“Negligible.”
Emmerich and the three scientists descended the ladder into the vessel. The LED lights from their suit helmets cast white beams through the dark tomb as they moved slowly through the cramped corridors, careful not to let anything catch on their suits. A tear could be deadly.
When they reached the vessel’s bridge, Emmerich aimed his helmet lamps at a bronze plaque on the wall. “Prometheus, Alpha One. Are you receiving this?”
A scientist on the Healy responded instantly. “Copy, Alpha One, receiving audio and video.”
The plaque on the wall read:
RSV Beagle
Hong Kong
1 May 1965
Ordo ab Chao
Emmerich exited the bridge and began searching for the captain’s stateroom. If he was lucky, the logs would be stored there, and they would finally reveal where the Beagle had been and what the crew had discovered. If he was right, the vessel held evidence of a scientific revelation that would forever change the course of human history.
Dr. Finch’s voice crackled in Emmerich’s earpiece. “Alpha One, Alpha Two, do you copy?”
“Copy, Alpha Two.”
“We’ve reached the lab level. Should we enter?”
“Affirmative, Alpha Two. Proceed with caution.”
In the dark corridor, Emmerich waited.
“Alpha One, we’re seeing two exam rooms with metal tables, maybe ten feet long. Rooms are sealed for bio-containment. The rest of the area is filled with long rows of storage bins, like large deposit boxes in a vault. Should we open one?”
“Negative, Alpha Two,” Emmerich said quickly. “Are they numbered?”
“Affirmative,” Finch said.
“We’ll have to find the inventory.”
“Hold on. There’s a metal disc on each bin.” A pause. “The disc covers a viewport like a peephole. There are bones in this one. Human. No, wait. They can’t be.”
Another researcher spoke. “There’s a mammal in this one, feline. Species unknown. It must have been frozen alive. It’s still in ice.”
Emmerich heard the clicks of metal discs sliding back and forth like the shutter of a camera.
“Alpha One, you should get down here. It’s like Noah’s Ark.”
Emmerich began shuffling through the cramped corridor, still being careful not to let anything puncture his suit. “Prometheus, Alpha One. Are you recording video and audio from Alpha Two, Three, and Four?”
When no response came, Emmerich stopped in his tracks. “Prometheus, this is Alpha One, do you copy?”
He called a second time, and a third. Then he heard a loud boom, and the floor beneath him shook.
“Prometheus?”
Day 1
320 Infected
0 Dead
Chapter 1
Dr. Elim Kibet sat in his white-walled office, watching the sun rise over the rocky landscape of northeastern Kenya. The Mandera Referral Hospital was a run-down facility in one of the most impoverished corners of the world, and it had recently become his responsibility. Some in his shoes would consider that a burden. He considered it an honor.
Beyond his closed door, screams pierced the silence. Footsteps pounded the hallway and a nurse yelled, “Doctor, come quick!”
There was no question which doctor they were calling for; Elim Kibet was the only physician left. The others had departed after the terror attacks. Many of the nurses had followed. The government had denied requests for armed guards at the rural hospital. They had also defaulted on an agreement to pay the health workers fairly and on time. That had sent another wave of workers fleeing the crumbling facility. The hospital operated with a skeleton staff now. The remaining members either had no place to go or were too dedicated to leave. Or, in the case of Elim Kibet, both.
He donned his white coat and hurried down the hall, toward the cries for help.
Mandera was one of Kenya’s poorest counties. Per capita income was 267 US dollars—less than 75 cents per day. The dusty, dirt road town lay at the crossroads of three nations: Kenya, Somalia, and Ethiopia. People in Mandera lived off the land, often barely scraping by, and found joy where they could. It was a place of breathtaking beauty and unspeakable brutality.
The world’s deadliest diseases were endemic to the region, but they were far from the most dangerous elements in the area. Al-Shabaab, an Islamic terror group and affiliate of al-Qaeda, attacked the villages and government facilities frequently. Their ruthlessness was staggering. Less than a year ago, al-Shabaab militants stopped a bus outside Mandera and ordered all the Muslim passengers to get off. They refused and instead crowded around the Christian passengers. Al-Shabaab dragged everyone from the bus—both Muslim and Christian—lined them up, and shot them. Thirty-seven people died that day.
As Elim raced down the dingy hall, that was his first thought—another al-Shabaab attack.
To his surprise, he found two young white men in the exam room, their dark brown hair long and shaggy, their thick beards dripping with sweat. One man stood by the door, holding a video camera. The other lay on the exam table, rolling side to side, his eyes closed. The stench of diarrhea and vomit was overwhelming.
Two nurses were leaning over the man, performing an intake exam. One drew a thermometer from the man’s mouth and turned to Elim. “A hundred and four, Doctor.”
The young man with the video camera let it fall to the side and caught Elim by the upper arm.
“You’ve gotta help him!”
Elim pulled free and extended his arm to push the man into the corner, away from the exam table.