Final Epidemic by Earl Merkel Read Free Book Online Page B

intensity of the sudden animosity she felt.
    At both of them, dammit, she realized.
    Katie understood that she was the fulcrum of a natural alliance that could pit one parent against the other; she could shift her allegiance between the two adult antagonists as her own necessities dictated. That fact, she reasoned, gave her a large measure of power—and should have given her, at least, a small measure of satisfaction.
    Instead, it merely made her feel even more alone.
    “Hel-l-lo—Earth to Casey. Anybody at home in there?”
    Katie opened her eyes, squinting against the glare of the day.
    “Carly’s bailing on us,” J. L. told her.
    “I said, I’m going to call it a morning.” Carly was standing, and despite the warmth of the day had pulled the large beach towel close around her shoulders. “I think maybe I’ve had too much sun. I’m going to go back to the room and sack out.”
    “What—you make a date with the front desk guy?” J. L. chided. Carly tried to smile, and for the first time Katie saw how tired her friend looked.
    “Want us to come along?” Katie asked.
    “No,” Carly said. “You guys figure out where the parties are going to be tonight. I’m just pooped. Plus, I’m all achy from sitting in the car too long.”
    “Well,” said Katie, “feel better.”
    “I just need to rest up.” Carly added, “We’ve got a big night ahead. I guarantee it.”

Chapter 4
    Columbia Falls, Montana
July 21
    The damnedest thing about the goddamn crazy Jap—the term Orin Trippett invariably used when referring to the emissary with whom he had met—the damnedest thing about him was that he had been so . . . so . . .
    Well, “helpful” is the only word that comes right to mind, Trippett told himself. Acts like he’s Santy Claus and it’s Christmas Eve. If Christmas came in July, that is.
    He had been suspicious initially, and he had not been alone. Orin had taken it to the leadership council, and just about everybody in the Mountain Warriors’ Posse had been convinced that it was a government sting—a plot by the FBI or ATF or even those bastards from Internal Revenue, all aimed at undermining yet another citizens’ militia.
    And it would be just like Cousin Dickie to step into that kind of shit, Trippett thought sourly. He’s never been the sharpest pencil in the box.
    Early on, there had even been talk of bundling the lone Japanese into one of the panel trucks and taking him high enough into the mountains that no one would ever find the body. It had happened before, when the Posse had decided there was even a remote threat to the group.
    But in the end, what the Japanese had been offering was simply too enticing to pass up. For the Mountain Warriors, it was the answer to their prayers. Nerve gas—sarin, the real thing. And another tantalizing prospect that the visitor would only hint at, but which—if true—would give Trippett’s militia a capability beyond his very dreams.
    They knew about CBW, of course—at least, the ones among the Posse who had been military or who used their home computers for more than hunting up porn sites on the Internet. To Orin Trippett, the idea of the Mountain Warriors posing a credible chemical and biological threat was enough to make him salivate.
    But it was only when he had verified some of the Jap’s claims that he began to consider the possibility was real.
    That had come a month earlier, in late May, when Orin finally had decided to meet with his cousin in person. Dickie Trippett was an officer of the Empire State Legionnaires, a militia group in upstate New York. Despite his intellectual shortcomings, he was a man Orin trusted as much as he trusted anyone: they had done time together on a state weapons charge before Orin moved west in search of what remained of the real America. Now Orin had reestablished contact, and the two of them had met midway in an Iowa City motel.
    “ Way cool, man,” Dickie had told him, a grin stretching across his face.