The Fall Page 3

  “Yes, Justin? What’s going on?” Jessica asked, her voice sounding rushed. She was anxious to escape this meaningless encounter before she broke down in tears.

  Justin’s eyes darted around the room, then he leaned in. “Hey, Dr. K, my team and I heard about your research. It took us a little bit of time to verify… Well, a lot of time, because a few of my guys are out. The sugar flu got to their kids.”

  “I hope they’re okay,” Jessica said. “Pretty scary stuff, spreading like wildfire. So, what’s up, Justin? Did you want to talk about the research? If so, you might want to speak with Bryan—”

  “I overheard that one of Delilah’s kids has it as well. See how much she cares, parading around the conference room dressed like a reformed hooker.”

  Jessica looked at Justin uncertainly. He stared at her straight-faced. She tried to remain professional but accidently let a giggle escape. Covering her mouth quickly, she looked away. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to my research.”

  Justin inched in even closer. “It’s a sentiment of her character. Don’t worry about her. Kenny was going to get rid of her. She’s a fraud, and she lied on her resume and her references. She’s not from NASA. I have no idea where she’s from. It’s like she popped out of a black hole.”

  Jessica’s heart sank. She always knew something was strange about Delilah. During planning meetings, she never seemed to fully participate. Jessica always thought it was because she didn’t think it was worth her time. She could never have imagined she was an imposter. “Tell me more,” she said quietly.

  “We make up stuff, and she doesn’t even know it. Not published work, just conversational. For fun.” He stopped for a moment, as if he’d heard something, then looked back at Jessica. “We actually have a joke in the lab where we interchange the names of stars and she doesn’t even notice. Well, not me, the guys, but you get it. Really, she just takes the work we do and presents it. Barely even reads it.”

  Jessica rubbed the back of her neck. “And SPERANTIS-1b? Is that your doing? Does David know? Maybe I could put her on the spot and then get the Caprice?”

  Justin began to fidget, something he was known for in their department. He was one of the most intelligent members on Delilah’s team, maybe even the company, but he could never sit still. People thought of him as an eccentric genius, but Jessica still hadn’t forgotten about the time he researched her on the internet and then tried to hold a conversation regarding how well she could knit, which made her feel violated and uncomfortable. It made her keep her distance from him, and now she wished she hadn’t. Maybe she would have known about Delilah a lot sooner.

  Justin sighed. “Oh, he knows about her. He doesn’t care. And you’ll never get the Caprice. SPERANTIS-1b isn’t ideal, but it’s the closest we could get to something habitable in this timeframe. It’s kind of our backup plan until we can find something better.”

  “Well, then,” Jessica said as she grabbed her bag. “I’m glad you believed in our research. We should work together more often.”

  “Wait,” Justin whispered, grabbing her arm. “I have another way. I believe in what you’re doing. Actually, we all believe, my team does. What you found could be a signal specifically for us. Or even a cry for help. We need to check it out. Time is of the essence. The signals are getting closer, and that could mean something.” In his nervousness, Justin pulled a pen from his front pocket and began flicking the cap repeatedly until it snapped off and struck Jessica’s side.

  Jessica flinched and rolled her eyes. She placed the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Working with the Collaboration has been denied.”

  Justin twirled the pen around between his fingers. “I heard, but I’m not talking about that. The Pitch.”

  Jessica stopped at that. “It can be put back into commission?”

  Justin nodded eagerly. “And I know who can get us access.”

  – 3 –

  Insidia

  Houston, Texas

  Donald pressed and held the tilde on his mechanical keyboard. Speaking into the microphone of his bright-green gaming headset, he began the weekly meeting. “Okay, guys, this is meeting three hundred and forty-eight. We have a low turnout tonight, which is disappointing. Looks like we won’t have a guild event, then. Does anyone know where the social officers are?” Donald slowly released the tilde to mute his microphone, which made a loud clacking noise, almost as if he were on a typewriter.

  “Hey, Sanguineth. Hey, guys, Ameerah here, filling in for Bubbles. His kids are sick with the sugar flu. But…he gave me some topics that he would like to discuss. Recruitment is up, and there was one instance of someone missing a raid that they signed up for. Their punishment was a hundred gold and an officer haiku, due to it being a first offense. They have paid in full. Hungrybear left the guild, said he was looking for quicker progression. We all doubt he will be missed. Goodbye, internet stranger. That’s about it. It’s a light week in game.”

  Sanguineth pressed the tilde back down. “Thanks for the update, Ameerah. Is the guildie with the haiku punishment present?”

  “Yes, Guild Master Sanguineth,” Wendysfries responded over the voice over IP.

  “Well, let’s hear it.”

  Wendysfries cleared his throat and recited his haiku, his voice indicating he was thoroughly embarrassed.

  “He needs a quick heal

  His health is dropping fast now

  Well, he died again.”

  The voice chat erupted in laughter until Sanguineth was able to break through. “You really have captured me in that haiku, Wendysfries. Next time will not be so easy. Tread carefully. Your mark of disgrace has been removed.”

  Sanguineth attempted to control the ball of laughter circling his gut. “Let this be a lesson. If you commit to an event, you must attend. Now, in other news, I expect us to have an even lower turnout this week from our Texas friends. I’m not sure if you all have been watching the news or not, but it’s getting rough out there. The pharmacies here in Houston are running low on meds, and there are lines and lines of people camped out in front of stores waiting for the resupply.

  “For those of you not in Houston, count yourself lucky. The best thing that we can do as this illness passes around is to stay inside and out of the way. And since we are all staying inside, that gives us plenty of time to farm, farm, farm. Come on, guys, get out there and get us some honorable kills this week. And as a reminder, only kill players the same level as you, no killing lowbies. We are not that kind of guild. The player with the most kills will win one month of free game time. There you go, guys, and that concludes tonight’s meeting—short and sweet.”

  Donald removed his headset and gently laid it on his desk next to his mouse. He was notorious for breaking headsets, and although he was easily able to replace them, he was a minimalist and taped them back together until they were so cracked that no amount of tape could save them. He would still have had his old beat-up one that was held together with nearly an entire roll of electrical tape if his girlfriend, Missy, the best healer in the guild, hadn’t surprised him with this new one. Because it was a gift from her, he took extra care to preserve it.

  They had been playing together for nearly six years, and with a tank and healer relationship, with him as the tank in their massive multiplayer online game, they were bound to grow close over countless late nights. After months of phone conversations, they agreed to meet in person. And when he saw her, he knew he couldn’t live without her. There was a spark in her that he couldn’t resist. A bright light that cleared the darkness that often lingered inside him.

  Don descended the stairs to the office on the main floor of his house. The door was slightly open, but not wanting to intrude, he gently knocked on the doorframe. The office, once his, now housed his companion. When she moved in, he’d seen how her eyes lit up when she saw the room. After lots of convincing, she finally caved and took the office for herself. He knew she felt guilty for having it, but he only wanted her to be co
mfortable. But as he looked inside the office, he couldn’t help but feel envious. There was a full wall of built-in bookshelves and a bench below large windows, with a blue cushion that he used to sometimes lie on while reading.

  “Should I order the pizza, or did you already? Also, I picked up some M&Ms and some of those disgusting Twizzlers you like.”

  Missy pulled her headset down and let it wrap around the nape of her neck. “Veggie with a garlic crust, olives, onions, and tomatoes on its way—will be here in twenty. And for you, my dear, I take your Twizzlers and raise you this bag of supplies. Only the best for our fearless leader, Sanguineth.” Missy tossed a small brown paper lunch bag at Don, which he clumsily caught.

  He peeked inside the bag, then rolled it back up. “I love you, Ameerah.”

  Missy smiled and put her headset back on. “I love you too. Now, it’s Fun Friday. You’re wasting time here. Get in game, and let’s get a battleground in before the pizza arrives. Farm, farm, farm, remember? The few kids I have left drove me up the wall today, and I need to get rid of some of this frustration.”

  Don hesitated. He wasn’t in the mood to play video games tonight, especially with the low turnout of guild members, but this was their designated game night, the night he usually looked forward to. He would do what made Missy happy. In keeping with tradition, Don walked back to his office with his paper bag of neatly rolled joints, ready to smoke the night away.

  *

  Missy and Don sat at the dining table, enjoying their pizza in silence. It was rare that they ate together on Fun Friday, but the game world was slow today, and no one seemed too interested in doing anything game-related. They only wanted to talk about the illness, how it seemed to only affect children. They told stories of people fighting over Insidia, a medication in low supply that seemed to delay the illness.

  Don didn’t know much about Insidia other than the little bit of information he heard on the news or from friends in his guild. He knew it was the go-to drug when children became immune to glucagon shots, if they didn’t die beforehand or miraculously improve. He also knew that production couldn’t keep up with demand, and as soon as new shipments arrived at stores, they were immediately purchased by desperate parents. The same parents who had to obtain prescriptions for the medications, which in itself was a grueling effort. The timing of the dosage was critical too. It had to be glucagon first, to save those who could be saved. And then Insidia, which brought its own set of side effects and risks. There was no cure; the medications were only meant to delay the progression of the illness.

  Missy picked the olives off her slice of pizza. Don could tell she was bothered, as she neatly stacked them on her plate. As an elementary teacher, she had seen firsthand how the illness affected children. It weighed heavily on her mind. She didn’t like to talk about it, but he knew the past week had been incredibly taxing. After setting her pizza down, tired of picking at it, she looked up at Don. “So, what do you think the sugar flu really is?”

  Don took another bite and thought of the best way to answer this question. He found himself in this situation often, where he felt a need to protect her. Missy’s heart might as well have been an egg, delicate and easily broken. Even the slightest bit of worry could crack it, and she would fall ill. Years ago, after she read an article about rhino poaching that left her lethargic and depressed for days, they’d made a pact that Missy would never watch or read the news. Those days had an even greater impact on Don, who wanted nothing more than for Missy to be happy. She was his whole life, and he never wanted anything to happen to her.

  He took a sip of wine and thought for a moment. “I’m not sure, but I heard through a guildie that Insidia will be mass-produced soon. Your students will get better and will be back in class maybe as early as next week, eating glue and whatever else kids enjoy doing. And you’ll be happy and hanging out with that pixie at work, whatever her name is…”

  “Mary,” Missy said, rolling her eyes.

  “Yeah, Mary. And it’ll be like nothing happened. People get sick, and then people get better, and you sitting around fretting over it will not help anyone or anything.” Don opened the brown paper bag and pulled out a joint. “It’s Fun Friday. Let’s just enjoy our weekend.”

  “I know what’s happening. Don’t sugarcoat it. One of Mary’s students died the other day, one of the first at the school. The other parents were so scared, most of them took their kids out of school. Now Greenwood’s closed until further notice. Except…” She paused for a moment.

  “Except for what?”

  Missy fidgeted in her chair and took a sip of wine, her lips now stained purple after devouring an entire bottle of merlot. “Joyce phoned me earlier. Ms. B is calling us to the school tomorrow. The hospitals are full, so a few schools in the area are being used as temporary relief centers.”

  Don couldn’t look at Missy. He didn’t want her to be away. He needed to keep her home, to keep her safe. He couldn’t stop thinking about the lines of anxious parents waiting to get medicine for their children.

  There had been talk of this new illness over the past six days, but when the CDC announced it was still researching the cause and treatment this morning, many people started to panic, even amidst their warnings against it. Fighting in the lines had been televised—over who was there first, who needed the meds most. He thought it was strange how one small announcement, one small admission they didn’t know yet, could bring out the worst in people. It could, however, also bring out the best, and Missy’s school was trying to do that. He just didn’t want Missy to be a part of it. It was selfish, but he believed staying home was the safest thing for the both of them.

  He had been a prepper for years, and his house was stockpiled with all the essentials—water, food, guns, medical supplies, and even all the things Missy loved, including M&Ms, Twizzlers, and wine. If riots did break out, he and Missy would not have to worry about anything for at least a year, if it lasted that long. It would be boring, but they would be taken care of, he’d made sure of that.

  Don reached out and grabbed Missy’s hand. “You can’t go. If Greenwood is an extension of the hospital, it means they could have Insidia. You know how expensive it is. People will kill for it!”

  Missy crossed her arms and let out a sigh. “I know that. I also know that the governor is about to declare a state of emergency, and then it will be free. It’s being—”

  “What happens tomorrow will not affect today,” Don interrupted. He rubbed at his left temple, irritated with Missy’s stubbornness. “Without Insidia, eighty percent of children can die one to three days after they become immune to the glucagon shots. With Insidia, the recovery rate is now nearly past four days. If you were a parent, what would you do? You would do whatever it took to get it. You wouldn’t wait for tomorrow.”

  Missy slapped the table. “And as a non-parent, I would do whatever it took to save a child’s life, no matter whose it is. You’ll just have to make peace with that.”

  “No, I don’t think you get it. I read that Canada has cases of the sugar flu too. People are reacting. This is just the tip of the iceberg with the Insidia fights. There’re new cases every day. It’s spreading. Can’t you see that?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as Don stared at Missy, waiting for her rebuttal. He was nearly ten years older than her, but sometimes he felt she acted much younger. Naïve. Untouched by the world. At nearly forty-five, he had already made his living. He had been a space pioneer. A discoverer of the unknown. He knew things the common person could never dream of knowing. He was the character that conspiracists wrote about. But more importantly, he knew when to hunker down. When to stay out of the way and let life’s events play out. He gazed into Missy’s eyes to see if she was having second thoughts, but she merely shook her head.

  Don immediately lost his appetite and pushed his plate away. Missy’s decision had been made, and nothing he could do or say would change it. All he could do now was try to keep her safe while she was
out. “I’m going with you. If you need to go, then at least we will be together.”

  Skiddy, Don’s Jack Russell, begged to get on Missy’s lap, and she reluctantly picked him up and gave him a piece of her pizza crust. Even he seemed a bit strange today. Skiddy had been obsessively licking himself, much more than usual, so much that one of his paws was red and sore. After he devoured the crust, Skiddy tried to go at his paw again, but Missy tapped his butt to stop him.

  “So that’s settled,” Don said. “We are leaving together tomorrow. Now, how about some world player versus player? The night is not over yet, and you owe me some wins.”

  Agitated, Missy pushed her chair away from the table. “Sure, why not?” she replied as she picked up Skiddy and clumsily walked back to her office.

  Don watched Missy through the open office door. Skiddy nuzzled his nose into the crook of her arm while she picked up her headset to call the attention of her guild members. “PVP invites going out. Who wants in?”

  He took another hit from his joint before snuffing it out in his ashtray. Whatever happened tomorrow, he needed to be sober and awake. What he kept from Missy was that in one of those long lines, just ten minutes from his house, one of the people waiting had been murdered over the suspicion that they cut in line. Outside the safety of their gated community, they were vulnerable.

  – 4 –

  Pitch

  Day 2

  The knocking and barking started at four in the morning, startling Don awake. He had only been asleep for two hours, and he now feared he would never get to sleep again. He quickly jumped out of bed, careful not to stir Missy, who was passed out drunk, her body lying diagonally in the bed, arms and legs distorted, her long dirty-blonde hair a messy mop over her face. Her limbs resembled the corpse of someone who’d jumped out of a building, but instead of dying, she was just resting peacefully. Beautifully contorted.