Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

The private had the brains of cinderblock. “You going to open that door?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major. But I thought you should know, we’ve checked the Marine’s nifty Doo-dad.” Robertson pulled the handheld out of his pocket. “We’ve got survivors heading north. Lots of them. Could be Wheelchair Henry and the kid, Manny, leading the bunch.”

He flashed the screen at him.

David stared at the blurry resolution of people and animals. No way to make out distinct features and nothing looked like a wheelchair. “Where are they?”

“Near as we could tell, they’ve walked along the Salt River to Thirty-Fifth Avenue then headed north.” Robertson tapped the tablet and the image zoomed back.

White blobs marked the screen. David’s hands trembled. “Christ, they’re walking into a fire.”

One that engulfed several blocks.

“Yeah.” Robertson shifted. “None of our people are able to get to them since the roads are packed with cars.”

David leaned closer to the tablet. “What’s that snake thing?”

Robertson spun the screen around to see it better. He spread his fingers over the screen to zoom in. “A canal. But it’s too close to the fire for them to use it as passage. And…” He turned it around so David could see. “The fire has already leapt the water.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what we thought.” Robertson turned off the handheld. “Some asshole mentioned that the whole lot of them would asphyxiate before they made it to the fire.”

If only there was a way to warn them, they might have a chance. Tension grabbed hold of his neck until he felt as unmovable as a rusted tin man. Maybe there was. He’d have to bend a few rules… “Do you think you could get a hold of another one of those?”

Robertson frowned down at the device. “Probably not. I haven’t seen that many of them and the Marines don’t exactly like to share.”

“Then go shopping for a laptop and a solar cell.” Robertson had run a black market in Iraq; he knew where to ‘find’ things. David hoped his months stateside hadn’t impaired his skills. “Package them up for an aerial insertion. There’s a chopper pilot that owes me a favor.”

Pushing open the Doc’s front door, Robertson chuckled. “I’ll be back to the truck before you.”

Mavis turned to face him when the hinges squeaked. Her gaze bounced off his face to the plate in his hand before she smiled. “Yes, I know I’m beginning to sound like a Chicken Little, Miles. First Plague, Hanta now anthrax. All I’m asking is that you authorize the tests. Please. You said yourself that some have already had a relapse.”

After kicking the door shut behind him, David sauntered into the great room.

“I’m not disagreeing with your logic. In fact, I agree. But the new President is working to rescind my authority.” Miles’s voice had the tinny quality of computer speakers.

Probably video chat. At least, she’d gotten hold of the Surgeon General. Now all David had to do was figure out how to bring up the subject of germ warfare without sounding like a complete nut job.

Mavis met him part of the way and took the plates. “Thanks. Sunnie’s resting. The Corpsman gave her a broad spectrum antibiotic drip to give her immune system a boost.”

“Mavis?” the Surgeon General croaked. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening, Miles.” With a tight smile, she returned to the laptop on her dining room table. “When did the President die?”

“Six-thirty this morning.” On the laptop’s screen, fatigue had packed a full set of bags under Miles Arnez’s eyes. “They’re not making the announcement, yet.”

“How medically competent is the new President?” Mavis snapped her fingers and then pointed to the coffee maker on the counter. A large stainless steel travel mug sat next to a smaller one with images of chocolate on the front.

David shook his head and marched toward it. She did indeed like giving orders. Good thing he was used to it. At least, he could have a cup of decent coffee before heading out. He hit the power switched. The coffee maker hissed as he turned around and leaned against the counter.

“He’s whistling when he breathes.I’d say the lack of oxygen is affecting his thought processes but he’s a politician. Hard to tell if he’s normally an idiot or hypoxyia made him that way.” Miles cleared his throat. “Playing Devil’s advocate here, if anthrax is falling out with the ash, why is everyone sick at all fifty-seven facilities? We only had one filter breach.”

Mavis swallowed her mouthful of eggs. “The incubation period?”

Doubt infused her voice.

“Nobody’s left the shelters in months.”

David pushed away from the counter. He might as well take advantage of the opportunity. “It was a deliberate attack.”

Mavis lifted a triangle of burnt toast off her plate and scowled at him.

“Is that you, Sergeant Major?” the Surgeon General asked.

“Yes, Sir.” David pulled up a chair and sat next to Mavis so Miles could see him.

Miles groped among the papers on his desk before pulling out a bottle of sore throat spray. “Explain yourself.”

“Exposure could have occurred five days ago, right?”

Mavis nodded and bit the corner off her toast.

At least she was hearing him out. “Five days ago, international flights began. They could have dropped a payload then.”

“Still airborne. Our filters would have trapped the spores.” Opening his mouth, Miles aimed the spray nozzle at his throat, before depressing it twice. He winced and wrinkled his nose. “Ack. Vile stuff.”

Mavis tapped her toast against her lip. “Did anything come in on Monday? Supplies? Water? Anything?”

Miles shook his head then stopped. “Burgers in a Basket. They delivered food to everyone. Toys for the children, burgers and fries and milk shakes all around.”

“They gave the same to the military personnel.” The chair back supported David’s dissolving spine. Holy shit! It was the perfect attack. “The perfect Trojan Horse.”

“It couldn’t have come in the food or we’d have gastronomic anthrax, not inhalation.” Miles rubbed his bulbous nose. “And there’d have to be a hell of a lot of people involved. Homeland Security should have picked up something.”

“Not necessarily. Fires were breaking out in China for almost a month before the influenza struck.” She dropped her toast on the plate. “Their navy was posturing around Taiwan at the time.”

Miles yanked open a drawer and chucked the throat spray inside. “So they must have sent it before the Redaction hit. Any suspicious deaths would have been lost among the flus.”

David watched the two of them. He could almost hear their brains hum as they worked to unravel the puzzle. “Could explain why my unit isn’t sick. We didn’t get our burgers. The CO said they never arrived.”

But he’d been eating them on the trip over. He’d also gotten sick. For once in his life the man had actually done something to benefit the men under his command.

“The salt.” Mavis wiped the crumbs from her fingers onto her pants. “It wasn’t salt or desiccant. The anthrax was in the toys for the movie, Hatshepsut. That’s how they did it. Anyone who went near Burgers in a Basket that day would have been infected.”

Miles chair creaked as he leaned back. “All around the world, government, military, hospitals, police, and fire departments all got them. Except for our politicos, everyone ate outside in the fresh air, sunshine and wind, ensuring the disease was spread to everyone who hadn’t gotten their share.”

“Plus the toys were handed out to the general public at the premiers on Tuesday while they waited in line.” More anthrax in the air, more people exposed.