The Final Cut (The Infection Book 3) by Craig DiLouie

Author:Craig DiLouie [DiLouie, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ZING Communications, Inc.
Published: 2021-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

LOCKWOOD

The Humvee rumbles along the outskirts of Frederick, passing a community pool somebody drained for the water. Next to a wrought-iron fence bordering a weedy cemetery, Ruggieri and Quill stop to set up their James Bond gear.

They’re trained signalmen, a military profession that at one time engaged in military intelligence, but the mission changed over the years. At the time of Infection, they were more like the Army’s IT department, building and managing communications and info systems enabling command and control of armed forces. Now, deep in the Infection era, they struggle to keep the brass in touch with their military while monitoring friendly comms traffic across a broken America to gain a realistic sense of what’s going on.

Not today, though. Today, they’re back in intelligence. Scouts.

Kurt steels his nerve in the backseat while the soldiers enter a nearby building and climb up onto the roof. Quill waves down at him to let him know they made it. The soldiers first set up a radar-based surveillance sensor on a tripod, which can detect any moving object within twelve miles, give or take. Next, they warm up a gadget consisting of a long-range camera, laser range finder, and thermal imager, which lets them see what’s coming, tells them how far away it is, and provides a thermal signature.

“You reading me, Knockwood?” Ruggieri on the radio.

Kurt leans into the front of the Humvee to grab the handset and respond. “One of these days, I’m going to come up with a crap nickname for you too.”

A snort. “I’m in the Army, Doc. Far better men than you have beat you to it. Call me Rugrat anytime you like.”

“What about Quill?”

“We call him Nyquil. On account he’s boring as fuck and puts us all to sleep.” Quill protests in the background.

Despite his black mood, Kurt finds himself chuckling. “All right. I guess I can’t improve on those.”

“Now that we got the introductions out of the way, we got contact. Two foot-mobiles, around two hundred yards out due east. Probably a team manning a guard tower.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t follow you.”

Kurt sighs. “Are they adults or kids?”

“Uh, yeah. I think one might be a kid.”

“Then you can forget it. Find me somebody else.” He still has that much soul left.

“Roger that.”

They drove close to the Golden Mile, a big business district straddling Route 40 on the western approach to the city. Numerous restaurants, shopping malls, and groceries bordered the roadway. The militias and survivalist types couldn’t have looted everything. There might be people there, coming or going.

That was the going theory, anyway. It beat getting shot trying to cross the barricades to get downtown.

“New contacts,” Ruggieri says. “Three foot-mobiles, three hundred yards, out in the open, one o’clock. All adults.”

Kurt waits until his impatience mounts. “And?”

“And start hoofing it. I’ll guide you in as best I can once you’re close. They seem to be heading west.”

“All right. Give me plenty of lead so I can set up.”

“Roger that,” Ruggieri answers. “Meaning I’ll try my best. We’ve got a good vantage point up here, but this gear ain’t like in the spy movies.

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