by JL Wilson
I didn't hear the shot until after I was hit. The impact pushed me forward. I twisted and fell into the relatively softer vegetation at the side of the trail. A popping, sharp sound echoed around the lake. Small caliber, probably fired from close by.
The ground was cold and still solid. Only the top inch or two was thawed. I landed hard with a jarring thud, scraping my hands and bruising my face on the sharp stubble of last year's wild asters. There was a roaring sound in my ears, shock or adrenaline.
Then the pain started. I've been shot many times in my life and knew what to expect. The first wave of pain chilled me then I took a long, steadying breath as I sat up, pushing with one hand in the muck of underbrush behind me. I was taking inventory when Cerberus came bounding back along the path.
What happened? I heard something. Did you fall? What--oh, oh, there's blood. What happened? I didn't smell anything bad.
"I was shot." I looked down at my now-stained gray sweatshirt. Blood oozed from a hole in the right side, high near the collarbone. The wound was ragged, which meant I was shot from the back. "There's a sniper somewhere."
Was it the man in the SUV? Are you okay? He did an odd little dance, moving toward me, then jumping away, as though afraid to get near.
"I'll be okay. The bleeding will stop soon. It always does. I'll just be tired for a while. The bigger problem is the gunman."
Cerberus turned and faced back up the path in the direction we came from. Someone is there, he said with a low growl.
Get away, I said. Hide.
I'm not afraid.
I know you're not, you damn dog. I pressed my left palm against my right shoulder, wincing as the pain lanced down my arm. But maybe you can ambush him.
Good plan. The dog whirled and started back the way he'd come.
"Stay right there."
Robert Meyer emerged from the shelter.
Cerberus hesitated, looking from me to Meyer. "Go on, dog, get away."
"He stays." Meyer gestured with the small gun he held. "I'd rather not be distracted later by looking for him."
I can take him, Cerberus growled.
"It wouldn't do any good." I staggered to my feet with the help of a nearby sapling. "You can't kill him, remember?" I straightened, biting back a curse as cold air hit the wound. Meyer had placed the shot in exactly the right place to cause maximum pain and minimum damage. "How did you know where to find me?"
He approached slowly down the rocky path to stand about eight feet away from me. The gun was a small S&W, probably a .22 of some kind. At this range it would be lethal to a normal human. "You were never this stupid, Nico. Surely it's obvious." Behind me, Cerberus growled low in his throat. Meyer shifted the gun so it pointed to him. "Shut up, dog."
Make me. Cerberus edged closer, his teeth bared and eyes fixed on Meyer.
"I'll kill him," Meyer said with one disdainful glance at me. "Tell him to stop."
"You tell him." I dabbed at my wound with the hem of my sweatshirt. "He's a Companion."
"Really?" Meyer's eyes flickered over Cerberus then to me. An odd expression came into his eyes, an "ah ha" look, like a man who'd deciphered a mystery. "I see."
"There's nothing to see." I lifted my shoulder. The pain was lessening, as I expected. "He's just a dog. How did you find me? And why shoot me?"
"I needed to slow you down." I noticed he still kept the gun pointed at Cerberus, who stood behind me and to my left, near the lakeshore. A shot at this range would kill the dog. "Last night Cara mentioned the handsome stranger who took such an interest in her sister. I was naturally curious. I've already...experienced Lucinda and I couldn't figure why someone was interested. Imagine my surprise when I discovered you." He gestured with the gun and I glanced at Cerberus.
Meyer's words about Lucinda combined with the pain of my wound. Nausea flooded me. "Move aside," I said to Cerberus.
I can get him.
"Move aside. I won't be responsible for your death, too." He hesitated then shifted position. I watched him back down the path, keeping his eyes fixed on Meyer. I waited until he was out of jumping range, then I turned to Meyer. "How did you know I'd be jogging?"
"I didn't. But I had an associate come out and set a few well-placed bugs. I heard you chatting with your neighbor and I made some assumptions." He waved the gun slightly. "And I was right. We need to talk, Nico. Let's get comfortable. Lead on."
I was tempted to attack, even though he'd shoot me. He must have seen it in my eyes because he raised the gun. "You don't have the equipment you need to hurt me and I'll kill him if you try anything."
Cerberus growled behind me. Meyer was right, damn him. I didn't have anything sharp enough to bleed him to death. I moved back up the path, my shoulder throbbing with every step. The blood flow had stopped, but my arm was stiff and unresponsive. I had once arranged a gunshot wound so I could document my healing ability. Now I could easily imagine the torn muscles knitting back together and the tissue as it healed closed. In a few hours all I would have to show for my wound would be a deep black bruise that would last several days.
I opened the door to the shelter. "The dog first," Meyer said.
Cerberus edged past me into the dark building. I followed then Meyer came behind, closing the door behind him. Sufficient light came through the cracks of the storm boards to light the small space. "How long has it been since we chatted, Nico? When was the last time?"
"1934." I sat on a picnic bench and leaned back. "You arranged a hit on me when that cop died with his girlfriend. It was unpleasant. I had to leave St. Paul after that."
He barked out a laugh. "I can imagine. You tracked me to Germany, didn't you?"
I nodded. "I was just a few hours behind you as you cleared out. Then you went underground. Did the Americans take you in immediately? Or did you go somewhere else first?"
"That's not relevant." He lounged against the doorframe, the gun pointed at Cerberus, who sat a few feet away to my right. The dog's unwavering stare never left Meyer. "I can understand why you're interested in Delacroix Labs. Who else is involved?"
"What do you mean, you can understand--"
"Lucinda Delacroix. Why do you think I bothered sleeping with her? I was curious. I knew you'd find her eventually. I was expecting you earlier, when she was younger, but I guess I let my guard down. Now tell me, who else is interested in my desire to invest in a medical research company?"
Had Lucinda lied to me? Did she and Meyer sleep together? I tried to push that thought aside in order to focus on my immediate threat. "No one's interested in you, Meyer. Why are you after the lab?"
"The 1918 Spanish flu epidemic was the deadliest disease in human history." He stared at me as though willing me to understand what such an off-the-wall comment meant. "Until the Blue Plague."
Every child of my generation knew about the Plague. It struck the planet in 2070, wiping out three-fourths of the population. The survivors struggled to fight famine, war and poverty until God's Intervention in 2072 rendered everyone telepathic and cognizant of penance, redemption and reincarnation. "I know about the Plague. And I remember the Spanish flu. I was a doctor then." I would never forget the wards of sick people, all dying around me, begging me for help. I became ill, but I recovered, of course. I leaned forward, wincing as cold air once again touched my wound. "Why should I care?"
He relaxed. I saw it in the way his shoulder dropped and how his finger loosened on the trigger. I just relieved some secret worry he had. What was it? "The Spanish flu and the Blue Plague are related. Without one, the other can't occur."
"What do you mean they're related?" Next to me Cerberus sat like a frozen creature, barely breathing. It was the first time since I met him that he was silent. I wondered what was going through his mind.
"The Spanish flu killed millions. But more importantly, it altered those who contracted the disease and survived." I started to speak but Meyer overrode my words. "Flu survivors were changed genetically. Their offspring were, in turn, changed
in the avian flu epidemic of 2015. When the Blue Plague struck, the human race was ready for the final genetic shift, which made us telepathic. It couldn't have happened without the Spanish flu. God has been manipulating the human race, winnowing out the undesirables until the ones remaining are those who could be rendered telepathic."
"That's what God has always done. Maybe not in so many words, but wars, disease, famine--they're all ways to weed out humans. Being telepathic is what saved the human race. It immediately halted war, it allowed us to evolve, it--"
"To some, perhaps. But to others, it's a nightmare."
He's insane, Cerberus said in a soft whisper. He's going to try to stop the Blue Plague.
"Stop the Blue Plague?" I repeated. "That's impossible. He can't change history."
Meyer glared at Cerberus. "I'm close to creating a new flu strain based on the Spanish flu. Only this one will reverse what the Spanish flu did. It will render humans immune to telepathy. And that means that God's Intervention won't occur. "
"It won't work. You're talking about God here. No thing you do can alter the events that God has set in motion. No human being can."
He could, Cerberus whispered. Trust me. He could.
Luckily Meyer was so busy interrupting me he didn't notice my abrupt silence as I struggled to assimilate Cerberus's words. "I need Delacroix Labs and the client network they have. I need access to a wide range of test subjects and control groups."
"But Delacroix doesn't do any manufacturing." I straightened up. Meyer tensed, raising the gun to point at my right eye.
"I don't know if you'd survive a shot to the brain. Shall we test it?" I jerked back and he grinned. "I know of only one sure thing to kill anyone who's infected."
"Blood loss?" I asked.
He looked surprised. "Blood loss? I suppose that might do it. No, I was thinking of the antidote." My shocked look must have amused him because he chuckled. "Yes, an antidote. I've tested it quite thoroughly on some not-so-willing subjects."
An antidote? Good Lord. What did that mean? What would happen? I asked the next question that popped into my mind. "Why haven't you given it to me? Why did you let me live all these years?"
"Why not? You were never a threat. I've had the advantage of you all this time, Nico. I had history on my side. I've been able to research you completely. I knew you weren't a threat to me until Lucinda Delacroix came along."
"Research me? What do you mean?"
Cerberus whined low in his throat. This is bad. This is very bad.
Meyer's hazel eyes flicked a quick glance at the dog. "Nico Haydes. Born in 1750 in Yorkshire, England. Your family originally spelled the name with a 'y', not an 'i'. You changed it when you came to America in 1790, on business for your family. While here you fell in love with a woman, Lucinda Delacroix. You planned to marry."
I shook my head. His words echoed in my mind, resonating and booming. "Wrong," I whispered. "I was born in 2150. My parents were genetic engineers."
Meyer ignored me. "You were murdered by your lover in 1790 and reborn in 2150. You were recruited by the History Patrol and paired with a Companion. As you know, all Companions are either serving penance or are waiting for their loved one to complete penance. In this case, your Companion, Persa, was the reincarnation of your lover, Lucinda. She was serving penance until--"
"No!" I sprang to my feet.
Without hesitation, Meyer shifted the aim of his gun, pointing it at Cerberus, who had also jumped to his feet and was advancing. "Tell him the truth, dog."
"It can't be." Unconnected images floated across my memory, like glimpses of a play seen years ago. The tall, slender brown-haired woman with laughing blue eyes who had always been my vision of what Persa would be. She was dressed in a long ball gown with white gloves and glittering diamonds. The image shifted and now it was Lucinda, with her curly hair. But now her eyes were blue and she looked remarkably like my vision of Persa. Images danced across my interior movie screen: making love to the woman with blue eyes, arguing with a man with dark curly hair, being shot from an ambush, my apartment in New Chicago where I lived in 2185. Memories swamped me, inundated me, flooded me.
I looked at Cerberus. "What's happening?"
You're remembering, he said in a sad, low voice. He swung his gaze to Meyer, who watched us with predatory eyes. He's telling the truth.
Chapter Eleven
I dropped back on the picnic bench, unable to talk. Memories washed through me, confirming what Cerberus and Meyer said.
It was true. I remembered it now.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this, Cerberus whimpered. When you're ready to forgive her, your memory is supposed to return. He took a step nearer to Meyer. He shouldn't have triggered your memory. That's wrong.
"I'll kill him," Meyer said.
The venomous tone of his voice woke me from my stupor. "Cerberus, get back. Don't give him any excuses."
I can tear out his throat. I could disable him long enough so you could--
"No. It won't do any good." I was suffocating with knowledge. I had to get out of there. I staggered to my feet.
Meyer stepped back. "What are you going to do?"
I wasn't sure, but I couldn't let him know that. His words, "you weren't a threat to me until Lucinda Delacroix came along," kept whispering in my mind. Because of me, Lucinda was in danger.
"I'm going to stop you somehow." I paused, my hand on the doorknob. The cold metal sent a shock up my arm to my wound. "You won't get Delacroix Labs." I didn't wait to see his reaction. I jerked open the door. Cerberus bounded past me then paused as Meyer spoke.
"Nico."
Both Cerberus and I looked back at him.
"This ends it. The next time we meet, one of us dies." He looked almost regretful as he pulled the trigger.
The explosion boomed in the small space. Pain blossomed in my side as I inhaled the dusty residue of the gunshot. I fell outside the shelter, landing in the crunchy debris of weeds near the doorway. I was barely conscious of Meyer as he stepped over me.
"Goodbye, Nico." He started to bend toward me. I heard Cerberus growl and Meyer jerked back. Then I blacked out.
It was full dark when I awakened. I blinked slowly then sat up. My sweatshirt clung to my stomach and shoulder. I pulled it away, wincing when it stuck then I lifted it and checked my right side. The new wound had stopped bleeding, but it hurt to take a deep breath. The rib was probably nicked. That would take a few days to heal.
I stopped him, Cerberus said from the darkness nearby. He was going to shoot you again.
"What did you do?" I dabbed at the side wound gingerly.
I bit him. He stepped forward, limping as he favored his left rear leg.
"Are you okay?"
He kicked me. I'll be fine. We should get home. It's getting cold.
I was starting to feel it. March in Minnesota was a roller-coaster month, snow alternating with warm summery days. Tonight felt like late winter. I rolled over onto all fours then used the side of the shelter to pull myself up. I almost passed out from the nausea but managed to stay upright. "Do you need me to help you?" I asked dizzily as Cerberus shuffled ahead of me on the path.
I'll be fine. I'm just a bit bruised.
I knew he was lying, but I was too exhausted to care. He started to trot ahead of me with a rolling, awkward gait. I'm sorry about what happened. You shouldn't have found out this way.
"I'm sorry, too." I saved my breath for walking, which occupied all my strength. I trudged along the path, emerging onto the street between Mrs. Taylor's house and Martha Neilson's garage. I paused in the darkness, aching in every bone and so cold I was sure I'd never be warm again. I skirted the streetlights, knowing that either Edna or Wayne Taylor were probably sitting next to the window, watching the evening news and the street with equal attention. I didn't want them to see my blood-stained shirt.
I ran that gauntlet without a nosy neighbor accosting me. As my house came into view, Cerberus said, Someone is t
here.
A car sat in the driveway. I couldn't face any more surprises in my life that night. All I wanted to do was get quietly drunk, pass out and put this whole day behind me. "I'll get rid of whoever it is." As I neared, the driver's door opened and a tall man stepped out.
Cerberus rushed ahead, teeth bared. Who are you? Get back. We don't want you here. He stopped a few feet away from the man, crouched low and ready to spring.
"Cerberus, be careful." I limped up the drive as I evaluated my visitor. He had curly dark gray hair cut short, but still unruly. The motion light illuminated his broad features as he turned to look at Cerberus. They were the same features I saw in the portrait in the Delacroix Labs conference room. But tonight David Delacroix wasn't smiling and relaxed. His features were pale and pinched, his face haggard. The man in front of me was older than the man in the portrait, but he was still recognizable. This was Lucinda's father.
"I thought you were going to call." I stopped a few feet away, out of the circle cast by the garage's motion light.
"And I thought you said Lucinda would be here." He glanced at the house then back to me. "I was hoping..."
"Hoping to see your daughter?" Even as I spoke, I wondered if Delacroix knew about Lucinda's past life. Was he aware of it? Then a thought struck me. Did my parents know? Faces blurred in my memory--my mother, Judy, who was a genetic engineer in the future; my mother, Sarah, who was a squire's wife in the past. I shook my head, willing the thoughts away until I had time to sort it out, if it could be sorted.
"I don't know what I was hoping for," Delacroix said. "But I knew we had to talk about Meyer. It's important that you know some things."
