Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Maybe even after.

He squared his shoulders. “I believe this is the beginning of the end of our way of life, possibly mankind.”

Lister smiled, deepening the grooves around his mouth. “Excellent! Because when those Jackasses woke up, they put the kibosh on supplying the evacuation routes.”

David eyed the pallets of Meals-Ready-to-Eat being unloaded from the cargo hold. “You want the rations.”

A statement not a question.

Lister nodded, turned the tablet around and flashed the screen at David. Triangles and dots marked the red paths snaking through Arizona and ending in the Southwest corner of Colorado. “Not all. Just most.”

“And the civilians?” He was disobeying orders for them too.

“The fire will work in our favor there. We’re relocating the civilians to Mavis’s neighborhood as well as fall back points in the East Valley. It will make it easier to evacuate everyone.” Lister called up a map of Mavis’s neighborhood. “We’ve created a fire break around the area as well as along the evac routes.”

David paged down. It took a blink for the satellite to update the area. Scorched earth lapped at the South Mountain preserve. A used tire lot belched black smoke, obscuring most of the ground. Nothing seemed to be moving in the two square mile display. Had Wheelchair Henry made it out or been asphyxiated by the lack of oxygen?

“We’ll combine your men along with the few healthy Airmen and Marines that we have left and send them out to set up evac stations along the route Mavis and I settled on.”

“We can be ready to leave in an hour.” David accepted the handheld and used his body to stop the sunlight from bleaching the screen. The routes followed washes more than established roads. Obviously, the plan was for the citizens to walk across the desert. Could they make it to safety before the nuclear power plant melted down? “We’ll have to make multiple trips to disperse everything.”

Reaching over the tablet, Lister swiped at the screen, changing the display. The dots were identified as land supplied. The triangles would be air drops. “You won’t have to do it all.”

David nodded. He hoped the pilots were half as good as they bragged. Misplacing even one shipment would be the difference between life and death for everyone.

With so many sick, they couldn’t afford to lose even one person to a fubar moment.

Trent shambled forward, keeping his attention on the ground. A blizzard of ash fluttered around him, shrouding the cortege of people accompanying him east. Sweat matted his hair from the heat. In the distance, fire roared, wood crackled, and things blew-up. What, he didn’t know nor did he particularly care. He just wanted to reach his condo, shut out this hellish world, and breath clean air.

Another explosion rocked the world.

This one transmitted itself through the ground. He staggered to the right. A can rattled to a stop against the weeds trimming the side of the road. His vision dimmed—maybe from the thickening smoke, maybe not. The soggy, wet fabric of his repurposed shirt sleeve clung to his face and his lungs heaved like bellows.

He had to reach home. He had to be there when the cops arrived to tell him about his ex-wife’s suicide.

Then he’d tell them about his Jag and the bitch who’d stolen it.

The thought prodded him on.

It was her fault he was stuck in this mess. Hers, his fucking ex-wife and that stupid whore, Belinda who’d died on him from a few drops of GHB. He should be home, enjoying a glass of wine and maybe an explicit phone chat with one of the other sluts who had been sexting him lately.

A human shape dropped from his peripheral vision. A soft thud soon followed.

And then something hit his boot and wrapped around his ankle.

Stumbling, he went down on one knee. Stones dug into his knee through his worn pants. Fuck! Rolling over, he sat on his ass and groped for whatever had tripped him. His fingers danced over the pavement, before closing over paper. It fluttered in his hand as he brought it close enough to see it. He stared at Andrew Jackson. Holy shit! It was a twenty.

That couldn’t have brought him down.

After tucking the bill into his pocket, he reached down to his boot soles. His fingers brushed something hard. His nails scratched the bumpy surface before he grasped it. When he lifted it, his wrist protested. Damn, the thing was heavy. Once he brought it closer, he blinked the ash from his eyes. A book? What good was that?

He dropped it onto his lap. Ash blew off the white cross on the cover. A gust of hot air whipped the cover open and flipped through the pages. The motion stopped at a Benjamin wedged into the pages. Trent slapped the one hundred dollar bill, before the wind snatched it away. Money. There was money in the Bible.

Now that he could use.

Pinching the covers closed, he surged to his feet and then tucked the book under his arm. Someone bumped into his side. He clamped down on the Bible as he spun about. “Watch it, asshole.”

“Rats!” The silhouette shouted before being swallowed by the gray and black blizzard.

Rats? Trent’s brain struggled to make sense of the word, to place it in its proper context.

Someone screamed—a high-pitched shriek.

The hair on his neck rose.

Squeaks followed.

Then more screams.

And more squeaks—a sonic wall of them.

A gust thinned the ash blizzard baring the street to his eyes. No, not street. The writhing squirming mass of black and brown had shiny beads for eyes and pink tails. They swarmed closer, leapt onto the legs of a fleeing man, bringing him to the ground. He collapsed with a grunt and thud, before being buried under the mass of furry bodies. Most of the vermin kept charging. To the tune of muffled screams, a few stayed to chew on fingers and soft tissue.

Cries pierced the haze as the rat-covered mass rolled from side to side, plucking at the vermin swarming him.

“Rats!” Pivoting on his heel, Trent surged forward. His pounding heart kept time to his churning feet. Run. Faster. Faster! They wouldn’t get him. He overtook a large lump and slammed against the side of it.

The person went down with a yelp.

Good. Trent continued his sprint. Gasping, he sucked the mask into his open mouth. Maybe if he knocked enough people down, he could get away. He raced through one intersection then another. His gaze flew to the sign at the corner. Ash obscured the letters. Where was he? The shrieks and squeals faded a bit. A stitch dug at his side. Digging his fingers in, he slowed to a jog. Humming started in his head. How long could he keep up this pace?

Another ten minutes?

Twenty?

He used to do an hour at the gym. Why couldn’t he keep up the pace now? Right foot. Left foot. He plodded on. What was wrong with him? Wheezing, he slowed to a fast shamble. Shouldn’t there be a tree around here somewhere, so he could climb it and get a little rest? He staggered on. Bits of cinderblocks and wood littered the road.

“Come to my voice.” A man called out. One that rang with authority.

Finally! Trent’s knees buckled and his elbow clipped a hunk of block standing in the road. Peering into the ash fog, he tried to pick out a shape. Any shape. Pain shot up his arm and ricocheted around his skull. Panic soured his mouth. Had the man left? “Hello?”

His voice sounded rusty with disuse and his tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth.

“We’ll get you to safety. Just come to my voice.”

Safety. Home. Paradise. Trent kept his attention on the ground. One boot followed another. He’d make it. He was strong. A ray of light speckled the veil of ash.

“I—I see a light. Is that you?” Trent forced his left foot forward, and then his right. His lungs heaved, blowing the mask out before sucking it against his teeth. He tried to follow the light to its source but lost it in the swirl.