A jazzy little lime green car with the UCLA logo on it zipped into the parking lot at the La Brea Tar Pits. Mickey bounced out of the driver’s seat.
“I love this car,” he said as River and Christina climbed out the other side. “I’m so glad they’re experimenting with the fuel again.”
“I’ve got a soft spot for it, too,” River said, patting the roof. “We’ve had some adventures, haven’t we, old girl?”
“Girl? What do you mean, girl? This car is all boy,” Mickey said.
“I don’t know, when I hear X, I think female,” Christina said. “As in X chromosomes.”
“Don’t get technical on me. I know what I know,” Mickey said. “Shall we?”
He motioned for Christina to lead the way into Hancock Park. She obliged, carrying a purse-sized nylon pouch and a bouquet of freshly-cut white calla lilies. They followed the original path toward Pit 91 a short distance, until the path was swallowed by a puddle of liquid asphalt and they had to take a detour.
“Wow, this place has changed,” River said.
“You haven’t been here since before the petroplague, have you?” Christina said.
They reached what was left of Pit 91 and stood in silent respect by a memorial plaque posted in honor of Linda, who had perished there one year ago today. No one would dig at this site again; the pit had completely filled with tar. Christina tossed the lilies into the simmering muck and watched them slowly sink beneath the surface.
Rest in peace, Linda, she prayed and made the Sign of the Cross. She added a prayer for Dr. Chen, too.
They left Pit 91 and all its memories, and wandered to another corner of the park.
“Still smells as bad as ever,” Mickey said.
Christina noted the odor of hydrogen sulfide, a foul but reassuring reminder that all was normal at La Brea.
“The disruption caused by the petroplague changed the locations of the tar seeps,” she said. “The old Lake Pit doubled in size. We’ve also got several new pits, including the one that opened under the art museum. But the lawn has recovered pretty well. See? Lots of green grass again.”
“So your boyfriend has his parks department working overtime. Great. Can we get this over with and go back to the car?” Mickey said while holding his nose.
“That’s the sweet smell of my doctoral degree you’re dissing,” Christina said. She unzipped the nylon pouch and removed an assortment of test tubes and sampling equipment. “The microbial ecology of this place changed completely when the petroplague bacteria took over. After they were killed by my virus, new ecological niches opened for a variety of bacteria that are entirely new to science.”
She dipped a sterile scoop into a bubbling black pool.
“I’m going to get a species named after me,” she said.
THE END