Genesis (5 page)

William wasn’t really walking as much as he
was stumbling towards the chair next to the radio in the living room, and he
had just rounded the corner, when a momentary lapse in the headache allowed him
to focus just long enough. Just long enough to understand he was in real
danger.

The emergency broadcast on the radio had
stopped, and the voice had been replaced by another with a different message
altogether. He had to focus. He had to hear what they were saying on the radio.
William leaned against the mantel of the fireplace for support. He was almost
to the chair.

Almost…

The pounding in William’s head was getting
louder with each step of forward progress he made. The pulsating throb of the
blood being pumped through his veins seemed to echo inside his head with each
beat, building to a thunderous crescendo that caused him to stop in his tracks,
frozen, like a deer in the headlight of a fast approaching car. Fate sealed. He
should have known better.

William collapsed to the floor. He was
still conscious, but unable to move a muscle. William’s body gave one last rush
of adrenaline, allowing him to clear his mind, but still not move his body. He
could feel the pressure building inside his head again. It would go dark soon,
and he knew it. William was paralyzed for a moment with fear…how could he be so
stupid?

Snow White.

Why Snow White?

When William was a young boy in the
orphanage, one of the nuns, Sister Mary Margaret, would read Grimm’s Fairy
Tales to the boys at night before bedtime. It was a welcomed break from the
usual fare of bible stories, and William always looked forward to those nights
more than anything he could ever remember looking forward to.

His final thoughts would be of Snow White.

Fitting.

Comforting.

Snow White had always been one of his
favorite bedtime stories. He did expect his final life flashback to contain a
bit more of Vietnam though….

Fucking Snow White.

This was NOT going to be his final thought.

Then it hit him. It was a message.

Fucking Snow White.

Snow White.

Poison apple.

Son of a bitch.

It was the apple.

It was a God damn poison apple.

The last thing William remembered…

was how thirsty he…

*Che awoke to find himself alone, naked and covered in
filth.

He could remember almost nothing of the
night before, just a foggy recollection of various themes, nothing specific. Memory
is a funny thing in humans, there one minute, and gone the next without much
rhyme or reason at all. But this one had a reason; that much he could remember.
He briefly wondered how many men and women had to make the ultimate sacrifice
to get him to the mineshaft, but it didn’t matter. They knew the risks, just as
he did. If Che was unsuccessful in his mission, they were all dead anyway.

Che took a deep breath and pulled himself
up off the ground. The air was cold, crisp, and clean smelling, but the
familiar smell of death was also in the air. Che was no stranger to war, having
spent his entire life in one war zone or another, and the smell of human fat
burning was unlike any other smell he had ever encountered. Someone was burning
a body nearby, and Che found that comforting. It meant we were still in the
battle, even if we were losing the war.

Che smiled when he saw the small brass
lantern on the rock. It was from his first ocean-going sailboat, Far Point. He
had not seen it in years, but it was unmistakable to him. He had sat many
nights under that lantern smoking his pipe, playing cards, and studying
navigational charts from distant shores that he had someday hoped to visit.

Che remembered clearly the day that his
friend Mark had come down to the dock and asked if he could take her out for a
short sail around Point Loma to watch the sunset with some new girl he had met
the night before. She was a farm girl from Nebraska and had never seen the
ocean in real life. Mark had commented that if you really wanted to experience
the ocean and all of its wonders, then you needed to experience it from a
sailboat. One thing led to another, and Mark eventually boasted that he had
access to a sailboat and would take her out the next night.

Che knew he should have said no right then
and there. Mark had never handled a sailboat this large before, but he promised
he would just keep the engine on and basically drive out past the point, watch
the sunset, then drive the boat right back to the dock.

They had been overdue for many hours, and
Che was just about ready to call the Coast Guard when the Coast Guard called
looking for him. Far Point had been found smashed to pieces on the Pilon de
Azucar, a small rock island that was part of the Coronado chain, approximately
15 miles south of the entrance to San Diego bay. No bodies were ever recovered,
the theory from the Coast Guard being that apparently Mark and this gal had
gone below deck to conjugate their ‘sailing’ trip and the auto-steer had either
failed or been set to the wrong compass heading, and drove Far Point directly
up onto the rocks.

The island, even under the best of
conditions, is very hard to land on with the rocky shore most always being
battered by the prevailing wind and waves. There would have been little chance
of survival even if Mark attempted to land on purpose, let alone on accident,
in the middle of the night.

The lamp would have been on board, had Che
not lent it to his other friend Pete just a few hours before to help him ‘set
the mood’ on his small Tahiti Ketch for his own romantic rendezvous. It was the
only thing he had left of his boat. It had been left with Cooper at the farm,
and its presence in the mine could only mean one thing; Christopher had been
here, and that meant everything was on schedule, and everything was going as
planned.

Che was the leader of the Resistance, but
not the resistance against those things because Che knew it was useless to
resist nature.

Nature always wins.

Nature always finds a way.

Che was the leader of the Resistance
against the people that unleashed them on the world. And if he were honest with
himself, revenge would be a better word to describe his mission than
resistance.

Che sniffed the thin, black trail of smoke
leaving the lantern and smiled. The lantern was burning human fat. Of course it
is; Dr. Cooper like to re-purpose things, and no sense letting any resource be
wasted. As he often liked to point out, that’s exactly the sort of thinking
that got humans to this point in the first place.

Che began to head to the entrance of the
mineshaft. He moved slowly, with careful deliberation, knowing that every small
sound inside the tunnel would be amplified like a speaker to the outside world.
If things were going as planned and everything were on schedule, then that
would mean right outside the entrance to the mine there should be several of
those things for him to choose from.

There was something scrawled on the wall
just ahead. Che moved forward even more carefully—this was not part of the plan—until
the light from the lantern finally revealed the words in chalk:

Safe to drink.

It was Christopher’s handwriting, not
Cooper’s, which made sense, as Christopher would have been the only one
respectful enough to not bring him clothes, and the mineshaft was empty, just
as he had asked it to be.

Che preferred to hunt naked, he always had.
It was a spiritual thing for him, and he felt that it brought him closer to
whatever animal he was hunting, and these things were no different from any
other animal; they deserved respect and would get it. Besides, by respecting
your prey, you typically do not end up getting eaten by it.

Everyone thought he was crazy, but Che, of
course, would always argue that it made sense from a tactical standpoint. In
Che’s mind, it made no sense to put on armor that just made noise when no one
was really completely positive how those things even hunted yet. Smell seemed
to be the most obvious, as they could be observed hunting by smell and following
scents, but there was more to it. Che could tell, but did not know exactly
what. No, going naked was better, and having others think he was crazy was just
a side benefit. It kept them, and their noise and smells, away from him. He was
safer that way. Alone was always safer with those things around. Besides, if he
got cold, he could always fashion something to wear from the skin of whatever
he killed.

Che set the lamp down and scooped some
water into his mouth. It was cold and clean. The cleanest water he had tasted
in some time. It was so refreshing, he wanted to stay there all night and drink
until he was bloated, but he knew he had work to do. And it was better to be
thirsty when hunting. It sharpened the instincts.

Che continued forward down the shaft,
leaving the lamp behind him in the dark. From this point forward, he could not
have light, as it would give away his location and also prevent his eyes from
adjusting to the night. Che could see stars ahead. He was at the entrance to
the mine. Perfect timing, as the moon had not yet risen, so it was still very
dark, and the wind was swirling in all directions; anything hunting based on
smell would be confused. Che would have a slight advantage tonight in the hunt,
and with his skill set, he didn’t really even need that.

It was going to be a good night indeed.

The cold passed reluctantly from his
body,
and the fog began to lift from his mind only to be replaced by a throbbing
headache. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but clearly it was
long enough, as he could feel the cold steel of his own handcuffs biting into
the flesh of his wrists. He could tell someone had injected something into his
neck. He had been poisoned. A poison apple…Snow White…it was all coming back to
him now. He was no longer on the floor, and someone had moved him into a
sitting position and cuffed his hands behind his back, which could only mean
one thing:

“What are you doing here?” it was muffled,
but definitely a man’s voice.

William opened his eyes and looked up in
the direction the voice had come from. The room was dark, but there was no
mistaking the man now holding a shotgun to his head. Even though he looked like
a clown in the bright yellow radiation suit he was wearing, William knew exactly
who, and more importantly how dangerous, he was. William chose his words
carefully.

“My name is…”

“I don’t give a fuck what your name is. Who
you are is completely irrelevant. I asked you a simple question: what are you
doing here?” Cooper pointed the shotgun even more directly at William’s face.

William straightened himself up as much as
he could. “United States Marshal, Protective Services Division.”

Cooper lowered the shotgun slightly, but
kept it pointed directly at William.

“You’re not very good at it. Where’s your
partner?”

“I don’t have one.” William replied,
truthfully.

“So I’m supposed to believe that they sent
you, alone?”

“Well, I’m who they sent, Dr. Cooper.”

Cooper raised the gun and pointed it
directly back into William’s face. “Knowing my name does not prove who you are,
and more importantly, knowing my name does not prove whose side you are on. Many
people know my name on both sides of this war.”

William could see that he had agitated him,
but his instinct told him it was important to hold his ground. “No, it doesn’t.
But surely you must have seen the U.S. Marshals’ transport vehicle out front. I
parked right out in the open. If I were here to hurt you, I would have been
more discreet. How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. I just met you,” Cooper
replied shortly.

“Come on, I turned on all the lights in the
house announcing my presence to you for miles before you got home,” William
argued.

“That proves nothing. You could just be
retarded. Plenty of those turds floating around in the gene pool these days.” Cooper
was enjoying this.

“You’re wasting valuable time, Doctor. I
have my ID and transfer paperwork all in order.” William motioned to his
briefcase on the table.

“I hardly think you are qualified to
lecture me on the value of time! And ID’s and paperwork can be counterfeited!”

“Well, if you want me to get you out of
here, then I guess you will just have to take it on faith that I am who I say I
am,” William replied.

Cooper snorted a laugh and took a few steps
back away from William, leaning the shotgun against the radio and began to take
off his chemical suit.

“You’re probably the only person in the
country right now voluntarily getting out of a radiation suit.” William hoped
that making some small talk with Cooper could ease the situation.

“It’s not a radiation suit. I’m not some
nutcase with a fallout shelter in his basement, thinking he can survive a
nuclear war with a plastic suit and stockpile of food. I am a Nobel nominated chemist.
This is a chemical suit.”

“Well, you might want to keep it on until I
can get you out of here. I just heard on the radio that the CDC is reporting
that whatever it is, it has gone airborne.”

“It isn’t airborne, and it won’t go
airborne,” Cooper replied with authority.

“If it’s not airborne, then why the suit?”

Cooper over-exaggerates sniffing the air
with his nose.

“Those things out there, they mostly hunt
on smell. This suit makes me smell like a plastic bag. It keeps my scent
contained, and I can walk right past them, mostly.” Cooper sat down in the
leather chair next to William. “What’s your security clearance?” he asked.

“Top secret. SCI and SAP
^_
cleared,” William replied.

“And you’re in asset transport?” Cooper
questioned.

“No, not normally. Normally, I’m in Special
Operations. I was transporting some important documents from Denver to
Cheyenne. They diverted me to pick you up and take you to someplace safe.”

“Someplace safe? Give me a fucking break. They
sent a messenger boy to take me ‘someplace safe?’ Do you really expect me to
believe that shit? Do you have any idea what is going on out there?”

“I have some idea. I lost secure
communication about ten hours ago, nothing but static on the radio. But the
Emergency Alert Service messages are still coming over broadcast radio.”

“Yeah, well you can’t believe everything
you hear on the radio, you dumb-ass. Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”

“My parents died when I was young. Drunk
driver.” It was a lie, but William was used to lying. Besides, he was an
orphan, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch. William wanted to make a
connection with Cooper, having read in his file that a drunk driver had killed
his wife many years before. It seemed to be working, as Cooper’s posture
changed ever so slightly.

“Well, you can believe the radio, or you
can believe the scientist. I’m telling you with absolute certainty that it is
not airborne.”

Cooper had taken a softer tone with him and
changed the subject back to the virus. It worked. William had made a connection
on some level. He could risk asking a question. “Can I ask how you know?”

Cooper laughed out loud, then took a deep
breath and waved his arms around him. “For starters, this house is over a
hundred years old and has more leaks than the Nixon White House. If it were
airborne, we wouldn’t be having this conversation…we’d be trying to eat other.”
Cooper reached down beside him and picked a gas mask up out of the green army
bag on the floor next to Cooper’s chair.

“Before I left Denver, the news was saying
there was every indication that the virus had gone airborne on the east coast.”

“It isn’t. The rapid spread out east is
purely mathematical. Population density.” Cooper pulled the gas mask down over
his face.

“Then why the gas mask Doctor?”

Cooper motioned with his hand for William
to wait one second, then proceeded to pull a bright neon purple bong from the
bag, complete with a half-burned bowl of what William could smell was
marijuana. Cooper attached the bong to the gas mask and lit the bowl. A
gurgling bong sound filled the room.

“Are you for real?” William was getting
agitated. “You need to un-cuff me, now! We don’t have time for this!”

Cooper ignored William, but spoke to him
anyway. “You know, many great scientists smoked weed. Carl Sagan, Richard
Feynman, Francis Crick, Stephen Jay Gould.”

Mental note: Stephen Jay Gould. That name
was new to William.

“Gould?”

“Paleontologist, biologist. He developed
the theory of Punctuated Equilibrium.”

“Punctuated Equilibrium? What’s that?” William
asked.

Cooper hit the bong one more time,
automatically entering his ‘professor mode’ as he began to lecture William. It
was something Cooper did anytime anyone asked him a question about a subject he
was personally interested in, and William knew it. It was in his file. William
could relax a bit because the more they became friends, the easier it would be
to get Cooper to let him go. Besides, half the mission was already
accomplished; he was in the same room with Dr. Cooper.

“Simply put, punctuated equilibrium is the
theory in evolutionary biology that proposes that most species exhibit little
net evolutionary change for most of their geological history. They remain, in
effect, in a sort of evolutionary stasis. When significant evolutionary change
does occur, the theory proposes that it is restricted to rare and geologically
rapid events of branching speciation called cladogenesis.”

“Cladogenesis?”

“I know, it sounds like an STD right? I’m
sorry son. You have cladogenesis. Here’s some penicillin.” Cooper laughed at
his own joke for a moment and then resumed his lecture.

“Cladogenesis is the process by which one
species splits into two distinct species in a very short period of time, as
opposed to a more conventional theory of evolutionary perspective where species
gradually evolve over millions of years. If it’s easier, you can think of it
like lightning hitting the Phylogenetic Tree of Life. Bam! Lightning! Tree of
Life split in two.” Cooper paused for a moment for dramatic effect.

“There are many scientists that believe
that this accounts for the so called ‘missing links’ in the fossil record. The
links are not missing. They simply never existed in the first place. Bam!
Cladogenesis.”

“Is that what’s happening? Humans are
evolving into two distinct species?”

“A new species better suited for a world
with air unfit for humans to inhale and water unfit for humans to drink. A
world that is perfectly suited for a new species of human.” Cooper hits the
bong again.

“But how could it be evolutionary when
those things are dead?”

“The fast ones, the violent, rage-filled
ones, those are just the infected. They might still be alive on some level. But
for how long, it all depends on their food supply. Once that runs out, they
will die just like anything does without food. But here’s the kicker. Once the
fast one dies, the infection kicks in again, and they simply rise back up, only
slower. The walking dead, if you will pardon the cliché.”

“So, the fast ones are still alive, and the
slow ones are the truly undead?”

“Yes, if you want to call them that. I
prefer to reserve the term undead for those that have been properly put to rest
and then risen back from the grave. But I am sort of old-fashioned that way.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Chemistry, biology, physics. It’s all
really just applied basic science. Maybe if you paid better attention in school
you wouldn’t have to carry a gun around for a living.” Copper hit the bong one
more time.

“You don’t have to be insulting. I’m just
trying to understand what’s going on.”

“Aren’t we all? And I’m not being
insulting. I am being factual.”

“Well, I am sure you will be a tremendous
asset to the Crisis Management Team. Will you please let me go so I can take
you to the rendezvous point?”

“Ok, assuming I play along, where do we go
from this rendezvous point? What happens next?” Cooper’s questions were oozing
skepticism.

“A helicopter will transport you to a
secure facility.”

Cooper laughed out loud.

“You still don’t get it, do you? There is
no such thing as a secure facility anymore. It’s only a matter of time now,
sort of like an aggressive cancer. Sure, you can fight it, but how long are you
really going to hold out for? And to what end? What quality of life? Besides,
even if there were such a thing as a secure facility, I couldn’t leave yet.”

“Why not?” William asked.

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“I’m not authorized to transport anyone
else.”

“You won’t have to. They don’t have long to
live,” Cooper stated matter of fact. The sound of a teapot whistling could be
heard coming from the kitchen, punctuating the silence.

“Sounds like the water’s ready. Would you
like some tea?” Cooper asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. He strode out of
the room with purpose, taking both the shotgun and his chemical suit with him.

William struggled with his cuffs, only to
confirm what he had already suspected; he was also chained to the fireplace by
a chain that was mortared into the stonework. The chain, mortar, and rock were
all solid. William resigned himself to the fact that he was Cooper’s prisoner.

“I can’t let you kill anyone if that’s your
plan.”

“I don’t think you really have too much of
a say in it at this point.” Cooper replied from the kitchen, which William
reflected was true because if Cooper wanted to kill whomever was arriving,
there was nothing William could do about it. William could hear the sound of
teacups clanking onto their saucers, and then onto a table or tray. What he
could not see, however, was Cooper adding a few drops of fluid from the end of
a syringe.

“You need to release me. We need to leave
now if we are going to make it to the rendezvous point on time to be extracted
with the others.” William pleaded to the empty room in hopes that Cooper was
listening in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Cooper returned to the
living room carrying a tray, two teacups, and a teapot.

“You need to release me!”