Author: Brett Battles
Category: Thriller
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“Don’t,” she said. “You’ll catch it.”
“If you’ve got it, I already have it, too.”
She fought him for a moment longer, then gave in and sobbed against his chest.
“Mommy! Daddy! The presents!”
Ellie was standing in the bedroom doorway, her fists on her hip and her elbows sticking out in that cute, pseudo-adult way she sometimes had.
“Right,” Wendy said. “The presents. I think you’ve waited long enough.”
Ellie grinned as she ran into the room and grabbed Nolan’s hand. Wendy leaned against him as Ellie pulled them both toward the door.
Making up her own tune, Ellie sang, “It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas. Time for presents. It’s Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” Wendy whispered to Nolan.
He kissed her on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS
7:17 AM PST
AT FIRST MRS. Weber was the only one showing signs of the flu. Then, around ten p.m., Donny began coughing. By one a.m., everyone in the house except Martina was sick.
The only sleep Martina had been able to get was half an hour sometime during the night when she’d sat down at the dining table, only meaning to rest her eyes. She had woken to the sound of Riley hacking on the couch.
Since then, she’d been moving from room to room, giving those who were still conscious water, and wiping everyone’s face with a cool towel.
Memories of the outbreak the previous spring kept coming to her. As one of victims, she remembered what the illness had felt like. The pain in her chest from coughing, the weakness in her muscles, and the overwhelming sensation that all she wanted to do was sleep. But she and all her friends who got sick that day had lived.
That was the hope she was clinging to—that her family and the Webers would live, too.
As she walked back to the kitchen, she cut the corner coming out of the hallway too close and stubbed her toe against the wall.
“Ow! Dammit!”
Hopping on her other foot, she grabbed her injured toe and inspected the damage. The top half of the nail was bent back a quarter inch, and she could feel blood pooling where it had been. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, letting a wave of pain pass through her.
You’re such an idiot. You need to pay attention!
She hopped into the kitchen and raised her foot into the sink. Repositioning the faucet, she let cold water flow over her toe. It was painful at first, but soon the wounded area grew numb. As carefully as she could, she bent the nail back into place, then got a dish towel and wrapped it around the injury.
“So stupid,” she muttered. Lowering her foot to the floor, she found she could walk if she put most of her weight on her heel.
She thought about sitting down for a few minutes, but there had been something that needed doing. What was it? She racked her brain, and glanced back at the wall she’d hit her toe against.
Water! That was it. She needed to do another round for everyone. She filled a cup and stopped first at Riley and Donny, the two in the living room.
“Here you go,” Martina said, lifting Donny’s head so she could dribble some of the liquid into his mouth. He coughed, and everything she’d poured in came flying out. “Donny, come on!” She knew he couldn’t help it, but it was so frustrating.
When he settled down, she tried again. This time, she was able to get about a quarter of a cup down without it spewing back out. She moved over to Riley.
“Have some water.”
Riley opened her eyes halfway. She was the last to get sick, and wasn’t quite as bad off as the others yet. “Not sure…I’m…thirsty.”
“Just a little bit, okay? You need it.”
Riley tried to nod. “Okay.”
Martina tilted the cup to her friend’s lips.
When she had at first started giving everyone drinks, she’d used separate cups for each person, but she soon gave that up. They all had the same thing, after all. It wasn’t like they could make each other sicker.
“Thanks,” Riley said when she’d had enough. “I’m…sorry you have…to…do this…by your…self.”
“Don’t have anything better to do.”
As Martina stood up, Riley said, “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Merry Christmas.”
Martina had totally forgotten. “Yeah, merry Christmas.”
She went to her parents’ room next. They didn’t open their eyes when she poured water into their mouths.
Pamela had moved into the other bedroom with Mrs. Weber. Martina gave some to the girl before circling the bed to Pamela and Riley’s mom.
“Time for some water,” she said. She didn’t expect a response. Mrs. Weber hadn’t been awake for hours.
She put a hand under the woman’s neck to raise her head, but quickly dropped it. Mrs. Weber’s skin was ice cold. Martina touched the woman’s forehead. It was the same. Not wanting to do it, but knowing she had no choice, she felt Mrs. Weber’s wrist for a pulse. When she let go, she started to cry.
“What?” Pamela asked, her voice weak.
“Nothing,” Martina said, silencing her tears. How do you tell a young girl her mother had just died? “Go back to sleep.”
Pamela mumbled something, then fell silent.
Martina limped her way out of the room, back into the main part of the cabin.
They’re all going to die. All of them.
It suddenly felt as if the cabin were squeezing in on her, the air disappearing second by second.
She ran to the front door as fast as her stubbed toe would let her, wanting nothing more than to get out of the house. She grabbed her jacket off the hook, pulled it on, and started to don her boots but switched to her father’s instead. They were big enough that she should be able to keep the towel wrapped around the top of her foot.
Outside, the air was crisp and clear. She took a deep breath. As she exhaled, a cloud of vapor momentarily obscured her vision. She repeated the process two more times, feeling a bit more in control with each clearing of her lungs.
When she felt panic would no longer overtake her, she wondered what she should do about Mrs. Weber. At some point she would have to move her out of the house, right?
Not if I get sick, too.
If? When, right? When she got sick?
Everyone else had come down with it. She was just the last. Someone had to be. But, with the exception of Mrs. Weber, they had all fallen sick within a couple hours of each other. Here it was, five hours since the last one—Riley—had fallen ill, and Martina still felt fine.
Well, exhausted and scared out of her mind, but not physically ill.
It hasn’t hit you yet, that’s all.
She walked over to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. The keys were still in the ignition. As she turned on the electrical system, the lights on the radio came on, and a voice came out of the speakers.
“…time. North Korea has released a statement claiming that their borders are free and clear of the disease, and that the North Korean people are unaffected and will remain so. It’s important to note that this statement was sent in email form to all major media outlets, and was unsigned. North Korean state television has been showing a series of patriotic still images accompanied by music since right after—”
She turned the dial, hoping to find something else, anything but news. She discovered two other stations, but both were more of the same. At one point, she came across a quick hit of music, but then it was gone, and her attempts to get it back failed.
She switched the car off and stared out the window.
What am I going to do?
Seven
MONTANA
8:40 AM MST
FOR THE PAST few days, as Brandon had been on the run, his rest had been spotty at best. It was little wonder, then, that on Christmas Eve, with the snow outside his lean-to muffling all sound, he had fallen into a deep sleep for the first time since he’
d left the Ranch.
On Christmas morning, he woke with the gradualness of a summer vacation day, slowly coming back to consciousness as his mind chased the wisp of a forgotten dream—not the running one this time, but something warm and inviting and happy.
It was the cold that finally reminded him where he was. At some point during the night, he’d slipped his head inside his sleeping bag, leaving only a small hole for air to pass through. It was more than enough, though, for the frigid tendrils of the winter morning to worm their way around his cheeks and across his nose.
He opened the hole wider and stuck his face out. For a second he couldn’t breathe, the cold a stark contrast to the heat of his bag. Once the shock passed, he looked around. The lean-to had worked incredibly well. Snow was piled against it nearly halfway up, yet none of the dead branches that made up the structure had collapsed in on him during the night.
He twisted in the bag so he could see the open end of his temporary house. It appeared that a good foot and a half of snow had fallen during the night. Though it was still cloudy, it wasn’t snowing now.
A white Christmas.
A year ago he would have gotten a thrill from that. Not today.
Keeping his legs within the warmth of his sleeping bag, he removed a package of trail mix from his backpack, and ate half of it before forcing himself to stop. He couldn’t be sure when he would next find shelter and more food, so he had to conserve his supplies.
A fire would have been nice, but while he had the book of matches that he’d found in Mr. Hayes’s pocket, no way could he find any wood to burn that wasn’t wet from the snow. So, with reluctance, he extracted himself from his sleeping bag, pulled on his boots, and packed up.
When he reached the highway a few minutes later, he spotted two rutted tracks running down the middle that definitely had not been there before.
A car, he thought. Judging by the several inches of snow that had accumulated in each trench, he realized it had come by sometime in the early morning while he was sleeping.
He grimaced at the lost chance of hitching a ride. At least the passing vehicle had done him one favor. By walking in one of the depressions, he was able to make better time than he would have otherwise.
Like the day before, he was struck by the silence. Was this how it would be from now on? Had the world turned quiet? Not the kind of thoughts a kid his age should be having, but as much as he wanted to be home looking through his baseball card collection or reading the latest X-Men, he knew that Brandon was gone. He wasn’t even a teenager yet, but at times he felt like he was already an adult.
Around noon, a noise in the distance momentarily cut through the silence. It was there for a second, then gone, not long enough to identify. Snow falling out of a tree, maybe? He’d seen that happen a couple of times already. There would be a crack of a branch as the weight of the snow became too much to bear, and snow and limb would come crashing down together.
Or maybe the sound had been nothing. Just his imagination.
He shook that thought away the moment he had it. Not nothing. He couldn’t let himself think that way.
It’s a truck, he decided. And it’s coming this way.
He could envision a pickup truck with a heated cab slicing through the snow, obliterating the tracks left by the car. No, no. A big rig. One with a sleeping cabin in back, and a built-in refrigerator stocked with food. It would stop as soon as the driver saw him, and the man behind the wheel would offer him a ride to wherever he wanted to go.
The Ranch, if he wanted.
Except there was nothing at the Ranch anymore. He’d seen Project Eden’s attack on the Resistance’s headquarters, had seen the smoke rising in the air. He was sure anyone left alive in the Bunker had been taken away by the men in the helicopters.
No. There was no going back to the Ranch.
Thoughts of the attack darkened his mood. He tried to concentrate on the imaginary truck again. It was big and red and had a horn like a train whistle. It would be pulling a trailer full of—
The noise again.
Not an illusion.
A rumble, not quite as far away as before. But not the kind of rumble he associated with a truck.
An airplane?
He looked to the sky, but the clouds were still low and gray. If there were a plane up there, it wouldn’t be able to see him.
It’s gotta be a car. It has to be something on the road, right?
He heard it again, even closer. Whatever it was, it was coming fast, which meant it couldn’t be a car or even a truck, not with the snow on the road.
His shoulders sagged. A plane, flying above the clouds.
“Keep walking,” he said. “You’ll find something soon.”
He all but tuned the noise out as he continued down the road, but as the noise grew even closer, he couldn’t help but notice the distinct sound it was making.
Whoop-whoop-whoop.
Not an airplane. A helicopter.
The helicopters that had flown over the Ranch during the attack flashed through his mind. He could almost see the one that had hovered outside the barn while he and Mr. Hayes had hidden in the horse stalls.
It had to be the Project Eden people. They were coming for him.
Just as the thought finished, the dark silhouette of a helicopter dipped below the clouds about a quarter mile away. Brandon whipped his head side to side, looking for someplace to hide, but over the last couple of miles the trees on the right had moved farther from the road, and on the left they had disappeared altogether.
He looked back the way he’d come. The road had been taking a gentle curve. About a hundred yards behind him, the ground to the east dipped several feet, creating a short drop-off. Along the wall of the drop there appeared to be some kind of opening that ran under the road. A storm drain? A pipe?
Whatever it was, it was better than standing out in the open.
He started to run, each step a struggle as he pulled a foot out of the snow and sank it back in again. Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder. Though he could hear the helicopter coming closer, it had disappeared into the clouds again.
It didn’t see you, it didn’t see you. It didn’t.
A few seconds later, the helicopter suddenly broke through the clouds right above the culvert Brandon had been heading toward. He stumbled in surprise and fell to the ground.
Keep moving!
He rose unsteadily to his feet as the helicopter descended to the road. Any thin hope he still had that those on board hadn’t seen him disappeared.
The culvert no longer an option, he turned south. He tried to run, but the snow was too high and he ended up more in a loping jog.
Someone shouted at him, but Brandon didn’t stop. It wasn’t long, though, before he heard the crush of snow under boots coming up fast behind him. He grabbed both straps of his pack and tried to increase his speed.
“Hey, stop!” one of the people pursuing him yelled.
There was something odd about the voice, something that triggered a memory. Brandon’s family’s house at Barker Flats. Josie sick in the bathroom, and his mother—though he didn’t know it at the time—dead in his parents’ bedroom. The paramedics who burst into the house had all been wearing protective clothing and hoods that enclosed their heads. When they talked, their voices sounded very much like the one yelling at him now. Muffled.
“Kid! We’re not going to hurt you!”
Someone grabbed Brandon’s backpack and jerked him to a stop. A hand gripped him by the shoulders and twisted him around. There were two men, both outfitted in dark green plastic-looking suits and hooded masks.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the one who’d turned him asked.
Brandon tried to pull away from him.
“Relax, buddy. We’re here to help you. Tell us your name.”
Brandon tried to shrug off the man’s grip, but he wasn’t strong enough. “Please, let me go!”
The man glanced back at his part
ner. “Saunders, a little help.”
Saunders took hold of Brandon’s other arm.
“You can walk or we carry you. Either way, you’re coming with us,” the first man said.
Brandon knew there was nothing he could do. Even if he were able to break free of their grasps, he wouldn’t get more than a few steps before they caught him again.
“I’ll walk,” he said.
He wondered where they were going to take him. Back to the Ranch? Was that where they were keeping the others? Or someplace else?
At least he’d be with his sister.
Unless something had happened to her.
Don’t even think that. Josie’s fine. They’re all fine. You’ll see them soon.
As they neared the helicopter, he noticed something he hadn’t seen earlier, something he knew wasn’t on the helicopters that had attacked the Ranch. Painted in black along the tail were the words UNITED STATES ARMY.
THE BUNKER
12:21 PM MST
JOSIE PACED THE hallway right outside the alcove that served as the Bunker’s dining area, too worked up to sit for even a moment.
Chloe had tried to get her to eat something, but Josie had only shaken her head. How could she eat when her father—her only living parent—was in surgery, and her brother was lost in the wilderness? If either of them didn’t survive, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to eat again. So back and forth she went, her mind both numb and hyper-alert.
She heard the footsteps before she saw the three women turn down the hallway in front of her—Rachel Hamilton with the woman and the girl Chloe had brought back with the doctor.
As they neared her, Rachel stopped, her eyes full of compassion. “I take it there hasn’t been any news.”
Josie shook her head. “No.”
“I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.”
Josie nodded, but said nothing as she rocked from foot to foot.
“Have you met Emily and Kathy?” Rachel asked. “I believe you and Emily are the same age.”