The Syndrome

The grey matter fell like snow, soft and acidic. In the beginning the Global Government spent trillions trying to fight the new environmental phenomenon but now no one cared. Mark hurried through the alley, echoing footsteps muffled by the accumulating matter and turned right on Water Street with a cold blast of winter air blowing open his ragged coat. Mark pulled the edges tight across his chest and he bent his head pushing harder against the wind. He needed to get to the warehouse near the docks where Tiberius was waiting for him—

“HELLO THERE CITIZEN! WANT TO LOOK LIKE MADONNA? PEARLY WHITE TEETH IN AN INSTANT! BRIGHT ENOUGH TO MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE A STAR! PAY NOW FOR THIS EXCLUSIVE OFFER – ONLY 45 COINS!”

The flash add popped from the sidewalk right in front of Mark’s face, a beautiful blonde woman with fake looking white teeth held a tube of Crest Extreme and moved with him as he made his way down the street. He looked right then left then hurried across the last street to an empty lot between the road and the river. Seeing no one and sure he wasn’t followed Mark slipped through a gap in the rusty corrugated fence. Another lot greeted him but this one was surrounded by metal, razor wire, and filled with ambling junk. Twelve paces forward, twenty-seven right, five left, blue car, push. Mark repeated his instructions from Tiberius and began to count ten paces forward from the fence. To call the deteriorating heap of metal a blue car was a bit of a stretch, but Mark supposed it didn’t stick out that way. He braced himself, placing his hands on what was left of the front fender and gave the car a push. It moved easier than he anticipated, revealing a dark manhole cover with the words NEWBURGH IRON WORKS stamped on the front and as he looked it swung open from the ground on an invisible hinge. It was Tiberius.

“Were you followed?” Pale with beady eyes Tiberius squinted against the muted winter light, scanning the junkyard.

“No,” Mark whispered afraid he could possibly be wrong.

“Well hurry in,” Tiberius snapped dropping back into the hole, voice turning into an echo as his head fell below the ground. “The matter fucks with my equipment.”

Down the shaft and through a tight tunnel a steel door with a worn combination pad blocked their path. Tiberius stepped forward, eyeing Mark suspiciously and covered the pad with his hand and body as best he could. Before he looked away in an attempt to show he wasn’t interested Mark noticed that Tiberius had a few extra digits on his left hand. The grey matter did have some consequences.

The door opened to large space with a vaulted ceiling. Comptronic brand computers whirred and the heat of technology filled the air. Mark had never seen so many wires and devices before. Compared to the one static filled radio they had at home this was the space program.

“Pretty neat, huh?” Tiberius asked, noticing Mark’s expression. “More computers in here than the rest of the continent I suppose.” Tiberius sat on a decaying office chair and rolled himself to a white boxy monitor. “This whole place is built under the river, designed by a guy named Einstein or some shit back when they first created nuclear bombs.”

“Where did they all come from?” Mark asked, still in shock.

“Eh, shit, I don’t know honestly, dad collected from here and there his entire life and just brought everything here. Man was a genius.” He began to clack away at the keyboard in front of him and then stopped in thought. “You’re actually the first person I’ve ever let down here.”

Mark nodded, “Thank you Tiberius, I know it’s dangerous. Harriett would’ve wanted me—”

Tiberius held up a seven finger hand, “Stop,” he shook his head. “You don’t need to say anything. Shit, truth of the matter is we’re all going to be dead in a year or two unless the GG gets its head out of its bureaucratic ass and figures the Syndrome out. We are next my man, good old fashioned Caucasians. I’m honestly surprised whoever started this damn thing didn’t choose us first. Could’ve wiped out most of America up front. Too hard to find the Cauc DNA strand I suppose, much easier to target English or Indian.” The computer beeped behind Tiberius and he spun back to the black and green screen. “Snag a chair and take a seat. I just need to disable the firewall and we’ll see when and where you have to be.”

Mark pulled up next to the pale man with his own rotting office chair and watched the process over his shoulder. Words and numbers filled the screen and Tiberius’s extra flanges helped keep up with the speed of the code. Tiberius talked as he typed moving from one thing to the next, mostly rants centered on the Global Government and the travesty that was United North America. Finally, another machine deeper in the room binged to life. Mark followed Tiberius into the maze of wires, plastic, and screens.

“Is that real paper?” Mark asked, once again in awe.

“Yep.” Tiberius nodded with pride and patted a plastic box tenderly. “This my friend is called a fax machine.” He grabbed the faded white rectangle off the tray and flipped it over.

<2NITE 1905 HRS>

<W. CORNER UNI. & 9TH>

<TALL MAN W/ BROWN BRIEFCASE>

<$$$ SECURED>

<a.w.>

Tiberius handed the sheet to Mark who took it with reverence, not wanting to damage something so fragile and priceless. “Shit, you’d better hurry my man. University and Ninth is uptown and you don’t want to walk that far alone. I mean I’d go with you but, shit, I heard the Gen Men have been hitting the streets pretty hard.”

Mark looked Tiberius in his pale mole eyes and placed a rag wrapped hand on his shoulder. “Tiberius, you’ve done more than enough. Thank you.”

Tiberius nodded and looked to the ground. “What happened to Harriett man, shit, I—”

“It’s okay.” Mark tucked the paper gingerly into his coat pocket. “The Syndrome took 75 million other people too.”

***

Mark successfully avoided the Gen Men although he saw enough of them roaming the streets to make him think they were watching him. He bounced from foot to foot trying to stay warm on the western corner of University and Ninth and attempted to look as innocuous as possible. A man walking down Ninth triggered a flash add for “THE BEST HAIR UTENSIL SINCE THE COMB!” and Mark almost jumped out of his coat. Although he had declined the wallet and tracking chip that the GG had offered everyone free of charge (“The only payment is surveillance!”) Mark had opted for an off-brand basic application function instead. It consisted of only a digital watch and a calculator, though now the only thing that worked consistently was the watch and even that was on the fritz. He double tapped the back of his frozen right hand and 7:03 glowed through his skin. Just a few more minutes.

As the time past 7:05, then 7:15, then 7:30, Mark grew more and more anxious. He pulled out the paper instructions; no longer caring about the rarity and read it for the sixth and seventh time. The grey matter soaked into it warping its molecular structure.

No, he hadn’t misread the instructions, he was sure of it, but had he missed the man? He didn’t think so. He had diligently paid attention to every individual moving through the intersection, western corner or not, but he wondered if he had missed him when he had to duck into the alley to avoid some Gen Men who were walking towards him.

Mark looked down each street once more then decided to leave. He had been gone from Marcy longer than he should have. He turned and walked away from the intersection, up University, head lowered in defeat. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and Mark whirled around thinking that some Gen Men had decided he was a prime pick up after all, but it was him, the tall man with a brown briefcase.

“Give up that easily often Mr. Richardson?” The tall man asked hushed and nasally. “We don’t do business with people who don’t think it’s worth it.”

“I think it’s worth it,” Mark whispered back, fearful of saying the wrong thing.

“Walk with me,” The tall man walked without waiting for Mark’s answer. “No one survives the Syndrome once they’ve been chosen Mr. Richardson. They’ve being royal of course. The Syndrome has changed the face of the planet more than anything else, including the grey matter.”

“Yes I know.”

“I hope you do Mr. Richardson, because what you paid for doesn’t exist according to the Global Government. In fact, they don’t even know of its existence, which might make a regular man want to turn in an organization such as ours.”

“I would never.” Mark stopped walking. It felt as if the man had already made up his mind. “Are you going to give it to me or not?”

The tall man crossed his arms in front of his waist, holding the briefcase on his thighs. “I’m sorry Mr. Richardson, it was not my decision to make.”

“But it’s for my daughter!”

“I’m truly sorry. Nothing personal!”

As Mark stood in disbelief with the grey matter swirling around him the tall man hurried away.

***

On the thirty first floor of a nasty, non-working elevator, matchbox apartment complex, Mark keyed the lock for 3108 and turned on the lights. As he hung his tattered coat on a hook near the door he heard Marcy whimper from her chamber.

“Shhh,” he crooned taking off his boots, “daddy’s home. Everything is going to be okay.” The whimpering abated slightly but he knew she would be terrified until he removed the covering and saw that it was him. As he walked the few feet across the one room flat he felt a pang of fear and remorse ache through his heart. He had failed today. Miserably. Now Marcy was going to die. Mark couldn’t keep her in the pressure chamber for much longer. Trying to buy Lyfe, as it was called on the street, had taken all of his remaining coins and the energy to run her chamber wasn’t cheap. He removed the dark covering as gently as he could and there she was. Marcy. Tiny and beautiful, lying in her swaddle of sheets, fighting her sleepiness in order to see who was making the sounds. Her caramel skin glowed against bright white of the cloth. Not even the dirty glass of the pressure chamber could hide her mother’s looks. Tears streamed down Mark’s face.

“I’m so sorry Marcy.” Not even two weeks old and destined to die. Mark couldn’t understand why the Syndrome had targeted Ugandan DNA – but it had – and 75 million people across the world had dropped dead in the span of three hours. Mark had done the unthinkable to get his unborn child into the pressure chamber in order to save her life. But it was all for nothing.

As he looked upon the face of his daughter a knock on the door shocked him out of his thoughts. He stood and grabbed a knife from the counter before opening the door slowly. A dark woman dressed in all denim with long hair stood outside his door in the flickering light of the hallway.

“Mark Richardson?” She asked.

“Yes…”

“Angelica Williams. I’m sorry things had to be done this way, security purposes, you understand, but I brought it.” The woman dropped a hand down the front of her jacket and pulled out a heart shaped locket on a fine silver chain. She popped it open and showed him a tiny vial of gold liquid within. “I brought the Lyfe.”

- NDC