by Greg Dragon
Q leaned over to use the intercom. “Well, lass, you knocked out the virus, but no recognizable antibodies turned up in your blood. It would take time we don’t have to synthesize enough to make another vaccine. Meanwhile, the virus has gone airborne as I feared. I promised to teach you things. I’ve found B17, a compound found in fruit seeds and banned by the government, prevents a cellular reaction in microbes from Cloudland. Let me beam the details to you.” His telep came in and filled her head with tests and experiments. He wanted her to comment and show interest.
She ignored him. Lifting up her arm, she examined it. No blisters or boils, but her skin was dotted with angry red splotches. The Hum’s pitch had changed. More powerful now, like amplified whale song. It sounded pretty. She had no doubts the Hum was a long-forgotten warning system. Her instincts told her the Hum would end soon.
“We gave you IV fluids. How do you feel?” Quitman asked.
The ice queen spoke and the intercom carried their conversation. “Her blood has changed and she could turn soon. Increase her security.”
He snapped back, “Ava, don’t cross the line again. This is my lab. Eddie Jean isn’t infected. Her blood is reacting to her core temperature changes. Better you watch your own—”
They began to scream at each other and the words sounded jumbled.
“Get your little project under control.” Doctor Allen turned and left.
Eddie Jean dropped to her feet. Her legs wobbled and then she pitched face-first to the ceramic flooring, but her hands caught her torso. She lowered and crawled across the room until a glass wall stopped her. The opaque room divider meant she couldn’t see in.
Her teeth chattered. A woman in a white suit and wearing a containment mask rushed in and covered her with a blanket. Eddie Jean glimpsed sad, almond-shaped eyes before the woman darted back to a protective alcove and climbed up to a monitoring pod.
She pulled the heavy blanket around her body and searched for an exit. The glass contained flaws. She didn’t have the strength to break it—yet.
What was he looking at?
“Shouldn’t you say goodbye to your mother, lass?”
Eddie Jean looked behind her and saw her frantic mother beating on glass across the room. Her mouth gaped open, and she screamed words Eddie Jean couldn’t hear. Even as she watched, the room lights grew brighter. Then another sound, accompanied by loud pounding, caught her attention, but it came from a different area outside her room. A whiff of the sickly-sweet odor from the twins’ bedroom fouled the air.
People infected with Swarm were close. Eddie Jean vomited on the floor. Her stomach continued to clench and release long after it emptied. She wiped her face on the blanket and tried to choke back the dry heaves.
Eddie Jean crawled to her mother. Jenna slid down into a knot watching her. When she reached the glass, her mother mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”
She was so beautiful and she used to be fun. Jenna had followed her into the mud to play, climbed up trees, and helped build a tree house, and she even rode horses with her. Eddie Jean knew her mother didn’t like riding horses. She rode because her daughters loved horses. She had forgotten the things her mother did right and remembered the hurtful ones.
“I’m throwing in the towel, lass. There’s no cure for Swarm 2, and it’s spreading like flu. One day you’re going to be asked to heal someone’s relative kept hidden in the basement. Know this—the change they go through warps their minds and there is no getting them back. Understand? You might grow strong enough to heal their bodies, but you can’t heal their minds. They’re perverted, and they’ve lost all humanity. You need to understand why they have to be put down and not healed.”
“No! Don’t, Granddad, please don’t.” Eddie Jean stood, wobbling.
A grinding noise followed. Jenna’s eyes widened and she waved her arms to attract Q’s notice. Her mother’s breath fogged the glass, obscuring her face as she begged him for mercy. After repeated pleas, she gave up and pressed her forehead into the glass. Her glazed eyes focused on Eddie Jean. She pressed her palm against the glass, and Eddie Jean did the same.
She wanted to close her eyes, but eye contact was their sole link. “I love you,” Eddie Jean shouted over and over. The back wall in her mother’s section rose. Eddie Jean cut her eyes to the side and then cried out in disbelief.
Her little sister, Kimmy, was the first one in the room. Because she was short the wall didn’t distract her as she walked underneath. Eddie Jean shrank back, panting.
Jenna motioned for her to close her eyes, but Eddie Jean couldn’t. Kimmy’s dark gray face, infected with pock holes, dripped antifreeze-colored pus. She had greasy hair with missing patches. Eddie Jean couldn’t stop shaking. Her heart tumbled and fluttered, making her feel faint. She sank to her knees.
Kimmy was naked, and so were the others crawling under the wall. Fuzzy, dark body hair grew on the adult’s torsos. The thing that used to be sweet Kimmy ran straight at Jenna and leapt. Her mother’s back was against the glass. She kicked and tried to push Kim back. Twice Jenna kicked her feet into Kimmy’s torso and knocked her backward. Kim would get up and charge again. Jenna slid down the glass to the floor.
Tears clouded Eddie Jean’s vision. Her kid sister bit into their mother’s scalp and into her arm, and then she looked up like she sensed Eddie Jean. She quit biting and walked to the partition. She put her hands up high, leaning her face into the glass surface like kids peer into mirrors. Her face was hideous and her eye sockets had filled with dried blobs of a tar-like substance. Eddie Jean watched her little sister licking the blood around her lips like she used to do with milk mustaches.
Trembling, Eddie Jean let the blanket fall and stood. She stared back at her sister who rocked back and forth for comfort. The horror of what Kimmy had endured engulfed Eddie Jean like a shroud. She couldn’t breathe. Granddad raised the wall all the way. More infected adults rushed in and fell on Jenna, slamming her body against the thick glass. Her last scream snuck past the glass and her right arm drummed against the wall as they swarmed.
Eddie Jean stayed focused on Kimmy—the half-rotten corpse. She remembered teaching her how to ride a bike, make pancakes, and how to braid hair. Her little sister stared right at her, nostrils flaring. Kimmy turned and wriggled her way into the group on Jenna. There was one point when Jenna’s flailing hand looked like she waved goodbye.
That was the last thing Eddie Jean remembered as the floor slapped her body.
The short nurse in white returned. She stroked Eddie Jean’s hair and rubbed the space in between her shoulders like parents do. Eddie Jean bolted upright, but a curtained partition separated her room on both sides. The nurse offered her water. Eddie Jean shook her head, slumped back down, and curled up on her side. The pictures in her mind were on replay. Soon Q would do the same to her father and brothers because they might be carriers too. She closed her eyes to pray.
“Please Eddie Jean, we need your help,” the nurse said, placing a tray on the table.
She said, “Amen,” and looked up. The nurse removed her protective mask. “I’ve sterilized your necklaces. They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Eddie Jean said, and reached first for her silver crucifix to put on.
“You’re not infected. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop what happened to your mother. She was too dangerous to release. She incubated a lethal version of Swarm 2. It’s airborne now.”
Eddie Jean swallowed as Scot’s father popped into her head. “What about my father and brothers?”
“Are fine unless she bit or scratched them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Airborne transmission is immediate. At first her immune system fought off the infection. Once her immune system failed, the virus mutated. A person in the same room with her would be infected fast. ”
“Could my father or brothers be carriers?” Eddie Jean asked.
“My guess is no. Quitman suspects being around you has been protective for them.”
“How?”
“If they get a bruise, you heal it?”
She nodded. “Thank God.”
The nurse said, “When you heal it changes their blood for days, but Quitman decided not to take any more chances. He’s ordered them to be brought here.”
“Can you warn them?”
“You can. Like I said, I need your help.”
“How?” Eddie Jean sat up.
“I’m Doctor Susan Cho, a microbiologist. Your grandfather and Doctor Allen are in a meeting. He’s discovered she sold his Swarm supplements to a rival corporation. Ava lured a famous Alzheimer’s researcher here, and she injected experimental medicine into his head based on the Sylph virus.”
“The patented one?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s the virus responsible for Swarm disease. It’s the first virus I’ve ever seen that turns lethal based on the season. Doctor Allen used a mirror image, chemically, to add Sylph to her drug.”
“You mean like sugar is to aspartame?”
“Sort of. Doctor Janzen is dying, Eddie Jean. He’s not showing Swarm symptoms. Frankly, I don’t know what’s going on with him.”
“Maybe he has the original version of Swarm disease?”
Doctor Cho frowned. “No, It’s more like his Alzheimer gene protected him from Swarm. I’ll smuggle him out, so he can expose your grandfather to the authorities. I stole Ava’s phone, so you can warn your father. Deal?”
“Yes.”
Susan handed it to her. “Be quick and make sure he doesn’t come here.”
Eddie Jean punched in the phone number while Susan climbed up to the computer system.
Wilbur
“Dessert,” Veena sang out after she returned from greeting trick-or-treaters at the end of the driveway with Lee and Cookie. They had dressed as witches and made kids bob for apples from a black cauldron. The women returned in a good mood.
Wilbur got up from the desk where he studied, and Rose came downstairs to join them.
Cookie cut the orange cake, and Veena poured coffee. Everyone sat at a massive dining table under a huge chandelier and ate holiday cake. Wilbur avoided staining the tablecloth with his dainty mug of coffee. The cloth was jade green, with vivid red and pink roses in needlepoint. The house staff dined on fine china and good silver. According to Miss Cookie, it was a crime not to use it. Cookie made the ritzy mansion feel like their home.
Rose asked Wilbur, “You have class Friday?”
He yawned. “Uh-huh.”
“You study all the time,” Rose said.
“What else is he going to do?” Lee butted in. “No girlfriends, no partying, and no fun.”
“Let him get a degree and watch the ladies fall all over him,” Rose said.
Lee frowned at Rose and then sipped her coffee with her pinky cocked up.
Wilbur loved Lee’s little idiosyncrasies. Like the way she sucked in her cheeks while reading, or how she sang off key in falsetto, and the way she tapped the poison symbol ring on her left hand whenever she felt vulnerable.
“Hope you’re right, Rose,” he said. “Some nights I could use a lifeline.”
Lee coughed into her fist.
Miss Cookie smiled. She had stumbled across his x-rated poetry about Lee’s luscious mouth. Cookie thought he should give the poems to Lee, and Wilbur was glad he never did. His phone rang and he answered.
“Mr. Jenkins? J-Bone told me about your interview.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m Bev Cain. The estate hired my husband as a PI to look into what happened in Alabama. He’s missing too. If you’re looking for answers, maybe I can help.”
“Why didn’t you tell J-Bone?”
She laughed. “To believe, one would have to spend time with Miss Harwood. Am I wrong?”
“No.”
She gave directions. “It’s now or never. I’m leaving in the morning for a warmer climate.”
Wilbur didn’t hesitate. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“Going somewhere?” Lee asked.
“Meeting a new friend.”
Wilbur left the table, collected his laptop, and went to the Saturn. How could so many people go missing? Grandmother Pearl had always said, Let Alabama be the very last place you visit. She was born there in a town called Mentone. He wondered how far Cloudland was from her birthplace. Grandmother Pearl also said, Can’t go wrong following your heart, Burr.
“Wait up,” Lee called out from the porch.
He walked back to her.
“Why so icy?” She came down the steps and met him halfway.
“I asked for a lifeline and you’re a ghost.”
Her eyes flashed and she pushed both hands into his chest. “You’re just jealous because I’m going to a party. I can’t spend every minute in Hell House like you. But I’ve got your back. Hunchback put the Bible on the dumbwaiter. House staff denied it.” She whirled around and sailed back inside.
Grinning, he walked to his car. The further he got from Harwood House, the clearer his thoughts became. On the drive, he tried to reason out why the Duke students began their reckless journey. Guess he would add Duke University’s response to his growing research list. In his mind, the student’s disappearance begged for answers.
Twenty minutes later, he parked and found Mrs. Cain waiting on her front porch. Bev Cain was in her sixties, petite, with short, salon-styled gray hair. She wore dark slacks, a red cardigan sweater, and black cat-eye reading glasses hung from a gemstone necklace.
“Bev Cain?” Wilbur asked.
“Wilbur Jenkins?” She stood and shook his hand. “Please come inside.”
Wilbur followed her. He noticed she moved like her knees hurt. The room had a traditional style with a baby grand piano taking center stage. Family photos cluttered the piano top and packed suitcases were against the far wall. She sank into a floral chair. He sat next to her on a lemon-yellow sofa. Wilbur liked the warm blue and yellow color scheme. He smelled vanilla and Bengay ointment.
“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Jenkins?”
“No, thank you, and please call me Wilbur.” He noticed the stiffness in her spine relaxed at the same time as his did. “Mrs. Cain, I should tell you I’m just a college student. I work for Evaney Harwood as her live-in orderly. I’m poking my nose into the mystery surrounding her injury in Alabama and her missing friends. If I’m not what you expected, ask me to leave.”
She smiled and crossed her legs at the ankles. “Anyone ever mention your honesty exudes in front of you like perfume?”
Perfume? “No.”
“I trusted you on first sight. You have a rare gift.”
He smiled, feeling flattered. “Thank you.”
“Is Miss Harwood moving at all?”
He caught his breath before answering. “A little bit, but it’s sporadic. Her doctor doesn’t find it abnormal and claims she’s still in a coma.”
“Do you have feelings for her?”
Heat scalded his face. “I do feel connected to her, but not romantically.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been reading her school notebooks and essays. I didn’t ask permission first.”
She smiled. “Mitch would’ve snooped too. What things do you like about her?”
Wilbur didn’t blame the widow for checking him out. “Her honesty, and she loved poetry as much as I do.”
“Mitch said she survived because life made her tough. Evaney fought hard to escape.”
“Why leave her friends behind?”
“Mitch thought they were injured. The area is wild and prone to flooding caves. Her accident ended any chances for a rescue.”
“How did Mr. Cain go missing?”
“He went to Cloudland for answers. J-Bone is my friend. She told me you had ‘road trip’ written all over your face when she left.”
He shifted position. “True.”
She shook her head. “It’s why I called you. Don’t go there.”
“Why didn’t the estate ask the FBI to look i
nto your husband’s death?”
She laughed. “Son, the estate and the Feds knows more than what they’ve claimed. I sued to bring the information out. It’s still hidden. A friend in a federal agency sent this to me.” She passed him a small sheath of papers.
“There are four towns across the country with record numbers of missing people, but no one does anything about it,” she added. “Cloudland is one.”
“Towns and not cities?” he asked, and scanned the pages. “Why aren’t they famous like the Bermuda Triangle?”
She nodded. “I have no idea. They should be famous.”
“Why hush it up?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Ever hear the government admit they’ve lost control?”
He shook his head.
“People hear plenty about investigations, but most results are never made public. Mitch said the government studies phenomena and keeps its secrets.”
He pored over the details in the papers. “This implies several government agencies have investigated missing people.”
“Yes, the documents aren’t public. I lost the case, but I used those papers to force a settlement. A big one. My children and grandchildren are safe, far away from those towns and from Evaney Harwood. If you investigate further, don’t set foot in Cloudland!”
“I might have to.”
She clasped her hands in her lap, staring at him. “You’re already hooked on finding the answers, just like my Mitch.”
I’ve been sucked in, all right. Wilbur nodded. “I don’t have a choice.”
A frown flitted across her face like a shadow, and her brow furrowed in thought. Wilbur remained silent, waiting for her to decide what to tell him.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “There is nothing to be gained in going to Cloudland.” Her dark eyes implored him not to ask more questions.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
“Fair enough. Mitch discovered the six students had found a diary or journal in a trunk at a Duke library. Alumni donation, I think. Famous alums’ papers get catalogued fast, while lesser stars’ archives are stored in basements. The Diggers, the name the students gave themselves, didn’t mind liberating such finds and going out in search of past history or lost relics. Mitch suggested they were addicted to the thrill, but I don’t know.”
