deep breath. Serviam. That is what he was doing here, too. But he couldn’t let himself be seen, even by a group of nuns who clearly had more bravery than the rest of the Roman Catholic Church combined. He looked at his chronometer. He had been in the heart of the city for almost four hours. Daniel steadied himself and leaned back against the rough, pebbled wall of the Superdome. He would wait for the nuns to leave.
• • •
As the evening moved toward midnight, he heard the nuns leaving the building. When the last candle disappeared into the night, he knew he should leave, too. But he couldn’t simply walk away. Where common sense left off, curiosity stepped in. As a scientist, it was the fuel that drove him.
Daniel retraced the nuns’ path, back to the entrance of the Dome. The doors had been shut, but they hadn’t sealed closed, thanks to the crowbars that had originally pried them open. He turned up his night vision, peeled back the door with a loud scrape on the pavement, and entered.
The night-vision goggles were not enough. Even they needed a light source to draw from, no matter how slight. Daniel pulled a glow stick from his pocket, adjusted his vision, and snapped it on, flooding the corridor with a sickly green light. He found an archway leading into the stadium down a flight of wide stairs, and his footsteps echoed hollowly. As he entered the stadium proper, he gasped.
A cool smattering of starlight filtered in ever so faintly from the gash in the ceiling of the Dome, but what it illuminated was no lye pit, no holocaustic vision of piled corpses. He turned in a slow circle, noting every row, every seat in his range of vision. Occupied. By bones.
Tens of thousands of seats, row upon row, and on each plastic chair, a carefully stacked set of bones, with the skull on top. A second skull rested before bones on the floor beneath every seat. Flowers had been placed at the base of each skeleton, a cross painted on the forehead of each skull, like a marking of ash at the start of Lent. The Ursuline Sisters had turned the Superdome into a catacomb.
Daniel sat down heavily on the stairs and hung his head. He did not dare walk down the aisles for fear of disturbing the bones. The flowers were fading where he sat, but he imagined somewhere they were fresh. How long must it have taken? You could not replace a hundred forty thousand flowers in a single night.
Below, in the green sweep of the field, more bones were piled. Daniel shivered inside his encounter suit. He felt like a grave robber in an ancient pyramid and wondered briefly if there were curses laid on this place, too. He laughed to himself. The sound echoed loudly around him, then faded as the enormous stadium swallowed the noise.
He patted his coat pocket with the vials inside, his own Pandora’s box. How many more Orleanians could it kill? Daniel’s body ached as the enormity of his journey overcame him. It was too much. He turned and remounted the stairs, going back the way he had come.
Where were the lye vats, he wondered, that had allowed the nuns to strip those drowned and fevered corpses into gleaming white piles of bone? He scraped the door shut and made his way across the broken pavement to Poydras Street. Despite his night vision, he lost his footing and splashed into the little pond where the masques for the dead lay submerged. Cursing silently, he hurried on, hoping he hadn’t been heard. The city rose and fell around him, scorched brick, shattered plaster, and gleaming shards of ancient broken glass.
He hurried into the shadows of a nearby building, an ancient parking structure, its levels collapsing one on the other, a layer of algae and thick black mildew blooming across the face of it. Behind him, the street was empty. He scurried on, hauling his bag behind him, terror rising in him like he’d never felt before. For all the risks he took in the lab, handling virulent strains of Fever, Daniel had never been afraid. But this was
• • •
As the evening moved toward midnight, he heard the nuns leaving the building. When the last candle disappeared into the night, he knew he should leave, too. But he couldn’t simply walk away. Where common sense left off, curiosity stepped in. As a scientist, it was the fuel that drove him.
Daniel retraced the nuns’ path, back to the entrance of the Dome. The doors had been shut, but they hadn’t sealed closed, thanks to the crowbars that had originally pried them open. He turned up his night vision, peeled back the door with a loud scrape on the pavement, and entered.
The night-vision goggles were not enough. Even they needed a light source to draw from, no matter how slight. Daniel pulled a glow stick from his pocket, adjusted his vision, and snapped it on, flooding the corridor with a sickly green light. He found an archway leading into the stadium down a flight of wide stairs, and his footsteps echoed hollowly. As he entered the stadium proper, he gasped.
A cool smattering of starlight filtered in ever so faintly from the gash in the ceiling of the Dome, but what it illuminated was no lye pit, no holocaustic vision of piled corpses. He turned in a slow circle, noting every row, every seat in his range of vision. Occupied. By bones.
Tens of thousands of seats, row upon row, and on each plastic chair, a carefully stacked set of bones, with the skull on top. A second skull rested before bones on the floor beneath every seat. Flowers had been placed at the base of each skeleton, a cross painted on the forehead of each skull, like a marking of ash at the start of Lent. The Ursuline Sisters had turned the Superdome into a catacomb.
Daniel sat down heavily on the stairs and hung his head. He did not dare walk down the aisles for fear of disturbing the bones. The flowers were fading where he sat, but he imagined somewhere they were fresh. How long must it have taken? You could not replace a hundred forty thousand flowers in a single night.
Below, in the green sweep of the field, more bones were piled. Daniel shivered inside his encounter suit. He felt like a grave robber in an ancient pyramid and wondered briefly if there were curses laid on this place, too. He laughed to himself. The sound echoed loudly around him, then faded as the enormous stadium swallowed the noise.
He patted his coat pocket with the vials inside, his own Pandora’s box. How many more Orleanians could it kill? Daniel’s body ached as the enormity of his journey overcame him. It was too much. He turned and remounted the stairs, going back the way he had come.
Where were the lye vats, he wondered, that had allowed the nuns to strip those drowned and fevered corpses into gleaming white piles of bone? He scraped the door shut and made his way across the broken pavement to Poydras Street. Despite his night vision, he lost his footing and splashed into the little pond where the masques for the dead lay submerged. Cursing silently, he hurried on, hoping he hadn’t been heard. The city rose and fell around him, scorched brick, shattered plaster, and gleaming shards of ancient broken glass.
He hurried into the shadows of a nearby building, an ancient parking structure, its levels collapsing one on the other, a layer of algae and thick black mildew blooming across the face of it. Behind him, the street was empty. He scurried on, hauling his bag behind him, terror rising in him like he’d never felt before. For all the risks he took in the lab, handling virulent strains of Fever, Daniel had never been afraid. But this was
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