by A. G. Riddle
David awoke to the second-loudest alarm he’d ever heard in his life. The loudest alarm had been in Langley, Virginia, in 2003: an air horn held at his head, prompting him to jump out of bed, half-naked. His CIA training handlers had hauled him out of the barracks, still half-naked, and dumped him in the woods of northern Virginia.
“There are six snipers in these woods. You have ’til dusk to reach the barracks. Their bullets carry paint, and if any is on you, we don’t want you.”
They had thrown him out, the van still rolling, and he had seen them again as the sun set behind the one-story barracks building.
Since that evening, he had never slept in his underwear again, save for that single time, a slight oversight, a moment of weakness, when he let his guard down in Gibraltar, with Kate.
Now a flood of footsteps echoed through the door. He took up position in the opposite corner of the room, diagonal from the door, ready to assault anyone who entered. Had Rukin found out? Bugged the room? He would have heard everything.
The door clicked open, but it didn’t swing. Two black hands peeked out from the door, extended straight out, showing that they were empty. The owner called through the rush of footfalls behind him. “Kamau.”
“Step inside. Then close the door,” David said from his crouching position, then quickly, silently, on bare feet, stepped to the other corner of the room, in the door’s blind spot.
Kamau entered the room and pushed the door closed behind him. He instantly focused on the corner David’s voice had come from, then spun to the other corner, facing David.
“We’re under attack,” he said.
“Who?”
“We don’t know. The major has asked for you.”
David followed Kamau into the hall, which was awash with men, all rushing to their positions, paying no mind to David and Kamau.
Outside the residential wing, the inner courtyard of the citadel buzzed with activity. David wanted to stop, to make a tactical assessment, but Kamau pressed on, jogging toward a high tower.
They raced up the rickety steel staircase, and Kamau grabbed David’s arm just before the last landing. “They don’t know what’s going on either. He’s testing you.”
David nodded and followed Kamau into the command center. It exceeded David’s wildest expectations. It had eight sides; every other wall was filled with a floor-to-ceiling window that allowed a clear view of each direction of the camp. The other four walls held computer screens that showed maps, charts, and readouts David couldn’t begin to understand.
At the center, two technicians hunched over tables and computer screens. A single chair was set off from them, and the major occupied it. “Deploy batteries four and five. Fire at will.” He spun around to David.
“You knew about this.”
“I don’t even know what this is.”
A technician spoke up. “The planes have dropped their payload.”
The major eyed David.
Out the side window, guns along the north wall rotated quickly and fired into the night.
The shots seemed to instantly connect, exploding in a cascade of midair explosions. The remains of the attack planes rained down into the water below.
“Seven targets, seven kills,” another technician said.
David marveled at the air defenses. He wasn’t well versed on surface-to-air defense systems, but what he had just seen was more advanced than anything he was aware of.
This base wouldn’t be taken from the air.
The tech who had fired the barrage of missiles punched his keyboard a few times and shook his head. “Radar’s clear. It was just one group.”
The major stood up and walked to the window. “I saw only seven explosions. Why didn’t anything hit us? Did the missiles miss?”
“They fell short, sir.”
Out the western window, a plume of water and light rose up.
“What the hell was that?” Rukin demanded.
The techs worked their computers. Another man stood up and pointed to one of the screens. “I don’t think we were the target, sir. I think they deployed mines in the straits. A piece of one of the planes hit one of the mines as it sank, I assume.”
The major stood there for a moment, staring at the water, at the point where the plane debris had exploded. “Get me the chairman’s fleet. He needs to alter course,” the major said as he waved David and Kamau out of the room.
Outside the command center, David got an aerial view of the pens he had heard on his way in. They were filled with people, huddled together, packed in. There must have been two or three thousand of them. Barbarians waiting for the boatman, Rukin had said. Who could do this?
On the way back to the residential wing, Kamau and David walked in silence. At David’s room, he motioned for Kamau to stay. “What was that?”
“An RAF squadron. We haven’t seen one in months. They tried to take the base shortly after the outbreak, before the Immari burned the city and got their air defenses in place. We thought the British were out of jet fuel.”
“Why did they drop the mines?”
“Dorian Sloane is on his way here. He’s leading the main Immari fleet north. They’re going to invade Europe. I assume the British have mined the straits to cut him off from the Mediterranean.”
“How far out is Sloane?”
“The main fleet is days away. I just read a memo that said Sloane flew up the coast and is leading a smaller, advance fleet. He’s after something. He could be here as soon as tonight.”
David nodded. Sloane. Here. Taking Ceuta before he arrived could save even more lives than David imagined—if he could kill or capture Sloane. And he had just seen the key to doing it. “What are those guns?”
“Rail guns,” Kamau said.
“Impossible.”
“They were a classified Immari Research weapons program.”
David knew the US military had experimented with rail gun technology, but rail guns weren’t in active use. The principle problem was power. Rail guns used massive amounts of electricity to propel a projectile at hypersonic speeds—over sixty-two hundred kilometers per hour. “How do they get the power?”
“They have a special solar array, several mirror complexes near the harbor.”
“Range?”
“I’m not sure. I know that during the invasion of southern Spain they fired on targets in Marbella and even Málaga—over a hundred kilometers away.”
Incredible. The guns at Ceuta could likely destroy any fleet that approached, possibly even the entire Immari army in southern Spain. Could they use them to—
Kamau seemed to read his mind. “Even if we took the control tower, the guns cannot be pointed inside the base.”
David nodded. “Who are the horse raiders?”
“Plague survivors. Berbers. With the collapse of civilization, they have gone back to their cultural roots. Other than that, our intel is limited.”
“How many are there?”
“Unknown.”
David tried to assemble a plan. “Rukin. What’s he like?”
“Cruel. Competent.”
“Vices?”
“Only smoking and… women.”
David pulled off the tunic of his Immari uniform. The mention of women reminded David of the girl who had come to his room. Instantly his mind replaced her with a mental image of Kate. He tried to push it away, but he had to know… It was a risk, but David asked the question he had wanted to since the second he had arrived in Ceuta. “Have you seen any reports about someone named Kate Warner?”
“About a thousand. She is the most wanted person in the world.”
A current of fear went through David. He hadn’t expected that. “Wanted by whom?”
“Everyone. The Immari, the Orchid Alliance.”
“Suspected whereabouts?”
“The Immari doesn’t know. Or at least, we haven’t been briefed.”
David nodded. She might still be alive. He hoped she was in hiding somewhere far away,
out of reach of the Immari. Even if he went looking for her, he would likely never find her. And he had a job to do here. “Okay, I want you to get me some civilian clothes. And the best horse you can find.”
40
Plague Barge Destiny
Mediterranean Sea
The captain turned to the two men. “We’re clear. You can begin. And see if Dr. Chang and Dr. Janus have any bodies to dispose of.”
The older of the two men nodded and they left the ship’s bridge.
Below deck, they began strapping on the suits they wore each time.
“You ever think about what we’re doing?” the younger man asked.
“I try not to.”
“You think it’s wrong?”
The older man glanced up at him.
“They’re people, they’re just sick.”
“Are they? Are you a scientist? I’m not. Janitors don’t get paid to think.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t overthink this thing. You’ve got my back out there. My life is in your hands. You overthink what we’re doing, and you could get us both killed. And most importantly, you could get me killed. If the freaks on the deck don’t get us, the lunatics in the control room will. We’ve got one chance here: we do our job. So shut up and suit up.”
The younger man looked away, then resumed attaching tape to his suit, occasionally glancing at the older man.
“What did you do before the plague?”
“I didn’t do anything,” the older man said.
“Unemployed? Me too. Pretty much like everybody else my age in Spain. But I had just gotten some work as a substitute teacher—”
“I was in prison.”
The young man paused, then asked, “What for?”
“I was in the type of prison where you don’t ask what you’re in for. And you don’t make friends. It’s a lot like this place. Look kid, I’m going to make it really simple for you: the world is over. The only mystery that matters is who’s gonna survive. There are two groups left. The people with the flamethrowers and the people catching the flames. You’re holding a flamethrower right now. So shut up and be happy. And don’t make friends. You never know who you’re gonna have to burn in this world.”
At that moment, the door opened, and the scientist whom the crew called Dr. Doolittle—whose actual name was Dr. Janus—stepped into the small room. His face was blank and he made no eye contact with either man. Two lab assistants pushed carts with body bags in and left just as quickly.
“That all of ’em?” the older man asked.
“For now,” the doctor said mildly to no one in particular. He turned to leave, but the younger man spoke up just as the scientist reached the door’s threshold.
“Any progress?”
Dr. Janus paused a moment, then said, “That depends… on your definition of progress.” He stepped out.
The younger man turned to the older man. “You think—”
“I swear, you say the word ‘think’ again, and I’ll torch you myself. Now come on.”
They donned their helmets, marched up the stairs, and opened the doors to the stalls that held the devolving and the survivors who refused to pledge. A few seconds later, the first people began falling into the sea.
41
Immari Sorting Camp
Marbella, Spain
Kate stared out the sixth-floor window at the resort grounds below. She and the other survivors were housed in the tower closest to the sea. The soldiers had taken the middle tower for themselves, and the far tower, farthest inland and close to the gate, was filled to the breaking point with the dead and dying. Martin was in there. Kate wondered which group he was in: dead or dying? Kate stared at the tower, at the four guards who loitered at the entrance, smoking, talking, laughing, and reading magazines.
Waiting was excruciating but she had to. She had to bide her time until the moment came. She would get one shot at getting him out.
She turned back and sat on her bed. Across the room, her roommate lay in bed, reading an old book. “What are you reading?” Kate asked.
“She.”
“She?”
The woman rolled over and rotated the cover toward Kate. “She: A History of Adventure. You want to read it when I’m done?”
“No, thanks,” Kate said. “I’m getting all the adventure I can handle right now,” she added, under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The rumble of heavy trucks at the edge of the gate rolled through the camp, and Kate sprang up and peered out the glass. She waited, hoping, and yes—they were bringing in a new shipment. The Immari had been continuously unloading people, perhaps from the rural areas beyond Marbella. This former Orchid District seemed to be their main staging area for the region. Every few hours, a new convoy brought more people, both sick and well, and troops with them. Confusion. An hour of chaos. An opening. Kate raced to the door.
“Where are you going? We’ve got room count in twenty minutes—” her roommate called, but Kate didn’t stop. She bounded down the stairs. At the ground floor, she found the front desk and searched for a floor plan. Would this building have what she needed? What would she say if a guard stopped her or even found her out of her room? They counted twice a day, and she didn’t know what they would do if the numbers didn’t add up—it had never happened before.
At the front desk, she found the first item she needed: a name badge. Xavier Medina, Vargas Resorts. It wouldn’t matter. She just needed a badge. If they checked it, she was caught already.
She moved past the gift store, and to her relief, a restaurant dominated the corner of the building beyond. She waded into the darkened dining room, through the stainless steel double doors, and into the kitchen. The stench was almost unbearable. She pinched her nose and moved deeper into the room. It was dark, too dark. She propped the double doors open with a stool and resumed her search.
In the corner, she found what she needed: a chef’s jacket. She unfolded it. It was soiled: green and red streaks coated the front. She knew she would need to cut it to make it work. She took a butcher knife off the center table and withdrew her hand from her nose long enough to reshape the garment. She turned it inside out and slipped into it. She clipped Xavier’s badge to her newly carved lapel and surveyed her reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator: white coat, dangling name badge, brunette hair pulled back into a ponytail, gaunt cheeks, and a pale complexion. A single thought ran through her mind: No freaking way this is gonna work. She exhaled deeply and ran a hand through her ponytail. What the hell am I doing?
But what else could she do? She walked quickly out of the kitchen and back to the front desk. Sunlight bathed the lobby through the glass revolving door. Two guards waited beyond. I should take this thing off and go back to my room. She shook her head. What would they do if they caught her? But she couldn’t turn back. She had to do something. She couldn’t sit up there knowing Martin was dying, that the whole world was. She would take this risk. It was her only shot.
She walked to the revolving door and pushed through. The guards stopped talking and focused on her. She walked quickly past them, and they called to her. She looked back and waved. She walked a little faster. Not too fast, not fast enough to be suspicious. Were they following her? Another look back could give her away.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate caught a glimpse of something that startled her: lights, on the water. Her hotel room had no view of the coast. She paused just long enough to take it in. The monstrous white ship glittering off the coast moved slowly, but there was no mistaking its destination: Marbella. It looked almost like… yes, a cruise ship, with large guns mounted at the ends. Was it a plague barge? Would the survivors—her included—be rounded up and loaded onto it? She had to get to Martin before it reached the harbor.
Up ahead, a thick line of people formed where the trucks were unloading. The people marched to the tables and processing attendants, just as Kate
had done yesterday. Would they replay Dorian’s speech? Like the outdoor movie at dusk every night? The thought of him made her angry, steeled her a bit.
She fell in behind a man and a woman, both coughing, hobbling toward the building for the sick.
The four guards were talking amongst themselves, ignoring the endless flow of sick into the building. As Kate reached the revolving door, a guard looked over at her, wrinkled his brow, and stepped toward her. “Hey, what are you—”
Kate pinched Xavier’s badge and held it forward, not letting it unclip from the makeshift lapel. “O-Official business,” she stammered.
She quickly ducked into the revolving door. Official business? God, she was going to get caught. The revolving door spilled her into the lobby, and as her eyes adjusted, Kate took in the scene. Nothing could have prepared her for it.
She almost staggered back, but people were rushing in behind her, pouring into the building.
Bodies were everywhere. Dead, dying, crying, coughing, and everything in between. This was a world without Orchid. And it was happening all across southern Spain—and if Paul Brenner was right, around the world. How many had died already, in the first day? Millions? Another billion? She couldn’t think about that now; she had to focus.
She had seen people flowing into the building, but she had no concept of how many people were here. There were a hundred, at least, here in the lobby, in this confined space. How many in the building? Several thousand, maybe? There were thirty floors. She would never find Martin.
Behind her, she saw the guard enter the revolving door. He knew. He was coming after her.
Kate took off, darting through the lobby and into the stairwell. If they were going to demolish the building, when would it happen?
She pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she bounded up the stairwell, which was relatively empty. What floor should she try? Below, the stairwell door flew open.
“Stop!” the guard yelled from the bottom floor.
Against her better judgment, Kate peeked over the rail and her eyes met his. He raced up the stairs.
