Dispersal

by Addison Gunn

  Anita raised her arms over her head and cheered at the top of her lungs. “We are chosen!”

  Samantha, rooted to her pew, the only one sitting in a barn full of cheering people, felt a sudden desire to please.

  This was wrong. This was insane. They were going where? To do what?

  She wanted to run. She wanted to get as far away from this madness as possible. But she also wanted to rise up and clap her hands over her head. The energy was powerful, intoxicating. Conflicted, she merely sat there, awe-stricken.

  Anita reached down, grabbed her by the shoulder, and yanked her up. “Come on, Sam!”

  Pulled along, Sam followed the others to the front of the barn, where Brother Ed raised a fist in the air and marched the newly chosen to the exit.

  As they left, the crowd chanted. “Spread—the—word! Spread—the—word! Spread—the—word!”

  Despite herself, Samantha’s heart beat faster and her mind went foggy with exhilaration. What was she doing? Why was she following Anita?

  Anita pulled Sam’s hand as they marched across the empty pasture and into the forest. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  Samantha was surprised to hear herself cry, “Yes! Yes, it is!”

  15

  DU TRIEUX GLARED at Miller from across the Crow’s Nest bar with such venom he couldn’t help but ask if there was something she wanted to say. After only a few seconds, he wished he hadn’t.

  “How you can kowtow to that man’s hypocrisy is beyond comprehension,” she ranted, mumbling in French before continuing. “There is no way in hell we should have been taking anything off that ship; they’re in worse condition than we are.”

  “It’s a good thing we did go there, though, Trix,” Doyle said, frowning when she turned her glare on him. “Who knows how long that mutiny would have lasted?”

  “Thank God they mutinied!” Hsiung blurted out, her mouth contorting. She flung the tattered ends of her parachute hammock up and over a ceiling beam, then hastily tied the ends together. “I honestly don’t know what the captain was thinking. You should have heard the excuses he was making. He’s lucky I didn’t stuff a grenade down his throat.”

  “And to take medical research away from people in the middle of an epidemic, Miller?” du Trieux added. “It’s not justified. I don’t care what Matheson says. We’re just as bad as the pirates.”

  “They hanged those men from the Minerva for attempting to steal food,” Hsiung said, flopping down into her hammock with a grunt, “and look at the shit we just pulled.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Miller said. That surprised them, especially du Trieux, whose eyebrows shot high. “We didn’t know the situation going in. That’s my fault. We went in blind. But I didn’t take all their meds, and I didn’t take their research. I took a copy of a formula and a sample, and that’s it. I’m not a complete tyrant.”

  “We shouldn’t have been there at all,” du Trieux said, apparently not done.

  Miller rubbed his face then eyed his team. Their anger and disgust sent him to his feet and out the door.

  There was at least one good thing that came out of this, he realized. They were united against a common enemy again, instead of attacking one another.

  Unfortunately, the common enemy was him.

  GRAY’S QUARTERS SMELLED of sick and antiseptic. The dim orange haze of the sunset blazed through the clouded windows, painting the cabin.

  Even in the twenty-four hours since Miller’s last visit, James had declined. His breathing, previously labored and chunky, was now weak and shallow. Once flush and feverish, he was now pale and gray.

  Barbara sat beside his bed, looking small and feeble as she held James’s limp, bony hand in hers. On the teen’s other side, the doctor took the boy’s pulse.

  Miller watched the doctor’s expression, trying to gauge the result. Eventually, he wrenched himself away and focused on Gray, who sat across from him, looking beaten. “Ten men isn’t going to cut it,” Miller said. “They need at least twenty to calm the mutineers, and that captain is a moron.”

  “He was a captain of a luxury cruise liner, and now he’s managing the lives of almost four thousand people, long term, with no land support,” Gray said. He picked at a cuticle until it bled, then dabbed scarlet droplets on his opposite sleeve. “He’s out of his depth.”

  “Obviously.” Miller kept his thoughts regarding Gray’s own depths to himself.

  “Did the lab say how long it would take to reproduce the formula?”

  “Twenty-four hours, but before you give in to panic I brought you something.” Miller reached into his belt pouch and handed Gray two vials of brown fluid.

  His eyes opened wide. “Is this from the Penelope?”

  “Yes, but you didn’t get it from me.”

  “What is this?”

  “It’s like a tea. Don’t ask too many questions; the lab and I have decided to keep the specifics classified.”

  “Even from me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this will work?”

  “I can’t promise anything, but the science officer on the Penelope said it won’t cause any harm to humans, so it’s worth a shot.”

  Gray stood, legs shaking as he hastily rounded the sofa and went to the sleeping area. After a brief exchange with the doctor, Barbara and Gray propped the limp boy up. The doctor uncorked the tubes and gingerly poured the solution into the kid’s mouth.

  He immediately began to choke. Like a geyser, the tea spewed from James’s mouth and ran down his chin, soaking his nightshirt and spreading across the sheets.

  “Swallow it!” Gray ordered.

  He either couldn’t hear or couldn’t comply. The doctor dropped the vials onto the bed and reached over to close the boy’s mouth and massage his throat, trying to force him to swallow. The boy coughed again, shooting splatters of tea through the doctor’s fingers, covering him and his parents. The doctor released his grasp and James vomited all over the bed.

  “Swallow it, James! Swallow!” Gray barked at his son.

  “He can’t; stop shouting at him!” Barbara let go of her son and burst into tears.

  The doctor went to wash his hands in the basin, and Gray cradled James in his arms, rocking the vomit-soaked teenager as if he were an infant.

  Gray’s eyes met Miller’s, standing frozen in the middle of the room.

  “Is there more?” Gray sobbed. “Did you bring more?”

  Miller shook his head helplessly.

  “Is there a shot we can give him? Can we inject the tea into his stomach?”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” the doctor said in a wavering voice. “If we puncture the stomach at this stage of the infection we risk sepsis.”

  “What do we do, Miller?” Gray sobbed, clasping his son in a pool of tea and bile. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Miller’s throat closed like a vice. He shook his head and stormed from the room, barely making it back to his quarters before his gut twisted and he rushed to his bathroom to puke.

  “I’VE SPOKEN TO the lab,” Miller said, staring down at Commander Lewis. He swallowed the acid collecting in the back of his throat and shifted his legs, feeling off-balance.

  Lewis pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. He barked an order to the able seaman manning the com, then rotated in his captain’s chair. “And?”

  “Before the invasion, I’m told that Winston and Winston in Jacksonville, Florida had created a cure for the superbug.”

  Lewis opened his mouth to speak, but Miller pressed on.

  “That’s the MRSA, sir.”

  “I know what it is, son.”

  “To stand a chance of survival,” Miller kept on, “we need to combat these infections. I’ve seen what they can do. It’s not pretty. And after what’s happened on the Penelope, we need to do something. Fast.”

  “What exactly are you proposing?”

  “We make for land, sir. Send Cobalt into Jacksonville. We’ll infiltrate the facility and bring back the cure.�
��

  “Assuming it still exists.”

  “We have to try, sir.”

  Lewis’s eyes narrowed. “You really think five of you are going to stand a chance against an entire city of Infected? Stealth or not, that’s a hell of a trek. Last I heard, Jacksonville was overrun.”

  “Then send me with a squad.”

  “I don’t have squads just lying around, Miller.”

  “Sir,” he said, regretting the sharpness in his tone. “Have you been to the infirmary? Have you seen the effects of the pneumonia? We aren’t going to make it, sir.”

  Lewis clenched his jaw, then scratched his thigh with his thumbnail. “I’ve seen it. Is this what Matheson wants?”

  “Matheson is compromised, sir. This comes from me.”

  “Are you certain you’re not compromised? You’re pretty close to Matheson’s family.”

  Miller licked his lips and shook his head. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure, but the way he figured, if he didn’t do something—anything—he would be stuck on that rotting ship, on that angry ocean, watching thousands of people slowly die a gruesome death. At least this way, he was working toward a solution, on land, with his team, performing the one task he knew he could do, and do well—fight Infected.

  Six months ago, he couldn’t wait to get away from the hive-mind crazies—now, he was running right back into the shitstorm. How was it he felt comforted?

  Lewis seemed to be thinking the same thing, or something close to it. He looked dubious, and dug at his left thigh with all five of his fingers with a vengeance.

  “All right, Miller. Ready a squad.” He turned in his captain’s chair, then barked at the able seamen manning the bridge stations. “Look alive!” he boomed. “Set course for Jacksonville.”

  16

  THREE RVS SAT still and silent, facing southwest on Highway 28, not two kilometers from the dairy farm.

  On the eastern side of the road, Samantha and five others, including Binh and Anita, sat crouched in the tree line, biding their time.

  The moon cast a purple sheen across the road, streaking the RVs’ shadows like smeared paint. The very air was thick with mist and the smells of forest and fear.

  From what Sam could see, the caravan had stopped due to some sort of mechanical difficulty. An older man and a middle-aged woman had popped the hood on one of the Winnebagos and stood in front of it, inspecting the motor and discussing it quietly in the light of two tiny torches.

  In the meantime, men, women, and children—about two dozen or so—moved in and out of the vans, making preparations for a meal. Propane-powered grills were folded down from the sides of the RVs, chimneas were hauled out with stacks of firewood, awnings were opened, lawn chairs and picnic tables set out.

  There was something odd about the gathering that Samantha couldn’t quite place, and it wasn’t until one of the children fell and scraped his knee that she understood why.

  The boy sobbed and wailed until a young woman—his mother, Sam supposed—approached him calmly, seemingly unaffected by his cries.

  “Done scraped yourself up good, didn’t you?” the mother said.

  The boy continued to sob, gripping his scraped knee as if it had been forcibly amputated.

  “What did I tell you about running in the street, eh?”

  The boy snorted, snot running down his nose and over his mouth.

  “Maybe you’ll remember that next time, eh?”

  With that the woman reached down, picked up the boy and brushed him off, then let him loose. Like a shot he took off, running after the ball he’d dropped.

  The mother shook her head and went back to the middle RV, where they were spreading table cloths and setting out plates.

  “They’re human,” Binh said, startling Samantha.

  “How have they kept going in those RVs?” Anita asked. “They can’t be finding gasoline. Those things use a ton.”

  “Look at the roof,” Binh answered her. “Solar panels.”

  “Must be why they’ve stopped for the night,” someone else said.

  From the other end of the line, obscured by the forest, Brother Ed whispered orders to the others, then approached the end where Binh, Anita and Sam waited. “We attack the front first,” he said, crouched low. “Then work our way back.”

  Samantha’s mouth went dry. “Attack?”

  “Incapacitate the men,” he added. “Kill them if they resist. We need the women and children alive.”

  Binh and Anita chimed, “Yes, Brother Ed.”

  As he moved back toward the other end of the line, Anita and Binh nocked arrows to their bows and adjusted their stance, eyes bright and unblinking in the moonlight.

  “You’re not going to do it, are you?” Sam stared them down. “We’re Archaeans. We don’t kill humans. We don’t kill anybody.” She tasted the lie the moment it left her mouth.

  Anita squinted at Sam and pursed her lips. “We’ve been chosen.”

  “We must spread the word,” Binh said, giving Sam a quizzical look.

  On the road, the humans sat at the tables to eat. There were a few women who didn’t seem to sit for very long, continually standing to serve and re-serve food and drink. Just when Samantha had hoped Brother Ed had changed his mind about the attack, he gave the go-ahead, and like a swarm, the five Infected raised their weapons and descended on the RVs like the plague of Egypt.

  “No!” Samantha shouted, giving them away. “Stop!”

  The humans, at hearing Samantha’s cry, got to their feet just in time for the Archaeans to spring on them.

  The human men, pulling guns and blades from tool belts and holsters, made a valiant effort to fend them off, as the women, grabbing up the children, ran for cover. But their efforts, despite their superior numbers, were futile—lost with the element of surprise. Soon, the men were incapacitated or dead where they stood, having fired perhaps half a dozen shots to no effect.

  The Archaeans sought out the women and children, who had scattered into the night. Some were inside the RVs, some had taken off into the woods on the opposite side of the road. Samantha heard their screams and cries as they were captured and caught, then dragged back to the road.

  One woman started up an RV and tried to drive away, but was soon stopped when the Archaeans pierced her tires and jammed their spears into the driver side window, breaking it open and pulling her out by her hair.

  A second woman, overcome with horror, broke down into hysterics, screaming and shrieking in Brother Ed’s grip. Finally, rolling his eyes in exasperation, he sliced her throat with a sharpened gardening trowel and dropped her gurgling body to the asphalt.

  When the chaos subsided, they had captured four men, six women, and ten children. Six men had been murdered in the attack. One Archaean, Sister Pam, had been killed, her neck broken in the fray. In retaliation, Brother Ed slashed her killer’s throat open as well and left his body in the road to rot.

  The humans were bound by zip-ties and lined up. Brother Ed, beaming, congratulated the Archaeans. “I am so proud of you all!” he cheered, walking down the line of prisoners as Anita secured their restraints. “You are the finest disciples anyone could ask for! Come, my brothers and sisters, let us lead our new followers home.”

  The humans were marched on, led by Brother Ed, Binh and Anita herding them from the rear. Samantha lingered at the side of the road, unsure and conflicted. She felt a great draw to follow them: after all, she was Archaean. But if there was ever a time for her to break free, this was it. She knew, deep within, the commune was trouble—it was doomed to suffer the same fate as the others, she had no doubt. Chaos and death would take over, just as they had before. The Infected would turn on each other and the community would implode. She would be powerless to stop it; even the ruling brothers would be helpless.

  Yet, as Samantha watched them lead the humans into the forest, she could not help but want to follow. The Archaeans were her people. The Infected were linked to her soul. How could she, after all this time—after e
verything she had done in the service of the Archaean parasite—turn her back on them now?

  It was impossible. She couldn’t fathom the notion of being alone, much less without a commune. Standing from behind the bushes, she joined the others and walked alongside the humans, feeling defeated and beaten—yet complete.

  For the most part, the humans were subdued, whimpering and sobbing softly—save for one, a stocky, bald man near the end of the line, who seethed with anger and cursed with every step. When Anita poked him with her spear and told him to be quiet, he spat at the ground at her feet and cursed at her.

  “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” he said. “When they find out we’re missing, they’ll come for us. You’re done for, all of you. Fuck the lot of you.”

  “Who’s coming? When who finds out?” Samantha asked him.

  “You’ll see,” he sneered. “Just you wait.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Brother Bob said, coming up beside Samantha. “We know better than to listen to serpents. He’s yet to be enlightened.”

  The straggling line reached the dairy farm sometime in the middle of the night. Upon their arrival, several members of the commune emerged from the farmhouse and helped sort the new arrivals into groups of five. They were taken to the sheds and locked inside with a bucket of water and a bowl of mash.

  “Things will be different in the morning,” Brother Ed said. “Until then, rest. You’ve all earned a good night’s sleep.” Then he assigned a few of his trusted brothers and sisters to keep watch through the night and meandered off alone, toward the barn.

  Unsure where she was supposed to go, Samantha followed Anita and Binh back to the farmhouse.

  The old woman who had interviewed Samantha stood at the door, instructing men and women up the stairs to different-colored rooms.

  “To the red room,” she told Anita. “The green room,” she then said to Binh. She squinted at Samantha, then said, “The red room.”