The Human Experiment

by Kevin McLaughlin

  The Human Experiment

  Craig Martelle

  Kevin McLaughlin

  Contents

  The Human Experiment

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Dedication

  The Human Experiment

  Author Notes—Kevin McLaughlin

  Other Books by Kevin McLaughlin

  Author Notes—Craig Martelle

  Other Books by Craig Martelle

  The Human Experiment

  A Novel

  by Kevin McLaughlin and Craig Martelle

  Craig Martelle Social

  Website & Newsletter: http://www.craigmartelle.com

  Amazon: author.to/Martelle

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCraigMartelle/

  BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/craig-martelle

  Kevin McLaughlin Social

  Website: https://www.kevinomclaughlin.com/

  Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Kevin-McLaughlin/e/B004WYXIUO

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KevinOMcLaughlin/

  Copyright © 2018 Craig Martelle and Kevin McLaughlin

  All rights reserved.

  ASIN:

  Cover Illustration by Victoria Cooper

  Editing services provided by Tim Marquitz

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  One

  John sat at the edge of the cliff, which marked off one side of his world, tossing pebbles over the edge. He wondered where they went. He could only see them fall a short way down. They vanished into the mists, which had obscured the bottom for as long as he could recall.

  His fingers scooped another pebble from the riverbed beside him and tossed it over the side to follow the others. The water roared over the edge only a few feet away, breaking into a million streams as it fell into the same abyss as his pebbles.

  Where did it all go? John felt a growing urge to cast himself over the side. He’d find out then, one way or another. The fall would almost certainly kill him. He could tell that the bottom was far enough away that he wouldn’t survive the drop. But it was growing more difficult to care about that. Harder to think that anything mattered at all.

  He felt utterly numb, when he ought to be crying. The grief was too intense. He’d walled it off, locking it away where it couldn’t touch him. Leaving him empty and alone. For the first time in his life, John was truly alone.

  I know what to do, he tried to reassure himself. But the words felt hollow. He’d lived in this world for his whole life. He knew the trees, the plants, the river. But he’d never had to deal with it without others beside him. Now, he had to face it like a newborn.

  All by himself. How was he supposed to do that?

  John looked down at hands crusted with dirt. He’d clawed the grave for his mother with his bare hands and laid her inside the shallow hole. Seeing her there in the ground, he almost couldn’t bear to place the dirt over her body. She looked like she was sleeping. He wanted to believe she was just asleep, that she would wake soon, and everything would be better.

  But she wasn’t asleep. She was dead, and it was his fault.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” John whispered, his voice barely audible above the roaring water. “I didn’t mean to let you down.”

  A short distance away was the berry bush his mother had picked from the day before. It was a new plant, one neither John nor his mother recalled seeing before. She’d commented on it, but she picked the berries anyway. All the nuts, fruit, and berries that grew in this place were food. They always had been. It had stood to reason they always would be. But this was different.

  John had gorged himself earlier on nuts. He wasn’t hungry when his mother came home with the berries, so he hadn’t eaten any. She’d smiled, glad to have the tasty treat for herself. Half the berries had gone into her belly before she said she was full. By then it was growing dark. She fell asleep soon after. John listened to her gentle snores for only a short time before falling asleep himself. But when he awoke the next day, she was cold and still.

  He tried to rouse her for the longest time, not understanding at first that she was gone. The only time he’d ever seen death before was when his father passed, and he’d only been a boy. But, finally, he was forced to admit the truth. She’d died while he slept. Her fingers were still stained red from her meal the night before. That was what made John think of the berries.

  The bush mocked him. Was it really to blame? He had no way to know for certain that it had poisoned his mother, but somehow it felt right. Who was at fault? If he hadn’t eaten the nuts, perhaps she would have had those instead. She would still be alive.

  There were still berries on the bush. How many would it take for him to join her? Were there enough? John stood, his muscles sore from sitting too long. He slowly crossed the distance to the bush, each step feeling like the end of the world was coming. Which in a way it was, at least for him. When he was in front of the bush, he reached down and plucked a berry.

  It was bright red, brilliantly colored. John could smell its sweetness even without tasting it. Surely there were still enough berries left. He would eat the bush clean, and he would fall asleep. Just like his mother.

  A crashing noise from the river startled John, making him drop the berry as he whirled.

  “Damn!” Something thrashed in the water. John couldn’t tell what it was. At first, he thought it was another person, but he knew that couldn’t be true. There were no other people. Then again, as far as he knew, there wasn’t anything that big alive in the world.

  It would have been about half his height, had it been standing. It lay in the water, struggling to keep its head above the surface. The thing’s head was longer than his and dotted by two small horns. It had what looked like short tawny fur all over its body.

  John didn’t know what to make of it. He’d never seen anything like it. Some sort of animal? His parents had told him stories of animals, but he’d never seen one. They hadn’t ever been part of his world. There one was, though. Proof that his parent’s tall-tales were true, right in front of him.

  The animal had four legs, and three of them were tangled in something. A vine or water plant, perhaps. Whatever the source, the animal was unable to stand. The current pushed it down the river. Another minute, and it would go over the edge.

  He didn’t he
sitate. John plunged forward, entering the water downstream from the animal. He had to catch it as it floated past if he wanted to have a prayer of saving it. The water was up past his knees when he figured he was far enough out. John planted his feet as best he could. If the animal’s momentum knocked him over, the current could send both of them over the edge.

  It was almost on top of him, close enough that John could see his reflection in its dark eyes. He lunged—caught it—almost lost his grip but managed to hang on.

  “Got you!” he shouted. Then the full weight of the animal hit him, sending his feet out from beneath him. They were both sailing downstream together! John looked over his shoulder. The edge was very close. Suddenly, he wanted with every fiber of his being to stay alive. The earlier thoughts about going over the edge vanished in the immediacy of his danger.

  John grunted, planting his feet firmly against the stones of the riverbed. He slowed but didn’t quite stop. The deer’s weight dragged at him, making it harder to hold his position. If he let go, he could surely get away. All he had to do was let the animal die, and he could live.

  “Not. Happening.” He said the words through gritted teeth as he clung to the creature. He dug in his heels and caught a rock that didn’t shift away. With that firmer footing, John was able to shift both of them out of the center of the stream, off to the side where the current was less strong.

  Hauling the animal ashore was easier than catching it had been. It went limp, not struggling as John dragged it into the shallows. It had tangled several of its legs in a bunch of water weeds. He reached down and broke one strand, then another. They were tough, but he could snap them one at a time.

  “There! That’s the last one,” John said. He stood up, taking a step back away from the beast.

  It jumped to all four feet with a startlingly rapid motion. It glanced at him, staring deep into his eyes. There was something in those eyes that reminded John of his father. He remembered what he had been doing and felt sudden shame. What would his parents have thought if he simply cast away his life? John shook his head to clear it.

  The animal jumped at his movement, dashing away into the trees. John stared after it for a while. It was fast! He’d never be able to catch it in a run. Maybe he would see it again sometime, though. That would be nice.

  He walked back over to the bush and stared at it. Was he really to blame? Had the berries been what caused his mother’s death? John had no way of knowing for sure, but his gut told him he wasn’t wrong. He flushed, furious. All of the grief he had been feeling and bottled up inside came tumbling out in a heartbeat. Without thinking about it, he rushed in toward the offending plant, grabbing it close to the roots. With a sharp tug, he pulled the bush free from the soil. He took two steps toward the ravine, and with a shout, cast the shrub over the side. It arced high into the air and descended into the fog, out of sight.

  John panted. The flash of anger subsided. Had it really been the bush, or was it him? If he hadn’t fallen asleep, would his mother still be alive? Did I fail her?

  No one was there to answer any of his questions. John took a short walk along the perimeter of his world, keeping his eyes open for the animal. His trek along the ravine brought him to where it met a massive wall, towering high over his head. The wall formed the second side of his world. That was the totality of existence: an un-survivable drop on one side and an unclimbable wall on the other. Walking along the base of the wall brought him back to where he’d started, at the hole in the wall from which the river water flowed. Where he’d buried his mother, next to his father’s grave.

  “So, what do I do now, Mother?” John asked. “You never told me what to do after you were gone.”

  He sagged to his knees, utterly spent and completely alone. The sky was darkening, the sun fading from view and stars sparkling along the horizon. The world seemed so big when there were other people in it with him.

  Now, it felt small. He curled up between his parents’ graves, tears running down his cheeks, until he fell into a fitful slumber.

  Two

  John woke stiff from laying on the ground. He hadn't had it in him to return to the shelter he shared with his parents for his whole life. There were too many memories in that place.

  At least for now. He rose, stretched, and looked about him.

  The intensity of the day before was gone. It was washed away by the night’s rest. The hollow spot in the pit of his stomach remained, though. John looked around, confused. Their days together had always had a beat to them, a routine. He and his mother would rise, gather breakfast, and then go about whatever chores were required for the day.

  There was usually some small repair to be done in the shelter, or some new tool John wanted to build. Then they would get back together for lunch and often spend the afternoon simply sharing company and speaking with each other.

  He never had to spend a day completely alone, not until yesterday. Now, today yawned out in front of him as empty as the last. Worse, he could sense all of the impending tomorrows looming with that same lack of purpose.

  “NO!” he shouted at the cliff. He turned toward the trees. “NO!”

  John needed a challenge, but there were few to be had. No animals roamed his world. That was why seeing the animal yesterday had been so remarkable.

  His mother and father had told him stories about animals. Small furry things called squirrels and cats. Bigger ones that they had called cows and deer. Even dangerous ones like wolves and tigers. He was never quite sure which stories were true and which ones weren't. Some of them sounded too ridiculous to be believed. If such things existed, where had they gone? Why had he never seen one?

  They didn't have a good answer for him. When he asked, their brows drew together, and they got a vacant look in their eyes. Like they were trying to remember something and couldn't.

  He questioned his mother intensely as he got older. John wanted to know if she had ever been anywhere else, and if the world he could see was all there was. His mother remembered snatches of a place which seemed much bigger. With people. With real homes. Much bigger places, holding many families.

  But when John pressed her for more information, she grew upset.

  "I don't remember, all right!" his mother had snapped at him. It was strange, because she almost never yelled. "I guess my old brain is not working as well as it once did. I remember bits and pieces, but I can't tell you any more than I already have."

  Then she had begun to cry. John had rushed to her, gathering her into a hug. It had been the end of his questioning. He didn't want to upset his mother. He didn't want to make her sad. So he stopped asking about animals and other people. He stopped asking about a bigger world than the one he knew.

  But he never stopped wondering. Now he knew their stories were true. He’d seen it firsthand.

  With nothing else to think about or do, that old curiosity began bubbling back to the surface. He was alone, after all. He was bored. The animal he rescued had to have come from somewhere. John had always thought his world was all that there was.

  But if there was someplace else? If there was a place with more people, more buildings, and animals that he could see? That would be worth fighting for. That would be worth any risk.

  John's wanderings brought him back to the wall. It loomed above him. He could barely see the top. But looking at it, he could see cracks and fissures in its surface.

  As a teenager, he hadn't had strength to climb the thing, but now that he was grown perhaps that had changed? He reached out and ran his fingers over the stone surface. Looking up, John tried to trace a route for his ascent.

  Was there a way? He thought he could pick out a potential path running from that small crack there, to a bump in the rock at that spot there. It would be dangerous and difficult, but he thought it might be possible.

  It would be rash to consider leaving without making some preparations first. John returned to his mother's shelter—his shelter now, he supposed. He took only a few things.
A small coiled vine, carefully braided into a rope. That might be useful, although it was nowhere near long enough to reach the top. He took a sack woven from thick grasses and tied it to the vine he wore around his waist. The bag was filled with nuts and fruit, enough for a simple meal or two, at least. He had no idea what he might find if he did accomplish his goal. Food might be as plentiful on the far side of the wall as it was on this side, but he really didn't know. Better safe than hungry.

  Why do I assume there is another side? Because there cannot be a bigger world unless something exists beyond the wall. I must get over the wall, John thought.

  Lastly, he took the sliver of sharp stone from its place next to where he slept. That rock had taken him forever to sharpen, but the blade was good enough to cut through vine, slice an apple, and most any other task he asked of it. It was a good multi-tool, small enough to carry easily and useful for a variety of tasks. John took a small length of thin vine and tied both ends to the rock in a loop so it could hang around his neck.

  He looked around his world, saying goodbye. If he managed to climb the wall, he might never see this place again. Emotion tore at him. He wanted to bring it all with him. Every wall of sticks carried a memory. The rush roof, so painstakingly repaired over the years, was built from a mixture of his blood, sweat, and tears alongside those of his mother and earlier still, his father. It was hard to let it go. Especially not knowing what he was going to find on the other side of the wall.