Chapter Thirty-Three
“At least today is over.” David squeezed the bottom of his sleeve of coffee and poured the dregs into his mouth. The undissolved grounds were bitter on his tongue. Too bad the caffeine couldn’t keep him awake. And the nap at Mavis’s hadn’t helped.
“Damn Big D.” Robertson pulled the empty supply truck behind the other one in the convoy, waiting for their chance to turn toward base camp. “You keep sighing and I’m gonna tell Johnson to check you for leaks.”
“You go anywhere near the medic and I’ll order a full STD panel on your privates, Private.” David rolled up the empty sleeve and tucked it into the trash can.
Robertson clenched his thighs together. “I liked you better when you were dozing, even if your snoring did drown out the radio.”
“Then you’ll love me for the rest of the night.” David unscrewed the cap from his water bottle and drained it. “I plan on doing nothing but sleeping.”
His cot called and he planned to answer.
For at least eight straight hours.
“Sergeant Major?” The light changed and Robertson cranked the wheel keeping close to the other truck.
Uh-oh. The private had gone all respectful on him. David tossed his empty bottle into the bin in the back. Obviously his gut was tired too, or it would have warned him something was off with the soldier. “What is it, Private?”
“Did you notice anything odd about the people today?” Leaning forward, Robertson rested his forearms on the truck’s steering wheel.
“Aside from the coughing and masks?” That had seemed almost normal. After six months of features obscured by masks, a week wasn’t long enough to grow accustomed to seeing uncovered faces.
“Yeah, aside from that.” Robertson’s fingers drummed the dashboard. Too bad there wasn’t any music.
Well, hell. David sat up straighter. The private could have sworn a few times, warning him about the kind of night awaiting him.
Robertson kept everyone awake with his worries.
The truck jiggled its occupants as it crawled toward the gate into base. David reached through the haze clouding his mind. Abnormal? The usual blusterers had come out, demanding more rations. There’d been the usual whiners complaining about the supplies. “Are you referring to the high number of people collecting for others?”
“Nah.” Halfway into the turn, Robertson braked. The evening air filled with the rattle of the chain link fence opening. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just… I don’t know. Like something is there. Waiting. Something bad.”
“Something bad is waiting or, more accurately, crawling through the garbage.” David closed his eyes for a moment and propped his head against the seat rest.
“But all those people don’t know about the Plague outbreak.”
“They will. The President is supposed to make an announcement tonight.” Tonight was the beginning of the end. Or maybe it was the end of the beginning of humanity’s extinction.
Robertson slapped the steering wheel as they started forward again. “Why did he wait so long?”
Politics. Money. Avoidance. David rubbed his eyes, felt the grit against his lids. “There wasn’t a confirmed case until now.”
“And it had to be the Doc’s daughter.”
“Her niece.” Not that the private would listen any more than he had the first six times he’d been corrected. David thumbed his phone. Should he call Mavis? Find out how she’s doing?
Make sure Lister was gone.
“What do you think he’ll say?”
“The President? Mavis was on the phone trying to coordinate a mass garbage collection thing when I left.” David frowned. The governor had sounded sick on the speaker phone. And tired. And unwilling to do anything.
Because there’d be a record number of callins among the city employees.
“What’s with the frown, Big D?”
The skin between his shoulder blades itched. Something was pinging his oh-shit meter. His brain slogged through the sleep congestion and unearthed a nugget. A nugget that was making connections in unpleasant ways. “The people are sick.”
“Yeah.” Robertson rolled his eyes and stopped the truck next to the tent barracks. “I’m pretty sure they know that already.”
David shook his head. “No, the people are sick and no one told them that it was coming.” Faces emerged in his head like playing cards being shuffled face-up. “They’re getting angry at the government.” His hands spasmed into fists. Son of a bitch. “And we’re the government.”
“Fuckin-A, Big D.” Robertson’s knuckles flashed white. “I don’t want to get killed because the government pukes can’t pull their heads out of their asses. We don’t need another Seattle.”
Yeah, but that was out of their hands. The government had already decided to keep the lid on the Redaction’s imminent return.
But he’d be damned if his men would pay the price.
“Gather the troops. We need to have an impromptu pow-wow.”
“Well, shit!” Robertson pressed on the gas. “Here I was offering you curb-side service to earn a few brownie points, and you go and decide to work through your crank-atude.”
“That’s not a word.” David lifted the trash bin from its place of honor between the two-bucket seats as the truck eased into the motor pool.
“It should be cuz you’re cranky on top of your BMOB attitude.”
Sometimes Robertson had a point. Not that he’d tell the private; the planet could barely contain his ego and everyone else. David bit the inside of his cheek to stop his smile from getting too wide. “Just go round up everyone within ten before my crank-atude turns into your latrine duty.”
“Yes, Sergeant Major.” Robertson took his hand off the wheel to snap of a half-assed salute.
He covered a yawn. For a moment, the motor pool blurred. God, he couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired. Ten minutes seemed an eternity away. “Just park the truck.”
Robertson pulled into the space, shifted into park then killed the engine. “Ten minutes at the gate?”
“Yeah.” David hopped to the ground, chucked the trash into a nearly full dumpster, and then returned the empty bin to the truck. Grabbing his weapon, he slung it over his shoulder and headed for the rendezvous point. His body ached and his eyes drifted closed. Damn, he was worse off than he thought if he was trying to sleep while he walked.
Robertson jogged out of the motor pool, the other men in the unit behind him. The group scattered like billiard balls as they passed the supply tent.
He rolled his head on his neck. The tension eased slightly. Just another ten minutes and he’d have eight hours.
Provided Mavis didn’t get a delivery.
Then he’d have a half an hour’s drive to her house. His head cleared for a moment. And maybe this time she’d offer him a bed to sleep in. Hers would be nice.
But he’d take the floor as long as Lister stayed away.
“Sergeant Major.” A young private wearing a stained apron shot out of the double doors of the mess hall. He shoved a Styrofoam cup at David, before shaking brown droplets off his hand.
“Thanks.” David eyed the soldier whose apron obscured the Velcro name on his jacket. He recognized the face but the name… Nope. His brain had circled around the need for sleep and didn’t seem inclined to allow any other thoughts out. At least he remembered what he planned to tell his men.
Kind of.
Footsteps crunched behind him just as the door to the mess banged shut. The soldiers who remained on base fell into step around him.
Great. It’s a fricking parade led by a sleep deprived non-commissioned officer and his coffee cup. He took a sip, before opening his mouth and fanning his tongue. His cup of very hot coffee. Good thing the media no longer considered them news worthy. David eyed the gate and watched the guard stutter in his back-and-forth march, before focusing on the coming troops. Poor kid. He probably thought he was in for a public dressing down.
&n
bsp; Colonel Asshole loved public dressing downs.
Gave the prick something to look forward to.
And it completely obliterated morale.
He really had to take the man out of commission. But how? His brain offered up solutions that wouldn’t work with the current laws of physics. Walking between the barracks, he shook his head then checked his watch. Seven more minutes, until he could sleep.
Seven eternal minutes.
He yawned, blew on the coffee and then took another sip. A degree below scalding. He repeated the procedure as he walked. By the time he reached the gate only a worm of brown oozed in the creases of the cup. Still hadn’t made a dent in his sleep requirements.
Once upon a time, he’d been able to go four days with two hours of sleep per day. Once upon a time, he’d been twenty. Getting old sucked. He crumpled the Styrofoam in his fist. Then again, it beat the hell out of the alternative.
“Sergeant Major.” The private’s eyes widened as he came to attention.
David returned the salute. “Relax. We’re having a pow-wow, not a dressing down.”
The young soldier nodded and his shoulders dropped just a hair, but his grip on his M-4 tightened until his knuckles shown white.
Clasping his hands behind his back, David eyed his men and counted heads. He’d just finished his tally, when he spied Robertson jogging over. The rest of the soldiers on base stood at ease in a semi-circle around him.
Robertson squeezed through the crowd of thirty-three men before handing David a half-empty coffee cup. Brown streaks on the side indicated where the rest of the liquid had gone.
David nodded his thanks before handing the crumpled Styrofoam off to the private. “Before I begin, I need to know if anyone is sick. Feverish, muscles aches, running nose, sore throat. Anything?”
Heads shook. His unit glanced around, catching each other’s eye, before shrugging and facing front. No one moved, shuffled aside to leave the infected alone and isolated like in the beginning of the Redaction.
Maybe it was because no one was sick.
Maybe it was because they’d decided whatever happened they’d stick together.
The chef’s assistant raised his hand.
David’s heart thudded before falling silent. Not one of his men. Please, God, not one of his men. Especially when he couldn’t remember the man’s name. “Yes, Private.”
“Sergeant-Major, I have the black scabs. I thought it would be enough to cover them while I cook, but if you think I might be a hazard…”
“You’ll be fine.” David glanced at his coffee cup. The brown liquid jiggled against the white Styrofoam. He felt like he’d just dodged a bullet. Too bad the shooting had just begun. “Apply antibiotic ointment and keep the bandages on while cooking.”
“Yeah.” Robertson nudged him. “And quit trying to get out of KP duty.”
“Or at least think of a better excuse.” Michaelson jostled the chef’s assistant’s other side. “Scabbies are no reason not to do your duty. Robertson’s practically one big VD vending machine and he still shows up to work every day.”
“Hey!” Robertson reached around the cook to punch his fellow soldier. “I’ve been free of the drippie-burnies for weeks now.”
Michaelson punched him back. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause you’re still on antibiotics.”
The cook scuttled out of the way as the two men began to grapple. Others backed up. Here and there money changed hands as the men took sides.
David scraped his hands down his face. He was too damn tired for this. “Enough!”
The two sprang apart. Robertson drove his fist into his palm. Michaelson pointed to his eyes then to his opponent.
“As I was saying, the plague has arrived and no one has told the civilians.” David caught and held the gaze of his unit leaders. “They will be scared, then they will become angry. They’ll need someone to take it out on. Since our fearless leaders are cowering in their well-stocked bunkers, we will be the face of our government. We will be the objects of their anger.”
Michaelson shifted to the front. “Is the Doc hiding? Or wasn’t she allowed to since her niece is infected?”
“Mavis turned down the Surgeon General’s offer to evacuate to a facility.” David paused. It was a damn foolhardy decision. Sunnie would have gotten the best medical attention the world had to offer. He’d never been prouder of Mavis’s show of solidarity. He damn well hoped it didn’t cost her niece’s life. “Her niece is under the care of a Corpsman.”
“The damn Navy?” Michaelson spat, a few muttered. “What’s wrong with an Army medic? She’s already got an Army liaison.”
“Maybe she saw Johnson’s ugly face.” Robertson grinned at the thin soldier behind Michaelson.
The medic offered Robertson two birds, neither capable of leaving his hands to fly.
David shifted on his feet. What could he say without betraying Mavis? Well, hell, with the way Marines jawed the news was probably already making the rounds. “The niece leaked information that said the Redaction was back. The President ordered a Marine to visit the Doc’s house. If the niece wasn’t sick, he was to shoot them both.”
For a moment, adrenaline beat his fatigue to a manageable level. Only a damn Marine would show up to kill a target, then turn around and cozy up to her. David rubbed the back of his neck. And the jarhead was definitely cozying up to her.
“That’s cold.” Robertson shook out his hands. “Don’t they realize the Doc is the only thing standing between us and the official government white noise?”
“Yeah, they do.” This explained the courtesy ass-chewing David had received and the order to produce a sick body. Not that the notice removed Lister from his faecal roster. “But if the Doc is out of the loop, her value as an asset drops considerably.”
“Well, I’d take the Doc over a bunch of politicos any day.” Robertson folded his arms over his chest and thrust out his jaw.
Michaelson nodded and imitated Robertson’s stance. “Who knows how many of us she’s already saved with her little warnings?”
David smiled. Nice to see his men were loyal to those who covered their asses. Not that he’d expected any different. They were good men, and he damn well wasn’t going to lose one of them if he could help it. “I’m sure Doc appreciates your support. But to get back to the purpose of this little pow-wow. You’ve all been deployed overseas. You’ve all seen action. So, if things start to turn ugly…”
“If our back starts to itch.” Michaelson added.
Robertson edged forward. “If our balls draw up tight.”
“Whatever instinct that has saved your miserable hides in combat, if it starts talking, you will listen. You will leave.”
His men dropped their gazes from his, confusion rippled their foreheads.
“Retreat? From our own people?” Robertson shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Yeah, it was a bitch. But his people were here, in front of him. His stomach cramped and bile soured his mouth. They’d save as many civilians as they could.
“Throw the supplies off the truck and leave. When you get to the next point, assess, then decide. If the mob follows just keep tossing out the weekly supplies on your rounds.” In the distance, an engine hummed. David checked his watch. Seven-ten at night. It wasn’t time for the Marines to switch shifts. “And that’s another thing. We’re going to have to change up our routes. Keeping to the same schedule and drive makes us a target waiting to happen.”
Heads nodded.
The humming grew louder. David turned to see a tank turning the corner onto their street.
“What the fuck!” Robertson jumped against the gate. “Don’t the Marines know this is Army territory?”
David eyed the Humvee behind the tank, then the personnel carrier, and another and another. His skin itched worse than a three-day-old sunburn. Something was up. And he seriously doubted it was good. “Stand down, Robertson.”
The tank rolled passed the gate before stopping. The hatch p
opped open and a Marine emerged, SAW aiming at the empty warehouse across the street.
The Humvee turned onto the base’s entry.
The guard stared at David, but didn’t raise his weapon.
David ran his fingers through his buzz cut. Well, shit! An invasion just wasn’t on his list of things to do before bedtime. If he ever got a bedtime. He walked to the joint between gate and fence. “Open the gate, Private.”
With one hand on his weapon, the guard began to slide the chain link apart.
Squeezing through the opening, he marched to the driver of the Humvee.
General Lister leaned out the open window. “Dawson.”
David’s step hitched. What the hell was a general doing driving? “Sir?”
“Hop your ass inside.” Lister jerked his head to the passenger side.
“Yes, Sir.” David jogged in front of the hot grille before climbing inside the cab. Ducking under his gun’s strap, he set the butt of his M-4 on the ground and wrapped his hand around the muzzle.
His men backed up as General Lister nudged the Humvee forward. “How many of your men are sick?”
“None, Sir.”
Behind them, the personnel carriers shadowed their movements.
“None?” Lister coughed into the crook of his arm. “You holding information back?”
“No, Sir.” David straightened in his seat. That would be against the code.
Lister guided the Humvee through the tents, aiming for the motor pool. No need to ask the way. All the camps were laid out identically. “Camp seems rat free.”
“Most of us were in Afghanistan together. We got used to burning our…” David bit off the word shit, “…garbage. Of course, we still have flea bites. We’ve been treating them with antibiotic ointment.”
The general pulled the truck into an empty slot next to the small, refrigerated truck. “Lots of men who went in country are sick, and they burned their shit as well.”
David clamped his mouth shut. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Sorry? Hell no! His men were healthy and he was damned thankful.
Lister killed the engine. “This brings me to the purpose of my visit. More than half of my men are infected. Sixty percent of the Air Force is down. We don’t have enough bodies in uniform to maintain order.”
Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) Page 32
