Page 6 of Deadly Strain

She came to a stop, closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly three times. Having an aneurism now would not be good, but her racing pulse didn’t seem to be listening.

Too damn bad. Time to work.

Grace pulled on her bio-suit and her equipment pack.

Altogether, she carried fifty pounds of additional supplies.

She wasn’t going to whine. Sharp and the rest of his team each carried at least one hundred pounds of weapons, ammunition, and survival gear.

Grace headed toward the area of the base where air support landed and found Sharp coming toward her.

He looked her over, taking in her holstered sidearm, pack, and bio-suit. He appeared to take note of everything in one glance, his nod satisfied as he turned to walk with her to the base’s landing pad.

Really? He was checking her gear like she didn’t know what to bring? The time was coming when she was going to have to knock some sense into big ol’ papa bear Sharp.

Commander Cutter was helping to load the helicopter and giving last-minute orders to the other team members accompanying them.

When she approached the bird, he pulled her aside and yelled in her ear, “When it comes to the source of what killed those villagers, you’re in charge. If the situation changes and it becomes necessary to bug out of there, you do whatever Sharp and Leonard tell you. Got that?” Cutter pulled back to look her straight in the eyes. “Sharp’s got one job on this mission and that’s to keep you alive so you can figure out this shit. Don’t make it difficult for him.”

“Sharp is teaching me to play chess,” she told Cutter. “I can’t let anyone kill him untilafterI’ve beaten him at least once.”

Cutter looked at her like she’d lost her mind, shook his head and pointed at the helicopter.

She took it as an order to get on board.

The bird was cramped with gear and men, but Sharp had a jump seat for her smack-dab in the middle of the aircraft. She stowed her backpack under her feet and buckled up. Leonard flashed a hand signal to the pilot, and they lifted off.

The helicopter shook like an alcoholic drying out for the first time. The vibration always did something funky to her stomach. There wasn’t anything she could do until they landed except hang on to the bottom of the jump seat and talk her guts into some kind of truce.

Sharp nudged her arm a few times, and she glanced at him. He gave her the universal thumbs-up and down hand waggle to ask how she was feeling.

She would have liked to flip him a bird, but she’d have to let go of the seat, so she stuck her tongue out at him.

He shook his head at her, but left her alone to suffer in relative silence. Or as silent as it got on a giant, vibrating, flying washing machine. The landscape outside the helicopter flashed by in muted browns, beiges and creams. A rolling, rocky, ravenous country that had devoured invaders for centuries.

An entire village this time.

How many more would die?

She didn’t bother trying to count the minutes; it wouldn’t do her any good, and it might even make her feel worse, so she let herself fall into an uncomfortable doze. It was a trick she’d learned to do during residency when she often had to work thirty-six-hour shifts. It didn’t matter where she rested her head: a desk, a gurney, even sitting up with her head jammed in a corner. She could sleep anywhere for about twenty minutes.

The next thing she knew, Sharp was shaking her arm.

Grace opened her eyes and looked around. They were descending into a dry valley, mountains all around.

As the helicopter landed, she could see low buildings—some wood, some stone—and a few soldiers waiting for them.

They weren’t wearing full bio-suits, just full-faced breathing masks.

The team disembarked, Grace in the middle of the pack, the safest spot.

The helicopter took off as soon as the last man was away.

As soon as it was far enough away for them to talk with the first soldiers on scene, she said, “I’m Dr. Samuels, the on-site bug expert, and this is my team.” She gestured at Sharp and the men ranged on either side. “We received a very short summary of what happened.” If you could call Colonel Marshall’s angry two-line description any kind of explanation. “Can you run us through it again?”

“Ma’am,” one of the soldiers said with a salute. Must be the patrol’s leader. The mask partially obscured his face and muffled his voice. “We arrived at zero-four-thirty. It was still dark, so we weren’t concerned when we didn’t see anyone at first.”

“At first?” Her breathing ground to a halt. “When did you realize there was a problem?”

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