Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Her brain just couldn’t shut down the thoughts.

Had Aunt Mavis’s plan worked? Were rumors of the Redaction’s return percolating through America? Shuffling across the great room, she stopped in front of the glass coffee table and poked the remote’s power button. Images blossomed on the television—smiling children, Mom, Dad and the family pooch. A commercial for fresh eggs.

Her stomach rumbled as saliva pooled in her mouth.

“Figures I’d get a food commercial.” She set her coffee on the coaster before slogging back to the kitchen. “Those things should be banned until the grocery stores open.”

Skirting the island, she opened the fridge. Cold air washed goosebumps across her skin. She shuffled the carefully labeled plastic containers looking for the breakfast offerings. “Ah good. Powdered eggs with powdered cheddar cheese, or powdered milk and oatmeal with raisins?”

Her taste buds rebelled at the thought of either.

“Hush now.” She swallowed despite her dry mouth. “You’re lucky you have food at all.”

Taste fatigue was far better than starvation. God knew lots of people on the blogs suffered from the later. She removed a container of oatmeal and lifted the lid. Red heart shapes poked through the off-white lumps.

“Oooh!” Sunnie pinched a piece out and tucked it in her mouth. “Strawberries. My favorite.”

She sprinkled cinnamon on top, stirred it with a spoon then popped the container in the microwave. Licking the spoon, she propped a hip against the counter and stared at the screen. The car commercial faded to black seconds before a news personality appeared on the screen.

The rail thin Asian woman flashed a smile bright enough to be seen from space as she turned to face the camera. “And from coverage of our elected officials and military enjoying their free Burgers in a Basket meals, we continue reporting on the lifting of the public gathering ban, or Mob Day, as it is being called. Here with a report from our affiliate station in Juneau, Alaska is James Martinez.”

The camera panned to the right, allowing the two people to be displayed side-by-side.

“Welcome James. Can you tell us how citizens in the state’s capital celebrated?”

The husky man on the screen held the microphone up and smiled but didn’t talk. Black soot swirled through the spotlight illuminating him and veiled the view over his shoulder.

“James, can you hear us?” The newswoman held her finger to her ear, showing the French tips of her long nails. Her gaze darted from the camera to the right. “James?”

A gust blew James’s hood off his head; the action galvanized him. He straightened and raised the microphone closer to his mouth. “Hello, Aimee! Yes, I can hear you and, quite frankly, I wish I were in Phoenix. I understand you’re having sunshine.”

Aimee’s brown eyes widened, no doubt confused at the unscripted banter. “We aren’t known as the Valley of the Sun for nothing. Is that ash?”

Great. Phony people interacting. Unfortunately, the Redaction hadn’t killed that. Sunnie pivoted about as the microwave dinged. Holding the container with a dishtowel, she walked to the couch and flopped down. Maybe she should change the channel. Find someone who actually told the news instead of kibitzing about their boring life. Balancing her oatmeal on her knee, Sunnie reached for the remote.

“Actually Aimee, it’s snow.” A black flake landed on James’s cheek. The spot quickly melted, streaked down his face to drip off his chin. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the ash from those fires in China has permeated the Polar Jet Stream, and now the soot is slowly falling to the ground.”

The camera shifted to the view over his shoulder and both news personalities disappeared from the screen. In the dim light, the houses, cars and sloping streets looked like a charcoal sketch—a study of black, gray, and white. No one seemed to be about.

Sunnie’s finger hovered over the channel button. They’d said the magic word—China. She scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, squishing the warm lumps between her tongue and palate. Could the Redaction arrive in the country via the Jet Stream? And would it affect Aunt Mavis’s calculations if it hit Alaska first?

“Has that put a damper on Mob Day celebrations, James?”

Sunnie snorted. What a stupid question. Swallowing her oatmeal, she shook her empty spoon at the TV. “Do you see people out dancing in the streets?”

James stepped back into the frame. The ashy snow cut his cheeks like runny mascara. “Not a bit. We just moved the party indoors.”

Right. Like she believed that. Sunnie fished out a strawberry and sucked it off her utensil. “Then where are the people, Jimmy boy?”

With her eyebrows arched, Aimee appeared in the screen next to him. “Does this ash pose any health risks?”

“Only for those who have long term exposure.” James stopped smiling. Cue the serious news. “Many of the soldiers stationed on the corners have been hospitalized for respiratory problems. Doctors say it resembles the dust pneumonia cases from the Dust Bowl years.”

Sunnie dropped her spoon. Holy cow! The Redaction had started in the lungs. Was this the first case of the sickness’s return?

Aimee nodded. “Yes, we’ve heard of cases in the mid-West where the jet stream dips down into the Southern states. Tell me—.”

Sunnie clicked off the remote. She had to check the boards. Maybe she could mention the dust thingy being similar to the Redaction. Carrying her oatmeal in one hand, she rose from the sofa. Silver gleamed in the corner of her eye? Should she check Aunt Mavis’s projections? The soldier had returned last night. Maybe he had brought some information that changed things.

Maybe things wouldn’t be as bad as Aunt Mavis predicted.

She set her bowl on the table and fingered the computer case’s latches. Should she open it? It wasn’t like her aunt hadn’t allowed her to see the projections. Still…

“Aunt Mavis?” Her voice echoed around the great room. No answer. That’s odd. Her aunt was usually up with the sun. Then again, she’d still be up when Sunnie had gone to bed at almost three in the morning. She glanced at the clock. Ten.

Her aunt never slept that late!

Except… Sunnie’s heart stopped. Except for when she’d had the Redaction. Sunnie leapt away from the dining room table. The suitcase. It had come from China, carried by a Chinese spy. What if it had been booby-trapped with that superbug?

Turning on her heel, she ran from the room. “Aunt Mavis!”

She slid around the corner into the hallway, and the tile raked off one of her moose slippers. Who cared? She had to find her aunt. What if she lost her? What if… She axed the thought and jogged around the bend. Cold leached through the pad of her bare foot as she cleared the threshold of her aunt’s bedroom. Her toes dug into the moose head of her sole slipper as she skidded to a stop.

Empty.

The king-sized bed was empty and neatly made, with the three throw pillows standing on their points. No sweating, feverish aunt. Setting her hand on her chest, Sunnie felt her heart pound against her palm. Her knees shook and she collapsed onto the bed. Her weight pulled rays into the smooth double-chain quilt.

Her aunt was healthy, safe, and out.

Sunnie chewed on her thumbnail. But where had she gone? There wasn’t a note tacked to the refrigerator door. Aunt Mavis always left a note. Unless… Nah, it had been the soldier not his boss who’d come back last night. Pushing off the bed, she scanned the room. A cross of dried palm leaves hung from the edge of the dresser mirror. The laminate wood floor was swept, every wooden surface gleamed. No folded clothes sat on the green barrel chair in the corner. A mystery novel was lined up with the edge of the nightstand.