“I’ll be right back with some antibiotics,” the doctor told him, “then you’ll be good to go.”
As he left the treatment room, Kyle resumed his debate with Jessie. “If the Chinese want me dead, I must be making a difference.”
“You’re doing an amazing job,” Jessie told him. “It’s just not worth your life. Isn’t that what you said to me when I was being stalked?”
“And did you listen?”
“No, but you were right. I nearly died because of my stubborn ego, and you’re about to make the same mistake.” Jessie had never admitted that before, not in the twenty-one years they had been married, and he smirked at the irony. They had both chosen the same exact moment to reverse their positions.
“Jessie, even if I step down, the Chinese will still come after me.”
They stared at each other, tension stretching like an invisible wall between them.
“I ... I couldn’t bear to lose you,” Jessie said softly. “And think about what that would do to Nikki and Billy.”
Kyle pulled her into his arms and rested his forehead against hers. “Abby’s already teaching the civilians defensive strategies. By the time she gets done, every household will be a miniature listening and observation post. If the peacekeepers return, they’re going to have a serious fight on their hands.”
“Governor, I’m sorry to interrupt.” Gary walked into the room, expression sullen. “There was a simultaneous attack on the sheriff’s station. They killed two deputies, and the prisoners are gone.”
“Was the shooting just a diversion?” Jessie asked.
Pondering her question, Gary leaned back against a supply cabinet. His hands gripped its Formica top; his cheeks puffed then expelled air through puckered lips. “I doubt it, given their attempt to infect Kyle with Alameda fever. Tactically, it was just logical to strike concurrently.”
“Then they’ll try again?” Jessie asked, her voice fragile and shaky.
Gary nodded. “I’m trying to assemble some kind of security detail, but it’ll take time, especially after losing two of my guys.”
“No,” Kyle told him. “Our resources need to be allocated based on the big picture—keeping the UW out of District Six.” He hopped down from the examination table. “I’ll get the antibiotics later. I need to get back to work.”
Gary pushed against the cabinet, returning himself to a vertical stance. “They also ransacked your office.”
“What about our house?” Jessie asked.
“Your house is fine, but Governor, your office safe is missing.”
“Then the joke’s on them because it’s empty. The only thing I ever kept in it was ...” Kyle’s voice trailed off then resurged with conviction. “The vaccines.”
97
Washington, D.C.
GENERAL SUN SAT AT his desk, teeth crunching antacid tablets, his mind crunching scenarios, each more troubling than the last. The overarching strategy was on the verge of disintegration due to a series of unfortunate incidents and faulty assumptions.
Americans had not flocked to the districts in the numbers expected; and although the Chinese Communist Party had provided a database of registered gun owners, they had overlooked the issue of inherited weapons. Sun had no way of locating and confiscating thousands of AK-47s left behind by dead terrorists. He didn’t dare voice these concerns. Pointing out the shortcomings of the Central Committee’s plan would be a death knell for his career.
His computer beeped, indicating the start of the video conference. “Colonel Meng, have you succeeded in pacifying District Six?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Why do you fail where other districts have succeeded?”
Sweat glistened on Meng’s forehead. His dark eyes were dead as rocks, unapologetically stoic. “District Six requires more subtlety. U.S. military convoys visit the refineries and factories daily—”
“Nonsense! Our strategy accounted for this inconvenience.”
“Yes, sir; however, it did not anticipate the re-arming of citizens and the independent production of food.”
Sun could feel his pulse battering his temples like a Bangu, a drum used to create a battle-scene mood in Chinese Opera. “You should have dealt with that troublesome governor long ago.” Sun hesitated to recall the name. “Has Murphy finally been neutralized?”
Meng’s dry lips parted, and he licked them nervously. “No, sir. Murphy injected Sergeant Jiang with the red serum, imprisoned Sergeants Fu and Huang, and seized the remaining syringes.”
Sun’s blood pressure spiked. His arteries felt like they were rupturing. “Your failure is jeopardizing the Chinese Century!”
Humiliation and shame evident in his expression, the colonel said, “I understand the consequences, which is why I launched a two-pronged assault this morning, targeting Murphy and the last known coordinates of the syringes.” Meng’s woeful pause telegraphed the outcome. “The governor was injured, superficially—”
“How does a man with no security detail evade the bullet of a professional assassin?” Sun went on to answer his own question. “This is gross incompetence!”
“Although our sniper was overrun by armed civilians, we rescued Fu, Huang, and Corporal Luo, who had been caught sabotaging the ammunition factory a week ago. We also recovered the safe where we believed the syringes to be housed. Regrettably, it was empty.”
Incredulous, Sun said, “Those vaccines have GPS tracking devices, Colonel; I do not comprehend the difficulty.”
“The safe was blocking the GPS signals. I went back through the computer archives and discovered that the signal reemerged just after midnight then vanished again. The syringes are being shielded somewhere within Langden Air Force Base.”
A fatalistic calm trickled through General Sun, curbing his anger. Colonel Wu had already called upon Aldrich Ames, a highly placed asset, to retrieve the laptop from Langden.
Sun would merely expand that order to include the syringes.
He scowled at the irony. Wu was racing to clean up thousands of syringes while the Americans already had three dozen in their possession, more than enough to stymie the Chinese Century.
“I want Murphy and his deputies eliminated. The knowledge they possess regarding the red serum could spread like an epidemic and force us to accelerate our timetable prematurely. You have twenty-four hours to complete this task. If Governor Murphy is not dead, your future will be.”
Tidbit # 5: Reverend Peter Muhlenberg
According to a biography written by his great nephew, Reverend Peter Muhlenberg began a sermon with chapter three of Ecclesiastes. “... To everything there is a season ... a time of war, and a time of peace ... and this is a time of war.” He removed his clerical robe, revealing his Colonel’s uniform, and recruited 162 men to the Patriot cause. Historians have rejected the account of the sermon because it only appeared in the great nephew’s biography. Given the profound role played by clergy—the Black Robe Regiment—during the American Revolution, I have elected to include the disputed account.
The pastor’s dual role as clergy and Soldier is intended to honor the actions and service of Reverend Peter Muhlenberg, along with all the unsung preachers who stood up for freedom in the face of tyranny. All other sentiments expressed and actions taken by this character are purely fictional.
Chapter 9
—— DAY 449 ——
Monday, May 9th
98
Southeast of Kerrick, Texas
SYBIL AND IZZY HAD been traveling for two days. Initially, they had headed south to appease Pastor Muhlenberg then surreptitiously circled around the town. As soon as they turned north—toward Colorado—Moses began behaving strangely. The headstrong horse would take two or three steps and stop. Despite constant prodding, they had only covered fifty yards over the course of a half hour.
“Sybil, I know this is gonna sound crazy,” Izzy had said. “But I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Maybe we really should go south. Like the pastor said.”
“Yeah. I think you’re right.”
Once they had reoriented to the south, Moses obediently kept walking until Sybil reined him to a stop late that night.
“Either Pastor Muhlenberg is some kind of horse whisperer,” she’d said to Izzy. “Or God just did not want us going north.”
They had resumed their journey early Monday morning, avoiding paved roads and railroad tracks, and followed the route the pastor had laid out on an old map. The landscape was unchanging, unending, like being stuck on a giant treadmill, and they hadn’t seen a soul, not even a prairie dog until shortly before sunset.
“Check it out,” Izzy said. “Somebody’s plowing that field.”
Sybil’s eyes swept the horizon. The brown powdery soil had nearly camouflaged a single-story cedar-clad house with a gabled roof that arched like an eyebrow above a pair of windows. Across the gravel driveway, a tunnel-shaped steel building housed tractors and farm equipment, likely rendered useless by the EMP.
“What are all those little boxes?” Izzy asked.
“I think they house bees,” Sybil said. “Farmers use them to pollinate crops.” She squinted at the silhouette of two people wrestling with a horse-drawn plow.
“They don’t look like peacekeepers,” Izzy said. “I think we should go talk to them.”
Sybil pulled on the reins, steering Moses to the east, and as the distance closed, she noticed that both farmers were women.
“Hello there!” the younger one said. She had honey-blonde hair woven into a braid and a wide mouth that split into a friendly smile. “I’m Martha Bratton and this is my Aunt, Mary McCauley.”
Mary was a sixtyish, grandmotherly figure with dark, gray-streaked hair bunched into a sloppy bun. Sunken crevices made her cheeks look bulbous, and hardship appeared to be etched into her skin.
Sybil returned the greeting and introduced herself and Izzy.
“We haven’t seen many visitors out this way,” Mary said. “Are you young’uns lost?”
Izzy shook his head. “No, we’re headed to Langden Air Force Base to find my dad. But we have-ta stay away from main roads ‘cause the UW peacekeepers are after us.”
Mary’s head tilted to the side, her expression skeptical.
“There are UW peacekeepers in Texas?” Martha asked.
“I’m not sure about Texas,” Sybil told her. “But they’re all over Idaho and Utah.”
“Must be some kind of international relief effort,” Mary said. “And heaven knows we could use it. I am so sick of eating sweet potatoes and kale.”
“It started out as a relief effort,” Izzy told them. “The peacekeepers restored electric and phones and stuff. Then they turned into bullies and started killing people. They shot Sybil’s dad and gave my mom Alameda fever.”
Sybil reached into the flap of her backpack for her journal. “Here, see for yourself.”
As Martha read each entry aloud, the rumples in Mary’s forehead became more pronounced. Her nose wrinkled in disbelief. “Those are some seriously tall tales,” she said with a gently scolding tone. “You didn’t have to go to such lengths to garner sympathy. We’ll help you as best we can.”
It figures, Sybil thought. We finally find some people who don’t know about the UW peacekeepers, and they don’t believe us.
99
District Six, Texas
ABBY HAD JUST FINISHED packing when she heard a Humvee pull into the driveway. She hefted the duffle bag strap onto her shoulder, mindful of not letting it bound against her bruised ribs, then hurried through the upstairs hallway.
“Oh my God!” her mother squealed. “Bradley!”
Abby halted midstride. Captain Andrews was abusing his authority, meddling in her personal life.
I should refuse to go, she thought, and make him send someone else.
Abby watched the elated reunion.
Hugging Bradley, her mother said, “Nikki’s still at school. She’s gonna be so upset that she missed you.”
Her father shook his hand. “I gave Ryan hell for not sending you along with Abby.”
“Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t make that happen.” Bradley’s head tipped to the side. “What happened to your ear?”
“Clumsy barber—”
“Kyle Murphy, don’t you make light of it!” her mother snapped. “The Chinese tried to kill him. Twice in two days, and he still won’t step down as governor.”
“Did you get the guy?” Bradley asked.
“Yeah. Abby spotted his muzzle flash, and the well-armed civilians took care of him.” Her father rubbed a palm across his chin. His head bowed. “Bradley, I owe you an apology. For not believing you about Abby being alive.”
“You knew she was alive?” Her mother’s accusing voice jumped an octave, her blue eyes drilled into him.
“I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to get your hopes up—”
“You had no right to withhold that!” she said, spitting the words at him.
Abby’s parents had quarreled more in the past twenty-four hours than throughout her entire childhood. She wasn’t accustomed to such bitter exchanges, and it worried her. Even if her dad survived another assassination attempt, Abby wasn’t so sure their marriage would.
Bradley stood silent, caught in the cross fire as the argument escalated.
Giving a sigh, Abby started down the stairs. “Geez, will you guys give it a rest?” She hugged her feuding parents, whispered, “Be careful,” to her father, then forced herself to look at Bradley. “You ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He said a quick good-bye to her parents and hustled ahead of her to open the passenger’s door of the Humvee.
Abby crammed her bag into the backseat and climbed into the vehicle. She waved until her folks were out of sight then closed her eyes, determined to sleep or at least feign sleep all the way back to Langden. The strategy worked for the first hour, until they were miles beyond the UW checkpoint, then Bradley said, “I know you’re not asleep.”
Abby opened her eyes and stared straight ahead at the expanse of perfectly straight asphalt.
“Is it over?” he asked.
There was a huskiness, a dejection in his tone that bored through her defenses.
It took two tries to summon her voice. “Honestly ... ? I don’t know.”
“Abby, I swear, it was a onetime thing ... And I didn’t even follow through with it. Tell me you believe me.”
“I want to believe you.”
“But you don’t.”
“I didn’t say that.”
They drove for several miles, listening to dashboard rattles and the hum of tires against the road surface, then Bradley removed a cellular phone from a radio frequency/EMI shielding pouch. “Fitzgerald swiped this from one of the guards at Mount Wheatly.”
Peripherally, Abby could see his thumb scrolling over the glass screen, then he extended the phone toward her and pressed play.
Hearing Mia’s voice, she cringed.
“I told Abby all about our affair—”
“There was no affair! And you damn well know it!”
“You think that matters?”
Abby’s hands balled into fists. Bradley’s been telling the truth all along.
“... And the naїve Boy Scout looks shocked! Almost as horrified as when you opened your sleepy eyes and realized I wasn’t Abby ... Face it. You lost your marriage, your career, and your reputation ... And you didn’t even get off!”
Abby’s stomach capsized. And I’ve been playing right into Mia’s manipulation.
The heaviness of doubt lifted from her chest, allowing the first drop of forgiveness to seep in.
“I know this doesn’t excuse what happened,” Bradley said, waggling the phone. “And if you choose to end it because of that one brush with infidelity, I’ll accept that. But for God’s sake, Abby, don’t throw away our relationship based on Mia’s lies.”
100
TEradS West Headquarters
Langden Air Force Ba
se, Texas
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Frances Marion asked. It was impossible to hear Gwen’s soft-spoken translations above the nasal-sounding alarm, which blared throughout the base.
“Should we be evacuating or something?” Gwen shouted.
“No. If we were in danger, the guys in the ops center would’ve ordered us out of here. It’s probably just a drill or a false alarm.”
As if on cue, the obnoxious drone ceased. Wiggling uneasily in her chair, Gwen said, “Do you think Captain Andrews will send us to District Six tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“Franny, I can’t go there.” Fear warbled in Gwen’s voice. “The peacekeepers think I betrayed them. And with this GPS chip in my arm, I’ll-I’ll be lucky if they just put a bullet in my head.”
“District Six isn’t under UW control. They have their own economy and food production, and they’re well armed. You’ll be safe there.”
“I guess you’re right ... After all, I’ll have the Terror Fox for a bodyguard.”
Franny’s eyes flitted toward the door as it opened. “No, you won’t. I’m going back to District Eight. That’s where the fight is.”
“You have no idea how right you are.” Captain Andrews entered the room with a confident stride, the Chinese laptop tucked firmly beneath his muscular arm.
“Was that a drill?” Franny asked.
“No. Some American down in Panama during the pulse decided to come home. His Learjet was flying below radar and got pretty close before being picked up. They scrambled a couple fighter jets to make sure he wasn’t a kamikaze.”
“I could kick some serious UW ass with that jet,” Franny said, thinking aloud.
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