Grease Monkey [Drunk Monkeys 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 16

  Clara ran a hand through her short hair. “Look, Doc’s not testing blue. That’s all I farking know, okay? I don’t care what symptoms he’s got, the test strips are clear. Most people test blue long before they have symptoms. He went from fine to symptomatic in the space of a few hours. I’m still waiting on some culture and protein test results for things like MRSA, strep, and other things that take a little while to process. But Kite doesn’t work that fast. Q and Sin and Canuck are all scratching their farking heads over this.”

  “But it’s mutating,” Pandora said, her voice sounding haunted. “Kite is mutating. Q said that when we found him in Australia. They were trying to get it to mutate in the lab when the world went tits-up. What if it’s mutated past the ability of the test strips to pick it up? And maybe now it hits a victim faster?”

  Tango draped an arm around her shoulders and cuddled her close to him, his heart breaking for her. He’d been through this on the other end, being the one testing and hoping the strips didn’t turn blue.

  Now he understood what Doc had gone through in Australia while waiting for him to finish his testing.

  “But they were trying to get it to mutate to a less deadly version,” Clara countered. “If so, then that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s finally done that on its own. Like she said, it’s been mutating in the wild. We know that for certain.”

  Everyone went silent. Tango stared at Q before he pushed through the gathered assembly and over to the lead scientist, where he stood near the RV. “Well? Is that the case? Is Doc infected with Kite but the test strips just can’t keep up with the mutations anymore?”

  Tango knew what that meant. Their best chance to stay ahead of the infection in the first place was blown right out the window if some people might be infected with Kite and not test blue.

  “I do not know,” Q said. “I suppose that is a possibility.”

  Tango turned to Papa. “I’m not letting anyone put him down,” he said. “Not unless he’s blue, and even then, not unless he farking tells me to, or we absolutely have to. Okay? Anyone wants to fight me about it, feel free to take a farking number. It’s not happening.”

  “No,” Papa said, sounding far more weary than Tango ever remembered hearing. “No one’s putting anyone down yet. I need you to take lead on proactively restraining him, though. We can’t have him hurting anyone in case he is infected and it goes that way.”

  Tango had expected a fight from their leader to keep Doc alive, not resignation.

  He realized he almost would have preferred the fight.

  “Yeah,” Tango said. “Of course.”

  “And I want you in protective gear. Anyone near him needs gear.”

  “I want to help,” Pandora said, her voice sounding tiny.

  “No,” Papa said. “I want contact limited. Only med staff and Tango go inside that RV, and everyone who does wears full bunny suits and protective gear.”

  “You can help,” Clara said to Pandora, “by not getting sick. You need to stay out here. This will be okay. I feel it.”

  By the end of the night, Doc was worse, his fever high, pain levels increasing, and Clara used ice packs from the RV’s freezer to try to help bring his temp down. They’d shackled him to the bed’s frame, but Doc hadn’t grown delirious or combative. He responded to questions and could talk and reason and follow instructions.

  While everyone tried not to get their hopes up, hope was the only thing they could cling to.

  The only thing keeping them going.

  * * * *

  Niner felt badly for Pandora. None of them wanted any of their brothers—or sisters—to get sick. And they all felt helpless to do anything.

  Earlier, Niner and Roscoe had left Dolce back at camp and gone on a recon mission with Alpha, Omega, and Mark to the meeting place where they’d take out Macaletto. By necessity, it had to take place a few miles from their location to prevent anyone from finding them. It also needed to be outside the main urban area, where they’d have cover and escape routes.

  Fortunately, they had scouted the perfect ambush location on the west side of Glendale, south of Old Burbank. Dolce, with her sniper skills, would go on the actual mission with them once it was arranged.

  When they returned and reported their findings, Papa arranged, via Bubba, the details with Arliss. Arliss would let them contact Macaletto directly on the burner cell, but he was apprised of the situation.

  And he would make sure official channels didn’t look too hard for Macaletto after the fact. Hopefully, by the next evening, their other known mole would no longer be an issue.

  It would be a desperately needed morale boost in light of Doc’s struggle against his unknown biological assailant.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Early the next morning, hours before dawn, Papa rousted everyone going on the mission to take out Macaletto. After that happened, depending on Doc’s condition, they would try to leave the LA area as soon as possible.

  Dolce felt torn between wanting one last chance at finding her friends before moving on, and not wanting to abandon the new friends she had in Pandora, Clara, and Ak.

  Especially since Pandora needed all the moral support she could get while Doc battled whatever it was he’d been afflicted with.

  Pandora settled the matter for her. “You can’t do anything here right now. There’s a mission that needs…missioning. Or whatever the fark it is they call it. Go.” She hugged Dolce. “Either Doc’s going to get better, or he won’t. Meanwhile, life has to go on. We need that fucking mole taken out.”

  “You’re a trooper,” Roscoe told Pandora, pulling her in for a hug. “And so’s Doc. He’ll kick this thing in the ass. I know he will.”

  “Yeah, well, kick Macaletto’s ass for me, will ya? I want y’all to come back with some good news for me for a change.”

  “How are you going to bait him?” Dr. Perkins asked Alpha. “Isn’t he going to expect to see me?”

  Papa answered. “He has no idea what you sound like on the phone. They’ll put Dolce on. She’ll pretend to be you. Not like he’s going to be asking any chemistry questions.”

  Dolce smirked. “Gee, thanks.”

  Papa scrubbed his face with his hands. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. Just busting your balls. Sir,” she added.

  He laughed. “Screw that sir shit. I’ll take my nineteen guys over you ladies. No offense, but the four of you together—correction, five—put the fear of god into me.”

  “You admit to a few castrations,” Clara said with a smile, “and suddenly everyone thinks you’re vicious.”

  Mark would go with them for logistics and backup. He could drive any of the vehicles and be ready for them in case things went badly.

  He’d also have a secure sat-linked tablet to get them updated information regarding roads, pockets of violence, and looting, in case anything had changed since their recon the day before.

  They were taking three vehicles. Mark started off riding in the lead with Alpha, Omega, and Echo. Lima and Quack were bringing up the rear, while Dolce, Niner, and Roscoe rode in the middle car.

  As they wound their way through devastated neighborhoods in the pre-dawn darkness, Dolce didn’t hold much hope of their apartment building, which was in an even more heavily damaged area, having survived the quake. It was sturdy, and had a newer-style reinforced stairwell, but so far she’d counted few buildings over four stories that had survived relatively unscathed, and they were all newer than their apartment building.

  When dawn broke with a nasty brownish grey tinge to the light, she couldn’t see the iconic buildings of the downtown district, between the smog and the smoke lying in a thick blanket over the city, but she imagined the devastation to the high-rises there was unimaginable. Sitting in the backseat, she kept her fingers wrapped around the AR-269 rifle that Alpha had given her and a keen eye on their surroundings. She liked the nine millimeter she had tucked under her shirt, but she knew if they hit a crowd, only something like t
he carbine in her hands would help save their asses.

  They saw few other private vehicles on the roads, mostly police, fire, and military vehicles from the National Guard.

  “How much farther?” she asked after an hour. She hated feeling exposed like this, hated the way some people stopped and watched them drive by. She imagined they probably wondered why anyone in their right mind who wasn’t in a military vehicle would head toward the chaos.

  Dolce wondered that herself.

  A lot of people were carrying plastic bags or boxes, or towing rolling suitcases, even pushing liberated grocery carts filled with belongings. Everyone seemed to be heading east, away from the coast and the worst of the fires. The National Guard and local authorities were urging residents to head toward central evacuation points where they’d be taken out of the area. If people had transportation, they were being directed up the 15 to a large tent city being erected in Barstow.

  “Not long,” Roscoe said. He was consulting a tablet while Niner drove. “We’re getting close to Griffith Park now.”

  “That’s where we’re meeting him?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  She blinked. “Crap.”

  “What?” Roscoe asked.

  “That’s close to Glendale, right?”

  “Just to the west of it. We’re skirting the north edge of Glendale to get there.”

  She motioned for the radio. He handed it over, and she called Mark. “Hey, when we’re done, can we try to make a side stop?”

  “I’m already ahead of you,” he told her. “I found out where the CTSC facility is. We’ll go there after we nail this fucker. I’m sorry, but we didn’t have time to scout it yesterday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  She returned the radio to Roscoe, her gaze quickly darting from his. She was afraid the concern she saw in his sweet brown eyes might make her start crying.

  He wasn’t always an asshole. And it was those times that melted her heart and made any aggravation worth it.

  She chided herself for her emotional weakness. Definitely not the time, place, or situation to be doing that kind of wussy crap.

  “Don’t lose hope,” Roscoe softly said.

  She shrugged. She already had, but she appreciated the stupid lug for making an effort to be comforting. It touched her, especially knowing him the way she did now.

  The positive side to this being at least I know how he feels about me. Both of them.

  She had no doubts whatsoever.

  He turned to face the front again, leaving her the freedom to take a long, deep breath in an attempt to clear out her emotional cobwebs. They were on a mission, and she had a job to do. On the floor was a case holding an Askers 852 sniper rifle, complete with scope. Damn fine gun.

  She was looking forward to taking out this asshole for the men.

  Her men.

  No, she hadn’t been in Australia or Hawaii or Mexico with the others, but based on what Clara and Pandora had told her, this fucker deserved to die.

  Especially if he was working with whoever was responsible for infecting Ak’s brother with Kite.

  “What time is he meeting us here?” she asked as they drew closer to the hilly area.

  “He doesn’t know yet,” Niner said. “We’re going to wait to tell him until we’ve scoped out the area again and taken our positions.”

  “How do we know he’ll show up?”

  “Because Arliss has given him explicit orders to bring Riley Perkins in.”

  “Ah. But he’s a mole.”

  “Yeah, but he knows if he doesn’t follow his orders in this case, he’ll be outing himself,” Roscoe said. “He can’t claim the contact can’t reach him, because Arliss is supposedly the one in touch with the contact.”

  “You sound pretty sure of yourselves.”

  “Bubba’s been monitoring Macaletto’s conversations,” Niner said. “Macaletto’s only had one off-the-reservation call, to someone we suspect is in Reverend Silo’s organization. He told whoever it was that once he had Riley Perkins in hand, he’d contact them with a plan. So he wants Perkins regardless.”

  “How can we be sure Macaletto doesn’t suspect a setup?”

  “We can’t,” Roscoe said. “That’s why we’re getting here early, settling in, and giving him the bare minimum of time to get here. He won’t have time to call in backup.”

  “So we’re ambushing him?”

  “You have a problem with that?” Roscoe asked.

  She thought about Doc, who might not make it. The pained look on Pandora’s face as she was forced to observe from a distance. “No, I’m totally good with that. I just wanted to make sure I understood the plan.”

  “While winging him and questioning him would be ideal,” Roscoe said, “we’re fine with an outright kill shot. I don’t think he’d talk even if we tortured him.”

  “No problem.”

  Over a hundred years ago, the place had been a fairly popular recreation area, complete with a zoo, golf course, even a cemetery. But over the years, nature had reclaimed much of the area, especially once economic catastrophes had limited most people’s discretionary spending, and earthquakes had damaged and closed the old zoo.

  While still used by some campers, it was mostly an island of hilly woods in the middle of the smog-encrusted valley. By eight o’clock, they’d chosen their spot and were ready. She picked herself a rocky outcropping nestled among a pile of brush and obscured from the air by rocks and trees. When she set up the sniper rifle, she had a clear shot all the way down the side of the hill.

  There’d be nowhere for Macaletto to hide from the direction he’d have to approach, nothing large enough for him to take cover behind.

  Perfect.

  Mark, Lima, and Niner stayed with the vehicles while the others spread out. The men with the vehicles each positioned themselves around the site on various trails and old park roads so that they could run to any of them for a fast getaway. There were too many tall trees here for Macaletto to risk landing a chopper on top of them. He’d have to come in on foot from below to reach who he thought was Riley Perkins.

  They had a planned rendezvous point nearby, in case Macaletto brought more people than they expected.

  But they all doubted that would happen. Arliss would nix any plans for him to do anything but grab a chopper pilot and go alone.

  Alpha made the phone call to Macaletto and put Dolce on the phone, ready with her lines.

  “Hello?” she said when Macaletto answered, “Are you the man General Arliss told me about?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you worry, I’m going to meet you and bring you in to safety.”

  She told him where she was, how to find her, exactly as they’d arranged. “I’m really frightened. It’s horrible. The earthquake, the riots, everything. I decided to hide out here last night and camp. Please, you’ve got to help me! I can’t risk leaving here. It’s too dangerous. A man who helped me get here said I have to stay here. If you don’t come by noon, he and his family will meet me here with horses and take me north with them.”

  “No, you need to stay there. I’ll be there.”

  Before he could argue further, she feigned fear, dropping her voice. “Hurry! I have to go and shut off my phone. I’m going to hide, I hear someone coming.”

  She ended the call. When he called back immediately, she punched the end button again. He would assume she’d already shut the phone off.

  “How was that?” she asked.

  Alpha took the phone back. “Good. I’ll go plant this in case he tries to track it.” He put it in a plastic baggy and headed down the slope to hide it in her line of sight.

  Roscoe stayed with her as the others spread out to wait.

  She refined her aim. They’d seen no one in the park that morning, having chosen a more remote section than the average person would likely be using following riots and an earthquake.

  Recreation wasn’t exactly on anyone’s mind right now, and with
a lack of potable drinking water, or even an irrigation source, it wasn’t the kind of area someone could easily retreat to and camp.

  As they waited, the morning growing hotter with each passing minute, Dolce checked and rechecked the sniper rifle, her positioning, that the tripod was secure—everything.

  A few minutes before nine, Roscoe reached out and touched her, pressing a finger to his lips.

  In the distance, the distinctive burr of a helo’s blades cutting through the thick air.

  Military. She knew it just from the sound. She’d heard enough of them.

  They couldn’t see around the ridge to the south and east where it sounded like the helo landed, just where they’d predicted he would, in a flat, grassy field once used for soccer near an old parking area down the hill.

  They’d left the way easy and open for him, a clearly defined trail winding around and up from that area to where they’d hidden themselves.

  She hunkered down, eye to the scope.

  It felt like hours, but was only minutes, as they waited.

  Down at the very bottom of the slope she spotted movement as someone came into sight.

  Next to her, Roscoe put a pair of binoculars to his eyes before giving her a silent thumbs-up. He’d seen pictures of Macaletto and could positively ID him. That was their prearranged signal, meaning she was clear to take the shot as soon as she knew she had it.

  Going after him too soon would be bad. She waited until the man advanced up the slope, and it was then she realized he carried something in his hand.

  Likely some sort of tracker device, if she had to guess.

  Sure enough, he diverted from the trail and headed right to where Alpha had hidden the phone.

  She took a couple of slow, deep breaths and let the world fade away around her as she lined up the shot. The man had his head down over the device he was focused on and was about fifty feet from the phone when she let out one last breath and squeezed the trigger.