by Chris Angus
“How could we ever possibly know that?” asked Logan.
“We can’t—absolutely. But genetic studies of DNA sequences from very different forms of life on Earth show a high degree of similarity. The likelihood of many different origins of the life force having random mutations so similar would be a practical impossibility. Until we found a string of DNA with a different history, we were pretty much stuck with the idea that all life came from one original source here on Earth.”
“But that different history, the previously unidentified genetic debris, is exactly what we found in the DNA anomaly,” said Logan.
“I’m afraid you lost this English major quite a ways back,” said Diana. “You’re saying nothing ever changes? DNA today is the same life that existed billions of years ago? But what about mutations?”
“What I’m saying is that life is collective and began billions of years ago. Even though you or I may only be forty or fifty years old, the life in our bodies of which we are made up is essentially primordial—the same life simply carried forward when DNA replicates. Mutations, that is to say accidents in the replication process, do occur. As a result, the DNA may become shorter through the loss of part of the original material or it may become longer by the addition of new material. Or it may simply be rearranged so the order in the string is altered. What’s happened, however, is simply a physical process that still consists of living material and inanimate material, but nothing has been created. The new life remains the same life as the old life.”
Logan said, “So all life is one and the same?”
“There can be different species, but the basic life force, DNA, remains the same in every living thing. Humans are just one variation on a theme. Even if we should die out as a species, we’d still exist, in the sense that our DNA would continue in other life forms.”
“Which brings us back to the original question,” said Logan. “Where the hell did this thing come from?”
“My guess,” said Dr. Kessler, “is another planet. I believe we’re looking at something that was sent to Earth millions of years ago in order to alter our DNA.”
Duncan looked ready to burst with annoyance. “I’ve never heard such unscientific claptrap! Based on what? These chicken scratches on a rock? If you want to engage in ridiculous theories, then I’ve got one for you. I say this thing was made by the monks—some record of their religious maunderings.”
“You’re suggesting the monks knew about DNA?” asked Marcia.
“You say those scratches represent DNA,” said Duncan. “I don’t see it. But as long as we’re flying high, maybe the monks did know about DNA, the helix, genetic sequencing, the whole ball of wax. Maybe those monks understood a whole lot more about life than we have any conception of. Maybe they were approaching some way of spiritually changing genetic material through meditation. Call it part of enlightenment. Hell, it makes as much sense as what you’re saying.”
Marcia stared at him silently for a long time. Finally, she said, “I don’t know, Duncan. You might be right. Perhaps that does make as much sense as an alien influence. Maybe another life form wanted to alter our DNA or maybe the monks wanted to change human nature and take us to a higher plain. One thing your theory doesn’t explain, however, is how the monks managed to insert something into our genes millions of years ago.”
“I don’t understand,” said Diana. “Why would an alien race want to alter our genetic code?”
“I’ve got one or two ideas about that as well—”
Suddenly, an explosion sounded outside and the building shook. A moment later, Gaoming burst into the room, followed by two of his men. “We’re under attack!” he cried.
President Klein stared out the windows of the White House residence toward the heart of downtown Washington. What he saw was neither a normal nor pleasant sight. The streets were empty except for armed soldiers, military vehicles, and tanks. Overhead, F-111s patrolled the air space. Already there had been two attempts to fly aircraft into the White House, one by a civilian pilot of a small Cessna and the other by the captain of a commercial airliner. Both had been shot down before they could carry out their attacks. Radio contacts with the pilots confirmed they were irrational and unresponsive to repeated warnings.
The epidemic exploded suddenly in the United States. Literally overnight, reports of widespread illness came flooding in from along the entire Mexican and Canadian borders. It was impossible to determine where the outbreak began, though one known vector was New York City and another, Los Angeles International Airport, the site where Continental Flight 444 had landed.
The disease spread like wildfire into the heartland. In a week, the number of sick and dying reached into the millions and government all but came to a standstill. Those not yet infected stayed barricaded in their homes until lack of food flushed them out. Others began moving in patterns similar to those of the Chinese refugees, seeking out the more remote areas as an escape from the cesspools of sickness and death that had overtaken the nation’s cities.
Bound by its two oceans, the crazed citizens of the United States fled from the large coastal cities into the interior. The Plains States became enormous catch basins where millions trudged across the flatlands or simply lay down and died. Their bodies quickly decayed, until the prairies resembled the Dust Bowl days of the Great Depression, when the bones of livestock littered the landscape.
President Klein was now isolated and all but powerless to affect the course of events. He leaned forward and braced himself against the glass with both hands, trembling. How could it have come to this so quickly?
“Come away from the window, Herbert,” said his wife.
“Why? So I won’t be hit by a stray bullet? It would be a tender mercy, my dear, I assure you.”
“Now, that’s no way to talk. None of this is your fault. You’re a good man and you’ll do the best you can with a poor hand.” She came over and wrapped her arms around his small frame.
He hugged her tightly. She was the last real thing he could count on. There was no one else.
He held her at arm’s length. “Do you feel better today?”
“A slight headache. Nothing to complain about in the midst of all this . . .”
“You never complain. You’re the perfect wife for a president who does nothing but make demands upon you.” He kissed her, then watched her leave. As she did so, another door to the residence opened.
One of the president’s last aides to stay on at the White House came in and sat down unceremoniously. “Mr. President?” he asked.
“Yes, what is it?”
“I’ve just received confirmation, sir. The Russians have dropped two nuclear weapons along their southeastern border with China.”
“What?” Klein looked stricken. Was there no tragedy that would leave his administration unvisited? “What the hell do they think they’re doing?”
“Most of the millions of Chinese fleeing the eastern cities have been going west. But our satellites have picked up significant numbers now moving north as well, toward the Russian border. The pressure has been intense, overwhelming border guards. The Kremlin evidently made the determination this was the only way they could keep the epidemic from entering their country.”
“What’s the direction of the prevailing winds?” asked the president.
“Apparently they took that into consideration. The winds are out of the northwest. Radiation and debris clouds are blowing back over China and out toward Japan. The Japanese are raising bloody hell. They thought their islands would serve as a barrier to the troubles—and now this happens.”
Klein sank into his chair. “All right. Thank you, William. Shouldn’t you leave to be with your family?”
The aide shrugged. “Don’t have much of a family, sir, so . . . guess I’ll stick around.” He got up to leave. “I’ll keep monitoring what’s left of our communications. It’s been an honor to serve you, Mr. President. Your administration didn’t deserve this.”
As Wil
liam left, he nodded to Gordon Page, who’d come in unannounced. Virtually all White House employees had departed to see to their own families’ safety, even though there was little they could offer. Klein had given blanket permission to do as their hearts instructed. He would remain in the residence with his wife of forty years. They had no children, something that for the first time in his life he considered a blessing.
“You’re still here?” the president asked.
Gordon sat heavily. “This is still probably the safest place left in America. As you know, Mr. President, my family is all in California. I waited too long. The airports have shut down and there’s no way for me to go home.”
“I’m sorry.”
Gordon shifted in his chair. “I need to report to you, sir, that General Markham says large numbers of the military units assigned to protect the White House have deserted.”
Klein simply nodded. “Are they sick?”
“Some are, but most just want to go find their families. It’s a remarkably consistent human drive, to spend one’s last moments in the company of loved ones. According to the general, the White House is close to defenseless. The good news is that most of Washington is a ghost town. There doesn’t appear to be anyone left to even consider looting the capitol.”
“For all the difference that makes.” The president looked at Gordon closely. “How do you feel? Any symptoms?”
“I’m tired and I’ve had a headache all morning. Who knows? It could be the beginning. What about you?”
“Nothing so far, but my wife also has a headache. The White House physician is gone. House calls are no longer the order of the day, even in the nation’s First Home.”
The door opened again and Gordon turned in surprise as Paul Littlefield came into the room. His normal jauntiness was gone and Gordon noted the little cadre of personal assistants that normally trailed after the man was nowhere to be seen.
“Come to witness the end of civilization with us, Paul?” he asked. “Or are you still awaiting the epiphany? Any clue as to how many the good Lord intends to dispatch before He decides we have sufficiently cleansed ourselves?”
Littlefield barely looked at Gordon as he sat on the couch and sprawled out uncharacteristically. He was once again dressed in his trademark Hawaiian shirt, though it looked wrinkled. Indeed, his entire appearance was surprisingly disheveled for a man who owned the world’s largest chain of drycleaners.
“I don’t know how many,” he said. “We’re obviously faced with a major cleansing of the human race, along the lines of the Black Death. It’s evidently something the Heavenly Father feels is periodically necessary in the course of human history. To flush the evils of Satan from our midst.”
“But you still see a plan somewhere in all of this?”
He sighed. “I confess I do not see it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
“Ever the optimist,” said Gordon.
“Mr. President,” Littlefield said, “I wanted to inform you that my organization in China appears to have collapsed. I’m no longer able to get any information out of the western provinces. I fear they’ve been overrun by the epidemic.”
Klein just nodded.
“Also,” said Littlefield in a tired voice, “it would appear I’m stranded here. My own assistants, including my pilot, have disappeared.”
“Just one of the little people again, eh?” said Gordon.
The billionaire looked at him with a gimlet eye. “So it would seem.”
“Maybe it’s fitting,” offered the president. “The three of us here together in the White House . . . final witnesses to the end. A Jew, a scientist, and a Christian. I’d say your belief system has triumphed over ours, Gordon. I don’t see any great epiphanies, any redemptions or second comings anywhere in all of this. Just unrepentant disease, the mindless march of random death and destruction.”
“I do not accept that this is how God intends for the human race to come to an end,” said Littlefield. “There has to be a reason! Why would He create us and give us dominion over all the creatures of Earth only to have us disappear in such a manner? It must be part of some greater plan. I will go to my grave believing that.”
Keene Valley
Elwood leaned against his favorite maple tree and looked down into the valley below. He’d been coming to this spot, half a mile from his cabin, for nearly thirty years. The maple sat on a ledge of rock. White pines towered behind and on both sides, but the drop-off in front provided a clear view down to the river far below and he could even see part of the main street of Keene Valley beyond that.
A week had passed since he’d collected groceries with Alford. He was increasingly concerned with how the family was getting along. Every night he listened to the radio and knew things were deteriorating quickly. New York City had virtually emptied. It was almost beyond belief to imagine the huge metropolis as a ghost town. Elwood had been to the city once, when he was a boy. That was back in the final days of the Great Depression. His mother had taken him to visit an elderly aunt who lived in Brooklyn. He still had clear memories of crowded streets and long lines of people at soup kitchens.
The radio said most of New York’s millions were either sick or trying to escape ahead of the diseased hordes. The flow had moved inland. There was no place else to go. Thus far, the Adirondacks had proved to be something of an island. Like the early settlers who left the mountains alone because of harsh weather and difficult terrain, the sick took the easier routes to the south.
Still, there had to be an overflow. One hundred million people lived within a day’s drive of the Adirondack Mountains. Some of them would move into the area simply by accident or because they were sick and just wandering. A handful out of a hundred million could be a handsome number.
Elwood had made good use of the past week. He’d killed two deer, and at least twenty partridges and several geese hung in his cellar. He’d also gotten ahead on his woodpile. The coming winter was already provided for and he was working on next year’s stores.
He lifted his big binoculars and stared again at the town. There was almost no movement of traffic anymore and he rarely saw any evidence of people outside. It looked as though everyone was staying in their homes, trying to avoid anyone who might be sick. He’d been thinking about something he should do now for two days. Far below, where the river made a wide turn through a stand of hemlock, he kept a canoe hidden in the brush. It was a big boat, eighteen feet long, and could hold half a ton in people and gear. He used it mainly for fishing, but now he was thinking of using it for a different purpose.
He was worried about Alford, Sarah, and Amelia. They were alone down there in the middle of all that turmoil. Sooner or later, they’d be in danger. They might already be. The fact that Alford hadn’t come up to check up on him was a bad sign.
Elwood made up his mind. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.
It took an hour to reach the boat, an old ABS plastic Mad River Canoe, forest green with wooden gunnels and three cane seats. He’d had it for over twenty years and it had been second-hand when he bought it. It’d been patched many times over, but was still watertight.
He hauled it out of the brush, slid his rifle in, and got aboard, pushing off with the paddle. He eased into the middle of the stream and went with the current. The river, lined with tall spruce, eventually passed through town. Only a few miles were really navigable in this mountainous terrain, but it flowed right behind Alford’s house at the edge of the village.
When he was still two miles from the house, he decided to reconnoiter. He pulled ashore near an old logging trail he knew and hiked out to the main road. What he saw there caused his blood to run cold.
The road was scattered with obviously sick people. It was his first look at the disease, and it was enough to bring him a stark understanding of the harsh reality they were all facing. At least twenty or thirty people were staggering along, seemingly indifferent to whatever direction they took. He saw one woman turn around and star
t limping back the way she’d come. Her face was a mass of sores. She stopped, not fifteen feet from where he crouched in the bushes, and spat a bright red stream of blood from her mouth. She lurched on another dozen feet, then collapsed and lay still.
It was all he needed to see. Now seriously concerned for Alford and his family, he hurried back to the boat and got in. In just ten minutes he reached Alford’s property. He pulled ashore in a stand of cattails, hiding the boat from the road, a hundred feet on the other side of the home. He got out and used his binoculars to study the situation.
The house was barricaded. Alford had nailed plywood over the windows. There was no sign of life at all, but anyone inside would not be trying to advertise their presence to the diseased people on the road.
Using a hedge to conceal himself from the road, Elwood made his way to the back porch. He banged lightly on the door with the butt of his rifle. Once. Twice.
There was no sound from inside. He banged harder. Suddenly, the door opened a few inches and a pistol stuck out. “Get away from here,” a man’s voice said.
“Alford! Thank God. It’s Elwood. You all okay? Let me in.”
Alford opened the door farther and saw his old friend. “Elwood? What are you doing here?” He hesitated. “Are you sick?”
“No, Alford. I ain’t sick. I’ve come to take you away from here.”
“What do you mean, away? Where can anyone go to get away from all of this?” He came out onto the porch and peered nervously at the street. “We’re trying not to bring attention to ourselves, Elwood. When they see someone who’s not sick, the people out there just seem to turn on them. But if you keep out of sight, they leave you alone.”
“You gotta get out of here,” Elwood said. “The roads are fillin’ up with these poor devils. Sooner or later, they’re gonna find you. I got the canoe down by the river. You can come stay with me.”
Suddenly, they heard a strange sort of murmuring sound and looked at the road. Several people had spotted them and were moving toward the house.
“Come on, Alford,” said Elwood. “Get the girls. Forget anything else. There’s no time!”
