Eden's Exodus (Plague Wars Series Book 3), Page 2

  “Don’t thank me,” he said. “This is business, remember. Ten million Euros, plus expenses. I’m going to need you to pay for weapons and a lot of gear.”

  “No problem. Just give me a list of what you need.”

  “I will. One other thing.”

  “Name it.”

  Skull looked at her hard. “I know Spooky would leave me dangling in the wind if he thought it was advantageous. Hell, he already did, at least once. Will you?”

  Cassandra patted him on the arm and smiled. “You already know the answer to that question. I’ll be in touch with you after we wire the money.” She turned, took a few steps, and then stopped and glanced back as if she had forgotten something. “Oh, and Rick wanted me to tell you hello.”

  “Rick,” said Skull, nonplussed. “Little Ricky? He must really be coming along. I’m happy for you.”

  “Yes,” Cassandra said. “The muscular dystrophy is completely gone. He plays soccer with the other kids now.”

  “He’s cured?” asked Skull, surprised.

  She nodded. “Like I said, Rick told me he misses you, and to tell you hello if I ever saw you again.”

  Skull smiled involuntarily. He’d always liked the kid. It was hard to believe he was healthy and normal now. He saw a peaceful look come over Cassandra.

  “That’s what the Eden Plague is about,” she said. “Every time I look at him I remember all those other kids out there. Kids with Duchenne’s, with cerebral palsy, with cystic fibrosis coughing their lungs out every day, with every debilitating disease that ever killed them before they got to fall in love and raise a family. That’s why I’m doing this.” Then she turned and walked away.

  Skull tortured himself some more, checking out the smoking hot body of his dead friend’s widow. He felt slightly guilty…but not too much so. Besides, he’d taken the high road and turned down the chance she’d given him.

  Zeke would understand.

  Skull turned and resumed his run. He had to get back to his bungalow. Work had finally found him, as always. Despite his protestations, despite his reservations, he had a job to do.

  And unlike the Edens, he wasn’t getting any younger.

  Chapter 2

  Husnia jerked herself awake from the heart-pounding nightmare. She lay still on her cot listening to the comforting, familiar noises of thousands of Eden refugees waking to a new day. The smell of fresh Ethiopian coffee, the beans of which were collected, roasted, and ground only the day before, was comforting. They are all safe; only a bad dream, she told herself.

  Waiting until after the worst of her trembling had subsided, she sat up gingerly. She still did many things slowly and carefully, forgetting that she was no longer old.

  Since the Plague had rejuvenated her, the tall, lean woman with the distinctive high cheekbones and dark caramel skin of her region of Africa could have passed for mid-twenties. Young men gazed at her in admiration, and she chuckled at their amateurish offers of affection. After all, by the calendar, Husnia was seventy-six years old.

  Her heart still hammered, but it eventually slowed as she forced herself to take long, steady breaths while dressing in the dimness of her small tent. Privacy was at a premium in the Cumba Refugee Camp in the Oramia Region of southern Ethiopia, but being the Angel of Addis Ababa had some perks. Time spent alone was something she had grown used to as an elderly woman in a society that was chronically young due to rampant disease, malnutrition, violence and frequent accidents. She had hoped all of that was going to change.

  “It will,” she told herself softly. “It is inevitable.”

  She believed this. After all, how could anyone in her society refuse the Eden virus? It was a godsend. The answer to all their prayers and hopes. A miracle from heaven custom-made for her people. No more disease, no more death, no more loss of family and society.

  Yet, her people were superstitious by nature and reluctant to accept something so wonderful at face value. How could such a thing be free and have no strings attached? The weak Ethiopian government had also recently fallen under the influence of the new North African Islamic Caliphate, which was steadily spreading southward.

  The Caliphate, it was rumored, claimed Edens carried the Mark of Hell. They reportedly did unspeakable things to any infectees they captured, torturing them, trying to “exorcise” the supposed devils of the virus. Ethiopia had not yet fallen under total control of the Caliphate, but many had begun to respect the growing power’s ability to keep the peace and enforce law and order, something always in short supply.

  Thus, the Ethiopian Edens were confined to this camp in the far south, only days from the Kenyan border, where more were brought every day. Husnia wondered what her people thought of the Edens now that they were no longer in their cities, villages, and towns. How did they view the virus? As a miracle or a curse?

  Only time would tell, she was afraid. Still, the dream nagged at her. In it they had all been in the refugee camp in Cumba, as they were now. Mega Mountain beckoned in the distance. A loud voice rumbled from the mountain that danger was coming and the people must move to its bulking presence for safety.

  The people had laughed at the voice and ignored it. Soon, soldiers and demons arrived and began to slaughter the Edens. Small children murdered. Women raped while their men were forced to watch. No wounds healed. None were spared. None escaped. The dead rose from where they fell to stare at her accusingly with despair and blame.

  “It’s just a dream,” she told herself as she looked out her tent flap at the camp. She expected a busy day ahead of her. Although her work as a nurse had significantly diminished with the spread of the Eden virus, she still had plenty of visitors. Most now sought her out as a counselor, or perhaps as an oracle, rather than for medical advice as they once had.

  It is only fitting, she thought. I did cause all of this after all. Anyway, what else am I supposed to do? Being a healer is all I have ever known. All I’ve ever wanted to be. The Angel of Addis Ababa was what they’d called her long before the Eden virus arrived.

  A year before Husnia’s father had died, he’d managed to somehow find the money to send her to London to train as a nurse. His intention had been for her to leave the rampant poverty and sickness of her home country forever, but her land and people had called to her, even from the midst of wealth and plenty. She’d worked at a large hospital in England for several years and found she could not stay away. Husnia had prayed for guidance, and when the opportunity to open a free clinic in her home country came along, she knew it was her best chance to return.

  That was nearly fifty years ago. She had seen and suffered endless doubt, pain, and heartbreak. Children died due to lack of medicines and vaccines that cost pennies. Hunger ran so rampant that the young frequently had seizures as a result of the body consuming the fatty outer coating of their brain synapses simply to try to live. To relieve their suffering had been her vocation and her burden, and she had accepted it. She’d done what she could and the people had praised her, calling her an angel. For years, as she served them and served God, Husnia had barely managed to hold her tears in check until she could be alone each evening.

  Until the Eden Plague changed everything two years ago, she thought.

  * * *

  The American had been in a horrible automobile crash, brought into the hospital almost dead. He’d kept trying to rise, but Husnia pushed him down to treat his ghastly wounds. Her hands worked with precision as she placed a tourniquet on the blood-soaked thigh where the femur had obviously broken and cut the femoral artery. She expected the man to be dead in minutes if she didn’t stop the gushing blood.

  Should be dead already, she’d thought and paused. Looking closely at him, she saw his wounds seemed less severe than she had thought. Maybe I misjudged the extent of his injuries.

  But Husnia knew better and, over many years, had learned to trust her instincts. She slowly released the tourniquet, ready to reapply it when the blood flowed again, but nothing came. Untwisting the sti
ck she had used as a lever, she pulled the strap off and probed his wound. Even the leg bone felt whole where she and a strong orderly had set it just ten minutes ago.

  “Impossible,” she had muttered in Amharic.

  She was startled by the man’s fingers as he smeared them on her lips. Jerking back, she saw that they had blood on them. Spitting and cursing, she wiped her mouth. She went to a sink and rinsed several times. He was a westerner and didn’t look sick, but a lifetime in Africa around infectious diseases had made her particularly mindful about such things. Fortunately, AIDS was difficult to contract orally, as the virus tended to die in stomach acid.

  When she returned, incredibly, the man was easing himself off his bed to stand in front of her. “I need something to eat,” he had said, looking around and gathering up his belongings on the floor.

  “What you need is to rest,” she told him in her clipped British English that had not been used in many years. “You certainly have internal injuries.”

  The man had smiled at her serenely. “I’m fine, and you will be soon too. Except, I need food.” He looked at her carefully. “How old are you?”

  She didn’t answer the question, only gazed back at him. Could he be in shock? she wondered.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can tell you’re a beauty, and were even more beautiful once. You will be again very soon. It’s called the Eden virus. Don’t be afraid of it. It is a blessing.” He had then turned and left. She’d been so puzzled by his certainty that she’d let him go.

  Within days, Husnia’s arthritis had disappeared. Her eyesight and hearing became sharper than they’d ever been. Hair that had been silver began turning black again from the roots, and she found she was constantly hungry.

  Beelsha, a former patient and computer whiz who sometimes did internet medical research for her had looked up this “Eden virus” at her request. What he’d discovered had amazed her and changed her life. It had altered thousands of lives, and the very fabric of civilization for all she knew.

  One thing was certain. There was no going back. Too many things had changed and were still changing. The government was wrong to hide this blessing, to keep it out.

  * * *

  It was not just a dream, Husnia thought. It was a warning from God.

  She stared out at the camp as it came to life. Men gathering wood and water. Women preparing coffee and porridge for breakfast. Children helping their parents and playing while they did it. A thriving and healthy multigenerational community. It was something she would have never expected to see in the Ethiopia she knew. Not in her lifetime.

  Now, the Caliphate threatened the miracle, the blessing, because of its fear and reactionary ways. As a devout Christian, Husnia had lived peacefully alongside Muslims all her life, but this extreme version of Islam wouldn’t coexist with anyone. She was an educated woman, and so had pored over a Koran for many weeks, searching for anything that would tell her that the Eden Plague was haram, forbidden to those of that faith.

  She’d found nothing, and while she tried to explain to her Muslim friends, that didn’t stop the imams from issuing fatwas based on culture and fear instead of their scripture. As in most religions, believers often unthinkingly followed the clerics’ decrees rather than investigating for themselves.

  Husnia picked up the worn and familiar walking stick she no longer needed and made her way toward the center of camp. She smiled and waved at people as she passed. Many offered to share their breakfasts with her, but she refused. Now that she had decided what to do, every ticking second felt like it brought the horrific image from her nightmare closer.

  She picked up her pace.

  Passing a food distribution point, she looked at the Ethiopian soldiers there. They all proudly wore the fashionable facial scars that proved at a glance they were not Edens. Some of the Eden children had even tried to copy the soldiers, but the wounds had healed within minutes and made them hungry, so they gave that up.

  It is a crazy world, she thought, when being healthy makes you anathema.

  Husnia’s stomach rumbled and she stopped in her tracks. Perhaps she should have accepted one of the offers of food.

  She looked back at the distribution point and the soldiers. Every bit of sustenance, with the exception of what little they could gather, such as berries and wild coffee, came through the soldiers. There would be even less food on the mountain she’d dreamed of. If they moved without permission, the government would be less likely to keep feeding them. She wondered why she was even considering basing actions on a vision, but she’d learned what the voice of God sounded like, and this…this was it.

  “We need help,” she said aloud, startling herself and several others nearby before snapping her mouth shut. She’d gotten into the habit of talking to herself years ago and evidently the Eden virus couldn’t do anything to fix that ailment.

  Turning to walk in a different direction, Husnia thought of how close to the survival line they all were. Edens were healthy, but needed extra calories to heal, even to simply live. Most were constantly fighting off some sort of disease, growing young, or correcting a longstanding illness or birth defect. There was never any leftover food, despite what the government brought.

  Yet there had to be storehouses nearby. Husnia had learned that in a country where transportation was so unreliable, the Ethiopians knew to gather resources where and when they could, and she could be certain the soldiers weren’t giving the Edens all they should. There was always corruption, skimming off the top for sale. The fact that everything could be bought on the black market was proof.

  Therefore, somewhere close there were supplies, probably in one or more warehouses, food they would need if they were to survive the plan she had decided to set in motion.

  Husnia knocked on the wooden frame of a tiny shack. A small round face poked out and smiled at her.

  “The Angel herself,” the man said, “here to see me. I am honored.”

  “Good morning, Beelsha,” she answered, “and you know I don’t like people calling me that.”

  He shrugged. “It makes no difference. It is what they call you. I didn’t make it up.”

  Husnia shrugged in return, a subtle admonishment. “Do we have signal today?”

  Beelsha’s smile vanished as he looked around to make sure no one had heard. The Ethiopian guards confiscated every cell phone and electronic device they could find. They evidently did not want there to be any communication with the outside world.

  The man nodded, unconsciously touching the flat metal roof. Beelsha had managed to turn it into a crude satellite antenna that could send and receive internet signals. The Ethiopian authorities did not know of its existence. He carefully pulled a small briefcase from under a pile of boxes and set it on a wooden crate. Opening the battered briefcase, he revealed a sturdy laptop connected through some arcane device to several batteries that were obviously not made for it.

  “Need to recharge them soon,” Beelsha said. “Yesterday was cloudy, but today looks better.” The man began unfolding a thick silver blanket, which he lay outside on the ground. He then plugged a thin cord into one end and, after burying it in the dirt to hide its presence, connected the other end to the side of the briefcase. He pulled a spliced and multicolored wire from the roof and plugged it into the side of the laptop before looking at her. “What would you like me to look up today?”

  Husnia felt hesitant now. Could she be mistaken? If it were only a dream, she might end up leading them all down the path of destruction.

  Trust your instincts like you always have, she thought. That was no dream and you know it.

  “Is the Free Communities website still up?” she asked.

  Beelsha nodded. “Certainly is. They’re constantly trying to contact us, as they are other Eden communities around the world.”

  “Have we responded yet?” she asked.

  He frowned at her. “Is that supposed to be a test or something? You asked that we not. You said involvement wi
th the Free Communities could put us at odds with our government.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I did tell you that. Can you pull up the site for me?”

  Beelsha looked at her curiously for a long moment. “Something has happened, hasn’t it?”

  “Just pull up the site, please,” she said. “I promise to explain everything soon, but I’m afraid time is not our friend right now.”

  Beelsha hesitated only a moment longer before leaning over the keyboard and typing furiously. After several seconds, he leaned back and turned the briefcase in her direction. “Here it is. You want me to do anything for you? We both know I’m the faster typist.”

  Husnia smiled. “Actually, you can go and get Misgana.”

  “Bring him here?” Beelsha asked. “Do we want him to know about this?” he asked, opening his arms to indicate the shack and the computer.”

  “We do now,” she said. “Haven’t you seen him around the camp? He is the real leader of the people, not me. I am the Angel of Addis Ababa. The Healer. An oracle to some, but not really their leader.”

  Beelsha thought for a moment. “But can we trust him?”

  She smiled, bleak and humorless. “We have no choice. Besides, he’s an Eden. If we can’t trust each other, we are all doomed.”

  The small man dropped his head and stared at the ground before nodding. “Okay,” he finally said. “I’ll go get him, but don’t break my stuff or go to any wacked-out websites while I’m away, you understand?”

  “I understand,” she answered with a warmer smile. “Thank you, my old friend.”

  Beelsha shook his head and turned to walk out of the shed.

  “What’s his name again?” she called.

  “Excuse me?”

  She pointed at the Free Communities website on the screen in front of her. “The man who keeps composing messages and trying to get in touch with us and the other Edens.”

  “Markis,” Beelsha answered. “Chairman Daniel Markis. The man who claims to have started all of this.”