Generation M (21 page)

“Take it or leave it,” the girl said.

Toby removed three of the six bullets in the gun and replied, “You can take it or leave it.”

They struck a compromise: the girl dribbled in some more gas and Toby loaded one more bullet into the chamber.

Deciding they had to hide Mark, Abby climbed into the back seat with him. Toby drove with Maggie as his copilot.

Mark gave directions to a spot about half a mile from Emory Campus, the site of Atlanta Colony. “They have cameras everywhere. It’s safer if we stay away from the colony. The radio has a range of two miles.”

He explained he had instructed Sandy in his note to monitor channel 17 and then turned on the walkie-talkie. He brought his lips close.

“Alpha Zulu, do you copy?” He released the button. After a moment, he tried again. “Alpha Zulu, do you copy?”

Though Abby’s thundering heart made her cramps unbearable, hearing Sandy’s voice crackle back would be better than a shot of morphine.

”Alpha Zulu, do you copy? Alpha Zulu, do you copy?”

Half an hour passed.

“What if she never saw your note?” Abby asked.

The color drained from Mark’s face. “Alpha Zulu, do you copy?”

Jordan traced his finger on the roadmap, showing Spike the route they would take from Newark, New Jersey to Washington DC. “We take Route 95 to Route 195, which takes us straight into DC. Should the Ponytails wait outside the city?”

Spike studied the map. “It depends how many kids Leo brings. If it’s an army, it might be better for you to talk to the White House Gang leaders first. Otherwise, they might think they’re being attacked.”

“I hope it’s an army,” Jordan said.

“I hope the White House Gang leaders remember you.”

Jordan nodded. “They will. We traded with them when I was on
Lucky Me
. They’ll definitely remember Captain Jenny.”

It was dawn, and the two boys were waiting for Jonzy, who was inside the building of the small radio station — AM 1030, Northern New Jersey’s Home of Country Music. Jonzy had put the station on the air earlier and was teaching a Ponytail Gang member how to use the control panel.

Leo had ordered gang members to pass out batteries to kids outside his compound, so they could listen to the station. He wanted them to learn about the Pig, and more importantly, understand what he, Leo, the supreme leader of the Ponytail Gang, was doing for them.

Jonzy emerged from the building and gave them the thumbs up.

“‘Leo Central’ is on the air,” he said with a smile. “His ego will love it.”

The three boys headed for what they hoped was an army amassing on a highway entrance ramp, half a mile away.

Jordan’s eyes widened when he spotted them. He started counting motorcycles, but quit at thirty-five. There was more than twice that number. Ponytail boys outnumbered girls, but not by much, and everyone appeared to be over the age of twelve. A few Ponytails gripped their sides. Apparently, the antibiotic pills they had taken last night had yet to take effect.

Leo seemed to be well aware that every army needed food and fuel to fight and had provided them with a fuel truck and an ambulance stocked with raw vegetables — potatoes, carrots, and cabbages — as well as bottled water.

Jordan took a moment to imagine their trip south. The Ponytail army was just the beginning — a snowball ready to roll downhill, picking up riders along the way and gaining mass and momentum. The army might soon triple or quadruple in size with the addition of the White House Gang members, if he could convince them to join the fight. After that, Pale Rider and all her healthy Grits would add to their ranks.

Leo, his purple ponytail flowing long and silky from his helmet, straddled the biggest, shiniest Harley Davidson motorcycle Jordan had ever seen.

Jonzy handed Leo a radio so he could hear the station for himself. With a satisfied smile, Leo turned on the radio and raised the antennae. He thumbed the wheel and frowned.

Immediately, Jordan recognized the robotic voice. The CDC station must have returned to the air.

“Emergency bulletin one point zero. The pathogen, introduced into the atmosphere three years ago by Comet Rudenko-Kasparov has undergone a lethal mutation. Symptoms of the fast-spreading AHA-B mutation syndrome include fever and intense hunger. CDC personnel have begun distributing antibiotics to the populations most affected. New distribution locations will be announced shortly. Stay indoors, avoid contact with those infected, and expend as little energy as possible. Stay tuned for additional updates.”

Leo turned off the radio and tossed it to Jonzy.

“Do you believe that?” Jordan snorted.

“What a bunch of crap,” Spike said.

“They want you to go home and die,” Jonzy said. “Don’t cause trouble. Just curl up and die.”

Leo fired up his bike. “The adults have finally decided to help us.”

“What do you mean help?” Jordan blurted. “They’re bullshitting us.”

“You’re the one who’s bullshitting us,” Leo said. “Look at them.” He pointed to the sick kids who had taken pills. Jordan had to admit that each one looked even sicker. Leo spat. “Your pills are bullshit. They don’t work.”

The leader of the Ponytail Gang waved his arm in a circle. “Everyone back to the compound. The adults are working on a real cure for the Pig.”

He clicked his bike in gear and rode off.

The throb of motorcycle engines soon faded. The fuel truck and ambulance were the last vehicles to drive away.

“Alpha Zulu, do you copy?” Maggie’s voice sounded hoarse. “Alpha Zulu do you copy?”

Hugging her knees, Abby leaned her head against the door handle in the back of the car. She pressed harder, scrunching her eyes and baring her teeth as the metal dug into her scalp. This new pain offered something to focus on, other than the endless waves of cramps.

“Alpha Zulu, come in,” Toby said.

Maggie’s shift had ended. Throughout the night, Mark, Toby, and Maggie had taken turns trying to reach Sandy. Abby had been in too much pain to help.

Abby heard a front door open.

“Where are you going?” Mark asked.

“Atlanta Colony,” Toby replied. “Maybe I can learn something if I see the place.”

From the way his voice sounded, Abby could tell that Toby was outside the car.

“Keep trying to contact Sandy,” Mark said.

Toby chuckled coldly. “Until when? Next week?” The car door closed.

“Hey, come back,” Mark shouted.

“Wait,” Abby said in barely a whisper.

“Abby has something to say,” Mark shouted louder.

That brought Toby, back and the door opened. She thought Toby’s idea was good, but he shouldn’t go alone.

“Maggie should go too.”

Mark repeated what she said.

Soon, it was just Abby and Mark in the car.

“Toby’s a good kid, but I don’t understand him,” Mark said. Abby bristled. “If it weren’t for Toby, my sister and I would have never made it to Colony East. He also got the car that got us to Mystic. And he found your daughter. And he got this car.”

“Yes, I know all that, but it would be easier if he would work with me, instead of fighting me.”

“You’re like a lot of adults. You give orders, but you never listen. Maybe ….” Abby stopped, because in many ways, Mark was different. He was one of the few adults in the world who were trying to help.

“You might be right,” Mark agreed, ending their conversation.

Several minutes later, both front doors opened, and Toby and Maggie hopped in. They reported that Atlanta Colony was empty of adults.

“Kids have taken over the place,” Toby said, out of breath. “They’re burning buildings, looting, looking for food.”

“They must have taken Generation M to the bunker,” Mark said. “It’s an underground facility in the city.”

They drove to a location near the bunker, and for an hour, tried without success to contact Sandy.

“We should go to the Alpharetta pill plant,” Mark suggested. “I have no idea what to expect. Sandy might already be there, although I doubt it. I can scout it out and maybe get the generators running.”

“How far is the plant?” Maggie asked.

“Six miles,” Mark said.

“We don’t have enough gas to get there and back,” Toby said. “Abby is too sick to walk. Maggie can drive you. I’ll stay with Abby.”

Abby understood a thing or two about giving orders; Mark wasn’t the only one who ordered people around. Jordan often accused her of being bossy, and quite often, he was right. But as the older sister of a stubborn brother and stubborn sister, giving orders was sometimes the only way to make sure things got done right, as she needed to do here.

“Toby, you should go with Mark,” she said. “You two worked well together while searching for his daughter. After you help him, come back here. Maggie and I will stay and keep trying to contact Sandy. Please give me the radio.”

Nobody argued.

Deep in the bunker, Doctor Perkins removed his headphones and stepped back from the communications console. He was troubled, but not panicked, by the recording that Ensign Ryan had played for him.

The bunker’s communication center was a small, claustrophobic space, jam-packed with radio and video equipment. The presence of Captain Mathews and the ensign in the room, both invading his personal space, added to his discomfort.

“The signal went off the air?” Perkins asked.

“Yes, sir,” Ryan replied. “The broadcast ended five minutes after I found it.”

Perkins detected a trace of a southern drawl. The “sir” from Ryan’s lips dripped with respect. Southern parents seemed to have discovered the recipe for instilling manners in their children, something Perkins made a mental note to explore later on for Generation M.

“How long was the station broadcasting?” Perkins asked.

“Sorry, I don’t know that.”

“Do you know the location in New Jersey?”

“The northern half of the state is my best guess,” Ryan replied. “Maybe Newark.”

“Play it again, please.”

Through his headphones, Perkins listened to what he thought was a twelve-year-old male.

“If you have the Pig,” the crackly voice said, “Leo is going to take care of you. The adults have pills to cure the Pig, but they are not sharing them. Leo is going to Atlanta to get the pills for you. Every member of the Ponytail Gang will receive pills. Leo wants you to share your food. Leo doesn’t want anyone to fight. Leo is going to take care of you.”

Perkins removed the headphones. “Captain Mathews, come with me.”

He led her to the bunker’s library, and convinced they were alone, he said, “Shut the door.”

He stepped to a whiteboard on the wall and sketched a bird’s-eye schematic of the Alpharetta facility. “What I have to tell you is highly confidential.”

“You can trust Ensign Ryan,” she said.

“That’s good to know, but this is something we must keep to ourselves. We know Dawson went to Mystic and started up a station. Now, he’s started up a new station in New Jersey. We have no idea how he’s traveling or where he is, but we know his intended destination is the Alpharetta pill facility. It’s prudent to develop a contingency plan. Redundant systems, Captain. One part fails, you fall back on a replacement part.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gestured to the whiteboard. “Every component in the plant is critical, but this is how we can make certain that no pills are produced.”

He tapped the cluster of circles he’d drawn, putting a black dot in the center of each circle, twelve dots in total. “The fermentation vats hold live cultures. We can start up the antibiotic process immediately using those cultures. I’d like you to prepare to destroy the vats, but only if it becomes necessary.”

“Sir, I can take down the whole plant.”

Perkins shook his head. “The plant is crucial to Generation M. We plan to make vaccines, vitamins, and a whole host of pharmaceuticals there. With Dawson posing a remote threat, a strategic placement of explosives is what’s called for. If we only take out the vats, repairs to the plant will take weeks versus months.”

“Should I assign guards to the plant?” Mathews asked.

“That won’t be necessary. The scientists who can operate the plant are inside the bunker. It’s much easier to keep an eye on them here. Keep me informed.”

Abby and Maggie waded into the trash piled at the back end of the alley. Toby and Mark, who had just dropped them off, were on their way to the pill plant.

The alley was uninhabited, but whoever had once lived here had used the back part as a dumping ground for paper goods, plastics, cans, and the like. Ants had gnawed the gristle from the dried bones of pigeons.

The alley supplied them with a perfect place to hide in plain sight, two blocks from the CDC bunker.

Abby sat and Maggie pushed trash around her. Maggie then plunked down and covered herself until just her head poked out.

A nearby scream sent chills crawling over Abby’s skin. It sounded like a boy, and the fading voice echoed in the alley, or it might have been bouncing off the walls of her mind. She felt the boy’s fear as he used up the air in his lungs, took a gasping breath, and screamed again.

Maggie put her arm around Abby’s shoulder. Human touch was the best medicine for fear.

When the screams ended, Maggie turned on the two-way radio. The girls agreed to take turns trying to contact Sandy every half hour.

“Alpha Zulu, do you copy?” Maggie said. “Alpha Zulu, do you copy?” She gave up after ten minutes.

“How did you become a pilot?” Abby asked.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “William has a theory. If your mom or dad could do something, you can do it too. Wenlan’s mother was a doctor, so he put her in charge of the clinic. My mom was a pilot for Delta Airlines.”

“Did you know anything about flying?”

“Nothing,” Maggie said. “William sent three of us to the airport in Providence to learn how to fly. Rex’s dad had been a helicopter pilot, and Frank’s older brother had flown fighter jets in the Air Force. We read books on flying and studied the instrument panel and taxied around the runway. One day, I just took off, flew around the airport a few times, and landed.”