He pulled a sheet out of his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it on the table. On it were two rows of eight numbers each. The first started with 43 and the second with 73.
Caleb smiled at everyone expectantly, but after no one responded, he said, “Don’t you see it?”
“See what?” Pax asked.
Caleb rolled his eyes and groaned. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and inked a period after both the 43 and the 73. He then drew a minus sign in front of the seven.
“How about now?” he asked.
“GPS coordinates,” Ash said, surprised. He’d seen plenty of similar numbers while in the army. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” Caleb scoffed.
He grabbed a shoulder bag off the chair closest to him and pulled out a laptop. After placing it on the table, he typed something in and turned the screen toward them. On it was a mapping application showing a wide view of the planet. In the text box at the top, Caleb had input the two sets of numbers. He gave them all a second to look at the screen and then pressed ENTER.
The map zoomed in until a blue arrow appeared, pointing at the center of what looked like a very small town. In a floating box above the arrow were the coordinates.
“Where the hell is that?” Pax asked.
Caleb widened the shot back one step and the name of the town appeared.
“Everton?” Ash said. “Everton where?
Caleb zoomed out until state lines began to show. “This one’s in Vermont.”
Ash studied the map for a moment. “Okay. I’ll give you that C8 was pointing Matt here for some reason, but it doesn’t meant that place is Dream Sky or whatever DS stands for.”
“That’s the same thing I told him,” Chloe said. “As strong as it was circumstantially, it could still mean anything.”
“Which pissed me off,” Caleb said. “I mean, it’s obvious. But I get it. God forbid we assume anything, right?
Chloe and Caleb shared a conspiratorial smile.
“What?” Ash asked.
“Devin used the link into Project Eden’s computer network to confirm that there is a Project base at the coordinates,” Chloe said.
“Again, not proof,” Ash said.
“No,” she agreed. “But what he was unable to find probably says the most.”
“What do you mean?”
“She means,” Caleb said, sounding like he felt he should be the one driving the conversation, “that he checked dozens of other facilities in the system, all of which had abundant, accessible information. The base at these coordinates”—he pointed at the map—“had nothing. Not even encrypted info.”
“Then how did you find anything on the base in the first place?” Ash asked.
“Devin was able to locate a map in an old archive that had the base marked. But it’s not on later editions of the same map. Okay, so maybe it’s not Dream Sky, but whatever it is, it seems pretty damn important.”
“Or maybe it’s not there at all,” Ash said.
“C8 was pointing at something,” Chloe said. “Something he felt was important enough to tell Matt about. And Matt felt it was important enough to tell you before he died. We need to check it out and see for ourselves.”
As Ash opened his mouth to respond, Pax said, “Captain, maybe it is something else entirely, but if there’s a chance this place is Dream Sky, and taking it out would severely cripple the Project, how can we pass up the opportunity to at least check it out?”
The room fell quiet.
“He’s right,” Rachel said. “We have to check. We have to check now.”
Again there was silence.
Ash finally broke it. “Caleb, thank you. If we have more questions, we’ll come and find you.”
Caleb looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, okay. Sure. Um, they probably need me back at the trailer anyway.”
After he was gone, Ash said, “If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right.”
“We can’t afford to waste time,” Chloe said. “The longer we wait, the more entrenched the Project will become. At some point we won’t be able to topple them.”
“I’m not talking about waiting. If this is as important as we think it might be, then I’m talking about being ready so we can take advantage of the situation right now.”
28
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
5:27 PM CST
TERRELL FISHER SHOVED his hands into his jacket pockets so Diaz wouldn’t see them shaking. Not that Diaz would have noticed anyway. Terrell was pretty sure the guy was dealing with his own internal repercussions for what they were doing.
“Think we can fit the last two in,” Diaz said, stepping off the back of the truck onto the loading dock. “You get the gurney.”
“Sure,” Terrell said. “Right behind you.”
He waited until Diaz started walking toward the warehouse door before pulling his hands out again. The empty gurney made an awful racket over the uneven concrete floor, but he definitely preferred it to the muted clackity-clack it made when it was loaded.
The warehouse was on the eastern edge of Project Eden’s Chicago survival station. All of the offices—medical, processing, security—were located in the building. The holding areas had been constructed in the large parking area that separated the warehouse from a twin building a few hundred yards away. When the Project had first arrived at the facility to begin the conversion, the lot had been full of semis and trailers. Terrell’s first assignment here had been to help move the vehicles out.
Diaz held the door open and allowed Terrell and the gurney to pass through first. They were basically on autopilot as they headed down the hallway. Someone—a Project psychologist, probably—had labeled their destination as the Reassignment Room. This wasn’t the name by which Terrell thought of it. In his mind it was the Kill Room.
The room was large enough to hold up to fifty people at one time. Five rows of ten chairs faced a wall where a video projector would play a message from Gustavo Di Sarsina, supposed Secretary General of the UN, talking about what survivors should expect when they arrived at the safe zone.
This was also the product of the head doctors, telling Terrell and the others that feeding into the survivors’ sense of hope as the gases were introduced made everything humane. The doctors even pointed out that the survivors were really the luck ones. In place of a painful death at the hands of the flu, they would be drugged to sleep before a second, toxic gas was added to the room to ensure they would never wake again.
People were going to die. That was basic knowledge if you were a part of the Project. What Terrell had not thought through before Implementation Day was how it would truly feel to be alive with so many dead filling the world. When he’d begun seeing the bodies on TV, knowing it was real, he’d gone numb. But what was infinitely worse, what had never ever crossed his mind, was that he would have an active hand in eliminating those who had survived the flu but did not fill a need within the Project.
For days they had been killing survivors. Hundreds, thousands—he wasn’t sure anymore how many. He and Diaz and the others escorted people into the airtight room, waited for the cycle to pass, then transported the bodies to the mass grave outside of town.
Despite what the doctors said, it wasn’t humane. The humane thing would have been to let people know what was going on, give them a chance to fight for their lives. The stories, the double dose of gas—that was for the psyche of Project Eden personnel, Terrell had finally realized.
Grasping this allowed him to see the truth.
He was a killer.
“Hey, watch out,” Diaz said.
Terrell looked up and straightened the gurney right before it would have hit the wall. “Sorry.”
A few minutes later they reached the Kill Room. Quickly they loaded up one of the two remaining bodies and headed back into the hallway.
They hadn’t gone far when a voice called out behind them. “Are you almost done?”
They
stopped and looked back. Walking toward them was Theo Gates, head of processing.
“One more after this,” Diaz said.
“Is there a problem?” Ward asked.
Diaz looked confused.
“No, sir,” Diaz said.
“Then do you want to tell me why you aren’t already at the dump site?”
Dump site, Terrell thought. The words hammered home the utter disgust he was feeling, but he appreciated that Ward wasn’t covering it up by calling it the safe zone like they were suppose to.
“We should be on the road in ten minutes,” Diaz said.
“You’re behind schedule. We’ll be bringing in another group in four hours, so I expect you to be back and everything ready by then.”
“Won’t be a problem,” Diaz said. He looked at Terrell. “Let’s move.”
As they headed down the hallway, faster than before, all Terrell could think was, Another group.
29
NEAR FORT MEADE, MARYLAND
6:32 PM EST
BOBBY COULD HEAR the sat phone ringing as he exited the bathroom. He figured Tamara would answer it, so he made no effort to hurry back to the surveillance room. Then he heard the toilet flush in the women’s bathroom.
In a burst of speed, he ran down the corridor, his shoes squeaking loudly as he skidded around the corner into the big room. He paused inside the doorway, unsure where he’d left the phone. Another ring solved his dilemma.
“Hello?” he said, even before he had it pressed against his ear.
“Bobby? It’s Leon.”
By the time Bobby hung up the phone, Tamara had returned.
“Pack up,” he said. “We leave in ten minutes.”
“Leave? Where are we going?”
He smiled. “We have an assignment.”
MUMBAI, INDIA
5:39 AM IST
LOCAL DATE: JANUARY 8TH
SANJAY SAT UP with a start. He blinked as he looked around.
Kusum was still asleep beside him, and while the room was still dark, he could see the unmoving lump of Darshana on the other bed.
Had a dream woken him? He could feel his heart racing so he assumed the dream had been a pretty wild one. As he took a deep breath to calm down, he heard a buzz behind him. Looking back, all he saw was the dark form of his pillow. And then he remembered.
The phone.
He had switched it to vibrate and put it under his pillow to prevent anyone outside the building from hearing it ring. He pulled it out and hit CONNECT.
“Yes?” he whispered.
“Is this Sanjay?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Crystal. I know it’s early for you, but do you have a moment?”
“Hold on.”
He carefully climbed out of bed and exited the room into the nearly pitch-black hallway. “Okay,” he said. “We can talk now.”
He returned to the room four minutes later.
“Kusum, Darshana, you need to wake up.”
The women stirred but neither opened her eyes.
Sanjay walked over to his wife and kissed her on the forehead. “Wake up, my love.”
A low grunt escaped before her eyes finally fluttered open. “Sanjay? What’s going on?”
“Time to get up.”
She looked confused. “It is still dark.”
“There are things we need to do.”
He straightened up and turned to wake Darshana, but saw her eyes were already open.
“Are you going to kiss me, too?” she asked.
“Don’t count on it.”
ELY, NEVADA
3:50 PM PST
THE RUNWAYS AT the Ely Airport had not been long enough for the plane that had flown north from Isabella Island, but the largest was long enough for the Gulfstream G550 executive jet that was on its final approach from San Francisco. This was the first of four such aircraft that had been called in from Resistance locations on the West Coast. The other three would be arriving within the hour.
Ash, pensive, looked at the jet’s lights.
“Now would be a hell of a time to second-guess yourself,” Pax said.
“Tell me this is going to work and I’ll stop,” Ash said.
“Whether it works or not doesn’t matter,” Chloe threw in. “If we wait we’ll definitely fail.”
“I’m pretty sure whether it works or not is going to matter,” Ash said.
“You know what I mean.”
He gave her a half smile. “I do.”
A screech of rubber announced the jet’s touchdown.
“I believe your ride is here,” Pax said.
Ash watched the plane for a moment longer, then turned to his friends. “Call us as soon as you have a feel for the situation,” he said to Pax. “Crystal should have everything set by then, but if you need to act, don’t wait.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Pax said. “We’ll handle our end.”
“I don’t doubt that for a moment.”
Pax looked over at Chloe. “Watch out for him. He’s liable to forget he’s still injured.”
She hugged him. “I’ll do my best.”
The two men shook hands.
“Good luck,” Ash said.
“You, too, Captain.”
__________
ROBERT AND THE other volunteers were waiting in the small terminal building. If any of them was regretting raising his or her hand, no one was saying anything.
“Freshen up your coffee?” he asked Estella.
“No, thank you,” she said, setting down her nearly full cup.
“How about you?” he said to Renee.
“I’m with Estella,” she replied. “I think if I actually drink any of this, I’m going to throw up.” She put her cup down next to Estella’s.
Robert was having the exact opposite reaction. Drinking the coffee was keeping his nerves settled. He was about to go for a refill when the outer door opened and Pax, Captain Ash, and Chloe came in.
“My group up and ready,” Ash said. “Our plane just landed.”
Robert felt Estella slip her hand into his and squeeze tight. They, along with Renee, were three of the eight who would be accompanying Ash and Chloe east. The rest would take the later planes and head to Los Angeles with Pax.
“If anyone needs to hit the toilet, now is the time,” Chloe said.
It was as if all the coffee he’d been drinking had suddenly made it through his system at once. Clenching, he whispered to Estella, “I’ll be right back.”
Several others made the trip to the bathroom with him, and by the time he returned, the jet had pulled up next to the building.
“Come on,” Estella said, taking his hand again.
They picked up the duffel bags they’d been assigned and headed outside. Each bag contained winter gear, two handguns, ammunition, and, in Robert’s case, four stun grenades. Ash and Chloe were waiting outside the plane’s door.
“You’re in 2A and B,” Chloe said to Robert and Estella.
After all the volunteers were inside, Ash and Chloe climbed in and closed the door.
Standing at the front, leaning a bit forward so that his head didn’t hit the roof, Ash said, “If any of you would rather stay, this is your last chance to back out.”
Robert turned in his seat to see if anyone would take the captain up on his offer, and was pleased to see no one did.
“All right, then,” Ash said. “You should try to get some rest. It might be a while before you get another chance. If you need a sleeping pill, talk to Chloe.” He swiveled around and said to the pilots, “Let’s go.”
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
4:22 PM PST
“YOU ASK ME, looks like they’re planning some kind of trip,” Gabriel said, his eyes tight to his binoculars.
He, Nyla, and Martina had carefully worked their way around to a tree-covered hill east of Dodger Stadium. Parked in the lot closest to the entrance Project Eden used the most were three trucks and two Humvees. Two of the tru
cks were troop carriers, while the third was a red delivery truck with a logo on the side for La Brea Bakery. It was into this last vehicle that supplies were being loaded.
“Yeah,” Nyla said. “But where?”
“Maybe they’re closing up shop,” he suggested.
“Why would they do that?” Martina said, concerned.
“It’s happened at a few other stations already. Probably because they’re not getting the intakes they expected.”
“But if they leave, what happens to my friends?”
It took all of Gabriel’s effort not to cringe. There was still no proof her friends were in the special area. “The plan is to get everyone out before that happens.”
“Maybe…maybe we should do something now.”
Nyla set her glasses down and looked over at Martina. “The only things that would be accomplished by going in now would be to get us killed and tip them off that something was up. They’d likely kill all the prisoners, too.”
“But if we do nothing, and they kill them before the others get—”
“What?” Nyla asked. “Should we just die with them?”
“Yes! It’s better than sitting here and watching!”
Gabriel put a hand on Martina’s back. She flinched but he didn’t move it away. “It’s not, and you know it. Look, we realize there might be people you care about in there. We want nothing more than to get them out, but until we’re ready, anything we do would be suicide. And that’s not going to help anyone.”
Before Martina had a chance to argue again, the sat phone buzzed. Nyla answered it.
“Yes…uh-huh…okay…okay…great, thanks.” When she hung up, she looked over at the other two. “Time to go. The planes are on the way.”
NEW YORK STATE
8:18 PM EST
WICKS WAS REALLY flying now. The only place he’d had to be careful about since leaving his grandfather’s grave was Scranton, where there was supposedly a satellite survival station tasked with sending survivors to the three much larger ones in the New York City area.
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