She looked down the street, half expecting a police car or military vehicle to drive by and catch her standing there, but the only movement came from the snowflakes falling to the ground. Still, to be safe, she walked the bike around the side of the gas station, out of view, then called the general number for the hospital.
“Benefis Hospital,” a female voice said.
“Can I speak to someone in the surgical unit, please?”
“Is this an emergency?”
“Ma’am, I’m calling from Malmstrom,” Chloe said, invoking the name of the local air force base.
“Of course. One moment.”
Instrumental music filled the void, a violin-and-piano version of some old pop song Chloe recognized but couldn’t name.
“Nurse Reynolds. Can I help you?” The voice was male and sounded rushed.
“Is this the surgical unit?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Mr. Reynolds, I’m Captain Lauren Scott. I’m part of the emergency operations team over here at Malmstrom.”
“Yes?” the nurse said, sounding unimpressed.
“I need the names of your surgeons currently on shift, on call, and those who will be coming in next.”
“I’m not sure I’m allowed to give that out.”
Chloe hardened her tone. “We are in a state of emergency. That means when my office calls needing something, you give it. Understood?”
The nurse fell silent.
“Mr. Reynolds, did you hear me? We are all trying to save lives here. I’m sure you don’t want me coming down there in person. That would take time, and I would not be very pleasant when I arrive. Now, please, can I get your cooperation?”
A moment, then, “I’m sorry. Hold for a second. I’ll check.”
There was no music this time, only the sound of someone using a computer keyboard.
“Okay, here you go,” Reynolds said. He read off the name of two doctors who were at the hospital and one who was on call, then gave her the name of the three surgeons who were scheduled to report in the morning.
“Thank you,” Chloe said. “Appreciate the help.”
As soon as the call disconnected, she brought up the list of doctors again. Eliminating the six names she’d been given left her with the three surgeons who weren’t expected in anytime soon. She called Information.
The first name had only a home phone number. The second and third, though, produced addresses as well. She looked at the map. The closest of the two, a Dr. Bradley Gardiner, lived less than half a mile from her current position.
She memorized the route, and put her phone away.
“Run! Run!”
Brandon Ash’s lungs burned as he pushed himself faster through the trees. He could hear the boom-boom-boom of his pulse as blood rushed by his ears.
“Run!”
He glanced back over his shoulder, toward the voice — Mr. Hayes’s voice.
“Keep moving!” the man yelled.
Brandon couldn’t see him, but knew Mr. Hayes couldn’t be far behind. As he looked back in the direction he was headed, his foot slipped on a rock and his leg flew out from under him. He tumbled, slamming against the ground over and over as the slope of the hill prevented him from stopping.
Whoop-whoop-whoop.
The rhythmic sound was slow and distant at first, but as it gained speed, it also increased in volume. The louder it got the more he felt each whoop in his chest, as if the sound itself had replaced the beating of his heart.
With a final skid through the dirt, he came to rest on his back. Above him was blue sky peeking through the tops of the trees. Then the blue turned black as the source of the sound moved into view.
“Run!” Mr. Hayes shouted.
Brandon wanted to do that more than anything, but the sight of the machine in the sky paralyzed him.
“Run!”
A helicopter, giant and black, hovered directly overhead.
Brandon felt something drip down the side of his face. He touched it, thinking it must be blood. But it was cold, not warm.
He was cold.
His eyelids fluttered, then opened. He sucked in a deep, frightened breath, and pushed himself partway up before he realized there was no helicopter above him, no blue sky. The only thing over his head was the makeshift lean-to he’d built to shelter himself as he slept.
Mr. Hayes, he thought. Mr. Hayes was dead.
Brandon pulled inside his sleeping bag, and used his flashlight to check his watch.
10:12 p.m.
So it was still Christmas Eve. He turned so he could look out the opening of his lean-to. The snow had yet to stop, and was piling up around the lower part of his shelter. He wondered if enough would fall to cover the entire thing by morning. The former kid in him would have thought that was cool, but not this Brandon. Not the Brandon who was just trying to survive.
He had spent most of that day following the road south. Not once did a vehicle pass by. In the afternoon, the snow had begun to fall, making him not only tired and cold, but wet. What bothered him most, though, was the eerie silence that enveloped him as more snow stuck to the ground. It made him feel like the last person on Earth, destined to walk forever alone. Finally, when he’d been unable to find a structure where he could spend the night, he had made the lean-to and set up camp.
A snippet of the dream came back to him — the whoop-whoop-whoop of the helicopter — and he suddenly wondered if the noise had been more than a part of his dream. The cold, after all, had definitely been real.
He pushed his head out of the sleeping bag, and moved over to the opening of the lean-to where he could listen better. Earlier that evening he’d heard a motorcycle drive by, but had rushed over to the road too late to get the driver’s attention. Maybe it was coming back. If so, he wanted to be on the highway in plenty of time to flag it down. He held his breath, straining to pick up the slightest of sounds, but if there was an engine roaring out there somewhere, he couldn’t hear it.
Just the dream, then.
Disappointed, he settled back down.
Tomorrow I’ll find a phone and call Dad. Tomorrow everything will be okay.
It took a while, but he finally fell back asleep, and when he did, the dream returned.
“Run!”
Martina Gable stared up at the sky. Unlike the night before, there were no clouds, so the stars shined brightly over the cabin. Running in a thick band across the field of black was the Milky Way, the light from most of its stars generated long before mankind had taken its first step. She wondered if light that old would still be reaching Earth when man took his last.
She heard the door open behind her, but she didn’t turn to see who it was.
“What are you looking at?” Riley Weber asked.
Martina watched the sky for a moment longer, then shook her head. “Nothing.”
Riley hesitated before saying, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Martina looked back. “You didn’t. I was just…trying to think about nothing.”
“I’ve been trying to think about nothing all evening.”
Riley’s chin shook as she bit her lip and started to cry. Martina put her arms around her friend. She wanted to say something like “We’re going to be okay,” but she couldn’t bring herself to lie, so she kept silent as she stroked Riley’s hair and let the girl sob.
Both Martina’s family and Riley’s family had escaped to the mountains in hopes of avoiding the Sage Flu. And while it had not touched them so far, they’d had their own near tragedy when Riley’s twin sister Laurie wandered off the previous night and nearly died of exposure. That afternoon, Mr. Weber had decided to take her back down the mountain to get medical attention. Without any cell phone coverage or land line at the cabin, Mr. Weber and Laurie hadn’t been heard from since.