Gulf Star Oil Platform
Three days had passed since Tinsley fell ill. Her symptoms were mild at first, but were growing more severe. And she wasn’t alone. The sickness was spreading, with twenty-one others showing symptoms as well.
Luke tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, keeping Tinsley hydrated and fed and helping Dr. Cain when needed. But he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that they had all passed some sort of invisible threshold, that the borrowed time they had been existing on since the zombie uprising had expired while they weren’t paying attention. Sleep, when it came, was fitful and devoid of solace. A crushing sense of hopelessness lurked beneath the surface of his waking mind, held in check only by sheer force of will. He refused to let Tinsley witness his angst. Every time he spoke to her, he plastered a smile on his face and pretended everything was going to be all right, even though deep inside, he knew nothing was further from the truth.
He rested his palm on Tinsley’s thigh. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
Tinsley yawned and pulled the sheet up to her chin. “I’m feeling better.” She smiled. “Now, go.”
“Okay then,” he said, slowly getting to his feet. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Call Marla if you need anything.” Marla Wells, a twenty-two-year-old nurse, had offered to sit with Tinsley when Luke was unavailable.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” Tinsley murmured, her chest rising and falling in the shallow, halting rhythm of the critically ill.
Ignoring the ever-present potential for infection, Luke leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. Then he left to find Chris and the doctor.
***
Chris took his time stirring five packets of sugar into his coffee. He took his first sip then looked up at Cain. The doctor’s eyes, like his own, bore the unmistakable pink cast of early-stage infection.
“So how is he?” Chris asked.
Cain shook his head. “I wish I had better news.”
Chris set down his coffee with a trembling hand. “There has to be something else you can try.”
“Not without—”
A knock came at the door.
“Come in!” Chris called, wiping a tear from his eye.
The door opened, and Luke entered. His gaze bounced between Chris and the doctor. Indecision filled his young face. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No. You’re good. Come in,” Chris said. “Take a seat. We were just talking about Marlon.”
Luke dragged out a chair and sat at the table. “How’s he doing?”
“Stable, for now,” Cain said. “How’s Tinsley?”
Luke shrugged. “The same.”
“Good. I’ll stop by later and check in on her.”
Chris picked up his coffee and took another sip. “Thanks for coming,” he told Luke. “The doc and I have been talking, and we wanted to get your perspective on a few things.”
“Me?” Luke asked. “Why me?”
Cain held up a pad of paper full of his neat, tight handwriting. “We had eighty-one people sick as of two hours ago, and only eleven showing no symptoms yet. You’re one of them.”
Luke frowned. “I thought we had more people than that here?”
“We did,” Dr. Cain said, stealing a glance at Chris. “This is for your ears only. We’ve lost twelve, not counting the casualties on the Dixie.”
Luke gasped and turned to Chris. “But you said—”
Chris winced. He and Dr. Cain had kept the number of dead a closely guarded secret in hopes of containing a full-out panic. That didn’t make sense anymore in the face of the sudden spike in illnesses. Most of the people on the platform would soon be too ill to panic. The disease was moving too quickly. The echoes of the initial zombie outbreak were all too familiar—death exploding out of nowhere and devouring humanity in the span of days.
“I know,” Chris said. “I’m sorry. I…” He couldn’t finish. He scraped back his chair, got up, and staggered to the window. He put his hands on the sill and fixed his gaze on the razor-sharp line of the horizon.
The day was sunny and calm. High clouds scudded along in the same direction Jack and Megan had sailed. With a start, Chris realized he hadn’t thought of them in almost a week. In the face of the growing crisis on the Gulf Star, the status of the scouting mission and of his friends’ lives had somehow gotten lost in the mix. Over a month had passed since the Texas had disappeared over the horizon. For all Chris knew, they had run into trouble somewhere along the way and had never even reached their destination. If they were still out there—and Chris was loath to allow his hopes to be that high—by the time they returned to the Gulf Star, there might be no one left alive to greet them.
“Are there any other medicines we can try?” Luke asked the doctor. “Something we can get on shore? Just tell me! I’ll go!”
Dr. Cain sighed. “I wish I could say yes, but I still don’t have any idea what this thing is. For the most part, it starts like a mild case of the flu, but as the infection progresses, it behaves almost like radiation sickness, breaking down the internal organs.” He wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. “I was an oncologist, for Christ’s sake. The last time I studied infectious diseases was in medical school. I don’t have the resources to—”
“Calm down,” Chris said, sensing Cain was about to lose his temper. The last thing they could afford was their only medical expert crawling into a hole and giving up. “Let’s take this one step at a time.”
Dr. Cain sucked in a deep breath. “I’m concerned we’d run more of a risk experimenting with expired antivirals and antibiotics than if we just let this thing run its course while treating the symptoms as best we can. The last thing I want to do is make the healthy people sick, too.”
Chris returned to the table and took his seat. “I understand what you’re saying,” he said. “I really do.” His jerked a thumb at Luke. “But Luke has a point. We can’t simply sit here and wait to die. I for one won’t place all my bets on hoping things will be okay. If there’s anything we can do, anything at all, I want to try. We owe our lives to those people dying down there. We owe everyone! You said the disease looks like radiation sickness. That’s a start. How would you treat that?”
Cain shook his head. “You wouldn’t. By the time you see these types of symptoms, the patient is already past saving.”
Chris cursed.
Dr. Cain studied Chris with a thoughtful expression.
“What?” Chris asked. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, I do have one thing I can try. But it’s dangerous… crazy dangerous… and I can’t guarantee anything.”
Chris gripped Cain’s arm. “Tell me! Tell me now!”
Twenty-nine
Isla Perpetua
The VW came to a jarring stop before a dingy two-story cinder-block building. Nick put his arm on the passenger seat and twisted around to face the back, where Megan and Jack sat. “End of the line.”
Jack peered through the dusty van window. Damp laundry hung from bare windows lining the top floor. An emaciated woman sat on a rough-hewn wooden bench beneath the meager shade of a dead palm tree, a baby cradled in her arms. The scent of raw sewage mixed with burning plastic permeated the air.
“What is this place?” Jack asked warily.
“Your new home,” Nick said, digging a finger into his ear and scratching. “Now, get out.” He gestured at a rail-thin man with a bushy gray and white beard standing in the doorway. “Talk to Roman. He’ll get you settled in.”
A pair of deeply tanned, rail-thin boys trudged past the van. Each carried a shovel and a rake. Light-orange dirt caked their clothes. One of them called out to Roman, and the man replied with a friendly wave. The boys continued walking.
Jack gave Megan a gentle shake. Ever since boarding the bus, she had been in a semi-catatonic state, hovering somewhere between consciousness and awareness.
Her eyes popped open. “Wha—”
“We need to go.”
Jack popped the handle to
the sliding door and guided Megan out of the vehicle. As soon as he slammed the door, Nick gunned the engine and roared off in a billowing cloud of dust. Megan wobbled unsteadily on her feet, held upright only by Jack’s firm grip on her arm. He suspected dehydration from all her vomiting back in the stadium, along with a healthy dose of shock. Getting liquid into her was his first priority.
Roman approached. “Need some help?”
Jack eyed the man warily. At first glance, Roman appeared as haggard as the rest of the civilians he had encountered since arriving on the island, but he had no way of knowing where the guy’s allegiances lay.
“Yeah,” Jack said through clenched teeth. “She needs water. Do you have any?”
Roman chuckled. “Sure. Is she sick?” he asked as he went to Megan’s side and took her other arm.
“We just came from the—”
“From the stadium. Yeah. I was there. Let’s go. We’ll get her taken care of, and then we can talk.”
Jack had no choice but to trust the stranger. With a grudging nod, he helped Megan toward the front door of their new home.
Once inside, Roman helped him get Megan settled on an empty cot and gave him a small pail of warm cloudy water with a chipped porcelain cup for drinking. With a promise to return soon, the older man left Jack alone to tend to Megan.
Jack set to work, delivering small sips of water to Megan’s chapped lips. She resisted at first, but soon started to accept his offerings. Once she had drunk a full cup, he decided to allow her to rest for a few minutes before giving her more.
Roman hadn’t returned yet, so Jack stood and crossed the room to where the other man sat with a young woman. With matted shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair framing an oval face and clear green eyes, the girl was striking. Something was off about her, though, something Jack couldn’t quite put his finger on. The woman sat motionless in her chair, slightly slouched and staring into the distance as if in a trance. She gave no indication of registering his approach.
“Hey,” he said to Roman’s back.
Roman leaped to his feet and turned to face Jack. He guided Jack a few steps away from the young woman. “Sorry. I was just about to come over. How is she?” he asked, nodding in Megan’s direction.
Jack ran his hand through his hair. “She’s resting. Thanks again for the water.”
Roman shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes searched Jack’s face. “You’re not looking so good yourself.”
Jack waved him off. “I’ll be okay.” He surveyed the room. About the size of a high school gymnasium, the space was a warren of cots with sheets and pieces of cardboard strung between them providing only the barest amount of privacy for the multitudes of people who obviously lived there. “What the hell is this place?”
Roman gave Jack a tight-lipped smile and motioned for him to follow as he turned away.
Jack reached out and grabbed the older man’s arm. “No. I want—”
Roman looked down at Jack’s hand on his arm. “You need to relax, son. I’m trying to help you here.”
“I need to—” Jack sputtered.
“Come with me. I’ll answer all your questions.”
Jack released his grip, suddenly feeling guilty for manhandling the man who was apparently in the same position as he and Megan. He followed Roman to a spot near the back doorway. They took seats in a pair of weathered plastic chairs.
Roman extracted a scraggly hand-rolled cigarette from his breast pocket. “Smoke?”
“No. Thanks.”
Roman struck a match and brought it to the tip of the cigarette. The scent of ditch-weed mixed with stale tobacco filled the air. Jack waited impatiently for the man to get comfortable, sneaking glances over his shoulder at Megan all the while.
Finally, Roman said, “You’re lucky, you know.”
“How do you figure?” Jack asked sardonically.
“You’re alive. Both of you. A lot of people never get out of the stadium.”
Visions of the tattered remains of Jeremy’s corpse filled Jack’s head. His stomach did a little flip. “There were three of us… before.”
Roman nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Jack clenched his teeth. “Something happened in there. Something I can’t explain.” He could barely say the next words. “We killed our friend. We ate him—like animals! Like goddamned zombies! I think we were drugged. Poisoned. Something…” He swallowed hard. “What I can’t figure out, though, is why we aren’t infected. Or are we, and we just don’t know it yet?”
Roman reclined in his chair and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “It’s complicated.”
Jack leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
Roman held his joint in front of his eyes and watched the smoke curl into the air. “Well, it’s—”
The pretty woman let out a frightened shriek and sat bolt upright in her chair.
Roman cursed and leaped to his feet. “Hold this,” he said, handing the joint to Jack. “I’ll be right back.” He raced to the woman’s side.
After a minute of quiet murmuring, Roman had the woman calmed down again. With a soft kiss to the top of her head and a gentle pat on the back, he left her and returned to his seat beside Jack.
“What was that all about?” Jack asked, holding the hand-rolled cigarette out to him.
Roman pinched the joint, re-lit it, and took a deep drag. “That’s Sienna. She’s got some issues with being alone.” He took another hit from the joint.
“Is she going to be okay?” Jack asked.
Roman gave the young girl a tender look. “For now.”
Jack sensed the bond between Roman and Sienna was deeper than what was evident on the surface, but he was reluctant to probe too deep. That would have to come later. “So what were we talking about?” he asked instead.
Roman yawned. “Yeah. Sorry. The stadium. It’s a long story. The cycle starts with your first feeding—the ceremony. Imagine the most addictive drug you can think of and then multiply that by a million. That’s what happens when you eat from that zombie woman. Once you’ve had a taste—”
“You’re infected,” Jack finished.
Roman shrugged. “Sort of, but not like you think.”
Jack was confused. “Then like how?”
Roman crossed his legs. “Her flesh is like a drug. No. Not like. It is a drug. Once she’s inside you, you need her to stay alive. She does something to you at a molecular level… she changes you.”
The thought of repeating the events of the stadium made Jack want to vomit. “That’s not possible. I would have heard of this before.”
Roman remained silent, but the hard look in his eyes told Jack he wasn’t kidding.
“So what happens next?” Jack asked, dreading the answer.
Roman’s joint had gone out. He relit it and continued. “If you want to stay alive, you’ll feed when you get the chance. Meanwhile, you’ll work the fields like the rest of us. Purdue’s men will show up in a couple of weeks and give you your assignment.”
Jack had heard enough. “This is bullshit,” he said, standing. He had to get out of there and get Megan someplace safe.
“Hey!” Roman barked, the sharpness in his voice startling Jack. “I’m not done! You need to sit down and listen to me. This is important!”
Chastened, Jack sank back into his chair.
Roman continued. “Purdue, he owns you now. You want to leave. I can see it in your eyes. You want to run as far and as fast as you can. But you can’t. You’ve got to believe me on this. Once you’ve been through the ceremony—once you’ve feasted—you can never leave this place. It’s in your blood.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jack said, standing again. “You’re just a frightened old man, too scared to face the outside world.”
Roman shot to his feet and took a step forward so he was in Jack’s face. His eyes burned with a manic intensity. “Do you think I’d still be here if I thought I could leave?” He waved his arm around the room, at the empty
cots. “Do you really think any of us would stay?”
Jack moved backward, putting some much needed distance between himself and Roman. “And if we don’t feed? What happens then?”
Roman grimaced. “You’ll get sick. Eventually, you’ll turn.”
“But—”
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Roman said. “More than once. You don’t want to go there.”
A cry rang out, startling Jack. For a split second, he thought it was Sienna again, but then he recognized the voice as Megan’s. He was out of his chair in a heartbeat. When he reached her, Megan was sitting upright on her cot, her terror-filled eyes frantically searching her surroundings. Jack took Megan’s hands in his and rubbed them vigorously, reassuring her of his presence.
She coughed out a choked sob. “Where are we? What happened?”
Jack glanced over his shoulder at Roman, who stood a few feet away. “It’s a long story.”
Thirty
Galveston, Texas
Chris had never been to the northwestern end of Galveston before, and he hoped he would never have to return. If not for the tantalizing lure of a potential treatment cooked up by Dr. Cain, he would never have agreed to risk his life on shore while so many people lay sick and dying on the Gulf Star.
Cain had said the solution had been staring him in the face all along. While most people succumbed to the mysterious disease in rapid fashion, some displayed no symptoms whatsoever. Those people, the doctor theorized, held the key to halting the infection in its tracks. His idea was simple. After drawing blood from the healthy population, the doctor would perform a series of blood stem-cell transplants into the sick population, boosting their immune systems and hopefully giving them the same immunity enjoyed by the others.
To Chris, the idea seemed insane, the ravings of a desperate man grasping at straws. But the doctor swore a similar process had been used in numerous clinical trials to cure a host of diseases ranging from HIV to exotic forms of cancer. Dr. Cain offered no guarantee, of course. He made sure to emphasize that point every chance he got. A million things could go wrong and probably would, but it was their last and only hope. But as with all good ideas, the devil was in the details. Almost everything they needed to perform the transplants was located in the Texas National Laboratory, two blocks from where Chris currently stood.
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