Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (35 page)

No one messed with Trent Powers and got away with it.

Insects feasted on his exposed skin, leaving crumbs of pain behind. Near his ear, a fly buzzed then landed. It walked along the lobe. His muscles tensed, amplifying the aches in his body. What was taking them so long?

The bastard coughed—thick and watery, then something wet landed on his foot

Son of a bitch! The asshole was sick! On rubbery legs, Trent scrambled to his feet. Nausea threatened to drop him to his knees. Survival kept him upright and he lashed out against the lump near where his feet had been. His fist collided with it. The impact traveled up his arm and rattled out his teeth.

“Yip!” Pieces flew off the lump as it ducked.

Breathing hard, Trent kicked out. His foot collided with a soft crinkly belly. Overbalanced, he went down on one knee.

Arms flailing, the lump rolled backward. “I give. I give.”

He’d won. Now the bastard would pay. The blackness rimming his vision receded. Fist up, Trent eyed the thing struggling on the ground. Something didn’t seem right. “Stay still.”

The lump did not obey.

Elbows topped shadowy triangles. “Here. I took the lighter. That’s all.”

Moonlight glinted off the yellow plastic as it sailed through the air. When it landed, Trent stared at the lighter. Not his. Something that cheap would hurt the image he worked so hard to maintain. He bent and picked it up, then flipped it around and around his fingers. “This is not mine.”

“I got it from your buddy.” The lump gestured at the ground near Trent’s feet before dissolving into another coughing fit.

Fuck! He better not get him sick. Trent stepped back. His heel hit something cold and hard, stopping his retreat. He glanced down at the obstacle. In the harshness of the full moon, bugs crawled in and out of the corpse’s eye sockets. The skin was black and swollen, straining against the orange vest. Rats chewed on the gaping hole in his belly and gnawed on the fingertips, exposing the white bone underneath. Trent kicked a rat off his foot before scuttling to the side.

Grass rustled and the rat squealed as it landed.

“Thought you was dead, too.” Lump wheezed, slowly lumbering to his feet. Stirring the layers around him, the cool breeze carried the scent of urine and body odor. “I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise.”

So, not one of his attackers but a worthless loser. A scavenger. A bum. Trent stuck his hand down his trousers. He ignored the clammy, silk boxers rubbing his hand and focused on the important bits. One dick. He stroked the flaccid flesh for a moment, before venturing lower. Stubbly hair abraded the pads of his fingers before he found his nuts. One ball. He’d have to visit the salon before he went native. Shifting his weight, he found the other. Two balls.

So what had the bitch shot?

His hand crept lower. Fabric resisted his intrusion then something tugged against his thigh. Pain quickly followed. Ahh, the bullet had grazed his inner thigh. He could live with that.

But the bitch had to die.

And not just the one who pulled the trigger.

“If’n you don’t want the lighter, could I have it?” Lump hocked up a lougie before planting it on the ground.

Trent clutched the lighter in his fist. He didn’t want the piece of crap, but if the loser wanted the lighter, he might be able to profit from the situation. “What are you willing to do for it?”

“Do?” The lump scratched his head, then his bulky arms then his massive chest.

Trent rolled his eyes. Obviously, Lump was a loser and an idiot. “You get me safely where I want to go and you can have the lighter.”

He dangled it from his fingertips, swinging it back and forth to gauge the man’s attention.

Lump lunged for it.

“No.” Careful to avoid the dead body, Trent stumbled out of the way. He flashed the lighter once more, before tucking it into his empty pocket. “I get what I want,
before
you get what you want.”

Lump hunched deeper into the width of his shoulders. “What do you want?”

What did he want? Jiggling the lighter in his pocket, Trent took a step to the left. Pain zig-zagged up his thigh to burst inside his brain. He wanted to turn back the clock. Instead of stopping his Jag, he wanted to floor the sports car, plow into the gangbangers who had done this to him, and leave them a bloody smear on his hood.

That’s what he wanted.

And he would get it. Eventually. Because he was smart. And patient. But in the meantime...

Lump shifted before hacking again.

Trent’s nails bit into his palm as he stepped over the body, moving away from the loser. He’d already gotten the Redaction once and the government said you couldn’t get it again. This would be fine, if Lump carried the illness. But the bums of the world carried plenty of other diseases.

Bending at the waist, Lump spat again. The moonlight highlighted the tiny puddle. “You want me to take you to the soldiers?”

He nodded before shaking his head. The motion sent aftershocks through his skull. Damn whores.

“Don’t you worry about them shooting us.” Straightening, Lump adjusted his bulk before peeling off his outer layer and shaking out a wad of newspapers. The man shrunk at least two sizes. “They know Ol’ Thomas and they’ll make sure you get some help and get you back where you belong.”

Where he belonged? The two-story house, the big screen TV, the Jag. Before the dream was half-formed, it fell apart. The Jag had his murder kit in it. Cold sweat slicked Trent’s skin. The soldiers would call the cops, the cops would use his GPS system to locate his car, and then they’d find his kit.

He couldn’t go to the soldiers.

He couldn’t go to the cops.

So where did that leave him? In the middle of a dry river with a bum for company, pain in the thigh and a throbbing head. But only until he located the bitches. They wouldn’t have gone far. Their kind was too stupid.

Lump turned away and stared shuffling toward the street, shining like a black ribbon in the moonlight.

“Wait!” Trent swatted at a fly circling his head and accidentally brushed his temple. Firecrackers exploded inside his head. He doubled over and vomited. Sour chunks tumbled off his tongue, over and over again, until finally his stomach clenched nothing. Slowly, the cramps eased. Spit pooled in his mouth. He used it to wash out the bitterness.

“You sick, too?” Lump shuffled closer. “Well, that rules out the soldiers then. They’re getting real jumpy lately. Heard tell, they’ve even shot some folks last night.”

Trent wiped his mouth on his sleeve, tasted the dirt rubbed into the fabric. He’d pretend to be sick, if it bought him time. He’d even hang out with losers until he found out the gang’s hiding spot. “Where can we go then?”

“I know a place.” Instead of turning around, Lump headed further into the dry river bed. “They’ll take us in and feed us.”

His stomach cramped. Food wasn’t high on his priorities right now. But staying alive was. Besides the losers would know the gang’s turf, probably even recognize the bitch who’d stolen his Jag. And once he found her, he’d make her pay.

And there would be no bum to help her.

He’d make sure she was beyond help by the time he finished.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mavis opened one eye. The blurry, red numbers of the alarm clock bled into the darkness. Two-thirty-five AM. No good news ever came at half past two in the morning. Ever.

It could only mean one thing: Patient Zero had finally turned up.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She wasn’t ready. Nothing had been prepared. There was nowhere for the survivors to go. The phone kept ringing.

Maybe if she didn’t answer it the dying wouldn’t begin. Maybe she would have longer to prepare, to find a plan that would save Sunnie. And David. And...

The peppy refrain started again, louder this time, chiding her cowardice. Rubbing the grit from her eyes, she rolled closer to the cell phone on her dresser. The mystery novel she’d attempted to read over the last six months plopped to the floor. Her fingers closed around the plastic while her thumb worked between the two pieces to flip it open.

The ringtone died, leaving only the wind to mourn its loss. The cell chilled her ear. “Hello?”

“Dammit, Mavis!” Surgeon General Miles Arnez snapped into the phone. “I thought I told you to keep news of the Redaction’s return to yourself.”

Mavis blinked. Her brain slogged through the fog of sleep, trying to figure out the conversation. “Patient Zero...”

“Yes, Patient Zero!” Miles sputtered. “You of all people should know that the government follows you and your niece’s every move, especially in so public a forum as the Redaction in Action website.”

Mavis sat up in bed. But that had been days ago. Why was he having a snit-fit about it now? And the Chinese government had denied everything. Of course, that hadn’t stopped reporter Catherine Sinclair. “Miles, I—”

“And to use your own niece. Honestly, Mavis!” Miles sighed. She could practically hear him running his fingers through his hair.

She latched onto the one thing that mattered most. “Sunnie?”

“You do know that the government will check on her. And then, well, I don’t think I will be able to protect you from the President’s, no, all of Washington’s wrath.”

Mavis licked her lips. She’d missed something. “Slow down, Miles. It’s two-thirty in the morning here, and I’m having trouble keeping up.”

“What?” Miles chuffed and then he did something she dreaded hearing again. He coughed.

A watery, wheezing kind of sound that momentarily stopped her heart.

“Are you alright?”

“No, dammit.” He coughed again. “Some idiot left the vents open, and we pulled in days’ worth of ash before anyone noticed.”

She pushed off the covers. Her cold toes sank into the area rug. “You have the Ash Pneumonia.”

What would she do now? Without Miles’s help, no one stood a chance of survival.

“Don’t worry.” He cleared his throat. In the background she heard the tinkle of ice cubes. “Everyone here is on a strict regime of anti-virals. We’ll recover.”

Tucking her phone between her ear and her shoulder, she slipped her arms through her sleeves and tied the sash of her robe. God knew if she’d be able to sleep anymore today. There was so much to do, so much to accomplish. Fortunately, the inevitable had been delayed one more day. “I’m glad you’ll be well, Miles. But I don’t understand. If everyone is infected why doesn’t the President make an announcement?”

“He might have if you hadn’t made that stupid post.” Miles sighed. “Now, he has people heading to your house and—”

Mavis recoiled to stare at the phone. “My house? What does he plan to do here?”

“Check on your niece.” Miles swore under his breath. “And so help you, if she doesn’t have a case of the sniffles, you will be arrested and possibly shot.”

“Give me a minute.” Biting the inside of her lip, Mavis tore down the hall. Soft white light eked out around the door frame. Sunnie was up. Yet, her niece wouldn’t have done anything stupid, would she? They’d been together when Mavis had used the commandeered computer to make the leak. The reporter had followed up. Of course, China had denied everything.

Sunnie had slept through that part.

She also didn’t know there were other things they would do to get the word out. Mavis shoved the brass handle down and the door swung open. Out crept the smell of moist air and peppermint.

Turning to look at her, Sunnie held her blanket over her mouth. Fever painted dots of color in her pale cheeks and she coughed. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Mavis’s heart stilled in her chest. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not yet. She wasn’t ready. The cell phone slipped through her numb fingers and clattered to the floor. “Oh, God, Sunnie. You’re sick.”

Chapter Thirty

David pulled the Humvee to a stop next to the curb and shook off a yawn. He needed sleep. At least another six hours. Not that he was going to get it. He picked up his cup and drained the last of the cold coffee. The caffeine wasn’t helping anymore. Killing the engine, he grabbed the box off the passenger seat and exited the vehicle.

Crickets chirped in the early morning light, and bare tree branches shattered the full moon. Nothing moved in the stillness. At least, not that he could see.

But what he couldn’t see had killed over a third of the population.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he yawned again. Maybe, Mavis wouldn’t mind if he caught a few z’s on her couch, before he returned to base and today’s food distribution duty. Slinging the strap of his M-4 over his shoulder, he slammed the door shut and walked toward the back of the truck.

The buzz of his phone punctuated the night.

Unsnapping it from his belt, he eyed the LCD readout. The number was unfamiliar but that was nothing new today. With Colonel Asshole on leave, he’d become the ‘it’ boy for all the shit flying around. Opening the cell, he held it to his ear. “Sergeant Major Dawson.”

“Listen up, Dawson. This is General Lister of the USMC.” Lister bit off each letter. “I’m on my way over to Doctor Mavis Spanner’s house and if there’s not a sick body inside, I have orders to put a bullet through her brain.”

David stopped short by the bumper. Jamming the butt of his weapon against his shoulder, he tucked his finger against the trigger. He might not be as accurate firing with one hand, but he’d get his message across. “I won’t let you do that, Sir.”

“Not asking for your permission, soldier. I’m telling you what my orders are.” Lister cleared his throat and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Now get a sick body into that house ASAP. We need the Doc alive and in the loop if any of us are to survive the coming clusterfuck.”

David stared at the cell when the display blinked, signaling the end of the call. What the hell good was whispering when the government could pick up their conversation on the satellite network? He jerked as the general’s words sunk in. Holy shit! Someone was coming to kill Mavis!

Gravel crunched under foot as he sprinted across the landscaping. Moths buzzed around the porch light. A few danced their death throes on the cement entry. With his fingers curled into a fist, he pounded on the security door. The rattling metal echoed inside. “Open the door, dammit.”