EPISODE I-1
Episode I
Harry's awakening
Harry looked around confused, struggling to keep his eyes opened. He had just been woken up by complete and deep silence, almost unnatural as if the very essence of life had suddenly left that corner of the world to escape from some kind of dire threat. The fresh and damp air barely moved, a single and unexpected gust shook blowing among the yellow-reddish leaves of the maple grove, otherwise still like in a postcard. Looking at the dark sky above him, speckled only by some remote star, Harry realized he could not tell if it was early morning or late evening.
At first, this fact appalled him, then, by increasing his focus on the clouds that were lying over the Penobscot Bay, he noticed that these had taken on the typical shades of twilight. He assumed the sun must have just set and once again he looked around perplexed, worried because he was late. He carelessly scratched the bite of an insect on his shin, his hand absently came up until an unpleasant sensation of stickiness forced him to look down; then he discovered that he had both knees flayed and that the sense of stickiness was due to a pink jelly, which was penetrating his wounds to heal them with a speed that he thought was impossible.
He watched amazed as his own flesh regenerated until the process was finished, then he touched fearfully where his blood had just gushed a few moments before and he was astonished that he was not hurt at all. He wondered how he could have gotten those injuries, he was sure he had not crashed down from the branch of some tree, because he was more than certain he had not climbed because of his crazy fear of spiders. Later he wondered if by chance he had fallen off his bicycle, but there was no way that was possible. He was a grown man now. How could he have forgotten? Annoyed by all these mysteries, he ran his hands through his smooth, black hair several times, leaning his lower lip forward in an attempt to collect his thoughts. In the end, he sighed resignedly, he could hardly believe it because it had never happened before and yet he must have fallen asleep.
But what happened to his knees? The noise of something struggling furiously in the water intrigued him, drawing him away from his worries. He got up and moved toward the bank of the stream to see what it was. He clung to a low and protruding branch, cautiously walking around a tree bristling on the bank to avoid sliding down and there he spotted his own fishing rod. It was exactly where he left it, between two rocks near the place in the stream by Megunticook Lake. A monstrously large trout was hopping out of the water, trying to break free from the hook. Harry could not remember if he was still awake at the time the fish had bitten and if so what had been his last thought before he fell asleep.
Meanwhile, the grove was slowly recovering to breathe, a sudden and persistent pruning announced that it was the time when the squirrels leap from branch to branch and then go ashore searching for food. An otter, recalled by the noisy trout, peeked out from a bush a few meters upstream, spotted the easy prey and dived, raising splashes of water; when it emerged it aimed firmly towards the fish that seeing it began squirming even more furiously: he knew he had no escape.
Far away the bell chimes of the Rockport church announced that it was time to get ready for dinner. Thinking again he should return home, Harry ran quickly looking for his beloved mountain bike. He really cared about it because convincing his parents he was able to ride it had cost him an arm and a leg; that's why every time he went to the stream he would rest the bike on a tree after wrapping the fishing rod with a rag to avoid scratching it. Instead, he found the bicycle thrown to the ground carelessly; he rushed to pick it up and inspected it inch by inch, to make sure that it wasn't damaged.
Suddenly he felt like someone was spying on him, he looked around for the umpteenth time and the darkness that was cloaking everything intimidated him. A few days before, his father told him to apply a battery-powered light to the handlebars of the bike, but he objected saying that afterward, it would no longer be so beautiful; in that exact moment, he regretted his own decision, because right then a light would have been really useful. New and more intense noises revealed to him that the wood was becoming increasingly alive and faster and when he heard the first nocturnal birds sounds he was frightened so much that he hoped not to be in front of a bear.
He put on his glasses that were around his neck and placed the elastic that prevented him from losing them around his nape. He noticed that one lens was cracked and chipped and he wondered once more what the hell had happened to him; finally he stretched his right arm and then he bent it to bring the watch right under his nose. He wore it by habit because he was not able to tell the time, but knowing that it was late he still brought his hand to his forehead in a blatant gesture deciding that, even if reluctantly, he would leave the equipment there because he doesn't have enough time to pick it up; he told himself he would come back the next day.
He was disappointed he could not take the trout with him because it was perhaps the biggest fish he had ever caught, but he had stopped making noise and this meant that it was probably already gone in the belly of the otter. Harry imagined the otter satisfied while going back to her den to get some sleep because thanks to him the hunt was already over. He shrugged and told himself that at the moment he had far more serious things to think about, for example, the fact that surely his parents already were very angry. So, even though it was a little scary it was necessary to take the shortcut. Without thinking twice he picked up the backpack containing the snack and all its treasures from the ground and threw it over his shoulder, jumped clumsily into the saddle and began to push on the pedals struggling a little to keep the handlebars straight, as he felt stable he swooped down into the woods and crossed the bush in a flash.
He came out on an immense meadow and after walking a few hundred meters he turned left, then he followed a stretch of the mule-track that ran along the valley floor between Payson and Camden until, at the crossroads for the city, he sharply cut through a beet field, being careful to stay away from the scarecrows because he remembered rumors that at night they try to grab whoever passes nearby.
Finally, he climbed to the top of the Camden Hills where he stopped to take a breath. He took off his blue polo shirt, leaving just his white ribbed undershirt on, he used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead and take a break to observe the sea, it was illuminated by the expanse of lights that ran along the winding coast. The evening ferry ride was accompanied by low flying seagulls: illuminated by a multitude of headlights it was crossing the Penobscot Bay bringing home the commuters from Deer Island, whose lights reflected a thousand glints against the dark surface. Harry moved his gaze to the valley floor in the direction of Rockport, his home was just four or five minutes away and by daylight he would have been perfectly able to recognize the dark slate roof. Instead, he saw confused flashes of red and blue light making their way through the ash trees tops and he kept his eyes wide open in astonishment, then he squinted them for better focus and realized that the lights came right from his garden.
Fearing that something might have happened to his parents, his heart skipped a beat, then he tied his polo shirt to the barrel of the bike and got up on the pedals flying down the steep descent, regardless of the pebbles and holes that might have led to a nasty fall.
James had been pacing back and forth in the garden for hours and was now close to exhaustion and hopelessness. Starting from the early morning he spent the day trying to think according to the habits of his son: every time that was approaching some important appointment for Harry, like the 2 pm tv series or the snack at 4 pm, or the Egyptology collection at 5 pm, he had hoped to see him coming back home. Instead still nothing! He stopped and checked the clock once again, it was past 8 pm and Scooby-Doo had just begun, but there was no shadow of Harry.
He shook his head discouraged and began to roam like a robot back to the large garden, chasing away mosquitoes, and due to the anxiety he had not even noticed that he was reducing his favorite flowerbed into mush, the one adorned with violets that in few days would have welcomed the big Christmas fir tree.
He felt a sense of physical discomfort and unhooked the first two buttons of his shirt as if that simple gesture could help him feel better.
Although they were in late December, that year the summer seemed not to want to end. Instead of snow and ice, the lawns were covered with fragrant flowers and the temperature continued to be around thirty degrees. For this James had taken the bad habit of chugging Budweisers one by one, cursing the heat and humidity; consequently, his stomach had definitely grown and his persimmon colored Deputy Sheriff's uniform had begun to be tight.
Even though science was still far from finding a plausible explanation for this incomprehensible phenomenon, experts from all over the world were in agreement that the climate had by now definitively gone mad and things would hardly get back to normal. To support their theory, which initially many had judged absurd, in many places of our planet, deserts had begun to seem like prairies and vice versa.
Entire ecosystems had packed their bags and quickly moved in search of better living conditions, leaving many scientists speechless. James stopped and looked up at the starry sky, then covered his ears trying to feel far, at least for a moment, from the noise that surrounded him. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, breathed deeply hoping that once opened again he would be in his bed, finally awake, thanking God because it was only a bad nightmare. Optionally, in order to hold his son immediately, he would even have agreed to be the victim of some joke orchestrated by an author of tacky Reality Shows. Instead, when he opened his eyes and uncovered his ears, he was still in the middle of the same chaotic shouting, the same traffic of frosty fluorescent bodices, the same colored flashes cutting through the darkness and of the same confused barking of tired dogs. There were those who gave orders and those who distributed tea and hot coffee, someone with block and pencil asked questions everywhere taking notes, a guy placed in front of a field radio marked portions of a topographic map using a marker pen from the gigantic tip.
James got back to his wanderings and his wife Eve took his arm, accompanying him in his furious gait and pulling back trying to restrain him. Another woman would have been dragged away by his volume and his firm step, but she was a bit taller than him, thin and muscular, the classic Northern European woman with long ash-blond hair and blue eyes so clear that at first sight they might even have looked albino. Tired of being pulled like a trailer, she gave him a yank forcing him to stop, then he looked in her eyes.
"What?" he said annoyed.
"Really? You should look your face in the mirror, then you wouldn't ask me what" Eve replied. James snorted.
"Why don't you let Dr. Parker give you a sedative?" She urged him immediately, using a tone James thought was too thoughtful.
"Do you still insist on this? Do you want to tell me why I should take a sedative?" He replied nervously. Before Eve could even answer, Dr. Adam Parker interfered.
He had a fine mustache and round intellectual glasses combined with a fancy butterfly, he looked like a mannequin escaped from an antique shop.
