Thunder and Ashes
: Chapter 2

Point Pleasant, West Virginia

March 05, 2007

1312 hrs_

“I THINK WE SHOULD HAVE spent a little more time trying to get the car back on its wheels again,” said Julie Ortiz, sinking gratefully onto a bench and breathing heavily, holding her side and shaking her head. “I’m not cut out for this hiking shit.”

“We can go over that again and again but it won’t bring our vehicle back,” said Mason, lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes and scanning the horizon. “Besides, we tried. Even with all three of us, it wasn’t budging.”

“Maybe if we used, I don’t know, a big lever or something,” Julie said, throwing up a hand in exasperation.

Anna Demilio looked at the journalist out of the corner of her eye and smirked.

“I saw that,” Julie said, frowning at Anna.

“I’m not the one who rolled it,” Anna said in her own defense, nodding in Mason’s direction.

“And I already told you both, those two sprinters came out of nowhere. It was reflexive. Either one of you would have done the same thing,” Mason said, not looking up from his binoculars. After a few moments, he spoke, still peering through the lenses. “Well, ladies, I have bad news, and I have more bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Eh,” Julie let her mind work over her choices. “Let’s go with the bad news.”

“Bad news it is,” Mason said. He let the binoculars drop to hang from his neck. The three were sitting in a park on a hillside, overlooking the town of Point Pleasant on the border of West Virginia. They’d made good time in a month, first clearing the suburbs of Washington, D.C., then the rural communities of Maryland, and finally the Appalachian mountains of West Virginia. They were nearing the plains, heading due west, when they’d lost their car in an accident. They’d been walking for the past week. Supplies were running dangerously low, and they were all sorely in need of a rest.

Mason’s black and gray urban camoflague was ripped and torn at the knees and elbows, and mud smears marred the pattern. He’d appropriated street hockey pads in one of the smaller towns and strapped them on, but they were already dinged up. He wore a simple baseball cap on his head, and a black rucksack on his back. A submachine gun was strapped across his shoulders and a Beretta rode comfortably against his thigh. He leaned back against a maple tree and sighed.

“Bad news is there’s only one way out of this town, and that’s across a bridge,” he said, pointing straight ahead. “It looks pretty well jammed up with abandoned cars and debris, so it could be a little treacherous.”

“And the other bad news?” Anna asked. Of the three, she still looked the most presentable. Somehow along the way she’d continually managed to replace clean t-shirts to wear, and refused to share her secret with her two companions. Julie and Mason suspected she was sneaking off in the night to loot stores as they passed through towns, but if she was, she kept it to herself.

“I think we’ll have to cross the bridge,” Mason said. “We’re a good three, four miles from that river and I can see without the binoculars that it’s trying to jump its banks. Spring thaw. Current’ll be fast and dangerous. No way we’re swimming it, and unless we replace a boat with a working engine, we’ll have to take the bridge.”

“That’s fine with me,” Julie said, stretching her legs. “Maybe we’ll replace a working car somewhere down there.”

“One can hope,” Anna agreed.

“I’m more worried about food, personally,” Mason said, looking over his shoulder at the women. “In case you’ve forgotten, we ran out yesterday. I can live with walking. I can’t live without food.”

“Well, we picked a decent place to run out,” Anna said, gesturing at the town below them. “There has to be something down there.”

“Yeah,” Mason scoffed. “Carriers, most likely.”

“Now’s the best time to go through,” Anna continued. “It’s just past midday, we’ve got a good five hours of daylight left, and the infected seem to prefer darkness. If we’re quiet and careful, we should make it through all right.”

Mason considered this a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’m up for it. Julie?”

“No time like the present,” she said, groaning as she climbed to her feet. “I would kill for a cup of coffee and some Tylenol.”

“You may yet have the chance,” Mason said. “Onward and downward!”

The trio kept to the streets, walking steadily downhill toward the river. Mason led the way. He unslung his MP-5, a compact but powerful nine-millimeter sub machinegun, and held it at the ready, scanning the side streets, alleys, and doorways for any signs of movement.

“Oh, look, a Bennigan’s,” Julie said, pointing. “Wish they were open. I could use a burger.”

“Don’t remind me,” Mason said. “And keep it quiet.”

“Sorry,” Julie added, a bit sheepishly.

More than once Mason stopped the group, holding up a closed fist and staring off at seemingly innocent buildings, or empty parking lots. Anna and Julie knew better. Mason wasn’t the type to halt them over nothing; invariably, he would alter their course slightly after each stop, putting a few damaged, abandoned vehicles between them and the offending building, or taking them down a side street instead of continuing on course. He never offered an explanation as to what spooked him, and neither woman asked.

After nearly an hour of walking, the terrain began to level out, and the sound of the rushing river grew louder. Mason began to pay attention to street signs, and after spotting one that seemed particularly interesting to him, he halted the group again, knelt, pulled out an atlas from his rucksack, and checked their position within the town.

“Nearly there now,” he whispered over his shoulder. “Four more blocks.”

“Please let there be a car we can hotwire on the bridge, please, oh, please God,” Julie said.

“Quiet!”

“Sorry.”

They rounded the final corner and the bridge came into sight. Cars were backed up on both sides of it for blocks in either direction. Mason halted the group again, scowling at the congestion. Vehicles of every make and model, most with luggage strapped to the roofs or spilling out the back windows, littered the road. Several were left with their doors hanging open, and suitcases lay upended on the pavement, evidence of the panicked flight of the occupants.

“See any you could hotwire again, Mason?” Julie asked hopefully.

Mason shook his head slowly. “Maybe that Festiva over there, but the door’s open. The battery’s probably dead. Besides, look at it—it’s blocked in on all sides. We’d never get it free, even if it did start.”

“Oh, damn,” Julie moaned, stomping her foot. “And we haven’t even seen anyplace to replace food—unless you count the Bennigan’s, but you weren’t having that, were you?”

“I hate chains,” Mason said, shaking his head. “Besides, all the food in there would have spoiled by now.”

“Let’s just cross the bridge and get back on the road,” Anna said. “We’ll replace something.”

“I’m with you,” Mason agreed.

He jumped up onto the hood of a sedan, looking to hop from roof to roof to make the crossing easier.

Instead, he froze in place, staring across the bridge with a clenched jaw, looking very much like a lifelike statue. He narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Anna asked, looking back and forth between Mason and the bridge. When Mason didn’t reply, she repeated her query. Mason stared straight ahead, not bothering to answer. “What is it, already?”

Suddenly, Mason leapt off the side of the sedan, falling into a crouch. He gestured for the two women to do likewise.

“Get down, get down!” he called out.

They hastened to comply, crouching with their backs against the side of the car.

“What is it? You’ve got my heart going a mile a minute,” Julie protested.

Mason’s voice was grating, just barely above a growl. “It’s Sawyer.”

“What?” Julie asked. “Where?”

She poked her head up above the car’s engine block and peered across the bridge. Mason grabbed the back of her collar and yanked her back down with a yelp.

“Hey!” she said, slapping his hand away.

“What do you want to do, get yourself shot?” Mason asked angrily. “He’s watching the bridge.”

“How do you know that?” Anna asked, pistol drawn.

“I saw the reflection of the sun off a scope when I jumped on the car,” Mason explained. “They’re on the hillside across the river, watching the bridge.”

“Mm-hmm,” Anna said, arching an eyebrow. “I repeat: how do you know that’s Sawyer and not just something randomly reflecting the light?”

Mason frowned at her. “Have I ever led you wrong before? All right, look: it’s too convenient. First, this is a perfect ambush site, a bottleneck. Second, he’s right where I’d be if I was the one setting the ambush. And finally, it’s been two weeks since we’ve run across him and his posse, which makes us overdue for another encounter. I’ve actually been wondering these past couple of days when or if we were going to bump into him again.”

Sawyer had been a thorn in the trio’s side since before they’d left Washington. He was a dyed-in-the-wool All-American who, like Mason had, worked for the National Security Agency. His last assignment had been to interrogate Anna Demilio and provide his superiors with information about the Morningstar strain in order for them to better combat the virus. His methods had been brutal, and his personality suggested someone who was willing to do just about anything to get the job done, up to and including murder. When Mason had helped Anna and Julie escape the NSA facility, Sawyer had followed, intent on recapturing his charges and bringing Mason to justice—albeit his own, twisted form of justice.

“Oh, damn it,” Anna said, sighing. “I thought we’d lost him back in Maryland.”

“Apparently not,” Mason replied. “I’m beginning to think Sawyer knows where we’re going.”

Julie scoffed, shaking her head. “How could he possibly know that?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Mason said, looking pointedly at Julie. “The only place our destination was written down—at least to my knowledge—was on that computer you accessed in the safe-house back in D.C.”

“It took me an hour to get into that system and I knew what I was looking for,” Julie protested. “There’s no way he—oh.”

“Oh?” Anna asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh,” Julie repeated. “I may have left the system on when we had to run out in that big hurry.”

“Great,” Anna said, rolling her eyes. “Now we can’t lose the bastard. He knows where we’re headed, so he can just keep leapfrogging ahead of us any time we get away from him and set an ambush. We’re dead.”

“Not necessarily,” Mason said, considering the situation. “He’s waiting for us right now. He thinks we’ll definitely try to cross that bridge to keep heading west. After all, it’s the only one for miles and miles in either direction, so it’s a pretty reasonable deduction. But if we slip past without him realizing it—”

“—he’ll just keep waiting for us,” Julie finished, grinning. “He’ll never realize we’ve moved on.”

“Ah, well, let’s not go too far,” Mason admonished. “Eventually he’ll realize we gave him the slip, and he’ll pick up and come after us again. That, or he’ll think we bought the farm somewhere and give up, but I wouldn’t want to assume that. Sawyer’s far too obtuse to let this little grudge of his go that easily. He’ll want bodies. Proof.”

“There’s a pleasant thought,” Anna said, imagining a triumphant Sawyer standing over their corpses.

“This guy is a major league asshole,” Julie said. “This is, what, the third time he’s caught up with us? Doesn’t he have anything better to do? I mean, the world’s falling to shit, the dead are walking, and this guy wants to arrest us? It’s pretty sad, if you ask me.”

“It’s not sad to him,” Mason said. “Besides, I’m starting to get the vibe that this isn’t just a grudge. Sawyer may be an asshole, but he’s a smart asshole. He isn’t the kind of person to throw his life away just to get even with someone. I’m betting he has orders.”

“Orders?” Julie asked. “From who?”

“From a higher-up. Brass. You don’t honestly think Morningstar wiped out everyone but us and Sawyer, do you?”

“I agree with Mason,” Anna said, nodding slowly. “I’m betting there are some pretty powerful people still out there calling the shots, and there have to be just as many not-so-powerful people willing to have their strings pulled.”

“Like Sawyer,” Mason said.

“Like Sawyer,” Anna agreed. “And as much as I hate to say this, his orders probably have a lot to do with me.”

“Little narcissism for breakfast, Colonel?” Julie said, grinning.

“Seriously,” Anna said. “I wasn’t the only doctor researching Morningstar before the pandemic, but I was the most knowledgeable. That’s no conceit. I studied my ass off. I already told you how those interrogation sessions of his went back in the District. Not a question about you, Julie, and not a question about why we leaked that intel. It was Morningstar. Day after day, it was Morningstar. ‘Will this work?’ ‘Will that work?’ ‘Do we have a snowball’s chance in hell if we try this, or that?’ They were using me to fight the virus.”

Mason nodded in agreement. “That’s true. Sawyer kept you to himself, wouldn’t let Derrick or me near you after the initial questioning. We thought maybe he was gunning for a promotion, keeping us out of the loop and all, but it’s just as likely he was getting orders from higher-up.”

“Okay, okay,” Julie surrendered, holding up her hands. “I get it. So what are we going to do?”

“Well,” Mason said, sighing heavily and letting a frown crease his features, “We can’t cross the bridge.”

“No shit,” Julie remarked.

Mason shot her an annoyed glance before continuing. “We go with Plan B. We give him the slip. We’ll have to replace another bridge, or a working boat, and get across the river. If it was midsummer, I’d say we could swim it, but right now that’s damn near impossible. River’s way too high and running way too fast for that. We’d be drowned or swept downstream before we made it halfway across.”

“South,” Anna said, pointing. “We head south. The river cuts east just a couple miles north. We’d end up doubling back on our own trail if we went that way.”

Mason considered this a moment, then nodded. “All right. South it is. Let’s go.”

He rose into a crouch and took off at a jog, still heading toward the water, but at an angle that would take him away from the bridge and toward the river’s banks. He made sure to keep buildings and trees between him and the spot on the hillside where he’d seen the glint of sunlight on glass. When the road ended near the river, he slid on his backside down the steep grassy slope, stopping himself neatly at the bottom and turning to make sure the two women followed successfully.

A few industrial buildings littered the riverbanks, prefabricated sheetmetal structures that were eaten through in a few places by rust. Mason was inwardly pleased by these new surroundings. They would provide plenty of cover for the trio as they moved away from Sawyer’s planned ambush site. Materials—rolls of rusted steel, rebar, small mountains of sand and gravel—were stacked nearly in rows between the buildings, affording even more cover. Mason led the women across an unpaved parking lot and along the side of one of the longer warehouses, moving at a dogtrot.

When Mason came to the first doorway, a wide two-story cutaway large enough for construction machinery to pass through unhindered, he skidded to a stop, pressed his back against the wall, and knelt down. He leaned out fractionally from his cover, just enough to peer into the building with one eye. Left, right, up, down—he scanned the interior for hostiles. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he leaned back, nodded his approval to Anna and Julie, then resumed his dogtrot.

They had made it a little more than halfway through the industrial park when Mason slowed to a walk, furrowing his brow.

“What is it?” Anna asked.

“Hold up,” Mason said, drawing to a stop. Anna halted, and Julie, who had been looking over her shoulder to make certain the group wasn’t being followed, had to skid in the gravel to keep from plowing Anna and Mason over. “I could have sworn I heard something.”

“What was it?” Anna whispered.

“Footstep, I thought,” Mason said, voice just as low. “On gravel.”

The trio stood in place on the side of the building a moment longer, Mason tilting his head to the side to hear better. Sure enough, the crunch of a booted foot on gravel came to their ears, distant and indistinct. It was either coming from a long way off, or someone nearby was taking pains to remain as quiet as they were. With the metal walls of the warehouses all around them, it was tough to get a fix on the direction the sound was coming from.

“Stay close,” Mason said, and carefully thumbed the safety on his MP-5 from “safe” to “semi.” He stalked slowly along the outside of the warehouse, peering down the barrel of his weapon. Anna was right behind him, pistol drawn and held at the ready. Julie brought up the rear, casting nervous glances behind herself.

They reached the corner of the building, and Mason brought them to a halt once again. He seemed undecided, eyes flicking between the ground at the building’s edge and the corner of the structure itself. Anna could see his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Just do it,” she whispered.

That seemed to do the trick.

Mason gritted his teeth and swung out from the wall, rounding the corner in a flash and holding his MP-5 in front of him. Anna and Julie were right behind him.

They found themselves staring down the barrels of rifles.

Suddenly, everything was a blur of movement and shouted commands.

“Freeze!”

“Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons!”

“Do it now!”

“Get on the ground! Move!”

Anna, Mason, and Julie had rounded the corner and come face-to-face with another group of survivors, also numbering three. All were armed, and all were just as startled as the trio to suddenly be facing live opposition. Neither side showed any intention of lowering their weapons, and after the shouted threats had died down, the six survivors realized they were stuck in a Mexican standoff.

Mason narrowed his eyes at the leader of the opposing group, a tall, thin man with shoulder-length hair and the beginnings of a beard. “We don’t want any trouble, chief. Just lower your rifles. We’ll do the same, then we’ll be on our way.”

“Fuck you,” said the scraggly man. “You lower your weapons first, then we’ll lower ours.”

“Not going to happen,” Mason said.

One of the other two newcomers, a young man wearing a hooded sweatshirt, twitched his aim fractionally to draw a bead on Mason’s head in silent response. Anna and Julie replied with adjusted aims of their own.

“All right, all right, let’s everyone just relax,” the scraggly man said. “Matt, ease up on that trigger finger. Ease up!”

The young man in the sweatshirt looked anxious, but his index finger slowly lifted off the trigger.

“Okay,” the scraggly man said, sounding relieved. “I’m going to lower my rifle now. Think you can manage doing the same?”

“I think so,” Mason replied, easing off his own grip on the MP-5’s trigger.

The man’s rifle barrel lowered fractionally. Mason dropped his own aim, matching the man’s movements perfectly. Looking like mirror images of one another, they lowered their weapons until they were pointed straight at the ground. Seeing the two men back down, Anna, Julie, and the scraggly man’s companions all dropped their aims or holstered their pistols. The six survivors heaved a collective sigh of relief.

“Glad that’s over,” the scraggly man said. “Can’t say I enjoy the feeling of having a gun pointed at me.”

“Me neither,” Mason said. “Though it sure ain’t the first time.”

“Name’s Trevor. Trevor Westscott. You can call me Trev,” said the scraggly man, holding out his free hand.

“Greg Mason, NSA,” Mason said, shaking Trev’s hand.

The newcomer’s eyes widened. “NSA?”

“Well, as of last month, anyway,” Mason said, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure I’m fired. This is Julie Ortiz, formerly of Channel Thirteen News, and Lt. Colonel Anna Demilio, USAMRIID.”

“Well, hell,” Trev chuckled, shaking their hands as well, “It seems we’ve run across some white collar survivors, lady and gentleman. This is Matt Tanner, and Junko Koji, both students. Well, they were students, anyway.”

“Hello,” said the short, dark-haired female, nodding.

“Hiya,” waved Matt, slinging his rifle.

“What did you do?” Mason asked Trev.

The scraggly man grinned by way of reply and shrugged. “Little of this, little of that.”

Mason knew how to read people well enough to know Trev wasn’t just being facetious; the man was actually hiding something. He decided he didn’t want to risk their newfound friends’ ire and chose not to press the issue.

“What brings you three into town? With those jobs, you’re obviously not from around here,” Trev added.

“Just passing through,” Mason admitted. “On our way west.”

“What about you three? Towns aren’t exactly the safest places these days,” Julie asked.

“Shopping,” Matt said with a grin.

“He means looting,” Junko interjected. Her voice had a slight accent to it. “We’re getting to be pretty good at it, too.”

“That’s right,” Trev said. “Got as much non-perishables as three grown people can carry. It’s not much, but it’ll keep us alive a bit longer.”

“Really,” Mason said. His stomach growled slightly at the mention of food. “Uh, I know we just met and all, but we actually ran out of food ourselves a few days ago, and—”

“Forget it,” Matt interrupted. He turned to look at Trev. “This is why meeting new people is a bad idea, Trev. Eat us out of house and home. Let’s just go.”

Trev looked sheepish. “Hate to say it, Mason old chum, but he’s right. We barely scratch out a living ourselves. We can’t feed three extra mouths.”

“We’re not looking to impose,” Mason said. “We’d be happy to trade.”

“I’m not sure you have anything we’d want,” Trev said after a moment of consideration. He shook his head. “No, no, sorry, but we’ll have to pass.”

“Ammunition? We’ve got boxes,” Mason suggested.

“We have plenty,” Trev said.

“How about a GPS?” Anna offered.

“What, and have it kick the bucket on us in a couple weeks when the satellite falls out of proper orbit? No thanks. Besides, we already know our way around here well enough to get by,” Trev said.

“Clean socks?” Julie asked, but she knew it was a stretch even as she said it.

Trev chuckled by way of reply. “I hate to leave you high and dry, folks, really I do. You’re funny,” he said. “But I have to look after me and mine first, you know?”

Mason nodded slowly. “I guess I understand.”

“Got ourselves a little cabin outside of town,” Trev went on. “If you can replace your own food, you’re welcome to stay the night. Just follow the logging trail up the mountain—it’s the first dirt road on your left once you pass city limits.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Mason said.

“My pleasure,” Trev replied. “Well, it’s been fun. Take care, folks.”

With that, Trev threaded his way between Mason and Anna and began walking off to the east, resting his rifle on his shoulder. Junko and Matt followed closely behind him. Mason turned to watch him go, a frustrated expression on his face. He glanced at Anna, and his eyes lit up.

“I have an idea,” Mason said in a low voice, flashing a lopsided grin at the doctor.

“Oh, no,” Anna said, studying his face. “What is it?”

“Just take your cues from me,” Mason replied, still grinning. He raised his voice to normal conversational volume. “Damn, doc, if we don’t replace you some food soon, the world’ll be out it’s best shot at replaceing the vaccine.”

Anna sighed and shook her head, completely missing Mason’s intent. “We’ve been over this. The chances of me actually being able to sequence a vaccine once we get to Omaha are somewhere between infintesimal and imp—”

“Vaccine?” came an interested voice.

Anna, Mason, and Julie looked over to see Trev’s group halted in its tracks. Trev had turned and was facing them, an inquisitive expression on his face. Matt looked dubious, but he, too, had stopped and turned. Junko’s eyes were narrowed, and she was studying Anna intently.

Mason feigned surprise at having been overheard, and nodded. “Yeah, the doc here is trying to get to some lab where they’ve been stockpiling info on Morningstar. She’s a bit of an authority on the subject.”

“One of a few authorities,” Anna admitted. “I mainly focused my attention on the various manifest symptoms of the virus as well as the epidemiological ramifications of—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there, professor,” Matt said, holding up a hand to forestall any further exposition by Dr. Demilio. “What was that about a vaccine? That was the interesting part.”

“Well, there isn’t one,” Anna said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“That’s right,” Trev said, as if he’d expected to hear it. “Viruses. Tough to replace cures for them, right?”

“Yes,” Anna agreed. “Not like bacteria. Those are pushovers by comparison. Your run-of-the-mill broad spectrum antibiotic can wipe out just about any bacterial infection you come across, but with viruses, you have to specifically engineer a vaccine for each individual viral strain.”

“Yeah,” Trev grimaced, glancing at his companions. “That’s why the polio vaccine was such a big deal when it came out.”

“Right, and flu shots,” Junko agreed, speaking up for the first time since the group had stopped. “Each year they need to re-engineer the vaccine to fit the mutations of the influenza virus. Or, well, they did. Before all of this.”

“Exactly,” Anna said, raising her eyebrows. She hadn’t expected such an astute crowd.

“But you think you’re on to something?” Matt asked.

Anna shrugged. “Maybe. Like I said, I mainly kept my focus on the epidemiological aspects. But there was a laboratory in the Midwest that was focused on replaceing a vaccine. I’m not sure how much progress they made, or whether or not they’re still alive and working or all dead now, but the idea is to get out there and pick up where they left off.”

Junko once again let a suspicious expression crease her features. “I took a few biology courses last year. The only place they’d work on a virus like Morningstar is in a biosafety level four laboratory, right?”

“That’s right,” Anna nodded.

“Well, there are only two in the United States,” Junko said, treating Anna to an accusatory look. “One’s in Atlanta, the CDC, and the other is USAMRIID’s.”

“Wrong,” Anna said, smiling pleasantly. “There are three. The CDC operates one, USAMRIID operates another, and the two share joint responsibility for a third facility outside of Omaha, Nebraska.”

“Then why haven’t I ever heard about that one?” Junko asked.

“Because you were never meant to,” Anna said. She sighed. “I guess security clearances don’t matter now, what with things the way they are, so I may as well just tell you. That facility researched possible real-world uses of various viruses and bacteria. Everything from agricultural uses—bacteria as fertilizer—to more offensive adaptations.”

“Wait, what?” Trev asked, narrowing his eyes. “You mean to tell me people were fucking around with Morningstar before this shit hit the fan—and they were considering actually using it as a weapon? Infecting innocent people with this?”

“No, no, that was just a very small portion of the overall research,” Anna protested. “Yes, that was one of the possible outcomes, but more interesting to the staff both at the Omaha facility and USAMRIID were Morningstar’s ability to alter a victim’s metabolism and basic brain functions. Some thought that there was a chance we could actually use the virus to permanently slow an individual’s metabolism and make it possible for that individual to live on, say, one-fifth their normal food intake. The final objective there, of course, is a solution to world hunger, or at least a way to put a serious dent in the problem. Victims also display a heightened sense of hearing, smell, even sight—you’ve noticed they don’t like daylight much.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the afternoon sun. “That’s why we’re here right now.”

“They’re photosensitive,” Anna went on. “At least the living ones—though even the dead ones seem to avoid the light when possible. It causes them a certain degree of discomfort. Some hypothesized that we could replace a way to reduce the loss of hearing and sight with age using the virus. That sort of thing. Weapons research did occur, and possibly was still occurring at the time of the pandemic, but it made up a fraction of the overall project. Please don’t judge us just on that fraction.”

“Besides,” Julie said, speaking up in Anna’s defense, “it’s not like that weapons research started the pandemic. That was totally natural, a fluke of nature.”

Trev considered this for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. I see what you’re saying. Bottom line, now—if you got to Omaha, what’s the chance you’d replace this vaccine?”

“Percentage-wise?” Anna asked.

Trev shrugged.

“One percent?” Anna said, cringing.

Matt sighed and shook his head. Junko tapped her fingers against the stock of her slung rifle and glanced at Trev to observe his reaction. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, his eyebrows were raised and his face spoke of someone who’d just received wondrous news.

“I’m sold,” Trev said after a long moment. “I mean, assuming you’re all on the level.”

“We are,” Julie said quickly. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because you’re out of food, we have our packs full, and you’d like to eat tonight,” Trev riposted, staring at the reporter. “Hunger’ll make a person say just about anything, promise the world, just for a bite—hunger’ll turn a saint into a sinner.”

“He’s right,” Mason said, earning irritated looks from Anna and Julie. He noticed their expressions and rushed to defend his apparently traitorous comment. “No, really, he is. We used to use hunger to extract confessions from suspects. It’s incredibly effective. Julie, you should know. We barely fed you when you were in the dungeon.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Julie said, looking away. Mason was referring to Julie’s time in one of the NSA’s Washington, D.C. facilities months earlier, after she and Anna had both been arrested for treason for releasing documents and research that showed Morningstar reanimated infected bodies after death. The ‘dungeon,’ as it had come to be called by the agents and staff at the facility, was one of their best weapons against stubborn suspects. Mason had explained it to the two women on the road.

“It was actually a wine cellar back in the early nineteenth century,” Mason had said. “Part of some sprawling colonial estate. It was willed to the federal government by its owner, and they converted the place into a training facility for U.S. Marshals. Time passed, the city grew, and the mansion was razed and replaced with the NSA facility that stands there now. Or, well, used to stand, for all I know—those fire-bombs we saw being dropped on the city probably burned it to the ground. Anyway, the cellar was converted into a cellblock around 1960, and we added controls to modulate the temperature, lighting, even the relative humidity. It was all designed to be as psychologically distressing as possible. And it worked, too.”

Julie, who had spent a much longer time in the dungeon than had Anna, was not comforted by the history lesson. Anna had found it intriguing.

In the present, more pressing matters than history demanded the trio’s attention.

“So how do we earn your trust?” Anna asked Trev.

“That’s a tricky one, isn’t it?” Trev answered. “I guess the only way you’d be able to prove anything of what you just told us would be for us to actually see this facility.”

“And that’s hundreds of miles away, isn’t it?” Matt asked.

“Omaha,” Junko added, nodding.

“Yes,” Anna agreed. “You’re right. I guess we really can’t prove it here and now. You’d have to take us at our word. And I really wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

“Hold on,” Trev said, holding up a single finger in front of Anna’s face. He turned to Junko and Matt. “Guys, group conference. Over here.”

Trev led his two companions a short distance away from Mason and the others. They huddled like an underpopulated football team and began to confer, glancing every now and then over their shoulders to make sure they weren’t being eavesdropped on.

“You know,” Mason said to Anna and Julie after watching Trev’s group for a moment, “even if they do help us out, we might be doing them a real disservice by bringing them along. It’s not like food and infected are our only problems.”

“Huh?” Julie asked.

“Sawyer,” Mason said, glancing at her.

“Oh,” Julie breathed. “Him.”

Julie furrowed her brow and kicked gravel. Mason looked over his shoulder and stared in the direction of the hillside where Sawyer was waiting, out of sight behind the rusting peaks of the warehouses and facilities in the industrial district.

“I guess you’re thinking right about now that it would have been a lot better if you’d just killed him back in D.C., aren’t you?” Anna asked Mason.

“Yes and no,” Mason replied. “If I had, I really would have been a murderer. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. He might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole following orders. I can’t fault him for that. At the same time, he is getting to be a little overzealous, and I have no doubt he’d kill me and Julie in the process of netting you. So, yeah, I guess I do regret not killing him when I had the chance—but only a little.”

“Given another chance, would you?” Anna asked, staring at Mason.

The man sighed heavily, stared once more in the direction of Sawyer’s planned ambush site, and slowly nodded. “I think I would, yes. It’s down to survival, now. We’ve escaped him a few times, now, by the skin of our teeth. We might not be as lucky in the future. If I had the shot, yeah, I’d take it.”

“All right,” Anna said gently. It was obvious that, to Mason at least, the moral implications of killing an agent on the job were distressing. “Then I don’t see why we should burden our possible allies with that little tidbit of trouble.”

Julie looked mildly surprised, and Mason swung his head around to fix Anna with a narrow-eyed stare. “If we don’t tell them, and they end up helping us, and then Sawyer comes down on their heads, it would be just as bad as if I’d shot them myself. We have to warn them.”

“No, we don’t,” Anna insisted. “You just said yourself, if Sawyer comes around again and you have the chance, you’re going to finish it. It’s our problem, and if Sawyer does catch up and try again, we’ll deal with it.”

“And what if he catches up, say, in the middle of the night, and offs them while they’re sleeping?” Mason challenged.

“We’ll just have to be extra careful,” Anna said.

Mason shook his head and bit his lip. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but let’s face facts,” Anna said. “We’re out of food, we have no vehicle, my GPS says we’re still weeks, probably months, away from Omaha on foot, and the three of us alone are damn tired from walking twelve hours a day and then pulling rotating three-hour guard shifts every night. We could definitely use a hand. If we add Sawyer into the equation, they might back down from even considering involvement with us.”

Mason looked to Julie for support, but the journalist was fixedly ignoring both of her companions, suddenly seeming much more interested in her bootlaces than either of them. He grimaced and finally nodded.

“All right, we’ll keep it to ourselves,” he said, head hung slightly, sounding quite dejected. Then he looked back up and added in a firm voice: “For now. If Sawyer realizes we’ve slipped his noose here and catches back up with us, I’m giving them a full run-down! It’s only fair.”

“Deal,” Anna said, sounding satisfied.

Trev and his companions looked as if they, too, were close to reaching a consensus. Matt seemed to be the odd man out, as he kept lifting his head from the huddle, shaking it as if greatly displeased, and then ducking back in. Trev repeatedly jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Mason, Anna, and Julie and must have deftly countered whatever argument Matt was putting up, because the younger man’s shoulders sagged, and he finally nodded. Trev’s head turned in Junko’s direction, but the young woman was already bobbing her head in agreement. Trev slapped both of them on the shoulders and straightened himself out, turning on his heel to head back towards where Mason and the others stood next to the rusted warehouse wall. Junko and Matt followed closely behind. Junko seemed to be attempting to reassure Matt with a playful shove and a smile.

“Well,” Trev said as he approached, “we’ve talked it over, and we figure that if the only way to learn whether you’re telling the truth or not is to see it for ourselves, so be it. After all, what’s a little food in exchange for a shot at a vaccine?”

“A one-percent shot,” Matt muttered. Junko frowned at him, and Trev glanced back.

“Like I just got through explaining,” Trev replied, “it’s a hell of a lot better odds than the lottery, and what else are we going to do? Sit in our cabin and rot for the rest of our lives?”

“We have to do something,” Junko said, agreeing. “Anything’s better than this, just scraping by, barely living, and definitely not feeling very alive.”

“All right, all right,” Matt acquiesed. “I’m good to go.”

“Great,” Trev said, grinning at him. He turned back to face Mason. “So, like I was saying, we’d be happy to provide you with some of our food. In return, however, you’re going to have to let us come along to Omaha to protect our investment.”

Mason, Anna, and Julie exchanged glances. The former NSA agent stepped forward with a hand extended. “I don’t think we have to have a huddle to make our decision. Welcome to the cause.”

Trev accepted Mason’s hand and the pair shook, a single up-down.

“We better get walking,” Mason said. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

“Walking?” Trev said, laughing loudly enough to cause all five of the others to flinch. “Brother, you’re traveling with Trevor Westscott and his merry band now. We have a truck with a tank full of gas back at the cabin—we’ll be riding the rest of the way to Omaha.”

Julie and Anna exchanged elated grins behind Mason’s back. Coming through town instead of taking the long route around was one risk that was certainly seeming to pay off.