Generation M (The Toucan Trilogy, Book 3)

by Scott Cramer

  “Yes, Lieutenant Dawson, I support the transfer.”

  With that, the meeting adjourned.

  1.16

  CASTINE ISLAND STRAIT

  Jordan couldn’t form words or even move. Wenlan, wearing a white doctor’s jacket, stood beside the bed, stitching together an open wound on his lower leg. Her silky black hair fell just above her waist.

  Cries came from outside of the room. He must be in the clinic in Mystic, and the kids screaming were suffering from the Pig.

  Jordan blinked and squinted into a bright haze glowing overhead. The air had a damp, briny bite. He was relieved to see he was on Mary Queen of Scots about a mile from the mainland. Eddie had made excellent progress.

  “My turn,” Jordan said, stretching his arms.

  With his hand on the tiller, Eddie lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, dude.”

  “Sorry? Look how far we’ve gone!” Jordan startled when he saw the food pack at the stern next to Eddie’s feet. “You got into the food?”

  “All I think about is food,” Eddie said without looking up. “My stomach hurts so bad. I’m so hungry. I just snapped.”

  Jordan was about to ask if any food was left in the pack, but he stopped himself. He knew the answer. He had one sweet potato in his pocket that would have to last them until they reached Mystic.

  1.17

  BROOKLYN

  Abby tilted the can to her lips and let the sweet drops of pear juice sparkle on her tongue.

  She and Toby were in the alley behind the car, sitting next to each other on the overturned buckets, close enough for their legs to brush.

  She had told him about her escape from Colony East, and he had described what he had done after Doctor Perkins kicked him out of the colony.

  Abby willed herself to pass the can of pears back to Toby before she drained it. “Please keep this out of my sight.”

  “I can get you something else.”

  Hidden in the trunk, where the spare tire normally went, was a bounty of canned fruits and vegetables, fresh beets and turnips, and plastic bottles filled with gasoline.

  Abby shook her head. “Once I start eating, I won’t be able to stop.”

  Toby cursed and said, “I hope you killed Doctor Droznin.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  The scientist had surprised Abby while she was searching Doctor Droznin’s lab, looking for pills, and she had shot her by accident. Abby had meant to fire the gun to frighten Doctor Droznin so she wouldn’t call for help.

  “She infected you with the bacteria, like some kind of lab rat,” Toby said.

  Abby lowered her eyes. It was hard to argue against the truth.

  Toby kept cursing, directing his wrath at adults everywhere for conceiving of the colonies. When his venom ran out, he covered the can of pears with a piece of cloth cut from the tarp, secured it in place with fishing line, and dashed to the back of the car where he returned the can to the trunk.

  Abby folded over. It felt like a hand with sharp claws had tunneled into her stomach, slicing and squeezing her insides.

  “Abby. Abby,” Toby called out and rubbed her back, but she could only grit her teeth.

  The pain finally lessened, and she took several deep breaths.

  “I’ve gone without food before, perhaps a week or longer,” she said in a shaky voice. “After a few days, I stopped feeling hungry. This time is different. I’ve had the Pig for five days, and the cramps keep on getting worse. I think about food constantly.”

  Frowning, Toby said, “That’s what Touk went through.”

  “Toby, we need to get her.”

  He placed his hand on the top of hers. “Jonzy will bring us pills. I’m sure of that. We’ll find Jordan in Mystic, and then we’ll go to Atlanta and get Toucan.”

  Abby’s heart melted. She had always noticed Toby’s eyes. Even when she had hated him in the seventh grade, she felt his eyes revealed his real character. He would act like a jerk, but his eyes showed flashes of compassion. Now, they were swirling with kindness.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “I have to make one more trade,” he said. “The price of food is sky high, and we need a little more gas to make it to Mystic.”

  “You’re leaving?” she asked with dread.

  His shaved head magnified his sheepish expression. “I have to. Lexi will be back soon.”

  “I don’t trust her,” Abby said.

  Toby chuckled. “I never thought I’d hear you say that about anybody.”

  Abby winced. “There’s something about her I don’t like. I just feel it.”

  “Lexi introduced me to her friends. She shaved my head so I’d fit in with the local kids. And she brought you here. You can trust her.”

  Lexi had apparently tricked Toby, which meant Abby would have to keep a close eye on the girl. “Hurry back,” she said.

  1.18

  PORTLAND TRADING ZONE, MAINE

  Jordan navigated Mary Queen of Scots around the overturned hull of a fishing trawler in Portland Harbor, one of many boats damaged or sunk by the storm. The graveyard of sailboats blown from their moorings that stretched along the seawall dashed his hopes of finding a bigger, better boat to sail to Mystic.

  At the bow, Eddie spliced a piece of line he’d been working on for the past hour. He’d splice the strands together, sort them apart, and then start over. Jordan thought Eddie kept busy to focus on something other than his ravenous hunger.

  Jordan called out when they were close to the pier. Eddie shifted to the port side and grabbed the ladder as Jordan let go of the mainsheet and the boat glided to a stop. Eddie dragged himself up the ladder and secured the bowline to a cleat.

  The boys left the boat rigged because they were in a hurry. Jordan caught a last look at Mary Queen of Scots. She’d done her job well, safely delivering them to the mainland.

  They headed straight to the fuel depot, which was two miles to the north. Huge fuel tanks rose above the houses and trees. The depot seemed the most likely place to find the fuel king, Martha, and the driver who worked for her who had taken his sisters and Toby to Colony East.

  Normally, in the middle of the afternoon, kids looking to trade, or just hanging out, crowded the Portland Trading Zone. Today, only a girl with a rag wrapped around her nose and mouth rolled by on a skateboard, and a small group of kids milled around a park bench.

  Jordan and Eddie thought the Pig explained the absence of activity; kids were afraid of catching it.

  The streets were as empty as the trading zone, though Jordan noticed they were being watched. Curtains and shades moved in windows as they passed.

  Jordan spun around when a branch snapped behind them. He saw nothing, but he sensed danger. Certain someone was following them, he eyed driveways and the narrow spaces between houses, considering each path as a possible escape route. He steered Eddie to the center of the street so if kids chased them, they’d have more directions to run in.

  Jordan slipped his hand into the pack and gripped the knife handle. If it were true that the Pig was spreading, the potato he had moved to his pack was a prized possession.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Eddie grimace as he clutched his sides. He bent forward, but kept trudging ahead anyway.

  “Hey, how are you doing?” Jordan asked.

  “Great,” Eddie said.

  Eddie was tough, but he was far from feeling great. Jordan wondered how much longer his sick friend would last on grit and determination.

  A Jimi Hendrix song played in a nearby house. “The first time I met DJ Silver, he was playing Hendrix,” Jordan said.

  “What’s Silvy like?”

  Jordan whistled. “Full of himself, but he’s pretty cool. The Port is right off the highway in Mystic. We’ll stop there to see what he knows.”

  “I want him to dedicate a song to Mel,” Eddie said.

  Mel and Abby had been best friends. Jordan always thought Eddie liked Mel, but his friend was too
shy to approach her.

  He nudged Eddie. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  Eddie’s eyes softened. “I like her a lot.”

  “What song are you going to dedicate?” Jordan asked.

  “Purple Rain. You talked about Wenlan in your sleep.”

  Jordan’s jaw dropped. “What did I say?”

  Cans rattled behind them, and Jordan pulled his hand from the pack with a firm grip on the knife. Two dogs were rooting through a pile of trash.

  “What did I say about Wenlan?” Jordan asked again, his heart racing from the surge of adrenaline.

  “Something about missing her. You like her?”

  Jordan shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess.”

  Eddie cocked an eyebrow. “She’s more than okay.”

  “Did I say anything else?”

  “What’s it worth to you?” Eddie had a teasing gleam in his eyes.

  Jordan pointed his finger. “Just wait. I’ll get you.”

  “I’m shaking,” Eddie said.

  Horsing around the way they used to was having a positive effect on them. Eddie walked taller and grimaced less, and Jordan’s paranoia about their perilous situation eased, his mind less troubled by the hundreds of frightening “what if” scenarios.

  A block ahead on the right, the front yard of a house had a smoldering fire pit. Wispy smoke rose from the pit like steam off the street after a hard summer rain.

  “I got a bad feeling about that place,” Jordan said and steered Eddie to the left side of the street.

  When they were opposite the house, both boys doubled over and gagged from a sickening odor. Jordan felt as if two oily fingers had been jammed up his nose. The stench left a rancid, metallic taste in the back of his throat.

  He grabbed Eddie’s arm and dragged him until they were away from horrible smell.

  “Oh my God,” Eddie cried. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said, spitting to rid the taste from his mouth. The air was fresher, but he feared the odor would linger in his memory for a long time. “I don’t want to know.”

  1.19

  COLONY EAST

  Lieutenant Dawson had fifteen minutes to himself before Lieutenant Mathews came to deliver antibiotic pills for him to pass out, and to meet the cadets of Biltmore Company. His cadets would soon fall under her command.

  Seated at his desk, he reread the note he had penned.

  Being assigned to Colony West. Perkins claims the CDC is working to develop and distribute the antibiotic outside the colonies. We have to take action ourselves. We need to increase production at the Alpharetta plant. Who has the expertise to operate the plant? Who can you trust? Find them. Talk to them. Situation at Colony East is volatile.

  Dawson folded the note and tucked it carefully inside the stack of cadet medical profiles on his desk. Presenting the profiles to the new leader of Biltmore Company was a routine matter. Lieutenant Mathews would pay little, if any, attention to the package before she delivered the profiles to the medical team at Atlanta Colony. Sandy, on the other hand, would review every profile in detail once the cadets arrived.

  Next, he found the profile for Tabatha Williams, knowing Sandy would pay extra attention to it. He’d spoken to Sandy many times about Tabby’s reoccurring nightmares.

  In Tabby’s Issues and Strengths section, he wrote: Monitor channel 17.

  Channel 17 was a seldom-used frequency and part of his contingency plan. If he found himself operating outside the system, he needed a way to contact Sandy inside Atlanta Colony.

  He returned Tabby’s profile to the pile and then sealed all of the profiles in a pouch.

  Mathews knocked on the door as though she were punching a speed bag.

  Dawson left the pouch on the table and opened the door. “Is that necessary, Lieutenant?” he asked, gesturing to the gun strapped to her hip. “You’ll be meeting many of my cadets for the first time. First impressions are very important. You don’t want to frighten them.”

  Mathews narrowed her eyes. “We’re fully exposed on the northern perimeter. The fence is no longer electrified, and every security resource has been assigned to secure the route leading to the airport.” She gave a little, snippy sniff. “You tell me, Dawson, is carrying a weapon a smart precaution to take?”

  “You’re right. A rag-tag army of twelve-year-olds is about to invade the colony. It’s a good idea to arm yourself.”

  His dose of sarcasm brought her to a boil, and her cheeks reddened.

  Mathews rested her hand on the Navy-issue Colt 45. “Look, I don’t have all day.”

  “We’ll start on the first floor and work our way up,” Dawson told her. “Where are the pills?”

  She produced an amber bottle from her shoulder pack. “I’ll pass them out. Are any of your cadets experiencing symptoms?”

  Dawson’s heart rate spiked, and he curled the corners of his lips slightly upward to hide his concern.

  “Leave some with me in case I need to administer any second dosages.” He relied on every ounce of discipline and control he possessed to speak in a calm, steady tone.

  “Radio Doctor Levine if you need more pills,” she replied sharply. “The pills are being stored in Doctor Perkin’s lab in Medical Clinic 17. Levine will administer the dosages.”

  He nodded, trying to appear thoughtful. “That’s a good option, but a cadet might need to take a pill in the middle of the night when Doctor Levine isn’t available.”

  “Levine will handle it. He’s your only option.” Mathews glanced at her watch. “Can I meet my cadets?”

  With his head spinning, he led her down the hallway and into the wing of seven-year-old cadets.

  “Fall out,” he shouted.

  Soon, ten cadets had formed a neat line outside of their living quarters.

  “Good afternoon,” Dawson said.

  Mathews stepped in front of him. “I’ve got it, Dawson.”

  He bit his tongue hard. His petty issues with Mathews were minor compared to the larger goal of producing and distributing pills to the kids outside the colonies.

  She marched down the line of girls. “I’m Lieutenant Mathews. I want to get to know you all better. Michelle. Who’s Michelle?”

  Michelle Timilty, who was easy to spot with her red hair and freckles, raised her hand.

  Mathews kneeled. “Hmmm. This could become confusing. I’m Michelle, too. I have an idea. My older brother called me Meesh. Would you ladies rather call me Lieutenant Mathews, Michelle, or Meesh?”

  “Meesh,” they shouted in unison.

  Mathews smiled. “Meesh it is. When we get to Atlanta Colony, I’d like for all of us to do some fun things. Any ideas?”

  “Stay up late,” Cadet Barnes said.

  “Lieutenant Dawson makes us turn the lights out at eight,” Tabby said.

  “Yeah, no talking either,” Cadet Francona chimed in.

  Mathews swiveled her head Dawson’s way and said with a grin, “No talking after eight, huh? What kind of company leader are you?”

  He clenched his jaw as rage-induced perspiration trickled into his eyes.

  Mathews joked around some more with the cadets and then gave each one a pill.

  “Crunch it up or swallow, your choice.” She finished off by saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow, ladies. Bright and early.”

  The introductory meeting scene repeated itself on the second, third, and fourth floors with the rest of the Biltmore Company cadets. Mathews won them over with an abundance of smiles, jokes, and the promise of doing fun things together. She told them facts about herself that seemed to grab their interest. She was shy growing up. She played on a championship Frisbee team in college. Her mom had taught her that playing fair and square was important, but it was also important to win.

  “Winners shine,” she had told them.

  After Mathews had passed out the last pill, Dawson escorted her to the Biltmore’s front door.

  “Forgetting something, Dawson?” she asked.


  “What? You expect a salute?”

  “The medical profiles.”

  Dawson nodded and soon returned with the pouch. “Take good care of my cadets.”

  Mathews snatched the pouch and walked away without a word. He watched as she climbed into a Humvee and raced off.

  Dawson hadn’t forgotten a thing. Having shown so little regard for the profiles, he hoped she’d see no reason to study them. That accomplished, he now needed to formulate a plan for him and Jonzy to steal pills from Medical Clinic 17.

  Winners shine.

  1.20

  BROOKLYN

  Abby gripped the banister and waved her other arm through the air to clear away spider webs as she climbed the stairs.

  Survivors had once occupied the dwelling next to the alley, evidenced by the heaps of trash on the floor. Now it was silent as a tomb and dark with shadows.

  She reached the second floor, then the third, her fingertips plowing up dust on the banister. The shadows darkened, and silence pressed in on her as if she were deep underwater.

  On the fourth floor, she turned right and crashed face first into a sticky veil of spider webs. She licked her lips and sucked on the strands that stuck to her tongue, wishing they had taste. She continued down the hall to the second room on the left, dragging her left hand along the wall for guidance.

  She entered the room, and wading through crumpled paper, empty cans and plastic bottles, and blankets, she moved to the wall, expecting to find a door. Panic bubbled up her throat when her hands discovered only a boarded window.

  Toby had told her how to get to the roof. Had she remembered his directions correctly?

  Retracing her steps, she breathed easier when she discovered she had overshot a bedroom door. Soon, she was standing outside on the flat roof.

  The rooftop told the story of the kids who had once lived in the building. A pillow stuffed inside a plastic garbage bag, along with empty cans and food wrappers scattered about, suggested some had camped here, maybe sleeping outside to stay cool on summer nights. When Abby saw a spear made from a flagpole and tipped with a razor blade, she wondered if the roof had served as a guard post. An arsenal of bricks and rocks piled close to the edge confirmed that suspicion. Rocks and crude spears raining down from high above would have given any potential intruders second thoughts.