The Atlantis Plague (4 page)

The trucks pulled to a stop just beyond the gate and soldiers began dragging people out—men, women, and even a few children. Each person’s hands were bound, and many struggled with the guards, shouting in Spanish.

“They’re rounding up survivors,” Martin whispered, as if they could hear him from this distance. “It’s illegal to be caught outside.”

“Why?” Another thought struck Kate. “There are survivors—who aren’t taking Orchid?”

“Yes. But… they aren’t what we expected. You’ll see.” He led her the rest of the way to the restaurant, and after a few words with the guard, they passed inside—into a plastic-lined decontamination chamber. Sprinkler nozzles at the top and sides opened and sprayed them down with a mist that stung slightly. For the second time, Kate was glad to have the hat. In the corner of the plastic chamber, the red miniature traffic light changed from red to green, and Martin pushed through the flaps. He paused just outside the threshold. “You won’t need the hat. Everyone here knows who you are.”

As Kate pulled the hat from her head, she got her first full view of the large room—what had been the dining room. She could barely believe the scene that spread out before her. “What is this?”

Martin spoke softly. “The world isn’t what they describe on the radio. This is the true shape of the Atlantis Plague.”

CHAPTER 4

Two Miles Below Immari Operations Base
Prism
Antarctica

David Vale couldn’t stop looking at his dead body. It lay there in the corridor, in a pool of his blood, his eyes still open, staring at the ceiling above. Another body lay across him—that of his killer, Dorian Sloane. Sloane’s body was a mangled mess—David’s final bullets had hit Sloane at close range. Occasionally a piece of the carnage would peel off the ceiling, like a slowly disintegrating piñata.

David looked away from the scene. The glass tube that held him was less than three feet wide, and the thick wisps of white fog that floated through it made it feel even smaller. He glanced down the length of the giant chamber, at the miles of other tubes, stacked from the floor to a ceiling so high he couldn’t see the end. The fog was thicker in those tubes, hiding the inhabitants. The only person he could see stood in the tube across from him. Sloane. Unlike David, he never looked around. Sloane simply stared straight at David, hate in his eyes, his only movement the occasional flexing of his jaw muscles.

David briefly looked into his killer’s glaring eyes, then resumed studying his tube for the hundredth time. His CIA training didn’t cover anything like this: how to escape from a hibernation tube in a two-million-year-old structure two miles below the surface of Antarctica. There was that class on escaping from tubes in one-million-year-old structures, but he had missed that day. David smiled at his own lame joke. Whatever he was, he hadn’t lost his memories—or his sense of humor. As the thought faded, he remembered Sloane’s constant stare, and David let the smile slip away, hoping the fog had hidden it from his enemy.

David felt another pair of eyes on him. He looked up, then around, then up and down the chamber. It was empty, but David was sure there had been someone there. He tried to lean forward, straining to see deeper into the corridor with the dead bodies. Nothing. As he panned around, something alarmed him—Sloane. He wasn’t staring at David. David followed Sloane’s gaze into the vast chamber. Between their tubes, a man stood. At least, he looked like a man. Had he come from outside or inside? Was he an Atlantean? Whatever he was, he was tall, easily over six feet, and dressed in a crisp black suit that looked like a military uniform. His skin was white, almost translucent, and he was clean-shaven. His only hair was a thick stock of white atop his head—which might have been a little oversized for his body.

The man stood there for a moment, looking from David to Sloane and back again, as if he were a betting man, touring the stables, sizing up two thoroughbreds before a big race.

Then a rhythmic noise cut the silence and began echoing through the chamber: naked feet slapping the iron floor. David’s eyes followed the sound. Sloane. He was out. He hobbled as best he could toward the dead bodies—and the guns beside them. David looked back at the Atlantean just as his own tube slid open. David leapt free, stumbled on his barely responsive legs, and then trudged forward. Sloane was already halfway to the guns.

CHAPTER 5

Orchid District
Marbella, Spain

The makeshift hospital wing was divided into two sections, and Kate had trouble understanding what she saw. In the middle of the room, small beds stretched out, one after another, like an army field hospital. People lay moaning and convulsing, some dying, others drifting in and out of consciousness.

Martin began marching deeper into the room. “This plague is different from the outbreak in 1918.”

The first outbreak Martin was referring to was the Spanish flu pandemic that swept the globe in 1918, killing an estimated fifty million people and infecting one billion. Kate and David had discovered what Martin and his Immari employers had known for almost a hundred years: that the plague had been unleashed by an ancient artifact her father had helped extract from the Atlantis structure in Gibraltar.

Kate’s mind raced with questions, but as she surveyed the rows of beds and the dying, all she could manage was, “Why are they dying? I thought Orchid stopped the plague.”

“It does. But we’re seeing a collapse in efficacy. We estimate that within a month, everyone will become unresponsive to Orchid. Some of the dying volunteer for the trials. Those are the people you’ve seen.”

Kate walked closer to one of the beds, surveying the people, wondering… “What happens when Orchid fails?”

“Without Orchid, almost ninety percent of those infected die within seventy-two hours.”

Kate couldn’t believe it. The numbers had to be wrong. “Impossible. The mortality rate in 1918—”

“Was much lower, true. This plague is different. We only realized how different when we began seeing the survivors.” Martin stopped and nodded toward a series of semi-enclosed cells along the dining-room wall. To Kate, the people inside seemed healthy, but most huddled together, not looking out. There was something very wrong with them, but she couldn’t quite place it. She took a step toward them.

Martin caught her arm. “Don’t approach them. These survivors seem to essentially… devolve. It’s like their brain wiring gets scrambled. It’s worse for some than others, but it’s a regressive state.”

“This happens to all survivors?”

“No. Roughly half suffer this sort of de-evolution.”

“And the other half?” Kate almost dreaded the answer.

“Follow me.”

Martin briefly conversed with a guard at the end of the room, and when he stepped aside, they passed into a smaller dining room. The windows had been boarded up and every inch of the room was divided into large cells, save for a narrow walkway down the middle.

Martin didn’t step further into the room. “These are the other survivors—the ones that have caused trouble in the camp.”

The cramped room must have held a hundred or more survivors, but it was dead silent. No one moved. Each stood and stared at Kate and Martin with cold, dispassionate eyes.

Martin continued in a low tone. “There aren’t any physical changes. None that we’ve seen. But they experience a change in brain wiring as well. They get smarter. Like the devolving, the effects are variable, but some individuals exhibit problem-solving abilities that are off the charts. Some get a bit stronger. And there’s another theme: empathy and compassion seem to wane. Again it varies, but all survivors seem to suffer a collapse in social function.”

As if on cue, the crowds on both sides of the room parted, revealing red letters on the walls behind them. They had written the words in blood.

Orchid can’t stop Darwin.

Orchid can’t stop Evolution.

Orchid can’t stop The Plague.

On the other side of the room, another survivor had written:

The Atlantis Plague = Evolution = Human Destiny.

In the next cell, the letters read:

Evolution is inevitable.

Only fools fight fate.

“We’re not just fighting the plague,” Martin whispered. “We’re fighting the survivors who don’t want a cure, who see this as either humanity’s next step or a completely new beginning.”

Kate just stood there, unsure what to say.

Martin turned and led Kate out of the room, back out into the main hospital room, and through another exit, into what must have been the kitchen but was now a lab. A half dozen scientists sat on stools, working with equipment that sat on top of the steel tables. They all glanced up at her, and one by one they stopped their work and began gawking and conversing in hushed tones. Martin wrapped an arm around her and called over his shoulder, “Carry on,” as he ushered Kate quickly through the kitchen. He stopped abruptly at a door in the narrow hall behind the kitchen. He keyed a code into a small panel and the door popped open with a hiss. They stepped inside, and the moment the door sealed shut, he held out his hand. “The sample.”

Kate fingered the plastic tube in her pocket. He was only giving her half the story—just enough to get what he wanted. She rocked back on her heels. “Why are the plague effects different this time? Why isn’t it happening like it did in 1918?”

Martin paced away from her and collapsed into a wooden chair at an old oak desk. This must have been the restaurant manager’s office. It had a small window that looked out onto the grounds. The desk was covered with equipment that Kate didn’t recognize. Six large computer screens hung on the wall, displaying maps and charts and scrolling endless lines of text, like a stock market news ticker.

Martin rubbed his temples, then shuffled a few papers. “The plague is different because we’re different. The human genome hasn’t changed much, but our brains operate very differently than they did a hundred years ago. We process information faster, we spend our days reading email, watching TV, devouring information on the internet, glued to our smartphones. We know lifestyle, diet, event stress can affect gene activation, and that has a direct effect on how pathogens influence us. Whoever designed the Atlantis Plague, this moment in our development is exactly what they have been waiting for. It’s like the plague was designed for this moment in time, for the human brain to reach a maturation point where it could be used.”

“Use it for what?”

“That’s the question, Kate. And we don’t know the answer, but we have some clues. As you’ve seen, we know that the Atlantis Plague operates primarily on brain wiring. For a small group of survivors, it seems to strengthen brain wiring. For the remaining survivors, it scrambles it. It kills the rest—apparently those it has no use for. The plague is changing humanity at the genetic level—effectively bioforming us into some desired outcome.”

“Do you know what genes the plague targets?”

“No, but we’re close. Our working theory is that the Atlantis Plague is simply a genetic update that attempts to manipulate The Atlantis Plague. It’s trying to complete the change in brain wiring that started seventy thousand years ago with the introduction of The Atlantis Plague—the first Great Leap Forward. So, we know that the Atlantis Plague manipulates The Atlantis Plague, but there are other… factors. And again, we don’t know what the endgame is. Is it a second Great Leap Forward—forcing us to advance—or is it a great step backward—a large-scale reversal in human evolution?”

Kate tried to digest this. Through the window, a massive fight broke out on the grounds near the closest tower. A line of people scattered and a group rushed the guards. Kate thought it was the same survivors that had been brought in earlier, but she couldn’t tell.

Martin glanced out the window briefly and focused on Kate again. “Riots are common, especially when a new group is brought in.” He held out a hand. “I really do need that sample, Kate.”

Kate scanned the room again—the equipment, the screens, the charts on the wall… “This is your trial, isn’t it? You’re the voice in the room. I’ve been working for you.”

“We all work for somebody—”

“I told you I wanted answers.”

“The answer is yes. This is my trial.”

“Why? Why lie to me?” Kate said, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. “I would have helped you.”

“I know, but you would have had questions. I’ve dreaded this day—telling you the truth, telling you what I’ve done, telling you the state of the world. I wanted to shelter you from it, for… just a bit longer.” Martin looked away from her, and in that moment, he looked so much older.

“Orchid. It’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“No. Orchid is real. It stops the plague, but it only buys us time, and it’s failing. We’re having production problems and people are losing hope.”

“You couldn’t have developed it overnight,” Kate said.

“We didn’t. Orchid was our backup plan—developed by your father, actually. He made us assume that a plague would be unleashed, and forced us to search for a cure in case it ever occurred. We worked on it for decades, but we didn’t make any real progress until we found a cure for HIV.”

“Wait, there’s a cure for HIV?”

“I’ll tell you everything, Kate, I swear it. But I need the sample. And I need you to go back to your room. The SAS team is coming for you tomorrow. They’ll take you to England, to safety.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere. I want to help.”

“And you can. But I need to know that you’re safe.”

“Safe from what?” Kate asked.

“The Immari. There have been rumors that they’ve moved troops into the Mediterranean.”

The radio reports Kate had heard mostly talked of Immari forces being defeated in third-world countries. She hadn’t given much thought to them. “The Immari are a threat?”

“Absolutely. They’ve taken over most of the southern hemisphere.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“I am.” Martin shook his head. “You don’t understand. When the Atlantis Plague hit, over a billion people were infected within twenty-four hours. The governments that didn’t topple overnight declared martial law. Then the Immari started mopping up the world. They offered a novel solution: a society of survivors—but only the rapidly evolving ones, what they call ‘the chosen.’ They started with the southern hemisphere, with high-population nations near Antarctica. They control Argentina, Chile, South Africa, and a dozen others.”