The Second Wave (5 page)

“Please, you are most welcome to visit
anytime you want, Sharif,” she told him as he left.

“I will,” he lied. He would, if he had any
intention of staying even one more day in Alexandria. But his time
was running out and he wanted a head start; even though the thought
of spending more time with Junah, maybe even sharing a bed with her
the next time, was tempting.

He left his horse with Abdul-Wahid when he
left the city that night. He didn’t need one where he was going,
and the boat he used was too small to accommodate anything but him
and his kitbag.

Wrapped in a thick cloak, the hood drawn deep
into his face, trying to shut out the icy sea wind, John pondered
where to go next. Anywhere, he decided, with a good black market,
to get a decent price for the ticket.

* * * *

One of the cities that had only recently lost
its atmospheric shield was Ryde. The whole of the Isle of Wight was
now unprotected and lying in what scientists had found out to be
the main hotspot of the atmospheric storms.

The people living on the Isle of Wight, or at
least those who lived in Ryde, tried to leave the island as soon as
possible for the nearest shielded area. A task made nigh impossible
by the fact that
everyone
preferred living in the protection
of the shielded cities, but the space was too small to take them
all in. Bunkers were built outside the shields, subterranean
shelters, complete with fresh water supplies, to accommodate those
who couldn’t make it into a city.

There was a vast underground network on the
Isle of Wight. Few parts of the island were still populated, at
least over the ground. Under the ground was an abundance of
apartments, shops, schools, and even playgrounds. The only people
who still lived on the surface were the meteorologists and
geologists who studied the storms, the earth, and the vegetation.
They lived, and mostly worked, in a series of low, steel-enforced
concrete buildings, semi-hidden from the storms by a grove of dead
oak trees they had relocated there for that purpose. Apart from the
trees, now little more than skeletons, the area mostly consisted of
rocks and dried-up, infertile earth. The frequent storms corroded
the vacated buildings, whipped dust and dirt through the deserted
streets, slowly ablated the city layer by layer.

One of the geologists was Peter Wagner, a
well-liked professor of geo-science, since thirteen months previous
a widower. He was studying the effects the storms had on the
planet, and the question whether new life was possible, given that
at this time it looked more like no life was ever going to be
possible at all anymore. But Peter had his own speculations on what
was causing the atmospheric storms. Speculations that were sound
but far out, and had to do with developing a whole new lifestyle
that was more in tune with the planet they were living on. His
theories were widely known, but less liked by his colleagues than
Peter as a person was.

His office and sleeping quarters, he didn’t
make a difference, not anymore, were in bungalow number three. All
the buildings were connected with one another, to allow the
scientists to move freely without having to go outside. He was
evaluating his latest readings, waiting for his assistant Luke to
come back and bring lunch. Or perhaps tea—he forgot the time
occasionally, a quirk less laughable when taking into consideration
that it was always gray and dusty outside, and Peter didn’t possess
a wristwatch. He didn’t care what time it was. He only cared about
his work; it was all he had left these days.

So absorbed in his work was he, hunched over
the desk like an ancient man, writing down the notes by hand rather
than using a computer, that the bleeping of the telephone startled
him. A permanent smear in his notebook would forever vouch for
that. He let it ring for a little while, waiting for Luke to get
it. The memory of his assistant leaving the lab to get food
surfaced in the end, though, and Peter picked up the receiver after
all.

“
Hello, darling,”
said Sally Sheldon’s
pleasant voice. Peter carefully put the pen down to avoid another
blotch. A warm smile appeared on his face, although he was almost
sure Sally couldn’t see it.

“Sally? How did you know it was me?” he
asked. She
couldn’t
see him, could she? He rarely answered
the phone himself, his sister knew that. Perhaps the affectionate
address had been meant for Luke.

“
I called your main office first and got
Luke. He redirected me. He also told me you’ve been working weird
hours lately.”

“Young Luke doesn’t know what he’s talking
about.” Luke was not two years Peter’s junior, but Peter calling
Luke his young assistant and Luke calling Peter an old professor
was a private joke the two of them shared.

“
So did you see it?”
Sally prompted,
after she shared with her brother the latest office gossip she had
fresh from Luke, knowing full well that Peter wasn’t the least bit
interested.

“Yes. Magnificent, wasn’t it? Quite, quite
extraordinary. The readings were off all charts!”

“
Peter, not the storm. The ticket got
activated. You know—second wave and everything. Are you already
packing?”

Evaporating as quickly as it had overtaken
him, Peter’s enthusiasm imploded. Yes, he owned a ticket to the
second wave program; not because his sister was working at the HQ
in Rome, but because he was the best geologist in this world who
used to be married to the best botanist in this world. They both
got tickets, and the idea of living in a whole new world had
thrilled them to no end. But that was before.

He told Sally that he wasn’t going anywhere.
When she was finished calling him names, words he didn’t even know
the definition of, probably protector slang, she forced herself to
calm down.
“Peter, listen to me. Please come! I know you’re
still hurting, but a change of scenery will do you worlds of good.
You were so much looking forward to it! And I’ll be there, too.
It’ll be nice.”

“I don’t have his ticket anymore.”

This time, Sally was too surprised to
verbally abuse her brother any more. Initially, in a moment of
desperation right after the funeral, Peter had been toying with the
thought of giving both tickets away. The man he ended up giving it
to was a colleague who said he desperately needed it for its parts.
Tickets for the new colonization program were a hot commodity; even
though selling and owning them was a dangerous task, seeing that
they were individualized and would have to be reprogrammed by
someone with amazing skills. Peter knew that; he wouldn’t endanger
the program by giving the electronic pass away so someone could
hack into it. But the professor told Peter he didn’t want it for
anything illegal, he only needed some minuscule gadget from the
inside to serve as ersatz, so he could save his computer from dying
on him with all the accumulated data. Since Peter knew how that
felt, and since he wouldn’t be needing the second ticket anyway, he
gave it to him. Ailing computers were what made Peter strictly use
paper for all his research these days.

But Sally didn’t want to hear any of it. “You
could have just given it back and have a substitute ticket made out
for Luke at least!”

“Luke has his own ticket.” They were allowed
to take staff with them. Whoever and whatever they needed to man
and run a geo station and a bio lab. So they signed Luke up, who
was now, Peter mused, probably the best botanist in this world.

“Good. It means I at least have an ally. You
will come to Alternearth, Peter, if I have to drag you there
myself. You need to get away from Ryde, from all the memories and
the horror. You had better start packing, big brother, because I’m
coming to get you.”

The telephone line clicked to indicate that
Sally had hung up, which was just as well, because Peter was not
going anywhere and he didn’t want to discuss it with his
hot-headed, stubborn, persuasive sister.

So when Luke came back a few minutes later,
offered him tea and casually asked how Peter was coming along with
the readings, he replied, “No can do, my boy, I have a bit of
packing to do.”

“Oh? Where are you going, then? Out to take
new rock samples?”

“I’ve decided, purely on my own accord, mind
you, not that it’s any of your business anyway, to go to
Alternearth after all.”

“Nice. So we’ll go together! What changed
your mind?”

“Nothing in particular. Certainly not a
telephone conversation with my sister, who threatened to come and
drag me there herself, no doubt enjoying the prospect of physically
forcing me to do as she pleases.”

Luke laughed, “Just for that I love her. She
is right, though. I mean,” he held up his hands in the universal
gesture of innocence, “if she had called, and if that had changed
your decision, I’d be happy for you.”

“I know. In my heart I know. A change will do
me good.”

“Oh yes. You’ve been becoming weirder every
day, Peter. Don’t get me wrong, I always thought you’d end up a
nutty, old professor one day. But not at thirty-two.”

It was Peter’s turn to laugh now,
“Thirty-two, yes? I forget that. Sometimes I feel like I’m a
hundred years old.”

Luke told him it was probably normal, he felt
like that too sometimes. And while Peter Wagner packed his suitcase
and made calls to arrange for a boat to France, the ticket that
originally belonged to Duncan Wagner, the ticket that was assumed
lost, the ticket that had never been used to fix a broken computer,
almost burned a hole in another man’s pocket.

* * * *

She woke with a start, once more surrounded
by the strange people she had encountered before. They were talking
at her; to no avail, because try as she might, she couldn’t
understand them. Their language was utterly foreign to her. And
everything was moving wrongly, giving her a headache that made it
hard to stir, or even see properly. Mostly everything was a blur, a
foggy haze at best. It was painful, and it got worse with every
moment.

Until she all but resigned. She fell back
into the softness she now seemed tied to, and merely observed the
images that were unfolding around her. She didn’t even try to give
it meaning, she simply waited for it all to go away.

It was yet another perfect day on
Alternearth; with a beautiful sun that was warming the earth below,
bathing every lifeless and living thing in wonderful light. Even
the dirt streaked emergency medical tent looked chipper and
cheerful in the sunlight.

Inside was just enough room for a gurney and
a table with a couple of instruments. Dr. Paige had hopelessly
stressed the tiny space by putting up two IVs and a chair for
herself. It was all make do, but it had to suffice until either the
colony’s hospital wing was finished, or the woman was fit for a
transport to Earth. It didn’t look like it for now, though. Dr.
Paige had cleaned her up, and beneath the mud and dirt was a woman
perhaps in her twenties; that was all she could say about the
patient for now. Because she didn’t speak. Not a word, not even a
sound had left her throat so far. When she awoke shortly after the
first blood tests were done, a few hours after she had lost
consciousness, she looked at Dr. Paige in horror. She tried to get
up, and when she found she was tied to the gurney, which was for
everyone’s protection, a measurement Captain Eleven had insisted
on, the expression in her eyes shifted from horror to confusion,
then to pain, and after that her eyes glazed over and her body went
limp. But never did she utter a syllable.

Dr. Paige tried talking to her, so did
Eleven, but after the woman had given up, or so it appeared, she
didn’t come back. She just stayed apathetic, seeing everything and
nothing, as if she resigned herself to whatever would happen
next.

Summer Paige didn’t stop talking to her,
though. She had treated comatose patients before, and this woman
reminded her of them, with the only difference that her eyes were
open. But they might as well be closed, she pondered, it was
unlikely she even saw what was going on, much less understood
it.

Yet Dr. Paige was relentless. She held up
another photo, in case the woman would choose to look at it, and
continued, “This is the village we built in the meadow. The meadow
that is now a forest, actually. I’m not sure what really happened
there. I wonder if you know. I wonder what you saw with those
beautiful doe eyes of yours.” She softly stroke back a curl from
the woman’s face. It was a lovely face, pale from want of sunlight
though it was.

“You know what? I’m hungry. I bet you are,
too. Let me see what I can find in my endless supply of candy and
nutrition bars.”

She put away the photos and fished her
personal bag from under her chair.

“I have a couple of cereal bars, if you like.
Not the healthiest of food, but good for the soul.” She got her
supply of chocolate from Tom deLuca, who had excellent sources that
provided a variety of snacks for relatively small prices.

“Or vanilla perhaps? I know I have a vanilla
wafer here somewhere. They are definitely the best. You’ll love
it.”

Captain Eleven’s voice interrupted her
cheerful monologue. “She eats now?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “But I’m hoping to
spike her interest. So far she’s just lethargic and, well, silent.
I’m pretty sure she doesn’t understand a word we’re saying, so I’m
trying to keep my voice light and unthreatening, to signal that we
don’t intend to harm her.”

Eleven had a thin file under her arm, which
she now offered her colleague.

“This is the DNA result?” Paige asked, before
she opened it to look at the single piece of paper it contained.
“Emily, is this a joke?” She looked from the file to the woman and
back to Eleven again.