“Yes. You lied to me about it.”
Allison nodded. “I did. I’m sorry. You caught me off guard. Stone slipped up when he said that.”
“Mr. Trent,” Warburton said, “what do you know about Multi-verse Theory?”
Israel blinked. His eyes were dry, like he hadn’t done that in awhile. “Not much. I think I caught a show on the science channel where Neil deGrasse Tyson was talking about it. Something about parallel universes or something.”
Michelle stepped forward. “The theory states that the universe- the reality -that we experience is not the only one that exists. It is, in fact, one of an infinite number of possible realities separated by a kind of quantum vibration or probability variation. Really, if you look at Everett’s Many-Worlds Interpretation…”
“Chelle,” Allison said with a gentle warning in her tone.
Michelle nodded. “Right. Sorry. Look, it’s like this: The multi-verse is real. It’s the truth. There are universes upon universes upon universes out there all existing simultaneously. Some of us know this as fact rather than hypothesis.”
Israel shrugged. “Fine. Parallel universes. Great. What does that have to do with me? In here?”
“Not parallel,” Michelle said, holding up a finger. “Parallel refers to something that runs along identical but separate vectors without ever intersecting. The multi-verse consists of separate but interconnected universes. Have you ever been to Chuck E. Cheese’s?”
The sudden shift startled Israel. “What?”
“Our parents used to take us there when we were kids. They had this really big ball pit that you could jump in and all these hundreds of plastic balls would cover you up and bounce around. Fun stuff. That’s reality.”
“Reality is a kids’ ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese’s?”
“Just the ball pit part. Imagine each of those balls is an entire universe unto itself, surrounded by other universes but only touching at certain points by virtue of their shape. Touching, but separate enough that they retain their individual integrity. Granted, the universes are more bubble than sphere, so, I guess it would be more foam than ball pit, but the example serves, I think.”
Israel stared at the woman quietly for a long moment and then said, “Why am I in this damned cage?”
Warburton retrieved a television remote from the stand next to her wheelchair and clicked the television on. “Watch this. It was taken a little over four hours ago.”
The screen lit up and Israel found himself looking at an overhead view of the room he was currently trapped in. He glanced at the high corners of the room and saw a small half-dome hanging from the corner to his left. The camera angle in the recording matched.
The recording showed him standing in the middle of the room. His shoulders were hunched, his arms slack at his sides. A small clock counted off the hours, minutes, and seconds in the top middle of the picture.
“I don’t remember that,” he said.
“Keep watching,” Warburton said. “I’ll skip ahead.”
She pressed a button and the image stuttered ahead, but from what Israel could tell really didn’t change. The man on the monitor didn’t move at all. Warburton froze the image and gestured to the counter. “Once we got you in here, you stood like that for nearly ninety minutes. Same spot, same pose.”
Israel shook his head. “No, I would-”
“Then this,” Warburton interrupted. She restarted the video.
Video-Israel was in the same pose when the counter started ticking ahead again. A few seconds in, the stillness was broken as his head snapped up and his mouth opened. Video-Israel surged forward and slammed his fists against the wall, snapping his teeth like something inhuman. The head turned, tracking something beyond the plexiglass until it faced the camera. The picture zoomed in on that gray visage. Warburton paused the video with that face filling the screen. The skin was gray and the lips black. Wild, black-veined eyes scanned the transparent wall with a feral intensity. A dark tongue was just visible inside the mouth.
Israel stared in disbelief. “What… What are you doing? That’s not me. That can’t be me.”
“It is,” Warburton said. “It is you. The only reason you’re talking to us now is because we pushed ten pounds of raw meat into that cell with you. Hence the bones.”
Israel looked at his filthy clothes and hands then back at the screen.
“Michelle’s ball pit analogy is an apt one,” Warburton said, “but I’ve always thought of it more like a hotel where all the rooms are adjoining. The points where universes push against one another are like adjoining walls in a hotel. If you have the right key, you can go from one room to the next. If not, you’re stuck in your own room. Or, in this case, universe. Long, long ago, other races that had the right technological key came here. They came here and they made this world into something of a playground.”
Israel was still staring at the monitor, despite not wanting to. When he didn’t respond, Warburton went on.
“They had their way with the early humans. Whether it was some kind of crossbreeding or direct gene manipulation, we don’t know. Since we are talking about tens of thousands of years ago, the odds are very good we never will. It happened, though, and the results were bizarre. Many of the creatures we know from legend and lore are the product of these experiments. Think of a mythical beast and it is probably attached to a bloodline that began with these visitors tampering.”
“Turn it off,” Israel whispered.
Warburton didn’t seem to hear him. “The theory is that they did this for a while and then stopped for whatever reason. Maybe they did all they wanted, maybe they got bored- who knows. Again, it’s been tens of thousands of years. Regardless, they left and humanity rolled on. Then, slowly, century after century after century, these anomalous genetic strains were either eradicated or bred into the genetic background. The monsters disappeared. So we find ourselves today in a world that hasn’t seen a minotaur or an ogre in a millennium.”
Israel suddenly drew back his fist and slammed it against the plexiglass wall. It shuddered under the blow and a boom echoed through the room so loudly that all three women jerked in surprise. Allison let out a small squeal as she stepped back.
Israel looked Warburton in the eyes and said through gritted teeth, “Turn it off.”
The television went dark.
Israel leaned against the wall with both hands and said, “What does this have to do with me?”
“We’re getting to that,” Allison said. “Like Olivia said, the tampering that was done faded. The human genome, as it turns out, is a resilient and stubborn one. Over generations, it tends to resort back to a more natural state once it’s been tampered with. We’re not sure why. The changes, though, don’t just evaporate. They get pushed aside and tangled up in what a lot of people call ‘junk DNA.’ Those are the large sections of a genome that have no obvious effect on the genome’s function. So, even today, there are people walking around with this stuff all mixed up in their genes, just sitting there doing nothing.”
Israel almost laughed when he made the mental connection. “Until it gets Awakened,” he said.
Allison nodded. “Yeah.”
Israel pushed away from the wall and turned his back on them while he focused. “How?” he said. “Is it something the Progeny did to me?”
“No,” Michelle said before her sister could speak. “Well, not directly. Remember the place you and Erin woke up? Wait. Stupid question, of course you do. See, the Progeny were tapping into the I.D. and the kinds of energy they released are-”
“Wait,” Israel said, “tapping into the what?”
“The I.D.? The Inner Dark? Oh, wait, you don’t know what that is,” Michelle said. “Remember the ball pit thing? Well, the integrity of the individual universes ensures that there are spaces that no world can occupy, like the gaps between the curves of the balls in the pit. We call that space the Inner Dark and all kinds of crazy cosmic stuff exists there- theoretical energies and
particles that we don’t even have names for. This is the stuff that you and Erin were exposed to when you encountered the breach point.”
Israel started to ask when Warburton said, “The body with the appendages coming from its torso.”
“Right,” Michelle said. “Remember the light you saw? The one you told Matt about?”
Israel nodded.
“Ocular nerve excitation triggered by exposure to awakening energies,” Allison said, picking up the explanation. “It’s one of the few constants among reports given by people who’ve been Awakened. The theory is that the ancient visitors learned to manipulate energies that we have no practical access to and they used them in their technology. That’s what allowed them to breach worlds and screw around with DNA like it was a bucket of Legos. When someone with the right kind of junk DNA gets exposed to those energies, the junk DNA becomes active, or wakes up, and starts affecting the genome. The person changes. We call that being Awakened.”
“So, what, they become like me? Like that?” He pointed at the television.
“No, they aren’t all like you. Most of the changes that occur are relatively benign and tend to fall within certain categories. We think these were the strongest creatures DNA from the old days, so we call them bloodlines.”
“And when this happens to someone, you lock them up like this?”
“No,” Warburton said.
“So what makes me so special?”
“Because you’re dead, Mr. Trent,” Warburton said.
That statement hung in the air like an unwelcome scent for nearly a minute before Israel said, “Bullshit. The fact that I can call bullshit on that pretty much proves it to be bullshit since dead guys can’t talk.”
Allison turned away from the Plexiglas wall. Michelle moved to her side and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Israel,” Michelle said, “but it’s not.”
“You died in my office a little over nine hours ago,” Warburton said. “No respiration, no heartbeat. A few minutes after that you started moving and we realized that you were a Necrophage.”
“A what?”
“Necrophage,” Allison said, turning back to face him with damp, red eyes. “It’s one of the bloodlines we mentioned. It means that for your bloodline DNA to awaken, your body had to die first. It’s very rare, but it’s where the legends of zombies and all the other kinds of walking dead came from. Most of them are just mindless eating machines like the stories say, while some of them retain a small portion of intelligence. Always, though, they are predators.”
“Which is why we put them down as soon as we discover them,” Warburton said. “What Allison is neglecting to mention is that Necrophage DNA is transmittable through bodily fluids; blood, saliva- anything. They all carry the requisite ingredients needed to create more Necrophage of whatever strain.”
Israel stared at the television. “But I’m not dead. And whatever happened to me on that video has passed, right?”
Warburton sighed. “Hold your breath, Mr. Trent.”
“What?”
“Hold your breath. For as long as you possibly can. We need to get past this part and this is an expedient way to do it. Go on; we’ll wait.”
Israel shrugged, inhaled deeply, and held his breath. He closed his eyes and waited. Everything he’d learned replayed in his mind as he waited. The pressure in his lungs and head that always came with holding his breath didn’t come. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Warburton had rolled closer to the glass and was holding out a smart-phone with the display pointed toward him. A timer application was running and displayed eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
Israel opened his mouth and air slowly left his lungs as his organs relaxed.
Warburton placed the phone on her lap and said, “Satisfied? Or do you need to take your pulse and temperature next? You don’t need to breathe. The only reason you can talk is because your body is running on muscle memory to keep air moving through your lungs.”
Israel just stood staring at her. “No,” he said. “No, no, no.” He turned away from the glass. “You’re telling me that I’m a monster. That I’m that thing in the video.”
“Not entirely,” Allison said. “You said it yourself: You’re talking to us. You have full control of your faculties. That’s because as rare as Necrophage are, you’re even rarer.”
Israel laughed at that. “I can’t wait to hear how,” he said.
Warburton said, “You’re what we call a Paragon. That’s someone who is a perfect balance of primary and bloodline DNA. It’s that balance that allows you to remain in control where other Necrophage cannot.”
“That video didn’t look all that controlled to me,” Israel said.
“You needed to feed,” Warburton said. “Your physiology has changed. You are dependent on animal proteins to the point that you go feral if you don’t get them.”
“The steaks,” Israel said.
No one replied.
He stood with his back to them, his mantra half-heartedly forming on his lips. “Okay,” he said. “So, I’m in control now. I’m good and I’m on a high-protein diet. Let me out of here.”
“Absolutely not,” Warburton said.
Israel turned on her. “Why not?”
“Why not? Did you not hear what I said, Mr. Trent? You’re infectious. You’re also the first verifiable Paragon Necrophage since Vlad the Impaler. We have no clue what you’re capable of doing. For god’s sake, you’re the walking, talking patient zero of the zombie apocalypse for all I know. There is no way in hell I’m letting you out of that cage.”
“I have a life!” Israel shouted.
“Which is over,” Warburton countered. “You died the second you went near that breach point. I’m sorry, Israel, but that’s just how it is.”
Israel slammed his fists against the plexiglass again. Michelle and Allison both jumped at the sudden action. Warburton watched him without moving. They stayed like that for a full minute, neither of them flinching.
“My father needs me,” Israel said.
Warburton nodded. “I know. He will be told that you died in an accident that requires a closed casket. Shortly after that I will personally make sure he is transferred to the very best Alzheimer’s care facility in the country. I swear to you, Israel, he will want for nothing for the rest of his days.”
Israel turned away from them again. His teeth ground together and anger bubbled through him.
“That’s enough for now, I think,” Warburton said. He heard them slowly starting to file out. The mechanical whirr of the wheelchair buzzed against Israel’s senses.
He turned when he heard the door open. “Hey, Warburton,” he said loudly. “How’d you end up in that chair?”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder enough for him to see her profile. “Why on earth would you want to know that?” she said.
“You seem to know all there is to know about me,” he said. “Only seems fair that I should know something about you.”
Warburton quietly considered it. Finally she said, “When I was twenty-four I got stabbed in the back by an insane angel. Try to get some rest, Mr. Trent.”
The door closed before Israel could reply.
CHAPTER NINE
Not long after Warburton and the Twins left, Stone came in with a trio of men all carrying pistols and heavy stun batons. Stone instructed him in strict but polite fashion to stand in one corner with his back to them. Israel considered telling him where to stick his instructions until he saw another group of men behind the armed ones pushing carts of boxes and carrying a twin-sized mattress and other furnishings. He saw fresh clothing neatly folded on top of one of the boxes. Everyone except Stone was dressed in blue isolation suits like he’d seen in movies about disease outbreaks. Reluctantly, he complied with the orders.
No one spoke as they worked. It didn’t take long, and when Israel heard the click of the cell door closing, he turned back and found himself in a furnished cell complete wi
th laptop and television. Stone stood outside the cell and the two men faced each other through the plexiglass while the other guards and workmen left the outer room. Neither man spoke, though, once they were gone. Israel had nothing to say and Stone seemed to be searching for the words. Finally, he said, “It’s not right, mate. It’s not fair.” When Israel didn’t respond, Stone nodded and left.
There was no bathroom, he realized, so he just turned his back on the security camera and changed clothes. There were plastic containers of moist towelettes, and he used those to clean his hands and face as best he could. They had forgotten to provide a waste can, so he threw the now pink wads of towelette onto the floor and told himself the maid could clean it up. Somewhat refreshed, he turned his attention to his new furnishings.
The computer, as it turned out, was connected to the Internet but had numerous software blocks to prevent him from posting anything, including e-mail, to the web. He could read all he wanted, but getting anything to the outside world was impossible. He was sure it was probably possible to bypass that kind of security, but he lacked the coding Kung Fu to get it done. The television was set up for wireless streaming, but had similar blocking software that prevented him from posting to any of the social media apps that came with it. None of this surprised him. He was, after all, a prisoner. Considering what he’d learned about himself, Israel wasn’t entirely sure being locked up was a bad thing.
After the women had left him earlier, he’d tried holding his breath again. Without Warburton’s timer he had used the old ‘one-Mississippi’ method to keep track of how long he went without breathing. He’d stopped counting at seven hundred not because he couldn’t hold it any longer, but because he couldn’t tell a difference between breathing and not. As another test, he decided to see how many push-ups he could do. Not only were they far easier than he could ever remember them being, he found he could push up hard enough to clap his hands together before doing the next repetition. He hadn’t been able to do that since his high school basketball days and even then he could only do a few.
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