Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Manny squeezed his eyes closed. “I saw him. This morning. Over at the other woman’s house. She was dead, too. He’d…” He bit his lip. Blood pooled in the cut before he licked it off. “He’d beat her up then tossed her off the balcony.”

“Shit.” David’s breath lodged in his throat. Another body. Another fucking murder. “You’d swear to this?”

“Yes.” Manny took a ragged breath. Tears glistened down his cheeks. “But it won’t do much good. I—I have a record. Manslaughter. Irina’s brother and I…”

“That won’t matter.” Wheelchair Henry rolled around the truck bed. “Connie and I know enough dirt on that scumbag to fill the Grand Canyon. By the time, we’re through with his character, no one on the jury would believe him if he said the sky was blue.”

David nodded. The case would never go to trial if the influenza returned. “I’m not saying your past won’t matter, but I know that what you’ve done during the Redaction will show the jury the true measure of your character. And that will speak volumes.”

“That’s right,” Wheelchair Henry growled. “And we’ll make sure it happens just that way.”

“But he might have seen me, too.” Manny ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “We have to leave. It’s too dangerous to stay.”

“Nonsense—”

“I agree.” David closed the gate on the truck. He might have put the fear of God into the kid a little too well. “When we deliver the rations next week, we’ll pick you guys up. All of you. Consider it temporary witness relocation.”

“Where will we go?” Manny wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“I know a place.” He just hoped Mavis didn’t mind the extra eleven people in her neighborhood.

“We’ll be ready.” Wheelchair Henry agreed, staring at the paper in his hands.

David recognized it as the flyer on the plague and Hanta virus. He just hoped none of them were already infected.

Day 3

Kicking off her sheet, Sunnie rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Her partially open blinds allowed blades of the streetlight to cut up her room. Sweat glued her pajama top to her torso. She swallowed, momentarily relieving the scratchiness of her throat. Oh God.

She was sick.

With the Redaction.

Tears pricked her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She wasn’t going to make it to her twentieth birthday. She’d never graduate college, never have children, and never fall in love. Never. Never. Never. She pounded her fists against the pillowtop mattress. Why did this happen to her? After learning the Redaction was about to return, she hadn’t gone out in public without a mask.

Not once.

She’d even worn it while they burned the garbage and been nearly suffocated by the fabric while raking leaves, cutting branches and pulling weeds.

After the trip to Burgers in a Basket, she’d worn a mask more than carried her cell phone.

Fear misted her skin, momentarily calming the inferno raging inside her. She’d gone outside then. Breathed the air. The very air that carried the Ash Pneumonia.

And now she was going to die.

She sucked on her bottom lip to keep from wailing. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live, to grow old. Old… She swallowed despite her dry mouth. Oh God, Aunt Mavis! Was she sick, too? She needed to check. But what if her aunt was healthy? Sunnie could infect her. Muscles spasmed with the conflicting thoughts. Check. Stay. Check. Stay.

Stay.

She fidgeted in bed; her ears strained to decipher the sounds. The plop of pellets in the heating stove. The hum of the refrigerator. No moaning or thrashing in bed. Could her aunt be healthy? Slapping the pillow over her face, Sunnie coughed to ease the itchiness in her throat. Warm air and stale breath rushed back at her.

It was possible that Aunt Mavis wasn’t sick yet. After all, they hadn’t caught the first Redaction at the same time. Her aunt had attributed part of their recovery to the fact that they could nurse each other through the worst of it. Maybe it would help them survive this time. The soldier’s words swam through the fog in her mind.

Seventy percent mortality.

Seven in ten dead.

Three in ten would survive. Just three. Who was to say she wouldn’t be one of them? Flattening her palms against the mattress, she pushed herself to a sitting position. Sunnie labored to draw air into her lungs. God, it felt like she wore a metal bustier. Just like the first time. She gulped more air. No, this was worse than before.

And that had royally sucked.

At least what she remembered, which thanks to the delirium wasn’t much. She hit the side of her Smartphone. Two-ten in the morning. Aunt Mavis should be fast asleep. It was safe to get up and make tea. By the light of her cell, she found her mask then tied it in place. For a moment, the washable fabric felt cool against her face.

Fever roiled through her, and the cloth quickly heated. She clutched at the blankets. It would be so easy to collapse and bury herself under the covers. So easy, but wrong. What had her aunt said? Survival was in the attitude. Coughing into the crook of her arm, she felt the puff of hot air on her flesh.

“I’m going to survive this. I am.” And the first step involved fluids, lots of fluids. Thankfully, the power was still on and she could make tea. Tea would soothe her throat and honey would provide the antioxidants that the microscopic bugs hated. At least, she thought that’s how it worked. Muscles protested when she used the edge of the desk to pull herself upright. Swaying on her feet, she latched onto the pillow and coughed into it again. The dryness didn’t go away.

Ugh, she hated being sick. Hated, hated, HATED it.

Hated feeling like someone had beaten her nearly to death with beanbags. This time she wouldn’t pray to die, to join her parents, brother and sister. This time she was going to kick the Redaction’s ass so it never bothered her again.

Ever.

Shivering, she dragged her knitted throw blanket over her shoulders. At least, her nose hadn’t started running. The world hadn’t made enough tissue to absorb the gallons of snot she’d oozed the first time.

Stuffing her feet into her moose slippers, she shuffled across the wood floor. Tea with honey for her throat and an aspirin or four for her aching bones. That should get her through the night. With one hand on the wall guiding her, she crept down the hall.

Approaching her aunt’s room, she yawned into her blanket. Moonlight shone on the lump in the middle of the king-sized bed. She paused. Still no thrashing, wheezing, or moaning. Good. Her aunt hadn’t contracted it. Sunnie ignored the spurt of jealousy. Don’t be stupid . It’s a good thing Aunt Mavis was healthy. Everyone depended on her.

Including Sunnie.

Her nails scratched the drywall as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Maybe she should wake her aunt and let her know. She shook off the thought and trudged onward. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

The Redaction wasn’t going anywhere.

Reaching the kitchen, Sunnie cleaned her hands with sanitizer and inhaled the peach scent. Her stomach cramped. Good thing she wasn’t hungry. Opening the freezer, she fished around the bin for a loose ice cube. One slipped through her fingers twice before she caught it, tucked it under the mask and sucked it into her mouth. Cold water trickled down her throat and she shut the door moaning. Thank God, the power had been on long enough to make ice.

Side stepping, she took a deep breath and lowered herself to the ground. Her trembling legs sent bundles of pain to her brain. Just a little further. Her eyes dropped below the countertop. A little more. Her knees connected with the tile. Touchdown. She exhaled, felt her muscles puddle on the floor and braced herself with a hand against the cabinet.