Buck pulled at Hatcher’s arm. “Come on Hatch. You need rest anyway.” Hatcher turned to argue and Buck cut him off. “He’s not going anywhere, man. Look, if that was his blood we tracked, then he’s wounded pretty good. If it’s one of his goons, then we know his army is cut down in size.”
“But he’s just sitting there, trapped by the daylight and—”
“And he’ll be there tomorrow.” Buck tugged at his arm. “Let Will get some repairs made around here. The paint and plaster can wait, but the water is pretty important.” He glanced back at Will as he tried to lead Hatcher away. “So is the power.”
“But…”
“But nothing.” Buck paused just outside Hatcher’s office. “I want the son of a bitch dead as much as anybody. But the fact remains that we tore him a new asshole last night and he’s rethinking his whole strategy right now. If he attacks again tonight then we’ll have another chance at him, as long as we’ve rebuilt our defenses. If he doesn’t then he’ll still be holed up in the morning.”
Hatcher opened his mouth to argue when Buck spun him around and pushed him gently down the hall. “Neither of us have slept, and we’ll be no good to anybody until we get some rest.”
Hatcher sighed and turned back to Buck. “Could you really sleep knowing that they’re right there in that store? Just a couple of minutes away by car? We could zip back by there, honk the horn a few times and pick him off when he comes to the door.”
“IF he comes to the door.” Buck shook his head. “And when have you ever approved a plan that simple? If it doesn’t require somebody to rappel through a skylight and plant charges or skydive through a funnel, or…some other weird-ass shit, you think it’s too simple.” He pointed down the hall. “Don’t make me pull the ‘wiser than my years’ card.”
Hatcher chuckled then nodded. “Fine. You and Stanton win this round.” Hatcher pointed at him. “But if Simon doesn’t try something stupid tonight, then first break of dawn, we go after him. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Buck reached for his own door. “You get some rest and we’ll hunt first thing in the morning.” He pushed the door open and eyed Hatcher as he turned and walked slowly toward his own room. When he disappeared through the door, Buck stepped into the room he shared with Skeeter and got a glare that he wasn’t expecting. “Hi honey, I’m home.”
“Tell me you didn’t chase after Hatcher when he took off.”
Buck grinned at her sheepishly. “Okay. I won’t tell you that.”
Skeeter’s eyes narrowed on him. “You’re supposed to be smarter than that.”
His grin widened. “According to Hatcher I’m wise beyond my years.”
She shook her head at him. “Not to me, you’re not.” She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Pull a stunt like that again and I’m liable to pinch your head off.”
Buck nodded slowly. “Okay. Then don’t look for me first thing in the morning.” He watched her face go slack for a moment. “We found where they’re hiding. We’re going to flush out Simon.”
She slowly smiled. “It’s about damned time he gets what he deserves.”
Broussard chewed nervously on his thumbnail as the printer spat out the results of the tests. He ripped the page from the machine and held it next to the previous printout. “I’ll be damned.”
“What?” Miller asked.
“You hit the nail on the head.” He handed him the dual printouts. “You’re either quite intuitive, or…” He trailed off.
Miller scanned the printouts and smiled. “Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.”
Broussard shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a moment.” He sat back and assessed the ship’s doctor. “What was your primary field of study before medical school?”
Miller handed him back the reports then sat down, rolling his sleeve up as he spoke. “Forensic biology.” He held his arm out. “Test me.”
Broussard gave him a confused look. “Why?”
“Why do you think? I want to know which variant pumps through my veins.” He pushed his arm closer. “Just be easy. I’m afraid of needles.”
Broussard raised a brow at him. “Really?”
“I can’t even draw blood. I always make a corpsman do it for me.” He closed his eyes and looked away while Broussard retrieved the necessary items. He wrapped a rubber strap around his upper arm while he prepared the needle.
“I’d like to find a way…” Broussard paused while he tapped at the large vein in the crook of the man’s arm, “to field test the variants.”
“Like a litmus test?”
“Mm-hmm.” Broussard sat back and pressed a cotton ball to the site. “All done.”
Miller’s eyes shot open and he stared at his arm. “Wow, you’re good. I never felt a thing.” He snatched a roll of tape, held one end in his teeth, tore off a strip and pressed a piece over the cotton ball. “How long?”
“For the results? Not long.”
“The field test.”
“Oh.” Broussard placed the small test tube in a centrifuge and shut the top. “I’m not even sure if a simple test could be developed. I was just dreaming aloud.”
Miller leaned back and stared into the corners. “But if it could be done…”
“Then we’d be able to tell right away which variant someone carried.” He turned worried eyes to him. “We could weed out those with violent tendencies. Hopefully, before they could harm somebody else.”
Miller gave him a solemn look. “What would we do with them?”
Broussard shrugged. “That’s above me. I don’t make those decisions.”
“But if you did…”
Broussard blew his breath out hard. “I don’t know. Incarcerate them?”
“Even if they hadn’t acted on those violent impulses?”
He glanced at him. “Have you seen our subject? If they have it, they’ll act on it.”
Miller shrugged. “You can’t be certain.”
Broussard sat forward and cupped his hands together. “Dr. McAlester was one of the nicest…most gentle people I’d ever met. Sheepish, even, in a lot of ways. Very much an introvert.”
Miller raised a brow. “And now he’s the exact opposite.”
“Almost as though he’d been lobotomized.”
Miller sat back and eyed him carefully. “And you’re aware of what a frontal lobotomy does to violent people?”
Broussard nodded. “But until we have more data, we can’t be certain that the mutated variant won’t make violent people even more violent.”
“True.” Miller rocked back and forth in his chair. “I think we need field data.”
Broussard snorted. “You’ll never convince the captain of that one, I assure you.”
Miller slowly came to his feet. “Never say never.”
Hank stepped out of the pharmacy and shook his head. “I’m not finding it.”
“What exactly are you looking for?” Charlie Winslow set down the radio he’d been messing with and gave Hank his full attention.
“Some medicine for Wally.” He pulled out his list and looked at the phonetically spelled medication. “He called it topimarate.”
“Topamax,” Charlie smiled. “My wife used to take that for migraines.”
“Okay.” Hank stuffed the paper back into his pocket. “I don’t suppose she has any left?”
His face hardened and he shook his head. “She passed away a few months before all of this went down.”
“I’m sorry.” Hank stepped up into the cab of the big flatbed truck. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” He gave him a sad smile. “I miss her every day, but I’m also thankful she didn’t have to deal with all of this.”
“I hear ya.” Hank started the truck and turned away. “There’s another pharmacy a couple of miles from here.”
Charlie tapped his shoulder. “There’s an Albertsons a few blocks over. I’m pretty sure they had a pharmacy in the back.”
Ha
nk nodded and slowed the truck, turning the direction the man pointed. “Sweet. Not too far off the beaten path, either. We’ll grab the stuff and may even get to the lumber yard before the other truck is loaded.”
“I’ll help you look for it,” he said. “Between the two of us, we’ll be in and out in no time.”
Hank smiled broadly. “Something tells me this is going to be a hell of a day.”
7
Roger cracked his eyes opened and blinked at Candy. “This must be heaven.” His voice cracked when he spoke and he gave her a weak smile. “I see an angel.”
Candy practically sobbed and squeezed his hand. “You’re so full of shit.” She kissed his knuckles and fought back tears. “I was so worried.”
“Was that an arrow?” Roger tried to sit up and instantly regretted the move.
“Yes.” Candy stood and adjusted the bed for him. “It missed your heart by a fraction of an inch.” She sat down forcefully and felt exhaustion seep into her bones as quickly as relief had flashed through her muscles. “Vicky said you lost a lot of blood.”
“I hope she topped me off with the premium stuff.” He flashed another weak smile.
“There are a few O-negatives that donated to the cause.”
Roger closed his eyes and nodded, his mind pushing blood-borne pathogens from his thoughts. “Tell them thanks for me.” He inhaled deeply and almost immediately slipped back into sleep.
Candy patted his hand then slowly stood. She knocked on Vicky’s door and regretted it almost immediately. Vicky’s head popped up from her desk, a paperclip clinging to her cheek. “What?” Her head snapped around as her eyes tried to focus.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” Candy stepped inside and gave her a brilliant smile. “He came to for a moment.” She could feel her hands trembling as she spoke. “He sounded good, but…”
“He needs his rest.” Vicky stood and felt her legs refuse to cooperate. Her right foot was asleep and rather than walk around to embrace Candy, she sat on the edge of the desk and tried to appear more alert than she felt. “The more sleep he gets now, the better his chances of making a full recovery.”
Candy nodded and stepped closer. “Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around Vicky’s neck and hugged her. “I know that surgery isn’t your thing, but thank you. He’d have never made it if you hadn’t—” her voice caught in her throat as she tried to speak.
“It’s okay.” Vic patted her arm. “Trust me, I understand completely.”
Candy nodded, trying to keep her emotions in check. “It must be this pregnancy that’s got me so worked up.”
Vicky gave her a knowing smile. “I’m sure that plays a small part.” She watched as Candy stepped back out of the office then slowly came to her feet. She stared longingly at her couch then decided she had better check on her other patients. She picked up her clipboard and slipped her smock on.
“No rest for the weary.”
“So I won’t be trying to eat my patients?” Miller grinned as he scanned the printout.
“Not unless we run out of food.” Broussard stretched his neck and stifled a yawn. “My mind keeps coming back to the field test.”
“I think you’re wasting your time.” Miller folded the printout and slipped it into his lab coat pocket. “Infected people will be scattered throughout the world. Locating them and trying to field test them?” He shook his head. “I see it as an impossible task.”
Broussard sighed and wiped a hand over his eyes. “Still, it would be nice to know if their behavior was due to—”
“You should stop,” Miller interrupted. “You did the best you could, and by my own estimations, if you save half of the surviving population, then you exceeded expectations.”
Broussard nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right.” He glanced up at him and gave him a half-smile. “I wonder how many there actually are out there?”
“We can’t know from here.” Miller slipped his lab coat off and draped it over his arm. “That’s why I’ve requested a field trip.”
Broussard snorted. “Your captain won’t allow it.” He turned and gave him a wide smile. “Remember, I’m the one who disappeared on just such an outing.”
“Believe me, I’ve heard all about it.” Miller returned his smile but his seemed a bit more devilish. “That’s why I went over the captain’s head, so to speak.”
Broussard’s interest was suddenly piqued. “How so?”
“With the limited number of survivors out here, doctors are few and far between.” He leaned against the counter and seemed to beam as he spoke. “I went up the chain of command and asked the president’s right-hand man.”
“You what?” Broussard stared at him, his mouth agape.
“Colonel…rather, General Vickers was one of the original military men on the scene when Yellowstone belched this nasty bug out into the open. He has the president’s ear.” He shrugged. “I went to him.”
“And he’s willing to let us go to the mainland?”
“He’s considering it.” Miller’s face suddenly went stoic. “However, he said that if it happens, it will be under armed guard.”
“Of course.” Broussard was willing to accept any terms at this point. “I don’t suppose we could return to the university and at least check on Dr. Chaplain?”
Miller’s face softened slightly. “IF it’s approved, and yes, that’s a big ‘if’ there, then my intention is to retrieve your colleague.” He glanced to the screen displaying Dr. McAlester pacing his cell. “If there’s any chance of helping your other colleague, you’ll need help from people who know a lot more about this than I do.”
Broussard felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders and he secretly crossed his fingers. “I almost wish I were a praying man. I’d certainly request favors from whatever god would listen.”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I think the odds are in our favor.”
“Our? So you would accompany me?”
Miller chuckled, “Of course.” He pushed off the counter and reached for the door. “It was one of the General’s requirements. I’ll be held responsible for your behavior in the field.”
Broussard blanched at the idea that another might suffer if he stepped out of line. He nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
“I hope so.” Miller pulled the door open then looked back at him. “Because General Vickers is not a nice person once he’s been crossed.”
Hank pulled the truck up near the front of the grocery store and shut off the engine. “Something doesn’t look right here.”
Charlie leaned forward and squinted in the midday sun. “Looks abandoned to me.”
“Look at all the crap by the front doors.”
Charlie shrugged. “So it’s been looted.” He slapped at Hank. “Topamax ain’t exactly the kind of drug most folks look for when they raid a pharmacy.”
Hank groaned as he reached for the door. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“Then let’s hit a different place.”
Hank stared at the grocery store and considered his options. Wally had saved his fat from the fire too many times not to make an honest effort. He pushed the door of the truck open and stepped onto the running board. “No. This one is on the way.” He nodded to Charlie. “Let’s get this over with.”
Charlie pushed his own door open and hopped to the pavement. “In and out. Easy-peasy.”
Hank took a step toward the store then paused. “Good god. I think the sewer backed up inside that place.”
Charlie held a hand over his mouth and shook his head. “In and out. Breathe through our mouths.”
Hank stepped away and shook his head. “Too many bad vibes, man. I think maybe we should—”
The arrow that shot from the shadows sliced the fabric of Charlie’s shirt and the man yelped as he dove for the pavement. “Jeezus! They’re shooting at us!”
Hank turned and ran for the truck as an arrow thwipped past his ear. He dove behind the open door of the truck and scra
mbled up into the cab. Arrow after arrow struck the front of the vehicle, some embedding in the glass windshield.
He turned and watched Charlie scramble into the cab, flattening into the floorboards. “Go, go, go!” Charlie ducked lower into the well and covered his head with his hands.
Hank started the engine and slammed the gear selector into reverse, popping the clutch. He backed the truck away and didn’t slow until he saw a dead car grow larger in his side mirror. He turned the wheel and slammed on the brakes, praying the big truck was faster than he imagined.
He threw the gearshift into first and revved the engine before popping the clutch again. As he turned for the street, a final arrow thwopped the side of the truck and Hank made a beeline for the compound.
“Where are we going?” Charlie asked as he slowly crawled up from the floor of the cab.
“We’re going home.” He glanced at Charlie as wisps of steam began to crawl over the hood of the large truck. “I gotta tell Hatcher about this.”
“Was that the same Ragers that attacked last night?”
Hank shook his head. “I have no idea who it was. I never seen ‘em.” He swallowed hard and winced at the sweet taste of antifreeze in his mouth. “But I’d lay three to one odds it’s the same clan of Zulus.”
The temperature gauge on the truck began to rise into the red and Hank groaned. “Son of a bitch.”
“What now?” Charlie asked, his head whipping around to look behind them.
“They hit the radiator.” He watched as the temperature climbed into the red, then the needle pegged. “They must have put one hell of a hole in it.”
The engine chugged, knocked and began to rattle as Hank put the transmission into neutral and turned off the ignition. He let the huge truck coast as far as it would go before he angled it off toward the side of the road. “We’re dead in the water.”
Charlie looked at him with wide eyes. “Bad choice of words.”
Hank peered through the slickened windshield at the neighborhood. “Maybe.” He huffed as he reached for the door handle. “Then again…maybe not.”
Caldera 9: From The Ashes Page 4