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Krista looked at Liz and then at Summer, ready to scribble more items on the paper. “Okay, ladies. Time for a list. Make it count. We only get one shot at this.”

“Vegetable plants, that’s what you need. Uninfected stock and a resupply of seed,” Lipton said.

“I hate to admit it,” Liz said. “But he’s right.”

“I agree,” Summer said.

“What about the bacteria?” Wicks asked. “It’s everywhere, right?”

“We’ll need chemicals to keep the new plants from being infected,” Liz added.

“What kind?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Ask for a centrifuge and some testing equipment,” Lipton added. “We’ll need those as well.”

“There he goes with that ‘we’ business again,” Krista said, wishing the others in the room had the same level of concern as her. But she was outnumbered two-to-one, if she chose to discount Wicks, who would agree with her no matter what. She needed to save her objections for a better opportunity. It seemed likely that Lipton would hang himself, if she just gave him a little more rope with which to do so.

“And a more powerful microscope,” Liz said. “What we have isn’t powerful enough.”

“Is that all?” Krista said, scribbling down the last two items. “That’s a lot.”

“I’m worth it,” Lipton said, tugging on his shirt collar, looking the part of both politician and thief.

“I hope you realize this means you’ll have to leave Nirvana,” Liz said.

Lipton shrugged. “I’m not welcome here anyway. A fresh start will be beneficial for everyone, mainly me.”

“You just can’t wait to get there, can you?” Krista asked.

“It’s always nice to be appreciated,” Lipton said. “Obviously, that’ll never happen here.”

Krista started to reply, but held her words when the lights overhead flickered and dimmed before changing their luminance to red.

A siren went off a moment later, filling her ears with a high-pitched squeal that tunneled its way into her brain.

Everyone flinched, including Krista, as the whooping continued.

“What the hell is that?” Summer asked before covering her ears with her hands.

“Intruder alert!” Krista said as she shot out of the chair. She ran to Wicks, grabbing the guard by his camo-colored sleeve. “Follow me.”

Fletcher took a step forward in the stairwell, leaning his torso over the handrail to look down. He could see several more flights of stairs leading down to what he assumed was the entrance level of the missile silo.

His second-in-command, Dice, moved past him and took charge, giving his three-man team a hand signal to take point.

They did as he instructed, keeping low with their backpacks loaded with C-4 explosives. Their boots made quick work of the steps, pounding rubber to metal until they vanished into what appeared to be a connecting corridor far below.

“Hope you brought enough,” Commander Stipple said from his position next to Fletcher.

“We did,” Fletcher replied. “All of it, actually.”

“Plus thermite,” Dice added, pointing to a satchel he carried over his shoulder.

“A little something Doc Lipton cooked up,” Fletcher said, scanning the horde of Scabs packed in behind Stipple. The man stood there with a look of confidence, as if his stance of feet wide and arms out could somehow hold back the force of all the Scabs.

Fletcher craned his neck and peered up, seeing the same thing on every level. Nothing but ravenous eyes and drooling mouths—hundreds of them.

He had expected Craven to send an entire squad to hold back the swarm, but he only sent Stipple with a whistle around his neck and a sidearm on his hip.

“Fire in the hole,” a man said from below, just as the advance team ran back into view and scampered into a protective recess near a run of cabling and pipes.

Fletcher backed up to the wall and bent low to cover his ears. An instant later, an explosion ripped the air apart, the compression wave sending him back a step.

After the smoke cleared, Dice followed Fletcher to the handrail, where both of them looked down.

One of the men below came into view and cupped his hands around his mouth, looking up. “We’re in.”

Fletcher grabbed Dice and pulled him to the wall before focusing his eyes on Stipple. “Let them go, Commander.”

Stipple brought his arms down and stood aside, then grabbed the whistle dangling in front of his chest. He spun to face the cannibals and blew into the noise maker, filling the shaft with three ear-piercing shrieks.

The army of Scabs broke lose in a stampede of feet, arms, and teeth, tearing down the stairwell and disappearing into the entrance of the silo.

“God help those inside,” Stipple said.

“God won’t save them,” Fletcher said in a firm tone. “Not today.”

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