Extinction Machine

Chapter Ninety-nine

House of Jack Ledger

Near Robinwood, Maryland

Sunday, October 20, 9:06 p.m.

I was floored. I felt like the biggest horse’s ass in the world. And I felt a stabbing sadness that drove its wicked point all the way through me.

“Junie, I—”

She put her fingertips to my mouth.

“Please,” she said. “There’s not a lot to say. I’ve been over the shock of it for weeks. I’ve made my peace and I know that once I transition out of here then a lot of things will be better for me. No more pain. No more fear.” Her eyes were bright with tears, and with calm dignity, Junie put her wig back on and adjusted it. She gave me a small smile. “It’s really my hair,” she said. “I had it cut off and made into a wig before I started the radiation. Vain, I know, but we all have our flaws.”

“There are no medical records…” Church began.

“I know. I have friends all over. One of the perks of being a player in the conspiracy theory field is you get to meet a lot of people who know how to keep a secret. I pay cash for all of my treatments and there’s a place in Philadelphia where I can get those treatments without using my real name.”

I closed my fingers around her hand, pulled it away from my mouth but didn’t let it go. She allowed me to hold her hand, and even gave me a small reassuring squeeze. That nearly broke my heart. She, this woman with a horrible past and no future at all, giving me reassurance.

Into the staggering silence, Mr. Church’s phone rang. He looked down at the display. “Linden Brierly,” he said. No one spoke. Church said very little, thanked Brierly, and disconnected. Then he placed a call to Aunt Sallie. “Auntie, Brierly said he already called you, so you know where we stand,” he told her. “I’m initiating Protocol Seventeen.”

He disconnected and placed the phone on the table next to his chair. We waited in silence while he gathered himself. I’ll bet he was aching for a vanilla wafer.

Mr. Church said, “By executive order, as of oh-eight-thirty Eastern Time the president of the United States has officially revoked the charter of the Department of Military Sciences. All field offices are to be closed immediately. We are to cease all activities, abandon all cases, and vacate all premises associated with the DMS. We are to return all weapons, equipment, and credentials provided by same. All personnel are hereby suspended with pay from government service pending notification of status.”

We stared at him, totally dumbfounded.

“The executive order further states that anyone acting contrary to the letter or the spirit of this order should be considered a threat to national security and an enemy of the state.”

Mr. Church picked up his teacup and sipped it.

“Well,” said Top, “at least they’re still paying us.”

There were a few smiles. No real laughs.

Bunny looked down at the papers spread out on the table. “So, basically if we keep trying to save the country and maybe the world from a bunch of murderous a*sholes with outer space weapons, then we’re the bad guys?”

“In a nutshell,” said Mr. Church.

Bunny looked around the room, then shrugged his big shoulders. “Then, hey … let’s be bad guys.”