John O'Brien - Conspiracy

“So, let me get this straight. This all says that this was a planned event. Whoever this was, or is, administered these nanobots with the intention of killing off two-thirds of the population, effectively destroying the infrastructure, and then they planned to emerge and take control of the resources?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Harold responds.

“So, the deaths weren’t from the flu at all, but from these nanobots?” I say, more rhetorically than as an actual question. “How does that explain the night runners?”

“Here’s the funny thing. I don’t think the deaths were from the bots at all. I think they were actually from the vaccine itself. With regards to the night runners, I can’t find any indication in any of the tests mentioning DNA alterations. I get the feeling that it’s something they didn’t see and comes from the vaccine itself rather than something concocted. I think it really messed up their plans.”

“How do you know that?”

“There are several urgent messages that were passed back and forth asking what was going on. The replies come back with how they don’t know. Then…nothing,” Harold answers.

“If that’s true, then the nanobots are still there,” I state.

“So it would seem,” Harold replies.

“And they can initiate this, well, destruction anytime they want,” I comment.

“I think so. Although…”

“Go on,” I say.

“Well, the vaccine pretty much took care of the population in that regard. Only ones who took the vaccine would be at risk, and most of those either died or became night runners,” Harold states.

“So, if that’s true, then why haven’t they initiated these nanobots? Why are we still seeing so many night runners?” I ask.

“Keep in mind that only two-thirds of the vaccines contained the bots according to these reports. Maybe they were initiated and what we’re seeing is what is left. Maybe the DNA changes altered the bots in some way. I don’t know the answer to that one.”

I realize that I’ve gone from a skeptic to a believer. It makes sense with what we are seeing. However, it still points to the fact that it was the flu vaccine rather than this plan that brought about the downfall, created the night runners, and brought us to where we are now. It also means that this group is possibly still out there.

“Okay, let’s leave that for now. Did you find out anything about this group? Where they are located? How many are we talking about?” I ask.

Harold closes the files currently open and opens a few others.

“According to what I’ve managed to find so far, there are, or were, thirty-two sites across the world,” Harold answers.

“Thirty-two sites?! That puts us against something much larger. What kind of size and arsenal are we looking at?”

“Quite substantial on both accounts. Enough so that they could walk over us while enjoying a refreshing beverage,” Harold responds.

“Then why haven’t they?”

“Now that’s the question. By the timeline established in the plan document, they should have emerged and taken control. We should have seen them by now.”

“This team and their attempt could be the beginning of that emergence,” I say.

“I don’t know about that. Like I said, it appears the vaccine itself may have screwed their up plans. I found several indications that the sites mentioned weren’t able to come into operation due to the swiftness of the spread. All sites, that is, except this one,” Harold says, pointing to a document on the screen. “This appears to have been manned before the vaccine was distributed and, by all indications, it still may be. The notes show that this is a command and control facility. It doesn’t seem this place has a large arsenal, but only houses a security force, along with technicians, and a communications center. I think this is where our friend came from.”

I look closer at the document on the screen. The facility doesn’t have a name associated with it other than the designation, A-CC-1. The coordinates show an underground location approximately twenty miles to the northeast of Denver. Scrolling through the pages, I come across a blueprint detailing the facility layout. I don’t see anything about any defenses or a complete layout of their equipment. It only notes that there is a battalion in place as a security force along with an accompanying equipment list of Humvees and a small number of Strykers. This force far outweighs anything we have in regards to personnel.

Leafing through some of the other sites, I hope that Harold is correct in that they aren’t in operation. The details show armored vehicles and personnel to spread out to nearby bases to take control of the forces there — armored vehicles, weapons, and aircraft.

After a brief look, I see it wouldn’t take a genius to know that we wouldn’t last but more than a couple of seconds should we ever encounter this armada. The battalion in place at the command and control facility is more than we can handle on the ground. The Spooky is the only thing that would keep the balance should this force come against us. The pressure of time weighs even heavier. There’s so much to do and, although we have this information, there is so much more that we don’t know. If this is the group who sent the shooter against us, at least we now have a location. We are still way behind the curve with regards to capabilities, though.

After leaning over Harold’s shoulder for so long, I straighten and attempt to stretch the tightness out of my back. I would like to stretch the tension out of my whole body and soul, but this will have to do.

“Thanks, Harold… I think. Do me a favor and print out everything you find on that facility. And dig deeper to see if you can find a definite status on those other facilities. I want you at the group meeting tonight. And, if I hear a single, ‘I told you so’…”

“Hey, I wish this shit wasn’t true, believe me. And I’ll be there.”

I leave to clean up and have a bite to eat. What Harold found occupies the entirety of my mind. Lynn tries to strike up a conversation about something or another, but I merely grunt and nod my responses as I try to sort through the information. I notice the buzz of her attempts at conversation go quiet. That, in itself, sets off an internal alarm. We’ve been together long enough to know that isn’t a good sign. I turn to look at her.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” she asks.

More internal alarms.

“Of course I have,” I answer, quickly plowing through my memory to see if I can remember anything she did say. No luck.

“Okay, what did I just say?”

“That you like toasted bagels,” I say, throwing out the shield of humor in an effort to block what I know is coming next.

“Yeah, Jack, that’s exactly what I said.”

“Look, I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.

“I asked you how the flight went.”

“Fine,” I respond.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she rises and walks off. I hear her mutter something about “men”, “dense-headed”, and something else that sounds a lot like my skin being removed. I’m also pretty sure my heritage was called into question. It’s good to have her back. I sigh and return to my food, the thoughts once again crowding into my “apparently” limited head space.

I think about heading over to talk with our prisoner again, but the information Harold found can’t wait. At my request, the others gather to meet earlier than normal. It seems like there is a never-ending stream of things coming at us and I wonder how long we can last. It’s not that I feel like giving up, or in, or whatever, but it’s just exhausting at times when we are constantly confronted by danger. I also wonder just how long our sanity will prevail. It’s like swimming into a riptide. We must swim to keep our position, but we don’t ever seem to be gaining any ground. Yes, I know, swim to the side; but where is the side in this situation?