Torn

by Druga, Jacqueline

  Bret sat back. “It sounds scary.”

  “Yes, it does,” Colin said. “Now…enough gloom and doom. I’m starved and I have to stay upbeat. I have a book-signing this afternoon.”

  Puzzled, Bret glanced at him. “You wrote a book?”

  “Yes, I did. Have a signing for it. Ladies’ tea signing.”

  “What’s it about?” Bret asked. “I love to read.”

  “It’s called Passion and Vengeance.” Colin replied. “It deals with the fury of woman.” He smiled. “Mother Earth.”

  “So it’s nonfiction,” Bret said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Wait. Wait.” Chuck interrupted. “Are these scientific women that are coming to this tea?”

  “Nope, not at all,” Colin replied. “More than likely, they’re everyday housewives.”

  “For a geological book?” Chuck quizzed then laughed. “And you expect to sell to these women?”

  “I not only will sell to these women, but others in the store. In fact…I’ll sell out.” Colin pulled out a cigarette.

  “You think?” Chuck laughed. “Fifty bucks says no way.”

  With an arrogant smile, Colin held out his hand. “You’re on.”

  ***

  “I have to go to the ATM machine,” Chuck whispered in Bret’s ear.

  Bret peered up from the book. “What was that? I didn’t hear you. I was,” she held up a copy of Colin’s book, “so intrigued.”

  “I said I have to go to the ATM so I can pay off the bet.”

  “You think he’s gonna sell out?”

  Chuck looked over to the long line of women waiting to greet Colin. “I’d say so. God, how is he doing it?”

  “The book is good.”

  “It’s about geology.” Chuck retorted. “And….” He snatched the book from her hand. “What is up with this cover?”

  On the front of the book were a man and a woman entangled in a passionate embrace.

  “This indicates nothing about geology,” Chuck said.

  “Colin said it is symbolic of the earth changes. Water, air. See?” She held it up “Plus, he says everything in everyday terms. It’s like reading a love story.”

  Chuck grunted, “And have you heard him? He’s lying to these women.”

  “He is not.”

  “Is too. Come here.” He took hold of Bret’s arm and pulled her toward the table. “Just listen to him.”

  Perturbed, Bret folded her arms. “Then can I go back to reading?”

  Again, Chuck grunted.

  Colin opened the cover to his book. “And who should I make.…” He glanced to the large woman before him. “My God, don’t think me forward but that is the loveliest shade of green I have ever seen. Very earthy.”

  She tilted her head with a blush. “Thank you.”

  “Same color as the mist on the cover of my book. Did you notice?” Colin asked.

  “No,” she said brightly, “I didn’t. Wow.”

  “Great sweater.”

  “The book looks great.”

  “Thank you.” Colin replied.

  “Is it a true love story?”

  “It is a beautifully true love story.” Colin answered. “Intense.”

  “Like the cover and title. I love the title. Sounds like there may be a little tryst in there as well.”

  Colin only winked. “Your name?”

  “Mary Beth.”

  “Very nice name.”

  “Thank you. You know it’s a shame it isn’t a mystery. My daughter would love it and you’re such a nice man.”

  “Why thank you. And…there is a hint of a mystery that runs through it.” Colin closed the cover after signing.

  “Really, well.…” She reached and took a book from the stack. “Can you make this one out to Sue?”

  “Absolutely,” Colin raised his pen.

  “See?” Chuck inched Bret away.

  “I think you’re just sore because you have lost the bet and owe him fifty bucks.”

  “Yeah, I am sore.”

  “Go to the money machine.”

  “I am. He drives me insane.”

  “I thought Jeffers and Darius did.”

  “They all do,” Chuck spoke dramatically.

  “Well.” Bret snickered sarcastically. “You’re in trouble if the world does end, because you’re stuck with Darius and Colin.”

  “You think?” Chuck raised his eyebrows. “If the world ends, there are no more laws. No more laws, I can kill them to make my life more tolerable.”

  “Ha!” Bret laughed. “You don’t have it in you.”

  “You’re right, you’re right.” Chuck smiled. “I’ll just tell Jesse you had an affair with one of them and he’ll handle it. See ya.” After a pat to her cheek, Chuck walked away.

  ***

  Even though it was close to sundown, the heat was still unbearable. Riding in the open jeep helped, adding a slight breeze that blew through Darius’ hair. But he was stuffed in the jeep with six others. Their body heat added to his discomfort.

  He hadn’t slept, not since leaving the United States twenty-four hours earlier. He was briefed on the private jet about the situation, but the briefing was just that…brief. Not much was known. As they moved from location to location, clearance for the team of scientists came through, and in a caravan that consisted of two jeeps and a truck, they rode to the infected area.

  They were told that the Center for Disease Control group was already there, along with scientists from the World Health Organization. Darius was invited by a group of Ivy League minds that went from place to place, under private funding, to investigate strange natural phenomenon. On the surface, the outbreak didn’t appear unusual, with vomiting, diarrhea, lesions of the skin, general malaise and death. But underneath the surface, it was a different story. Not a single strain of virus was found in the bloodstream. Nothing.

  Why were these people so sick?

  Darius prepared to put on his surgical facemask. Though he hated them and it was hot, it would help with the smell from both the village and the jeep.

  He put it on one mile outside the town, as instructed. His mask was the only protective clothing he had. That and gloves.

  He would work alone, but report as a team. They worked that way. He could go alone to uncover his findings, but he had to share—like everyone else—at the end of the day. Darius didn’t mind that. If by chance he couldn’t figure out the cause someone else would. Science more often than not is selfless.

  Carrying his backpack complete with his testing equipment, Darius disembarked the jeep directly after it stopped. Several of his senses were aroused when he did so. An enormous number of flies swarmed about creating a symphony of buzzing. His sense of smell was muffled, but his sense of touch was not. The heat felt weird on his skin, almost burning; Darius chalked it up to his imagination.

  When his group arrived, most of them followed in a pack. Not Darius. He pulled out a camera and immediately began taking pictures. The sound of coughing flowed through the air. There were no children running around, very little movement at all. In fact, Darius would have sworn the town was dead had it not been for the sounds of illness.

  One of his crew, a man named Jameson, caught Darius’ attention. He had walked into the hospital while Darius still photographed the sites of the street. Almost immediately, Jameson flew out the door of the single-story frame building. He barely made it off the porch before he vomited copiously. For some strange reason, he tried to catch it in his hand; it didn’t work. The vomit splashed out violently.

  Darius took a picture, ‘mind filing’ it as a great action shot. Some would call it demented; Darius called it curiosity. Holding his camera at the ready he went into the hospital. He lifted it to shoot but stopped. People were on the floor, on beds put together…everywhere. All of them were discolored and covered with sores; vomit seeped from their mouths, and their backs and bottoms were encircled in fresh and dried blood. He swallowed the impulse to vomit that formed in
his throat and lifted the camera.

  “She is with the CDC,” Darius heard a man say. “Got ill three days after getting here.”

  Darius zoomed in on the conversation.

  “Fourth case,” he continued, “What is it? Obviously, it’s contagious.”

  After a few pictures, Darius couldn’t take anymore and lowered the camera and left.

  Outside all he wanted to do was remove his mask and inhale a long, deep breath of fresh air, but he couldn’t. He could only walk away. Just a little way, he figured, away from the pandemonium and death.

  In the distance, a water hole caught his eye. Not that he would drink from it, but it seemed isolated and no one was there. Reaching into his backpack Darius pulled out a bottle of water and uncapped it. After lifting his mask slightly, he took a long, deep swig, swished it in his mouth, and then spit it out. Looking down, wiping his mouth, readying to take another drink, it caught his eye. Darius walked ahead a few feet then crouched down.

  Black.

  His fingers ran against the dirt on the ground, and it was black. He rolled his fingertips together and it smeared like charcoal. He stuck his fingers into it and the black dirt extended down not only four inches, it encircled out that much as well.

  “What the fuck?” he wondered aloud, then stood up. Pivoting his body, he allowed his eyes to gaze around. While he searched he saw that the black spot wasn’t the only one. For a moment, he stood there dumbfounded. Were they burning bodies? Were they burning anything? Just as he went to lower his mask again, he felt the heat sizzle on his brow. With widening eyes Darius fumbled in his bag and pulled out a small hand-held unit. He clicked it on, and aimed it around. “Shit. Shit!”

  He whacked the side of the unit and watched the digital readout. “Shit!” he called out, then raced back toward the main section of the compound. “Dr. Waters!” he called out. “Dr. Waters.”

  Dr. Waters emerged from the hospital. “Dr. Cobb, where is your mask?”

  Darius shook his head. “We need more than masks right now, sir.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “These people don’t have a plague or viral infection. They have radiation poisoning.” He handed him the unit. “Take a look. We’re standing at fifty rads. In another four hours we’ll all be sick.”

  “Good Lord.” Waters brought his hand to his head and wiped away the sweat. “What in the world is causing that much radiation?” As he removed his mask for a breather his head tilted back and he paused as he stared up.

  “What?” Darius asked.

  “Our cause.” Waters said.

  Baffled for only a second, Darius glanced to the same location as Waters. He peered up to the bright and shining…sun.

  8. The Pull

  Memorial Day - May 25th …

  It was a letter to her Uncle Alistair that told Virginia that she and the others would be getting vital information: A letter from Darius, dated two weeks earlier. He called her when he received it and she called Colin.

  Colin was relieved; he hadn’t heard anything from Darius at all and calls to Harvard, posts on the net, and even contact with government officials, bred nothing. Darius had arrived in Africa. That’s all that was known. The short letter from Darius was all that they had.

  What was going on?

  “That’s all it says,” Virginia told him on the phone the day before. “In fact it was written on half a sheet of paper. There are some partial equations on the back, but I can’t make heads or tails out of where he was going with them.”

  “Were those equations for us?” Colin asked.

  “I don’t think so. I think he used the back of the paper.” Virginia said. “You mentioned something about statistics. What did you make of them?”

  “Nothing conclusive. I do however see changes, and it’s indicating it may have something to do with magnetic fields.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Well, I was theorizing polarity shifts. Sporadic incidences, popping up like acne, forming a head then bursting in various spots.”

  Colin chuckled. “I like that analogy.”

  “Thanks. Anyhow . . . what are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Since all government agencies are closed on Memorial Day, I’m doing nothing.”

  “Feel like taking a ride to Beaver County?”

  “Why, what’s in Beaver?” Colin asked.

  “A sister center to my facility. It deals with the environment. They have a nice monitoring station that shows magnetic pulses as they occur, along with weather changes. I thought I’d go and sit for a while. You know me, I’m the solar gal. Since most of our occurrences are happening just before noon.…”

  Colin chuckled. “Thinking it’s the sun?”

  “Maybe. What do you say?” she asked.

  “Well, since you’re riding in from Akron, I’ll come up from Pittsburgh. Sort of meet you halfway.”

  “That’s better than no way.”

  “Hey, that’s a Partridge Family song,” Colin said.

  “Love the Partridge Family.”

  “Now, see, you are much too young to know them, aren’t you? I’ll have to guess reruns.”

  Virginia snickered. “You flatter me.”

  “I try. Virginia.…” Colin took a serious pause. “Thank you. I needed to take my mind off my worries. I love Darius as if he were my kid. In fact, I view him as my only kid.”

  “Then I know how you feel. If my son was lost out there, I’d go crazy, too. I’ll email you the directions.”

  And she did.

  Colin had them on the counter, right on top of his briefcase. He was going to grab a bite to eat then head out. It was a little over an hour drive to Beaver County.

  The microwave beeped at the same moment the door bell rang. Foregoing the removal of his food, Colin walked from the kitchen down the long hallway to the foyer of his home.

  “Chuck?” He opened the door. “This is a surprise.”

  “Can I come in?” Chuck asked.

  “Absolutely.” Colin opened the door wider.

  “Glad I caught you.”

  “You almost didn’t. In another fifteen minutes, I was leaving.” Colin turned. “Come to the kitchen. I was just about to have my lunch,” he spoke as he walked. “Can I fix you some?”

  “No thank you.”

  “A drink?”

  “Nah.” Chuck shook his head. “Now you mentioned the name of this scientist thing was the Harvard ‘I’ team?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I had my information correct, then. Anyhow.…” He paused as he watched Colin open the microwave. “You’re having hot dogs. You don’t strike me as a hot dog guy.”

  “It’s Memorial Day. You’re supposed to eat hot dogs on Memorial Day.”

  “On a grill.”

  “Minor detail.” Colin proceeded to fix his food.

  “Back to what I was saying. I have been checking the AP newsfeed. Nothing is coming up or has come up with anything unusual going on in Africa. I have a reporter friend who has an in with the CDC. Check this out. The CDC does have a team in that location along with the WHO.”

  “This is good.”

  “But…they are denying an outbreak. In fact, they are deeming it educational.…” Chuck said with a raise of his eyebrow. “So I thought. Hey, Darius’ reason for being there, right? Educational, Harvard. So I asked. I asked about the Harvard ‘I’ team.”

  “And?”

  “They didn’t know what I was talking about. I then clarified, in case they weren’t using that name. But the CDC contact said there are four people down there. Two from the CDC and two from WHO. Educational purposes only.”

  “So that leaves us with the question.”

  Chuck nodded. “Is there really nothing going on, or are they covering up?”

  “That wasn’t the question I was thinking,” Colin said. “I was thinking, where is Darius Cobb?”

  ***

  To be taken by immedi
ate, utter surprise, rendered speechless and placed in a temporary state of disbelief. If asked, that would be Bret’s definition of shock. Following that, she would say she was not one easily shocked. Frightened, yes, surprised a little—that too. But to be shocked is another story.

  Twice she had been completely shocked. The first time occurred two years after she married Jesse. He told her about this great truck a friend of his had for sale. The price was good, parts would cost little, and it needed little if any bodywork. It was the deal of the century. As far as repairs went, Jesse could handle those. Admittedly, to her the price was right at seven hundred dollars, and she knew nothing about trucks. She let him handle it, and after weeks of bragging and ‘I love this truck’ comments, Jesse brought the truck home.

  Now, on that particular day, Bret was in the living room when she heard a bang. Immediately, she wondered who had wrecked. It wasn’t a wreck; it was Jesse putting the truck in park. A few noises, not a problem, but when she saw the truck, she almost died.

  Could it even be called a truck? It looked older than any living person that she knew. A cross between a flatbed and a pick-up truck, it had no front end and was a hideous shade of maroon.

  “Nice, huh?” Jesse smiled. “I love it.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A truck. 1965 Ford Econoline.” Jesse nodded.

  “Looks older than that.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you got ripped off. No wonder it only cost seven hundred bucks. It’s ugly as hell.”

  “Come on now,” he said offended then hugged that truck as if she insulted his best friend. “It’s a solid piece of transportation.”

  “Are you really gonna drive that? Jesse, do they even make tires for that anymore?”

  “Bret, look at her.”

  “Her?”

  “Betsy.”

  “You named it?” she asked.

  “Not me. Ray’s father did. It was his truck.”