Colony East (20 page)

Finally, Dawson lifted his chin and pulled his shoulders back. “Are the scientists close to developing an antibiotic?”

Her eyes brightened a bit. “They’re running three trials now. Droznin told me that one antibiotic looks very promising.”

He quietly pumped his fist. “Yes. Did she mention Lily?” A sudden wave of guilt washed over him. He had just learned about a large swath of the planet ravaged by a new germ and survivors killing survivors, yet his concern focused on one cadet; one girl in a million who was being taken care of by some of the smartest scientists in the world. That’s how the brain copes, he told himself. When the scope of the devastation was incomprehensible, you needed to reduce it to a single person. Lily was his face of AHA-B.

Sandy nodded. “Doctor Droznin told me that all the test subjects are still alive.”

Test subjects.
The sterile, scientific phrase burned a hole in his gut. Even so, he was overall thankful they were all alive. Lily was alive. He clenched his jaw and repeated to himself that Sarah was alive, too.

“Mark, there’s something else they’re not telling us now. They don’t want to cause panic.” Dawson braced for the next round of bad news, something he had become quite accomplished at doing. “The number of cases north of the West Indies is relatively small. The germs came here in the air currents in the upper atmosphere. It was just a fluke that Lily and Max became exposed. But that’s going to change when hurricane season arrives.”

Dawson’s heart stopped. Every sailor knew that hurricanes formed near the equator. In the Atlantic Ocean, they started as seedlings off the coast of Africa. A single storm born in the tropics, he realized, would suck up the mutated bacteria and blanket the germs over the United States.

“Hurricane season officially starts June first,” he said. “That’s two weeks away, but the first storms usually don’t hit us until September, sometimes later. That gives us two or three months. What can we do?”

Sandy reached out and squeezed his hand. “Pray the scientists find the right antibiotic.”

AHA-B

CHAPTER ONE
DC Trading Zone

Jordan felt like he was inhaling swamp water with every breath. Not even Miami had been this stifling.

Longing for cool, Castine Island fog, he squinted at the Washington Monument. It rose like a white shadow in the blinding haze. Someone had decorated the spire by pouring a bucket of purple paint from the observation area at the peak.

Sheets of sweat streamed down his forehead and stung his eyes. “This has to be the biggest zone we’ve visited.”

“And the hottest,” Monty chirped.

“Compared to the last time we were here it’s a ghost town,” said Jenny, the captain of the
Lucky Me
. After spending six weeks together in cramped quarters, Jordan and the captain were now on a first name basis. He and the entire crew were family.

For the past hour, Jordan, Monty, and Jenny had been camped on the grass next to the Lincoln Memorial, awaiting the trading delegation from the White House Gang.

“Where is everyone?” Jordan asked, meaning traders and shoppers. About a third of the people wore germ masks.

“The Pig,” Monty whispered, his eyes going wide.

Jordan punched Monty in the arm. “The fear of Pig is spreading faster than the germs.”

Monty punched him back. “Are you afraid?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Last time we were here,” Jenny said, “the traders gave us iced tea.”

Monty closed his eyes as if closing his eyes could shade the blistering heat from his brain. “If you knew someone had the Pig, and they drank from a bottle of cold iced tea, would you drink from the bottle?”

“No,” Jenny and Jordan said at the same time.

Monty licked his lips. “I would.”

“Mind if I do the deal?” Jordan asked Jenny. He knew it might be his last chance to lead a trading session. He had not yet told them he planned to leave
Lucky Me
once they returned to Castine Island.

Jenny smiled. “Think you’re ready?”

“After watching you?” He gave her a big nod.

“Here’s what you should know. After the night of the purple moon, the White House Gang found a large warehouse with canned goods and freeze-dried foods. They eat well.” She pointed out a chubby trader. “He’s probably an associate.”

“Or has the Pig,” Monty interjected.

Jenny ignored the comment. “Whatever you do, don’t mention that our friend came from Colony East. Otherwise, they’ll have a million questions and we’ll be here all night.”

Monty punched Jordan in the arm. “Listen to the captain.”

Jordan punched him back. “C’mon, they’ll invite us to the White House. Do you want to sleep in the West Wing or in the Lincoln Bedroom?”

“Only if they have air conditioning and iced tea.”

They agreed not to mention Colony East. Fifteen minutes later, the crowd parted as the delegation of three kids appeared: a girl with red dreadlocks, a skinny boy, and a boy with muscular arms. They appeared to be fourteen or fifteen years old, but it was hard to tell since they were wearing germ masks. Dreadlocks led a dog, part pit bull terrier, part something equally menacing. Jordan eyed the rope leash, hoping it was strong. Skinny Boy held a beach umbrella under his arm, and Biceps carried a backpack, likely containing payment for the news they were about to receive.

Dreadlocks greeted Jenny and introductions followed. Dreadlocks was Low, Skinny Boy was Single Cell, and the one with the muscular arms, Bombie.

Single Cell pitched the umbrella, and the delegation, along with the dog, sat in the shade. Jenny waved for Jordan to begin.

“We’ve sailed from Maine to Florida.” Jordan listed all the trading zones they had visited. “In North Carolina, drought wiped out most of the corn and potato crops.”

Low held up her hand. “We’re only interested in two things today: our competition and what you’ve heard about the Pig.”

Jordan jumped ahead to their only news on gangs. “A tank at a fuel depot exploded in Charleston, South Carolina. We saw black smoke on the horizon. It took us all day to reach port. By the time we got there, the fire had burned out. One witness told us the Grits were responsible.”

Single Cell lifted his eyebrows. “Grits?”

Jordan explained that three motorcycle gangs in Georgia had combined forces and the new super gang called themselves ‘Grits.’

The delegation members eyed each other with concern. Low addressed her companions. Then she asked Jordan, “Did they use guns?”

Jordan shrugged. “The witness didn’t say anything about guns.”

Several traders inched closer to eavesdrop. Bombie shot them a dirty look and they moved back in a hurry.

Jordan paused to see if they had more questions about the Grits before he moved on to the next topic. They didn’t.

“At every zone, we’ve heard about kids dying from the Pig,” he said. “There were a few cases in New Jersey and one in Delaware, but most of the cases are south of here. Miami had more than fifty cases. The total number is seventy-two. The kids were all ages. Forty of them died from the illness. Seven died from getting beat up after they tried to steal food.”

Low scratched the dog behind the ear. “Add fifteen from here.”

Jenny asked for clarification.

“Ten died from a fever. We chased five away. I don’t know what happened to them.”

Jordan’s stomach knotted, thinking that the faster they wrapped up the session and sailed away the better. A crowded trading zone seemed like a breeding ground for the Pig. “Ready for the big event?”

Low, Single Cell, and Bombie all leaned forward.

Jordan took a snort of soggy air and began, “In Atlanta, adults in hazmat suits were looking for kids who had the Pig.”

“Why?” Bombie blurted.

Jenny jumped in. “Several witnesses saw them take two kids away in a van.” She should have held her comment until Jordan, the lead negotiator, had finished, but he didn’t mind. Jenny caught herself and nudged Jordan. “Sorry.”

Nodding that he was fine with the interruption, he continued, “There’s no way to know why they took the kids. One witness told us the adults wanted to find a cure for Pig, but that was just a guess on her part.”

“I hope they do a better job of passing out pills than last time,” Single Cell remarked.

Bombie flexed his right arm. “This time, we have guns. The line to the airport won’t be long for us.”

“When are you coming back to the DC Zone?” Low asked.

Jordan gestured to Jenny and she replied they planned to return in three or four months.

The delegation stood. Bombie left his pack on the grass. Single Cell uprooted and collapsed the umbrellas. Then the crowd magically parted and the three of them and their dog headed back to the White House.

“Nice job,” Jenny told Jordan. “You do the honors.”

He reached into the pack. “It’s cold,” he cried to Monty. “I think it’s iced tea!”

“Oh my God,” Monty exclaimed.

“Not,” Jordan smirked. Before Monty could punch him, he lifted out the next best thing. A pack of germ masks.

CHAPTER TWO
Castine Island

Biting her lip to hold back tears, Abby gently stroked Touk. A layer of fat covered her sister’s once knobby elbows and bony arms. Toucan’s cheeks had filled out too. Because of her appetite, she had gained twenty-five pounds over the past month.

The flickering light from the lantern next to the bed showed she had opened her eyes a crack. “Want some water,” Abby whispered, fearing dehydration.

Toucan lolled her head on the pillow. “French fries.”

Abby ran her fingers through Touk’s curls, parting the damp hair to feel heat radiating off her scalp. “Touk, you’ve had enough to eat for now.”

Her sister mumbled something, and Abby deciphered that she wanted chocolate. She picked up the glass of water from the table and held it before Toucan. “You need to drink.”

She thrashed her arms. “Chocolate.”

Abby gritted her teeth, knowing she might have to restrain Toucan for her own safety. When Toucan continued flailing and shouting for french fries, Abby took her by the wrists and held her arms firmly against her body. Despite her fever, Touk found an untapped source of strength and struggled to break free. Abby pushed down harder, seeing a crazed look in her sister’s eyes that frightened her. She wrapped her arms all the way around Touk and hugged her tightly until their accelerating heartbeats reached a peak and then started to slow.

“Just rest,” Abby whispered and eased her grip as Toucan stopped fighting. “Try to sleep. We’ll be leaving in the morning.” She let go when Toucan finally settled.

Doubts wafted through Abby’s mind for the hundredth time. Questioning her decision to take Toucan to Colony East, she squeezed the blanket until her fist cramped. There were so many unknowns. Did the danger of traveling on the mainland outweigh the risk of Pig? Touk’s fever might break. Abby had seen kids with high fevers, lying in bed one minute and playing outdoors the next. But those kids had a cold or the flu.

And if they reached Colony East, could they get inside? The odds were against them, but Abby worried that if they did nothing, the chances of Toucan dying were greater.

At the foot of the bed, Cat licked her paw. Counting Cat, it was just the three of them in the house. Mel had moved out three weeks ago, offering a lame excuse. “Abby, I’m going to stay with Derek. I’ll have a bedroom with a good view of the water. I’ll be able to spot gypsies better.”

Abby couldn’t blame her friend. The fear of Pig had the island firmly in its grip. When kids walked by the house, they moved to the other side of the street as if the germs might jump through the wall.

After Mel left, Abby arranged for Timmy and Danny to move in with Eddie. The boys needed constant supervision and she had her hands full.

Only one person had stood by them the whole time. Toby brought them food and water. He arranged for Eddie to take them to Portland in the whaler, and he told Abby he was working on a way to get them from Portland to Colony East. She didn’t know what they would have done without him.

When Touk kicked into a rhythm of steady breathing, Abby grabbed the lantern and went downstairs. Gusts buffeted the window, and she expected rain soon as a storm moved in. She’d been checking the barometer as much as Jordan would have. The pressure was dropping. Not an ideal time to cross the strait to the mainland, but with her sister’s condition worsening, they couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

In the kitchen, she sat at the table with pen and paper. If something happened to her or Touk, she worried that guilt would eat Jordan alive.

Going with the gypsies was the best thing you ever did. We are so proud of you. Love, Abby and Touk.

When Jordan returned to the island, Eddie would fill him in. By that time, maybe she and Touk and Toby would have returned. They’d have stories to tell about their adventure visiting the adults of Colony East. And if they never returned, Abby hoped her note might help her brother find peace.

CHAPTER THREE
Colony East

Lieutenant Dawson waited for Sandy to join him in the officer’s mess. “I have good news,” he had told her on their walk to Grand Central Station, but he wanted to wait until the voices of two-hundred chattering cadets ensured privacy. She had shown little interest. In fact, she had hardly spoken a word.

Sandy arrived at the table with a distant look in her eyes. Adding to his concern, she only had a small wedge of melon on her plate. Doctor Perkins had given a lecture to the colony’s officers on depression. “The stomach is a beacon,” he’d said. “If the brain’s neurotransmitters convey a sensation of apathy and sadness, the beacon dims. A lack of appetite is quite often the first sign of depression.”

Dawson’s plate, heaped with boiled potatoes, poached eggs, and sausages, indicated that his beacon was burning brightly. He could hardly contain himself. “Want to hear my good news now?” He waited for her to snap out of her trance. “I spoke to Colonel Murray. He flies C5 transports and is one of our best pilots. He told me he’s getting a new assignment. He’ll be making daily flights to the tropics to collect weather data.”