Rebel Heart (9 page)

Morray wiped the sweat from his brow. "This is the hottest damned summer I can remember. Take the thieves to the storage shed out back. Secure them to the wall. We will interrogate them later." He walked into the interior of the Ale house where they had convened the meeting. "More wine and food."

He held up the vial the men had secured. "Where will we deliver this?"

Pick a spot, any spot. Morray grinned and sent the dart flying toward the map on the wall.

"Roseland."

Summer 2592

Two years later

The lab at Reding

Cameron Savage

"Label everything. Document all the data. Then file it in the computer for future reference." Cameron called out directions for the third time. His own area was organized, his results professionally documented.

He'd won countless awards for his research. He picked up the stack of research papers on his desk, the frustration from all this intolerable. There was no denying by any man--any trained medical researcher--that he, Dr. Cameron Savage, was at the top of his field, and a brilliant mind. He had proven himself, but the one answer he sought still eluded him.

While the signe virus spread from City to City, he isolated himself, bent on finding the cause and the cure of the deadly disease. Over the last two years, his thoughts constantly returned to Tori DeMontville and the fragile white flower she'd retrieved from her sack of specimens. Despite the resources at hand, regardless of his driving need to discover the significance the flower held, it wasn't until a few days ago he'd discovered a long forgotten and archaic computer disc that gave him the information he searched for.

Then he'd cursed himself for a gullible fool.

Tori had outwitted him, almost out-fought him, humbled his tenacious ego, and he'd not known it until now, two years later. Appreciation for her indomitable courage suffused his mind, but it disappeared the next instant, replaced by grim determination and horrible frustration. Together, united in a common cause, they might have accomplished so much, might have found a cure. Instead...instead, because of his temerity and unwillingness to acknowledge her high intellect, they had accomplished nothing.

Nothing. Nothing, and that was the crux of the problem. What now? he wondered vaguely. If he put all his volatile emotions and preconceived opinions of Tori DeMontville aside, could he go to her? Work with her?

Logic and rational thought warred with his assessment of her. In his mind, she was spoiled and willful. She had disobeyed the rules and laws that governed her society. A rebel at heart. Wild and reckless. If she had lived in the country, he would have respected and admired the very attributes he sought to tame in her now. But she couldn't, she was a City Dweller and by that fact alone she could never have the freedom she craved.

Yet Cameron still searched for a means to bring her to Reding, a lab that had every modern device. The potential incredible. The significance undeniable. If he brought her here, he could not guarantee her safety, and that, in and by itself, was reason enough to forget Tori DeMontville.

Now, as he turned back to his reading, determined to find the vaccine that would conquer the signe virus, he did so with a solid team of assistants and the best facilities in the world. The coalition backed them and provided everything they requested. Each day they moved closer, but it always seemed they moved backward too. For each piece of solid positive information uncovered, he always found something else to refute the facts.

The director of the disease control center, Samuel R. Sheridan, hounded them, determined the pressure he placed on his team would generate a breakthrough. The encouragement helped, Cameron knew that, but nothing short of a miracle or perhaps the union of two minds bent on a common goal would net the desired results.

But as the virus spread throughout the cities for the second time in five years, Cameron began to search in new directions. When the last tests proved negative, Cameron decided to leave. Old folk tales, the lore of the elders, remained strong in the mountain people. Medicinal remedies passed down from one generation to the next provided harmless if not beneficial cures. The white flower was the illusive thread. Yet the only way to unlock each link in the chain was to go to the source. The source lay in the hills and in the minds of the mountain folk. He meant to travel back to his roots, the beginning, before 'Merica divided, before all hell broke loose.

Now the sun rose on a new day, and more people would die from an incurable disease, a disease that once had been extinct. The land glider hovered outside the med-lab. The vehicle held two year's worth of records and research. Before Cameron settled himself in the driver's seat and headed east into the rugged Cascades, he looked to the West. It was lighter in that direction. When he closed his eyes, he imagined the smell of salt spray, the sound of breakers crashing against the rocks, the sensual pull of a young beguiling girl with blue-gray eyes. Eyes that reminded him of the soft color of a dove's wing.

His brows narrowed thoughtfully as he climbed into the glider.

It hovered, began to move...slowly at first then picked up speed. Earth and greenery flew beneath the air of the glider and within minutes, he had left the road and traversed cross-country, his destination a small primitive village nestled in the Rockies. Highly intelligent minds, yet antisocial behavior, marked these people and Cameron was well aware of their idiosyncrasies. Once they knew his purpose though, once they saw the endless stack of notes, heard the relevant news, and understood the enormity of his mission, they would help.

Tall mountains, deep canyons, and deserts appeared before him then vanished on the horizon as he passed by. Hour by hour, minute by minute, he closed the distance.

Until he could see one mountain rising high above the others.

Sheltered in the lush green valley on its north side he'd find his people. Nervous energy pulsed through his veins and he bumped up the throttle, accelerating, daring to push his rig as fast as it would go.

"Woo...ee...!" The glider skimmed across the earth and banked into a tight turn. Cameron came in low, banked, dodging boulders and trees.

For a moment, he thought he'd lost control. He pushed the vehicle to its limit, tested his own strength and stamina. He righted the glider, easing back on the throttle, and he felt the surge of adrenalin in his blood dissolve.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and let his throbbing head fall back against the seat. Exhaustion caused by long sleepless nights was beginning to leave its mark. He fought it, because there was something else he'd learned from long hours of study and research. Never, never let the fatigue betray you, and he was determined it would not.

"Set the glider down easy. The hangar's in sight--ETA one minute," the voice spoke through his headphones. He hesitated before turning then eased back on the throttle until the glider skimmed inches above the earth before finally setting down.

~ * ~

Later that night, after he'd explained his mission to his new research assistants, Cameron assembled his lab in a large cabin overlooking the valley floor.

It had been hard work hauling the equipment he'd sent ahead up the narrow mountain trail. Perhaps none of this was necessary.

His intuition told him differently.

It was a night where all preconceived notions could vanish. Drake, the leader of this band of Outsiders, had given him free access to all the data banks available there.

Drake's people were not without their insurgents, and no villages existed without a substantial number of women looking for pleasure. The villagers worked hard and played with a zealous fervor, sometimes rejecting long standing moral codes.

That night the bonfires blazed and the music played, sometimes fast and furious and sometimes with a slow, spellbinding, seductive rhythm. Women danced barefoot in long swirling skirts and peasant blouses that fell enchantingly low. Tables piled high with savory treats tempted even the most fastidious pallet.

And the wine flowed.

There were no guards, no locked gates or sterile bubbles erected over the cities to guard the people from the diseases that existed here. Only freedom, and the mountains looming in the distance.

Somehow this liberty, this independence had a way of changing everyone, even the women.

Ah, the women of the mountains--independent beauties whose minds worked in a unique, challenging manner, rejecting any restrictions society mandated. It was allowed here, where the air was clean and people said what they thought and did as they pleased. Victoria DeMontville would feel at home here.

The music rose to a crescendo and the dancers swirled frantically, skirts billowing and hips swaying. Dancers, with haunting moves and beguiling steps, beckoned.

Leaning on the windowsill, the night breeze caressing his skin, Cameron closed his eyes and felt the pulse of the mountains. The exhaustion of the long day faded from him. He had a consecrated responsibility, a vow made to himself that he would uphold.

And he held very special feelings for these people of the mountains. Here in this land he had grown to adulthood, had run wild and free with the wind and the rivers. The Outsiders were often cold and ruthless, yet they had learned the laws of nature and of survival the hard way. Many had died because they had accepted when they should have challenged, had relaxed when they should have persevered.

Nothing in the mountains could be taken for granted, especially not a life. Cameron had studied the old archives years ago when he was still in school, fascinated by the old folklore and the tales passed down through generations. He had learned a great deal from the dusty computer discs and the archaic books stored lovingly by one old woman. Sometimes it seemed these 'barbarians' respected and loved life more than the people of the City who were always running from it. In the cities, all these years after the war, people still trembled at the mention of diseases, yet they did nothing to help themselves.

Until the last decade, no diseases infiltrated the cities, but these were turbulent times. Thieftaker and thief joined forces and catapulted the cities into chaos with their threats. Despite his efforts and those of the coalition, corruption and greed still ran rampant because a thief could always find someone who had the money to pay. Germ warfare, they called it in the old days, a past long forgotten by most everyone. Thieves stole viruses or bacterium from the control center and held them ransom.

"Cameron?"

A soft whisper aroused him, and he turned. Zaria had opened the door and stood there now with her hands clasped behind her. She was one of the technicians assigned to him and had studied extensively in one of the medical villages in the southern valleys.

Zaria had spent her life acquiring the new learning. She worked with diligence and a patience he did not possess himself. During the long afternoon of moving then sorting and cataloging his equipment, he learned much about her.

She was very pretty with her short-cropped hair, large brown eyes, and swirling skirt of deepest blue. The peasant blouse dropped far enough off her shoulder to tempt him and thin enough he could see the dark aureoles of her breasts as well as her nipples.

"Yes?"

She moved across the room to the window then rested a shoulder against the wall. "Tonight?" The question hung on the night air, sultry and provocative, temptingly irresistible.

For a scant second, the thought of refusal crossed his mind, but Zaria and some of the girls had left no doubts about their willingness. "What's wrong with now," he teased gently, but she smiled and stepped back.

"Drake wants to see you...as soon as you're settled. He sent me to tell you. He expects you in his office. Something has happened. Something to change all plans. He is upset, angry. And he is not easy to deal with when he is angry."

"Well, he's not angry with me." He turned toward the door, his senses heightened.

If someone had come from the west, he might well have brought information about the spread of the virus. A sudden chill touched Cameron's heart. Yet he was so close to the truth. He couldn't wait until his equipment was operational again.

"Do you want me to come later?" Zaria glanced up at him.

"Yes, I'd..." Cameron paused, wondering just what was going on with Drake. It might be a late night. His head still pounded from the hum of the land glider and the sleepless nights he'd endured while deciding his course of action. Tonight, despite the lure of Zaria's famous skills, he wanted to sleep alone.

He kissed the heart of her palm. "No, not tonight, sweet one. Something must be wrong. I might be very late."

She walked with him along the narrow winding trail down to the valley where the revelers danced and sang. He kissed her lightly on the cheek before sending her back to her friends. Striding past the bonfires, he looked up at the black velvet sky just in time to see a shooting star. It fell toward the west, toward the Pacific Ocean...and Tower City.