Chapter Eight

Ten Days Later

February 20th

WAYLAN

Channon had been avoiding him. He’d become an integral part of every day for the last year, but Waylan tried not to let the situation affect him, even if every morning and evening he missed the hit of cinnamon coffee and caramel doughnut that made a long day more bearable.

He could have used that doughnut today.

“I believe we have an answer,” he said, sitting in the staff room where Carole and three male staff sat, taking their first rest of the day. At eleven in the morning Waylan already felt like they’d been here all night and a full day. A van of twenty patients had been waiting for Waylan when he arrived at eight, and before he’d gotten halfway through, another van of ten had arrived. Eighty percent had presented with the same sickness he’d been baffled by for weeks.

Today, Waylan made a breakthrough. For every patient who walked in the door, Carole handed them a questionnaire and asked them to return the form before leaving. They had finally revealed the connection he needed to resolve the problem but the solution led to another issue: he would need Channon’s help.

Davy stood from the table to peer over Waylan’s shoulder, sipping from a carton juice box.

“They’ve all been to the nature reserve within a week of getting sick,” Waylan explained, spreading out the new sheets from this morning to combine them with the initial data. “The initial infection begins not in the patient but their closest contact. I asked the patients where they’ve been and the nature reserve was never mentioned, but the form asks about recent food ingested and where they sourced it. Nearly every form mentions food gathered from the reserve and brought home by a family member.”

“And maybe the reason it took them so long to make the connection was because their loved ones are finally getting sick,” Davy said, following closely as he always did. He was Waylan’s expert chemist, in his early thirties but had completed a degree in chemistry online and was working toward an advanced degree.

Waylan couldn’t have been more proud of Davy’s achievements. The fact he worked at the hospital was something he would always thank the Mother for. “Yes! The infection skipped the first contact, which is curious and confusing. I’ll need to speak to those who were physically at the nature reserve and learn if they had an injury that might have slowed the body’s reaction to the infection.”

Davy moved papers around to show the chronological order of infection. “Their Vihaan nature may have been too busy fighting the injury and healing to notice the threat of a slow-growing infection.”

“Exactly.” Standing, Waylan gathered the pile of papers, keeping the order Davy had arranged them in. “I need to make phone calls, then arrange a guide to take me through the nature reserve.”

“Why?” Davy propped a hip against Waylan’s table.

He swung his coat on in preparation for leaving the facility. “If we hope to identify what is making these people sick, I’ll need to search the reserve. I may need them to close that part of the reserve until our test results come back.” Retreating with a wave over his shoulder, he headed to his office to get to work. Putting the final pieces together could take hours, but the time would give Waylan a chance to gather his courage.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted to see Channon, but maybe he could find closure about why he’d started shutting Waylan out. Surely his offer of coffee couldn’t have been so offensive that Channon would abandon years of friendship instead of simply rejecting Waylan?

*

FOUR HOURS LATER, Waylan stood in a three-person queue outside A Taste of Home, hoping Channon wouldn’t close the shutter on him. Being ignored by someone he’d considered a friend was humiliating, but a blatant warning that his company was unwelcome would be the end of him. The customer in front moved aside so Waylan stepped forward, hugging the folder of evidence to his chest.

“What can I get you?” Channon called over his shoulder, perhaps having seen the vague outline of a figure behind the previous customer.

“Cinnamon coffee and a caramel doughnut, please,” he said, requesting his order for only the second time. In the past, if Waylan had arrived before ten in the morning, Channon would have it ready and slide the bag across the counter with a knowing smile.

Today, Channon tensed with awareness and hesitated before moving toward the coffee machine, putting a cup beneath the tap. He arranged the items in silence but there was nothing calm about the tight muscles in his back, the sharp movements as he grabbed tongs and practically threw them into the bucket of cold water where they were kept between use.

Waylan tried not to flinch at the clang they made before Channon slid his bagged doughnut and coffee cup across the counter. He said nothing, not the price, not an off-hand comment about the weather, nor how long it had been since Waylan had stopped by the truck, and not even an apology or explanation for why he’d been so distant.

They stood at an impasse as Waylan fought to find the words to request a favour from a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

“That’ll be…”

“I know,” Waylan cut in, refusing to face the indignity of being told how much his regular breakfast was when he always had the exact money on the counter and added a two-pound tip to the jar at the side. He lifted his head and slid his money onto the counter. “I’d like to ask a favour,” he said, refusing to let his voice tremble. “I believe I’ve found the cause of the sickness but it’s spreading rapidly through the community, and I can’t afford to wait for the proper channels to get involved.”

Channon raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter and folding his arms over his chest.

“I need access to the nature reserve. I believe my patients have eaten a root that is causing this sickness. I need to find and test the source and determine what is wrong with the root that is causing this illness,” he explained, laying his folder onto the counter. He had a printed map of the nature reserve that he removed and slid across the counter. Channon lay his hands on the surface to study the map. “I’ve plotted the landmarks my patients could remember. All the first-contact patients said they collected roots and berries to take home to their family. The affected patients are either caly or m’weko, and they insist the root is a Vihaan delicacy from the E’Boolou region.”

Waylan pushed the map forward and put his finger to the starting point. “This is the farthest into the forest, according to my calculations. I need to work my way from here back to the parking lot, taking samples of every root and berry that resembles a Vihaan plant. Travel through this doorway,” he said, moving his finger to where he’d marked the doorway in the middle of the forest, “may have tracked through tiny seeds that have begun to grow in Dnara.”

Channon hummed, leaning onto his forearms. “I’d be surprised if anything from Vihaan could grow in Dnaran soil, but this place has a lot of rainfall and tree covering, meaning there’s a lot of mushrooms and wildflowers.”

“Can you take me on this trail? Today?”

Glancing up, he seemed to weigh his words carefully. “Why me? You have a car. You could drive up and speak to Tathe yourself.”

Waylan didn’t think he should have to explain himself and probably wouldn’t have needed to before Channon changed his mind about their friendship. “I don’t even know if Tathe is working today, and I don’t know the new guard well enough to convince them to let me into the reserve without official paperwork.” Taking a deep breath, Waylan pleaded with Channon’s sense of social justice. “If the guard proves uncooperative, I’d like you to cause a distraction so I can slip in unobserved.”

“You could just go as a visitor.”

The man was infuriating. “Yes, I could,” Waylan replied, unable to keep the bite from his voice. “But that would involve going home to change clothes, using this map to get me to where I need to be, and not having anyone with knowledge of the reserve nearby if I have questions.” Though it grated, he made his position clear. “If you’d rather not help me, stop wasting my time, and just say so.”

There was a tense moment where Channon remained silent, only Waylan’s breath misting between them, the sound audible to even Dnaran ears.

“Let me secure the truck,” Channon said, stepping back to roll the shutter. Waylan scrambled to collect his scattered papers, doughnut and coffee.

Disappointed, Waylan reorganised his papers, flinching when the passenger door opened in a clear invitation to get inside. He slipped into the passenger seat, saying nothing of Channon’s frosty demeanour. It would be counter-productive to cause an argument or hurt feelings when he needed to conduct this research and Channon was the only one who could help him.

As the door shut, he accepted that things might never be the same between them.

*

WAYLAN COULDN’T FATHOM why Channon was angry, but the man barely spoke ten words during the drive to the nature reserve.

When Channon asked how he’d come to his theory, Waylan felt obligated to explain. It rankled more than he expected to tell someone who had woken up one day deciding to hate him and ruin what had been an important friendship. He had so few people in his life who cared, listened, and didn’t roll their eyes when he spoke of his work, fewer that he felt comfortable confiding in.

As soon as they arrived at the reserve, Channon marched ahead to the security hut without him, adding insult to injury. Waylan rushed after him, not wanting to be left behind, but he’d clearly missed part of a conversation because Channon and Tathe were talking when they stepped outside.

“Can I come with you?” Tathe asked excitedly, gesturing to the hut. “I was brought in to mentor a new partner today so it’s not a problem to leave the hut.”

Channon said no, so Waylan stepped closer and cut in. “If that’s no trouble,” he cut in, smiling at Tathe. Though his obvious surprise implied Channon hadn’t mentioned Waylan’s presence, he tried not to let the pettiness upset him. “I have questions.”

“Cool.”

“I’ll stay here,” Channon said, churning the disappointment settling in Waylan’s stomach. “You don’t need both of us.”

The way his stare burned into Waylan he would have thought Channon was jealous or hinting at something else. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

Channon didn’t even pause, returning to the truck without a word. From how Tathe glanced at Waylan he could tell he wasn’t the only one confused by Channon’s behaviour. Tathe at least waited until he was out of earshot―human and Vihaan―before speaking. “What crawled up his ass?”

“I honestly couldn’t say.”

Waylan showed him the point on the map, and Tathe led the way to a trail worn by thousands of visitors to the nature reserve. As they walked, he explained the reason for his visit while Tathe swiped a card to a security barrier at the side of the trail. He had questions for Tathe, as the prominent ranger and one of Vihaan nature, as someone who kept a keen eye on the visitors. Tathe’s caly senses were as sharp and clear as kalou or m’weko. “Do you mind if I ask you questions about your visitors?”

“Sure.” Tathe smiled, unperturbed by Waylan’s curiosity. He trudged across the worn path, over long grass for a shortcut and gravel trails, seemingly without a care in the world.

“Could a Vihaan species of flora have come through the doorway by wind, footfall, or from a deliberate act?”

Tathe hummed and bobbed his head with uncertainty. “Deliberately…sure. I get deliveries every month for Channon’s food truck, from someone in his village, so someone comes through every month to leave a deposit of meat in his storage box,” he explained, a surprising revelation Waylan wouldn’t ask about because what Channon did was none of his business. “Accidentally…hmm. A seed pod could have been caught in a shoe tread or blown in the wind, but I would have seen something foreign growing amongst the native species. I do a check every month for rare or unusual species.”

“I see.” Waylan found that prospect fascinating.

“What species are your sick patients?” Tathe asked, showing more interest than he could have hoped for.

Waylan ruffled his papers to remove the list he’d made, which detailed the patient’s name, symptoms, their species and their home region in Vihaa. “Most are from E’Boolou. I presume the illness is a foame problem. I’d say around seventy percent are m’weko and the rest are caly, but the land does overlap to central E’Boolou,” he said, glancing at Tathe with curiosity. “Does that help?”

“Absolutely.” Tathe looked thoughtful for a moment, scanning the paper with Waylan’s notes before referencing the map again. “Your point on the map is a large area, but it’s where most Vihaans run. The land reminds them of E’Boolou and they’ll sit there for hours if we let them. But, if you go to the east of that plot, you’ll find the doorway. Shall we start there?”

“Please.” Waylan was glad he’d asked Tathe to join him. No one knew this reserve better.