Plague (13 page)

“How long have you been here?” Sam asked impatiently.

It was Jack who answered. “A little more than a year. The start date for subject 1-01 was several months before the FAYZ.”

Sam thought it over for a few seconds. Wondering what to do. He couldn’t just dump the kid and walk away. Could he? Especially after he’d impatiently burned Spidey.

On the other hand, the very last thing he needed was another person to keep track of. And it didn’t look like this kid was going anywhere. Sam could always pick him up later. And in any case, if they found the lake then the whole town would probably be moving, and they’d pass this way again.

“Listen, Toto, I’m going to pretend you’re not completely crazy. I’m going to leave it up to you. So you either come with us and start acting at least a little bit normal, or you stay here. Your choice.”

Toto kept glancing back at the brown and black magma that had been the Styrofoam head. But in between he looked at Sam and Dekka and even Jack.

“What do you have to eat?” Toto asked.

“Dried fish. Cabbage. Artichokes.”

To Sam’s amazement Toto literally licked his lips. “You have some other things, too, but you don’t want to share. That’s okay. I’ve only had Nutella. Ever since.”

“You must have a whole lot of Nutella,” Dekka said, unable to conceal her greedy hope.

“Yes.”

“Show us,” Sam said. “Show us what you’ve got. Then we’ll go find this lake.”

Sam led the way outside. Jack and Dekka fell in beside him. “They knew, didn’t they?” he asked Jack.

Jack still had a fistful of papers scooped up from one of the desks.

“Yes,” Jack said, still fascinated, reading through printed sheets of data as he walked. “I don’t think they knew what, or knew what was causing it. But they knew.”

“What did they know?” Dekka asked.

“Whoever was running this place,” Sam said angrily. “They knew something was going on with kids in Perdido Beach.”

Jack caught up to him, grabbed his shoulder, and handed him a piece of paper. “A list of names.”

Sam’s eyes went directly to his own name, third on a list of five names. “Toto, Darla, me, Caine, and Taylor.” He shoved the paper angrily back at Jack. “Not all of the freaks, but some of us, anyway.”

He didn’t know what to say or think. It made him angry, but he didn’t even know why it should. Of course they would want to learn about kids who suddenly developed supernatural powers.

And of course they would want to keep it secret.

But still it made him angry and uneasy. “This means they know. People on the outside, they’ve been able to guess some of what happened.”

“The real data are on those computers,” Jack said. “This printout is just a small file. If the power was back on . . .”

Sam glared at the barrier near at hand. And wondered, not for the first time, what kind of welcome they would get if that barrier ever came down.

TOTO
LED THEM from the facility to the train.

It was farther than Sam had thought. It had been a trick of perspective in the desert emptiness that had made the train seem to be right beside the building. In fact, they were a ten-minute walk away.

There were two yellow and black Union Pacific diesel engines. Both still stood upright on the track.

Behind the engines was a rust-colored boxcar, also still on the track.

Behind these came a jumbled mess. There were seven derailed flatbed railcars. Each had spilled two containers— massive steel rectangles—onto the dirt and stunted bushes.

At the far end, the barrier had sliced a boxcar in half. The barrier had snapped into place, bisecting the burnt-orange boxcar, and the sudden shift must have derailed the other cars.

But Sam, Dekka, and Jack were not very interested in such speculation. Dozens of plastic-wrapped pallets had been flung across the tracks and the ground, spilled from the sliced-open boxcar.

Each of the pallets was piled high with flats of Nutella.

“That’s, like, hundreds and hundreds of jars,” Sam said.

“Thousands,” Jack said. “Thousands. We’re . . . we’re rich.”

If each jar had been a giant diamond, Sam would still have preferred the Nutella.

“This is the greatest discovery in the history of the FAYZ,” Dekka said, sounding like she was witnessing a miracle.

“What is a phase? What do they mean by phase?” Toto asked.

“FAYZ. Fallout Alley Youth Zone,” Sam said distractedly. “It’s supposed to be funny. Dude: what’s in the rest of these containers?”

Toto looked uncomfortable. He squirmed so much he looked like he was dancing. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Are you lying?” Dekka demanded sharply.

“No lies,” Toto said, eyes flashing. “I’m Toto the truth teller, subject 1-01. Not Toto the liar.”

“Then what are you saying? You never looked in any of these containers? There’s fourteen containers. Plus that first boxcar. What do you mean you don’t know?” Dekka found it outrageous.

Toto did his squirmy dance again. “I couldn’t get them open. They’re locked. And they’re steel. I hit them with chairs, but they wouldn’t open.”

Sam, Dekka, and Jack all stared at the strange boy.

Then they stared at the containers.

Then they stared at one another.

“Well,” Sam said, “I do believe we can get them open.”

Approximately eight seconds later Sam had burned the lock from the nearest container. Jack then pushed the door open.

The contents of the container were wrapped in plastic but still unmistakable.

“Toilets?” Dekka said.

Many of the porcelain fixtures were cracked from derailing, the shards held in place by the shrink-wrap.

A second container revealed more toilets.

The third container held what had to be thousands of medium-sized cartons. The cartons contained baseball caps. Dodgers caps.

“One size fits all,” Dekka said, disgustedly. “But I’m an Angels fan.”

“This is going to take us a while to go through everything,” Sam said. “But I think it’s probably worth it.”

The fourth held wicker lawn furniture.

“Or not,” Sam said, disgusted.

The fifth container was wicker flowerpots and cracked terra-cotta pots as well as two pallets of plaster yard pretties: cherubs, gnomes, and the Virgin Mary.

The sixth was house paint and deck stain.

The seventh was better, a mixed load, pallets of shrimp-flavored Cup-a-Noodles, chicken-flavored ramen, coffee filters and coffee makers, and boxes of mixed teas.

“I wish I’d had some of those noodles,” Toto said wistfully. “It would have been nice to have noodles.”

“Noodles are fine,” Sam agreed.

“I wouldn’t say no to some noodles,” Jack said.

“True, true statement! He would not say no to noodles,” Toto babbled.

The eighth container was empty. Nothing.

The ninth was two big pieces of industrial machinery. “Whatchamacallits,” Jack said. He searched for the words. “You know. Like industrial lathes or whatever.”

“Yeah, great,” Dekka said. “All we need is two hundred and twenty volts and we can set up a machine shop.”

Sam was starting to feel anxious. Nutella and noodles were fine. Great, in fact. Miraculous. But he’d been hoping for more food, more water, more medicine, something. It was absurdly like Christmas morning when he was little: hoping for something he couldn’t even put a name to. A game-changer. Something . . . amazing.

When Jack opened the tenth container he just stood, staring.

Sam said, “Okay, what is it?”

No answer.

Sam leaned over Jack’s shoulders to look. Pallet after pallet of heavy cartons. Each carton was emblazoned with the Apple logo.

“Computers?” Sam wondered. “Or iPods?” Neither would be of any use.

At last Jack moved. He rushed to the nearest pallet, then hesitated. He carefully wiped his hands on his pants. Then he tore away the shrink-wrap and gently, cautiously, opened the first carton.

It was with trembling fingers that he lifted out a white box. On the box was a photo of a laptop.

“That would be great if we had internet,” Sam said. “Or electricity.”

“They ship them fully charged,” Jack snapped, angry at Sam’s interruption. Like Sam had started talking in church. “It’s been so long but . . . but they may still have some charge.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “So you can play some games. Let’s move on to the next—”

“No!” Jack cried, his voice somewhere between anguish and rapture. “No. I have to . . . I have to see.”

He spent five full minutes carefully opening the box, lifting out Styrofoam packing pieces like they were fragile works of art.

It was like watching some unfamiliar but profound religious ritual. Sam found it almost moving. He’d never seen Jack so emotional.

He picked patiently at the small piece of tape that held the laptop’s thin foam sheath in place.

And finally he held up the silver laptop as if holding a baby in his trembling hands.

He turned it over. By now the suspense was even getting to Sam.

Jack closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, turned the laptop over, and pressed the battery indicator light. Two tiny green lights blazed.

“Two!” Jack exulted. “Two! I was afraid it’d be one blinking light.” Then, in a whisper. “Two. That’s maybe an hour and a half. Maybe two hours even.”

“Dude. Are you crying?”

Jack wiped his eyes. “No. Jeez.”

“He’s lying, he’s crying,” Toto called out unhelpfully.

“You need some time?” Sam asked. He doubted any power on earth could convince Jack to move on yet.

Jack nodded.

“Okay. Dekka and I will get the next one.”

The eleventh container was more lawn furniture.

The twelfth container was filled from bottom to top with the greatest sight Sam and Dekka had ever seen in their lives.

This time it was they who stood, awestruck. Overcome by emotion.

There was no mistaking that logo.

“Can you put Pepsi in Cup-a-Noodles?” Dekka wondered.

They leaped at the shrink-wrapped pallets and ripped cans free.

Crack psst!

Crack psst!

Crack psst!

The sound that had not been heard in the FAYZ for months was heard once again. Pop-tops were popped, and Sam, Dekka, and Toto drank deep.

“Oh,” Dekka said.

“So good,” Toto said.

“It’s . . . It’s like life is all right again. Like the universe has finally decided to smile at us,” Sam said with a huge smile.

Burp.

“Oh, yeah,” Dekka said. “Soda burp.”

The three of them were grinning. “Jack!” Sam yelled.

“I’m busy!” he called back.

“Get over here. Now!”

Jack came running like he was expecting trouble. A grinning Sam held a can out for him.

“Is that . . . ?”

“It is,” Sam assured him.

Crack psst!

Burp.

Jack started crying then, sobbing and drinking and burping and laughing.

“You going crazy on us, Jack?” Dekka asked.

“It’s just . . .” He couldn’t seem to find the words.

Sam put his arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Yeah, dude. It’s too much, isn’t it? I mean too much like the world before.”

“I eat rats,” Jack said through his tears.

“We all eat rats,” Dekka said. “And glad to get a good juicy one, too.”

“True,” Toto muttered with some concern. “They eat rats. They didn’t mention rats before, Spidey.”

The sun was well past noon. Sam said, “We need to check the last containers. Then get moving. Just because we’re living large doesn’t mean people at home are.”

“We don’t need to find water, we have Pepsi!” Jack said.

“Which is great,” Sam said. “Might last a few days. If we could get it back to town.”

That sobered Jack. He nodded briskly and said, “Yes, you’re right. Sorry. I was just . . . I don’t know. For a few minutes there it was like maybe it was all over.”

Just to do something different they went to the boxcar. The instant they rolled back the door they were assailed by a sickly sweet smell.

The boxcar had been full of oranges. But this was only obvious because of the perky labels on the flats. The oranges themselves had long since rotted in the heat. A sticky liquid covered the floor of the car. Some of the crates sprouted fantastic growths of furry mold.

“A little late on this one,” Sam said regretfully.

“Oranges would have been good,” Toto said.

The very last container was a mixed load: Stanley brand screwdrivers and saws and assorted hand tools, and exercise equipment of various types.

But by then no one cared, because it was the next-to-last container that weighed on their minds.

The thirteenth container had been loaded with shoulder-fired missiles.

The so-called hospital had sounded even worse after the fire. Because then kids had been screaming. Screaming Lana’s name.

No screams this time, Lana noted. Coughs. Lots of deep, rasping coughs. Like kids were trying to cough their lungs right out.

Dahra was standing over one of the cots, laying a wet cloth on a kid’s head. She hadn’t noticed Lana walk in with Sanjit.

Lana did a quick count. Twenty? Twenty-one? Some of them were on cots, some were on mattresses covered in piled-high blankets from a dozen homes, a dozen beds. Some were lying with very little clothing on the cool tile floor.

And most were coughing, coughing, coughing.

Dahra looked up at the sound of their voices. “Lana. Thank God. You want to try again?”

Lana spread her hands helplessly. “I’ll do whatever. But the magic isn’t working on this thing.”

Dahra wiped sweat from her brow. She looked like she hadn’t slept. Maybe ever. “Look, secondary infections, they’re called. Someone gets a virus and then something else moves in, too. A lot of times that’s what kills people.”

“You’re the boss,” Lana said. She meant it, and she meant it only for Dahra.

“Her.” Dahra pointed. “Start with her. One hundred and six fever. That’s what Pookie was before . . .”

Lana went to the girl. She looked familiar; Lana thought her name might be Judith, but it was hard to recognize someone whose face was red from coughing, drenched in sweat, hair plastered down, eyes scared, bleary, and defeated.

Lana laid her hand on the girl’s head and almost yanked it away. She was hot to the touch. Like touching a plate fresh from the dishwasher.

Lana had no particular ritual for healing. She just touched the person and tried to focus.

“Who are you?” Dahra snapped at Sanjit.

“Lana’s boyfriend,” Sanjit said.

“No, he’s not,” Lana said.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Dahra said to Sanjit. “We’ve got three known dead already. Go wash yourself off in the ocean and go home.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stay. I want to help.”

Dahra stared, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out if he was crazy. “You really want to help? Because I need someone to empty out the bucket. If you really want to help.”

“I do. What bucket?”

Dahra pointed to a plastic trash can with a lid. Around it was a reeking pile of Tupperware containers that Dahra used as bedpans.

Sanjit scooped up the bedpans and balanced them on top of the bucket of urine and feces. The stench filled the room.

“There’s a trench in the square. Then, if you’re motivated, you could rinse everything out in the surf.”

“I’ll be right back,” Sanjit said.

When he was gone, Dahra said, “I like your boyfriend. Not many guys volunteer to carry ten gallons of diarrhea and vomit.”

Lana laughed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, he can be mine if he wants to be. He’s cute. And he carries crap.”

Lana felt the girl under her hand shudder and shake.

Dahra was moving automatically from bed to bed, cot to cot, pile of blankets on the floor to pile of blankets on the floor. She sighed as she wrote down another temperature. She was keeping records. Probably not as good as a doctor would do, but better than the average fourteen-year-old girl with twenty-one hacking, shivering patients could be expected to do.

“Why can’t I do this?” Lana wondered aloud. “The first round of flu it worked, mostly.”

“Immunity, right?” Dahra said. “The virus gets into you, and then your body fights back. The virus learns, comes back ready for a new fight. So instead of reprogramming to beat antibodies it reprogrammed to beat you.”

“I’m not an antibody,” Lana said.

“Yeah, and this isn’t the old world, is it? This is some freak show where nothing works exactly the way it should.”

His freak show, Lana thought. A single match and she could have burned it out, killed it. Maybe. How many deaths had come because Lana had failed?

A boy Lana knew, a first grader named Dorian, suddenly stood up and started running for the door. It was a weaving, unsteady run.

Dahra cursed and made a snatch for him.

The kid was out the door in a flash.

A moment later Sanjit reappeared with Dorian under one arm and the now semi-clean toilet bucket and containers in the other.