get that gun?”
“Under the seat.” Refraining from throwing a duh at her niece, Mavis eyed the eucalyptus. Hanging branches and a profusion of silvery leaves provided a possible hunter’s blind in the middle of the third tree and the sixth tree. Could there be more than one shooter?
Wind gusted through the eucalyptus, stirring the round leaves. Red played peek-a-boo in the waving branches of the sixth tree. There. A child’s fort hidden behind the trees. A perfect place for the sniper to pick off his target. She thumbed off the safety and settled her finger on the trigger.
Leaning forward, Sunnie whispered, “Do you know how to use it?”
“I’m the wife of a Marine.”
“Yeah, but...”
“A Marine doesn’t pull his weapon, unless he is prepared to use it.” To kill. “And that’s the way he teaches his wife.” Cupping the bottom of the Sig Sauer, Mavis aimed for the thickest portion of the sixth tree and noted the curling, brown-tipped leaves. Someone had cut a branch for concealment, and the vegetation was slowly dying.
“Have you ever shot someone?”
Mavis shrugged. In all the years she’d been licensed to carry, she’d never shot anyone. Her husband, Jack, had made certain she’d never needed to.
She might need to now.
“I don’t want to shoot anyone.” That wouldn’t be neighborly. Falling back on her training, she emptied her mind, focused on believing the gun was an extension of her hand. Standing, she kept a bead on the target. “But we need to get home. Mr. Quartermain? It’s Mavis, Mavis Spanner, Jack’s wife.”
“I know who you are.” The voice that answered rose then cracked. A male definitely, but not Mr. Quartermain. This was a kid still in the throes of puberty.
Mavis’s eye twitched. His age might make him reckless, more inclined to shoot. But who was he? She scrolled through a mental index file of all the teenage boys in her neighborhood.
“You’re not welcome here anymore, Mrs. Spanner. You’re infected.”
Mavis’s lips twitched. Mrs. Spanner. There was only one person old fashioned enough to insist his grandson address married ladies properly—Mr. Quartermain. God forbid, she should shoot her neighbor’s only surviving grandchild. But what was his name? Kevin, no. Not a K, but a J sound.
“I can assure you that I’m not infected.”
“You went out in public.” Branches stirred in the breeze, except the ones attached to the fort. “You could be sick.”
“Get in the back seat, Sunnie. Keep low to the floor and away from the windows.” Mavis stepped out from behind the car door and pushed it shut with her hip. Aches rolled through her like the rumble of distant thunder. “The public gathering ban has been lifted. There have been no new influenza infections in months. Look at me. I’m not flushed, feverish, coughing or sneezing. I’m healthy.”
The boy stood up, leaving only his legs concealed behind the hunter’s blind. His thin shoulders and pepperoni pizza acne marked him as a teen. X’s marked the location of the Smiley face’s eyes on his gray tee shirt. “How do you know?”
Mavis took a single step toward the front of the car and the lock. “Everyone should know the symptoms of the influenza by now. But I know about the deaths because I tracked the pandemic for the CDC.” She resisted the urge to cross the fingers of her bottom hand. Sure the Centers for Disease Control had used her information and contagion models, but theirs hadn’t been the signature on her paycheck. “I work as an epidemiologist.”
Not such a big lie. She had before she was let go. Kind of.
Now she protected Sunnie, kept her safe. She mentally winced and kept her grip on the gun steady despite the sweat making her palms slippery. Following a gauntlet into an ambush wasn’t exactly a bang-up protection job.
“You’re the government.” Shaggy brown hair blew into the kid’s eyes as he drew the bow’s string back farther. “You’re responsible for
“Under the seat.” Refraining from throwing a duh at her niece, Mavis eyed the eucalyptus. Hanging branches and a profusion of silvery leaves provided a possible hunter’s blind in the middle of the third tree and the sixth tree. Could there be more than one shooter?
Wind gusted through the eucalyptus, stirring the round leaves. Red played peek-a-boo in the waving branches of the sixth tree. There. A child’s fort hidden behind the trees. A perfect place for the sniper to pick off his target. She thumbed off the safety and settled her finger on the trigger.
Leaning forward, Sunnie whispered, “Do you know how to use it?”
“I’m the wife of a Marine.”
“Yeah, but...”
“A Marine doesn’t pull his weapon, unless he is prepared to use it.” To kill. “And that’s the way he teaches his wife.” Cupping the bottom of the Sig Sauer, Mavis aimed for the thickest portion of the sixth tree and noted the curling, brown-tipped leaves. Someone had cut a branch for concealment, and the vegetation was slowly dying.
“Have you ever shot someone?”
Mavis shrugged. In all the years she’d been licensed to carry, she’d never shot anyone. Her husband, Jack, had made certain she’d never needed to.
She might need to now.
“I don’t want to shoot anyone.” That wouldn’t be neighborly. Falling back on her training, she emptied her mind, focused on believing the gun was an extension of her hand. Standing, she kept a bead on the target. “But we need to get home. Mr. Quartermain? It’s Mavis, Mavis Spanner, Jack’s wife.”
“I know who you are.” The voice that answered rose then cracked. A male definitely, but not Mr. Quartermain. This was a kid still in the throes of puberty.
Mavis’s eye twitched. His age might make him reckless, more inclined to shoot. But who was he? She scrolled through a mental index file of all the teenage boys in her neighborhood.
“You’re not welcome here anymore, Mrs. Spanner. You’re infected.”
Mavis’s lips twitched. Mrs. Spanner. There was only one person old fashioned enough to insist his grandson address married ladies properly—Mr. Quartermain. God forbid, she should shoot her neighbor’s only surviving grandchild. But what was his name? Kevin, no. Not a K, but a J sound.
“I can assure you that I’m not infected.”
“You went out in public.” Branches stirred in the breeze, except the ones attached to the fort. “You could be sick.”
“Get in the back seat, Sunnie. Keep low to the floor and away from the windows.” Mavis stepped out from behind the car door and pushed it shut with her hip. Aches rolled through her like the rumble of distant thunder. “The public gathering ban has been lifted. There have been no new influenza infections in months. Look at me. I’m not flushed, feverish, coughing or sneezing. I’m healthy.”
The boy stood up, leaving only his legs concealed behind the hunter’s blind. His thin shoulders and pepperoni pizza acne marked him as a teen. X’s marked the location of the Smiley face’s eyes on his gray tee shirt. “How do you know?”
Mavis took a single step toward the front of the car and the lock. “Everyone should know the symptoms of the influenza by now. But I know about the deaths because I tracked the pandemic for the CDC.” She resisted the urge to cross the fingers of her bottom hand. Sure the Centers for Disease Control had used her information and contagion models, but theirs hadn’t been the signature on her paycheck. “I work as an epidemiologist.”
Not such a big lie. She had before she was let go. Kind of.
Now she protected Sunnie, kept her safe. She mentally winced and kept her grip on the gun steady despite the sweat making her palms slippery. Following a gauntlet into an ambush wasn’t exactly a bang-up protection job.
“You’re the government.” Shaggy brown hair blew into the kid’s eyes as he drew the bow’s string back farther. “You’re responsible for
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