Brett Battles - Sick

“What happened while I was out?”

Rachel said, “Daniel Ash is officially a suspected terrorist.”

He took a breath, trying to keep his anger in check, then nodded. “Just like you said.”

On the screen, there was a shot of the desert. It was flat and brown and looked very much like the desert he’d seen on TV the previous day, and the desert he’d lived in for a month or so before… it happened.

The only difference today, though, was that instead of a steady shot, the picture was wildly jumping around. In the upper corner was a small graphic that read Earlier Today .

“What’s going on?” he asked, nodding at the screen.

Matt grabbed the remote and deactivated the mute.

Out of the speaker came the sounds of pounding feet, cloth rubbing against cloth, heavy breathing, and wind whipping across a microphone. Whoever was carrying the camera was running.

“Watch out! Bobby, Bobby. Watch out!” a female voice said.

The camera tilted quickly to the ground, revealing an offset crack in the asphalt. The cameraman seemed to take a hop step, then the image moved back up.

“This way,” the woman said.

As the lens turned to the left, the back of a young woman came into view. She glanced over her shoulder at the camera. It was the reporter Ash had watched on TV the day before.

“Just carry it, Bobby. You’re going to fall otherwise.”

The picture swung wildly for a few seconds, catching sky, then ground, then feet, before stabilizing at a lower angle. The girl was still in the picture, running just a few feet ahead. Visible now beyond her was a military helicopter. As the image moved a bit to the right, Ash realized there wasn’t just one helicopter, but several.

The woman looked back again, this time her gaze moving well beyond the camera. “Joe! Hurry up!”

There were uniformed soldiers standing outside the open doors of the helicopter. As soon as the reporter got there, one of the soldiers grabbed her arm and helped her up.

“All the way in, ma’am. All the way in,” he ordered.

When the cameraman got there, the procedure was repeated. Once more the image became chaotic, then settled back down and angled out the door the cameraman had just come through.

There were several dozen people running through the desert toward the helicopters. In the distance, Ash could see cars and media vans parked along the highway, and the same large military trucks that had been blocking the road since the previous day.

Seven people seemed to be heading for the cameraman’s helicopter. One of the soldiers took a few steps toward them.

“Only room for four more! Only four!” he yelled, holding up four fingers. He then pointed at the three people farthest away. “You, you, and you! Over there!” He directed them to a neighboring helicopter, but none of the three changed course. “No more room here! You’re over there!”

The four who were okayed to get on reached the helicopter and climbed aboard.

“Glad you could join us,” the reporter said to one of the men. Ash guessed he was probably the Joe she’d been yelling to earlier.

The other three were still coming, so the soldier who had been trying to redirect them got between them and the helicopter, then moved the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder into his hands. He wasn’t exactly pointing it at them, but he was making it clear he could.

“No. Room. Here. That one!” He tilted his head at the other aircraft.

This time the three stragglers got the message.

The soldier and his buddy who’d been outside with him jumped through the door, then yelled up front, “We’re good to go.”

Almost immediately the helicopter lifted off. There was a final bird’s-eye shot of the desert, with Sage Springs laid out in the distance, then the image on the screen switched to the anchor in the studio.

“Those startling images were taken by cameraman Bobby Lion. With him was PCN reporter Tamara Costello and their producer Joe Canavo. The video was shot earlier this morning as they were evacuated out of the expanded quarantine zone that now stretches over a large portion of the Mojave Desert in Eastern California. As a reminder, if you are watching us from within the quarantine zone, you are asked to stay in your homes until further advised and avoid contact with anyone other than those who are already in your home with you.”

“It’s spread?” Ash asked.

“Several cases reported in Victorville this morning,” Billy said. “That’s just northeast of L.A. They’re also calling it the Sage Flu now.”

“My God.”

“You’ll want to watch this,” Rachel said, still looking at the TV.

“…alert for this man.” The anchor had been replaced by the same picture of Ash the networks had already been showing. “Daniel Ash, a captain in the U.S. Army, is now thought to be behind this terrorist attack. His motives are unknown at this time, but sources do tell us he’d been showing signs of instability since returning from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. As we learned earlier this morning, this tragedy was made worse by the discovery that Ash apparently killed his own family prior to releasing the lethal virus.”

The image changed to a picture of Ash with Ellen, Josie and Brandon.

All Ash could do was stare at the screen. Any doubts he may have had about what Matt and the others had told him-gone. Completely.

“That’s enough,” he finally said, then stood up. “I want to get to work.”

“Sure,” Matt said. “But why don’t we get you some breakfast first?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re going to need to eat something,” Billy said.

“I said I’m not hungry. So what’s next?”

Matt shared a look with Rachel, then glanced at Pax. “Weapons?”

“Sounds good to me,” Pax said. He rose to his feet and smiled at Ash. “How about a little target practice?”

“Lead the way.”

The door Pax stopped in front of not only had two deadbolts, but also a thumbprint-recognition screen that released steel rods holding the door in place from above and below. Inside was the armory. Weapons hung on all the walls, while more were stored on shelves.

“Most of these never get used,” Pax explained. “They’re here more for education, so we’re familiar with anything we might come up against.”

“Are you guys like some sort of militia? Is that what this is?”

Pax was silent for a moment. “That’s really a hard question to answer. I guess in some people’s minds we might be called that. But our purpose isn’t to create our own little country, or take on the government, per se. But you should really talk to Matt about that. He’s the explainer. Me, I’d just mess it up.” He flashed a quick smile. “When was the last time you fired a handgun?”

“I don’t know. Four or five months ago.”

“How good are you?”

“Good enough. Better with a rifle.”

“Probably gonna want to avoid rifles for a while,” Pax said. “If that butt’s in your shoulder and it kicks off and hits you in the face, you will not be happy. Of course, you could have the same problem with a pistol if you can’t control the recoil.” He smiled again. “Break your nose all over again. That’s not my idea of fun.”

“Don’t worry. I can control the recoil.”

“Thought you could.” Pax smiled. “How about a little pistol refresher? Sound good to you?”

“Sure.”

Hanging on one wall were at least a hundred different handguns.

“The Army issue you an M9?” Pax asked.

“Yeah.”

“I could pull down one of those, if you like, but I prefer one of these three here.” Pax removed three pistols from the wall.

“I’m not married to the M9, so if you’ve got something better, great.”