The Darwin Variant

by Kenneth Johnson

  Lilly wasn’t listening, though. She was holding her new book but was disturbed. “My other c-connect the dots are supposed to be on the table.”

  “They are, honey,” I said soothingly. I picked up the envelope Hutch had set atop Lilly’s books. “They were hiding under this. Here you go.”

  Lilly took the books, and her face relaxed, knowing that all was right with the world.

  I opened the envelope. “What is this, anyway?”

  Hutch sat on the couch with a shy smile. “What I came to show you. The info you wanted.”

  The material included a map of the Southeastern United States. Hutch pointed to the place where I’d met the farmer whose wife had been killed by her hogs, and said, “The comet’s debris field starts about ten miles northwest of Dayton, Tennessee, catches the tip of Alabama, but it’s mostly across western Georgia.”

  “Yes! I thought that’s what I remembered.” I pulled a folder from my bag. “Look at my charting of that aggressive animal behavior.” I laid my map alongside Hutch’s.

  Courtesy Dr. Susan Perry; USGS

  He saw it immediately: every animal incident happened along the path of where the comet fragments fell.

  We both stared at the matching maps, then Hutch drew a shallow breath. “Should we be getting worried here, Suse?”

  Katie McLane. . .

  Ms. Navarro walked away from me around and behind her big lab desk in the sunny biology classroom, saying, “I’ll let you know.”

  I was frustrated that she hadn’t made more progress since I’d shown her everything the day before. I wanted answers. “But you said you’d—”

  “As soon as I have something concrete.” She said it in the stinging tone she always used to make it clear there’d be no further discussion.

  I did manage to give her an annoyed look before I turned to leave and saw the incoming senior biology class. Lisa, Jenna, and Charley were among ’em. I got the feeling that they were all looking really carefully at Ms. Navarro, like they sensed some kind of trouble. From the doorway I glanced back at the science teacher. She was studying each arriving student like I’d seen her examine specimens under her microscope. Like she was evaluating them carefully. I wasn’t sure if it was just me “projecting,” like they say, or if that cold, superior gleam I’d noticed in the eyes of Lisa, Charley, and the others was now in Navarro’s eyes, too.

  Suddenly butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I walked slowly into the hall, where it seemed like all the air conditioners in the world had just been turned on. I was frightened. Didn’t know what to do next. Made myself stop. Think. I looked around the hallway that was rapidly emptying as students headed into classrooms. Then I went to the door next to the science classroom. It was a large supply closet that also had a door into Navarro’s room. I went in very quietly.

  It was dark and smelled of chemicals we used in the class. I eased the hall door closed. Then I walked silently to the inner door to the science room. It was open a crack. I could see Navarro scanning the class carefully as the bell rang and they settled in on their stools around the different lab tables and got quiet. Navarro was standing opposite where I was, up in front of her desk at the far end of the aisle that ran between the two rows of lab tables. She scanned from one student to the next. Examining each one.

  The silence went on. I saw Lisa and Charley trade a glance, like they were getting suspicious about what the teacher might be up to. I sure was. Finally Navarro sat against the edge of her desk and dropped the bomb. “Anyone here who hasn’t had wild strawberries lately?”

  My heart skipped a beat. I saw how most of the students suddenly focused sharply on her. Only four hands went up from quizzical students who must’ve found the question very odd.

  “Okay,” Navarro continued smoothly, “I’d like you four to go to the library. Here’s a research packet. Get started on it. Then you’ll rotate with other students.”

  The rest of the class watched silently, expectantly, as the four outsiders left. The teacher secured the door behind them, then turned to those remaining. “I assumed they weren’t in on it. They were the only four who weren’t suddenly doing postgraduate work in here.” She strolled back to the front of the classroom. “So. Is this all of us?”

  Charley exchanged a glance with Lisa, but Tim took the lead, saying, “There’s a few others.”

  In the closet, I drew a silent breath. My stomach was queasy.

  “It’s rather amazing,” Navarro said, eyeing the class. “I’d been wondering how you turned into geniuses overnight.” Her lips curled into her typically cynical smile, which looked uglier than ever. “I knew I wasn’t that good a teacher.” She drew a long breath. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible if I hadn’t experienced it myself.”

  I felt like I’d fallen out of an airplane. With no parachute.

  “Yesterday I had an IQ of one hundred nineteen,” Navarro was saying. “Not bad. But this morning I took a new test, and I was one hundred forty-four. A huge difference.”

  In my hiding place, my heart was beating so loud I thought they’d hear it. In the classroom, the students watched the teacher lift one of the large strawberries from the container. “Great to have on cereal, too, I’ll bet.”

  Tim’s eyes gleamed with supreme confidence. “Breakfast of Champions.”

  I saw Lisa eyeing Navarro carefully. “How did you find out?”

  “Your sister.”

  I choked. Lisa stiffened up. Apprehensive. “What!? Has she eaten—?”

  “No. But she’s very concerned about you. About all of you.” Navarro got this peculiar, devious smile on her face. “Although I can’t see any reason to worry. Except about gaining weight. I’m so hungry.” She picked up a half-eaten Mr. Goodbar, and took a bite.

  Charley nodded. “Metabolism’s accelerated.”

  “Yes. But not like my goddamn brain has!” Navarro laughed. “You know, I was positively giddy at first. Like a cannabis high.” At their surprise, she said, “Yes, children, teacher has smoked some weed. But this.” She said expansively. “It’s extraordinary, isn’t it?!”

  Most of the students mumbled agreement, but I noticed how they had different levels of intensity or enthusiasm. Lisa, Charley, Tim, and Jenna were among the loudest and most driven. Steph was the least of all. I realized that would make sense: Steph was always the mildest of the bunch. I always admired that she had this kinda moral fiber. The most empathy. Whatever this craving for domination was, this ugly superiority that the others felt, it seemed to be tempered in Steph by her basic nature. By who Steph was deep inside.

  Navarro also spotted Steph’s softer response. “Does it feel that way to you, Stephanie?”

  With what sounded like some misgivings, Steph answered, “Yes.”

  Navarro walked slowly toward her. “Describe it.”

  Steph seemed scared that Navarro was testing her. “It’s like . . .” Steph swallowed, and it must’ve hurt. She still had a bandage on her throat from the paramedics. “. . . It’s like new channels have opened up.”

  “Mmm.” Navarro nodded as she stopped beside Steph. “I think that’s exactly right.” The teacher’s hand came to rest atop Steph’s nervous head. “See that comet fragment on my desk? I found it near the strawberries. I think it carried a microbiological variant that accelerates adaptive processes in whatever organism it enters. In flora it makes better plants, bigger strawberries. And in human brains it apparently creates new, unprecedented neurological interlinking; amazing new connections that have opened up within every brain in this room. Do you know what that means?”

  Lisa said, “It like speeds up evolution? Sped up ours?”

  Navarro looked smug. “Well, the more proper scientific term in this case is hyperadaptation or the one Darwin used: transmutation. That’s what most people mean when they say ‘evolution.’ But speaking colloquially, yes, Lisa . . .” Her hand still rested atop Steph’s head as Navarro’s eyes swept around the room like a lighthouse beacon. “You coul
d say that what happened in your brains—and mine—represents a significant step forward in human evolution!”

  Inside the dark chemical supply closet, I was shaky, felt my breathing get shallower as Navarro went on, “Can you comprehend how miraculous, how phenomenal—”

  Tim cut her off sharply. “Being older doesn’t automatically make you top dog.”

  Navarro’s shining eyes met Tim’s. “Ah yes, Timothy. I’ve felt that too. That visceral desire to dominate. To be the top dog. To ignore the rules. Quite compelling. Sure hasn’t hurt the football team either, has it?”

  Tim held her gaze firmly. “We intend to win—Shelly.”

  “And Darwin would be proud of you—Timothy. Natural selection. Survival of the fittest, the best adapted. But how have you lot avoided infighting?”

  “We agreed to work together,” Tim said. He didn’t see what I did: how Charley shot a private glare at him.

  “Yeah,” Lisa chimed in, with a dark, satisfied grin. “We girls threw a little pool party, where everyone agreed.”

  “Excellent,” said Navarro, walking among them. “But toward what end?”

  I saw several students blink or glance around at each other. It seemed like a question they hadn’t considered. Charley shifted on his lab stool. “Well . . . toward winning.”

  “Football games?” Navarro inclined her head toward him, then flashed a glance at Lisa. “Science fairs?”

  Steph glanced sadly at Lisa, who smirked, saying, “It’s a start.”

  Tim, the “natural” quarterback, was looking further ahead. “We could end up running the town.”

  “Just the town?” Navarro leaned back against her desk, watching them process that. “And there’s also the money to be made, of course.” Then she drew a breath. “But you realize we’re probably not the only ones. That football team from Beaumount looked pretty hot.”

  Tim raised an eyebrow. “They ended pretty hot, too.”

  That made me think Darren had been right about Tim causing that awful bus crash.

  “Yes. Wasn’t that unfortunate.” Navarro eyed Tim pointedly, then smirked. “But my point is this.” She picked up the meteorite. “Comet fragments just like this fell across half of Georgia.”

  “So what’re you saying?” Charley asked. “There’s probably others like us? Over in Beaumount?”

  “And elsewhere across southwestern Georgia, maybe even Alabama, Tennessee. We should sniff around to see what—”

  “You mean like this?” Jenna said coldly, holding up her cell phone.

  Lisa snatched it from her, reading to the others, “Hashtag, get smarter?”

  “That’s just one,” Jenna said. “I was looking this morning. Found a couple new Facebook pages, too. One mentions the comet, and there’s an 800 number for free counseling. One’s in Beaumount.”

  The classroom was dead silent as the reality settled upon them. And on me. Navarro spelled it out: “So we are just the tip of an iceberg.”

  Steph was nervous. “I think we should tell the police or—”

  “No fucking way!” Tim spouted, and others growled agreement. “We gotta keep it quiet. All to ourselves!”

  “Damn right!” Charley said.

  Navarro modified the concept. “At least until we’ve considered the ramifications and how best to use it to our advantage.”

  “Yeah,” Jenna snorted. “I don’t want my parents gettin’ it, that’s for sure!”

  Lisa was thinking. “What about Katie?”

  “Well,” Shelly sighed, “she certainly might spread the word.”

  Jenna took the lead. “Let’s just ram some strawberries down her throat.”

  “Or shut her up altogether,” Tim suggested. Others agreed.

  I was getting light-headed as Lisa flared hotly at him. “I don’t think so, asshole.”

  Steph looked at Lisa. “Maybe you could just slip some shrimp into her tuna.”

  Lisa jumped to her feet. “Listen, you little bitch—”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Navarro stepped between them. “There’s an easier way: Katie trusts me. I’ll just tell her there’s nothing to worry about. And you all treat her normally. But keep an eye on her”—she glanced again at Tim—“we do have other options.”

  I took off outta the school like a rocket. Ten minutes later I was whipping along so frantically on my bike that a squirrel barely managed to get out of the way. I skidded to a stop by the front steps of our house and let my bike fall as I bounded up, calling out breathlessly, “Mom!” I slammed open the front door and dashed in, looking around. “Momma! Mom!?”

  I heard her giggling from the kitchen. “In here, honey.”

  I ran in. “Momma! Listen! We’ve gotta—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” She laughed again, “Easy, honey!”

  I had stopped dead, breathing hard, feeling my face go pale. I saw she was giddy, acting weird. “. . . Momma . . . ?”

  “Woo!” She laughed. “I’m so light-headed! Old Granny Wells must’ve spiked her preserves.”

  I was fearful. “What?”

  Mom picked up a Mason jar with a homemade label, saying, “I bought these preserves. Over at the church bake sale. Granny Wells said she’d found these fantastic wild strawberries.”

  “No!” My heart fluttered wildly. “Oh my God.”

  “Granny said she never eats strawberries herself.” Mom’s eyes were sparkling strangely. “But she loves making preserves. Everybody was buying ’em. Here honey, have some!” Light-headed, she held out the preserves.

  I was horrified! “No, Mom! We gotta get you to a hospital or—”

  “Why, honey? I’m great. I’m—woo,” Mom said gleefully, “Granny doesn’t know what she’s missing! These preserves are really something else!”

  The Documentarian. . .

  Forensic analysis later confirmed that at about the same time on Gertrude Wells’s farm, the kindly old lady had come home from the church bake sale, doubtlessly pleased that she’d sold every last jar. She stuck her gray head into her dusty, shadowy chicken coop. Testimony from those who knew her said she would always call out, “Afternoon, girls. Time for me to steal your eggs again.”

  A normally passive hen began flapping wildly, pecking at her.

  She swatted at the aggressive creature, but the hen only intensified its attack, and was joined by another, and then several more. The frail eighty-two-year-old stumbled awkwardly backward, falling painfully on the rough wooden floor. She hit the back of her head very hard on the edge of a nesting box, likely dazing herself, as a dozen more hens and roosters descended upon her, pecking, clawing, and tearing viciously at her fragile, age-thinned skin.

  Gertrude Wells waved her arms in desperate panic, trying to stand, screaming in agony as the birds attacked her hands and face with unbridled, stinging fury.

  13

  ALLIANCES

  Katie McLane. . .

  I raced my bike across Ashton’s main street, dodging between cars, and leaned it against the wall outside our small town’s sheriff’s office, calling out to him as I opened the door, “Sheriff? Sheriff Randolph!?”

  The man in the wooden desk chair pivoted toward me. My heart sank. It was not the sheriff. It was that buzz-cut sleazeball Brice Patton, who most people knew was a slacker but somehow ended up as a deputy. He grinned at me. “Whazzup, girlie?”

  “Hey, Brice.” I tried not to show I was breathing hard. “The sheriff around?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Brice said with a sadness that sounded phony. “Had hisself a nasty accident.”

  My antenna went up. “An accident?”

  “Yeah.” Brice paused, shaking his head unhappily and taking a swig of his Yoo-hoo. “Looked like he’d been cleanin’ that old Winchester of his. Damn thing musta went off. I was the one that found him. Real sad. I still cain’t hardly believe it.” He heaved a long sigh. “But anyways, life goes on, huh?” He set the bottle down and gazed at me. “So I’m in charge now, darlin’. What can I do ya for
?”

  I tried to cover the fact that I’d recognized Brice’s new superior attitude and the telltale glint in his eyes. “. . . Uh. Nothing, Brice. I just wanted to ask him—”

  The deputy sensed my hesitation, his suspicion grew. “Ask him what?”

  “Um. A question about fireworks for the Fourth next year.” I wasn’t good at lying and tried to say it lightly.

  He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes were penetrating. “What about the fireworks?”

  I glanced toward the inner door, which I knew led to the two small jail cells. I didn’t want to end up in one. “It’s not important, not today,” I said, backing casually toward the front door, worried he might leap up and grab me. “I’m really sorry to hear about the sheriff. That’s just terrible.”

  Brice was watching me so closely I got really scared. “Yeah, it’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  “See you later, Brice,” I said, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. I wanted to leap on my bike and race outta there, but I forced myself to casually walk the bike toward the corner. In the window of a parked car, I saw Brice reflected as he stepped into the doorway of the sheriff’s office behind me, watching me, and taking another slow hit of Yoo-hoo. I struggled to keep my pace measured, unhurried. The corner was ten feet away, then five. I finally rounded it real slow, then leaped on my bike, and took off like lightning. Pedaling a mile a minute, I remembered that Greek story of how Io fled from the ghost of Argus with his thousand eyes. Now I knew exactly how she felt.

  I cut through a back alley that brought me out in front of the Methodist church. I dropped the bike and rushed in through the rectory where the remnants of the bake sale were still on tables. I saw one remaining jar of Granny Wells’s preserves. It was open, nearly empty. Some was spread on crackers, inviting people to taste a sample. I swept the jar and crackers off into a trash can, then heard the minister’s voice, “Oh yes, I can hear thee . . .”