She jerked her head toward the silver double doors. Shaw rolled his eyes and wandered out.
“Martin, I need to ask you about your notes. I don’t understand them.”
His head rolled back and forth against the cabinet. “Answers are… dead. Dead and buried. Not among the living…”
Kate wiped a fresh layer of sweat from his forehead. “Dead and buried? Where? I don’t understand.”
“Find the turning points. When the genome changes. We searched… not alive. We failed. I failed.”
Kate closed her eyes and rubbed her eyelids. She considered giving him more steroids. She needed answers. But there were risks. She grabbed the bottle of prednisolone.
The kitchen doors parted, and Shaw stuck his head in. “It’s happening now. We need to move.”
Kate nodded her assent, and she helped Shaw stand Martin up and escort him out of the building. Past the revolving door, the sight of the camp almost stopped her dead in her tracks. The tower of the survivors spilled people onto the grounds in an endless stream. The palm trees swayed above the unseen masses that flowed below them. Guards were waving flashlights, herding people. A massive cruise ship stood tall at the shore, towering over the coast. Two massive ramps loaded people onto it, as if it were Noah’s Ark.
“The far ramp,” Shaw said quietly, and began tugging Martin.
Four guards were minding the far ramp, which Kate took to be the Immari loyalist loading point.
The ship came into focus. The once-white luxury liner now looked derelict, and Kate wondered if it would even float.
Shaw spoke quickly with the guards, something to the effect of “little too much cough syrup,” and “be right as rain tomorrow.”
To Kate’s relief, they passed the checkpoint with ease and fell into the throngs of people climbing the ramp. At the top, they exited into a corridor that was closed on both sides, but open to the moonlight above. It felt like a cattle stall at a state fair or a rodeo. They weaved endlessly, toward the center of the ship, Shaw leading the way. Twice they had to stop to let Martin catch his breath, standing against the wall as the flow of people snaked around them and filled the hallway beyond. There were doors that led to square compartments along the hallway, and people filled each room as they went.
“We need to get below, to a cabin. The topside compartments will get toasty by morning, like an oven.” He motioned to Martin. “He won’t fare well.”
At the end of the hall, they descended the stairwell several flights, then worked their way through another set of corridors until they found an empty room. “Stay here, be quiet, and keep the door shut. I’ll knock in three sets of three when I return,” Shaw said.
“Where are you going?”
“For supplies,” he said and pulled the door shut before Kate could reply. She slid the latch, locking the door.
The compartment was completely dark. Kate felt around for a switch but found none. She took the light bar from the backpack and bathed the small space in light. Martin lay against the wall, panting. Kate helped him into the bottom of one of the bunks. This was clearly one of the crew quarters: two bunkbeds and a small closet in the center of the room.
She took the satellite phone out and checked the display. No Service. She needed to go topside to finish her phone call. She needed answers. Her talk with Martin had been less than helpful. The genetic turning points. The answers… dead and buried. What did it mean?
Kate was utterly exhausted. She stretched out on the bunk opposite Martin. She would close her eyes and rest, just for a moment, just to help her think.
Periodically, she heard Martin cough. She didn’t know how much time passed, but she thought she felt the massive ship move. Sleep took her sometime later.
Kate was barefoot and her feet barely made a sound on the marble floor. Ahead of her, the arched wooden door stood at the end of the long hall. On her right, the same two doors loomed. The first was open: the door where she had seen David. She peered in. Empty. She walked to the second door on the right and pushed it open. The circular room was bathed with light from windows that had been swung open and glass doors that opened onto a terrace. A blue sea spread out below, but there were no boats, just a peninsula of tree-covered mountains and water beyond, as far as she could see.
The room was sparse, save for a steel and oak-topped drafting table. David sat behind it, on an old iron stool.
“What are you drawing?” Kate asked.
“A plan,” he answered without looking up.
“For what?”
“Taking a city. Saving lives.” He held up an elaborate drawing of a horse made of wood.
“You can take over a city with a wooden horse?”