Jeff Carlson - Plague Zone

“But then we’d be immune, sir.”

“We’d also be dead.”

“Wait, that’s it!” a woman said behind Walls. “Does he need to be alive? The enemy soldier, I mean. He doesn’t need to be alive, does he?”

“What are you thinking?” Walls asked.

Ruth pressed against the plastic on the window with her fingertips and her cheek, trying to follow their conversation. The woman wore one of the two civilian suits, bright yellow among the others’ black.

“The Chinese sacrificed at least a dozen planes when the bombs went off,” the woman said. “We tracked an IL-76 Mainstay that crashed not too far from here. That’s the only reason we saw it. It cut right in front of our radar.”

Walls turned to the Humvee. “Would their pilots have the vaccine, too?”

“Yes!” Ruth shouted.

“What kind of coordinates can you give us?” Walls asked the woman in the yellow suit. She held their radio, but set it by her feet to take one of the laptops Walls carried in a sling with a briefcase.

“Let me see what I can bring up,” she said.

“We’ll divide into two groups,” Walls said. “I need volunteers to go for the plane.”

“I know the area,” Cam said to Foshtomi.

“No,” Ruth said.

“I can scout for them.”

“Cam, no!” He just wants to keep running, she thought. From what? Allison’s death? “Let the soldiers handle it. We’re already doing our part. We—”

“He wouldn’t want you anyway,” Foshtomi said. “I don’t mean because of what you did. I mean because he can draw on his commandos.”

But she was wrong. “Lieutenant,” Walls said with impatience, “let’s have some volunteers. I need everyone on my team.” It was another example of that brutal math. “These men are translators and engineers,” he said, indicating his people, whereas Foshtomi’s troops were truck drivers, farmers, and artillery crew. Walls could afford to lose them.

“I’ll go,” Cam said.

“How many suits do I get?” Foshtomi asked through the window. Her tone bordered on insubordination, but Ruth liked her for sticking up for her soldiers.

Walls stared at her. “Two,” he said. “Will that be sufficient, lieutenant? I’m going to put my suit on Goldman. The others stay on my nanotech people, my pilot, and my translator.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Let us change out first,” Walls said. “Goldman can dress and then we’ll mount up.”

“Yes, sir.” Foshtomi turned to Huff and said, “Get me four volunteers. I need two guys with masks. The other two can have the suits.”

“I’ll head up this mission, lieutenant,” Huff said.

“I didn’t ask — Thank you, Tanya.”

Another of the commandos sidled up to the Humvee with his head bent to peer inside. But it wasn’t a man. The face inside the helmet was female, aristocratic and lean. Ruth gawked at her. “Deborah! Hey! Deborah!” she yelled.

A wan smile was the first reaction from Deborah Reece. Then she set her glove on the outside of the window and Ruth mimicked her old rival exactly, trying to meet Deborah’s hand through the glass.

Was there forgiveness in this gesture?

Ruth didn’t try to hide her tears. She beamed at Deborah, ecstatic yet also bewildered. Their paths had crossed so many times before. Why? Too many other friends had died or separated themselves from her. Frank Hernandez. James Hollister. Ulinov. Newcombe. Ruth couldn’t say if it was fate that had brought her back together with Foshtomi and Deborah, but more and more she believed in providence. Statistics alone couldn’t explain this reoccurring destiny. Yes, they’d all made their homes within fifty miles of each other, and she and Deborah were both carefully guarded for their education — but Kendra Freedman was a part of the equation, too, wasn’t she?

Four women. They represented darkness and light. Freedman was the most powerful component by far, but Ruth couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the brash Ranger lieutenant who would bring them to safety. Sarah Foshtomi was here for a reason, too. Ruth believed it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not even knowing why she was apologizing. “I’m so sorry.” Maybe the words were a mistake. She didn’t want Deborah to assume what Foshtomi had thought — that she was responsible for the new plague.

“It’s okay,” Deborah said. “I’m glad we found you.”

There wasn’t time for more. The first commando opened his suit as two others kept the blanket against his face and hands. Deborah stepped away from the Humvee to assist.

Nothing happened. The man was okay.

“What the hell is in those things?” Foshtomi asked, meaning the smoke detectors. Her tone was sarcastic. She wanted to break the tension. Ruth tried to laugh for her, but it was a weak, distracted sound. Everything she did felt forced, a mixture of losing control and keeping herself tightly under wraps.

They decontaminated General Walls next, then the woman in the civilian suit. Moving the commandos into the vehicles was more complicated. Foshtomi’s group had to open every Humvee and truck either to let volunteers out or bring the commandos in. They managed it in stages, risking only one vehicle at a time. Ruth hoped Deborah would end up in Two with her, but Walls sent Deborah to Five.

Then it was Ruth’s turn to get out. She was helpless to stop the process, but she felt ashamed again as she donned her suit. Walls had decided to risk the plague to save her. What could she possibly say to him?

I won’t fail you again, she thought. I’ll find a way. I swear it.

After she dressed, she told them about Kendra Freedman and the message in the nanotech, but Walls just shook his head. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do about that right now,” he said.

“Freedman could stop the plague!”

“We’ll talk about it. But let’s get moving.”

Sergeant Huff and three men were left behind with the Ford Expedition to drive north, where Agent Rezac had placed the fallen plane. Ruth wondered at their chances. Walls should have sent a larger force, but Huff expected to go most of the way on foot, hiking into the ravines where the IL-76 had gone down, and Walls couldn’t afford to give up more of his few remaining air tanks.

Lieutenant Pritchard was the commando assigned to Huff’s empty seat inside Foshtomi’s Humvee, probably because Walls wanted to make certain he controlled the vehicle. Foshtomi had challenged him once, if slightly — and Walls must remember how Ruth had betrayed them before. Pritchard was his enforcer.

Like Walls, Pritchard had given up his suit. Ruth was the only one in the vehicle who sat awkwardly, trying to make room for her air tanks, sealed off from everyone else.

Ash swirled up from the road as they drove. Ruth was allowed to call Deborah to quiz her about her equipment, which was good, and the progress she’d made, which was zero. The other woman, Emma, was only another medical officer like Deborah. Neither of them had any nanotech skills. The brief exchange left Ruth disheartened. They were done in two minutes and weren’t given the opportunity for more personal words. Walls demanded radio silence.

Ruth turned to Pritchard. “How did you decontaminate these suits?” she asked — anything to divert herself. She was wasting too much energy on recrimination and guilt. She needed to hear that they could keep her friends safe. “How much radiation were you taking?”

“Nothing,” Pritchard said. “Millirems.”

“So the blanket’s no good at a distance.”

“Two or three inches. Maybe four.”

“I thought we’d made more progress with OECs,” Ruth said, but Pritchard only grunted.

“What are you talking about?” Cam said.