“Good luck.”
Hatcher watched him walk out and he breathed a silent prayer of relief.
Carol stuffed the sturdiest of clothes into a duffle, ensuring that she packed as many changes of socks as she could. She’d always been told that changing your socks regularly prevented foot rot.
She nearly jumped when she heard the knock at her door. She quickly shoved the duffle under her bunk and shut the small locker that held her belongings. She cracked the door then sighed with relief when she saw Broussard outside.
“Come in.” She pulled the door open. “I was just packing.”
A slow smile crossed his features as he stepped inside. “I spoke with the captain. He certainly didn’t want to allow us on another mission, but when I explained that we needed to measure the speed at which the infected are being cured in order to ‘tweak’ our formula, he capitulated.”
She gave him a confused look. “There is no ‘tweaking the formula.’”
Broussard snorted. “You know that, and I know that…” He let his statement trail off.
Carol’s eyes widened. “Ahh! Gotcha.” She sat on the edge of her bunk. “And he went for it?”
Broussard nodded. “We leave in a few hours for the next mission.”
“Do we know where that will be?”
Broussard nodded as he sat across from her. “Apparently they’re going back to San Diego. About ten miles from the last sight.”
“Why so close?”
Broussard smiled. “They have to drop us off at the last sight so that we can observe the progression of the cure.” He crossed his arms and gave her a knowing smile. “They’ll drop us off with our escorts and then proceed to the next sight.”
Carol blew her breath out hard. “So now we have to come up with a way to shake the escorts.”
Broussard nodded. “We may well have to play that by ear.”
She held her hands tight to prevent them from shaking. “Are we sure that this is the right thing to do?”
He hiked a brow at her. “You were the one that determined you were no longer safe.”
She nodded her head slowly. “But you don’t have to come with me. You’re a man. You’re also the creator of the retrovirus. You may well be invaluable to fixing this.”
He shrugged slightly. “I’d rather know that you were safe.” He gave her a knowing look. “Do you truly believe that you would be better off on your own?”
She sighed and stared into the shadows of her room. “If the cure works…then yeah.”
“If. I am not comfortable risking your wellbeing on that word.”
She came to her feet and squared her shoulders. “Then I suppose it’s the two of us.”
“One way or the other, oui.”
She reached out and took his hand. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “No need to thank me.” He stood and gave her a sad smile. “I was tired of living on this ship anyway.” He walked to her door and turned back. “San Diego was a bastion of medical research. Who knows? Perhaps we can find a suitable lab. If we can get power to it, we could continue our work there.”
She gave him a smile and nodded. “Perhaps.”
Simon followed the column of dust and dirt in the air and found himself parked at the entrance to an alley. “Son of a…” He shut off the engine and stepped down from the behemoth. He walked to the edge of the alley and read the large plywood sign posted at the entrance.
“Explosives, huh? That would explain it.” He crossed his arms and snorted. “Like anybody would be stupid enough to…” He paused and stared at the numerous orange painted clay pigeons scattered about the alley.
He reread the sign and his eyes widened. “North is the only safe avenue?” He cocked his head. “Why on earth would you tell people how to come at you?”
He stepped away from the alley and leaned against the passenger door of the huge truck. “Unless you were prepared to fend off an attack from the north.”
He rubbed at his stubbled chin and tried to wrap his alcohol soaked mind around the idea of setting booby-traps all around your home but leaving an avenue of attack. “You fuckers just don’t make sense.” He stared at the sign again. “All are welcome? I bet that offer don’t extend to me.”
He pushed off the side of the truck and stared down the long, narrow alleyway. He couldn’t be certain which side of the alley the Cagers were holed up at, but he knew how to find out.
He started the diesel engine and pulled away. He braked hard when he saw grey-skinned bodies darting through the shadows. “Son of a bitch.” He watched as another pair shot between two wrecked cars then dove into the shadows again.
“Looks like that blast didn’t just get my attention.”
He stomped the accelerator and drove the truck around the block, allowing plenty of leeway around the advancing Ragers. Simon circled around, allowing three blocks. He stared at each side street and tried to spot more of the signs. He noted a few scraps of orange, but he couldn’t be certain if they were more explosives or just trash that had been scattered.
He finally worked his way around to the north of the compound and saw the open lots where they had attempted to bulldoze the place. He squinted in the bright afternoon sun and could almost swear that one of the dozers now sat parked just outside the gates of the compound.
“Are those spikes?” He wished he had thought to bring binoculars so that he could get a better idea of what he was looking at. He didn’t dare drive closer or they’d spot his truck.
“Well, well, well….” He reached for the single malt and pulled the cork. After a long pull from the bottle he leaned back in the thick leather seat and stared through the windshield. “Ragers closing in and me without my hardware.”
He rolled the window down and spit. With a quick glance at his watch
