Dream Sky

by Brett Battles

  “Whatever the hell it is you want, it could have—”

  His guests were not from engineering.

  “Sorry to get you up so early, Caleb,” Pax said. “I understand you’ve been working very hard.”

  Pax wasn’t the only one who was there. Chloe and Captain Ash were with him.

  “Mr. Paxton, Captain Ash, Ms. White, I’m, uh, sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” Caleb shot a quick glare at Mya.

  She gave him an exaggerated shrug, like she had no idea why he’d be upset.

  Forcing a smile, he said, “What can I do for you?”

  “We have a puzzle we were hoping you and your team could solve for us.”

  “What kind of puzzle?”

  Chloe set a pad of paper she’d brought with her on a desk. “Easier if we show you.”

  21

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  5:51 AM PST

  “GABRIEL, ARE YOU up?”

  As he always did before he went to sleep, Gabriel had turned the volume down on his radio and tucked it in next to the pillow. He was not asleep, however, when Nyla’s voice trickled out of the earpiece. He was simply lying there, eyes closed, performing his morning meditation.

  “Gabriel?”

  With a sigh, he grabbed the radio, stuck the receiver in his ear, and clicked on the mic. “Morning, L-One.”

  “Time to get up, big boy. L-Seven spotted someone heading down Sunset Boulevard but lost them in Silver Lake.”

  “Copy, L-One. Should be able to get to the Alvarado intersection in five.”

  “Copy that.”

  So much for a shower, Gabriel thought as he rolled out bed and pulled on his clothes.

  He’d stayed at the same house on Scott Street for the last three days. It was near the middle of his assigned area and met his basic requirement of being dead-body free. The bonus was the bed. It had one of those mattresses made out of a material that conformed to his body. The damn things were so expensive, he’d wondered why anyone would spend money on them, but not anymore. He was sold. Good thing the prices had dropped.

  He grabbed a couple energy bars from his pack before he slung it on and headed out the door into the still-dark morning.

  Jogging most of the way, he reached the corner of Alvarado Street and Sunset Boulevard ahead of his promised time, and moved over to a small building housing a takeout place called Burrito King on the northwest corner. Standing at the front edge, he stopped and listened for footsteps.

  All was quiet.

  He thought about radioing Nyla and asking how long ago L-Seven had spotted the survivor, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. If the person was heading toward Dodger Stadium, Sunset Boulevard would be the logical route from Silver Lake. All Gabriel needed to do was wait.

  He was starting in on his second energy bar when he heard the faint echo of a step. He put the bar away and leaned around the building to look west on Sunset. No one there, but the road bent to the right about seventy-five yards away so he couldn’t see that far. He could hear more steps, though—rhythmic, unhurried, and definitely heading his way.

  He considered moving down the road so he could get a better look, but his encounter with the runner the day before was still fresh in his mind, so he didn’t want to be seen until he was ready to be. Besides, his position at Burrito King was about as good as he could get. It would hide him from the approaching person, even as the person passed by.

  He stared down the road, his mind registering all the unmoving shapes, waiting to see one in motion. When the human silhouette finally moved into view, he ever so slowly eased his head back around the corner of the restaurant.

  There was no change in the sound of the steps, only the continuous thud-thud-thud of rubber meeting asphalt.

  As the person came abreast of Burrito King, Gabriel tensed, his eyes on the road. The moon had already dipped below the horizon, so the stars provided the only light. That was more than enough for him to get a good sense of the walker.

  It was a guy, medium height, wearing a light jacket and baseball cap. No backpack, though, which was kind of odd. Most of the people Gabriel and the rest of the team had come across had been carrying things.

  He was concerned that maybe this wasn’t a regular survivor, but one of Project Eden’s people on patrol. But the unease lasted only a second because he had never seen one of them out alone, and he’d certainly never seen any of them unarmed, like this guy appeared to be.

  So how are we going to handle this?

  Get over to the guy before he realized what was going on?

  Call out to him?

  Or follow him for a bit and make sure he wasn’t Project Eden?

  The last seemed the most prudent. The guy was heading toward Nyla’s position anyway. Worst case, she and Gabriel could close in together.

  He let the survivor cross the Alvarado intersection, then he followed.

  A block down, Sunset took a slight southeast turn, so Gabriel cut the gap between them to prevent losing sight of the guy. As he started to slow back down, the toe of his shoe tapped a discarded screw and sent it skittering across the road.

  The man whipped around. “Who’s there?”

  Dammit!

  “Sorry,” Gabriel said, holding his hands out to show they were empty. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Wh…why are you here? Are you following me?” the guy was clearly scared, his voice raised.

  “Yes, I mean, it’s not what you think. I’m here to help.”

  The guy started to back away from him. “I don’t need your help. Thank you. Now leave me alone. Please.”

  There was a click over the receiver in Gabriel’s ear. His eyes flicked past the man, down the street. Though he saw no one there, he knew the click meant Nyla was somewhere nearby.

  He took a step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Good!” The man started to turn away.

  “But if you’re headed for the survival station, the people there will.”

  As the man looked back, Gabriel realized the survivor wasn’t a man at all, but a young woman.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “They aren’t who they claim to be.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The UN doesn’t exist anymore. The people at the stadium are only taking in survivors so they can get rid of them.”

  “Get rid of them?” A look of total disbelief flooded her face. “You mean kill?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re…you’re just saying that because…because…”

  She turned and began running down Sunset.

  “I’m not lying,” Gabriel said as he took off after her. “I just want to talk to you.”

  His thighs ached, still remembering the chase from the day before. The runner had gotten away then, but Gabriel had no intention of letting it happen two days in a row. It wasn’t easy, but he was starting to gain on the woman.

  As the road took another bend to the right, Nyla rushed out from behind a car, reaching the middle of the road moments before the survivor got there.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said, holding out her arms.

  The woman tried to alter her course to go around Nyla, but she reacted too late and Nyla was able to grab her waist and hold on tight.

  “Let me go!” the woman yelled, squirming.

  She almost broke free, but Gabriel arrived in time to grab one of her arms.

  “Calm down,” he said. “I told you, we’re not going to hurt you.”

  The woman continued to struggle.

  “Relax,” Gabriel said.

  “We’re trying to save your life,” Nyla told her.

  Whether it was Nyla’s words or because the woman was losing strength, she finally stopped struggling. Eyes narrowing, she said, “I don’t believe you.”

  “We’re telling the truth,” Gabriel said. “The survival stations are really death traps. If you go in, you don’t com
e out again.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because the people who are running them are the same ones who planted the shipping containers full of Sage Flu around the world. This is their way to finish what they started.”

  The woman looked stunned. “How can you know this?”

  “We’ve been trying to stop them for a long time,” Nyla said.

  “You didn’t do a very good job, then.”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “You want me to believe you,” the survivor said, “prove it.”

  This was not the first time someone had said this, so Gabriel and Nyla were prepared.

  “I’m going to pull my phone out of my pocket,” Nyla said. “Okay?”

  The woman nodded.

  Nyla retrieved her phone, pulled up the video shot a few days before on a scouting trip to the stadium, and turned the screen so the man could see. On the trip, the closest she and Gabriel had been able to get was a hill right beyond the parking area, straight out from the back end of the stadium. This was the only part of the structure where there was no double-deck seating, just two sets of much smaller bleachers, one behind left field and one behind right.

  Though the angle of the video was a bit acute, it clearly showed two large fenced-in areas on the playing field, with several people in each.

  Nyla said, “We know from information gained about other survival stations that those are detention areas. They place people who are obviously sick in one, and those who are not in the other.”

  “But isn’t that what they should do?” the survivor asked.

  “Hold on.” Nyla sped up the image until it zoomed in on a portion of the grandstands, and then she let the video play again. The picture moved around some because the zoom was so extreme, but there was no mistaking the man holding the rifle, facing the field. “Separating the ill and the non-ill does make sense, but putting them behind locked fences with razor wire on top and surrounding them with well-armed guards doesn’t. The survivors go to these stations of their own free will. They want the help. They’re not going to put up a fight, so why treat them like they would?”

  “I…I don’t know. But they must have their reasons.”

  “Then how about this? No survivors have left the stadium, and yet the amount of people in each detention area has dropped dramatically.”

  “That’s not proof,” the woman said. “You could be making that up.”

  “True,” Nyla replied. “And there are other things I could tell you that you may or may not believe.”

  “Did you see the video on TV?” Gabriel asked.

  “Why do you think I’m here?” the woman responded.

  “I don’t mean the video that claims to be a message from the UN. I’m talking about the one that went up several days go from that reporter who used to be with PCN.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Nyla was already shuffling through her phone. She found Tamara Costello’s video and hit PLAY.

  The woman watched, rapt, as Tamara explained what was really going on.

  When the video ended, she stared at the screen for several seconds before saying, “I don’t know. I don’t…”

  Nyla watched her for a moment, then glanced at Gabriel and nodded. They both took a few steps back, giving the woman space.

  “If you want to continue on, we won’t stop you,” Nyla said.

  The woman shifted her gaze between the two of them.

  “My…my friends are there,” she said. “We were supposed to meet there. I…I…”

  Gabriel’s chest tightened. “When did they go there?”

  “New Year’s Eve.”

  A week before.

  Gabriel wanted to say something comforting, but he thought the woman’s friends were likely dead.

  She stared at the ground, and when she looked up again, her eyes were hard and determined. “Can you show me?”

  “That’s probably not a good idea.”

  “You want me to believe you? Show me.”

  Nyla considered the request. “Gabriel can take you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If it saves your life, we’re happy to do it.” Nyla held out her hand. “I’m Nyla.”

  The woman shook it. “Martina.”

  __________

  MARTINA GABLE DIDN’T know what to think. Were Nyla and Gabriel telling her the truth? Was it possible the UN message had been a fake? That its purpose had been to take even more lives? Only a few short weeks ago, that would have sounded like conspiracy-theory bullshit. But a few short weeks ago, there hadn’t been survival stations and the release of a virus that had killed who knew how much of the human race.

  And then there was the video from that Tamara Costello. Martina had seen the reports the woman did during the spring outbreak. The news said the woman had died during the mini-epidemic, but clearly she had not. Her words, more than anything else, were what kept Martina from marching up to the front door of Dodger Stadium right then.

  Until she had more proof, she’d keep her guard up, something she’d stopped doing the last few days.

  When she had finally caught up to the woman driving Ben’s Jeep, and been told Ben was dead, Martina had slipped into a state of despair. She still couldn’t remember where she had gone or what she had done in the forty-eight hours that followed. Her family, most of the people she knew, and then Ben. It was too much.

  After she finally began to pull out of her funk the day before, she’d found herself near the ocean in Santa Monica. She had wandered out onto the pier, passed the arcade games and amusement-park rides, to the very end, where she leaned against the railing and stared out at the vast, empty sea.

  She knew she had a choice: she could either give up or take control again and live. In the face of all the loss caused by the pandemic, could giving up be considered a weak decision? She vacillated on the answer for a while, but as more of the fog lifted from her brain, she saw the truth. Giving up would be weak. She had to live. If not for herself then for those she knew who had died. Besides, she still had friends who were alive. Friends, she realized, who were not far from where she was at that very moment.

  Her first thought, of course, had been of Noreen and Riley and Craig, but she didn’t know where they were. What she did know, though, was where they would eventually go, if they hadn’t already—the survival station at Dodger Stadium.

  She figured the stadium couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen miles away at most, so that afternoon she had walked off the pier and headed east, deciding to go on foot and use the time to fully clear her mind. She grew tired not long after sunset, so she found an apartment free of the smell of death and collapsed onto a couch in the living room.

  It was as dark when she woke as it had been when she’d lain down. She checked her watch and saw it was about ten minutes to one in the morning. There was no question of going back to sleep, though. The anticipation of seeing her friends again would not allow it.

  She hit the road and walked alone through the darkened streets. Alone, that was, until she’d heard Gabriel behind her.

  Now here she was walking beside him into a hilly neighborhood north of Sunset Boulevard.

  “I thought I was closer to the stadium than this,” she said after they’d been hiking for a while.

  “You were, well, are. It’s over there.” He pointed to the right. “We’re going around to the backside. Same place we shot the video. Best view.”

  The sun began to rise as they headed up a ridge road. The left side was lined with homes, and the right with a narrow valley filled mostly with trees and grass.

  They continued until the valley began to close.

  “Going off road now, so watch your step,” Gabriel said.

  He led her down the slope, staying under the trees to avoid the open grass areas. At the bottom, they came to a four-lane street.

  Gabriel paused under the trees and scanned the road before whispering, “Q
uick across.”

  In a sprint, he led her to the other side and up the eastern slope. At the top, they crossed a smaller road and moved rapidly through a cluster of buildings. A sign identified the area as the Los Angeles Police Academy. Unlike most of the other places Martina had seen, the parking lot was jam-packed with cars gathering dust. She guessed they belonged to recruits and active officers who had been called to a duty they never completed.

  She and Gabriel moved down the edge of a clearing, then along a trail that paralleled the main road, and passed another building complex before finally stopping.

  “We’ll cross here and go up that hill,” he whispered, pointing at the land on the other side of the road. “Follow exactly where I go, and if I motion for you to get down, don’t hesitate.”

  “I won’t.”

  He checked the road in both directions, and then sprinted across. Martina followed right behind, matching Gabriel step for step. Once more under the cover of trees, they climbed the small slope and headed south until the hill began to descend again. Through the branches, she could see glimpses of the large parking area and the stadium, but her view was too obstructed for her to make out many details.

  Gabriel knelt and removed his pack. From inside, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and motioned for Martina to follow him. Staying in a crouch, they worked their way to the right until most of the foliage in front of them cleared away, and then stretched out on the ground.

  There it was. Dodger Stadium, the banks of seats brightly lit by the morning sun.

  Gabriel looked through the binoculars, adjusted the magnification, and handed them to Martina.

  She raised the glasses to her eyes.

  “Concentrate on the center,” he instructed. “Over that black barrier separating the two outfield bleachers. Like I said before, the angle isn’t perfect, but…well, just look.”

  The eye line he suggested allowed her to see a portion of the outfield area and all of the infield, or at least where they used to be. Now, like she’d seen on the video, there were fences cutting across the grass and dirt, with posts hammered into the field.