Sunlight fell on Christina’s laboratory notebook as she recorded her final observations. The liquid ink pen she used only for this task made a scratching noise that seemed loud in the quiet of the lab. She’d worked all night, but the heavy drowsiness that afflicted her in the predawn hours lifted as her body sensed that it was once again the proper time to be awake. Concentrating on her work, she didn’t hear Dr. Chen approach.
“Go home, Chrissy,” he said. “Prepare for a siege. If it’s not already too late, stock up on provisions on your way. Get as much as you can carry.”
She looked at him stupidly, her mind still focused on molecules and oblivious to real life.
“This crisis is only beginning,” he said. “I don’t know what will happen once everyone realizes they can’t just refill their gas tanks and go on their merry way.”
“The bacteria are here to stay, aren’t they,” Christina said, a statement more than a question.
Dr. Chen nodded. “Yesterday the media were speculating about terrorists putting something in the fuel supply. I wish they had! A simple contaminant could be diluted, washed away. Syntrophus, on the other hand, will have colonized the entire petroleum infrastructure: individual car tanks, gas stations, pipelines, tankers. Adding fresh petroleum will only stimulate their growth. The more you feed them, the more they’ll multiply.”
“Guess I’m lucky to have a bike,” Christina said.
“Transporting yourself around the neighborhood isn’t the problem. Think about the less obvious ways you depend on petroleum. The most immediate issue will be food. Without trucks making deliveries, stores are going to run out fast.”
A primal sense of fear rose in her as the enormity of the situation dawned on Christina. She had to tell River and Mickey. They must turn the apartment into a bunker and protect themselves. Too bad none of them owned a gun.
“We’ll start rationing our food right away,” Christina said, thinking about how long they could survive on dried ramen noodles. “But water…”
“You didn’t notice the water and electricity are still on,” Dr. Chen said.
Sheepishly Christina acknowledged that they were. How easy it was to take them for granted.
“Those utilities don’t depend directly on petroleum,” Dr. Chen said, “but without gasoline it’ll be difficult to make repairs to the system. You’d better fill every container in your house with drinking water just in case. But enough talking. Get yourself out of here.”
“What about you?”
Her mentor’s face clouded. “I’m staying in the lab.”
“But there’s hardly anything to eat.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not leaving until I find a cure.”
“I can help you.”
“No,” he said forcefully. “I can do the work alone, and I don’t want to be responsible for you. As you pointed out, there’s no food.”
Dr. Chen escorted Christina and her bicycle down the elevator and to the main entrance of the building. The campus was quiet, with no obvious threats. He sent her on her way.
“If it turns out you’d be safer here, then by all means come back. But I think for now the best place to be is in your own home,” he said.
With a combination of regret and relief, Christina pedaled away toward Westwood Boulevard, which led out of UCLA and connected the campus to the rest of the city. Every lane of the street was clogged with traffic. At first glance, it looked like a typical rush hour—except the cars were silent and empty, like the day after the Rapture in a city populated by saints.
She half-expected to see a Hollywood film crew.
Images from disaster movies came to mind, but she’d never seen one like this. In theaters and on late-night TV, Christina had vicariously experienced nuclear wars, unstoppable plagues, earthquakes, tsunami, alien invasions, and more. The weird thing about this catastrophe was the absence of death and destruction. On the eerily still streets of Los Angeles, the only dead things were cars, and the worst damage was hidden inside internal combustion engines.
#
Dr. Chen’s call interrupted her trip home. She stood astride her bike, mouth agape.
“I can’t. I’m only a student.”
“You’re a scientist,” Chen said, more harshly than she expected. “You’re talented, knowledgeable, and you communicate well. Whether you believe it or not, you’re capable of doing this.” He paused and softened his tone. “I’m sorry, I know it should be me. If the stakes were any less, I would handle it. But Chancellor Hampton insists that someone who understands the Syntrophus project must answer the mayor’s questions, and I can’t leave the lab. That means you have to go in my place.”
She wanted to say, I’m too ashamed. Don’t make me share responsibility for the petroplague. Let me go home and hide while you make everything okay.
Instead she said, “Downtown is too far to go on my bike.”
“They’re expecting you at the Wilshire and Western Metro stop,” Dr. Chen said. “Someone will escort you to City Hall. When the interview is over, they’ll get you back to the Metro.”
How can I explain the impossible? How can I give them hope when we have nothing to offer?
“Okay,” she said, though she meant nothing of the sort.
#
Mayor Ramirez was not the kind to sit still in a crisis. As the meetings at City Hall rolled on hour after hour, he paced the room. Movement energized him and he looked forward to knocking some heads when the nerds from UCLA arrived. The chancellor had promised to supply him with an appropriate target for his ire. Those eggheads at the university had landed the city in this mess. They’d have to do some smooth talking to walk out of his office with their asses intact.
“Mr. Mayor, the scientist from UCLA is here.”
“Send him in,” he said and temporarily took a seat at the head of the conference table with a dozen of his top officials. “Only one?”
“Yes, sir.”
A poised young woman of Hispanic origin stepped into the room, her shiny hair secured in a ponytail that drew full attention to her eyes, which were rich and dark and intelligent.
“You’re the scientist from UCLA?” Ramirez said with surprise as he rose to his feet.
“My name’s Christina Gonzalez, your honor. I’m a Ph.D. candidate in the laboratory of Dr. Robert Chen.”
He looked past Christina to see if someone accompanied her, but she had come alone. It was most disconcerting. The head-knocking and ass-kicking he’d anticipated no longer seemed like a good idea.
“Where is this Dr. Chen?”
“Working on a solution to our problem,” she said. “He won’t rest until he’s found one.”
Ramirez wanted to rail against her and vent his frustration over the petroplague, but she made a terrible scapegoat. Attacking the polite, lovely student would make him look like a bully. He’d have to settle for information instead of revenge.
“Tell me about the petroplague germs,” he said.
She spoke earnestly, thoughtfully, using language the laypeople could understand. She explained the original purpose of the work, and told them about the field test in Jefferson Park. He listened and asked questions, impressed by her composure and depth of knowledge. He considered himself an excellent judge of character, and she seemed to be reliable and honest.
He also couldn’t help noticing that she appeared ignorant of her attractiveness. She wore no makeup, yet her face was captivating. In his experience of L.A., her combination of brains, humility, and good looks was unique.
“I’m sorry we don’t have all the answers,” Christina said, “but if there is anything else we can explain for you, please call me or Dr. Chen.”
“Thank you, Ms. Gonzalez,” he said. They shook hands; hers was trembling. He addressed an aide. “Please make sure she’s allowed to board the Metro.”
She departed and the mayor resumed his pacing. Though the messenger from UCLA was surprisingly pleasing, her message was not. Los Angeles was in for a heap of trouble, and Ramirez couldn’t rely on the scientists to fix things anytime soon.