“You mentioned that in the car. What in hell does it mean?”
“If we're lucky, the president can put a stop to it . . . But I do not know Ellington. He's kept his distance ever since he was elected. I do not know what he will do.”
“Put a stop to what?”
“If the situation gets any worse, I believe the governor will call Washington and ask for permission to clean up the schools. Sterilize the premises. He may ask for sanction to kill the children.”
Dicken stood up. “You have got to be shitting me.”
Augustine shook his head and looked him steadily in the eye. “State autonomous self-protection, as specified under Presidential Decision Directive 298, Emergency Action Gray Book. It's called the Military and Biological Security Protocol, Part Four. It was enacted seven years ago during a secret session of the Senate oversight committee. It gives discretion to state authorities on the scene to use all necessary force, under well-defined emergency conditions.”
“Why was I never told?”
“Because you chose to stay a soldier. The contents of the directive are confidential. At any rate, I opposed the rule as extreme, but there were a lot of scared senators in the room. They were shown pictures of Mrs. Rhine's family, incidents of Shiver in Mexico. They saw pictures of you, Christopher. The statute was signed by the president, and has never been revoked.”
“Is there any chance they'll listen to reason?”
“Slim to none. But we have to try. The race is on. You have work to do, and so do I.” He raised his voice. “Ms. DeWitt?”
DeWitt opened the door. As requested, she had not gone far; Augustine wondered if she had heard anything.
“I want to talk to Toby Smith.”
“Why?” DeWitt asked, as if the thought of Augustine seeing the boy again disgusted her.
“We're going to need their help,” he said.
“They're hardly trained for this sort of thing,” Dicken said, following Augustine down the concrete stairs. His voice echoed from the hard gray walls.
“You'd be surprised,” Augustine said. “We need answers by tomorrow. Is that possible?”
“I don't know.” Dicken was amazed at the transformation. This was the old Mark Augustine, jerked back to life like some sort of political zombie. His skin was regaining color, his eyes were hard, and the perpetual grimace of determination had returned.
“If we don't have answers by then, they could move in and kill us all.”
Dicken, Augustine, Middleton, DeWitt, Kelson, and Toby Smith gathered in Trask's office.
Toby stood before Augustine with a paper cup of water in one hand. Behind him stood Dr. Kelson and the two remaining school police officers. The officers wore surgical masks. The doctor did not seem to care very much whether he was protected.
“Toby, we're short staffed,” Augustine said.
“Yeah,” Toby said.
“And we have a lot of sick people to take care of. All of them your friends.”
Toby looked around the office. The square, metal-framed windows let in the bright afternoon sun and a whiff of warm air that smelled of the miles of dry grass beyond the compound.
“How many students are healthy enough to help us do some work around here?”
“A few,” Toby said. “We're all tired. Pretty koobered.”
“Koobered?”
“A word,” Toby said, squinting at Dicken, then looking around the room at the others.
“They have a lot of words,” DeWitt said. “Most are special to this school.”
“We think,” Kelson added, and scratched his arm through the sleeve, then looked around to see if anyone had caught him doing this. “I'm fine,” he said to Dicken. “Dry skin.”
“What does ‘koobered’ mean?” Augustine asked Toby.
“Not important,” Toby said.
“Okay. But we're going to spend a lot of time together, if that's all right with you. I'd like to learn these words, if you're willing to teach me.”
Toby shrugged.
“Can you put some teams together and pick up some basic nursing skills from the doctors, from Ms. Middleton and the teachers?”
“I guess,” Toby said.
“Some of them are already doing that in the gym and in the infirmary,” Middleton said. “Helping keep kids comfortable, deliver water.”
Augustine smiled. He had pulled himself together, straightened his rumpled shirt and pants, washed his face in Trask's executive bathroom sink. “Thanks, Yolanda. I'm speaking with Toby now, and I want him to tell me what's what. Toby?”
“I'm not the best at doing that kind of stuff. Not even the best who's still up and standing around.”
“Who is?”
“Four or five of us, maybe. Six, if you count Natasha.”
“Are you fever-scenting, Toby?” Middleton asked. “Do I have to strap on my sachet again?”
“I'm just seeing if I can, Ms. Middleton,” Toby said.
Augustine recognized the chocolate-like scent. Toby was nervous. “I'm glad you're feeling better, Toby, but we all need to think clearly.”
“Sorry.”
“I'd like for you to represent me and Mr. Dicken and all the school staff, okay? And ask the right kids—the right individuals—to put together teams for more training. Ms. Middleton will help us train, and Dr. Kelson. Toby, can these teams become clouded?”
Toby smiled, one pupil growing larger, the other shrinking. The gold flecks in both irises seemed to move.
“Probably,” Toby said. “But I think you mean we should cloud. Join up.”
“Of course. Sorry. Can you help us learn who's going to get better and who isn't?”
“Yes,” Toby said, very serious now, and both irises large.
Augustine turned to Dicken. “I think that's where we should begin. We're not going to get any help from outside, no deliveries, nothing. We're cut off. As far as the children are concerned, we need to focus our efforts and our supplies on those for whom we can do the most good with what we have. The children are better equipped to determine that than we are. Is this clear, Toby?”
Toby nodded slowly.
“I don't like giving children such decisions,” Middleton said, eyes thinning. “They are very loyal to each other.”
“If we do nothing, more will die. This thing is going through the new children like a crown fire. It's spreading by breath and touch—aerosol.”
“What's that mean for us?” Dr. Kelson asked, looking between Dicken and Augustine.
“I don't think we'll catch it from the kids unless we engage in really stupid behavior—pick our noses, that sort of thing,” Dicken said, glancing at Augustine. Damn him, he's pulling us together. “The aerosol forms of the viruses are probably not infectious for us.”
“It has a smell,” Toby volunteered. “When it's in the air it smells like soot spread over snow. When someone is going to get sick, and maybe die, they smell like lemons and ham. When they're going to get sick but not die, they smell like mustard and onions. Some of us just smell like water and dust. We won't get sick. That's a good, safe smell.”
“What do you smell like, Toby?”
Toby shrugged. “I'm not sick.”
Augustine gripped Toby's shoulder. “You're our guy,” he said.
Toby returned his stare without expression, but his cheeks flared.
“Let's start,” Augustine said.
“It's come to them saving themselves,” DeWitt said, finding the logic bitter. “God help us all.”
46
PENNSYLVANIA
The woods became dark and still. The rooms inside the cabin were quiet, stuffy from months of being closed up. Beneath the table lamp in the living room, Stella Nova shuddered at the end of each exhale of breath, but her lungs were not congested, and the air did not go in and out of her with the harsh whicker Kaye had heard earlier.
She changed the bag of Ringer's. Stella still did not awaken. Kaye stooped beside her daughter, listening and watching, then straightened. She looked around the cabin, seeing for the first time the homey and decorative touches, the carefully chosen personal items of the Mackenzie family. On an end table, a silver frame with characters from Winnie-the-Pooh in bas-relief held a picture of George and Iris and their son, Kelly, perhaps three years younger than Stella at the time the picture was taken.