Page 40 of Ember Rising

He lifts his face and locks his gaze on mine. I flinch and look away, his sunken eyes, sweaty brow and hairline confirming it.

“You have to lock me in here, Van.” He groans, having a hard time keeping himself from falling out of the chair. “Chain the doors. Grover and Deb are—” He coughs, the deep hacking sound hitting me like a punch to the gut.

This might be all it takes for me to get it, too. I might be signing my own death sentence just by standing here.

Theo pulls his white T-shirt up from the bottom, using it to cover his face as he coughs. When he finally releases it, it’s covered in blood. He’s panting and shaking.

“They’re on the way,” he manages. “The Secretary of—” He stops to get a breath. “Agriculture is next. Get the file from⁠—”

“I know where it is.” I swallow against the emotion rising in my throat. “What do you need?”

“Need you to ... get the fuck out of here.”

The thick rasp in his voice means fluid is already gathering in his lungs. This fucking virus works fast.

I close my eyes, fighting to maintain control. Theo took me aside a few years ago and asked me to be his number two. If he fell during a mission, I’d assume command. If we were in a situation where he was injured and getting him out was impossible, I’d pull the trigger.

That’s why I can’t get any closer to him right now. I can’t bring him water or medicine. Can’t even put a hand on the shoulder of the man who’s family to me as he’s dying.

The mission comes first. Especially now, when both humanity and civilization are on the line.

“I love you, Theo.” I somehow manage to get the words out. “Rest easy.”

“Got my breath mint.” He hacks into his shirt again.

Suicide pills aren’t issued by the military anymore, but on some missions, we all have one in a tiny case, safely stored in a zipped pocket. We call them breath mints since they’re technically against the rules.

None of us have ever considered taking one. At least, I don’t think so. It’s good that Theo has his now, though. All accounts I’ve heard of people dying from the virus are brutal. At least he won’t suffer.

“Lock ... the door,” he says through coughs. “Go.”

I close the door, putting up my emotional barrier. This used to be our squad meeting room, but everything’s different now. I’m in the field, and feelings have no place here. They endanger my squad.

There’s a supply room at the end of the hallway, where I grab a can of spray paint. We don’t have any chains, and even if we did, there’s nothing to secure them to.

So I improvise. I shake the can of paint and spray a large X on the door, which is how we signify that the virus is inside a place. Then I drag a desk and a bookcase out from a nearby office and use them to barricade the door.

It’s not necessary. Theo’s probably already gone, and he’d never come out here and endanger others, anyway. But I told him I’d do it, and I keep my promises.

“What the fuck are you doin’, Van?”

I turn away from the wall, where I was leaning on a hand, getting my thoughts together. My squadmate Deb is walking toward me, strapped with weapons and scowling.

Deb’s our squad mom—if our squad mom liked Metallica, chewing tobacco and never fucking the same person twice. As a woman, she had to work harder than the rest of us to earn her spot here. The physical standards are the same, but like everywhere, there are men in military leadership who don’t think women belong on the front lines.

Deb never complained, though. She’s thirty-five, and she’s as strong as ever. When our squadmate Erickson got shot in an op last year, Deb carried most of his gear for the rest of the mission.

“Theo’s got the virus,” I say.

“Well, fucking shit.” Deb shakes her head. “Grover left to be with his wife and kids.”

My shoulders slump with a heavy sigh. That means he’s as good as dead, too. He knew his son was sick and would likely spread the virus to his wife and daughter, and his wife was adamant that he not come home and get it, too.

“I get it,” I say.

Tony Grover is a good man, and his family is everything to him. He’s been a mess in the few days since learning the virus made its way into his home.

We had some recurring conversations on our many long flights to and from ops, usually while strapped into wall seats in airplane cargo holds. One of them was about whether having a family at home made us better or worse at our jobs.