After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set

by Charlie Dalton

  “In its reinforced box,” Fredrickson said.

  Graham approached it. And the box was indeed reinforced, with solid blocks of concrete struts. He doubted if even a man could get out of that. Graham peered through a hole in a concrete block and saw the creature standing, unmoving, blood dripping from its malformed jaws. A rat lay at its feet, dead, belly ripped open, gore spewing from the wound.

  Graham turned to Beatrix.

  “I need you to get a message to the director about this,” he said. “Keep it quiet. If anyone tries to intercept, insist you have to relay the message yourself. We have to tell Angela we need to start considering this an aggressive virus strain.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” Beatrix said.

  “We have no choice,” Graham said. “Now, let’s get this thing into the scanners. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

  Fredrickson hit a red button. Electricity shot into Subject 14’s body. It leapt in the air, squealing. It looked left to right, not knowing where the attack had come from. The bolt should have killed it outright.

  “Again,” Graham said.

  A second blast, and the rat squealed even louder this time, then hit the deck. Dead. Fredrickson removed the lid and picked up the subject with a pair of tongs. He lay it on a large glass panel. The glass lid slid closed. The machine let out a soft beep. They waited as it began to hum and sigh.

  The machine beeped again, and when they glanced up, the results were presented on a pair of monitors.

  “My God,” Graham said. “He was injected with the ET-V01 strand. It’s mutated.”

  14.

  A CALENDAR in Graham’s apartment flapped with the cold mid November breeze, shifting under an open window to soothe the stifling silence. Crickets chirped leisurely as the final rays of sunlight streamed over the sky in radiant hues of purple, blue, and pink. The splendor of the Texan sunset was missed by the two men sitting quietly in the apartment’s living room.

  Graham sat back, shoulders hunched, dark half-moons wedged beneath his eyes. He stared at his friend. He dared not move, waiting with baited breath for a reaction.

  President Andrews sat on the opposite couch, staring at the documents over the brown coffee table. There was no tension in his body, as though the information splayed before him had yet to register.

  The cup of coffee Graham had served the President remained untouched, surrounded by papers and documents dotted with data and analysis results, tests Graham’s team had carried out during the past three days. It had been an arduous and agonizing process.

  None of the papers conveyed the dread that had built when, one by one, results changed from negative to positive. Every sample was checked and rechecked, every shred of space rock subjected to harsh study. The word ‘positive’ had become a harbinger of dread and concern.

  Graham had to stuff himself with Aludrox before meeting with representatives of the CDC and World Health Organization. It was a grim meeting, one that Graham wished to never repeat again. When it was over they were no closer to finding a solution than when they had first met. He had met with Angela Dobbs after that, his heart in his feet.

  Angela’s expression had been one of controlled disappointment, pulling the lines over her brows ever deeper against her forehead until she had sighed and met his gaze over a lit cigarette. Graham knew with cold certainty that it would not be her who had to tell the president the bad news.

  The burden on his shoulders drilled knots into his neck.

  President Andrews leaned back in the famous chair and pressed a hand over his eyes.

  “So this bug people are catching,” President Andrews said, voice slow. “Is actually a disease from the rocks, is that what you’re saying?”

  “It all connects,” Graham said.

  President Andrews shook his head. Graham could see him struggling to cling on to the last shred of denial he possessed.

  “People get sick all the time, Graham,” he said. “It’s possible this is probably some kind of allergy, right? A reaction to the minerals in the meteorites? Maybe that’s all this is? It’ll blow over.”

  “John,” Graham said, pausing when he saw the president’s eyes sinking with desperation.

  The pressure in Graham’s neck grew tighter, like a noose. He shook his head, grim.

  “You can’t push this away,” he said. “You need to consider how this is going to affect the country. What it’s going to mean.”

  The president, a former scientist himself, looked back at the papers on the coffee table.

  “What is it, Graham?” he said. “Really?”

  Graham inhaled, his fingers knotting together between his knees.

  “It’s a virus,” he said. “We thought it was just the remnant of a virus, largely killed by the vacuum of space. But, we were wrong.”

  President Andrews waited in silence. Graham exhaled.

  “We’ve tried to trace it back to when it first started infecting people,” he said, “but it’s extremely difficult to pinpoint. For now, it’s safe to assume it could have begun to spread the moment the meteorites crashed to Earth.”

  President Andrews ran a hand through his brown hair.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “First you said that for those first couple of weeks there was nothing on the rocks, then suddenly you told me there was life. Now you’re telling me it’s dangerous? What if you’re wrong about that too?”

  Graham’s brows knitted together in an effort to maintain patience.

  “I know it’s hard to make sense of,” he said. “We have to assume it could have spread while dormant.”

  “How could an organism spread when it didn’t even show up in the tests in the first place?” President Andrews said.

  “We believe it may have been triggered into awakening,” Graham said after a moment. “What caused it is still unknown. It may have been due to entering the atmosphere, or interacting with bacteria on our planet, who can say for sure, but somehow, it went unnoticed until it awakened.”

  “So,” President Andrews said. “This thing was, what, waiting for the perfect moment?”

  Graham shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t go as far as suggesting anything like that,” he said. “I don’t think it has a consciousness. It’s just biology. Everything has a reacting component. This thing found it here.”

  President Andrews’ body sank further into the couch, brown eyes drained of energy. “Eons of space travel and it lands right on our front porch.”

  “You wanted this, John,” Graham said.

  President Andrews raised his eyes, narrowing with a spark of ire. Graham backpedaled.

  “I meant that you wanted proof of life,” he said. “This is it. Proof of life.”

  “Yes, but not like this,” President Andrews said.

  Another pause filled the space. President Andrews rubbed his hands back over his face. Finally, after moments that stretched like ages, he spoke.

  “You’re absolutely certain it’s now a dangerous organism?” he said.

  There was no question. Graham nodded.

  A soft huff of air escaped President Andrews’s nose, a small rueful smile quirking the lines of his lips.

  “This could kill my bill,” he said.

  The ramifications had occurred to Graham before. But there were bigger issues at stake.

  “This could do so much worse, John,” Graham said. “Much worse. It could kill your voters, nevermind your bill. This is nothing like influenza or the chicken pox. This is a disease that ravages the limbic system, and destroys the frontal lobe. Once infected, you wouldn’t be you anymore, you’d be a ravenous beast that acted in rage until nothing was left.”

  President Andrews remained quiet, his silence spurring Graham onward.

  “John, President Andrews, we have to act now,” he said.

  “What would you suggest we do?” President Andrews said.

  Graham paused for a moment.

  “We have to contain i
t, as fast as possible,” he said. “Obviously, we need to avoid a larger panic than there currently is now, but the people need to know the truth.”

  “We still have time right?” President Andrews said.

  “That’s the one thing we don’t have,” Graham said.

  He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen.

  “Every disease, virus or bug has an incubation period,” he said. “It’s a mathematical term that indicates how contagious a disease is. This is known as the R naught ratio. Smallpox has a ratio of five to seven infected, measles is twelve to eighteen, ebola is roughly one to two. With this disease? We discovered an R naught ratio of two to four.”

  “Wait,” President Andrews said. “Is that good news?”

  “In the greater scheme of things, yes,” Graham said. “But that’s not the whole story. You see, that reading was when we first measured it. Now, it has an R naught of twenty. It becomes more infectious the longer it survives inside its host. This thing does not behave like any disease we’ve ever seen, John. It could spread fast, insanely fast.”

  “How fast?” President Andrews said.

  Graham pulled another document out, showing the graph with the answer. President Andrews’s eyes ran through it a couple of times, rusty in reading statistics after years of political bills and rhetoric. It didn’t take long until his eyes widened.

  “One hundred percent?” he said. “Are you telling me that every generation takes half the time to turn from its predecessor?”

  “Yes,” Graham said, seeing the information finally sinking in.

  President Andrews’ gears and cogs began to spin faster and faster behind his pale-eyed gaze.

  “This thing could infect every man, woman and child on the planet in a few short months,” Graham said. “And given how long it’s been since the Perseid shower. . .”

  “How is this possible?” President Andrews said, the paper in his hand trembling. “Why didn’t we notice how dangerous it was before?”

  “It wasn’t dangerous when we first discovered it,” Graham said.

  “Then at what point did it become harmful?” President Andrews said.

  “From what research we’ve done, and cross-referencing reactions across the globe, there have been only isolated events of aggression and death over the past week or so,” Graham said. “But it has been picking up, gaining speed with every day that passes. It’s as if it’s adapting to our genetic code, learning to use it for its own purposes.”

  President Andrews reached for his cup of coffee, pulling to dispel the dryness in his throat.

  “People are selling fragments they’ve found on eBay, Graham!” he said, getting to his feet and pressing his palms into the table. “Are we to believe those are infected too?”

  “Every sample we’ve discovered ended up having traces of the virus,” Graham said.

  “And now we’re facing a global crisis unlike anything we’ve ever seen before,” President Andrews said.

  Graham exhaled like he’d been punched in the chest. Having nothing else to say, he nodded silently. President Andrews’ posture sagged, shoulders falling as he rose another trembling hand and pressed it over his eyes.

  “Christ, I should’ve listened to you,” he said in a low whisper. “Should have been more cautious.”

  “There’s no time for regrets now,” Graham said. “We need to act. You need to start pulling these rocks from the public. You need to tell people about this. The people need to know.”

  “There will be panic,” President Andrews said.

  Graham glanced toward the window to stare at the ignorant city, living in bliss, under silent attack. Closing his eyes, he sighed.

  “It will be worse the longer we wait,” he said.

  He heard rustling. When he opened his eyes President Andrews was punching his thumb on the screen of his phone, a look of resolution and determination hardening his features. Pressing the phone to his ear, he only had to wait a moment. It was then that Graham knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

  “Get me the Joint Chiefs on the phone,” President Andrews said. “NOW!”

  15.

  SHANGHAI, CHINA

  THE RHYTHMIC heartbeat of the train’s tracks lulled Min into a dreamless sleep and away from her cruel reality. She lay on the ground and liked to pretend she could see the endless miles of tracks and gray concrete zoom past, under metal, wires and rubber soles. It was the only escape from the pain that wracked her skin with fever, forcing dribbles of hot blood through her nose.

  It had been a month now since she had sold the sky rock to the traditional Chinese doctor, and every day she got more and more sick.

  Min stifled another cough, hiding her face in the long sleeve of her dirty jacket. She wriggled in the stiff seat, hoping to get more sleep.

  Min lifted her fingers and dabbed under her nostrils. They came away wet, a harsh crimson staining her skin. She reached into her pockets and extracted a handful of dirty tissues. She wiped away the blood and shoved them up her nostrils.

  A wave of nausea wracked her. Min doubled over and coughed. A splatter of blood shot from her mouth to stain the concrete. She fell to her hands and knees. She groaned, her body protesting with violent shivers. A furious fever flushed her skin, slicking it with sweat. She needed to keep moving.

  Min slinked into the nearest alley as soon as she was out of the train station.

  It took an eternity of breathing through burning lungs before Min found a small place to hide behind a dumpster. Her mind blanked.

  When Min came to, the sky above was a deeper shade of gray. The distant roar of the crowd and busy streets sounded different. With another cough, she stood on shaking legs. She couldn’t stay here.

  Min rubbed under her nose, finding the wads of tissue soaked through. She let out a grunt of disgust and yanked them out, tossing them to the filthy street. Every second that passed felt like a glass dragging on her nerves. Her throat squeezed a single warning before she doubled over with a violent cough.

  She was going to die.

  She knew it, felt it in the pit of her stomach and the back of her throat. These were the final few breaths she would take in this cruel world. But she wouldn’t give up that easily. She would get help, if she could find it.

  Her dark eyes glanced up, wild and frantic. The street ahead was empty, but looked vaguely familiar. Her stomach convulsed. She was getting close. Almost there. She braced a hand against the nearest building and leaned heavily against the peeling plaster and cold brick. Almost there.

  Min took step after step until she found herself standing just a yard from a familiar wooden door. The sign above it was crooked as it had always been, announcing a sale of medicinal herbs and energy inducing incense.

  Min blinked, her eyes hazy, struggling to read the characters on the sign. Another wave of blood dribbled down her chin. She was too tired to care anymore.

  Min doubled over again with an even harder cough. Her blood splattered. It was getting harder to breathe, her throat closing up. With some difficulty she made it to the door, lifting a hand to pound on it.

  “Open the door!” she said, her voice a gasp. “Open it! You can have the money back. I just need medicine.”

  “Well, well,” a voice behind Min said.

  Min spun round, a surge of fear clearing her mind for the first time in days.

  The gang of boys. The leader grinned widely at her, his charming face curled once again into a predatory smile.

  No. . . Min thought.

  “What’s this about money, Zhang?” the leader said. “You got enough to share?”

  A wave of cruel laughter shook through his lackeys. The group of boys spread out and circled around her, sneering.

  Min pressed her back against the door, face pale with fear. She shook her head, nose running slick with blood.

  “Leave me alone, Yu Ji,” Min said with a weak attempt at bravery.

  “Zhang Min,” Yu Ji said, shaking his head, smile
growing razor-sharp. “You look like you’ve been fighting death.”

  A fierce cough tore through Min’s throat. She fought to stifle it, swallowing down blood.

  “You’re wasting your breath talking to me,” Min said through weak breaths. “I don’t have anything.”

  “Now, Zhang Min,” Yu Ji said, clicking his tongue and pulling out a bat from his back.

  Min’s eyes widened in alarm.

  “You should know better than to lie to me,” Yu Ji said. “You know how much I hate liars.”

  Min’s eyes shot toward the edge of the circle, trying to find the right place to escape. Her gaze landed on one of Yu Ji’s cronies, a boy she had once kicked in the knee. He still carried the limp. Judging by the hatred in his eyes, Min knew he remembered.

  Min turned to run. She was too slow. Hands wrapped around her arms and jacket, yanking her back. Min wailed like a wounded animal when a hand sank into her black cropped hair and yanked.

  The ground rose up to meet her. The fall tore the air from her lungs. Min wheezed, tasting a puddle of filth and coughed when she breathed it in.

  “Nice try, Zhang Min,” Yu Ji’s said.

  Min blinked up in pain, helpless as he approached her. The bat in his hands swung down to tap against her chin. The metal was cold, terrifying.

  “Where’s the money?” Yu Ji said.

  “I don’t have any!” Min spat, speckles of blood flying to stain the bat. “You took it already.”

  “Well, maybe your friend does,” Yu Ji said, pointing at the herbalist’s door with his bat. “Let’s go pay him a visit shall we, Zhang Min?”

  Yu Ji sauntered up to the door and banged on it with the heel of his bat.

  Numbness spread and filled Min with a strange sensation, made her feel weightless. Fire spread through every cell of her body. Min welcomed it. The sensation filled her to the brim with unbidden rage. Min felt its strength pour into her and seep into her muscles.

  They killed him. Her brother. The only thing she had left in the world.

  There had been so much blood.

  She could still see her brother’s smiling face. Blood poured from a wound on his forehead. He was fading.