Gaia Dreams (Gaiaverse Book 1)

by Pamela Davis

  She sighed and closed out the file she'd retrieved from the internet--something about bioengineering that was too complex for anyone without a degree in the subject to understand. That was the biggest problem with researching a topic on the internet. It was wonderful to have access to so much information, but it was often too much information, and lately it had all become a jumble of scientific terms to Jessica. Mrs. Philpott had been right, she and John did have a lot to learn about the environment, and they had spent much of the past two weeks researching the topic as Samantha slowly recovered from pesticide poisoning. They had been lucky with Sam. Her illness had come more from an allergic reaction than actual poisoning. John had made sure they would not receive any more pesticide spraying of any kind and was researching organic gardening and farming. The doctors still weren't sure if there would be any residual effects; however, Mrs. Philpott had been reassuring tonight when she came to check in on Sam.

  "John," Jessica called out over the hum of the dishwasher and the rippling music flowing from the speakers. "What do you suppose Mrs. P was after tonight?"

  John looked up from Richard Preston's The Hot Zone with a questioning glance. Turning down the CD player, he asked, "What do you mean what was she after? She came to visit Samantha."

  "Well, it felt to me that she didn't just come to see Sam. She was preoccupied and distracted. Except for when Sam was talking about her dreams. You know, that one she had about the earthquake--and by the way, she is watching way too much TV with all that quake coverage since she's had to be home in bed. We have to find more activities for her, but anyway, when Sam was talking about the dream, Mrs. P was suddenly totally focused on her. Like Sam was the only one in the room. No, wait a minute, that's not right. It was like Sam and Harry were the only ones there," Jessica said.

  "Hmm...she did watch Harry pretty intensely all evening. Like she expected him to sprout wings any minute," John said slowly. "Now that you mention it, she paid a lot more attention than usual to Samantha. And did she ask you if you'd been dreaming much?" Jessica shook her head. "Well, she asked me, and then laughed it off when I asked her why she wanted to know. You don't think she's getting into some sort of new-age creative dreaming nonsense, do you? I really hope not because she's a nice, level-headed, old lady," John said.

  "Nice old lady! John, you're terrible," Jessica said, laughing.

  "Well, you are certainly my nice old lady, so how about retiring for the night with your old man?" John said suggestively.

  Jessica burst out laughing and said, "Honey, you just can't quite pull off that leering old man persona. Come on, let's go to bed and I'll show you how much fun a nice, almost-middle-aged lady can be."

  As they walked out of the den and down the hall to the stairs, John asked "Should we check on Sam?"

  "No," Jessica answered, turning to wrap her arms around his lean, well-muscled body, "I did earlier and Harry is right there with her to keep an eye on things. You couldn't ask for a better nurse. Now, did I tell you that I received a package from Victoria's Secret today and black lace is featured prominently in the contents?"

  "No, you didn't. And did I tell you yet today how much I love you?"

  She laughed softly and, taking his hand, ran lightly up the stairs.

  Los Angeles, California

  The devastation was more than her mind could comprehend. How could any mind hold onto the pictures she saw that first week? After shutting away the grief she felt about her parents' deaths, Maria had to think of the images as pictures, not totally real. Or else lose her sanity. Bodies everywhere. There was no place to put them all. Streets filled with people still in shock, stepping over debris from flattened buildings. Maria's throat was raw from the lingering smoke that was a film over every scene. Fires continued to burn out of control in downtown L.A.; she and Zack had not been able to approach the incandescent blaze of high-rise destruction.

  Walking to the jeep, Maria brushed dirt and dust from her blue jeans and navy T-shirt. "Why am I doing this?" she thought. "There is no way to stay clean in this mess." But she knew why--the same reason she brushed her shoulder-length hair one hundred strokes every night, even in the middle of a disaster--her mom. Consuela Santiago had taught Maria to pay attention to her appearance, not for vanity's sake, but because she would have to look good to make it in the world. Maria was a beautiful child and had grown into an exotic-looking woman, but Consuela knew her Mexican heritage would be a detriment to achieving true success, particularly in broadcasting. Maria had run into prejudice on her way up the career ladder, and her mother's emphasis on speaking English without an accent and keeping an impeccable appearance made a difference.

  "Well, Mom," Maria thought, "I wonder how you'd think I'm doing now...covered in dust and soot and my hiking boots are stained with blood. Not exactly the intrepid glamour-girl-reporter image we used to joke about on my visits home." For a moment, the sudden stab of grief that hit her upon thinking of her mother caused Maria to stumble in mid-stride. "Oh God," she said aloud, "how am I going to get along without you?" Then she seemed to hear her father's voice saying, "You can do it, honey, you must do it. We're always with you," just like he had said all through the years. Smoothing back the wisps of hair that had escaped from her tortoiseshell barrette, Maria spotted Zack in front of a pancaked apartment building and walked steadily toward him, already preparing interview questions in her mind.

  Cape Fair, Missouri

  "Haaarrrry!" called Samantha. "Come here, Harry!" Where was he hiding this time? "I'm not playing anymore, you mean, old dog," Samantha said loudly, and then giggled softly to herself. She knew Harry wasn't mean or old. He was probably the best, most good dog there ever was anywhere ever, she thought. But teasing and telling jokes was her latest discovery. Suddenly, Harry burst out of the large honeysuckle bush at the edge of the backyard and raced up to her. Sam stood her ground as Harry ran full-tilt right up to her and skidded to a stop. Sam hugged him and giggled all over again.

  "You're not a mean old dog. You are the most beautiful dog in the world and you smell like flowers!"

  Harry grinned up at the laughing child and wagged his tail. He was so excited Sam was finally outdoors to play with him again. He kept sniffing her breath and skin as she hugged him and was relieved to smell only happy, sweaty child smells, no more sickness.

  "Come on, let's race back to the house. I'm hungryyy!" Sam said, and then whirled around and took off running for the house. Harry loped next to her, slowing his pace to stay even with the child. He saw she couldn't run as fast as before the sickness, but she was already faster today than yesterday. As they reached the back door, Sam was out of breath, but still standing, definitely an improvement over the first day she tried to run and collapsed in a heap halfway across the yard.

  Brushing grass and dirt from her denim jeans and favorite Minnie Mouse T-shirt, Samantha said, "Come on, boy, let's go see old Mom and beg for ice cream." Harry barked yes and grinned up at her. Ice cream was a favorite of both.

  Jessica turned away from the kitchen window before they came in. She didn't want Sam to know how closely she was being monitored. As Jessica finished mashing the hard-boiled eggs with a fork, she took a deep breath and told herself to relax. It was hard to let Sam go outside, hard to not run out the back door and pick her up every time she fell down or tell her not to run too fast. Jessica knew that Samantha needed these morning sessions outdoors with Harry to exercise and regain her strength. But no one had prepared her for the sheer torture a parent goes through after a child has been seriously ill. She wanted to put Sam in a protective bubble and never let her out of her sight, never let her do anything that could cause the slightest injury. Yet, she knew that attitude would be as harmful to her little girl ultimately as any illness or injury. Every day that Sam ventured out with Harry and ran a little farther or played a little harder, Jessica could see her spunky, self-confident, I-can-do-anything daughter emerging again. Mixing a dollop of mayonnaise and a smidgen of Dijon mustard into t
he finely mashed eggs, Jessica called out to Sam, "No egg salad sandwiches until hands are washed."

  "Okay, Mom, but I don't know if I can get Harry to wash his hands," came the reply, followed by another burst of giggles.

  Chapter 3

  Cape Fair, Mrs. Philpott's House

  Mrs. Philpott abruptly sat up in bed, sleep still fogging her mind, saying "No, no," and tried to figure out where she was. The cat leaped onto the bed and startled a short scream out of her, finishing the waking process.

  "Oh, Lord," she said. "The water, all that water and wind--it was so real, so vivid I thought I was there." The cat watched her intently and seemed to nod his head. Sharply, she asked, "Did you dream it too? Am I going nuts?"

  Shaking her head and wrapping her flannel-covered arms around the cat's silky fur, she realized the dream details were starting to fade. "Come on, Perceval, let's get the details into the computer before we both forget." Stuffing her feet into the old, soft leather moccasins she used as bedroom slippers, Mrs. Philpott grabbed her robe from a hook on the back of the bedroom door and threw it over her shoulders. The robe, a large men's dressing gown made of heavy brocaded silk, felt warmly comforting to her as she typed, re-living the horrors of the dream.

  Somewhere in the Sonoran Desert, Arizona

  Margaret was afraid. "Am I truly crazy?" she asked Irene. "What if I'm wrong and the planet isn't talking to me at all?"

  Irene glanced at her thoughtfully and said, "Why must you label everything? Crazy, normal, weird...the labels don't matter. So you talk to the planet--that's just the way it is! And the planet isn't only talking to you, you know. Believe it or not, you are not the center of the universe. I'm pretty sure Gaia has been trying to communicate ever since the first nuclear bomb exploded."

  "Sometimes I wonder if we didn't get so arrogant as a species to cover up our fears," Margaret said.

  "Well, of course, my dear, we became the bully on the block. We have run roughshod over the planet just because we could, just to prove we could."

  "I get so scared because I'm afraid it's too late. What if nobody listens?" Margaret asked softly.

  "I would think the disasters will eventually get people to listen."

  "I don't know. So many have already died. Everyone I've tried to contact has laughed off the idea that Gaia is sentient and talking. And then I wonder if maybe we really are a suicidal species, that we want to die. So no one will listen, we'll keep on damaging the earth and she will have to just end humanity--"

  "Slow down! You make such drastic generalizations. Do you honestly believe that everyone is suicidal? I don't believe that we have evolved into a suicidal species," Irene said firmly.

  Margaret was silent for a moment. "Maybe," she began hesitantly, "maybe what I really think is that we've screwed up so bad we deserve to be wiped out. And if so, maybe that wouldn't be such a terrible thing. Think how many species we have exterminated in our time here. What gave us the right to play God on this planet? Maybe the only way other species, and the Earth herself, can survive here is if we are gone."

  "I think I'm more optimistic than you, Margaret. I've seen people change. As my grandmother once said to me, of course things can change--keeps changing for the worse, doesn't it, so change must still be possible. You have to hold onto hope," Irene said.

  Cape Fair, The Samuels' House

  "Mommy! Help! Mommeee!"

  "What--John, wake up, it's Sam." Jessica ran to Samantha's room and flicked on the small lamp next to her bed. Sam was gasping for breath, clawing at the sheets covered in dinosaurs that were twisted around her body.

  "It's okay, honey, wake up, Mommy's here, you're okay now, sweetie, open your eyes and see that I'm here with you and so is Daddy. You're okay, Sam, everything is going to be okay," Jessica said as she smoothed Samantha's hair back from a face damp with perspiration. "John, go get her something to drink--there's apple juice in the fridge."

  Samantha opened her eyes and slowly focused on Jessica. "Oh Mommy," she wailed, "I was in the water, lots and lots of big water--I was lost 'cept I wasn't me now, I was a big person then a littler person and everybody was in the water, but then there was lightning, too, and I wasn't in the water, and then I was all alone and I couldn't find you or daddy or Harry or anybody and then I was really scareder cause I couldn't breathe--"

  "It's okay, honey, it's okay. You're safe now. It was a dream, a bad dream. It wasn't really real. I've got you now."

  Pulling Sam onto her lap, Jessica continued to soothe her distraught little girl. "See, here's Daddy and he's got some juice for you to drink and Harry is here--John, look at Harry," Jessica said sharply.

  Harry was sitting at the foot of the twin bed, trembling severely. John sat down next to him and talking softly to him, rubbing the fur on his back. The shivering gradually subsided and John looked at Jessica questioningly. She shook her head and mouthed the words "Not now, talk later" over Sam's head.

  "Mommy, do you really think it was just a bad dream? Cause it was real and I was there, but now I'm here...."

  "Dreams are like that, sweetie," Jessica answered. "Sometimes they seem so real, and then you wake up and find out they weren't real after all. Now, what would you like to do? Do you want to try going back to sleep or do you want to stay up for a while?"

  "Can I watch one of my movies on the TV?"

  "Sure, that's a good idea. Come on, Daddy and I will get you and Harry settled in the den with a movie. Then we'll make some snacks, okay?"

  "Okay, Mom," Sam replied. She climbed out of the bed and walked with Harry into the den.

  Later in the kitchen, John and Jessica faced each other in puzzlement. "What the heck is going on here, Jess?" John asked. "Is it the fever starting up again? She looked sweaty to me."

  "No, I checked her. That was caused by fear of the dream, not the illness. I guess she just had a nightmare, John."

  "Okay, she had a nightmare. Did Harry have the same nightmare? Have you ever seen a dog look that scared before?"

  "No, no, I haven't. But maybe he picked up on Sam's fear level. They're really close...."

  "I'm not sure I buy that, Jess. Something about this feels weird to me. It was eerie in that bedroom just now--Harry shivering uncontrollably, Samantha gasping for breath, then talking about what sounded like drowning--I don't know. It all seems pretty strange. Supernatural or something."

  "John! I can't believe you're saying that. It was just a dream! A little girl's nightmare, probably brought on by all the medical tests she had to go through and the symptoms of the illness, plus all the news coverage of the death and injury out in California. That's all it was--a dream," Jessica said definitely.

  She hugged John reassuringly and then turned to the counter to make hot chocolate. John watched her, a frown creasing his forehead, wanting to say more, but unsure what he could say to explain the feeling of dread that clung to him still.

  Sonoran Desert, Arizona

  "What are we talking about here? You're saying I'm going to feel like a hawk when I do this? I'll become a Red-tailed Hawk?" Margaret asked.

  "You won't become an actual hawk, Margaret," Irene stated patiently. "However, your thoughts and feelings, your sense of your body, will all become that of the hawk."

  "Wait a minute," Margaret said, becoming agitated, "you mean if the hawk gets hungry, I'll know what it is to eat what they eat? What do they eat?"

  "Rodents, carrion, amphibians, fish, although there aren't any fish nearby--"

  "Hold it right there! Rodents? No way," Margaret declared, gagging at the thought.

  The shaman stared at her calmly for a moment. "This isn't about having dinner with a hawk. Now focus on the light of the campfire here."

  Margaret stared at her. "Nothing fazes you, does it? This is all just perfectly natural, sitting here talking about me becoming one with a hawk. Don't you find it all just a little bit strange?"

  The shaman thought for a moment and replied, "Of course this situation now is extraordin
ary. You are a white woman, not one of us. You grew up in a culture that does not believe in things like shape-shifting, so it is hard for you to grasp it, to believe in it. For me, it is normal because my culture taught me to believe in it. The strangest thing is that the voice of the earth--Gaia, as you call her--has chosen you to hear her message. This is very strange to me."

  "Okay, I'll buy that," Margaret said. "Now, tell me again why I need to do this?"

  "Hopefully, it will allow you to hear the voice more clearly. My people believe the earth speaks to the nonhuman creatures more easily than to humans."

  Margaret lay flat on the ground, feeling the dirt beneath her, feeling the planet herself, a thrumming of life all around. Turning her head to stare at the fire's flames, she heard Irene's slow, steady voice saying, "Let the wind take you, feel the strength of your wings as you float on the night air...."

  The shaman watched the hawk perched on the branch of dead wood in front of her. Its mahogany eyes with black pupils stared back at her attentively from a head clothed in deep brown plumage. The creamy, off-white feathers of its chest were covered in elongated tear-drop shapes of chestnut brown, looking painted on by a water colorist. A bright, sunny yellow, narrow band crossed the bridge above its curved black, hook beak and also outlined the wide mouth. Paler yellow feet, ridged with scales, ended in shiny black talons. Thighs covered in fluffy milk-white feathers supported the sturdy body. Slowly the hawk turned its back to her, preparing to take flight. The shaman smiled when she saw that the tail feathers were the same auburn, reddish gold color as Margaret's hair, with a band of black running in a straight, thin line a half inch from the end. An interesting coincidence, she thought. Above them, over the back of the hawk, were silky, chocolate brown feathers with tiny flecks of white. The bird glanced back at the shaman, who was struck by the intelligence in the beautiful round eyes, and then spread its brown wings to a span of almost five feet and rose to the air.