The Reaper Plague

by David VanDyke

  “Are the Fredericksburgers gone?”

  Muzik smiled up at her. “That’s what I’m going to go find out.”

  “No, sir.”

  “What?” He looked at her in quizzical disbelief.

  “I’m going.”

  “You’re barely up and around.”

  “And you’re short an arm. Everything’s fine, sir. I’d tell you if it wasn’t.” She squatted down by him, leaning in close. “I can’t hold these people together the way you can, and losing you might break them. You’re in command, sir. So command. This is NCO work. Let me do my job. I’m sure you’ll get a chance for appropriate heroics later.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head, resigned. “All right. Good hunting. Best horses get ridden the most.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

  He raised binoculars to his eyes. “I haven’t seen any hostile movement over there in a while. I think they withdrew back the way they came. The tank crews bailed out and got picked up by their Strykers. So take a radio and go do some recon. If it’s clear we’ll come back and dig the survivors out. There has to be someone alive underneath all that mess. It’s mostly drywall and wood construction. Edens should make it if we get them out soon.”

  “All right, let me gear up.” She recovered her load-bearing equipment and weapons, picked up ammo, and was back in two minutes. “Here I go. Give me what cover you can.”

  It was déjà vu all over again as she jogged out of the woods, across the thick grass of the verge and onto the fairway toward the wrecked buildings. A haze of smoke drifted eastward to her left, smelling of burning plastics and wood. Fires smoldered among the rubble.

  She angled rightward to take advantage of the smoke and approached the mess from inside the plume, suppressing a cough. Once she reached the cover of wreckage she worked her way around to the right, up the eastward side. When she got to the edge of the smoke she got down and low-crawled forward.

  When she had examined the open ground to the north she reached for her radio. “Sir, you copy?” She abandoned code names to rely on simple voice recognition. The radios were encrypted anyway, it was unlikely anyone would overhear; code names were mostly for net control. With a network of only three radios, that wouldn’t be a problem.

  “I copy.”

  “They’ve withdrawn. I can’t see anyone. There might be observers in the treeline to the north but there are none visible. Advise you come back and we try to find our people.” Any that are left.

  Five minutes later Muzik led the double dozen survivors in beginning the process of dragging pieces of rubble out of the way and calling to find anyone trapped beneath. Jill put two observers on the north corners and then set to work with a will.

  They found nineteen of their people in various states of injury. Food and water restored most of them once they were free, though one had lost a leg at the knee.

  During this time Jill made a cursory recon of the perimeter, then she hustled back to the remnant of the battalion and reported to Colonel Muzik that she had found no enemy.

  “That’s good news,” he responded. “They must have fallen back to their defense lines. But now they have a problem, though they might not know it.”

  She looked a question at him.

  “The have Edens as prisoners. They took most of our people.”

  “How do you know?”

  He swept his hand around in a semicircle. “Not enough bodies. Normal wounded to killed ratio in a firefight is something like four or five to one. We have almost a hundred dead bodies here. That means four hundred are missing.”

  “Some of these have been executed. Effing sons of bitches.” Jill turned over a body with her foot, one with an extra hole in its head. “This is Sergeant Shute. He was a good kid.”

  “They were all good kids.”

  “Why did they do it?” She raised her head to stare to the north with cold anger.

  “General meanness? You said the Onesie you talked to seemed paranoid.”

  “Yes…Demon Plague One effect. Boss…how come I don’t see any dead Homies?”

  Muzik looked at her sharply and shook his head, but the damage was done. Others nearby had heard and were all looking at the Colonel. He sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter much now. They had a classified mission. They took off yesterday at nightfall.”

  Jill bit back angry words. Eighty more troops might have made a difference, along with the Homies’ MRAPs, armored trucks with heavy weapons mounted – and they weren’t Edens. They might have been able to employ their lethal antitank weapons to take out the enemy LAVs. But she kept her mouth shut. There was no way for Muzik to have foreseen this, no reason to hold back the Homeland Security company. What they should have had was air cover on standby overhead ready to hit armored vehicles with precision guided munitions. But they’d messed it up, top to bottom, herself just as much as anyone because she didn’t foresee it either, didn’t speak up.

  “In hindsight, we should have kept them another day,” he admitted, looking around at his people. “I screwed up. But I won’t screw up again,” he declared grimly.

  Jill let out a hiss, changing the subject. “We should have insisted on air cover overhead. We should have run earlier. Should woulda coulda.”

  “Would you have run? If you weren’t crippled?”

  She grimaced at her boss. “I guess not. Not until it was too late.”

  Muzik cleared his throat. “But back to the problem at hand – we have to find a way to get our people. And then there are all the ones we shot with Needleshock. There are a couple of dozen dead Fredericksburgers scattered around but they didn’t leave any live ones, not even unconscious ones…”

  Jill broke in excitedly, “If they don’t die, most’ll be new Edens. Their friends and neighbors will see them get healed from their burns and scars and wounds – and the old ones will become young. What do you think the Onesies will do?”

  Muzik shrugged. “If I had to guess, the same things all the other paranoid control freaks do – internment, quarantine, prison, execution?”

  “Then we have to move fast. Tonight, if possible.”

  Muzik sighed. “We have maybe forty effectives. Most of them are civilians with uniforms on, a few cops – and you and me. What’s your plan?”

  She straightened, smiling crookedly. “Me and you, we sneak in and break them out. Just like old times, sir.”

  “Not much of a plan. Gonna be tough.”

  “Tougher than the Nebraska?”

  “At least we had hot showers. And Spooky.”

  “And both your arms. Wish they were all with us here.”

  “Me too.” He rubbed his eye with a grimy finger, digging out something that he flicked away.

  “Keep them searching around here, will you? Just in case?”

  “Sure. But if they find Rick…”

  “He’s probably dead. Yeah. Even so.”

  Muzik sighed. “All right. They’ll make sure. I’ll tell the doc. She’s senior after me.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  -33-

  The Homeland Security convoy laagered overnight in Ashland at the insistence of Colonel Ray Moore. His Virginia National Guard battalion garrisoned the town on behalf of Governor Allaine, and Major Vargas was not about to argue too strenuously about the invitation, not in the presence of armor that could make short work of his MRAPs.

  Besides, if he had wanted the Homies dead, Moore could have destroyed them at a distance with tank fire and there would have been nothing Vargas could have done about it. No, someone had to extend some trust, and Special Envoy Tyler had made it clear that that someone was going to be Vargas.

  I knew he’d start to meddle sooner or later. I should have killed him on the way and got it over with. Vargas started to sweat, despite the cooling afternoon breeze. He felt nervous, shaky, and suddenly wondered whether one of the Plagues had gotten to him despite the inoculations.

  “I insist on comin
g along with you, sir,” he’d boldly declared to Tyler. Now Vargas wondered what his recklessness had gotten him into. He hadn’t stayed alive and moved up taking stupid risks, but now…well, the man did have the ear of the President. A distinguished action now might set his career on a meteoric path. Hell, they’d offered that puta Marine a commission, though the dumb bitch had turned it down.

  So he’d volunteered to come along, commanding the one vehicle they had let drive into Richmond – after a thorough search. They’d allowed the crew to keep their personal weapons but had dismounted the minigun, and the infantry squad had to be left behind.

  Just a driver, an RTO, the Envoy and himself.

  A Humvee led them and a clanking Bradley followed behind, its chain gun aimed point-blank at the rear of the MRAP. Apparently trust only went one direction right now. Vargas looked around again, wondering if the Richmonders were going to double-cross them on the way or when they got to their destination. That gun’s a message, clear as day, they intend to kill us. Kill me. Yeah, that’s it. They’ll blow my head off because they know I have the full combat nano, and leave Tyler to get the glory. Bastards. Tyler must have already contacted them somehow, talked them into it. Vargas wiped his burning brow. His hand came away bloody but he failed to notice.

  The roads were clear, at least the ones they used. Vargas saw people working, using heavy equipment to clear wreckage and salvage vehicles. He could see vapors from distant smokestacks, so some kind of industry throve. He also saw plenty of burned-out buildings, and once a derailed train sprawled, a giant child’s mad jumble of toys. Still, civilian trucks and cars moved cautiously about, more and more as they passed through checkpoints toward the heart of the city. And every one of the people looked at him with secret smiles.

  Tyler wedged himself up through the hatch, then climbed up to ride on the top of the moving truck. Vargas could swear the Envoy was enjoying himself, the wind of movement whipping through his crew-cut hair. Just trying to tempt me…he’ll heal up from a fall. And if he didn’t…what kind of reward would the President give to the man who saved the mission by negotiating a settlement with Richmond after such a tragedy? One little push…but it will have to be certain.

  Vargas eyed the treads of the twenty-five ton Bradley rumbling behind them, and he itched to reach out, snap the man’s neck, then toss him under. It would be easy, with his full combat nanites.

  He was thankful no one had ever forced the Eden Plague on him, so nothing would mess with his head. In fact, he felt his mind was clearer than ever.

  -34-

  Only when the last survivor was dug out of the fallen buildings did Repeth face the unpleasant task she had been dreading. She walked out to the last tank sitting immobile in the field, the one that had made it the closest. The one that Swede had immobilized, had given his life to stop.

  The behemoth squatted there in the tall grass. Already it felt deserted, like those old tanks on static display in front of public buildings, empty and dead. Two bodies lay nearby, far fewer than Repeth would have expected, until she remembered that most of the wounded would be Edens – either enemies newly infected by the Needleshock rounds, or the ones on their side. Only the dead – or the trapped – stayed in place.

  Two minutes later she discovered another possibility. The fourth body she found still breathed. Unfortunately he was hamburger and bone splinters below the hips, and suffering from healing starvation. She cursed herself for the delay, hardly believing that even an Eden could be so badly wounded and still live.

  She knelt down, keying her radio as she examined him. “Colonel, can you send out the doc with an aid bag and a stretcher team? I found Swede Gunderson, but he’s in a bad way.”

  When Doc Horton got there she dropped the aid bag and knelt down next to Swede. The doctor’s jaw set as she saw the extent of the damage. “I’m surprised he’s still alive. It’s going to take a while before his legs and…”

  “Yeah. And the rest of him.”

  “God, what a mess.” The doctor deftly threaded an IV needle into the man’s arm and rigged a bag on the holder attached to the stretcher. “But if he survives today, he’ll eventually get it all back.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be glad of that. Man’s not a man without a manhood.”

  The doc chuckled grimly. “Better work on that sense of humor. It’s not dark enough.”

  As the stretcher team arrived Jill swept her vision along the treeline to the north. She didn’t see anything but since she was halfway there… “Doc, if you’re okay here I’m going to do a deeper recon, see if I can clear out any watchers they might have left.” Once the doctor grunted assent, Jill took off, angling to the right at a crouch. She reported her intent on the radio.

  Again she was crossing a large open space, and her skin crawled as she remembered the hot stab of the bullet in her spine. The sun burned bright overhead, heating the Virginia air to its usual humid swelter. She was glad of the heat, for it let her excuse herself for sweating. It’s just the temperature, she told herself, not fear. I don’t get scared. Right.

  Paralysis had reminded her about fear. That some wounds the Eden Plague couldn’t just fix. She rubbed a phantom ache in her back.

  Inside the cooler forest she worked her way leftward toward the north, searching for any sign of reconnaissance, but amazingly she didn’t find any. These people aren’t really military, she realized. They’re just a mob with weapons.

  Turning to go back, she spotted a flickering movement deeper in, cloaked in the forest shade. Freezing in place, she opened her perceptions, defocusing, looking just for movement. A moment later she found it, a darker patch with white eyes in it.

  The boy.

  Immediately Jill sat down with her back to a tree, placing her weapon on the ground and her hands on her knees. Then she waved.

  He came cautiously but confidently forward to place himself in front of her, on his knees as well, about five feet away. Just outside of grab range. He’s careful.

  “Hello,” she said quietly. “Can you understand me?”

  The boy shrugged, said nothing.

  Jill smiled broadly, and the boy matched her expression. “Can’t you talk?”

  He shrugged again, then shook his head no.

  So he can understand, at least some. Wonder why he can’t talk. Not important right now. “That’s all right, I’ll talk for the both of us. Do you live alone? No? With people then. Good people? Okay. Can these other people talk? No? Interesting. Did you used to be able to talk? Yes. Did you all get sick and lose your voice? Aha.” Something a Plague did. Wouldn’t be DP1, the Fredericksburgers got that and they can talk just fine. Must be DP2 or some variant. The medical briefings said they thought it would make people stupid and animalistic but not this one or his people.

  Jill picked up twig and smoothed a patch of dirt. “Can you write? No. Used to before? Hmm. Can you read? No. Could you read before? Yes…so it took away your ability to read and speak, but not understand. Oh…were you Edens before? Do you know what that means?”

  The boy shook his head no.

  Damn. Maybe they were Edens and that’s why they ended up this way. “Did anyone die when everyone got sick? Yes? How many, a lot? Yes…about half? Yes.” That’s it, then. These people were Edens and got hit with DP2. Those that survived lost some part of their higher functions but not all of them. The kid seems bright enough.

  “My name is Jill. Do you have a name?”

  The boy thought for a minute, then shrugged. He didn’t seem distressed by the lack.

  “I’ll call you Bobby, then. How’s that?”

  He shrugged, smiled.

  Jill thought to herself that she would very much like to meet Bobby’s people, but she had little time. Such a meeting was also fraught with danger and uncertainty – what if his – tribe, maybe – were not as friendly as he was? What if they tried to keep her prisoner or make her someone’s mate or …who knows what kind of society these people might have built hiding in t
he forest?

  But they might be able to help her. She couldn’t be sure they had all lost the ability to speak or write. Local knowledge of Fredericksburg could be invaluable. She made a decision, reached for her radio. “Colonel, this is Repeth. I’ve made contact with the boy we saw before. I’m going to see if I can liaise with his people, maybe find something out.”

  Bobby stared at her with big eyes, as if trying to understand why she was speaking into the air.

  “Roger,” Muzik replied. “But get out at the first sign of trouble. Remember all of our people who need your help. You’re vital.”

  “Will do. Any luck with the Navy or the Homies?”

  “Still can’t reach them. We’re trying to rig a better antenna, but these tactical radios aren’t made to go so far. Unfortunately the long-range ones are scrap.”

  She signed off, then slowly stood up so as not to spook the boy. She held out her left hand, and Bobby immediately took it. Her right stayed on her PW10.

  He led them northeastward for perhaps two miles, staying to the woods, avoiding open fields, crossing small roads quickly, furtively. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and what he was doing, and she speculated on the qualities of a six-year-old that roamed so far from his home. Fearless, self-reliant – but then, an Eden would have even less fear of injury than a normal boy, and after the bombs fell, more reason to search, scout and scavenge.

  They finally broke out of the intermittent wooded hills to see a stretch of neat old brick homes surrounded by yards gone to ruin. Doors and windows were broken open, as if they had been carelessly looted. She expected Bobby to go to a house or building, but instead he crossed to a place by the woods where a drain emptied onto a wild slope, obviously an outflow for the built-up area. He led her into the four-foot pipe.

  She stopped at the entrance, fished a tiny light out of her pocket. She shone it down the dark tunnel but could see nothing past about twenty feet. “All right, Bobby, lead on. Hope you know what you’re doing.”