by Greg Dragon
“Late night. Sorry to be abrupt, but I need to get back to UVA, remember?” He hoped he sounded calm.
“I didn’t want to disturb you. The plane left to pick up another consultant but will return within the hour to take you home. I promise the pilot will punch it on the way home. You’ll arrive in Charlottesville around nine. I have a surprise to show you.”
Louis felt off kilter. Acting cranky wouldn’t be productive. “Lead the way.” He smiled.
Ava ushered him along like they were late for an appointment. There was no doubt the work going on in Cloudland was superior to his university lab—all university labs, in fact. Peterson’s fate concerned him once he remembered again. He had to get her talking.
Ava pointed out unique gizmos and gadgets like a real estate agent. At some point he tired of the “shock and awe” treatment. He began to comment less and less, and as a result she moved even faster. Her current spiel emphasized her Alzheimer’s work. He planned to draw her back to Swarm disease. He wasn’t leaving until she gave him an accounting of what happened to Doctor Peterson. Ava checked her watch and stopped outside a door that blended into the wall.
“Doctor Cho said your work on a treatment for Alzheimer’s has been rigorous and outstanding,” he said.
Ava looked pleased. “I discussed my work in Orlando. I failed to impress you.”
He laughed. “Seriously? We were at a bar.”
She flushed. “You dismissed me, Louis. Said I practiced in la-la land.”
Her tone was disquieting because the hurt lingered. “Ava, I thought I held the AL cure in my hands. People took bites out of my ass and tried to latch on to my work. Being rude helped me fend them off. I’m impressed you’ve kept moving forward.”
She rubbed her right shoulder. “Thank you. I’d been working on XB-11 eighteen hours a day and neglecting my social life. I valued your opinion, and when you blew me off I lost it,” she said, and tapped her forehead. “I cried for days in my room instead of going to conference activities. When I got back, I vowed to prove you wrong.”
His memories opened. “You injected this drug into the brain, correct?”
Her eyes lit up. “You do remember.”
“A bit, but you can understand even desperate people are afraid to have experimental drugs injected into their heads? It brings to mind the archaic procedure of inserting an ice pick into the brain through the eye socket and jabbing it around to cure mental illness. Most people would decline. Obviously some won’t, but the FDA will never greenlight a drug like yours for open market use. Did you try other delivery routes?”
“I established the correct route,” she said in a sneering tone. “I found six free thinkers over the last two years. The data revealed best results in people with the Alzheimer’s gene and less than fifty years of age. Actually, the results were amazing.”
All charlatans make wild claims. Details impressed Louis. “The FDA approved XB-11 injections in a limited population?”
She shook her head.
Appalled, he tried not to show it. She had experimented on live people without authorization and without a tested drug supported by years of scientific scrutiny. It was hard to stomach for a straight shooter like him. Louis lightened up his tone and fought to keep disapproval at bay. “If the FDA discovers you’ve cut corners, every piece of data Flameion ever produced will be questioned. You’ll lose your license at the very least.”
A defiant look swept across her face. “In your opinion.”
“Correct. Weren’t the side effects worse than having early AL?”
“Yes,” she said, and turned her back to him. “We resolved the major issues.”
“This bears repeating,” he said, pulling her around to face him. “Why not tweak the formula a bit longer to get an IV treatment? You could mainline with large-scale trials.”
Ava brushed his hand off her arm. “A mind is a terrible thing to let shrivel. People with the gene know what lurks ahead. How can someone as brilliant as you, for instance, allow yourself to drift voluntarily into oblivion and adult diapers?”
She had a point. Watching early onset AL invade his older brothers had been beyond depressing. “I’m an optimist at heart. Losing one clear day on a bet an untested drug will reverse dementia is obscene. You should’ve brought XB-11 to market using the tested and accepted routes.”
“Wait another decade?” Venom dripped from her voice.
“I devoted my life to a cure, so I know what it takes. You’re ruining your shot at success with shoddy practice. I have to call it the way I see it. Sorry.”
Ava trembled with rage and pulled a tissue from her pocket. “You’re entitled to your opinion and choices.” She blew her nose.
Louis cursed himself for speaking the truth as he did in Orlando. “You’re right, I’m terrified I’ll lose control over my body and my memories. I’m mind-numbingly scared of what’s coming, but you know what, I’m even more frightened of the AL fog overtaking me while I’m in my researcher’s persona. I’d be frozen in time without use of my feelings.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, and leaned in to access a retinal scanner on the wall. A violet light scanned Ava’s eyes. “We have to freeze our feelings because they get in the way.”
The door clicked open.
“No, Ava. Clinical detachment is about being objective and factually accurate. The key is to be morally strong in the confines of the scientific process but still remain sensitive. There’s no need to jettison your feelings, as we’re led to believe.”
“We have to be dispassionate in our analysis.”
“That means unbiased and impartial or fair and objective,” he said.
“Semantics.” Her hand sliced through the air.
He lowered his voice. “Turn those feelings off too often and for too long, and you’ll forget to plug back in. Take it from me, I know.”
“I see why you never found the cure,” she said, hand on the invisible door. “You let your conscience rule. I work better without the conflicts of volatile emotions.”
He kissed her cheek. “I haven’t been very nice to you. Why bring me to Oz?”
Her cold shroud evaporated, and she allowed him back into her good graces by kissing his cheek. “I have a Nobel in my sights. Laugh if you want. If you sign off on my data, XB-11 would get fast-tracked with the FDA. You’re a well-known researcher and the most widely published on Alzheimer’s.”
He felt scammed. “I won’t back a drug that’s subverted the normal process. It’s dangerous. I’ll be happy to read over your results and offer feedback, but I won’t write an article for a journal about your treatment. Sorry.”
She massaged her temples. “Thank you, for your honesty. Now, I’m dying to show you our brain-mapping equipment. It’s mind-blowing technology. I thought of you the moment I first used it to treat a patient.”
“I’m flattered.” He decided charm worked best on her. For Peterson’s sake, he tried to befriend her. “I hope you scheduled private time for us later?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Of course, Louie.” She smiled before walking through the door. Ava looked over her shoulder and added, “This machine can view and map microscopic details of a patient’s brain without radiation exposure or side effects. It makes PET scans obsolete. I had one warmed up in case you wanted to test drive it.”
She led him into a round room with a dome overhead, like an astronomy lab. A heavy smell floated over the pleasant limonene scent and the odor reminded him of soiled sheets. A chill swept up his back. Two dental-type chairs with large computer screens for viewing drew his attention. He hesitated. The layout looked menacing to him, but he didn’t want to offend her.
“You look like you’re going to vomit,” Ava said, looking amused.
“I hate going to the dentist,” he lied.
Ava laughed and walked over to the first table. Her hand caressed the leather like it was fine silk. She noticed his expression and said in a bright voice, “Here, watch me.” She
removed her sterile surgical cap and pearl earrings. She handed the earrings to him. “The first time I gazed at the inside of my brain I freaked.” She sat and moved the table to fit her comfort zone. “I worried I’d spot disease.”
“I understand.”
She tapped buttons. An upside-down bucket-looking apparatus moved downward, and she pushed her head inside. The bucket reached past nose level. Some type of helmet, or an old-fashioned ladies’ hair dryer?
“I’ve started the screening, Louie.”
Her voice sounded hollow. A few seconds later her brain lit up in Fantasia-like colors on the viewing screen. With her right hand Ava could magnify views that astounded him.
He walked closer, mouth agape. “This is a fantastic diagnostic tool,” he said, and tried not to sound awestruck. “How can you see the brain behind the bucket?”
“An inner screen. Flameion will bring the equipment to market soon. Of course, our consultants will get one gratis.”
“Sweetening the bribe?”
Ava laughed.
He loved the way her voice sounded, like a familiar snip of music.
“I’m supposed to bowl you over without you noticing, Louie. We need your experience, plus you bring a personal dynamic to the table as well. Quitman invented the brain map to use in Swarm disease treatment.”
“I wondered about the connection between Swarm and AL.”
“Quitman allowed me to follow my path as long as I supported his. He’s a robot.”
“Man must be brilliant.”
“Quitman is a stellar researcher, but he’s also callous, temperamental, and driven. Oh, he reminds me of the old you.”
Louis winced. Had he really been such a louse?
“Would you like to drive through my brain?” Ava asked. She motioned to the keypad. “I won’t feel a thing.”
Louis took a deep breath and stepped up to zoom in and out. The technology dated what he used every day as an antique. UVA hospital neurologists would jump to have access to such equipment. His tenure would be secured.
“What’s wrong?” Ava asked.
Louis looked away from the screen, appalled at how his first thoughts went to securing his financial future instead of helping others. “Nothing. I’m fighting off the green monster. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
She laughed and he tuned her out. Awed, he watched her neurons firing because the device captured the heat signature and then used enhanced colors to track the energy wave.
Ava brushed his hand away in order to demonstrate more incredible features to him. Ten minutes later she said, “Hit print. The machine prints a baseline map. Amazing details. I thought you might want to take one home.” She tapped another key and the helmet rose off her head. “I keep copies of all my tests.” Ava sat up, grinning. “It’ll take about ten minutes before it prints. Questions?”
Louis felt silly about his earlier qualms. Flameion had resources he should consider since he wasn’t getting any younger, but he didn’t want to be a sellout and endorse unethical treatments.
She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got time if you want to jump on.”
Louis hesitated, he couldn’t help it. Something in her manner disturbed him.
Ava stood and shrugged. “I never realized you were so, so timid. You’re the exact opposite of your father.”
Timid? He handed the earrings back to her. “Don’t blame me if I make you late for a meeting,” Louis said, removing his sterile cap. “Stampeding elephants couldn’t pull me away before I’ve seen every detail inside my head.”
Ava laughed and stepped out of his way.
Rett
Rett blew rocks from the back tires leaving Thirsty’s Bar.
Hatred for Quitman Delaney swirled around his head like a breeze. After he checked the cave, he’d tell Jenna he was leaving her.
Seeing kids in goofy Halloween costumes put the brakes on his temper. He should be taking the boys out trick-or-treating and not chasing ghosts. Instead, they were in extended daycare every Thursday because Jenna forgot to pick them up from school. He’d been assured a Halloween party had been scheduled. Rett stopped for young goblins running across the road and wished his kids were out trick-or-treating. Rett punched the steering wheel and shouted, “Damn you, Jenna!”
When he cleared town, Rett picked up speed. His hands bled sweat, his ears throbbed, and his heart ached for what he might find. Small caves littered Quitman’s land, so he had to be careful and avoid injury. He decided not to think about Joe’s last warning. He guessed the never-ending swarms made everyone in town a little batty.
Rett chose to reject his old man’s military lifestyle for small-town serenity. His peaceful existence would end if he found his daughter in Quitman’s cave or if Quitman tried to stop him from leaving with the kids. Rett took deep breaths and tried to keep his cool. Could he be experiencing Swarm Sickness?
At least the plane tickets gave him comfort. He had a plan: check the cave, go home and pack up the kids, and then drive to Atlanta to catch the 6:15 a.m. flight with a clear conscience. If he found his little girl living in a zombie-like state, he’d bring Quitman to justice, Texas style.
He hit the bright lights so he wouldn’t miss the next turn. Not another vehicle in sight. Pot holes, weeds down the center lane, and chewed road edges greeted him on the old county road. He endured the body beating and turned on music.
Rett kept the bright lights on until he spotted the six-mile marker and then canned them. He didn’t want Quitman’s men to see him coming and prepare. The common route to the Delaney backlands existed further down around the curve with an eastern approach. This old road hadn’t been used by people, except for hunters or summer hikers, for years. After the storm, he didn’t want to chance getting stuck in the mud. Rett parked on the road and relieved his aching bladder.
He re-checked the map and put an emergency reflector sign thirty feet behind his vehicle. Rett stuffed extra cartridges into his fleece jacket. It had been years since he fired a rifle. Extra ammo couldn’t hurt. He checked to make sure he had a compass, flashlight, and rifle before shutting the door. Rett left the SUV unlocked in case he needed to make a fast exit from Quitman’s goons.
A tree had fallen onto the fence fifteen feet away. Surprised Quitman hadn’t installed a chain-link fence, Rett slung the rifle over his shoulder and climbed over. The boards felt loose and made him wonder if Joe had given him the right location. He suspected the electronic surveillance system went down with the tree.
Overhead, the stars reminded him of a sea of birthday candles. Cold wind spiraled through the trees and leaves fluttered to the ground. He gazed up at the ivory moon and crossed himself. Courage could be a fickle emotion in the dark.
As his old man had taught him, he checked the rifle round before walking forward. Forty feet past the fence, Rett stepped on a small backpack. He squatted down and unzipped it—damp and stuffed with snacks like trail mix and gummy bears. He stood and listened for sounds. Nothing, other than insect drone and owl hoots.
He wouldn’t put it past teenagers from surrounding towns to come looking for the Cloudland monsters on Halloween. Monster hunting would be hard for teenage boys to resist. He was relieved the only vehicle in sight belonged to him. Besides, wouldn’t kids out to scare one another stay away from private land?
Rett stumbled in his work boots over slippery rocks in a soggy field. Poor drainage. Twenty feet later, the flashlight battery dimmed. He stuffed it in a jacket pocket to save once he found the cave. He pulled out the compass and checked his position. There were several hills, and he had to choose the right one. Yep. The big hill lined up with Joe’s map.
Using the stars and compass brought back memories of camping out with his old man. He’d taught Rett survival skills, like trapping, skinning, and making a fire. Every lesson had stuck. He resumed walking and swarms rumbled beneath his feet. Swarms shook him pretty hard, but he didn’t turn back. Tonight he had a mission.
Rett paused to
check his compass and then knelt down to retie loose laces. He had arrived at the hill. Rett walked a grid pattern, searching for irregular ground and sink holes in case he had to retreat in a hurry. Satisfied, he climbed the hill.
Twice he stumbled and other times a minor swarm made him slide and lose ground. He had forgotten fall kicked off the active swarm season. For the first time, he realized swarms were more violent on Quitman’s property. The rest of the town experienced lighter trembles.
Years ago, Quitman had stood before the town council and swore he had sealed his cave. Two years later, six college students stumbled across the cave entrance during heavy swarm activity and flooding. Five students disappeared and were never seen again. Quitman brought in several engineers to advise on how to keep the cave closed. They suggested concrete.
Rett hoped to find a concrete wall. To check out the hill’s backside, he’d have to climb to the top, cross it, and slide down the other side. Five feet from the crest, Rett thought he heard shouts. He dug in and pushed for the peak. Rett stood under the moon but heard nothing from the top but the wind. He decided the nonstop buzzing in his ears had created static noise.
Rett waited until he caught his breath before starting down the backside. Ten feet from the top, the earth rippled like a wave. Rett searched for deep weeds to hang onto, but the sod beneath his feet gave way. One moment he reached for a large rock, the next he cart-wheeled through the air. Landing on his side, the momentum flipped him, and he rolled head over heels down the hillside, covered in goldenrod. He cracked his forehead on a shallow rock at the bottom. He rolled over on his back, gazed up at the electric sky, and had an epiphany.
Grief had nearly done him in. He had little chance to grieve for Kimmy because Eddie Jean needed help. The poor kid had been inconsolable. Her grief had left him feeling gutted. It had been up to him to make Eddie Jean eat, sleep, and dress. When he wasn’t cajoling her, he helped the twins cope. Not much time left for a heartbroken father to mourn.
Rett glanced up at the stars and cried for Kimmy. She loved the stars. He cried for her too-short life, for the lost dreams she would never fulfill, and because he missed their nightly walks around the neighborhood holding hands. He cried all the hurt out under the moon’s silent watch. Emptied of pent-up pain, Rett wiped his face and checked for injuries.
