The Atlantis Plague Part 50

You're listening to the BBC, the voice of human triumph on this, the first day after the Atlantis Plague.

The BBC has learned that the initial reports of disorientation and brain fog a.s.sociated with the cure for the Atlantis Plague were only temporary side effects of the cure.

Orchid Districts across the world now report a one hundred percent cure rate with no need for further Orchid treatments.

World leaders hailed the breakthrough, citing their historical investments in medical research and steadfast commitment to staying the course in these dark times.

In related news, sources within the intelligence community have reported that citizens of nations managed by Immari International have been ordered to evacuate coastal areas. The populations of entire regions in South Africa, Chile, and Argentina are heading into their mountainous regions with only food and water.

Dr. Phillip Morneau of the think tank Western Tomorrow had this to say: "They've lost. They bet on the plague running its course, on the ruin of humanity. And we've come through it, like we always have. It's fitting: they're literally heading for the hills."

More cautious observers have speculated that the Immari move might be part of a larger pattern, possibly the beginning of a counteroffensive.

We will update this report as details emerge.

CHAPTER 98.

CDC.

Atlanta, Georgia

Paul Brenner trudged through the hallways of Continuity. He felt as though he were recovering from a severe head cold. But he could think now, and he knew what he had to do. He dreaded it, dreaded the answer.

As he pa.s.sed the sliding gla.s.s doors that led to the operations room, he noticed a young female a.n.a.lyst sitting inside, alone, staring at the screen. The tables were still arranged haphazardly and coffee cups and crumpled papers littered the scene.

Paul stepped toward the doors. When they parted, the a.n.a.lyst looked back at him, her eyes a mixture of surprise and hope. Or relief? It caught Paul mildly off guard.

"You can go home now," he said.

She stood. "I know... I didn't think I should... be alone."

Paul nodded. "The others?"

"Must have left. Some are... still here."

In the morgue, Paul thought, completing her sentence in his mind. He walked over and turned the large screen off. "Come on. There's n.o.body at my house either."

They walked together out of the ops room, and Paul asked her to wait outside his nephew's room. He pushed the door open and braced himself for what he might see...

"Uncle Paul!"

His nephew rolled over in the bed. He was bright-eyed, but when he tried to push up, his muscles failed him, and he collapsed back onto the bed.

Paul rushed to the bedside and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Take it easy, kiddo."

The boy smiled at him. "You fixed me up, didn't you?"

"No. It was another doctor. She's much smarter than I am. I was just the delivery man."

"Where's Mom?"

Paul leaned forward, scooped the small boy into his arms, and headed out of the room. "Just rest now."

"Where are we going?"

"We're going home."

Paul would wait until the boy was stronger to tell him.

Until they both were stronger.

Kate had long since closed the laptop and moved to the end of the rock cliff.

David was there, behind her, waiting silently.

He seemed to sense that she needed some s.p.a.ce, but he still wouldn't let her out of his sight.

Together, from the mountaintop, they watched the sun sink beyond the Atlantic. Its last rays slid down the mountain, casting a long shadow on the b.l.o.o.d.y scene at Ceuta. Across the straits, she knew the same thing was happening in Gibraltar, with the Rock of Gibraltar casting the shadows there.

When the night arrived, Kate finally said, "What happens now? To us?"

"Nothing changes."

"I've changed. I'm not the same person-"

"What you just did confirmed to me who you are. We are going to be just fine. I can wait." He walked to the edge of the rock cliff so that he could and looked her in the eyes. "I never give up on anyone I love."

As his words were spoken, Kate realized that the most important part of her was still there. She wasn't entirely herself, but there was some piece of the old Kate there, something to start from. She smiled.

David tried to read her expression. He shrugged. "What? Too much?"

She took his hand. "No. I liked it. Come on. Let's go see what Milo's doing."

At the entrance to the tunnel, she said, "I think you're right. We're going to be just fine."

EPILOGUE.

Arecibo Observatory.

Arecibo, Puerto Rico.

Dr. Mary Caldwell moved the mouse back and forth to wake up the computer. The screen came to life and began displaying the data collected overnight. The radio telescope outside her window was a thousand feet in diameter-the largest single-aperture telescope in the world. It was sunk into the ground, looking almost like a smooth gray plate that sat on a high plateau overlooking the green forested mountains beyond.

The first rays of sunlight were peeking over the mountains, into the dish. Mary never missed watching the scene, but it wasn't the same now, mostly because of the people they had lost.

Before the plague, there had been a dozen researchers manning the observatory; now there were three. Arecibo had been losing staff for years due to budget cuts. The plague had gotten the rest.

Yet Mary returned for her s.h.i.+ft each day, as she had done for the previous six years. She had nowhere else to go, and there was nowhere else she wanted to be. She knew the U.S. government would get around to withdrawing their power allocation any day now, but she had decided to stay to the end, until the last lights went out. Then she would venture out into the world to see what sort of work there was for an astronomer.

She would have killed for a cup of coffee, but it had run out weeks ago.

She focused on the computer. There was... She clicked one of the data feeds. Mary's throat went dry. She ran an a.n.a.lysis, then another. Both confirmed that the signal was organized. Not random cosmic background radiation.

It was a message.

No, it was more than that: it was the moment she had waited for her entire life.

She glanced at the phone. In her mind, she had rehea.r.s.ed this scene for the last twenty years, since she had first dreamed of becoming an astronomer. Her first instinct was to call the National Science Foundation. But she had called them-once a week since the outbreak. And gotten no answer. She had also called SRI International-with the same results. Who to call? The White House? Who would believe her? She needed help, someone to a.n.a.lyze the transmission. The SETI Inst.i.tute in Mountain View, California? She hadn't tried them. She'd had no reason to... Maybe- John Bishop, another scientist on the project, stumbled into the office. He was usually only sober for about an hour after he woke up.

"John, I found something-"

"Please G.o.d tell me it's more coffee."

"It's not coffee..."

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

What a difference seven months makes.

That's how long it has been since I uploaded my first novel, The Atlantis Gene, to Amazon's Kindle Direct Publis.h.i.+ng-the platform where any common scribbler with the time and desire can make a book available to "the world."

You and the other folks reading this note are "the world" to me.

And I want to hear what you think. I'm currently debating several things, in particular how long this series should be. I've created a short, three-question poll that will determine where it all goes.

Click the link below to add your voice:.

http://www.agriddle.com/feedback/plague/1a.

Last but not least: thank you for reading. This novel took me a lot longer to write than I ever imagined. I hope it was worth the wait. And I hope the next one will be even better.

Until then, take care and thanks again, - Gerry.

A.G. Riddle.

PS: As always, feel free to email me (). Sometimes it takes me a few days, but I answer every single email.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

It's mind boggling how many people I need to thank.

One thing I've learned is that writing is a lot simpler when you're just writing (and not "being a writer"). I love writing, but being a writer, boy that's time-consuming!

But there's a growing group of people who have helped me to focus on writing and to do my very best during those hours when I'm typing, pacing, and thinking (that's what it looks like when I'm writing).

At home, Anna ensures that I bathe regularly and maintain some social function (helpful when writing non-Atlantean characters). And now she's become involved in this riddled writing adventure, performing proofreading, marketing, and pretty much everything else except for stringing sentences together (I have to earn my keep somehow).

I also want to thank: My mother, for her guidance and encouragement, as always.

David Gatewood, my outside editor extraordinaire, for turning this ma.n.u.script around faster than a quantum cube.

Juan Carlos Barquet, for the truly brilliant original artwork for The Atlantis Gene (and soon to be Plague).

Andy Barzvi and Kristyn Keene at ICM Partners, for helping me navigate the dangerous post-apocalyptic wasteland known as "the publis.h.i.+ng industry."

And finally, two groups I've never met.

The first: you. Readers who stick around for the Author's Note and the Acknowledgments, visit the web site, sign up for the email list, write reviews on Amazon, and sometimes, write me a note after they turn the last page.

Hearing from you all over the last seven months has been an experience I can't describe. And I will never forget. It has truly been the most rewarding part of this entire endeavor. I simply can't thank you enough for supporting my work this early in my career.