Condemn (BUNKER 12 Book 2) (15 page)

Finn was torn. He hated to wait,
especially now that Adrian knew exactly where this mine was
located. Plus, he worried about inertia setting in, which would
make it harder for them to get moving again after a few days of
being pampered. He exchanged glances with Bix.

"It's your choice, bro," Bix
said.

After a moment, Finn
nodded.

"Yahoo!" Bix shouted. He broke out
into a huge grin and asked if there were anymore
pancakes.

"As much as you want," Jennifer
replied, beaming.

Eddie was awake before dawn. He slipped out of his military style
bunk bed as quietly as he could, hoping the creaking metal frame
wouldn't wake his bunkmate.

He padded over toward the
bathroom in his bare feet, frowning as he passed the word
LATRINE
stenciled into
the painted cinderblock beside the door, and relieved himself into
one of the sparkling urinals.

"You really are one ugly sonofabitch,"
he told his reflection in the mirror over the sink. It's what he
had told himself every day since Doc Cavanaugh's death. "That's a
face only a mother could love."

Or a daughter.

He thanked his lucky stars for Hannah.
Without her, he might not have had the will to carry on.

In truth, his appearance wasn't as
grisly as it had been just after the accident, when he had begun to
heal. It had terrified Hannah at first, but she quickly overcame
her fright and accepted that it was what her father had
become.

Just in the few days since leaving the
bunker, the horrific visage he had once presented was mostly gone,
faded away like the ink on an old newspaper left out in the sun. He
still had no hair, and his skin was an odd shade of pink with a
grayish sheen. His eyes were darker than they had been before. He
was still a bit startling to look upon, but no one would mistake
him for a freak anymore. Not automatically.

He welcomed the return to normality,
but with it came a new fear, a sense of becoming
somehow . . . less.

The gruesome superficial changes he
had suffered had been accompanied by a startling change in his
physical abilities: a heightening of his senses — everything
from improved sight and hearing, to touch and taste and
smell — and the development of incredible speed and strength.
If his appearance was returning to normal, would his abilities do
so as well?

Last night after arriving at the base,
Captain Cheever had insisted on separating the group by gender and
age into quarantine barracks. He claimed that it was only temporary
and for their own protection, as well as for the protection of the
other residents. The segregation would only be enforced until they
could all be thoroughly examined by the base medic, after which
they would be assigned regular quarters.

Of course, they'd all protested the
arrangement— not only the separation, but the more permanent
assignments. They made it explicitly clear that they didn't plan on
staying.

However, Cheever would not be budged.
It was standard procedure, he explained, the directive coming down
from the man in charge himself, Colonel Lyle Wainwright. Civilians
and soldiers alike were expected to abide by the same set of rules,
and no exceptions would be made, no break from protocol
tolerated.

"It's best to just comply until you're
ready to leave," he told them.

In his frustration, Eddie had nearly
torn out the railing to the men's barracks from its concrete base.
The metal made a squealing sound, drawing Cheever's attention.
Eddie feigned surprise and gave the railing an experimental shake
while mumbling something about the cement failing. The captain
grunted and continued on without further comment.

The others in their group knew about
Eddie's abilities, though he'd conscientiously tried not to flaunt
them. Nevertheless, he didn't want the strangers to know about
them. It was partially because he didn't want them to fear him, but
also because he knew it gave them an advantage against strangers,
one he didn't want to lose.

Mostly, however, he kept his abnormal
strengths secret because he lived in constant fear that he would
wake up one morning and find that they had forsaken him, and that
he had returned to being just as ordinary as everyone
else.

From where he stood inside the
bathroom, he could still hear the snores of the other three men in
their beds down the hall— Harry Rollins, Harrison Blakeley, and
Danny Delacroix. He sniffed the air and was relieved to find that
he could detect each of their individual scents; only Jonah's was
missing.

You also smell hot
vegetable oil coming from the cafeteria. Big deal.

He knew that none of this proved he'd
retained his full abilities. Those were strong scents. And they
said nothing about his other powers.

Above his head, pipes and electrical
conduits crisscrossed the open ceiling. He reached up with one
hand, hopped slightly, and grabbed onto one. Then, with his free
hand tucked against his stomach and very little effort, he pulled
himself up until his chin met the bar. It creaked from the weight
of his body.

He held the position for a count of a
hundred before finally letting go with a satisfied grunt and
dropping silently to the floor.

For now, at least, everything seemed
to be working just fine.

* * *

The question on everyone's mind when they gathered to meet with
Cheever a few hours after breakfast was whether Jonah had been
found. Most vocal among them was Danny.

"A couple of hours ago, at daybreak
this morning," Cheever reported to them, "I sent out a couple bikes
to search the road between here and the refuelling truck. Private
Ramsay went along with them. As you know, Private Vinay Singh is
also missing. They plan to return to the point where they became
separated if necessary. I expect them back at any
moment."

"How could your man possibly think it
was okay to just leave them behind?" Fran Rollins demanded. She
turned to her husband. "This is exactly why we shouldn't have split
up!"

Eddie watched her carefully. He knew
she wasn't just talking about yesterday. She hadn't been happy with
Jonah and Danny going out a second time in town and had made her
displeasure known then, as well as afterward. She'd also been one
of the more vocal dissenters last night during Cheever's
announcement of the sleeping arrangements.

But Eddie also suspected that she was
referring to their decision to leave people behind in the bunker.
He needed to talk to Harry to make sure she kept such thoughts to
herself. He didn't need her further fracturing the group by sowing
seeds of doubt. And he didn't want them talking at all about the
bunker or their plan to get to the evacuation center. He didn't
know what these people might do with such knowledge.

"I spoke with Ramsay last night after
he came in," Cheever said. "He told me that Private Singh was
behind him and assumed he still was when they reached the gate. By
then, of course, it was too late to send anyone out to look for
them. But Singh is a good man, and I have faith in his ability to
make good decisions. He understands the desert and its perils, as
well as how to survive in it. He spent a year on his own before
arriving here, so I'm sure your man is just fine with
him."

He removed a clipboard from beneath
his arm and referred to it. "In the mean time, we have a few other
things to deal with."

They were all sitting or standing
inside an unused motor pool maintenance bay. Food had been
delivered earlier, in keeping with their quarantine from the rest
of the community. Jonathan, Nami, Jasmina and the baby, Jorge, were
not in attendance. They'd been taken directly to the infirmary upon
arrival and remained there under observation.

They all suffered from severe
malnutrition and were being given intravenous fluids. Jonathan and
the baby were also being given IV antibiotics for their lung
infections. Despite Jonathan's objections, he was too weak to fight
them. He did, however, refuse to take anything orally for his
fever.

The dislocations Nami incurred to both
his knee and shoulder during the Wraith attack were also being
treated. Both had been splinted.

"Let's begin with an overview of base
operations," Cheever said.

"Not until you promise us better
arrangements now," Fran declared. "I refuse to spend another night
separated from my family."

"Me, too," Hannah said, clinging to
her father.

"As I said, strict adherence to
procedure is essential for survival. Once you're cleared, we'll
find permanent residence. Also, we'll need to assign each of you to
your duties, which you will assume once you have been medically
cleared."

"Screw this!" Harry cried, among a
chorus of protest. "We didn't ask to be brought here!"

"We're fixing your bus," Cheever
calmly replied. "We're feeding you, outfitting you, and giving you
medical treatment. Nothing is free. Everyone carries their weight
around here."

Harrison stepped forward. "Look, we
appreciate the assistance, Captain. And we don't mind working to
pay off our dues— No, wait, guys!" he said, quickly turning when
the others started to gripe. "Just hold on a sec. We owe the
captain and his men a debt of gratitude for rescuing our butts out
there yesterday, let's not forget that."

He turned back to the captain. "But we
do need some assurance from you that we'll be allowed to leave at
the time of our choosing. Assuming, of course, that all reasonable
reimbursement has been made."

Cheever lowered the clipboard and
stepped up to face Harrison. "This is a refugee camp,
Mister . . . ."

"Blakeley."

He checked his clipboard. "Yes, Mister
Harrison Blakeley. We may run this place like a military compound,
but it works well precisely because of the discipline and the
commitment of its members. Every resident, whether soldier or not,
is a vital contributor. What this place is not is a charity. Nor is
it a prison. Each and every member of this community is free the
leave at his or her will, as long as we deem that it doesn't create
a new threat. Is that assurance enough?"

The door at the far end of the bay
opened, letting in a flash of daylight and a man dressed in a white
lab coat. The door slammed shut with a reverberating clang that
echoed through the large space.

"And here is our medic," Cheever said.
"He'll be asking you to answer some questions. He'll also be
drawing your blood and checking your lungs, temperature, and blood
pressure. Please give him your every consideration."

"Um, sir?" the medic said. He had
stopped a good twenty feet away from the group. Cheever went over
and the two exchanged a few words.

After a moment, the captain looked
over at the group and told them to do as the medic instructed.
"Mister Delacroix?" he called. "Will you come with me
please?"

"Why?" Eddie said, stepping forward.
He held a hand out, stopping anyone from leaving. "What do you want
with Danny?"

"I just have a few questions to ask
him in private." He stopped, seeing the grave looks on their faces.
"One of my men is missing, as well as one of yours. I need
information about what happened. It'll be easier to interview him
separately, without distractions."

"It's okay," Danny told them. "I'll be
fine."

There was a low rumble of displeasure
from the group when the two men left. "What was that all about?"
Harry demanded of the medic.

The man wouldn't say. He just began
the examination by passing out forms and pencils.

But Eddie had heard their exchange
perfectly well. A member of the scout team looking for Private
Singh and Jonah had returned. He reported that they had gone to the
refueling spot, and while there was no sign of either man, they did
find the motorbike, as well as a massive patch of blood.