San Francisco
Beach Street
She was so light in his arms. It surprised him.
She seemed so . . . invincible. He’d been at the Arka Pharmaceuticals headquarters building when the infection had broken out. He and Nick had barely gotten out alive, and they were highly trained warriors. She’d not only broken away from her captors, she’d taken the time to search for the original virus and the vaccine, fighting both Arka’s security goons and the infected.
And then she’d made her way across a city in chaos.
Trapped in her home, she’d spent her time studying the infected and already had pointers that were going to help them evade the enemy, and were already proving useful to the Haven team out in the field.
Now, this was Ghost Ops terrain. They’d been trained, and trained hard to study and understand the enemy. When he’d been undercover in Colombia, he’d studied the jefes and their muscle so much, he knew everything about them, down to their diet, their bowel movements, the women they really fucked, the women they pretended to. What they bought, who they bought. He knew it all. Nothing had escaped his notice. Nothing.
And yet, flying over infected terrain, it hadn’t even occurred to him to try to study patterns. Okay, he was flying over the terrain pretty fast, but he hadn’t been thinking of anything but getting to Sophie Daniels before a monster ate her face. Still, he could have observed movements, migrations patterns, drawn some conclusions.
He was heartsick, but that wasn’t an excuse. Sophie’d been heartsick, too, and she had pages and pages of observations.
So besides being as beautiful as a movie star, she was smart and brave. Resourceful, rational.
And, oh so delicate.
He could feel this in his arms. When they’d had frantic sex right after he fell into her apartment, he’d been too blasted with survivor’s lust, guided by his combat boner, to notice much of anything besides how good she felt and how good she tasted.
But now?
Now he could feel how incredibly delicate she was, one arm around a slender torso, the other under long slender legs. Everything about her was fragile, hidden before because she was so smart and so courageous. Her soft cotton tee gaped open, showing the delicate collarbone, the narrow shoulders. Such courage, such spirit in such a fragile body.
Jon didn’t have to ask where the bedroom was. Away from the door with its potpourri and scented candles and air freshener sprays, there was another source of good smells and he simply followed his nose.
Good soldiers have a keen sense of smell and he was one of the best. He simply followed the scent for the room that smelled of Sophie. There was a short corridor and he nudged the door with his foot and . . . bingo!
The blinds were drawn, one small light on a dresser drawer, the rest in shadow. It was a girly girl’s room and he nearly smiled. The bed was an ode to femininity—frills and flounces and floral sheets, and a billion pillows. Most unusual for a no-nonsense scientist.
He looked down at her, in his arms, and smiled. It was genuine, a light-hearted moment while the world burned around them. Jon’s few smiles were a cynic’s smile. He had no illusions about the world and the people in it. There were a lot of things he found grimly humorous. The hypocrisy most people tried badly to hide. The greedy, grasping nature of most people. People were like children, with uncontrollable urges and appetites. If you had a cynic’s sense of humor, the world was a feast.
But right now, he had an extraordinarily beautiful, brave, smart woman in his arms, who had shown nothing but a sense of sacrifice. His usual cynicism somehow wouldn’t kick in. His smile reflected how good she felt in his arms, how pretty that bed was, what they were going to do on that bed.
Sophie’s hand cupped his cheek. “You smile.”
He moved his head until her hand covered his mouth, then kissed the palm of her hand. “Look carefully because it doesn’t happen often.”
“No.” Her own smile disappeared. “Not much to smile about right now.”
Jon placed her carefully on the bed, like depositing a jewel in its box. “Well, right, right now, things aren’t looking so bad.”
A laugh escaped her and she covered her mouth, as if laughter were forbidden. Jon gently brought her hand away from her mouth, brought it to his, kissed the palm again.
“You laugh.”
She nodded. “That surprised even me.”
Jon looked down at her, at this unexpected pearl that had been given to him. He lay his hand on her flat belly, absorbing the warmth of her skin through the thin tee. He shifted his hand, started pulling it up. With his other hand, he lifted her shoulders off the bed while pulling the tee up and off. She wasn’t wearing a bra and she wasn’t wearing panties so after he’d slipped the thin cotton pants off her hips and down her legs, she was naked and he almost closed his eyes against the picture she made on the bed.
Too much. Too much beauty. Too much sentiment in her eyes as she watched him. She didn’t try to cover herself up and she didn’t try to preen. She just lay there, open to him, watching him watching her.
He put his hand back on her belly, relishing the feel of her skin now that he didn’t have to feel it through cloth.
“Now you,” Sophie said and at first he didn’t understand what she meant. The gears in his head weren’t meshing too well. Then, “Oh—” She wanted him naked too.
Oh yeah.
In a second he’d stripped, as fast as he could because he didn’t want to lift his hand from Sophie for anything.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered.
Jon didn’t look down at himself. He knew what he looked like. Though he couldn’t recall a hard-on quite as hard as the one he was sporting now. He didn’t have to look down to know his dick was like a rock and immensely swollen. It fucking hurt.
“Am I?” he whispered back. She nodded. “That should be my line.”
Sophie smiled, placed her hand over his.
Jon shut his eyes, his hand on Sophie’s belly, her hand over his, the heat from her hand rising up his arm. He stood stock-still, immense tension in every muscle in his body.
And he realized: “I can’t go slow, Sophie.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe I should—” He didn’t finish the rest of the sentence because he was tempted to offer something he didn’t think he could make good on. Like offering to step back, step away.
Luckily, it didn’t make any difference because Sophie tugged on his forearm and he fell onto her. Just like before, only this time they were naked and he knew what to expect.
Out-of-this-world pleasure, that’s what he was expecting. And that’s what he got.
Warmth spread all along his body where they met.
Sophie twined her arms around his neck, opened her mouth under his and that warmth kicked up to heat. That honeyed pleasure flowing through his veins became prickling heat right under his skin, requiring immediate action.
A second later, he slid into her—into that hot secret place between her thighs—and a second after that his body slammed into action. It was completely beyond his control as he hammered into her, holding her hips with his hands.
Some very, very dim part of his mind was exerting overwatch, if not control. If he had felt anything less than welcome, anything less than desire on her part, he’d have stopped. He hoped.
As it was, Sophie was with him every step of the way, her body completely open to him, slick with juices that eased his way, holding him tightly with her arms and legs. Matching him, movement for movement.
It was so intense, so hot, it couldn’t last, and it didn’t. Sophie tightened around his dick, threw her head back against the pillow, and emitted a low moan that came out stuttering because he was moving in her so strongly. She dug her nails into his back, tightened around him again and again. Her orgasm pushed him right off the edge and into another world of heat and light where he had to hold his breath as his body went into overdrive. He slammed into her, moving easily now, since she was slick with juices, in a frenzy of heat so great he thought he would blow up.
And then he did.
Great shuddering convulsions so intense his eyes rolled back under his lids and his toes curled. It went on forever as every ounce of liquid in his body poured into her and at the very last moment, just as he began to still, she convulsed again, lifting her hips up against his by leveraging herself up with her legs. She rotated her hips and arched her back to take more of him, breaths coming in pants against his ear, clenching tightly around him in pulls so strong he could feel her stomach muscles working against his abdomen.
At the same moment, they blew out great gusty breaths and stilled.
Jon collapsed bonelessly on her, every cell of his body drenched in pleasure. He should move. He was heavy and he was sure he was crushing her, but damn. This felt so . . . fucking . . . good. He couldn’t even think through the pleasure signals zapping through his body. That constant awareness he had at all times, the bit of himself he kept separate and vigilant, had taken a hike. The movie screen in his head started to blur, show static.
He made one last heroic effort and cranked an eyelid open. All he really saw was a delicate jawbone, a small pink ear and a cloud of dark shiny hair. But his hazy mind could fill in the rest. Sophie.
Everything felt so damned good exactly as he was, including his half-limp dick nestled deep within her. Oh man, that felt particularly good, like his own personal dick holster.
Mmmm.
However, good things don’t last. No one knew that better than he did. Jon planted his palms on the mattress next to her head and tensed his muscles. Pulling out and rolling over wasn’t going to be easy. Not because he didn’t have the strength but because he didn’t have the desire.
He moved his hips and instantly Sophie’s arms and legs tightened around him.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Oh man, no. But out of a sense of duty, he replied, “I’m heavy.”
There was no refuting that and she didn’t try. “I like it.”
Christ. She didn’t want him to pull out and roll over and he didn’t want to either.
Something had messed with his soldier’s brain because he knew falling asleep in this position wasn’t smart, wasn’t in the battle manual.
They had been taught how to sleep in battle conditions, been trained to it, sometimes with blood. They’d trained to operate at peak capacity on two hours’ sleep a week. They’d been trained to come out of REM sleep fighting. In the field, Jon had never been a second away from a weapon.
Now, right now, goddammit, his weaponry was in the living room. Every single freaking piece of equipment was precious seconds away. The thought was unbearable for a professional soldier. But the thought of detaching himself from Sophie was . . . was even more unbearable. That warm softness all along his front, the silky hair tickling his face, that warm grip on his dick—he couldn’t do without it. Simply couldn’t.
He was being rewired.
That was his last thought before a warm perfumed blackness overcame his senses.
The noise woke him. He was instantly awake, instantly realized what it was.
Light colored the edges of Sophie’s lined curtains, enough to see the time on his wrist. He’d slept until after mid-day, something he couldn’t ever remember doing.
Sometime during the night he’d slipped out of and off Sophie, his subconscious being more of a gentleman than his consciousness. She was lying half on him, head in the crook of his shoulder.
He’d slept deeply, something he rarely did. That descent into deep sleep discomfited him. He sometimes had nightmares, which he hated. So he’d trained himself to go into a shallow sleep, completely unlike the semi-coma he felt he’d been in.
He’d woken up because of the noise. The noise was unlike anything he had ever heard in his life. Jagged, dissonant, feral. Growing louder.
Sophie raised her head, smiled at him, a frown between her dark eyebrows. In the faint light all he saw was pale skin and dark blue eyes.
He smoothed his hand over her hair, wishing that things were different. Wishing he were here in this absurdly frilly and comfortable bed with this amazingly beautiful and smart woman under normal circumstances.
Jon didn’t do romance and he sure didn’t do love. He was a love ’em and leave ’em guy, all the way. But Sophie?
Wow, with Sophie he just might have made an exception. She was absolutely fascinating, probably smarter than he was, certainly better educated. Soft, gentle, very easy to be with. And he liked the glimpses of frills, of hyperfemininity that he’d seen.
Another first. Jon’s life had always been reduced to essentials. For most of his life, he could have packed all his worldly goods into one duffel bag, ready to take off in ten minutes. He owned no property outside his guns. The military had given him all the essentials and he had wanted nothing else. No ties, no belongings, and above all, no frills.
Ghost Ops had been made for him.
No emotional ties either, until Haven. He’d respected Lucius and Mac, ready to follow their orders even if it led to his death. But now he could see beneath Lucius and Mac’s rough exterior, particularly with their women. It was as if they came alive in their presence. Mac was crazy about his wife, Catherine, and that child she was carrying. And Lucius—Lucius had been so beaten, so broken when he and Pelton, Romero, and Lundquist had arrived that Jon thought he could see death following Lucius around, one step behind him. Stella had yanked him right back into life.
And Nick. Man. Iceman Nick who didn’t care about anything or anyone. When he’d received some secret signal from Elle that she was in danger, Jon thought Nick would go crazy. Implode from stress.
Jon didn’t believe in love, of any kind. Not in love at first sight or second or even third sight. His parents had been sick fucks, incapable of loving anything except their drugs; and until Haven, until this past year, he’d never seen love at work, had never even believed it possible.
But now . . . well, suppose it was possible? Suppose you could find someone you loved and admired and who loved you right back? Something he didn’t even imagine existed in the world until he saw it, firsthand, at Haven. So if you found it, what then?
“Jon?” Sophie repeated sleepily, lifting up on one elbow. He reached out and tucked a dark shiny lock of hair behind her ear. “What’s that noise?”
If you found it, you protected it.
“The swarm,” he said grimly. “It’s coming.”
They came and they came and they came. She and Jon stood by the window with the curtains open. The sky was cloudy with smoke, fire, and debris, casting a gray pall over the morning.
At first they watched on Jon’s scanner fed by a couple of Haven drones. At some central control station back in Haven, they pieced together a large-scale picture from several drones. She could tell by the slight fracture marks in the hologram, which disappeared when Jon zoomed in with one drone’s video feed.
It took a moment to realize what she was seeing, though she could hear it well enough. A loud, dissonant cacophony, growing louder by the minute. A noise unlike any she’d ever heard before, the very voice of utter chaos. Screams, bellows, fists against metal, glass shattering, all combined into one long rolling wall of sound that was the most frightening thing she’d ever heard.
Jon zoomed in more closely and there it was—the swarm. The main force rolling up Jones, people shoulder to shoulder, shoving each other, striking randomly, a mass so dense that for a second it looked like one single organism with an infinite number of moving parts. The front part of the wave was twenty blocks long.
Jon tapped and the focus zoomed in even more, so she could see individual faces.
Every hair on her body stood up in an archaic, primitive rush of utter terror. She couldn’t imagine that so many expressions of violence and madness had ever been gathered together in the history of humanity. Even in the mass battles of the past, there must have been some human expressions among the rank and file, a few hanging back, not wanting to maim and pillage. Some who tended to the wounded. Some who simply didn’t want to fight.
Here there was nothing she recognized as even vaguely human, just a boiling mass of bodies trying to kill each other.
Half the faces were covered in blood, which was almost a blessing because she couldn’t see the inhumanity there. All she saw was blood on skin, sometimes dripping off the faces if the killing had been fresh. Nobody looked up, of course, because the drones were silent. Mute witnesses to mankind’s degradation, flying high overhead, robotic souls unflinching, cameras emotionlessly shooting video footage that sickened her heart.
“They—” Her voice came out so faint she had to stop. She was leaning against Jon like you’d lean against a wall, to hold you up. He was absolutely solid, face without expression as he held out the monitor so she could watch. At her almost soundless voice, his intent gaze switched from the monitor to her face.
She was a scientist. Maybe one of the few left alive. So as long as she had a beating heart and a functional brain she was going to do what was a scientist’s first duty—observe reality. There could be no hypotheses without observation. She remembered one of her first biology professors laying down the law and how she had thrilled at the thought. It had been like looking into the very heart of life.
Well, now she was looking into the very heart of death, but her duty was still clear.
She coughed, gathered her strength around her like a cloak.
“They are behaving very much like a swarm,” she said, proud of the fact that her voice was clear and steady, even while her heart hurt so much in her chest. She watched them boil and scramble up to the top of Jones. “There’s a concept in biology known as emergence. That there can be a hierarchical form of organization not apparent at the lowest levels.” She tapped the air of the hologram. “Each individual is behaving randomly, and yet in their numbers, there is a primitive form of organization there. They are following the ‘nearest neighbor’ rule—blindly following where the person next to them leads. If they are swarming up Jones, I can only imagine that they have an instinctive tropism for water—for the Bay. So though each individual doesn’t know where he or she is going, the herd is heading for water.”
Jon’s jaw muscles clenched. “Can they swim?”
Could they swim? “I don’t want to give a glib answer, but my instinct is to say no. Swimming requires motor control and coordination adjustments. I don’t see any sign of that here. Many exhibit what could only be called spastic muscle movements, uncontrollable. That would be deadly in water. And I don’t think they could coordinate their breathing enough to stay afloat.” She looked up at him. “That’s my considered opinion, but I don’t know if I’d stake my life on it.”
“If they are attracted to loud noises, maybe we could set up boom machines offshore. Watch them fall into the water like lemmings.”
“Yes,” she said slowly, turning the idea over in her mind. “That could work.” She shook her head. “Do you know, that would never have occurred to me.”
“No.” His jaws snapped together with an audible click. “That’s not the way your mind thinks. You are looking to understand their behavior. I just want to find ways to kill the fuckers.” He slanted a look at her out of those ice blue eyes without turning his head. “Sorry.”
Sophie closed her eyes, tried a smile. It was shaky and felt fake. “That’s okay. Monsters are roaming the streets, Jon. Ripping each other to pieces. I’m not going to faint at the f-bomb.”
The hologram suddenly switched from the peninsula to some kind of war room. “Jon.”
It was Mac. He was sitting in a room with Catherine Young, Elle and her guy, the scarred man, Lucius Ward, and another man. He was a fireplug of a man, short—certainly next to Mac and Elle’s guy and Ward—but very broad shouldered. He had a fleece plaid shirt and jeans on, but his short haircut, so extreme she could see scalp, and squared back shoulders spelled military, or at least former military, to her.
“Boss,” Jon answered. “You don’t need to tell us—trouble’s on the way. We can see it for ourselves.”
“Yeah.” Mac aimed a big thumb at Catherine and Elle. “The geek squad has come up with some facts they think you should know.”
Sophie felt like she was looking directly into Elle’s eyes, the hologram was so lifelike. “They’re swarming,” she said before Elle could speak.
Elle dipped her head. “Yes, they are. Catherine and I have been observing them, with time lapses backward and forward. There’s good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”
Jon answered. “Bad news first. I can’t imagine there’s much good news.”
“Okay.” Elle hesitated. She was pale, stressed. “Soph . . .” Her voice broke and her Nick put a big arm around her. For the very first time, Sophie understood down to the bone what having a strong man at your side meant, the support it could give. She leaned back, just a little, and there Jon was. Tall, broad, solid. A pillar of strength.
She’d never believed in that whole man-woman thing. She’d always dated men who were basically her—cerebral and detached—but with a cylinder of flesh dangling between their legs that came in useful now and again. Her men had been narrow-shouldered, with pale undeveloped muscles, not too good with the physical, outside world. Bad drivers, hopeless at repairs—one boyfriend back in Chicago used to call her over to change lightbulbs, though he thanked her with food. He was a fabulous cook.
Not at any stage of her life had Sophie thought to lean on a man as a source of strength. She’d never had to. But now the tables were turned and Jon and everything he represented—the iron and steel world of battle, the world of sheer male physical strength—were as necessary to her as breathing. As a matter of fact, if she wanted to keep breathing, if she wanted to make it out of the trap of her flat and to safety, she was going to need Jon’s qualities.
“The swarm grew through the night. It seems to be a universal phenomenon with the virus. We’re seeing swarms forming in Oakland, in Sacramento. And, God, Soph. Los Angeles . . .”
Sophie gasped. The Los Angeles basin was one large catchment area, a geographical trap, with mountains to the north, east, south, and ocean to the west.
“Los Angeles is a nightmare.” Elle’s voice was shaky.
“San Diego’s a little better,” Nick picked up. “But not much. So here’s what the San Francisco swarm looks like.”
The hologram flickered and then there was a bird’s-eye view of the Bay Area, much higher than the drones’ eye view. For a moment, it looked like there had been a mudslide or a lava flow, oozing down the streets. Then the focus sharpened and it was clear that the streets were dark with infected swarming their way to the waterfront.
There was complete silence as they watched scenes that no human had ever seen before.
Elle cleared her throat. “Catherine and I have done some calculations, Soph. There’s a definite tropism at work so the swarm attracts outliers. It’s growing by the hour. But that also means that when the swarm has passed you, there will be a window of opportunity of, say, fifteen minutes with no infected nearby because they will all be caught up in the swarm. You can make your getaway then. We estimate that the swarm will pass by you completely by four P.M. Here—” The images tilted, the earth moving swiftly below. It followed the swarm to its edges, which could almost have been drawn. As the swarm moved, the edges were clear-cut, with no infected coming after the stragglers. “You’ll have a clear shot after it passes.”
Oh God, going out in broad daylight . . . Sophie looked up at Jon, whose face had tightened. Jon answered for her.
“Sophie thinks their eyesight is diminished in the dark. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until after sundown?”
Mac was shaking his head. “Negative. There are apparently mini swarms forming all over the city. There’s no guarantee that other swarms might not appear after dark. And you have only one set of NVGs. So make preparations to exfil around sixteen hundred hours. With luck, you’ll be back in Haven before nightfall. And we can start manufacturing the vaccine.”
Nick looked to his left, to the stocky ex-military man. “And so now for some good news . . .”
The man’s voice was low, gruff. He dipped his head. “Jon. This is Snyder. Former General Snyder.”
Sophie looked in surprise at Jon’s jolt. Had that been a growl? His eyes shot blue ice, his entire body language that of hostility.
“Hold on, son.” Snyder held up a hand with short thick fingers and a broad palm. “Before you go off the deep end, I fought the Pentagon tooth and nail over the court-martial. And I was invited to an early retirement for my pains. So don’t you go growling at me, you hear?”
“Yeah? That’s what Mac said. Well, it doesn’t make much difference now. And what the fuck is the Pentagon doing for us now, huh?”
Snyder’s mouth firmed, a flush appeared on his tanned cheeks. “We don’t know. None of us can get in touch with anyone at the Pentagon. Anyone in Washington, actually.”
Oh God. “Do you think—” It sounded so horrible Sophie had trouble articulating it. “Do you think they have cut California off? Can they do that?”
“They can.” Snyder’s jaw muscles jumped.
“We’re on our own,” Jon said, voice grim. “They abandoned us.”
“We’re on our own, son,” Snyder confirmed. “But we’re fighting back. Because the good news is that a lot of people have managed to circle the wagons. We can’t communicate outside California but we’ve got a call out 24/7 to survivors and they are calling in. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do for individuals caught up on the roofs of their homes. But we’ve got whole communities that are bunkered down. We’ve managed fifteen air drops of weapons, explosives, food, and water so they can hold out until we can get the vaccine to them. We’re ferrying supplies, evacuating the wounded—not infected wounded, just people who’ve been injured getting themselves to safety.”
Sophie leaned forward. “Are you following Q-and-I protocols?” she asked urgently.
“Absolutely, we’re following quarantine-and-isolation protocols.” Catherine stepped into the monitor. “We’re following CDC protocols, though isolation doesn’t really apply here because we don’t have any infected to isolate. It was deemed too dangerous.”
“Yes, of course.” Sophie ran through what she knew of CDC protocols. “We’re looking at an engineered virus.” Sophie kept her voice steady even though the thought of a scientist—a person dedicated to human knowledge—intentionally engineering this viral plague made her heartsick. “I don’t have any hard data on the incubation period, but I suspect it is very short. It’s important that we observe quarantine protocols.”
Catherine and Elle had their heads bent over their tablets, entering data. “Got it,” Catherine said, raising her head. “Anything else?”
Sophie hesitated. This didn’t rise to the level of science, but they were operating in such darkness anything might be of help. “This is completely anecdotal, but from my observations, I noted several infected with light-colored eyes go from shadow to sunlight with no noticeable contraction of the pupils. I observed at least fifty cases of this through binoculars, but of course I couldn’t conduct tests in controlled circumstances. Nonetheless, I feel that I can say that there is a statistically high probability that the virus fixes the pupils so that accommodation is impossible. Which of course would explain why they might have reduced vision at night. Their pupils are locked. So you might want to shine a bright light into everyone who comes into the quarantine sector and everyone you release into the general population. See if the pupils accommodate.”
“We can broadcast that,” said Snyder. “That would be really helpful if you can’t distinguish between a normal injury and a bite. Because a lot of people are having problems putting down loved ones, even ones they know are infected.”
“Particularly children,” Elle added, face sad.
Oh yeah. Sophie repressed a shudder, imagining the situation . . . A mother, looking down at her stricken child. Her bitten, stricken child, who soon would become a monster. And she’s the one who must decide to put the child down—before he or she turns, while it is still her child. Killing your child who is crying mommy!
I hope you burn in hell, Charles Lee. Dr. Charles Lee, head of Arka Pharmaceuticals. The man who had unleashed this hell on earth.
“Some of the fortified communities are gathering in refugees themselves,” Snyder said, addressing Jon. “We’re getting reports all the time of enclaves of uninfecteds.”
“Make sure all quarantine-and-isolation protocols are followed to the letter!” Sophie said sharply.
Snyder stared directly at the camera and it was exactly as if he were staring her in the eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Doctor, sorry. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that you are the expert, so we will do what you say and will continue to do so once you are back here, safe and sound. We really need that vaccine. Once we have it, we can start fighting back, reclaim some territory.”
“Like we said, we should be back before nightfall,” Jon added. “I hope to be airborne not long after sixteen hundred hours. I want to get out of Dodge as fast as we can.”
“How long will the manufacture of the vaccine take, Doctor?” Snyder’s eyes hadn’t wavered from hers.
She hated being asked questions she didn’t have a solid answer to. “That depends. I’m sorry to be vague but it depends. I’ve been told by Dr. Connolly—”
“Ross,” Elle interrupted and turned bright red.
Sophie blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Elle nestled her head against the tall dark man who hadn’t left her side. “I’m Elle Ross now, Soph.” She looked up at the man standing next to her and simply glowed. “We got married last night. There’s a nondenominational preacher here and we—we tied the knot.”
Sophie brought a hand to her mouth and fought tears. A marriage. Amid all the misery and loss, a happy event. Two people swearing to love and protect each other forever in chaos and destruction. The wedding had been celebrated in what was essentially a refugee camp in the middle of a truly deadly pandemic but—two people had pledged their love to each other.
“Oh Elle . . .” Her voice broke and she took a second to steady it. “I’m so happy for you! A wedding in the middle of all this death. It’s wonderful.”
“Thank you, Dr. Daniels,” Nick said with a solemn nod.
“Way to go, Nick,” Jon said quietly.
“Yeah. This changes everything.” Nick’s head shifted slightly to look at Jon’s image on his hologram. “Make us safe, Jon. Give us a fighting chance to turn this thing around.”
Everyone froze. All of a sudden the background noise swelled, broke, like waves over rock.
Sophie looked around, spooked. Jon put a reassuring arm around her shoulders.
Mac consulted a monitor and spoke. “They’re right on top of you, Jon. Boiling over Jones, it looks like there are thousands upon thousands of them. God. Report in when you’re ready to leave.”
“Stay safe, Soph.” Elle reached a hand out. Though it looked as if she were touching air, Sophie knew that Elle had instinctively reached out to touch her. She lifted her own hand, and crazily, it felt for a moment as if they were touching. Sophie knew it was a construct of her imagination and yearning, but it made her feel better.
When she’d made that panicked phone call to Elle in the middle of the night before Arka’s security got her, Sophie thought that they were both dead. A number of researchers and research subjects had gone missing and she knew she and Elle were next. She’d called Elle even though it was possible that a small delay was just long enough time for her to get caught. But Sophie desperately wanted someone to have a fighting chance. In the back of her mind, though, she’d believed they were doomed.
Arka recruited its security from the top levels of the military, paid them well, expected and got expert service. What hope did nerd scientists have against their quasi-military array? But even knowing it was hopeless, she’d had to try to warn her best friend.
And somehow, her best friend had managed to find the love of her life who had come roaring in to rescue her. And Sophie did manage to escape, because Arka’s plans backfired disastrously.
So—you never know.
Keep fighting until you die.
The hologram winked off and it was as if an energy source had winked off as well. While they’d been talking, it was easy to imagine that they, too, were in a safe place surrounded by friends, or in Sophie’s case, friend. Well, Catherine Young looked like the kind of woman who could become a friend too.
But with the hologram off, she and Jon were alone, marooned in a sea of infected, far from safety.
Jon put a heavy arm around her shoulders, and without thinking, without speaking, Sophie leaned into him. This was comfort at a very primitive level, but they’d been reduced to a primordial existence. Sophie rolled her head into the crook of his shoulder. Embracing a tall man could be awkward, but not with Jon. They seemed to fit together, instinctively.
He pulled her more tightly against him, arms around her back, and she felt his lips move against her hair. A kiss, perhaps.
“I’m not going to lie, Sophie, and say it will be easy, but we’ll get out of here. You have my word.”
Words were empty, only facts counted. That was the bedrock of Sophie’s existence as a scientist. Facts came first, then the descriptive words. So she shouldn’t feel comforted, but she did.
Jon clearly was a man who knew how to handle himself. If there was even the faintest hope of getting out of San Francisco alive and to this Haven, Jon could do it.
She couldn’t, on her own. Not in a million years. She rested her forehead against his strong shoulder. “We have to,” she murmured. “They’re counting on us.”
His arms tightened and she felt his chest expand to say something, but then the distant booming noise swelled, echoed around the streets. A frightening terrifying sound, so horrible she was frozen with panic for a moment. She couldn’t do panic. People were counting on her.
She pushed away from him and looked up at his face. “They’re here.”
He nodded grimly.
Sophie pushed a panic that was primordial, instinctive, away from her. She gathered calm around her as if it were her white lab coat. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath. She was a scientist, and had to function as one if they were going to get out of this alive. “Does your scanner have recording functions? Voice and video?”
Jon had stepped back, too, watching her carefully, taking his cues from her. “Yes,” he answered.
“Okay. When they hit Beach Street, I’m going to observe as much of the swarm as I can. So record the scene and record what I say, and we can analyze it all when we get to Haven. I don’t think anyone else will have a trained eye on a swarm going by.”
He nodded. “Is there anything I can do to make us safe in here?”
“Well . . .” Sophie reasoned it out. “They are obviously not organized enough to pick locks, but they are strong and have the added strength of numbers. Few make it up stairs, but in case some do, spray more perfume around the door and erect a barricade.” She cocked her head, listening. “I think we have a few minutes still.”
Jon moved fast. In a few moments, he’d sprayed not only perfume but squeezed lemons around the door sill and crushed cloves of garlic. Then he’d easily moved her immensely heavy Italian madia against the door, then shoved her steel-reinforced Poltrona Frau sofa against it. He’d just slid the sofa tightly against the madia when the noise rose to an unbearable crescendo.
Sophie met his eyes. “They’re here,” she whispered.
Mount Blue Haven
Elle turned away from the holographic monitor, unease in her heart. As always, Nick seemed to have a secret passageway into her thoughts. He held her shoulders in a hard grip.
“I know you’re worried about your friend, and I won’t bullshit you. They’re in a dangerous position. But trust me when I say she’s got the right guy at her side. If it can be done, Jon will get her out and bring her back to you.”
She tried a smile. “Back to us. You’re going to love her.” She turned to everyone in the room. “Catherine, you’re going to love her too. Mac . . . I guess the best I can say is that Mac won’t eat her. Probably.”
Mac gave a low growl.
Nick’s dark face was usually sober, serious, deep lines bracketing his mouth. He rarely smiled and the lines in his face reflected that. He didn’t exactly smile, but his face lightened for a moment. “Mac’s not that bad. I can’t say his bark is worse than his bite because . . . well it’s not. If you’re on his bad side, you’re toast. But we’re on his good side. And of course if she becomes Catherine’s friend, Mac will be putty in her hands, just as he is in yours.”
Elle pulled back, the idea so ludicrous it jolted her. She turned to the huge man by Catherine’s side. He was by any measure a frightening-looking man. Tall, huge, badly scarred, always scowling. “Mac, are you putty in my hands?”
He gave another low growl, offset by his wife’s light laugh. “Certainly.” She patted her husband’s huge shoulder. “He’s a real pussycat.”
Mac rolled his eyes, but his gaze softened when he looked down at his wife. Mac’s devotion to Catherine was obvious to all, even in the short time Elle had been in Haven. She couldn’t resist. “You mean if I asked him to bring me coffee, he would?”
“Now, wait a minute,” Mac began, then stopped when his wife elbowed him in the ribs. They were so encased with muscle, he probably didn’t even feel it. “Yes,” he said through his teeth.
Nick gave a half smile. “Oh yeah. But don’t get too cocky.”
It wasn’t a laughing moment, but Elle gave a choked laugh. “No.” She shook her head. “I will definitely not get too cocky around Mac.”
“Okay.” Catherine clapped her hands. “Elle and I need to get back to the infirmary. Let us know when the raid team gets back with the last of the lab equipment, and we’ll get set up for when Jon and Sophie make it back. General, how many more refugees will there be in the next twenty-four hours?”
“Just call me Snyder, ma’am,” the General said. “We’re in contact with several more communities just in the last hour. We’re setting up a priority list now, based on their supplies and ammo and the number of infected they’re seeing. I reckon we’ll have another two hundred today and maybe four hundred tomorrow.”
“General—Snyder.” Elle turned to the stocky former general. “Factor into your plans that we could ship cases of vaccine perhaps as soon as thirty-six hours from now. At some point, if we get enough of the population vaccinated and enough infected die, we might be able to turn the tide. And if we want to have some kind of basis for afterward, we need people protecting production plants and power plants and hospitals.”
At her words, the men in the room visibly relaxed for a moment. Clearly none of them had thought of an afterward, they were so busy dealing with the present and dangerous emergency.
“Good thinking, Dr. Connolly—”
“Dr. Ross,” Nick growled.
“Dr. Ross. Sorry.” Snyder ran a broad palm over the stubble on his head. “Not thinking straight. But it’s great to know that some people are planning beyond the moment. I’ll pass on the word, give people some hope. Because right now, it’s not looking good.”
“No,” Elle said softly. It wasn’t looking good. Pandora’s box had been opened and monsters had come out. But there had been something hidden at the bottom of Pandora’s box. Something wonderful.
Hope.