“Why not just phone them?” asked Jon.
Smith said, “They’re not taking our calls. Nobody over there is. Been quiet for a week. When we did speak, they were demanding a negotiation—“ Smith cut himself off, his penchant for secrecy stifling what was pointless to keep secret.
The president sighed with agitation. “They want to be able to come over here. They want Nantucket to no longer be isolated. We obviously can’t allow that. Nevertheless, we need to know what they know. I’m relying on you two to persuade them to talk.”
Jon and Nikki looked at each other with skepticism. Nikki finally asked, “With what leverage are we persuading them, Mr. President?”
Smith spoke for his boss, “Captain Dean, the surviving head of the expedition, has a son with him, whom he apparently found in Nicaragua. Long story. We are offering to take the boy off the island, assuming that he is not infected.”
“What if the kid doesn’t want to go?” asked Jon.
Smith maintained his composure while saying, “Either way, we are offering to take the boy off the island.”
Jon nodded slowly. “Oh. Well, kidnapping is not in my contract as a volunteer.”
“We’re getting off track here,” said Downing. “Bottom line: we are asking you to go talk to them. See if you can’t peck out what they know. What they saw. Get a sense of how urgent their news is. Everything else will come out in the wash.”
CHAPTER SIX
Bad Meds
As Jarvis Pettybone greeted his unexpected passengers, he repeatedly found himself glancing over his shoulder at who was clearly the President of the Seven States re-boarding the fancy black motor yacht. The tall man, surrounded by a Secret Service detail, was crossing the gangway. The engine could be heard as the yacht prepared to return the president and his entourage to Martha’s Vineyard. Once aboard, the leader of the The Seven States watched Pettybone’s arriving passengers like a doting father sending young children off on a trip.
As they crossed Pettybone’s gang plank, the passengers introduced themselves as Jon and Nikki. Pettybone attempted to hide his astonishment over the serendipitous circumstances. His efforts to get close to something important, to work near a place of strategic value in order to implement the plan, was paying off in ways that surpassed his wildest hopes, and he guessed, surpassed the wildest hopes of his master’s back home. He looked at his passengers with barely concealed curiosity, trying to maintain a face of ambivalence. “Welcome to the Fog Cutter. Captain Pettybone at your service. Have to excuse, you will, the lack of passenger accommodations. For cargo only, this ferry.”
Jon nodded, while noting the man’s curious speech pattern. Almost like an Englishman from some distant past, yet with a Mid-Atlantic American accent.
Nikki said, “We just need a spot to dump our bags.”
“Of course. Fit comfortably we can in the bridge — you and your bags. Weather’s calm. Bout an hour to cross.”
The weak Sun lay low on the Western horizon, just barely discernible through the omnipresent cloud cover. As the tug passed the forest of windmills that kept the lights on and the Virtutrips going in Eastern Massachusetts and Rhode Island, a lone Navy cutter cruised to their east. Having been informed of the tug’s special trip, the captain of the cutter ignored the otherwise unremarkable sight. Jon and Nikki spotted a few sails along the horizon mixed with the occasional huge iceberg.
When Nantucket came into sight, Pettybone looked askance at his passengers. “Automated, the load is. We’ll be pulling up to an anchored barge. Mostly download themselves, the supplies will. Won’t be anything to pick up this time, which is good. Had to make a quick retreat during my weekly yesterday. Folks trying to row out. Forbidden that — when I’m loading. Step outside now. Need my cabin I do for maneuvering, and you two ‘er making the air thick.”
Jon and Nikki were stunned at the sudden rudeness of the man, but complied without comment. The chilly breeze had them zipping up quickly.
Despite his immunity to the FNDz bacteria, Jon felt a certain trepidation as they approached. He looked at Nikki, hoping to get her to turn her head, acknowledge the feeling and take the edge off his anxiety. He could see that she was anxious as well.
When her eyes shifted toward him he stomped his feet for warmth and went for levity, saying, “This is nice.”
With the mouth of the harbor fully in sight, Pettybone opened the door and hawked a gob of phlegm up, spitting over the railing. “Like I said, steer clear of the robotic arms. The gangway is electrified. Keeps would be stowaways at bay. Turn it off I will for the three-seconds it should take to step onto the barge.” He pushed their bags out the door. “Questions?”
Jon asked, “Where are you from, friend? Originally I mean? I don’t recognize your dialect.”
Pettybone smiled and offered his stock answer. “Central Maine.”
“Really? We’ve spent some time up there. Where abouts?”
“Small town. Didn’t get out and about until after the Long Winter.”
“Yeah? What town?”
Pettybone let annoyance cross his features. “Busy fella, you are.” He pulled the door closed with a heavy and final thunk.
Just inside the hook-shaped harbor, a rusting barge lay at anchor. Pettybone expertly backed up to a slot in the stern of the hulk.
Not unlike connecting a locomotive, the Fog Cutter hit a coupling device, marrying the two vessels. Jarvis turned around and put his hands on a new set of controls and while looking out the rear window, extended the gangway. From there the robotics took over with the transfer.
Pettybone opened a small window that faced the gangway. “Remember, wait for my hand signal and then cross. Otherwise, fried you are.”
Jon and Nikki stood at the edge of the gangway and watched the robotic arms lift a pallet filled with presidential goodwill goods off the boat and place it on the barge. They glanced at Pettybone for the signal. The man gave a thumbs up and pointed at the barge. Nikki took a tentative first step, and when she wasn’t electrocuted, quickly stepped across, Jon right on her heals.
Safely on the barge, they noted the quaint and timeless town in the distance, the church towers and ancient captain’s houses looking just as they had for three-hundred years or more — except for the trees. The great canopy that had once sheltered the town in ancient leafy bows had been cut down — presumably for fuel. When Jon first came to the island a decade before to report on the colony of infected, many of the buildings were badly damaged or destroyed; the haven overrun by Fiends, nuked with a neutron bomb, and recaptured by the US Marines. Despite this destruction, and eleven long years of nuclear winter, the residents had rebuilt. There was deep pride visible in the condition of those buildings. There was also movement ashore. A great deal of activity seemed to be underway. The notion of the resident’s industriousness relieved Jon’s anxiety, and he found himself looking forward to stepping on the ancient cobblestone streets.
Just as Pettybone had warned, a rowboat had started out from the barren hook of the northeast edge of the harbor entrance, two men at the oars. They appeared to be hearty types with thick beards and broad shoulders. They were pulling hard, and Jon noted the urgency with which the men worked.
Pettybone opened the cockpit door and yelled down to Jon and Nikki. “Clear back. Away I must.”
The cargo hadn’t finished unloading when Pettybone started the engine. He turned back to the rear window, slammed his hand on a button and the coupling broke loose. Before they could say another word to the skipper, the Fog Cutter was pulling away from the barge, loose cargo spilling off the stern. In moments, the tug was a hundred yards away, the engines at full throttle. One of the men in the rowboat stood and waved frantically at the receding boat.
Something wasn’t right. Jon looked once more at the distant town of Nantucket and focused on the movement. His prior glance had been colored by anticipation of a romantic shore filled with history. A deeper look revealed motions that were random and scattered. S
ome people were running.
Nikki said, “What the hell is that about?” She was watching the Fog Cutter pull away while glancing repeatedly at the men in the rowboat, who began to row with less urgency. A broken box of candles floated in the water, white lumps bobbing in the agitated sea.
Jon took Nikki’s arm and steered her to look at the town. “Something’s not right. Something’s definitely not right.”
Nikki opened her pack, noting that the things inside were no longer neatly folded. Someone had been through her stuff. She lifted out a pair of binoculars and focused on the docks. She took a quick intake of breath, then quietly said, “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Infected.”
“What?” He grabbed the binoculars to see for himself.
Nikki glanced at the distant Fog Cutter. “That son-of-a-bitch knew it. I’d swear it.” She looked again at the approaching rowboat. “These guys look healthy enough.”
As the boat got close, one of the men stopped rowing and lifted a military issue 12-gage shotgun. “Hands in the air!”
Jon and Nikki held up their hands, Nikki saying, “We’re not armed.”
The boat slid into the docking slip, the armed man saying, “Do not fucking move.”
“I know you,” said Jon.
“Dean,“ said Nikki. “Captain Dean.”
Jon kept his hands up. “Stewart, it’s Jon. Jon Washington and Nikki Rosen. We’re supposed to be meeting you.”
“I recognize you, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Why did the ferry leave? Where the fuck are the armed forces?”
George Sanders tied the rowboat off to a cleat and lifted a pistol.
Nikki pointed at the land saying, “Clearly, there is some epic fuck-up happening. You’ve got infected in the town. We were sent here by President Downing, personally, to talk about your scout out West. We don’t know more than that.”
Dean and Sanders shared a look that asked whether this woman was full of shit. Hopelessness crossed Dean’s face. He lowered the shotgun. “Then they don’t know what’s going on.”
Hoots, hollers, and mad screams echoed across the water.
Nikki said, “Besides the obvious, what is going on?”
“People have been succumbing to Cain’s for two days at least. Near as we can tell, the last batch of meds are bad. We have no way of calling out and can’t get to a single boat — including our own. Besides the fishing fleet, it’s the only one that isn’t set to blow if it passes the thousand meter boundary around the island.” He pointed at a box welded into the bottom of the rowboat. “Proximity boobytrap. Insurance against one of us trying to make the mainland.” Dean pulled up his shirt front revealing an old scar on his abdomen. “Not that implanted transponders aren’t enough.”
Nikki pointed at her bag. “I have a phone. Can I get it?”
Sanders lowered his pistol as Dean nodded yes. She dug through her bag and cursed while digging some more. She dropped it hopelessly to the barge deck. “He took our phone.”
“What?” asked Jon, picking up the bag and digging himself.
Nikki pointed at the Fog Cutter, which was already at the edge of the Northern horizon. “That asshole dug through our gear. We had a radio phone. It’s gone.”
Sanders said, “Bastards. They finally want this island dead and gone.”
“No,” said Jon. “We’re here at the behest of President Downing. You have information they want — need. Why would they do that?”
Nikki said, “For now we need to get someplace safe and figure out how to signal the mainland.”
Dean sighed and looked at the dot that was the Fog Cutter. “We’ve been waiting here with that in mind.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the shoreline behind. “That’s a wildlife refuge. It’s unsettled. We’re holed up on Great Point in an old government house near the lighthouse ruins. It’s so remote that the infected folks are leaving us alone — for now. The Johnsons who lived there… Their meds were bad too.”
Sanders said, “For a couple of days the infected were leaving the uninfected alone. Then this morning they got hungry. It’s only a matter of time before folks who’re still healthy get the same idea we had. The Fiends will be right behind.”
“Jesus,” said Jon incredulously. “Bad meds?”
“No other way to explain it,” said Dean. He noted Jon looking at him warily. “No worries about us. We’re not on the meds anymore. Haven’t been for more than a year. Part of the story you came to get. Part of what I’m trying to do for the people on this island. George and me, and a scientist we travel with, we’ve been vaccinated.”
“Vaccinated?” said Nikki. “No one said anything about a successful vaccine.”
Sanders pointed a thumb at the mainland. “And if they have their way, nobody will.”
The smell of mildew and sea salt filled the air of the government house. Ancient flaking paint, a sagging roof line and broken porch steps spoke of neglect, but the interior was dry and free from signs of leaks. Eliza opened the back door as Dean and Sanders led Jon and Nikki across the dirt and sand that had reclaimed what was once a broad ocean facing lawn. Behind her stood Billy, who looked on warily while holding a wooden bat. Behind him stood Gallagher, a large carving knife at rest by his right thigh.
Dean waved at them saying, “All is well… Sort of. These are friends. Infection free.”
Eliza held the door open wider and Dean guided Nikki and Jon through a mud room into the kitchen. The floorboards squeaked throughout, the sound creating the illusion of a great many people in the room. A few boxes of randomly packed food sat on the counters. The place was clean, but clearly neglected.
Eliza held out a hand to the newcomers. “Doctor Sherr. Elizaandra Sherr. This is Stewart’s son, Billy, and our friend, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Tim,” said Gallagher.
Jon and Nikki introduced themselves and they all shook hands in a quick and perfunctory manner.
Sanders said, “No luck with the ferry. Bloke dumped these two and stole their phone. Told you they want us all dead.”
Nikki said, “No, sir. I’m certain that President Downing wanted to know what you all know.”
“When they don’t hear from us, they’ll send someone,” said Jon with confidence.
Dean said, “Then I guess we’re hunkering down.” He waved a hand at the food. “We grabbed what we could when we ran.” He pointed out the window at a wagon built to be pulled by humans. “All that would fit on that.”
“Thin rations, they are,” mumbled Gallagher under his breath.
Jon tapped his backpack with his foot. “We brought some basics in case we needed to fend for ourselves for a while. Energy bars mostly.”
Nikki scanned the frost-heaved driveway that led to the larger part of the island and blew out a long breath. “I can’t fucking believe it.” She glanced at Billy. “Sorry.”
“What?” asked Jon.
To the rest of the room she said, “Just didn’t think we’d face real infected again.”
Jon said, “Did you try signaling with a light? The Navy must have boats patrolling. We saw them out by the windmills. They’ve got to see a good strong light.”
Sanders scowled. “If they do see it they don’t come.”
Dean put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. To Jon and Nikki, he said, “In the beginning, back when they first put us all out here, there were all sorts of folks signaling for help, trying to get off this prison. They’ve always ignored it. Didn’t stop us from trying for the past two nights though.”
Nikki cocked her head as though trying to detect a faint sound. “What’s that?” To Jon, she said, “Feel that, that buzzing?”
Jon heard it too — or felt it — a familiar buzzing in his head that just as quickly faded away. The others gave each other knowing glances, Dean’s indicating patience.
Nikki blinked and shook her head again before looking hard at the captain. “The President
called them Pucks. You’re traveling with Fiend children. They’re here, aren’t they?”
Dean nodded. “They are. They are shy. Just give us a few minutes to brief them. Remember, we weren’t expecting you.” He waved a hand toward the hallway. “You need a place to bunk. You can have any of the rooms upstairs except the one facing the road, which is a lookout. The rest of us have been sleeping down here. Billy, show them upstairs.”
Jon and Nikki stood firm with skeptical looks.
Dean put on his captain’s voice. “Do as I say. Get yourselves settled and come back down in fifteen.”
Billy showed them the available rooms and warned them that they would need plenty of blankets at night. “The summers are touching the mid-sixties during the day; warm enough for a short growing season. The nights are still chilly. We can’t build a fire now, the smoke being an obvious unwanted signal to the neighbors.”
Jon and Nikki took note of the maturity of the young man. Wisdom beyond his years lay deep in his eyes.
They chose separate rooms; both facing south, the better to gather the warmth of the weak sunshine.
Given a moment to himself, Jon stood in his room looking out at the fallen lighthouse, lying in the sand like the bleached bones of a long dead whale. A solar powered beacon on a carbon fiber tower had been set up in its place. A flash told him that the device still worked. Maybe if they disable it… It was mind-bogglingly bad timing that they were here. Immune or not, a hungry Fiend was a hungry Fiend. The diseased wouldn’t normally feed on a host, but starvation was another matter; the germs inside the diseased also wanted to live. Jon and Nikki being immune offered no shield against being butchered and eaten alive. Even the infected ones downstairs, cured or not, where fair game for a starving Fiend. That they didn’t have a way of communicating their distress to the outside world seemed ridiculous.
A House Divided: Book 3 of The Of Sudden Origin Saga Page 6