Colony East (17 page)

“She said I’d been selected to join Colony East, but it was my choice if I wanted to live there. She told me I’d stay in a five-star hotel and go to school. I’d eat fresh fruits and vegetables. I’d be safe. She told me some crap about how I could be a seed for a new society.”

Monty shrugged, “Who wouldn’t want to go to a place like that? Our neighborhood was dangerous. One of us had to stay up every night to guard the house. We’d been eating pigeons and rats which was better than what some kids were eating.

“I asked Doctor Droznin if I could bring Robbie with me—”

“Stone,” the captain interrupted. “Your brother’s name is Stone.”

Monty nodded. “Yeah, Monty and Stone. Someday I’ll get used to our names. Doctor Droznin said that only I could go. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I figured I could come home on the weekends. Man, I was wrong.”

Monty hypnotized them with his descriptions of the colony and his daily activities. Jordan thought the stories had to be true. They were too strange to make up.

“You probably want to know why I left, right?” Monty asked them. “I missed my brother. After four months, I asked Lieutenant Masters if I could visit him. The lieutenant was my company leader.” Monty grinned. “He was really cool. He let us break the rules all the time.

“He said if I left the colony, I couldn’t come back. He also told me there was only one way to leave. I’d have to get kicked out by Admiral Samuels and Doctor Perkins. They were in charge of the colony. I told him I wanted out. To help me get out, Lieutenant Masters wrote a report, saying I was disobedient and nothing would change my behavior. He took me to the council. You want to meet a scary dude? Admiral Samuels looks like a pit bull ready to bite your head off. Doctor Perkins is the chief scientist. He’s kind of strange. When he explains something, you don’t have a clue what he’s talking about.

“We met at Trump Tower. After the lieutenant finished telling them what a screw-up I was, Doctor Perkins gave me a long lecture about Generation M, and how I could play an important role in the future of the human race.”

Eddie interrupted. “Generation M?”

“Generation Magnificent,” Monty explained.

Jordan chuckled. “Generation Madness, I would say.”

“Let him finish,” Abby snapped.

Monty grinned slyly, “I thanked Doctor Perkins for wanting me to play such an important role, but I told him I hated Colony East, and I wasn’t going to change my behavior. He whispered something to Admiral Samuels. Then the admiral told me they were transferring me to Biltmore Company. Lieutenant Dawson was the strictest company leader.”

Abby shot Jordan a look. The way he skillfully avoided her gaze confirmed that he was thinking the same thing. Their mother’s favorite television program had been Dawson’s Creek. They could never watch their own shows when Dawson’s Creek was on. If he made eye contact with her, it would make the memory even sadder.

Monty grinned. “I told Admiral Samuels and Doctor Perkins where they could stick it.”

“Challenge,” Eddie said.

Monty gestured to the candle burning and all the pictures of loved ones in the memory room. “Out of respect for the dead, I won’t tell you the exact words I used, but it worked. Here I am.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Colony East

The front door of Medical Clinic 17 was locked, and nobody was at the desk in the lobby. Eyeing the video camera pointed down at him, Lieutenant Dawson pressed the buzzer next to the security keypad and waited. It didn’t surprise him to find the lobby empty at this hour of the morning. From what he’d heard about the work schedules of CDC personnel, he and they were polar opposites. Early to bed, early to rise… That was the motto he lived by. Sometimes, he wondered if the scientists only worked in their labs at night.

Dawson checked the time, realizing that breakfast was now underway. He’d asked Sandy to supervise his cadets at Grand Central Station. School began in ninety minutes. While he expected to make it to class on time, he had lined up Lieutenant Masters to cover first period trig just in case.

He pressed the buzzer again. What good was a video camera that nobody monitored? He walked to the sidewalk to see if, by some miracle, anyone from the CDC might be heading to Medical Clinic 17.

The five-story building was in Sector E, a two-block stretch near Times Square that offered one-stop shopping for all things medical in the colony. The dental clinic was across the street and the hospital, where Sandy worked, was next door.

MC 17 was an annex of the hospital, formerly a neonatal special care facility. Doctor Perkins had requested the enclosed bridge connecting the two buildings be walled off. Dawson had no idea why.

He spotted activity inside the lobby and jogged to the door. Two scientists had entered the lobby through interior double doors. They’d probably pulled all-nighters in a lab. Engaged in animated discussion, they opened the front door and walked past him as if he were invisible.

He stepped inside and considered his options. He could take a seat and wait for someone to show up, or he could go exploring. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped through the double doors.

He faced a long, dimly lit corridor with doors on both sides. Lily could be anywhere. He knocked on the first door on the right. When nobody responded, he peeked inside. Lots of test tubes and medical gadgets, no scientists. Knocking and turning knobs, Dawson moved in a zigzag pattern, finding no one to receive his inquiry about Lily Meyers. Halfway down the hall, he detected an odor seeping under a doorjamb, which reminded him of high school biology. His class had dissected fetal pigs, preserved in formaldehyde. The smell had made him dizzy and sick to his stomach, convincing him he wouldn’t make a good doctor or funeral home director. The door to the room emitting the fumes was locked.

He continued searching until he reached the fire exit. Not the smartest design, he noted. They had no push-bars, so in case of a fire, the doors offered no escape.

Just then, a scientist entered the hall. He checked his watch, thinking it was about time someone showed up for work.

He was heading for her when a door on the left side of the corridor opened and someone wearing a hazmat suit stepped out. Dawson stepped around the person in the suit, wondering why this individual had not responded to his knock. “Excuse me.”

The spring-loaded door closed slowly, providing him with a glimpse inside. Three black bags, about four feet in length, lay on three gurneys. The strong odor of chemicals that wafted out suggested autopsies. His thoughts started swirling.

“Lieutenant Dawson.” The sharp voice of the scientist sliced into his eardrums like a scalpel. Recognizing the Russian accent, he realized it must be Doctor Droznin.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ve reported your intrusion to Admiral Samuels.”

Intrusion?
“I’m here to check on Lily Meyers.”

“I have no update for you.”

“Doctor Droznin?” He waited for her to indicate he was correct. Instead, she just stared. “Whatever you can tell me would be helpful. Lily’s roommate is worried about her, and I assured her I would check on Lily first thing.”

An accordion of crinkles appeared in Doctor Droznin’s forehead. “Is Tabatha Williams exhibiting any symptoms?”

Dawson rocked back on his heels. “No.”

“As I told you, I have no update.”

From having served eight years in the U.S. Navy, Dawson knew a bureaucratic stonewall when he hit one. He could argue all day with Doctor Droznin and get nowhere. His next step was obvious, and the doctor had apparently already done him the service of alerting Admiral Samuels.

He thanked her because protocol called for it, and then exited Medical Clinic 17. Walking away from the building, he revisited the scene he’d glimpsed. Logic told him the BDU was still clearing apartments in the Yellow and Red Zones, and the scientists had an insatiable curiosity to study the effects of the bacteria that had claimed so many two years earlier. Neither rational thinking nor the fresh air did much to clear his churning mind.

~ ~ ~

Five hours later, Lieutenant Dawson entered HQ at Trump Towers. Ensign Parker saluted him and he returned it. If it weren’t for the uniform Parker wore, Dawson might have mistaken him for a Colony East cadet. He wondered if the ensign had started shaving yet. Dawson even detected a trace of acne under the ensign’s left ear. He must have enlisted right out of high school and, lucky for him, selected submarine duty.

Parker had raised Dawson on the radio earlier, informing him that both the admiral and Doctor Perkins wished to see him. Good, he had thought, kill two birds with one stone.

Dawson sat ramrod straight and thought it strange that the ensign was avoiding eye contact. The only other occasions when Parker wouldn’t look him in the eye were the times he had made furlough requests to the admiral.

Admiral Samuels stepped out of his office. With his crew cut, barrel chest, and permanent scowl, he reminded Dawson of a squat bulldog. True to the breed, the admiral’s bite was as fearsome as his bark.

Parker gestured. “Go on in.” The ensign seemed to find the items on his desk too interesting for him to look up as Dawson passed.

Samuels and Perkins made quite the pair. With canines on his mind, Perkins reminded Dawson of a greyhound wearing a maroon bowtie. He had a long thin nose and sunken cheeks. He mostly liked to sit back, quiet and observant, but when he decided to give a speech, he rambled on at breakneck speed, mixing poetic metaphors with the sterile vocabulary of the sciences. Dawson wasn’t alone in missing the deeper meaning behind many of Doctor Perkin’s soliloquies.

The chief scientist adjusted his wire rimmed glasses on the thin bridge of his nose. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant. I appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule. Your efforts to support Generation M have not gone unnoticed. Company leaders play an important role in nourishing the seeds of the new society.”

Dawson nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He knew when to keep his comments brief.

Admiral Samuels sat behind his huge mahogany desk, drumming his fingers. After a moment, he walked around the desk and half-sat on a corner. “Mark, just what were you thinking? In Colony East, we lock doors for a reason. Medical Clinic 17 hadn’t opened yet.”

Dawson realized he might get only one chance to speak his mind. He’d better make it good. “Sir, last night a CDC quarantine team took one of my cadets, Lily Meyers. As far as I can tell, I received no prior notification. Nor did I receive a status update in the daily memorandum. This morning, I decided to see how she was doing. I want to keep my cadets informed of Lily’s condition.”

A vein in the admiral’s neck popped out like a rope. “Did you ever think of asking me? Wouldn't that have been the easier course to take, the right course?” He glared down on Dawson, roasting him like a pig on a spit.

The rising heat Dawson felt inflamed his cheeks and his pounding heart indicated the admiral’s technique was working. He’d think twice before exploring Medical Clinic 17 on his own again.

Doctor Perkins nodded to the admiral. “I can sympathize with the lieutenant. My Q-teams can be aggressive at times. The team should have informed him. I’ll reprimand them so this unfortunate situation doesn't repeat itself.”

Admiral Samuels grunted. After serving for five years under the admiral’s command on the
USS Seawolf
and a year at Colony East, Dawson still couldn’t read that grunt.

Perkins now faced him. “I’d also like to apologize for Doctor Droznin’s abruptness. While polite discourse sometimes eludes her, we have no better steward for the seeds of the new society. Doctor Droznin’s ability to analyze data is absolutely critical to the success of the colony.”

Just warming up, Doctor Perkins tented his slender fingers. “Lieutenant, I learned an important lesson as a postdoc at Princeton. Never publish a paper prematurely. Make sure your research is thorough and rock solid. Collect all your data before you reach a conclusion.” A shadow of concern spread across Perkins’ face. “We’ve identified a new illness. We have some theories on what’s causing it, but that’s all we have, a hypothesis. We’ll share what we know, but only after we have made our conclusions.” The shadow lifted and he practically beamed. “Lily Meyers is very important to all of us. She can help us solve a piece of the puzzle.” Doctor Perkins turned his eyes into deep pools of wisdom. “Many people believe science moves forward in leaps and bounds. Nay, Lieutenant Dawson, not true. Ever since the ancient Greeks plotted the heavens, science has marched forward in tiny, incremental, systematic steps. We are like a slug creeping up a blade of grass; we comb through data as slowly as a bivalve filters seawater for nutrients. Deliberation and thoroughness are the bedrock of science. Lily, as an incubator of the illness, should help us in our quest. You have to trust that we’re utilizing her appropriately. She offers a key to the survival of Generation M.”

Dawson felt the admiral’s glare, which he knew meant only one thing. Salute and move on. He turned his head slightly, removing Admiral Samuels from his peripheral vision. “Thank you for explaining that, Doctor Perkins. Can I see Lily? I’d like to let her know everyone in Biltmore Company is pulling for her.”

“I’m sorry, that won’t be possible,” Perkins said. “We’ve transferred the subject to the Atlanta Colony where we have a more sophisticated research lab.”

Dawson fought the wobble in his knees. “Can I write to her?” The admiral moved back into his field of vision, and Dawson sensed he was none too pleased.

Perkins’ face lit up. “That’s a wonderful idea. It should lift her spirits. Deliver your letters to the liaison office. Doctor Levine will make sure they’re put on the next transport flight.”

“Is that all, Lieutenant Dawson?” The admiral asked, expecting only one answer.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Castine Island

Lucky Me
, Jordan’s destination, was at her mooring in the harbor.