Eyes Love & Water

by Pamela Foland

  “Fine you go get ready for bed while I drop these off,” Daniel kissed her full on the lips and winked away.

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  Chapter 20

  ...Around in Circles...

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  Miranda walked out the door from the white room, the medics and tough guys were still fussing around, running scanners and strapping Nick to the stretcher. Miranda was aware of their activities and their paranoid reasons, but only on the surface. Her mind had drifted off to other ideas. Miranda saw things in Nick’s dreams that as strange and tangled as they were managed to knock things into focus in her own mind. A nagging feeling which had begun to form over the last few days swirled into more solid shape. Unfortunately she still couldn’t see the picture. It was still just barely out of focus. She sensed a dark menace behind whatever it was, but still couldn’t...

  Miranda flung a fist into the wall. The wall didn’t so much as flinch; Miranda on the other hand ended up cradling the fist. The wall won that round. Miranda turned around examining her fist and her frustrations. Ultimately, as she leaned against the wall, she realized it came down to nothing. At least here, it did. Miranda knew she wouldn’t find the answers sitting here in safety, and that they wouldn’t be able to find her either. Miranda grunted out a sigh.

  “What’s wrong? Still stressed?” Gene asked preceding the stretcher carrying Nick.

  Miranda answered with a shrug. Gene waved the other medics on, stopping to lean against the wall beside Miranda. His eyes focused on the opposite wall and he assumed the same posture as Miranda. They stood that way for a while. Eventually Miranda began to sense Gene’s attempt to project helpful acceptance at her.

  “I just need to do some figuring.” Miranda finally answered.

  “Okay, so how can I help?”

  “You can’t really. Neither can I, sticking around this place. I need my brains jarred to shuffle some ideas into order.”

  “In other words it’s too quiet here,” Gene said reaching into a cupboard. He pulled a mini zippered pack out of a hidden closet. “It’s a factor pack. Your basic survival gear and,” Gene held up his hand when Miranda opened her mouth to argue that her Djheen uniform was undoubtedly better equipped, “inside the locked main compartment you’ll find a pop-pad.

  Gene gently took Miranda by the hand and keyed the bag to her. Miranda opened the main compartment and took out the pop-pad. “What’s the number?” Gene asked then checked the back and mumbled it into his pin. “Go where you need to, just keep in touch. Ask for me and it’ll be like I’m there with you.” Gene pointed at the screen. “And the pad will also explain anything else in the bag and it’ll give you a fair bit of information on what’s going on outside of it.”

  “That’s it? Just take this and go?” Miranda pushed away from the wall.

  “Hey, you know what you need I don’t. I trust your instincts, even if no one else does. After all, your last gut intuition led you to find the son I never knew I had.” Gene answered with a smile.

  “What about...”

  “Angela?”

  “No, Ben...”

  Gene’s grin widened, “How could I have guessed differently? I’ll talk to him and keep an eye out for him.”

  “We’re supposed to be partners...” Miranda hesitated.

  “Does your gut say to bring him?”

  “No, but...”

  “I’ll take care of Angela too... Now go with your gut girl!”

  Miranda slung the bag over her shoulder, closed her eyes and teleported in the direction her gut led, and what a world it led to. It wasn’t overtly dark. Actually, Miranda had real difficulty sensing any dark presence at all. Eyes still closed, Miranda smelled itchy air too full of starch and detergent for her tastes. It was the real smell of a fake clean, despite it she could feel the echoes of blood spilt. It was wrong here. The place was dark, subtlety so, not like so many other worlds. They were tickling away at something here, or someone. It might even be a fresh turn at tickling away at her. Miranda jolted her head from side to side. If this were for her benefit, she would have probably missed the clues. Then again . . .

  Miranda stopped that train of thought. She could spend eternity second guessing herself and not get anywhere near any of the answers she looked for. Setting aside the nature and intended victim of the trap, Miranda felt a soft inner voice telling her that the answer to her puzzle could be- would be found here. That stated she didn’t know where to begin other than with the obvious, by opening her eyes.

  As usual Miranda couldn’t place her relative location any more specifically than somewhere in the United States on an Earth. She let her feet lead her out of the darkened alley in which she had arrived. On the street, Miranda swiveled her head in an attempt to place herself and recognized The Pax Hotel to her left. One of these worlds she would have to ask the name of the city, not that the name couldn’t change form alternate to alternate. The street was empty, no cars, no people.

  It was quiet. Miranda didn’t feel the usual press of minds and thoughts from the city’s population. Mostly she felt weak shadows of thought. Telepathically the city felt smaller than even its dark conquered cousin. Physically the city was as large as any of its alternates, the buildings as tall, the streets as long and as wide. That only added to the nagging sense of foreboding crawling around in her gut.

  Miranda searched the streets again for some sign of the press of humanity that should be there. All she found was eerie emptiness. Where were all of them? Miranda stepped out into the center of the traffic-less street. A stiff breeze stirred litter to action. A stained and crumpled leaflet lodged itself against her ankle catching her attention.

  “The end is near. Vengeance is mine! Humanity prepare to die. The plague of plagues has been unleashed upon you!” Miranda read aloud.

  Miranda shivered against a spontaneous chill that raced through her entire nervous system. from toe to brain. She dropped the paper and strained her eyes to scan the street. Cars were piled into a barricade across the street at the western limits of her vision. Signs of blood, oil, small car parts and damaged buildings showed where many cars, almost at once, sped out of control. Miranda shivered again and wished she could return to the unsuspecting state of ignorance she had possessed while making her assessment in the alley.

  There were people still alive. Miranda’s telepathy confirmed it. Most of them were weak. Miranda sensed a few stronger minds behind the barricade of cars. If there were answers, Miranda reasoned, that was where to look. So, one foot in front of the other she approached the barricade.

  Revealed only at the limits of her exceptional vision, the barricade was a mind clearing hike away. While the pavement wasn’t quite on par with a nature trail, the unnatural silence of the city leant an air of wildness to the walk. Miranda began to despair of finding any healthy humans because of the insubstantial telepathic feel of the people ahead of her, until she saw a heartening sight. Ahead on the barricade she managed to discern what could only be a human silhouette. She allowed herself to hope she would find that it was a sentinel guarding the wall.

  The hope didn’t hold up to scrutiny. Far before Miranda reached the wall the distinct smell informed her that the shape of a man belonged to a corpse. The body faced in towards the enclosed space beyond the barrier suggesting he had died on his way in. During the close inspection forced on Miranda as she climbed the barrier, she noted that his chest was filled with buck shot and that he had been carefully propped for display. In death the poor soul was an even more effective message than a man with a shotgun would have been, “ Climb over and we’ll shoot.”

  The message gave her little pause. Frankly buckshot would only be a minor and temporary annoyance to her. From the looks of him, it had only been a temporary annoyance to the scarecrow. The shooter had been a good shot, for all it was necessary with that kind of weapon. Miranda mounted the crown of the barrier wondering if they’d shoot or challe
nge first. The answer was neither. No one manned the shotgun. It sat propped against the door frame of a small furniture shop. Miranda had both of her feet firmly planted on pavement before she heard even a peep of protest. Actually it was a squawk from, of all things, one of several watch-geese. The geese swarmed at her honking and hissing.

  Shortly their calls drew a man from a building across the street. He was a sickly stick figure. The only major difference between him and the corpse, other than the buckshot, was that the corpse had a stick to help keep him upright. The man teetered towards her without any aid to balance. On reaching the edge of the flock of geese he pulled an air horn from his pocket and let loose a single thunderous toot, after which the geese retreated.

  “Stay back I’m infected. Though how you’re healthy is far beyond me. I thought we were the last hold outs.”

  Even from ten feet away, Miranda could smell death on his breath. Hesitantly she stepped towards him. “I’m looking for something.”

  “All you’re going to find here is death.” The man answered plainly backing away.

  “How is the disease spread? Touch? Fluids? Air?”

  That stopped his retreat, “We used to think contact, but now we don’t know.”

  Miranda used his pause to race up to him and slap her hand on his. It wasn’t an act of bravery, or self sacrifice. Everything the dark had taught her said that almost nothing, germ wise, could leap from an “insignificant human” to her, and a bored hour playing with the information terminal in her Sanctuary apartment had confirmed at least that as truth.

  “Now you’ll die too,” the man frowned.

  “Likely as not, I’ve already been exposed- a lot even,” Miranda waved at the air, a puddle, and vaguely at the scarecrow, “At least now maybe you’ll stop and talk to me. When did all this happen?”

  “Where have you been the last two months?” the man asked and was nearly toppled by a coughing fit.

  “Let’s just say >out of town.’” Miranda helped the man sit on an old bus bench.

  “All of them? You would’ve had to have been on another planet to have missed it. What with the damn death threat and all.”

  “Okay, let’s go with that,” Miranda prompted tilting her head to the side and crouching to see eye to eye with him.

  His left eyebrow rose and fell and a choked chuckle escaped, “Fine don’t tell me. Have you at least seen the flyers.

  Miranda nodded at him and pointed at a few the wind had blown into the car barricade.

  “About two months ago all the channels on all the TVs and every computer monitor filled with the same message, flipping through it in every major language. At the same time the flyers fell. By the next, morning half the planet was sick. Two weeks later, most of the sick were dead and half the survivors were sick. That batch died faster, and half of the survivors at that point fell sick. Things kind of snowballed sick, dead, sick, dead. Faster and faster. Now take me, I was well three days ago. I’ll be dead by morning,” The man said flatly, breaking down into a cough, “ if I last that long.”

  Miranda’s eyebrows crinkled into a confused frown, and her brain itched with the question she came to answer. Almost on the twinge of renewed questing, A thin but not sickly-gaunt woman came from the same building. She shuffled up to the bench from behind, all the while mostly obscured from Miranda’s view.

  “Sean you should be in bed,” She cooed in a voice which turned icy as she noticed Miranda. The woman laid a (cruelly?) possessive hand on the man’s shoulder, “So who is our new arrival?”

  Sean coughed, “Sorry we hadn’t gotten that far. My name is Sean and you are?”

  Miranda eyed the woman. She wasn’t dark, exactly, but... “Miranda.”

  “Welcome to hell Miranda,” Sean said with a weak grin, “This perpetually lovely lady is...”

  “The closest this place comes to a doctor,” the woman interrupted.

  “E-” Sean began, but the woman squeezed his shoulder stopping him.

  “Sean you need to be in bed now!” The woman said firmly. Sean’s eyes glazed, he stood and shuffled back into the building. Miranda felt an inner pressure that muddied her thoughts. She could almost put her finger on something but... Strange how she couldn’t feel the woman’s thoughts almost like the woman wasn’t still standing in front of her with an icy smile. “Why don’t you head over to the grocery and get something to eat? You look pale.” The woman pointed to a small storefront shop across the street from the building holding Sean.

  Numbly Miranda nodded and went. Her hand was on the doorknob before the truth of having been telepathically tampered with suddenly snapped the backside of her brain like a towel in a locker room. After the shock of it passed, Miranda knew the source. She turned rapidly to face the woman and found no one. Miranda stared inwardly as well as outwardly. She could find no a trace of the woman, no teleportation trail, nothing. That told Miranda-something- it got fuzzy, that the woman was much stronger? Confused, strangely hopeful, and unusually clueless, Miranda un-slung the knapsack and retrieved the pop-pad.

  “Get me Gene,” Miranda told it and tapped the screen. Almost instantly his face lit up the screen.

  “What’s up?” Gene asked

  “I, found something,” Miranda answered.

  “Already? What?”

  Miranda hesitated, “I’m not sure. There’s a plague here wiping people out.”

  “People? Briaunti? Agurians? Tanerians? Humans?” Gene’s face soured.

  “Humans,” Miranda saw a flyer grabbed it and held it so the pop-pad could show it to Gene. She summarized everything that happened so far, including Sean’s summation.

  “Looks like somebody is playing at being god. It doesn’t sound like a dark exercise, not their style. What are the symptoms, can you get some blood and tissue samples for me?”

  “I’m pretty sure the dark didn’t release this thing, but I have a feeling they’re responsible for goading the perpetrator into it. I’ll see about samples.”

  “Okay, there should be collection containers and equipment inside the blue zipper. When you’re done plug the readers into the jacks on the side of this.” Gene pointed and helped Miranda select and figure out the equipment before the screen went blank.

  Miranda followed his instructions into the building to search out Sean. She found him collapsed just inside the doorway. She knelt down, searched for and found a pulse. Then she lifted him and felt around with her mind to find the room with the largest concentration of people. That room turned out to be a large great room filled with cots, metal bunk beds, and largely occupied by people in various stages of dying.

  One of the few people still capable of an upright position rushed to Miranda’s side. “Put him over here,” The woman, barely more than a girl ordered holding a hand to Sean’s forehead. The young woman was short and bore the shrunken stretch marks and loose folds of skin which testified to a recent, rapid, and substantial weight loss. “My name is Sandy. Who are you? Where did you find Sean, and why did you come here?” The girl rushed once Miranda had carefully laid Sean down on the suggested cot.

  “My name is Miranda. I found him in the hall and I’m here to help.”

  “That makes you one of three things; a doctor, a mortician, or suicidal,” Sandy half joked. Miranda noticed a large lesion on the inside of Sandy’s elbow.

  “None of the above,” Miranda replied and retrieved a tissue sampler and her pop-pad from her bag, “but I do have access to a doctor. What he needs is some sample data to work with.” Miranda gestured with the sampler to Sandy’s arm.

  “You want to... Will it hurt?”

  “I have no idea,” Miranda answered running through the procedure in her head.

  Sandy visibly cringed, “Ellie has been doing her best to help. Every time she asks someone for a new sample, to try something else, it hurts. May as well let you try too.” She held out her arm. Miranda took the sample and plugged the sampler into the pop-pad. “That’s it? I hardly felt anything.�
� Sandy examined her arm.

  Miranda nodded and tapped the screen. She watched as data scales, graphs and microscopic images danced across it. “Get Gene, pass this on.” The pop-pad went dark and Miranda waited.

  “Get who?”

  “I was talking to the pad. The doctor is on the other end,” Miranda explained, until Gene’s face appeared on the screen.

  “Miranda, I’m not liking what I’m seeing here. Damn! I wish you could get me a chronological sequence of samples.” Gene frowned.

  “Hold that thought.” Miranda turned to Sandy, “Sandy, you said Ellie's taken a lot of samples. Does she have any stored anywhere?”

  “Yeah, the freezer is on the generator. It’s a walk in, and half the reason she set up her lab in the basement.”

  “Nuff said, take me to your freezer!”

  Miranda followed Sandy, holding the pop-pad to give Gene a view of where they were going. They got down there in time to catch a bare momentary glimpse of someone ransacking the place before the generator, and the lights, cut out. All that remained in the way of illumination was the light coming from the pop-pad screen. The room was dark for the length of four short breaths. The sound of breaking glass tapered off. Then just as suddenly the lights came back on.

  The lab had been systematically trashed. Broken glassware covered the floor and Miranda recognized various chemicals by their smells. Telekinetically she contained the potentially toxic chemical fumes, compressing them into a manageable size before teleporting them away. Miranda then walked to the open door of the freezer. All of the vials of blood and tissue samples lay smashed on the floor.

  “I’ll send a larger scanner through. The samples still may be able to tell me something,” Gene announced. Miranda nearly dropped the pop-pad in surprise. “There, unlock the main compartment.”

  Miranda handed the pop-pad to Sandy, who had come up behind her. Then Miranda opened her pack and found what looked like a battery powered florescent lamp. She pulled it out and examined it.

  “The blue button on the end turns it on. Just shine the light over what you want to scan,” Gene’s voice prompted.