Forgotten Origins Trilogy - Box Set: Infected, Heritage, Descent

by Tara Ellis

  “She died Sunday night.” He says it with such a complete lack of emotion that I actually take a step backwards and collide with Chris. Here is a man that absolutely adored his wife, literally cherished the ground she walked on and he is telling me about her death like it was a squirrel that got ran over. I stare at him with my mouth open, eyes wide.

  His hands stop as he obviously registers my surprise, but doesn’t acknowledge it. Slowly, he starts wrapping the butcher paper again. “So, Alex. How have you been feeling?” he asks, head tilted slightly to the side and without looking at me.

  Desperately fighting the urge to run from the store, I realize I may have made a big mistake. Chris’s hands are on my arms, where they stayed after stopping me from my backward shuffle. They tighten ever so slightly, indicating his awareness of the danger too.

  “Actually, Jacob and I are both sick now.” I try to say it convincingly and absently grab a package of cough drops from the front counter rack, adding them to the pile of groceries.

  Ignoring my answer, he silently finishes the meat order and rings everything up. Chris bags it all for me, just as eager as I am to get out of here.

  As Mr. Jones hands me back the check card, he holds on for a moment longer than he should, tugging a little. Looking up at him, our eyes meet. Like Mom’s, his are slightly dilated and I feel like a rat caught in a trap.

  Assaulting me with that same, lifeless smile, he lets go of the card. “Hopefully you’ll be feeling okay soon,” he says, watching me carefully.

  As we calmly walk out of the store, several customers turn to stare at us simultaneously. Afraid to look back, we almost run out the exit, knowing without a doubt that we’re still being watched.

  THIRTEEN

  I wake up late Tuesday night to Baxter barking. Falling out of bed, I stub my toe on the chair that I forgot was wedged under the doorknob. By the time I have it opened I’m wide awake, hopping in pain, and convinced someone is in the hallway waiting to kill me.

  Instead, I find Mom standing near her bedroom door, eyes slightly luminescent in the dim light. I’m not sure whether to feel relieved or not.

  I’m caught in her stare like a deer in the headlights and Baxter comes over to cower by my feet. Ignoring us, she simply walks into her room and closes the door without saying a word. No explanation of why she’s home from work so late, no hello … nothing.

  Stroking his head with much more confidence than I feel, I calm Baxter down to the point where he’s okay to leave the hallway and go back to Jake’s room. However, I don’t sleep much the rest of the night.

  At ten the next morning, Chris sends me a text saying he needs to talk with me ASAP. Mom left a note on the table in the kitchen saying that she would be going back to work at two today, so I tell Chris to come over at 2:30.

  Mom hasn’t gotten up yet, and neither has Jake. Going quietly into his room, I close the door and sit on the edge of his bed. He’s watching SpongeBob and I get caught up in the story before I can stop myself. When the commercials come on, he mutes it and looks at me expectantly.

  “Jake, I need to talk with you about something, but it’s going to sound a little strange,” I say to him softly in a guarded tone. He seems perplexed, but I have his attention and so I continue. “You know that almost everyone has been getting sick and that you and I are part of a small number left that didn’t get the flu.” He nods his head slowly, not sure where I’m going with this. “I can’t explain why, but I need you to pretend like you’re sick now, too. Both of us need to, even with Mom.”

  I look at him, waiting for a reaction. To my surprise, he agrees with me. “I know,” he says evenly. “Something is wrong with them. They aren’t the same anymore. I think we were all supposed to change, but we didn’t and so now we’re ... like, wrong. So yeah, we need to make them think we’re like them.”

  I study his face, trying to figure out how he got so smart. “What made you think that?” I finally ask him.

  “Well, because of Mom. And, don’t get mad, but when you were gone yesterday shopping I went over to Brent’s.” I bite my tongue, holding back a lecture so he’ll continue with his story. “He was different, too. So were his parents. They looked at me funny, like they didn’t know me or didn’t like me or something. Brent didn’t even want to talk with me or hang out or anything, Alex. It was like it wasn’t even him. They asked me twice if I was sick, if I was okay. I lied.”

  His eyes are welling up now and he looks down at Baxter, concentrating on rubbing his ears. I reach out and grasp his chin, lifting his face. “I’m glad that you lied, Jake. It was okay this time. I’m not mad you went over. I would have too, if I were you. Missy is acting the same way, and her parents. It isn’t just here, it’s everywhere.”

  Throwing his arms around my neck, he buries his face in my hair. Hugging him back fiercely, we stay like this for some time.

  “I want to go to Grandma and Grandpa Fishers,” he finally whispers, pulling away. His eyes are dry and I can tell he’s trying to be brave, but I don’t want to burden him with too much at once and wonder if I should tell him the truth.

  “I talked with Grandma Monday night and they were both sick,” I say, deciding that being honest was the best way to handle things right now. “I’ll call them again tonight, though. Maybe it isn’t as bad that far away or maybe Aunt Tammy is all right. It sounded like she might have still been okay.”

  “I want Mom back.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, and takes a big shuddering breath.

  “I know Jake, I do too. I’m going to try and find a way to make her better.” I can tell he’s dejected and want to offer him something reassuring. “Look, if Grandma and Grandpa are better or if Aunt Tammy is okay I’ll ask if we can go visit, okay? I’ll find a way to get there, but either way we’re all going to be all right.”

  “Promise?” he asks, looking up at me again. His eyes. Those dark, loving, trusting eyes. I can’t let him down. I nod my head, a new sense of determination and resolve filling me.

  “What you need to do today though, is just stay in bed. At least until Mom leaves for work. She came home late last night and is still sleeping, but she’ll be leaving by two. If she checks in on you, act like you have a really bad cold and fever. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, I can do that. Can I watch TV?”

  “Of course you can,” I say, amazed again at his resiliency. I ruffle his hair and he actually gives me a small smile. I smile back, feeling better.

  Leaving his room, my chest aches with the love I feel for my little brother. I know that as long as we stick together, we can figure this out. Mom can’t help how she’s acting; she’s sick. The normal flu symptoms might be gone, but there is obviously something more involved happening. I just have to find a way to make her better. I’m beginning to believe that the best way to do that is to follow the trail Dad left me.

  Back in my room, I see that it’s already eleven. Taking my own advice, I put on my big fluffy robe. Grabbing some Kleenex, I stick a few in the front pocket and go out to the kitchen to find the cough drops I bought. Just the smell of those makes me think of a sick person.

  By the time Mom emerges around one, I’m situated on the family room couch with soda and crackers, propped up watching old re-runs of “Little House on the Prairie.” If this doesn’t convince her, I don’t know what will.

  “Not feeling well, Alex?” she asks, right next to my head. I’m not sure how long she’s been standing there, but it scares the heck out of me. Jumping what I swear is about a foot, I look back at her. Her hair is yet again styled to perfection, the blonde curls pinned back from her face. Her work scrubs are pressed and much neater than I’ve ever seen them.

  Doing my best to look tired and achy, I blow my nose as loud as I can without being too fake. “Yeah, I’m feeling pretty crummy today. Worse than yesterday. So is Jacob.”

  She just stares at me. I try hard not to squirm. As the silence drags out I become convinced that she’s trying to dec
ide what side dish to eat with me, and I have to say something. “So, I called Grandma back like you asked. She’s sick and so is Grandpa. Missy is too, but she won’t talk to me anymore.” I look at her, hoping to see some glimmer of emotion cross her face. Nothing.

  “Your grandparents should be fine. They have no serious underlying medical issues. Same for Missy. As they get to feeling … better, I imagine they will have more important things to do than have idle conversations that mean nothing.” As those words sink in, she cocks her head to the side in that odd, questioning gesture again. I’m beginning to regret my attempt at a conversation, but figure I may as well keep digging.

  “It sounds like pretty much everyone is getting sick. You seem to be fine now, except that Jacob and I miss talking to you, Mom.” I bravely stare back at her, challenging her, and then remember to wipe at my nose.

  The briefest glimpse of a smile, no, more like a smirk creeps into her mouth and her white teeth glisten wet between her thin lips. Regret for my boldness tugs at me and I begin to pray for that neutral expression to come back.

  “It appears to have an eighty percent contagion rate, perhaps higher after all the secondary infections turn up. The death rate is about ten percent at our hospital, but only with those having other issues like diabetes, heart conditions, and such. It’s a very efficient virus.”

  Her last comment chills me and I feel relief when she turns around and walks into the kitchen. “I won’t be home until late again,” she explains. “There is … a lot of important work to be done at the hospital.”

  The sound of pots, pans, and cupboards opening and closing goes on for so long that I carefully peek over the back of the couch. Blinking fiercely, my mind tries to grasp what I’m seeing. She is moving with such speed and agility that at first it doesn’t make sense, like I’m watching a cooking show in fast motion. During the time she was banging around, there is already a large bowl of what looks to be a chef salad, some sandwiches stacked up, and something cooking on the stove. It smells delicious. Now she is doing the dishes. The rate at which she is literally throwing the plates into the washer is startling and I mean actually tossing them down after rinsing them. They are landing perfectly in between the tongs that hold them in place, one after the other.

  Slowly, I lower my head and lay back down on the couch. I don’t want to see anymore. I don’t want to hear anymore. I want her to leave. Taking slow, regular breaths, I look at the TV and desperately try to get lost in the world of wagons, farming and simpler times.

  Finally, after what seems like an eternity but was really only ten minutes, Mom comes back to the family room holding her purse and a small lunch cooler. “I’m leaving now. I left you enough food for tonight and tomorrow.” When I don’t answer, she turns to go but then comes back and sits on the small coffee table right in front of me.

  Wanting to pull the blanket over my head, I instead meet her gaze. “Alex,” she says, reaching out and picking up the bag of cough drops that’s lying next to me. “You be sure to get well now.” Slowly, she reaches in and pulls one out, rolling it in between her fingers like a magician with a quarter, all the while studying my face. “I wouldn’t want you to become part of the ten percent.”

  Standing abruptly, she drops the bag and the single cough drop on my chest, then takes her stuff, and leaves without another word. Looking at the medicine like it’s poison, I pull the blanket over my face, wanting to block it all out, but not finding comfort in it anymore.

  FOURTEEN

  When Chris knocks on the door an hour later, I’m still under the blanket. I don’t know if I dozed off or not, but Baxter’s barking brings me up for air.

  This time when I let him in, I don’t give any thought to how I look in my big robe and ponytail. It’s the least of my concerns. Based on his expression when I first see him, it’s obvious he has bigger things on his mind, too.

  We walk silently into the family room and I turn the television off. Picking up all the loose Kleenex and cough drops, I make room for us to sit on the couch. “Pretending to be sick?” he asks, looking at the array of things next to the couch.

  “Well that was the plan, but Mom pretty much called my bluff and then implied that I might die because of it. I’m thinking I don’t need to pretend anymore.” He stares at me in astonishment, so I tell him exactly what happened.

  “I guess today is the day for crazy encounters with our moms,” he tells me, shaking his head.

  “What, your mom came home?” I’m hoping for something positive but fearing the worst. “What happened?”

  “So you know that she hasn’t been here for a month. Last time I saw her she was high on heroin and a total mess. She had lost her job, her hair was starting to fall out, and her skin was all marked up.” Standing, he walks over to the sliding glass door and looks out into the backyard as he continues talking. “This morning, I’m sitting in the kitchen eating the last of the Cheerios when she comes walking in. She looked great, I mean better than I’ve ever seen her. So there I am with the spoon halfway to my mouth, surprised and confused because she just walks right past me like she’d gone out to get milk.” He turns around, and I see the obvious anguish on his handsome face.

  “Alex, I know how you’re feeling now. She started getting ready for a job that I didn’t know she still had, saying only a few words and not expressing any kind of remorse or love towards me. I tried to talk to her and she stared at me like I was a fly or something. It seemed to dawn on her at some point that I was confused by her behavior. All she said was that she’s obviously back, like I was an idiot, and then asked me if I’d been sick. I told her I was getting over it and went to my room until she left. It’s so bizarre that I don’t even know how I should feel.”

  Sitting back down beside me, we face each other. “We have to do something, Alex, but I don’t know what. Everyone I was close to has changed, even the pastor.”

  Feeling for him, I take his hand. “We haven’t changed Chris. I believe there’s a reason why we haven’t. We’ll figure it out and find a way to help them.”

  Smiling slightly, he stands back up. “I know you’re right. I think I just needed to hear it. That reminds me,” Taking some folded papers from his back pocket, he hands them to me and then sits in the easy chair across from me.

  “What’s this?” I ask, unfolding them and looking at the printed sheets.

  “I decided to do some research last night on viruses. See what it is we might be up against. I went over to the library and used the computers there, since mine is gone. What I found is pretty amazing and scary at the same time.”

  Science isn’t really one of my strengths and I don’t have the patience right now to wade through the technical details. “So give it to me in plain English,” I request.

  “Well, basically the science world can’t agree on whether viruses are a life form or not. Really doesn’t matter, I guess. Anyways, it’s basically this very tiny ball of either bits of RNA or DNA with a protective coating around it. It can get into your body several ways, but the most common is airborne, then blood borne.”

  “Some of that I already knew, but not the being a life form part. That’s creepy,” I tell him, nibbling on the crackers left out and going stale already.

  “Well, the best part is how they work. They attach themselves to your cells and then drill inside, release the bits of data and literally hi-jack the little building machines inside it. It makes your cells build replicas of its own information until the cell is full and then bursts open, releasing all the new viruses to spread out and repeat the process.”

  “Ewww. Where does the DNA or RNA come from that it puts in our cells?” I ask, intrigued now.

  “No one knows,” he answers. “That’s where our current virus comes in. I’m thinking it’s not too far of a stretch to suggest that there really could have been viruses on those meteors. In fact, it has been theorized before. What’s encouraging is that with enough time, vaccines can be created for some of them,
but obviously not all, like HIV.”

  “The problem with that,” I interject, “Is my mom just told me that at least eighty percent of the population is being infected, maybe more. I don’t think that anyone who’s changed is going to be interested in creating a cure. They seem very content. How do you think it’s changing their personality?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that,” Chris says. “If these things have bits of DNA in them, and are known for crossing the blood-brain barrier, how crazy is it to assume that they can affect different parts of the brain, say the thinking section or feelings? I believe we’re seeing a new form of super-virus that is more complex and with greater effects than any other ever experienced.”

  The phone rings and we both jump, staring at the receiver as if it was someone that snuck into the room. Leaning over to the end of the couch, I snatch it off the receiver. “Hello?” I ask, but realize right away it’s an automated message from the school district. To my surprise, it’s a recording saying that school will be in normal session starting tomorrow, Thursday.

  Chris is staring at me questioningly as I hang up. “It was the school. We have to go back tomorrow.” I don’t know why that bothers me so much. Maybe it’s because the new norm is becoming the reality and those of us unaffected are now the outsiders. I don’t like the feeling. “What do we do?” I ask him.

  “Go to school. At least for the rest of this week. Lay low, learn as much as we can and of course, figure out your dad’s message. Any luck with it?”

  Exhaling, I try to hide my frustration. “Well, not thinking about it for the rest of the day yesterday didn’t work. So, I stared at it for a couple of hours before going to bed. Nothing new came to me. I was hoping I might have another dream last night, but I slept horrible the first half and hardly at all the second. No dreams that I remember. I’m not sure what to do about it.”