Plague of the Dead (26 page)

    A few clean t-shirts and skivvies from the quartermaster, maybe a knife, some assorted sundries-he’d be good to go in the wilderness for a while. Maybe he could even scrounge enough to get by comfortably. He almost regretted not going to Ranger school when the Army had offered it to him.

    Brewster hid a faint smile behind a week’s worth of stubble. He felt like he had a plan now. Something to hold on to and hope for. It felt good-better than he’d felt in over a week.

    Despite his assessment of what comrades he had left, he’d see who he could get to come with him. Maybe one of the other fellows in the new quarantine room would want to come along. God knew they were all sick and tired of being controlled by their leaders, and maybe it was time to take their fates into their own hands.

    It would be easy living in the wilderness. There would be plentiful sources of food, water, and shelter. Most importantly they would be away from any sources of the Morningstar Strain. None of the violence and bloodshed would be haunting his dreams for a while, just the open sky above and nature all around. A pleasant change from the dreary interior of the Navy vessel.

    On the other side of the wall, General Sherman was still lost in thought as well, and didn’t notice the pair of men who came sauntering up, sober expressions on their faces. The guard at Sherman’s side stepped forward, but General Sherman, finally noticing the newcomers, waved him off.

    “Heard there was a bit of a to-do down here, Frank,” Denton said, keeping his expression neutral.

    “Anything we can do to help?” added Mbutu Ngasy, at Denton’s side.

    “No, thanks for coming down, though,” Sherman said. “It’s all over and done with. We’re having a funeral service later this afternoon.”

    “Are you doing alright?” Mbutu asked. The air traffic controller was proving very adept at reading moods. “You seem stretched thin.”

    “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind, you know?” said Sherman, sighing and folding his arms. “We’re going to be busy soon.”

    “Yes,” Mbutu said. “We’ll all have our hands full onshore. We’ve been wondering about that too, General.”

    “That so?”

    “Yeah, that’s so,” chimed Denton. “Now, we know you and the other soldiers have your responsibilities to deal with, but the refugees and I wouldn’t mind being let off somewhere safer than a downtown harbor, if you know what I mean.”

    “I know how you feel, more than you might think,” Sherman said.

    “Then you wouldn’t mind dropping us off somewhere along the coast a bit more out of the way before you head in, Frank?” Denton asked.

    “I don’t see why it should be a problem. I’ll assign you a few riflemen as guards.”

    “That won’t be necessary. We can handle ourselves,” Denton said. “Just issue us a few sidearms and we’ll look after ourselves.”

    Sherman nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and said, “Seems like our little group is all set to break up. All this time spent together since Suez… Seems strange to be planning on parting ways.”

    Denton cast a glance at Mbutu, who shrugged. Denton grimaced, turning to face the General. He didn’t want to insinuate anything the old officer might have to take official notice of, but it was worth a shot.

    “We were wondering if you might be cajoled into coming with us, Frank. Not just you, I mean. All of you. The sailors and soldiers.”

    Sherman barked out a rough laugh, earning him a surprised look from the others.

    “Frank?” Denton asked.

    “I was wondering if you’d get around to asking that,” Sherman said. “I think I’ve about made my decision, too. I’ve got a friend on the east coast I’m going to need help to get a hold of, and you all could use a good escort on land. So yes-let’s join up when we hit land. See what we can do to make our own difference.”

    “No repeats of Suez.”

    “No goddamn repeats of Suez, that’s right,” said Sherman, chuckling. “We’ve got work to do if we’re going to ride this out our own way.”

    Denton grinned. “I’ll get the interested parties on deck.”

USS Ramage

January 20, 2007

1021 hrs_

    Mbutu Ngasy stood on the deck of the destroyer, clipboard in hand, going over a checklist of supplies. He, Denton, and a couple of other refugees with initiative had dragged up all the goodies that Franklin had decided he could part with. The captain of the destroyer had unequivocally denied any interest in their plan to make a run for it once they hit land. He said that he and his sailors would stay at sea aboard their vessel, safe and secure in their own way.

    “Two rifles, M-16A2,” Denton said from across the folding table they had set up, placing the weapons on the tabletop as Mbutu marked them off. “Rifle ammunition, two magazines, sixty rounds.”

    “That’s all?” Mbutu asked, frowning at the meager amount of ammunition Denton placed by the rifles.

    “It’s all Franklin could spare,” Denton explained. “We’ll give them to our best marksmen and hope they can make ‘em count.” He then began listing off the smaller arms. “Twelve pistols, Beretta 92FS. “We’ve got ammo for these puppies-nine-millimeter, five boxes of a hundred rounds, five hundred rounds total, with twenty-six magazines.”

    Mbutu made a note on his clipboard. “That’s much better.”

    “Yeah, looks like most of us’ll be armed. And there’s a few more things: One sub-machine gun, MP-5, with two full magazines, sixty rounds. Grenades, fragmentation, twelve. Grenades, white smoke, six. Grenades, tear gas, four.”

    Mbutu made the necessary notations, frowning at the grenades.

    “What?” Denton asked.

    “Have you noticed how Franklin has been giving us supplies only in even numbers?”

    Denton cast an eye over the table. “You’re forgetting the MP-5. Only one of those. Besides, it’s probably just the military in the guy. Everything’s got to be squared away.”

    “With two full magazines of sixty rounds total,” Mbutu countered.

    “Heheh,” Denton chuckled, digging through the cardboard box in front of him. “Oh. Gas masks, two.”

    “See?” Mbutu said, grinning.

    “Knock it off. There’s some assorted MOPP gear in here. Looks like two or three full suits.”

    Mbutu scratched a note on the clipboard. He admitted, “I wrote it down, but I don’t know what MOPP gear is.”

    “It’s clothing designed to counter biological, chemical, or nuclear threats to a soldier’s life,” Denton explained. “It’s thick, with a charcoal layer between the cloth to catch particulates. Very hot to wear in the summer; doesn’t breathe well. But someone wearing this could be standing under a Sarin mortar and be just fine.”

    “Like a space suit,” Mbutu said.

    “Yeah, I guess you could make that comparison,” Denton conceded.

    “What’s next?”

    “Oh, ah, looks like a box of spare clothing. Call it… damn, just write down ‘
box of clothes
.’ I don’t feel like sorting through it all.”

    “Very well, box of spare clothes,” Mbutu said, checking it off on the clipboard.

    “Gentlemen,” came a new voice. Mbutu and Denton looked over to see Sherman approaching from across the deck. “How’s it coming?”

    “Pretty well, General,” Denton answered. “Franklin’s given us enough gear to be comfortable once we make landfall. How’s our approach?”

    “We’re only a few hours out. We’ll make landfall around seventeen hundred hours this afternoon.”

    “What’s the procedure once we hit?”

    “Franklin’s decided he’s going to sail in and offer what help he can to the defense efforts. I’ve tried to convince him otherwise, but he’s adamant. He’s also said he’s not going to say a word about us, so we’re in the clear. He’ll make landfall north of where he wants to be, drop us off, and sail south. We’ll head inland from wherever he lets us off.”

    “Can’t really blame the captain. He’s got a mobile island and enough firepower to see himself through to the end,” Denton said.

    Sherman nodded in agreement. “He’s a good man. He just can’t run. It’s not in him. I’ve seen enough, though, and it’s high time to look out for number one, if you know what I mean.”

    “Damn right,” Denton agreed, chuckling.

    “So what have you got here?” Sherman asked, gesturing at the table.

    “We’re listing all of the supplies Franklin has given us,” answered Mbutu, handing the clipboard to Sherman, who gave it a cursory scan with his eyes.

    “Looks pretty solid so far,” Sherman commented. “Get some canteens and other water storage containers-and medical supplies. I don’t see any listed here yet.”

    Mbutu took the board back from the General and looked it over again.

    “He’s right. There isn’t a single bandage in here.”

    “I’ll get Rebecca to round up what she thinks we’ll need,” Sherman said.

    “Is she coming along?”

    “I assume so,” said Sherman. “I doubt she’ll want to stay on this ship after being cooped up on it for so long. But I’ll ask to be sure.” He paused a moment, then continued, “Another thing we’ll need is a complete manifest of all the people who are coming with us as opposed to those staying with Franklin and heading south. Get us a solid number and make sure you mark down who’s a trained soldier and who’s a refugee so we can distribute these arms accordingly.”

    “You’ve got it, Frank,” Denton said.

    “There’s one thing I’m still unclear on,” Mbutu said, raising a finger.

    “Yes?”

    “Where are we going once we’re on land?”

    “East,” Sherman said. “More specifically… well, I can’t get more specific. I’ve got a friend on the east coast who’s sent me an e-mail. She said she’s looking over courses of action for us, doing a little research. In the meantime, we’d do well to head for the midwest. Population is spread out enough there we should have a decent shot at moving undetected, not to mention moving safely. No hordes of infected people following in our wake.”

    “And to get there we have to make it through a more densely populated region,” Denton noted. “Gotta love it, eh? Our very own Catch-22.”

    “I never said it was a flawless plan,” Sherman said defensively. “For example, we need vehicles. Better find out if any of the men coming along can hotwire a car. Otherwise it looks like we’ll be burglarizing some dealerships along the way.”

    “I’ll finally be able to get my Viper,” Denton said, grinning.

    “Would it be wise to commit theft?” Mbutu asked, a slight frown creasing his features. “I mean, the breakdown of order is certainly far from complete. Law is still in place. We may find ourselves on the wrong side of that law.”

    “That’s a calculated risk we’ll have to take,” Sherman said. “There are certain supplies and gear we’ll need that we just can’t requisition. We’ll have to take what we can, where we can. It’s the nature of survival.”

    “I agree,” said Denton. “Besides, we can weigh the risk against the benefits once we’re in those situations. We won’t pull a smash-and-grab if there’s a Johnny Law parked across the street directing traffic.”

    “In the end, though, I think we’ll have to take a few choice items,” Sherman said. “Well, I’m going to get back up to the bridge and write a reply to Doctor Demilio. Maybe we’ll have a more concrete plan from her before we disembark.”

    “We’ll continue organizing our gear, General,” Mbutu said.

    “Good. On second thought, mark off one of those sidearms,” Sherman said, picking up one of the pistols. “I gave my other pistol to Rebecca. She didn’t have one.”

    “Grab a couple magazines while you’re here,” Denton said, gesturing at the ammunition. Sherman nodded and picked up a pair of full magazines and tucked them away.

    “Remember, keep close reins on those rifles,” Sherman added, jerking a finger in the direction of the firearms. “They go to the most skilled. Issue ‘em when we’re about to hit land.”

    “You’ve got it, Frank.”

Washington, DC.

1206 hrs_

    Like the cities far to the east, Washington was beginning to burn.

    There had been sporadic fires downtown for over a day now. Mason and Doctor Demilio had risked going up to the second story of the safe house to get a better view of the surrounding area and had first spotted the plumes of smoke from there. It appeared to be several small blazes as opposed to one massive firestorm, spread out across the city. That was fortunate. They would most likely remain safe where they were for a while yet.

    The lack of solid information regarding what was happening less than a few miles away was frustrating Anna. Even though a wealth of intelligence was available to her now compared to when she was cooped up in her cell, she still felt in the dark about much of what was happening outside. The fugitives knew that the martial law situation was deteriorating. Whereas the military had once held total control, the remainder of the civilian population was growing bolder now that they felt they had nothing to lose.

    Anna was glad for the security cameras that were positioned around the safe house. They allowed her and her companions to monitor activity in the streets from the safety of the basement room. They’d seen no less than four groups of rioters running down the street outside, armed with bats, rifles, and Molotov cocktails. They were smashing car windows, setting fire to front lawns and taking whatever struck their fancy. So far, none of them had approached the house that Mason, Anna, and Julie were hiding in, and if their luck held, they would remain undiscovered.

    As it stood, if a group of rioters did approach, chances are they wouldn’t live to regret it. The three were armed better than ever before now that Mason had gone through the lockers and picked out a few choice items for each of them.

    Still, it wasn’t the rioters that really worried Anna. It wasn’t even the fires, though those might smoke them out if the wind shifted in the wrong direction. It was the carriers. For every rampaging citizen they’d seen outside, they had identified two carriers. They were easy to tell apart from uninfected people-they twitched spasmodically, drool dripped from their limp jaws, and they gnashed their teeth as they walked or ran with uncertain movements down the darkened streets. With every passing hour, the carriers added more and more citizens to their ranks. The wails of the injured and dying penetrated even the thick walls of the basement safe room.