by K. F. Baugh
“There’s genetic data on everyone in town. How are they getting this?” Sage tapped the screen. “There’s no way all these people are asking for DNA tests.” Sage considered the older inhabitants of the town and knew they were mostly the hearty mountain stock type who prided themselves on self-sufficiency.
“Look, here’s Liddy.” Tim scooted closer to her and clicked to another file.
“Liddy?” Sage laughed. “She never goes to the doctor. She barely has enough money to pay her bills, let alone get expensive genetic tests done. And I know she’s suspicious of anything new.”
“And the Anderson family.” Tim pointed to another entry. “I know them, and they only go to a naturopath in Denver. It’s one they keep recommending I try out. As far as I can tell, they’ve never even been to a traditional doctor’s office.”
“Who are the doctors listed on these files?”
“Only one person. Someone named Benson. I can’t think of a doctor by that name. Can you?”
Sage smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
“Oh right.” Tim shook his head. “Not that you’d ever need one. Although I noticed there’s still some bruising on your forehead and arms. Why is that?”
“There’s only one urgent care clinic in town,” Sage deflected quickly. “Aren’t Dr. Chase and Dr. Stringfellow the ones who run it? And the only doctors in town?”
“That’s what I thought too.” Tim nodded. “Who is this Benson guy? Does he even live in Black Mills?” He sighed and pushed back the computer. “I wish I could do a search for him.”
Sage wracked her brain for anyone named Benson. She turned back to the computer. “Most of these files seems to be about whatever this genetic testing showed, not normal doctor visits for colds or injuries. I keep seeing the words food and pollen allergy markers.” She jabbed her finger as she read. “Also markers for cancer, autism, congenital heart or lung defects.”
Tim scanned through the list. “I know a lot of these people. A few of them have some issues but most of them are healthy and normal as far as I can tell.”
“I don’t really understand this stuff,” Sage said. “If someone has a genetic marker for a disease, does that mean that they only have a chance of developing that disease?”
“Genetics were just emerging when I was in med-school, so I’m no expert on it either.” Tim shook his head and took a slice of bread from his plate. “But I think you’re right.” He chewed for a moment. “What about the stuff you got? Was it destroyed by our escape?”
Sage pointed to the wrinkled, torn pages that lay in a mess on the kitchen counter. “They’ve been drying out all afternoon.”
Tim moved to study them. “The writing is so faint. I don’t think I can read them without my reading glasses.”
“I can.” Sage gently collected some of the papers into a pile. “This is Shaun’s medical file. He was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis back in 1988. Which is weird. He’s a superstar athlete.”
“Huh. Maybe he had good treatment?” Tim asked.
“Well, he got tons of shots. Monthly injections. This records all of them and next to each injection date there’s notes.” Sage traced the first paragraph with her finger and read: Yr. 5. Subject very advanced in fine and gross motor skill development. Physically at the level of a 10-12 year old. Muscle mass and development also accelerated. Reflex speed and sensitivity at level of Olympic athlete. Overall physical health and appearance: outstanding.
“Negative side effects: Subject’s parents report night terrors and erratic sleep patterns typical in schizophrenic personality disorder. EEG analysis of nocturnal brain waves confirms schizophrenic susceptibility. Daytime behavior, however, is considered normal (aside from being physically advanced).”
“Olympic athlete? That sounds normal,” Tim snorted.
“Yeah, and get this. The Negative Side Effects section grows longer each time he gets a shot. And once he turns eleven, guess what he has to start taking?”
Tim paused for a moment but then leaned forward excitedly. “Clozapine? The same as Old Hank?”
“Yes!” Sage tossed the papers down. “Exactly like Old Hank.”
“What about Tabitha?” Tim asked.
Sage picked up the other pile of papers. “Evidently Tabitha was diagnosed with something called Fragile X Syndrome in 1989, right around the time Shaun was diagnosed.”
“I haven’t heard of that before,” Tim said. “I wonder if it’s a lung disorder too.”
“I don’t know,” Sage answered, “but her chart’s different than Shaun’s. His has all these notes about physical development, but Tabitha’s keeps repeating the words extreme cognitive acceleration.” Her finger traced the words as she read.
“What about her negative side effects?” Tim leaned over her shoulder and squinted at the writing.
“They increased too, just like Shaun’s, but even sooner, starting when she was only nine years old. She’s been on Clozapine ever since then.”
Tim shook his head. “That’s a long time. The poor girl. Poor both of them.” His eyes clouded, and he turned away.
Sage set the papers on the counter and eased herself onto the rickety barstool next to it. Her twisted ankle and dislocated shoulder still ached. The Wind’s ministrations had helped, but obviously not completed the healing process. She massaged at her shoulder, wincing as her fingers probed the tender area in the front. Sage glanced up and found Tim’s gaze on her. She quickly snatched her hand away.
“I think it might be good to let all this information settle in our minds for a while,” Tim said, his voice tight.
Sage nodded warily.
“I wondered if you might want …” Tim paused. “I’d like it if we could talk about what happened in the cave. Sage, I was dying. We both know that. And then you told me those things about your family--”
“Stop. Shut up!” Sage blurted the words, unanticipated and sharp. She wanted to take them back as soon as they were out. Her stomach twisted at the hurt on Tim’s face.
“Would you relax?” Tim held his hands up. “I don’t understand why we can’t--”
“No. I’m not talking about them again.” Sage tried to keep her voice completely blank, the way she always did when questions came up about her family. The silence grew, and she bit her cheek until she tasted blood.
Tim took a deep breath and turned away. He began to clear the table. “You should get some sleep.”
“What?” Sage asked, studying the droop of his shoulders as he carried the dishes to the small sink.
Tim set them down and turned on the water. “It’s been a really long day. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
“What about you?” she asked.
Tim set the dishes in the sink and returned to the computer. “I need some breathing room. I’ll be up soon. Goodnight.” He dismissed her without looking up.
Gus gave Tim’s hand a lick and then followed Sage to the foot of the loft’s stairs. She glanced at Tim once more, but he kept his eyes determinedly on the computer in front of him. She climbed up the stair with Gus, annoyed at the confusion and regret that gnawed at her stomach.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sage quickly settled into the sleeping bag on her cot, but despite her bone-numbing exhaustion, she jerked awake every time she began to fall asleep. Harrowing images filled her mind. The Skinwalker’s terrifying chase through the underground cavern. Tim’s bloodied body and near death in the cave. The bizarre massacre dream she kept having over and over, with slightly different details, but the same bloody ending.
Her stomach churned with fear, rage, and confusion. Sage rolled to her back, careful to avoid her aching shoulder. Gus, who had endured her tossing and turning long enough, jumped off the bottom of the cot and disappeared down the loft stairs.
Now she was truly alone. Longingly, she remembered the whiskey Liddy kept in her nightstand drawer. Sage would hide it in some obscure kitchen cabinet when Liddy had drunk too much. But tonight she would have gladl
y joined her foster mom in drinking herself into oblivion.
After a while, Sage finally heard Tim climb the loft ladder and felt him move across the floor to stand over her. The intensity of his gaze was almost palpable, but she forced herself to lie still, to pretend to be asleep. It was all she could do not to flinch when she felt his hand settle gently on her head. Snatches of his soft prayer, a plea for protection and peace, enveloped her, and she almost spoke. But she held her tongue, and Tim moved away.
The cot next to hers creaked and groaned. Minutes later she heard his deep, regular breathing, and jealousy engulfed her. How could he fall asleep so easily? Had none of this affected him? Was he made out of stone?
No, he was not made out of stone. He was flesh and blood. Fragile flesh and blood. Sage sighed and gave free rein to the plan that had been creeping along the edges of her mind since she awoke in the cave. Sadness threatened to overwhelm her, but Sage knew she couldn’t give in. Tim’s life depended on her making the right decision in this moment.
She waited for an hour before slipping out of bed. Her night vision still unaffected by the change in the cave, Sage located her clothes without difficulty. Holding them under her arm, she eased herself down the creaky stairs.
From his perch on the couch, Gus’s accusing gaze followed Sage as she dressed and gathered some crackers and granola bars from the kitchen. She collected her boots and sat next to him while she slipped them on. Gus let out a low whine and moved his silky muzzle against her thigh.
“I want you to stay here with Tim.” She rubbed his nose and scratched behind his ears. “He doesn’t sense things the way you and I do. I need you to be his bodyguard.”
Gus furrowed his brow and whined again.
“I know you want to come, but you have to stay here with him.” Sage looked away from the knowing in Gus’s eyes.
She gave his ears a final scratch and leaned down to kiss his muzzle. “Take good care of him, and don’t try to follow me.” She stood and watched to make sure Gus obeyed. He moaned softly, but lay still.
“Good boy,” she whispered and slipped through the front door into the comforting shades of night.
Thankful for the nearly full moon, Sage glided along familiar forest trails. With the Wind’s healing last night, she was hopeful she’d have the strength to run most of the way back to Black Mills. It wouldn’t take her more than a few hours to get there, and she planned to search for what she needed at the library.
Sage cut off the main trail and headed west, knowing she’d soon intersect with the highway. Ducking under a branch, then leaping over the small trickle of a stream, she tried to direct her mind toward what she and Tim had discovered under the Oriel Research Station buildings.
Sage fixated on the cavernous facility underneath the Rand Building in Oriel. Why was it there? When was it created? At the library, Sage planned to comb through Black Mills’ old newspaper clippings. Maybe she would discover a clue of what had happened to turn a tiny mining town into the strange, dangerous place it had become.
She also needed to scour the county records for a Dr. Benson. Why was he collecting genetic information on everyone, and who did he or she work for? The person must live somewhere in the vicinity. The files Tim had shown her represented years of work that couldn’t have been collected by an outsider.
Tim. Even his name conjured pain, shame, and other emotions she didn’t want to identify. Her eyes stung, and she shook her head angrily.
“Why did you bring Tim into my life?” she asked the deep silence of the night. “The few things we’ve discovered, I could have figured out on my own. Now his life’s in danger. All he’s done is complicate everything.”
“Broken One,” the Wind whispered softly, dancing along the edges of the moonlit wildflowers in her path. “You have hidden in the darkness of your soul for more than a decade now. Do you really think that a dog should be your only link to the living?”
“I want to go back to the way things were.” Sage slowed to a walk. “This feels much too dangerous.”
“The yee naaldlooshii? It feels much too dangerous? You’ve faced perils in the past, yet never complained of danger.”
“All of this feels dangerous!” Sage snapped. “And painful. Before last week, months went by without me thinking about my past. But now I feel like I’m reliving it on a daily basis. I can’t stand it!”
“Bringing a dead one back to life involves pain.” A gust rattled the trees next to her. “And there must always be a sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice? What do you mean? Who do you mean?” Sage demanded, but the Wind retreated away, down into the valley. Sage broke into a run and didn’t stop until she reached the outskirts of Black Mills.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sage paused at the edge of Black Mills, near the abandoned bridge where the high school kids hung out after school and got up to the trouble their parents imagined they did. Thankfully it was deserted now. Sage glanced at her watch and saw it was close to 3:00 am. There were still several hours of night to protect her from curious or malicious eyes. She quickly stole through dark alleys and side streets to the Library.
Sage bypassed the front and back doors, knowing they would be locked tight. Elena was fastidious both in her duties as a council member and librarian. Besides, the old stone building had stood through blizzards, gale force winds, and fires; Sage knew it wouldn’t be easy to force her way inside. She prowled around the perimeter several times before pausing in front of the fire escape at the back of the building.
Rusty metal stairs crisscrossed the back of the library, leading up to the old belfry, a throwback from the days when the building had done triple duty as the town’s church, school, and library. Sage climbed the stairs and pulled herself over the ledge into the old opening where a bell had once hung. Creaking wooden planks covered the three foot wide circle where the bell rope had descended into the building. Sage slipped her finger under several of the planks, hoping for a loose board, but all she got was splinters.
Cursing, she popped her finger into her mouth and stamped on the floor in frustration. The crack of splintering wood echoed in the small enclosure. Sage jumped and heard another groaning crack. Again and again, she jumped until she felt several of the boards give way. Kneeling on the stone lip, Sage pried at the jagged pieces until one came loose. After that, she was able to slip both hands under the boards and the rest of the ancient pieces gave way easily, as if they were tired of fighting.
Sage peered down into the darkness below. Although barely visible, the moonlight illuminated an attic floor many feet beneath her. She sighed. This wasn’t going to feel good. She crawled through the opening, holding onto the remaining plank of wood, and hoped it would hold for a moment while she readied herself to drop. It didn’t.
Sage’s shriek of surprise sounded as the board gave way, and she plunged into the darkness below. She crashed into a pile of tarps, and then through the shelves that held them, before finally landing on the floor. Rising unsteadily to her feet, Sage shuffled across the room until she found the trapdoor that led to the level below. Once on the main floor of the building, she leaned against a bookshelf and let out a shaky breath.
The library’s musty smell began to work its magic and soothe her jumpy nerves. Sage walked to Elena’s desk and found a small flashlight in one of the drawers. Frequent power outages during Black Mills’s winter blizzards meant most buildings had a flashlight somewhere, as long as you knew where to look.
The nearly full moon illuminated much of the library through its windows. Despite the familiar surroundings, a nagging sense of danger still danced at the edge of Sage’s mind. She pocketed the flashlight and decided to rely on the moonlight as much as she could.
In the silence of the deserted library, her footsteps seemed amplified as she creaked along the scuffed wooden floors toward the reference section. Sage ran her finger across the city and county records until she found the most recent phone book. She pulled it from the shel
f and settled at a table near close by.
“Benson … Benson. Let’s see if we can find you.” She scanned through the residential section. “A few Bensons but not a single Anders.” Next, Sage flipped to the business listings but found no clues there either. She found a Benson’s Propane supplier and a Benson’s Feed and Ranch Supply, but Sage couldn’t link those with the Benson on the medical files.
“What am I even looking for?” She studied the clouds as they scuttled across the moon in the skylight above her. “Who’s Benson, and why is he collecting information on everyone’s DNA?”
The library windows rattled with a sudden gust of wind. Something scratched and tapped against the door. Sage gently closed the phone book and slipped down into a crouch. Her gaze travelled along the dark caverns created by the endless rows of bookshelves, alert to any sign of movement.
The violent nighttime gusts settled, and the scratching sound, from what she supposed was tree, ceased. Finally satisfied she was safe, Sage moved back into the seat and flipped the phone book open once more. The pages parted at the city government section, the only part of the book she hadn’t scoured. Sage forced herself to scan through the endless departments and services. A name jumped from the page, as if it had been waiting for her to find it.
Anders Benson, Department of Revenue, Department of Local Affairs, Colorado Division of Property Taxation. Sage gently tore the page from its binding and let her mind race through its implications.
Taxes? But the information on the flash drive made it seem like Benson was a doctor. How was he in charge of property tax?
She tapped her fingers against the phone book. Every home and property owner had to pay property taxes. What other department would have such detailed records on the entire population of Black Mills? It didn’t reveal how or why this Anders Benson person had DNA records on nearly the entire town, but it did explain his access to information. The Department of Revenue would be able to gather data on every household to determine its property taxes. It probably wouldn’t be hard for Benson to also gain access to government and maybe even medical records for all of the residents, especially in a small town where rules were easily bent if you knew the right people.