Jeff Carlson: Plague Zone

On the other side of the world, the Indians and the Russians had reached an agreement that also benefited the Leadville government. Leadville would help ferry the Russian Army into the Himalayas in exchange for India’s research teams and equipment. Leadville was eager to stay ahead of the Chinese in the sprint for nanotech supremacy. As part of the deal, Leadville agreed to bring the wives and children of Russia’s highest leaders safely into Colorado along with the Russian treasury, deepening the bond between the two nations. But there was a double cross. The Russians smuggled a doomsday bomb among their gold and museum pieces. They murdered their own families for the chance to destroy the world’s only superpower, erasing Leadville from the mountains with a fifty-megaton nuclear strike. U.S. and Canadian forces across North America were blinded by the electromagnetic pulse. Hours later, the Russians flew into California, supplementing their few aircraft with the rest of the planes sent by Leadville, which they’d commandeered.

They captured most of the scattered Americans who carried the vaccine in their blood. Then they spread the immunity among their own pilots and ground troops, not only in California but on the far side of the world. The Russians became the first organized military to own the vaccine. It gave them an insurmountable advantage. They raided below the barrier everywhere, not only restocking from their motherland but also using Arab and U.S. planes, armor, fuel, and food to turn the tide against their enemies.

Even then, the Russians barely had the strength to mount an invasion, but they were committed. After bombing Leadville, their safest course was to defeat the entirety of the United States rather than retreating home, where they might have been vulnerable to reprisal missile strikes.

The Russians also shared the vaccine with the Chinese. Their new allies brought naval fleets into Los Angeles and San Diego, accelerating the push for control of North America.

Beneath the air war, Cam became instrumental in spreading the vaccine. He was one of the very few Americans who escaped California. Later, he also had a hand in developing a third new generation of nanotech. More importantly, he also joined the conspiracy that betrayed the U.S. leadership again. Their generals wanted to unleash a new contagion against the Russians and the Chinese. Instead, Cam and the other traitors forced a cease-fire. None of them wanted to see any more killing, no matter what the enemy had done.

The peace they created was an uneasy one, yet the Russians and the Chinese pulled back to the coast. Some of the invaders had already left for Europe and Asia. Presumably the rest were preparing to go, too. The war had ended fifteen months ago, but the combatants on all sides were exhausted. There were shortages of fuel, medicine, and tools. They had to deal with the bugs and widespread crop death.

America had become a frontier again. Outside of its military bases and the few civilian populations of any size, there was no law. The government was a loosely tied conglomeration of territories and city-states led by generals, farmers, engineers, and the occasional religious messiah. Many people were seasonal nomads, forever trying to stay ahead of the insects. They retreated up into the Rockies each summer and moved down again in wintertime, which made the foothills a perfect place to hide.

Among the military, Cam and Allison were still wanted criminals for their role in ending the war.

“We’re going to starve if this keeps up,” Cam said bitterly. For the moment, he was alone with Allison at the short metal doors of their toolshed. Otherwise he never would have said what he was thinking. That was the price of leadership. He was never allowed to falter, and he worried that becoming a father would only increase that pressure. A small son or daughter would need unerring guidance to survive.

Cam knelt and set his flamethrower beside a fuel can. “I don’t know what else to do,” he said.

“It’ll be okay,” Allison said, handing him a funnel.

He stared out across the dark blocks of their homes and greenhouses. Beyond the village, the vast, pyramid shapes of the Rockies were still distinct against the night. Much closer, flashlights cut and swayed through the buildings, as restless as the wind. Batteries were priceless, and only four of their lights were rechargeable — but in an emergency, all rationing efforts were forgotten despite the fact that they had no industrial base whatsoever. This village was barely more than a collection of huts, like so many other towns, most of them with patriotic names like Freedom or Defiance or Washington, celebrating their lost heritage. There were probably ten villages called Independence in Colorado alone. At least these people had been more original, naming their home Jefferson after one of America’s slightly less popular founding fathers.

“We were going to have a tough winter even with all that corn,” he said. “There’s no way to tighten rations any more.”

Allison shook her head. “We can trade with Morristown if we have to. The other greenhouses are fine, right? We’ll inspect the floors, and we can rebuild the third one. We’ll make the concrete thicker this time.”

Cam opened the flamethrower’s tanks but stopped there. Then he stood and kissed her. Allison grinned and pressed against him. Cam slipped his hands on either side of her waist. Inside her jacket, Allison was strong and lean except for her rounding belly. She smelled like soap, a good, healthy, feminine smell.

They’d reversed their normal attitudes while Cam was inside the greenhouse — her pessimistic, him upbeat — when Allison was usually more positive, even bold. They handled danger differently. Cam tended to be clearheaded in the face of a threat. It was only afterward that he sometimes invented new problems, as if, deep down, he’d long since become more comfortable with stress than with calm.

He knew he would never have been a successful voice in Jefferson without her support. She steadied him. Allison had a huge grin that could be aggressive but she also used it to make friends, like a beacon, drawing everyone to her. It didn’t hurt that her willingness to work was unparalleled even now that she was in her second trimester. Allison just naturally found her way to the front of any group. She had no trouble riding herd on a township of forty-four souls, whereas Cam preferred to work in small groups on short missions like burning out the ants.

He lacked her easy calm — and he was always proud of her. He cupped his hand on her stomach. “You know you can’t build a whole city by yourself,” he said, teasing.

Allison flashed her teeth in the dark, obviously pleased by the joke. “We don’t need a city,” she said. Then she squeezed his hand and turned away, ready to get back to work.

Cam tried to share her optimism. He didn’t like it that he was always angry. Allison was right. Their village was more than he’d ever expected to have, and he clung to his sense of gratitude. But he knew he would miss Eric. Worse, they could no longer trust the ground under their feet.

Their homes were built on concrete pads like the greenhouses, with few windows, because every board and nail had to be pried out of the old cities, where the bug infestations were unimaginable. Every scavenging mission was a risk, but fabricating things such as glass, hinges, or doorknobs was beyond them. They were limited to what they could find, and they were always desperate for cement, paint, and caulking. Every seam needed to be sealed. Ants, termites, spiders, and beetles were all attracted by one appetite or another. Everything was a target, even electrical lines or simple items like motor oil or tea or clothing.