replied.
“Knife?”
“What can you do from Colony West?”
“We have a plan,” Dawson said. “Knife?”
“ You have a plan.”
Dawson looked at the boy. “Listen, you have to trust me. I understand how the Navy works. From Colony West, I can operate within the system and get a lot more done. Admiral Thomas will support me. I know it. He’ll send resources to Atlanta Colony.”
Jonzy held out his hands in frustration. “What if he doesn’t? What if you get stuck out there? If we all go to Atlanta, you can contact Doctor Hedrick. We can go to the pharmaceutical plant in Alpharetta and help them to start it up.”
Dawson absentmindedly pinched the hem of the tablecloth. The silk cloth had been on the restaurant table, collecting dust since the comet had streaked by Earth three years earlier. Every fiber of his being wanted to go with Jonzy and search for his daughter, then to Atlanta, but he had weighed the pros and cons. The right thing to do was go to Colony West, where he had the best odds of saving hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of lives.
“Cadet, I assume you have a knife?”
Jonzy persisted. “Tomorrow, Doctor Perkins will find out that the pills were stolen, and I’ll be gone. Biltmore Company will have lost two cadets. They’re going to blame you for it.”
“Everyone will be focused on the evacuation,” Dawson said. “When they notice you’re gone, it will be too late.”
Before Jonzy could argue with him, Dawson quickly ran through the remainder of the checklist. Knife. Maps. Rope. MREs. Two-way radios. Flashlight. Hammer. Blanket. And finally, the map of Mystic with Dawson’s home address.
“What’s my address?” Dawson asked.
“Twenty-three Walpole Ave,” Jonzy said. “It’s near the intersection of Freemont Ave and Berkley Street. Your house is green. It’s the only green house on the entire street. There’s a pancake restaurant on the corner.”
“IHOP,” Dawson interjected. “International House of Pancakes.”
“Sarah is three and a half years old,” Jonzy continued. “She has a birthmark on her right elbow. We’ll find her.”
Dawson stood and picked up his pack. “Thank you.”
Jonzy popped up and slung a pack over his shoulder. Together, they entered the stairwell and started down the forty-three flights in the dark.
“Hold on to the rail.” Dawson kept his voice low. The stairwell was like an echo chamber.
Jonzy chuckled. “You know how many times I’ve gone down these stairs in the middle of the night?”
“More than I want to know?”
“Way more.”
A rollercoaster of emotions interrupted Dawson’s concentration, and he quickly lost count of the landings. Jonzy was right. He should go to Mystic. No, a sense of duty and logic told him to go to Colony West. What about the duty of fatherhood?
Telling himself to stick to his plan, Dawson cupped the flashlight and turned it on. They were halfway down. Jonzy took the lead.
On the ground floor, they exited the stairwell, slipped through the dark lobby, and were soon outside the Biltmore.
Dawson looked left, right and listened. The drumbeat of his heart sent ripples into a sea of silence. Moving on, they hugged the edges of the buildings where the shadows were the darkest. Moonlight revealed most obstacles, but they occasionally stubbed their toes on hunks of concrete, bricks, and other debris.
At intersections, one of them would creep to the corner and peer in all directions, while the other stayed twenty or thirty meters back, keeping an eye on the flank. The lead scout would dash across street. The other would wait to receive an all-clear hand signal before making his dash.
Two blocks from Medical Clinic 17, they heard a vehicle approaching. Jonzy dashed behind a building column and plastered himself on the ground. Dawson dove into an alcove. A quarantine van drove by, heading north, with its headlights out. Dawson couldn’t see the driver.
After the van was out of sight, he
“Knife?”
“What can you do from Colony West?”
“We have a plan,” Dawson said. “Knife?”
“ You have a plan.”
Dawson looked at the boy. “Listen, you have to trust me. I understand how the Navy works. From Colony West, I can operate within the system and get a lot more done. Admiral Thomas will support me. I know it. He’ll send resources to Atlanta Colony.”
Jonzy held out his hands in frustration. “What if he doesn’t? What if you get stuck out there? If we all go to Atlanta, you can contact Doctor Hedrick. We can go to the pharmaceutical plant in Alpharetta and help them to start it up.”
Dawson absentmindedly pinched the hem of the tablecloth. The silk cloth had been on the restaurant table, collecting dust since the comet had streaked by Earth three years earlier. Every fiber of his being wanted to go with Jonzy and search for his daughter, then to Atlanta, but he had weighed the pros and cons. The right thing to do was go to Colony West, where he had the best odds of saving hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of lives.
“Cadet, I assume you have a knife?”
Jonzy persisted. “Tomorrow, Doctor Perkins will find out that the pills were stolen, and I’ll be gone. Biltmore Company will have lost two cadets. They’re going to blame you for it.”
“Everyone will be focused on the evacuation,” Dawson said. “When they notice you’re gone, it will be too late.”
Before Jonzy could argue with him, Dawson quickly ran through the remainder of the checklist. Knife. Maps. Rope. MREs. Two-way radios. Flashlight. Hammer. Blanket. And finally, the map of Mystic with Dawson’s home address.
“What’s my address?” Dawson asked.
“Twenty-three Walpole Ave,” Jonzy said. “It’s near the intersection of Freemont Ave and Berkley Street. Your house is green. It’s the only green house on the entire street. There’s a pancake restaurant on the corner.”
“IHOP,” Dawson interjected. “International House of Pancakes.”
“Sarah is three and a half years old,” Jonzy continued. “She has a birthmark on her right elbow. We’ll find her.”
Dawson stood and picked up his pack. “Thank you.”
Jonzy popped up and slung a pack over his shoulder. Together, they entered the stairwell and started down the forty-three flights in the dark.
“Hold on to the rail.” Dawson kept his voice low. The stairwell was like an echo chamber.
Jonzy chuckled. “You know how many times I’ve gone down these stairs in the middle of the night?”
“More than I want to know?”
“Way more.”
A rollercoaster of emotions interrupted Dawson’s concentration, and he quickly lost count of the landings. Jonzy was right. He should go to Mystic. No, a sense of duty and logic told him to go to Colony West. What about the duty of fatherhood?
Telling himself to stick to his plan, Dawson cupped the flashlight and turned it on. They were halfway down. Jonzy took the lead.
On the ground floor, they exited the stairwell, slipped through the dark lobby, and were soon outside the Biltmore.
Dawson looked left, right and listened. The drumbeat of his heart sent ripples into a sea of silence. Moving on, they hugged the edges of the buildings where the shadows were the darkest. Moonlight revealed most obstacles, but they occasionally stubbed their toes on hunks of concrete, bricks, and other debris.
At intersections, one of them would creep to the corner and peer in all directions, while the other stayed twenty or thirty meters back, keeping an eye on the flank. The lead scout would dash across street. The other would wait to receive an all-clear hand signal before making his dash.
Two blocks from Medical Clinic 17, they heard a vehicle approaching. Jonzy dashed behind a building column and plastered himself on the ground. Dawson dove into an alcove. A quarantine van drove by, heading north, with its headlights out. Dawson couldn’t see the driver.
After the van was out of sight, he
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