Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy) (10 page)

No one claims to know what the infection really is, but they made the connection to the meteor shower
and that it’s alien.  It increases all five senses as well as overall IQ, while at the same time making them uncaring and nearly emotionless. 

The only other observation that was news to me was that the attribute unique to those
not
infected was their race.  Or rather, percentage and purity of race.  It all made sense now.  Jake and I were both fifty percent Egyptian and Chris was like seventy five percent Okanagan Indian.  I guess if the Virus targets DNA, than it would all tie into that somehow.  We have greater resistance to the infection, maybe even immunity because of our heritage.

I type out a response as soon as I finish reading.  I tell him that about eighty percent or more are infected and that the assessments of the symptoms are accurate.  I suggest that if they can’t isolate themselves, they should take off for an unpopulated area.

I hit enter and then immediately regret it.  I should have printed the post out first.  My worst fears are confirmed as I look at the list of threads after the page is done refreshing.   Not there.  I try to go back to it, but get a 404 message.  Doing a search, I find another old thread authored by him and try to send him a private message.  Selecting his profile, it comes up as banned.  Well, that’s it then. 

Dejected, I sit back in my chair.  Shiners.  Having it all confirmed makes the reality of it set in even more.  It’s spreading around the world.  People are changing everywhere.  Somehow, my father knew this would happen and it has now fallen on me to do something about it.

A whining behind me gets my attention and I turn around to see Baxter sitting patiently at my door.  “Whatchya need boy?” I ask.  In response, he runs back down the hall and disappears around the corner.

Groaning a little, I pull myself up and follow.  In the family room, I find him sitting at the coffee table.  Figuring he’s helping himself to the rest of the crackers, I get ready to scold him.  To my surprise,
when I crouch down next to him I find the page with hieroglyphs under his nose, the food ignored.

I look at him, and he returns my gaze.  Most dogs will look away immediately, but not Baxter.  He’s always been like that, but tonight he seems even more determined to win this contest.  “Okay, okay,” I say, kissing him on the nose.  “I won’t give up.”

I’m back in a dream world.  I’m sitting cross-legged on a chilly dirt floor in a large cave.  The room is dim, lit only by some torches scattered around the rock walls.  Although I can’t see the top, I am aware of its immense height and can hear the beating of wings far above me in the blackness.

The smell of damp earth mingles with wood smoke and I notice a small stream running between me and the far wall.  Looking up, I catch a glimmer of movement and turn to my right in time to see the same vulture from before swooping down.  Silently gliding in one large circle, it heads
for the wall, and before I can call out, slams into it.  But instead of hearing a thud, the vulture explodes out as if made of mist which is then absorbed into the rock.

Once the mist is gone, I see
that left on the wall behind it, is the same hieroglyphic drawing from the note;   the one that means mountains. Leaning towards it, I squint, trying to see it clearly.  I’m convinced that the lines of the picture are starting to move.  The motion becomes more exaggerated and it’s obvious that the dark lines
are
in fact unraveling and slithering across the rock.  More curious than alarmed, I watch in fascination as they dance around each other and eventually form the Archer hieroglyph.

I gasp as the Archer Leaps
away from the wall, landing in the dirt not twenty feet from me, swinging his bow and arrow back and forth, looking for prey.  As it begins to walk along the creek, the bow morphs into a rifle and he shifts it to his shoulder.  Turning quickly in my direction, he aims the rifle above my head and I look to see what he is hunting.  Coming in low over the water is the duck from the message, quaking as it passes over me.

A shot rings out and I jump at the sound.  Looking back at the Archer
, I see that he’s splashing through the water towards his fallen prey.  Before he reaches the duck, another loud sound explodes, causing me to jump again.  It is a grating sound, like a horn, and it blasts over and over, echoing through the cave.

I fight to keep the vision, but it fades into grayness to be replaced by my room in early morning light.  Opening my eyes all the way, I am disoriented for a moment, until I realize
that my alarm is going off.  Slamming my hand down on it almost hard enough to knock it off the nightstand, I can’t believe my bad luck.  I almost had it!

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I tap at my forehead, trying to remember everything I saw.  A vulture flying into the picture of mountains,
an archer shooting a arrow…no, a gun at the duck.  Pushing away from the bed, I run to my closet and get the paper.  At my desk I turn it over and write out my dream on the back of it.  I don’t want to forget any details.

Looking back at the culprit clock, I can’t believe what time it is.  It must have gone off a couple of times.  I’m frustra
ted that I have to go to school.  But I know it’s the best chance of buying us some more time and possibly figuring some other things out, like who else isn’t sick.

Jacob got pretty upset last night when I told him about school.  He was terrified of facing everyone there that’s changed.  After Mom called last night and said she was pulling a double shift and sleeping at the hospital, I gave in and told him he didn’t have to go.  She won’t be back until tonight and we’ll tell the school he’s still sick.  We can probably get away with that for at least today and tomorrow.  That’ll give us the weekend to plan what to do next.

I rush to get ready and make Jacob breakfast, waking him up when I set it next to his bed.  I let Baxter out for his morning outing and then drive reluctantly to school.

I manage to make it into the c
afeteria by the designated time and to my relief I see Chris right away.  Without saying a word, he turns and starts to walk towards the same exit we went through on Monday for the courtyard.  As we wind our way through the tables, I notice for the first time how unusually quiet it is.  The room is almost as full as on a normal day, but the constant din I find so annoying is gone.

A bit flustered, I look around at everyone in there.  Aside from a small group clustered together at a table in a far corner, the rest are either reading, writing or eating quietly.  To my dismay, I realize they are all watching us as we walk through.  I quickly avert my gaze and try to wear a neutral expression, but I can feel the weight of their eyes on my back.

Once outside, Chris crosses over to the bench furthest away and I follow without a word.  There are only a few other students in the yard, but they are on the opposite side talking loudly.  One of them, a girl from my science class named Heather, is openly crying and waving her arms around.  One of the other kids is trying to calm her down, shushing her and looking around them, obviously scared.

“What do we do?”
I whisper to Chris, afraid to even look at him.  Instead, I sit down stiffly and remove one of my books from my backpack.  Setting it in my lap I pretend to be studying it.

“Just make it through the day.  Act like them, no matter what. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves
.  Avoid any emotional displays; even a smile.  We have no idea what’s going to happen next.  It could get worse, or it may be nothing…I mean, maybe this will eventually wear off and they’ll all go back to normal.”

I cling to those words, hoping that they’re true.  In my heart though, and that part of me that I guess you would call instinct, tells me otherwise.  …
You cannot trust anyone who is or has been sick…It was carefully designed and its intent is evil. 
My dad’s words of caution come to mind and I know that we are in danger, no matter how much we want everything to be okay.

“No
,” I tell him.  “Its intent is evil, Chris.  That’s what my dad said and I believe him.  We both know this is all in preparation for something else.”  I take a chance and look at him, to find him already watching me.

“Right,” he finally says, looking back down at his hands.  “I’ve been thinking and praying about that a lot and what it might mean.”

“Well?” I ask, not sure if I want to hear what he has to say.

“I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.  Other than I agree with your dad…this is born from something evil, not of God.  What you said yesterday though stuck with me.  There’s a reason that we have been left unaffected.  I think we have a role to play in all of this and when our faith is tested, we have to believe that God and his love will prevail.”

“I’m not sure what faith is, to be honest with you Chris.  But I’ll take all the help we can get, so if you think God is listening, than say a prayer for me too next time.”

“I already did,” he tells me, taking a text book out also.  More kids are walking by now as it gets closer to class time.

“Maybe that’s why I had another dream this morning,” I say and hand him the paper with the details written out on the back.  He studies it silently and then gives it back.  I quickly put it away.

“Mean anything to you?” h
e asks, a hopeful note in his voice.

Not wanting to disappoint him, I try to stay positive.  “I really haven’t had t
ime to think about it.  There’s something that’s tugging at me the same way the picture of the Vulture did.  Something familiar, like a distant memory that’s a bit faded.  I just can’t quite put my finger on it.”

He’s nodding his head as if I’ve said something meaningful.  “That’s good!  Like I said, I think it is something personal that will only make sense to you.  We better get going,” he continues, putting away his books.  “I have a feeling that the only people rushing in before the bell rings will be those of us that haven’t been sick.”

Suddenly scared, I stand up timidly and sling my backpack over my shoulder.  “I feel so alone here Chris.  What if they figure it out?”

“I did some math,” he says, keeping his back to the walkway.  “There are around 500 students, so if 80% got sick, that means there should be about a hundred of us here that are still normal.  There should be a couple of other students in each class in the same position we are, so you aren’t alone.  Just don’t talk
to them.  I know you’ll want to and I’m going to try and keep a list of everyone I’m familiar with so we can contact them later.  But not here at school.”

“Okay,” I whisper, practicing my emotionless expression.  “Meet me at my house after school?  My mom won’t be home until late.”  Nodding, he walks away and I head in the direction of my first class.

The morning is a mixture of weirdness and fear.  I swear my heart is going over a hundred beats a minute the whole time and I am fighting to hold it all in.  When I walk into first period, everyone already seated turns simultaneously to look at me.  I continue to head for my assigned seat and manage not to meet any of their gazes. 

After I sit down
they all face the head of the class where Ms. Easton is standing.  I do my best to mimic them and sit staring at her.  Just when I think my chest is about to burst, the bell finally rings.  Going to her desk she directs everyone to come forward to get their new reading assignment. 

Trying to hide my normally very expressive face, I take my place in the orderly line that’s forming and get the book.  Sitting back down, I read the title; ‘A Guide to Socialism: How to Implement it and be Successful.’  Okay, not your typical assignment.

There’s a disturbance in the back of the class and I do my best to turn my head in time with the others.  Chris was right.  Tim and Matt, two guys that are always running late, have pushed through the door. They’re standing there, disheveled and obviously upset. 

Under the watchful eyes of the whole class, they walk slowly through the room and sit down, a bit da
zed.  “Tim.  Matt.  Come and get your new reading assignments,” Mrs. Easton says evenly.

They obey without a word and to my relief no one lifts their heads to o
bserve them.  “What the hell?” Matt says, disgusted.  I cringe at his voice but then quickly recover, trying to see him without moving my head.  He’s holding the book out to the teacher, obviously upset about the change of subject matter.

“Matt, you will remove yourself immediately to the nurse’s office,” she tells him, snatching the book out of his hand.  “You’re obviously not feeling well.”  She was on her feet and standing in front of him before I even realized it. 

Matt was taken by surprise by her speed too, because he stumbles back several feet and then leaves without another word.  Tim goes to his seat and starts reading, having decided it was best to blend in.

The next
three classes are much the same but without any outbursts.  It was easy for me to pick out the other students that were like me, because they didn’t know yet what was at stake.  Most of them were complying, but noticeably concerned.  I saw several kids trying to leave the school in between class, but they were being stopped at the doors by staff and led to the front office.

I have been trying to find and talk with some of my friends throughout the day who are normal.  In art class, there are three girls from my soccer team.  Two of them I know well and as soon as I determine that Lisa isn’t a shiner, I start planning on how I can slip her a note.  I manage to get a message scribbled down and am waiting for us to be told to get our clay projects out. 
As I’m working up the nerve to do it, she walks over to one of the other girls that is a close friend of hers and makes the disastrous decision to plead with her.   I watch in despair as Lisa starts crying and the teacher quickly intercedes, ushering her out of the classroom.

I try not to think about where she went and just make it through the rest of the class.  Ten minutes before the bell is to ring for lunch, my art teacher hands out a simple questionnaire.  There are only three questions; have you been infected with the super flu.  Have your family members been infected with the super flu.  List the names of any family members that have not been infected yet.  My pulse quickening again, I answer yes to the first two and leave the last one blank.  I don’t want to get sent to the office too.

We’re handing them back in and the speakers chime, indicating the first announcement for the day.  I have a bad feeling about this.

“All students and staff will report immediately to the auditorium for a mandatory assembly.”  Principal Sailor states with authority.

Without a word, everyone stands at once as if on cue and I join them, walking single file through the halls towards the gym.  At the entrance we are held up as my teacher hands the stack of answered surveys to someone standing there.  After a few minutes, they call out three names.  I watch as they fall out of line and hesitantly move forward.  They are ushered over to another door and the rest of us continue inside and into the bleachers.

Once seated, I copy those around me and place my hands loosely in my lap, back straight, eyes straight ahead.  There are already several hundred of us here, but the large room is eerily
quiet.  There are a few coughs and a random sneeze but no talking, no shuffling of feet. 

Across the gym and on the other end, the kids whose names are being called out gather.  While quieter than usual, they are still much louder than the rest of us.  They are sitting in groups and talking amongst themselves, some hugging, others are crying.  I
long to be with them: one of the normal ones.  I need the physical contact and comfort that they are giving each other.  But at the same time I have a very bad feeling that’s getting worse by the minute.  This can’t be good.