in a long, long time. He was beginning to doubt they’d escape, that there was any hope for America.
“Mr. President, go now. I’ll try to hold it off,” Demetrius commanded as the swarm began crawling over him, first covering his face and then digging down inside his eyes. Paulson continued firing his gun, but he knew theirs was a lost cause. The swarm wasn’t going to be stopped by bullets. He had to look for a quick escape and then a place to regroup and plan a new defense.
He grabbed his crutches and retreated as fast as he could into the underground bunker, slamming doors behind him as he ran, the swarm in pursuit. Fear overtook him as he hobbled faster and faster, feeling the swarm tickling the back of his neck, about to overtake him. There had to be a way to stop it. A flamethrower, perhaps, or one of those new plasma rifles? But there was no time. Right now it was all he could do to stay just out of the swarm’s reach.
Soon Paulson reached the end of the line, which was the sleep quarters and the kitchen. He was breathing heavily, his heart pounding, his shoulder aching from the recoil of his M4, his leg throbbing. But he still had his weapon and ammo, including the missile launcher strapped to his back.
Paulson found everyone else still alive hiding in the sleeping quarters. Some were weeping, some praying.
He said, “We couldn’t stop it. I suggest we split up and hide in different places; maybe this thing won’t be able to get all of us. Quick, run! There’s no time.”
Most ran out of the sleeping area to find hiding places, but a couple stayed where they were, not moving, resigned to their fate. Chad Theobald simply sat in the corner, his arms wrapped around his legs, his bowed head pressed tight against his knees. He rocked back and forth, back and forth, praying quietly. Melinda was still there. She grabbed Paulson and held him tight, sobbing.
“I’m going out fighting, Melinda,” he said as she looked up at him, eyes streaming with tears. “Get behind me.”
Paulson broke away from her tight embrace and headed back out into the hallway. The swarm was waiting, the hum of millions of tiny wings growing louder. It had eaten its way through the last door.
Paulson shut the door to the sleeping quarters behind him, saying, “Melinda, stay inside.” He couldn’t accept that he was powerless to defend those he’d sworn to protect.
He yanked the rocket launcher free and fell onto his stomach, wincing as his leg thumped on the hard floor. The swarm was only thirty feet away. The blast from the missile would surely kill him, but maybe he could damage the swarm enough that it wouldn’t find the others. Enough that it would give up or die or be blasted to Hell.
He pulled the trigger.
The missile flew a short distance, into the heart of the swarm. There was a muffled explosion, some fire and smoke, but nothing like what Paulson was expecting. Only a few parts of the swarm fell. It was as if it had adapted to their weapons or had fashioned a defense. And it just kept coming. A second later, Paulson felt it hit his body.
He looked down at his arm, where tiny blue creatures the size of fleas were eating his skin away. They were crawling and digging in, jaws biting like thousands of tiny needles pricking his flesh. He held up his hand and watched as the flesh was scoured to the bone. The pain was excruciating, then his arm went numb as his nerves were eaten away. He felt the creatures crawling over his face and tried to scratch with his other hand, but as he lifted his arm, there was nothing there, just a bloody stump. He tasted metal and blood as his mouth filled with thousands of the moving creatures. Paulson tried to scream, but couldn’t. The swarm had already eaten his throat away.
Buddy Paulson had lived a long, full life. He fought right up until the end. He was a great leader and a great man. He’d won the respect and admiration of friends and enemies alike. But the swarm knew none of that, nor did it care.
The swarm wanted only to devour and rend flesh from bone.
Chapter 17
9:45 am local time, January 16, 2038
Project Chronos
Gunfire erupted outside the dome. Jeff pivoted, checking every direction, but nothing had made it inside. Several security officers and military personnel were based at the facility, and it sounded as though they were vigorously attacking whatever it was that had breached the base. After a few seconds of rapid machine-gun fire and other pops of various small handguns, the noise stopped. Then there was nothing but silence.
Chen had raced to a control desk and was tapping commands into the interface, leaving Jeff and Holly alone on the platform in front of the doughnut. Jeff looked at Holly; her generally stern face had a look of fear spreading across it.
“It’s coming for us, isn’t it?” she said.
“We’ll be out of here in about four minutes, and then all of this will be just a bad dream.”
The waiting was the worst. Just standing there looking at the empty space in the middle of the doughnut, not knowing what was going on outside the dome, was a killer. The bio-suit was warm, and Jeff was already breathing heavily, fogging up the plastic visor. With a sputter and a booming crack, the lights went out.
“Is that supposed to happen?” he asked Holly. He was regretting not getting more information on the particulars of time travel.
“Just give it a second,” Chen called to them. “We have backup power for the dome and a completely separate power source for the particle accelerator and vortex generator.”
As he finished speaking, the lights flickered back on. More crashing sounds, along with muffled screams, came from outside, and then the dome shook slightly, rocking the entire platform under Jeff’s feet.
Here it comes.
“Dr. Chen! Look!” Holly yelled, pointing up.
A hole began to form at the top of the dome. It was tiny at first, then it started to grow, spreading and eating away like acid. Dome pieces fell to the floor around the platform. One landed at Jeff’s feet, swarming with tiny creatures that looked like greenish-blue beetles. They were feasting on the metal like a colony of ants would devour a piece of bread. Jeff glanced back up at the ceiling. When the hole was large enough, the seething, swarming ball they’d watched on the video feed floated down inside the dome.
T-minus 30 seconds until launch, 29, 28 . . .
The ball paused for several seconds, as if analyzing the setup, just floating in the air, pulsing and shimmering in constant flux. One of the scientists, Howard, hurried out from his workstation and walked up to it. His face was slack with awe, and he held his hands palms out, almost reverently.
“We don’t want to fight you. We can live together in peace. Please, tell us what you want.”
The ball moved closer to him, and he reached out one hand to touch it.
“Howard, no, you idiot!” Chen screamed.
Howard touched the ball and then pulled his hand back and turned it over to inspect it. And then he started to scream. The sound was muffled by his clean-suit helmet, but it was still loud enough to make Jeff cringe.
His glove dissolved away, baring the skin of his hand. He shook his arm, bashed at the contaminated hand with his other hand, but couldn’t dislodge whatever was eating away at his suit.
Then at his skin.
Jeff recoiled when he saw first twitching muscle, then bone, and finally nothing other than the moving, flowing swarm. The horrible process continued up Howard's arm as his screams grew louder. The swarm spread quickly to the rest of his body, dissolving skin tissue, organs, and bones as it went. Eventually his screaming stopped—when there was nothing of the man left.
Jeff drew his foot back to kick away a piece of metal that had fallen in front of him; Holly grabbed his arm and knocked him off balance.
“Don’t kick that. Don’t touch it or go near it. Those are nanobots, just like the virus. Only these are much larger and designed to eat metal or anything else they touch. If you even so much as brush against one, it’ll latch on to you and start eating your flesh, just like it did to Simon.”
Holly was right. The nanobots were swarming and eating right through the metal inches away from his foot.
T-minus 15 seconds, 14, 13, 12 . . .
The outer reaches of the swarm spread into the room, grazing Holly’s arm. Jeff looked down and saw nanobots crawling on her bio-suit.
“You have to take this off, Holly!” he yelled, and she began ripping the suit from her body. She managed to get it off and throw it to the ground before the nanobot swarm could chew through and start eating her skin.
“The data drive!” Holly screamed, reaching out again for the suit. Jeff grabbed her and pulled her away just as she touched it. Seconds later both suit and data drive dissolved away.
“Everything is lost!” she yelled hysterically.
Jeff pulled her to the edge of the platform just in front of the doughnut. There was nowhere else for them to go. The swarm was almost there. Then suddenly Chen jumped in front of them. He’d stripped off his clean suit and was using it to desperately swat at the swarm.
3, 2, 1 . . .
Chen tried to balance himself on the platform girders as they were being dissolving under his feet.
“Ahhh!” he screamed.
The nanobots started eating away Chen’s feet, then his legs. As the upper half of his torso fell to the ground, the dome started to collapse.
A loud whoosh exploded behind them, and a strong wind sucked at Jeff’s back. He turned to see the vortex behind him. It was pitch black inside, like a long, deep underground tunnel.
“Come on, Holly!”
Jeff grabbed her by the waist and they jumped through the vortex, leaving behind the crumbling base and the screams of dying scientists.
Chapter 18
Noon EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
Melinda Rider lay as still as she could, barely even breathing as the sounds of the swarm’s metallic wings and the screams of her friends and colleagues died down. The chewing and gnawing of the creatures’ tiny mandibles was still ringing in her ears. She was terrified that any second one of the things would break through into her hiding place and start crawling on her skin and biting her. Just as she'd managed to slip away, she'd seen them cover Theobald who was cowering in the sleeping quarters.
She was inside a large freezer in the kitchen of the Greenbrier bunker. She didn’t have much time to run when Paulson pushed her away and slammed the door. She thought that the freezer was as good a place as any to give her a shot at making it out alive. She was only guessing, but it was a possibility that the swarm tracked its prey through infrared heat signatures. If that were that case, then it would be less able to find her inside the freezer.
Of course she also risked freezing to death. She wore a thick winter sweater and jeans under her bio-suit, plus another winter jacket over that. However, she could still feel the cold through everything. She exhaled, her breath coming out as thick vapor and ghosting over a slab of beef hanging in front of her.
Should I go out now? Are they still out there?
Melinda shivered and stood up, moving in the darkness as quietly as she could toward the door. She placed her ear against it to see if she could hear anything on the other side. There was only silence. She reached for the door latch to open it and hesitated, thinking about the horrible screams she heard earlier. She pulled her hand away, put her back against the door, and slid down into a seated position again.
Not yet, not yet.
She sat thinking about all the people who had died, her friends and family, all of the group from the plane, Buddy Paulson. Why, why did they have to kill them? What did this enemy want? Was anything so important that they had to exterminate everyone like this?
She was completely alone now. A tear dripped down her face inside of her bio-suit helmet. She couldn’t wipe it away, so it just trailed down her chin. She began to weep softly, the weight of the horror and desperation of the last day weighing heavily on her soul.
As she waited, feeling hopeless, she thought she heard something outside.
What is that? Is that someone talking? Is someone else still alive?
A glimmer of hope ignited in Melinda’s heart, but she had to keep her wits about her if she was going to stay alive. She was protected from viral exposure with her suit on, but there was the possibility that the traitor was still out there. Melinda had overheard Paulson and Secretary Farrow talking about him after Air Force One crashed.
She needed to be ready for him or her. She still had her weapon that Demetrius had given her. Melinda had never fired a gun in her life and the quick lesson she got earlier did nothing to assuage her general fear of firearms. She would take it along with her, though. If she needed to fight for her life, she wouldn’t hesitate to fire. She zipped up her jacket to conceal the weapon as best she could.
The talking continued, so Melinda stood up again and, with a lump in her throat, she slowly opened the freezer door. The light from the kitchen poured in and blinded her. When her eyes adjusted, she looked around and saw cooking pots and utensils scattered across the floor. Near one of the ovens were tattered bits of clothing, maybe a white lab coat and parts of a bright yellow bio-suit. She leaned closer and saw pieces of hair and small white chunks that looked like bone.
Dr. Peebles! Poor woman. What a horrible way to die.
Melinda continued through the kitchen. The voice was still speaking, but she didn’t want to call out just yet; something sounded strange about it. The cadence or the rhythm or something was off. Or maybe she was just petrified.
She peeked around the corner and saw the hallway leading to the sleeping quarters where she had run from the pursuing swarm earlier. The voice was coming from the sleeping area.
Melinda crept down the hallway, careful not to make a sound, then she ducked down and looked around the corner into the sleeping room. Someone was sitting on a bunk, his back to the door. It was a man wearing a cleanly pressed blue business suit. He was holding a portable and talking. But he wasn’t speaking English.
He stood and turned to the side. Melinda ducked back into the hallway, but not before she got a glimpse of the man’s face.
Secretary of State Cameron Farrow! He’d survived the attack too, thank God!
Melinda was about to whisper to him, alert him to her presence, when she noticed something strange. Again peeking around the corner, she saw the Secretary stand and point toward the door, still talking in that unfamiliar language. As he did so, something emerged from behind him. It was a small, bluish silver ball, just like the one that attacked them, hovering just in front of his face!
When the Secretary pointed at the door, the ball started floating away from him and toward where Melinda was crouched. She pulled back quickly, not believing her eyes.
The Secretary of State was talking to the swarm! Farrow was the traitor!
Chapter 19
Date and Time Unknown
Lechuguilla Cave
Jeff landed in complete darkness and deafening silence. The air was heavy and humid as he straightened up, still hanging tightly to Holly. Then suddenly he was flooded with a wave of dizziness and intense nausea. He dropped Holly and fell to his knees, heaving violently and vomiting inside his bio-suit helmet. As chunks of his breakfast covered the visor and started to fill up the helmet, Jeff unlatched it and jerked it off.
The vomiting and dizziness continued, and the only thing he could manage was to curl up in a ball on the hard rocky floor of the cavern. Holly lay beside him, retching as well, and the splatter of vomit hitting the ground echoed through the empty cavern, breaking the silence. Jeff’s body ached like a son of a bitch, and shooting, stabbing pains shot through his joints. Then his hamstrings, calves, and stomach all started to cramp, forcing him to scream out in agony. And still the room was spinning.
“Oh God, I’m dying,” Holly said between heaving lurches.
After several minutes, just when Jeff thought he couldn’t bear any more and was going to pass out from the pain, the spinning subsided and the nausea started to fade. The aching remained, however, deep down in his body, and when he moved, sharp pains still stabbed through his joints. He flicked on the flashlight that came with his combat MedKit.
He and Holly were deep inside Lechuguilla cavern, but there was no construction crew and no tunnel to been seen.
“Do we know when we landed?” Jeff asked. “Why isn’t the base being built?”
“I don’t know. Without my suit, I probably threw off the mass calculation for the jump. With less mass, we landed farther back in the past. How much farther, I can’t guess off the top of my head. Let me do a rough calculation on my portable.” Holly lifted her hand, then pulled it close to her face.
“Nanobots. There are nanobots under my skin.” She began frantically scratching at the fingers of her right hand and shaking it. “Get them out, get them out!” she screamed.
Jeff moved closer and held the light so they could get a better look. Little greenish-blue flea-like creatures were buried under her skin, but they weren’t moving. They’d apparently gotten on her when she reached for the infected data drive.
“It looks like they may not be working,” Jeff said. “Are they inert?”
Holly was still screaming and scratching her hands. “Please, please, get them out!” she yelled.
“Holly, calm down!” Jeff held her shoulders. “It looks like the time jump killed them.”
“But I can feel them twitching! Oh God, get them out, cut them out, please!”
Jeff held the flashlight closer in time to see the nanobots start twitching under Holly’s skin, as if they were coming back to life.
“Let me see what I can find in the suit’s MedKit.”
Jeff opened the case on the front of his bio-suit and started pulling out medical equipment. The kit included standard first aid gear, most of which was familiar, but a few items he didn’t recognize.
The AI clicked on. “State the nature of the health problem.” It spoke in a soothing female voice.
“Emergency surgery,” Jeff said.
“Further detail is needed.”
“Uh . . . Parasite extraction.”
Holly was still shaking her hand. “They’re moving, please hurry; get them out, they’re eating my hand!”
“Location,” asked the AI.
“Fuck, this is taking too long!” Jeff yelled. “Hands!”
“Please stay calm. Parasite extraction is delicate. If the subject is in immediate life-threatening danger, you need to keep him stable.” The AI’s voice remained gentle and soothing. “Most parasites will increase activity as the subject’s blood pressure and body warmth rise. Please place the scanner over the affected area so I can determine the exact location of the parasite infection and the best method of extraction.”
Jeff pulled out the scanner, and Holly started screaming. He grabbed her shoulders. “Holly, you have to relax. I know it hurts, but you need to sit down, and I can get them out.”
She had a wild look in her eye as she continued scratching and clawing violently at her hand. Tears of pain, reflected in the beam from the flashlight, streamed down her face. She looked at Jeff’s chest where the MedKit was located and reached inside, pulling out a small surgical knife. Before Jeff could react, she started cutting at her hand, screaming in agony.
“Ahhh! Oh God, it hurts. I can’t get them, they’re in too deep!”
Jeff tried to grab the knife from her, but she twisted away and hacked violently at her hand. Blood poured out, warm and dark. Jeff could smell it mixed in with the vomit in the damp, dark cave. And Holly was screaming. Blood-curdling screams.
Jeff looked into the MedKit to see if there was anything else to help her. The AI said, “You must sedate the patient.” It extended a hypo needle, which he grabbed. He lunged at Holly, trying to stab her with the needle, but she was too wild. She knocked his hand, and the needle went flying into the darkness of the cave. Holly fell to her knees, her screams and sobs bouncing off the rock walls. She was holding her bleeding hand up; one finger had already been eaten down to the bone.
“Subject appears to be going into shock,” said the AI. “Nature of infection unknown. Extreme measures required to prevent the spread of the parasite. Use a tourniquet, then you must amputate the infected appendage.”
Jeff pulled out the combat application tourniquet and quickly wrapped it around Holly’s upper arm, tightening it to stop the flow of blood to the lower arm. A small bone saw was extended from the MedKit. Jeff pulled it out. Jesus. He needed to find the sedative; he couldn’t just cut Holly’s hand off with her awake.
She sat on her knees, staring up at him, sobbing in desperate heaves. The surgical knife she’d been using fell out of her hand and to the cave floor, and the nanobots under her skin continued eating her flesh away. They were also multiplying. What had started as just a few were now hundreds. Holly’s finger bone disappeared as the nanobots swarmed over it, crawling and eating. Her body shook violently as a gnawing, munching sound, along with the metallic buzzing of the creatures’ wings, rang out into the cave.
Jeff had to act fast. He shoved Holly to her back and straddled her. He held her right shoulder down with his right hand, careful not to touch where the nanobots were spreading. Then he used his left hand to start the gruesome process of cutting just below her elbow. Holly let out another maniacal scream that boomed through the empty cavern. She tried to shove Jeff off, but he dropped his full weight onto her chest.
The saw screeched and shook as it ground through muscle and bone. Jeff had no medical experience whatsoever, and the sight of blood made him sick. The vomit started to build again, inching up his throat, as Holly’s warm blood splattered on his face. But he held firm, swallowed back the vomit, and cut deeper. Holly screamed once more and then fell silent, passing out from the trauma.
Finally Jeff was through the bone and Holly’s hand and forearm were free. He dragged her away from the nanobot-infested hand as quickly as he could, and the swarm continued devouring what was left of her hand. He pulled her farther and farther away, struggling to move her, his muscles and joints still throbbing from the time jump. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the nanobots when they were done eating the hand and started looking for more food. He didn’t know what their effective range was.
“You need to cauterize the wound,” the AI announced. “Bleeding is severe.”
As Jeff dragged Holly, he left behind a bloody trail, and blood was still oozing from her stump. The MedKit produced a cauterizing laser. “Hold the laser several inches away from the wound and press the on button. Back and forth motions work best. When the wound is temporarily sealed, apply the dress bandage and remove the tourniquet.”
Jeff followed the directions and was able to seal the wound and stop the bleeding. He applied the dress bandage, a techno-organic substance used in combat situations. It would bond with her wound and greatly accelerate the healing process. He’d heard about it on the news, how it had saved the lives of wounded soldiers. Holly remained unconscious, but she appeared to be out of immediate danger.
“Fabricating blood substitute and fluids for the patient. You must administer these as soon as possible,” the AI said.
Thank God for someone who could keep her head; Jeff had no idea how to treat the wounded.
The combat MedKit had the latest technology. As the machine fabricated blood for Holly’s recovery, he flashed his light back across the cavern. In the distance, what looked like small gnats were flying in the shadows. Then they started to come closer, unhurriedly, but surely following the trail of Holly’s blood. It was the nanobots, flying now—a swarm—still hunting them.
Jeff rushed several yards closer to where they were swarming and stood between Holly and the creatures. The cave floor was smooth and slick with her blood.
He had to distract them, lead them away from her.
He started jumping up and down, yelling, “Over here. Come get me, you motherfuckers!”
He angled to the side, trying to move the horrible creatures away from their prey. The nanobots didn’t react but continued their slow and steady track along Holly’s blood trail.
“Hey, you bastards, over here! Can’t you hear me, you stupid fucks!” Jeff yelled, furious. He wasn’t going to let Holly die.
He took several steps closer to the swarm until he was within about ten feet or so, and then it reacted. It paused, hovering, as if calculating, and then instead of the whole thing coming after him, it split in two. Half the swarm continued the slow flight to Holly, and the other half veered off to pursue him.
He stepped back quickly, moving several paces to the side, and the swarm that broke off after him continued toward the spot where he’d been standing and then wavered. These nanobots were much slower and not nearly as smart as those they’d left behind in the future.
Jeff checked on the bots flying toward Holly. They were almost on her; he had to do something. He found a few rocks on the cave floor and threw them at the swarm. The rocks did nothing to slow or deter its progress. Then Jeff watched as the swarm that had broken off to pursue him split again, this time into four groups going in different directions, as if following compass headings. One flew toward him and when it got within ten feet, it started to speed up.
He could see the sensory range of the nanobots now, but what could he do? He looked on with agony at Holly lying motionless in the dirt. One of the swarms blocked his return path to her. Jeff quickly flashed his light around the cavern to see if there was anything else he could use to stop them, but there was nothing other than rocks and crystals.
The swarm chasing Jeff kept coming but as he stepped farther from it, he was also moving farther from Holly. The swarm would be on him in seconds. He started to panic, feeling the fear building deep down in his core ready to explode. He had to get away.
Just behind him was another tunnel, to another cave perhaps. He could run through and hope to get out of range of the attacking swarm. But he’d have to leave Holly behind. To be devoured. He wasn’t a coward, but he didn’t want to die either.
Shit! The swarm was almost on him, stalking him, ready to start burrowing into his flesh.
“I’m sorry, Holly!” he yelled when the swarm was inches away. The guilt and sadness he felt was horrible, yet an intense fear for his own life clawed at him. The swarm was coming relentlessly. He turned from Holly and started running toward the other tunnel.
The second he turned, a blinding flash lit the darkness and an ear-piercing explosion rattled the cave. He couldn’t see anything after the flash, could only hear what sounded like a pulse weapon firing.
He rubbed at his eyes until he could make out a shadowy figure, bobbing lights attached to it or pulsing from it, standing in the cavern right in the middle of the nanobot swarm near Holly. The person was firing the weapon again and again at the nanobots.
The pulse hit the swarm that was closest to Jeff, and flying nanobots fell to the ground, tinkling as they hit the cave floor, like tiny metal nails. He moved toward the shadowy figure, stepping on and gleefully crunching the dead machines under his feet as though they were nasty cockroaches.
The shadowy figure was still firing. Most of the flying bots had been destroyed, kept from reaching Holly. But the heroism wasn’t without a price; the remaining bots were swarming Jeff and Holly’s savior, and he was desperately trying to shake them off.
“What can I do to help?” Jeff yelled.
The figure pivoted, and Jeff saw his face. Saw his own face.
“Oh my God! It’s me!” he said, choking on the words.
It was a much older Jeff, face wrinkled, hair nearly completely white. He wore combat fatigues and defensive gear, including a clear helmet.
“Take Holly and go,” the older Jeff said. “My suit will hold the bots off for a while, but not forever. When they get through, I won’t have much time. I didn’t plan on landing right in the middle of the goddamn swarm!”
“But how?” Jeff’s thoughts were spinning.
“I’m you from the future. Years ago I ran like a coward and let her die.” The older Jeff pointed at Holly. “I couldn’t live with myself; the guilt was horrible. I had to come back and make it right. Holly needs to live. And you need this.”
The older Jeff threw something through the air and fired his pulse weapon at it as it flew. The object landed a few feet away from Jeff. He reached to pick it up. A data drive.
The older Jeff started twitching, shaking his arm. “They’re getting through the suit, little bastards! That portable has all the information you need. Take it to Patrick Chen. The weapon didn’t damage it, just purged it of nanobots trying to tag along. Now take her and go! Follow the tunnel as far as you can that way; don’t look back.”
Jeff ran to Holly, swept her up in his arms, and ran to the other end of the cavern. When he got to the entrance to the tunnel, he did look back. The older Jeff was scratching and pulling at his suit.
“And the future?” Jeff hollered to his older self.
“My future doesn’t exist anymore. You have a new chance now. Make the most of it. Go, go, go!”
Jeff turned and headed down the narrow tunnel, moving as fast as he could with Holly in his arms. The tunnel curved sharply, and there was nothing but darkness ahead. As he rounded the turn, an explosion rocked the cavern.
The blast impact hit Jeff squarely in the back and swept his feet out from under him. Holly went flying. When Jeff hit the floor, his head slammed hard into rock, then everything went black.
Chapter 20
1:00 pm EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
How could Farrow be the traitor?
He must have sent the signal out to the attackers. He was responsible for the deaths of everyone on Air Force One, including the President of the United States. Everyone except her.
Melinda’s heart was racing. She had to get away. She ran back down the hallway and ducked into the kitchen again, praying that the swarm didn’t see her. She dared a peek around the corner just in time to see the sphere slipping out of the sleeping quarters and gliding silently in the other direction, followed by the Secretary.
Melinda let out a sigh of relief.
She thought about going back in the freezer again and hiding, hoping that the whole thing was just a nightmare. How could one of the most trusted and respected leaders in the United States government be a traitor to his own country? His betrayal cut deep, and she felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. Melinda had looked up to the Secretary so much. Hell, she had wanted to be like him someday. But not now. She didn’t want to be like that monster. She wiped some dust from her bio-suit mask, unbelieving. He was . . .
No! There must be some other explanation for what Melinda had seen. She needed to find out more.
She stole back into the corridor, still carrying the automatic weapon, moving slowly, carefully, and quietly. She didn’t want any lurking spheres or other flying creatures to find her. She’d seen what they could do and shuddered at the thought of them crawling over her body. The Secretary and the sphere were up ahead, and he was still talking in that strange guttural language. Was it Chinese or something else? She couldn’t be sure.
Melinda was no secret service agent and not used to sneaking around. She again considered crawling back inside the freezer, but too many people had died, and she needed to find out the truth. The burning question still remained. Why was Farrow betraying his country?
She’d see what he was up to next, find a safe place to hide, then figure out what to do, how to defeat Farrow and his friends.
She headed for the main lobby of the bunker, where the swarm had torn its way through the blast doors. She paused, allowing the Secretary and the sphere to move ahead of her. It was obvious they were headed for the exit. Knowing where they were going, she could hang back, not risk being discovered.
Unwittingly, she looked around the room. Littered among overturned chairs and tables were bits of bloody clothing, pieces of bone and hair, and chunks of metal, the remains of weapons. This was where the survivors had made their last stand. From what Melinda could tell, they’d had no chance at all.
She continued sneaking down the hallway to the main blast doors, which had been melted away. She stepped through them and entered the auditorium where bodies lay in painfully disfigured contortions. These were the ones who hadn’t worn bio-suits and had succumbed to the deadly virus. Flies were already buzzing around them. Melinda was glad she had clean oxygen filtering through her bio-suit, because the smell must be horrible.
She followed the corridor back through the fake blast doors and down the elegant hallways of the resort until she came to a spot where the hotel just ended. The mid-day sun was shining down where the roof should have been. Outside, the beautifully landscaped grounds were still covered in fresh snow from the night before, yet there was something subtly different. The carefully manicured lawns had become overgrown and new shrubs had sprouted up. They weren’t the common azaleas and boxwoods typical in mountainous West Virginia, but something else, something bulbous and red, like pods ready to burst.
Melinda walked into the changing world and noticed that the asphalt driveway and concrete paths around the resort were starting to crack, with strange weeds bursting through the seams. She bent down for a closer look and saw small creatures crawling all over the weeds and moving through the cracks.
The sun was blotted out by a cloud, and she looked up to find flocks of birds flying by.
Only they didn’t move like birds.
They looked more like clouds of locusts, twisting and shifting like smoke in the wind. Melinda immediately realized they were swarms of the same horrible insect creatures that had attacked them, stretching so far and so thick that they almost blackened the sky.
As she looked up, she hadn’t noticed what was going on closer to her. But she noticed now. Noticed that the ground was moving, shifting. Millions of termite-like creatures were teeming over the lawn, climbing up the remaining walls of the resort, eating it away.
Melinda staggered back, but she’d already stepped right into the middle of them and suddenly them were all over her feet, climbing up the bright orange bio-suit.
“Oh God! No!” she screamed, trying to kick the hellish creatures off her boots.
She ran blindly, trying to escape the creatures, looking for any bare ground that wasn’t crawling with them. She ran screaming, focused on her feet in thoughtless panic.
Bam! She ran head first into something thick and solid.
The impact stunned her and knocked her back on her butt. Dazed, she slowly lifted her head to find Secretary Cameron Farrow looming over her. He was smiling, down at her, a devilish half grin on his face.
“Looks like we have a visitor,” he said calmly. “I don’t think she’ll be staying for very long though.”
Farrow reached out with both hands, grabbed Melinda’s bio-suit helmet, ripped it off, and tossed it casually over his shoulder. Then his right hand shot out, clamping down around her forehead, his nails digging deep into her temple. He flexed slightly, and she could feel the vice-like grip of his hand. As he squeezed, her eyeballs started to bulge, as though they would pop right out of her skull.
Melinda cowered on the ground, feeling the weight of the crushing grip squeeze at her. As the pain became unbearable, she screamed and tried to pull Farrow’s hand off. It wouldn’t move. Pressure built in her skull and her vision started to go fuzzy.
She only had a few seconds. She unzipped her jacket, yanked out her weapon, raised it, and fired. The small machine gun recoiled into her stomach as round after round exploded out from the chamber and into Farrow’s chest.
He released his death grip and went flying back into a snow-covered azalea. Blood sprayed the pristine white snow and poured from the gaping wounds in his chest. He lay gasping for air, spitting up blood.
“That’s for trying to crush my skull,” she said with venom in her voice. “This is for being a traitor to the United States of America.”
She pulled the trigger and fired a dozen more rounds into Farrow’s skull. Thick red blood and brain matter exploded all over the azalea bush.
Farrow, the traitor, was dead.
Chapter 21
Date and Time Unknown
Lechuguilla Cave
When Jeff woke, his ears were ringing and he had no idea how long he’d been out. The light from his flashlight was still shining, casting dim shadows in the narrow cavern. Holly was beside him, unmoving.
My God, she must need blood and fluids.
He turned to where she lay, his body aching from both the blast’s shock wave and the time jump, and his head throbbing. He reached up and felt dried blood caked on the side of his head where he’d connected with the cave floor. He rolled Holly over. He could barely see her face in the near dark. She looked pale and was cold and clammy. Jeff pulled out the scanner on the MedKit and ran it over her body.
“Subject’s pulse is low,” the Med-AI said. “She needs blood immediately. Synthetic blood compound fabricated and ready for insertion.”
Jeff looked down, reached into the kit sitting on his chest, and pulled out the blood bag. He set it on the tunnel’s floor and it extended automatically, elevated above Holly’s body. He held the needle end in his hand.
“What the hell do I do with this?” he asked the AI.
“Wrap the band around her wrist and it will automatically insert into the vein and begin delivering fluids.”
Jeff looped the band around Holly’s wrist, and it locked into place. “Perfect,” stated the AI. “Now please let the patient rest. If you leave the scanner on her chest, clipped onto her shirt, I can monitor her and let you know if additional action is needed. Excellent work. What is your name, soldier?”
Jeff didn’t know how to respond. He’d found himself in Hell, chased by a nanobot swarm, and now he was being praised by a mechanical doctor. That didn’t happen every day.
He shook off his fanciful thoughts.
He wasn’t a soldier, had no military experience, but what he had just been through could certainly be considered a battle. “Thank you. My name is Jeff Madison and I’m a civilian.”
“Very well, Jeff Madison. I have your voice pattern recorded, and I am prepared to assist you in any way. You may call me Nancy, as in Nurse Nancy, even though my skill level approaches that of a full doctor. I’ve scanned your body; you are injured from the conflict: multiple contusions and impact bruising. Administering painkillers.”
Jeff felt a tiny prick on his arm as the combat suit administered the painkiller.
“Scans also indicate that you have a concussion. I suggest you sit and rest, if possible.”
“Sorry, Nancy, not just yet,” Jeff said as he looked at Holly’s severed arm. The techno-organic bandage was intact and sealing the wound nicely. He knew that the specially designed high-tech bandage had saved Holly’s life. Perhaps in the future she could be fitted with a bonded prosthesis that would allow brain-controlled movement of an artificial hand.
With Holly stable, it was time to look around. First he wanted to make sure that no nanobots were left after the explosion. He hoped they were all destroyed, but with advanced technology, one never knew. He laughed at his thoughts—he was now an expert on nanobots? He made his way back along the tunnel to the main cave.
As he rounded the corner he smelled smoke and burned meat, knowing full well his future self had been barbecued. The man, that older Jeff, must have felt tremendous guilt when Holly died. Jeff had only known her a short time, and most of that time they had spent dealing with crises, but he did feel a connection to her.
Jeff was certainly no coward. Maybe he didn’t fight with fists or guns, but political fights were just as vicious, at least mentally, or so he and his colleagues liked to tell themselves. Tell the media too, when they’d listen. But he knew deep down it wasn’t the same. No one got killed, unless you counted the death of a career, which in many men’s minds was the end of their life. Men, however, could change careers, start new businesses, learn new skills. Death in a fight or war was final; there were no second chances.
Jeff knew himself pretty well, knew that if he’d left Holly to die, the seeds of guilt and despair would've grown over time. After almost twenty years and God knows what else happening in his life, he could see how a future him would want to come back and set things right.
Oh, and there was the data drive. He’d almost forgotten about it. That would certainly reveal information about his future self and the life he led. Also, if it contained all the project data that had been on the original drive, the one devoured by the nanobots, they were back in business. The Chronos Project could be accelerated, and he’d have corroborating evidence of the coming viral plague so that America and the world could prepare.
As he rounded the corner, he walked face first into a wall of rock and debris blocking the entrance to the main cavern.
Shit. This he hadn’t expected.
He studied the barrier in front of him and picked up one of the larger rocks. It was heavy, but he managed to sling it back down the tunnel. He could dig out eventually, one rock at a time, but what lay on the other side? Had the whole cavern caved in? If so, then would the construction crew and designers of the base choose to move it to a new location? Another cavern, perhaps? Jeff knew that much of the Lechuguilla and the nearby Carlsbad cavern system was unexplored in the year 2017 and large parts were protected by environmental laws. He had no way of knowing what the researchers might do.
He crouched in front of the rock pile to think. Perhaps the data drive held a few answers. He hooked it up to his portable, only to find that the drive was drained of power. That must have happened when the older Jeff fired his weapon to clear it of nanobots. His portable was also low on power and unable to charge or even start the data drive.
The drive’s batteries appeared to be solar-powered, although the model design was different from anything Jeff had seen before. That meant that in order to power it up, he would either have to expose it to sunlight or plug it into an electrical outlet. Neither of those events was going to come to pass deep in an underground cave.
Since he couldn’t access the data drive, Jeff turned his attention back to getting out of the cavern. He’d done it once before, otherwise his future self wouldn’t have been there to save them. However, with the explosion and cave-in, the timeline had been altered, meaning the certainty of getting out alive had dropped significantly.
He could go the other direction, deeper into the cavern, and look for a way out. But they had no food, Holly was injured, and Jeff didn’t know if that direction would lead to an exit or a dead end.
“What to do, what to do,” he said, tapping the date drive on a rock.
He was no survivalist. Didn’t know how to catch cave grubs or collect mushrooms or hunt bats or whatever the hell lived down. And he wouldn’t know what was edible and what might kill them. He didn’t know any old Native American mystical techniques for collecting water from sand, although he seemed to remember seeing a TV show about that once. No, Jeff had spent most of his life as a lawyer sitting behind a desk, staring at a portable or computer screen. His political experience was meeting with people and giving a lot of speeches. Endless speeches. So his greatest skill was talking.
As a politician, if he had a problem he couldn’t solve himself, he would delegate it to the resident staff expert. It only took a quick call or text to get the ball rolling.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, still talking out loud, filling the heavy emptiness with a vestige of humanity. “I have my portable.”
The portable was attached to Jeff’s wrist under his sealed combat suit, so he took off his gloves, loosened the suit connection at his wrist, and rolled the material up so he could access it. A quick flick and it was active. It detected no signal, but that wasn’t a surprise, considering they were deep underground. Eventually though, construction crews would come digging down into the cavern. Jeff just needed to make sure he could get a direct signal through to them using the walkie-talkie feature on his portable. That meant he needed to start digging and get as close to the main cavern as possible.
Jeff had the top-of-the-line amped-up portable from the year 2038 with an enhanced range and a battery that would last at least a month running high-res videos, holos, and games at full power. Of course the last time he charged it was about a month ago, hence the low power. The portable was his lifeline in the future, and right now Jeff hoped it would save his life in the past. First thing, though, was the digging.
“Uhhh . . . ”
Holly was starting to stir down the passageway. He headed back to check on her. As he walked, her moan turned into a scream.
“Oh my God, my arm, where is my arm!”
“Holly, I’m here,” Jeff yelled out as he ran down the passage. He reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders to calm her. She was shaking violently.
“Look at me, Holly. Do you know where you are and remember what happened?”
She looked at Jeff, then turned away. “Y-y-yes,” she said. “We made the time jump after the swarm attacked us in the future.” Her eyes widened again, and she frantically examined her body. “Are they gone? They were eating me. Oh God, I felt them eating me from the inside out!”
“I know. They’re gone now. I . . . I had to take your arm. There was no other way to keep them from spreading over your body. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Holly, I’m so sorry.”
She was weeping softly, gently touching the stub where her arm once was. “You were right to do it; there was no other way to save me. Are they gone? Are we safe?”
“Yes. There was a cave-in . . . ” Jeff wasn’t sure if he should tell her about the future him coming back, and then decided it was best that she know the whole story. “Somebody saved us. Well, it wasn’t just somebody. It was me. From the future.”
Holly narrowed her green eyes and stared into his. “What? What do you mean?”
“One second the nanobots were going to infect and eat us both, and then I appeared, an older me from the future, with weapons to kill the nanobots.”
Holly’s eyes widened. “Incredible. And where is the future you now?”
“Dead, most likely,” he said. “In an explosion. He was infected with the nanobots and triggered some sort of bomb to kill them, blowing himself up in the process. I was able to get out and carry you to safety.” No way was he going to tell her he was about to abandon her. Not yet anyway.
“Thank you, Jeff. You saved my life.” She awkwardly embraced him. “You’re sure all the nanobots were destroyed?”
“Who knows with this technology, but the explosion was huge. It caved in the entrance to the cavern where the base is supposed to be built. It may have collapsed the entire cavern; I don’t know. The way back is blocked by a wall of rocks.”
“So we’re trapped here, and we still don’t know how long before the construction crews tunnel their way down? So what are we going to do?”
“Right now, you should rest. I have my portable and if I dig through and clear out enough of the rock, I should be able to transmit a message when the construction crews get close enough. Even if they find the cavern caved in, they’ll at least be close enough so I can signal them. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only one we have. Your bio-suit didn’t weigh that much, so casting it off couldn’t have thrown off the time jump that much. I’m sure the construction crew will be here any time now.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Holly solemnly.
She was shivering despite the warm dampness of the underground cave. She was only wearing a white form-fitting body suit, and it was torn in several places.
“Holly, you need to stay warm; you’ve lost a lot of blood. Take my bio-suit. You need it more than I do, and it’ll be able to monitor your vital signs better and give you antibiotics as needed.”
Holly didn’t disagree. “Thanks.”
Jeff climbed out of his bio-suit and gave it to her. He was also wearing a form-fitting spandex body suit, but Holly needed the warmth much more than he did. She was very weak and struggled to put it on with one arm. He held her gently and pulled the suit up over her trembling body.
He checked her IV again to make sure there was still enough blood and fluid pumping into her and then looked back to the cave-in area. Hours of grueling work awaited him.
“Holly, this is our only flashlight and I need to take it with me. Are you going to be okay here in the dark by yourself?”
She waved her hand for him to go. Her eyes were slowly closing. Hopefully she’d feel better after a long sleep.
Several hours later, Jeff had managed to clear out much of the debris and create a small hole at the top of the tunnel. His head still throbbed from the concussion, but the painkillers administered by the Med-AI were able to cut out a lot of the stabbing pain in his joints.
The work of moving the rocks was exhausting. He had his portable set to ping if a cellphone came within range. As he worked, he continued to think about the older Jeff. What had that man gone through in the last twenty years? Had he made different decisions than Jeff would make now? And why would he be the only one to come through to save them? Wouldn’t they send in a military team? Maybe the future Jeff had forced his way through the vortex. But why bother to speculate? The data drive would probably answer most of his questions. If they ever got out of the damned cave and accessed it.
Obviously events, and people, had changed in the time stream. Holly was alive this time. He didn’t know what that would mean. He knew that he wouldn’t be involved with any of the science on Project Chronos; his mission in the past was to get his father on board and convince other members of the government that there would be a devastating viral terrorist attack in twenty years. Then what would he do? He wasn’t a congressman any more. Would he just go back to practicing law under another name?
He cleared out a hole large enough to crawl through at the top of the debris pile. Working by flashlight was difficult and the job dirty. The fancy flashlight had long-life batteries that would be good for weeks, so he didn’t worry about it going out. It was just that he couldn’t see very far. He climbed up into the hole and pushed through the debris. As he crawled several feet through the narrow tunnel, his body wedged in tight, shadows bounced along the rocks, and he thought he saw something move.
“Oh shit!” His heart leaped.
Was that part of nanobot swarm, crawling over the rocks and coming to eat him?
Jeff swiped at a rock with his hand. “Get away from me!” He was jammed into the small space with rock all around him and couldn’t move more than a few inches on either side. The thought of the swarm crawling over his body—eating through his flesh—in this damp, cramped space terrified him.
He shifted the light so he could see better and thank God, there was nothing there. Just shadows and his mind playing tricks on him. He continued moving through the narrow gap as fast as he could, crawling along on his stomach, sharp rocks scratching and poking into his body. And then he hit a dead end. More rock blocked his path. It looked like the whole cavern had caved in.
But no, Jeff wasn’t a quitter.
He’d clear a few more rocks just to make sure.
He yanked at one of the rocks lying in front of him and dragged it backwards along the path where he’d just crawled. It was so heavy, he had to stop frequently to catch his breath, crawling and pulling, crawling and pulling, slowly and consistently moving backwards. When he got to the main tunnel, he slid to the cavern floor, letting the rock roll to the ground.
Then he crawled back into his little tunnel and started the whole process again. But this time when he reached out to pull another rock loose, he grabbed something soft and fleshy. He jerked his hand back in surprise and shined his flashlight up ahead. What had he felt?
It was a hand!
Brown and dirty, covered in rock, trembling, the hand made a feeble attempt to find him.
“Please help,” someone whispered from beyond the layers of rock, the voice muffled.
“Hang on!” Jeff couldn’t believe that anyone could be alive after the explosion and cave-in. Yet it looked like a small pocket of space had formed in the center of some large rocks, insulating the person from the brunt of the power of the cave-in. Was he about to pull his future self free?
He cleared more debris out of the way until he was able to shine his light inside the pocket.
Dr. Chen?
Somehow he had followed them and made it through the vortex alive.
Chapter 22
1:30 pm EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
Melinda dropped the gun and stared down at the bloody remains of Secretary Farrow. She quickly ripped off her bio-suit, which was covered in the little insects, and threw it at the dead body.
“Eat that, you motherfuckers!”
She checked her body for the creatures and quickly made her way back to the hotel before any more of the horrible insects could find her. There were trails of them moving along the ground and she was careful this time not to step on any of them. Once inside, she reached up and massaged her temples. She could still feel the ghost of Farrow’s grip, his fingernails digging into her skull. She was going to have one hell of a headache. Which wouldn’t matter for long since she knew she’d be dead within the hour. Without a bio-suit, she imagined the virus was already spreading through her body, eating her from the inside out.
But she wasn’t ready to give up yet. There might be people still alive somewhere. And Farrow no doubt had accomplices, so people needed to know about him and them. She didn’t know who was behind the attacks, why Farrow was involved, but she could try to tell what she did know.
She ran back to the main control room inside the bunker. The satellite communications were still down, so there was no conventional way to get a message out. But telephone lines might still be accessible through the miles of fiber optic cable running underground. Melinda searched frantically for an old phone, but couldn’t find one. She closed her eyes, thinking, trying to concentrate. She turned and ran back to the main auditorium. The front entrance, where the old bunker was located, was a museum, so maybe there was an old land-line phone there.
She started in the command area. Under paper printouts of bogus data and file folders marked urgent, she found an old phone. She picked up the receiver, but didn’t hear a connection. She pushed at the buttons on the base unit, but nothing happened. She turned it over. It was hollow. Like the printouts and file folders, it was fake. Just a plastic prop.
Feeling hopeless, Melinda dropped into one of the metal swivel chairs behind the work desks and tables. There had to be a way to get a message out. She sat and spun the chair around and around looking at the ceiling, then slid across the floor and bumped against the wall. Finally she put her head down in her hands and cried.
Each breath she took and each sob pulled in more and more of the contaminated air. The nanovirus was coursing through her veins now, breeding and expanding, exploding inside her cells and spreading throughout her body by the millions. Soon she would start to sneeze, then cough, then death would come swiftly, violently, and painfully. But she wanted, needed, to do something as a final gesture. She pried her head from her hands and wiped her face with her sleeve, laughing at the return of a childhood habit.
“One last look around, Melinda. Don’t give up now, girl,” she said softly.
That’s when she saw it, sitting in the corner, covered in spider webs, and long forgotten—a rusty old wireless telegraph machine. God, please don’t let it be fake too.
She remembered the device from history lessons. She had no idea how to use it, but the encyclopedia on her portable could give her the answer. The government must have thought it was worth keeping, maybe in case all other forms of communication were cut off.
She studied the apparatus, discovering it didn’t have a battery and the power cord was broken and frayed. Apparently nobody bothered to inspect the damned thing. Before she could try to reconnect the wires, she needed to turn off the power to the wall socket.
She made her way to the hotel’s maintenance office—detouring into the kitchen to snag a bottle of water—and used the building’s computer to shut off the power. Inside the maintenance office and kitchen she stepped over the bodies of hotel employees who had died the day before from the virus. After splicing the wires back together as best she could and turning the power back on, she sat down in front of the telegraph.
“Now how do I work this thing?” she asked.
Seconds later she pulled up a tutorial video on how to send a message using Morse code. The question was what to send. She thought for a few moments, then typed into her portable, where the message was translated into Morse code. She propped her portable up on the table next to the telegraph and started tapping away, first three quick dots then three longer touches on the device’s sending tab to represent the dashes, followed again by three quick dots. “SOS.” Then she sent the rest of the message.
“President Paulson dead. I am last survivor, Melinda Rider. Infected. Little time left. Secretary of State Farrow was traitor working with attackers. Farrow dead but may have accomplices. Be on the lookout.”
Melinda sent the message nine more times. Then she pushed her chair back and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. But that was quickly followed by doubts.
She had no way of knowing if anyone got the message. It was the longest of long shots.
Several minutes passed with Melinda just looking at her portable, flipping through pictures of her family, her dog, and her boyfriend. She couldn’t believe they were gone, but soon she would be with them all. She was smiling, watching a video of her and J. T. at the beach last summer, when suddenly the telegraph started moving.
Dah, dah, pause, dit, pause, dit, dit, dit.
Melinda quickly pulled up the Morse Code letter key to try to translate the message. It sounded like nothing intelligible to her, so she also hit record on her portable. Slowly, with the help of her portable, she was able to decipher the sounds.
“Message received. Will try to help. Where are you?”
Someone got the message! There was still hope. But then a nagging doubt began to wind its way through the back of her mind. The person on the other end was asking where she was. But she didn’t know who they were. It could be someone working with the attackers. She decided it was best not to reveal her location.
Melinda stood and backed away from the telegraph. Just as she did, her nose started dripping. She wiped the clear fluid away with the back of her hand. Her throat was parched, and she fought back a cough. She guessed what was coming, but she drank down some more of her bottled water, hoping to ward off the symptoms for a moment. For just a moment. She’d thought she was resigned to her fate, but she didn’t want to go out in pain. Not after what she’d seen happen to the others.
She glanced at the wireless again and thought about sending a message asking where the other person was, just for the comfort of connecting with someone, but her time was limited. She wanted to die under the sun, outside, not hiding in some bunker under the ground.
“We’re not done playing yet, my dear.”
Melinda whirled around, her heart hammering.
Cameron Farrow stood across the room, blocking the only way out, one hand on his hip, the other over his head as he casually leaned against the doorframe. He had taken his shirt off and caked and hardened blood still covered his body, but the bullet holes in his chest and head had almost completely healed over.
“What the hell! You. . . you were dead!” Melinda recoiled in horror.
“I’m much harder to kill than you think. You see, I heal very, very fast. So what were you doing over there?”
Melinda glanced at the telegraph and then looked back at Farrow, but she didn’t say a word.
Farrow strolled over to the table and inspected the device.
“You were using this to send a message. Who did you send it to?”
Farrow was right in her face now, eyes narrow, his anger rising.
“I said, who did you send it to, bitch?” Farrow smacked Melinda across the face with the back of his hand. The force of the blow spun her around and almost knocked her off her feet. The taste of blood filled her mouth.
“Is there another base out there? Are there more survivors?”
Melinda spat into his face.
“Fuck you! You traitor! I’m not telling you anything.”
“Oh, but you will.”
Farrow reached over with lightning speed, inhuman for a man in his seventies, and grabbed her around the waist with both hands. She struggled to get away and raise her arms to hit him, but he was too strong. He wrestled her around so he was behind her, then he pushed her forward and over the table. A computer reel, the fake phone, and papers went flying. He placed a firm hand on her upper back and shoved. Her chest and head hit the table hard, nearly knocking the breath out of her.
Farrow stood behind her, breathing heavily, holding her down. She tried to kick him, to push herself up, but Farrow was too heavy and too strong. Then she felt him reaching around to the front of her pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. She struggled harder and began screaming, but she knew no one was around to hear. No one was going to come save her. All of the heroes were all dead.
Farrow yanked her pants down from behind and pushed them to her knees. She could feel him fumbling around with his own clothing and then heard his zipper.
“So, what’s it going to be, bitch? Are you going to tell me what message you sent and where that base is or am I going to hurt you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine?”
“Please, please don’t hurt me,” Melinda sobbed. “I’ll tell you. Just let me up, please.”
Farrow paused for a second. Melinda felt his ice cold pelvis press up against her warm buttocks as he used his knees to force her legs apart. Then he leaned over her back and whispered into her ear.
“I think I’ll have a little fun first.”
Chapter 23
Date and Time Unknown
Lechuguilla Cave
Jeff dug and pulled a grunting, barely conscious Patrick Chen over the rocks and out of the cavern. When he finally got him through the small tunnel and clear of the cave-in, he saw how severely injured Chen was. Both legs were gone, eaten away by the nanobots, up past his knees and almost midway to his thigh. Jeff quickly checked him for nanobots, but there were none. He checked again, turning Chen over several times. Even more unbelievable was that Chen wasn’t bleeding out. He actually wasn’t bleeding at all. A thin, bluish-silver membrane had formed over the injured tissue on his legs. Jeff gently touched the spongy substance. It was nothing he’d ever seen before.
“I’ve got you, Doctor. You’re going to be okay now. We have a MedKit to treat you.”
Chen was barely conscious. Jeff pulled him back to where Holly was lying and got out the MedKit.
“My God! It’s Dr. Chen.” Holly sat up. “I can’t believe he’s alive. How did he get through the vortex? I thought it closed behind us?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for him to regain consciousness.”
Jeff ran the MedKit scanner over Chen’s body to see what other injuries he had. When he got to his legs, Nancy said, “Subject is contaminated with an unknown substance. Please take a sample for analysis.”
Jeff tried to scrape off a bit of the material covering Chen’s legs, but the knife wouldn’t cut it. It was too tough, like hard rubber, but flexible and spongy.
“That could be some type of bandage on there,” Holly said.
“When would he have had time to apply a bandage? If he jumped through the vortex right after us, there would have been no time.”
“Nancy, is he stable?” Jeff asked the Med-AI.
“Subject has gone through tremendous trauma resulting in internal damage, including a broken pelvis and broken ribs. I suggest taking a blood sample to check for infection.”
Jeff pulled a needle out of the kit and drew blood from Chen. The doctor continued to lapse in and out of consciousness, babbling nonsense. He was also sweating profusely, with beads dripping down his forehead. He most certainly had a fever. Jeff placed the blood sample into the MedKit for analysis.
Several minutes later, Nancy came back with a response. “Subject is infected with a foreign antibody. Recommend further analysis before treatment of any type.”
Jeff and Holly both backed away from Chen. Jeff knew all too well what foreign antibody meant. It was the nanovirus they had left behind in the future.
“Is he contagious?” Jeff asked Nancy.
“Unknown.”
“Is this the same virus that infected the population in the future?” asked Holly.
“Checking files. I don’t have direct data and lab samples on the virus you refer to. However, the Chronos mainframe did load an overview of the virus that was obtained from the CDC into my files. Running a comparison analysis.”
Several minutes passed before the AI spoke again. “Analysis complete. The cells are virtually identical, with one subtle difference. They both contain organic and inorganic materials, but the cells in the blood of this subject are constructive regenerative cells, not destructive virus cells.”
“So these cells are healing him?” Jeff asked. He didn’t know what to make of that.
“They are reconstructing his damaged organs and cells at an astoundingly rapid rate.”
“Okay . . . ” Jeff looked at Holly. “We’ll need to wait until Chen wakes up and starts making sense, then we can ask him what happened. In the meantime, I should see if I can dig out more of the tunnel back to the main cavern.”
Holly bit her lip.
Jeff laid one hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay with me leaving you here with him? You’ve got the Med-AI monitoring your condition, and you can call if you need me.”
“I’m good.”
After several more hours of the grueling work, Jeff broke through to the main cavern. The entire thing was caved in. By that time he’d had enough. He felt the hopelessness of their situation pulling him down, sending him further into exhaustion. Discouraged and worn out, he trudged back to where Holly was lying asleep, and curled up beside her. He peered at Chen, who was a bit farther away on the other side of the tunnel. He hadn’t moved from where Jeff had placed him, but he was shaking and his head sporadically thrashed from side to side, as if he were having a horrible nightmare. Beads of sweat still ran down his forehead.
Jeff dozed off, but it was a very light sleep on the hard rocky floor of the tunnel.
Twenty-Five Hours Underground
Jeff woke to hunger pangs and extreme thirst. According to the clock on his portable, it had been just over a day since they’d time-jumped and he’d vomited up his last meal from the future. The cavern was warm, about sixty-eight to seventy degrees, according to his portable, and oppressively humid, so they were sweating constantly. It was hard to stay hydrated, so they were getting low on water again.
They’d carried no food with them, so he checked the MedKit for supplies. All the fluid reserves had been used up in Holly’s IV and in the replication of blood. The AI said it could recycle and filter their urine, which they could drink as a temporary solution. But very soon they’d need a source of water.
Holly had moved further down the tunnel and was waking slowly. Jeff went to check on Chen who was awake and looking much better.
“How do you feel, Doctor?”
“Like a ton of rocks fell on my head and nanobots made a meal of my legs. How the hell do you think I feel?”
Same old Chen.
“I was lucky to find you alive,” Jeff said smugly. “We thought you were dead. How did you get through the vortex?”
“As you can see, my heart is still beating. As for how I got here, I don’t exactly recall. The last thing I remember was nanobots crawling all over my legs and falling to the floor. After that, everything else is a blur. I must have fallen through the vortex.”
“But there are no nanobots on you. How did you get rid of them?”
“I don’t know,” Chen said angrily. “Maybe they didn’t like the taste of strong Chinese flesh.”
“The Med-AI said you have multiple internal injuries, so maybe we should do a quick check.” Jeff didn’t like playing nursemaid to Chen, but since he made it through the time jump alive, he’d be crucial to their mission. This Chen, who knew everything there was to know about Project Chronos, would be able to effortlessly kick-start the project.
Jeff got the scanner out and ran it over Chen’s body.
“Subject is showing remarkable recovery,” Nancy reported. “Most injuries, including the cracked ribs and broken pelvis, show recovery levels consistent with at least six months of natural healing. Viral infection is still present.”
"What is that AI talking about a viral infection?" Chen asked, concerned.
Jeff told him about the medical findings they had discovered earlier.
"Well that is strange. But I feel fine, although there is some weird tingling in my legs."
Chen reached over and touched his legs. As he did so, Jeff noticed something strange. He recognized the healing as being remarkable. He moved the flashlight closer for a better look and saw jagged protrusions and vine-like growths pushing out from the bluish-silver membrane covering the stumps. He moved even closer. They looked like roots coming out of a growing sapling.
What the hell was it?
"Are your legs growing back?" Jeff asked incredulous.
Chen smirked. "We both know that's impossible. Although this bandage you put on there is really strange."
"I didn't put a bandage on there. When I found you, you already had this strange blue membrane covering the stumps of your legs."
A frightened and shocked look passed across Chen's face before fading into a partial smile.
"Seems like someone was looking out for me then," he said mysteriously.
Jeff backed away from Chen. Something was not quite right about him and there were far too many unanswered questions about his condition and how he arrived here in the past.
“By the way, how is my beautiful young Holly Scarborough doing?” Chen asked. Holly had moved further down the tunnel.
Not a very professional way to refer to her, Jeff thought, still freaked out by Chen’s legs.
“She’s doing better than a few hours ago. I had to amputate her arm; it was infected with nanobots.”
“You what!” Chen yelled out, furious. “You cut her arm off? What kind of crazy butcher are you?”
Jeff felt guilty enough without Chen riding him now. “It was the only choice I had. Nanobots were crawling all over her arm. If I'd waited longer, they would’ve devoured her whole body. There was no other way to get them off.”
“Apparently I was able to get them off. Where is Holly? I want to see her.”
Chen shoved Jeff out of the way. When he saw Holly on the other side of the tunnel, he started dragging himself over to her, wincing all the way.
Jeff had no desire to help the nasty old man.
Holly was busy stacking small pebbles into tight rows along the floor of the cave, counting quietly to herself.
“Holly, my dear, how are you doing?”
She broke free from her trance and glanced up at Chen, careful not to knock over the pebbles.
“I’m feeling better, sir. I’m glad to be alive and away from the virus and those nanobots.” She stole a quick look at his legs, but quickly lifted her gaze back to his face. “I’m sorry about your legs.”
“It's okay, I'm just happy I made it here. And don’t worry, dear, we’ll get you fixed up very soon. You’ll be as good as new.” Chen smiled. “Maybe even better.”
The man had gone crazy, Jeff concluded. He leaned against the tunnel wall and didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t listening.
Chen hugged Holly, holding on longer than even the circumstances dictated. Holly tried to pull away, but Chen didn’t release his hold.
“Uh, Dr. Chen, you’re hurting me, my arm.” Holly whimpered.
Chen released her and then scooted closer, staring into her face without moving, until his head titled slightly to the side, as if he were studying her.
“As much as I’d like to watch more of this reunion, we still need to get out of here,” Jeff said. “When I was digging yesterday, I discovered that the main cavern, where we expect the Chronos Project to be built, has been completely caved in.”
He scratched his chin. “The way I see it, we have two choices. We can wait here, see if I get a cell signal when the construction crew eventually gets here and use the walkie-talkie feature on my portable to send a message, or we can try to find another way out.”
“With the cavern filled with rocks, I doubt they’ll build the base in that particular cavern,” Holly said. “We can go back over there to see if we get any cell signal, but we have no way of knowing what they’ll do if they discover a buried cavern.”
“The alternative is to just stumble blindly into the cavern, hoping to find another way out?” Chen’s face wore a sour look. “I don’t think that’s such a bright idea.”
“Well, we would be blind for a time,” Jeff said, “but if we can find some identifiable landmarks, then I should be able to use the maps I downloaded onto my portable to find a way out. It may take some time, but we would get to an exit eventually. What do you think, Holly?”
“Let’s give it a little bit longer here. I think we all could use some more rest before we go exploring the cavern. The going will be slow, and Dr. Chen will need both of us to help carry him.”
She was right. Jeff thought momentarily about going out on his own for help, but he might not be able to find his way back to Chen and Holly. The cavern was vast, with too many paths for someone to get lost in. No, it was best that they stick together.
“Okay, let’s rest. I’ll set an alarm on my portable to notify me of any cell phone activity in the area.”
They sat huddled together without saying anything for a long time. Holly picked up a few rocks and began tossing them methodically in a set sequence. Jeff assumed she was counting them in some way, how far they bounced or how many sounds they made until they stopped moving.
She cleared her throat. “We haven’t talked yet about who we think is behind the attacks. The virus and the nanobots are highly advanced technology.”
“You don’t think it’s possible that the Chinese or the Russians or some other government is responsible?” Jeff asked.
“We don’t have the intel that the U.S. government does, so it’s hard to say,” Holly said. “But from what we were shown earlier, it’s doubtful.”
“They couldn’t have done it,” Chen said with certainty. “They are too primitive.”
Jeff cut his eyes over at Chen. “I don’t know about primitive. If they didn’t do it, then maybe the virus and nanobots were some type of experiment conducted by U.S. scientists that got out of hand. Maybe the nanobots escaped or the virus was accidently released.”
“That’s a possibility,” Holly said.
“Too primitive,” Chen responded again.
“So, what do you think then, Doctor?” Jeff asked, since Chen obviously thought he was the expert.
“I think it would take humans hundreds of years to develop these types of technologies.”
“So, what, the virus and the nanobots came from the future?”
Holly turned toward him. “We did discuss that possibility during our meeting. Remember? There is a distinct possibility that we are in the middle of a temporal war that we don’t even know about.”
“Well, we don’t have the name of the attacker, but we do have the method and date of the attack. This time we’ll be prepared. Right, Doctor?”
“Perhaps,” Chen said quietly. Then, louder, he said, “I’m thirsty; what do we have to drink.”
“Well, I’ve prepared some delicious filtered urine for our dining pleasure. Just try to think of it as an aged fine yellow wine.”
Holly laughed and Chen snorted gruffly.
After downing just enough water to moisten their dry mouths and throats, Jeff stood.
“I should at least start searching for a water source.”
“I’ll go with you,” Holly said eagerly, glancing at Chen. “You’ll be okay by yourself here, won’t you, Doctor?”
“Oh, I’ll be just fine,” Chen said coldly. “I feel myself getting stronger by the minute.”
Jeff didn’t doubt that, not with the strange nanovirus spreading through his body, healing his wounds. What he still couldn’t figure out was why the bots were healing Chen instead of killing him, as they did everybody else. Apparently Chen didn’t know the answer to that question either.
Or did he?
Forty-Eight Hours Underground
Jeff woke up and felt something sitting right beside him, breathing heavily. He could barely make out what looked like glowing blue eyes staring at him. He quickly turned on his flashlight to reveal Dr. Chen sitting with his head extended close to his own. Chen's gaze was fixed directly on Jeff's face.
“What are you doing?” Jeff asked. “What . . . what happened to your face?”
Bluish veins protruded around his temples and eyes, and sections of his hair were falling out, revealing more large veins under his skull. He didn’t say anything.
“Doctor?”
“I don’t know,” Chen said, his voice noticeably deeper.
Jeff was a little scared of this strange, new Chen.
“Maybe we should check you again with the MedKit. How do your legs feel?”
Jeff turned the flashlight on Chen’s legs. Incredibly they had grown even more. The small root-like structures had spread out and solidified into legs. They had begun to mold together just past the knees and were progressing into calf muscles. The flesh, however, wasn’t normal skin color. It was the same as the blue-silver membrane that had covered his legs when Jeff first found him.
Jeff quickly ran the MedKit scanner over him while Chen sat silently staring, still breathing hard.
“Identification unknown,” Nancy reported. “Subject’s internal organs do not match human criteria. No database match.”
Jeff picked up the MedKit and started to back away from Chen.
“What are you?” Jeff asked.
Chen looked up at Jeff, the blue tinge around his eyes glowing brighter. Without warning he lunged toward Jeff. He was incredibly fast and grabbed onto Jeff’s arm with a vice-like grip, his nails digging deep.
Jeff tried to break free, and Chen reached up with his other hand and grabbed his throat. With ease he pulled Jeff down to his knees. Helpless and struggling, Jeff couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t break loose. He grabbed Chen’s wrist to pry it away, but it felt like a steel rod locked into place. Chen had the strength of ten men.
Jeff desperately reached into the MedKit, hoping to lay his hands on anything he could use as a weapon. He pulled out the bone saw he’d used to cut off Holly’s arm. The saw started buzzing immediately, and Jeff swung it up and jammed it into Chen’s chest. Chen screamed, let go of Jeff’s throat and arm, and fell back, clutching his chest. Jeff jumped to his feet, kicked Chen in the face, and knocked him on his back.
Holly woke up and said, “What are you two doing over there?” She must have gotten a good look at them, because she then said, “Oh my God!”
Jeff watched as Chen rose to his knees. The spot where Jeff had jammed him with the bone saw was bleeding profusely, but slowly starting to heal. Bluish tendrils were weaving their way across the area like a patchwork quilt, stopping the blood flow and sealing the wound.
“He’s not human, Holly! Stay back!” Jeff yelled as he crossed over in front of Holly.
Chen's face twisted from a cold lack of expression to shock and surprise.
"Run Holly! I . . . I can't control myself!" He struggled to blurt out before his face turned cold again.
“She’s mine, and I’m taking her,” Chen said in a deep booming voice, the apparent winner of the battle inside his mind.
He scrambled forward, crawling like a demonic spider across the rocky tunnel floor, dragging his still-growing legs behind him.
“Get behind me,” Jeff yelled to Holly as Chen quickly approached.
Jeff was still holding the bone saw, its buzz cascading through the tunnel. When Chen was close enough, he lunged out with it. Chen dodged to the side as deftly as a man could with half legs, and swung his hand, bashing Jeff on the shoulder with force. The pain was immediate and intense.
Jeff quickly flipped the bone saw to his other hand and lunged out again, this time clipping the side of Chen’s ribcage. The flesh sliced away as the cutting blades of the saw dug in. But the cut wasn’t deep enough and immediately began to heal over.
Chen backed away slightly, and Jeff stood in front of Holly, holding the saw out to keep Chen from moving closer. They were cornered, their backs to the wall. Chen was blocking the only way out, a path deeper into Lechuguilla.
“Patrick, please stop this,” Holly pleaded.
“I don’t think that’s Patrick anymore,” Jeff said. “I don’t know who or what it is.”
“Holly, come over here with me,” Chen growled. “There’s so much I can show you.”
“I don’t want to see anything you have to show me, Dr. Chen. Please stop this. We can help you.”
“Do I look like I need your help! I’m advancing beyond anything your pitiful little hands could create.”
Chen glared at Jeff, his brow furrowing in anger. “I’ve had enough of this. It’s time you both die, deep underground and forgotten.”
Crouching tiger-like, Chen shifted his weight to the right, and started to lunge to that side. Jeff flinched and jerked the bone saw in that direction, but it was just a body fake from Chen. He shifted his weight fluidly back to the left, then leaped into the air, catching Jeff off balance. In midair he grabbed Jeff’s hand and twisted it violently. Pain streaked to Jeff’s shoulder, his hand went numb, and the saw dropped. It fell to the ground, silent, no longer spinning.
Chen punched up into Jeff’s jaw with a vicious uppercut. It was like being hit by a brick. Jeff’s teeth slammed together and his head jerked back. Streaks of lightning flooded his vision and agony pulsed through his jaw as he fell back into Holly. When he landed against her, he was barely conscious. Blood streamed from his nose, and he could taste it in his mouth.
Chen pulled him off Holly, then jammed his hand between Jeff’s legs and crushed his balls. Chen lifted him by the hair and balls and threw him across the tunnel. Jeff flipped once in the air and slammed into the rock wall upside down. Pain pierced through him as he fell to the ground in a broken mess.
Springing off both hands and knees, ape-like, Chen leaped across the tunnel. Jeff could feel and smell his horrible breath on his face as Chen leaned over him, grinning like a maniac.
“I think I’ll break both legs and both arms, then let you sit here and watch as I have fun with your little friend Holly. I want to hear her scream.”
Jeff could barely even lift his head to see Chen making a nasty thrusting motion with his hips.
“Oh and she's going to scream loud too.”
Jeff flinched when a rock came slamming down on the back of Chen’s head. It hit his skull with loud thump and broke into pieces. Chen looked stunned for a second, then shook it off. Bits and pieces of dust and rock fell down onto his shoulders.
Chen laughed, a deep, dark, evil sound. And Jeff couldn’t suppress the shudder that rippled through him.
“Don’t worry, my dear, you’ll get your turn soon enough.” He reached out and pulled Jeff’s right arm straight and rigid.
“Make a wish, Congressman.”
Jeff tried to pull his arm away, but this Chen was way too strong. Chen jerked suddenly, and Jeff waited for the inevitable snapping sound and the wrenching pain of his arm breaking, but nothing happened. Chen was still holding him. Jeff rolled, turning to see what had happened. A needle protruded from Chen’s neck. He dropped Jeff’s arm and pulled the needle out, but it had already delivered its ingredients.
Holly, shaking and pale, stood behind Chen. She’d managed to inject him with something from the MedKit. Chen’s eyes rolled back and his breathing slowed. He stumbled backwards, then fell forward, landing face first on the rocky floor beside Jeff.
“I gave him all the tranquilizer we had,” Holly said as she rushed over to help Jeff up. “It would probably be enough to kill most men, but with him, I have no idea. It may just knock him unconscious for a while. Come on, we need to get out of here before he recovers.”
Jeff grunted, still dazed and throbbing. He struggled to his feet, leaning on Holly.
“We need to go deeper into the cave and look for a way out,” she said.
“Should we finish him off, while he’s out?” Jeff asked, weaving and wobbling until he fell against the cave wall. “He was going to kill us both and rape you.”
They stood over the unconscious Chen, but studied one another’s faces.
“I’m no killer, Jeff.”
Jeff wasn’t either, but he could make an exception this time. He bent over and picked up the bone saw. He switched it on and moved it to Chen’s neck.
“Should I cut his head off?” Jeff asked.
Holly just walked away.
Jeff hovered over the other man, wondering what to do, the bone saw inches from Chen’s neck. He'd only met the man two days ago. They hadn’t started out on the right foot and had fought more times than Jeff had ever fought anyone in his entire life. Now Chen had turned into some crazed homicidal maniac bent on killing both him and Holly. Despite all that, Jeff was having a hard time cutting the man’s throat while he lay helpless and unconscious.
“You know it’s the nanovirus making him act this way,” Holly said, her voice soft. “They could be controlling his mind, or maybe it just makes you crazy. If we get him out of here, maybe we can cure him. The old Chen may still be in there.” She shook her head. “And we might need him, Jeff.”
Jeff didn’t think he could cut the man’s head off if there was any hope he could be cured. Plus, even the idea of using the bone saw again nauseated him. He thought back to cutting Holly’s arm off, all her blood splattering over his face, and he shuddered.
“Okay. We’ll leave him here and come back for him after we find a way out. Then we’ll see if there’s anything left of the real Chen.” Jeff let out a sigh of relief and lifted the bone saw from Chen’s neck. He was glad he didn’t have to kill the man; he didn’t have the stomach for it.
“Come on, then, let’s get out of here before he wakes up,” Holly said. “And we’ll get you a painkiller.”
"Wait," Jeff said. "We should at least tie him up first. Is there any rope in the MedKit?"
"I don't see any rope, but perhaps we could use this tourniquet?"
Holly reached into the kit and pulled out the device, still covered in her own dried blood. Jeff grabbed it while suppressing a flashback to when he had to use it on Holly's nanobot infested arm. He pulled Chen's arms behind his back and tightened the tourniquet around his hands. It was a tight fit, but not tight enough to cut off the circulation.
"This should work," he said.
Jeff and Holly leaned on each other and hustled down the tunnel after grabbing the MedKit and flashlight.
“You know we won’t be able to signal anyone with our portables when they try to dig down into the cavern,” Holly said matter-of-factly.
“Going back isn’t an option. We need to find another way out. Let’s put as much distance between ourselves and Chen that we can, and maybe we’ll get lucky and find a landmark to direct us.” He looked over his shoulder, ignoring the additional twinge and pull on his battered muscles. “Sure hope that maniac doesn’t wake up any time soon.”
Jeff didn’t know what Chen was changing into, but whatever it was, he wanted to be very far away from it.
Chapter 24
3:00 pm EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
Melinda lay prostrate over the table, Farrow behind her, ready to rape her, when she started coughing. It was slight at first, then heaving, rocking her body into contortions. Farrow backed away and released the pressure on her back. She turned and tried to stand, her pants around her ankles, but she fell forward, doubling over from the heaving coughs. She collapsed onto her side, then curled into the fetal position. There she lay, helpless as a baby, naked from the waist down, spitting up blood in wrenching agony.
“Christ,” Farrow said angrily.
Melinda caught a glimpse of his face and then focused on his expression. He closed his eyes, as if in deep concentration. Her coughing stopped and immediately her pain eased.
“I’ve stopped the virus momentarily,” he said. “I can stop it for good and you can leave here alive if you just tell me what I want to know.” Farrow smiled. “Or we can continue where we left off before we were so rudely interrupted.”
“No, no,” Melinda said. “I’ll tell you. I don’t want to die and I don’t want to be raped.” If there was any chance that she could live, she was going to take it, but she needed to think fast. Just telling Farrow the truth, that she sent out a blind message via wireless telegraph, wasn’t going to cut it.
“There is another base where people are still alive. I sent them a Morse code message telling them that you were a spy and that I killed you.”
Farrow frowned, his jaw going tight. “Where is this base?”
Melinda climbed up off the floor and pulled her underwear and pants back up. Then she looked the Secretary squarely in the face, tears welling in her eyes. Her feeling of betrayal was still strong.
“Before I tell you, you need to explain some things to me first,” she said boldly. She needed to stall, give herself time to think. If she told Farrow everything she thought he wanted to hear, then he had no reason to keep her alive. He would just rape and kill her after she talked. And God, she wanted to be able to tell others there was a way to stop the virus.
Farrow apparently didn’t like her tone and pulled his arm back to hit her. Then he slowly dropped it down and placed his hand on his hip.
“Very well. Ask your questions. We’ve already won this war. It’s just a matter of cleaning up the last few pieces of trash. My patience is wearing thin, though, so keep it short.”
“Did you plant the bomb back on the plane?”
“Of course I planted the bomb. It was easy to smuggle it on with my security clearance. Who would’ve thought that the Secretary of State could be a terrorist bomber? I just wish it had killed more people. No matter; everyone is taken care of now.”
“You were prepared to blow yourself up?”
“I was never in danger. You’ve already seen that.” Farrow pointed at his chest.
“So why have you done this, betrayed your country, killed so many people?”
Farrow snorted. “We just want you dead. We want this land, the water and the resources, for ourselves.”
Her fear was still churning, but Melinda felt unholy rage building through her as she clenched her fists. She wanted to pound Farrow hard, smack off his sneer.
“I . . . I had so much respect for you. And you betray all of us!” Melinda was furious now, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Who is this 'we'? You’ve been working with the Chinese all this time, haven't you.”
Farrow laughed. “Stupid bitch! The Chinese are all dead, just like little insects. They crumbled and fell with no resistance. Their cities will be wiped from the planet, just like yours, you dirty Americans. The same with the Russians and the whole world. In days, there won’t be a human left alive on this planet.”
“But what about you? You’re going to die too, aren’t you? You’re human.” Melinda’s last words trailed off as she was filled with dread at the possibility that the man standing before her, claiming to be Secretary of State Cameron Farrow, might in fact not be human at all.
He laughed again. “Do you think a mere human could recover from this?” He pointed at the slight scars on his forehead where she’d shot him.
“I am so much more than human. The techno-organic virus now inside you can be programmed to heal the body, not just destroy it. It can rebuild damaged tissue, enhance speed, strength and endurance, and forestall aging to the point of near immortality. And this virus is coursing through my veins. If fact, with the right programming, it can change my appearance and turn me into whatever I want.”
Farrow held up his hand. Slowly, from each of his fingers emerged tiny claws in place of his fingernails. “A super predator, for example,” he said, smiling. The smile was just as creepy, as inhuman, as the claws.
“B-b-but how?” Melinda stammered, gaping at his hand in disgust.
Farrow snorted. “That, my dear, is a long story and my patience has worn thin. Let’s just say I got these enhancements from the future.”
“The future? What are you talking about?”
“This virus was engineered well beyond today and sent back in time, inside my body.”
“You’re saying you’re from the future! But that’s impossible. You were born in Hong Kong in 1963, started with nothing, built your fortune. Everybody knows your story.”
“That story is a beautiful fabrication. There was no Cameron Farrow until I invented him in 1992.”
“Well then, who the hell are you?”
Farrow pressed forward until they were almost touching, his smell and the predatory look in his eyes making her shake.
“My real name is Patrick Chen.”
Chapter 25
Date and Time Unknown
In the Desert Near Lechuguilla Caverns
Kaahtenay was riding his horse slowly back home, exhausted and sweaty after a full day hunting deer. The ancestors had not blessed him with a gift of meat, although he did see a small herd of deer off in the distance. They’d quickly scattered as they picked up his scent in the warm desert air. Game was becoming more and more scarce as the days and years passed.
In the time of Kaahtenay’s grandfather, the land was bountiful and the tribe only needed to journey short distances to find food. Times were tough now, and Kaahtenay could sense something ominous coming over the horizon. Something that meant more death and despair for his people, the People of the Mountain Forests, the Mescalero Apache.
He kept his horse moving at a slow and steady trot through the rapidly cooling desert as the sun fell low to the horizon and late afternoon rode in. Low rocky hills punctuated by dirt, rock, sagebrush, and the occasional prickly lechuguilla bush spread out to the horizon.
As the sun dipped lower, preparing to kiss the crest of the land, Kaahtenay looked to the sky. No matter how many times he rode at night, he could not help but be in awe of the dazzling array of bright lights that would soon appear. They spoke to Kaahtenay as no person could, beckoning him like the ancient gods of his ancestors. Kaahtenay knew many of the stars by name, and his father had taught him the fine art of star navigation, with no reliance on landmarks to guide him.
As he was staring upward, wondering about the meaning behind the wispy white clouds passing slowly overhead, he noticed something strange. In the distance, a red light cut through the darkening blue sky, pointing straight up into the roof of Mother Earth, like a blood-tipped spear. It came out of the ground and went directly up into the sky as far as he could see. Or was it coming out of the sky and pointing at the ground? Kaahtenay couldn’t be sure.
What could it be?
It was certainly nothing he had ever seen before.
Against his better judgment, he turned to investigate. The origin of the strange light was not too far from where he was riding. He was already late getting back and his wife, Inayat, would be no more angry if he took a few minutes more. Besides, he might have an exciting story to tell her.
It wasn’t long before Kaahtenay was able to find the source, or the destination, of the light. It was a deep cave in the middle of the desert. The local people had named it for the lechuguilla, the little lettuce plant that grew in abundance in the area.
Kaahtenay hopped off his horse and walked to the cave’s entrance. Were the ancient Gods guiding him to this cave? Was there a message hidden inside, one for him to take back to his people? The red light that penetrated the dark depths of the cave lit the rocky sides so he could see down deep. He didn’t want to go into it too far just before nightfall, though. The terrain was treacherous, and he could easily twist an ankle, lose his balance, and fall to his death.
Kaahtenay edged his way as close as he could to the drop-off and called out into the abyss.
“Hello, hello, is anyone there?” he yelled. He was scared and his heart pounded. He was out in the middle of the desert alone, with nightfall quickly approaching, standing over a deep cave that emitted an ominous red light. He crouched low, expecting something to lunge out of the cave and attack him, some demon from the depths of the underworld.
He would be brave though. He came from a people of warriors, and their blood ran strong through him, giving him courage. He yelled out again. This time he could hear muffled cries in reply. What were they saying? Was it demon-speak or some strange language from a far distant land?
The cries became louder as he listened. It sounded like two people, a man and a woman. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he could tell they were in distress. He yelled out once more, telling them he was there to help. He wasn’t sure if they could understand him or not.
Kaahtenay flipped his hair behind him as he ran back to his horse.
Well, I guess that’s enough of playing wilderness Indian tonight.
He pulled out his walkie-talkie and called up the park ranger.
“Hey, Tommy. Yeah this is Kaahtenay out at the entrance to Lechuguilla Cave. I know it’s late, bro, but it looks like some cavers got stuck down here near the first drop. Yeah, I don’t know how they could be that stupid either.” He kicked a boot at the ground. “Well, I don’t know. I guess they snuck out here. So they may be hurt. Maybe you should get off your ass and come out with some rope and climbing gear and help them out. It’ll be a chance for you to save someone and not just tell people to pick up their trash.” He grinned at Tommy’s sputterings.
“Come on, bro, it’s your job. I was out riding and hunting today, so I don’t have any gear with me. Okay, I’ll wait. Bring some Chinese food and a few brews too; we could be in for a long night.”
Kaahtenay clipped his walkie-talkie to his belt and went to sit on one of the boulders near the cave entrance to wait for Tommy.
“Stupid amateur cavers,” he mumbled. He was definitely going to catch it from Inayat tonight. But at least he’d have an exciting story to tell, and he might just be saving a couple of lives.
“Yeah, right,” he said to the night. Maybe they should just leave them down there a few days so they’d learn their lesson.
Kaahtenay sat watching the sky and thinking again about his ancestors who used to roam this area so many generations ago. It was still beautiful, but the land and the people had changed so much. The world was a drastically different place today from even the time of his grandfather.
He ran his fingers through his long hair and stared at the red light glowing from the bottom of the cave. Strange signal light, like a futuristic laser. Kaahtenay’s stomach growled and broke up any thoughts he was having about Star Wars light sabers.
He wouldn’t get a home-cooked meal tonight, but he at least he’d get some Kung Pao chicken.
Salvation was at hand!
Jeff couldn’t believe it. He and Holly had spent the last three days struggling through Lechuguilla cave trying to escape from the caverns that almost became their tomb, always worried that Chen was going to pop out and attack them again. They were jubilant when they heard the voice from above calling out to them like an angel from heaven.
The last three days hadn’t been easy. They’d walked in circles several times through some parts of the 185-mile cave system, until they began marking their route with yellowish rock crystals. In certain spots the path was narrow and they’d needed to feel their way using their hands to move around large rock formations. At times Jeff had found the cavern beautiful with its large columns of multicolored stalagmites and giant gypsum crystal formations. Sections of the cavern were so large that the light from his flashlight was lost before hitting the walls.
It was a truly magical place, with sharp, sparkling blue crystal trees jutting out from yellow rocks. But there was also danger lurking in the darkness. They could’ve easily lost their footing on the scattered, jagged rocks and fallen into a deep abyss, of which there were many. When they came upon those bottomless pits, a sight he’d never expected to seek out, Jeff would point his flashlight down to see if he could see an end. There was never anything but darkness.
When they rested, always with one of them awake to listen in case Chen crawled out of the depths, they talked about their lives. Jeff let Holly in on a great deal more than any other woman in a long time, at least since his divorce from Sarah. Holly was just easy to talk to. They had shared a horrible trauma, something that no one else on the planet had experienced. Jeff was starting to like Holly. She was definitely attractive, even with cave mud and dust all over her face. Jeff tried not to stare at her too much. They were in a crisis, after all.
Finally they happened upon the Chandelier Ballroom, gigantic spiky white-crystal formations that draped down from the ceiling, starting large and then thinning out into many tiny little spikes at their ends. Some were at least twenty feet in length and truly spectacular. From that spot, he’d been able to plot a route to the next discernible landmark, Lake LaBarge, the largest body of water in the western part of the cave. And once there, he’d been able to sync up their location to the map on his portable. After that it was just a short few hours to the entrance. However, when they arrived—weak, shaky, dehydrated, and ravenously hungry—they found no ropes or climbing equipment. Nothing to help them get out.
The 145-foot cliff called Boulder Falls was impossible to climb by hand. Holly had come up with the creative idea of altering her portable and projecting a laser beam into the sky outside the cavern by using the holographic lasers built into the device. The red beam had to have been what caught the attention of the man above them.
Help would soon be there.
Jeff glanced over at the bio-suit and MedKit. He was always cautious and thinking ahead. They didn't know exactly who was coming to rescue them and having any of that future technology fall into the wrong hands, especially the data drive from future Jeff, could be devastating. The drive was safely sealed away in a pouch of the bio-suit, so Jeff picked everything up and hide the entire package under some rocks in a shadowy corner of the cave. He took off his own portable and asked Holly for hers and tucked them away as well. No one would find any of the gear there, and they could easily come back for it later.
Several hours later another voice cried out from the darkness above.
“You folks okay down here?” yelled out a man descending down to their position with lights and climbing gear. “I’m a park ranger, Tommy Hicks. You know this cavern is restricted. You need a special permit to be down here. Oh my God, what happened?”
The ranger was a young man in his mid-twenties with long straight dirty blond hair tied back tight behind his ears. He had a look of astonishment on his face as he stared at Holly’s arm. It was hard to see it clearly in the darkness, but the wound was still fresh and although it was sealed and heavily bandaged, it was quite shocking.
“We’re sorry to be here, we know the cave is restricted. My name is Jeff Madison and this is Holly Scarborough. We were hiking near Rattlesnake Canyon Trail and found a small cave entrance over there.”
Jeff was lying, of course, but he'd had time over the last several days to come up with a cover story that would pass muster and not call too much attention to them and their presence in the cave.
“The area was unstable and when we went in, the entrance collapsed behind us. We tried to dig our way out, but couldn’t. And when we moved some rocks, Holly’s arm got reinjured in another small cave-in. That’s why it looks like a fresh wound. You see, she had a bacterial infection a few months ago and had to have it removed. That’s one of the reasons we were out hiking, to try to take her mind off it and brighten her mood a little bit. Little did we know that we would be trapped underground.”
He hugged Holly. “You didn’t think I had to cut it off to free her from being trapped under a rock or something, did you?” Jeff managed a half smile.
“Oh, no, not at all,” Hicks said, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry to hear about your arm, Ms. Scarborough. Hiking in this area can definitely be refreshing and brighten your mood. That is, if you don’t get trapped by a cave-in. You say you found another entrance to Lechuguilla over at Rattlesnake Canyon? Well, I suppose that’s possible; there are a lot of abandoned mines over there. Plus Lechuguilla is only partially explored. This is the only known entrance, but several scientific teams have been down here testing the air and they tell me there has to be another entrance somewhere, based on the air quality and flow. I guess you found it.”
“I suppose we did,” Jeff said. “Of course it’s buried now, and I don’t recall exactly where it was.”
“You folks don’t have any hiking gear?” Hicks asked.
“Light backpacks. We were only going out for the day. And we lost those, somewhere back there.” Jeff gestured back toward the cave. "But, Ranger, as you can guess, we’re exhausted, hungry and thirsty. We don’t even know how long we’ve been down here. If you could give us a hand, we’d really appreciate it.”
“Sure thing, that’s what I’m here for. You folks have to be thirsty as hell," Hicks said as he handed Jeff and Holly water bottles from his backpack. "Let me show you how to harness yourself into the climbing apparatus, and my friend Kaahtenay can help pull you up."
The fresh water hit Jeff's parched lips and with each gulp he could feel the life returning to his body.
"It’s amazing that you guys made it this far. And you were damned lucky that Kaahtenay saw your signal when he did. Not many people come out this way, you know. The nearest four-wheel dirt road is about two miles away. That signal light you shined into the air is really a fantastic piece of equipment. Where’d you get it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Actually, it’s on loan from the military. I have a friend who works in the supply depot, and he’s able to get some of the latest equipment. It may be available to the public eventually, but I’m not sure when.”
Yeah, it’ll be available in about twenty years.
“I’ll be on the lookout for it then,” Hicks said. “It could save a lot of lives. Kaahtenay spotted it from a couple of miles away, I think.”
The ranger strapped Holly into the harness and seat to be pulled up. When she was secure, he radioed up to his partner to start pulling. She was awake and aware of what was going on, but not very talkative and pretty listless in general.
“Thank you,” she said to the ranger as she started the slow ascent up the steep ledge.
“You guys should definitely go to the hospital to be checked out. We can take you once we get up,” Hicks said.
“We will, thank you so much. You and your friend have saved our lives,” Jeff said graciously.
Hicks smiled, “You’re welcome, Jeff. Just doing my job.”
A couple of hours later, everyone had been hauled out of Lechuguilla cave. When Jeff finally reached the top, he actually bent over and kissed the ground. It was a bit dramatic, sure, but he was emotional and incredibly relieved to finally be out, to feel fresh air and see the sky. The sun had set many hours ago and a full moon shown brightly on a clear and crisp evening. Jeff’s eyes watered as the sharp, fresh desert air hit his face. He didn’t mind.
Holly sat over by the side with a young man with long dark hair. She was wearing a buckskin jacket and eating something with a white plastic fork. Four horses waited, saddled and ready to go at the side of the cave entrance. Apparently they’d helped pull Jeff and Holly to safety.
“Vehicles can’t make it over this terrain, so it’s either hike two miles or ride out. I figure you folks would prefer to ride. These two girls here are as gentle as they can be,” Hicks said as he patted the necks of two of the horses.
“Let’s head out; my jeep is waiting for us. Uh, do you have any other clothes? It can be a bit nippy out in the desert at night.”
Jeff was only wearing his spandex undergarments, which were now blackened with dirt, sweat, and dried blood.
“No,” he said. “It was so hot down in the cave that we just left our clothes down there.”
“I’ve got another jacket you can borrow,” said a young Native American man who was standing beside the horses eating what looked like Chinese take-out and drinking a Budweiser. He walked over and handed Jeff another warm buckskin jacket like the one Holly was already wearing.
“I’m Kaahtenay. I saw your red signal light. That thing is pretty impressive. I was talking to your friend Holly here and it sounds like you guys had a really rough go of it. Don’t worry, though, we’ll get you out of here soon. Care for some Chinese?” The young man extended a white Styrofoam container.
"Oh, you can't even imagine," Jeff said, grabbing the container and scoffing down some Kung Pao chicken, ravished from his five day famine.
Kaahtenay returned to the horses but as he did so, the animals started neighing, flipping their heads up and pawing their hooves into the rocky ground.
“What in the world? Something’s got the horses spooked,” Hicks said.
The horses bucked, squealing nervously, eyes wide open in panic. Two ran off as Hicks and Kaahtenay held tightly onto theirs. Then, in the gathering shadows, something fast and powerful leapt from Lechuguilla cave, landing with a thump, throwing rocks and dust into the air at its impact.
The shadowy form grunted like a bull and glared with glowing blue eyes. Slowly, the muscular body of a tall young man rose up, standing in front of them, outlined before the full moon. He wore only snug-fitting torn shorts. He squeezed his hands into tight fists and released them, then tilted his head to each side like he was stretching out and cracking his neck.
Just as a fighter did before facing his opponent in the ring.
“Hello, Jeff and Holly,” the man boomed out in a deep metallic baritone. “Remember me? It’s the new and improved Patrick Chen. Let’s play.”
Chapter 26
3:30 pm EST, January 16, 2038
Greenbrier Resort
“I’ve answered enough of your stupid questions,” Farrow or Chen or whoever he was said angrily. “Now tell me where the base is.”
Melinda knew that she couldn’t stall any longer. She had to make up something good.
“The base is in Kashmir, in northwestern India. President Paulson told me just before the swarm attacked us. He said to send them a message if I survived.” She remembered reading about the base in a recent wire from the State Department.
“Kashmir is a pretty big place. Where?”
“The Forward Logistics Base near the Siachen Glacier. Deep under the last remaining ice cap.”
“You think I don’t know about that base? It was my job to know everything that went on. But Diaz and Paulson did have their little secrets. I’ll know if you’re telling the truth in just a few minutes.”
Farrow sat down in the chair behind the telegraph table, closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if he were in a deep trance. Several minutes passed with Melinda's heart steadily pounding harder and harder as she thought about the possibility of escape. She stood up slowly and made her way to the door.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Farrow said coldly, his eyes still closed. "Don't make me break both of your legs to hobble you."
Melinda stepped away from the door and returned to stand in front of Farrow once again. Moments later he lifted his head and stared cold and hard into her eyes.
“You lie. There is nothing at Siachen. Everyone died from the virus hours ago, before this telegraph message of yours went out.” Farrow looked furious, his blue eyes widening and lips curling into a snarl, but he held his voice slow and calm. “Perhaps we need to pick up where we left off? Or should I try something else.”
He reached out and grabbed her hand and slammed it to the table. Then he pushed his clawed index finger over her pinky and began sawing away on it, slowly and methodically.
Melinda screamed out in pain as the sharp blade tore away at her finger. But Farrow didn’t stop until her severed pinky was lying in a pool of blood.
“Please, no more!”
“You have nine more of these, then I start working on your toes. Tell me the truth!”
She’d had enough. Farrow would kill her after she gave up the information, but hopefully it would be a swift death with no torture.
“Okay, okay. Just stop. The truth is I don’t know anything about a base. I just sent out a blind SOS with the information that you were a spy.”
“Did anyone reply?”
“They did. They said they would try to help and wanted to know where I was. That’s the truth. I recorded the message on my portable. Listen if you want.”
Farrow grabbed the portable from her wrist and listened.
“Very well. That wasn’t so hard, was it? I want you to respond to them. Tell them where you are and ask where they are.”
Farrow was standing behind her the whole time breathing on her neck—hot, angry, rancid breath. She tried to put out of her mind what he was going to do to her after this was over, after the message came back from the other telegraph operator. Her hands shook as she tried to send the message and despite the chill in the air, she was sweating profusely. After a few wrong taps on the telegraph, Farrow lost his patience.
“Get up! Let me do this. Just stand over there and don’t try anything.”
She knew that it could take several minutes before the person on the other end responded, even if they got the message right away. As she stood to the side of the swivel chair, she noticed a coffee stain on the table near one of the old-style computer keyboards. She thought back to just two days ago when she was sitting in her cubicle at the White House and the clumsy intern who had a crush on her—what was his name? Rick. How Rick had brought her coffee and accidently spilled it on her laptop's holographic keyboard projector when he went to place it on her desk. It flooded the whole thing and sparks flew everywhere.
Wait! That’s it! Melinda felt she may have a chance after all.
She casually reached out to where she had left her water bottle on the table. She exaggerated the shaking of her hands and pretended to lose her grip on the bottle, knocking it to the floor. Water spilled out under the table where Farrow was sitting.
“Clumsy bitch! Just sit on the floor and don’t say or do anything.”
Melinda edged over and sat down near the telegraph's power cord, but just outside of the spilled water. A message started coming through on the machine.
Farrow spoke out loud as he translated the bips and beeps. “Message received. Need to contact other survivors. My current location is Ca . . . ”
Farrow stopped speaking. The message had been cut off as Melinda reached out to the telegraph cord and jerked it hard. The frayed wires that she had spun together earlier tore apart and the machine went flying.
She leaped to her feet and held the exposed live wires out away from her body. She stared at Farrow with searing hatred and swung the cord down to the floor like a whip.
Farrow's mouth opened and he let out a surprised gasp as the frayed end of the cord slapped the puddle and sparked. He tried to spring at her, but before he could rise up, the puddle under him crackled as electricity flowed through the water to the metal chair. He reached out to grab her with his clawed hand just as the powerful current hit his body. His legs and arms went rigid, and he started convulsing.
There was no court of justice here to try traitors, but Melinda was making sure that Farrow got her version of the electric chair.
He fell back into the chair, and she held the frayed cord in the water until his eyes bled and smoke drifted into the air from his burned-out corpse. The smell of charred flesh wafted into her nostrils, and Melinda gagged.
When she thought he’d had enough, she threw the telegraph cord away and looked down on Farrow’s crispy corpse. He looked pretty dead, but she knew that if he could survive bullet wounds to the head and chest, he very well might be able to recover from an electric shock. She needed to make sure he wouldn’t be coming back again.
She grabbed her severed finger from the table, put it in her pocket, and wheeled the burned body of Farrow out of the room. There was only one place to go to get the job done. She pushed the chair into the medical office and flipped Farrow’s body onto one of the surgical tables.
“Computer. Prepare for autopsy.”
“Prepping equipment,” replied the computer in a male voice with a slight British accent.
“Override normal procedure. I want all organs extracted, placed in separate containers, and cremated immediately.” She wouldn’t take any chances. The last thing she wanted was an insane Farrow coming back to life and attacking her as she slept.
“I have to warn you that by following this procedure, the exact cause of death will not be accurately determined,” the computer told her.
“I already know the cause of death, computer, so just do it.”
Melinda watched as mechanical robots hovered over Farrow’s body and used lasers to remove his major organs—heart, lungs, kidneys, even the brain. Each one was placed in a separate container and laid out on display beside the bed where his corpse lay. It felt like hours, but finally the gory procedure was complete.
“Now burn it.”
One of the medical bots rolled over to a door which automatically opened to reveal hellfire inside. She could feel the intense heat of the oven even from several feet away. The bot methodically picked up each organ and placed it on a conveyor belt that rolled into the oven.
When the bot got to the heart, Melinda sidled closer to get a better look. On the surface a viscous metallic-looking liquid, like quicksilver, ebbed and flowed across the tissues.
A second later the heart started beating.
Her own heart skipped a beat as she swallowed back vomit. Fear turned to anger as she stared down at the horrible living heart. She plucked one of the surgical knives off the table next to her and stabbed the heart center mass. Then she threw it into the fire with the other organs. The rest of the body soon followed.
“Let’s see you come back from that, motherfucker!”
Sweating and shaky, she stood watching until the last of Farrow’s remains burned away. The door to the oven automatically closed.
“Cremation complete,” the computer said.
After the cremation, Melinda had the Medical AI reattach her severed finger. The tiny lasers and microscopic surgical instruments moved with speed, skill, and precision unmatched by human hands. During the procedure, she listened as the bricks and mortar, as the walls and roof of the old hotel fell to the ground. The insects were eating away at the foundation. Soon they would be inside the bunker.
She couldn’t stay. The resort and the remade Cold War bunker was no refuge for her. With the virus still inactive in her system, perhaps she would develop an immunity to future infections. She didn’t know for sure. But there were no other bio-suits around. Her only choice was to run out into the wilds of West Virginia and see if she could survive.
Melinda was a fighter. She had defeated one powerful enemy already. Whatever was waiting out there for her, she would fight that as well. She would never give up. Not as long as she was still breathing.
Chapter 27
Early Morning Hours
Date and Time Unknown
Desert Outside Lechuguilla Cave
“What the hell? Is Mr. Olympia with you guys?” Hicks asked as Chen strode toward them. Damn, he’d climbed out of Lechuguilla Cave. Just as Jeff had feared he might do.
“Watch out! He’s trying to kill us!” Holly screamed.
Jeff moved in front of her as Chen stalked forward. Only this Chen wasn’t the same legless old man from only days ago. He'd transformed. His legs were fully regrown. He'd also aged in reverse, the decades melting off his face and body. He looked like a man in his twenties. His body was thick and muscular, like a bodybuilder’s or a linebacker’s. He was wearing only ripped skin tight spandex type boxers and as he moved, Jeff could see his muscles tense and flex.
“Before you do anything rash, Chen, let’s talk this out,” Jeff said, trying to stall this ’roided-out fiend from attacking, at least until Holly was able to get on a horse and ride to safety.
“What do you want from us?” Jeff asked.
“Ha! The only thing I want is to kill you two.” Chen smiled, then added, in a deep baritone, “In the most painful way possible.”
"Hey man, just take it easy okay?" Hicks said, trying to calm Chen down.
"Yeah, we don't want any trouble, bro." Kaahtenay added.
Chen just glanced at them and smiled, his bright teeth gleaming under the light of the full moon. Then he lunged and grabbed Jeff by his wrist before he had time to react.
“Now, where did we leave off. Ah, yes, right here.”
Chen pulled Jeff’s arm straight and swung his hand down onto the back of his elbow. At the moment of impact there was a loud crack and blood and shards of bone burst through his forearm, leaving Jeff screaming in agony.
“One down, three to go,” Chen joked ruthlessly as Jeff fell to his knees. Chen swiveled toward Holly. “Don’t worry, dear, you’ll get your turn soon. I have something special planned for you.”
Jeff’s rage built and clouded out his pain. He turned and with his unbroken arm, he punched Chen in the balls as hard as he could.
“Run, Holly!”
Chen bent over for a half second, then straightened up.
“Not quite good enough,” he whispered in Jeff’s ear. “Holly will still get her treat later.”
Chen grabbed Jeff by the hair, pulled him up into the air, then pointed at his limbs, counting off, “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo!”
When he grabbed Jeff’s leg, Kaahtenay and Hicks both slammed into his back, trying to tackle him. The impact would have knocked a normal man on his ass, but Chen was no normal man, not any more. The two men bounced off of him like they’d run into a concrete wall and fell at his feet, dazed.
“It looks like everybody wants to play today,” Chen said as he fisted his hand and lifted his arm to bring a crushing death blow down on Kaahtenay’s head. Just before he could do it, a sound issued forth from the horizon—the loud chopping sound of a helicopter engine.
Jeff, still in Chen’s unbreakable grip, struggled to turn his head. There, just over the horizon, flying across the barren desert landscape, moon light glinting off their ominous surfaces, were three Black Hawk helicopters. They rolled in low and fast.
Thank God.
Chen finally dropped Jeff, and then he ran to a pile of boulders. He picked one up over his head with both hands, arched his body back, and hurled it with incredible force. The boulder flew up and out faster than a pitch thrown by any Major Leaguer. It arched through the sky like a reverse meteor and smashed into the lead Black Hawk’s cockpit. Glass, metal, and other debris shot out at the impact, and the helicopter jerked left, then right before plunging down. Seconds later it hit the desert floor and exploded into a loud, vicious fireball.
Chen hurled another rock at the remaining two Black Hawks, but they were ready and swerved. Moments later they landed, and soldiers outfitted in desert camo, biohazard gear, and gas masks, and armed for heavy warfare poured out of them. It was such an unexpected sight that Jeff wanted to cheer. Or cry. He settled for struggling to his feet and cradling his arm.
The first group of men laid down warning fire as puffs of sand popped up right in front of Chen. He dodged behind a rock for cover. That gave Jeff and Holly time to run toward the soldiers, waving their good hands, desperately trying to get their attention. Kaahtenay and Hicks slowly struggled to get to their feet.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” Jeff yelled as loud as he could. “We’re unarmed. We want to surrender.”
They managed to make it to the soldiers’ forward position.
“Down on your knees!” yelled out one of the men. “Hands behind your head!”
Jeff and Holly obeyed, each lifting their only functional arm.
“Please, please help us,” Holly sobbed. “That man is trying to kill us. He’s been infected with some type of virus that’s driven him crazy.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” said a young soldier who, through his gas mask, looked to be in his late twenties. “We’re here to help. We need to keep you isolated until we assess the situation. Names?”
“Jeff Madison and Holly Scarborough.”
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Charles Paulson, United States Navy. But you can call me Buddy.”
Chapter 28
Early Morning Hours
Date and Time Unknown
Desert Outside Lechuguilla Cave
Buddy Paulson checked his ammo clip one last time and adjusted his com link. He took several deep breaths as his heart began to race and his muscles tensed in anticipation of the coming combat.
He didn’t know exactly what the situation was, but he knew for sure that the big linebacker guy who threw the boulder at his Black Hawk was hostile. He wasn’t sure about Jeff and Holly, but they both looked pretty banged up and certainly not able to put up any fight. Jeff’s arm was clearly broken, and Holly was missing an arm. Both injuries were fresh and likely courtesy of the Hercules hiding behind the rock.
Jeff and Holly where whispering quietly to each other and gesturing towards him. He couldn't hear all of it, but they clearly recognized him.
"I don't think we've ever met," Paulson said inquisitively.
"No," Jeff said grunting in obvious pain from his broken arm. "You just remind me of someone I once knew—in another life."
Paulson quickly turned to Holly and asked, “What can you tell me about this guy?”
“His name is Dr. Patrick Chen, and up until a few days ago he was a seventy-two-year-old physicist. What he is now is anyone’s guess. But we believe he’s infected with a virus that has taken over his body and is causing him to try to kill us.”
A mad scientist. Excellent.
He could smell a fight coming, and Buddy Paulson never backed down from a fight. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. There were eleven good men on that copter—soldiers. Friends. There was no way a mere man could have thrown the huge boulder like that. They were dealing with something unknown here, something which merited extreme caution.
“Stay on your toes, everyone,” he directed his team. “There seems to be just one hostile, his name is Patrick Chen. We've seen what he can do. Consider him extremely dangerous.”
“Hey Chen!” Paulson spoke into a megaphone from behind the cover of a large boulder. “You can surrender now or we will kill you. Your choice.”
There would be no negotiation with this beastly killer.
The Indian man and the Park Ranger both held up their hands.
"Who are these guys?" Paulson asked Jeff.
"The Native American is named Kaahtenay and the Park Ranger is Tommy Hicks. They were both here to rescue us."
There was no response from the hostile, Chen. He was one of the largest, most muscular human beings Paulson had ever seen in person, with a thick neck, huge oxen-like trapezoid muscles, and shoulders that made him look like he was wearing full football pads.
Chen darted out from his protection and snatched the park ranger with a speed that belied his size. With one arm, he held the man by the back of his neck and out in front of himself, shielding his body from where he thought Paulson’s troops were positioned. Hicks cried out and tried to squirm away, but Chen held him effortlessly.
Paulson looked through the scope of his rifle, trying to decide if he should take a shot or not. Just a graze should be enough to take him down before this situation got further out of hand. Before he could pull the trigger, Chen cocked his head slightly, then lunged out again, trying to grab the young Native American man. The man was just quick enough to avoid his grasp and slid away into the moonlit shadows.
Seconds later Paulson caught a glimpse of Kaahtenay deftly jumping onto one of the horses and pulling out a bow and arrow from a satchel. In one fluid movement he kicked the horse into a gallop and shot at Chen. The arrow was swift and accurate and embedded deep in the mad doctor's chest.
"Get that bastard!" Jeff yelled out.
Paulson felt like he was watching a battle scene out of the distant past or some TV western with Indians shooting arrows. But those arrows could kill just as easily as bullets.
Chen barely flinched, however. He simply stood unmoving and two seconds later the arrow fell to the ground. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it looked like the sharp arrowhead had simply dissolved away. Paulson brought his night vision goggles up and saw the puncture heal over in a matter of seconds.
The young Indian fired three more times in quick succession, each with the same result, the arrow embedding, then dissolving away.
“Enough of this bull,” the horseman yelled out as he pulled out a heavy caliber rifle and took aim.
"Hold your fire son!" Paulson yelled into his microphone. "Let us take care of this."
Chen tracked with the circling horse and held Ranger Hicks out in front of him so Kaahtenay couldn’t get a clear shot.
“Hold the live rounds on the hostile,” Paulson said to his men. “Fire tranquilizers.”
If this Chen was not acting of his own accord, then they should make every attempt to bring him in alive. Paulson had planned for this type of contingency, in case they’d needed to subdue someone from a distance and with minimal injury.
A small group of soldiers fired tranquilizer darts toward Chen. Unfortunately, several hit Hicks. He quickly ceased his kicking and his head flopped onto his chest. The darts that got through to Chen embedded in his body for a second before falling off just as the arrows had. Chen also managed to catch one of the darts.
“That little trick won’t work again,” he said in a deep voice.
Chen held the dart in his hand and casually flipped it between his middle finger and thumb. Then he cocked his arm and hurled it at Kaahtenay who was still circling on the horse, trying for a clear shot. The dart flew out with the same speed as a bullet fired from a gun and struck the horseman square in the chest. The force knocked him off the horse and onto his back. He struggled to get up, lifting his head slightly, then fell back into the dirt, unconscious.
Chen jumped over to where Kaahtenay had fallen and picked him up. He then held both men by their necks, like rag dolls, out to either side as human shields. He ducked down and scanned the horizon, then tilted his head up and sniffed the air, like a wolf hunting a bleeding deer.
“There’s no need for anyone to get hurt here,” Chen boomed out in a deep metallic-sounding voice.
What the hell was he? People didn’t sound like that without special equipment.
“I will exchange these two men for the man and woman you have over there. Then we can go our separate ways.”
Holly whimpered beside him and grabbed his arm.
"Please don't hand us over. He'll kill us. You can see what he did to Jeff."
She gestured to Jeff's broken arm, which he was holding while gritting his teeth. He was obviously in extreme pain.
Paulson patted Holly's arm gently to reassure her.
"Don't worry. You're safe with me," he said to her quietly, then turned to his second in command. "Evangelista, move these two further back. I'll deal with Chen."
Evangelista, Jeff, and Holly ducked down and retreated to a large boulder just behind and to the right of Paulson.
He brought his megaphone up and said to Chen, “Let the two men go and then we can talk.”
No fucking way was he going to let this joker negotiate, not after he threw a boulder through the Black Hawk, killing eleven men.
Chen was still turning and moving, holding the men out to the side and periodically shifting them to his front, creating a highly effective defensive shield. He sniffed the air again and began edging in the direction where Jeff and Holly were hiding with Tony Evangelista.
He strode to a large, round, three-foot-high rock, flipped it into the air with his foot, like a soccer ball, then punted it toward Evangelista’s position. The rock flew at super speed crashing into the boulder Evangelista and the others were using as cover. The soccer-ball rock exploded into a million fragments, but not before breaking the larger boulder into several pieces. The pieces fell away, revealing the three who’d been hiding behind it.
Tiny pebbles ricocheted and hit Paulson's gas mask visor.
In an instant Chen flipped another rock into the air with his foot. Evangelista tried to fire his weapon and dodge the rock at the same time, but it was moving too fast and with the precision of being kicked by a World Cup MVP. Evangelista managed to get off a few rounds, which hit the rock before it slammed right into his chest. A cloud of dust exploded out as the boulder struck, knocking him off his feet and back at least ten feet, his weapon and gear flying in all directions.
While this attack was going on, the other SEALs tightened their circle around Chen, all of them awaiting Paulson's next orders.
Chen jumped, flying at least thirty feet.
“Sniper one. Target the hostile,” Paulson whispered into his com link. “Wound only. Clear.”
The sniper’s bullet caught Chen in the leg as he landed in the spot where Jeff and Holly had just crouched. They’d barely been able to roll to safety. Hit in the leg, Chen collapsed and fell to the ground, dropping the two unconscious human shields as he tried to catch himself.
“Team Two advance and surround Primary Target,” Paulson ordered.
Chen stood again, a bluish-silver liquid streaming down his leg, like blood, except that it was glowing in the moonlight. When the liquid stopped flowing, the wound closed up, the damaged tissue magically sewn back together.
“Snipers One and Two, two more leg shots each on the target.”
Four shots rang out, with bullets hitting Chen in each of his legs. The blue-silver blood splattered and the man screamed out in pain, but this time his wounds closed even faster. Paulson knew that Chen wasn’t just going to sit there and take this punishment. But the shots bought them time.
Holly and Jeff should've been able to move further away by this time, but Holly was sitting in the dirt, stacking tiny pebbles into neat little rows, mumbling to herself and shaking her head in random, bizarre ways.
He'd seen combat veterans crack under battle stress, so Holly's actions were no surprise.
"Jeff! Get her out of there! Now!" Paulson screamed.
Jeff grabbed her by the back of her collar using his one good arm, and tried to drag her further away from Chen. Holly pulled away, attempting to return her rock collection, and Jeff was clearly in pain and weakened from his injuries. They weren't going to make it before Chen got to them. Buddy fired off a couple rounds at the monster scientist and ran over to Holly, picking her up in his arms and scrambling just outside the advancing perimeter of Team Two. Jeff followed. Once they were far enough away from Chen he handed her off to Seaman Jacoby.
As Paulson struggled to keep eyes on Chen, he sprang, cat-like, to another position, picked up two soldiers by their heads and smashed them together, cracking their helmets and gas masks. He dropped the unconscious men to the ground, discarded toys he was done with.
"All teams fire at will!"
Chen bounced from position to position, leaping twenty to thirty feet at a time, picking up soldiers and slamming them together. Automatic weapons fired from all directions, hitting the man but not slowing him at all.
“Team Three, pull back to position Alpha with Jeff and Holly,” Paulson yelled. “Teams Four and Five, lay down cover!” They needed more firepower to bring this fucker down. “Team One and I will rendezvous at position Alpha. Banks, you’re with me.”
Heavy Munitions Specialist Latrell “Tiny” Banks scurried across the desert carrying a Stinger missile launcher and joined Paulson and his four team members. Chen continued his rampage. They were down to only nine men, including Paulson, who were fully conscious and able to fire their weapons. His team scurried over the rocks and away from Chen, who continued tracking the scent of the two civilians.
“Fire when ready, Banks,” Paulson said when they were far enough away.
Banks swiftly dropped to the ground and positioned his rocket launcher. The missile flew out with a whish and a trail of smoke, flying over the desert and striking Chen center back. An explosion blasted the desert as dirt and debris flew high. Then all was quiet.
Paulson, his remaining men, and Holly and Jeff jogged over to the remains of the hostile, who lay in a smoking heap.
"Yeah!" Jeff yelled out.
"Is . . . is he dead?" Holly asked.
“Looks like we got him,” Banks growled. “That guy was one tough mutha'. What is he, some kind of super soldier?”
Paulson stared down and said, “I don’t know. We need to get him back to the base for testing. Then we can figure out just what the hell he is. Bag him up! How are the men he attacked? Oldenburg!”
“Checking them now, sir” the team medic replied. “Most are unconscious with severe head trauma and concussions, a few broken bones, but for the most part I think everyone will recover. It seems that your super solder there just put them out of service without killing them.”
Good news, Paulson thought. The loss of the men in the chopper was enough for today.
"These guys can handle it from here," he said to Jeff and Holly. "Let's head back to the base and get you two to a hospital.
They were about a hundred yards away, heading to position Alpha, which was behind a rocky outcropping, when a voice came over Paulson's intercom.
“Ah, sir, something weird is happening over here,” Ensign Redding said. He was standing beside the fallen Chen.
Paulson looked back over his shoulder and saw Redding kicking the body, which had stopped smoldering.
“What is it, Redding?”
“There are all kinds of things moving inside this guy, like maggots, swarming. It looks like they’re . . . they’re weaving strands of thread all around his body.”
"Oh, no!" Holly said. "The nanovirus is healing him!"
“Get away from that thing now!” Paulson screamed. “Full speed back to position Alpha! Banks, get another rocket ready.”
As soon as he gave the order, the six men standing around the body started running. But, as they did so, Chen slowly started to rise from the ground.
The resurrected scientist stretched, as if he were testing his body, moving his arms and twisting at the torso. Paulson started running as Chen let out a terrifying growl of rage and grabbed one of the men closest to him. He lifted Petty Officer Simmons over his head, holding him around the neck and at the ankles. Then he flexed his arms and jerked them outward, ripping Simmons in half.
Jesus!
The poor bastard’s intestines gushed out all over Chen’s head as he threw the two body parts to the ground.
The enraged Chen let out another heart-rending bellow.
How were they going to stop this thing?
For one of the few times in his life Buddy Paulson was terrified.
Chapter 29
Early Morning Hours
Date and Time Unknown
Desert Outside Lechuguilla Cave
“Banks, fire when ready!” Paulson yelled.
He turned back for a quick second to see Banks mounting the rocket launcher. But Chen was on to him and had leaped to his position. He ripped the launcher out of Banks’s hands. In one lightning-fast, fluid movement, Chen punched him in the ribs, and Banks flew twenty feet or so.
Chen then bounced to the other SEALs like some goddamn video game character, landing on top of them and slamming his fists into their backs. Blood and guts flew into the air, splattering Chen’s face and body and spreading out into the desert sand. The men grunted and screamed as they were pounded with the lethal blows. Guns fired all around them, but had absolutely no effect on Chen. Paulson turned around and kept running. Holly and Jeff were with him as were two of his remaining men.
“Are you ready, Brodsky? We’ll only get one shot.” Paulson rounded the boulders and slid into Position Alpha.
He glanced at his two SEALs and Jeff and Holly, assessed them quickly, and then turned back to the battle. The SEALs looked angry but Jeff and Holly, who were covered in dirt and grime, looked terrified.
The horizon began to brighten. Sunrise was minutes away. Chen sniffed the air again, turned his eyes to Position Alpha, crouched, and leaped.
Paulson was already screaming, “Now, Brodsky, now!”
As Chen flew through the air and was about to land directly on them, a loud metallic hum sounded. Nothing was clearly visible to the naked eye, but a slight distortion of the air shot out from just behind them and hit Chen full-on in midair. Brodsky had fired the electromagnetic pulse device from the ridge.
Chen hit the ground, landing on Seaman Jacoby. Chen looked slightly disoriented, but only for a second. He narrowed his blue eyes, flexed his muscular arms, and reached out and grabbed Jacoby’s head by the temples and crushed the soldier’s skull in a bloody pop. Pieces of broken skull and brain matter dripped from Chen’s hand to the sandy desert ground.
“You could have prevented this bloodshed, Commander,” Chen growled. “If you had just given me these two when I asked.”
Paulson seriously doubted that. Chen enjoyed the killing too much to just walk away. Besides, he obviously planned to kill Jeff and Holly when he got his hands on them. Paulson wasn’t going to stand idly by and let that happen.
“Get behind us,” he said to Jeff and Holly.
He raised his weapon and starting firing. The last man beside him, Senior Chief Hartigan, did the same. This time, though, instead of Chen just shaking off the gunshots, he screamed out in pain and flinched with each shot. He dripped with the blue-silver blood as Paulson and Hartigan emptied their clips into his body.
“I’m out,” Hartigan said.
“Me too,” said Paulson after he fired his last round.
Chen was rasping as he bent over, struggling for breath. Both hands pressed into his knees, but he would not fall. He just glared at them. Then he flexed his forearms and in the dim light of dawn Paulson saw something emerge from his fingers. They were small at first, but eventually grew into three-inch claws, hooked like sharp daggers.
“Watch out!” Paulson yelled at Hartigan, who was standing too close to Chen.
The warning came too late as Chen flicked his arm out at Hartigan with lightning speed, using his claws like knives. Hartigan jerked, then tried to speak, but he spit out blood instead of words as a thin red line formed across the front of his throat. He fell to his knees and his head tilted backward, hanging by thin strands of muscle and tissue. Chen swiped his clawed hand again, this time severing the remaining connections. Hartigan’s head simply fell off, rolling a short distance along the rocky desert terrain.
Paulson reacted with the blood rage of battle. All his men had been killed or taken out of action by this monster. He wasn’t about to let it take him too. In one quick, coordinated movement, he pulled out his knife and jumped at Chen.
Chen had been weakened but was still incredibly strong and fast. And still fighting. He raised his arm to block Buddy’s knife strike. The claws weren’t like long fingernails, but metallic, and just as strong as forged steel. The claws easily met Buddy’s blade with the scraping sound of metal on metal.
Buddy quickly regrouped, pulling his knife back and jabbing it straight into Chen’s stomach. The man screamed. Standing face to face, they were close enough that Chen's breath fogged up the clear cover on Buddy's gas mask. Chen’s clear blue eyes stared him down coldly as he jabbed his clawed hand into Buddy’s stomach. The claws were just long enough to penetrate his body armor, and he felt the sharp points pierce his abdomen.
Buddy groaned and pushed Chen away. At the same time, he jammed his knee into Chen’s groin, then stamp-kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards. He wasn’t down for long though. He hopped right back up, still bleeding profusely from the gunshot and stab wounds. At least he wasn’t healing. Yet. And if he could bleed, he could be killed.
Buddy lunged again with his knife. Chen dodged and blocked with his bladed hand, then counter-attacked. Back and forth they went like dueling swordsmen, spinning, thrusting, and parrying with precision. Neither could gain the upper hand.
Then Buddy saw something move out of the corner of his eye. A split second later, an arrow zoomed through the air, nailing Chen right in the side of the head. His neck jerked violently from the force of the impact as the arrow penetrated his skull and punched out the other side.
Paulson paused for a moment, trembling and alert, watching. Kaahtenay stood on a boulder a short distance away, bow in hand, his strong lithe frame outlined by the rising sun, long hair blowing in the morning breeze.
Chen stood unmoving, looking dazed, before he reached up to finger the arrow. But still he did not fall. It was the split second that Paulson needed.
He lunged, planting his foot on a boulder for leverage, and sprang into the air. As he flew, he pulled his arm back, squeezing his knife, and mustering every ounce of strength he had left in his body. When he was within range, he drilled the knife straight down into Chen’s eye socket. The soft tissue rent and tore as the blade dug deep, embedded up to its handle. Buddy violently twisted the knife and more tissue and bone grated and popped.
Chen screamed out in agony and bucked Paulson off. Paulson released the knife, leaving it wedged in Chen’s eye, and went tumbling over the cool, dry rocks. Chen grabbed at the knife and yanked it out, holding it in his hand and glaring at him with rage and hatred.
“Run! Run!” Paulson yelled to Jeff and Holly as he tried to get as much distance as he could from Chen, who was cupping his eye and still reeling from the attack.
“Aschenbrenner! Fire now!” he screamed into his com link.
The familiar chopping sound of the Black Hawk engine filled the desert floor as a chopper came into view, flying low and fast. A Hellfire missile shot out from its underbelly and flew fast and sure to its target, hitting Chen head-on. An explosion boomed into the desert morning, and the fireball and concussive blast hit Paulson’s back.
The sound was deafening and the blast close and hard enough to knock him off his feet and clear the breath from his lungs. Jeff and Holly lay just in front of him. They were moving, so they were still alive.
They hadn’t been far enough outside the blast range to be safe, but given Chen’s recovery rate, he couldn’t take chances. He lay calm while his lungs filled again, just as he’d learned in his training years ago. Then noticed his arm was on fire. He calmly scooped up some dirt and patted it on his burning sleeve until the flames went out.
Then he rolled to his feet, eager to see what was left of the horrible monster. Bits and pieces of charred flesh and scattered blue and silver remains lay strewn over the desert floor, on rocks and cactus and scrub bushes. He picked up his knife which lay a short distance away.
He looked down at the blade, smiling, "I think I'm going to have to give you a name, baby." An honorable name befitting a weapon of respect.
Jeff and Holly stood beside him, studying the devastation.
“I don’t think he’ll be coming back from that,” Jeff said.
“You hit him with an EM pulse first, is that correct?” Holly asked.
“Yes. We’d expected something else here, but I hoped that the pulse would have some effect on this creature.”
Holly nodded and said, “The pulse disabled the nanovirus that enabled him to heal at such a rapid rate. Then your guns, knife attack, and finally the missile were able to destroy him. You saved our lives. Thank you.”
She wrapped her good arm around Paulson and hugged hard. He patted her on the back.
“Let’s get you two and my men to the hospital. Then we need to have a long, long talk.”
Chapter 30
2:30 pm EST, January 16, 2038
Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA
Dr. Darren Corvin sat quietly in his homemade bunker reading a book while the world died around him. He’d known this day was coming. Patrick had mentioned it to him several days ago in a phone conversation.
Darren had always been obsessed with the end of the world and he was ready for disaster to strike. It was an unusual preoccupation for a normally rational scientist, but Darren’s mind tended to latch on to strange possibilities and not let go. So he’d built a bunker under his home several years ago, stocked it with all the essential survival gear from food and water to gas masks, biohazard suits, and multiple types of communication equipment. He’d studied everything he could find about living independently. He was a survivalist.
Now he was prepared to live in his bunker for however long it took for this virus to burn itself out. Before the news feeds went out, he’d seen death all over the globe, so he knew how dangerous this disease was. Patrick told him there could be some type of terrorist attack yesterday, so Darren hadn’t gone to his office at Harvard, but had hunkered down in his bunker, turned on the air filtering system, and started reading some actual books, the old-fashioned way, on paper. He'd tried to contact Patrick and the team at Project Chronos, but all communication lines were down. He didn't know whether they were alive or not, but he thought their chances were pretty good since they were concealed deep underground.
Quite frankly, though, he was lucky to be alive, and he knew it.
As he got up to get a glass of water, an unfamiliar beep beep sounded.
“What in the world is that?”
He looked around, puzzled, before remembering that he’d stocked his bunker with an old telegraph machine that he’d bought at an online flea market a few years ago. With all satellite communications down, the only way to communicate in a post-apocalyptic world would be through wireless telegraph radio signals.
He ran to the dusty table where he’d stashed the telegraph and started looking at the printout that interpreted the dahs and dits of the message coming through.
“President Paulson dead. I am last survivor, Melinda Rider. Infected. Little time left. Secretary of State Farrow was traitor working with attackers. Farrow dead but may have accomplices. Be on the lookout.”
Darren’s eyes widened. It was too much information to process in such a short message. Darren checked it to make sure there were no errors. It looked accurate. If this Melinda Rider was able to get out a message, perhaps she knew of other survivors. He needed to find out more.
“Message received. Will try to help. Where are you?”
Darren was waiting to find out as much as he could about the virus before sending a message to the past. He was the lead researcher at the Project Chronos experimental research facility at Harvard University. As a PhD candidate studying under the supervision of Dr. Chen, he’d been there when the first time-travel experiments began at the research lab. Along with Dr. Conner and several others, Darren witnessed the time-traveling chicken salad sandwich and other world changing events associated with the project. When Patrick had asked him to go to Carlsbad and work on the project on a larger scale, he’d been seriously tempted. But the thought of being out there in the desert, not being able to publish anything and working in obscurity, didn’t appeal. Plus he’d just been granted a tenured position at Harvard, so he decided to stay.
Patrick was happy enough to leave him in charge of the Chronos test facility at the University, which was a huge bonus. It was only a small-scale version of what they built at Lechuguilla, but it was a fully functional time machine that Darren and his team could experiment with.
Of course all of that was over now. That life ended when the virus struck.
Darren waited for almost an hour before the next message came though. So Melinda was at the Greenbrier. Apparently that old bunker was more than just a museum. He tapped his thumb against his lip, thinking. They needed to coordinate their efforts. Darren sent his reply.
“Message received. Need to contact other survivors. My current location is Cambridge, Massachusetts.”
Darren waited another hour. No new message. If Melinda had been infected with the virus, she was now dead. He sighed, his heart heavy, then decided it was time he had a look outside his bunker. He might not be able to coordinate with other survivors just yet, but he did have a message to deliver. He put on his custom bio-suit and headed up to the airlock, emerging in his basement, then walked through his home and outside.
There he found nothing but silence.
It was less than a mile walk from Hancock Street over to the Harvard Science Center north of Harvard Yard. Normally at this time of day, the narrow tree-lined street with quaint little Victorian-style homes and brick apartments would be filled with students, teachers, and others on the way home from work and study. But today, the street was empty of movement. Several cars had crashed into parked cars on the one-way street. Along the sidewalk, a group of students lay in a distorted clump, holding each in the last throes of violent death.
Darren kicked several crows away and looked closer at the bodies. He nearly vomited as maggots were already swarming inside of the bloody mouth of one of the students. He hurried on, walking past parks that would normally be filled with students. It was eerie and quite disturbing being the only one out. For all he knew, he could be the only one left alive in the whole city.
As he passed by a friend’s home he thought about knocking on the door just to see if his friend was alive. But after passing more bodies sprawled out on the street, he knew there was no point. There were no survivors here. He felt sadness and disgust welling up inside him. Could he really be alone? Was everyone really dead? Despite his obsession with the end of the world, now that it was actually here he wanted everything back the way it was. He wanted to see children playing in the street. He wanted to see his friends and colleagues again.
He was a lifelong bachelor and not dating anyone right now, but he had always wanted a family. His work just seemed to get in the way. Now he had been robbed of that chance.
It was hard to believe that one day could make such a difference.
No, no, others had to be alive. He would find them.
As he continued on, past more bodies and wrecked cars, a dark shadow passed overhead. It was a sunny afternoon so Darren naturally looked up. What appeared to be a cloud of locusts swarmed over, moving fast and changing shape frequently. It was heading for downtown Boston. It was so massive that it took several minutes to pass and for the sun to come out again.
"What hath God wrought?" he whispered.
He had no idea what the swarm was, and he was not a religious man, but he knew it was a bad omen. The fifth angel of the Apocalypse had blown his trumpet. The end of days drew nigh.
When he reached Harvard Yard on the main campus, he crossed to the Science Center. Beside the Center was the research facility used for the study of particle physics. A secure set of basement rooms housed their mini particle collider and the time vortex generator and doughnut. The test facility was under government supervision as well, so security was tight. The two security guards, Martin and Juan, who normally worked at that hour weren't at their posts.
Very few people knew what they were doing in the lab. Danger signs on the doors and radiation warnings kept away curious students who may have come up with ingenious ways to get past security, out of curiosity or because of the dares of fellow students.
Darren used his security key and pass code to enter the facility and the Chronos test lab. In a few minutes he had the vortex device powered up. The system was set to automatically replenish the fuel supply overnight, so they’d be ready for experiments in the morning. So he didn’t have to worry about generating fuel.
The question now was who to send the message to and when. He could send it to himself one week into the past; that would make the most sense. He was a well-respected researcher and had presented to government officials before, so people would believe him. Since the government had oversight of the facility, getting the message into the hands of President Diaz or his advisors shouldn’t be too difficult. Darren decided it would be best to go back a little farther—one month. That would give the message time to make its way through the proper channels.
As Darren was programming the jump, his computer screen started to flash, as if it were losing power. The irregularity could be just a glitch, but then again it could be a hacking attempt. Some bright computer science students had tried that before, but Darren was too good and blocked every attempt.
This time, though, was different. Darren flipped through a few screens, noticing that several layers of security had been dropped from the system. When he tried to rebuild them, more layers dropped.
If he didn’t do something fast, in seconds the hacker would have access to all the Chronos files.
“That’s quite enough of that,” Darren said to himself as he turned off the wireless connection to the Stream and CampusNet, making the computer essentially a standalone terminal. No one could access the files from the outside now.
But a nagging fear prodded the back of his mind. Now someone knew he was there.
No students were likely left alive, so someone unknown to him had been trying to hack the system. That someone would have seen the computer drop off the virtual map. He needed to work fast; it wouldn’t be hard for the hacker to find out where the terminal was physically located.
He finished programming the coordinates and the vortex ring began powering up. The whole device was only a few feet across, so they were limited on what could be sent. Yet sending a message through on a two-inch-long data drive would be simple. They’d done it many times before.
The familiar whoosh of the forming vortex burst through the room. Darren loaded the drive with the data on the virus and a report on what had transpired over the last forty-eight hours, as well the telegraph message he'd received about the Secretary of State being a traitor.
As he crossed to the vortex, he noticed one of the control panels on the doughnut flicker. He checked the readouts again, finding them slightly off. A quick correction brought them back to normal. He returned to the vortex and threw the data drive into the empty darkness. It disappeared in a flash, as did the vortex.
“Well, that’s that. A slightly younger me should have it soon, and maybe, just maybe, history will change. Then this horrible nightmare will just evaporate into nothingness."
He would be able to forget about all of the death and in an instant his life would return to normal, just as it was yesterday. He closed his eyes and waited for just a second to see if anything changed.
Nothing. The same old lab. No memory from a month ago of having received a data drive from the future. Fear returned to him. He knew he couldn't wait here much longer. Someone had been tracking the connection from the lab and they could be on their way right now. So he signed off on the computer and headed out.
As he walked away from the research lab, the sky again darkened. Flying overhead was another massive swarm. Darren quickly ducked into some shrubs, to hide. The swarm hovered over the science buildings, spinning like a tornado, then dove right into the heart of the structures. Both buildings began melting away, like a child’s sandcastle wiped off the beach by an ocean wave.
Darren watched in horror as the swarm devoured the buildings—entire buildings, down to the foundation—in minutes. Soon there was nothing left but gaping holes in the ground, with wires and cables protruding upward and broken pipes spouting water into the air like geysers. Project Chronos and all the other research housed in the facilities was gone. He was lucky he got out; otherwise, he would’ve been devoured as well.
He stayed silent and unmoving, scared to even breathe, until the swarm rose and flew away. Once the area was clear, he jumped back to his feet and began jogging as fast he could in the bio-suit. Away from the destruction. Away from the horror.
The whole time he kept looking over his shoulder and up at the sky to see if anything was chasing him.
Perhaps he should try the telegraph again. There had to be more survivalists like himself still alive. Now that the world was officially ending, he would like someone to talk to. Darren doubted he’d have much human contact in the coming months. If he lasted that long.
The world was turning into a bleak and lonely place.
Moments Later, The Oval Office, Washington, DC.
A stiff wind blew through the rapidly dissolving White House. The walls were collapsing from the combined might of millions of nanobots gnawing away at the bricks and mortar of the historic seat of power. The wind passed over President Martin Diaz’s desk, where he'd worked on his State of the Union speech the night before. Papers scattered around the room and file folders blew open.
One was the file marked “Top Secret” by President Clinton. It contained not only a message from the past, the warning sent by William Clinton to the unnamed president in 2038, but a message from the future. After passing through many hands over the years, through some chance mistake the file had ended up in Secretary of State Cameron Farrow's full in-box. And that was where it stayed, buried under other papers and files on his desk until it was too late.
The pages of the file flipped end over end, revealing to an empty room crucial data about the viral attack and Project Chronos. One report in the file told of a telegraph message sent in Morse Code, a warning from the future that was supposed to go back in time one month but instead ended up thirty-seven years in the past. A catastrophic mistake, but just one of many.
As the documents scattered across the floor, the ceiling of the Oval Office began to crumble, and plaster and tiling rained down.
In seconds the file was covered from human eyes.
Forever.
Chapter 31
10:00 am local time
Holloman Air Force Base
Jeff and Holly lay side by side in the recovery room in the military hospital at Holloman Air Force Base just outside of Alamogordo, New Mexico. They were clean and showered. About an hour ago Jeff had woken up from surgery to repair his broken arm. Now it was covered in a cast and sling and he was swimming in pain killers. He wished they would give him something to dull the pain and anxiety in his mind as well.
They'd just finished their breakfast and had been watching the news. That was when they discovered the actual date. It was May 23, 1992 and not 2017. So they’d landed twenty-five years earlier than planned. Project Chronos was not even a dim spark in anyone’s imagination. That was why they’d found no construction crews in Lechuguilla Cave.
After shared whispers, they’d decided that jumping to 1992 was actually better for their cause. They had even more time to get ready for the coming attack. And from what they'd seen with Dr. Chen, they would need all the time they could get.
They’d been through a harrowing, life-changing ordeal. A true trial. A week ago Jeff never would’ve thought any of this was possible, not in his wildest dreams and not even if he were loaded up on the latest designer drugs. Who would believe a world-wide deadly virus, attacking nanobots, and time travel? He ran a hand over his face. Now that they were safe, at least relatively, he was having trouble believing all that had happened.
He looked at Holly and was struck by regret. Her missing arm declared the nightmare, every painful moment of it, had been true.
They were lucky to be alive. If the military team hadn’t come in when they did, Chen would surely have killed them both. Jeff wondered how Paulson—geez, Buddy Paulson!—had known to rescue them. He had an idea he would find out soon. And be asked to provide information in return.
Holly was quiet. He guessed exhaustion had finally caught up with her. She was staring at the wall, cross legged on her hospital bed, her lips moving in silence. She was obviously traumatized and likely suffering from some sort of PTSD.
Her arm was healing remarkably well. Those organic mesh field bandages were amazing; They actually grew into the skin. In just over five days, the bandage had induced tissue regeneration and healing to the equivalent of six months of natural healing. They’d probably need to explain that to the military as well.
“How do you feel, how’s the arm?” he asked.
Her lips stopped moving and she glanced over at Jeff, moving her hand over to where her other hand should be. “It’s weird. I’ve been getting this phantom pain and my missing arm itches. I guess I won’t be getting any biomechanical appendage for a while. What do they have in this time, anyway? Hooks?”
Jeff laughed. “I think you’d look good with a claw. It would give you some character.”
“That it would,” Holly said, chuckling halfheartedly.
Jeff nodded, at least he managed to get a smile out of her. He kept reminding himself that cutting off her arm had been the only way to save her. They both knew that. He had a quick flashback of nanobots devouring her flesh, eating her fingers down to the bone. He swallowed and put the thought out of his mind.
There was an awkward pause as they looked at each other. Jeff couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was, even with circles under eyes dulled with fatigue and the residue of fear. He was starting to have that feeling in the pit of his stomach that he used to get when he and Sarah, his ex-wife, first started dating.
He shook his head to try to refocus his thoughts. “You know we should start thinking about our next steps, and we need to figure out what role the military is going to play in this.”
“Chances are they already know quite a lot since they showed up and rescued us,” Holly replied. “We’ll need to coordinate with them eventually, so why not start immediately?”
“Let’s see what our young future President Paulson has to say when he comes in.
Holly turned her head to stare vacantly at the wall again.
“Jeff, what if Paulson hadn’t shown up when he did? Chen would’ve killed us. What then?”
“Well, I guess this mission would’ve been over before it even started. You’re the time-travel expert, what do you think? If Chen had killed us, what would’ve happened to this timeline?”
Holly looked back, finger tapping her chin. “With us dead, this timeline would've likely continued on the same path as the last, with the nanovirus catching the world unaware in forty- five years and killing everyone."
“And Chen?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. Who knows if he could've gathered his senses again and blended into society somehow. But what's done is done, there's no point in speculating on it," Holly said firmly. "That monster is dead. We don't have to worry about him now. We need to look to our own future."
“I agree.” His gut clenched. They still didn’t know who was behind the virus and who was manipulating history. If they couldn’t figure that out, billions of lives would still be lost.
Knock, Knock.
Buddy Paulson opened the door and walked into the room interrupting their speculations.
"It looks like you two are feeling much better. How are the arms?"
"Painkillers are a true godsend," Jeff replied.
Holly didn't say anything but grasped in the air where her missing arm should've been.
“Well, I have to say it feels like we fought an army. We were lucky to make it out alive, but many of my men weren’t so lucky.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Commander,” Jeff said. “Words aren’t enough to thank you for saving us. What you and your men did was truly incredible. How did you even know we were out there in the middle of the desert?"
"The United States Navy has a wide range of specialized surveillance abilities."
So that was how he was going to play, cards close.
"Perhaps you can tell me how it was you ended up in that cave chased by that creature, Dr. Chen." Paulson was firm in his speech and Jeff could tell he didn't trust them at all. He decided the best option here was simply to come clean. They were after all fighting a common enemy.
"This is going to sound crazy, but we come from the future. The year 2038 to be exact."
Paulson' facial expression didn't change at all. He kept those steely blue eyes fixed right on Jeff.
"How about you, Holly?" Paulson said turning towards her as she sat quietly, staring at the wall once again and counting in a whispered voice. Paulson touched her arm. "Is that true?"
Holly jumped, startled out of her trance, and turned to look Paulson square in the face. "We've been through hell. Of course it's true. Let's cut the crap. You fly into the desert with a small army, equipped with advanced weapons, including an EMP device. You arrive at the exact time we need you. There's no coincidence there. You were ready, waiting, for us. You knew we would be there. Now we need to get on the same page and work together. Because I'll be damned if I'm going to let history repeat itself and have to live through the hell I just went through, again."
Holly jerked her arm away from Paulson and climbed out of bed, dragging her IV and blanket behind her. She walked to the other side of the small room and glared at Paulson, hand on her hip, blanket draped over her body along with her scant hospital gown.
Jeff was shocked at Holly's outburst, but he supposed everyone had their breaking point.
Paulson smiled and said, "I like the fire in you, Holly Scarborough. With folks like you on our side, we may win this war after all. You're right, we were waiting for you to emerge from Lechuguilla Cave. Each time anyone or anything is sent through time and a vortex opens it emits a particular type of chronal radiation. That radiation can be detected. Our special tracking devices registered a temporal vortex opening deep underground five days ago, but we couldn't pinpoint the exact location through all of that rock, so we just waited at the only entrance to the cave."
"And the EMP device?" Jeff asked. "Were you expecting a nanobot swarm?"
"Swarm? You mean nanovirus, right? We were prepared to decontaminate the area using munitions and the EMP."
Holly jumped in. “Buddy, there are two separate threats we are facing. The first is a deadly nanovirus that can infect and kill in less than an hour. The second are swarms of millions of tiny nanobots that devour metal, human flesh, and other materials.”
“The swarm attacked us just as we time jumped,” Jeff said. “Plus a group of the bots came through the time portal inside of Holly’s hand.”
Jeff pointed at Holly’s missing arm.
“A two-pronged attack,” Paulson said. "I knew about the nanovirus, but not about this swarm. Tell me more."
Jeff recounted the rest of their harrowing tale, with Holly adding salient points about Project Chronos. When they were done, Paulson nodded his head.
"This confirms it without a doubt then. You see, I received a portable from my future self, over a year ago."
"From President Paulson?" Jeff asked.
Paulson looked surprised.
"Yes, President. . . Paulson."
"That sly old dog. I knew he had a plan." Jeff stood, smiled, balled his fist up and shook it.
Holly raised her eyebrows in understanding.
"Chen must've sent that portable through just before we jumped."
"Well, this is all good information," Buddy said. "We have a lot to work with here, but we're still missing the most important piece of intel. And that is who is behind these attacks."
Everyone just stood there in the hospital room looking at each other in silence.
Chapter 32
Two Weeks Later, 10:00 am, June 6, 1992
Holloman Air Force Base
"Thanks again for everything, Buddy," Jeff said shaking Paulson's hand just outside of the debriefing headquarters at Holloman Air Force Base.
"Good luck to you both. I'll be in touch," Paulson said.
Jeff had no doubt about that. Despite Paulson having some reservations and not completely trusting them, Jeff knew that he needed them if he expected to win this war in the future. Hell, they needed each other.
They'd spent several days recovering in the hospital and the rest of the time in meetings with Paulson and his key operatives. They'd discussed everything they knew about the viral and nanobot attacks as well as future historical events that they could remember. In the end Holly and Jeff both offered up their services as paid government contractors to help with kickstarting Project Chronos and to advise on any other issues related to the coming attack, and other threats to US national security. They also all agreed that they should get Patrick Chen involved as soon as possible.
Both Kaahtenay and Ranger Hicks were released from the hospital with minor injuries and told some concocted story about Chen being an escaped super soldier they had been training. They were of course told to keep quiet about the whole thing. Besides who would believe them.
Overall the whole incident was kept pretty hush. Families of the men killed were told that they died in a training accident. And the whole area around Lechuguilla Cave was swept clean of any remains and crash debris from the downed copter.
Paulson was kind enough to give them an advance on their government contract so that they would have some cash to get them back on their feet. He seemed a little reluctant to let them go, but there was really no reason to hold them captive. Jeff suspected that he'd keep a close watch on them anyway.
He and Holly climbed into the government rental car, waved goodbye to Paulson and drove away, heading off the base. Jeff told Paulson that they were going west, to California's Silicon Valley where he had a "good feeling" about some investment opportunities.
Jeff cracked a slight smiled. With the tech bubble of the late nineteen-nineties just around the corner he was poised to make a fortune with his knowledge of the future.
But first they had to make a little stop.
Jeff scribbled a note to Holly in a small pad he was carrying. "They're listening. Let's drive a couple of hours west, change rental cars, then come back."
Holly nodded.
He knew that there was probably a tracking device on the government car so if they were going to make their stop secretly then they would have to change cars. Parking the rental car and pretending to stay at a hotel would rouse the least suspicion. Then they could return, switch back to the government car and continue on their journey north west.
Jeff was no spy, but he could certainly learn a few tricks very quickly when he needed to.
Hours later, under cover of darkness, Jeff and Holly rode slowly over the rocky desert on two horses they'd rented from a local rancher. Soon they found the site of the battle from two weeks ago. Blood still stained rocks near the entrance to Lechuguilla Cave. Jeff shuttered, trying not to think about the fight. He didn't want to bring Holly out here, but he couldn't climb alone, not with his broken arm still in a cast. They were being as careful as possible because Jeff was sure that Paulson would still have the area under some type of surveillance.
Despite the cool desert air Jeff was sweating. He was nervous to be back here—nervous about descending again into the depths of Lechuguilla. At the cave entrance they set up the climbing equipment, attaching ropes to the horses so that they could pull him up when he was ready. After checking and double checking all of the ropes and harnesses, Jeff descended down into the cave. The darkness was overwhelming and the stretches where he was suspended in mid-air were terrifying. He'd had enough of caves for a lifetime and if he could help it, this would be the last time he'd be going underground, at least until his burial.
Finally at the bottom he walked over to where he'd hidden the prize they'd been searching for—the bio-suit, MedKit and their portables. Everything was still there, hidden under the rocks, intact.
Thank God.
Despite their desire to work with Paulson, they decided it was best that they keep this little stash of goodies from the future secret from him and the government. You never knew who you could truly trust. There was simply too much at stake.
He grabbed everything, tucked it away into a backpack and signaled to Holly to get the horses moving, pulling him back up to safety.
Several hours later they were driving back to the dusty hotel where they'd left the government rental car. The morning sun was just peaking over the horizon, brightening the highway in front of them.
"We should pull over now," Holly said.
They were basically out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Roswell and Albuquerque. The interstate was empty and they hadn't seen a car pass for at least an hour, so Jeff drove off the highway, a little ways down a long dirt road. They got out of the car and walked over to a boulder next to a tall cactus. As they sat down a small green lizard scurried out of the way. Jeff pulled out the data drive from his future self and let the first rays of the morning sun strike its surface. In seconds the device powered back to life, its solar batteries recharging.
He plugged it into his portable and the screen flashed. A 3D hologram appeared above the device. It was the same older Jeff from the future, that they'd seen in the cave.
“Hello, Mr. Madison. I hope you’re sitting next to Holly. If so, then I’ve succeeded. I also hope that I’m there with you as well. I will have explained much of what you’ll find on this drive. If I’m not . . . well, I never planned on a suicide mission, but I knew the risks before I jumped. The nanobot swarm is dangerous and these new EM pulse guns my company has developed may not be enough to take them all down. That’s why I’m taking high-yield grenades to do the job, just in case. If I’m not there, no need to grieve. I’ve probably already changed things to the point where I don’t exist anyway. At least not this version of me. But I’m starting to ramble. Here’s the deal.”
It felt strange to be looking at himself from the distant future. It was like looking at his father.
The hologram Jeff shifted, then said, “Let me tell you the story of my time jump all those years ago. As you probably already know, you landed in 1992, not 2017. The first time around I had no choice but to leave Holly to the nanobot swarm and save myself. I’m sorry, Holly."
Old Jeff looked down and paused for a second. Holly grabbed his arm suddenly and glanced over at him. He knew that she was probably thinking about how close she truly was to dying, deep underground in Lechuguilla Cave, devoured by the swarm.
"I barely managed to escape from Lechuguilla alive," continued future Jeff. "When I finally got to Cambridge, I found Patrick Chen and told him my time-travel story, which he didn’t believe at first, despite the proof from my portable. It wasn’t until I was able to convince him to come back to New Mexico with me and kill off the remaining nanobots that he fully believed.
“I knew that the nanobots would eventually reach the surface, so they needed to be destroyed. Chen and another genius engineer in the MIT graduate program, Franklin Whittenhouse, were able to figure out the communication mechanism that the nanobots used. When we were at Lechuguilla Cave, they sent out a mimicked signal to call the other nanobots that had spread out in the cavern and were tunneling to the surface. Those nanobots then gathered in a small underground chamber. Chen, Whittenhouse, and I were able to use a modified non-nuclear EMP pulse bomb, that Whittenhouse had constructed in his lab, to destroy the remaining nanobots. That’s the short story, but it was very, very difficult to pull off.”
Jeff couldn’t imagine how hard that must have actually been, to devise a way to destroy the nanobots. But after hearing that news, hope started to spark within him. The nanobots could be killed. Humanity had a chance after all. He squeezed Holly’s leg in his excitement, almost giddy, but only shook his head when she lifted a brow in a wordless question.
Jeff thought about the blast and the cave-in at the future site of Project Chronos. It had been nagging at the back of his mind for some time now, and he wondered if all the nanobots had been destroyed in the blast. As strong as they were it was entirely possible that there might be a nanobot or two left alive, deep underground.
No. Jeff put the thought out of his head. They certainly must have died. He looked over at Holly and her eyes were wide with fear.
She paused the video and said, "We need to tell Paulson to keep watch on the cave. And when we start digging to build Project Chronos we'll need to have a security crew on site with EM pulse cannons, just in case."
"Agreed. It's better to be safe than sorry, especially when dealing with this level of technology."
Jeff started the video again.
"Chen was eventually able to set up Project Chronos, although no earlier than in my original timeline, since my data drive from the future was lost. I was able to remember a little bit of history and made a fortune in the stock and real estate markets. Since no government officials would believe our story, I had to fund a large portion of Project Chronos on my own."
"He doesn't mention Buddy Paulson helping," Holly said.
"Nor does he mention Chen coming through the portal after him," Jeff said. "Seems like his timeline was significantly different from ours, somehow."
"We salvaged some of the dead nanobots from the cavern and have been studying them for years. Scientists working for me have been able to make quite a few technological breakthroughs over the last several years as a result of those studies. Plus we have some pretty powerful weapons ready for the attack.
“However, I still don’t think we’re completely ready, even though we are in a much better position this time than we were the first go round. And, most importantly, we unfortunately still have no idea who is behind the attacks. I’m making this recording on August 16, 2037, five months before people started getting sick on January 15, 2038. We now call that day Extermination Day or E-Day. I’ll be time-jumping tomorrow; I won’t be coming back. The scientists and government officials here don’t want me making the jump, one because of my age, even though I’m in fantastic shape and we now have pills to prevent the time-jump nausea. But mainly they don’t want me going back because they’re afraid I’ll screw things up. You see, they think they’re ready for what’s coming, but I don’t believe it.
“No one here has seen the death that I’ve seen, the utter annihilation of billions. Even though it was a long time ago for me, it’s burned into my memory, like it happened yesterday. My children from my other life, gone. And in this life, my wife, sons, and grandchildren will be killed if I don’t make sure we’re ready for the coming attack.”
Jeff handed the portable to Holly and stood up to stretch his legs. He thought about his own children who had yet to be born. He knew he would never get to see them grow up. But if he was able to stop the coming apocalypse then they would at least have a chance at a future.
“So, I’ve made different choices in this life. I’ve done what I had to do, what I thought was right, but more importantly what I think will save the human race in the future. But I still don’t think it’s enough. In over forty years, we have only begun to scratch the surface of what makes these nanobots tick.
“The technology used in those things is so far beyond anything we are capable of. Our scientists tell me they feel like apes using sticks trying to figure out how a computer works. I fear our defenses against their attack will be nothing more than throwing spears at a tank. That’s one reason I want to go back to try to change the past, to make better preparations, get the project up and running quicker, and get the government behind us sooner."
A car drove by on the highway in the distance, kicking up dust as it sped by. Jeff watched it pass, the desert sun already starting to feel warm on his face, despite the early hour.
“The other reason that I want to jump back is that despite everything, despite the passing of the years, I still feel guilty about running and leaving Holly behind. I know there was nothing I could have done to stop the nanobots, and I probably would've died myself, but despite that, I still feel tremendous guilt. And instead of going away, it’s only grown as time has passed. Holly was the scientist, the more valuable member of the group. I should have been the one to die in that cave, not her.”
Holly took a deep breath and grabbed Jeff's hand as he stood beside her. Hearing about how close she had been to death must be shocking. Jeff felt much the same way. He couldn’t imagine what it would've been like to have left Holly behind to be consumed by the swarm. The guilt must have been overwhelming, must have festered as the years passed, eventually growing into an obsession.
“So here we are,” continued the future Jeff. “The timeline is changing once again. On this drive you’ll find detailed information on Project Chronos. There are also detailed schematics on the technological progress we’ve made of the last forty-five years. I’ve included all fields possible from medicine to nanotechnology to computer engineering and even theoretical physics. You’ll have a lot of fun with that, Holly.” The hologram smiled, then continued.
Jeff glanced at Holly. Her eyes were lit up in anticipation of the discoveries and knowledge that awaited her. Knowledge was a scientist’s elixir, and Holly evidently wanted to gulp it down by the gallon.
“I also have the financial information and stock reports on all publicly traded companies of the last four decades as well as the results of sporting events.”
There we go, thought Jeff. That was what he wanted to hear. Now there would be no guesswork, no trying to pull up distant memories of World Series results or trying to recall which tech company actually made any real money in the end.
“Use this information delicately,” continued future Jeff in a cautious tone. “If you make too many bets too quickly, you’ll attract unwanted attention. And that includes in the investment arena. I learned that the hard way."
The future Jeff looked down again, a grim look on his face.
"I've done everything I can. It's up to you now. When our judgment day comes, I pray to God we’ll be ready. That you’ll be ready. Good luck.”
The video clicked off and windows began opening up on the screen. He and Holly simply stared at the data, mouths open, in shocked silence.
Amazing.
They had detailed records of the future. They would be able to save thousands of lives and transform the world in positive ways like no one else in history had been able to do. The world was going to change in ways that Jeff couldn’t even imagine.
The euphoria passed very quickly though as he felt the weight of the great responsibility that had been thrust upon them bearing down already. Holly stood up. Jeff put his arm around her and they both walked slowly back to the car.
They could change the world. Save the world.
And they had to do it.
There were no other options. Not for humanity. Not for themselves. Not for the earth.
Extermination Day was coming and they had to be ready this time.
Epilogue
Midnight, June 22, 1992
One mile underground, Lechuguilla Cave
Deep in the darkness, under tons of rock and debris, a small creature stirred, its legs quivering at first, then slowly responding in unison. Miniature subcomponents and micro systems rebooted. Its systems were heavily damaged but the micro repair drones inside its hardened body were slowly repairing the damage. It immediately sent out a signal to contact the others. There was no response. The nanobot was alone.
It was designed to work as one in a group of millions or billions, all networked and working as one mind. Since the nanobot could detect no others, it reverted to its base programming. It was to eat and breed, killing anything with the DNA marker that had been planted in its bio-circuitry.
The nanobot was not sentient or self-aware, it didn’t understand why it did what it was programmed to do, it just knew that it must do it. It had a hunger and an intense desire to reproduce. And those desires drove it.
It opened powerful jaws and began gnawing away at the rock that trapped it. Its mandibles were sharp enough and strong enough to cut diamond in a single bite. It knew that escape was upward. It tried to reproduce after consuming enough raw material, but was unable to do so; its mitosis functionality was too badly damaged. Sensors indicated that palladium was needed to complete the repairs necessary for proper mitosis. Perhaps it would find that material while it was digging and eating. Then it could divide and move upwards even faster. No matter, it would find the material and eventually reach the surface.
The nanobot had time. It didn’t know how far it had to go, but it knew it would escape this tomb. And then it would continue its primary mission.
Devouring human flesh.
Continue Reading in Book Two – NanoSwarm
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Extermination Day (Book One)
January 15, 2038 – Extermination Day - A deadly virus has descended from the heavens killing most of the Earth's population. But that is only the beginning of the assault. Soon vicious nanobot swarms emerge, bent on devouring everything in their path. A small group of survivors is left trying to figure out who is behind the attacks and how to stop them. Their only chance to save the world is to time jump into the past and warn humanity of the impending attack in the future. But do they have a chance with a traitor in their midst thwarting their efforts at every turn? This novel is available for purchase on Amazon.com. Click here to buy it.
The following are two short stories available for free on my website WilliamTurnage.com. I recommend you read these right after Book One as they set up some of the events that take place in Book Two.
Battle of Khafji (Short Story)
Lieutenant Buddy Paulson is a young Navy SEAL in 1991. During Operation Desert Storm he gets a message from the future, from an old man claiming to be him. Is the message real, or an elaborate ruse designed to deceive his SEAL team? What Paulson decides to do will affect not only the fate of his men but the entire world. Available for FREE only on WilliamTurnage.com. Click here to get it.
Davidian Conflict (Short Story)
Lieutenant Commander Buddy Paulson is embedded undercover with the Branch Davidians in Waco Texas in 1993. He's trying to prevent the deaths of over eighty men, women, and children. What should be a routine mission for his team, with their knowledge of the future, quickly takes an unexpected twist. Paulson finds something else at the Davidian compound, something from the future manipulating the timeline in devious ways. Can he stop the threat and save the innocents? Buy the book for a Facebook Like, Google +, or a Tweet, FREE of charge, only on WilliamTurnage.com. Click here to get it.
NanoSwarm (Book Two)
In this sequel to the post apocalyptic thriller, Extermination Day, the world waits quietly for the deadly virus to return. Only this time they are prepared thanks to time travelers from the future. Or so they think.
When something they believed had been destroyed emerges from the ground, Jeff Madison, Holly Scarborough, and Lieutenant Commander Buddy Paulson must join forces to stop it. As they are preparing to fight, another deadly threat emerges, this one completely unexpected, hiding its lethality in the form of an innocent.
Jeff Madison never wanted to be a hero. He never wanted to see his friends and family die. He never wanted to time travel into the past to try and save humanity from a deadly virus in the future. But the evil that attacked the world left him with no choice. He's always been a fighter. Now is his time to fight.
Jeff and the others think they know what is coming on Extermination Day. They've had a lifetime to prepare for the onslaught. The days turn into years, and each passing moment brings the Apocalypse closer. But when the time finally arrives, no one is expecting what comes next. This novel is available for purchase on Amazon.com. Click here to buy it now.
FREE eBook Bonus: Battle of Khafji
As a special gift to my readers I'm offering a free eBook, Battle of Khafji, available exclusively on my website at, http://williamturnage.com/battle-of-khafji/. The story is set in 1991 during Operation Desert Storm. A young Navy SEAL, Lieutenant Buddy Paulson, gets a message from the future, from an old man claiming to be him. Is the message real, or an elaborate ruse designed to deceive his SEAL team? What Paulson decides to do will affect not only the fate of his men but the entire world. You can start reading the story below.
Prelude
The advanced military attack drone emerged from the time vortex. It hovered for a second in the dark cave, deep underground, as it loaded its mapping program. A quick radar scan of its surroundings revealed exactly where it was and how to get to the surface. It had a message from the future to deliver thousands of miles away. With its destination coordinates laid in, it sped away from the future site of Project Chronos.
Hours later the drone decelerated from hypersonic speed and hovered over the forward air base near Khafji, Saudi Arabia. Its radar jamming and stealth capabilities from the year 2038 easily kept it from being detected by the military technology of 1991.
It scanned the base below and found what it was looking for. It dropped low and engaged visual stealth camouflage mode. When it was close enough, it dropped its package into the sand, then flew off into the desert.
No one even knew it had been there.
Mission accomplished, it engaged its auto-destruct sequence.
 . . 9. . . 8. . .
Chapter One
1600 hours, January 31, 1991
Operation Desert Storm, Khafji, Saudi Arabia
"Hey, Joe! You dropped one of the packages you idiot," the Sergeant yelled out to Private Franco.
"Sorry, sir. I didn't see it."
Franco picked up the package from behind the truck at the mail station and brought it in to be sorted.
"Looks like this one needs to go out immediately. I'll get right on it."
An hour later Private Franco jammed on the brakes of the military jeep, skidding it to a halt in the desert sand.
“Sir, I’m glad I found you,” he said as he jumped out, saluting. “This package just arrived for you, marked urgent. The instructions said for me to deliver it at this exact time and place, look here.”
The private pointed at the cover of the package—Lieutenant Buddy Paulson noted the GPS coordinates, the time, 1700 hours, and today’s date.
He glanced at his watch. He was on his way to the mess hall, hot and hungry, and was irritated by the intrusion.
“You’re a minute late, Private.”
“Actually, sir, I arrived on time.”
“Are you trying to smart-mouth me, Private?” Buddy wasn’t in the mood for any lip from a young snot-nose, especially after the day of fighting he’d just been through.
“Sir, no sir!” snapped the private, coming to stiff attention.
Buddy jerked the package from his hands.
“Dismissed!”
He didn’t have the energy to reprimand the private too much. Besides, tension had been high all day among the troops. He tossed the package from hand to hand.
Strange.
Continue Reading on WilliamTurnage.com
Table of Contents
Copyright
Synopsis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
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FREE eBook Bonus: Battle of Khafji