“I’m afraid you’re still our best option,” said Blauwitz.
“That’s the impression I’m getting,” said the woman. Her voice lowered, and she looked at the haggard group with obvious worry. “Is it really as bad as we think it is?”
“It’s worse,” said Cynthia. “New York City is gone, we can’t contact anyone else, and whatever government is left is either unwilling or unable to do anything about it. We’re here because your lab might be the only local source of uncontaminated water.”
The woman frowned. “Uncontaminated by what?”
“By me,” said Lyle. He stood and shook her hand. “I’m Lyle Fontanelle.”
“The original?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I’m Dr. Kendra Shorey,” said the woman, “lead researcher for the ADC. Let’s go, then.” They loaded everyone into the two trucks, and Lyle found himself crammed in the front seat between Cynthia and Dr. Shorey. The engines had been left running, and the cabs were almost hot after the cold run across the yard. Shorey threw it into gear and rumbled down the unlit road.
Lyle pointed to a bright glow just visible over the tree line to the north. “Is that the lab?”
“Yes it is,” said Shorey, “but you’re not getting anywhere close to that. Living quarters are all farther west on another beach.”
“Are there other refugees?” asked Cynthia.
Shorey shook her head. “Most people in the middle of a worldwide plague run away from contagious disease centers.”
“It was his idea,” said Cynthia.
“And it was a good one,” said Shorey. “We’re not exactly happy to have you, but I can’t deny that this is probably the safest place on the East Coast right now.”
Lyle felt a warm glow of contentment, and watched the trees flash by in the beams of the headlights. They reached a wide clearing, and the small lights at the far end of it slowly resolved into buildings—a handful of single dwellings, followed by a cluster of larger, barracks-style structures.
“This used to be an army outpost,” Shorey explained. “It can hold a lot more people than the skeleton crew we’ve got running it today.” She parked in front of one of the U-shaped barracks buildings, and the second truck pulled in behind her. “I’ll unlock it for you and then see if I can get the heat turned on. I’m pretty sure this building’s still connected.…”
She led them in and then wandered off through the halls, her voice echoing faintly through the empty building as she talked herself through her search. Lyle breathed out, watching the moisture form a visible cloud in the cold front room, and followed Lilly into the room beyond. Someone had apparently declared the empty barracks to be a storage facility, for the walls were stacked high with crates of canned food, bottles of water and soda, old computer equipment, and rows of dusty filing cabinets. The other refugees wandered in after them, then continued on through the rest of the building, searching for beds and blankets and other stores of food.
When they were alone again, Lyle looked at Lilly and was struck by a sudden urge to be close to her. He picked up a bottle of Coke—unfrozen, which spoke well of the building’s insulation—and stepped closer. “Lillian Washington, would you care to join me for a drink?”
He couldn’t distinguish her features in the darkness, but she took a step closer to him. “I’d like that very much.”
“Might I offer you…” He peered at the label. “Whatever I just picked up? Diet Coke.”
She cocked her head to the side, and he saw the faint outline of a wince on her features. “Do they have anything else?”
Lyle’s smile fell. “Oh, the caffeine thing.” He turned back to the stacks of supplies. “They might have something caffeine-free, but I can barely read the labels in here.”
“My concern is the food dye,” said Lilly. “A lot of places make caramel coloring with cereal proteins, so even if the bottle says it’s gluten-free, it’s safer to just say no to any kind of cola.” She smiled sadly. “Sorry to ruin the moment.”
“It’s okay. I never realized how hard it was for you to eat something that won’t kill you.”
“Food labeling is only accurate to a point,” said Lilly. “A lot of things don’t even show up on an ingredients list. When was the last time you saw fluoride on a bottle of Coke?”
“Why would there be fluoride in a bottle of Coke?”
“Because we fluoridate our water,” she said, “and then we use water in everything. Even the regions that don’t fluoridate still get it through soda and juice and hot dogs and whatever else gets shipped all over the—”
Lyle ran from the room in a panic, shouting for the others as he careened through the dark house. “Don’t drink anything! Where are you? Don’t eat or drink anything!” He heard voices and a handful of answering shouts, and caught up to the rest of the group at the top of some basement stairs. Dr. Shorey was just getting ready to go down when Lyle ran up to them, still panting from his sprint through the halls. “Don’t drink anything.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Cynthia. “You’re the one who said this place was safe!”
“We have a closed water purification system,” said Shorey, “both here and at the lab. Everything else is canned—nothing’s contaminated.”
“The canned stuff is the problem,” said Lyle. “Any food made in a contaminated area could have the ReBirth retrovirus. We can’t eat anything packaged in the last five months.”
60
Thursday, December 13
3:53 P.M.
Plum Island Animal Disease Center, Long Island
1 DAY TO THE END OF THE WORLD
“I think I’ve got somebody!” said Blauwitz.
Lyle looked up, and the delegates and scientists with him, a row of heads popping up like gophers. The entire group had been on laptops and cell phones and radios for two straight days, trying desperately to get a signal in or out. In the corner, the man with a broken ankle slept fitfully, doped on painkillers and antibiotics. The group dropped their own equipment and ran to the general, clustering around him eagerly.
“Who is it?” asked Dr. Shorey.
