by J D Jacobs
The five of us make it to the small house that Camila and Isaac headed toward earlier today. Ricardo motions for us to stay outside as he goes in and gets his kids to come with us for dinner. This is my chance to try and befriend Camila. I have the feeling that if anyone will tell me anything about the secrets this city is hiding from us, it’d be her.
“What’d y’all talk about, Jenkins?” Cody asks from behind the group. Cody has been walking much slower than us, and he looks terribly agitated. I walk back next to him to ease his discomfort.
“That is none of your concern, Mr. Goodwin,” Jenkins responds. “And I would prefer if you call me Mr. Jenkins. I am your elder and demand your respect.”
Cody gives a snide snicker and turns to me, out of earshot from Jenkins. “Ricardo must not have let him down easy.”
Jenkins must’ve heard Cody, as he turns around on the balls of his feet and squints at Cody. The two look bitterly unfiltered with their mutual feelings for each other. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be…” He stops, then shakes his head and turns back around. “My apologies. It’s been a long day for me. I only ask that you not talk about Britt Solomon around me. That’s all.”
I’m shocked that Jenkins is apologizing in the first place, but a bit more suspicious with why he doesn’t want us to talk about Britt. “I’m sorry. I was the one who brought him up. Did you know him?”
He takes a deep breath. “You could say that.” Before he continues, Ricardo comes out, pushing Camila out the door as Isaac follows closely behind him.
“We’re meeting Reggie and Lucas at the restaurant. They’ll be joining us, too. They’ll guide us on the tour of the research lab afterwards.”
“The more the merrier!” Jenkins excitedly tells him, displaying his uncanny ability to switch personalities rather quickly. “Which way is the, what’d you say it was called, the La Cab Ease…?”
“La Cabeza del Alce,” Ricardo corrects him. “It’s a fine restaurant about five blocks from here. Not too far of a walk.”
Ricardo leads the way, pushing Camila along in front of him. I catch up with the two. “Excuse me, Mr. Ricardo, would you mind if I push Camila while we go?”
Camila turns around in her chair, rejecting my offer with her eyes. “What if I don’t want your nappy hands anywhere close to me?”
“Camila, how many times do I have to tell you to be nice?” Ricardo calmly asks. “I see no trouble with Mr. Foxx pushing you. He’s being a gentleman for asking. It won’t hurt for you to make a friend, Camila!” Ricardo steps away from his daughter and allows me to take his place.
Ricardo falls back with the rest of the group, telling them about the buildings we walk by and acting as their own personal tour guide. I begin pushing Camila, who sits with her arms folded. “Can I ask why exactly you hate me?”
“Well,” she begins, discontent obvious in her tone, “it’s pretty simple: you’re too young for me to respect, and I hope to God that I’m too young for you to date. I have no reason to talk to you, you have no reason to talk to me, so why waste our time?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being friends, is there?” I ask.
“There is when half your face looks like Freddy Krueger and the other half looks like French vanilla.” I guess nothing I say is safe around her.
I look down to her little brother, who is inattentive to both Ricardo’s tour guide and mine and his sister’s conversation. He remains quiet, focused on the road ahead of us.
“What about your brother, Isaac?” I ask Camila, loud enough for him to answer if he wants. “He isn’t as mean as you, is he?”
“Isaac doesn’t talk to anyone that he isn’t blood-related to,” Camila answers me. “Unfortunately, that makes me the only one.”
I look over my shoulder and make sure to lower my voice before asking the next question. “What about Mr. Ricardo? I know y’all can’t be blood-related, but he called you and Isaac his kids. What’s the story behind that?”
Camila slams her feet in the ground and digs her heels in the asphalt in front of us, slowing us down tremendously. I struggle to keep up with the pace I had, but I end up being dragged to the back of the group, right behind Cody.
“Are you stupid? He was right next to us. Why are you asking those questions about him?” She shakes her head in disgust. “God almighty, white people just don’t think sometimes.”
“What are y’all talking about?” Cody butts in.
Camila rolls her eyes. “Oh great, now this clown wants to get in on the mix.”
Cody shrugs with a scoff, unimpressed with the insult. I can easily tell that Cody’s lack of negative reaction throws Camila off, because she continues. “We’re talking about my ‘dad’ up there. Anybody with functioning eyes can see he’s not my dad. He took us in when we got to Avvil. He…” She digs her heels in the ground to drive us out of earshot from anyone else in the group. “He lost his kids in Avvil. He blames Britt Solomon for it.”
“Ricardo told me that he and Solomon were friends. If so, why would Britt Solomon be to blame for his kids’ death?” I ask.
“Jesus, Scarface, do I look like Wikipedia? I don’t know the answer to everything.” Camila is starting to become easier to read. She wants to appear tough by acting rude, but she also wants to share what she knows with people. I can read it from her eyes. She must not talk to many people in this city.
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” I confess. “What about this place we’re going to eat. Is it any good?”
“It’s garbage,” she answers. “Just like every other eating place in this city: garbage. Avvil’s been out of meat for a while so everything in the city is vegetarian. All the food we have left is what we grow in the city’s gardens. But they pretty it up and make it look appetizing, so your kale pudding won’t look as disgusting as it sounds.”
Cody visibly grimaces. “I’m guessing that’s why y’all needed suits, so y’all could find meat or anything other than kale?”
Camila gives a small laugh halfway through Cody’s sentence. “You guys sound weird with all the ‘y’all’ business. You guys are from the heart of the deep south, aren’t you?”
Cody and I say “Mississippi” at the same time, but I then tell her that the city we’re now living in is in Illinois.
“Illinois, huh?” she asks. “I’ve heard of it. The other people we had said something about a city in Illinois. I’m assuming it was you guys that they were talking about.”
Cody and I look at each other, then back at Camila. “What do you mean ‘other people?’” Cody asks what’s blaring in my mind.
“Oh, you guys didn’t know? I assumed Papa Ricardo would have mentioned it to you by now.” Camila looks in front of us to make sure no one is listening. “A group of people from Colorado came and visited us about four weeks ago…”
“…well?” I anxiously ask.
“Well what? They came, gave us a few high-fives, we returned the favor, big whoop. Haven’t heard from them since. They could’ve died on the way back to Colorado for all we know.”
“So y’all didn’t do anything with them?” I ask. “They didn’t come to boost the morale of the city or liven the spirits of the people here?”
Camila sneers. “Is that why you think you guys are here? Come on, people here don’t have a clue who you are; don’t know that you guys are even out-of-town. How you going to ‘boost the morale’ if you blend perfectly in with the crowd?”
“If that’s not why we’re here, then why are we?”
“Hey, I’m not the one who told you some BS so you would agree to fly to a new city. Maybe there’s some actual secret reason you guys are here, maybe not. I don’t know and I don’t care.”
15.
We make it to La Cabeza del Alce, which I find out translates to “The Moose’s Head,” as signified by the giant mounted moose with broad antlers in the center of the restaurant. The people in the restaurant all wave and say hello to Ricardo, and he tries to greet as many pe
ople as he can. A few people say hey to us, but again, it’s out of courtesy, not out of recognition. Camila is right: these people have no clue who we are. If she’s correct, and coming here to boost morality was simply a lie Jenkins told me, then why are we here? It’s been burning in my mind, and I can tell it’s been doing the same to Cody.
We meet Reggie and Lucas at a large table in a separate room from the rest of the restaurant. Reggie and Lucas had been friends for decades before the Cozmin spread, and now they’re studying the Cozmin together in the research lab. Their situation reminds me of Cody and me, so it’s good to see someone survive the apocalypse with their friend still with them. Reggie is super eager to show us the research lab once we finish eating. My anticipation is pathetic compared to his.
Lucas tells us that most of the studies they have been deducing have revolved around the egotoning process. Lucas believes that if they can master and control the egotoning process, then they will be able to control the body’s reaction to the Cozmin disease. In other words, they’re taking a backwards approach. Who knows, if it works, that’d be great.
Ricardo tells us about the origins of La Cabeza del Alce, how Britt Solomon had prepared years-worth of food for it but had not planned for 7,000 people to consume it. Luckily, they have a very large gardening area, and summer is the time that they harvest most of their crops. Ricardo is hoping that they can store some of the surplus food and hold it over into the winter. Either way, Ricardo says that the people in Avvil are going to become malnourished soon from lack of essential nutrients if they don’t begin searching above the city for food. Jenkins tells him that all meat from deceased animals is still surprisingly edible, so they should be able to find nearby farms and solve that problem. Maybe the real reason we came here was only to give them the suits so they could survive.
Stewart seems to be asking the most questions. He’s traveled all over the place since he is a Scav, but he can’t contain his curiosity with the entire concept of Avvil. I don’t blame him, but he’s stalling from asking the important questions, such as “why was there a man shooting at us for discovering a secretly hidden floor?” I feel like that question alone is a lot more imperative than where Britt Solomon shot this insanely large moose at.
Cody and I have kept rather quiet, whispering back-and-forth to each other about things that only we should know: “should we ask Camila about the floor?” or “what happened to the people from Colorado and how did we not know about them?” I thought about bringing up the subject of the Colorado people at the table, but I’m afraid it will cause more questions and drama.
Isaac just sits quietly by himself, staring at the fork in front of him.
Our food finally comes out. My plate is a squash casserole with a side of corn-on-the-cob and fried eggplant slices. Camila was right: the food isn’t very tasty, but it looks pretty. Good thing I’m never hungry, because I took a total of four bites. I suppose you can’t be too picky about your food in the apocalypse. We let Ricardo pay for all of our food and we head out.
The research lab isn’t far from La Cabeza del Alce, and we get there shortly.
“Here we are!” Reggie tells us as we approach a large, bricked building. “We’ve spent many hours in this building studying this disease, we really have! I’m excited to show you the progress we’ve made!”
“Oh really? Couldn’t tell,” Cody whispers in my ear. Camila overhears him and shakes her head.
We head into the building, make our way through a few doors, and then reach the main lab. Lucas takes over the tour duties, as he informs us of the purpose and goal of every machine, station, and room. None of what he shows us sounds close to finding a cure.
“This is our Cozmin centrifuge,” Lucas tells us, leading us to an oddly-shaped machine that somewhat looks like a CD player. “With it, we’re able to directly extract the Cozmin virus from the blood of those that have egotoned.” He reaches down and grabs one of the vials filled with blood and twirls in his fingers. “Then with the person’s clean blood, we are able to perform an autologous blood injection back into the patient that we drew the blood from.”
“Does this stop somebody from egotoning?” Stewart asks.
“I wish,” Lucas answers. “Before our experiences, autologous blood injections were mainly used to help aid and repair damaged body tissues in a patient. However, we use them simply to inject clean blood back in the bloodstream. As long as the clean blood is able to enter the system, then the violent phase of the egotoning process is deterred.”
“Wait,” I say, “I thought you just said that it doesn’t stop them from egotoning?”
“It doesn’t. This autologous blood injection only occurs once a patient has already begun to egotone–not before they’ve grown violent, but right as they feel the Cozmin enter their system and they start feeling tremendous pain. By cleansing a vial of infected blood and then injecting the clean blood back into the patient, we are able to pause the process of egotoning. That does not rid of the process altogether, though. We are only able to halt the egotoning process as long as we are able to inject clean blood into the patient and have it continuously circulate.”
I take a step closer to the centrifuge to get a better look. Blood-filled vials occupy the centrifuge’s chambers. “So the blood in these vials belong to people who have egotoned?”
“Not necessarily,” Reggie says. “Some do, but some of those vials belong to healthy people as a back-up plan. You know, in case they were to egotone, then we’d already have their clean blood drawn. We have blood vials belonging to almost everybody in Avvil.”
“What’s this room go to?” Cody asks curiously as he’s wandered off and is now studying a pair of doors that are tightly sealed shut.
“Erh, nothing of importance,” Lucas speaks up after both him and Reggie stammer over their words for a response.
“You guys suck at hiding things. Come on, show us what’s in here.”
“My apologies, but that room is off-limits to the public,” Reggie’s words sprint out at Cody.
“Show us,” I perk up, curious to find out what they’re hiding. “We brought you protective suits to keep your city alive, the least you could do is show us what’s in this room. We’re only going to be here for a couple of days, anyway.” I’m afraid I come off as too demanding, and Jenkins throws me a sharp scowl as a way to tell me to shut up.
Lucas looks over to Ricardo for a decision. Ricardo gives a light shrug, and Lucas walks over to the pair of doors.
Lucas approaches a small speaker box that’s placed on the wall next to the door. The box asks for a phrase, and he answers by saying “Polly says her back hurts” into the speaker. The doors slide open.
Lucas looks back at us, seeing our curious faces. “Those are lyrics. One of my favorite songs.” Our unfamiliarity causes him to shake his head in disbelief and walk through the doors.
The room we enter is dark and large, with three dim lights shining over three separate glass cubes that serve as cells. In each of the three cells is a person.
“What’s this?” I ask, pacing over to a cell that has a young boy sitting up on a small mattress that serves as the only decoration in his cell. The boy has nothing on but a thin, white hospital gown and a strange, magenta bracelet on his wrist. Once I’m noticed, he crawls toward me, too weak to stand up.
“He’s begun to egotone,” Lucas answers, stroking his red beard. “These people in these cubes, they’re already lost. Right now, they are in the pre-egotone stage. They have not lost their consciousness that turns them into violent people. Yet.” He walks over to the glass wall and places his hand on the cell. The boy, who is probably ten, looks up at us and screams. The soundproof cube is able to conceal most of his wails.
“Why would you do this to these people?” Cody asks as he reaches the glass.
“They’re not violent yet, they are still sane,” Reggie says in defense. “We were able to inject their clean blood and keep them from fully egotoning. They’re
still the same people they were when they contracted the virus, just–”
“Just rolling in pain.” I interrupt him. “This is torture. You said it yourself, Lucas, there’s no hope in stopping the egotoning process altogether, so why even do this? These people are begging for death! Look at him!”
The boy has now begun to cry, his fingers stabbing into his hair. His muffled, innocent cries only make me angrier with what they’re doing to him.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Cody yells in front of a different cell across the room. I make my way to the cell he’s at and see the woman that greeted us earlier, Jeanette, kneeling in front of us. She pounds the glass cube with her fists and begs Cody and I for help. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her bleeding lips are mouthing “kill me.” “She got sick this morning! She hasn’t been in this cell for twelve hours and she’s already this bad. How long have these other two been in here? Days? Weeks!?”
“Mr. Goodwin, please settle down,” Jenkins tries calming Cody.
“Yes, please hear us out,” Lucas says as he holds up his hands to try and control the situation. “I know it sounds inhumane, but this is our way of studying the Cozmin. If we can find a way to prevent these people from going into the destructive outrage portion of the egotoning process, then we may have found a way to stop the process altogether.”
I approach the third glass cell. This one has an old, Asian man in a fetal position, lying underneath his mattress. I think back to how frustrated I initially was to have tests done on me multiple times with nowhere to go. But this… this is far worse. I feel foolish for even comparing the two situations. “This is wrong, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Cody says, walking toward the door. “I think I’m calling it a night.”
“Look,” Ricardo cuts in, “please don’t be offended by our experiments. We are doing this with the best intentions: to save the future of the human race. We are now undergoing desperate measures, and this is the only study that shows any form of progress. Please do not mistake us for savages; we are only doing this for the betterment of the human population as a whole.”