Sick (39 page)

“I wonder where we’re going,” Bobby said several minutes later.

“Can’t be far.” The quarantine would prevent any long travels.

But either they drove around in circles or she was wrong, because six hours passed before the engine was turned off for the first time. After a few moments, they could both hear fuel flowing into the tanks.

“Maybe we should get out now,” she suggested.

“We haven’t heard the knock.”

“Maybe there’s not going to be a knock. We’re not on the base any more.”

But neither of them made a move to open the door, and soon they were on the road again. Nearly seven more hours passed before the engine cut out once more. This time, though, there was no sound of tanks being filled. In fact, except for the opening and closing of the cab door, there wasn’t much sound at all.

After thirty minutes of not moving, Tamara said, “I’ll bet we’re in another parking lot.”

“If nothing else, we’re going to get a great story out of this,” Bobby said.

“If we have a job.”

Bobby was quiet for a second, then, “Do you…do you really think Joe is dead?”

She was silent for a moment. “They killed Gavin, didn’t they? And those kids in the desert. So…”

A few silent minutes passed.

“How far do you think we’ve come?” she asked.

“Impossible to know.”

They broke out some food, and had a dinner consisting of apples, bread, and some kind of deli meat. As she’d done all day, Tamara only took a couple sips of water. Even though it was dark in their hiding space, the idea of peeing in front of Bobby had zero appeal to her.

Tap-tap. Tap.

The knock had been on the side of the truck, right behind her head. Tamara nearly leaped forward in surprise.

Tap-tap. Tap.

She wanted to scream, “We’re here! We’re here!” But she held her tongue.

She could hear Bobby already working the door latch. As he opened the door, they could see that the back of the truck was still open, and outside it was night.

“You wait here. I’ll check,” Bobby said.

“Hell, no. You wait here.
I’ll
check.”

She pushed past him and walked stiffly to the back of the truck. It was cool out, much cooler, in fact, than it had been when she and Bobby entered their sanctuary, making her realize that the box had actually been heated. She crossed her arms and ran her hands up and down her biceps as she stepped onto the back bumper, and then hopped to the ground.

They seemed to be parked on a small grass clearing in the middle of an evergreen forest. Pine trees encircled the part of the clearing she could see. One thing was for sure—they were certainly not in the Mojave Desert any more.

She looked over her shoulder as Bobby stepped down to join her.

“Where the hell are we?” he asked.

She was about to say she had no clue when a voice from near the front of the truck called out, “Hello?”

Tamara and Bobby exchanged a look, then walked over and peeked around the side.

Standing by the cab were a smiling man and woman.

“Oh, good,” the man said, taking a couple steps forward. “I was afraid you guys might have wandered off. I wasn’t looking forward to hunting you down.”

“Hunting?” Tamara said.

“Oh, no, no, no,” the man said with a chuckle. “Bad choice of words. Searching is more what I meant. Come on. You probably want to get out of here.”

Still leery, Tamara and Bobby stepped around the side and walked halfway up to the cab.

“Who are you, exactly?” Tamara asked.

“Me? I’m Mike.” The man closed the distance between them and extended his hand.

Bobby shook it automatically, while Tamara did so with more reluctance.

“And that’s my wife, Janice.”

Janice waved, but didn’t come closer. She looked as cold as Tamara felt.

“So what are you doing here?” Tamara asked.

Mike shrugged. “Offering you a ride.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Janice called out. “I’m going back inside. It’s too cold out here.” She started walking around the front of the truck. “Coffee should be ready by now, so whenever you’re ready.”

“Coffee?” Bobby said.

Mike smiled. “Sure. Janice makes the best on the highway.”

When Bobby gave him an odd look, Mike smiled and motioned for them to follow him to the front of the truck. From there, they could see an old Winnebago RV parked fifty feet away.

Bobby glanced at Tamara. “Come on. They’re obviously here to help us.”

Tamara looked at the Winnebago. “Do you have a bathroom in that thing?”

“We do,” Mike said with a smile.

She could feel her tension ease. “Then a cup of coffee sounds great.”

“Excellent,” Mike told her. “After you.”

51

It was a struggle for Martina to open her eyes. When she did, the brightness of the new day made her shut them almost immediately. She could feel the congestion in her nose, and the rawness in her throat. When she’d fallen asleep, she’d felt fine. Now, not so much.

Her last morning. She was sure of it.

She worked her eyes open again, then rolled over and looked at the spot where Ben had been sleeping. He wasn’t there.

Probably decided to move when he realized I was sick,
she thought.

She raised herself up on her elbows. She could hear sniffling elsewhere in the dining area, and even a couple of coughs, her friends all dying with her.

“You’re up.”

She looked over her shoulder. Ben was standing behind her. He must have been in the kitchen. Though he was smiling, she could tell by his red nose that he was sick, too. That depressed her even more. She liked him, and had been hoping that maybe he’d be the one to survive.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re all sour face.”

She lay her head back down. “I guess I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t get it.”

“Right,” he said, his smile widening. “You’ve been asleep.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. I’ll show you.”

With more than just a bit of effort, Ben helped Martina to her feet, then led her to the front of the café. Most of the others were there, all but one or two showing signs of the flu. The TV on the counter was on, tuned to PCN. At the bottom of the screen was a banner that read:
Quarantine Partially Lifted
.

“Lifted?” Martina said. “But we’re all sick here.”

“Yeah, and we’re still in the quarantine zone, but not for long,” Ben told her.

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe he can tell you,” he said, nodding at the next booth over.

She turned and saw Paul sitting on the end of the bench seat. He looked tired—exhausted, actually—but what other signs of the illness he’d had seemed to be gone.

“You owe me a glass of orange juice,” Ben said. “I believe that was our bet.”

“He’s all right?” she asked quietly.

“He’s recovering from the illness, but I don’t think he’d say he’s all right.”

Of course. His brother and his girlfriend.

“They’re saying on the news that there have been over five hundred new cases in the last thirty-six hours, but most haven’t resulted in death. People are being asked to voluntarily stay home until the flu has disappeared, but the quarantine is expected to be fully lifted by tomorrow night.”

“So…what? It just stopped killing people?”

“Apparently.”

She couldn’t believe it. “We’re going to live?”

Ben smiled again. “Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t going to be your last morning?”

52

“Would you like me to play it again?” the Director of Preparation asked.

There were head shakes all around the table.

“Do you really think she’s alive?” the Director of Facilities asked.

“How would Captain Ash have known her name otherwise?”

They had just watched Ash and an unidentified woman rescue his children from NB7. The video had lasted right up to the point when the flames flared up. Ash had clearly stated the name Olivia and mentioned she’d been left for dead.

At the end of the table, the Principal Director leaned forward. “I think it would be unwise to assume Olivia is still alive based solely on a single brief conversation. But I also think it would be unwise not to try to find out more.”

“Yes, sir,” the DOP said. “I’ll get a team right on it.”

“There are several things, though,” the Principal Director went on, “that concern me more at the moment, lapses of security on this operation that were totally unacceptable. The loss of the NB7 facility, in particular, does not make me happy.”

“Yes, sir,” the DOP said. “I agree with you one hundred percent. Though it should have been unnecessary, we will definitely learn from these mistakes. To that end, if I may…” He glanced at the Principal Director, who gave him a nod. “Bring up channel four, please.”

The monitor came back to life, this time showing what looked like a conference room.

Sitting on one side of the table was Mr. Shell, and on the other, the soon-to-be former Director of Recovery. Ostensibly, the meeting was for the DOR to critique Shell’s performance during the outbreak. That in itself was highly unusual, given that project members almost never met face to face with the Directors, but it was not entirely unprecedented. Given the gravity of what had just played out over the last several days, neither man questioned its necessity.

The DOP used the remote to turn up the volume.

“…more. You must understand that,” the DOR said. “These kinds of slips are completely unacceptable.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Shell said. “I understand. There were problems that were unforeseen.”

“Nothing should be unforeseen!”

The DOP couldn’t resist the opening. He touched the button for the microphone that was clipped to his collar. “You’re absolutely correct. Nothing
should
be unforeseen.”

Both men on the screen looked up toward where the voice must have been coming from.

“The Directorate would like to thank the Director of Recovery and Mr. Shell for their contributions to the project,” the DOP went on. “It is our unanimous decision that neither of your services will be further required.”

“What?” the Director of Recovery said. “Wait. You can’t—”

The DOP hit the mute button. “Terminate,” he said.

He waited until the two men in the other room started choking as the air to their room was cut off, then had the monitor turned off. He looked back at the group.

“Even with these unfortunate incidents, there is much good news. From Dr. Karp’s own calculations, we know that the effectiveness of KV-27a exceeds our hopes. Even the safeguard that he encoded into the virus of turning it into a simple flu after the fifth or sixth host worked perfectly. And with the discovery of the Ash family’s immunity, we should have a working vaccine within weeks. It is unfortunate that the doctor isn’t with us anymore, but his work still goes on. I think we can safely designate stage one of the delivery agent complete. That is, unless anyone has any objections?” He looked around the table, but no one said a word. “We will concentrate on stage two now, which is already well on its way. At this time, I see no threat at all to the implementation timetable.”

The Principal Director leaned forward again. “What about Captain Ash? He’s still on the loose.”

“He is, sir. But I don’t believe he’s any kind of problem. He only wanted his children.”

“And these missing journalists?”

“We believe they were scared off, sir, and will resurface soon. When that occurs, they will be dealt with.”

“Yes, but who is helping these people? They couldn’t have done this all on their own. And if Olivia is alive, where is she?”

“We’re looking into all of that, sir, but, again, we don’t think any of it is a serious threat. The boulder is running downhill. It’s too late for anyone to stop it.”

53

As they sped away from NB7, Chloe called Matt, requesting a safe house and a doctor. They were directed to the home of an elderly woman in a small, Western Idaho town. Despite the fact the sun had yet to come up when they arrived, she smiled at the children and told everyone to make themselves at home, then disappeared into a room in the back.

Ash hunted down some aspirin for Chloe, then found a couple of bedrooms upstairs and told Josie and Brandon they could use them. But instead of separating, they chose to share a room. He could tell they were still unsure if it was really him, but he didn’t want to push himself on them.

After they were settled, he cleaned out his wound again. The first time he’d done it had been in a gas station restroom, not exactly the most sterile of places. This time he found some rubbing alcohol in the medicine cabinet, and poured it into the groove on his arm. It burned worse than when he’d actually been hit, but he knew he had to do it, and dumped nearly half the bottle over the wound before he stopped.