Generation M (28 page)

“Who’s the cavalry?” Murphy asked.

“I thought you might know,” Dawson said grimly. “If it looks like we can’t hold the plant, I’ll show you a way out through an outfall pipe. It leads to a storm drain near the perimeter.”

Sandy shook her head in determination. “I’m ready to do whatever it takes to give the kids outside the colonies a chance. No matter what happens, I’m staying.”

“Count me in,” Ensign Royce said.

Doctor Levine raised a finger. “Make pills or bust.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Murphy said.

“We’re wasting time,” Droznin said. “Let’s get started.”

Abby, hanging her head, looked dejected. Dawson understood that Toby’s absence and Maggie’s disappearance was on her mind. If a silver lining existed, it was that Abby looked a hundred times better than the last time he had seen her. The pills were finally working.

He put his hand on Abby’s shoulder and jostled her. “Hey, Toby’s a survivor, and Maggie’s the bravest pilot ever.”

Abby stared through him, saying nothing.

“Abigail, I need you to help me,” Droznin said.

The huddle of scientists had broken, and Sandy, Doctor Levine, and Ensign Royce started to assess the equipment near the end of the plant.

Abby and Droznin, the most unlikely of pairs, headed toward the opposite end of the plant.

That left Dawson alone with Petty Officer Murphy.

“Looks like we’re the defense team,” he said. “How well do you know Mathews?”

Murphy shook her head. “Hardly at all. When we moved to the bunker, she confiscated our weapons.”

“Does she have anyone on her side?” Dawson asked.

“Maybe Ensign Beecham and Ensign Ryan. I’ve seen them eating together and speaking in low voices.”

“What can you tell me about the ensigns? They might be the weak links.”

“I served with Ryan on the
Alabama
. He’s a communications specialist. Beecham handles security and video surveillance at Atlanta Colony.”

Dawson pointed out their arsenal. “A fire extinguisher isn’t much of a weapon against assault rifles, but it’s all we have.”

“What about the Humvee?” Murphy asked. “We can pack it with all the C4 you found. If Mathews shows up, I can drive at her. If she detonates the C4, maybe I’ll be lucky enough to be close to her. Otherwise, I’ll run them all down.”

What the Petty Office described was a suicide mission, one that had a very small chance of success.

“I’ll be the driver,” he said.

“It was my idea, Lieutenant.”

“Give me the key. That’s an order.”

“Mark,” Sandy called. She waved frantically and pointed to her two-way radio.

He rushed to her side.

“Doctor Hedrick.” Perkins’s voice crackled over the radio. “Doctor Hedrick.”

“Ignore him,” Dawson said.

“We know you are inside,” Perkins said. “Let’s talk. We’ve all been under a great deal of stress. It’s time to return to the bunker and focus on Generation M to end this foolishness. Is Lieutenant Dawson with you? How about the Leigh girl? I will personally guarantee the safety of every scientist and medical officer. Doctor Hedrick, I’m a patient man. You know that. Do you remember Toby Jones from Colony East? He entered the colony under false pretenses. We have him.”

Dawson’s blood turned cold.

“You’re probably thinking this is a ruse,” Doctor Perkins said. “Young man, say something.”

They heard Toby cursing.

Dawson grabbed the radio. “Perkins, this is Dawson.”

“Welcome to Atlanta, Lieutenant. I’ll turn things over to your fellow officer, Captain Mathews.”

“Dawson, I want you outside. Alone. Thirty seconds, or the boy is dead.”

Abby noticed a commotion at the other end of the plant. Mark and Murph were taking apart the barricade by the door. Then Mark stepped outside, and Murph closed the door behind him and began reconstructing the barricade.

Sandy, Doctor Levine, and Ensign Royce continued to work on the plant’s equipment as Doctor Droznin had told them to do. Seeing the adults so focused on their tasks eased Abby’s fears for Mark. If there were trouble outside, they would be acting differently.

Abby craned her neck, looking all around. Studying the building and equipment helped take her mind off Toby. The plant, a place where purple beer had been brewed in honor of the approaching comet, was as big as a football stadium.

“Abigail, press the green button,” Doctor Droznin said. The scientist stood nearby at a console with hundreds of buttons and knobs.

Abby stepped up to the large robotic arm twice her height and pressed the green button at its base.

“Back up,” the scientist told her.

Abby moved out of harm’s way as the robotic arm straightened, bent, swiveled, and twisted, as if doing warm-up exercises.

Doctor Droznin tested the equipment, making sure that everything worked.

Abby’s mind wandered to Toby and feelings of fear and helplessness twisted her stomach into knots. She could only think about him.

“What does that big arm do?” she asked.

The scientist kept her eyes on the console. “Mixes live bacteria with an emulsifier powder.”

“That thing is a giant mixer?”

Doctor Droznin, annoyed by the interruption, looked up. “I need to concentrate.”

One of her crutches, leaning against the console, fell to the floor, and Abby jumped to pick it up.

When she bent down, something caught her eye. About thirty meters away, resting on top of a pipe along the wall, was a small, round, white object. Abby set the crutch next to its mate and moved to the robotic arm for a closer look. She got on her hands and knees and placed her cheek inches from the floor. Between her and the object was a rat maze of pipes and wires, but through a sliver of open space, she saw that the object resembled Mark’s description of the explosive, C4. “Doctor Droznin, come here.”

“Press the green button again,” Droznin said in an agitated tone.

“You have to see this,” Abby cried.

Droznin’s brow crinkled. “Is it important?”

“Hurry, please.”

When the scientist was beside her, Abby pointed. “That white thing against the wall, what is it?”

Doctor Droznin took off her glasses and squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

Abby kept pointing, but Doctor Droznin’s eyesight was poor. “It sort of looks like C4,” Abby said.

Droznin shook her head. “Way back there? Impossible. How would Mathews have put it there?”

Abby shrugged. It was a good question. It was unlikely Mathews had lowered herself from the ceiling, and it would have been impossible for her to crawl beneath the equipment; she was too big. The space between the floor and the equipment measured less than two feet. Even if Mathews had tried to worm through on her stomach, a forest of vertical steel posts, all part of the equipment, would have blocked her. The robotic arm was about ten feet tall, and the rest of the equipment was that height or higher, making it very unlikely that she had climbed over the equipment.

Abby’s blood turned cold. “What if she threw it, like a ball?”

Droznin nodded slowly. “Dawson should check it out.”

“He left the building,” Abby said.

The scientist frowned. “When?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“All right. Get Petty Officer Murphy.”

Abby dropped to her stomach and started worming her way beneath the equipment. None of the adults could make it all the way to the far wall, so Abby would retrieve the object for them.

“What are you doing?” Doctor Droznin asked.

Abby kept going. “Murph can’t squeeze through here.”

The scientist awkwardly lowered herself to the floor, laid on her side, and tried to grab Abby’s foot. Abby wiggled beyond her reach just in time. Doctor Droznin spoke in Russian, in a tone that led Abby to believe she was extremely upset.

Abby used her elbows to inch her way forward. “Whatever it is, we need to get it. I’m the smallest one.”

“Doctor Hedrick and Doctor Levine might have a better idea. Abigail, come back,” Doctor Droznin snapped.

Navigating the maze was difficult, and with Doctor Droznin yelling at her, it was even harder. “Please be quiet,” Abby said. “I’m going to get it.”

Doctor Droznin sighed in resignation.

“Keep talking to me. I want to know that you are all right.” Her tone was one of concern with a dash of fear.

Abby groaned in frustration when the back of her shirt caught on something. She reversed direction until she was free.

If she were on her back, she could avoid such hang-ups. As she rolled over, her hipbone scraped against the bottom of a machine and almost got stuck, but she completed the turn.

That solved the problem of snagged clothing — her hands were free in case she got caught up again — but it meant she moved more slowly, and she couldn’t see where she was going.

She kept bumping her head and shoulders against vertical pipes. The only way to go around them was to bend her arms and legs and contort her body. She pretended she was playing Twister, a game where someone spun a needle and a player had to put a hand or foot on the color the needle stopped on. If you tumbled over, you lost. The longer the game lasted, the more contorted the players became. She was the Leigh-family champ, beating Jordan nine times out of ten.

After making good progress, she paused to catch her breath. Layer and layer of intricate piping and wires ran straight above her. She ended her rest when she imagined the destruction an explosion would cause to the delicate equipment.

“How are you doing?” Doctor Droznin called.

“I’m almost there.”

It was true. She must have been within ten feet of the object, but she didn’t tell Doctor Droznin that it could take her another thirty minutes.

Mathews stood forty meters from the plant, gripping Toby by the scruff of his neck. With her were Doctor Perkins and two ensigns. As Dawson approached the group, Mathews leveled her M-16 assault rifle at him and barked, “Lift your pant legs.”

Dawson did as she requested, lifting them one at a time. He noted she and the ensigns wore bulletproof vests, and he spotted a remote detonator and walkie-talkie clipped to Mathews’s belt.

“Pockets.” She waved the rifle’s barrel.

Dawson turned his pockets inside out.

“Hands up. Turn around.”

Dawson raised his hands and slowly turned around.

“Pat him down.”

An ensign patted Dawson’s legs, his backside, and his chest.

“Beecham or Ryan?” Dawson asked.

“Shut up,” Mathews commanded.

“He’s clean,” the ensign told her.

Knowing that Toby had a defiant streak, Dawson was especially concerned for his safety. Toby glared at Mathews.

“You have me,” Dawson said. “Let the boy go.”

“Two birds in the hand are better than one,” Doctor Perkins said in a singsong tone.

The scientist appeared to be his unflappable self. Under his lab coat, he wore a pink shirt and green bowtie. He could have passed for a college professor on his way to deliver a lecture.

“I’m impressed with your ingenuity, Lieutenant,” Perkins continued. “How were you able to override the CDC’s station signal?”

What was Perkins talking about? Dawson stared back at the scientist, hoping he’d learn more.

“Very well, I love mysteries,” Perkins said.

Toby muttered a curse at Mathews.

In response, quick as a lizard, Mathews swung the butt of the gun around, stopping just short of Toby’s ear, and then smiled.

She was sending both Toby and Dawson a message. She could crack Toby’s skull like an eggshell in the blink of an eye.

Dawson shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to leap if any harm came to Toby.

Toby cursed again, and Mathews’s cheeks flushed red.

“Captain,” Perkins said, “let’s see if Lieutenant Dawson can talk some sense into Doctor Hedrick and the others. Hand him the radio.”

With a sneer, Mathews unclipped the radio from her belt and placed it on the ground. Then she grabbed Toby’s ear and yanked him back several steps.

Having his ear almost ripped off must have hurt, but Toby remained silent.

Dawson picked up the radio and brought it to his lips. Pretending to push the button, he said, “Doctor Hedrick, this is Lieutenant Dawson, over. Doctor Hedrick, come in.”

After a moment, he held the radio by his side and pressed the button that would allow Sandy to hear what he was saying. “Doctor Hedrick, Doctor Droznin, Doctor Levine, and others are apparently choosing to stay inside the plant. They’ve decided they no longer want to follow the warped ideas of Doctor Perkins, who is about to become the greatest mass murderer in human history. It’s not too late to help the hundreds of thousands of survivors.” Dawson eyed the ensigns, who he believed might crack under pressure first.

Mathews trained her weapon at Dawson’s chest. “Doctor Perkins, do I have your permission to fire?”

On her back, slick with sweat of her own making, Abby inched along the polished cement floor. Perspiration soaked her clothing and plastered her hair to her face. She’d given up trying to spit the strands out of her mouth.

“Are you close?” Doctor Droznin called.

“Yes.”

“How close?”

Even with her head tilted back as far as it would go and her eyes rolled back, Abby couldn’t see the wall.

Above her, coils and loops and lengths of silver-colored and copper tubing, all intermingled with wiring, connected to more of the same.

A wave of claustrophobia washed through her and panicking, she felt her throat close up, which made her panic more.

“Abigail, are you there yet?”

Abby gritted her teeth and resumed her snail’s journey.

“Abigail, answer me.”

After a few inches of progress, Abby again arched her neck and rolled her eyes back in their sockets. Seeing the wall for the first time gave her a burst of courage.

“I’m almost there,” she cried.

She lengthened her right side, then the left, using her shoulder blades for purchase, and moved in a rhythm similar to rowing.

She groaned when the crown of her head struck another a metal post. Wrapping her right hand around the post, she pulled and guided her head past it, protecting her ear. To search for other posts, she stretched out her other arm and finally touched the wall.