Rising Tide (30 page)

“Miranda's going to be happy to see all of this,” I say, as I put down a padded case of glassware and a microscope all snug in its own case. “This looks like good stuff.”

“We've been collecting it for years,” Maya says. She turns to look at me. “You're really invested in all of this, aren't you?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

“I mean you're willing to risk your life for this effort.”

“Well, I hope it's not going to come to that,” I say. Then, “I realized a little while back that surviving wasn't enough. I wanted to help make the world a better place.”

“And you think this is your way to do it?”

“Don't you?” I ask.

She smiles. “And how far would you go for this?”

The question freezes me for a moment. My inner voice says that I'm talking too much to this stranger about private, personal things. But a moment later, I say, “As far as it takes.”

“Your life?”

I pause. I've never been one for self-sacrifice. I've always protected myself. But . . . I gave the
Cherub
to save Tamoanchan. Almost gave my life. For an island full of strangers. For Miranda, I have no doubt. She may very well go on to find her cure. And me? Well, I'm no big loss, right? I'm always leaving chaos in my wake.

“Yes,” I say. “If it comes to that.”

Cries echo across the space—high-pitched and undeniably Feral.

Maya looks at me. “It just might.”

“Shit,” I say, raising my father's revolver.

The netting for the supplies is down, lowered from the
Osprey
. But the ladder isn't.

I wave to Rosie, who's watching above us, to raise the winch. She does, and the line ascends, going taught, then taking the supplies up with it.

As it passes my head, I see the first Feral.

“Over there!” I yell, to attract Maya's attention.

And then they're running and we're shooting and that's all we can focus on.

I count automatically in my head. Twelve of them. Not much room for error.

I fire. Three times in quick succession. Three of the moving figures go down.

“Are you a leg man?” she asks.

“What?” I don't look at her. Keep my focus on the Ferals.

“Some people like to shoot them in the legs. So they go down easy.”

“Let's talk later,” say, taking three more shots.

I'm vaguely aware of Maya shooting next to me. Vaguely aware that her targets are going down. Pretty good shooting for a boffin.

“Reloading,” I call, and move to do so, depending on Maya to cover me. There are, miraculously, only two Ferals left. I quickly load the revolver, only to see Maya shooting down the last two. One chest shot, one neck shot.

I look at her as the last one drops. “That's really great shooting,” I say.

She shrugs. “I like to shoot.” She sounds breathless.

“You must,” I say. “That's the best—”

I'm cut off by something falling on top of me, slamming me to the ground. A second later, I smell what it is, the earthy, dirty, shit–smell of a Feral. I'm facedown, and it's on my back.

“Maya!” I yell.

I feel its grip on my arm and shoulder. Its knees on my back.

“Maya!”

Bracing one hand against the ground, I push as hard as I can, coming up and around and throwing the Feral off of my back.

It springs to the side, and as I scramble to my feet, Maya puts two bullets into the matted and tangled mess of its head.

I stand there, sucking in breath. My chest heaving. I look at her, the still-smoking gun at her side. “What took you so long?”

“I had to reload,” she said. I quickly do the math in my head, and she's right. That Feral had great timing.

“Check me,” I say. That thing was on my back. It might have drooled on me, or bled on me. I turn my back to Maya, and she looks me over.

“You look clean,” she says. “But you might want to change your shirt.”

I nod. “C'mon. Let's get up to the ship before any others find us.” I signal to Rosie again and the ladder drops.

“God, shooting gets me so excited,” Maya says, slapping me on the arm.

I turn and give her a look. Or at least I must because she says, “Relax, cowboy. You're not my type.”

“Really?”

She gives me a smile and a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Then Maya and I go up the ladder. Of course I send her up first, covering her the way I did Miranda all those times before. Then, sparing one last look around at all the dead Ferals, I follow.

It's my favorite kind of exit.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

M
y good feeling from the run fades a little as I think about quarantine. Yet again. As much as I'm in favor of the approach, preventing the Bug from getting in, no one person should have to go through quarantine so much in such a short period of time.

“I'll be happy to go home,” Rosie says. “Even if it does mean quarantine again.”

Diego groans.

“Don't be such a baby,” Rosie says.

He turns to her. “You like quarantine?”

She looks out the gondola window. “At least it's safe.”

Diego radios down to the ground for instructions, already turning the
Osprey
toward the landing field near the Orchard. But to our combined surprise, they instead direct him to a different field. On Tamoanchan proper.

“Can you confirm that?” he asks, and they do.

Diego looks at me and shrugs. But we proceed to the airfield as indicated.

“What did we do this time?” I ask.

“Only what we planned to,” Diego says. “This can't be about us.”

It should be comforting, but it's not. If they're not letting us go to the Orchard, then maybe something happened there. A feeling grips my stomach, like a slow poison is eating away at my insides.

“Let's get down quickly,” I say. “And find out what's going on.”

Diego brings us in for a landing, and the ground crew helps secure us. I'm the first at the ladder.

As I hit the ground, I realize something's not right. There are too many people gathered to meet us.

And one of them is Miranda. Despite the strangeness, the relief floods through me.

I flash her a questioning look, but she's got a smile a meter wide on her face. Lewis is also there with Brana, a few of the boffins, and some stern-faced Tamoanchan Keepers.

To be honest, I'm getting a little tired of peacekeepers.

“Don't think I'm not appreciative of the welcome,” I say. “But this is a little much.”

Miranda pushes past the others and stands before me, smiling. “We did it, Ben!” she says.

“Did what?”

“Our test. For the virus. We made it.”

“You did?”

She nods, her smile still wide and infectious.

She did it. “You did it!” I say. “Goddamnit.” I shake my head. “Of course you did.” I start trying to pull her to me, to hug her, but then realize I haven't been through quarantine. Instead I squeeze my fists in a gesture of triumph.

Miranda looks over to Diego, Rosie, and Maya. “All of you get to be some of our first test subjects.”

So while we stand there (me trying to ignore the armed Keepers staring at me), Miranda takes samples of our blood. “We don't have facilities yet, obviously,” she says as my blood spills out into a tube. “But we'll set them up at one or two of the fields to test anyone coming in.”

I look at the tube almost full with dark-red blood. “Are you going to have enough of those?” I ask.

She nods. “We have a stockpile. I'm sure Maya's supplies have more. But it's going to be a struggle. We can reuse needles with proper sterilization.”

My eyes widen. “Are you sure, Miranda? This is the Bug we're talking about.”

“And we can test for it, now. If a subject is positive, we'll destroy the syringe. But if not, we can make sure it can be used again. Same for the tubes, if necessary. We'll have to continue looking for more, though.”

I know what she's thinking. That this is only the first step in the grand plan. That soon they'll have what they really want—a cure—and all of the test tubes and syringes and equipment left in the world can be devoted to making that work until it's not needed at all.

I squeeze her hand.

“I take it I missed the celebration?” I ask.

“Yes, sorry. Lewis wanted to make his announcement after we had confirmed the test with the Feral blood.”

“Of course. He wanted to make his play as soon as possible.”

She nods. “It seems to be working. The people here seem pleased with this latest development.”

“I thought they might be.”

I flash a smile at Brana, wondering if that pissed-off look is because Lewis scored a victory. With her it's hard to tell. “I hope there's some hooch left,” I say.

Miranda smiles back at me. “I think we can dig some up.” She grabs my arm. “We couldn't have done it without you, Ben.”

“Yes, you could,” I say. “But I make things harder so often that I suppose I was overdue for making something easier.”

“If that's how it works, you have a lot owed to you.”

“I can hope.”

They make us wait on the airfield, the Keepers never letting up with their intense stares. I have to admit that their presence is a good idea. Even if someone turns up clean, not infected, there's always the chance of conflict. Violence. And if the boffins are going to be here on the front line, they need protection.

For a moment I consider the possibility of becoming a Keeper. I need something to do, and I've mostly been good at protecting the boffins, but . . . I can't really see myself in one of those brown-and-green uniforms. I can't see myself snapping to attention and following the orders of Lewis or Brana or any of the other members of the Council, like a good little soldier. I can't imagine me keeping the peace.

It's not me.

Well, Ben, you still need to find your place. Get to it.

We wait about an hour or so to be cleared. Miranda's science station has been set up nearby on the main island now. One of the other ships brought in an electron microscope—something Miranda says can see really, really small, like virus-small—and together with some help from Lewis, they set it up on a vacant plot of land. They built a hasty structure around it for now, but that's where the blood samples will go, facilitated by runners and cyclists.

I spend most of the time chatting with Diego, talking repairs on the
Osprey
, assessing the other ships on the field, while Rosie talks with Maya. The two of them seem to have really hit it off. They make a contrast, the two of them—Rosie, tall and athletic, hard and dark, and Maya, short and almost delicate, with golden skin. As I watch, Rosie smiles and, in a movement that seems uncharacteristic, reaches out and playfully pats Maya's arm.

Oh
, I think.

I am such an idiot.

Diego sees where I'm looking and nods. “Looks like Rosie found a friend.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I can't believe I missed it.”

“I'm glad,” he says. “It's been . . . I don't know how long. She doesn't open up to people much.”

“I got that impression.”

“Yeah, well, maybe this will soften her mood. To you. To everything.”

“I hope so,” I say. “I like your sister. We worked well together at the helium plant. And it looks like we're all going to be here for a while.”

“You given much thought to what you're going to do? Long-term?”

“I feel like that's mostly what I've been thinking about,” I say. “And I still don't have any answers.”

“Well, if we get cleared for free passage, you can fly with us on the
Osprey
. We could always use another pair of hands, or another gun.”

“You're thinking of going back to foraging?”

He nods. “That or running errands for the Council.” He scratches his beard. “There's no chance of me making the Council. Not anymore.”

“I'm sorry.”

He shrugs. “It's okay. I'm learning to live with it. It could be worse. I could be dead.”

“That's one way to look at it.”

“I can still be of use,” he says. “And you can still get back into the sky. What do you say?”

I nod. First to myself, then to him. “I think that could work. Thanks. Do you think Rosie will be okay with it?”

He gestures over to where she and Maya are smiling and laughing. “I think I can convince her.”