Cam volunteered to be the first to try it, earning another kind word from Emma. “You’re very brave,” she said, but Walls stopped him. “You know Freedman, don’t you?” Walls asked, and it was true that Cam had secondhand knowledge of her, which no one else could match. That put him in Walls’s elite with the other untouchables like their pilots, translators, and medics.
One of Foshtomi’s Rangers drew the short straw. His name was Ayers. Foshtomi volunteered herself instead, but Ayers refused. “It’s all right, Lieutenant,” he said.
Ayers walked out wearing his biochem mask and hood. Deborah produced a needle from a med kit. She wet it in the blood, then stabbed his forearm, repeating the process several times. Finally, Ayers took off his gear. He went to the warehouse door and walked outside, escorted by Sweeney, who reported every move on his suit radio.
“He’s okay,” Sweeney said. “It works.”
“What about Ruth?” Ingrid asked. “Cam? What in the world are we going to do about Ruth?”
They stood beside the plane, breathing in the acrid, dusty smell of the ash. The immunizations were done. The soldiers were removing their goggles and jackets and chatting in quiet relief, even laughing. Ingrid’s hazel eyes were sad. Cam hugged her again, but he couldn’t allow his heart to soften. He wanted to keep his rage. So while Ingrid nestled her face against his neck, he was rigid, with his chin up, which is why he saw Deborah approaching with a bloody canteen.
Deborah had stripped off her containment suit. She pointed in the direction of the RVs beyond the warehouse and said, “Do you two want to come with me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s good to see you again,” Deborah added, briefly embracing Cam herself. The gesture was uncharacteristic — but after so much death, all of them were more open and physical. Every word felt like good- bye.
The three of them walked outside as Bornmann and Pritchard rolled open the tall warehouse doors. Most of the others were already sorting through their vehicles, food, and other gear, unencumbered by the fear of infection. Bobbi glanced after Cam, but she’d gone to help Lang with three cases of water and didn’t break away. Maybe that was smart.
Deborah led them to one of the RVs, a huge, sand-colored Holiday Rambler. “Brace yourselves,” she said. “This isn’t Ruth. Do you understand? This isn’t Ruth like you knew her.”
Cam heard a repetitive clunk clunk, clunk clunk from inside. What was it? The A/C or the plumbing? He met Deborah’s gaze and realized she was gritting her teeth.
“Okay,” he said.
Deborah pushed in the folding door and led them up the steep, narrow steps. Inside, the floor broadened. The luxury vehicle was nine feet wide with long, tinted windows and a lighter windshield. Behind the driver’s seat, tan couches and a wood table filled the front space. Cam wasn’t watching where he was going. He cracked his head on a low-slung TV, but didn’t take his eyes off of Ruth.
She was tied to a cabinet knob behind one couch, her hands drawn up behind her head.
She stank. Her clothes were filthy with ash, sweat, blood, and urine. Worse, she was drooling, and her eyes were twisted in their sockets.
“Oh,” Ingrid gasped. “Oh, no. Ruth, no.”
Cam didn’t move. His thoughts had been compressed into a sharp dark line of disbelief. It rocked him, but he held onto his sense of destiny.
“Try the vaccine,” he said. If Ruth was wrong, it would counter the infection. Deborah went to Ruth’s side — but Ruth was proved right, as always. They waited several minutes after puncturing her thigh with the bloody needle, yet there was no change in her vacant, animal face.
Ingrid cried. Deborah’s smooth, pretty features screwed tight as she battled her own tears. Cam’s feelings were strangely muted. This wasn’t the end. Ruth was alive, and she’d talked about how there appeared to be different stages of infection. She might wake up on her own tomorrow. Maybe it would take a week. The main thing was to be sure the Chinese weren’t in total control, so they couldn’t hurt or enslave her.
“Can you hear me?” Deborah asked. At first Cam wasn’t sure who she was speaking to. He felt very far away, but then Deborah said, “Ruth? Ruth, honey, please.”
“I’ll take care of her,” Ingrid said, kneeling. She tried to soothe Ruth’s jerking leg with one hand. Ruth was oblivious. Ingrid looked back up at them. Her eyes were frightened, but her voice was firm. “I’ll stay with her, Cam. You can count on that. I’ll feed and bathe her and keep her safe.”
“Yes.”
It didn’t matter if he made it back. As long as they beat the Chinese, that was okay. Even if they failed… It’s okay, he thought. If there is
Allison was in his mind, too, but his love for both women was the same. It hurt him and filled him with resolve at the same time, and it was better than anything else he’d known.
Cam bent and kissed Ruth’s sweaty hair, lingering against her scalp as he remembered the good smell of her.
Then he turned and walked away.
General Walls couldn’t risk himself on the plane. If they did establish contact with other U.S. forces, he needed to be alive to coordinate them, so Walls intended to remain in Colorado with only Rezac and Ayers in his command, plus Ingrid and Bobbi as nursemaids for Ruth. They would go south. Another small squad would drive east.
Foshtomi herself refused to stay behind. “Sir, I’m responsible for what happened to Goldman,” she said. “You have to let me be a part of this.”
Walls agreed. He also allowed Sergeant Huff to stay with Foshtomi. He put Pritchard in charge of the second squad, which consisted only of Pritchard, Emma, and the other two survivors from Foshtomi’s group. Cam thought it might have made more sense to leave Foshtomi or even Huff in charge, but Walls must have trusted his commandos more. Lieutenant Pritchard would be on his own. In fact, if Walls was captured or killed, Pritchard would become the acting U.S. commander in chief. Captain Bornmann outranked Pritchard, but Bornmann would be radio silent in the plane, thus removing him from the chain of command. Walls also refused to send any of their codes or data on the mission into California. He gave one of his laptops and several files to Pritchard instead.
Rezac had a different sheet of notes for Bornmann. She also passed around her laptop. An hour ago, she’d brought up several file photos of Kendra Freedman — but she had no printer. There was no way to share the pictures, except to commit them to memory.
Freedman had been in her early forties before the machine plague. She was chubby and very black, an African American woman with pitted, rich chocolate skin and even darker lips. Her hair was straightened. She had surprisingly small eyes for her broad face, maybe an illusion caused by her fat cheeks.
While everyone studied the photos, Rezac discussed the Osprey’s transponders with Bornmann. “Leave ‘em on,” she said.
“I can disable the Mode II,” he argued, but Rezac said, “That’ll flag you as a problem as soon as you’re on radar. None of their stolen aircraft run dark.”
“Take care of Ruth,” Cam said to Bobbi and Ingrid. Bobbi kissed him. “God bless. Be safe.”
Bornmann powered up the plane and trundled out of the warehouse. Cam didn’t look for Ruth before he climbed in. He preferred to recall her bright, laughing face instead of the rag doll she’d become. There were no seats. The only restraints were a trio of cargo belts that had been bolted across the struts on the port wall. Cam sat with Foshtomi and Huff against the canvas straps and Deborah joined them, looking grim.
The Osprey heaved into the sky. It lurched out of the narrow space inside the depot’s fence, thrumming with
