Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1)

by Alexa Hamilton

  “Woah. Watch it.” James reached out and held her. “Stay with me. Or you’ll fall.”

  She squeezed the back of his neck, taking slow, deep breaths.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded doubtfully and pulled herself back up over the ledge. “The device is in that pit. Down there.” She pointed. “If we’re lucky, Flora will be down there too. It’s the best place to start. If anything happens we can hide behind those trees.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he replied. “Now is as good as any.”

  Fighting panic, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself over the rock. She made her way down the other side quickly and quietly. She would have felt more comfortable sashaying through a firing squad. Finally, she reached the cover of the greenery.

  James was right behind. They waited and listened for a few seconds before carefully making their way over by the hole. They stopped at the very edge of the leafy cover and craned their necks. All was clear.

  “I’ll go,” she said, hoping to sound brave. She and James had a deal, but she was suddenly feeling guilty for dragging him into this.

  Her heart was pounding and her stomach twisted inside out as she crawled over to the dark mouth. A screech came from the trees to her right. She almost tore off, but it was just a bird, so she released a sigh and went on. Hugging the ground, she placed her hands at the edge of the hole and slowly leaned over, the space below exposing itself like a passing eclipse.

  Empty.

  Her eyes brushed over the crusty slags of pine branches scattered in the dirt. There were footprints, large, man-sized feet deeply stamped into the earth. She inhaled, smelling a faint odor of human waste. A deluge of gruesome memories swept into her mind, filling it like a cup in a tidal wave: the long nights, darker than death, her hips being ground into the mud by a suffocating mass, the humiliating acts each worse than the one before. Dizzy, she crawled back into the brush where James waited.

  “Nobod—“ she struggled, her throat dry like sandpaper. “It’s empty.”

  They looked through the branches at the mouth of the cave, dark and all-consuming. If Flora was alive, she was deep inside its swarthy throat.

  Mevia pressed her hand against her forehead. Despite the heat, she was cold and clammy. “Listen James.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t go back down into that hole. You’ll have to do it.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I understand. Just tell me where the device is and I’ll get it.”

  She looked at him, hoping to appear more grateful than nauseous. “You’ll see a pile of rocks in the corner. It’s under those.”

  James’ eyebrows scrunched. “You think it’s still there? They might have found it.”

  Mevia shook her head. “I doubt it. They never searched or cleaned the pit. They only came down there to pull us out.”

  James peaked over the bush, his eyes moving side to side, scanning the area. “Ok,” he whispered. “You stay here and I’ll be right back.” He hesitated and then hustled away.

  Mevia lost sight of him beyond the brush. She held her breath listening for trouble. From somewhere, a familiar bird she called a ghostcrow—not knowing its real name—squawked, it’s chilling shrill sounding more like screaming than a call. Occasionally she heard its cry when out in the jungle, but had never actually seen one. She searched through the maze of trees but could still find nothing.

  What’s taking him so long? She tried picturing him in the hole, digging through the rocks, but then she didn’t like thinking the bottom of the pit and tried to imagine something else.

  There was a rustle in the bushes and James came scrambling back. “I found it.” He was breathing hard, looking exhilarated. He held up the three inch piece with the two copper colored prongs glinting in the sunlight. Pulling his device from the pack, he connected the two pieces. Nothing happened. “Did it get wet?” he asked, frowning.

  “I don’t think so.” Mevia turned away, suddenly the device was the least of her concerns and James’ obsession was grinding on her nerves.

  “It’s solar powered,” he muttered. “I guess the battery’s dead.”

  “I have to go inside,” Mevia said more firmly than she felt.

  James’ head snapped up. “Up there? No, it’s too dangerous.”

  “I don’t have a choice. We need to find Flora. Besides, they’re probably out hunting.”

  He sighed. “Ok. But at least let me go in while you stay here.”

  “No.” She shook her head firmly. “I’m ok now. This is my mission. She’s my friend.” He didn’t look convinced. “Besides,” she continued, “I know my way around that cave. I’ll be fast. You need to stay here and keep watch.”

  James let out a low groan, indicating he knew she was right, but still didn’t like it. “Fine. But what do I do if I see them coming?”

  “Throw a rock inside. I’ll be listening. Once you see me come out, high tail it back up the ridge. I’ll be just behind. Got it?”

  He wiped some sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, his pupils still large from adrenaline. “Ok. Just…just be careful.”

  Mevia got into a kneeling position, and like a squirrel crossing a field, she did one more check and then scurried out of the bushes, up the rock and into the cave.

  Chapter 33

  Eli

  Eli sat in the sterile office staring at nothing. He had been waiting for twenty minutes and had grown bored after five, but because the gate keeper of a secretary made it nearly impossible to get in, he accepted the wait as acquiescently as a family dog.

  The small room was bare as a bleached bone, everything white except the glass desk. The only color contrast was the black ink from the seven diplomas hanging on the wall, and even those were framed in clean white.

  The view was about as thrilling as the inside of an egg, however he took its reticence as a good sign that he’d come to the right place. In his experience, a man revealing so little had much to hide.

  However, the lack of distraction wasn’t helping Eli forget his hunger. He’d taken to skipping breakfast and only packing enough lunch to top off his growling stomach. By his estimation he had just enough rations to last him until his next delivery—assuming they delivered on time, which was unlikely. He had a better chance of seeing coconuts fly.

  So now here I am, he thought, sitting in a cold office like a dolt admiring paint strokes.

  No e-screens. No files. Nothing to indicate a working office. Either this guy spent all day in his lab, or he was hiding something, or both. This meeting was going to be interesting.

  The door opened. Eli eagerly turned to see the famous Dr. Hersche.

  “Sergeant Jackson. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He moved past Eli, going around to his desk, barely glancing up, giving only a brief, tight smile which certainly didn’t look very sorry.

  Dr. Hersche looked older than in the photos Eli had recovered in his research. In the articles he had poured through covering the doctor’s extensive genetic experiments and discoveries, including when working with Eli’s own parents, Hersche had appeared bright-eyed, intense, with a bushel of jet black hair. Now the man before him was in his mid-fifties, grey and balding, but with sprigs of wiry hair still splaying from the sides of his head. His eyes were cast apathetically down at a chart he held in a pale hand. The only thing that was similar to the pictures was his bushy black eye brows which had no arch, instead sat evenly like two dashes across his forehead.

  Eli stood and reached to shake his hand, a gesture that was ignored, leaving his palm floating awkwardly mid-air.

  Dr. Hersche probably wasn’t going to be very gracious with his schedule.

  “I haven’t got much time today,” said Hersche. “You understand. Take a seat.” He sat down behind the glass desk.

  “I understand.”

  Hersche then proceeded to adjust the collar on his white lab coat no fewer than five times. He removed the four pens from his pocket, spreading them out upon the crystal clear t
able and with his fingertips made adjustments on their placement as though they were silverware at a fine dining table.

  Who uses pens anymore? Thought Eli.

  “What can I do for you, Jackson?”

  “Thank you for seeing me Dr. Hersche,” he began.

  “My pleasure,” he replied without looking up.

  He must be one of those weird mad scientist types. Eli decided. He cut to the chase. “You knew my parents.”

  “Yes,” he answered without pause.

  Hm. It sounded like he was anticipating that particular question.

  Eli continued. “You worked with both of them quite extensively I understand.”

  “A long, long time ago.”

  Eli rested his elbows on the chair’s arms and leaned forward. “Then you must know: What, exactly, did they infect me with?”

  Dr. Hersche dropped one of the pens and met Eli’s eyes for the first time. His mouth opened as if to speak, but then snapped shut again leaving his face fixed in an almost dunce-like expression.

  “Sir, are you all right?” Eli raised an eyebrow. He was getting to him. Good. Now that he had the key in the door, all he had to do was turn the lock.

  Hersche scratched his head. “I’m fine. It’s just that, well,” he blinked twice, “that wasn’t the question I was expecting.”

  “And what question were you expecting, may I ask?”

  Hersche smiled tightly again. “I was under the assumption you came here to ask me about Medusa.”

  “I don’t care to know any more of Medusa nor my parent’s hand in creating the virus.”

  Hersche frowned, pushing his eye-brows into a single, flat line. He folded his hands and tapped them to his chin as if in prayer. After a moment he spoke, “Out of curiosity, why not?”

  “I can’t change the past. Besides, I have bigger problems other than the shame they put upon our family.”

  “Like what?”

  Eli’s stomach grumbled. He felt compelled to do something with his hands so he squeezed the middle button of his jacket. “Like the fact that I am physically unable to eat anything from the Corps.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Eli stiffened. What’s this guy’s deal? He thought. First he pretended to be curious and now he’s playing dumb. Alright let’s try being a little more direct. “The injection. I know they told you about it beforehand,” he lied.

  Hersche eyed Eli and then slowly shook his head.

  “Sir,” Eli gestured, “I’m not trying to insult you, but it was a long time ago. You don’t have to worry about discretion in this matter.”

  Dr. Hersche frowned deeply, but not in an angry way, but more like he was solving a difficult equation. “Sergeant, I assure you I haven’t a clue what you are talking about.”

  Eli stared back. From the look on Hersche’s face, he was telling the truth. Eli cleared his throat. Perhaps hunger was throwing him off his game, but for once, he was unsure how to proceed. “You really don’t know?” The button he was gripping popped off in his hand. He looked down at the pathetic little disc with its tattered string fraying at the edges, his uniform gaping at the stomach. He stuffed the button in his pocket. “They didn’t tell you? But you were a team. I read in my research that the three of you used to spend hours, days in the lab side by side.” He hoped his voice sounded steadier out loud than it did in his head.

  Hersche slowly shook his head ‘no.’ “Mr. Jackson. I truly don’t understand what it is you’re asking me.” He leaned forward in his chair, the edge of his lab coat resting upon the now crooked pens.

  Eli sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I came here hoping you could help me figure out what my parents used to infect me.”

  “Infect you?”

  “Yes, and I was hoping you could fix it.”

  Hersche closed his eyes and touched his temple. “I’m still confused.”

  Eli explained how just before his parents killed themselves they had given him a shot. “Then they went out and jumped off the roof of the Medi-Corp building. The same building you used to work in.”

  Hersche waved his hand. “I know that part. And have some respect. They were your parents after all.”

  “They were nuts.”

  Hersche said nothing, only glanced nervously around the room. “It’s probably best we don’t talk about your parents. Medusa was a terrible mistake.”

  Eli was about to continue but then he realized what Hersche had actually said, “Mistake? Wait.” He moved to the edge of his seat. “Are you saying Medusa was made by accident?”

  The doctor immediately grew nervous. “No no no. That’s not what I meant. I just meant it was wrong. It was wrong of your parent’s to create the virus.” His eyes darted back and forth.

  Eli studied him, feeling a bit more like he had regained his footing. “And what about you? You helped them.”

  Hersche gave him a stern look. “I was mis-lead about the virus’ intentions. I was cleared during the Congressional trial. I’m sure you found as such in your research, young man.”

  Interesting. His response seemed scripted, almost legal. Probably it was a line that was fed to him by an attorney.

  Better to let the subject of Medusa go. Eli thought. Those answers aren’t the ones I want. “Regardless, that’s not why I came here.”

  Hersche went back to his pens, but now his movements were jerky, clumsy. “Right. Right. You were telling me of your issue? Something about the food?”

  “Yes, the food. I can’t eat anything that is produced by the Corps. Back in the Slags where I grew up we—Mevia and I. She’s my, well never mind. Mevia and I used to grow our own food off of our balconies. We even had a couple of chickens.”

  “Inventive.” For the first time Hersche had a somewhat pleasant look on his face.

  “That’s all I could eat after my parents gave me that shot. At first, I was ok, but then I got sicker and sicker. The more I ate, the worse I got. Luckily I figured it out before it was too late.”

  “Smart kid.”

  “Actually, I finally put it together because of something my mom said to me the night they died.”

  “And what was that?”

  Eli still remembered every word perfectly. “She said, ‘It all starts in the seeds, Eli. Find the seeds.’”

  Dr. Hersche leaned back in his chair. He pressed his fingers together and was frowning as if Eli was speaking a language he could not decipher.

  “Anyway, I was fine eating the home grown foods. Mevia ate them too along with some of her rations, the ones we didn’t use for bartering. ‘Boxes of toxins.’ she always called them.” He smiled. “My point is, now that I’m here in CorMand, I’m starving to death because I can’t eat anything!”

  “Have you spoken to Food Serv--?”

  “Yes! Only about a thousand times. They process mine special, but they can’t ever seem to deliver it. I tried to start my own garden but that project got squelched.” Eli stood up and paced back and forth. Heat came bubbling from within just thinking about his conversation with Villus. “I don’t know where else to go. I need to get rid of this thing inside of me.” He hit his chest with the palms of his hands.

  “Alright, alright Mr. Jackson.”

  “Eli.”

  “Eli. Why don’t you sit back down?” Hersche gave a hint of a smile and gestured to the seat.

  Eli did so sheepishly, his cheeks burning. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I haven’t had breakfast.”

  “Neither have I.” Hersche chuckled softly.

  Eli smiled.

  Hesche straightened out his pens and put them back in his pocket. He studied Eli, and then spoke slowly, formally. “I’ll help you figure out what your parents injected you with. I might even be able to counteract the condition.”

  “Thank you,” Eli said with relief.

  “I can’t promise anything though. Your condition could be irreversible.”

  “I hope not, but I know that’s a possibility.”

  “Good,” Her
sche stood up.

  “When do we start?”

  He appeared to be taken off guard. “Um, well, I’ll need to run some tests on you, but we’ll have to work after hours. My superiors won’t be very keen on my working privately with the son of William and Daphne Jackson, you see?”

  “I understand.”

  Hersch rubbed his chin. “I’ll call you.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. Be patient. We have to be discrete.”

  Eli nodded.

  Hershe moved toward the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Eli.”

  Eli beat him to it and opened the door, following him into the hall. Once again he extended his hand but Hersche side stepped it shaking his head. “No, no. I don’t think so,” he muttered before shutting the door with his foot and heading down the hall.

  Eli smiled, watching the hob-knobbed way he walked, his movements clumsy and jerky, expelling more energy than needed. Mad scientist indeed.

  As soon as Eli reached the ground floor, and stepped out of the elevator, his handheld rang. It was a colleague friend, Marc.

  “Yo, Eli there’s a guy over at security asking for you.”

  Eli frowned. “Who? A guard? Is this about the Domestic security bug? Because I told those guys it wouldn’t be ready until the end of the day.”

  “No man. It’s some wacko that’s shouting your name.”

  “What? There must be some mistake.” This was just what he needed after talking to Hersche. “I don’t know any…wackos. Why would I know anybody like that?” he added, not sure why he felt the need to convince Marc.

  “Hell, you don’t know anyone at all, buddy.” Marc laughed. It was a long standing joke that Eli was from the Slags and therefore had no childhood friends in the Corps, unlike his co-workers who all seemed to be bred from the same private school and whose fathers were fraternity brothers. “Naw, Eli. Just messing with you. Anyway, you better go down to security and get it straightened out. Apparently he’s claiming you owe him money.”

  Eli grew cold. He cleared his dry throat. “H-he asked for me?”

  “For you specifically. I take it you know this guy?”