Equilibrium
Wilderstory 23
Quinn extended her hand toward Meredith, balancing the shallow specimen dish on the tips of her fingers. It was nearly empty. Only a thin filmy substance remained at the bottom.
“Jeezus, Quinn,” Meredith gasped, leaning forward. “I told you not to mess with those.”
“It vanished — I swear.” Quinn said, “Clean out of the jar.”
Meredith leaned back, exasperated. “Dammit, Quinn. You always do this to me.”
“Do what?,” Quinn asked.
Meredith gestured in a way that encompassed the whole back end of the trailer. “This,” she seethed.
“I let you in. I ask you to listen. To follow a few simple rules. Any rules.” Meredith curled her fingers into two compact fists in her lap. “But every time, this happens.”
Quinn narrowed her gaze. “You keep saying this. What is this?”
“This need of yours to take advantage,” Meredith continued, “To constantly violate everything I care for. To barge in and make a mess of my work.” She extended both arms into the air toward Quinn.
“This, Quinn,” she said, lowering her voice.
“You.”
Quinn could feel heat from her wound well up under the bandage on her face. The flesh of her cheek swelled, pulling against the tape.
“I mess things up because that’s my job,” Quinn said.
She pressed a single finger into the center of her own chest. “This is what cuts through the bullshit, Meredith. It’s probably the only thing I’m good at.
“Sometimes shit goes sideways, but I’m here for it.”
Meredith relaxed in her chair. “Is that what you’d say happened with Spencer?,” she asked.
“Or Ricky?”
Quinn felt the weight of her body give way. She fell back onto the bench. Her cheek was suddenly ablaze with pain. But she welcomed it.
“I’m here for it, Meredith,” her voice quavered. “It’s why Hickman put me on this case.”
Meredith pushed a few errant strands of hair away from her forehead. “Hickman,” she smirked. “Don’t get me started on him.”
“He put you on this case so he’d have something to clean up,” she continued. “Something to show to his own bosses. Just like every other case he’s put you on. He uses you, Quinn — to make himself look good.
“Don’t you even see that?”
Quinn straightened. The pain in her face melted away as she focused on Meredith. Her smooth, dark skin. Her glaring white lab coat. And something else.
“Meredith,” she motioned, “Your sleeve,”
Meredith shifted in her seat. The cuff of her lab coat was smeared with black. She lifted her arm as more of it pooled on the surface of the desk. The open specimen container beside her was brimming with the dark liquid.
Overflowing.
“The hell?” Meredith breathed. She pushed herself back in her chair.
Quinn stepped forward. “What were you dropping into that?,” she asked.
Meredith frowned. She lifted the dropper from the desk.
“It’s a simple sugar compound,” she said. “It’s food for bacteria. Helps it grow. But I don’t …”
Quinn gazed at the mess of liquid on Meredith’s desk, then at the empty disc in her hand.
“Quick,” Quinn stammered, placing her own container onto the desk. “Put some into this.”
Meredith shook her head, trying to concentrate. She lifted the lid and moved the dropper over the empty dish. A glassy, dark residue still clung to the edges along its base.
They both leaned in as Meredith pushed out a single drop. For a moment, the sugary white liquid pooled in isolation at the bottom of the container.
They watched, as a thin grey outline appeared along its edges, seeping slowly toward the center. The filmy residue inside the dish began to pull inward, mingling with the lighter substance.
Then it started to darken. And grow.
The two watched as the dish slowly filled with black liquid, just as the one beside it receded.
Even the liquid that had spilled on the desk drew back — shrinking away in degrees. Evaporating. Until the stainless steel surface was clean.
The dark substance in both dishes eventually settled over the course of a few seconds, to the point where each contained an equal amount.
Quinn settled again onto the bench behind her. The hum from the air conditioner vent filled the silence around them with its enduring, familiar drone.
Meredith proceeded to lift the lids off the other containers.
“Let me try something,” She murmured, almost to herself. She wheeled her chair to a small cabinet beside her desk, pulling a sealed plastic vial from one of the shelves. She plucked a fresh dropper from her lab coat and pushed it into the top, drawing a measure of liquid from the bottle.
“Look familiar?” she said, peeking sidelong at Quinn.
“Bleach,” Quinn replied, “I can smell it from here.”
Meredith applied a small drop to one of the containers on the far end of her desk.
The liquid inside responded immediately. Its volume diminished, just as the levels in all the other dishes rose.
Meredith sat back. She crossed her legs and clasped her fingers around one knee, deep in thought.
“Starfish,” Meredith said.
She pulled at the large knot at the back of her head, letting her long mass of hair fall loose around her shoulders.
“Have you ever seen a starfish grow back one of its legs?” Meredith asked.
Quinn sat motionless, her mouth agape.
“It’s a process called regeneration,” she continued. “Countless species are capable of some form of it, from protozoa to vertebrates. Earthworms. Arthropods. Lizards. If you sever a limb from any of them, they can grow a new one, in time, to replace it.”
“Bacteria too?,” asked Quinn, nodding toward the specimen dishes on Meredith’s desk.
“Especially bacteria,” Meredith replied. “But that’s not what I’m getting at.”
She placed a finger over her lips, thinking of the best way to express her thoughts. “You cut a leg off a starfish,” she finally said, “That starfish will grow one back.”
Quinn shook her head. “I’m guessing there’s a but in here.”
“But,” Meredith continued, “you wouldn’t cut a leg off one starfish and expect it to grow back on another, somewhere else down the beach.”
She stretched both her arms out over her desk, encompassing the whole collection of containers.
“We’ve been working under the assumption that these are separate samples, each filled with millions of individual cells of bacteria,” she gestured.
“But in fact, they are one.”
Quinn leaned forward. “One cell?,” she asked.
“One body,” Meredith answered.
“One organism. Connected. Able to transfer itself — its own bodily matter — across multiple locations. Even across space.”
Quinn took a moment to let it all sink in.
“If we kill it off in one place, it will only grow back in another,” she whispered.
“Equilibrium,” Meredith nodded. “A built-in natural defense mechanism, ensuring it can never fully expire.”
Quinn ran her hands through her short, choppy hair.
“The ultimate killer starfish,” she said.
“If you want to call it that,” Meredith grinned. “I kinda like it.”
“I don’t,” murmured Quinn, lifting herself off the bench. She stepped toward the door, grabbing the milky white dropper from Meredith’s desk as she went.
Meredith leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest.
“Again?” she said. “I really don’t want to know what you plan to do with that.”
Quinn lingered, peering out the window.
Meredith placed her hand on Quinn’s elbow. “I’m sorry, Quinn. For what I said,” she hesitated. “It wasn’t fair.”
Quinn pulled herself away. “It was good to see you again, Meredith. And thanks,” she said, wringing the handle and pushing open the door.
A warm breeze cut across her face as she stepped outside. Across the lot, a small group of men in dark suits stirred.
One broke away and stepped toward Quinn. He firmly grasped her elbow and drew himself close .
“Hickman’s here,” the man said.
“He wants to speak to you.”
