Days' End

by Scott L Collins

  A technician entered the room carrying a tray. He was an unremarkable young man, in his early thirties was Nysa’s guess. It was almost astonishing how plain he was, with no distinguishing characteristics at all to speak of. He quietly approached Nysa and set the tray down gently on the desk in front of her.

  “Your samples, Dr. Knight,” he said and quickly left the room.

  Nysa looked down into the tray. It contained fifteen to twenty swatches of cloth, each in its own bag. The cloth was white, or had been white at one time, and was very thinly worn. An odd sample for her, certainly not what she would expect if she were cloning an ancient species. Strange, though, that her sample would be on such old fabric. Maybe she would get her chance to clone Abraham Lincoln after all. “Que sera sera,” she thought. She wasn’t quite sure what she would get out of these pieces, but she was confident she would be able to extract enough DNA to form the complete strand required for cloning. While she searched through the swatches for the most promising pieces, the others in the lab meandered over to where she was sitting.

  “Cloning a person for sure,” announced Dr. Leyden as he sat down next to her and looked at the baggies.

  “How do you know that?” asked Laura.

  “I don’t know of any animals that wore clothes, do you?”

  “Um, no.” Laura turned away, obviously somewhat embarrassed by the condescending tone in his remark.

  “We’ll test it to be sure, but I believe you’re right, Doctor,” Nysa said flatly. She glared at him to ensure no further snide remarks. “Looks like we’re all here to clone the first human. Does anyone have a problem with that?” Nysa asked looking from one to the other. They all shook their heads. “Good. I’m going to the other labs to check with everyone else. I’d rather replace someone now than in the middle of the project when they find out what exactly we’re doing here.” Nysa could see the excitement in their eyes before she turned and walked briskly to the elevator.

  After visiting each of the labs to explain what the project probably was, she was surprised that not a single person had quit due to ethical or religious concerns over the cloning of a human being. While she wasn’t specifically opposed to human cloning, she knew it was a highly argued topic in the scientific community. Maybe Mr. Scario really was as good at selecting his employees as Mr. Stevens had indicated.

  “Well,” she thought, “at least there won’t be any delays while we replace personnel.” She hit the elevator button to return to the main lab.

  The rest of the day was dedicated to her primary reason for being there, the delicate task of separating the DNA from the cloth, chemicals, proteins, and other miscellaneous contaminates in the samples she had been provided. It was extremely tedious and nerve-wracking work, knowing that if she failed, not only would she lose her position, but the DNA might be forever lost.

  Her two assistants provided what help they could, however Nysa kept them at arms length, giving them only enough to do to keep them busy and out of her way. This was her big shot and she wasn’t going to blow it because one of her assistants caused irreparable damage to her work. The samples were proving to be extraordinarily difficult to work with, and the meager amounts of DNA she was able to locate were nearly impossible to isolate and remove.

  At the end of the day, the same technician who brought her the cloth swatches that morning returned. He waited patiently in front of her desk until she looked up.

  “I’m here to collect the samples and any DNA you might have recovered,” he stated blandly.

  “What?”

  “All samples and DNA must be returned at the end of the day for storage in the vault. Mr. Scario’s orders.”

  “Why?” Nysa asked.

  “I don’t know. I just do what I’m told, Dr. Knight. I can come back if you would like more time.”

  “No, now is fine,” snapped Nysa. “Give me a minute to put everything together.”

  Nysa spent the next ten minutes gathering everything together for the tech. When he was gone she looked over at Dr. Leyden who had spent the day on one of the lab computers. He gave her a shrug that said “Who knows?” and returned to his computer.

  Nysa returned to her room, undressed, and collapsed on the bed. She drifted off to sleep quickly and dreamed fitfully. She couldn’t remember much of her dreams the next morning, only that people had been yelling and throwing things at her and that she had been scared. She shrugged it off, showered, dressed, and got back to her labs.

  What an exquisite piece of work! Piero’s son truly is a master at his craft. I managed to have one of the priests sneak me in for a look at the piece, and while I have trained my eye over the years in examining art, even I have trouble differentiating the original from the replica. He has truly found his life’s work. I regret though, that the people I have used to sneak him in and out of the church must never be allowed to tell what they know. I have already taken the steps necessary to assure that my secret does not get out. Piero will be allowed to keep his son, he has done good work for me, but the others must be silenced. My sins continue to accumulate. How will I earn forgiveness for these? Judgment Day will be particularly difficult for me I think.

  February 1, 9:15 AM

  Los Angeles, CA

  Although Nysa had only been gone for a couple of days, Alastair missed her horribly. He’d had problems concentrating on his work all morning and had spent most of his time surfing the Internet reading news from around the world. Florida, California, Arizona, and New Mexico were all battling major fires that raged uncontrolled. Embers spit into the air were raining back down miles away, creating yet more fires for the already overmatched firefighters. The California fire alone had already claimed over two hundred homes and fifty businesses. Reports indicated it was only ten percent contained. Crews were being called in from other states to assist with the fight, but most had already sent what they could to one fire or another. The wildfire in Florida was currently the longest burning as it had been started almost two months ago. It had very quickly been determined to be the act of an arsonist and, although there were currently no suspects announced in the case, police insisted they were in possession of considerable evidence and it would only be a matter of time before a suspect was announced, arrested, and charges were filed. In South America, slash and burn farmers had lost control of their “burn” and had now managed to reduce roughly one hundred thousand acres of the rainforest to smoldering ash. Professional firefighters and equipment from all over the world were being flown in to assist in the efforts. Very little was actually being accomplished though. For every piece that the crews got contained, two more would break out down the line due to gusting winds and the difficult, uneven terrain. The only hope in sight was a storm that was expected to arrive later in the week.

  “Well done, jackasses,” muttered Alastair. “I hope they can put the fire out before you destroy another hundred thousand.”

  Rioting in Somalia, civil war in South Africa, and yet another fire sweeping through southern Russia. Alastair, tired of the bad news, locked his terminal and went downstairs for a cigarette.

  February 15, 8:00 AM

  Outside Castle Rock, CO

  She had spent the previous two weeks breaking down the samples, putting them in test tubes, extracting the DNA, centrifuging to isolate it, and repeating the process all over again. It was a blur of digest buffers, Proteinase K, Phenolchloroform, and centricons. Because of the improvements she had made in the Capillary Electrofreeze process, she was able to isolate and extract almost ten times the amount of DNA traditional means would produce.

  After twelve days of collecting the DNA fragments (she worked Saturdays but took Sundays off), she was looking forward to seeing what Dr. Leyden was capable of. She prayed that he was as good as he seemed to think he was. It would take a small miracle to put a full strand of DNA back together. The fragments she had recovered had been in very poor condition, very broken up. The sample was either extraordinarily old or had been stored in an e
xtremely unfriendly environment. She had consolidated her samples down into a minimal number of test tubes to reduce the clutter that was beginning to overtake the many tables of the lab.

  Nysa was sitting at one of the desks reviewing her handwritten notes and drinking a cup of coffee when the elevator gave its telltale ding. The doors opened and Dr. Leyden entered the room.

  “Time for you to work your magic, Doctor,” Nysa said as he approached her desk.

  “I’m not here for my sparking personality, now am I,” he replied dryly. “Where are the fragments?”

  “A technician should bring them shortly. He’s retrieving them from the vault.”

  “I really don’t understand why they lock them up every night. It’s not like anyone can go trotting off with them,” Dr Leyden replied. “I tried to go jogging the other day and almost wound up getting a body cavity search from the guards. Luckily, my charm saved me from such an unpleasant experience. Or maybe it was the chili I told them I had eaten the night before. Either way, my rectum was spared an unsavory violation at the hands of those gun-toting thugs.”

  Nysa almost shot her Café Mocha through her nose at the image of stuffy Dr. Leyden lying face down on an examination table having his colon probed by a burly security guard. Luckily, she kept her composure as she was sure he did not find it nearly as amusing.

  Dr. Leyden proceeded to his computer, sat down with his back to her, and tapped away loudly until the elevator announced the arrival of the next stage in the cloning process. The technician entered the room and again placed the materials on the desk in front of Nysa.

  “Dr. Leyden,” Nysa called. “Your jigsaw puzzle has arrived. Hope you have some time on your hands, because this one is going to be a doozy.”

  “Once again, Dr. Knight, my wit and good looks are not the reason I was flown out from sunny southern California to live in a dungeon, albeit a comfortable dungeon, in Colorado.”

  Dr Leyden walked over to Nysa’s desk and picked up what DNA she had been able to recover. He walked slowly to one of the machines she had previously been unable to identify. Nysa followed him.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “With the help of this beauty here—no, not you Laura, the machine—I’m going to map all of the DNA strands you have so kindly provided. I will then use a program of my own design to analyze the fragments and determine their proper sequence. After that I have to piece them all back together and replicate them. Presto, chango, you can have as much DNA as you want.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  The look he gave her would have frozen a lava flow.

  “For your information, even excluding the amount of work I put into creating this machine and the computer program I’ll use, I’m sure putting this mess back together far exceeds your capabilities. It may exceed mine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do if we’re going to finish this project and get back home.” He turned his back to her and began to prepare for the days and weeks ahead.

  Nysa spent the rest of the day visiting the other floors, helping out where she could. There were a number of preparations still being made for the later stages of the cloning process. She took Laura and Mary Alice with her as Dr. Leyden indicated he neither needed nor desired their assistance. They were glad to come along and help. The whole idea of cloning a human and being part of the process had them practically vibrating with enthusiasm, and although they were still a bit green, they wound up being far more useful than Nysa had anticipated. With their gung-ho attitude, they were willing to do tasks the others had been putting off.

  During their rounds they encountered Nysa’s neighbor and new friend, Jacqueline, in the elevator. Introductions had been brief and most of the ride had been spent in silence. The two young technicians were stand-offish and avoided not only conversation, but also any form of eye contact with Jacqueline. Exiting the elevator, Mary Alice and Laura began gossiping about Jacqueline’s purpose at the facility. Nysa cut their debate short.

  “Let’s focus on the task at hand, and not worry about the office hearsay,” Nysa interjected into the conversation. The two younger women stopped and looked at Nysa. “I don’t know much more than you do about Jacqueline, but I don’t like rumors and won’t tolerate them in my presence.”

  “Sorry,” came the reply from the two assistants as they dropped their gaze to the floor.

  “Just try to consider her position. She seems to be outside her element, with a bunch of people she doesn’t know. How would you feel in her shoes?” Besides, Nysa thought, nobody knew anything about anybody in this place. For the most part everyone kept to themselves, did their work, and returned to their rooms alone. Actually, for the most part, outside of the main lab most of the staff seemed to be spending their time going to the spa, exercising outside, or watching movies and reading in their rooms. Why should Jacqueline be singled out for scrutiny?

  By the time they returned to the main lab that evening, everything was well on its way to being in place for the next phase. The one question that seemed to be on everyone’s mind was when would the DNA be ready? Only then would the subsequent steps be necessary. At this point, that question was in the hands of one man. When they arrived, that man, Dr. Leyden, was still sitting at his mapping equipment.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said as she entered the room.

  “What, what’s wrong?” said Nysa somewhat startled.

  “This is a friggin’ mess, that’s what. Do you know what he’s asking me to do here? To use your analogy from earlier, he wants me to put together a billion-piece jigsaw puzzle—and that’s not the worst part.”

  “What is?” the three women asked in unison.

  “It’s like a picture of a black cat in a dark room. Fuck. Screw it, I’m done for the day. You want to hang around and wait for little Mr. FedEx Jr. to pick this up and take it back to the vault?” Dr. Leyden stood and paced the room, rubbing at his short hair.

  “Sure,” replied Nysa. “You look like you could use some rest. Go have a beer,” she suggested as he entered the elevator.

  “Or twelve,” muttered Mary Alice. “And get laid while you’re at it.” They all burst out laughing then sat down at one of the desks to wait for someone to retrieve the samples.

  Although not what I intended, the results were quite entertaining. I meant only to burn down Mr. Thomas Farriner’s bakery in order to rid myself of a man who became too nosy for his own good. What I got was a brilliant inferno as the flames jumped from rooftop to rooftop. As exhilarating as the commotion was, my initial purpose for starting the fire was a failure. That problem was remedied shortly thereafter in a much more direct method. As an added bonus, my involvement will never even be suspected thanks to Mr. Robert Hubert. I’m not sure who he is or why he confessed, but he is to be put to death for the crime, thus bringing to an end any investigations.

  February 15, 9:45 PM

  Los Angeles, CA

  Alastair had yet another crappy day at work. He was getting his work done, but it had lost some of its appeal. He normally got wrapped up in his job and the days flew by. Since Nysa had left however, he had been dragging through the days. The worst part of it was not being able to just lift up the phone and hear her voice.

  He was lounging on the couch in his boxer briefs and t-shirt waiting for the 10 o’clock news when he remembered the box. He got up, went to the bedroom, grabbed the box, and returned to the couch. He shoved the McDonald’s wrappers out of the way and set the box on the coffee table. He didn’t know what to expect, but a shoebox full of envelopes definitely hadn’t been it. He grabbed the first one and opened it.

  “Dearest Alastair,

  I don’t know when you’ll read this but know that I miss you horribly. Please try to remember that we are doing this for us, for our future. I am doing everything I can to get back to you as soon as possible. I love you more than I know how to express. I hope to see you soon. Dream of me.

  Love,

  Nysa

&n
bsp; P.S. There is a memory card also in the envelope you just opened that contains some pictures. Have very good dreams of me.”

  Alastair put the letter back in the envelope and pulled out the memory card, turning it slowly between his fingers. He was about to get up and go to the computer when the top of the news came on. The picture was of a mountainside that looked as though half of it had been ripped off. Lava flowed freely from the gaping wound.

  “Holy shit!” Alastair set the card on the table.

  “Our top story this evening: A volcano erupted roughly 15 minutes ago on the island of La Palma at the western end of the Canary Islands. The volcano, Cumbre Vieja, has virtually exploded, dropping a large slab of rock into the Atlantic Ocean. Current satellite photos show a tsunami estimated at two hundred feet traveling at close to three hundred fifty miles per hour headed toward the eastern seaboard. The enormous wave is destroying everything in its path and is expected to hit the U.S. in a little more than four hours. Everyone within two miles of the coast is being urged by authorities to evacuate immediately and move inland. Let’s go out to the field to our correspondent, Justin Frame, standing by in Newark, New Jersey.” The image switched over to a young reporter standing in the midst of chaos. Although quite evident given the situation portrayed in the background of the video, the anchorman asked the question anyway. “Justin, how are people reacting to this news?”

  Alastair stopped listening. What if Nysa was on the East Coast? He had no idea where she was, but if she was cut off from the outside world, would she even know about the tsunami? He had no way to get word to her, as she had no cell phone or computer that he was aware of. He stood up and paced throughout the apartment. How could he make sure she was out of harm’s way?

  He stopped short. The tower at the airport must have some record of the flight she had taken. If he could find out the destination of said flight, he would have an idea if she was safe or not. After searching the apartment for five minutes looking for the damn phone, he finally went to the base to page it and found it charging on its cradle. He picked it up and called information. Having obtained the phone number for the Santa Monica Airport he dialed, put the phone to his ear, and waited impatiently for someone to answer.