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Temples. Phillip |
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Rebound by
Phil Temples
“Housekeeping.” Randy
Pratt announced his presence before entering. Most of the residents of the Centerwood Assisted
Living and Nursery Facility were gathered in the common room for arts and crafts. The room
was unoccupied, or so he thought. But then, he saw Billie Madison curled up in a corner
of the room reading the latest Super Dynamo vs.
Dark Phantasmo e-comic that Billie had received the day before. “Oh, I’m sorry,
Billie. I didn’t know anyone was in here. I can come back later, if you’d like.” “Naw, that’s
okay, Randy,” replied the five-year-old rebounder. I’m just killing time until
Johnny and Lizzy get back from crafts. You go ahead and do all that grownup stuff
that needs doing.” “Okay,
kiddo.” Randy walked over and stripped the bunk beds of their sheets and tossed them
in the portable incinerator on his cart. They disappeared in a whoosh! Then
he pushed a button and four sets of sheets and pillows popped out. The newer carts were
equipped with robotic arms that installed the linen. But Randy was fine with the older
model. He enjoyed doing it by hand. “How’s Lizzy doing, by the way? She still
hanging in there?” Billie
looked sad. “Not so good, I’m afraid. She’s three now, and she’s beginning
to lose a lot of her vocabulary. Heck, so am I. Image that! Three doctorate
degrees under my belt, and I’m only interested in comic books now.” Billie
paused to put down his tablet. “I guess it’s only a matter of time before
you’ll be slappin’ diapers on me.” Randy chuckled. “Gawd, I hope not. I don’t
want to get anywhere near your little pecker. Besides, you still got a few good years left
in you.” Around
2047 the world’s elderly population started to experience sudden age reversal.
People around sixty-five began appearing younger. Despite intense
investigations by the world's leading medical schools as to why seniors no
longer assumed the typical signs of decline but instead grew youthful over a relatively
short span of time, no definitive cause had ever been found. Some scientists speculated
that the answer to this vexing question might exist in the reactivation of telomerase,
the enzyme that lengthens telomeres––prompting gene reproduction. While this
dramatic change in the human condition pleased most elders, it upset their descendants,
who witnessed their parents—and grandparents—“rebounding” past
them in chronological age and maturity. “Randy,
can I ask you a question?” “Sure.” “Are you still linear?” “Yep. Guilty as charged.
Is it that obvious?” “Well,
I figured as much. If you were on the rebound, you wouldn’t be taking care of little
kids. You’d be out doing fun stuff instead. I tell ya’, enjoy it while you
can. It sucks to get young.” “I’ll
keep that in mind, Billie. I surely will. You take care. Be nice to the others, and share
your toys. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.” Randy finished his duties on the second floor, and headed
for the infant’s ward on level eight. He was responding to the dispensary, which
had messaged him saying it needed more diapers. As Randy passed by one of the doors, the
sensor detected his proximity and flashed on the screen the names of the room occupants.
One name caught his attention immediately: PHILIP R. PRATT, AGE 1.25 YRS Could it be…? Randy
had a stepfather—a rebounder—who would be around one or two years of age now.
The two had been estranged for decades. Randy touched the sensor and then pressed query.
Up flashed more vital statistics about Philip Pratt. Is it really you, you son of a bitch? Philip had been an evil stepfather. He was fifty-six years Randy’s
senior. When Randy was a child, Philip delighted in playing cruel pranks on him. Like the
time he threw rocks at Mrs. Madison’s tabby cat, and then he told her that Randy
was the culprit. Randy’s mother punished him for weeks by making him scrub the
floors, clean the dishes, and perform other intensive labor meant for the cleanbots. Philip
even got Randy arrested once when he bullied his stepson into entering a bodega to say,
“This is a stick up. Give me your money.” Above all, Philip was a sadistic sociopath who delighted
in smacking the youngster around simply for the pleasure of seeing him suffer. It wasn’t
until the elder Philip divorced Randy’s mother and moved out of state that Randy
escaped his cruel treatment. Randy severed all contact with Philip, and they lived their
separate lives. Once or twice over the years, Philip had tried reaching out to Randy, but
Randy never reciprocated. The two hadn’t spoken since. Randy walked into the room. There was no need to knock.
The occupants were infants, all assigned to cradles. Randy spied the cradle occupied by
his stepfather. He bent over and put his face inches from the baby’s. “It’s been a
long time, hasn’t it, Philip? Do you know who I am?” The baby had been staring off into space. But when Randy
bent over the cradle, Philip stared up at him. The infant was transfixed. “Yes, it’s me.
Randy. You remember, right? You remember how you used to knock me down, and kick me? You
broke my ribs, once. Then you told mom that I had fallen down the basement stairs. You
threatened to kill mom if I told her the truth. Remember?” The baby Philip continued
to stare at the figure above him. The words Philip heard meant almost nothing to the nearly preverbal
infant. Yet, they stirred vague recollections. Feelings. Feelings of hunger. Or concern.
No, perhaps… delight? “Do you remember when you trapped me in
the bathroom and pulled down my pants? Do you remember how you raped me? I’m sure
you do. That’s something even a slobbering infant wouldn’t forget, right? I
know you remember! I can see it in your eyes.” Indeed, Philip’s eyes betrayed him.
The scene was registering in the infant’s
mind. It was ancient and powerful and … Something dark moved across Philip’s face. Suddenly
he was aware of pressure against his throat. Philip’s instincts told him to both
cry out and suck in air at the same time. Neither was possible, however, as the grown man’s
hand seized the infant’s throat in a viselike grip. Philip struggled, to no avail. Randy
squeezed more tightly. Seconds later, Philip’s vision grew blurry. Soon he stopped
struggling and surrendered to the impending darkness. Randy, knowing the sophisticated
electronics in the building would soon identify him as the assailant, abandoned his cart,
headed down the elevator, and walked calmly out the building into the bright morning sun.
Justice had been meted out by Randy’s hands in a most satisfying
fashion. It mattered little to Randy what happened to him now.
Food Chain by Phil Temples Jimmy Dexter,
age 14, of Milford, Delaware, was quite probably the first person to discover it. A few
days later, grownups also began to take notice. Smart people, mostly scientists. People
from all over the planet. The
microscope was his pride and joy. He had saved up almost $200
from his paper route to buy it. Jimmy placed the order online, and after nearly a week
of waiting, the UPS man delivered the package to Jimmy’s mother while Jimmy was at
school. When he got home, Jimmy rushed into the kitchen, and without even saying, "Hi mom,"
he instead asked, "Did a package—" His mother grinned and nodded, stopping him in mid-sentence, then
walked over to the counter and handed Jimmy the box. Jimmy eagerly tore into it and carefully
removed the contents, inspecting it with admiration. He ran over to the kitchen cabinet
and grabbed a glass container. "Where do
you think you’re going with one of my canning jars?" Jimmy was half way out the back door before his mom finished with
her question. He kept running for almost a quarter of a mile until he reached Fishers Pond.
He assumed that a small sample should contain millions of single and multi-celled organisms
for him to peruse with his new microscope. It was a humid, sunny afternoon in late spring. The pond was thick
with green slime. Dragonflies and other bugs were buzzing to and fro, just above the surface.
Jimmy bent down at the water’s edge, unscrewed the lid, and carefully dipped the
jar into the water, capturing some of the algae along with the liquid. After screwing the
lid on tightly, Jimmy darted back home. Up in his bedroom, he quickly collected a small
sample and placed the pond water onto a viewing slide. To say that Jimmy was disappointed would have been an
understatement. In fact, his initial reaction was one of disbelief. There was no life at
all visible in the sample! He compared it with tap water from the bathroom faucet. There
was no discernable difference between the two samples. Jimmy discarded the slide and prepared
another. Again, he observed the same result. And again, on the third and the fourth ... What am I doing wrong? Jeez, Louise! This
microscope is broken! Although
something was obviously botched, Jimmy carefully recorded the results of his first-ever
experiment in the laboratory notebook he had purchased just last week at the bookstore.
Feeling defeated, Jimmy went downstairs and washed up for dinner. The following day, researchers at the Johns
Hopkins Medical Center in Baltimore, Maryland, and the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute
in Falmouth, Massachusetts, were making similar observations to Jimmy’s. Interestingly,
they, too, arrived at the same initial conclusion as Jimmy did. Something must be broken
with the equipment. Except, the scientists had many microscopes as well as other
sophisticated pieces of equipment with which to confirm the initial readings. After repeated
tests, there was no doubt in their minds: something was causing the disappearance of simple
life forms in their laboratories—indeed, across the planet. # The following day, the President of the
United States and other key cabinet members received a top-secret briefing about the crisis
from the Chairman of the President's Council of Advisors on Science and Technology, Dr.
Patrick Whiting. "Mr. President,
if this situation persists—and there’s no reason to believe it will not—we’re
facing a worldwide catastrophe—essentially, a ‘Doomsday scenario.’" "But it’s only the tiny, single-celled
organisms that are affected, right? I mean—that’s not as bad as an entire species—like
birds or fish—going extinct." A moment passed. The President turned and faced his chief science
advisor. In a more subdued, and far less confident voice, he asked, "Is it?" "I’m
afraid it’s infinitely worse," replied Whiting. "Not even taking into account the
destruction of crops and livestock, you see, sir, the human colon harbors one of the densest
microbial communities found on Earth. For every human cell in your body, there are roughly
ten single-celled microbes. Without those microbes in our gut, we’ll soon be unable
to digest food. Already we’re seeing evidence of die-off of these microbes in test
subjects all over the world." Whiting started
to say more, and then he paused. "What is it, Pat? There’s no need to hold back on anything
now. I don’t suppose anything you have to say could make matters worse." "Well, it’s
just that it’s very mysterious. It may not help us
solve this dilemma, but the bacteria and other one-celled organisms don't actually die.
Instead, they’re disappearing right before our eyes." "Huh," said the president. There was no
emotion in his voice—only a simple acknowledgment of a scientific mystery. Of course,
the scientists who would collect data and conduct research until the very end of
mankind’s existence were speculating over this critical piece of data,
wondering if it held any answers to the impending apocalypse. But they were
quickly running out of time. "How long?
How long until people start to die?" "Rough estimates are seven to ten days. People will begin to
feel the effects within the next 24 hours." The President sank into his chair. He let out a long sigh. "Bob, get the top religious leaders in here
for a meeting within the hour. It’s time to draft a message for the nation. Let’s
hope that the people of this great land will have the courage to die with dignity and not
riot in the streets and kill one another. So help me God, I’ll not have that on
my watch." Within days,
more complex life forms began to disappear. Insects,
birds, fish, and snakes were the first to blink out of existence. There was no disputing
it. Eyewitness accounts numbered in the millions. One second, they were there. The next,
they were PHOOF! Gone. Cults preached of the Rapture, and new-age environmentalists
claimed that Gaia had come to reclaim her planet. Soon, mammals like dogs, cats, cows, horses, and other farm
animals were also disappearing. The swine were the next to go. Later, apes
began to go missing from laboratories and zoos. # The
small waves lapped gently against a large female humpback
whale. She was a part of a pod of fifteen humpbacks who were situated off the coast
of Hawaii. A stream of air and mist rose from her twin blowholes. She dove, and soon rejoined
the cacophony of moans, howls, cries, and other noises of the conversation in progress. The burning question on the minds of all
the pod members that day was: "Where have all the krill, plankton, and fish gone?" Then
one of their pod posed the seemingly insignificant question: "Where are the humans?"
Phil Temples resides
in Watertown, Massachusetts. He's had five mystery-thriller
novels, a novella, and two story anthologies published, in addition to over 180 short stories
online in: The London Independent Story Prize; Wilderness House Literary
Review; Boston Literary Magazine; and Ariel Chart; to name but a few. Phil
is a member of New England Science Fiction Association, the Mystery Writers of America,
and the Bagel Bards. You can learn more about him at https://temples.com.
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