“We’ve done it.”
The words were out of his mouth before the front door even closed. He considered searching for his wife to see if she’d heard him, but instead went straight to the couch and collapsed. He hadn’t realized how much the adrenaline of excitement had exhausted him.
“You’re home early,” said Anna, stepping into the room. “You’ve done what?”
“We’ve finally refined our self-assembling nanoparticles to the point we’ll be applying for clinical trials.”
“On humans?”
“Of course on humans,” he blurted, then realized how harsh he sounded.
His tone wasn’t lost on her. “Okay, Jerry,” said Anna, “pretend like I don’t know anything about it—which I don’t—and explain it so a simpleton like me can understand.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Sit down,” he said, patting the couch next to him. She obliged and he took a moment to formulate an explanation.
“What it means is that we’re going to be able to heal damage caused by various kinds of trauma—like burns for example. Eventually we’ll even be able to heal cancers.”
“That’s incredible,” she said, trying to grasp what it could mean. “But how do you do that?”
“Well, we’re already creating three dimensional tissues in the lab—basically growing skin, cartilage, bone, and muscle. The nanoparticles will restore the tissue framework from inside the body, eventually allowing tissue regeneration within the body to become commonplace. It will also work hand-in-hand with genome engineering that will allow the editing and repair of someone’s DNA, modifying disease-causing genes.”
She looked at him with those big, wondering green eyes of hers, still trying to comprehend the ramifications of what he was saying.
“It all sounds so wonderful—so overwhelming. You’re really close to all this?”
“Very close,” said Jerry assuredly. “Not that it still won’t be years before such techniques are available to the public, but we’re there. We can see it waiting on the horizon.”
“I’m so happy for you, Jerry,” she said, putting her arm around his shoulders. “I know how hard you’ve worked on this—how long.”
He sat back, rested his head on the couch, and sighed.
“I’ve dinner in the oven,” she said, getting up. “I need to check on it.”
Jerry stayed where he was, trying to relax, but his mind was still racing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about all possibilities, all the consequences—of course he had—but now all those things were more than a theory. They were a reality. Mankind would benefit from all of his hard work—the hard work of his compatriots. Of course, to be so close and still have so many bureaucratic hoops to jump through was a pain. But that was nothing compared to the years of tedious trial and error which he’d already gone through.
“Jerry, you’d better come in here,” called Anna from the other room.
“Is dinner ready?”
“No. There’s something on the TV. You’d better come see this.”
There was no way she could pay both the rent and the utility bill this month. After buying groceries she’d calculated what she had left, and it just wasn’t going to be enough. Marion had thought working two part-time jobs and doing some extra babysitting was going to be enough. But it wasn’t. There had never been enough money since Alan… since Alan had been killed in that car accident. He didn’t even have life insurance.
She hated herself for thinking of him in that way. It sounded so mercenary. But the truth was, things hadn’t been good between them for a while. Now they never would be.
Greg and Marcy came through the door at that moment, and she quickly turned her frown upside down—as she was always telling them to do.
“Hi, Mom,” called out Greg. “We’re home.”
She’d forgotten school was going to be let out early for a “teachers’ prep” day. She wished she could have a prep day sometime. It seemed, despite the fact she was always running, she could never catch up.
“I’m hungry,” said Marcy.
“There are apples and bananas on the kitchen table,” said Marion.
Marcy crinkled her face in mock disgust, but walked over and picked out a banana.
“I’m going to watch TV,” announced Greg.
“Not until you do your homework, mister.”
“There’s no homework tonight on account of it being teachers’ prep Friday,” countered Greg as if he’d just one-upped his mother.
“None for me either,” added Marcy. She ran after her brother into the living room, marking her trail with a banana string.
Marion could hear the TV being turned on, and the customary argument about what to watch. She didn’t worry about it. She knew they’d come to some kind of compromise. Even though they were only eight and ten, she’d taught them about fairness and taking turns.
What she was really worried about—more than just the monthly bills—was their future. She had to get a better job—one where she could save money so they could afford to go to college someday. She needed health insurance as well. You didn’t get health insurance working part time. Luckily they’d both been healthy little rascals since they were born. But you never knew.
“Mom.”
Marion had been staring out the kitchen window, but looked around to see Greg standing there with a perplexed look on his face.
“They interrupted our show. Right in the middle of it they started talking about something. It’s on almost every channel.”
Marion wondered what it could be. It was probably an AMBER Alert or something like that. She decided she’d better go check.
“You’re really done?”
He saved the file and rested back in his chair.
“Yeah. It’s ready to go to the publisher.
She wrapped her arms around him from behind the chair saying, “So the great American novel is finally finished.”
“I don’t know about the great American novel, but it’s the best book I’ve ever written.”
“I know you’ve been going over and over it. Are you sure you’re done?”
“I’m sure. If I read it one more time I’m going to start doubting myself. Five times through is my limit.”
“We’re going to have to celebrate,” she said.
He came out of the chair and out of her arms to stand and look at her.
“No, no,” he said seriously. “There’s no celebrating until it’s actually published and I can hold a copy in my hands. The festivities will have to wait.”
She stepped closer and put her arms around him again. “Can’t we just have a little party? Just the two of us?” She kissed him and he enthusiastically returned it.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe an intimate little bit of revelry.”
They kissed again and his hands slid down her waist to her derrière.
A short ding sounded from his computer. He broke from her long enough to look down. It was news alert ping. Probably some celebrity pulled over for a DUI, or another congressman making a public confession. Whatever it was, it could wait. He committed himself fully to her embrace.
It had been a pretty quiet day in the E.R. until she saw a familiar face being wheeled in by the paramedics.
“Mr. Stonestreet, what are you doing back here? Aren’t those stitches holding up?”
She remembered Frank Stonestreet had been in just last week for a foot-long laceration on his arm.
“I’ve been having trouble breathing, Doc.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Stonestreet’s son, who’d followed the medics in, spoke up. “He’s coughing and wheezing, and it’s been getting worse.”
“Don’t worry, Frank, we’ll give you a complete going over and find out what’s wrong.”
“I guess old age is having its way with me, Doc.”
“You’re not that old.”
“Easy for you to say.”
She laughed. “I guess it is.”
“Bonnie,” she said to the nurse, “let’s start out with a chest X-ray on Mr. Stonestreet.”
“Dr. Silva, we need you over here.”
Another gurney was being wheeled in, and the medic behind it called out, “Beth Cain, early twenties, found dizzy and disoriented, BP 150 over 95, temp 103.”
The young woman on the gurney started to convulse.
“She’s having a seizure,” declared Dr. Silva. “Give her two Ativan stat. Let’s get her in a bed.” Dr. Silva, the medic, and two nurses took position. “Transfer on my count. One, two, three.”
Just as she was moved to the hospital bed, the woman’s seizure faded and she opened her eyes.
“Where am I?”
“Beth, you’re at Cushing Memorial Hospital. I’m Dr. Silva. You just had a seizure. Has that ever happened before?”
“Seizure? No, no.”
“Alright, Beth. Don’t worry. We’re going to take care of you.” Dr. Silva turned to the nurse. “Order a CBC, tox, and blood culture. Also a chest X-ray and head CT.”
“Right away, Doctor.”
“You’re in good hands, Beth.” She said, even though the young woman seemed too out of it to understand.
Dr. Silva knew she’d been wrong to even think about it being a quiet day in the E.R. She’d done nothing but curse them—not that she believed in that kind of superstitious nonsense. All she believed in was helping people. That’s all she’d ever wanted to do. She was getting plenty of opportunity to do so at Cushing Memorial, that was for sure.
“Doctor, you should come in here,” said Bonnie, sticking her head out of the nurses’ station. Dr. Silva noticed a couple of nurses and doctors had gathered there, and were looking up at the television mounted on the wall.
She went in as someone turned up the volume. There was some kind of news flash. As she listened, as the details were relayed, the enormity of what she was hearing, the likely consequences, took hold. Her throat clenched, her fists tightened involuntarily. All she could think of was Could it be true? Was this really happening? All those years of medical school, the years of interning—finally being able to care for people—and now… and now none of it would matter. No matter she did for Mr. Stonestreet or Ms. Cain, she couldn’t save them. She couldn’t even save herself. All of it—everything—was over.
“I don’t understand,” she said as both of them stared at his computer. “What does it mean?”
They were lying naked on the bed when he decided to see why the machine kept pinging with news alerts.
“It means it’s over. It’s all over.”
“It can’t be true,” she insisted in what came out as barely a whisper.
“They’d never broadcast it if they weren’t sure. I’m surprised they’re even telling us. I guess they knew it was going to get out one way or the other.”
“What will we do?”
“Based on what they’re saying, there’s nothing we can do.” He turned away from her, away from the screen, and sat on the edge of the bed. “It wouldn’t bother me so much, except I was always sure when the time came I’d leave something behind—a legacy of words—some kind of mark as at least a competent storyteller.” She moved to him and put her arms around him. He didn’t move. “Now it doesn’t matter how much time we have. All my books, all my words… it will be as if they never existed.”
It was hard to even comprehend the consequences of what they were saying on the news. If it was true, all her concerns over her children’s future were useless. There would be no future.
She went into her bedroom and cried until she had no more tears to give. It wasn’t fair, she thought, it wasn’t right. But when had life ever been fair to her? She didn’t mind that—she was used to it. But her children? Didn’t they deserve more? Didn’t they deserve something?
She decided right then she wouldn’t tell them. She’d keep it from them as long as possible. They didn’t need to know they would never grow up.
“You can’t just sit there and drink, Jerry.”
“I can… and I will.”
“We’ve got to do something.”
“There’s nothing to do. What could we possibly do?”
“I don’t know,” said Anna with resignation. She sat down next to him and took a swig out of the bottle herself.
“All my work, all the hope and promise,” said Jerry. “Now it will never happen. It was all for nothing.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say that? Don’t you understand the magnitude of what’s going to happen?”
“Of course I do.”
“No, I don’t think you do. Nanoparticles aren’t going to solve this. It’s cataclysmic—the apocalypse. Game over.” Jerry took another drink, put the bottle back on the table, and let out a little snort of a laugh. “It’s the end—the end of everything.”