Mr. Roberts always hated me the most.
He never said anything, but I know he saw my sister in me the first time I walked into PE class. A second Pendleton to carry the soccer team? It had to be a miracle. All he had to do was get me in shape, and the Moose would be the best team in the city for another four years. He probably saw an amazing defender to compliment Alice’s forward.
I wasn’t interested.
It must have broken his heart to see me half-ass the pacer as much as I did. And I didn’t care that he gave me a C because it wasn’t failing.
If Mr. Roberts could see me now, he’d say I should have taken PE more seriously.
I’d agree with him.
----------------------------------------
Victoria, British Columbia - May 30, 2043, 9:45 AM
- - - - -
I can see smoke and basic living apartments in the distance.
They’re not mine. There’s no way I’ve been walking that long. But they’re almost exactly the same. The ‘Old Victoria’ core of the city, kept in its early twenty-first-century shape by people who’ve never set foot in a basic living building before, is giving way to the city I grew up in—the city of modern towers built from cheap materials, of mold and mildew and cleaning solution that’s too diluted to fully kill it all. I’m ready to leave ‘Old Victoria’ behind. It’s all a lie.
And even though the clouds haven’t opened up yet, I stop to fish out a dark gray rain jacket from my backpack—and to eat a couple more prunes, consequences later on be damned. The truth is that I’m already tired. And I’ve got a long way to go.
The jacket’s too big for me, but that’s the point; everything I’ve worn for years was too big, and I’m not changing now. Then, even though my feet hurt in the boots I kind of/sort of stole from the North Point store, I keep walking. The whole city feels like a tinderbox, and most of these people don’t even know it. They’re happily entrenched in their apartments and houses.
I wonder how long that’ll last.
As I walk, I send a couple of texts through my aug—or try to.
Claire -
Claire -
One of those is a lie. Sort of.
I huddle inside my too-large rain jacket, walking the completely still street. There hasn’t been a car since I turned onto Hillside Avenue. Not a moving one, anyway. The sporty black car’s long gone, and that’s the last one I’ve seen, law enforcement or not.
I’m almost to the hospital and the basic living buildings beyond it when James stops me. [Hold up. I’m taking over your optic aug. I think I see something. Not sure what it is, though.] The aug starts zooming in, heating up as it does. I never use that setting, at least not to the level James is. I also can’t decide if I hate that he’s taken over or like that he’s here and helping.
He zooms in more, and I catch a glimpse of a small black dot that materializes into a familiar black sports car. It’s crashed, though. The whole front end looks crushed against a solid brick wall on the road’s left side. Then my aug starts blinking a heat warning, my eyes tear up, and I take control back. “We’ll have to check it out.”
I don’t want to check out the car. Even from a soccer field’s length away—take that, Mr. Roberts!—it’s obvious that there’s no driver inside. No driver, no rush. Simple. A few cars are parked outside Aberdeen Hospital, a hospital turned nursing home, then, when Victoria got too big for Saxe Point and all the others, converted back into a hospital. I only know that because of one bus ride with an old guy whose breath smelled like Dad’s and who wouldn’t shut up about it.
My hand goes for a cigarette, as much out of habit as anything, while I ponder the crash. There’s no smoke, of course—I mean the nonexistent cigarette. The sports car’s engine’s completely caved in, and a mix of steam and black smoke oozes from under the hood. I shudder, but it’s just smoke, not Li Mei.
There also aren’t any tire marks on the ground. I’ve seen enough movies to know that when an out-of-control driver slams his brakes, the tires leave black lines on the road. There aren’t any, and there aren’t any on the grass, either, or at least it didn’t shred the blades and gouge out long channels.
“That’s weird.” I reach for the Revolver and take a deep breath to steady myself. All the car’s doors are closed. If I was in a car wreck—which is unlikely since I take the bus everywhere and we don’t even own a beater from the 2020s—I wouldn’t worry about the doors.
[Agreed. Remember, I said this was where the merges were concentrated the last time I looked,] James says. He sounds anxious.
“What are you up to?” I ask, starting to walk toward the crashed car.
[I’m currently building an archive of anomalies you’ve encountered, using your augs to generate data, simulating encounters with them based on your current Skills, and organizing the archive based on anomalies I know either escaped containment, are likely to soon, or were spotted after a merge. I’m also paying attention to your biometrics, talking to you, and watching and listening to whatever you’re watching and listening to.] James pauses. [Not that I’m obsessed or anything.]
“No, not at all.” Aberdeen Hospital’s off to my left, and I hug the right sidewalk to give it a wide berth; the brick-and-shake-shingle front weirds me out, and so do all the cars parked outside, but no people. I keep snarking. “Just what you do, huh?”
[You’re literally my only link to the world right now, until I figure out how to make the Halcyon System work for me. I’ve got a pair of locked doors, and sure, my world’s bigger than ever, but whatever’s inside Door Number One’s got to be important. Once I open that, I can leave you alone if you want, but—]
“No, it’s fine. Really.” The silence stretches, and since he’s paying attention to my heartbeat, James probably knows I’m beet-red right now. I’m almost to the point where the car started turning off the road before I choke out an awkward “Sorry.”
[It’s—]
Before James can finish his equally uncomfortable sentence, the world around me vanishes.
----------------------------------------
The nice receptionist lady smiles at a little girl in her father’s arms. She’s crying silently. She won’t stop crying. She can’t stop crying, but the receptionist’s seen it before. She hands the girl a lollipop. Not one of those half-ass coin-sized bits of fruit-flavored sugar on a paper stick that melts before the candy does, either. It’s a serious business lollipop with swirled flavors and a wooden stick.
It’s half my head’s size, and the girl’s silent crying stops. She’s the fourth kid I’ve watched go by from my plastic chair in the tile-lined waiting room. They all come in from the entrance, but when I try to leave that way, the security guard says I need to be discharged first, and that I can’t be until I’m admitted.
I could escape. I should escape. All I’d have to do is…kill the security guard. Or get past him some other way.
And that’s why I haven’t left yet. Because he’s not real, and neither are the people around me. I can see through them and their lollipops and phones. Not literally; they’re not ghosts. They’re all going through the motions, like video game NPCs or guards. But I can’t fight him without hurting him, and James said not to. No fight, no escape.
James is running a half-dozen filters in my augs, and I can tell my Memetic Resistance is working on something. That’s probably the only reason I can tell nothing’s real here. That’s probably the only reason I’m not in deep shit. Deeper shit, I mean. Something tells me I’m not getting to Ten Mile Point today.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Pendleton, Clarice Alora,” the receptionist calls. “Exam room twenty-nine. Up the stairs, take a right. Dr. Dwyer will be with you shortly.”
[I’m pretty sure this is one SHOCKS has seen before,] James says, [and if I’m right, we’ve even gotten people out from explorations. You’re looking at a reality trap—the one I’m thinking of is kind of like a play. I don’t remember a hospital drama, though.]
“How do I get out of it?” I hiss.
“Pendleton, Clarice Alora,” the receptionist says again, in the same businesslike tone.
I stand up and start walking toward the stairs as James keeps talking. [You play your part, fill your role, and it should let you go when you’re done. That’s how these have always been explored in the past. We’ve got the ‘High School Story’ and ‘Wedding and Reception’ storylines down to a science!]
At least this isn’t a wedding; who knows what stupid role the anomaly would give me? I start up the stairs. “Okay, but you’ve never seen the hospital before?”
[I think this is the first time it’s manifested in one.]
“Then how does all that knowledge help me now?”
[Because I know the gist of the rules, even if I don’t have access to any of the four storylines we’ve explored. I’m just glad it’s not ‘Funeral Bells.” We haven’t had a survivor from that one in…a while.] James pauses, and I imagine him clearing his throat. [Head inside the room, get ready for Dr. Dwyer, and do your best to act naturally until we figure out your role.]
I nod, then put my hand on the doorknob.
Inside, there’s a medical bench, complete with paper covering it. It crinkles when I sit on it, and I busy myself with the various anatomy posters and diagrams for how the common cold works. The exam room smells exactly like the cheap cleaner Alice and I use at home, and I close my eyes and pretend I’m there. Then, when I open them, I stand back up and start fiddling with the scale and height measuring thing. I’m not curious, and I don’t want to know if I’m one hundred ten pounds or five-foot-five; I’m just bored.
It takes almost fifteen agonizing minutes for the doctor to show up, but eventually, the door opens, and Doctor Dwyer bustles through. I stare at his balding hair and the street clothes under his white lab coat. And the complete lack of injury despite the wreck outside. His eyes go wide over his face mask, too, but then he blinks, and I blink, and it’s business as usual from him. “Hello, Clare. How are we feeling today?”
[Yeah, that’s definitely the driver,] James says. [Not sure how he got the ‘doctor’ role, but play along with it. These storylines are pretty tight most of the time, and the anomaly won’t care that you don’t know the script. It’ll only care if you’re not following it.]
I nod slowly. “I’m…fine.”
“That’s not what your chart says,” Doctor Dwyer says smoothly. His eyes flicker to the ceiling, and he keeps talking. “According to this, you’ve got a persistent cough that won’t go away, sore throat, and a fever.”
“Uh, yeah, that’s what I mean, but I don’t see why I need to be here.” If I’m playing a role, that role’s Claire Pendleton being sick, and I don’t like doctors—I didn’t before SHOCKS Headquarters, and I definitely don’t now. “Can’t you just give me a pill and let me go home? My sister’s pretty nervous about all this.”
“No. There’s an outbreak in Sooke, and we need to ensure you’re not infected with whatever that is. I’m going to do a full ear, nose, and throat exam. First, let’s get your temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate.” Doctor Dwyer pulls out his stethoscope, places the earpieces in his ears, and nods. “No jackets, please.”
I hesitate. That’s normal, right? Some dude’s about to listen to my heart, and he’s not a doctor; he just plays one in this…storyline. I’m…not exactly curvy, but even so, I don’t need some forty-year-old guy checking my heart.
[Claire…he’s not himself.]
I look at Doctor Dwyer again; his eyes are crossed and unfocused above the mask. His breaths in and out show on the mask, which collapses and blows back up in perfect rhythm—too perfect.
[The memetic effect you and I’ve been fighting has him. You’ll get glimmers of whoever he was, but for all we care, he’s a doctor who’s worked in pediatrics for the last decade. But if you keep stalling, the whole storyline’s going to collapse or increase its pressure on you until you’re forced to cooperate like Dwyer. You don’t want either.]
“Okay.” I’m talking to James, but Dwyer nods as I unzip the rain jacket, pull off my hoodie, and let the doctor who’s not a doctor listen to my heart. It takes him a while, and the metal circle’s cold even through my thin white T-shirt. Then he finally pulls it away. “How do I sound?”
“Good. A little faster than I’d expect from a fifteen-year-old, but according to your charts, you’re a Nervous Nancy. Now turn around so I can listen to your breathing.”
I cooperate. I don’t want to; I want out, but I do. The stethoscope presses against my back, leaving cold circles behind when he’s done. I get a light held up to my throat, a viewing gizmo up my nose and ears, and Dwyer feels my throat. Then his brow furrows. “Well, Claire, I’m not sure what’s happening with you. From your chart, it could be Strep, but you have none of the physical signs. It’s not whatever’s going on in Sooke, either. I’m going to take a quick sample from your throat, then run some tests.”
The next thing I know, some long Q-tip-looking thing’s scraping the back of my throat. I try not to gag, but before I know it, I’m coughing as my hands grasp Doctor Dwyer’s. He pauses, letting me relax, then finishes the job. My eyes water, and then the Q-tip’s pulled away and placed in a vial.
“Sorry about that, Claire. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Maybe less. It’s probably just a variant of Strep—no biggie, right?” Doctor Dwyer smiles, and I return it shakily. Then he disappears, and the door clicks shut behind him.
----------------------------------------
[Okay, we should be off-camera, so to speak,] James says. [The doctor’s doing all the interesting stuff now.]
“What the fuck?” I whisper. My throat feels sore—not like I’m sick, but like someone’s just scraped the hell out of it with a Q-tip. I shiver. “James, tell me you’ve got advice here.”
[I’m putting together a theory. It’d help if I could breach the doors here. The Halcyon System is hiding information on this anomaly and many others. But my best guess is that this is a pretty standard intro scene, so you’ll get bad news about your diagnosis and have to take it from there in the next twenty minutes. In the ‘Funeral Bells’ storyline, which was the Beta storyline for this anomaly, the first death usually happens then. I’m assuming this one’s not quite so lethal.]
“I need to get out of here,” I mutter. I walk to the door, but my hand goes right through the knob when I try to turn it. “What the fuck?”
My heart’s pounding; if Doctor Dwyer’s stethoscope could hear it now, he’d have a crash cart on its way. Then I look down at my fists. They’re trailing black, smoky shadows. “How long have I been…?”
[Active? Since Dwyer pulled the Q-tip out. I thought you knew.] James pauses. [I’m going to rig up something in your aug so you’ll know if your powers are running since, apparently, you’re not in complete control.]
“No, I’ll do better. I just…”
[Hate doctors? I get it.] James laughs. It’s not a real laugh. It’s a lie. I tally it up, then pretend it’s not. It’s better that way.
“Yeah. And this whole place feels familiar. I hate it, too.”
The minutes drag by, the air conditioning pumping too-cold air into the exam room. The hoodie goes back on pretty quickly. I twiddle my thumbs, listen to James tell me about the different storylines as best he can remember, and make gun shapes with my hand. I also breathe slowly, deeply, and deliberately, just like Mrs. Vorhese, the school counselor, kept telling me to do. My nose gets pretty much used to the cleaning chemical smell.
I’m about ready to ask James to build a tic-tac-toe game in my aug, heat be damned, but Doctor Dwyer knocks on the door before I can. I say, “Come in,” and he opens it without any effort at all.
“Have a seat,” Dwyer said. He fiddles with his clipboard while I crinkle back down onto the exam table. “Okay, we’re not sure what it is yet, but it’s not Strep. I’m giving you a round of antibiotics; there’s a pharmacy farther down Hillside Street where you can get what you need. I’ve called ahead, so they know you’re coming.” His hand scribbles out a note; it’s in doctor’s writing, more impossible to read than Mrs. Helquist’s. I can’t make heads or tails of it.
“You’re not in school right now, right?” He asks, and for a moment, he’s not Dwyer. He’s whoever he was before the car crash. His hand shakes as he scribbles a little more on the note.
I shake my head. “No. They closed everything down because of…whatever’s going on in Sooke. I’m off for the week. What a bad time to be sick, huh?”
“Sure is. Okay, Claire, you’ll get your antibiotics. Take them twice a day. Other than that, stay home, stay in bed, and drink plenty of fluids. You’re okay to go home.”
“Just like that? That’s it?” The question is as much for James as for Doctor Dwyer.
[This is weird. It’s not according to the usual storyline at all. Maybe you’re a side character or something. Either way, it’s breaking my theory pretty badly. Recalculating.]
I’m also running the numbers as Dwyer talks. “I have to get to my next patient, but you can stop by reception if you have any questions. I want to see you in three days or if things worsen.” He hands me the doctor’s note; I stare at it, but it’s unreadable.
Doctor Dwyer holds the door open for me, and I step out and head for the stairs. He whistles as he walks toward the next exam room, but I ignore it. The note’s incredibly hard to read, but when I go to put it in my hoodie pocket, James says, [No, keep looking at it. I’m trying to reconstruct it into something legible.]
“Shouldn’t you be able to do that instantly?” I hiss.
[No, because I’m devoting almost all my processing power to other stuff and giving you a tiny percent for your curiosity—and mine. Now, get us out of here.]
I get downstairs, collect a spectral lollipop from the receptionist that I’m pretty sure’s just going to vanish when I leave, and walk right past the security guard. He nods, and a moment later, I’m outside in the rain. Sure enough, the sucker disappears. The rain jacket goes on, and I cover the paper with my hood and head. “Are you done with the note yet?”
[Uh, yeah,] James says. I fold it and tuck it away before it can fade too badly. [You should read it, though.]
I nod, and my aug heats up as the note’s projected in front of my face. It bends and twists until the words are readable, and I clench my teeth. Under a prescription for clarithromycin and a painkiller I can’t pronounce, I can read Doctor Dwyer’s added words, and I’m not happy about them.
Help me. Please
Carl