Author: Brett Battles
Category: Thriller
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“I’m sorry,” he said. “The resort is currently closed. You will need to stay on the ship.”
The one in the lead, a blond and burly guy of maybe twenty-five, shouted, “What are you talking about? I’ve got a reservation. I’ve already paid for this. I’m coming off.”
“I’m sorry,” Dominic repeated. “But we’re not taking any guests right now. We’ll get you a refund or you can reschedule in the future.”
“I’m not rescheduling. I planned to be here now, so I’m coming.”
One of the resort staffers on Scuba Three pulled out the gun Dominic had given him from the safe that morning, and pointed it at the guy.
“Holy fuck.” The blond man jumped back, hiding behind an interior partition.
“I told you. The resort’s closed,” Dominic said. He pointed the megaphone toward the front of the Albino Mer. “Carlos, take the ferry out. And don’t come back tonight.”
Quickly, Scuba One moved in next to the swimming dock. When he was close enough, Robert jumped off, holding a gas can, and started dousing the timbers. When the crewman at the back of the ferry saw what he was doing, he shouted toward the pilothouse.
Someone up front must have seen what Robert was doing, too, because the Albino Mer’s engines suddenly revved up, and the boat pulled away.
Once Robert was done and back on Scuba One, the staffer who was with him pulled the boat back several feet. Robert threw a lit book of matches across the growing water gap. With a whoosh, the swimming platform turned into a blazing beacon in the middle of the bay.
The Albino Mer made a big circle around the burning structure as it cut through the water back toward the passage to the sea. All its new passengers were pressed against the cabin windows, staring at the burning wood that moments before had been their bridge to the ferry.
Without being told, Jalen guided the speedboat behind the ferry, and he and Dominic followed the Albino Mer all the way back to the open sea. When they reached the end of the passage, they stopped and watched the ferry until it passed out of sight.
“All right,” Dominic said. “Take us back home.”
IT WAS ROBERT’S idea to post sentries. He argued that others might flee the mainland and try for the safety of Isabella Island. Dominic hoped he was wrong, but it was a good idea, so a schedule was drawn up from the names of those who remained. The first watchers were given walkie-talkies and positioned around the central hill so that all directions could be seen.
Those who weren’t on watch gathered in the terrace bar where the TVs continued to paint a darker and darker picture of the rest of the world. Then, in the middle of the afternoon, CNN carried a live speech from the president of the United States. He confirmed their worst fears, that the substance being pumped out of the shipping containers indeed appeared to be the deadly Sage Flu. He also put his entire country on a twenty-four-hour curfew. Many other nations quickly followed suit, including Costa Rica. For a good thirty minutes, no one in the bar said a word.
When the time for the arrival of the afternoon ferry approached, Dominic was sure it wouldn’t come. But he and Jalen went out to the passage in the speedboat again, this time with Robert and Evan—one of the resort’s guests—in the second speedboat.
Every few minutes they’d check in with the spotters to see if the Albino Mer had appeared on the horizon, but there continued to be no sign of the ship, so they returned to the resort.
Sleep that night was something that came only in short chunks of twenty or thirty minutes at most. Around four a.m. Dominic gave up and went down to the bar. He wasn’t surprised to see that nearly half the other residents were there.
The news on CNN that Christmas Eve morning brought more of the same. If any of them had been hoping for something that looked like it might turn the situation around, they were disappointed.
It was around ten thirty when the radio crackled.
“There’s a couple of white spots on the horizon,” the voice said.
Robert, who was sitting next to Dominic, picked up the walkie-talkie. “Who is this?”
“Norm Lee.”
They checked the handwritten duty sheet. Lee was positioned facing west toward Costa Rica.
Robert pushed the SEND button on his radio. “Which way are they headed?”
“Can’t tell yet,” Lee said.
A few minutes later he reported back.
“They’re getting bigger.”
Robert looked at Dominic, concerned.
“They could be headed out into the Gulf,” Dominic said. “Might miss us by miles.”
“Or they could be headed here. If they are, we need to be ready.”
“What if we can’t scare them off?”
“Did you guys hear me?” Lee asked. “They’re getting closer.”
Robert picked up the radio. “Heard you, Norm. Hold on, okay?” He looked at Dominic. “We have to keep them off the island. There’s no way we can know if they’ve been exposed or not.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Dominic asked, feeling like Robert hadn’t answered his first question.
“We can’t let them on.”
Dominic stared at his friend, suddenly realizing that Robert had answered his question. “You mean kill them?”
Robert was quiet for a second. “Only if we have to.”
“I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t know if any of these people here can do that.”
“Dominic, stop thinking like you’re still running a resort. The resort’s gone. This place, this is our survival. Anything out there beyond the beach…” He pointed toward the ocean. “Is death. If we let anyone in, it’s the same as putting a gun to each of our heads.”
Intellectually, Dominic could grasp that, but in practice?
“Hopefully they’ll just pass by,” he said.
They didn’t.
Forty minutes later, it was clear the two boats were headed for Isabella Island.
With Robert taking charge, they set out in the two speedboats with four volunteers and the full complement of the resort’s weapons—three handguns, a shotgun, and all four scuba spearguns.
Robert was at the wheel of the first speedboat, with Dominic sitting nervously in the seat beside him. Between Dominic’s feet was the megaphone. He hoped that was all they were going to need.
They sped across the bay, through the passage, and into the open waters of the Gulf. The sea was rougher than it had been yesterday, perhaps matching the mood that had engulfed the planet. The speedboat jerked up and down as it plowed through the choppy swells.
Taking the same path the ferry had when it left the morning before, they raced around the end of the island so that they could reach the west side. The other ships were clearly visible now about half a mile offshore, two cruisers with awning-covered cockpits and probably small cabins below. Nothing fancy—fishing boats for the tourists. Something they might go out on for the day, but probably not spend the night on. Boats like those seldom came anywhere near the island, usually sticking closer to the Costa Rican coastline.
Robert picked up the walkie-talkie. “Enrique, stay right with him.”
Enrique, driving the other boat, tucked in ten yards behind them as Robert put them on an intercept course. Two hundred feet before they reached the other boats, they turned sharply to the right, cutting across the cruisers’ path. They circled around and did it again, making it clear they wanted the other boats to stop.
It took a third pass to get the cruisers to idle down their engines.
“Stay in front of them,” Robert ordered Enrique. He moved his boat in closer, and glanced at Dominic. “Give it a shot.”
Dominic could see at least a dozen people on each cruiser—men, women, children, with none looking over forty. They were a mix of Hispanic, Caucasian, and African-American.
He raised the bullhorn to his mouth. “Turn your boats around. The Isabella Island Resort is closed.” He repeated the message in Spanish.
Robert circled them o
n the other side.
“The island is closed,” Dominic repeated. “You cannot go there.”
Someone shouted, “You can’t do that! We have to land. We’re trying to save our families.”
Dominic tensed. How would they turn these people...the children away?
“Tell them again,” Robert said. “Tell them we’ll be forced to take action if they don’t leave.”
“You need to leave now,” Dominic said into the megaphone. “If you don’t…” He paused, an idea forming in his mind. “If you don’t, you’re going to get sick. The virus is on the island. We have too many people to take care of already.”
Robert looked over at him, surprised.
“You’ve been hit, too?”
“Yes.” Dominic was tempted to embellish the story, but held his tongue.
The group on the first cruiser huddled together. After several minutes, the sister boat moved in so that the two were almost touching.
“That was quick thinking,” Robert said in a low voice.
“I hope it works,” Dominic replied.
They could hear raised voices coming from the conference.
Robert slipped out of the pilot’s seat. “Maybe they need a little extra motivation.”
He retrieved a pistol from the front storage locker.
“What are you doing?” Dominic asked, eyes widening.
“Bring a little reality to their discussion.”
Robert aimed the gun’s barrel just in front of the two boats, and pulled the trigger. The boom echoed across the water. Everyone froze for a moment, then looked over at the speedboat.
“Give me that,” Robert said as he took the megaphone from Dominic. He raised it to his lips. “You’ve already been told the island is closed. Now turn your boats around.”
“There’s nowhere else to go!” a woman screamed. “Nowhere safe!”
“It’s not safe here, either.”
“But our children!”
Dominic could see Robert close his eyes for a second. “We’re sorry. We wish we could help,” Robert said. “We don’t have the resources. We can’t let you on the island, and we will stop you if you try.”
To emphasize the point, one of the men on Enrique’s boat held the shotgun out to his side so it could be seen.
“You have three minutes,” Robert said, “or we will assume you are trying to stay.”
“Then what? You’ll shoot us?” another woman yelled.
“We’d rather not, but none of you is getting on the island. So the choice is yours.”
“Here,” Dominic said, holding out his hand.
“What are you going to say?” Robert asked.
“Just give it to me.”
Robert reluctantly handed back the megaphone.
Dominic spoke into it. “How much fuel do you have left?”
A quick conversation, then a man called out, “Why?”
“Do you have enough to go fifty kilometers?”
“Maybe. Not much more than that.”
Robert whispered, “What are you thinking?”
Dominic answered him by saying into the megaphone, “Santa Teresa Island is about forty-five or so kilometers due south of here. It’s about half the size of Isabella, but is uninhabited. You’ll be safe there.”
“We don’t have enough supplies,” one of the men said.
“We can spare you some rice, and maybe a few other things.”
Robert pushed the megaphone away from Dominic’s mouth. “What are you talking about? We need everything we’ve got.”
“We have plenty,” Dominic said. The resort was well stocked for the holidays. “Would you rather shoot them? Shoot those kids?”
Robert looked conflicted, but he dropped his hand to his side.
The people on the cruiser were talking together again. When they finished, one of the men yelled, “You’re sure about Santa Teresa?”
“One hundred percent. If you don’t have charts, we can get you one.”
For a few minutes, the only sound was the low gurgle of the boats’ engines.
“Okay,” the man said. “We’d appreciate whatever you can give us.”
Relieved, Dominic switched places with the man with the shotgun on the other speedboat. He and Enrique headed back into the bay.
They ended up giving the refugees a map, two bags of rice, a few cases of canned vegetables, some fruit and dried goods, and two fishing poles with extra tackle. They transferred them via an unmanned rubber boat, which they also let the others keep.
Once the food was on board, the cruisers headed south away from Isabella Island. The speedboats stayed where they were until the two other vessels disappeared over the horizon, then they headed back to the resort.
“Would you really have shot them?” Dominic asked Robert when they were back in the bar, glasses of beer in front of them.
“I don’t know. But would we really have had a choice?”
Dominic didn’t know the answer to that.
There were no more sightings the rest of Christmas Eve.
On Christmas, as they were having a solemn dinner, another ship was seen. A freighter this time, large on the horizon. But it never came within twenty miles of the island as it kept on a southwesterly course.
Later that night, after Robert checked in with the spotters again and received the all clear, Dominic said, “Maybe we’ve made it through the worst of it.”
“Maybe,” Robert agreed. “But we shouldn’t let our guard down. There’re still going to be people who might see coming out here as a good idea.”
Dominic nodded, knowing his friend was right. But he also knew, if things kept going the way they seemed to be going elsewhere in the world, the chance of another boat showing up was going to decrease rapidly as each new day came.
There would be no one left to make the trip.
December 26th
World Population
5,844,029,917
Change
– 1,321,588,536
Twelve
LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO
5:45 AM MST
SO FAR, ESTIMATES indicated that at least two and a half billion people had been infected with the KV-27a virus, with a substantial proportion already having succumbed. Since that was a bit ahead of schedule, Perez had been concerned that the virus might burn itself out before the desired level of elimination had occurred, but the lead Project Eden scientists assured him that humanity had already reached a tipping point, and there would be no turning back. By the time the plague had run its course, over ninety-nine percent of the human race would be gone.
That’s when Project Eden’s real work would begin, implementing plans for a reborn human civilization that would benefit from all the existing knowledge and technology without the pressures of an overpopulated world.
Project Eden would lead this new society.
And Perez would lead Project Eden.
Claudia, sitting at her desk at the other end of the converted conference room, said, “Forwarding you a new report from Choi in North Korea.”
Even before she finished speaking, Perez’s computer bonged with the incoming email. He read the report and smiled.
Getting shipping containers into North Korea had not been feasible, so, as with a few other places, one of the Project’s alternative methods had been employed. In this case, several airplanes had been painted to look like they were part of the Air China fleet. On the morning of Implementation Day, after the real Air China planes had been removed from the equation, these new aircraft took over the routes into North Korea, and began spraying the virus as soon as they crossed the border. It wasn’t quite the saturation level the containers could achieve, but, according to Choi’s report, it seemed to have done the job.
The planes had been sure to hit places where military and government officials would be. With the current Great Leader and all his colleagues falling ill or already dead, the country had become rudderless. If it weren’t for the fact that the disease
had also taken hold among the general population, the people might have risen up and finally taken back their nation.
“Anything new on Russia?” Perez asked.
“Not since the last check-in.”
The outbreak in Russia had triggered a minor civil war, as several opposing factions saw it as their chance to seize control of the country. In the end, of course, they would all lose.
The phone rang and Claudia answered it. After a moment, she put her hand over the receiver and said, “Hendricks in Switzerland. He’d like to talk to you.”
Perez nodded and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Director Perez, I’m a bit worried. We’ve compiled the latest data here, and our infection rates are a good fifteen percent below those elsewhere.”
“You’ve double-checked the numbers?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid we were right about that storm.”
There had been a snowstorm covering most of Switzerland and part of northern Italy on Implementation Day. Hendricks and those he worked with had been concerned it would prevent the virus from gaining proper traction in the area.
Small setbacks like this were to be expected, though, and there were contingencies to deal with them.
“All right. What’s your weather like now?” Perez asked.
“Clear,” Hendricks reported. “But another storm is due in two days.”
Perez looked over at Claudia. “Inform Manfred he is a go for the flyover mission of sections seven and eight.”
“Yes, sir.” She picked up her phone and made the call.
To Hendricks, Perez said, “The dousing will begin as soon as it’s dark. Your levels should come up in another thirty-six hours. If they don’t, we’ll go again. Keep a close watch.”
“I will.”
The phone rang again.
“Philippe Soto,” Claudia announced after answering it. “Rio.”
Perez picked up his receiver. “Yes?”
“Director, we’ve had some problems at Angra.”
“What problems?”
Angra was the nuclear power plant outside Rio de Janeiro. It was Soto’s job to make sure all South American utility plants—such as hydroelectric and nuclear—were secure. There were similar missions on the other continents. The hope, which so far had proved to be true, was that most of these types of facilities would be either shut down or reduced to self-sustaining levels by the operators as it became clear their staffs were quickly dwindling. The Project Eden teams were supposed to jump in when that didn’t happen. The last thing they wanted was an infrastructure in chaos.