The Fledge Effect (2 page)

A vial, filled with green liquid, shook
with vigor in his hand. Two excruciating years
have passed, and he finally did it. He stretched
his lips across the folds of his skin. “I’ve done it!
Yes!”

A repetitive tap sounded on his door.
“Dad? Are you okay?” Calista’s voice carried
through the wood, echoing throughout the hallway of the institution.

She poked her head around the corner
of the agape door. “What are you yelling about?”
“This,” he exclaimed, revealing the vial
to her.
She grimaced at his exasperation. “You
made green goop. Congrats… I guess.”
“What? No. I mean, kind of. It is more
than just
green goop
. It is the perfect human
gene. Genetically advanced beyond its given potential,” he said as his excitement quickly
caught the attention of Calista.
“Perfect? How does that work?”
“Oh, speaking of work how is your experiment with the pill that replaces sleep going?”
She tapped her mug of cold coffee. “Not
so well. There is no way to replicate sleep efficiently. Ironically, I need more than coffee to
keep me awake long enough to continue my experiment. That is why this coffee is more energy
drink than coffee. Anyways, tell me more about
this so-called perfect gene.”
He smiled with a menace. “Ah! Yes, of
course. Imagine if you never had to obtain sustenance, stop to use the bathroom, or sleep ever
again.”
“That would be nice,” she smirked,
crossing her arms tight across her chest. She
continued, “But only if it were possible.”
“It is! That’s the beauty of science!” he
grasped her shoulders, “The science committee
will be thrilled. History will tell stories about
this day.”
“Well, are you going to test it out first?”
Calista said as she gazed over at the rat habitat
he displays upon his desk.
“Right. But it won’t work with their genetic code. I need a human test subject.”
She lifted then dropped her shoulders.
“I can do it. We can be the Father-Daughter duo
who solves the world’s biggest problem; death.”
“No,” he shook his head, “No, I can’t.
There is no way telling what it might do to you.”
“Dad, you are a genius. I trust you.”
He glared at her with his steel-blue
eyes. They seemed to say ‘
no
’ but she shook her
head returning the same gaze. She raised an
eyebrow, “Well?”
He sighed. “You have your Mothers’
stubbornness.”
“Correction; I have her determination.”
“Fine,” he said, and then nodded. He
pointed at the long metal raised platform at the
other end of the room. “Sit on that table.”
The steel raised the hairs on her arms
as she reclined on the metal slab. “Will it hurt?”
she gulped, staring at the enlarged needle he
steadily brought towards her. “Can’t I just drink
it?”
“Possibly, and no.”
She filled her lungs with the sterile air,
and sighed in anticipation, “Nobel Prize, here
we come.”
As the needle penetrated her upper
arm, she bit her bottom lip wincing. She bellowed, slamming her fist against the table.
“That burns like Hell! Jesus Christ, fuck!”
Within minutes, the pain ceased, sending a chill throughout her veins. “Oh.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Good, I guess. Just really parched,”
she said, rubbing her throat.
“Right, wait one moment.”
He turned his back to her as he proceeded towards the side of the room where his
mini fridge was.
Calista swung her legs off the table, noticing a scent she has never known to be sweet
before; blood. She followed the aroma, leading
her to the cage on his desk. The mice squeaked
as she approached them. She lifted the latch and
dipped her hand inside, scooping up the one
that failed to get away. Her eyes glinted as she
bared her new teeth.
Her hands trembled towards her
mouth, grazing her fingertip across the smooth
and enlarged canines that protruded from her
upper lip. She shrieked, seeing her upside down
reflection in the fearful look the tiny rodent gave
her. She reopened the latch, ready to place him
back. Then, she heard it; the rhythmic thump of
his heartbeat. It echoed inside her ears, quickening as she put his face in front of hers.
Eyeing the choices, he retrieved, Marcel
asked, “Okay, I have a soda, juice, or water.
What are you craving? I need to know to keep
track in my experiments journal. Whatever you
crave can be linked to any problem we may
have.”
He inched closer to her. “Good to see
you at least walking. Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”
She didn’t respond.
“Can you hear still?”
“Yes, dad. I can hear. No, those drinks
will not satisfy my craving.”
“Do you know what it is that you want?”
She swung around with blood dripping
from the corners of her mouth. “Yes. I crave
blood.”
Her fingers released the dead carcass,
and Marcel began to tremble throughout his
body sending chills up his spine. “I need to fix
this.”
“Where is the cure? You did make one,
right?”
“No. I couldn’t. I need the blood sample
of a test subject it was used on in order to extract
and create a viable cure.”
“What?” Calista shrieked. “No cure?”
An uncontrollable burst of anger fired
inside her. She growled, flipping his desk over.
Everything broke off and scattered into many
piles on the surrounding floor. Papers flew in
many directions.
“Calm down!” he ushered.
Her hand swung behind her, knocking
Marcel to the ground. His head slammed
against the tile, causing him to lose consciousness. “Don’t you
ever
tell me to calm down!
Ahhh!”
She grabbed her poncho and ran out of
the lab, headed for the moonlit streets. She
screamed through her tears as she begged.
“Help me! Someone!”
A woman stepped out of her house. She
held a cigarette between her lips. Just as she was
about to light it, Calista stopped her. “Help!”
Misses Sawyer turned her back at Calista. Calista clenched her fists, grabbing her by
the shoulder. “Why are you not helping me?”
Her cigarette dropped to the ground in
fear as she looked down at Calista’s mouth. Calista saw her reflection in the front door. She
couldn’t believe what she was doing to this poor
woman.
Someone, help
. The plea in her eyes
evaded her overwhelming sense to feed whatever beast resided inside her now.
Calista ran away in fear, shrieking from
the top of her lungs.
Her shrieks heard, a few blocks down,
at the Mayor’s house. Inside were himself and
Grant Daly, his son.
Grant perked up at the noise. He peered
out the dining room window. “What was that?”
Jeremiah patted his mouth with his
napkin. He sighed, with a rested gaze on his
half-eaten, rare, tenderloin. The shrieks were
heard once more. “Sounds to me like feral cats,
son,” he said with a grin.
Grant nodded, keeping his gaze out on
the streets. “Okay.”
“I hope you like this interview I have
had set up for you. I had to pull a lot of strings,
now don’t blow it.”
He shook his head. “I won’t. But, I must
ask, why this job? Isn’t there something else I
could be doing? Or, what I would like to be doing?”
“What is that? Waiting tables? Or,
worse, construction?”
“There are jobs between those, you
know?”
“No son of mine is doing dead-end
jobs.”
“But, why this one? Answer me that.”
“Look,” Jeremiah said, rubbing his bald
scalp. “There are just some things you have to
trust me on. Besides, your knowledge—intelligence—is best served in this field.”
Grant could see in his fathers’ eyes that
he held a particular plan for his future. He
cleared his throat. “Fine,” he said, rising from
the table. “Just peachy.”
He felt he better served a purpose as an
author. He wanted to help people, not hurt
them. And scientists are well known to harm living things in order to gain insight on a, rather,
unethical level.
“Son, you will know in time what it is
that I need you to do,” Jeremiah’s voice croaked.
“For now, just do this. I let this whole hippie
generation get the best of you, but your future is
more important than your organic-wearing,
vegetarian-eating lifestyle.”
Grant eyed the left over ranch on his
plate. A few leaves of salad poked through the
white liquid. He sighed before walking away.
Problem is, however, Grant could sense
a tightening in his gut.
My future
. Nevertheless,
he vowed to use science only to help people, not
help destroy The People.
Before he could ascend the steps his father bellowed out, “And eat some damn meat
every once in a while. You look sickly.”
You
smoking makes me sick
, he thought.