Jeff Carlson - Plague Zone

“Why would she even build this shit for them in the first place?” Foshtomi asked.

“I don’t know. She’s a prisoner. Her message sounded like she thought she was somewhere else — that the Chinese were fighting India, not us.”

“So you were right,” Cam said. “The vaccine won’t reverse the plague in anyone who’s already sick.”

“I don’t think so. But if we can isolate that marker, we might be able to exploit it. Theoretically, we could design a parasite that would go after the mind plague and shut it off. We…” Lord God, she thought. What if Freedman had deliberately constructed the mind plague with the marker available as a kill switch?

“What is it?” Bobbi asked. “Ruth? What?”

“The marker’s too obvious,” she said, shifting restlessly. “I think Freedman sabotaged the mind plague so people like me could stop it. But I need time. And I need to get out of this fucking car.”

“How much time?” Pritchard asked.

“I don’t know. Days. Somewhere safe.”

“I don’t think we have that long.”

“I know.” Ruth’s claustrophobia was squeezing down on her lungs again and she turned away to stare out the window.

The light never changed. There was no sun. The day seemed eternal beneath the black sky, but Ruth guessed it was early afternoon when Medrano came on the suit radio just minutes later. “We’re clear, sir,” Medrano said.

Walls spoke on their main frequency. “This is Five,” he said. “One, you’re first. Park to the side of the warehouse door. Two, you drive straight in. Bornmann says there’s room behind the plane if you stay to your left. We need space around the forward door, just make sure you don’t hit the wing. Is that understood? Take it slow. Over.”

“Roger that, sir,” Pritchard said. He turned to Foshtomi. “As slow as butter.”

“Don’t talk dirty to me,” Foshtomi said.

That didn’t really make sense, but Pritchard laughed and Ruth glanced sideways at Cam. She watched his expression until he noticed her eyes and turned, and she thought again that he was very handsome despite his scars and his beard, which she’d always hated. It was a strong face.

She made a formless sound like a question. “Mhm.”

I love you, she thought.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said.

“Yes.” Ruth leaned her shoulder against him. Then Foshtomi started their engine and rolled forward.

The first Humvee parked on the side of the warehouse doors, only one of which had been slid open. Foshtomi drove in. As she passed, three of the commandos rolled the door shut again. Foshtomi hit her headlights. One was broken, but the other cut into the gloom.

The Osprey was a sleek, black, medium-sized aircraft that hugged the ground. Its wheels seemed ridiculously small. Thick wings extended out of the top of the fuselage instead of from the bottom or the middle as Ruth had seen on other planes. The propellers were also different, with long, long blades on rectangular engines as big as cars. The plane itself looked large enough to carry everyone, although it would be crowded. An enormous pair of tail fins rose from the back. Foshtomi eased past. In back of the warehouse were a row of white-walled offices and she stopped alongside them.

“Wait for my order,” Walls said on the radio. “One, you’re out first after Reece decons your vehicle. Move for the plane through the regular door.”

“Copy that, sir,” a soldier in One answered.

Ruth marveled at their discipline. Walls was using the men in the other Humvee to see if the warehouse was safe. They must know it, and yet they did as they were told.

Five minutes later, Deborah appeared beside Ruth’s vehicle with the blanket. As she maneuvered around the Humvee, Ruth’s suit radio said, “This is Bornmann. The guys from One are inside the plane and we’ve sealed up again. Over.”

“They’re safe,” Ruth said to her friends.

“Excellent.” Pritchard gestured from side to side. “Make sure we have everything when we go, your laptop, food, water, weapons. I’ll grab the radio.”

“Move around if you can,” Foshtomi said. “Limber up. We’ve been sitting a long time.”

They rustled against each other, and Bobbi fidgeted with her jacket collar. Cam had already donned his goggles and mask. Ruth didn’t want to jinx them by saying anything that sounded like farewell — these might be their last words — but it didn’t make sense to wait. For what? She wanted to be braver than she really was, so she forced herself to take the chance.

“I love you,” she said. “I’ve always loved you.”

The second part wasn’t true, but she wanted it to be. She needed that level of connection and support, and she didn’t want to lose him without making it real.

“Me, too,” Cam said. “I love you, too.”

Ruth wept when he kissed the faceplate of her helmet. They were so close, and yet couldn’t touch. She also felt like she should say something to Bobbi and the two soldiers. She didn’t know what — but just for being alive, they were her sisters and her brother. “Thank you,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Just get us out of this shit, Ruth,” Foshtomi said.

“Okay, clear,” Deborah said on the suit radio. Ruth and Pritchard relayed this information to Walls, and Walls said, “It’s your turn. Go.”

They stepped out.

There was a man inside one of the office windows. He stood just inches from Ruth, slumping. He must have been asleep until the throaty engine of the Humvee woke him. He’d been hurt. His jaw seemed broken, and blood leaked from his teeth down his chin.

“Oh!” she shouted, flinching back toward the Humvee.

The infected man rattled the glass with both hands. His eyes were huge and disoriented. They didn’t match his face, which was aimed directly at her. Instead, he gazed upward and to his right. Almost nothing showed of his eyes except the whites, as if he was staring deep into his own skull. But he was aware of her. He shoved his hands into the window again. A crack split sideways through the glass.

Foshtomi yelled from the driver door as Ruth began to turn. “Run!” Ruth felt Cam grab her air tanks, but his glove slipped off as she bent and shoved him. She was safe in her suit. He was not. She put as much weight into her arm as possible and knocked him past the rear of the Humvee.

I love you.

“Wait—” he shouted.

Foshtomi opened fire. A three-round burst from her M4 punched through the window and the infected man. Debris exploded from the white office wall as he spun away, blood spattering from his chest.

Ruth felt a sting across her wrist, either a ricochet or a shard of glass. Before she could look down, her forearm went rigid. The muscles locked up as if they’d become steel. It nearly tore the flesh from her shoulder. Tendons jumped all the way from her elbow through the side of her chest. She would have screamed if there was time. Then the pain engulfed her heart. The floor sagged up to meet her like a big gray wall and she was only barely aware of slamming her helmet against the Humvee as she fell. She was no longer able to differentiate between the vehicle and the floor at that speed.

Her last thought was a strange sense of déjà vu, as if she was coming home. She’d been here before. Her agony and confusion were intense, but those feelings were coupled with an impression of longing. Somehow she knew where to go. She would find her way there, and her body jerked with nerve impulses as she tried to stand and walk.

Ruth Goldman had absorbed the mind plague.

Cam’s choice was the only one. He ran. He rolled onto his feet with the impact of Ruth’s hand still aching in his bad side and then he ran from her with his feelings buried in cold screaming terror. He’d left so many other people behind. He was able to submerge his grief, but it destroyed him.