“Sometimes life is a bitch.”
Buck came to his feet. “I forgot the shovel and pick axe at Nick’s house.”
“Tools are replaceable. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”
“Yeah, about that.” Buck rubbed at his neck, not sure how to breach the subject. “I know I’ve never been much of one for weapons…but I was wondering if I could keep a sidearm? I didn’t bother to check anything out this morning because the guy running the armory hadn’t come in before I left.”
Hatcher glanced down at the holster attached to his thigh. “You want to carry all the time?”
Buck shrugged. “At least have one available. I’d probably keep it in my dresser unless I knew I was leaving.”
Hatcher slowly nodded. “I don’t see why not.” He raised a brow at him. “Do I need to have somebody go over it with you?”
Buck shook his head slowly. “I’m pretty sure I can figure it out.” He looked up and gave him a sly smile. “The bullets come out the skinny end, right?”
“Go.” Hatcher waved him off. “Tell the armorer I gave the okay to permanently assign you a weapon. Remind him to log it.”
“Thanks, Hatch.”
“Just remember, if Skeeter jumps down my throat over it, I’m definitely throwing you under the bus.”
Buck chuckled. “No worries there. I’ll take the hit if she says anything.”
“Just be safe, kid. You and Skeeter are our future now.”
Dr. Broussard stood topside while the deck division went about preparing the ship to dock. He stood back by the main hatch, his guard in tow. He squinted in the early morning sun as the California coast came into view.
“It truly is remarkable to watch that from aboard a ship.”
“If you say so.”
Broussard turned and raised a brow at him. “I take it you’ve seen this too often for it to have any real effect?”
The guard shrugged slightly, his eyes on everything but Broussard. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my lifetime.”
“I’m sure you have.” Broussard turned back to the horizon and watched as the gray silhouette slowly darkened, landmarks and details beginning to come into focus. He had no idea exactly where they were, but he assumed someplace near San Diego. He was almost certain that there was a base near there.
“We need to go back inside,” the guard stated.
Broussard gave him a sad look. “Just a few more moments?”
The guard shook his head. “General Vickers wishes to speak to you and your team.”
Broussard sighed as he turned and pushed back into the main hatch. He maneuvered his way below decks until he approached the lab. He wasn’t surprised that Carol and Miller were already inside. “Am I late?” he asked almost flippantly as he entered.
“Just in time,” the yeoman told him. “General Vickers will be here shortly and—”
“Attention on deck!” a voice yelled, and all of the military men snapped to attention. A wiry man with a long thin nose and dark, lifeless eyes marched into the lab.
“As you were,” he mumbled, and the soldiers came to parade rest.
Broussard took a seat at the end of the workbench and crossed his arms over his chest. “General Vickers, I presume?”
Vickers whipped off his hat and tucked it under his arm. The action, for whatever reason, reminded Andre of the Gestapo officers in old World War II movies. “Dr. Broussard.” He nodded toward the older man. He turned to Carol and gave her a smile that didn’t warm his cold, dead eyes. “Dr. Chaplain.” Broussard noted that he skipped Miller completely. “It seems that this country…nay, the world, owes you two a great debt of gratitude.”
“You’re welcome?” Broussard stated half seriously. “I’m sorry, General, but is there a purpose to this meeting?”
Vickers raised a brow at him and seemed to become more stoic. “Straight to the point then.” He cleared his throat and pulled out a stool, slipping onto it without being invited. “The president would like to have a ceremony, on land, at everyone’s earliest convenience.”
“A ceremony?” Broussard felt he knew where this was going. The cure was developed aboard a US Naval warship, with US researchers assisting. They wanted to take credit as soon as possible and whitewash history.
“To commemorate and thank you for your bravery, sacrifice and dedication to saving the human race.” Vickers smiled at him and Broussard felt his skin crawl. “He wants to thank the nation of France for sending her top researcher. An act that made all of this possible.”
Broussard nodded slightly. “And who would be in attendance for this ceremony?”
“It will be recorded, of course. For posterity.” Vickers slid from the stool and tucked it back under the workbench. “We can’t be certain how long it will take to declare the landing sight clear, but as soon as it is, the president wishes to disembark. The ceremony will be held once a suitable location is found.”
“And we’ll be notified of where and when?” Carol asked.
“Of course.” Vickers slipped his hat back on and adjusted it, preparing to leave. “In fact, considering your great contribution, we’ll assign escorts to keep you safe.”
“Armed escorts, no doubt,” Broussard added, glancing at his new friend, bodyguard, and shadow.
“Of course. We can’t be certain that all of the infected have been effectively exposed to the cure.”
“Of course,” Broussard added dryly. “Per chance, do we have a ballpark idea when this grand event might occur?”
Vickers stood at the door and smiled again. “As soon as possible.” He paused and refused to make eye contact with Andre. “Oh, and Dr. Broussard. We’ve tried repeatedly to contact your country; there’s been no reply. I suppose you’ll be our guest a bit longer until proper communications are established.” He pulled the door open and disappeared into the throng of soldiers.
“Of course,” Broussard grumbled. He pushed away from the workbench and headed for the door.
“Andre, where are you
