1,365 Days Since Outbreak
June 24, 2574 - Earth Standard
It was one of those days he knew he wouldn't be able to go outside, where the sun was so low that they'd start especially early. The clouds overhead hung like a damning mist, blocking the only true safety he had anymore. A shrill, intimidating wind shrieked as it swirled through the city, kicking dust and dirt at it went. Through the two-pane plexiglass he watched and waited, cradling his assault rifle in his arms as he rocked back in forth. Though the sun had only risen five hours ago, it was already close to dusk; a tragic flaw of being stuck so near a pole during the winter months on this planet. But then again, what wasn't tragic these days?
1,364 Days Earlier
"Lieutenant, we need to evacuate now. They've breached the city and nobody's sure how long it'll be before they get to the pads."
"I, I need five more minutes to collect my data. Without this data it'll just happen again and we won't be any closer to stopping it than we were this time." The soldier-scientist tapped furiously at his keypad, wishing incessantly that the thing would work faster.
"You've got what you've got Lieutenant, but when that horn goes off…" Captain Ryan terminated his statement with a distressed glare into the forest.
"It, it's like it's internal. Almost viral. This data can't be correct then."
"Then scrap it Robert, and let's get the hell out of here."
"I don't understand though, I don't understand. It has to be correct, I did it myself. But this doesn't make any sense."
"I'll give you two seconds to explain, slowly, what the hell you're rambling about before I knock your batshit crazy ass out and throw you into the warthog myself." Jermey Ryan leaned over Neville's shoulder, staring at a text wall of doom. Spreadsheets of data predicting imminent disaster and unstoppable carnage.
"All of our information about these creatures says they're parasitic. Every encounter with them has proven this to be true. But the outbreaks here, they're occurring too quickly and spreading too rapidly; even for them. I ran as many of our known origins through the database as I could, and they don't match any spread pattern we'd expect from a hive pattern like the Flood."
"So, so what? Someone's spreading it, or they've found a new way to infect us? What are you saying?"
"I'm saying Ryan that they've mutated to attack our genetic code directly. They don't need direct ogranismal contact with a human host anymore to spread. Somehow they've gone airborne, they're infecting us from the inside." Neville turned to face the man directly, his forehead beading profusely with sweat that ran down the frame of his black-rimmed glasses.
Ryan stood up, hands bristling through his short-shorn dirty blonde hair before resting on the back of his scalp. He exhaled deeply, not believing what he was hearing but hearing it nonetheless. A blast of dirt blew through the door only seconds before the horn went off. Lieutenant Cortman had arrived late, as usual, but with the unexpected benefit of a covered Warthog.
"Is all of your shit on file and ready to move?"
"Yes sir."
"Then we'll get to the pad's as soon as possible and get out of here. We can contact FleetCom from space and tell them that we need a planet-wide quarantine. You and the rest of the eggheads upstairs can mull over your data all you'd like until you figure this thing out."
Ryan grabbed Neville by his shirt collar and pushed him towards the door, grabbing the BR55 leaning against the doorframe before activating the bunker's security. Neville and Ryan stretched into the warthog's passenger seats before sliding the lightly-armored door mount closed. Cortman floored the vehicle and it's massive engine thrust them quickly onward, spraying dirt and pebbles back into the forest .
"Captain Ryan, we have a massive problem." Neville said, leaning forward between Cortman and Ryan.
"Which is?
"The pad's security protocols are completely inadequate now. They're checking for direct contact infections, not latent or dormant infections. We could be evacuating hundreds of carriers right now. We could literally be exporting this mutated Flood strain for them."
Cortman's face shifted slightly sideways in surprise, but Captain Ryan's face maintained a stoic air of disbelief and fear.
June 25, 2574- Sunrise
Neville tried
to shake the nightmares away like only so much grogginess, but that
fleeting sense of dread still lingered. He was soaked in sweat and
the almost metallic taste of saliva that'd been exposed to air too
long went down bitterly. A rapid and unnerving thump, thump, thump
chattered through his chest and he shivered despite having a slightly
elevated core temperature level; the fleeting residual effects of
adrenaline were always unpleasant as a daily reminder of the
twilight's torment.His fingers crinkled across empty bags and finally found a glass. It
was three day old brandy at ten in the morning; and it went down like
it.
"Bullet, get over here." He looked around the room, nothing.
"Bullet," he repeated again with several whistles. A long black and
gray tail weaved between the garbage as the sugar glider scampered to
him. The tiny marsupial was fast as lightning and could climb up
anything, but not especially smart; he had dogs for that. She
hug-climbed her way up his leg and nudged into the bottom of his coral
red shirt before using his chest hair as a ladder to his neck. Her tiny
head popped out of the collar and stared around quickly before climbing
out and curling into a tight ball in his chest pocket. He pulled a
mini-wheat from a nearby box and held it out; her miniature human-like
hands grasping the sweet treat as she began to feverishly gobble it
down.
"We're gettin' low on these, you better hope we find another box
soon." She chatter-squawked her displeasure without stopping her
consumption. "Rambo, Tango!" The Rottweiler and German Shepherd pair
stormed into the living quarters hurriedly, panting and nipping at his
legs. He ruffled their heads and patted them on the backs.
Neville turned on the display. Several digital data feeds crawled
across the projection. Sunrise was at eight fifteen a.m. Earth standard
and sunset would be two eleven p.m. He checked his watch and cursed at
the blank screen. It had died overnight; he'd have to go the inside of
the city to find the right batteries, and he hated going deep. The
inside of the city had been hit worst, and the streets were impossible
to traverse by vehicle. At least the dogs would get out, he consoled himself.
Cloud cover was sparse to none, which was very good; though his
late start to an already short day was somewhat irritating. He'd spent
several days early on figuring out how to upload the automated water
and power station feeds to his station, and everything was greenlit
there. The station's artificial intelligences operated them with almost
zero human input, and there had been only one temporary glitch in the
system so far. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered to upload the
recent media section of his news feeder, as there hadn't been a single
change in more than three years, but something irrational inside of him
hoped a bit everyday that it would all just change.
The projection changed to show the most recent data about the H81
Viral Form-Airborne Infectible contagion. Neville's personal research
over the last three years had made broad insights towards this "new"
and voracious form of the flood organism. He scanned his own three and
a half year-old research paper warning of the impending threat.
With regards to the possibility of an airborne form of the flood contaminant, and in full understanding that our current knowledge of these beings is in contrast with my hypothesis, I nevertheless urge the panel to address my findings... [following the death of Organism Zero- the "Gravemind"- it is my belief that the loss of primary hive control and thought processes have driven the parasite to revert to a more primitive form of reproduction... Although no direct form of dispersal beyond direct contact has been verified as of this writing, sporoform release by the infection forms is highly suspect... Retrieval of chemicals produced by recovered organisms also suggests that the Flood forms are capable of producing additives similar to those applied to known synthetic chemical weapons to preserve them longer in the air. A current means of production is under investigation, but the presence of these chemicals is only further indication of a possible airborne infection evolution- or devolution- by these creatures.
He closed the file for the one thousand three hundred sixty-sixth
time. It'd been too late, moved too slowly through proper channels, and
conflicted with too many other people's own thoughts to ever do any
good; and when the outbreak finally began there was nothing anyone was
prepared to do about it. Fortunately, although Neville found that word
ironic, it had a seventy-five percent kill rate in healthy humans. For
four percent with a special, non-fatal genetic condition, the airborne
form had had no effect. Unfortunately, the twenty-one percent that were
susceptible changed drastically and quickly. The airborne form,
however, was not as potent or integrated genetically by the host. These
organisms were equally as strong, fast, and voracious as their
counterparts; but, unable to synthesize any of the molecules
responsible for cell repair and maintenance as a result of UV
radiation, they rapidly went into cell degradation and abnormal
apoptosis.
So Neville traveled by day, foraging for food and supplies.
Building by building he searched through the former homes of fifteen
million in the largest of twelve cities on a planet roughly the size of
Earth. Now it was all a dead zone, restricted on military star charts
and censored in official records. The remaining colonies and Earth
itself had been plenty busy following the Human-Covenant war to worry
too much about a small fringe world colony; more than happy to move on
with their own lives than hear any more of death or war. For First
Lieutenant Robert Jacob Neville, this was the one thousand
three-hundred sixty-sixth day of his new life as the sole known
survivor of a terrible outbreak, and like every day before it the day
seemed to grow a little shorter as the dusk came a little faster. But
he had been the one to predict it's arrival, and he would be the one to
fix this. He would be the one to make it right. As every day before it,
he would search and gather; hoping to live to the next day. At least, he thought to himself, there'll be a bit of adventure today.
