“A needle.”
“Huh?”
Alexis and Dr. Taylor were talking. He couldn’t understand them. They were so far away. Someone else was there too. Someone familiar, but Cal couldn’t figure out who. He was dreaming again, another unsettling dream, like those during hibernation aboard Michael.
His doppelganger closed its eyes and its arms rose from its side, as if he was feeling the sun on his face after a long winter’s slumber.
“Do you feel it coming?” it asked. A haunting, chilling question in alien context.
“What the hell is going on?”
Damn it, he’s seizing. Dr. Taylor again.
“You’re really going to make me repeat myself?”
“I’m dying,” Cal gasped.
His twin nodded. “On the bright side, it’s a noble death. Jake will tell everyone how you sacrificed yourself to save his family.” A cruel, twisted grin spread across his mirrored face. “Oh wait, he won’t. Because if the truth came out, he would be torn from his family, and Darius would put him in stasis.”
Cal swallowed hard, even as his fingers and toes grew numb. “It doesn’t matter. I know the truth. Alexis will think it was for her.”
“Or that you’re an idiot who couldn’t count. Either case, it’s been nice knowing you.” There was an awkward pause. “Oh come on, that was a good one. Laugh a little.”
Cal lay back on the grass once more, looking up at the Texas sky for one last time.
* * *
Alexis McLaughlin
About an hour later
She couldn’t control her tears. Not that she wanted to. The love of her life, the man who saved her from death, the man who was the very reason she breathed, lay on their bed upstairs. Cal had been at her side the whole time, tending to her every need, even as he had fallen ill himself. His fever was rampant, and the seizures were growing worse. Alexis wanted to be with him through it all, but Darius had pulled her away.
Doctor Taylor needs to concentrate, he had insisted. He had carried her down the stairs like Cal would have carried a sack of grain. Her sapped strength from her own ordeal prevented her from fighting back. Let Doc do her job.
No, I want to be with him. If… if he goes, I need… she had protested.
It won’t come to that. I promise.
It was the promise that swayed her. Not her weakness and inability to help. Not her burning desire to be with her gravely ill husband. It was the calm, solemn, and sincere promise of the Hero of Concordia. The promise that if she let Dr. Taylor work uninterrupted, Cal would survive.
But that was almost an hour ago. Guilt and fear were her enemies just as much as the clock. She hadn’t heard anything in an hour, and it was killing her inside. Mercy had to come at some point. Mercy in the form of news. Mercy in grief or relief. Alexis was growing too tired to care which it was.
Then the footsteps came. Alexis took two deep breaths to stem the tears. She craned her neck to hear, anxious to know whether they were the doctor’s light steps, or the governor’s solid stride. As she choked on her tears, she realized it was both. They emerged at nearly the same time. Worry was written on both of their faces.
“Doctor?” she sobbed.
“He’s stable,” she said, wringing her wrinkled hands. “At least for now. He can’t stay here. He’ll die of exposure before his body can even think of fighting off the infection.”
Alexis’s lips trembled and she buried her head in her hands. “Oh God. Oh God, please don’t let him die.”
“He won’t,” Darius assured. “I made a promise to you, and I’ll be damned if I don’t keep it.”
“We’re going to move him to Michael as soon as we can,” the doctor added. “There’s heat there, and I can keep a closer eye on him, too.”
Alexis flew off of her perch on the counter and threw her tiny arms around Dr. Taylor’s neck. “Oh my God, thank you.”
The doctor returned a light embrace, but then gently pushed Alexis out to arm’s length, keeping a firm grasp on her shoulders and looking into her eyes. The concern was no less apparent than when she came down from the loft. “He’s not out of the woods yet. The fever is burning up his brain. Even if he survives, I can’t guarantee he’ll be the same afterwards.”
Alexis could only contain her fear and anxiety for a few moments. As bravely as she met the news, she could only manage to keep her emotions in check so far. She sobbed softly as the doctor and the governor left the shop.
“I’m sorry, Alexis. We’ll do what we can,” Governor Owens said as he cinched the belt on his heavy overcoat and stepped through the portal into the heavy, slushy snow.
Vocatum Messorem
Chief James Vandemark
12 April, 2 yal, early morning
Camp Eight
As he parted the storm curtain, a wall of grotesque air knocked him back and turned his stomach sour in an instant. James gagged and coughed, trying to clear the stench of stewing vomit from his sinuses. Once he was certain that he wouldn’t throw up, James secured a makeshift handkerchief, cut from a torn flight suit, over his nose and mouth.
The doctor wasn’t kidding, he thought.
James entered the clinic. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, and the rag did little to reduce the stench. He had to force back the urge to vomit, a task made more difficult with every step he took. All eight beds in the clinic were occupied. Other patients filled the gaps between the beds, lying on the dirt or propped up against the wall. Moans of discomfort were accentuated every few seconds by someone retching. Shivers ran down James’s spine as he took in the pitiful scene. Dr. Petrovsky rested against the short partition wall near the rear, doubled over in agony. It was he who was the source of the retching noises.
Shit.
Emilia emerged from behind the partition with a folded cloth, which she held against the doctor’s brow until his spasms stopped and he could take it from her. She scurried up to meet James, worry clearly evident on her normally stony face.
“How is he?” James asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be him, that’s for sure.” She sighed and shook her head. “He’s in the early stages. It’s only going to get worse for him.”
James nodded. The disease borne by the survivors of the Lake Raphael settlement had never really gone away. The sick were quarantined until they recovered. The village would go a few weeks without any incident, and then a new case would crop up. At first they were only from the haggard group of refugees led by Daniels, but eventually Camp Eight’s residents had fallen ill. Until a week ago, it was never more than one or two cases at a time.
That was when the disease flared up with a cluster of eight new cases. In that short span, almost fifty residents of Camp Eight had either become ill, or started to experience symptoms. Doctor Petrovsky took as many as he could into the clinic, the rest were waiting at the Palm Palace. James grimaced as he took another look at the stricken doctor, who looked pale and emaciated, even from twenty feet away. The medical staff was now down to just two: Emilia and Patricia.
One for each building. Damn.
“Any idea on how to fight it?” he asked.
“No. Hell, the other group never figured it out. All they did was drag it here with them.”
“Nothing at all?” The news was unsettling, and it made him clutch his makeshift mask tighter against his face.
“No. Shit, Chief, I don’t even know if we’re dealing with something bacterial, viral, or fungal. And if this thing is a prion, we’ve got no chance in hell. Might as well lock us all in the Palace and set it on fire.”
James swallowed hard. “Is it fatal?”
“Probably. No one who’s caught it since those refugees arrived has died, but if what I’ve heard from some of those people is true, it’s a killer. Horrible death, too. You don’t want to know about it.”
“Maybe not, but I need to know. It’s my responsibility.”
Emilia nodded and cast a quick sideways glance at one of t
he patients. “High fever. Vomiting and extreme diarrhea. Slow recovery time. A great cocktail for dying from any number of issues, not the least of which are starvation and dehydration. I hate to say it, but I think the fever would be the best way to go, because at some point you’d either go into a coma, or your brain would be so cooked that you wouldn’t be able to comprehend what’s happening.”
James scowled harshly at the nurse. “You mean you’d rather someone die as a vegetable?”
“Would you rather die of thirst because you can’t keep it down?” she shot back. “Because I’ve heard from the other colonists that’s what happened to a lot of people.”
James shuddered. The sounds of suffering came at him from every angle, and he couldn’t bear to be in the clinic any more. “Just keep me updated,” he said tersely as he left.
He stormed down the path toward the sea. As soon as the clinic was out of sight he tore the mask from his face and drew in deep breaths of the salty air. It wasn’t until he reached the beach that he could no longer smell remnants of the vile disease. James tried to convince himself that this was all a trick of the mind, and that whatever force responsible for the disease was contained as best as it could be. But he couldn’t help noticing that the beach was nearly deserted at a time of day that should have been prime for fishermen and young children.
I need to talk to Daniels and find out just what the hell she knows.
* * *
Karen Daniels
Later that afternoon
Karen grunted and strained as she tried in vain to keep the logs from falling out of position as she wrapped the thick cord of vines around them. Her knees ached from kneeling on the hard, uneven wood for too long, and her hands were raw and blistered. She was close to finishing her project, but for every step she completed in the canoe’s construction, mounting fatigue slowed her progress.
Damn it. This should be done already.
“Can you give me a hand with this?” she asked Mina.
The younger woman turned away from her work collecting salt from the trunk of a mighty palm tree. Her strides were impossibly long for a woman of her height, Karen thought as Mina covered the distance in only four steps.
“What do you need me to do?”
“I’m going to hold these two logs together. I need you to lash them to the pylon there.”
Mina nodded and knelt in the dirt in front of the pylon, straddling the logs that would make up the crude outrigger. She slipped the rope into position and nodded to Karen. Karen squeezed the timbers together with all her might, then lifted slightly upward to allow Mina to double up the rope if needed. Mina’s hands worked quickly, wrapping and weaving the two logs together.
“Up a little more,” she said.
Karen sucked in a deep breath and pulled her arms closer to her chest. She could feel the logs wobble slightly as her arms trembled in exhaustion.
“Hurry up,” she panted.
“Just a moment.”
Karen gritted her teeth. Rivulets of sweat rolled from her brow. Just as her strength was about to fail, she felt the weight slack. Karen glanced over her shoulder to find that Chief Vandemark had come to her aid. A minute later Mina finished lashing the logs to the pylon, and the completed canoe was gently lowered back to the ground.
“Thanks,” Karen puffed.
“Not a problem,” James replied.
“How’s Jack?” Mina asked as she took a seat on the edge of the craft.
“Worse than yesterday, I’m afraid.”
Karen grimaced. The symptoms all fit. It looked as if the mysterious jungle disease had come back. Survivors of all stripes were being affected, even those who had previously fought off the illness. She was not surprised, but definitely concerned for what this might mean. James crossed his arms across his slender frame and leaned against a short vinewood. She could feel his stare piercing her, judging her.
“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” he said. His voice was low and soft, but there was no mistaking his disapproval and anger.
“We didn’t know.”
“Don’t jerk me around, Daniels.”
“We didn’t know it would happen,” she insisted. Her muscles tensed as she rebuked the accusation. “Everything we knew about the disease suggested that the salt air next to the coast would stop it.”
“And the sick people you traveled with? Some of them died. That should have been a clue,” he growled.
“They were all infected before we left Lake Raphael! We buried our dead along the way. Everyone who survived was able to make it and recovered in your quarantine camp. No one new got sick.”
“Until after you got here.”
Karen sighed. There was no way to deny that. There was no rampant disease in Camp Eight before their arrival. And what tore through the populace was too similar to be a coincidence. “Until we got here,” she admitted.
“You’ve brought a world of shit to my doorstep, Daniels.” His tone returned to that of cold anger.
“I’m sorry. We really thought this wouldn’t happen.”
“Because of what your medical staff told you.”
“Yes.”
“The staff that died from this. Every single one.”
“Hey! Brett tried to find a cure,” Mina protested.
“I wasn’t talking to you, little girl,” he snapped.
“Hey,” Daniels barked, taking two long, furious strides toward the chief. “You don’t talk to her that way.”
James straightened up and looked Karen in the eyes. Even though he exuded an air of confidence, she couldn’t help but notice that he was two inches shorter than she. Despite that, he was an intimidating force. Perhaps it was his position of power, or perhaps he was just crazy enough to go toe to toe with her anyway.
“You don’t talk to her that way,” she repeated firmly.
“She doesn’t speak unless spoken to,” he hissed. “Or so help me I will throw her out of this village.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me. You’ll be next.” His brown eyes burned with an intensity she hadn’t seen in years. “You’ve got no chips left, Daniels. Your people are sick, out of food, and far from home. If you want them to stay in this village, you do exactly what I say. You answer any damn question I ask. And your lieutenants do not question or interrupt me. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”
Karen clenched her teeth and nodded. She felt sick to her stomach that she had to comply with this diminutive dictator, but she had no choice. He was right; she had no cards left to play. Her people were entirely at his mercy, and mercy hinged on utter compliance.
“Crystal,” she grumbled.
“Good. Now tell me why this Brett guy thought that the disease would go away if you moved to the coast.”
Karen sighed, calling back to mind the dozens of conversations she had with Brett Wu before the plague took him. “We had sent scouts in all directions to try to find anything that might fight the sickness. Two of the teams never got sick. At least, not when they were scouting. The only thing we could figure out was that they were the ones scouring the coast to the south. Otherwise they were the same as any other team.”
“Can I talk to them?”
“No. Three of them fell sick and died after they were pulled from scouting duty. The last one was killed by a jaguar.”
“Unfortunate,” James remarked dryly. Karen balled her fist, her patience with his callousness wearing thing. “So why are survivors getting sick again?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”
“Did Brett have any ideas?”
How could he have?
She shook her head. “He was the first to fall ill for a second time.”
“I see. Do you have anyone left who hasn’t fallen sick a second time?”
Karen exchanged glances with Mina, who nodded. “Mina hasn’t. I haven’t. There are probably a dozen or so more.”
“Understood.” His voice warmed only slightly. “I want a li
st. Once Doctor Petrovsky recovers I want you two to work with him on figuring this out. I want to know if there’s a reason why some of you have only been sick once. It might be our best shot at stopping whatever this is.”
If Doctor Petrovsky recovers, you mean. She nodded in agreement. Chief Vandemark left the two women without a word of apology or gratitude.
“What an asshole,” Mina blurted.
Karen shook her head and turned her attention back to the canoe, inspecting the integrity of the new outrigger. “Don’t let him hear you say that. We can’t afford to piss him off again.”
Mina caught her by the arm and turned Karen to face her. The younger woman made no effort to hide her disgust and indignity. “You’re just going to take that from him?”
“Yes,” she replied without skipping a beat. “And so will you. For Jack’s sake. For everyone’s sake.”
* * *
Karen Daniels
19 April, 2 yal, mid morning
A distant crack echoed through the air, barely audible over the calls of the gulls that circled above. Karen barely noticed; it was mating season for many species of animals, and jaguars were particularly aggressive this time of year. But jaguars didn’t swim in the open ocean, and the catch that filled the canoe’s miniscule hold was in no danger.
Denise broke through the surface of the water like a missile. The torrent of sea water that ran down sprayed forth as it met her lips, cast away as she purged the spent air from her lungs. Karen turned her head slightly to the right instinctively. She then felt the canoe dip slightly to the left as Denise grabbed hold of the outrigger. Karen turned back toward her partner with an outstretched hand and retrieved a course, woven net that was offered to her. She dumped its contents into the basket at her feet. Large crustaceans and mollusks spilled forth, crawling over each other in an effort to skitter to safety. Karen quickly turned the net inside out and secured it over the basket’s maw, sealing the creatures’ escape path.
The canoe listed further as Denise climbed over the gunnels and took her seat at the bow. Karen took a moment to study her partner’s mood. Denise had insisted that she was coping fine before they shoved off at dawn. But she had barely spoken more than two words all day, and taken to Karen’s commands without question or attitude.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 95
