Revelations (14 page)

“To fallen comrades,” Emily whispered, and tried to keep the ghosts of her life from her mind.

The next morning, the fire-ravaged ground beyond the compound was still too hot to get too close to. While the majority of the smoke had been carried away by the Pacific breeze, the ground was still giving off thin plumes of gray smoke that stank to high heavens and stung the eyes of any at the camp unwary enough to venture outside the security fence.

Captain Constantine and MacAlister stalked the perimeter just clear of the choking smoke. The scowl on Constantine’s face conveyed his annoyance. He’d planned for a small expeditionary group to reconnoiter the damage to the jungle and their surrounding area, but that was now going to have to wait until the ground cooled to a safe enough level. So the day was spent chopping and digging and sawing the remainder of the alien vegetation still growing between the buildings of the compound.

The stumps of the creeping vine that Emily had found so impossible to budge from the soil around Building One proved the hardest of all to clear. Less than twenty-four hours after Emily had chopped the clinging vine down, there were already signs of regrowth on the root bulb. Tiny feelers, three inches in length, were sprouting from it, inching their way up the wall of Building One.

When the first stump finally came free after several hours of hacking away at it with a pickax and shovels by three of the burlier sailors, it became clear as to why it had proved so difficult. The root system was almost as extensive as the sucking vines that had crawled up the exterior walls of the building. The thick, dark roots were lined with rows of barbs that clung to the soil like hooks, forcing each root to be dug out one by one to be sure it was completely gone.

Everything in this new world seemed tough, with an almost preternatural desire to live, expand, grow; desires that were matched by an innate ability to achieve those goals.

By the end of the day as the sun began to set, the compound and the space between the buildings was clear of all but a few of the more stubborn plants. Even with the leather gloves she had filched from one of the sailors, Emily’s hands were blistered. But she did not mind; these past few days of physical exercise had reawakened something within her, and she found herself reveling in the purity of the simple task of manual labor. A definite sense of camaraderie had grown between the survivors, and Emily was happy to be a part of it.

Rhiannon, on the other hand, was not as enthusiastic about the brutal working conditions the California climate and salty air created. She had promoted herself to supplying the crews with water and food throughout the day, although she did stop by occasionally to check on Emily and carry a few of the branches and leaves she had cut down to one of the several growing piles of decaying vegetation that sat waiting for disposal near the exit of the camp.

“Emily!” a voice called to her, and she dropped her pickax to the ground, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and looked toward the source of whoever was calling her. It was Mac, standing in the open doorway of the main building and waving to her. “Come on in,” he yelled again, “we have someone who wants to talk to you.”

MacAlister escorted Emily inside the building and down the corridor to the makeshift radio room that had been set up on the ground floor of the building. The two of them squeezed in beside Jacob, Captain Constantine, and Parsons, making the room stuffy with their body heat.

Jacob sat at the desk, a pair of headphones over his ears, fine-tuning the portable radio. “Stand by, please, Commander,” he spoke into the microphone, then switched the radio over to its loudspeaker mode. “Okay, you’re good to go,” he continued, placing the headphones on the desk next to the radio and grinning at Emily as he pushed his chair back from the desk.

Onboard the ISS, Commander Fiona Mulligan pulled the microphone from the wall of the observation module and switched on the speaker. Through the observation port she could see the coast of Chile creeping closer as the station followed its orbit northeast.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she asked.

Miles below, in the confines of the small room, Mulligan’s voice sounded extra loud and clear.

“We’re receiving you perfectly, Commander,” said Emily, finding it hard to keep the emotion she felt for her stranded friend out of her voice. “It’s so very good to hear your voice again. We were a little concerned about you there for a while.” She found herself returning Jacob’s grin, in spite of herself.

The commander smiled although she knew no one could see her. For a while, after their radio communications had gone down, both she and her crew had begun to wonder if maybe they might have lost contact permanently with the group of survivors from the Stockton Islands, or worse, maybe something had happened to them as they travelled to their new location. So it came as a relief when Jacob had finally managed to contact the station half an hour earlier. But it was especially good to hear Emily’s voice again.

“Thank you for your concern, Emily, and sorry for the scare, but the inevitable breakdown we were worried about now seems to be taking place. We lost several of the relay satellites we use to communicate when we’re out of normal radio range while you were travelling to your new home, and the red storm seems to have created some kind of residual electrical interference too. So, I’m afraid our contact with you is going to be a little unpredictable from this point onward. The sat-phone networks all seem to be down now, so we’ll be using our amateur radio rig from here on out and that will mean we will only be in range a few hours each day from this point onward, I’m afraid.”

“May I?” the captain asked Emily, nodding to the microphone.

“Sure,” she said, “go ahead.”

“Commander, this is Captain Constantine. It’s a pleasure to speak with you again. I want to thank you personally for everything you have done for me and my crew.”

“Likewise, and you are more than welcome, Captain,” came the static-riddled reply from the station.

“I know Jacob has filled you in on some of the events that have transpired since we arrived here at Point Loma, but I believe we have everything under control now. So I think it’s time we turn the focus on you and your crew: Can you give us any information relevant to your reentry and how best we should go about the recovery efforts once you join us back here on Earth?”

The commander and the captain exchanged information about location, trajectories, and possible emergency scenarios over the next thirty minutes.

Parsons stood elbow to elbow with Emily, taking copious notes on a steno pad. Emily found herself tuning out their voices as the conversation turned technical, but her attention snapped back to the cramped room when a sudden rattling burst of static drowned out the commander’s voice.

“…tain. Is there’s anything…eed to…bout. Hello? Can you…me?”

“I’m sorry, Commander. Please repeat all again. Can you hear me?”

“…eed to talk wi…Do you…”

As Commander Mulligan’s garbled words faded away they were replaced with a low, constant hiss of static from the speaker. Jacob reached across and flicked the radio’s off switch, silencing the machine.

“Damn! When do you think they’ll be in range again?” the captain asked Jacob.

“Their amateur radio rig is going to give them significantly less range and power,” Jacob explained, closing his eyes as he did some quick math in his head. “I’d estimate sometime between twelve and eighteen hours until we can establish a clear contact again, but I really don’t know for certain.”

“Okay, well I’ll position a man to monitor the radio overnight and let you get some sleep,” Constantine said. “On the off-chance that we hear back from the commander sooner than expected, he’ll have orders to wake either you or Emily, okay?”

Emily and Jacob nodded their agreement.

“Now,” the captain said. “I think it’s time we all got a good night’s rest.”

Emily repositioned the backpack to a less awkward position against her shoulders. It felt almost comforting to have it on her back again, although it was not the same pack she had used on her travels—that one had finally been retired. This one was smaller, just large enough to carry some water, a first-aid kit, and a day’s worth of rations. After all, this was just a quick foray to survey the area around the base. The Mossberg was slung over her shoulder, and extra shells rattled in the pockets of the light windbreaker jacket she wore. A machete hung from a loop on her belt, slapping against her thigh as she walked.

By their fourth day at the base, the stretch of land they had put to the torch was finally cool enough it would no longer melt the soles of the shoes of the first scouting party to leave the base. There were still hot spots scattered across the desolate field of pink ash, silently smoldering, but the smoke rising up from them was an easy indicator of where the group should steer clear of.

Rhiannon, after much complaining, had agreed to stay behind. Thor, however, trotted by Emily’s side, as she, MacAlister, and two sailors headed out through the security gate just after sunrise. Thor seemed as happy as Emily to be out of the encampment again. He had put on weight since the arrival of the submarine crew; a combination of lack of exercise and overfeeding by the crew, who had all seemed to take a very protective attitude over what could be the last of his species. Though, after everything Emily and he had been through, the last few weeks must have seemed like doggy heaven for him.

The small group followed the main road out of the camp north along the peninsula. The fire had consumed almost everything in its path for about a mile in each direction, but eventually, as the fire’s fuel had been depleted or natural firebreaks had impeded its progress, the jungle of red again began to assert its hold over the land. A quarter mile farther on and the road was so choked with growth that they could no longer push ahead, and had to zig east until they located a smaller path to continue along.

The few buildings on the side of the road were all but covered in the same latticework of creepers that had given her and the rest of the crew such trouble back at the base. The buildings were only recognizable as being man-made by the vague outline of their shape beneath the plants. It wasn’t hard to imagine, given another month or two, as the vegetation grew up through the spaces between the offices and apartments, that there would be little identifiable proof of humanity’s existence left to see here.

Some of the homes and offices that were still visible suffered from very obvious storm damage. Walls had been toppled or ripped away, roofs perforated by flying debris, windows shattered, and retaining walls crumbled to little more than boulders of concrete. One entire building had apparently been ripped from its foundation, leaving nothing but the bare concrete slab, broken rebar, and, most curiously, a single staircase that rose into the air, climbing past floors that no longer existed.

The travelers cut across the surface of the exposed pad, stepping over the vines and creepers that laced it like a carpet. Something glittered in the early morning sun, flashing baubles of light into Emily’s eyes like pieces of broken glass.

“What
is
that?” she asked MacAlister, pointing to the side of a nearby building where the scintillation originated from. MacAlister looked in the direction she was pointing and caught the same twinkling light.

“I have no idea,” he said as he diverted the team toward the source, a two-story building just a few yards away.

“What on earth…?” he exclaimed as they approached the wall. It was covered in a sapphire-like crust that spread out for about eight feet along the side of the wall and another four or five up toward the second floor. Bathed in the light of the slowly ascending sun, whatever this growth was made of reflected the sunlight beautifully, refracting it into scintillating colors that lit the surrounding area.

“It’s beautiful! Like mother-of-pearl,” one of the sailors said, reaching out a hand to touch the thin membrane of jewel-like growth. The kid let out a sudden yelp of pain as MacAlister slapped his hand before he could touch it.

“Jesus, kid. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to look and not touch?” He gave the chastened sailor a hard stare. “You have no idea what that is, so keep your hands in your pockets from now on, okay?”

Emily gave the sailor a sympathetic smile. “Best to take that advice to heart,” she said. “We have no clue what’s dangerous out here and what’s not. It’s better to assume everything is going to try to kill you, until we know for certain.” Then added, “Because, it probably is.”

“Yes, Miss,” the sailor said, his face still flushed red with embarrassment.

“Oh please, please, please, stop calling me ‘Miss.’ You’re making me feel like I’m an eighty-year-old schoolmarm. My name is Emily.”

“Yes…Emily,” the kid said, some of the embarrassment forgotten.

“Come on you lot,” MacAlister insisted as he continued to watch the growth. “Time’s a-wastin’ and we need to get out of here.”

They found a road that was almost entirely clear of growth and followed it as it curved slowly downhill toward the bay. Until now, the only sound had been the crunch of the group’s feet as they walked and Thor’s panting breath, but now the roar of the surf crashing against the shore filled Emily’s mind with scenes from her childhood of trips with her parents to the seaside. The only thing missing was the screech of seagulls and the smell of cotton candy and funnel cake…and the background noise of humanity at play, of course.

“Bloody Hell!” The exclamation came from one of the young sailors—his name was James but his shipmates called him Rusty, due to his red hair. As they rounded the bend in the road the vegetation on either side of them finally fell away, giving the group an unhindered view out over San Diego Bay out past Coronado Island. The fog that had covered the horizon since their arrival at Point Loma had finally burned off, revealing a clear view into the distance and what should have been the city of San Diego, three miles or so across the bay.

Instead of the city all they could see was red jungle stretching out along the curve of the distant coast. The red vegetation obscured everything. It was as though the mainland had been somehow transported back in time to the Jurassic period, all trace of humanity’s influence in the area was gone, covered under a blanket of red and purple.

Well,
almost
all signs.

The only clue that there had once been a major city located just across the water was the prow of a sunken ship—maybe an oil tanker or maybe it had been a naval vessel—that jutted out from the water near the shore. Its deck dripped with red fronds.

MacAlister took a pair of binoculars from his pack and raised them to his eyes. He scanned back and forth along the distant shore then offered them to Emily.

“Tell me what you see.”

Coronado Island sat a half mile or so offshore of San Diego, parallel with Point Loma, giving the bay between them a distinct horseshoe shape. Point Loma was an extension of the mainland, a long spit of land that looped down toward the southwest tip of Coronado Island. Of course, it wasn’t
really
an island, just a pork-chop-shaped landmass with a skinny sandbar that extended off its southern tip until it reconnected with the mainland again. She swept the binoculars over the island past the airport and several aircraft, including a couple of military helicopters that still sat on the relatively unmolested runway, then across the water to the mainland beyond. There was nothing but a wall of tangled red vines and alien trees. The trees were huge, but nowhere near as large as the ones she had seen during her journey north. These ones seemed more organic; in fact, if it wasn’t for their dark-red hue and jutting branches they could easily have originated from some distant corner here on Earth.

With the aid of the powerful binoculars Emily could make out several almost intact jetties still visible along the San Diego coastline, but, other than the wreck in the bay, there was no sign of any of the yachts, boats, or ships that would have surely been moored there. They must have been washed away by the huge storms that had swept over almost every mile of the planet. Several huge buildings, hotels or office blocks she assumed, it was impossible to say now, rose up above the trees. They too were wrapped in the ubiquitous red vines, but Emily could see the occasional glint of sunlight reflecting off windows buried deep within the alien vegetation that draped every side.

She moved the binoculars first left then right along the coast, then up and beyond where the city should have been, focusing the binoculars to their highest magnification. She could see no roads, no buildings, nothing! All had succumbed to the creeping, insidious plant life that had taken root.

“It’s gone,” she said, finally answering MacAlister’s question. “It’s all gone.” San Diego had been completely swallowed up beneath the sea of red.

Emily pulled the binoculars’ focus back to the shoreline and moved north again, but as she passed the red monoliths of hidden hotels she stopped, her eye caught by blurred movement. Several indistinct blobs of light had risen up from what would have been the roof of one of the shrouded tall buildings and now swirled in the air above it.

She adjusted the focus until the blobs became sharper, more distinct. Whatever they were, they moved fast and Emily had to move the binoculars around for a few seconds until she found the darting shapes once more.

Birds?

She followed one shape as it sped directly upward before swooping down toward one of the towering trees. Pulling up at the last second, it settled onto an outstretched branch near the top of the foliage. It was too far away, too indistinct to make out, so Emily zoomed in on the creature.

“What is that?” she said, as the blurry image finally swam into view.

It was beautiful. It was massive. It was
no
bird.

It was also difficult to make out exact details at this distance but she could see a slender body, covered not in feathers but what might have been short fur. A curving neck, like that of a swan, terminated in a small head with two forward-facing eyes and a narrow mouth that was more of a snout than a beak. It had binocular vision! That was something new. Everything she had seen created by the rain and dust had been very different from anything that had come from Earth, monstrous in appearance. This new creature flew using huge whisper-thin wings, four of them: two large petal-shaped wings that sat close to where its shoulders would be, then two smaller ones budding out from the rear of its abdomen. The creature sat upright, its two lower limbs grasping onto the upper branches of the tree, while it occasionally reached into the foliage surrounding it and plucked something from it with a pair of long, dainty arms. It pulled whatever it had found to its mouth and began to chew.

Occasionally, one of the creature’s wings would beat, blurring into invisibility as it stabilized itself on its perch. As she watched, the first creature was joined by a second that landed next to it. The first looked up, seemingly unperturbed by the new arrival. It dipped its head toward it in a sinuous up-down motion. The second creature did the same and then it too began plucking food from the tree. It almost seemed like some kind of greeting. Maybe they were a pair? Mates, perhaps?

“Beautiful,” Emily said aloud.

“What do you see?” asked Rusty.

“Here, take a look for your—”

She was about to hand the binoculars back to MacAlister when there was a disturbance in the trees close to the creatures she was watching. One of the giant birds sprang into the air, fluttering away to safety, but the other was not so lucky.

A huge tentacle, at least eighty or more feet long with rose-thorn-shaped barbs running along each edge of it, appeared from somewhere deep within the jungle. It arched backward until it resembled the top half of a question mark, then whipped forward and up.

It caught the startled creature around the midsection and immediately flicked backward with such force that it snapped the fragile body in half. Although the scene was playing out close to two miles away, Emily grimaced as her mind imagined the snapping sound the creature’s body must have made as it folded in on itself. The tentacle rewound down into the trees, dragging the creature with it until it disappeared within.