“They can wait until morning.” The general drained his second cup, before refilling it again.
So he’d be back in the morning. David wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. His brain said it didn’t matter. Another part of him told him his brain didn’t know diddly.
“Dismissed, Sergeant Major.”
“Yes, Sir.” David snapped off a salute, pivoted about and marched across the tent.
The vestibule door slammed open; the impact rippled around the tent.
“Dawson!” A rough voice called. Watery coughing soon followed.
David halted so fast his boot squeaked.
Colonel Asshole shoved through both doors and staggered into the mess hall. “You!” He glared at David while raising his pistol. “You got us sick. You and that Doctor bitch infected me and my family.”
Eying the Colonel’s trigger finger, David swung his M-4 up.
“If I die, so do you!” The finger tightened.
Shit! David’s heart seized in his chest, stopping his lungs. He wasn’t going to make it.
A shot rang out. Then another. Fire lit his arm ablaze.
Blood blossomed on the CO’s forehead. His face went slack as he collapsed onto the ground.
David’s hand bounced off his weapon. Why the hell didn’t his fingers work?
After holstering his pistol, General Lister grabbed David’s arm, angling the wound to the light. “A through and through. Don’t worry. Our respective medics will be fighting to see who can do the best job stitching you up.”
Soldiers poured into the mess hall, arms at the ready.
David staggered back until he hit the bench. His knees buckled. When his ass hit the seat, his teeth rattled. The general had shot the colonel. Lister had saved his life. The debt would have to be repaid. But not with Mavis. Never her.
“Medic! Corpsman!” Lister set his hand on David’s arm, stanching the flow of blood from the wound. “Peterson and McDermid, take out that trash.”
The two Marines lifted the CO’s body.
“I was going to relieve the coward of command. This way saves me some paperwork.” He snapped his fingers and the cook rushed him with a cup of coffee.
David nodded. Blackness pushed into his vision and his ears began to buzz. God, he hated being shot. “Fucking A!”
He struggled to his feet, his good hand fumbling with his M-4.
The general snorted and dragged him back onto the bench. “Give him something to make him sleep.”
“I’m here, Sergeant Major.” Medic Johnson rushed over.
David felt a prick on his good arm and then nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“The little ones are settled in bed, then?” Mildred looked at him over the top of her reading glasses.
“Almost.” Manny picked up the blue glass bowl of pea pods and took his seat on the couch in front of the muted TV. The power had come on a little over an hour ago. The Emergency Alert System had burped incessantly letting them know about an upcoming address, before he’d silenced it. “Connie’s reading them stories.”
Connie was blind and there were words on those pages. Yet she’d read them as if she could see. He couldn’t figure it out. He picked up one firm green pod, grabbed the stringy end and unzipped it. Peas plopped into the bowl.
“She’s had all those books memorized for years.” Mildred scooted the bucket she was using for the discarded pods closer. “Used to teach elementary school before she lost her sight.”
Ah, that explained that. He added the flaccid pea pod to the trash pile and then picked up a full one. “Are we going to can these tomorrow?”
“Oh, no. We’ll eat some fresh ones in soup then dry the rest for seeds.” Mildred’s attention darted from the shelled peas to the screen. “Well, it’s about time he showed up. We’ve been waiting over an hour. Henry! The President has finally dragged his butt on stage.”
“‘Bout time.” Henry rolled up the ramp and across the dining room floor. “This is the last of the peas. I’ve pulled the vines out and added them to the composter.”
On screen, the President approached the plain brown podium. His complexion echoed the concrete wall behind him—gray and dismal. Dark circles clung to the bags under his glassy eyes. He coughed into a white handkerchief, before tucking it into the pocket of his blue suit. The normally fluid movement seemed jerky.
“He looks like he’s been sick.” Really sick. Like Redaction sick. But that couldn’t be. He and the rest of the government had been protected. Manny moved his hands out of the way
Henry dumped half the peas into his bowl.
“Serves him right, the slimy so-and-so.” After adding the other half of the peas to Mildred’s bowl, he wheeled over to the door, set the bucket outside then closed and locked the French doors. “You do know that he and his rich cronies hid out in bunkers, while the rest of us had to fend for ourselves. They’re not a government of the people. They think they’re above us poor working class folk.”
Mildred chucked an empty pod at his head. It hit his ear before falling onto his shoulder. “Enough rabble rousing, turn up the volume so we can hear what he’s saying.”
Henry scraped the pod off his shoulder and pitched it into the bowl. “This announcement had better be about the sickness.”
Manny’s gut clenched. Had the Redaction returned? Was the dying about to start all over again? Could he keep the niños healthy? Three Burgers in a Basket had been closed. Three. They hadn’t closed that many at the height of the Redaction, but they were closed now. And that’s just the ones he knew about. How many more were infected?
At the grocery store, there’d been people coughing and sneezing. Some even shivered with fever. The advertised well-stocked shelves had been nearly empty when they’d visited to buy ground beef for the promised burgers. Saliva pooled on his tongue at the memory of the beef. His stomach promised to return it to his mouth. Soon he’d have it again.
Please God, not again.
The President’s dark eyes darted from the camera to the right.
“He’s reading off a teleprompter.” Henry folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Might as well just hold up a big sign saying, warning well-edited bullshit is about to be flung at you.’“
A pea pod sailed in front of Manny.
“Language, Henry.”
“Woman, you’re gonna poke an eye out with those things!” Henry picked it off his lap and tossed it into the bowl.
Manny bit his lip to keep from laughing. The couple always acted ridiculous when the topic turned serious. It certainly helped. Most of the time.
A knock sounded on the door—two short raps followed by three.
“Sounds like Irina is back from the Wilsons.” Henry wheeled around the coffee table toward the door. Despite using the appropriate signal, the old man dipped his hand next to his leg as he reached for the door handle.
He must have a weapon. But what, Manny didn’t know, he hoped never to find out.
“She’s brought company.” Connie spoke from the hallway entrance. She pushed her white hair off her forehead before walking into the room.
“Company?” Henry raised his hand showing the black barrel of a handgun.
Without pausing, Connie strode to her wing-backed chair and sat down. “I think the Wilsons are about to join our little family.”
Family. Manny grinned as he continued to shell the peas. He liked the sound of that.
“‘Bout time.” The old man smiled and threw open the door. It banged against the wall.
Irina beamed at them. “Guess who I’ve brought.” The soft yellow porch light turned her bruised face an odd green color. “Since the other ladies have… left, Maggie and Liz decided it would be safer to stay with us.”