Retribution

An atoll off the Indian coast

Time and date unknown

THE DAY WAS WARMER THAN THE ONE BEFORE, BUT LESS

humid, and if not for their extreme circumstances, he might have considered the weather perfect. Trying not to think of his thirst, Zen made several radio calls and rearranged the rocks that helped support their tent so a bit more sunlight fell on Brea

One of the boys was back, paddling his small boat.

“Bart Simpson!” called the youth. It was the youngest one, the first one he’d spotted.

“Hey, Bart!” Zen yelled back. He did his best to hide his surprise that the kid had returned.

The wooden hull of the boy’s boat skidded against the shore and he climbed out, pulling a pack with him.

Zen’s heart jumped.

“You brought a phone?” Zen asked. “Cell phone?”

“Phone? No.”

The boy dropped to his knees in front of him, plopping the bag between them.

“Eat for you,” said the kid, pulling a fist-sized package from the bag. It was wrapped in brown paper. A strong odor a

“For me?” asked Zen.

“You.”

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Zen devoured it. The fish tasted like bad sardines drenched in coconut and vinegar, but he would have eaten ten more handfuls had the boy brought them. He was so hungry he licked at the paper.

“So,” he said finally. “No phone, huh?”

“Why do you want phone?”

“I want to call my friends.”

“No phone. Who are you? Not Bart?”

Zen guessed that the boy had been quizzed by his parents or other adults when he went home with the turtle. They might be waiting for his answers now, to decide what to do.

He had no idea what was going on in the world beyond this atoll. He wondered if the Chinese had managed to use their nuke, and if so, if the Indians would blame them for the destruction.

“Is there a war?” Zen asked the boy, not sure how to phrase his question.

“War?”

“Did people die?”

The boy looked at him blankly. He was old enough to know what war was, but maybe his village was so isolated he had no idea.

“Where do you live?” Zen asked the child.

“Where do you live, Bart?”

“Where do I live? Las Vegas,” said Zen. “Near there.”

“Vegas?”

“Slot machines. Casinos. Las Vegas.”

“Springfield?”

Springfield was the fictional setting for The Simpsons television show.

“That’s not a real place, kid,” blurted Zen. “I live near Vegas. That’s real.”

The boy’s face fell.

“You know that’s a television show, right? Make believe?”

asked Zen. He realized he’d made a mistake, a bad mistake, but didn’t know how to recover.

The kid started to retreat.

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DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

“Hey! Don’t go!” yelled Zen. “No. Don’t.”

But it was too late. The boy pushed the small boat into the water without looking back. Lying across the shallow gunwales, he stroked back toward the sea, turning right and quickly fading from Zen’s view.

Base Camp One

1500

DESPITE A TWO-HOUR NAP, JENNIFER WAS STILL FEELING

groggy when she sat down with Da

“Tonight may be it,” said Colonel Bastian, coordinating the briefing from Diego Garcia. “Power is coming back all through the subcontinent, and both countries are pushing their militaries to resume patrols. And then there’s the Chinese.”

They were participating in the briefing via an external speaker and microphone hooked into Da

Je

He’d have shaved before he came on duty. He wouldn’t have waited for hot water, just scraped his chin clean as quickly as possible.

But thorough. He had a system that he never deviated from.

“Any word on Zen and Bree?” Da

Dog paused a second longer than normal before answering, and that half of a half second told Je

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“Nothing yet,” said Dog.

“They’ll find them.”

“Yup.”

And then he was gone, without even saying anything to her.

It took Je

“Wait,” she told them as they started to get up from their camp chairs. “Who am I going with?”

Dancer glanced at Da

“The tests are a waste of time,” Je

“I don’t think we need you, Jen. No offense,” said Da

“I’ll go with Dancer,” she said.

“I have one of the Navy guys,” said Dancer, referring to the members of the nuclear team. “The other will be with Gu

“So who’s going with you?” Je

“Just me,” he told her. “I’ve done this a couple of times now.”

“What if you get hurt? You have no backup.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’m going to get something to eat,” she told him. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

An atoll off the Indian coast

Time and date unknown

TWICE, ZEN THOUGHT HE SAW AIRCRAFT CROSSING THE

sky. Not wanting to carry anything that would make it difficult for him to swim back, he’d left the radio back at the tent. All he could do was stare at the sky, trying to make the wisps of clouds form into something tangible.

He had no luck with turtles. Perhaps he had found the only 262

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

two on the small atoll yesterday, or maybe the one that escaped had somehow alerted the rest of the species. He sat for a while in the shallow shelf, staring at the water around him, and then just staring, wondering what to do next.

Sooner or later someone would hear one of his broadcasts.

They’d track them down and then come for them. There was no place on earth so desolate that someone somewhere wouldn’t come across you.

But what if the unthinkable had happened, if he and Bree, and the kids they’d seen yesterday, were the only people left?

He couldn’t get the idea out of his mind.

Tired, and convinced that there were no more turtles, he pushed his way back to the sea. He turned his head so the side of his face barely touched the water and began gently stroking back to Brea

HE DIDN’T SEE THEM UNTIL HE WAS ONLY A FEW YARDS AWAY, and then all he saw were their legs, brown and scarred.

Zen’s heart jumped. He raised his body, pushing his gaze upward until he could see their backs and then their heads.

There were three of them—boys. They were arrayed in front of the tent, standing a few feet away from it in a semicircle. If they’d had sticks or any sort of other weapon, he would not have been able to control his rage. As it was, he just barely managed to stay calm.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” he yelled.

The three kids turned around. The one on the right was the older boy who’d come yesterday. The others were about his age.