“Dr. Hollis?” Byrnes said.
“Aye,” Dr. Hollis said with a nod.
Byrnes glared at the rest of the table. Dr. Desai sat quietly examining her hands. Joseph knew Dr. Weinroth was on his side. Byrnes frowned, unable to get his majority vote. The doctors put their hands down.
“All those in favor of less invasive tissue harvesting on the human subject, say aye,” Joseph said.
“There’s no need. Neither group will get a majority,” Byrnes said, disgusted with the outcome of events.
“Let’s see,” Joseph said.
Byrnes snorted and looked away.
“Aye,” Joseph said. His voice was clear and loud.
Rebecca gave him an affirming smile. “Aye.”
“Aye,” Dr. Desai said.
“Aye,” Dr. Hollis mumbled.
“What was that, Dr. Hollis?” Joseph said.
Dr. Hollis’s second chin trembled. “I said, ‘aye.’ I believe we should move forward with as much testing as possible.”
Byrnes’s face soured as though he were sucking a lemon. “Dr. Hollis, you cannot vote twice,” he growled.
Dr. Hollis shook his head. “Who do you people think you are? Of course I can vote twice.”
“Dr. Hollis, please. Vote for one or the other,” Joseph said. Dr. Hollis folded his hands over his belly and stuck his receding chin outward. “I will not. Forward or not at all.”
“You can’t change your vote, Hollis,” Byrnes said.
The heavy doctor stared at the colonel and raised his eyebrows. “Then I won’t vote.”
Joseph smiled. “Then that settles it. Three to two. Non-invasive testing of Patient Zero.”
Byrnes sighed impatiently as if he were dealing with children. “Goddamn it.” He stood up, and for a second, Joseph thought that the slender colonel would race around the table and pummel him. The colonel strode for the door. When he reached it, he pushed down on the doorknob and stopped.
He spoke down to Joseph. “What are you waiting for? We have tests to begin.”
Joseph smiled at the soldier doctor. “Yes, we do.”
TESS
Little Sable Point, MI
Tess slipped on the tan leather shoulder harness that held her semi-automatic Colt .45 1911 handgun and two spare magazines over her tank top.
Her feet dug into the sand as she ran. Pagan sprinted next to her, holding his M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle fitted with a bipod and a 3.5x Squad Day optic. The gunshots grew louder as she got closer to the entrance of Little Sable’s protective ring of vehicles. Men shouted at one another.
Thunder’s voice rose above the rest. “Keep your heads down!”
She squatted behind a trailer tire, still far enough away to stop and think. She drew her black 1911, holding it in both hands and pointing it to the sky.
Looking back at Pagan, he gave her a nod and they burst into the opening. Thunder and five of his Red Stripes took cover behind trucks and cars. They pointed guns across car hoods at four soldiers in tan, brown, and gray camouflage. The military? Where did they come from? The lighthouse should have seen any trucks on the road.
Tess lined up her sights on a blonde woman standing twenty-five yards away pointing a carbine in their direction.
“Put your guns down,” a blond-bearded man yelled, rapidly transitioning his aim from biker to biker. His head had a horrific scar that ran down the top of his skull like a divot on a golf course fairway.
Thunder pointed his twelve gauge short-barreled Benelli at him.
“Fuck you. You throw your guns down,” Thunder growled.
“I got a shot, Thunder,” Rat-Face shouted. The skinny biker with a shaved head squinted down the barrel of a scoped 30-06 Springfield bolt-action hunting rifle.
The tension rose every second the standoff continued. Pagan set his M27 rifle on the back of a pickup truck, letting the bipod fling out from near the end of the barrel.
“Everything is going to go bad unless we do something,” he said softly. He closed one eye, using the other to line up his shot.
“I can see that,” she said sharply. Tess exhaled heavily. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the dumb one. She stood up and shouted. “Hey, you.”
The disgruntled soldier aimed in her direction, looking for the voice.
“Beard guy,” she said, lifting her chin at him as if she were picking a fight. The scarred, bearded man pointed his weapon at her. Tess pointed her gun back at him with a nice little cock in her wrist.
“Where is she?” he blurted in her direction.
This guy is off his rocker. “Where is who?” she retorted.
“What did you do to her?” he yelled. What is wrong with this guy?
“We didn’t do anything to anyone. Everyone is welcome here.”
“Where’s your leader?” Beard Face said, eyes darting back at Thunder with his shotgun. His eyes said he would carve the big biker to bits in a second. Tess doubted he could, but the crazy guy looked insane enough to try.
Thunder faced her way, his gray beard resting on his chest like a bib.
“That’s all you, Tess,” he grunted.
“You sure you don’t want to talk to crazy pants?” she said to him.
Thunder laughed. “He may be a bit more receptive to the words of a woman. But if he gets antsy, maybe we will see what a couple of slugs does to him.”
“This isn’t ’Nam, Thunder,” she said, lowering her handgun and holstering it up underneath her armpit. She clipped the retention flap over the handle of the gun so it wouldn’t fall out.
The unsettled man breathed hard while he stared their way. He’s like some sort of bull. Time for him to meet his matador. She hoisted herself up and hopped over the cars then stopped, collecting herself. Am I insane for stepping between these guys?
“If you meet me in the middle, we can talk,” she yelled out at him. She gave Thunder a glance over her shoulder. “Then if you want to play guns with Thunder and the Red Stripes, you can be my guest…after I get out of the way, of course.” The bearded crazy lowered his M4 a bit, watching her from over his sights. The weight of his presence hung in the air. Seconds clicked painfully by, and she feared she had made a mistake by stepping into the open.
“Lower your weapons,” Beard Face commanded. His military crew moved to a low ready, guns pointed downward. Beard Face marched across the weak grass that had started to turn brown, purpose filling his strides. He kept his chin slightly downward as if he expected to be sucker punched at any minute. She could see his eyes scanning the defenses for threats.
She walked his way, trying to keep her posture erect but relaxed as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
They met in the middle of the two hostile groups for a moment, standing and watching one another, making a quick assessment of what the other was dealing with. She put a hand on her hip.
His steel blue eyes pierced her almost jet black ones. His cheeks were sunken and a thick snarled beard hung almost as low as Thunder’s, but he was forty years his junior. His camouflage was stained with sweat and dirt, making him appear if he had returned from the horrors of a World War I trench. The whole world is one battlefield.
“A handsome man lies beneath all that hair, scars, and muscle,” she said. He blinked rapidly. I’ve caught him off guard. He was a different version of Pagan. Tenser. He instinctively ran a hand along the length of his healing head wound. She shifted her weight to her back leg like a cat waiting to pounce.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded.
His jaw clenched. Fury lay beneath his almost flat features waiting to emerge. It was as if it took all of his energy to control his own emotions. “Where is she?” he breathed. “Tell me.”
“You know, you aren’t very polite. The least you could do is say thank you for the compliment.” She gave him a heavy sigh.
He was silent.
Her eyes judged him. “I’m a forward woman, but you don’t have to be such a sourpuss,” she sa
id.
The mustache of his beard twitched. “I’m Mark.” He expected to be heard when he spoke.
“That it? Usually you army guys love to talk about your rank, unit, and cock size. So what are you? Like a general or something?” she said.
She glanced back at Pagan over her shoulder. The lightly bearded Marine looked up and over his gun watching, ready to fire his weapon at any moment. She could barely make out his finger tapping the trigger guard of his gun. He only did that when he was nervous. If I hit the deck, he’ll light them up. He’s a good shot. Then it would be whether or not Mark could get rounds into her before he was destroyed by hot lead.
“I have no rank.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s with the uniforms? Former military?”
“We’re not former military either; they were a gift. I used to work for the federal government.”
She laughed and grinned at him. “I knew it. You douches are all the same. Always have to be something sexier than the last guy, thinking you are going to pick up chicks. It’s like you all read the same friggin’ book.”
“I’m not here to get laid.” He looked over her shoulder at the bikers lining the entrance. More Red Stripes were gathering.
Still sizing us up for a fight. Back to me, tough guy. “Sure you aren’t, Mark. Every man wants to get laid.” She narrowed her eyes a bit. “I’m down here.”
His eyes regarded her with indifference. “Are you in charge of this place?” he said, gesturing with his head.
She looked down at her small chest. “What you afraid of? A woman ruling the roost?”
His lips tightened.
“No. I’m here to find,” he paused for a second, but the look in his eyes said it all. “I’m searching for a woman. The tracks led us in this direction.”
“Can you be more specific? A lot of people come and go from here,” she said.
“Mid-fifties, blonde hair, petite. Her name is Dr. Mary Steele.”
“Lost your mom, huh?” she said. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Pain crossed his features and then anger.
“Are you mocking me?” His face filled with disgust.
“A man of your stature? Nah. Wouldn’t even think it.”
His jaw tightened beneath his beard, the tendons on the sides of his face hardening. “Have you seen a lady that matches that description?”
“Thunder, you seen a Dr. Mary Steele?” Tess called back.
Thunder shook his head. Skinny Joker laughed next to him. “Sure did. Kept me warm last night.”
Mark squinted his eyes. “What did he say?” he growled.
Tess put a hand out toward Mark. He dodged her, bringing his gun up slightly. “No. Don’t worry about him. He’s just an asshole,” she said.
“Real nice,” Joker taunted, thrusting his hips out and rolling them in a circle.
Thunder shoved him. “Shut up, you idiot.”
In a split second, the barrel of Mark’s firearm was an inch from her face.
Tess licked her lips and looked into the black hole of his gun barrel. The bullet wouldn’t have to go far to evaporate the back of her skull.
Mark stared at Thunder over her. “Give her back and nobody has to get hurt,” he called to them.
Tess blinked, trying not to piss herself. Cool as a cucumber. “Joker’s a big prick. Got a little one, but he’s fucking with you. Cruel, yes. But that’s the boy of a man he is. You can come inside and look around. If she’s not here, I’ll help you find her.”
Mark’s eyes jumped from vehicle to vehicle of their protective ring.
Slowly, Tess let her hand rise up and rest on the barrel of his gun. “I would prefer if you stuck that thing somewhere else.” Her lips curled into a smirk. She met his angry blue eyes.
He let his gun be lowered inch by inch, and the two parties visibly exhaled. He pointed his carbine downward and shook his head. He ran a hand through the hair on his head that hadn’t been carved off. He sighed, letting his hand fall to his thigh.
“Long day?”
He nodded. “When’s it not?” He gestured down the coastline. “About eight miles south of here. Her house was burnt down. There were a lot of tire tracks. Some led this way.”
Tess gulped, trying to hide her discomfort.
Steele’s eyes pierced her face looking for deceit.
“What is it? What do you know?” he said.
“Not much. This isn’t the first time this has happened. We can talk about it inside.”
His look was serious but relieved. “Can we keep our weapons?”
“Of course. You’re free here.”
She stepped closer to him and leaned in close to his face. She didn’t know if she made him nervous or if he didn’t like people being that close. “But don’t shoot anybody. Okay?” she whispered. She patted him on his shoulder and it felt like she patted a pet rock.
Mark exhaled. “Thank you.” He relaxed, but his eyes mistrusted the circle of vehicles. He looked as if he expected an ambush at any moment.
He waved his group forward. “Come on.”
His crew walked up. Tess gave the blonde an eye. The woman returned her glare, and Tess turned away and walked back to Little Sable Point. The Red Stripes let them pass unhindered, their patched vests and guns making them an intimidating sight.
“I don’t like him,” Pagan said, falling in at her side.
“Of course you don’t, babe. He’s like you, rough and ready for a roll in the hay,” she said. She bumped her shoulder into his playfully.
“Military?” Pagan said. He gave the newcomers a look out of the corner of his eye.
“No, some sort of Fed.” She wrapped an arm around Pagan’s waist, sticking a hand through his belt loop. She gave a look behind her at the others. Mark and his crew followed behind her like a pack of feral dogs being tempted by the whiff of a free meal. She could feel Mark’s eyes on her.
“There’s food over there. If you want extra, you can trade something for it.” She waved her free hand at a semi-trailer stuffed with boxes, its doors open. “Bessie, give them a day’s worth of my winnings.”
“You got it, Tess,” Bessie shouted. She hacked a cough into her hand.
“Everyone is on their own for lodging. I’m sure if you ask around, someone will take you in for the night.”
“We have tents,” Steele said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Suit yourself. Soon it will be too cold for that. In the meantime, come over to my camper and talk with us.”
They followed her to her camper. Pagan opened the screen door. “After you,” he said, his head leaned back and his chest out.
Everyone piled inside. With more than two people, the camper seemed like a crawl space. Thunder and his sergeant at arms or enforcer, Garrett, stood sideways their girth filling in the narrow space. Mark’s crew stood crammed together on one side; the Arab man stood halfway in the doorway.
Tess hopped onto her fold-out bed and scooted back into the corner. “You wouldn’t mind sending some of your crew outside, would you?” she said to Mark.
Mark nodded, his beard smashing on his chest. “Can you guys leave while we talk? Kevin and Ahmed can grab some water and food.” Quieter he said, “Gwen, can you check out about trading for more food?”
A tall lanky man stepped outside following the stocky Arab man. Gwen stood her ground.
“I’m not going,” she said, voice level. Mark gave her an evil stare and met her eyes.
She’s his woman, and she’s as stubborn as a mule. Don’t make it too easy on yourself, do you, bearded man? A glutton for punishment.
“I think we’re good. She can stay,” Tess said, feeling behind her. Patting under a pillow, she pulled out her weed stash and rolled a joint, licking the paper so it would stick. Thunder plopped down on a built-in table bench, shaking the camper then placing a hand on his knee like a gorilla.
“Want a hit?” Tess asked the two newcomers.
“No,” they said in unison.
> Tess laughed. “Straight-laced even now? You two must be a real joy to be around,” she said, with a smirk at Pagan. “Probably strict missionary too.” She laughed. The emerald-green-eyed blonde stared at her coldly.
Steele brushed it off, his emotions hidden beneath his stonelike unamused surface. He’s a man that’s to the point. No frills. Just action.
Tess sparked up her joint and took a long drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs. She closed her eyes and let the joys of the apocalypse dim a bit. His voice brought her back.
“What can you tell us about the fires?”
Tess opened her eyes and passed the joint to Thunder, who took it in his fingers, sucking in the smoke. Pagan stood in the kitchen, his arms folded over his chest, M27 resting near his leg.
“Before we get all cozy, who are you?” Pagan demanded. Dislike shone on his face.
Tess rolled her eyes. Jesus.
“I’m Mark Steele. I was a counterterrorism agent with the Division before the outbreak.”
Recognition passed over Pagan’s face. “I’ve heard of you guys. Pretty tight outfit.”
“We get the job done. You?” Steele said.
“Force Recon,” Pagan said.
“Tough bastards. High-speed shit,” Steele said.
“They’re all right.” Pagan looked up at Steele’s head. “How’d you get that scar on your dome?”
“Some asshole shot me in West Virginia.”
Pagan smiled and lifted up his shirt. A golf ball-sized discolored scar stuck out on his abdomen. “Snuck through the vest in Fallujah.”
Tess let the smoke come out her nose to mask her slight irritation. These two and their posturing are boring me.
“Okay, guys, you done jerking each other off? If I wanted to watch bro-bachelor in apoco-paradise, I would have stayed in the real world.”
Steele ran his hand over his head scar again, and Pagan let his shirt fall down.
“All right. Tell me what’s going on here,” Steele said. He rested a hand on the tomahawk in his belt.
Tess tapped the end of the joint in an ashtray. “Since we’ve been here, we’ve only run into one other large group. They’re a bit religious. Call themselves the Chosen.” She stopped and looked at Steele for acknowledgment that he understood. He kept his face flat.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 80