Perilous: A Ripple Novel (Ripple Series Book 7)

by Cidney Swanson

  Will wasn’t sure this was true. Loving and losing hurt like crazy.

  He looked back over his shoulder. Yep. Still kissing. He shook his head as Pfeffer and Chrétien walked over to speak with him.

  “We should speak with my father,” said Chrétien. “He has contact instructions for Martina and Matteo. They will wish to know Katrin is safe.”

  “I want to make a last sweep of Georg’s facility,” said Pfeffer. “Just in case we missed something.”

  “Right,” said Will. “I’ll make the call to Sir Walter. You guys break it to the happy couple we’re taking off.”

  35

  PHILANTHROPIC

  Georg was permitting himself a late night stroll along the white sand beach of Santa Maria de los Milagros. A few minutes of time for himself, now that his work on the island was accomplished. Milagros would soon be a paradise, in spite of the two hurricanes. And next hurricane season, no lives need be lost, thanks to him. He smiled at the thought.

  Georg had been here less than a day, but the island was in such an obvious state of poverty and defeat that he knew he’d chosen well. The first hurricane had taken out most of the islanders’ hovel-like shelters; the second had taken out the tent-and-tarp cities that had sprung up in the weeks between the two devastating events. Some elderly residents had given up hope entirely, moving away from the island’s main village to sleep out of doors where they were subject to wind and weather and unsanitary conditions. Bad water generally got them before starvation. Relief workers were doing what they could, but the daily problems of clean water and shelter threatened to defeat even the most dedicated.

  But that was before Georg’s philanthropic gift of ten frameless water tanks filled onsite with water purified by solar powered water filtration systems. Called “onion tanks”, they did indeed resemble gray, oversized onions. Not that Georg cared how they looked; it was what was inside that mattered: the caméleon serum would change life on the island forever.

  Georg had drawn up a list of best practices for the newly gifted. He’d asked Owen to look it over, ignored Owen’s suggestions, and had 2,000 copies printed up for the island’s 1,812 residents. This printing had been a nightmare. Other than privately owned printers used by various relief organizations, the entire island had only one semi-working photocopier in an abandoned print shop. Like most things on the island, the printer was only semi-functional. But he’d coaxed and wheedled and gotten his copies at last. And as he had waited, he’d made a few improvements to the document for their next stop, marking the improved document as the “Las Abuelitas Version.”

  36

  WHICH WAY WAS UP

  Even though it was only 9:00 in the morning, Sam was eyeing the de Rochefort’s living room couch with more than a little interest. She’d lain awake for hours last night before falling asleep just before the 5:50 AM wake up. Gwyn and Sir Walter had stepped across the street to update Gwyn’s mom and to grab snack food reinforcements. Mickie was still searching the internet for anything that sounded like it might be caused by a large number of people suddenly able to turn invisible at will.

  Just as Sam was deciding to stretch out on the couch for a quick nap, someone’s phone rang.

  Sam located the phone—Sir Walter’s, left behind—and asked Mick, “Should I pick up?”

  “Depends on who the caller is.”

  Sam leaned down to examine the phone on the coffee table.

  “It’s your brother,” said Sam, softly.

  “Pick it up!” Mick called from the kitchen table.

  “Hello?” said Sam.

  “Uh, oh, hey, this is Will.” A nervous laugh. “As I’m sure you can tell. I would’ve sworn I hit Sir Walter’s number.”

  “You did. He left his phone behind. He’s at the bakery.” Sam heard herself utter each of the short, simple sentences. It was as though she was listening to someone else speaking. Someone whose heart wasn’t breaking at the sound of Will’s voice coming from halfway around the world.

  “Okay, so have him call back as soon as—no, you know what, let me give you the news, okay?”

  “Okay,” said Sam. Her heart was fluttering. Her lungs had forgotten what they were supposed to do with oxygen. “Okay,” she repeated.

  “So, uh, we found Katrin,” said Will. “Georg stuck her way down under the sand on this remote beach and left her there.”

  Sam inhaled, horrified.

  “Yeah, but that’s not the worst part. He’d done this to her thinking she was asleep, but she gave herself some kind of ‘wake up’ orders in case Georg ever tried putting her under against her will—I mean, obviously it would be against her will—but the point is she woke up, and she couldn’t figure out where she was or which way was up or anything.”

  “How horrible,” murmured Sam.

  “What?” demanded Mick.

  Sam pulled slightly away from the phone and answered Mickie. “They found Katrin buried underground, awake, and she didn’t know which way was up.”

  “Is she okay?” asked Mickie.

  Sam spoke to Will. “She’s okay, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. She’s fine. I mean, she thought Skandor was dead, so she was depressed, but now they’re together, everything’s great.”

  Everything’s great. The opposite of Sam’s life right now.

  “Here,” said Mick. “Let me talk to Will.”

  Sam held a hand up; Will was still speaking. “It’s good to hear your voice,” he was saying.

  “You too,” she said. “Um, so, your sister wants to talk to you.” She started to say goodbye, but the word stuck in her throat. “Will?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Will said, “You, too,” at the same time Sam said, “So, Bye.” They laughed in sync, and then Sam held the phone out to Will’s sister. And sank onto the couch.

  Will’s voice. His laugh. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed them both. She felt like Katrin, trapped and unable to figure out which direction was up, which down. She was separated from Will by a continent and an ocean, but that was nothing compared to what really separated them. She gulped back a sob, feeling the empty space on her finger where Will’s ring belonged, feeling the empty space in her heart where Will belonged.

  She crossed to the kitchen sink and filled it with hot soapy water, blinking back tears. She needed an activity. Something to draw her focus away from her fears and from the island of Tenerife.

  “Wow,” said Mickie, setting down Sir Walter’s phone. “I knew Georg was a scheming little bastard, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d bury his sister alive.” Mick gave a low laugh. “Although I’m sure Will’s been tempted to do that to me a few times.”

  Just then, Sir Walter opened the front door, holding it wide for Gwyn.

  “Have we got some news for you,” said Mickie. She delivered it with appropriate remarks as to the dastardliness of Georg and closed by saying the group was on its way back to Georg’s dastardly facility.

  ~ ~ ~

  After that, a full forty-eight hours passed before the group heard anything more.

  During those two days, Sam worked hard at keeping herself busy, keeping her worries at bay. She spent Sunday afternoon painting and running. Monday morning, Sylvia asked what Sam would think if she and Sam’s father drove down to check on one of the farms.

  “Your father and I could use a little time together,” explained Sylvia.

  “Of course,” Sam replied.

  “How’s the painting going?”

  Sam smiled. “I love it. I’m pretty sure I suck, and it’s hard work, but it’s good work, if that makes any sense at all.”

  Sylvia hugged her tightly. An hour later Sam was at it again, painting until sunset.

  She was surviving. Each hour was a small kind of victory.

  On Tuesday, she joined Sir Walter, Mickie, and Gwyn at 8:00 for breakfast.

  “Anything new?” Sam asked, taking a flaky croissant and slathering it wi
th strawberry jam.

  “Ma officially gave me the Mini Cooper,” announced Gwyn. “And I swear she loves her new Prius more than she loves her own daughter.”

  Sam demurred and then added, “I was meaning, is there anything new with … Dr. Pfeffer and everyone else.”

  Sir Walter was just shaking his head when his computer pinged, announcing an incoming face-chat.

  Sam, Mickie, Gwyn and Sir Walter gathered around the computer, but the face on the screen wasn’t one they were expecting.

  “Martina?” said Mickie. “Hi, how are you? We’ve been trying to reach you for two days, but your coverage must’ve been down because we couldn’t get through at all. I’m so glad you contacted us! We’ve got some incredible news!”

  “So do I,” said Martina. Her lips were pressed together and her brows were wrinkled. “As of this morning at 8:00, Matteo can ripple.”

  “What?” said Mickie and Gwyn, at the same time.

  Sam and Sir Walter said, “Georg.”

  Sir Walter relayed all they’d learned in the last twenty-four hours, concluding with the news that Katrin was found. “We would have told you sooner, but we could not, alas, reach you.”

  At the news Katrin had been found, Martina began to cry and gestured to Matteo to step in to finish the conversation. Matteo spoke softly to Martina for a moment. She nodded and said she was fine, but she asked him to talk to Sir Walter. As they all hovered before the screen, Matteo took Martina’s place.

  “The way we figure, it has to be airborne,” said Matteo. “Because I haven’t ingested anything or accepted injections or anything like that, and it’s not just me. Lots of people on the island are vanishing.”

  “What about the water supply?” asked Sir Walter. “Do you purify your own drinking water?”

  Matteo laughed. “Of course.” But then his face froze. “Oh. Oh, no. I had a cup of water down at the celebration for the new water tanks. Do you think that could have been it? Everyone on the island has had a drink from the new tanks. The tanks are the most generous donation we’ve seen in the three months since we arrived to help out.”

  Sir Walter sighed.

  From off-screen, Martina could be heard sniffling and speaking to someone else. She said a hasty thank you, and rushed to Matteo’s side. “Look at this,” she said, holding a sheet of paper up for Sir Walter and his friends to read. She handed an identical flyer to Matteo.

  Across the top of the flyer were written the words:

  Advice for the Managing of Your New Life as a Caméleon.

  A few minutes later, Martina and Matteo signed off, having received Sir Walter’s warning to cloak themselves and store their valuables invisibly.

  “Well,” said Sir Walter, his hand rising to tug at his goatee. “It would appear we have a location.”

  37

  PERILOUS

  Georg was glad Katrin wasn’t here on Santa Maria de los Milagros to see the disarray. She would ask him what had he been thinking? And how could he not see this coming?

  He hadn’t seen it coming. How could people be such fools? To be presented with the greatest gift since the invention of fire and to use it to take advantage of one another?

  Georg cursed and kicked at the ever-present white sand.

  In his pocket, his phone vibed. A text. He took his phone out of his pocket and examined the message. It was sent by Sanyim. Patient Zero. How curious. Georg hadn’t heard from him in months.

  We must talk.

  That was all. Just we must talk. Well, unfortunately, Georg had more important things to do than chat up a former relief worker with the caméleon gene.

  He texted back.

  Busy now. Try me tomorrow. I’ll be in central California in twelve hours.

  Georg hesitated before sending the message, but really, what harm was there in letting Sanyim know where he was traveling next? This way, Sanyim could figure out what Georg’s time zone was. He sent the message.

  Crossing his arms, Georg stared again at the island’s white sand.

  Had he not chosen well? The island was perfect: its inhabitants in need, its population small, known for neither drugs nor tourism and the wealth tourism brought. As simple as Georg’s needs and tastes were, even he could see there was nothing worth stealing on this impoverished island. And yet people stole. Of all the possible uses to which the new caméleons could put their abilities, they chose to steal.

  Georg could not understand such short-sightedness. He had lived in relative poverty all his life. Had he used his ability to take unfair advantage? No. People were unfathomable.

  Georg cursed again, rubbing eyes red from lack of sleep. To sleep, he would have to remain solid and that meant being vulnerable to the more violent and greedy element of the island’s inhabitants. Sleep would have to wait until later today, when they traveled to their next destination.

  Perhaps Georg had been looking at this in the wrong way. He had seen this gift as the equivalent of fire or flight, but perhaps it was more along the lines of the Industrial Revolution. Or the French Revolution. Both had ushered in new eras, but the transition had been … ugly, perilous.

  Perhaps this was the line of reasoning that he should use when assuring his Angels that the project was still worth pursuing. He reached for a paper and pen and jotted a few notes down.

  Change always perilous.

  Disruption to society = normal with change.

  For greater good.

  Ends justify, etc.

  With another sigh, he headed back to the group of Angels awaiting him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Six hours later, Georg stretched out in his reclined First Class seat and closed his eyes. Some of the things wealth could purchase made money worth the possessing.

  To Georg’s great relief, he’d managed to allay his Angels’ fears and convince them to continue along with him. In fact, Owen had presented the “ends justify the means” argument before Georg had the chance. The Angels were discouraged at the display of greed and malice, but most agreed that the swiftest way to end this ignoble behavior was to change the world to a world where there was less need for greedy behavior.

  As usual, Raoul had offered a dissenting view. He argued that perhaps it wasn’t enough to change humankind’s circumstances; perhaps Nature (and by extension, humanity) was red in tooth and claw, or some such blather from a poem he recited. Georg had never had time for poetry or any other form of so-called reading for pleasure.

  But even Raoul agreed to continue with the project. For now.

  Georg shifted on his down-alternative pillow, pulling his down-alternative duvet up over an exposed shoulder. There was one part of his plan which had gone exactly as he’d hoped. He had succeeded in luring Waldhart de Rochefort and his followers to Milagros. After Martina had seen Georg in the distance earlier this morning and tried to speak to him, Georg had fled. He had no wish to speak to her. But he arranged to have Owen shadow her invisibly after that and learned Martina was, indeed, expecting Pfeffer, along with de Rochefort, Chrétien, and the others.

  Which meant sleepy little Las Abuelitas lay unprotected.

  Georg smiled, relaxed, and fell into a deep and untroubled sleep.

  38

  KNOWN TO BE DANGEROUS

  Katrin had insisted on accompanying the group to the island of Milagros. It was what she’d been raised to do: offer assistance to those in danger. Besides, Skandor was going, which pretty much settled things.

  Pfeffer had raised a dissenting voice, suggesting she needed rest and recovery following the ordeal of her confinement with Georg.

  “The situation on Milagros is one of utter chaos,” said Pfeffer, worry lines creasing his forehead as he checked her pulse and blood pressure. “You are not in good health. I recommend rest.”

  Katrin played her trump card. “Martina is there,” she said. “I must see my sister.”

  After that, Pfeffer offered no further opposition.

  The situation awaiting them when they arrived Tuesd
ay evening was quite as grim as Pfeffer had predicted. The group of five: Pfeffer, Chrétien, Will, Skandor, and Katrin, were dropped off by helicopter for which they paid a fortune as the island was by now known to be dangerous. In a remote, secluded valley surrounded on three sides by sloping hills, the visitors from the Canary Islands met with Martina.

  Katrin saw her sister’s hair, dark blonde, as it billowed in the twilight breeze. Dropping Skandor’s hand, Katrin raced to her sister, running as though wild dogs were chasing her.

  “Katrin!” cried Martina, her hands flying to her mouth.

  The two collided in a rush of tears and cries mixed with wonder and disbelief.

  “I thought I’d never see you again!” and “They told me you were dead!” and “I’ve missed you so badly!” were spoken by both in tones that made the rest of the group smile quietly, except for Skandor, who was wiping tears from his face, watching Katrin and grinning for all he was worth.

  After the sisters were able to spare some of their attention for the task that had brought them together, introductions were made, and then Martina began to describe the past day and a half.

  “No one is working. The shops are all closed,” said Martina. “There’s been widespread looting, which is the worst of all.” She shook her head. “Matteo and I arrived between the two hurricanes and even in the aftermath of those terrible events, there wasn’t this kind of pillaging. It’s horrible.”

  “Have there been injuries?” asked Pfeffer, clutching his hand more tightly around the doctor’s bag he carried.

  Martina nodded. “The Red Cross workers have been doing their best, but some of the injured are choosing to return to invisibility rather than face the pain of staying solid.”

  Pfeffer’s expression turned grim.

  Will added, “You can’t blame them. It’s no fun staying solid and waiting for your body to heal itself.”