“The footprint’s about twice as large as the Lodge,” Matt explained as they walked down the corridor. “We can comfortably house fifty people down here for several months, if necessary. There are actually two more levels below this, but both are smaller and used only for storage.” He pointed to the left, down an intersecting hallway. “There’s a firing range down there, and our armory. That room…” He pointed at a door just head. “That’s the IT room, where all our servers and other computer equipment live.” He nodded at another hallway. “We have a small cafeteria down there, and several dorm rooms just on the other side of it.”
“I thought bomb shelters went out with the fifties.”
Matt glanced at him. “There are a lot more things to be scared of than just bombs.”
“Like what?”
“Like viruses that get out of control,” Billy said.
“Or, more importantly, the people behind them,” Matt added. “Here we are.”
He opened a set of double doors, then ushered Ash in. Billy’s examination room upstairs was nothing compared to the full-on operating room they’d just entered.
Billy pushed past both of them, heading straight for a sink against the wall. “There’s a shower and some gowns back there,” he said to Ash, pointing at a door in the far corner. “When you’re done, come back here and I’ll throw a couple ideas at you.”
Ten minutes later, they were all standing in front of a computer screen on a counter not far from the surgery table.
“If we had time, I’d do a lot more, but for now we need to achieve the biggest change we can with the minimum amount of downtime for you. Now, this is what I was—”
“I don’t care what you do,” Ash said.
“Don’t you want to have some say?”
“I just want my kids back.”
No one said anything for a moment.
Matt gave Ash’s shoulder a pat. “I’ll choose for him.”
Billy looked at Ash, silently asking if that was okay, but Ash said nothing.
The ranch’s doctor shrugged. “All right, then. Let’s mark you up.”
* * *
Rachel was sitting next to Ash’s bed when he woke, a book in her lap. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
His whole head throbbed. “I’m fine. What time is it?”
“Nine.”
“Evening, or…or morning.”
“Evening. You haven’t been out that long.”
It had been two p.m. when the surgery began, so he’d been unconscious for seven hours. He tried to touch his face, but it seemed to be covered in bandages.
“You’re a mess right now,” she said. “But in a couple of months it’ll all look normal to you.”
He tried to push himself up, but couldn’t. “I can’t…wait a couple of…months.”
“Of course not. We talked about that, remember?”
Did we? Maybe.
“Two days only, and we’ll use that time to get you as prepared as possible.”
Two days also seemed like too long. But what choice did he have? Without the new face, there was no chance he would ever even get close to his kids.
“Do you want to go back to sleep? Or get started?”
“Get started,” he said, his voice still weak.
“Excellent.” She picked up a folder that was on the stand by his bed. “Who are you?”
He squinted at her. “What?”
“You can’t be Captain Daniel Ash anymore, so who are you?”
Now he understood what she meant. A false name. “I don’t care. Anything. John Smith.”
“I think we can do better than that. Besides, you’re not just choosing for yourself, you’re choosing for your kids, too.”
He started to shake his head, but it only made it pound harder. He gave it a few seconds, then said, “Once people know what happened…we can go…back. Be ourselves again.”
She gave him a sad, knowing smile. “I tell you what. Why don’t we just pretend it’s important for right now? Better safe than sorry, right?”
“Sure. Whatever,” he replied, thinking he’d just choose the first name that came to mind. “How about—”
She touched his hand, stopping him. “I have some choices for you.” She opened the folder. “Tell me which one of these grabs you. Tyler Wright, Harold Boyce, Adam Cooper, William Keys, or Samuel Hunter. Anything stand out?”
He honestly didn’t care at all. “The third one,” he said.
“Adam Cooper?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He was silent for a moment. “Because I like the number three.”
She raised an eyebrow, then laughed softly to herself. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged, rifled through the papers in the folder, and pulled one out. “All right, Mr. Cooper. Let’s see exactly who you are.”
22
Karl Trainer could have just let it go, but he wasn’t that kind of friend. Besides, his route took him near Hector Mendez’s house anyway, so stopping for a quick check to see why his friend hadn’t shown up for work wouldn’t be that big of a deal.
When he got there, the first thing he noticed was Hector’s car still parked out front. He’d been hoping that maybe they’d just missed each other on the highway, and Hector was already at the warehouse. Of course, it could have been that his friend was having car troubles and had gotten one of his neighbors to drive him in. That would definitely explain why he was late.
Sure, that had to be it.
Karl almost drove off, but, hell, he was here anyway. Might as well check. He went up to the door and knocked.
No answer.
“See? Not home,” he said to himself.
As he took a step off the porch to head back to his rig, the nape of his neck began to tingle.
“Dammit,” he said.
His wife called it his whodoo-voodoo. He’d get it every once in a while, a feeling that something wasn’t right. The feelingitselfwasn’t always right, either. Still, there were enough times it was that he’d learned not to completely ignore it.
With an exasperated sigh, he decided to have a look around.
He’d been to Hector’s enough times that he knew its layout. Contrary to most of the houses he’d lived in, the living room in Hector’s place was in the back. Up front were the spare bedroom and the kitchen.
He skipped the window to the spare bedroom because he knew Hector only used it to store his mom’s old stuff, and glanced into the kitchen. There was nothing unusual there. An empty beer bottle on the counter, but what house didn’t have one of those now and then?
Hector’s place was far enough out of town that he didn’t need a fence. So Karl simply moved around the house and looked through the sliding glass door into the living room.
Nobody there. Nothing out of the ordinary. But that damn tingle wouldn’t go away.
He moved along the back to the window that looked in on Hector’s bedroom. The shade was pulled down, but the window was open about four inches so air could get inside.
“Hector?” he called through the gap.
Silence.
“He’s not here,” he said, trying to convince the tingle this was one of those times it was wrong. But it just kept burning away back there, in no apparent hurry to leave.
The screen over the window was loose, so it was a simple matter to pull it out a few inches, slip his hand behind it, and move the shade out of the way so he could take a look.
The room was dark, full of shadows, but the glow from the clock radio on the nightstand was bright enough that Karl could see someone lying on the bed. By the guy’s shape, Karl was all but positive it was his friend.
“Hector, is that you? Buddy, what are you doing? It’s after midnight. Hector. Hector! Wake up.”
Hector didn’t even twitch.
Karl’s first thought was that his friend had had a heart attack. Hector did love his greasy burgers so it wouldn’t be a huge surpris
e.
“Goddammit. I swear if you’re dead, I’m going to be pissed!”
Not knowing what else to do, Karl pulled the screen all the way off, pushed the window out of the way, and climbed through the opening. There was a dresser just on the other side, and as much as he tried to be careful, he ended up knocking a few things onto the floor before his feet reached the carpet.
“Sorry,” he said automatically.
Hector was lying on his side, facing away from him, so Karl moved around the bed, flicking on the bedroom light as he passed the switch.
It was Hector all right.
Karl put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and was surprised at how cold Hector felt.
“You okay, man?” he said, shaking him.
He touched his friend’s neck, searching for a pulse. But there was nothing.
“Oh, God.”
He was too late. Hector had already passed. As he started to pull his hand back, he noticed a whole pile of tissues, half on the bed, half on the floor below it. Without even thinking about it, he leaned down to take a closer look, then suddenly stopped himself and took a step back.
The previous night had been his off night, which meant he’d gone to bed a lot earlier and gotten up around noon. While he’d been sitting around the living room, flipping through the channels on the TV, he couldn’t help but get sucked into the news about the deadly flu outbreak in Sage Springs. Some of the reporters were saying that so far anyone who caught the disease had died. By the evening, after his wife had come home and they were watching the news together, the reports gave the impression that the situation was under control.
But here was Hector, dead from what looked like the flu to Karl. And didn’t Hector’s route take him through Sage Springs?
He stumbled back further, falling to the floor, his hand touching something moist. Quickly, he pushed himself back to his feet, not taking the time to see what it was.
“Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus.”
Facing the bed as if he expected Hector to rise out of it and attack him, he moved back to the window and scrambled outside.
There, he doubled over and rubbed his face as he tried to catch his breath. After several seconds, he stood up, knowing he had to get out of there. He raced to his truck and reached up to open the door. That’s when he saw it. The damp spot on the side of his hand. Water or…
…mucus.Hector’s snot.
Instantly he thought about the moist spot he’d touched when he fell.
Eyes wide in panic, he dropped to the ground and wiped his hand against the asphalt, but he knew it was already too late. He’d rubbed his hand across his face. It could have gotten in his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Hell, chances were he’d been infected the moment he stepped into the room.
“Unofficial sources have told me that, so far, no one who has caught this flu has survived.”
I’m a dead man.
Karl’s mother had been a saint, at least to him. She’d been the nicest, kindest person he’d ever known. “Just doing what’s right,” she’d say. “Don’t know how to live any other way.” Karl had learned from her example and tried to live that way, too. He was a good son, then later a good husband, and a good friend, as was evident by his trip to check on Hector.
Kneeling there beside his truck, he knew there was only one right thing he could do now.
He made three phone calls as he drove away. The first was to 911, reporting Hector’s death and warning them that it appeared to be related to the Sage Springs flu. The second was to work, telling them that Hector was sick and would be staying home, in case they were thinking about sending someone else out to check on him. He didn’t mention his own plans, that he wouldn’t be finishing his route, or, in fact, wouldn’t even be starting it.
The third call was to his wife’s cell phone. At that time of night, she would have turned it off, knowing if he were going to call, he’d use their landline. But he didn’t want to talk to her. He just wanted to tell her he loved her one last time, so he said it to her voice mail, then turned off his phone and shoved it under his seat.
After that, he drove into the desert, away from the highway, and down a side road he was pretty sure no one would be on for several days. After he parked, he found a couple scraps of paper in the glove compartment and wrote two identical notes:
DEATH FLU VICTIM INSIDE
DO NOT OPEN DOORS
CALL CDC
He then put them on the windows of both doors, and settled in.
If he were still feeling okay by noon the next day, he’d drive back into town and take whatever punishment the company decided to give him.
But punishment was unnecessary. Karl Trainer never did drive back into town.
* * *
Unlike Karl, the three guys who’d had breakfast with Hector — Luis Chavez, Diego Ortega, and Al Rangel — were not blessed with the foreknowledge of what happened to them. So the virus that was believed to be contained in the small town of Sage Springs gained more and more of a foothold in Victorville with every person the three men came into contact with. This included, but was not limited to: the waitress and hostess at Kerry’s Diner where they’d eaten, the customers at Ralph’s supermarket between 11:41 a.m. and 12:03 p.m., Al Rangel’s neighbor Charlie Fisher, and their respective spouses.
The disease then spread further through the eastern part of the city, clinging onto new hosts wherever it could. It was only by pure chance that none of those touched were heading over the hill into San Bernardino or Riverside or Orange County or Los Angeles. If that had happened, things could have gotten a whole lot worse.
Once again, Karl proved to be a hero. His call to 911 about Hector led to the entire town being shut down before sunrise, and the quarantine zone being expanded to a roughly triangular area that went from Victorville in the West, to China Lake in the North, to Barstow in the East.
When the calls of more sick and dead started coming in, at least it didn’t catch anyone by surprise. And by luck and the quick work of the National Guard, the Victorville branch of the outbreak ran its course without spreading further.
Unfortunately, health officials in Victorville weren’t the only ones who started receiving calls.
23
When Ash woke the morning after his surgery, the pain in his head had become more of a throb — a huge, pounding throb. Pax was asleep in a chair in the corner. Apparently he’d been given the late shift.
Carefully, Ash swung his legs off the bed, then walked, painful step after painful step, to the bathroom. When he finally came back out, Pax was awake.
“I’d have helped you if you needed it,” Pax said, getting out of his chair.
“I didn’t need it. Where are my clothes?”
“You should lie down. Take it easy.”
“Where…are they?”
Pax frowned and shook his head. “I’ll get ‘em.” He opened the closet next to the bathroom, pulled out a set of clean clothes, and laid them on the bed. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
It took Ash fifteen minutes to get dressed. When he walked out of the room, he found Pax leaning against the wall in the hallway. “Looks like you’ll live,” Pax said, giving Ash the once-over. “Come on. Everyone’s in the cafeteria.”
Ash knew he wasn’t a pretty sight. He’d taken a look at himself in the mirror, not because he was curious, but because he wanted to remember what the people who’d done this to his family had forced him to do. He wanted to remember the bandages, and the swollen face, and the bruises. He wanted to remember it all.
The cafeteria was more like a wide spot in the corridor than a room to itself. There were four long tables and, at the back, a counter that opened into a kitchen.
Matt, Rachel, and Billy were sitting together at one of the tables, while a woman Ash hadn’t met before was sitting at the next one over, alone. She had coffee-colored skin and long, black hair. After a moment, he realized she might very well be the woman he’d seen doing shoulder exercises outsi
de the day before.
In front of the tables was a TV on a cart. As soon as Ash and Pax walked up, Matt muted the volume, and the others got up and walked over to greet them. Everyone, that was, except the unknown woman.
“You should still be lying down,” Billy reprimanded Ash.
“I think he looks fine,” Rachel said. “How do you feel?”
“Sore,” Ash told them. “But I’m not going to spend the day in bed.”
Billy moved in close, examining the bandages and touching Ash’s face. Twice, Ash winced.
“I can give you something for the pain,” Billy offered.
“No.”
Matt smiled. “You look fine to me. Well, except for your face. Come. Sit down.”
As Ash took a seat, he glanced at the TV. They’d been watching the news.
“What happened while I was out?”
Rachel said, “Daniel Ash is officially a suspected terrorist.”
He took a breath, trying to keep his anger in check, then nodded. “Just like you said.”
On the screen, there was a shot of the desert. It was flat and brown and looked very much like the desert he’d seen on TV the previous day, and the desert he’d lived in for a month or so before… it happened.
The only difference today, though, was that instead of a steady shot, the picture was wildly jumping around. In the upper corner was a small graphic that read Earlier Today.
“What’s going on?” he asked, nodding at the screen.
Matt grabbed the remote and deactivated the mute.
Out of the speaker came the sounds of pounding feet, cloth rubbing against cloth, heavy breathing, and wind whipping across a microphone. Whoever was carrying the camera was running.
“Watch out! Bobby, Bobby. Watch out!” a female voice said.
The camera tilted quickly to the ground, revealing an offset crack in the asphalt. The cameraman seemed to take a hop step, then the image moved back up.
“This way,” the woman said.
As the lens turned to the left, the back of a young woman came into view. She glanced over her shoulder at the camera. It was the reporter Ash had watched on TV the day before.
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