12 by Jeffrey Marcus Oshins

Author:Jeffrey Marcus Oshins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Jeffrey Marcus Oshins, 12: A Novel About the End of the Mayan Calendar, And We Shall Perish, Mayan, December 21, 2012, 12, 12-21-12, 21, fantasy, apocalypse, Apokaful, apocalyptic, science, fiction, novel, read
Publisher: DeepSix Publishers via Indie Author Project
Published: 2014-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

LILIA

MG steered the pickup off the Interstate onto a twisting, two-lane road bordered by woods and farms. We came to a twelve-foot fence of metal spikes alongside a broad flooded lawn. A guardhouse blocked a driveway beside stone pillars. A sign read Balfore Institute.

“I’m going to change,” I warned.

“Change?” she looked at me.

“The way I look.”

Even with the warning, MG flinched at the sight of me in the guise of Victor Magallanes, wearing baggy coat and oversized pants. By her response, at least I knew it was working.

We were stopped at the guardhouse by a wooden gate painted with white and red stripes. An elderly man in uniform leaned from the small enclosure. Loose red-tinged skin wrinkled his face. White curly hair pushed from beneath a cap.

A small gray car stopped behind us.

The guard stepped out from the small building, looked at us and nodded at the occupant of the other car. “Just a minute, Doc,” he said with a wave of his clipboard. “What can I do for you, folks?” he asked.

MG looked at me, then said to the guard. “We’ve come to see his mother.”

“What’s her name?”

MG waited for me to speak.

“Lilia Moss, or maybe Morales. I think Moss,” I said.

He opened an umbrella and stepped closer to the car to look at me. “What are your names?”

There were two short beeps from the car behind us. The guard looked back and frowned.

Again, MG looked at me.

“Du Moss. I think I’m her son,” I said.

“You think?” Suspicion tightened his mouth. He wiped a raindrop off a bushy sprout of eyebrow with the back of his hand.

“I haven’t seen her for...a long time.”

“She’s not expecting you?”

The horn behind us honked with more insistence.

“Ah fer Christ’s sake,” the guard muttered. “Listen, you folks got to call ahead and make an appointment. This is a private care facility. The docs got to OK you visiting.”

The horn blared this time.

“All right! All right!” the guard shouted. “You folks going to have to turn around,” he said, motioning forward with a sweep of his hand.

The driver of the other car pulled a white raincoat tighter around himself, and bareheaded, ducked against the rain, approached on MG’s side of the car. “What’s going on?” he asked, stepping beneath the meager shelter of the guard’s umbrella.

“Hey, Doctor Brimley.” The guard said with forced politeness, reluctantly leaning the umbrella closer to the doctor. “Just some folks wanting to see a patient.”

Brimley studied MG for a moment. “Well, let them in,” he snapped at the guard.

“They ain’t got an appointment. This one says he’s ah...Lilia Moss’ son, that is, he thinks he’s Lilia Moss’ son.”

Mother was here! They knew her name. I had to find a way to see her.

Brimley’s dark hair, black beard and glasses were beaded with rain. He bent closer to the window.

With as much certainty as I could muster, I said, “Edgar Weinmann said I might find my mother, Lilia Moss, here.”

Brimley studied the projection of Victor with such intensity, I wondered if he might not be seeing some of me beneath the disguise.

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