Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

With one last glare, Beer Gut wheeled away his wagon full of goods.

Ray jumped to the ground and began folding the table. “Half of us have bites, Sergeant Major. Even more of the civilians do. You think the black scabs indicate the plague?”

“Don’t know, but you know what to look for. Everyone concerned should check with the medic when we get back to base, keep the bites covered and treat them with antibiotic cream. Anyone sick?”

“Not that we can see.” Ray tossed the table into the bed. “We telling them?”

David glanced at the retreating civilians. “Hell no! You saw how they reacted to the masks.”

Ray rocked back on his heels. Hope and fear wrestled across his lean face. “Was the fresh meat really just collateral damage?”

“That’s what we’re telling everyone at every stop.” God help them if panic sets in. David dug his MRE package out of his pocket, fished out the goodie pack, and popped out a piece of gum.

“So you don’t know if…”

“No.” Peppermint exploded across David’s tongue. “I’ll click the radio five times, if it is a positive.”

“Yes, Sergeant Major.” Ray swung up into the truck bed. By the time he sat down, the M-4 was across his lap and his finger near the trigger.

David jogged back to the refrigerated truck and climbed into the cab before all three trucks moved out.

“It’s déjà vu, all over again.” The cab shook as Robertson drew up next to the curb. Around them squatted mid-twentieth century homes with broken windowpanes, off-hinge doors, peeling paint and dirt lawns. In the front yard of one, Old Glory flew from a pristine white flag pole while bags of garbage lapped at her base—a metaphor for the more rampant rot. “And I don’t mean that in a good way.”

David knew the place. Old Man Taylor’s house. Their distribution point for a neighborhood, lean on people yet high in crime. In their efforts to get the rations out faster, he might just have gotten the man killed. Sighing, he donned his face mask, jumped from the cab then trudged across the street. He hoped he was wrong.

A local law enforcement official got out of the squad car, brass shield flashing on the LEO’s navy uniform and his hand on his pistol.

David rested his hands on his M-4, his finger dancing on the edge of trigger. Behind him, the refrigeration unit hummed. The cop’s eyes widened. That’s right. My gun is bigger than yours.

Too bad the LEO was eying the mask not the rifle. “Thought you boys would be used to the smell of bodies by now.”

“We are.” Robertson sauntered toward them, processing kits in both hands. “We’re just not used to the smell of po-po.” Despite his mask, David saw his nose wrinkle. “Don’t you pansy-asses usually hightail it at the sight of a body?”

David bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. The private rebounded faster than a rubber ball moving at light speed. “What do you have?”

“Two bodies.” LEO whipped a container out of his pocket and liberally smeared the Vicks under his nose. The skin glistened in the morning light. “Elderly male in the back yard. Elderly female down the street.” He pointed to a black lump against the chain link fence.

“ID? Time of Death?”

LEO wiped his finger on his pants leaving a dark streak on the fabric. “Completely hands off. I was told to leave it to the Refermen, er, the professionals.”

David grunted. He hated pissing contests with men who had little dicks, especially with so much at stake. “Cause of death?”

“Isn’t that what you boys figure out?”

“Donut break is over, LEO.” Robertson dropped the cases on the ground and placed his fists on his hips. “Why don’t you do your job instead of expecting the army to do it for you.”

“Look GI Jane—”

“Enough!” David barked and both men jumped. The drill instructor voice had its uses. “Do the corpses show signs of infection?”

“Infection?” Color fled LEO’s face as he held his hands over his nose and mouth. He stepped back toward his cruiser.

“Yes. IN-FECT-SHUN.” Robertson dragged the word out.

Green tinged LEO’s face. “You mean the Redaction is back?”

Christ! David raked his hand through his crew cut. He hoped LEO didn’t puke on his scene. “Private.” Robertson passed him a flyer. David shoved it at the cop. “Read this and pass it around.”

LEO snatched it up and held it at arm’s length. His eyes got wider the further down the page they traveled. “Shit! Plague? Here?”

“Yes, carried by fleas on the rats.” David gestured to a family of large brown rats that munched on garbage while watching them.

Robertson crossed his arms and deepened the pitch of his voice. “Have you been bitten?”

“I’ve been sitting in this flea hole for three hours.” LEO began scratching his arms, thighs, neck and torso. “Of course, I’ve been bitten.”

Robertson fished out a single dose of antibiotic cream and a few Band-Aids from his pocket. “Use this to cover them up.”

“And this will cure it?”

Robertson knocked over one of the cases and opened it. Removing one bunny suit, he handed it to David then kept the next one for himself. “Can’t hurt.”

“Uh, about the bodies.” Using his teeth, LEO ripped open the cream. “I don’t know if they were infected or not, but it’s unlikely to be their COD. From what’s left of them, and there’s not much the rats haven’t eaten, they took a heavy beating, especially the old woman.”

“Did you find their rations?”

“None.”

Damn. The food had gotten them killed. David hoped the scumbags were in the group that attacked the Marines last night. “Who called it in?”

“Marines.” LEO squirted the cream on two red welts. “They went hunting their attackers last night and stumbled across these two.”

Fear had loosened the man’s tongue. Too bad he couldn’t be cooperative under normal circumstances, but then again, this was the new normal. David shook out his bunny suit and stepped into the legs. “Do you know if they’ve been moved?”

“Medic on duty checked for vitals.” LEO’s hands shook as he strapped on the Band-Aids. “I’ve got to go.” He dashed to his cruiser without waiting for approval.

After zipping up his suit, David accepted a roll of duct tape from Robertson. “We process it as a crime scene.”

Robertson wound the tape around his boots and pant legs, sealing him in. “You want to bag and tag the garbage?”

“No, that would be useless evidence.” David sealed his wrists. “But if we’re lucky, they fought back and there’s trace evidence under their nails.”

“If this is the old man and the old woman from yesterday, what happened to the kids that usually accompanied them?”

There’d been two teenagers the last time, a boy and a girl. There’d been another kid. Older, almost an adult, watching over a younger brother and sister. But he hadn’t been seen for weeks. So many had been lost.

“Good question.” David dropped the duct tape into the case. “We’ll poke around after we’re done with these two.”

He just hoped they hadn’t joined the animals that kept adding to the body count.

Or had become their next victims.

Standing in the shade of the mesquite tree in her front yard, Mavis blew the steam off her mug. Her taste buds turned the rich coffee and hazelnut flavor to sour fear and bitter guilt. These were her neighbors—her friends for more than twenty years. How could she go out there and pretend that everything would be alright? That the future brought prosperity and health?

That death wasn’t in the very air they breathed?