jefflong.yearzero-第30节

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the　face　of　death；　she　threw　herself　into　creating　new　life　in　the　cloning　works　of　Alpha　Lab。　Sometimes　her　sadness　could　not　be　forgotten；　though。　That　was　how　she　came　to　begin　surfing　the　plague。
　It　had　bee　a　minor　obsession　for　many　of　them；　a　form　of　recreation；　surfing　the　plague；　as　they　called　their　electronic　hitchhiking；　watching　the　world　unravel。　Miranda　thought　of　it　as　a　long…distance　death　watch；　and　had　avoided　it　for　months。　But　now　she　felt　drawn　to　know　what　was　ing。
　From　the　safety　of　their　mesa　top；　equipped　with　the　latest　munication　technology；　surfers　tapped　into　the　storm　of　dispatches；　pleas；　rumors；　and　broadcasts　being　launched　by　victims　around　the　world　like　messages　in　bottles。　One　only　had　to　dial　in。　With　a　few　keystrokes；　Miranda　could　patch　into　security　cameras　mounted　in　Swiss　or　Argentine　stores　or　banks；　peer　through　television　cameras　fixed　to　the　masts　of　legendary　skyscrapers；　revive　phantom　signals　lingering　in　distant　puters；　or　download　imagery　from　satellites。　There　were　eyes　everywhere。　The　sky　was　filled　with　voices。　All　you　had　to　do　was　choose　what　you　wanted　to　see；　who　you　wanted　to　listen　to。
　People　collected　their　finds　like　souvenirs；　taping　or　downloading　them；　swapping　them　or　jealously　hoarding　them；　making　websites；　talking　about　their　latest　spectacle　over　coffee。　Everyone　had　their　own　tastes；　their　personal　thresholds。　Some　described　muning　for　weeks　with　desperate　strangers　in　the　deep　of　night　twelve　time　zones　away。　Others　went　for　grand；　epic　views　of　whole　cities　going　still。　One　woman　was　conducting　a　cyber…romance　with　an　astronaut　in　the　space　station。　Clubs　formed　to　reconstruct　dead　cities　from　their　electronic　relics；　patching　together　images　of　empty　streets；　finding　glimpses　of　buildings　reflected　in　mirrors　or　store　windows；　entering　apartments；　viewing　books　on　bedstands；　the　remnants　of　last　meals；　even　the　final　videos　watched　by　occupants。　Some　people　made　a　hobby　of　collecting　the　lives　of　victims。
　Miranda　started　by　going　where　they　had　gone。　She　toured　their　cities；　eavesdropped　on　their　chat　rooms；　sampled　their　plague　biographies；　replayed　images　that　were　months　old。　She　followed　the　exoduses　from　foreign　metropolises　into　the　red　sands　of　the　Rajasthan　Desert；　into　the　Australian　outback；　over　the　Atlas　Range　and　into　the　Sahara；　and　along　the　railways　into　the　great　forests　of　northern　Russia。　From　geosynchronous　orbit；　the　halted　trains　and　traffic　looked　like　dead　serpents。　She　tracked　fifty…mile…long　columns　of　refugees　turned　back　by　armies　in　the　middle　of　nowhere；　at　borders　that　were　no　more　than　lines　on　maps；　the　last　vestiges　of　the　nation…state。　Bloody　food　riots　in　Sao　Paulo；　London；　and　Berlin；　the　burning　of　Vienna；　street　orgies　in　Rio　de　Janero：　With　unbelievable　speed；　the　plague　had　mushroomed　into　a　tidal　wave　and　sent　panic　ahead　of　itself。　The　order　of　things　did　not　decay　so　much　as　vanish。　Old　rivals　barely　had　time　to　swarm　across　borders；　declare　revolutions；　or　machete　each　other；　before　the　virus　swept　them　under。
　Miranda　traveled　through　the　horrors　and　went　on；　searching　for　something；　though　she　did　not　know　what。　There　was　no　lack　of　partners　and　places　to　explore。　As　the　hyper…disease　advanced　and　nations　fell；　one　simply　moved　on　to　the　next　victim；　the　next　landscape。
　At　first　she　felt　dishonest；　or　at　least　contradictory。　Voyeurism　is　always　parasitic；　and　here　they　were；　parasite　hunters。　On　the　other　hand；　their　curiosity　was　natural。　History　was　being　made；　or　unmade。　Everyone　wanted　to　be　a　witness。　There　was　fort　in　that；　even　a　sort　of　immunity。　To　be　a　witness　implied　they　would　outlast　what　they　were　witnessing。　Watching；　they　could　remain　above　and　outside　of　what　they　watched。　It　was　a　form　of　pornography；　but　also　at　one　level；　a　duty。　Even　as　they　went　rooting　through　the　impending　death　of　mankind；　they　were　memorizing　what　had　been　forgotten；　seeing　what　human　eyes　no　longer　saw。　They　were　gathering　the　last　of　remembrance。
　One　night　Captain　Enote；　the　head　of　security　in　her　lab；　slipped　her　a　gift；　a　pink　stick'em　note　with　satellite　coordinates。　He　had　been　one　of　the　few　to　attend　Elise's　funeral；　despite　having　met　her　only　once。　He　had　showed　up　in　a　jacket　and　tie　and　stayed　at　the　back；　and　did　not　make　eye　contact　with　Miranda；　though　he'd　e　for　her　benefit。　This　was　the　first　time　she'd　spoken　to　him　since。　〃Try　this；〃　he　said。　〃Private　stock。　Africa。　Part　of　the　Navy　recon。　Keep　it　to　yourself；　please。　It's　supposed　to　be　classified。〃
　The　Captain　was　retired　military；　a　former　Marine；　and　it　didn't　surprise　Miranda　that　he　had　some　inside　connection　to　the　Navy　expedition。　She　knew　only　the　bare　bones　of　its　mission：　to　inherit　the　earth。　With　America　fast　being　the　last　and　only　nation　left　intact；　her　fleets　had　been　dispatched　to　investigate　and　catalogue　whatever　remained　on　the　other　continents。　The　aircraft　carriers　with　their　reconnaisance　planes　were　central　to　the　probe。　They　hovered　off　foreign　coasts；　documenting　the　state　of　the　cities　and　countryside；　their　aircraft　overflying　the　roads　and　rivers；　recording　any　remaining　military　assets；　gathering　data　on　the　condition　of　gold；　copper；　platinum；　uranium；　and　other　precious　mineral　mines；　judging　the　condition　of　shipping　and　land　transport　lanes；　and　generally　mapping　the　world　from　scratch。
　She　expected　a　soldier's　scene；　fighter　jets　screaming　off　the　deck。　But　when　Miranda　finally　found　the　spare　minute　to　link　up；　her　screen　abruptly　filled　with　green　mountains　and　green　rivers。　Her　minute　turned　into　an　hour。　The　land　moved　beneath　her　in　slow；　lush　waves。　It　was　a　paradise　down　there。
　Miranda　felt　like　she　had　entered　a　state　of　grace。　Here　and　there　she　caught　sight　of　the　plane's　shadow　casting　ahead。　Otherwise　she　might　have　been　drifting　on　a　cloud　top。　The　forest　gave　way　to　gorges　and　lakes。　Thousands　of　flamingoes　surged　up　in　a　long；　sinuous　queue；　and　it　was　like　watching　sound　waves　in　pink。　She　passed　above　a　bull　elephant　soloing　toward　the　secret　horizon。
　Next　morning；　she　found　the　Captain。　〃I　could　have　been　dreaming；〃　she　said。
　〃Thought　you　might　like　that；〃　he　said。　〃I've　been　following　her　from　the　start。　A　lot　of　months　now。〃
　〃Her？〃　said　Miranda。
　〃The　pilot；〃　he　said。
　There　was　so　much　to　ask　that　she　didn't　get　the　woman's　name；　and　after　that　her　namelessness　became　part　of　the　journey。　She　had　read　somewhere　that　monks　transcribing　texts　in　medieval　times　purposely　kept　themselves　anonymous；　and　that's　how　Miranda　came　to　regard　the　pilot；　not　as　a　vehicle；　but　a　hidden　hand。
　The　Captain　explained　how　the　battle　group's　two　nuclear　submarines　and　two　battle　cruisers　had　peeled　off　to　begin　exploring　the　coast　of　South　America　last　October。　The　aircraft　carrier　that　his　pilot　was　flying　from；　theTruman；　had　gone　to　Africa。　They　had　begun　their　reconnaisance　at　the　beginning：　zero　and　zero；　zero　degrees　latitude；　zero　degress　longitude；　in　the　Gulf　of　Guinea　off　the　coast　of　Gabon。　〃Heart　of　darkness　country；〃　said　the　Captain。　From　there　on；　it　had　been　like　the　movieOn　the　Beach；　but　without　the　beach。　Physical　contact　with　the　land　mass　was　forbidden。
　The　pilot's　Diamondback　squadron　had　four　F…14s；　each　mounted　with　a　pod　of　digital　cameras　and　an　infrared　scanner。　One　at　a　time；　they　would　head　due　east　bearing　parallel　to　the　equator；　then　return　west　along　a　slightly　lower　parallel；　all　the　while　beaming　their　data　back　to　the　intelligence　and　map　people　on　board　theTruman　。。。and　inadvertently　to　the　Captain；　and　now　Miranda。　Since　October；　four　months　ago；　the　carrier　had　worked　its　way　south　around　the　Cape　of　Good　Hope　and　gotten　almost　as　far　north　as　Kenya。
　〃You　missed　the　worst　of　it；〃　said　the　Captain。　In　the　space　of　an　African　summer；　a　half　billion　souls　had　vanished。　Week　after　week；　the　reconnaisance　teams　had　explored。　The　hand　of　man　was　everywhere。　Wellheads　still　pumped　oil　in　Gabon。　Villages　with　thatched　roofs　lay　like　setpieces　waiting　for　their　actors。　In　Capetown　the　picket　fences　stood　bright　white。　A　suburb　in　Johannesburg　still　had　electricity　and　its　street　lights　burned　bright　at　midday。　Now　only　the　animals　were　left。
　Night　after　night；　Miranda　traveled　on　the　wings　of　the　Navy　pilot。　To　do　their　recon　well；　she　learned；　one　had　to　loiter；　cruising　a　few　thousand　feet　off　the　ground　to　give　the　cameras　hanging　under　the　fuselage　the　best　views。　Flying　at　300　knots　and　slower　also　saved　fuel；　which　maximized　their　daily　exploring　range。　The　pilot　rarely　spoke；　usually　letting　her　navigator　radio　theTruman　when　they　had　reached　the　tip　of　their　daily　journey　and　were　heading　back　to　their　〃boat。〃　When　she　did　speak；　Miranda　liked　the　woman's　no…nonsense　voice。　It　sounded　vaguely　familiar；　the　accent；　the　economy　of　syllables。
　Working　northward；　the　Tomcat　flew　above　emerald　green　coffee　plantations　and　lakes　so　still　you　could　see　the　jet　rippling　in　the　water。　A　cheetah　was　not　distracted　as　it　ran　down　a　gazelle。　They　circled　volcanoes　in　Rwanda。　Africa　became　her　nightly　prayer。　Miranda　would　log　on　to　the　recon　for　an　hour　or　two；　then　fall　asleep；　forted。　Strangely；　the　closer　the　plague　came；　the　further　aw