Plague Zone

“I think you’re right. Nice work.”

“It gets better. Saint Bernadine might have survived the nukes. I mean, it won’t be in great shape, but there are some hills and terrain that would have shaded it from the blasts.”

“Is there any way you can get a satellite on that area?”

“No. Maybe. I’m still trying to get a signal from anyone else in NORTHCOM.”

“Thank you,” Ruth said, and Pritchard muttered, “Shit. I hope Albuquerque’s okay.” Ruth turned to Cam and said, “She’s alive. Did you hear? Freedman could still be alive!”

“Yeah.” He tried to smile.

Ruth went back to her laptop, but her concentration was shot. It didn’t help that she was cramping. Finally she had to pee. Relaxing those muscles was humiliating, even though no one else could feel or smell the trickling puddle. Ruth tried to emulate Foshtomi’s tomboy attitude to herself. Just be glad you only have to pee, she thought, but she wasn’t looking forward to taking off her suit and revealing what had happened. Maybe it was childish, but she wanted to be a giant like Freedman, and legends didn’t wet their pants.

Her anger was a spark.

“I might have found a weakness,” she said, returning to an earlier idea. “The new vaccine must recognize the same marker that the mind plague uses to identify people who are already infected.”

“What does that mean?” Pritchard asked.

“Both nanos are limited by the marker. They communicate with each other. The mind plague only replicates to a certain maximum within any given individual. Otherwise it would tear them apart just like the first plague. The vaccine works almost in the same way. It only protects people in which it finds the mind plague isn’t already present. The marker makes all the difference. Without it, the Chinese would lose their advantage. The vaccine would be transmitted to our side, too, the way every other nanotech spread around the world, and Freedman’s conceptual work has always been too advanced for that.”

“Why would she even build this shit for them in the first place?” Foshtomi asked.

“I don’t know. She’s a prisoner. Her message sounded like she thought she was somewhere else — that the Chinese were fighting India, not us.”

“So you were right,” Cam said. “The vaccine won’t reverse the plague in anyone who’s already sick.”

“I don’t think so. But if we can isolate that marker, we might be able to exploit it. Theoretically, we could design a parasite that would go after the mind plague and shut it off. We…” Lord God, she thought. What if Freedman had deliberately constructed the mind plague with the marker available as a kill switch?

“What is it?” Bobbi asked. “Ruth? What?”

“The marker’s too obvious,” she said, shifting restlessly. “I think Freedman sabotaged the mind plague so people like me could stop it. But I need time. And I need to get out of this fucking car.”

“How much time?” Pritchard asked.

“I don’t know. Days. Somewhere safe.”

“I don’t think we have that long.”

“I know.” Ruth’s claustrophobia was squeezing down on her lungs again and she turned away to stare out the window.

The light never changed. There was no sun. The day seemed eternal beneath the black sky, but Ruth guessed it was early afternoon when Medrano came on the suit radio just minutes later. “We’re clear, sir,” Medrano said.

Walls spoke on their main frequency. “This is Five,” he said. “One, you’re first. Park to the side of the warehouse door. Two, you drive straight in. Bornmann says there’s room behind the plane if you stay to your left. We need space around the forward door, just make sure you don’t hit the wing. Is that understood? Take it slow. Over.”

“Roger that, sir,” Pritchard said. He turned to Foshtomi. “As slow as butter.”

“Don’t talk dirty to me,” Foshtomi said.

That didn’t really make sense, but Pritchard laughed and Ruth glanced sideways at Cam. She watched his expression until he noticed her eyes and turned, and she thought again that he was very handsome despite his scars and his beard, which she’d always hated. It was a strong face.

She made a formless sound like a question. “Mhm.”

I love you, she thought.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said.

“Yes.” Ruth leaned her shoulder against him. Then Foshtomi started their engine and rolled forward.

The first Humvee parked on the side of the warehouse doors, only one of which had been slid open. Foshtomi drove in. As she passed, three of the commandos rolled the door shut again. Foshtomi hit her headlights. One was broken, but the other cut into the gloom.

The Osprey was a sleek, black, medium-sized aircraft that hugged the ground. Its wheels seemed ridiculously small. Thick wings extended out of the top of the fuselage instead of from the bottom or the middle as Ruth had seen on other planes. The propellers were also different, with long, long blades on rectangular engines as big as cars. The plane itself looked large enough to carry everyone, although it would be crowded. An enormous pair of tail fins rose from the back. Foshtomi eased past. In back of the warehouse were a row of white-walled offices and she stopped alongside them.

“Wait for my order,” Walls said on the radio. “One, you’re out first after Reece decons your vehicle. Move for the plane through the regular door.”

“Copy that, sir,” a soldier in One answered.

Ruth marveled at their discipline. Walls was using the men in the other Humvee to see if the warehouse was safe. They must know it, and yet they did as they were told.

Five minutes later, Deborah appeared beside Ruth’s vehicle with the blanket. As she maneuvered around the Humvee, Ruth’s suit radio said, “This is Bornmann. The guys from One are inside the plane and we’ve sealed up again. Over.”

“They’re safe,” Ruth said to her friends.

“Excellent.” Pritchard gestured from side to side. “Make sure we have everything when we go, your laptop, food, water, weapons. I’ll grab the radio.”

“Move around if you can,” Foshtomi said. “Limber up. We’ve been sitting a long time.”

They rustled against each other, and Bobbi fidgeted with her jacket collar. Cam had already donned his goggles and mask. Ruth didn’t want to jinx them by saying anything that sounded like farewell — these might be their last words — but it didn’t make sense to wait. For what? She wanted to be braver than she really was, so she forced herself to take the chance.

“I love you,” she said. “I’ve always loved you.”

The second part wasn’t true, but she wanted it to be. She needed that level of connection and support, and she didn’t want to lose him without making it real.

“Me, too,” Cam said. “I love you, too.”

Ruth wept when he kissed the faceplate of her helmet. They were so close, and yet couldn’t touch. She also felt like she should say something to Bobbi and the two soldiers. She didn’t know what — but just for being alive, they were her sisters and her brother. “Thank you,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Just get us out of this shit, Ruth,” Foshtomi said.

“Okay, clear,” Deborah said on the suit radio. Ruth and Pritchard relayed this information to Walls, and Walls said, “It’s your turn. Go.”

They stepped out.

There was a man inside one of the office windows. He stood just inches from Ruth, slumping. He must have been asleep until the throaty engine of the Humvee woke him. He’d been hurt. His jaw seemed broken, and blood leaked from his teeth down his chin.

“Oh!” she shouted, flinching back toward the Humvee.

The infected man rattled the glass with both hands. His eyes were huge and disoriented. They didn’t match his face, which was aimed directly at her. Instead, he gazed upward and to his right. Almost nothing showed of his eyes except the whites, as if he was staring deep into his own skull. But he was aware of her. He shoved his hands