Will stood from the bench and started pacing, like he usually did after sitting for more than five minutes straight. “Let’s give God a rest from the conversation. This isn’t about Him. Let’s agree, at least for the length of this conversation, that there’s more to life than the physical existence we’re living in right now. Let’s say there’s an underlying reality where energy, and maybe consciousness, can give birth to particles and matter. If that’s true, it would mean you could basically push yourself into forever.”
Mary stared blankly at Will, not sure where he was going with this.
Will turned from Desmond to her and said, “I’ll melt some ice in the theory so it’s easier to drink. Has Paola ever played video games?”
“Sure,” Mary said.
“She have a favorite?”
“Yeah, she loved the Zelda games.”
Will said, “That’s Nintendo, right? With the elf kid in green with the big sword, right?” The memory of the game made Mary smile. She nodded, then Will went on. “Someone, or a group of people, thought up the game. Then it existed, right? I mean, sure, you had coders and artists and everyone else who made it reality, but it didn’t exist until it did, and it was the idea that made it happen. Once that world is built, it’s there forever. Now, I’m not some old man off his rocker who thinks Toy Story is a docudrama; I’m merely trying to draw an analogy. What if we can create worlds to inhabit? What if we are doing so right now, and we don’t even realize it?”
“That’s a weak analogy,” rebuffed Desmond. “Even if it comes close to explaining an afterlife, which is what I think you’re getting at, it doesn’t come anywhere near an explanation for the fairytales and illusion of organized religion.”
“Sure, my beliefs may be fed by a longing to fly past my death,” Will conceded, “but that right there is the place where science and I split for a while. Science likes to give a finger to faith because it’s only looking for truth. But that’s forgetting the fact that faith is an egg until a new truth hatches. Name one scientific discovery that didn’t start with an unsubstantiated belief? Wasn’t too long ago when an atom couldn't be split.”
Mary said, “And Pluto used to be a planet.”
“That it did.” Will laughed, then continued. “Maybe space and distance are only illusions. It’s just the way things look to us since we can’t see, or fathom, the larger construct that is reality. It’s like how the colorblind can never know the true of a red. People claiming to know God might know there’s something out there, because they feel it, like breath in the air. And maybe religion is the only name they’ve got for it, so they sculpt it in their own image, with their own prejudices and laws and such, but it’s something to believe in. It may be a light year from the truth, but it’s the closest they know. If science can’t accept that religion might be more than fairytales and magic tricks, well, that’s its own shortcoming. Or was. I’m keeping an open mind, though. I’ve seen too much, been through too much, not to. I don’t know what’s guiding me, but I know what happens when I start to doubt it or fail to heed the warnings.”
Desmond said, “Listen, I respect your mind, Will. You and I agree on a lot of things, and I appreciate all you’ve done for us. But we need to start thinking more logically and less superstitiously. Mary is right; we need to get the hell out of here ASAP.”
“That’s not what I’m doing at all,” started Will. But Desmond didn’t let him finish.
“You talk about science, and offer respect for scientific research. But right now you sound like a man of faith, not science; a man of faith who doesn’t subject his irrational beliefs to the same scrutiny he would a controlled experiment or peer review. That’s all fine, as long as you’re not trying to convince me there’s science behind your dreams.”
“There’s science behind everything,” parleyed Will.
“Forget science then,” Desmond’s voice was showing his impatience. “Why are you looking for something outside your physical existence in the first place? Do you know something about physical limits that we don’t? Why do you need more than physical reality? Fire, water, glass; wind, rain and snow; human touch, laughter, sex. The physical world is all around us; don’t you think that’s magic enough already? Aren’t the millions of years of evolution, countless species in an impossible number of variations, and the inarguable intelligence of man enough for you?”
“Sure they are,” Will smiled, “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a whole helluva lot more.”
Now Mary was standing, her stomach turning again, a cold sweat on her brow. “I’m sure you two could argue forever, but we need to make up our minds, do we stay here or do we...”
That was when John appeared from nowhere. “You’re not thinking of leaving now, are you?” he said, quickly approaching the bench until he was standing a few feet from the group. “The Prophet has let you into his home. I can’t imagine he would take kindly to your sudden departure.” John smiled, and after a few seconds, he nodded, then walked off in the other direction.
**
Mary wasn’t sure if it had been John’s sudden appearance or something else that had sent her scurrying up the stairs and into the bathroom, but that’s where she’d been sitting since, sick as a dog.
* * * *
EDWARD KEENAN: PART 1
Ed glanced over at Brent Foster sitting shotgun next to him as they sped toward Georgia in a world without speed limits, hunting a man named Boricio.
Did I choose the right ally in Brent? Does he have what it takes to see this through till the end?
Brent’s lack of combat training didn’t exactly make him the kind of guy you’d want beside you in the field. But he was passionate, almost impossibly so. And there was something about him that made Ed trust him immediately, even if Brent were contemplating some sort of attack against him or someone else high ranking at Black Island.
Who could blame him? He was willing to do whatever he needed to protect his family, even if they’d been reduced to zombies. And protecting them was tantamount to suicide. Ed could understand, if not respect, that sort of foolish dedication.
As one desolate town piled on top of another, Brent grew uncharacteristically quiet. He was probably lost in thoughts, perhaps dealing with feelings of guilt over giving up on the creatures that were parallels of his wife and son. Though they were alternate versions of his family, he clearly felt for them. But they weren’t his true family, and they couldn't be saved. The scientists at Black Island Research Facility were conducting their secret experiments, something the Ed Keenan of this world — his parallel — told him was for the greater good. When the government said something was for “the greater good,” it usually meant someone was going to die. That was the way of the world, a reality Ed was no stranger to. He’d participated in many dubious acts, ostensibly for the “greater good.” He’d believed in his missions and government, until they turned on him.
Had that also been for the greater good?
Ed tried not to dwell on a past that would only serve to pull him from his present mission, a mission for the “greater good,” of course.
Finally, Brent broke a few hours of silence. “So, Captain, what is it about this Boricio guy that has you so charged up?”
“I don’t know, and call me Ed. None of this Captain shit when we’re not on base.”
“Okay, Ed. So, there’s got to be something special about him, right? Do they think he knows what happened? Or that he’s behind it? Or even that he has some kind of cure for the infected?”
“They didn’t tell me much. They gave me a picture; how the hell they got that, I don’t know, unless he’s a parallel of someone here. But I know they want to get to him before Black Mountain finds him.”
“Black Mountain?” Brent asked. “Like Black Island?”
“Yes and no. They started out the same. But it seems the group in Georgia went rogue. We’re not even sure they’re still here or that there are any survivors. But if they’re alive, there’s an
excellent chance they’re looking for Boricio, too.”
“And they couldn't tell you why?” Brent said, as if he didn’t believe Ed.
“Is it so hard to believe they only tell me what I need to know?”
“You seem like the type who would insist on needing to know everything.”
Ed smiled, “Fair enough. And you’re right. But in this case, the details are sensitive. Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell you. Suffice it to say, they want this guy, so we need to find him first and convince him to come back with us. What happens after that, I don’t know.”
Brent was quiet a while longer, then asked, “Have you seen your daughter?”
A grenade of emotion detonated within Ed’s every ounce of being.
“No. They showed me pictures, but I don’t know where they have her or the other girl, Teagan.”
“The one with the baby?”
“If the baby lived, yes.”
“I haven’t seen any babies on the island,” Brent said. “And I don’t remember Jane telling me about having to watch any.”
“Like I said, I don’t know. They’re keeping mum.”
“Why tell you about your daughter’s status, but not the other girl?”
“My guess is something bad happened and they don’t want to upset me.”
“You think she’s dead?”
Ed looked at Brent, “You sure are chatty.”
“Sorry,” Brent said, “I just like to know what’s going on, what’s at stake.”
After a few moments, Brent spoke again, “ I gotta ask you something that’s been gnawing at me since the other night, when you went all parallel universe on me: why did you picked me?”
“I told you. Michael is dead. I need someone I can trust. Though, Michael was a hell of a lot less chatty.”
“Yeah, but you hardly know me. And this is a Black Island-sanctioned mission, right? If that’s the case, why not just take any of the other men who are surely more equipped to get your back? What are we really doing here?”
Ed looked at Brent and grinned, “Anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?”
“Every day at my old job,” Brent said, smiling back. “So, is that an evasion or the opening to an answer?”
Maybe this guy has better field-sense than I thought; he can sure smell out answers.
“Here’s the deal,” Ed drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “I can’t trust everyone on Black Island. I knew Michael was clean, but I have my suspicions about others. They have a mole, someone working in the interests of Black Mountain. Maybe even a few people; I’m not sure. I can’t go into the how’s and why’s, but I’m fairly certain the place has been compromised. And the mole may even be among the original six.”
“Original six?” Brent asked.
“There is a room in Black Island that seems to have been spared whatever happened on October 15. I’m thinking there’s a reason for that, and it might not be a good reason. Six people from this world survived, including my parallel, Sullivan, and four scientists. I have reason to believe that one or more of them are complicit in the events of October 15, and I’m not sure they want us to succeed in finding Boricio. This mission is critical; I need at least one other person with no connections to anyone. And I have a good feeling about you.”
“Good feeling?” Brent asked suspiciously.
“OK, I’ve been watching you, and so far, you seem clean. Well, clean for a journalist, anyway.”
Brent laughed.
They drove a while longer, the weather growing uglier with every mile. They drove through a few patches of rain and were now getting some snow, which slicked the empty roads. This was the first snow he’d seen all season, and so late in winter too. There were a few people at Black Island researching weather patterns; he’d even seen video of a bizarre tornado, bigger by far than anything ever captured on camera. It grabbed an entire city, then threw it down in a stack of debris as though it were cleaning a house and sweeping dust into a corner. Weird shit. Ed found himself wondering if the weird storms were an extension of the aliens in some way. He hoped not. If the storms were an alien creation, God help the humans who tried to survive them.
Brent had been quiet a while. Ed looked over to see that he’d fallen asleep, his head on the passenger window.
Would he have gone through with his crazy plan if I hadn’t intervened? Would he have been able to infect someone as he intended? And, God, what would the consequences have been?
Ed supposed it didn’t matter. The people in charge wouldn’t have let Brent leave with two infected people, no matter whom he had as a hostage. Ed had played out extraction scenarios in his head a hundred times, imagining how he’d rescue his daughter. It wasn’t feasible; a facility like Black Island had too many failsafes to allow someone to slip in and out without harm. And while Ed might be able to defeat the security, and even reach to his daughter, he doubted he could escape in a manner that wouldn't put her at mortal risk.
And risking Jade wasn’t an option. She’d already suffered enough from the curse of being his daughter.
The way he figured it, they had no reason to harm her; there was nothing to gain in pissing him off by hurting her, especially when they allowed so many civilians to live on the island unmolested. Plus, their stated goal of trying to rebuild society seemed genuine enough, at least on the face of it. But that meant they would have to do everything that needed to be done to protect that goal, no matter who was in their way. So Ed would play ball. He’d worked for worse people, after all.
His parallel, the other Keenan, said his daughter would remain safe. Ed trusted him with that much. Keenan 2 had lived a slightly different life, a daughterless one, and Ed figured that though she were not his flesh and blood, that there may be some sort of connection which would keep her safe for a little while, anyway. Ed knew that Keenan 2 wasn’t the puppet master. Second in command, maybe. But not in charge. Someone else was pulling the strings behind the scenes, isolated from everyone and everything, using Keenan 2 as an intermediary. As Ed continued driving through a world growing whiter, he wondered if he’d ever find out who was really the man behind the curtain at Black Island.
Is there a seventh person?
**
They reached the east coast of Georgia by nightfall. They arrived by way of Interstate-95, though there were several times when they had to find a detour around some obstruction, one of the many new travel norms of their brave new world.
Ed decided to locate a hotel to stay at for the night. They’d need a solid night’s rest before searching for Boricio in the morning. He had a feeling they’d need every watt of energy their bodies could produce, especially if they came across anyone from Black Mountain. He found a newer-looking Holiday Inn off the highway, which looked nice and alien-free. The hotel was a free-standing building at the end of a shopping plaza that included a few restaurants, a Home Depot, a department store, a small grocery store chain he’d never heard of, and four different banks. He chuckled at the profligate abundance of banks in this world as well as his own.
He cut the lights as he pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, which was 60 percent full from the guests who involuntarily checked out on October 15, then waited 10 minutes to scout the scene for any aliens. None showed.
They grabbed their gear and headed inside. On instinct, he began securing the perimeter, once inside. He locked the lobby’s glass double doors . He checked the side doors and confirmed they couldn't be opened from the outside without a key card (which wouldn’t work anyway without electricity), then headed up seven flights of stairs, banging their rifles and shouting the entire time, to attract anything that might be inside the hotel to come out now, rather than later when they weren’t prepared.
All the noise was for not; the hotel was a ghost town.
They found a room with two Queen beds and a small kitchen suite. Ed drew the drapes and lit a few of the small battery operated lanterns he’d brought, placing them along the floor i
n the bathroomto cast just enough light into the main room that they could see without broadcasting their location beyond the thick hotel curtains.
“Hope you like canned pasta,” Ed mused, opening a duffel bag and tossing Brent a can of spaghetti and meatballs.
“You didn’t bring a hotplate or anything?” Brent asked.
“We don’t want to cook anything; that would attract attention.”
“Ah,” Brent said, pulling the tab on his can. Ed handed him a plastic fork, and they dug into their dinners.
“Not exactly Jane’s cooking, but surprisingly not horrible.” Brent said.
Ed sat on the floor, scooping food from his can, ignoring Brent’s many attempts to start a conversation. He never understood why people wanted to talk while they were eating. He put up with it from his family, since he figured that’s what he was expected to do. But that didn’t mean he’d put up with other people doing it. People talking during dinner may as well have been fingernails on a chalkboard.
“What’s the worst thing you ever had to eat?” Brent continued, deaf and blind to Ed’s uncommunicative posture.
“I ate a spider once, does that count?” Ed said, hoping to end the conversation.
“What the hell?” Brent said, nearly spitting out his food. “Really?”
Ed couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. It wasn’t terrible. They’re not as bad as people say. Well, until I realized it was pregnant. Oh, what a mess that was. Little baby spiders spilling out all over the place. Kinda looked like wet, dark pieces of pasta, actually.”
Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone) Page 28