by Greg Dragon
The twins howled. Their cries shocked Rett long enough to notice men watched them from the shadows across the street. Others crept up like police commando teams, and he noticed two trucks blocked the exits out of his street. He saw the orange red ash from the drivers’ cigarettes in the darkness.
Anger blinded him as he reached for his keys and cranked the engine. He’d get the boys to Texas and return for his daughter. Sick or not, he would be by her side.
“Hang on, boys,” he shouted, jerking the SUV into four-wheel drive. He slammed over the curb and into the neighbor’s backyard to reach an unguarded street. They had to travel a couple hundred feet through dense woodland to reach another exit. First, he had to go off road into a field the neighborhood kids played in. Parents checked the field for dangers and kept the brush trimmed. He plowed over bicycles and outdoor furniture before reaching the peak of a hill and tipping over the steep side.
The boys screamed.
The downward plunge exhilarated Rett. They mowed over saplings and sideswiped over-sized azalea bushes. Rett’s eyes strained to read the terrain beyond his lights. Branches gouged and scraped against the sides as the SUV jumped side to side. He heard popping sounds, which Rett hoped were rocks under his tires and not bullets.
He hit the bright lights to pick up the boards neighborhood children placed over muck, so they could ride their bikes across without getting stuck. He heard one board crack beneath them. One tire caught in the mud, holding them back. He kept the vehicle moving forward as the tire spun. The wheel found traction and the mud spat them out on the other side.
“Go right,” Teddy yelled. “No trees.”
Rett turned right. A Jeep with specialized night lights hit them from behind and helped illuminate their way. He saw the faint path to follow.
“Don’t hit our fort,” Tommy screamed.
“Sorry, son.” Rett hammered the makeshift building without braking. Wood splinters sprayed into the air and landed on his roof, sounding like hail. He shifted gears and headed up a narrow path to another backyard. He gunned the engine, and they bounced over holes and dead branches. At times the rear end skidded side to side as they inched up the ravine. The last backyard was fenced, but a path went up the side and out to the road.
When they slammed back onto asphalt, the boys cheered.
No way would he stop on the road to Atlanta except for flats. Checking the rearview mirror and making quick turns down old roads kept him from worrying about Eddie Jean. He floored the gas pedal. He couldn’t shake the nonstop words in his head.
No one has ever recovered from Swarm disease.
Louis
Louis’s inner brain boiled in an acid vat and he was blind.
No shadows, no colors, no vision, period. He lost speech but his hearing was fine. The room was silent, no monitors buzzed alerts, no muted whispers came from medical staff, and no phones rang. He had expected his agony to be short, but death didn’t claim him. His nerves still signaled pain to his brain even if he couldn’t move or communicate his misery. Locked in—my mind is aware but my body won’t function. Torture. Despite the hot rush of fear sluicing through his veins he refused to beg God for death. He wanted to live now more than ever.
Dying would make life far too easy for Ava. He could hear her telling another concerned researcher, We lost Louis to Swarm. No, he chose to fight this living hell to spite her. Maybe Swarm disease wasn’t real. Maybe it was code for murder in Cloudland. He focused on remembering his name.
The air in the room changed. Icy air became warmer, like a tropical breeze, as it wafted in. He thought he smelled beach shampoo, the herbal type with jasmine and coconut scent. He heard a releasing sound, he thought, and someone sniffed? Maybe I’m hallucinating. Earlier he thought Susan Cho had tried to help him, but she vanished.
A hand, a damp but warm one, touched his cheek and then his forehead. The touch held the warmth of the sun. Now he understood the term “therapeutic touch.” Both Ava and Susan had icy hands. Who was it? Pain stopped wherever the hand rested. He sensed a person lean over and gaze down at his face. Warm water, or tears, dripped on his cheek.
A girlish voice whispered, “Sorry, I slobbered on you.” She sniffed. “I’m Eddie Jean Franklin. Do you want my help?”
Where had he heard her name? There was something sweet about her confession and the way she used her fingers to wipe his face. In any case, she wasn’t Ava and yes, he wanted help. He couldn’t speak or move. I’m Louie. My brain is on fire.
“I’m sorry Doctor Allen hurt you. I’ll heal you until told to stop,” she said with a voice choked with emotions.
Louis felt so grateful for not being alone. He craved human touch. Ava left him to suffer and die in silence, and the isolation hurt worse than her drug.
“Don’t be afraid,” the girl said.
Soft thumbs pushed into his eyes—not hard, but firm. It felt like his eyes were being iced, but no pain. He felt warm, even languid, yet his eyes were like chips of dry ice boring into his brain. She removed her thumbs and at first he couldn’t open his lids. When his eyes opened, he could see! At first he saw blurred shadows, and then details sharpened.
He’d been moved from the dome room and its slick dental office chair. They cleaned him up and put him on a hospital stretcher in a room with muted lights. The girl stood behind him. Her hands explored his scalp like she was reading his fortune from the bulges and hollows. His innermost fears subsided as she worked on his brain.
“One more time,” she said, her voice softer now. He felt her hands trembling as she put one over the injection area and the other on the opposite side. Glacier cold, radiated downward, and then a warming heat like a hot water bottle followed. He gasped and his body relaxed. Something fluttered in his head, and she jerked her hands away. He felt wrapped up in a warm blanket and barely noticed. Louis sighed.
She stepped into his visual field. A young beauty with long, dark hair and eyes that turned lavender against the blue scrub top. She had to be the faith healer Ava had scoffed at. Louis blinked. A water-vapor halo floated around her head. As he stared, it began to fade. But it wasn’t the strange-looking halo or the many strands of multi-colored necklaces she wore holding his attention. Despite the miracle in her hands, the girl looked scared.
“Better?” she asked.
He nodded. He tried to speak several times until his raspy voice answered. “Yes.”
“Yesterday, I couldn’t heal unless the person stood. Guess I’m stronger now.”
Louis stretched out his hand to her and she took it. He pulled her hands to his face. She cupped his cheeks as he wished until he spoke. “How did you heal me?” His clear speech surprised him, and he blinked from sudden tears.
“Let me work on your spine.” She helped him roll over and the cold and the heat went up and down his back. He loved the gentle way she returned him to his back while supporting his neck. This girl had removed his pain, restored his vision, and made his body function. He had no right to grill her, but he had to do so. Louis had spent a lifetime in study and searching for a cure. He should have been looking for her. Maybe she was a trick or mirage to prove him psychotic so no one would believe him when he pressed charges. No one except for Cindy Van Zant.
She smiled at him. “My healing comes from my faith. My faith, not yours.”
“Did Doctor Allen teach you this trick?”
Eddie Jean didn’t answer and released his hand, and then the restraints. Louis struggled into a sitting position. She helped him stabilize until the dizziness passed.
“No tricks. I asked God for this ability. I didn’t earn it through study or apprenticeship.”
“A gift from God?” He knew his voice sound incredulous because she flinched. Louis flexed his arms and kicked his legs, thrilling to the sensation of blood circulation. He wasn’t a religious man, but he refused to deny his own miracle. Too bad faith healers had a reputation as charlatans preying on the gullible. “Thank you,” he said.
; “You’re welcome. Ready to stand?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“You have to hurry.” She licked her lips. “You’re in greater danger the longer you stay.”
Louis noticed bizarre skin colors on her arms and reached out to touch a swirl pattern. Her skin was sauna-steam hot. “Is this genetic?”
She forced him to his feet. Kid was stronger than she looked.
“It’s okay not to believe in what I do, but don’t ignore my warning.” She reached under the table and brought up a box with clean clothes inside. “Doctor Cho said she borrowed clothing for you, but the belt and shoes belonged to you. Please get dressed.”
He had a genetic condition with the AL gene and her skin problem had to be genetic. Did they lure genetic freaks here to test and experiment on? “For all I know, Ava gave me an injection, so you could show up and pretend to heal me. Why were you crying?”
Her lips quivered and then her chin. “You’re wrong about me, but right about the genetic experiments. Doctor Cho asked me to help you because Doctor Allen left you to die.”
Her words stung because they were true. The kid looked as miserable as he felt minutes ago, but he didn’t have a single ounce of trust left in his body. He wanted answers.
The kid tucked hair behind her ears. “My mother infected my little sister with Swarm disease. Until today I thought Kimmy died from an allergic reaction.”
“What?” Louis felt like a bully. No wonder she had been crying.
“I think of Cloudland as purgatory or I’d totally freak,” Eddie Jean said.
Louis frowned unsure how to respond. “I’m an atheist.”
Her eyes scanned his face. “Science and faith don’t contradict. I hate to say it, but established religions have carved out niches of differences to define separateness. Belief isn’t supposed to be divisive.”
Heat scorched his neck and burned his ears. “Truth is in science.”
“Truth is in people. I heal, and I have a weird version of telepathy. I think all humans used to have it back when we lived by our instincts. Now, telepathy has returned to some of us.” Her chin quivered. “Only, telep gives me migraines.”
Louis grinned. “A healer with migraines?”
“I know. Sick, isn’t it?”
“Did you call the police to help me?” He folded his arms across his chest and wondered what happened to the microbes in his head.
“Sorry, I called my dad to warn him. I hope he takes my little brothers far from here.”
“Your father won’t leave you.”
She smiled, a sad one, and reached over and touched his scalp. A flutter occurred under every spot she touched, and he felt the healing warmth.
“Please, stop.” Louis grabbed his head.
“Sorry. You have three Anchorons in your head. Most people have one. Every time one moves you say a prayer to make it go away.”
Shocked, he clasped his hands. “How do you—”
“I wish I could heal or remove them.” Her soft words rang with sincerity. “They have a shield against my healing.”
Louis took a deep breath and pulled the scrub top off and a tee-shirt on. “You call the microbe Anchorons. Why?”
She brushed bangs from her eyes. “They’re hitchhikers, and they’ve anchored down for the ride. They reminded me of the archons in the Gnostic writings. The Greek archai, which means primordial, first, predecessor in time.”
“They scare you?”
Her eyes widened and then she nodded. “They’re here to change us by taking over.”
“Like biblical demons?”
“They’re parasites. They excrete a substance and in time it changes our behavior.” She stopped and focused on his forehead. “Doctor Peterson’s talk suggested as much, didn’t it?”
He had been thinking of what Peterson had told the COGS. “You read my mind?”
She frowned and then nodded. “You’re in my telep. It comes across faint, like you’re up in the stands and I’m down on the soccer field. This is a new experience for me. Maybe the poison she gave you reacted with the substance secreted by the Anchorons. Your telep got activated.”
“If I could read your thoughts, I might believe,” he said. “You lost me at Gnostic writings.”
“It’s about an invasion of our ancestors’ minds.”
He had no idea what she meant. “You’re suggesting the microbe is our early ancestor?”
“Or invader. It’s not rational on the surface, but I believe so.”
“Is there any way to get rid of them?” he asked.
She dropped her eyes and shook her head. “You don’t have to give in, assert your wishes. They need you.”
“They’re intelligent?” He slipped into a white polo shirt.
“Yes.”
There were cases of microbes controlling insect brains. It was hard to accept a human could be hijacked, but he couldn’t dispute the possibility either. “I have the Alzheimer gene. Caused by the Anchorons?”
“Yes, they manipulate DNA chemically and turn genes on and off, searching for their ideal environment. I think they know a jump in evolution is about to happen, and they’re hitchhiking. I don’t know why.”
“Peachy.”
“The Hum excites the Anchorons. It’s why you can feel them now and not before. The important thing to do, Doctor Janzen, is to survive the Hum.”
“Survive the Hum?” He cocked his head, hearing harsh music in the background. “Where does the sound originate?”
“God.”
Back to religion. “Turn around,” he said before standing and dropping his scrub pants. “An evolutionary jump isn’t believable, sorry.” He leaned back against the table. She might have saved his life, but he was a trained scientist and doctor.
“Doctor Janzen, evolution takes place in nature, not in labs. We’re seeing hybrid mammals in the Arctic. New specimens of plants, reptiles, and animals have been identified all over the world. It’s not survival of the fittest, but survival of the flexible.”
“What about Swarm disease? Where does it fit in?” Louis asked.
“I don’t know everything.” She licked her lips. “Swarm is Cloudland’s curse. Wait here for Doctor Cho.” She turned to climb a ladder he hadn’t noticed.
“Wait,” he said. Before he could apologize he heard a series of clicks and other noises. She walked over to the glass and yanked back the curtain. The other room remained shrouded in darkness. He could hear Eddie Jean breathing, deeper and quicker.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She took a step backward. “Swarmers are loose.”
Her tone moved Louis. She was a kid after all. He walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “What got loose?”
“Swarmers. They’re hungry.”
Her fear was palpable and infectious. He swallowed. “How do you know?”
“Granddad tried to infect me with their virus, hoping I’d make antibodies. Afterward, I knew things about them.”
He gripped her shoulders, torn between worry and a possible setup to make him look like a nutball psychotic. “Swarm disease is real?”
She blew bangs out of her eyes. “This complex exists to study them. The drug Doctor Allen gave you is based on the Swarm virus.”
“What? Did I make antibodies?”
“I don’t know.”
Susan Cho slid down the rails like a fireman from the overhead pod ladder, wearing street clothes and a red backpack. “Put on your shoes, Louis.” Her voice flicked like a whip.
Someone crashed into the glass. Louis jumped. Neon-white orbs gleamed in the dark, staring back. Another smack on the glass. The shadow was taller. Louis cried out and staggered backward as he got his first glimpse of Swarmers. He couldn’t believe his eyes and rubbed them with his fists. When he looked again, they moved up and down the glass, trying to follow a scent. Their eyes glowed milky white and their nares flared bright red.
“The white eyes came from the new strain,” Susan s
aid to Eddie Jean. “We exposed your mother to an original pod, and they either died or mutated to the new version. White eyes let us know they’re airborne contagious.”
Eddie Jean said, “White eyes don’t make evolutionary sense. Can they see?”
Doctor Cho shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Eddie Jean stepped up beside him. “The short one is my sister, and the one beside her is my mother.”
Susan Cho said, “They’re sticking together as well, as if they know they’re relatives. Bonding is new.”
Louis felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Eddie Jean’s eyes gleamed from unshed tears. He rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sorry for being a jerk, Eddie Jean.”
“It’s okay.” She looked at Susan. “Doctor Allen released them.”
“What?” Susan’s fingers covered her lips. “Why would she?”
“Distraction.”
Louis shoved bare feet into brown Ecco shoes and bucked his belt. He noticed they stared at each other in horror. Susan ran to the wall and pressed unseen buttons. A panel slid out with a computer attached. She flicked through pages. “You’re right. They’re at the east exit, and someone locked the west side out for good.”
He went over to study Swarm disease up close. A bigger one crashed into the glass, knocking the smaller ones to the side. Susan glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “That’s Peterson.”
Louis staggered closer to stare at the scientist. He didn’t recognize the funny and polite older man in the feral face. That could’ve been me.
“A blood tube shattered in the centrifuge,” Susan explained, leaving the computer and pulling a revolver from her backpack. “He opened it without using the viral scanner first because he was tired. Peterson and five others inhaled the virus. I was on break.”
“They’re working as a team,” Eddie Jean pointed out.
“Your grandfather’s vaccine changed everything. He’ll activate the burn protocol.”
“Burn protocol?” Louis repeated.
Susan handed Eddie Jean the backpack. “Once the burn protocol goes online the doors won’t open. I’m counting on you to get Louis on the plane. Q might not have the balls to burn his baby down. I’ll make sure he does.” She turned to Louis and said, “Here are my car keys, a red and white Mini Cooper.” She gave him the pistol. “No safety. Can you run?”
