Free Under a Graveyard Sky-eARC by John Ringo Page A

of the shoreline to the west. So far there was no real evidence of societal breakdown. Which was boding well for his decision to make for the canal.
    “I could wish for better weather,” Stacey said, pulling her windbreaker tighter. “Warmer at least.”
    “This is good weather,” Steve said. The wind that had followed the cold front was cool, but it was constant and that was good. “And it’s giving us a chance to get our sea legs without it being too rough.”
    “Always the optimist,” Stacey said, tightly.
    “Worried,” Steve said without looking at her.
    “Aren’t you?” she said, gesturing with her chin to the cabin. The girls could be heard engaged in their more or less continuous low-grade argument. “Is one of us infected already? What do we do about it?”
    “Tie ourselves up,” Steve said.
    “I think we’re going to have to forego that for a while, honey,” Stacey said, blushing slightly.
    “Think with other bits, dear,” Steve said, smiling. “I don’t really like thinking of it in terms of ourselves. So I think what other people should do. No plague is one hundred percent effective. The black plague did, admittedly, wipe out whole families and villages. But it had a lot of help. It’s unlikely that even if we’re infected, all of us will go…to fully neurological conditions. So from now on when we’re not actively engaged in something, we’ll secure ourselves, lightly, with rope. If one of us starts to have neurological effects, the others will work to secure them until we can find an antidote or something.”
    “Or something,” Stacey said, frowning.
    “I have various smart women around me,” Steve said, shrugging. “We’ll figure something out. But only if we can keep from biting each other.”
    “Well,” Stacey said, snuggling closer. “Maybe a little nibble.”
    “I don’t know,” Steve said. “Have you been a good girl? Do you deserve a nibble?”
    “I’ve been a very bad girl,” Stacey whispered in his ear. “So I definitely deserve a nibble…”
    “Oh, my God,” Faith said, grimacing. She’d suddenly appeared in the hatchway to the saloon. “That is sooo gross!”
    “So much for a little alone time,” Steve said, shaking his head. “What’s up?”
    “What are we going to do about dinner?” Faith asked.
    “You know where the food is,” Steve said.
    “So we’re going to have to cook in this?” Faith said.
    “We’re sure as hell not ordering pizza,” Stacey said. “Should we break into the Mountain House?”
    “Better than trying to cook a regular meal when we can barely stand up,” Steve said, grinning. “Think you can figure out how to boil water?”
    “In this?” Faith said. “No way! It’s storming!”
    “ This is not a storm ,” Steve said. “Given the plan, at some point you’ll understand what the word ‘storm’ means in a forty-five foot sailboat. This isn’t even a gale.”
    “I can do it,” Sophia said. “I think.”
    “No,” Steve said. “Stace, take the wheel. I’m going to have to give your daughters a class on boiling water and working with boiling water in light chop conditions.”
    “Try not to kill yourself or catch the boat on fire,” Stacey said.
    “Thank you for that vote of confidence, first mate.”
    * * *
    “The reason that it is both airborne and blood pathogen now becomes clear…” Dr. Bao said. “Researchers at University of Hong Kong have pieced out its genetic and proteinomic code. The influenza virus produces two separate and distinct ‘child’ viruses. One is a copy of the H7D3 influenza. The second is a highly modified version of the rabies virus…”
    “Two viruses in one?” Dr. Curry said, leaning forward and setting down his popcorn bag. “What the hell ?”
    * * *
    “Oh… Oh… Oh… Oh, no… No …”
    Tim Shull had been following “the synbio version of Chernobyl” in real time, monitoring multiple different sources. Tim could because he really didn’t have anything