Daimones - Book 1 of the Daimones Trilogy. Booktrope Publishing Edition

Daimones

Of Gods and Men

The weather changed over the next few days, and it rained a light but persistent rain. I gave up my forced schedule of visiting technology sites as the hope to meet with the entities there was slim. After all, nothing supported the hypothesis that they favored those places rather than others. In the end, the plan was just a wild shot in the dark. It could—or it could not—bring any results. Mary and Laura agreed that, if everything was as I told them, it was more probable for the entities to get back in touch with me rather than the opposite.

Spending those nights at home was good for the morale, especially when daily visits to CERN and checking for contacts via email or via the Facebook ad campaign had produced nothing. Life at home had a pleasant and regular flow made up of looking after daily chores, caring for the vegetable garden, and maintaining our efforts and commitment to create occasions for whoever could still be alive in the region to get in touch with us. And staying together. Pure and simple.

Laura's pregnancy had been uneventful so far, and she was able to keep up with the regular pace of our scouting activities. Sometimes, it was a casual outing, just to stay together. We visited places we didn't know before and took lunch with us to spend the day outside. The world was magnificent that summer. Daylight at our latitude lasted quite long; bed time came when it was still bright outside.

We didn't mention the entities at all those days. The grief and the sadness were almost forgotten: We had all we needed, and more than anything else, we had each other.

It was only after the end of June that I resolved to go to Lausanne and visit the EPFL. Maybe it was simply due to a full recovery of my moral strength. Everyone kind of agreed with the decision: In everyone's mind, the belief that the entities were not a danger had grown somewhat stronger.

On the evening chosen for the plan, I left home around 9:30 p.m. so as to arrive about an hour later at the laboratories when the lazy night had yet to fall and I would still have a bit of lingering twilight before dusk. I drove toward the highway, not knowing what I would find there; so far, we had only traveled on local roads from one village to the other. Yet, I didn't expect the Lausanne area to be any different from that around Geneva.

Five months of urban and road management neglect had started to leave a trace. On the highway, the vegetation separating the lanes invaded part of the asphalt, and the shoulder had become a growing culture of weeds, low plants, and shrubs. Untreated asphalt cracks widened, and green timidly spotted an otherwise dark gray cut in the countryside scenery.

There weren't so many vehicle wrecks on the highway, which I welcomed. I got almost halfway through my journey when, in the distance, the lanes seemed to be entirely blocked by what soon appeared to be a rolled over double-trailer truck. Slowing down, I couldn't help but realize that there was no way to go any further. I stopped the car and got out cautiously to have a closer look.

Around me, everything was calm. I switched off the engine. The world of silence made every natural sound prominent. Not a noise interrupted the monotonous song of the crickets and the gentle breeze among the branches. The foliage had never been so chatty...before.

The trailer was loaded with what at first seemed to be large bags or casings jammed and piled onto each other. After a few more steps, though, I clearly saw the contents and stepped back from the sad scene. It was a cattle transport and all had died in the accident, or soon after. The decaying process of the bodies had taken place thoroughly and their skeletons were covered with mere rawhide and skin, hung on bones like an old coat. The pain for those animals must have been excruciating and surviving the accident made them suffer further, only to meet an even more terrible death. It was a good thing I was alone as this wasn't a scene for my ladies, no matter their age.