The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 2: Books 4 - 6 (Ashes, Eden Rising, & Dream Sky)

by Brett Battles

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So does that mean we also know what dream sky means?”

  Without looking up from the pad of paper in his lap, Caleb said, “Dream sky means Dream Sky.”

  Ash said, “But I thought the key word translated the message.”

  “It does,” Caleb said. “But Dream Sky wasn’t the message it was intended to be used on.”

  “Then what message does it translate? And what the hell is dream sky?”

  “Okay, question two, I’m almost positive Dream Sky is a place,” Caleb said. “And, question one, that’s why I need those other journals.”

  “So you don’t know for sure the code works?” Ash asked.

  “When did I say that? I never said that.”

  “You just said you need the other journals to see what it translates.”

  “What I need the other journals for is to get the full picture of the message.”

  “It’s spread out,” Chloe said. “It appears to be an ongoing conversation.”

  “We both read the journals,” Ash said. “We didn’t see any kind of conversation.”

  Chloe picked up one of Matt’s notebooks. “The numbers at the end of the entries,” she said, opening the book and pointing at a page. “That’s the conversation.”

  Ash took the book from her and stared at the number. After a moment he said, “So Augustine translates all of these?”

  “Not Augustine per se,” she told him. “It’s kind of—”

  “A mind blower if you really think about it,” Caleb said, unable to contain his excitement. “They used a combination of methods. I have no idea how Matt received the numbers, but at some point he would also receive a key word of nine letters.” He flipped through some pages on his pad, found what he wanted, and turned it so Ash could see. It was a table with the letters of the alphabet across the top, and below, the numbers 0-9 repeated until each slot was filled. “With the key word they used a modified Vigenère cipher.”

  Caleb turned to the next page. Here there were dozens more tables, each with the alphabet across the top, but with the numbers in various different arrangements. The number one was circled several times.

  He tapped the circled one. “This is it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I didn’t at first,” Caleb said as he set the pad down and pulled one of the paperback books from the stack. “There was a lot of hit and miss. Hell, I wasn’t even sure it was numbers at first, but…” He turned the book over and held it out to Ash. “Here. Read that back to me.” He tapped the white box near the bottom of the cover.

  “US six dollars and ninety-nine—”

  “No, no, no. That!” Caleb pointed again.

  Ash read the number aloud.

  “Now look at this,” Caleb said as he picked up the pad again and turned to the next page.

  Here there was a single, nine-letter string, A-U-G-U-S-T-I-N-E, and underneath, numbers in a seemingly random order.

  It wasn’t random.

  Ash looked back at the book and then at the number. “It’s the same except for the first digit.”

  “First digit doesn’t matter. For book ISBN numbers, the first just indicates what language it’s in. Since they were dealing with English, which would either be a zero or a one, they didn’t worry about that.” He took the book from Ash. “Now this is the real key. Get it? The nine-letter word would point Matt at which book he needed, then he’d use that to decipher the previous message.”

  “What if he didn’t have the book already?” Ash asked. “That might take a day or two or more to track it down.”

  “It would also depend on how quickly he received the key word after getting the original message,” Caleb pointed out. “The thing is, we know from Matt’s journals that he was receiving other messages from his contacts inside Project Eden, ones he could read right away. This special number method”—he held up the book—“was limited to a very specific topic.”

  “Which was?” Ash asked.

  “DS,” Chloe said.

  He looked at the back of the paperback again. “I don’t understand how—”

  “Aha!” Caleb said. “You’re wondering where that book came from, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” If Matt had been passed the code word in Las Cruces, he shouldn’t have had the book that matched up to Augustine since he had died right after.

  “I found it,” Chloe said. “Used bookstore in Ely, while you were sleeping.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Chloe answered it, then looked back and said, “Ash.”

  His kids were standing in the doorway, Josie carrying a sandwich on a plate, and Brandon holding the requested journals.

  Caleb rose from the bed. “Are those what I think they are?”

  Ash put a hand on Caleb’s chest, stopping him. “I’ll get them.”

  “I thought you said you were going to stop in the cafeteria,” Josie said.

  “I was. I just haven’t had time yet.”

  She grunted and shoved the plate toward him. “Here.”

  Ash had no choice but to take it. “Thanks. I’ll eat it all.”

  “I know you will. I’m going to watch.”

  “Uh, no, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  She tried to enter the room, but Ash moved into her way.

  “I’ll make sure he eats,” Chloe said, moving up behind Ash. “I promise.”

  Josie didn’t look happy but she stopped protesting.

  “Are those the books?” Chloe asked Brandon.

  “Yeah,” he said, and handed them over.

  “All right,” Ash said. “We need to get back to work. I’ll check in with you both later.”

  As he closed the door, Josie said, “Every crumb.”

  Caleb took the journals from Chloe, carried them over to the bed, and began rifling through them.

  “How long will it take?” Ash asked.

  “Depends. If all the books are here, forty-five minutes, maybe an hour.”

  “More than enough time for you to finish that sandwich,” Chloe said.

  “If you want to know the truth, I’m not hungry.”

  He’d barely gotten the words out when there was another knock. His immediate thought was that Josie had been listening at the door and was not pleased with what he’d just said. Only it wasn’t his daughter, but one of the women who usually worked the nightshift in the comm room.

  “Captain,” she said. “Sorry to intrude, but you’re needed in communications.”

  Twenty-Five

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  1:40 PM PST

  MARTINA HAD BEEN so desperate to know if anyone in the third detention area was one of her friends that Gabriel allowed her to stay in their lookout spot for over an hour, but when he heard the snap of a branch, he regretted the decision.

  The sound had come from about fifty yards away, down a dip that led to a private parking area.

  He motioned for Martina to stay quiet as he grabbed the binoculars from her.

  From observations that he and his team members had made, Gabriel knew that in addition to the jeeps that patrolled the parking lot and streets around the stadium, there were also the occasional guards on foot. These patrols averaged two a day but, as far as he could tell, had no set times.

  He wondered if the sound came from one of those sweeps, or had he and Martina been spotted and a patrol sent out specifically to capture them?

  A crunch of leaves, a bit closer than before.

  Gabriel scanned the area around their position. They were under the trees but there was little ground cover. The closest was a dense patch of brush ten feet behind them.

  He pointed at it, making it clear they had to move silently.

  In a crouch, they circled to the backside of the group of bushes and discovered a spot where the branches rose off the ground about two feet, creating a tunnel to what looked like a larger clear area in the middle of the brush. If they could
get in there, they might be all right.

  Gabriel put his mouth right up next to Martina’s ear. “Crawl through. I’ll hand you my pack and then follow.”

  After Martina snaked under the bushes, Gabriel passed the bag to her and began to crawl through himself.

  Before he reached halfway, he heard the footsteps, two pairs at least. They couldn’t have been more than twenty-five feet away. He stopped where he was, pulled his knees to his chest, and hoped to God his feet were far enough in.

  For over a minute the footsteps moved through the area, coming very close to the clump of brush multiple times but never stopping.

  “Must have been bullshit,” a male voice said. “Probably just testing us.”

  “Rodney was sure he saw a glint off something,” another guy said.

  “Probably an old beer bottle or something. I’m telling you, there’s no one here.”

  More moving around.

  “I’ve got footprints over here,” the second voice said.

  “So what? There are footprints all over the place. They could be from weeks ago.”

  “They look fresh.”

  “It’s dirt. They’ll look the same until it gets windy or rains.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Well, do you see anyone around?”

  A long pause.

  “No. I guess you’re right.”

  “I’m always right, you know that.”

  There was a snort. “Only in your head.”

  The steps started to move away.

  “Oh, like you’re right all the time.”

  “Not that we’re keeping score, but more than you.”

  “Oh, really. What kind of faulty calculations are you…”

  The voices and steps began to fade.

  Gabriel held his position for several more minutes before pulling himself all the way into the center of the bushes with Martina. Silently, they waited there another hour before he decided it was safe to move again.

  Fearing the patrols would still be out, Gabriel plotted a course that avoided all but the most necessary open areas. This took them on a wide loop that went all the way to the edge of the I-5 then over to the 2 Freeway, where they finally headed southwest again.

  When they reached Sunset Boulevard, Gabriel led Martina into Mohawk Bend, a restaurant half a block down from Alvarado, and radioed Nyla.

  “I was beginning to worry about you guys,” Nyla said.

  “Sorry, we were…delayed. Listen, can you come over here?”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated. “There’s something we need to talk about. Better in person, I think.”

  When Nyla arrived forty minutes later, Gabriel and Martina were sitting at the long central table between the bar and the kitchen, eating a lunch of crackers and cheese and dried salami from the supplies Gabriel had in his pack. They were washing it down in style. The restaurant had a large selection of beers, and days ago Gabriel had taught himself how to tap into the kegs. Right now they were enjoying a lukewarm Racer 5 IPA.

  “Can I pour you a pint?” he asked as Nyla walked in.

  For a second it looked like she was going to chastise him for drinking, but then her frown faded and she said, “Sure.”

  Nyla took a seat across from them. Gabriel filled a glass and put it in front of her.

  “So you’re going to tell me why I’m here,” she asked.

  “We need to get those people out,” Martina said.

  “What people?”

  “The ones in the third enclosure,” Gabriel said.

  Nyla frowned. “You know we don’t have the resources for that.”

  Gabriel glanced at Martina and then back at Nyla. “Then we need to get them.”

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  “I think I know why this is the only station that has a third enclosure.”

  Nyla raised an eyebrow. “Really? Okay, then. What’s your theory?”

  “Immunity.”

  DR. LAWRENCE COULD not believe how lucky she was. Initially, she had been assigned to the station in St. Louis. But for whatever reason—the rumor was the suicide of another Project doctor, though she had yet to confirm it—the rosters were shuffled, and her name was moved onto the personnel sheet for Los Angeles.

  How boring would St. Louis have been? Sure, they would have probably found one or two people with a natural immunity to KV-27a, but for the most part, they would’ve been dealing with people who had either been lucky or had strong enough immune systems to keep them alive to that point but no true immunity. There, the decision on the life or death of a survivor would be made by other departments, who would base it on whether or not the individual was someone the Project could use.

  But here in Los Angeles, she and Dr. Rivera had been presented with a surprise treasure trove. Of course, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Someone in research should have anticipated this exact event happening, but maybe it was good the ball had been dropped. Perhaps if it hadn’t been, a more senior doctor would have received the L.A. assignment, and she would have been stuck in St. Louis or God only knew where else.

  Twenty-three immune survivors.

  Twenty-three.

  And not one of them had inherited the resistance to Sage Flu. They had developed it because they’d been among the final wave of infected during the test outbreak, the wave that had survived. When she and Dr. Rivera had realized that, they knew if there were twenty-three at the station here in Los Angeles, there had to be hundreds more scattered throughout the high-desert region of southern California. Which was why, come the next morning, she would be part of an exploratory group heading out to look for them.

  Until then, she and Dr. Rivera had time for a little experimentation. It was important to know exactly how strong the immune systems of these special survivors had grown.

  “How about her?” Dr. Rivera said, pointing at one of the twenty-three photographs laid out on the table.

  She studied the image, then shrugged. Really, what was the difference? “Works for me,” she said.

  Dr. Rivera picked up the photo and handed it to the guard who had been waiting patiently to the side. “This one. As quickly as you can.”

  WHILE MARTINA’S FRIENDS were all in favor of trying to get out, most of the others being held with them did not seem as open to the idea. Ben had been careful about what he said as he spoke to them, trying to gauge their thoughts on the situation without going into any details. The only people he shared more information with were a man named Preston Campbell from Barstow, who was in his mid-thirties, and a woman named Ivy Morse, who was probably closer to sixty and from Sage Springs.

  As Ben had pointed out from the beginning, getting out of their detention area would be the easy part. All they would have to do was scrap enough grass and topsoil away to slip under the gate. It wouldn’t be easy but very doable, especially if they waited until night. The trick was getting the center-field wall open.

  Ben was huddled with Jilly, Ruby, and Preston, going over ideas on how to do just that, when the compound gate opened and five guards entered. All conversation ceased as the guard in front looked at a piece of paper in his hand and then scanned the survivors.

  When his gaze landed on Ben’s group, he pointed. “You. Come here.”

  No one moved.

  “Blue shirt, let’s go,” the guard said.

  Ruby was the one in blue. “Go where?” she asked.

  “The doctors want to see you.”

  “What for?”

  “You’ll have to ask them. Come on.”

  Ruby glanced nervously back at the others. “What do I do?” she whispered.

  “Let’s move it!” the guard yelled.

  “It’ll be okay,” Jilly said.

  None of them believed that.

  The guards started walking toward them. Ruby said to her friends, “Don’t leave me,” then turned and walked toward the gate.

  “How long will she be gone?” Ben asked.


  Without answering, the guards formed a circle around Ruby and led her out of the detention area.

  As soon as the gate was closed, Jilly said, “What the hell?”

  “The sooner we get out of here, the better,” Preston said.

  “But not without Ruby.” Jilly looked at Ben. “We can’t leave her.”

  “We won’t,” he said, with no idea how he’d keep that promise.

  THE DOOR TO the lab opened and the test subject was escorted in.

  “Have a seat…” Dr. Rivera looked down at the file. “Ruby.”

  With a wary glance back at her guards, the girl sat down. The subject’s apparent agitation surprised Dr. Lawrence.

  She looked at the lead guard. “Was there a problem?”

  “No. Why?” the guard asked.

  Instead of answering him, she switched her attention to the survivor. “You appear upset. Is something wrong?”

  “I just…I want to know why I’m here.”

  For a brief second, she thought maybe the girl had realized what they were going to do, but that wasn’t possible. Her nerves must have been on edge from being locked up for so many days.

  She gave the survivor a disarming smile and said, “We realize this has been an ordeal for you and the others. Know that we’re only doing what’s necessary to keep people alive.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rivera preparing the syringe.

  She looked over at the lead guard again. “Thank you. That will be all.” After the guards retreated and shut the door, she said, “Due to the nature of the…emergency, we haven’t always been able to get the best help. The men on sentry duty are good men, just a little rough around the edges at times, so I apologize if their behavior’s disturbed you.”

  When the test subject relaxed a little, she knew she had guessed right, that the guards had somehow spooked her. Lawrence made a mental note to have a discussion with their boss later. Things would go much more smoothly, especially when the exploratory group went out in the field, if everyone projected an aura of understanding and sympathy. Flies to honey and all that.

  Rivera stepped next to the girl and said, “Please roll up your sleeve.”

  The survivor looked at the syringe. “What’s that?”