The Atlantis Gene: A Thriller (6 page)

Jin had never seen anything like it. It never happened like this. Since he had arrived at the facility six months ago, the daily routine had rarely changed: breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the exact same times, always the same meals; after each meal, blood draws from the valve-like device they had implanted in his right arm; and sometimes, exercise in the afternoon, monitored by electrodes on his chest. The rest of the time, they were confined to the 10x10 cells, with two beds and a toilet. Every few days or so they took a picture of him with a big machine that made a low droning sound. They were always telling him to lie still.

They showered once per week, in a large, co-ed group shower. That was by far the worst part — trying to control the urges in the shower. During his first month, a couple was caught fooling around. No one ever saw them again.

Last month, Jin had tried to stay in his cell during shower time, but they had caught him. The supervisor had stormed into his cell. “We’ll kick you out if you disobey again,” he had said. Jin was scared to death. They were paying him $2 per day — a fortune, an absolute fortune. And he had no other options.

His family had lost their farm near Burang. No one could afford the taxes on a small farm anymore; a larger farm, maybe. Land values were skyrocketing and the population was swelling throughout China. So his family did what many other farm families had done: sent their oldest for work in the city while the parents and younger children held on.

His older brother found work in a factory making electronics. Jin and his parents visited him a month after he started. The conditions were much worse than here, and the work was already taking its toll — the strong, vibrant 21-year-old man who had left his family’s farm looked to have aged 20 years. He was pale, his hair was thinning, and he walked with a slight stoop. He coughed constantly. He said there had been a bug at the factory and everyone in his barracks had gotten it, but Jin didn’t believe him. His brother gave his parents $15 he had saved from his $.75/day salary. “Just think, in 5-10 years, I’ll have enough to buy us another farm. I’ll come home and we’ll start again.” They had all acted very excited. His parents had said they were so proud of him.

On their way home, Jin’s father told them that tomorrow, he would go and find better work. That with his skills, he could surely make supervisor somewhere. He’d make good money. Jin and his mother simply nodded.

That night, Jin heard his mother crying, and shortly after, his father shouting. They never fought.

The next night, Jin slipped out of his room, wrote them a note, and left for Chongqing, the nearest major city. The city was filled with people looking for work, and they weren’t kind to newcomers. The lines were long, and assuming you were tough enough to muscle your way into line, you were rarely hired.

Jin was turned down at the first seven places he applied. The eighth place was different. They had line monitors that made sure no one applying got beat up. They didn’t ask any questions. They put a cotton stick in his mouth and made him wait in a large holding room for an hour. Most of the people were dismissed. After another hour, they called his number — 204394 — and told him they could hire him at a medical research facility, for $2/day. He signed the forms so fast his hand cramped.

He couldn’t believe his luck. He assumed the conditions were dire, but he couldn’t have been more wrong — it was a resort, like one of those American health spas in the magazines they sold in big cities. And now he had screwed it all up. Surely they were kicking him out. They had called his number.

Maybe he had enough for a new farm. Or maybe he could find another research place. He’d heard that the big factories in China exchanged lists of bad workers. Those people couldn’t find work anywhere. That would be the kiss of death.

“What the hell are you waiting for!” The orderly shouted. “Find a seat.”

Jin and the other fifty or so white-clad, barefooted “workers” scrambled for chairs. Elbows flew, people pushed, and several people tripped. Everyone seemed to find a chair but Jin. Every time he reached a chair, someone would sink into it at the last second. What if he didn’t find a chair? Maybe it was a test. Maybe he should—

“People. Relax, relax. Mind the equipment,” the orderly said. “Just find the closest chair.”

Jin exhaled and walked to the next row. Full. In the last row, he found a seat.

Another group of staff entered. They wore long white coats and carried tablet computers. A young-looking woman came over to him and hooked the bags to his arm valve and attached the round sensors to his body. She tapped a few times on her screen and moved to the chair beside him.

Maybe it’s just a new test, he thought.

He suddenly felt sleepy. He leaned his head back and…

Jin awoke in the same chair. The bags were detached, but the sensors were still connected. He felt groggy and stiff, like he had the flu. He tried to lift his head up. It was so heavy. A white coat came over, ran a flashlight across his eyes, then unhooked the sensors and told him to go and stand with the others by the door.

When he stood, his legs almost buckled. He steadied himself on the arm of his chair, then hobbled over to the group. They all looked half asleep. There were maybe 25 of them, about half of the group that had entered. Where were the rest? Had he slept too long — again? Is this punishment? Would they tell him why? After a few minutes, another man joined them, he seemed in even worse shape than Jin and the rest.

The orderlies ushered them through another long passageway and into a enormous room he’d never seen before. The room was completely empty and the walls were very smooth. He got the impression that it was a vault or something.

Several minutes passed. He fought the urge to sit down on the floor. He hadn’t been told he could sit. He stood there, his heavy head hanging.

The door opened, and two children were escorted in. They couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old. The guards left them with the group, the door closing behind them with a loud boom.

The children weren’t drugged, or Jin didn’t think so. They looked alert. They moved quickly through the crowd of people. They were brown. Not Chinese. They both spoke rapidly, wandering from person to person, trying to find someone to respond to them. What language were they speaking? Jin was too tired to think about it.

At the end of the room, he heard a mechanical sound, like a winch. After a few seconds, he realized something was being lowered. His head was so heavy. He strained to lift it. He could barely see the device. It looked like a massive iron chess pawn with a flat head, or maybe a bell with smooth, straight sides. It must have been twenty feet tall and heavy because the four cables that lowered it were huge, maybe twelve inches around. When it was about ten feet off the ground, it stopped and two of the cables moved down the wall along a track Jin hadn’t noticed before. They stopped about level with the huge machine and seemed to tighten, anchoring it at each side. Jin strained to look up. There was another cable running from the top of the machine. It was even fatter than the ones at the sides. Unlike the others, it wasn’t metal, or even solid. It seemed to hold a bundle of wires or computer cables, like some sort of electronic umbilical cord.

The children had stopped in the middle of the crowd. All the adults tried to look up.

His eyes adjusted, and Jin could just make out a marking etched into the side of the machine. It looked like the Nazi symbol, the—. He couldn’t remember the name. He felt so sleepy.

The machine was dark, but Jin thought he could hear a faint throbbing sound, like someone rhythmically beating on a solid door — boom-boom-boom. Or maybe the sound of the picture machine. Was it a different picture machine? A group picture? The boom-boom-boom grew louder with each passing second, and a light emerged from the top of the giant pawn — its head apparently had short windows. The yellow-orange light flickered with each pulse of the boom, giving it almost the effect of a lighthouse.

Jin was so entranced by the machine’s sound and light pulses, he didn’t notice the people falling around him. Something was happening. And it was happening to him too. His legs felt heavier. He heard a sound like bending metal — the machine was pulling against the cables at each side; it was trying to lift.

The pull of the floor got stronger with each passing second. Jin looked around but couldn’t see the children. Jin felt someone grab his shoulder. He turned to find a man holding on to him. His face had deep wrinkles, and blood ran from his nose. Jin realized that the skin from the man’s hands was coming off on Jin’s clothes. It wasn’t just skin. The man’s blood began to spread over Jin’s shirt. The man fell forward onto him, and they both collapsed to the ground. Jin heard the boom-boom-boom of the machine blend into one constant drone of sound and solid light as he felt blood flow from his nose down his face. Then the light and sound suddenly stopped.

In the control room, Dr. Shen Chang and his team stood and watched as the test subjects collapsed into a pile of wrinkled, bloody bodies.

Chang slumped into his chair. “Okay, that’s it, shut it off.” He took his glasses off and tossed them on the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “I have to report this to the director.” The man would not be happy.

Chang rose and walked toward the door. “And start the clean-up, don’t bother with autopsies.” The result had been the same as the last twenty-five tests.

The two-man cleanup crew swung back-forth-back-forth and released the body, hurling it into the rolling plastic bin. The bin held around ten bodies, give or take. Today would probably mean three trips to the incinerator, maybe two if they could stack them on top.

They had cleaned up a lot worse; at least these bodies were intact. It took forever when they were in pieces.

It was hard to work in the hazmat suits, but it was better than the alternative.

They lifted another body and swung forward, then—

Something was moving in the pile.

Two children were struggling under the bodies, fighting to crawl out. They were covered in blood.

One man began clearing bodies. The other turned to the cameras and waved his arms. “Hey! We’ve got two live ones!”

CHAPTER 12

Brig
Clocktower Station HQ
Jakarta, Indonesia

“Josh, can you hear me?”

Josh Cohen tried to open his eyes but the light was too bright. His head was throbbing.

“Here, give me another one.”

Josh could barely make out a blurry figure sitting by him on a hard bed. Where was he? It looked like one of the station’s holding cells. The man brought a pellet to Josh’s nose and cracked it open with a loud pop. Josh inhaled the worst smell of his entire life — a sharp, overwhelming ammonia smell that coursed through his airways, inflated his lungs, and sent him reeling backwards, hitting his head against the wall. The constant throbbing turned to a sharp pain. He closed his eyes tight and rubbed his head.

“Ok, ok, take it easy.” It was the station chief, David Vale.

“What’s going on?” Josh asked.