Survivors (39 page)

Instead of following Rico into the ship, he walked to the handrail and looked out to the sea. It was true, what they said: once you got it in your blood, it would always be a part of you. The siren song of the open ocean, calling you back.

He turned and looked back over the deck and saw himself ready to leave. With something of a start, he realized that was the day they’d abandoned ship.

I don’t get any of the good memories in between, then?

“Secure that weapon,” he said. “Double-knot those boots, son, what do you want to do, have them come off in the mud?” He raised his hands and his voice, as if beseeching the Almighty. “Oh, Jesus, give me strength, sailor! You wear the damn webgear like
this
.”

From the corner of his eye he spotted Hal, snickering at the sailors. Harris snorted at Hal’s expression.
He probably thinks he’s got that smirk concealed
. He continued up and down the line, dressing down whoever needed it.

The greatest journey of his life was about to begin.

Omaha, NE
1 July 2007
1734 hrs_

B
Y THE TIME
J
UNI
rang the dinner bell, the sun had settled behind a group of clouds, blunting its glare.

The survivors filed in, some from the yard, others from their rooms, and took up their places in the break room. All were present save Anna, still working in the lab below, and Krueger, who had elected to remain behind and keep a watch while the others ate. With the sandwich to tide him over, he was perfectly willing to settle for leftovers. Hal and Stone were still at the dispatch shack, plugging away.

“What’s on the menu tonight, beautiful?” Brewster said with a grin as he filed into the break room. “No, wait, let me guess. It’s either Spam or more pasta.”

Juni planted a hand on her hip and fixed Brewster with a disapproving stare. “That’s just about all we have, Brewster.” Her attitude brightened. “But I think you’ll like what I’ve done with the stuff.”

Juni presented the ragtag group with a steaming bowl of noodles, mixed with bits of green and red.

“What is this?” sniffed Brewster.

Juni looked hurt. “Vegetable pasta. We had some cans sitting around, so I added them in. There’s corn, and potatoes, and peas. Eat it. It’s good. I already tried it.”

Brewster eyed the dish a moment, shrugged, and helped himself to a serving. “Dinner might be monotonous around here, but at least there
is
a dinner.”

“That’s the attitude we’re looking for,” Sherman said in approval, grinning.

“I don’t know,” said Jack the Welder, forking up mouthfuls of the dish. “I kind of like it. Nice work, Juni. You can be the cook every night, in my book.”

Pleased, Juni managed a half bow. “Thank you. At least
someone
appreciates it.” She smacked the back of Brewster’s head as she passed, causing him to choke on a mouthful of vegetables.

“Ow,” he managed after swallowing, rubbing at his head.

“Maybe this will make you feel better,” she said, coming back with a handful of dark croutons. He eyed them for a moment as she dumped them onto his plate.

“Wow, Juni,” he said, momentarily touched. “Thanks, really. I didn’t—”

“Shh,” she said, looking at him sweetly. “Just eat.”

With a wide smile, Brewster dug into his plate. He scooped some pasta into his mouth and worked at it, the beatific expression on his face slowly changing to confusion.

“These are kind of crunchy. They kind of . . .”

“Make you want to sit up and beg?” she asked, and Thomas, who could no longer hold it, let go with a belly laugh that none of the group had ever heard from him.

“Fucking dog food,” Brewster said, and Thomas laughed even harder. Sherman was so surprised, even he stopped eating. He, Denton, Jack, and Trev all stared at Thomas.

“What?” he asked, the laughing finally tapering off. “I don’t get to laugh, ever?”

Denton shook his head. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Mbutu Ngasy smiled widely and dug into his dinner. “Good omen to start a meal with happiness.”

“Happiness and dog food,” Brewster moaned, which started Thomas off again.

“Jesus Christ, it really is the end of the world,” Denton said.

While the survivors were all grouped together, Sherman took the opportunity to remind them of their upcoming foray into Omaha. “Remember, folks, get to bed early tonight. We’ll be heading out once the sun is fully up so we’ll have plenty of daylight to work with.”

“We remember, Frank,” said Denton. “The supply run to end all supply runs.”

“At least for a while,” added Jack.

“Until we eat it all,” agreed Brewster.

“In any case,” Sherman went on, oblivious to the banter, “make sure you’re ready to go before oh-nine. The earlier we get started, the longer we have to search.”

“Your wish is my order, oh three-starred one,” said Brewster, which would normally earn him an irate look from Thomas. That day, however, the sergeant major just smiled.

“Woof,” he said.

Deep in the Fac, Anna was laughing.

All by herself in the BL4 lab, and encumbered in her Chemturion suit, she did a rough approximation of a happy dance. The rat bitten that morning was wounded pretty badly, but . . . no signs of turning.

“Come here, you little survivor, you,” she cooed as she tried to grab hold of the little rat. A blood sample would tell her for sure what she dared to hope.

Finally grabbing on to the squirming rodent, she stuck it with a hypodermic and sucked some of its blood into the clear chamber. Her next thought was to dump the rat into the incinerator with the rest of its brothers, but something stayed her hand.

At first, she thought maybe it was errant sentimentality. Should the rat survive Morningstar only to be consumed by fire? She shook her head. Maybe she was just tired. She shook her head again.

“I’m always tired. What is it?”

Like a bizarre statue, she stood there with a full syringe in one hand and a squealing lab rat in the other, lost in thought. Her eyes closed and opened, alternately scanning the room and looking over the body of the rat, all its wounds . . .

“The wounds!” she practically screamed. “The fucking wounds! Why won’t Stiles’s leg bite heal up? What about the arm?” She eyed the rat carefully. “Why am I asking you, you might be wondering? Well, I’ll tell you, Ralph,” she said, leaning her hip against a stainless steel counter. “If I can heal you, I can heal him. If I can heal him . . . well, shit. I can heal anyone. Back you go.”

She put Ralph the Rodent back into his cage and closed it, turning to take a closer look at the blood in her hands.

One hour and a triple-check later, Dr. Demilio came out of the BL4 labs at a run once again. “Frank!” she shouted. “Come look at this!”

She burst into the improvised Situation Room, where Sherman and Thomas were going over the map of the local area with Denton.

“Frank!” she said. “Come on. Grab Stiles and Becky. You too, Thomas. You need to see
this
.”

Mbutu and Brewster were taking their turn on the Fac’s roof, pulling guard duty. Unaware of the ecstatic discovery about to be shared below them, the pair had settled in for a long night’s shift.

“I hate night shifts,” lamented Brewster. “Nothing ever happens.”

“I prefer them,” said Mbutu. “Nothing ever happens.”

“Krueger snagged a shambler yesterday. How much you want to bet we don’t see a single one?”

Mbutu chuckled, but didn’t reply.

A distant pop drew the attention of the rooftop guards, and they both peered over the edge to locate the source of the noise. They could hear a fizzling overhead, and a moment later, a bright orange flare lit up the twilight, suspended by a parachute. It lit up the entire block.

“What the fuck?” wondered Brewster. “Where’d that come from?”

A moment later, a second flare popped in midair, joining the first in lazy flight.

At that moment, something came over the radio in response to Hal Dorne’s frequent queries. He and Stone sat straight up in the radio shack and eyed the speakers, then looked at each other.

“What do we do?” Stone asked.

“Shit if I know! You go tell someone, and I’ll keep trying to raise them,” Hal said, smacking the radio apparatus with one hand and gripping the mic with the other.

“Right,” Stone said, running from the shack.

As he got outside, he saw the flares, as well as the silhouettes of Brewster and Mbutu on the roof. “Hey! Hey . . . uh, Brewster!”

“Huh? Oh, hey, Stone!”

“Yes, Stone! Hal says he caught something on the radio.”

Pointing at the lazily descending flares, Brewster said, “Do you think that’s them?”

“Could be. Should we go out and see?”

Brewster shook his head. “I can’t make that call, man.”

Stone put his hands up. “Well, who can, then?”

“I’m sorry about all the rigmarole,” apologized Dr. Anna Demilio. “But you have to wear the suits into BL4 or you’ll be exposed to . . . well, I’m not even sure you want to know what else is in here besides Morning-star.”

Sherman, tugging one of the blue Chemturion suits on in BL4’s staging area, nodded in agreement. “I wouldn’t mind staying in the dark.”