Plague Zone

into the window again. A crack split sideways through the glass.

Foshtomi yelled from the driver door as Ruth began to turn. “Run!” Ruth felt Cam grab her air tanks, but his glove slipped off as she bent and shoved him. She was safe in her suit. He was not. She put as much weight into her arm as possible and knocked him past the rear of the Humvee.

I love you.

“Wait—” he shouted.

Foshtomi opened fire. A three-round burst from her M4 punched through the window and the infected man. Debris exploded from the white office wall as he spun away, blood spattering from his chest.

Ruth felt a sting across her wrist, either a ricochet or a shard of glass. Before she could look down, her forearm went rigid. The muscles locked up as if they’d become steel. It nearly tore the flesh from her shoulder. Tendons jumped all the way from her elbow through the side of her chest. She would have screamed if there was time. Then the pain engulfed her heart. The floor sagged up to meet her like a big gray wall and she was only barely aware of slamming her helmet against the Humvee as she fell. She was no longer able to differentiate between the vehicle and the floor at that speed.

Her last thought was a strange sense of deja vu, as if she was coming home. She’d been here before. Her agony and confusion were intense, but those feelings were coupled with an impression of longing. Somehow she knew where to go. She would find her way there, and her body jerked with nerve impulses as she tried to stand and walk.

Ruth Goldman had absorbed the mind plague.

21

Cam’s choice was the only one. He ran. He rolled onto his feet with the impact of Ruth’s hand still aching in his bad side and then he ran from her with his feelings buried in cold screaming terror. He’d left so many other people behind. He was able to submerge his grief, but it destroyed him.

He slapped at Bobbi on the other side of the Humvee, dragging her toward the plane with such maniacal force that he threw her to the ground. “Get up! Go!” he yelled, clutching at her sleeve.

Foshtomi’s reaction was more vicious. At first Cam thought she’d killed Ruth. She emptied her carbine on full auto, the gun chattering inside the metal warehouse.

“Noooo!” Cam yelled before looking back. Foshtomi stood in the space between the Humvee and the office wall, but Cam glimpsed just enough details to realize she was firing over Ruth into the far wall of the building. The aluminum popped and rang. Foshtomi was using her weapon to create an airflow away from herself. Maybe it was enough to repel the nanotech.

Men were shouting. “What happened! What happened!”

Pritchard ran past Cam and Bobbi, sprinting in the same direction as they ducked the Osprey’s huge tail fins. Then someone in a containment suit blocked their path. It was Medrano. “Where is Goldman!?” he shouted.

Cam tried to dodge by, but Medrano grabbed him. Cam shoved Bobbi toward the front of the plane even as he yelled, “She’s gone — Infected—”

They separated. Medrano and a second man in a black suit charged toward the Humvee. Cam banged alongside the plane. The fuselage was only sixty feet long. There was a loading ramp under its tail, but they’d been using the forward door on its starboard side. Each breath was a searing pain. He staggered, but then Foshtomi appeared beside him. She wrapped her arm around his hips.

Pritchard was holding Bobbi back from the forward door as she kicked and screamed, keeping her from the plane. Cam saw Bornmann on the inside of the small window in the door. Bornmann had taken off his suit, yet still wore his headset. He was shouting, too, but Cam couldn’t hear. “Shut up!” Cam yelled. “Shut up!”

“Let us in!” Bobbi screamed.

Ruth was at her most contagious, breathing and sweating out nanotech. Nearly all of it would stay inside her suit, yet there would also be a cloud of it around the dead man in the office. The mind plague would drift through the warehouse. Specks of it had probably wafted in with the Humvee, too. They might have only seconds, but there was no way for Cam to force his way inside. Shoot the lock? Then the plane itself would be open to the plague — but they could seal the holes with something. Cam had nearly convinced himself to fire when he saw Bornmann lift his hand to his ear, listening to his radio.

Bornmann opened the door.

Foshtomi squeezed her temples with both hands and cursed, “Shit! Oh shit! I should have just knocked that guy down, tackled him, anything. He could have had me.”

Cam didn’t blame her for what had happened. They were all making bad decisions, stupid with exhaustion, and Foshtomi‘s heart had been in the right place. She’d tried to protect Ruth.

The interior of the plane was utilitarian. Except for its snub cockpit, the Osprey was little more than a tube with a flat deck and bare struts on the curved metal walls. The wiring was exposed. There were no seats. It was outfitted for cargo or paratroopers, but Foshtomi found one of the only corners available, sinking down near the long, angled seam of the aircraft’s tail end.

“Shit! Oh shit,” she said.

So close, Cam thought. We were so goddamned close. We should’ve left Ruth in the car until she was immune.

But they didn’t know if Huff would succeed in retrieving the vaccine. The fact of the matter was that getting Ruth into the plane was a necessity. They were down to the last of their air. Very soon, more of the commandos would need to de-suit like Bornmann just to extend the time that one or two were able to remain protected, using the mostly depleted air tanks as a final reserve. Keeping everyone safe had been like juggling time bombs.

Cam stalked away from Foshtomi. There were no windows in the rear of the plane, just a few small portholes along its sides. He bent to gaze through the cockpit but saw only the warehouse doors. All of the action was taking place behind him. Bornmann said the commandos had immobilized Ruth and removed her helmet, watching to make sure she didn’t choke or bite her tongue. Deborah checked her vital signs, which were strong except for the poor pupil response they’d come to expect. Her brain was shutting down.

As soon as they had time, they planned to bring Ruth to one of the trailers outside the warehouse. The best of those RVs would become her shelter — but they couldn’t just leave her. She might wander away or hurt herself.

Someone else had to stay with her.

First they needed to decontaminate the warehouse again as best they could as well as Ruth’s laptop. General Walls, Ingrid, and another man were still in the cab of the Army truck. They also wanted to transfer their other gear, after which the commandos themselves would clean their suits and come aboard.

Cam paced up and down the plane like a man possessed. He would rather have been crucified than see this happen to Ruth. He’d been so cruel, keeping her at a distance. Why? He knew how short life could be. Every second together had been a treasure. Now they were left with one slender hope.

Bornmann was talking on his headset again, communicating with the people outside. Cam put his hand on his shoulder. Bornmann ignored him, so Cam tightened his grip until the other man turned with irritation in his eyes.

“What?” Bornmann snapped.

“We need to get into Los Angeles.”

They brought Walls and the others aboard without incident, except for Deborah, who stayed with Ruth, and Sweeney, who continued to stand guard outside the warehouse. Twice, Sweeney’s M4 barked, dropping zombies at the fence.

The plane was crowded. Everywhere, men spoke to each other in low tones, relieved to be out of their suits and masks. Cam stood with his arms around Ingrid, comforting the older woman even as he looked past her and shouted into the din.

“It’s the only way!” he said. “There’s no one else who knows nanotech, and Freedman—”

“This isn’t your call,” Bornmann said, stepping sideways to physically shield Cam from Walls and Rezac. They