Brett Battles - Sick

Near the door were two floor-to-ceiling cabinets.

“Here,” Pax said, handing the guns to Ash.

With his hands free, Pax pulled a couple boxes of ammunition out of one of the cabinets. He then motioned Ash back into the hallway, and led him to the door on the opposite wall.

“Right in here,” he said as he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Ash could sense the depth of the room even before Pax flipped on the lights and revealed a space that moved out from the door for at least fifty yards. Not too far in was a row of narrow dividers, and tracks along the ceiling that ran the length of the room. A classic indoor firing range.

Pax set the boxes of bullets on the shelf of the middle divider, then took the guns back. “As you might have noticed, we’ve got three compacts here, all nine millimeter like your old M9.” He set two of the guns down, then held up the third. “This one’s a Smith amp; Wesson M amp;P Compact. Twelve rounds plus one in the chamber. Trigger pull at six and a half pounds.” He put it down, and picked up the next one. “Glock 19. Fifteen rounds standard. Five and a half pounds on the trigger pull.” He replaced it with the last. “And this one’s the SIG SAUER P229. It holds thirteen rounds. Single-action trigger pull at four-point-four pounds. So, which would you like to try first?”

Ash decided to take them in order, starting with the Smith amp; Wesson. Although he had no problem controlling the kick, he could feel the first few shots all the way up his arms and into his head. Once he got going, though, the pain became more background noise than anything else.

Next he went to the Glock, then the SIG. After he took the last shot, Pax said, “So?”

Ash looked at the gun in his hand. “I like the feel of this one.”

“Good choice. One of my favorites. Of course, I’m partial to all three of them, so you couldn’t go wrong whichever way you went. You want to shoot some more?”

“Yes.” Ash popped the mag out and handed it to Pax. “I’d like to tighten up my groupings.”

With Pax’s help, by the time Ash had polished off the last round in the second box of ammo, his groupings at fifty feet could be covered by a dollar bill.

“It’s a good start,” Pax said.

“Get another box.”

Pax looked at him, surprised. “Don’t want to take a break?”

Ash released the mag into his hand. “No.”

As he plowed through the third box of bullets, he pictured the face of Dr. Karp on the target.

This time, his groupings were much better.

The members of the media who’d been covering the roadblock at Sage Springs were flown to Fort Irwin Army base outside Barstow, California. Technically, they were still in the quarantine zone, but so far there had been no known cases in Barstow or on the base.

There, Tamara was able to learn that contingents of soldiers had been sent east on I-40 and northeast on I-15 to turn back motorists coming in from Arizona and Las Vegas. She’d also had an interesting, off-the-record conversation with one soldier who’d said the roadblocks had already dealt with several irate drivers insisting that they didn’t have time to drive all the way to the I-10 to get to L.A. so they should be let through. Many promised to “keep their windows rolled up” and “not make any stops,” while a couple of people had even gotten out of their cars and tried to physically intimidate the highway patrol officers who were handling most of the problems. Needless to say, those individuals had been arrested and taken east to a jail just on the other side of the Nevada border.

Even having learned all that, Tamara was frustrated. The Army was not allowing them to go anywhere. It was like the media were prisoners on the base, stuck with whatever news the Army decided to give them.

To add to her annoyance, her brother still hadn’t gotten back to her. He’d given her that great lead then poof -disappeared. She’d just tried to call him again, but when she got his voice mail once more, she’d hung up and called her parents.

“Tammy, please tell me everything’s fine,” her mother said. The last time Tamara could call them had been the previous day right after the news broke. “We’ve been glued to the TV every second we’ve been awake. They keep showing that part where you and your friends are running to the helicopters. I wish they’d stop that. It nearly gives me a heart attack every time.”

“Mom, just turn it off when it comes on,” Tamara said. “Or just switch to another channel.”

“I couldn’t do that. Your ratings.”

Tamara’s mom had it in her mind that every single household was monitored and counted in a network’s ratings. Even if that were true, PCN’s ratings wouldn’t have suffered from the temporary loss of one viewer. Especially not now, when Tamara was sure that if a TV was on somewhere, it was tuned to one of the news channels.

“Mom, have you heard from Gavin?”

“No, dear. But you know your brother. He gets tunnel vision. Probably working on a project.”

Tamara frowned. He did get tunnel vision at times, but he’d never let her down like this before. “Okay. Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Tammy?” her dad said. He’d obviously been listening in on the other line. “Have you talked to your boss? They need to get you out of there. You’re right in the middle of everything.”

“I’m a news correspondent, Dad. I’m always in the middle of things. Besides, everything’s fine here. The closest outbreak is at least fifty miles away.”

“But you never know, sweetie. The sooner you get out of there, the better your mother and I are going to feel.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine.” She noticed Joe trying to wave her over to where the majority of the media was hanging out. “Look, I’ve got to go. I love you.”

“We love you, too,” her mother said.

“Very much,” her dad added.

“Okay. Bye.”

She hung up, then hurried over to her producer. “What’s up?”

“Just got off the phone with Irene,” he whispered. Irene was their boss in New York. “She says they’ve been negotiating with the Army to get us taken out to the I-15 roadblock.”

“That’s great!”

“What’s great?” Peter Chavez, a reporter with one of the wire services, turned and asked.

“Uh, nothing, Peter,” Joe said, then smiled. “Just…telling Tammy about what I’m getting my wife for her birthday.”

Peter didn’t look convinced. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Tamara said, trying to cover her mistake. “He’s taking her to Paris. Isn’t that cool?”

Peter frowned. “Guess salaries are nicer over there at Generic Cable News.”

“I guess they are,” Joe replied. He then grabbed Tamara’s arm and moved her away from the crowd. “What an ass.”

“When will we know about going to the roadblock?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure. Soon, I hope.”

Not too far away, a TV had been set up under a canopy so that people with nothing to do could watch. The screen suddenly filled with some jumpy, low-quality video, catching Tamara’s eye.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Joe looked over and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Quickly they both made their way to the back of the group watching the television.

“Bobby,” Tamara said, noticing her cameraman a couple people ahead of her.

When he turned, she motioned for him to join them in the back.

As soon as he moved in beside her, she asked, “What is that?”

“Somebody just uploaded it to the Internet,” he said. “Some sort of skirmish at a roadblock just east of Tehachapi.”

Tehachapi was west of the town of Mojave, which was in the quarantine zone, and east of Bakersfield, which was not.