Resonance by J. B. Everett (books for 7th graders .TXT) 📖

that were supposed to be flying around as protection for regular US citizens these days.

 

The core sample he had taken from the McCann hotspot was hardly a weapon, unless someone used it to publish his data before he did. But he had watched the guy in front of him in the security line get a travel shampoo bottle confiscated and get rebuked for trying to get ‘these things’ on the airplane. How was shampoo even dangerous? Yet here he was with a solid, eight inch long piece of hard rock in his pocket. That could do real damage upside someone’s head-

 

“Thank you.” He accepted the scotch from the smiling blonde in the navy suit with the tie neck cloth that reminded him of his cousin Ester’s Girl Scout uniform. He shouldn’t even be thinking about the damage he could do with the rock-club. He just prayed they didn’t arrest him when he hit the ground.

 

Removing his fingers from the core sample he aligned his napkin with the edge of the tray, then the glass into the corner created by the scalloped edges pressed into the paper of the napkin. It was a habit he had inherited from his father - that and the habit of picking up rocks and trying to hear them speak. This one was begging him not to let it get confiscated. This one, compared with the four nearly identical pieces in his bag, was the whole reason he was on this stupid flight. Why he was headed back into McCann County again.

 

He brought the glass of scotch to his lips, glad that it had been a smooth ride, and that no one had caught his error in bringing the rocks on board. At least, not yet. The top layer of each was made of looser dirt, not packed in by eons of hard rain and pressure and walking animals. Yet it still had the tiniest amount of scrap iron in it. Not as reliable as the riverbed sediments. River silt would line up as the poles dictated. In water, the magnetic shards were free-floating and excellent indicators even hundreds of thousands of years later. But these loose pieces should have had just an overall trend that was statistically significant.

 

These had far more than that. No one had to crank the numbers to see it. Students had pointed it out as they analyzed layers for him. “Wow, Dr. Carter. Where’d this come from? Near an MRI machine?” The cores were from Wharton’s dig site; they showed hotspot activity from sixty-five million years ago. And today. The mystery kept growing the more he looked at it.

 

After he got off the plane, it was only thirty minutes before he was on interstate 75 headed north. It was all getting too familiar, and he found himself at the little run-down motel on the outskirts of Farragut, which was on the outskirts of Knoxville. The Whippoorwill Inn sported a sign that clearly revealed it had once been a Best Western. David was certain that the Best Western Corporation had disowned this bastard stepchild a long time ago.

 

The man behind the counter remembered him though as he walked up to the front desk and inquired about a room. For a brief moment he panicked that maybe they were full, and then what would he do? But he almost laughed out loud as the thought slipped away. Farragut was hardly a convention center. The only thing that might fill this place up was a wedding. And he had serious concerns that most of the weddings around here involved shotguns and noticeably pregnant brides, so he pushed that idea out of his head.

 

His watch said it was barely 5pm home time, and he was already exhausted. He shook his thoughts out as he turned the key and let himself into the room. It was as stale and washed out as he remembered it, and he decided that he should take his luck escaping the airports with his specimens intact as a sign from the Gods. He would only do what the Gods told him to do for the rest of the day, and right now they were telling him to get some sleep.

 

He had just stepped out of his shoes when his cell phone rang, the clear digital tones strangely discordant in the time capsule room. When he didn’t see a name on the panel he almost refused the call, only his close co-workers and a few friends knew this number, and the phone should have recognized them. But he let the phone go through another whole cycle of ring and wait before he remembered that 865 was the local area code, meaning someone here was calling him and that was just too freaky to not answer.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Yes, I’m looking for a Dr. David Carter the second.”

 

“This is he.” This is weird. The combination of his personal line and formal name. The tight, upper-classy sound of the female voice speaking to him.

 

There was a soft sigh on the other end of the line before the voice resumed the formal words that weren’t telling him much. “My name is Dr. Jillian Brookwood. I work with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and we’re running a survey regarding McCann, Tennessee. There are credit card receipts and several residents that state that you visited recently.”

 

She paused and David realized that he was supposed to fill the space with an affirmation or rejection. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I was there.”

 

“I’m going to record this call if that’s all right with you?”

 

The CDC was on the phone with him and wanted to record the call? And weren’t they in Atlanta, not Tennessee? So why was the call from a local number? He felt stupid saying it, but rather than badger her with his misgivings he just said “sure.” If it was a prank he would have detected that thick southern accent in the air, right?

 

There was a small click and she resumed speaking. “One moment. Dr. Jillian Brookwood, of CDCP Lab G12067 …” Her voice faded away from him as he realized that she was recording all the information for the call.

 

It was about as interesting as the legal disclaimers after commercials, but he snapped to when he heard his name. “Dr. Carter, you were recently in the town of McCann, Tennessee, correct?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What was the purpose of your visit?”

 

That made him pause. This was likely someone trying to get information out of him regarding his dig. “It was personal.”

 

“About how long ago were you here?”

 

Here. She was in McCann.

 

“About three weeks.”

 

“And how long was your stay?” Her voice came over the line cool, professional, detached.

 

“About three weeks.” He barely paused before speaking again and making a point to interrupt her. “May I ask what this call is about?”

 

“Certainly. Have you had any nausea in the past few weeks?”

 

“Wait. What is this about?”

 

“We’re doing a survey-”

 

He cut her off again. “Why don’t we do this face to face?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir, I won’t be able to get to Chicago in the near future.”

 

“I’m in Farragut.”

 

“Now?!”

 

He almost laughed at the surprise in her voice. With just her tone she seemed to agree with his feelings, Who the hell would want to be in Farragut? “Yes. I’ll be in McCann tomorrow.”

 

“I can come to you, tonight even. Where shall we meet?”

 

He only knew of one place and it was a hole in the wall right next to his cheap motel, so he gave her an apology before he gave her the address. She told him she’d be there at eight and she hoped he was staying close to his hotel. Then he hung up and lay back on the old creaking bed. That was just too weird.

 

What the hell did the CDC want in McCann?

 

Probably a brain scan of anyone idiotic enough to visit. Probably they had classified livingthere as a disease and wanted to isolate the gene. See if he was maybe a carrier or something.

 

He closed his eyes and the alarm immediately malfunctioned and went off, causing him to swear. He smacked it and got up, going into the tiny bathroom to retrieve an alarm that actually worked. He pulled it from his bag and stared at it for a moment, 6:50. That was … 7:50 local time. Shit, he’d actually been asleep.

 

A lot of good it had done him, too.

 

He had all of ten minutes to get himself together and go convince the CDC lady with the tight-assed voice that he was not diseased. At least she had sounded offended about being in McCann. That was a definite bonus in his book.

 

David set the clock back down and looked into the mirror. That was all it took to convince him that he needed to wash his face. If for no reason other than to wake himself up. If this CDC chick was the real deal, then maybe there was something interesting going on and he should pay attention, and he headed next door to the greasy spoon.

 

When he entered, an older woman said hello to him. Clearly as friendly as she could be, but she didn’t offer him a seat, or ask what he needed. He was expected to seat himself. Each seat looked about as appealing as the next, and that wasn’t a compliment. David crossed the small room and pulled out a vinyl covered chair that allowed him to see the door. And by the time the lady had walked up to him and asked, “Unsweetened tea, right?” and he had been shocked that he was remembered, a woman was walking in the door who looked as out of place as he did.

 

The waitress smiled her toothy grin and said, “Hi, honey,” to the woman, then walked off to get his tea.

 

David stood, surprised by what he saw. As she came closer, clearly unsure who he was but guessing correctly, she tilted her head and examined him. She was much younger than he had expected, and while her voice had been all authority and questions, now on sight she was unsure, clutching the notepad and pen she held to her chest just a little too tight. “Are you Dr. Carter?”

 

“Yes, I am.” He stood up and stuck out his hand in a gesture that was way too formal for the setting. “And you must be Dr. Brookwood.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you.” She shook his hand, a firmer grip than he had expected from someone so young.

 

They settled into a formal position, looking ridiculous, trying to keep an air of business decorum over a plastic tablecloth that looked like it had lived a past life as an abused picnic blanket.

 

He was going to say something, but the waitress lady, who still had yet to introduce herself, turned up at his side, and asked Dr. Brookwood “What can I bring you, honey?”

 

The doctor’s black eyebrows went up. “Do you have any bottled water?”

 

“Sorry, honey. But we got bottled coke.” The waitress didn’t even have the wherewithal to be offended by the unspoken suggestion that the water should be imported.

 

“That would be great, thank you.”

 

He glanced at his own glass of tea, a tall old yellow glass that had the lemon pre-squeezed into it. The CDC chick wasn’t drinking anything handled here. And suddenly he wasn’t quite so thirsty.

 

David swished at the tea, wondering what came next. But he didn’t wonder for long. Dr. Brookwood opened her pad and spread out a few sheets of a questionnaire. He was having trouble reading it upside down, and was interrupted by her voice, softly clearing her throat. “Shall we get down to brass tacks?”

 

And that was it. The good doctor was in her element and was off and running. She started up a tape recorder, a small silver thing that looked like a missing part from an alien space ship in this out-of-date setting.

 

She re-questioned him about his whereabouts and the reasons for his visit. He re-lied about it being personal.

 

Then she asked him all kinds of questions about his feelings. Fever?