The Atlantis Plague (22 page)

“Two. We sail north, try to go around the British Isles and find a port in north Germany. We could fight our way south from there. But I advise against it. That’s what the British want. They have to be low on jet fuel, maybe close to out. But their subs and half their destroyers are nuclear; assuming they have enough survivors to operate even some of them, they can field a small fleet. Off the coast of Britain, between their sea and air power, they could take us easily.”

“And option number two?”

“We park off the coast of Morocco, fly you to Ceuta on a helicopter, and you sail across the Mediterranean on one of the ships they’ve collected.”

“Risks?”

“You’ll have a smaller fleet, with fewer battleships and fewer of our well-trained troops—just what we can fly with you in the five helicopters. You’ll dock in northern Italy and make your way to Germany from there. Reports from the ground are that the Orchid Districts are evacuating across Europe. It’s complete pandemonium. Once you get to Italy, you’ll have no problem.”

“Why can’t we just fly the whole way? Surely we can find a jet.”

The captain shook his head. “There are still some air defenses in continental Europe, and they’ve got backup power to last for years. They’re shooting down any unidentified aircraft—several each day.”

“Ceuta it is, then.”

When Dorian returned to his stateroom, Johanna was awake and naked, stretched out on the bed, reading an old gossip magazine, for reasons he would never understand.

He sat on the bed and pulled his boots off. “Haven’t you read that thing two dozen times? Here’s an update: all those idiots are dead and whatever they were doing didn’t matter—even before the plague.”

“It reminds me of the world before the plague. It’s like revisiting the normal world.”

“You think that world was normal? You’re crazier than I thought.”

She tossed the magazine aside and curled into him, gently kissing his exposed ribs where he had just pulled his shirt off. “Rough day at the office, Sir Broods-a-Lot?”

Dorian pushed her off of him. “You wouldn’t talk to me that way if you knew me better.”

She smiled innocently. It contrasted sharply with the cruelty on his face. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t know you better. But… I do know how to cheer you up.”

CHAPTER 47

Immari Operations Base at Ceuta
Northern Morocco

From the watchtower, David adjusted the binoculars and waited for the battle to begin. The Immari divisions had been slowly chasing the Berber tribes for the better part of three hours. From his vantage point, David could see the trap they had set—a line of heavy artillery and fortified lines on the far side of a high ridge looking down on a small valley. The Berbers would cross the opposite ridge and descend into the valley soon, then the larger battle would begin. The Immari would win, capturing and killing every Berber in the valley.

“How are the tribes faring?”

David turned to see Kamau standing behind him on the platform.

“Not well. They’re almost in the Immari trap. Where are we?”

“Eleven men.”

David nodded.

“I can widen the net, but the risk grows.”

“No. We’ll have to make do with eleven.”

Several hours later, the sound of heavy artillery echoed across the charred field that had been the city of Ceuta. David stood, walked to the edge of the watchtower, and held the binoculars up. The carnage in the valley was near total. On the farthest ridge, a group of riders on horseback charged up the hill toward the big guns camped there, but the Immari shot the horses out from under them, then raked them with automatic gunfire. Behind them, tribesmen fell in waves. David let the binoculars drop to his side, then returned to the bench and waited.

As the sun set, the Immari procession reached the outer gate. David watched from the guard tower. Major Rukin was the first to reach the gate, and as his jeep sped by, he and David shared a glance. The major’s lips curled slightly, but David simply stared.

David sat in his room, waiting. He would take one last nap before the final battle began. The next few hours would determine his fate and that of millions more.

CHAPTER 48

Immari Sorting Camp
Marbella, Spain

Kate forced Martin to eat a little more of the candy bar—part of the paltry “buffet” Shaw had rounded up. She held the bottle of water to Martin’s lips, and he drank greedily. He couldn’t seem to get enough water.

Shaw stood in the corner wearing an expression that said,
This is a waste of time that could kill us
. Kate already knew him that well.

She jerked her head toward the silver double doors. Shaw rolled his eyes and wandered out.

“Martin, I need to ask you about your notes. I don’t understand them.”

His head rolled back and forth against the cabinet. “Answers are… dead. Dead and buried. Not among the living…”

Kate wiped a fresh layer of sweat from his forehead. “Dead and buried? Where? I don’t understand.”

“Find the turning points. When the genome changes. We searched… not alive. We failed. I failed.”

Kate closed her eyes and rubbed her eyelids. She considered giving him more steroids. She needed answers. But there were risks. She grabbed the bottle of prednisolone.

The kitchen doors parted, and Shaw stuck his head in. “It’s happening now. We need to move.”

Kate nodded her assent, and she helped Shaw stand Martin up and escort him out of the building. Past the revolving door, the sight of the camp almost stopped her dead in her tracks. The tower of the survivors spilled people onto the grounds in an endless stream. The palm trees swayed above the unseen masses that flowed below them. Guards were waving flashlights, herding people. A massive cruise ship stood tall at the shore, towering over the coast. Two massive ramps loaded people onto it, as if it were Noah’s Ark.

“The far ramp,” Shaw said quietly, and began tugging Martin.

Four guards were minding the far ramp, which Kate took to be the Immari loyalist loading point.

The ship came into focus. The once-white luxury liner now looked derelict, and Kate wondered if it would even float.

Shaw spoke quickly with the guards, something to the effect of “little too much cough syrup,” and “be right as rain tomorrow.”

To Kate’s relief, they passed the checkpoint with ease and fell into the throngs of people climbing the ramp. At the top, they exited into a corridor that was closed on both sides, but open to the moonlight above. It felt like a cattle stall at a state fair or a rodeo. They weaved endlessly, toward the center of the ship, Shaw leading the way. Twice they had to stop to let Martin catch his breath, standing against the wall as the flow of people snaked around them and filled the hallway beyond. There were doors that led to square compartments along the hallway, and people filled each room as they went.

“We need to get below, to a cabin. The topside compartments will get toasty by morning, like an oven.” He motioned to Martin. “He won’t fare well.”

At the end of the hall, they descended the stairwell several flights, then worked their way through another set of corridors until they found an empty room. “Stay here, be quiet, and keep the door shut. I’ll knock in three sets of three when I return,” Shaw said.

“Where are you going?”

“For supplies,” he said and pulled the door shut before Kate could reply. She slid the latch, locking the door.

The compartment was completely dark. Kate felt around for a switch but found none. She took the light bar from the backpack and bathed the small space in light. Martin lay against the wall, panting. Kate helped him into the bottom of one of the bunks. This was clearly one of the crew quarters: two bunkbeds and a small closet in the center of the room.

She took the satellite phone out and checked the display.
No Service
. She needed to go topside to finish her phone call. She needed answers. Her talk with Martin had been less than helpful.
The genetic turning points. The answers… dead and buried.
What did it mean?

Kate was utterly exhausted. She stretched out on the bunk opposite Martin. She would close her eyes and rest, just for a moment, just to help her think.

Periodically, she heard Martin cough. She didn’t know how much time passed, but she thought she felt the massive ship move. Sleep took her sometime later.

Kate was barefoot and her feet barely made a sound on the marble floor. Ahead of her, the arched wooden door stood at the end of the long hall. On her right, the same two doors loomed. The first was open: the door where she had seen David. She peered in. Empty. She walked to the second door on the right and pushed it open. The circular room was bathed with light from windows that had been swung open and glass doors that opened onto a terrace. A blue sea spread out below, but there were no boats, just a peninsula of tree-covered mountains and water beyond, as far as she could see.

The room was sparse, save for a steel and oak-topped drafting table. David sat behind it, on an old iron stool.

“What are you drawing?” Kate asked.

“A plan,” he answered without looking up.

“For what?”

“Taking a city. Saving lives.” He held up an elaborate drawing of a horse made of wood.

“You can take over a city with a wooden horse?”

David set the drawing down and continued working on it. “Happened before…”

Kate smiled. “Yeah, right.”

“Happened in Troy.”

“Oh yeah. I thought Brad Pitt was great in that.”

He shook his head. He erased a few lines on the drawing. “Like other epic tales, they thought it was just a story until they found scientific evidence of its existence.” He made a few last strokes with his pencil, sat back, and scrutinized the drawing. “I’m mad at you, by the way.”

“Me?”

“You left me. In Gibraltar. You didn’t trust me. I could have saved you.”

“I didn’t have a choice. You were injured—”

“You should have trusted me. You underestimated me.”

CHAPTER 49

Immari Operations Base at Ceuta
Northern Morocco

Major Rukin poured himself a tall glass of whiskey, drank it down, and collapsed into a chair at the round table just beyond his bed. Slowly, he unbuttoned his tunic, and when it fell free, he poured himself another drink, just as high as the last. It had been a long day, but hopefully it would be his last dealing with those wretched barbarian tribesmen beyond the walls. Good riddance. Killing them all was ideal; killing a few and capturing the rest, just as good. The base was always woefully short of servant staff. And for that matter… where was she? It had been a very long, very stressful day.

He peeled his sweat-soaked tunic off and shimmied his arms out, letting the tunic fall back to wrap around the chair. He poured a third drink with less care this time, splashing brown liquid onto the table, drank it down, and bent to untie his boots. His feet throbbed, but the sensation had faded as the drinks had taken effect.

A loud knock echoed from the door.

“What?”

“It’s Kamau.”