Flakes of white swirled under the canvas covered ribs of the truck.
Maybe it was the ash, but they all seemed to be in a trance of sorts. Only the sobbing woman in the corner displayed any emotion.
Great, he’d have to sit next to her! Women. Why did the soldiers have to pick up the useless ones? And that one. He eyed the fat blob taking up two seats on the bench. He wouldn’t want to screw her even after consuming two bottles of tequila. This made her pretty worthless as far as he was concerned. Should have left her to the rats.
“Sir” the soldier barked.
Trent braced his hand near Fatty’s thigh, before turning to face the man. “Yes?”
“I think this belongs to you.” The soldier held out the Bible to Trent.
He eyed the three feet separating them. Why couldn’t the soldier bring it to him? The lazy bastard just wanted to get fat off the public dole. Sighing, he retraced his steps and grabbed the Bible. The soldier didn’t let go. What the fuck was wrong with him now? Had he seen the money? Anger coiled low in his belly.
“Are you a preacher?”
Trent blinked. Preacher? He stared down at the book. The white cross gleamed in the faint light. The preacher down at the Mission had garnered respect. Sure, it was from a bunch of losers, but this lot was only one step above. Besides, no one liked, let alone respected insurance salesmen. “Sure. I’m a preacher.”
Maybe it would get him dropped off first. Preachers had to be busy men, didn’t they?
The soldier nodded and released the Bible. “Maybe you could say a few words of comfort.” He jerked his head to the sobbing woman in the corner.
Fuck! Trent hugged the book to his chest. He’d rather offer the bitch a smack across the face and give her something to cry about. That wouldn’t work. The soldier probably thought women should be protected. They were too stupid to know of female treachery. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Of course, if he comforted the blubbering woman, he might not have to pay for the ride. He cleared his throat while picking a path through the legs and feet of the other passengers. None acknowledged him or offered him their seat. Bastards.
He reached the sobbing woman’s side.
“Hey.” Feeling the soldier’s eyes on him, he cleared the swear words from his throat. Twisting about, he slid down the side of the truck until his ass hit wood. Great, he’d probably get a splinter while the worthless bitch cried on her comfy bench. “I’m a preacher. You have something you want to confess?”
She rocked back and forth and continued to sob.
Trent shrugged. He’d tried. Drawing his legs up against his body, he thumbed through the bible. The hundred was still there. So was another. And another. Practically one for every Apostle and Saint. He counted ten fifties in the mix. Not a bad haul.
“We got incoming!” The shout pierced the canvas. The truck lurched to the side and metal groaned as if someone jumped on the running boards. Soon after, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire sounded.
Squeals responded. Bile applied a coat to his tongue. He drew his knees tight against his chest sandwiching the book. He’d be safe here. It was the soldier’s job to ensure it.
“Faster! They’re climbing up!”
The truck picked up speed as the firing continued. The truck jumped with a bone crunching slush.
The people in the bed collapsed against each other and the sobbing started in stereo.
Christ! Wasn’t he safe up here? He was high enough. Didn’t the soldiers know their job?
The two Marines at the back of the truck opened up their weapons. The light from the muzzles painted their masked faces in a golden glow. “Preacher!” yelled one. A ball of light hurtled toward him. The headlamp landed a foot away and skidded to stop against the sole of his boot. “Now is the time to read from the good book!”
Read. Now? Screams punctuated the squeaking. Numb fingers closed around the light. Why not? It would drown out the other sounds. Trent flipped open the pages. This was that damn Marine’s fault egging him into saying he was a preacher. Clearing his throat, he began to read. “In the beginning…”
Chapter Forty-Three
Day Five
Staring out the window, Mavis spun the cap off the water bottle. Dawn’s pink light competed with the glow of the fires, illuminating the roiling blackness. The only thing missing from the images of Hell outside her window were demons and pitchforks. Phoenix was burning. Whole neighborhoods had been razed to provide a firebreak. Unfortunately, the wind carried the cinders to the fresh tinder beyond and ignited new blazes.
Closing her eyes, she swayed on her feet. Her simulations hadn’t predicted this. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing. Shaking off her doubts, she stared at her plastic cup. Disposable. Like her. Like life. Like humanity. She bowed her head. Why bother fighting anymore? Why not just give in?
Death ends all pain.
“You’re supposed to be asleep.” David’s sleepy voice came from the direction of the couch.
David.
A wavering light appeared deep in the Earth’s bowels.
Hope.
Beautiful. Daring. Painful.
He’d come in the middle of the night telling her of the military’s decision to side with her over the governor, and she’d asked him to stay. Mavis rolled the cold plastic over her lip before taking a sip. It was nice to have a man in the house, to have David in her house. Just his presence stopped her from jumping at the slightest noise. From going to sleep and never waking up. “I needed some water.”
Her voice came out low and gritty. The illness still raged in her throat, played bongos on her joints, and rattled like shrapnel inside her skull.
Fabric rustled before his soft footfall whispered across the tile. “You need to rest. We can’t afford to have our chief officer out of commission.”
“You don’t have much choice.” She felt his body heat flame against her back. Close but not touching. He never would breach the unspoken boundary unless she initiated it. Asked for it. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. A shiver traveled up her backbone. Stupid fever. Hot one minute; freezing the next. She drained her cup before setting it down on the counter. “I’m already ill.”
“But still functioning.” He set his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs quickly found the knots of tension and massaged them away. “Your skin is hot.”
She curled against the wall of muscle. Body heat seeped into her bones, driving out the chill burrowing through her marrow. Yet another reason to have a man around. They were always warm. But the courage to ask for more deserted her. The future loomed like a big question mark on the horizon. One she might not live to understand. So shouldn’t she take a chance now?
“You need an aspirin for your fever.”
“No meds.” Her head lolled back until it rested against his chest. Perhaps this could be enough. Perhaps she needn’t risk anything. “The illness will leave faster if I allow the fever to burn itself out.”
“Is that a fact?” His warm breath washed down her bare neck.
She breathed in the scent of him, his strength and his health. “It’s as good a hypothesis as any other.”
“And does this hypothesis of yours include sleep and rest?”
She smiled. Smart man, out maneuvering her with her own words. Of course, he was a career soldier, trained in battle tactics. “Yes, it includes sleep, rest, and plenty of fluids.”
Releasing her shoulder, he reached around her and picked up the half-full water bottle by the neck. “Let’s take this to your room so you don’t have to get out of bed to get your fluids.”
“You’re just trying to get in my bed.” She gasped as soon as the last word left her mouth. Oh God, had she really said that out loud? What had happened to her inner coward? Her teeth clamped down on her lips until they tingled.
David chuckled and stroked her arm. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get in your bed.” Clasping her to his side, he ushered her from the kitchen. “We’ll be buggi
ng out before you’re recovered enough to reissue the invitation. Our future will start on the hard ground so enjoy the comfy mattress, while you can.”
Mavis blinked. He’d actually thought about them together? Her skin tingled. She remembered this feeling enough to know that the pins and needles had nothing to do with the fever. Thank God, he’d said the words first. She felt him tense. Good grief. She’d been silent for too long. Had he taken it as a rejection? “I—”
He steered her down the hallway. “I know. I’ve shocked you with my plain language. I just wanted to let you know my intentions, in case you were entertaining…other offers.”
Other offers? Laughter bubbled against her lips. “I’m forty-two, not twenty-two.” Things have sagged, shifted and been marked by time. Her cheeks heated. Christ, she’d have to make sure there wasn’t a full moon or any direct lighting when he got her naked. “There’s not exactly a line of men waiting at my footboard.”
“Good.” He stopped on the threshold but pushed her inside. “I’ll see that it stays that way.”
Her stomach did a funny dance. He actually wanted her. Physically. At her age… Her thoughts diverted onto a tangent. At her age sleeping on the ground wasn’t comfortable. She turned on her heel and faced him. As long as they were being honest… “I was going to say that I have a blow up mattress in my trunk. It’s queen-sized.”
“You’re my kind of woman, Mavis Spanner.” In the glow of her battery-powered alarm clock, he winked before setting the water bottle onto her dresser. “Now get some sleep, rest and plenty of fluids. That’s an order.”
She shook her head. She must be recovering if she could flirt. Flirting? At her age? Who knew she had it in her? Peeling back the covers, she sat on the bed. “I don’t take orders, Sergeant Major. I give them.”
Crossing his arms over his bare chest, he propped a shoulder against the door jamb. “Is that a fact?”
“It is.” She swung her legs onto the cool sheet and shivered. Obviously, the flirting wasn’t a cure for what ailed her, more like cerebral diversion.
“Aunt Mavis?” Sunnie’s voice cracked on the last word.
“Sunnie? Are you all right?” Shoving aside the covers, she scrambled to her feet. Crap! She’d forgotten about Sunnie for a moment. God she was a horrible aunt. Her last surviving relative was sick, and she was flirting. Flirting, at her age! She was too sensible for such nonsense.
David stepped into hallway as she swept by. “I can see to her.”
“No!”
He reared back.
Mavis shook her head. Damn, she’d just set a new record: Flirt to shrew in zero seconds. He really was a good man. Too bad he was so darn distracting. “Thanks anyway.” She set her hand on his arm and felt the play of muscles under her palm. “You need to get some sleep. I can’t have my second-in-command getting sick.”
He nodded once then disappeared down the dark hall.
She bit her lip to keep from calling him back. He was a very big distraction.
Coughing erupted from her niece’s room.
“Sunnie?” Mavis ran the last eight feet. Her socks slipped across the wood floors as she rounded the corner.
A battery powered disk light shone on her niece. Sunnie held her blue handkerchief over her mouth with one hand and flashed her open palm at Mavis.
She dropped to the throw rug and crawled closer. As soon as the girl stopped coughing, she placed her hand on her forehead and felt the elevated temperature despite her own. “Your fever is back.”
Sunnie dragged the cloth over her mouth before falling back on her pillow. “I feel like I did when I had the Redaction.” She dragged in a breath. Air rattled in her chest. “Are you sure, I don’t have it?”
No. Mavis caught the word before it could escape. Her doubts would not be silenced so easily. They crowded her thoughts, taunting her.
“She’s sure it’s the Plague. There’s lots of it going around.” David stood in the doorway, tucking his shirt in his waistband. “I’ve sent for the Corpsman. He’ll be here in five.”
“But the coughing…” Sunnie groped the top of her desk until she found a lozenge. Her sleeve hooked three more and they dribbled onto the comforter.
“That’s normal.” But only for pneumonic plague. It shouldn’t have reached that stage, especially with the high doses of antibiotics. True, the medics were treating everyone with Cipro, usually assigned for Anthrax cases not Yersinia pestis, but it should still work. Except, antibiotics didn’t cure plague one hundred percent of the time. Please God, don’t let this be one of those times. She tucked a lock of hair behind Sunnie’s ear. “I’d like to check you over, okay?
The lozenge clicked against Sunnie’s teeth. She glanced at David then squeezed her eyes closed. “Okay.”
Mavis pushed the covers aside then picked up her niece’s arm.
“Uh.” David cleared his throat. “I’m going to get the patient a bottle of water and wait for the medic to arrive.”
“Thanks. For everything.” Mavis ran her hands up the limb before her fingers slipped into the armpit looking for the buboes. She coughed on a sob. No swelling of the lymphs. The Plague hadn’t spread that far.
“You’re not alone anymore, Mavis.” He backed into the hallway. “If I’m not here, there will be plenty of others around to help.”
Mavis checked under Sunnie’s other arm, before moving up to her neck. The glands were slightly swollen. One more place to check. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hands.
“He likes you.” Sunnie’s words perfumed the air with a pungent medicinal odor.
“You think so?” Mavis turned her head and focused on the glands in Sunnie’s legs. Thank God the low light prevented her niece from seeing the blush.
“I’m glad.” Sunnie coughed in the handkerchief again. “I don’t want you to be alone if the Redaction does get me this time.”
“You don’t have the Redaction.” Mavis double checked Sunnie’s other leg. No buboes there either. Aside from the swollen glands in her neck, there was nothing to indicate Plague. Could she have Hanta virus instead? Was that why she seemed to have worsened?
“Plague, then.” Sunnie waved her hand before dropping it back to the mattress. “You do know that antibiotics don’t always work, don’t you? Half of everyone who gets it dies despite treatment.”
“Twenty-five percent,” Mavis growled. Stupid internet. Never got anything right. “Seventy-five percent of those treated recover. Besides, we caught yours early enough for the antibiotics to work.”
Unless it wasn’t Plague.
So what was it?
“It feels like the Redaction.”
Mavis rolled her eyes, before tucking the blanket around her niece. “The beginnings of most diseases all feel the same. It’s not like the body can spew green snot for influenza, purple for Hanta, and blue for Plague.”
“Polka dotted snot for a cold.” Sunnie smiled and laughed before she settled into coughing.
“Exactly.” Mavis grabbed a mug off the desk and shook it. Empty. Should she go get the water? David said he was bringing a bottle.
Sunnie spat into her handkerchief and then collapsed onto her pillow, panting. “You know, it’s funny but I’m not really as stopped up as I was with the Redaction.”
“The snot production was definitely off the charts.” Mavis perched on the edge of the bed and sniffed. She wasn’t stuffed up either. Like rusted machinery, she felt the gears of her mind start to turn. “Let me see that bug bite.”
“Huh?” Sunnie skinned a fresh lozenge with her teeth before chucking the flattened wrapper onto the ground.
“The flea bite. Where is it?”
Sunnie flopped her right arm across her belly before closing her eyes. “Wake me when my water gets here.”
Mavis pushed up the purple flannel sleeve. A Band-Aid clung to Sunnie’s bony wrist like a watch. Her heart pounded against her sternum. The symptoms were similar, very similar. Inserting her thumb between the adhesive a
nd Sunnie’s skin, Mavis lifted up a tab. She grabbed hold and gently pulled.
Red skin swelled around a black center.
Dropping the bandage, Mavis covered her mouth and rolled back. “Oh my!”
Sunnie opened one eye to stare at her, before lifting her arm and staring at her ‘bite’. “The medic said it was getting better.” She frowned. “It looks better. Not as red. And no, I’m not scratching it. It doesn’t really itch.”
“No. No. It wouldn’t.” Son of a bitch. Mavis’s tongue stuck to her dry lips while her mind sorted the facts. Sick for two days, better for one to three. Fluid in the lungs. Low fever. No snot. The ‘bites’—inflamed skin with a black center. Symptoms of the same disease but each were a different form.
Both were treated with antibiotics.
Cutaneous Anthrax was cured almost a hundred percent of the time.
Seventy percent of the Inhalation Anthrax cases ended in death.
The Chinese claimed the new form of the Redaction had a seventy percent kill rate.
The Chinese lied about everything.
They’d really lie if they were making Weapons of Mass Destruction and their bugs came out to play.
Had the Redaction caused the accident and led to the perfect cover-up? One that played into the current paradigm? In looking for the influenza, that was all the Centers for Disease Control and the health labs would see. Viral serums rarely grew bacteria.
Mavis leapt off the bed. She had to warn Miles. But without proof would he believe her? She stumbled and slammed against the wall.
Everyone infected with inhalation anthrax would think they were recovering two or so days after the symptoms first appeared. For one to three blissful days, they would feel better. But the disease would soon resurface. With a vengeance. Twenty-four to thirty-six hours after the sickness returned, the infected would be dead.
Sunnie braced herself up on her elbows. “Aunt Mavis?”
“You’re going to be fine, Sunnie.” Mavis crossed her fingers. Please God, let it be true. Fortunately, her niece was already being treated with Anthrax’s number one enemy. Unfortunately, Cipro was manufactured in China. A cold sweat broke across her face. What if the antibiotic was tainted?
Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) Page 41
