The Atlantis Plague (7 page)

Martin glanced back at the helicopters, and for a brief flash, Kate saw the fear in his eyes.

Their heart-pounding escape from the coast and their pace since then had no doubt sent his blood pressure through the roof—not exactly ideal for anyone with a head wound. Kate could see the blood seeping from the gash at the back of his head. She would need to close the wound, and soon.

But they charged on. Block after block of the Old Town district passed, almost in a blur.

Up ahead, a parachute drifted down, silently swaying back and forth.

Martin and Kate stopped, bringing the boys to a halt beside them. They had nowhere to go, but… the passenger at the end of the parachute’s strings wasn’t a person. It was a metal barrel.

The barrel clanged onto the cobblestone street, rolled around for a second, and then a plug at the end popped off and it began spinning wildly as green gas spewed into the street.

Martin motioned for Kate to retreat. “They’re gassing the city. Come on, we have to get inside.”

They searched every building on the block for a store without broken windows, but every storefront was the same: chains around the door and plate-glass windows that had long since been broken out. Adi was slowing down, and Kate pulled at his arm. Both boys were tired. Kate stopped and picked Adi up. She saw Martin do the same with Surya. How far could they carry them? Ahead, a cloud of green gas flowed out of the intersection.

Kate needed to buy some time. She set Adi down and scrambled over to one of the sheets that lay in the street. She tore off four strips. She wrapped the boys’ noses and mouths and handed Martin a piece of cloth. The gas, whatever it was, would affect the boys more than Martin and Kate because they had less body weight.

In the alleys to their right and left, clouds of gas emerged. The scene was the same at the intersections ahead and behind. She lifted Adi and followed Martin into the gas.

CHAPTER 13

Outside Operations Base
Prism
Antarctica

Dorian waited calmly as the basket ascended in total darkness. The faint light of the ice chamber below had long since faded, and there was no sunlight or artificial light above, only complete darkness.

Dorian squatted over his father’s body, thinking about what he would do when he reached the surface—and what
they
would do.

Sending the basket down for him was a shrewd move. They assumed Dorian was an enemy combatant. It was always better to fight on a battlefield of your choosing and near your own army. The Immari could only send a handful of troops down the shaft, and once they reached the bottom, they could find additional Atlantean troops there. Reinforcements couldn’t be sent down quickly, so whatever force they sent could easily be lost—or worse: captured and worked for intel on Immari troop strength and defensive capabilities.

Dorian was certain of one thing: they would incapacitate him the second the basket reached the surface.

He lay down on his back in the basket, shoulder to shoulder with his dead father. He watched and waited. The floodlights of the platform above pierced the blackness, grew brighter, and finally took shape.

The basket snapped to a halt and wobbled slightly in the wind. Dorian listened to the crunch of snow as boots rushed toward him, and then he was surrounded by rows of men pointing automatic rifles at him.

There was no sound and for a moment nothing happened. They were waiting on him. Dorian didn’t move. Finally a soldier stepped forward and bound his hands and feet, then two soldiers lifted him and his father and carried them toward the base. Bright lights bathed the area, revealing what had become of the base. The closest section was just as Dorian remembered it: a giant white caterpillar, stretching for over the length of a football field and curving around at the ends. But there were more of the caterpillars now—at least thirty—spread out as far as he could see. How many troops were camped here? He hoped there would be enough. He would find his father’s killer and hold him accountable, but first he needed to deal with the threat below.

The soldiers entered a large decontamination room, and the sprinkler heads opened up, drenching Dorian and the contingent guarding him. When the liquid stopped, the men carried him out and threw him on a table.

The closest soldier popped the latch of Dorian’s helmet and lifted it off. The man seemed to freeze.

“I escaped,” Dorian said. “Now untie me. They’re awake. We need to attack.”

CHAPTER 14

Immari Training Camp
Camelot
Cape Town, South Africa

Raymond Sanders watched the ridge as the first soldiers crossed. They ran at top speed—nearly thirty-five kilometers per hour—and carried twenty-seven kilogram packs. The sun was rising over the mountains of South Africa in the distance. Sanders’ corner office of the ten story building gave him an incredible view of the mountains to the north and the sea to the south, but Sanders couldn’t take his eyes off the growing army of super-soldiers training below.

“Time?” Sanders said to his assistant, Kosta, without turning.

“14:23.” Kosta shook his head. “Incredible.”

Sanders marveled at the time. The harder they pushed them, the stronger the soldiers got.

“We’ve got casualties though,” Kosta said.

“How many?”

“Six. This cohort began with two hundred.”

“Cause?”

Kosta flipped the pages. “Four dropped dead during yesterday’s march. We’re doing autopsies. Probably cardiovascular. Heart attack, possibly stroke. Two died in the night. Still pending autopsies.”

“Three percent is a small price to pay for the gains. How about the other cohorts?”

“Gains, but nowhere near cohort five.”

“End the other regimens. But let’s keep testing,” Sanders said.

“Same cohorts?”

“No. Let’s start fresh. I don’t want the previous training regimens to skew the results. The science team has a new protocol?”

Kosta nodded. “Tons of them.”

“Good—”

“But I just have to say, sir. They’re plateauing. We’re well past the point of diminishing returns. These are people, not figures on a spreadsheet that can be adjusted. It feels like—”

“They’re still getting better. Stronger, faster, smarter. The last cognitive tests were the best yet.”

“True, but at some point we have to decide they’re good enough. We can’t keep moving the finish line. Procrast—”

“It almost sounded like you were going to say ‘procrastinating,’ Kosta. I can’t remember exactly, but it’s like, one of us is in charge here and the other is the assistant. You know, I can’t recall exactly, but I believe I’m in charge and you’re the paper-toting helper.” He shook his head theatrically. “There’s one way to find out. If I tell them to put you in the next cohort, and it happens, then bam—we have our answer.”

Kosta swallowed and motioned out the window, at the rows of tents and almost endless encampments. “I’m just trying to help, and… What I mean to say is… We have almost a million soldiers. We have a viable training regimen that makes them almost as strong as they’re ever going to get. And we don’t know how much time we have.”

“We also know that we get one shot at this. The army we send into the tombs is the only one we’ll ever send. They succeed or we face the uncertainty beyond that. I don’t want to do that. Do you? You can follow my orders or you can join them in the tents down there. Now tell me where we are on southern Spain.”

Kosta picked up another folder. “We’ve taken the major cities in Andalusia—Seville, Cádiz, Granada, and Córdoba. We also have control of all the significant coastal towns, including Marbella, Málaga, and Almería. We’re working on the news outlets, pressing them to release our story. Our agents say they’re wavering. If they think we have a chance, they might start hedging their Orchid support. We’ll know soon. Our landing troops are inbound to the coast.”

“Any reaction from the Orchid Alliance?”

“Nothing yet. We don’t expect much resistance. Clocktower says the Allies could be looking at a slowdown of Orchid production in France and northern Spain. Member nations are panicking.”

The timing was perfect; Sanders couldn’t have planned it better.

The door opened and an Immari general walked in. “Sir—”

“We’re working here,” Sanders snapped.

“The portal in Antarctica opened.”

Sanders just stared.

“Dorian Sloane came out. He had a case with him. He says—”

“Where is he now?” Sanders said flatly.

“They brought him to the surface. He’s in the primary conference room being briefed on the situation.”

“You’re shitting me.”

The general looked confused. “He is the ranking Immari Council member.”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, general.
I
am the ranking Immari Council member. Dorian Sloane has been inside that structure for almost eleven weeks. We don’t know what he’s been doing down there, but I guarantee you it won’t be good for us. We have to assume they have reprogrammed him, brainwashed him, and spit him out with a mission.”

“What should—”

“Use the contingent of Clocktower agents on site. Have them tell Sloane there’s something they need to show him. Lead him to one of the science labs. Gas him. Then take him to an interrogation room and strap him in real tight. Don’t underestimate him. God knows what they’ve done to him. Post guards outside the door.” Sanders thought for a moment. “You said there was a case. Where is it?”

“Sloane left it at the bottom of the shaft. He says he thinks it’s dangerous. That we shouldn’t open it.”

Sanders thought for a moment. His first instinct was that the case was a bomb. Maybe Sloane thought it was too—he had left it at the bottom of the shaft. If they brought it up, it could destroy the entire camp or maybe something worse. There was the other alternative—that Sloane had left it down there because he or the Atlanteans needed it there. Did the Atlantean army need it outside so that they could exit the tombs? Did it serve another purpose there? Could it melt the ice and free the ship? He needed answers. He couldn’t leave it there, and he couldn’t move it until he knew what it was.

“What kind of science staff do we have on site?”

“Minimal. We evacuated almost everyone when we did the troop realignment for the attack.”

“Send whoever we’ve got down the shaft. Find out what’s in the case. But don’t open it. Send someone without knowledge of our defensive capabilities. Call me directly when they know what it is.”

The general nodded and waited.

“That’s all, general.” When the general left, Sanders turned back to Kosta. “Cancel the trials. This is happening now. We have to go to war with the army we have. And I have a feeling we’re going to need more troops. Speed up the purge of Andalusia. Where are we on transport?”

“We’re still trying to round up ships.”

“Try harder. We need to move a million troops to Antarctica, and soon.”

CHAPTER 15

You’re listening to the BBC, the voice of human triumph on this, the seventy-ninth day of the Atlantis Plague.

The BBC has confirmed multiple reports that the Immari have invaded continental Europe. The invasion began at dusk yesterday as helicopters and drones launched rockets at cities in southern Spain. Casualty figures are not known at this time.

Eyewitness reports from across the Spanish province of Andalusia say that the Orchid Districts were the primary targets of the Immari raid. Political experts have speculated for weeks that the Immari would begin assimilating vulnerable populations in Europe and Asia. It seems that they have begun their campaign in southern Spain.

Dr. Stephen Marcus, an expert at the think tank Western Century, had this to say earlier: “Nobody really knows the Immari endgame, but one fact is clear: they’re building an army. You don’t build an army unless you need it to protect yourself or you intend to use it to attack an enemy. It’s hard to believe the Orchid Alliance could launch any sort of counterattack.”

The weakness in the Orchid Alliance has prompted fears around the world that the Immari incursion into Andalusia could be a prelude to a larger attack on mainland Europe—an attack the Orchid Alliance can’t repel.

Janet Bauer, an expert on Orchid production, agrees with that assessment. “The Allies are doing well to sustain Orchid production as it is. They can’t fight a war. Even if they wanted to, the practicality of getting Orchid to the front lines to keep soldiers alive makes it simply impossible. Forming an Allied army from survivors presents a completely new set of issues, namely loyalty. Most survivors who maintain healthy brain function are Immari sympathizers—they’ve been made to live in Orchid Districts, what many believe to be confinement, for nearly three months now.”

Experts speculate that the Immari are simply nibbling at the fringes of Europe—that by taking a province the Allies can’t defend, they’re testing the Allied resolve and the will of the people. In essence, the Immari are taking the pulse of Europe.

Dr. Marcus elaborated on this point: “This is War Strategy 101: the aggressor takes a small step across the line, then waits for the result. Does he get appeasement or retribution? Our reaction determines his next move. If he senses weakness, he takes another step, and another.”

That next step, many believe, could be Germany. Ms. Bauer agrees. “Germany is the real prize here. It’s the key to the entire continent. Germany produces seventy percent of all the Orchid in Europe. If the Immari army gets to Germany, it’s game over for Europe. As Germany goes, so goes the continent.”

In fairness to the Immari, we’ve agreed to read their statement regarding the attacks:

“Immari International yesterday launched a vast rescue effort in southern Spain. For almost three months, the people of Andalusia have lived in concentration camps and been forced to take a drug against their will. Immari International was founded on the idea of creating one global society. Our origins were in trade, in linking the world. We carry on that tradition today, but the dire circumstances the Orchid nations have forced upon the world have made us pursue new avenues to global freedom. We are nonviolent, but we will protect the people of the world from oppression and any measures that violate their free will.”