This is part of the first Dancing with Darwin story. These stories (two so far) are firmly Science Fiction and all set in the same changing world; each has textures from other genres, depending on the specific story; Rapture Read, for example, has a hint of horror.
Rapture
Ready
The full extent
of the horror is only now becoming apparent.
Let me just
interrupt you there, for a moment, Bob. Behind you there, is that a
military armored car?
It is, Monica,
the National Guard are here. This is just, just a small town but the
amount of determined fire-power here is quite amazing. The Governor
accepted that they were needed after the local police, the state
police and then the SWAT team were unable to contain the situation.
This is
amazing, Bob. What on earth happened here today?
It just, it
just seems that the entire town went crazy.
Do we have any
idea what happened? Where did it start?
Really not, but
we are now clear to move through the town.
Oh my word, are
those what I think..?
Essentially the
whole town is under arrest, Monica. At least all the survivors are.
In many ways telling the perpetrators from the victims is going to be
difficult and from what I've seen so far the likelihood of a single
reliable witness is fairly remote.
# Year 1: Claire
Claire often
walked to school. Cars ruined the environment and seemed like an
indulgence for such a short distance, in any case. It wasn't so far.
Maple Avenue was
one of her favorite routes, especially on a full summer’s day like
today. Someone hammering in the near distance couldn't ruin her
pleasure. The warm sun on her face, even in the early morning, just
made her smile. The houses were set well back from the street and it
seemed everyone in the neighborhood loved flowers and green things.
The scents combined as she walked toward the sun, long shadows
stretching toward her, in a confusion of delights.
A shriek of
laughter to her left made her turn and look but there was no one in
sight between her and the distant house. Claire quirked her lips and
looked away. She wasn't sure but that sounded, well she put the
thought out of her mind as impure and turned the purity ring on her
finger. Her mother laughed at her sometimes, but Claire was old
enough to persuade her to mind her own business.
“Hunk like that,
you should be enjoying it while you can,” she would sometimes say,
though almost always over the phone now that she was in the Amazon
somewhere.
“Mother you save
the rainforests and I'll save my soul, okay?”
“So marry him
already, if it matters that much.”
“Bret and I
aren't ready to marry, yet.”
A sigh.
“We have to
finish school, focus on study. We'll never make doctors if we don't
focus our energies on learning.” Sometimes she thought her mother
was dense but she had her degree, she must know how important it was
to focus on the task at hand. “It's not so long, just a handful of
years.”
“Uhuh, and you
can wait.”
“Dana,” she
rarely called her mother Dana, “I have to go.”
Claire often
finished the conversation early when they strayed into this area. Her
mother was a Christian enough soul but not what Claire would call
serious about it; maybe like the English she was descended from, she
only paid lip service to it. When she voiced this idea, her mother
had laughed gently and said that everyone did. It had been their
first real fight as mother and daughter. Claire still winced at the
memory.
A car crawled past
her, slower even than this sleepy street warranted. She glanced right
and saw the middle-aged man looking at her, grinning, one hand on the
wheel. There was something disturbing about the way he looked at her.
He licked his lips and his right shoulder was moving.
The end of the
street was close. She had walked almost the whole length and not
noticed half the plants she loved because she'd been thinking of her
mother. There were only two houses and then a park she usually
crossed, but as soon as she realized with a heated blush what the man
must be doing, she turned directly away into the shade of a wooded
drive. She knew Mr. Valance lived there. He was a nice church-going
soul of sixty or so and Claire knew she would be welcome; then she
would call the police and report the man. She blushed even more
fiercely as she realized that she knew him- he ran a store on the
west side of Clearwater, and she'd bought underwear there.
“Thank you lord
for making me buy modest underwear,” she muttered under her breath.
The crunch of the gravel under her feet masked the sound of the car’s
engine and she fought the urge to look back as she wondered for a
moment if she had been imagining things, if maybe Mr. Paulson was
simply looking for a particular house. But she knew that was
ridiculous. He'd lived here probably his whole life and the town was
only seven and a half thousand people. Claire's steps didn't falter
as she turned the long curve toward the house, and she could just
catch the odd glimpse of the bright white building through the
flowering shrubs and the cherry trees that blossomed so well early in
the spring.
It must be Mr.
Valance with the hammer because it rang out one more time. One two
three four. “Praise the Lord,” she heard him say.
“Hallelujah,”
She murmured in automatic response and then turned the corner to see
the whole house - and froze in horror.
# Year 2: Claire
The water ran and
Claire washed her hands with great care and deliberation, focusing on
the control and calm it gave her. Clean. She was clean. No need to
scrub too hard with the brush, just focus on the nails and get good
and sudsy.
“Claire,” the
male voice was warm with humor and understanding.
She looked and saw
the surgeon she would be assisting, tapping his own left wrist in the
universal gesture for 'time.'
She felt a brief
expression of anxiety flit across her own face before she could
control it as gently she bit down on her lip. Her hands were clean. I
am clean, she chanted like a prayer. I am clean. Clean clean clean.
“Yes, Mr.
Simmons.” She rinsed and tapped the faucet off with her elbow. “I'm
ready.”
The gloves were
clean, she reminded herself as she slipped into them, and the OR is
clean, and I am clean. Better than clean, sterile, but clean was the
magic word that worked for her. Clean clean clean. She was one of the
lucky ones, she could cope with her aberration, given time and some
counseling and work; she could function. It was good, she thought for
the thousandth time, that she had already begun her studies in
medicine, though her training now was not what she might have
envisaged - more practice than theory than it would have been had
nothing changed.
She walked into
the emergency ward and started work for the day.
Bound in a
straitjacket and handcuffed to a bed, the blinded man sat and rocked
gently and whispered over and over again, “If thine eye offend
thee, pluck it out.” She shuddered; the psychotics who were
religious were the worst. They bothered her the most. Maybe because
there seemed to be so many of them. She touched her cross and said a
brief prayer before beginning to work on what remained of the eye
socket. Clean, close, stitch. Then move on to the next patient and
repeat the process in one form or another, following a doctor who had
already sedated and left a note about what needed to be done. Usually
it was obvious. Clean, close, stitch, bandage.
Behind her,
orderlies came and removed the treated men and women and children
from the ward.
# Year 1: Claire
The large
clapboard building was painted white, a pure clean color that
suddenly contrasted with the lines of bright red that ran down from
where Mr. Valance had nailed a foot and one hand to the wall. In his
other hand he held a spike and a mallet. He held them out to her but
didn't mention them. His pale eyes and joyous smile fixed on her.
“He has
returned, sister,” he said, his voice full of confidence and joy.
“Are you ready? Are you saved?”
Blood ran in thin
trails down the one skinny arm that was raised high above him. A thin
silver circlet of razor wire sat on his bald head. His face was
sheeted with blood, both congealed and fresh.
Her own blood ran
cold in her veins and pooled in her belly. She recognized the
sensation for what it was, her body flooding with adrenalin, making
her ready to flee or fight for her life. It was a pointless and
irrational reaction but body chemistry operates by its own rules.
Still, her mind worked with perfect clarity. She was a believer but
also a student of medicine. She knew that Mr. Valance was suffering
from some kind of delusion, that nailing yourself to a wall was not
the act of a rational man. She knew that she had to phone for an
ambulance and also the police so that they could assure themselves
that no crime had been committed here. Her eyes flicked to the open
front door. Mr. Valance had a wife, she knew. And there was enough
blood on Mr. Valance to disguise any that was not his. Claire gave a
simple nod of agreement with herself; she would go into the house and
phone from there. If she found Mrs. Valance dead, then she would just
deal with that shock as calmly as she was dealing with this one.
As she moved past
him, Mr. Valance held out the mallet and spike to her. “Have a
heart, sister. Don't turn your back on him, I beg you.”
Her skin prickled
in goose-bumps that even stirred the hair on her head as they washed
over her in waves. He must have started with one foot; then the left
hand at the wrist, to give himself enough leverage to pull himself
upward. And then he was stuck. He could no longer reach the right
foot, nor turn his own right hand against itself. A fourth spike lay
on the floor, beyond his reach.
She didn't trust
herself to say anything. Everything that came to mind was ridiculous.
You just wait there, Mr. Valance... like he had a choice.
As Claire entered
the cool shade of the house she heard sirens in the distance and had
an instinct that she might have to wait some time for the police.
