The Survivors Book IV: Spring

by V. L. Dreyer

  "I'm not changing my mind," he replied. "Hell, I'm already thinking about how to arrange the furniture."

  "What furniture?" I asked, looking around at the barren interior. "The desk, the chair, the tiny couch, the tiny armchairs, or the dead house plant?"

  "Hey, it's not great furniture, but it's a start," he replied. "We'll head out into town and start collecting proper furniture once we've got the basics handled."

  "Speaking of which," Skye interjected, drawing our attention back to her. "I wanted to talk to you guys about something."

  "Oh?" I raised my brows and looked at her. "What's up, little sis?"

  Skylar sighed heavily, and went over to sit in one of the armchairs. She immediately grimaced and shifted in her seat. "Wow, these really are tiny."

  "I told you," I replied dryly. "I think they're made for kids or something."

  "We'll find something better later," she said absently. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about my role within the group." Another sigh, and she glanced up at me thoughtfully. "Now that we're here, you don't really need me to keep the provisioning and rationing under control anymore. I just… I dunno, I don't want to go back to being useless. You've got Gavin now to handle any radio communications, so you don't need me for that. Michael handles security, Anahera handles schooling and organises the kids, and Doc's already setting up a medical bay down by the cafeteria. Everyone has their place except for me. I don't want to live my life in your shadow, just being 'the other McDermott sister', you know?"

  "Aw, you'll never be that," I said. I disentangled myself from Michael and went over to sit on the couch. "We need you to keep doing what you're doing, now more than ever. We've got so many people looking up to us, and we need to make sure that we've always got enough resources to feed them, clothe them, and keep them warm and clean. Hell, now we've got to think about the acquisition of furniture for everyone, too. We need someone who knows exactly what we have and what we need, and can tell us what we need to make or find before it's too late."

  "Oh." Skye paused for a long moment, then suddenly she looked at me. "Oh! I can do all of those things! I didn't even think about that. Great. So I can be the… what's the word?"

  "The quartermaster?" Michael suggested.

  "Yeah!" She nodded enthusiastically, her golden curls bobbing around her face. "I can be the quartermaster! Well, quartermistress, I guess. Quarterperson?"

  "You can call yourself whatever you like," I said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "The job is yours, if you want it. We want to try and avoid people helping themselves to more than we can spare, so it's best if we set you up with an office and keep the supplies under lock and key when you're not there. Can you find something suitable?"

  "Just watch me!" she said, leaping up out of the armchair so fast that she almost knocked it over. Halfway out the door, she paused and glanced back at us. "Oh, Simon's looking for you. He asked me to ask you to meet him in his recording studio, which is up on Level Five."

  "Will do," I agreed. She waved and ran off, then I glanced over at Michael. "Coming?"

  "Absolutely," he replied. "I've got to find out what this big news is before it kills me. Give me a second, though."

  I nodded my agreement and waited while he vanished into the room which had been an office, and was going to be our bedroom. A minute later, he came out with a roll of tape and a piece of paper with our names written on it. He taped the sign to the front door, tossed the tape aside, and offered me his hand.

  We made our way back to the stairwell and up to Level Five. Along the way, we passed a few familiar faces who waved to us; we waved back, but kept on walking. It took a few minutes for us to find Simon's recording studio. I eventually spotted him through an open door; he was sitting at a desk surrounded by sheets of paper and assorted stationery, intensely focused on writing in a worn exercise book. He was so focused that he nearly jumped out of his skin when I cleared my throat and knocked.

  "Oh, Sandrine!" he cried, almost levitating out of his chair. "I've been waiting for you. Come in, please." He glanced at Michael and nodded a greeting. "Hello again… Michael, wasn't it?"

  "Yes," Michael confirmed, nodding. "Sorry, we came as soon as we heard you were looking for us."

  "Well, I was just looking for her but you're welcome to come along," Simon admitted, with an embarrassed smile. "Come in, have a seat."

  We went over to the indicated couch and seated ourselves. A moment later, Simon plunked down in an armchair nearby.

  "We caught one of your broadcasts where you mentioned having news for us," I said. "Care to tell us what you were hinting at before we all go crazy?"

  Simon laughed and nodded. "I will, don't worry. First of all, though, we must make some plans for tonight's broadcast. I need you up there with me."

  "What?" I froze, staring at him. "You want me to be on the news?"

  "I believe I said 'need'," he answered dryly. "I definitely need you to appear on the show. We can do a recording if you don't want to go on live, but the people have to see you. They need to see your face, and hear your voice. They need to know that you're a real person, not just a rumour."

  "Oh, that makes sense," I said softly, struggling to fight down the wave of nausea that rose inside me. "I'm going to need some time to think about what I'm going to say. Do we have very long?"

  "If you're happy being on the live broadcast, then you've got a couple of hours," he said. "If you're too nervous to do it live, then we'll need to get recording as soon as possible."

  I took a deep breath and nodded. "We'll do it live. I need as much time as I can to work my speech out. In the meantime, tell us the other news. When you dropped that little titbit on your show, it started a whole slew of rumours that someone's found a cure for Ebola-X."

  "They have," Simon said simply.

  My jaw fell open in shock. "What? Really?"

  A faint smile touched his lips, and his deadpan relaxed. "In a roundabout sort of way."

  "Er, what?" I glanced at Michael, then looked back at him. "Explain, please."

  "It's probably best if I let him explain it himself," Simon said. He pulled a remote control out of his back pocket and pointed it at a large flat-screen television hanging on the wall opposite us. "While I was out scavenging about two months ago, I found a USB flash drive taped to a door in a plastic bag. It was too weird to ignore, so I decided to open it. I think you'll find it as interesting as I did."

  The screen lit up, and a moment later a video began to play. The camera shook for a second, then a scrawny young man in thick glasses and a lab coat sat down in front of the lens.

  "If you've found this, I'm probably dead – but you're obviously not, so… hey there!" the young man on the video said, waving to the camera in a way that just made him look even more awkward. "It's February 23rd. We've been down here for forty-three days, trying to find a way to kill the goma ebolavirus before it kills us. We've been making slow but steady progress, but this morning there was a setback: Collins tested positive for the virus during our regular screenings. We've had to put him in the isolation ward and everyone else has come up clean, but we're all a bit shaken."

  "Wait," I said, holding up a hand. Simon paused the playback and looked at me quizzically. "Is this what I think it is? I heard rumours about an underground laboratory, but we always assumed it was just that: rumours."

  "I thought it was, too – until I found this," Simon answered, his voice losing all traces of humour. "I found a facility, up in the hills. I didn't feel safe exploring it by myself, but this was taped to the front door. We'll need to go back and look for more information, but for now just keep watching." He resumed playback, and we turned our full attention back to the screen.

  "Yeah, so um… I'm Clyde. Clyde Russell. Dr Russell – or I would have been at the end of next year." The young man threw his arms wide and grinned at the screen. "Dr Russell, boy genius and geneticist to the stars!" He slumped and heaved a long sigh. "Okay, maybe not. I guess there probabl
y aren’t any stars left out there anymore. But we have to keep working, just in case. Maybe there's someone left alive. Maybe someone survived this mess. Well, I guess if you're hearing this then someone has, right?"

  "Russell!" someone shouted from out of the view of the camera. "Where are my goddamn cultures?!"

  Clyde squeaked in surprise and slapped the camera off. Simon pressed a few buttons on his remote control, then a second video began to play. The screen shook for a few seconds, then Clyde sat down in front of it again. His clothing had changed and he was looking tired and frazzled. "It's day forty-five now, and something's gone wrong. I don't know how. We're deep underground, and we're on filtered air, filtered water, sterilized food. Everything is sealed up tight, nothing's coming in from the outside at all. It should have been enough. It should have! But Dr Scott's caught the virus now, we tested her this morning. I don't know how this is happening. How is this happening? Argh!"

  He made a frustrated sound and slammed his fist down on the table, then sighed and looked into the camera again. "We're all going to die. It's inevitable. There's an immunity gene, but none of us are carriers. We've been trying so hard to prevent exposure… it doesn't matter. I'm recording this because I don't want to die without my life meaning something. I think we might be onto something. Maybe. I'll update as soon as I know more."

  He leaned over and switched off the camera again. Simon set a third video playing without a word. This time, the young doctor was looking tired and rumpled, his eyes bloodshot with dark circles under them. "Day fifty-three. Collins and Scott are dead. They hung themselves in the isolation rooms. We can't even go in and cut the bodies down; Professor Fa'amoe says it's too dangerous. I don't think it's going to make much of a difference, to be honest. It's too late for us, we'll be joining them soon enough – but at least we've made progress.

  "We've determined that a cure is impossible," he said, absently removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "The virus does too much damage, too quickly. Once the damage is done, it's impossible to reverse. But we think we've worked out a way to engineer a course of vaccines based off blood samples we took from people with the immunity gene before we had to go full dark. I have no idea whether it will do much good for whoever has survived, but I hope it'll help. If not… well, there isn't much else we can do. I'm sorry. We tried."

  The screen went dead again, and this time it was permanent. I sat up straight and looked at Simon. "Is that all of it? What happened to him?"

  "I don't know yet," he admitted. "There was more data on the flash drive, but the files were corrupted. I didn't want to risk going into that facility alone, so I've been waiting for you to arrive."

  "How much good would a vaccine do us, though?" Michael asked, a deep frown on his face. "We're already immune."

  "I'm not sure, but if they have it then we should try and find it," Simon said. "It might be the most important discovery of our time."

  "It is," I said, hugging myself against a chill that only I could feel. "But it's not for us. It's for our children. We still don't know for certain whether or not the child of two immune parents will always be immune herself. A vaccine would eliminate the chance altogether. If they completed it, it works, and we can figure out a way to make it, then we'll never have to worry about losing a baby to Ebola X. Ever."

  Neither of them had anything to say to that.

  Chapter Ten

  "You ready for your television debut?" Michael asked, squeezing my shoulder in a way that somehow managed to be both teasing and reassuring. We were waiting off to one side of the stage while Simon was running through the last few smaller bits of news at the beginning of his show.

  "No, not really," I admitted.

  Michael laughed and shook his head. "Well, I think you'd better get ready, because it looks like you're up."

  Sure enough, Simon turned and gave me a nod. I swallowed hard, straightened my shoulders, flicked my hair back over my shoulders, and glanced at Michael again. "Do I look all right?"

  "…Asks the most beautiful woman on earth," he replied. "Get out there before the Anchorman has a fit."

  His comment made me laugh, and gave me the boost of confidence I needed to walk out onto the stage in front of the camera that would broadcast my face to the rest of the country. I already had my entire speech planned out, along with every step, every gesture, and every facial expression. I'd practiced it a dozen times. I knew that I could do it. I came up beside Simon and turned to face the camera with just the faintest smile on my lips.

  "Hello, New Zealand," I said, my words practised and even. "By now, I'm sure that you've heard my name. I am Sandrine McDermott, the leader of the group that the media—" I glanced at Simon and smiled wryly. "—or what's left of it, has taken calling the New Exodus."

  I put my hands on my hips and looked straight into the camera, forcing myself to project as much strength and kindness as I possibly could. "The New Exodus is over. We've reached our destination. Now, the next step of our journey begins. Today we broke ground on Tumanako, the City of Hope, which we are building out of the ruins of what used to be Lower Hutt.

  "One hundred and thirty-four souls call Tumanako home on this, the first day of our new beginning. Men and women, young and old, our citizens cover the spectrum of human society. We have doctors and nurses, veterinarians and engineers, soldiers and teachers – a cross-section of everything you could imagine. Come to us as a friend, and we will welcome you with open arms. Come to us as an enemy, and we will fight you to our last breath.

  "You no longer need to live in fear, New Zealand. You no longer need to hide amongst the ruins and run from strangers. I know how that feels, because I have lived that life, and I swear to you that no citizen of Tumanako will ever have to live like that again unless they choose to.

  "Come to Lower Hutt, my friends. We're waiting for you to join us. You are welcome here, and you will be safe. Contribute equally, and you will be fed and clothed as one of our own. We'll protect you and your family, and help your children grow up in a world better than the one left to us.

  "Together, we will forge a new world, a world like the one we left behind but adapted to fit our ideals and our culture. This is our world now, and we will face the trials it holds together – you, me, and every other Child of Hope. Join us, and we will stand as one to face the future. Thank you."

  "No, thank you," Simon said, his voice soft and almost reverent. He smiled at me and nodded his approval. "And there you have it, viewers. The magnificent Sandrine McDermott, in the flesh. Thank you, Sandrine. I can take care of things from here."

  I nodded and made my way off the set. Simon's praise was unexpected, and it left my cheeks burning; I'd had a crush on the man for nearly ten years, and some parts of me apparently weren't as dead as I thought they were. The look he'd given me at the end of my speech… it was the kind of look I usually only received from Michael. A special kind of look.

  I found Michael waiting for me outside the set. He fell in beside me and matched my step as we walked back towards the stairs. Eventually, I calmed down enough to take a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh. "Well, that was stressful. Let's not do that again."

  "I don't think you'll have to," he said, sliding an arm around my waist. I tensed a little, suddenly afraid that he'd noticed my reaction to Simon's praise, but he hadn't. He just smiled at me and gave me a sideways hug. "Simon said something about recording the broadcast, so I assume he can just keep replaying your speech when he needs to."

  "Good," I replied. I took another deep breath, but this time I let it out as a playfully grumpy sound that was a hybrid of a growl and a whine. "I am not cut out for television!"

  "I beg to differ," he said, squeezing me tenderly. "If I hadn't seen you falling apart before you went on stage, I never would have guessed that you were nervous at all. You did a fantastic job."

  "Flatterer," I replied without missing a beat, then I gave him a playful slap on the rump
. "Come on. Let's go see what kind of state this kitchen is in. It's almost dinner time, and the natives will start getting restless if we don't feed them."

  Right on cue, my stomach rumbled. Michael and I both laughed, and together we headed down the stairs towards Level Two. The majority of that level was taken up by a big cafeteria, with dozens of tables and chairs set up around the middle of the room, and couches and armchairs around the outside. Huge windows gave us a view out across the park to the river, and through them we could see the sun setting on the horizon.

  "We're going to need to see about getting curtains up," I said as we walked through the room towards the door at the back that most likely led into the kitchens. "The former tenants may not have cared about all the heat they were letting out those lovely big windows, but we do. No point wasting our precious power, right?"

  "Right," he agreed, nodding. "We'll need to get some people in here to clean off these tables. Looks like Simon didn't come in here much."

  "Yeah, there's an inch of dust on everything," I replied. I reached the end of the counter and lifted up the little door that was designed to keep the public out, then made my way behind the display cabinets. A few seconds later, I let myself into the kitchen – and almost bowled over poor Elly.

  "Oh!" she cried, leaping away from me.

  "Ack!" I jumped in surprise and hopped backwards, stumbling into Michael. "Elly! God, you just about gave me a heart attack."

  "Likewise," she replied. She swallowed a deep breath, and then gave us a smile. "Sorry, I was just standing here trying to figure out where to begin. They'll be bringing the food up any minute and… well, look for yourself."

  I glanced around the big kitchen and cringed. "Wow, I see what you mean. Looks like the folks here left in a hurry."

  "Yes, and they left all the food behind to rot," she replied. "We did have one stroke of luck, though. I don't quite know how, but somehow that cooler over there is still working."