SIX DAYS LATER … OCTOBER 29.
Micah sat in bed, propped up on pillows, looking out the window at the light snow falling across Malta. Flakes blew over the rooftops and swirled down the empty streets. He had no idea if Malta had ever experienced snow before, but it was pretty.
He shifted and winced. The submarine surgeon had glued his shoulder blade back together as best he could, but shattered was shattered. These days, the sling was actually the worst part. It made him feel like an invalid. The surgeon said he’d never have full use of his left arm again, but what did it matter now?
Sighing, he watched the snowfall. He’d had days to think about things. Especially about his family. And he knew they were not hiding out in some salt cave. When the plague struck, hospitals would have quickly been overwhelmed. No one would have even noticed they were sick. Even if they weren’t sick, fanatics who didn’t understand why not had probably killed them. Throughout history people who did not get sick during plagues were accused of being witches, or demons, or simply the carriers that spread the disease.
Micah didn’t want to face it. But, at some point, he’d have to.
While he was dwelling on the death of everything he’d ever cared about, it figured that Cozeba would open the door and enter his room. The general stood awkwardly before walking forward. His medals, like always, had been polished to a high luster, and his hair looked freshly washed.
“Good morning, Captain Hazor.”
“General.”
The man walked to stand over Micah’s bed like a menacing vulture. “Feeling well enough for a serious conversation.”
Micah shoved his blanket down around his waist. The look on Cozeba’s face was already affecting his heart rate. “Not really. Are the Russians truly gone? Janus says they are, but I’m not sure he isn’t humoring me because of my injuries.”
“He’s not. Garusovsky left with the cure the same day you were wounded.”
“Didn’t want to stick around, I suppose. With the plague everywhere.”
“No.”
“So…” Micah said, wondering when Cozeba would get around to the reason for this visit. “I assume you’re mass-producing Yacob’s vaccine as quickly as you can?”
“It’s slow-going with our limited facilities and personnel, but yes.”
Cozeba folded his arms and seemed to be examining the spiderweb in the corner of the ceiling.
“Any side effects?”
“Not from the vaccine, but once symptoms have progressed to a certain point the vaccine seems useless.”
“Is that what you came here to tell me?”
Cozeba walked over to the window to grimace down at the quarantine camp below. “Nadai is sick.”
“What?”
“He must have contracted the disease from one of the soldiers in the helicopter that brought him to Malta.”
“But didn’t he get Yacob’s vaccine?”
“Yes, but it came too late for him. He’s in the Garden now.”
Micah’s chest deflated with a silent exhale. “What about everyone who had contact with Nadai, including you, Anna, and me?”
“We’ve all received Yacob’s vaccine. Now we wait.”
As Micah thought about it, he felt more and more hollow. “Where is Anna? I haven’t seen her since I woke up four days ago.”
Cozeba turned halfway around to fix Micah with sober eyes. “Let’s talk about Operation Eucharist first. I have a mission for you.”
“A mission? General, I’m in no condition to undertake a mission. My left arm—”
“Your injury will not affect your ability to carry out this mission.”
Micah took a moment to brace himself. “Go on, sir.”
Cozeba shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Here’s the situation: There are seventeen quarantine zones across America. Those people need Yacob’s vaccine desperately. Even if it isn’t the cure, it’s better than nothing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ve messaged President Stein the formula, but have received no response. I have to know what’s happening in America. Once we have a few thousand doses of vaccine manufactured, maybe in a month, I’ll need someone to volunteer to carry the vaccine, and the formula, to America, and report back to me on the status of the country.”
The very idea of trying to make it to America in this devastated world boggled Micah’s mind. “What will I find when I get there? A dead zone? Rioting in the streets?”
Cozeba shook his head. “For the most part, you’ll be crossing a dead country, but no one knows what’s really happening out there in the hinterlands.”
The faces of Gembane, Ranken, and Beter appeared behind his eyes, staring at him with knowing expressions on their faces. They’d become his conscience, always there to remind him of why he’d spent his life fighting to protect his country.
“I volunteer. Now tell me where Anna is.”
Cozeba inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I guess you’re strong enough to hear it, though Janus advised against it. As Russian troops were advancing on the fort, Captain Asher walked into the Garden and closed the gates behind her. She’s the one who vaccinated everyone in the Garden. She says she’s not coming out until she’s the last one alive.”
Micah felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. She was locked in the pit of death, and there was nothing he could do to save her. Goddamn her. She’d always been willing to sacrifice herself to save others. “Is that how we know Yacob’s vaccine doesn’t work if your symptoms are too far along?”
“Yes.”
“But she’s still alive.”
“So far.”
“Any symptoms?”
Cozeba shook his head. “Not yet.”
Micah absently studied the folds in the blanket that covered his legs. “I have a question, General. If Hakari knew the ultimate vaccine, why didn’t he—”
“Vaccinate himself? I went down to the Garden to ask Hakari that very question. He just kept repeating, ‘It is done,’ as though his work on earth was finished. And he might not have understood my question. He was out of his mind with fever by then.”
Or maybe Hakari was just tired of living in a devastated world and wanted it over with. “What about Yacob Borodino? Is he sick?”
“No. He’s leading vaccine production aboard the Mead.”
Micah’s gaze returned to the snow falling beyond the window. He missed Hakari’s voice. The man used to sing at night, and it was so beautiful everyone in the fort had stopped to listen.
“Are you going to fly me to America, or do I have to paddle with one arm?”
A small grim smile touched Cozeba’s lips. “I’ll fly you as far as the minuscule amount of fuel we have left will take you. That ought to get you to Germany. Hopefully, we’ll find more fuel there.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to kill a bunch of our German allies to get it. By the way, in addition to what we’re producing for America, how much of Yacob’s vaccine are we flying around the world?”
Cozeba pulled his shoulders back. “There isn’t enough for anyone else, Hazor.”
Despair filtered through Micah. “… So we’re only making it for Americans. And I assume the Russians are only producing the cure for their people?”
“As far as I know.”
Micah leaned back into his soft pillows again. He felt sick to his stomach. An ingenious form of worldwide cultural cleansing.
“However,” Cozeba added, “the day you were shot, I ordered that the formula for Yacob’s vaccine be sent out on every open channel we have. It’s been going out three times a day. So far, Norway, England, and France have contacted us saying they’ve received it.”
That made Micah feel a little better. “Do we know what’s happening in the rest of the world?”
“We know there are large quarantine zones across Europe and in Russia and China. Every country is desperate. Yacob’s vaccine only targets one strain of the virus, and many countries do not have that strain, so it has little utility, but they were grateful to get it nonetheless.”
When Micah remained silent, Cozeba nodded and left.
As the door closed behind him, Micah swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and carefully walked to the window where his clothing lay folded. Getting dressed with only one arm was a challenge, but he managed. While he worked his jeans over his hips, he looked down at the Garden.
Anna moved through the last survivors with relentless patience, mopping foreheads, speaking to people, tipping cups of water to mouths that barely had the strength to open. He wondered if she’d been the one who’d taken care of Hakari as he’d died. It must have torn her apart. She’d been loyal to him until the very end. And now, she must be taking care of Nadai.
As the snow fell harder, it covered her shoulders and hair, turning them white.
Micah shook out his rain poncho. It was the easiest to put on over his sling.
As he watched Anna, the cold seemed to intensify around him.
Bravery was such a bizarre, irrational act. It made no sense at all.
Unless you were there at that moment, watching people die around you. Then it was the only thing that made sense. That’s how she must have felt when she’d stepped into the Garden.