Jeff Carlson - Plague War

“Just go. Please.” Cam almost reached into the jeep for a few cans of food, until Foshtomi added, “You’re lucky I didn’t blow your guts out through your spine.”

Foshtomi continued to glare after they’d left. She was trembling, though, and Cam smiled to himself. Of all the good men and women who’d volunteered to leave Grand Lake, this brash little Ranger was his favorite. Like so many of the best survivors, Foshtomi possessed certain traits. As the only woman in her squad, she could be crude at times, even heartless, as if compensating for her small size, but Foshtomi was also smart, active, and tough. In fact, she often reminded Cam of Ruth, in the same ways Allison did, except that the only history he shared with Sarah Foshtomi was uncomplicated and new.

* * * *

Being with Allison had changed him. His self-image was still shaky, but his con‚dence was growing again. He wasn’t so bitter or afraid. Maybe he should have been. He’d taken the ‚rst hesitant steps toward building a normal life in Grand Lake, only to leave her. Allison had stayed behind and he didn’t blame her. She had other responsibilities. He’d realized his place was here.

He made a point of ‚nding Ruth that evening in camp. She looked up from her maps and Cam glanced left and right, feeling like he was on stage. The three jeeps sat in an open triangle with ‚ring positions at each corner, in the middle of a long, slanting area of low brush and rock. The space inside was no more than ten yards across at its widest point. Twelve people made for a good crowd, even though most of them were either sitting at the guns or sacked out in their bedrolls. Cam saw Captain Park and another man watching him.

The Rangers were curious. They’d gambled their lives for Ruth and they weren’t quite sure how Cam was attached to her— and he was obviously with her, no matter that he’d given his oath and wore their uniform. Cam was a Ranger in name only. He was still learning to disassemble and clean his weapon, the 5.56mm M4 carbine. He was slightly more familiar with the older M16, which had been carried by the troops out of Leadville, like Newcombe, but although the two models were very similar, Cam had never trained with one. The difference was unexpected. He knew the plague year had forced the military to draw on old stockpiles and equipment, yet it surprised Cam to learn that rebel soldiers were better armed than the troops had been in the capital, at least in this instance.

Most of the Rangers were friendly, like Foshtomi. They were willing to teach him, but they wanted to know how he ‚t into the puzzle. So did he.

The look in Ruth’s eyes was wary, though she tried to hide it with a smile. “Hi,” she said.

“How are you doing?” Cam paused at the edge of her notes. Then he crouched on the far side of the battered sheaf of paper.

Ruth began to tidy up and seemed glad for an excuse to avoid his gaze. She pointed at the map. “We haven’t found anything new yet,” she said.

That wasn’t what he’d asked, but he nodded.

Ruth shook her head. “I didn’t really expect to. We haven’t covered enough ground.”

“We will,” Cam said.

The sunset had that lasting quality he’d only found at elevation. Her hair shone in the twilight, and when she looked up, her brown eyes were dark and beautiful and so very serious.

She deserved better. She should have been able to remain in Grand Lake, and Cam wondered at her insistence that no one else could screen the blood samples for nanotech. Ruth was still punishing herself. Why?

The drive had been tough-going. They had the ability to drop below the barrier but they wanted to meet people, and the vaccine had yet to spread south of Grand Lake except where they’d distributed it themselves. There were no refugees below ten thousand feet. Regardless, the roads were jammed with stalled traf‚c. Mostly they went cross-country. In three days they’d gone just twenty-four miles, most of that weaving like a snake. Once they’d had to winch the jeeps down a broken mountainside. Several times they had to reverse direction and ‚nd another way. They didn’t have enough people to send anyone ahead as a scout, and even the best maps had become unreliable as mud slides or refugee encampments blocked the way.

They avoided the largest groups. Twice they’d †ed below the barrier after being surprised by shantytowns. Ruth wanted as many blood samples as possible, but they were afraid they’d be overrun. The squad carried four M60 machine guns in addition to their carbines and two snub Mac-10s that Foshtomi called “meat grinders,” but twelve people could never be a match against a thousand. Their supplies made them a target. Fortunately they’d kept ahead of word of mouth. Their vehicles were a huge advantage, and almost everyone they met was learning about them for the ‚rst time.

Their group was small for several reasons. They needed to be able to scavenge enough food and fuel to keep going. It was also important to avoid the attention of Russian-Chinese planes and satellites. A large convoy would have been more visible, and the sky was a greater threat than any starving survivors.

Much like the expedition into Sacramento, this squad was all chiefs and no Indians. Foshtomi and Ballard were the only corporals. The others were sergeants of various sub-ranks, and John Park and Deborah were both captains, although it had been made clear that Park was in command.

Deborah was an outsider like Ruth and Cam. She was never far from her friend. The tall blond had been charting her own notes, but now she got up and walked four paces and sat down again, joining Ruth. “Can I talk to you about the second group today?” she asked, interrupting whatever else Cam might have said.

On purpose, he thought. Deborah had been quietly writing by herself for twenty minutes. She’d only stepped in after he came over. Had he missed a signal? Ruth might have looked past his shoulder and caught Deborah’s eyes… No. Ruth answered Deborah with a nod, but she turned to Cam and gave him an apologetic look. She wanted the chance to talk, even if he made her nervous, and Cam frowned to himself as he watched the two women. His rivalry with Deborah was just getting worse.

“Four of those refugees also said they’d come from the east,” Deborah said, touching her notepad. “Do you want me to put their samples with the ‚rst group?”

“Absolutely not,” Ruth said. “Let’s make a subset, though. Cross-reference them.”

“Okay. And everyone out of the south has priority.”

“Yes.”

Deborah’s job had become more dif‚cult when they packed up and ran this afternoon. Keeping the samples organized was vital to their mission, but that wasn’t why she’d intervened.

The two of them were like moths competing for a light. Cam had seen the same polarizing effect between himself and Mark Newcombe. Deborah was here to protect Ruth. Her motivation was much like his own. Being with Ruth was a chance to share her incredible sense of purpose.

“I should get ready for my shift,” he said. It was partly true. He stood up and Ruth rose with him.

“Are you—” she began, but Cam stopped her.

“It’s okay. You have a lot of work to do.”

Her face was uncertain, but she nodded. She hadn’t even unpacked her microscope yet. The night before she’d taken hours to screen less than twenty samples, huddled beneath a silver foil survival blanket to hide her †ashlight, and today they’d accumulated thirty-one vacuum caps of blood. Tomorrow there would be more. The job was already too big for her, even with Deborah and Captain Park as assistants. Ruth was too thorough. Cam would have taken half as many samples and doubled their travel time, but she was terri‚ed of missing any clue.