The AEON Protocol

The snow flakes fell quietly in the dark early morning as the man's jogging footsteps padded nearly soundlessly in the fluffy, four-inch snowfall. The light wind occasionally blew the tiny flakes into his hazel eyes, which teared almost constantly now. The few houses on the darkened road were barely lit by the occasional street lamps he passed while continuing his sporadically quickened pace; he would maintain it as long as he could in this current spurt. The man’s throat and chest were searing constantly with the rush of biting, fifteen degree air he huffed in and out. In good shape, but fifteen years since he was an athlete, his current workouts at the gym were little preparation for his present ordeal, especially for a thirty-five year old research scientist. He’d been on a northerly trek for nearly two days, in one mode or another, currently some several hundred miles away from his Virginia home. That verdant, country home was now only a memory, since the structure, with his entire family inside, was incinerated to a heap of black and grey ash some forty-six hours ago. The recollection of blue-white flames reaching up into the cloudy night sky from his split level ranch still burned sickeningly in his mind, forcing larger, freezing tears down his cheeks again, as it had so many times since the unthinkable tragedy. He tripped wearily forward over a small snow-covered mound of dirt as he turned down the last street in his journey, hitting his knees and falling face first into the frigid whiteness, tears frozen on his cheeks and once brown moustache and light, trimmed beard; his mouth gasped for the breath which was just knocked from his chest. Through a chilled mental haze, he straightened his arms in a painful, effort-filled pushup and continued his efforts to suck air into his lungs, knowing if he relaxed, or passed out, he would surely be caught, and quickly be dead, just like his friends and family. Mark Allison looked around him. With the pearlescent balm a new snowfall brings, all neighborhoods receiving such treatment looked alike: clean, quiet, harmonious, perfect. The light of day would bring a chaotic change to this reality: snowplows, dirt-filled slush, whining traffic, and the real danger of the planet - people. There were individuals that Mark had trusted for years, people he had loved. Now they were either dead, or involved in an effort to kill him, and God only knew what else. He couldn't even be sure what the reasons were. For a moment he lost cognizance of where he was, and why. All he was sure of was that his family was dead: his pretty wife, Laurie, his mate of fourteen years, whom he'd met while finishing his Master's research at the University of Virginia. Then there were his innocent and loving children, a seven and four year old who loved their parents dearly; no longer would he hold Loraine and Bobby’s cherished faces in his hands. The research scientist sat back on his heels and sobbed heavily into frozen, snow-covered hands, which could no longer sense the features of the face they touched for their frigid epidermis. Yet even through the tears he knew he had to get up. Not that life had much meaning for him presently; but there was some, even if for no other reason than to discover why those he'd loved had died, and possibly effect some retribution against whoever had taken them from him. He could not make his hands wipe the snow and icy tears from his face, could not make his fingers work well, could not feel their movements. He'd had no time to put on gloves, and did not wish to risk being seen in a store buying any, something that could give away his northerly trek. The leather jacket he had pulled on to go out when he was in Virginia was of three season weight, nothing meant to brave the icy wind chills of a New England winter storm. The same held true for his cotton pants and high top sneakers, they would do for awhile outside, but were not meant for these conditions. He knew if he lay still any longer, frost bite would begin to eat away at his body parts, killing off tissue centimeter by centimeter. Already his limbs had limited feeling in them. Perhaps some of his toes were already gone. But he could not stop, could not linger indoors anywhere. He had to make it to his final destination. Rhode Island, and his brother Steve's house, was the end of his journey. He would be alive. No one knew about him yet, since his recent retirement from the Marines. He was currently looking for electronics and computer work to supplement his retirement income from the Corps; he wasn’t in a rush, since he was fairly comfortable presently with his modest lifestyle. But he knew if he wanted a wife and family, he’d eventually need more. Because of Master Gunnery Sergeant Steven Allison’s top secret missions, Mark had properly chosen not to mention him until the brothers reunited and spoke with each other. After all, his own work was confidential, much of it for the government, restricted from general publication. It was a game everyone connected with the government played, covering up whatever you were doing, politicians believing the general public was too unsophisticated to handle the delicacy and supposed sanctity of important information. Eventually everything came out; but for now, it remained private.