by Toby Neal
“That won’t be necessary, Captain. I’m sure this lovely expectant mother can see reason.” It wasn’t a bad idea to remind both Lupo and the cult woman of the innocent life hanging in the balance.
The woman pressed her lips tight and backed up, opening the gate further. Nani suspected Luciano’s threatening presence changed the woman’s mind as much as anything Nani had said. She squelched a shaft of self-doubt about her strategy; however, she’d learned in the FBI to always try the least invasive intervention first. With a cult like this, reinforcing already-negative perceptions would be easy, and could cause them to dig in further.
“We’re moving in to secure the premises,” Jaguar told her. “You and D. Love stay here and we’ll notify you of people in need of medical attention.”
Nani bit her tongue and nodded as Quae Long drew up alongside her carrying a duffel bag full of medical supplies. She couldn’t argue with the fact that a young teen had met them with firepower. The buildings could be wired with explosives.
She stared after Luciano as he and the other men moved out. He’d given his dog a hand signal and she was glued to Luciano’s side, head down and sniffing. Maybe she was part of their booby trap detection.
Nani fought irritation. She was still shaking off the sweat of fear brought on by seeing Luca run into that kid’s firing range. Damn him! Somehow he’d made her care whether or not he killed his damn fool self with unnecessary heroics. He was limping now, favoring his bad leg but when he’d run into the line of fire, there hadn’t been a shadow of weakness or hesitation, and his timing was perfect.
So was his rear view.
No, she didn’t like the way Cocky Lupo smelled coming near her, of dust and effort and man; that his big shoulders swung in that easy way, brushing aside obstacles; the way his hand touched his dog’s head in a lazy, loving caress; the way the sun caught his blue-black hair—the way his kiss had made her feel—wanted, needed, like she was food to a starving man—a holy site at the end of a long pilgrimage.
He was so not her type.
“Doctor Kagawa.” D. Love’s voice brought her attention back, and she hoped the flush at being caught staring at Lupo didn’t show on her cheeks. “We can set up a little medical station there.” The handsome Chinese man gestured to a nearby outbuilding. “Looks like it’s the mess hall.”
“Sounds good.” Nani followed him into the empty building, a cafeteria filled with tables and chairs, with a kitchen at the far end. They gloved up, put on masks, and used bleach to clean off a steel counter. Soon their first “customer” arrived: a woman carrying a baby. “She’s burning up with a fever,” the young mother’s eyes were hollow with worry.
“Let me check her out.” Nani took the baby, a girl about six months old, into her arms. “D. Love, get me a stethoscope and a thermometer, will you?”
Long dug in his bag and handed her the items as Nani settled the infant on the counter, cooing to her soothingly. She felt a pang somewhere in the vicinity of her womb, looking down into the baby’s sweet face, pink-cheeked with fever.
Would she ever have a child of her own to love?
At thirty-eight, chances seemed slim—Clyde had suggested they try, which was actually what got her out the door. Nani had already grown to loathe his attempts to control her, and the idea of bringing a child into their union made Nani realize how smothering it had become.
She stabilized the baby with one hand and put on her stethoscope.
First, rule out Scorch Flu.
Contact with the counter’s cold surface made the baby squall as Nani carefully lifted the infant’s shirt. She rubbed the chilly metal of the stethoscope on her own shirt to warm it, then applied it to the baby’s chest.
Lungs were clear. Good. Mucus in the baby’s nose was a typical gunky green. Temperature, measured with the battery-operated thermometer, was a hundred and two—not the dangerous levels of Scorch Flu.
She aspirated the mucus with a bulb syringe to clear the baby’s nasal passages and lifted the child, turning to the mother with a smile. “Good news. She doesn’t have Scorch Flu. Just an everyday bug, and I can give you antibiotics in case she develops a secondary infection.”
“Thank God. We’ve all been vaccinated, but people are still getting sick.” Almost comically, the young mother clapped her hand over her mouth as Nani’s gaze sharpened. She looked to be barely out of her teens herself, a rail-thin woman-child with thick blonde hair in braids, wearing a knit smock. “Oh, I mean—never mind.” The girl snatched the baby back. She almost ran out of the kitchen, only to be replaced by an elderly man leaning on a stick, his ankle hugely swollen.
Nani caught Long’s eye. “I need you to take this patient.”
Long ducked his head in agreement and Nani darted out, leaving on her gloves and slipping the thermometer and stethoscope in her pocket. She passed a row of overflowing trash bins reeking of leftover food and garbage. This compound had been abandoned in a hurry, and those left behind were either not able or not motivated to keep it livable.
Luciano met her outside the kitchen, and Nani’s heart definitely didn’t jump at the sight of him. No, she was just amped up because of the situation.
“We’ve found Scorch Flu victims. They’ve been sequestered in a bunkhouse.”
Nani’s brows snapped together. “I just got intel that the inhabitants were vaccinated.”
“Well, if so, it didn’t work for everyone.” The big Italian fell in stride beside her as Nani walked across the hard-packed dirt of the compound to speak with Jaguar. “We haven’t found any booby traps or ordnance so far. Just a lot of women, children, and old people. That kid with the AK was the only real hostile we’ve encountered. Just a lot of bad attitudes since.”
Nani could feel those attitudes in the dark stares she endured crossing the compound. “Seems like a lot of racist sentiment,” she murmured.
“Oh yeah. White is king with this group. They’re giving shit to anyone of color on our team.”
Nah, she didn’t like how he matched his stride to hers, the way his shoulder brushed hers, or the support she sensed from him about the racism she faced—even if he questioned her leadership as a woman. “If they had a vaccine, that’s confirmation that this group is ground zero for the spread of the flu.” She reached Jaguar and the knot of men checking around a building. She delivered the news of the possible vaccine. “Why don’t I assess the Scorch Flu patients and question them? Maybe they know something, and with nothing to lose, will be willing to talk.”
“Take precautions, Doc,” Jaguar reminded.
“Definitely.” She pulled a mask out of her pocket and snapped it on as she headed for the bunkhouse Luciano indicated. When he went to follow her inside, she held up a hand. “No. No extra risks. You’re not gloved or masked.”
Luciano’s eyes flashed gold in the light. “Almost sounds like you care, Doc.” He looked down at his dog. “Peaches, cover her.” He pointed at Nani. Peaches moved to her side. “She’ll protect you.”
Nani spun away, her braid hitting her in the back like a whip as she went into the dim building, ridiculously touched by him parting with his dog to protect her.
The sweetish scent of death hit the back of Nani’s throat. The room reeked of excrement, vomit, and sweat. There was no illumination but the sunlight that fell in dusty yellow squares over the line of pallets on the floor. The electricity must be out.
At least two of the bodies she passed were ominously still. Peaches touched her nose to Nani’s thigh, and the dog’s presence was a welcome comfort.
Hauled in and left to die, these victims had nothing more than a jug of water at the head of each crude bed. Nani moved along checking lungs, peeling up eyelids, giving water and asking, “What can you tell me about where the leaders of the camp went?”
Most were incoherent. A few spewed mucus and invectives on her—and one woman replied.
“Tanner Hillish and his ‘vision.’ What a crock. He wouldn’t give me the shot. Said me a
nd some others was too old to need it. But look, half the people here had the shot. Damn thing doesn’t work, and he turned the apocalypse loose on all of us. Hope that rat bastard burns in hell.” The woman’s rheumy eyes were unfocused and her breath rattled wetly. She sucked air shallowly and spoke only on the exhale. “Least he could have done is given us some good drugs and left us one of his whores to care for us as we died.”
“We’re here to help.” Nani softly wiped the woman’s brow with a wet rag. “I have morphine. I can ease your suffering. But you have to tell me everything you can about Tanner Hillish and his plans. Do you know where he went?”
“Shut up, Maybelle, you old bitch!” yelled the man on the pallet adjacent to them before contorting in an eruption of coughing.
“Screw you Darrell, you sellout to the human race.” Maybelle hawked up a wet red glob and spit it at her fellow sufferer. Nani shuddered but kept up her soothing touch.
“Shh. Don’t listen to his sour grapes. You’re doing a good thing here. Let me ease you. I’ll get you morphine.”
“Get me that, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
The man in the next bed went into a seizure, his face purple and contorted as he tried to breathe. The stench of his bowels emptying made bile rise in Nani’s throat.
She stood, and with Peaches at her heel, returned to the door where Luciano waited, his AK at the ready. He was guarding her, at least, that’s how it felt as she approached him. “Can you radio Long to come here? I need the medical supplies. I’ve made a deal with one of the victims to exchange info for pain relief.”
Luciano plucked the walkie off his belt and commanded Long to their location.
Nani touched Luca’s arm, steely and warm under her gloved fingertips. She wished she could feel him, bare skin to bare skin—but instead, possessed by an impulse she couldn’t name, Nani rose on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “Thank you. Thanks for guarding me.”
A rush of goose bumps rippled across his skin and the flush of blood rose in his neck. The tautness of his big body almost vibrated beneath the light touch of her fingertips. Nani’s nipples tightened in response as she settled back onto her heels, heat pooling between her thighs.
No, oh no. She didn’t want this man. No. All wrong.
Cocky Lupo kept his eyes front and muttered something under his breath.
“What was that, Captain?”
“Nothing, Doctor. I’ll send him in when he gets here.”
She didn’t want to go back into that reeking darkness, with nothing to offer these dying people except a comforting touch and their last mouthfuls of water. But at least she could do that.
This was why she hadn’t wanted to be a doctor, the messy agony of pain, suffering, and dying. She preferred enemies she could fight from a distance. Diseases she could isolate and view, defeating with test tubes and microscopes.
Luca turned and met her eyes. “It’s okay that you can’t do anything for them. It’s not your fault. Dying is a lonely business.”
Tears pricked her eyes at the compassion in his gaze and it gave her the courage to turn and go back into her personal version of hell, armed with nothing but a wet rag and a dog named Peaches.
Chapter Ten
Tanner
Tanner Hillish ran his finger over the raised flesh on his chest, following the lines of the scarified swastika that graced him.
God spoke to him as the scar tingled under his touch.
They are coming. The impure are following. They will pour down around you. Do not retreat, but pull back. Wait in the shadows for the prey to appear. Let them come close, and then attack.
Tanner tasted blood in his mouth and heard choir music rising up. With his eyes closed he could see the path ahead of him clearly. He would prevail.
The virus was doing as God had promised: whisking the impure to hell. Some of his own flock had been taken, a sign that their ranks had been infiltrated.
But there was no reason to worry or cause for concern because God was with him every step of the way, leading Tanner to the final outcome: a world purged of all but true believers.
Tanner opened his eyes. The temple here was beautiful, and he felt a rush of gratitude. God was so good.
One of his daughters entered and froze upon seeing him. “I’m so sorry,” her voice wavered.
He beckoned her closer and she stepped toward him, fear evident in her young features. Was she one of the impure? There was only one way to tell.
“Come to me, child.”
She hurried, her long skirt swishing on the wooden floor, adding to the music playing in Hillish’s mind. Her name was Adelaide. She was tall and lanky, only just eighteen if he remembered correctly. Yes, God answered, you remember right.
Adelaide dropped to her knees in front of him and he placed a hand on her head, caressing her hair, feeling the warmth of her skin.
She was blonde, her hair in two braids that fell over her shoulders, exposing her slender, vulnerable neck.
“Do you love God?” he asked her.
“With all my heart.” Her voice was quiet but strong.
He ran a finger down the indentation of Adelaide’s spine and goose bumps rose on her flesh. “Are you pure?”
“For you and forever.” Her voice did not ring with truth; it was too soft, the low hiss of a lying snake.
He cupped her face and closed his eyes, listening for God’s instructions.
Kill her.
Tanner held her cheeks, feeling the warmth in them, the thump of her heart. She was afraid of him because she was impure. Sinners were the only ones who felt fear. Those in God’s grace had nothing to be afraid of because He was with them, waiting for them in heaven, and watching over them on earth.
Tanner tightened his grip and the girl held her breath. She knew she was evil. Tanner twisted quickly, the movement forceful and violent, just like God wanted. Her neck snapped, the sound ricocheting in the sacred space.
Tanner released his hold and her body fell limp at his feet.
He stepped over her, following God’s path as he went to spread the Lord’s message.
They must make more of the virus and continue His work.
Chapter Eleven
Luca
Luca glanced across the bench of the supply truck to where Nani sat on the passenger side. Color was returning to her cheeks. Good.
When Nani left the quarantined cabin and told him she’d gotten the location of the cult leader, Tanner Hillish, her caramel skin was ashy—as if she had taken on the sickness that haunted the space behind her.
Luca could still hear the coughing in that compound—the same wet strangled sound Father Rapaport made before losing consciousness. The same sound he’d heard Nando make over the phone line before his death.
The cough was joining another set of sounds that haunted Luca: screaming men dying on the battlefield, mothers weeping over children killed by explosions, the wail of sirens announcing incoming bombs.
Luca suppressed the urge to reach out and take Nani’s hand. It was just sitting there on the bench between them, begging to be held, but he gripped the wheel of the supply truck instead.
They weren’t friends or lovers; they were working together on a vital mission. He needed to keep his feelings in his lockbox along with all those other sounds and images that needed to be held at bay. The grief he carried for his brother and the fear he had for his priest belonged in that box.
The kiss he’d shared with Nani, so hot and unforgettable, needed to go in there, too.
Luca shoved it all in and slammed the lid, but he could hear Nando’s laugh. We’re not all gonna fit in here, bro.
“We should be there in about two hours.” Nani’s voice was flat. Luca hated the sadness and loss of animation in her.
They were on their way to a National Guard outpost. It was a six-hour drive from the location the old woman had given Nani, where supposedly Tanner Hillish and the other leadership had fled to a cattle ranch they’d built up
into a town. “The Center,” as the cult referred to it, was too far to go in a single day, so they’d stay at the Guard outpost tonight and hopefully get some helicopters.
Luca wanted to just keep going, drive through the night and get to The Center, grab Tanner Hillish by the neck and strangle the life out of him. But that wasn’t the smart thing to do, and Dr. Strategic had suggested the outpost.
When Nani gave Jaguar the intel she got from the dying woman, Balam had nodded, not even bothering to say anything. The men had all worn tight expressions. He knew they had their own lockboxes. Leaving all those women and children behind to fend for themselves was going to have to go in them.
The kids weren’t terrorists. They were indoctrinated. Maybe the women too. Either way, even if they were guilty by association, leaving them there to die felt wrong.
But what could they do? There was no antidote to this flu. There was no taking it back. They were on their own, like so many others in this world.
He remembered a little girl waving to him as they left the terrorist compound. She held a ragged teddy bear by its arm, dragging the stuffed animal in the dirt as she followed them. The child couldn’t have been more than two years old; her steps were still unsteady.
At least she wasn’t sick. Hopefully, she would survive.
But for what? Growing up in a place like that, to be treated like a piece of property?
It was obvious that women in the cult were little more than broodmares, useful only in that they could produce more “pure” babies. Women no longer raising children were treated like servants.
It made Luca sick.
He didn’t want a woman in charge of him but he didn’t think women should be considered livestock, either.
His sister Lucy was such a firecracker. The idea that she would take any of that crap was crazy. But was that because she grew up with six brothers who told her she was the toughest, coolest chick in the world? Or was it something she was born with? An innate knowledge of her own worth.
