He leaned against the railing, a gentle breeze blowing across his shoulders, and wondered if there might be other islands like this one, where groups had survived because of their isolation. The more he considered it, the more he thought there had to be. The Project Eden assholes had missed this place. They were bound to have missed others.
He hoped he was right.
For several more minutes, he watched the waves break near the shore and the water lap against the tan beach. He was starting to push himself up, thinking he should go back and check how the meeting was going, when something on the horizon caught his attention.
“THERE’S NOT ENOUGH information,” Maureen Johnston said. “How are we supposed to decide what to believe without all the facts?”
“Exactly how are you expecting us to get all those facts?” Kim Sutter countered.
“I don’t know. I’m just saying we need to make the correct decision.”
“What are you, an idiot?” Kim said. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Hey!” Robert said. “Let’s try to keep it civil, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” Kim said. “But, Robert, you know there’s no way to know all the facts.”
“We’re only hearing people out right now,” Robert said. “Who was next?”
Several dozen hands shot up. Robert pointed at a German guy named Herman Wolfe.
“In my opinion, we are missing a very important point,” Wolfe said. “If there is no United Nations, then what will take—”
The door at the back of the room flew open and Pax ran in.
“Robert, may I see you for a moment?” he said.
“We’re still in the middle—”
“Please.”
Pax looked distressed, so Robert nodded and said to the group, “You all have plenty to talk about amongst yourselves. We can pick this up when I come back.”
Loud conversations immediately broke out all over.
When Robert reached Pax, he said, “What’s going on?”
Pax put a hand on his back and started leading him to the door. “Not here.”
They walked out of the dining room and into the open-air lobby.
“Where do you keep the radio?” Pax asked.
“Downstairs, behind the bar.”
“Are all your food supplies up here in the restaurant?”
Robert shook his head. “No, in the kitchen by the bar.”
“Okay, then we’re going to need a few people.”
“Will you tell me what’s going on?”
“I will, but first grab four or five folks you trust, and let’s get down to the bar.”
Robert returned to the dining room and rounded up Enrique, Chuck, Estella, and Manny Aguilar.
“What’s going on?” Renee asked as he was leaving again.
“I’m not sure. Just keep everyone occupied. I won’t be long.”
Pax led the group down to the bar, and let Robert show them the rest of the way to the radio room.
“All right, fire it up,” Pax said. “There’s a plane out there. We need to find out who they are.”
“A plane?” Chuck said. “More of your people?”
“Let’s hope so, but I doubt it.”
Robert activated the radio and pushed the talk button. “This is Isabella Island calling unidentified aircraft. Do you read me?”
Static.
“Try again,” Pax said.
“Isabella Island calling unidentified aircraft. Come in, please.”
No response.
“You sure you have it set right?” Pax asked.
“This is the same frequency we used to talk to your plane and the one that said it was from the UN the other day,” Robert told him.
Pax looked like it was the answer he was expecting but didn’t want. “Do you have any duct tape? Plastic sheeting?”
“What?”
“Do you have any?”
“Um, there’s probably duct tape in the maintenance room, but no sheeting that I know of. Pax, what the hell’s going on?”
“What about tarps?”
“Yeah. We have tarps, but—”
“You and I will go to the maintenance room.” Pax turned to the others. “You four grab as much food as you can and take it up to the restaurant, things that will be easy to make and can stretch for a couple of days for everyone. You probably have time for two trips at most.”
“You’ve got to tell us what’s going on!” Robert said.
“That plane,” Pax said. “I’m pretty sure that’s your ‘UN’ friends coming back. And I can guarantee you if it is, they’re not bringing you vaccine.”
THE ISABELLA ISLAND survivors nearly went into full revolt when they saw all the supplies being carried in.
“Listen up,” Pax said. “I realize many of you don’t believe a word I told Robert, but here’s your chance to get your proof to see whether I’m lying or not. We have a plane heading this way. If it just flies by and doesn’t cause any problems, then you can lock me up or put me in a boat and shove me out to sea.”
“What do you think they’re going to do?” someone asked.
“If I’m right, your island is about to be doused with the Sage Flu,” Pax said. “Now, if some of you would be so kind as to help us seal up the room, that would be appreciated.”
“That’s ridiculous!” someone yelled.
“Why are we even listening to him?”
“What if he’s telling the truth?”
Robert jumped up on a chair. “Seems to me we’ll know soon enough if he’s lying or not, so it’s not going to hurt us any to do as he asks. Who’s going to help?”
Several hands shot up. After Robert divided them into groups of three, they began working their way through the room.
They were nearly finished with the last window when they heard the drone of the approaching plane. Pax applied the last bit of tape, and then he and Robert went over to where the others were sitting.
The sound of the plane continued to grow louder and louder until it passed not more than a hundred feet directly above them. After it flew by, one of the survivors cocked his head to the side, and then several others did the same.
The sound was soft, almost nonexistent, like the gentlest of rains.
Pax moved over to one of the windows and peeled back the corner of the tarp. Liquid dripped down the outside of the glass. As he motioned for Robert to join him, the plane approached the island again.
“Don’t get too close,” Pax said. “Just a quick look.”
He lifted the flap again.
“Is that it?” Robert asked.
Pax nodded. “All wrapped up in a nice little liquid delivery system the people you thought were from the UN developed for stubborn locations like yours.”
The plane flew overhead again, spattering more of the liquid onto the window.
Pax looked up toward the noise. “Another fifteen minutes and they’ll have covered every inch.”
“Why would they do that?” one of the guests asked.
“They’re in charge now,” Pax said. “You’re excess humanity, and not part of their plan.”
Robert was quiet for a second. “The flu won’t hurt us, though. We’ve been inoculated.”
“You have, and chances are you’d be fine, but you only received your shots a few hours ago. It’s better if we let your immunity build up a bit more. Besides, that’s quite a concentration they’re dumping out there right now. We need to let it thin.”
“So how long do we have to stay in here?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll check in with the medical team. They can give us a timeline.”
Robert scanned the room “You think this place is safe?”
“Safer than being out there.”
Twenty-Nine
ALAMOGORDO, NEW MEXICO
6:49 PM MST
ASH HAD BEEN positive they would find the Resistance convoy in Truth or Consequences, but they had searched all the logical places the others could have bee
n, and there was no sign of them.
Having no choice but to move on, they headed for Alamogordo, a trip that took them two and a half hours. When they arrived, they began working their way through town.
“Try this one,” Chloe said as they approached 10th Street.
“Yes, ma’am,” Sorrento said, and took the turn.
“Anything?” Ash asked a few moments later.
“Nothing over here,” Chloe said.
“I don’t see anything,” Gardiner threw in.
Ash looked toward the back of the truck. “What about you?”
“All looks the same to me,” Rick said.
Ash hadn’t wanted to bring the kid along, but leaving him behind with Brandon didn’t seem like a good idea, either. Davis would have probably been able to keep Rick in check, but Ash thought it was better not to tempt fate. When Brandon asked why Rick was allowed to go but he wasn’t, Ash had said, “Because he’s sixteen and you’re not.”
“Hey, what’s that?” Gardiner said.
He was sitting behind Sorrento, his gaze locked on a parking lot, left of the vehicle. While Sorrento slowed the truck, both Ash and Chloe adjusted their positions so they could see out Gardiner’s side.
“What are you looking at?” Chloe asked.
“Up there, near the building. Gas cans, I think.”
He was right. In the floodlights that still lit up the parking lot, Ash could see over a dozen cans stacked side by side.
“Let’s check it out,” he ordered.
Sorrento pulled into the lot and stopped. As Ash and Chloe hopped out, they were greeted by a blast of frigid air, the temperature having taken a drastic downturn since their last stop. The only question now was whether they would have a wet snow or an icy rain when the storm decided it was time to open up.
Chloe knelt next to one of the cans and tilted it toward her. “These look like the same type we picked up in Sheridan.” She unscrewed the cap and gave it a sniff. “This one was full recently.”
“Looks like they were here,” Ash said.
“Only one way they could have gone.”
“Yep.”
NB219
7:49 PM MST
WICKS READ THROUGH the report again, but still found he couldn’t focus on the words, his mind understandably preoccupied. Knowing it wouldn’t be any better if he tried again, he clicked the box indicating he’d read and approved it, and sent it on its way.
He glanced at the clock in the top corner of his screen. It was time to go. He opened the bottom desk drawer, reached underneath it, and pulled off the envelope he’d taped there. He stood up, stuffed the envelope in his pocket, and left his office.
“Mr. Wicks!”
Wicks looked back. Adrian Bernstein, one of the true believers who worked under him, was leaning out of his office.
“What is it?” Wicks asked.
“I just received some additional stats from western Africa. I assume you want those included in the report.”
“I was under the impression it was already included.”
“I didn’t realize you were going to send it out early. I thought I had another hour.”
“Well, you didn’t,” Wicks said. “I’ve been called into another meeting. I don’t have time to deal with this. Write up an addendum and send it out.”
“Yes, sir. Of course,” Bernstein said. “Would you like that broken down as—”
“Adrian, don’t make me do your job for you.”
Wicks walked quickly away before the other man could speak again.
He took a route he knew would be less trafficked so he could increase his pace without drawing undue attention. As he neared the elevator, though, he heard steps coming from the other direction. It was too late for him to head back into one of the corridors that led off the elevator lobby without being noticed by the approaching person, so he continued on.
Reaching the elevator, he realized he had a serious problem. While his own ID pass was right there in his pocket, the one he needed to swipe in front of the reader to call the elevator was still in the envelope in his pocket. How was he supposed to retrieve it without being noticed? He stared at the elevator, paralyzed by indecision.
“Evening.”
Wicks jerked back at the sound of the voice. Standing next to him was a gray jumpsuit-clad security guard named Cliff Eames.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Eames said.
Wicks attempted a disarming smile. “My fault. Lost in thought.”
“Call the elevator already?”
“What? Oh, uh, no. I…”
“No problem. I got it.”
Eames flashed his ID badge in front of the reader. Less than thirty seconds later, the door for car number two opened and the two men entered.
“Business up top?” Eames asked.
Wicks had prepared for this question, only in his mind it hadn’t been a security guard who asked, but one of the warehouse workers.
Again with the smile. “Inventory discrepancy on one of my department reports. Needed to stretch my legs, so thought I’d check it out myself. You going on duty?”
“Monitoring room tonight.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Boring, more like it.”
When the door opened at the top, Wicks motioned for the guard to go first and said, “Don’t work too hard.”
“I’ll try not to.”
Wicks spent a few minutes walking down aisles and acting interested in some of the items stored there. When he reached the auxiliary exit, he finally removed the badge from the envelope. He’d cloned it several days earlier from an ID belonging to a manager in an entirely different department, after receiving the message he would be having a guest.
Two other items were in the envelope: a key fob-sized signal scrambler, which, when activated, would interfere with the links to security cameras within a twenty-five-foot radius of the device; and a piece of paper with information he’d waited far too long to obtain.
He turned on the scrambler, opened the door with the cloned card, and headed down the tunnel to the outside.
NEAR FORT MEADE, MARYLAND
10:07 PM EST
“WHY ISN’T THIS working?” Bobby yelled in frustration.
“You’ve checked everything?” Tamara asked.
“Of course I have, like twenty thousand times.”
“You’re obviously missing something.”
He looked at her as if contemplating whether gutting her or ripping her head off would be the more enjoyable task.
“I’m just saying the answers has to be there somewhere,” she told him.
“No kidding,” he said.
“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to upset you. Look, why don’t you take a break for a few minutes. Clear your head. I’ve got a Coke that’s still cold if you want it.”
He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, all right. Toss it here.”
Surprisingly, Bobby had been able to get the uplink working for North and South America, portions of Europe, and nearly all of Asia. He also told Tamara he felt confident he could bust in on the current signal. That was not something he could test, though. They’d have to save that until they were ready to go, in case the Project Eden techs could figure out a way around it and block any future attempts. That would be disastrous.
The problem he was having was one of input, something that should have been easy to solve. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the system to accept the video file he was trying to feed it.
“Maybe if I rerouted the playback machine again,” he said, then took a drink. Not only had he tried that at least four times, he’d also worked through a dozen different playback machines.
If only it was as easy as their old stand-ups had been, Tamara thought. Back then, in their news days, all they needed was a camera and the van that linked them to the satellite and they could broadcast from anywhere.
She leaned back. “Bobby.”
“Yeah.”
“We did bring t
he camera, didn’t we?” They had recorded the file in Washington, DC, with the deserted White House in the background. While that image would add dramatic flare, it was the message that was important.
“It’s out in the car,” he said. “But if you think recording the message again might work, forget it. It’s not the file. I’ve tried it on a bunch of computers, and it plays perfectly.”
“No, I was thinking maybe we could do it live.”
“Live?” His eyes lost focus for a second as he fell into thought. “Probably would need to…and then…yeah, yeah…and…”
“Will it work?” she asked.
He stared at nothing for another moment before turning to her, the start of a grin on his lips. “Yeah. I think it might. It means you’ll have to keep talking until I figure out how to get the playback going, though.”
“I can do that.”
LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO
8:13 PM MST
UNLIKE ELSEWHERE IN the city, where parking lots and streets were all but empty, the lot serving the Mountain View Regional Medical Center and the road feeding into it were packed with cars. It was the same pattern Matt had seen in other towns, vehicles left behind by the desperate who had rushed to medical facilities only to die there.
It was heart wrenching and depressing, but the hospital was also the perfect rendezvous location. Matt parked the car Hiller had obtained for him in Alamogordo and waited. If someone from Project Eden happened to be in the area, they would drive right by and never know he was there, hidden among all the cars.
He’d been there for an hour, and had spent most of it staring out the window, trying not to think about anything. But of course that was impossible. He knew the dead in the cars surrounding him, in the homes he’d driven by to get there, in everything everywhere. Each body represented someone he should have saved. Someone he had failed.
He could have done so many things differently, small things that would have rippled out and brought about entirely different results. He could see that so clearly now. But there was no going back. There were no do-overs, no second tries. The billions who lay at his feet would always be there.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 2 Page 50
