Free Generation M by Scott Cramer Page A

convoys will escort the cadets to the airport, one company at a time. The only thing the cadets should bring is the clothes they have on their backs.”
    Dawson was relieved to learn that Biltmore was going to Atlanta where he could join forces with Sandy.
    “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Perkins said. “Our final agenda item deals with several reassignments. Lieutenant Dawson, you will go to Colony West for special projects. Lieutenant Mathews will assume command of Biltmore Company.”
    An invisible fist slammed into Dawson’s chest and flattened his lungs, leaving him lightheaded and gasping for air. Special projects was code for “twiddle your thumbs behind a desk.” He could have cared less what they wanted him to do. He’d stand on his head and blow bubbles through his nose, so as long as he went to Atlanta. In the rush of chaotic thoughts tumbling through his brain, he focused on the single goal of keeping his tone measured.
    “May I ask why you are reassigning me?” he asked calmly.
    “Change is healthy,” Perkins replied.
    “If Lieutenant Mathews takes over Biltmore Company, there will be an opening at Sheraton,” Dawson said. “I can fill that.”
    Perkins impatiently glanced at his Omega. “Doctor Levine will assume command of Sheraton Company.”
    Dawson snapped his head to the mild-mannered Levine. “You’re putting a scientist in charge of a company?” he blurted.
    “A growth opportunity for Doctor Levine,” Perkins said, pushing his chair back, ready to stand.
    Mathews chimed in, “Dawson, I need you to update the cadet profiles. I’ll stop by Biltmore at sixteen hundred hours to meet with my cadets.”
    Dawson focused on Admiral Samuels. “The cadets need continuity. I can accompany them to Atlanta. I’ll transfer to Colony West once they’ve adjusted.”
    “Your cadets will be in capable hands.” Perkins smiled, now on his feet.
    “Sir, do you support my transfer?” Dawson asked the admiral.
    The old man lifted his chin and his barrel chest rose and fell visibly. He rested his large hands on the table and swiveled his head.
    “Yes, Lieutenant Dawson, I support the transfer.”
    With that, the meeting adjourned.

1.16
CASTINE ISLAND STRAIT
    Jordan couldn’t form words or even move. Wenlan, wearing a white doctor’s jacket, stood beside the bed, stitching together an open wound on his lower leg. Her silky black hair fell just above her waist.
    Cries came from outside of the room. He must be in the clinic in Mystic, and the kids screaming were suffering from the Pig.
    Jordan blinked and squinted into a bright haze glowing overhead. The air had a damp, briny bite. He was relieved to see he was on Mary Queen of Scots about a mile from the mainland. Eddie had made excellent progress.
    “My turn,” Jordan said, stretching his arms.
    With his hand on the tiller, Eddie lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, dude.”
    “Sorry? Look how far we’ve gone!” Jordan startled when he saw the food pack at the stern next to Eddie’s feet. “You got into the food?”
    “All I think about is food,” Eddie said without looking up. “My stomach hurts so bad. I’m so hungry. I just snapped.”
    Jordan was about to ask if any food was left in the pack, but he stopped himself. He knew the answer. He had one sweet potato in his pocket that would have to last them until they reached Mystic.

1.17
BROOKLYN
    Abby tilted the can to her lips and let the sweet drops of pear juice sparkle on her tongue.
    She and Toby were in the alley behind the car, sitting next to each other on the overturned buckets, close enough for their legs to brush.
    She had told him about her escape from Colony East, and he had described what he had done after Doctor Perkins kicked him out of the colony.
    Abby willed herself to pass the can of pears back to Toby before she drained it. “Please keep this out of my sight.”
    “I can get you something else.”
    Hidden in the trunk, where the spare tire normally went, was a bounty of