by Lund, S. E.
I stand in silence for a moment, trying to understand.
"Can… they," I start to say and stumble, wanting to ask 'can Blackstone do that?' but I don't, not wanting to give too much away. "Can whoever did this create a Carrington Event? How could anyone create one? They'd have to be able to manipulate a star…"
He shakes his head and then covers his eyes with a hand, finally overcome. I stand and watch him, feeling helpless. After a moment, he seems to regain control, glancing away.
"I'm sorry," he says, after clearing his throat. "I just wanted to make sure you were OK. I have to go."
"Why did you want to check on me?"
"Because," he says, wiping his eyes. "You're my sister."
I'm stunned into silence. I watch him walk away for a moment then I snap out of it.
"Wait," I say and run to him, grabbing his arm. "What do you mean, I'm your sister?"
He nods and pulls me into an alley. "We have the same mother and were enhanced in the same batch. They took more eggs from her and implanted us in different women. They made a dozen of us but only we survived."
"What parents? Is Natalia our mother?"
He nods, but says nothing more.
"Tell me!"
He stops and seems to struggle with himself. "We're both enhanced Adepts. I've just," he says and shrugs. "Been turned. Transformed."
"You're a vampire? Your skin isn't pale."
"Vampires are pale because they have little circulation in the skin. Blackstone developed a genetic fix that makes the skin retain its peripheral circulation. You won't look pale either when you're turned as well."
"I don't want to become a vampire."
He shrugs. "To get your full powers, you must. It's your destiny."
I squeeze my hands into fists. "I don't believe in destiny. How can you? You're a scientist!"
"Science is just one way of knowing, Eve. There are others, like religion and faith. They're not empirical. They're spiritual. They can't be measured or quantified."
We stand there for a moment in silence. In my mind, I fight what he says.
"I saw you in the park with those men," I say. "You had some kind of power that threw them a dozen feet in the air."
He nods. "We're weapons, Eve. We're meant to fulfill the prophecy."
"Prophecy?"
"St. Therese of the Reeds."
It's then I remember reading my journal about the document Seth gave me.
"Now I have to go back to my parents," Dylan says. "But we'll talk again."
"What are you doing? Who are you with?" I say, not wanting to let him go.
"Blackstone," he says and shakes his head. "But you already suspected. No one knows about me, Eve. This must be just between us. Please don't let anyone know about me. Put up your blocks. Keep people out."
I let him go without another word, too stunned to say anything because I have a brother.
Problem is, he's also my enemy.
* * *
I walk back to our house, my arms wrapped around myself against the cold wind.
"Sarah Rhys is dead," I say once I'm inside the door, barely able to hold back my tears.
"Oh, God," he says and shakes his head slowly, looking at me with alarm on his face, his eyes wide. "I'm so sorry about Sarah." He stands there, his hands in his pockets as if he's trying to keep them off me. "I know you were becoming close to her. I wish I could hold you." He runs his hands through his hair and stares at the ceiling. "This is it." He glances back at me. "This is what we feared and we're too late. I had no idea they were so close."
* * *
We go to the town square, joining the crowd that formed spontaneously, waiting to hear from someone in authority. The new mayor and the sheriff stand at the statue of a mariner in the center of the square and wait until the crowd hushes. There are almost a hundred people waiting, speaking with each other. We wear strange clothes – probably the only clothes that are natural fibers – cotton, linen, wool. There are no plastic rain slickers. There are no rubber boots – just various versions of leather shoes.
"If I can have your attention, please," the mayor says, speaking through an old megaphone with no power. "This is what we know, or the best we can piece together about what's happened. According to local scientists, this second fall of red rain appears to have been the catalyst for the destruction of anything made from plastics and petrochemicals where the rain fell, including gasoline, fuel oil, coal and all byproducts. You'll all be familiar with this as it’s affected each one of us. We don't know how it was done and we haven't been able to get any updates from Washington since we have no power, and our communications technology either relies on electricity or has plastics in some part of it and is no longer functional.”
A sense of unreality takes hold over me. We're completely cut off.
“We've sent out scouts to see how far it extends, but we haven't heard back yet from any of them. We have a HAM radio operator gathering information but he's using a very old HAM radio from the Pre-WWII era, and it's spotty. We know the red rain fell along the entire eastern Seaboard, up to one hundred miles into the continent so we have to assume it extends at least that far and that what happened here happened there as well. Jed Thompson took a horse and went south to see if power was on, but there wasn't."
He pauses for a moment, flipping through hand-written pages that flap in the wind. "We've taken a preliminary stock of food in stores in Davis Cove, but a lot of the perishable food that's been kept in freezers will start to degrade quickly if we don't get power back. A lot of food was lost due to being packaged in plastic containers. We're working on an inventory of food and medicines in grocery stores, restaurants and our stockpiles for emergencies, but a lot are either stored in or made with some form of fossil fuels."
He pauses for a moment and glances down at a sheet in his hand.
"We've had several deaths in our community due to this disaster and it's impossible to tell how many have died in the affected areas but we anticipate it's in the thousands, if not more. Cars and boats made with plastic parts have fallen apart. We assume some airplanes have as well. Possibly – probably in flight. Everyone we had who relied on respirators has died. That comes to twenty-three in total who died immediately in the entire county. Several people had heart attacks and died when we couldn't do anything to help them because there was either no electricity or the batteries used in technology – or the technology itself – failed. In total, the death toll is about fifty-seven but we expect more once the full count is in."
He pauses as if to gather his composure. People take that opportunity to speak to each other, a murmur running through the crowd.
"I've declared a state of emergency for Davis Cove. Until we have a better sense of the extent and whether we'll be getting any aid from outside the affected areas, community events and all school has been suspended. I'm asking all able-bodied adults aged twenty-one and over to volunteer to help with disaster assistance. If any of you have experience in emergency management or response, please indicate so when you sign up. We need folks who have experience planning for and responding to this kind of emergency. We're asking you to sign up for four-hour shifts." He put the paper down and stared out at the crowd.
"We'll pull through this if we cooperate. Until I indicate otherwise, a ten o'clock PM until six o'clock AM curfew is in place. That's all for now. Thank you and may God be with us in our time of need."
The crowd murmurs in response, and I see some of the Catholics making the sign of the cross. Of the hundred or so people gathered in the square, a good number form a line and start signing up for community service shifts.
Julien joins the line to sign up for us and I go home, deciding to spend my time trying to find candles and wood I can use in the fireplace to keep warm while Julien signs us up.
We spend the rest of the evening sorting through what had become junk and what survived the 'plague', as Julien calls it. I find some old beeswax candles in the bathroom cupboard tha
t appear intact, and some safety matches that work. We'll have some light at night for a while if we conserve it. We have some flashlights but they've been made of plastic. Besides, the batteries look weird, because they had plastic wrappers. The batteries might still be useful, except everything that might have used them has plastic in them somewhere.
As far as food goes, our dry goods that aren't in plastic containers are fine. We have lots of oatmeal and pasta, tea and coffee, flour, sugar, cans of beans and soups. Boxes of crackers. Rice in plastic bags spilled out onto the cabinet shelves, but most of it is reclaimable. I store it in empty glass jars that the cottage owner had in a cupboard in the pantry. Our food might last a week, if we conserve. We still have running water, but I wonder how long it will last or how safe it is. I find an old tin kettle in the bottom of a cupboard and decided to make tea to keep us warm.
The fireplace isn't designed for cooking, but we'll make do. We also have a barbeque outside on the porch, but there's no natural gas or charcoal to use. Julien starts a fire in the fireplace, and soon, I have some beans and rice cooking in pots near the fire. I pour him some tea and we sit at the kitchen island and eat in silence.
"I hate this not knowing," Julien says finally. "I'm so used to instant communications with Vasquez. This is going to be a test of our adaptability."
* * *
I spend most of the next day in bed and Julien lets me mourn Sarah without forcing me to do anything. Of course, he tries to comfort me with words, but I just want him to hold me.
A funeral is held on Tuesday for many of the victims who died in the initial hours of the plague. I see Dylan there and Sarah's parents. I go to them, giving him and them my sympathies.
"How are you, Eve?” Mrs. Rhys says, taking my hand in hers.
"I'm fine," I say, squeezing her hand. “How are you holding up?”
She smiles sadly. “We always knew she’d die early. She knew it as well. She viewed life as a journey with death at the end, but she wanted to live as long as possible. This was cruel, but it was fast. She passed out immediately from lack of oxygen and died within a few minutes.”
I can't help but tear up again at the thought and she squeezes my hand again.
“Are you getting enough food and water?" she says and puts her arm around my shoulder.
I nod. "We have enough for now."
She drops my hand. "Come to our house and have something to eat. We have lots. I used to stock up at the warehouse store in Gloucester each week, just to keep Dylan happy. He was always going on about having six-months of food in case of a disaster so we're all set. I know he'd like if you came by." She squeezes my arm, and I think it’s a sign she knows who and what I am.
"I'll drop by later," I say.
* * *
While Julien goes to do his first shift in the command center, I go to the Rhys house. When I arrive, Mr. Rhys is sitting in the semi-darkness of the conservatory, staring out the window.
“Oh, hello Eve,” he says and stands. He's disheveled, his hair messy. "You'll excuse my messy clothes but we have no electricity for an iron. The solar panels use batteries with plastic in the casing. They're useless."
I shake my head. "Of course. You don't have to explain."
The Gould Steinway has music spread out on it – I imagine from Mrs. Rhys's lessons from the previous week. I doubt she'll be teaching anytime soon.
"Play for us," Mrs. Rhys says, urging me forward.
I shake my head. "I'm not really in the mood…"
"Please," she says. "We've been so sad. Something pretty would lift our spirits. Play some Bach. Sarah would have liked it."
I sit at the piano with reluctance and force myself, just to please them, for they’ve been so nice. I play scales for a moment to warm up. Then, I start to play the repertory I learned before my father went into an asylum, starting with a Bach prelude, but I'm just not in the mood and stop. I glance up and catch sight of Dylan standing in the doorway. I stop, turning to him.
"Don't stop because of me," he says and motions for me to continue. "Play something – play your most favorite piece."
I take in a deep breath and play the first few bars of the Chopin Nocturne. The memory fills me with a sweet melancholy that could easily change into grief. When I finish, I sit there in silence, emotions roiling inside of me. No one says a word.
"Come," Mrs. Rhys says and holds out her hand. "I have something for you."
I let her take my hand, feeling close to tears. She leads me down the hallway to Sarah's room. It's been cleaned up and all evidence of Sarah's death is gone. Mrs. Rhys goes to the desk on which is a tray of seashells.
"Here," she says. "She said you liked them. She'd want you to have them to remember her."
I hold the tray and examine the shells. Conch shells, mollusks, bivalves, starfish, sea stars, sand dollars. All these Dylan collected for her, the beloved brother.
"Dylan doesn't want these? He gave them to her."
Dylan stands in the doorway.
"Take them. It would make me happy for you to have them, of all people. And this," he says and goes to a drawer in the dresser and removes a small box. Inside is a leather bracelet made with cowrie shells. He fastens it around my wrist. "I gave it to her for her sixteenth birthday. It should go to you."
Mrs. Rhys retrieves a box from the closet and we start placing the shells inside. She shoves handful of tissues in with the shells so they don't move around.
"I have to go," I say, feeling close to tears.
Mrs. Rhys nods. Dylan doesn't argue or try to convince me to stay and I leave, my emotions almost overwhelming me.
* * *
People meet in the town hall during the day and at night by candlelight to exchange information and assist those who need it. People resort to using horses to travel and when plastic items are brought into the area of contamination, they disintegrate, so whatever it is that caused the destruction is still active.
It's so hard to be in the dark like we are – almost no communications with the world outside into the affected area except by messenger, but even then, Julien tells me that they are dropping packages with food and messages into the affected zone using air balloons. No planes fly over the affected zone. Barbed wire had been run along the perimeter, with warnings that no personnel are permitted to leave on pain of death. Reports came back to us that people have been shot trying to cross the perimeter.
We're totally cut off.
* * *
That Saturday afternoon, about an hour before dusk, Julien and I go into town to collect our ration of food – a glass jar of peanut butter and a tin of canned tuna. Evidence of the red rain is still present in dots on the sidewalk and on the roofs of the buildings for the weather has been exceptionally dry and no rain to wash off the surfaces. A few abandoned cars line the street running through the center of town, their doors opened, trunks and hoods gaping like the mouths of dead fish. The seats have disintegrated, the material now like sludge that sticks to my fingers when I pick up a piece. Parts of the car have also disintegrated, so that the metal bits hang off or have fallen to the ground.
Off in the distance, the road leading to the highway is silent. Usually, the traffic's audible in town but it's quiet enough to hear a rusted street sign swing in the breeze. Now, cars sit abandoned on the road. I can just make out small figures walking along the highway. Others ride horses. All appear to be on a trek out of town.
Julien comes to my side as I shade my eyes and watch the exodus.
"Where are they going?"
"Who knows?" he says. "We’re in quarantine. There's nowhere to go."
"What do we do?" I ask, meaning us as hunters. "Do we go back to Boston?"
"We'll stay in place for now until we get orders. We have to try to understand what their plan is."
"Their plan?"
He shrugs. "Whoever it was who did this. Right now, all I know is that it's Blackstone for sure." He shades his eyes and watches the exodus in the distance.
"Whatever, we can't leave the affected zone. The National Guard is lined up to keep people from leaving so the contamination doesn't spread, but even so, the wind's spreading it day by day. People already left the affected zone and took the contamination with them. There are spots of growing infection around the world. We have to stay here, try to survive until they find a way to neutralize it."
The world changed the night the red rain fell but in my grief and shock from Sarah's death and revelations about Dylan, it's unreal. Seeing people walking west finally makes it real for me. I turn to him, examining his face, which seems even more somber than usual.
"How do we survive?"
He shrugs. "We're fine for now. We'll be hungry, but we'll probably survive if we can maintain law and order. I've got a shift for the next four hours."
He turns to me and reaches for me but then stops. "Sooner or later, Blackstone will make a move." He shakes his head. "After that, all bets are off. Vampires will no longer feel they have to remain in the shadows."
Then, Julien smiles, a rare event during the last few days. "Maybe you could cook us up some beans and biscuits, like an old camp cook on a cattle drive."
I nod but don't smile back, not in the mood for any form of levity. I watch him walk towards the center of town for his shift. Alone now, I cross the street, walking down the center of the deserted road to the pier. The world is falling apart around me. Blackstone has succeeded in bringing down modern technology as Julien said they would. Now, we wait for the vampires to make their appearance. So far, nothing has changed and I wonder what Blackstone has planned.
Things are manageable right now in Davis Cove, although we'll run out of food soon and who knows what else – medicines, treatments. So much of our world is based on petrochemicals.
I'm afraid. Michel said I was key to preventing Dominion, that once the end started, I’d realize that I had made a mistake and would go to him. I'm afraid that Michel was right and I was wrong not to go with him back at the Abbey. If I had, would we have prevented this? I can't believe that could be possible… How could my going with Michel have changed things so much that Blackstone didn't release the plague?
