Plague War

would be a crime worse than the plague itself. What this place and every graveyard like it deserved was new life. A cleansing. The ruins should be bulldozed where they couldn’t be repaired, repopulated where the damage hadn’t been so bad, and there were desolate cities across the globe, far more than could be reclaimed for generations. They’d forgotten. The leadership was too insulated, trapped on their island fortress.

Ruth made herself eat with grim focus, even though her stomach still felt like a knot and breakfast was a few cans of cold, gluey potatoes and beef. Cam ate like it hurt him, and Ruth wanted to say something, she wasn’t sure what. Her taste buds stung at the fresh reek of gasoline. The stench made her head ache, but at least she could barely smell the corner of the closet they’d had to use as a toilet.

“Show me your map again,” she said.

Newcombe set down his can and unbuttoned his jacket pocket. He invariably folded his map and tucked it away, in case they had to run — but his neatness was also about control, Ruth thought, watching his long, hawk- nosed face. Sandy blond eyebrows and beard stubble. Newcombe looked so young, even beneath the ant bites and dirt and the †aking raw pink spots that were being worn into his skin by his goggles and mask.

She didn’t like his silence. Newcombe was impatient, jerking at the map when a corner of it hung up in his pocket. Yes, they were all sore and irritable, and they’d already talked through their options after the planes had gone, but they couldn’t afford to make the wrong choice.

Their plan was to sprint back to the truck and drive out of the hot spot as fast as possible. The boat trailer was already attached and Newcombe had ripped open the truck’s ignition, so that starting it was a matter of pressing two wires together. Even after fourteen months of disuse, the battery had kept enough power to crank the engine once. Then they’d run it for more than an hour to generate a charge. We built good, Newcombe had said with surprising softness, leaning his hand on the truck’s tall, broad hood. He might have only been talking to himself, but Ruth believed he’d felt the same melancholy pride that haunted her now, sitting in the wreckage of this child’s room. She was glad. Even the relentless Special Forces soldier wasn’t untouchable.

Newcombe was con‚dent the truck would start again, and the boat’s enormous motor had also ‚red right up. The question was where were they going.

The chair is against the wall. That strange sentence had changed everything, shifting the balance between them. It was almost as if there were suddenly other people among the three of them, just when she’d ‚nally begun to adapt to being so utterly on their own. Ruth had become accustomed to outnumbering Newcombe. Cam always backed her, but now Newcombe had new power, and Ruth thought Cam was wavering.

The radio code was a rendezvous point. Despite the chaos of the plague year, it was still the twenty-‚rst century. The Canadians had their own eyes in the sky. The rebels controlled three American satellites themselves. The surge of radio traf‚c in Leadville could not be hidden, especially in this now-empty world. Nor could the sudden †ux of aircraft. Even if the Canadians hadn’t been involved in the conspiracy, promising aid and shelter, they would have known something big was going on.

Newcombe’s squad had gone into Sacramento with no less than eight contingency plans, ‚ve of which led to open stretches of road where a plane could touch down, and Ruth did not doubt that those men could have reached one of their rendezvous points long before now if they’d been moving on their own, even wearing containment suits, even hauling extra air tanks.

The Canadians planned to intercept them, lancing down out of British Columbia. The two North American nations had coexisted as friends and allies for nearly three hundred years, but now Canada would raid across the border in force, committing four full strike wings as a curtain against any Leadville ‚ghters. Newcombe wanted to head for Highway 65 just north of Roseville, and Ruth was tempted. She yearned for it. Safety. Warm food. Oh God, and a shower. But it would mean pushing farther north once they were across the sea, staying in the lowlands rather than hiking east into the mountains — and there was a deeper fear in her.

“Look.” Newcombe laid out the map with his naked hands, his knuckles bruised and scabbing. Then he edged his ‚nger slightly from Citrus Heights to Roseville. “Look how close. We could get there in a day or two.”

“I just don’t know,” Ruth said, touching the rough patches on her face where her own goggles had pressed in. She was thinking of the paratrooper ambush that had destroyed Newcombe’s squad. “They’d come in one of those big cargo planes, right?” she asked.

“Not necessarily. I’d send something small and fast.”

The thought of cramming herself into a plane made Ruth claustrophobic again and she glanced uneasily at the walls of the room. Not all of the ISS crew had survived the crash of the space shuttle Endeavour. “All it takes is one missile to bring us down,” she said, “and Leadville will do anything to keep anybody else from getting the vaccine. They’ve already shown that.”

“There are ways to defend against air-to-air missiles, especially if our escort doesn’t let anyone close,” Newcombe said. “And if we don’t do this, we’ll have to keep playing hide-andseek with the helicopters. We’ve been lucky so far.”

“But we’re so close to the mountains here!” Ruth met his blue eyes, pleading with him. “The whole idea is to spread the vaccine to as many people as possible, so no one can ever control or keep it.” She worried that the Canadian government would prove just as sel‚sh. Overall, their losses had been even worse than those in the United States, and they might view the nanotech as the same opportunity for conquest and rebirth.

“We’re not that close,” Newcombe said. “Look. Look where we are. It’s still a hundred miles to the Sierras and it’s going to keep getting more and more uphill. You have to realize we’re still weeks away from elevation. You don’t even know if anyone’s alive up there. We could wander around for another month just trying to ‚nd a mountain where someone’s survived this long.”

And they might be dangerous if they did, Ruth thought, unable to stop herself from glancing at Cam. It was a real concern. Lord knew some of those survivors would be too desperate to care why or how they’d come, but she didn’t say it. She wasn’t going to give Newcombe anything else to use against her. Ruth genuinely believed that most people would help them, and once they’d reached four or ‚ve groups they would be unstoppable, dispersing in every direction, ‚lling the dead zones of the plague like a new human tide.

“This is our best chance to get somewhere,” Newcombe said.

I’m stronger than you are, Ruth realized, but she needed to be careful. She couldn’t afford to make an enemy of him. “I just don’t like it,” she said.

Cam ‚nally interjected, and Ruth was grateful. “I know what I’d do,” he said. “This isn’t usable ground for them, not if we get away. If I was Leadville, if I thought the Canadians were going to take off with us, I’d just nuke the whole area. Here. Oregon. Wherever they could drop a bomb in front of us. There’s no way a plane can defend against that, right?”

“That’s crazy,” Newcombe said. “This is their own ground— it’s American soil.”

“No. Not anymore.”

“They’ll stick to conventional weapons,” Newcombe insisted. “Look, it’s a gamble either way, so we take our best bet. We get the rebels and the Canadians behind us.”

Ruth clenched her arm in its cast, wondering how deeply his training had affected his thinking. The need for structure. Newcombe was an incredible asset, a great soldier and obviously comfortable improvising in any situation, but he was still a soldier, with the expectation of ‚tting into a larger command.

He was going to be a problem.

“Do you want to get left down here?” he asked, gesturing at her broken arm. Had he seen the ‚st she’d made?

The infections last night scared him, she thought. Me, too. But at least she knew how rare it should be to hit a concentration that bad, especially once they got out of the delta.

“They’re willing to put a lot of lives on the line,” Newcombe said. “Fuel. Planes. Taking you north was always the plan, get you into a lab, make the vaccine better and then spread it everywhere.”

“We can still do that,” Ruth said, slowly. “We can do that after we’ve given the vaccine to a few people out here.”

Cam surprised her. “We could split up,” he said.

She was right that he had been uncertain but wrong about the biggest question on his mind. She’d thought he was halfway to agreeing with Newcombe to jump on a plane. Instead, he had found another way out of the box. He