Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

“Well, yes.” Connie marched down the center of the street. A faint scent of smoke hung on the air and gray ash drifted from the black clump in the middle of the road. “There’s lots to do. Enough to keep everyone busy.”

She’d said that before. He’d thought she was talking about breaking into the homes, but he didn’t need the niños to do that. Scanning the five houses along the street, he noted the overgrown scrubs, trees and weeds. A rat scuttled under a Bird of Paradise.

And there were rats here, too.

Mary pulled her wet thumb from her mouth. “What can I do? I’m only five.”

“That old?” Connie marched up the driveway of the center ranch style house. “Well, did you know that five-year-olds fingers are the perfect size for pulling peas off the vine and plucking carrots out of the soil?”

Mary shook her head.

Peas? On a vine. Manny stumbled. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! She had a garden. He set his hand over his chest; felt his heart pounding against his ribs.

The ten-foot front door banged open. “Dag-nab it, Mildred. Connie was right. There are six of them.”

Manny turned toward the entrance just as a man wheeled down the ramp. His shoulders were as wide as his chair and strained against the flannel shirt and his thinning hair was pulled back into a pony-tail that wiggled over his shoulder.

A woman appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a purple towel. A shock of red hair wiggled in all directions above her penciled in eyebrows. “Well, then I’m glad I listened to her and not you.” She snapped the towel at the man. “Mind your manners, Henry. Come along, everyone. Breakfast is served.”

Manny eyed the man as the niños filed passed. He didn’t look like a creeper, more like a vato. Bad ass, like Popi had been. “I’m Manny.”

“Henry.” The older man offered a calloused hand after Jose and Mikey hustled by.

The grip was strong without squeezing Manny’s bones. Popi had always said you could judge a man by his handshake.

Irina pulled up short before offering her own hand to the man. “Irina.”

“Welcome.” Instead of pumping her arm once, he straightened it out.

What the hell! Manny scooted forward. Muscles tense, ready to defend Irina.

“Flea bites, from the rats, no doubt.” Henry opened his grip before wheeling back. “We’ll have to ask the soldiers for antibiotics. Noticed them on the kids, too.” He dropped his voice as Jose and Mikey disappeared into the house. “Don’t mean to alarm you, but the smallest thing can get infected and that could prove fatal.”

One in a thousand. David thumped the steering wheel, felt the impact rattle up his arm. Son of a bitch! He had more than one man in his unit, and there sure as hell wasn’t a thousand soldiers on base. Hell, there might not be that many Reservists in Phoenix. His men would damn well survive.

Leaning to the left, he cranked the wheel, turning into his temporary base. The paper Mavis had given him slid across the seat.

Plague.

Hanta.

Redaction.

And fucking nuclear meltdown.

Where were the swarms of locusts blotting out the sun and frogs raining from the sky? Tires squealed as he braked to a stop near the guard shack.

A rail thin private flew out of the two-by-four foot plywood building aiming his M-4 at David’s head.

Great! A fucking nervous private. A sure fire way to get his ass shot. Wouldn’t that be the cherry on his day? Eying the M-4’s quivering muzzle, David kept his hands in view as the young soldier approached.

Halfway toward the driver’s side, the private switched on the flashlight attachment.

Light burned the back of David’s eyes, and he squeezed them shut. What had spooked the kid? The sun had already cleared the Superstition Mountains. A moment later, the pale pink on his lids deepened to red. Blinking the spots from his eyes, he peered in the soldier’s direction.

The boy aimed his weapon at the ground and striped his finger along the trigger, before rapping on the bullet-proof glass.

David buzzed down the window. “Private.”

“Sergeant Major. You just missed the colonel.” The private turned on his heel and strode to the gate.

Missed the colonel? Pigs would strap on rocket packs before that asshole touched a dead body. David drummed on his thigh as the Humvee idled. So what was the CO doing out and about at this ungodly hour?

After dropping the keys once, the soldier managed to unlock the gate. Chain link rattled as he slid it over the uneven asphalt. The guard waved him through.

David inched forward, stopping the vehicle next to the private. “Where is Colonel Lynch?”

“On three days emergency leave.” The boy spun the lock’s hasp around his pointer finger.

David bit back a curse. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that the CO bled yellow. He cracked his knuckles. Besides, he could use Asshole’s departure to squirrel away supplies for his men and spread the word about the Redaction’s possible return on the down low.

One problem solved.

But that didn’t explain what had the kid jumping more than water on a hot skillet. “Did he leave you in charge? Is that why your finger is caressing the trigger like a favorite lover?”

Color deepened the hollows of his cheeks. “No, Sergeant Major! You’re in charge until he returns.”

Shaking his head, David leaned back in his seat. Did the drill instructors run the funny right out of the new recruits? “Why are you on edge, Private?”

“PFC Folgers. I am guarding the entrance as ordered, Sergeant Major.”

Like he’d done every night for the last two months. He’d always been annoyingly upbeat and outgoing when they’d returned from MA duty. Was security detail for a bunch of body collectors making him snap? David tapped his boot against the floorboards.

In the early morning light, he read the kid’s name on his ACU jacket. Either he’d fallen asleep on duty and the CO had reamed him a new asshole, or learning of the Redaction’s imminent return had set him off.

But despite David’s prayers, pleas and begging, guns couldn’t fight a virus. “At ease, PFC Folgers. I wish to know why you’re pointing a gun at my head, when I’m clearly driving a government-issued vehicle.”

Hell, there were few vehicles on the road that weren’t government-issue.

“Sorry, Sergeant Major.” Private Folgers cleared his throat, looked right then left before bracing an elbow against the door. “We were attacked last night.”

Attacked! Here? His body shook with outrage and relief. At least it wasn’t the beginning of the end, but… David straightened and surveyed the base. Same TEMPer barracks, mess hall, and storage/supply tent. Same two portables with their heat pumps humming. Same trucks in the motor pool. And absolutely no sign of a firefight. “Who attacked us?”

“Non-Coms.” The private scratched at a red welt on the back of his hand. “They just went crazy and rushed forward, guns blazing. Molotov cocktails exploding.”

Non-coms. Non-combatants. Civilians. Mavis had said they’d turn on the military, murdering anyone who stood between them and what they wanted. But all of that was to come later.

After the Redaction’s return.

After their loved ones started dying.

Again.

David ran his fingers through his short hair and scratched his head. Something didn’t add up. Where were the casings? The bodies? He couldn’t see his men giving up an eyelash without a fight. “Doesn’t seem to be much damage to the infrastructure.”

Maybe they’d only taken the rations and antivirals. Ah, shit. That was worse, so much worse than just shooting them dead.

PFC Folger’s pale forehead wrinkled before he smoothed it flat. Slowly, he turned to look at the base before facing David again. “Why would anyone want body bags, bunny suits and gloves?”