Hopefuls

Jose and Marcia ran through the forest to escape the suited up hunter barbarians.

Voices shouted—"Cursed! Evil-doers! We'll get you! Destroyers!"

The siblings jumped down a waterfall into roaring rapids and swam home.

Their grandfather, Fred, asked, "Did you breach the protection barrier again? I told you it's wild out there. They'll hunt you down. They blame it all on us."

Marcia wiped the mud off her arms. "Why, grandpa?"

"You know the story ..."

"I know, but I want to hear it again."

"Very well." Fred hollered, "Jose! Come here and sit by your sister."

Jose and Marcia sat near a fire as Fred retold the tale.

"We lived in beautiful cities. Everything anyone wanted. Not all perfect. Crime, greed, and conflicting beliefs persisted. But nevertheless a whole society. Till the pathogen arrived, it devastated people. No cure. It struck the elders first, then younger generations. The wise ones warned everyone to keep a distance, but too many congregated. It spread like fire. The world became brutal, with people struggling and fighting to eat and gather resources.

"Researchers tried to administer vaccines and medications but with dire effects. The pathogen mutated, causing it to resist the air and stay on every surface for countless times. Anything anyone touched infected them ... "

"Get to us, grandpa!" Jose clapped.

"Alright, alright, you're in a hurry. With all the scientists and scholars dead, mythology took hold. People lived superstitiously. As some scientists predicted, some people had different levels of immunity. But by that time, those scientists disappeared. The tribes of hazmats hunted us. Those that lived, mutated—disfigured and mostly infertile—continue to seek us out. They believe sacrificing us to an idol of great intelligence will gain its favor, and it'll bless them with a cure."

"And the visitors?" Marcia fiddled with a stick to the fire.

"The visitors. Odd-looking humans. Featureless. Strange voices, speaking in our language. They land with their flying ships and provide us food. Offer us shelter. They challenge us through obstacle courses for our health. Give us injections and take our blood. They call us hopefuls."

Marcia said, "One time, their injection made me sick. I went into their ship!"

Fred sat back and gasped. "You never mentioned this before."

"I'm not a storyteller." She shrugged.

"Tell us, sis." Jose tapped her leg with a stick. "What happened?"

Fred nodded.

"Well …" Marcia sat up. "A long cable dropped and grabbed me. It pulled me up into a ship, and the visitors put me in a glass room. They gave me food and water, and then the gas was released. I felt so sleepy I laid down."

"And?" Jose stared at her.

I awoke with this scar on my stomach. "She lifted her shirt. "What's the matter, grandpa?"

Fred studdered, "Marcia … Try to remember, were there other rooms like that?"

"Yes!" Marcia nodded. "How did you know?"

Fred let out a sigh—"Lab rats …"