Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy) (5 page)

Jacob and I eat fish for the second day in a row.  I guess it was a good thing
that I forgot to take it with me this morning to the store.  I feel almost guilty eating it, but I promise myself to go fishing again next weekend. I’ll take Mr. Jones twice as much, when they’re feeling better.

Today was a weird day.  Mom wasn’t looking any better and I felt really bad that I made her wait for me.  She took the cold medicine, the Advil and more vitamins.  I made her eat some soup and then she went back to sleep.

I had to call the hospital for her, to let them know she wouldn’t be in to work today or tomorrow, at the minimum.  I didn’t recognize the person I spoke with, but she didn’t sound sick.  Apparently, they have had almost half of the staff call in due to themselves or family members being ill.  The hospital is on over-flow protocol.  She explained that meant that they are out of beds, so have to set up tents in the parking lot.  There are several smaller towns that the hospital serves since it’s the only one in the area.  When I asked her how bad it was, she sighed and said to tell my mom to get well and that they need her back as soon as possible.

I haven’t had a chance yet to talk with Mom about it; she’s been asleep the whole afternoon.  I know sick people are supposed to sleep so I haven’t bothered her, but
I keep checking on her to make sure she’s breathing okay.  The wet rattle from Saturday night is gone now so I take that as a good sign.

Even though it’s been another nice
, sunny day, my brother and I haven’t ventured any further than our backyard.  After watching the news, I think we’re kinda scared to go anywhere. 

The top story out of Seattle is what they’re calling ‘The Spring Flu Epidemic’.  They showed men and women in white hazmat suits right smack dab in the middle of our little town of Omak.  They estimate that based on reports from local hospitals, we appear to be ground zero. 

They compared this outbreak to the Spanish flu of 1918, except that the infection rate for our current bug might end up being even worse.  They say that so far it’s around 30% of the exposed population, but that secondary exposures are just now showing up at the doctors so it may climb.  Mom was right, it’s definitely a virus, but they haven’t isolated the strain yet.  Even though it’s obvious that they don’t know what it is, they are still urging everyone to go get a flu vaccine.  The government is doing everything it can to ensure enough vaccines are available.  Whatever.

The virus is all over Washington State and has shown up in Oregon and Idaho.  It’s expected to be seen in other neighboring States by tomorrow.  I called Moms parents, Grandma and Grandpa Fisher.  They don’t watch much television and hadn’t heard anything about it yet in Nebraska.  Probably best, or else they would have been really worried.  I assured them that Mom was getting better and everyone else was healthy.

I debated trying to find the number to Egypt to call Grandma Mubarak.  I have only met her three times in my life and haven’t spoken to her since she called once after Dad’s death, and another time to tell Mom that Grandpa Mubarak had died.  It was last summer, and they had been planning on coming to visit us.  I’m pretty sure that it was only Grandpa who wanted to come.  He actually called the week before to talk with me, to make sure I was going to be here during the whole visit.  I was a bit surprised, because I had always gotten the impression that us kids weren’t of much interest to them.  I know that Grandpa shared the same desire for studying the past like Dad did, so maybe he wanted to talk with me about that, or go through Dads books.

Whatever the reason, I’ll never know.  He had a massive heart attack the weekend before the trip and never made it out of the hospital.  Grandma Mubarak cancelled the trip obviously, and then never rescheduled.  She was not comfortable making such a long trip on her own, and we are the only family here in the states.  Dad was their only child.  I finally decide that if she is concerned, she will call us.

I push the last of my dinner around on the plate, my thoughts taking away my appetite.  Baxter whimpers at me, seeing an opportunity and I give in, scraping the fish into his dog bowl.

“Done Jacob?”  I turn my attention to my little brother, who seems as lost in his thoughts as I was in mine. 

“I’m not very hungry,” he admits, shoving the plate away.  “No one answered the phone at Brent’s house.”  He looks at me with his dark eyes as if it’s my fault, like I should be doing something about it.

“I’m sorry Jacob, I know you’re worried.  Why don’t you call
again tomorrow and if there’s still no answer, we can go over together.”

“Promise?” 

“I promise,” I assure him.  “Here, help me with the dishes.”  Handing him my empty plate, I start unloading the clean ones out of the dishwasher.

As we work silently, I realize that we haven’t gotten one of those automated messages from the school, telling us t
hat it’s been cancelled.  It’s surprising since such a big deal is being made about this epidemic, but in a way I’m glad.  It’ll help to have that routine to follow and for there to be something normal and familiar to go to. 

As I put the last of the dirty plates in to wash, Jacob scurries into the adjoining family room.  “Want to play
with me?” he asks, grabbing the video game controllers.

Although killing aliens sounds like fun, I’ve been waiting all day to get some time alone to look through Dad’s book.  “I’m going to read for a little while, but I’ll come out and play with you after that, okay?”

Shrugging, he flops on the couch next to Baxter, who had given up on more scraps.  By the time I walk to my room, he’s already lost on a Martian planet.

Even though I know it’s silly, I have a sense of relief when I find the book right where I left it.  Lying on my bed, I turn on the lamp next to it to push back the gathering shadows.  Realizing how late it’s getting, I dig the piece of cardboard torn off the Kleenex box
from out of my pocket.

Staring at Chris’s number for awhile, I think about the text I want to send.  I finally decide to keep it simple:
This is Alex.  Sorry, Mom still sick and I need to stay home.  Maybe next week? 
I send it before I can change my mind ten more times.  To my surprise, he answers almost immediately.

That’s okay, it was cancelled anyway.  Too many sick.  Next week for sure.  See you tomorrow.

It was weird to read a text that wasn’t full of smileys and exclamations.  Thinking of Missy, I send her a message too, asking how she is, and then turn my attention to the book.

About the size of a small paperback, it is obviously very old but I can’t find any date on it.  In fact, I don’t understand anything on it except for what my dad wrote, which was a lot.  Every other page has words or glyphs underlined or circled.  The only one I recognize from some of his other books is the clear image of a vulture.  Off to the sides he wrote what I am assuming were comments in regards to what was marked. 

Going to my computer, I pull up a good search engine and try to find a Latin translator dictionary.  The cover is too worn to read, but the first page has what I figure is the title:  Antiqua Aegyptiacis Historias.  It seems obvious that historias means history, and antiqua possibly antique.  I quickly find what I’m looking for and within a couple of minutes have an answer:  Ancient Egyptian History.  Makes sense.  My dad’s bookshelves were full of history books, a lot of them about his native Egypt. 

Grandpa Mubarak was extremely proud of their heritage, according to Dad.  I guess it was a bit of a scandal when he married Mom instead of following
his family tradition of returning to Egypt after college to find a suitable Egyptian wife.  Instead, he married his first love, got a job in Seattle and never moved back to Egypt.  Grandma and Grandpa Mubarak had been living in Washington State because of Grandpa’s engineering job.  They stayed for several more years after the wedding, but went home to Egypt after I was born.

Then Dad left his job as a history teacher at the University in the city
, for one at our local High School.  He never explained the change to me, other than wanting to raise his family in a better setting, closer to nature.  It wasn’t until I was ten that he became a policeman.  I think it had something to do with a midlife crisis, or a shrinking economy and teaching jobs.  Maybe both. 

Whatever the reasons, he never lost his interest in history so I’m not surprised at this particular book.  Except for that it’s in Latin.  Of course, he may have been drawn to its age and
that he would have to translate it, much as I am doing now. That would be just like him. 

What I don’t understand, is the way he gave it to me.  Why in the world would this l
ittle book be so important, that it was the last thing he ever said?  How come it had to be
after
the meteor shower?  It was crazy and thinking about it is giving me a headache.

Loo
king again at his notes, it’s all random dates, historical names, Egyptian locations and hieroglyphs that mean absolutely nothing to me.  Most of it is in pen and in places it’s bled into the fibers of the parchment to the point that I can’t even read it.  Totally frustrated, I set it aside and decide to sleep on it.  I feel like I’m missing something obvious, but have no clue as to what it is.

I close out the search engine and pull up some news sites.  The ‘Spring Flu Epidemic’ is still the
leading story and is now rapidly marching across the nation in record time.  I don’t want to read about it. 

Looking at my favorite conspiracy message board, I see that several posters already have theories on government planned viral genocide, secret lab experiments gone wrong and numerous other similar headlines.  I don’t have the heart to open any of the threads.

Sighing, I decide I need to check in with some of my school friends.  I find that a few of them that posted yesterday that they were sick haven’t said anything new today.  I send some messages to them, asking how they are and then look up my Aunt Tammy, Mom’s sister. 

They live in Nebraska too and we haven’t seen them since Dad’s funeral.  There isn’t anything current on her page, so I send her a message also, updating her on us in case Grandma didn’t tell her.  It’s too bad none of my Grandparent’s have taken advantage of social networking.

Just as I post a silly comment on Missy’s page, my phone alerts me to a new text.  It’s from her:
My whole family very sick, sis in hospital!!!!  GTG
,

  ttyl!!!

My heart sinks as I read it.  Missy might complain a lot about her sister, but I know how much she loves her.  Wishing I could be there for her, I simply text her back that I love her.

Deciding that kicking some alien butt does indeed seem like a good idea, I turn off the computer.  As I pass by my bed, I stop and stare at the large comforter in a heap on top of it.  Longing for the time that I took my mom’s concern for granted, I gather it up in my arms and go find my little brother.

I’m in the forest again.  Alone on the trail and running through the twilight as branches claw at my face.  I can hear the whispering.  It’s all around me and I can’t get away from it.  Tripping over a root, I fall onto a bed of pine needles, but the ground gives way beneath me and I drop down into darkness.  Opening my mouth to scream, no sound comes out and all I can hear is the air whistling past me as I fall, the smell of damp rotting earth engulfing me.

Right
when I think I must be close to the bottom, there is a rustling of feathers and a vulture flies by.  As it turns back to look at me, I realize we are both now moving forwards in a shadowy, grey world.  It goes ahead of me and I somehow follow, soaring through a dim, twisting tunnel. 

As a source of light begins to glow far ahead, I become aware of stone walls rushing past on either side.  Reaching out, I touch the cold rock and as I do, dark text begins to seep to the surface, moving
beyond me before I’m able to read what it says.  While I’m straining to see it, a word written in lighter paint floats away from the wall. It evaporates as I fly through it, like it’s made of smoke.  Confused, more images leap out at me as the passage brightens. 

Looking ahead towards the opening, the vulture is silhouetted in the light, hovering.  Opening its beak, it says my name: “
Alexandria…”

“Daddy!”  I’m sitting in bed, a pillow clutched to my chest.  Sweat clings to my forehead and causes my nightshirt to stick to my back.

The vulture had spoken in my dad’s voice.  He was trying to get my attention, to show me something.  I know this with a conviction that doesn’t make sense, but nothing has made much sense lately. 

M
y heart hammering, I close my eyes and take several slow, deep breaths.  I don’t usually remember my dreams so I go over what I saw, trying to hang on to those tendrils of imagery before they fade away.  The forest, whispers, falling into the tunnel.  Words on the walls, a vulture with Dads voice leading me to the entrance. 
Dark
words were on the wall, and
lighter
ones were floating at me.  The vulture.  Opening my eyes, I jump from the bed.  I understand!

Turning
to the nightstand, the glowing numbers on my clock tell me it’s almost six and the alarm is about to go off.  Pushing down the button to silence it before it can start; I pick up the book next to it and hurry over to my desk.  I turn on the lamp and wipe the sleep from my eyes; I don’t have much time before I have to get ready for school.

Opening the delicate pages, I confirm what I already knew; on the first page of text about half way down is the vulture hieroglyph.  I’ve seen this one a lot in the books Dad has.  He’s circled it in pen and wrote off in the margin beside it.  Everything else he wrote on that page was in dark ink,
except
for the word
Alexandria,
which is written in pencil
. 

Startled, I read everything in the notation that includes my name.  It was a description of a location in
Alexandria
, Egypt.  It’s one of the largest cities in Egypt now; my namesake.

Grabbing a pad of paper and pen, I write out my name.  With confidence growing, I flip through several more pages, looking for anything written in pencil.  I find it ten pages in, on the bottom margin.  The only word in pencil is
follow
. 
I write it down.  Half way through the book, I almost miss
the
crammed in between several sentences about pyramids.

There are less than a hundred and fifty pages to the whole book, so it isn’t long before I find the next one.  Only, it isn’t a word.  It’s the vulture hieroglyph, clearly drawn in pencil on the inner margin, near the spine.

As I carefully draw the picture, the correlation between this cryptic message and my dream becomes obvious. 
Alexandria follow the vulture. 
 

I drop the pen and lean back from the desk, rubbing at my temples.  How is this even possible?  Did my subconscious pick up on it and cause the dream?  Impossible.  I hadn’t even looked at half those pages, so I couldn’t have possibly known what it was saying.

Not expecting to find any more text, I go back to the book and thumb quickly through the remaining pages.  To my surprise, there is one more on the very last page. 
{
Hollow}
.  Well, that didn’t help any.  What in the world was that supposed to mean?

Alexandria follow the vulture   { hollow }

My breath catches in my throat and a sob escapes me.  My father is trying to speak to me from the grave and I can’t even understand what he’s saying!

There’s a loud pounding on my door and I jump, startled.  “Alex!”  Jacob yells, knocking again.  “Are you up?” 

Looking at the clock, I see that it’s already past 6:30.  How long was I sitting here, staring at those simple words?  “Yes Jacob, I’ll be out in a minute.”  His footsteps retreat down the hallway and I push back from the desk. 

No shower for
me
today.  Ripping the paper I wrote on from my notebook, I carefully fold it.  I pull on my favorite jeans and then stuff the paper in my back pocket.  Taking the book back into the closet, I grab a shirt off a hanger before setting it under the watchful bear.

I finish dressing and run a brush through my thick wavy hair that falls
a few inches past my shoulders.  Looking in the mirror, I scrutinize my face.  Missy has forever claimed to be envious of my dark lashes, saying that it looks like I always have mascara and eyeliner on.  Applying some shaded lip gloss, I decide its good enough and pick my phone up off the floor where it was charging. 

Although it’s early and I know Missy is sick, I can’t wait.  I have to message her; 
Missy U have to call me as soon as U can.  Must talk!!!!

Slowing as I pass Moms room, I peek in and see that she appears to still be sleeping.  Rushing into the kitchen, I quickly heat up a couple of waffles and pour a glass of juice.  Taking it back to her bedroom, I try to carefully place it on her nightstand without waking her.  However, as I’m backing away, she rolls over and looks at me. 

Expecting her usual smile or some other form of acknowledgement, I’m thrown off by her silence.  She’s just staring at me, like a scientist studying a bug.

“I…um, got you some breakfast.”  Nothing.  I awkwardly shift from foot to foot.  “Jake and I have to leave for school.”  Reaching out, she picks up the orange juice and takes a long swallow.  “Mom, are you okay?”

Pausing with the glass still up to her mouth, I can tell that she realizes how odd she’s behaving.  Slowly lowering it, she blinks rapidly several times and finally smiles at me, cocking her head slightly to the side.  “I’m actually feeling much better Alex, thank you.”

I wish she’d stop smiling at me.  It’s making me very uncomfortable for some reason.  Looking for something to focus on other than her, I see the crossword puzzles I left by the TV yesterday.  Grabbing them, I hold them up so she can see them.  “I got these for you; maybe you’ll feel up to it today?”

Nodding, she takes them from me and finds a pen among the cold medicine and Kleenex.  Opening one, she begins studying the clues.  It’s like I’m no longer in the room.

“Well, I
have to go.  I’ve got my phone if you need anything.”  Without looking up, she waves me off.

Turning around to leave, I see
that Jacob is standing behind me.  He has a cross look on his face as he stares at Mom.  When she continues to work the puzzle, he walks away and I follow.

We both pick up our backpacks that are hanging on hooks in the kitchen, by the garage door.  I take an old looking banana off the counter before leaving, thinking I might get hungry before lunch.

“Did you feed Baxter?” I ask Jacob as we get into the truck.

“Yeah, I put him in the backyard.  What’s wrong with Mom?”

I’ve always appreciated his ability to get to the point.  You know just where you stand with him.  “I don’t know Jacob.  I think it’s because she’s still sick.  Sometimes that can make you act weird.”

“It’s kinda how she was after Dad died.”  I meet his gaze and wonder at how he can be so smart.

“You’re right.  It is sort of similar, but I don’t think it’s the same thing.  Before, she was depressed.”  Turning my attention back to the road, I navigate a turn.   “Right now, her body is getting over something really nasty so it’s going to take awhile before she’s back to her old self again.  It’ll be okay.”  Hoping I sound sure of myself, I try to hide my real emotions from my face.  It dawns on me that I didn’t even consider telling her about what I found in the book; or share my dream.  I don’t know why.

I briefly think about sharing it with Jacob, but decide that since it’s confusing and upsetting for
me,
it would be even worse for him.  Right now he has enough to deal with.  It wouldn’t be fair for me to dump that on him too.

Hopefully Missy will call me back soon and I can run it past her.  She’s pretty silly, but very smart.  While I work to maintain my 3.4 GPA, Missy has always had a 4.0 even with advanced classes. Perha
ps she’ll be able to point out something obvious that I can’t see.  Sometimes it takes someone outside a situation to see it for what it really is. 

As we approach the Elementary school, Jake turns to me, arms folded across his chest.  “I don’t understand
why
we have to go to school if this whole flu thing is so bad.  Won’t it make it worse to have us all together?”

Once again, his common sense can’t be argued with.  “I don’t know Jacob.  You and I obviously aren’t going to get it, or else we’d already be sick.  Maybe it isn’t as bad as the media is making it out to be.  They always hype things up for ratings.” 

Picking at some loose trim on the glove box, I can tell he’s thinking. “I think its worse.”

Looking at him, I know he’s right.  I’ve been trying to avoid that truth, but he’s not.  I start to say something to try and make him feel better, but stop myself.  Instead, I decide to give in.  “I know.”   

We pull up to the school and sit there for a moment, looking at each other in silence.  There’s nothing more to say.  We’re in a situation beyond our control and all we can do is hope things get back to normal before it gets worse.

Unbuckling, I slide across the seat and hug him.  I don’t try and tell him it’ll be okay; he wouldn’t believe me.  Instead, I promise to be right here when school gets out.  He hugs me back and bravely jumps down from the truck.

Watching him walk away, my chest gets heavy and I realize how much I love my brother.  I’ll do whatever it takes to protect him.  Shaking my head to clear it, I pull away from the curb.