Toward the Brink (Book 3) by Craig A. McDonough Page B

road.”
    “Did you check the motor home?”
    “First thing. I locked it before, but I double checked. It’s still locked.”
    The Tall Man’s concern was that Holmes would get hold of a weapon; he’d need some protection, and sooner rather than later. But in his urgency he probably hadn’t wanted to risk the time or the noise associated with breaking into the motor home.
    “I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on my own without a weapon when night comes.” The Tall Man sat Etheridge’s body against the wall.
    Elliot stood and looked through the open door. Horrific images of the carnage at the airport filled his mind. “Yeah, I’d want a fuckin Minigun if I were on my own!”
    “After what we saw last night, do you think you could hold enough ammo?”
    Elliot acknowledged the Tall Man’s remark with a rise of his eyebrows and a nod. It would be impossible to carry that much ammunition.
    “How did he…”
    “Kill him?”
    “Yeah.” Strange as it was, Elliot found it difficult to ask even after all the death and destruction he’d witnessed.
    “Snapped his neck. Clean move, from behind,” the Tall Man explained in a clinical manner. “It’s a move that Holmes would be familiar with.”
    A strange, almost disappointed look came to Elliot’s face, and the Tall Man stared questioningly at him.
    “What’s wrong? What’s on your mind?”
    “You know,” Elliot began, “it’s pointless now, when our real concern is survival, but I wanted to see if he knew why or how the damn foamers are still, well, y’know.”
    “Yeah, moving.”
    “Exactly! I wanted to know. If they’re dead, why or how this is possible? And if they’re not dead, how much longer are they expected to remain in this condition before they succumb to it—if they ever will?”
    “Well, all I can tell you, Elliot, is that Holmes and his people probably didn’t know either. Their plan backfired, and—judging by the fact they fled as well—in a big way. Whatever pathogen they created must have mutated, or perhaps they weren’t fully cognizant of its potential. Who knows? I doubt we ever will. But let’s not put our energy into that. We’ve got some travel ahead of us, and that’s all we need to concern ourselves with.”
    “Yeah, you’re right, Chuck. I just thought … well, yeah.” Elliot left it at that. Maybe later he could revisit the question, or even find an answer. But getting to a safe environment was, as the Tall Man had emphasized, the one and only priority right now.
    They had the rest of the day and one night to get through before they could leave. Surely that wouldn’t be too difficult.

6
    E lliot and the Tall Man stood in front of the porch ready to greet Mulhaven and crew on their return. They had heard the sound of vehicles from inside the cellar and quickly organized themselves. The armed soldiers who had stayed behind hid behind some trees or the motor home, and the Secret Service agents were just inside the house armed with AR-15s. They watched as the Hummer and, of greater interest, the bus came up the road.
    Their arrival was expected, but the group at the house had no way of knowing whether armed looters had attacked Mulhaven and his team and forced them at gunpoint to drive back to Kath’s, or even if Holmes had gotten the jump on them. They weren’t sure until the Hummer passed the last of the pines that lined the driveway; once Mulhaven’s deadpan features were visible in the passenger seat next to Chess, they relaxed.
    “I see you caught yourself a Greyhound. ” The Tall Man was pleased with the results, but more pleased to see Mulhaven and crew back in one piece.
    “Yep. We tried a few places but came up empty, until we found the Greyhound depot. Filled it with diesel, the Hummer with gas, and brought some extra back for the motor home.”
    “That’s great news, Riley. Looks a real beaut, too!” Elliot also was relieved to see everyone return.
    “If you think the bus is something special,