Pale Horse

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1

Daniel Ash locked eyes with Olivia Silva, his gun held out in front of him.

For a moment it was as if time itself had frozen solid.

Then the corner of her lip curled up in the slightest of smiles.

Oh, God. No!

Even as he thought this, he squeezed the trigger, but her finger was already plunging toward the ENTER key.

2

Martina Gable’s plan had been to sleep as late as possible. She’d arrived home the previous evening, after spending the first few days of her winter break getting in some extra workouts at Cal State University Northridge’s athletic facility. Like most freshmen, she had wanted to come home right away, but she knew if she put in a little more time at the gym, it would go a long way toward scoring points with Coach Poole and the other members of the softball team’s staff. As good as she had been at the game in high school, she was just one of a hundred or so equally talented players at the university vying for a spot on the squad.

It had been a good move. Only two other freshman girls and one sophomore had hung around, and the coaches seemed both annoyed that more hadn’t stayed and pleased that Martina and the other three were there.

Instead of trying to one-up the other girls, Martina had gotten them to work together, helping each other like teammates would. It wasn’t any kind of strategy on her part; she was just good at that kind of thing. But it was clear from the comments she received from the coaches before she left that her leadership skills had not gone unnoticed.

Finally, once the staff had left for the break, she drove the two and a half hours back to her hometown.

Sleeping in her own bed for the first time in months, she was sure she wouldn’t open her eyes until noon, but by eight o’clock she was wide awake. With a groan, she pushed the covers back, swung her legs off the bed, and pulled on the running clothes she'd laid out the night before.

Five minutes later, she was out the door, and heading east toward town. When she’d left for college that August, it had been blazing hot. That was to be expected, of course. Ridgecrest was located at the northern edge of the Mojave Desert, so blazing hot in summer was the norm.

Winter was a different thing altogether. Most days wouldn’t rise above fifty degrees and many were considerably colder. On this particular morning, three days before Christmas, the temperature was hovering just above freezing. If it had been cloudy, there would have been a good chance for some snow, but the sky, as it was most days, was clear.

As soon as she reached that blissful state she always felt when she ran, the cold became a distant memory and her mind turned to other things, like the gifts she still had to buy for her parents and a couple of her high school friends she was getting together with that evening. And, of course, Ben.

On she went, past the track homes, the churches, then down through the old business district on Balsam Street. Would it be tacky to get her dad a gift card to Home Depot or someplace like that? Probably, but it would be so much easier, and he’d undoubtedly be happier in the end.

You can’t do that, she told herself. Just talk to Mom. She’ll know what he wants.

A car horn honked, the driver waving and smiling as the vehicle passed by. It was Mrs. Henson, one of the secretaries at Burroughs High School.

Martina waved back, then returned to her thoughts of Christmas and her parents and her almost boyfriend. There had been several days that previous spring when she was sure she’d never see another summer, let alone Christmas, but she’d been one of the lucky ones who’d survived after contracting the Sage Flu during the outbreak. That was a nightmare she never wanted to live through again, yet if it hadn’t been for the quarantine, she and Ben would have never met.

The truth was, though she didn’t know it, she could never live through a hell like that again. At least not in the way she did before. Her exposure to the virus had given her immunity. So if the Sage Flu bared its fangs again, she would not fall victim.

Of course, the same couldn’t be said about nearly everyone else she knew.

Lizzie Dexel was not a typical recluse. She had lived, if not quite thrived, for many years right in the middle of Denver, Colorado. It hadn’t been easy, and she had been prone to the occasional panic attack, but she had made it work. She’d even had a couple friends. Well, one work friend, anyway. When she left for the day from the accounting office where she was employed, she would go straight home, make some dinner, and watch Animal Planet until it was time to go to sleep. She had no pets. She liked cats, but was allergic, and dogs took too much work. So she contented herself with watching them on TV.

When her brother Owen died, things had changed. He’d been even worse with crowds than Lizzie. The one time he had visited her in Denver, he had barely left her apartment, and when he did, his eyes watched every face he passed. He was much happier in his isolated home in Montana, where he was able to feed his paranoid belief of a coming war.

That’s where his body had been found. He’d been chopping wood behind his house and had apparently suffered a heart attack. If Lizzie hadn’t become worried because he wasn’t answering her calls, it could have been months before anyone found him. As it was, his body lay on the ground for nearly two weeks before the sheriff drove out and checked, giving the bugs and the animals plenty of time to take what they wanted. Needless to say, it was a closed casket funeral.

Being the only one Owen kept in contact with, Liz had inherited his house. At first she thought she’d sell it, but after spending a week there going through his things, she found she liked the solitude. She thought if she did a little redecorating, and lost the survivalist theme, his place would actually be nice.

Back in Denver, she had worked out a deal with her firm to work remotely from Montana.

It didn’t take much to convince her bosses that it was a good idea. She did great work, but was a bit of an oddball in their view, kind of a loner who had a paranoid streak in her. She, of course, would have said the description fit her brother, not her, but she never really had been good at seeing the truth about herself.

At the end of summer, she moved permanently to Montana, and settled into her new life. The only times she saw anyone in the months that followed were on the two occasions she’d gone to town for supplies. No one ever visited her house, and she believed no one ever would.

It was probably for the best that she didn’t realize how soon that belief would be shattered.

The road Sanjay and Kusum had been traveling on was really no more than two rutted tire tracks running through a stretch of wilderness outside their home city of Mumbai.

Sanjay had been forced to drop their speed to a crawl, so that the front tire wouldn’t get caught in a hole and fling them both to the ground. Kusum’s arms were tight around his waist, but he knew she was only trying to hold on, not showing him any kind of affection.

Despite his protests, she’d been right when she accused him of kidnapping her. But what choice did he have? When he’d found his cousin Ayush dying in a makeshift hospital room, then learned the truth about the “miracle malaria spray” they had both been hired to help douse the city with, he’d had no other option. The spray had nothing to do with saving lives. In fact, quite the opposite. They and others hired by Pishon Chem would be covering Mumbai with the same deadly virus from which Ayush had been dying. Sanjay had stolen some vaccine, talked Kusum into joining him for lunch, then kept driving the motorcycle he’d rented until they were well out of the city.

He’d done it to save her. He had to save her. She was all he ever thought about, all he cared about — especially now that Ayush was surely dead. If that meant kidnapping her, then so be it.

When he’d stabbed the needle into her arm, and injected her with the life-saving vaccine, she had all but flown into a rage, thinking he had drugged her. He’d tried to explain what he had seen and learned, but naturally she didn’t believe him.

“I promise if I’m wrong, I will take you back and turn myself over to the police,” he told her. Finally, she had reluctantly agreed to stay with him.

As they came around a turn, Sanjay immediately jammed on the brakes. The back of the bike fishtailed right, then left, before stopping at an angle to the road.

Kusum immediately released his waist. “What’s wrong?”

“There.” He nodded at the road ahead.

A pool of water, perhaps twenty meters across, covered the road. He didn’t think it was very deep, but knew it would be better to cross it in daylight to be safe.

“We’ll stay here.”

She looked around. “Stay where?”

“Here.”

“In the jungle?”

“It’s not that much of a jungle. We’ll be fine.”

“Are you crazy?”

“It’s just for one night.”

“I’m not sleeping here.”

“Fine. You can stay awake.”

He gunned the engine, circled the bike around to the way they’d come, then turned into the wilderness and drove them back amongst the trees and bushes until he found a wide spot that would work for their camp. Killing the engine, he flipped down the kickstand, but Kusum didn’t move.

“Please,” he said. “Get off.”

“I will not.”

“Well, I’m getting off, and when I do, you’ll fall.”

She huffed in frustration then climbed off the seat, making sure her foot kicked him as she did. Once he was off the bike, he stretched, and retrieved the bag he’d strapped to the handlebars that contained the food they picked up earlier.

He sat down in the small clearing and opened the bag. “Have something to eat.”

“I am not hungry,” she said.

“You need to eat. It’s important.”

“I told you, I am not hungry.”

“All right.”

He pulled out the container of vada pav, quickly ate two pieces, then took the bag with the remainder back to the motorcycle and hung it over the handlebars so insects would be less likely to find it.

“When you get hungry, it’s here.”

He stretched out on the undergrowth and glanced at Kusum. “If you’re not going to eat, you should at least try to sleep.”

“I told you, I am not sleeping here.”

“Kusum, please. I am not your enemy. What I have done is only because I care about you.”

She glared at him, her eyes full of fire. “If you cared about me, you would have taken me home already.”

In a few days, you will see how much I care, he thought, but he said nothing, hoping he was wrong.

Hours later, he stirred, his eyes opening for just a moment. Kusum was on the ground a foot away from him. Tentatively he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. At first she tried to pull away, but then she stopped. A moment later, she scooted back against him, and he could feel her body shake as she cried.

3

The ranch was on fire.

The dormitory, by far the smaller of the two buildings of the Resistance’s headquarters, was already well on its way to total destruction. Even if a hundred firefighters had been on site, there would have been nothing they could do.

The Lodge was a different story. Though it too was being consumed by flames, there would have still been the possibility of saving some of the structure, given its massive size. But the nearest fire crew was over seventy miles away, and they had received no emergency call.

Nor would they.

Just before ten a.m., three helicopters and several ground vehicles had been spotted rushing toward the Ranch. There was no question who had sent them, or what their purpose was. They were a Project Eden attack squad, coming to eliminate everyone there.

“Full cover,” Matt Hamilton, the head of the Resistance, had ordered.

Giant impenetrable doors had been sealed, locking everyone into the large underground bunker deep below the Lodge, and the self-destruction of the two surface buildings was triggered. The burned wreckage would block the two main entrances into the Bunker, and, Matt hoped, keep the killers above from finding a way in.

“Don’t worry,” Rachel Hamilton said. “Jon will keep him safe.” She was Matt’s sister and closest advisor, so it wasn’t surprising she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“I know,” he said, though he wasn’t as sure as she was.

“He’ll get Brandon out.”

This time Matt simply nodded.

Though most of the people who had been at the Ranch when the helicopters were spotted were safe in the underground facility, Jon Hayes and Brandon Ash had been caught outside, unable to get back before Matt was forced to seal up the Bunker. While Jon had received the training all Resistance members were given, Brandon was just a kid. To make matters worse, Matt himself had promised the boy’s father he’d watch over him.

He just hoped Jon and Brandon had done what he ordered, and were already in the woods, trying to get as far from the Ranch as possible.

“Intruders on ground,” someone announced.

Matt looked at the monitors displaying feeds from cameras hidden around the compound. He zeroed in on a view of the open space near the Lodge, where one of the helicopters had just set down and a half dozen heavily armed men in fatigues, helmets, and body armor were jumping out. As they rushed toward the burning building, the second helicopter landed and more men joined the others.

“Dear God,” someone said.

Matt could sense fear filling the room.

“Hold it together,” he ordered. “They can’t get in. You all know that.”

There were a few nods, and a couple of grunts of agreement, but the anxiety level remained high.

On the screen, the attack squad circled the Lodge, while a smaller detachment raced over to the dormitory. When it was clear no one could be alive in the burning buildings, they regrouped, then split again, and headed in teams of three into the woods.

It’s okay, Matt thought. Jon and Brandon are far away. They won’t be seen.

“Matt?” Christina Kim called out from the communication terminal she was manning.

“In a minute,” Matt said.

“No. Now.”

He turned. “What is it?”

Her eyes never left the monitor in front of her as she motioned for him to hurry over. She said into her microphone, “Your signal’s weak, but you’re getting through.”

Matt walked quickly to her desk. “Who is it?”

“Pax,” she said as she handed him a second headset.

Matt donned it and pressed the earpiece tight to his head. Pax was his right-hand man, and was currently above the Arctic Circle in search of Bluebird, Project Eden’s control center. “It’s Matt. Are you there?”

“Good to hear your voice, Matt,” Pax said.

There was a lot of interference.

Matt put his hand over his mic and said, “Can you do anything about the signal?”

Christina shook her head. “I’ll keep trying, but that’s the best I’ve been able to do so far.”

He took his hand off the mic. “Any luck?”

“Bust here,” Pax said. “The science facility on Amund Ringnes Island is legit.”

The assumption had been that Bluebird was posing as a scientific research outpost on one of the far north islands. The Resistance had narrowed it down to the most likely ones, and sent the team — headed by Brandon’s father, Daniel Ash — to see if they could pinpoint its exact location, and do whatever they could to stop Project Eden from initiating its plan. The team had then divided in half so they could check the final two possibilities at the same time. Pax led one group to Amund Ringnes Island, while Ash led the other to Yanok Island.

So if Bluebird wasn’t on Amund Ringnes…

“I haven’t been able to reach Captain Ash,” Pax said. “Has he reported in to you?”

Though Matt knew the answer, he glanced at Christina. She shook her head. “No,” he said. “We haven’t heard from him since before they left for Yanok.”

“I was afraid of that. I’ve also been unable to reach Gagnon to arrange pickup.” Gagnon was flying the seaplane that shuttled the men to the islands. “I guess it doesn’t matter at the moment. Even if I did reach him, I doubt he’d be able to get here for a day or two.”

“Did something happen?”

“A storm happened. It seems to be a pretty big one. We’ve taken shelter in an unmanned research outpost, and won’t be going anywhere until it calms down a bit.”

“I understand.”

There was a pause. “Matt, Bluebird’s got to be on Yanok. I’m sure Ash has already figured that out, so I’m surprised you haven’t heard from him.”

“Could be caught in the storm, too.”

“Could be, but he wouldn’t let that stop him until he knew for sure. We’re running out of time. Implementation Day could be tomorrow, for all we know.”

Implementation Day, when Project Eden would activate the release of the Sage Flu virus on the world.

Matt glanced over at the others watching the assault team search the area around the Lodge. “Actually, Pax, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be tomorrow.”

“Keep moving!” Hayes yelled.

Brandon jerked back around. He hadn’t even realized he’d slowed down, but he hadn’t been able to help glancing over his shoulder to search for the helicopters thumping in the distance. He couldn’t spot them, though, with the thick forest cover barely allowing him a glimpse of the sky. He picked up his pace, and soon caught up to the man who was trying to save his life.

“The emergency stash is only about five minutes from the top of the ridge,” Hayes said. “We can rest when we get there.”

“I’m fine,” Brandon told him, not wanting to show any weakness.

Hayes gave him a smile. “Glad to hear it.”

When they reached the top, the trees parted enough for them to see two columns of smoke rising into the air from back toward the Ranch. Brandon knew that at the bottom of the larger column would be what was left of the Lodge, and below it, underground, the Bunker where his sister Josie and the others were hiding. He hoped she was all right, and that the security measures Mr. Hamilton had taken would be enough to protect her and everyone else.

A part of him wanted to rush back, and do what he could to help them. What that would be, he had no idea, but running away just seemed wrong.

As they started down the other side of the ridge, he said, “Do you think they can get into the Bunker?”

“No,” Hayes said, and started walking again.

Brandon grabbed his arm. “You can’t know for sure.”

The man turned toward him. “Matt knows what he’s doing. The people from the helicopters won’t be able to get to them. You and I, we need to concentrate on our own survival right now. Playing guessing games about what’s going on back there isn’t going to help us. Okay?”

Brandon frowned, but said, “Okay.”

A few minutes later, Hayes stopped.

“Is this it?” Brandon asked, looking around. There was nothing there but more trees.

Hayes approached a broken branch sticking out of the ground. No, not a branch, Brandon realized — an old rusted stake.

Hayes aligned himself with it, then marched off a couple dozen paces to the west. The place where he stopped was just a small open space, maybe ten feet in diameter at most, and looked pretty much like everywhere else.

“Give me a hand,” Hayes said. He dropped to his knees and began pushing away the ground cover.

Brandon joined him. He almost asked what they were looking for, but as soon as he started moving the dirt and dead vegetation, he saw a flat metal surface. It took them less than a minute to completely clear it.

“Come over to this side,” Hayes said.

Brandon repositioned himself, and together they put their hands underneath the four-foot-square plate and lifted. The metal was heavy, but they were able to get it up and to the side. In the space beneath was what looked like a sewer lid, only it had no holes in the top, and instead of being metal, it was plastic. Embedded in the surface were two handles about six inches apart.

Hayes put a hand in each, and turned the whole thing like the lid of a jar. It took two complete rotations before it came free. Underneath was a round shaft stuffed with items in airtight packages.

Hayes set the lid to the side, then began pulling the packages out and handing them to Brandon. By the time they finished emptying the cylinder, the area around the hole was littered with bags. Hayes started going through them one by one, separating them into two groups.

When he finished, he pointed at the bags to his right and said, “Those go back in. Can you take care of that?”

“Of course,” Brandon said.

While he put the unwanted bags back in the storage cylinder, Hayes opened the others. The first contained a standard hiking backpack, while in the second was a smaller bag, not too dissimilar from the book backpack Brandon had used for school. Hayes began filling each with contents removed from the other bags — food, bottles of water, clothing, two sleeping bags, and a few things Brandon couldn’t identify.

“Shall I put the top back on?” Brandon asked when he was finished.

Hayes shook his head. “We need to put all the empty bags in first.”

Brandon collected the bags and stuffed them down the hole.

Once that was done, Hayes said, “You’ll take the small pack.”

The bag looked full, and had one of the sleeping bags strapped to the bottom.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t make it too heavy.”

“I’m not worried,” Brandon said.

“All right. One more check around to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything, then—”

A low, rhythmic noise echoed softly down the hill. Both Hayes and Brandon cocked their heads.

“One of the helicopters,” Brandon said.

Hayes looked around, his gaze settling on the half-full storage cylinder.

“Get in!”

“What?”

“Get in! Now. We don’t have time to talk about it.”

“You said they might have a thermal scanner. Won’t they be able to see us?”

“Not through the lid and the ground.”

Brandon looked at the hole, then at Hayes. “But…we both can’t fit.”

“I’ll get rid of them, and come back for you.”

“No!”

“If you don’t get in, you’ll get us both killed.”

The whirling of the helicopter rotors was growing louder.

“Now!” Hayes shouted.

Brandon jerked back in surprise, then climbed into the hole.

“Here,” Hayes said, shoving the small backpack in with him. “I’m going to leave the screw top off, and just pull the plate over.”

“But…but…”

“It’s going to be all right,” Hayes said, grabbing the metal plate and tipping it back over.

As it was closing down on him, Brandon said, “How long will I have to—”

“It’s going to be fine.”

The plate fell the rest of the way to the ground, plunging Brandon into darkness. He could hear scrapes on the other side as Hayes covered the plate with the loose ground they’d scraped off. For several seconds all was quiet.

Then the helicopter roared overhead.

4

THE MOMENT THE bullet left his gun, Daniel Ash started running toward the front of the room. His aim had been true. The slug slammed into Olivia Silva, spinning her off the chair.

But had it been in time?

He paid no attention to the huddled group of men on the floor, or their dead colleague who lay nearby. His focus was completely on Olivia, and the computer she had been using.

She was now on the ground, clutching her blood-soaked shoulder. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Very good, Captain Ash. I’m impressed.” She sneered. “But not as impressed as I could have been.”

Ash looked at the computer. On the screen, in deceptively small letters, was the simple phrase:

Dammit!

He blinked, but the words remained the same. His bullet may have hit its mark, but it had not stopped Olivia from transmitting the go code that would commence the release of the virus on the world.

Project Eden’s restart of humanity had begun.

He looked down at her. “You’ve got to stop it!”

“Stop it? Even…if I could, why would I?”

He whirled around and glared at the group of men, the leaders of Project Eden. “Deactivate it!”

No one moved.

He rushed forward, pointing his gun from one man to the next. “Turn it off. Stop it. Now!”

“We can’t,” one of the men said.

Ash turned to him and put the muzzle of the pistol against the guy’s forehead. “Turn it off!”

“Can’t be done. Once activated, it can’t be stopped.”

“Bullshit! You’ve got to have some sort of override.”

“Ash!”

He looked up. Chloe was standing in the doorway at the back of the room.

“We’ve only got a few more minutes!” she yelled. “We’ve got to go!”

Before punching in the go code for the virus, Olivia had begun the self-destruct sequence for the Project Eden facility known as Bluebird. From that moment, they’d had fifteen minutes to exit the building. Half that time was already gone.

“Olivia activated the virus!” he told her.

Chloe’s eyes widened in horror.

Ash looked back at the men on the floor. “Override it!”

“There is no override,” another man said defiantly. He was the one who’d been sitting at the computer when Ash, Olivia, and the others had barged in and taken over, the man who was supposed to have activated the release. “What’s done is done. Welcome to the new world, Captain Ash.”

“Ash, we’ve got to go!” Chloe said.

Ash ran back to the computer, hoping there was something—anything—that might indicate the men were wrong. But there was nothing on the screen other than:

Sitting beside the keyboard was the open envelope Olivia had taken from the man who’d been at the computer. Next to it was the piece of paper that had been inside. Ash snatched it up. There were only five characters on it:

The activation code, he realized. He started to throw it down, then stopped himself. What if…?

“Ash! Come on!” Chloe called.

He typed in E-X–I-T-9, and hit ENTER. Nothing happened.

He tried the code backwards, 9-T-I–X-E, knowing it was a long shot at best. Nothing again.

“Ash!”

He glanced toward Chloe. She was frantically waving at him to join her.

“Give me a second!” he yelled, then input EXIT 9 again.

He tried once more.

Someone tugged at his arm.

“Ash,” Chloe said from beside him. “We’re out of time. We need to leave now!”

“We’ve got to stop this!”

“We can’t stop it! We tried, but we can’t. Do you want to die here, too? Because that’s what’s going to happen if we don’t move now.”

He balled his hands into fists as he stared down at the computer, more frustrated than he’d ever been in his life.

This time, when Chloe grabbed his arm and pulled, he didn’t fight her.

“Sorry to ruin your…day, Captain Ash,” Olivia called after him.

He twisted out of Chloe’s grasp and stepped toward Olivia.

“What are you doing?” Chloe asked.

“She started this,” he said. “She’s coming with us. She needs to answer for what she’s done.”

Before he could grab Olivia, Chloe yanked him to a stop. “Are you kidding me? She’s going to die here when the building goes up. That’s about the best solution we can get. Come on!”

He stared down at Olivia.

She smiled at him again. “Goodbye, Captain.”

Snatching his gun off the desk where he’d left it, he pointed it at her head.

“Go on. Do it,” she said. “You know you want to.”

Damn right he did. No one would ever come close to matching the number of dead that would undoubtedly lie at Olivia’s feet. Billions, if the Resistance’s projections were correct.

Her smile broadened. “You can’t, can you? You’re too good for that. You’d never shoot an unarmed—”

He pulled the trigger, blowing the top of her head off, ensuring she’d never speak another word.

“Satisfied?” Chloe asked. “Can we go now?”

There was no satisfaction in killing Olivia. His inability to stop what she’d already unleashed made her death a footnote to what he knew would be happening next.

Without responding, he headed for the door, Chloe running right beside him. When they entered the corridor, they found two members of Olivia’s strike team waiting there.

“Where is she?” one of them asked.

“She didn’t make it,” Chloe said as she tried to push past them.

The man grabbed her arm. “What do you mean, she didn’t make it?”

Ash shoved him away. “She means Olivia’s dead.”

The other man raised his rifle, aiming it at Ash. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

Before Ash could respond, two shots rang out, and both men dropped to the ground.

Chloe, her gun held near her waist, said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting the hell out of here.”

They raced down the corridor, retracing their path back to the emergency tunnel. Somewhere behind them, Ash could hear others running in their direction, the Project Eden members who’d been held captive in their own command center now trying to escape the coming destruction.

“This way,” Chloe said, turning down a smaller hallway that Ash almost missed.

At the end, they could see another one of Olivia’s people standing in the open entrance to the tunnel, waiting.

“Close it behind us!” Ash yelled as they approached.

“Where are the others?” the man asked.

“Not coming,” Chloe said.

“What happened?”

As they neared the door, Ash could hear the Project Eden members turning into the hallway. “Just close it!” he ordered. He rushed through the opening right behind Chloe.

The man hesitated a moment, then followed him and shut the door.

Ash went over to the monitor mounted on the rock wall that controlled the entrance, and touched the screen, engaging the lock. The others would be able to release it from the inside, but it would at least slow them down a bit. As far as Ash was concerned, none of them deserved the chance at escape. They had all played their parts in the plan to kill most of humanity, so they could all go to hell.

“Give me that,” Chloe said to Olivia’s man as she ripped the flashlight he was holding out of his hand. “Come on!”

The three of them headed quickly down the tunnel, the flashlight’s beam bouncing across the ground ahead of them.

“How much time?” Ash asked.

Chloe glanced at her watch. “A minute if we’re lucky.”

They weren’t.

They made it halfway to the opening of the cave when they heard a low rumble behind them.

“Faster!” Ash yelled.

The sound grew louder and louder as the ground began to shake, and dust and pieces of rock started to fall from the top of the tunnel. Ten steps on, a large chunk dropped from the ceiling and grazed the side of the other man’s head, knocking him to the ground. Ash yanked him back to his feet. The man was bloodied and dazed.

“I got you,” Ash said, putting an arm around him.

The man stumbled forward, gained his footing again, and began running on his own.

More rocks assaulted them as the rumble became a roar.

Ahead, the tunnel curved slightly to the right. As soon as Chloe reached the bend, she yelled something back at them. Ash couldn’t hear her above the noise, but when he reached the point where she’d been, he saw what she was trying to tell him.

The opening of the cave, just fifty feet away. Ash thought he could see some movement beyond it, but it was hard to tell, because the perpetual dark of the Arctic winter was only slightly lighter than the pitch black of the cave.

A loud boom suddenly engulfed the tunnel, shaking the ground so hard all three of them were thrown off their feet. A large section of the ceiling crashed down between Ash and Chloe.

Ash grabbed the other man and pulled him back to his feet, then half carried him over the fallen rock. Once they cleared it, Chloe braced the man on the other side. They headed off again just as part of the ceiling behind them collapsed, and bits of rock pelted them in the back.

Nearing the opening, Ash could hear the wail of the wind, and realized the movement he’d seen moments earlier was snow, but not just normal snow. Blizzard snow.

The storm that had been threatening earlier had arrived.

They stopped at the entrance just long enough to pull on the hoods of their jackets, then made their way on the narrow pathway that led across the cliff face back to the relative safety of the island.

“Where are the others?” Chloe asked.

The rest of Olivia’s team had left Bluebird not long before them, but the path was empty.

“Back to base,” Olivia’s man said. “Supposed to meet there.”

“Do you know the way?” Ash asked.

“Yeah. I think so.”

Think so? Ash thought. He and Chloe had only come this way the one time, and while both were excellent with directions, navigating through a full-on blizzard would magnify even the slightest of mistakes.

They were three-quarters of the way toward the top when the ground shook again. Chloe grabbed on to the cliffside. Ash started to do the same, but Olivia’s man began waving his arms around, attempting to regain his balance as he tipped backward toward the edge. Below were rocks, the icy sea, and certain death.

Ash whipped out a hand, snatched the man’s sleeve, and tried to pull him back. For a second, he thought they would both go over the side, but then Chloe grabbed the man’s other arm and stabilized them.

Ash took two deep breaths, and glanced toward the cave.

The entrance was gone.

Once the shaking subsided, they continued along the path. When they reached the top, they huddled together, the snow whipping across their faces. Even with the flashlight, their visibility was only a dozen feet at most.

“Which way?” Ash asked.

The guy looked around for longer than Ash would have liked, then pointed. “That way. Until we reach the ridge.”

Chloe looked at Ash, the silent question in her eyes, “What if he’s wrong?”

He grimaced and stared at her for a moment. “Okay, we keep our pace steady, and hold on to each other at all times. Chloe, you lead.”

“Goody,” she said.

They headed through the storm.

5

Christophe De Coster paid the cab driver and climbed out onto the sidewalk. It had taken him a bit longer to get to Gare Montparnasse than he’d hoped, but, as was his nature, he’d built a buffer into his schedule, and still arrived at the station in plenty of time to greet Marcus Lunt when his train pulled in.

Lunt was one of the primary owners of the advertising company Christophe worked for, but he had long ago moved into semi-retirement in Bordeaux. Every month, he would make the trip to the capital, spend the next day at the office being briefed on current projects, and head back home. And every month, Christophe would be at the station waiting for him when he arrived, and accompany Lunt to the man’s Paris apartment, where Christophe would give his boss a pre-briefing. This ensured that when Lunt showed up the next morning, he would look more involved than he really was in the everyday workings of the company.

Christophe’s efforts had helped him steadily move up the chain of command, and, if everything went as hoped, by this time next year, he fully expected to be named the new president.

As he walked toward the station entrance, he noted that construction on one of the buildings across the street was still ongoing. Now, in addition to the scaffolding and piles of building materials that seemed to have been there for months, there was a large metal box on the street right out front — a shipping container, if he wasn’t mistaken.

He’d all but dismissed it when the most curious thing happened. The top of the box seemed to split lengthwise, then each section started to rise, creating an opening. Casually, he glanced at the building, thinking the construction people must be working late — an unusual thing, to say the least — but he could see no one around.

Odd, but then again, if a construction worker walked through his office and saw how advertising operated, that person might find things strange, too.

Nearing the station entrance, he thought he could hear a hum coming out of the shipping container.

Ah, he thought. A portable workshop. What a great idea.

He passed through the doorway and joined the crowd inside. As he headed for the platform, his thoughts turned to the items he would be discussing with Lunt, and how he would change a few things once he was in charge.

Unfortunately for Christophe, that day would never come.

It had been two weeks since Mary Jackson had first called City Hall to file a complaint. The person who had answered listened for a moment, then transferred her to the Department of Public Works. The man she talked to there had seemed pleasant and helpful, and had told her he’d make sure someone came out to check.

But after four days, no one had shown up. Mary knew this because she could see from her living room window the big metal box in the empty lot next to the convenience store. Sure, her neighborhood wasn’t the most beautiful in the world, but she’d lived there for over forty years. No way was she going to let it get any worse. And to her, someone dumping a corrugated eyesore right in her view was definitely pushing things in the wrong direction.

So she called again, this time talking to a bored woman who couldn’t even get her name right, and again the following day, getting someone completely new who acted like it wasn’t the responsibility of his department.

For the next week, she did nothing but stew and watch the box. If she’d been younger, maybe she would have walked over to see if there was a phone number on it anywhere. But at her age, she rarely even set foot on her porch anymore.

She had made up her mind that she would give it one more day then call again, only this time she’d bypass Public Works and go directly to the mayor’s office. But her plan changed when the top of the box opened, and it started to hum.

She reached for the phone.

“Office of Public Works. May I help you?”

She recognized the voice as belonging to the man she’d talked to the first time she called, the one who’d seemed so helpful.

“Yes, this is Mrs. Jackson. You’ve got to do something.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

“About the box. I talked to you two weeks ago about it.”

“The box?” He paused. “Oh. Oh! The metal box across the street from you.”

“You said you’d send somebody out, but they never came. And now the thing has opened up and is making a weird noise.”

“Opened up?”

“Yes. Opened up. Did you not just hear me?”

“Are you sure?”

Her lips squeezed together. She was not in the mood to be doubted. “Never mind. I’ll call the mayor. I’m sure he’ll do something about it.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry no one has come out yet. There was obviously a mix-up somewhere.”

Yeah. With you, she almost said but held her tongue.

“As soon as I hang up, I’ll make a call and have someone come out right away.”

“Well, okay. But if I don’t see them in the next hour, I’m going to call the mayor.”

“I completely understand. Now, could you give me the address again?”

Once she had given him the information and hung up, she sat in her chair and kept an eye on the box. Even through her closed windows she could easily hear the noise. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who noticed the strange sound. Not long after she’d sat back down, a couple of teenagers wandered over to the box.

She watched as one of them boosted the smaller of the two up so he could get a look inside. Something very strange happened then. As the small kid leaned over the opening, the collar of his jacket started to flap like it was caught in the wind. He was only there for a second before he wiped his hand across his face, and jumped off his friend’s hands to the ground. He dropped to his knees and covered his eyes.

Mary leaned forward, muttering to herself, “I told them there was something wrong with that. I told them!”

The taller kid hunched over his friend. After several seconds, the smaller one rubbed his eyes and stood up. His friend asked him a question, and the short one shrugged and smiled. The tall one punched him in the arm, and soon they were both laughing. But as they walked away, the short one glanced back at the box, giving it a wary look.

He seems okay, Mary thought. But she still didn’t like it.

Twenty minutes later, a Public Works truck turned onto the street, slowed, and pulled into the lot where the box was.

How about that? I guess I should threaten to call the mayor every time.

The man who got out looked at the box with disinterest, walked around it, stopped back where he’d begun, and stared at it again. Finally he pulled out a phone and made a call. As he talked, he gestured toward the box several times, so Mary assumed he was talking to his boss. Finally, with a visible sigh, he put the phone back in his pocket, and pulled a ladder off his truck.

Setting it next to the box, he climbed up high enough so he could look inside. Unlike the kid earlier, he didn’t lean all the way over the edge. Still, his hair fluttered from the moving air coming from inside. At one point, he touched his cheek and rubbed it for a moment. When he moved his fingers away, he looked at them as if there was something on them.

When he climbed back down, the disinterest he showed earlier was no longer on his face. He whipped out his phone, his conversation considerably more animated than it had been the last time.

Within ten minutes, two more Public Works trucks and a city-owned sedan arrived. Five minutes after that, the fire department was on the scene.

Mary smiled. They should have listened to her earlier. At least now she’d get the damn thing out of there.

Unfortunately, she was mistaken. The only thing that would be moving was Mary, when she was taken to an evacuation center halfway across town, where, in a few short days, she would take her last breath.

Becker was getting impatient. He’d been sitting in his car for over an hour now, parked at the side of the road. What he shouldn’t have done was down the entire cup of Starbucks coffee as fast as he had. Now he had to piss. Bad.

He looked at his watch. Maybe something was wrong. His eyes moved back to the shipping container on the back of the parked truck just down the street. If things had gone according to plan, the Implementation Delivery Module — or IDM — should have opened by now. Was there some sort of delay? Had the directors decided to reschedule?

If that were the case, somebody would have called him by now, right?

He picked up his phone. He had a good signal, but there were no missed calls.

Then what the hell is taking so long?

He bounced his legs up and down, attempting to ease some of the pressure on his bladder.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he whispered.

Then, as if magically obeying his command, the top of the IDM began to rise.

With a sense of relief, he smiled. It was really happening. The new world they’d been working toward was about to arrive.

He shifted his gaze past the truck, to the buildings about two miles away — Marine Corps base Camp Pendleton, directly downwind from the module.

He picked up his phone and hit the preset number. “It’s me,” he said. “It just opened.”

6

The decades it had taken Project Eden to move from an idea for a better world to the actual Implementation Day had been wisely spent in preparation. With a goal as large as theirs, it was vitally important that every detail was well thought out.

One of the priorities on the list was the creation of storage facilities to ensure that those chosen to restart humanity would have the supplies they needed to guarantee their survival through the transition. The depots were spread across the world, and were designed to serve the dual purpose of storing the supplies, and acting as a shelter for Project members during the unfortunate but necessary step of killing off over ninety-nine percent of mankind.

It wasn’t that the members needed the facility to avoid contracting the KV-27a virus — all had been vaccinated — but after the release of the disease, there would likely be a period of chaos until the pandemic burned itself out. It was believed this would not last for more than a month, meaning those taking refuge in the depots would barely make a dent in the storage supply.

Depot NB219 was located just north of Las Cruces, New Mexico. By all appearances, it was just another farm along the Rio Grande. If the local population had been given a tour of the facility, they would have been shocked to find out how much of the place was actually underground.

Due to its remote location, on Implementation Day NB219 was one of the least populated facilities, with only forty-three Project members using the living quarters. One of those present was the Project’s primary fixer, a man named Perez. His status as the Project Eden directors’ golden boy made him not only the highest-ranking member at the depot, but the second highest of all members not currently at Bluebird. So while he didn’t immediately insist on taking over for NB219’s facility director, he did make sure he was involved in every decision.

When the hour of implementation approached, he joined Director Kane and his assistant Claudia Lindgren in the main conference room to monitor the events.

There were some tense moments when the hour came and went without any reports that activation had occurred. Then, nearly five minutes late, a message appeared on the television screen:

Soon after that, news started to trickle in from spotters scattered around the globe that the IDMs were going live.

Kane smiled broadly. “I think we should break out the champagne.”

Claudia rose from her chair and pulled a bottle of Dom Perignon out of the small refrigerator along the wall. She grabbed three glasses from a nearby cabinet, and returned to the table.

As she popped the cork and started to pour, Perez said, “None for me.”

Kane’s smile slipped a little. “Are you sure? It’s a special occasion.”

“I’m sure.”

The director looked like he didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll have one with you,” Claudia said. She held a glass out to the director.

With a weak smile in Perez’s direction, Kane raised it in the air. “To the new beginning.”

“The new beginning,” Claudia repeated.

They both took a drink.

Perez’s refusal to join them had not been any kind of anti-alcohol stand, nor was it based on the fact it was still morning. As someone who had routinely killed people for the Project, he clearly understood the sacrifice the rest of the world was about to make. To him, celebrating that was beyond inappropriate. But he said nothing.

As it approached ten thirty, he watched the monitor for the expected follow-up message from Bluebird. When it didn’t come on time, he thought perhaps it would be delayed the same amount of time as the activation message.

But five minutes passed with nothing. Then six. Then seven.

“Are we still online?” he asked.

Kane, red-cheeked from the two glasses of champagne he’d already downed, leaned toward the monitor. “I, uh, think so. Yes, I believe we are. Is something wrong?”

If Kane couldn’t figure it out, Perez wasn’t going to tell him. “I need someone to open the vault.”

“What?” Kane said, confused.

“The vault. I need someone to open it.” Perez narrowed his eyes, staring at the director. “Not you.”

“Now, hold on. There’s no reason for you to take that tone with me. I’m in charge here.”

“You were in charge. Things have just changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

Claudia glanced at her watch, then looked at the monitor, the blood draining from her face.

Immediately she put her glass down and stood up. “I’ll take you.”

Kane gaped at her. “Claudia, what do you think you’re doing?”

Instead of answering, she led Perez out the door.

The conference room was located on the third basement level, while the vault was on level four, the bottom level.

As they rode the elevator down, Claudia said, “It could be just a communication glitch.”

Perez said nothing.

The amount of redundancies the Project had built into their communications system meant the chances of that being the case were extremely low. The second message, the one confirming everything was happening as planned, should have arrived no more than thirty minutes after activation. That was a step built into the Project’s plan years ago. The fact it hadn’t happened meant something was wrong, most likely at Bluebird itself.

But, as it had done for many possibilities, the Project had prepared for just such a circumstance.

Once out of the elevator, they made their way to the vault where Claudia punched in the code, opening the outer door. Inside was the real vault door. This took not only another code but a retinal and hand scan of an authorized individual. Claudia wasted no time releasing the locks, and within seconds they were standing inside.

One wall was covered with small, numbered doors that looked no different than a wall of safety deposit boxes in a bank. The only difference was that the ones in the Project’s vaults were opened with codes instead of keys. Each box contained instructions or information that would be used in different scenarios. Perez went immediately to box A002.

“Code,” he said.

“Two-slash-thirty-eight-slash-seven.”

He input the characters and the door popped open.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. He read it carefully then handed it to her. “I’m officially taking over this facility.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, her eyes scanning the page.

“Retrieve the communication codes for the other depots, and have your people start making contact. I want a video conference in one hour with the top four ranking members.”

Something had gone wrong at Bluebird after the activation code was sent. Which meant, until someone from the Project directorate showed up, Perez and the others he would soon contact had to take charge.

7

Brandon focused all his energy on trying to hear anything from the other side of the metal plate that covered his hiding spot. But there was no helicopter, no feet, no anything. Just his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Every few minutes he would use the flashlight that had been in the backpack to check his watch. Hayes had been gone over half an hour. Brandon was sure he should have been back by now. He’d only heard the helicopter for a few minutes right after he was buried in the hole, so he thought it had probably flown off somewhere.

How long do I wait?

An image flashed in his mind. Hayes somewhere in the forest injured and needing help. Brandon was the only one around, the only one who could do anything.

Ten more minutes, then go look for him.

He sat on the pile of empty plastic bags, his head cocked to the side so that his ear rested against the metal.

Still silence from above.

When he checked his watch again, he saw that he was already two minutes past his deadline.

All right. All right, I’m going.

But for a moment he didn’t move, wondering if he was making the right decision.

“Go,” he whispered to himself.

He placed his palms against the metal plate and pushed. It moved half an inch, and came back down. He’d forgotten how heavy it was, plus now it had an added layer of dirt on top of it.

Could he even move it? Would he be stuck in the tube until someone found him? Would anyone find him?

The thought of never getting out of the hole was more than enough to motivate him to try again. This time, instead of just pushing up, he pushed up and to the side, hoping that would be easier, and was able to move it several inches before he had to set it back down again.

He gave himself half a minute, then tried once more. After three attempts, he’d moved the plate enough that a wedge of light appeared at one end. All he had to do was get it halfway across the hole and he was sure he’d be able to squeeze out.

He raised his hands to push again, but froze. A soft crunch, not far away, like someone stepping on fallen pine needles.

Hayes? Or someone else?

Brandon held his position. Another crunch, this one farther away, then several more. They sounded too light to be footsteps. What then? Something falling from the trees?

When several minutes passed with no more noise, he pushed on the plate again. The pause had given him the energy he needed, and he was able to move the cover an inch beyond the midpoint.

He rested for a moment, then raised himself so his head cleared the opening.

There was a loud rustle to his left. He whipped around just in time to see several deer hop away. The noise hadn’t been Hayes, nor one of the others.

He worked himself all the way out, then leaned over the tube and extracted the backpack. As he stood up, he looked at the metal plate and considered pushing it back over the hole. But the energy it had taken to move it off had already drained him. Shoving it around again would only make him weaker, and he knew he was going to need all the strength he had left. It would just have to stay the way it was.

He turned slowly in a full circle, unsure which way he should go in search of Hayes. His eyes settled on the ridge they had come over about an hour before. While it wasn’t completely treeless, the forest was thinner there.

Leaving his backpack by the open tube, he jogged up the hill. As he reached the top, he could hear the distant thump-thump-thump of one of the helicopters, and spotted it hovering above the Ranch. He searched the rest of the sky for the other helicopters, but only the one was visible.

He turned his back to the Ranch, and looked down into the valley where he’d been hiding. A carpet of trees stretched out for as far as he could see. To the left the land tapered downward, flattening out to a horizon that looked a thousand miles away. To the right were the mountains that jutted up toward the heavens like a wall marking the end of the world.

Left?

Right?

Straight ahead?

Back to the Ranch?

No. Hayes wouldn’t have gone back. That would have been heading directly toward those attacking the Resistance.

As Brandon turned back to the valley, a helicopter suddenly rose out of the trees about half a mile away. Without even thinking, he dropped to the ground, his eyes never leaving the aircraft.

It hovered in the sky for a moment, then turned and began heading in his direction.

Scrambling backward on his belly, he moved behind the nearest tree, then closed his eyes and hugged the ground.

Please don’t let them see me. Please don’t.

The thump of the helicopter increased until it roared right over his head. A part of him was sure someone inside was looking down at him, and within seconds the aircraft would descend enough so that the soldiers could drop down on ropes and snatch him from where he lay. But after a moment, the pounding of the rotors began to recede as the helicopter passed over the ridge and headed toward the Ranch.

Brandon wasted no time jumping to his feet. He sprinted down the hill to the thicker cover of the forest near the tube, retrieved his backpack, and headed in the direction of the spot where the helicopter had risen from the trees.

As he drew closer, he slowed his pace and tried to minimize the sound of his steps in case some men had been left behind. What he really wanted to do was call out Mr. Hayes’s name, but that obviously wasn’t an option.

Just ahead, he could see the clearing where the helicopter had landed. In the spring and summer it was probably green with vegetation, but now it was just dirt and rocks and scrub, waiting for the winter snows that, according to those at the Ranch, should have arrived already.

Staying among the trees, he circled around the meadow, looking for movement. It seemed, though, that the helicopter had taken everyone with it.

Just keep going. Get away from here, a voice in his head said.

He turned, planning to do just that, when something odd caught his attention. It was just inside the trees, about a quarter of the way farther around the clearing, a blue shape that looked out of place.

It kind of looked like a tarp or—

No.

Keeping the thought from completely forming, he skirted the edge of the clearing and raced toward the object. But the closer he got, the slower his stride became, as the realization of what it was started to sink in.

The blue was flanked on both sides by offshoots of black.

No, he thought again, taking another step closer.

A blue jacket. Black sleeves.

Another step.

A jacket that had a hole in the middle no wider than one of Brandon’s fingers. A jacket that was still being worn.

Oh, please, no. Please.

“Mr. Hayes?”

He dropped his pack on the ground, knelt down, and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Mr. Hayes? Are you all right?” It was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t all right. He was lying there unconscious.

Brandon moved his hands under the man’s chest, and carefully turned him onto his back.

For a moment, all he could do was stare, then he twisted to the side and vomited.

Hayes’s eyes were open wide, but there was no life in them. There was a gaping wound in his chest right above where his heart was.

The hole in the back of the jacket, Brandon thought. A bullet hole.

His stomach turned, and he wanted to retch again, but he forced whatever was left inside to stay down.

What am I going to do now?

He stared blankly at the ground just beyond Hayes’s body.

The Ranch?

One look at Mr. Hayes was reason enough not to go that way.

Think. Think! What would Dad do?

Before the Sage Flu, his father had been just like most dads. He played with Brandon, pushed him to do his homework, taught him how to field a grounder. But after the outbreak, after Brandon and Josie’s mother had died and they’d finally been reunited with him, he had started teaching his kids other skills, survival skills they would need if things turned bad. Brandon could tell directions from the stars, knew how to shoot a gun, and even, despite his age, how to drive a car. But he was still a kid. Even he knew that.

As he closed his eyes, his father’s voice echoed in his head. “Never let events overwhelm you.” It was a lesson he’d preached many times. “Relax. Be logical. And survive.”

Brandon repeated the last part silently to himself.

When he felt he was in control once more, he opened his eyes. Hayes was still there, still staring at the sky, his chest ripped open, but the sight no longer repelled Brandon. It was as if he was watching a movie, and Hayes was only an actor on the screen. So he did what he’d seen in films many times — he closed Hayes’s eyes.

Dipping his head, he said, “Lord, please take care of Mr. Hayes. He was trying to help me, and probably saved my life. Thank him for me, okay? Amen.”

It wasn’t the best prayer ever, but it would have to do.

He gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do next wasn’t going to be pleasant. Hesitating only a second, he started searching through Hayes’s pockets for anything he might need. He found seventy dollars in the man’s wallet first, and in the pockets a folding knife, a book of matches, and eighty-five cents in coins. He’d been hoping to find Mr. Hayes’s cell phone, but he didn’t seem to have it on him.

He stood up and took a look around the area. So where was Mr. Hayes’s backpack? Had the people from the helicopter taken it with them?

No, Brandon realized. Mr. Hayes probably hid it somewhere so he could move faster.

Brandon thought about going in search of it, but who knew how long that might take, or if he’d find it at all? He couldn’t chance on the helicopters flying back over and finding him. He’d just have to get by with what he already had.

Keep moving, his father’s voice said.

“But where?” Brandon whispered.

Not the Ranch, and not toward the mountains.

The only real choice was to follow the gentle slope down toward the wide horizon. Somewhere out there, there had to be a town, someone he could go to for help. At the very least, there would be a highway.

The decision made, he looked down at Hayes again. “I’m sorry you had to die. I wish I could have helped you.” He almost said goodbye, but that seemed too much.

Donning his pack, he turned east and started walking.

8

Sims was sitting in the command helicopter, looking at satellite images of the Montana facility that was burning about one hundred yards from where his aircraft was parked.

He knew from the moment they’d flown in that the fires had been set intentionally, so the people who had been occupying the building — the same people who had been a thorn in the side of the Project for so long — had either left the area completely or were hiding somewhere nearby. Given the surprise nature of his team’s arrival, he found it hard to believe they’d had time to leave. The satellite image revealed there was only one way in and out of the property via the ground, and the portion of his team that had come in on the road had met no one going the other way.

There was, of course, a landing strip not far from the main building. They could have flown out, but he and the others in the helicopters would have seen them for sure.

So where were they?

He studied the photo, looking for any indications of camouflaged buildings or something that might be an entrance to an underground facility. There was the large building and the smaller building, both burning now, and an exercise area that his team had already thoroughly searched. The only other structure was about half a mile away, an old barn that had housed horses. When his men checked it out, they had found no secret doorways or places where people could hide. The only thing they discovered was that someone had opened the doors, and let all the horses out. That had been a surprise. When they were flying in, one of the other helicopters had done a heat sensor sweep of the barn and determined that there’d been several horses inside. A quick check with the pilot confirmed that the door had been closed at the time.

So there was at least one person around.

Sims had ordered one of his helicopters to go in search of whoever it was, hoping if they found someone, that person might be able to point them to where his friends were.

“Dammit,” he said, tossing the photo down.

He knew they had to be here somewhere. He just knew it.

Outside, he heard a helicopter descending, so he pushed himself up and walked over to the open doorway. The men he’d sent in search of the person who’d opened the barn were back.

As soon as the other helicopter landed, the door flew open and the team jumped out one by one, but they had no prisoner with them. Sims stepped out of his aircraft and strode toward Donaldson, the other team leader.

“I take it you didn’t find anyone,” he said. The mission had been on radio silence since before they flew in.

“Actually, we did.”

Sims looked around. “I don’t see anyone.”

“He’s dead.”

A pause. “He was dead when you found him?”

“No. He was armed. We tried to stop him, but when he shot at us we had no choice but to return fire.”

“I clearly remember telling you to bring anyone you find back alive.”

“I understand that, sir, but I wasn’t going to let my team get shot.”

“No one said you couldn’t shoot him, but you didn’t have to kill him.”

“He moved.”

“What?”

“He was running away. I tried to hit him in the shoulder, but he moved to the side so it went through his chest.”

“You did it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sims looked away, reining in his anger. Donaldson was one of his top soldiers. If he said the man moved into the bullet, then Sims had to believe him. Dammit. It was still a lost opportunity.

“Was he alone?” he asked.

“We spent some time looking around, but found no signs of anyone else.” Donaldson paused. “There is something that might be helpful, though.”

“What?”

Donaldson reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “This was on him. According to the call log, he used it a minute or two before we all arrived here.”

The fire at the dormitory was almost out. Matt studied the camera feed, and was satisfied that the auxiliary Bunker entrance in the building’s basement was now fully inaccessible. And though the Lodge was still burning above them, the fire had passed the point where it could be extinguished in time to find the main Bunker entrance there.

Now all they had to do was wait until the Project Eden assault team left, then inessential personnel could use the emergency tunnel to get away.

Matt would, of course, stay. If Project Eden had indeed triggered Implementation Day, then he needed to be here in the control room where he could do what he could to put a dent, however small, into its plans.

But had they triggered it or not? Given the attack squad aboveground, it seemed pretty damn likely, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. The options still open to them would work only once — if that. If he set off the warnings and Implementation had not begun, the Resistance would be like the boy who cried wolf when it really did happen.

One time. One shot. They had to get it right.

For the last hour, Christina and several other communication officers had been trying to contact Resistance members on the outside who were near one of the shipping containers that had already been identified as suspect. They had reached a few people, and sent them to check out the boxes, but no one had reported back yet.

“Matt,” his sister called from across the room. “Your phone.”

“What?”

“Your cell phone. It’s ringing.”

He walked over to where he’d left it on one of the tables. The name on the display read J. HAYES. Why was Jon calling? Protocol in this situation was that all communication should be severed. Had something happened to Brandon?

He punched the ACCEPT button. “Jon?”

There was a pause. “No.”

Matt froze. “Who is this?”

“You can call me Sims. I assume you’re…Matt?”

“Who are you?”

“I just wanted to let you know that you and your friends can only hide for so long, and we’ll still be here when you come out.”

The assault team. They must have found Jon and Brandon.

Matt paled. “What did you do to them?”

Another pause. “I think we’ve talked enough. Call me back when you’re ready to discuss surrender.”

The line went dead.

“What is it?” Rachel asked.

“That was someone from the assault team. He was using Jon’s cell phone.”

“Jon’s?” Her confusion lasted only a second before it morphed into fear. “What about Brandon?”

“He didn’t say anything about either of them, but we probably should assume—”

“No, no. No assumptions,” she said. She grabbed his arm. “We need to send someone out there to get them back.”

“You know we can’t do that. If we do, we’ll expose our location and get everyone killed.”

“Brandon’s just a boy. You promised Ash you’d watch him!”

“What’s going on?” The voice came from across the room.

They both turned to find Josie Ash standing in the doorway.

“I heard you say Brandon’s name. Did you find him? Did something happen?” she asked.

“We don’t know anything at this point,” Matt told her, but it was hard to sound convincing.

Josie stared at him, her eyes wide. “You said he’d be okay. You said Mr. Hayes would take care of him.”

“Get her out of here,” he whispered to Rachel.

Rachel stepped over to Josie.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go talk.”

The two had barely left the room when Christina looked up from her monitor. “Matt. Dale Porter just called in. He drove by one of the containers in San Francisco. It’s open, and it’s humming.”

The entire room went silent.

So this was it.

The end of the world.

Matt said, “I want a second confirmation from somewhere else. Preferably out of the country. As soon as we have that, don’t wait for me to say anything. Initiate WC.”

WC was not some tricky code. Its meaning was simple and clear.

Worst Case.

It would be another three hours before a second confirmation — this one from Copenhagen, Denmark — came in.

Sims hung up the cell phone and smiled. The man on the other end of the line had said, “What did you do to them?”

He looked over at Donaldson. “You’ve got yourself a second chance. There’s at least one more person out there. Find whoever it is and bring them back.”

“Yes, sir.” Donaldson turned and headed quickly back to his squad.

Sims stepped over to the doorway of his helicopter. “So?” he asked.

Inside was an impressive array of communications gear. Included among the equipment was a device that could track cell phone calls and pinpoint the location of both the originator and the receiver.

The technician manning the console was named DeFassio. He kept his attention focused on one of the monitors for a few seconds longer, then looked over.

“You were correct, sir. They’re right here.”

9

AT TIMES THE snow whirling around them became so thick it seemed as if they were walking through a never-ending wall of white.

Several times Ash was sure they were lost, but then they’d reach a landmark Olivia’s man, Kessler, had pointed them toward, and head to the next.

“Which way now?” Ash yelled above the wind.

They had just reached the latest landmark, a small hill with an outcropping of rocks that was quickly becoming covered with snow.

“There’s a little gully up ahead. Should be in that direction about a hundred yards.” Kessler motioned ahead and slightly to the right. “The camp will be right on the other side.”

“You need to rest or can we keep going?”

“Keep going,” Kessler said.

They almost missed the gully, their path having veered a little too much to the right, but Chloe spotted their mistake, and guided them back on track.

As soon as they reached the far end, Kessler pointed to the left. “There. See it?”

A canvas drop that had been anchored to the side of the hill was now flapping in the wind, exposing everything that had been underneath it to the storm.

“I thought you said the others were going to be here,” Chloe said.

Kessler looked confused. “They’re supposed to be. That was the plan.”

“Then where the hell are they?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Ash asked.

“They might have made for the boat.”

“Boat? The island’s iced in.”

“Icebreaker,” Kessler said. “About a mile offshore.”

“You hiked in?”

Kessler nodded.

“So you think they went back there?” Chloe asked.

“It’s the only other place they could have gone.”

“What happens when they reach the boat? Will they wait for you?” Ash asked.

Kessler was silent for a second. “They might think I’m dead.”

Since the three of them had been in the tunnel when the explosions started, Ash was willing to bet that’s exactly what the others thought. They probably decided the sooner they got off the island, the better.

Chloe leaned close to Ash. “We’ve got to get there before they leave.”

“I know,” he said. The plane they had arrived on had crashed upon landing, so it was very likely that the only way they’d be able to get off the island was on that ship. He turned to Kessler. “Do you know where the icebreaker is?”

Another tired nod. “Southeast. Straight out.”

“Then unless you want to die here, we need to keep moving.”

Kessler nodded wearily. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Good.”

“Hold on a second.” Kessler staggered over to the remains of the camp. “There should be a GPS tracker here if it hasn’t blown away. We’ll need that.”

After a minute of rooting around, he came up with the device. He turned it on and studied the screen.

“Okay, that way,” he said, pointing into the storm.

“No,” Ash said. He nodded to his left. “This way first. We have a stop to make.”

Red checked on the pilot again. Gagnon was still out, his temperature warm, but not too hot. The fever had to be from an infection caused by one of the wounds the pilot had received when their plane crashed on the ice just off Yanok Island. In addition to the cut on Gagnon’s head, the man had at least two broken ribs and a deep gouge on his leg. Red had done what he could, keeping the pilot’s ribs wrapped, changing the bandages as often as necessary, but his biggest concern was that Gagnon had suffered internal damage. If that was the case, there was absolutely nothing Red could do.

What the man needed was a doctor, but Red was beginning to think they were both going to die right there in the makeshift shelter the Resistance advance scouts had used when they’d first discovered Bluebird’s location.

It had been over eight hours since Ash and Chloe left them there. That in itself might not have been cause for concern, but just over two hours earlier, the ground had shaken violently several times. Not earthquakes, Red thought. Explosions. He only hoped that if Ash was the one who set them off, he’d been able to do it in time to stop the monsters from Project Eden.

Gagnon groaned, turning his head first one way, then the other.

Red grabbed the pot of warm water he’d heated earlier, poured some onto a piece of cloth, and pressed it lightly against Gagnon’s lips. Squeezing, he let some of the water drip into the man’s mouth. This seemed to calm him.

Outside the wind howled past the shelter. Red glanced over at the doorway, making sure nothing had blown away, and nearly jumped when the cover moved to the side and someone stepped in.

Ash. Chloe entered right after him, then a man Red didn’t recognize.

“I wasn’t sure if you guys made it,” Red said as he hopped to his feet.

“We weren’t sure ourselves there for a little while,” Ash said.

“Did you find it?”

“Bluebird? Yeah, we found it.” There was hesitation in Ash’s voice.

“I felt explosions. Tell me you were able to—”

“It didn’t go as planned.”

“You mean—”

“They set it off.”

Red closed his eyes and rolled his head back. “Holy shit.”

“We can worry about it later,” Ash said. “Right now we need to get out of here.”

“In the storm?”

“If we don’t, the only way we have of getting off this island will be gone.”

“What about Gagnon?”

Ash looked past him at the pilot. “We’ll have to take turns carrying him.”

“That might kill him.”

“Staying here will kill him. At least this way we’ll all have a chance.”

It took them forty minutes to reach the small bay where they’d come ashore after the plane crashed. It was the only path Ash knew that had easy access to the frozen ocean. Kessler said that his people had come up another way, but he wasn’t completely sure where it was, so this was better than wasting time hunting around.

Chloe took charge of the GPS tracker once they were on the ice, while Ash and Red traded off carrying Gagnon every ten minutes. Unfortunately, the only way to effectively to do this and not lose time was to put the pilot over their shoulder in a fireman hold. Not exactly the ideal position for someone with broken ribs.

The frozen surface of the ocean, as they’d learned when they landed the plane, was not smooth and level. To make it worse, the new snow hid many of the contours and ridges, resulting in each of them falling or nearly doing so more than once. Luckily it never happened with whoever was carrying Gagnon, but it did slow their progress, making the one mile seem like ten.

An hour and twenty minutes passed before Chloe yelled out, “We should almost be there! Maybe another hundred yards.”

Without saying anything, they all picked up their pace.

“I think I see something,” she said a few minutes later.

As if to answer her, there was a sudden loud crack.

“No!” Kessler yelled, then raced ahead.

“Come on!” Ash said to the others. “They’re leaving!” With Gagnon over his shoulder, Ash could only get up to a slow jog, but he urged the others to keep going. “Get their attention!”

He didn’t see the ship until he almost reached it, its black metal hull suddenly rising up from the ice.

It was moving. Very slowly, but definitely moving.

“Hey!” Kessler yelled from several feet away.

The others joined in, but there was no reaction.

“Red! Come here!” Ash called out.

Red rushed over.

“Take him,” Ash said, handing over Gagnon.

Free of the pilot, Ash backtracked several yards until he could see the dim outline of the deck. His gaze moved back and forth, searching for signs of movement.

There!

It was the shape of a man moving quickly toward a door that led inside. He probably wouldn’t hear Ash yelling, so Ash pulled his gun from his jacket, aimed at a spot near the door, and pulled the trigger.

The shape jerked to a stop.

Ash couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the man turned toward the side, so Ash jumped up and down and waved his arms. The others, seeing what he was doing, started to mimick him and scream at the top of their lungs.

At first, nothing happened. Then the cracking of the ice began to recede as the ship came to a halt.

10

The video conference call Perez wanted set up within the hour took four to organize. There were several factors involved in the delay. Number one — and the most time consuming — was determining who the other four highest-ranking Project members were, and where they were located.

The only one on the list higher than Perez was Dr. Henry Lassiter. Dr. Lassiter’s purview was the health of Project members. Working under him was a team of physicians — general practitioners, surgeons, and specialists — who responded to all medical issues not related to the KV-27a virus. In effect, he was a hospital administrator whose employees were scattered all over the globe. The doctor himself was at NB772 in the south of France near the Spanish border.

The other three on the list in descending order were: Erik Halversen, Regional Director of Technologies for the Northern Hemisphere, located at NB405 outside Hamburg, Germany; Patricia Nakamura, Regional Director of Supplies for North America, located at NB89 near Seattle, Washington; and Dominick Tolliver, Regional Director of Supplies for East Asia, located at NB294 in the outskirts of Osaka, Japan.

“Are we ready?” Perez asked Claudia.

“Just waiting for Nakamura to come online.” There was a pause, then she nodded. “All right. She’s live. I can connect you all now.”

“Do it.”

Perez was pleased with how Claudia had jumped right in and helped without any hesitation. She’d proved herself very useful over the last few hours, something he couldn’t say about Kane. The facility director just didn’t seem to understand he was no longer in charge. Finally, Perez had had him taken to one of the holding cells. That solved the problem, at least in the short term.

Claudia tapped away at her keyboard. “All right. Here we go.”

She hit one more key, and the large screen on the conference room wall came to life. The image was divided into four equal sections: Dr. Lassiter in the upper left, Halversen upper right, Nakamura lower left, and Tolliver lower right.

“Can you all hear me?” Perez asked.

They each responded yes.

“Then we should begin. First, when was the last time any of you was in contact with Bluebird?”

“Hold on a moment,” Nakamura said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s something I think we need to clear up first. What exactly is your position with the Project?”

The question was not a surprise. The four on the screen were all managers with fancy titles. Perez was a wild card, the type of Project operative probably none of them had come in contact with before. But while they might have been confused by his inclusion, the Project directorate had known his worth, and had purposely ranked him as high as they did in case something like this happened. He was someone who could make sure things stayed on track and didn’t get tripped up by narrow-minded middle managers.

“I’m Special Operations,” he said.

“And that is what, exactly?” This time the question came from Tolliver.

“Use your imagination.”

Silence.

“We think there might be a mistake with the information we received,” Nakamura said. She raised a piece of paper a few inches off her desk. “According to this, you’re number two?”

“Yes. And?”

A small laugh escaped her lips. “And I guess we don’t understand how that’s possible. You’re not even a director.”

“You mean regional director. You’re right. That’s not a title I hold. I don’t have a specific title, nor do I operate in a specific region. I work everywhere.”

“Then I guess I have to go back to the earlier question. Doing what?”

He stared into the camera. “We’re wasting time. We have a situation which needs to be dealt with, and you want to get into a pissing match over why the directorate saw fit to give me my rank?”

“It’s just that—”

“Ms. Nakamura,” Lassiter said, “Mr. Perez is correct. We need to address more pressing matters. If the directorate thinks so highly of him, then they must have a reason. It is not our position to challenge it.”

Nakamura looked momentarily confused.

Her reaction pretty much confirmed what Perez had already thought, that she’d had an earlier conversation with Lassiter, and someone, perhaps the doctor himself, had come up with a strategy to figure out who Perez was. Chances were, conversations had occurred between all four of his new colleagues.

Time wasters. Space wasters. The Project was in the first few hours of implementation, and here they were — the supposed leaders if Bluebird remained out of contact — not able to pull their heads out of their own asses.

These people were even more of a problem than he thought they would be.

“Thank you, Dr. Lassiter,” he said. “Perhaps we can get back to my question. Unless you’d like to be the one to keep things moving along.”

“No,” the doctor said after a second’s hesitation. “You’re doing fine. Please continue.”

“All right. So, last time anyone heard from Bluebird?”

Like Perez, the last message they had all received was the one saying that activation had been completed. In the twenty-four hours prior to that, there had only been routine communications with no signs of trouble.

“I don’t know if any of you have checked the weather or not,” Tolliver said, “but it appears that a large storm has moved in over Bluebird. It’s possible that could be affecting communications.”

“Actually, not possible at all,” Halversen said. “The systems that have been put in place work no matter what the weather.”

“Well, something happened,” Nakamura said.

“Yes,” Perez agreed. “And there’s no way we can know at this point what that is, so speculating about it is useless.” Nakamura started to open her mouth, but Perez went on. “We’ve all read the document from box A002. The instructions are clear. In the event of a loss of communication from Bluebird, this committee is to be formed with the purpose of focusing on the continuation of the Project’s goals. What we need to do now is make sure everything is proceeding as planned, and make any adjustments that might be necessary. After that, we can turn to the next steps.”

“Hopefully the directorate will be back online by then,” Nakamura said.

The others nodded in agreement.

“Of course,” Perez said. “We all hope that.”

Claudia slipped a piece of paper in front of him. He glanced down at it.

A man named Sims says he needs to talk to you right away.

Perez knew Sims. He was part of Special Operations, too, and commanded one of the Project’s tactical strike teams.

“Mr. Perez?” Lassiter said. “Something the matter?”

“No. Sorry.” Until he knew what Sims wanted, best to keep this to himself. “Now, about monitoring activation.”

“I have an idea about that,” the doctor said. “I’m willing to bet that your background makes you best suited to assess where we are. You could be in charge of that task, and report back to us. What do you think?”

Report back to us? Perez thought. All right. That’s it.

These people had no business being anywhere near the decisions that would have to be made. He was going to have to take full control himself. It would be best, though, if they didn’t see it coming.

He almost smiled. “Of course. I would be happy to do that. Why don’t we reconvene in four hours and I can fill you in then?”

Once they’d all agreed, the call was ended, and Claudia put Sims through to the phone on the table.

“Sims? Perez. What’s going on?”

“Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing. I’ve been trying to get through to Bluebird, but no joy. Have you talked to anyone there?”

“No one has. The activation signal went out, but after that, nothing.”

A pause. “I was afraid of that. Anyone trying to find out what’s going on?”

“Apparently there’s a big storm up there, so nothing we can do at the moment. Our focus is on making sure everything else goes as planned.”

“Well, that’s kind of why I’m calling you.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Who’s in charge of security now? That’s really who I should be talking to. Called you because the depot I contacted gave me your number, and said you were organizing some kind of leadership meeting.”

“You called the right place. I’m the one you’re looking for.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. My team and I were sent on a special mission today, with instructions to call in a report thirty minutes ago. Like I said, I’ve been trying.”

“What’s the mission?”

Sims briefed him about the raid on the Resistance’s headquarters.

“So the buildings are destroyed, but you haven’t found them yet?”

“Oh, we’ve found them. We just haven’t been able to get to them. They’re in an underground shelter. Once we locate the door, we’ll have them.”

Perez was a practical man. It’s what made him so good at his job. While an attack on Resistance headquarters was interesting, he instantly knew it was a needless act of revenge. Whoever was in that shelter would die of the coming plague anyway. Using Sims’s team to kill them before that happened was risking the squad members’ lives unnecessarily to satisfy the ego of one of the directors, no doubt. A director who was quite possibly dead.

“Sims, I’ve got some new instructions for you.”

11

Brandon leaned against the tree, panting. Once more he could hear the helicopter heading in his direction. He slid around so the trunk was between him and the aircraft, hoping it would mask him from any heat-seeking scanner they might have.

He’d been doing the same thing for what seemed like hours now, running when the helicopter was far away, then using the trees as a barrier when it came near. So far it had worked.

When he’d left Hayes’s body, he’d been hoping he wouldn’t see any of the helicopters again, but the empty skies hadn’t lasted long, and soon the one he was now hiding from had begun its slow methodical search over the forest.

This time it was flying just above the trees on a line that would take it over his position. Once it reached the point directly above him, the only things between it and his heat-radiating body would be a less-than-solid layer of branches. Would they be enough to hide him?

He thought about running to the side out of the helicopter’s path, but he worried that he’d already waited too long, and would be seen the moment he took his first step.

Go? Stay?

Stay, he decided.

The treetops began swaying from the wind generated by the helicopter’s approach. Another few seconds and it would be right above him. He squeezed his eyes shut as if doing so would make him invisible, and pressed as tightly as he could against the tree.

Fifty feet away now, the rotors so loud he could no longer hear anything else.

He angled his feet so that he could shimmy around the trunk as the helicopter passed above, and hoped that would be enough to keep him from being discovered.

Twenty feet. His mind screamed at him to move around the tree now.

Wait. Wait.

He held his position.

Suddenly the sound of the engine changed as the helicopter stopped in midair.

He shoved his eyelids even tighter together, sure that he’d been seen, and those soldiers he’d been worried about earlier were descending to the ground.

The helicopter hung in the air above him. Why? What were they doing?

Reluctantly, he opened his right eye, then his left. Very slowly, he tilted his head up. Through a small gap in the tree cover, he could see a portion of the helicopter’s tail section. Knowing he was taking a big chance, he leaned a few inches further around until he could see the main cabin.

No ropes. No men hanging below. The door was shut.

Run!

He didn’t move, not because he thought the urge was wrong, but because his feet suddenly felt as if they were a thousand pounds each.

Without warning, the engine noise increased again, this time even louder than before. He looked up just in time to see the helicopter turn. It wasn’t moving toward him now; it was moving away.

Run!

This time his feet obeyed.

Dodging trees and jumping over dead branches, he raced as fast as he could through the woods in the opposite direction of the helicopter. Every few minutes he’d look over his shoulder, expecting to catch a glimpse of the aircraft following him from above, but not once did he see it.

Run!

Since the helicopter had returned, he’d never been able to go for more than fifteen minutes without it flying somewhere close by, but now he’d been racing through the woods for twenty minutes and there was still no sign of the aircraft’s return.

Run!

The gentle downward slope of the ground was a good indication he was heading in the same eastward direction as earlier, but he would feel better if he could get a glimpse of the mountains to be sure.

He glanced over his shoulder again, but could only see the trees. As he turned back around, he caught a split-second glimpse of the dead branch sticking up from the ground just before his shin slammed into it.

Down he went, his backpack crashing into him as he hit the ground, and spilling out several items from inside.

He lay there for a moment, not moving. Once his breath slowed, he pulled the backpack off, and sat up. Head throbbing, he touched the spot where his skull met his neck. His hair felt moist and sticky. He pulled his hand back and saw that his fingers were covered with blood.

He stayed where he was and gritted his teeth through the pain until it dulled enough so that he could check the rest of his body. Cuts and a few bruises, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t broken anything.

He slowly repacked the backpack and pulled it on, then rubbed his hand over the back of his head again. There didn’t seem to be any new blood, so hopefully the wound wasn’t that bad.

He took a moment to figure out the direction the slope was going, and set off again, walking this time. The pain he felt, particularly in the shin that had smacked the branch, lessened somewhat as he walked, but didn’t completely go away.

Twenty minutes later he reached a wide spot amongst the trees, not meadow really, barely even a clearing, but it was enough for him to get a look at most of the sky.

There was not a helicopter in sight. Maybe he was free.

With a sigh of relief, he checked his straps and continued on.

12

A cold wind blew across the waves, occasionally spraying salt water on the decks and windows of the vacation homes that lined the beach. Most of the places were closed up for the winter, while a few were occupied by people who called the area their permanent home.

One, however, was being used by a man and a woman, recent arrivals who had yet to venture into town. Those few locals who knew they were there assumed that they’d come to spend the Christmas holiday along the shore.

But while Tamara Costello and Bobby Lion had basically lived together since the previous spring, they were not a couple. They were friends and colleagues.

And survivors.

When the Sage Flu outbreak had occurred in California, Tamara was a promising reporter for the Prime Cable News network, and Bobby was her equally talented cameraman. They’d been assigned to cover the outbreak, and in the process had started to unearth the truth about what was really going on. If it hadn’t been for Matt Hamilton and his people in the Resistance — an organization she had no idea even existed at the time — she and Bobby would have been long dead.

Instead, while everyone who’d known them thought they were dead, they’d actually gone into hiding and changed their identities. After the full realization of what they were up against finally sunk in, they had agreed to do whatever they could to help the Resistance stop Project Eden. This meant using their professional talents to make a series of anonymous videos warning everyone about what was happening.

But though they tried to get various news organizations interested, no one took their reports seriously. The only way they were able to get them seen was to post them on the Internet. That had only been incrementally more successful, as hackers from Project Eden would diligently remove them before more than a handful of people saw them.

Still, Tamara and Bobby kept plugging away, hoping that at some point, their videos would become more than just white noise that disappeared without anyone noticing.

Then, less than four days before, Matt had called and told them to prepare the Worst Case video, as it might be needed very soon. This was not a video meant to expose Project Eden like the others were. It was a guide to survival and an explanation of events, and was to only be distributed if the Project’s plan went live.

Scared out of their minds, Tamara and Bobby had put the finishing touches on the video, and relocated to their backup safe house on the outer banks.

“If it looks like things are going to shit and you can’t reach me,” Matt had told them, “upload it. Don’t wait for me to give you the go-ahead.”

They had spent every moment since arriving in North Carolina watching for that moment. There were three TVs in the house, each tuned to a different news channel, and left on twenty-four hours a day. Plus Tamara and Bobby each had a laptop so they could check the web while keeping an eye on the news. Missing something because they were sleeping wasn’t an issue. Neither of them was sleeping much these days, and for the most part, one or the other was always awake.

So far, though, there had been nothing on the news, except a few follow-up reports on a minor Sage Flu outbreak at a St. Louis-area hospital. That event had actually taken place before Matt called them, and very possibly was the reason he’d put them on alert. Though there had been several deaths, the outbreak seemed to have been contained and was dying out.

“Beer?” Bobby asked as he pushed up from the couch.

“Sure,” she said, not taking her eyes off the screen.

They were watching PCN, their former network, though that seemed like a lifetime ago. With only a couple days left before Christmas, and all the politicians having gone home, most of PCN’s stories were feel-good fluffy pieces — the best gifts for a busy dad, a gingerbread-house competition, and reports from retailers encouraged by the increased spending habits this season.

“Here,” Bobby said, handing her a bottle.

“Thanks.”

That was the way their conversations went these days. One or two words between hours of silence as they stared at the TV in a constant state of anticipation.

On the screen, one of the PCN talking heads was describing the president’s plans for the holidays. Camp David this year with family and a few friends. A turkey and a ham, and candied yams from a recipe passed down through the first lady’s family. As he started to list the desserts, the cell phone sitting on the coffee table rang for the first time since Tamara and Bobby had arrived in North Carolina.

They both jumped, and stared at the phone for a moment before Tamara snatched it up.

She pressed ACCEPT. “Yes?”

“This is one call I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to make,” Matt said.

She let out a groan, and unconsciously moved her free hand over her mouth.

“Go with WC,” he told her.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“When will it happen?”

“It’s already begun. Put it up. Keep it up. Get the word out. Let’s try to save as many people as we can.”

The line went dead.

“…the accident was reportedly caused by a roll of carpet. Where that carpet came from, police are unsure. The good news is, there were only minor injuries.”

The image of the polished-looking, fortysomething male anchor was replaced by his polished-looking, twentysomething female counterpart.

“Fire department and police officials have received reports of several metal containers spread around the tri-city area that are emitting what some people are calling a hum. A police spokesman says that officers have been dispatched to investigate these reports, but at this point there’s been no further information. Victoria Lawrence is on the scene with one of these boxes right now. Victoria?”

The studio shot cut to Victoria Lawrence standing in the parking lot of the Whittington Mall. About fifty feet behind her was a dark red shipping container, the top of which was open. This was the first such report to make it on the air.

“Cheryl, you can see one of the containers in question behind me.” As she said this, she turned for a quick look at the box, then faced the camera again. “This is only one of a half dozen sightings that have been called in to our station. The police have yet to arrive at this location.”

“Any indication of what might be inside?” the male anchor said.

“No, Paul. We haven’t been able to get a look yet. Mall security has asked everyone to stay away, but you might be able to hear the noise it’s making. It sounds a bit like the propeller of a small plane. As you can also see, several curious onlookers have gathered to see it for themselves.” She turned to a crowd of about a dozen people standing near her, and held a microphone up to the nearest women. “Hi, Victoria Lawrence, Channel Six News. What’s your name?”

“Michelle.”

“Any thoughts on what might be going on here, Michelle?”

“No idea.”

“I know!” a man yelled behind her.

Victoria moved the microphone toward him. “Can I have your name?”

“Charlie Simmons. And if you ask me, I think it’s some sort of PR stunt. Probably some kind of movie promotion. You know, that kind of thing.”

Victoria interviewed a few more people, each offering their take on what might be happening. Finally, she turned back to the camera, her smile clearly indicating this was the kind of story you just had fun with because it would end up being nothing. “Paul? Cheryl? What do you think?”

“I’m with the guy who called it a marketing trick,” Paul said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Cheryl agreed.

“Well, whatever the case, when we find out, we’ll bring the answer to you,” Paul said to the camera, sure that the story would probably be forgotten by morning. “Coming up after the break, a bear makes a surprise visit to a Walmart parking lot.”

“…at the moment.”

The speaker was Fredrick Price, PCN’s number one evening anchor. The image being broadcast was shaky and slightly out of focus, and was centered on a long, dark rectangular box sitting at one end of a large lot. There were no people in the shot, but there was movement, low and steady across the ground.

“What you’re seeing is a law enforcement reconnaissance robot being used by the Richmond Police Department in Richmond, Virginia. The container it’s approaching drew suspicion this afternoon when an employee at the nearby grocery store noticed that the top was open and something inside was making noise.”

The image cut to a taped interview with Kyle Jones, the grocery store employee. “It just seemed kind of weird, you know. So I went and got my boss.”

Offscreen, a reporter from the local television station said, “Has it been here long?”

“Yeah. A couple days, I think. But I just thought it belonged to one of the other stores here. It’s not the first time we’ve had one of those in back. But when this one started making noise, I knew something was wrong. My boss and I, we asked around. The other stores didn’t know anything about it.”

“So you called the police?”

“Yes, ma’am. Can’t be too careful these days. You know, we’re not too far from the capital. You never know what one of these terrorist might be up to. Oh, sorry.”

“Did you take a look inside?”

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t go anywhere near that thing. Roger, he works in produce, he walked over to check it out, but he couldn’t see anything other than a few drops of water on the ground.”

The image switched back to the robot as it rolled to a stop near the container.

Fredrick Price said, “In a move police say is strictly precautionary, residences in a four-square-block area surrounding the shopping center have been evacuated until it can been determined whether the container poses a threat.”

Tamara watched the PCN broadcast in disbelief.

She had been hoping Matt was wrong, and that this had all just been some big mistake. But the image of the robot approaching the shipping container erased all doubt. Project Eden had done the unthinkable.

She forced herself to look away from the TV and over at Bobby. He was sitting at the dining table, hunched over his laptop.

“So?” she asked.

“The links are still active.”

“All of them?”

“Uh-huh.”

That was a surprise. The video had been uploaded to a half dozen sites for over fifteen minutes. Usually Project Eden techs would have taken them down by now.

“How many views?” she asked.

“Around a hundred so far. I’m sending out links to anyone I can. As long as it stays up, I think we have a chance.”

She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but failed. She turned back to the television.

Yes, maybe they would have a chance, but a chance at what? Saving a few thousand, or, if they were lucky, a few million? When weighted against the numbers of those who would die, it was a drop in the bucket. As scared as she’d been by what Project Eden represented, she’d always thought that the Resistance would find a way to stop them. That’s what always happened in these kinds of situations, right? The bad guys might seem dominating, but, in the end, the side of good would come out on top? She’d been taught that from an early age, both in history and in books and movies.

Good always prevailed.

”Always,” she whispered under her breath, hoping voicing it would make it come true.

“My name is Tamara Costello. I am a former reporter for PCN. Last spring, during the Sage Flu outbreak, it was reported that PCN cameraman Bobby Lion and I were victims of the virus. As you can see, that was a lie. But it was not the only one.

“The outbreak was blamed on a rogue army officer, Captain Daniel Ash. While Captain Ash was present, he had nothing to do with it. The virus was released by an organization known as Project Eden, but it was merely a test, a very successful one. Project Eden’s plan has always been to release the virus worldwide.

“This video is only being released because we have learned that is what’s happening right now. We believe there will be dozens, if not hundreds, of different methods used to spread the disease. We have recently become aware of one that involves shipping containers loaded with the virus and moved into populated areas. If you are near one of these, it’s probably already too late. For everyone else, I’m going to tell you what you need to do to stay alive…”

13

Olivia’s people had seemed indifferent to Ash, Chloe, Red, and Gagnon when they climbed aboard earlier, but they had at least allowed one of their people trained in first aid tend to Gagnon.

The pilot still had not regained consciousness, but, after being given a shot of morphine, seemed not to be in as much pain. The four of them were then taken to an unused stateroom that was barely large enough for the two single beds inside, and the door was locked behind them.

Exhausted, Ash and Red put Gagnon on one of the beds. Ash told Chloe she could have the other.

“And what are you two going to do?” she said.

“Stretch out on the floor,” Ash replied, finding it hard now to keep his eyes open.

“Really?”

She looked at the ground and he followed her gaze. The space between the beds was narrower than the beds themselves.

“Move Gagnon all the way to the wall,” she suggested, then glanced at Red. “You can share with him.” Her gaze moved to Ash. “You can share with me as long as you don’t try any funny business.”

“Not feeling very funny.”

“Good.”

Ash barely remembered lying down beside her. The next thing he knew someone was shaking his leg.

“Get up,” a male voice said.

Feeling no better than he had when he’d fallen asleep, Ash forced his eyes open. Standing at the end of the bed were two men.

“We need you to come with us,” the closer of the two said.

Chloe stirred. “What’s going on?” she asked, her eyelids barely parting.

“I guess I’m going somewhere,” Ash told her, groaning as he sat up.

“Both of you,” the man said.

With one of the men in front of them and the other behind, Ash and Chloe were guided through the ship to a room next to the bridge. Inside, a man and a woman were sitting at a long table.

Ash recognized them immediately. The Resistance had nicknamed them Adam and Eve, when the two were seemingly just innocent lovers who’d sneak occasionally onto the grounds of the Resistance’s California facility known as the Bluff. Turned out they were really setting things up to rescue Olivia from the Bluff’s detention level. Ash hadn’t seen them with Olivia’s people on Yanok Island, so they must have remained on the ship.

The two escorts stayed in the hall, shutting the door as soon as Ash and Chloe passed inside.

“Please, sit down,” the woman said.

They did.

“You’re Captain Ash, aren’t you?”

“Just Ash,” he said.

“Something to drink?” the man asked.

“Water,” Chloe said.

The man retrieved two bottles of water from a cabinet along the wall and gave one to each of them.

“I hope you’ve been able to rest a little.”

Ash shrugged while Chloe simply took a drink of water.

“We apologize for not waiting earlier,” the man said, sitting back down. “We didn’t think anyone was left alive.”

“We were actually surprised you were on the island in the first place,” the woman added. “How did you get here?”

Ash remained silent.

“As we understand it,” the man said, “you two were the last ones to see Olivia.”

“That’s right,” Ash said.

“We’d like you to tell us what happened to her.”

“She didn’t make it out.”

“That’s not really an answer. Was it the explosion?”

“That certainly made it hard for her to leave,” Ash replied.

Silence fell over the room for a moment, then the woman leaned forward. “Was she able to do what she had come to do?”

“You mean, did she release the Sage Flu virus?”

As one, the man and the woman straightened in their chairs, surprised.

“Release?” the woman asked.

“Isn’t that why you were there? To initiate Project Eden’s plan, while sending the Project itself into chaos? Well, congratulations. You succeeded.”

“She activated the KV-27a virus?” the man asked.

Chloe leaned forward. “You didn’t know she was going to do that, did you?”

The other two exchanged a look. The man pushed his chair back and stood up. “Thank you for the information. We’ll let you return to your room now. If you get hungry, the kitchen is just down a few doors from where you’re—”

“Hold on,” Ash said. “You thought she was just going to take out Bluebird? She didn’t tell you what she really had planned?”

“I’m sure you’re still tired. We can talk more later.”

“We can talk more right now!” Ash shot up onto his feet, and leaned across the table. “We’re right, aren’t we? You didn’t expect this.”

It was the woman who broke first, unable to keep the fear from her face. “She told us she just wanted to destroy them, and ruin their plans. That they deserved to fail for turning their backs on her.”

“Well, she took them out, all right.”

“Don’t you see? The only place the release could have been activated from was Bluebird. If it had been eliminated without the virus being released, there would have been no way for anyone else to do it, and the Project would have died. But if she activated the virus, then the Project is still very much alive. It’s far larger than just those who were at Bluebird. They’ve been working on this for decades. They’ve prepared for nearly every possibility. Just because the head’s been cut off doesn’t mean the body is going to die.”

Ash stared at her for half a second. “We have to let people know.” It was something that should have been done hours ago when he and the others had first come aboard the ship. He had been operating under the assumption that those on the boat had full knowledge of what Olivia was up to.

Precious time had been wasted doing nothing.

“And tell them what?” the man asked. “That they’re all going to die? Them knowing what’s coming isn’t going to change that.”

“I need to get in touch with the people who sent my friends and me here. They have plans in place. Things that will help. But the longer we wait, the less they’ll be able to do.”

Doubt clouded the man’s eyes. “Whatever they have planned won’t work. We told you, the Project is prepared for every possibility.”

“I won’t just do nothing!”

The man opened his mouth to speak again, but the woman touched his arm, stopping him. “He’s right,” she said. “We have to try.”

The communications room was located at the back of the bridge. They all squeezed inside with the operator, a woman named Wetzler.

Because of the nature of the vessel, the room had been equipped with gear that was specifically designed to work in extreme weather conditions and at very long ranges — a radio with an extremely powerful transmitter, two backups, and a specialized satellite phone that worked even through a thick cloud cover. The storm, though, would still make any connections tenuous.

They had to try the sat phone four times before Ash finally heard the other end ring.

A voice cracked through the static. “…is this?”

“Hello?” Ash said. “Matt, is that you?”

“…old…et him.”

“Hello?” Ash said.

No response.

“Hello?”

He could only hear the hiss of the line, and was about to hang up so they could try again, when—

“…is Matt. Who’s this?”

“Matt! It’s Ash.”

“Can hardly…ear you. Who are…”

“Ash. It’s Ash.”

“Ash? My God, where are…ou?”

“Doesn’t matter. The virus. It’s been set off.”

“We know. Reports from…place. Doing what we can.”

They were already on it. Which meant signs of the virus’s dispersal must have shown up. “Matt, Pax and the others are stranded on Amund Ringnes Island. The plane’s not going to be able to get them. It, uh, broke down.” Telling him that it had crashed would only create unnecessary conversation.

“How ab…you?”

“We’ve been able to hitch a ride on a boat. Tell Brandon and Josie I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

There was silence on the other end, and Ash assumed whatever Matt was saying was lost in the connection. The Resistance leader then said, “Be careful.”

“We will.”

Ash hung up, and looked at the others. “They already know.”

The room was silent. Until moments before, the release of KV-27a had been represented only by Olivia punching a code into a computer.

Now it was real.

Matt hung up the phone.

“That was Ash?” Rachel asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank God he’s all right. What about the others?”

“He didn’t say.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I think that’s a good sign. He would have said something otherwise.”

Matt nodded, though he wasn’t as sure as she was. “He told me to tell his kids he was on his way back. I…should have told him about Brandon.”

“No. You did the right thing. There’s nothing he can do from where he is.” She put her arm around her brother’s shoulder. “Brandon’s going to be okay.” She squeezed him, and smiled. “I’ll tell Josie her dad’s on the way back. That’ll make her feel better.”

But Matt barely heard her.

He should have told Ash. If it had been Matt’s son, he would have wanted to know.

He forced himself to focus, and turned to Christina. “Still no sign?”

Christina had been monitoring the security cameras in case the helicopters returned, or Hayes and Brandon showed up.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Maybe I should send out a team,” he said to himself.

“No,” Rachel said. “It’s too soon. The others may be waiting for us to show ourselves. You can’t afford to risk everyone’s life like that. Jon knows what to do. He’ll take care of Brandon.”

Matt grimaced, not wanting to hear the words, but knowing she was right.

14

BRANDON HAD KEPT a steady pace, stopping only briefly now and then to make sure he was still going in the right direction.

He knew he had traveled miles, but didn’t know how many, or how many more he still had to go before he reached a town or road. It was becoming clear, though, that it wouldn’t happen today.

The shade of the forest had dimmed considerably with the setting sun, and soon it would be too dark to travel. Off to the right, he spotted a downed tree that was caught in a tangle of other pines, creating a covered space underneath. He angled toward it, thinking it might be a good place to spend the night. After giving it a closer inspection, he decided it would definitely be better than sleeping out in the open.

He leaned wearily against the log and pulled off his backpack. The first thing he needed to do was eat. He opened a can of beans and scarfed them down in less than a minute.

The rumble in his stomach momentarily tamed, he gathered up loose pine needles and added them to the ones already under the dead tree to create a more comfortable surface to lie on. He untied his sleeping bag from the pack, and started to unroll it. As he did, he caught a whiff of something in the air.

Smoke?

He sniffed again. It was there for a moment, then gone.

He walked through the trees in a slow circle, testing the air until he reacquired the scent. It was definitely smoke.

Forest fire?

The thought made him tense, but he was pretty sure it was too cold for that. Or did fires not care about the weather?

He took in the odor once more. There was something comforting about it, something familiar.

A campfire. That’s what it smells like.

It seemed to be coming from his left.

Could be a mile away, he thought, just drifting on the wind.

Or it could be closer.

A chill moved through his body. What if it was the people from the helicopters? Maybe a couple of them had been following him on foot.

He had a sudden urge to flee, to get as far away from the smoke as possible. Hurrying back to his gear, he rolled his sleeping bag back up, and reattached it to the bottom of his backpack. But then he paused.

What if it was someone else? Someone who could help him?

He stood there unmoving, staring into the darkness.

Just check, he thought. They’ll never know you’re there.

If he was careful and didn’t get too close, he should be okay. Besides, whoever was out there — someone looking for him or someone who could help — it would be better to know than not.

With a final deep, decisive breath, he strapped on his pack and headed toward the smoke.

Brandon allowed himself to use the flashlight as he started out, but as the odor intensified, he became more and more nervous, and finally turned it off so as not to give himself away.

He was careful to keep the sound of his footsteps to a minimum as he watched the forest ahead for any sign of the campfire. So far, the darkness remained unchanged.

Maybe it was a mile away, he thought. If he didn’t reach it in the next few minutes, he’d find another place to camp for the night, then look for the source of the smoke again in the morning.

He’d barely had that thought when he noticed he could see the sky up ahead above a large clearing.

He moved to the edge of the tree line and stopped. The clearing was probably twice as big as the one where Hayes had been killed, but its size wasn’t what caught Brandon’s attention. His eyes were fixed on something just the other side of center.

A house, spewing smoke from its chimney.

For thirty minutes, Brandon remained where he was, hidden in the trees. He shifted his gaze from window to window, watching for movement.

The house was two stories high, but small. He didn’t think there could be more than two or three rooms on each floor. The fireplace was on the far side of the house, the chimney peeking up above the roof, silhouetted against the night sky.

There were three windows on the side facing Brandon, one on the first floor and two on the second. Because of the smoke, he knew someone had to be home, but the windows were all dark.

Still not comfortable enough to approach the house, he moved counterclockwise around the edge of the clearing to get a look at the rest of the structure. There were four windows on the new side — dark like the others — equally divided between the floors. There was also a door off to one side on the bottom floor. It had a set of three narrow steps that led down to the ground, and looked to Brandon like a backdoor instead of the main way in.

He kept going.

The next side was the one with the chimney — two windows here, one on each floor, and the stone chimney widening out to the back of a large fireplace.

There was also another building he’d been unable to see before. It was set off to the side about a hundred feet from the house, almost butting up against the trees. It looked to Brandon like a shed or garage.

Maybe he could find a way into it, and spend the night there. It would sure be better than sleeping out in the woods. After the sun came up in the morning, he could knock on the door of the house. Or maybe see if someone came outside first, and then decide if he should approach them.

He moved through the trees until the structure was between him and the house, and quietly slipped over to the building. Like the house, it had wood siding that had seen its share of bad weather.

He eased up to the corner and took a cautious look around it. Definitely a garage, he decided. The side he was looking at had a wide door that was more than large enough for a good-sized SUV to pass through. It appeared to be the kind of door that rolled up. If he could move it a foot or so, he should be able to slip underneath.

He sneaked over to the handle, and gently tugged it upward. The door barely moved a quarter inch before it stopped. When he tried again, the same thing happened.

Great, he thought.

It was probably operated by a remote control, like the garage his family had had once. No way he’d be able to open it on his own.

There’s got to be another door, right?

He moved to the far corner and peeked around. The house was just a stone’s throw away. From this angle he could see both the side with the chimney and what was obviously the front, given the small covered porch and door more appropriate for a main entrance. The windows there, like the rest of the house, were dark.

Slowly, he stuck his head out far enough so he could look along the side of the garage. There was a door.

He looked at the house again, studying the windows.

They’re asleep, he thought. They won’t see me.

He had to repeat this to himself a couple times before he got the courage to step around the side and sneak over to the door.

He placed his fingers on the handle and twisted it. Locked again, but the door was loose. He gently pushed against it, and could feel the bolt wanting to slip out of the latch. He thought for a moment, then pulled out Mr. Hayes’s pocket knife. He couldn’t get it all the way through the space between the door and the frame, but he was able to angle it in so that the tip touched the bolt. Working it like a lever, he pushed the bolt away from the latch until it was finally free.

Smiling in relief, he sent up a silent prayer wishing for nothing creepy to be inside, then pushed the door open, and quickly passed through.

The moment he closed the door behind him, the interior of the garage was plunged into darkness. He stood motionless, thinking he only needed a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, but as time passed the garage remained pitch-black. Not having a choice, he pulled out his flashlight and turned it on. The beam seemed impossibly bright, and he quickly put his free hand over the lens, cutting the illumination by more than half.

Worried that the light might have been seen from the house, he moved back to the door and placed his ear against it. After several quiet seconds, he began to breathe easily again, and allowed himself to take stock of his surroundings.

There was no SUV in the garage, but there was an old, faded Subaru station wagon. The amount of dust on the windshield indicated it hadn’t been driven for a while.

Along the wall nearest the door was a workbench with tools packed neatly on the shelves beneath it. At the back end of the garage were larger shelves filled with boxes, each carefully marked to identify their contents—“Books,” “Files 2010,” and the like.

On the other side of the Subaru, between it and the wall, was a four-foot-wide area with only a few boxes at the back end. Plenty of room for his sleeping bag.

As he was taking off his pack, he glanced through the windshield of the car. The backseat had been lowered, creating a long, flat open area.

He paused for a moment, thinking.

The interior surface would be a lot more comfortable to lie on than the cement. Given the dust, chances were the owners wouldn’t be using the vehicle anytime soon. Besides, he planned to be up and out of the building before the sun rose, so they would never know he’d been here.

He opened the rear door of the station wagon and climbed in.

Three minutes later, as his sleeping bag warmed to his body temperature, he fell asleep.

A beep woke Lizzie.

She blinked her eyes, not registering the sound at first.

As she did most evenings, she’d fallen asleep in her favorite chair, the book she was reading—The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton — lying open on her lap.

She was putting her bookmark between the pages when the beep sounded again.

She immediately snapped her head around to look at her computer on the desk by the window. The screen was dark, the computer still in sleep mode. What was on was the smaller computer sitting on top of the short filing cabinet. Her brother’s computer. Even from her chair, she could see that the window for his security software was front and center.

She stood and whirled around, worried that someone had entered her house while she was asleep.

There was no one else in the living room, but that didn’t mean they weren’t somewhere else in the house. She listened for creaking floorboards and sounds of movement.

Nothing.

Still leery that an intruder was inside, she eased open the drawer of the end table, and pulled out the 9mm Glock pistol lying inside. There were guns hidden all over the house. Again, her brother’s doing. At first she had planned on getting rid of them, but the longer she stayed in the house, the more she was comforted by their presence. The truth was, she was beginning to think her brother’s concerns about the world weren’t entirely off-base. Though she didn’t have a television, she watched the news on her computer, and could see that the planet was falling apart.

Gun in hand, she tiptoed over to the computer. There was a warning flashing on the screen.

Not her house. Her garage. Someone’s trying to steal my car!

She went over to the window next to the fireplace, and pulled back the blackout curtain just enough so that she could see the other building. The area between her house and the garage was empty, and the side door — garage door #2—was closed.

It would be, she thought, since they were already inside.

She let the curtain drop back down, and ran over to the closet by the door. She grabbed her jacket, gloves, and hat, and put them all on. Once outfitted, she traded the Glock for the Mossberg double-barreled shotgun from the rack on the wall. There was no need to check if it was loaded because it always was.

The final things she retrieved were in a box at the bottom of the closet. So far she’d seldom had any use for them, but they were her brother’s pride and joy — a pair of ATN Generation II Night Vision Goggles with head mount. Three grand, he had told her they cost. She couldn’t believe the expense at the time, but she was glad now he’d spent the money.

Instead of exiting through the front door in full view of the garage, she used the back, and made her way to the corner. There, she studied the garage long enough to be satisfied that no one was waiting outside. Then, keeping in the crouch, she ran toward it.

She was three-quarters of the way to the other structure when she heard a noise. Maybe a scrape or a step. One thing was for sure — it had definitely come from inside.

She paused in the no man’s land between her two buildings, unsure what she should do. Despite the shotgun in her hands, she wasn’t a violent person, and didn’t know if she could shoot someone. Even if she could, she didn’t know how many of them were there. One, she might be able to scare off, but two? Three?

This is our home. You can’t just run away and hide, Owen’s voice said. She didn’t hear him all the time, but on occasion her brother would speak to her.

She nodded, and told herself he was right. She needed to protect what was hers, what was theirs. But she also had to be smart about it. She couldn’t just burst into the garage without knowing what she was up against. At some point they would have to come out again. That’s when she’d do something.

She angled toward the front of the garage. If they were going to steal her Subaru, they’d have to come through the big door. Just to play it safe, though, she found a spot where she could watch both the main door and the one on the side. She settled in to wait.

Ten silent minutes went by, then twenty.

What the hell were they doing in there?

When a half hour was gone, Lizzie decided to move in closer so she could hear better. She knelt down in front of the roll-up door and listened. Absolute silence. Thinking they might have heard her walk up, she stayed there for several minutes, sure she would hear something, but the garage remained deathly still.

She sat back up, frowning, and tried to make sense of things.

Maybe she’d been wrong about the noise. Perhaps it had come from the woods beyond the barn, a deer or an owl or something like that. Because winter was so late in coming, a lot of the local wildlife had been acting strange lately, like they didn’t know what they should be doing.

The more she thought about it, though, the more she was sure the noise had come from the garage. Besides, the alarm had gone off.

You’re going to have to check, her brother said.

“I know,” she mouthed silently.

She moved around to the side door. As she reached for the knob, her eyes strayed to the ground. Footprints. One pair, it looked like, and not as large as she would have expected. A woman?

She listened again at the door, and again heard nothing.

You’re stalling, her brother said.

“I’m not,” she whispered. “Leave me alone and let me take care of this.”

Then take care of it.

Not wanting to give him any other reason to doubt her abilities, she grabbed the knob and began turning it. Once the latch was free, she froze for a moment, then gave the knob a gentle push and let the door swing slowly open.

Both hands on the shotgun now, she tensed, fully expecting someone to start scrambling on the other side. But not a step or even a gasp of surprise.

What the hell?

If she didn’t know any better, she’d think whoever had been there was gone.

She gave it a full sixty seconds, then, staying low, stepped inside.

She swept the room, her goggles more than adequate in the darkened space. No one was there. She leaned down and looked under the car, but was equally disappointed.

She looked around again, and paused on the shelves in the back. It was really the only good hiding place, so that’s where her intruder must be. As she took a step in that direction, the Subaru creaked.

She turned quickly, thinking someone was coming around from the other side, but no one was there.

She took another look at the car, and leaned forward, surprised.

Someone was stretched out inside, tucked into a sleeping bag in the back of her car.

A boy.

15

With the worldwide reach of satellite television, people across the globe were able to tune into PCN, CNN, and the other major news networks, and see coverage of the growing number of suspicious shipping containers in the US. Soon people in South America, Europe, and along the coasts of Africa reported seeing similar boxes, open and humming. According to reports, there had been several attempts to move them, but that had resulted in the boxes exploding and killing everyone in the immediate area.

Asia was just waking up, so few people had seen the stories. But as they sat eating their morning meals and drinking coffee and tea, their local stations brought them up to speed on the mystery.

A commentator on NHK in Japan went so far as to suggest that perhaps the government should order people to stay home until it was sure none of the containers were on Japanese soil. It was an idea that might have saved lives, but the government didn’t heed the advice. At least not until they realized that they, too, had been targeted.

By then it was too late.

The government in Singapore was not nearly as slow on the uptake as the Japanese had been. By seven a.m., the entire country, including the extremely busy Changi International Airport, had been closed down, and a twenty-four-hour curfew put in place. Those who hadn’t heard the news were stopped by roadblocks and roving police patrols and sent home. At first, people were not happy, but that quickly changed when they saw on TV that shipping containers, identical to the ones in the US and Japan, had been found at several places on the island.

The idea of the curfew was a good one. Unfortunately, the containers had already been spewing out the virus for hours, and those who had been out at night, a very popular activity on the small island nation, had already been exposed and carried the Sage Flu home to their families and neighbors.

Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Myanmar, Bangladesh, and India all scrambled to check if they, too, had been the unknowing recipients of similar containers. While Thailand discovered a few in a couple of its port cities, the others were relieved to find that they were free of the boxes. Knowing it was not something they needed to worry about, several of these countries — plus many more in Africa — were able to turn their attention with pride to the mosquito-eradication program that started that very morning in all of their major cities.

The program had been touted as a cure for malaria by the company sponsoring it, Pishon Chem. Not only would it be eradicating the disease, but it had brought money into the communities by hiring thousands of locals to walk through the cities and spray the streets with the special liquid mixture.

Pishon was an old word. It was one of the rivers that had surrounded the Garden of Eden, and therefore an apt name for one of the Project’s dummy companies.

In less accessible areas, where politics or geography had made the placement of shipping containers and the use of the malaria drug impossible, planes disguised as commercial aircraft dispensed the virus from above. The rate of initial infection from this method was calculated to be low, but low was enough. The Project knew the second round of infection — those getting it from the first — would initiate an incremental growth that would be impossible to stop.

There were other methods of exposure used here and there throughout the world. Misters in grocery stores designed to keep the produce fresh, free perfume and cologne samples being distributed at major international airports, and small bottles of “flavored water” being handed out at tourist sites in several major capitals of the world.

It was a massive effort that had taken decades to plan, and it was commencing nearly flawlessly. The previous directors of Project Eden would probably have been very proud, if it weren’t for the fact they were all dead.