Resonance

by A. J. Scudiere

  Jordan’s grin crossed his face like a wash of brightness. “That’s my girl.”

  “Have you measured the strength of the field?” Becky rubbed her palms across the knees of her new jeans. Her bank account was now over two hundred dollars lighter due to four days of new underwear, two new pairs of jeans, t shirts and a sweatshirt. All from that fashion bastion WalMart. Never mind that she was on lockdown with men in her age range. Men that she’d never met before. Men with PhDs and MDs. And here she was dressed head to toe in cheap.

  “Yup.” David shook his head at her. “And I got nothing interesting. It’s the same as the field anywhere. No Bermuda Triangle-like force to explain any of this.”

  She laughed, for a moment forgetting the roach that had scuttled out from under her bathroom linoleum and prompted her to knock on David’s door suggesting a professional discussion. One that involved her being part of numbers greater than the roach. “So you’re saying Atlantis isn’t beneath the Appalachians?”

  His eyebrows raised at her, blond and skeptical.

  She had already topped the money she’d lost at WalMart with a very expensive phone call home, and she would have to call Marshall Harfield and tell him there were out-of-season warblers here, too. She changed the subject with little tact or concern. “So how long have the doctors had you holed up here?”

  “Only since yesterday.” He turned away, then back. “Are we all sharing here? And no one will be stealing or leaking anything until we all go public with it?”

  She shrugged. “As long as the government doesn’t declare it all classified and shut us down.” David nodded. Looking every inch the son of the Senior Dr. Carter she had met three years ago. And every inch unconcerned about a penny of this trip. He sat on the edge of the gold polyester bedspread that reminded her so much of the one on her parents bed back home and ran both hands through his hair, showing her for the first time that the gold strands were thinning just a bit at his crown. “Okay, just outside of town, there’s a geological hotspot we found on a dig. When the last polar shift occurred the polarity reversed there first. Maybe as little as a thousand years before the poles swapped on earth. There’s another hotspot in Montana. And they’re at the KT boundary.”

  “The dinosaur extinction.” Becky supplied. When David gave her the slightest nod she kept going. “Do you think the pole reversal is tied to the die out?”

  He put his hands palm up as though asking for divine inspiration. “My partner, Greer Larson is a paleontologist, and he thinks it may be, but we’re still not sure.”

  “So, do you think we’re on our way to another pole reversal right now?” She spoke in that slow southern fashion she knew belied her education and, at times like this, her concern.

  “I don’t know.” He was upright again, unable to contain his nervous energy, his docksiders wearing a circular pattern on the already threadbare carpet.

  “But you have a gut feeling . . .? You look like that’s your professional opinion but not your personal one.”

  David faced her, his eyebrows up again, his mouth quirking, but only on the one side. “You and Abellard ought to get along great with your little insights.” David sank next to her on the saggy bed, and him ceasing to move lowered the tension she didn’t even realize she’d been building.

  “So?”

  “The short answer is ‘yes’. I do think we’re sitting on the next pole reversal. But according to our past data it may take a few thousand years. As best we can tell, we’re due in any day now. Of course, even our best estimates are give-or-take fifty thousand years. But within the past years the poles have begun shifting. We don’t have any historical evidence-”

  “Excuse me?” Becky leaned toward him. “The poles are shifting now? Our north and south?”

  “Yup. About twelve years ago it was discovered that magnetic north had moved. Just a little, but enough. Four years later it was even further off. It’s sliding fast these days. Geologically speaking, of course.”

  “Wow.” She breathed in, aware of her own functioning just for a second, absorbing what he was telling her and shuffling it cleanly in with her own information. “They just slide right around?”

  “No. As best we can tell, they do start sliding slowly, but individual hotspots reverse first. Weird little pockets of backward magnetics. Like here. Then as the hotspots become more numerous, they meld and, eventually, in a bang, the poles snap. Instantly magnetic north is south and south is north.”

  Her own backyard would then be a ‘hotspot’ as David put it. There really might be the rain of frogs the scientist in her was so skeptical of.

  “You don’t have to look so disturbed. It’s all just a theory.”

  “Of course.” Her whole life was based on ‘just theories’. “And the competing ideas are?”

  He ticked off the possibilities on his fingers as he rolled his eyes. “Our data sucks. All the samples were actually from riverbeds. Meaning a meteor could create that pull. Or an Atlantis-like anomaly. Or we’re all retarded and we’re just so anxious to see something that we’re fucking up our samples.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that one went over well with your Dad.”

  David made a hard choking sound. And Becky continued. “I met him once. He was a nice man. But he didn’t seem the type to take that kind of disparagement from anyone.”

  David went back to talking rocks, brushing aside her reference to his father. “Then the last alternate theory is that we’re right. That’s exactly how it happens, except we’ve got our dates off by, oh say, twenty million years.”

  “I see.”

  He scrubbed his face with his palms, blinking a few times with the rush of red he had worked into his features. “I was going to go the Montana site, where the KT hotspot was and see if there’s a hotspot there now. But I’m quarantined. And United Airlines doesn’t give a ‘detained in quarantine by the CDC’ refund.” He turned and looked her in the eye for only the second time since she came here tonight, and she sensed it coming. Her turn. “So what’s your story?”

  8

  “Shove over!” It was tired and drawn out, and Jillian pushed against his back with all the strength in her arms. It wouldn’t have been enough even if she had been fully awake, completely stress-free, and stronger. Jordan asleep was a rock not worth her effort. “Jorrrdaaannn.”

  It was the wail of the insomniac. She had heard it on her rounds as an intern and now regretted that she hadn’t found more sympathy for the sufferers. And now her mind wouldn’t shut off. They had called FedEx at midnight after frantically separating portions of the blood samples to send a full set of all they had collected to the Atlanta Office for re-testing. Just in case the machinery was warped by the almost non-existent magnetic field. Mike should be faxing them the results this morning and then Landerly and the quarantine crew would arrive later this afternoon.

  Becky wanted to spend the day catching frogs. Jillian desperately wanted to inspect these biological specimens Becky was going to get. Check out the habitat. See if there would be any clues to the mysterious Abellard-Brookwood disease.

  But in order to traipse through the woods she would have to get a good night’s sleep. And in order to get that, Jordan would have to shove his lead butt over a few damn inches! She gave another heave against his back and accomplished only the barest of deep sleep acknowledgments from him.

  She’d stopped asking James Hann to fix the other bed. How could she push him to repair it? Tell him that she didn’t want to have to share a bed with her husband? She punched at her pillow and tried to find comfort and sleep on her small wedge of mattress. Forcing her thoughts to her puppy George from childhood, she willed sleep to come and found herself thinking of her mother instead. What would Mrs. Brookwood say if she knew her daughter was in bed with a man she wasn’t married to? Hell, her Daddy might just jam the business end of his twelve gauge into Jordan’s back and walk him to the altar. She was too exhausted to decide if that thought should make her laugh or cry.<
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  At last, as the light brightened, sneaking around the shades and further into the room, Jillian felt the heavy weights of rest pulling her eyes closed.

  “Jilly.” The soft whisper was accompanied by a warm hand that fit on her shoulder and rocked her gently. She felt the low tetany of a ‘hmmmmmm’ tremor through her chest but didn’t care enough if she actually made the noise.

  “Jilly, baby, I need you to wake up just a little.”

  This time the shake was firmer, and this time she made sure she was heard. “No thank you.” She rolled away. The hands rolled her back over. Her eyes popped opened and her features scrunched against the piercing light.

  “Baby, Mr. Hann is checking the pipes in the bath.” Jordan’s face was only inches from her, and she felt the wash of jealousy over his chipper alertness. Until she remembered that she was the one who had paid for his heavy refreshing slumber. And then she hated him for it.

  “Baby,” She forced her voice, now that she knew why he was being so oddly affectionate. “You almost shoved me out of our bed last night.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He sat on the edge of the queen-sized mattress, taking up the space she had occupied just a few minutes ago. “That’s why I let you sleep in so late.” He pointed to the clock and the blurry red digits proclaiming it was already well past eleven. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? I just didn’t want you to wake up and be startled, or walk into the bathroom and find Mr. Hann in there.”

  “Huh?” She shoved up, leaning back on her hands, unconcerned that she could hear James Hann in the other room futzing with the broken bed. Or that she was in a sleepshirt and the covers were rolling away. Her face felt pushed and shoved in wrong directions and her eyes still didn’t open all the way.

  Jordan’s hand cupped her shoulder again. “Why don’t you just go back to sleep? I just didn’t want you to wake up and be startled, or walk into the bathroom and find Mr. Hann in there.”

  “I’m awake.” But the thick slurring of her words said otherwise. Her movements were slow and awkward. Jordan was able to push her back down without much resistance.

  He pulled the covers up, tucking them around her shoulders in a gesture that almost made up for the bed being taken over last night. When she felt his hand brush her hair back off her forehead, she understood with certainty why the spider-bite girl in Florida had loved him so much.

  Her eyes rolled open and shut a few times over the next several hours, and only on the surface of her mind was she aware that Mr. Hann had left, and Jordan’s footsteps were carrying to her more as vibrations than sounds while she tried to find the will to get up.

  “Jilly? You do need to get up now.” In dim light she saw him check his watch, though she hadn’t been aware that she had opened her eyes. “Landerly will be here in about an hour.”

  Cold water could not have been more effective. And the insulting remark to ask why he had not woken her sooner was barely stopped in its tracks by her brain. By force of will she pushed out the words she really meant. “Thank you for letting me sleep in this morning.”

  “It’s the least I could do after playing hostile takeover in my sleep last night.” She glanced back at him and held her tongue again, but only because he had the decency to look sheepish.

  She was in the bathroom before she called back to him, “Did Hann get the pipes all fixed?”

  “No. They still squeal but they work.”

  “Well, it’ll wake me all the way up at least.” She started to close the door but his voice stayed her hand.

  “I got a call about fifteen minutes ago. Gemma McKnight went down this morning.”

  She stepped back out of the bathroom, concern on her face as her arms folded across her chest. “Dead?”

  “Only comatose.” He looked away, sadness painted on his features. They both only knew of one way out of this coma.

  She breathed in deep of air that felt fresher than almost anything she’d inhaled in her life but was probably deadly. “Gemma was only borderline on her labs.” She turned to go back into the bathroom, stopping just short and turning back to Jordan, excitement bringing her back to the living. “Unless, of course they were wrong.”

  He just shook his head. And didn’t look like he was going to say much more, just planned to stand there with the borrowed coffee mug complete with roostertail handle. She waited him out while he sipped at it, until he finally conceded to her stare and explained. “Mike faxed the results in this morning. Number for number they are dead on to ours.”

  “Nice choice of words.”

  The shower was less than refreshing, and she found herself on the edge of being flat out angry. There was nothing in this godforsaken house that was comfortable. And every time she encountered another person in this town of the damned, things went awry. They got sick. They delivered the news that someone else was ‘down’. Seven people had died and fourteen more were comatose.

  Wrapping herself in a towel, Jillian peeked out to find the room vacant and closed the door tightly before dressing. She hadn’t worn jeans this often since she was an undergrad. Leaving her hair hanging wet down her back, she padded out into the kitchen to find Jordan at the small round table eating a bowl of frosted flakes. Giving in to the urge to make only the most minimal effort, she grabbed a bowl and spoon. Then she lined up a row of eight pills of varying sizes and shapes, and one by one washed each one back trying to ignore what they meant.

  They ate quietly and she was sure that his thoughts mirrored her own. Landerly was coming. And they had nothing good to tell him. No leads. Every road a dead end. And townspeople dying. One by one. Her thoughts strayed to the CDC vans that might even now be turning off the interstate and she prayed they had the wherewithal to arrive in differing unmarked cars. And at different times. Even just that many normal cars headed into McCann could raise someone’s suspicions, but a white CDC caravan would have the press on them like flies on dead meat.

  She started at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway then bouncing the long distance to the house. Jordan’s gaze caught hers but they still didn’t speak.

  Landerly was here.

  Jillian abandoned her half finished cereal and hit the front door, coming to a dead stop when she spotted the yellow space suit climbing out of the van and approaching her.

  What had she been thinking? Of course they were in full suits. They had no idea what this was. She might have been showering in it. Or sleeping in it. Or inhaling it. If not simply getting it from touching, and being near those who had it or had already died from it.

  She stood in the open doorway, feeling Jordan just behind her, only he didn’t give off the waves of shock she was sure she emanated. “Landerly.” His voice was strong and she could feel the heat from the coffee mug he again cradled.

  “Abellard. Brookwood.” Landerly’s voice from inside the bubble hood was distorted. As though it had been yelled through a pair of paper cups and a string. “We have a full DeCon tent set up at the perimeter.”

  “Are we clearing the town sir?” Jillian upped her volume, even though she knew he had a microphone to collect sounds from outside the muffled interior.

  “Not yet.” His head shook even though the bubble-faced suit did not. “We talked with Drs. Carter and Sorenson on the way in today and we have them running a full magnetic check of the town. Then we’ll clear anyone we can out of the reversal area.”

  Jordan’s voice carried from over her shoulder. “Do you think it will do any good?”

  Landerly held back a sad smile. “No. But we need to do it anyway.”

  Jillian fought the urge to defend their work. But she wished suddenly that she hadn’t found the excitement that she had come to the CDC searching for. “Do we need to go through DeCon? Get suits?”

  “No suits.”

  She should have known it. They’d already been exposed to the point where Landerly didn’t see the need to waste money on them.

  But he kept talking, interrupting the morbid river
of her thoughts. He was looking at the house. “Damn, this thing is ugly.”

  “You should see the inside.” Jordan’s grin was evident in his tone, and Jillian wondered if he really thought it was funny or if it was a set-up on a cruel practical joke.

  “All right, you two need to pack everything that’s personal. Leave the CDC set-up and gather all the paperwork. Do that first.” He turned and walked slowly and painfully to the van.

  When it became clear that Landerly had explained everything he was going to, they simply headed back inside to begin their first assignment of packing up the files.

  “What the hell is this-” Jordan pulled up short at the door to the ‘lab’ bedroom. A suit stood in the center and pretended not to hear them or actually didn’t. His back remained turned and he snapped photo after photo, inspecting each one on the small screen on his digital camera before turning his focus to the next thing.

  Jillian pressed up on tiptoe to spy on the rendering of the most recent photo and was startled to see that it was of the wall charts, and clear enough to read every word. She grabbed a set of papers and when she turned she smacked into Jordan again.

  “Hey.”

  “Sorry.” But she didn’t look up, focused only on the pain in her nose and holding the tears at bay. Although if they were from the sting to her face or her pride she was unsure.

  She felt her arm jerk in the socket before she realized Jordan had a death grip on her elbow. “It’s not that.” He stayed still and silent until she acknowledged him with a clear gaze. “Don’t be sorry. People are dying here. Just don’t go tripping and breaking a leg or getting an open wound. Now’s not the time to stress your immune system in the slightest.”

  “Oh yeah. Landerly sending in the suits and giving us crazy orders that we don’t understand doesn’t stress my system at all.” Only to herself did she admit that her sarcasm masked a very real fear.