Sick

channels.

“Mom, have you heard from Gavin?”

“No, dear. But you know your brother. He gets tunnel vision. Probably working on a project.”

Tamara frowned. He did get tunnel vision at times, but he’d never let her down like this before. “Okay. Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Tammy?” her dad said. He’d obviously been listening in on the other line. “Have you talked to your boss? They need to get you out of there. You’re right in the middle of everything.”

“I’m a news correspondent, Dad. I’malwaysin the middle of things. Besides, everything’s fine here. The closest outbreak is at least fifty miles away.”

“But you never know, sweetie. The sooner you get out of there, the better your mother and I are going to feel.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine.” She noticed Joe trying to wave her over to where the majority of the media was hanging out. “Look, I’ve got to go. I love you.”

“We love you, too,” her mother said.

“Very much,” her dad added.

“Okay. Bye.”

She hung up, then hurried over to her producer. “What’s up?”

“Just got off the phone with Irene,” he whispered. Irene was their boss in New York. “She says they’ve been negotiating with the Army to get us taken out to the I-15 roadblock.”

“That’s great!”

“What’s great?” Peter Chavez, a reporter with one of the wire services, turned and asked.

“Uh, nothing, Peter,” Joe said, then smiled. “Just…telling Tammy about what I’m getting my wife for her birthday.”

Peter didn’t look convinced. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Tamara said, trying to cover her mistake. “He’s taking her to Paris. Isn’t that cool?”

Peter frowned. “Guess salaries are nicer over there at Generic Cable News.”

“I guess they are,” Joe replied. He then grabbed Tamara’s arm and moved her away from the crowd. “What an ass.”

“When will we know about going to the roadblock?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure. Soon, I hope.”

Not too far away, a TV had been set up under a canopy so that people with nothing to do could watch. The screen suddenly filled with some jumpy, low-quality video, catching Tamara’s eye.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Joe looked over and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Quickly they both made their way to the back of the group watching the television.

“Bobby,” Tamara said, noticing her cameraman a couple people ahead of her.

When he turned, she motioned for him to join them in the back.

As soon as he moved in beside her, she asked, “Whatisthat?”

“Somebody just uploaded it to the Internet,” he said. “Some sort of skirmish at a roadblock just east of Tehachapi.”

Tehachapi was west of the town of Mojave, which was in the quarantine zone, and east of Bakersfield, which was not.

The footage looked like it had been shot on a camera phone. There were several dozen people pushing and shoving. Most were civilians, but there were a few people in uniforms, too.

This went on for several seconds, then a face flashed across the screen that caused Tamara to jerk back, startled.

It was Gavin, or someone who sure looked a hell of a lot like him. She pushed her way through the crowd so she could get closer to the screen.

Whoever was holding the camera seemed to be moving slightly away from the crowd. She could see the whole mob now, pushing and shoving at each other. She tried to find the guy who looked like Gavin, but didn’t see him.

A voice cut over the video, distorted by the poor quality of the camera’s microphone.

“Most of these guys…I think have family…in the…zone.” The speaker’s voice was punctuated by deep breaths. “They want to get in…but…the soldiers are…trying to push them…back. It looks like some…people are getting through.”

The shot zoomed in on a small group that was trying to go around the end of the roadblock while the soldiers were busy with the larger crowd. Suddenly several members of the big group saw what was happening and took off after the others, no doubt hoping that they, too, could get through. The trickle became a stream, then a river.

At the edge of the pack, two soldiers went down. As soon as their colleagues saw this, they opened fire.

“Oh, my God!” someone standing near Tamara yelled out as civilians started falling to the ground.

But Tamara couldn’t even speak. She had seen Gavin again. He was wearing one of the shirts she’d given him for Christmas. And when the chaos was at its height, it looked very much like a bullet had hit him, too. Only unlike the others, he hadn’t fallen away from the roadblock, but toward it, like he’d been shot from the other direction. And then there was the look on his face a moment before he went down, a look of disorientation and confusion.

Like he had no idea what he was doing there in the first place.

The pressure in her head built until she could almost take it no more. How she didn’t scream, she had no idea.

There was another conference call at noon. Since this one had been arranged ahead of time, they were connected via video chat. Though both Dr. Karp and Major Ross were at the Marin County location, each was in his own office. Shell was in a hotel room somewhere near the quarantine zone, and the Director of Preparation was at Bluebird. Of course the DOP’s feed was blacked out. The project’s number one guideline was that the members of the Bluebird Directorate were to remain anonymous.

“Dr. Karp, do you have the latest statistics on the outbreak?” the DOP asked.

The doctor leaned forward a few inches. “I talked to our source at the CDC five minutes ago, so the numbers I’m about to give you are as up to date as possible. Dead-three hundred and twenty-one. Currently infected-five hundred and seventeen. This information, of course, has not been released to the public yet. But I doubt they will be getting any-”

“That’s enough for the moment,” the DOP said, cutting him off. “Mr. Shell, your update, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Shell said, adjusting himself in his chair. “On the quarantine front, state and military officials have a pretty good handle on containment for the majority of the population. Fortunately, the outbreak occurred in an open and underpopulated area.”

“It was notfortunate, Mr. Shell,” Dr. Karp broke in. “It was by design. Why do you think we chose Barker Flats in the first place?”

“Thank you, doctor,” the DOP said. “Mr. Shell, please continue.”

Shell took a loud, annoyed breath, then said, “As you know, our strategy is one of plugging the holes the official response can’t handle. With your help, Director, I have my main team using Fort Irwin in Barstow as its base. Thank you for making that happen.” He paused, but the DOP said nothing. “I, uh, also have a team set up at a private airfield north of Victorville. Using thermal satellite imagery, we have been able to track in real time individuals who’ve tried to get out of the zone over the open desert. So far there have been twenty-eight attempts, and my people have stopped all of them.” There was no need for him to say what stopping meant. They all knew he was tasked with removing problems, not jailing them.

“Do you have any idea how many of those were actually infected?”

“Obviously, we wouldn’t be able to know that without proper tests, but I can say with confidence that six showed outward signs of KV-27a infection. My teams continue to monitor the intel, and are ready to move on any new escape attempts at a moment’s notice.”