“Open the door! Open the door!” she yelled.
Pax pressed the release. As the door started to open, Estella pushed against it until there was enough room for her to squeeze through. She jumped out and ran back toward the dock.
The speedboat arrived there before she did, stopping on the far side of the ferry, out of sight. As she neared she got a view of the smaller boat, but no one was in it anymore. Then she saw him moving across the main passenger area of the ferry to the gate on the railing.
Robert.
She sprinted and reached him just as he stepped onto the dock. They threw their arms around each other.
“You missed the boat,” she said.
“So I found out,” he replied.
Renee and Pax arrived a few moments later.
“Glad to see you could join us,” Renee said.
“Thanks,” he said.
Pax looked uncomfortable. “Sorry we didn’t wait.”
“It’s good that you didn’t. A plane flew over about a half hour after you left.”
“Did it see you?”
“Not me,” Robert said in a way that made it clear the plane had seen someone. He nodded back toward the boats. “I could use a hand.”
“There’s someone with you?” Renee asked.
“Bertrand.”
“Is he all right?”
“Nothing he won’t recover from.”
Fifteen
DODGER STADIUM
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
12:06 PM PST
BEN HAD NEVER felt as much relief as he did when saw the United Nations van heading down the road toward him. Two men smiled as they climbed out, but their good cheer quickly disappeared when Ben told them about his pursuer.
He was quickly ushered into the van and they sped back the way they’d come. A screeching turn to the left took them up the south side of the valley. As they crested the hill, Ben could see that instead of more parkland ahead, there was a giant, nearly empty parking lot, and in the middle of all that asphalt—Dodger Stadium.
He had made it.
Traveling through the lot, his anticipation of seeing Martina exploded. He was sure she was here. It was the logical place for her to go. His smile was so wide his cheeks hurt, but he barely noticed.
“How many people are here?” he asked.
Without turning to look back at him, the man sitting in the front passenger seat said, “They’ll give you all the information inside.”
It was an odd answer, but Ben was too excited to give it too much attention.
The van drove counterclockwise around the stadium until it passed the narrow end—the home-plate end, Ben guessed—then turned down a smaller section of the lot, lined on both sides by trees. Unlike the rest of the parking area, this section was full of vehicles: more vans with the letters UN on the side, at least twenty sedans of various makes, and nearly as many military-grade trucks and Humvees.
The driver stopped next to an entrance under a blue awning. Immediately, the door swung open and four people—two male soldiers and a man and a woman, both in white lab coats—exited.
“What’s with the soldiers?” Ben asked, his excitement dimming slightly.
“Standard procedure,” the man in the passenger seat said. “Not everyone who comes here is cooperative.”
“They’re not? Why?”
“Beats me.” He turned and looked at Ben. “Hop out. The counselors will escort you from here.”
“Oh, okay.” Ben opened the side door. “Uh…thanks for picking me up.”
As soon as he exited and shut the door, the van pulled away.
“Welcome to the Los Angeles survival station,” the man in the white coat said. “My name is Dr. Rivera and this is Dr. Lawrence.” He motioned toward the woman. “If you will come this way, please.”
Ben followed the doctors into the stadium, the two soldiers falling in silently behind him. Their footsteps echoed off the dark, polished concrete as the group proceeded down a wide walkway. It was walled off on both sides, preventing Ben from seeing the interior of the stadium.
Dr. Rivera stopped at an unmarked door, pulled out a key.
“This way,” he said, unlocking the door and holding it so that Ben and Dr. Lawrence could pass through first.
Ben had been expecting some kind of office, but found himself in a stairwell.
“We’re going down,” Dr. Lawrence said with a smile.
As they headed down the steps, Ben said, “Where are you taking me?”
“Processing,” she said. “We need to get information about you, where you came from, what you were doing before the outbreak, that kind of thing.”
“Oh,” he said. That made sense.
“Tell me,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Ben. Ben Bowerman.”
“Nice to meet you, Ben.” She offered him her hand.
As he grabbed it, he realized she was wearing a latex glove. He looked down at it, then at her, confused.
“Just a precaution,” she told him.
“Do I look like I have the flu?”
“It’s not the flu that concerns us.” She paused. “Of course the flu would concern us, but we’ve all been vaccinated, so if you had it, we wouldn’t get it. There are, unfortunately, other things out there.”
At the bottom of the stairs, they entered another concrete hallway, only this corridor was considerably smaller.
“Are you feeling at all ill?” Dr. Lawrence asked him.
“No. I feel fine.”
She smiled. “Excellent. You’re one of the lucky ones, then.”
“Well, I—” Before he could share his theory that he’d become immune to the Sage Flu, Dr. Rivera stopped at another door.
“Here we are,” the man said as he pulled it open.
The area beyond had obviously once been used for business. There were several cubicles in the main area, with doors to other offices lining the back wall. Most of the cubicles were occupied, and Ben could see someone in at least two of the offices.
The doctors led him to a windowless room at the far left side. It had been set up like an examination room, complete with scale, exam table, jar of tongue depressors, and several pieces of medical equipment Ben couldn’t identify.
“On the table, please,” Dr. Lawrence said.
“I told you, I’m feeling fine,” Ben said.
“I’m sure you are,” Dr. Rivera said. “But I’m equally sure you can understand our need to check.”
While Ben did understand it, he felt uncomfortable about it.
The sooner you get through this, the sooner you can find Martina, he told himself.
He sat down on the table.
They checked his pulse, his blood pressure, his temperature, his throat, his ear, and his nose. Dr. Lawrence probed the glands along his neck and in his armpits, while Dr. Rivera looked into his eyes. They even had him strip down so they could scan what seemed like every inch of his skin.
And the whole time they asked him questions.
Where are you from?
San Mateo.
Why didn’t you go to the survival station in the Bay Area?
I was looking for my girlfriend.
Where is she from?
The desert. North of here.
So you didn’t come straight here?
No. I went to her home first. When she wasn’t there, I assumed she came here.
How old are you?
Turned twenty-one last month.
How many sick have you been around?
My parents. My sisters.
How many sisters?
Two.
Is any of them still alive?
No.
What was your job prior to the pandemic?
I didn’t have a job. I was going to school.
Where?
Santa Cruz.
What were you studying?
Anthropology.
How did you find out about the survival station?
&
nbsp; The message on TV. From the secretary general.
When was the last time you saw the message?
I don’t know. A week ago?
You haven’t watched TV since then?
No. Should I have?
Why do you think you’re still alive?
I think I’m immune.
Ben immediately regretted saying it.
Both doctors stopped what they were doing and looked at him.
“Why would you think that?” Dr. Rivera asked.
As the interrogation progressed, Ben’s uneasiness had increased considerably. Now, with both doctors staring at him, he felt almost scared.
Something wasn’t right.
“I, um, just assumed I was,” he said. “I mean, I took care of my family when they were sick. I fed them and cleaned them up. Sometimes they coughed on me. But…but I’m still here.”
All of that was true, but it wasn’t the reason he knew he was immune. That, he decided, he’d wait to tell them after he felt more comfortable with his surroundings.
While Dr. Lawrence smiled and said, “Of course, that’s only natural,” Dr. Rivera continued to look at Ben as if he were expecting more.
After a few seconds, Ben said what he thought someone in his position would say, “Makes sense, though, right? Why else wouldn’t I be sick?”
Dr. Rivera finally looked away. “There could be many reasons,” the man said. “It could be that you have a tolerance for the disease. But I would caution you on believing that you are immune.”
“But that doesn’t really matter anymore, right?” Ben said.
“What do you mean?” Rivera asked.
“The vaccination. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Once I have that, I will be immune.”
There was an almost imperceptible hesitation before Dr. Lawrence said, “Right. Exactly.”
Her pause had been long enough to send Ben’s concerns rocketing skyward.
“So, do I get that now?” he asked.
“The procedure is a waiting period of two days before you are given the inoculation,” she said.
“Waiting period?”
“Everyone has to go through this,” she said, her tone reassuring. “We need to make sure you aren’t sick.”
“I told you, I’m not.”
“Just because you aren’t showing the signs,” Dr. Rivera said, “doesn’t mean it’s not gestating in your system.”
“But it looks like you’re right,” Dr. Lawrence said, continuing to play the good guy. “The waiting period merely gives us time for some observation and to run some tests on your blood. After that, when we know everything is fine, as I’m sure we will, you’ll receive the vaccine.”
“So what am I supposed to do until then?”
“We have an area set up here where you will wait. You’ll have a bed, warm food, entertainment if you’d like. Two days will be over before you realize it.”
The examination went on for another ten minutes, but the questioning seemed to be done. After they finished, Ben was turned over to the two guards who had accompanied the doctors earlier. They escorted him through the interior of the stadium, then down a corridor glowing with sunlight from the far end.
As they exited the corridor, Ben saw they had come out into one of the dugouts inside the stadium. The dugout was two tiered. The tier the tunnel opened onto was the lower one and covered by the dugout roof. The second tier was more a series of steps and a few flat areas right up against the railing that lined the ball field.
Beyond the field, he could see grandstands full of empty seats rising high into the sky, but it was the field itself that held his attention. Where before there had been base paths and chalk lines and grass and a pitcher’s mound, there now were fences and posts and razor wire, all strung together to form enclosures. He couldn’t tell how many, but definitely more than one.
“What is this?” he asked the guards as they guided him up the stairs to the field.
“Holding areas,” one of them said. “Keeps you isolated and safe from exposure. Only a precaution.”
The words would have been more comforting if they hadn’t sounded so rote.
When he was standing at field level, he could see two enclosures. The nearest ran from about midway between what had been home plate and third base—where it was narrowest—out a good hundred feet into left field, where it widened to about another hundred feet. A giant triangle. The second enclosure was similar, the only difference being it ran up the first-base side.
The guards led him to the gate of the nearest enclosure, opened it, and motioned him in.
“Am I the only one here?” Ben asked, looking around.
“Haven’t had a lot of people come in the last few days,” the guard closing the gate said. “There are four others.” He nodded his chin toward the building at the back of the enclosure. “Probably in the dorm.”
“So I’m just supposed to stay here?”
“For your protection.”
The guard snapped the lock closed, then he and his buddy headed back toward the dugout.
Ben stared after them until they disappeared, then he did a three-sixty and took in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that the grandstands surrounding the field weren’t as deserted as he’d originally thought. Spaced all the way around the stadium were ten armed soldiers. The second thing he noticed was that the fence surrounding his enclosure was not only on top of the ground but had been buried into it. That, combined with the three strands of razor wire running along the top, sent the clear message that attempting to leave was not encouraged.
Yes, he could understand precaution. Yes, he could understand the need for isolation. But what he couldn’t understand was the need to treat him like a prisoner. Because that’s what he felt like. Thirty minutes earlier he had been so elated. Now the hairs on his arms were standing on end.
Martina. He had come here for Martina. It didn’t matter if they locked him up. As long as he could find her, everything would be okay. Before he realized it, he was running toward the dorm building, thinking one of the four people inside might be her. When he reached the door, he flung it open and raced inside.
The large main room was lined with triple high bunks running down both sides. At the midway point was an open area where a few tables and some chairs were set up. The four people the guard had mentioned were sitting in the chairs facing one of the walls, with the distinct glow of a television falling on them. Instead of looking at the TV, though, they had all turned toward the door when Ben rushed in.
One man and three women, none of whom was Martina.
THEIR NAMES WERE Ava, Grace, Melody, and Diego. None had known each other before the outbreak, though Ava and Grace had found each other prior to making the journey to the survival station.
Diego had been there the longest, ten hours shy of two days. The women had all arrived a day later, Melody first, then Ava and Grace a few hours after that. Diego said there had been six others in the holding area when he arrived, but when he woke after his first night, they were gone. The person who brought the food told him all six had cleared their quarantine period, been inoculated, and sent on to one of the UN safe zones.
“The six who were here—was one of them a girl, about eighteen, named Martina?” Ben said.
Diego shook his head. “There were only two women. One was probably around forty, and the other had to be in her seventies.”
Ben felt defeated. He had been so sure he would find her here. Of course, if she had come as soon as the survival stations opened, she could have already moved on to this safe zone.
“Are there people in the other fenced-in area?” he asked.
“I saw someone in the big one next to us last night,” Grace said. “He didn’t look well, though.”
“I’ve seen a couple there, too,” Diego said. “None of them looked too good.”
“Makes sense,” Ben said. “Separate the sick from the healthy.”
“Don’t know abo
ut the small holding area, though,” Diego said.
“Small holding area?” Ben asked. He had only seen the two.
“It’s out in center field, but the fence is covered with a tarp so you can’t see in.”
“I’ve heard some voices from over there,” Melody said. “Couldn’t understand anything, though.”
“How many voices?”
“Three or four maybe.”
“Male or female?”
“Female, I think, but I can’t be sure.”
Though he knew he was grasping at straws, Ben couldn’t help but feel a resurgence of hope. “Have any of the guards told you what that area’s for?”
“They don’t say much. I was lucky just to get one of them to tell me what happened to the people who left,” Diego said.
“Have any of you tried to get out?” Ben asked.
“Get out?” Melody said. “Why would we want to get out?”
“Doesn’t it seem kind of weird for them to lock us up like this?”
“They’re trying to keep us safe,” Ava said. “After we pass our two days, we’ll get the shot and we can go.”
“But if they’re really trying to make sure we aren’t sick, wouldn’t they put each of us in our own room?” Ben said, adding, “If one of us turned out to be sick, we could infect the others. So what good would that do?”
He could see none of them had thought about it. Confusion began leaking into their expressions.
“No,” Ava said. “I’m sure they know what they’re doing. It’s the UN, for God’s sake. They’re trying to keep people alive, so why would they do something that would harm us?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said.
“Exactly my point. We just need to do our time and everything will be fine.”
The thought had come to Ben as he was sitting there, and he wasn’t sure he was right so he decided not to push it any further. Still, it troubled him.
The conversation fell into stories about what each of them had gone through to get there. After a while, Ben said he wanted to stretch his legs and went outside.
He walked slowly around the perimeter of his holding area. When he reached the point closest to the smaller enclosure out in center field, he stopped.
Like Diego had said, the fence was covered with a green tarp. Ben was willing to bet it’d been cut from the covering that was once used to protect the playing field from rain.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 2 Page 67
