Trees
Book One of The Trees Series
by N. D. Hansen-Hill
***
copyright 1996
N. D. Hansen-Hill
New Zealand
First published by:
Parade Books
Argyle House Press
New Zealand
***
Dedication
I dedicate this book to the love of my life, who has enriched my world.
To my four children, who help me to see beyond the boundaries.
To my parents, who taught me to reach for the stars,
And to my teachers, who have given me the means.
***
Trees
Seeds of destiny, unconsciously cast,
Rich with coded remnants of their past;
Fragments of incongruous matter,
Soil-bound rubbish, lost mid earthen tatter.
*
The release - to free the embryonic wealth -
Was triggered in dark and littered stealth,
In the tangled leavings of long-gone lives,
Mingling past with present, the seedling thrives -
*
Rooting deep into this earthly plane,
Sending shoots aloft to further gain
From a yellowed star, and its shafted light -
Twisting light to life in survival's fight.
*
An interface from earth to skies,
A link of worlds whose essence vies -
Contorted, erratic growth at odds
With the stable growth of earth-bred pods.
*
Their wealth bestowed to nurturing earth -
The world that sustained them from their birth -
Is the gift of altered limb and life,
Mutinous upheaval, internal strife -
*
Earth's native creatures, newly changed;
Tissues shifted, cells rearranged;
To promote a joining of world and place,
Mutated empowerment of a new-borne race.
*
by N. D. Hansen-Hill
***
Prologue
Unfleshed, he drifted through the trees - dark and massive against the skeletal whiteness of the cold bark. His ragged contours shifted, subject to the fickle breeze, while his dripping remnants fed the Earthen soil.
He had little strength here. His substance was no more than a gelid parody. Still, the sight of him - of his skull-like visage and dangling tissues - was enough to chill the spirit of his would-be prey.
His empty eyeholes stared in uncaring disdain at the glitter of this world. Unseeing of the dew-drenched leaves, or the moonbright pastures, he had vision only for that which would satisfy his needs.
The most important of these was hunger. An insatiable hunger, which made no distinction between domination and dining. For was not consumption the ultimate form of dominance?
A hiss of satisfaction curved his gaping mouth in a caricature of a grin, that was somehow far more frightening than its death-head stillness. The creature's cravings took him drifting up a slope, to peer in the windows of an empty house. A snarl sliced the night as sharply as his claws could sometimes rend flesh. His purpose had been thwarted by time and distance - a taunting of memory on the breeze, or perhaps, an enigmatic taste of what was to come.
He floated away from the white dwelling, to seek better feeding grounds. Another place where he would have solidity, and mass, and the ability to consume that which he most craved.
But, as he melted into the forest darkness, the black eyeholes cast a backwards glance - a glitter of awareness momentarily brightening them with a silvered-purple glint. The white house, the trees, the promise of future success - all were lodged in the wisps of his memory. And the formidable retentive abilities of his kind were legend. Offend him once, and he would never forget. He would come again, at another time, in another place, to claim you as his own.
Somewhere in this place lay the promise of a rare delicacy. The flavour of a prize that was as difficult to catch, as it was pleasurable to consume.
The creature's salivation fed the dripping residue of his already leaking tissues. The taint of his brightly-aura'd prize lay on the breeze, on the old wood of the dwelling, on the grass heads that shivered beneath his feet. If its prey had visited here so frequently as to leave its imprint upon this place, then it would come again.
It would come, but it would not leave.
***
Chapter One
The storm raged, rattling the old glass in its wooden frame. The wind pillaged the grounds, eating the soil and gravel, then flinging them back against the house, to pellet the shivering windows in a harsh staccato beat.
*
Trevor took a long look at the drooping ceiling, the peeling wallpaper, and the downhill cant to the lounge floor. Peter, what have you done? he thought. Turning quickly to hide his expression, he peered out the window at the dark night. "And you say Katy agreed?" Trev forgot to hide the sceptical note in his voice.
It made Peter squirm. Somewhat defensively, Peter told him, "Of course she would've loved to see the place beforehand, but when I told her about the auction, she said okay." He grinned as he remembered the other, less mentionable, things Katy had whispered. "She trusts my judgement."
Trevor gave a sarcastic snort. "Judgement has nothing to do with it. She just likes your -"
Another blast of grit hit against the glass. Trevor jumped back, letting the curtain drop. Lowering his voice to a hollow moan, he told Peter, "Someone's rapping at your window -"
"Someone's going to rap at the side of your head if you don't shut up," Peter said, grinning. It was his turn to move the curtain aside, and stare out the window. His smile faded. "Seriously, Trev - what do you think?"
"I think I hate it when you say, 'seriously, Trev'. It always means you're actually going to listen to my opinion - and if I don't get it right you'll be worrying about it for days."
"Bullshit."
"'Bullshit' nothing. You know what your problem is?"
"You?"
Trevor grinned. "Close. But I'm a complication, not a problem."
Peter hid his amusement behind a snort of disgust. "You're both. Anyway, I didn't ask for your opinion -"
"Yes, you did!" Trevor interrupted. "Don't you remember, 'Trev, what d'you think'?"
"Of this place, you moron - not me!"
Trevor flopped down in one of Peter's big wing chairs. Its fraternal twin nestled closer to the smoking fireplace. Trev opted for breathing space over warmth. He sighed. "Okay, Pete - I'm ready. Do your worst. Bring on your questions." Trevor looked around the room, seeing the moisture marks in the plaster, borer holes in the wood, and numerous small repairs that he knew Peter wouldn't have noticed. A note of amusement crept back into his voice as he added, "Only one thing -"
"Only what?" Peter asked, raising his eyes to the heavens in a bid for patience. He knew it was a gesture that always annoyed Trevor.
"Only - do I have to tell you the truth?"
Now that Peter was about to get Trevor's opinion, he wasn't sure he wanted it. When another blast of grit shuddered the glass, Peter used it as an excuse to look out at the storm. As always, his eyes seemed to wander of their own accord toward that weird stand of trees at the bottom of the slope. Trevor joined him, welcoming anything that would distract Peter from an honest appraisal of his new purchase.
"Those have got to be the ugliest trees I've ever seen!" Trevor put his face against the glass, straining to get a better look at the monstrosities in the distance.
"They're ancient," Peter told him, his voice mingling a hint of awe with an undertone of proprietorial pride.
Trevor snorted. "So's my grandmother." He looked out the window again, frowned and flopped the curtain in Peter's face. "If they're half as old as they look, they must've been planted by Cro-Magnon man."
Peter lifted the curtain and wedged the material between the rod and frame, so Trevor couldn't drop it in his face any more. He didn't expect Trev to appreciate plants - any more than I'd enjoy fiddling with electronics, Peter thought.
Peter studied the trees, his brain ticking away. Now that he was looking at them - really seeing them, the scientist side of him was drawn by certain features: by the way the trees stood stiff and resolute, even though the rest of their surroundings were being blown to hell and back. By the way they seemed to glow in the black of the rainslick night. By the way the lightning revealed deformed and grotesque contortions in their trunks.
"Uh-oh," Trevor remarked, seeing the expression on Peter's face. "Here we go."
"Huh?" Peter said, not really listening. The trees loomed swollen and misshapen, each one an individual distortion. Moonlight rifted through the shrouding clouds, emphasising abnormalities - pouring lingering pools of shadow into the curvature of a limb or a deformity in the bark. In a flash of lightning, this one was a woman, with great swollen breasts, and that one a pitiable hunched old soul - sexless, but nevertheless potent. In the wet and slick, the flashing and the shadow, they were monstrous, a deviation from the norm that was somehow unacceptable.
What could have caused them to grow like that? The fact that he'd never seen anything like them was enough to stir Peter's interest. He'd thought he had a fairly good grasp of the regional plant species - but these trees were something new to his experience. They can't be a new hybrid that I'm not familiar with, he reasoned. They're too old for that. Could they be some stand that had naturally hybridised years before? Or maybe - the idea made his blood tingle - they're manifesting some new plant disease.
"You know, Trev - I bet there's some potyvirus at work here."
The thought obviously didn't thrill Trevor the way it did Peter. "Judging from the look of them, it's working overtime."
"No - I'm serious. You're looking at some fantastic examples of distortions caused by cell proliferation. Some fungi can cause distortions, too, but these are so extensive, I'll bet they're viral," he added, half to himself.
"I'm sure this is all very interesting - to someone else," Trevor told him impatiently. "You can't get around the fact they're creepy, Pete," he added, glad to be able to criticise something other than the house.
The distraction worked. Peter tried to reason with him. "Granted, they're not your picture window view, but think of them as viral hosts, Trev. That'll make you feel better."
"They look like hosts for ghosts to me," Trev told him jokingly. "I wonder what Katy will think."
A blinding flash of lightning made Peter flinch. For the first time, he saw the trees as Trevor did - and as Katy would. He frowned. "She'll probably think I've lost my mind," he said unhappily. "Or, worse, that I bought this place because of those trees."
"Maybe she'll find some artsy-fartsy value in them, Pete."
The next lightning flash left Peter with a residual picture of black contortions on screaming white. "Now you've got me seeing them the Katy's going to," he complained. "I just hope it's not raining the night she arrives."
"Don't take this wrong, Pete," Trevor told him. "But it's kind of like having a graveyard on your front lawn."
"Is there a way to take that right?" Peter said, exasperated. "Here, I'm all worried about making a good impression on Katy, and you come up with that."
"Okay, tell me I'm tactless, tell me I'm insensitive. I can take it."
"Yeah, but can I take you?" Peter muttered.
Trevor flopped down in the chair again. "All right. I'll be practical. Cut 'em down."
Peter was appalled. Whatever the cause of the aberrant growth patterns, it had made these trees unique - at least different from anything in Peter's experience, which, in the area of plant science, was pretty extensive. And that singularity was worth studying before any decision about destroying them could be made. "Cut them down?! Are you serious?"
"No. But that's your alternative." He snickered. "Unless you think you can hide them somehow." Trevor patted Peter on the back.
"I guess I'm just worried Katy won't like it here."
"What's not to like? Just because you bought a derelict house in the suburbs - of the ends of the earth, that is -"
"Nothing like boosting my confidence, you fool." Peter hesitated, and the expression of disappointment on his face made Trevor wish he could take back his remark. "It's just that I was so sure -"
"Pete, this place is great. Katy'll be crazy about it." Trevor could tell Peter wasn't buying his attempt at sincerity. He tried again, this time throwing in a little humour in hopes that Peter would believe it. The last thing he wanted was to burst Peter's bubble. "It's old enough to have character, or whatever it is people like in crumbling ruins. And it's got three-quarters of a great view."
Peter smiled.
Good, Trevor thought, relieved. "Think of it like this: the artistic side of her will go ape over the thought of living in a garret."
"How would you know, Trev? You're about as artistic as good old Morty." The dog looked up from the hearth rug and wagged his tail.
Trevor snorted. "Yeah, if I'm as artistic as Morty, then I'm one up on you."
"A garret?" Peter recalled Trevor's comment. He looked confused. "I thought that was an attic-type thing."
Trevor looked slightly smug. It wasn't often that he had to explain a reference to Peter. Slowly, as though speaking to someone with limited understanding, he explained. "It's symbolic, Pete. The starving artist syndrome. It's supposed to liberate your artistic side or something."
In another flash of lightning, Trevor's eyes were once again drawn to the spectre of the trees against the landscape. He stared at one which boasted an astonishingly well-endowed distortion resembling human breasts. "Hey, Pete! Your trees may have some redeeming features -"
Peter took a look and grinned. "I call her Delilah." Trev chuckled. "I don't think, Trev, that Katy'll be as appreciative as we are."
"Well, it's raised my opinion of the place."
"Is that all it's raised?"
"And you call me crass." Trevor tuned in to the growling of his stomach. "Hear that? Those are my organs screaming. Didn't you promise me a five-course meal?"
Peter gave him a shove in the direction of the hall. "No - only a coarse meal. Let's eat."
*
The kitchen was a large, dark monstrosity five steps lower than the rest of the house, with three heavy block walls. Looking around, Trevor remarked, "You could always rent cell space to the local prison, Pete. This room is not one of your house's redeeming features." It was cheerless, bizarre and out of sync with the rest of the house.
"What are you saying, Richmond? That it wouldn't make the cover of 'Better Homes and Gardens'?" Peter gripped Trevor's shoulders with false menace and practically growled in his face, as though daring him to dispute his words. "The real estate lady told me this room has potential."
Trevor pushed him away. "It's potentially dangerous. If that door sticks, how are you going to get out of here?" He moved the door on its squeaky hinges. "You better get that guy - what's his name? Henry - to fix it for you. Or, better still, I will."
"What do you mean, you'll fix it? I'll fix it. I don't need Henry to do a little job like this."
Trevor just stared at him. Peter might be great with a microscope, but his fix-it skills were nil.
Peter didn't notice Trevor's expression. His own was excited. "That's one of the reasons I bought this place, Trev! This is my chance to develop all those skills you claim I don't possess." He moved the door back and forth, gritting his teeth as it groaned in protest. "A little soap, and I'll have this thing moving smooth as silk," Peter said happily.
Trev shook his head in dismay. A plane to take off the swollen, bulgy wood would have been more appropriate. But the eagerness in Peter's face stopped him. "Sounds good, Pete," he said amiably. "Just do it soon, okay?"
"Afraid I'll get stuck in here with one of my culinary masterpieces?" Peter grinned.
"Or, worse still, one of Katy's."
Peter elbowed him. "Since I'm about to feed your face, maybe you'd better close the lower half of it. Otherwise, I might be tempted to experiment."
"Say no more. Remember, I know how much you love playing with fungus." Trevor looked down at the darkened walls, the heavy wooden table and the feeble attempts at modernisation. He shivered, feeling the cold in the large, dank room.
A massive old iron cookstove had been left "decoratively" along one wall. Trevor pointed to it. "There's the perfect stove to take on those trees," he said jokingly. "Bring one of those mothers in here, chuck one end into the fire, and let that sucker eat 'em alive. They suit each other, don't they?"
"Too well." Peter was looking down at the cold iron of the stove. He said, "Somehow, I prefer it if that thing stays cold, Trev." Then, feeling foolish, he grinned. "For the moment, anyway. Tackling that monster is even less my speed than fixing that squeaky door." Peter slapped his friend on the back. "C'mon, I'm starved. Let's see what haute cuisine Peter the Great can rustle up."
*
After they'd eaten, Peter looked over at Trevor, who'd decorated the surrounding tables with the leftovers from his meal. There was one of Katy's fine porcelain dinner plates still sprinkled with nacho crumbs, a plastic bowl dripping the remains of a half-gallon of chocolate ice cream, and a nearly empty mixing bowl of popcorn. "I think you only visit me, Trev, for the quantity of my cooking," Peter said.
Thinking of cooking reminded Peter of the state of his kitchen. "Y'know, the trouble with the kitchen is the lighting. No windows to let in the daylight. It'd be one hell of a job to knock a window into that heavy block, but lots of basements are made to look light and airy with bright paint and extra lighting."
He stood up, grabbed his plates, and nudged Trevor's feet where they rested on his coffee table. "Cleanliness may be foreign to your nature, but I'm going to be a good influence on you. Get your butt up and clear your plates so I can keep it nice for when Katy gets home."
"Peter," Trevor complained, "you've got a week at least. Plenty of time to clear these plates." At the look on Peter's face, he quickly gathered up the remains of his dinner. "Okay, okay, make me a slave to cleanliness. Is this how you treat all your guests? Don't you even clear for them, offer them coffee and after-dinner cognacs and stuff? How about those little wrapped after-dinner mints - got any of those?" They reached the kitchen, and Peter shook his head as he once again took in the grimness of the room.
Trevor realised it was bothering him, and forced himself to sound enthusiastic. "You're right about what you said earlier, Pete. This place has definite possibilities. And wrecking it would cost heaps, what with all this block. I would say," as he used an empty beer bottle to gesture, "that you need something to brighten the corners, and," the bottle pointed toward the heavy wooden door, "that door should be replaced - maybe with an archway." He looked at Peter. "Was this room built as a bomb shelter, do you think?"
Peter glanced around and said, "I don't know, but I don't think so. It's too old for that." He walked over and slapped his hand against the wall. "This is actually stone, not block. My guess is that someone was trying to keep the cooking area both separated, and cooler than, the rest of the house." He gestured up the small flight of stairs, toward the more habitable regions. "The remainder of this place is what Katy would call 'charming'." Tilting his head back to glance at the heavy timbers overhead, he chuckled, admitting, "Katy is really going to hate this room."
Peter rummaged in the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of beer, which he tossed at Trev. "Your brewski." Then he opened a jug of chocolate milk and took a long gulp. "Ah-h! The drink of champions!" As Trevor was unscrewing the cap on his beer, Peter snatched a bag of plastic-wrapped sourballs out of the cupboard and chucked them in Trevor's direction. "Your after-dinner mints. Who says I'm not the perfect host?"
Trevor grabbed the candy bag off the floor and eyed Peter sourly. "Juggling is not in my resumé." He looked with distaste at the hard candies. "Did you expect me to eat these?"
Peter smiled. "Of course. Nobody else will. I think we've had those things since the last time we moved -" Trevor threw them back at him, and Peter ducked, then raced up the stairs.
*
Later, in the lounge, Trevor stared at the top of his beer, obviously deep in thought. When he spoke, it was with uncustomary sincerity. "You know, Pete - you're right."
"It must be the first time. What did I do now?"
"You are the perfect host." Peter looked amused. Trevor, seeing it, told him, "I'm serious. Look at this." He waved his hand to indicate their surroundings. "You're all worried about it, but this really is a nice house, Pete - and Katy'll love it."
"Don't get maudlin on me, Trev. You haven't had that much beer."
"If maudlin means sappy, then I won't. It's just that I realise how together your life is now. You've got Katy - though I still can't figure out how you managed that one - and now, you've bought yourself a house." He hesitated. "And then there's me. I've been so busy mingling that I'm beginning to feel lost in a crowd. Do you think I have a sheep complex?"
"Sheepish? Never."
"No, you fool! Sheep complex - one of the herd. Run-of-the-mill." Smiling, he added, "Worse. A sheepskin rug. For people to walk on."
Peter laughed. "No one would dare walk on a rug with a mouth as big as yours. And it's your mouth, Trev - among other things - that'll always keep you from getting lost in a crowd. I don't think you should worry about it."
Trevor grinned. "You don't worry about it because half the time you don't even notice the crowd is there." He looked at his watch and stood up. "Time for me to go. Otherwise, I'll be so tired my car will have to drive itself home."
Peter looked worried. "Did you want to stay, Trev?"
They'd reached the porch, and Trevor took a long look at the distorted trees, then said jokingly, "No, thanks. You may see those critters as viral hosts, but I still see them as haunts. I'm going home where it's safe." He climbed into his car. "You should get your plant pathologist's ass out there tomorrow and see what ails them."
Now that the storm had passed, Trevor could see Peter's smile in the moonlight. "How'd you guess?"
"Because I know you. You're too damn curious." He started the engine. "See ya, Pete! Have fun with your fungus -"
"G'night, Trev." Peter was still smiling as he watched Trevor's taillights turn the corner of the driveway.
***
Chapter Two
The morning burst forward with streams of eye-burning yellows and reds. Peter stepped out on the porch, took a deep breath, and stared with longing at the out-of-doors - especially those trees that had looked so grotesque the night before. They didn't look nearly as bad in the dawn light - just a little eerie.
With a sense of resignation, Peter turned around and forced his feet back into the house. He dodged boxes, wondering where to start in sorting out his and Katy's bits and pieces. One way to get Katy to like the place was to make her feel like it was home. The furniture was pretty much in place already - at least in the places it would sit until Katy came and re-arranged it all. Peter placed furniture for convenience, whereas Katy placed furniture where it would look good.
There were heaps of boxes everywhere. Looking at the mess, Peter couldn't figure out how all this junk had fit into their old place. Did they really need this stuff? He opened the first box and found an article on fungal endophytes and part of a soil test kit, some of Katy's tubes of paint, and a ceramic something-or-other that Katy had made during her student days. He shoved it all back in and closed the lid. He hadn't a clue what to do with this mess.
He worked for several hours, filling closets to the brim, then put the rest of the boxes along the walls in the rooms he thought they'd eventually end up. Still discouraged with the way it looked, he pulled out several sheets and blankets which he artfully arranged to cover the stacked masses of cardboard. That's better, he thought, pleased. Finished. If I make it look too perfect, then Katy won't feel she can make it hers.
By the time he reached the porch again, all thoughts of moving and boxes were forgotten. He sat down on the porch step, leaning back against a wooden post, and thought about Katy instead - a smile on his face.
When the owner sold the place he and Katy had been renting, they'd decided to find a flat or small house to move into, figuring that the house would come into their lives when they were ready. He and Katy had packed up things days before the moving van was due, and Peter suspected that Katy had planned it that way. Because she didn't intend to be there when the moving day actually arrived.
Her business trip had been just a bit too coincidental. Peter was sure it was intentional. Katy hated saying good-bye to anything, especially the little house where they'd spent so many happy times together. Not that she'd left him all the work. No, she'd made certain all was done a week before she'd actually left. Guilt, probably. He remembered the way she'd looked at him, sheepishly, hoping he'd understand how it was with her. He did, of course. And he'd said all the right things about how she couldn't help it if her company needed her in Sydney right now, and that he could find a flat and rent it on his own. And, yes, he knew she trusted him to find a place that would suit them for a while, until they bought a house...
Well, Katy had flown off, and he'd found this place. It struck him that it was perfect for them. Only the auction wouldn't wait for Katy's stamp of approval. So Peter, feeling very daring, had bought it on his own.
Peter took a few steps off the porch, scrunched his eyes closed, then turned, opening his eyes wide in hopes of seeing his house without any preconceptions. It didn't work. All he could think was : A little paint would do wonders, along with Isn't it great?
Peter sank back down on his step. He couldn't figure out why the hell Katy stayed with him. Right now, with insecurity sitting at his back in the form of a peeling semi-derelict investment, he hoped that whatever myopia blinded Katherine Ryder to his faults would extend to the house he had chosen. Trevor hadn't spent so much time changing the subject last night for nothing.
At least, I didn't touch any of Katy's money to buy it. The thought soothed away some of his anxiety. Katy didn't have much in her account, but she could save it for whatever she wanted. Knowing her, he felt sure that she'd want to set up her studio. There had never been enough room at their old place to paint as much as she liked. It always seemed to get in the way of everything else.
He frowned. Also knowing Katy, as much as she wanted a studio, she'd probably want him to set up his laboratory first. At the same time he'd be trying to buy her an easel or a skylight, she'd be trying to get him a microscope. It had happened before. Which is why, most of the time, neither one of them had any money.
Well, this is her wedding gift. Thinking of it that way made him feel a little less guilty that he'd made such a big decision without her input. Will it be homey enough to convince her that it's our place? Peter wondered. He knew what Trevor's response to that would be: did you say homey, or homely? Peter grinned. He made a mental note not to give his friend that kind of opening.
Peter's smile faded. It would take Katy to make this place feel like home to him. He was glad she was coming back soon. I really miss her, he thought, feeling once again that dull ache being without her always seemed to bring.
Determined not to let the feeling of loneliness get to him, he stood up, to get a better look at the trees below. Today, Peter would welcome the nearly obsessive absorption that seemed to overtake him whenever he was interested in something. And nothing could draw his attention as strongly as a puzzle in his field - some plant disease manifested in an odd way, or that no one else could figure out. Peter's glum look brightened as he considered the convoluted growth patterns of the mini-forest. Excited, he gave a flat-handed smack to the post beside him, then cringed as his head was dusted with wood crumbles.
The crumbling wood made Peter think cut wood which, in turn, made him think pruning. His excitement was momentarily dimmed. This might not be a plant disease at all, he realised. The distortions might result from years of bungled pruning. He made a mental note to get some background info from Henry, the gardener.
Henry would be here soon. Not that Henry was much of a gardener. The flowers encircling the porch looked as though they owed their existence to years of self-sowing, rather than to any intentional effort, and Peter suspected that Henry had done most of his "gardening" infrequently, using the ride-on mower.
Peter scuffed a toe in the gravel of the drive. I hope Henry hurries, he thought impatiently. He looked at the blue skies, interrupted by only a few scuddy clouds that sat fat and quiet in the moisture-scented air. The storm had blasted itself out, or at least, moved on to torture someone else. Not a bit of wind, but the touch of the sun and the sweet trilling of birds lingered on the air. Some insect was buzzing across the field. Peter inhaled deeply, and fingered the post he'd smacked the moment before, admiring the scroll-work that was his now. He stopped to enjoy the feeling that swept through him - that swelling somewhere in the diaphragm that moves up into the chest, then somehow makes its way to the eyes to moisten them, before sending a tingle down the arms - that "pride of possession" feeling.
He eyed the stand of trees again, but this time with scientific detachment. Leaning against the weathered post, his arms crossed loosely in front of him, he studied the topography, looking for any differences that could account for an environmentally-induced variation in the growth pattern. The grounds (roughcut expanse, more like) gradually inclined from there up to the house, but there were no odd growth patterns in adjacent stands, at least that he could see from here. Next he tried to give a specific identity to the trees in question, but they weren't easy to categorise. They looked rather like birches - but not birches. The bark appeared to be white, or of some light colour, which limited the choices. I don't even know if they're deciduous, he thought.
As if on cue, Henry drove his motorcycle up the drive with a grand flourish. Yes, Peter thought, Henry is definitely of the if-it-can't-be-done-with-a-machine-it-can't-be-done type.
Henry's leather jacket was discarded and painstakingly folded and placed atop the bike. No helmet crowned the long flying locks, but a band across the forehead was removed and used to tie them back. Henry was ready for work.
"G'morning, Henry."
"And to you, Peter." Henry turned toward the shed, revealing the latest John Grisham novel wedged into his back pocket. Henry always brought along something to do when he was at work, Peter had already noticed.
It didn't bother Peter. Henry might not be much into landscaping, but he'd been terrific about getting the house ready for Peter to move in. Not that Peter had noticed much beyond a hole in the step and a leaking tap, but Henry had fixed those right away. In Peter's mind, the big jobs had already been done by Henry. The "little" jobs remaining he wanted to claim as his own.
"Henry, I know you're keen to start mowing before it gets too hot, but I need to ask you something."
Henry retraced his steps, and stood waiting impatiently for Peter to speak.
Must be a good book, Peter thought. He'd already noticed that Henry always managed to get through a few chapters while he was mowing. He wondered if he took the same liberties on his motorcycle.
Peter pointed to the trees. "I'm curious about any work that's been done on those trees. I'm going to take a look at them this morning, but I thought I'd talk to you first. Have they always looked like that? You know - all swollen and distorted?" He hesitated to ask about the species of tree. Most people thought a plant pathologist should be able to identify any plant that came his way off the top of his head, particularly something as big as a tree.
Henry looked down at the ground, uncomfortable now. He scuffed small patterns with the toe of his boot while he thought about his answer. Peter tried to control his own foot from tapping so that the other man wouldn't know that he was getting impatient. A simple question. He'd cleared his throat to say something more, when Henry lifted his head, to look directly at him, some kind of decision made.
"They should have told you."
Peter was startled. "Told me what?"
"The trees. No one prunes them. Furthermore, no one goes near them."
"Henry," Peter began, "I don't know anything about the previous owner, but you and your friends can visit my trees whenever you like -"
"That's a generous offer, Peter, but you won't find too many takers. I don't think you're getting the picture here: no one can prune them."
Peter was confused. "What do you mean - 'no one can prune them'? Did anyone ever think about taking them down? Over the years, someone must have considered it."
Henry looked amused. "If they have, I'm sure they decided it wasn't worth it."
Peter's frustration was beginning to show. "Is this an equipment problem we're talking about, or some local superstition?"
"We're not exactly a group of ignorant peasants," Henry didn't like Peter's tone.
Peter hadn't intended to get Henry upset. "Sorry, Henry. That's not what I meant."
Henry nodded, and Peter assumed that meant his apology had been accepted. "I prefer to think of this as accumulated wisdom - based on past experience."
Peter lowered his voice to a whisper. "So what are you saying? That the trees are haunted, or what?" He managed to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
Henry's face was serious, but his tone was matter-of-fact. "I honestly don't know. Of course, stories abound, but I only take a few of them seriously. Like the one that says no one's watch works near there. You'll notice I say near there, because in recent times no one has gone in there."
Peter felt an uncomfortable crawling of gooseflesh across his skin. He tried to ignore it. "We may just be talking about a plant disease here, Henry. Something that distorts them into their present shape."
"Maybe. Take a close look, and then tell me to prune them." He laughed. Henry was still chuckling to himself as he walked toward the tool shed.
*
"Stay!" The word was as meaningless to Mortimer as any other, except, perhaps, the interrogative form of "hungry". The extent of Morty's vocabulary depended on his mood: if it was a sunny day, Mortimer had no trouble understanding the word "outside", but, if the wind was howling, or Peter was cooking something worth begging for, Morty developed a sudden deafness to anything he didn't want to hear. Right now, lying on the warm boards of the porch, the dog was indifferent to anything Peter had to say. Peter was undecided whether a twitch of one ear was meant to recognise him, or a flea.
The day was a cooker, but it was still early enough to bake gently. Blue skies hung thickly overhead, and the smell of the grass was pungent as he crushed it underfoot. Little wildflowers had dotted up in yellows and purples. Peter turned to look back at his house. It had such style, and the little things like warped timber and peeling paint didn't show from a distance. He hoped his feelings of pride and affection didn't stem from the fact that he'd selected the house himself. He really wanted Katy to like it, too.
*
The first thing Peter noticed was the silence. An oppressive silence, from which all bird sounds, all insect noises, were missing. He was getting closer to the big sombre darkness that comprised this stand, and it was all too quiet. Almost as though he'd passed through some kind of barrier. When was it - ten yards back, fifteen? He only knew that he could no longer hear the cicadas, and the birdsong - which had been so raucous this morning that it had acted as an alarm - was totally absent. He approached the nearest tree. Gooseflesh danced up his back now, but he made himself ignore it. Peter willed the gooseflesh away, determined that he would treat all this professionally.
The bark was white - so brightly white that it had a whitewashed glare, as though clad in a coating of some sort. Curiosity took over, and Peter's nervousness was displaced by a tremor of excitement.
He took a step back, to get a better look at the smallest oddity in this abnormal stand of trees. White, rough bark; attenuated leaves in strange clustered formations. Like witch's broom? Some imbalance in the hormone levels? Peter reached out a hand and touched the bark, half expecting the eerie white to powder under his fingers. But, no - it was cold and hard - stiff and unyielding - with none of the flaking or chipping qualities he associated with normal secondary growth. In fact - his brows drew down in puzzlement - it felt a hell of a lot like stone.
Absurd. Peter tried to pick at the bark with his fingernail and couldn't make a mark. Okay. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out his trusty knife - the one he always used to cut back bark on suspect plants, in order to expose disease lesions. He tried to make a small incision in the bark, but no go. His knife was going to break before the bark would. It crossed his mind that he was playing with some type of petrified wood; a specimen that had somehow been preserved in situ, leaves and all. But the idea of that was ridiculous.
There was only one thing to do. I need to see this under a microscope, he thought, his mind already turning over tests he could run, ranging from the mundane to the molecular. "How the hell am I going to get a specimen?" he grumbled, hands on his hips. There was one thing for sure - it wouldn't be a sample of bark. He looked at his knife and sighed.
He squatted down, tumbling some soil through his fingers as he thought it out. "It'll have to be leaves," he decided.
Peter ran his hand over the protuberance decorating this one's bark: a beak-like projection that jutted midway out the trunk. "That one would be more fun," he said, looking over at the tree sporting enormous mammary-like growths, "but (grunt), this -" he pulled himself up to balance on the schnozz, "- will (puff) have to do -" Peter turned his attention to the leaves. Sure enough, they appeared to be as stiff and unyielding as chipped stone. "This is great!" he muttered in excitement, startling himself with the eerie quality of his own voice in this solemn place. Peter leaned out, grabbed a leaf, and snapped it off.
His trip to the ground was much shorter than he expected. His foot slipped on the beak, and he went tumbling down, clutching his precious leaf sample close against him. Peter picked himself up, grinning ruefully as he rubbed his skinned ankle. He absently brushed dirt off with one hand, as he held the leaf to the light. If this find was as exciting as he thought it was going to be, it was worth more than a few knocks and bumps. He gave the side of the beak a cheerful slap, and strolled off jauntily toward his house.
I should be able to get some details on the cell structure if I can get a thin-enough section. Peter took one last look around before he left the shelter of the trees. "At least I know now why this place is so quiet," he said loudly, to fill the silence. "There's nothing to eat." It was no wonder nothing lived here. He supposed there might be some insect that could live on this stuff - he held up the leaf and studied it under his small magnifying lens - but he hadn't seen any. There wasn't even any grass underfoot.
Peter felt pleased with himself. Certainly, he had a mystery on his hands, but it was one which was scientific rather than supernatural. Lost in the turning over of possibilities, he didn't even notice when he passed back into the noisy ambience of the hot summer day.
*
Peter made a special trip into the lab that afternoon to play with his new find. He didn't think they'd be surprised to see him, even though he'd taken time off to move - most of the people he worked with were as nutty about their jobs as he was. Still, he hesitated to show his face, because undoubtedly they'd find some work for him to do. There was no way around it, though. He needed his equipment, and to consult some of the texts on trees. It was driving him crazy because he still didn't have any idea what kind of tree he was looking at. He'd checked through all his reference books, even though it meant digging through more boxes to find them all.
None of his systematic bibles held the right tree. It was at once both discouraging, and encouraging. Discouraging because he couldn't cross-reference disease reports if he didn't know what these plants were; encouraging because it might mean either this species, or this disease manifestation, was so new that it had yet to be mentioned.
Peter went through the books twice to be sure he didn't miss anything, but it didn't help. If the leaf shape was right, the branching pattern, or the colour of the bark, was wrong. In the end he admitted it: nothing he'd seen on paper was even close to the peculiar tree from which he'd snapped his leaf samples.
At the lab, he plugged into a systematics program on the computer, then continued pouring through systematics books when the latter failed to produce anything. He grew more frustrated as the hours passed. Finally, unable to determine even the family of his odd find, he gave up. Irritated, but far from being discouraged, he pushed the stack of books aside and left his desk. I've done my duty, he thought, excited. Now, let's get down to the nitty-gritty.
This was what he'd been waiting for, but he'd forced himself to do the basics before diving headfirst into any microscopy work. If he'd found a match, it might have given him a hint as to what disease organism he was looking for, and what stains and mounting methods to use. Now he'd have to start from scratch.
Peter took a fragment of leaf tissue, tried to section it, then gave up and ground it into powder. Finally, a distracted smile on his face, Peter started making slides.
*
"I don't get it. Talk about your crystalline arrays. Not fungal, not bacterial. Maybe not even viral. What the hell is this?" Peter's bench was littered with slides - leaf tissue stained in violet and orange and blue and red.
He started the series again, looking at a slide, then replacing it with another; recording the results in a second column on a pad of paper. The first column represented his preliminary observations, and Peter shook his head over the brevity of his remarks. It's obvious, even to me, that I have no idea what I'm looking at, he thought. It's time to tear this sucker apart, and look at it from its inside out. Resting his elbows on the lab bench, Peter idly twirled a stiff leaf. "I hate mixing gels," he muttered. Separating the components of this thing according to size and molecular weight would give him much-needed information, but mixing and pouring gels was a pain in the ass.
Right now, his body felt nearly as stiff as the leaf in his hands. "I need to go home," he yawned. He covered his microscope, retired his leaf samples to the fridge, and headed toward the door. "Tomorrow -" he mumbled in farewell. For the first time, he realised just how far he'd opted to live from work.
*
Peter had to force himself to do the routine banking and shopping chores the next day. It was still morning when his car pulled back into the driveway. Peter dropped the groceries just inside the front door, then jogged on down to the grove. When he reached the tree that had been so accommodating with leaf samples the day before, he gave the cold, hard bark a friendly slap. Smiling, Peter climbed up into the tree once more and yanked down the limb with the snapped-off tip - the one whose fragments were now sitting in the fridge at the lab.
At the break, there was a reflective red glint. Bracing his feet on the protruding beak, Peter took out his pocket magnifier. Red crystals. What was going on here? Could these be mammoth versions of the ones he'd seen under the microscope?
It was too weird. The closest thing he'd seen to these crystalline structures were the minuscule versions produced by some potyvirus infections - difficult to see under a light microscope. These - these were so massive he could see them with his naked eye.
What had started out as a puzzle had become an enigma. One that was beginning to scare him. Not because of Trevor's "hosts for ghosts" theory, but because this was something beyond his experience. If this was a virus, could it be mechanically transmitted? Did I just spread this stuff halfway across the country? he asked himself in dismay.
No. The disease, if that's what it was, appeared to be confined to a very limited area, and, specifically, to this tree type - whatever that was. Henry had said that locals considered the trees to be as old as time, and had accordingly built up a slough of legendary tripe that accounted for those oddly human shapes. That meant that in all these years, no vector had carried it further afield.
Maybe there was an environmental factor. Henry had mentioned people's watches - something about how this area upset them. Magnetism? Electromagnetism? Some weird effect from heavy background radiation? He'd better trace this, and soon. He and Katy wanted kids, and if there was some strong abnormality in the area, then it could affect humans as well.
He remembered that some people were pushing devices that would change the electromagnetism of your house to get rid of pests - mice, flies - that sort of thing. Now he began to worry about the lack of living things. Could the ground or these trees be full of toxins? Was that what had happened here?
Procedure. All right, get on with it. A better sample should go to the lab. It may be that he was dealing with a new species, and that this was the normal growth pattern, but he had to rule out all possibility of disease.
*
When Peter ran past him to the tool shed for a hacksaw and some bags to hold his samples, Henry eyed him as though he'd just gone mental. Henry was of the mind that machines did the hurrying for you, and on those you went flat out. He shook his head and continued tilling the garden patch Peter had requested. There was another one of those storms due that was supposed to rain buckets and be unseasonably windy and cold. Henry wanted to be out of here and comfortably installed in front of the television before its arrival.
Peter raced down to the trees again, selecting the limb of another tree this time. He'd brought spare blades with him, but it still took him the better part of two hours to cut away his samples. He decided on big cuts to get a better look at the general structure, and because anything finer might well fracture rather than slice. Working with material this hard made delicate work in the field just too damned difficult.
Peter double-bagged the wood chunks in some discarded feed sacks he'd found in the shed, then carried them up to the house. He dropped one bag on the porch, and stowed the other in the boot of his car.
Trevor was coming around after work, to have dinner and shoot the bull for a couple of hours, on the excuse of helping him finish "settle in". Peter looked at the sky, then his watch. Henry was right; his watch was now blinking on and off, so he'd have to reset it - just as he had the last time he'd been in the woods.
Peter ran inside - and promptly fell over the bags of groceries he'd left in the hall. Grumbling, he flung the groceries into the fridge, bags and all - he'd sort them when he got home.
In the lounge, Peter rummaged around till he found some paper. He scrawled a note to Trev, telling him to come in and make himself comfortable, and that he'd be back by seven. He tried to pin it on the front door, but a gust of wind snatched it away. "Damn it!" Peter managed to stomp on the paper before it left the porch. He looked around for something to use as a paper weight. Smiling, Peter took the bag of wood samples, and plunked it down on one side of the paper.
He nearly tripped over Mortimer when he turned around. Would Morty be okay outside? Anything was better than having dog stains all over their already well-worn furniture. "Morty - stay!" Peter told his dog firmly. Peter jogged out to the car and looked back - only to see Mortimer hadn't moved a muscle. "Good dog!" he said loudly for the dog's benefit.
As Peter drove out the driveway he muttered, "I wonder what he would have done if I'd said, 'come' instead -"
*
The wind was whipping up strong gusts, so that Trevor had to fight the wheel to stay on his side of the highway. He was really beginning to hate back roads. It seemed to him that all the ones leading to Peter's house were unmarked. He felt like he was playing a game of map and memory, right up until he turned into the questionable safety of Peter's driveway.
As he climbed out of his car, a gust of wind flung gravel at his legs. Trevor practically ran over to the porch.
The note was flapping up and down, trying to work its way out from under the bag of wood. Trevor scanned it and smiled. "Okay, Peter. I'll just make myself at home."
Trevor turned the knob, but he had competition when it came to entering. Mortimer pushed in, catching him just behind the knee and causing his left leg to buckle. "At least one of us is anxious to be here," Trevor said. As he hung up his coat he gave an exaggerated shiver.
By eight o'clock, Trevor was fidgety. His idea of making himself at home had included finishing off the chocolate ice cream and reading yesterday's newspaper. Now he found himself watching the clock.
Trevor couldn't forget his and Peter's discussion about those trees, and now it was all he could think about. Especially since this old place was so draughty that the cold was giving him as many goosebumps as those damned monsters at the bottom of the slope.
Trev needed something to do. He picked up the book Peter had left open on the coffee table - saw the word "pathogen" - and slammed it shut. He turned on the TV, but found he was listening for sounds beyond - outside. Feeling foolish, he decided to do something constructive.
He ran outside, pulling Morty along to keep him company, and rummaged in his car for the plane and oilcan he'd brought from home. Once back inside, he went to work with a will on that recalcitrant kitchen door - planing off the bulging top that was sticking in the frame, then carefully oiling the hinges. He was even tidy for once, sweeping up the wood shavings and shoving them into the old wood stove, so Peter wouldn't know what he'd done. Let Peter think his soap trick worked, thought Trevor with a smile. At least, I'll feel better, knowing that Pete won't get stuck in there with his godawful cooking.
Afterwards, Trevor was still restless. And hungry. If Peter's coming home this late, I'll bet he'll have forgotten to eat. Trevor hunted through the fridge, pulling out sandwich fixings. He made two for himself, one for Peter, and one for Morty, who was staring at him pathetically. "Bug off, Mortimer!" Trevor said, tossing him the sandwich. Morty snatched it happily, then tore off to the lounge, content with stealing the big wing chair by the fireplace. "It's a good idea, Dog," Trevor said as he joined him near the fireplace. "But no matter how cold it is in here, I can't just build a fire in there and walk away." Trevor stomped his feet and rubbed his arms vigorously with his hands to try to stay warm.
Trevor thought of the kitchen he'd just left. The big wood cooker would be all the better for a blast of heat, and warmth would go a long way to making this place more cheery. Ugly the wood stove might be, but the kitchen was one room where he could safely leave a fire going, and that old stove would provide enough heat to rise into the rest of the place and warm it.
Trevor looked around for some wood, but there were only scraps in the wood bin next to the stove. Then he remembered the chunks he'd seen in the bag on the porch, and went to get it.
Trevor tipped the wood out on to the kitchen floor. Picking up a chunk, he weighed it in his hand. "Talk about your hardwoods! I sure hope this'll burn." Mortimer, who was watching Trevor's efforts with one eye, and the refrigerator with the other, wagged his tail appreciatively.
There was already a small log in the firebox, so Trevor threw in some wads of paper before adding the biggest piece of wood out of the bag. After lighting the paper, he closed the heavy door and rubbed the dust off his hands, before checking his watch. Should he stay? He walked into the lounge and lifted the curtain to look out the window. Eight fifty-seven. It was unlike Peter to be so late for an appointment. He hadn't phoned, either.
"Damn it, Peter! If you can remember enough to leave me a note, you sure as heck can remember to call me if you're not coming," he complained, worried now.
On any other night, Trevor wouldn't have been surprised if Peter was just so engrossed in whatever he was doing that he forgot to call - forgot Trevor was waiting - forgot everything until hours after the event. It had happened once or twice before, but Trevor didn't think that on a night like this, with the wind gusting and a big storm brewing, that Peter would forget. He might be absorbed, but he wasn't thoughtless. I'm glad Peter doesn't drive the way I do, Trevor thought. Then I'd really be concerned.
Maybe the phones are out. Trevor crossed over and picked up the receiver. It was dead.
Mortimer looked at him expectantly. Trevor told him, "No wonder, Morty. Now, we just have to figure out if I should hang in here and wait, or head for the bright lights of the city."
It didn't make Trevor feel any better to know that Peter hadn't been able to correct a fault in the porch switch yet, so there was no exterior light. When he looked out the window, all he could see was rain-wet darkness. And the chatter of dirt and gravel at the window was somehow not as funny, now that Trevor was there alone. Maybe Peter has his reasons for not wanting to be here on a night like this. Maybe he figures I'll have the sense to realise it, and leave.
Get a grip, Richmond! Trev told himself sternly. He sat down on the lumpy couch, leaned back to look at the high ceiling, and the old wallpaper - and remembered how much Peter loved this place. Ugh!
Well, Katy would do wonders. Trevor grabbed some paper off the table, and wrote a note, saying he'd try calling when he got home, or, tomorrow, if the phones were still out.
Trevor checked the fire, pleased to see that the big log was just beginning to glow along one edge. What he didn't see in the dimness of the kitchen lighting, was the burbling froth of bubbles being jettisoned on to the stove bottom.
Trevor fed Mortimer a can of dog food. "Pig!" he muttered, as Morty begged for more. "You've eaten more than I have, dog." But, he was smiling as he watched Morty climb back into Peter's chair - the one the dog was never supposed to use, but the one the canine always hoarded, if the dog toys and well-chewed bones under the cushion were any indication.
A loud rumble of thunder drowned out the rain that had changed from windblown mist to pound and pummel. The lights flickered, and Trevor started gathering his stuff together. He hadn't forgotten how scary this place could be with all the lights still on. "Sorry, Morty. That's my cue. I'm out of here."
Trevor took one last look around, and went out the door. As he stepped into the windswept blackness, he shuddered - feeling that those grotesque figures down the slope were somehow watching. Trev sprinted to the car, jumped in and locked the doors. Then, heater on full to chase away the last of the shivers that seemed to linger in his spine, he tore out of the driveway. It would take a long time to get home.
*
Peter was battling the buffeting winds on his way home. Somehow he'd made a wrong turn, and now he felt like a fool. He'd better keep his mind on his driving, or he'd run out of gas before he reached the main turn-off.
He couldn't stop thinking about those trees. His scientific curiosity was aroused, and he'd set up a bunch of experiments that he'd do tomorrow. Maybe I should have stayed at the lab, he thought, looking at the rain runneling off his windshield. No, he decided, as yet another crack of lightning split the skies - Mortimer's stuck out in this storm, and if that isn't cruelty to animals, I don't know what is.
There was one thing that made Peter feel a little better: if Trevor made it for dinner, like they'd planned, Morty might already be inside, curled up in his favourite forbidden sleeping spot.
Another bolt of lightning seemed to shatter the glass in beads of fractured light. Peter changed his mind. He began to hope Trevor had played it safe and stayed home. There's no sense both of us being out in this -
When he finally turned up the drive, it was after ten. Trevor's car wasn't there. Either he'd already left, or hadn't been able to make it at all. Peter dashed out of the car, one arm over his head to shield himself from the wind. As he jumped up on the porch, he could hear Mortimer scratching and whining to get out. His first feeling was relief that Trevor had let Morty in, followed by impatience. "Hold on to it, Morty! I'm coming!" Peter opened the door, hearing the high-pitched scream of the smoke alarm. Mortimer dashed out between his legs, into the storm.
Peter stepped inside, closing doors as he went, but leaving the front door ajar for a quick getaway. Cautiously, he approached the kitchen. Now he could smell something burning - acrid, sour, totally repellent. As he reached the heavy wooden door, he saw wisps of white vapour rise out of the kitchen, and swirl into the hall, where they quickly dissipated.
He raced back to the phone, thinking to have a member of the fire department on the line as he checked this out. But the phone was still dead. What should he do? He considered the kitchen. There was precious little that could burn in there. He'd dash in, see if he could put out whatever it was, then dash out. After all, this was his house, and it didn't look as though help would be coming any time soon.
He cautiously turned on the kitchen light, worried lest even that small spark would cause a flash of flame. The bulb dangled, a hideous yellow, while he peered in, looking first at the stove to see if he'd accidentally left it on, before locating the source. The old wood stove! Trevor must have been here, and thought to heat the place, but what a misguided gesture!
Peter yanked the bucket out of the broom closet, all the while trying to avoid inhaling. The stench was really appalling. He raced up the stairs, and filled the pail from the bathtub tap, then took a deep breath before going back into the kitchen. He'd just pop open the stove, toss the water in, then clear out and take another breath. It might take a couple of trips, but he'd put the damned thing out.
The room was blistering hot. He realised that the air in here was thick with a cruddy steam, rather than smoke. He used a towel to yank open the door. The stove was seething - as fragments of wood ignited, foamy bits of residue were frothing upward, spitting out of the stove and on to the floor. He tossed the water, and was hit with a huge wall of steam. The first was bad, but it was followed by a second that churned forward, enveloping him as he made his way toward the steps.
Outside, the storm was still in high fury, with the wind tearing around in high, unpredictable gusts. One such flurry impacted with the front door, opening it wide, to race down the hall. It rebounded in the small space, as more wind tore in through the open door, until it bounced against the heavy wooden door at the top of those five steps. With a minimal amount of effort, and with only a slight creaking of the newly-oiled hinge, the door was slammed shut.
Peter - eyes streaming, gasping for air - was trying to find the stairs. All his pores were open, and sweat was mingling with this acrid steam. He felt as though he were inhaling large amounts of some dark and viscous fluid. His lungs were screaming, his skin was stinging as though salt were being rubbed into a thousand small cuts. He couldn't breathe, and he knew he was going down. As he hit the floor, he realised how much cooler it was, and hoped for a reprieve. But there was nothing to breathe but that blinding, choking steam, and it seemed to be filling him up...
*
Trevor tried phoning when he got home, but the lines were still out. He decided to call the next day, knowing Peter would be off work.
At work the following morning, he tried again. At least it was ringing this time, instead of doing that buzz-buzz thing. Trevor guessed that his friend was busy somewhere else. He chuckled, thinking about Peter and his preoccupation with fungus. "Pete's down tinkering with his trees again."
Trevor didn't know exactly when it started bothering him; when that niggling of something-not-quite-right became more of a certainty that something was wrong. But it happened somewhere between the time he went whistling through his front door, and was getting pretty strong by the time he'd finished his first bite of apple. In-between he'd auto-dialled Pete's number, changed his shoes, and fetched something to eat. All the while the phone rang and rang.
He's had plenty of time to get to the phone - even if he's down in those damned trees. Trevor slammed the phone down. Even if Peter was involved in something, he would have called by now, to explain about last night. Just to be sure, Trevor called the operator, and asked him to check the line. But the guy's reassurance that all was in order only made Trevor more certain that it wasn't.
Maybe I was too quick to leave last night. Maybe Peter had had a problem with his car in that godawful storm and been stranded somewhere. Something was wrong. He and Peter had been friends for too long, and all the alarm bells were ringing. Trevor fumbled for his keys amidst the rubble on his desk, ran out to his car and jammed on the accelerator.
*
When Trevor turned into Peter's driveway, the first thing he saw was Peter's car. He experienced a sort of wobbly-kneed relief, which left him feeling both overly-dramatic and slightly foolish. But then, as he stepped out of the car, he saw Mortimer. The dog's hair was tangled and full of mud. "Come here, Morty. Here, boy." He patted his leg and Mortimer came trotting over, cowering slightly but making a big show of this friend. He looked pathetically at the front door, which was standing wide open.
"What's the matter, boy? C'mon." But no amount of calling could get Mortimer to go near the door.
Trevor looked at the open door uncertainly. He called out loudly, "Peter! Hey, Pete, company!"
Nothing. Trevor stepped into the hall, and the stench hit him. "What the hell!" He coughed, took a few deep breaths, then walked down the hall, opening doors as he went, looking for his friend. No Peter, no response. He was scared now, but not for himself. He laid a hand on the kitchen door, steeling himself for what he was afraid of finding, but possessed of an urgency to act before it was too late.
The kitchen door opened easily. Trevor looked down, and at first didn't see him. He was too caught up in the peculiar greenish-brown stain that covered everything in the room. He went down the steps, trying not to breathe deeply; trying not to inhale the filthy odour that seemed to originate from that foul coating. Then he turned and saw Peter face down, against the wall.
"Peter!" Trevor was at his side in an instant. He turned Peter over, carefully, afraid of aggravating any injuries he might have. Placing his ear against Peter's chest, Trevor found his mouth seemed to be functioning independently of his brain - muttering all kinds of prayers that he hadn't even realised he still remembered. He had to bite his lips to shut himself up enough to listen for Peter's heartbeat.
At first Trevor couldn't detect anything, and he started to panic. Then he heard it - it sounded irregular, but it was there! Trevor dragged Peter upward and threw him over his shoulder, hauling him at a run out of the house. Out on the grass, he started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. It seemed to take forever before Peter began to breathe on his own.
Trevor lifted him slowly and carefully this time, and stretched him out across the back seat of his car. Then he drove like all hell was breaking loose for the nearest hospital. He knew, if he drove the way Peter always accused him of driving, that he could get him there before they could get any help out here. Every few minutes he'd pull over on the verge, to check on his friend, to check his breathing and heartbeat. Neither showed any imminent signs of stopping again. Surely that was a good sign. What the hell had happened, anyway?
Trevor roared into the emergency driveway, horn blaring. Running inside, he yelled to a person studying a file at the desk, "I've got an emergency here! My friend - in the car - he stopped breathing, but I gave him CPR..."
She raced back and brought a gurney. Several attendants helped her bring Peter in. "What happened?"
"Smoke inhalation - maybe some burns - I found him on the floor of his kitchen. The room's almost airtight. There was this brown goo all over the walls that he might have inhaled." Trevor showed her the thin layer of greenish brown that was also adhering to Peter's clothes and skin. "I don't know what it is."
"Can you get us a better sample?"
"I'll do anything I can to help. Pete's my best friend."
She smiled, and her air of calm professionalism took Trevor's panic down a notch. "Try not to worry. You got him here. That's what counts."
She lifted one of Peter's arms to look closely at the substance. With this much on his skin, we're probably looking at chemical poisoning, she thought. She didn't say anything to his friend, but the smile she turned in his direction was a little more fixed. "When you bring that sample, could you check for a container? Something with a label, that might tell us what this is?" Trevor nodded and she ushered him toward the door. "The sooner we get the information, the better." She gestured at a clerk, who was waiting patiently with a clipboard. "First though, could you just supply us with some details, please? Name, address, that sort of thing?" She sent him away to fill out the forms.
After Trevor had finished answering their questions, he drove back to Peter's house, intent on bringing them their sample. The smell lingered in the car, but he wouldn't let himself think of it - of Peter - of Katy - or he'd break down. Nothing could happen to Peter. Trevor decided not to phone Katy yet - he couldn't bear to. Not until he knew how things were. Not until he could say something hopeful.
It was just beginning to get dark, in the way that late summer days drag on until night just sneaks in and takes them away, leaving the warmth. He saw Mortimer, still outside the door, but at least on the porch this time. Trevor gave him a friendly pat on the head, then walked towards the kitchen, opening doors and windows as he went, trying to decide if he should leave them open when he went back to the hospital. He weighed the strong odour against the chance of a burglary out here and decided that odour won out. Besides, it would be several days before anyone knew that Peter was away, and maybe he'd be out of the hospital by then, anyway. Maybe.
Trevor rummaged in the box underneath the sink, looking for a jar with a lid. Then, using a spatula, he managed to gather some of the crust off the walls. In certain areas, he could see small red crystals had formed. What was this stuff? The door of the stove, which was standing open, was full of it.
He saw the bucket where it had fallen to the floor. Everything clicked into place. Peter had been trying to put out the fire - his fire, the one he, Trevor, had started. Oh, God - have I done this to Peter?
But all I did was put wood in the stove. For warmth. For a surprise. It was just wood, wasn't it? He looked around and found the bag of wood where he'd dropped it. There were several pieces left. Trevor took one out and looked at it. Small red crystals coated both sides of the cut wood. Oh, Jesus! What have I done? He re-bagged the wood, grabbed the jar, and took one last look around the kitchen. Then he stalked out, flung the things in the car, and took off for the hospital. He was determined to do all he could to make things right. For Peter, for Katy, for himself. For them all.
*
He sought out the one who'd been at the desk; the one with the nice smile. He wanted her to be the one to tell him about Peter. Her name tag had said - what was it? "Mari" - yes, that was it. He asked for her at the desk. When Mari appeared, she was wearing the professional smile again, but this time he knew something was wrong.
"Will you come with me?" Very wrong.
She ushered him to a small waiting room. He was afraid to ask, so he waited for her to begin.
"We have a full team working on your friend. He's in a coma, and starting to run a high fever, so we've been trying to cool him down. You said something about a substance he may have inhaled. Do you have a sample?"
"Yes, here." He handed her the jar, and she looked through the glass. "This was on the woodstove, and all over the walls. I don't know what it is, but it may be the result of burning this." He handed her a chunk of wood. She peered at the red crystals closely. She broke off one, with Trevor's help, and popped it into the jar with the other sample. Then, she handed him back the wood.
"Do you know why he was burning this?" It came out like an accusation, leaving her feeling slightly guilty.
Trevor was quick to let her see how much he resented the implication. "In other words, is this some new hallucinogen, right? Look, I don't know what it is, and Peter didn't either. I built that fire - last night, because Peter wasn't home and I thought that he'd be wet and tired when he got there. But something went wrong and -" his voice lowered "- it looks like it's my fault. Damn, why'd I have to be so helpful?" He turned away from her.
She reached out her hand and lightly touched his arm. "Look, Mr. -"
"Richmond. Trevor Richmond."
Her face was composed and businesslike, although her eyes were full of compassion. "Accidents happen, Mr. Richmond, but the majority don't start off as well-intentioned acts of kindness. Some things are beyond our control, and I'm sure your friend won't hold you to blame."
"But will he ever know?" Trevor looked her full in the face, willing her to tell him the truth.
"We'll do our best." At the uncertainty in his eyes, she added, "I mean that." Mari gave him one last smile, then left him.
A long night led into a cheerless morning. Trev drank a tankload of coffee, and filled an ashtray with cigarette butts. He'd never been a smoker, but his nerves needed an outlet, so he puffed and paced, drank coffee and waited. He read through all the gossipy magazines, not really caring, but it was something to do. He watched the second hand on the clock move slowly in its sweep around the face. At dawn no details were forthcoming - just that squeaky shoe sound of rushing feet as new white-coated figures kept going in and out of Peter's room. If they would give him some news, at least he wouldn't be petrified every time he saw someone come or go. The part he hated the most was having to ring Katy. He could let the hospital do it, but he'd known Katy almost as long as Peter had. But what to tell her?
At six a.m. he returned to Peter's house. Mortimer yipped and danced and licked his fingers. "Okay, boy, you're coming home with me." He scratched the dog's curly head. "Forgot to feed you last night, didn't I? Poor fella."
Trevor went inside, intent on finding Katy's number in Sydney. He searched around the papers on the phone table, but no go. He finally found it on Peter's desk, in front of Katy's picture. He had to suppress a sniffle as he looked at the way Peter had written it: the "Katy" was surrounded with a heart and graffitied with flowers. Trevor sighed.
He sat at the desk for a few minutes, thinking about what he could say to her. He realised that if he didn't reach her soon, she'd be off to some meeting or other, and he might not catch her till tonight.
"Katherine Ryder, please."
"Speaking. Is that you, Trev?"
"Listen, Katy, it's Peter. There's been an accident..."
"My God, Trev, he's not -"
"No, Katy -" he was quick to interrupt, "- but he's in Claridge West, and they're just not giving me much information. There was a fire in this old woodburner, and he inhaled a lot of this strange smoke, and apparently -" he hesitated, "he's not responding the way he should."
Katy was silent for a moment, and then he heard her sniff and realised she was crying. He felt tears start to well up in his own eyes.
"Are you okay, Katy?" he asked gently.
"I won't be until I'm with him, Trev," she told him honestly. "Look, I'll be on the next plane. I don't know what time it gets in, but I'll be on it." She hesitated, then added softly, "I know this wasn't an easy thing to do. Thanks."
"Katy, ring my cellular when you get in. I'll pick you up."
"See you, Trev. Make them do the best they can for him, okay?" She was crying again.
"I will. Bye, Katy."
"Bye."
After he'd hung up, Katy sat there for a moment, staring blindly at the receiver in her hand. Dear God - Peter. The love of her life. "I'm coming, Peter," she said with quiet determination, willing him to know it. She wiped her tears roughly away with the back of her hand, not wanting them to deplete her strength - or break down her resolve. Action was what she needed now. Katy made a fast dash around the room, chucking stuff at her suitcase, then closing it by sitting on the lid. Without a backwards look, she grabbed her bag and ran out the door.
Trevor coaxed Mortimer into his car, and took off toward his place. A change of clothes, a call to work to tell them he needed a few days off, and he was back at the hospital.
Nothing had changed as far as he could tell. And it was really beginning to worry him. "His condition is the same," they'd said.
*
Peter was sliding towards a deep pit, in a panic, out of control, and with nothing to stop his fall. At the point where the incline became the abyss, his descent slowed, and he gradually drifted down. All along the way were luminescent crystals. At first he thought they were ice because he was so very cold. He tried to reach for them, for the rich lustre of the polished faces, but he couldn't move. Finally, their warmth penetrated the shadows around him, and he realised that the pit was a place of quiet comfort; a resting place. He lay there relaxed, waiting for his strength to return.
***
Chapter Three
Mari was puzzled. She'd been there when Peter was brought in, and she wasn't any closer to understanding the changes that were taking place. On arrival, many of his symptoms had been consistent with smoke inhalation. Other than a few secondary burns, responses had been as expected. Pupils were responsive; his breathing was fast but not irregular. She had a lingering concern over the length of time he'd been without oxygen, and would, until he regained consciousness. Still, with such good pupillary response, she had been hopeful of a full recovery.
Something, however, was happening with his temperature. It skyrocketed. They'd packed him on an ice blanket, and it wasn't enough. So, they'd put an orderly on ice runs, and had kept another staff member busy just mopping up an endless flow of melting run-off.
It wasn't only his temperature, either. His skin, when he'd arrived, was coated with that greenish-brown goo his friend - what was his name? Trevor - Trevor had described. They'd removed most of it, and his skin had appeared to be pale, consistent with his European ancestry. Now, sixteen hours later, the tones were darkening, and his skin was taking on an unnatural sheen that remained even when all sweat was wiped away. The colour at first had been unremarkable, a simple darkening, and she'd put it down to a fever-induced flush. But now, the colour was becoming an unmistakable green.
According to his last blood test, he should already be dead. As his blood was exposed to air, it had rapidly begun to crystallise - an amazing scab-forming method, but hardly conducive to oxygenation by the lungs. To tell the truth, she was very worried - nothing made sense - and she was on the point of quarantining these rooms against the possibility - however unlikely - of contagion. She could no longer discount the disease manifestations solely as a poisoning episode. Their occurrence had been both rapid and ubiquitous, unconfined to specific tissue layers or types. Obviously, some highly invasive poison or infectious agent was involved, and she didn't see how any human could hope to recover from what was happening here.
She looked up from the chart as a nurse claimed her attention. Something else awry - what now? She pulled out her flashlight at the nurse's request and examined the patient's eyes. Good Lord! What was going on here? For, Peter's eyes, which - she checked the chart - had been blue were now some strange type of flickering gold. The pupil was responsive, but only a lateral constriction was apparent, as if the shape of the pupil had altered. She lifted the lid again, and was stunned to note a dull luminescence from the iris: not a solid glow, but an irregular flashing emitted from different parts.
Skin colour changes were one thing. But Peter was undergoing a major physiological change. He was being affected at the subcellular level, with some alteration of his genetic profile. These changes might well be, and more than likely were, irreversible, at least with available technology. She decided on cellular tests and X-rays, to determine the extent of damage. She was especially concerned with what was happening to his brain.
Her thoughts flew to his nice friend, Trevor, who was so concerned. Trevor had said Peter's fiancée was on her way. Well, it was time to give them some news. She could no longer say, "No change." With such major alterations taking place, she really couldn't hold out much hope. It was just a matter of time before his body could no longer support such drastic developments.
*
"Can I see him?"
Mari shook her head. "I really can't allow that, Trevor. Until the analysis on that material comes back, and we get the results of Peter's cellular scan, I've initiated quarantine procedures. I also think it's a good idea if we have a look at you, because you undoubtedly inhaled some of the smoke yourself. How are you feeling?" She reached out and put a hand on his arm.
"Shocked - angry - guilty. Worried and tired. But basically healthy."
"I still think we'll put you through a brief check-up. I've arranged it for room one. Dr. Maylor will be in shortly." She turned to go.
"Mari?" She looked back.
"If anything happens - good or bad - I need to know."
*
The urgency for movement began as a restless tightening inside, then spread to his extremities as nervous energy, needing an outlet. The warm softness was no longer calming, but confining. A surge of energy was pulsing through him, prompting him to action. He floated upwards from the abyss, and at the top he leapt.
*
Sharon, Peter's nurse, noted that his blood pressure was rising. It might be wise to summon Mari. She picked up the chart to check this reading against preceding ones, then glanced at her patient. The chart clattered to the floor, as Sharon started in surprise. She pasted on a professional smile, although she found the glance from those shimmering eyes not a little alarming. "How do you feel?"
"Muzzy-headed -" Peter was surprised at how loud his voice sounded, even though he was trying to whisper. He looked around. "A hospital?" At Sharon's nod, he asked, "How did I get here?" He glanced at her apologetically. "The last thing I remember was going into the kitchen." He gave her a slight smile.
*
The effect of that smile on Sharon was overwhelming. The iridescent green skin, the slight tilt to his brows and the glowing warmth of his eyes - whatever this man had been before, she realised, the "creature" he had become was devastatingly attractive: attractive in the way that gold and diamonds and emeralds attract humans - a glittering, glowing, vital thing, but with none of the coldness of precious stones. She smiled back, then grasped his wrist, ostensibly to check his pulse, but not really needing to because he was still on the monitor.
The monitor! They'd have the crash cart in here in a minute, the way it was screeching! She gave him another small smile and reluctantly released his hand.
"Let me get Mari Sullivan. She's your doctor, and she'll answer all your questions." Sharon, with a regretful backwards glance, stepped from the room.
*
Peter heard a commotion in the hall. "He's what!" Mari had lost her professional cool. Trevor, just emerging from where he'd been undergoing an examination, saw her shock, and the look of dismay. He didn't know that Mari was undergoing terrible qualms at the thought of explaining to Peter about his transformation. He assumed the worst. He pushed into Peter's room after her, then stood stunned as he saw what had become of his friend.
*
Mari had recovered her appearance of composure, although Peter's serious look was almost her undoing. "Peter, it's good to meet you. For a while there, I didn't think I'd get the opportunity..." she began, trying to sound sensible, but uncomfortably aware that she was babbling.
Peter gave her a brief smile, then looked past her to his friend. "Trev -"
Trevor's eyes were glassy. He came over to where his friend was sitting, and gave him a brotherly hug. His words, when they came, were raspy, and Peter knew Trevor was close to tears. "Jeez, Pete, I was never so glad to see anyone! I thought you must be dead from the way the staff came pouring in here." He pulled back to take a good look at him. "How are you? Really. And don't give me any 'I'm okay' bunk."
Peter appeared to look inwards for a moment, assessing for damages, but finding nothing - no pain, no weakness; even that muzzy-headedness was gone. In fact, he was experiencing a restless energy that was prompting him to get out of bed and move about. His mind felt sharp and clear, and he was amazed at the amount of sensory detail that was suddenly apparent to him.
Mari came forward to hear his answer. "I feel great. I really do. And amazingly energetic. I can see -" his gesture indicated his arms and hands, "that the smoke stained my skin." He grinned, slightly embarrassed. "I must look really weird -"
Mari turned to Trevor. "Could you leave us for a moment?"
Trevor shook his head. "I'm staying, Mari."
Mari turned to Peter. "Peter, your skin..." she stumbled a little over the words, "the discolouration is not a stain." Peter looked startled, as though he couldn't fully understand what she was saying. Mari, experiencing the full effect of his glowing gaze, had to swallow hard before she could continue. She heard Trevor's slight gasp behind her. "You - you as a scientist understand the effects of some chemical compounds..." I'm bungling this, she thought. We don't even know if he's out of danger yet, and I'm telling him that he's disfigured. It's his eyes. I have trouble being evasive when he's looking at me like that.
"Mari - are you saying that I'm stuck this way? Forever?" Peter's green assumed a lime tone, and Trevor realised he had paled. Christ, how he felt for him! And what to tell Katy?
Peter was thinking the same thing. "Trevor, does Katy know?"
Trevor shook his head. "Only that you had an accident, Pete. But she's on her way."
Mari reached out and pushed Peter back against the pillows. "We're working on an analysis now, and we may be able to reverse the process. It'll be better if you can stay calm until you're stronger. Look, I'll order up something to help you sleep."
She tossed Trevor gloves, a mask, and a gown. "You can stay," she told him, "but put these on."
As she was leaving the room, Trevor saw her pause to make a last quick visual appraisal of her patient. It didn't take the almost inaudible sigh that followed to tell him how distressed Mari was at her lack of treatment options.
*
"Well, Trevor, what am I going to do? What if there is no cure? What if I'm stuck like this?" Peter sounded the way he felt - discouraged and scared.
"Peter, you're alive - and we weren't sure of that for a while."
"Look, Trev, don't give me any rubbish about being glad I'm alive, or 'it could be worse'. Of course I'm happy to be among the living, but the prospect of being a freak doesn't exactly appeal to me. And what about life expectancy? What has this done to me?"
"Peter, there's something you've got to know." Trevor looked away. He didn't want to see the expression on Peter's face. "It's my fault," he said bitterly. "I tried to start a fire to warm the place up a little, figuring that you'd be home late. I didn't know that bloody wood was going to do this..." He gestured at Peter. "If I could take it on myself, I would. I'm so sorry - I know there's no way I can ever make it up to you..."
"Trev? You're an ass, but a well-intentioned one." Peter reached out to grasp Trevor's hand. "It's okay. It was an accident. And, Trev?"
Trevor looked at him.
"It was warm, all right." And he snorted. He really didn't know how he could be laughing, but all of a sudden, he saw the whole situation as ridiculous. "Now tell me the truth. How do I look?"
Trevor looked at him seriously, feeling he owed Peter an honest response. Better from him first, so Peter could learn to deal with it. "I didn't see you until just a few minutes ago, but my initial reaction wasn't repulsion, or fear, or pity, or anything like that."
Spit it out, Trev. "Okay, I give up. What was your reaction?"
Trevor squirmed. "I-I was startled -" By now Peter was fidgeting as much as Trevor was squirming. "And then - sort of awed -" He realised he was pushing it a bit, but he felt that for the most part, his response was true - Peter did look spectacular. Those softly luminescent flickerings in his eyes only added to the effect. But Peter wasn't ready to hear about that yet.
It was too much for Peter. He gave a disbelieving and impolite snort. "Give me a break, Trev. 'Awe'?"
His friend grinned. "Okay, maybe 'awe's' too strong. But, what I'm trying to tell you, Peter, is that nobody's going to be grossed out by you." Trevor realised from Peter's expression that he was blowing it, and he hastened to add, "It's not repulsive or anything, Pete."
"Just freakish?" Peter asked unhappily.
"Just different. And iridescent." Trevor lifted Peter's arm to look at the skin more closely - until Peter shoved him away. "Unbelievably iridescent," he muttered.
Peter said sarcastically, "You wish it were you - right?"
At this, Trevor looked both guilty and unhappy. "Yeah - I kind of wish it was -"
Peter didn't press him any more. He hadn't meant for Trevor to take it that way. Reaching out, he gripped Trevor's arm, forcing the other man to meet his eyes. Peter gave him a big smile.
The smile wavered slightly when Peter remembered how soon Katy would be arriving. "Trevor, when Katy comes, warn her, okay? I don't want her to be afraid of me..." Trevor wanted to reassure him, to tell him that Katy would still see him the same, but he knew Peter wouldn't believe him.
*
Katy's plane couldn't land fast enough to suit her. She made certain she was the first to de-plane. She knew Trevor would come for her, but she couldn't wait. She snagged the first taxi in line, leaving her luggage behind.
At the hospital, they were reluctant to give Katy the number of Peter's room. Something about quarantine and rules - Katy didn't take the time to argue. She gave the receptionist a quick thank-you and started off down the corridor, a determined look in her eyes. Peter needed her, and no one was going to keep her from him. She'd find someone who could tell her.
*
Peter sat upright in the bed again, his legs over the side. "Trevor, Katy's here!"
Trevor pushed him back against the pillow. "She'll phone me when she gets to the airport. Don't worry about it. I'll talk to her. I..."
Peter interrupted. "Katy's here. At the hospital. Right now."
Trevor looked at him, and Peter tilted his head slightly. Almost as though he were listening, Trevor thought. Just then the door opened, cautiously, and Katy stuck her head around the corner. She saw Trev, and stepping in, turned to look at the bed - afraid, yet needing to face the worst. She saw Peter and froze.
*
Mari had been called to the phone. The substance had been analysed, and the results were bizarre, so the results had been turned over to someone else. Now some molecular and cell biologists wanted to come in and examine her patient. Mari wanted to wait until she knew whether Peter was out of danger, but for his sake, to facilitate any chance for a cure, she tentatively agreed.
*
Nothing had prepared Katy for this. For the alteration, the mutation of Peter into...? "Peter?" she whispered. Then he smiled. And she knew it was still him. She threw herself into his arms.
*
Mari walked in. Why do I even bother? She said firmly, "This area is quarantined." But her fatigue and discouragement were no match for the happiness in Katy's face at finding Peter alive. Mari yielded, with a small smile. "You must be the fiancée. Hi, I'm Mari Sullivan - Peter's doctor." To Peter, "Look, we have to talk. Katy - it is Katy, isn't it? Katy, you'll probably want to stay. Trevor, I'll have to ask you to step outside."
"He can stay. As my friend, this affects him, too." Peter turned his gaze on Trevor, and Trevor had the disconcerting feeling that Peter knew far more about all this than he should. As yet, at least. It was almost as though Peter knew what they were thinking.
"I've received a call from the lab. They've re-directed your case to some government agency. I'm not totally happy with all this, Peter, but I have to admit they're probably your best hope for a remission of your present symptoms. They're sending out several people tomorrow."
"Gene jockeys?"
"Probably. Plus several cell biologists. Peter, this is all moving so fast. I'd prefer to delay any procedures for several days, but I'm not certain I have a choice."
"So they arranged it without you?" At Mari's nod, Katy turned to Peter. "I don't like the sound of it, Peter."
Peter gave Katy's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I can't say I'm too happy about it either. It's not that I don't trust the government, but I'd certainly like to know why they're involved. Am I that hazardous to everyone's health?"
"I don't know, Peter," Mari told him truthfully. "I've got you quarantined because I don't want to take any chances." She turned to Trevor. "We have no results on your tests yet either, but any further tests that Peter undergoes will also apply to you if your results are positive. So I suppose it's good that you're in on this discussion after all." Trevor didn't look very happy at the thought, but he shrugged it off. If Peter could take it, he could.
"Do I have a choice?" Peter looked at Mari.
"I don't know. I don't know why they're insisting on this."
Trevor broke into the conversation to say jokingly, "Maybe you, and perhaps I, are national security risks."
Peter laughed. "I always wanted to be a national something. I never thought I'd get Jolly Green Giant status, though."
"How can you two laugh at a time like this? This whole thing could ruin our lives! What if they take you away, Peter? What then?" Katy couldn't believe they could kid around when things were so serious.
"Peter, I have to be honest. I don't know what to make of all this. I can't even give you a prognosis of any sort. All I can rely on now is how you feel, your vital signs, and how you seem to go on. Do you feel any weakness or pain?"
"Mari, I don't know why, but I can't remember when I've felt better. I have so much energy that it just seems to be surging through me. I don't even know how much longer I can stand being confined to bed." He looked directly at Mari on the last, letting her know what he thought of being forced to stay in bed.
Mari crossed her arms firmly, then spoiled the effect by smiling.
Katy, however, was still upset. Before she knew what was happening, Peter had his arm around her, pulling her close so she had to sit next to him on the bed. She leaned back against him, and he nuzzled her neck as he continued. "I'm sorry, Katy-my-love, to laugh when you're so upset, but I have such a strong feeling of well-being that I don't even feel as depressed as I know I should be."
His next words were for them all. "I don't know how to explain it. I just couldn't be despondent right now if I wanted to be. My initial reaction was fear - but even that's fading. Maybe it's a symptom of some mental instability, but you people will have to be the judge of that. Intellectually, I know I shouldn't feel good, or happy, or any of those things, but it's as though I have no control over it. It's welling up from somewhere inside."
Mari looked at the others and sighed. Trevor noticed how tired she looked. He knew that she wasn't pleased with this latest development. Any other attitude she would have expected, and could have accepted, but even the hint of joy in Peter's present condition made no sense.
At least, for the moment, I won't have to deal with emotional trauma, Mari thought. Peter was not only dealing with his own fears, but diluting Katy's as well. "I'll be back later to see if you've come to any decision. I don't really know if I have control over any of this, but I may be able to delay any tests or transfer by insisting on quarantine." She turned to go.
"You mean they might take Peter somewhere else?" Katy didn't like the sound of it. Her own words were coming back to haunt her. But I never really thought they'd do it -
"I think we have to look on that as a possibility. As I said, I may be able to delay all this, but I don't really have that much control. From the call I received, I would say that if I am not in agreement with their plans, then the case is out of my hands. It may be already. I'm sorry." Mari left, with Trevor close behind. If ever a person needed a caffeine booster, he thought, it's Mari.
"What will we do, Peter? I don't even know how all this happened." Katy started to cry. "I was so afraid - when Trevor rang - I was afraid I'd never see you again. Oh, Peter, I don't want to lose you now. Were you telling Mari the truth? Do you really feel strong and well?"
"Look at me, Katy." She twisted, pulling back to meet his gaze. He smiled, and she could see the truth in his eyes. It was strange how she knew he'd never be able to lie to her - not with those eyes, warmly flickering now. She'd heard the expression once that the eyes were the "lamps of the soul". Never had an expression been more appropriate. "I feel better than I've ever felt. I don't know why, and I'm praying that it's not the workings of a deluded mind. If I didn't have so much respect for Mari, I'd break quarantine and take a walk with you just to show you how strong I am. I promise you, Katy-my-love, that we'll be together - whatever happens."
"I love you, Peter Trevick." She kissed him.
*
Trevor was buying Mari a second cup of coffee from the machine in the hall. He knew she was just about out on her feet. It was only when he was finishing his own cup that he remembered Katy's arrival. And Peter's reaction. How the heck had Peter known Katy was there?
***
Chapter Four
Mari was in a quandary. Peter seemed to be stabilised - goodness knows if his "evolution", as she was beginning to think of it, had stopped, but at least he seemed to be energetic. In fact, he was so energetic that he refused to stay in bed, and was pacing the floor. She was reminded of some addicts she'd seen - he'd burn himself out at this rate.
Mari was standing at the nurses' station, Peter's chart in her hands. When Sharon spoke to her, she realised that she'd been doing more staring than writing. "How's Mr. Trevick doing, Mari?"
Mari sighed. "He's pacing. Very nearly climbing the walls, in fact. And I mean that literally."
"I'm surprised he has the strength." Peter's nutrient intake was not good.
Mari nodded. "He's going to burn himself out soon. Unless he starts eating, we're going to have to put him back on an IV." Mari smiled as she considered Peter's response to that one. "I can guarantee he won't like wearing a leash."
Sharon was Mari's friend, and Mari had given her the opening she needed. "Speaking of burnout, Mar -"
"I know: dedication can be overdone. When Mr. Trevick decides to sleep - I promise, so will I." Mari rubbed her eyes. She wanted to go home, and sleep, but she didn't feel that she could distance herself from this case. Besides, Trevor and Katy had now been exposed to Peter's "ailment". Until she could verify lack of contagion, she was going to have to restrict their movements as well.
Speak of the Devil. Trevor was walking down the corridor, apparently on his way out. Mari rushed to catch up with him, an impatient expression on her face. She was aware that her bedside manner was not at its best, but, hell, she was tired and she knew Trevor was going to be difficult.
"Where are you going, Trevor?"
He looked surprised that she would be questioning his movements. "I have to feed Peter's dog."
"Phone someone to do it for you."
"Do you think I'm going to give some foul and nasty bug to the poor poochie?" he asked sarcastically. Trevor was tired, too.
"I don't give a hoot about the 'poor poochie', but I can't afford to chance the spread of this condition until I know more about it."
"So after you know more about it, then you'll chance its spread?" He grinned.
"Dammit, Trevor, don't be so difficult. You know what I'm talking about."
She would have gone on, but Trevor put up both hands to stem the flow. He reached over and took her hand. "Poor Mari. Of course you're right. And of course that means you can't go home either. Want to spend the night at my place?" He indicated a chair in the hall. "I'll take the chair and you can have my lap, okay?" He gave her a wicked grin.
"I'm flattered, but I'm afraid those accommodations will be a little too lumpy for my tastes. Not to worry, I'll see that everyone has individual beds tonight." But, as she left him, she was smiling.
*
Katy was lying on Peter's bed, her head pillowed on her arm. She was watching Peter pace. He just couldn't seem to calm down. She, on the other hand, after dealing with hours of stress, was so calm that her eyelids kept closing. She was just drifting off when a sudden quiet alerted her. Peter was standing with both hands over his face, before suddenly dropping to his knees. Katy yanked the emergency cord as she jumped off the bed, reaching Peter just in time to cushion his head as he hit the floor.
Mari had just left Trevor when she heard the buzzer. She hit the door to Peter's room just ahead of Trevor. She had a stethoscope on Peter's chest by the time the orderly and a nurse arrived. "Help me get him on the bed. What happened, Katy?"
"He was pacing and he just dropped. There was no warning! He didn't say anything about feeling sick!" Tears were running down her face.
"Trevor, take Katy out of here, please." Trevor put an arm around Katy, pulling her from the room.
"Let's get him on an IVI." Mari picked up the case notes, scanning them, looking for some clue that might indicate what had happened. She looked at his pupillary response. Normal, but those incredible lights seemed to be dimmer now. He was slipping back into coma. Why?
Nutrient depletion? She had to try something. "Give him ten percent dextrose, 1000 mls Stat." Mari waited until Peter seemed to be stabilised, then went out to see Katy and Trevor.
"He's slipping back into coma. But -" she quickly added, "I think it's because he's depleted his resources - used up all his energy. Does he have any history of diabetes?" she asked Katy.
"Not that I know of."
"I'm hoping that if we can get enough sugar into him quickly enough, we'll be able to pull him out of this. I'm sorry, but we're dealing with the unknown here - I'll do what I can for him. Katy, did he say anything to you about why he wouldn't eat what was on his tray? At the rate his metabolism is going, he should be ravenous."
"All he did was push it away, after tasting it. He kept talking about those marshmallows you and he used to eat when you were kids, Trev. You know, the ones he calls 'Tiki torches'. He said several times how good that would taste right now."
Mari looked at Trevor. "Why 'Tiki torches', Trev?" Trevor looked at her as though she were crazy to be talking about something like this right now. "Humour me, Trevor. This may be important. How were they cooked?"
"We used to set them on fire and char the outside. Then we'd eat that part off and char the inside. And so on. We were carbon addicts."
"Pure carbon - Peter's craving pure carbon," Mari muttered. "Maybe it's all he can digest now," she said, thinking aloud. It was crazy, but no crazier than Peter's present condition.
Mari raced off to put a call in to the kitchen. Trevor followed her. "What are you going to do?"
"Call the kitchen and tell them to burn some toast, some pudding, or whatever they can get their hands on."
*
When Mari went back into Peter's room, she checked his eyes. Those glowing lights were brighter now, and she felt reassured. Apparently, the IV was taking care of his immediate deficit, she thought. A few minutes later, Peter woke up. He looked around, then tried to sit up. Mari restrained him. "Wait." She watched the monitor for a moment, then listened to his heartbeat. It was stronger now.
"This is getting to be a familiar feeling. Should I ask what happened, or just play hapless victim?"
Mari looked at him and shook her head. "It's simple - when you're given a tray of food, you eat it. Especially if you intend to pace floors and burn yourself out. Understand?" He nodded. "I've ordered up a special tray. Katy and Trevor are desperate to come in and watch you eat. Okay?" He knew it for the warning it was - eat or else. He nodded again.
Mari went out to see if her special order had arrived, and came back in with tray, Katy, and Trevor. When Mari took the lid off, revealing two darkly burnt pieces of toast, some black and crispy pudding, and toughened chips of overdone bacon, Katy gasped. "I guess the kitchen staff doesn't like orders after hours."
Mari and Trevor, however, were watching Peter's reaction. He glanced at the food, then at Mari. She knew at once that he understood. "Thanks," he said. Mari, Trevor and Katy watched as he devoured the bacon and pudding, then calmly sat back, scraping the black from the toast, and eating it off the knife.
When he'd finished, finally satisfied, Peter pushed the tray away and smiled. Giving Katy a reassuring wink, he placed his hands behind his head, and promptly fell asleep - still smiling.
It happened so quickly that Katy was worried. "Is he okay?"
Mari listened to Peter's heart once more, and he didn't even stir. "He seems to be fine, Katy. I'd say all that pacing just finally caught up with him." She told Sharon, "Let's keep him hooked to the monitors, just in case."
*
Trees. Trees and flashes of light. Peter was reminded of those scanners in the supermarket - where you stand at the wrong angle and get a beam of red light across your vision. Red was dominant here, but green and blue as well. Lights darting in and around the trees. Even in his sleep, Peter knew this was important. The hunt was on. And only here was he safe. He could feel the heat of the lights as they swirled around him. Security. Safety. Refuge.
*
Mari woke in the hospital bed that she'd commandeered for the night, and glanced at her watch. She swung her feet over the side of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She'd slept fully-clothed, alert to further emergencies, but apparently the rest of the night had been uneventful. God, she felt grotty. A shower before those government people came. But first, a brief look at her patient.
Peter was disgustingly cheery. Katy wandered in right after Mari, and gave Peter a quick good-morning smooch. Peter grinned wickedly, those glowing eyes lighting up. He had developed a habit of tilting his head, as though to listen. Mari examined him for more physiological changes but, other than the slight attenuation of his upper ear, the metamorphosis appeared to be greatly slowed and, hopefully, stopping. Mari knew that the more changes he underwent, the less likely he would be to ever recoup his original form. As of now, it would take a genetic wizard to unravel what had happened to him. Mari looked at Katy, who was in some sort of private eye-to-eye communication with Peter. She hoped Katy could continue to cope if all hope for remission were removed.
Peter turned to Mari. If I were Katy, Mari thought, I don't know if I'd ever get used to those glowing eyes of his. So knowledgeable. Or just knowing. Seeing right through me, but not exactly invasive. More like he knows what I am, but it doesn't bother him. He likes me in spite of it. Mari was so lost in thought that Peter's, "They're coming today, aren't they? The government people?", made her jump.
Mari nodded. "They wouldn't be put off. Besides, it'll be better for you if we get more expertise on your case. I'm going to have to go along with whatever they suggest, Peter." She turned to Katy. "I think it's for the best. I want Peter to have the chance for remission, and I'm no geneticist - I don't have the knowledge base to begin that type of treatment. I'm sorry."
"Whatever happens, Mari, we're grateful." Katy gave her a quick hug. "Thanks."
Mari returned the smile, then dashed away to have a shower and prepare for the visitors. She returned, wearing her professional demeanour, trying not to reveal how nervous she was feeling. Peter was pacing the floor, and Mari looked pointedly at the silenced monitor. Peter said sheepishly, "It got a little noisy while you were gone -"
"I'll bet! I'm surprised they didn't come get me out of the shower."
He grinned. "I convinced them that you'd be screaming louder than the monitors if they bothered you." He put a finger in his ear and frowned. "Katy's done a pretty good job of letting me know I'm in the wrong."
For the first time, Mari had a chance to see Katy in action. "If that's meant to be amusing, Peter Trevick, it's failed. You're acting irresponsibly, and you know it." She turned to Mari. "I'm sorry, Mari," Katy said, as though Peter wasn't there. "If I'd anticipated this," she waved her hand to include Peter and the monitors, "I could have saved us both a lot of trouble."
Mari smiled. As often happened, her first impressions had been dredged out of the tired and anxiety-driven responses of her patients and their loved ones. Many times, that took the form of dependency on the medical staff, and a reliance on the doctor that was almost daunting.
That wasn't the case here. Katy - now over her initial shock - faced Mari as an equal. Underlying the other woman's anger, Mari could detect the strong affection that bound her to the man at her side; an affection that was undaunted by what had happened to him. Right now, Katy's anger was directed at Peter, and it was motivated by a need to protect him from further harm. Somehow, the Peter who could slightly intimidate Mari had been put in his place. Mari glanced at him, to see how he was taking it.
I was wrong, Mari thought. Not only was Peter undaunted by Katy's anger, he was positively enjoying it. There was a glimmer in his eyes as he watched her that gave Mari a pang of envy. She wondered what it felt like to have someone care that much - so much that you didn't have to hide the anger or frustration; so much that you could openly reveal how you were feeling without being afraid of scaring the other person off.
She was still watching him when his expression shifted - when he assumed that watchful pose that she was beginning to recognise. He turned to her, concern in his eyes. "Have you seen Trevor this morning?"
Mari had assumed that Trevor was sleeping off the effects of the past two days. "He was exhausted, Peter. I'd just as soon let him sleep."
Peter lightly gripped her arm. "No, Mari." He was about to say something more, when something distracted him. He looked toward the door then back to Mari. "They're here."
He climbed into bed, effectively concealing all traces of his boundless energy. He winked at Katy. "Leave quickly, Katy-my-love, and don't come back in until Mari okays it." One look at the hurt expression on her face and he quickly added, "Please. I don't want them to know about you."
Katy hesitated. She wanted to stay with him, but it was his body, and he might feel better dealing with it as a scientist. "Whatever happens, Peter, remember that I travel with you." She enfolded him in a swift hug, then turned quickly away before he could see her eyes. My insecurity's showing, she thought.
After she'd left, Peter looked seriously at Mari. "Mari, I need some time to read these people."
"Peter, I -"
"It's my body, Mari." His grin took the sting out of his words. "They may be oozing goodwill out of every pore, or they may just want to see how many petri dishes it'll take to accommodate me." He was only half-joking.
Mari wanted to say something reassuring, but she didn't know where to start. "Peter -" she began again.
He sensed her discomfort, and held up a hand. "All I'm saying, Mari, is that a little subterfuge can't hurt. If you'll just be your usual solicitous self, I'll squelch my restlessness and assume the look of a patently ill patient." His grin widened. "Thank goodness they won't be able to recognise a healthy green when they see it."
At the knock on the door, Peter slipped down under the covers, winked at Mari, then shut his eyes. Mari pulled out her stethoscope. Then, realising that if her patient were abed he'd probably still be on a monitor, she rang the desk to ask them to hold the visitors for a few minutes while she set it up. At the end of this, Peter briefly opened his eyes, and she got an inkling of all that energy he was actively suppressing. If she didn't get these guys out of here fast, Peter was going to start doing handstands. She realised that holding all that enthusiasm back must be like trying to dam a determined stream. "I'll keep it as short as I can, Peter," she promised in a whisper.
Why am I going along with this? she wondered. Peter's suggestion was absurd. Maybe in dealing with these people, however, keeping a little bit back might not be a bad idea.
She invited the experts in.
*
Katy had made herself scarce. She went back to the room where she'd spent the night, and determinedly flipped through some magazines. She kept an eye on the hallway, watching for the departing retinue. For that's what it had appeared as when they passed her door - a large group of persons attending several important bigwigs. She really hoped that Peter could use them in the way she suspected they planned on using Peter.
*
Garrett Mader wasn't essentially a bad man; just a very detached one. To him, Peter had ceased being a human being when he'd begun to mutate. Now he was just an object for study, and a likely source of abnormally-developing cells. Mader was interested in the cause of these manifestations, and the potential for pathogenesis. Depending on the patient's outcome: i.e., sterility, disfigurement, death - there were possible uses for these types of causal agent. Especially if it were proven, or could be engineered to be, contagious.
Mader's colleagues - those he'd selected for his "team" - largely consisted of top molecular people, and a physiologist. He had not included a physician, because his purpose here was not in a healing capacity, but rather for an assessment of hazards and, possibly, potential gain.
"This green discolouration - when did it begin?"
"Initially, Mr. Trevick was brought in with a coating of some substance - it's currently being analysed - all over his skin. We were able to remove most of it, and his skin initially appeared normal, but then a gradual darkening occurred. The final stage appears to be this green. No further colour changes have occurred in the last twelve hours."
Mader turned to one of the men in the group. "Skin samples," he said. Then he picked up the chart to examine it. "It says here that the patient -" (I have a name, Peter thought) "- recovered consciousness some time ago. Now, however, he appears to be comatose. Your opinion, doctor?"
"Mr. Trevick lapsed back into a coma last night. Although he was briefly awake afterwards, this may be a recurring problem." Well, I've started fabricating, thought Mari.
"There's something here about his eyes. Look at this, Foster! Glowing eyes? Can you explain, Doctor?" Mader and Foster both looked excited over this information. Ghoulish excitement, Mari thought.
More fabrication. "When he's conscious, there's a white corona around the pupil that seems brighter than the rest of the iris." Not strictly true, in any respect, but maybe enough to match the notes.
The physiologist stepped up to get a closer look. He tipped Peter's head to one side. Turning to Mader, he said tersely, "Ears." Mader nodded.
Smiling, Mader said to Mari, "The patient would benefit from a full examination by my team. We have equipment that you do not, however, so a transfer to one of our facilities is indicated. Prepare him as soon as possible."
"Sir." Time to be polite, Mari thought. When you're arguing with the government, you need to be polite. "Of course, I'm certain that your facilities are better equipped, but I am a bit concerned about moving Mr. Trevick at this time. I'm sure that in a few days..."
"Doctor, a few days might result in deterioration, and of course there's the continuing hazard that quarantine may be breached, exposing the public to a health risk."
"Mr. Trevick's fiancée will want to be with him, I'm sure."
"Doctor, you know as well as I do that in cases like this we can't entertain the risk. Besides, we can keep her well-informed while sparing her the sight of his deterioration."
"Could we possibly wait a day or two until Mr. Trevick is stronger, then? I'm certain that his condition has improved slightly."
Mader was annoyed that Mari wanted to countermand his directives. "I have the greatest respect for your profession, Doctor, but you must trust me in this." He looked at his associates. One of them, who'd been silent throughout, shook his head. Mader hesitated, then forced a smile. "Perhaps you're right, Doctor. After all, we can surely maintain quarantine for one more day. In fact, I'll leave some of my people here to help control the situation. We'll shift him tomorrow, but in the meantime we'll need to have complete copies of all his records."
Mari barely restrained a sigh of relief. She didn't even know why she should feel relieved that Peter's departure was delayed, except that some instinct told her things were not being manipulated for Peter's benefit.
Mader's next words confirmed her gut feelings. "And, Doctor -" Mari looked at him. "If his condition deteriorates, you're to inform me at once. He's no good to me dead." Mader turned on his heel and left. Mari noticed Peter's records were gone, too. Apparently Mader didn't really trust "copies".
"Peter," Mari said softly.
He opened his eyes to look at her. The soft luminescence had changed to a sparkling red. Peter was angry - very angry. "It's all wrong, Mari," he said, somewhat bitterly. "There's no humanity left in those men. They've taken science to the ultimate objective study." He could see that she was still unconvinced. "There's no hope for me there, you know. They have no intention of putting anything right - only of manipulating me for their own purposes."
"Peter," Mari said, unable to tolerate the glare of his eyes, "you really have no choice. Neither do I."
"There are always choices." Peter smiled, and his eyes lost their ferocity.
Mari shook her head. What will they do to you, Peter Trevick? she thought.
Suddenly he started. "Trevor!" he said. "Mari, you need to see him - now. But, whatever you do -" he grabbed her arm, "don't let Mader's people know. Trevor wouldn't be able to cope with them yet."
And you could, Peter? She looked at him once more before hurrying from the room. He grinned at her. Yes, I think you could.
As Mari left the room, one of the nurses approached her. "We have a message for Mr. Richmond, but I haven't had time to give it to him. Apparently, his dog's sick, and the neighbour wants to know whether to take it to the vet. If you'll be seeing him -"
Mari smiled. "Don't worry, I'll give it to him."
Mari went to the room that Trevor had been allotted for the night. She knocked, but there was no answer. She went in, to find that Trevor was still in bed. She touched him gently, to waken him. "Oh, shit!" she exclaimed. She raced across the room, making herself pause at the door, to exit without attracting undue attention. She ordered up antibiotics, buckets of ice, and a cardiac monitor. Settling it all on a cart, she took it to Trevor's room, stopping in long enough to blanket him in ice, put him on a portable monitor, and set up an IV.
After seeing her other patients, Mari stopped briefly to see Peter. "Dammit, how did you know?" she asked in a whisper. "I should report this. This may be the start of an epidemic."
"It's not, you know. Trev just got some of the smoke. But he needs to be watched. He could be in some danger."
"Of course he should be watched! But how am I to preserve your hide, and his, if I let them all find out that I've got another person in this 'condition'? There's a slim chance right now I'll be able to convince them that yours is a singular incident, and unlikely to be repeated. If they know Trevor's down with it, too, with the likelihood of a similar outcome," she paused to consider two of them with that insightful gaze, and shook her head at the eventuality, "then they'll have both of you out of here within the hour. And I don't think that's what either of you want."
"Katy!"
"What?"
"Katy'll stay with Trev. I know she'd be happy to. She must be climbing the walls about now. Katy is an action kind of person." He grinned, thinking about it.
Mari sighed. A partial solution. "Yes, Peter, a good idea. Look, we'll take this one step at a time, okay? And whatever happens, I want you to know that I've done my best - for all of you." She hurried from the room.
Peter softly paced the room, considering the situation. Each time he closed his eyes, the spectre of the glowing lights would cross his vision, exacerbated by his anger or tension. Then they would become bright sparks, and he could imagine them lancing through the trees. Interesting, he thought. Fear is telling me to seek refuge in the trees. Instinct? Curiosity was the only thing that drew me to those damned trees before. But maybe my instincts are different now, too.
He turned to the window, standing near the glass to see the day outside. A lone bee was weaving its way slowly along the pane. Peter watched it, while considering options for escape that would allow Mari to maintain her integrity, yet keep him and Trevor from being dissected. The bee's irregular flight brought it to the end of the glass, and it started to fly away. Peter, deep in thought, hummed a little tune under his breath, and was startled when the bee abruptly turned and flew back along his window. Experimentally, he hummed again, and was surprised when a second and third bee joined the first. Concentrating, he hummed the little tune again, over and over, until the air outside his window was thick with a swirling, dizzying dark cloud of bees and wasps.
Amazing, he thought. A potential new career. Peter Trevick, bee trainer extraordinaire. He hummed along, mentally investing the tune with a few high-pitched notes that drove the bees to fly in circles.
*
Mader had left the hospital feeling well in control of the situation. The questions he'd asked the doctor were superfluous. All the information he wanted would be in the notes, which included information on the initial blood and tissue samples.
He'd left people stationed at all entrances to the ward. He was not anticipating any problems, but neither did he want the press involved. Although a small retinue of staff members had been there when the man was brought in, the doctor's decision to isolate the patient streamlined Mader's job. By tomorrow, an in-depth evaluation by his experts of notes and lab results should make it easy to outline formal testing procedures. He smiled. What he had read so far was very promising, possibly enough to ensure his funding for all of the next year.
*
Carol sat in a chair near the stairwell. She glanced over at Sam, who was stationed outside this guy's - what was his name? - Peter something or other - outside his door. She was irritated at Mader for his sexist attitude. He always put a man on as first guard, whereas the most she could hope for was a secondary position. Sam was built like an ape, with a similar IQ. Carol was, she felt, conversant enough with martial arts to knock anyone flat who attempted to go in or out of a protected area. Mader would not relinquish this last little bastion of male dominance to a female attendant, never admitting anything that would cook his ass with the equal rights people, but always letting her know that her qualifications were less than he required. Bastard.
*
The bees and wasps amassed near the door to the emergency entrance, the humming cloud shadowing the electric eye, causing the automatic door to slide back on its track. Effortlessly, the cloud of winged stingers hummed into the hall, buzzing into every corner as their numbers swelled from behind.
As the swarm moved up the hall, white coats scurried, doors slammed and voices screeched in alarm. The bees were inadvertently helped on their way by the masses of running people who dashed through the ward doors, allowing the winged visitors access. And access the ward they did - the pushing open of the door was like the effervescence of an uncorked bottle of champagne. A flood of angry, sawmill-grinding, buzzing fury exploded into the hall. Sam, who was relaxing in a chair eating a sandwich, stopped with his mouth hanging agape, and little bits of lettuce dangling down his chin. He jumped up, about to dash into Peter's room for cover, then remembered that what he might catch there could be worse than the bees. He ran off up the hall.
Carol stood up, gulped, and prepared to guard her post. Oh hell, she thought, you can't use karate on a wasp. She raced for the linen closet, closing the door just ahead of the winged intruders.
Mari and the rest of the staff were caught in the nurses' lounge. They'd phoned for help, but it looked as though it would be some time in coming. Mari was anxious, but not about the bees. She was worried Katy would have trouble coping if Trevor took a turn for the worse. She thought about Trevor, becoming impatient at the idea of leaving him unsupervised. Katy was with him, but she wouldn't be able to get any help in an emergency.
*
Peter had been listening while silently humming, and was really rather pleased at himself. He peeked out the door, surprised at the numbers of bees and wasps that had managed to make it this far through the hospital corridors. Stepping softly, he made his way along the corridor, pausing briefly at each door until he found the one that felt right, and entered, knowing that Katy and Trevor were there. Katy jumped up.
"Peter, are you okay?" She ran to slam the door. "Don't let them in!" She turned to him in concern. "Did you get stung?"
"I'm fine, Katy." He smiled at her, then stepped to the bed. "Old Trev looks like he's in a bad way, though."
"I'm really worried, Peter. Mari told me that you had it worse, but the whole thing terrifies me. He's been burning up for hours."
Peter looked at Trevor, considering. Then, he pulled back the covers and started to lift Trevor from the bed. Katy grabbed at Peter's hands to stop him.
"What are you doing?!"
Peter continued to hoist Trevor up until he could balance him over one shoulder. Then he said simply, "We have to go, Katy."
His coolness triggered her temper. "The hell you do, mister! Look - just for once, you royal pighead -" Peter checked at that, then realised Katy had plenty of past experience to back up that one.
"- consider the rest of us in this. I've been all consideration until now, but I've had about enough of this inscrutable 'I know what is best' attitude you're putting on. You may be green, but you're still Peter Trevick, and as mistake-ridden as the rest of us."
Katy's on a roll now, he thought, appreciation showing in his eyes. He'd wondered how long her hot temper would cope with the worry and lack of sleep. Yesterday's tears had been out of character. Katy would much rather get mad than cry. He reached out to her with his free hand.
"Don't you touch me! You're not getting around me that easily!" She wouldn't look him in the eyes, knowing that it might dissipate her anger. "Think of Trevor! Think of yourself! And me - the children we planned on having - the chance for a normal life! You heard Mari this morning - the genetics people may be able to help you." She gestured at Trevor, then placed herself between him and the door. "You don't have the right to decide for him, Peter, even if you've already decided for yourself."
"There won't be any help." She looked at him sharply, frowning now.
"Those men, Katy. From the government. I'm a specimen to them."
Katy sucked in a quick breath.
Peter lowered his voice. "They want to do specimen-type things to me, Katy. Tissue samples, tests in reaction to different substances - the human white rat syndrome. They're never going to let me go."
"Peter, this could just be a mind set you've formed. They're your best hope for a cure."
He shook his head. "No treatment. No cures. They want me for my cellular manifestations, and for my potential as a biological control - of other humans."
"Well, what if you're just that - a biological control - because you're contagious? Trevor's down with this now! Do you want to infect the whole population?!"
"Katy." She was trying to deal with what she saw as his refusal to understand. "Katy." A pleading note now. She sighed.
"What?"
"I have to go now. And Trevor's in more danger if he stays here than if he comes with me."
Katy still wasn't totally convinced. "What about Mari? After all she's done for you and Trevor - don't her feelings count in all this?"
"It would tear Mari up to turn me over to the government people, and I don't want to put her in that position. Ignorance is her best defence against the questions they'll be asking her." He moved to the door.
"Where are we going to run to, Peter? You're don't exactly blend in."
Peter smiled, holding out his free hand to her. "Wherever we're going, we'd better do it soon. Trev's been over my shoulder so long he's going to forget which end is which."
"What about all those bees?"
He looked at her, arching one brow. "How do you think they got here, Katy?"
Opening the door, they were instantly immersed in the cloud. Katy shut her eyes and held Peter's hand. Invisible. No one was around to see them, and if they had been, the swarming of a thousand little bodies was potent camouflage.
Peter hummed his bee song out the door, until they reached Trevor's car. Katy fumbled with Trev's keys, anxious to get in and shut out any flying intruders. Windows up and doors locked, she turned to Peter. "How did you do that - with the bees? Or do I want to know?"
"It's strange, but I was in my room humming this little tune, and the bees responded. Sort of like one of those silent whistles you call dogs with," he said.
Katy just shook her head and started the car, leaving him to make Trevor comfortable, knowing that this new Peter would be far better at tending to him than she would. There was a gateman at the exit to the parking lot, waiting to validate the parking ticket. Peter confidently hummed his bee song, and the parking attendant made a hasty exit, none the wiser. Katy pulled out onto the highway.
***
Chapter Five
Twenty minutes later, a few braver souls had ventured out of rooms and closets, drawn by a sense of duty. To their surprise, only a few lingering bees remained behind, circling the flowers waiting to be delivered at the nurses' station. The rest had apparently found their way out the now-open ward doors to the outside. Mari shook her head in disbelief. She'd never seen anything like it. This must be her week for a reality check, she thought.
*
Katy had only been driving for a few moments when a dark buzzing cloud descended on the car. She flung on the windshield wipers, for want of any other solution, and honked the horn. "Peter, do something!"
Peter shut his eyes briefly and willed himself to think of something else. The swarm lifted into the sky, and Peter smiled, relieved.
"How's Trevor?"
"Hot as a furnace, but he'll do, Katy. The danger's passed. I don't know why I'm such a know-it-all, Katy," he chuckled, "but you'll just have to trust me." He pasted a saccharine sweet smile in place to counter Katy's glare as she glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. Then he chuckled again, his eyes glowing.
Ten minutes later, Katy was ready to murder him. Twice more the bees had descended on the car, necessitating a pull-off, and Katy was nervous about possible pursuers. Everyone who'd driven past would be able to give a full account of the whereabouts of the "bee-mobile". "Peter, can't you do something about this?! I can't even see to drive!"
"Katy, I can't help it! It's like having a tune stuck in your head that you keep humming over and over, even though you hate it."
"Look, you drive, and maybe your concentration will shift or something." She climbed into the back seat. Peter wanted to climb out to get in front, but she wouldn't let him. "I don't want any bees in here."
"Don't worry about that, Katy. I can control them."
"Yes, just like you're controlling them bouncing off the car right now. Besides, someone might see you."
"They'll see me driving."
"Look, wear Trevor's sunglasses. A green driver is a lot less conspicuous than a car covered with a cloud of bees." Once again, the swarm lifted into the air.
"See," Peter said, "totally under control."
For how long? Katy thought, and was disconcerted to catch Peter's look. She realised he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Peter found that driving had become a new experience. Somehow, his level of awareness had altered, and he found it terribly distracting, so much so that he nearly manoeuvred the car off the road several times. Katy looked at him in concern, worried that he was having a relapse, but he found that he couldn't spare the time from his driving to reassure her. He could feel each rotation of the tires, and was almost pained when they encountered a rough patch of gravel. The engine motion, with its fanbelt, moving pistons and rod, and rotating crankshaft is driving me to distraction, he thought, when he could spare a moment for thought. At least the bees haven't returned.
*
"Was anyone stung?" Mari glanced around. Surprisingly, with all the hordes of invading Hymenoptera, no one complained of being stung. Mari shook her head. Another puzzle. She turned towards Trevor's room, intent on ascertaining his condition before going to see Peter.
Inside the door she stopped. The covers were thrown back. She checked the small toilet. No Trevor, no Katy. She raced out the door, full-speed to Peter's room. The hell with what anyone thought.
No longer concerned with quarantine procedures, Mari burst through the door, dismayed to find that what she'd suspected was true. Damn him! How could he do this? She'd thought they'd had an understanding, and that he trusted her enough to at least let her know what he was planning. Katy should have known to trust her. Now, with Trevor so sick, she had to do something. She might have been able to help Peter before, but now she couldn't let Trev die for want of medical assistance. Shutting the door quietly, she stood uncertainly in the hall, wondering what to do next. Somehow, reporting all this to the "authorities" - to Mader - was last on the list.
*
Peter rolled the car to a stop in front of the house. The last few miles had become slower and slower as the strain of concentrating on his driving became more acute. Katy had reverted to a worried silence. He could tell that she was fast losing hope. He didn't know how to explain to her - intellectually, he couldn't even explain it to himself - why this place drew him. He knew only that the hope Katy saw as dwindling could be revived here; that, by coming here, they had options that might not otherwise exist. Even in his own mind, he denounced his conclusions as foolishness - but he couldn't deny the new instincts that beckoned him so strongly.
Hope - so tangible that it assaulted his senses. Peter stepped from the car. Yes, it was there in the shimmering lights lancing the sky. Now he could even hear it. He walked around the side of the house. The Trees. A dart of light shot from the Trees and touched him lightly, before moving on. In the distance he could see the arcing multi-coloured lights of his dream. Refuge.
Katy rolled up her jersey and pillowed it under Trevor's head. Climbing from the car, she joined Peter, trying to see what had captured his attention. What monstrosities! Suddenly afraid, she put her arm through Peter's, then realised he was completely unaware of her. I've lost him, she thought, terrified that it might be true. Her fear invaded Peter, and jerked him back to his surroundings. He gave her one of those strangely comforting luminescent smiles before turning to carry Trevor from the car.
Katy opened the front door ahead of Peter, walking into the house that still carried an odour of burning refuse in the air. Opening doors as she went up the hall, she gave Peter a quick smile, "It is our place. I can see why you bought it." She rearranged the sofa cushions to accommodate Trevor's still form, looking at him worriedly. "Oh, Peter, I'm not sure what to do for him. He's still so hot. Maybe I should sponge him down." She jumped up to search out some towels, but Peter, intently studying Trevor, reached out and grabbed her arm. "Wait."
Peter sat on the edge of the sofa, and placed one hand on Trevor's chest. Wincing, eyes glowing through slits as he concentrated, his breathing became heavy and rasping with effort. In moments, Peter and Trevor were breathing in rhythm, and Katy watched as sweat beaded on both their brows, coalescing to run down in huge droplets. Peter lifted his hand and sighed, turning to look at Katy. The lights in his eyes were slightly dimmed now, and she realised that his energy was waning.
"He'll do now, Katy. I don't think he'll have any more fevers."
But Katy was already on her way out of the room. My God - what a dungeon! she thought, as she stood at the top of the steps, looking down at the kitchen. The walls had a thin veneer of khaki sludge and red crystals now, which added to the already grim appearance of the place. Katy rummaged in the fridge, pleased to see that the food inside was undamaged, in spite of the other wreckage. She started to bring Peter some sandwiches, then realised he probably couldn't eat them the way they were. Walking over to the oven, she slid the sandwich under the grill, waiting for it to blacken. As she removed the charred lump that now constituted the sandwiches, she found it amusing that Peter's new eating style coincided so nicely with her usual cooking methods.
*
Mader would find out soon. All Mari could do was delay the inevitable. She looked at her watch. She should report the breach of quarantine. But for some reason she believed that Peter knew what he was talking about when he linked both his and Trevor's ailments with the smoke they'd inhaled. Her initial reason for quarantining Peter - that of an incredibly invasive mutagenic effect - was based on her fear that the agent, finding a ready host in Peter's cells, might somehow spread beyond to someone else's cellular tissues, perhaps via Peter's own microflora of bacteria and viruses. Peter's mutagenesis had gone way beyond that of an exposure reaction; the mutagen had extensively invaded Peter's genetic code, allowing it to replicate and repeat its damaging effect throughout Peter's body. She decided she needed a short time to come up with a plan of action. Making up her mind, she turned toward the nurses' station, coming face-to-face with Sam, one of Mader's flunkeys.
"Everything all right, Doctor?" Sam looked like he was desperate for her to say yes, and she assumed Mader wouldn't deal with failure very kindly.
"Just fine, Sam. No change, I'm afraid." He looked relieved. Mari glanced past him to where Carol was returning to her post, still warily alert for any wandering bees. It would be harder to fool her, Mari thought. Avoidance might be the better solution.
Mari turned away, but Jenifer caught her attention. "Mari, the man called back about Mr. Richmond's dog. He's waiting to know if he can take it to the vet."
Mari started to say, "Tell him to do what he thinks best", a nebulous and non-committal answer, when she suddenly made the connection. Not Trevor's dog - Peter's! The dog had inhaled the smoke, too! It must have! Peter had told her that the dog was whining and barking when he got home, and that he should have heeded the warning. Damn! Realising that she'd been standing there with her mouth open, in the middle of a sentence, and that Carol was eyeing her curiously, made Mari uncomfortable.
"Jenifer, could you tell him that someone will be along to collect the dog and take him to the vet's? Oh, and get an address, will you?" Jenifer nodded. "Thanks."
How am I going to get out of here? Mari wondered. Peter had taken advantage of an already bizarre situation - then it occurred to Mari that Peter may in some way have instigated the bees' arrival. She didn't know how, but Peter gave such an impression of untapped power. She just hoped Mader wouldn't connect the bee incident with Peter's disappearance, and put two-and-two together. The best way to avoid that, she realised, was to delay Peter's "escape" until some hours from now, maybe even until the morning. If she could make them think Peter was still here, she'd have the time to find her own way out, pick up the dog, and decide what to do next. Why am I doing this? She realised that the occurrences of the past few days had changed her. Peter's survival, in the face of incredible odds, had been nothing short of miraculous. And, after all, who could take miracles lightly?
*
Peter ate with gusto and considered his options. Undermining Mader's advantage meant that evidence must somehow be concealed. If I don't want to spend the rest of my life being picked to pieces, analysed and probed.
If Mader were to connect the bees with his disappearance, it was only logical to assume that he'd want to manipulate such an ability (and I don't even know what else I can do, thought Peter) for his own ends - or the government's. Mader hadn't even bothered putting on much of an act, which indicated he was fairly certain of his own strong position.
Peter had a brief longing to be plain Peter Trevick once again, then put it behind him. Certain things about his new self felt right: his expanded intuitive knowledge of his surroundings, and of what others were experiencing; this overwhelming zest for living that filled him up so that he was on a constant energetic high. To change back would mean losing these gifts, even though it would put him back to the norm. This expansion of himself was addictive, and he didn't know if he could bear the lessening of himself to what he'd been before.
At least, here he was safe. He didn't know why as yet, but it felt right. Concealment was important now - that, and erasing evidence so Mader would be forced to find ways to justify his expenditure in time and manpower for a search effort. Peter took Katy's hand and led her to the kitchen. She felt a glowing warmth where he touched her. She stood with him, watching as those knowing eyes surveyed the shambles of the room. "It'll have to go," he said.
"This is hardly the time to start redecorating," said Katy sarcastically.
He tilted his head and grinned at her. Damn those dancing eyes of his, she thought, but was glad, nevertheless, to see that they were once again brightly glowing. Katy gave a sigh of resignation that made him want to kiss her. "All right, Peter, why does it have to go - and what time frame did you have in mind?"
He began pacing as he sought to organise his thoughts (and prepare his most persuasive arguments, Katy thought). "Mader will be coming here soon, to find me." He sighed, troubled. "There was probably something in my chart about the source of the fire." He gestured at the kitchen. "If he tracks down the source, then it'll lead him to the Trees." He turned to her, suddenly tense and deadly serious. "The Trees are vital, Katy. I don't want anything to happen to them. I don't know how to explain it, but it's the one place I can hide if there's no where left to go."
"Peter, that's just plain weird." She looked at him worriedly. "You're not making any sense."
Peter pleaded with her to understand. "I know it sounds crazy, and, believe me, the scientist in me is telling me to shut up before I lose all credibility. But, Katy, this is no weirder than knowing Trevor was sick, or -"
Katy interrupted him. "- playing the minuet in 'bee major'."
Peter's eyes lit up in appreciation. He smiled. "Right."
"All right, Peter. I guess if we have to conceal the evidence, we might as well do it right." She looked doubtfully at the crystal-sludged kitchen. "We could paint it." It wasn't an attractive prospect. She doubted if paint would apply very well over that residue, and - she glanced at Peter - even though Peter made a very attractive green, it wasn't something she wanted for herself. She was a little afraid of even being in this room, of exposing herself to whatever it was.
"Tractor!"
"What?!"
"Katy, that's it - we'll use our tractor! We'll get it started, and then you can bulldoze the kitchen -"
"Me? It was your idea."
He grinned. "If I were to do it, someone might see me. Like Henry."
"Henry?"
"Our gardener."
She remembered the look of the straggly flower beds. "We have a gardener?"
"Katy, my love, you're looking a bit befuddled." He put one hand under her chin, tilting her head back to study her face. Leaning forward, he barely touched his lips to hers, warming them, before putting both arms around her to kiss her harder. He started to pull away, but she stopped him. "Tickle my bricks, Peter." It was an old joke between them. Once when Peter was parking her car, he'd misjudged the distance and bumped the front bumper into the wall. He had insisted he'd been "merely tickling the bricks." She'd told him he could "tickle her bricks any time," and he had, in many satisfying fashions. She was sure that this new Peter might have some very energetic ways of seeing a thing through. Lost in the contemplation of what those fashions might entail, she was brought back by Peter's chuckle.
"I know what you're thinking, Katy." Taking her by surprise, he picked her up and spun her around, ending with a kiss that left her lips glowing, even after he'd left the room. Oh, Peter, she thought, feeling slightly guilty, sometimes I like this new you even better than the old one.
*
Later, Katy stood in the doorway to the tractor shed, watching with amusement as Peter ran filthy fingers through his hair. "Don't say it!" Peter said. He had a worn, scruffy piece of paper in one hand, and was trying to discern the scrawled directions.
"What's that?" Katy asked.
"Directions. I'll have this going in a minute -" Peter grunted, turned another knob on the side of the old track-layer and groaned in frustration. "I think the damn thing's broken."
Katy wanted to laugh but the irritation in his glance stopped her. Peter was angry - with himself. She'd seen it before when he'd been trying to work out a mechanical puzzle that somehow eluded him. Right now, he was upset not only with what he perceived as his own mechanical ineptitude, but because - as blithely as he'd turned over the tractor work to her - he wanted to do his share - in fact, more than his share because he blamed himself for dragging her into this. Oh, Peter, she thought lovingly, how am I going to do this without embarrassing you? It was a good thing Peter didn't have any idea how hard demolition work could be.
Katy gave him a swift kiss on his dirty cheek. She fetched a cobweb out of his hair, and made a mental note to give him a trim. His hair had grown at a terrific rate over the last few days, and was now nearly as long as hers. It was driving Peter crazy; always getting in his way.
Katy ignored the paper he was waving around, and deftly, starting at one end of the engine, turned petcocks and knobs until things were aligned properly. "There!" Katy checked the gas and diesel, made a face at their quality, then started up the pony engine.
The paper drifted to the ground as Peter stared at her in almost comic dismay. Katy, seeing his expression, came over and put her arms around him. "I -" Peter hesitated, "Did you already know how to do that, or am I just too stupid for words?"
"Never stupid, Peter." She squeezed him. "I worked three summers for my dad - one of them using a near-derelict like this one." She patted it fondly. Suddenly, her expression grew worried. "Peter, I don't know if I can take down that block. If it's reinforced, like it should be -"
Peter reassured her. "If this doesn't work, I'll get out the paint can." He paused. "I'm sorry to make you do this, Katy-my-love -" he began.
"That's okay, Trevick. I can handle it. Besides, you're not 'making' me do anything. I can see a real value in knocking down that kitchen." She climbed into the seat, looking pleased with herself. "See, Mr. Know-It-All," she told him, smiling. "I have hidden depths that even you - with your ESP or whatever - don't know about."
Peter took a peek out the shed door, then opened it wide for the tractor to exit. "Hidden depths," he mused, giving her a wicked grin. "Hm-m-m - sounds like they're worth an exploratory trip -"
Katy grinned. "You wish." She looked at him lovingly, then became businesslike, giving him a wave of dismissal. "Remember that some of us have work to do." She offered him a quick smile as she drove forward; yelling to him over the engine noise, "Peter - if you want to take that trip later - I've saved you a space -"
Peter chuckled as she drove around the corner.
*
It took a while for Katy to find a chink in all that block; something to which she could fasten a chain. She finally discovered that one wall had a small hole punched near the bottom that must once have acted like a primitive drain. It was hidden behind one of the cabinets, which was why no one had seen it. The cabinets must have arrived after the hole, at a time when drainage wasn't such an issue.
Peter used a piece of iron to break a hole through the back of the cabinet. Katy pushed through to him a steel spike - already laced through the heavy chain. Peter turned it so it was flush against the back of the cabinet, then yelled to Katy through the gap. "Ready!" Looking from the steel bar to the heavy block, he had a sudden fear that the bar might yield or bend before the wall would. He had a horrible vision of Katy, sitting helpless on the tractor, as the metal chain and bar rebounded in her direction.
"Katy, don't!" he screamed. Peter was actually on his feet, halfway out the front door on his way to stop her, when he heard a horrific boom - almost like an explosion. Running outside, his heart thumping, he saw Katy, sitting on her tractor and smiling widely. The bottom block had pulled free, leaving an irregular crack from floor to ceiling. Katy glanced his way, giving him a thumbs up. Peter offered her a weak smile, and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
After that, the block seemed to tumble down, as Katy was able to get better positions to place the chain. Peter helped from the inside, moving appliances, and placing the steel bar in the most effective positions. He heard Katy's enthusiastic, "We're in luck! There's no rebar. It's a real do-it-yourself job!"
Peter began to wish he could spell her on the tractor. The chain was heavy, and he didn't like the idea of Katy having to move it by herself. But when he put the idea to her, she got that determined look that he knew so well. "Peter, I'm almost finished!" It was a lie, and they both knew it. "What if Henry comes?" What they left unsaid was the truth: that Katy, trained, could handle the tractor a lot better than Peter. And to train Peter would take time, something they had precious little of. Peter settled for moving the chain, until his keen ears picked up a sound over the roar of the tractor.
Katy didn't hear Henry when he drove up, but the sight of Peter dashing madly around the back of the house gave her warning. Her eyes were still on the place where Peter had just disappeared, when Henry caught her eye by coming near the side of the tractor and gesturing wildly. She lowered the rpms, so she could hear him, putting it in neutral.
"If you don't mind my asking, what the hell are you doing?" Henry had lost some of his determined cool.
"I'm Mr. Trevick's fiancée, Katy Ryder. You must be Henry!" she said brightly, remembering the description Peter had given her. She reached out to shake his hand, and he leaned over warily, eyeing the tracks, and ready to jump back if the machine's tempo changed.
"Well, Katy -" Henry didn't believe in formality - "I'd still like to know what you're doing."
"I'm..." Katy paused, struggling to find a plausible explanation. "I'm redecorating!"
Even Henry couldn't help but be astounded by this. Nutter, he thought. Slipped a cog. Thinking of Peter, he shook his head. Poor guy.
"Ma'am -" Henry decided a little formality might be in order to a nutter on a tractor.
"Yes?"
"What are you going to do with all that stuff once you've taken it down?" He could picture the block strewn across the grass - the grass he liked to mow while reading.
Katy gestured to several spots around the house. "I thought I'd build some ornamental planting mounds. You know, kind of objets d'art but with trees and shrubs growing out of them. What do you think?"
"I'm sure that will do very nicely, Ma'am." Henry backed slowly away, deciding that he'd come back sometime when Peter was around and it was safe. He nodded his head to Katy, touching the brim of his cap in a respectful gesture. "G'd afternoon, Ma'am." He practically ran to his motorcycle and roared away.
*
Mari didn't know how she was going to leave the ward. Mader was certain to expect her to remain within call, especially since her patient required special care and was to be transferred in the morning. Since Mader had left, Mari had been the only one of the medical staff allowed into Peter Trevick's room. Mari suspected that Mader's purpose was two-fold: he wanted to limit the number of people exposed to, or at least aware of, Peter Trevick's condition. And he wants to punish me for arguing with him. He figures I'll be too tired to put up any further resistance.
It amused her that Mader's scheme was actually working against him. Peter's escape would have been discovered long before this if it hadn't been for the restrictions Mader had imposed.
She decided the intense scrutiny of Carol and Sam would never allow a disguise of any sort to be successful. And heavens only knew how many other individuals were around to "control" the situation. She didn't particularly want to do anything to terminate her job security. She loved what she did.
Mari approached Jenifer, deciding to ask her for a favour. "Jen, do you think you could wait a few minutes then have me paged to emergency?"
Jenifer looked at her strangely, but Mari indicated with her eyes in the direction of the silent starers. Jenifer nodded in sudden understanding. "You have to leave the ward and you want a legit excuse, right?" she whispered. Mari nodded, while pretending to examine a chart. "You've got it, Mari," she said. "But what about when you get back - I assume you're going home?"
Mari nodded again, knowing it was safer to let Jenifer know only part of what was happening. "I haven't figured that one out yet, but I'll have to keep my little trip short."
"Do you want me to check on Mr. Trevick while you're away?"
She looked pointedly at Sam standing guard on the door. "I don't think they'd let you, Jen. I'm the only staff member with access." She added sarcastically, "In fact, I'm lucky they let me in." She told Jenifer more seriously, "Look, I've given Mr. Trevick something to help him sleep, so he should be fine. If not, that Brutus outside his door will be able to give the alert - I'll ask him to keep watch as soon as you page me (like hell I will, she thought)."
"Is that safe? I mean, Mr. Trevick's quarantined, isn't he?"
Mari said with a sigh, "Officially, yes. Unofficially - it's more a matter of confidentiality than contagion."
"Well, you're the doctor," Jenifer smiled. "But if you change your mind again, and decide it's contagious, tell me, okay? I've heard that some of his symptoms are pretty alarming, and I'd rather not vie with my pot plants for local colour." She chuckled at her own joke.
"Don't worry, Jen, I'm sure I'd be 'wearing the green' long before you would - and I can't say I like being colour co-ordinated with my Diffenbachia, either." Mari smiled, then ambled nonchalantly away, stopping in to examine her non-existent patient, and stalling until Jenifer paged her.
*
Peter stared down at Trevor, who lay inert on the couch. His skin was starting to assume a dark dusky hue, and Peter hoped that he'd be able to accept it without too much pain. He knew a little how Mari must have felt now, watching him change. Even though Peter knew what the end result would be, it was frightening to see it happen to someone else. Especially to someone he cared about.
Mari was also worried about Trev; he had sensed that. She would make an effort to find him, afraid that he wouldn't withstand the change without medical care. But you're a long way from being snuffed out, Buddy, Peter thought, and was gratified to see Trevor shift slightly. Even with his friend at such a low ebb, there was some communication there, and Peter felt secure that if Trevor took a downturn that he'd know, and somehow prevent it. After all, what were friends for?
Another resounding crash shook the old house. Peter went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of Katy on her tractor. As she pulled forward, he saw her - dirty, dishevelled, and with that look of determination still on her face. His eyes glowed. God, how he loved her.
*
"Will Doctor Mari Sullivan please report to emergency?"
Mari jumped when her name was finally called over the intercom. I'd better do a finer acting job than this, or my goose is cooked, she thought. Assuming a harassed expression, she made a fictitious last check on Mr. Trevick. As she exited, she told Sam, "He's resting quietly. I've been called to Emergency. Mr. Trevick's on the monitor, and they'll be able to watch his vital signs from the Nurses' Station. It would be best if he isn't disturbed."
Jen, watching discreetly from the nurses' station, was pleased to see Sam's nod. Apparently, he had no qualms about checking on Mr. Trevick. Better him than her.
Mari walked quietly down the corridors, wishing she were invisible. Mader had goons everywhere - or so it seemed to her worried eyes. She went downstairs, using the underground corridors to the kitchens, where she exited. Taking her car out of the doctor's lot, she glanced at the address on the slip of paper. She wondered if she was going to pick up a green dog.
***
Chapter Six
Block dust mixed with sweat to make gritty rivers down Katy's face. She lifted the bottom of her shirt and used it to wipe her brow, to get the sweat out of her eyes, to make them stop stinging. Putting the tractor in neutral, she hopped down to check her progress. Looking at her watch, she noted that she still had an hour of light. If she was lucky, she'd have the rest of the block moved by then. Hopping back aboard, she brought the engine up to a roar, shoved her sunglasses back down, and revved into action.
*
Mari checked the address on the mailbox with the number on her slip of paper. Trevor lived in a busy neighbourhood: apartment houses with a few flats and duplexes. As she approached the door, an elderly man opened it quickly, and she was sure he'd been eagerly watching for her.
"Mr. Greaves?" She reached out her hand to shake that of the old gentleman, who was obviously tense. Her experience with Peter left her in no doubt as to why.
"Yes, yes, young Woman. You took long enough to respond!"
Tetchy, she thought. And no wonder.
"Well, I'm here now. I'm sorry you were left in charge of the dog (what's its name? she thought frantically), but I'm here to relieve you. Where is he now?"
He led the way to the kitchen, where Mortimer lay on the lino floor, panting rapidly. He was changing, all right. The green skin wasn't all that apparent under his hair, but those eyes - dull versions of Peter's - were obvious if you lifted the lid. She didn't know what his ears had been like before, but they were now peaked, and his nose quite pointed. No vet for this guy, she thought. Any self-respecting vet would either order rigorous testing under quarantine, or put the dog down right away.
Mr. Greaves kindly helped her load the dog in her car. If fact, he was so eager to shed himself of responsibility for the animal that he practically ran out there and flung the beast in. Mari thanked him politely, and took her leave in as short a time as possible. She'd looked up Peter's address at the hospital before she'd left, and she knew she had a forty-five minute trip ahead of her. She jammed on the accelerator.
*
Carol was debating whether to mention the bees in her report. It would certainly qualify as an out-of-the-ordinary event, but the inference would be that she'd left her post. The fact that Sam had abandoned his post as well wouldn't put her in any stronger a position. Well, she would make sure he didn't mention it either. Wandering over to Sam, she asked him for his advice.
"Sam, do you think that I should mention those bees in my report?"
"Of course. Mr. Mader would want to have all the facts - you know that."
What a stooge you are, she thought. "But, Sam, you left your post - I saw you." He gave her an annoyed look. She changed her tactics. "Of course, no one could have stayed, and I wasn't able to, myself. It would have been beyond the call of duty."
"I guess you could say that no harm was done."
Eagerly, she agreed. "I think you're right. After all, it was a completely unrelated event."
"Then, since you want my advice, I'd say you don't need to mention it."
She smiled. "Thanks, Sam. I knew I could rely on you."
Sam nodded, and leaned back in his chair. "No problem," he said, shutting his eyes. "Any time."
*
The Trees. Peter studied them from the window, surprised that he'd been so short-sighted as to think of them as monstrosities before - to be - yes, he really had been - a little afraid of them. Now, he saw them as settled in dark mystery, compelling, a focus. He desperately wanted to explore them, to wander under those centuries-old gnarled sentinels, to watch for those dashing multi-coloured beams of light that he'd seen. Haven. He looked at Trevor. Well, maybe when Trevor was up and about they'd take Katy, and - he smiled at his unconscious friend - maybe Mari, and seek out the secrets of that place. There were secrets hidden there, he sensed: secrets that spilled out some aura, which was a powerful lure to anyone who could feel it. The strength of any repulsion he'd felt before, was equal to, if not exceeded by, his attraction to the Trees now. I guess it all depends how you read it, he thought. Two sides of a coin. Either you love it or hate it.
His thoughts wandered to Katy. He felt guilty about all the efforts she was making on his behalf. She was such a fine person, his Katy. He'd never felt equal to her goodness. She was tough, but feminine to the max, extremely loyal, and with that innate ability to cut through the paraphernalia to find the solution to a problem. Her current problem was him. She couldn't resolve his dilemma with action, so she needed to tackle it from the periphery, which was what she was doing in her attack on the kitchen. If you can't take down the mountain, you can still lessen it by taking off a layer at a time.
He shook his head. What kind of bargain was she getting? He'd avoided mirrors since this had happened; the sight of his green body had been startling enough. It was time to face what had happened to him. So far he'd been surviving on his feelings - that powerful sense of well-being and strength that had been his since his transformation; that new intuitive awareness of everything around him that both enriched and complicated his movements. But Katy couldn't experience that brimming of joy or laterality second-hand - she had to deal with him in the form he now possessed, and he knew she was amazed and alarmed by his quick acceptance of his fate. Katy wanted to fight it. He knew, and he realised she had felt guilty about, the pleasure she'd found in some of the new aspects of his being; but if the opportunity came, Katy would want the old Peter back. She felt that they would never have a private life without that. She didn't want them exposed to the world; their movements a matter of public record.
He stepped over to the mirror and studied himself. God, it was a wonder she wasn't frightened away! He'd changed so much! He turned away in despair, then forced himself to turn back. How could she even find him in this new person? Some of his features were still recognisable, but his ears - he followed the outline of them with his hand - his ears were pointed at the tip. And his eyes! A child's nightmare! All that pulsing light, and the way they sort of tipped up. He looked puckish, like an overgrown elf! His hair had grown, too, at a pace that matched his transformation, and now sat on his shoulders. I look ridiculous, he thought in despair. How can she bear to look at me?
"Admiring yourself?"
Peter whirled and, in spite of his private misgivings, gave Trevor a huge grin. After all, it wouldn't do to let Trevor know how he felt. Trevor would have to deal with his own changing self soon enough - he didn't look very Trevorish any more.
"You look good, you know. That elf thing is really getting to be the fad. What am I doing at your house, anyway? Has this really all been a bad dream, and will I wake up when the real you gets back from wherever he's been?"
"No dream, Trev. Yes, this is my house, and we're here because we've escaped the evil eyes of the government flunkeys."
Trev tried to remember. "So the great know-it-alls came but didn't conquer. Or, were we escaping flunkeys for some other reason?"
"Let's just say I'm not partial to zoos - at least, the kind where I'm the main attraction." Peter hesitated, wondering how to break it to Trevor. "Trev, I'm glad you like elves because you've got a little problem we have to discuss. How do you feel, anyway?"
Trevor experimentally stretched his limbs, then shook his head slightly, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Like I have a layer of cotton balls packing up my brain. What happened?"
"Trev, look at your hands."
Trevor glanced down, then lifted them up, studying them as though they belonged to someone else. Startled, he looked at Peter. "Me, too?" he asked in whispered horror.
Peter looked sad. "I'm sorry, Trev, but you must have inhaled some of the smoke when you pulled me out of here."
"Retribution."
"What!" This time Peter looked startled.
"If I hadn't started that fire, then you and I would still be normal - well, that might be carrying it too far - but we would not be green."
"Well, Trevor, let's take it back a step further. If I hadn't cut that wood and left some of it bagged on the porch for you to mistake for firewood, then we wouldn't be green, either."
"So it's really all your fault we're like this!" Trevor was chuckling, and Peter was beginning to understand why people were always commenting on the effect of his eyes. "Do you know how ridiculous this conversation is?"
Peter smiled back. "Seriously, it's very good to see you, Trev. And, selfish as it sounds, I'm glad not to be alone in this. I know you may not be ready, but company's expected. Soon. And we need to decide what to do."
*
Mari was getting frustrated. Damn these maps. No, damn these unnamed back roads. She glanced at her watch. If she didn't get back soon, they'd start paging her, or someone would screw up the courage to go check on Peter. Then her career, her practice - everything she'd worked for - would be on the line. Mader didn't seem to be the type to listen to explanations, and there weren't any explanations good enough to explain why she hadn't reported Peter's absence before. And they'd never believe that he'd escaped now, while she was away. Not with that guard outside his door the whole time. As it was, she'd have to plan her strategy to deal with Peter's "disappearance" in the morning. Damn! Damn! Damn!
*
Katy laced her fingers and stretched them over her head. Even though the tractor had done most of the work, she felt worn out. The jarring. And the heat. Grimy, dusty, sticky, and - she delicately sniffed under one arm - decidedly smelly. Climbing down, while the tractor hummed quietly in neutral, she walked across the former kitchen. Peter had removed the fridge - she didn't know how he'd done it alone, and she wasn't going to ask - but most of the other appliances had succumbed to her efforts and were now interred under two massive stone and dirt "objets d'art" that she'd scraped along and piled up out in front. They'd be enough to show Henry that she'd meant what she'd said. If she could pull a few plants out of the garden, and put them on the mound, and scruff up the rest of the yard with the tractor, it might not occur to Mader that the mounds were new.
First, however, it was time for coffee. The smoke coming out of the fireplace assured her that Peter was preparing some type of meal for them.
Katy thought briefly of the cupboards and wondered if Peter had remembered to unload them before they disappeared. She shrugged. It's too late now. She smiled, thinking of the awkward moment when she'd crushed the sink, and water went everywhere. Somehow Peter had staunched the flow. I wonder if we still have water.
Her smile faded as she thought about Trevor. She felt confident, after Peter's little demonstration when they got home, that with Peter on hand Trevor wouldn't get any worse, but I'd feel a lot happier if he showed signs of improvement.
Walking wearily into the lounge, she stood rooted in shock as two heads turned toward her, and big grins matched by glowing eyes greeted her. Dear God, she thought. They were both happily scraping charred crumbles off toast, and crunching odd bits of burned something-or-other, chatting as though they hadn't a care in the world.
Peter jumped up to give her a big glass of lemonade, and dish her up some tinned stew that he'd heated over the fire. "C'mon, Katy-my-love," he said, understanding the shock she was feeling. "You'll feel better once you have some of this delicious food." She looked at the disgusting slop in her bowl and knew he was waiting for her to make some derogatory comment. So instead she said sweetly, "Any food would taste delicious if you'd worked as hard as I have."
Trevor made a point of sniffing the air. "Yes, there is an 'aura' of hard work about you."
"That, you idiot, is the sweet smell of success." She smiled at him. "I guess I don't have to ask how you are, Trev."
His smile faded. "I'm green, Katy. What more is there to be said?"
She looked at him seriously, then at Peter. Understanding how much they both needed reassurance about now, she got up, to wrap both arms around Peter. "Green is the word. I wish I could say it made you two less attractive, to knock your male egos down a peg, but there's something about you guys that makes a poor female like me get all weak-kneed and warm inside. Give me a little glow, Sport," she said to Peter, and pulled his head down for a kiss. Peter's eyebrows shot up before he surrendered to her efforts. Afterwards, with her comfortably settled in his arms, he smiled at Trevor. "I guess, Trevor, if you've got it, you've got it, no matter whether you're green or purple. You wouldn't know."
"I beg to differ, Pal, but I was included in the description of our attractions. Devastatingly handsome, I believe she said."
"More like you made her weak-kneed. Your looks have always made me feel weak at the knees anyway, Trev. Sort of like after you vomit." Peter grinned.
Trevor tilted his head and gave a huge smile. "Company coming," he said. Peter grinned. Katy started to pull from Peter's arms. Trevor shook his head. "Don't worry, Katy. You'll like this company." He looked at Peter. "I know I do."
Katy was upset. "I wish you two wouldn't do that!"
"Do what?"
"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean - this ESP stuff is giving me the willies." Katy looked Peter directly in the eye. "Peter, you can't really read minds, can you?" The thought made her uncomfortable.
He kissed her, then replied seriously. "No, Katy, but I can sense intent - feelings - whatever you'd like to call it - and I have a good idea of who's coming or going." He gave her a squeeze. "Does that relieve your guilty mind?"
She didn't smile back. "Of course it does. No one should be expected to share their innermost thoughts - no matter how close the relationship."
"I agree. And so -" he paused to kiss her temples, working his way down to nibble her neck, "- and so, if I get any inklings of what you're thinking, I'll just ignore them."
Katy smiled. "They'd all be highly intelligent, noble, refined - the type of thing you might have trouble understanding, anyway."
*
Mari pulled into the driveway just as the last of the light was fading. The house was old and picturesque; a character home that might have potential if it didn't fall down before they could restore it. On the far side of the drive, however, boldly visible from the house, were two modern-art type planting mounds, all blocky and scruffy. Mari shook her head. Tasteless. She was surprised that Katy would condone something like that in the yard. Katy had struck her as a tasteful type, with a good style sense. Peter had said she was artistic. Maybe her speciality was modern art. Mari shook her head.
Stepping from the car, she told Mortimer, who had woken up, to stay. She shut the car door and approached the house. Finding the front door ajar, she hesitantly stepped inside.
She heard Trevor's voice first, and sighed with relief. Thank goodness, she thought, walking faster, knowing she'd only feel really comfortable about his condition if she could examine him. She turned into the lounge to be greeted by three pairs of eyes. Katy looked surprised, and Mari revised her opinion of her. Seldom had she seen anyone so dishevelled. Peter looked green, but happy and healthy, and Trevor - she felt a rush of pleasure at the sight of him - green, glowing and undoubtedly as recovered as he could be, given the changes his genetic structure had undergone. He was grinning at her so that she couldn't think. Pulling all her professional detachment to the fore, she abruptly said, "Trevor, I need to check you out - to make certain you're all right..."
"I'm sure you do," he interrupted. "Peter, Katy, I know this is your house, but Mari -" he turned and grinned wickedly at her - "Mari needs to check me out. Would you mind?" he gestured in the general direction of the door.
"No problem. I'm certain it will reassure us all," Peter said, laughing. He moved with Katy to the door.
Mari made an effort to maintain her professional dignity. Suddenly, she wasn't sure how, she felt as though she were out of her league. She tried to compensate by saying firmly, "You're next, Mister Trevick!"
Hugging Katy tighter, Peter replied, "Ooh, I can't wait." He chuckled and gave Katy a kiss on the nape of her neck. Then, he winked at Trevor. "Unless you'd like me to stay, Trev? Just in case?"
"Get out of here, Pete! The things Mari and I have to discuss are like what Katy said: too noble and refined to interest you."
Mari went to close the door, deliberately leaving it partly ajar to show Trevor that her interest was professional only. She went through the motions, and Trevor behaved himself. After she'd completed a cursory examination, however, he pulled her down to sit on his lap, and she put up no objection.
"It's not fair," she said.
"What?" he asked, as he nuzzled each of her fingertips. I should object to this, she thought. She couldn't explain why she was sitting here in his lap. It just seems like the right thing to do -
She had to force herself to remember what they were talking about. "The way you disappeared. It was a rotten thing to do."
Trevor turned her around to face him. "Mari, if I'd known what was happening, I would have stopped it. I'm sure Peter and Katy did what they thought was the best, but it's important you talk to them about it. With all that's going on, I don't think we should have any misunderstandings between the four of us. Okay?" She nodded. He called out, "Peter, Katy, quit lurking and get in here. Mari has a bone to pick with you."
"First of all, I don't lurk," replied Peter as he came back in the room. "Secondly, Katy's taking a well-earned tub bath, so you'll have to pick any bones with me by my lonesome."
Mari stood up, organising her thoughts. She looked at Peter. "Peter, I know you resent the loss of control over your own life. But you had no right to make decisions for Trevor as well. And you could have trusted me a little, confided your plans to me. I am a trained professional, Peter, and you could have, at the very least, trusted my professional judgement. Instead of taking advantage of a freak situation - speaking of which, I'm not totally convinced was a freak situation." She met Peter's eyes. "You'd better level with me, Peter. I'm all that stands between you and Mader. If he gets wind of the fact you manipulated those bees -"
Trevor interrupted. "Did you really do that? Incredible! How did you do it, Peter?"
"I just hummed this little tune -" Peter concentrated for a moment, and Mari heard a buzzing noise begin, accompanied by a tapping sound as some of the little bodies dashed themselves against the glass.
The bathroom door slammed against the wall and they could hear Katy's voice, "Peter, cut that out! Trevor, stop encouraging him!" The door slammed shut again. They could hear the splash of water on to the floor as Katy plopped angrily back into the tub.
"Oops. You see," Peter explained, "we had this problem the last time I did it. I had a little trouble getting the tune out of my head. So we were trying to drive with these bees all over the place." He continued, embarrassed now, "Katy wasn't too happy about it."
Mari shook her head. "Who could blame her? Talk about a subtle getaway! Not only are you going to be found missing, but now all that bee stuff is going to be laid right at your door, and then Mader will never let you go!" She looked at Trevor. "Either of you! And Katy knows it as well as I do. No wonder she's upset! Why did you come here, anyway? I might have been able to think of an alternative that Mader would have agreed to." She paused, and her expression became hopeful. "It may not be too late, you know. They don't know you're missing, Peter." She looked at her watch. "Or they won't if I can get you back there soon. And they don't know about Trevor yet. Chances are, if they find you're not contagious, and your accessory 'abilities' are unknown, they'll let you go. It's a chance, anyway."
"Mari, they won't let me go. I'm a mutant. And, sooner or later, they'll find out about Trevor. Green people can't wander around unnoticed. I'm not certain why we came here, except that some intuition tells me we have alternatives here that we won't have elsewhere."
"Intuition? Your arrogance, Mr. Trevick, continues to astound me. Granted it is your body, but you've also endangered Trevor, disrupted any treatment we might have devised to counter your condition, and compromised my career, all because you 'intuitively' sensed that you wanted to go home. Didn't it occur to you that your intuition may just be a product of some imbalance in your system? And that many patients long for home?"
Katy wandered in, dressed in a robe. She remained silent, watching Peter for his reaction to Mari's accusations.
Peter began to pace slowly, searching for the words that would explain his actions. It was important for Trevor's safety that she understand. "Mari, what treatment could you have devised for me - for us?" He looked at Trevor. "You know as well as I do that Mader's not intending to treat me - only to use me for his own purposes." He stopped in front of Mari. "How do you know that, Mari? Intuition? Body language? The type of genetic mutation I've undergone is not easily reversible, and may well be beyond the scope of our science." He looked regretfully at Trevor. "I'm sorry, Buddy, but that's the way I see it." Taking Katy's hands, he said, "Katy, if I could give you hope, I would. But, I'm a scientist. Granted, my field isn't genetics, but I do my share of molecular work. I also read the journals, and try to keep up with new discoveries. I don't think there's a cure for us. Mari, as to your career, I'm sorry, but I did what I could not to involve you. I knew you'd be caught somewhere between your professional duty, your Hippocratic oath, and your own 'intuition' that Mader was up to no good."
Mari turned away, to sit in a chair with her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking, and Trevor knelt beside her, taking her hands in his, only to find that she was laughing. "Wait," she said, standing up. She was laughing so hard she was crying, and she paused to wipe the tears with the back of her hand. "It gets worse..." She ran from the room, but was back in a moment with Mortimer. "See what I mean?" A pointy-eared, pointy-nosed, green-skinned, very shaggy dog raced over to Peter and jumped against him, knocking him into the nearest chair, where the dog promptly became an oversized lap dog. Peter rubbed the dog's ears, saying to him, "Hey, Morty, old boy, and here I thought you were living in the lap of luxury with not a care in the world. Poor fella!" Morty wildly licked his hand, his tail flopping up and down.
Trevor walked over and took Mortimer's head in his hands, studying him. "It has, as Mari said, gotten worse. Now there are three of us to deal with."
***
