Lethal Seasons (A Changed World Book 1) (16 page)

“Perhaps that’s why you didn’t know about it,” Nick said pointedly.

“They are held against their will.” Wisp interrupted. “They are confused and hungry. I don’t sense the emotions of habitual offenders. There is resignation underneath it all. It’s late in the day. Do you think the guards died before or after these people were fed?”

Nick rubbed his eyes and ran both hands back through his hair. More questions, more problems. He’d like to tell Ruth to sort it out and walk away. But that wasn’t going to give him any answers. And she didn’t look like she had the kind of training needed to deal with a disaster like this.

“Let’s go see who these people are.”

“Distribution was an issue also. The extensive highway system of our country could not survive without maintenance. Years of extreme weather, frost heaves, flooding, baking sun and the constant incursion of plant life made many roads entirely impassable. It all came down to the trains.”

History of a Changed World
, Angus T. Moss

At the door to the infirmary, Tilly stood absolutely still, hugging herself and trying not to react. She took a long breath and spoke calmly. “Four dead?” She didn’t want to know their names. She’d feel their absence all too soon. Tears burned in her eyes, but she swallowed them down.

Dr. Jameson nodded without looking at her. “It’s the fever. It comes on so fast, we can’t cool them down in time. The last one, Joan, she spiked to 108.” He looked over his shoulder at a sheet-draped gurney.

“Oh, Joan.” Tilly’s sigh caught in her throat. Joan was young, only in her thirties, still capable of child bearing. She was a hard worker in the fields. “She will be missed.”

Jameson swung his head from side to side, a look of deep sadness on his face. “Still no word on a vaccine. Have you heard from Nick?” He turned hopeful eyes on her.

Tilly gritted her teeth against a sudden premonition. This was going to be a very lethal year. She could feel it in her bones. There would be a lot more losses before they got through the season. “It’s still a bit early. He had quite a ways to go.”

“Mmm.” Jameson stood staring into space. His blue eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. His shoulders slumped with fatigue. Tilly thought he was in his late sixties, but he refused to tell her his age.

“You should get some sleep,” Tilly said gently, knowing he’d resist. They were lucky to have a real doctor on staff. If they lost him, they would be just a distribution center.
If
they ever got any vaccine.

He gave her an exaggerated shrug. “This thing moves so damn fast I’m useless.” He stalked away before she could speak. And for that she was grateful because there wasn’t any proper response that would help.

She headed for the kitchens out of habit. Lottie caught up with her before she got halfway there.

“Tilly, I’ve got a lot of my crew in the infirmary. I’m going to need more hands in the fields today.”

“What’s coming in?”

“Nothing. The carrots are knee deep in bindweed. There’s a flock of crows in the cornfield and half the chickens are missing.”

“Ask Martin if he can spare some of the watch.”

“That’ll work,” Lottie said brusquely before rushing off.

She made it all the way to the door of the cafeteria before being accosted again.

“Tilly.” Bruno limped down the hallway toward her, leaning heavily on a tall walking stick. He was a big man, but more muscle than fat. She worried that he and Angus would eventually bump heads over the running of the med center. Bruno was used to being in charge, even though Riverbank had been a young settlement. His battered face was healing. The swelling was down and the bruises were fading to greens and yellows. The mercenaries had dislocated nearly every joint in his body torturing him for information he didn’t have. Luckily he had survived with no broken bones, and yet survival itself was its own wound. His dark eyes carried the haunted look of someone dealing with great losses.

“How are you feeling today, Bruno? Should you be walking on that leg, yet?”

“I need to be doing something. I can’t lie in that bed another minute.”

Tilly’s heart went out to him. She knew exactly how he felt. Busy hands helped you ignore the burning ache of grief, but he was too weak to work in the fields. “Harley can always use a pair of eyes. Can you get down to the horse field?”

“Wherever I’m needed.” He limped past her, resolutely.

The walk there would exhaust him. He’d probably nap for a bit, chat with the men and limp back to his bed. Or so she hoped. When she stepped into the cafeteria, Martin was waiting.

Tilly forced a smile, expecting more bad news.

Martin started in without a greeting. “I’ve got six men out in the cemetery digging graves. Lottie says she needs at least ten men to help in the fields today. Three more men are in the infirmary, and we lost Old Joe last night.”

“That’s a big chunk of your staff,” Tilly said. She ignored the loss. Old Joe wasn’t old, mid-thirties at the most. He was simply the oldest of three Joes at the center. She pushed that thought to the back. If she let herself start to grieve, she’d be useless.

“We need to set some priorities.”

Tilly looked at the set of Martin’s jaw. He was worried. That made her more worried. “Security, food, grave digging.”

“I almost think food should trump security.”

“If it comes to it, we can use the train food to hold us over.”

Martin’s lips flattened in disagreement. “I don’t want to touch the reserves. We just got them all stocked up. A couple of people have told me that they feel better knowing we have a plan. They might have griped about doing the drill, but I think everyone was glad to see that we have some forethought.”

Tilly agreed with him about that. She had felt the same sentiments rumbling through the center lately. People had voiced skepticism about evacuating down to the storm shelter, but they had all readily participated. The rumors about the attack on Riverbank had everyone on edge. People were less worried when they knew there were procedures in place. Even if those procedures might prove to be horribly inadequate. She pulled her attention back to the issue at hand. “All right. We should probably get in at least a week’s worth of train food for the kitchen.”

“Any word from Nick?” Martin asked, despite the fact that he would be one of the first people to know.

“No. Do you think they got there already?”

“I looked at the old schedules. Depending on how far outside Laurel it is, they should arrive sometime today.”

Tilly sighed. “I suppose it’s asking too much for everything to work out fine.”

Martin gave her a rueful grin. “If wishes were horses, everyone could ride.”

“Extreme weather hammered our country for decades before we accepted the change and began the massive reconstruction of our infrastructure, which also took decades. There are few left alive that can remember what it was like to pump gas or see skyscrapers. The virus changed the world overnight and ten years out, we are still struggling to adapt.”

History of a Changed World
, Angus T. Moss

Kyle stepped forward awkwardly to block Nick’s way. “Don’t you think we should look at the charts first? What if these are isolation units?”

Nick gazed at Kyle, trying to read him. He seemed sincere, if rather baffled. “Where are the suits?” Nick waved vaguely around the foyer. “No protective gear. No showers. No airlocks. Fancy place like this could afford to have stuff like that.” Nick let that sink in for a minute.

“But...” Kyle frowned down at the floor.

Nick got the feeling he was thinking through more scenarios and repercussions than Nick would be familiar with. “You can go get some gear if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t think there’s a filtration system in here.” He pointed to the ceiling, typical of a basement, banks of lights hung on bare wires below water pipes and power conduits. “We’re already exposed.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Kyle said.

Nick looked over to Ruth, surprised that she hadn’t joined in. She had an armful of charts and was paging through the topmost. “Ruth?”

She startled, looking up with a wide-eyed look. “Some of these people have been here for years.”

“Why?” Kyle asked.

“I can’t figure it out. They don’t have any names, just numbers.” She juggled the charts to reorder them. “And ages. This one is a female. Only seventeen. She’s been here for...” She paged back through the files. “My God, she’s been here five years.”

Kyle frowned. “That’s before Dr. Rutledge won the vaccine contract. These people may have nothing to do with the work we do now.” He took one of the charts from Ruth. “Why paper files? This is so inefficient.”

“Can’t be hacked,” Wisp said. “Easier to keep a secret if only a few people have access.”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Nick said. He snagged a marker off the counter. “Let’s open the doors, and see if we can get some answers.”

Nick walked over to the first door on the right side of the corridor. No one objected, but he got the feeling that everyone froze. He tapped on the door then slid the lock open. The door was surprisingly heavy.

“Hello?”

Inside was a small cell with bed, sink, shower and toilet. It reminded Nick of the shelter cubbies at the train station. A drop ceiling made the room feel even smaller. Beside the door, on the other side of the small hatch was a shelf large enough to hold a food tray with a plastic scoop chair set close by. The room smelled of death. A body lay on the bed, curled on its side. Nick took a step into the room. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female.

“Dead.” Wisp stood in the doorway. “A couple days by the smell.”

Nick got close enough to see a beard and backed out. “Male. I’d say maybe forties.”

Ruth held up a chart. “Him most likely. Puts him at forty-three. He’s been here for two years.” She glanced at Kyle.

Nick took the chart and slid it halfway into the food slot. Then he marked the door—male/43/dead—pocketed the marker, and stepped to the next door. He looked back to see Ruth and Kyle staring at the big black letters on the pristine white door.

“That’s how we did it in the cities. Lets everyone know what’s in there.”

“Efficient,” Wisp said. He stood next to Nick. “This one’s alive.”

Nick knocked, then slid the lock open. A young man was sitting at the shelf. He was dressed in white drawstring pants and a pale green shirt, like those in the cabinet upstairs. His hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in years. He raised his eyes passively and blinked at them slowly. “The door opened.”

Nick beckoned to him. “Come out.”

“Out?” The boy looked at the shelf, then slowly pointed to the hatch. “The food comes in here. Where is the food?”

Nick glanced down the hall. If all the people held here were this submissive, he needed a plan before he stacked them all up together. He went back to the dead man’s room and took the chair. In the foyer, at the foot of the stairs he started a row. When he turned to get the boy, he found Kyle looking intrigued and Ruth clearly alarmed. Wisp had grasped his idea. He had the boy by the arm, gently guiding him down the hall to the chair Nick had placed.

“Good. Thanks, Wisp. Ruth, got his chart? Male, adolescent?”

She continued staring at him for a half second before shuffling her charts. She handed him one. Nick slid it under the chair.

“Kyle, can you be in charge of food?”

“That is not my forte.”

Nick snorted a chuckle. “This isn’t my forte either. You got train food here?”

“Train food?” Ruth frowned at him. “What is that?”

“Packaged food that’s stored at train stations,” Wisp answered. He had taken the chair from the boy’s room and set it next in line.

“I believe I know where there are some emergency rations,” Kyle said.

“Please get some for these people. They’ve probably missed a couple meals.”

“Yes. I understand, “ Kyle said before heading upstairs.

Nick made a mental note that Kyle called train food
emergency rations
. That meant they must have fresh food here. He wanted to check out their supplies before he left. Maybe barter for the hard to find stuff. Susan would be so happy. But first to the problem at hand, Nick headed back down the hall to the next door.

“I fear the loss of any remaining infrastructure. If we have another bad flu season losing more than 10-20% of our dwindling population, we run the risk of losing more of the individuals that know how to make things run.”

History of a Changed World, Angus T. Moss

The little door never opened.

She drank water from the sink to fill her rumbling stomach. The lights stayed on a very long time. So long that she lay down and slept even thought it wasn’t dark. When she woke again she wasn’t sure if it was morning. But her head wasn’t full of cotton. Something had changed. Maybe she was being punished. But for what? She tried to think back over the past few days, but they were a blur of sameness.

She was hungry. The room felt claustrophobic. She paced, counting her steps, passing the time impatiently. What had changed?

She drank more water, but it didn’t help the hunger pains.

The floor was cold. She wished she had some slippers or socks. Her hair itched, and she wondered when was the last time she’d bathed. She looked at the tiny stall shower. No soap. Only one faucet. She shivered then, knowing that the water was cold, but not sure how she knew.

Something was very wrong. She was frightened. What was this place? How long had she been here?

She sat on the bed and wrapped the blanket around herself. The air conditioning was on too high. She felt chilled to the bone. She needed to think. Figure out where she was, and what was going on. Her memory was fuzzy. She couldn’t find her most recent memories. They were all a blur of white walls and cotton head.

There was a tap on the door. It sounded unreasonably loud in her silent room. She wasn’t sure how to respond. That had never happened before. Then the door opened. She was so surprised, she almost didn’t see that a person was there in the doorway. A tall man stood there, green eyes watching her. Amazing. She could smell him, sunshine and sweat. Thoughts and images tumbled in her brain so fast it made her breathless. “My name is Melissa,” she blurted it out. Needed to say it aloud to make it real.

“Hello Melissa, I’m Nick.” He stepped back and beckoned. “Come out please.”

She bolted to her feet. Out! She needed to get out of this tiny stifling room. He led her down the hall to a row of chairs. All sorts of people were sitting there. Some were staring into space, some eating food out of packages. She took her seat, winded by the short walk. Another man, this one with red hair and dark golden eyes, brought her a package of food and a bottle of water. He opened it for her. It had the crunchy food inside.

Crunch. She crumpled the white wrapper. The smell and taste was familiar now. This was train food. Was she in a train station? Had there been a bad storm, and she’d gotten trapped in here? That didn’t seem right. But, at the moment, all she wanted was food.

As she ate, she watched the rescuers. There were three men and one woman. The man who gave her food stayed here with the seated people, watching over them. He looked very strong, but there was a gentleness to his face that made her think that he wasn’t a threat. The green-eyed man, Nick, seemed nice, also. Her eyes sought out the third man, and a thrill of fear crawled up her spine when she saw the tattoo. A biobot. White hair and pale eyes. When he came close, carrying a chair, she strained to see the numbers. He paused as if feeling her scrutiny.

“You have questions?”

“Who’s your keeper?” The words rushed out of her. Fear welled up inside her. She began to shake.

“Nick.” The biobot pointed to the green-eyed man.

“Stay away from me.”

“You are safe here.”

“Not with you here!” She heard her voice rise to a near shriek. The fear crashed over her, and she struggled to her feet, needing to run.

The biobot moved away. The big man with the golden eyes came to her making soft noises. She let him put her back in the seat.

“You are safe. I promise you that no one will hurt you.”

“Keep him away.”

“Would you like more food?”

She snatched the food from his hands, her mouth filling with saliva.