A Dark Evolution (Book 2): Deranged by Jason N. LaVelle Page A

think the plague will make it this far, out in the country?”
    “Definitely. They cannot contain it. No matter how much they spray, no matter how much fresh water is poisoned, the mosquito will persevere. It’s prehistoric, hon. It was sucking the blood of dinosaurs, it survived the damn ice age, we can't eradicate it. Mosquitoes don't need to be smart, they don't need to communicate, they don't need to build hives to pollinate plants. All they do is suck blood and lay eggs. This genocide of insects will kill everything except the ones they intend too.”
    “So how do we stay safe?”
    “We’re going to mosquito-net the house and bunkhouse, and anytime you shower, you coat yourself with Deet afterwards. It's not great for your skin, but, well, the alternative isn't great for your life.”
    “It will not be easy to keep the kids sequestered.”
    “Nothing will be easy anymore.” Robert was starting to calm, his determined, driven nature rising back to the surface again. He still had a job to do, he still had a family to protect.
    “And what if the fence isn’t enough to keep them out?”
    “You know I have a gun safe in the basement. Besides my shotgun there,” he motioned to the firearm he irresponsibly left in the dirt, “there are another half dozen rifles and shotguns. There’s a muzzleloader and an old .44 revolver too. At least one box of ammo for each.”
    "How long will we have to hole up here?”
    “Daughter, you just arrived this morning. Don’t start asking if we’re there yet.”
    Mary chuckled. “You’re right, I know. And they’re going to come up with a better cure, better than the antiparasitics, I know it.”
    “I hope so, because there’s an awful lot on our plates right now. If we can get through the zombie part, we’ll be able to focus on the upcoming food drought.”
    “Jackson has a friend in the health department over at Orange County. He’s calling in some favors, and a lot of our savings, to get enough of the ivermectin packs to treat us with.”
    Robert nodded, “That's good. Send your son-in-law a message though, we can't neglect Manuel’s family.” Robert knew most whites thought of Mexican laborers as an afterthought, even if they weren't overtly racist.
    “Of course, Dad, he already knows.” Mary looked out and watched Manuel’s progress. He and his boys, even his wife and daughter, were working hard, with real determination to get the fence dug.
    “We’ll ask the men to go and help when they get back tonight,” his granddaughter Jane said as she walked up to them.
    “That’s good, Jane. And Jane, you have to convince your husband to stay when he gets back tonight. Maybe he can convince Mark too.”
    Jane was shaking her head sadly. “Jackson is type-A Dad, and his family was dirt poor when he grew up. He isn't just motivated, he’s obsessed. I can't change it, he’s doing it for us.”
    Robert turned away, thinking but not saying that if Jackson were killed out there, he wouldn't be doing anything for his family at all.
    “Please try honey, please. I want to keep you all here, at Camp Copenhaver.”
    Jane chuckled. “Okay Papa, I’ll do my best. Do you think that everything's going to be all right? I mean, when this part is over?”
    Robert took her hand. His granddaughter was twenty-five years old, but her hands were smooth, soft, and gentle. They looked so tender and beautiful in contrast to his gnarled old fingers. His knuckles were like walnuts, and the skin that covered his deeply tanned hands was thin and wrinkled like tissue paper stuffed into a bag. Hers were hands that might still hold hope, his were hands that had seen hope come and go.
    “Of course, Janey, everything is going to get back to normal soon, I’m sure. We just need to keep everyone safe here in the meantime.”
    Jane’s mother, his daughter, kicked back the rest of her drink and fixed her father in her gaze. “All right Dad, enough sitting around, let's get through this honey.