Eden Rising (3 page)

“I don’t know. It was too far away to tell.”

“Small? Big? What?”

“I don’t know. Smaller than a commercial jet, bigger than a Cessna. Why?”

Instead of answering, she shook her head, and pushed his hands from the radio. “Let me.” She pulled the microphone in front of her, adjusted the broadcast frequency, and pushed the transmit button. “This is Isabella Island calling unidentified aircraft. Come in, please.” She waited a moment and repeated the message.

The fourth try was the charm.

“Isabella Island, this is UN 132. Do you read me?”

“UN?” Renee said to Robert. “It’s the UN.”

For the first time since news of the pandemic broke, Robert felt the barest sense of hope.

“We read you, UN 132,” Renee said, smiling. “We read you loud and clear.”

“Isabella Island, good to hear your voice. Are you alone or are there others with you?”

“There are one hundred and twenty-nine of us here,” Renee reported.

There was a slight pause, then, “Can you repeat that?”

Renee did.

“How many sick?”

“No one’s sick.”

“No outbreaks?”

“No,” she said, sharing a look with Robert. They both knew that wasn’t completely true. Dominic had caught the flu, but it had stopped with him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Positive.”

Robert leaned over and said into the mic. “We isolated ourselves as soon as we knew there was a problem. We haven’t allowed anyone on the island since the outbreak occurred.”

“That’s great to hear,” the voice said. “Do you have a landing strip?”

“No,” Renee said. “The only way to reach us is by boat or seaplane.”

“Hold for a moment, Isabella Island.”

During the static that followed, neither Robert nor Renee said anything. They just stared at the radio as if worried the voice would not return.

A minute later, it did. “Isabella Island, are you still there?”

“We’re here,” Renee said.

“How is your food and water supply?”

“Good,” she said. “Not an issue.”

“Good to hear. We’re out on a scouting mission right now, trying to locate survivors like yourself.” A pause. “Our people will be bringing you enough vaccine for everyone there. But because of your isolated situation, it may be a few days while we tend to those in more precarious situations. Do you understand?”

Renee frowned and looked at Robert, clearly disappointed.

“Let me,” Robert said.

She slid the mic over to him.

“We understand,” he said. “Just knowing you’re coming back is great news.”

“Good news for us, too, finding you,” the man said. “You just keep doing what you’ve been doing, and don’t go to the mainland. You’ll be fine. We’ll be seeing you soon, Isabella Island. Take care, and stay safe. UN 132, out.”

“You, too. Isabella Island, out.”

That scant bit of hope Robert had been feeling morphed into full-on relief as he leaned back. They were going to be all right. They were all going to be vaccinated. The extreme stance they’d taken to keep others away had been justified. But most importantly, Dominic’s sacrifice was not in vain.

“A few days?” Renee said, frowning.

He looked over at her, an eyebrow raised. After a moment, he started to smile, and then he began to laugh.

It was only a few more seconds before she was laughing, too.

FIFTEEN THOUSAND FEET ABOVE THE CARIBBEAN SEA

NEAR ISABELLA ISLAND, COSTA RICA

6:23 AM CST

“W
E’LL BE SEEING
you soon, Isabella
Island. Take care, and stay safe. UN 132, out.”

“You, too. Isabella Island, out.”

The man operating the radio on the aircraft that was neither associated with the now nonexistent United Nations nor on a mission to help save survivors clicked the tab on his computer screen that ended the recording of the conversation. He attached the voice file to an e-mail, typed in the exact coordinates of the island, and sent the message.

Those on Isabella Island represented the largest single, unexposed group his team had come across so far. It would be interesting to learn what the higher-ups back at Project Eden headquarters decided to do—send actual vaccine or dose them with Sage Flu. But chances were the man and his colleagues would be busy elsewhere by then, having forgotten all about the island.

He activated the plane’s internal comm system. “Back to our previous course,” he told the pilot.

“Yes, sir.”

The plane banked to the west, and within no time Isabella Island was behind them.

3

MUMBAI, INDIA

11:04 PM INDIA STANDARD TIME (IST)

W
HILE SOME OF
the streetlights in Mumbai had stopped coming on at night, many still worked, providing Sanjay more than enough illumination to see Kusum peering down at him from the rooftop above.

She put a finger to her lip, reminding him to stay quiet. It was completely unnecessary. He knew the importance of silence as much as she did. She then extended her hands over the edge, showing five fingers on one and four on the other.

Nine men. That was a lot. Probably best if they made a wide arc around the building instead of passing so close to it. He started to mime the suggestion to her, but she quickly waved him off, and motioned for him to come up and join her.

He didn’t want to waste the time it would take, but she had ducked out of sight before he could tell her no. With a sigh, he ducked inside and headed quietly up the stairs.

When the UN message had played over the radio, in the old headmaster’s house at the boarding school that Sanjay, Kusum, and the others had turned into their temporary home, the initial shock everyone felt soon turned into excitement that there might still be order in the world. They had waited three days before the broadcast began including the location for the nearest survival station to them.

The delay hadn’t worried them. Unlike pretty much everyone else who was still clinging to life, their particular band of survivors had already been inoculated against the Sage Flu, thanks to the vaccine Sanjay had stolen.

When the survival station’s address was finally revealed, the fact that it was located in Mumbai made sense. What didn’t—to Sanjay, anyway—was that the address was the very same one belonging to the facility he’d stolen the vaccine from, the facility run by his former employers, Pishon Chem. They were the ones who had hired hundreds of local boys and men to spray Mumbai with what they had claimed was a malaria eradication solution but was really Sage Flu virus.

When Sanjay explained to the others the connection, the elation they’d all been feeling quickly dissolved.

“But does this mean the UN is spreading the disease?” Kusum’s father had asked. “I cannot believe that.”

None of them could.

“Maybe they are not the UN at all,” Sanjay suggested. “Maybe they are just using the name to gain people’s trust.”

“If that is the case, then…” Kusum’s mother didn’t need to finish her thought.

If these were the same people who’d released the virus, then they could be luring in those who had escaped infection so they could finish the job they had started.

Some at the school thought they should keep their heads low and everything would blow over, while others—Sanjay and Kusum among them—thought if it were true, they needed to do what they could to warn the living.

The first step was finding out for sure.

Because Sanjay knew the Pishon Chem facility from when he had worked there, it was his job to find out what was going on. Kusum was not about to let him go alone, however. She and three others had accompanied him into the city, where they had set up camp in a small furniture factory a few kilometers from the survival station. Leaving the other three there, he and Kusum headed in for a closer look.

When Sanjay reached the top of the stairs, he carefully opened the roof door and slipped outside. Kusum was lying at the western edge. As he neared her, he lowered himself to his hands and knees and crawled forward, finally dropping to his chest and snaking his way up beside her.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Look,” she said. “But be careful.”

He eased forward until he could see beyond the lip of the roof. Below and to the left, in the middle of the road that ran past their building, two police cars were parked front bumper to front bumper, perpendicular to what would have been the normal flow of traffic. There was just enough of a gap between the two front ends for one person to pass through.

He knew this couldn’t have been what caught Kusum attention. They had seen the vehicles from the road. That was the reason Kusum had come up for a look in the first place.

He scanned the area around the cars. Standing nearby were three people wearing surgical masks—the same three they had seen when they’d spotted the vehicles—each with rifles slung over their shoulders.

“Behind the police cars,” Kusum whispered impatiently.

Sanjay looked farther down the road. Parked almost a block away were three white vans. Painted in black on their sides were the letters UN. If there was no deception going on, the vans were probably used to transport new arrivals from the checkpoint to the survival station.

He pulled back until he was hidden from view again. “I do not understand what it is you want me to see.”

“The men by the vans,” Kusum said as if it should be obvious.

“What men?”

She scowled, and took a look herself. When she scooted away from the edge again, she looked more confused than upset. “They were there a moment ago.”

“
Who
was there?”

“A whole group of soldiers. I counted at least forty.”

“Forty? Why would they need so many soldiers?” he asked.

“Why would they need any?” she countered.

He thought for a moment. “I guess they could be worried that someone might try to steal the vaccine.”

The scowl again, only a bit more playful this time. “You mean like you did?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“But the vaccine is not out
here
,” she argued. “It is at the survival station. Would it not be better if that was where the soldiers were?”

“Maybe they have more there, too,” he said, playing devil’s advocate.

“Then I ask you the same question you asked me. Why do they need so many?”

They fell into silence, both thinking the same thing—this wasn’t what the radio broadcast was saying it was.

“We are wasting time here,” Sanjay finally said. “Come on.”

They worked their way out of the building and back onto the street. They knew they had to be extra careful now. The soldiers Kusum had seen could be anywhere.

“This way,” Sanjay said, starting off to his right.

He barely put a foot down before Kusum grabbed his arm. “You told me the Pishon Chem facility was closer to the ocean. That would be the
other
way.”

“We will have a better chance of not being seen in this direction. At most, we will go a kilometer then cut through the middle of the city.”

She thought about his plan for a second, then said, “Okay. That makes sense to me.”

“I am glad to receive your blessing,” he said with a dramatic bow.

She slapped him playfully on the arm. “It is only temporary.”

__________

L
IVING AT THE
remote
boarding school for the last week, had, at times, created the illusion the world was still as it had been. But any trace of that false impression ended the moment they reentered Mumbai.

It had been a city of nearly twenty million, its streets never empty or silent.

Until now.

No running cars. No motorbikes. No pedestrians. No hawkers.

The only ones there were lifeless bodies of the homeless tucked in corners, lying against the side of a building, and stretched out in the gutters. Their stench wafted through the streets, increasing and decreasing in strength depending on the number of bodies and the direction of the breeze. Sanjay and Kusum had to cover their faces to breathe without gagging.

What made things even eerier were the lights. Not just the automatic street lamps, but the interior lights of stores and restaurants, and the illuminated signs mounted on their facades. It was as if all the establishments had opened for business, but no one had come, not even those who worked there.

On several occasions, Sanjay and Kusum came across vehicles that had crashed in the road, not unlike the accident Kusum had pulled the baby Nipa from as Kusum and her family fled the city. Most of these cars were empty—their occupants no doubt surviving at least long enough to get off the road—but a few were not.

“Go right,” Sanjay said as they reached the next intersection.

They were only two kilometers from the Pishon Chem facility now, and while there were faster ways to get there, Sanjay felt it safer to stick to a more circuitous route along smaller streets and alleys.

As they turned, Kusum brushed a hand across her shoulder.

“What is it?” Sanjay asked.

“Nothing. I…” She took a deep breath. “I just feel like something is crawling all over my skin.”

He knew what she meant. He felt it, too, an uncomfortable tingling all over his body. It didn’t help that the narrow road they were now on only intensified the creepy factor. He would almost welcome some kind of monster roaring out of the shadows to chase them. At least that would give them something to focus on.

They were seven blocks from the facility when they heard feet clomping on asphalt. It sounded like at least a dozen people, jogging in unison down the road they were about to turn onto.

Sanjay threw his arm in front of Kusum. “Back, back,” he whispered.

As they headed in the other direction, Sanjay began trying every door they passed, but all were locked. Then they came to one set back in an alcove. If nothing else, it might hide them from view.

“Here,” he said, nudging Kusum off the sidewalk.

She reached the door first, and tried it. The handle stuck for a moment, then turned all the way and opened. Any elation, though, was squelched by the bell at the top of the frame that rang with the door’s movement.