Lost time, p.6
Lost Time, page 6
There’s a click on the connection, and David comes back a few seconds later. “That biodome of yours may be finicky, Lani, but she was my first, and she’s tough as an ox. I built her from the ground up with my own two hands, so there’s no need to worry your pretty little head.”
“David—”
“Tell Madders I’ll have something for him next week. In the meantime, find out who that Tarzan guy is, and what he was doing in that damn tree. Over and out.”
Chapter 8
Diego: Range of Emotion
“Today, we’re going to work on range of motion,” Lani says as she washes her hands. “You’re well enough to begin working those atrophied muscles, and it’s high time you started doing so.”
“That sounds like fun.”
She helps me off with my shirt. “Torturing you may become one of my favorite pastimes.”
I roll over on my stomach. “And I thought you were just doing it to be nice. You know, my best friend in middle school always said that back rubs lead to sex.”
“Right.” She places her hands on my shoulders.
“Sorry,” I say, my brain finally catching up with my mouth. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You’ve been nothing but professional with me, but sometimes I forget it’s your job.”
“Uh-huh.”
I turn and look at her. “In the future, I’ll try not to enjoy it so much.”
She pushes my shoulders back down. “You do that.” She starts by working the muscles in my arms.
“Mmm, that feels good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She begins moving her hands across my body—from my fingers, up my arms, and across my shoulders—checking that bone is healing to her exacting standards. When she’s satisfied that everything is in order, she starts again at the base of my spine, probing each vertebra in turn.
“So,” I say, keeping my eyes shut. “Do you remember an inferno in downtown Denver, back before the Doomsday Plague mutated? One that set a lot of buildings on fire, all in a single night?”
“Yeah, sure,” she says, her voice a bit distracted. “I was there with friends. It was weird because the firestorm started all at once, and they never said what caused it. Why do you ask?” She slides her hands down my leg. “Bend your knee as much as you can, please.”
I do. It’s not very much. “Did you run into anyone that day? Anyone who needed help?”
“Not that I recall.” She pushes my ankle further back, bending my knee so much it makes the weakened muscles feel like they’re on fire. “You doing okay?”
I grit my teeth. “Yeah. Happy as a clam.”
She applies more pressure, and a white-hot stab of pain surges through my thigh muscle. “Ouch!”
“Sorry.” She releases the pressure a bit, but not enough to make the pain go away completely. “I know it hurts, Diego, but getting your range of motion back is critical if you want to walk again.”
“Of course. Carry on, doctor. I’ll try not to squawk.”
She laughs. “Squawk all you want, Miracle Man. I’m just letting you know that with injuries like yours, pain is a necessary part of healing.”
“Duly noted.”
She rubs the aggrieved muscle for a minute and then switches over to the other leg.
I mentally brace myself.
“No need to gird your loins,” she says, sounding amused. “I’ll take it a bit easier, okay?”
“Thanks,” I say as she bends the other leg. It hurts, but it’s more of a burning than a stabbing, and I manage not to squawk.
She releases my ankle. “Good. Roll over.”
I lie on my back with nothing but my boxer shorts on, while she checks the range of motion in my hips. It’s not particularly warm in the room, but sweat is forming on my forehead as I try not to complain about the pain she’s inflicting.
At last, she puts my legs down. “All done with the easy part.”
“I can’t wait for the hard part.”
She moves her hands slowly up the inside of my thigh, massaging the atrophied muscles, and when the tips of her fingers slip inside my shorts, I feel myself stiffen.
Christ.
“What about a government fortress inside a mountain?” I ask, repositioning my hips so the tent isn’t quite so obvious. “Did you ever hear anything about that? Maybe somewhere in the Rockies southwest of here?”
“A fortress inside a mountain?”
“Yeah,” I say. “A hollowed-out mountain.”
“So not a biodome, but someplace safe from Doomsday?”
“Exactly.”
She stares at me, and I get the feeling there’s something she’s not telling me.
“Sorry, but I don’t know anything about it,” she says in her doctor voice. “Things were chaotic back then, lots of bad shit coming down. And when people realized that the doomsayers might be right—that the world as we knew it was coming to an end—there was mass panic, everyone rushing to get inside before the virus infected them. By some estimates, more people were killed in the stampedes than were killed by Doomsday.”
“Christ, that sounds awful.”
“Well, it wasn’t a picnic.” She softens her words with a slight smile.
“How did you manage to get inside?” I ask, working to keep my tone casual.
She moves her hands up to my chest, poking and prodding. “Your ribs are healing nicely.”
“Thanks to you.”
She nods. “I wish all my patients were as healthy.”
I clear my throat. “So how did you end up in the Bub?”
She takes a deep breath. “I had a connection to the man who designed and built this biodome, and he got me in right before it was sealed.” She freezes, not meeting my gaze. “But my brother wasn’t so lucky.”
“I’m sorry.”
Maybe Dave managed to build a biodome after I left. And maybe he went after Isabel and brought her inside—possibly to get at her research?
I cling to that thin thread of hope.
“Everyone had loved ones who didn’t make it inside,” she says. “I’m no exception, and I don’t imagine you are either.” She goes back to checking my collarbone, her eyes downcast, and we’re both silent for a bit.
“Who was the man who built the biodomes?” I ask, knowing the answer before the words are out of my mouth.
“Is the man. David Kirk.” She slides her hands across my forehead and temple. “He lives out on the East Coast in C-Bay, the largest and newest biodome. Back before Doomsday struck, he had a contract to build habitats on Mars. But once the threat became known, he switched over to building biodomes here, and his idea spread like wildfire.”
“Was he working with Elon Musk?” I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Elton Musk.” She narrows her eyes. “How come you don’t remember any of this?”
I toy with the idea of telling her everything: where we found the sphere, what was going on inside the Magic Kingdom, how I ended up in that goddamn tree, but the words won’t come.
She’ll think I’m one fry short of a Happy Meal, and who could blame her?
“Well?”
I exhale and then shake my head. “I just don’t.”
“I’m pretty sure you remember more than you’re letting on, Diego.” She glances down at her hands and then meets my gaze. “Don’t you.” It’s not a question.
I nod, unable to tell her the truth, but unable to lie to her any longer. “There’s something in my blood, some sort of genetically engineered cell that counteracts the virus. I don’t know how it works, but it only protects me. It kills everyone else in a matter of minutes.”
“What? Why didn’t you say something sooner?” She jumps up and tosses me my T-shirt. “We’ve wasted weeks of precious time!”
“I would have told you sooner, but I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.” It sounds lame, even to me.
“My god, Diego, people are going crazy all over the world trying to figure out how you survived Outside.” She starts grabbing vials and equipment out of a cabinet. “Just yesterday, an elderly couple in Texas died after stepping out of an airlock without suits. Some idiot had convinced them that the mutated virus story was just an elaborate government hoax, and you were the living proof!”
“Mierda. I didn’t know, Lani. I’m sorry. I didn’t think the gizmos in my blood would be much use to you. They only work with my DNA— the one other guy they injected died in a matter of minutes.”
“S-so you’re an expert on genetics?” She stares at me, her right eye twitching. “Well, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” I say, struggling to sit up on my own, and for the first time, she doesn’t offer to help. “But if someone would have told me what was going on, I would have said something sooner.” I lift my casted arms in a show of frustration. “Christ, my network access is limited to forty-year-old National Geographic specials and animated movies, and no one tells me anything—except to keep doing my goddamn exercises!”
“So you didn’t say anything about the biotech in your blood because I didn’t ask? Even though we’re stuck inside these stinking fishbowls?”
I look away, feeling like a complete jerk.
She sets a tray down on my bed and pins me with a glare. “No more lying to me, Diego. If there are things you don’t want to talk about, then have the courtesy to say so.”
“Okay,” I say, “but I didn’t lie to you about my past. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“Understood.” Her tone softens. “But you can trust me. If nothing else, the last few weeks should have demonstrated that.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. So is there anything else about your medical history I should know?”
I shake my head. “I’ve told you everything I can remember.”
“Uh-huh.” She pulls a chair up next to me and sits down. “Well, it would seem I’ve been running the wrong tests. Is it okay if I draw more blood?”
“Yes, of course.”
She picks up my wrist and then rubs her thumb across the back of my hand. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to unscramble with the technology we have here, but maybe I can figure out a way to get a sample to C-Bay.” She scoots her chair closer. “But unfortunately, we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”
“Wh—at?” I say, my voice cracking. I resist the urge to pull my hand out of her grip. “I mean, what’s the hard way?
She laughs and taps my cast. “Don’t worry, Miracle Man. Little kids have it done all the time—or at least they used to. Instead of using the inside of your elbow, I’m going to use the back of your hand.”
“Yikes.”
She tears open a packet and rubs alcohol on my skin. “And if you sit still,” she says, pulling the cap of the syringe off with her teeth, “I’ll get you a lollipop when we’re done.”
Chapter 9
Shannon: Ghost Busters
I use needle-nose pliers to strip the dry, cracked rubber seal off the edge of the mask and then drop the snaky-looking strand of polymer into the recycle bin. “Ew.” Just like my favorite actor Indiana Jones, I hate snakes, but they always seem to find me.
I stare at the black, curly thing and cringe.
Come on, Shaz, it’s not even alive. If you plan to be a bush pilot, you can’t be acting like a lolo D-2 every time you see something unexpected.
I bend over and fish the thing back out of the large barrel—using the pliers—and set it on the workbench. Then I take out my lab notebook and write “Kirk-Hudson Rebreather Mask Analysis” at the top of a new page and add:
1) Removed strip of disintegrating sealant from inside edge of mask; material: elastic polymer, composition unknown.
Maybe I can get Madders to help me analyze it, see if there’s something special in the rubber—just like he always says, “Identify the problem, engineer a fix, and Bob’s your uncle.” I say the last bit out loud, letting my voice push back the ghosts that lurk in this dark, windowless warehouse.
It’s stormy Outside today, and all the weird noises and vibrations are giving me the creeps.
There’s nothing to fear except fear itself.
Madders says this space used to be completely filled with barrels, boxes, and huge sacks of food, everything from brown rice to canned peaches, but it’s nearly empty now. Mom says I had a peach when I was little, but I don’t remember it.
I bet they have some at C-Bay. They have everything there.
These days, we get most of our supplies from scavenger parties sent Outside, so there’s not much need for long-term storage anymore. On top of that, everything has to be sent through the irradiation chamber—everything except humans, of course. There’s no way to be certain there aren’t air pockets inside the boxes and stuff, and that takes a lot of time and effort. Some folks think decontaminating every last bottle, can, and box is a waste of resources, but Mom says you can never be too careful.
Speaking of decontamination, poor Mr. C had a rough time of it after I found him Outside. He had the virus in the air inside his lungs, and people were afraid that if we brought him inside, he’d kill all of us. But Mom came up with this idea to fill the airlock with xenon gas, and Madders rigged up a portable ultraviolet lamp to kill any stray viruses. In less than a minute Mr. C cleared the sensors.
Anyway, Madders keeps replacement items for the biodome in here, along with his airplane parts, and he’s been letting me use his workshop for my final project.
But it is kind of spooky being alone in sector four.
Just as I set the pencil down, there’s a loud groan from the biodome structure. I can feel the vibrations through my feet, and I let out a startled cry. The noise continues for a few seconds and then subsides. I stand there frozen, listening for the alarm, but it doesn’t go off.
Probably just the wind, Shaz. Don’t be a scaredy-kitten.
Still, I turn and run my gaze across the biodome wall, looking for a bulge or fissure. I stare at a section that is all twisted and roughly patched, but everything looks fine. Mom claims the repair was just a hasty bit of last-minute construction, but Madders says someone set a bomb off next to the bubble. Someone from Outside. It was right after the Bub was sealed, and the explosion ripped a hole in the dome. Lots of Originals were killed before they managed to get the wall in sector four resealed.
I shut my eyes and hold my breath. In my head I can hear those poor people screaming as they try to escape, the virus turning their flesh and bones into sludge just like in the final scene from Raiders.
Ick.
Mom says I watch too many movies, and maybe she’s right. But this part of the biodome still gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“Nothing shocks me. I’m a scientist.” I recite the line in my best Indiana Jones voice, wishing I had a dog to keep me company just like he did.
Maybe someday?
∞
When I’m almost finished cleaning up, I hear the hinges on the warehouse door groan.
“Hey, Shenanigans!” Madders says, his gravelly voice is full of warmth. “How’s the investigation coming along? Did you get the mask problem sorted?” He ambles over to the workbench and picks me up in a bear hug, his gray whiskers tickling my ear. “How’s my favorite scientist, engineer, and future bush pilot?”
“Great now that you’re back!” I say and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “How much do you remember about making these masks?” I hold up the cracked rubber snake. “I was hoping you’d have some idea what this was made from?”
“Hmm.” He puts on his reading glasses and takes a closer look. “Where’d you get it?”
“From around the inside edge of the mask. I pulled it off to get a look at what was underneath, but now I’m thinking that maybe the polymer seal is the problem.”
Madders is one of the oldest people in the bubble, and one of the smartest. Mom says he was probably brought in because he could fix and fly planes, but I think it’s because he’s a genius.
I played chess against him once—bad idea.
He’s also the only Original who treats me like an adult, and if my dad were alive, I think he’d be just like Madders—at least I hope he would be.
“So you think maybe the seal is bad—and not the filter?” he asks, still examining the snake.
“At least on this mask. I’ve been testing it with vapors from all the chemicals you keep—” His bushy eyebrows rise but he doesn’t interrupt me. “—and nothing noxious is getting through. So my first hypothesis is that the seal around the edge failed, letting microscopic amounts of the virus in.”
“Sweet Fanny Adams,” he says, his eyes getting big. “Shannon, that’s brilliant. No one has touched these masks in years—not since we ran out of replacements—and I remember being surprised that the new filters didn’t seen to work for very long, and that would explain everything.” He rubs his whiskers with one hand, thinking for a minute. “Give me a day to dig up my old notes, okay?”
“Ranger that. Thanks for all your help, Madders.”
“My pleasure, Shannon. And nice work identifying the problem. You’re a fine scientist.”
I smile so wide it makes my face hurt.
We give each other a thumbs-up and say our mantra together: “Identify the problem, engineer a fix, and Bob’s your uncle!”
“Exactly.” He gives me a warm smile. “You know this could end up saving a lot of lives if the biodome has to do an emergency evacuation.”
We hear the wind Outside gust up, and the whole biodome shudders. A worried look crosses his face—and Madders isn’t afraid of anything.
My throat gets tight. “Do you think we might have to leave?”
“No, no, of course not.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “But like your mother says, it never hurts to be prepared. If it’s okay with you, I want to tell the Kirks about your discovery.”
