“They call me Emu.”
Bobby forced his mouth into a smile.
“Come on, Bob. Let’s get this over with.”
Shaking his head, Bobby said, “No, I need to check the shoreline all the way around. I…I got distracted. Sorry. Won’t be long.”
“Okay. But we’re on a schedule—due away by 14:00.”
Bobby checked his watch. Forty minutes. “Sure. Thanks…Emu.”
Kravitz nodded, turned on his heels and headed away.
Bobby wandered back to the waterline and followed it around, glancing over at the strip of land opposite—the one he’d headed to with such hope. To the north was another set of islands, too far to reach except by boat or air. He finished his circuit, having found nothing. Not that he was sure he knew what he’d been looking for. Signs of a landing, he supposed. He headed back toward where Kravitz and the others were busy digging. Heading for the radio station building, he heard Kravitz call out, “Nothin’ in there, Bob. We’ve swept it.”
Bobby swerved off his course and began walking toward the grave site again, and then stopped. No, he was going to check the building. He trusted Kravitz, and he expected that whoever had attacked the island would have ransacked the station, but he needed to see it with his own eyes.
Those eyes swept the bullet holes running across the front of the building and inside. He stepped in to where he’d fought eleven days ago with Maria looking on. Glass fragments covered the reception desk and the floor, and he could see more bullet holes across the entire wall. Whoever had done this had really let rip.
Bobby crunched his way through the dim interior to the studio and Jacob Westbay’s sound console. It looked as though someone had taken an ax to it, bits of wood, plastic and metal scattered across its wrecked surface. The vending machine in the foyer was on its back and stripped of everything edible or drinkable.
He sighed and was just about to head out when he remembered the generator that Westbay had failed to restart when he’d first let Bobby and Rex Hollick in. It was in a small room hidden behind and beneath the corridor running off the studio. He kicked aside the debris and found that the door wasn’t blocked, so he pulled it open and stepped in, waiting for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“Jeez,” he said as he took in a breath. It stank, but it wasn’t the stench of death. There was a pungent edge to it that crinkled his nose, and he stepped forward carefully, inch by inch.
He was looking out the corner of his eyes, feeling his way around the generator. He found the start-up button and pressed it. Nothing. So, it had run out of fuel in the end. That either meant that Hollick and the others had been using it for some time before they were attacked, or that whoever had done the killing had used it up. But it seemed to him that no one had come in here for a while.
As he was getting up, his hand passed over something soft that was balanced on the top of the generator. Left where someone might find it.
He spun around so quickly he fell backward and out through the door.
“Hey, what are you doin’, Bob? I thought you’d plain disappeared.”
Kravitz stood above him in the dim light from upstairs.
“Oh, Dios mío,” Bobby gasped, holding up the thing he’d found.
“It’s a toy?” Kravitz said. Then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “It ain’t your kid’s, is it?”
Bobby clambered to his feet and pushed past the airman up the stairs and out into the fresh air outside. “¡Puerquito! It’s hers!”
“Piglet? Cool! Wait, there’s something sticking out behind,” Kravitz said as he caught up.
Bobby turned the cuddly toy around and pulled a small slip of paper out of its shirt, opened it up and read the words she’d scribbled.
Papa, I know you will come back, but Jake says we can’t wait anymore. Bad men came and Uncle Rex told us to hide down here. We heard guns and I was scared. So was Jake. We heard people near us and I didn’t know their voices. Now they have gone, but we haven’t got no food or water. Jake says we got to do what you did.
Please come get me, Papa,
Love you.
Maria
xxxxx
4/5
He handed it over to Kravitz who read it quickly, shaking his head as he did so. “Wow. That’s amazing. How old is she?”
“Eight.”
“Clever kid.”
“Yeah.”
“April 5th. That’s…”
“Seven days.”
Kravitz reread the letter. “What does she mean, ‘we got to do what you did’?”
“I swam across to the next island.”
“You did what?”
Bobby scowled. “Stupidest thing I ever did.”
“Yeah, you could’ve caught the sickness.”
Shrugging, Bobby said, “It was too soon, I think. But anyway, I got to go after her.” He was torn in two. On the one hand he felt the unbelievable relief that she had survived the massacre—though she hadn’t left any clue why it had happened—and on the other, he felt the agony of hope unlooked for. He’d waited three days for the helicopter to fly out and bury the people here, and he’d almost completely recovered from his brush with death, but in that time Maria would have gotten farther away, even if she’d survived the trip across the bay.
“Look, Bob. We gotta finish our mission here.”
“I know. Will you help search for her once we’re done?”
“I’m sorry, but I got my orders. Once we’ve finished here, we’re patrolling along the coast, looking for survivors and salvageable resources, but we aren’t going your way.”
Bobby followed him toward where the others were beginning to fill in the mass grave. He caught sight of a white Stetson as it disappeared beneath a spadeful of earth. “So, you’re going to make me swim across?”
Kravitz stopped, and Bobby saw his shoulders droop. “Okay, we’ll drop you on the other side. I’d just better hope my boys don’t let the captain know.”
“Thanks, Emu.”
“Yeah, well. They don’t call me that on account of my brains, that’s for sure.”
#
The strait looked so very small as they passed over it. Bobby looked back at the radio station and the freshly dug soil beside it and said a silent prayer for those poor devils. He couldn’t imagine what had happened, but his thoughts were entirely on Maria and where she might be now. Kravitz had suggested he might be better coming back to the base to check if she’d made it there, but Bobby knew that was a slim hope and if she wasn’t, then he’d have to walk back to the island having lost even more time, and her trail was cold enough as it was.
No, that was the place to start. In seconds, they were dropping again to exactly the location he’d struggled out of the water.
He climbed down the ramp and hauled his pack over his shoulder. “Dammit!” he said. He’d been forced to leave his shotgun and dagger under lock and key at the base before joining the mission.
Kravitz followed him as the rotors continued turning gently. “Here. No one should go out into the wild without protection.” He pulled a non-regulation Bowie knife from his belt, and handed it to Bobby. “Best I can do—no way can I get away with giving you a firearm. It’s going to be tough enough to explain why you didn’t come back with us.”
Bobby shook his hand warmly. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“You can give it back when you meet me at the base. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Bobby stepped back and stopped his ears as the Chinook wound itself up and took off, disappearing back the way it came.
As the scrubby bushes beside the path settled again, Bobby looked around at the familiar landscape. He’d last been here nine days ago and had never expected to return. After heading back to the waterline, he searched for any signs of Maria and Jacob landing there, but found nothing. Waves lapped gently at the newly formed shore, the surface broken by nothing other than the tops of the occasional dead shrub. He knew th
at thousands of people lay beneath his feet in the valley containing Ventura, but he couldn’t comprehend it and didn’t want to think about it. After the carnage of those first days, the ocean had made itself at home, looking as if it had always been where it now was.
He got up and turned around, quickly finding the path he’d taken when he’d gone this way. It was likely enough that Jacob and Maria had started off heading to the right, but he knew they wouldn’t get far that way, and would be forced back to the path he was now taking. He felt an oppressive sense of deja vu as he tramped along. As it was now getting late, his first thought was to find somewhere to settle, and he remembered Pam’s farmhouse and the grave he’d built beside it. At least there he’d be able to sleep in relative safety and comfort, a sort of karmic thank-you for comforting the old woman.
So, he did his best to put aside his anxiety for Maria and focused on making his way to the farmhouse. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and in the fresh morning light he would stand a better chance of picking up any clues. He saw no evidence that anyone else had been this way since he’d tramped this path, but then, there was no reason why he should, unless Maria had deliberately left a clue. And that was why he had to take care and not travel once the light lessened. Better to go more slowly but miss nothing.
The sun had long disappeared behind him when he finally reached the point where Pam’s farmhouse came into view. Even in the gathering darkness he could see that someone had been there—shattered glass littered the front of the house and he could see where fires had been lit outside, as if someone had made a bonfire of the old woman’s possessions.
But there was no sign of movement and a ransacked house was better than no house at all to sleep in, so he scrambled down the bank, being careful not to slip that time. Charred junk lay in piles as if someone had been looking for something in particular, and he pulled out his knife, growing more cautious as he got closer. Then he gasped as, for the second time that day, the stench of decay made him retch.
A body lay beside one of the piles, one arm flung forward as if it had been dragged by the feet. There was something vaguely familiar about it that Bobby couldn’t put his finger on. He tried to convince himself that it was nothing more than his imagination, but, in the end, used the toe of his boot to kick the hand from the victim’s face.
Or, at least, what was left of his face. The right third was a mangled, twisted mess of black, as if a large-caliber weapon had been fired at very close range.
The left eye stared up at him out of a ruined orbit of mottled black and brown. Why did you leave? it seemed to say as Bobby gazed down at it, horror-struck and held as if by the force of its accusation.
His arms shook and all hope left him as he stood beside the long-dead body of Jacob Westbay.
Chapter 5
Gilligan’s Island
Buzz emerged onto a small road surrounded by tall trees with narrow trunks that formed a canopy above. When he’d searched for the ideal place to build a refuge—first using Google Earth and then in person—he’d been looking for places that had as few houses around them as possible. But he hadn’t had long enough to be as thorough as he’d have liked. The committee had moved their plans forward unexpectedly and he’d been forced to make a choice from the limited locations he’d already scouted out. And because of that, he hadn’t spotted these houses hidden beneath the trees.
The first house they came to was two stories above a brick basement half below ground level. It was of the Colonial style with duck egg slatted-wood walls and quarter-pane windows. Steps led up from the lawn to a grand entrance that aped the now-submerged antebellum residences of the plains below.
“Vacation rental, I expect,” Hank said, leaning down to peer through a basement window. “Expensive one.”
“What are we looking for?” Max said. He’d hung back as they’d emerged out of the trees.
Buzz gestured up at the building. “Well, right now we’re looking for somewhere to sleep the night. But we also have to know who else is sharing our island. I don’t want any more surprises.” He unclipped his shoulder holster and pulled out the Ruger he’d taken from the armory before leaving. Hank had chosen a shotgun, which he carried much more comfortably than Buzz did his smaller weapon.
They climbed the steps, pausing outside the glass front door and peering past lace curtains to the darkness inside. No sign of movement, so Buzz tried the door, on the off chance that it might have been unlocked. He was relieved to find it wasn’t, as that made it more likely it hadn’t been ransacked since the flood. It wasn’t so much that he needed what was inside, it was more that if it had been burgled, then whoever did it was still on the island and a threat to his refuge. At the very least, they’d be another mouth to feed that would, sooner or later, turn up at the gate.
Hank smashed the butt of his gun into the pane beside the lock before reaching in and feeling for a key on the wall beside the door. They were in within minutes. “Reckon this place has a generator,” he said. “I’ll go find it. Prob’ly in the basement.”
To Buzz’s surprise, Max followed him into what turned out to be a large living room rather than sticking with his friend. Buzz pulled back the curtains to reveal a comfortable room in mock period furniture, dust dancing in the light streaming in from the west.
“Are there bedrooms?” Max asked. “Can I have one?”
Buzz nodded, “Sure. Go take a look upstairs.”
The boy trotted off just as the low rumble of the generator signaled the lights coming on.
Buzz ran around and flicked all the switches off. “No sense advertising our presence,” he said, as Hank emerged from the basement.
“Sure is a nice place. There’s some supplies in the basement—mainly cleaning and bathroom stuff, but a few cans and bottles. We should be comfortable here tonight.”
They ate their rations in the little bedroom at the top of the house. It afforded the best view of the little road and would be where Hank and Buzz would take turns keeping watch.
“Buzz,” Max said as he looked up from his open can of chicken stew. “What do you know about the flood?”
It was just as well Buzz had swallowed or he might have spat out his pasta. “What makes you think I know anything about it?”
Max blinked at him, as if unsure how to respond. He thought for a moment and then said, “You’re a scientist, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you only built that place a few months ago.”
“How do you know?”
Hank, who’d been watching them both with keen interest spoke before Max could. “Oh, he’s been doin’ his detectorin’ since he got to your place. He says most of the buildings are pretty old, but they’ve been repaired.”
“Yes. You’ve upgraded the inside of the barns. The storeroom, for example, has been made vermin-proof, and you’ve built the refrigerated and frozen sections.”
Buzz tried to act casually. “So? Haven’t you ever heard of preppers?”
Max snorted derisively. “Yeah, right. No, it’s easy to see you’re a scientist. Not just how you speak. I know, because I want to be one. Or, I did before the wave came.”
“None of us can see what the future holds anymore,” Buzz said, resuming his pasta. “I was—am—a microbiologist.”
Max nodded, then settled down to pick at his chicken stew. Just as Buzz began to relax, the boy spoke again. “What I don’t understand is how you knew the wave was coming.”
Buzz froze mid-chew before gathering himself. “That’s ridiculous!”
“No, it’s logical. You refitted the farm to support a small group of people for a long period. Then, a few months later, the flood happens. You knew, or suspected, it was coming. That’s the only rational explanation.”
Shaking his head, Buzz said, “If you want to become a scientist, you’re going to have to be a lot more rigorous about your hypotheses. I have a famous brother, you see, and I bought and fitted out the farmhouse to be a place he could
retreat to. It was just sheer good luck, if you can call it that, that I’d built it in time to hide myself.”
“Where is your brother?”
Hank touched the boy’s arm. “That ain’t polite, Max.”
“No, it’s okay,” Buzz said. “I haven’t heard from him since the wave, so he’s almost certainly dead. I hope my niece is still alive, but I don’t know. The longer I wait, the more likely it is she’s also dead.”
“I don’t have anyone,” Max said.
Again, Hank reached out to him. “Neither do I. But we got each other. We’re your friends, Max.”
Max looked from one to the other. “Buzz isn’t my friend.”
“Why not?”
“Because friends don’t lie to each other.”
Buzz took first guard duty, sitting in the dark as the others retreated to bedrooms on the floor below. He pulled his knees up under his chin and put the Ruger on the mattress beside him as he gazed out onto the dark forest. Within minutes, he could hear Hank’s rhythmic snoring rattling through the floorboards, but he wasn’t in the mood to find it amusing. Max’s words had stung him.
As he sat and fumed, he couldn’t be sure what bugged him more—the fear of discovery, or being confronted by the guilt that weighed him down like Marley’s chains. The kid was smart, real smart. If he kept picking at the mystery, he would expose Buzz sooner or later—and probably sooner.
But mixed in with that had been that one moment of clarity from Hank.
“It’s not as if we can freeze it again, is it?”
He’d been barely able to get that thought out of his mind since the silly old fool had said it in his ignorance.
He tried to calm his mind by thinking through the sequence of events that had led to the wave. He’d been researching exobots, groups of tiny organic cells that could be “programmed” to carry out certain tasks. Take a bacterium that digests the scum drifting down to the ocean floor. Pair it with another organism that can convert oil into its organic components and others that allow it to move and procreate, and you have a population of oil-digesting machines that could clear the ocean of pollution faster than any manmade technique.
Deluge | Book 2 | Phage Page 3