The adventures of grave, p.17
The Adventures of Grave, page 17
“That makes sense,” I nodded. “What do you want to know?”
“How do you know the name St. Louis?” she asked.
“That is . . . was . . . I don’t know . . . the name of the city,” I fought back a shudder at the memory of the dilapidated, overrun city across the river.
“What do you remember about St. Louis?” she prompted.
“The Rams. Cardinals. Good barbeque. Gateway to the West. What kind of questions are these?” I wasn’t getting the answers I wanted, and I could already feel my frustration building. The calm from the shower was short-lived.
“Okay,” she held up her hands in a calming manner. “How about this one. What year is it?”
“Nineteen ninety-seven,” I might not have my full memory, but the date leapt out at me. “And, before you ask, Clinton is the President.”
I expected her to nod like I was correct, but instead I heard the bag of chips Ramona was using to conceal herself slip off the couch, and scatter across the floor. The blonde didn’t even try and stop it. She leaned over the back of the couch and fixed me with an intense stare.
“Are you bullshitting us?” she asked.
“No,” I felt mildly offended, until my stomach dropped out my asshole. There was only one reason someone would have that reaction to a simple question about the year.
“Ah, shit,” I took my eyes off the women and pushed my hair out of my eyes. “What year is it?”
“Twenty Six A.V.,” Ramona answered.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I took out my growing frustration on her, but she didn’t get angry.
“They designated everything after ninety-seven as A.V., After Virus. In the old anno domini calendar, it would be twenty-twenty-three,” Gabi explained calmly. “When it comes to modern times, the Neohuman Catalyst Virus has had a bigger impact on humanity than Jesus.”
My eyes narrowed as I looked back and forth between the two women; looking for any cracks in their story. “Are you bullshitting me?” it was my turn to ask.
“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die,” Ramona happened to have her tits sitting on top of the couch, and she made an X on the left one.
“So, just to be clear; you’re telling me that somehow, someway, things just fast-forwarded twenty-six years,” I stated bluntly.
“Or, you’re suffering from amnesia and don’t remember,” Gabi considered.
“I was born February tenth, nineteen seventy-three,” I replied just as bluntly. “Do I look like I’m fifty years old?”
“If you are, you look damn fine,” Ramona’s response got a glare from Gabi and me. “But Neohumans age gracefully, and some don’t age at all,” she recovered, with information that actually pertained to our conversation.
“What are Neohumans?” was my follow-up. “You two keep talking about them, but I have no idea who the hell they are? Did we get invaded by aliens or something when Y2K hit?” my frustration boiled over again. I was supposed to get answers, and all I had were more questions.
“Neohumans aren’t a they,” Gabi kept calm despite my tone. “Neohumans, homo novus, are the result of the Neohuman Catalyst Virus, or NCV, that struck the world in the summer of nineteen ninety-seven.”
I opened my mouth to tell her to stop selling me that line of bullshit, when a memory rocked me onto my heels.
“I heard Bobby and Tray got it,” a voice said from behind me, but when I turned around, there was nothing there.
“Darius has been in the hospital for a week. I heard they had to stick some tube down his throat so a machine could breathe for him,” a deep, male voice said from beside me, but the only person there was Gabi, and she didn’t sound like she sang baritone.
“It’s called a ventilator, and Darius died last night,” the last voice was my own.
“What the hell?” I jumped off the stool and plastered myself to the wall, as my eyes scanned everywhere for threats.
“Deep breaths, Marcus,” Gabi stayed in her seat, and didn’t get up. She motioned for Ramona to stay on the couch. The blonde had begun to rise, but took Gabi’s advice, and sank back down onto the cushions.
“In through your nose, and out through your mouth,” she took deep breaths until I began to mimic her. It helped, but it didn’t fix the pounding in my skull and chest.
“Do you want more Pepsi?” Gabi sounded concerned. I didn’t blame her. If she suddenly freaked the fuck out, I’d be worried too.
“I don’t think I should have any more sugar,” I laughed weakly, as I pinched the bridge of my nose, and tried to downplay my reaction. “Do you have anything stronger?”
“It’s about time,” Ramona grinned, as she rose, strutted over to the fridge and started to rustle around. “You strike me as a whiskey man. Are you a whiskey man, Marcus?”
“Just beer for now, if you have it?” a cold brew found its way into my hand.
I yanked the top off and drank half of it in a single pull. It helped. It was crisp, clear, and gave me a few seconds to collect my thoughts.
“Okay,” I exhaled and returned to my seat. “Sorry about that. I had a flashback. I think I remember the virus, or at least that people were starting to get sick; but nothing more than that,” it was frustrating to get just a taste before my brain failed me.
“NCV spread quickly,” Gabi filled me in. “In the chaos that followed, we’re not sure where it originated, or who was patient zero; but in just a month it was in every corner of the globe.”
“How bad?” that was what I wanted to know. “I mean, Arch City is pretty incredible,” that was without a doubt. “If it’s only been twenty-five years or so, it couldn’t have been too bad. Right?” I looked at them, and immediately I knew I was wrong.
I expected some flippant remark from Ramona; something brazen, and bordering on sexual harassment, but all she did was look down at the beer in her hands.
“NCV was the deadliest disease humanity ever faced,” Gabi said in a soft voice that in no way blunted the impact of the news. “The world population in the mid nineteen nineties was just under six billion. It is hard to get a global tally, but best estimates are that less than a billion human beings are alive today.
I almost dropped my beer, and my jaw did drop. “H . . . how?” at the moment I was glad I didn’t have my memories, because if I did, I would be dealing with the fact that everyone I’d known and loved was most likely dead.
“Well, to start, NCV was super lethal to dudes,” Ramona jumped in. “It killed like nine out of every ten guys.”
“Ninety-three percent to be precise,” Gabi clarified. “But it also killed twelve percent of all women.”
“That’s . . . that’s shitty,” I didn’t know how else to say it. What was I supposed to do when I learned over half the human population got killed off by some microscopic organism; send a condolence card after the fact?
“But that only accounts for two and a half to three billion people,” I did the mental math.
“The world collapsed into anarchy,” Gabi explained. “Most first-world countries ran on just-in-time production methods and management practices. Everything from car parts to food was on a carefully timed schedule to arrive to market just when people needed it. Most people had maybe a week’s worth of food when the world went to hell. NCV acted quick. Within seven-to-ten days the patient was dead. It was highly contagious, and there was no stopping it.”
“What happened next we call the Bad Times,” Ramona stepped in as Gabi went to grab a drink for herself. NCV was definitely a drinking topic. “Things were fucking brutal. There was war, famine, pestilence, and death; with a side of ecological, economic, industrial, and socio-political disasters. It was everything people expected from the apocalypse and more. If God was really behind it; the big, bearded dude in the sky did not disappoint. Basically, everything that could go wrong went wrong. That’s where your missing two and a half billion went, Marcus. If the virus didn’t get you, then something else did during the Bad Times.”
Even I could feel that my face had gone paler than usual as I processed that information. “I’m glad I missed that,” was all I could think about.
Not knowing who I really was, missing some memories, and having to deal with a foreign city was far better than having to deal with the near-extinction of the human race. Still, their explanation hadn’t answered all my questions, and left me with a few more.
“So, this virus killed almost the entire world back in the nineties; but what about Arch City? From where I sat earlier, you guys look like you’re doing great. People don’t bounce back from near-complete destruction in twenty years. That’s just not possible.”
“Normally, yes,” Gabi nodded. “Best guess is that it would have taken one to two hundred years to get back to mid-to-late twentieth century technology levels.”
“But that’s where Neohumans come in,” Ramona gave herself a pat on the back; although, it was my guess that neither woman had actually been alive when all that shit was going down. They looked about my age; mid-twenties at the latest.
“Indeed,” Gabi rolled her eyes at her friend’s ego. “So, it is important to know that NCV did more than kill most of the human race, it also changed some of us.”
“It created Neohumans,” I nodded. The term made more sense now.
“The potential for Neohumanity has always been inside us, the virus just brought it out,” Gabi corrected.
“Same difference,” I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but Gabi seemed like the type of person who went for complete accuracy all the time. Sometimes, you just needed to ballpark it. “Now, we’re all Neohumans because we survived the virus?”
“No,” Gabi shook her head. “NCV awakened something in our species, but only a select few actually expressed Neohuman abilities at first.”
“Okay, wait,” I threw up my hands to stop her. “I’ve got to know. Who the hell came up with the name Neohuman? It’s obvious she’s basically a superhero,” I nodded to Ramona, who looked like she creamed herself at my compliment. “I can think of a million better terms than Neohuman. It’s so stiff and formal feeling. How about supes, supers, metas; hell, even mutants. What idiot thought Neohumans is better than any of those?”
“I know, right,” the big blonde slapped the back of the couch. “I’ve been saying for years it’s a dumbass classification. Not everyone uses it, but it’s official government speak for us, and anyone with any amount of authority will give you the business if you call yourself a super, or meta,” she looked like she spoke from personal experience.
“Neohumans was chosen because it was the least offensive,” Gabi answered my question.
“Least offensive?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, everyone, you just had to endure the fucking apocalypse, but your consolation prize is a name we think won’t offend you. What bullshit.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, handsome,” Ramona looked psyched that we were in synch on this point.
Gabi frowned and continued her explanation. “Every other name you gave makes the assertation that the new species of humanity was more, better, or greater than other humans. After everything humanity had been through, the powers that be didn’t want people to suffer anymore.”
“A names a name, and from what I can see, Neohumans are better. I never knew a bartender back in St. Louis who could catch a five-hundred-pound bull-woman like it was nothing, or tear into me like a can opener. For fucks sake, Neohuman sounds like a failed punk band,” my rant had finally run its course, and I exhaled.
Sue me. They’d said I was a Neohuman, and I liked the new group of humanity to at least have a kick-ass name. Not some kumbaya, make everyone feel good crap.
“Fine . . . whatever. I can see why they did it. Even if it is stupid.” I wasn’t going to dwell on it anymore. “You were saying that only a few people are these new Neohumans.”
“Correct,” Gabi looked happy to move on. “Not everyone that survived became Neohuman, and our best scientists are still trying to figure out why. The origin of Neohumans is a mystery, but their effects on our society, economy, and culture have been significant,” a slight blush was starting to form on her cheeks; so, whatever was coming was going to be interesting.
“First, you might have notice that you have received a little more . . . attention from women than you might have in the nineties.”
I nodded, and shot a sideways glance at Ramona, who wiggled her eyebrows. The big blonde, the cow-girl twins, and Valentina. That was four women in half as many hours who seemed like they would go to extreme lengths to see my length.
I didn’t have any flashes of memory from me doing the no pants dance, but my gut said I’d done just fine in wooing the fairer sex. I was talking with two attractive, if very different, women, right now, and everything was going great.
“Since NCV wiped out ninety three percent of the male population, and the Bad Times took a chunk more, there is approximately one male for every one hundred and thirty-two females in our current society,” she said the ratio with the appropriate severity. This time, I was glad she was specific.
“No shit,” my various interactions made a lot more sense now. “I like my odds now,” I thought, before I looked at the big picture. The big picture being the survival of the human species.
“A lot of modern-day society is built around ensuring the survival and positive treatment of men. It is not uncommon for a family unit to have multiple women to a single man. For rich and powerful men, there might even be dozens of women in their harem. It’s a one-eighty from civilized society before the Bad Times, but it’s what we have to do in order for the species to survive; and everyone has embraced that . . . for the most part.”
“You’ve got sticklers clinging to the one V, one D philosophy, but they’re outside the mainstream,” Ramona leaned forward, deliberately showing off her cleavage. “In case you were wondering, my friend and I are not of that radical persuasion.”
My eyes drifted back and forth between the big blonde and smaller brunette. Ramona had been down to fuck from the moment I met her, and hadn’t tried to hide it. On the other hand, Gabi was shy; but from the way she bit her lip and looked over at me, she was just as down to go to pound town as Ramona. She was just more conservative in how she expressed that desire.
I couldn’t help but grin at my good fortune. “It’s good to be a guy in twenty-twenty-three.”
“But those are just your average guys,” Gabi jumped between Ramona and her attempt to eye-fuck me. “Neohuman males are a fraction of a percent of the remaining male population. They also tend to be more powerful Neohumans, which makes them very . . . desirable.”
“And that’s you, handsome,” Ramona stood up to do a stretch that I was pretty sure was unneeded and showed off the muscles of her legs and stomach.
I didn’t mind, I was thoroughly enjoying the view.
“But how am I a Neohuman?” I made sure to slurp up the drool before it left my mouth. “I mean . . . you found me in a hole in the ground. How did I become this?”
I pulled up my shirt to check my wound. The scab had fallen off during the conversation, and while the flesh was still pink and tender along where the bear-woman had actually struck me, the rest was as good as new.
“I don’t know,” Gabi looked irked that she couldn’t give me an answer. “All I can tell you is what type of Neohuman you are.”
“Really?” my eyes widened.
“Seriously?” even Ramona was surprised. “Then why the hell did I have to go to seven different testing centers when you could do all this shit in your basement,” she glared as she dramatically plopped back down on the couch.
“What is she talking about?” I looked between them in confusion.
“She’s talking about power levels,” Gabi rolled her eyes. Clearly, this was a thing.
“Neohumans is a catch all term. But every Neohuman wants to know their power level,” Ramona launched into an explanation. “It’s pretty simple. You’ve got A-Class at the top, and it works its way down to D-Class. It’s like school grades, or the opposite of tits,” she draped her bikini-clad breasts back over the sofa cushion. “D tits good, but D powers bad.”
“Jesus, Ramona, he’s not an idiot,” Gabi came to my defense.
“He has amnesia and didn’t know what Arch City was. How am I supposed to know if he knows about tit sizes?” she bounced up and down for emphasis. The world moved in slow motion for those few seconds as Baby Got Back played in my head.
“Marcus?” Gabi waved her hand in front of my face.
“Yeah . . . I . . . I’ve got it,” I blinked, but couldn’t ignore the victorious expression on Ramona’s face. “You’ve got D tits, and A-class powers, Ramona. The best of both worlds.”
“Damn right,” she gloated.
“How about you, Gabi? Are you a Neohuman?” I asked.
“Yeah, but not like us,” Ramona answered for her. “We saw you take that hit from Valentina. You and me are strong and tough, but Gabs here is a fucking genius. Wicked smart. As cool as I am, brains like hers are rarer than muscles like mine.”
Gabi’s smile just about lit up the room as her friend talked her up.
“So, you have A-Class smarts. Nice,” I grinned back at her. I needed to encourage her to smile more. She had a really nice smile.
“But she’s got B tits at best,” Ramona proclaimed, and Gabi’s smile shifted to annoyance.
“C’s,” Gabi shot back, as she folded her arms across her chest self-consciously. “And you had to go to seven different testing sites to get that A-Class rating. Plus, you got it from the one down on Salisbury. Everyone knows that they pad their results for grant money. That few percentage-points bump can be the difference between B and A,” the smaller woman was ready to fight back with some figures of her own.
“I’m A-class all the way. I don’t need anyone to tell me that, and if my results got padded, the only way your fitting into a C is with some major stuffage,” Ramona returned fire, and both turned to me like I was the referee.
I held up my hands in surrender. Even I knew better than to step into the middle of this. “I don’t know anything. You two are supposed to be teaching me, remember,” I almost laughed.
