Spores

by Ike Hamill

  “They learn?”

  “They have to. If they didn’t have the ability to distinguish, they would have gone extinct thousands of years ago.”

  “Millions,” Nelson added.

  His comment silenced their discussion for a moment.

  Eventually, Tyler continued.

  “We presented them with false predation, and the data will show a reaction. Then we presented them with the threat of a false forest fire. Right now, they’re figuring out that it’s not real.”

  “Wait, where would a fungus store a memory?”

  “Where do we?” Nelson asked.

  “In our neurons,” Marie said. She tapped the side of her head. “Do we still need these?” she asked, tugging at her mask.

  Nelson shook his head. “As long as the flap is zipped, no.”

  They all removed their masks. Marie took off her goggles as well. Once she did that, she was able to shuck off her hood and escape that entrapment. The cold air, for the moment, felt incredibly refreshing.

  “So it’s all in your neurons? Every thought and memory are a collection of electrical impulses trapped in a network of cells in your brain?”

  It felt like he was making fun of her, but she couldn’t figure out the joke. Tyler was no help. He only looked between the two of them, waiting to see what would happen next.

  “Isn’t it? All in the neurons, I mean? Is there some other theory that I’m not aware of?”

  “Maybe,” Nelson said. “Maybe it’s not another theory that you’ve missed, but all the evidence that doesn’t support your idea of the world. What happens when a person loses a chunk of their brain to trauma or disease. Is there a percentage of memory that simply goes out the window?”

  “I believe so,” Marie said. It occurred to her that she should shut this conversation down. He was going to make fun of her, teasing her about her pathetic understanding of brains, or whatever. But it was cold, they had time to kill, and it seemed like Nelson was about to explain something interesting for a change.

  “If that were true, the death of a single neuron could spell disaster. What if that neuron was involved with the storage of your memory of where to find fresh water? What if you were a pre-civilization hominid who couldn’t remember how to return to the troop? That method of storing memories wouldn’t be very advantageous.”

  “Memories are redundant? Aren’t they?” Marie asked.

  “This very conundrum led to the development of the holonomic brain theory. That model suggests that the brain exists as a holographic storage network, encoding memories into wave interference patterns that are retained by the neurons. Lose a cell or a chunk, and the wave might be diminished slightly, but the memory is still recoverable. It takes a lot of trauma to disturb a system like that. It’s an interesting theory, and I believe that it is completely incorrect.”

  “Huh,” Marie said. She was beginning to reconsider whether it was better to have Nelson be quiet and mean or excited and rambling on about brains. The more she heard on the topic, the less interesting it was becoming.

  “Let’s imagine another scenario. Let’s stop thinking of the brain as a box that we put things in and start thinking about it like a window to a place where our memory is like a picture. We keep our short term memories on hand, so we have them at a moment’s notice, but when a memory needs to be moved off to permanent storage, our hand reaches through the window and paints a picture in another place—a place that is technically outside of our brain.”

  “What?”

  “The structures up here,” he said, pointing to his head, “are just the apparatus that we need to read and write to that other place. For each of us, we have our own perspective on that memory realm, that’s why we all have different perspectives and memories for the most part. But we also share some of the same ether, and that’s how people first learned to work together.”

  “Ether? Like the drug?” Marie asked.

  Nelson didn’t seem to register her question. He was lost in his own thoughts. Tyler leaned closer to her to explain in a whisper. “It’s a theory of the memory realm. It’s an energy dimension where humans imprint their memories.”

  “Wait,” Marie said to Nelson, waving her hand in front of his face to break his trance. “There’s no evidence for this, is there?”

  “Oh? How do you explain simultaneous invention?” Nelson asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “All of the most groundbreaking discoveries in human history have been a close race. Completely isolated from each other, an inventor on one side of the globe will be working on the formulation of calculus and with no communication, someone else develops that same idea. The same thing happened with the theory of evolution. Darwin was thinking of it over here, and Wallace came up with the concept over there. There are countless examples in history. These people are seeing into the same window on the creative impulse. They’re both tapped into the same region of the ether.”

  Marie shook her head.

  “Why would the revelations always come to a scientist? What happens if a farmer, hunched over her vegetable patch in China comes up with calculus? What’s she supposed to do with that math?”

  “It’s our focus and our interest that concentrates what we tap into. It’s no accident. It’s the same way that you might be thinking of a friend the moment before they call you on the phone.”

  “Nobody calls anymore,” Marie said. “They text.”

  “Precisely!” Nelson said. His enthusiasm was almost charming. Marie was beginning to understand why Oliver had worked with the man. When he was really engaged in a subject that he cared about, his bad qualities faded away.

  “You bring up the perfect point. Fashion trends and popular culture are the perfect example. These ripples pass through the ether and everyone changes their opinion overnight. It’s not just peer pressure or charismatic leaders who lead to change in popular opinion. These massive sweeps come from the ether too. There are future trends that will be enormous waves a year from now but they start as the smallest ripple.”

  “Huh,” Marie said.

  “Terrence McKenna,” Tyler said.

  “Precisely!” Nelson said. He pointed at the young man with a giant smile. “Precisely.”

  “Pardon? Terrence who?” Marie asked.

  Nelson pointed to Tyler, letting him explain.

  “McKenna was an author who experimented on himself with psilocybin mushrooms,” Tyler said. “He postulated that the mushrooms were a gateway to put us in contact with an alien consciousness.”

  Marie rolled her eyes. Nelson was too excited to notice. He interrupted Tyler.

  “Not just an alien consciousness, but the collective memory of our entire species as well. He didn’t know it, but he was one of the first proponents of the ether theory of energy.”

  Nelson paused for a moment. Marie thought that the rant was over.

  “Did you ever wonder where language comes from?” Nelson asked.

  “They’re learned,” Marie said. She leaned over to try to glance at Tyler’s watch. It was hidden by the cuff of his coat.

  “Consider vervet monkeys and their alarm calls,” Nelson said.

  Marie stood up.

  * * * * * * *

  (Memory)

  Marie put her hand over her mouth and looked down at Nelson. Tyler was looking up at her, but Nelson didn’t even seem to notice her shock. He kept going with his inane theories.

  “Vervet monkeys have different alarm calls for different types of predators,” Nelson said.

  Marie thought carefully—where had she and Tyler discussed the monkeys? She clearly remembered him talking about it up at the snowmobiles—too far away for Nelson to have heard. But if she remembered correctly, the topic had first come up right in front of Nelson. It was possible that he had heard the same theories somewhere and Tyler’s mention of vervet monkeys had simply queued up the story in Nelson’s head.

  Then, Nelson said something that Marie was certain they hadn
’t discussed in front of him.

  “It’s the same way that monkeys sense an incoming natural disaster, like a tsunami,” Nelson said.

  “Wait!” Marie said. She practically shouted the command. “How the fuck did both of you know that I was thinking about monkeys and tsunamis earlier?”

  Nelson’s eyes focused on her. His trance was broken. As he considered her, the familiar snide expression returned to the angles of his eyebrows and the sneer of his mouth.

  “Haven’t you been listening?” Nelson asked.

  “I’ve listened to every stupid word that the two of you have said. Now tell me why the fuck my thoughts aren’t private anymore.”

  “We’ve aligned our consciousness,” Nelson said.

  Tyler nodded.

  “We’re basically of one mind now,” Tyler said.

  “You’ve been a little behind because you started late, but you’re coming along. Don’t you feel the alignment?”

  Marie moved towards the flap, hunching over under the curve of the tent’s roof. She put her mask back on.

  “There’s no need for that now,” Nelson said. “They’ve all come together. Once we finish waking up the patch beneath us, Chibaiozon will be with us.”

  Marie shook her head quickly, like she could dispel this new version of reality if she could mechanically dislodge it from her head. It had to be a dream. They had stayed up too long and she had dozed off. That was the only explanation. She made a quick decision—even if it was a dream, she was going to get the hell out of there.

  Tyler was just starting to get up from his stool when Marie’s hand found the zipper. She didn’t wait to find out what he intended to do. She clawed open the flap and ran. On either side of her, the flares were sputtering out. They had set the tent up right in the middle of the field of study. Vaguely, she remembered questioning that decision, but couldn’t remember why she had gone along with it in the end. It was so clear now that it was a stupid idea.

  As she ran for the ridge, she heard a rustling behind her. Tyler was coming for her. Marie sprinted for the slope, thinking about the snowmobile. She needed a decent lead on the young man if she was going to get the thing started and be off before he reached her.

  “Marie!” he called. “Remember—we need you. We need all three of us.”

  It was good that he was wasting his energy on yelling. If he was yelling, he wasn’t putting all of his energy into the chase. Marie didn’t let herself slow down. Clawing her way up the slope, she reached the top and swung her head left and right. For a horrible moment, she didn’t see the snowmobiles. Her imagination conjured accomplices. She imagined people all through the woods—Russian loggers, probably—who were closing in on her. Then, the reflector of the snowmobile caught her headlamp. In her haste, she had climbed to the wrong part of the ridge. She reoriented herself and ran down the snowmobile tracks to the machine.

  The snowmobile with the trailer was parked in back. Marie ran right past it and jumped on the other one. She could go faster without the burden. It started right up and she revved the engine. For a second, she paused, glancing back at the other snowmobile. If she took the keys, she could eliminate the possibility of pursuit. She would also be stranding Nelson and Tyler out here, and they might not be able to walk all the way back. The debate paralyzed her for a moment and then she put the snowmobile in gear.

  “It’s too much,” she whispered. “What if I’m wrong? What if I panicked and I’m just wrong? I can’t leave them there.”

  It wouldn’t matter anyway. She was much faster on the machines and she could get back to the car and be far away before either man reached the cabin.

  The headlamp cut through the night. The snow had stopped falling and Marie pushed the speed. By the time Nelson and Tyler made it back to the cabin, she would be long gone. They had gone crazy. Maybe it was some type of cabin fever or something. Whatever it was, they could explain their strange delusions later, preferably by email.

  While she sped down the trail, Marie plotted out precisely what she was going to do. She needed the satellite phone, her cellphone, and the keys to the rental car. Everything else was replaceable.

  “The charger,” she whispered, remembering that the satellite phone was dead.

  “Keys, phones, chargers, and water,” she said. They had moved all the water from the car into the cabin, so it wouldn’t freeze. She reminded herself to bring water, in case she got stuck somewhere. Fasting while she waited for help was no problem, but dehydration would kill.

  “And a blanket,” she whispered. “Just in case.”

  She saw the lights of the cabin through the trees.

  Chapter Eleven - Flight

  (Dead)

  MARIE BURST THROUGH THE front door of the cabin. There was no sound of a pursuing snowmobile. The men had to be at least a few minutes behind.

  “This is crazy,” she whispered as she ran up the stairs. The bag was still open on the bed. In two seconds, she stuffed everything in, threw the cellphone on top, and put it over her shoulder. She threw the blanket from the bed over her other shoulder.

  “Am I crazy?” she asked herself as she flew back down the stairs. She paused, cocking her head—still no sound of the other snowmobile.

  “They’re going to be a while. Should I take a breath and think about this?”

  Her eyes landed on the satellite phone on the table. She snatched it up, stuffed it in the bag, and then grabbed two big bottles of water from the counter.

  “No. Safe distance first, thinking second.”

  She nodded. The decision felt right.

  Marie bolted towards the door.

  “Stop!” she commanded herself on the porch. Her mind was racing around, not settling on the important things. This happened to her all the time in stressful situations and she forgot things. This time, she couldn’t afford to forget anything.

  “Keys, phones, chargers, water, blanket.”

  She dropped the bag. The side pocket should have held the keys to the rental vehicle. They had a big green fob attached to them with the phone number of the business. Marie could picture them perfectly, but they weren’t there. After all those months together with Nelson and Tyler, she had known better than to trust either man with the keys to anything. They practically ate keys. In Ohio, she had been forced to pay a replacement fee when Nelson had somehow lost his room key between the lobby and the room. Ever since, Marie had controlled all keys and she didn’t even tell the other two where she was putting them.

  Her frantic hands tore open the other pocket and then did a quick scan through the bag.

  “Fuck,” she said. She left everything on the porch and ran back in. Back upstairs, she was panting as she rifled through the drawers and bent down to look under the bed. In no time at all, she had searched the room thoroughly. Marie jogged back down the stairs and paused at the bottom to listen again. For a moment, she thought she heard the distant whine of the snowmobile. The woods and snow did strange things to sounds. Sometimes, they seemed to absorb everything. Other times, like when the ice cracked in the distant lake, it felt like sound carried forever.

  Marie’s frantic eyes jumped around the room. The lantern was flickering and her headlamp barely helped.

  “Stop looking for the keys and start looking,” she whispered.

  She spotted them immediately. They were on the little table over near the wood stove. The green fob was washed out, almost black, in the dim light. Marie snatched them and ran back out to the porch.

  “Keys, phones, chargers, water, blanket.”

  The chargers were in the vehicle—still plugged in, she was certain.

  She slung the bag over her shoulder and ran down the porch stairs. The bag flopped against her side and the blanket tried to trip her up on the snow-dusted path. The wind kicked up and bit at her bare hands. Her gloves were hanging from their wrist straps. Marie’s thumb found the button on the fob and she tried to press it to unlock the vehicle as she approached. The lights didn’t flas
h. The tip of her thumb was already numb. It was impossible for her to tell if the problem was her thumb or the button.

  Marie reached the passenger’s side and focused her headlamp down at her hand. The button wasn’t working. With a shaking hand, she managed to get the key into the lock and turn it. Nothing seemed to happen, but the door opened. Marie exhaled with relief and threw her bag and the blanket into the passenger’s seat. She slammed the door and rounded the vehicle, holding onto the hood for support as she slid over the dusting of snow.

  “Safe distance, then think,” she whispered. A voice in the back of her head was already telling her that it might be too soon to call the police. What had happened? Nelson and Tyler had started acting strange and then they had both talked about monkeys? What, precisely, would she say was the matter? They both had seemed to know something that she was pretty sure, but not certain, that she hadn’t said out loud? What if she had said it out loud? How many times had she talked to herself that day?

  “Plenty,” she said.

  Marie put the key in the ignition, but a part of her already knew what would happen—nothing.

  When she had opened the door, the interior lights hadn’t come on. For that matter, the vehicle hadn’t chirped and flashed its lights when she hit the button on the fob. She turned the key again and again, but there was no response from the vehicle at all. There was no click, no bonging warning that her seatbelt wasn’t fastened, and certainly no cranking of the starter.

  Marie wanted to scream.

  Instead, she held her breath.

  After a shivering exhale, she reached up and turned off her headlamp. In the vehicle, she might not hear the approach of Nelson and Tyler, and there was no reason to broadcast her location with the light.

  Marie closed her eyes and forced in a deep breath. Her teeth chattered again with her exhale. She was buzzing with panic. The high-voltage energy in her brain was scattering rational thought, and she needed all the rational thought that she could get.