Resonance, J. B. Everett [the top 100 crime novels of all time txt] 📗

now on earth.

 

Reaching the top, she saw that the room signs, the plain handprinted taped-up notes, had all been pulled down. But she found 204, and turned the knob.

 

The room was lit only by the light peeking in from the hallway, and that was low at best. She flipped the switch, squinting against the instantaneous full glare. And blinking at the … lack of everything.

 

The cots were stacked in the corner. No duffles or briefcases were anywhere. The maps, where Jordan had plotted the growth of the bubbles and the sites where people had gone under, were gone. As well as the flow charts and the grids of lab values, all pulled from the walls and absent.

 

With a sigh, Jillian switched off the light, leaving the hallway a dim shade of gray as her eyes adjusted. She took off at a jog, back the way she had come. Rushing through the halls at a ground eating pace, she only slowed when she hit the tops of the stairs, thinking of David’s fall. Tightly holding the railing, she forced herself to slow down, finally reaching the bottom after what felt like an eternity.

 

As she shoved open the double doors out onto the field of tents she was greeted by the sounds of humanity - busy people wandering in the glow of the corner floodlights, just not very many of them. The wind shifted and caught a faint odor, carried in from beyond the tent city. Her nose twitched at the decaying flesh that was more a slight burning sensation than any real odor. But then the wind must have changed direction again, and it was gone.

 

Making her way into the maze, she said hellos to those she recognized and those she didn’t. Finally arriving at the records tent, she pushed back the canvas and startled the person inside. “Can I help you?” He sat by a bank of phones, his hands cradling a yellow legal pad filled with lists. People to call. Places to hear from. Faxes to send.

 

“Please.” She smiled even though she was frustrated that her own search had turned up fruitless. “Where can I find Dr. Abellard and Dr. Carter?”

 

The man blinked. His brows drew together, but not in thought. He looked concerned. For the life of her, Jillian couldn’t figure out why, and she was too tired to work at it. So she simply leveled a look at him that she wasn’t going to wait very long. And he got to work. Pushed his glasses up his nose and began thumbing through a list of names and tent numbers. Damn, everyonehad gotten organized while she’d been asleep.

 

“Dr. Carter is in tent forty-three.”

 

“And where is that?”

 

He smiled again, a fake look that mean nothing but that she was being placated. “There are fifteen tents per column. Starting on the left, from the cafeteria. They number front to back and then snake back to front and so on.”

 

She nodded. David was near the back of the third row. “And Dr. Abellard?”

 

The man tilted his head. “Dr. Abellard passed away a good number of days ago. I’m surprised no one told you.”

 

Jillian sighed and shook her head.

 

For having all their charting done, and numbering the tents, they had only achieved the look of organization.

 

Because their lists were fucked-up.

 

David bit back a low moan. He ached everywhere. They hadn’t woken him up for his Percocet. And he needed his Percocet. Every muscle protested as he moved it. Each piece of him creaked and pulled.

 

It was deep into night inside the tent. Even though he could tell that there was an overhead light just outside. The top of the tent gave an unearthly glow that didn’t go further than a foot or two, leaving a fog of black huddling in all the corners and thick along the grass floor.

 

He breathed deeply, waiting for any monsters within to jump out at him, but after a minute nothing had moved, so he went about pushing himself up on his elbows.

 

David tilted his head from side to side waiting for the pain to stop his movement. When it came, it was softer than he had expected, a stretching rather than tearing feeling. His head was able to turn further. He could look directly over his right shoulder. Although what that gained him he couldn’t say as the tent was nothing but dark.

 

He breathed again, a little deeper each time, wishing he was repelling along the side of a sheer cliff. Layers of rock and time passing up as he slid down. Each telling of a different age. A few feet of color denoting millions of years of life and death and silts. In pure silence.

 

Instead, he was dealing with a dry throat. So he couldn’t call out to the people who were invariably making the shuffling noises outside his tent, couldn’t ask for the medication. Unlike the morphine, it wouldn’t make him drowsy. But he would be able to sleep, pain free.

 

So he worked up a good breath to shout out.

 

But just as he started to hiss out a noise, the tent flap pulled back, allowing in light and a dark figure he recognized instantly.

 

“Jillian.” He croaked.

 

“Hey, David.” But she didn’t look up. Just scratched at the back of her hand, and turned to examine it in the light of the opening.

 

“What’s wrong?” Again it was barely more than a hiss with some voice behind it. But she understood.

 

“I just …” She turned back to him, then reached up and flipped on the overhead light, drowning him in the harsh glare that receded as his eyes adjusted.

 

After he stopped squinting he saw that she was holding the back of her hand up to him for inspection. But he didn’t see anything. And he shook his head at her. He wasn’t a damn doctor so he didn’t know what the hell she wanted him to see.

 

“No mark.” She stated the obvious. “There should be a mark.”

 

“Because?”

 

“Because I wore an IV for four days! It just came out yesterday. But it’s gone! There’s not even tape residue, that’s the weird thing.”

 

“Bully for you.” He laid his head back down and found some air. “Can you get me a-”

 

“Your leg!” She practically screamed, like she had completely lost it. He was getting ready to say so when she yelled it again. “Your leg!”

 

So he looked, to see the black widow or rattlesnake that was going to end it all.

 

He’d be grateful if the death went quickly.

 

But there was nothing there.

 

Ah, good to know I’ve discovered the final phase. Utter insanity.

 

Jillian still stared, and he sighed. She wasn’t going to listen about the Percocet.

 

Her voice was tinny, and frightened sounding. “Where’s your cast? I worked really hard putting that thing on you! And your shoulder sling?” Her hands were on him, testing him for injuries and her face was frowning.

 

Not at all the image he had harbored of Jillian feeling him up.

 

But he looked, and the cast was gone.

 

With a sharp frown he bent the leg.

 

“No! Don’t re-injure it!” She grabbed for him, trying to stop him, but wasn’t fast enough.

 

His leg bent - and it didn’t feel that bad.

 

So he shrugged. “You must be really good, Doc.” He smiled. “Someone must have taken it off. Do you think you can get me a-”

 

“They wouldn’t take it off while you sleep! That’s medically contraindicated.” She started to walk a tight circle. Thinking and worrying a trail into the grass beneath her feet.

 

What it seemed was that Jillian was contraindicated with his getting his damned Percocet.

 

“Where are your x-rays?” Her hands flew across the practically spotless countertop. “Are they in the other tent? When did they move you?”

 

“I don’t know.” Juice. Juice would be good, too. Or maybe some liquor. Hysterical woman always went down smoother with a good Jack and Coke.

 

Jillian planted her fists on her hips and her glare on his face. “How did you not wake up when they moved you? Or cut off your cast?”

 

Like he would know! He shrugged. “The morphine?”

 

“We didn’t give you that much!” She turned away from him, taking her scrunched up face and his hopes of getting a Percocet. She stepped just outside the tent and grabbed the next tech she could find.

 

He heard her ask about his x-rays before he decided to close his eyes and wait it out. There were some raised voices, akin to yelling, but not quite a fight. It was clear that Jillian disagreed with the tech and the tech was a bit afraid of the angry doc. Then again, Jillian wasn’t just any doctor. She had found this thing. She was hot shit in her little blue scrubs and ponytail, seeming no older than twenty until she opened that way-too-intelligent little mouth of hers.

David smiled. It was a hot little mouth, and oh, what it would do to him-196 “David! Tell him you fell down the steps!”

 

Good, just the thing he wanted to rehash. Maybe she’d ask him to tell about the time his Grandfather had walked in on him masturbating, too. That’d be some nice icing on the humiliation cake. So he closed his eyes and mumbled to the tech. “I fell down the steps.”

 

“No you didn’t.”

 

David blinked. And stared at the kid. The little prick sounded awfully sure of himself.

 

“Yes, I did. When I walked down. I broke my leg and bruised my ribs.”

 

The tech laughed then, as though he had finally caught on to the joke. “Must have been a bad dream then.”

 

Jillian’s mouth hung open for a second. And the tech turned to leave, his white jacket puffing a little in the night breeze. “Wait!”

 

He turned back, a question in his eyes.

 

“Bring the portable x-ray, please. I need films on him.”

 

David sighed. Then he popped up. “And Percocet!”

 

But the tech had already cleared the open space of the tent flap, and Jillian was worrying her circle in the grass again. Son of a bitch.

 

Becky pushed herself off the gurney. She’d fallen back asleep almost instantly. Even as she had been sucked under into dreams she had wondered how a person got so tired in a coma.

 

But she’d woken back up. The covers mussed and tangled around her. Sleep had been a light wrap that had been easy to throw off this time. And she yawned and stretched and faced a new day.

For a brief moment.

 

Until she remembered that she had lost Aaron. And Baby Mel.

 

And maybe her mother had been moved from the ‘undecided’ list. Either woken up, or died. The heaviness wrapped and suffocated, but Becky shrugged it off. There was nothing she could do. And this wasn’t her personal tragedy, either. It was everyone’s. She had to go out and help. And maybe that would help her, too.

 

She leaned out and worked the safety rails. Popping the side down and slipping onto the ground, testing out legs that were barely sturdy enough to stand on. But that made sense.

 

After a moment she stabilized herself. When the world stopped swirling around her, she cursed her fuzzy mouth. She’d sell her soul for a toothbrush. With a languid blink she realized that she didn’t have to.

 

Her duffle was stuffed under the gurney, all things organized and neat. So she squatted down and rifled through the bag until her fingers brushed against heavy steel. Closing around the barrel, Becky brought the gun out of its hiding place. Clearly no one had searched her bag. With raised eyebrows she rummaged, and triumphantly held up her overnight pack.

 

A few minutes later she dried and repacked her face soap and toothbrush. For a moment she fingered the bottle of sunscreen, then thought that one day’s exposure wouldn’t kill her. She needed the feel of pure sunshine on her face.

 

She needed to walk.

 

To get away.

 

She’d have research to do for the rest of her days, trying to prove or disprove what had happened to various species and why. There’d be a whole new field - ‘Post pole-reversal biology’. So, for now, she didn’t need to do