by G H Edwards
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Complex City. Copyright © 2020 by G.H. Edwards. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, stored in a database and / or published in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-7350861-0-1 paperback
ISBN: 978-1-7350861-1-8 ebook
For Sunshine, Ladybug and Monkey
Table of Contents
Title Page
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 28
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Part II
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Part III
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
CHAPTER 1
Although the world seemed to be exploding around them, the young couple barely noticed. They sat on their cream-colored hand-me-down couch, listening to the wind roar outside their lone window. Michael Gale and his wife Claire watched as one of the largest Hurricanes in Houston’s history raged on. Even with the curtains closed, the nearly constant lightning bolts illuminated the small apartment like a dance floor. The large window shook and rattled and seemed ready to explode, but neither of them cared. The storm would carry on through the night and cause record amounts of damage, but all the couple could think of was the virus that was wreaking havoc on Michael’s twenty-one-year-old body. It had been only five hours since they’d received the news that would upend their lives.
Over the last six months, the former pillar of perfect health had begun to fade and crumble. It started with Michael’s thick, dark hair beginning to fall out, followed by the paling of his skin and rapid weight loss. His energy level held out for longer, but eventually he began to slow and tire easily. Michael, who stood over six feet tall, had begun to look much shorter, as if he were shrinking and would eventually disappear into nothing. As he lost what little weight he had, his skin was pulled tightly over the bones of his face.
Claire, his wife of two years, had noticed the very early signs. Instantly she had begun to worry but kept it to herself. Michael had noticed the problems early also, but he too didn’t want to bring it up to his spouse. They both felt addressing the problem meant the problem would become real and their perfect lives would be derailed. It was killing both of them that they never spoke about this life-changing problem. Each of them had separately searched Houstonnet for answers but came up with nothing that matched Michael’s symptoms. Finally, the couple was forced to acknowledge the growing problem when Michael collapsed on his walk home from work.
When they finally discussed it, the bottled-up emotions flooded out. Each feared the worst, but they both spent their time trying to convince the other that everything would be okay. They had scheduled an appointment for Michael to be seen, but since there weren’t enough hospitals in Mega-City Houston, they were forced to wait more than a month. It would have been longer, but Claire worked at a hospital in the medical records section and was able to move Michael’s appointment up by three weeks.
During their wait for the appointment, neither Claire nor Michael could focus on anything. It seemed a dark cloud followed them everywhere they went. Michael held a job as a welder and used to climb to the top of large buildings that were under construction, but since his illness, he had been remanded to a small office and dealt with ordering equipment. Claire liked the fact that he was on the ground, but Michael hated his new position and worried that if he did get better, soon he would be fired.
As the appointment approached, neither of them mentioned it. They each felt it somehow would be bad luck to talk about the date. Inside their heads, each of them had separated their calendars to “before the appointment” and “after,” knowing the doctor’s visit would be life changing.
When the day finally arrived, everyone seemed to be talking of nothing but the incoming hurricane. All the news stations covered its arrival and cautioned all citizens to board up their apartments and prepare to hunker down. Claire secretly felt the approaching storm occurring on the same day as Michael’s appointment was an ominous sign.
CHAPTER 2
They had spent the morning hours before Michael’s appointment in their favorite coffee shop, Ana Maria’s. The comfortable café was just across the street from their enormous apartment complex. They went to Ana Maria’s so often that they knew all the employees and regulars. But that morning, the coffee shop was empty as everyone prepared for the hurricane that was expected to arrive that evening. Even Julio, the owner, was running back and forth and looking to board his windows.
Michael and Claire sat mostly in silence, drinking grapefruit juice, watching the clock slowly climb toward their fate.
After leaving the coffee shop, the couple normally would join millions of their fellow Houston residents and walk through the packed sidewalks, but since Michael’s illness they had become regulars on one of the thousands of busses that crisscrossed the gargantuan city. They arrived at the hospital over an hour early and were directed to wait in the packed lobby.
The hospital took up the bottom five floors of one of the thousands of nondescript massive skyscrapers that filled nearly every inch of the mega city. When their time finally arrived, Claire walked next to Michael as he shuffled through the wide shiny hallways. They were led into a small white room. The nurse told Michael to strip down and put on a gown and the doctor would be in shortly. Claire helped him undress and slid on the paper-thin outfit.
As Claire listened to Michael’s labored breathing, she felt both relieved to finally be at the doctor’s but also felt very stupid for not insisting they come earlier. Michael sat hunched, looking at his feet, which hung over the edge of the paper-covered medical bed. He wore only a thin gown, his black socks, and dark tennis shoes. The contrast between his thin, pale legs and his thick black socks was noticeable. The socks looked far too big and fell around his ankles. Claire, noticing them bunched up, reached forward and pulled each sock up over his thin calves just to have the socks fall back do
wn to his ankles.
“Maybe I should have worn sandals,” Michael said before weakly chuckling.
Claire forced a smile. Smiling almost felt foreign to her now. She remembered when she used to smile all the time; she remembered when she felt happy and wasn’t worried. She hoped this would be over soon so they could go back to being happy again. She seemed to have lost energy at the same time as Michael. Before he got sick, she took pride in looking nice and properly styling her hair. Now she quickly pulled her thick brown hair into a ponytail and wore the most comfortable clothes she could find. The idea of wasting her energy on deciding which outfit to wear seemed ridiculous. As her hand gently stroked his bowed back, she felt the bones protruding through his skin.
The doctor burst through the door, startling Claire. He was short and fat, with a severely receding hairline. The few remaining hairs on top of his head were longer than they should have been and pointed in every direction, giving him a slightly insane look. He introduced himself as Doctor Francis and seemed in a hurry. He asked the couple what the problem was and hurried them along as they described Michael’s symptoms. As they listed his symptoms, the doctor slowly started to pay more attention. Soon he gave them his full attention as he scribbled vigorously. After hearing the long list of Michael’s aliments, he insisted Michael be given a full regimen of tests. He gave the couple a practiced smile on the way out the door, telling them not to worry and that Michael was in good hands. Claire couldn’t decide if she was happy or worried that he was getting the “full regimen” of tests.
Within a few minutes, a virtual revolving door of medical assistants came and went, performing a litany of tests. Michael had his blood drawn, reflexes checked, along with scans, stabs, and lights and scopes poked into every visible orifice. Claire looked on, both worried and interested in the process. At her work in one of the many hundreds of hospitals, she dealt with the records and administrative issues, but it was rare for her to see this side of medicine. With every new person involved, Claire felt their eyes on them. She felt the doctors and the nurses were both silently judging them for having waited so long to come.
Just as quickly as the nurses appeared, they were gone, leaving the couple in the deafening silence of the white room.
After a long uncomfortable wait, the doctor came through the door holding an open folder. His hair was pressed down on the top of his head. It appeared he must have taken some time to put himself together.
“Mmm,” he said as the creases in his forehead deepened. Worried, Claire and Michael looked at each other. “Mr. and Mrs. Gale, I’m afraid I have some bad news.” Claire let out an audible yip as her hand shot to Michael’s. “This is going to come as a surprise, but according to the blood tests, Michael has gerivirus,” he said with a hint of shock in his voice. Michael’s and Claire’s faces showed the confusion they felt.
“Gerivirus? That’s impossible. Only old people get that,” Michael said quickly in confusion.
“Geri?” Claire said.
“I understand your confusion about the diagnosis. but there are a few things you need to understand,” the doctor said as he pulled up a rolling stool. “Gerivirus is a very common virus. In fact, over half of the deaths in the city are caused by it. Most of the sick people in this hospital are dying from it. And you’re correct, it usually does affect only the elderly; there have been a few cases where the patient is younger, but it’s very rare. In fact, you are the first young person with the virus I’ve personally seen.”
Claire’s jaw dropped. She had lost her breath and leaned forward, burying her face in her hands. She felt like she might faint.
“There’s no way that’s possible. I’m young and in good shape. You need to retest me,” Michael demanded in a rough voice.
“I know it’s a strange result. That’s why we ran each test multiple times with different samples, but all the tests came back with the same result: gerivirus. These tests are extremely accurate and because of all the gerivirus patients here, we’ve become very good at diagnosing this. Let me ask you this: does gerivirus run in your family?”
“My mother and grandmother didn’t get it. They’re still alive.” Michael said, “but my grandfather died from it.”
“Mmm…and what about your father?” the doctor asked while taking notes.
“My father died when I was a baby,” Michael said, lowering his head and voice.
“Do you know how he died?” the doctor asked, not looking up.
“No, my mother never told me how he died. She refused to tell me.”
“Well, you should try to find out how he died because, as I’m sure you know, gerivirus seems to run in the family,” the doctor said, now looking up at Michael through his small glasses. After a pause he asked, “Mr. and Mrs. Gale, do you have any children?”
“No,” Claire said quickly, hoping that was somehow an answer that would fix something.
“Are you taking any birth control?”
“No. We can’t afford it.” Claire said. Birth control in the city was extremely hard to get and very expensive.
“Mmm,” the doctor said, nodding his head slightly. “Well, unfortunately we have found that gerivirus in men generally eliminates their ability to conceive children. That’s almost never a problem, though, because the patients are usually much older.”
“Oh, my God,” Michael said, dropping his head into his hands.
This came as yet another huge shock but at the same time it made sense to them. With birth control so hard to get, a married couple making it to twenty-one without having a child was a bit abnormal. Michael and Claire had never even tried to get birth control because they figured they would be like everyone else and have a few kids early on. They’d never discussed having children; they simply knew they would. But Claire never got pregnant. They were the only couple in their group of their friends without kids, and they often wondered why. So while this did answer the question of why they hadn’t had a child, it also seemed to confirm the fact that Michael did have gerivirus. Claire would later wonder if they had been more serious about having children, would they have discovered Michael had the virus earlier? But she knew it wouldn’t have mattered; there was no cure, no matter what stage it was found.
CHAPTER 3
The doctor expertly broke the news that no one had ever recovered from the virus, but advances in medicines had been able to extend the lives of some patients. Michael and Claire weren’t listening, though. Neither of them listened as the doctor referred them to a specialist and wrote Michael a slew of prescriptions. After the doctor escorted them out, they felt like they were floating out the door. Through the maze of hallways, and after the elevator ride, they emerged into the bustling city. People were rushing back and forth in final preparations for the fast-approaching hurricane, but the young couple were oblivious. They walked in hand in hand in slow motion, parting the thick river of people. Neither of them said a word as they passed dozens of identical apartment skyscrapers on all sides, until they reached theirs.
Now they sat, watching the huge monster of a city get lashed by the hurricane. They weren’t prepared for the storm; they hadn’t stocked up on food or boarded their window. They had planned to do all their preparations after Michael’s appointment. They’d assumed they would pick up the medicine that would cure him while buying all their canned goods.
But at the moment, neither of them cared about their lack of emergency supplies. The glass of their window could have shattered in their faces, and neither would have moved or cared; they felt dead already.
The storm raged all night while neither Michael nor Claire slept. By the time the sun began to rise the next morning, the storm had weakened to a dribble. Watching the early-morning sunlight illuminate the outline of the curtains reminded Claire of an easier time in her life. Her brain seemed to force her to think of something, anything other than her dying husband sitting next to her. She was reminded of when she was a young girl. After big storms, her father would take her
on a walk around the city, surveying damage. Sometimes they’d even sneak to the beach to see what had washed up. The city always closed the beaches after storms so they could clear anything that washed up. They claimed it was for safety reasons, but Claire always believed they wanted first dibs on the strange things that washed ashore. After one particularly nasty storm, Claire and her father had the good fortune to find an unpatrolled beach littered with washed-up treasures. The day was crisp and clear, and the water had calmed quickly. It was as if the storm had cleared out all the weather pipes and nothing was left but a beautiful day. She recalled rushing from one exotic item to the next with great excitement. Some of the items were so foreign to her that she asked her father if they came from outer space. Her father would laugh and tell her they probably just came from a different city. She remembered when she once found an empty soda bottle; Claire thought she had seen all the kinds of soda bottles but never one like this. The label was slightly beaten and torn, but she could still read it; “Blast” was written in bright wild lettering. She examined the bottle and found that it was made in Miami. At first, her father had refused to let her keep it, calling it some other city’s trash. But after some convincing he allowed her to take it home as long as she left it outside. On the walk back, he said that while it was fun to find new things like that, it was dangerous to touch things when you didn’t know where they came from. He went on about how things made in other cities often weren’t safe and sometimes were made to hurt people. Claire had nodded as she walked but barely listened. She had heard the same warnings given to her at school and even from the TV, but she still wanted to keep the strange bottle.
How dangerous could it really be? she wondered. As they approached their large apartment block, packed among the countless number of identical blocks, her father had hidden the bottle in a bush at a small park nearby. He told his daughter she could look at it when she came out to play the next day but couldn’t bring it home. The bottle was kept outside for one day before she snuck it into the apartment and hid it in her closet. Claire knew her father wouldn’t be happy she had taken it upstairs, but he’d be okay with it eventually. But unfortunately he never had a chance to find it. Shortly after that day Claire’s father had an accident at work. They said he had fallen from a sixth-story walkway at the oil refinery . He lived for a few days in the hospital before he passed away with his wife and young daughter by his side.