ASHES
Praise for the Project Eden Thrillers
“Sick didn’t just hook me. It hit me with a devastating uppercut on every primal level—as a parent, a father, and a human being.”—Blake Crouch, author of Run
“A gem of an outbreak story that unfolds like a thriller movie and never lets up, all the way to the last page. Absolutely my favorite kind of story!”—John Maberry, New York Times bestselling author
“Not only grabs you by the throat, but by the heart and gut as well, and by the time you finish you feel as if you've just taken a runaway train through dangerous territory. Buy these books now. You won't regret it.”—Robert Browne, author of The Paradise Prophecy
“Like a fever, Sick makes you sweat and keeps you up all night, wondering what the hell is happening. It'll make your heart race like someone shot you with an EpiPen. You think Battles was badass before? He just cranked it up to 500 joules. CLEAR!”—PopCultureNerd.com
“Brett Battles at his best, a thriller that also chills, with a secret at its core that's almost too scary to be contained within the covers of a book.”—Tim Hallinan, author of the Edgar-nominated The Queen of Patpong
ALSO BY BRETT BATTLES
THE JONATHAN QUINN THRILLERS
Novels
THE CLEANER
THE DECEIVED
SHADOW OF BETRAYAL (US)/THE UNWANTED (UK)
THE SILENCED
BECOMING QUINN
THE DESTROYED
THE COLLECTED
Short Stories
“Just Another Job”—A Jonathan Quinn Story
“Off the Clock—A Jonathan Quinn Story
“The Assignment”—An Orlando Story
THE LOGAN HARPER THRILLERS
LITTLE GIRL GONE
EVERY PRECIOUS THING
THE PROJECT EDEN THRILLERS
SICK
EXIT 9
PALE HORSE
ASHES
STANDALONES
Novels
THE PULL OF GRAVITY
NO RETURN
Short Stories
“Perfect Gentleman”
For Younger Readers
THE TROUBLE FAMILY CHRONICLES
HERE COMES MR. TROUBLE
ASHES
Brett Battles
A PROJECT EDEN THRILLER
Book 4
What Came Before
THE UNTHINKABLE HAS happened.
Using an extensive network of specially equipped shipping containers, Project Eden has unleashed the Sage Flu upon the world, intent on wiping out over ninety-nine percent of the human population.
Despite its best efforts, the group known as the Resistance was unable to stop this horrific act from happening, and found itself under attack by a squad of Project Eden commandos.
Caught outside the Resistance’s hideaway, Brandon Ash raced through the woods in search of safety. But all he found was a woman dealing with her own demons, and he was forced to move farther and farther away from his friends.
Twenty-four-hour curfews spread around the globe as people everywhere did what they could to keep themselves and their families safe.
Martina Gable and her family headed for a cabin in the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the high desert of California, desperately trying to isolate themselves from those who might be carrying the disease.
In India, after Sanjay inoculated Kusum, the girl he loved, he reluctantly took her back to her family in Mumbai. He then went in search of more vaccine, while Kusum led the others out of the city. Once Sanjay found what he was after, he, too, went back to the country, where, after a panicked night apart, he found Kusum again.
And then there was Project Eden itself. Its leadership apparently dead, a new principal director emerges, one who has no intention of ever conceding the job to anyone else.
In a desperate race back to the Resistance headquarters from where he’d witnessed the destruction of Bluebird—Project Eden’s base above the Arctic Circle—Captain Daniel Ash arrived only to find his son missing. Out searching for Brandon, he came across a house in the wilderness that Brandon had visited earlier. But while his son had been able to get away from the woman who lived there, Ash was caught in the explosion that destroyed her house. He was rushed back to the Ranch, barely clinging to life.
Meanwhile, throughout the world, the sound of coughing grows louder and louder…
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
—Book of Common Prayer
December 24th
Christmas Eve
1
TEMPORARY OFFICE OF PROJECT EDEN’S PRINCIPAL DIRECTOR
NB219, LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO
8:53 PM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME (MST)
PEREZ HIT PLAY.
It was the fourth time he’d watched the video. He wasn’t one hundred percent happy with the piece, but changing it at this point would mean an unnecessary delay of at least a week.
“Fine,” he said to Claudia, his assistant. “Approved.”
“And the proposed date?”
It was three days away.
“Also approved.”
“I’ll let the communications team know,” she said. “Do you want this on automatic or would you like to activate?”
He gave it only a second’s thought. “When the time comes, we’ll do it from here.”
“Very good, sir.”
2
PCN BROADCAST
11:13 PM EASTERN STANDARD TIME (EST)
“FIREFIGHTERS BELIEVE THE blaze started in a grocery store on 22nd Avenue before it quickly overtook the surrounding buildings,” Candice Mandel said.
She was reporting from St. Petersburg, Florida. The camera revealed flames rising from nearly every building along the avenue. Firefighters ran up and down the street, pulling equipment from trucks and spraying water on the flames, but it was clear their efforts would not be enough.
“One official we were able to speak with said that the rapid spread of the fire indicated it had been set intentionally.” The camera panned to the left until Mandel was in the picture. With her free hand, she adjusted the surgical mask covering her mouth and nose before adding, “A mandatory evacuation of the residential area directly behind the fire has already begun. Unfortunately, the effort is hampered by residents’ fear of leaving their homes.”
The image of Mandel cut to prerecorded shots of the evacuation.
Police wearing gas masks normally used in riot situations were knocking on doors and moving people to buses parked along the street. Before they boarded, the evacuees were handed masks similar to the one Mandel was wearing. While most people seemed to be cooperating, a few could be seen struggling with the officers.
The picture cut to a shot of a front door as police knocked on it. It opened an inch, but no more.
“Sir, how many people are in the house with you?” one of the officers asked.
“Just me and my wife. Why?”
“You both need to come with us.”
“Are you kidding me? We’re not going anywhere,” the man said. “Not with that bug out there.”
“Sir, there’s a fire on 22nd Avenue that’s threatening to spread this way. We need to evacuate the entire neighborhood.”
“Sorry, buddy. We ain’t leaving!” The man started to close the door, but the officer jammed a foot across the threshold.
The image cut back to Mandel standing in front of the fire. “That couple was eventually escorted to one of the buses, but the man wasn’t the only one to express that kind of sentiment.” She paused. “Choosing between running from a fire or exposing themselves to the Sage Flu virus now spreading around the world is not what these people thought they’d be doing
on Christmas Eve. Back to you in New York, Henry.”
Mandel was replaced on screen by PCN anchor Henry Nash. “There have been reports of looting and acts of destruction throughout the country, but so far these have been isolated events that authorities have been able to stop.” Nash fell silent for a second, his eyes becoming momentarily unfocused. When he looked back into the camera, he said, “We’re going to take you to the White House briefing room and correspondent Shelley Barnes. Shelley?”
The new image was a wide shot of an empty podium with the White House seal hanging on the wall behind it. In front of the podium were several rows of chairs, each filled with a member of the press. Most were wearing surgical-type masks, while a few went as far as donning full gas masks.
After a second’s delay, the unseen Shelley Barnes said, “Henry, we’ve been told that a White House spokesman will be delivering an important update on the situation at any moment. So far, we’ve only been hearing—” She paused as a door at the front of the room opened. “It looks like the brief is about to start.”
There was a rustle in the crowd as four men entered and spread out on either side of the podium. As soon as they were in position, the president himself walked out. He was followed by the majority and minority leaders of both the House and Senate, and the chief justice of the Supreme Court.
A murmur of surprise arose as all the reporters stood until the leader of the United States was behind the podium. The president’s normally vigorous and youthful face looked drawn and tired. He stared at the gathered press for a moment before he began.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he said. His face turned even grimmer. “In the last hour, I have received confirmation that deaths in the US directly attributable to the Sage Flu are in the thousands and climbing rapidly. I wish I could tell you these were confined to a particular location, but I cannot. The cases are spread throughout the country. In addition to the dead, tens of thousands more have already reported suffering from flu-like symptoms.
“I have been in touch with leaders in Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and throughout Europe, and, without exception, all are experiencing similar outbreaks.
“I have told the director of the CDC that there is no higher priority than the creation of a vaccine to defeat this deadly virus. All resources of this government are at their disposal, and I have been assured scientists in labs throughout the world are working around the clock until that goal is met. Something that I am confident they will achieve.
“It will take time, however. Months. Perhaps up to a year. My mission is to see that you, the citizens of the United States, are still here to receive the inoculation.” He glanced over his shoulder at the congressional leaders who had joined him, then said, “As a first step to make sure that happens, and in consultation with both parties in Congress, just moments ago, I signed an executive order suspending the Constitution of the United States, extending the twenty-four-hour curfew indefinitely. The only people exempt are those needed for essential services—military; emergency personnel such as police, firefighters, doctors, and nurses; those needed to maintain utilities such as power and water; and others in positions critical to maintaining the health and safety of our nation. Anyone outside of these individuals found breaking curfew or otherwise risking the safety of others will be arrested and forced to spend the duration of our state of emergency in a holding facility as a guest of the United States military. Food and other needed items will be dispersed in an organized, scheduled manner, with strict instructions on how these items are to be retrieved. We ask that everyone please be patient and understanding.
“We are all in this together, and together we will see this through.”
SITUATION ROOM, WHITE HOUSE
11:16 PM EST
EVERY CHAIR SAVE the one usually occupied by the president was filled, all eyes on the monitor at the front of the room displaying the press briefing.
All, that was, but Dr. Michael Esposito’s. He was glancing at his boss, Dr. Marston, head of the CDC. The man looked thoughtful and supportive as he watched the president speak, an expression Esposito couldn’t bring himself to match.
Dr. Marston had been in Washington advising the president since not long after the shipping containers found around the world began spewing their deadly cargo. He had then flown Esposito up that afternoon on a government plane. Esposito had protested, saying he needed to stay at the labs while his team continued trying to find some way to combat the Sage Flu virus. The new strain, which they were calling Sage Flu B (SF-B), was subtly different from the SF-A virus that had broken out in California the previous spring, and Esposito’s team was just beginning to make some progress on what those differences might mean.
“The work won’t stop if you’re not there,” Marston had told him. “Get on that plane and get up here now.”
Upon arriving in DC, Esposito was rushed to the White House by a police escort, an unnecessary step given that the streets were all but empty. There, he’d been led to an office his boss was using.
Marston immediately stood. “Finally. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To brief the president.”
“I could have done that over the phone,” Esposito said, unable to hide his annoyance.
Marston pressed his lips tightly together, then said, “No, this is not something you could have done over the phone.”
Esposito held up a hand in defense. “All right, all right.” He dropped his jacket on the guest chair and followed his boss to the door. “So what are we supposed to be talking about?”
Marston’s hand was on the doorknob, but he paused without turning it and looked back at Esposito. “A vaccine.”
“What vaccine?”
“For the Sage Flu. What do you think?”
“There is no vaccine.”
“I know that, and so does the president. What he wants to know is, when will it be ready?”
Esposito gaped at him, hoping this was some kind of joke. “You know I can’t put a date on it. Maybe it’ll take a couple of months, maybe it’ll take twenty years! Look at HIV, for God’s sake. How long have we been working on a cure for that?”
“We both know it will probably take less than a year.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do. And that’s what you’re going to tell him.”
“You brought me up here to lie to the president?”
Marston stared at him for a moment. “What do you think is happening here?”
“I’m not sure what you—”
“Here. In the world. Right now. What do you think is happening?”
“Um, you mean with the flu?”
“Yes, with the goddamn flu!”
Esposito had never seen his boss so angry. He resisted the urge to moisten his suddenly dry lips. “Someone is trying to kill a lot of people.”
“Someone is trying to kill more than just a lot of people. You know what the death rate was for the initial victims of the SF-A outbreak!”
Everyone at the CDC was well aware of that number. Nearly a hundred percent. The only reason there were survivors was because the virus had been tailored with a built-in cutoff so only those in the first few generations received the killer variety. That was a bit of info they hadn’t shared with the public.
“And can I assume you’ve read the report on the deaths we’ve already seen this time?”
“Of course,” Esposito said. So far, the death rate had been the same. “But it’s still possible that SF-B will have the same generational cutoff as SF-A. We’re still working on finding that out.”
“Really? Because the reports I’ve read from your team indicate that the cutoff trigger identified in SF-A is missing in SF-B.”
“That’s true,” Esposito said. It was one of the first things he and his colleagues had looked for. “But we’re hopeful it’s just being expressed in a different way.”
“Hopeful? Think, Michael, think! This is a terrorist attack. Both strains w
ere purposely released. The limited boundary of the spring release was because they knew it was going to burn out. It was a test. Don’t you see that? This time, they’re pumping it into the air everywhere, not just in a small geographical area. This is the big attack. What they planned for. Do you really think they’ve included some kind of biological timer? Do you?”
As soon as Sage Flu had been identified as the virus in the containers, Esposito had thought about all the different possibilities, including that given the scale, there would be no cutoff this time. But because of what that would mean—the near annihilation of the human race—he hadn’t been able to bring himself to believe anyone could be that ruthless.
He hesitated, then nodded, forced to admit the truth.
“We have one job right now,” Marston said. “One. And that’s to keep as many people alive as possible.” He paused, the look of anger that had taken him dissipating. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, conciliatory. “If people think there is a vaccine coming, they’ll cling to hope, and cut down on exposure to one another. There’s an excellent chance, then, that some will stay alive long enough to receive the vaccine I’m sure your team will develop. But if we tell them we don’t know when or even if the vaccine will be ready, we’re all but admitting we’re condemning everyone to death. That’s why we need to give the president a definitive timetable. If he believes, he can make everyone else believe. Do you get it now?”
When they entered the Oval Office a few minutes later, and the president asked Esposito how long until a vaccine would be ready, the doctor said, “A year at the outside. Hopefully sooner.”
Ashes (A Project Eden Thriller) Page 1
