Human (23 page)

He pocketed the lighter with a scowl. At least he didn’t have to eat raw.

Neil turned his mind briefly to his ex-wife. They rarely spoke these days, so Francine wouldn’t have missed him. She’d grown distant years ago, resenting his travel and work commitments after her unplanned pregnancy. He’d never wanted kids, she’d known that.

She’d changed though, as women always do, when it happens. And she’d tried to change him too. It was Francine who had engraved the boy’s name on his lighter, as a constant reminder. But the kid, well…. it was bad timing really, when Neil was at such a crucial stage of his career. He refused to throw it all away to settle down and play Daddy. His own father had had little time for him as a boy. You suck it up, become a man. Life goes on.

A phantom scent of disinfectant thrust the child back into his memory.
Maybe life doesn’t go on.
Anger flared again in his chest.
There’s nothing I can do.
Francine already martyred herself by the hospital bed. He wasn’t needed. He pushed the memory back under.

For years now, Francine had found comfort elsewhere. It made no difference to him. He’d been left with empty rooms, which had held little of his love to begin with. Whether she had been aware or not of his frequent indiscretions during their marriage mattered little to him. It was only now that he was lost in this green shithole, that Neil wished that she would notice him gone, and show interest enough to do something about it.

Surely Cassandra and Dimitri, as useless as they are, have reported me missing. They knew I was heading to the university. They knew what was at stake. If they ever want to work again, they’d better be raising hell.

Great, my last cigarette. Fucking bastards.
Neil threw the empty packet into the trees angrily. His black Armani suit was covered in filth with the jacket wrapped around his waist in the stifling air. His tie had become an effective sling for his dislocated shoulder during the first two days, but now it was screwed up in his pocket.

Neil pulled his mobile phone from his back pocket and turned it on. The battery was precious so he used it sparingly. There was still no reception which simply confirmed that he really
was
in the middle of nowhere. Worse, the GPS signal was non-existent. This bothered him more. The energy field must have peaked by now.
So, they’ve taken out the satellites.

Neil flicked the screen with his finger, avoiding the cracked glass along the top. The only useful operation left was the virtual compass programmed into the software. The image of a needle swung across the screen, locating magnetic north.
She’s still heading North-East.
With a sharp stick he scratched a deep arrow into the nearest tree face. If he had to, he knew he could get back to where he started.

Many years ago, Neil had dedicated his leisure time to rogaining. Ironically, it all had started at The University of Melbourne during his own time there as an undergraduate. His interest in navigation had led him to the University Mountaineering club which had recently developed a new sport based on cross-country navigation. Long distance challenges were set each full moon, with contenders racing each other in small teams to visit checkpoints with the intent of maximising their team score. Endurance was a key factor in the long distances and high mountainous peaks traversed, and as the new sport gained popularity, Neil’s competitive streak soared. The annual championships became too easy. Neil pushed harder, exhilarating in the mental and physical challenge of outstripping the competition. Over the years Neil’s team members had dropped off, unwilling to push their limits. Eventually it was just him, navigating even by stars once daylight succumbed. He preferred victory alone anyway, man against nature.

Nearing sixty years old now, those days were a distant memory. Neil's body had become soft and slow. He grunted in disgust and pushed himself harder, ignoring the burning of his shoulder and the pounding in his head.

I need a drink.
Neil thrust his trembling hand back into his pocket and found the silver lighter. Once more, he began spinning it slowly between his fingers as he walked.

Another hour passed. Then another. As the light in the forest dimmed, Neil watched the floor more closely. The woman’s tracks were getting harder to find and soon he would have to stop for the night.
I should start looking for something to eat. Another rat maybe.
Last night he’d sat still for four hours waiting for something to scurry close enough to kill. He’d seen those documentaries about surviving in the wild. They made it look easy; after all, it was instinctual wasn’t it? Catch an animal. Eat it. Survive.

But it wasn’t easy. Neil’s shoulder had stiffened painfully and only defiance had kept him sitting there, waiting for hours in the dark. But he’d succeeded.

Keeping a fire going long enough to cook the rat had taken another hour. Afterwards, the insomnia and increasing anxiety caused by alcohol withdrawal kept him shaking all night, sweating profusely in the chill night air, his eyes darting wildly with each noise. But he’d survived.

Neil kept his pointed stick in his belt. He re-sharpened the tip with a broken stone as he walked.

Something isn't right.
Neil knelt in the fading light, intently focused on the forest floor. The woman’s footprints had been getting heavier and sinking deeper into the mud as he progressed.
Was she running?
Footprints were stamped haphazardly into the soft base of a ladder like tree
. Back, forth, left, right, back, left, right.
Something had happened here. The leaves had been swept away with movement, revealing a dark muddy soil.
Round marks – knee prints?
And what were these marks, like human hand prints but smaller and elongated with a long palm and the thumb shifted too far down the side.
Not human.
He thought back to his last memory of the redhead in the lab. She had been carrying a monkey, hadn’t she?
The bloody monkey was here too?

On his hands and knees Neil traced the patterns with his fingertips. The woman had been facing west, butted up against the base of tree, fallen to her knees. A slice in the mud drew his eye.
Her stick.
The stripped walking stick still lay in the muddy leaves. He picked it up, twirling it in his hands. Blood was smeared on the top end where she’d held it in her fist. It was smoother there. She must have gripped it tight.

Neil surveyed the area. It was almost too dark to see now. If she had found a new stick to lean on, he’d never know; the forest was full of them
. But why would she?
Neil ran his fingers up the shaft; there was no sign of weakness. If it had been left by accident, then the redhead must have been severely distracted. Telltale holes in the soil suggested she’d leaned on it heavily so she must have needed it.

And then Neil saw it.

A single footprint, facing hers in the patch of mud. Barefooted and small, even smaller than hers.
A kid?
His eyes followed Ivy’s path, disappearing North East into the surrounding trees. It was too dark to follow now; he’d have to wait out the night.
But tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll find her and she’ll tell me the truth. Whatever it takes.

Neil rested back against the ladder tree surrounded by Ivy’s footprints. He rubbed his thighs in agitation and drew his fingers through his thinning hair.

Somewhere, despite the insanity of his predicament, the answers would be there. Neil silently inventoried what facts he knew.

She left me there, mangled and unconscious in the filth. She left me for dead.
His fingers twitched.
She went into that lab for a reason, so she must know something. If she knew what they were doing with that energy mutation, then she was either a liability to them like me, or an ally.
Bitterness coiled in his chest.
Either way, I’ll make her talk.

Neil glimpsed a minute shifting of the muddy leaves beside him.
Flick. Stab.
A small marsupial caught the sharp end of his spear. He grinned, leaning back.

Survival of the fittest.

They had resolved that the anomaly was restricted to their lab. But that was where certainty began and ended. The cause of the electromagnetic explosion eluded them, as did their ability to predict whether it might happen again. With over three hundred staff in the Physics building alone, Orrin couldn't take that risk. If there was any recurrence or escalation in severity of the incident, the consequences could be devastating. For hours, the three men worked in near silence, running scans and tearing through endless lines of code.

“Lads?” Orrin pushed back from his monitor, fighting panic.

Dale moved across to him immediately, but Phil merely raised an eyebrow.

“I've just run a data comparison on magnetospheric fluctuations for the last year against the records from THEMIS,” said Orrin hesitantly.

Phil nodded expectantly. The THEMIS mission by NASA had been established to gather multi-satellite data on space weather events, in particular, the origins of substorms that could affect Earth. Magnetospheric fluctuations were measured by five orbiting satellites which relayed the data for analysis to multiple highly regarded institutions. Monitoring these data changes in electromagnetic radiation had been fundamental to the calculations that had led Orrin to the devastating conclusion that Earth's magnetosphere was incrementally weakening.

“And?” said Phil, waiting.

“And… there's got to be some sort of mistake in their data records.”

“Whose records?”

“NASA.”

Phil dismissed the notion with a soft laugh. “Don't be ridiculous, O.”

Reading the monitor from behind Orrin's shoulder, Dale let out a soft curse.

“That can't be right?” He looked to Orrin for reassurance.

“Of course it’s not right.” Orrin's voice cracked. “If this data was correct, then our magnetosphere would be in critical flux. Our electrical grids and satellites would be on the brink of breaking down. Hell, the highest altitudes of the earth would already be experiencing enough solar radiation to destroy biological organisms. It would only be a matter of time…”

Phil offered a grim smile. “The Himalayas are feeling it. Still, that's why we're doing all this right? Searching for answers.” He turned back to his screen and continued his analysis.

“What?!” Orrin demanded. “Phil, wait, are you saying these figures are correct?”

Phil turned back, confused. “Of course they are. You know that.”

“Bollocks I do! Our predictions didn't bring Earth under this intensity of solar radiation for hundreds of years,” Orrin replied. “With these measurements, the atmosphere could heat high altitudes critically within the next six months! Maybe even less.”

“Chill, dude,” said Phil, “How is any of this a surprise to you? We've been looking at this data for months. Why are you saying you suddenly don't believe it?”

“This data is wrong, Phil, wrong!” Orrin exclaimed. “I've never seen measurements like these. I have the figures we analysed only last week on my laptop. The correct ones, from the same source.” Orrin disappeared into his office, returning with the laptop. “Dale and I were running analyses on it for the new experiments when this whole mess happened.” Sure enough, Orrin pulled up an identical file name and displayed its content side by side with the NASA report.

“It's not even close,” said Orrin. “Last week the readings were stable, relatively at least, but this - this is critical! Christ Phil, it has to be a mistake!”

Phil scowled. “What the hell is wrong with you Orrin? That data is why we're on the payroll; to figure out how to stop the fluctuations from getting worse. Why on earth do you think we've been doing these experiments? For fun? Because, if it is for fun, I know some girls that are way more fun than you two.” He swivelled back in his chair.

“Phil! How can you be so nonchalant about this?” Orrin yelled, spinning the back of Phil’s chair to face him. “If this really is the right data, I'm telling you the radiation could reach critical levels within six months!”

“And I'm telling you this is not new information to me,” Phil spat back. “Get a bloody grip, man!” Phil picked up his wallet. “I need a breather.” He left the room.

Dale excused himself nervously and left for lunch as well. For the next hour, Orrin tried to find some way of reconciling the devastating discrepancy. He was convinced the new measurements from NASA were a mistake but those saved on his laptop seemed to be the only record of an alternate truth. Orrin was almost glad for it. It took his mind off Ivy and his inability to find her. She still hadn't called and he was starting to think that perhaps Ivy didn't want to be found.

Completing a new analysis, Orrin once again came up empty-handed. Stretching back in his roller chair, he rubbed his tired eyes under his glasses as Phil and Dale re-entered. Dale was carrying a wrapped sandwich and a coke under one arm and a bag of doughnuts under the other, the former two of which he passed to Orrin.

“Here, you're falling asleep.”

“Thanks, Dale.” Orrin ate the sandwich, not realising how hungry he was until he had something to fill him.