Daimones
The Lab

Not Now

CERN laboratory was like a small town, services included. Actually, not even that small as it consisted of an eight-thousand-large community, much larger than many of the little villages in the area, in both the French and Swiss territories. The main lab site expands across the national border, part in Switzerland and part in France.

A number of villages are inside the circle of its accelerators complex, the largest one built inside a twenty-seven kilometers tunnel, and hosted the most powerful hadrons collider in the world. Protons or lead ions smash together at the site of its major experiments detectors, deep down below the surface. That infrastructure was now bound to be the ultimate one, unmatched by any other lab in the world. Competition was over.

I reached the entrance in the French territory, at the doorstep of the village closest to our house. I didn’t take the expressway; I wanted to avoid going through the linear cemetery made of car wrecks, a multitude of open-air tombs with their macabre display of long-gone owners.

The laboratory was a 24/7 institution, with its few access barrier gates operated by the guard on duty while all buildings inside the compound could be accessed at all times. I stopped right in front of the security booth with its tinted glass and got out. The barrier remained lowered and blocked the entrance. I tried the door of the booth. It wasn’t locked, though some obstructions inside blocked it from fully opening.

I couldn’t see clearly inside, even when pressing my face against the glass pane of the door. I went back to the car and took the flashlight from the glove compartment, returned to the booth and forced the door. It opened a bit so I pushed harder and with all my weight. Something gave way and crushed. The nauseating stench of a decomposed body greeted me.

Covering my mouth, I entered the booth. The flashlight’s beam traced the dusty air inside the booth. Particulate matter floated in the air. When I was a child, I played with tiny little movements of my hand to create swirls in the air, watching how that translated into a dancing dust in the sunbeams.

Behind the door, the crushed skeletal mummy of the guard last on duty stared at me with its empty orbits. I gagged in repulsion. The flashlight showed me the location of the control box for the barrier. I pushed the button and the bar raised only to stop halfway with a grinding noise. Another damaged piece of engineering that no one will ever repair. Entropy was at work, the gentle degradation of a dead civilization.

I drove through. The lab was a familiar place for me. I worked there for almost a decade. I knew well where my first stop would be: the main building—or the “500”—hosted an area where a few computers were devoted for public access. It was a quick and easy plan with a high chance for success.

Before that moment, I never gave much thought to all of the people who died at CERN that February. Technicians, Ph.D. students and fellows, researchers—all gone. All ideas, efforts, passion and imagination obliterated by someone’s decision. By then, I had stopped thinking Mother Nature had betrayed us in some mysterious way.

From the entrance, I went straight and kept to the right at every intersection, following the perimeter road. The main building was in front of Building 2, separated from Building 1 by Building 52. Funny enough, at CERN numbers didn’t help you to replace a building.

I stopped the car right in front of the main building entrance, at the place where CERN shuttles made one of their stops. None was parked there nor would any appear later. Everywhere was now a perfect spot to leave a car, anywhere in the world. Someone had solved for us every traffic congestion problem on earth, an unpleasant thought.

It was dark inside. I switched on my flashlight and opened the doors. I followed the corridor leading to the User's Office where I would have found some ten PCs for public use. I resisted the urge to wander around; maybe later.

The PCs were on and, thankfully, there were no bodies in the area. Touching the spacebar on the keyboard of the first one made the screen come alive. After a little while, the Control-Alt-Delete pop-up to log onto the Windows environment showed up.

Control-Alt-Delete: I always wondered under the influence of what substance had a Microsoft software engineer conceived that peculiar sequence. The feeling of sloppiness and mediocrity struck me then as it always did. Long live the Mac. Nope, that’s gone too. Long live nothing. There was no chance to wish a long life to anything or anyone.

After a few minutes, the desktop was finally ready and responding. I launched Internet Explorer and waited still more. In addition to the inherent speed of the operating system, or lack thereof, these were public PC, old models and not particularly powerful so I had to be patient. Besides, Windows PCs at CERN were the slowest of all to boot up because of the myriad security checks in place.

It didn’t matter; no one was going to disturb me or hurry me up to finish my tasks.

Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, I was able to check all three of my email accounts and there it was: a message from Michael. It was a few days old, and I realized how much I had neglected checking the Internet.

***

“Hey, sorry for the radio silence. Lots of shit going down here. They fucking invaded us, man! INVADED, that’s for sure. But they don’t care about us. I don’t know what these bastards are up to. We’re leaving the city. We are a small group. Three men, four women and a couple kids. No relations.

One of the girls here is from Danville, Pennsylvania. We'll go there first, then we’ll see. There’s no future in large cities now. Things are going to hell here. Most of the city is flooded and many blocks have no power anymore so we’re getting out while we can. I think we’ll do better on a farm or sumthin. Who knows, maybe we’ll all become Amish. We will be the new Pilgrims, Dan. We’ll rebuild. They did it, and with much less. We will do it again.

I don’t have time for more now. Maybe one day we’ll be in touch again. Take care, man. Don’t let them get you.”

***

Well, there goes Michael, I thought. God help him and his friends. At least, we didn’t need to leave a big city and try to survive in the country. For the most part, we had that already.

I checked the Facebook campaign; it was still going on but with no additional clicks. It was like a message in a bottle, depending on the cyber ocean good will. Who knows who was going to pick that up, or when?

Almost four months had passed and—slowly, but surely—the world's technical prowess had started to regress, apart from some bubbles where things were kept alive with effort and continuous care as we were doing at our place. Whoever was alive in the world probably had more urgent things to do than check Facebook, even if they had Internet access.

Nonetheless, I planned to visit CERN for as long as everything there worked to keep checking for even the slimmest chance of evidence of more survivors.

I got back to the car and drove through the exit on the Swiss side this time. There, the gate barrier was already raised for outgoing traffic. I slowed down. Right in front, on the other side of the road, was the building complex hosting the control room and the main access to the underground facilities of the ATLAS experiment.

More on impulse than actual reasoning, I drove straight toward the compound. The barrier blocked the way. A single red and white bar needed to be activated using a badge, which I didn’t have. Well, security was not an issue anymore. I drove slowly forward and made contact with the front of the SUV. The bar bulged, bent, then broke with a loud snapping noise.

I moved forward and reached the space in front of the underground access. Further down, an external metal staircase led to the control room. The main building walls had the entire ATLAS experiment frescoed in a geometrical perspective. From the road, it gave the illusion of a 3D representation of the entire huge detector. I got out and took the Benelli shotgun with me in addition to the always present Glock.

The moon was waxing crescent, and its faint light cast the building in a shadow. Inside, I thought, I’d need the flashlight. I advanced toward the metal staircase that climbed all the way up to the control room at the very top. Even with all my care, every step resonated in the ominous, pervasive silence. I briefly stopped midway to glance around. Alone in a deserted world.

At the top, the door was closed; another badge lock. I took my “universal badge,” the Benelli, and stepped back as far as I could. I aimed at the lock and fired. The door slammed opened, almost kicked off its hinges. I pumped and reloaded the shotgun at once.

Inside, it was pitch dark. I pointed the flashlight into the corridor behind the broken door. Empty. With the flashlight in my left hand, I balanced the Benelli with my right and walked in. All was silent. I remembered the door to the right led to the control room. I opened it and put the flashlight away. All monitors and computers screens were on and diffused enough light for me to see.

The room was quiet, but for the humming of the machines. There was no one in the room that I could see so I adjusted the Benelli at my back with its shoulder strap. I gripped my Glock, nonetheless.

I stepped further inside and discovered I wasn’t truly alone. I should have realized it: however faint, the slightly sweet and pungent smell of long-dead rotten bodies lingered in the room. I think my brain, once I got in, simply ignored things like smell, and even sound, to concentrate on everything visual.

On the floor, behind the desks, the dried remains of three technicians, or physicists, greeted me with their obscene smiles. All were a little better preserved than the guard in the booth, but similar—just a bunch of bones, cartilage and dried skins on a skeletal support. Who knows? Maybe I would have even recognized them if they were not so decomposed.

Some of the monitors showed the scenes from webcams down in the experimental areas. On one, I recognized details of the wire chambers of the muon detector spectrometer, but none showed the presence of any more bodies.

I had nothing more to see or to do there for the moment. I looked at my wristwatch; it was time to go home instead, postponing further exploration of the lab for other days.

Outside, the moon was a bit brighter, or so it seemed to me. I started to climb down slowly when my tinnitus grew louder and less chaotic at the same time. Similar to what happens to me when I wake up abruptly during the night because of a ringing phone, or when a younger Annah screamed because of a nightmare. On those occasions, the tinnitus volume increases, louder for a few seconds and with an additional lower frequency humming, only to subside again until the mostly incoherent hisses, whispered noises, and tunes became predominant again. Like the crashing of a single gigantic ocean wave on a sandy beach: the thump, the roar and the shock wave, the surf subsiding soon after, and the noise of millions of grains of sand and pebbles rolling against each other and screeching all along. Then, steady and regular as always, the violence is forgotten as if it had never occurred.

This time, though, it lasted, and there were regular modulations in both pitches and tunes that I’d never heard before. At the midway landing of the staircase, I turned around, instinctively, looking toward the car. I froze. A glow came from the access area to the underground experimental facility. I recognized the glow. I didn’t know what to do. The light pulsated irregularly.

I continued to climb down as quietly as I could and it took me some time to reach the last step. I moved to the side to have a better view, and then I saw them. There were four silhouettes, similar to the entity that visited me when I was a child. From where I stood, I couldn’t distinguish any difference between them: clones of each other, each one glowing almost exactly as the others, although differently. They looked straight at me, motionless, as if they were expecting me to come forward.

I knew, there and then, they had been waiting for me to come out. As many years before in my childhood bedroom, there we stood, not moving, with the additional discomfort of my now almost-deafening tinnitus. However, that, too, was not exactly true; I could hear perfectly well. As if I had two separate hearing systems at work, with one not excluding the other. And I was calm, unnaturally calm; I recognized that familiar feeling. My rationality did not fight against it.

It was a stalemate situation unless I did something. The four entities were just standing and watching, aware of my presence but making no gestures or actions. Not exactly what I would call an encouraging reunion after so many years.

Then it happened.

I staggered. As if I got punched directly to my brain, I felt them. I say “felt” because I cannot use the term “heard.” Instead, my tinnitus had almost disappeared and I received—yes, better word than heard—their superimposed messages: “Not now,” “Later,” “Too soon,” all forming in the 3D space around my head, a space the tinnitus had filled for so many years.

I felt a wave of unspoken approval. Was I doing what I was expected to do in that moment? Was I receiving the approval for my behavior in the past months?

While staring at the four entities, I approached the car and opened the door. Under constant watchful scrutiny from them, I stepped in, started the engine, and drove away in a state of trance. The unnatural serenity slowly disappeared as I got farther away and an uncontrollable tremor engulfed me. I stopped the car at the border and watched in the rear mirror to see if any glowing entity followed behind. The only light came from the moon and the lampposts.

My hands hurt. I was gripping the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles were all white. I let it go. Meanwhile, my tinnitus returned to its normal noise level and regular incoherence. I was sweating. I had not been killed. I had not been abducted. They told me it was too early. Too early for what?

My shaking was under control again. I was elated and excited, yet at the same time troubled and scared. Maybe—finally—I communicated with them. Or, at least, they knew how to communicate with me. More dots from the past got connected, providing further explanations. Things fell into place, slowly, revealing a larger portion of our new reality. The entities were for real, and I did not have just a weird childhood dream. They were real and talked to me.

I stepped on the gas pedal and accelerated into the night. By the time I reached home, I grew determined to keep the whole incident to myself. “Not now,” “Later,” “Too soon,” resonated in my head, supporting that decision. I thought I would’ve received their approval for that decision, too.

Mary and Laura waited for me at the door; Annah must have already gone to bed. Taxi and Tarantula greeted me with their pure canine effusions; joy that allowed me to spend a moment alone, pretending I was relaxed.

“We were worried. Mary was about to call you but you left your phone here. Next time I’ll go with you…” Laura came closer. “You're sweating.”

She was sincerely worried, but I was married to another woman and Mary hadn’t said anything yet. Then she asked, “So. How was it at CERN?” with a flat tone in her voice.

I got the impression she really didn’t care, and that struck me like a slap to my face. Mary’s expression changed to a quizzical frown as if her tone must have sounded odd to her, too. I glanced at her but she did not look back at me.

I told both about the room full of old public access PCs and that they still worked. Then about Michael’s message, most probably his last one. He and his group had decided to go to Pennsylvania and try to establish a new rural community, helping each other rebuild…whatever that meant. Things in New York had deteriorated, and faster than here, apparently. We were not in the same hurry and even if more people were to join us, the best short-term solution would have been to occupy Joe and Beth’s house rather than going anywhere else.

I was not so keen about leaving what we had already achieved, unless it was for something certain to be better. Even if power were to disappear, we still had the generators, and the basement was packed with supplies of all kinds. We could even continue to run fridges and freezers down there. Besides…“Not now,” “Later,” “Too soon,” replayed in my mind. What did they mean by that?

“I’m sure there are others alive somewhere,” Laura said. “But for now we should think of our world as if we were the only ones and adapt.”

She stressed the last word and looked at Mary. Something had happened between them while I was away. I sensed it, but I couldn’t guess what.

Later, when Laura left and I was alone with Mary, I tried to understand the subtle change I felt. I didn’t get anything specific from Mary, just that they were worried because I was there, at the lab alone, and they had nothing to do but wait. Nor could they reach me: “Why did you leave the phone at home?”

“I'm sorry. I guess because I left in a hurry. I didn’t think it would take that long.”

“Doesn’t matter. The important thing is you're here now… Do you like Laura?”

That came unexpectedly. She asked the question abruptly and out of context. Her eyes were fixed on me, trying to read the answer from my face rather than hearing it from my voice.

“Why, yes, of course. I think we’ve been lucky with her. Besides, she’s fantastic with Annah. And not just with Annah, to tell the truth. I think she’s bringing a lot to everyone here.”

Mary kept looking intensely at me. I straightened up and ran a hand through my hair. She followed my gesture with her eyes.

“Indeed. I like her, too,” she said. “She’s bright and full of energy. She’s young…and she likes you, too.”

Now I was sure there was something cooking. Uncomfortable, as when at school I knew the teacher was about to ask me something I hadn’t prepared for, waiting for the blow to strike and to be sent back to my seat with a bad note.

“What do you mean? What's going on?”

“Nothing.” Mary replied, too rapidly to be true. “I agree with you, she’s bringing a lot to everyone.”

I couldn’t get more from Mary that night. I knew I was missing something crucial, but Mary erected a wall of avoidance, refusing to speak of anything but everyday tasks. That was not like her.

“Mary, I love you. I do love you. Never forget that.”

“I know. And I love you, too… In this different world, even more.” She caressed me, lovingly and with nostalgia, as if I was about to leave forever…or she was.

I was troubled, too troubled to go to bed and sleep. I told Mary I needed to relax for a while and went downstairs. I grabbed an Esplendidos. I filled half a glass with Caol Ila, one of my favorite whiskeys, and went outside.

Taxi and Tarantula lay in their kennels, half asleep. They raised their heads alerted when I went out. I shushed them gently but firmly, and patted their heads. No, it wasn’t time for an impromptu stroll. “Be good, guys. Lie down and stay still.” They yawned and drifted back to sleep.

I sat comfortably on the terrace, lit my cigar, and gulped a mouthful of whiskey. My mind was spinning fast, though no clearly formulated thoughts queued up at my brain’s door. I was confused.

Honestly, the confusion had set in months ago. The world had changed and it was changing still. And now I’d seen them again, too. We needed to adapt, Laura said. Hadn't we adapted already? Wasn’t it enough? What was she really saying? I was sure it had to be in relation to Mary, but how?

I looked around, mentally noting all the things that were not visible from my lawn chair: our supplies in the basement, the shooting range we’d built, the nearby hardware store, our gas storage in Joe’s tool shed. We had adapted, hadn’t we? We have adapted! I shouted mentally, as if someone was indeed able to hear my thoughts.

Laura was still awake. I could see the light in her cottage. Her door opened and she peeked outside. Just before I could say anything, she saw me and stepped back inside. She closed the door, gently.

I stayed there with my hand half-raised in a missed greeting and feeling odd. A few seconds later, I heard the door being locked. The window shades were open and only a translucent curtain impeded a clear view of her bedroom inside.

Her silhouette appeared at the window and she began to undress...slowly. It was impossible she didn’t realize I could see her.

She was suggestive in her movements, a sensuous disrobing that Laura prolonged with carefully chosen delays. A teasing show put on just for me. Laura covered her breasts with her hands when she took off her top, then began to caress herself between her legs. However, I only imagined this last part, as I could not see below her belly from where I sat, but I didn’t dare stand up for a better view.

I held my breath multiple times. Left alone in the ashtray, the cigar consumed itself and released dancing spirals of smoke sinuously, seducing the moonlight.

Roman author Pliny the Elder wrote that a woman could lull a storm out at sea by stripping. I knew exactly what he meant. The light went off in the cottage and, shortly after, I could hear Laura moaning. She was…masturbating, leaving me with my galloping and fervid imagination.

I swallowed my whiskey. I was excited, too.