Florida. “Too many memories back there,” he’d say when asked, though he seldom was. The people of Algona were too polite to push the issue.
The boy, known to his classmates as Scott, had made the adjustment quickly. He was doing well in school and had lots of friends. Mary, as the man’s daughter was called, was not faring as well. Her grades were fine, but she was withdrawn socially. There were a few girls she’d hang out with now and then, but for the most part, when she wasn’t in school, she was in her room reading.
At some point, he would have to do something about it. Just…not yet.
After they threw the ball around for a bit more, the father said, “Getting a little too cold for me, buddy. How about some lunch?”
The boy nodded. “Grilled cheese?”
“If that’s what you want. Last one in has to cook.”
They raced to the front door, the boy getting there a split second before his dad did.
“You’re it,” the boy declared.
“Two out of three?”
“No way.”
They removed their shoes in the mudroom, and entered the toasty confines of their small house.
“Sweetie,” the man said, raising his voice so his daughter could hear him. “I’m making grilled cheese. You want one?”
No answer.
“Honey, grilled cheese?”
Still nothing.
He looked at his son. “Go see if your sister wants one.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “She’s just going to yell at me.”
“She’s not.”
“She is.”
“Just go ask her.”
The man walked into the kitchen, washed his hands, and pulled out the fixings for lunch. As the cast-iron skillet warmed on the grill, he began buttering the bread. He was only halfway through the second slice when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” his son called out.
By the time the man had wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and walked into the living room, his son had the door open.
“Is your dad home?” a male voice asked from the porch.
“Just a second.” The boy turned toward the kitchen, then stopped when he saw his father approaching. “He wants to talk to you, Dad.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
As he reached the door, he gave his son’s hair a tousle and looked outside.
There were two men on the porch. He had never seen one of them before, but the other he had-once, on the night he’d escaped certain death from a cell in the Mojave Desert.
His one-time rescuer nodded in mutual recognition. “Afternoon, Captain Ash.”
Daniel Ash, alias Adam Cooper, let the men wait in his living room while he finished making lunch for his children.
Once the sandwiches were ready, he gave one to his son, Brandon, and poured him a glass of milk. “Treat today. You can eat it in my room and watch TV.”
“You just don’t want me to hear what you’re going to talk about,” Brandon said.
“Smart boy. Now go, or I won’t even let you turn the TV on.”
He carried the other sandwich into Josie’s room, and set them on her nightstand.
Without looking up from her book, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”
“No crumbs in the bed, okay?”
“Ugh. Disgusting.”
He wasn’t sure if she was referring to what she was reading or the idea of crumbs in her bed. “You want something to drink?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“I’ll come get your plate in a bit.”
Back in the living room, he motioned for the two men to follow him into the kitchen. It was farthest from the bedrooms, and provided the most privacy.
“We’re sorry to bother you like this, Captain,” the one he knew said. “Pax sent us.”
“You can call me Ash. I’m not in the army anymore.” Technically, that might not be true. If the army knew he was still alive, and not, as they believed, dead from an intentional car crash and subsequent fire in Nevada not long after the Sage Flu outbreak had passed, then he would probably still be considered part of the service. Long enough, at least, to be court-martialed and sentenced to death for what they erroneously believed to be his part in the spreading of the disease. “I don’t know your names, though.”
The first man said, “I’m Tom. Tom Browne. I hope you understand why I couldn’t tell you that before.”
Ash did, but said nothing.
“Pat Solomon,” the other man told him.
“All right, gentlemen, what is it you want?”
Browne cleared his throat. “Matt and Pax would like you to come to the Ranch for a meeting.”
“A meeting.”
“Yes.”
Ash looked from one man to the other. “What kind of meeting?”
“I don’t know all the details. I just know it’s important.”
“You don’t have any details? Nothing to convince me to come?”
Browne hesitated, then said, “Pax said to tell you the depots have been filled.”
The words hung in the air.
The depots. These were buildings spread all around the world so that the Project would thrive while civilization collapsed around it. Ash had seen one of the facilities in person that previous summer, had been inside its then-empty storerooms.
If Browne wasn’t lying, time was about to run out.
“Can I get either of you something to drink?” Ash asked. “Water, milk, a beer?”
“We’re fine,” Browne said.
“Suit yourself.”
Ash walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door.
He had been dreading this moment, knowing someday it would come. It wasn’t so much that he realized because of the help he’d been given to save his children, he would eventually be asked to return the favor. What he dreaded was what it actually meant-that the Project was really going to try and restart humanity by culling it down to all but the necessary numbers needed to begin again. It was a potential reality he couldn’t justify no matter how many ways he thought about it. And it certainly wasn’t a reality he ever wanted his children to see. Brandon and Josie had inherited Ash’s immunity to KV-27a. The flu would never kill them, only all their friends and neighbors. His kids had already lost their mother. He knew he would do whatever he could so that his children wouldn’t lose everyone else, too.
As much as he wanted to grab one of the beers, he picked up a bottle of water instead and cracked it open.
“When do they want me?”
“Now.”
There was a noise behind them. A footstep.
“When do they want you where?” Josie asked. She stood into the kitchen doorway, staring at her father.
