Generation M (16 page)

After a few steps, she gripped her sides and doubled over as spasms erupted throughout her midsection. When she straightened, she fished a pill from her pocket, desperate for some relief from the pain, and swallowed it.

Many of the kids waiting in line were clutching their sides and crying out, obviously suffering from the Pig. A few hung their heads lethargically. Several kids held bloody rags up to their faces. Abby wondered if they had been involved in fights over food.

She couldn’t decide what to do. One part of her wanted to help the kids in line, especially those who looked the sickest, by giving each one an antibiotic pill. Another part wanted to enter the clinic straightaway and see Jordan. She headed for the door.

Kids directed loud, angry shouts at her.

“Hey, wait like everyone else!”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Go to the end!”

Abby withered under the hard glares. “I’m not sick. I’m looking for my brother.”

“Liar,” a girl screamed. “I have the Pig too.”

About the same age as Touk, the girl had toothpicks for arms and legs, and she had as much dirt smudged on her face as on her bare feet.

Abby slipped her hand into her pocket and pinched a pill, as if the muscles in her arm somehow remembered she used to care about others.

She gave the pill to the girl. “Swallow it if you can. You’ll feel better soon.”

“She’s got candy,” a boy shouted.

Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw a flash of movement, and as she was turning her head, a girl drove a shoulder into her ribcage. Abby stumbled sideways. A boy with wild eyes wrapped his arms around her legs, and a second boy bowled into her, knocking her to the ground. A cloud of desperate faces blotted out the sun as kids descended like vultures, grabbing at her and pelting her with grunts and curses and raspy pleas for candy. Helpless, she felt hands pushing into her pockets. Kids started to fight each other, and she became the recipient of their wayward kicks and punches.

Patches of blue finally appeared overhead and the sky brightened. The sun shone in her eyes as she lay, sprawled on the ground alone. Her sleeve had been ripped off and her pants were torn. A front pocket hung by a thread. She patted the pocket that had held the pills. It was empty.

“I told you no fighting!” a girl said sternly from the porch, addressing the kids waiting to enter the clinic.

The girl had on a white jacket, the type that doctors wore before the night of the purple moon, and her straight black hair fell below her shoulders.

Abby gulped, wondering if it was Wenlan. DJ Silver had never said what she looked like.

The girl came over and knelt beside Abby. “Are you okay?”

“Are you Wenlan?”

She nodded and lightly pressed her fingertips on a lump that had risen on Abby’s cheek. “Does that hurt?”

Abby had just survived a mob of kids mauling her, and it hurt a lot, but it had been worth it to meet Wenlan.

“I’m looking for my brother. His name is Jordan Leigh.”

Wenlan gasped and brought her hands to her mouth. “Jordan left a week ago.”

Dawson sat taller behind the wheel, craning his neck to thread the car between a downed tree and a minivan. The streets were an obstacle course of potholes, rusting vehicles, and the occasional crude barrier constructed of oil drums, cinderblocks, and other heavy objects.

In the mirror, he saw the number of survivors following them had increased. He reminded himself he was the first adult they had seen in over three years.

“There were two babies on Castine Island,” Toby said. “Clive and Chloe. After the night of the purple moon, the older kids looked after them, thanks to Abby. You just have to hope that someone like Abby lived in your neighborhood.”

Dawson squeezed the wheel tighter. Many kids had lived in his neighborhood, but he never knew their ages or names.

A girl, bearing her teeth like an animal, slapped her hand hard on the trunk. The crowd had caught up.

Ahead of them was a straightaway free of debris, and Dawson accelerated. Some kids broke into a run to keep up.

He steered around two young boys standing in the middle of the road with vacant stares. “Ever since Colony East opened, I wanted to look for Sarah, but in the Navy, you have to ask for permission from your superior officer. I asked three times. Three times my request was denied.”

“I would have asked a hundred times,” Toby said. “Then I would have just gone.”

A rock struck the rear window, and they both jolted. Looking back, Dawson saw that one of the boys he had just driven around had a rock in his hand, and he sped up.

“That’s what I should have done,” Dawson said. “Listened to my heart, not Admiral Samuels and Doctor Perkins.”

A mile from the home he had shared with his wife and daughter, he spotted familiar sights: the library, the town garage where snowplows were stored, and the car dealership where they had bought their Honda. All the buildings were gutted, burned, or covered in purple graffiti.

A quarter mile from his house, the IHOP sign still stood tall and proud — a witness to a Dawson family tradition. Before every tour of duty, he and Lisa, and Sarah after she was born, would go to the International House of Pancakes for a large breakfast. Afterward, Lisa would drive him to the submarine base in nearby Groton. They had always treated these farewells unceremoniously, as if he were going to a normal day job, not out to sea for five months. He would give Sarah a peck on the cheek, a slightly longer kiss to Lisa, and then tell them he’d see them “soon.”

Soon had turned into forever.

He took a right on Walpole Avenue, ready to shatter into tiny particles, and slowed to a stop in front of his house. He struggled to catch his breath, as if he were inside a sealed bowl with the oxygen running out. The house looked empty, abandoned. Meanwhile, an army of kids filled up the street behind them.

“Nobody’s there,” Toby said. “Let’s ask around the neighborhood.”

“I need to go inside,” Dawson said.

Toby stuffed a fistful of antibiotic pills into his pocket along with some MREs. “I’ll meet you back here, Lieutenant.”

Dawson inhaled sharply, trying to pull himself from the darkest part of his mind. “Yeah. See what you can learn.”

Toby was already outside and talking to a husky boy when Dawson stepped out of the car with his pack. Toby gave the boy an MRE, and they both walked over to the car as the survivors surged forward.

“Get back!” the husky boy shouted, brandishing a knife.

The survivors stopped behind an invisible line. When a young girl crossed the line, the boy lunged at her. Before Dawson could react, the boy picked her up with one hand and threw her backward. She landed hard on the ground but seemed unharmed.

Toby stepped closer to Dawson. “If he protects the car, I’ll give him more food, but we have to hurry. Someone meaner and nastier will come along, and then we won’t have a car.”

About to learn the fate of his daughter, Dawson lifted his chin and headed for the front door, floating through the tall grass as much as walking. Survivors tagged after him. Some of the braver kids reached out to touch him.

He stood on the porch and waved his arms. “Everybody back. Back!”

They held their ground. With the force of the crowd building behind them, he wondered if it were even possible for them to back up.

He entered his home and closed the door behind him. The silence confirmed his worst fear. He glanced in the kitchen. Cabinet doors open, shelves bare. The fridge was open and empty.

He stepped to the door that led to the back porch and faced a carpet of white and yellow daisies in the backyard. He had kept all of his gardening tools in the basement. His eyes misted over. He could get a shovel and lay Lisa and Sarah to rest in this beautiful spot. That was his purpose for coming here: to keep his wife and daughter together.

He moved to the base of the stairs, took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back, climbed up the stairs, and soon stood outside the master bedroom on the second floor. He stepped inside.

The room was empty.

All of a sudden, he imagined a scenario that he had never considered. What if Lisa had taken Sarah to a friend’s house so they could put the babies to bed and watch the moon turn purple together? The wife of a submariner, Lisa had an extensive support network.

Had he come here from Colony East during the past year, this is what he would have found: an empty house.

He moved to Sarah’s bedroom and stopped cold.

Sarah’s crib was in the room, along with two others. He wondered why there were more cribs. Toys littered the floor: teething rings, rattles, a slinky, a yo-yo. A heap of crusty diapers lay in the corner.

A mobile of circus animals hung above his daughter’s crib. Spiders had woven a tent of silk that stretched from the cutouts to the crib’s rails. He gently parted the strands, looked down at her, then dropped his chin to his chest and wept.

Sobs wracked his body as he relived the decisions he had made. If only he had come here the moment he had arrived at Colony East, made the one-hour trip, spoken up to Admiral Samuels.

In the darkest moment of his life, he straightened and clenched his jaw. Hundreds of thousands of children depended on him. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes and rested his hand gently on the blanket, praying that Sarah’s soul was at peace, somewhere far from this terrible planet. He could only guess at what had happened to his wife in the hours leading to her death.

Deciding to let Sarah rest in peace, he stepped outside her room, where survivors filled the hallway. He stepped among them and closed the door behind him. A head taller than the tallest kid, he saw that they packed the length of the hallway and stood on the stairs. They had come through the front door and risen like the tide.

Dawson estimated he had around three hundred antibiotic pills in his pack. He could save three hundred lives. “Everyone out,” he barked. “Now. Out. Move it. I want you to line up outside. Fall out.”

The tide receded, and then he found himself on the front porch. The husky boy was still duly guarding the car, and there was no sign of Toby.

“If you have the Pig, raise your hand,” he shouted.

He faced a forest of arms.

He ordered the line to move and started to give out pills. “Chew it, move on.”

He felt alone and overwhelmed as the number of pills in his pack dwindled.

Toby pushed through the crowd and climbed the steps. “I found Sarah. She’s been living in a commune down the street. A girl named Bettina has been looking after her. Sarah has the Pig, so I gave her a pill. They’re in the car.”

Dawson grabbed Toby’s arm. “Are you sure it’s her?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Birthmark on her elbow. She sorta looks like you, Lieutenant.”

“But in Sarah’s room, I saw ….” Dawson couldn’t finish his thought, suddenly dizzy and sick from the unknown child lying beneath the circus animals and spider webs.

“After the night of the purple moon, they used your house as a nursery for all the babies in the area,” Toby explained.

Dawson took a deep breath. The typhoon of emotions raging inside of him had already left him battered and bruised, but they weren’t about to subside anytime soon.

He handed Toby the remaining pills to pass out and stepped into the crowd. The tortured cries of “daddy” and “I’m hungry” rising from the ranks of feverish children sobered him as he made his way toward the car, expecting to experience the most intensely bittersweet reunion of his life.

“Jordan talked about you and Toucan all the time,” Wenlan said. “He told me you were the First Medical Responder on Castine Island. He wanted to talk you and your sister into moving to Mystic.”

Abby and Wenlan were inside the clinic, alone in a room with teddy bear wallpaper. Abby had told her she’d come from Colony East, but little else. She wanted to hear more about Jordan first.

Abby listened with a combination of horror, sadness, and gratitude as Wenlan told her about the circumstances of Jordan’s arrival and his four-month stay at Mystic.

In the back of her mind, Abby debated whether she should go to Atlanta and get Touk, or go straight to Castine Island and take an antibiotic pill to Jordan. She leaned toward going home, but she knew her brother too well. The minute he saw the note she had left for him, explaining she and Touk had gone to Colony East, he would come for them. It was possible he might even stop at Wenlan’s on the way.

Tears streamed down Wenlan’s cheeks. “The Pig is spreading. The only thing we can do is pass out slices of boiled turnips and potatoes. That takes away the pain, but only for a short while.” She started sobbing. “My sister, Cee Cee, has the Pig.”

Abby draped an arm across Wenlan’s shoulder. The slight movement impaled her with a spear of searing pain, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. “We have pills that cure the Pig.” She told Wenlan about Jonzy, Toby, and Mark, and their plan to go to Atlanta.

Wenlan sniffled and leaned back with a look of disbelief. “You’re burning up. How come you haven’t taken a pill?”

“I have. A scientist at the colony infected me with a very strong strain of the bacteria. I’ll feel better soon.”

Wenlan peppered Abby with questions, which Abby did her best to answer. Then Wenlan said the local fuel king, William, could get them whatever they needed.

Wenlan left the room to send someone for the fuel king, and Abby curled up on one of the beds and stared at the teddy bear wallpaper. She closed her eyes and let out a string of grunts and groans, thinking about potatoes and turnips.

“Hey, Miss Bossy!”

Toby stood beside the bed.

Abby swallowed hard. “Did you find Sarah?”

“Yup, we found her. So, where’s your ugly brother?”

Amazed to be in a clinic started and run by kids, Dawson moved to a corner of the room, making sure to stay out of Sarah’s sight. Bettina, who had cared for his daughter since the night of the purple moon, carried Sarah to the bed.

The other bed held a girl who was very sick with AHA-B. She had long black hair. Groaning softly, she lolled her head back and forth on the pillow. He expected the condition of both this girl and Sarah to improve now that they had received a pill.