Colony East (32 page)

There was also a practical matter for dining in his living quarters. While
Major
Hedrick had been relieved of her duty as Hilton Company Leader, Dawson was still responsible for the Biltmore cadets who, he hoped, would give him and Sandy a little peace this evening.

He found her transfer maddening. Promotions and transfers were part of the military’s DNA, always executed with one thing in mind: the mission. Maybe the higher-ups should consider relationships for once. He wouldn’t hold his breath on that one.

Dawson collapsed in his chair and sighed. Why had he waited this long to tell her what she meant to him—the evening before her departure to Atlanta Colony. He supposed he should consider himself lucky. To beat the hurricane, they might have bumped up her flight even earlier.

He opened his dog-eared copy of
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
. As a young boy, the words of Jules Verne had planted the seed in his mind to command a submarine someday. Later, cruising near the bottom of the ocean, Dawson found the fictional adventures of the Nautilus helped take his mind off home. Now, he hoped reading about the stern, though good-hearted Captain Nemo could temper his nervous anticipation of Sandy’s arrival.

At the sound of footsteps in the hall outside, he sprang to his feet, and at the first rap, swung the door open with a whoosh.

He felt his stomach drop at the sight of her puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. She’d been crying.

“Mark, I’m so sorry.”

The anguish of her tone rocked him back on his heels. He knew immediately she was referring to some tragedy he was unaware of. Clutching her elbow, he steered her inside and noticed the package she held in the crook of her other arm. “What’s wrong?”

She handed him the bundle. Recognizing his own handwriting, he sucked in his breath as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. They were the letters he had written to Lily. All unopened.

“Doctor Perkins spoke to me,” her voice halting. “Lily died three weeks ago. David Levine didn’t know what to do or say, so he kept taking your letters. If I had known…”

Sandy rested her hand on his arm. The support helped him stay on his feet.

“Doctor Perkins said that Lily made an important contribution to the development of the antibiotic,” she continued, trying to sound upbeat. “He says he’s going to recommend that they name it after her.”

What the CDC called the antibiotic mattered little, Dawson thought. Lily, the girl who had liked to dig for worms, whose unseen struggle had been a source of inspiration and strength for him, was dead.

He struggled to catch his breath against the pressure of sobs buried deep inside his chest. They felt like hot lava, ready to erupt. How could anyone live in a world drowning in so much tragedy? He closed his eyes and his mind conjured a vision of his tiny Sarah floating by like a mirage. If he reached out for her, she’d vanish. “Shoulders back,” he told himself. He had to go on for his daughter, and his cadets needed him too. His shoulders disobeyed the feeble command, and he remained hunched, crushed by a thousand pounds of sadness.

Suddenly aware of the lightness of Sandy’s touch, he opened his eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her and the scent of her vanilla shampoo wafted all around him. He felt like they were together in the time and space between heartbeats of sorrow. He started to speak, but instead let his thoughts fade. He closed his eyes again. Just holding her in a stolen moment of tenderness said more than words ever could.

DAVID

THREE DAYS LEFT

First to arrive for the emergency company leader session, Lieutenant Dawson took his seat at the table. He thought the location was unusual. They were meeting on the fifth floor of Trump Tower in the Gregor Mendel Conference Room where Doctor Perkins held CDC meetings.

Newly minted Lieutenant Mathews strutted in next and took a seat next to where Perkins would sit. She opened a notebook, and gave Dawson a curt nod, “Lieutenant.”

“Welcome,” he said.

Dismissively, she dropped her eyes and started writing.

“Lieutenant,
junior grade
,” Dawson muttered to himself. Last week, Ensign Mathews was patrolling the East River, firing warning shots at children who waded too far into the water. Now, the former weapons specialist was the new leader of Hilton Company. The Hilton cadets, he imagined, were experiencing culture shock from the change of leadership styles. In some ways, Mathews reminded Dawson of himself three years ago, eager to make an impression and climb the ranks. He wasn’t sure that he liked what he saw.

A moment later, Lieutenant Masters and Lieutenant Murphy sauntered in, followed by Admiral Samuels. Doctor Perkins and Doctor Droznin came in next.

Standing, the admiral leaned forward and propped himself on the table with eight knuckles. “David just became a category three, but they expect the storm to strengthen to a category four or five. The eye is a hundred miles off Bermuda at this time. The meteorologists think landfall will be northern Virginia. Landfall ETA for Colony East is four days. Effective tomorrow, we’re canceling all classes and activities. The storm’s going to pound us pretty hard in more ways than one. Doctor Perkins and Doctor Droznin would like a word with you.” The admiral jutted out his jaw and paused, as if he had more to say, but instead clamped his molars together and took a seat.

Doctor Perkins tented his delicate fingers. “We all know the story of Noah’s Ark. Whether you believe there really was an ark, or you consider the tale a metaphor, there’s an important lesson for us. God told Noah to build an ark because of a catastrophic flood.” Perkins raised his hands, pretending he was God. “Noah, I command you to gather two of every living creature.” He swept his gaze around the table, pausing at each attendee, so the gravity of his words could sink in. “God didn’t tell Noah to gather ten of every creature. Because God understood that Noah had limited resources. Noah only had his two hands to build the ark.” Doctor Perkins curled his lip with the subtlety of a Chinese brush-painting master. “We all know the outcome. After forty days and forty nights of rising flood waters, life began anew.”

Lieutenant Mathews nodded vigorously as she scribbled away. The other company leaders stared straight ahead with dazed expressions. Masters and Murphy always let the doctor’s ramblings go in one ear and out the other. Dawson’s stomach had warped into a tight coil, and, as usual, he had no clue what Admiral Samuels was thinking. The admiral owned the ultimate poker face.

Doctor Droznin spoke next. “We have successfully developed an antibiotic that fights AHA-B.”

“Meyercilliun,” Doctor Perkins interjected, seeming pleased he had convinced the higher-ups to name it in honor of Lily Meyers.

Heat flared in Dawson’s cheeks in reaction, but he was also relieved to hear the scientists had developed an antibiotic.

Mathews leaned forward. “Doctor, how do you spell meyercilliun?”

Perkins spelled it for her, delighting in every letter.

“They’re ramping up production in Atlanta,” Doctor Droznin continued. “Unfortunately, they’re behind schedule. We will receive the first batch of pills tomorrow for CDC and Navy personnel. We’ll distribute any extra to Generation M. The second batch will be for the remainder of the colony, and will come as soon as we can get a flight in after the hurricane. Because of our ongoing research of AHA-B, we’ll also hand out special dosages to the subjects in our control group. I’ll contact you with a schedule.”

Both scientists stood, ready to leave.

Dawson raised his hand. “What’s your plan for passing out pills outside the colony?”

Perkins cleared his throat, as if to say, he’d handle this one. He rubbed his chin in contemplation, then nodded to himself, furrowing his brow. Finally, he looked over at Dawson with an expression of concern. “All our hearts go out to survivors everywhere, and we will do what we can, when we can. Like Noah, we have limited resources. Our greatest tragedy would be for the flood to wash away the seeds of the new society.”

Dawson’s stomach coiled tighter as the words also washed away his hope.

Mathews underlined the note she’d just taken as the two scientists excused themselves.

“Thank you,” she called out. “That was extremely informative.”

“Dismissed,” Admiral Samuels sighed.

~ ~ ~

Abby pulled the covers up to her chin. It was lights out, and Lieutenant Dawson had just told them over the intercom that a hurricane was going to make landfall in three days. “We’ll batten down the hatches and ride it out,” he’d said. He had also reminded them that they were the seeds of a new society, which almost made Abby sick to her stomach. Soon she heard him working his way down the hall to bid them good night in person.

“Good night, Cadet Leigh,” he said in a pleasant tone, as if he’d put Toby’s expulsion from the colony behind him.

She answered him just as cheerily, “Good night, Lieutenant.” She didn’t want him to suspect anything.

“Sleep tight,” he said and moved on.

An hour later, all was quiet on the third floor. Abby hadn’t heard a peep out of her neighboring cadets for forty-five minutes. With adrenaline jetting through her veins, she couldn’t wait any longer. Earlier in the day, she had whispered to Jonzy, “We need to escape.” He had whispered back, “Eleven p.m., my room, fifth room on the right.”

She crawled out of bed and stuffed towels under the blanket. From the door, she turned and studied the lump. Someone passing by the room in the dark would think nothing was amiss, but if she was going to make these nightly excursions a habit, she’d better come up with a better looking dummy.

She stepped into the hall, knowing she had to be careful. If the lieutenant caught her outside her room, he’d report her to the council. She didn’t worry they’d kick her out of the colony because of their ongoing experimentation. She feared they’d lock her up in Medical Clinic 17 instead.

Abby walked lightly, in bare feet, down the hall and into the fire exit stairway where she climbed up the cold metal stairs to the fourth floor. She entered the wing of the fifteen-year-old boys for the first time.

Her skin prickled as she crept down the hall, passing rooms of slumbering cadets—seeds of the new society—dreaming. She entered the fifth room on the right.

“What…?” Jonzy whispered.

“Let’s go.”

“No, it’s too early!”

“I’ll wait.” Abby moved to the side of Jonzy’s bed, away from the door, and stretched out on the floor.

He swung his feet beside her. “Toby said you can be bossy at times.”

There were times when you needed to be assertive, she thought.
Like right now!

Already dressed in overalls, Jonzy packed towels under the covers to fashion a dummy that Abby thought looked only slightly more realistic than her effort. He grabbed his glasses and nodded for her to follow him.

They huffed and puffed up thirty-six flights of stairs to the restaurant on the top floor.

“Is it safe up here?” she whispered.

“Totally,” Jonzy said, speaking in a normal voice to emphasize his point.

“Jonzy, I’m sorry I blamed you for what happened to Toby. He’s not my brother.” She summarized the conversation she’d had with the lieutenant two days ago.

“Toby told me you weren’t his sister.”

“When?” It surprised Abby that Toby would have let his guard down like that.

“One time he said he really liked you, and I told him that was kind of weird.”

Pieces of Abby’s heart tore off and fluttered away.

“Don’t worry about Toby,” he continued. “We always knew one of us might get caught. So we came up with a plan. He’ll stay near the colony. There’s a fish market in Brooklyn, just across the East River. That’s where we can find him.”

“I know where it is.”

Jonzy gave her a panoramic tour of Colony East, pointing out some landmarks, but mostly the security measures the adults had taken.

Green and red lights dotted the East River. “They doubled the number of patrols since you swam to the windmill.”

He led her to a dinner table where he lifted up the tablecloth and gestured to radio equipment hiding behind it. “Communication central!” Sitting cross-legged, Jonzy punched a power button and twisted a nob. “I can pick up conversations between the patrol boat skippers.”

A voice crackled, “Pork chops smothered in gravy.” The man had a southern accent.

“I’ll take a Starbucks,” a woman said.

A new man chuckled, “Dunkin’ Donuts. America runs on Dunkin’.”

“Before or after the comet?”

“Ha ha.”

“Shut. Up.”

Abby sat back, puzzled. “Are they serious?”

Jonzy lowered the volume. “All they do is argue and joke with each other. Sports, food, coffee.”

She shook her head in dismay. “These people are going to sit around and joke while a hurricane infects millions of kids with the Pig.”

“Abby, you have to be careful.” Jonzy’s tone sent a chill down her spine. “Last night, I heard Doctor Droznin talking to Atlanta. They’re shipping some pills here before the hurricane, but they’re also sending pills for the control group. Tomorrow, the lieutenant is supposed to take you to see her.”

Abby swallowed hard. “Did they mention Touk?”

Jonzy shook his head.

She felt a cloud of cold mist spread inside her chest. “I hate Colony East. No matter what happens tomorrow, I’m going to try to escape. I need to get pills for Toby and Jordan, my real brother.”

Jonzy turned on another radio. “Maybe he’s listening to The Port right now on Castine Island?”

Abby heard a song play.
Here Comes the Sun
. It reminded her of the CD she and Touk had given to Jordan.

“The scientists don’t talk until midnight,” Jonzy said. “When I get bored, I listen to DJ Silver. I hope you’ll take me to Castine Island.”

Abby punched him in the arm, because boys understood a shot of pain as an undying seal of truth and honor. “You better come to the island with us! But first, we have to get out of here!”

Jonzy turned off the radio, and they moved to the window overlooking the East River, where they discussed their escape plan.