"Here we are."
She jerked awake and rubbed her nose, banishing the strange dream. "Thanks, Hutch. I'll email you tomorrow."
"If you're not feeling any better, stay home. Really! I mean it. You can postpone your first freshman bio lab if you need to. Just get the students' emails from Lawson and set up a make-up lab."
"It's not until Monday. I should be fine by then."
He waved and she closed the door. She watched his shiny green Prius pull away, and noticed that his plate read, "TREHUGR." She shook her head. Perfect. She felt stupid for worrying about Hutch coming onto her. He wasn't likely to risk his career for someone like her.
She made it to the third floor after two stops, her knees shaking. Fumbling the key in the lock, she lurched into the apartment and called out, "Julie?", but got no answer. She stashed her bag and took the rest of the disgusting wrap that she'd saved to the front room. She picked off the bits of chicken and dumped the rest of the vegies into Iggy's bowl. He sniffed it, but evidently had the same opinion as she, then tried to escape his cage.
"Sorry buddy, not right now." She stood up too quickly and stumbled before the dizziness passed. "Mom needs to eat something or she's going to pass out."
Aleksi went to the kitchen and looked in the fridge, but it hadn't spontaneously generated the steak she had fantasized about in the car. She took out the rest of the pastrami, some cheese and some spicy mustard. She intended to make a sandwich, but started munching, cutting thick slices of cheese, wrapping them in pastrami and dipping them in mustard. Before she knew it, both cheese and meat were gone, and her stomach had stopped growling. Sated, she went to the couch, kicked off her boots and lay down, pulling a thick afghan down from the back.
"Just a nap," she mumbled, resolving to make some progress on the journal when she woke.
Flying again. Tall pines sweep beneath her in vistas of green. Taiga, the Aleksi in her thinks. Figures move among the trees, crashing through the subtropical undergrowth in panic, bushes and small trees crashing aside at their wake. Prey…meat… She stoops. The trees slip past her, brushing her sides, her wings, her long lithe body. She nears one of the creatures—titanothere—smelling its panic, tasting its fear. The beast breaks left in a wild evasive maneuver, but she twists after it, making the turn with much less trouble. Her teeth flash and salty warmth floods her mouth. Bones crunch in her jaws and she feels the death shudder through her entire length as her teeth pierce its spine.
She checks the surrounding wood then bends her sinuous neck to feed. But the flesh has changed, and she finds herself staring into the startled face of Dr. Hutchinson. He blinks at her, his flesh whole, warm against her skin. She feels him stir between her legs, and desire rises like a warm flood.
"Aleksandrovna, I don't think—" He's speaking Russian. Then he cannot speak at all, as she blocks his words with her mouth.
12
Beware of advisors bearing gifts." Hutch dangled the specimen bag as he turned into the corner of the molecular biology lab that Bob had been assigned.
Bob looked up from his computer and grinned. "Got something?"
"Maybe, but it doesn't look promising." Hutch put his shoulder bag down and retrieved the other two samples he'd taken from Aleksi. "This tooth might have something. I also brought some of the ash cast for analysis and a bit of the residue from inside, though I have no idea if it's anything that you can analyze."
Bob peered at the samples. "Wow. Not much left, huh?"
"Not a lot." Hutch nudged the tooth with the remaining root. "I'd try that first, but since the debris is already broken up, you might try just a simple DNA extraction. If we don't get anything, we'll have to rely on morphology to figure out what this thing is."
"No such thing as negative data." Bob squinted at the tooth skeptically. "Man, that's quite a chopper! Never seen anything like that, before."
"It looks like a big macaque canine." He pointed out the features as he spoke. "Carnivores generally have peg canines for grasping. They're never this sharp, and they don't have this honed trailing edge. Male macaques use them for display and fighting. They're used more as weapons than for eating."
"That CT didn't look like a monkey." Bob cocked an eyebrow at him. "Unless you mean one of the ones from Wizard of Oz."
"Oh, and this is probably all you're going to get for a few days. Aleksi's fighting off some kind of bug. She looked terrible."
"Really? She looked fine yesterday."
"Looks like the flu." Hutch shrugged. "Pale, feverish, shaky. I took her home and told her to get some rest."
"Wow. Right before the first week of the semester. That sucks!"
"Yeah, well, she's been pushing too hard and hit the wall. If she actually gets some rest, she should be able to kick it soon."
"Maybe I'll bring her a care package," Bob said with a grin. "Chicken soup or something."
"That'd be nice, but don't guilt her for staying home." Then he realized that Bob probably had no idea where Aleksi lived. "Her apartment is up off of—"
"I've got it, Hutch." At his questioning look, Bob explained. "I checked her out before our first meeting at Grendel's. And don't worry; I'm not going to guilt her for getting sick."
"All right. Just don't catch it." He waved and left the lab, wondering if all of Bob's interest in Aleksi was all professional.
Aleksi woke in a cocoon of sweat-drenched clothes and blankets, wondering where the hell the dream had come from. She blinked at the dark room, the drawn curtains and the dim light from the kitchen. She smelled something cooking. Her mouth was dry, and she still felt like something that had been run over by a truck and left beside the road to die. She rolled over and made an involuntary grunt at the weight of blankets and comforters covering her. Finally, she managed to heave up to a sitting position, her head spinning.
"You alive?"
She looked up to see Julie standing with her arms folded. "No." Her voice came out hoarse. "I'm dead. Did you bury me in all these blankets?"
"Well, when I came home you were shivering, so I figured you were chilled. You look like a train wreck."
"Thanks." She tried to stand up and failed, her legs still tangled in blankets. She gave up. "What smells good?"
"Chicken soup. Some guy, uh, Bob Tom-something, came by with a care package."
"Bob Tomlin? He came here?" Aleksi rubbed her eyes. She didn't feel like she had the flu. Her breathing was normal and there was no cough, but every joint ached and her head was pounding.
"Yeah, but don't worry, he didn't get close enough to see the wreckage. He is kind of cute, though." Julie's smile told Aleksi that she was thinking below the waist.
"Great." She tried again and managed to make it to her feet. Her shirt was soaked through with sweat and her hair was a mess. "I need a shower. Thanks for the blankets. I didn't mean to crash on the couch."
"Don't worry about it. Just don't cough on me."
"Not coughing, am I?" Aleksi managed a weak glare. "I don't think it's the flu. I just feel achy and dizzy."
"Well, you've got chills and sweats. You're running a temp, for sure."
"I'll check it."
"You want your soup in the front room? You've already infected the couch, so you might as well sleep there."
"Okay. Thanks, Julie."
"Just don't expect this level of care once the semester begins. And if you get me sick…"
"Yeah, I know, you'll take pictures and post them on Facebook."
"You got it!"
Julie retreated to the kitchen and Aleksi went to her room. She peeled out of her sweaty clothes and threw them all in the hamper, donning a thick terry robe and picking out her most comfortable flannel pajamas. If she was going to sleep on the couch, she needed something softer than jeans. In the bathroom, she risked a look in the mirror and cringed. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was puffy, her hair a sodden rat's nest streaked with plaster dust. If Bob did see her like this, at least she wouldn't have to worry about him ever
finding her attractive.
She dropped her robe and stepped into the scalding shower, letting the hot spray soak away her headache and ease her inflamed muscles and joints. It seemed like only minutes before the hot water started to fail, so she turned it off and stepped out before she could get a chill. She felt better, and toweled off briskly, though straightening up quickly still made her dizzy. The fogged mirror exempted her from her reflection. She brushed her hair out and used the blow-drier, knowing that wet hair would give her a chill. Warm and reasonably comfortable in layers of flannel, she ventured into the kitchen.
"Oh, no you don't." Julie pointed at the front room. "Kitchen's off limits until you're not running a temp. What was it, by the way?"
"I forgot to take it." She went back to the bathroom and recovered the digital thermometer from the cabinet. It only took a moment, but the read out displayed 104.5, which was ridiculous.
"Must still be hot from the shower," she said, as she went back out to the front room. "I'll take it later." A huge bowl of soup sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. Beside it sat a big cup of a lemony smelling concoction. "What's this?"
"Thera-flu, also from your care-package provider. He said it's guaranteed to knock you out for eight hours."
"Great," she muttered, sniffing the liquid skeptically.
The medication tasted worse than it smelled. The soup, however, was delicious, with huge pieces of roast chicken and lots of noodles. She was surprised when the bowl was empty. She drank the cup of lukewarm medication down with a grimace. Her stomach was full, but she still felt hungry, as if she had a craving that could not be sated by the soup. She took the dishes to the kitchen, and Julie just pointed at the sink. She put them in and went back to the bathroom to brush her teeth. The taste of toothpaste almost made her ill, so she did a quick job, retrieved her bag and her pillow from her bedroom and went back to her sickbed. Julie came in with a scowl as she booted up her laptop.
"You are not working tonight."
"I need to notify the course coordinator that I might have to reschedule my first lab. I'll be off in ten minutes."
"Ten minutes." Julie looked at her watch. "Starting now."
"Yes, Mom." She sent a quick email to the course coordinator for freshman biology, requesting the email list for her students so she could schedule a make-up lab, checked her email, which only yielded half a dozen unimportant messages, and logged off. She closed the computer and put it on the coffee table. "Ten minutes?"
"Eight minutes thirty-two seconds. Now get some sleep."
"Yes, Mom." She lay back and tried to get comfortable. Unfortunately, with all her aches and pains, it was impossible. After a half an hour of tossing and turning the medication took hold, and she finally eased off into a fitful sleep.
She's on the green line, and it is rush hour, standing room only.
Of course, she's naked. Why wouldn't she be?
She remembers this as if it has happened before and wonders why she isn't embarrassed. A man with a briefcase and a Wall Street suit is looking at her. She avoids his eyes, because that is what New Yorkers do.
The train comes into a station, but it is not her stop. The doors open; people get out and others get in. Wall Street suit is now right next to her, his briefcase held like a shield, but not between them. It is held to hide what his other hand is doing. He slides his palm up her abdomen and cups her breast. She feels it, can detect the tiny ridge of callus on his thumb. She wants to knock his hand away, but can't.
Another hand, another man in a Wall Street suit, grabs her ass. She glares, but it's the same man. There are two of him…no, there are four…eight…she is surrounded by him, all of them reaching for her with their calloused hands, and she is defenseless to fend them off.
Then, she isn't.
Her claws rake through them like scythes, ripping grey flannel, skin, flesh and bone. Warm blood spatters her, a coppery taste on her lips. The rest of the passengers all look at her, but there is no panic, no shouts or screams.
They watch her as she bends down to feed.
Aleksi woke shaking, sweat pouring down her face and the coppery taste of blood still on her tongue. She fought her sodden bedclothes, the damp blankets, and lurched to sit up. The dream was still fresh in her mind, the taste like raw meat, an open wound that hurt when she touched it but itched when she didn't.
"God damn fever dreams."
She flung the blankets off and wobbled her way to the kitchen. Three glasses of water and her parched mouth finally tasted only of sleep and stale toothpaste. The clock on the microwave displayed 1:28. Her stomach rumbled, but she was still nauseous from the dream. She hoped that the memory would fade soon. She opened the refrigerator, but there was nothing to eat; a Tupperware container of left-over soup, some potato salad in a supermarket plastic cup, a few vegetables for Iggy. The cabinet yielded more promising results. She pulled down a can of tuna, opened it, and ate it with her fingers. She drank another glass of water to wash it down and dropped the can in the garbage.
She felt like she was still in the same dream, as if the man in the flannel suit would walk into her kitchen at any moment and she would have to kill him. She blinked, realizing she was leaning on the kitchen counter half asleep.
"Gotta get some sleep," she muttered.
The box of Thera-Flu sat on the counter. She put water on and made a cup, then opened the freezer and pulled out the bottle of Stoly. Fuck my liver, I need sleep. She topped off the steaming brew with vodka and drank it down.
She put everything away and stumbled back to her nest. Her bedclothes were still damp but she felt better. She lay down and sleep took her mind down a long dark spiral.
At the bottom, her dreams waited patiently.
13
This is so not going to work." Bob removed the vials from the centrifuge and took them to his lab bench.
He'd gone through the extraction process for two samples, one from the tooth root, and the other from the seemingly cremated soft tissues from within the ash cast. Now, for all of his effort, he had two miniscule pellets of something that was supposed to be DNA. If there was any at all, as with all ancient DNA, it would be fragmented. On top of that, they had no idea what this organism was. Consequently, Bob planned to use what he called the shotgun technique, treating the samples with a number of primers, short DNA sequences that matched known sequences in the genomes common to millions of species, and would begin the replication process that would amplify the unknown DNA. The segments would then be sequenced and matched against the vast database of known sequences in Genbank.
If there's any DNA at all. Bob suspected that the temperatures of the pyroclastic ash had denatured anything organic, but science didn't work on supposition. If they found nothing, they would know for sure, and would resort to the scanty morphological data to identify the sample.
Bob split each sample into six separate tubes, then treated each with a different set of primers. Twelve tubes went into the PCR block where any DNA would be amplified into a large enough sample to be sequenced. The process would only take a couple hours, but the block would automatically chill when finished, so Bob could come back in the morning to run the sequences. He turned it on and checked his watch.
"Crap! Two thirty?" He blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Time flies when you're having fun."
He stripped off all of his protective gear and left the lab.
Inside the tubes, two disparate types of DNA began reacting with the primers. One strand was human, and the other was not. What no scientist would ever believe was that both segments of DNA belonged to the same organism.
Hutch lurched out of bed, wrenched from a deep sleep and completely disoriented. Only after a few ragged breaths did he realize that his phone was ringing. He glanced at the clock.
"Shit." He snatched it off the night table. Calls at three in the morning were never good news. "Hello!"
"Hey Hutch." Persephone's voice cut through the haze of panic like a knife.
"Persephone? What's wrong?"
"I wanted to apologize to you for the other night."
"At three in the morning?" Maybe she was drunk.
"Is it? Oh damn. I'm sorry, Hutch. I just got in, and I've been obsessing about what I said the other night. Look, I had too much to drink, and my mouth was running the show without my brain. I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
"Okay. Apology accepted." He couldn't very well stay angry at her after she'd given him twenty thousand dollars. He sat on the side of his bed and rubbed his face. "Don't worry about it, Persephone."
"So, we're good?"
"Sure. We're fine."
"You don't know how good it makes me feel to hear you say that. I thought I'd really fucked things up. Let me make it up to you. I'll buy you lunch at that little place you like in Cambridge. The one with the rooftop garden."
His brain stumbled. Now she wanted to buy him lunch? Suspicion chewed through the fog of sleep. "Um, look, Persephone. I don't want to send you mixed signals here. I'm still not interested in getting back together, okay?"
"Don't worry, Hutch. I'm not after a relationship here. I just thought we could stay friendly. I'd like to know how that project I'm funding is going, too. Did you find anything in that mystery sample?"
"Um, yeah." His mind did another flip flop. Now she wanted to talk about the project? "Look, Persephone, can I call you when I'm awake. We can have lunch if you want, but I can't even think straight right now."
"Oh, okay. Sorry. I always forget that you're a morning person. Give me a call around ten and we'll set up lunch. You can bring your computer and show me what you've found. Sound good?"
Dragon Dreams Page 11