Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy)

by Tara Ellis

  Cramming three big boxes of Kleenex in with the other items, I fail to notice anyone walking up behind me, and jump when I hear my name. “Alex Mubarak, right?”

  Spinning around, I find a guy I know from school standing behind me. I haven’t talked to him much lately though, since he’s a year ahead of me. “Yeah, I’m Alex. You’re Chris?” He appears to be studying me, looking carefully first at the things in my basket and then back at my face. His dark eyes are intelligent and troubled.

  Nodding, he points at the stuff I’m buying. “You Sick? You don’t look too bad.” It dawns on me that I’m still in the sweats I put on when I got up this morning. My long dark hair is pulled back loosely in a scrunchie. I blush slightly; I don’t normally wear much make-up even on a good day, and this is definitely not a good day. My eyes are probably still red from my cry session, completing my image of total chaos.

  “Umm…no. My mom is though. I’m getting this for her. You’re okay too?”

  Holding up a pack of toilet paper, Chris grins. “Totally healthy, just getting some essentials.” Trying not to blush more, I can’t help but smile. He smiles back, his bright teeth stark against his darker complexion. The angular lines of his face give away his Native-American heritage and I remember that his dad is full Okanagan Indian, his mom half. The thought takes me back to the first time we met; at a youth group three years ago. Some of us were talking about our heritage and when I explained I got my unusually bright brown eyes due to being half Egyptian, Chris started calling me tiger eyes. Ironically, it was the same nickname my Grandpa Fisher had for me since I was a small child, but for him it was because of the gemstone, not the animal.

  After Dad died, Mom turned away from the church. He had always been the one with the desire to seek out God and it seemed like his dying gave Mom all the proof she needed that he wasn’t a caring God. I didn’t have the heart to argue with her, and so hadn’t been back. I had good memories of my time in the teen group, even though I had only gone a few times.

  “How’s your mom doing?” I ask him, avoiding comment on the toilet paper.

  His demeanor changes drastically and he frowns at the ground. “I don’t know, haven’t seen her in a few weeks.” When I raise my eyebrows questioningly, he shrugs. “She left and hasn’t come back.”

  Not knowing what to say to that, I search for something intelligent to comment on, but draw a blank. “Oh,” I mumble. Well, that’ll impress him.

  “Don’t you have a little brother? Is he sick too?”

  Glad for the change of subject, I quickly jump on it. “Jacob is his name, and no, he’s fine. He told me yesterday though that his best friend and another boy from school are sick. I think their parents were too. My mom says it’s the flu but it sure is spreading really fast.”

  We start to walk towards the front of the store, where there’s a line at the register. Most of them are sniffing and hacking. I feel like I should have a mask on. In fact, I notice someone else in line is actually wearing one. Smart.

  “I walked through town to get here,” Chris explains, looking down at me with that serious expression again. “Not many people out. I think most of them are either in bed, hiding or coming here for cold and flu stuff. I saw a few ambulances go by in the short time it took me to get here. I think almost a third of the congregation at church was gone this morning and the rest are in various stages of this. It’s all really strange.”

  Wanting to ask him more about his mom, but not knowing how, I just nod in agreement. I hate to think of him on his own. His dad left them when he was really young; he had been very open in sharing that at group. It was just him and his mom here. They don’t have any other family nearby. I realize he’s almost an adult but it still seems wrong. At least he’ll be graduating in a couple of months and so I guess then it won’t matter.

  We haven’t had any classes together this year and he’s with more of the football crowd while I’m in the keep-to-myself crowd. He’s said hi to me in the hallway at school a few times, but otherwise this is the most we’ve said to each other in two years. I am beginning to wish I had at least brushed my teeth and put on some jeans before running out the door.

  “Wait a minute,” I say to him, his last comment finally sinking in. “Did you say that a third of the people at church were gone and almost everyone else was sick? How’s that even possible?”

  “I really don’t know. I’ve never heard of anything like this before. I mean, not this many people so fast, plus It’s almost summer. We don’t even usually get the flu around here this time of year.”

  The lady standing in line ahead of us turns around, holding a tissue to her nose. “My neighbor was taken to the hospital by ambulance this morning,” she tells us, her voice muffled. “I heard that several people have even died. The CDC is coming here to investigate. It was on the news this morning; they’re calling it some sort of super flu.” Turning back around to move forward, she begins to cough violently. Everyone takes a few steps back from her and she finally regains her breath, but has to hold onto a display rack for balance.

  Chris and I look at each other, the fear of everyone near us tangible. I feel a sudden sense of urgency to get back home and check on Mom, feeling guilty now for judging her…she’s sick and needs my help.

  The line inches forward and I grab some crossword puzzle books off the shelf as we pass by. Mom loves to do these even though she’s never finished one. It’ll be a good distraction for her.

  “Alex, if your mom is okay tonight, you should come to our youth group. I don’t know if we’re going to have it with everyone sick. I’ll have to call around and see how many can make it. It’s usually at the church at seven. Here’s my cell number, text me.” Taking one of the Kleenex boxes from my basket, he writes his number on the side.

  Not sure how to respond, I mutter okay and take the box back from him. It might be kinda nice to get back into something positive like that, but I’m not sure how Mom would react. She’s been so opposed to anything churchy. Maybe I’ll just go and not make an issue out of it.

  It’s finally my turn at the check-out counter and I find Mr. Joneses daughter there, her nose red and eyes puffy.

  In all the years I’ve been coming into the store, it’s never changed. One big, long counter spans the front where the meat is located and the only register sits. While other stores in town have been updated, this one remains timeless. Either Mr. or Mrs. Jones has always been behind the counter. Always. My feeling of unease increases as yet one more ‘wrong’ piles up with the others.

  “Is your dad sick too?” I ask his daughter, Mrs. Stamos. She is married to the Mayor and used to teach at the Elementary school when I was little. I always liked her and I hate to see her so sick and upset.

  “Very,” she answers quickly. “Mom is in the hospital. I’m waiting for someone to get here so I can go be with them.” Taking a deep breath, she tells me the total and then finally recognizes me. “Oh…Alex. I’m sorry hon. This has been a very crazy day. How is your family?”

  Handing over the cash, I take the two bags from her. “Jacob and I are fine but Mom is in bed. I think she might be getting better though, or at least her cough is. I hope your parents are alright. Let me know if I can help.” Smiling weakly and nodding she turns her attention from me and on to Chris.

  Dismissed, I back away feeling a bit lost. I head for the exit but Chris catches up to me as we step outside. “So text me, okay? It’d be nice to have you back,” he says, turning to walk down Main Street.

  “Sure, I’ll see how things are when I get home. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.” Waving goodbye to each other, I feel reassured that there is someone else I can talk to that seems unaffected by the flu.

  When I get back home I find Jacob in the kitchen eating cheerios. “Your phone’s been ringing,” he tells me in between bites.

  Running back to my room, I finally find the phone under my pillow and check the history. I missed three calls from Missy. Maybe I should have texted
her earlier after all. Calling her back right away, I flop down on my unmade bed. She answers before the second ring. “Alex! Why didn’t you answer? I was so worried!”

  Smiling at her exaggerated concern, I assure her that I’m alive and well. “Why are you so freaked out? Did you hear about the flu here?”

  “Hear about it! It’s all over the news Alex. They’re calling it a super bug and its spreading fast. They even said that it started in Washington State and is already in Oregon and Idaho.”

  Normally, I’m someone that wants to know everything, but I’m really wishing I could block it all out. “Yeah, I just got back from the store and heard that the Center for Disease Control is coming to town and a bunch of people are in the hospital. I ran into this guy from school there and I swear it seemed like we were the only two that weren’t sick.”

  “What guy?” Missy has a way of zeroing in on the important stuff.

  We talk for over half an hour and I finally tell her I have to go after Mom starts calling for me. I promise to call or text later and let her know how things are going. Just before we hang up, I hear her sneeze.

  SIX

  Jacob and I eat fish for the second day in a row. I guess it was a good thing that I forgot to take it with me this morning to the store. I feel almost guilty eating it, but I promise myself to go fishing again next weekend. I’ll take Mr. Jones twice as much, when they’re feeling better.

  Today was a weird day. Mom wasn’t looking any better and I felt really bad that I made her wait for me. She took the cold medicine, the Advil and more vitamins. I made her eat some soup and then she went back to sleep.

  I had to call the hospital for her, to let them know she wouldn’t be in to work today or tomorrow, at the minimum. I didn’t recognize the person I spoke with, but she didn’t sound sick. Apparently, they have had almost half of the staff call in due to themselves or family members being ill. The hospital is on over-flow protocol. She explained that meant that they are out of beds, so have to set up tents in the parking lot. There are several smaller towns that the hospital serves since it’s the only one in the area. When I asked her how bad it was, she sighed and said to tell my mom to get well and that they need her back as soon as possible.

  I haven’t had a chance yet to talk with Mom about it; she’s been asleep the whole afternoon. I know sick people are supposed to sleep so I haven’t bothered her, but I keep checking on her to make sure she’s breathing okay. The wet rattle from Saturday night is gone now so I take that as a good sign.

  Even though it’s been another nice, sunny day, my brother and I haven’t ventured any further than our backyard. After watching the news, I think we’re kinda scared to go anywhere.

  The top story out of Seattle is what they’re calling ‘The Spring Flu Epidemic’. They showed men and women in white hazmat suits right smack dab in the middle of our little town of Omak. They estimate that based on reports from local hospitals, we appear to be ground zero.

  They compared this outbreak to the Spanish flu of 1918, except that the infection rate for our current bug might end up being even worse. They say that so far it’s around 30% of the exposed population, but that secondary exposures are just now showing up at the doctors so it may climb. Mom was right, it’s definitely a virus, but they haven’t isolated the strain yet. Even though it’s obvious that they don’t know what it is, they are still urging everyone to go get a flu vaccine. The government is doing everything it can to ensure enough vaccines are available. Whatever.

  The virus is all over Washington State and has shown up in Oregon and Idaho. It’s expected to be seen in other neighboring States by tomorrow. I called Moms parents, Grandma and Grandpa Fisher. They don’t watch much television and hadn’t heard anything about it yet in Nebraska. Probably best, or else they would have been really worried. I assured them that Mom was getting better and everyone else was healthy.

  I debated trying to find the number to Egypt to call Grandma Mubarak. I have only met her three times in my life and haven’t spoken to her since she called once after Dad’s death, and another time to tell Mom that Grandpa Mubarak had died. It was last summer, and they had been planning on coming to visit us. I’m pretty sure that it was only Grandpa who wanted to come. He actually called the week before to talk with me, to make sure I was going to be here during the whole visit. I was a bit surprised, because I had always gotten the impression that us kids weren’t of much interest to them. I know that Grandpa shared the same desire for studying the past like Dad did, so maybe he wanted to talk with me about that, or go through Dads books.

  Whatever the reason, I’ll never know. He had a massive heart attack the weekend before the trip and never made it out of the hospital. Grandma Mubarak cancelled the trip obviously, and then never rescheduled. She was not comfortable making such a long trip on her own, and we are the only family here in the states. Dad was their only child. I finally decide that if she is concerned, she will call us.

  I push the last of my dinner around on the plate, my thoughts taking away my appetite. Baxter whimpers at me, seeing an opportunity and I give in, scraping the fish into his dog bowl.

  “Done Jacob?” I turn my attention to my little brother, who seems as lost in his thoughts as I was in mine.

  “I’m not very hungry,” he admits, shoving the plate away. “No one answered the phone at Brent’s house.” He looks at me with his dark eyes as if it’s my fault, like I should be doing something about it.

  “I’m sorry Jacob, I know you’re worried. Why don’t you call again tomorrow and if there’s still no answer, we can go over together.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise,” I assure him. “Here, help me with the dishes.” Handing him my empty plate, I start unloading the clean ones out of the dishwasher.

  As we work silently, I realize that we haven’t gotten one of those automated messages from the school, telling us that it’s been cancelled. It’s surprising since such a big deal is being made about this epidemic, but in a way I’m glad. It’ll help to have that routine to follow and for there to be something normal and familiar to go to.

  As I put the last of the dirty plates in to wash, Jacob scurries into the adjoining family room. “Want to play with me?” he asks, grabbing the video game controllers.

  Although killing aliens sounds like fun, I’ve been waiting all day to get some time alone to look through Dad’s book. “I’m going to read for a little while, but I’ll come out and play with you after that, okay?”

  Shrugging, he flops on the couch next to Baxter, who had given up on more scraps. By the time I walk to my room, he’s already lost on a Martian planet.

  Even though I know it’s silly, I have a sense of relief when I find the book right where I left it. Lying on my bed, I turn on the lamp next to it to push back the gathering shadows. Realizing how late it’s getting, I dig the piece of cardboard torn off the Kleenex box from out of my pocket.

  Staring at Chris’s number for awhile, I think about the text I want to send. I finally decide to keep it simple: This is Alex. Sorry, Mom still sick and I need to stay home. Maybe next week? I send it before I can change my mind ten more times. To my surprise, he answers almost immediately.

  That’s okay, it was cancelled anyway. Too many sick. Next week for sure. See you tomorrow.

  It was weird to read a text that wasn’t full of smileys and exclamations. Thinking of Missy, I send her a message too, asking how she is, and then turn my attention to the book.

  About the size of a small paperback, it is obviously very old but I can’t find any date on it. In fact, I don’t understand anything on it except for what my dad wrote, which was a lot. Every other page has words or glyphs underlined or circled. The only one I recognize from some of his other books is the clear image of a vulture. Off to the sides he wrote what I am assuming were comments in regards to what was marked.

  Going to my computer, I pull up a good search engine and try to find a Latin translator dictionary. The co
ver is too worn to read, but the first page has what I figure is the title: Antiqua Aegyptiacis Historias. It seems obvious that historias means history, and antiqua possibly antique. I quickly find what I’m looking for and within a couple of minutes have an answer: Ancient Egyptian History. Makes sense. My dad’s bookshelves were full of history books, a lot of them about his native Egypt.

  Grandpa Mubarak was extremely proud of their heritage, according to Dad. I guess it was a bit of a scandal when he married Mom instead of following his family tradition of returning to Egypt after college to find a suitable Egyptian wife. Instead, he married his first love, got a job in Seattle and never moved back to Egypt. Grandma and Grandpa Mubarak had been living in Washington State because of Grandpa’s engineering job. They stayed for several more years after the wedding, but went home to Egypt after I was born.

  Then Dad left his job as a history teacher at the University in the city, for one at our local High School. He never explained the change to me, other than wanting to raise his family in a better setting, closer to nature. It wasn’t until I was ten that he became a policeman. I think it had something to do with a midlife crisis, or a shrinking economy and teaching jobs. Maybe both.

  Whatever the reasons, he never lost his interest in history so I’m not surprised at this particular book. Except for that it’s in Latin. Of course, he may have been drawn to its age and that he would have to translate it, much as I am doing now. That would be just like him.

  What I don’t understand, is the way he gave it to me. Why in the world would this little book be so important, that it was the last thing he ever said? How come it had to be after the meteor shower? It was crazy and thinking about it is giving me a headache.

  Looking again at his notes, it’s all random dates, historical names, Egyptian locations and hieroglyphs that mean absolutely nothing to me. Most of it is in pen and in places it’s bled into the fibers of the parchment to the point that I can’t even read it. Totally frustrated, I set it aside and decide to sleep on it. I feel like I’m missing something obvious, but have no clue as to what it is.