Year One (Chronicles of The One #1)(14)

“She’s totally cute. Why don’t you set me up with her?”

“Happy to. Give me your address and I’ll bring her right to you.”

He gave her that grin again. “Wish I could, but the walls have ears. The fucking air has them. Your friendly neighborhood hacker needs his Batcave.”

“Batman wasn’t friendly, he was a brilliant psycho. And Spider-Man didn’t have a cave.”

He gave her a cackling chuckle. “Only another reason I’m your biggest fan. You can school me on superheroes. Favorite report you read this morning?”

“The one about the naked woman riding a unicorn in SoHo.”

“Man, I’d love to see a naked woman, with or without unicorn. It’s been awhile.”

“I’m not stripping down for you, Chuck. Not even for the buzz you’re going to give me.”

“We’re pals, Arlys. Pals don’t require naked.”

“So, what’s the buzz?”

The grin faded away. “You caught today’s tally?”

“Yeah.” Both the Times and the Post ran a daily updated total of reported deaths. “We’ve topped a billion by five hundred million, three hundred twenty-two thousand, four hundred and sixteen.”

“That’s the official count for the media. The real count’s more than two.”

Her heart jumped. “More than two billion? Where’d you get that number?”

“I’ve gotta keep that under the vest. But it’s real, Arlys, and it’s going up a lot faster than the people in charge of this clusterfuck are saying.”

“But … Jesus God, Chuck, that’s nearly a third of the world population. A third of the world population wiped out in weeks?” Sick, she scribbled the number down. “And that doesn’t count the murders, the suicides, the people killed in crashes, fires, stampedes, the ones who’ve died of exposure.”

“It’s going to get worse, Arlys. In the saga of revolving POTUS? Carnegie’s out.”

“Define ‘out.’”

“Dead.” He rubbed his eyes, a pale and cagey blue in a lightly freckled face. “They swore in the new one about two this morning. Secretary of Agriculture—the ones ahead of her already hit by the Doom. Fucking farm lady is now running what’s left of the free world. If you report that, the jackboots are going to come kicking down your door.”

“Yeah. I’ll kill the comp like you told me if I decide to go on air with it. Agriculture.” She had to flip back through notes to the list she’d made. “She was eighth in line.”

As she spoke Arlys crossed out those who came between, and saw she’d already crossed out several following.

“If she doesn’t make it, we’re down to the Secretary of Education, and after him, there’s nobody left.”

“Honeypot, the government’s finished. Not just here, all over hell and back again. It’s a hell of a way to get rid of asshole dictators, but it’s a way. North Korea, Russia—”

“Wait. Kim Jong-un? He’s dead? When?”

“Two weeks ago. They’re claiming he’s alive, but that’s bogus. You can take it to the bank. If there’s still one open. But that’s not the biggest buzz. It mutated, Arlys. Carnegie—POTUS for a day? Well, three days. He had sores, sores broke out all over his body—and inside delicate orifices—before he showed the expected symptoms of the Doom. He was sealed tight, under watch twenty-four-seven, tested three times a day, and it still got him.”

“If it’s mutated…”

“Back to the drawing board with two billion plus and counting. But here’s the big boom: They don’t know what the fuck it is. The bird flu line? It’s bullshit.”

“What do you mean?” Arlys demanded. “They identified the strain. Patient Zero—”

“It’s bullshit, Arlys. The dead guy in Brooklyn, maybe. But the Doom ain’t no bird flu. Birds aren’t infected. They’ve been testing chickens and pheasants, and all kinds of our feathered friends, and nothing. And four-legged animals? They’re just fine and just dandy. It’s just humans. Just people.”

Her throat wanted to close, but she forced out the words. “Biological warfare? Terrorism.”

“No buzz on that, just nada, and you bet your fine ass they’ve been looking. Whatever the hell it is, nobody’s ever seen it before. What’s left of the powers-that-be? They’re lying, falling back on the let’s-not-cause-panic bullshit. Well, fuck that. Panic’s here.”

“If they can’t identify the virus, they can’t create a vaccine.”

“Bingo.” Chuck shot up a finger, made a check mark in the air. “They’ve got another route, and it doesn’t inspire confidence. I’m hearing chatter about military roundups, pulling people who are—so far—asymptomatic out of their homes, and taking them to places like Raven Rock, Fort Detrick. They’ve set up checkpoints, and they’re doing neighborhood sweeps, closing off urban areas. If you plan to get out of New York, sugarcake, do it soon.”

“Who’d report the news?” But her stomach clenched. “And how would I talk to you every day?”

“I figure I’ve got time before they come knocking, and I’ve got an escape hatch. If you use this, Arlys, no shitting around, get gone. Get supplies you can carry and get out of the city. Don’t fuck around.”