Sam’s eyes were cold. “You won’t need one to carry boxes. We’ll hold the line.”
With that he turned away and began running toward the open gate with Boxer and Gypsy at his heels. Dez lingered for a moment, then spun and raced for the building, shouting for all the adults to gather on the dock.
Charlie’s pale face had turned beet red. He caught Trout smiling.
“The fuck you grinning at?”
“Nothing at all,” said Trout. He began limping toward the loading bay, determined to be of some use, however small.
Charlie shoved him roughly aside and jogged heavily after Dez.
He didn’t see Trout shoot him the finger.
Trout just reached the loading bay when the gunfire began. He looked back and saw that the road was crowded with the dead.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX
MARIPOSA COUNTY, CALIFORNIA
The cadets came in from a long run, all of them panting and sweating, some of them laughing, a few too exhausted for trash talk and chatter. One young man trailed the group, walking slowly while stretching his arms. He had been among the first group to complete the ten-kilometer run through the hills, but he’d stopped for a long yoga cooldown. The other cadets nodded to him as they passed. Although he was a quiet and introspective man, he was well-liked and respected.
The day was beautiful and even when the last stragglers had gone inside, he lingered to consider the fleet of white clouds sailing high above the mountains toward the eastern horizon. The birds of autumn sang in the trees and the gentle breeze carried the scent of dogwood and California lilies.
The young man smiled at the day. As he mounted the steps to the front door he thought of his little brother, who was a year and a half old. Maybe he’d take him for a bike ride to a hummingbird garden. The kid would like that.
His fingers were inches from the door when it suddenly swung outward so fast it nearly smashed his hand. The young cadet jerked his hand back as his friend Jerry Buckley came bursting out of the building. The men collided, but the young cadet was always fast on his feet and he grabbed his friend and spun him, keeping them both from falling.
“Damn, Jer!” he barked. “What the hell—?”
Jerry grabbed the front of his sweatshirt with both hands. “Christ, Tom, I got to get home. It’s all going to shit.”
“What is?”
“That thing back east. That plague. Holy shit, man, they’re saying that they lost control of it. It’s showing up everywhere.”
Jerry tried to pull away, but the young cadet, Tom, held him, kept him right there. “Who said this? The news?”
“No,” said Jerry, “they made an announcement as soon as we got in from the run. Everyone’s getting changed and getting their shit. They’re sending us all home. You should get your gear and get to your folks’ place, man. This is all falling apart.”
“Slow down, Jer,” said the young cadet, “that’s the other side of the country.”
But Jerry was already shaking his head. “No, aren’t you hearing me? It’s everywhere.”
“I don’t—”
“It’s in L.A.!” yelled Jerry, pulling away. “At the airport. Jesus, Tom, it’s already here.”
As if to punctuate his words, the air above them was torn by the grinding of helicopter rotors and they looked up to see a wave of Apaches heading south. Four big Chinooks followed behind them. Higher still, the contrails of jet fighters gouged white scars in the beautiful morning.
Tom stared at them and inside his chest, in the core of his heart, ice began to form.
“God almighty…” he breathed.
Jerry began backing away. “This shit is really going south, man,” he said. “Get to your folks’ place. They live in that gated place a couple hours from here, right?”
Tom nodded. “Sunset Hollow, up north…”
“Well, tell everyone there to close the damn gates,” said Jerry. He took an abrupt step forward and took Tom’s hand. “Listen, brother, you take care of yourself, you hear? From what they’re saying this is going to get really bad. You do what you have to do to keep your family safe. You hear me? You do what you have to do.”