Descent: Into the Darkness (Forgotten Origins Trilogy)

by Tara Ellis

  Pulling away, I look at him in shock. How could he ask that of me? Shaking my head, I swallow hard and straighten my back. “No one is going to be a Shiner, Chris,” I say with determination.

  “Something got the senator’s attention,” Seth breaks in. Looking over, I see that he has left the other room, as well as Dr. Paul and one of the nurses. My hopes surging, I run to the only door and put my ear to it: footsteps. I step back just as it opens and the doctor himself rushes in. In his hand is a syringe and he heads straight for Chris.

  “Why is it a shot?” Nate asks. All of them are lined up at the smaller window, watching. “The professor gave Alex a pill.”

  “What?” The physician says distractedly as he crouches down at the cot. “I have no idea. The formula was for an injectable medication and this works much faster than anything oral. The men who brought it said it’s already been used on dozens and has over a fifty percent cure rate when administered in the first twelve hours,” he continues, already swabbing Chris’s arm with an alcohol wipe.

  “How about after twenty hours?” Seth asks.

  “I don’t know, but we’re about to find out.” With that, he inserts the needle and pushes the plunger. There is nothing left to do but wait.

  ****

  Machine alarms bring me out of a troubled sleep. It’s been a day now. A few hours ago, Chris was put into a medicated coma. He’s on a ventilator since he’s unable to adequately breathe for himself anymore.

  Looking around groggily, I check the monitor and find his blood pressure is too low. I press the reset and wait to make sure it doesn’t happen again. When the numbers continue to climb, I lie back down and stare at the now all-too-familiar ceiling.

  This has been going on for hours. All of his vitals drop to dangerous levels and then slowly level back up. Some of it’s from the meds, but I know it’s also his body struggling to survive. He had a similar, immediate reaction to the antiviral medication as I did. It’s a system-wide, cascading effect on his immune system. It’s like a major re-boot and we’ve yet to reach the point yet when we’ll know if his body will successfully run on its own once the machines are removed.

  I’ve pulled the other cot next to Chris’s so I can watch him closely, and another one’s been brought in for Seth. I turn my head and see it’s now empty, and a flushing sound from the closet-sized bathroom in the far corner tells me where Seth is. Being trapped in here with him has not been my idea of a good time. Fortunately, he’s spent most of it sleeping. When he’s awake, he’s usually at the intercom, talking to Benuk. The rest, he’s either playing cards or trying to get a rise out of me. I’m making a point of not allowing myself to be an easy victim.

  “Thank god I’m getting out of here soon,” Seth says when he comes out and sees that I’m awake. “I’m beginning to think I would have been better off back under the ocean with Nator.”

  “Claustrophobic?” I’ve suspected he was since I saw his reaction that day we were underwater. I recognize the symptoms because I used to suffer from it myself. I still do under extreme circumstances.

  The machine alarms again before he can answer, and I turn back to study the monitor. This time it’s Chris’s heart rate. When the chiming gets more insistent, one of the nurses comes in and administers some sort of medicine. After a few minutes, it climbs up above 60 beats per minute and we’re thrown back into blessed silence.

  “How about you take me out to dinner?” Seth says flirtatiously to the nurse, as she turns to go. Even through the mask and protective clothing, it’s obvious she’s attractive. When she shakes her head, he follows her to the door. “No? How about bowling then? Or the movies?” The final request was to a closed door. Feigning dejection, he walks over to the small window.

  “Benuk!” he calls. “You up for a game of war? I got the cards.”

  Sighing, I double-check the IV bag to make sure it won’t run out soon, and then I go back to staring at the ceiling.

  ****

  “Alex.” The voice next to my ear is familiar, but I can’t place it at first. I feel myself being easily lifted, and strong arms cradle me. “Alex, it’s time for you to rest.”

  Benuk. My eyes flutter open and I confirm who’s holding me like a small child, carrying me toward an open door. Away from Chris. “No!” I gasp, pushing helplessly at his arms.

  It’s been days now since Chris slipped into unconsciousness, and I’ve lost track of time. Seth was finally let out of the room a day or two ago, and then the rest of our friends. So I’ve been alone with Chris. There’s a rotating train of visitors out in the observation room, but I’ve been ignoring them. I haven’t been sleeping well, or eating much, and probably not drinking enough either, so I’ve become weakened to the point that I haven’t gotten off the bed in over a day.

  “Yes!” Benuk says forcefully. “You can’t take care of Chris if you’re sick too. He’s going to need you when he wakes up.”

  I know he’s right, but it doesn’t matter. I’m terrified I’ll never see him again. At least, not as himself, or the person who’s been there for me through this whole nightmare. I have to be here for him, just like he’s been there for me. But I’m too weak to struggle, and Benuk hands me off to the nurses for decontamination. I get one last glimpse of Chris before the door closes, and then I break down into uncontrollable sobs.

  TEN

  It’s hard to believe it’s been a week since I was carried to the barracks we’re now housed in. Mom and Missy stayed with me, comforting me until I finally fell into a heavy, exhausted sleep. They made me eat a complete meal and drink several glasses of water the next day before I was allowed to go back and visit Chris. Those visits are now limited to an hour at a time.

  At least the barracks are above ground. But aside from the natural light, the rooms themselves are no better than quarantine. It’s basically like being in college dorms, with shared bathrooms and a communal family room. Missy and I are in a room with two twin beds. Mom and Jake are housed in the one next to us, and Cindy and Natalie are on the other side. Lisa has her own room across the hall, and the guys are all at the opposite end of the building, with the centrally shared space separating us.

  It was touch-and-go for a while with Chris. Three days on a ventilator is a long time. According to Mom, the longer you stay on it, the more unlikely you’ll ever come off. But his lungs were clear enough by the fourth day to remove the breathing tube. This was the day after I was forced to leave. With a reduction of the drugs, he did start breathing on his own again, but he still hasn’t woken up.

  His bodily functions have been slowly improving since then, and this morning the doctor told us they’re withdrawing the rest of the sedating medications. If he’s able to wake up, it will happen today. But there’s no way of knowing for sure what he’ll be like if he does.

  We were all notified a few hours ago, and have been gathered around Chris’s bed ever since. Well, those of us allowed in the room are. Seth, Benuk, and I have already proven immune, so we don’t need precautions, and they finally let Lisa suit up after training with the nurses.

  Dr. Paul is situated near Chris’s head with his ever-present clipboard, and the nurse Seth unsuccessfully flirted with has been coming and going. It’s been a long afternoon. The rest of our friends and family, including the senator, are scattered around the observation room. Even Baxter is there, glued to Jacob’s side.

  I don’t know how they managed to convince the staff to permit a dog in there, but I’m thankful for it. Jake isn’t talking much again, similar to back when Dad died. He isn’t as withdrawn, but it’s still bad. I know a person can only take so much, and his threshold is less than mine is at his age. He’s gotten really close to Chris, especially from when I was missing, and he looks up to him like a big brother. To lose him on top of everything else is something Jake just can’t face.

  Baxter was a huge part of helping Jacob before, and I can see that same bond is being renewed. Baxter looks up at me, meeting my stare. Tilting his
head, he then nudges Jake’s arm to encourage him to continue petting his back. I give him a small smile, letting him know I appreciate his love for my brother.

  “Every time!” Seth’s complaint cuts through my moment with Baxter, and I look over at him, irritated. He and Benuk are huddled on the other cot playing god-only-knows what card game. I find the friendship that has formed between the two very interesting and unexpected. “How can you win all the time?”

  “The bigger question is why you continue to play with me when you know I am going to win every time,” Benuk states calmly, as he gathers up the deck of cards. “Perhaps you will now allow me to teach you the techniques I apply.”

  “Never!” Seth retorts stubbornly. “Just deal the cards, man.”

  Shaking my head, I try to ignore their banter and reach out for Lisa’s gloved hand. She’s sitting opposite me and hasn’t moved since we got here except to ask the doctor questions. Through the respirator, I can see that her eyes are swollen and red-rimmed. She was cautioned about crying while suited up because it would cause the facemask to cloud-over. I’m amazed at the emotional transformation she’s gone through in just the past two weeks and it still encourages me. It means there’s hope for everyone else suffering the same side effects of the original Holocene virus.

  This reminds me of Missy’s dad, Ken. He was an alcoholic. Just like Lisa, after recovering, he was no longer craving the beer. But he wasn’t his usual happy, fun-loving self. We lost him back at the labs to the Mudameere, and there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t thought about him. I promised Missy that we’d find him and I meant it.

  “Are you sure it’s all out of his system?” The doctor is confirming with the nurse.

  “It should be by now, but his vitals are all still well below where we’d expect them to be,” she answers.

  Hugging the clipboard to his chest, I can see him squinting behind his mask, thinking. “Go ahead and hit him with the Atropine. I don’t like the numbers.”

  Mom explained to me the other day that this was a drug she would commonly administer in the hospital for bradycardia, a low heart rate. She told me it was what they gave him before when the alarms wouldn’t stop going off. My anxiety increases when I see the nurse already has the syringe ready as if she expected it. I don’t like this.

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa asks, clearly upset.

  “Not necessarily anything,” Dr. Paul says reassuringly. “It’s not uncommon for things to need a jumpstart after such a long sedation. This won’t hurt him at all. It’ll just increase his vitals a bit.”

  “It’s okay, Lisa,” I say, ignoring my own misgivings. “Mom told me the same thing about it before.” She visibly relaxes, easing back in the uncomfortable metal chair. The nurse dispenses the drug into the IV line, and we all wait expectantly.

  While his heart rate quickly climbs up out of the 40s and into the 60s, and his respirations increase … nothing else happens. The tension building, Lisa looks up at the doctor questioningly.

  “It might take a while, but this is better,” he explains. “We just have to be patient.”

  “We don’t want to push him too hard,” Benuk adds. “He will wake up when he’s ready.” He and Seth are both sitting on the edge of the cot facing us now, the card game forgotten.

  Behind them, Kyle and Nate are both pressing their faces to the glass, trying to see their best friend. Nate pushes away and then wipes at his nose, his freckles standing out more than usual under the dim solar lights. Kyle turns to him and places a hand on his shoulder. As they give each other a hug, I turn away for fear of losing my composure.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a nagging sensation tickling at the base of my skull. I don’t know what it is. Sitting up straighter, I look around the room, wondering if my increased senses are trying to warn me of something. My odd, visual math phenomenon I’d been suffering from disappeared after the Nephilim ship showed up, and I’m worried that maybe it’s coming back. While it has proven helpful several times, it was a huge pain and I really don’t want to have to deal with it again.

  Nothing seems out of place, and everyone else is acting normal. I don’t see anything odd visually. Confused, I rub absently at the back of my neck, trying to make the feeling go away. But that’s not where it is. It’s inside my head: a presence or consciousness that wasn’t there before.

  Closing my eyes against the mounting pressure, I feel hope instead of fear. I don’t understand it, but there is a wave of awareness and familiarity welling up inside of me, rising to the surface and breaking through. Gasping, I open my eyes. It’s Chris! At the same moment, his eyes flutter, confirming my suspicion. Leaning in close, I place my hands on his chest and call out to him in my mind. Come back to me, Chris!

  “Alex.” I’m even caught off guard by the raspy voice whispering my name. We all jump to attention as he slowly opens his eyes and focuses on me. While I can see my own glowing eyes reflected back at me, his are still the soft, warm brown ones that I have come to love.

  ELEVEN

  “I feel fine. I don’t understand why they won’t release me if I’m not infectious anymore, and my vitals are normal.” Sunlight spilling into the room from the wall opposite Chris’s hospital bed causes me to squint as I study his face. He just got done having this same conversation with his mom and the doctor, who left a few minutes ago.

  After nearly a week of recuperating, and numerous tests, they finally moved him into a regular room above ground. He’s been symptom-free for three days, having made a speedy recovery once he turned the corner. It’s all similar to what happened to me, except that he doesn’t seem to have such drastic changes. But there are changes.

  “Chris, you know why they aren’t releasing you,” I say. “The doctor can feed you that line about monitoring you for another twenty-four hours all he wants. But they’re really keeping you here because they’re scared. No one understands how this virus works, or especially how the antiviral meds interact with it. You’re clearly not a Shiner, but it did something to you. They want to identify all the abnormalities before they let you loose on the base. Look at how terrified they still are of me. They cross over to the other side of the street when they see me coming.”

  Clearly frustrated, he turns away from me to stare out the window. He can’t see in the dark, but his vision is twice as good as it used to be. I wonder what he’s looking at in the far distance, across the open fields of the dead zone. His room has a great view. We’re on the 4th floor of the base’s medical clinic, which is as operational as it can be without electricity. Considering there are other patients as well as staff, it almost feels like we’re in a real hospital.

  “What did it do to me, Alex?” Chris finally asks, getting out of the bed and crossing over to the window to lean his forehead against it. “And why is it different than what happened to you?

  “Great question,” I reply. There’s an edge to my voice. “Maybe it’s because I’m a Nephume. I’ve been thinking about it. If this virus was originally created with Nephilim DNA, it could have interacted or reactivated the small amount that’s in me. I dunno,” I add, shrugging my shoulders. “We might never find out.”

  Coming back to sit next to me on the bed, he takes my hand. He never said anything about what happened right before he woke up and I don’t know if he even remembers it. I was going to ask him, but seeing how bothered he is by this other stuff, maybe I should just let it go. Who knows? It could have even been my imagination.

  “I’m sorry, Alex. I know it’s been hard for you too,” he says, and I feel guilty for not being more sympathetic. He’s always been the unselfish one. If anyone deserves self-pity right now, it’s him.

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” I say. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to being different, Chris. But it’s something we’re going to have to come to terms with. For one thing, there are more important things happening. The senator called a meeting for this afternoon, and I got you cleared to go to
it.”

  Smiling now, he jumps to his feet, and I notice the familiar stealth with which he does it. His agility tests indicate he’s experienced increased muscle mass and strength and I can relate to how it feels. “Great! I’ve been feeling like a caged lion in here,” he says. “Is the meeting room far away? Could we run there?”

  Laughing, I grab his arm and pull him back down on the bed. “You probably feel incredible, but you really do need to take it easy. We know the virus enhanced your vision, hearing, muscle tone and agility, but we have no idea if there’s anything else affected.”

  Moving so quickly that I barely have time to react, he twists his wrist free and takes hold of both of my upper arms, pulling me in close. “You’re right,” he breathes, his stare intense. “I do feel incredible. I’m more alive and aware of everything around me than ever before.”

  The rawness emanating from him is intoxicating, and the heat from where his hands are still gripping me is spreading like wildfire. My body reacts instinctually, and I lean into him even though the rational side of me is screaming for me to stop. He isn’t himself right now.

  “You’re beautiful, Alex,” he whispers, kissing me hungrily at the hollow of my throat and following the line of my jaw. Even as the feral groan is making its way to my lips, I place my hands on his broad chest to push him away. But before I can demonstrate my incredible willpower, the door to the room flies open. Startled, we both spin toward our group of friends standing awkwardly at the entrance.

  “Umm, we could come back later?” Kyle says teasingly, a huge grin on his face.

  My face turning crimson, I jump to my feet and step away from Chris. “Don’t be silly,” I mumble. “We were just talking about, ah…” I look to Chris for help, but he’s just smiling at me, seeming to enjoy my embarrassment.