Hatcher’s eyes grew wide. “Wait just a goddam minute. I thought you said there weren’t any of them out here? Now you’re saying you actually have some on board the ships?”
Hollis groaned. “They’re in bulletproof cells. The generators keep them from wigging out, and yeah…you can’t really do research on them unless you have test subjects.” He placed a hand on Hatcher’s shoulder. “Trust me. Every precaution has been taken. They can’t get out and they’re contained. They’re only on the one ship, and, if need be, we can remove that ship from the fleet entirely.”
“You mean blow them up, don’t you?” Jason asked, his voice cracking.
Hollis shook his head. “That would be the wrong thing to do. Our researchers are all on that vessel. Look, it’s safe, I promise. You’ll see it all first hand when we drop you off there.”
“Drop us…what?” Jason’s voice went up an octave as panic hit.
“You want to stay with the girl, right? Well, the research vessel is where you’ll be staying.” He stiffened and squared his shoulders. “Trust me, will ya? I wouldn’t have brought you all the way here just to risk your lives.”
Jason glanced at Hatcher, who shrugged. “I’ve got nothing.”
“It will be fine, I promise. In the meantime, the chow hall is right down there. Follow the smells. From there they’ll get you a room and some clean clothes.” He patted Jason on the shoulder. “Relax. You’re safe now.”
He pushed past the trio and marched deeper into the craft. Hatcher looked to the others and noted their fear. “We have to trust him.” He glanced around and shook his head. “They’ve made it this far without incident. I have to believe they know what they’re doing.”
Jason pulled Bren closer and she seemed almost catatonic. “We trusted you, man. You said—”
“I said I would get you to the research center. Since this is the only one left, I think I’ve kept my word.” He dropped his voice and leaned closer to the pair. “Your other option is to head off into the wilderness with me and Captain Jackass there. We’re only going to Ground Zero to find the original bug that caused this shit storm.” He pulled back and gave them both a stern look. “Believe me, you’re safer here with them.”
Jason swallowed hard and gave him a faint nod. “If you say so.”
Hatcher took a deep breath and stood straighter. “I say so.” He turned and headed toward the chow hall. “I just pray I’m not lying.”
Squirrel released the throttle on the Indian and downshifted, listening to the rumble of the engine as it slowed his momentum. He braked softly and practically coasted to a stop.
Staring across the barren rolling hills, he took in the small town and ignored the other men stopping on either side of him. “What’s wrong, boss?”
Squirrel shook his head. “Nothing. Just getting the lay of the land.” He cut off the engine of the bike and pulled a map from his saddle bag. He unfolded it and stared at the small town on paper. “Two of you check the casino. Two more check out the hotels.” He pointed to the man on his left. “You’re with me.”
“Where we going?”
“We’re hitting the residential areas.” He glanced up and noted the trash and debris scattered across the streets and yards of the small town. “Be prepared to bug out at any moment. Ragers could be anywhere…or everywhere. If you run into more than you can handle, bail and head back here.” He turned and faced the men. “Remember, we’re always looking for resources. Food, fuel, booze, ammo…but our primary goal is to find out where that truck came from. Understood?”
“Copy that. We’ll hit the casino.” The man on his right fired up his motorcycle and Squirrel watched as the pair rode off.
“I guess we’ll take the hotels.” The next pair rode off and Squirrel shoved the map back into his bag.
“I meant it. If you see anything—”
“I got yer back, boss.” The man pulled a pair of .45 caliber revolvers and flashed him a wicked grin. “These things will stop a bus. I doubt the ragers would stand a chance.” He shoved them back into his jacket and fired up his engine.
Squirrel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let the fun begin.”
He rode the motorcycle through the residential areas. His head was on a swivel as they passed row after row of adobe or stucco-covered buildings. He tried not to cringe at the smells that would blow across their paths. The sickly-sweet stench of death was thick in certain areas. The heat and stillness of the wind made it that much worse.
He weaved the Indian around anything on the road that might damage it and tried to avoid the bones littered across his path. Apparently the ragers left pieces for the wildlife to fight over, and those pieces had been picked clean and left to bleach in the sun.
He thought he saw a curtain flutter, but noted the window was closed. He waved his arm to get the other man’s attention and pointed to the house. “Somebody inside.”
His partner flashed a brown-toothed smile and goosed his Harley up the road and into the driveway. As he dismounted, he pulled the pistols and marched to the front doors. “I got this.”
He threw a heavy-booted foot against the doorjamb and stepped back as the door flew inward and bounced off an interior wall. He spun to the side and hugged the outer wall of the building as a blast echoed through the small residential area.
Squirrel had just slid off the bike and was turned toward the house when the shotgun sent shot through the open doorway. He ducked behind the Indian and pulled his 30.30 carbine from the side-mounted sheath.
He glanced up after the second blast and watched as his partner rolled around the corner of the doorway and brought both pistols to bear on whoever was inside. Repeated shots echoed through
