Colony East (14 page)

The boy trotted off.

Dawson had witnessed hundreds of similar episodes. After surviving the epidemic, he would have thought the children of the colony should be as tough as battle-hardened soldiers. In many regards, they were that tough. Then they would become distraught over scraped knees, scratches, minor bruises and bumps. He figured they simply longed to act like kids again and the tiniest of injuries gave them an excuse to let the tears flow.

The interruptions continued.

Alexa, a Biltmore cadet, age eight, raced up to him and saluted. “Rodney tripped me!” she cried angrily.

Rodney Baker, also in Biltmore Company, was a spirited, eleven-year-old cutup.

Dawson said to Alexa, “What you’re telling me is that Rodney stuck his foot out and you stumbled over it.”

Alexa scowled. “That’s right. He did it on purpose.”

Dawson gave Sandy a secret wink. He didn’t want to be in the conflict resolution business. If he started settling disputes among the cadets, he wouldn’t have time to tie his own shoes. “I see.” He furrowed his brow for Alexa’s benefit. “Rodney tried to do it.”

The feisty cadet growled. “Yes. He tried to do it.”

Pursing his lips, he nodded. “Hmmm, Rodney stuck out his foot, hoping you’d fall down.”

Alexa gritted her teeth. “Yes!” Then she stormed off.

“I don’t envy Rodney,” he told Sandy.

“What happens when Rodney comes running to you?” she replied with a smile that warmed his insides.

Dawson pointed to his ear. “Listen, listen, listen. Ears solve more conflicts than speeches, suggestions, and reprimands combined.”

Sandy brushed his arm. “I’ll remember that.”

A moment later, a Hilton cadet reported to her that he’d forgotten his ID card. Sandy told him to run back to the hotel and get it.

“It drives me crazy when they forget their ID cards,” Dawson said, thinking it was the number one infraction in his company.

Sandy rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you ever forget anything important when you were a kid?”

“My father commanded a cruiser. You know what would have happened to me?”

“Let me guess. He’d make you clean the latrine?”

He chuckled. “Close. The cat litter box.”

She grinned. “I bet he called you Cadet Dawson.”

“Don’t laugh. He called me Markie.”

Sandy laughed, but he didn't mind. She looked good when she laughed.

Cadets from both companies had formed two lines at the revolving doors of Grand Central Station, egging each other on to make the doors spin faster. The doors worked like a fan, releasing a cloud of scents outside—sizzling bacon, fresh baked rolls, and fried sweet potatoes. Dawson’s mouth started watering even before he stepped inside the mess hall.

Navy cooks served three meals a day. Two companies at a time ate lunch and breakfast. He silently praised the wisdom of his superiors for assigning Biltmore and Hilton to dine together. All four companies joined up for dinner.

He and Sandy waited in the chow line like everyone else. Servers gave generous portions, and cadets with soy protein shakes and their plates piled high, drifted from the galley to find seats at tables set up in the concourse.

Dawson studied the menu on a white board. Breakfast: eggs, bacon, and potatoes. Lunch: chicken cutlets, peas, and squash. Dinner: rice and salad.

“How much was grown here?” Sandy asked, quickly adding, “I know, I need to get out of the hospital more often.”

Dawson winked. “You have a good excuse. You’re training the doctors of tomorrow.”

Then he reviewed the menu items for her. “Lettuce from the hydroponic garden. Peas from Central Park Farm. The eggs definitely came from the coop at the United Nations. I’m not sure about the chicken cutlets. Everything else was flown in from Atlanta.”

Their own plates full, they moved to the officers’ mess, an area cordoned off with stanchions and velvet ropes. The cadets knew to stay outside the ropes unless it was an emergency. He and Sandy sat opposite each other at the round table.

Dawson thought the din of two hundred kids laughing and chatting, and the kitchen crew banging pots and pans, would drown out his voice, but he wanted to be absolutely certain that nobody other than Sandy heard him. He leaned forward. “Did you send anyone to MC seventeen?”

She shook her head.

“Me neither.” He scooped some scrambled eggs onto his fork. “You know what the Code 4’s about?”

“Yes.”

Stunned by her response, he set the fork on his plate. Typically, company leaders were the last people in the colony to know the motives of the scientists, and that included Sandy, despite the fact she worked alongside CDC scientists in the hospital.

When she leaned closer to him to speak, he smelled something new in the plethora of scents. Vanilla shampoo. “It’s just a precaution,” she said. “They’ve seen instances of AHA mutating.”

Actinomadur halophilia-1A, or ‘AHA’, was the bacteria introduced into the atmosphere two years ago by the comet.

She continued, “The scientists believe the new strain attacks the hypothalamus gland. The gland secretes hormones that control the appetite.”

Dawson swallowed hard as the smiling face of his daughter, Sarah, formed in the vapor of his imagination. “Is it serious?”

“The victims want to keep eating. If they survive that phase of the illness, they develop a high fever and many die from organ failure.”

He wondered how doctors could act so calm and even-keeled while describing horrific medical problems. Perspiration was trickling down his neck and his head was spinning. “Why are the germs mutating?”

“Didn’t you study Charles Darwin at the Naval Academy?”

“I studied Darwin in high school, but what’s that got to do with bacteria from the comet.”

Sandy narrowed her eyes at him, as if he should know this. “All organisms mutate. They do it to survive changes in the environment. With bacteria, most mutations die off or they’re harmless to humans. The original strain of AHA attacked the pituitary gland, specifically affecting the hormones produced during puberty. But that strain is no longer a threat. Many younger kids have since developed a natural immunity to it. So this mutation gives new life to an old germ.”

Suddenly, the eggs, bacon, and hash browns before him no longer looked appetizing. He took a bite of potatoes anyway, chewing mechanically. He couldn’t let the cadets see him wasting food.

“All this information is preliminary,” she said. “The CDC has identified the greatest number of cases in Florida. They suspect that heat or sunlight might be a contributing factor so they’re collecting air samples, some from the region of the equator.”

Dawson wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s hard to believe the germs are still in the air. Why didn’t they just die off, or dissolve in the ocean?”

“AHA was hardy enough to travel to Earth from a hundred million miles away. The bacteria have protective structures, as spores do, and they’ll probably be in the atmosphere for the next century. The germs attach themselves to dust and pollen. They hitchhike on particles in the air.”

He sniffed. “We need to stretch a giant filter across the country.”

“Wishful thinking,” she smiled sadly. “It used to be called the ozone layer and it covered the entire planet. Then pollution destroyed it.” She took a deep breath. “The CDC is concerned about another epidemic, but they’re not panicking. They already understand AHA’s molecular structure. So it shouldn’t take as long to develop a new antibiotic.”

“How do you know all this?” He smirked. “Is Doctor Perkins your new buddy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Perkins is a politician. He sugarcoats everything. Doctor Droznin tells it like it is.” She read his puzzled expression. “Hair pulled back, glasses, serious expression.”

“You just described half the CDC.”

“Russian accent?”

He curled the corner of his lip. “That narrows it down. I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Doctor Droznin.”

“She’s been here from the beginning. She’s on loan from the Vector Institute in Russia. Droznin helped select the kids for the colony.”

Just then, the siren sounded, signaling the end of breakfast for Biltmore and Hilton Companies.

Dawson stood. “Be nice to Doctor Droznin. It’s not every day a scientist tells us what’s going on. Have a good day, Captain.”

“You, too, Mark.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
Castine Island

Abby peered out the window at Sal’s. The large window was the main reason that she, in her official position as medical first responder, had chosen the former barbershop to serve as the clinic. The window let in plenty of light.

Like a water ambulance, the whaler was carrying the patient to the dock from the schooner. Jordan had said her name was Nikki. He and Eddie were at the stern, and the gypsy captain and Nikki huddled close to each other at the bow. The other members of the gypsy crew were securing their boat at the mooring. A group of island kids had gathered on the dock with a wheel chair.

Abby felt bad for the gypsy girl having sore gums, but she was relieved the problem was so minor.

Mel stepped beside her and joked, “You can be the dentist after this.”

“I’ll leave that honor to someone else. How about Mel Ladwick?”

Mel chuckled. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I’ll nominate you,” Abby said.

“Let’s make a deal. I’ll be the dentist if you ask Toby to get us toothpaste.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong with sand?”

“If it came in peppermint, I might like it.”

“Peppermint toothpaste is a tall order,” Abby said.

Mel gave her a sidelong glance. “Yeah, but the lead negotiator has a crush on you. He gets you whatever you want.”

A wave of guilt washed over Abby. Did Mel know about the pears that Toby was getting for Touk?

The water started to boil on the camp stove. Happy for the distraction, Abby went over to it and lowered the flame. She was sterilizing a pair of wire cutters that might come in handy to remove the gypsy’s braces.

She surveyed the splints, sutures, gauze pads, scalpels, burn cream, wild garlic paste for cuts, pain medication, and antibiotics they had set out in preparation for the unknown. What Mel had said was true. Toby got her everything she asked for.

A moment later, the crowd on the dock parted and Jordan appeared, pushing Nikki in the wheelchair. Taking one look at the girl, Abby realized this was going to be more than a routine dental visit.

Mel held the door open and Jordan wheeled Nikki in. The captain, Eddie, and Toby followed. Nikki’s cheeks were sunken, and the bones beneath her eyebrows protruded to form sharp outlines in her skin that appeared to be as thin as tissue paper.

The boys looked ready to panic. Mel stared with wide eyes, and the captain looked too exhausted to react in any way. Outside, the crowd of gawkers pushed closer. Faces pressed against Sal’s big window, a wall of cheeks and eyeballs. Feeling like she was in a fish tank, heat flared on Abby’s cheeks and her throat constricted.

Pretending to be calm, she asked Nikki, “Can I look in your mouth?”

Nikki clutched her face and sobbed. She caught her breath, sobbed some more, and caught her breath again. The cycle kept repeating until Abby feared she'd hyperventilate and pass out.

“She hasn’t eaten in two weeks,” the captain offered. “A couple of days ago she came down with a fever.”

“She probably has an infection.” Abby kept her other thought to herself. The infection would likely worsen unless they addressed the root cause. “Get her into the chair,” she told Jordan.

Three retractable barber chairs, each with red leather seats and metal footstools, faced a large mirror on the wall. Jordan wheeled Nikki to the chair closest to the door, and then he and Eddie lifted her into it.

“Stop!” Toby shouted, freezing everyone in place, including Nikki. He addressed the captain. “If she dies, you still owe us.” He wiggled his fingers, like a fish trader making his final offer… “Well, do we have a deal?”

The temperature in the room seemed to rise to a thousand degrees and burn up all the oxygen.

Abby’s heart pounded in her throat and her jaws clamped shut, as if sealed by glue. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t move her mouth because she was utterly speechless.

Nikki took a jagged breath and resumed crying.

“Get out!” Jordan shouted at Toby.

Toby folded his arms defiantly. “I’m the lead negotiator. I have the right to be here. Maybe you should leave?”

Eddie balled a fist, ready to help Jordan toss Toby out.

Abby stepped between them. “Toby, you need to go. Now!”

Confusion, then hurt flashed on his face. “Hey, I was joking.”

“Let him stay,” the captain said, narrowing her eyes at Toby. “You’ll get your news.”

Hoping to diffuse the tension, Abby gave the boys jobs. Jordan held the flashlight. Eddie lowered the back of the barber chair. Toby got the wire cutters from the pot on the camp stove.

She stood before Nikki. “We’re going to help you.” Abby held two pain tablets in her palm. “Take these. You’ll feel better.”

The girl hunched her shoulders like a turtle retreating inside its shell.

“She can’t swallow,” the captain said.

“We can grind them up,” Abby suggested.

Next she tried peeling back Nikki’s left hand to see inside her mouth, but she resisted, flailing her head back and forth. Realizing she wasn't going to be able to look into Nikki's mouth without considerable force, Abby addressed the captain. “What if we let her sleep? It’s more comfortable here than on a boat. We can try again when she’s feeling rested.”

“She’s been getting worse every hour,” the captain replied in a tone of desperation. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t think she can last much longer.”

Abby took a deep breath and imagined shoveling dirt on her sudden urge to panic. “We have to hold her hands and keep her head steady.” The calmness of her own voice surprised her, and she was amazed that she was able to think clearly. “Mel, hold the flashlight. Jordan and Eddie, stand beside Nikki. Captain, please go behind her.”

“What should I do?” Toby asked sheepishly.