The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 2

by Brett Battles

  “I’ll go down first,” he said. “If it looks okay, you follow.”

  “Got it,” Tom said.

  Pax descended the ladder, letting himself drop the final few feet to the ground. The tunnel stretched away for a while before bending out of sight. The part he could see was empty.

  “Clear,” he yelled up at Tom.

  As soon as Tom joined him, they set off for the Bunker proper.

  Any hope Pax had that everything was still all right vanished when they reached the partially open blast door. The area beyond was too quiet. If nothing else, they should have heard the soft hum of the ventilators feeding fresh air into the underground space, but there was no noise at all.

  Emergency lights, triggered by motion sensors, flickered to life as the two men stepped into the main part of the Bunker.

  “They’re gone,” Tom whispered.

  Or dead, Pax thought but kept to himself, saying instead, “Let’s take a look around.”

  Behind every door they opened and every corner they turned, Pax expected to find bodies, thinking that somehow the latest strain of Sage Flu had turned out to be resistant to the vaccine he and his friends had been given, but the dorms and the common areas were blessedly empty. They checked the storage rooms at the back of the kitchen. When Pax had looked in them last, they’d all been full. Now they were empty.

  Their next stop was the weapons storage area. It, too, had been cleared out. Pax was starting to understand what had happened, at least a little bit.

  “Comm room,” Pax ordered.

  As they stepped inside the Bunker’s nerve center, Tom said, “Oh, my God.”

  Most of the computers were gone, but the monitors and all other equipment still in the room had been destroyed. Chunks of glass and metal and plastic littered the floor. Pax stepped carefully through the mess and over to the communication director’s desk.

  Standard operating procedure: upon abandoning a facility, the location of the next destination was to be left, when possible, in one of three specific places around the communication director’s workstation.

  Pax found what he was looking for in position number two. Etched along the upper lip of the electrical socket cover were seven characters: 113-S78.

  The number eight meant nothing, as did the three and the second one. They were decoy numbers. The real message was: 1-S7.

  Nevada. They’d gone to Nevada.

  Pax closed his eyes and said a prayer of thanks that his friends were apparently still alive. When he opened them again, he said, “Let’s get back to the plane. There’s nothing else here to see.”

  Eighteen

  SANTA CRUZ, CALIFORNIA

  12:34 PM PST

  AFTER TWENTY MINUTES of looking for Iris, Ben began to wonder if maybe he should have left. If the girl didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be. There were a million places where she could hide. He could search for a month and never come within a block of her.

  But he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact she was alone out there, even more so than he was. As terrifying and gut wrenching and mind numbing as living through the outbreak had been, at least he had known what was going on. Iris had clearly been unaware the world was dying around her.

  He continued on for a few more blocks before finally deciding it was time to use his Jeep to cover more ground. The walk back took him thirty minutes. When he reached his vehicle, the first thing he did was pull a bottle of water out of the back and down the whole thing in one long gulp. Out of habit, he walked toward a recycling bin sitting at the curb, and had the lid open before he realized what he was doing. No one would ever collect the contents of the can. He tossed the bottle in anyway, figuring it was still better than dropping it on the street.

  Instead of returning to his Jeep, however, he detoured to the Cape Cod house. Iris had all but said she’d been held captive there by this Mr. Carlson guy, but something about it—her actions, the whole setup—didn’t quite fit. Maybe if Ben could figure out what had happened, he’d have some clue about where she had gone. It was a long shot, but he thought it worth a try.

  He headed down to the basement first, wanting to get a better look at the room she’d been trapped in. After blocking the door with a chair so he wouldn’t trap himself down there, he went inside. His impressions from earlier had been dead on. A lot of money had been spent in this room. Whoever had paid for it really wanted the person living there to be comfortable. He looked around for any personal items that might tell him a little more about Iris, but other than clothes and some simple jewelry, he came up empty.

  Upstairs, he returned to the bedroom of the man he assumed was Mr. Carlson. He retrieved the wallet he’d seen earlier in the dresser and flipped it open. A driver’s license with a picture of the dead man indicated his name was Marvin Bernard Carlson, age forty-seven, with an address matching that of the house. There were a few business cards with the same name. Apparently Mr. Carlson worked as a manager for H&R Block. Insurance card, AAA card, a couple of credit cards, and a wallet-sized copy of one of the portraits on the wall. It was the one with the girl at her youngest.

  Ben walked over to the portraits. He hadn’t realized it before, but in none of the pictures was the girl truly smiling. He noticed something else this time, too. Yes, she was a few years older now, but the girl was Iris.

  A trip to the other bedroom confirmed it had been Iris’s room. PROPERTY OF IRIS CARLSON was written inside the covers of several books on the shelves. He wondered what was going on here, but then decided he probably didn’t want to know.

  He exited the house and walked over to the Jeep.

  “Where did everybody go?”

  Iris stood half hidden behind a tree in the yard directly across from her house, her gaze firmly planted on the Cape Cod. Had she been there when he first came back? Probably, he thought.

  “It’s like I told you before,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “They’re gone. There was a massive flu outbreak, and almost everyone is dead.”

  “You’re not dead.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not dead.”

  “No,” he said.

  “And…Mr. Carlson?”

  Ben decided now was probably not the time to call her on her deception. “He’s dead.”

  She looked at the house. “In his bedroom.”

  “Yes.”

  Her lower lip began to tremble. She sucked it between her teeth until the shaking passed. “I need to see.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  She tore her eyes from the house and looked at Ben. “I need to. Don’t you understand?”

  He nodded. “Sure. I understand.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Would you like me to go with you?”

  “Yes, please. I don’t think I can go alone. ”

  Staying a few paces in front of her, he led Iris into the house and down the hallway. When they passed the first bedroom, he sensed her hesitate behind him, and thought she might go inside. But Iris apparently decided against visiting her old room, and soon joined him at the door to the master.

  Ben covered his nose and mouth with his shirt. “You might want to do the same.”

  As soon as she did, he opened the door.

  “It’s not pretty,” he said.

  “I don’t care.”

  “You want to go in first?”

  She shook her head.

  Ben walked into the room and stepped to the side. Iris remained in the hallway for a few seconds before finally entering the room.

  “That is Mr. Carlson, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Only a nod as she stared at the corpse.

  They stood there in silence for over a minute, before Iris abruptly turned and walked out. Ben started to follow her, but stopped and returned to the dresser. He hesitated, feeling guilty for what he considered doing. But he thought it might help him figure out Iris, so he opened the drawer, retrieved Mr. Carlson’s wallet, and slipped it into his pocket.

  He found
Iris outside, sitting on the curb.

  “I’m heading south,” he said. “If you want to come with me, you’re welcome.”

  At first he didn’t think she had heard him, but then she looked up. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  CENTRAL CALIFORNIA

  12:47 PM PST

  MARTINA KNEW THERE had to be some unwritten rule about driving hung over. At first she thought it would be a good thing—the fresh air rushing past her, the bright morning sun keeping her warm. What she hadn’t taken into consideration was the helmet pressing in on her head, keeping that fresh air away and intensifying the heat to the point she could feel sweat dripping down her neck. From the looks on her friends’ faces, they weren’t doing much better. She was pretty certain none of them would be drinking again anytime soon.

  She had purposely set a slower pace today, worried that in their diminished capacity they might not see a pothole or a branch in the road. Turned out the reduced speed was a good thing.

  They were on Route 166, the often windy and narrow highway that separated the San Joaquin Valley from the coast, when they dipped around a bend and had to come to a sudden halt because the road in front of them was blocked.

  Martina’s first thought was that there had been an accident—by the looks of it, a big one, involving over half a dozen vehicles. But then she realized that while the nearest two cars appeared to have run into each other, the ones behind them seemed to have been placed there on purpose. They were in even rows, perpendicular to the road, stretching from one shoulder to the other.

  “How are we supposed to get around that?” Riley asked.

  Craig popped the stand on his bike and hopped off. “I got this. Just need to push a few of them out of the way.”

  He walked around the accident to the car in the first row, and leaned inside to put it in neutral. The moment his head disappeared inside, the crack of a rifle rang out from the trees beyond the blockade.

  Craig jerked out of the car and dropped to the ground.

  The girls stared, momentarily stunned.

  “Down!” Martina yelled as another shot went off. “Everyone! On the ground!”

  She hit the pavement a second before the other two.

  “Why are they shooting at us?” Noreen asked. “We didn’t do anything!”

  “Craig?” Riley called out. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” Craig called back. “Scared the crap out of me, that’s all. Are you guys all right?”

  “Yeah,” Riley said. “We’re okay.”

  “Those were warning shots,” a male voice called from the trees. “Next one won’t miss. Now get on your bikes and go back the way you came. This road is closed!”

  “We’re just trying to get to the coast,” Martina shouted back. “Not trying to cause any problems!”

  “Plenty of other ways to get there. You’re not coming through here!”

  “Okay, okay! No problem! Please don’t shoot at us again, all right?”

  “If you turn those bikes around and get out of here, there won’t be any problems.”

  “I’m going to get up,” Martina said.

  Riley reached out and grabbed Martina’s wrist. “No. What if it’s a trick?”

  “I think he could shoot us where we’re lying if he wanted to. And even if he can’t, what are we going to do? Just stay here?”

  Riley reluctantly let go as Martina pushed herself to her feet.

  When the rifle remained silent, Martina said, “Okay. Everyone up.”

  Noreen was the first to join her, and then Riley stood.

  “My friend’s going to come back from the car, okay?” Martina shouted.

  “He shuts the door first,” the man responded.

  “Craig,” Martina said, dropping her voice a few decibels. “Do as he says.”

  “Hell, no. I’m not getting up,” Craig said. “He’s going to shoot me.”

  “He’s not going to shoot you,” Martina said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Craig, just shut the door!”

  “Uh-uh. No way.”

  Martina closed her eyes for a second, frustrated. She guessed the roadblock was there to keep the man with the rifle and anyone else with him safe from people who might be infected. If she and the others did what he wanted and left, it would all be fine. Like the man said, there were plenty of other highways to the coast.

  “Sir!” she shouted. “My friend’s a little worried if he moves you might shoot him.”

  “He has to close the door, that’s all. Don’t want it left open for anyone else to get any ideas.”

  Martina raised her hands and took a step forward.

  “What are you doing?” Riley whispered.

  “If you’ll allow me,” Martina shouted, “I’ll close the door. Then we’ll be on our way.”

  The man said nothing for several seconds, then, “If you try anything funny, me or one of my friends will take you down.”

  He’s alone, she thought.

  “I won’t try anything,” she said. “Going to do exactly what I told you I would.”

  She took another step forward, and then another.

  “Martina,” Riley said. “Don’t!”

  “You two get on your bikes and turn them around. I’ll be right back.”

  She could hear Riley start to protest again, but Noreen cut her off.

  “Come on,” Noreen said. “Let’s do what she said.”

  Martina kept her pace consistent all the way to the car. When she reached the door, she looked down at Craig. “After I close it, get up, and we’ll walk back.”

  “No. He’ll shoot us in the back,” he protested.

  His fear was obviously keeping him from thinking clearly.

  “If you don’t get up, we’re going to leave you here,” Martina said.

  She shoved the door closed and turned back toward the motorcycles. She was five steps away before she finally heard Craig get to his feet and scramble after her.

  When they were all on their bikes, she shouted, “We’re sorry we disturbed you! Didn’t realize this way was cut off!”

  “You do now,” he replied.

  “You know, you can come with us if you’d like,” she said.

  “What the hell?” Craig whispered. “Are you crazy?”

  “Thanks for the offer,” the man shouted, “but we’re good here. Best you get on your way now!”

  “All right,” Martina said. “Good luck to you!”

  As they headed back into the central valley, Martina wondered how many others were holed up like the man on 166. Must be hundreds or even thousands scattered all over the place. People just trying to survive. Would they chance a trip to a survival station to get inoculated? She figured some would, while others would probably be too scared to venture from the safe haven they’d created.

  Well, there was one good thing that came out of the encounter. Her headache was gone.

  Nineteen

  CHEYENNE, WYOMING

  2:50 PM MST

  WITHOUT THE SNOWPLOWS, the Resistance convoy would have never made it out of Sheridan. Twenty miles south, the going became easier, much of the road covered by only a few inches of snow. After they passed Douglas, there were miles of the interstate completely clear, so they were able to make it to checkpoint three—the Central Avenue/US 85 exit in Cheyenne—in just under six hours.

  At a gas station near the base of the off-ramp, they fueled up the vehicles and settled in to wait for Hiller and Rick.

  Chloe took the opportunity to locate some solitude behind the station. She was lucky there had been so much snow when she fell off the roof the night before. Her injuries could have been a whole lot worse. Still, having her wrist in a sling and her cracked ribs taped up meant she’d been relieved of her driving duties, something that pissed her off more than the injuries themselves.

  Driving would have been good. It would have focused her mind on the road instead of keeping her constantly aware of the other
s inside the cab.

  Aware of Ginny.

  Chloe had tried to sleep, but she could still see the girl when she closed her eyes. Not as she currently was, sitting in back with Brandon and Josie, but on the roof where Chloe had first seen her. A pair of eyes peeking above a scarf, her name hanging in the air between them.

  Why did this girl bother her so much? What was it about her?

  Chloe was sure she’d never seen the girl before. Well, not in this part of her life. But what about in the other part? The memories from then had been lost to her for years. Which, of course, meant if Chloe had known Ginny before, the girl would have been a toddler at best, and would have looked different enough that seeing her now should not have triggered such a strong response.

  So what was it?

  The name, yes, but not that name, she thought. What that meant, she didn’t know. She also felt it was more than something to do with the girl’s name.

  Her face? Her eyes? The way she wore her clothes?

  The harder Chloe thought about it, the further the answers seemed to move away.

  “You all right back here?”

  She turned in surprise.

  “Sorry,” Ash said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, then narrowed her eyes. “Should you be walking around?”

  “Should you?”

  She allowed herself to smile.

  “You looked pretty lost in thought there,” he said. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? I mean, other than the world going to shit.”

  “Other than that, yeah.” He leaned up against the building. “All that riding can’t be good for us.”

  “You were in the army. You should be used to it.”

  He grunted a laugh and said, “You never get used to it.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “So you’re the one who found the cat, huh?”

  “Sorry about that.”