Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (54 page)

And he didn’t want to even consider that Mavis wouldn’t make it.

Lister cocked an eyebrow and waited for an answer.

“Yes, Sir.” David saluted. He didn’t really have a choice. None of them did. Inside Mavis’s big brain, she’d already worked out how they were going to survive an anthrax plague and nuclear holocaust. She had the answers that none of them had probably even thought of questions to.

She was also more fragile than any of them knew, more affected by the loss of her husband and son than she let on. And now, everyone in the valley pinned their hopes and dreams on her. Even if they didn’t know it, Mavis did. In unguarded moments, he’d seen her shoulders bow, heard her tired sighs and watched the doubts creep into her eyes.

He’d be there to shoulder the burden.

She just had to let him in.

Given the way she’d shut him out with Sunnie, sneaking in under her defenses might be impossible.

***

“Damn, Big D.” Robertson intercepted David before he reached the corner of Mavis’s cul-de-sac. A few of the civilian women snapped out of their shock to watch the brawny man strut. Pulling down his mask, the private grinned then winked at them. “I thought you had a big helping of flapjacks and fake eggs, but now you went back for more.”

Clutching the disposable forks in his hand, David balanced a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and a small bowl of oatmeal. “These are for the Doc and Sunnie.”

“Heard the Doc’s niece was sick.” Robertson fell into step beside David. “Is she as fine as the rumors say?”

Rolling his eyes, David stepped off the curb. “She’s sick, Private. Sick.”

As for rumors, he should probably track the gossipers down and shoot the next person who started up. Mavis didn’t need the grief.

Robertson shrugged. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this Big D, but there’re a lot of soldiers and not too many hotties. Thought since you know the Doc, I might have an in while the rest of the goobers drool on the sidelines.”

David ground his teeth together. Had he ever been that young, stupid and horny? Probably. He was a soldier. “That’s a dick in your pants, Private, not a moral compass. You lead; it follows. Not the other way around.”

“I know that, Big D.” Robertson stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I just wanted a peek. After seeing a woman with bed head, well, anything else is bound to be an improvement.”

David stopped on Mavis’s porch. “Let me explain this in small words even you can understand. Sunnie is an Ivy league school and you’re a junior college, if you’re lucky.”

“She’s got that much class, huh?” Robertson opened the security door.

“And then some.”

Robertson rested his hand on the handle of Mavis’s front door. “Thanks Big D. She sounds perfect for me.”

The private had the brains of cinderblock. “You going to open that door?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major. But I thought you should know, we’ve checked the Marine’s nifty Doo-dad.” Robertson pulled the handheld out of his pocket. “We’ve got survivors heading north. Lots of them. Could be Wheelchair Henry and the kid, Manny, leading the bunch.”

He flashed the screen at him.

David stared at the blurry resolution of people and animals. No way to make out distinct features and nothing looked like a wheelchair. “Where are they?”

“Near as we could tell, they’ve walked along the Salt River to Thirty-Fifth Avenue then headed north.” Robertson tapped the tablet and the image zoomed back.

White blobs marked the screen. David’s hands trembled. “Christ, they’re walking into a fire.”

One that engulfed several blocks.

“Yeah.” Robertson shifted. “None of our people are able to get to them since the roads are packed with cars.”

David leaned closer to the tablet. “What’s that snake thing?”

Robertson spun the screen around to see it better. He spread his fingers over the screen to zoom in. “A canal. But it’s too close to the fire for them to use it as passage. And...” He turned it around so David could see. “The fire has already leapt the water.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what we thought.” Robertson turned off the handheld. “Some asshole mentioned that the whole lot of them would asphyxiate before they made it to the fire.”

If only there was a way to warn them, they might have a chance. Tension grabbed hold of his neck until he felt as unmovable as a rusted tin man. Maybe there was. He’d have to bend a few rules... “Do you think you could get a hold of another one of those?”

Robertson frowned down at the device. “Probably not. I haven’t seen that many of them and the Marines don’t exactly like to share.”

“Then go
shopping
for a laptop and a solar cell.” Robertson had run a black market in Iraq; he knew where to ‘find’ things. David hoped his months stateside hadn’t impaired his skills. “Package them up for an aerial insertion. There’s a chopper pilot that owes me a favor.”

Pushing open the Doc’s front door, Robertson chuckled. “I’ll be back to the truck before you.”

Mavis turned to face him when the hinges squeaked. Her gaze bounced off his face to the plate in his hand before she smiled. “Yes, I know I’m beginning to sound like a Chicken Little, Miles. First Plague,
Hanta
now anthrax. All I’m asking is that you authorize the tests. Please. You said yourself that some have already had a relapse.”

After kicking the door shut behind him, David sauntered into the great room.

“I’m not disagreeing with your logic. In fact, I agree. But the new President is working to rescind my authority.” Miles’s voice had the tinny quality of computer speakers.

Probably video chat. At least, she’d gotten hold of the Surgeon General. Now all David had to do was figure out how to bring up the subject of germ warfare without sounding like a complete nut job.

Mavis met him part of the way and took the plates. “Thanks. Sunnie’s resting. The Corpsman gave her a broad spectrum antibiotic drip to give her immune system a boost.”

“Mavis?” the Surgeon General croaked. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening, Miles.” With a tight smile, she returned to the laptop on her dining room table. “When did the President die?”

“Six-thirty this morning.” On the laptop’s screen, fatigue had packed a full set of bags under Miles Arnez’s eyes. “They’re not making the announcement, yet.”

“How medically competent is the new President?” Mavis snapped her fingers and then pointed to the coffee maker on the counter. A large stainless steel travel mug sat next to a smaller one with images of chocolate on the front.

David shook his head and marched toward it. She did indeed like giving orders. Good thing he was used to it. At least, he could have a cup of decent coffee before heading out. He hit the power switched. The coffee maker hissed as he turned around and leaned against the counter.

“He’s whistling when he breathes.I’d say the lack of oxygen is affecting his thought processes but he’s a politician. Hard to tell if he’s normally an idiot or hypoxyia made him that way.” Miles cleared his throat. “Playing Devil’s advocate here, if anthrax is falling out with the ash, why is everyone sick at all fifty-seven facilities? We only had one filter breach.”

Mavis swallowed her mouthful of eggs. “The incubation period?”

Doubt infused her voice.

“Nobody’s left the shelters in months.”

David pushed away from the counter. He might as well take advantage of the opportunity. “It was a deliberate attack.”

Mavis lifted a triangle of burnt toast off her plate and scowled at him.

“Is that you, Sergeant Major?” the Surgeon General asked.

“Yes, Sir.” David pulled up a chair and sat next to Mavis so Miles could see him.

Miles groped among the papers on his desk before pulling out a bottle of sore throat spray. “Explain yourself.”

“Exposure could have occurred five days ago, right?”

Mavis nodded and bit the corner off her toast.

At least she was hearing him out. “Five days ago, international flights began. They could have dropped a payload then.”

“Still airborne. Our filters would have trapped the spores.” Opening his mouth, Miles aimed the spray nozzle at his throat, before depressing it twice. He winced and wrinkled his nose. “Ack. Vile stuff.”

Mavis tapped her toast against her lip. “Did anything come in on Monday? Supplies? Water? Anything?”

Miles shook his head then stopped. “Burgers in a Basket. They delivered food to everyone. Toys for the children, burgers and fries and milk shakes all around.”

“They gave the same to the military personnel.” The chair back supported David’s dissolving spine. Holy shit! It was the perfect attack. “The perfect Trojan Horse.”

“It couldn’t have come in the food or we’d have gastronomic anthrax, not inhalation.” Miles rubbed his bulbous nose. “And there’d have to be a hell of a lot of people involved. Homeland Security should have picked up something.”

“Not necessarily. Fires were breaking out in China for almost a month before the influenza struck.” She dropped her toast on the plate. “Their navy was posturing around Taiwan at the time.”

Miles yanked open a drawer and chucked the throat spray inside. “So they must have sent it before the Redaction hit. Any suspicious deaths would have been lost among the flus.”

David watched the two of them. He could almost hear their brains hum as they worked to unravel the puzzle. “Could explain why my unit isn’t sick. We didn’t get our burgers. The CO said they never arrived.”

But he’d been eating them on the trip over. He’d also gotten sick. For once in his life the man had actually done something to benefit the men under his command.

“The salt.” Mavis wiped the crumbs from her fingers onto her pants. “It wasn’t salt or desiccant. The anthrax was in the toys for the movie, Hatshepsut. That’s how they did it. Anyone who went near Burgers in a Basket that day would have been infected.”

Miles chair creaked as he leaned back. “All around the world, government, military, hospitals, police, and fire departments all got them. Except for our politicos, everyone ate outside in the fresh air, sunshine and wind, ensuring the disease was spread to everyone who hadn’t gotten their share.”

“Plus the toys were handed out to the general public at the premiers on Tuesday while they waited in line.” More anthrax in the air, more people exposed.

The strategy was brilliant and effective.

It was also the end of the world as everyone knew it.

Chapter Forty-Five

“Please stay in line, sir.” The soldier pointed his weapon at the ground but kept both hands on the M-16.

Trent thumped the Bible against his palm.
Do this. Don’t do that
. One uniform or another had been bossing him around since he’d had the misfortune to encounter them. Bastards. Even a blind person should be able to see he didn’t belong with this riff raff. “If you couldn’t just get your commander, I’m sure he’ll tell you I could be of use elsewhere.”

And that he shouldn’t be forced to give his name like a side a beef at the butcher’s.

“Everyone is of use, sir.” The soldier shook his head and glanced at his comrade, who rolled his eyes above his mask.

Trent gripped the book so hard his hands shook. Insolent bastards. They deserved to be whacked upside the head. Or better yet, demoted to cleaning toilets with their toothbrushes. Who did he know who could accomplish such a thing? Surely someone among his contacts could arrange it?

He just had to get home. His phone may have been stolen by that bitch, but fortunately he’d kept a separate file on his home computer—one that listed the uses people could be to him. He just had to access it.

And that required a ride out of this fucking place.

Leaning to the right, he glanced down the crooked line of people leading up to the tent. Six more losers between him and the entrance. Ash fluttered like gray snowflakes, dusting everyone and everything in the street. Black smoke roiled across the sky, reducing the afternoon sun to a low wattage light bulb. At intermittent intervals, truck headlamps cut through the slurry of soot and unwashed bodies. Soldiers hurried back and forth across the street, stirring small clouds in their wake.

Ahead and behind him, people coughed—emitting a strange high-pitched whistle with every hack. The hair on his neck stood up and he adjusted his mask. The stiff new fabric scratched his cheeks. Two people up, a man collapsed onto the asphalt, curled into a fetal position and shivered. Soldiers lifted him up and carried him into the tent.

Son of a bitch! He’d never get inside at this rate. Maybe he should collapse too. Jump the line like the rest of the losers. It was stupid to tend the ill first. When, if they just handled the able-bodied, there’d be more hands to work. They needed an efficient manager to tell them how to do things. He would offer his services when he reached the front of the line.

If he ever did.

The tang of tomato teased his senses. His mouth watered and his stomach cramped. Food. Somewhere there was food. How long had it been since he’d eaten? More than a day. The truck ride had taken all night and most of the day to get here. Where ever
here
was. He opened the Bible, eyed the one hundred dollar bill before turning to a fifty. That should be enough even in this nightmare to get him something to eat.

The line stumbled forward and he shambled after it. His leg throbbed where the bullet had grazed his inner thigh. He reached up and brushed the scab at his temple. He was obviously injured yet no one had checked on
him
. Glancing to the right, he eyed the soldier.

The man stared back at him. Irritation registered in his black eyes and his finger stroked the trigger.

Trent shuffled forward another two steps. The soldier kept pace with him. Opening the Bible, he pretended to read the pages. Now what was the fucker up to? He definitely needed to be taught a lesson in respect. What was the lowest rank he could have the man busted down to? There had to be something worse than private.

“Sir.” From the corner of his eye he watched the soldier jerk his chin in Trent’s direction.