Chapter 21
Questions and Answers
Wednesday, September 24, 2059
22 days to Armageddon
Leo awoke and forced his aching body to sit up in bed. His stomach gurgled, objecting to the five veggie burgers he'd eaten last night.
“Mom. He's going to eat compost next,” Lydia had complained the night before as he stuffed his face.
He checked his phone.
Mr. Osmond had sent him a text at 4:30 that morning. Meet me this morning as soon as you can. Along with an address.
It was 7:00.
After looking up the address online—it was half a mile away—he threw on some clothes and left a note for Mom.
Going to school early.
Then he headed out.
***
He wasn't sure what to expect from Mr. Osmond's residence. It was a nondescript brown house with a well-maintained lawn and a couple of shade trees. One of those stupid billboards stood nearby, with the boy jumping in the air.
“THE ONE WITH THE MOST WINS”
What the hell did that billboard mean? The most what? He knocked on the door to Mr. Osmond's house. The door opened immediately, and Leo was dragged inside.
“Electronics,” Mr. Osmond mouthed.
Knowing the drill from yesterday, Leo handed him his watch and cellphone. These in hand, Mr. Osmond led him into a small study. From his wrinkled shirt and tie, the bags under his eyes, empty mug of coffee at his desk, and the numerous handwritten notes on a large corkboard, it was clear he'd been up all night.
There were footsteps. “Ollie,” a voice called. “Are you up already?”
Mr. Osmond stuck Leo's electronics in a metal box next to his desk. “Go back to bed, Mom. I've been up for a while,” he said, looking tired and exasperated. “And please call me Mr. Osmond in front of my students.”
An old woman in a green nightgown poked her head inside the study. She looked worried. “Would you and your guest like some coffee or breakfast?”
“I could use some,” Leo said, trying not to laugh. “As long as it's not soybean based.”
“Eggs and bacon, okay?”
“Yes, please,” Leo answered.
“I'm doing some very important and time-sensitive research, Mom. I would appreciate a bit of privacy.”
“Okay, Ollie,” she said, entering the study. “But first, one thing.” She grabbed Mr. Osmond by his tie and yanked him into the hallway. Leo listened to the two from his seat in the study.
“Did you mortgage the house?” she hissed. “Why didn't you say anything? It's all your dad left us.”
“Yes, Mom. I mortgaged the house,” Mr. Osmond responded. “I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be upset. But I have a very good reason for doing so, and we are not going to lose the house. You need to trust me, and for god's sake quit taking Bio-Blessed.”
“Don't you change the subject on me,” she snapped. “I really hope you know what you're doing, Ollie. Your father had a gambling problem and I hope that's not what this is.”
“It's not!” Mr. Osmond responded. “I know what I'm doing. You need to leave me alone and give us some privacy!” He pulled away from her, re-entered the study, and slammed the door in her face.
“Whew,” Mr. Osmond sat down in front of Leo. “I'd tell Mom the world is ending, but I don't think she'd take it well. I've called in sick to work,” he faked a cough, “and I may have mentioned that you caught the same illness. Now, Leo, I've been going over your tapes and I have a lot of questions.,”
“Okay, Ollie,” Leo said, suppressing a grin.
“Let's keep things formal, Leo,” Mr. Osmond responded. “And Ollie is short for Oliver.”
“By the way, do you have any idea what those stupid 'The One With the Most Wins' billboards mean? I see them everywhere, but nobody knows what they're for.”
Mr. Osmond sighed and shook his head. “I have no idea what those generic inspirational billboards mean, or why they showed up around the time we think the aliens arrived two years ago. But I recently learned something very interesting. The boy on the billboard jumping in the air is wearing a digital watch. It's hard to tell without getting up close or by using a telescope, but through some gimmick, every ten hours the watch on that boy's wrist moves forward a minute. That watch is currently at 23:14, which is military time for 11:14 pm. You'll never guess when it reaches midnight.”
“October 16th?” Leo responded.
“Bingo. At exactly 5:00 that morning.”
“Shit,” Leo said.
“Now, let's go back to your recordings. At the beginning of the Change, October 16th, you went to school. Afflicted monsters attacked. You escaped and went home. Your home was empty. And then?”
“As you can imagine, I was in shock at that point,” Leo said. “The first thing I did was eat my parents' Bio-Blessed stash.”
“A large stash?”
“Very,” Leo answered. “Someone told my parents there would be a price increase days before, so they bought a bunch. And I ate it all in one sitting. Didn't get sick or anything. I had no idea what I was doing or what was going on. Things went downhill from there. Over the next day, I could feel my body change. It wasn't painful, but creepy as hell.”
“So you became a monster with a soul? Like on one of those lame TV shows?”
“Not a monster,” Leo responded. “Damaged. Stronger and faster than a human. But damaged.”
“Physical deformations that made your life more difficult, but ultimately allowed you to survive fifty years, to see humans go extinct.”
“Pretty much,” Leo said, feeling very tired.
“Interesting,” Mr. Osmond responded. “Moving forward. Three days after the Change, you arrived at the makeshift shelter at the city stadium, where you lived for a short time. What happened to the shelter?”
“I'm not sure,” Leo said. “I spent two and a half weeks in that stadium. My only friend, Trent, killed himself in the first week, so I spent most of that time alone, fighting to survive. There were thirty implant wearers in the shelter that I knew of. Real implant wearers. Not failures like me. Some of the Bosses—there were maybe one hundred Low-Level Bosses and three High-Level Bosses in the city back then—wanted to meet with these implant wearers. To form some kind of truce, or alliance. The implant wearers left the shelter for the meeting. I don't know what happened; if they were stupid, or maybe tricked and outsmarted. All I know is that they didn't come back. The next day, someone said Bosses were using piles of cars and rubble to block the city exits, to keep people inside. I figured it was time to get the hell out of the city.”
There was a quiet knock on the study door. Mr. Osmond opened the door enough to take a tray of food from his mother, and closed it again.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
He helped himself to the thermos of hot coffee and took a sip. “On the subject of food. Why do they have to eat humans? What do they have against pork?” He grabbed a piece of bacon from his plate and started chewing.
“They do eat pork,” Leo said. “They eat anything. But human protein is the only thing that satisfies some basic need. Like crack cocaine for an addict. The longer they go without human protein, the worse the need becomes. I've seen the Afflicted jump off cliffs because they saw a human at the bottom. They would kill themselves to get at their next meal.” Leo took a large bite of his scrambled eggs.
“You talk about how the powerful Bosses tended to settle in cities. Tell me about that. How does that work?”
“If there's a hell, I imagine it would be like one of those Boss-run cities,” Leo said. “I was never in one, for which I'm extremely thankful, but I spoke to people who'd escaped.” Leo sipped some coffee and kept eating the eggs. Mr. Osmond's mom was a great cook. He wondered if he could get seconds. “On one hand, the Bosses kept the cities free of other Afflicted, so there was some safety, but every few days a certain number of humans would be selected based on a system that determined their worth to the city. Dead humans were eaten first, but after that, old people, the sick, disabled. The number of people selected to be eaten kept going up. Sometimes it would take years, but the Bosses would eat all of the old and sick, and then move on to young men, women, kids, and pregnant women. Bosses really couldn't help themselves. They must have realized what eating up their food supply would mean, but they couldn't stop.” Leo shivered, no longer hungry.
“So what did eating up their food supply mean? Would they die?”
“I don't know for sure. One of the shelters I lived in captured some of the Afflicted, trying to work on a cure. What they concluded is that the Afflicted can survive on normal food, but without human protein, they would go completely insane. The shelter had to keep the Afflicted in padded cells, because they would bash their own brains in by beating their heads against the cell walls. They would eventually reach the point where they'd tear chunks of flesh from their own bodies, eating themselves alive.”
“That's grim,” Mr. Osmond said. “So you think the lack of humans to eat would drive them insane?”
“I saw it happen,” Leo said. “High-Level Bosses fighting each other to the death over scraps of human remains. My guess is once humans were gone, the surviving Bosses would all go completely insane from their need for human protein. And good riddance.”
The questions continued, going on and on. Leo's voice became hoarse from talking. Mr. Osmond's mom brought them lunch and, later on, dinner.
***
“Could I ask a favor?” Leo said when Mrs. Osmond came in with a third tray of food. (fried chicken and mashed potatoes) “My mom's been too busy to cook proper meals, and my younger sister is a picky eater. You're such a great cook. I don't suppose you could pack an extra meal for her? She likes chicken, hamburgers...”
“Well.” Her worried expression vanished for a moment and she laughed. “Oh, you poor guy. If you think I'm a good cook, you must have it rough. Of course I'll pack you something.” She scurried away.
“You asked for it,” Mr. Osmond said. “Mom will send you home with half the refrigerator.”
“Now I've spent the day answering every question imaginable,” Leo said. “How about answering some of mine? Who are the aliens, and what are they up to?”
“Well, Leo, I wish I knew.” Mr. Osmond sipped on a glass of water, holding it with a shaking hand, exhausted from having been up all the previous night. “There is very little tangible information available. What I know is the closer you look, the creepier things become. A major national lab, one of the best and most advanced in the world, got their hands on a drop of pure Bio-Blessed, the stuff the billionaires get. According to the lab, that drop of Bio-Blessed was indistinguishable from 0.9% saline solution. That is ordinary salt water. The lab couldn't identify what Bio-Blessed was, let alone how it works or how to make more. People had high hopes for Body Booster, Inc, but I'm not surprised they're a fraud.”
“What about the billionaires? They must have some idea who's doing this.”
Mr. Osmond shook his head. “The aliens correspond with the ultra rich through computer messaging and delivery drones. Correspondence is always in formal contract language. Billionaires pay money and meet contractual obligations, like selling and endorsing the aliens' product, in exchange for their monthly dose of Bio-Blessed. To date, nobody has ever seen the aliens or spoken to them in person. That 'Beware the Guardian 5191,' comment was by far the most interesting and out-of-character thing they've done. You say you've never heard of it before yesterday? And you don't know what it means?”
Leo nodded. “Correct. Never heard of it.”
“I suspect they also have the ability to see the future, and like you, are working to change it. But to what purpose?”
“What about the implants?” Leo asked.
“Assuming those are from a different alien species, we know even less about them. They show up, hand out these implants, and vanish.”
“So that's it?” Leo asked.
Mr. Osmond sighed. “Those who might be able to learn more, are afraid to. There are very wealthy, powerful people who like receiving their monthly shot of Bio-Blessed, and won't allow anything to screw that up. These days, knocking on the wrong doors will get you killed.”
“Sounds like we're fucked.” Leo stood up, feeling tired and discouraged.
“I wouldn't throw in the towel quite yet,” Mr. Osmond said. “If the aliens see this as a game, there must be a way to win. Otherwise, why would they bother playing? That VR game you mentioned sounds like an interesting lead, and I'm pursuing other leads as well. We have three weeks.”
He pulled a book from the bookshelf above his desk and tossed it to Leo. Its title was Brain Puzzles. “See if this raises your Intelligence.”
Leo stuffed the book into his pack. “Thanks. I'd better head home.”
“Don't forget your food,” Mr. Osmond said.
As Leo left the room, Mr. Osmond leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
***
“I left the compost burgers for you, since you like them so much,” Lydia said, sulking in front of the TV. “I had some chips and toasted hamburger buns.”
“Well, tonight is your lucky night.” Leo put the large bag on the table. “It turns out Mr. Osmond lives with his mother, a sweet old lady who sent us some food, for which I told her you would be eternally grateful.”
Lydia stomped over to the bag. “Let's see the food, first.” As she started pulling things out of the bag, her face lit up. She filled her plate with chicken, rice, and mashed potatoes. “Tell her I wish she was my mother.” Lydia put the plate in the microwave to heat up.
Leo warmed up a container of vegetable beef soup (also from Mr. Osmond's mother), and they sat down in the living room to eat.
“You didn't really write a book, did you?” Lydia asked.
Leo shook his head. “It's part of you-know-what.” He grabbed the remote and selected Monster Trauma to distract Lydia.
He had a lot to think about. Mr. Osmond believed him, at least. But would that be enough to change anything? The smart guy didn't appear to have the answers, either.
Curious, he pulled out the Brain Puzzle book and opened it. “What are two things you can't eat for breakfast?” he read out loud from the first page.
“Lunch and dinner,” Lydia said, not looking away from the TV.
“That was lame,” Leo said. With a sigh, he kept reading.
Thursday, September 25, 2059
21 days to the apocalypse
Leo groaned and dragged himself out of bed.
He'd looked through the puzzle book Mr. Osmond had given him the night before. Most of the puzzles had been too hard for him. Afterwards, he forced himself to take another of Mr. Al's capsules and exercise before turning in. Curious, he checked his stats.
Subject: Leo
Sex: Male
Age: 12
Strength: 6.0
Vitality: 7.4
Agility: 5.3
Intelligence: 5.6
Charisma: 5.9
Common Sense: 4.5
Class: Undetermined
Qualifies for Swordsman/Common, Swordsman/Uncommon, Garbage-Collector/Common, Housekeeper/Common, and Janitor/Common.
Special skills: None.
Demon Tears: 16
Corruption: 0
So Strength was up 0.4, Vitality up at least 0.5, Agility was up 0.3, Intelligence up 0.2, Charisma up 0.3, and no change to Common Sense for some reason. Something he was doing was having the desired effect. No more class options, though.
Another text from Mr. Osmond: Meeting at 8:00 AM. Be there.
It was 7:00.
“There's no pork chop night, tonight,” Mom said. “This Friday we're going out to a real restaurant, like a real family.”
“Yay!” Lydia said, bouncing in her chair from joy.
Leo winced. It was Thursday already. Mom's announcement brought back unpleasant memories of tomorrow evening when Dad discovered he'd lost 100,000 dollars in the stock market. Still, it wasn't like Leo could do anything about it. All he could do was wait and pick up the pieces for his sister after.
He entered Mr. Osmond's house for the second time in as many days and handed him his watch and cellphone. This time, Mr. Osmond's study was filled with people, most of whom he recognized. Angie waved from the corner. Howie sat in the large easy chair with a cup of coffee. Liam, the skinny guy he'd met at last Tuesday's training session, stood against a wall, looking out of place. Leo didn't recognize a short chubby girl with glasses, close to his age, sitting in the corner opposite Angie, reading a book—ironically titled “Surviving the End of the World.”
Leo helped himself to the donuts and coffee resting on a folding table in the back of the room.
Mr. Osmond put Leo's electronics in the metal box next to his desk and stood in front of the group.
He felt a nervous chill as Mr. Osmond began to speak.