The Atlantis Plague(6)

The first outbreak Martin was referring to was the Spanish flu pandemic that swept the globe in 1918, killing an estimated fifty million people and infecting one billion. Kate and David had discovered what Martin and his Immari employers had known for almost a hundred years: that the plague had been unleashed by an ancient artifact her father had helped extract from the Atlantis structure in Gibraltar.

Kate’s mind raced with questions, but as she surveyed the rows of beds and the dying, all she could manage was, “Why are they dying? I thought Orchid stopped the plague.”

“It does. But we’re seeing a collapse in efficacy. We estimate that within a month, everyone will become unresponsive to Orchid. Some of the dying volunteer for the trials. Those are the people you’ve seen.”

Kate walked closer to one of the beds, surveying the people, wondering… “What happens when Orchid fails?”

“Without Orchid, almost ninety percent of those infected die within seventy-two hours.”

Kate couldn’t believe it. The numbers had to be wrong. “Impossible. The mortality rate in 1918—”

“Was much lower, true. This plague is different. We only realized how different when we began seeing the survivors.” Martin stopped and nodded toward a series of semi-enclosed cells along the dining-room wall. To Kate, the people inside seemed healthy, but most huddled together, not looking out. There was something very wrong with them, but she couldn’t quite place it. She took a step toward them.

Martin caught her arm. “Don’t approach them. These survivors seem to essentially… devolve. It’s like their brain wiring gets scrambled. It’s worse for some than others, but it’s a regressive state.”

“This happens to all survivors?”

“No. Roughly half suffer this sort of de-evolution.”

“And the other half?” Kate almost dreaded the answer.

“Follow me.”

Martin briefly conversed with a guard at the end of the room, and when he stepped aside, they passed into a smaller dining room. The windows had been boarded up and every inch of the room was divided into large cells, save for a narrow walkway down the middle.

Martin didn’t step further into the room. “These are the other survivors—the ones that have caused trouble in the camp.”

The cramped room must have held a hundred or more survivors, but it was dead silent. No one moved. Each stood and stared at Kate and Martin with cold, dispassionate eyes.

Martin continued in a low tone. “There aren’t any physical changes. None that we’ve seen. But they experience a change in brain wiring as well. They get smarter. Like the devolving, the effects are variable, but some individuals exhibit problem-solving abilities that are off the charts. Some get a bit stronger. And there’s another theme: empathy and compassion seem to wane. Again it varies, but all survivors seem to suffer a collapse in social function.”

As if on cue, the crowds on both sides of the room parted, revealing red letters on the walls behind them. They had written the words in blood.

Orchid can’t stop Darwin.

Orchid can’t stop Evolution.

Orchid can’t stop The Plague.

On the other side of the room, another survivor had written:

The Atlantis Plague = Evolution = Human Destiny.

In the next cell, the letters read:

Evolution is inevitable.

Only fools fight fate.

“We’re not just fighting the plague,” Martin whispered. “We’re fighting the survivors who don’t want a cure, who see this as either humanity’s next step or a completely new beginning.”

Kate just stood there, unsure what to say.

Martin turned and led Kate out of the room, back out into the main hospital room, and through another exit, into what must have been the kitchen but was now a lab. A half dozen scientists sat on stools, working with equipment that sat on top of the steel tables. They all glanced up at her, and one by one they stopped their work and began gawking and conversing in hushed tones. Martin wrapped an arm around her and called over his shoulder, “Carry on,” as he ushered Kate quickly through the kitchen. He stopped abruptly at a door in the narrow hall behind the kitchen. He keyed a code into a small panel and the door popped open with a hiss. They stepped inside, and the moment the door sealed shut, he held out his hand. “The sample.”

Kate fingered the plastic tube in her pocket. He was only giving her half the story—just enough to get what he wanted. She rocked back on her heels. “Why are the plague effects different this time? Why isn’t it happening like it did in 1918?”

Martin paced away from her and collapsed into a wooden chair at an old oak desk. This must have been the restaurant manager’s office. It had a small window that looked out onto the grounds. The desk was covered with equipment that Kate didn’t recognize. Six large computer screens hung on the wall, displaying maps and charts and scrolling endless lines of text, like a stock market news ticker.