From
the jacket: “A
human specific bioweapon can kill most of the population of a city before
it even knows it’s under attack, leaving the physical infrastructure
virtually intact. In rural areas it can destroy human life while leaving
crops and livestock untouched, uninfectious. Thrown into chaos, the
remaining population can easily be overtaken by a small, lightly equipped
military force. Relatively unskilled labour will take an additional
few weeks to decontaminate an infected area of human casualties, leaving
it ready for immediate habitation by an enemy’s population,”
explained USAMRIID’s Colonel Susan Broadwater in an emergency
briefing to government agents in Quantico, 1995.
So begins
an investigation into a credible threat; that a bioweapon was about
to be tested on an unsuspecting human population. This aim of this attack
was not to kill large numbers of people, nor was it an act of terrorism
or warfare. It was an outdoor experiment, a demonstration designed to
alert government authorities that their extraordinary apathy towards
bioweapons had made the West highly vulnerable. It was meant as a warning
- but something went wrong.
Special
Agent Joshua McCabe had avoided the family business all of his life.
His parents, and now his brother, chased epidemics around the world
like hurricane watchers or big game fishermen eagerly pursuing the illusive
Big One. But there was no escaping it when his old boss, the head of
the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, killed himself in order to
protect the conspiracy.
As an ex-BSU
profiler, McCabe knew that his personal demons made him as much of a
burden as an asset to the investigation. They could ill-afford to bring
on board a civilian with even more emotional baggage. But Jordan Spinner,
an Australian scientist working on contract to the FBI as a teaching
pathologist, was a vital member of the team—not just because of
her background in virology, but because she most definitely is not part
of the conspiracy. McCabe would need that, for in this investigation
your best friend could betray you and your enemy was a microbe less
than five microns in diameter.
Extract:
From Dr. Nathaniel Sturgess’ Journal
0300hrs Monday 18th December 1995
‘I’d
forgotten that yesterday was Sunday. Christian religion played little
if any part in the weekly gathering of the villagers; it was just
an excuse to dress up and go singing.
‘The
village is quiet. Not a peaceful quiet, but one of infinite loneliness,
infinite…emptiness. Taedium vitae, it is the hour of
the wolf, come to take away the souls of the dead—and the damned—for
am I not damned?
‘A
perpetual sickly, orange haze shrouds everything; the light from Hell’s
gateway is just a short distance away. Here at its portals, rivers
of blood filled with a billion silent demons lie in wait for me. I
need only remove my mask to let them in.’
He turned to consider the obscene patterns of bloody rainwater and
mud that covered the clinic’s floor. In the dim light, the liquid
pulsated and glowed with an oily, even attractive luminescence.
‘See
how they beckon, as the cleansing, cold fire beckons?’ he wrote.
‘Inviting me, insisting I join the others in a macabre dance
of death. Let us in, they call, as the warm blood runs along the floor
and pools at my feet.
‘I
am not a religious man and therefore I cannot take solace in a Greater
Purpose. Nor can I blame an Old Testament God, or cry out, demanding
why He spared me alone to bear witness to His judgment. How can I
not believe in God when I have come face to face with Evil? Because
this evil was spawned not from any fallen angel, any God of the underworld,
but mortal man. We do not need to create metaphysical evils when greater
ones are born of flesh and blood.
‘Ninety
nine point eight percent of all mammals that walked this planet are
now extinct. In our hubris, humanity views itself the penultimate
exception, yet our monoculture, so ecologists say, virtually assures
a fate preordained by evolution. We build ships hoping to reach other
worlds, other life-forms, while secretly gorging on the darker fruits
of knowledge, birthing Promethean monsters destined to destroy us
long before our star consumes us in its inevitable conflagration.
‘I
have reached for my mask a dozen times since my last patient died,
knowing that the disease, having passed through human hosts, has only
grown stronger. It may even have fed on the genes of other viruses,
building itself into something so virulent that death might accept
me in hours, not days. But to my shame I cling to life.
‘In
my cowardice, I fear learning that this grotesque insanity has reached
beyond my singular hell. Why did the helicopters and patrol boat not
come? Is it because this outbreak, this…attack was not an isolated
event? Have nations retaliated and unleashed the final act of suicide;
a nuclear war? I’m not sorry the earthquake severed my contact
with the outside world. While I remain isolated, uncommunicative,
I can cling to the delusion that the world I left just days ago remains
intact, blissfully unaware that sentience is an evolutionary failure.’
