Starfall (Starflight #2)(57)
“What about the settlers who disappeared from New Haven?” Kane asked. “Did they have anything in common?”
Doran and Solara shared a long glance. “Actually, yes,” Solara said. “Now that you mention it, they were all young, too. In their twenties, I think. But not just men. Almost half of them were women.”
Kane wondered what it meant. At home the only common link among the sick was that they spent a lot of time outdoors. “Maybe these workers caught it from the hatchery instead of the apartment building.”
“Maybe,” Cassia said.
A whistling noise announced the arrival of the tram, which eased to a stop in front of the platform. Its doors parted to reveal several empty cars, cooled by nothing more than an oscillating fan. Kane chose to remain standing when he entered the car. If the commuters of New Atlantia were half as sweaty as he was, he didn’t want to share their seats.
They continued through two more stations before stopping at the administration dome. A recorded voice from the tram speakers warned, “Construction zone, no admittance. All personnel must present credentials upon exiting the station.”
The four of them stepped onto the platform, but there were no guards to check their identification. Kane didn’t see anyone at all. Shielding his eyes from the blaring sunlight, he scanned the corridor leading toward the office park in the distance. Aside from a few piles of demolition materials, scattered tools, and the thick scent of mildew, nothing existed here.
The effect was eerie—an abandoned dome above a dead sea.
“This way,” Cassia said, her boots crunching over pebbles of drywall as she strode ahead of him and brushed his shoulder. “They’re using the governor’s manor as an infirmary. It’s supposed to be right behind the courthouse.”
He absently rubbed his upper arm and followed along, watching the domed walls instead of the path ahead of him. It felt surreal to walk at sea level and listen to the water lapping steadily against the walls…especially now that he knew about the leaks. He couldn’t shake the sensation of being trapped beneath a glass bowl. He tugged at his shirt collar and glanced at Doran, who was claustrophobic, to see if he felt the same way. But if Doran was anxious, he’d hidden it well, strolling by Solara’s side and occasionally leaning down to blow on her flushed neck. Kane had just dismissed his fear as an overactive imagination when he saw something that stopped him cold.
On the floor about ten yards away, a pair of boot tips protruded from behind a stack of pallets. Each motionless sole tilted limply outward, indicating the owner was unconscious. Or worse. He hissed a command for the group to stop, and as they turned around, he pointed at the boots and whispered, “I think that’s the station guard.”
After glancing around to ensure they were alone, the four of them crept toward the pallets, silently picking their way around construction debris until they reached the boots. Kane was right—they were attached to a guard, a middle-aged man with a purple face and a wire garrote wrapped around his throat.
Cassia gasped and crouched by the man’s side. While she felt for a pulse, Kane knelt down and untwisted the garrote. He checked over his shoulder as he discarded the wire. He was no expert, but the attack must’ve been recent, because the wire had drawn blood and none of it had dried.
“He’s barely alive,” Cassia whispered, and then drew a breath to inflate the man’s lungs.
Kane stood up and shared a wide-eyed look with Doran and Solara. He knew they were all thinking the same thing: Necktie Fleece was somewhere in this dome, and none of them had brought a pulse pistol.
“The tram,” Solara whispered.
Doran shook his head. “It won’t be back for at least fifteen minutes.”
“We can hide until then,” Kane said, gesturing at the endless piles of demolition refuse. “There are plenty of places.”
“What about him?” Doran asked with a nod at the guard.
Kane was about to suggest taking the man with them when an engine’s roar drew his attention to the west end of the dome. A gust of warm air followed, smelling of salt and sea. It seemed someone had docked a ship outside and opened the landing pad portal.
“I’m losing him,” Cassia panted, sweat trickling down the sides of her face as she pumped the guard’s heart. “Help me.”
Solara dropped to her knees and took over the chest compressions while Cassia probed the man’s neck for a pulse.
Kane told Doran, “Stay here and keep watch. I’m going to check the landing pad.”
“Not alone,” Cassia said. “Take Doran with you. I’ll keep watch.”
Nodding, Kane jogged away with Doran’s footsteps echoing behind him. Kane picked up the pace, choosing speed over stealth. There was no reason to quiet their boots now that the ship’s engine drowned out the sound. They’d nearly reached the west exit when Kane noticed movement from outside the dome wall, and he ducked behind a massive waste receptacle, motioning for Doran to join him.
Together, they chanced a peek at the docking pad.
A small passenger-class vessel had landed so close to the entrance that its loading ramp almost touched the dome doors. Men of varying heights and builds had formed a line and were shuffling up the ramp into the ship. Judging by their matching uniforms, these were the quarantined hatchery workers. Though their feet dragged, the men didn’t seem to be under duress. One of them stood out from the rest, dressed in gray. The ship’s pilot, perhaps. He stood at the base of the ramp and handed something to each worker who passed.