Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Since the martial law had been instituted, the soldiers reported to the governor who took her orders from the Surgeon General.

“So what did she say?”

David shrugged. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but Rubberman tells a good tale.”

“How bad can it be? We’re immune.” Robertson flopped down on the cot next to David. “Right, Big D? We’ve all gotten sick and recovered, so we can’t get sick again.”

David folded one leg across the other. This is the bit where it got dicey. How to tell them, without telling them? “People in authority once told us Santa was real too. But things changed, and we found out what we believed isn’t necessarily what it is.”

“God-damn-mother-fucking-shit-eating-bastard.” Robertson flung himself off the bed and pawed at the window. “How the hell are we to protect ourselves against this shit?”

David smiled. At last they’d reached the bright spot of the day. “I’ll ask the Doc when I see her again.”

“Will you be able to tell us or will the CO issue another gag order?”

“I’ll be going myself. I’m her new courier.” A cushy job that Colonel Asshole would make him pay for one way or the other. Still Mavis Spanner had chosen him. And he wasn’t raised to waste an opportunity.

“Yeah, but if she’s high enough up the food chain to have the Surgeon General in her contact list, will she tell us?”

“She will.” Not that David knew for certain, but he’d overhead her being chastised for not playing nice with others. Rebels in the system were how things got done.

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Robertson turned to him.

“Count our supplies, look for the signs of infection, and protect ourselves. And wear masks when we do food distribution.”

“What about the jarheads? They had noncom contact too.”

“Spread the word, on the down low, of course.” He owed Mavis that much at least. Her husband and son had been Marines. “We don’t know where the orders come from, and we don’t want a panic on our watch.”

Seattle. The thought was a wet blanket over the tent. Although none of them had been there, they’d heard the accounts of the deaths and panic.

Somewhere in the camp a wooden door slammed and gravel crunched under boots.

David glanced at Robertson, standing by the window.

“Shit! It’s the Colonel.”

The men dove back to their bunks. David heard the last hit the deck before the outer door slammed open. A moment later, light flooded the room.

Colonel Lynch swayed on his feet near the barrack’s vestibule. “Sergeant Major report to my office immediately.”

“Is everyone ready to leave?” Manny hitched the backpack higher on his back. The milk sloshed in the margarine containers stowed at the bottom and the chill seeped through his clothing into his skin. He hoped the house he’d picked still had food in it.

He hoped they made it past the soldiers to reach it.

Eyes wide, the four niños crowded into the doorway of the kitchen.

“We’re ready.” Irina stood behind them. Black and blue flesh nearly obliterated her eyes and blood crusted the cut at the corner of her swollen mouth. She rolled up the heating pad and slowly wound the cord around it.

He didn’t know how she could see. Her eyes were mere sparks of light in bruised flesh. Ice might have helped, but thanks to the rolling blackouts, it didn’t last long.

“Will we come back, Manny?” The pink puffball on Lucia’s hat wobbled when she nodded. She clutched her raggedy elephant to her lumpy chest.

He ran a damp dishcloth over the clean counter before draping it across the faucet. Would they ever come back here? His rib cage seemed to shrink, wrapping his insides in tight bands. “Sure.” Glancing around the kitchen, he memorized the chips in the counter, the cracks in the tile and the cabinet next to the sink that never quite shut. “This is our home.”

But it wasn’t safe. Not until the neighbors moved back, and the good people outnumbered the bad.

If they moved back.

If any of them were still alive.

Eying the chained door, he jiggled the keys in his pocket. Once they left, they couldn’t come back. He didn’t want any of them to end up like Stash—beaten to death because he didn’t want the niños raped in exchange for food.

He shook off his thoughts. They could do this. They had to. “So? Everyone got their hats on?”

“Irina made sure my hair was hidden.” Mary tugged on the knot under her chin.

“She did a good job too.” Manny cleared his throat. His mom had knitted that hat for his sister when she’d been Mary’s age. Not that Manny had been alive then. But he’d seen the pictures.

The pictures…

Another thing he’d have to leave behind. How would the niños remember their parents, their families? Focus. They had to leave before the soldiers began their rounds.

“Hats check.” He set his hand on Jose’s knit cap. “And how many layers of clothing do you have on, Little Man?”

“Six.” Jose wiggled his behind before plucking at his underwear. “The layers are giving me a wedgie.”

Irina laughed a light refrain of chuckles that made her wince. “Better a wedgie than a rat biting your hiney.”

“This way you had room in your backpacks for toys.” Scanning the others, he noted the obvious bulges of multiple layers. The extra padding was almost enough to make his mother’s clothes fit Irina. Almost. She was still so thin. “Now, who remembers rule one?”

Mikey raised his hand until Manny pointed at him. “No talking, screaming or crying if we can help it.”

“Very good.” Manny adjusted the Diamondback’s baseball cap on his head then tucked a lock of pale blond hair under it. “Rule two?”

“Keep hold of your partner’s hand.” Lucia reached down and laced her fingers through Mary’s.

“Exactly, we don’t want anyone left behind.” Manny eyed the naked stalks that marked the dirt where his herbs had once grown. “And the last rule?”

“Do what you tell us, when you tell us and step where you step.” The five of them chorused.

Sheesh. Manny shook his head and picked up the baseball bat. Maybe he had repeated it often in the last hour, but it was important. He’d been out there the most. He’d booby-trapped the alleys around their house. “Okay. Let’s roll.”

Shooing them back, he led the way through the laundry room. Three layers of jeans made his joints stiff, but didn’t hinder his range of motion. That would be suicide. A second backpack hung below the first and slapped his thighs as he walked. He kicked aside the dirty clothes and leaned against the peephole.

Darkness seethed, shrouding the carport and transforming the houses into soulless black boxes. His eyes strained to decipher the swaying branches from the blowing debris from the ever present rats.

At least the street seemed deserted.

Fabric whispered behind him and the small laundry room swelled with breathing. “Curtain’s closed, Manny.”

“Thanks.” He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing. His heart stuttered for a moment. They’re still there, right? They couldn’t have disappeared. He raised his hand and hit warm skin.

“Ouch.” Lucia shoved aside his touch.

“Sorry.” After one last check, he threw the deadbolt and twisted the knob. “Here we go.”

Manny led them into the darkness. The wind moaned in his ears before dying. He tugged his jacket close and swallowed the words clinging to the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t talk. That would encourage the others to do so.

That could get them killed.

Clinging to the side of the house, he tiptoed toward the end of the carport. The others shuffled behind him, bumped into the wall. He winced at the thud.