Eden Rising

by Brett Battles

  “Just that,” Martina said. “I’m not trying to stop you or anything, but—”

  “You’re going to stay here?” Riley asked.

  “No.” Martina paused. She hadn’t really thought this part through. She had hoped saying she wouldn’t be going would be enough. “I’ll meet you guys there eventually, there’s just something, um, I have to do.”

  “What could you possibly have to do?” Valerie asked.

  Martina frowned. “Someone I need to look for.”

  A burst of laughter jumped from Valerie’s throat. “Are you kidding me?” She looked out at the road and the desert beyond. “There’s no one left to look for. Almost everyone’s dead.”

  That may have been true, but all Martina said was, “I still need to try.”

  Valerie stared at her in disbelief. “Your funeral, I guess. Have fun.” She started walking again.

  “Can I go with you?” Riley asked Martina.

  Martina cringed. Taking this kind of chance on her own was one thing, but putting others in danger? “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “But my father, my…my sister. They might be out there somewhere.” Riley’s father and her twin sister Laurie had left the cabin where her family and Martina’s family had been hiding from the flu before the others had died. Riley and Martina had searched for them when they returned to Ridgecrest, but had found no sign of them.

  “If they’re still alive, they would have heard the UN’s message by now, and will probably head to the survival station, too,” Amanda said.

  “Well, if they do, then they’ll be safe there,” Riley said. “But if they didn’t hear it…”

  Martina couldn’t miss the hope and pleading in the girl’s voice. She knew if she were in Riley’s position, she’d want to do the same thing. “All right.”

  Riley smiled. “Thank you.”

  “But,” Martina quickly added. “They may not have even gone in the direction I’m heading, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  “I won’t,” Riley said.

  Martina looked at her friend for a moment, then said, “Grab your bag.”

  As Riley rushed to the cars, Noreen said, “I’m going with you, too.”

  “What?” Valerie said. “Are you crazy?”

  Noreen, jaw set, said, “Martina’s my best friend. I’m going with her.”

  Without waiting for a response, she turned after Riley.

  “Anyone else want to get themselves killed?” Valerie asked, scanning the rest.

  A shoe scuffed against the asphalt, and a hand shot up. “Me.”

  It was Craig.

  “Oh, so, what? You going to be the big male protector?” Valerie asked.

  Craig looked confused. “No. I just…no.”

  Martina knew why. Riley.

  Valerie scoffed as she rolled her eyes. “Fine! Is that it? Anyone else?” When no one else spoke up, she said, “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Once everyone was loaded up, the driver’s window of the lead car rolled down. “Last chance, Gable,” Valerie said.

  “Good luck,” Martina told her. “We’ll see you in L.A.”

  The look on Valerie’s face as she rolled her window back up said she very much doubted that. One by one, the cars started pulling away. Most of the girls waved and shouted their good-byes.

  “Think we’ll ever see them again?” Noreen asked.

  “I’m sure we will,” Martina replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

  They fell silent and watched the cars head north on China Lake Boulevard.

  When the last of the vehicles fell out of sight, Craig said, “So, uh, who are we looking for?”

  “A friend,” Martina said.

  “Ben, right?” Noreen asked. She turned to Craig. “His name’s Ben.”

  Martina shouldn’t have been surprised her best friend knew. “Yeah. Ben.”

  “Is he your boyfriend or something?” Riley asked.

  “Bingo,” Noreen said.

  “How do you know he might still be alive?” Craig asked.

  “Because he left me a message on my phone.”

  “What?” Noreen said. “When? What did he say?”

  “I only had a signal for a little bit. Not long enough to listen to them. But I do know the last one came yesterday.”

  “That’s great,” Noreen said, smiling. “Hey, that’s great!”

  “We should get going,” Martina said. She picked up her pack and started walking toward the road.

  “Wait. We’re going to hike out of here?” Craig asked.

  “Not the whole way.”

  When she’d thought she’d be going on this trek alone, she knew a car was more than she needed, and might even be a liability. Now, even with the extra companions, her opinion hadn’t changed.

  When they finally neared her intended destination, she pointed. “There.”

  In front of the building was a white sign with red letters outlined in black:

  GLAZE’S MOTORCYCLES

  SAN MATEO, CALIFORNIA

  3:03 PM PST

  BEN BOWERMAN WIPED the sweat from his brow. It had to be one of the hottest New Year’s Eves ever recorded on the San Francisco Peninsula. Well, it would be, he figured, if anyone were still keeping records.

  He knew the fact that he’d so far spent half the day digging into the ground probably influenced his opinion, but it still didn’t take away from the fact that the day was warm, and that usually New Year’s Eve was a time for jackets and scarves and sweaters.

  He already had three of the graves completed, and the fourth almost done. They weren’t the standard six feet deep—more like four—but they would do just fine. After he removed the last bit of dirt from number four and evened out the bottom, he leaned against his shovel and looked out at the green rolling hills of the cemetery. In the past, a place like this was a peaceful home for the dead. Now, peaceful aside, it seemed like everywhere was home for the dead.

  For days he had known he was going to have to come out here and do this. The only question had been, how many graves would he have to dig?

  The pandemic took his father first.

  Ben had been at his apartment in Santa Cruz two days before Christmas when his phone rang.

  “Ben? Ben, please come home.” It was his mother. He had never heard her sound more frightened.

  “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, something’s wrong. Haven’t you been watching TV?

  Of course he had. He’d been stuck on his couch riveted to the news coverage of the shipping containers that seemed to be spread around the world, belching out an as yet unknown substance.

  “It’s probably nothing,” he said, trying to find words that might calm her down. “I’m sure it will all be over soon, and everything will be back to normal.”

  “Please, come home,” she said. “I’d feel a lot better. The rest of us are here.”

  “Dad’s not at work?”

  “They closed his office today.”

  Those five little words did more to scare Ben than the hours of news he’d been watching.

  “Please, Ben. Please.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

  “Thank you,” she said, clearly relieved. “Oh, and Ben, if you see a drugstore open, can you pick up some cold medicine? Your father isn’t feeling too well.”

  His dad had lasted until the day after Christmas. By then, his sisters Kathy and Karen had already come down ill, and his mother was starting to sniffle. Kathy held on the longest. He kept hoping she’d pull out of it like he had in the spring. There was one day when she seemed to be doing better, but the next morning she was worse than before. Finally, just over twenty-four hours earlier, she had drifted off to join the rest of his family.

  By then, he had no more tears left.

  He had figured out pretty early that he was immune, had even sent out a silent thank you, but as his family continued to die, he began
to wonder if being immune was actually worse. The only thing that kept him sane—the only thing—was thinking about Martina. If his previous exposure to Sage Flu made him immune, it would have been the same for her.

  He had tried calling, but kept being immediately directed to her voice mail. Every time he’d left a message, but not once had she called back. Then, the same day Karen died, his cell phone stopped receiving a signal at all, so all he could do was focus on nursing Kathy.

  He knelt down and checked his work. The bottom of the grave was nice and flat, the corners perfectly edged. It was important to him to be as precise as possible. It was the way his father, a US Navy vet, would have liked it.

  The plots were near a tree on a west-facing slope, the very ground his parents had purchased several years ago for the day they would need it. He hadn’t realized they’d taken the step until he found the information in their things.

  Naturally, they had bought only two plots, so he was worried when he came out here that he’d have to double up, maybe his parents together in one, and his sisters in the other. But the spots on both sides of his parents’ chosen resting places were vacant. Since it was unlikely anyone would claim the land, he did.

  He had appropriated a Winnebago motor home from one of his parents’ neighbors, and used it to transport his family to the cemetery. He started with his father first, half carrying, half dragging him across the lawn, then laying him as gently as possible into one of the center two graves. His mother came next, and then, flanking his parents, his sisters.

  He’d considered finding coffins for each of them at first, but one check of the available boxes inside the mortuary quickly dispelled that notion. They were far too heavy for him to move by himself, and would be even more so once they were filled. His parents and sisters would have to make do with the sheets he had wrapped them in.

  Standing there in the shade of the tree, he wasn’t sure what he should do next. To this point it had been almost a mechanical process—shroud the bodies, transport them, dig the graves, put the bodies in the holes. In fact, if it hadn’t been like that, he may have never been able to finish. But now, with only the burying remaining, he felt he should do something more.

  A prayer, maybe?

  The only prayer he knew was the Lord’s Prayer, and even with that one he was unsure about some of the wording. Still, it was better than nothing.

  He moved to the foot of the graves and began.

  “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive…”

  Is it “our trespassers”? That didn’t seem right.

  As he tried to recall the correct phrase, a memory came to him. His mother, young and vibrant, holding his hand in hers while carrying his sister—it must have been Kathy—as they entered a church.

  When they were inside, she glanced down at him and said in a quiet voice, “Don’t forget, Benjamin, no talking.” She squeezed his hand and smiled.

  It was a short memory, a minor detail of some forgotten day, but it was more than enough to knock him to his knees. He had thought he’d finished with the tears. He had thought his emotions had already played out.

  He was wrong.

  He rolled onto his back on the narrow strip of grass between his mother and father, the last time together as a family, the five of them in a row. How long he sobbed, he didn’t know, but by the time he regained control again, the shadows had grown long.

  It took all of his effort, but he finally forced himself to his feet and picked up the shovel.

  Again, he felt the need to say something, but this time not even a prayer came to mind, so he stuck the blade into the pile of dirt and began filling the graves.

  6

  WYOMING-MONTANA BORDER

  5:49 PM MST

  ASH AND THE others of the last contingent to leave the Ranch spent the entire day trying to stay ahead of the storm. Their luck ran out twenty-three miles north of Sheridan, Wyoming.

  At first it was only a smattering of snow, the flakes hitting the road and melting almost immediately, but in no time, the intensity increased to a point the Humvees had to slow to a crawl.

  “We’ll stop in Sheridan and find shelter,” Matt announced over the radio. “Looks like we’re going to have to ride this out.”

  The final twenty miles took them nearly an hour and a half, so by the time they exited the I-90 onto Main Street, four inches of snow had already covered the asphalt.

  “Pizza Hut!” Brandon said, looking out his window. He turned to his father. “You think the food there might still be good? Maybe we can make a pizza.”

  “Maybe,” Ash said.

  “Probably best not to get your hopes up,” Josie told her brother.

  “I know, but…it’d be great if we could.”

  Josie shook her head, but Ash could tell she was hoping her brother was right.

  “There’s a Super 8 motel up here on the left,” Matt radioed. “We’ll pull in and check it out. The rest of you stay in your vehicles.”

  Chloe drove their Humvee into the lot and parked, leaving the motor running. Outside, snow swirled in the headlight beams as a brisk breeze rocked the truck. From their position, they could see a few lights on in the motel, but not much else.

  “How are you feeling?” Dr. Gardiner asked Ash.

  “Not as bad as I thought I’d feel,” Ash said, truthfully.

  “Any unusual pains or discomfort?”

  “Nothing that wasn’t there before we started.”

  That seemed to be the answer the doctor wanted to hear. “I can give you some pain pills before you go to sleep tonight.”

  “Keep them.”

  Gardiner studied him for a moment. “Are you sure? It’ll help you sleep.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Ash said.

  “Good,” Gardiner said. “But no running around once we get out. I want you to find a bed and stay there.”

  “I’ll make sure he does,” Josie said before her father could speak.

  Ash raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you will, will you?”

  “I will,” she said, meeting his stare.

  The radio crackled.

  “This is a bust,” Matt said. “Most of the rooms are…occupied. I checked the phone book. There are several more motels we can try.

  “How about that one?” Josie said, pointing across the street.

  Through the storm, Ash could see a weakly lit yellow sign with a word that looked like “motel” at the bottom. “Tell him,” he told her.

  Chloe handed the microphone back to Josie. Tentatively, Josie pushed the talk button.

  “Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Josie.”

  “Josie? What is it?”

  “There’s a motel right across the street.”

  Silence for a moment. “I can’t see anything from here,” Matt said.

  Ash took the mic from his daughter. “It’s there, all right. We’ll swing over and check it out.”

  “Okay. We’ll meet you there in a minute.”

  The new place was called The Paradise Motel. It was one of those single-story structures like the Bates Motel from Psycho, hopefully minus the insane manager. Ash couldn’t see all the way to the back, but there had to be at least a dozen rooms.

  Chloe parked the truck near the front. “Doc, you want to join me for a look around?”

  “What? Me?” Gardiner said, surprised.

  “Unless you think it’s all right for Ash to come along.”

  “No. Of course not. I’ll, um—”

  “I’ll go with you,” Lily said from the back.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Brandon said.

  “I don’t think so,” Ash said.

  “Why not?”

  Ash opened his mouth, but no response came to mind. Searching the motel would be nothing compared to the ordeal Brandon had gone through after Project Eden attacked the Ranch.
/>   “It’s okay,” Gardiner said. “I can go.”

  “No offense, Dr. Gardiner, but I have more experience than you,” Brandon said. He glanced toward Lily. “Than you, too.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, Ash knew his son was right.

  “You can go,” he said, “but only if you listen to everything Chloe tells you. She’s in charge.”

  Brandon had the door open before his father had even finished. “Sure, sure. No problem.”

  __________

  BRANDON WAS TOO excited to feel the cold as he climbed out of the truck. He thought for sure his dad would not back down, but he had.

  “Over here,” Chloe called from around the front of the truck.

  As he jogged over, he said, “You want to start in the front and me in the back? Or the other way around?”

  “Not so fast, hotshot. What I want is for you to stick close to me, okay?”

  His smile dipped a little, but not much. “Sure. No problem.”

  They headed over to the covered walkway that ran down the length of the building. Approximately every twenty feet along was a door to a room, each with a window beside it. Most of the windows had curtains drawn across them, and those that didn’t revealed rooms too dark to make anything out.

  Chloe tried a few doors, but they were all locked.

  “Office,” she said, turning the other way. “They’ll have keys there.”

  The office door was locked, too, but it took only a few shoves from Chloe’s shoulder to pop the door free.

  As she stepped inside, she pushed her hood back. “Son of a bitch, it’s like a sauna in here.” She shot a quick look at Brandon. “Don’t tell your dad I said that.”

  “He says worse,” Brandon said as he joined her. She was right. Someone had left the lobby heat on at a nice toasty temperature.

  Along one wall was a ten-foot-long reception counter, and on the wall behind it, a cabinet consisting of several cubbyholes, each with a key inside. To the side of the cabinet was a closed door.

  While Brandon checked under the reception desk for anything of interest, Chloe began pulling out the keys and setting them on the counter.

  A noise from somewhere behind Brandon caused him to pause. “Was that you?” he asked.