Filaria (32 page)

“I would have loved my son,” he said. “I’m sure I would have, when the boy was older. But all he did was cry. And take Minnie sue’s attention.” Tran so looked into Reena’s eyes, searching them. “My boy never got a chance to get older. I want him to come
back
, Reena. I want to tell him . . .” He lowered his gaze. “I want him back.”

“The dead don’t come here,” Reena said impatiently. “If that’s what you’re looking for. Dead don’t come here and neither do gods.
People
live here. Regular people, like me. Living, breathing people.”

“He was just fourteen days old when Minnie sue got sick.”

“I’m going to keep looking for my friend now,” Reena said. “I wish you luck.”

Feeling heavy and cumbersome, Tran so Phengh stepped aside to let Reena pass. Telling her the story had not helped. He stumbled on, farther down the damp hallway. He would never find his way out of this place. What point did questions have? Quests?

Surely an infant understands that a father is tired and unsure?

The hall gently curved and, as he rounded the bend, he saw, for the third time, the trio of teenage boys. But they were no longer running. This time, they were hardly moving at all. One sat with his back against the wall while the other two knelt by him on either side. They did not notice Tran so approaching. The seated boy had his eyes closed, and glistened with sweat or was otherwise sheened, obviously in great pain. This understanding came as a shock, for Tran so realized he had come to associate the trio with harmless bumbling.

Directly across from the trio was an opened double door, revealing what appeared to be the foyer of a very large room. As Tran so got closer, he saw other boys inside, identical in dress and physique to the three (making Tran so wonder if the three were indeed the same boys he had previously met), moving about, bathed in a sick, green glow.

One of the kneeling boys turned. He must have heard Tran so. He stared for a second, eyes moist and wild. Then he exclaimed in a shaky voice, “Please, sir, stay away. It’s not safe here. You shouldn’t be in this area.”

They had a layer of thin, translucent material over their uniforms. Like a mirage, this gossamer layer also covered their faces and hands, making the boys almost impossible to focus on. They seemed like figments, or ghosts. Glimmering shadows flashed.

“Is he all right?” But Tran so Phengh knew that the seated boy was not all right. Not at all.

The other two were administering a remedy of some sort: in their hands they clasped a small tube, as if it were a prayer card. A third tube dangled from the ill teen’s neck to a tiny box on the floor, tethered to it by a thin and pulsing cord.

“Can I help?”

The nearest boy turned again. “Leave here. Please. It’s not safe for guests here. There’s been a calamity. You should not be here.”

Tran so Phengh looked into the large room now, drawn to it. The area appeared to be even bigger than he had thought possible, as if space itself was distorted. The ceiling was hidden in a greenish haze. And the other boys — there were at least ten — were busy swarming the façade of a massive device that also vanished up into the same haze. Though they tinkered with the strange unit, none moved with any authority, and even as Tran so watched, they appeared to be slowing down, as if unwinding, their movements growing less and less certain.

Liquid pooled on the floor, which sank to a low point around the base of the device. More liquid dripped slowly from pipes overhead. The glow that Tran so saw in the room appeared to be rising up from the puddles themselves —

“Is that thing the network?” he whispered. “Is that the network, in there?”

“The network? Of course not,” one of the boys answered curtly. “The network has been destroyed. In there is another disaster. A full meltdown.”

Tran so took a step closer. The glow made him feel hot. The hairs on his arms were standing up. He shielded his eyes and took another step toward the door.

“Breeder,” the sick boy hissed, opening his eyes and startling Tran so. “Are you a fucking idiot? Leave here! Get lost! You shouldn’t be here unless you’re made to
die
here. You think we were lied to? Oh, they fucking lied to us, all right.”

“Already,” one of the kneeling boys said, “you’ll need medical attention. Don’t even look in there.”

“Is your friend going to be all right?” Tran so asked. “Maybe I can help you.”

“Friend?” Under the membrane, there were tears on the smooth cheeks. “He’s not my friend,
per se
. Now go. Please.”

Tran so Phengh stood, useless, for a few seconds. A score of tiny flying animals, no bigger than the end joint of his thumb, came from nowhere to circle madly about his head, bumping into him gently before flying past, into the room, directly into the greenish light. As he watched, the animals fell, one by one, dead, to the wet floor.

He walked on.

Bodies, farther down the hall. Under the blisters and seeping buboes, the dead all had the identical features and stature of the boys he had deserted. One had apparently been tearing at his uniform and membranous cover, perhaps trying to breathe or otherwise reduce the pain he clearly must have felt as he died; the skin on the exposed chest was white and hairless. Like that of a child. Also exposed was an immature groin, the tiny testicles and penis of an infant. Of a newborn.

Tran so Phengh knelt, pulling the uniform back into place. He did not know what else to do. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry . . .”

Adjacent to the body, an abandoned device, a tiny box, similar in appearance to the one he had seen being used on the dying teen.
Medicine
.

Tran so picked up the artifact. He would bring the medicine to the Hoff, to Minnie Sue.

Several more corpses, steaming in the cool hallway.

The lights flickered.

Looking back, he saw the glow, bathing the hall, but could no longer see the youths.

Further on, a junction; he turned.

A tube entrance, an elevator waiting.

He stepped inside.

Clutching the device, he went up.

Brent Hayward was born in London, England and raised in Montreal. His short fiction has appeared in several publications.
Filaria
is his first novel. Currently, he lives in Rzeszow, Poland, with his wife and two children.