The mutate growled and licked its lips.
He shivered as an intense sensation of chilling numbness pervaded his soul. Again and again, over and over, he attempted to will his legs to stop, to turn and flee, but without any hint of success.
The boulder was only feet away, the mutate pressed against the top of the rock as its hind legs searched for a firmer grip.
Stop! He shouted at his legs, to no avail. Stop! Stop! Stop!
He recalled the day a runner came and informed him that his father had been attacked while on a hunting foray. They hastened to the death scene, but arrived too late. His father had passed on only minutes before his arrival. Blood was still flowing from a gaping tear in his father’s throat, and the stomach area was torn to shreds, strips of ragged flesh splayed outward from the body. He knelt in the grass and held his father’s hand and felt tears streak his cheeks. His mother had died in childbirth, his birth. Now his father was killed, and loneliness filled his grieving heart.
The two men on the expedition with his father blamed themselves for his death. One of them had stopped to remove a stone from his boot, and the other waited with him, the two idly engaged in conversation. His father was thirty yards ahead of them when the mutate charged from the brush, bearing him to the ground, clawing and ripping and snapping. The two men rushed to his father’s aid, too late. The mutate whirled at their approach, snarled, and bounded into the woods. Strangely, the two men swore that this mutate was different from any other they had ever seen.
They claimed this particular mutate was wearing a leather collar. The men were honest and fearless, respected by everyone, but not one member of the Family really believed their story about the collar. A popular assumption was that the two men had mistaken a shadow under the mutate’s neck for a collar. Imagine! A collar on a mutate! The very idea was patently ridiculous.
He glanced up at the mutate on the boulder, petrified, because this mutate was wearing a wide leather collar decorated with silver studs.
No! It couldn’t be!
The mutate roared and pounced!
He screamed.
“Blade!”
He opened his eyes, his vision briefly blurry. A cold, clammy sweat caked to his skin.
“Blade? Are you okay?” It was Jenny.
Blade tried to respond, but his tongue felt swollen and awkward, his throat parched, and the room appeared to be spinning around and around.
“Blade? Can you hear me?” Her tone conveyed her concern.
Blade wanted to say yes, but couldn’t. He noticed his vision beginning to clear.
“Permit me,” someone said, and a shadowy figure loomed over his face, obstructing the light from the nearby candle. “Blade, concentrate on my voice, on my directions. If you can hear and comprehend, nod once.”
Blade recognized Plato’s voice. He nodded.
“Thank the Spirit!” Jenny happily exclaimed.
“Quiet!” Plato ordered her. “No distractions. Blade…” He placed his weathered, wrinkled right hand on Blade’s forehead. “Did you inhale any of the cloud? Any at all? Nod once for yes, twice for no.”
Blade nodded twice. At least, he couldn’t recall doing so.
“Good, Nathan and Geronimo agree with that assessment. A stray vapor possibly penetrated into your lungs, but not in sufficient quantity to cause your earthy demise. You must clear your respiratory system. Breathe deeply, in and out, in and out.”
Blade’s vision was restored to normal, but his throat was still congested.
He followed Plato’s suggestion, inhaling slowly and exhaling carefully, settling into a rhythm, sensation returning to his numbed senses and limbs.
“Excellent!” Plato commented. “Continue until I instruct you to desist.”
Blade complied, taking in his surroundings. He was lying on one of the dozen cots set up in the chamber below C Block. A score of candles provided the illumination. Fourteen of the Family had sought sanctuary in this chamber. The other Family members would be scattered under the other Blocks, each having run to the nearest shelter when the alarm was sounded. Supplies were stacked against the walls: food, clothing, medical necessities, weapons, and the other essentials the Family might require if confined to the chamber for any protracted period.
Hickok and Geronimo were sitting on another cot, engaged in animated conversation.
Jenny and Nightingale were comforting the still-distraught Mark.
Plato was standing, staring down at Blade, his kindly blue eyes probing.
Blade raised himself on his elbows. He noticed that his injured wrist had been cleaned and bandaged while he was unconscious. Jenny or Nightingale, or both? They were two of the four Family Healers.
“Is your biological equilibrium restored?” Plato inquired.
Blade’s throat felt better. “I feel fine,” he acknowledged.
“Sit up then, but don’t push yourself,” Plato directed.
Blade obeyed. The others were all watching him now, alert for any indication of remission. “Really, I’m okay,” he reiterated.
“I certainly pray you are,” Plato said. “The Family has need of your particular skills.”
“Why did you send Hickok and Geronimo after me?” Blade asked.
Plato raised his arms and swept the survival chamber with his gaze.
“Dearly beloved, attend me! We have a matter of grave import to discuss.”
The others present clustered closer, forming a circle around their leader.
“You make it sound so serious,” Jenny stated.
“It is,” Plato responded. He stroked his gray beard. “I had planned to address the entire Family tonight after the evening meal. Events, however, preclude that possibility. I will share my misgivings with those present now, and later, while those selected prepare, will inform the rest of our loved ones. Time is crucial to the success of the project I’m about to detail. I might be presumptuous, but I believe in my heart that a majority will agree with my assessment of our situation and the proposed remedy.”
Everyone was attentive to his every word.
“You are aware I sent two of our Warriors to retrieve their Triad leader.
I intend to send the Alpha Triad on a mission, a potentially dangerous errand from which they might never return.”
“At last! Some action!” Hickok exclaimed.
“Why?” Jenny demanded, casting an apprehensive glance at Blade.
“Because I have reason to believe that unless drastic action, as Mr.
Hickok so enthusiastically refers to it, is taken immediately, the Family is faced with the bleak probability of impending extinction.”
Mark’s sniffling was the only sound in the chamber.
“Extinction?” Nightingale finally inquired.
Plato clasped his wiry hands behind his stooped back and grimly surveyed those around him. “Precisely. All of you are aware that our life spans are decreasing with each generation. Family records verify this.
Those fortunate enough to attain advanced years are displaying the symptoms of aging earlier and earlier in each succeeding generation. My personal calculations indicate that in another twenty or thirty years the elders in the Family will reach what was once termed old age by the time they are thirty-five. The prospects are evident and terrifying. We must take the necessary steps, now, to insure that this mysterious process can be reversed and eradicated.
“What is causing this?” someone asked.
“I don’t know,” Plato admitted. “I pray to the Spirit that the reason can be determined before it is too late. Six months ago, when I initially confirmed this phenomenon, I hypothetically assumed the cause to be transient, attributable to the cumulative effects of negligible long-term radiation exposure. Now I have reason to suspect otherwise, and I want Family approval to send the Alpha Triad after equipment that can settle the issue once and for all. I want to send the Alpha Triad out into the world.”