Forgotten Origins Trilogy - Box Set: Infected, Heritage, Descent

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Forgotten Origins Trilogy - Box Set: Infected, Heritage, Descent Page 19

by Tara Ellis


  I look around once again, feeling anxious. I reassure myself by touching the wooden medallion I still wear under my shirt: our family seal. Next to it is a whistle, my last fail-safe once I’m inside the professor’s house so I can alert Chris to any danger. He’s been pacing me about a half mile back since I rode past the agreed upon starting point. I can’t see him, but trust that he is there. Our hope is that if anyone is following me, he will spot them. Maybe even learn something about our adversaries. Once at the house, he’ll hide in the trees close by and continue to watch and wait. Unlike me, he is armed with a gun, not a whistle. Grinning, I think about the debate we had over who should get the one revolver. Our only other weapons are rifles, so they weren’t an option. He’d insisted that I take it, but in the end agreed it made more sense for him to have it.

  My grin fades as quickly as it came. I haven’t smiled much lately. The first week was the hardest. We got back to the house with the help of our neighbor to discover that the bodies we had left behind were gone. Apparently the hive mind works fast and the cleanup was very efficient. Well, except for the blood. I spent several hours wiping it up. Mom doesn’t remember anything during the time of The Shining, so couldn’t tell us what had happened. That’s what people are calling it. The Government refers to it as the Great Infection. Whatever.

  I finally got to make that 911 call like I swore I would. It was a couple of days before anyone answered, and then the phones went down for good. It was hard to convince them at first. No one wanted to believe what I was saying. The pit was proof enough. It was partially filled in, but the bodies weren’t very deep. Now there’s a quickly made plaque and plastic bench along the edge of the freshly filled hole, as a memorial. We’ll never know if all the names are on there because everyone involved suffers from amnesia.

  It seems like that was the most common side effect of the illness, after the light or anti-virus was emitted from several pyramids around the world for over a week. That’s the best we can tell anyway, based on the limited news sources coming through. Everyone reacted and recovered differently. Most of the infected came away from the ordeal with nothing more than a headache for a few days and lingering amnesia of the time when they weren’t in control. A blessing really, considering what they did. The rest of the population, only a small percentage, has various issues.

  The biggest complaint is crippling headaches that nothing will relieve. Most of them are hospitalized and can’t function at all. Others have amnesia that extends to well before The Shining, and so haven’t been able to return to their earlier lives. Then there are those with random neurological issues that don’t seem to make sense, almost like the virus shorted out the network in their brains. A number of them are hospitalized too, along with the ones suffering from psychotic breaks. It was just too much for some people to deal with.

  All of this has overrun the medical system. Mom was given a special pass to travel back and forth to the hospital where she works as a nurse. Unlike so many others who are taking a long time to pick up where they left off, she went back to work by the second week. She tells us stories about the patients there and I can’t help but feel some guilt. I know that we literally saved hundreds of millions of lives, but it was at a huge cost of its own.

  Reports that Mom has seen indicate that the Holocene virus managed to spread throughout nearly the entire planet before it was stopped. There was an overall average infection rate of around 70%, and an initial death rate of 10%, meaning upwards of 400 million died. Fortunately, the secondary infection and genocide was limited to Western Canada and parts of the Western US but several more million died from that final phase. The post-infection complications are affecting millions more worldwide, leading to increasing problems with infrastructure and political unrest. Society is a boiling pot and it’s starting to spill over.

  There is mass confusion and denial over what happened. Due to the amnesiac effect, everyone has to rely on accounts from the small percentage of us who were immune. Fear, suspicion, paranoia and rising anger are the result. There are rumors that the government created the virus intentionally for population control, or as a way to control the masses. Others believe it was a biological weapon and WWIII has already started. Fingers are being pointed, but no one has the answers. It’s caused major disruption in all aspects of society.

  This is why I am on a bike right now. At first, all supplies were at a complete standstill. The workers who normally run the factories, stores and trucks were all recovering or freaking out. Sometimes both. It was over a week before any kind of order was restored. We took advantage of this time to get Chris’s gunshot wound treated and an escape plan put in place, in case we had to get out of town fast.

  Once the military showed up, we pretty much kept to ourselves and our heads down. Although, I admit that I had wanted to run to them and tell them everything I knew. I was just so tired of being responsible and wanted nothing more than to hand it off. However, Chris and my mom convinced me of how stupid that would be. After calming down and getting some sleep, I realized they were right. If anything was clear, it was that no one in power could be trusted. At least not yet. Not until we figure out who exactly the Mudameere are and what they are planning to do. So here I am riding this bike a painful 8 miles to Professor Hassan’s house. It’s located a couple of miles before the road block that the military set up.

  Gas and food have started trickling in, but it’s incredibly expensive. Everyone has taken to bartering with each other for what they really need, and walking or riding their bikes. The lucky ones have horses.

  The electricity has been back on for about a week. We even had access to the internet for a couple of hours a day at some places in town, before it went down for good. The phones and TV have been even less reliable, and the best source of information comes from the local newspaper printed on its original ink press. It’s funny that through all of this, the oldest technology turned out to be the most efficient.

  I was surprised at how well Mom took things when I sat her down and explained everything that happened since she got sick. I had to show her the actual crossword puzzles that she filled in to convince her of it. She almost seemed disappointed at not remembering being so smart. There were a lot of tears and apologies but, in the end, the strong woman I have come to admire stepped forward and took charge of her own fate. It feels so good to have her back.

  Jacob still won’t sleep in his room. Too many bad memories, and I can’t blame him. He’s taken to sleeping with Mom in her room and she doesn’t seem to mind. Baxter, our golden retriever, has changed his sleeping habits too. From the moment Jake is in bed, he is situated in the door to the room, daring anyone to enter without his permission first. I love that dog.

  Chris made a full recovery from his wounds and has been working hard at rebuilding his strength. He’s got a difficult situation though with his mom. The horrible addiction to heroine she suffered from is still gone, but with it is also her ability to feel any strong emotions. Although she’s able to function, she obviously isn’t herself. Chris is patient with her, and I admire how strong his love is for her. These past few days though, I can tell it’s wearing on him. We’re hoping it’s temporary, but so far there isn’t much improvement.

  We all know that the clock is ticking and it’s only a matter of time before we’ll have to leave. The government is zeroing in on us, and who knows what will happen once we’re in their custody? If what the professor said before is true, then all of this was just the first step in a bigger plan. It’s only going to get worse.

  Two of Chris’s friends from church and school, Nate and Kyle, have met with us twice now in secret. They both suffered the loss of one or both parents and are essentially on their own. We have all gathered around to support each other. They know the real story and want to help. Honestly, I don’t know what any of us can do right now. But waiting for the other shoe to drop just doesn’t sit well with any of us. So short of using myself as bait to draw out the Mudameere or g
oing to the Government, talking to the professor seemed like the best idea. It’s time to do something.

  As I draw closer to his house though, I wonder. The last time I saw him, he was pretty much off his rocker. He had infected himself with the Holocene Virus on purpose so he could join his Shiner wife. He almost seemed to admire the virus in its complexity and believed that God had even sent it. None of that might have changed and I could be making a huge mistake. I’m hoping that his lifelong commitment to the Khufu Bast and friendship with my father will hold some weight and that I can convince him to help us.

  Turning onto the long paved driveway, I look at his impressive log house situated at the end. A wave of fear washes over me and my legs falter, the pedals spinning out of control. Taking a deep breath, I reposition my feet and push forward. I have to do this.

  Gravel crunches under my tires as I pull up to the front porch, announcing my arrival. Jumping quickly off the bike, I fumble with the kickstand in my nervousness and finally just let it fall. I approach the large front door with caution, just as it opens and instinctively reach for the whistle hanging around my neck. Standing in the shadowy doorway is Professor Alim Hassan, a large smile on his pudgy, bearded face.

  “Alex!” he exclaims happily, as if greeting a long-lost friend. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

  TWO

  I just stand there staring at the professor for so long, that his smile wavers. Now that I’m here, I really don’t know how to start the conversation. The awkward silence continues to draw out and I finally smile back tentatively. That small gesture is all he needs, and the professor steps forward, eagerly taking my hand in both of his.

  “I know I behaved badly, Alex. But, please give me a chance to explain. Come inside and meet Susan, have some tea with us.” I see his expression soften even further at the mention of his wife, and the last of my trepidation fades. I allow myself to be led inside, looking out at the woods and smiling briefly first to let Chris know that things are okay.

  The house is still as large and open inside as I remember it, but the big stone fireplace sits cold in comparison to the furnace it was the last time. We go to sit on the over-stuffed leather furniture arranged in front of it and I am glad to be next to the huge wall of A-frame windows. The professor obviously understands why I might not trust him, and he chooses to sit in the chair furthest from my own. I appreciate the space.

  Once more, we stare silently at each other. Professor Hassan drops his gaze, looking at his hands as he nervously toys with the long strands of yarn dangling from the scarf around his neck. I have a feeling he always wears one, no matter what the weather is like. Clearing his throat, he pushes at the small glasses perched on his large hooked nose and hangs his head even further.

  “There is nothing I can say or do to make up for the way I let you down. I dishonored your father’s memory and the ways of the Khufu Bast. I broke our most solemn vow and for that, there is no penance. I was completely distraught, Alex,” he continues, now meeting my gaze. “My wife was gone, our world was gone and the sacred mission of the Khufu Bast lost. What I saw in that virus tested me as a man, and I failed. It made me question all that I believed and I took the coward’s way out.” Tears welling in his eyes, he stands with some effort and walks to the fireplace. Placing his hands on the mantle, he rests his forehead against them.

  “I have no right to ask you for forgiveness, Alex,” he says quietly, his back still to me. Shoulders slumping even further, I hear a soft sob and realize how deep his shame is. His sorrow pulls at my heart and I know that in order to move forward, I have to do what I think my father would want. This man was his friend and mentor and, although everything he just said is true, it doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. Just human.

  “Professor,” I say, crossing the space between us to place a hand on his sagging shoulder. “What happened was more than anyone could have expected. There was no way to prepare for that. I know that you feel like you didn’t do your part in stopping the Holocene virus, but you actually did help.” At this, he turns to look at me. His glasses are fogged, sliding down to the end of his red nose. I can see the look of hope in his dark, intelligent eyes.

  “I don’t know how much you remember, but the information you gave us that night was crucial. I might not have figured it all out without you.” I might be stretching it a bit, but only a little. The effect this has on him is dramatic. His shoulders straighten and he sighs heavily as if a huge weight has been lifted from him. Smiling, he removes his glasses and wipes absently at them with his scarf, reminding me of that dark night not so long ago.

  “You are a very gracious child,” he says with admiration. “So much like your father.” A door opening grabs both of our attention and we look to the back of the house, through the open country-style kitchen.

  Walking onto the stone tile with a basket full of small carrots is an attractive woman who looks to be in her late fifties. I recognize her immediately from the painting in the family room as the professor’s wife, Susan. Setting the basket down on the kitchen island, she kicks off her crocs and runs both hands through her short, auburn hair.

  “You have got to be Alex Mubarak!” Susan exclaims, smoothing down her blouse as she crosses the room with quick, purposeful strides. Smiling at me, she holds out her hand, reminding me of my Grandma Fisher in Nebraska. I instantly like her.

  Taking her hand in a firm grasp, the strong handshake confirms my impression and I smile back. The remaining tension in the room evaporates. “Yes, I’m Alex,” I tell her as we all sit down. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  “So, tell us what has been happening in town,” Susan says matter-of-factly and I look to the professor for guidance.

  “She knows everything, everything,” he explains, waving his small hands animatedly. “She knew more than most spouses before it happened, due to my position in the Khufu Bast. It was impossible to keep it from her. After, the um…infection, I told her all that I know.” Placing one of his hands over hers next to him on the couch, they look at each other. “She deserved at least that much.”

  “Now, now, Alim,” Susan says, patting his hand. “Let’s not waste time talking about things that aren’t important. What has happened is over and done with. We must focus on the future. That is why Alex is here, I would guess. Right, Alex?”

  Admiring her ability to cut right to the point, I nod in agreement. “I don’t know what to do,” I say to them both. “The military has control of the town and are getting close to figuring out it was us in the pyramid. I haven’t gone to them because I don’t know if they can be trusted, but we’ll have to decide what to do very soon. Haven’t you been to town? The military hasn’t come out here?”

  “No,” he says simply. “We’ve stock-piled enough food and water for months. We have a generator and lots of gas for it. We were at least prepared for that. Once we recovered enough to gain our wits, it was obvious that keeping a low profile is best. I tried to call you, of course, but the phones have not co-operated. I figured you would come here when able. I relied on it, actually, so it is a great relief to see you. Why are you on a bike?” he asks. “No gas in town?”

  “Not much,” I confirm. “What there is costs about twenty dollars a gallon. We’re conserving what we have.”

  “Smart, smart,” he says approvingly. “You are going to need it.”

  I look up at him sharply. “I hope that means you have some advice for me? Some direction? Because right now we are totally in the dark. We figure that the Mudameere are planning on releasing a new virus, based on what you told us before. But we have no way of knowing where, when, or what it will do or how to stop it! Why would they even do it? What’s their motivation? Please, Professor,” I practically beg him. “If you know something, you have to tell me!”

  “Yes child, yes…I have some answers and a plan for you.” He says and my chest tightens in response. After nearly a month of struggling over what to do, with so much in the balance, his declaratio
n is both a relief and a burden. It feels like my responsibility in all of this will never be over. The tightness spreads to my throat and I try to swallow around it, unsuccessfully. The result is a sort of gagging sob and Susan comes to sit next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. She seems to recognize that I don’t need a stifling embrace, just a little support.

  “Alex,” she says knowingly as I fight to regain my composure. “I can understand how the revelation that the fight isn’t over is a lot to absorb. Even though you had to have already known it.” I look at her, nodding.

  Finally swallowing, a single tear escapes and I wipe it away angrily. Susan grabs my wrist, and I’m surprised at her roughness. Forcing my hand in front of my face, she points at the dampness on my finger. “Don’t ever think this means you are weak,” she says with vehemence. “It proves you are still human. That you still have something to fight for and care about!”

  Letting go of my arm, she touches her own forehead, grimacing in pain. Switching roles, I quickly take her by the shoulders to support her as she sags back against the couch. I recognize the symptoms and my heart aches for her.

  “I won’t forget what you said,” I whisper to her. “I won’t ever stop fighting.”

  Squinting at me through her pain, she manages a small smile. The professor is at her side now and guides her from the room. “I’ll be right back,” he tells me, obviously used to this.

  I can hear muffled voices from down the hallway and go to stand by the windows, looking out. Scanning the tree line, it dawns on me how normal the woods appear. Like the craziness surrounding it could be forgotten if you were to lose yourself in them. A glint of light drags me from these thoughts and I focus in on its location, finally seeing Chris crouched down. He looks out of place with this new perception of mine and I long for a time when we can all belong to the natural order again. Someday. I raise a hand and make a broad sweeping gesture and he fades back into the shadows.

 

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