“What do we do?” asked Mel.
“Wait, wait, let me think,” said Jon. Tommy squeezed his side and groaned. They had no time, they had no time, think, Jon, think. They needed to reset him, revert him back to—
“The zero formula,” said Jon. “Remember it, Mel?”
“Yes, yes,” said Mel.
Jon looked to Tommy, who moaned in pain. He was changing already. He wouldn’t last much longer. “From down here, can you instruct the computer in the medical pillar to make it?”
“Yes,” said Mel.
“Good,” said Jon. “Do it.” He looked to Tabby, and kissed her once, and then grabbed Tommy, putting his arm over his shoulder, making their way to the elevator. He had to get Tommy away from the rest of them. He’d turn soon, unable to be reasoned with, and he wouldn’t have Tommy be a killer, for any reason. He knew what he had to do, clear in his mind.
He felt Tommy shake next to him.
“You with me, son?” asked Jon, as they moved toward the elevator. Jon half dragged Tommy. Jon’s left arm still barely worked, and he paused a moment to slam it into a glass panel, and it slid back into place with screaming pain.
“Yeah,” said Tommy, with labored breath. “It hurts so much. My insides are burning.”
“Stay with me,” said Jon. “Stay with me. I’ll fix you, don’t worry.”
Tommy screamed again and felt Tommy’s arm mutate. He saw the elevator, and then they were there, and Jon dragged him inside.
“The medical pillar, Nadia,” said Jon. The doors closed, and then it moved. Tommy continued to mutate, his arms and legs bloating, distending. His face was still his, though, and he screamed in pain.
“I can’t,” said Tommy, and Jon saw the pain in his eyes. He knew what was happening inside his son. The regeneration had begun, already finished healing the wound caused by Shaw, but it wouldn’t stop making more flesh, and it needed fuel, and Tommy had a limited supply. Soon it would eat away all his fat, and then muscle, a constant cycle until it was all eaten up, and Tommy would die. It was what drove the creatures, the need to fuel that engine. Jon had pulled Tommy away from the food source, all the humans left down in the dark lab.
But he wouldn’t let his son starve to death, no matter what form he took. The elevator sped toward the medical pillar, and Jon took his son’s arm and put it around him, and Tommy fed on him. Jon felt it, and the pain of his flesh being siphoned away nearly pushed him into unconsciousness.
But he pulled himself back, he had to, otherwise they would both die for nothing. Tommy screamed again, but he wouldn’t starve, pulling flesh away from Jon. Jon felt himself being absorbed, but they had enough time. They had to.
The elevator doors opened.
“Good luck, Doctor,” said Nadia, and Jon pulled Tommy, now together as one. Jon’s legs didn’t want to work, but he made them work, he forced them forward, his old lab not that far away, only a few hundred feet. He could make it. He would fix Tommy, he would finish what he started, he would correct his mistake.
Step after step on clear glass tiles, lit with white light. Blood trailed behind them as Tommy continued to mutate, his torso distending now, his legs and arms thickening, engorging. He moaned in pain.
“You still with me, son?” asked Jon, but Tommy only grunted now. The mutation was taking over. Jon felt himself losing strength, what reserves he had being siphoned away. But he would finish this.
He could see his lab now, fifty feet away. His feet didn’t want to work, he couldn’t feel them anymore, but he looked down at them, and made them move, didn’t look at what Tommy was doing to him, wouldn’t have his last memory of his son be this. If he would die, he would remember Tommy as a boy, not this thing.
But they were at the lab now, the doors open. Jon only had a single arm and leg now and he grabbed and clawed his way to the workstation, where the CRISPR software worked. The serum sat there, in the machine, ready. He dragged the squalling mess that was his son and what remained of himself over to it. He couldn’t breathe, a bloody mess of air choking in his throat, but he had the strength for this.
Jon grabbed the serum and slid it with shaking fingers into a syringe, and popped off the safety lid with his teeth, Tommy pulling more and more of him inside.
“Don’t worry, son,” said Jon. “I’ll fix you.”
He plunged the needle into the growing mass that was Tommy, which screamed and moaned now as it grew. His strength was fading. He dropped the needle now. Soon he would be gone.
But then Tommy changed, the mass receding, falling off, sloughing off just like Shaw had done, and Jon felt the thing that Tommy had become let loose of him, let loose of whatever was left, as the extraneous flesh melted away, undone by the serum. Jon fell to the floor, and Tommy groaned in pain, shaking, more and more of his extra flesh falling away, until only he remained. He slumped to the floor, his new legs gone again.
He collapsed next to Jon, breathing hard, wet and slimy, like from the womb.
“Dad?” asked Tommy. “Where are you?” He blinked, confused, wiped his eyes. “Where’d my legs go?”
“I fixed you, Tommy,” said Jon. “I fixed you.”
“Dad—” said Tommy, staring at Jon, and Jon couldn’t imagine what he saw.
“Look into my eyes, Tommy,” said Jon. “Just look into my eyes.”
Tommy did, staring at him, even as tears flowed from them.
“Remember, I love you, always,” said Jon. “Okay?”
Tommy nodded. “I love you too,” said Tommy.
“Take care of your mom,” said Jon. “She won’t let you, but do it anyway.” Jon felt himself fading, he forced his eyes open, forced himself to look at Tommy.
“You’re a good kid,” said Jon. “Just do your best. I love you.”
Jon’s eyes closed, and no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t open again. And then there was nothing.
31
Ten years later.
Tommy drove. The little electric car could go fast enough, and there was little traffic heading out into the country, even with all the construction.
“Fix America” was the new President’s campaign slogan, and that’s what they were doing, a nationwide effort to pave all the roads, shore up all the bridges, to restore the infrastructure of the country. Patterned after FDR’s New Deal, it was working. Unemployment was down.
After a while he turned off the radio, and rolled down the windows, enjoying the soft summer breeze. Sure, it was warm, but the wind felt nice. He had the entire day, might as well enjoy it. The firm would be okay without him, even though there was a part that burned inside, that told him to work, work, work. Something he inherited from Dad, he guessed.
He admired the wind farms as he passed. They were still being built this time last year, but now they were up, churning at full speed, generating power. One of the rotors was his design, and he felt proud looking at them, whenever he spotted them. They’d be a part of the annual pilgrimage now, to visit his dad. Mom had stopped coming a few years back. He didn’t blame her. It only made her sad. She had moved on, with a new husband. Tommy liked him.
Tommy pulled up to the gate, closed, and he swung it open, the metal creaking. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he swiped at it with his sleeve. It was getting hotter every year, but their projections had it dropping again in a decade, if they continued. Not everything Shaw had developed down in the FUTURE lab was a weapon.
Tommy walked in a learned pattern, hitching every so often, but at a good pace. He didn’t even need a cane. Sarah had finally convinced him to switch from the wheelchair. He had made the change for her and realized immediately he should have done it much sooner.