Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Spiky Hair plucked the tablet from his associate’s hand. “According to the CDC, Anthrax can incubate for up to forty-five days before symptoms emerge. The healthy could actually be infected.”

Mavis sank into her seat. And since the ash would continue to drop out of the atmosphere for years, the disease would keep hammering at the planet until everything and everyone on it was dead or dying.

David followed General Lister onto Mavis’s front porch. “Sir, if I may have a word.”

The Marine adjusted his hat on his salt and pepper hair while staring across the cul-de-sac. “I’m getting some chow before heading out. Walk with me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Catching the security door before it slammed, David eased it back in to the jamb. While Mavis kept trying unsuccessfully to raise the Surgeon General, Colonel Williams from Luke Air Force Base had disappeared along with the three medical officers. Mavis’s announcement about the Anthrax had just made seizing all the nearby stores of Cipro a priority.

Across the street, army locksmiths opened the doors of Mavis’s neighbors. An old man gestured north, before pointing to the handheld tablet of the Lieutenant accompanying him. The old man looked familiar. Was he on one of the delivery routes?

“Sergeant Major?” General Lister thumped his open palm against the leg of his uniform.

David jogged down the walk to join the Marine on the driveway. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Damnedest thing.” Lister tugged a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. “Anthrax attack on our soil. Leave it to the Doc to pick that up. But given her background, I suppose it’s natural she’d identify it first.”

Her background in the Weapons of Mass Destruction program. He shuddered to think what her husband had to protect her from during those deployments to hostile countries. Made this outbreak seem like a day at the beach; a beach with minefields and an enemy laying down suppression fire.

David nodded to the soldiers they passed as he and the general headed out of the cul-de-sac. Gray smoke drifted in clumps down the street. Everywhere people coughed. Most weren’t in uniform.

A woman in a short skirt limped in one red pump. A grungy teenager’s untied shoelaces slapped the blacktop. Two small children clutched each other’s hands. An old man wore a dress shirt, tie and boxers. An older woman hobbled with her walker, the blue curlers shivered in her hair. Behind them staggered an elderly man in a suit with knifepoint creases in his pants. A barefoot preteen in a pink rock star tee shirt and black jeans trailed him. A chubby toddler in nothing but a diaper slept in a soot-stained soldier’s arms.

Even with the medicine, only three of them had a chance at survival. Three. How did God decide? David avoided their gaze and focused on the signpost. He couldn’t think about it or all day long he’d be counting to seven.

Lister paused at the corner. “I don’t believe this outbreak is an accident Sergeant-Major. Not for one minute. This was a premeditated attack.”

A truck lumbered by. The pearly morning light shone on the ghostly faces staring back at them. Vacant eyed, faces bleached by ash and a hacking cough. More temporary survivors.

Lister turned right, angling deeper into the neighborhood. “Mention that to the Doc before you leave for your rounds. You are still leaving, aren’t you Sergeant Major? Those supply lines will be the only thing giving us a shot at survival.”

“Yes, Sir.” David followed him off the sidewalk and onto the street. The smell of bread and cinnamon laced the smoky air.

Staging explosives next to the curb, demolition teams from all branches of the service as well as a handful of firemen poured over electronic maps. A paper-thin silver solar charger provided the computers with electricity despite the weak sunlight.

He had to get one of those. Their handheld was nearly out of juice. “We’re planning to depart at zero-nine hundred. We’ll need a solar cell for our GPS.”

“Hell, Sergeant Major, why didn’t you say so? See the Gunny at the supply tent.” He gestured to a Marine standing in front of a truck. He glanced from the laptop he balanced in one hand to the trio of doctors standing before him. Tacked on the canvas, a thin sheet of silver rippled in the breeze behind him.

“Thank you, Sir.” David veered away from the general, heading for the gunnery sergeant.

“One more thing, Dawson.”

David stopped and turned about. Although politely worded, he recognized an order when he heard it. “Yes, Sir.”

“Make sure you pick up food for the Doc.” Lister pointed to the double line of servicemen heading into the next cul-de-sac. “We’re all counting on you to give her something to live for if her niece is one of the seven fatalities.”

Son of a bitch. Mavis didn’t need anyone even thinking Sunnie might not make it.

And he didn’t want to even consider that Mavis wouldn’t make it.

Lister cocked an eyebrow and waited for an answer.

“Yes, Sir.” David saluted. He didn’t really have a choice. None of them did. Inside Mavis’s big brain, she’d already worked out how they were going to survive an anthrax plague and nuclear holocaust. She had the answers that none of them had probably even thought of questions to.

She was also more fragile than any of them knew, more affected by the loss of her husband and son than she let on. And now, everyone in the valley pinned their hopes and dreams on her. Even if they didn’t know it, Mavis did. In unguarded moments, he’d seen her shoulders bow, heard her tired sighs and watched the doubts creep into her eyes.

He’d be there to shoulder the burden.

She just had to let him in.

Given the way she’d shut him out with Sunnie, sneaking in under her defenses might be impossible.

“Damn, Big D.” Robertson intercepted David before he reached the corner of Mavis’s cul-de-sac. A few of the civilian women snapped out of their shock to watch the brawny man strut. Pulling down his mask, the private grinned then winked at them. “I thought you had a big helping of flapjacks and fake eggs, but now you went back for more.”

Clutching the disposable forks in his hand, David balanced a plate of scrambled eggs and toast and a small bowl of oatmeal. “These are for the Doc and Sunnie.”

“Heard the Doc’s niece was sick.” Robertson fell into step beside David. “Is she as fine as the rumors say?”

Rolling his eyes, David stepped off the curb. “She’s sick, Private. Sick.”

As for rumors, he should probably track the gossipers down and shoot the next person who started up. Mavis didn’t need the grief.

Robertson shrugged. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this Big D, but there’re a lot of soldiers and not too many hotties. Thought since you know the Doc, I might have an in while the rest of the goobers drool on the sidelines.”

David ground his teeth together. Had he ever been that young, stupid and horny? Probably. He was a soldier. “That’s a dick in your pants, Private, not a moral compass. You lead; it follows. Not the other way around.”

“I know that, Big D.” Robertson stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I just wanted a peek. After seeing a woman with bed head, well, anything else is bound to be an improvement.”

David stopped on Mavis’s porch. “Let me explain this in small words even you can understand. Sunnie is an Ivy league school and you’re a junior college, if you’re lucky.”

“She’s got that much class, huh?” Robertson opened the security door.

“And then some.”

Robertson rested his hand on the handle of Mavis’s front door. “Thanks Big D. She sounds perfect for me.”