CHAPTER 18

            The woods surrounding the cave were blanketed in a layer of cold, wet mist that crept through the hills like something alive. Jack stuffed his pack and prepared for the trek back to the Lewis center. He was tired. Tired of eating canned beans and fruit and the occasional handful of plucked wild blackberries. Tired of sleeping on a thin layer of nylon and cotton. Tired of pretending to be a soldier again.

            The words that he’d exchanged with his brother, while harsh, had been more honest than anything Jack had consciously admitted to himself in all the years since Hyde’s death. If they’d been painful, at least they’d been candid and quick, which was a greater courtesy than anything Hyde had managed towards his little brother in the torturous years during the decline of his health and humanity. Hyde had needed to hear what was said and Jack had needed to say it, and Jack didn’t feel particularly remorseful, even as the revelation that his older brother was younger and scrawnier than he’d remembered sunk in. Just a kid.

            How old had he been when they’d found him collapsed in the woods that day? Fifteen, wasn’t it? Jack had been just twelve. It was James, Hyde’s stepdad (and Jack’s biological father), who’d first spotted Hyde’s body in the woods. He was cold and pale, unconscious and barely breathing. By the time the paramedics finally arrived, there was nothing left to save. He was pronounced dead that morning, dead like the bed of leaves and twigs he’d been found lying on, on a morning much like this one. Jack shivered.

            As bad as Hyde had treated him, Jack took the news of his half-brother’s death hard. He’d always viewed him as a friend and a mentor. For the first few days he was inconsolable, burying himself in the covers of Hyde’s bed at night and refusing to eat anything. The memories and emotions came back to Jack with surprising clarity and force.

            “Jack,” said a quiet, gruff voice from over his shoulder. He blinked his eyes clear and forced away a knot in his throat.

            “What is it, Harold?” Jack replied without emotion.

            “Are you sure you want to do this?” The tone was softer than anything Jack had previously heard him speak in.

            “I’m not sure of anything. Here I was, barely coming to terms with my own issues here, and now, suddenly, there he is,” Jack said, motioning with his head in his brother’s direction. Hyde’s curled, sleeping body faced away from them as he slept.

            “Well, neither am I,” Harold admitted. For the moment, Jack appreciated his candor, but he wasn’t about to gush.

            “Could’ve fooled me. You’ve been pretty determined this whole time to succeed in your mission.”

            “I just wanted answers, Jack. What’s wrong with that? That’s the core of human nature, the inquisitive mind, reaching out and finding the truth. Scientist, remember?”

            “You’re not looking for the truth, Harold,” Jack said as he cinched the straps on his pack. “You’re looking for your truth. You’ve got an idea in your head and although it’s not matching up to the facts you’re determined to make the pieces fit. Isn’t that the opposite of what scientists are supposed to do?”

            “And what qualifications, exactly, do you possess to explain to me the definition of science?”

            “None, Harold, and I’m not ashamed to say it. Because all this time I figured that scientists had the answers, that science was mankind’s best hope. But after meeting you, I’m more than willing to give the other side a try.”

            “You and billions of others,” Harold hissed. “And when you’ve been brainwashed to believe it, I wonder what they’ll have you do next?”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack asked.

            “I’m surprised you, of all people, would have to ask that question. Weren’t you a soldier?”

            “Sure, but what does that have anything to do with this?”

            “Let me ask you, when you were fighting in the Middle East, what were the motivations of your enemies based on? Were they economic reasons? Fighting for money? Societal reform? A chance to lessen the gap, to right injustice? Or were they religious? A fervor fueled endlessly by beliefs from their so-called ‘holy books’?”

            Jack was silent as he started intently at Harold on the other side of the cave, his face slowly taking definition with the sun’s gradual rise. What Harold said struck a chord. How many times had Jack heard of stories of suicide bombers walking into crowded markets and street corners and shouting ‘Allah akbar!’ before pulling the trigger and killing dozens. How many times had he seen the prophet’s name scrawled on websites filled with terrorist propaganda, or heard bits of the Quran quoted before the brutal slaying of innocent hostages. It was true. In all his years in the military he had seen no good things result from religious devotion.

            “The conflicts are always tied to religion,” Harold continued, his words punctuating the process of Jack’s mental analysis. “If it isn’t Muslims, it’s Christians or Jews, shedding blood for their holy wars, for the amusement of their unseen deities. Religion is the drug of the masses and simply a tool for the powers that be to control the uneducated to execute their orders. It’s been the same since the dawn of time, and if it’s peaceful here then it’s only the calm before the storm. And when the inevitable call to arms is finally made, who do you suppose will lead the charge? Some winemaker or librarian from that valley town back there? I think not. They’ll look to you, the former soldier, to show them to hunt and kill other humans.”

            “How can you possibly know that?” Jack said with fading conviction.

            “Because that’s what religion does. That’s all it’s ever done.”

            “But then what about these, these... resurrections? How can you explain that? I’m telling you, that kid over there is my brother. There’s no doubt about it. And I know he was dead the last time I saw him. How does a religion go about accomplishing something like that?”

            “It is puzzling, to be sure,” Harold said, rubbing the back of his hand against his three-day beard. “Of course, it is possible that cryonics were involved.”

            “Cryonics? What’s that?”

            Harold leaned forward, a new and startling look of excitement in his eyes. “Back in Cambridge, there was a whole emerging department related to the study of cryonics, a medical technology of preserving humans and animals for long periods of time by lowering their body temperatures and storing them in specially-controlled environments.”

            “Sounds like a sci-fi movie.”

            “Well, science fiction today is science reality tomorrow. If we really are decades into the future of our former lives, it’s possible that cryonics are a common technology today. And if our bodies were immediately put into the right conditions after death, that could explain how we are here.”

            “No, that would’ve been impossible for me,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I died in a desert, in the middle of nowhere, with no other support teams nearby. There’s no way I could’ve been recovered.”

            “And yet here you are,” Harold said with a smile. “I mean, it’s not like soldiers know all the details of what goes on with those in command. Maybe your unit was special. Or maybe just you were.”

            “But that doesn’t explain my legs,” Jack said. “I was killed by a grenade that left me with nothing below my knees. I bled out on the spot. But here I am, walking without any difficulty.”

            “Again, if this is the future, and medical technology is highly advanced, why wouldn’t it be feasible that science could’ve given you a new pair of legs? Perhaps this is also how I’ve returned physically to the man I was in my twenties.”

            “And you think science is responsible for the makeover?” Jack asked.

            “Not just a makeover. I feel younger inside and out. I can breathe deeper, no more aches and pains. it’s wonderful. All due to science!”

            The two men glanced over as Hyde shifted below his covers at the far end of the cave.

            “Whatever the truth about this place is, it’s going to be hard to believe,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck.

            “So let’s find the answers together,” Harold said, extending a hand with a smile.

            Jack studied it for a moment and considered his options. Just hours before his mind had been made up. He would find the mountain path they’d trekked across days earlier and be back to the center by sundown. Daniel and his family would probably be angry with him, maybe even initiate some form of punishment for going AWOL, but things would settle down eventually. In any case, the cabin would mean fresh meals, hot showers, and a warm bed. But he’d be leaving Harold and his big brother–or little brother?–alone in the woods. And as tough as he recalled Hyde being when he’d still been a big brother, it was obvious now that he was just a boy, lacking the skills needed to survive in these woods for long. Skills that Jack had.

            He reached over the pit of glowing embers and shook Harold’s hand.

            “Fine,” he said firmly. “I’ll stay until we get some more intel. But from now on, I’m the one calling the shots, since neither of you have any experience in a situation like this.”

            “Fine by me,” Harold said, raising his palms.

***

            Liping studied the two visitors cautiously from her spot in a crinkled leather recliner at the far end of the sitting room. The rain from the night before had drained the clouds from the sky and eventually surrendered to a clear, sunny morning. Her hosts, Naomi and Sophie, had busied themselves with the preparation of a Western breakfast that had smelled strange to Liping’s nose. The whole house had filled with the aroma of spices and flavors she’d never encountered, and although the tastes were foreign and strong, she’d eaten well and was now filled and satisfied and hoping for tea.

            The guests had been a surprise to Liping, though her hosts had welcomed them as if their arrival had been according to plan. They were an instant oddity to Liping–their faces and attire suggested they were Chinese, but their mannerisms and greetings had an obvious Western flair.

            “Liping, I’d like to introduce some friends to you,” Naomi was suddenly saying, motioning to Liping’s corner of the room. She stood, smiling slightly without approaching the strangers. She nodded her head.

            “This is Hongjun and his wife, Lirui,” Naomi continued. “Hongjun and Lirui live in Bighton, not far from here.”

            “I see,” said Liping. “Hello.”

            The couple approached a few steps, bowed their heads slightly, and produced a small parcel bound in brown paper and twine.

            “I apologize for the wrapping,” said Lirui, the wife, “but this gift is for you, Liping.” The woman smiled as she extended the parcel with both hands, offering it with a familiar and unmistakable poise. Liping was speechless, surprised as much by the gift as the Chinese manner in which it was offered.

            “I...Well, thank you. Thank you,” Liping said quietly. “Are you two Chinese?”

            The couple exchanged a brief but puzzling glance before Hongjun answered. “Yes. Yunnan Province. My wife was from Dongbei. And you?”

            “Zhengzhou,” Liping said curtly as she turned the gift awkwardly in her hands.

            “Go ahead, open it,” the woman, Lirui, said.

            Liping returned to her secluded chair and began unwinding the string and paper. As the paper shed away she glimpsed its contents: a dark, polished wooden box. Possibly Chinese rosewood, Liping thought. And carved into the top of the box with exquisite craftsmanship chiseled to mimic the strokes of a script brush, the character ‘乐’. ‘Happiness’.

            Liping drew an awed breath as she turned the gift in her hands, examining its intricacies. The natural flowing patterns of the wood melded perfectly with the beveled calligraphy.

            “It’s simply beautiful,” Liping marveled, her suspicion falling away.

            “It’s actually a tea box,” Hongjun offered. “May I?” He said, reaching for the box. Liping nodded. He carefully took the box in his hands, pressing gently against its two sides. As if by magic, the sides slid inward while the lid swung gently away, revealing wooden compartments shaped like teardrops that spiraled outwards. Hongjun reached in and slid one of the containers lids off, exposing the fresh aroma of tea leaves. Liping gasped again.

            “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in a museum,” Liping whispered.

            “Lirui’s family builds the boxes and grows the tea near their house in Bighton,” Naomi said as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray of small ceramic tea cups.

            “Your family makes these?” Liping said with disbelief, staring wide-eyed at the mysterious and fascinating couple.

            Lirui nodded. “They’re called blossom boxes because of the way they open like the petals of a flower. My father was a carpenter in the Old World, building desks and shelves for apartments and offices in our city. He was very skilled but never had a chance to make anything for himself or our family. Actually, that old house was so small there was no space to put anything even if he had the time to build it. But now things are different,” Lirui explained, smiling at her husband. “Once we had settled here into our new lives, my father began teaching us the trade.”

            “I’m sure your father is a rich man now,” Liping said, laughing with uncharacteristic ease. “These must sell for a small fortune.”

            Lirui merely smiled.

            Ten minutes later the six of them–Naomi, Sophie, Adrina, Liping, and Hongjun and Lirui–were sitting on couches sampling a fragrant Oolong tea from the blossom box. Rays of morning sunlight caught the plumes of steam as they billowed from the teapot. For the first time since her arrival, Liping was contented and relaxed.

            “So, Liping, tell us, how are you adjusting to life here?” Hongjun asked, swilling a fresh batch of dried leaves in a clay basin of steaming water.

            “Oh, it’s been nice,” Liping remarked. “My hosts have been generous.”

            “Yes. The Lewises are known in these parts for their hospitality. They treat everyone like family,” Hongjun said.

            “Yes, I suppose so,” Liping said, trailing off. She began to suspect that the guests arriving here had been carefully planned for her. Their gift, the teas, and their being from China were factors far too coincidental to have not been orchestrated. So they wanted something from her, after all. But what? What did she possibly have to give?

            “So, how did you know about me?” Liping asked, aiming for a tone of amicability.

            Lirui glanced at her husband. Hongjun shrugged, “Oh, word gets around. Especially when it involves new arrivals. Like yourself, and Adrina here.”

            “Arrivals?” Liping quizzed.

            “Sure. Arrivals. The resurrected,” Hongjun said nonchalantly as he sipped from a teacup. Liping failed to conceal her look of incredulity.

            “It’s ok,” Lirui said, reading Liping’s expression a little too quickly. “It takes time to sink in. Just take one day at a time until you’re comfortable asking questions.”

            Liping smiled weakly and wanted to fidget in her seat. “So how did you two end up here, then? I’ve been told we’re a long ways away from China, though I don’t know exactly where.”

            Lirui pulled a small leather booklet from a leather satchel and spread it open on the table, unfolding a large topographical map. “This used to be the Canadian city of Vancouver,” she stated, pointing a finger at the scraggly line of what represented a shore. Then she walked her fingers a few inches northeast. “And this is where we are. See? Right outside Clive.”

            “Is Clive a big city?” Adrina asked.

            “No, not by any means,” Hongjun chuckled. “Especially by Chinese standards. The population has been hovering around three hundred for awhile. It might go a little higher with the recent wave of resurrections, though.”

            “Three hundred! That’s barely a village!” Liping exclaimed.

            “It’s growing, though. And there are plenty of interesting building projects planned. If you’d like to see it sometime we’d be happy to take you,” Lirui said.

            Liping considered the offer for a few moments. There were still so many things left unanswered about this place, but her initial wariness was beginning to fade. She no longer felt threatened or endangered by this foreign environment. Only puzzled and curious. And having spent her first week as a guest of a strange family with no work or household chores to speak of had left her feeling restless. Though she felt some trepidation leaving one group of strangers and joining another, there was some comfort in the fact that Lirui and Hongjun seemed to understand her situation better.

            “Ok,” she finally said. “I’d like that.”

***

            Hyde’s headache had been lingering for most of the morning since getting punched the day before. It was sorta funny when you thought about it, the fact that getting hit so hard in the head actually made you see stars, just like in the cartoons. But he wasn’t in the mood for laughing now. He wasn’t in the mood for much of anything. The brief excitement he’d felt at having visitors and someone to talk to had been replaced with annoyance. It was, after all, his cave and his supplies. He’d been the one to locate the perfect hideout and he’d been the one surviving on his own for the last two weeks by carefully planning raids on other campsites in the area. So why should he have to take orders from some random stranger?

            Especially a soldier who was clearly, positively, insane. His little brother? Jack? Really. Last time Hyde had seen his little brother he was a skinny little kid with toothpicks for arms and a missing front tooth from when he’d once cursed at his big brother. Sure, they did kind of look alike. The hair was a little darker, more brownish than blonde, but those eyes were almost the same. Actually, this guy looked a lot like his dad, Hyde’s stepfather, James. All he needed was a pile of empty beer cans and cigarette butts. Hyde snickered as he trudged along the trail behind Harold and Jack.

            “Shouldn’t we have found this campsite by now?” Jack asked. “You said it was less than a mile north of the cave.”

            “Sorry, I’m not a human GPS, it was just an estimate. Should be just up ahead. We’ll cross a brook and it’s just a minute or two upstream from there,” Hyde sneered. Jack turned to give him an irritated look, which pleased Hyde.

            “How long have you been living in these woods, boy?” Harold asked as uncapped his canteen and took a swig of water.

            “About two weeks. And my name is Hyde.”

            “Well, Hyde, you appear to have done pretty well for yourself in that cave and figuring out how to navigate these woods. I’m fairly certain a child from where I’m from would’ve perished after the first three days.”

            “I said I’m not a child. And anyways, I know how to survive on my own in the woods. I was practically raised by the wild.”

            “Raised by the wild? Meaning you liked to watch Rambo and camp in our backyard?” Jack said, laughing. Hyde seethed, his face red. How did this guy know so much about him? And why wouldn’t he just shut up about it? Hyde wanted to run up behind him and clock him in the back of the head. He at least deserved that, just to even the score.

            “So what’s your story then, Hyde? How did you end up here?” Harold asked.

            “I dunno. I just woke up here,” Hyde mumbled.

            “Right. We’ve established that. But I mean this forest, that cave back there. How did you end up here?”

            “I told you before. I was in the cabin for a few days and then I bolted when I got the chance. Been a free man ever since, though they’re probably out looking for me, I’m sure.” Hyde reached down to pick up a round stone and hurled it into the woods beside the path, listening with satisfaction as it crashed through the leaves and sent a flock of panicked birds squawking into the air.

            “So. You’re from England, huh?” Hyde asked.

            “Correct. Specifically, Cambridge. I was a professor there at the university. Have you ever been abroad?”

            “Nah. Only left the state a few times for medical checkups. Never left the country though. I think my mom did once, after she graduated, though. I saw some pictures once,” Hyde explained.

            “She was twenty at the time, actually,” Jack said suddenly. “She saved up all her money to travel through Europe with some friends.”

            Hyde winced every time Jack opened his mouth. What was it about this guy? How did he get all this information? What was going on here? His face burned red and hot.

            “What happened in England?” Harold asked.

            “It’s a long story,” Jack said. “And anyways, here’s the creek. Looks like Robinson Crusoe knew what he was talking about after all.”

            For the dozenth time during their little trek Hyde bit his tongue. Eventually, he would get a chance to show this jerk who was boss, and when he did he’d never forget it. Never.