"What's wrong?" Jordan asked.
She tried to answer but panic prevented her voice from reaching her lips. An image of Jordan kneeling on stage to be executed flashed through her mind and she vomited onto the worn down pavement.
Jordan pulled her hair away from her face and she heaved again. It had been almost a full day since she had eaten and threw up liquid. Water and stomach acid. It burned her throat and nose and splashed as it struck the ground.
"Miss Sam—"
Her stomach clenched again, and she wept as she threw up again. Inside, a mixture of terror and sorrow ravaged her heart and soul. Everything was her fault.
"We have to keep going," Jordan said.
"Okay," Sam said through tears.
"We ain't got much further, Miss Sam." Cole said. "Just hang in there a little longer." He panted but not as hard as Jordan or herself. Sam wondered how the old man could be in such better shape than two youngsters half his age.
She nodded, dried her eyes on her sleeves and straightened.
"Where are we going, Cole?" Jordan asked.
Cole looked around as if he were making sure the coast was clear and then whispered, "The ol' train yard down on Elm. Gotta bring you to 'em. Let 'em tell ya the story. Let 'em tell ya the truth."
"Bring us to whom, Cole?" Jordan took a few steps toward Cole. He poked a finger into the old man's chest. Cole dwarfed him by a foot and at least 100 pounds. "Are you setting us up? Is this a trap?"
"Jordan, calm down," Sam said. Her voice came out weak and fragile and she cursed herself. "He helped get you free."
"Why? Why
are you helping us?" Jordan asked. His words came out tough but Sam could see the fear in his eyes. "Who the fuck wants to meet—?"
Cole threw a jab so quick that Sam barely saw it. It caught Jordan in the mouth and he took a couple of steps backward. Sam gasped. Jordan's eyes widened and his hands wrapped around his jaw. He didn't go down, but his knees buckled and he took an awkward step forward.
Jordan spit a mouthful of blood onto the blacktop. "What the hell, Cole?"
"I ain't no traitor and I don't appreciate you accusing me of one," Cole said. "And you ought not to speak like that in front of Miss Sam or any matter of fact. Didn't your parents' teach you any manners?"
"Who are you taking us to see?" Jordan asked. His brow furrowed, but he stayed out of striking distance.
"You don't know them," he said.
"What does—?"
"Listen here," Cole interrupted. "We can stand 'round here with our thumbs up our keisters," he pointed back in the direction they had come from, "wait till one of those soldier boy's catches and skins us, or we can get on with the gettin' on."
Sam pulled Jordan back to her side and spoke in a whispered hush. "We don't have a choice, Jordan. If it's a trap then we're already caught. Besides, I trust him." At this, Sam detected the faintest of smiles behind Cole's thick beard.
Jordan seemed to consider her plea and then nodded his head. He turned back to the big man and extended a hand. "Sorry, Cole."
"Aw, you ain't got to say sorry to me," Cole said, "but you need to apologize to Miss Sam."
Jordan nodded and turned to Sam. He didn't apologize though. His eyes grew saucer-wide, and he raised a trembling finger. Sam spun around and her heart dropped as her eyes fixed on a squadron of soldiers marching down a cross street. They didn't seem aware of their presence…yet.
"Let's go to the train yard," Sam said. She turned and saw Cole had already taken off in a sprint in the opposite direction. Without hesitation, Sam and Jordan followed in his footsteps.
7
A sea of rusted rail cars stood atop broken-down strips of iron. The town had abandoned the train yard long before the infection took place. It reminded Sam of the rest of New Hope. A city of ghosts forgotten and left to rust.
The sun beat down on them from its perch, high and the cloudless sky, as they weaved through the corroded boxcars. Cole led them through the maze as if he had done this a hundred times before. They reached the end of a line of cars and he made a left and then at the next intersection a right. Never a misstep or a moment of hesitation.
"Shit!" Sam yelled. A giant opossum had hissed at her as they passed an open boxcar. It hunkered in a bed of rotten hay and its pitch-black eyes darted from Sam to Jordan as it bared a vicious set of teeth.
"Sorry," Cole said. "Forgot about her. She won't hurt ya as long as ya keep your distance."
Sam pressed herself against the adjacent boxcar as they passed. The animal stuck its head out of the door and watched them until they made another quick turn.
"Any more surprises heading our way?" Jordan asked.
"None of the four-legged sort," Cole said.
"That's a real comfort," Jordan said.
The word struck a chord with Sam.
Comfort.
When would they ever be comfortable again? They would be on the run for the rest of their lives. If they escaped to the outside world, they would live in fear of the infected. Her breath caught in her chest. What had she done? She had ruined their lives.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to Jordan. "I'm sorry for speaking out—"
Jordan shushed her and reached out his hand. She took it and their fingers intertwined. His hands were rough, but they comforted her. Sam's were the same although not to the same degree. Not even close. Maintenance was hard labor. He squeezed her hand, and she returned it with a gentle smile. Maybe she had signed their death warrants but maybe an end to all this wouldn't be too bad. They had no plans to repopulate the Earth, what was their purpose?
"I love you," Jordan said.
"Remember the flowers," Sam said back.
"Yes, remember the flowers."
Sam didn't remember any flowers, and neither did Jordan. "Remember the flowers" was nothing more than a code phrase they had created when they first started…whatever it was they did. Sam didn't know what to call it. Date? No, they'd never been anywhere. They weren't
going steady
or
going out
or whatever else it people called it before the infection. Soul mates? Yes. Their souls belonged to each other, in this life and the next.
"We're here," Cole said as they reached a steel door at the end of the lot. It had been built in the side of a large concrete wall that stood 15 feet high and stretched 50 yards to the right. To the left was a large gate made up of rebar that crisscrossed from top to bottom. The gate covered a giant tunnel that once led in and out of the city. When Ministry erected the city walls around New Hope, they blew up the interior of the tunnel to keep the infected from coming in. And to keep the citizens from going out.
Cole fished the ring of keys from his pocket. He inserted one into the lock on the steel door and pushed it open. Beyond the door was a lightless corridor, and without hesitation, the old man disappeared into it. Sam looked at Jordan, who offered her a nervous smile. She returned it and they followed Cole into the darkness.
"Keep straight," Cole's voice echoed around them. "Keep your hands out in front of ya and keep straight. You bump into a wall and ya done got yerself twisted up. Just holler and I'll come back and straighten ya out."
"Where are we going?" Jordan asked. His voice boomed through the hallway. He followed with a much quieter, "Sorry."
"Fifty yards," Cole said. "We're halfway now."
"But where?" Sam asked.
Cole didn't answer.
As creepy as the darkness was, it provided a refreshing break from the heat. She wiped the sweat from her brow and winced as the sleeve of the coverall rubbed over the forgotten wound on her forehead. The pain returned in a slow, agonizing throb that spread out through her head like a wildfire.
The sound of gears and cogs turning filled the air, and the headache was forgotten. Sam froze in place and she reached blindly to her side. She found Jordan's hand and squeezed as tight as she could. He squeezed back, and they stood there in the darkness. Sam held her breath as the noise grew louder and louder around them.
The gear sound stopped and there was a loud click followed by four short bangs. A stream of light cut through the dark tomb and Sam shielded her eyes as they adjusted to the bright fluorescents ahead of them. Cole stood a few feet ahead of them in a doorway that mirrored the one they had entered.
"Sorry," he said. "Should have warned ya." He chuckled and proceeded through the doorway. Sam and Jordan followed with no further questions. There didn't seem to be a point. Either they would die here, under the ground, or later in the town plaza. The question had become 'when' not 'if.'
Sam's eyes took a moment to adjust as they stepped into the illuminated room. The thin layer of carpet underneath their feet was pale green and covered in spots of mold. The far wall was glass from floor to ceiling and a long wooden table sat in the middle with a dozen leather chairs surrounding it. Sam jumped at the sight of two people sitting at the end of it. One was a man whom she had never seen before. He wore a Ministry-issued black coat with blue trim. The other person at the table was a female soldier. The same female soldier from the plaza.
"What the hell is this, Cole?" Jordan asked. His voice shook with anger. He had betrayed them. Cole joined the two at the end of the table a wide grin covering his traitorous face.
"Sit down," Robertson said. Her voice was just as cold as it had been in the plaza.
"Make me," Jordan said.
Robertson stood but the man in the black coat touched her arm. The soldier hesitated and then sat back down.
"It's alright, Jordan," the man in the black coat said. He sat at the head of the table and offered a slight grin. He was Cole's age but was much thinner and not as tall. The little hair he had left was gray and cut short and his voice was soft when he spoke. "We're not here to hurt you."
"What are you here for?" Sam asked.
"To talk to you," the man answered. "To talk to both of you."
"Why?" Sam asked.
"Because the two of you deserve an explanation and I would like to be given the opportunity to provide it."
"An explanation?" Jordan asked. "For what?"
"For everything," the man said. He smiled and beckoned for them to sit.
No one moved.
"I won't bite," the man said.
"And your lap dog?" Jordan asked and motioned toward Robertson.
"Boy, if you don't sit your ass—" Robertson snapped.
"That's enough, Jeanette," the man in black interrupted. His voice remained calm but firm. Robertson fell silent and a half-cocked smirk edged her lips. "Sgt. Jeanette Robertson is on our side," the man said. "She is here to assist in what comes after…" he hesitated, "…assuming you are receptive to what I have to say."
"To your explanation," Sam said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," the man said.
Sam took a seat at the opposite end of the table. Jordan hesitated for a moment as he stared down Cole. Their betrayer never stopped grinning, and after a few awkward moments, Jordan joined her at the table.
"My name is Holden Deckard, and I work—" the man said and stopped himself. A faint smile crossed his lips and then continued, "Correction, I worked for the Ministry as a biogenetic engineer."
Holden picked up a glass of water in front of him. He lifted it to his lips and took a large drink. Sam's mouth felt like sandpaper and she longed for the liquid as it disappeared into Holden's mouth.
After a few gulps, he sat the glass down and his cheeks flushed. "How rude of me. Cole, please bring our guests some water. And please get Miss Albright a rag to clean her wound. I believe there's a first-aid kit outside of the mechanical room."
Cole nodded and exited a room through the door opposite of them. There was a long moment of silence as they waited. Holden continued to smile and Robertson continued to glare at them.
"So how about you give us this explanation?" Jordan said after a full minute had passed.
Holden took another sip of water and cleared his throat. "You have been lied to," he said and placed the glass back on the table. "We want to tell you the truth."
Sam's pulse quickened, and she swallowed hard, "What truth?"
Jeanette Robertson shifted in her seat, but her face remained stony. Sam wondered if she had ever smiled in her entire life and wondered what it would look like if she did.
"The official statement released by the United States government was that they had developed the RIZ-4 virus in secret as a response to the increasing threat of nuclear war. They thought of it as an endgame, only to be used under extreme circumstances."
Sam and Jordan both nodded. The same story revolved around the quarantine center after the outbreak. Then the government shipped them to New Hope where the stories continued. When the statements stopped being released and communication from the government ceased, the gates guarding the city had been closed.
Cole reentered the room carrying two glasses filled with water. He set them in front of Jordan and Sam. "I'm gonna go check the yard," he said and placed one of his giant hands on Sam's shoulder. He squeezed it. "I put the rag in the room in the back, along with the rest of the first-aid kit." Holden nodded in approval and Cole disappeared into the dark hallway.
Sam picked up the glass of water and took a sip. It was the greatest thing she had ever tasted. She took a big gulp and then another. Her body longed for her to finish it all, but she forced herself to return the glass to the table.
"There's plenty more," Holden said.
Sam hesitated for a moment and then drained the rest of her water. Jordan's glass remained untouched.
"Drink it," Sam said.
"I'm not thirsty," Jordan said.
"Please."
Jordan shot her a look of contempt but drained the contents of the glass.
"Would you like more?" Holden asked.
"No," Jordan said.
"It's not a problem. We have plenty—"
"Just get on with the damn story," Jordan interrupted.
"Please calm down," Sam said. "They're here to help us."
"You don't know that," Jordan said.
"And you don't know that they’re not."
"Actually," Holden interrupted, "we're not here to help you. Truth be told, we need your help."
"Then let's hear what you have to say," Sam said. Underneath the table, she took Jordan's hand in hers and squeezed. She didn't want to fight with him. She needed him now more than ever. But she also needed to hear what Holden Deckard had referred to as 'the truth.'
"According to the official statement," Holden continued, "a North Korean insurgent stole the virus and detonated it in the main terminal of the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Within the first week, more than half of the population had been exposed to the virus. By week two, the media reported a 99% kill rate. And by the 19
th
day, the only ones left outside the quarantine centers were the abominations the virus created."
Holden stared into each of their eyes, perhaps waiting for a response. When one didn't come, he continued. "What if I told you the virus wasn't stolen?"
"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Her words were raspy and her palms were sweaty. She wiped her hands on her coveralls.
"The RIZ-4 virus never fell into the hands of the North Koreans or anyone else," Holden said. "Our own people detonated the bomb."
"But why?"
"Population control." Holden leaned forward. "There was no third world war. We were facing a global crisis. Global warming, peak oil, deforestation, pollution, fracking…the world was on life support. We had exhausted all of our resources. A secret organization made up of the extremely wealthy decided the only way to save the planet would be to kill off its number one predator."
"Humans," Sam said.
"Yes," Holden agreed.
"That's a load of crap," Jordan said. "The government would never sign off on something of that magnitude. They would never kill their own people."
"But they did," Holden said. "The official kill order came from the President herself. You'd be surprised what money can buy. The men and women involved offered not just riches but protection from the virus."
Sam's throat grew even drier and her head spun as she tried to process the words.
"What do you mean herself?" Jordan asked. "There was never a female president."
Holden grinned but there was no humor or friendliness in the smile. "This is the point where I will ask you to take a leap of faith with me. Close your eyes and think back to the day the quarantine team took you away from your homes."