“What about the Army? What about all the Soldiers we’ve supported for the last four years? Major Flynn down in Fort Orange is still waiting for our report.”
She gritted her teeth. “We did our part, Nick. And she’s right, she needs more people. Six hundred isn’t enough, this place has to be at least thirty square miles to farm, fortify, and patrol. Six more who can train dozens is a godsend to her, you can see that.”
“Let me think about it.” I cut her off as she opened her mouth to argue. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying we may not be able to ride off into the sunset just yet.” She grimaced but shifted her horse away as the older woman trotted back to us.
Later that evening, I saw what the woman had meant by surplus. She led us back to the main house to check again on Doc and Ziv but also to gather up supper, and Brit damn near swooned when she went into the pantry and saw floor-to-ceiling shelves of canned food. Our resident vegetarian started crying as she looked over the long lines of every vegetable and fruit you can imagine, all pickled or canned or piled in baskets. We all stood there in stunned silence for a while, I don’t mind telling you, because it was more food than any of us had seen since before the plague. “You weren’t kidding,” I said softly. Brit had already snagged a bag of dried apple slices and was alternating them with a huge potato that she simply bit right into, making grunting noises of appreciation.
The Sergeant Major shook her head, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation at Brit’s antics. Red was busy destroying a can of what looked like sliced peppers, and the only one who seemed determined to keep his hands to himself was Ahmed, his arms folded as he stared in mute fascination at a jar of diced tomatoes. His favorite, I knew; his wife, long ago, would make him a dish of stewed tomatoes on his birthday, or he had once told us on a long-range patrol. I hadn’t eaten a fresh tomato in three years.
Our host just shook her head. “Grab whatever you want, within reason, and I’ll start on dinner.” We needed no encouragement, and presented her with twelve different vegetables and six bags of various dried fruit. We followed her like ducklings back to the barn, and to our absolute delight found Pierre grilling steaks on the second-story deck. She had Red spear the vegetables onto sticks for grilling, and after a whispered word from me, cooked a dish of stewed tomatoes with curry sauce for Ahmed. He did not say a word when she set the bowl in front of him, but the hidden expression in his eyes told me his undying loyalty had switched to her. Traitor.
Doc was carried upstairs on a litter and was able to join us at the table, although an IV bag was hooked over a nail on the wall and Brundage gave him some sort of broth to sip, so he could at least feel like he was part of the celebration. Ziv’s arm was in a sling but he took to the steak with uncivilized gusto. There was nothing said for at least an hour, but we all ate as we never had before, not even in Seattle. Everything was fresh, except the meat, which had been frozen immediately after slaughter and tasted like the cow was still mooing downstairs. Nothing I ever ate before that night, not even before, tasted like that food. The Sergeant Major ate sparingly, although her companion went through his steak with the same enthusiasm we did. Brit had commandeered the largest bowl in the kitchen and was rapidly destroying the biggest salad I’ve ever seen. When we finally sat back, full, the table was almost empty, the sink was full of empty jars, and I had had to remove my belt. Red let out a long, loud, appreciative belch, apologizing sheepishly when the Sergeant Major gave him a dirty look.
An awkward silence fell. Pierre stood, and Brundage excused himself after adjusting Doc’s IV. Pierre said something in French that we didn’t understand, but it seemed to be friendly. We all gave him a short wave before he went inside to clean up. I saw Brit and then Ahmed glance my way, and I gave in to their stares. “You said last night that you know how the plague hit.”
Three empty wine bottles cluttered the center of the table; her collection in the main house was impressive, and even though I had preferred Jack Daniels back in the old world, it wasn’t bad. She lifted her glass and swirled the red liquid around before draining it. “I did say that,” she admitted as she carefully set the glass back on the table. “Perhaps a better question would be: Do you want to know what I know? You won’t forget it, and I may not be doing you any favors by telling you.”
Chapter 23
It was Brit who broke the silence, and in her haunted expression I saw the girl Doc and I had rescued from the remains of Syracuse years before. “I was going to the stars, Lady. I was the top of my class in Physics, I was a week out from an internship at NASA when the zombies showed up. I want to know what stole my future.”
The two women shared a long, considering glance. I thought that perhaps the Sergeant Major, a woman who had somehow retained the vestiges of real elegance despite the dirt under her fingernails and the world-weary expression that creased her forehead, was the kind of woman Brit would have admired, if the world were sane and God paying attention. Finally the older woman nodded.
“If you insist. My last assignment, as I told you last night, Sergeant Agostine, was at Fort Detrick. By then I was twenty-six years into the Army, and I’d gone as far as I could, even among Sergeant Majors. I had no intention of continuing, and the only logical assignment left for me would be at Division level. But I had dropped my retirement packet after Bryan was diagnosed with brain cancer, our dreams of building a farm here to putter around gone along with his health. For the last nine months, ticking down to the day I’d leave, they asked me to run the Inspector General’s Office. Hardly a glamorous assignment, and not the one I should have gotten, but by then the only thing a bad NCOER could do was give me a paper cut.” Doc and I chuckled, Doc’s ending with a wince as he curled one arm around his ribs.
“Detrick was the home of the Army’s bioweapons program, despite all denials of it, and at my level I knew the basics of what was going on. There was an entire complex beneath the fort, something like six or seven stories below the surface. Supposedly it was capable of containing any virus that might have been accidentally released. Containment levels and eradication protocols so complex I don’t think any one person could have understood them all. I think that’s why what happened is so horrifying to contemplate: the release of the ‘reanimation’ plague was intentional.”
We sat in stunned silence for a long moment. “No. Fucking. Way.” Red finally whispered hoarsely. “How could someone do that — on purpose? Who would even think of that?”
“This woman should never have been employed by the U.S. military. She should have been killed at birth.” The Sergeant Major said softly, with venom.
I knew the name, I spoke it at the same time she did. “Doctor Morano.”
I felt her glance pierce me. “You know her?”