Emerge

  contents

  Copyright

  Also from Heather

  Dedication

  chapter one - Cricket

  chapter two - West

  chapter three - Cricket

  chapter four - West

  chapter five - Cricket

  chapter six - West

  chapter seven - Cricket

  chapter eight - West

  chapter nine - Cricket

  chapter ten - West

  chapter eleven - Cricket

  chapter twelve - West

  chapter thirteen - Cricket

  chapter fourteen - West

  chapter fifteen - Cricket

  chapter sixteen - West

  chapter seventeen - Cricket

  chapter eighteen - West

  chapter nineteen - Cricket

  chapter twenty - West

  chapter twenty-one - Cricket

  chapter twenty-two - West

  chapter twenty-three - Cricket

  chapter twenty-four - West

  chapter twenty-five - Cricket

  chapter twenty-six - West

  chapter twenty-seven - Cricket

  chapter twenty-eight - West

  chapter twenty-nine - Cricket

  chapter thirty - West

  chapter thirty-one - Cricket

  chapter thirty-two - West

  chapter thirty-three - Cricket

  chapter thirty-four - West

  chapter thirty-five - Cricket

  chapter thirty-six - West

  chapter thirty-seven - Cricket

  chapter thirty-eight - West

  chapter thirty-nine - Cricket

  chapter forty - West

  chapter forty-one - Cricket

  chapter forty-two - West

  chapter forty-three - Cricket

  chapter forty-four - West

  chapter forty-five - Cricket

  Also from Heather

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  EMERGE

  Heather Sunseri

  http://heathersunseri.com

  Copyright © 2015 Heather Sunseri

  eBook Edition

  Sun Publishing

  Edited by David Gatewood

  Cover by Mike Sunseri

  This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review or article.

  Also by Heather Sunseri

  The Mindspeak Series

  Mindspeak

  Mindsiege

  Mindsurge

  Other Mindspeak Novels

  Tracked - coming Spring 2015

  The Emerge Series

  Emerge

  “The Meeting” (An Emerge short story)

  Subscribe to Heather’s newsletter to hear immediately when new stories are released and to receive “The Meeting,” an EMERGE story—FREE TO NEWSLETTER SUBSCRIBERS.

  For Dad

  chapter one

  Cricket

  Life first began to disintegrate, for me anyway, on the day the president of New Caelum suspended all travel in and out of the United States, thereby closing off the last bit of hope that my parents would ever return to me.

  I developed a fever two days later.

  Three weeks after that, I became the first and only person out of millions to survive the disease that decimated the population.

  I ran from the president, all of her people, and the city that should have kept me safe.

  Not to be heard from again.

  I was twelve.

  ~~~~~

  The sound of the incinerator jolted me from sleep. It took little more than a second for the low rumble of the machine to register in my brain, and it took less than a millisecond after that for me to register what the sound meant.

  I nudged Dax. “There it is again. That’s three nights in a row.” I quickly threw dirt over the remaining ashes of the campfire.

  “Shit, Cricket. They’re just burning trash.” Dax was tucked in the sleeping bag next to mine, his arm bent over his head trying to drown out any and everything that might disturb him from a few hours of sleep. “Get some sleep.” He rolled over and burrowed his head further under the covers.

  Nina rose on her elbows across the fire pit that had now been reduced to nothing more than a pile of charred logs and a thick ribbon of smoke. She shook her head. “It’s going to get cold quickly.” She lay back down and closed her eyes.

  At least no one would track us by the smoke of a burning fire. I pushed back my covers and began pulling on my boots, not bothering with the laces. “I know. I’m sorry.” Nina Snow deserved better than the paranoid, crazy person she got for a best friend.

  She snuggled in closer to Dylan, who had zipped a couple of sleeping bags together for the two of them to share—the power of body heat and all. Dylan was Dax’s identical twin brother, and the nicer of the two siblings.

  It had gotten colder the last few days. Dylan, Dax, Nina, and I had been making plans to move south soon. To explore, maybe. Search for other settlements. Or, at the very least, discover that there were no other settlements in the southeast, forcing us once and for all to remain at Boone Blackston, the settlement I’d called home off and on for six years.

  Grabbing my thin jacket—much too lightweight for the weather moving in—I stood to witness the smoke billowing from the twin towers in the distance. Puffs of white, like clouds, rose from the sleek steel smokestacks of the incinerator and glowed against the midnight blue sky. I stared at the disappearing shapes, remembering how my mom and I once lay on a blanket in the middle of the park, identifying animals in the cloud formations.

  Giving my head a quick shake at the memory, I secured a sheath to my leg, allowing my cargo pants to cover the knife.

  “Where are you going?” Dax grabbed my forearm. I hadn’t even heard him rise.

  I let my line of sight drift from the distant smoke, down my arm, to Dax’s fingers as they slowly traced a direct path to my hand, linking with mine. “I’m just going to get a little closer. I’ll be back before morning. You don’t need to come.”

  “You think I’m just going to let you wander off toward that place? Alone?”

  I rotated my shoulders back and took a step closer to him. “You don’t have a choice. I don’t want you to come. I’ll check it out on my own, and I’ll be back before you’re even awake.”

  “When are you going to stop trying to save everyone?”

  “As soon as everyone’s saved, I guess.” I met his stare. I knew my face remained expressionless, whereas Dax’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, his nostrils flared, and his cheeks burned red. And that had nothing to do with the campfire I had just extinguished.

  “Fine. Have it your way. But when you get yourself captured by the goons behind those walls,” he pointed toward the city in the distance, “don’t expect me to save your ass.”

  I bit my lower lip for a second, pretending to consider what Dax was saying, then answered, “I understand.”

  I turned and began making my way closer to the city of New Caelum. I didn’t expect Dax, or anyone else, to “save my ass.” If what I suspected was happening inside those incinerators was actually occurring? I’d be the one doing the saving.

  chapter two
<
br />   West

  The virus was gone from our world. That’s what the experts inside New Caelum thought. Everyone who’d contracted the illness all those years ago had died. Everyone but one.

  A girl.

  Only one person knew the identity of this girl. I didn’t even know her name.

  I knew she would have been protected though, just like I was, inside this city.

  But she ran away.

  ~~~~~

  The alarm sounded on a Thursday night. And not just any Thursday night—the eve of the election that would decide the fate of my family going forward. Would my mother remain president of the city, or would the council decide that the citizens of New Caelum needed a new leader?

  If Mother lost, we’d have to move from the private wing at the top of the city to a lower level with other people in our social class.

  I knew that the alarms that sounded now were not part of a drill. If this were a drill, then as a member of leadership, I’d have been notified on my PulsePoint. I lifted the device from my waist. No messages.

  Medics dressed in red hazmat suits jogged past me like trained military. They were headed straight for the leadership residence wing—my home.

  Ryder, my best friend since we were two years old, rounded the corner, followed closely by Key, his girlfriend. They stopped in front of me.

  “Where are they going?” Ryder proudly wore charcoal gray and black—the colors of government—a societal promotion that meant he would serve the city’s leaders and eventually be eligible to hold an elected position.

  Key bent over at the waist, attempting to catch her breath. Her pale blue lab coat covered her royal blue pantsuit, both colors carrying significant meaning. The pale blue told everyone she was of age and chosen for the medical profession within New Caelum. She’d keep the pale blue forever, a respectable color in its own right, or she would graduate to white when she became a doctor.

  What the royal blue signified was arguably of much greater importance.

  I touched her arm, prompting her to look up at me. “You’ve been matched? You’re wearing royal blue.”

  She smiled, then traded an uneasy glance with Ryder. “You didn’t tell him? Come on, Ryder!” She lightly punched him in the shoulder, causing him to stumble. “Must I do everything?”

  Ryder sidled up to Key and threw his arm around her. “Dude. If you’d check your messages? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since late last night.”

  I pulled them both into a hug, rubbing Ryder’s black curly hair and doing my level best to mess it up. “What am I going to do with you two? That’s fantastic.”

  He pulled away. “Stop it, man. She hasn’t married me yet. I might still need my good looks.”

  Key rolled her eyes.

  My smile faded and turned more severe. “What do you know about the medics?” I asked Key. “Is it a drill? I didn’t get word of any drill.”

  “I don’t know,” Key answered. “I don’t think so. I was working in the lab when the call came in. The senior medics dropped everything and convened in the emergency lab next door. I heard them say ‘Code 51.’”

  I grabbed Key by her arms and forced her to face me. “Are you sure?”

  She tried to wriggle from my hold. “Chill out, West. You’re hurting me.”

  “Just tell me. Is that what they said? Code 51?”

  Ryder stepped between us and shoved me backward. “Get off her, man. What is with you?”

  Key’s eyes remained fixed on mine. “Yes, I’m sure. Why? What does that mean?”

  I stood tall and faced them both. “I want you both to listen to me very closely. Turn around and go back to your daily tasks. Key, go back to the lab. Pretend you never left the medical sector. Neither of you are to tell anyone you’ve seen me or been in the leadership wing today. Okay?”

  “What is it?” Ryder asked.

  “Code 51 means Bad Sam is back.”

  Key gasped. “And if they’re running toward the leadership wing—”

  “Someone in my family or on Mother’s staff has the Samael Strain.”

  ~~~~~

  My sister Willow stared at me from the isolation room, her eyes red from crying.

  The medics said her fever was holding steady at 101.4, and that the virus hadn’t taken over her body yet. Which, I figured, was why she was still standing.

  The Samael Strain, nicknamed Bad Sam, was named after the doctor in Africa who had first discovered the deadly virus. At least, according to the scientists inside New Caelum. The more popular claim was that the viral death sentence was named for Samael, the archangel of death in some religions. Given my memories and my own studies of the disease, I always thought the latter seemed more fitting.

  On the other side of the glass, a nurse messed with Willow’s bedding while another organized supplies in a cabinet against the wall. Both were dressed in pale blue personal protective suits—a less alarming color than the red hazmat suits of the medics who’d escorted my family to the isolation suite. This wasn’t a standard medical enclosure; it had been specially set up within the government quarters in order to keep this outbreak confidential for as long as possible.

  Willow, who now wore a hospital gown, slipped into the hospital bed with the help of a nurse. Her face was flushed. Her hands shook, causing the IV in her arm to vibrate.

  Dr. Pooley, the doctor in charge of studying the Samael Strain for the past six years—and Willow’s and my biology teacher—spoke to Mother in a room just behind me. He wore white, the color of a successful doctor within our city, but I knew that underneath his protective gear he had donned a combination of doctor-white and black, identifying him as a member of council. Mother stood at the same height as Dr. Pooley, her black business suit and sophisticated high heels screaming power, and the two of them discussed not only the fate of her daughter, but what Willow’s illness meant for tomorrow’s election.

  “She’ll have two nurses assigned to her at all times, Ms. President. She’ll be kept comfortable.” Dr. Pooley spoke through a small microphone in his protective mask.

  The fact that neither Mother nor I wore a hazmat suit made it pretty clear that these would be our quarantine rooms until they could prove that we hadn’t contracted the virus. Fortunately, my mother’s room and mine were side by side and connected with a speaker that allowed us audio contact, so I could listen in on her conversation with the doctor.

  “How close are we to a treatment? What can you do for her?” Mother crossed her arms and stuck a hip out while tapping her foot.

  “As we reported to you last week, ma’am, a treatment is still being tested.”

  “Yes, but you also said that your recent efforts were primarily geared toward developing a vaccine.”

  “With your daughter sick, we’ve altered that plan. But you know what we’ll need if we’re to develop either a cure or a vaccine.” Dr. Pooley leaned closer to Mother. “I know you know where she is, Ginger.” His voice was gruff, demanding. “If you’d just tell the council, we’ll—”

  “No.” My mother’s eyes darted to me for a brief moment, the tone in her answer sending a chill along my spine, before she looked back at the doctor. “I want this medication administered to my daughter. I’ll accept full responsibility if it fails.”

  “You know we can’t do that, ma’am. If we give it to her too soon, she’ll die. A team of doctors will study her labs as her illness develops, and we’ll do our best to see her through this.”

  I moved closer to the window separating me from Mother and the doctor. “How many have the disease?” I asked. And who was the council looking for?

  “I’m sorry?” Dr. Pooley acted like I’d spoken a different language. I think he was surprised that I could hear him through the glass partition.

  “You can’t stand there and tell me that my sixteen-year-old sister is the first to contract the virus in six years. And out of thin air? How many have it?”

  Dr. Pooley turned his back on me and spoke to Mothe
r. “Ms. President, we don’t know yet that this is the Samael Strain. I will monitor your daughter’s progress. I am sorry. You and West will have to remain inside this suite until we can be sure exactly what your daughter has and that neither you nor your son has it.”

  Mother’s voice dropped to just above a whisper, and I had to strain my ears to hear. “What does this mean for the election?”

  “The council has postponed their decision for one week to give you time to be near your daughter.” The doctor placed a gentle hand on Mother’s arm, and something about it made me want to jump between them. “But I wouldn’t worry,” he continued. “The people of New Caelum love you.” Then he turned and exited the isolation suite.

  I backed away from the glass, watching Dr. Pooley go. His words, though encouraging to Mother, bothered me. It didn’t matter if the people of New Caelum loved Mother. The council didn’t answer to the people. They could easily decide that it was time for a change, and therefore a new president.

  A glass door slid open, allowing Dr. Pooley to enter one of two small compartments separating the isolation room from the rest of the city. Once inside the compartment, a sanitizing liquid spewed from multiple nozzles, killing any trace of the virus that may have been on his protective suit. Just seeing the sudsy substance made my nose tingle with the smell of bleach. Then he stepped into a second compartment, which first dried his outer layers before bombarding him with an ultraviolet light. It started at the top of the chamber and slowly moved down his entire body, shining from all sides.

  When he was gone, Mom turned and faced the one window she had to the outside world. I stared past her toward the thick forest that lined the eastern side of our city.

  New Caelum was designed as a fortress, a collection of buildings connected by airtight tunnels and surrounded on all sides by a tall fence designed to keep the uninvited out. Its main purpose, I’d come to learn, was to shelter and protect the elite people of this country—people who had the best chance of rebuilding our civilization after the great Samael Strain had shattered our lives and our country forever. The people who were allowed inside were the most brilliant scientists, doctors, teachers, architects, engineers, military leaders, and policemen—to name a few. The richest and most powerful people were also given the opportunity to purchase a spot on the inside—an “investment” in their future; in humanity’s future. As for the rest—the sickly, the weak, the unskilled; those who were too devastated by the virus to recover emotionally; those who lacked the means with which to buy their way in—these people were kept out. They had nothing to offer, nothing to bargain with, and would have drained the city’s resources. So they were forced to the outlying areas, mostly to the west.