by Hanks, Greg
“You caught the other vial, right?” she asked.
I nodded. “I didn’t exactly catch it, but yeah.”
I was terrible with conversation. Five years of seclusion did that to me. I could’ve socialized, but Edge was enough pain.
“How did it feel?” she said, excited. “Vax, I mean.”
“I don’t know how to describe it.” I looked at her healing sore. “You?”
She inhaled with joy. “It’s the best day of my life.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Don’t you agree?”
Maybe with Vax, I could become something better. This really was the best day of our lives.
“Yeah. GenoTec pulled through after all.” I smiled and together we watched the crowd.
“Do you mind if I see your sore?” she asked. She was eager and pleasant about everything.
I lifted my jacket’s sleeve and showed her the recovering skin. Seeing it again made my heart leap.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said.
Someone with dark curly hair and a full mustache burst out of the chattering line and stopped next to Tara.
“There you are!” he huffed. “You ready?”
“Kevin,” said Tara, “this is Mark. He caught the second vial.”
We shook hands.
“Pretty intense, huh?” he said.
I agreed and asked, “What’s going on up there?” The line kept to a steady crawl.
“Tons of dispensers of Vax. I’ve already taken mine. God, it feels good.”
I faked a smile. “Well, I better get up there then. Nice mustache, by the way.”
Kevin jerked his head to Tara and said, “Thank you.”
They must have had some kind of inside joke.
She patted his shoulder like he was a naïve child. “That’s nice, Kev.” Her eyes met mine and she smiled. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mark. Maybe we’ll see each other around.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
They traipsed back toward the city, leaving me alone underneath a single floodlight. Strange, I was feeling warm and shy. This aura she had left me in was something I hadn’t felt for a few years. Whatever. It’ll be gone soon.
For the next hour, the line continued to move into a clearing, dotted with dispenser-like machines, just as Kevin had described. I counted twenty of them, all staggered behind the stage, with their own individual lines. At the side of each machine was a Volunteer ready to help.
Would we have to keep coming to Battery Park to get our weekly amount?
As I waiting patiently in line, not really sure if I had to be there, I felt someone brush up against me.
“Excuse me, are you Mark Wenton?”
Startled, I turned toward the back of the stage and found a shorter man, with bark-like glasses. He was balding and wore a GenoTec uniform, holding a clipboard jammed with papers crumpled at the edges.
“Yes. I am.”
“Excellent,” he said. “If you could please follow me, we need to talk to you about Vax, since you caught one of the vials.”
“Um—sure.”
Trusting his yellow uniform, I followed the waddling man all the way to the other end of the stage. I scanned the crowded area, remembering the Volunteer who had stared at me. Twice I had caught him looking at me. Maybe I was just paranoid.
The pudgy fellow led me to a small canvas awning covering a table.
“All right, if you’ll just have a seat please. We need to take your blood pressure real quick.” He left me for a moment as I sat.
This was all happening so fast. I couldn’t help raise my sleeve again.
The penguin-like Volunteer returned with a blood pressure monitor in hand.
The electronic device was a glossy, white bangle, designed to capture statistics using frequencies. It was much better than those cheap, inflatable ones that made your arm ache.
“What’s this for?” I asked, watching him jot down a few notes.
“We need to see how it’s affected you. As you know, Edge has a way of dealing with blood pressure.”
“Oh, right.” I said, waiting for more information.
The device on my arm emitted a blue, transparent light. The glow encircled my bicep for a few seconds and then ended with a short beep.
Once he finished, he looked up at me from the other side of the table.
“Everything checks out. The main reason we brought you here is to inform you of Vax. In a day or so, machines similar to those over there will be set in a lot of locations around the city. You just input your name and your ID number and you’ll be set to go. More info will be given at the machine itself, but it’s good to know beforehand.”
“Thanks,” I said. “When do you think the final cure will be available? I mean, if we take this every week, isn’t it pretty much the same thing?”
“I’m just a Volunteer, they don’t tell me much.”
With that, he got up and disappeared.
“Yeah,” I said to myself, “you and me both.”
After leaving Battery Park, I walked back up Beaver Street and returned to The Cuts. For the two years I’d lived there, I was actually happy to be back.
People were talking relentlessly about Vax, Slate, and everything in between. Multitudes were outside, wandering the streets, driving around recklessly, shouting, chanting, and praising GenoTec. Some shot off fireworks, sending inspiration to the entire city. I watched from my window as the rejoicing scoured our little section of Manhattan—the survivors.
The news was going wild, broadcasting on every station, trying to spread the word about Vax. Apparently, Manhattan was the third city to receive it, which was confusing, what with the GenoTec building just across the River. They began their tour of America with the survivors in Florida, headed to the massive colony in California, then to us. Tons of GenoTec Volunteers were being interviewed about what they knew, and how they managed to pull off the events. For the first time in Edge history, I think there were signs of normal life shining through the apocalyptic world.
Clips of Sterile Communities were being shown. People gathered in their tiny infrastructures, clumped together, cheering, and letting us know of their love and support. I wasn’t even mad, seeing the Steriles like that. The thought was proof enough that Vax was working.
I flipped the station to find other coverage of the revival. I commanded my Fuse to stop as I saw the familiar metal mask and deep, dark eyes. Slate was sitting behind a long oak table, leaning forward, and answering questions to an unseen crowd. Beside him were more GenoTec officials. One in particular, with shoulder-length, greasy brown hair, looked as if he had smelt a foul odor.
“Yes,” Slate was saying, “eventually Vax will wear off and stop regulating your body. That is why more doses must be taken to maintain a healthy system. It’s not perfect, but we are working tirelessly to build upon it until we find a cure.”
His voice gave me goose bumps.
A female inquirer asked, “Mr. Slate, what can GenoTec tell us about Axxiol? Was Vax created there?”
I leaned across my coffee table.
“Axxiol was an offshore ecological testing facility, built back in, oh, 2026. We now use it primarily for Edge research. So yes, Vax was conceived within Axxiol’s walls.”
“And how do you account for the massive amounts of batrachotoxin, ricin, and many other toxic agents being shipped to and from Axxiol? Is it some sort of agent used to develop Vax?”
Slate was still for a moment. “Why would that be involved in any way with Vax?”
“But you see, we have—”
The wiry Vice President moved close to his microphone and said with a drowsy brogue, “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any more time for questions today.”
I watched as the Q and A session ended. Slate and his posse got up to leave, camera’s flashing and people shouting to get their questions abated.
Axxiol? Batrachotoxin? I always knew there was more to GenoTec then I would ever know, but seeing this definitely piqued my inte
rest.
My door burst open. The Ghost poked his head through, grinning ear to ear.
“Hey, it’s Mark, right?”
“Yeah. What’s up?” I wasn’t angry he had barged in. I was actually kind of glad.
“We’re all having a party down in the lobby—drinks, food. Anyways, thought you outta come and check it out.”
I smiled broadly. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”
7
The piercing rattle of my phone split my sleep in two. I shot up like a bolt of lightning, hitting my shin on the coffee table. I wrestled the phone into my hand and tried to sound awake.
“Hello?”
“Mark?”
“Y-Yes, who is this?”
“This is Mark Wenton?”
“Yes? What?”
“Sorry, I—Mark, this is Tara, from last night. How are you?”
I racked my brain. My head felt like a nuclear testing ground.
“Tara?” I asked. Then I remembered. Black hair. Blue eyes. “Of course, Tara. I’m—er—good, how are you?”
“Well . . . look, the reason I even have your number—well, I got a package today.”
I furrowed my brow and said, “Excuse me?”
“It’s got both of our names on it.”
“Wait, what?” I sat up and rubbed my face.
“I received a package today addressed to both of us,” she repeated. “You said you’re Mark Wenton, right? Well, you have to be, it came with your number.”
I remained silent for a few seconds. “Why would it be addressed to both of us?”
“It’s probably about last night,” she said. “You know, the vials.”
I scratched my head. “Did you want me to come by?”
“Well, it’s from GenoTec, so I think you ought to. I’m sorry this is so random.”
“Where do you live?” I reached over the armrest and foraged through my end table for a pen.
“Do you know where the Turnmont is?”
I stopped with my hand deep in miscellaneous papers. “Yes. Give me thirty minutes.”
“Great! Talk to you soon.”
The Turnmont. I couldn’t help but grin.
After showering and getting dressed, I left my apartment with excitement. I never thought I’d actually see Tara again. I took the stairs this time, though. I didn’t like elevators anymore.
Outside, the world sang with praise. Banners were strung, music rang from open windows, and even The Cuts seemed active and happy. As I made the short walk to the Turnmont, GenoTec came to mind.
Why would they send us both a package? Of course, the only connection was Vax. We caught the first vials. That made sense, but the package didn’t. Did they find something from the test that they ran? No, they only took blood pressure. What was it then? Why couldn’t they have just sent it to both of us? I maneuvered around a hung-over body on the sidewalk. I guess I would find out soon enough.
I crossed the Broadway-Beaver intersection and continued down Broadway. The Turnmont used to be one of New York’s most prestigious hotels. I always linked it with posh accents and snooty, upturned noses. After the outbreak, GenoTec turned most of the hotels into apartment complexes. It was easier to keep people together that way. Of all the housing in the city, the Turnmont had to be the most luxurious. I mean the thing practically bled gold. I had always kicked myself for not grabbing a room fast enough, but it had filled up pretty quick.
Jutting 100 stories above me, the Turnmont stood tall and powerful. Its tan plating and opaque windows shimmered in the rising light, half concealed by the shadow of another skyscraper.
I rounded the corner and pushed one of the mirrored doors aside. I groaned, feeling sorry for myself. The lobby sparkled with white marble and crystal glass, opening to a huge, polished commons. A magnificent chandelier hung from the high, gilded ceiling. Four large columns supported the lobby’s lounge area, each designed in a colonial theme. The commons was decorated in expensive furniture, paintings, and bright flowers. Two ballroom-ish staircases arched on either side of the lobby with obnoxious banisters just asking to be ridden. Where the stairs met, a waterfall cascaded below into a small pool.
When it came down to it, I could only smirk. My place sucked compared to this godly castle.
“I take it you like the place?” said a familiar voice.
“Tara!” I said, startled.
She walked up to me and smiled, her black hair let down, hanging over her shoulders, sleek as silk. She wore a red shirt with a faded gray design, blue jeans, and calf-high boots that fit snugly.
“I’m glad you made it. I didn’t know if you thought I was crazy or something.”
I sort of laughed. “It was good for me to get out of my apartment.”
She smiled again. “Well, why don’t we see what’s in that package.”
Where was her little boyfriend?
She turned heel and led me toward the commons, where tons of couches, chairs, and coffee tables were placed. I followed her to an annexed room and saw a package the size of a microwave resting on a glass table.
“So you haven’t opened it yet?” I asked.
“No, I wanted to wait for you.”
Tara carefully spread the two panels apart. She scrunched her face and then looked at me.
“What is it?” I asked, standing to get a better view as she tilted the box toward me.
Inside GenoTec’s package laid two, cylindrical devices, colored like cherry blossoms. They were placed in a squishy, porous material that cupped the cylinders perfectly. In the middle of the contraptions, a VisoNote was tucked into another cutout. VisoNote’s had pretty much replaced paper. Each Note was a thin, transparent, foldable message, able to store gigabits of information. The contents were accessed through touch, being able to shrink, expand, or process the text in any way.
“What in the world does this have to do with Vax?” I said, glued to the devices.
“Maybe this Note will tell us.” She reached inside and plucked the data sheet out of its place and started to unravel it. Once the material smoothed automatically, the Note illuminated and we read it together.
Mark Wenton and Tara Tracer, we congratulate you on being the first in Manhattan to sample a dosage of Vax. You are very lucky to have had the experience of being pioneers in this great undertaking to stop the dominion of Edge. To advance this new development in that process, we have taken steps to speed up the production of finding the last and final cure. One of those ways is what we call ‘collecting.’ Collecting is a very simple, easy way for us to take information regarding Vax and the population, and use it to make new discoveries about Edge.
In the coming days, there will be machines placed all over Manhattan. These machines are called ‘Vaxinators.’ The Vaxinators are the means by which people can retrieve their weekly dosage of Vax in an orderly fashion. What we are asking you two to accomplish for the next few months is a very simple task. In a sense, we are inviting you to become Temporary Volunteers. Every week, we would like you to gather information via the Vaxinators. You will use the devices, or Collectors, to receive the data, and the Collectors will send the data back to GenoTec for the furthering of our research.
We hope you will accept this responsibility to help the world become free from the chains of Edge once and for all. We ask that you read the directions within this Note, detailing how a Collector is used, where your stations will be, and what you can do if you have any problems. Join the effort and help us with the cleanse. Thank you, and remember, here at GenoTec, we are always coming up with better ways to save your life.
Archturus Slate, CEO
There was a long pause after we finished. I kept replaying the words in my mind, trying to satisfy my confusion. Tara scrolled down, revealing the directions.
“So we’re Volunteers now?” I asked. “Is this how they recruit?”
“It’s kind of exciting.” She reached into the box and pulled out a Collector.
“This se
ems like a job GenoTec could do from within the—” I looked at the Note again, “—Vaxinators anyways. It’s like they’re keeping tabs on us or something.”
She furrowed her brow, and then smiled. “Are you serious?”
“Never mind, I know it sounds stupid.”
She studied me. “I know it’s all come so fast,” she said, “and maybe we’ve all just been slaves to Edge so long that we can’t understand when GenoTec finally has something concrete.”
“No, it’s . . . never mind. I guess they already have tabs on us.” I looked over the directions one more time, completely embarrassed and a little mad.
Tara continued to look at me with her icy blue eyes, smiling curiously as if she wanted to unlock the vault to my soul. I realized then that we hadn’t really gotten to know each other. It was all business. Maybe that would change.
For the next while, we went over the directions. We were to collect together, never to use another Vaxinator that wasn’t on our list—to keep things “orderly.” We would place the nozzle of the Collector into the specified socket on the Vaxinator and it would claim the data. After that, the info would be automatically sent to GenoTec. Then, to reset it for the next station, there was a glyph on the touch screen.
Our places to visit were labeled with a corresponding mini-map. We were asked to collect from the Turnmont, a restaurant called Brankas, and two other prestigious high-rises: the Excelsior and the Constitution. Just as the letter described, we were to collect every week. The last paragraph detailed what we should do if something went wrong.
“If you are experiencing difficulties with your Collector,” I read aloud, “if it gets broken or lost, please contact a GenoTec Support Volunteer to help you resolve the matter.”
There was a small, square icon with a picture of a phone behind a “G.” They were just one tap away.
“I wonder what problems they might have, it seems pretty simple to me,” said Tara, pulling out the other Collector and setting it on the table before me. I lowered the data sheet and grabbed the cylindrical device. I handled it carefully, feeling the intricate nozzle, the sleek metal, and the crystal touch screen.