Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever (14 page)

The nurse led her through another set of heavy doors, swiping another card through a reader, typing something, then pressing her thumb on a glass sensor.
Lots of security.

The heavy glass door opened. A tall, thin man with grey hair and a goatee gave Lucia a faint smile and opened the door wide. “Ms. Winter. I’m Dr. Andrews. Marcia notified me. Please, come in.”

He stepped inside and around a desk laden with papers and books. He walked to the other end of the long room and opened another glass door.

Hadn’t he understood her? “I was told to go to room 187—”

“That’s the code number for the project.” His voice floated back to her as they entered a dimly lit corridor.

“Those papers I need to sign—”

“They will be brought up shortly.” He walked on and she rushed to catch up. “Do you like children, Ms. Winter?”

Her chest tightened again. “Yes.” She would skin Freddy,
then
fry him in hot oil.
Bastard
.
“Where are we going?”

He stopped before a glass pane. “Zeph isn’t exactly likable.”

Right
.
She should turn around and leave. But she hesitated. Maybe just one question, and then she’d go. “Why do you call him an angel? Is he winged or something?” She’d been wondering about that, how different he would be, in what ways. It could be some genetic deviation, maybe due to interbreeding.

Dr. Andrews touched a spot on the panel, activating a window of transparent glass. He peered inside, and his hand hovered next to his face. “You are aware that humans and chimpanzees share 99 percent of their DNA.” He didn’t wait for her acknowledgment, which was annoying. “With this being, this angel, we share even more. He isn’t an abnormal human, if that’s what you’re thinking. He simply belongs to a different branch of the human family.”

A thrill went through her.
“Another branch of modern humans?
That would make huge headlines. Why say he’s an angel then? Why not tell the truth?”

“Ms. Winter, his DNA has certain … particularities.”

“Particularities.
Like what?”

“I don’t know if you’d believe me.”

She shook her head, losing patience. “Listen, I wish you luck with your research, but I’ve got precious little time. Where are the papers? What are we doing here?”

He threw her a sidelong glance, a sheepish grin on his face. “Ms. Winter, Zeph is … difficult.”

“Many children are.” But she didn’t turn to go. She nodded at the window. “Is he in there?”

“Yes.”

Damn it
. “I knew it.” Still, she didn’t move to leave.

He turned his attention back to the window. “Zeph isn’t like other children.”

“What’s his problem then?”

“He hasn’t become attached to any of his caretakers. Not even to me.” He sounded wistful.
Interesting
.
It looked like he’d come to care for the boy. “He never speaks. He’s clever and learns fast, but—”

“Not deaf, I assume.”

“No.”

“Autistic?”

He shook his head.

“Atypical autism then?
Some syndrome or other?”
Sam had some of the symptoms. They’d thought…

“Unlikely. Mild depression was the diagnosis.” Dr. Andrews stroked his goatee. “Certain of his genes have led us to consider that perhaps Zeph’s kind can recognize DNA from the same genetic pool — their relatives — through smell or some other sense we haven’t yet identified. It appears he just realized that there’s nobody around that he can call family. He realized he’s alone.”

God
.
“What are you going to do? He’s the only one of his kind, isn’t he?”

“That is correct.” Dr. Andrews rubbed a hand over his face. “Ms. Winter, meet Zeph.” He motioned her to the window.

The little boy sat on the floor of a large room with colorful paintings on the walls. His chequered shirt was wrinkled and clashed with his plain brown shorts.

She blinked, her body paralyzed. His hair was a pure white, cut short and spiky. He held a small book in one hand, and rubbed his hip with the other as he knelt in the middle of the room. The harsh light of overhead lamps cast his small face in serious lines, and his lashes cast long shadows on his rounded cheeks.

Six
.
He was as old as Sam would be.
As young as Sam was.

Damn her curiosity, damn her for staying. She knew she had to get out of there before she began to weep. She trailed her fingers on the glass.

The boy raised his head and looked straight at her. His eyes were dark and intense, his mouth a small, soft circle. God, he looked so much like Sam — his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, the straight brows. “He’s just —” Her voice cracked.
“Just a normal kid.”

“With all due respect, Ms. Winter,” Dr. Andrews shoved his hands into his pockets, and chewed on his lower lip, “he surely isn’t. Appearances can be deceiving.”

She leaned her forehead on the cool glass, feeling the floor tilt. The boy never moved. “Can he see us through the glass?”

“No.”

She swallowed hard, licked her lips,
tasted
her waxy lipstick. “What makes him different?”

“Many of his major bones are hollow with criss-crossing trusses. It gives him a light skeleton, like that of gliding birds.” He raised one hand to rub his forehead.
“More fragile, true, but lightweight.
And he has air sacs.”

“Like a bird?” She wanted to laugh but the boy’s strangely serious gaze sent chills down her back.

“Yes. Air sacs,” he made a circular gesture, “in his chest.
Makes for very effective breathing.
They function like bellows, and they store air as well. Birds have them as well.”

Mind going in circles, she returned her gaze to the glass, and gasped. She took a wobbly step back. The boy stood so close to her, only the glass pane separating them. When had he risen and walked there? That had been damn fast. She lowered herself, sitting on her heels. His rapid breathing fogged a perfect circle between them. “What is he doing?”

“He has probably sensed us.”

She took a deep breath. “Isn’t the room sealed?”

“Yes, it is. Yet he always knows when someone is watching him.”

She shivered and pressed her hand against the glass. “So these traits he has, these bird features, serve some purpose?”

“Well, we think that his race lived in an isolated community up on Mount Sahand of Iran, one of the highest places in the world. Their light skeletons and augmented lungs allowed them to run upslope when hunting, in the thin air, and, using mantles fitted with the wing bones of black vultures, to air glide from slope to slope. They must have been revered like gods.”

She shook her head. “You’re just speculating.”

“We found such wings in the tombs. Feathers of silver were sewn on some of them, probably for ceremonial purposes. It’s possible.”

She thought about the image. “From afar, high up on the mountain slopes, dressed in these silver wings, they must have been blinding.”

“Indeed.”

Angels.
The rise of a legend
.
Lucia shivered, bowed her head, and glanced up again.

The boy stood in the room, looking up,
face
intense as if listening.

An angel.
A messenger, so the name went.

“What will you do with him?” she whispered.

“Examine him more. He’s got some interesting abilities. His clavicles have dorsal protrusions, which have been developing. The possibility of growing real wings, even if they’re vestigial, is ever present. And some of the samples have shown promising implications for the cure of a number of immunity-related diseases.”

Wings.
Samples.
Needles and pain
.

“In any case,” she swallowed hard, remembering how it hurt to have Sam undergo any painful treatment, “this is no life for a child.”

His face darkened, his fingers scrabbled against the glass. “It’s not up to me. He has no rights. Technically he isn’t human. We’re still fighting this out in court. Ms. Winter, we did our best to give him a family here, at the institute. But he doesn’t seem to pay us any attention.”

The sadness pulsing in his voice touched her. He wanted Zeph to be happy, and she liked him for it
. And yet —
“You brought Zeph to this world. And you can’t protect him.
Can’t save him from pain and depression.”

“Can parents always save their children, Ms. Winter?”

She flinched. “That was low.”

But it was the ugly truth. She’d been unable to protect, to save, Sam.

Dr. Andrews looked away.

The nurse appeared, coming toward them.
“The papers, Ms. Winter.”

Lucia took the papers and the pen. As the nurse turned to go, she started after her, but the boy’s face drew her back to the glass. She shifted on her high heels to better watch the serious, boyish face, upturned, eyes closed, as though listening to music.

She had failed Sam. Could she help Zeph? Fred thought she might be able to.

She knew she should just walk away, call Freddy to send him to hell, and go home.

But, instead, she handed the papers to Dr. Andrews, and said, “Could you hold them for me? I would like to meet Zeph.”

Dr. Andrews tucked the papers under an armpit, gave a faint smile, and entered a code on the panel. The door slid open with a hiss. Lucia stepped inside, heart racing.

~~~

“Zeph?”
Her pulse roared in her ears and her palms sweated as though she were facing a monster or a wild animal, someone dangerous, about to hurt her or eat her up.
Ridiculous
.
He was just a little boy. She wet her lips.
“Hi, Zeph.
I’m Lucia.”

He cocked his face sideways, like a bird, regarding her with his dark eyes. The movement unsettled her more, thinking of what Dr. Andrews had said about the hollow bones and the air sacs.

His chubby hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, pale against the khaki shorts. His legs were strong for a child his age, muscles showing in his calves. He didn’t move when she took a few steps toward him, only lifted his head to look up at her, to keep the eye contact.

A brave kid
.

She knelt before him. His pale skin looked marshmallow soft, his cheeks still plump like a baby’s, his white hair silken and shiny, curling a little at the temples. He was so little. His size made her eyes sting. He could fit perfectly in the circle of her arms, against her breast, as if he belonged there.
Sam, Sam
. Her heart lurched.
Sam, is it you?

She squared her shoulders.
Not Sam.
A strange, mutant being.

Lucia swallowed hard.
“So, Zeph.
What do you do in here all day?” She glanced around. A few toys were strewn on the carpet: a toy railway with a red train and a stuffed teddy. “Playing, right?” A green stain marred the wet-looking wall. Hadn’t the nurse said something about that? About Zeph throwing his food against the wall? “Do you like games?”

He shook his head, dark gaze fixed on her, mouth pressed small
.
Suspicious of me, huh?
His large eyes never left hers. Could he tell she was upset? She tried to relax, and laid her hands palms down on the floor.

“Do you play with toy cars? Most boys like cars.
Race cars.”
Though you aren’t most boys, are you?
“Where are your cars?”

He reached into his pocket, took out a tiny wooden object, shaped like a race car, painted green. He hesitated, raised his chin, and offered it to her on the rounded palm of his hand.

The corners of her mouth tugged, and she smiled. Her gaze cleared, and the grey, gloomy veil lifted for a moment, leaving it its wake bright colors and possibilities, laid out before her like the map of a world without end.

She picked up the toy car, placed it on the floor and rolled it back to him.

He watched it pass, body still, only his eyes moving. His gaze flicked to her and back to the toy.

“Roll it back to me.” She beckoned. “Come on, Zeph.”

He sat on his heels, picked the toy car up, eyes on her face — a deep, knowing gaze.

“Come here, Zeph.”

Again he shook his head. His breathing changed, coming faster, like he was afraid.
Afraid of her?

“What’s wrong, baby?”
Like she had called Sam.
God.
Stop it
. She shook. Still, she couldn’t leave, not yet. “Come here. I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes,” he said.

“What?” She wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined the tiny voice. “What did you just say?”

“Yes, you will.” His voice rasped like small pebbles rattling down a slope.