“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?”
Fifty-Two
“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.”
Fifty-Three
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.
When he returned downstairs, he found Chloe propped up on the couch.
“Why don’t you get some sleep,” he suggested.
“I tried, but this isn’t going to let me,” she told him, touching her leg.
He wished he could do something more for her. The pain seemed to be hitting her in waves. She’d be fine for a bit, then, with no warning, would close her eyes tight and cringe.
Just short of an hour after they arrived, there was a knock on the door. It was Pax and Billy. Billy quickly checked both patients, then gave Chloe a sedative that allowed her to fall asleep. As soon as she was out, he dealt with Ash�
�s wound.
“Clean this yourself?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Remind me not to use you as a nurse.”
More burning, then a bandage to cover the gash. When he was through, Billy examined Ash’s face, looking at the scars of the surgery from what seemed so long ago.
With a simple “It looks like nothing’s going to fall off,” Billy went to see what he could do about Chloe’s leg.
“You got ‘em,” Pax said, once he and Ash were alone.
“Yeah, I did.” Ash knew he should be happy, but the worry he’d had for his kids’ safety had turned into worry for their mental well-being. Sometimes being a parent sucked. “Thanks for your help. Those mini-explosives you gave me, I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
They talked a little longer, but at some point Ash fell asleep. How Pax and Billy got him into a bed upstairs, he had no idea. But that’s where he woke to an afternoon sun shining through the window.
He showered, put on the new clothes someone had laid out for him, and headed downstairs. He found Pax and the old woman in the kitchen, laughing and having a cup of coffee.
“Where’s Josie and Brandon?” he asked, alarmed.
“Your kids are fine,” the old woman said. “They’re out back, playing with the dog.”
Ash walked over to the open back door and looked out the screen. Josie was sitting on a picnic bench, petting the head of a golden retriever while Brandon was trying to coax the dog away with a ball. It seemed so…normal.
“And Chloe?” Ash asked.
“Billy took her back to the ranch,” Pax said. “Said she needs surgery on the leg, but that she should be fine.”
Ash hadn’t told her thank you. He should have done it already, but he’d been too drained to even think about it.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” the woman asked.
Ash shook his head. “Not right now, thanks.”
He opened the screen door and stepped into the backyard. Both his kids looked over and stared at him. He wondered if their uncertainty would ever go away, if they’d ever truly believe he was their dad.
As he walked toward them, the golden retriever ran to him. Ash knelt down and petted the dog’s head. “Hey, buddy.” He looked over at his children. “What’s his name?”
Neither of them said anything for a moment, then Brandon took a step forward. “Strider.”
“Hello there, Strider,” Ash said to the dog.
Strider wagged his tail and licked Ash’s hand.
“He likes to play catch,” Brandon said.
Ash stood up. “You have a ball?”
Brandon nodded and showed him the tennis ball in his hand.
“Throw it for him,” Ash said.
Brandon tossed the ball across the yard, and Strider took off after it. As the dog was bringing the ball back to the boy, Ash casually walked over.
“Can I try?” he asked.
“Sure,” Brandon said, handing him the ball.
They played toss with the dog for several minutes, alternating turns, with neither of them really saying anything. While they did this, Josie sat quietly on the bench watching them.
As Ash was about to throw the ball again, Josie said, “Why did they tell us you were dead?”
Ash paused for a moment, then let the ball fly. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Because they weren’t very nice, I guess. They told me you were both dead, too.”
“They did?” Brandon said.
Ash nodded.
Strider returned with the ball and dropped it at Brandon’s feet, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. Brandon looked at his father for a moment, then glanced at his sister and whispered something just low enough so Ash couldn’t hear it.
Josie seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then looked up at their dad. “Is…Mom alive, too?”
Ash could feel his heart suddenly break. He sank down to his knees so he was closer to their height, tears forming in his eyes. “No, sweetie. She’s not.”
“But you’re here, and they said you were dead,” she countered.
Ash could hear Brandon’s breath become ragged as he fought his own tears. “I know, Josie. But your mom was gone before they even took us out of the house.”
“But…but…are you sure?”
He nodded.
Brandon was the first to fall into his embrace, sobbing into Ash’s shoulder, but Josie wasn’t far behind him.
“I love you guys,” Ash said, then repeated “I love you” over and over.
“I love you, too, Dad,” Josie said, once her tears had finally lost their strength.
“Me, too,” Brandon added.
The hug that followed seemed to last for hours.
Thanks for reading SICK
Keeping going to dive into book 2 — EXIT 9.
Also, if you have time and are so inclined, please consider leaving a review at your point of purchase. Thank you again.
Exit 9
A Project Eden Thriller | No. 2
One
I.D. MINUS 41 DAYS
“THIS JUST CAME in.”
Matt Hamilton took the piece of paper from the communications specialist and looked at the message.
MO KO EB PT TI HU JN RN MU ER UG YS UC ZR JZ CZ CN EN TS LV NA HS CG GU HC DV DO MO JN OB HN GU PH OM UI BC WF CU OF SR HP OV JG GJ TL OK YS XT KV XD ML CA
“Have you decoded it?” he asked.
An uneasy nod.
“What?”
“It’s from Heron.”
Heron. Their deepest mole, tasked with only one job so as to preserve his cover. A fail-safe.
A second sheet of paper containing the translation was held out.
It’s a go. Sometime in the next seven weeks. Project Eden calls it Implementation Day.
Best location BB n of sixty-six. Sci fac.
The paper slipped from Matt’s hands and fell to the floor. “Dear God.”
Two
I.D. MINUS 27 DAYS
THE COLD WAS unrelenting, its fierce bite intensified by the wind that sliced across the ice and snow. How anyone could ever choose to live above the Arctic Circle, Sawyer would never understand. Sure, the work done in most of the research stations that had been built this far north was important, but damn, the weather was brutal.
Of course, it didn’t help that he and Napoli were not ensconced inside a building, sucking down hot coffee, and being warmed by heated air. Instead, they were lying prone on top of a ridge, under the near constant night sky of the approaching Arctic winter, as they observed the Brule Institute Outpost.
This was the fourth installation they’d checked in the last eleven days—one in northern Greenland, and the other two on individual islands in a winding line stretching into Canada. Their current location was Yanok Island, an otherwise uninhabited piece of rock roughly five miles in diameter.
Sawyer and Napoli had been there for twenty-two hours, arriving on a modified, cold-weather fishing boat. They had anchored in a cliff-ringed bay on the side of the island opposite the station. They climbed to the top with the help of an old land slide, and not too far from there they had found a cutout in a small hill—not quite a cave, more an overhang that had kept most of the ground underneath clear from snow. Using tarps and some other gear they’d brought along, they walled it off, and created a heated shelter, complete with two cots, a hot plate, and a two-way, encrypted radio.
So far, the only report they’d sent in was similar to the ones they’d been transmitting since their assignment began: No sign of unusual activity.
“Number seven just came outside,” Napoli said, looking through their tripod-mounted, night-vision binoculars. Over the course of their observations, they had given a number to each person from the outpost they’d seen, identifying them by some unique aspect of their gear—patches, color, type of boots.
Sawyer lifted his head a fraction of an inch as if he could see the man as easily as Napoli had, but
at this distance in the darkness he had a hard time even identifying the main door.
Napoli moved the binoculars. “He’s heading up to the Gazebo.”
Like the numbers they’d given the people, they’d developed a shorthand to describe the facility. The Gazebo was a circular outbuilding, considerably smaller than the main structure. According to the specs they’d been given prior to arriving on the island, it served as the station’s warehouse.
Within the same group of papers was a description of the outpost’s purpose. The Brule Institute was a scientific research organization loosely associated with the University of Heidelberg in Germany. Their goal here was the same as those of most of the other places Sawyer and Napoli had checked—monitoring the effects of global warming on the arctic ice pack.
Napoli leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “He’s inside now.”
“You want me to take over for a while?” Sawyer asked.
“No. I’m still good.” Napoli looked back through the binoculars. “Could use one of those energy bars, though. As long as it’s not frozen solid.”
“I’m only here to serve you,” Sawyer said.
“Well, you’re doing a lousy job.”
With a sneer that couldn’t be seen under his mask, Sawyer crawled over to the pack to his left to grab a bar for his partner. As he opened the bag, he heard a thud. He looked back. Napoli and the binoculars were both lying in the snow.
“Nap?” he asked.
When there was no response, he moved back over.
“Hey, what have you been doing? Drinking on the job?”
Napoli was a bit of a clown sometimes, and Sawyer figured his friend was making a joke about the monotony of their assignment.
“Ha, ha. Funny,” he said, and pushed Napoli in the shoulder.
His friend’s head rolled to the side, and Sawyer saw the bullet hole just above Napoli’s left eye.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse) Page 29
