Xenofall (The Wasteland Chronicles, Book 7) (8 page)

The final form of infection was with both the writhe and the xenovirus, which seemed to be the rarest of all. This is what happened to Elias. The writhe controlled his mind, but he could still talk and behave in a humanlike way, even if the writhe made him go insane. The writhe, besides acting as a conduit for Askala’s will, also suppressed the physical effects of the
Radaskim
xenovirus. It was only when Elias was killed, and the writhe dead, that the xenovirus had free reign.

This was just one version of the writhe. There were eighty-two others, animal and Blighter variants that probably performed a similar function.

“So,” I said. “Someone infected with the writhe, and the writhe
only,
would look like us completely. We would have no way of knowing they were controlled by Askala.”

Samuel did not answer me for a long time.

“I....I believe that’s what this is saying.”

I didn’t have to point out the obvious implication: one, or more of us, might be infected with a writhe, and could turn upon the rest at any moment.

***

A
fter a long time, Makara spoke.

“I don’t want anyone to speak. No one speaks except Samuel, unless you have an important question to ask. We still don’t know enough about this. After he finishes explaining,
then
we can decide what to do.”

Her words were met with silence. After a moment, Samuel cleared his throat.

“Well said, Makara. No, we don’t know enough yet, and none of us should jump to conclusions about anything.”

“Explain, then,” I said.

“I’m paraphrasing from Ashton’s research now,” he said. “According to this, when a writhe affects a human, every conscious action must pass through it for approval. Various autonomic functions, such as breathing, aren’t screened.”

“How can a tiny little worm control so much?” Makara asked.

“The writhe itself subverts its victim, and acts as a communications hub to the
Radaskim’s
xenofungal network,” Samuel said; “meaning that on its own, the writhe doesn’t have the intelligence to give its host complicated commands. However, such commands can be given by the
Radaskim
consciousness. The writhe conveys
Radaskim
directives to its host, while suppressing anything that goes against that directive. This causes a slight delay in reaction on the part of the infected in some experiments Bunker One conducted, but it’s so nominal that it can only be measured by computers. Indeed, the infected have no idea that they
are
infected.”

“How does infection occur?” Anna asked.

“Prolonged exposure to various xenolife greatly increases the risk of infection,” Samuel said. “The presence of the writhe is fairly ubiquitous in xenoviral flora. Whether a particular form of writhe has to find the right host, or whether all writhes begin the same way and only
change
upon infection, this doesn’t say.”

“You mentioned experiments,” Makara said.

I was reminded of the experiments Bunker 114 performed on Kari, the scientist who’d been infected with the Behemoth strain of the xenovirus. The scientists there, against Samuel’s wishes, had experimented on her to ill effect. Kari escaped her cell and laid waste to the entire Bunker.

I could only hope that such experiments here didn’t have such a dark history.

“Yeah,” Samuel said. “Ashton authored an addendum to the Black Files. It details the research done on the human parasitic writhe.”

Makara sighed. “Read it.”

“Alright,” Samuel said. “It’s quite lengthy, so I’ll try to paraphrase.”

It was some time before Samuel began.

“The research focused mostly on physiological responses people had while under the influence of the writhe,” Samuel said. “Some of the research is a bit...disturbing, to put it lightly.”

“No wonder Ashton didn’t want to talk about it,” Anna said.

“What happened?” I asked.

“They didn’t purposefully infect subjects with the writhe, thankfully,” Samuel said. “The discovery of the writhe occurred when a man was brought to the med bay after assaulting his wife. He was a soldier, who’d made lots of rounds into the Great Blight to the north. Guarding research teams, that sort of thing. They thought it was PTSD, a fairly common diagnosis in those days. Aggressive wildlife was becoming more common.”

Everyone was quiet as Samuel continued.

“Back then, the Great Blight only extended as far as northern Colorado. It would still be a while before it posed a threat to Bunker One.”

“Did the man go insane because of the writhe?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Samuel said. “Once it seemed to be more than PTSD, they did a scan to check for tumors or other abnormalities,. They almost missed the writhe, it was so small. The heavier brain activity in the amygdala tipped the doctors off. Other parts of the brain lit up as well – the hippocampus, along with Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area.”

“And all that means?” Makara asked.

“The hippocampus is related to memory, while the amygdala processes emotion. Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area have to do with the speaking and understanding of language. For all intents and purposes, even though this man was out like a light, he was having a conversation.” Samuel paused. “Upon closer inspection, the scientists
did
find the writhe, and cleared the patient for immediate delivery to Level One.”

“Level One,” I said. “You mean the bio-lab.”

“Correct,” Samuel said. “The patient was given into the care of Ashton. There are parasites of Earth origin that are known to cause mental changes in their hosts. Some even cause insanity. Anytime
this
patient was conscious, though, he would attack, as if that were the most important objective in his mind. When he was kept in isolation, however, he seemed practically normal. He wondered where he was, where his family was, expressed sadness at his isolation. He even believed he was being imprisoned. But every time the patient caught sight of another human being – even loved ones – he attacked without reservation.”

“How horrible,” Anna asked.

“Ashton and his colleagues discovered that the writhe was responsible for the physiological changes in the patient. President Garland himself ordered all residents of Bunker One to be screened for the parasite.” Samuel paused. “They were surprised by what they found.

“Twenty-seven people were infected with the very same parasite. They performed another screening, and found an additional five, for a total of thirty-two infected. These people showed no obvious ill-effects on account of the writhe, unlike the soldier, but many of them were soldiers themselves with heavy exposure to the Great Blight.”

“So...they tested. And tested. The thirty-two were quarantined and kept in isolation. Because of the one soldier who went rogue, Ashton wasn’t willing to let these thirty-two back into the general population.

“Ashton needed to study the parasite to be sure it was of xenoviral origin, but none of the patients agreed to a biopsy. For good reason – such an operation was life-threatening. But even with the promise of a great reward, such as more credits in the Bunker’s exchange system – no one budged. Even
if
the operation carried such a risk, Ashton thought it was strange that no one would take him up on his offer.

“Eventually, an opportunity
did
come. The original patient, the soldier, died. He’d somehow found a blade to cut himself. Ashton took the opportunity to extract the writhe and take a sample. By doing so, he confirmed that it was of xenoviral origin.”

“What happened after that?” I asked.

“Ashton didn’t have a lot to go on,” Samuel said. “He knew there was an alien parasite inside the brains of at least thirty-three Bunker One residents. In at least one of those cases, it caused the host to go insane. Then again, he was receiving pressure from the President and the Citizens’ Council to either come up with a cure or release the residents back to their families. The other patients had shown no violent tendencies, and pressure was mounting for the patients’ release.

“Ashton knew he was far from finding a cure. That wasn’t even his expertise. Rather, he was concerned with the danger the patients would pose if released prematurely. But it’d been three months since the screenings. Since there were no adverse effects seen from the parasites, Ashton was forced to release them by executive order, and could only conduct research on a volunteer basis.”

“So, they were released back into the Bunker?” Anna asked.

“Yeah. They were released. None of them volunteered for research. This reflected badly on Ashton, and many questioned the ethics of his research. He became a pariah. Some even said that he murdered the original patient in order to extract the writhe.”

“It goes into
that
level of detail?” Anna asked.

“This is more of a research journal than an actual scientific paper,” Samuel said. “It tells Ashton’s story – and the beginning of the fall of Bunker One.”

“This was all in 2046, though,” I said. “Bunker One didn’t fall until 2048.”

“Yeah,” Samuel said. “But the undoing was a long work in progress. Through the writhes, Askala – then only known as the Voice – was able to discover everything she ever needed to know about toppling the Bunker through the eyes of its own citizens. Askala discovered Bunker One’s layout, its weaknesses. She waited until the time was right. Beginning in the mid-2040s, Askala’s swarm was forming. Many of her first creatures were turned animals – either infected with the xenovirus, or controlled by their own forms of writhe. And using the genetics stored in the vast memory of the xenofungus itself, she began to form the crawlers in her Warrens at Ragnarok Crater. The
Radaskim
machinery of life, evolved over the eons
,
is so much more complex than any technology humans have devised. In 2048, the writhes had done their work. Under the influence of Askala, they opened the gates to Bunker One.”

N
o one spoke for a very long time. The writhes, even when discovered by the authorities of Bunker One, were thought not to have posed enough of a threat to quarantine the infected.

The authorities had turned out to be wrong, and that led to the Bunker’s eventual fall. Ashton had probably blamed himself, which would explain why he never mentioned the writhe. Maybe he’d thought all that was behind him.

We knew now, however, that the writhes were still alive, and that Askala might be using them against us.

“There are eighty-three new writhe evolutions,” Samuel said. “That number probably corresponds to each species Askala uses in her swarm. We’ve only seen a few of those so far, admittedly, but that might change soon. The contagion in that pool will not only be giving some of the Blighters an upgrade – it will be changing the writhes as well.”

“So, they’re going into these pools to evolve?” Makara asked.

“Something like that,” Samuel said.

“What about
us?”
Anna asked. “Is it possible that
we
could be infected?”

It was a while before Samuel answered. “It’s possible. Maybe even probable.”

“What can we do?” I asked.

Samuel sighed before answering. “I don’t know. If someone has a writhe, it wouldn’t allow the person to reveal that fact. That person probably wouldn’t even know they’re infected.”

“I’m not saying any of us are,” Anna said. “But what if? Askala would know everything we’re planning. Even where we are.”

“We can’t discuss this,” Makara said. “Not now. I won’t have everyone turning on each other.”

An uneasy silence followed. Just because writhes existed didn’t mean any of us were infected. But just wondering about it was killing me. We
had
to find a way to screen everyone – only I didn’t know what that was.

“I think it’s time that we left,” Makara said. “We can talk about this while we’re in the air.”

“I’ll prepare the ship,” Julian said.

***

“I
t’s been thirty minutes,” Char said.

Anna had landed next to
Perseus.
She stared at the Bunker exit intensely, as if willing Makara and the others to come out.

Char was right – it had been thirty minutes, and I was starting to get nervous.

“Let’s wait a few more minutes before we do anything,” I said.

Julian’s voice came through the dash. “Still no response.”

“They may not be close to the surface,” Anna said. “Like they’re stuck.”

“I’m done waiting,” Char said, loading a magazine into his assault rifle. “I’m going in.”

“So am I,” Marcus said.

I was starting to think along the same lines myself. They should have been back by now.

I looked out the windshield at the Bunker exit connecting to the runway. A path had been forged through the snow by the others earlier, leading right to the Bunker entrance.

Staring at that path, I made the decision.

“Julian,” I said. “Lock down
Perseus.
We’re going in.”

***

T
he heavy Bunker door opened with a metallic groan, revealing a passageway of darkness.

“Makara?” I called. “Samuel?”

My voice echoed into silence.

“Keep it down,” Char growled, clicking on a flashlight.

He strode forward, his brother following silently. As they went ahead, Anna, Julian, and I brought up the rear. I retrieved my own flashlight and clicked it on.

We followed the corridor until it arrived at a set of stairs. Just being here brought back horrible memories. A rotten musk clung to the air. The signs of our flight three months ago were still here, evidenced by traces of purple slime coating the walls, hardened with cold.

When we had reached the runway that night, I’d thought all was lost, even if Ashton had said he’d get us out. I hadn’t believed we were safe until we were inside
Gilgamesh.

Now, that spaceship was gone, along with the man who had piloted it. The very thought of Ashton filled me with a pang of sadness. And with Grudge dead as well, our team had now taken two serious hits.