Sick (29 page)

Martina was a smart girl. She knew if things played out the way they had everywhere else, she and the others in the segregated group would all be dead within a day or so. It scared her more than she wanted to admit, but she tried to stay calm because a few of the others were totally freaking out already, and someone had to keep their head.

It didn’t help that the news reported the virus had spread throughout the entire quarantine zone, including their hometown of Ridgecrest. And even though the correspondent had said the new outbreaks seemed to have been contained to a handful of people here and there, the sense of doom that hung over the café was stifling.

There was no report, though, on the fact that the quarantine roadblock had been moved from ten miles west of Cryer’s Corner to ten miles east. Perhaps they were the only ones who knew about that. And given the fact that the phones, and therefore the Internet, had stopped working not long after Martina uploaded Paul’s video, there was no way they could share that information.

The only good news as far as she was concerned was Ben. That was the name of the cute college boy. He was from San Mateo in the Bay Area and had been driving home from a skiing trip in Colorado. Luckily for Martina, he wasn’t one of the people flipping out so, naturally, they had gravitated toward each other.

At that moment, they were sitting in a booth at the far corner of the café, absently watching the TV. The reporter was a woman who’d been caught inside the zone, and was now at Fort Irwin near Barstow with several other members of the media. Martina wasn’t paying her much attention, though. The woman had pretty much been saying the same thing over and over all day.

“This sucks,” Martina blurted out.

“The news?” Ben asked.

She glanced at the screen. “Well, yeah. That, too. But all of this. It completely sucks. We can’t even call our families to see how they’re doing. It’s like we’re in prison.”

“At least this prison has cushioned seats,” he said, smiling.

“Ha ha.” She turned her attention back to the TV, but could only take it for another minute before she said, “I wish I’d just start coughing and get it over with, you know?”

Ben didn’t say anything.

“Did you hear me?”

She looked at him. He was staring out the window at something in the distance. Finally, as if on delay, he said, “Sorry.” Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he scooted out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, but he was already halfway toward the front of the café, so she got up and followed him.

He stopped at the counter near the register and looked around.

“What are you doing?” she asked, walking up.

“Have you seen Molly?”

Molly Cryer was the older woman who, it turned out, owned the café.

“Maybe in back?” Martina suggested.

With a nod, Ben passed through the opening in the counter and back into the kitchen. More curious than ever, Martina continued to follow him.

Molly was sitting on a little stool in back, watching a DVD of some old black and white movie on a small TV set on a desk. She had a soda in one hand, and an unlit cigarette in the other.

“The gas station across the street,” Ben said. “There’s a big rig behind it.”

“Yeah,” Molly said without taking her eyes off the screen.

“Whose is it?”

“The rig? That’d be Eddie Jackson’s truck.”

“Is he around?”

“Nah. He’s in…” She paused for a moment. “Reno, I think.”

“Who has the keys?”

“I assume Lance does over at the station.”

“Great. Thanks.”

As Ben headed back out, Martina said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“About what?”

He said nothing.

“Whoa! Where are you two going?” Coach Driscoll asked as Ben and Martina reached the front door.

“I need to check something,” Ben said.

“Well, just stick around right out front. Don’t want to expose anyone else.”

Most of the unexposed group had been hanging out at the mini-market just down from the café. No one had really laid claim to the gas station on the other side of the road yet, because there really wasn’t much to claim other than a couple of pumps and a greasy garage.

Once he was outside, Ben started jogging straight for the station.

Before he reached the road, Martina said, “I don’t think we’re supposed to go across.”

“Then you don’t have to come.”

Though she’d bent one or two rules in her life, she wasn’t a big one for breaking them, but given the fact that by this time tomorrow she’d probably be dead, what did it matter? She picked up her speed and caught up to him midway across the asphalt of the empty highway.

“Still not going to tell me what you’re doing?” she asked.

“Still not.”

No one seemed to be around as he led her into the gas station’s small office. He then started pulling desk drawers open, and slamming them closed when he didn’t find whatever it was he was looking for.

After a few minutes, he moved into the garage and took a quick scan around. His gaze locked onto a black cabinet on the wall.

He pulled the door open, then let out a yelp of triumph.

Martina moved around so she could look inside. There were several rows of hooks. Most were empty, but a few had keys hanging from them. Ben moved his finger along the sets that were there, pulling off several.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s see if I’m right.”

As they stepped out of the garage, a voice yelled out, “What are you doing in there?”

Lance Cryer, the guy who ran the gas station, was standing near the highway looking at them. He’d been in the group deemed unexposed.

“Just borrowing some keys,” Ben said.

“Dammit. You shouldn’t have gone in there. That’s my place. Now I can’t use it until someone washes it all down.”

Ben grimaced. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“Too late now, isn’t it?” Lance said. “What are you going to do with those keys?”

Ben looked down at the sets in his hand. After a second, he seemed to come to some decision. “Tell Eddie Jackson I’m sorry, too.”

“What?” Lance asked, confused.

Ben touched Martina on the arm. “Come on.”

They circled around the gas station to the semi truck parked in back. The first set of keys didn’t work, but the second opened the door.

“Go around to the other side,” he told her. “I’ll open it up for you.”

By the time she got there, the passenger door was unlocked.

“Okay, so are we going to make a run for it?” she asked, smirking, as soon as she was inside.

“Not a bad idea. But I kind of think I’d rather die of a cold than a bullet.”

That wiped the smile off her face.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to be funny. But…”

Shaking her head, she said, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” She glanced at him expectantly. “So why are we here?”

Ben put the key in the ignition and turned it enough to get the electricity inside working.

“That,” he said, pointing at a device mounted in the dashboard.

“What is it?”

“CB radio. If we can get it to work, we might be able to get you in touch with your mom.”

Martina looked at him. “You…you think so?”

“That’s the hope.”

It took him a few minutes to get the hang of it, but soon he got it working.

“Hello, hello. Is anyone out there?” he said into the mic. Static. “Hello. I’m calling from Cryer’s Corner inside the quarantine zone. Can anyone hear me?”

Static again, then, “…hear you.”

Martina hit Ben’s arm excitedly.

“This is Ben. Ben Bowerman. Who’s this?”

“…ame’s Marty Zimmerman. Everyone calls me…ee.”

“Sorry, you faded out. Calls you what?”

“Zee. Everyone calls me Zee.”

“I can’t tell you how great it is to hear your voice, Zee.”

“Where’d you say you are?”

“Cryer’s Corner.”

“Kinda near Death Valley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hell, I know where that is. Tiny speck of a place. Did you say you’re in the quarantine zone?”

“Uh, yeah. Where are you?”

“Sitting in the parking lot of a casino just east of the Cal border along I-15. Stuck here with a load of potato chips I was supposed to be taking to Barstow, while I wait to hear where I’m being rerouted. But better stuck here than inside the zone, I guess. What’re you hauling?”

“I’m…not a trucker. There’s a whole group of us stuck here at Cryer’s Corner.”

It took a few minutes to explain everything, then another as Zee made the requested call on his cell phone before Martina heard the voice she thought she would never hear again.

“Hello?” her mother said, her voice distorted by the fact it was coming out of a speakerphone on a cell that was then being transmitted over the CB.

“Mom?”

A slight delay. “Martina? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she said, her eyes welling with water.

“This connection is horrible, sweetie. Can you try calling back?”

“No, no!” Martina yelled. “We don’t have any service here. I’m on a radio.”

“You’re on a what?”

Martina loved her mom dearly, but there were some things she didn’t get right away. “Just don’t hang up, okay?”

A moment later, her dad joined in on another extension. They talked about missing her and wishing she were home. She tried to sound upbeat, and was careful not to say anything about being exposed to the virus.
Let them have one more night of peace,
she thought.

“I want to know about this video you apparently put on the Internet,” her father said.

“It’s so horrible,” her mother cut in. “Please tell me it’s not true.”

“How did you know I put it up?” Martina asked, confused. Her video account name was a completely random series of numbers and letters.

“We’ve had several calls from people at PCN, including that reporter out in Barstow. They apparently learned about it from your friend Frances.”

Frances, of course.

“Did you really put that up?” her dad asked.

“Yes, Dad. I did.”

“But it’s fake, right?” her mom said. “That didn’t really happen.”

“It’s not fake, Mom.”

Her dad said something, but the static on the line covered most of it up.

“Dad, can you say that again? I couldn’t understand you.”

“…wants to talk to you, sweetie.”

“Who wants to talk to me?” she asked.

“The reporter. From PCN? She gave us her number and wants you to call. I’m not sure you should or not, though.”

Martina looked at Ben. “They want to talk to me?”

He shrugged. “It makes sense. That video must be a big thing right now.”

Over the radio, her dad said, “Sweetie, are you there?”

She moved the CB mic back to her mouth. “I’m here, Dad.”

“Do you want us to give you the number?”

“I’d talk to her, but I can’t call from here.”

Zee cut in. “I could do it for you, if you want.”

“Who’s that?” Martina’s dad asked.

“That’s Zee, Dad. He’s helping us with the radio connection.” She looked at Ben. “Should I talk to her?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Someone needs to get the word out about what happened to Paul and his friends.”

She thought for a moment, then keyed the mic again. “Dad, go ahead and give Zee the number. I’ll talk her.”

37

Matt had called the place where Ash and Chloe were going the Bluff. It turned out to be two and a half hours away from the old Palmer Psychiatric Hospital, not one.

The directions took them into the Sierra Nevada Mountains, east of Sacramento. Ash was surprised by how light the traffic was until he realized it was probably due to the outbreak down south. Though there had been no reports of cases up here, that didn’t mean the fear didn’t stretch well beyond the quarantine zone. Better to play it overly cautious and keep your family at home than to risk infection.

They left the interstate behind as they entered the mountains and proceeded up a narrower, windier road into the thickening forest. From there it was down a series of smaller roads. Ash carefully followed Matt’s instructions, but even then he almost missed the gate in the darkening twilight.

It wasn’t anything special, and in fact looked like a half dozen others they’d passed on the way up. Metal-pipe frame, three twelve-inch-wide planks running from side to side, and that was it. The fence it was connected to was made of wood posts with barbed wire strung between, the majority of it covered by vegetation.