Immortality (14 page)

Through the years, the betrayals had been forgotten by outsiders and the site had been cleaned up. A new developer arrived and purchased some nearby land at what he considered an excellent price. He held documents that assured him the land was safe, certified by the EPA. On his fire-sale lots, he built a dream, a model bedroom community of luxurious homes in Black Creek Village. Unfortunately, many upstate New Yorkers remembered the area and the original name. Soon, the developer had to lower his asking price and advertise in cities hundreds of miles away.

Tina loved her new home. She had just turned seven, and it was the best present she could have hoped for. She had a big room of her own, a new bike, and her dog Santana had a yard to play in. She should have been happier than any time in her life but she was sad. This morning she’d stared out the window, barely touching her breakfast. She missed all her friends who still lived in New York City.

Her Mommy had been saving for as long as Tina could remember, to get them out of the City. Mommy called it escaping. Tina thought it was like running away. It had taken every penny of mommy’s savings, but they had the down-payment; and Tina and her aunt Margaret and her Mommy moved into a brand new home.

There were still plenty of empty houses on the block, and her Mommy had said that’s why they had gotten such a great deal. Tina wondered if there were other reasons. When she played in the neighborhood, sometimes it felt like the empty houses were filled with ghosts.

A month ago, Mommy flew off to visit Grandpa Arturo for a whole week. After feeling ill, Grandpa had gone back to live in Venezuela. Mommy’s airline ticket was so expensive, but Grandpa was successful and had paid for her ticket himself.

She loved Grandpa Arturo. His smiling face and bushy white mustache were constantly in her thoughts. He had been the father she’d never known. When they lived in the City, every Sunday he would come to their home with food to cook. Their life in the city had been hard then, before Grandpa had sold his store to the big company and retired wealthy.

Tina ate a spoonful of cereal, slowly chewing, not wanting to swallow. She remembered how Grandpa Arturo had proudly walked her to school everyday. His stick cane would click on the sidewalks signaling the young gangsters to lower their eyes in respect. The sound of that cane had been like the security of a warm blanket. She remembered how good that sound had made her feel when she’d heard it while waiting in the afternoon for him to arrive and escort her home. She could hear him coming, long before he turned the corner. There was always a special gleam in his eyes when he saw her. Tina knew she was his favorite.

Once a local tough guy had pulled a knife on her and Grandpa. Grandpa had not hesitated an instant. He’d struck the gangster with his cane as if he were punishing a child for being naughty. That gangster was never tough again.

Grandpa Arturo had called last week, and Mommy said he would be coming to visit this Christmas. Tina’s spirits had lifted for a day or two, but even the thoughts of Grandpa Arturo’s smiling face and his gifts were not enough.

Tina pushed the bowl of cereal away. The milk sloshed a tiny flotilla of Cheerios. They’d lived in their new home for over a month and she still hadn’t made a single friend. Yesterday, some of the kids at the arcade had whispered things and started to laugh. She knew they were talking about her. One of them had pointed. She had cried the entire way home. While half-running down the sidewalks, she’d heard the faint echo of Grandpa Arturo’s cane and knew it was only a wish.

Tina got Santana’s leash from the kitchen drawer. The metal chain jingled. A huge black Labrador came bounding into the room. Tina decided that a long walk in the woods behind their house was exactly what both of them needed. The other day, she’d found a field dotted with wild flowers. She had laid on her back and looked up at the clouds. Maybe she would do the same today. It was a place for dreaming.

The trail was narrow. Twigs and leaves crackled under her sneakers. The woods were alive with wonderful sounds. Bird noises were something new to Tina. Growing up in the City, the only birds she knew were pigeons. The shrill musical notes of the forest enchanted her. She wanted to dance and twirl amid their sounds. A small wind cut through the trees and tickled her face and hair. There was a faint smell of something like syrup.

A bright red bird landed on a branch less than ten feet away. The bird had a feather crown on its head and seemed very proud. He stared, tipping his head to either side until Santana barked. The bird was beautiful. Tina decided to ask Mommy for a book on birds so she could learn all their names and what they liked to eat. She would feed them and make friends.

The trail turned to the left and began to follow a slow moving stream. Tina wondered what kind of animals lived in the brown water. There must be frogs and turtles and fish... maybe even something special that lives nowhere else but here? She stopped under a huge weeping willow tree. Its branches hung like vines dipping into the water. Winds moved the tree as if it were sweeping the top of the river. Santana walked into a foot of water and tasted some.

A bird landed in tall grass five feet away from Tina. Santana hadn’t seen it. Tina crept closer, amazed with her good luck. She was only a yard away. Maybe if she was very slow and gentle, the bird might let her touch him? She leaned over a clump of grass for her first peek. The bird looked like it was getting back on its feet. It seemed wobbly. The bird cocked its head to look back at her for a moment and then took off with a flutter.

Santana started yapping in pain. Tina got up and ran to him. Was he having trouble in the water? She yelled his name. He came bounding out of the stream toward her. He looked fine. Tina began to feel weak for no reason. Her legs became like rubber. She stumbled under the weeping willow tree. Her head struck a rock. Everything was spinning. She tried to call Santana but couldn’t breathe. She managed to roll onto her back and watched as birds fluttered in the trees above her. She tried again to fill her lungs. She wanted to scream for help. All that came from her lips was a squeak. Her breath was gone. Oddly, she no longer cared. Her eyes stopped working as her brain drifted into dreams of Grandpa Arturo and fields of wildflowers.

~

The weeping willow vines in water were tangled in debris of leaves and litter. Like broken toys, a small flotilla of junk cans and bottles drifted by on a slow current. Soon they were washed around a muddy bend. Crickets, birds, and the occasional rustle of leaves were the only sounds in the forest. The zone of death had been small, a few hundred yards in diameter.

Santana had come home without Tina and had acted very upset, but not nearly as upset as Tina’s mother. Tina was found the next morning.

A week later the police ruled the incident as suspicious because of Tina’s head wounds; but with no leads to follow, the case was filed with a dozen other unsolved deaths. No paperwork was sent to the State Health Office. The incident didn’t fall under the guidelines of events that had to be filed. The police were overworked and understaffed. There were cases that could be quickly solved and that’s where the limited manpower went.

It was raining in Los Angeles, an unusual event even during the rainy season. The sky was dark with clouds that were swirling low and threatening to touch the ground. Mark stood beneath the overhang of a side entrance to the building which housed his lab. It was lunchtime. He took a bite of his turkey sandwich and watched the rain. A chill worked its way up his body. Most of the drops missed him, but a few made it to his face and glasses. The tiny spots of water brought childhood memories.

He’d always loved the rain, the
tears of the earth,
was what his mother had called even the worst of storms. Most of his friends hated the rain, calling it bad weather; but to him the storms were powerful and exciting, especially lightning storms. The very dark ones seemed to charge the world with energy. He could remember when he was ten years old, standing in a field with lightning flashing around him while he tipped his head back and drank the rain. That taste would be with him his entire life. As he grew a little older, he became able to distinguish the source of a storm by its taste. Ones that came off the ocean had a fresher flavor. Those that came off the mountains had a slightly earthy taste.

A student with books over her head ran down the sidewalk, seeking shelter. Mark looked out into the rain and felt its mist; for a moment, he was part of it. He wanted to go out into the downpour and taste it, but he knew that the rains were different now. The air was poisoned and so was the rain. If he did drink some, he knew there would be an acid taste – the telltale markers of an industrial state – particles and sulfides and carcinogens from the exhaust pipes of highway traffic. He had grown to hate Los Angeles because of what it had done to the rain.

“Mark...”

The woman’s voice surprised him. He turned to see Donna Brooks, a professor of biochemistry, and a man he did not recognize. The man was probably in his late forties, with silver sideburns and a camel hair overcoat. Donna was fortyish, with long hazel colored hair and eyes that were very blue from contact lenses. Mark and Donna were friends and sometimes had lunch together. A long time ago, they had dated. The relationship had never gotten sexual and Mark was glad it had worked out that way. Instead of a few weeks of easy gratification, he now had a lifelong friend. The corners of Donna’s eyes had the beginnings of tiny character wrinkles when she smiled. She was a very appealing woman.

“Mark, this is my friend Jack Harris. Jack’s an MD specializing in infectious diseases at Bethesda Medical.”

“I thought you had to be Navy to work there?” said Mark.

“It helps,” said Jack. “You can call me Commander Harris if you like.”

“Jack’s been moonlighting for the NIH,” said Donna. “He’s involved in some kind of hush-hush research and has something he wants to talk with you about.”

“So talk,” said Mark.

“Do you have a place a little more private?” asked Jack.

“Sure,” said Mark. “My lab sound good?”

“Fine,” said Jack. “Donna, I’m sorry but you can’t tag along.”

“I’ve got a class in ten minutes anyway. I guess you boys are just going to have to get along without me.”

“I’ll call you later,” said Jack. “Around six.”

Donna gave Jack a peck on the cheek, then went off into the rain. Halfway down the steps, she opened a red and white umbrella. Mark felt a small twinge of jealousy. They obviously had plans for a date.

The metal door to the lab clanked shut. Mark walked over to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. The warmth felt good on his throat. He glanced up at the lithograph of Einstein.

“Commander Harris, want some coffee?” he asked.

“No thanks. What I want to talk about can never leave this room.”

“Damn, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“I’m serious. I need you to sign a secrecy act before we go on.”

“Can I see some identification?” asked Mark.

Jack Harris removed a laminated card from his wallet. Mark decided it looked official, not that he had any idea what a Navy identification card should look like. Information on the card listed Jack Harris as a medical doctor with a rank of Lieutenant Commander in the United States Navy.

“Okay, Commander, tell me why I should sign this piece of paper?”

“Why not?” said Harris. “What have you got to lose? And I might have a very interesting story to tell you.”

Mark’s nature was to be suspicious of the military and the government; but this man was right: what did he have to lose? He read the document quickly and signed all the copies.

An hour later, Mark was pouring himself his third cup of coffee. He was having difficulty believing everything he was hearing. The CDC was operating in secret under a national health emergency. Some unknown pathogen was taking out villages in South America and now had apparently made the jump to Alaska. Almost a thousand people were dead from what amounted to an epidemic, and just as disturbing was the idea that a complete news blackout was in effect. Mark was listening carefully to what the military officer was saying. Mark had brought up the conflicting news coverage of Anchorage. What the Commander was saying implied not too subtly that the news broadcasts were intentional misinformation, including the part about a chemical weapon’s leak possibly being involved.

“Why would the military take that kind of blame?” asked Mark.

“There are more important issues and soldiers follow orders.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Why would I lie?”

“Do you answer every question with a goddamn question?”

“Look Mark, we need your expertise. This disease may have an onset period measured in minutes. We don’t know if the cause is bacterial or viral. We don’t know where it’s coming from. We don’t even know if it’s contagious.”

“What can I do?” said Mark. “I’m not an MD. This isn’t my area of research.”

“Chromatium Omri has been found in the bodies of eighty percent of the victims in Anchorage. The bacterium is benign; but human blood is not exactly a native environment for this bug, so we’re assuming there’s a connection. We’ve established that the bacterium found in the victims closely matches the known strains of Chromatium Omri. One of our scientists believes it could even be a strain that’s genetically close to your COBIC-3.7. We need
the expert
on this bacterium. Your name came up.”

Mark felt like he’d been steamrolled. He actually felt dizzy. Harris was still talking but Mark was no longer listening. He was trying to focus on the chunk of fossilized COBIC on his desk. His thoughts were running in wild circles. Could it be a close cousin to
his
Chromatium in the blood of these victims? The government seemed to think that was a possibility. If true, this was certainly a dark form of luck. He felt energized, then conflicted, then horribly guilty. This could be a clue to the solution of one of the greatest mysteries of ancient times – mass extinction, and he would be right there to collect the data. He felt guilty that such a self-centered thought had even occurred to him; but if it was true that a closely related strain to his COBIC was connected to these cluster deaths, these mini-extinction events, then another Nobel Prize was in his future.