by PJ Sharon
Chapter 2
Medical Journal Entry-02232043
Dr. Hope Greyson, Geneticist for Industry Laboratories
I am certain that I’m dying. This pregnancy has gone from bad to worse and every day, my vital signs grow weaker and my health declines with no determinable etiology. I can only hope that Carl will be able to care for the children and protect them from the influence of the Industry. Dr. Bartholomew and his team of scientists who’ve taken control are determined to continue their experiments on the EVO carriers.
My first pregnancy seems to have been one of the few successes, but with Industry involvement, the trials have been increasingly unpredictable and dangerous for test subjects. Genetically altered fetuses are surviving the womb and are showing remarkable resistance to the pandemic virus that has spread to every continent and has reportedly taken the lives of over four billion people. The only good news is that we believe we’ve found the cure. However, distributing the vaccine will take time—precious time that we cannot afford.
Carl and I are thinking of moving into the hills with my brother Sam once the baby is born, though we avoid discussion of the likelihood that I won’t survive delivery. At least Carl will be with our beautiful little Celia, a perfect child if there ever was one. She has shown remarkable resilience during this trying time—never having been sick a day in her life. Notably, she heals miraculously fast from minor cuts or abrasions. As an active three year old, she’s prone to bumps, bruises, and scrapes, but within hours or minutes, they are completely gone without even a trace of a scar. Celia remains the brightest spot in our lives and keeps us hoping for a better future—
Hearing footsteps on the stairs, I closed mother’s journal and tucked the spiral bound notebook away under Lily’s mattress where she thought I wouldn’t find it. I resisted the temptation to wallow in guilt and evaded the inevitable sting of tears that would follow, knowing I had been responsible for my mother’s death.
“What are you doing in my room? You’re supposed to be out doing chores.” Lily rounded the corner just as I climbed to my feet.
“I was looking for my crossbow.” Lying to my big sister, the paragon of virtue formerly known as Celia, was no big deal. Our lives had been one lie after another right from the start. I was only three when we came to live with our uncle Samuel in the Northeast sector after father died at the hands of the Industry agents who tried to take us away. My sister hid me for two days before Sam found us in a secret room at our old house. Sam changed my name from Timothy John Greyson to Zephron Carmichael, a trade I wished I’d had some say over. Celia, my protector, continued to hover like a guardian angel, however much I wished she would find another charge.
Lily raised a sandy brow, her tone suspicious. “Under my bed?”
“I thought you were hiding it from me as some stupid punishment for shooting that hawk the other day.
“No, I didn’t hide your crossbow, although I should have. You can’t just go killing anything you want because you’re mad.”
“The hawk was eating our chickens. I was defending our food supply.” I brushed past her in the doorway and then turned back. “That’s the problem with you, Lily; you don’t understand that killing to survive is natural.”
“Maybe if you’re an uncivilized Neanderthal, but I’m trying to teach you better.” She gave me a stern green-eyed glare that I imagined our mother must have had, and it sent another shard of guilt through my gut. At sixteen, Lily thought that being three years my elder, made her the boss of me.
“Wrong, big sis.” I accentuated the word to make a point, since I had grown six inches taller than her in the past year. “Sam says adapt, improvise, and overcome. I was overcoming.”
She released an exasperated sigh. “I’ve heard all of Sam’s lessons, little brother. You don’t need to remind me what’s at stake. But I believe there’s always another way. Killing isn’t the answer. Violence only leads to more violence.”
“I can’t argue with that,” I mumbled as I walked away. The violent tendencies which rumbled beneath the surface burned for release like lava from a festering volcano. It wasn’t like I wanted to kill everybody all the time, but the way I felt when I put my hands on something and its life force seeped into my soul made me want more, and fighting the urge to give into the pull was growing harder by the day.