Generation M (29 page)

Maneuvering herself until her body pressed against the wall lengthwise, she reached up and felt around for the object.

Her blood turned cold when her fingertips brushed against a waxy surface. Doctor Droznin asked for updates, but Abby remained silent, focusing all her thoughts and energy on the task of getting the bomb into her hand. She nudged it right and left, but couldn’t reach up high enough to grasp it.

By lightly pressing against it and dragging her fingers down, she managed to roll it up and onto a pipe. She held her breath as it balanced there. One more gentle swipe down was all it took before she was cradling the C4 in her palm.

“I have it,” she called.

“Describe it for me,” Doctor Droznin said.

“It’s shaped like a ball, and it has a little thing sticking out of it.”

“Roll it to me,” Doctor Droznin said.

That was a terrible idea. It would surely strike one of the numerous metal posts in the way. Then what? Even if it didn’t blow up, Abby might never find it, or reach it. She had to carry it out herself.

“Abigail, roll it.”

Abby had no intention of rolling it, and now she faced her greatest challenge yet — turning around.

Planted as firm as a rock, Mathews trained her weapon on Dawson. From four feet away, the odds of her cutting him to shreds were one hundred percent, if that’s what she decided to do.

She gripped Toby by the ear and held his head at an awkward angle. Dawson sensed the boy’s rage building.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Perkins deep in thought. The ensigns, standing beside Perkins, looked every bit as mean and nasty as Mathews, but he discounted their appearance. Beecham and Ryan, he thought, wished they were a million miles away.

Dawson inhaled and exhaled through his nose, trying to slow his racing heart. “You killed Admiral Samuels in cold blood. Are you going to kill me too?”

Mathews didn’t flinch. “Shut up.”

The ensigns exchanged worried glances. Apparently, the admiral’s murder was news to them.

Toby balled a fist, and Dawson feared the boy would try something stupid.

Mathews seemed to read Dawson’s mind and jerked Toby’s ear hard. “Easy does it, mister.”

Toby yelped and cursed at her.

“Lieutenant, I’m afraid I’m responsible for Admiral Samuels’s demise,” Perkins said in a strangely courteous tone. “Captain Mathews was simply following orders. You see, I suspected your disloyalty since the early days of Colony East. How many times did you ask permission to search for your daughter? I always worried you might just leave.”

“She shot the admiral in cold blood,” Dawson repeated.

Perkins let out a long sigh, as if Dawson was a petulant child acting up.

“Hurricane David broke the camel’s back,” he said. “I never believed that it was a coincidence that one of your cadets tried to escape. Abigail Leigh never jumped in the Hudson River as you reported, did she?”

“It’s treason to murder an officer,” Dawson said.

Perkins ignored his comment.

“My opportunity to neutralize you happened as a result of the evacuation. I assigned you to Colony West, but suspecting you might have some trick up your sleeve, I asked Captain Mathews to share some misinformation with you.”

Dawson swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if they had some unknown advantage over him.

“You took the bait,” Perkins continued. “You and 761 broke into my lab at Medical Clinic 17 and found what you believed were antibiotic pills. You stole three thousand sugar pills.”

Dawson’s knees wobbled as he conjured up the memory of holding Sarah’s warm, tiny hand. Having taken a useless sugar pill, his daughter might be dead now. Multiple explosions of rage detonated at once, and he had to exercise every ounce of his willpower to keep from leaping forward and snapping Perkins’s neck like a twig.

Perkins cocked his head with a quizzical expression. “Lieutenant, are you learning about the placebos for the first time? If you passed them out, you must have realized that nobody got better.”

Dawson lifted his chin. There was a fleeting chance Sarah was still alive; he needed to bring her the real antibiotic. And hundreds of thousands of desperately ill survivors needed the pills just as urgently, including those he had given the fake pills to.

“Mathews gunned down the admiral,” Dawson said, trying to break through to Ensign Ryan and Ensign Beecham.

Perkins gave a dismissive shrug. “We knew you would head to the Red Zone. It was the most logical exit point with the electric fence down. Looking back, my mistake was sharing my plan with the admiral. I believe he experienced a pang of guilt. He wanted to save you. Mathews had no idea the admiral would turn up.”

All of a sudden, Perkins frowned and craned his neck. Mathews and the two ensigns did the same.

Dawson became aware of a rumbling in the distance. He felt the vibrations in his ears and bones. The harmonic throbbing grew louder and louder. He didn’t have a clue what, or who, was approaching.

From his motorcycle, Jordan saw a tall water tower rising beyond a factory ahead of them. Even with a few mislabeled roads, Toby’s map had delivered them to the Alpharetta industrial park. The tower was supposedly next to the antibiotic pill plant.

Jordan goosed his throttle. The roads were relatively clear, so it was safe to increase his speed. His growing anxiety and surging exhilaration demanded he go faster.

Spike and Jonzy rode on his left and right, respectively, and immediately behind them were Pale Rider and her three lieutenants.

Farther back were hundreds, maybe thousands, of kids on motorcycles. During the nonstop ride, Jordan had seen kids drop out of their column, running out of gas or weakening from the Pig, but it seemed that more joined the ranks all the time for a net gain. On one straight stretch of highway, the riders had extended as far back as he could see.

Jordan revved his engine, shifting up a gear, ready to fight the adults, but hoping they might find a peaceful solution.

As they approached the pill plant, Spike pointed to a small group of people standing fifty yards from an enormous building. One vehicle was parked near the building, another close to the people. Jordan recognized the vehicles were Humvees, the type of vehicle that soldiers used to drive.

From this distance, the people looked like adults. They were the first individuals over the age of fifteen that Jordan had seen in three years. As he neared them, he became certain they were adults, and then he spotted what he thought was a kid among them.

Two of the adults sprinted to the Humvee closest to them, jumped in, and squealed the tires, heading toward the gate. Jordan worried they would collide with him and the other bikers at the head of the column. Pale Rider roared ahead — straight for the vehicle. If she had a weapon, Jordan didn’t see it. He expected they would flatten her, but then the vehicle swerved and accelerated in the opposite direction. The Humvee drove to the left of the building and was soon out of sight.

“It’s Toby!” Jonzy cried.

Jordan realized the boy with the shaved head was indeed Toby Jones. Closer, it appeared the woman next to Toby was aiming a gun at him.

Jordan rolled to a stop twenty yards from the group and dismounted. Jonzy and Spike did the same.

“The guy in blue is Lieutenant Dawson,” Jonzy told them. “The guy in the white coat is Doctor Perkins. The one with the gun is Lieutenant Mathews.”

“What’s her problem?” Spike muttered.

The boys approached the group.

“Toby, are you all right?” Jordan asked.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Toby replied.

“Shut up,” Mathews said jerked Toby’s ear.

“You are screwed,” Toby told her.

She cuffed the side of his head. He shook off the blow and cursed at her. She cuffed him again, harder.

Asking for a third smack, Toby spit on Mathews’s boots, but this time, she jammed the gun barrel against his forehead. “Try me. One more word.”

Showing no fear, Toby glared back, and Jordan feared Toby would call her bluff. He doubted she was bluffing.

“Where’s Abby?” Jordan asked.

“Abby’s inside the plant,” Lieutenant Dawson said. “She’s safe.” Holding up his hands, he took a step toward Mathews. “Let’s talk.”

“Keep coming if you want to talk about a dead boy,” Mathews fired back.

Jordan drew in a sharp breath when Dawson advanced another step.

The situation was ready to explode, the dynamics shifting by the second, and Dawson realized that his next move could determine the fate of Toby and untold numbers of survivors.

The blood had drained from Mathews’s face, and blossoms of perspiration spread from under her arms, darkening her uniform. Her eyes darted from him to the growing number of kids arriving on motorcycles. Ensigns Beecham and Ryan had driven off in the Humvee, leaving her stranded with the mad man.

A cornered animal was the most dangerous kind.

“Mathews, why don’t you just leave,” Dawson told her. “I won’t try to stop you.”

“What about them?” She nodded to the bikers.

The riders were fanning out in a slack noose around them. “You have a weapon,” he said. “They’ll let you go.”

Perkins adjusted his bowtie. “Captain, may I remind you of our mission?”

“Shut up,” Mathews said, unclipping the remote detonator from her belt. She held it high. “I have something far deadlier than an M-16. I can cripple the plant. Without antibiotic pills, everyone here will die.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Toby shouted. “Mark removed the explosives from the plant.”

Mathews’s easy smile sent a chill down Dawson’s spine. “How many charges did you find, Lieutenant? I bet twelve. They were relatively easy to find, right? Well, you must give me more credit than that. Did you find lucky charge thirteen? One strategically placed charge of C4 is all it takes.”

Toby elbowed her in the gut.

Mathews didn’t flinch. The blow seemed to have the force of a gnat. Fire belched from her weapon, and Toby jerked back as the bullets tore into him. He stumbled and sprawled on the ground.

Dawson sprung forward, flying through the sound waves of Toby’s blood-curdling screams. His fingertips grazed the gun barrel as Mathews began firing indiscriminately.

He thudded to the ground and grabbed her ankle, yanking it toward him. She toppled backward, continuing to fire the weapon, raining hot lead into the sky.

When Mathews landed on her back, he lurched, trying desperately to push the gun away and get a hand on her throat at the same time.

He threw himself to the ground and grabbed her jaw, but somehow she spun away, got to her knees, and chopped the gun butt down on his shoulder. His right arm went numb.

Mathews had dropped the detonator, but Dawson didn’t see it anywhere.

She was lowering the barrel at him when he lunged at her. Dawson expected the lights to go out at any second, expecting to be dead before he hit the ground. Instead, his shoulder slammed into her midsection, and she discharged the weapon with the muzzle next to his ear.

Deafened by the loud blast, he watched Jonzy and Jordan land on top of Mathews. Jordan pinned the gun to the ground with his body, and Jonzy wrapped his arms around her legs. Mathews easily broke free of Jonzy and kicked him in the face, smashing Jonzy’s eyeglasses.

Mathews leaped to her feet, ready to pounce and keep fighting. Time seemed to stop for everyone. Jordan was aiming the gun at her, his finger firmly on the trigger. Blood streamed from Jonzy’s nose, and Toby, grunting and groaning, lay on the ground, bleeding.

Dawson spotted the remote close to Toby. Mathews saw it, too. He was closer. He was about to leap for it, when Mathews bolted. She ran toward the spot with the fewest motorcycles, beyond which was a field of weeds, and then woods.

Dawson grabbed the M-16 from Jordan and went down on one knee, planting the stock against his shoulder. He filled his lungs to the bursting point and then slowly exhaled to steady his hands. He put his eye to the scope, placing the crosshairs between Mathews’s shoulder blades. He raised it slightly to the back of her head when he remembered she was wearing a bulletproof vest. For someone who had received advanced survival training, she was committing a cardinal sin by running away in a straight line.

She breached the ring of riders and was now in the weeds. Dawson saw the bikers to the right and left, and Mathews beyond them. He had a clean shot. He felt the resistance of the trigger on his fingertip.

He applied more pressure to the trigger, recalling how Admiral Samuels had stumbled backward before he made a final stand like a proud bull, eventually crumpling. Tributaries of rage combined into a forceful river that rushed down his right arm and streamed into his index finger.

He raised the rifle as he pulled the trigger, screaming the bullet above Mathews’s head. The time for killing had ended. It was now time to save lives.

Dawson rushed to Toby’s side and choked out a grunt of relief. Miraculously, the boy was sitting. Jonzy had removed his shirt and was using it as a tourniquet, applying it to Toby’s upper arm. The bullet had gone through the fleshy part of the arm near his shoulder. Dawson checked Toby all over, just to make sure he had no other wounds.

The loud roar of motorcycles captured his attention. He turned and watched three riders accelerate into the field, parting the tall weeds like speedboats powering through water. Mathews was about twenty yards from the woods. The bikers closed in on their prey, and Dawson knew she would never reach the trees.

He picked up the remote detonator, cracked the back of it off, and popped out the small battery. Then he hurled the battery and stomped the remote under his boot.

“I suppose I will have to ensure the future of Generation M.” Doctor Perkins reached into his lab coat pocket.

Dawson’s heart nearly exploded when he saw what Perkins had in his hand.

Perkins positioned his thumb on the remote detonator’s button. “Redundant systems,” the scientist said. “If one part fails, you should always have a backup.” From his other pocket, he took out a two-way radio and brought it to his lips. “Doctor Hedrick, you and your colleagues have one minute to leave the plant.”