Ash tried to temper his anticipation. The paper could still be nothing. A note from when she’d been here before, perhaps, or…or…
She unfolded it, read what was there, then showed it to him.
There was a date at the top, that day’s date, and a time, ten a.m., with the word “gone” after it. That meant as few as six hours before, Josie and Brandon had still been there. The next part read:
Kids still alive. Taking to NB7.
Alive. They’re alive. But what did he mean by “still”? Did that mean their time was almost up?
“What does NB7 mean?” Ash asked.
“It’s the way the others refer to their different facilities. They each have alpha-numeric designations.”
“Do you know where this place is?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Ash felt his world start to crumble. He’d been so close. He put a hand over his eyes, and could feel the pressure in his head building. He had to do something, but he didn’t know what.
Chloe touched his back. “Hey. We’re not done yet. There’s someone who might know.”
He looked at her. “There is?”
She hesitated. “Yes. A woman named Olivia.”
“Can we call her?”
Chloe shook her head. “We can’t call. We need to go see her.”
“Where is she?”
“Not too far, I think. Maybe an hour, hour and a half away. Matt’s the one who knows exactly where she is.”
Without even hesitating, Ash pulled out his phone and called the emergency number Pax had given him.
Thirty-Six
RACHEL ENTERED MATT’S office as he was finishing up his call with Ash.
“Did they find the children?” she asked when her brother hung up.
“The place had already been cleared out.”
“Oh, no.”
“It’s not as bad as it could have been. Winger was able to leave a message. They’ve taken the kids to someplace called NB7.”
“Is that on our list?”
“No. I checked while we were talking.” He paused for a moment, then looked at his sister. “Chloe suggested Olivia might know where it is.”
“Olivia?” Rachel frowned. “Even if she does, she might not tell them.”
“You don’t think it’s worth trying?”
Rachel looked out the window. Her history with Olivia was not a particularly pleasant one. “Does it matter? You’ve already sent them to the Bluff, haven’t you?”
He adjusted himself uncomfortably in his chair. “If you can think of any other way to find out in a hurry, I’m more than open to it. But, yes, I’ve already sent them there.”
Rachel stared at the distant hills, knowing her brother had done the right thing, but also not sure if she would have done the same if it had been up to her. Of course, truth be told, if it had been up to her, Olivia would have been dead a long time ago.
Finally, she turned back to him and set the paper she’d been carrying on the desk. “We have another situation.”
Matt read the message. “Damn.”
“I think there’s a better than fifty-percent chance we’re going to have to perform an extraction,” she said.
He glanced through the message again, then nodded. “Keep a close eye on it, and get everything in place.”
“I have a truck already on its way.”
He eyed her suspiciously.
“It’s going in with a CDC pass,” she said. “There won’t be any problems.”
“Still, an extraction’s going to be tricky, given the location.”
“But not impossible.”
“No. Not impossible.”
AT BLUEBIRD, A similar high-level conference was being held. The Director of Preparation—who, among other things, oversaw Dr. Karp’s work and the operation Mr. Shell was heading up to keep a lid on things—and two of his counterparts were meeting in a small room specifically designed for these kinds of quick, private meetings.
“It’s getting out of hand,” the Director of Recovery said. “We are dangerously close to exposure.”
“I don’t think we’re even near that point yet,” the DOP said.
“Don’t you? What about that video that the networks are blasting all over the place today? Those weren’t military troops doing the shooting. Those were our people.”
“Yes, they were. And even if they weren’t covered in bio-suits, there would be no possible way for the connection to be made back to us.”
“What were they doing out there anyway?”
“Their job.”
The DOR didn’t look as if he liked the answer.
“Is there a problem?” The DOP asked.
“Given the safeguards of KV-27a, it just seemed…unnecessary.”
The DOP looked at his colleague for a moment. “Are you worried about the deaths of two people?”
“Of course not,” the other man said quickly. “There just seems to be a lot of…glitches with this particular operation.”
“You’re right. There have been several glitches.”
“Starting with KV-27a reaching the public in the first place!”
“True, but I think that has actually been a benefit to us. As have these glitches. They’ve exposed areas of concern that are much better for us to know about now than later, don’t you think? If we had to do it all over again, I think I would have pushed for something like this to occur by design as opposed to by accident.”
“You’ve got to be…” The DOR fell silent.
“What? Kidding? Is that what you were going to say?” The DOP’s eyes cooled to hard steel, his voice cutting the air as he spoke. “The stakes we’re playing with are enormous. I can’t worry about two kids being killed in the desert. They’re not even a drop in the bucket of what’s to come if we’re to achieve what we’ve set out to do. The future of humanity is in our hands alone. That’s the oath we’ve all taken, or have you forgotten? Perhaps you think we need to change the parameters of the entire project. Perhaps you think we need to go easy.” He paused. “Tell me, how are you going to react when implementation day comes? Are you going to raise your concerns then, too?”
The DOR tensed. “Of course not.” He stood up. “Perhaps I was…hasty.”
The DOP immediately became calm and conciliatory. It was one of the abilities that made him an excellent leader within Project Eden. “We’re all under a lot of pressure. Don’t worry about it.” He offered his hand.
The DOR shook it, nodded at the silent third man in the room, then left.
As soon as the door closed, the DOP said, “He needs to be replaced.”
The third man, the Director of Survival, rose to his feet. He was smaller than the others by a foot, and one of the most dedicated members of the project. “Yes, he does. But he also has a point about the mistakes.”
“I know.” The mistakes were good learning tools, but the ones who had made them would need to be dealt with.
“What about the KV-27a safeguards? Any word?” the DOS asked.
“I’m told everything is on schedule.”
“Excellent.” Changing the subject, the DOS said, “Where are we on the vaccine?”
“Almost there. We should have a working batch within a few weeks.”
“Then we’re on to the next phase.”
The Director of Preparation smiled. “Yes, we are.”
BY LATE AFTERNOON it was clear to Martina and the others in the segregated group at Cryer’s Corner that Paul Unger was not just suffering from his wounds, but was also ill.
Coach Delger had said that if he only had the increased fever, then it could have been explained by his injuries. But there was the cough, too, and the growing congestion, all symptoms that had been previously reported in connection with the Sage Flu.
Martina was a smart girl. She knew if things played out the way they had everywhere else, she and the others in the segregated group would all be dead within a day or so. It scared he
r more than she wanted to admit, but she tried to stay calm because a few of the others were totally freaking out already, and someone had to keep their head.
It didn’t help that the news reported the virus had spread throughout the entire quarantine zone, including their hometown of Ridgecrest. And even though the correspondent had said the new outbreaks seemed to have been contained to a handful of people here and there, the sense of doom that hung over the café was stifling.
There was no report, though, on the fact that the quarantine roadblock had been moved from ten miles west of Cryer’s Corner to ten miles east. Perhaps they were the only ones who knew about that. And given the fact that the phones, and therefore the Internet, had stopped working not long after Martina uploaded Paul’s video, there was no way they could share that information.
The only good news as far as she was concerned was Ben. That was the name of the cute college boy. He was from San Mateo in the Bay Area and had been driving home from a skiing trip in Colorado. Luckily for Martina, he wasn’t one of the people flipping out so, naturally, they had gravitated toward each other.
At that moment, they were sitting in a booth at the far corner of the café, absently watching the TV. The reporter was a woman who’d been caught inside the zone, and was now at Fort Irwin near Barstow with several other members of the media. Martina wasn’t paying her much attention, though. The woman had pretty much been saying the same thing over and over all day.
“This sucks,” Martina blurted out.
“The news?” Ben asked.
She glanced at the screen. “Well, yeah. That, too. But all of this. It completely sucks. We can’t even call our families to see how they’re doing. It’s like we’re in prison.”
“At least this prison has cushioned seats,” he said, smiling.
“Ha ha.” She turned her attention back to the TV, but could only take it for another minute before she said, “I wish I’d just start coughing and get it over with, you know?”
Ben didn’t say anything.
“Did you hear me?”
She looked at him. He was staring out the window at something in the distance. Finally, as if on delay, he said, “Sorry.” Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he scooted out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, but he was already halfway toward the front of the café, so she got up and followed him.
He stopped at the counter near the register and looked around.
“What are you doing?” she asked, walking up.
“Have you seen Molly?”
Molly Cryer was the older woman who, it turned out, owned the café.
“Maybe in back?” Martina suggested.
With a nod, Ben passed through the opening in the counter and back into the kitchen. More curious than ever, Martina continued to follow him.
Molly was sitting on a little stool in back, watching a DVD of some old black and white movie on a small TV set on a desk. She had a soda in one hand, and an unlit cigarette in the other.
“The gas station across the street,” Ben said. “There’s a big rig behind it.”
“Yeah,” Molly said without taking her eyes off the screen.
“Whose is it?”
“The rig? That’d be Eddie Jackson’s truck.”
“Is he around?”
“Nah. He’s in…” She paused for a moment. “Reno, I think.”
“Who has the keys?”
“I assume Lance does over at the station.”
“Great. Thanks.”
As Ben headed back out, Martina said, “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up.”
“About what?”
He said nothing.
“Whoa! Where are you two going?” Coach Driscoll asked as Ben and Martina reached the front door.
“I need to check something,” Ben said.
“Well, just stick around right out front. Don’t want to expose anyone else.”
Most of the unexposed group had been hanging out at the mini-market just down from the café. No one had really laid claim to the gas station on the other side of the road yet, because there really wasn’t much to claim other than a couple of pumps and a greasy garage.
Once he was outside, Ben started jogging straight for the station.
Before he reached the road, Martina said, “I don’t think we’re supposed to go across.”
“Then you don’t have to come.”
Though she’d bent one or two rules in her life, she wasn’t a big one for breaking them, but given the fact that by this time tomorrow she’d probably be dead, what did it matter? She picked up her speed and caught up to him midway across the asphalt of the empty highway.
“Still not going to tell me what you’re doing?” she asked.
“Still not.”
No one seemed to be around as he led her into the gas station’s small office. He then started pulling desk drawers open, and slamming them closed when he didn’t find whatever it was he was looking for.
After a few minutes, he moved into the garage and took a quick scan around. His gaze locked onto a black cabinet on the wall.
He pulled the door open, then let out a yelp of triumph.
Martina moved around so she could look inside. There were several rows of hooks. Most were empty, but a few had keys hanging from them. Ben moved his finger along the sets that were there, pulling off several.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s see if I’m right.”
As they stepped out of the garage, a voice yelled out, “What are you doing in there?”
Lance Cryer, the guy who ran the gas station, was standing near the highway looking at them. He’d been in the group deemed unexposed.
“Just borrowing some keys,” Ben said.
“Dammit. You shouldn’t have gone in there. That’s my place. Now I can’t use it until someone washes it all down.”
Ben grimaced. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“Too late now, isn’t it?” Lance said. “What are you going to do with those keys?”
Ben looked down at the sets in his hand. After a second, he seemed to come to some decision. “Tell Eddie Jackson I’m sorry, too.”
“What?” Lance asked, confused.
Ben touched Martina on the arm. “Come on.”
They circled around the gas station to the semi truck parked in back. The first set of keys didn’t work, but the second opened the door.
“Go around to the other side,” he told her. “I’ll open it up for you.”
By the time she got there, the passenger door was unlocked.
“Okay, so are we going to make a run for it?” she asked, smirking, as soon as she was inside.
“Not a bad idea. But I kind of think I’d rather die of a cold than a bullet.”
That wiped the smile off her face.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to be funny. But…”
Shaking her head, she said, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” She glanced at him expectantly. “So why are we here?”
Ben put the key in the ignition and turned it enough to get the electricity inside working.
“That,” he said, pointing at a device mounted in the dashboard.
“What is it?”
“CB radio. If we can get it to work, we might be able to get you in touch with your mom.”
Martina looked at him. “You…you think so?”
“That’s the hope.”
It took him a few minutes to get the hang of it, but soon he got it working.
“Hello, hello. Is anyone out there?” he said into the mic. Static. “Hello. I’m calling from Cryer’s Corner inside the quarantine zone. Can anyone hear me?”
Static again, then, “…hear you.”
Martina hit Ben’s arm excitedly.
“This is Ben. Ben Bowerman. Who’s this?”
“…ame’s Marty Zimmerman. Everyone calls me…ee.”
&n
bsp; “Sorry, you faded out. Calls you what?”
“Zee. Everyone calls me Zee.”
“I can’t tell you how great it is to hear your voice, Zee.”
“Where’d you say you are?”
“Cryer’s Corner.”
“Kinda near Death Valley?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hell, I know where that is. Tiny speck of a place. Did you say you’re in the quarantine zone?”
“Uh, yeah. Where are you?”
“Sitting in the parking lot of a casino just east of the Cal border along I-15. Stuck here with a load of potato chips I was supposed to be taking to Barstow, while I wait to hear where I’m being rerouted. But better stuck here than inside the zone, I guess. What’re you hauling?”
“I’m…not a trucker. There’s a whole group of us stuck here at Cryer’s Corner.”
It took a few minutes to explain everything, then another as Zee made the requested call on his cell phone before Martina heard the voice she thought she would never hear again.
“Hello?” her mother said, her voice distorted by the fact it was coming out of a speakerphone on a cell that was then being transmitted over the CB.
“Mom?”
A slight delay. “Martina? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me,” she said, her eyes welling with water.
“This connection is horrible, sweetie. Can you try calling back?”
“No, no!” Martina yelled. “We don’t have any service here. I’m on a radio.”
“You’re on a what?”
Martina loved her mom dearly, but there were some things she didn’t get right away. “Just don’t hang up, okay?”
A moment later, her dad joined in on another extension. They talked about missing her and wishing she were home. She tried to sound upbeat, and was careful not to say anything about being exposed to the virus. Let them have one more night of peace, she thought.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse) Page 21
