Redaction: The Meltdown Part II (34 page)

“How are you getting anything on that, anyway?” Mrs. Rodriquez peered over Eddie’s shoulder.

“The CDC computers are still up and this thing is connected to them through a satellite.”

Excitement coursed through her veins and she wiggled on the hard seat. “Does it tell you how far ahead of us the soldiers are?”

Maybe they could join them by lunchtime and she’d escape the flatulence symphony behind her.

“Huh?” Eddie’s black eyebrows connected above his nose. “No, not the soldiers. You already know where they are. I’ve been looking into the sickness.”

Her gut clenched. She knew where they were supposed to be. But they hadn’t been at the Polytech campus. For all she knew, she was chasing spooks. Stop that! No more negative thoughts. Having dealt with teenagers for the last three years, she knew they could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. “And what have you discovered about this sickness?”

“They’ve got anthrax.”

Pursing her lips, Mrs. Rodriquez smoothed her dress over her knees. “They’re not coughing.”

That was what the anthrax victims were supposed to do, right? Despite her face mask, Audra smiled at the nurse. Thank heavens the woman hadn’t taken Eddie’s comment as a slight to her professionalism. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Stuart had done nothing but complain about his treatment since they’d boarded the bus at daybreak. “How can you tell?”

“Only a test can confirm it for sure but it makes sense. We were at Burgers in a Basket, the place where the attack happened. And there’re several forms.” Eddie turned the screen to Audra then the nurse. “The skin kind. See, it looks like a bite, a flea bite except the center is black.”

She glanced at the picture before turning her attention back to the road. Thanks to the large infestation of rats, she’d seen plenty of those recently. She absently scratched her arm. Maybe she’d gotten a few more last night. Or… a chill slid down her spine. Or, she’d spent too much time in the fast food restaurant. Her skin burned under the rake of her nails. “Are they deadly?”

“The skin kind?” Eddie turned the computer to face him, avoiding her gaze. “Nah. Some antibiotic cream will clear them up.”

“Good.” She forced her hand on the wheel. Wind buffeted the bus from the Northwest and rain hit her windshield.

“Our stinky friends in the back—”

“—the farting fifteen,” Mrs Rodriquez interrupted.

Eddie’s dark eyes sparkled with laughter. “Yeah, the farting fifteen.”

“Please.” Audra glanced in the back. Most of her passengers sat on the five gallon buckets that served as a toilet and rested their heads on the seat back. The croak of passing gas accompanied the watery splat of diarrhea.

Anguish etched deep grooves into Stuart’s ashen face.

She ignored the itch of guilt. Okay, she’d been irritated that they’d stolen her bread and wished the bread thief would suffer, but she hadn’t wanted them this. They’d been evacuating their bowels since midnight last night.

“Sorry, Princess.” Eddie cleared his throat. “The Flatulence Fifteen are probably suffering from gastrointestinal kind of Anthrax.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Did he really think she’d object to the word fart? Had he forgotten she’d taught preteens? She’d heard far worse. Heck, she’d been called more obscene things. “What are the symptoms?”

The interior of the bus darkened. Rain pattered on the bus then pounded. White pellets danced on the road. The computer screen cast a ghostly pallor on Eddie’s face, distorting the gas mask into a pig snout and tusks. “Nausea. Loss of appetite.”

Appetite. She flipped on the wipers. They scooped up the pea-sized hail and shoved it to the side. “I don’t have much of an appetite thanks to the smell.”

Mrs. Rodriquez patted her shoulder then swept a hand over Audra’s forehead. “It is certainly isn’t a Thanksgiving Day feast kind of smell.”

Audra’s nose twitched with the alcohol scent of hand sanitizer.

Straightening, Eddie caught the computer in his hand. “Is she sick?”

“No!” Geez. His security duties didn’t include babying her. “I’m fine.”

They’d eaten all her bread.

“Princess A still rules from her Ivory Tower.” Mrs. Rodriquez skimmed her fingers over Eddie’s forehead, pushing his long hair to the side. “And Sir Galahad lives to serve her another day.”

Audra twisted her hand around the hard plastic. Eddie looked better with his hair wild, not tamed. He cocked an eyebrow at her. She shifted on the seat. Damn, why couldn’t bus manufacturer make a decent cushion? “Sir Galahad betrayed his liege, basically committing treason.”

“But he got the Princess in the end.” Jerking her head in Audra’s direction, Mrs. Rodriquez flashed her dimples.

“He did?” Eddie tugged off his gas mask and tossed it on the bench seat next to him. Crease marks curved over his chin and jaw.

Unbelievable. Mrs. Rodriquez was playing matchmaker. Audra squared her shoulders. Time to end such nonsense. “Are there any other symptoms?”

“Fever. Stomach pain.” The nurse’s smile dissolved on a sigh. “Blood in the stool.”

“Exactly.” Stubble rasped against his fingers as he rubbed the red marks on his left cheek. “Did you cheat?”

Mrs. Rodriquez swatted his arm. “I don’t have to cheat.” She nodded her head toward the passengers. “I’ve seen it all.”

God! Audra eased her foot off the gas as the speedometer needle inched toward seventy. The wipers squeaked against the dry windshield and she slapped them silent. “What are the chances for survival?”

Eddie closed the laptop and traced the Marine Corps insignia on the front sticker. “Better than for the kind that is inhaled.”

Which meant what exactly? It must be bad if he didn’t want her to know. “Tell me.”

“Three out of every ten survive Inhalation Anthrax.”

If three survived then seven… She gulped. The lump of nerves lodged in her dry throat. Then seven died. Seventy percent mortality. The very notion escaped her comprehension like gnats through a butterfly net. “But the gastrointestinal one is better, right?”

It couldn’t really be much worse.

“Yeah.” He shoved the laptop onto the seat. “Fifty to seventy-five percent will survive.”

Audra’s jaw slackened. Cold air washed over her teeth. Four to eight of the people on her bus would die from eating bread. Bread that she salvaged. She shuddered. Bread that she’d plan to eat. “But it looked clean.”

Sure the drink station had been a bit sticky. And there’d been grit everywhere.

“Apparently Anthrax is very hard to eliminate.” Eddie set his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs found the knots and rubbed them in circular motion. “They may have wiped everything down, but it didn’t kill it.”

“We’ll have to get rid of everything we took from the cursed place and burn it, so no one else can get sick.” Better use her hand than to have anyone else die over toilet paper. Fortunately, she carried most of those supplies.

“No burning.” Eddie shook his head. “Apparently that would expose us to the inhalation kind.”

Mrs. Rodriquez nodded to the computer. “Does it say how to treat it?”

“Antibiotics.”

Tension drained out of Audra each time Eddie completed a circle. “That’s good. We’re all on antibiotics. Cipro’s an antibiotic, right?”

The nurse’s lips firmed. “They’re not keeping those horse pills inside long enough to do anything.”

Which meant they’re not being treated with antibiotics. Audra resisted the urge to punch the dash. “So what are we supposed to do? Watch them die?”

“It’ll take two to four days.” Eddie’s hand stilled. “We should be with the soldiers by then. They’ll have medicines.”

“Why wait that long?” Mrs. Rodriquez scooted closer to the aisle. “I say we hit a hospital or pharmacy and pick up some antibiotics. I can use a syringe.”

Yes. Audra nodded. That was better than waiting around for the Grim Reaper to make an appearance. “Eddie, get on that computer and find every pharmacy in Payson.”

His fingers trailed down her neck when he pulled back. “I don’t think the yellow pages website is up.”

“Try the Food and Drug Administration or the Center for Disease Control website.” Mrs. Rodriquez’s knees popped when she pushed to her feet. “They may have a list of health care providers and directories that were opening.”

“I’m on it.”

“I’d best return to the Flatulent Fifteen.” The nurse shuffled to the back.

Good. This was good. They had a plan. Even if it did include stealing. Maybe Eddie would stop calling her Princess. “We’ll stop at the survivor’s station first and check the supplies the military left before we begin raiding stores and pharmacies.”

Because theft should be their last option.

“Sure thing, Princess.”

She swallowed the bile in her mouth. “I agreed to the plan.”

Heck, she’d even made it up.

“I found a few listed on the CDC website.” Eddie brushed her arm when he leaned forward and held the list of stores in front of her face. “Bonus! They’re on Eighty-seven.”

She peered over the top. Good thing they had the highway number on the address or she’d be lost. She frowned as they passed a mangled sign. Someone had spray painted over the ‘Welcome to Payson’ with the words ‘keep out.’ Was it a hold over from the Redaction’s quarantine measures? “That’s what the BeeLine Highway turns into, right? Eighty-seven?”

“Yeah, but—” Switching the computer to his left hand, Eddie pushed to his feet. “What the fuck!”

Her heart slammed to a stop and she snapped her attention to the road. Across the black asphalt, silver sparkled in a stray sunbeam. Rising up in her seat, she stomped on the brake.

Someone screamed. Others groaned. Things shifted and slid along the bus’s floor. Something knocked against her heel.

“Stop!” Eddie lurched from his seat.

“I’m trying!” But it was too late. The metal spikes bit into the front tires, chewing up the rubber. The wheel jerked out of her hands and the back fishtailed. She jerked her feet off the pedal and grabbed the steering wheel.

Eddie’s hands bracketed hers. “Turn into the skid, right.”

“Right!” She could handle this. Muscle burned as she cranked the wheel. Good Lord, this was much harder to drive than her Mini Coop. Rubber slapped the undercarriage of the bus.

Behind her, the other four buses in the caravan squealed.

She got the wheels on track just as the nose skidded off the road. The vibration traveled up her arms, rattling her teeth. A metallic taste flooded her mouth as the bus slammed into an embankment. Mud splattered the windshield.

She burped a laugh and pried her fingers from the wheel. “We did it.”

And they weren’t dead.

Yay!

Eddie stiffened.

The door burst inside. Glass sprayed the steps in glittering diamonds. Ice cold metal circled her temple. She looked down the double barrels of the shotgun to the tapered fingers holding it.

“Move and I’ll blow your brains out.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

David leaned forward in the Humvee’s driver’s seat. White snowflakes swirled in the breeze and collected in drifts along the side of the red-tinged asphalt road. The flakes melted when they hit the windshield and were quickly swept away by the wipers. Behind him, green and tan military vehicles linked brightly colored pick-up trucks hauling animal trailers in a convoy snaking through the hills near Strawberry.

“I think I have the last of the jurors, Ma’am.” Speaking from the front passenger seat, Lieutenant Sally Rogers handed her tablet to Mavis in the back. “She lost a sister about the same time and age as Trent’s second victim. The sister was raped and beaten to death before martial law was enforced.”

He rolled his shoulders and adjusted the heat vent to blow in the back. Green and brown needles danced as they fell off the towering pines. The hill rose sharply on his left and here and there among the forest, he picked out the shiny glass of unbroken windows. On the right, the ground dipped into empty meadow lands divided by barbed wire strung across wooden poles. Sheds listed to the side and snow dusted a faded totem pole. Loose boards slapped the sides of double wides. Blood red paint flaked off barns and vegetation choked the overgrown dirt drives.

Everything appeared abandoned, empty.

Still, his gut clenched.

It was too damn quiet. Maybe it was the hush of the snow. But he doubted it. Up ahead, the road dipped and curved. Plenty of places for an ambush or to hide an IED. David tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Whose stupid idea was it to put their leaders in the front of the caravan?

Mavis cleared her throat and handed the tablet back to the lieutenant. “Yes, I think she’ll be a wonderful juror. When you pass the names onto council, make certain you provide only the vital statistics they gave at registration. We don’t want any Big Brother paranoia.”

David scanned the road ahead. Right to left. Left to right. Up the hill; down in the meadow.

Lister removed his sidearm from his holster and closed his laptop. “This is an approved egress route, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Mavis set her hand on David’s seat and pulled herself forward. “And there aren’t any people.”

Did that mean he wasn’t paranoid if everyone else felt it too? Light winked at nine o’clock. There and gone before he could register it. “Did anyone else see that?”

Mavis shifted out of sight of his rearview mirror. “There’s a house back there. It could be anything.”

“I don’t like anything.” Lister thumbed off the safety but kept his weapon flat on his lap. “I like specific things.”

David nodded. Targets were good. “Someone want to hand me my rifle?”

Mavis rolled her eyes but unsnapped her seatbelt and leaned into the back. “Did it ever occur to you that the last soldiers through here evacuated everyone?”

“Sure.” And he’d believed in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus once too.

Mavis handed it forward.

The lieutenant intercepted it. “I’ll take this.” She caressed the barrel.

And he got to what—spit on the enemy? “With all due respect, Ma’am—”

“You can use my sidearm.” She pulled it out of her holster and handed him a shiny, black 9mm pistol. “That way you can drive and fire at the same time.”