Jeff Carlson - Plague War

It should have been insigni‚cant, but Ruth also had to confront Allison every morning as Cam and Allison helped to deliver the samples and geographical data from hundreds of refugees. Ruth couldn’t help believing that Allison and Cam were a good match, both of them scarred but still young and strong, savvy and dedicated.

In fact, Ruth went to Allison ‚rst after she’d made her decision.

* * * *

She caught her just after sunrise. Cam and Allison were inside a broad tent where they’d set up a dozen benches, a dry-erase board, and four desks to process the refugees who came in exchange for a granola bar or an extra piece of clothing. There was already a crowd forming outside.

Cam had his head together with an Army medic over a clipboard. Ruth walked past them. She felt ill with tension and lack of sleep and Allison grinned at her. It wasn’t a mean gesture. The girl knew she’d won, and Ruth thought she was only trying to be friendly. Possibly there was just the smallest hint of amusement or pity in the way she treated Ruth for being older, too old for Cam.

“Hello,” Allison said.

“We need to get out of here,” Ruth said bluntly. She was angry that anyone could seem so content, and took satisfaction in wiping away Allison’s big smile.

“Oh shit,” the girl said. “Cam told us it was probably a weapon—”

“No. No, I still don’t know.” Ruth shook her head at herself. She had no right to blame Allison. But she had her suspicions about who had designed the ghost. She recognized the work. Every machinist had his or her own style, exactly like painters, writers, and musicians. The ghost wasn’t Chinese. It was American. The new technology belonged to Gary LaSalle, and Ruth said, “I think it came from Leadville. I think Leadville cornered our friends before they made it into the Sierras and then they had the vaccine, too, which means they could have run spin-offs for at least a week and a half before the bombing.”

“I’m sorry,” Allison said. “Who had the vaccine?”

Ruth realized she wasn’t making sense. Cam would have understood, but Allison hadn’t been there. “I need your help,” she said.

“You bet.” Allison nodded, watching her face closely. The girl had ‚nally noticed Ruth’s exhaustion.

“There were two more people with us who made it out of Sacramento,” Ruth said. “A soldier and another scientist like me. They had the vaccine. Leadville caught them. That was about two weeks ago, and Leadville must have started running trials and new versions based on that technology.”

There were four different strains of the ghost. Ruth had solved that much of the riddle without coming any closer to knowing what the ghost was supposed to do. At the same time she’d also identi‚ed, very roughly, four infection points that had since blended as the remnants of Leadville’s armies split and surrendered and migrated away from ground zero. The leadership there had been secretly testing new models of the ghost on their own people. They’d dosed forward units to see what would happen — and yet the ghost was not a perfect vaccine, even though it should have been easy for them to improve the crude, hurried work that Ruth had done in Sacramento.

The teams in Leadville never would have left the vaccine exactly as it was, not bothering to improve it. Ruth knew that much. A better vaccine must exist. Leadville’s machining gear far exceeded anything that Grand Lake had been able to steal or buy. Leadville also had the expertise of ‚fty of the best minds in nanotech. A vaccine that offered full immunity against the plague would have been their ‚rst priority, but they must have kept it for themselves exactly as she’d feared. Then they’d begun to experiment with other nanotech.

What did the ghost do? Could she recover the improved vaccine somewhere? Ruth would never be able to match their work or recreate it on her own, not for years or decades, but there might be survivors from their inner circle or molecular debris that had been thrown clear of the blast and absorbed by the nearest refugees. She was certain she could ‚nd other traces of their handiwork, if only she looked.

“We have to get out of here,” Ruth said, “and I need you to help me convince Shaug to let me go. I need an escort. Cars. My equipment.”

“That won’t be easy. I can talk to the other mayors.”

“Thank you.”

Ruth needed to follow the muddled, invisible trail back into the south to see if she could recover LaSalle’s best work before it was lost forever. There wasn’t anyone else who could sort through and identify the nanotech.

“Do you think Cam…Will he come?” Ruth ducked her head from Allison’s gaze and spoke to the †oor. “He’s ‚nally safe here. And he has you and his other friends.”

Allison waited until Ruth looked up again, then shook her head and smiled once more. This time the smile was sad, and Ruth understood that Allison carried her own resentment. In fact, Allison would have been glad to see her go.

“Try to stop him,” Allison said.

“Move away from the jeep,” Cam said, holding his carbine on the burned man. Beside him, Corporal Foshtomi aimed her submachine gun at the man’s teenage sons. They stood in the middle of a small crowd. Cam and Foshtomi had their backs against their jeep, with Sergeant Wesner perched above them— but when Cam risked one glance, he saw that Wesner had turned away to cover the other side.

There were at least seventy refugees on the hill. Most of them gathered in a clump at the ‚rst of the three vehicles, where Ruth, Deborah, and Captain Park were drawing blood. Some people had already hurried away with a can of food or a clean sweater, their reward for cooperating. But there were others who’d drifted out of line. The burned man and his sons had reached into the back of the second jeep to grab whatever wasn’t tied down until Wesner shouted at them.

“We need it more than you,” the burned man said.

“Move.” Cam pulled the charging bolt of his M4, a harsh metallic clack , but the burned man only stared at the supply cases as if convincing himself. “Move!” Cam yelled.

“Get back! Get back!” Wesner shouted, supporting him, and at the head of the column, six more Army Rangers took up the warning, suddenly pushing into the crowd.

The noise from the refugees was less powerful, although the Rangers were badly outnumbered. Cam saw Deborah grasp at a starving woman to keep her in their canvas folding chair. Captain Park was inoculating everyone with the vaccine after Deborah drew a blood sample, but the stick-‚gured woman thrashed away from Deborah, screaming. At the same time, Ruth lurched back from the crowd and drew her pistol.

Good girl, he thought. His divided attention nearly killed him. The burned man stepped in with a knife and Foshtomi shifted her weapon.

“No!” Cam said, jostling Foshtomi’s arm. Foshtomi was small and tightly built. She probably weighed a hundred and ‚ve in her boots, but she was quick as hell. She bent away from Cam and swung her gun up again, jamming its snub nose into the man’s ribs.

“Don’t fuckin’ move,” she said.

Cam covered the two boys with his carbine. There was more shouting at the head of the column, but he kept his eyes locked on their faces. The burns were radiation. They’d been close enough to the †ash that their skin had seared. Now they wore permanent shadows like cracked brown paint. Where was the boys’ mother? Dead? Only hiding? This family had seen the world end twice but still had the determination to ‚ght their way north, and Cam did not want to hurt them. He’d felt it before — this sensation of staring into a mirror. It was only a wild chain of luck and circumstance that had put him on the other side of the glass, well-fed, in uniform, and armed.