Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I)

by Andrews, Linda

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 t
o 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.

  Disguising his growl as clearing his throat, Trent looked at the man. “Yes?”

  “You can go in now.”

  Trent glanced up. Son of a bitch. The only thing between him and the double doors was a drift of smoke. He slammed the book shut and stomped toward the door. The asshole was probably laughing behind his mask. Trent grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. Maybe he could have the man shot.

  Before the last door slammed shut, another soldier opened the next one and Trent stepped out of the vestibule into the tent. About two dozen people filled the area. Most sat behind a series of folding tables, their faces glowing in the bluish light of their computer screens. One or two people stood before each table dripping ash onto the canvas floor. Above the grind of a generator, an air conditioner kicked on. Drafts of cold air fluttered the ribbons tied to the vents and stirred the soot.

  “Sir!” A lone woman in tan and green camouflage rose from her metal chair and snapped her fingers at him. “We can take you over here.”

  Trent tucked his Bible under his arm. What the hell? Did she think he was a damn dog, coming when called? This whole fucking service lacked discipline and respect. He’d have to discover her name and add it to his shit list. Of course, if she was pretty, he could think of another way for her to make amends.

  Adjusting her mask, she resumed her seat and then picked up the magnifying readers on the table to the right of her computer and set them on her nose. “I understand you’ve had a trying day, sir, but we need to ask you a few questions.”

  She nodded and turned a rectangular device toward Trent. It looked like the delivery confirmation device carried by parcel companies.

  Trent frowned. He wasn’t going to sign a damn thing. At the very least, he intended to sue the government for lost wages. Signing anything at this juncture would deprive him of that right. He grasped his hands in front of him. “I wish to return to my home. I understand that you won’t be able to spare a special driver, but I will join a transport to North Scottsdale.”

  He dropped the hint of his wealth and status, knowing it would make an impression.

  The woman eyed him over the rim of her glasses. Concern flared in her hazel eyes. “I understood you came in on the transport from central Phoenix.”

  Good. She was aware that those in his neighborhood should be treated with respect. Well, it was too late to make a good impression and she was too old for him to consider any other mitigating actions. He wasn’t that desperate.

  “I was on my way to an appointment with the CEO of Western Electronics.” Straightening his shoulders, he dropped the name of the man heading the largest computer manufacturer in the Valley.

  Hash marks appeared between her eyes as she raked him from head to toe. Her fingers hovered over the keys of her laptop. “Was he with you when you were trapped by the fire?”

  “No. I never made the meeting.” He twitched in his borrowed clothes. What the hell was she going on about now? He’d mentioned the CEO as a character reference not for her to gloss over him in favor of someone more important.

  “Where were you going to meet him?”

  Trent’s foot tapped the canvas floor. Obviously the woman needed more than readers if she couldn’t recognize power under worn flannel and jeans. “The Nineteenth Tee.”

  She didn’t even blink at the mention of the exclusive restaurant. Perhaps, he should ask to speak with an officer, someone with class.

  “Where is that located, sir?”

  God, he was sick of dealing with such ignorant fools. Removing the Bible from under his arm, he slammed it on the table. “What does it matter where the restaurant is? I don’t want to go to the restaurant. I wish to be taken to my condo.”

  Rising, the woman held up one hand. The other rested on her sidearm. “If you could just calm down, sir.”

  “I don’t want to calm down.” He braced his hands on the table and held his face inches from hers. The Bible partially fanned out from his weight. “Who do I need to speak to in order to arrange a ride back to my house?”

  “You need to speak with us.” The woman spoke softly but the flap covering her side arm stood straight up and her hand was on the pistol grip. “Please provide us with your name and address.”

  Fucking bitch. Like he actually believed she would shoot him. His leg twanged as a reminder. Well, she wouldn’t dare shoot him in front of witnesses. Trent looked around the tent. Two male soldiers had their weapons drawn and aimed at him. Ash-colored people crowded near their tables as if to get away from the imminent gun play.

  Fear broke over him in a wave of cold air. Maybe they would shoot him. It wouldn’t be the first time the government stomped on the citizen’s civil liberties. Inhaling a calming breath, he straightened. She may have won this round, but he’d get his revenge. His thoughts rolled back to his wife hanging from the loft railing of the house she’d stolen from him.

  He was good at revenge.

  The Redaction was almost over
and soon the military would return to their pathetic lives. One by one, he’d find each man and every woman who’d insulted him today and make them pay. He bared his teeth in a smile. Although concealed by his mask, he felt it. And its power and promise. So he’d let them think they’d won. This time.

  The outer door banged open. A gust of wind swept fresh soot across the floor and brought with it the smell of food—tomatoes, spices and… His nose twitched. Beef. He sucked up the drool pooling in his mouth while his nose urged him to turn.

  A man balancing a tray filled with Styrofoam cups stepped into the tent. Black spoons bristled from them. Ash freckled his sable cheeks above the drooping mask and stained the white cap on his head. He paused by the men with their weapons drawn. “Soups on. Should be enough for everyone.”

  Everyone? Trent’s stomach jumped for joy on his intestines. Food. Real food.

  Holstering their weapons, the soldiers took a cup from the tray.

  Metal creaked behind him. “Now, if you would just tell me your name and address.”

  He watched the tray bearer’s progress across the room. Cup after cup disappeared. Would there be any left by the time he got to him?

  “Sir?” The woman’s voice began to grate. “Your name.”

  “Trent.” Finally the man zagged toward him. Five cups remained on the tray. Trent grabbed the closest one as the man bent down to offer one to the woman. Latching onto the spoon, he scooped up bits of potato and carrot and shoveled it into this mouth. Maybe if he finished fast enough he could get another before the man moved on. After what he’d been through he deserved two helpings.

  The tray bearer straightened. “Aren’t you the preacher fellow from last night?”

  Trent groaned partly from the harmony of spices dancing across his taste buds and partly from the recognition. The lie had been a miscalculation on his part. None of this lot would respect a clergyman. Most probably couldn’t count to eleven with their shoes on. Turning his attention back to the table, he groped for a way out of the lie.

  “You’re a reverend?” The woman unhooked her glasses and chewed on the earpiece.