Below deck, they began strapping on the suits they wore each time.
“You ever think about what we’re doing?” the younger man asked.
“I try not to.”
“You think it’s wrong?”
The older man glanced up at him.
“They’re people, they’re just sick.”
“Are they? Are you a scientist? I’m not. Janitors don’t get paid to think.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t do that. Don’t overthink this thing. You’ve got my back out there. My life is in your hands. You overthink what we’re doing and you could get us both killed. And most importantly, you could get me killed. If the freaks on the deck don’t get us, the lunatics in the control room will. We’ve got one chance here: we do our job. So shut up and suit up.”
The younger man looked away, then resumed attaching tape to his suit, occasionally glancing at the older man.
“What did you do before the plague?”
“I didn’t do anything,” the older man said.
“Unemployed? Me too. Pretty much like everybody else my age in Spain. But, you know I had just gotten some work as a substitute teacher—”
“I was in prison.”
The young man paused, then asked, “What for?”
“I was in the type of prison where you don’t ask what you’re in for. And you don’t make friends. It’s a lot like this place. Look kid, I’m going to make it really simple for you: the world is over. The only mystery that matters is who’s gonna survive. There are two groups left. The people with the flamethrowers and the people catching the flames. You’re holding a flamethrower right now. So shut up and be happy. And don’t make friends. You never know who you’re gonna have to burn in this world.”
At that moment the door opened, and the scientist whom the crew called Dr. Doolittle—whose actual name was Dr. Janus—stepped into the small room. His face was blank and he made no eye contact with either man. Two lab assistants pushed carts with body bags in and left just as quickly.
“That all of ’em?” the larger man asked.
“For now,” the doctor said mildly to no one in particular. He turned to leave, but the younger man spoke up just as the scientist reached the door’s threshold.
“Any progress?”
Dr. Janus paused a moment, then said, “That depends… on your definition of progress.” He stepped out.
The younger man turned to the older man. “You think—”
“I swear, you even say the word ‘think’ again, and I’ll torch you myself. Now come on.”
They donned their helmets, marched up the stairs, and opened the doors to the stalls that held the devolving and the survivors who refused to pledge. A few seconds later, the first people began falling into the sea.
CHAPTER 41
Immari Sorting Camp
Marbella, Spain
Kate stared out the sixth-floor window at the resort grounds below. She and the other survivors were housed in the tower closest to the sea. The soldiers had taken the middle tower for themselves, and the far tower, farthest inland and close to the gate, was filled to the breaking point with the dead and dying. Martin was in there. Kate wondered which group he was in: dead or dying? Kate stared at the tower, at the four guards that loitered at the entrance, smoking, talking, laughing, and reading magazines.
It was all she could do to wait, but she had to. She had to bide her time until the moment came. She would get one shot at getting him out.
She turned back and sat on her bed. Across the room, her roommate lay in bed, reading an old book. “What are you reading?” Kate asked.
“She.”
“She?”
The woman rolled over and rotated the cover toward Kate. “She: A History of Adventure. You want to read it when I’m done?”
“No, thanks,” Kate said. “I’m getting all the adventure I can handle right now,” she added, under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The rumble of heavy trucks at the edge of the gate rolled through the camp, and Kate sprang up and peered out the glass. She waited, hoping, and yes—they were bringing in a new shipment. The Immari had been continuously unloading people, perhaps from the rural areas beyond Marbella. This former Orchid District seemed to be their main staging area for the region. Every few hours, a new convoy brought more people, both sick and well, and troops with them. Confusion. An hour of chaos. An opening. Kate raced to the door.
“Where are you going? We’ve got count in twenty minutes—” her roommate called, but Kate didn’t stop. She bounded down the stairs. At the ground floor, she found the front desk, and searched for a floor plan. Would this building have what she needed? What would she say if a guard stopped her or even found her out of her room? They counted twice a day, and she didn’t know what they would do if the numbers didn’t add up—it had never happened before.