Eden Rising (6 page)

“Martina,” Amanda said, swinging the bottle in her direction.

Martina took it and raised it to her mouth. But instead of drinking, she merely let the liquid touch her lips, and then handed the bottle to Ruby.

It wasn’t long before the volume in the room increased to the point they almost had to shout to be heard.

At some point, Martha slurred, “So do we leave tomorrow for this survival place, or what?”

“Idiot. They haven’t broadcast the locations yet,” Amanda said.

“Right, right. But when they do, we’re going, right?”

She was looking at Martina, so Martina said, “When they do, we can figure it out then.”

“Or we could figure it out now,” Valerie said.

“Sure, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Valerie said. “I think we should take a vote now.”

“What’s there to vote on?” Craig asked. “Of course we’re going to go.” He looked at Martina. “Right?”

“Why you looking at her?” Valerie asked. “It’s not her decision.”

Martina donned a disarming smile. “I think we should save this for the morning, don’t you? We’re just having some fun tonight, that’s—”

“Screw you, Gable,” Valerie said. “I don’t care what you think. You are
not
the boss here.”

Smile still in place, Martina said, “Never said I was.”

“You don’t have to say it,” Amanda threw in. “You just act like it.”

It was amazing how old rivalries never died. Martina had been playing sports with or against Valerie and Amanda and most of the other girls since they were all kids. Some she got along with better than others. Valerie and Amanda had always proven more difficult. Martina had assumed their current situation had changed that. Apparently not.

To keep the peace, Martina excused herself to use the restroom, and had instead gone to bed. The next morning, there was no talk of the tension from the night before. Partly that was due to varying degrees of hangovers the others had, but mostly, Martina guessed, they just didn’t remember.

When the location of the nearest survival station was finally broadcast—the parking lot of Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles starting on December 31
^st
—the discussion of what to do had come up again. Fortunately, everyone was sober this time, but to avoid any problems, Martina let others lead the conversation.

When Martina had seen which way the vote was leaning, she had thrown in with everyone else, making the vote unanimous. They would caravan to Los Angeles the afternoon of New Year’s Eve.

Until the evening before they were to leave, Martina had still thought she’d probably go with them. As she lay in her bed that night, she turned on her phone, hoping it would have a signal now and she could try to reach Ben.

At first, the same
NO SERVICE
message was at the top where it always was. But as she was about to turn off her phone, a single bar appeared. She stared at it, hoping for more, but that was all it gave her. And then her phone vibrated, letting her know she had voice mail.

The message on the screen indicated there were actually seven, all from Ben. The last had been sent earlier that day. She decided to listen to them in order received and brought up the earliest one.

But as it started to play, the reception bar was replaced by
NO SERVICE
, and a message appeared on her screen:
VOICE MAIL UNAVAILABLE
.

“No, please!” she said.

She waited, hoping the bar would come back, but it stayed on
NO SERVICE
. She turned off the phone and turned it on again, but that didn’t change anything. Though she desperately wanted to hear his messages, she felt elated.  

If she and the other members of her softball team who’d contracted the Sage Flu the previous spring were now immune, she’d assumed Ben would be, too. He’d gone through it with them, after all. But she’d had now way of knowing for sure. Until now.

Ben was alive.

When the afternoon of New Year’s Eve came, Martina helped the others finish loading the cars, while leaving her own bag hidden behind the Carriage Inn’s reception counter. Once they were done, they gathered in the parking lot.

“We need to keep in sight of each other in case anyone has car trouble,” Valerie said. As had been happening more and more over the last several days, she was taking on the self-appointed role of leader. “Plus, we have no idea what kind of mess we might run into when we reach the city. Could be the roads are jammed up.”

“Wait,” Jilly said. “What would happen then? Would we have to walk?”

“Anything’s possible at this point, but what won’t help is whining about it, all right?”

She stared at Jilly, daring her to respond, but Jilly kept quiet.

“Good.” Valerie shifted her gaze to the others. “Everyone has water? Something to eat?”

Nods and yeses.

“Then no time to waste, I guess.”

As Valerie took a step toward her car, Martina said, “Hold on.”

Valerie stopped and looked back, her eyes narrowing as if expecting a challenge. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Martina said. “I’m just…I’m not going with you.”

“What?” both Noreen and Riley said.

The group instinctively moved toward Martina.

“What do you mean, you’re not going?” Noreen asked.

“Just that,” Martina said. “I’m not trying to stop you or anything, but—”

“You’re going to stay here?” Riley asked.

“No.” Martina paused. She hadn’t really thought this part through. She had hoped saying she wouldn’t be going would be enough. “I’ll meet you guys there eventually, there’s just something, um, I have to do.”

“What could you possibly have to do?” Valerie asked.

Martina frowned. “Someone I need to look for.”

A burst of laughter jumped from Valerie’s throat. “Are you kidding me?” She looked out at the road and the desert beyond. “There’s no one left to look for. Almost everyone’s dead.”

That may have been true, but all Martina said was, “I still need to try.”

Valerie stared at her in disbelief. “Your funeral, I guess. Have fun.” She started walking again.

“Can I go with you?” Riley asked Martina.

Martina cringed. Taking this kind of chance on her own was one thing, but putting others in danger? “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“But my father, my…my sister. They might be out there somewhere.” Riley’s father and her twin sister Laurie had left the cabin where her family and Martina’s family had been hiding from the flu before the others had died. Riley and Martina had searched for them when they returned to Ridgecrest, but had found no sign of them.

“If they’re still alive, they would have heard the UN’s message by now, and will probably head to the survival station, too,” Amanda said.

“Well, if they do, then they’ll be safe there,” Riley said. “But if they didn’t hear it…”

Martina couldn’t miss the hope and pleading in the girl’s voice. She knew if she were in Riley’s position, she’d want to do the same thing. “All right.”

Riley smiled. “Thank you.”

“
But
,” Martina quickly added. “They may not have even gone in the direction I’m heading, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“I won’t,” Riley said.

Martina looked at her friend for a moment, then said, “Grab your bag.”

As Riley rushed to the cars, Noreen said, “I’m going with you, too.”

“What?” Valerie said. “Are you crazy?”

Noreen, jaw set, said, “Martina’s my best friend. I’m going with her.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned after Riley.

“Anyone else want to get themselves killed?” Valerie asked, scanning the rest.

A shoe scuffed against the asphalt, and a hand shot up. “Me.”

It was Craig.

“Oh, so, what? You going to be the big male protector?” Valerie asked.

Craig looked confused. “No. I just…no.”

Martina knew why. Riley.

Valerie scoffed as she rolled her eyes. “Fine! Is that it? Anyone else?” When no one else spoke up, she said, “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

Once everyone was loaded up, the driver’s window of the lead car rolled down. “Last chance, Gable,” Valerie said.

“Good luck,” Martina told her. “We’ll see you in L.A.”

The look on Valerie’s face as she rolled her window back up said she very much doubted that. One by one, the cars started pulling away. Most of the girls waved and shouted their good-byes.

“Think we’ll ever see them again?” Noreen asked.

“I’m sure we will,” Martina replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

They fell silent and watched the cars head north on China Lake Boulevard.

When the last of the vehicles fell out of sight, Craig said, “So, uh, who are we looking for?”

“A friend,” Martina said.

“Ben, right?” Noreen asked. She turned to Craig. “His name’s Ben.”

Martina shouldn’t have been surprised her best friend knew. “Yeah. Ben.”

“Is he your boyfriend or something?” Riley asked.

“Bingo,” Noreen said.

 “How do you know he might still be alive?” Craig asked.

“Because he left me a message on my phone.”

“What?” Noreen said. “When? What did he say?”

“I only had a signal for a little bit. Not long enough to listen to them. But I do know the last one came yesterday.”

“That’s great,” Noreen said, smiling. “Hey, that’s great!”

“We should get going,” Martina said. She picked up her pack and started walking toward the road.

“Wait. We’re going to hike out of here?” Craig asked.

“Not the whole way.”

When she’d thought she’d be going on this trek alone, she knew a car was more than she needed, and might even be a liability. Now, even with the extra companions, her opinion hadn’t changed.

When they finally neared her intended destination, she pointed. “There.”

In front of the building was a white sign with red letters outlined in black:

GLAZE’S MOTORCYCLES

SAN MATEO, CALIFORNIA

3:03 PM PST

B
EN BOWERMAN WIPED
the sweat from his brow. It had to be one of the hottest New Year’s Eves ever recorded on the San Francisco Peninsula. Well, it would be, he figured, if anyone were still keeping records.

He knew the fact that he’d so far spent half the day digging into the ground probably influenced his opinion, but it still didn’t take away from the fact that the day was warm, and that usually New Year’s Eve was a time for jackets and scarves and sweaters.

He already had three of the graves completed, and the fourth almost done. They weren’t the standard six feet deep—more like four—but they would do just fine. After he removed the last bit of dirt from number four and evened out the bottom, he leaned against his shovel and looked out at the green rolling hills of the cemetery. In the past, a place like this was a peaceful home for the dead. Now, peaceful aside, it seemed like everywhere was home for the dead.

For days he had known he was going to have to come out here and do this. The only question had been, how many graves would he have to dig?

The pandemic took his father first.

Ben had been at his apartment in Santa Cruz two days before Christmas when his phone rang.

“Ben? Ben, please come home.” It was his mother. He had never heard her sound more frightened.

“Are you all right? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, something’s wrong. Haven’t you been watching TV?

Of course he had. He’d been stuck on his couch riveted to the news coverage of the shipping containers that seemed to be spread around the world, belching out an as yet unknown substance.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said, trying to find words that might calm her down. “I’m sure it will all be over soon, and everything will be back to normal.”

“Please, come home,” she said. “I’d feel a lot better. The rest of us are here.”

“Dad’s not at work?”

“They closed his office today.”

Those five little words did more to scare Ben than the hours of news he’d been watching.

“Please, Ben. Please.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

“Thank you,” she said, clearly relieved. “Oh, and Ben, if you see a drugstore open, can you pick up some cold medicine? Your father isn’t feeling too well.”

His dad had lasted until the day after Christmas. By then, his sisters Kathy and Karen had already come down ill, and his mother was starting to sniffle. Kathy held on the longest. He kept hoping she’d pull out of it like he had in the spring. There was one day when she seemed to be doing better, but the next morning she was worse than before. Finally, just over twenty-four hours earlier, she had drifted off to join the rest of his family.

By then, he had no more tears left.

He had figured out pretty early that he was immune, had even sent out a silent thank you, but as his family continued to die, he began to wonder if being immune was actually worse. The only thing that kept him sane—the
only
thing—was thinking about Martina. If his previous exposure to Sage Flu made him immune, it would have been the same for her.

He had tried calling, but kept being immediately directed to her voice mail. Every time he’d left a message, but not once had she called back. Then, the same day Karen died, his cell phone stopped receiving a signal at all, so all he could do was focus on nursing Kathy.

He knelt down and checked his work. The bottom of the grave was nice and flat, the corners perfectly edged. It was important to him to be as precise as possible. It was the way his father, a US Navy vet, would have liked it.

The plots were near a tree on a west-facing slope, the very ground his parents had purchased several years ago for the day they would need it. He hadn’t realized they’d taken the step until he found the information in their things.

Naturally, they had bought only two plots, so he was worried when he came out here that he’d have to double up, maybe his parents together in one, and his sisters in the other. But the spots on both sides of his parents’ chosen resting places were vacant. Since it was unlikely anyone would claim the land, he did.