Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

“Maybe she saw Johnson’s ugly face.” Robertson grinned at the thin soldier behind Michaelson.

The medic offered Robertson two birds, neither capable of leaving his hands to fly.

David shifted on his feet. What could he say without betraying Mavis? Well, hell, with the way Marines jawed the news was probably already making the rounds. “The niece leaked information that said the Redaction was back. The President ordered a Marine to visit the Doc’s house. If the niece wasn’t sick, he was to shoot them both.”

For a moment, adrenaline beat his fatigue to a manageable level. Only a damn Marine would show up to kill a target, then turn around and cozy up to her. David rubbed the back of his neck. And the jarhead was definitely cozying up to her.

“That’s cold.” Robertson shook out his hands. “Don’t they realize the Doc is the only thing standing between us and the official government white noise?”

“Yeah, they do.” This explained the courtesy ass-chewing David had received and the order to produce a sick body. Not that the notice removed Lister from his faecal roster. “But if the Doc is out of the loop, her value as an asset drops considerably.”

“Well, I’d take the Doc over a bunch of politicos any day.” Robertson folded his arms over his chest and thrust out his jaw.

Michaelson nodded and imitated Robertson’s stance. “Who knows how many of us she’s already saved with her little warnings?”

David smiled. Nice to see his men were loyal to those who covered their asses. Not that he’d expected any different. They were good men, and he damn well wasn’t going to lose one of them if he could help it. “I’m sure Doc appreciates your support. But to get back to the purpose of this little pow-wow. You’ve all been deployed overseas. You’ve all seen action. So, if things start to turn ugly…”

“If our back starts to itch.” Michaelson added.

Robertson edged forward. “If our balls draw up tight.”

“Whatever instinct that has saved your miserable hides in combat, if it starts talking, you will listen. You will leave.”

His men dropped their gazes from his, confusion rippled their foreheads.

“Retreat? From our own people?” Robertson shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Yeah, it was a bitch. But his people were here, in front of him. His stomach cramped and bile soured his mouth. They’d save as many civilians as they could.

“Throw the supplies off the truck and leave. When you get to the next point, assess, then decide. If the mob follows just keep tossing out the weekly supplies on your rounds.” In the distance, an engine hummed. David checked his watch. Seven-ten at night. It wasn’t time for the Marines to switch shifts. “And that’s another thing. We’re going to have to change up our routes. Keeping to the same schedule and drive makes us a target waiting to happen.”

Heads nodded.

The humming grew louder. David turned to see a tank turning the corner onto their street.

“What the fuck!” Robertson jumped against the gate. “Don’t the Marines know this is Army territory?”

David eyed the Humvee behind the tank, then the personnel carrier, and another and another. His skin itched worse than a three-day-old sunburn. Something was up. And he seriously doubted it was good. “Stand down, Robertson.”

The tank rolled passed the gate before stopping. The hatch popped open and a Marine emerged, SAW aiming at the empty warehouse across the street.

The Humvee turned onto the base’s entry.

The guard stared at David, but didn’t raise his weapon.

David ran his fingers through his buzz cut. Well, shit! An invasion just wasn’t on his list of things to do before bedtime. If he ever got a bedtime. He walked to the joint between gate and fence. “Open the gate, Private.”

With one hand on his weapon, the guard began to slide the chain link apart.

Squeezing through the opening, he marched to the driver of the Humvee.

General Lister leaned out the open window. “Dawson.”

David’s step hitched. What the hell was a general doing driving? “Sir?”

“Hop your ass inside.” Lister jerked his head to the passenger side.

“Yes, Sir.” David jogged in front of the hot grille before climbing inside the cab. Ducking under his gun’s strap, he set the butt of his M-4 on the ground and wrapped his hand around the muzzle.

His men backed up as General Lister nudged the Humvee forward. “How many of your men are sick?”

“None, Sir.”

Behind them, the personnel carriers shadowed their movements.

“None?” Lister coughed into the crook of his arm. “You holding information back?”

“No, Sir.” David straightened in his seat. That would be against the code.

Lister guided the Humvee through the tents, aiming for the motor pool. No need to ask the way. All the camps were laid out identically. “Camp seems rat free.”

“Most of us were in Afghanistan together. We got used to burning our…” David bit off the word shit, “…garbage. Of course, we still have flea bites. We’ve been treating them with antibiotic ointment.”

The general pulled the truck into an empty slot next to the small, refrigerated truck. “Lots of men who went in country are sick, and they burned their shit as well.”

David clamped his mouth shut. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Sorry? Hell no! His men were healthy and he was damned thankful.

Lister killed the engine. “This brings me to the purpose of my visit. More than half of my men are infected. Sixty percent of the Air Force is down. We don’t have enough bodies in uniform to maintain order.”

David blinked. Half? Sixty? “Christ Almighty. I’d seen the sims but that’s awfully fast isn’t it?”

“Faster than Mavis had predicted. Far faster. Practically every damn politician is down with it or hiding from those who have it.” Lister shoved open the door and jumped to the ground. “Not a fucking one of them wants to give orders. Not a one.”

Mavis? David climbed out of the Humvee.”What about the President? Is he still going to make an announcement?”

“Yeah. God only knows what he’ll say.” Lister adjusted his uniform. “The asswipe refuses to allow us to burn our garbage. Says the Ash Pneumonia is rising on the East Coast and they can’t afford to put anymore pollutants in the air.”

David quickly joined him. “Doesn’t he know about the plague?”

“He knows.”

And he didn’t care. It was an election year, after all. Son of a bitch. “What does Mavis want us to do?”

There. He could use Doc’s first name, too.

Around him, his men unloaded the sick from the back of the trucks. Robertson marched them shivering and coughing to the barracks. The Army medic consulted the Corpsman.

“We’re falling back and consolidating our positions. I’ll need you to tell us which parts of the valley are the least inhabited. No point in guarding empty property. The Plague can’t kill it.” Lister headed for the mess hall, stopped mid-step and bent over to cough. At the end of his fit, he spat. “We’ll be camping here tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll tear down this camp and relocate to Mavis’s neighborhood.”

David yanked open the door to the mess hall then stood back to let the superior officer pass. “Does she know what you’re doing?”

“When I started getting the lists of sick, she came up with the idea.”

She hadn’t mentioned it to him . “So we’ll rendezvous at Mavis’s after work?”

The cook and his assistant looked up from the table as they entered. Both soldiers scrambled to their feet and saluted.

The general snapped off a return salute and waved at them to relax, before continuing toward the deserted chow line. “Negative. What’s left of your base will relocate to Luke.”