Hector, Megaira and Nyx walked through the night, not able to rest while the fate of Dio was ambiguous to them. What had happened during the Chaot raid was not mentioned. Emotions plagued Nyx, varied feelings running rampant throughout her. She felt such heartache for Leander and regret over Dio’s fate tormented her.
Soon though kismet was upon them. The three came to their destination.
The research station stood before the triad, hidden in the tangles of the forest foliage and the dark of night. It retained the aura of being untouched by the outside. Vines had grown wild over its walls, encasing it. A disturbing sense of dread filled their senses, though the soldiers were too steeped in courage to allow the foreboding omens to stop their course. And so into the doors they plunged.
Heat pounded against her as she stepped through the entrance. Once this station was an inviting oasis from the summer sun’s fervor, though now, without power, it became an oven. She wondered if it was a trap as she peered into the compound, and they would be cooked alive before they could find what they sought.
The soldiers hoped the key to the disease existed beneath the shadows. Did she want the same?
To save Dio, yes. But to save society? No.
She had no motivation to return to the norm or to the past, both of which she knew nothing about. Only her feelings allowed a recollection of her forgotten times. Primal emotions. And the only shimmer of past she recalled was one of pain. One of such control and limitation. Isolation and loneliness. Trapped. In a way, the absence of memories was a blessing.
If the soldiers did succeed in action and find the supposed end of Chaots, it would reset what was. Going back to the time before society fell would cause her to cease to exist, regressing to the illusory cage. She was a part of this life and this moment and had no desire to look back. Yes, the diseased dominated this world. But societal constraints dominated the previous one. Furthermore, fighting destiny would be in vain. You could not command the wind to remain idle nor wish the tides to rise, why then turn back the hands of time. Yet she followed.
Dark reigned in the belly of the beast. Guided only by their flashlights, the soldiers’ hands traced the bowels of the research station. Searching over the desks, in hopes to retrieve … what exactly, she wondered. That sudden ‘luck’ strikes them and allows the soldiers to find vials filled with the cure—to bring good fortune to those afflicted, giving them a land of pink posies and faeries in which to live. Where unicorn’s blood held immortality and their horns were carved from pure leprechaun gold. Such flukes do not happen; serendipity was a word unknown to the world now.
Nevertheless, they continued looking despite the unlikelihood of discovery. Perhaps it was what humans needed and why the Thalassicians persisted. A shred of hope dangled before them that light would breach the abyss fallen on society. It was what Pandora had safeguarded despite her wrongs; it was the crutch humanity fell on in the face of horrors beyond their comprehension. And now it fueled the quest of the soldiers.
A crack sounded followed by a burst of color; in Hector’s hand an emergency beacon rod glowed green. Luminescence filled the room, but emptiness now manifested a greater tenacity in the light. Though the emerald hue shone, nothing was revealed. All remained shrouded. The rooms maintained a sterility never found in nature. Stark dimensions of desks and walls drew perpendicular angles and cleanliness unbeknownst to Nyx before then. Though even in its peculiarity, it held a type of familiar recognition to her. Not of a home drenched in the scent of fresh baked cookies, but of a nightmare beckoning its remembrance.
The three searched. Computers were rummaged. Their hard drives were placed into their packs to bring to Thalassic in the prospect that some worthwhile knowledge could be conveyed from them. Laboratory upon laboratory, room upon room, all were unearthed. The research led to no triumphs; all experiments had failed. Despite this, their search continued. What else could they do other than go home. It was not an option; the soldiers could not return empty handed and Nyx had no home to go to.
“Nothing,” Hector said, ceasing her thoughts. He looked upon the documents, sifting through them. His face displayed a somber realization that knew the only way to save Dio had begun to slip from his grasp. Cruel reality replaced their hopes.
“There has to be something. We did not come all this way to fail,” Megaira grumbled in a voice more akin to a growl than articulated words. Nyx remained silent as she searched, knowing that even a whisper from her may set Megaira into fury. Megaira continued, her words said to console her own worries. “We have to find what they learned, we have to.”
Hector said nothing as he opened another folder out of the stack. Though this time, he did not toss it aside.
“Nyx,” he said, his voice containing an uncertainty she had never heard from him. He held out the folder; bare in contents except for several papers. Before she could look at it, Megaira came up behind Hector and wrenched the document away. Eyes scanned the paperwork. Her face changed as she read, not to confusion but to an anger so menacing, so uncontained.
“I knew it. She came here to destroy us!”
The document turned in her hands to show Nyx what the folder contained. It was as if looking to a mirror. A black and white faxed photo portrayed her dressed in sterile white. A number displayed around her neck, not of a prisoner, but of a patient, or more correctly, a lab rat. An experiment. Below mathematical formulas were written; repeated letters amongst the numbers that she did not understand. But familiar in her tumultuous mind: Y. X. Variables. N. To the nth powers. Nyx. The personification of night, the goddess of darkness. The Heiress of Chaos. A name stemming not from these, but from scientific formulas.
“What does it mean, Judas?” Megaira questioned. Round the campfire they had spoken of monsters and heroes, Judas being the monster in Christianity. And now to Megaira, Nyx was the Judas of their own myth.
“Why did you not tell us you were a part of this?” Anger flourished in her words.
With her memory lost, Nyx could not remember. Nor did she wish to. No words came in response, but she turned to run. A click rang out as the safety was removed from Megaira’s gun. It caused Nyx to abruptly stop, knowing the sound that would follow. She yearned to flee, but she did not wish death to come of it.
Megaira moved toward the entrance of the doorway, using her body and weapon to block Nyx’s only path of escape. As she took a step towards her, her foot knocked into something, but her gaze remained on Megaira. Sweat brushed upon her flesh, as the heat sweltered around her; strands of hair hung down her face, eyes shimmered intensity despite everything come to pass.
Click.
The noise flooded the air, not a gunshot but the dismantled safety of Hector’s gun. He aimed his firearm, freeing himself from hesitation. Eyes a placid steel: the calm before the storm. Ready to release his victim from the mortal coil of men, though his aim did not follow Megaira’s path to focus on Nyx. Instead, it was on his comrade.
“You will take aim off her now.” Not a request, a command growled from between his lips.
“Are you crazy? She is behind this! Listen to what it says,” Megaira said. She kept her gun pointed on Nyx as she adjusted the paper in her hand. Hector’s aim did not waver from Megaira as she began to read; her voice out loud for all to hear.
“It has been merely months since the prion has struck this planet, but already our population has succumbed to the plague. The contagion originated overseas in the Mediterranean due to the initial attack, and has grown into a pandemic due to subsequent attacks worldwide and our inability to quarantine the infection. It continues to become out of control, spreading rapidly. Death comes to some, the prion seeking the brain to destroy it. Unfortunately, most survive; however, not in a favorable light.”
“We have few details at this time,” she continued reading, “but we do know that the cerebrum is impaired and all higher functions degraded. The purpose of the host human is to attack others, and thereby propagate the disease. Uninhibite
d hunger, rage and lust left unchecked. The surviving infected do not suffer death, rather the fate of madness. Myself and a few others ...”
Megaira paused. Her composure and face bore the weight of a telling tale: the fate that had probably met with ‘the others’ and this scientist.
“... have come here in seclusion to find a cure to save our civilization. We hope to not face contamination in this shelter but instead find success. If not, Homo sapiens may face extinction, what we had before thought ourselves immune from.”
Another of the folder’s paper turned in Megaira’s hand. Another documentation of what ensued in this laboratory, written perhaps weeks, perhaps days, after the first.
“Setbacks are many within our measured time. But finally a breakthrough. We received the included fax from outside Intel: from someone named Glaucus. Not only does it confirm the presence of other survivors grouped together, but we heralded the faxed information as the key to stop this monstrosity.”
“The equations and genetic code delivered with the photograph confirm that she is the origin of the prion; she naturally deviates from the human genome to be something else. Within her lays a previously undiscovered prion that either sporadically mutated or by familial inheritance came to be. From what we can tell, Patient Zero demonstrates no apparent signs of the disease; she serves as its creator and host in a near symbiotic relationship. The prion itself was procured from the host for use as a bioweapon and subsequently released.”
As Megaira continued her voice was not the only low drum that captivated the three’s ears. Noises from outside began the chorus to the tale, banging the walls. The id cometh to destroy.
“Update. We still believe the prion of Patient Zero to be a mutated form, but the origins are clearer. It seems to have many similarities to CWD, the Chronic Wasting Disease that has been previously contained in deer and elk in some areas of North America. Unlike other prions, this disease has yet to be found in the human population, however initial studies demonstrated the potential it has to cross species and infect primates. Unlike Kuru and CJD, the misfolded prions of the lesser known CWD are also found in salvia, urine and feces, causing the infection to be more virulent.”
“Despite this discovery, we did not have enough time to use the genome sent to us of Patient Zero to find a vaccine, if even there was one to be found. This facility’s security was breached. I now am the sole survivor amongst the scientists stationed here; I fear though my exposure will be imminent. My fate is one doomed to become the monster that now stalks this planet. To prevent this, I take my life in hopes that it will save my soul. If ever this is read, bode well. For we did not.”
A hush fell from the listeners as Megaira ended the speech. The final thoughts of the researcher prevailed. Only the banging from outside could be heard amidst the exhalation of the three. Nyx’s gaze turned downcast, as she looked to the ground. What her step had knocked into moments ago lay obscured by shadows, but now she saw. The writer’s body, unmoved from the suicide she had just witnessed through Megaira’s voice. The head stared upward. Eyes wide though empty sockets looked up at her. Would this become her own fate as well, as told by the pen of the scientist: to live as Patient Zero, a vector to the disease. To carry it and never be rid of it, lest she commit suicide as the scientist did.
Henceforth, the death of a species stained forever on her soul—but also the rise of a new race. A new race of the unrestrained, of those unbridled by moral implications. The Chaots. The wild. Evolution from one species to the next, the fit surviving.
Without word, she looked back to the armored soldiers. They would kill her if they realized what was bound to happen if she continued to survive among them. Among those they had sworn to protect. If she were the vector, the host, the originator of this contagion, they would never be rid of the pestilence until they were rid of her.
Megaira’s motives were clear. But Hector? Would duty now overshadow all else—to protect a species or to protect her.
Hector did not move. Questioning whether life or death would be her fate, perhaps this was what ran through his mind. Or maybe, she thought, the decision was already made and instead he now contemplated only the method in which he would kill her, whether a death willingly and swiftly by his bullet or a struggle against the inevitability of her demise. She took one pace backwards, away from the soldiers not knowing what threat they posed.
Megaira’s finger rested on the trigger. Nyx looked through the weapon’s chamber to her impending death. Megaira’s finger prepared to squeeze, her glare of the maniacal illustrating what she perceived to be honor.
“Stop,” Hector said, roused to action. His gun lifted once more directed at Megaira, and not toward Nyx.
Megaira eye’s fixed unto him, forcing him to confront her certainty. “You heard it, Hector. Do not allow your feelings for her to interfere with your duty, to protect our own. Kill her.”
Their quarrel continued, commands given and denied between the soldiers. Nyx could make no move with Megaira’s gun on her, and so stood, a deer in headlights, wondering exactly how these two would solve their altercation. Weapons pointed on all, trigger friendly fingers, the Chaots surrounding the compound as their feast fought amongst themselves.
“She is one of us now,” Hector responded. “I will protect her.”
A definite answer.
But not the right answer, at least not to Megaira.
She did not move her aim off of Nyx. But the focus on one enemy did not mean the disappearance of another. Noises echoed throughout the laboratory. Steps. Unearthly grunts. Yet nothing could be done to prepare to fight or for defense while the internal conflict still played out.
“They are coming. Megaira cease your aim and help me,” Hector said through clenched teeth.
“No, we take care of—” A gun fired, interrupting Megaira. The shot rang within her ears. Nyx froze waiting for the pain to come. Was she dead? Did the hallowed soul come for her spirit, ending the reign of the wild and bringing only the bleak definitive of death?
But it was not she who bled.
Hector had shot a Chaot who had come up from behind Megaira. It had fell, bleeding near the rotting scientist. He had saved Meg, but still her aim remained on Nyx.
“Meg! Move away!” Hector yelled, again shooting the Chaots who were coming up from behind her. He shot a second; it fell. But then Megaira turned to face the third Chaot right as Hector fired again.
It was not the Chaot who fell. Rather, Megaira had unexpectedly put herself between Hector and the Chaot. The bullet had found her chest. Blood trickled down the sides of her mouth before spilling with even more tenacity, draining her life.
Hector’s face grew blank, emotions drained. A comrade fell at his feet because of his actions. Not only a comrade, but his lover. As with all sorrow, he tried to bury it deep. Right now, the threat of Chaots forcing entry into the research lab needed his full attention and he had to get to Meg, to stop the blood loss.
The third Chaot focused on Megaira, and was about to attack her body when Hector sent his last bullet into its head. It fell dead on top of Megaira.
Hector rushed to her and knelt beside her. He pushed off the Chaot, lifting Megaira into his arms.
“Stay with me,” he murmured into her ear. Nyx came to their side, putting pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. But there was too much.
“We should of stayed ... I didn’t want to lose you ...”
“I’m here. You will never lose me. I will find you in the next life if I need to. But do not go. Not now.”
He continued speaking softly to her, though Megaira could no longer hear him. “Not now. Not from my hand.”
Her power was now limp. Death claimed the trooper of the Underwater. Now of the Underworld.
“I cannot leave her. I need to bury her,” Hector said to Nyx but before she could respond, the walls started to fall apart, the sound of the gunfire inciting more of the Chaots. The living id began to swarm within the research
compound. Cries of insanity, thirst for flesh, intensifying in the Chaots as their prey came in eye shot. Mouths raving as if Hector and Nyx had already become their feast.
“Go Nyx. Now.”
Positioning himself between her and the overflowing monstrosity, he reloaded and took aim. No bullets strayed in aggression from his weapon, but precise explosions dropped the diseased with each click. Hector protected the sole thing that was in his charge, as the body count began to rise. His duty was no longer to fight for Thalassic, no more to be a soldier for the people. He had killed one of his own. An accident. But Nyx knew it was one he could never forgive himself for. And so all he could do would be to continue to fight, even if his fate was to join Megaira. He even wished for this end, feeling the weight of her heavy over his shoulders.
And in this he would find the resolve to bring the titans to their feet.
“No Hector. I cannot leave you.”
“Now.”
The word left his mouth with such fortitude that it roused the spirit of the wind within her. She had to go—his solemn word spoke—or they both would die. And though unsaid, she knew that if she left, she took the curse with her. Only then would he have the chance to escape this massacre. Hector would survive without her by his side. If she stayed, both of them would be doomed. Or so she had to tell herself, had to believe, in order to turn away from the warrior. Turn and run.
From behind she heard the raging firefight continued. She became deafened by the screams of many in torment. Death was coming. And now the roles were switched as she neared the outside. It was she who escaped the binds of Hades, but uncertain whether she should chance a look behind. She prayed that her Orpheus would be only steps behind her, ready to lead the way out of the underworld. That he would be in her wake, alive. A look back, seeking Hector.
Nothing.
She had lost him as once the forlorn poet had lost Eurydice.
Frozen to the world, adrift again in the winds, she ran from the room. Never to return to the serenity of the soldiers, her anchor was lost. At first she followed the green light of the beacon rod down the familiar path they had come down. But she saw movement, heard shuffles and the hungry groans of Chaots swarming toward the commotion behind her. She diverted and stepped into a corridor that they had not explored yet. Dark surrounded her as she stepped quietly in the hall in hopes it would lead away from the Chaots and towards the outside. Her heartbeat was fast and loud to her, mimicking the gun shot over and over again, an echo that would not end as it beat into her ears. She had left the flashlight behind in the rush, but hoped that her eyes would adjust soon.
Crashing Tides Page 17
