Plague War

“Listen,” Newcombe said, holding his arms away from his sides. It was an open, nonthreatening posture.

“What else aren’t you telling us?” Ruth asked, trying to put herself between them. Cam was proud of her, †eetingly, even as he kept his attention locked on Newcombe’s hands.

“The ‚ghting’s escalated,” Newcombe said. “It’s total war. If we get the chance, we have to get out of here.”

“This man,” Ruth said. “His plane was shot down?”

“The rebels and the Canadians are putting as much pressure on Leadville as they can, one offensive after another,” Newcombe said. “And it’s working. Most of Leadville’s attention is back in Colorado right now.”

“But this man,” Ruth said.

Cam’s heart beat hard in anticipation and his head swam as he imagined jets and helicopters spearing across the Continental Divide, down from British Columbia, up from Colorado. There would be others dodging west into the gray sky above him, engaging each other over the deserts of Utah and Nevada.

“Even if someone managed to reach us,” he said, “we’d be crazy to get on a plane right now.”

“That’s our best bet,” Newcombe said.

“No.”

“You said it yourself,” Ruth said. “Leadville is distracted. This is our best chance to run into the mountains.”

“But then you’re still nowhere,” Newcombe said. “It still leaves you an easy target.”

You’re. You. Newcombe was already separating himself from them in his mind, Cam realized. Should he say it? You go. He and Ruth could keep hiking while Newcombe made the rendezvous. Maybe that would be best. Splitting up was a way to double the odds that someone got away and Newcombe would have his success, completing at least some of his mission goals.

“Our ‚rst priority has to be to spread the vaccine,” Ruth said, never swerving. “That has to come ‚rst.”

“Christ, lady, that’s exactly what I’m trying to accomplish,” Newcombe said as his gaze slid away from Cam to her backpack. To the data index.

“You go if you want to,” Cam said quickly.

“My job is to see you safe,” Newcombe said.

What did they tell him? Cam wondered. What kind of promises would I hear if I had one of the radios at night?

“We have to get you back to the labs,” Newcombe said. Cam raised his left hand like a schoolkid with a question, his bandaged hand. A few inches of gauze had come loose and dangled from his glove, stained with dirt and one rust streak from the fender of a car like blood. He raised his hand in a big distracting gesture and then drew his pistol with the other.

Newcombe †inched. It looked like he almost went for his ri†e, but he froze with both palms out.

“Give me the radios,” Cam said.

5

Major Hernandez moved carefully, trying to keep the weight on his shoulders from riding him sideways down the hill. It would be easy to turn an ankle, especially with his legs and body encumbered in gear.

Up on the Continental Divide, above thirteen thousand feet, even a sunny May afternoon was icy and brisk — and the nights were lethal. Weapons jammed in the cold. Dental work and glasses and rings could burn. Like all of the troops in his command, Hernandez dressed thickly, wearing more layers than ‚t well inside his olive drab jacket. They would rather be uncomfortable than dead. But it made them clumsy.

“Gaaaah—” A man screamed behind him, and Hernandez heard a clang of metal. His pulse jumped, yet he caught himself, hefting his canvas sling away from his back before he let go of his rock. The forty-pound boulder crashed down as Hernandez stepped away from it, looking for his trooper.

Private Kotowych was on his knees against the wall of the gorge, squeezing his arm. Hernandez saw a dark splatter on the ground and a crowbar that had instantly congealed with blood and skin. “Hey!” he yelled at Powers and Tunis, who’d also hurried over. There were only eight of them in the gorge and Hernandez glanced at Powers.

“You’re my runner,” Hernandez said. “Go tell the doc. But go slow. We don’t need to pick you up, too, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Powers said.

“The fucking bar went through my hand,” Kotowych groaned.

Susan Tunis lifted her own pry bar like a club. “You can’t make us keep working like this,” Tunis said. Her breath came in short, heavy gasps and the steel bar rocked in time with her body.

Kneeling beside Kotowych, Hernandez gazed up at her without moving. “Why don’t you help me,” he said.

“We should be using explosives instead of digging like this!” Tunis said.

Hernandez looked past her for support, but he barely knew any of these soldiers and none of his noncoms were present. His T/O was a mess. His table of organization was devoid of company-level of‚cers — he had only himself, three sergeants, and a corporal — and he wanted to make at least six ‚eld promotions if he could identify the right people.

He couldn’t ignore the insubordination. He stood away from Kotowych and held Tunis’s eyes. “Get your head straight, Marine,” he said.

Her face was white with tension.

“Help me.” Hernandez was careful not to make it an order. If she said no, he would have to enforce it. So he tried to divert her. He shrugged out of his jacket and swiftly removed one of his shirts. Kotowych had nearly stopped bleeding as glassy red ice formed outside his ‚st, but it was still important to apply pressure. If they didn’t, he might continue to hemorrhage inside his arm.

Hernandez put his jacket back on before he felt for breaks in Kotowych’s ‚ngers and wrist. There were none, but the hand was a disaster. Hernandez used his knife to cut his shirt into three strips. He folded one into a square and forced the bandage into Kotowych’s palm, then wrapped the other two as tightly as he could.

“That’ll have to do,” he said. “Can you walk? Let’s get you down the mountain.”

“Yes, sir,” Kotowych said, gritting his teeth.

Tunis echoed the word suddenly. “Sir,” she said. “I’m sorry, sir. It was. We.”

“You were upset,” Hernandez said, giving her an out. Tunis nodded. He let her ‚dget under his gaze for another instant, then looked away from her and called, “The rest of you get back to work. But for God’s sake, pay attention to what you’re doing.”

The men hesitated. Hernandez almost snapped at them, but he hid his frustration — and he realized he didn’t want to leave Tunis with them. She was trouble.

“Take his other side,” he said.

Supporting Kotowych, Hernandez and Tunis worked their way from the gorge into a bleak, moss-softened rock ‚eld. Nothing grew taller than the coarse grass and a few tiny †owers. Mostly there was only the spotty brown carpet of moss among pale rock darkened by lichen. A lot of rock. Rock and snow. In many places, in fact, the snow never melted completely.

Up here, the air was frigid and thin. Every survivor had acclimated to elevation or they hadn’t survived, but headaches and nausea were very common among the population in Leadville, and that was down near ten thousand feet. More than half a mile higher, any physical effort made it necessary to gasp to get enough oxygen, breathing too fast to let the air absorb any warmth in the sinuses. It didn’t take much to scar your lungs or even freeze from the inside out, dropping your body core temperature almost before you knew it. Anxiety was also a common side effect of hypoxia. Not getting enough oxygen, the brain naturally created a sense of panic, which did nothing to help people who were already under a lot of strain. In fourteen months, Hernandez had seen a lot of soldiers ruined as outposts and patrols sent their casualties back to Leadville.