Jack decided then and there that maybe he had enough food to hold him over. As quietly as he could, he snuck back into cover of the woods, and found a downed tree to sit on while he enjoyed his stolen meal.
Surprisingly, he only got a few bites into the chocolate chip cookie before he found that he wasn’t all that hungry anymore. He tried to set the cookie on the log beside him but somehow missed, and the cookie fell onto the thin layer of snow that covered the ground.
He closed his eyes. His headache was worse than ever now.
The next thing he knew, he found himself on his feet. He looked around for the log, but it was gone. Confused, he searched for something familiar. Trees and more trees and…
The dorms. He could just see them between the pines off to the left.
How the hell did he get here?
He tried to remember, but nothing came to him. I need someplace to lie down for a bit, that’s all. He looked at the dorms again, and recalled the warm beds he’d seen inside. I’ll just stretch out on one for a little while.
He staggered forward, his hands grabbing at the trees to help keep him upright.
He was ten feet from the edge of the woods when his hand missed the trunk it was aiming for and he tumbled to the ground.
He made an effort to get back on his feet, but was barely able to raise his head off the snow.
This is all right, he thought. Rest for a few minutes, then you can…
Sleep came first, but Jack never rose to his feet again.
Mason Lewis had been one of the first kids to arrive at Camp Kiley. Being older — he was fifteen — he had a better understanding of what was going on, but that didn’t make it any easier. His nights had been spent mostly awake, and his days in shock.
Being basically a good kid, he appreciated the fact that Mrs. Trieb and the other supervisors were doing their best to keep everyone distracted. But their latest effort, organizing a game of Bingo in the cafeteria, wasn’t working for him. So he’d excused himself, saying he needed some fresh air, and went back to his bunk in cabin seven.
Mason had been on a cross-country flight from his mom’s place in Boston to his dad’s in San Diego for the holidays, when his plane had made an emergency landing in Denver due to the imminent closing of airports across the country. He and one other kid had been jammed into a car and driven to the camp.
When he reached his cabin, he went straight to his bed, intending to stretch out for a little while, but as he sat down he noticed that his suitcase was unzipped. He had definitely not left it that way.
Angry, he pulled it open and hunted through his things to see what was missing, but everything seemed to be there. What the hell?
As he zipped up his bag, he caught sight of the suitcase belonging to the guy in the bunk next to him. It was open, too. Looking around, he saw that all the bags were open.
There was a thief among them. What else could it be?
He needed to tell Mrs. Trieb and Sergeant Lukes right away, as much to find out who did it, as to make sure he wasn’t the one accused of stealing.
But when he returned to the cafeteria, news about someone searching through the dorms wasn’t the only thing he brought back with him.
Mutations of the KV-27a virus were bound to happen. Its creators at Project Eden had known this, and, from a strictly academic point of view, were curious to see how these would manifest. They had neither resources nor time to conduct a thorough study, however, so they would never know that one such occurrence happened in Boulder, Colorado.
There, a young emergency medical technician was infected by a strain of the virus that not only caused severe headaches, but also clouded the victim’s mind and greatly impacted his sense of judgment.
The technician would not be the last to contract this variation, as his diminished sense of right and wrong allowed him to pass it along. An unfortunate occurrence for those he infected, especially because this particular version had one other notable difference from the main strain.
The accelerated incubation period between initial contact and full-on symptoms.
20
“I did not see it until it was almost in the surf,” Henri Boucher said over the radio. He was another resort guest, a Frenchman, currently on watch over the north end of the island. Just before calling in, he had spotted a boat approaching one of the beaches. “I am sorry. It is small so not easy to see.”
“It’s okay,” Dominic said. “How many are on it?”
“It looks empty, but I cannot be sure. The area, it is blocked from the sun by part of the island, so have many shadows, you know?”
“Whoever was on board could have already jumped off and swum to shore,” Robert said to Dominic. “I’ll take some people and do a search before it gets too dark.”
Dominic nodded grimly. “Be careful.”
As Robert left, Henri’s voice came back over the radio. “It is almost to the beach. Hold on.” There was a long pause. “Oui, it is there now. I do not see anyone moving, though.”
“Keep your eyes on it and report if anything changes,” Dominic said.
The evening before, they had moved the radio down to the room behind the terrace bar, since the area had become the main gathering point for the Isabella Island survivors, or, as Robert had started calling everyone, the Bellians. The name had yet to stick.
Dominic stepped out of the room, and looked across the bar to see who was nearby. “Mark!”
The lanky, brown-haired engineer from Toronto glanced over.
“Can you find Luis then meet me back here?” Dominic asked.
“Sure.”
As Mark left, Dominic caught Renee’s attention. “Take over on the radio for a little while,” he told her.
“Something up?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine,” he said for the benefit of anyone who might overhear. There was no sense in getting the others worked up if the boat turned out to be nothing. Once she was in the back room, though, he told her the truth, then said, “Robert’s checking if anyone might have already reached shore. I’m going to go take a look at the boat.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Somebody has to do it.”
Back in the bar, he found Luis and Mark waiting for him. “You guys up for a little hike?”
It would have been faster to take the speedboat around the island to the beach, but due to their limited supply of fuel, they’d decided no boat would be used unless absolutely necessary. For the same reason, all the generators, save the one powering the refrigerators and the radio, were shut down after dark. At nighttime, it was all torchlight or sleep.
So they took the slower route and walked across the island on one of the many resort-maintained paths. Unfortunately, the beach in question was not one of the better ones Isabella offered, so there was no path that went all the way there, and for the final quarter mile, they had to cut their way through the jungle.
“Henri, we’re getting close to the beach. If you see movement, that’s probably us,” Dominic said into his walkie-talkie.
“Okay, I will watch for you.”
“Renee?” Dominic asked.
There was a click. “Right here.”
“Any news from Robert?”
“Hasn’t spotted anyone yet. He’s circling around toward you, so you might run into him.”
“Good to know. Thanks.”
Part of the problem with this particular beach was that, depending on the tide, there was little room between where the waves crashed down and the brush began. Throw in the uneven rocky ground just below the water, and it was enough to keep most people away.