Resonance

by A. J. Scudiere

  “Blood.” Both men replied simultaneously.

  Wanting to ask more, but knowing that they were headed straight for the smell, Becky held her tongue. It took fifteen more minutes to get there. In that time she felt the smell change from weak to pungent with a mild overlay of rotting flesh, a smell she hadn’t detected ten minutes further back on the trail.

  They made their way off the paths, finally coming to a clearing, silent as mice, until Becky gasped. A whole herd of moose lay dead, the river rushing by them as though nothing were wrong, even though a member of the herd had fallen in and gotten tangled in a fallen tree. Water rushed around it on all sides, the animal bobbing like a swollen cork. The bulk of the herd lay along the shores, feet curled under them like they were asleep.

  But they weren’t asleep. Wolves and cougars, even some Canada Lynx chewed greedily on the haunches of the fallen animals. The closest ones looked up and growled in response to the gasp that had escaped Becky’s mouth. Cubs and pups were there as well, there was no infighting over pieces. There was enough moose for all.

  The stench assailed her now that she had a visual to go with it. Bloody muzzles came up and chewed before burying themselves deep in the torn open sides of the larger hooved animals. Juveniles tugged at loose flesh, trying to rip pieces free, unconcerned about their human visitors.

  It was Jess who spoke first. “Damnedest thing. Usually they won’t eat something that dies of its own accord.”

  Becky nodded. “What do they know that we don’t?”

  The water bubbled around her, the chlorine churning into a smell that was certainly unpleasant, but her brain ignored it in order to appreciate the joys of the foaming water and heat. She had a coke with a big red straw sitting on the edge of the tub.

  The season being what it was, they were the only ones out here. A few of the prison officers had been in the casino, gambling at blackjack or playing nickel slots. Something pretty much all of them had sworn at one time or another they never did.

  “You look sad.”

  David’s voice broke through the shell she had locked herself in since Jordan’s call. His cousin had joined her daughter in a coma, and his father had complained of a stomach ache. Jordan was staying with his Dad at the house, as his father’s exposure to the reversals had come at the factory where he worked, which had since been shut down by the CDC. And that had prompted the news crews to come out. Jordan had explained how they’d held a small press conference and stalled, stating that they didn’t know what it was yet. Which was true.

  “I am sad.” She just took a sip of the coke, enjoying it, even though she knew it was full of caffeine and would act in conjunction with the hot tub to dehydrate her even faster than the desert air could. But she figured dehydration was the least of her worries.

  David pulled his arms out of the water, stretching them across the tiles and leaning his head back like she did. Her own arms felt cool from the contact with the tile, in the dark it had finally lost much of the heat it had retained from the day. The night sky was big and black and disappointingly empty. There were no stars visible above her; they were all blocked out by the pinprick of blinding light that was the state line.

  “Do you miss him? Abellard?”

  “Yeah.” She said it with a force she didn’t know she felt, the words falling out of her mouth. “None of these people will talk to me like they talk to him. They’re getting worse by the day, and there’s nothing medical to do. I may have something, but it isn’t statistically significant yet.”

  “What do you think you have?” David was leaning forward, carefully holding his brown longneck bottle out of the water.

  “The glycosylated hemoglobin spikes ever so slightly before a person goes under. And I wouldn’t have found it if I didn’t have a whole pond of sitting ducks and nothing better to do than run blood draws on everyone all day long.”

  David nodded and so the words kept falling out of her mouth in useless rivers. “I swear I had a patient take a step back when I came to him. He looked like he had a heroin problem, we’d taken his blood so many times.” She sighed, more to herself than to him, more out of exasperation than weariness.

  Her bones were rubber, and her coke was gone, and suddenly she was tired. Dead tired.

  Jillian bent her elbows and, flattening her hands against the tiles, lifted herself out of the tub, dripping water across the ceramic squares, and she made a brief note to watch where she stepped. She could see the headlines: CDC doctor kills herself in deadly cola/hot tub/water-slick incident. She’d already warned David about the alcohol he was drinking, but he was a big boy and he could call his own shots.

  He followed her up, sitting for a moment on the edge of the rim, rubbing his hand up and down his face. “Wow. That beer does affect you more in the hot tub.”

  David didn’t say much more, just followed her silent bare feet down the hall with his less than silent large ones. He waited while she got her door open, standing back and not crowding her, but being gentlemanly. “Need any help getting ready for bed?”

  She mentally rescinded the gentlemanly idea. “No thanks.” With a small smile meant to say goodnight and nothing more, she stepped past and into the frigid room.

  She had hoped it would be warm, or at least not sub-artic. Given the time she had been here and her high IQ she had thought she would have figured out what to leave the AC set at so that the room would be the right temperature when she returned. But, no.

  Inside of five minutes she was ready for bed, having swallowed eight giant pills for the third time today. She dreaded the short walk to the king sized bed; it had gotten just a little larger since Jordan had left. And with a deep breath she walked over and pushed herself beneath the covers, flicking off the last bedside lamp letting darkness infest the room.

  Feeling her eyelids pull closed, Jillian waited for sleep to overtake her, but her fear held it at bay. She’d been hopeful that she would climb into the bed and smell him on the sheets. But the maids had changed the sheets and it had all been destroyed with one easy stroke of efficiency.

  Eventually she got bored with lying in bed and not sleeping, so she threw back the covers and began turning on lights. The room was boring in its simplicity, too neat, too dull, and she decided to make use of her time by checking out the charts in the other room; she could at least update the hemoglobin numbers she was getting.

  As she pulled the conjoining door open to total darkness, her brows knit together. The light behind her didn’t penetrate, and a deep unease walked through her. She tucked her hand around the wall feeling for the switch, to no avail. She tested with her foot, sneaking it across as it was almost swallowed by the darkness, but no floor rose up to meet her toes. Flailing wildly, her hands grasped at the door frame, stopping her just in time from plunging into the abyss beyond the door.

  The darkness breathed.

  The deep space at the door pulsed in a slow even rhythm. Jillian considered reaching out to catch the doorknob so she could close off the menace, but even as she leaned out over the yawning gap beneath her, into the darkness, hanging only by her left hand firmly grasped on the frame, she heard something.

  Something familiar.

  So she pulled back, clung to the door frame, and waited.

  She wasn’t sure how long it was before the sound came again.

  “Jilly?” This time it came from behind her. Whirling into the sound of him, she knew everything would be all right.

  “Jordan!”

  But he didn’t hug her. She didn’t even see his face, just his strong hands coming up to plant across her collarbone and shove her backwards until she fell into the endless space beyond the doorway.

  With a deep gasp, Jillian jerked herself from the clutches of the black, coming awake and gulping air in the hotel room. She lay alone, twisted in the covers, in the middle of her own bed.

  Yesterday Jillian had finally given him the keys to the car. He had needed it and she hadn’t. And David simply hadn’t
handed them back over. He figured the car practically went from the hotel to the prison and back by itself at this point.

  This morning Jillian didn’t even make a motion for the driver side door, just slipped limply into the passenger seat and buckled up without a word.

  “Is everything all right?” He wasn’t normally one to pry but the girl looked like someone had showed up last night and decked her, blacking both eyes. He knew that wasn’t the case, since he’d seen the color forming for several days now. “You miss your boyfriend?”

  That, at least, startled her. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Friend with benefits?” If you dug with a little trowel you could get pretty deep before anyone noticed what you were doing. Or decided they didn’t want to answer your question.

  She laughed. “Yeah, benefits. Like I can sleep.”

  “Huh?” Digging with his little trowel only worked when he was prepared.

  “Since McCann, I have nightmares when I sleep alone.”

  “Jesus, Jillian, all you had to do was knock. You know you can stay with me.”

  Her eyebrows went up, making the fatigue look almost delicate across her fine features. All of it was clear across her face, left unhindered by the deep mahogany hair pulled up into her ponytail. He could easily read the distrust and the laughter.

  “I don’t think I would get any more sleep with you than I do by myself.”

  “Hey. I’d let you sleep.” What the hell? Was he defending his own honor? Even he knew he didn’t have any.

  “Right.”

  Twenty minutes of silence later they arrived at the penitentiary. He pulled the tires onto the soft sand lot where they parked with a slew of other cars, but Jillian was out of the car before he flipped the key. She almost closed the door, but then was across the lot like a streak of green, her hair flying behind her.

  David looked beyond her fleeing form to see what she was running to. The only thing his brain processed at first was that something was wrong. He wanted to yell, to tell her to come back. But she was gone before he could call out. And all he knew was that something was dreadfully not right.

  Canvas fluttered in the air. Fans and machinery could be heard. But nothing human moved.

  Except for Jillian, who disappeared between the tents, running toward whatever was so wrong.

  Grabbing his briefcase, David took off after her. Even as he ran, he tucked one hand down in the side pocket to pull out a small electronic compass. He clicked the power button and was rewarded with a screen full of dashes followed by a blinking error light.

  The reversal. That was the only explanation. He pulled out an old needle compass his father had given him back in his days as a boy scout. Even now, the feel of his hand around the metal case brought back the warning that he had better not lose it. But he slipped it out to watch the classic red arrow sway like a drunken sailor.

  “Jillian!”

  His heart was ready to pound its way out of his chest, and his breathing seared his lungs it was so deep and ragged. Jesus, had he just been talking about sex? And now . . .

  “Past the computer tent!”

  Or, at least, that’s what he thought he heard, the wind ate portions of her words like a staticky broadcast. So he ran to his best guess, stopping short when he did finally see her.

  Jillian was on her knees, working the hood off of a fallen suit. Another lay behind her, his head lolled to the side, mouth open, his helmet lying a foot away in the sand.

  He heard the precious compass hit the dirt, and instantly his knees bent, his body’s immediate reaction to protect its treasure. Her face turned up to his, her stethoscope hung from her ears, her penlight clung to her fingertips. “They’re all under.” Her eyes tracked wildly to either side of him.

  “Jillian-” He grabbed her arm to pull her to her feet. Thinking to embrace her in a hug, and comfort her. But she jerked her arm out of his reach.

  Before he snapped out of it, Jillian was on her feet, racing away. Her standard uniform of running shoes carrying her well from one tent to another. He raked his fingers through the sandy earth, sifting out the round silver compass and he followed, watching as she lifted flaps and peered inside each one. He checked the needle periodically, noting where it went from the wild swinging to pointing due south.

  This whole shanty town the CDC had erected was now in the reversal.

  Jillian dove into one tent and David ran the distance to join her. Not knowing what he could do, but that he would do whatever was needed. They were in a maximum security prison made of loose canvas. There was no telling when or how the prisoners would get loose. Or what they would do to the cute little doctor if they did.

  The tent was darker than he expected and his eyes took several seconds more than he felt was reasonable to adjust. When he finally was able to focus on Jillian, she was kneeling on the floor where a CDC employee, not in a hazmat suit, had curled up between the patient gurneys.

  Jillian put her stethoscope on the woman’s chest, rolling her from her side onto her back even as she checked the prone woman. The badge hanging around her neck flashed as the woman rolled over, revealing that she was an RN.

  He didn’t really want to know, but he asked anyway. “The others?”

  She made eye contact finally, but he almost wished she hadn’t, her vivid blue eyes were bright with a gloss of unshed tears. “All the same.”

  He reached down for her with his right hand, having shifted the compass to his pocket and the briefcase into his left. “Jillian, we’re standing in a reversal. We have to get out.”

  “What?” She focused on him. In him, somewhere inside his soul.

  “We’re deep in the reversal right now. Everywhere you ran is backwards.” He tugged her to her feet, whether she wanted it or not. All of it made him uncomfortable: her gaze, the polarity. “And judging by what’s happened, it’s pretty powerful. We have to get out.”

  He simply turned and yanked her along, brooking no protests. He kept going until they had arrived at an untouched cluster of cactus, well beyond the tents, opposite the parking lot where they had come in. It had been the fastest way out. Finally, when it seemed she wouldn’t protest, or just dash back in to save some chart or blood sample, he dropped her hand and plucked the compass from his shirt pocket.

  North.

  True north.

  He breathed out.

  But while he gathered himself together, Jillian fell apart. Her legs gave way and she sank onto the sand beneath her, gathering her knees in her arms and burying her face in the space between.

  It took a few moments with him standing there, looking out over the desert while she cried at his feet before she spoke. “Why didn’t they call?”

  He shook his head, but mentally he flipped through image after image of what he’d just emerged from. “You know, it looked like people just fell wherever they stood.”

  She started to uncurl. And David knew he’d handed her something for that brain of hers to chew on. She’d come back around for that.

  “No.” She looked up into the sky and he waited for what she’d reveal. “They didn’t fall. There were no broken bones, or bumps to the head. It was like they curled up or lay down where they were. They had at least a few moments.”

  He nodded for her to continue.

  “That would mean they got sick very quickly. . . even the RN didn’t get out of the tent to tell anyone. But she didn’t fall. Not the way she was lying.” He thought he saw a ghost of a smile pass her lips. “That nurse was smart. She even thought it through and lay down on her side. In case she vomited. So she wouldn’t choke on it.”

  Pleasant, he thought to himself. But he’d have to remember that, in case he came to needing it.

  “Help!”

  It cut through the air. A human voice that wasn’t theirs, calling from the other side of the camp.

  Jillian was on her feet in an instant, dashing back in towards the tents, until David caught her arm and hauled her off her feet, ne
arly yanking her shoulder from its socket. “You can’t go back through there. We have to go around.”

  So she pulled him at a breakneck speed. He wouldn’t let go and she wouldn’t slow down. David wouldn’t abandon his briefcase, so it slapped against his leg a few times until he learned to hold it out of the way. He ran with the compass in front of him, watching for the shift and pulling Jillian off to the side more than once as the needle jerked too much for his taste.

  It wasn’t reliable, this running and reading. The compass was meant to be used by a camper who had a moment to stop and let the needle settle, not running at high speeds around fatal pole reversals.

  Just then Jillian stopped short and, without any warning, he crashed into her back, eliciting a grunt from her and a quick save as she managed to keep them both on their feet.

  Five county cars were sitting in the lot where they hadn’t been before.

  “Shift change.”

  Her voice caused a swell of nausea to rise in him. Twenty officers had just arrived to relieve their friends, only to find them comatose, scattered across the ground like forgotten toys.

  The sound came again, from off to their right. But this time it wasn’t a cry for help. It was a muffled noise, a grunt, a groan, or somewhere in between.

  And she was just too fast for him to catch. Jillian jumped into the fray, dashing between two tents and disappearing from his view. What the hell, he was going to die anyway. He might as well go out chasing a hot doctor.

  When he arrived, she was leaning over an officer who was curled on the ground with his arms wrapped tight around his stomach. “Ahhhhh.” It was soft. Not so much in pain as it was a release. And even as David stood there dumbfounded, the arms slackened. The officer’s face lost its tension and his head eased to the ground.

  The officer looked like he had suddenly gone to sleep.

  Jillian looked over her shoulders at another man who was standing over a fallen colleague. A quick sweep revealed that almost all of the officers were already down. Only a few remained, clutching their stomachs, and one had his hands clasped over his ears, as though the eerie desert silence was the loudest feedback.