Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

“The Air Force Base?” That was in the opposite direction of Mavis’s. Damn wily Marines. Mr. Goldstars was horning in on David’s territory.

“You’ll be closer to the food deliveries and the information packets for Mavis coming out of Washington.” Lister plucked a cup off the stack by the coffee urns then filled his cup. He frowned at the black brew before taking a sip. “Damn pansy-ass coffee. What is this for—a bunch of girls?”

David watched the stir stick stand up in the brew, before his eyes closed on him. Lister was just being a Marine. All new service branches felt insecure around the proud tradition of David’s beloved Army. He forced his lids apart.

The general held the red stick to the side and drained the cup. Smacking his lips, he refilled his cup. “I’ve seen shit that looked more lively than you, Dawson. Get eight hours. That’s an order.”

“What if another shipment for Mavis arrives?”

“I’ve already got it.” He patted his breast pocket. “I’ll deliver it as soon as I fill up and empty out.”

Holding his fists at his side, David swallowed a curse. Wily bastard. He’d probably been some Black Ops, special force’s hero. “And the deployment maps?”

“They can wait until morning.” The general drained his second cup, before refilling it again.

So he’d be back in the morning. David wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. His brain said it didn’t matter. Another part of him told him his brain didn’t know diddly.

“Dismissed, Sergeant Major.”

“Yes, Sir.” David snapped off a salute, pivoted about and marched across the tent.

The vestibule door slammed open; the impact rippled around the tent.

“Dawson!” A rough voice called. Watery coughing soon followed.

David halted so fast his boot squeaked.

Colonel Asshole shoved through both doors and staggered into the mess hall. “You!” He glared at David while raising his pistol. “You got us sick. You and that Doctor bitch infected me and my family.”

Eying the Colonel’s trigger finger, David swung his M-4 up.

“If I die, so do you!” The finger tightened.

Shit! David’s heart seized in his chest, stopping his lungs. He wasn’t going to make it.

A shot rang out. Then another. Fire lit his arm ablaze.

Blood blossomed on the CO’s forehead. His face went slack as he collapsed onto the ground.

David’s hand bounced off his weapon. Why the hell didn’t his fingers work?

After holstering his pistol, General Lister grabbed David’s arm, angling the wound to the light. “A through and through. Don’t worry. Our respective medics will be fighting to see who can do the best job stitching you up.”

Soldiers poured into the mess hall, arms at the ready.

David staggered back until he hit the bench. His knees buckled. When his ass hit the seat, his teeth rattled. The general had shot the colonel. Lister had saved his life. The debt would have to be repaid. But not with Mavis. Never her.

“Medic! Corpsman!” Lister set his hand on David’s arm, stanching the flow of blood from the wound. “Peterson and McDermid, take out that trash.”

The two Marines lifted the CO’s body.

“I was going to relieve the coward of command. This way saves me some paperwork.” He snapped his fingers and the cook rushed him with a cup of coffee.

David nodded. Blackness pushed into his vision and his ears began to buzz. God, he hated being shot. “Fucking A!”

He struggled to his feet, his good hand fumbling with his M-4.

The general snorted and dragged him back onto the bench. “Give him something to make him sleep.”

“I’m here, Sergeant Major.” Medic Johnson rushed over.

David felt a prick on his good arm and then nothing.

“The little ones are settled in bed, then?” Mildred looked at him over the top of her reading glasses.

“Almost.” Manny picked up the blue glass bowl of pea pods and took his seat on the couch in front of the muted TV. The power had come on a little over an hour ago. The Emergency Alert System had burped incessantly letting them know about an upcoming address, before he’d silenced it. “Connie’s reading them stories.”

Connie was blind and there were words on those pages. Yet she’d read them as if she could see. He couldn’t figure it out. He picked up one firm green pod, grabbed the stringy end and unzipped it. Peas plopped into the bowl.

“She’s had all those books memorized for years.” Mildred scooted the bucket she was using for the discarded pods closer. “Used to teach elementary school before she lost her sight.”

Ah, that explained that. He added the flaccid pea pod to the trash pile and then picked up a full one. “Are we going to can these tomorrow?”

“Oh, no. We’ll eat some fresh ones in soup then dry the rest for seeds.” Mildred’s attention darted from the shelled peas to the screen. “Well, it’s about time he showed up. We’ve been waiting over an hour. Henry! The President has finally dragged his butt on stage.”

“‘Bout time.” Henry rolled up the ramp and across the dining room floor. “This is the last of the peas. I’ve pulled the vines out and added them to the composter.”

On screen, the President approached the plain brown podium. His complexion echoed the concrete wall behind him—gray and dismal. Dark circles clung to the bags under his glassy eyes. He coughed into a white handkerchief, before tucking it into the pocket of his blue suit. The normally fluid movement seemed jerky.

“He looks like he’s been sick.” Really sick. Like Redaction sick. But that couldn’t be. He and the rest of the government had been protected. Manny moved his hands out of the way

Henry dumped half the peas into his bowl.

“Serves him right, the slimy so-and-so.” After adding the other half of the peas to Mildred’s bowl, he wheeled over to the door, set the bucket outside then closed and locked the French doors. “You do know that he and his rich cronies hid out in bunkers, while the rest of us had to fend for ourselves. They’re not a government of the people. They think they’re above us poor working class folk.”

Mildred chucked an empty pod at his head. It hit his ear before falling onto his shoulder. “Enough rabble rousing, turn up the volume so we can hear what he’s saying.”

Henry scraped the pod off his shoulder and pitched it into the bowl. “This announcement had better be about the sickness.”

Manny’s gut clenched. Had the Redaction returned? Was the dying about to start all over again? Could he keep the niños healthy? Three Burgers in a Basket had been closed. Three. They hadn’t closed that many at the height of the Redaction, but they were closed now. And that’s just the ones he knew about. How many more were infected?

At the grocery store, there’d been people coughing and sneezing. Some even shivered with fever. The advertised well-stocked shelves had been nearly empty when they’d visited to buy ground beef for the promised burgers. Saliva pooled on his tongue at the memory of the beef. His stomach promised to return it to his mouth. Soon he’d have it again.

Please God, not again .

The President’s dark eyes darted from the camera to the right.

“He’s reading off a teleprompter.” Henry folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Might as well just hold up a big sign saying, warning well-edited bullshit is about to be flung at you.’“

A pea pod sailed in front of Manny.

“Language, Henry.”

“Woman, you’re gonna poke an eye out with those things!” Henry picked it off his lap and tossed it into the bowl.

Manny bit his lip to keep from laughing. The couple always acted ridiculous when the topic turned serious. It certainly helped. Most of the time.