by Jeff Carlson
Ruth’s face was torn with surprise and her lower lip hung open in a dull way that looked very much unlike her.
“Cam,” she said, reaching for him again. She’d clearly made her decision. She was opening herself to him, and yet he had to say no.
“Let’s get our packs. Come on.”
“Cam, wait.”
“It’ll take us a while to hike back up again and we can have dinner there,” he said as he moved away.
The four boys had shifted back from them, glancing at each other, but D Mac stepped forward as Cam went past, allowing Cam plenty of room. “Miss,” D Mac said, ignoring the fact that Ruth was nearly twenty years older. “I’m D Mac. I mean Darren.” He blushed and tried to cover it with a grin. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”
“Yes.” Ruth took the boy’s hand, but Cam was aware of her gaze following after him.
* * * *
They said nothing about who she was or the data index. They’d already risked enough, and they had to keep in mind that rumors would spread with the vaccine. They didn’t want anyone else to come hunting them for any reason.
The wind continued to pick up as the sun fell. It scraped over the mountain, howling and cold. The wolf pack did not complain. They put on all of their extra clothes. Samantha kept herself very noticeable in a yellow jacket. Then they hunkered down behind their rock berms in twos and threes, using each other for shelter and heat. Cam found space for himself beside Brandon and Mike, leaving Ruth with Ed, D Mac, Hiroki, and Newcombe. The distance between the tiny groups wasn’t much. Their camp barely covered thirty square feet inside the piles of rock, but he saw Ruth glancing at him again and again.
They threw a small party—a large fire and exotic food from Cam and Newcombe’s packs. Deviled ham. Canned pears. The fire snapped in the wind, throwing sparks and ashes, but Ed allowed the boys to use as much wood as they liked to keep the flames high. “There won’t be much left for breakfast,” Alex told him, and Ed said, “What the hell. We’ll get more.”
The boys hollered at the first can of food as if they’d never seen anything like it, but every one of them was careful not to dig out too much of the ham with their fingers. They passed the tin around so that everyone got some, even if Mike and Kevin had to lick the insides. It was the same with the pears, the crackers, the chocolate. Even faced with sudden wealth, they were careful. They were a team. Despite his raw mood, Cam was glad for their joy. He felt jealousy and pride.
The sky turned dark but held its blue half-light for more than an hour. Shadows grew in pockets across the land below, filling the leeside of every hill and low place like black lakes and seas, but there was nothing to shield this peak from the sun except the edge of the world itself. A few distant clouds glowed on the horizon.
“I say we take off tomorrow!” Mike still held one cracker in the frayed wool glove of his left hand, treasuring it. “That was the best food I’ve had in a year,” he said. “We might as well hike on it.”
“Yep.”
“Makes sense to me.”
That was Brandon and Hiroki, and Cam glanced up to find D Mac. He’d expected the boy to add his voice to theirs, but D Mac was quiet. A minute ago, Samantha had risen from her spot with Alex and Kevin to join her father, asking if she could brew some bark tea, but her real goal had been D Mac. She’d pulled him aside and Cam saw them whispering together. That must be how she operated. Just a private moment with her was an enticement and she had already drawn D Mac back to her side.
“We can carry as little as possible,” Mike said. “Bedrolls, canteens, just one cook set. We can make it there in two days, don’t you think?”
“Maybe you want to carry more,” Ed said in his tentative way of moving around a problem. Cam had noticed that the man did not give absolute commands. He tried to nudge the boys with half-formed concepts instead, letting them come to him to complete his ideas.
“You mean in case there’s a problem,” Hiroki said.
“We don’t know what’s down there.”
“Yeah. Fine.” Mike nodded impatiently. “So we also take a tent. Extra food. We should still be able to get over there in two days. Maybe less.”
“I just want you to be prepared,” Ed said.
He’s bending instead of breaking, Cam thought. The man had realized he’d never hold on to them, but he still hoped to rein them in a bit.
“It’s been a long time,” Ed said. “If it takes another week, what difference does it make?”
“Maybe just a couple of us could go first,” D Mac said. “Someone should look around, you know. Look for food. There must be all kinds of good stuff down there.”
Cam glanced past D Mac at the girl. It was her fear that D Mac was expressing.
“No,” Cam said, pushing himself up. The wind was like freezing water in his hair and just the change from sitting to standing made a vast difference in the light. The orange heat of the bonfire only rose to his waist. Above it, the sky went forever, empty and cold. “You go or you don’t get the vaccine,” Cam said. “It’s that simple, and every day matters. We told you. We’re at war. Leadville could fly over this mountain tomorrow. And why the hell would you want to stay on this fucking rock anyway, when the whole world is down there?”
“That’s right,” Mike said, muttering.
“You go or you stay.” Cam stared across the leaping fire at Ed and D Mac. “But you don’t get the vaccine unless you go.”
“You were careful with us,” Ed said evenly.
“Yes.” This wasn’t a conversation that Cam wanted to have—the monsters they might find. “You can be careful, too,” he said. “But you have to go. You have to try.”
* * * *
Cam noticed Ruth and Newcombe with their heads together and was immediately reminded of Samantha and D Mac, full of anger and suspicion. It was a weakness. He recognized that, but the destruction of his body had also destroyed something in his mind. He couldn’t see how he would ever have a woman again and it colored everything about them both, the girl and Ruth.
The camp was settling down for the night. The fire had burned down to coals and only Mike and Brandon remained at the red glow of the pit, murmuring together. Ed, Alex, and D Mac moved in the darkness, carrying blankets from one tent to two others to make room for their guests. Ed’s voice carried from the second tent as he argued with Samantha.
Cam knelt with his two friends. “What’s up?”
“We’ve been talking,” Ruth said. She seemed apologetic, even wary.
“You know we have to push these guys,” Cam said.
“That’s not it,” Newcombe said.
“I think we’d better try for our rendezvous,” Ruth said quickly. “The plane. I’m sorry, Cam. I’m sorry. My feet...I don’t think I can hike any more. And these guys can spread the vaccine for us now.”
I could, too, Cam thought, an instant before he understood that her worried frown held the same idea.
She didn’t want him to stay behind, but he didn’t want to keep going with her. She was his only hope of becoming whole again, developing powerful new nanotech to rebuild the damage to his skin and his insides, but how realistic was that? It was a dream. That was all. It would be years before scientists like her had any time or energy to spare, and even then what they knew best were weapons—simple, attacking technology like the plague and the vaccine. Sawyer had talked of immortality, but in the same breath he’d admitted he spent years just building the prototype that became the plague.
Cam didn’t want to be her dog, and Newcombe could protect her, and these boys needed help. They needed someone to lead them. He could begin to reorganize the survivors here and take the first small, difficult steps to try to rebuild.
Even if the vaccine wasn’t 100 percent effective, it was enough, and what if her plane was shot down? What if she never reached safety? It was crucial to save as many people as possible before next winter. Someone, somewhere, had to have a chance to reclaim th
e lowlands, and there might never be a better start than the opportunity presented by the Scouts.
“Newcombe still has his radio codes,” Ruth said. “The Canadians can send a plane that can touch down on a road or a meadow. Somewhere close.”
“As close as they can,” Newcombe said.
Cam only nodded. I should stay here, he thought.
12
In the high mountains south of Leadville, the night was calm but vicious. Clouds blocked out most of the sky, heavy and still, but the temperature had plummeted, an invisible sort of motion as if the ground itself was lifting away. Major Hernandez clapped his gloves together and flexed his shoulders, not liking the impression of nervousness but too cold to help himself. “Better make this quick,” he said.
“Hell yes, sir,” Gilbride answered.
It was better in the bunkers. The holes acted like buckets, retaining the thin heat of the day, but they couldn’t risk whispering through their plans with four or five other Marines packed in around them. The wrong word might ruin everything.
Two hours ago Sergeant Gilbride had barely made it back to camp before full dark, sweating hard, which could be dangerous in this environment. The moisture would freeze inside his clothes. Hernandez had ordered him to dig out a clean uniform and to get a little food and finally he’d gestured for Gilbride to step outside, nominally to help double-check the night watch.
“You’re okay?” Hernandez asked.
“Yes, sir,” Gilbride said, but his voice was a rasp and he’d been coughing when he returned to their peak. Gilbride couldn’t stop scratching at his neck or the underside of his left arm, either, where his skin was dry and red. Their medic had smeared these irritated patches with gun oil, but Hernandez couldn’t spare enough to constantly medicate his friend’s rashes.
Gilbride was allergic to this elevation. That was the short truth of it, and yet Hernandez continued to make demands on his endurance.
“I don’t know about Ward,” Gilbride said, “but Densen is scared. I’m sure he’ll want to talk more.”
“They’ll both send runners in a couple days?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we’ll just keep feeling them out,” Hernandez said, watching the dark sea above him. The thick, unmoving clouds didn’t smell like snow, but that could change and it would be a problem. It would keep them in their trenches and he couldn’t afford the delay. “I’ve met Ward,” he said. “He’s tough.”
“Yes.”
Hernandez nodded unhappily. “And it’s going to be as much like summer as it gets up here for the next few months. He might not come around. Not in time.”
U.S. Army Lieutenant Ward occupied a ridge two miles to their east with thirty men. Marine Colonel Densen was positioned another four miles beyond Ward with a group of a hundred and fifty. All were artillery-and-infantry units—they were meant to harass an air invasion just like Hernandez—but the rebel assault out of New Mexico had yet to come and they didn’t know why. Leadville had only told them to stay ready in the last radio alert.
“Walk with me,” Hernandez said. He had to maintain the fiction that he’d gone outside to check on the other shelters, so they’d make an appearance at Bunker 4.
There was very little starlight, but the moon was rising in the east and had yet to disappear into the clouds. For another twenty minutes, the bone-white arc of the moon would remain visible between the jagged black earth and the smooth line of the clouds overhead.
Hernandez didn’t look directly at the gleaming light because it would blind him. His eyes felt huge and sensitive. Instead he followed the muted thud of his own boots against the pale rock, moving slowly but with confidence. It was a world of silence and shapes. Gilbride stumbled and Hernandez turned and caught his arm. “Easy, Nate,” he said.
He thought the attacks out of New Mexico might not come. It looked like something big was developing. The rebels must be aware of it, too. In fact, the rebels probably knew more than Hernandez, because they had satellite coverage, whereas he was still radio silent.
Three days ago, a huge flight of C-17 and C-130J cargo transports had lifted out of Leadville—forty-five planes by his count. The fleet went southeast in two groups, the C-17s outpacing the older, prop-driven C-130Js. Where were they going? Each group had also been accompanied by a fighter escort of six F-22 Raptors, but Hernandez didn’t figure it was an offensive against New Mexico or Arizona. For one thing, an assault would have come back within hours.
Hernandez believed the Russian evacuation was finally in play. The transports must have gone around the world, but first they’d taken an angle to elude the rebels and the Canadians. So why didn’t New Mexico attack? Leadville was short on air power and he wasn’t sure the rebel leaders would hold back to avoid upsetting the diplomacy between Leadville, India, and the Russians. Or maybe they would. The rebels might hope to ally themselves with the new Indo-Russian state after defeating Leadville. They could be delaying to keep from threatening the Russian evacuation in any way. Far stranger deals had happened in other wars.
Hernandez was deep into a smaller conspiracy himself. For eight days now he had been using his sergeants to make contact with other nearby units. Delicate work. The first overture was simply that Gilbride and Lowrey went in person, off the radio. Then it was discussing each other’s vulnerabilities and how to cover each other, what supplies do you need, I can spare some blankets if you’ll give me aspirin.
The decision to send Gilbride and Lowrey as runners was also a cautious signal to his own troops. There was no way to conceal his sergeants’ absence for two or three days at a time. More than that, simply by exploring around him, Hernandez had acknowledged the anger and the desperation of his Marines.
He’d also made twice as many field promotions as he’d intended, giving stripes to eleven troopers. Most of the new ranks were deserved. One was awarded in the hope of pacifying a troublemaker. It couldn’t last. Very soon Hernandez would have to deliver something substantial, and he was reluctant to cross that line, because it would be a commitment. It would be treason. And yet the calendar was speeding by. June 2nd seemed like a long way from winter, but the seasons changed early at this elevation. Hernandez only had another ten or twelve weeks to figure out what the hell he was doing before snow was a certainty.
Stay loyal? Break away? He had no way to move south without being airlifted, and he couldn’t see the rebel forces in New Mexico gambling even one plane to bring his Marines to their side. The best he might be able to do would be to move his troops out on their own, away from the war, but then what? How would they survive? At least here they had a steady supply of food, small but steady. Yesterday Leadville had even driven out two wooden crates containing stale coffee, fresh green onions, and a few bags of cow meat.
Leadville must realize how easily they could be bought, and Hernandez looked at Gilbride again as the two of them picked their way through the endless rock. Thank you, he thought. He knew his sergeants were working even harder than he was, not just the physical effort to scale across to the other mountains and back, but enduring the tension within their own squads. A war of nerves. There was no easy way out.
In fact, Hernandez had decided not to get out. The basic facts of the situation remained. Leadville was better prepared than anyone else to develop the nanotech, so he would stay and defend the city. The problem was in the leadership’s decision to horde the vaccine for themselves. The only path to peace would be to share it, not only on this continent but overseas.
Hernandez was very late in coming to this realization. He wasn’t proud of himself. It had been too easy to go along with them when he was on the inside. He had been a part of the problem. That was the truth...So he would stay, but in his mind he had already rebelled.
Given enough time, enough work, Hernandez was sure he could convince most of the other field commanders to join him. Eventually the chance would come; the chance to make an excuse to report in person, bringing Gilbride
and a handpicked squad alongside him; the chance to imprison or kill most of the top leadership and then cement his takeover with the very same troops they’d positioned all around Leadville.
* * * *
But he was out of time. Hernandez woke from a light, uncomfortable doze into frigid green daylight, the morning sun filtering through the command tent.
“Sir!” Lucy McKay shook his arm.
“Where is—” He heard fighters. “I want missiles right into them, do it now before—”
The scream of the jets was away from his mountain, receding quickly. Hernandez staggered up and grabbed his jacket and boots in a confusion of people as Anderson and Wang rolled out of their sleeping bags.
McKay looked wild with her hood down and her color high in her cheeks. “It’s four F-35s, sir,” she said. “They’re ours. Looks like they’re going east.”
“Are there choppers out of New Mexico?”
“Command hasn’t said anything on the radio.”
He got outside with McKay still crowding his side. She was holding binoculars for him, their best, a pair of 18 × 50 image-stabilized Canons. Hernandez nodded thanks, although there was nothing to see. The jets were on the north side of the mountain. At a glance, the sky to the south was empty, too. There were less clouds than during the night. He studied the long slants of yellow sunlight.
McKay continued to fidget and Hernandez said, “Stay on the radio. Don’t call. Just stay on it and shout as soon as you know something.”
“Yes, sir.”
He stepped past Wang at the .50-caliber gun, past Bleeker and Anderson with a missile launcher. Bleeker looked steady but Anderson’s sun-scorched face was tight and Hernandez said, “You’re doing fine, Marine.”
Every alert wore them down a little more. When the fighters scrambled at night, there was the panic between getting outside and putting on enough clothes first. Four troopers had lost skin on their fingers when they ran to their weapons bare-handed. Another badly bruised her knee when she fell in the dark. But they had to respond. There was no way to know if Leadville was launching an attack or defending against one, and their own lives were on the line.
