Gaia Dreams (Gaiaverse Book 1) (5 page)

"Well, like the weather seems screwed up. I keep
thinking about what the old woman said. I think she was serious that something
bad is going to happen. She said the earthquake was 'the beginning'--remember?"

"The beginning of what?" Alex said, begrudgingly
curious.

"If I knew that I'd feel a lot better right
about now," Nathan said grimly. "Look at these newspapers I picked up in the
airport. It's one disaster after another! I'm telling you something is going
on--something weird. And that old woman knew about it."

"Nathan, you're seeing mysticism and psychic
phenomena where there is none. There is always something awful happening
somewhere in the world. A flood, a tornado, a hurricane, a typhoon, an
earthquake, something. It's not weird, it's just nature," said Alex, leaning
back in her seat and closing her eyes, ending the conversation.

"Yeah, nature." Nathan frowned, talking to
himself.

Cape Fair, Missouri

Listening to one of her favorite symphonies, "The
Planets" by Holst, Jessica wondered how and when the earth had become such a
dangerous place to live. "We've done it to ourselves," Jessica thought. "We let
our technology get ahead of our morality and ethics, using our planet as a
plaything and testing ground, all under the seeming assumption that if we
screwed it up we could always find another planet to live on."

She sighed and closed out the file she'd
retrieved from the internet--something about bioengineering that was too
complex for anyone without a degree in the subject to understand. That was the
biggest problem with researching a topic on the internet. It was wonderful to
have access to so much information, but it was often too much information, and
lately it had all become a jumble of scientific terms to Jessica. Mrs. Philpott
had been right, she and John did have a lot to learn about the environment, and
they had spent much of the past two weeks researching the topic as Samantha
slowly recovered from pesticide poisoning. They had been lucky with Sam. Her
illness had come more from an allergic reaction than actual poisoning. John had
made sure they would not receive any more pesticide spraying of any kind and
was researching organic gardening and farming. The doctors still weren't sure
if there would be any residual effects; however, Mrs. Philpott had been
reassuring tonight when she came to check in on Sam.

"John," Jessica called out over the hum of the
dishwasher and the rippling music flowing from the speakers. "What do you
suppose Mrs. P was after tonight?"

John looked up from Richard Preston's
The Hot
Zone
with a questioning glance. Turning down the CD player, he asked, "What
do you mean what was she after? She came to visit Samantha."

"Well, it felt to me that she didn't just come
to see Sam. She was preoccupied and distracted. Except for when Sam was talking
about her dreams. You know, that one she had about the earthquake--and by the
way, she is watching way too much TV with all that quake coverage since she's
had to be home in bed. We have to find more activities for her, but anyway,
when Sam was talking about the dream, Mrs. P was suddenly totally focused on
her. Like Sam was the only one in the room. No, wait a minute, that's not
right. It was like Sam and Harry were the only ones there," Jessica said.

"Hmm...she did watch Harry pretty intensely all
evening. Like she expected him to sprout wings any minute," John said slowly. "Now
that you mention it, she paid a lot more attention than usual to Samantha. And
did she ask you if you'd been dreaming much?" Jessica shook her head. "Well,
she asked me, and then laughed it off when I asked her why she wanted to know.
You don't think she's getting into some sort of new-age creative dreaming
nonsense, do you? I really hope not because she's a nice, level-headed, old
lady," John said.

"Nice old lady! John, you're terrible," Jessica
said, laughing.

"Well, you are certainly my nice old lady, so
how about retiring for the night with your old man?" John said suggestively.

Jessica burst out laughing and said, "Honey, you
just can't quite pull off that leering old man persona. Come on, let's go to
bed and I'll show you how much fun a nice, almost-middle-aged lady can be."

As they walked out of the den and down the hall
to the stairs, John asked "Should we check on Sam?"

"No," Jessica answered, turning to wrap her arms
around his lean, well-muscled body, "I did earlier and Harry is right there
with her to keep an eye on things. You couldn't ask for a better nurse. Now,
did I tell you that I received a package from Victoria's Secret today and black
lace is featured prominently in the contents?"

"No, you didn't. And did I tell you yet today
how much I love you?"

She laughed softly and, taking his hand, ran
lightly up the stairs.

Los Angeles, California

The devastation was more than her mind could
comprehend. How could any mind hold onto the pictures she saw that first week?
After shutting away the grief she felt about her parents' deaths, Maria had to
think of the images as pictures, not totally real. Or else lose her sanity.
Bodies everywhere. There was no place to put them all. Streets filled with
people still in shock, stepping over debris from flattened buildings. Maria's
throat was raw from the lingering smoke that was a film over every scene. Fires
continued to burn out of control in downtown L.A.; she and Zack had not been able
to approach the incandescent blaze of high-rise destruction.

Walking to the jeep, Maria brushed dirt and dust
from her blue jeans and navy T-shirt. "Why am I doing this?" she thought. "There
is no way to stay clean in this mess." But she knew why--the same reason she
brushed her shoulder-length hair one hundred strokes every night, even in the
middle of a disaster--her mom. Consuela Santiago had taught Maria to pay
attention to her appearance, not for vanity's sake, but because she would have
to look good to make it in the world. Maria was a beautiful child and had grown
into an exotic-looking woman, but Consuela knew her Mexican heritage would be a
detriment to achieving true success, particularly in broadcasting. Maria had
run into prejudice on her way up the career ladder, and her mother's emphasis
on speaking English without an accent and keeping an impeccable appearance made
a difference.

"Well, Mom," Maria thought, "I wonder how you'd
think I'm doing now...covered in dust and soot and my hiking boots are stained
with blood. Not exactly the intrepid glamour-girl-reporter image we used to
joke about on my visits home." For a moment, the sudden stab of grief that hit
her upon thinking of her mother caused Maria to stumble in mid-stride. "Oh God,"
she said aloud, "how am I going to get along without you?" Then she seemed to
hear her father's voice saying, "You can do it, honey, you must do it. We're
always with you," just like he had said all through the years. Smoothing back
the wisps of hair that had escaped from her tortoiseshell barrette, Maria
spotted Zack in front of a pancaked apartment building and walked steadily
toward him, already preparing interview questions in her mind.

Cape Fair, Missouri

"Haaarrrry!" called Samantha. "Come here, Harry!"
Where was he hiding this time? "I'm not playing anymore, you mean, old dog,"
Samantha said loudly, and then giggled softly to herself. She knew Harry wasn't
mean or old. He was probably the best, most good dog there ever was anywhere
ever, she thought. But teasing and telling jokes was her latest discovery.
Suddenly, Harry burst out of the large honeysuckle bush at the edge of the
backyard and raced up to her. Sam stood her ground as Harry ran full-tilt right
up to her and skidded to a stop. Sam hugged him and giggled all over again.

"You're not a mean old dog. You are the most
beautiful dog in the world and you smell like flowers!"

Harry grinned up at the laughing child and
wagged his tail. He was so excited Sam was finally outdoors to play with him
again. He kept sniffing her breath and skin as she hugged him and was relieved
to smell only happy, sweaty child smells, no more sickness.

"Come on, let's race back to the house. I'm
hungryyy!" Sam said, and then whirled around and took off running for the
house. Harry loped next to her, slowing his pace to stay even with the child.
He saw she couldn't run as fast as before the sickness, but she was already
faster today than yesterday. As they reached the back door, Sam was out of
breath, but still standing, definitely an improvement over the first day she
tried to run and collapsed in a heap halfway across the yard.

Brushing grass and dirt from her denim jeans and
favorite Minnie Mouse T-shirt, Samantha said, "Come on, boy, let's go see old
Mom and beg for ice cream." Harry barked yes and grinned up at her. Ice cream
was a favorite of both.

Jessica turned away from the kitchen window
before they came in. She didn't want Sam to know how closely she was being
monitored. As Jessica finished mashing the hard-boiled eggs with a fork, she
took a deep breath and told herself to relax. It was hard to let Sam go
outside, hard to not run out the back door and pick her up every time she fell
down or tell her not to run too fast. Jessica knew that Samantha needed these
morning sessions outdoors with Harry to exercise and regain her strength. But
no one had prepared her for the sheer torture a parent goes through after a
child has been seriously ill. She wanted to put Sam in a protective bubble and
never let her out of her sight, never let her do anything that could cause the
slightest injury. Yet, she knew that attitude would be as harmful to her little
girl ultimately as any illness or injury. Every day that Sam ventured out with
Harry and ran a little farther or played a little harder, Jessica could see her
spunky, self-confident, I-can-do-anything daughter emerging again. Mixing a
dollop of mayonnaise and a smidgen of Dijon mustard into the finely mashed
eggs, Jessica called out to Sam, "No egg salad sandwiches until hands are washed."

"Okay, Mom, but I don't know if I can get Harry
to wash his hands," came the reply, followed by another burst of giggles.

Cape Fair, Mrs. Philpott's House

Mrs. Philpott abruptly sat up in bed, sleep
still fogging her mind, saying "No, no," and tried to figure out where she was.
The cat leaped onto the bed and startled a short scream out of her, finishing
the waking process.

"Oh, Lord," she said. "The water, all that water
and wind--it was so real, so vivid I thought I was there." The cat watched her
intently and seemed to nod his head. Sharply, she asked, "Did you dream it too?
Am I going nuts?"

Shaking her head and wrapping her
flannel-covered arms around the cat's silky fur, she realized the dream details
were starting to fade. "Come on, Perceval, let's get the details into the
computer before we both forget." Stuffing her feet into the old, soft leather
moccasins she used as bedroom slippers, Mrs. Philpott grabbed her robe from a
hook on the back of the bedroom door and threw it over her shoulders. The robe,
a large men's dressing gown made of heavy brocaded silk, felt warmly comforting
to her as she typed, re-living the horrors of the dream.

Somewhere in the Sonoran Desert, Arizona

Margaret was afraid. "Am I truly crazy?" she
asked Irene. "What if I'm wrong and the planet isn't talking to me at all?"

Irene glanced at her thoughtfully and said, "Why
must you label everything? Crazy, normal, weird...the labels don't matter. So
you talk to the planet--that's just the way it is! And the planet isn't only
talking to you, you know. Believe it or not, you are not the center of the
universe. I'm pretty sure Gaia has been trying to communicate ever since the
first nuclear bomb exploded."

"Sometimes I wonder if we didn't get so arrogant
as a species to cover up our fears," Margaret said.

"Well, of course, my dear, we became the bully
on the block. We have run roughshod over the planet just because we could, just
to prove we could."

"I get so scared because I'm afraid it's too
late. What if nobody listens?" Margaret asked softly.

"I would think the disasters will eventually get
people to listen."

"I don't know. So many have already died.
Everyone I've tried to contact has laughed off the idea that Gaia is sentient
and talking. And then I wonder if maybe we really are a suicidal species, that
we want to die. So no one will listen, we'll keep on damaging the earth and she
will have to just end humanity--"

"Slow down! You make such drastic
generalizations. Do you honestly believe that everyone is suicidal? I don't
believe that we have evolved into a suicidal species," Irene said firmly.

Margaret was silent for a moment. "Maybe," she
began hesitantly, "maybe what I really think is that we've screwed up so bad we
deserve to be wiped out. And if so, maybe that wouldn't be such a terrible
thing. Think how many species we have exterminated in our time here. What gave
us the right to play God on this planet? Maybe the only way other species, and
the Earth herself, can survive here is if we are gone."

"I think I'm more optimistic than you, Margaret.
I've seen people change. As my grandmother once said to me, of course things
can change--keeps changing for the worse, doesn't it, so change must still be
possible. You have to hold onto hope," Irene said.

Cape Fair, The Samuels' House

"Mommy! Help! Mommeee!"

"What--John, wake up, it's Sam." Jessica ran to
Samantha's room and flicked on the small lamp next to her bed. Sam was gasping
for breath, clawing at the sheets covered in dinosaurs that were twisted around
her body.

"It's okay, honey, wake up, Mommy's here, you're
okay now, sweetie, open your eyes and see that I'm here with you and so is
Daddy. You're okay, Sam, everything is going to be okay," Jessica said as she
smoothed Samantha's hair back from a face damp with perspiration. "John, go get
her something to drink--there's apple juice in the fridge."