The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Why was death so scary? Was life so great that to lose it would be tragic?

  Devereaux preached that enlightened people could find comfort in the nothingness of death as long as they accepted the truth of it—that once you were finished with this life, once you had accomplished all you could, and were tired and infirm and feeling yourself fading from the world, then you could let go, relax, close your eyes and let your consciousness ebb out. That didn’t mean you shouldn’t fight for life, just that you shouldn’t see death as evil. Death is the inevitable end of life.

  And what about the sudden, accidental death of the young? Devereaux said that was no different whether God exists or not. Life is arbitrary. Always has been.

  Doug looked at the sole picture on the wall—a 3D photograph of “Emerging Man.” He wouldn’t have guessed Cookie Monster to be an art lover. While he stared at the picture, Doug recalled the escape. After the attack at the Tessamae Shelter began, the guards by the cell door dropped to their knees, their weapons facing outward. Two more settled themselves behind trees: all four intense, alert, waiting. That was when Cookie Monster ran into the bars of the cell, grunting and yelling. Alarmed, Doug backed into a corner out of the way, wary of Cookie Monster’s size and unpredictability.

  The soldiers ordered Cookie Monster to shut up, but the big man ignored them, carrying on like some mad animal, running back and forth across the cage, slamming himself into the bars with a force that shook the entire cell. One of the guards swung his stun club over to Cookie Monster, prodding him with it. At that moment, the moment of greatest distraction, their rescuers moved. Doug didn’t see it. It happened so fast, and he was watching Cookie Monster take the hit from the stun club. Incredibly, Cookie Monster didn’t fall. He hesitated for a second, absorbing the blow, then backed away. Doug would have been knocked unconscious. Possibly his heart would have stopped. Cookie Monster just shook it off as the guard with the club went down.

  Doug looked out then and saw the other guards already on the ground. A big man, almost as big as Cookie Monster, brought some sort of laser up and sliced right through several of the cell bars. The purple light of the laser extended only a few inches past the device—a Las-knife.

  Two other attackers emerged from behind trees—one of them female…and huge. Not as big as the men—maybe only six-foot-four to their six-foot-nine or seven-foot height. But she was broad in the shoulders, like them. She wore the same camouflage coveralls as they. Only the lack of a beard made her immediately identifiable as a woman. Like Doug she was black. Under her big Afro, her face was ugly. But she moved beautifully, with controlled power, her muscles rippling beneath the coverall. The men, although slightly smaller than Cookie Monster, had heavily muscled torsos, narrow waists, massive thighs.

  Like Cookie Monster, these people had to be pseudos. Were they Mars Project Astronauts too? As Doug stood in the center of the cell, Cookie Monster moved toward the opening and turned his back to the pseudo who had sliced through the bars. The pseudo administered a painkiller and neatly cut the ID chip out of Cookie Monster’s neck.

  “Come on,” Cookie Monster said, his eyes locked on Doug’s, a flicker of intelligence there that Doug had never seen before. Despite his bushy beard and the multi-colored bruising from the beating he had taken, Cookie Monster looked almost genteel. He gestured for Doug to approach and turn around. When Doug complied, the pseudo numbed his neck and cut out his ID chip also.

  Then they took off through the woods, heading away from the shelter, off to the east, where almost two thousand acres of wild land lay before them. They skirted fallen houses and open basements, for the most part avoiding the deteriorated roads that ran through the abandoned neighborhood; instead, following paths that meandered often but always headed east. They skirted to the north of the old cemetery, turning before they reached the one ramshackle home Doug had visited in the recent past—a house just off the old main road. He’d been nervous when he went there and had stayed only a short time. He couldn’t imagine anyone straying too far off the highway that ran through town. Only the very brave or the very crazy lived in the woods. Recently, rumors had spread of wild creatures out here, more dangerous than wolves and bears and even tigers.

  Laughter bubbled up inside him. He fought it down.

  These were the creatures of rumor—these pseudos.

  Doug had struggled to keep up with the pseudos surrounding him. After a couple of minutes, he breathed heavily; then his legs began to feel like lead; finally he labored to suck in oxygen, taking huge gulps as he stumbled along. When he almost fell, Cookie Monster put a hand around his right arm and the black woman on the other side grabbed his left. They pulled him along between them, his feet seldom touching the ground.

  After maybe fifteen minutes of running, they let go of Doug’s arms and stopped. Doug had no idea where they were. All he knew was that they were in the middle of a forested area, among oaks and cottonwoods and any number of other trees he couldn’t identify. The undergrowth here was lighter, which made this a good spot to rest.

  Cookie Monster ignored him, as did the others. In fact, after nodding to each other, the four pseudos took positions surrounding Doug but facing away, as if keeping a lookout. They still had not spoken to each other and this lack of conversation began to wear on Doug’s nerves.

  “You’re pseudos, ain’t you?” he asked.

  They swung to face him, eyes narrowing in anger, nostrils flaring, muscles tensing. Cookie Monster put his finger to his lips and returned to his position facing outward. The others did the same.

  “There,” one of the pseudos said, as he pointed back in the direction they’d come. He issued a low, piercing whistle that was almost immediately answered. A few seconds later, five more pseudos appeared out of the woods. Three males, two females. They too wore lightweight coveralls in camouflage green. Two of them appeared to be injured.

  One of the females stood out in his mind—a blond Amazon with long flowing hair—just as well muscled as the other two females but with a statuesque beauty the other two lacked. The third female pseudo had dark hair and a severe look about her, but she stood with a confidence that made Doug think she was in command.

  The nine huddled together for a moment speaking too softly for Doug to hear, then broke apart.

  “What about him?” the commanding female asked, pointing at Doug. They all looked at him, anger or suspicion in their eyes.

  “I’ll bring him later,” Cookie Monster said.

  The pseudos huddled again, this time without Cookie Monster, and when they separated, the commanding female placed something into Cookie Monster’s hand while the others slipped away, quietly disappearing into the trees. Then she too vanished almost soundlessly.

  “You’re Devereauxnians, ain’t you?” Doug asked.

  “As are you,” Cookie Monster said.

  “How did you know that?”

  “I watch,” Cookie Monster pointed to his ear, “and listen.”

  “I wanna help,” Doug said. “That’s why I came. Devereaux told me he was gonna be here—in Crescent Township. That’s why I broke outta jail.”

  “How do you know it was Devereaux? Many people claim to be him.”

  Doug reached into his pocket and pulled out a small disk that looked like a coin, except for its blue-green color. On one side a ladder was engraved; on the other, an image of Emerging Man. He showed the coin to Cookie Monster. “Devereaux sent me this. Said it was his calling card.”

  “Devereaux told you he’d be here?” Cookie Monster said as he took the disk and studied it. Apparently satisfied, he handed it back. “Did he ask you to break out of prison and meet him here?”

  Doug shook his head. “He told me not to come.”

  Cookie Monster nodded emphatically. “Damn right. You’re an escaped convict. You’ll bring attention just by being here.”

  “And you won’t?” Dou
g said. “Nine pseudos runnin’ around with sophisticated weapons?”

  “We don’t like to be called pseudos. As a black man, you should understand how cruel it is to dehumanize someone.”

  Doug nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “What do you wanna be called?”

  “We’re just people. We call ourselves Escala.”

  “Escala? What’s that mean?”

  Cookie Monster smiled. “It means we’re evolving. We’re on the ladder of enlightenment, trying to better ourselves.”

  “I like that,” Doug said. “Escala, I’ll remember that. So, you seen Devereaux? He mentioned he’d be here for a short time. And I just had to see him for myself. Until he came along, I had nothin’. He saved me, let me know I could become somethin’ greater than I was. I had to tell him how much he meant to me.”

  That was when Cookie Monster reached out with the spray can and squirted it in Doug’s face. Now Doug’s head throbbed. For just a moment he wished he had a Blue Angel to take the pain away. No, that life was over. He was no addict. Closing his eyes, Doug rested his head on his hands, elbows on his knees, and took a couple deep breaths.

  “Hello,” Cookie Monster said.

  Doug jumped to his feet and immediately regretted it as the space behind his eyes pounded.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” Cookie Monster said.

  “Just a headache,” Doug said. “Where are we?”

  “Safe. Had to knock you out for security reasons. Here, inhale.” Cookie Monster sprayed a small vial into Doug’s face. Almost involuntarily, Doug inhaled a chocolate aroma and his head cleared, the fog and pain dissipating. At the same time, he felt a growing annoyance at the way he was being handled.

  “I can’t be trusted because I ain’t like you? You think you’re better than me because you altered your body?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You know, a bigger body don’t make you a better person.”

  “We have an obligation to evolve.”

  “Devereaux was talkin’ about our minds.”

  “That’s part of it,” Cookie Monster conceded.

  “You can’t achieve enlightenment through testosterone.”

  “That sounds like Devereaux,” Cookie Monster said.

  Doug laughed. “I guess I stole it from him. You know where he is?”

  Cookie Monster shook his head.

  “But he’s been here?”

  A nod.

  “Will he be back soon?”

  Cookie Monster shrugged.

  “I guess I’ll wait here then.” Doug reached out and touched the cave wall. It felt slightly damp, cool to the touch, though his fingers came away dry.

  “Have you spoken to Devereaux recently?” Cookie Monster said.

  “No. I hoped he’d contact me but I ain’t heard from him since I got here. I don’t even know what he looks like now.”

  “Now?”

  “I assume he’s changed his appearance,” Doug said, “but every time I talked to him on the vid, he looked like he used to in the past.”

  “The fewer people who know what he looks like, the safer he’ll be.”

  “And only you can be trusted with that knowledge?”

  “Let me show you around,” Cookie Monster said. He gestured toward the doorway and waited for Doug to precede him. When Doug reached the hallway—a nine-foot-high tunnel carved through rock—the post-lightning smell of recently ionized air greeted him. Glow globes floated near the ceiling to his left, down the curving hallway, and voices came from that direction. To his right, the hallway disappeared into darkness. Doug walked past several open archways, all of which led into bedrooms similar to the room he’d just vacated. In one room, an Escala lay sleeping, a bandage on his massive thigh, but otherwise naked. Doug was surprised that there were no doors on any of the rooms.

  As he advanced along the hallway, the sound grew until he was able to detect the laughter of children mingling with adult voices. The hallway opened to a large room that was actually a huge cave. The domed ceiling rose maybe a hundred feet in the air. Sparkling rocks decorated the dirt walls, highlighted by a trio of spotlights in the center of the room that moved in a circle and changed color, passing through red, yellow, green and blue. Several smaller glow globes hovered in the corners. At the far end, a stairway led up into darkness—the way out.

  On one side of the cave, about thirty yards away, several young Escala children played a game with sticks and hoops. On the other side, maybe twenty yards from Doug, six giant men and women sat at a large table, engaged in conversation.

  In the moment Doug took this in, the adults turned his way. Their eyes locked on him, trapping him with their intensity. Behind him, he heard Cookie Monster emit a low chuffing sound, almost a growl, and the children stopped their laughter, glancing over at him before returning to their game in a more subdued fashion. The adults continued to stare at Doug. Cookie Monster led him by the arm, gently, to the table. As he approached, Doug recognized the three women who had helped rescue him. The homely black woman sat next to a large man with red hair and a great many freckles. He was the only man not wearing a beard. Across the table from them, between two dark-haired Escala males with short beards, sat the blond Amazon. The dark female who had spoken for the group in the woods sat at the head of the table.

  Cookie Monster stopped, pulling Doug next to him, placing his large arm around Doug’s shoulders.

  “Why?” the dark female asked.

  “He’s a Devereauxnian too,” Cookie Monster replied.

  “You have a plan?”

  “Always.” Cookie Monster grinned. “I have to patrol.” He swung around to face Doug. “You’ll be safe here.” Then he strode to the stairs and took them two at a time, leaving Doug alone with the adults.

  “This may work out nicely,” the dark female said, nodding. She gestured to the only chair not in use. As Doug sat, she said, “I’m Quekri.” Then she pointed to the homely black woman and said, “Temala.”

  Temala smiled, showing widely spaced teeth. Doug thought she looked hungry, like a cannibal eyeing a missionary—probably stupid too.

  “Dunadan,” Quekri said, indicating the red-haired man. Then she nodded to the other side of the table where the two dark-haired men sat on either side of the blond Amazon. “Shull, Zeriphi, Warrow.” Finally Quekri looked at Doug and said, “You hungry?”

  Doug nodded.

  “Zeriphi.” Quekri looked at the blond Amazon. “You’re in estrus. Food?”

  Zeriphi, the blond Amazon, stared at Quekri with a puzzled expression. Then her eyes widened and she turned to look at Doug. After a few seconds Zeriphi nodded. She bowed slightly, pushed back her chair and left the room. What was that about? And the word, estrus—that sounded vaguely familiar.

  “What’s estrus?” Doug asked.

  Quekri raised her eyebrows. Temala grinned. Dunadan placed his freckled hand over Temala’s and rubbed it gently, while Shull and Warrow exchanged glances before they all turned their attention back to Doug. Confused by their refusal to answer him, Doug watched them watching him, whatever they’d been talking about before he entered the room forgotten.

  He thought about saying something to break the tension. Then he realized that the tension was coming from him. Their faces bespoke curiosity, nothing more. Still, their silence bothered him. He liked to talk, enjoyed the sound of voices. He felt less lonely when he was around people who talked. These people made him feel lonelier.

  “I came here ’cuz I knew he was here,” Doug finally spoke. “I’m a Devereauxnian just like you.” When he got no response, he continued, “We’re all in this together. We all wanna help him.” Still, they said nothing. “Were you involved in the old Mars Project?” he asked. “I know they experimented with modifying human DNA to increase
the chances for survival on Mars. But the mutations didn’t work very well, from what I heard.”

  Nothing. He might as well have been talking to the rocks.

  “When I was in jail,” Doug spoke just to hear a voice, “I began to follow Devereaux’s teachings. But maybe I should start at the beginning. I got into drugs because that’s what kids in my hood did. We didn’t go to school much. Couldn’t get no education there anyway. Momma didn’t care if I learned nothin’ or not. She was too busy tryin’ to survive, workin’ three jobs just to bring home enough for food and a lousy apartment. My old man split before I was born. My friends and I hung out on corners. Waitin’. Like maybe things would get better if we just waited long enough. Occasionally we got high. Pretty soon, I needed to get high all the time. At first the drugs made me feel more alive. Then they started suckin’ my soul, my essence, away. I got arrested several times. Finally picked up my third strike—you know? Third felony?”

  No response.

  “And that’s when I began to study Devereaux’s teachings. I even recruited others to join me on the ladder. The ladder of enlightenment.” The adults around the table finally reacted. They leaned forward, focusing on him. “You know about that, right?”

  They nodded. Shull twisted his neck to the side and Warrow reached over to scratch his back. Shull chuffed softly.

  “I studied other subjects too,” Doug continued. “I discovered the thrill of knowledge. That was powerful stuff. It wasn’t long before I created a vidblog, began talkin’ about my experiences. That put me into contact with others, most outside of prison, all ready to devote their lives to Devereaux’s message. That’s when Devereaux first contacted me. I asked him, ‘Why me?’ and he said I was one of many. We’re like an army of ordinary people searching for meaning. We’re not alone. He’s there with us all the time. That’s reassuring. Have you been out in the real world lately? Do you know what it’s like out there now?”

  “We see the news,” Dunadan said. Temala and the others nodded.

  “You almost got to be out there to understand it,” Doug said. “Whole country’s gone mad. The rich keep buildin’ walls around their communities, increasin’ their security, consolidatin’ in places where they can defend themselves against terror attacks or revolt by the masses. But the masses don’t revolt. They’re beaten. The rich hold out the promise of success. They say that stimulatin’ economic growth for the rich benefits everybody but the only jobs they provide are low payin’, demeaning and unstable. And we got no choice but to accept the bones they throw our way. We got no power. Any attempt to organize brings out the anarchists and that brings out the private security forces or the National Guard.”