The same guy who’d been bringing them food from the beginning had brought in dinner a while ago. He was the nice one, the guy who always smiled, and seemed to really care about them.
When Brandon asked him if he knew why Josie was still asleep, the man had said, “Because she’s still getting over her illness.”
That only made Brandon more worried. What if she was getting sick again? That happened sometimes, didn’t it? He was sure he’d heard that before. Would she be even sicker this time? Would she even…die?
Thinking that terrified him. His mom and dad were already gone. What was he going to do if Josie wasn’t around, either? He’d have no one. No one at all.
He sat on the edge of her bed, wiping her head with a damp towel from the bathroom. He didn’t think she had a fever, but he wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
“It’s okay, Josie. I’m here.”
Ten minutes later, he fell asleep beside to her.
NB7 was not considered a high-priority location for project security. Its isolation was believed to be its best defense. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a security staff on hand, but it did mean other resources such as constant satellite observation were considered unnecessary. It was, by design after all, mainly a storage and backup shelter facility.
What additional security the building did have consisted of a state-of-the-art motion sensor grid surrounding the perimeter, video surveillance along the road that led to the property, and a car recognition system set up on the highway.
The way this last item worked was that cars traveling on the highway would trip an electronic beam twelve miles either to the South or to the North. This would trigger a hidden camera to take a picture of the car and its license plate, then, in a completely automated process, determine the make, model and year of the car. The vehicle would then be checked off when it crossed the opposite electronic eye on its way out of the area. There was leeway built in to the system to account for slower drivers, and for those who might stop to take a few pictures-something that happened more often than those at NB7 may have expected. But once these items were taken into consideration, if a car failed to trip the second beam in the allotted time frame, an alarm would be activated, and a team would be sent out to check.
Just such an alarm went off at 12:58 a.m. for a 2009 Honda Accord with Florida license plates. It was probably nothing, the head of security thought. He bet the driver had just pulled to the side of the road to take a nap. That had happened, too.
Still, protocol was to dispatch a team.
So he did.
Dr. Karp was feeling particularly pleased with himself. He’d been in touch with his research team, and was told all indications were that the new vaccine would work exactly as they’d hoped.
This was the fifth time they’d tested KV-27a, and only the first in which they’d run across someone with immunity. What a bonus that had been. They’d been working on a synthetic vaccine to that point and having multiple problems, but the blood running through the veins of Captain Ash and his children had proved most useful, and the previous problems quickly disappeared. Even the issue of how females versus males reacted was on the cusp of being solved.
The doctor had all but given up hope that they’d find someone like the three surviving members of the Ash family. Between the tests in Tanzania, Bangladesh, Tajikistan, Alaska, Barker Flats, and the unintentional victims of what the media was calling the Sage Flu outbreak, there had been 3578 subjects, of which 3575 had died. That was a success rate of 99.9 %, even better than their targeted goal of 99.85 %. Which would mean there should be even fewer genetically immune survivors when the official implementation occurred, and thus making it easier for those survivors chosen by the project to control those chosen by nature.
Of course, thinking like that was getting ahead of the game. There were still many obstacles to overcome. But his part was all but done. He was sure of it. Once the vaccine was in production, he could relax and act as consultant for the others as he waited for the great day.
His most immediate task was the children. What he had to do wasn’t pleasant, but he was smart enough to understand this was not a task he could delegate. These children would be giving their lives so that he and the others could make things right. In many ways, they were as important to the future as he was. Well, almost.
He would take care of them first thing in the morning before they woke-that would be best. Right now, he was content to let them have one more night of dreams.
Why not? Everything was going so well. Even the outbreak in California had given them more data to back up his work.
Yes, very well, indeed.
44
“What time is it?” Tamara asked.
Bobby turned the camera back on, its display screen lighting up their tiny room. It was the only clock they had. His cell phone was sitting on the editing console in the van, while hers was in her purse along with the wristwatch she had for work but seldom wore.
“Eleven fifty-three,” he said.
He switched the camera off to save its battery, plunging them back into darkness.
Tamara dropped her chin to her chest. Eleven fifty-three p.m. They’d been in the truck’s secret compartment for over five hours. And who knew how much longer they’d have to stay?
After the first ten minutes in the box had passed, she’d had a moment when she started to think that maybe Chavez was wrong, that maybe the soldiers weren’t there to kill them. But then an image of her brother’s face appeared in her mind. Gavin looked confused and unsure at first, then suddenly his eyes went wide and he started to scream. The bullet. It had been fired by one of the soldiers who were now chasing her.
“Should…should we check?” Bobby had asked. “Maybe they’re gone.”
“No,” she said quickly.
Another silent minute went by, then, as if to confirm Tamara’s response, the sound of several boots running on asphalt could be heard approaching the truck, then stopping at the back.
“Clear!” one voice called out.
“Clear!” a second one chimed in.
There was some scuffling around, then a new voice said, “Team one, recheck the buildings along that row. We’ll take these over here. They’ve got to be in one of them. Say whatever’s necessary to get them into the helicopter, but let’s get this done now.”
Several voices replied, “Yes, sir,” then immediately there was the sound of at least half a dozen people running off.
The words stuck in Tamara’s mind. Any lingering doubts that the soldiers just wanted to talk to them were gone.
As the hours passed, they could hear groups of people running by the truck on five separate occasions. Whether they were the soldiers or not, it was impossible to tell, but it was more than enough to reinforce the idea she and Bobby were better off in their box than anywhere else.
Then an hour passed with no one running by. It was the longest gap there’d been yet. Tamara hoped the others had finally left, and that the next sound she and Bobby heard would be the three knocks on the side of the truck, telling them it was safe to come out.
But the night remained silent.
“Why don’t you stretch out on the floor?” Bobby suggested in a whisper.
Their hidey-hole was set up with cushion-topped metal boxes they could sit on at either end. In the boxes, as they’d found out by touch, were food and drink, and on the floor near Bobby’s side had been the pot for
