Survival Skills

By Theresa Alt

Christys first semester at college is even better than she imagined it would be. She has a new best friend and study partner, Ashley. Shes falling hard for the handsome and funny Scott Markham. She is doing well in all of her classesexcept Scientific Paradigms. Christy discovers evidence that the professor, Dr. Franklin, is conducting dangerous experiments on his unsuspecting students. When she confronts him, Dr. Franklin claims an entirely different motive. Christy must decide what to believe. Is Dr. Franklin placing his students lives at risk for scientific gain, or is he giving them the skills to survive an imminent worldwide disaster?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Sep 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512710830

Theresa Alt

Theresa Alt has always had a passion for the written word and its power to move people. Even before she could spell, she was writing stories. Now, as a physical therapist working with geriatric patients, she delights in the words of wisdom shared between generations. At home in Marion, Iowa, Theresa pursues many creative endeavors in addition to writing, including acting, dancing, and playing the flute and piano. It’s Theresa’s hope that Survival Skills will remind you that God created you for a purpose and that, no matter how dark things appear, God is still working in our world. To read more, check out theresaaltauthor.wordpress.com.

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Copyright © 2015 Theresa Alt.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Author Photo Courtesy of Kazoo Photography

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-1082-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1081-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-1083-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015914357

WestBow Press rev. date: 09/17/2015

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To Elizabeth, Bridget, Abby, and Jacob,

may the books you read uplift your spirits

and inspire you to be the best you can be.

To Andy and all other teachers,

thank you for devoting your lives

to instilling a love of learning in your students.

The impact you have on the world is beyond measure.

1

My heart was racing, and I was barely breathing. I couldn’t see the man, but I knew he had a loaded gun, cocked and ready, pointed right at me.

Walk up to the wall.

I inched forward, arms held high. I was grateful he hadn’t pulled the trigger but reluctant to move farther away from my only escape route.

Turn around and sit down.

I complied. I felt an overwhelming urge to run as fast as I could away from this place I had searched so hard to find. But I knew I was being watched. So I stayed where I was, looking and listening for any sign of the man with the gun.

A muffled voice commanded, Don’t move.

Startled by the voice, which sounded like it was right behind me, I turned my head and found myself staring down the barrel of a gun. The face of the man holding the gun was obscured by what looked like a gas mask.

Someone yanked my backpack off me, almost pulling me over. When I tried to turn to see who it was, the masked man pressed the gun to my temple. Within seconds I was blindfolded, and my wrists and ankles were bound tightly with duct tape.

You will stay here until the Council decides what to do with you, the muffled voice said, gruffly.

I heard the crunch of departing footsteps, leaving me completely alone and completely helpless. I started to cry. I was convinced that what I was looking for was on the other side of the wall behind me. But now I had little hope of reaching it. In all likelihood, I would be executed right there on the forest floor, with the object of my search just beyond my reach.

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The twisted path that led me into this forest began in Scientific Paradigms class. Just eight months earlier, my main concerns were grades, boyfriends, and homesickness during my first semester at Gerald Ford College.

You will have fifty-five minutes to complete the exam. If you need to leave before the end of class, you will have to turn in your exam, and you will not be allowed to return.

Dr. Franklin’s instructions were exactly the same as those he gave for our first exam. I struggled through that first test. Anxiety got the better of me, and I couldn’t focus. The multiple-choice questions weren’t too bad, but I didn’t even finish the essay questions.

This time, though, I had spent a lot more time preparing. I was ready.

Dr. Franklin began handing out the exams at the front of the room. One by one, I watched my classmates bend over their papers. I glanced over at my best friend, Ashley, and flashed her a nervous smile. Ashley gave me a thumbs-up and mouthed, Good luck, Christy.

To avoid repeating my poor performance on the first test, I flipped straight to the back of the test. I breezed through the essay questions, pleased my intense studying was paying off.

Turning back to the first page of the test, I glanced up at the clock. There were twenty minutes left in the class period. I noticed how warm I felt. I still had several pages of questions to answer. I felt beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

Dr. Franklin scanned the room intently, his clipboard propped up on the desk in front of him. A student from the back of the room was the first to turn in his test, and he seemed to be in a hurry to get out the door. Could he possibly be done already?

Come on, now, focus. I forced my eyes back down to the papers on my desk. Multiple choice is the easy part. You can do this. The first few questions were tough. I worked through them carefully, giving each my best guess. Half-way down the page, the words started blurring. Man, it’s hot in here. I unbuttoned another button on my shirt and pushed up my sleeves. I read question four for the fifth time and filled in a dot on the answer sheet. It felt like a random guess. I hoped some hidden knowledge was influencing my selection.

Dr. Franklin got up and wandered around the room. The click of his oxfords on the tile floor stopped right behind me. Is he looking at my paper? I didn’t dare turn to see. I heard the door open again; another student hurried out. I flipped quickly through the test—four and a half more pages of multiple-choice and true-false questions. It would be difficult to get that much done in the remaining fifteen minutes. True-false questions usually go pretty quickly, so I skipped to that section. At least there I had a 50-50 chance, even if I couldn’t remember anything I had studied.

I had nearly completed the true-false section when Dr. Franklin returned to his seat. I glanced up at him and then over to the door. Students were leaving in greater numbers now. My attention wandered from the door to the plants sitting on the adjacent counter. Some of those plants aren’t looking too healthy. Perhaps they need water or more light. I’d never noticed how sad they looked before. I suppose that was a good sign, indicating I actually paid attention during class rather than watch the vegetation grow.

I forced my attention back to the papers on my desk. Only ten minutes left, and there I was, musing about the health of the houseplants. I quickly filled in two more false answers and flipped back to the multiple-choice questions. The words danced all over the page, and I struggled to catch my breath. I shook my head and took a sip from my water bottle. My hand trembled as I filled in a couple more answers. I couldn’t stay in that room a second longer, despite the many blanks left on my answer sheet. I grabbed my bag and water bottle, dropped my test off at the front of the room, and slipped out the door.

I walked a few steps down the hall and stopped to wait for Ashley. Class would be done in five minutes, and we would definitely want to rehash the test over lunch. I leaned back against the wall, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. My legs felt shaky. I sank to the floor and felt tears welling up. I thought I had prepared well for this test. Why couldn’t I make it through a few pages of multiple-choice questions? I’d had a couple of late nights working on papers that week, but it hadn’t been any worse than usual. Maybe I should have eaten more for breakfast. But the way I felt during the test wasn’t exactly like hunger or sleepiness. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before. What was going on?

I glanced at my watch. The class period was nearly over. I dried my eyes and took another sip of water. It wouldn’t bother me if Ashley saw me like this, but I didn’t especially want to walk into the cafeteria bawling.

The bell rang, and the classroom door opened. I stood to watch for Ashley, but no one came out. I checked my watch again. Yes, it was time for class to be over. I moved closer to the door, so I could see what was happening inside.

I heard Dr. Franklin’s voice: well-suited to this type of adaptation.

I stopped before reaching the door, just out of sight.

Remember, a widespread panic will not help anyone, so it is important that you keep this quiet. In the future, you will be able to talk to your friends and family about it, but now is not the time. Understood?

After a short pause, I heard papers rustling and chairs sliding on the floor. I quickly stepped back and turned away from the door. I rummaged through my bag as if looking for something. Students filed past me, speaking in hushed but urgent voices. I pretended to be oblivious while straining to pick up any words that might give me a clue as to what the professor had been talking about. I caught a few snippets, but nothing made sense. Some students were talking about recent volcanic eruptions in different parts of the world. Everyone knew about those, so why were they whispering about it? From other students, I caught words like atmosphere, breathing, and again, adaptation. I rolled these words and those of Dr. Franklin around in my head but couldn’t make them fit together.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and jumped, dropping my bag. Wrapped in my thoughts, I had forgotten to watch for Ashley.

Ready to head for lunch? she asked, picking up the planner that had fallen out of my bag. She forced a smile, but I could see anxiety in her eyes.

I turned toward Ashley, ready to ask her what was going on, when Dr. Franklin stepped out of the classroom and headed down the hall in the opposite direction. It would do no good to ask about Dr. Franklin’s secret while he was within earshot.

I wonder what’s for lunch today, I said instead.

We started down the hall together.

Ashley and I rarely kept secrets from each other. I hated to ask her to go against the professor’s instructions. Still, what would it hurt if she shared the information with one friend? Surely that wouldn’t cause the widespread panic the professor was worried about. In any event, a public hallway or cafeteria wasn’t the right place to ask someone to share a secret. The next time I could see Ashley alone would be the following day, when I’d stop by her dorm room after lunch. That would be the perfect time to ask her what Dr. Franklin was talking about.

At lunch, our conversation revolved around the test. Contemplating the professor’s mysterious words, I had nearly forgotten about my sadly incomplete answer sheet.

I didn’t think this test was quite as bad as the last one, Ashley said, with her usual optimism.

I don’t know. I shook my head. I felt well-prepared this morning, but I just couldn’t seem to focus once I got in there.

A look of concern flashed across Ashley’s face. She immediately replaced it with her signature smile. I’m sure you did fine. You always do.

2

The next morning, I pondered how best to get the information from Ashley. A direct question that caught her off guard might be good. However, if she was intent on following the professor’s demands for secrecy, a roundabout approach might be more fruitful. I opted for the latter, tossing ideas around in my head while walking toward her dorm room after lunch.

I knocked on her door a couple of times with no answer. I tried the knob. It was unlocked. I slowly pushed it open.

Hey, Ashley, it’s me, Christy.

Ashley was sitting at her desk with her head resting on her left arm. Her right hand held a yellow highlighter against the page of a textbook, as if she had fallen asleep in the middle of highlighting a word.

With the door still half-open, I knocked again and said a little louder, Ashley, you ready for stats?

She shifted in her chair and slowly sat up. The pattern of her cardigan was imprinted on her forehead and down her left cheek.

Good morning! I said cheerily, closing the door behind me.

She gave me a weak smile and started loading her backpack for the afternoon. This was my chance. In her drowsiness, I hoped she would forget Dr. Franklin’s admonition to secrecy.

I noticed Dr. Franklin kept you guys after class yesterday. I tried to act nonchalant but watched carefully for her reaction. Was he giving you extra time to finish the test?

If she thought I knew nothing, maybe she would be willing to share something with me.

I suppose, she answered, rifling through a stack of folders on her desk.

When people were leaving at the end of class, they were all whispering to each other. Do you know what that was all about?

I imagine they were comparing answers, trying to figure out who did the best on the test. I don’t know. She remained focused on her backpack, though it looked to me like she already had everything she needed for the rest of the day’s classes.

I moved toward her roommate’s bed, trying to get a look at the expression on her face.

We better get going, or we’ll be late. Ashley swung her backpack over her shoulder and turned away from me, starting toward the door.

I hurried to the door to block her exit. Once we got out in the hall, there would be no chance of getting a straight answer.

Giving up on the indirect approach, I blurted out, Look, Ashley, I heard Dr. Franklin talking to you guys about some secret and widespread panic and stuff. What is going on?

Ashley finally made eye contact. She looked like she was about to cry. She looked away and swallowed hard. When she turned back to me, her jaw was set with renewed determination.

Then you heard just enough, she said, the pitch of her voice rising as it always did when she was upset.

She reached past me for the doorknob and forced the door open. You know it’s a secret, and I can’t tell you.

She pushed past me and headed down the hall, taking long strides and not looking back.

I pulled the door shut and hurried after her. How could she? I shared everything with her. And when I asked her to share one little secret with me, she got mad. At me. As if I were doing something wrong.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to walk to class with her. I was upset, and if I caught up with her, I might say something I would later regret. I took a different sidewalk toward the math and science building and tried to turn my attention to statistics. It was no use. All I could think about was Ashley. And Dr. Franklin. And the Big Secret.

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Ashley and I avoided each other the next several days. This was not an easy task, since we had all of our classes together. But the classrooms were big enough that we could usually find seats in opposite corners. We were both science education majors. My emphasis was biology; Ashley’s was chemistry. Our identical schedules had made us ideal study partners, until now.

At the end of the week, we got our Scientific Paradigms tests back. I was too far away to see Ashley’s score, but I did see a little smile play on her face before she tucked the paper in her backpack. It looked like an A smile to me, which made me even more upset about my own 72%. I knew there was a chance for the curve to bring it up a little, but that was still a solid C.

My test-time mantra replayed in my mind: This is the worst class ever, with the worst professor ever. Unfortunately, Scientific Paradigms was a required general education course, and Dr. Franklin was the only professor who taught it. I was stuck.

I slumped further down in my seat, scowling at Dr. Franklin’s back while he finished handing out the tests.

Now, I know many of you are not happy with your grades, particularly those of you who were unable to finish the test within the allotted time, the professor projected over the murmur of students. I believe you should have the opportunity to share with me what you know, which may not be accurately reflected in your test score. Therefore, those of you who would like to supplement your test grade will be allowed to do an extra credit paper.

He handed a single sheet to each student. I glanced quickly through the instructions. The topics looked doable. With the use of my notes, writing a paper on one of them shouldn’t be too difficult. The other details, though, raised some doubts—minimum five pages, single-spaced, due in two weeks. I was glad Dr. Franklin was giving us a chance to pull our grades up, but I really didn’t want another paper to write, particularly on top of all the reading we had to do for his class.

3

After a lousy week and a weekend of solitary studying, I was looking forward to helping lead music during Sunday evening Mass. I walked across campus to the Catholic student center with a smile on my face for the first time in almost a week. That smile disappeared when I saw Ashley approaching. I pulled out my phone and pretended to be engrossed in a text conversation.

The damper on my mood lifted as soon as I entered the rehearsal room for the Celebration Singers. I shared hugs with the other altos and took my place in the center of the back row, where the alto and bass sections meet.

Mr. Thompson cued the accompanist to begin warm-ups.

Scott, who stood to my right, leaned toward me and whispered, How is a soprano like a pirate?

We sang aluminum-linoleum up and down an F Major scale.

I don’t know, how? I whispered back, keeping my eyes on Mr. Thompson, who was instructing us in our next warm-up.

They’re a terror on the high Cs, Scott replied.

I giggled. Mr. Thompson glared at me, and I felt my ears turning red.

As soon as Mr. Thompson looked away I elbowed Scott in the ribs. I loved his sense of humor, but it infuriated me that he could keep a straight face, so I was the one who always got in trouble.

Mass was wonderful. I can’t think of a more powerful way to praise God than with song. I was able to forget about Ashley and Scientific Paradigms, and focus on our awesome, loving God.

After Mass, Scott and I were joking about who could sing the lowest and who could sing the highest. His bass voice resonated powerfully on the low notes, and he also had a convincing falsetto. It was a competition I was destined to lose. Most of the choir had dispersed. Scott and I were picking up the hymnals from the choir area.

You have plans for dinner? Scott asked.

The cafeteria was closed on Sunday evenings. I was thinking Ramen noodles in the microwave, I answered.

I’m gonna walk down to Subway. You wanna come? Scott asked.

And miss out on salt-flavored noodle soup? I countered with a grin.

You’re right, Scott said, throwing his hands up in surrender, I can’t compete with that.

I laughed. I’m in. Just let me grab my purse.

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Subway was only a few blocks away, so it was a popular hangout after Sunday evening Mass. A long line had already formed by the time Scott and I arrived. We exchanged hugs with the group in front of us, making sure to find those we had missed during the handshake of peace. A few sopranos from the choir filed in after us.

Approaching the Order Here counter, I scanned the menu and mentally reviewed the contents of my wallet. I should probably just get a sandwich if I want enough money left to do laundry this week.

Scott put a hand on my shoulder and leaned forward. My treat, he said softly.

My stomach flipped, and I felt a blush creeping into my cheeks. With two little words Scott turned our outing from a casual meal between friends into a date.

I put my hand over his and whispered, Thanks.

I continued looking at the menu on the wall, willing my flushed face to return to its normal color before I had to turn and face Scott.

We each ordered a meal-deal, with Sun Chips for me and cookies for him. The restaurant was crowded, but we managed to find an empty booth at the far end. I caught Scott’s eye for a moment and then quickly looked down, feigning rapt attention to the sandwich I was unwrapping. I racked my brain for something brilliant to say.

Coming up with nothing, I blurted out, Thanks for dinner. I was wondering how I was going to be able to afford both food and laundry this week.

My pleasure, Scott answered. I glanced up again. I was used to seeing his smile, but it was different tonight. It wasn’t joking or teasing. The twinkle I usually saw in his eye when he made me laugh wasn’t there. I hadn’t seen this smile before, but I knew it was just for me. My stomach began doing somersaults again, but this time I couldn’t look away. I tentatively returned his smile.

Can you believe how crowded this place is? Angela, one of the sopranos who had been behind us in line, slid in the booth beside Scott. Two others squeezed in beside me, completely oblivious to the moment they were interrupting.

I was grateful, at first, for the interruption. Now there was no more pressure on me to find something to say. With those three at the table, I could say nothing at all for the rest of the meal, and conversation would still be plentiful.

You ladies sounded great tonight, Scott said to our new dinner guests.

Angela waved her hand dismissively, though I could tell she enjoyed the compliment. "Now you guys—I get chills every time you hit that low G." The other girls echoed her praise of the bass section.

My gratitude was quickly replaced with resentment. This was my first date in college—okay, my first date ever—and I had to share it with three other girls. That was definitely not fair.

Did you see what Brittany was wearing today? the girl next to me asked.

Hideous! the girl on the end said.

Remind me to find out where she shops, Angela said, "and make sure I never go there."

I scooted closer to the wall, trying to escape the conversation.

Now, Jessica thinks her chest is God’s gift to man, the girl on the end pointed out.

And she does everything she can to show it off, Angela added.

What do you think, Scott? the girl beside me asked.

Scott glanced at me, shrugged, and then looked down, as if trying to find a way to crawl under the table.

Let’s find something else to talk about, guys, I suggested. We really shouldn’t be gossiping, I added hesitantly, fearful of adding goody-two-shoes to the labels they used for me when I wasn’t around.

The girls continued to chatter, turning their complaints toward their professors. They had either ignored my comment or assumed it only applied to conversation about our peers. I smiled, thinking about the juicy gossip they could be picking up right now if they were paying attention. Scott caught my eye and winked. Tonight was still all about the two of us. The distraction of a few extra people wasn’t going to change that.

Twenty minutes later we all headed out of the restaurant. Scott and I hung back, allowing the other girls to get ahead of us. When they were half a block ahead, Angela glanced back toward us. I couldn’t see her face in the twilight, but she probably figured out what was going on. That meant the whole school would know about it by noon the next day. Good news travels fast in small schools.

Scott wished me good night at the entrance to my dorm. I floated up the stairs with a huge grin on my face. Before I reached my room, I had my phone out. You’ll never guess what… I typed, before I remembered. I couldn’t text Ashley with my good news. We hadn’t spoken since Tuesday. I was not going to break my silence until she was willing to tell me the big secret.

I hit cancel and sat down on the end of my bed. It was too late to call Mom. My roommate, Kayla, was out of town on a band trip and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. I felt like I was going to burst if I didn’t talk to someone.

I replayed the evening’s events in my mind. I could feel Scott’s hand on my shoulder, see his face light up when he smiled, and smell his cologne when we hugged. I picked up my phone again, my heart racing.

I had fun tonight, I texted Scott. Thanks for dinner.

I held my breath for what seemed like an hour, until my phone beeped to notify me of an incoming message.

Me too, Scott replied. I can’t wait to see you again.

Giggling, I flopped back on my bed. Who would have thought