by Curtis, Greg
As he sat there and considered his future Will knew that he had to redouble his efforts to find the doctor. This had to be fixed.
It was time to go back and talk with Pastor Franks. And maybe impress upon him a little more of his desperation.
Chapter Ten.
The internet café was full. It always was these days as people rushed to it and a few others from their ruined houses, hoping desperately to be able to contact friends and family. There were still millions of people living in the fifty square miles of ruined city for one reason or another, and they all had people to talk to. So they all had to do the same thing. Find a place outside of the city where there was power and phone lines and start typing. Because of that, sessions were limited to twenty minutes – one session per person per day. It was the only way to make sure everyone got a turn. It was a pain as rules went, but because of it Will found a spot after only an hour waiting in line and was quickly downloading his messages. He had to be quick if he wanted to catch the news headlines as well, and these days for anyone living in the city the internet café was the only way to do that.
There were no newspapers – not local ones anyway. With the power down the telly didn't work. Phones, even cell phones were useless without networks, and networks needed power and cell towers. And the little wind up radio the National Guard had been handing out only found one station. The emergency broadcast network. It didn't have news, only announcements. Where the food trucks would be and when. Where the evacuation points and medical centres were. What to do in case of a fire or another ice storm.
He'd tried pulling the battery and radio out of the Nissan's remains, but even when he had the range was limited. The entire broadcast network system for Los Angeles was gone and without a proper aerial he couldn't reach outside the city. In any case the battery had died soon enough and he couldn't recharge it. So the twenty minutes he had in the internet café was the only chance he had to find out what was happening in the world as well as to hear from friends and family.
Most of the messages were from his family of course. They were worried for him, and he couldn't exactly blame them for that. And they only knew about half of the problems in his life. The ruined flat and the ice storm. He'd never told them about his narrow escape from the sink hole or the experiment he'd taken part in. He hadn't wanted to worry them. But it was getting to the stage where he was beginning to think he might need to. The changes were becoming more obvious.
Despite his earlier theories, the changes weren't just hormonal. He knew that now. Maybe they'd never really been theories so much as desperate hopes he'd tried to cling to. But now they weren't even that.
When he'd woken up that morning and stared into the bathroom mirror wondering if there was anything left on his face that needed shaving, he'd seen his eyes looking back at him and freaked. They were no longer blue green. They were gold.
When that had happened he didn't know. He probably wasn't the most observant of people, especially first thing in the morning and he didn't stare at himself in the mirror a lot. But he knew it was bad. And he knew it had nothing to do with hormones. Eye colour didn't change when a boy reached puberty. And if that wasn't hormonal why should he assume the other changes were? The fact was that he shouldn't.
By that logic he now had at least four different and distinct sets of changes working their way through him.
The loss of body hair, facial hair and his sex drive could all be put down to his hormones. Maybe due to a lack of testosterone. And those at least he hoped could be fixed if the worst came to the worst and the changes couldn't be undone, simply by taking hormone replacements. But that was only if the changes were because of his lack of testosterone. It was only a guess and his guesses hadn't been good lately.
The darkening of his skin was something else. Something to do with melanin deposits. It wasn't just a sun tan and baby smooth skin brought about by a lack of the male hormones. It was something different. It had to be when he was also starting to turn a little gold. He didn't know what it was or if it could be fixed, but he could hope that in the end it would only be cosmetic. Maybe even covered up with cream. But how likely was that with everything else that was happening to him?
Then there was the change in his diet. He not only couldn't stand the smell of meat, he couldn't touch dairy either any more. The milk powder wasn't off, his pallet was. To add to the weird he seemed to crave fruit and grains. In fact he was starving for them. He had no idea what was causing that but he was sure it was more than just the results of hormonal changes. And it was likely connected to the continuing stomach cramps, rumbling in his bowels and overwhelming cravings for healthy food. All of that he knew was linked in turn to his continuing weight loss. Serious weight loss as he was having to cut new holes in his belt. These days he had no fat on him anywhere but still strangely, plenty of muscle. In fact he was starting to look like he spent his days in the gym instead of on a couch.
But as of this morning he had a whole new one to deal with. Gold eyes made no sense at all to him although they went well with the slight golden glow of his skin. No one had gold eyes. If anyone asked he had decided to tell them they were just contacts. So far no one had asked though. People were probably too busy worrying about their own lives to give a damn about anyone else. Certainly no one in the café had given him a second glance as they busied themselves at the computers.
The frightening thing was that there might be more changes coming too. In fact he already knew there was at least one. There was something happening with the skin on his back. It was itching abominably and aching as well. All the way from his shoulders to his buttocks. For a while he'd thought it was his primitive laundry system which involved buckets of soapy water and then hosing the stuff off while it hung on a line. Or maybe it had something to do with his necessarily short showers as the water was freezing cold. But it hadn't gone away when he scrubbed his back or rewashed his clothes. And the skin was raised like some sort of welt while his back ached abominably. Whatever was causing it, he really wanted to get it fixed before it turned into something more serious.
But the solution to his problems wasn't in his hands. It was in Doctor Millen's. And thus far the man had remained resolutely missing. He hadn't contacted him. Not a visit or a note. He hadn't returned to the church. Will had, immediately after he'd sent Laurel packing and realised his sex drive was dying. But the pastor hadn't seen his missing doctor. In fact Pastor Franks had been worried about him. He'd said that the fact that Doctor Millen hadn't come in for so long suggested there was something very wrong. Normally he visited every couple of days without fail.
It could be that he was dead. Killed in the ice storm. And if that was the case Will knew he was screwed. He would never have an answer as to what he'd done. Or why. Or more importantly if it could be fixed. Alternatively like many others Doctor Millen might simply have fled. That wasn't a good thing, but at least if he was somewhere else he was still alive. And if he was alive there was hope that one day he'd find him and get the answers he needed.
Still, it had been over a week since he had visited the church last. Maybe it was time to think about another bike ride out there.
In the meantime all he could do was try to keep living his life. To make the best of things. And maybe if and when the city started recovering from the ice storm, he could see another doctor and start getting some proper medical attention. After all, even if it couldn't be undone surely some of what was happening to him could be treated?
And above all else he knew – though he kept wavering on it – that he could never tell his family about this. They would have a collective heart attack. They'd never wanted him to come to Los Angeles. To attend UCLA. Not even when he'd received a full scholarship. And this would just be proof for them that it had been a mistake. Besides which he couldn't stand to see the looks of worry on their faces. Especially when there was absolutely nothing they could do.
So once more he would download his email, print what he had t
o and read them later. And in the morning he would ride back, buy himself another twenty minutes and frantically type and send a whole lot of replies telling them that everything was fine. That he was doing well. Though it felt bad he would lie his arse off. It was the only thing he could do.
Then, just when he thought he'd reached the end of his in box full of family messages and the obligatory spam, Will came across one more labelled GTP7, and the letters jumped out at him.
He knew them instantly. They'd been on the forms he'd signed at the Fairview Institute. GTP was the trial he'd been a part of. It stood for Gene Therapy Protocol. And he was the seventh person to undergo it. GTP7 was him – his subject number. His heart leapt into his throat. Someone had found him! Doctor Millen? Could it finally be him?
But even as he rushed to click the button to open it he knew that there was something wrong. There was no sender. Or rather the sender's name was just a random jumble of letters and numbers. That seemed wrong somehow. Who didn't use their name as part of their email address? Spammers, that was who. Normally if he'd seen an email like that he would have deleted it unopened. Just in case there was a virus. But he couldn't do that this time. He had to know, so he clicked the email.
Inside was a letter. Though to call it a “letter” was far too grand a word for the few precious lines that had been written. It was a note at best. And all it said was that the sender knew about his problem and was working on it – and that he wasn't in any danger.
There was no signature, no personal details. Not even a simple “cheers”. So he had no way of knowing whether it was from Doctor Millen or not. There was also an automated line of text at the top of it saying that the email address could not be responded to. So he had no way of asking. No way of even telling whoever it was of what was happening to him. It all seemed very cloak and dagger. And when he was slowly mutating into a golden eyed pre-pubescent boy with dietary issues and a growth on his back, that didn't strike Will as a good thing. But at least someone had answered him. Someone knew of his problem. And maybe – if they actually meant what they said – he was safe. Assuming it wasn't simply a line to keep him placated – which it could also be.
Yet even if it was just a throwaway line designed to keep him calm it still meant that someone had heard about him. So one of the people he'd tracked down had obviously said something to someone – unless they'd written the email themselves. And that was a short list. In fact it consisted only of the pony tail wearing technician and his wife, neither of whom he could imagine telling him lies. They'd been as shocked as he had.
Was this a good thing in that at least he'd reached someone who knew what was happening to him? Was it a bad thing since that same person was obviously doing his best to say nothing detailed and give away no personal details? Or was he simply in the exact same place he had been before he'd opened the email? Nowhere. He suspected the last.
Naturally he had no answers as he hurriedly printed the email off, and then the meta-file about the email. His time was nearly up and there were many others waiting to use the internet. But at least someone knew. And maybe if he could find a friend of his with some serious hacking skills, he might even have a place to begin looking. No matter how secretive they were trying to be his friend Jarod – if he was still in the city – could probably back track their IP address and find out where the email had been sent from.
Just as he returned to his seat however, the precious pieces of paper in his hands, there was a sound almost like that of a whip being cracked and he instantly lost his train of thought. It was a very loud whip crack, like a sonic boom.
“What the hell!”
Will looked up. Everyone in the café looked up. Those in the queue checked the windows. The sound was so loud. As if some huge mountain man had just snapped a bull whip inside his ear drums. And immediately he knew a sense of dread. He knew something bad had just happened. Everyone did. Will's blood chilled and his mouth went dry as he waited to find out what. Surprises had not been welcome lately. And loud noises had all been harbingers of doom. Everyone else was doing the same. Probably everyone else was thinking the same thing he was. What now?
Will peered through the distant window but couldn't see anything. The city looked calm. Broken but quiet. The sky was blue. And the city noise was almost nothing. There weren't even people screaming as there too often were. No one else could see anything either. But they were all looking. Whether they were standing at the window or sitting at their computers they were all looking. And though Will like surely everyone else there wanted to believe it was nothing, he knew better. Just as everyone else did.
“Shit!”
A woman yelled it from where she stood in front of the shop window and at first Will couldn't see what had caught her eye. Not even when she was pointing at it. But then it sailed into sight and he wanted to say exactly the same thing. He just couldn't. He was all but paralysed with shock. Rooted to his seat in front of the computer.
A missile was streaking across the sky. A ball of fire trailing flames and black smoke behind it, and instantly Will knew what it was. He'd seen the documentaries. He'd seen lava bombs before. They were quite common with volcanic eruptions. The only thing he didn't understand was where it had come from. There was no active volcano anywhere nearby. There was no smoke on the horizon anywhere. In fact ever since the traffic had stopped and the fires had burnt out, the skies above Los Angeles had been a perfect blue. Just like this one.
Of course it wasn't alone, and even as he sat there staring, he watched another dozen fireballs tearing their way across the sky behind the first. A glorious sight but a deadly one. Because soon he knew, they would come down. And wherever they hit the land would turn to hell.
Slowly, as if it was really unconcerned about gravity, he watched the first lava bomb begin its gentle arc down towards the ground, and he mentally braced himself for whatever was coming. If he could. He knew it would be bad.
And then it hit. A mile or two away the ball of burning rock touched down somewhere and Will had an immediate urge to throw himself to the ground. But nothing happened at first. There was no explosion. He couldn't see any fire leaping into the sky. The ground wasn't shaking.
For a second or two Will didn't understand. None of them did as they all stared at one another in confusion. Then Will realised the shocking truth. It was like lightning. The thunder took its time to follow.
Sure enough three seconds later the thunder hit them, a noise like a cannon blast that rattled the plate glass windows in their frames and shook the floor. And at eleven hundred feet per second and six seconds between the impact and the sound, that meant it had hit seven thousand feet away. Roughly a mile and a bit. If it was that loud for them what must it be like for those closer to the impact site?
Will didn't have to wonder for long as he watched the next few lava bombs streak down out of the sky and smash into the city and knew that at least one of them was much closer. Two seconds later the entire shop front exploded showering glass over all of them and causing several people to scream. Even as he ducked and covered his ears Will knew it was only just beginning. In the perfect blue sky there were at least a couple of dozen more fireballs streaking towards them. And each one of them could be the one that killed them all.
“Duck and cover!”
Will yelled it out as loudly as he could the instant the noise had died away, but he wasn't sure anyone heard him. He could barely hear himself over the ringing in his ears. He didn’t even think it was the advice they gave to people facing lava bombs. Actually, he didn’t know if there was any advice to give for them except maybe “don't be there”. But that was not something any of them had a choice about just then. But it was the only advice he had and the only thing he could do as he crawled under the computer table by the back wall. Others saw him and abruptly seemed to have the same idea. It wasn't much and it wouldn't protect them against a close strike let alone a direct impact, but it was the only safety they had.
Soo
n the entire group was lying there huddled under the tables. More tables had been dragged across the room until they had built what almost looked like a child's play fort. Many were crying in fear. Other tables had been pushed up against the windows and then tipped on their sides to act as barricades against flying glass from the shop front.
After that it was time to pray. Again. This time though the praying did not stop. Not while the missiles kept flying. And they didn't seem to be stopping.
For hour after hour the deadly missiles rained down across the entire city, and they huddled there like frightened mice, all of them hoping that none of them landed on them. Some came close, too close, and things went flying everywhere each time. Computers, paper, the cheap plastic chairs, and even occasionally people as the shock waves hit them. At one point a wrecked car was tossed into the air in front of them and they watched in terror as it flew down the street past them.
Fire broke out and they could see flames leaping for the sky in the distant buildings. Will saw at least a dozen different blazes from the restricted viewing angle he had. How many more there actually were, he couldn't even guess. The noise when the lava bombs crashed was unbelievable and after some of the bigger ones Will could hear little more than ringing in his ears. He couldn't even hear the screaming of the others huddled together with him. But he knew they were screaming, just as he was.