I woke around seven, as usual. The throbbing pain in my chest was a great way to start the day. My first thought was to look for Nanako, which was absurd – of course she wasn't still here. Nevertheless, I couldn't stop myself glancing around the flat to confirm it. She must have gone home with Councillor Okada last night before the curfew took effect.
Getting out of bed was an exercise in pain as well, since every muscle was as stiff as a board and ached too. Yesterday had not been a good day for my poor body. I finally managed to sit and hefted my legs over the side. My wound hurt so such that I wondered if I should have stayed in the hospital another day. If I'd done that, however, I would be still be on course to marry Sienna.
Relief surged through me as the truth liberated my mind – I was free of that dark, horrid future!
I also pondered the all-out Skel assault upon our foraging teams and Custodian protectors, and I became very troubled. What was going to happen now? They had destroyed all the foraging trucks and even two Bushmasters. And as long as the Skel remained out there, surrounding the town, we couldn't send out any more foragers.
I wondered if the Custodians would mount an offensive against the degenerate nomads, but surely such an attack would be suicidal. The Custodians had no experience with Skel ambushes. And if the Custodians were wiped out, what would stop the Skel breaking into Newhome and kidnapping and murdering its citizens until their black hearts were content? The town's future, and that of the surviving foragers, was shrouded in the swirling fog of uncertainty.
I had finished dressing when I heard three pairs of boots tramping towards my apartment and smiled in spite of myself. My teammates had come to visit.
"Hey guys, what's up?" I asked when I let them in.
"Well, you are," Shorty complained as he stepped past me. "Now I gotta pay Michal twenty bucks."
"Ha-ha, that’ll teach you to make bets about Ethan's habits," Michal laughed as he followed him in. David brought up the rear, downcast, but his head no longer swathed in bandages.
"How you feeling, David?"
"Like my head's been hit by a sledgehammer, which is kind of accurate, I guess," he replied.
"And how are you, Mister Lone Ranger?" Shorty teased me as he headed for the fridge.
"I've felt better."
"Take a seat," Michal said as he shepherded me towards the dining table. "Breakfast is on us this morning."
I sat but sent a worried glance in their direction. "Not gonna give me food poisoning or something, are you?"
"Hey, it's us!" Shorty protested in mock indignation.
"That's what I'm afraid of." I laughed, and then wished I hadn't because of the pain that followed.
They somehow managed to throw together an edible breakfast for four, and grabbing a couple of plastic chairs from my balcony, the four of us crowded around my two-person dinner table. I observed that although Shorty was ignoring David, he was at least tolerating his presence, which was a start towards reconciliation.
"Hey Jones, did the Recycling-Works ring you last night?" Shorty asked while stuffing scrambled eggs in his mouth.
"Me? No."
"Well, all foraging has been suspended until we are advised otherwise. But it's not all doom and gloom. The good news is that we have to report to work as usual tomorrow morning and assist with recycling."
I cocked an eyebrow at Shorty. "Did I detect a slight trace of sarcasm there?"
"Absolutely not," he laughed. "But you don't need to worry just yet, Jones me boy, the boss said you can take off as long as you need to recover from your wound."
"Without pay, no doubt," I grumbled.
"Nothing in this world's free," David chimed in.
I sighed. "I’ll lose the flat if I'm out of work too long, so I guess I'll have to turn up as soon as I've got the strength to walk there."
"Hey Ethan, seriously, where did you learn to use a gun like that?” Michal asked quietly. “I couldn't believe my eyes when we caught up to you yesterday. You were sitting next to David, covered in blood, and surrounded by dead Skel."
"As I told King, I just grabbed the gun and somehow instinctively knew how to use it. Kind of eerie, when I think of it."
“That’s impossible, Jones,” Shorty said emphatically, “And to be honest, I wouldn’t believe Michal's tale if I hadn’t seen you disarm King and run off with his gun.”
"I thought you were dead," Michal confessed, his eyes boring holes through me. "You frightened the daylights out of me."
"Hey, it worked out in the end, thanks to you and King." I tried to reassure him.
Suddenly an image of a disassembled Austeyr assault-rifle flashed into my mind with crystal clarity. I had only enough time to register that experienced hands – my hands – were reassembling the gun. The rest of the 'spike attack' symptoms followed.
I tried to hide the attack by taking a sip of tea and pondered the image of myself assembling an assault-rifle, for I had never touched one before yesterday. That these images could be premonitions of my future was not a pleasant thought.
At any rate, my check-up with the neurologist was today, so I would run these 'spike attacks' past him and see what he thought. He'd probably stick me in the loony bin.
“Hey Jones, you’re in pretty high spirits today, which is quite the surprise considering you got shot yesterday. So what gives?” Shorty asked. “Did that Japanese chick make you another lunch?”
David squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. The situation probably reminded him of what he had just done to Leigh under similar circumstances.
“Something like that,” I laughed, and then grimaced in pain.
Michal was staring at me intently. “David, Shorty, you two head off to work, I need to speak to Ethan.”
"Don't mind me," Shorty grinned, not moving an inch. “Besides, we’ve still got plenty of time before we need to leave.”
Michal glared at him with such intensity that he sprang from his chair, grabbed his bag, and left the flat with David.
“I dropped by last night just before curfew, planning to see if you were okay,” Michal said slowly.
As I had been fast asleep then, I’m not sure where he was going with this, but I could guess. “Oh?”
“And I saw Nanako slip out of your flat by herself.”
“She and Councillor Okada gave me a lift home after I had dinner with my parents, and they stayed for a while,” I said.
Michal was clearly hurt by my answer. “This is me you’re talking to, Ethan, not some gullible Custodian. Councillor Okada wasn’t there. He arrived a moment later in his car and picked her up.”
“Sorry mate. Look, they did drop me off and they did both come in, but I fell asleep at the dinner table. When I woke up, it was a couple of hours later and Councillor Okada was gone. Nanako told me to get in bed and…”
“Whoa, stop!” Michal panicked, holding up his hands.
“Oh, cut out the theatrics, Michal, I'm not Leigh.” I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “She told me to get in bed and sleep, and that’s what I did. Next thing I knew it was morning."
Michal seemed to buy my story, but he still wasn’t happy. “Don’t go doing anything stupid with that girl. She’s such an innocent little thing and doesn’t know Newhome’s draconian laws. Could you live with yourself if she was executed because you went and did something foolish?”
“I won’t,” I insisted.
“If I saw her leaving your apartment by herself last night, the Custodians could have seen it too. Don’t risk it again, man.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
"You'd better be," Michal said, and sat back with his arms crossed.
I sighed in defeat. He was only looking out for me, and as usual, he was right. “Okay, I’ll ask the councillor to stay with us next time he brings her over.”
Michal relaxed somewhat. “Thank you.”
“So, how are things at home?” I asked after a moment’s silence.
“Same.”
“Your efforts aren’t in vain, you know,” I said, trying to encourage him.
“How do you figure that?”
“When your brother and sister grow up, whose example do you think they’re gonna follow? His, or yours?”
“Why’d they follow his example?” he asked, confused.
“Well, that’s often what happens, isn’t it? Kids with a violent, alcoholic father end up walking in his footsteps. And when asked why, they say, ‘How else could I have turned out with a father like him?’ But you’re showing your brother and sister that they don’t have to turn out like him. They can turn out like you instead.”
Michal flashed me a brief smile. “Thanks, mate, I needed to hear that.” He glanced at my clock, “Well, I’d better be off or I’ll be late for work.” And with that he ran out to catch up to the others.
I had an hour to kill before I had to leave for the hospital, so I set my alarm and lay down to rest. I would have to walk there, but would give myself extra time so I could go as slowly as I needed.
* * *
I don't know why the hospital gave you an 11.00am appointment and then made you wait two hours before you could actually see the doctor. Why not just tell me to come at 1.00pm?
When the nurse finally told me I could go in to the neurologist's consultation room, I was stiff and sore and just a tad annoyed.
The neurologist, Doctor Nguyen, an Asian man in his forties, waved me to a chair by the window. "And what have you been up to, young Ethan?" he asked when he saw the sling.
"I took a Skel crossbow bolt in the chest yesterday."
"You did? Then what are you doing walking around? Why aren't you still in casualty?"
"Don't take this personally, Doctor, but I've had enough of hospital beds to last a lifetime."
"Yes, I suppose you have," he answered thoughtfully. "So, how have you been these past six months. Still seizure free?"
"Yes, Sir,” I replied, "however, I’ve been having these strange turns. They’re probably nothing, though."
"Tell me about them."
So I gave him a detailed description of the 'spike attacks,' and by the time I finished, he looked quite concerned. "What you’ve just described is a temporal lobe seizure," he said.
That was the last thing I expected him to say, and the shock hit me like a king-hit to the head. What if I ended up incapacitated by seizures like before? What if the amnesia got worse? "Can they become grand mal seizures like the ones I used to get after my accident?"
"It’s very unlikely, but a possibility nonetheless. Now, what I would normally do at this stage is send you off for MRI and EEG scans, however, that is not an option at the moment."
"Why not?" I asked, puzzled.
"The Custodians have made it mandatory that all CAT, MRI and EEG scans be shown to their hospital representative before they are discussed with the patients," he said, angry at this invasion of doctor-patient confidentiality.
"Why is that a problem?" I asked, although I already knew the answer. It was another way the Custodians were trying to root out the mutants who had slipped through the cracks.
Doctor Nguyen stood, quietly closed the door, and sat again. "I went to great lengths to hide your...what shall I call it? Unique ability, when you came here in November 2120. I also used a hand-picked team I could trust to observe patient confidentiality when we operated on you."
I think my eyes were just about popping out of my head. "You know?"
"Of course," he said quietly. "Your brain, ears and voice box are very noticeably different from the norm, and very remarkable, I might add."
"Doctor, I don't know what to say." I was almost overcome by emotion. All my life I had hidden my mutation, believing I would be reported should it be discovered. Yet this doctor and the team who had operated on me had kept my secret, and at great personal risk.
"You don't need to say anything, Son," he said warmly. "There are many in the medical profession who will do virtually anything to hide the batches of children who were biologically engineered back in the early 2100s. The ultrasound technician who scanned your mother when she was pregnant was obviously one."
"Sorry, did you just say ‘biologically engineered?’” I asked, not believing what I just heard.
“That’s right, why, what did you think caused you to be like this?”
“The Custodians say it is a mutation caused by nuclear radiation.”
“Oh no,” he reassured me with a smile, “nuclear radiation may cause birth defects, such as cleft palates, extra fingers or toes, but that’s all pretty much in the past now.”
“So this was done to me deliberately? By whom and with whose authority?” I demanded, feeling a rush of anger.
“For your own safety, Ethan, it is best you do not know the precise details of what happened. Suffice to say it was an unauthorised experiment done in secret by a geneticist, who regretfully took his own life and destroyed his work when he was discovered.”
“Do the Custodians know this?”
“The senior ones do, most certainly.”
“So why are they trying to kill us?”
“Honestly, Ethan, that is not necessarily the case. All I know is that when the Custodians find any of the biologically engineered children, they take them to a secret facility in North End and they are never seen again.”
They could have been dissected in an attempt to see what made them tick, or they could be alive and imprisoned. The only way to find out would be to let myself get caught, and I wasn’t going to do that. I suddenly felt as though I didn’t know myself. I wasn’t a mutant like I had always believed, but was deliberately altered to be like this – to have these abilities. On one hand, I was outraged that such a thing was done underhandedly, but on the other, I considered my abnormality to be the most amazing gift ever. I wondered why the geneticist had done it. What was his purpose? Was it to make us better adapted to survival in our Post Apocalyptic landscape? If it was, he succeeded most magnificently.
“So what do we do about these temporal lobe seizures?” I asked, changing the topic.
"What I will do for now, at least until the Custodians relax their grip on the hospital, is give you anticonvulsant medication to take twice daily. These should stop the seizures. Start taking the tablets tomorrow, and make an appointment to see me again in four weeks. However, instruct your family or workmates beforehand that if you have a grand mal seizure, they must bring you to the emergency department immediately afterwards. They must request me by name."
I nodded as he handed me a prescription.
"There was one more thing I wanted to ask you, Doctor. The images I see when I have these temporal lobe seizures, what are they?" I asked hesitantly.
"They are memories."
"Memories?" I asked, shocked. "But if that's the case, then how come I don't recognise any of them?"
"Give me an example."
"One image was of a polished wooden floor with slippers and boots, none of which I remember seeing before. Another was of a messy bathroom sink that's nothing like the sinks I've ever seen, and stuff like that." I thought I'd better not mention the gun, just in case.
Doctor Nguyen expired thoughtfully. "My guess, young Ethan, is that these memories are from the year you don't remember."
Now that statement baffled me. "But my father told me I spent all of 2120 in hospital."
"Goodness no. You responded very well to the operation and were discharged within a few days, if I recall correctly," he replied.
Fear blossomed deep within in my gut. I suddenly felt very, very disorientated. "So what was I doing for the rest of that year?"
"I suggest you ask your father."
"We aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment," I admitted reluctantly. "How long was I in hospital?"
The doctor leafed through the pages in my file. You were admitted into hospital on the 16th of November 2120, and checked out on the 8th of December.
I rose slightly in my seat so I could see the hospital patient-discharge form the doctor was examining. I could see quite clearly where it said:
Patient: Ethan Jones
Discharged: 8 Dec 2120
Signed out by: William Jones
Relationship to Patient: Father
I had been in hospital for just over three weeks, from mid-November to early December. So where was I from January till November? Why was my father hiding it from me? And why had the amnesia blotted out a whole year?
The doctor suddenly leaned forward and touched my knee gently. "There's one more thing I need to tell you, Ethan, since it appears your memories are starting to return. Your father insisted that I told you your head injury was caused by a collapsed ceiling."
"That's not what caused it?"
"No, you had been shot, though not when you were brought in. You had been operated on previously, but not by a neurosurgeon," he said.
I sat there for some time, trying to process the distressing information he just dumped on me. I had been shot in 2120! How on earth did that happen? Who shot me? Why did they shoot me? The disorientation I experienced a moment ago threatened to become full blown vertigo.
"I know this is a lot to swallow at once, Ethan, and I wish I could talk with you more, but I have a list of patients to see today as long as my arm. You can stay here in my office for as long as you need. I'll use the office next door for my next patient," Doctor Nguyen said as he rose.
I don't think I even noticed him leave, and I'm not sure how long I sat there in his office, trying to get my head around what he told me. My father said I'd been in hospital from January until December 2120. So what had I been doing between January and November? Wherever I was, and whatever I was doing, it had lead to my being shot.
I had an impulse to rush over and see my father to get the truth out of him, but gave up on the idea. I figured he would probably just throw me out of the house.
I eventually left the hospital and began the slow walk back to my flat. I hadn't taken the prescription to the hospital pharmacy. If I started taking the anticonvulsants the temporal lobe seizures would stop, and so would the memories. And I desperately wanted those memories. They could be my only chance to find out what happened to me in those missing months.