H10N1 (27 page)

For the first time since Taeya had arrived, working in the garden was a burden. Every bead of sweat that rolled into her eyes burned; the searing heat threatened to suffocate her. A couple times, she scanned the plots to see how the others were faring.

Mai had chosen to work at the far end alone. Rick and Devin were staking new tomatoes, but as the morning wore on, they began to bicker over inconsequential things. At one point, Taeya noticed Judith leaning on her hoe, staring at the doors out to the wilderness biome. Was she thinking about Michael curled up on the beach, sound asleep?

Right after lunch, Taeya headed for the library. With the shortwave radio under her arm, she climbed the spiral staircase to the tower perched at the top of the Biosphere. Every day, she checked transmissions, gathering news from the outside world.

At first, she’d tried using the radio in the conference room where Michael kept it, but sometimes he would hover too close, or make inappropriate comments. So she’d gotten into the habit of bringing the radio up to the library. When Michael questioned her, she said she got better reception in the tower.

Taeya twirled the knob on the radio, scanning the 9,000 kilohertz frequency range. That was usually where she found most transmissions, but not today. She scrolled up to the 13,000 frequency used more in Eurasia.

She picked up a broken conversation between a woman with a British accent and a man named Nigel. Taeya turned the tuning knob slightly and the voices came in clearer.

“It was absolute carnage, Bertie,” Nigel told the woman. “People have been packed into Saint Petersburg like sardines for weeks. Thugs roam the streets, no one can find food, poor sots are sleeping in doorways. It was just a matter of time before the government stepped in.”

The woman called back. “I can’t believe the police are gunning down people for loitering.”

“Ah, Bertie,” Nigel sighed. “You know the Russians. Give a man some rations and a dry bed, he’ll follow any orders given.”

Bertie replied, “I’m so thankful you got away when you did. Are you safe in Stockholm?”

“It’s certainly more civilized here,” Nigel answered, “but there is definitely a police presence. Andrew and I plan to set out for Copenhagen directly.”

Taeya broke into the conversation. “This is Doctor Taeya Sanchez in America. May I inquire about conditions over there?”

There was a short pause before Nigel answered. “Certainly, Doctor Sanchez. Where in America?”

“I’m in Arizona,” Taeya said into her microphone. “Are people still getting sick, or has the influenza run its course?”

“The sickness is gone, but there seems to be a new pandemic sweeping through Europe. People are killing each other for food. And you might find this interesting, Doctor. In some countries, the influenza never appeared as a threat. For instance, here in Sweden.”

Bertie wondered aloud why.

“I dare say it’s all about the temperature,” Nigel said. “Wouldn’t you agree Doctor?”

“Yes,” Taeya said into the microphone. “Above the fifty-fifth parallel, many viruses cannot survive. So people in northern cities like Saint Petersburg and Stockholm were safe.”

“Although they were inundated with an inordinate amount of uninvited guests, so to speak,” Nigel said. “I imagine your Canadians have suffered from the same type of invasion.”

Taeya told him how the Canadians had tried to block the borders, but she was certain Americans had gotten through. She asked if they had power in Stockholm.

“Oh, yes. Not that it’s doing anyone any good. There are no goods to sell in stores, no raw materials for the factories. The economy is a shambles, food is scarce. How ironic that you Yanks have no manpower to send us what we need, and we have workers with nothing to do.”

Taeya sat for a moment after she signed off, thinking about how countries were affected so differently. She’d spoken to a man in Alaska the day before who said that Denali National Park was overrun with campers and tent cities. He was incensed that hunters were shooting caribou, moose, even grizzly bear for food. Fishermen fought over boats, and then even if they managed to haul in a catch, they’d be attacked the moment they pulled into the dock.

Large cities like Tokyo, Sao Paulo, and New York, were riot zones. Survivors had either fled, or become incorporated in roving gangs. Punks in the Bronx attacked gang strongholds in Yonkers. The next day the Yonkers boys would steal their stuff back. Would they eventually kill each other off, or join forces and grow stronger?

What a shame. The world had a golden opportunity to reinvent itself, but it was seemed destined to repeat its mistakes. What was it about Homo sapiens that compelled them to wreck such havoc? She twirled the dial back down in hopes of catching some local news.

The radio crackled, and Taeya heard a voice say, “This is Eric the Red, calling W2TMS. You there, Doc?”

“Eric?” she said.

“Hey, baby,” he shouted. “How the hell you doin’?”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m in the fertile valley, mama. The land of milk and honey.”

“Where?”

“I found this sweet town near Stockton, California. It’s one of those planned communities called Laurel Valley. The developers went bust years ago, during the recession, so all these houses are just sitting empty in the middle of Farmland, USA. There’s a river nearby, so we have access to fresh water. And get this. The town is really close to the Altamont Pass wind farm.”

“A wind farm?”

“Yeah. You know, all those windmills up on a ridge catching wind power. We haven’t been able to figure out how to get the power down here yet, but give us time.”

“How many people are with you?”

“Not many. But seems like every day somebody else comes straggling in.”

Taeya heard footsteps on the stairs behind her. She turned to see Rick.

“Who you talking to?” he asked.

She was so excited, she knocked the microphone over. “It’s septic tank Eric.”

Tripping up the last step, Rick lurched over to the table and grabbed the microphone. “Hey, you crazy son-of-a-bitch. How’s the gasoline business going?”

“Oh, hell,” Eric called back. “That’s on the sidelines now. I’m farming full time on prime real estate. You need to tear yourself away from that sandbox you’re playing in and do some real farming up here. And bring that hot mama with you.”

Taeya leaned past Rick and spoke into the microphone. “Is it safe out there?”

For a minute, she thought she’d lost the connection. But then Eric answered. “I can’t exactly say it’s safe, but nobody’s getting sick anymore.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Well, one of our women was raped yesterday,” he said. “She was down at the river getting water when some lowlifes jumped her. We think they were from the next town over. They beat the poor woman senseless.”

“How is she now?” Taeya asked.

“Hard to say,” he answered. “None of us has any kind of medical background, so we aren’t much good at something like this. A couple of the other women tended to her, but it doesn’t look good.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Eric radioed back. “We learn from our mistakes, don’t we? But listen, this place is fantastic. There are grape fields galore. And we’ve found crops of asparagus, beans, melons, corn. And orchards! We’ve got peaches, apples, pecans.”

Rick muscled her away from the microphone. “So, you’re camping out under the stars?”

“Hell, no! Aren’t you listening to me? This town is full of empty houses. I’m living in a sweet three-bedroom. Stuck a sign in my front yard with ‘Eric the Great’ on it, so newcomers know it’s mine. Other folks just write ‘taken’ on the driveway and move in. I’m telling you, man, some of these houses have never been lived in.”

“Huh.” Rick straightened his back and gazed beyond the table.

Eric rambled on. “Since it was a planned community, the developers put this big town center right in the middle with shops and bars and restaurants. They’ve all been looted, of course, but we get together at night at this sidewalk café. We trade crops, share stories, get drunk. There’s a school, and post office. Hey, Doc, there’s even one of those little medical clinic. Get your asses in gear and get up here.”

After Rick finally signed off, he drifted over to a window and stood with a hand on the frame. Something was going on in his head. There was plenty going on in Taeya’s head, too.

She finally ventured a neutral comment. “That was an interesting conversation.”

“Yeah.” Rick drummed his fingers on the glass. “So, what did you think?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “What did you think?”

Turning away from the window, he strode over to her chair. Then he dropped to his knees and wedged himself between her legs.

“I think you and I ought to blow this popcorn stand and head for Laurel Valley.”

She gripped his face and gave him a huge kiss.

Feeling the need to consummate their decision with more than a kiss, Rick pulled her to the floor. Their lovemaking took on a desperate urgency after the events of the morning. Tears filled Taeya’s eyes as she cried out, not just from the exhilaration of the orgasm, but from all the frustration that had been building inside.

She collapsed in the crook of Rick’s arm, too exhausted to move. The pain of a rug burn was all that kept her from dozing off. She twisted her elbow to get a look at the sore.

“Next time,” she mumbled, “I get the top.”

“Are you kidding?” Rick pulled a knee up to show her a raw circle.

She pushed his chest back onto the floor and nuzzled her nose along his neck.

The way his fingers absent-mindedly stroked her hair, she could tell he had other things on his mind now. If he wasn’t going to bring it up, she would.

“What about Devin and Judith?” she asked.

“Oh, they’ll jump at the chance,” Rick said. “That town sounds perfect for them. I can just see Devin as the local sheriff. He’ll kick ass.”

Taeya smiled. “Judith will think she’s found the Promised Land.”

Another thought gnawed at Taeya. “What about Mai?”

“What about John?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t see how he could survive out in that heat.”

The pained look on Rick’s face confirmed that he’d already figured that out.

“Yo!” Devin called up the stairs. “Are you two coming down any time soon?”

Taeya scrambled back into her pants while Rick fastened his shorts. “You better find Judith and get up here,” he called.

Devin and Judith sat in easy chairs, watching Rick pace around the library as he told them about the radio call from Eric. And as he flung his arms wildly, describing the crops and the houses, they got caught up in his excitement.

“They have grapevines, too,” Taeya said.

“We could have cows,” Rick insisted. “And real goats, not mini goats.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Devin asked. “I got the feeling you were going to dump more bad news on us.”

Rick tilted his head. “Obviously, John can’t go. I’m sure Carol and Kat won’t want to go. Who knows about Mai. But Sanchez is feeling guilty that we’ve shaken this place up, booted Michael out, and now we’re bailing.”

Judith’s voice squawked. “Bailing? We’ve turned this place around. Even Kat’s contributing. Believe me, when we leave, these folks will be delighted to have four less mouths to feed.”

“And just so you know.” Devin reached over to Taeya’s chair. “If Michael
was
still here? I’d haul his ass to the door on my way out.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The wake-up alarm chimed. Rick squeezed his eyes, willing himself to go back to sleep, but his brain was already up and running. He was going to be a real farmer. He and Sanchez were leaving this crackerbox together.
California, here I come
.

The idea of picking out a house, living with Sanchez in that California town had him pumped. The way Eric talked, there were dozens of homes to chose from. It would be just like house hunting with a realtor, snooping in closets to get an idea of space, debating whether they wanted stucco or brick. But when they finally made their decision, there’d be no contracts, no down payment, no thirty-year mortgage. Just a brand new home.

The alarm chimed again. Rick fumbled in the dark, picked up the conch shell Sanchez kept on her nightstand, and answered it like a telephone.

“Hello?” he mumbled. “Who? Yeah, she’s here. Who’s this?”

He sat up, and nodded as though listening to someone on the other end.

“Hang on,” he said. “You better tell her that yourself.”

Cupping the open side of the shell to his bare chest, he whispered, “It’s your grandmother. She wants to warn you not to screw up with the best man you’ve ever had.”

Smiling, Sanchez took the shell from him and held it to her ear. “Buenos dias, la Abuela. Como es usted? Cuando aprendio usted como hablar Ingles?”

“That’s not fair,” Rick squawked. “What are you telling her?”

She handed him back the shell. “I asked her when she learned how to speak English.”

“Ah.” He never missed a beat. “I guess the angels taught her.”

After she gave him a very ladylike snort, she rolled to her side of the bed.

“Oh, don’t turn your backside to me.”

Rick snuggled up behind her, giving her a poke between the legs to let her know he was up and ready to go.

* * *

Carol trudged out to the field, looking like a voodoo woman in a Mardi Gras parade. Her hair exploded from her head in tangles. The bags under her eyes were dark as charcoal. Evidently, she wasn’t too psyched about being the new ag specialist.

On the other hand, Mai appeared unusually rested. That drawn tightness in her face was gone. She was cool with their plan, but she wasn’t interested in moving on. In fact, she seemed anxious to get her old job back as chief medical officer, saying she wanted to stick around and take care of John and the others.

Rick had broken the news to John down in the workshop. He’d expected Pops to get all misty-eyed, but the old goat beamed, shook Rick’s hand, and wished him the best of luck. Then he insisted they come back for Thanksgiving.