Plague War

by Jeff Carlson

  She didn’t doubt that Allison’s attraction to him was genuine, but she was suspicious of the girl’s reasons. Allison would always be looking to strengthen her faction here in Grand Lake, and Cam was both a celebrity and a veteran survivor. So the girl had tied herself to him.

  “You better come with me,” Ruth said, looking away from Allison to include the others in the group. “All of you. I need blood samples before you go anywhere else.”

  * * * *

  She turned her back on Cam in a daze. She knew what she had to do. A discovery as criticial as the ghost could not be left for later, so Ruth went forty-eight hours with only a few catnaps and two big meals, hiding herself in the lab.

  Was the ghost a Chinese construct? She knew that in Leadville, intelligence reports had put China’s research program at the top of the list after Leadville itself. The plague year had badly confused things, of course, and a nanotech lab could be small and easily hidden, but at the same time, the world had shrunk to a handful of island ranges. There were fewer places to watch. Their list of competitors was very short. China. Brazil. India. Canada. There was a displaced Japanese team on Mt. McKinley, Alaska, and a British group in the Alps. All except the Chinese had been considered friendly. Regardless, Ruth didn’t think any of them except the Chinese were capable of building the ghost, so it must be a threat.

  She had been wrong in her initial assessment. The ghost was 15 percent smaller than the vaccine, but more advanced. It was a high-level construct and in its complexity Ruth was able to discern the tiniest changes. Generations. A few blood samples from McCown and his assistants seemed to indicate that it had spread through the local population in waves. An early model was followed by another. Possibly more. Cam had probably gotten it from Allison, and Ruth continued to fear that the ghost was only waiting to reach some critical mass before decimating Grand Lake.

  Was it everywhere across the Continental Divide? Shaug allowed her to send radio queries to the labs in Canada, and the answer was no. So where had the technology come from?

  The ghost was in Ruth, too. It appeared in her blood on their fourth day, just a half step behind Cam’s infection, which fit with her hypothesis. The count in Newcombe’s sample was also low. They hadn’t brought it to Grand Lake. Grand Lake had infected them.

  After that, her tactics changed. Ruth insisted on blood samples and basic information from a thousand soldiers and refugees, beginning a crash program to backtrack the ghost’s origins. For two more days she dedicated computer time to the task along with most of McCown’s group and dozens of overworked medical staff. She was fighting her own people. Shaug and the military leaders pressed her for new and better weapons. Ruth refused. It was the wrong priority.

  Deborah Reece became a crucial ally and volunteered to oversee the blood work. Ruth let herself be interrupted to monitor the snowflake production, but mostly she’d handed that effort off to McCown.

  The land war was rapidly escalating to the brink. The Chinese naval fleet swarmed into San Diego and Los Angeles and dispersed tens of thousands of infantrymen, armored units, and aircraft, opening a new front against the United States. Meanwhile the Russians continued to push through Nevada—and the invaders were winning the battle for air supremacy. The Russian air force was full of relics and mismatched planes, and the Chinese had similar problems, but even at half strength they dominated the United States, especially as America continued to shuffle working aircraft into key positions.

  Each side tried to protect their planes and fuel supplies even as they sent fighters slashing into each other’s territory. Each side rushed to claim airports and old U.S. bases, destroying some, protecting others, a game of chess with negotiations flaring and failing. The U.S.-Canadian forces threatened full-scale nuclear strikes on mainland China and the Russian motherland if the invaders did not immediately pull back to the coast, while the Chinese swore they’d respond in kind, plastering the Continental Divide at the first sign of an American missile launch.

  It should have been insignificant, but Ruth also had to confront Allison every morning as Cam and Allison helped to deliver the samples and geographical data from hundreds of refugees. Ruth couldn’t help believing that Allison and Cam were a good match, both of them scarred but still young and strong, savvy and dedicated.

  In fact, Ruth went to Allison first after she’d made her decision.

  * * * *

  She caught her just after sunrise. Cam and Allison were inside a broad tent where they’d set up a dozen benches, a dry-erase board, and four desks to process the refugees who came in exchange for a granola bar or an extra piece of clothing. There was already a crowd forming outside.

  Cam had his head together with an Army medic over a clipboard. Ruth walked past them. She felt ill with tension and lack of sleep and Allison grinned at her. It wasn’t a mean gesture. The girl knew she’d won, and Ruth thought she was only trying to be friendly. Possibly there was just the smallest hint of amusement or pity in the way she treated Ruth for being older, too old for Cam.

  “Hello,” Allison said.

  “We need to get out of here,” Ruth said bluntly. She was angry that anyone could seem so content, and took satisfaction in wiping away Allison’s big smile.

  “Oh shit,” the girl said. “Cam told us it was probably a weapon—”

  “No. No, I still don’t know.” Ruth shook her head at herself. She had no right to blame Allison. But she had her suspicions about who had designed the ghost. She recognized the work. Every machinist had his or her own style, exactly like painters, writers, and musicians. The ghost wasn’t Chinese. It was American. The new technology belonged to Gary LaSalle, and Ruth said, “I think it came from Leadville. I think Leadville cornered our friends before they made it into the Sierras and then they had the vaccine, too, which means they could have run spin-offs for at least a week and a half before the bombing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Allison said. “Who had the vaccine?”

  Ruth realized she wasn’t making sense. Cam would have understood, but Allison hadn’t been there. “I need your help,” she said.

  “You bet.” Allison nodded, watching her face closely. The girl had finally noticed Ruth’s exhaustion.

  “There were two more people with us who made it out of Sacramento,” Ruth said. “A soldier and another scientist like me. They had the vaccine. Leadville caught them. That was about two weeks ago, and Leadville must have started running trials and new versions based on that technology.”

  There were four different strains of the ghost. Ruth had solved that much of the riddle without coming any closer to knowing what the ghost was supposed to do. At the same time she’d also identified, very roughly, four infection points that had since blended as the remnants of Leadville’s armies split and surrendered and migrated away from ground zero. The leadership there had been secretly testing new models of the ghost on their own people. They’d dosed forward units to see what would happen—and yet the ghost was not a perfect vaccine, even though it should have been easy for them to improve the crude, hurried work that Ruth had done in Sacramento.

  The teams in Leadville never would have left the vaccine exactly as it was, not bothering to improve it. Ruth knew that much. A better vaccine must exist. Leadville’s machining gear far exceeded anything that Grand Lake had been able to steal or buy. Leadville also had the expertise of fifty of the best minds in nanotech. A vaccine that offered full immunity against the plague would have been their first priority, but they must have kept it for themselves exactly as she’d feared. Then they’d begun to experiment with other nanotech.

  What did the ghost do? Could she recover the improved vaccine somewhere? Ruth would never be able to match their work or recreate it on her own, not for years or decades, but there might be survivors from their inner circle or molecular debris that had been thrown clear of the blast and absorbed by the nearest refugees. She was certain she could find other traces of their handiwork, if only she looked. />
  “We have to get out of here,” Ruth said, “and I need you to help me convince Shaug to let me go. I need an escort. Cars. My equipment.”

  “That won’t be easy. I can talk to the other mayors.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ruth needed to follow the muddled, invisible trail back into the south to see if she could recover LaSalle’s best work before it was lost forever. There wasn’t anyone else who could sort through and identify the nanotech.

  “Do you think Cam...Will he come?” Ruth ducked her head from Allison’s gaze and spoke to the floor. “He’s finally safe here. And he has you and his other friends.”

  Allison waited until Ruth looked up again, then shook her head and smiled once more. This time the smile was sad, and Ruth understood that Allison carried her own resentment. In fact, Allison would have been glad to see her go.

  “Try to stop him,” Allison said.

  21

  “Move away from the jeep,” Cam said, holding his carbine on the burned man. Beside him, Corporal Foshtomi aimed her submachine gun at the man’s teenage sons. They stood in the middle of a small crowd. Cam and Foshtomi had their backs against their jeep, with Sergeant Wesner perched above them— but when Cam risked one glance, he saw that Wesner had turned away to cover the other side.

  There were at least seventy refugees on the hill. Most of them gathered in a clump at the first of the three vehicles, where Ruth, Deborah, and Captain Park were drawing blood. Some people had already hurried away with a can of food or a clean sweater, their reward for cooperating. But there were others who’d drifted out of line. The burned man and his sons had reached into the back of the second jeep to grab whatever wasn’t tied down until Wesner shouted at them.

  “We need it more than you,” the burned man said.

  “Move.” Cam pulled the charging bolt of his M4, a harsh metallic clack, but the burned man only stared at the supply cases as if convincing himself. “Move!” Cam yelled.

  “Get back! Get back!” Wesner shouted, supporting him, and at the head of the column, six more Army Rangers took up the warning, suddenly pushing into the crowd.

  The noise from the refugees was less powerful, although the Rangers were badly outnumbered. Cam saw Deborah grasp at a starving woman to keep her in their canvas folding chair. Captain Park was inoculating everyone with the vaccine after Deborah drew a blood sample, but the stick-figured woman thrashed away from Deborah, screaming. At the same time, Ruth lurched back from the crowd and drew her pistol.

  Good girl, he thought. His divided attention nearly killed him. The burned man stepped in with a knife and Foshtomi shifted her weapon.

  “No!” Cam said, jostling Foshtomi’s arm. Foshtomi was small and tightly built. She probably weighed a hundred and five in her boots, but she was quick as hell. She bent away from Cam and swung her gun up again, jamming its snub nose into the man’s ribs.

  “Don’t fuckin’ move,” she said.

  Cam covered the two boys with his carbine. There was more shouting at the head of the column, but he kept his eyes locked on their faces. The burns were radiation. They’d been close enough to the flash that their skin had seared. Now they wore permanent shadows like cracked brown paint. Where was the boys’ mother? Dead? Only hiding? This family had seen the world end twice but still had the determination to fight their way north, and Cam did not want to hurt them. He’d felt it before—this sensation of staring into a mirror. It was only a wild chain of luck and circumstance that had put him on the other side of the glass, well-fed, in uniform, and armed.

  “Just go. Please.” Cam almost reached into the jeep for a few cans of food, until Foshtomi added, “You’re lucky I didn’t blow your guts out through your spine.”

  Foshtomi continued to glare after they’d left. She was trembling, though, and Cam smiled to himself. Of all the good men and women who’d volunteered to leave Grand Lake, this brash little Ranger was his favorite. Like so many of the best survivors, Foshtomi possessed certain traits. As the only woman in her squad, she could be crude at times, even heartless, as if compensating for her small size, but Foshtomi was also smart, active, and tough. In fact, she often reminded Cam of Ruth, in the same ways Allison did, except that the only history he shared with Sarah Foshtomi was uncomplicated and new.

  * * * *

  Being with Allison had changed him. His self-image was still shaky, but his confidence was growing again. He wasn’t so bitter or afraid. Maybe he should have been. He’d taken the first hesitant steps toward building a normal life in Grand Lake, only to leave her. Allison had stayed behind and he didn’t blame her. She had other responsibilities. He’d realized his place was here.

  He made a point of finding Ruth that evening in camp. She looked up from her maps and Cam glanced left and right, feeling like he was on stage. The three jeeps sat in an open triangle with firing positions at each corner, in the middle of a long, slanting area of low brush and rock. The space inside was no more than ten yards across at its widest point. Twelve people made for a good crowd, even though most of them were either sitting at the guns or sacked out in their bedrolls. Cam saw Captain Park and another man watching him.

  The Rangers were curious. They’d gambled their lives for Ruth and they weren’t quite sure how Cam was attached to her— and he was obviously with her, no matter that he’d given his oath and wore their uniform. Cam was a Ranger in name only. He was still learning to disassemble and clean his weapon, the 5.56mm M4 carbine. He was slightly more familiar with the older M16, which had been carried by the troops out of Leadville, like Newcombe, but although the two models were very similar, Cam had never trained with one. The difference was unexpected. He knew the plague year had forced the military to draw on old stockpiles and equipment, yet it surprised Cam to learn that rebel soldiers were better armed than the troops had been in the capital, at least in this instance.

  Most of the Rangers were friendly, like Foshtomi. They were willing to teach him, but they wanted to know how he fit into the puzzle. So did he.

  The look in Ruth’s eyes was wary, though she tried to hide it with a smile. “Hi,” she said.

  “How are you doing?” Cam paused at the edge of her notes. Then he crouched on the far side of the battered sheaf of paper.

  Ruth began to tidy up and seemed glad for an excuse to avoid his gaze. She pointed at the map. “We haven’t found anything new yet,” she said.

  That wasn’t what he’d asked, but he nodded.

  Ruth shook her head. “I didn’t really expect to. We haven’t covered enough ground.”

  “We will,” Cam said.

  The sunset had that lasting quality he’d only found at elevation. Her hair shone in the twilight, and when she looked up, her brown eyes were dark and beautiful and so very serious.

  She deserved better. She should have been able to remain in Grand Lake, and Cam wondered at her insistence that no one else could screen the blood samples for nanotech. Ruth was still punishing herself. Why?

  The drive had been tough-going. They had the ability to drop below the barrier but they wanted to meet people, and the vaccine had yet to spread south of Grand Lake except where they’d distributed it themselves. There were no refugees below ten thousand feet. Regardless, the roads were jammed with stalled traffic. Mostly they went cross-country. In three days they’d gone just twenty-four miles, most of that weaving like a snake. Once they’d had to winch the jeeps down a broken mountainside. Several times they had to reverse direction and find another way. They didn’t have enough people to send anyone ahead as a scout, and even the best maps had become unreliable as mud slides or refugee encampments blocked the way.

  They avoided the largest groups. Twice they’d fled below the barrier after being surprised by shantytowns. Ruth wanted as many blood samples as possible, but they were afraid they’d be overrun. The squad carried four M60 machine guns in addition to their carbines and two snub Mac-10s that Foshtomi called “meat grinders,” but twelve people
could never be a match against a thousand. Their supplies made them a target. Fortunately they’d kept ahead of word of mouth. Their vehicles were a huge advantage, and almost everyone they met was learning about them for the first time.

  Their group was small for several reasons. They needed to be able to scavenge enough food and fuel to keep going. It was also important to avoid the attention of Russian-Chinese planes and satellites. A large convoy would have been more visible, and the sky was a greater threat than any starving survivors.

  Much like the expedition into Sacramento, this squad was all chiefs and no Indians. Foshtomi and Ballard were the only corporals. The others were sergeants of various sub-ranks, and John Park and Deborah were both captains, although it had been made clear that Park was in command.

  Deborah was an outsider like Ruth and Cam. She was never far from her friend. The tall blond had been charting her own notes, but now she got up and walked four paces and sat down again, joining Ruth. “Can I talk to you about the second group today?” she asked, interrupting whatever else Cam might have said.

  On purpose, he thought. Deborah had been quietly writing by herself for twenty minutes. She’d only stepped in after he came over. Had he missed a signal? Ruth might have looked past his shoulder and caught Deborah’s eyes... No. Ruth answered Deborah with a nod, but she turned to Cam and gave him an apologetic look. She wanted the chance to talk, even if he made her nervous, and Cam frowned to himself as he watched the two women. His rivalry with Deborah was just getting worse.

  “Four of those refugees also said they’d come from the east,” Deborah said, touching her notepad. “Do you want me to put their samples with the first group?”

  “Absolutely not,” Ruth said. “Let’s make a subset, though. Cross-reference them.”