“Neither did I,” Martina added.
“I’m going to go check,” Mrs. Weber said.
Riley pushed herself off the floor. “I’ll do it, Mom.” She started pulling on her clothes.
“I’ll go, too,” Martina offered, grabbing her jeans off a nearby chair.
Mrs. Weber looked unsure at first. She glanced down at her long nightgown, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll go change and join you in a few minutes.”
The two girls quickly finished dressing and pulled on their winter gear. Since the sun had yet to rise, they flipped on the outside lights before leaving.
At some point during the night, the storm had moved on. What it left behind was over a foot of snow that covered the ground as far as they could see.
Riley was about to step off the porch when Martina grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Look,” Martina said, pointing at the ground in front of the porch. “No footprints.”
The snow surrounding the entrance was a flat, white surface. It would have been impossible for Laurie to go this way without leaving a mark.
“See, she must be inside somewhere,” Riley said.
“Or,” Martina said, “she could have used the back door.”
“Um, maybe,” Riley grudgingly admitted.
Since they were outside already, they started to walk around the house, but as they neared the Webers’ car, Martina noticed something. There were several small depressions in the snow close to the driver’s door. Footprints from the night before, she thought, the snow having almost filled them in.
She angled over for a better look. Even though they had been partially filled, it was strange that the depressions were still smaller than her own prints. So it wasn’t one of their dads she’d heard last night?
“What are you doing?” Riley said from the corner of the house. “Come on.”
Martina looked up and nodded. Before she said what she was starting to think, it would be best to check the back of the house. If Laurie’s prints were there, everything would be fine.
But everything wasn’t fine.
“See, I told you,” Riley said. “She’s inside.”
The snow outside the backdoor was as flat as it was out front.
“Come on,” Riley said, reaching for the door.
“Did you hear someone go out last night after we went to bed?” Martina asked.
Riley paused, then shook her head. “No.”
“I did. I thought it was either your dad or mine. Whoever it was went out to the car and turned on the radio, but I fell asleep so I didn’t hear anyone come back.”
Riley’s eyes widened. “Do you think it was Laurie?”
“I don’t know. That was around midnight.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Riley then grabbed the knob and tried to open the door. It was locked, so she had to pound on it until her mother answered.
Mrs. Weber pulled the door open a few seconds later, her coat half on. “Did you find her?”
Riley rushed past her. “Dad!” she yelled. “Dad!”
Martina came in right behind her.
“What is it?” Mrs. Weber called after them.
But the girls ignored her as they headed for the bedrooms. When Martina opened the door to her parents’ room, they looked up, obviously having been woken by Riley’s yelling.
“Is something wrong?” her mom asked.
“Dad, did you go out to the Webers’ car last night?” Martina asked.
“Why would I do that?”
“To listen to the radio.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Your mother and I went to bed the same time you did.”
Martina whipped around and looked over at Riley, who was staring back at her from the doorway to her parents’ room.
“He didn’t go out,” Martina said.
“Neither did my dad,” Riley said.
THEY WALKED IN an ever-widening circle around the cabin, but there were no footprints or other signs of Laurie anywhere. It was like she had just vanished.
After a while, it was decided someone should take one of the cars and check along the road. Mr. Weber wanted to do that, but Martina’s dad used the argument that his car was the only one with chains. Martina suspected it was more than that. Mr. Weber was starting to show signs of panic, and letting him operate a car would have been a mistake.
Martina sat up front with her father, while Donny had the backseat to himself.
Keeping their speed slow, her dad headed down the snow-covered road. Martina watched to the right, while her brother scanned the area to the left.
They were getting close to the main paved road when Donny said, “What’s that?”
Their father took his foot off the gas and let the car roll to a stop.
There was a slight rise that started about twenty feet from the road on the driver’s side. Donny was pointing at something toward the top—a flash of color peeking out from behind a tree. Lavender, like the color of Laurie’s jacket.
Without waiting for the others, Martina threw open her door and ran around the car.
“Martina, hold on!” her father called out.
She ignored him and headed up the side of the ridge. When she reached the tree, she found Laurie there, sitting with her back to the trunk. The girl’s face had lost most of its color, and her lips were ashen gray.
“Laurie?” Martina said, shaking the girl’s shoulder.
For a second there was no response, then Laurie’s chin moved up a fraction of an inch. Her eyelids parted just enough so she could peer at Martina.
“Dad!” Martina called down the hill. “Dad, she’s here!” She looked back at Laurie. “It’s okay. We’ve found you. We’ll take you back and warm you up.”
“Home,” Laurie whispered. “I want to go home.”
MARTINA’S DAD BLARED the horn as they approached the cabin and pulled to a stop. Her mom and Mrs. Weber rushed outside as Martina and her father jumped out of the car.
“We found her,” Martina said, and helped her dad ease Laurie out of the backseat.
“Oh, my God,” Mrs. Weber said “Oh, my God!”
While they carried the girl to the house, Mr. Weber, Riley, and Pamela ran out of the woods from where they’d been searching.
“Laurie?” Riley said.
“Someone open the door,” Martina’s father ordered.
Martina’s mom ran around them and pushed the door out of the way. They took Laurie into the Webers’ bedroom, where Mrs. Weber and Martina’s mom stripped off her cold, wet clothes and covered her with blankets. Mrs. Weber asked everyone to leave the bedroom and let Laurie rest.
No one would admit it, but they had all thought they’d never see Laurie alive again. Instead, they just talked about how happy they were that they’d found her, and how they were sure she would be all right.
At one point, Martina heard a muffled cough from the Webers’ bedroom. She assumed it was Laurie, her system reacting to her ordeal.
She was wrong on both counts.
Thirty-Five
LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO
8:09 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME
THE CONFERENCE ROOM at NB219 had undergone a major overhaul in the last twelve hours. No longer was there a single monitor that needed to be split into sections when several people were on a video call. Now there were six monitors, all mounted to the wall, each capable of receiving a different feed.
The furniture had also been replaced with pieces Perez thought were more fitting for the new principal director’s temporary headquarters—an impressive black metal table and a dozen padded leather chairs, the largest of which he was sitting in at that very moment.
Four of the screens were active, each displaying the image of a different person looking out at him. Of the former leadership committee, only Dr. Lassiter was present. On the other three screens were Renée Girard, Richard Chang, and Dr. Ronald Fisher.
“For all intents and purposes
, Europe is completely shut down,” Girard said. “Everyone has locked themselves inside. The only ones moving around are military and other government personnel.”
“It’s the same here in Hong Kong,” Chang said. “And throughout the rest of Asia. Borders are closed, but it’s an unnecessary step. No one wants to go anywhere.”
“Any reports of illness?” Perez asked.
“Yes,” Girard said. “It’s scattered, but growing.”
“Same thing here,” Chang replied.
“Dr. Fisher, are we still working on the same timeline?” Perez asked.
With those who’d been at Bluebird either dead or at least temporarily out of communication, Fisher became the head Project scientist. He had been on the team who worked on perfecting KV-27a.
“Yes,” the doctor said in his distinctive monotone. “Our latest tests of samples taken from dispersal points in various locations indicate the agent is working as planned. I would say reports of illness will no longer be ‘scattered’ by midnight.”
It was exactly as Perez hoped.
“Kind of ironic,” Dr. Lassiter said. “That it’ll basically hit tomorrow.”
“Not ironic at all,” Dr. Fisher told him. “I believe that was the plan.”
No one said anything for a few seconds, then Perez leaned forward. “All right. We’ll reconvene at midnight my time.”
As Perez reached for the keyboard to turn off the system, Dr. Lassiter said, “Merry Christmas, world.”
Perez paused for a moment before disconnecting the call.
Thirty-Six
MONTANA
8:22 AM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME
IT HADN’T BEEN a simple matter to get Ash back to the Bunker. The only vehicles that hadn’t been wrecked in the attack on the Ranch were three motorcycles kept in the Bunker, and with Ash unconscious, there was no way he could be transported on one.
Lizzie Drexel’s vehicle was also not an option. It had been blown apart with everything else when the garage exploded.
The best they could do right away was get one of the motorcycles down the tunnel, muscle it up through the hatch, and send their only medic, Lily Franklin, out to do what she could. Ten minutes later they sent a second bike with two men, the one in back carrying a stretcher.
Once Lily had Ash as stabilized as she could get him, they loaded him onto the stretcher, and alternated between carrying him and pushing the motorbikes back to the Bunker.
Matt was at the end of the tunnel when they arrived.
“How is he?” he asked Lily as soon as she climbed down through the hatch.
“A broken arm. Ribs cracked. Undoubtedly a concussion. There might be some internal damage, too, but there’s not much I can do about that.” She took a breath. “We need to get somebody here who can handle that kind of thing.”
“Is he conscious yet?”
“No.”
Once they had maneuvered Ash through the hatch and into the Bunker, they took him straight to the medical area and transferred him to the bed next to Gagnon.
A moment or two later, footsteps pounded down the hall, skidding to a stop outside the door. A half second later, Josie rushed in.
Matt grabbed her around the shoulders. “Josie, you need to stand back.”
“Let me go!” She squirmed in his arms, trying to break free. “He’s my dad! Let me go!”
She twisted again, dropped down out of his grasp, and ran to the bed.
“Dad? Dad, can you hear me?”
Tentatively she touched her father’s shoulder and shook it.
“Dad, wake up.”
“He can’t,” Lily said. “I gave him something to keep him under.”
“Why?”
“If he wakes, he’d be in a lot of pain. It’s better if he rests now.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
Lily shot a worried glance at Matt before looking back at Josie. “We’re doing all we can.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Matt stepped in next to them. “It’s the best answer she can give. You don’t want her to lie, do you?”
Looking dejected, Josie shook her head.
“You want to stay here with him?” Matt asked.
“Yes,” she said quickly.
He nodded toward a chair sitting against the wall, and one of the men brought it over. Josie sat down and slipped her hand into her father’s.
Matt waited a moment, then quietly left the room. With the exception of Lily, the others did the same. Once they were far enough away from Josie, Matt said, “I need a man on each bike to head out and find a doctor, preferably a surgeon, just in case.”
“I’ll go,” one man said.
“Me, too,” another offered.
The man beside him raised his hand. “And me.”
“No,” a new voice called out from down the hall. “I’ll be the third.”
Chloe was walking quickly toward them, the look on her face daring anyone to challenge her.
After the two bikes that had been used were refueled, and the third was lifted out of the Bunker, Chloe and the other two raced off.
Matt watched them until they disappeared. Then, instead of going back down into the tunnel, he walked over to the edge of the woods, and looked for the first time at the still smoldering hulk that had once been their headquarters.
A snowflake fell on the back of his hand, and another flew by his face, but he barely noticed. He stared at the remains of the Lodge, remembering all that had happened there, the good and the bad. It had been more than just a place to meet and make plans.
It had been his home.
But, as devastating as it was to see it this way, he knew the horrors that were about to come would be much worse.
Thirty-Seven
THE MOOD AT the cabin is somber. Though they’ve been able to warm up Laurie, her pulse is still weak, and when she speaks it’s like she doesn’t know where she is. She needs a doctor.
While there may be one somewhere in the area, the only doctors they know about for sure are the ones down the mountain, back in Ridgecrest. But because of the snow, the drive would be dangerous at best, and quite possibly deadly.
Mr. Weber sees no choice, though. He can’t just sit and watch his daughter fade away.
Because the Gables’ car is the only one with chains, Martina’s father agrees to let him take it. At least this means those at the cabin will still have a radio.
Mrs. Weber wants to go, too, but her husband insists on her staying. Her sniffles are disguised by her tears. As much as she wants to believe she got out of Los Angeles without being exposed, it is just wishful thinking. Soon she will be too sick to get out of bed, and by then she won’t be the only one not feeling well.
But that is hours away. Now they all stand near the front door, watching Mr. Weber drive Laurie away.
No one says what they’re all thinking, that they wonder if the two will ever come back.
They won’t.
But Martina is the only one who will know that for sure.
JOSIE REALIZES THE drug in her father’s system is supposed to keep him asleep. But his eyes have started to move under their lids, and every once in a while his body jerks one way or the other.
“Wake up,” she says, keeping her voice low so the woman who’s been taking care of him doesn’t hear her. “Come on, Dad. Wake up.”
But he remains unconscious, living through whatever dream is playing in his mind.
“Wake up, Dad,” she said one more time, knowing he won’t.
CHLOE DRIVES FASTER than she should in the falling snow, but she has finally reached the main highway, and can’t help but go as quickly as possible. Ash’s life is on the line, and she must do everything she can to save him.
It’s dark now, the gloomy day turning into an even gloomier night, making her task all the more difficult. But she keeps going.
At one point there is movement off to the side of the road, but she’s already past it by the time it register
s and she can’t take a chance looking back. One wrong move and the bike could slip out from under her, which could mean a death sentence not only for her, but for Ash, too.
For half a second, she thinks she hears something, but it, too, is gone, and soon she forgets about both the noise and the movement as she continues racing down the highway.
KUSUM IS THE one who ends up having to give everyone the shots. Because of his injuries, Sanjay is in no condition to do it himself. Besides, his only experience stems from the one shot he gave Kusum.
Still, he is part of the process. Each time a bottle of the vaccine runs dry, he removes a new one from his bag. This way, he is the only one who knows how few containers are left. Right from the start, he has Kusum give each person an amount that’s less than what he’d given her, hoping that will be enough to make the vaccine last.
Even then, the supply is dwindling faster than he would like. He knows if his mind were clearer, he would be able to figure out if there is going to be enough for everyone. But math is beyond him at the moment.
Kusum’s father is the last in line. When his turn finally comes, Sanjay breathes a sigh of relief. There are still two precious bottles left.
These, he shows Kusum. Her eyes widen at how close they have come to running out, but then she smiles and says, “Good. Then we still have some if others need it.”
Her words make him feel better until one of the children she has collected asks, “So now what do we do?”
Everyone looks at Sanjay. Even Kusum’s father seems anxious to hear his response.
He stares back at them, then says the only thing that comes to his mind. “We stay together, and we survive.”
It’s not a plan, or a course of action. It is merely words, no different than an advertising slogan meant to evoke an emotion in consumers.
But it seems to work. There are several scattered smiles, and a few nodding heads. And, at least for the moment, no one asks, “How do we do that?”
THE DAY IS growing short. Brandon can’t see the sun because of the clouds, but dimming light is enough to tell him that the sun is low on the horizon.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse) Page 76
