Page 41 of Ember Rising

Half of us, which included me and Deb, were single and didn’t have kids. We said it made us sharper and more focused on the mission.

But Theo, who had a wife and three kids, said he was nothing before he met Terri. He said his family was his reason for everything he did, even breathing. Knowing what they’d go through if he didn’t come home made him sharper than those of us without a partner and kids could ever understand, he said.

It’s too much to comprehend, knowing all of them are gone now. The kids we saw pictures of and the wives we heard stories about. All dead or dying.

The government has carefully planned responses to disasters like the virus, but everything’s crumbling far faster than anyone thought possible. We’re down to radio communication, and every time we get a new president sworn in from the line of succession, they’re dead from the virus within twenty-four hours.

Our team has been in the field, not allowed to return to our homes, since the original president died nine days ago. And now it’s just me and Deb.

“We have to get the ag secretary,” I say. “Bring as much ammo as you can.”

“It’s still a shit show out there,” she says. “The Capitol steps are so covered in blood and bodies that Team Five had to reroute.”

I radio our command and tell them we’re about to move, not giving any details. People are desperate. They think we’re hoarding resources, including an antidote for the virus. In reality, none of our emergency planning accounted for almost everyone dying in a matter of weeks.

The next person in the line of presidential succession is Andrea Zimmerman, the secretary of agriculture. She’s sequestered in an FBI safe house, and we need to get her secured so she can be sworn in.

The White House is just a shell of what it was. Once the virus started spreading there, the agents charged with keeping it safe couldn’t hold it. DC is quickly becoming a massive graveyard.

Deb coughs and I look up from the gun I’m double-checking. She’s cringing while holding a lit cigarette, holding the smoke in her lungs.

“You don’t smoke, Deb.”

“I quit ten years ago, and I miss it every day. I don’t think I’m gonna live long enough to worry about lung cancer.”

“Put it out. We need to roll.”

The halls of the building are quiet as we walk to a back exit, passing another door marked with an X. This place is usually full of people.

“We goin’ on foot?” Deb asks.

“Yep.”

We have to. The roads are covered with dead bodies and debris from looting. If the rest of the country looks anything like DC, we’re fucked. There’s no more cell service or television news, so no one really knows.

“Let’s fuckin’ do this, kid,” Deb says, stubbing her cigarette out on the wall.

I’m only eight years younger than she is, but Deb has always called everyone in our squad “kid,” other than Theo.

I put on my full-face respirator and helmet. It’s been more than a week since I took my bulletproof vest off. There hasn’t been time for a shower.

Deb gets her respirator in place and gives me a thumbs-up. I lead the way out of the building, checking all directions.

A car is fully engulfed in flames a few hundred feet away. There’s a pickup truck down the block, someone in the back of it waving an American flag.

People have tried to kill us for these masks. I want to get where we’re going as quickly as possible. There are FBI agents there who will help us get the ag secretary to her swearing-in location.

I’m on point, my weapon pointed ahead as I scan for threats. I hear Deb fire her gun behind me, but I don’t turn because I know she’s good.

My squad trains and drills when we’re not on ops. We’ve spent thousands of hours running through all possible scenarios. I know how Deb will respond to things as well as I know how I will.

Running is our best shot. People are seeing us now, most of them just watching. My mask is fogging up as I run, but I can still see well enough.

A hard ping on my helmet makes me slow down. Fuck. That was a bullet.

Another bullet ricochets on the sidewalk in front of me. From the angle, I can tell someone’s firing from above.

I turn to make sure Deb’s still right behind me, and then I break into a full sprint. The building’s not far—maybe another third of a mile.