16
The three of them strode onto the mountaintop with their guns drawn. They made a triangle with Newcombe’s assault ri†e in front and Ruth and Cam on either side. She knew they must have looked faceless and alien in their masks and tattered gear as they staggered into sight. Ruth felt her pulse slamming through her limbs, but her good arm was anchored by the weight of her pistol.
“Stop!” a man shouted. Thin, black, he had blots of pink rash on his nose and chin. He’d turned his shoulder as if to hide the stub of a knife in his hand — or to put his full weight into swinging it.
Behind him, a white girl crouched and grabbed up a rock, and the rest of the loose crowd seemed to duck at the same time. The sound was very human. Voices. Boots. They created a small rustle of bodies against the endless drone of the planes and suddenly Ruth was aware again of how exposed they must be on this light-washed peak. The day was coming to an end. They stood far above the sunset. Ruth’s shadow stretched away in front of her, joined with the outlines of Newcombe and Cam, whereas the others’ eyes and teeth glinted in the orange dusk.
Some of the strangers hid in their low stone-and-earth burrows. Most of them spread out. Ruth focused on a limping man who quickly reappeared from behind the nearest shelter. He paced sideways to †ank her, holding a shovel like a spear. His face was lopsided by old blister rash and a badly cauterized wound. He had only one eye.
“Gun,” Cam breathed. Ruth’s gaze †ickered left to his side of the rock ‚eld. There was a shaggy-haired man with a hunting ri†e and her heart beat so hard that it felt like it had stopped, one painful throb and then nothing else.
“What do you want!” the ‚rst man shouted.
“We’re American,” Newcombe said, but the words came out like a bark. He was panting. Ruth and Cam, too. The rush up through the ‚nal hundred yards onto this island had taken everything from her. It was an effort just to stay on her feet. Each of them stood bent by their individual pains. Ruth hunched over her bad arm and Newcombe had set his ri†e against his hip like a crutch. “American,” he said.
The other man kept circling closer. Fifteen feet away. The round blade of his shovel was blunted but shiny, worn bright by the hard ground. Ruth twitched violently and straightened up through the pain in her side. She made sure he could see her pistol, but there was no change in his dead face.
“There might be more of them,” the girl said, and the black man shouted, “Just get out of here!”
Cam found his breath ‚rst. “U.S. Army Special Forces,” he said, tipping his head down at Newcombe’s shoulder patch. His pistol never wavered. “We’re here to help, so tell him to back off!”
“U.S. Army,” the black man repeated.
“We can stop the plague.” Newcombe took one hand from his ri†e to push his goggles up, showing his face. “Look at us. How do you think we got here?”
“They’re dropping people all over the place,” the girl said to the black man. “They could be anybody.”
The evening sky hummed with far-off jets. There had been a second wave of transports three hours after the lead groups, and then a few stragglers, and the invaders had kept a good number of ‚ghters in the air. Mostly the noise was a distant soaring whisper. The jets stayed high, but if the wind faltered or if a jet crossed nearby, the sound could be intense. Twice more they’d seen mountains torn clear by gun‚re. Just standing here was like stepping in front of a train, waiting to get hit. Ruth understood their paranoia, but looking at the one-eyed man’s cold poise, she also had no doubt that the plague year had long ago turned some of these people into animals.
“We can protect you from the plague,” Cam said. “There’s a new kind of nanotech.”
“We came to help,” Newcombe said.
The black man shook his head slowly as if rejecting them. It was a signal. The girl lowered the ‚st she’d made around her rock and the one-eyed man paused in his closing arc toward Ruth. Nearby, another man and two women also relaxed, although they didn’t drop their knives or clubs. One was hugely pregnant. The other had a fair complexion that had burned and peeled and burned again.
There were about twenty survivors here, Ruth guessed. Cam and Newcombe had made only a brief effort to survey this island before all three of them lurched into camp, still afraid that there could be Leadville troops lying in wait. Despite everything else, that threat was still very real.
Newcombe tipped his ri†e down. Ruth let her pistol fall to her side, but Cam kept his weapon up. “We need to see everybody out in the open,” Cam said. “Is it just you guys here?”
“What?” The man frowned, then glanced out into the great open space of the valley. “Nobody’s landed, if that’s what you mean. Not yet.” He was delaying, Ruth thought, reluctant to put his tribe in a line in front of their guns. He gestured at the roaring sky and said, “What the fuck is going on?”
* * * *
Cam refused to spend the night on the mountain. “We’re leaving in ‚ve minutes,” he said, kneeling as he unwrapped the dirty, stained gauze from his hand. One of the men had fetched a plastic bowl that Cam set on the ground beside his knife.
Eighteen survivors gathered before him in a half-circle. Ruth saw uncertainty and distrust in their eyes — and the ‚rst incredulous glimmers of hope.
“I know it’s getting dark, but grab your stuff and get below the barrier,” Cam said. “The vaccine works in a few minutes. Faster than the plague. The longer you stay, the better the odds that a plane’s gonna come overhead and kill everybody. You’ve seen what’s happening.” He tipped his head north toward the blasted mountaintops, but only a few people glanced away.
He was trying to distract himself as much as convince them, Ruth thought. The cut hadn’t had any chance to heal and the skin was angry and red, well on its way to infection. Cam sunk the tip of his knife directly into it. Ruth caught her breath and heard several of them react as blood ran down Cam’s gnarled ‚ngers into the bowl.
“We sure could use some help ‚rst,” said the scrawny black man, Steve Gaskell.
Ruth looked up, furious that he was so indifferent to Cam’s effort, but Gaskell’s expression was wide-eyed and yearning. He stared at the neat, clear vinyl components of Newcombe’s med kit, which she’d unfolded on the ground. Tape and gauze. Antibiotics. Salve. Ruth †ushed with new stress. She was intensely aware of the bulk of strangers above her. Even with their packs nearly empty, the three of them must seem unbelievably wealthy — and Cam wouldn’t stop pushing.
“There’s no time,” he said.
“We’ve got two pregnant women and three people sick,” Gaskell said.
“We’ll give you what we can spare, but get off the mountain if you want to live,” Cam said. “Tonight.”
Ruth wondered at Cam’s disgust. Dealing with these people must be like staring into a mirror for him and he’d shown the same impatience toward the Boy Scouts for clinging to their islands. It was profoundly self- destructive. His behavior put them all at risk and she felt her own hot anger and fear.
The crowd shifted restlessly in the dusk.
Ruth looked for the ri†eman.
“They can’t leave,” the girl said to Gaskell, and another man grimaced at Cam and said, “Wait. You can wait.”
“We can’t stay,” Newcombe said.
“You don’t have to, either,” Cam said. “You can leave. You should.”
“We’ll come with you,” Gaskell said.
“It’s better if we split up.”
“Just let us pack. Ten minutes.”
“Try to reach as many other survivors as you can,” Cam said. “Pay us back.”
“Tony, Joe, Andrea, start getting our food together,” Gaskell said, not looking away from Cam. Three of his people left the group and hurried to their shelters.
“There are others like us,” Newcombe said. “We’re all spreading out.”
A woman said, “But who’s in the planes?”
“We don’t know.”
