Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

He swore softly. “How long do we have?”

“Does it matter? Here, we have no chance. In the mountains, we might just make it.”

“Hell, Doc.”

Yeah. Hell had actually made it to Earth. Best not to dwell on it.

“How many of the five thousand now encamped with us are sick?” Mavis zigged into the mess hall, heading for the coffee urn. Pots banged as the cooks prepared lunch. Only a handful of tables were occupied—soldiers playing cards with children on their laps. One man sat by himself reading a book.

“Over three thousand five hundred.” Lister tapped the screen again. “Corpsmen predict only a couple hundred of them will survive the night.”

Mavis jerked a cup off the stack and held it under the coffee urn. Black sludge plopped into her cup. She’d forgotten the military and their love of tar. She blinked back her tears and sniffed. “Looks like seventy percent was optimistic.”

“Your models predicted one in a thousand.” Lister fidgeted.

Stupid man. He acted like she was about to break down and cry. As for her models… She’d smash the damn computer if she wasn’t waiting for word from Miles. She dumped a tablespoon of powdered creamer into her cup and stuffed a red stir stick inside. The plastic bent as she stirred. “I was hoping to be wrong.”

“We all were.” Lister held his cup under the spigot and filled it. Obviously he liked to chew the black semi-solid.

Mavis turned at the sound of footsteps. The man with the book loped toward her. His eyes darted left then right, focused on her for a moment. His lips twitched in a sneer before he dismissed her. Another predator.

He rushed up to General Lister and blocked his path. “Sir, I’m Preacher Trent P— P. Franklin,” he stuttered. “I’d like to offer my services to you. I’m excellent at prioritizing, management and organization. Plus, I can personally see to your spiritual needs.”

“Are you the reverend who tended so many last night?” Mavis sipped her coffee. Bitterness knocked her molars. She needed more creamer but refused to look away from the preacher. The skin on her neck stood at attention. This man threatened everything she was trying to accomplish.

Reverend Franklin’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared in contempt as he glanced at her—glanced and then dismissed her. Again. “Sir, I feel like I could be doing so much more to help.”

“I think you’re doing important work.” Above the smoke and coffee, Mavis sniffed the lust for power and the contempt for womanhood. Had he been behind the rapes? He certainly would have had plenty of opportunity. After all, who would stop a preacher delivering Last Rites? “More important than the general or I, you offer comfort to the dying.”

His eyes sparked with rage. “Yes, but—”

“But nothing.” Lister glanced at the reverend before he straightened. Had he caught the lust for power or was it the toadying that repelled him? “I agree with Dr. Spanner. You’re doing far more good in the trenches than out of it.”

The reverend held his Bible like a shield. “And your spiritual needs, Sir?”

Red flushed Lister’s cheeks. “We have chaplains for that, Reverend.”

Mavis set her hand on the general’s arm, knowing the preacher would probably interpret the touch as sexual. Hatred blazed like cold fire in the man’s blue eyes. A killer’s eyes. A smart killer’s eyes. “We cannot in good conscience take you away from ministering to those whose needs are greater than ours.”

The man practically growled.

Lister glanced at her hand on his arm then at the man. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Dr. Spanner, I’ll meet you at HQ as soon as I finish following your instructions.”

Without another word he strode from the tent. The wooden door banged shut behind him.

Reverend Franklin shook himself, flinging aside the contempt and hatred. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand that you were in charge.” His charm oozed like oil across water. “I hope I didn’t offend.”

Mavis nodded, unsurprised at his quick turnaround. He was a good predator on a small patch of land, but she’d learned to fight them in a global arena. She mentally flagged his name. “That’s understandable. I think I can speak on behalf of all the officers, we respect your calling and service.” She checked her watch, nearly dumping her coffee as she did so. “I’m sorry I can’t spend more time with you, but I have a phone call to make. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” He flashed his canines.

Mavis walked at a steady pace to the doors. Funny, it didn’t seem so far away, when she first came in the tent. Her skin crawled as she felt his eyes on her. Once outside, she released a breath.

“Too damn bad that asshole isn’t sick.” Lister materialized at her side and fell into step beside her.

“I want him watched twenty-four-seven.” Mavis handed him her coffee. “I know your men are stretched to the limit but—”

“They’ll do it.” He drank her coffee but wrinkled his nose. “After all, with death hanging around, there’s bound to be a few folks mad at God. The preacher would make a convenient target.”

If only. One way or another she’d have to deal with the Reverend Trent P. Franklin. Mavis turned into her cul-de-sac.

Because he certainly planned to deal with her.

And he wasn’t counting her surviving their encounter.

Dismissed. Like some useless lackey. Trent stormed back to his table. He’d been up all night, reading the fucking bible to the dying and for what? She’d said she appreciated his efforts. But women lie. It was what they did. Even the general hadn’t stood up to her. Some general! Wasn’t he supposed to be a real man? What kind of pansies ran the army these days?

The soldiers at the nearby table eyed him. Waves of disapproval rolled off their shoulders. Their stone-faced expressions didn’t change until one of the young girls giggled ‘go fish.’

Trent flung himself into his seat.

At seven, the little girl had charmed the men into doing what she wanted, while he couldn’t even get a modicum of respect. He drummed the table. Girls. Women! They were what was wrong with this world. He thumbed through the pages of his Bible.

Smiling, he opened the book to the first page.

He’d take that bitch down.

And all the rest of them too.

He knew just how to do it. He turned the page until he came upon the story of Adam and Eve. Women would be returned to their rightful place, under a man’s heel. After all, that was God’s plan.

And who would argue with God?

Manny parked the ATV next to Papa Rose’s and switched off the engine. The low grumbling faded into the soft rattle of the picks and shovels strapped to the back of his Gator. Dark spots dotted the deserted camp, all that remained of those who had died during the night. His gaze darted to the three stains where the old men had sat, across the wash from where the couple who had luggage full of cans and medicine and up to the shadowy remnants of families. The goatee kid from his school. Gone. The Latina who lugged a child that wasn’t hers for miles to reach Wheelchair Henry’s house. Dead. And the twin girls whose front teeth were missing. Dead.

Grief lodged in his throat and refused to be swallowed down.

One by one, he’d loaded their stiff bodies into the ATV’s trailer. Mildred and Connie had picked over their belongings, savaging what might prove useful for someone else. The silence in the black dawn had been unbearable.

Then the coughing and wheezing had started again.

His hands shook. Jesus Christ. The Redaction was back. How many would die this time? He scrubbed his nose on his sleeve and slid off the machine. Dirt plopped to the ground. He flinched. If he never heard the soft thud of dirt again…