The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga Read Free

Remember—"
    “Yes, I remember perfectly well what happened during The Pandemic.   No history lesson is necessary."  
    The Great Pandemic—the Blue Flu.   The strain so starved the body of oxygen cyanosis often set in and turned people a ghastly shade of blue .   It started with their fingertips and ears, then the skin around the nose and eyes, and in severe cases, the legs and arms.   Some victims turned such a deep indigo blue, doctors often mistook a victim as a person of color when in fact they were quite pale.
    Boatner rubbed his eyes, trying to force the memories from his mind.   But they just kept coming, kept dancing across his consciousness and forcing him to remember the horrible details of the world in the grip of influenza gone wild.
    It had raged completely out of control and killed millions around the world.   Great cities had been decimated not only The Pandemic, but the opportunistic diseases that followed on its heels: cholera, dysentery, and hemorrhagic fever .   Rioting in the streets, looting, the breakdown of law and order…  
    But this time?   Would it be any different?   Especially now that he knew someone had weaponized the Blue Flu?
    "General, I could be of a lot more assistance to you if you would tell me where the samples were collected.   Did they come from an American?   Is this the mystery flu they're talking about on TV?"
    "Take care, Maurice.   We’ll be in touch."

C HAPTER 2

    Washington, D.C.
    The White House.
    Presidential Emergency Operations Center.
    Post Apache Dawn.

    P RESIDENT H AROLD B ARRON STIRRED when he felt the warmth of Jayne’s body vanish.   He groaned and rolled on his side.   For a second, he was back in the infirmary, strapped to his bed, listening to Orren Harris’s speech.   He looked at his wrist and relaxed.   No thick leather strap held him in place now.   Everything came back in a flood—the election, the promises he’d made to Jayne, the corruption, the guilt.
    Then came the flu and President Denton had died.   Then came Atlanta and hundreds of thousands of Americans had died.  
    Barron rubbed his eyes and tried to block out the memories.   Remember.   You’re under the White House in the Bunker.   Everything became hazy.   He remembered Jayne looking down at him as he lay on the floor, caught in a drug overdose she had engineered.   He remembered being wheeled to the underground infirmary and hearing news that Harris had decided to challenge his legitimacy as President.  
    How many days ago had it been since he’d been removed from the infirmary to ‘recover’ in his own bed?   He recalled snippets of memories as he slept, woke,   and slept some more.   Jayne appeared, sometimes by the bed, sometimes in the bed.   He tried to lick his lips—they were parched.
    “What time is it?" he croaked.
    The sheets stirred and cool air tickled his skin.   The sound of Jayne's body sliding off the bed caused him to open his eyes.  
    She stood and stretched like a cat, the graceful arch of her back highlighted in the dim light.   Her silhouette was perfection given form.   She slowly opened her eyes and purred as she stretched her arms.   "It's time for you to go back to bed, Mr. President."
    "I can't spend the rest of my life in bed,” said the President.   He reached out to grab her leg.   “Although…” His hands tickled the inside of her thigh as he gently tugged her closer to the bed.   Her smooth skin felt luxurious under his fingertips.   "You do make a very persuasive argument that one needs to spend more time in bed.   The pressures of the Head of State are—"
    "Enormous," said Jayne in a husky voice as she slipped her hand under the sheets.
    The President rolled onto his back and closed his eyes with a sigh.   If only every day can start this way…
    No .  
    The harshness of his conscience startled him.   No, it's the drugs that she gives me.   She doesn't care about me.   She's after my power.   And she