“Dr. Iyer, are you aware that your contact with me is going to ruin the experiment?”
The lead scientist coughed harshly, and only then did Deuce notice the eyes were pinker than normal. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” the doctor responded, as he wiped blood from his mouth and chin. “We anticipated that you would be shocked upon your return to civilization, but there may not be a civilization to return to.”
“What are you talking about?”
The computer began downloading files.
Ever the scholar, Dr. Iyer’s began his lecture. “It started halfway through the experiment, Ducey.” He paused to wipe his eyes, and a crimson stain appeared where his hand passed. Beside his image, files began opening, displaying global headlines. Although many covered each other, the words were easy enough to read.
PLAGUE STRIKES PRAGUE
VIRUS IN VENEZUELA
DISEASE IN DENVER
“Is this some kind of joke?” Deuce asked, but he already knew the answer.
Dr. Iyer was dying in front of him.
“I’m afraid not.” The scientist coughed and grabbed his chest in pain. “It seems to be an airborne version of the Marburg virus. It spread fast because it gave its victims no sign of illness while remaining highly communicable. The first known cases belonged to an international mining corporation. By the time we discovered that there was a problem, major cities all over the world had already become infected.”
“So then . . .” Deuce tried to speak, but words failed him.
“You are safe at the moment, Mr. McNellis, but outside your dome, the nearest city is already a ghost town.”
“So why call me now?”
“Because I am terminating our contract.” Dr. Iyer leaned toward the camera. “Your dome is supposed to automatically release you in at the end of this phase. It won’t anymore. I’ve ordered control of the doors to be fed directly to this console. You alone are in control of your fate. Furthermore, I have allowed you access to the Internet and various newsfeeds so that you can make an educated decision for yourself.”
“Why? Why do all this for me?”
“Because I have come to admire you, Mr. McNellis. You have been entertaining, informative, and have had some surprising reactions when faced with situations. I will not be around much longer, but I wanted you to know that we appreciate what you have done for us.
“Goodbye, Ducey.”
The scientist’s face vanished from view.
Deuce slid into the chair and stared at the information that scrolled across the screen. The death toll was astronomical, beyond his comprehension. He scanned video feeds, watched people speak their final thoughts, and observed the creation and completion of mass graves. All throughout, he felt numb and empty although he supposed he should have been screaming and cursing.
He didn’t tear himself away from the computer until the sun outside vanished, and the songs of the creatures of the night became loud in his ears.
The countdown read 29 days, 18 hours, 42 seconds.
It took him two days to contact his sister’s house. Her boyfriend answered the call. His voice was hoarse.
“Deuce?” He sounded at least somewhat happy. “How’s it going, brother?”
“Doing okay, Jim, how are you and the girls?”
“They’re sleeping. Government issued everyone pills a few weeks ago. When Macey got sick we knew it wasn’t long. Patty was next. She got it only a few hours later. We put our little angels to bed before they suffered.”
Deuce closed his eyes and fought back tears that burned as they fought their way to freedom.
Jim continued, unashamedly weeping. “Elisa decided to go with them. I wanted to join her but you know me, a fighter to the very end. I couldn’t go quietly. They held each other until the end. I buried them in the backyard.”
Deuce nodded, but his throat was too tight for him to speak.
“Your folks stopped calling two days ago. They were checking up on me to make sure I was all right. They blew everything on a cruise. It’s supposed to be a one-way trip. Sometime during the ride, their cocktails will be spiked, and the last crewmember alive is supposed to scuttle the ship.
“Anyways, didn’t think they’d let you talk to us yet. You out already?”
“Nah.” Deuce tried to keep his voice casual. “They just let me talk to the outside.”
“Lucky bastard.” Jim paused to cough. “You’re missing all the fun.”
“I, I’ve heard, Jim.”
“Look, do me a favor, okay?” Jim said quietly.
Deuce waited a moment before he answered. “Yes?”
“Don’t come on by when you get out, okay? Let me have what little dignity I have left.”
“I understand, buddy,” Deuce whispered.
The line went dead.
24 days, 2 hours, 2 minutes.
The host of the talk show was in an advanced stage of infection. Her guests were not much better. The audience sat numbly, and Deuce thought he even saw one member near the back stop breathing before the third commercial break.
Maybe it was the celebrity worship for some, who took their last chance to see their idols in person. Or maybe it was a need for answers that pulled them out to a show that teased them with possible causes and solutions, but Deuce didn’t understand why anyone would choose to spend their last moments sealed in with other dying people to just watch some celebrities talk to each other.
The guests were specialists in their fields. One was a viral historian, another was an environmental warrior, a third was a frontline doctor, and the last was a famous television preacher.
“We know, dear,” began the historian, whose voice was smooth and gentle, “that the disease began at the mine. What we don’t know is why.”
“It is God’s plan. He is cleansing the wicked and the unrepentant. Now, brothers and sisters, is the time to beg the Lord to let you—”
The environmentalist cut the preacher off. “Oh grow up!” she screeched. “We have ravaged our planet for far too long. Of course the disease started at a mine. That’s where humanity rapes Mother Nature herself.”
The doctor coughed, and all eyes turned on him.
“I won’t claim to know its origin,” she gurgled on the accumulating fluids in her lungs. “But I will tell you this. It is not a pathogen that is interested in survival. No one has been found yet to be a carrier. Our immune systems are useless against the disease.”
“Unless you have been isolated from the world, you are doomed.”
Sickened to his stomach, Deuce reached out to change to another streaming feed, but before he switched the channel he hesitated. No one objected or rose in anger over the apocalyptic view of the doctor. Most just sat there with quiet acceptance.
It was too painful to watch.
21 days, 23 hours, 10 minutes.
Deuce sat listlessly in his chair. He had unzipped the top of his coveralls and tied the arms his waist, and his undershirt was stained with drops of coffee. A requiem video played in front of him. Requiems were taking over the Net.
It was a simple concept. Stand in front of your camera, talk about yourself or a loved one, praise their accolades, leak a few dirty secrets, maybe perform a skill, and then wash down the pill.
It was tragic drama at its worst, but Deuce had become involved emotionally with so many of them that he felt like he had no feelings left to give, until the next video proved him wrong again.
Deuce watched young mothers nurse their infants for the last time. He watched a father play catch with his toddler son before sharing a beer and shaving together. He watched an old couple kiss tenderly and talk over a bottle of wine about all of their children and grandchildren, who had already left the earth.
He began to wonder if he should join them. He had control of the dome. It would be as simple as cracking the seals, letting in unaltered air, stepping forth and feeling the natural sun on his face.
Something stopped him. He didn�
�t know if it was fear or a further calling.
He began to save every video that he watched.
He collected a young woman in China who played a multistringed instrument. He collected a five-year-old who told a memorized story of a paper-bag princess. He watched zookeepers release animals from their cages.
There was enough memory to spare.
Deuce stayed at his post, as he thought of it, for the night, and then all of the next day, and then the day after that. He filled up one memory stick after another.
He listened as airlines stopped their flights because there were no more pilots left alive. He recorded a mass wedding taking place as hundreds of doomed souls shared their last moments together. He heard a confession from a man who murdered his family in order to spare them the pain. The pill wasn’t available everywhere.
He passed out at his desk, and awoke with an imprint of the keyboard in his cheek.
18 days, 3 hours, 5 minutes.
Someone was calling him. A crowd of people in white coats stood together.
“Ducey McNellis?” an woman asked. She seemed to be the oldest of them, and had a matriarchal air about her.
“That’s me, who are you?” he answered.
The woman said, not unkindly, “We work for what’s left of NASA. We’re partly responsible for your present position.”
“Glad to meet you, I guess.” Deuce straightened his undershirt.
“Likewise.” The woman smiled, but her bleeding gums told a story all on their own. “We want your help.”
“I’m listening.”
“As you are no doubt aware, humanity is dying. In less than three months we will almost all be gone. Infrastructure is breaking down. And, sadly—” She swept her arm, presenting her colleagues. “So are we.”
“Sorry to hear that. What can I do for you?”
“You can help us make sure that our stories are not lost. We’ve programmed several satellites to broadcast messages from humanity to the stars, for as long as they hold out. We’re launching five probes. We’ve loaded them with players and transmitters, but we have a problem.”
“What’s the issue?”
“No one here will survive long enough to see if all the information that we’re sending will get to the probes. We want you to send information for us. We’re going to connect you to the satellites, and as long as there’s power, the probes will store what they can. When they are full, or haven’t received anything for forty-eight hours, they will launch.
“We’ve sent instructions to you already, as well as a list of other people who have volunteered their time and efforts.”
The computer beeped again.
“Do you have any questions?”
“No,” Deuce answered as he scanned the information.
“Then on behalf of all of us at Project Goodbye, thank you,” the matriarch said before the screen went blank.
Eager for a cause, Deuce busied himself on the task at hand. The countdown forgotten.
“Hello? Are you Mr. McNellis?”
“Please, call me Deuce,” he replied as he hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head. The caller was a woman, and Deuce felt a need to be civil, even if she was somewhere else in the world.
Her age was impossible for Deuce to gauge. She was Asian, but Deuce couldn’t place where she was from at a simple glance. She sat in a lab. The walls behind her had both English script and writing filled with straight lines and circles covering it.
“What an odd name,” she said. “Why Deuce?”
“It’s a holdover from my college gambling days.” He laughed as he raised a bottle of water into the air in salute to times long gone. “And may I know yours?”
“Seong Sun.”
“Pleasure.” Deuce chuckled when she raised her own bottle of water in a return. Are you involved in Project Goodbye too?”
“Yes, and like you, I have a few days left to help.”
Intrigued, Deuce waited for her to continue.
“I’m calling from a lab just outside Yeosu.”
“Korea?”
“Yes.”
Deuce had heard of unpleasant things happening overseas. The last report he had read stated that the North had invaded the weakened South.
“How’s it going over there?”
Sun paused, and her face fell for a moment before she smiled again. “It’s been better.” She was obviously uncomfortable.
“So, you building a database too?” Deuce tried to change the subject.
“Yes. I was wondering how it’s going for you.”
He glanced at another window. “Great composers’ library just finished. Architecture’s next.”
“I just finished the language files.” She smiled, but her next words were somber. “You’re the first healthy person I’ve talked to in over a month.”
“You’re one of the only people I’ve talked to in a year,” Deuce said slowly. “And probably the last.”
“Probably.”
“So, is this just a social call?”
“No,” Sun said. “Project Goodbye was my idea.”
16 days, 0 hours, 10 minutes.
The two of them coordinated what was sent and what was collected, altered what remained, and counted their time.
He got to know her fairly well. Sun was pleasant to talk to. She had a laugh that sounded like twinkling crystal and a sense of humor to match. She was intelligent, witty, and not afraid to speak her mind. After Deuce’s voluntary solitude, she was a breath of fresh air.
He wished he had known her sooner.
They were playing online poker against each other. Deuce had put his bet on an ace high, and he could only guess what Sun was playing with.
She coughed, and a speck of blood ended on her lip.
“Sun?” Deuce asked, concern ladled in his voice.
Sun wiped the blood away with the back of her hand. Her shrug was fatalistic.
“It was only a matter of time,” she said.
Deuce didn’t respond at first. He stared at her incredulously. “How can you be so calm?” he finally asked.
“Because no one escapes it. For some, it lay dormant in their system for weeks. I guess I got lucky. At least I got my affairs in order. Your turn?”
Deuce refused to let her change the subject. “This is your life you’re talking about.”
“And I’ve had a good one,” Sun answered as if she was explaining something to a child. “And I’ve outlived so many. Every day is both a blessing and a curse. As long as I can complete our project, I will die well.”
“You can’t be serious. I didn’t take you as someone who would just give up.”
“Then I’m a liar,” she said quietly, sadly. “I lost my husband in the first month, and my kids only a week after. I outlived almost my whole city. I started this project as a memorial to all of us, but I have been selfish, and have included all of the pictures of my family that I had, all of their videos, all of their records.
“I bluffed the rest, but thanks to you and the other volunteers, we’ve made this happen. Now show me your cards.”
He ordered his hand revealed.
She giggled. “See, we can both play the bluffing game.”
She had bet on a pair of twos.
12 days, 2 hours, 14 minutes.
“Deuce?” Sun’s voice called. “Deuce?”
He lifted his head from the table. Data scrolled across the screen, but Sun’s window was open. She looked concerned. Her eyes were bloodshot and her skin was flushed with heat. She had stripped down to her undershirt.
“What is it, Sun?”
“I can’t breathe.” She gasped, and then said something in Korean. “I hurt everywhere.”
“Calm down,” Deuce said, although he began to panic for her sake. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“It’s the infection,” Sun panted. “It wants me to share it. It makes you want someone. Makes you want to get close to someone so that they become infected too, but there’s no o
ne around and it’s driving me crazy.”
“What can I do?” Deuce asked.
“Talk to me, tell me something. Are you scared?”
Deuce bit his tongue before he answered. “Yes.”
“Of what?”
“Of being alone and of the outside. Before I found out about Project Goodbye, I was lost in grief for humanity. Since I’ve been involved with it, it’s given me purpose. But I don’t know what I’m going to do when we’re done.”
“Don’t you want to live?” Sun asked, surprised.
“My primeval side does.” Deuce laughed bitterly. “But I don’t want to carry the grief of the world with me either. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
“You’re not.”
“Not at the moment. But when the infection runs its course. . . .” He trailed off, swallowed nervously. “There’s less and less being uploaded now. I’ve heard that entire cities are empty. One person transmitted their requiem from a darkened room. On batteries, I guess. Power failed along the seaboard. It’s only a matter of time until the world grows dark.”
“What will happen to you then?” she asked.
“The bio-dome is self-sustaining,” Deuce explained. “I have rations and vitamins to spare. The trees here have more fruit than I can eat, I have vertical gardens of grains and vegetables, and I’ve been raising insects for protein. Do you know the reason why the dome was built?”
Sun shook her head.
“It was designed as a test facility to see if first-world people could adapt to a sustainable culture. I just didn’t think it would be man’s last holdout.”
Deuce felt something behind his eyes. “Do you understand the irony? My isolation saved me from the worst, and damned me still. You might be lonely now, but you won’t be alone much longer. If I hadn’t talked to humanity I might not have missed it, either. I was okay, fine with being alone, until I realized that being alone hurts. It hurts so hard.”
Sun coughed, and crimson flecked her chin.
“God, I’m sorry, Sun.” Deuce felt sheepish at his own self-pity.
“It’s okay.” She smiled. “It’s just nice to know that I’m not alone.”
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