Gaia Dreams (Gaiaverse Book 1)

by Pamela Davis

  Merlin leaped out of Lisanne's lap to sit next to the keyboard and stare at her. How could she not realize the message was from him? He growled in outrage, disappointed, and thoroughly fed up with her. Meowing several choice phrases at her, the cat jumped down from the desk to run out of the room.

  Lisanne watched him in surprise, but quickly turned back to the mysterious message on the computer screen in front of her. "Okay, don't panic," she said in a shaky voice. "This is just some weird little mental aberration, not the end of the world."

  Los Angeles, California

  "Maria, can you hear me?" asked Phoebe over the cellular phone.

  "Yes, just barely," replied Maria. "Thank God for satellite phones. What's up?"

  "Ok, Bob's in a meeting, so I'm to relay the latest. The network wants you to go live at 8:05 a.m., that's Eastern time, on the morning news with a backdrop of that new firestorm."

  "What? Are you telling me those idiots are trying to dictate what backdrop I use for my report? Do you have any idea how hard it is to get around out here? There's hardly a street left anywhere that's clear of debris. Besides, nobody is going near downtown. It's just too dangerous."

  "Look, Bob said he knew you'd flip when I told you, but he said we had to ask. CBS got a shot from a helicopter of the fires and now the head honchos want us to air our own dramatic shot so...."

  "So the morons want drama, do they? Well, I'll give them their fucking drama--tell them to be sure and tune in."

  "Uh, Maria, what are you going to do?" Phoebe asked in trepidation.

  "Not to worry, kiddo, it'll be okay. Anyway, what are they going to do--fire me? You and I both know there are no local L.A. TV stations left, and I'll bet they can't get anyone else in here to give them live reports."

  Phoebe replied, "Umm, actually, that's the other reason I'm calling. They are sending someone out to replace you--Todd Reynard--should get there tonight. They need you somewhere else."

  "What?" Maria yelled. "Have they gone insane? This is the biggest disaster ever seen in the US, or maybe anywhere, I mean, L.A. is destroyed, gone, finished, nothing left--haven't they gotten that yet from my reports? This is lunacy, sheer lunacy--"

  Phoebe cut Maria off. "No, wait a minute, they're not crazy. Now listen to me--something has happened to Las Vegas."

  "What do you mean? What could possibly have happened to Las Vegas?"

  "It's gone, we think. Nobody really knows. The military is on its way out there and you need to be on a chopper today right after your broadcast."

  "Gone? What do you mean gone?" Maria asked.

  "Wiped out--like I said, nobody's exactly sure. There was a garbled report from a trucker on his CB radio and an airline pilot, but it was dark when he flew over. No official reports yet," Phoebe replied.

  "What did the trucker say?"

  "He said, 'It's all ice.'"

  "Ice?" Maria said blankly. "How can there be ice in Las Vegas in the spring?"

  "I don't know, Maria," Phoebe said in her most patient tone. "All anyone knows for sure is that no radio, TV, computer, fax or telephone communication has come out of Las Vegas since about four a.m. That's their time. And since you're not too far away--Maria, there are hundreds of thousands of people in Las Vegas and it's like they're just gone."

  "Well, there are millions dead here...but yeah, okay, I hear you. It's just so bizarre. I'll go, but if this turns out to be nothing, heads will roll, Phoebes. Pass that message along."

  "Gotcha. Now, you and Zack need to be at the same airfield you arrived at outside L.A. and bring all your equipment because you may not get much help from anyone in Las Vegas. The chopper is rented by us, so you'll have it at your disposal as long as you're there."

  Maria nodded as she wrote down further details in her notebook and then hung up. Walking across the tree-covered street, she called out, "Zack, you're never going to believe this one."

  Later, she finished her broadcast from the outskirts of Los Angeles:

  "This morning, while yet another firestorm in downtown L.A. continues burning, rescuers search for survivors. The earthquake was powerful enough to rip homes and businesses from their foundations and to collapse reinforced highway supports. Virtually no elevated highways have been left standing. High rise towers thought to be quake-proof have tumbled to the ground like they were made of children's building blocks. Millions of homes have been leveled by the initial quake or the tremors that followed. The conflagration in the downtown area appears to be caused by rupturing gas mains. With water mains broken, and no access to roads into downtown, officials here say they can only wait for the fires to burn out on their own.

  "But the picture that will haunt most of us who've seen the devastation firsthand is this one--I'm standing in the middle of a park in a Los Angeles suburb. You can see the swing set and slide behind me where the children played. What you can't see is the smell that permeates this park--the sickly-sweet smell of death. To my right, what you are looking at is a very large pit, dug yesterday by officials to handle disposal of the dead. The bulldozer is quiet as workers take a break from their horrifying task. They are using the bulldozer to shovel bodies, the dead of Los Angeles, into the pit. Due to unseasonably high temperatures, and the lack of any facilities large enough to cope with the problem, officials have no choice but to perform mass burials, hoping to prevent the spread of disease. Many of these bodies could not be identified since survivors are so separated across the city and travel is near impossible. Most people will never know where their loved ones are buried. This death pit is only one of four, and officials expect that more will be needed. As one worker told me moments ago, tears streaming down his face, 'We have no choice. We have to do this to try and save the living.' Casualty estimates as of this morning put the number of dead at 308,537, however, that number is expected to climb dramatically in the days ahead as more bodies are found in the rubble that is now Los Angeles. This is Maria Santiago, live from the City of Angels, for SNN."

  Sonoran Desert, Arizona

  Margaret sighed as she was put on hold for the third time. Her hand was sweaty against the plastic of the cellular telephone. "Oh well," she thought, "at least they didn't hang up on me yet." It was her sixth call of the day. She was trying to get someone in some kind of authority to listen to her prediction of a massive hurricane that would hit the Gulf coast in two days. Margaret had watched the portable television with its satellite dish for the past day searching for any meteorological reports that would indicate a tropical depression forming anywhere near the Gulf. Of course, there weren't any reports like that, but she had hoped there might be some indication of the storm to come, giving people time to evacuate. A voice from the phone interrupted her thinking.

  "Hello Ms....Larson is it? I'm Andy Jordan, one of the meteorologists here at KNBS Biloxi. Ms. Larson, I've checked all our satellite reports and there is no sign of any potential hurricane forming anywhere near the Gulf. So you don't need to worry."

  "But, can't a hurricane develop quickly? I'm just saying I think you need to be aware that this one could happen suddenly, without much warning...." Her voice trailed off as she realized there was no way to make him believe her.

  "Look, Ms. Larson. I don't know if you think you are some kind of psychic or just someone who is frightened of hurricanes, but with these storms we generally have several days and sometimes a week or more to warn the public and prepare for any emergency. Today's technology allows us to know what is happening in the atmosphere minute by minute. Now, I'm sorry, but I have a broadcast to prepare so I need to run. We appreciate your calling and hope you watch--"

  "Wait! Don't hang up yet, please!" Margaret said firmly, attempting to keep desperation out of her voice. "Mr. Jordan--Andy, thank you for taking the time to hear me out. Did your secretary take down my number earlier?"

  "Er...yes, I have it here."

  "After this hurricane hits--and it will hit in two days--afterwards, if you are still alive, please call me. Remember what I've tol
d you. All the oil rigs in the Gulf will be destroyed, thousands of people will die and more will be homeless, oil refineries in Texas and Louisiana will be wiped out and, well, I guess that's enough to tell you. Just promise me that you'll remember what I've said--and Andy, when it starts, get to high ground and safety early on."

  "Uh, sure, Ms. Larson. I'll be sure to be careful. Now, I really have to go. You take care of yourself, you hear?"

  Margaret slowly pulled the phone away from her ear, the dial tone sounding as ominous to her as the air raid sirens she remembered from childhood when the schools would rehearse an attack by the Soviets and have them all hide under their desks. "And my warnings are about as effective as the duck-and-cover strategy would have been too. He didn't believe me. Damn it! When is somebody going to listen to me?" she shouted aloud to the surrounding desert as she slammed the phone on the ground.

  "Umm, Margaret, dear," said Irene from the porch of a square stucco house.

  "What? What do you want?"

  "Don't bite my head off, first of all. Just wanted to remind you of our conversation about calling the press. Maybe if you did some interviews, got your name out there, maybe people would listen."

  "Oh, yeah, right. I'm sure they'd listen. I would probably end up on one of those crazy daytime talk shows with the caption under my name 'Psychic Attorney Predicts Disasters,' and still nobody would listen to me. Not a good idea, Irene."

  "No, no, that's not what I'm talking about. What if you tried the bigger-named journalists. Like that handsome anchor from NBC, or Maria--what's her last name--from SNN. She seems nice and she doesn't do tabloid stuff."

  "Sure, I'll just call her up and tell her I predicted the California earthquake and now I'm predicting a disastrous hurricane in the Gulf. Of course she will believe me--why didn't I think of that?"

  Irene stared calmly at the tall, pacing woman, wondering at the volatile intensity Margaret displayed at times. She said slowly, "There is really no need to be so sarcastic. Do what you did with that Andy Jordan just now. Tell her you know she won't believe you, but when it happens it will prove you were telling the truth and then maybe she will believe you the next time. Because there are going to be lots of next times, Margaret, and you know it."

  Adjusting her beige cowboy hat more firmly on her head, Margaret took a deep breath as she thought about what the shaman said. It was probably the only way to get anyone to believe her. Make sure they get her name and telephone number, give them the warning and ask them to call afterward.

  "Okay, maybe you are right. If the scientists refuse to believe me, then maybe the journalists will get through to them. After all, we live in a world where nothing is actually true until we see it on the evening news."

  Cape Fair, Mrs. Philpott's House

  "Knock, knock," Jessica sang out, rapping her knuckles on Mrs. Philpott's screen door. "Mind some company?"

  Mrs. Philpott walked briskly into the living room after closing the computer room door firmly behind her. "Not at all," she said smiling warmly. "Come right on in...and Samantha's with you! Well, hello, sweetie, how are you doing today?"

  "Just fine. Can Harry come in too?" asked Samantha.

  "Sure, Harry's my favorite dog, you know," Mrs. Philpott said, grinning at Sam and ruffling the fur on Harry's back as she petted him.

  "He's my favorite dog too!" Sam exclaimed as she hugged Harry tightly. Harry responded to the attention with vigorous tail-wagging.

  Mrs. Philpott turned to Jessica and motioned to her to sit in the overstuffed chair by the bay window as she asked, "How are you doing Jessica? How's everybody doing?" Passing out glasses of lemonade and a bowl of water to Harry, Mrs. Philpott finally sat in the rocker across from Jessica.

  Jessica glanced across the room to Sam who was stretched out on Mrs. Philpott's couch with Harry by her side. "Today's walk to your house is the longest one yet for her. The doctors say she needs the exercise every day, but to keep an eye on her." Jessica shrugged and said, "She seems better, but it's hard not to worry and--"

  "Mom," Sam interrupted, "I'm just gonna rest here for a minute 'cause Harry's tired from walking."

  "Okay, Sam," Jessica replied. "You let me know when Harry feels ready to go home."

  "Okay Mommie," came the reply, followed by a yawn.

  Jessica's look of concern gave way to a slight smile as she talked with Mrs. Philpott in low tones so that Sam couldn't hear. "Harry has been a godsend through all this. He never leaves her side, unless he's sure she's sleeping soundly. And if you think I'm a worrier, you should see Harry if he thinks she's being too active! The other day he came in and tugged at my hand to get me outside to check on Sam when she got winded from running." Jessica laughed. "Of course, what he didn't realize was that I had been watching from the kitchen window and was already on my way out there. What a pair we make!"

  Mrs. Philpott laughed quietly and said, "She looks good, Jessica, I really think she's going to be all right."

  Harry watched the two women chatting across the room. Samantha might not be able to hear their conversation, but he could, and he was glad Jessica was talking about her fears. Last night, after the dream, Jessica and John and Sam had all smelled like very afraid people. Maybe she would talk to Mrs. Philpott about the dream. He wished he could talk about it--it was the scariest one yet.

  Soft beams of afternoon sun, diffused by the heavy cream-colored lace curtains, highlighted Jessica's golden hair as she bent forward to open the basket she'd brought with her. "Here you go, Mrs. P, the best homemade bread in town, baked this morning. It's a blend of wheat and white flours, made with olive oil and honey. It dawned on me that you've never tried it."

  "Hmm, smells delicious," Mrs. Philpott said as she opened the red and white checkered cloth covering the bread and breathed deeply of the aroma. "This will be great. Thank you so much, dear." She set the loaf of bread on the round maple table that sat between their chairs. Rocking gently back and forth, she watched Jessica carefully. It was clear that something was bothering her, something besides Sam's illness.

  "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind? I'm a good listener, but I'm also impatient, so I'm being pushy. Sam looks sound asleep, so let's take advantage of that."

  Jessica looked up, startled. This white-haired old lady was always surprising her. She was nothing like any older person Jessica had ever known. "This is about Sam, but not about the illness. Last night she gave John and me quite a fright. Woke us up in the middle of the night with a bad dream."

  Mrs. Philpott gave a start and then continued rocking, albeit at a faster pace.

  "She's never been that upset by a dream before. And it was weird--I can admit that now in the light of day, even though I told John--well, anyway, the more I think about it, the more strange it seems. You see, it wasn't just that the dream had such an effect on her, but also that Harry acted so peculiar."

  Mrs. Philpott waited, thinking, this is what it means to wait with bated breath.

  Jessica continued, "I swear that dog acted as if he had the same dream as Samantha! He was shaking uncontrollably, just like Sam, and seemed to be gasping for air, like Sam was when we first went in the room. I'll be honest the whole thing was pretty creepy. Especially when Sam started describing how it felt to drown!"

  Mrs. Philpott stopped rocking and said sharply, "Drown? She dreamed about water last night? About drowning? Are you sure?"

  "Well, yes, I'm pretty sure. That was what it sounded like. Why? What's wrong?"

  Mrs. Philpott had risen from her chair and was pacing in front of Jessica muttering to herself excitedly. "I knew it! I knew it wasn't just me, why would it be? Why would it just be one old lady and a cat? Of course not! It's bigger than that--the cat was right! He was right!"

  Jessica got up and stood in front of Mrs. Philpott, grabbing her arms to stop the pacing. "What are you talking about? What do you mean 'not just you'--and what cat?" Jessica demanded in a loud voice.

  Harry nudged the legs of the two women and
whimpered softly. They understood his message when he nodded at Sam asleep on the couch. Both sat down again, and this time Harry sat next to Jessica so he wouldn't miss anything.

  Mrs. Philpott began, her voice quiet, but excited. "First of all, I want you to know I'm not a crazy old woman. At least, I'm fairly certain I'm not. I had planned to visit you and John tonight to discuss all of this. Where do I begin?"

  Harry listened as Mrs. Philpott described the first dream she'd had, the one about the earthquake and how it had happened just like in her dream. Then he was almost as stunned as Jessica to hear about Mrs. Philpott's cat, who talked to her on a computer. Harry had never thought of doing that. In fact, Harry had never really tried to read, much less learn to spell. He figured he might learn when Sam did, although he hadn't solved the problem of actually getting into the classroom. He decided that this was one smart cat. Harry had seen him around the neighborhood, of course, but there had been no reason to ever talk to each other. When Mrs. Philpott described her dream about the hurricane, Harry forgot himself enough to give two short barks before looking sheepishly at the still-sleeping Sam.

  "Well now, that certainly got a reaction!" Mrs. Philpott said. She looked at Harry directly and asked, "Did you have the same dream? No, wait," putting up a hand to forestall the barking, she said, "Stand up and wag your tail if you had the hurricane dream, Harry."

  Harry quickly stood up and ferociously wagged his tail. She knew! She heard the same voice in the night! Harry had never been as thrilled. Mrs. Philpott was nodding her head and smiling broadly.

  Jessica looked stunned. Then she shook her head, saying, "No, now wait just a minute. He probably understood you saying stand up and so he did it. He couldn't possibly be saying he had the dream. What am I saying? He couldn't possibly be answering a specific question from you! He's a dog, for goodness sake!"