Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (57 page)

“Yes.” Goat Lady pulled her handkerchief from the billy’s mouth. “That’s what convinced them to come.”

General Lister walked up on Mavis’s right. “Corpsmen checked on your niece. No change.”

Mavis contained the flare of hope heating her from the inside out. No change didn’t mean Sunnie was recovering. It just meant Mavis would have to wait one more day to see if the antibiotics were working.

Goat Lady patted Mavis’s arm. “Your niece is sick? Hon, I’m so sorry.”

“I am hopeful she’ll recover.” And it was true, but sometimes hope was such a bitch. Mavis jumped when a rooster crowed. Stupid poultry.

“Why are they unloading when we’re just going to bug out tomorrow?” Lister rocked back on his heels.

“Tomorrow?” Goat Lady pushed the Billy toward the open field with the rest. The animal went a distance before returning.

“What’s the plan for getting all these...” He waved his hand at the livestock. “…these animals to Colorado?”

“Colorado.” Goat Lady lowered her voice. “I didn’t realize we were going so far. We pooled our gas into big trucks that will take the goats, llamas, and some of the chickens, but there isn’t enough to get all the way to Colorado. Heck, I don’t even think they’d make it to Camp Verde.”

“And the horses, donkeys and mules?” Mavis stared at the larger animals. She could use them.

“They’ll carry the sick as well as some supplies.” Removing her hat, Goat Lady waved it to the west where more people arrived—this time in rickety wagons that looked like they’d once been lawn art. “We’ve also brought the wagons we could find. My neighbor created a yoke for a car trailer to haul even more. Unfortunately, many of the horses objected to dragging it. But three wagons are better than none.”

Lister pulled his computer tablet from his pocket. He scrolled down the page. “If your trucks run on diesel, we can supply them. We’re going to need those animals.” He tugged his pant leg out of the Billy’s mouth and pushed it away with his foot. “These guys make pretty useful garbage disposals.”

“I’ll go tell the others to be prepared to move out at first light.” She slapped her hat on her head again, then pushed the billy into the corral and shut the makeshift gate behind him.

“Well, that’s a bit of good luck.” Lister consulted his pad. “Dawson’s little civilian group hasn’t budged from their location. I’m thinking they lost people last night, too.”

Turning away from the park, Mavis headed toward her house.

Headquarters.

Where a ton of work awaited her. The Western United States new seat of government was a rambling brown slump block ranch house. No marble Grecian columns or centuries of history in sight. Sometimes it was just too much for one person to bear. And despite the ready and capable hands of the servicemen around her, they wanted
her
to make the decisions, needed
her
to lead. All except David. He pushed her, challenged her ideas, and made her look at things differently.

David.

Where was he? Why hadn’t he returned last night? Was he out looking for his group to rescue? She boxed up thoughts of him. Lister would have said if something had occurred. And David wasn’t actually due here until tonight. One night of rest before tomorrow’s evacuation. “What’s our current population?”

“We have five thousand personnel on base.”

Mavis sighed. Five thousand was a good number. There were six thousand yesterday. “I thought we lost some folks last night.”

“About four grand. Ninety-five percent were civilians. But people have found our camp all through the night.”

The rest were soldiers partially immune to the anthrax. Still, if the trend kept up, it would spell trouble. There needed to be a balance between the sexes and ages or violence would erupt. Mavis scanned the civilians walking from the outdoor mess hall to their assigned houses. She recognized the predatory lope of some of them. There’d already been rumors of two rapes. If she found out they were true, she personally put a bullet in the perpetrator’s head.

Her fingers twitched. Killing for a cause would be a relief in the face of this mindless slaughter. “What happened to the bodies?”

“We’re using the abandoned corporate center as a morgue.” Lister flashed the map at her.

“When you contact your men setting up camps down the line tell them to dig trenches about a hundred yards from the camp.” She nodded to a coughing man. “We’ll need a place to dispose of people as we go.”

The general’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Northeast of the valley, military vehicles lumbered along the washes, clearing the road, setting up the evacuation sites and digging graves. Their sick comrades, the ones with the entire series of anthrax shots and thus the best chance of recovery, had been sent ahead with them. Almost a hundred healthy civilians had joined them.

“We’re getting reports of flooding just outside of Carefree.” Lister zoomed in on the area north of Seven Springs. “If we can make it to Power Plant Road we should be able to hit a dirt road, jog into Strawberry and head up north on the State Route.”

She leaned closer. Little bubbles meant towns, towns meant traffic and delays. She glanced to the west and the nuclear power plant. At least, Strawberry was in Mogollion Rim country and the metals in the hills would provide them with some protection. “We might be able to pick up some folks, too.”

“I’ll order the supply trucks to divert to the new course.”

She nodded. Fuel, supplies and tents would be deposited along the way as they made their way to the Southeast corner of Colorado. “See if anyone has any radiation badges.”

The general snapped his attention to her. “You think we’ll need them?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Satellite maps show hot spots in China. They might already have lost control of some of their power plants.”

He swore softly. “How long do we have?”

“Does it matter? Here, we have no chance. In the mountains, we might just make it.”

“Hell, Doc.”

Yeah. Hell had actually made it to Earth. Best not to dwell on it.

“How many of the five thousand now encamped with us are sick?” Mavis zigged into the mess hall, heading for the coffee urn. Pots banged as the cooks prepared lunch. Only a handful of tables were occupied—soldiers playing cards with children on their laps. One man sat by himself reading a book.

“Over three thousand five hundred.” Lister tapped the screen again. “Corpsmen predict only a couple hundred of them will survive the night.”

Mavis jerked a cup off the stack and held it under the coffee urn. Black sludge plopped into her cup. She’d forgotten the military and their love of tar. She blinked back her tears and sniffed. “Looks like seventy percent was optimistic.”

“Your models predicted one in a thousand.” Lister fidgeted.

Stupid man. He acted like she was about to break down and cry. As for her models... She’d smash the damn computer if she wasn’t waiting for word from Miles. She dumped a tablespoon of powdered creamer into her cup and stuffed a red stir stick inside. The plastic bent as she stirred. “I was hoping to be wrong.”

“We all were.” Lister held his cup under the spigot and filled it. Obviously he liked to chew the black semi-solid.

Mavis turned at the sound of footsteps. The man with the book loped toward her. His eyes darted left then right, focused on her for a moment. His lips twitched in a sneer before he dismissed her. Another predator.

He rushed up to General Lister and blocked his path. “Sir, I’m Preacher Trent P— P. Franklin,” he stuttered. “I’d like to offer my services to you. I’m excellent at prioritizing, management and organization. Plus, I can personally see to your spiritual needs.”

“Are you the reverend who tended so many last night?” Mavis sipped her coffee. Bitterness knocked her molars. She needed more creamer but refused to look away from the preacher. The skin on her neck stood at attention. This man threatened everything she was trying to accomplish.

Reverend Franklin’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared in contempt as he glanced at her—glanced and then dismissed her. Again. “Sir, I feel like I could be doing so much more to help.”

“I think you’re doing important work.” Above the smoke and coffee, Mavis sniffed the lust for power and the contempt for womanhood. Had he been behind the rapes? He certainly would have had plenty of opportunity. After all, who would stop a preacher delivering Last Rites? “More important than the general or I, you offer comfort to the dying.”

His eyes sparked with rage. “Yes, but—”

“But nothing.” Lister glanced at the reverend before he straightened. Had he caught the lust for power or was it the toadying that repelled him? “I agree with Dr. Spanner. You’re doing far more good in the trenches than out of it.”

The reverend held his Bible like a shield. “And your spiritual needs, Sir?”

Red flushed Lister’s cheeks. “We have chaplains for that, Reverend.”

Mavis set her hand on the general’s arm, knowing the preacher would probably interpret the touch as sexual. Hatred blazed like cold fire in the man’s blue eyes. A killer’s eyes. A smart killer’s eyes. “We cannot in good conscience take you away from ministering to those whose needs are greater than ours.”

The man practically growled.

Lister glanced at her hand on his arm then at the man. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Dr. Spanner, I’ll meet you at HQ as soon as I finish following
your
instructions.”

Without another word he strode from the tent. The wooden door banged shut behind him.

Reverend Franklin shook himself, flinging aside the contempt and hatred. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand that you were in charge.” His charm oozed like oil across water. “I hope I didn’t offend.”

Mavis nodded, unsurprised at his quick turnaround. He was a good predator on a small patch of land, but she’d learned to fight them in a global arena. She mentally flagged his name. “That’s understandable. I think I can speak on behalf of all the officers, we respect your calling and service.” She checked her watch, nearly dumping her coffee as she did so. “I’m sorry I can’t spend more time with you, but I have a phone call to make. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course.” He flashed his canines.

Mavis walked at a steady pace to the doors. Funny, it didn’t seem so far away, when she first came in the tent. Her skin crawled as she felt his eyes on her. Once outside, she released a breath.

“Too damn bad that asshole isn’t sick.” Lister materialized at her side and fell into step beside her.

“I want him watched twenty-four-seven.” Mavis handed him her coffee. “I know your men are stretched to the limit but—”

“They’ll do it.” He drank her coffee but wrinkled his nose. “After all, with death hanging around, there’s bound to be a few folks mad at God. The preacher would make a convenient target.”

If only. One way or another she’d have to deal with the Reverend Trent P. Franklin. Mavis turned into her cul-de-sac.

Because he certainly planned to deal with her.

And he wasn’t counting her surviving their encounter.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Dismissed. Like some useless lackey. Trent stormed back to his table. He’d been up all night, reading the fucking bible to the dying and for what? She’d said she appreciated his efforts. But women lie. It was what they did. Even the general hadn’t stood up to her. Some general! Wasn’t he supposed to be a real man? What kind of pansies ran the army these days?

The soldiers at the nearby table eyed him. Waves of disapproval rolled off their shoulders. Their stone-faced expressions didn’t change until one of the young girls giggled ‘go fish.’

Trent flung himself into his seat.

At seven, the little girl had charmed the men into doing what she wanted, while he couldn’t even get a modicum of respect. He drummed the table. Girls. Women! They were what was wrong with this world. He thumbed through the pages of his Bible.

Smiling, he opened the book to the first page.

He’d take that bitch down.

And all the rest of them too.

He knew just how to do it. He turned the page until he came upon the story of Adam and Eve. Women would be returned to their rightful place, under a man’s heel. After all, that was God’s plan.

And who would argue with God?

Chapter Forty-Nine

Manny parked the ATV next to Papa Rose’s and switched off the engine. The low grumbling faded into the soft rattle of the picks and shovels strapped to the back of his Gator. Dark spots dotted the deserted camp, all that remained of those who had died during the night. His gaze darted to the three stains where the old men had sat, across the wash from where the couple who had luggage full of cans and medicine and up to the shadowy remnants of families. The goatee kid from his school. Gone. The Latina who lugged a child that wasn’t hers for miles to reach Wheelchair Henry’s house. Dead. And the twin girls whose front teeth were missing. Dead.

Grief lodged in his throat and refused to be swallowed down.

One by one, he’d loaded their stiff bodies into the ATV’s trailer. Mildred and Connie had picked over their belongings, savaging what might prove useful for someone else. The silence in the black dawn had been unbearable.

Then the coughing and wheezing had started again.

His hands shook. Jesus Christ. The Redaction was back. How many would die this time? He scrubbed his nose on his sleeve and slid off the machine. Dirt plopped to the ground. He flinched. If he never heard the soft thud of dirt again...

“And this is the best part. The fire was coming in the front as we were heading out the back, our bags of dog and cat food safe.” Papa Rose thumped Manny on the chest as he walked to the back of the ATV. The bungee cords snapped open and pinged against the metal side. “Hey, kid, are you listening?”

Kid. Swaying slightly on his feet, Manny closed his eyes. The image of the dead—the stiff, black hands, the small bundles with faces covered by their shirts because they couldn’t spare blankets or jackets, and the cold rubbery flesh with lifeless open eyes They’d been the worst. The ones he’d hesitated slinging dirt on.