Pale Horse

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29

Sanjay could not find Kusum or her family anywhere.

After stealing the vaccine and leaving the Pishon Chem compound the previous afternoon, his plan had been to head straight out of the city to the rendezvous point. Only getting out was not quite so easy.

More and more streets and neighborhoods had been sprayed with the virus. By the time he found a clean route to the outskirts of town, the sun had dipped below the horizon.

As far as he could tell, there were no spraying efforts in the countryside. That didn’t prevent the paranoia about what was happening in the rest of the world from spreading beyond the limits of Mumbai. Many of the roadside restaurants and stalls that had been thriving the night before, when he and Kusum had ridden by, were closed and dark now. The few people Sanjay saw seemed to be in a hurry, and when they heard his motorbike, they would look at him in fear.

At first he took the lack of traffic to be a good thing, as he was making up for some of the time he’d lost in the city. But then, after he’d been in the country for about half an hour, something whizzed by his head. He slowed, surprised by the sound. This caused the noise of the bike’s motor to decrease so that when a second object flew past him, he heard the crack of a gun and realized someone was shooting at him.

He twisted the accelerator as far as it would go and sped down the road. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the headlights of a car about half a kilometer back. He wasn’t sure if the shots were coming from it or not, but he wasn’t going to take a chance. At the next road, he turned right, then right again behind a closed shop, and killed all power to the motorcycle.

Scared out of his mind, he waited for the car to pass. Instead, he heard it slow at the same road he’d turned on, and pull to the side and stop, idling.

He could hear voices, indistinct but angry. Then the car started up again, this time turning around and heading back where it came from.

While he waited to make sure it didn’t return, he felt around until he found the wire running into the back of his headlight and yanked it out. He did the same to the taillight. This was one time, he thought, when driving in the dark would be safer.

It was nearly ten p.m., two hours after he was supposed to be there, when he reached the place he and Kusum had spent the night before. No one was there.

All sorts of thoughts flew through his mind, most ending with something horrible having happened. No, he told himself. Remember how long it took you to get out of Mumbai. It’s the same for them. They’ll be here soon. You just have to wait.

But when midnight came and went, and they had still not shown up, his terrible thoughts returned. Maybe they had run into trouble. Maybe they had been shot by the people who shot at him.

Maybe they would never show up at all.

The last, he refused to believe.

I need to find them in case they need help.

He began searching in an ever-widening arc from the spot where they were supposed to meet, but as the sun came up, he was still alone.

His eyes felt like someone had dumped handfuls of sand in each, and it was becoming harder and harder to focus.

Go back to the meeting place, he thought. Maybe he’d missed them somehow and they were there waiting for him, wondering where he was.

He was lucky that he was on the small rough road leading to the rendezvous point when he fell asleep. If he’d still been on the highway, he would have been traveling at a much higher speed and would have most likely died.

The bike veered to the left, the front tire slamming into a rut. He woke in midair, flying over the handlebars. His mind was still trying to figure out what was happening as he slammed into the ground.

Dazed, he lay along the side of the road for several minutes before trying to sit up. That’s when the pain kicked in. His left shoulder was the worst. He touched it with his right hand and realized it was sticking out in a way it was never meant to.

Dislocated.

There were other pains, too, scrapes and bruises on his face and arms.

Then he forgot about it all, even his shoulder. The vaccine!

He struggled to his feet, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side, and searched for his bike. It had traveled for another fifty feet before spinning off the road.

He could see at first glance that he wouldn’t be using it again. The fork holding the front wheel was bent to the side, while the wheel itself was skewed at an odd angle. The back didn’t look much better. He moved around it, looking for the bag containing the bottles of vaccine, and found it still strapped to the back of the seat where he’d put it.

He fought with the straps with his good hand, until they gave way and he could get the bag off. He sat on the ground and opened the top. Immediately he saw that the boxes holding the vaccine were wet.

“Please, no,” he said as he opened the first lid.

This was the box from which he’d given several bottles to the cooks at the compound, giving the remaining bottles plenty of room to smash into each other. Of the seven that had been there, only two were still intact. He checked the other box, the full one, and sighed in relief. Three bottles along the side had been destroyed, but that was it.

His focus no longer on whether the vaccine was okay, his injuries forced themselves back to the forefront, screaming for attention.

He knew he had to get his shoulder back in place, otherwise the pain would render him useless. He tentatively pushed at it with his right hand. The pain intensified, but the bone barely moved from its unnatural position.

This wasn’t something he could do with his hand. The angle wasn’t right, so he wouldn’t be able to generate enough strength. But pushing was the logical thing to do.

Once more, he worked his way back onto his feet, and staggered over to the nearest tree. Gingerly, he placed his dislocated shoulder against it.

“Don’t think,” he said out loud. “Just push.”

He took a breath, cleared his mind as best he could, then shoved.

He didn’t realize he’d screamed, nor did he feel it when he hit the ground after he passed out from the spike of pain as his joint slipped back into place.

It was like Kusum was a stranger in her own country.

The half-deserted streets were unsettling, of course, but it was the people she did see that made her feel this way. Most were in other cars, and while those who usually drove in Mumbai were often creative in the ways they weaved around each other, now even those methods seemed tame.

She and her family had seen over a dozen accidents, nearly half of which happened not far in front of them. They had been rear-ended twice, but neither her father nor the people who had hit them even considered stopping.

It was as if India had gone insane.

The spray carrying the deadly disease was also a problem. At first, the men with the tanks on their backs seemed to be everywhere, swarming the city like the mosquitoes they were supposedly there to kill. But it was clear that some were deserting their jobs when they noticed the city around them behaving unusually. Still, a large number of the men continued their task, no doubt unwilling to do anything that might jeopardize the much-needed money they were promised. They blocked her family’s route so many times, Kusum began to wonder if it would be possible to avoid the virus’s path.

When her father drove them through West Mumbai into Thane, they had no choice but to stop. Traffic was jammed in front of them, perhaps thirty or forty cars deep. Though they could not see the exact cause, they could see a column of black smoke rising above the road.

Kusum’s father turned his head to look out the back window. “Out of the way,” he commanded. “I can’t see.”

The four in the backseat leaned to the sides as he put the taxi into reverse. The car began to move backward, then suddenly stopped.

“Move, move!” he yelled. This time, his words were intended not for those inside the cab, but for the cars Kusum could see arriving behind them. He waved his arm back and forth. “Clear the way!”

But the cars paid no attention. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. As soon as the new arrivals pulled to a stop, more came behind them, blocking them in, too.

Kusum’s father cursed and shut off the engine. “We walk,” he said.

They grabbed their bags and piled out of the car.

“Stay close,” he told everyone, and started walking toward the smoke.

“There is a problem up there,” his wife said. “Maybe we should go another way.”

“That’s the way we need to go,” he replied without turning around.

Most of the people caught in the jam were heading away from the fire. They pushed and shoved past Kusum’s family, not caring if they hurt anyone. But soon, Kusum and her group were past the bulk of the crowd and were able to pick up their speed.

The cause for the stoppage turned out to be four cars piled into each other, blocking the road. One car had flipped on its side, while the others were all twisted and tangled against each other. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. There were bodies, some still in the cars, and a few on the road. All were bloodied and torn and unmoving.

Though it had been at least ten or fifteen minutes since the accident occurred, there were no police, no ambulances, no emergency personnel at all.

“Don’t look,” Kusum’s mother said, putting a hand over young Panna’s eyes.

Kusum did the same for Darshan.

“I want to see,” her cousin said.

“No,” Kusum told him. “You don’t need to see this.”

“I’ve seen dead bodies on TV.”

“This is not TV.”

Her father led them around the edge farthest from the car that was still on fire. That’s when Kusum heard it — a moan, long and painful, coming from the sedan on its side.

“Keep moving,” her father said.

Kusum looked at her sister. “Take Darshan.”

Jabala kept walking as if she hadn’t heard her.

Kusum grabbed her sister’s arm. “Hold on to Darshan. Make sure he can’t see anything.”

As if in slow motion, Jabala finally looked over. Kusum could see how scared she was.

“Jabala, it will be okay, but I need you to watch him. Can you do that?”

Her sister blinked, her eyes focusing on the boy. “Yes,” she said. “I…I can.”

Kusum pushed Darshan over to her, and headed for the wreckage.

“What are you doing?” her father called out.

“Someone’s hurt,” she yelled back.

“We don’t have time! We need to keep moving!”

She wanted to shout back, “We need to help if we can,” but she knew she would just be wasting her breath. She ignored him and continued on.

The moan was definitely coming from the sedan. She looked through the back window but could see nothing, so she ran around and looked through the front.

There was a woman slumped against the door that was pressed against the ground, blood pasted across her forehead. Kusum could see no movement, and thought it unlikely she was the one making the noise.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is someone in there? Are you hurt?”

The moan started up again, this time becoming a word. “Help.”

It had to be coming from the backseat.

Frowning, Kusum looked around. She thought if she was careful, she should be able to climb on top of the closest wrecked car, and look into the back of the sedan through the passenger window facing the sky.

As she mounted the other car’s hood, her father yelled, “Kusum, get down from there right now!”

“There’s someone who needs help,” she said.

“I don’t care.”

“I do!” The words slipped out of her mouth before she even realized it. Talking back to her father was something she had never done until today. But running for her life was something she had never done, either. Maybe she had gone just as crazy as the rest of the country, but there was no way she could just ignore someone in need.

She half crawled onto the top of the car, and moved over to the edge where it had slammed against the perpendicular sedan. Getting onto her toes, she leaned over the sedan’s roof and looked in through the half rolled-down, rear passenger window.

At first, all she saw was a jumble of cloth and bags and baskets. Then she realized that within the chaos was an old woman.

“I’m here,” Kusum said. “How badly are you hurt?”

The old woman’s head turned, and her eyes flicked open. “Help,” she said, her voice weak. “Nipa.”

Is that her, or the woman up front? Kusum wondered.

“Don’t move. I’ll come down and help you.” Though how she would do that, Kusum wasn’t sure yet.

“Nipa,” the woman said again. “Help Nipa.”

So it was the name of the woman in front. Kusum had no way of knowing for certain, but she had a strong feeling the other woman was dead.

“Let me help you first,” she said. “Then I will do what I can for…Nipa.”

“No. Nipa first.”

With great effort, the old woman pushed out of the way some of the items that had fallen around her.

Kusum stared down in surprise. Nipa was not the driver, either. She was a child, no more than a year old, tucked against the old woman’s side. The baby was awake and looked scared to death.

Kusum looked over to where the others had stopped to watch.

“Get down! Now!” her father yelled. “You’re putting the rest of us in danger.”

“I need help,” she said. “There’s a baby here.”

“What?” her mother said, stepping out from the group. Without waiting for a response, she turned back to the others. “Jabala, come with me.”

“But Darshan,” Jabala said.

“Leave him. Darshan, Panna, you stay with masi.”

The two children nodded.

As Kusum’s mother and sister passed her father, he said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To help,” her mother said. “And you’re coming, too.”

Knowing they were on the way, Kusum climbed onto the side of the sedan, reached through the half-open window, and found the handle. Quickly, she rolled the glass the rest of the way down.

The opening was now more than large enough for her to fit through. The trick now was to do it without dropping onto the old woman and the baby. She slipped her legs in first, and eased herself down until only her shoulders and head were not inside the car. She stretched out her foot, caught the top of the front seat, and used it to guide her all the way down.

Kneeling, she found herself closer to the woman behind the wheel than the older one in back. Not really wanting to, but knowing it had to be done, she put her fingers against the driver’s neck. She wasn’t really sure about the right spot to check for a pulse, so when she didn’t feel one, she moved her fingers around, but still found nothing. She looked at the woman’s chest. It wasn’t moving. If the driver was still alive, it was by the thinnest of threads, and there was nothing Kusum could do for her.

As she moved over into the back part of the car, the child, Nipa, looked up at her and tightened her grip on the old woman.

“It’s okay,” Kusum said. “I’m here to help you.”

“Save her,” the old woman whispered. “Please.”

“I will save both of you.”

The woman tried to smile, but ended up coughing. This caused Nipa to start crying.

“It’s okay,” Kusum said, touching the girl’s cheek. “Everything will be fine.”

“Nipa first,” the woman managed to say between coughs. She moved like she wanted to hand the girl to Kusum, but she had little strength.

Kusum reached out and put her hands under the baby’s arms. As she started to lift the girl away, Nipa panicked and tried to grab the old woman again.

“Don’t worry,” Kusum said, pulling the girl to her. “I won’t hurt you.”

She hugged the baby to her chest, but Nipa turned her head so she could look at the old woman and continued to cry.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kusum said over and over.

After several seconds, she heard a noise above, and her father’s head appeared in the open window.

“Hand her up,” he said, once he’d taken a look at the situation.

Kusum stood as best she could and raised the girl toward his outstretched hands. Nipa screamed in protest.

“She’s just scared,” Kusum said.

“Of course she’s scared,” her father replied as he grabbed hold of the baby. “I raised two girls, remember? I have seen scared before.”

As he pulled Nipa out of the car, Kusum knelt back down next to the old woman. “Your turn,” she said.

The old woman didn’t move.

“Hey. Come on. Time to get you out of here.”

No response.

Worried, Kusum put her fingers on the woman’s neck. This time she did feel a pulse, though it wasn’t strong. She put a hand on the woman’s chest to check her breathing, and instantly pulled it up again, looking at her palm. Blood covered the pad at the base of her thumb. She pulled back the cloth that had fallen over the woman’s midsection, and stifled a cry.

The tip of a piece of metal was sticking up right below the woman’s ribs. Blood was soaked into the clothes around the wound.

“Kusum,” her father said.

She looked up.

“There is nothing we can do for her. We can’t move her and we can’t stay.”

“Take care…of Nipa,” the old woman whispered. “I will stay here with my…daughter.”

Kusum fought back the tears of frustration that had suddenly gathered in her eyes, knowing her father was right.

Carefully, she covered the wound back up, and wiped her palm on the cloth.

“Rest now,” she said. “I will take care of Nipa.”

Though the woman’s eyes were closed, she seemed to relax.

“Come,” her father said. “Let me help you up.”

With a nod, she stood and took his hands.

Darkness fell before Kusum and her family reached the edge of the city, which meant they were still a very long way from where they were supposed to meet Sanjay.

They had checked every abandoned vehicle they passed, but soon discovered each had been left behind for a reason. As for traffic, it had dwindled to a trickle, and the cars they did see never once slowed as they passed Kusum’s family walking along the side of the road. Unless they found another ride soon, there was no way they would reach Sanjay that evening.

“You want me to take her?” Kusum’s mom asked.

Kusum held the sleeping Nipa against her chest, the girl’s head lying on her shoulder. They had barely restarted their journey when Nipa insisted that Kusum carry her. The girl then clung to her like she was afraid Kusum would disappear at any second, until she finally passed out.

“I’m okay,” Kusum said.

In truth, she liked holding the girl. She had promised to keep Nipa safe, so that’s what she would do until they could reunite her with her family.

That task would not be easy. She’d realized not long after they left the accident that she should have grabbed the old woman’s — and perhaps the driver’s — identification. That way she would have had information about Nipa’s family. But by the time she’d thought of it, they were too far away.

Once everything is back to normal, I’ll go to the police and tell them where the accident occurred. Surely, they’ll have information about who was involved.

The good thing was that Nipa appeared to have suffered only a few scratches and bruises in the accident. How the incident would affect her mind, only time would tell. Of course, given the situation they were all going through, the girl wouldn’t be the only one mentally bruised.

“They’re still there,” Jabala whispered a few minutes later.

Kusum glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the three figures that Jabala had first noticed over an hour ago were passing beneath several lights about one hundred and fifty meters behind them. At first Kusum had dismissed them as just being others trying to get away from the city, but the distance they kept never changed, even after Kusum’s family stopped for a few minutes to rest.

“Who do you think they are?” Jabala asked.

“I don’t know.”

The shortest of the trio was probably a child, but the distance made it hard to tell whether they were men or women, let alone what age they were. Really, the only important question was, were they trouble or not?

“Do you think you can take Nipa without waking her?”

Jabala eyed her suspiciously. “Why? What are you going to do?”

Kusum nodded toward the people following them. “Find out who they are.”

“You could get hurt. You don’t—”

“They won’t see me. Don’t worry, okay? Here, take her.” Kusum gingerly lifted Nipa from her shoulder and put her in Jabala’s arms.

“What’s going on?” their father asked, glancing back.

“I’m going to find out who those people are,” Kusum said.

“You are not.”

“I am. We need to know.”

“You’re my daughter. You will stay with us.”

“Someone needs to check. If you had a son, you would let him do it. You have none. Who are you going to send? Darshan?” She waved at her young cousin, who was clutching tightly to Kusum’s mother. “I’m the only one.”

“I’ll do it.”

“No,” Kusum said. “You need to watch over the others. I will go.”

She could see the conflict in her father’s eyes. After a moment, he reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a sheath holding a four-inch knife. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Don’t use it unless you have no choice. Be very careful.”

“I will.”

Before he could change his mind, she slipped between two closed roadside stands and into the brush behind them. Looking back, she could see her farther hesitating, wanting to follow her.

“Keep moving,” she said in a harsh whisper.

Reluctantly, he turned in the direction they’d been headed and said, “Come on, everyone. Let’s go.”

She watched them for a second to make sure her father didn’t change his mind, then found a good spot where she could see the whole road, and settled in. It wasn’t long before she heard the footsteps of those on the road behind them. One was walking faster than the others. The child, she thought, working twice as hard just to keep up.

Though she knew there was no way they’d see her, she crouched down a bit more. The sound of the steps increased until finally the trio came into view.

The smallest was definitely a child, a boy probably no more than Darshan’s age. What was surprising was that the other two were children also. Taller, yes, but their faces gave away their age. Kusum thought they couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. They were both girls, the taller of the two holding the hand of the boy.

She looked to see if any of them was carrying weapons, but the only things they had were their well-worn clothes and each other. Kusum considered what to do next, and decided on a course of action her father would have disapproved of.

She waited until they passed, then silently moved out from her hiding place and onto the road behind them.

“What are you doing?” she said.

All three jumped, the smaller of the girls letting out a brief scream. As they looked back, Kusum could tell they wanted to run.

“Don’t move,” she said, showing them the knife.

“Please don’t hurt us,” the smaller girl said.

“Then tell me why you’re following us.”

The girls exchanged a glance. The tall one, who Kusum could now see was a few years older than the other, said, “We’re not following you.”

“You’ve been following us for the last hour and a half.”

“We’re just using the same road. You can’t stop us from doing that.”

Though the girl was smaller than Kusum, she had donned a tough front, going so far as to move in front of the other two.

“Where are you going?” Kusum asked.

“To visit our family,” the girl said quickly.

It was a transparent lie. Kusum was sure they’d grown up in the streets, and doubted they even knew who their families were. She didn’t even think any of the three were related to each other, as none shared any similar physical traits.

She stared at the older girl for several seconds, then put the knife back in the sheath and held it at her side. “When was the last time any of you had anything to eat?”

“We ate just a few hours a—” the older one began.

“Yesterday,” the boy said. “In the morning.”

Kusum frowned. “Come on, then.” She walked through the middle of them, and started down the road toward her family. After a moment, she looked back. “I said, come on. Unless you’re not hungry.”

The boy was the first to move, but the girls weren’t far behind him.

With that simple invitation, Reva, Induma, and Adesh joined Kusum’s family.

They would not be the last.

30

Lizzie Drexel knew they were out there. She could feel them watching her house. She’d seen one of them fifteen minutes earlier, peeking around a tree. And where there was one, there had to be more.

She barely thought about the boy anymore. He’d been gone since the day before. To her, that was a lifetime ago. So much had happened since then. The world, as Owen had always told her it would, had gone to shit.

“You were right, big brother. You were right,” she muttered.

Aren’t I always?

For hours, she’d sat mesmerized in front of her computer, watching the news. Everywhere it was the same — death being delivered in dull metal boxes. That no one had died yet didn’t mean anything. It was going to happen. She knew it would, like she knew why the men watching her house were there. Owen had told her.

Those boxes would be wasted out here, his voice had said. Those are for the crowds. People like you and me, they’ll come for us individually.

He told her how they planned to do it — break in, hold her down, and swab the bug in her nose.

Too bad for them they’ve come to the wrong house, Owen said.

She smiled. “Yeah, too bad.”

Lizzie wasn’t about to die from the killer virus, but she was willing to die if it meant taking with her those who were trying to give it to her.

She went into the bedroom and opened the secret panel in the closet. Her sweet brother had prepared so much for a world he didn’t live long enough to see.

Oh, I’ll see it, he said.

She nodded. “Right. I just meant—”

I know what you meant. Now do what needs to be done.

Owen’s big concern had been a civil war. He hadn’t been clear what form it would take — race-based, religious, or class driven — but that wasn’t important. He just knew it was coming. And while he wasn’t interested in joining any of the sides, he wasn’t about to let anyone take what was his.

He had two main means of preventing that from happening. The first was the four sniper nests he’d created under the eaves of his house. All he would have had to do was crawl from corner to corner to cover the whole house. He’d even lined the otherwise unfinished attic with steel plates for protection.

The problem with this option was that Lizzie was not the marksman her brother was, nor would her bad hip allow her to move around the attic in any kind of useful fashion. That left the second option — setting off the Semtex explosive that was built into the house right above the basement retaining wall, and in the garage along the base.

All she would have to do was wait until the killers approached the house, then boom.

She felt a bit sad that it had come to this. She’d come to love the house, but she was not about to die in it from some painful, draining infection.

Uh-uh. Not her.

She flipped the switches that turned the system on, removed the remote control from its clip, and carried it to the dining room window where she could watch and wait for the exact right moment.

The house sat near the edge of a clearing, a detached garage off to the side. They would have passed right by it if Miller hadn’t noticed there were fewer trees in its direction, then found the broken twigs indicating a spot where someone had sat and watched the building like they were now doing.

Could it have been Brandon? Ash had wondered. Was his son right now inside the home, sleeping?

Both buildings were dark, and there was a faint whiff of smoke in the air, hinting at a dying fire in the fireplace. Someone was definitely home, but at this hour they were undoubtedly asleep.

Ash was tempted to walk up and knock on the door. It was only a warning relayed by Miller from Christina at the base that kept him from doing it.

“A survivalist,” Miller said, summarizing what he had been told. “Or was. He died about a year ago and his sister moved in last August.”

When Ash looked at him, surprised, Miller told him that the Resistance kept detailed notes about its nearest neighbors. The current occupant, Elizabeth Drexel, apparently led a very quiet life. She was an account who did all her work via the Internet, and since taking up residence, had only twice driven the thirty-five miles to town for supplies. Where she fell on the whole survivalist thing, they had not yet been able to determine, and that was the problem. Survivalists were a notoriously paranoid lot, and not fond of people knocking on their door. Especially at two in the morning.

“Did you see that?” Ash said.

“See what?” Miller asked.

“The window facing us, something moved along the edge.”

Miller studied the window for several seconds. “There’s nothing there now.”

“There was.”

Ash closed his eyes and played the movement back in his mind. It had been a curtain, but not flapping like what might happen if a burst of air rushed past. It had been more…subtle, controlled. Like someone pushing the curtain away from the frame so they could look outside.

One way to find out, he thought. He rose from his crouch. “I’m going in.”

“Whoa. You’re going to scare the crap out of her.”

“I’m just going to ask her if she’s seen Brandon.”

“We should at least wait until the sun comes up.”

Ash locked eyes with him. “My son is missing. I’m not going to waste time waiting for it to get lighter. I’ll knock on the door and ask about Brandon. That’s all.”

Miller was clearly not comfortable with the decision, but he said nothing.

“You stay here,” Ash said. “Less likely to scare the crap out of her if there’s only one of us.”

As soon as Lizzie returned to the dining room window, she moved the curtain just enough so she could create a clear spot to peek through with her night vision goggles. She watched and waited.

It didn’t take long for her intruders to make a move.

One moment the night was still, in the next the dark figure of a man stepped out from the trees and started walking toward her house.

You were right, little sister. They’re really here, Owen said.

When the man passed the garage, she frowned. “Where are the others?”

Patience.

“Why aren’t they all coming?”

Owen apparently didn’t have an answer for this.

With each step the man took, she became more and more frustrated. She was supposed to take them all out, not just one guy.

Her thumb slipped down the side of the remote. “What am I going to do?” she asked.

Her brother still said nothing.

“What do I do?”

So far, Ash had seen no repeat of the movement he’d detected earlier as he passed the garage and trudged across the cold, hard earth toward the house’s small porch. He hesitated in front of the door for several seconds, then raised his hand and knocked.

Lizzie watched the man until he disappeared from her view as he went around to the front of the house. She looked back at the woods, wondering once more where the others were, then stepped away from the window.

Was the man scanning her house for weak points? Or would he try to break in? She walked quietly toward the door, wanting to hear the moment he attempted to pick the locks. She was only a few feet away when—

Knock, knock, knock.

She jerked backward, nearly falling on the floor.

Knocking on her door was not something she expected.

Knock, knock, knock.

Pull yourself together, Owen ordered.

She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, and moved up to the door. The man was just a few feet away now, right on the other side. She looked down at the remote in her hand.

“Not yet,” she whispered to herself. “Wait for the others.”

Knock, knock, knock.

If she said nothing, he would get his colleagues, wouldn’t he? And they would all come back?

“Hello?” the man called through the door. “Hello? Are you home? Ms. Drexel? Hello?”

She froze. He knew her name.

Of course, he knows your name, Owen said. He and his friends are professional killers. They always prepare ahead of time. But there’s no way they could have prepared for what you have waiting for them.

That brought a smile to her face.

“Ms. Drexel, I just need to ask you a question.”

“Go get your friends,” she silently mouthed. “Go get your friends and I’ll open the door.”

“Ms. Drexel?”

Knock, knock, knock.

“I’m sorry if I’ve woken you. My son is missing. I need your help.”

Son? What was the man talking about? His son was missing? It must be some kind of trick to get her to—

Then she remembered. The boy. And it all became clear.

The kid had been part of it. He hadn’t just happened upon her garage to spend the night. He’d been sent to her place on purpose, to make sure she was the only one here, and to provide information to the men now out to kill her.

Oh, how tricky. Using a child to scout me out.

“Go away!” she yelled, then clapped her empty hand over her mouth.

Why had she done that? That was stupid. She should have just stayed silent.

“Ms. Drexel, my name’s Daniel Ash. I’m looking for my son, Brandon. I think he may have come this way, and I was wondering if you might have seen him.”

“No,” she said. “No, I haven’t seen anyone. Now leave me alone!”

“Are you sure? He probably would have come by here yesterday.”

“I said no!”

The man fell silent.

She stood as still as possible until she could stand it no more. She moved over to the window next to the door to see if he had left.

She pulled the curtain back just an inch, but what she saw was not her empty porch.

The man was looking in at her, right on the other side of the window.

“No, I haven’t seen anyone,” the woman yelled through the door. “Now leave me alone!”

Ash leaned forward a few inches. “Are you sure? He probably would have come by here yesterday.”

“I said no!”

He stared at the door, unsure if she was telling him the truth. He turned his head and caught sight of the window just off to the side. Thinking that if he could get a glimpse of her, he might get a better sense if she was lying, he moved over to it and positioned his eyes as close to the glass as possible.

All he could see, though, was the back of a black curtain. There wasn’t even a crack along the side to give him a peek into the house.

He was about to back away when the curtain moved. The woman, wearing a pair of night vision goggles, appeared directly in front of him.

They both jumped, then—

Twin fireballs rose into the sky as the double explosions of the house and garage shattered the night.

One moment Miller was standing behind a tree, watching Ash talk to the woman through the closed door, and the next he was sprawled on the ground, a dozen feet away. He rolled onto his hands and knees, and pushed himself up.

The two structures were gone, pulverized in the blast.

Miller ran out of the woods and weaved around flaming debris as he raced toward the house. All he could think of was Ash. He’d been right there, near the front door.

Miller stopped a dozen feet from where the porch had been. The only things left standing were bits and pieces of the retaining wall around the basement.

“Jesus,” he said.

This clearly wasn’t some accidental gas explosion. It was designed specifically to destroy everything.

He whirled around. The ground was covered with chunks of wood and bent pipes and things he couldn’t even identify. What he didn’t see was Ash or the woman. She had been inside and Miller doubted there was much left of her. But Ash? Miller couldn’t allow himself to think the same.

Starting from where he’d last seen Ash, he began searching. It wasn’t long before he saw the rounded tip of something sticking out from under a ten-by-three-foot section of siding that had been blown from the house.

He grabbed the edge of the wood, and shoved it up. Ash was beneath it, his arms wrapped loosely around his chest.

Miller pushed the siding out of the way and knelt down.

Ash was breathing, and his pulse, though not strong, was steady enough.

“Ash?” Miller said, tapping the man’s cheeks. “Ash, come on.”

His efforts were greeted with a moan, but Ash’s eyes remained closed.

Miller raised his hand to his ear to turn on his radio and call for help, but his earpiece was missing.

“Shit!” he said. It must have fallen out when he was knocked to the ground. “Hang in there, buddy. I’ll be right back.”

He sprinted over to where he’d been. There was enough light coming from the scattered fires that he didn’t have to turn on his flashlight. His earpiece was on the ground, not far from where he’d been thrown.

“This is Miller. Do you copy?”

“This is Christina. Any progress th—”

“I need medical assistance right away,” he said. “At the Drexel house. Ash is down.”

31

After leaving the woman’s house the day before, Brandon had continued east, knowing he would find a highway at some point. By early afternoon, he was exhausted, so he found a spot at the base of a large rock, and crawled into this sleeping bag. When he woke, the sun had already gone down, so as anxious as he was to keep moving, he’d thought it best to stay there for the night.

He had a cold dinner of baked beans and water. Afterward, he lay awake for hours, wondering if he would ever see his family again, before finally falling back to sleep.

It was the noise that woke him, a distant, rumbling roar that he wasn’t sure was real or part of a dream. He opened his eyes, looked around, then sat up and listened.

If the noise had come from the real world, it was gone now.

Just a dream, then, he thought as he lay back down.

He was able to get a few more hours of sleep before he opened his eyes and knew he was done for the night. He retrieved a couple of granola bars and ate them as his breakfast. He put everything away when he was done, donned his pack, and started out again.

Clouds had begun to move in overhead, but in the east, where a half moon had risen not long before, the sky was still clear. Beyond the boulder where he’d been sleeping was a narrow, shallow valley. When he reached the top of the ridge on the other side, he stopped and stared.

“You’re kidding me,” he said.

Below him, less than half a mile away, was the thin ribbon of what could only be a highway. If he had kept going the day before, it was possible he would have slept someplace warm and welcoming.

Walking down the hill, he debated with himself what to do if he spotted a car. His experience with the woman at the house had instilled more than a little caution. Maybe he should just stay in the trees and follow alongside the road to a town. That might be the safest option.

As the sun took away the night and the morning made its slow journey toward noon, it looked like he wouldn’t have to worry about what to do if he saw a car. So far, not a single one had driven by.

Around eleven he stopped for lunch. As he was eating another granola bar, he remembered what day it was. It was his mother’s favorite day of the year, the first to occur since she died.

Christmas Eve.

The tears started before he even knew what was happening, then the sobs followed. It was over twenty minutes before either stopped.

32

When Sanjay regained consciousness, the sun was high in the sky. He started to roll onto his side, but made a poor choice of direction, and momentarily pressed his damaged shoulder against the ground.

He clenched his teeth as pain once more shot down his arm and across his chest. It wasn’t as bad as it had been when the bone was dislocated, but it still hurt like hell. Cradling his arm so his shoulder would remain immobile, he sat up.

The wrecked motorcycle was exactly where he had last seen it, as was, thankfully, the bag with the remaining jars of vaccine. His relief at this knowledge was tempered by the fact he still didn’t know where Kusum and her family were, and now he had no means of traveling around to find them.

He tried to remember where he was when the crash occurred. He was close to their meeting point, wasn’t he?

With some effort, he rose to his feet and looked out at the road. Dirt, rough, narrow.

Yes, this was the road to the place he and Kusum had slept the night before. No, two nights before.

The good thing was, even at a slow pace, he should be able to walk there in no more than an hour. But the location of the crash also meant it was unlikely Kusum and her family were there already. Surely they would have seen the wreckage and found him lying by the road as they passed.

So what should he do? Go to the meeting spot? Or head the other way to the main road? They’d have to come from that direction anyway, so it really wasn’t a choice.

He picked up the bag, slung it over his good shoulder, turned right, and headed toward the highway.

It took Sanjay forty minutes to walk back to where the road ended at the highway. Once there, he found a shady spot from where he could keep an eye out for Kusum, and sat down.

It was eerie how quiet it was. When he was driving around earlier, there’d still been a few cars on the road, but in the first hour he sat there, he didn’t see one.

She’s not coming. The voice was but a whisper in his head.

“She is,” he said aloud. “She’s coming.”

She’s not coming, the voice repeated.

“Stop it!”

He pushed himself to his feet and walked out into the middle of the road. He stared in the direction that led to Mumbai, willing Kusum to appear.

“She’s coming,” he said. “I know she is.”

The highway, however, remained empty.

He staggered back to the side of the road, his body weak from the accident and the walk and the hours spent searching for Kusum. He needed something to eat, something to help him regain strength. He couldn’t recall the last thing he ate, but he knew it hadn’t been much.

Just down the highway was a roadside restaurant. Both the dining area and the kitchen were open air with a simple roof above, made from whatever materials the owners could get their hands on. Like everything else seemed to be, it was closed.

Instead of sitting back down, Sanjay headed toward it, hoping something edible had been left behind. Just as he reached the other side of the road, he heard the distant sound of a motor. He stopped, his head whipping around.

The sound had definitely come from the right direction, and it was getting louder.

He knew it was a mistake to think it was Kusum, but he couldn’t help it. It had to be. It just had to be.

He placed his hand against his forehead to shade his eyes from the sun. The road went straight for as far as he could see. In the distance, something moved. Though it was no more than a small blob at the moment, there was no question it was a vehicle.

He took a few steps toward it, as if doing so would make it arrive sooner.

“It’s got to be her,” he whispered. “It’s got to be her.”

Another step, the blob growing and beginning to take shape.

“It’s got to be her.”

A square now. A white square. Only—

He stopped moving.

The square continued to grow.

He dropped his hand to his side. It felt as if his heart had fallen off a cliff.

Not a car. A large truck.

He could now see the canvas-covered back, and make out enough to know several people were in the cab.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to not lose control.

She’s not coming, the voice from earlier said, stronger this time.

“She is,” he fought back, not as convincing as before.

He started to turn away.

“Sanjay!” The voice was just barely audible over the sound of the truck’s engine.

He paused, and looked back. Someone was waving from the open truck window.

Sanjay!” Louder now. A girl’s voice. Sounding very much like—“Sanjay!”

There was a squeal as the driver of the truck stomped on the brakes, and Kusum leaned out the passenger window.

For a moment, Sanjay thought his mind was just showing him what he wanted to see.

The door flew open even before the truck came to a full stop. The girl jumped down and ran toward him.

“Kusum?” he whispered.

“Sanjay! You’re here!”

Her arms flew open as she neared, and she wrapped them around him, squeezing him tightly. Though his shoulder screamed out in pain, he made no attempt to stop her. It was Kusum. And she was hugging him.

“You waited for us,” she said, finally pulling back from him.

Of course, I waited. What else would I have done?

Her smile began to wane as she touched his face where the skin had been ripped away in the accident. “What happened?”

“I’m okay.”

She took a good look at him, taking in his scratches and noticing his immobile arm. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.” He paused. “I could use some water, though.”

“Of course! Of course!”

She put an arm around him as if he needed propping up. When he took a step, he realized he did.

“Someone bring some water!” she yelled toward the truck.

“I thought you were…going to be in a car,” he said.

“That didn’t quite work out. Besides, it wouldn’t have been big enough.”

Big enough?

Before he could ask what she meant, Jabala ran up with a bottle of water.

“Here,” the girl said, holding it out to him.

“Take the top off first!” Kusum scolded her.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Jabala removed the top, and handed the bottle back to Sanjay.

As the water passed over his lips, he wasn’t sure if he had ever tasted anything so good.

“Slowly,” Kusum said.

He continued to drink, slower than at first, then poured what was left over his head. The cloud that had infiltrated his mind began to lift, and while he was a long way from being whole, he could feel some of his strength returning.

“Thank you,” he said to Jabala.

“It is no problem,” she replied, taking the empty bottle from him. “Would you like more?”

“Yes, please.” He managed a smile. “And maybe something to eat?”

“I will be right back.”

As soon as she was gone, Kusum said, “Tell me what happened to you.”

He told her about the accident.

“It’s lucky you are even alive,” she said.

“But I am.”

Kusum eyed the bag hanging over his shoulder. “Is that it?”

He waited, but she didn’t say anything more. It took him a moment before he realized she was talking about the vaccine.

“Yes. I got it.”

She looked relieved, though not quite as relieved as he expected. “I hope you have enough.”

“Enough?”

“Come.”

She guided him over to the truck. As they passed the cab, he heard a child cry out.

“Wait,” Kusum said. She stepped up to the open door and leaned inside. When she pulled back out again, she was holding a baby. “This is Nipa. Nipa, this is Sanjay, the one I’ve been talking about.”

Nipa looked at him for a moment, then hid her face against Kusum’s chest.

“Where is she—” he began.

“Later,” she said. “I have much to tell you. First, come.”

She led him around to the open back of the truck. Sitting inside were Kusum’s mother and her two cousins, but there were also nearly two dozen people Sanjay had never seen before, most of them kids.

He looked at Kusum, confused.

“We couldn’t just leave them on their own,” she said.

“Of course you couldn’t,” he told her. It had never been just Kusum’s beauty that drew him to her. It had also been her compassion.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Everyone, this is Sanjay.”

There was a chorus of greetings. He nodded and said hello several times, but the more he did, the more a question grew in his mind.

Did he have enough vaccine for everyone?

33

Li Jiao had a simple garden of potted plants on the small balcony of her second-floor apartment. Despite its lack of size, she took pride in what she’d been able to create. In spring she often had the most beautiful flowers on the whole block.

The news about what was happening in the rest of the world was frightening. She had watched for hours as reports came in from America and Europe and even elsewhere in Asia about the boxes and their deadly cargo. The endless reports were what finally drove her back outside, knowing she’d be able to forget everything else as she tended her plants.

So when she saw Madam Zhang step out of the apartment building across the street, she leaned over her balcony, yelled out a greeting, and waved as if it were just any other day. Madam Zhang, though, made no indication that she’d heard Jiao at all.

As Jiao started to call out again, the words died in her throat. Madam Zhang, who Jiao knew was only in her thirties, was moving like an ancient grandmother. She pressed a hand against the side of the building as if she would otherwise fall. Then Madam Zhang stopped and leaned wearily against the wall.

Jiao quickly set down her pruning scissors, and rushed through her apartment out into the hallway. It took her less than a minute to reach the other side of the street.

Madam Zhang hadn’t moved.

“Where are you headed?” Jiao said. “Perhaps I can go with you.”

Madam Zhang took a labored breath. Jiao noticed sweat on the woman’s brow. “I need…to get some medicine for my husband.” She halfheartedly raised a hand holding a piece of paper with several items on it.

“I’m heading that way. Perhaps I can pick these up for you.”

“I wouldn’t want to…” She paused for several seconds. “To trouble you.”

“It is no trouble at all. Here, I will walk you back to your apartment, then I’ll pick up everything.”

Jiao placed her hands on the other woman’s arm and eased her away from the wall.

Without another word, they walked into the building, and slowly up the stairs to the third floor where Madam Zhang lived with her husband.

When they reached the door, Jiao carefully took the key from Madam Zhang and let them in. She led her friend over to a cushioned chair and helped her sit down.

“Where is Mr. Zhang?” Jiao asked. The place was quiet.

“Lying down.”

It was clear he’d given whatever he had to his wife.

“Here. Give me your list,” Jiao said. “I won’t be long.”

The woman handed the list over. “You’ll need some money.”

“You can pay me later.”

“That is unnecessary,” Madam Zhang said, but the look on her face was relieved. Jiao got the impression that the energy it’d take to look for her money was not something her friend had.

“You just rest,” Jiao said.

She stopped back at her apartment to pick up one of her shopping bags, and headed out. As she walked, she decided she would cook something for Madam Zhang when she got back. The woman had always been kind to her in the past. It was the least she could do.

With a smile, she continued down the street, unaware that later that evening, she would be cooking her last meal.

Harold Wolf drove past the Brandenburg Gate, an uneasy knot in his stomach. He had never seen Berlin so quiet. The only places with any action were the areas where the shipping containers had been found.

Thank God he hadn’t drawn that duty. Instead he was ordered to enforce the twenty-four hour curfew, which had so far been extremely easy.

That was why he was nervous. Easy was always a warning signal to him. He knew it wouldn’t last. And he was right.

The call came over his radio four minutes later. A problem at one of the hotels not far from the American Embassy.

Making a U-turn on the usually busy Ebertstrasse, he headed for the Dorint Hotel near the Gendarmenmarkt. The trouble was immediately apparent as he rounded the corner onto the block where the hotel was. There were at least half a dozen people standing outside the entrance, banging on the glass doors, and shouting angrily at hotel security staring back at them from inside.

Wolf pulled to the curb fifty feet away. Knowing it was more than he wanted to handle on his own, he radioed in for backup. Unfortunately, one of the people outside noticed him and headed over.

“You’ve got to tell them to let us in!” the man yelled.

“Please stand back, sir,” Wolf said, climbing off his bike.

The man slowed his pace but didn’t stop. “They won’t open the door. We have rooms here. We’re guests!”

“Please, sir. Just stand back.”

He touched the gun at this waist, emphasizing the point. The man seemed to finally get the message, though his anger didn’t subside.

“You need to talk to them! Where are we supposed to go? Those are our rooms!”

Wolf closed his eyes for a second as a wave of pain shot through his head. Great. Just what he needed. A migraine.

“Let me see what I can do,” he said.

“We can’t stand out here like this,” the man said. “Who knows what’s in the air?”

“Sir, just a minute. Please.”

Wolf took a step toward the hotel, then stopped suddenly, a wave of dizziness rushing over him.

“Hey. Are you going to help us or what?” the man asked.

“Are you all right?” A woman’s voice.

Wolf realized a few of the others had come over.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just a long day.”

Another step, and this time it was his stomach.

He was only able to turn partially away before his breakfast made a quick exit out his mouth.

“Jesus!” the first man said, jumping back. “You’re sick! Dammit, you got some on me!” He started wiping viciously at his suit jacket. “Dammit!”

Wolf fell to his knees and retched again. When he finished, he looked up and saw the others staring at him as if he were death itself.

“Please, someone call for help,” he managed before his stomach churned again.

Taru leaned against the side of a car, exhausted. He’d been up walking the streets since six a.m. and it was now past four in the afternoon. That in itself would have been enough to tire most people, but he had to also carry the heavy container of anti-malaria spray on his back.

Up and down his assigned roads he’d gone, spraying the liquid along the edge of the streets. Whenever he started to run out, one of the suppliers would invariably show up and fill his tank again.

But it wasn’t the walking or the burden that had caused him to stop. Though he didn’t know it then, nor would it dawn on him later when he started to hallucinate, the cause was directly attributable to the fact he had stopped wearing his face mask not long after the morning had grown hot.

His exposure to the virus, in extreme amounts, was inevitable, but he also had a genetic makeup that accelerated the KV-27a virus’s effects, making him one of the first to contract the disease.

He coughed, and was surprised that it hurt deep down in his chest.

He must be catching something, he thought. Ironic, given the mission of mercy he was on.

He coughed again then spit a wad of phlegm into the gutter.

“Just a few more hours,” he told himself.

A full day would include an extra bonus, and that was money he sorely needed.

“Just a few more.”

He pushed off the car and started walking again.

Forty minutes later, he was lying half in the road, the contents of the container on his back spilling across the ground.

34

Martina heard someone moving around, but she didn’t want to open her eyes. Sleep was what she wanted, a place where she could pretend she was somewhere else. At school, perhaps, getting ready for the softball season. Or back home, helping her mother finish putting up the Christmas decorations. Or somewhere on the coast with Ben, finally spending enough time with him to solidify their relationship.

“Has anyone seen Laurie?” Mrs. Weber said.

Reluctantly, Martina opened her eyes and propped herself up on an elbow. Riley looked like she had just woken up, too, but both Pamela and Donny seemed to be still asleep. Laurie’s sleeping bag was empty.

Mrs. Weber was standing near the front door, frowning and clearly worried.

“Did you check the bathroom?” Riley asked.

“First place I looked,” her mother told her. “She’s not there. Her coat’s missing, too.”

“Her coat?” Riley sat up. “What time is it?”

“A little after six.”

The look on Riley’s face began to match her mother’s.

“Maybe she went for a walk,” Martina suggested.

“Laurie?” Riley said. “Are you kidding me? She doesn’t walk. And she would definitely not do it at six a.m.”

“She’s not in the house so she must be outside,” Mrs. Weber told them.

Donny rolled onto his stomach and covered his head with his pillow.

“Didn’t either of you hear her leave?” Mrs. Weber asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Riley said.

“Neither did I,” Martina added.

“I’m going to go check,” Mrs. Weber said.

Riley pushed herself off the floor. “I’ll do it, Mom.” She started pulling on her clothes.

“I’ll go, too,” Martina offered, grabbing her jeans off a nearby chair.

Mrs. Weber looked unsure at first. She glanced down at her long nightgown, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll go change and join you in a few minutes.”

The two girls quickly finished dressing and pulled on their winter gear. Since the sun had yet to rise, they flipped on the outside lights before leaving.

At some point during the night, the storm had moved on. What it left behind was over a foot of snow that covered the ground as far as they could see.

Riley was about to step off the porch when Martina grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Look,” Martina said, pointing at the ground in front of the porch. “No footprints.”

The snow surrounding the entrance was a flat, white surface. It would have been impossible for Laurie to go this way without leaving a mark.

“See, she must be inside somewhere,” Riley said.

“Or,” Martina said, “she could have used the back door.”

“Um, maybe,” Riley grudgingly admitted.

Since they were outside already, they started to walk around the house, but as they neared the Webers’ car, Martina noticed something. There were several small depressions in the snow close to the driver’s door. Footprints from the night before, she thought, the snow having almost filled them in.

She angled over for a better look. Even though they had been partially filled, it was strange that the depressions were still smaller than her own prints. So it wasn’t one of their dads she’d heard last night?

“What are you doing?” Riley said from the corner of the house. “Come on.”

Martina looked up and nodded. Before she said what she was starting to think, it would be best to check the back of the house. If Laurie’s prints were there, everything would be fine.

But everything wasn’t fine.

“See, I told you,” Riley said. “She’s inside.”

The snow outside the backdoor was as flat as it was out front.

“Come on,” Riley said, reaching for the door.

“Did you hear someone go out last night after we went to bed?” Martina asked.

Riley paused, then shook her head. “No.”

“I did. I thought it was either your dad or mine. Whoever it was went out to the car and turned on the radio, but I fell asleep so I didn’t hear anyone come back.”

Riley’s eyes widened. “Do you think it was Laurie?”

“I don’t know. That was around midnight.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Riley then grabbed the knob and tried to open the door. It was locked, so she had to pound on it until her mother answered.

Mrs. Weber pulled the door open a few seconds later, her coat half on. “Did you find her?”

Riley rushed past her. “Dad!” she yelled. “Dad!”

Martina came in right behind her.

“What is it?” Mrs. Weber called after them.

But the girls ignored her as they headed for the bedrooms. When Martina opened the door to her parents’ room, they looked up, obviously having been woken by Riley’s yelling.

“Is something wrong?” her mom asked.

“Dad, did you go out to the Webers’ car last night?” Martina asked.

“Why would I do that?”

“To listen to the radio.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Your mother and I went to bed the same time you did.”

Martina whipped around and looked over at Riley, who was staring back at her from the doorway to her parents’ room.

“He didn’t go out,” Martina said.

“Neither did my dad,” Riley said.

They walked in an ever-widening circle around the cabin, but there were no footprints or other signs of Laurie anywhere. It was like she had just vanished.

After a while, it was decided someone should take one of the cars and check along the road. Mr. Weber wanted to do that, but Martina’s dad used the argument that his car was the only one with chains. Martina suspected it was more than that. Mr. Weber was starting to show signs of panic, and letting him operate a car would have been a mistake.

Martina sat up front with her father, while Donny had the backseat to himself.

Keeping their speed slow, her dad headed down the snow-covered road. Martina watched to the right, while her brother scanned the area to the left.

They were getting close to the main paved road when Donny said, “What’s that?”

Their father took his foot off the gas and let the car roll to a stop.

There was a slight rise that started about twenty feet from the road on the driver’s side. Donny was pointing at something toward the top — a flash of color peeking out from behind a tree. Lavender, like the color of Laurie’s jacket.

Without waiting for the others, Martina threw open her door and ran around the car.

“Martina, hold on!” her father called out.

She ignored him and headed up the side of the ridge. When she reached the tree, she found Laurie there, sitting with her back to the trunk. The girl’s face had lost most of its color, and her lips were ashen gray.

“Laurie?” Martina said, shaking the girl’s shoulder.

For a second there was no response, then Laurie’s chin moved up a fraction of an inch. Her eyelids parted just enough so she could peer at Martina.

“Dad!” Martina called down the hill. “Dad, she’s here!” She looked back at Laurie. “It’s okay. We’ve found you. We’ll take you back and warm you up.”

“Home,” Laurie whispered. “I want to go home.”

Martina’s Dad blared the horn as they approached the cabin and pulled to a stop. Her mom and Mrs. Weber rushed outside as Martina and her father jumped out of the car.

“We found her,” Martina said, and helped her dad ease Laurie out of the backseat.

“Oh, my God,” Mrs. Weber said “Oh, my God!”

While they carried the girl to the house, Mr. Weber, Riley, and Pamela ran out of the woods from where they’d been searching.

“Laurie?” Riley said.

“Someone open the door,” Martina’s father ordered.

Martina’s mom ran around them and pushed the door out of the way. They took Laurie into the Webers’ bedroom, where Mrs. Weber and Martina’s mom stripped off her cold, wet clothes and covered her with blankets. Mrs. Weber asked everyone to leave the bedroom and let Laurie rest.

No one would admit it, but they had all thought they’d never see Laurie alive again. Instead, they just talked about how happy they were that they’d found her, and how they were sure she would be all right.

At one point, Martina heard a muffled cough from the Webers’ bedroom. She assumed it was Laurie, her system reacting to her ordeal.

She was wrong on both counts.

35

The conference room at NB219 had undergone a major overhaul in the last twelve hours. No longer was there a single monitor that needed to be split into sections when several people were on a video call. Now there were six monitors, all mounted to the wall, each capable of receiving a different feed.

The furniture had also been replaced with pieces Perez thought were more fitting for the new principal director’s temporary headquarters — an impressive black metal table and a dozen padded leather chairs, the largest of which he was sitting in at that very moment.

Four of the screens were active, each displaying the image of a different person looking out at him. Of the former leadership committee, only Dr. Lassiter was present. On the other three screens were Renée Girard, Richard Chang, and Dr. Ronald Fisher.

“For all intents and purposes, Europe is completely shut down,” Girard said. “Everyone has locked themselves inside. The only ones moving around are military and other government personnel.”

“It’s the same here in Hong Kong,” Chang said. “And throughout the rest of Asia. Borders are closed, but it’s an unnecessary step. No one wants to go anywhere.”

“Any reports of illness?” Perez asked.

“Yes,” Girard said. “It’s scattered, but growing.”

“Same thing here,” Chang replied.

“Dr. Fisher, are we still working on the same timeline?” Perez asked.

With those who’d been at Bluebird either dead or at least temporarily out of communication, Fisher became the head Project scientist. He had been on the team who worked on perfecting KV-27a.

“Yes,” the doctor said in his distinctive monotone. “Our latest tests of samples taken from dispersal points in various locations indicate the agent is working as planned. I would say reports of illness will no longer be ‘scattered’ by midnight.”

It was exactly as Perez hoped.

“Kind of ironic,” Dr. Lassiter said. “That it’ll basically hit tomorrow.”

“Not ironic at all,” Dr. Fisher told him. “I believe that was the plan.”

No one said anything for a few seconds, then Perez leaned forward. “All right. We’ll reconvene at midnight my time.”

As Perez reached for the keyboard to turn off the system, Dr. Lassiter said, “Merry Christmas, world.”

Perez paused for a moment before disconnecting the call.

36

It hadn’t been a simple matter to get Ash back to the Bunker. The only vehicles that hadn’t been wrecked in the attack on the Ranch were three motorcycles kept in the Bunker, and with Ash unconscious, there was no way he could be transported on one.

Lizzie Drexel’s vehicle was also not an option. It had been blown apart with everything else when the garage exploded.

The best they could do right away was get one of the motorcycles down the tunnel, muscle it up through the hatch, and send their only medic, Lily Franklin, out to do what she could. Ten minutes later they sent a second bike with two men, the one in back carrying a stretcher.

Once Lily had Ash as stabilized as she could get him, they loaded him onto the stretcher, and alternated between carrying him and pushing the motorbikes back to the Bunker.

Matt was at the end of the tunnel when they arrived.

“How is he?” he asked Lily as soon as she climbed down through the hatch.

“A broken arm. Ribs cracked. Undoubtedly a concussion. There might be some internal damage, too, but there’s not much I can do about that.” She took a breath. “We need to get somebody here who can handle that kind of thing.”

“Is he conscious yet?”

“No.”

Once they had maneuvered Ash through the hatch and into the Bunker, they took him straight to the medical area and transferred him to the bed next to Gagnon.

A moment or two later, footsteps pounded down the hall, skidding to a stop outside the door. A half second later, Josie rushed in.

Matt grabbed her around the shoulders. “Josie, you need to stand back.”

“Let me go!” She squirmed in his arms, trying to break free. “He’s my dad! Let me go!”

She twisted again, dropped down out of his grasp, and ran to the bed.

“Dad? Dad, can you hear me?”

Tentatively she touched her father’s shoulder and shook it.

“Dad, wake up.”

“He can’t,” Lily said. “I gave him something to keep him under.”

“Why?”

“If he wakes, he’d be in a lot of pain. It’s better if he rests now.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

Lily shot a worried glance at Matt before looking back at Josie. “We’re doing all we can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Matt stepped in next to them. “It’s the best answer she can give. You don’t want her to lie, do you?”

Looking dejected, Josie shook her head.

“You want to stay here with him?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” she said quickly.

He nodded toward a chair sitting against the wall, and one of the men brought it over. Josie sat down and slipped her hand into her father’s.

Matt waited a moment, then quietly left the room. With the exception of Lily, the others did the same. Once they were far enough away from Josie, Matt said, “I need a man on each bike to head out and find a doctor, preferably a surgeon, just in case.”

“I’ll go,” one man said.

“Me, too,” another offered.

The man beside him raised his hand. “And me.”

“No,” a new voice called out from down the hall. “I’ll be the third.”

Chloe was walking quickly toward them, the look on her face daring anyone to challenge her.

After the two bikes that had been used were refueled, and the third was lifted out of the Bunker, Chloe and the other two raced off.

Matt watched them until they disappeared. Then, instead of going back down into the tunnel, he walked over to the edge of the woods, and looked for the first time at the still smoldering hulk that had once been their headquarters.

A snowflake fell on the back of his hand, and another flew by his face, but he barely noticed. He stared at the remains of the Lodge, remembering all that had happened there, the good and the bad. It had been more than just a place to meet and make plans.

It had been his home.

But, as devastating as it was to see it this way, he knew the horrors that were about to come would be much worse.

37

The mood at the cabin is somber. Though they’ve been able to warm up Laurie, her pulse is still weak, and when she speaks it’s like she doesn’t know where she is. She needs a doctor.

While there may be one somewhere in the area, the only doctors they know about for sure are the ones down the mountain, back in Ridgecrest. But because of the snow, the drive would be dangerous at best, and quite possibly deadly.

Mr. Weber sees no choice, though. He can’t just sit and watch his daughter fade away.

Because the Gables’ car is the only one with chains, Martina’s father agrees to let him take it. At least this means those at the cabin will still have a radio.

Mrs. Weber wants to go, too, but her husband insists on her staying. Her sniffles are disguised by her tears. As much as she wants to believe she got out of Los Angeles without being exposed, it is just wishful thinking. Soon she will be too sick to get out of bed, and by then she won’t be the only one not feeling well.

But that is hours away. Now they all stand near the front door, watching Mr. Weber drive Laurie away.

No one says what they’re all thinking, that they wonder if the two will ever come back.

They won’t.

But Martina is the only one who will know that for sure.

Josie realizes the drug in her father’s system is supposed to keep him asleep. But his eyes have started to move under their lids, and every once in a while his body jerks one way or the other.

“Wake up,” she says, keeping her voice low so the woman who’s been taking care of him doesn’t hear her. “Come on, Dad. Wake up.”

But he remains unconscious, living through whatever dream is playing in his mind.

“Wake up, Dad,” she said one more time, knowing he won’t.

Chloe drives faster than she should in the falling snow, but she has finally reached the main highway, and can’t help but go as quickly as possible. Ash’s life is on the line, and she must do everything she can to save him.

It’s dark now, the gloomy day turning into an even gloomier night, making her task all the more difficult. But she keeps going.

At one point there is movement off to the side of the road, but she’s already past it by the time it registers and she can’t take a chance looking back. One wrong move and the bike could slip out from under her, which could mean a death sentence not only for her, but for Ash, too.

For half a second, she thinks she hears something, but it, too, is gone, and soon she forgets about both the noise and the movement as she continues racing down the highway.

Kusum is the one who ends up having to give everyone the shots. Because of his injuries, Sanjay is in no condition to do it himself. Besides, his only experience stems from the one shot he gave Kusum.

Still, he is part of the process. Each time a bottle of the vaccine runs dry, he removes a new one from his bag. This way, he is the only one who knows how few containers are left. Right from the start, he has Kusum give each person an amount that’s less than what he’d given her, hoping that will be enough to make the vaccine last.

Even then, the supply is dwindling faster than he would like. He knows if his mind were clearer, he would be able to figure out if there is going to be enough for everyone. But math is beyond him at the moment.

Kusum’s father is the last in line. When his turn finally comes, Sanjay breathes a sigh of relief. There are still two precious bottles left.

These, he shows Kusum. Her eyes widen at how close they have come to running out, but then she smiles and says, “Good. Then we still have some if others need it.”

Her words make him feel better until one of the children she has collected asks, “So now what do we do?”

Everyone looks at Sanjay. Even Kusum’s father seems anxious to hear his response.

He stares back at them, then says the only thing that comes to his mind. “We stay together, and we survive.”

It’s not a plan, or a course of action. It is merely words, no different than an advertising slogan meant to evoke an emotion in consumers.

But it seems to work. There are several scattered smiles, and a few nodding heads. And, at least for the moment, no one asks, “How do we do that?”

The day is growing short. Brandon can’t see the sun because of the clouds, but dimming light is enough to tell him that the sun is low on the horizon.

About two hours earlier, it had started to snow. He had walked in it for a while, but was getting too wet, so he moved into the trees just off the side of the road, and gathered enough branches to build a lean-to against a large trunk. It’s not perfect, but it is keeping most of the snow out.

Should he have stayed at the woman’s house? At least he had shelter there.

No. I did the right thing.

To warm up, he unravels his sleeping bag and crawls inside, but he remains sitting, his back against the tree.

Tomorrow he needs to find a house, or some kind of building, hopefully someplace with a phone that he can try to call the only number he knows — his father’s cell phone. He’s not sure if his father even has a signal where he is, but Brandon doesn’t know what else to do.

He doesn’t even realize he nodded off until the noise wakes him. It’s the sound of a high-pitched engine. Given the weather — it’s still snowing — he wonders if it might be a snowmobile, not knowing that the thin cover that has fallen so far is not enough for one of the machines to operate on.

It seems to be coming from somewhere down the road. After another few seconds, he realizes it’s heading in his direction. He unzips his bag and tries to pull himself out, but his foot gets tangled in the bottom. He twists it around until it finally comes free, then shoves his feet into his shoes and stumbles through the darkness toward the highway.

After a whole day of not seeing anyone, he is no longer worried about who he might run into. He needs help. He needs to find someone, anyone.

The delay at the sleeping bag causes him to arrive at the road just seconds before the snowmobile passes. He sees the single headlight and starts waving. As it goes by, he realizes it’s not a snowmobile at all, but a motorcycle.

“Hey!” he yells, already knowing his voice will be drowned out. “Hey!”

But the red taillight recedes at the same speed the headlight came toward him.

Brandon rushes to the center of the road and jumps up and down. “Hey! Hey! Come back!”

The motorcycle continues on, and soon the light and the sound of the engine fade to nothing.

In his dream Ash is playing catch again. The air is springtime warm, and on its breeze the smell of barbecue.

Brandon arcs the ball into the air, and Ash takes a few steps back so that it’ll land right in his mitt, but he stumbles as he catches it, and falls onto the grass.

His son breaks out into hysterics, doubling over in laughter.

On the porch in front of the house — a house that kind of looks like the one they had in Barstow — Josie, book in hand, is also laughing.

He always loves it when she laughs. It reminds him of Ellen, his wife.

Just as he thinks this, Ellen walks outside carrying a plate of brownies. Never mind that she’s been dead nearly nine months. She’s here now.

“They’re still hot. Who wants one?” she calls out.

“I do!” Brandon said.

Josie looks up. “Me, too.”

“How about you, sweetheart?” Ellen says, looking directly at Ash. “I know they’re your favorite.”

They are indeed. No one can make a brownie like Ellen can.

“Get up,” Josie says to him. “Come on, Dad. Wake up.”

The room is many rooms. The locations, too numerous to count.

Lit or dark, it doesn’t matter.

The only thing important is the sound of the cough.