Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

“I thought you might want to get your Jaguar back.” Tattoo unrolled his fork from his paper napkin.

Trent dropped his tray onto the table and collapsed onto the bench. Shit! Now he needed to think of something fast to explain his reaction. “You—You think I have a Jag?”

Smooth, Powers. Real smooth. To reach his fork, he slid his hand along the table top. The big man wouldn’t see him shake.

After tucking the napkin under his chin, Tattoo scooped a wad of yellow off his plate. “Goes with the thousand dollar suit.”

Three thousand two hundred and twelve dollar suit. He wouldn’t dress his dog in a thousand dollar suit. “Wow. A Jag.” He continued to play dumb while he freed his own fork. “I can’t believe I have a Jag.”

As soon as the big guy blabbed about the Aspero’s hide-out, he could retrieve his car and get a little payback.

With interest.

Trent scraped a bite of yellow off his fork. God damn it. His tastebuds rebelled; and his stomach ached. The powdered eggs tasted like dirt. The surly server’s spit might actually have been an improvement.

“Had.” Tattoo removed another large forkful from his pile. “Candy tried to drive it into a tank last night.”

Stupid, stupid bitch!

“Tried to?” He carefully set his fork down. If she hadn’t succeeded, the cops could have impounded his car and have his murder kit. He’d have to think of a better means to kill her. One that was slower and more painful. If he was going down for one murder, he might as well make it two. The state could only execute him once.

Tattoo speared the last bit of yellow. “Rocket got her before she got anywhere near the Marines.”

Rocket. A rocket was good. His murder kit would be incinerated and he’d get a new car out of the deal. God was certainly smiling on him. “So the car is…”

“Smoked.” Tattoo grinned. Bits of egg clung to his lips and teeth. “Of course, you might be able to recover the license plate.”

Trent stuffed another lump of egg into his mouth. This bite wasn’t that bad. Of course, he’d have better when he went home. Home. Where cops waited to tell him the distressing news of his wife’s suicide. Maybe he’d celebrate with a meal out tonight.

Goth Lolita sank to the bench next to him. Her lips puckered as she blew on the steam above her mug.

Yeah, his day was definitely looking up.

“You’re going to have to stay the night, I’m afraid.”

Trent sucked the eggs of his fork and slowly chewed the mush. His cock stirred to life. Wow, she was forward too. Perhaps she’d left to set up a love nest. He hoped it was far enough away from the others. He didn’t want anyone coming to her rescue when he showed her who the real boss was. “Why’s that?”

“The police won’t be able to get here until tomorrow.” Rising from her seat, she left the mug behind. “And they definitely want to see you.”

“At least today is over.” David squeezed the bottom of his sleeve of coffee and poured the dregs into his mouth. The undissolved grounds were bitter on his tongue. Too bad the caffeine couldn’t keep him awake. And the nap at Mavis’s hadn’t helped.

“Damn Big D.” Robertson pulled the empty supply truck behind the other one in the convoy, waiting for their chance to turn toward base camp. “You keep sighing and I’m gonna tell Johnson to check you for leaks.”

“You go anywhere near the medic and I’ll order a full STD panel on your privates, Private.” David rolled up the empty sleeve and tucked it into the trash can.

Robertson clenched his thighs together. “I liked you better when you were dozing, even if your snoring did drown out the radio.”

“Then you’ll love me for the rest of the night.” David unscrewed the cap from his water bottle and drained it. “I plan on doing nothing but sleeping.”

His cot called and he planned to answer.

For at least eight straight hours.

“Sergeant Major?” The light changed and Robertson cranked the wheel keeping close to the other truck.

Uh-oh. The private had gone all respectful on him. David tossed his empty bottle into the bin in the back. Obviously his gut was tired too, or it would have warned him something was off with the soldier. “What is it, Private?”

“Did you notice anything odd about the people today?” Leaning forward, Robertson rested his forearms on the truck’s steering wheel.

“Aside from the coughing and masks?” That had seemed almost normal. After six months of features obscured by masks, a week wasn’t long enough to grow accustomed to seeing uncovered faces.

“Yeah, aside from that.” Robertson’s fingers drummed the dashboard. Too bad there wasn’t any music.

Well, hell. David sat up straighter. The private could have sworn a few times, warning him about the kind of night awaiting him.

Robertson kept everyone awake with his worries.

The truck jiggled its occupants as it crawled toward the gate into base. David reached through the haze clouding his mind. Abnormal? The usual blusterers had come out, demanding more rations. There’d been the usual whiners complaining about the supplies. “Are you referring to the high number of people collecting for others?”

“Nah.” Halfway into the turn, Robertson braked. The evening air filled with the rattle of the chain link fence opening. He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just… I don’t know. Like something is there. Waiting. Something bad.”

“Something bad is waiting or, more accurately, crawling through the garbage.” David closed his eyes for a moment and propped his head against the seat rest.

“But all those people don’t know about the Plague outbreak.”

“They will. The President is supposed to make an announcement tonight.” Tonight was the beginning of the end. Or maybe it was the end of the beginning of humanity’s extinction.

Robertson slapped the steering wheel as they started forward again. “Why did he wait so long?”

Politics. Money. Avoidance. David rubbed his eyes, felt the grit against his lids. “There wasn’t a confirmed case until now.”

“And it had to be the Doc’s daughter.”

“Her niece.” Not that the private would listen any more than he had the first six times he’d been corrected. David thumbed his phone. Should he call Mavis? Find out how she’s doing?

Make sure Lister was gone.

“What do you think he’ll say?”

“The President? Mavis was on the phone trying to coordinate a mass garbage collection thing when I left.” David frowned. The governor had sounded sick on the speaker phone. And tired. And unwilling to do anything.

Because there’d be a record number of call-ins among the city employees.

“What’s with the frown, Big D?”

The skin between his shoulder blades itched. Something was pinging his oh-shit meter. His brain slogged through the sleep congestion and unearthed a nugget. A nugget that was making connections in unpleasant ways. “The people are sick.”

“Yeah.” Robertson rolled his eyes and stopped the truck next to the tent barracks. “I’m pretty sure they know that already.”

David shook his head. “No, the people are sick and no one told them that it was coming.” Faces emerged in his head like playing cards being shuffled face-up. “They’re getting angry at the government.” His hands spasmed into fists. Son of a bitch. “And we’re the government.”

“Fuckin-A, Big D.” Robertson’s knuckles flashed white. “I don’t want to get killed because the government pukes can’t pull their heads out of their asses. We don’t need another Seattle.”

Yeah, but that was out of their hands. The government had already decided to keep the lid on the Redaction’s imminent return.