Page 2 of Until the End

Bulletproof but not spike-proof. That’s not good.

“Christ! What do we do?” Roger yelled, the 9mm shaking in his hand.

Saying a quick prayer, Jessica fumbled for her cell phone. They needed help. Right now! But the cops were already on the way, so who to call?

“They’re going to get in!” Roger waved his gun wildly at the figures on the other side of the windshield. “Jess, we’ve got to do something.”

The engine of the vehicle in front of them revved. The safety glass splintered into a mass of spiderweb cracks around the steel prongs.

Jessica’s heart lurched. Panic swelled. She dialed 911, her fingers moving on instinct.

The windshield began to buckle, the safety film still holding together.

“Oh, fuck!” Roger opened fire.

Bullets ricocheted around the cabin. Searing heat bit into Jessica’s side, tearing through her belly while her ears rang from the percussion of the shots. She dropped the phone and gripped her stomach. Hot blood seeped through her fingers. “I’m…I’m hit.”

The windshield popped out of the frame. Something whizzed into the cabin and clattered to the footwell. A deafening bang and a startling flash battered the confined space.

The world turned stark white. A great roaring silence filled her ears. She grabbed her head, disoriented, her senses swimming, just as someone dragged her out of the truck cabin and onto the cold pavement.

Pain exploded in her side and nausea climbed up her throat.

The man pressed something to her wound and patted her cheek with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry.” Not a man. A woman’s voice rose over the fading high-pitched hum in Jessica’s ears.

The back doors of their armored vehicle were hoisted open. Two people climbed inside.

Jessica shifted her head, looking underneath the truck. Roger was facedown on the ground, his wrists cuffed behind his back. Another individual stood near him.

“You weren’t supposed to have guns, Jessica,” the woman said.

They knew her name. How?

The woman took Jessica’s weapon and tossed it. “No one was supposed to die.”

Die! “I c-can’t die.” She was only forty. Too young to die.

“Yankee?” the woman called to the tall, broad-shouldered man stepping out of the truck, a metal container in his hands. “Did we get it?”

“Smallpox, anthrax, and Z-1984,” Yankee said. “How bad is she?”

“The bullet punctured her liver. The blood is black.”

“Sierra, leave her,” Yankee said and turned. “Whiskey, Victor, blow the trucks.”

“The pain will end soon,” Sierra said. Then she was gone from sight.

That thought wasn’t reassuring. Pain was good. It meant Jess was still alive. Where were the cops and ambulance?

Explosions rocked the night. Twin fireballs burst from the Mack trucks, painting the darkness red and orange. Heat licked her face but failed to warm her body.

She was so cold. Bile flooded her mouth. A growing numbness crept up her side as fear choked her, twisting her heart.

Still no sirens. Hope fled. The bloodcurdling realization sank in that she was going to die on this godforsaken road…all because someone wanted to steal the deadliest biotech ever created.

* * *

Washington, DC