In my dreams, you are always alive, and young.
I feel your hands on me.
I awake and curse the morning.
— EPITAPH FOR RAUL “SONNY” SANCHEZ
(APRIL 12, 2023–AUGUST 9, 2067),
BY GUADALUPE SANCHEZ, HIS WIFE,
NOVEMBER 22, 2068
“Both of you were curious,” Tia said, moving to her desk, touching her computer to life. Sunday and I hovered. “I wanted to do more research so we’d know for sure, but let me show you what I’ve found so far.”
“When did you come up with this?” I said.
“While we were still in Nebraska we had a teacher — remember Hernandez, Sunday? — who encouraged independent study. And I found some stuff doing a PE history project that just seemed too neat and coincidental. I didn’t know what to do about it, though. I just kind of let it go.
“Then today in class the San Francisco video and discussion stirred up my interest again. Not the information itself, so much, but the fact that Anderson was so into it. And when I looked at our take-home — the junkyarddog stuff — I got the impression she was trying to tell us something important.”
I felt like asking a million questions, but I didn’t want to risk looking dumber than I already felt.
Tia turned to face her computer display, where excerpts from that day’s take-home — excerpts I hadn’t yet read — suddenly appeared. “Did you look at the whole lesson?” she asked me.
“No,” I admitted. “Half, maybe. My brain got full.”
“Where did you leave off?” Sunday asked.
“We’d just invaded Mexico. But I’ve got the whole thing printed out. Hold on.”
I raced down the hall and back. When I returned I had the printout in my hand. I liked having an assignment on paper. I liked looking at it, folding it up, sticking it in my pocket, carrying it around, unfolding it whenever I wanted. It was the book thing, all over again. Maybe I really was a throwback.
But Tia wasn’t impressed. She stayed focused on her monitor. “You stopped right before it got interesting,” she said to me. She scrolled up and stopped at an entry while I found it on my printout. Sunday crowded in close. Whatever we were looking for, she must have missed its significance the first time.
MAY 12, 2061, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — MCDONALD’S CORPORATION REPORTS TO ITS STOCKHOLDERS THAT THE COMPANY NOW HAS A PRESENCE IN EVERY COUNTRY IN THE WORLD, WITH A TOTAL NUMBER OF 59,886 RESTAURANTS. NOT TO BE OUTDONE, STARBUCKS CLAIMS MORE TOTAL CUSTOMERS.
FEBRUARY 12, 2062, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — EARLY THIS WEEK, POACHERS WERE INTERCEPTED TRANSPORTING NEARLY A THOUSAND MALE NORTHERN OWL MONKEYS (AOTUS TRIVIRGATUS) FROM VENEZUELA TO A LARGE LABORATORY ON GRAND CAYMAN ISLAND, NOW MOSTLY DESERTED BECAUSE OF OCEAN ENCROACHMENT. A SPOKESWOMAN FOR THE LAB CONTENDS SHE WAS UNAWARE OF THE POACHING, AND THAT THE LAB, AN ARM OF AN ORGANIZATION CALLED BRIGHTER DAY, IS INVOLVED IN VALUABLE RESEARCH ON A VARIETY OF ACUTE, INFECTIOUS, AND HEREDITARY DISEASES, SUCH AS INTERSTITIAL PNEUMONIA, MYOCARDITIS, LEGIONNAIRES’ DISEASE, EBOLA VIRUS, AND HEMOPHILIA.
BADAKHSHAN PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN, APRIL 17, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — A REMOTE VILLAGE OF 354 PEOPLE IN THIS POPPY-GROWING REGION REPORTS THAT OVER A PERIOD OF TWO DAYS, ITS ENTIRE MALE POPULATION DIED OF APPARENT CARDIORESPIRATORY FAILURE. AN UNEXPLAINED CORRELATION TO DRUGS IS SUSPECTED.
BADAKHSHAN PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN, APRIL 21, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — THREE MALE WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION RESEARCHERS SENT TO THE VILLAGE TO INVESTIGATE THE DEATHS DIED WITHIN A DAY OF ARRIVING. TWO ACCOMPANYING FEMALES ARE HEALTHY AND ATTEMPTING TO ISOLATE THE CAUSE OF THE DEATHS, ALTHOUGH A COMMON WELL IS SUSPECTED AS THE INITIAL SOURCE OF THE MYSTERIOUS BUG OR TOXIN. THE AREA HAS BEEN QUARANTINED INDEFINITELY.
ISLAND OF NUKAPU, SOLOMON ISLANDS, JULY 5, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — A FEMALE ELDER ARRIVES BY BOAT FROM REMOTE PUERTO VERDE ISLAND TO REPORT THAT THE MALES ON HER ISLAND AWOKE HEALTHY ON JULY 4, BUT BY NIGHTFALL ALL 223 OF THEM WERE DEAD. “DAYLIGHT TOOK THEIR BREATH AWAY,” SHE SAYS.
I suddenly realized I wasn’t breathing. I was cold, even though the bedroom was sticky-warm. I didn’t know where this was going, exactly, but I knew it was somewhere dark and suffocating.
PUERTO VERDE ISLAND, JULY 7, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — A TEAM OF WOMEN INVESTIGATORS ARRIVES AT THE ISLAND TO DELVE INTO THE CAUSE OF THE DEATHS. AFGHANISTAN DEATHS STILL UNRESOLVED.
PUERTO VERDE ISLAND, JULY 10, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — FEMALE ELDER REPORTS THAT ON THE DAY BEFORE THE DEATHS (JULY 3), A LONE EUROPEAN WOMAN DOCKED HER SMALL SAILBOAT IN THE ISLAND’S HARBOR. SHE DEPARTED EARLY IN THE A.M. OF JULY 4.
BADAKHSHAN PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN, JULY 12, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — A VILLAGER REMEMBERS TWO STRANGERS — WOMEN WEARING TRADITIONAL DRESS — STOPPING FOR WATER ON APRIL 14, THE DAY BEFORE THE DEATHS BEGAN. RESEARCHERS REPORT NO SIGN OF POISON OR CONTAMINATION IN WATER SUPPLY OR BODIES.
NEW YORK, JULY 16, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — SOFT DRINK GIANT COCA-COLA ANNOUNCES THAT ITS NEWEST SPORTS ENERGY DRINK, STUDFAST, WILL BE INTRODUCED TO CONSUMERS IN A HUGE MARKETING BLITZ THREE WEEKS FROM TODAY. REPRESENTATIVES OF COCA-COLA’S MERCHANDISING PARTNER, GLOBAL PERSPECTIVES, WILL DISTRIBUTE TRIAL SIZES OF THE DRINK AT BASEBALL AND SOCCER GAMES, GOLF AND TENNIS TOURNAMENTS, AUTO AND HORSE RACES, AND OTHER HIGH-PROFILE SPORTING EVENTS TAKING PLACE WORLDWIDE ON AUGUST 6. IN THE UNITED STATES ALONE, FIVE MILLION FREE SAMPLES WILL BE HANDED OUT.
JULY 23, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — SECRET DOCUMENTS AND SOURCES INDICATE THAT A CLANDESTINE OFFSHORE ACCOUNT TRACED TO PRESIDENT RAMSEY HAS RECEIVED A BILLION-DOLLAR DEPOSIT THROUGH SERPENTINE CHANNELS LEADING BACK TO THE CHINESE GOVERNMENT. THE PURPOSE: TO BUY HIS EFFORTS TO PUSH THROUGH TRADE AGREEMENTS FAVORABLE TO THE CHINESE AND DEVASTATING TO THE U.S. WORKER.
JULY 24, 2067, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — IN A SWEEPING SERIES OF ARRESTS TODAY, THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND INTEGRITY TOOK INTO CUSTODY JUNKYARDDOG BLOGGERS JILL AND BETSY COWAN AND THEIR FULL-TIME STAFF OF RESEARCHERS AND WRITERS. THE COWAN SISTERS, FOUNDERS OF JUNKYARDDOG.BITES, A LONGESTABLISHED GOVERNMENT, BUSINESS, AND ENVIRONMENTAL WATCHDOG WEBSITE, HAD RECENTLY UNCOVERED AND POSTED A —
“Two weeks later, Elisha struck,” Tia said. “That’s a fact. It’s history. But why did Anderson choose to show us these events leading up to it? I began checking into it when we were at the library. I couldn’t figure out what McDonald’s and Starbucks had to do with it, so I started with the lab on Grand Cayman — the Brighter Day facility — and the story about the male monkeys. I dug into old records from Brighter Day that showed its statement of purpose, organizational chart, and rosters of employees.”
She touched the screen and a display of photos and names appeared. The heading read BOARD OF DIRECTORS, 2065. Which was when men still walked the earth in large numbers, before they’d become dinosaurs.
But everyone on the Brighter Day board of directors was a woman.
And in the middle of the top row was a remotely familiar face and immediately familiar name: Rebecca Mack, M.D., Ph.D.
“Dr. Mack,” Sunday said. “Oh, crap. Dr. Mack.”
“Check out the second row,” Tia said.
I did. I didn’t recognize any of the photos, but at the far right, under the picture of a middle-aged, attractive woman, was another familiar name, one from the history books.
Candace Bloom, the fifty-fourth president of the United States. The secretary of state when Elisha hit, she quickly assumed the presidency.
I’d been holding my breath. Now I whistled it out. A worldwide conspiracy. A real one, not some corncob–pipe dream of raving lunatics.
Rebecca Mack and Candace Bloom. Together. With their secret lab and male monkeys and diseases. “Why?” I said, half to myself.
“Keep reading,” Tia said.
Sweat started building on the back of my neck as thoughts swirled inside my head and Tia paged to a bio on Rebecca Mack. A leading authority on viral and bacterial illness, contagious disease, respiratory and cardiac disease, hemophilia, muscular dystrophy, Huntington’s chorea, and other gender-linked and chromosomal-based diseases, Mack was a world-renowned epidemiologist and research superstar. “The brilliant researcher with a troubled past,” was how one Paris news site described her.
I didn’t have long to wonder about her troubled past. Tia’s next screen showed an article from the Seattle Times E-dition dated April 12, 2035. No photo, but the story covered the outcome of Rebecca Mack’s trial in juvenile court: a manslaughter conviction for killing her mother’s abusive boyfriend, the man responsible for her mother’s death. Rebecca’s sentence: three years in the Hillside Correctional Facility for Girls.
“So have you guessed my theory yet?” Tia said.
“Brighter Day caused Elisha,” Sunday said. “Rebecca Mack. The witch went over the edge. She — they — found a way to kill men.”
“Males,” I said. “Almost all males.” A sensation rose in my stomach, like I was going to vomit. I could taste dinner souring just below the back of my throat. I felt duped, half destroyed.
Mack the Knife and Candace Bloom.
My mother. My mother was a part of this.
I was so stupid. Why hadn’t I picked up on these clues? The whole idea — the plotting, the execution — was horrible, outlandish, unbelievable. But I believed it.
Elisha’s Bear hadn’t shown up on its own. PAC wasn’t the result of accidental opportunity. Women weren’t our benevolent custodians.
My mother wasn’t my guardian angel. My mother wasn’t even my friend.
My mother was too young to have been involved in big Elisha, but she was involved now. My mother was my enemy.
Tia put her hand on my forearm. “I’m sorry, Kellen,” she said.
“It wasn’t you,” I managed, but right now I felt angry and betrayed. My mother was one thing, but another woman — someone I’d met — had wiped out half my family, without blinking. Half of humanity.
And she was still free, treated like some kind of hero. How many other people had suspicions about her role in the plague?
It’s a theory, I told myself, a kid’s theory. But I couldn’t force myself to disbelieve it now. Anderson wasn’t a kid. She believed it enough to point us in the direction of this stuff. Before this frightful chilling moment, I simply wasn’t tuned in.
“McDonald’s and Starbucks,” I said. “And the Studfast samples. It was how they distributed the bug, wasn’t it?”
“I think so,” Tia said. “Mostly, anyway. They could have used other chain restaurants and stores, too, or put it in the mail, sent it on planes, trucks, trains. They could have had women or unsuspecting men carry it into more isolated places. Like the Afghanistan and Puerto Verde Island occurrences. They wanted to test it out somewhere remote first to be sure it worked.”
“Why?” I asked again.
“Anderson gave us the clues,” Sunday said. “All the cruelty and destruction and chaos in the world. Mostly because of men.”
“Some men,” I said. “What about all the good men? What about the babies?”
“There’s no excuse for Brighter Day,” Tia said. “Or PAC. Or whatever Rebecca Mack is up to now.”
Rebecca Mack, the savior of the planet. The monster. Downstairs. In our house. With Mom. Cooking up the next “epidemic,” I realized. Plotting how to capture Aunt Paige. “They’re getting ready to do it again,” I said. “My aunt figured it out. She figured out that my dad’s in trouble.”
“Why the Olympic Peninsula?” Sunday asked.
“I don’t know,” Tia said. “There’s a group of throwbacks over there, but there are throwbacks scattered all over the world.”
Suddenly, I remembered my history. It jumped out at me like it hadn’t before. “Three throwback colonies have been hit in the past,” I said. “Three strong ones, trying to flex some muscle. Elisha returned there. Except for a few women and girls, the settlements were wiped out.”
“You’re right,” Tia said. “I wonder how many people made the connection.” She got to a website that discussed the 2081 outbreak of Elisha in northern Europe, in the state of Sweden. We read along with her. The male inhabitants of a large village secretly formed a totalitarian government, kidnapped and abused women and girls from surrounding communities, began to arm themselves, talked of rebellion and assassinations. Which is when Elisha resurfaced. The violent crime and rhetoric died with the men.
“I think we’ve learned enough to know what’s happening next,” I said. “And now I have to find my dad.”