Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy) (4 page)

Sunday morning isn’t starting out so hot.  It took forever to get to sleep last night, even though Jacob and I stayed up late watching stupid movies.  It was good to laugh.  We started that tradition during the horrible weeks after Dad died, when Mom stayed in her room for a day or two at a time, in a deep depression.  Fortunately her parents flew out and helped get her and us through it.  Come to think of it, I believe Grandpa Fisher was the first one to use the stupid movie treatment.  There wasn’t much laughing back then, but it was a good distraction that grew into a new family time.

I wish my Grandparents weren’t in Ne
braska.  Its way too far to drive very often and they couldn’t afford to fly back more than once, maybe twice a year.  They were just here for my birthday, so we probably won’t see them again for several months.

My restless sleep last night was filled with odd dreams about running through the woods, trying to get away from whispered words that I couldn’t understand.  Twice I woke up
to check on Mom.  I think that she was coughing and that’s what drew my attention, but when I tiptoed to her room she was sleeping quietly.

Then there was Baxter.  Normally, he isn’t a problem and goes through the night nestled up to Jacob.  Last night
though, he woke me up around three.  There he was, just sitting there staring at me.  Scared the heck outta me.  He was right next to the bed, his snout resting on the mattress beside my pillow.  He whimpered at me when he saw that I had opened my eyes.  I was too scared at first to move and by the time my brain caught up with my heart I realized it was just him.

Thinking he needed to go outside, I took him to the back sliding door in the family room, but he just looked at me like I was stupid.  Making that sound only a dog is capable of (you know the one where they are clearly done with you), he padded in to Jacob’s room and didn’t come back
out the rest of the night.

Now, for some reason I have woken up again and it’s not even eight. 
It’s Sunday!  I don’t usually get up until Mom makes me.  Lying here, I can tell that it’s useless to try and get back to sleep and it’s still too early to text Missy.  She would kill me for waking her up.

I grab a book off my nightstand and flip through the pages.  I haven’t even started it, and I can’t quite seem to read more than two sentences at a time.  This reminds me of the old book on Dad’s desk yesterday.  I had almost forgotten about it.  Deciding to give in and get up, I throw on some sweats and head for his office.

I find the book right where I left it and pick it up on the way to Mom’s room.  I don’t know what I expected, but I’m shocked when she looks up at me.  The shades are still drawn, but enough light is bleeding in around the edges to reveal the deep smudges surrounding her eyes.  The red on her nose has spread around her mouth, which looks raw and sore.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her shiny blond hair in such a matted mess.  She’s always been thin; but fit and strong.  Now, she seems frail and weak.

“Mom!  You’re worse.”  Going to her, I put a hand to her forehead, finding it dry but very hot.  Her neck actually
looks
swollen and I realize it’s her glands.

“Yeah, this is the worst I’ve ever felt,” she confirms.  Her voice is coarse, like someone who smokes three packs a day.  It’s seems an effort to even talk.

“I should call Dr. Wells.”  He has been our family doctor for as long as I can remember, and I’m confident he’d know what to do, because I sure don’t.

“No, don’t bother him.  My cough is actually better, which was the most concerning
thing.  So long as my lungs are clear I should be fine.  My headache is a little better too; it’s just this God-awful aching, sore throat and glands.  I’d swear I have the mumps if I didn’t already have them as a kid.”

Looking closely at her, I’m trying to decide if she’s being honest with me.  It’s true that she hasn’t coughed yet, and her breathing isn’t raspy like yesterday.  “Okay, but if you still aren’t getting better by tonight, I’m calling.  Deal?”

“Deal,” she agrees.  “I see you found the book.”  Taking it from me, she flips through the pages.  “I got this out Friday night.  I meant to give it to you yesterday.”

“Why?”  I’m transfixed by the fluttering paper,
like something’s going to spring out from them.  “What is it?”

“I don’t know.”  Looking at me, she seems to be debating something.  Her hands becoming still, she holds it back out to me.  “It’s from your Father.”

“Dad?”  Confusion engulfs me, along with several questions, as I take it back.  “I don’t understand.”

Sighing, Mom tucks several loose strands of hair behind her ear.  “Alex, the day of the…mugging, when your father was shot, he didn’t die right away.  You know that I was there with him. 
Well, after a short fight with the man who attacked me, he shot Adam in the chest.  It all happened so fast, I don’t even remember the guy running away or me screaming for help.”  Pausing, she takes several breaths and I think she must be fighting back tears.  But looking at her, I realize that while it’s obviously hard to talk about, she’s totally composed. She’s just winded from talking.

Coldness starts to spread from my stomach as I comprehend that she doesn’t seem upset at all.  I’ve never heard exactly what happened
.  It’s mainly due to the fact that normally, Mom can’t even discuss Dad without getting choked up.  Grandpa Fisher held me that night of the phone call (they were staying here with Jacob and me), telling me he’d been shot and killed while protecting Mom from a robber.  But that was all.  This is the first time that Mom has ever given me any details of that horrible day.

Looking at me now, her deep blue eyes are glazed with fever, but clear of any strong emotion.  I hold the book to my chest, a small shield between us.

“I held his head in my lap as he told me he loved all of us.  He knew he was going to die Alex, but still he took the time to tell me that the book was in his bag and I was to give it to you the day after the Holocene meteor shower.  He whispered something else, but I couldn’t hear him and then he was gone.  I’ve kept it ever since.  I have no idea what it is, but it must have been important to him.”  Pulling the covers up around her neck, she lies back in bed, seemingly exhausted by the conversation.

Staring at her, I look…no,
search
for any hint of the pain that I know has to be there.  Is she sicker than I realize?  Closing her eyes against my questioning gaze, she turns her back to me.  “Would you get me a pad of paper and pen please?  I don’t need a doctor, but I do need you to get me some stuff from the store.”

Stunned at the abrupt end to what should be a meaningful exchange, I stand up and back away from the bed, the book still clutched to me tightly.  “Sure Mom, I’ll be right back.  Um… thank you for the book and for telling me what happened.”  Her back still to me, she
remains silent.  I realize there are tears running down my cheeks and I wipe at them absently.  I open my mouth, wanting to say more, needing something but not knowing what.

The silence drags on, and it’s clear that she is done talking to me.  Drying my face, I turn and leave the room, telling myself that it’s because she’s sick.  That’s all it is.  When she’s feeling better she’ll hold me in her lap and we’ll have a good, healthy cry together.  Maybe we’ll talk more about that day and why he wanted me to have this book.  She’ll tell me it’s okay and that she’s here for me, like she always
is.  Right now though, I am feeling very alone.

A cold nose nudges my hand, and I realize I am sitting at the kitchen table, silently sobbing.  Baxter is at my side,
like he always is when I’m upset.  Looking down, I discover that I’ve gotten tears on the leather bound book, the dark stains spreading slowly.  This makes me cry even harder and I slip off the chair and onto the floor, burying my face in Baxter’s thick coat.

I’m not one to cry much
or to wallow in self-pity, so I’m embarrassed at my outburst and thankful for my silent, patient friend.  It doesn’t last long and as soon as I sit back and start wiping at my nose, Baxter is quick to assist in licking up my tears.  Smiling, I bat away his tongue and push him down so I can rub his tummy.  He loves that.

“Who’s a good dog?”
I ask him, scratching his sweet spot and making his leg kick.  “Who’s the best dog in the whole world?”  Writhing in delight he smiles a doggy smile, knowing that he, in fact, is the best dog in the whole world.

Taking a deep breath, I know I have to suck it up.  Now is
not the time for any breakdowns; even mini ones.  I have to take care of Mom and Jacob, and I can never let Jacob see me cry like that.  It would put him in a panic and I don’t think I can deal with anything else right now.

I find a pad and paper and take it in
to Mom.  She is still wrapped up in the blanket, watching some nature show on TV.  “Thanks Alex.”  Taking them from me she writes out a list and then hands it back.  “My wallet should be by the door. I think there’s some cash in there or else Mr. Jones should be okay letting you use my bank card.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back.”  Turning to go, I just can’t leave things this way.  “I love you Mom.”

“I love you too hon.” It was nice to hear her say it, but it falls flat and her attention never wandered from the television.  I quickly leave the room.

Writing out a note to say where I went, I drop it on the counter for Jacob in case he wakes up.  “Stay here Baxter, I’ll be right back.”  He looks at me, disappointed, but stays like I tell him too.

Grabbing the truck keys and Moms wallet, I head out to the garage.  Pausing in the doorway, I change my mind and go back inside.  For a reason I don’t understand, I take the book from the kitchen table and go back to my room.  Standing there, I look around until deciding on my closet.  I hide it in the very back, under an old stuffed bear.  Feeling strangely better, I leave for the store.

Standing in the health and medicine isle, I study what is left on the shelves.  Not much.  Several people share the narrow space with me, most of them coughing and looking almost as miserable as Mom.  Grabbing the last bag of cough drops, I drop it in my small basket where a few things are already piling up.

Looking again at the list, I snatch up the next-to-last bottle of Advil and then head to the paper products.  Time to stock up on tissue.

I can’t believe how many people are in the small store, and it seems that almost all of them are sick. 
Most of them look like Mom did on Saturday morning.  I have to admit, that in spite of my reassurance to Jacob yesterday, this is really starting to creep me out.

Cramming three big boxes of Kleenex in with the other items, I fail to notice
anyone walking up behind me, and jump when I hear my name. “Alex Mubarak, right?”

Spinning around, I find a guy I know from school
standing behind me.  I haven’t talked to him much lately though, since he’s a year ahead of me.  “Yeah, I’m Alex.  You’re Chris?”  He appears to be studying me, looking carefully first at the things in my basket and then back at my face. His dark eyes are intelligent and troubled.

Nodding, he points at the stuff I’m buying.  “You Sick?  You don’t look too bad.” 
It dawns on me that I’m still in the sweats I put on when I got up this morning.  My long dark hair is pulled back loosely in a scrunchie. I blush slightly; I don’t normally wear much make-up even on a good day, and this is definitely
not
a good day.  My eyes are probably still red from my cry session, completing my image of total chaos.

“Umm…no.  My mom is though.  I’m getting this for her.  You’re okay too?”

Holding up a pack of toilet paper, Chris grins.  “Totally healthy, just getting some essentials.”  Trying not to blush more, I can’t help but smile.  He smiles back, his bright teeth stark against his darker complexion.  The angular lines of his face give away his Native-American heritage and I remember that his dad is full Okanagan Indian, his mom half.  The thought takes me back to the first time we met; at a youth group three years ago.  Some of us were talking about our heritage and when I explained I got my unusually bright brown eyes due to being half Egyptian, Chris started calling me tiger eyes.  Ironically, it was the same nickname my Grandpa Fisher had for me since I was a small child, but for him it was because of the gemstone, not the animal.

After Dad died, Mom turned away from the church.  He had always been the one with the desire to seek out God and it seemed like his dying gave Mom all the proof she needed that he wasn’t a caring God.  I didn’t have the heart to argue with her, and so hadn’t been back.  I had good memories of my time in the teen group, even though I had only gone a few times.

“How’s your mom doing?” I ask him, avoiding comment on the toilet paper.

His demeanor chang
es drastically and he frowns at the ground.  “I don’t know, haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”  When I raise my eyebrows questioningly, he shrugs.  “She left and hasn’t come back.”

Not knowing what to say to that, I search for something intelligent to commen
t on, but draw a blank.  “Oh,” I mumble.  Well, that’ll impress him.

“Don’t you have a little brother?  Is he sick too?” 

Glad for the change of subject, I quickly jump on it.  “Jacob is his name, and no, he’s fine.  He told me yesterday though that his best friend and another boy from school are sick.  I think their parents were too.  My mom says it’s the flu but it sure is spreading really fast.”

We start to walk towards the front of the store, where
there’s a line at the register.  Most of them are sniffing and hacking.  I feel like I should have a mask on.  In fact, I notice someone else in line is actually wearing one.  Smart.

“I walked through town to get here,” Chris explains, looking down at me with that serious expression again.  “Not many people out.  I think most of them are either in bed, hiding or coming here for cold and flu stuff. 
I saw a few ambulances go by in the short time it took me to get here.  I think almost a third of the congregation at church was gone this morning and the rest are in various stages of this.  It’s all really strange.”

Wanting to ask him more about his mom, but not knowing how, I just nod in agreement.  I hate to think of him on his own.  His dad left them when he was
really young; he had been very open in sharing that at group.  It was just him and his mom here.  They don’t have any other family nearby.  I realize he’s almost an adult but it still seems wrong.  At least he’ll be graduating in a couple of months and so I guess then it won’t matter.

We haven’t had any classes together
this year and he’s with more of the football crowd while I’m in the keep-to-myself crowd.  He’s said hi to me in the hallway at school a few times, but otherwise this is the most we’ve said to each other in two years.  I am beginning to wish I had at least brushed my teeth and put on some jeans before running out the door.

“Wait a minute,” I say to him, his last comment finally sinking in.  “Did you say that a
third
of the people at church were gone and almost everyone else was sick?  How’s that even possible?”

“I really don’t know.  I’ve never heard of anything like this before.  I mean, not this many people so
fast
, plus It’s almost summer.  We don’t even usually get the flu around here this time of year.”

The lady standing in line ahead of us turns around, holding a tissue to her nose.  “My neighbor was taken to the hospital by ambulance this morning,” she tells us, her voice muffled.  “I heard that several people have even died.  The CDC is coming here to investigate.  It was on the news this morning; they’re calling it some sort of super flu.”  Turning back around to move forward, she begins to cough violently.  Everyone takes a few steps back from her and she finally regains her breath, but has to hold onto a display rack for balance.

Chris and I look at each other, the fear of everyone near us tangible.  I feel a sudden sense of urgency to get back home and check on Mom, feeling guilty now for judging her…she’s sick and needs my help.

The line inches forward and I grab some crossword puzzle books off the shelf as we pass by.  Mom loves to do these even though she’s never finished one.  It’ll be a good distraction for her.

“Alex, if your mom is okay tonight, you should come to our youth group.  I don’t know if we’re going to have it with everyone sick. I’ll have to call around and see how many can make it.  It’s usually at the church at seven.  Here’s my cell number, text me.”  Taking one of the Kleenex boxes from my basket, he writes his number on the side.

Not sure how to respond, I
mutter okay and take the box back from him.  It might be kinda nice to get back into something positive like that, but I’m not sure how Mom would react.  She’s been so opposed to anything churchy.  Maybe I’ll just go and not make an issue out of it.

It’s finally my turn at the check-o
ut counter and I find Mr. Joneses daughter there, her nose red and eyes puffy. 

In all the years I’ve been coming into the store, it’s never changed.  One big, long counter spans the front where the meat is located and the only register sits.  While other stores in town have been updated, this one remains timeless.  Either Mr. or Mrs. Jones
has always been behind the counter.  Always.  My feeling of unease increases as yet one more ‘wrong’ piles up with the others. 

“Is your dad sick too?”
I ask his daughter, Mrs. Stamos.  She is married to the Mayor and used to teach at the Elementary school when I was little.  I always liked her and I hate to see her so sick and upset.

“Very,” she answers quickly.  “Mom is in the hospital.  I’m waiting for someone to get here so I can go be with them.”  Taking a deep breath, she tells me the total and then
finally recognizes me.  “Oh…Alex.  I’m sorry hon.  This has been a very crazy day.  How is your family?”

Handing over the cash, I take the two bags from her.  “Jacob and I are fine but Mom is in bed.  I think she might be getting better though,
or at least her cough is.  I hope your parents are alright.  Let me know if I can help.”  Smiling weakly and nodding she turns her attention from me and on to Chris.

Dismissed, I back away feeling a bit lost.  I head for the exit but Chris catches up to me as we step outside.  “So text me, okay?
  It’d be nice to have you back,” he says, turning to walk down Main Street.

“Sure, I’ll see how things are when I get home.  Maybe I’ll see you tonight.
”  Waving goodbye to each other, I feel reassured that there is someone else I can talk to that seems unaffected by the flu.

When I get back home I find Jacob in the kitchen eating cheerios.  “Your phone’s been ringing,” he tells me in between bites.

Running back to my room, I finally find the phone under my pillow and check the history.  I missed three calls from Missy.  Maybe I should have texted her earlier after all.  Calling her back right away, I flop down on my unmade bed.  She answers before the second ring.  “Alex!  Why didn’t you answer?  I was so worried!”

Smiling at her exaggerated concern, I assure her that I’m alive and well.  “Why are you so freaked out?  Did you hear about the flu here?”

“Hear about it!  It’s all over the news Alex.  They’re calling it a super bug and its spreading fast.  They even said that it started in Washington State and is already in Oregon and Idaho.”

Normally, I’m someone that wants to know everything
, but I’m really wishing I could block it all out.  “Yeah, I just got back from the store and heard that the Center for Disease Control is coming to town and a bunch of people are in the hospital.  I ran into this guy from school there and I swear it seemed like we were the only two that weren’t sick.”

“What guy?”  Missy has a way of zeroing in on the important stuff.

We talk for over half an hour and I finally tell her I have to go after Mom starts calling for me.  I promise to call or text later and let her know how things are going.  Just before we hang up, I hear her sneeze.