Honor Road by Jason Ross (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

“More of an assumption than an oversight,” Mat said. “I assumed a leadership vacuum among the rats...”

Sheriff Morgan cleared his throat. “I don’t like that name. Rats. These are people. I don’t like dehumanizing the refugees.”

Mat didn’t like being pulled up by the short hairs for political correctness, but he respected Sheriff Morgan—even liked him. Mat let it slide. Jensen sat up a little straighter, almost like he was taking note of the micro-fracture between the two men. Mat continued, “I had assumed the refugees weren’t coordinated. We didn’t vary our route and timing. It was my mistake.”

Morgan leaned forward onto his desk. “Who was leading them?”

“We captured the guy. We’re going to want to keep him in a cage, or put a bullet in his head.” Mat described Mr. Loudmouth Leader’s coordination of the ambush and his use of a couple thousand rats as cover for his operation. Mat had spoken with the guy for a couple minutes after they reached McKenzie. His name was Jared, and he was definitely a problem.

“The guy doesn’t have any formal training. Just big ideas,” Mat reported. “He’s smart enough, and he got people to follow him. We should interrogate him and see what he knows about leadership in the other camps. We’re totally blind when it comes to how they organize. I assumed they were nothing more than mobs. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I’ve got a job to finish and an organized enemy’s going to make it harder.”

“Leave the interrogation to me,” Sheriff Morgan suggested. “Each man to his profession. I have a sixth sense for criminals—in my own, small town way.” That was okay with Mat. He’d never interrogated anyone.

Jim Jensen spoke up. “The refugees want our food. They’d kill every last pig in an hour, given the chance. The meat would spoil and they’d be hungry again in a day. The guns they demanded at the ambush—they would’ve been for this guy, Jared, and his inner circle. That’s how tyrants work, historically.”

There was a pause as the conversation reset. Jensen had stated the obvious and thrown in a bit about history; a willowy academic trying hard to be relevant in the presence of two men-of-action. Mat noted the irony; social posturing survived even when the rest of civilization had gone down the shitter.

Sheriff Morgan nudged the stalled conversation forward. “Right. Good point.”

Encouraged, Jensen went on. “The rats…” He turned to Morgan. “I’m sorry sheriff but it’s not an unfair moniker given the situation.” He turned back to Mat. “These rats—these threats to our safety and our food supply—will be increasingly dangerous as more arrive and as they become more hungry and desperate.”

Yeah, no shit, Mat thought. The guy kept talking.

“Winter is here, which means desperation will peak in a couple months. It’ll be mid-January before the die-off of refugees crescendos. Common colds will lead to pneumonia. Bad water will cause dysentery and probably cholera. I’ve asked to be added to the security committee, because I can accelerate the natural draw-down of the refugees. Speed the process.”

Mat couldn’t quite follow the doublespeak, but it sounded like some Doctor Mengele shit.

The sheriff interrupted, "Now, Jim, I'll repeat what I said before, so we're crystal clear: allowing you to present these ideas to Sergeant Best is not an endorsement. I have misgivings. I want to hear his thoughts from a military perspective. If Mat doesn't support your plan it's unlikely I'll support it either."

Jensen seemed unfazed by Morgan's reticence. In fact, it seemed to excite him. "Fair enough.” He turned his chair to face Mat, which was also weird—Mat was standing up and the science guy was sitting down. "I was there when you came into the town meeting to warn us of the threat from Louisville gangs. You put the scare into me—let me tell you. It got me thinking: how can we defend ourselves from a numerically-superior enemy? Now two months later, we've now got a refugee problem instead of a gangbanger problem. This rat problem is probably worse than gangs, because there are so darned many rats. But that's the beauty of it. My idea works even better with thousands of them." Jensen paused expectantly. He obviously wanted Mat to inquire about his “big idea.”

Mat hated this shit; hated the long, puffed-up preamble guys like this had to deliver before they shared intel, or gave up their salsa recipe, or whatever they were using to hold an audience captive. Mat had plenty of experience dealing with guys like this in the army officer corps; he usually let them bloviate for a while, until eventually they gave up some bit of meaningful intel. Then he could get to his transport and get shit done.

Right now, Mat’s head felt like it was full of wet rags, slowly going to mold, and he didn’t want to play the pretend-to-kiss-the-officer’s-ass game. Science Guy could sit there with his eyebrows raised, with a slight, stupid grin, for as long as he liked. Mat had just killed six people. He wasn’t in a mood to stroke egos.

Jensen detoured. "Okay, so my background is chemistry, but I also teach biology. I was thinking, what can I do? I'm no warrior. I mean, I can do my part with a gun if it comes to that, but that’s not my expertise." He paused again.

The sheriff broke before Mat did. "Jim, let's get to the point. You're talking about anthrax, right?"

"Right!” exclaimed Jensen, pleased by the audience participation. “But not exactly. Anthrax was the first thing I thought of, yes, but then weaponizing anthrax is not a simple process. I can do it, and my tests are underway. I looked into botulism, too. That’s the weapon I propose we use first against the rats.”

“Refugees,” corrected Sheriff Morgan.

Even the word “botulism” sent a chill down Mat’s spine. Botulism had been the pathogen that had likely killed Caroline. She’d been gone eight weeks and the wound felt as fresh as