“There used to be a huge dairy farm not too far from here,” Krista said. “I remember the Professor talking about it.”
“Me too,” Summer said. “In fact, it was one of the largest in the entire state.”
“As I suspected. That was ground zero. You see, when cows process what they eat, then excrete—”
“You mean shit—” Summer added.
“Yes, and lots of it. The overuse of antibiotics and steroids by farmers on their herds eventually made its way from the excrement into the soil, with the help of rain and other natural processes, some of it contaminating the water table.”
“So what you’re saying is we’ve been drinking steroids and eating antibiotics?” Wicks asked, breaking his silence.
“No. Not even close, my huge friend. It has to do with microbes and their natural tendency to evolve inside a closed ecosystem. One that includes a sufficient amount of humidity and heat, plus sewage, bacteria, and other fundamental elements. Now, when you mix in a healthy supply of antibiotics and the biologically active nature of steroids and their effect on cell membranes, what you have is—”
“—Speak English man,” Krista snapped. “Pretend we know nothing about science.”
“I’m not sure any pretending is required.”
“Jesus, Lipton. Just explain it already. And leave out all the geek stuff,” Krista said, tucking her lip under as she spoke. “You’ve giving me a monster-sized headache. And I hate headaches.”
“I am trying to explain,” Lipton said, pausing for a beat with his eyes leering at Krista.
“Just finish what you were saying,” Summer said. “In layman’s terms, please.”
Lipton continued. “Earlier, you mentioned Sublevel 8. Obviously, that means we’re deep underground in an old missile silo, given the facts I’ve observed thus far.”
“No, we’re not,” Krista fired back.
“Yes, we are. The myriad of down ladders. The industrial elevator. The dampness. The apparent thickness and shape of some of the walls. The overhead piping in the corridors. The ancient electronic equipment. The recycled air. And last, but not least, the massive springs connected to the substrate, protecting everything from earthquakes and other forms of shock. There’s only one type of facility that fits those parameters and is located in this part of the country—a Titan II Missile Silo.”
Summer was impressed with his powers of deduction, but didn’t want to admit he was right. However, she still needed more information from the guy, so she decided some casual spin was needed. “Okay, let’s assume for a moment that you’re correct,” Summer said, “then what—”
“It means we’re inside a giant incubator, one that is surrounded by leaching soils and water, all of it tainted by years of endless drug use at the nearby farm. This, in effect, formed a concentrated shell of antibiotics around this facility and eventually some of it made its way inside,” Lipton said, flipping forward in the notebook six more pages.
He pointed at another diagram. “Here your man was documenting treatment options he was considering. Treatments that would attempt to convince the always-present bacteria in the sewage to attack and consume the antibiotics leaching in, and do so before the other developing microbes took notice and evolved into pathogens.”
Summer understood, though she needed confirmation. “Bacteria eating the food source of the pathogens, right?”
Lipton nodded, though he didn’t look convinced. “Sure, close enough.”
“That sounds like a good thing to me. So what’s the problem?” Krista asked.
“The problem is it’s difficult to control bacteria. They have a tendency to do what they want, not what you want, sometimes becoming far too aggressive. More so when amateurs tamper with something they don’t fully grasp, like your man, Morse. Good God, the audacity.”
“Are you saying Morse lost control?” Summer asked, overlooking the slam he’d just made at Morse’s expense.
“Exactly. In fact, it appears from his notes that his latest treatment was extremely effective at halting the evolution of any super pathogens, until it was accidentally transmitted to your food stores and then to your botanicals. This caused a plant-based pandemic of sorts, one that will consume your food supply in thirty-five days.”
“All of our food?” Summer asked.
“Yes, except his math was off. It’s actually 29 days. Starvation will begin shortly thereafter.”
“Can’t we just get rid of the old plants and replace them?” Wicks asked. “How hard is that?”
Lipton laughed. “From what? Magic seeds that haven’t been compromised?”
Wicks shrugged.
“Don’t you get it? This complex is already coated by the new strain of bacteria. It’s everywhere by now. Plus, if it were possible to cultivate new plants, what would you eat while the new plants grew to maturity? None of that happens overnight.”
“Holy shit,” Summer said, thinking of Morse’s dying words. “That’s why.”
CHAPTER 28
The Nomad drove past another stand of frozen brush and turned at the turquoise-colored rock. It was shaped liked an overgrown refrigerator, teetering on one of its corners, almost reaching out and pointing in the direction he planned to take. He sped up, taking three more turns—two rights and a left—using landmarks along the route to guide his journey.
After taking a steep, one-way road leading up to his destination, he dodged a line of gaping holes in the pavement, then slowed the truck to a crawl, aiming the tires down an incline, crunching the remains of whatever landscaping had surrounded his colossal hideout before The Event.
He pulled forward, passing several dilapidated buildings, to the old mine entrance. Ancient prospectors had mined bat guano from the cave to make gunpowder back in the thirties, hauling in supplies and equipment for their six-story descent.
The Nomad wasn’t sure how many trips they must have made to engineer the flagstone steps and handrails inside, but it must have been a taxing journey to be sure.
Next up was an etching in the rockface that said ERIN B. WORKED HERE. It marked where he needed to turn left, penetrating the precise center of the branches and other debris he had arranged to conceal the entrance.
He always wondered what the mountain was like before it had been transformed from a dry cave into a wet one, courtesy of the melting snow after the recent thaw began.
There were broken down signs still on the property, verifying what he already knew—the cave had been used as a popular tourist attraction. Of course, that was long before most of society had scrambled into oblivion.
He slid the truck inside the secret entrance, just missing the walls holding up the opening, then turned on the headlights, making sure he didn’t smash into one of the age-old formations rising up from the floor.
The mere fact that he could drive into this hideout was a godsend, avoiding the need to park his vehicle outside in the freezing temperatures that plagued the night.
The cave was a constant seventy-one degrees regardless of what was happening beyond its walls, keeping him and his clan dry and comfortable.
He’d been in his share of caves before, most of them warmer, taking his mind back to his days in the Army. He didn’t miss that period in his life, especially the ass-kicking training op known as high-altitude wilderness training.
Every soldier dreaded that exercise, needing to survive in conditions that most humans couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. He still couldn’t believe he signed up for all that mental and physical abuse, but in the end, it made him confident in who and what he was. Mostly.