Extinction Countdown

by James D. Prescott

  “A meteor hit and they went underground,” Rajesh said after reaching the last panel.

  “Not just any meteor,” Jack said. “They might not have known it at the time, but it was the same impact that killed the dinosaurs. The one, I suspect, that would eventually kill them, too.”

  “Dr. Greer, that would imply this civilization was around sixty-five million years ago?” Anna asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

  “It would, but they were not only around. I think they were thriving, perhaps without a care in the world. I might even go so far as to suggest they lived in something of a utopia. Until that second ship showed up and sealed their fate.”

  “How many times have the Ateans wiped out life on this planet?” Eugene asked, reeling.

  “How many major extinctions have there been?” Grant replied with a rhetorical question of his own.

  “At least five,” Dag said, cupping the sides of his helmet in disbelief. “I was sure the ship we found in the Gulf was a one-off.”

  Jack’s mind went to the craft speeding through space at this very moment, set on a deadly collision course with Earth. Suddenly that dim, rather naïve hope they were coming to say hello crumbled, much like the head of the temple’s main statue.

  Just then the ground began to tremble, shaking the building and everything within it. A low hum, one that was all too familiar, filled Jack’s ears. He found himself dropping to his knees. The others around him did the same and for a brief moment, they looked like acolytes, worshiping the divinity of the figures before them. Seconds later, the torture stopped and a blinding flash filled their eyes. It was only after that they heard the faint sound of cracking as massive chunks of ice came crashing down around them.

  Chapter 30

  Rome, Italy

  Mia, Jansson and Ollie stepped out of a cab and stared up at the curved glass building before them. Situated on the northern outskirts of the city, Saint Andrea Hospital was part of Rome University, and should have been a thirty-minute taxi ride. Instead, with the highways jammed, it had taken close to two hours. A quick search of the hospital’s website had given them both Dr. Antonio Putelli’s email address and office number. He had answered on the first ring and Mia had done her best to cut to the chase without offending a man who seemed quite taken with social graces. She had noticed watching his television interview that ceremony and pomp were important and, as the old saying goes, when in Rome…

  They headed inside, finding a chaotic environment. Doctors, nurses and orderlies rushed by in every direction, shouting, “Scusami, scusami.” The odor of antiseptic and dirty diapers filled the air. Patients packed the hallways, many of them children and the elderly. Like in many parts of the world, the ravages of Salzburg had simply overloaded the existing medical infrastructure. Unlike in Brazil, Mia knew there was nothing they could do for these people. Their only chance lay in figuring out what made Salzburg tick and then finding a safe way to end the havoc it was wreaking in the bodies of so many.

  An elevator brought them to the sixth floor and the research wing. They exited to find Dr. Putelli speaking with a young lab technician.

  When he was done, Mia and the others approached. “Glad to finally meet you,” she said, offering her hand. Instead Dr. Putelli took her by the shoulders and kissed her forcefully on either cheek. He did the same to Jansson.

  When he got to Ollie, the brash Australian whispered, “Kiss me and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.”

  Dr. Putelli’s eyes went wide before he burst into laughter and slapped Ollie on the shoulder. “This guy, I like. A real man’s man.” Putelli flexed his muscles to demonstrate the point.

  Ollie nodded, as though Putelli’s assessment were bang on. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend.”

  Another technician approached and asked the doctor a question in Italian. Dr. Putelli burst into an animated diatribe none of them could understand before bunching his fingers together and pressing them under his chin.

  “Is something wrong?” Jansson asked, her forehead furrowed with concern. Ever since the riot in Kolkata, she’d been acting rather strange.

  “Yes,” Putelli said, annoyed. “Very wrong. The espresso machine stopped working again.” He stared upward as though speaking to God. “I ask for so little, Lord, why do you punish me so?” A second later, he was back. “Okay, look, unless we go somewhere quiet, we will be interrupted every three seconds. Come to my office and I’ll see what I can do to help you.”

  Dr. Putelli’s office was about as slick as the man himself. An expensive antique desk and cabinet sat near a floor-to-ceiling window. The walls were filled with a range of diplomas, certificates and awards. The shelves also bore witness to his excellence with half a dozen gold and silver statuettes. The only thing missing from his collection was an Oscar.

  “It was not easy getting here,” Mia said as they each settled into plush seats, Dr. Putelli behind his polished desk, the others facing him.

  “Lemmings,” Putelli said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “They watch the news and believe everything they hear. I too would be panicking if I thought the world was coming to an end.”

  “I don’t follow,” Ollie said. “You don’t believe we’re in danger?”

  “I know only what I see with my own two eyes,” Putelli explained. “You turn on any television set and all they talk about is that the end is near, the end is near. An Atean space ship—or whatever they’re calling them—will hit the earth in nine days and we’re all gonna die. Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s not. But you ask me to bet and I’m almost certain the story’s been blown out of proportion by greedy bastardis out to get rich on the fears of peasants and stupid people. Did you know the EU and the United States have begun ushering a select few into Cold War bunkers they have retrofitted to last for years, perhaps even decades? There’s even talk of a lottery for the few remaining spots. But this wouldn’t be the first time fearmongering overcame reason.” He leaned back in his comfy leather chair and tossed them a devilish smile. “Remember Y2K? They said the entire civilized world would soon come crashing down around us. Companies paid millions to fix what ended up being a complete waste of time and money.”

  “The Ateans are real,” Mia told him, hardly a quaver in her voice. “I know because I was part of the team that studied one of their ships.”

  Dr. Putelli’s forehead crinkled with interest. “The one near Mexico?”

  Mia nodded. “It was the most exhilarating and terrifying experience of my life. Salzburg, however, is on an entirely different scale. Which is why we’re here. We’ve discovered that humans, along with a few dozen other species, now possess an extra fully functioning chromosome. Whenever one of those ships releases a flash of cosmic rays, it somehow adds new genes. When the Atean ship was destroyed, we thought it was over. But as you’ve seen, it’s since started up again and so have the added mutations. So yes, in nine days an impact may devastate the planet. But whatever devastation that unleashes, it will be Salzburg that finishes us off.”

  “I see,” Dr. Putelli said slowly, interlacing his fingers. “Why, then, have you come to my hospital?”

  “We believe a code is locked inside Salzburg, something the Ateans inserted. Each new gene that appears adds a puzzle piece.” She could see she was starting to lose him.

  “What sort of code?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” Mia said thoughtfully. “The most advanced artificial intelligence system in the world has been tasked with figuring that out. Our hope is that once it’s cracked, we may finally understand how to prevent the approaching mass extinction.” Mia paused and interlaced her fingers, mirroring Dr. Putelli. “Now, what can you tell us about the research you’re doing? On the news I heard you talk about catatonic Salzburg patients suddenly awakening and showing extraordinary cognitive abilities.”

  “Yes,” Putelli said with pride. He swung around in his chair. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

  Dr. Putelli led them from the
serenity of his office into the frantic world outside. They moved through a set of wide double doors, entering a long rectangular room that appeared to at one time have been an ICU ward. Now, instead of beds, tables had been set up. Patients ranging in age from seven to seventy sat opposite research assistants working out puzzles and answering questions. A little girl with bright red hair on Mia’s right was flipping through a Rubik’s Cube with a blindfold on. In a matter of seconds, she had solved it and laid it carefully on the table in front of her. Nearby, a middle-aged man with a generous potbelly was reciting the digits of Pi. Dr. Putelli said he was fifty thousand numbers in and could pause and start back up whenever he wanted.

  “They may sound like savants,” Putelli told them. “But let me assure you, up until Salzburg, these were regular, everyday people. The little girl with the cube is a fourth-grade student with trouble in mathematics, the older gentleman with the generous belly a bricklayer who couldn’t even complete his own taxes. Most here were bedbound until the recent flash. If I was a religious man, I would swear we were witnessing a miracle.”

  A surge of hope sprang from somewhere deep within Mia. Several of these people were suffering from the same effects as her daughter Zoey. If they had spontaneously woken up, maybe she had too. The thought made the jabbing pain in Mia’s heart over their separation all the more difficult to bear.

  “Are all your patients like this?” Jansson asked, mesmerized.

  “No,” Putelli said, shaking his head. “I have patients at nearly every stage of the disorder.”

  Mia knelt down next to the young girl with the completed Rubik’s Cube. Her arms were solid and well-defined, hardly the arms of a bed-ridden child. Scanning around, she noticed the others looked very much the same. And one other difference distinguished Dr. Putelli’s patients and the ones she’d seen in India. “Do you have any before and after photos?”

  “Surely we do,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and swiping. He came to an image and winked. “Best you not see that one.”

  Ollie laughed. “I gotta say, this guy’s starting to grow on me.”

  Dr. Putelli handed his phone to Mia. She swiped left, showing the others as she went.

  “What do you see?” Jansson asked.

  “Two days ago, these patients were visibly thinner with ruddy, translucent complexions. Looking at them now, they’re far more solid with clear skin.”

  “Maybe they’ve been using Clearasil,” Ollie quipped.

  Mia slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m saying the genes in the 48th chromatid are behaving differently from the 47th. And it appears as though there’s a clear progression from one symptom to the next.”

  “So with every flash,” Jansson said, running with the thought, “patients with weak bones are suddenly bulking up. Others with sun-sensitive paper-thin skin are finally able to go outside.”

  Mia smiled. “And people with vocal and cognitive issues are waking up and doing extraordinary things.”

  “To what end?” Ollie asked, eyeing Mia. “How do we know the Ateans aren’t slowly turning us into a bunch of bioengineered slaves to work mines that are too deep and inhospitable for them?”

  “They may be,” Mia agreed. “Which is why I’ve been doing everything in my power to slow or stop the progression.” She turned to Dr. Putelli. “That brings me to the other reason we’re here. The hospital’s website says your background was in cellular communication.”

  He nodded. “That’s correct.”

  “If we all agree the genetic changes we’re seeing are triggered whenever there’s a flash,” she said, “the question remains, how are the cosmic rays able to send those genetic instructions to each cell in our bodies? At first, I thought it was co-opting the immune system, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Dr. Putelli’s face scrunched up. “They aren’t. I mean, what you’re saying is not possible. Yes, cells communicate using chemical signals. Hormones and neurotransmitters signal transduction inside cells. You know this, but beyond that you risk bringing us into the weeds with wacky ideas like biophotons and extracellular communication.”

  “Biophotons?” Mia said, taking Putelli by the hand. “I need everything you have on the subject.” She caught Ollie’s eye. “But first, I need your MRI machine.”

  Chapter 31

  Washington, D.C.

  Kay pushed her way past the glass doors at the Washington Post, a singularity of purpose guiding her every step. A buzz of reporters, copyeditors, photographers and regular staffers crowded the lobby. During the paper’s many years in print, it had witnessed dozens of crises and thousands of scandals. Each had driven readership and pushed the employees to fight for their seat at the table. But never had so much happened in such a narrow window of time. The Cuban Missile Crisis in the early ’60s perhaps came the closest, and yet even that paled when compared to the flood of dramatic, newsworthy events unfolding on an hourly basis.

  The message Kay had received from Lucas in IT had been tantalizingly vague. Nevertheless, it was more than enough to send her rushing back, even enough to risk the disappointment on her father’s face at seeing her leave, and finally enough to weather the six National Guard checkpoints she needed to pass through in order to make it here. Kay hoped, for Lucas’ sake, he hadn’t been exaggerating.

  As she reached the bank of elevators and pressed the down arrow, a voice called out from behind her. It was her friend and fellow Lifestyle reporter Sarah.

  “Oh, my God, you will not believe where I’m going,” she said, a pink glow creeping up her neckline. It created the impression she was wearing a flesh-colored turtleneck. An overweight photographer with disheveled hair and crooked glasses named Josh was running to catch up with her. Sarah was a firecracker, high on life and always eager for a challenge, no matter how meaningless.

  “Looks like Trish finally gave you a decent story.”

  “I’m going to Sibley Memorial. You know how I hate hospitals, they totally give me the heebie-jeebies. I’m guessing you felt that flash earlier.”

  “How can anyone miss them? Besides, that’s all I heard them talk about on the radio heading in.”

  “Apparently, there’s this wing at Sibley dedicated to patients with Salzburg syndrome. A bunch of them can’t move. They’re just lying there.”

  Kay nodded, wondering where this was going.

  “Then less than an hour after the flash, a few started speaking. Another hour passed and more were talking and the next thing the doctor knows the whole ward’s in a heated debate on like quantum physics or something.”

  Kay lowered her chin. “Excuse me?”

  “I spoke to the doctor over the phone,” Sarah said, searching for Josh and seeing he was right behind her. “They’re almost positive the light’s got something to do with it, but they haven’t got the foggiest idea how.”

  “You finally got a story worthy of your genius,” Kay said, giving her a hug. “Go get ’em, tiger!”

  The grin on Sarah’s face looked like it wasn’t going anywhere for a very long time. She and Josh shot off at a brisk pace right as the elevator dinged.

  Kay stepped on to the sound of her phone ringing. A handful of others got on after her. She glanced down to see who it was.

  Incoming Call: Ramirez

  “Oh, crap,” she shouted, jamming a hand between the open doors right as they were about to close. A few impatient sighs escaped those around her as Kay stepped off and took the call.

  “Ramirez, are you still in India or have you dropped off the face of the damn earth?” she said, shaking her head as though he could sense her disapproval. “I tried calling you a billion times.”

  “I only just saw the messages,” he said in a weakened voice.

  “You okay? You don’t sound so good.”

  “There was an incident in Kolkata,” he started to explain before stopping himself. “I can’t go into too much detail. Suffice it to say my partner, Agent Chalk, was killed. A mob came charging into the hospital where we w
ere guarding that geneticist I told you about.”

  “Dr. Mia Ward?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Ramirez, I’m so sorry.”

  “I spoke to his wife right before I called you. No two ways about it, that was by far the toughest thing I’ve ever had to do. Did you know his wife just found out she’s pregnant? And with twins no less.”

  “I’m just glad you weren’t killed. The world is going steaming mad and if we don’t find a way of turning the heat down, the whole kettle’s gonna boil over.”

  “Well, that’s part of why I’m calling. I passed along the info you sent me to that friend of mine I told you about, the one who’s pretty high up in the bureau. I explained the situation and he said he’d take a look.” Ramirez paused. “Before I say any more, you can’t print or leak a word of this, got it? I need a solemn promise from you.”

  Kay held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Wait, you were never a scout.”

  “I always wanted to be. But I swear, I won’t breathe a word of it.”

  “A federal judge has just issued arrest warrants for the VP, the Speaker, the Secretary of State, President of the Senate and the Secretary of the Treasury.”

  Kay leapt in the air with joy. “Ramirez, there’s a reason God kept you alive and now I know why. You’re a miracle worker.” A surge of euphoria was pouring out of her. Over at reception, Gail threw her a stern look. “When are they executing it?”

  “Any moment now. Only problem is, that friend of mine has his own media contact and is giving his guy the official heads-up.”

  “I’m okay not getting any more of the glory, Ramirez. I’m only glad we were able to prevent a bad man from being rewarded for doing the wrong thing.”

  “Something to keep in mind. Charges don’t mean convictions. The country’s in uncharted territory right now, Kay. There’s never been a conspiracy this big in our country’s history. It’s possible the VP could beat the charges and get into office anyway.”