devastated. He kept the pictures up around the house. He never really got better until he talked about her. For him, that was the key to moving on.”
Did her husband die? In the Atlantis Plague? Before? Is that what she’s telling me? Paul was an expert at unraveling retroviruses, or anything in a lab for that matter. People, especially women, were a real mystery to him. “Yes, I agree. For anyone who has… lost someone, I think talking about it is very healthy.”
Natalie leaned in, but across the room, an alarm rang out, piercing the moment. Not an alarm, a phone. Paul’s landline.
Paul rose and picked up the phone.
“Paul Brenner.”
He listened, nodded several times, and tried to ask a question, but the line was dead before he had a chance.
“Who was it?”
“The Administration,” Paul said. “They’re sending a car for me. There’s some kind of problem in the Orchid Districts. ”
“You think the plague has mutated? Another wave of infection?”
“Maybe.”
“You want me to come with you?”
Natalie was the only remaining member of the Continuity research staff—the team that had coordinated the global efforts to cure the Atlantis Plague. Before that, she had been a researcher working in a lab at the CDC. She likely couldn’t add anything research-wise, but for some reason, Paul did want her along. But there was a more important issue. “I need someone to stay here with Matthew. I can’t ask you—”
“You don’t have to. We’ll be here when you get back.”
Upstairs Paul dressed quickly. He wanted to get back to his conversation with Natalie, but he had to admit: it felt good to be getting dressed for work, to be needed, to have somewhere to go. He heard a horn honk outside. He glanced out the window and saw a black sedan with tinted windows, idling, sending clouds of exhaust into the cold, barely lit morning.
At the front door, he jerked his trench coat out of the closet. On the opposite side of the foyer, a small table held a picture frame with a wedding photo of Paul and his wife. Ex-wife. She had left four years ago.
Is that what she thinks? That my wife is dead?
Of course. All the pictures were still up, scattered around the house.
Paul had the irresistible urge to set the record straight before he left. “Natalie.”
“Just a minute,” she called from the kitchen.
Paul glanced at the wedding picture again. The last conversation with his wife ran through his head.
“You work too much, Paul. You’re always going to work too much. It just can’t work.”
Paul had sat on the couch—ten feet from where he now stood—staring at the floor.
“Movers are coming tomorrow for my things. I don’t want to fight.”
And they hadn’t. In fact, he still held no hard feelings. She had moved to New Mexico, and they had stayed in touch over the years, but he hadn’t taken the pictures down. It had never even occurred to him. For the first time, he regretted that.
Natalie’s voice interrupted his memory. “In case they don’t feed you.”
Paul took the brown paper bag. He motioned to the picture on the table. “About my wife—”
The horn rang out, a long blow this time.
“We can talk when you get back. Be careful.”
Paul began to reach for her but hesitated. He reached for the door instead and trudged toward the car. Two Marines exited, and the closest opened the door for him. They were off several seconds later.
Paul turned and looked back through the rearview window at his two-story brick home, wishing he’d had more time there.
CHAPTER 6
Orchid District Beta
Atlanta, Georgia
Paul Brenner stared out the window of the fourth floor conference room, trying to understand. Rows of people lined the streets. Medical staff processed the lines, taking readings and directing people to different buildings, where they wandered out exhausted. It was almost as if everyone were undergoing a physical.
“What do you think, Paul?”
Paul turned to find Terrance North, the new Secretary of Defense, standing in the doorway. North was a former Marine, and although he wore a close-fitting navy suit, he still looked like a soldier, his face lean, his posture rigid. Paul had met North several times via video conference during the Atlantis Plague but never in person, where he was certainly more imposing.
Paul pointed to the street below. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”
“Preparations for war.”
“War with whom?”
“The Immari.”
“Impossible. The Europeans crushed them in Southern Spain. They’re in shambles, and the plague is cured. They’re no threat.”
North closed the door behind him and activated the large screen in the conference room. “You’re talking about organized warfare. A war that resembles any past war.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A new kind of conflict.” North worked his laptop, and a series of videos appeared on the screen. Armed forces in black with no insignia assaulted a series of industrial buildings and warehouses. Paul didn’t recognize the locations. They weren’t army bases.
“These are food depots,” North said. “They have been under light guard since Orchid governments nationalized the food supply in the opening days of the outbreak. This last video is of the Archer Daniel Midland facility in Decatur, Illinois. Immari militia units seized it and a dozen other major food processing plants a week ago.”
“They intend to starve us?”
“That’s only a piece of their plan.”
“You can’t retake them?”
“Of course we can. But they’ll destroy them if we attack. That puts us in a tough spot. We can’t rebuild the food processing plants fast enough.”
“Can you get people to process the food?”
“We’ve looked at that. That’s not why you’re here.”
“Why am I here?”
“I’m going to lay out all the pieces, Paul. Let you make an informed decision.”
Decision about what? Paul wondered.
North worked the keyboard again. A scan of a crumpled document appeared. “This is an Immari manifesto that’s been circulating. It predicts a coming collapse of humanity. A day of reckoning when a cataclysm will occur. It calls for all those who wish to see the human race survive to rally behind the Immari cause. It lays out a strategy. The first step is the seizure of the food supply—everything from large food processing plants to farms. Second: the power grid.”
Paul began to ask, but North interrupted. “They’ve taken control of eighty percent of our coal reserves.”
“Coal?”
“It still produces over forty percent of American power. Without the coal, the power plants will go dark soon. Nuclear and hydro-electric plants will be online, but taking the coal facilities out will do us in.”
Paul nodded. There had to be some viral or biological component. Power and food… he wasn’t here for that. “Is there a third step in the manifesto?”
“Wait. The Immari promise that those loyal to their call will receive help—an attack on a scale the world has never seen. They promise the Orchid Alliance will be crushed in a single day and night of destruction.”
“A nuclear attack?”
“We don’t think so. Those locations are well-guarded. And it’s too obvious. It’s something outside the box. We have one clue. The satellites. Last night, we lost contact with every satellite controlled by the Orchid Alliance as well as the International Space Station. Private satellites are unresponsive as well. The first satellites entered the atmosphere this morning. The last of them will burn up and crash to the earth by nightfall.”
“Someone shot them down?”
“No. They were hacked. A very sophisticated virus got into the control software. We’re blind. The only reason to do that is if they’re ready to attack. The cataclysm, the Immari attack, whatever it is, begins soon.”
“You think it might be biological? Another outbreak?”
“It’s possible,” North said. “In truth, we have no idea. The president wants to be ready for anything.”
One of North’s staff members entered the conference room. “Sir, we need you.”
North left Paul alone to contemplate what he had seen. If the attack were biological, Paul would be the logical choice to lead the global response. He began mentally preparing himself. Scenarios flashed through his mind. His thoughts went to Natalie and Matthew. He would transfer them to Continuity—
The door opened, and North walked in slowly. “It’s started.”
CHAPTER 7
CDC Headquarters
Atlanta, Georgia
Walking the halls of Continuity was bizarre for Paul. In this section of the CDC,