The Human Experiment

by Kevin McLaughlin

  Third time might be the charm. One bad accident he couldn't recover from and his life would be over. Was it really worth the risk?

  He wondered.

  “So we’re stuck here? I can’t go home?” Dana asked.

  “Do you have people there who will be looking for you? Maybe they can help, get to us somehow,” John said.

  Dana’s face went utterly flat, and John knew he’d asked the wrong question. Her eyes were like steel, flashing blue and gray.

  “No. My parents are both dead,” Dana said. The words seemed torn from her throat.

  “I’m sorry. Mine, too. My mother died recently, maybe two weeks ago,” John said. “Listen, I’m dying of thirst here. Why don’t we walk to the river, get something to drink, and I can show you around?”

  She hesitated, her glance darting about. John slowly got himself back to his feet and extended a hand to her.

  “All right,” Dana said. “If I’m stuck here for a while, I might as well get to know this place. The river is this way?”

  With that, she walked toward the sound of the gurgling brook, ignoring John’s offered hand. He shook his head and relaxed his arm to his side. She was prickly! But she had good reason to not trust anyone. He would do what he could to win her trust.

  Whoever had brought her here had done so for a reason. John had no clue what those motivations might have been, but he suspected Dana would be there for a while. It would be better for both of them if they could get along. Plus, he had to admit to himself that he’d been desperately lonely since the deer vanished. Company would make all the difference in the world.

  In his heart, he didn't want Dana to leave unless he could somehow go with her. Maybe there was a way for them to depart together? John had failed alone. With both their heads working on the problem, maybe it would become solvable. But first, he had to win her trust.

  Twenty-Five

  John knelt by the riverbank, scarcely paying attention to Dana as he cupped water into his palms and greedily drank his fill. He’d never felt so dry before, like his entire body was screaming, crying out for the taste of water! That must have been what being buried alive did to one. His thirst reminded him of the dust in his throat, preventing him from taking a breath.

  How had he lived? The memories remained as fragmented and fuzzy as they had been when he first awoke. Had he somehow struggled free, barely conscious but still able to make his way out of the tunnel?

  That had to be the answer. If Dana was telling the truth about finding him unconscious, then he must have saved himself. Even if he couldn't remember it. There was the niggling detail of thinking he saw the deer jumbled into those fragmented memories, but John chalked that up to his air-starved body. There was no way an animal as small as the deer could have pulled him out.

  There was only one problem with his story, and that was Dana. Somehow, she’d appeared. If she was telling the truth, she hadn't just wandered in. She’d fallen asleep in her world and awoke in his. She could be lying, but John didn't think that was the case.

  Which meant there was someone else here. Someone—or something—capable of moving her from one world to another, who might also be capable of saving him from the cave-in. The question then was: why?

  John didn't think he was going to get answers anytime soon.

  He glanced up at Dana, who was looking anxiously about. There had to be something he could do to put her at ease. He’d be just as freaked out if he woke up in a place he’d never seen before with a stranger he didn’t know. John looked down at the mud and dirt covering his body. A grubby stranger, at that. He felt oddly uncomfortable with his state in front of the woman. Washing would help. There was a deep pool in the river where he could immerse most of his body at one time and scrub off with sand.

  John undid the knot holding up his clothing and started to shift them down. He’d need to wash them, later. The clothes were as dirty as his body. Grit would tear the delicate grass fibers apart if he didn’t clean them. He was started to drop the clothes from his body when he heard Dana gasp. John froze.

  “What are you doing?” Dana exclaimed.

  “I was going to wash the dirt off,” John said, looking up at her. She’d turned her back to him. Her body stood rigid as a statue.

  “Not in front of me!” she replied.

  He didn’t understand what the big deal was about, but John redid the knot to secure his clothing again. Washing later would do if it was going to upset her.

  “All set,” John said. “Mind if I ask what that was about?”

  Dana turned to face him. “You know perfectly well!”

  “No,” John said, honestly confused. Something about taking off his clothing? He didn’t understand why that bothered her, but it clearly had. “I’m sorry I don't know what I did to offend you.”

  “You don’t have much company here, do you?” Dana replied. The angry expression she had worn was smoothing into a more quizzical one. John sighed inwardly with relief.

  “Just me since my mother died.”

  “I was the last person in my world, too. There used to be a lot of people. I grew up surrounded by grownups, and even a few other kids,” Dana said.

  “Sounds nice,” John said. He was wistful, wishing he could have experienced something like that. His parents were all he’d ever known, and his memories of his father were already sketchy at best. In time, would all his recollections of his parents fade away, leaving nothing but an empty hole in his life where they’d once been?

  “It was, until it wasn’t,” Dana said with a dry laugh. “They’re all gone now.”

  “They all…?” John felt his voice trail off, that last word the most difficult.

  “Died. Yes. All of them, in the space of a week.”

  “I’m sorry,” John replied. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. As bad as his pain had been at losing his mother, how much worse had it been to watch so many people die? To have each one leave your life forever, one after the other, had to have been horrific. He wanted to ask what happened but sensed Dana was still hurting from her loss. It might be a topic best saved for another day.

  “Thanks,” she replied.

  “I wish there…” John started talking, but then he noticed a darting movement in his peripheral vision. Something streaked through the air, hurtling directly toward Dana! “Look out!”

  She wasn’t moving. Her eyes opened wide with confusion, but she wasn’t dodging the flying thing. John did the only thing he could think of. He dove at Dana, tackling her to the ground to get her out of the way. Whatever the object was slipped over their heads as they toppled to the ground. John watched it alight in a nearby tree.

  “Get off me!” Dana said. She pushed hard at John, and he rolled away from her. “What did you think you were doing?”

  “Saving you! What is that thing that attacked us?” John asked, peering at the small black object. It was still resting on a tree branch. As he watched, it twitched a few times. John readied himself to dodge if it attacked again.

  “Are you crazy? That’s a bird. They’re harmless, unless they poop on your head,” Dana said, grumbling as she picked herself up from the ground. “Way less harmful than you just were! I think maybe you are a little crazy. Been alone here a long time?”

  “I…” John tried to think but couldn’t recall precisely how many days it had been. “It’s been a while. What’s a bird?”

  “Bird. Small, flying, harmless animal,” Dana said. “You’re acting like you’ve never seen one before.”

  “I haven’t. They’ve never been here before,” John said. Although now that he was looking around, he could see more birds, flitting from tree to tree. They were making that tweeting noise he’d heard when he first awoken. For the life of him, he could not remember having seen one of the things before, although he knew the word. Like the deer, it was something his parents had told him stories about. He’d never thought he might actually see one.

  “I don’t know whether to belie
ve you or not,” Dana said. She stepped a little distance away and paced as she spoke. “This whole thing is crazy. I don’t see how you could be responsible for bringing me here if you were unconscious, but there’s no one else, you know? Who did this to me?”

  “I don’t know,” John admitted. “I’ve been wondering pretty much the same thing.”

  “Then you act all crazy around me. You were about to parade around naked, for heaven’s sake! Then you tackle me over a bird. What’s next?” she asked.

  “We could work together to find out,” John said.

  Dana shook her head. “I don’t think so. This is all too much. I’m going to go over on that side of the river. You stay on this side.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You stay over here. I don’t want to see you crossing the river, understand?” Dana said.

  John could see the real fear hiding in the back of her eyes. She was afraid—of him. He felt ashamed, even though he hadn't actually done anything to hurt her.

  All right, he’d tackled her, but he thought he’d been saving her at the time.

  It wasn't fair. He had company after days of interminable solitude, and she didn't want to spend any time with him. She wanted to be as far from him as she could get, in fact. He wanted to come up with some sort of angry retort, but the fear in her eyes stopped him.

  Dana was afraid he would do just that. She was afraid he wouldn't do as she asked. That was the crux of it. The only way to defuse the situation was to prove she was wrong.

  “All right,” John said. “I’ll stay on this side of the river. But call if you need me, OK? The world isn't big. Yell and I’ll probably hear you. If you call, I’ll come.”

  “Fine. But I won’t,” Dana replied. Then she turned her back on him and waded across the river, leaving John behind to consider the wild gyrations life was throwing his way.

  Twenty-Six

  John kept an eye on Dana throughout the rest of the day. He stayed on his own side of the river, mildly irritated that his world had suddenly been cut in half by this newcomer. She’d claimed half the land and basically told him to get lost!

  But he was more intrigued than angry. She was a puzzle to him. He was more than willing to wait, and watch, so he could figure her out.

  She was industrious enough. He had to give her that. She hadn't wasted time once she reached the other side. Dana vanished from his sight for a while, but then returned. John figured she had gone exploring, learning about her new environment.

  She’d already gathered some apples but didn't seem to notice the root-plant he was eating for most of his own meals. This made him smile. She didn't know everything then. It was good to have a little something he knew that she didn't.

  Dana stripped vines from one tree, weaving them together in a way that was new to John. She was too far away for him to see precisely what she was up to, but it was clear to him that it was an involved project. She sat on the grass, working vines against one another in a pattern he couldn't quite make out.

  A noise reached his ears. It was something like the sounds the birds made. But it was different. Less chattery, more flowing. It sounded something like a blending of the river’s sounds with the calls of the birds overhead.

  John leaned through the rushes at the river’s edge, as near to Dana as he dared come. He didn't want to spook her, and she’d forbidden him to cross into her side of the world. Winning her trust was proving more difficult than he had hoped, but if he broke the rules she set, that would be the end of his efforts. She’d never trust him if he couldn't follow the simplest request.

  The sounds were coming from her. She was making them in her throat, like talking with her mouth closed. The little wordless tune went on for a few minutes, and then she opened her mouth.

  John thought the humming had been beautiful, but when Dana began to sing, it brought tears to his eyes. He’d heard song like that before. It was a long time ago. His mother had sung him to sleep when he was little. She stopped singing after his father died.

  He’d long since forgotten all the words to the songs his mother used to sing. It had been too long since he’d heard them. But listening to Dana’s voice rise and fall in graceful melody brought back all of the emotions he’d felt as a child.

  She was something like his mother. But she was different, too. John wanted more than anything to have company, to share in the simple joys of living in the world again. It would be enough if he had someone there with him. He could turn away from his attempts to escape the world.

  “But that’s not what she wants, is it,” he murmured to himself. Speaking his thoughts aloud had been a habit John had gotten into since being alone. He thought he might want to curb that, if he was going to be spending time with someone else.

  Or not. Sometimes simply speaking your mind was the best way to be, at least to his thinking.

  John realized with a start that the singing had stopped while he’d been thinking. He’d closed his eyes, simply enjoying the song. He opened them, glancing toward where Dana had been sitting.

  She wasn't there anymore.

  Where had she gone? John rose from the river, water sliding down his body. He glanced toward the wall, thinking perhaps she had gone walking. There was no sign of her.

  Then he turned his gaze downstream, toward the ravine. He froze. Dana was there, standing just a few feet away, a large stick in her hands. One end of the stick was sharpened, and she had it aimed at him. John raised his hands and settled back into the water a bit.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Why are you watching me?” Dana asked.

  “I stayed off your side of the river,” John said, flashing what he hoped was a winning smile.

  “Why?” Dana repeated, pushing the sharp stick forward. John was pretty sure she wasn't going to stab him. Maybe it would be better to watch from a distance.

  “I’m really sorry,” John said. He backed away toward the center of the river, holding his hands out at his sides. “I heard you singing and wanted to see what you were doing. It’s been a long time since I heard anyone sing. My mother used to sing to me. It felt good to hear a song.”

  He’d spilled his guts a little more than he’d originally planned, but John felt like he had to do something. Every interaction he’d had with this woman had gone poorly. He’d screwed up so many times, he wondered how he was ever going to dig himself out of this hole.

  John knew he wanted to fix things. He just had no clue how to go about it. His mother had been so calm, ready to explain the world when he was young, and to accept his lead on most things as he got older. Dana was different. The challenge she represented was both alluring and frightening. For the first time in his life, John had no idea what to do or say.

  “I don’t want you watching me,” Dana said, advancing with her sharp stick in front of her. “I want to be left alone, understand?”

  “I do,” John said. He backed away a few more steps until he was in the middle of the shallow river. He was out of reach of her stick now unless she wanted to chase him into the water. Dana seemed more inclined to stick to her own bank of the waterway.

  John wasn't worried about getting hurt so much as he was already feeling wounded. He couldn't explain the sensation, but it hurt. Almost as much, he imagined, as being stabbed with the stick would have hurt.

  “I’ll stay away.” What else could he say?

  “See that you do,” Dana said. Was there a softening in her face, when he had spoken of his mother singing to him? If there had been, it was gone now. Her visage was all hard lines. There was no forgiveness there. Not a hint of a reprieve.

  John turned and waded the rest of the way to his side of the bank and onto his shore. His side? His shore? The idea still rankled him. This was his world. Dana was the interloper, the newcomer. She’d gone and claimed half of the world for herself, and he’d let her? Why was he doing that?

  “Because if she asked for the whole thing, you’d probably give it to her,” he told h
imself. It felt close to true, too. He didn't know what to make of these new emotions.

  “I don’t want to be alone again,” John said. He had to find a way to win her trust. He wanted more than anything else to hear her sing again. To see her face crinkle into a smile instead of a scowl. John wanted company. Someone to share with, like he had with his mother.

  Oh, he already had the sense to understand that working with Dana would be different. She wasn't his mother—she was gone. But different didn't mean worse. Who knew, but it might even be better?

  Dana had demanded he not even approach her or watch her, though. How could John win her trust if he couldn't see her or be seen by her? He sat down by the riverbank, listening to the wind rustle and moan across the rushes as he pondered the problem.

  Twenty-Seven

  The wind blew against the rushes, banging them against one another and moaning over the holes in broken reeds. The collection of sounds made a music all its own. It was one John knew well. He’d heard the same sounds his whole life. But now, he was taking note of them in a new way. Dana’s singing had rekindled his interest in the music of nature.

  John stretched out his leg and kicked a few of the reeds. They rattled against each other, and the tone of the wind moaning across their broken tops changed. He kicked them again and listened to the wild riot of sounds that followed. The noise made him grin. It was nothing like Dana’s melodic singing, but he was making music of a sort.

  That made John wonder if there might be a way to create sounds from the reeds. They were hollow, and the wind crossing their open tops was what made the moaning sound. Could he do something with that?

  John stood up and stepped across the sand to the reeds. He leaned over a shorter one and blew into the top. Some dust puffed back, but he also heard a dull honking sound. He snapped off the reed in his hand, taking a chunk about the length of his hand to examine. He blew into it again. It made the same sound.