by D. S. Murphy
“But the newspaper—it was in your locker. You must have put it there. And I know your locker combination. 12-53-68.”
I pulled the note he’d given me out of my pocket. It was still folded and sealed with tape.
“You could have read it and resealed it,” Brett said, rubbing his chin.
“You think I’m lying? About all of this?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“It’s just… there are just some things that don’t add up,” Brett said.
“So you found a newspaper, right? Did you get the scores of the games?” Cody asked.
I nodded, my eyes wide in determination. I grabbed a pen and scribbled down the scores I’d memorized.
» Philadelphia Eagles @ Detroit Lions 51-23
» Carolina Panthers @ Dallas Cowboys 24-20
» Chicago Bears @ Green Bay Packers 13-9
Cody grabbed the paper. “These are for the Thanksgiving day games?”
He grinned when I nodded.
“Yeah but, the problem is we can’t verify anything until Thanksgiving,” Brett said.
“So what, you want to wait?” I asked. “What if there is going to be a bomb? We have to do something, tell someone!”
Crys nodded. “Even if Alicia is going crazy, it can’t hurt to warn them. Anonymous tip.”
“I’m not saying we don’t warn them, I’m just saying we think it through first. If we warn them, they’ll think we’re terrorists and hunt us down. If we warn them and nothing happens, we won’t know whether we were right or not. And we need to know whether we’re right, because we’re not just talking about a bombing, we’re talking about the end of civilization. Right? We can’t forget what’s really at stake.”
“But we have the game scores. You’ll get confirmation after the parade,” I said.
“And there’s something else—you don’t know how that future of yours came about. Let’s say you stop the bombing, and that causes whatever else happened. Maybe by seeing the future, and trying to interfere, you made things worse.”
I shook my head. He was trying to confuse me.
“The newspaper I saw was about the bombing, so if I had stopped it, it wouldn’t have been in that version of the future.” I remembered the note I’d written myself about Brett. Is this what it was warning me about?
“Besides, we can’t think like that. Theoretically, anything we do could destroy the world. But we do the best we can. We can save twenty-three people—”
“And possibly condemn everybody else.”
My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Twenty three people might die next week. Even if there’s just a tiny chance, you want to just let it happen?” Why were we even arguing about this?
“I’m not saying that either,” Brett said, running his hand through his hair. “Look, you’ve had more time to think about all this, but we just found out. I just, we just need a little time, okay? We should think about our next move very carefully, and not rush into anything. We still have a week, right? Can we table it until tomorrow at least?”
I thought of the little girl in the car; the freshman with the pink backpack. Mrs. Neary, her body left to rot at her desk.
“May 14th, 2017. That’s when it happens. That’s less than a year away. Every day we do nothing, that day gets closer.”
“But it’s not happening tomorrow, right?” Crys asked. “I mean, we can sleep on it.”
“Fine,” I agreed.
I gave them a brief summary of my adventures, but left out all the interesting stuff. I was still angry at Brett, and I didn’t want to tell the boys about seeing a picture of myself in the future. It was just too weird to explain. And I didn’t tell them about the mods, because I didn’t want them to know how much danger I was in. And I didn’t tell them about Jake, because… I don’t know why. It didn’t seem important.
If it weren’t for the bombing, I’d be happy to just wait until Thanksgiving. Then Brett would have his proof and start taking me seriously. But things were different now. People were going to die, and we could save them. We had to save them.
When I got home, all I wanted to do was take a shower and sleep. Even though I was actually pretty clean, I felt like I hadn’t showered in days. But then I saw a flier for my sister’s debate on the table. Her debate with Brett’s dad, Kyle Peters—who worked for Zamonta. If Zamonta was running things in the future, maybe they would know more about what happened. Maybe Mr. Peters would have some answers.
***
I’d seen Mr. Peters before, at school events. I’d even bumped into him once at the supermarket, though of course he didn’t know who I was. He was a handsome man. Tall, with silver hair, dark eyebrows and gray-blue eyes. He sat casually, his slacks neatly pressed, with a white shirt and a tie. He had the posture of someone used to being listened to. I wondered again what he actually did at Zamonta. My sister was sitting across from him, wearing a black skirt and gray top. I was used to seeing her in baggy hippie clothes. I gave her a small wave when she saw me, and she smiled at me. The auditorium was half empty, maybe thirty people were attending, mostly college kids, but I also saw at least one camera. This would probably be on the news.
“Thank you all for coming,” a woman said, with dark skin and a blue pantsuit. “I’ll be the moderator for this public debate about the long term health effects of genetically modified produce. With us we have Tamara Gordon, president of the MSU’s environmental club, and Kyle Peters, one of the chief scientists in charge of genetic research at Zamonta.
He’s a scientist? I would have guessed he was a community liaison or media rep or something. My sister went first. It was a lot of data and research and quotes from people I didn’t recognize, but the main point was, we can’t know the long term health effects because humans have only been modifying DNA for a few decades.
Then it was Mr. Peters’ turn. He was good—calm and polite. He spoke slowly with a warm vibrancy. He pointed out that Tamara had taken a quote out of context, and given the wrong citation for another.
“But that’s okay,” he said. “I understand you’re still a student, these things happen.” Tamara’s face went red.
“The truth is,” Kyle said, “scientific progress has always been met with fear and hostility. Technological advancements always coexist with the public’s outright criticism of them. When Graham invented the telephone, they asked him what good it was. When Edison made the lightbulb, they thought it was crazy and dangerous. Mad science. The same things were said about splitting the atom. Yes, atomic bombs proved to be mankind’s most dangerous weapon. But we have sixty-one nuclear power plants in the United States, which have provided heat and electricity to millions of people for decades. And it’s not like we’re building nuclear bombs at Zamonta… we’re just growing riper tomatoes.”
The crowd chuckled.
“Seriously though, the reason there are no long term studies of genetically modified produce is that the last fifty years have ushered in an unprecedented form of human civilization. We are surrounded by electricity, our devices and phones, we spend all day on the computer, the food industry is increasingly focused on profit rather than consumer health—there are hundreds of food additives used in the United States that pose greater long term health risks. There are thousands of novelties in our environment we’d have to factor in before doing a long term study. So when anyone uses a lack of proper long-term studies in an argument against GMO’s, what they’re really doing is asking for the impossible, based on a naïve understanding of scientific research.”
Ouch, did he just call Tamara naïve?
“But here’s the main thing I want to stress. I can’t say that genetically modified products don’t have any effect on humans, if you eat them straight for eighty years. But will they kill you? Absolutely not. Will you get cancer or any other diseases? No. Not in the way that tobacco or alcohol or even lack of exercise will give you. But now imagine a future—it could be a near future—where our food distribution system
is threatened. We have a bad harvest. A freak storm kills all the grain in America. Rot or pests. We have no food. Millions starve. I know it’s hard to imagine, in America, with all our stores of highly processed foods that can last twenty years… but in many countries that depend on fresh local produce, a crop failure will mean starvation. I’m not talking about building radical new inventions and changing how humanity lives their lives. I’m just trying to make better food, so that farmers can lessen the ill-effects of catastrophic and unavoidable acts of nature, and also keep the food supply going to feed people. What’s so bad about that?”
He was good at this. He sat there with a smug self-assurance of someone who knew he’d won. Then it was time for questions, but I tuned out. I was still trying to figure out what I was doing here. Why was Zamonta in charge of everything in the future? Did they have anything to do with whatever caused the Modification? Tamara thought genetically modified products could damage humans somehow, was it crazy to think a major food supplier like Zamonta could have ended the world? I raised my hand.
“Is it at all possible that the GMO’s could somehow affect human DNA? I mean, if you’re making the vegetables tougher and stronger, more adaptable, more likely to survive, couldn’t you do that to humans too, accidentally?”
“Not the slightest chance,” Mr. Peters said. “I know it seems like it could happen, especially with all the movies about a zombie apocalypse, but it isn’t like a virus, that can mutate by itself. We do everything in a lab. The genetic code is altered before the product even exists in the plant form. It’s one, perfect healthy, perfectly sound plant, fruit or vegetable, just something a little bit new or improved. It’s not a monster, that can suddenly grow arms and legs and start eating people.”
“But what about cows or sheep—don’t scientists modify them to produce more milk or wool?” someone else asked.
“Yes, but that’s not what we do at Zamonta. Theoretically, yes, you can alter the DNA of a living organism—though again that’s done at the cellular level, usually before the embryo stage. And if you get too many things wrong, you might get something… unexpected. But what she’s asking, is, basically, can you eat something that will change your DNA somehow, and that’s impossible. I mean, you’d have to….” he paused, then looked at me, quirking an eyebrow. His eyes widened. He muttered something to himself, but then shook his head, waving his hands like the idea was toxic.
The moderator took over again, as Mr. Peters seemed too distracted. She thanked everyone for coming and dismissed us. Once people started standing up, I saw Brett. He was sitting at the other side of the auditorium, but he came over to me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“That’s my sister,” I said, nodding at Tamara, who was gathering up her notes.
“What was up with that question you asked?” he said, his hands in his pockets.
“I told you, the future is all messed up, something happened to all the humans. But I didn’t tell you how, because I don’t know everything for sure. Here’s what I do know. In the future they have creatures they call modifieds. They used to be human, but are monsters now. They killed everyone who didn’t turn into one, and that’s why there’s almost nobody left.”
Brett furrowed his brow, and he was about to say something. I took a quick breath and ploughed forward.
“And in the future, Zamonta is running things. I think whatever happened, maybe Zamonta caused it somehow.”
Brett’s eyes widened, and he looked at me like he’d never seen me before. For a second I thought he might try to kiss me or something. Then he frowned and pointed his finger at my face.
“This was all some kind of twisted prank, wasn’t it? An environmental stunt, so your sister and you can convince me that my father is going to destroy the world? My father is a good man, he’s trying to save people. You and your protester buddies should be ashamed of yourselves.”
11
I woke up the next morning aching all over. Between the long-distance hiking and all the falling down I did in the future, I felt like I’d run a marathon. Everything hurt. But that wasn’t the only reason I was miserable. All I could think about was the look on Brett’s face last night. He looked disgusted. Like he hated me. It made me feel sick. But also kind of angry. I understood how it looked from his point of view. But how could he think I was just making everything up? I mean, sure he barely knew me, but still.
I was feeling sorry for myself when Crys let herself in with the spare key we keep on the side of the house and came upstairs.
“Get up lazyhead,” she said. “It’s almost noon.”
“Do I have to?” I groaned and pulled the covers over my head. “I went to this thing last night. My sister’s debate—against Zamonta. Brett was there.”
“Yeah I heard,” Crys said. “Cody called me. Said Brett was flipping out, calling you a crazy fanatic, a chronic liar, and some other things. I got an earful. Cody asked if I knew it was all bullshit. I stood up for you. We kind of had a fight about it.”
“That sucks. I’m so sorry,” I said. “You still believe me right?”
She shrugged and started going through the clothes in my closet. “I believe that you believe. But you should have told me about that stuff with Zamonta. I mean it kind of does seem like you’re making things up as it suits you.”
“I just didn’t think you’d believe me if I dumped everything on you. And I don’t really know anything, just that something big happened, to make the modifieds, and then they killed everyone else. And it happens soon, and almost everything is a total wasteland, but somehow Zamonta survives. It just seems too convenient.”
“Okay, but the way I hear it, you basically accused Brett’s dad of destroying the world.”
“That’s not exactly how it happened,” I said. “But… that’s kind of the gist of what Tamara said during the debate. So I get why Brett’s feeling defensive. But Mr. Peters is a scientist working for Zamonta, even if he’s not responsible, he probably knows who is.”
“And what about the bomb at the parade. Is that still going to happen?”
“I told you what I saw, that’s all I know. I’m just doing the best I can with all of this. Do I think it’s going to happen? Yes. Am I going to warn people about it? Absolutely.”
“Yesterday we said we’d talk about it today, but now Brett isn’t talking to you. Let’s give the boys a couple days to cool down. Plus, don’t forget you brought all of those game scores back with you. On Thanksgiving, shit’s going to get real. Either you were right and the guys have to believe you, or you’re wrong and you need professional help. In the meantime, it’s a beautiful Saturday. Let’s go to the mall.”
“Orange Julius and Cinnabon?” I asked.
“You read my mind. But you’ll feel better if you spruce up a bit. Put these on, then we’ll do your makeup.”
***
It had been weeks since we’d been to the mall. We shopped for about an hour, working up an appetite for all the junk food. Crys put me in a miniskirt which left my legs bare, and applied a little too much makeup, but she was right, it did make me feel better. Especially when guys our age rubbernecked to check me out. It felt good to do regular things again, but I couldn’t relax. After spending time in the future, all I could think about was how normal everything seemed now, and how quickly it was all going to disappear. In less than a year, all this would be gone. Somehow, mods were created, and then these people would meet violent deaths. I watched teenagers goofing around, parents with young children, even the clerks behind the register—everybody just going about their lives, enjoying the day. Working and saving money to buy stuff. I wanted to scream at them to go home and start preparing for the end of the world, but they’d never believe me. My cinnamon roll felt nauseatingly sweet, and the frozen drink gave me goosebumps. Plus I almost couldn’t handle the plastic cup, utensils and paper plate our food came in—I had to cram it into the garbage can, which was already overflowing with refuse.
<
br /> I was people watching when I saw Brett and Courtney, holding hands and walking with Cody. Courtney was wearing a white jumper and jeans. I could see her bright pink fingernails even from this distance. When they saw us, Brett dropped Courtney’s hand but then looked away, pretending to be interested by something in a store on the other side of the mall. Cody waved, and I thought he was going to come over and say hello, but he looked back at Brett and changed his mind. He gave Crys a call me sign and the three of them kept walking. It was tragically and almost comically awkward. My chest tightened, and I don’t think I breathed until they were out of sight.
“Glad it’s not going to be weird now,” Crys said.
“That was much more painful than all the years he didn’t notice me at all,” I said.
Crys kept me busy all afternoon. I think she was trying to cheer me up, but I was getting more and more anxious. I didn’t care what Brett or Cody thought. The future I’d seen had been so vivid and real, it had to be true. But if it was true, then what the hell was I doing hanging around in the mall, wearing makeup, worrying about boys? I should be doing something. I told Crys I had a lot of homework to do and she finally let me go home.
It was late when I knocked on Eric’s door.
“You’re back,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t have many friends I can talk to about time travel,” I said.
He motioned for me to follow him inside. His mom was home this time, she was cooking something in the kitchen. She looked surprised to see me.
“Hi Mrs. Patton!”
“Alicia! How are you? It’s been years since you’ve come over to visit.”
“I know, I’m really sorry. Just been, busy,” I said lamely.
“How’s school?”
