A year ago, Sunnie would have believed Santa existed before she bought that line about her middle-aged aunt. But Mavis had warned Mom to stock up on supplies and to take a semester off from teaching a month before the first confirmed Redaction. Mom hadn’t listened.
Now she was dead.
Sunnie snapped the hairband.
And so were her step-sibs, Joshua and Cheyenne.
Snap. Snap. A raspberry patch blossomed on her white skin.
And her stepdad, Michael.
The scrunchie rubbed against her wrist as she stretched it. Snap. The sting was sharper this time. Yet it barely registered on her emotional Richter scale. As for those who’d graduated with her last summer…
Classmates.com read like a morgue roll.
Would it have changed if she’d stayed home to go to college? Could she have saved someone? She stretched the scrunchie. Elastic cut into her forearm. Could she have saved anyone? She’d recovered; why couldn’t they?
Aunt Mavis wrapped her fingers around Sunnie’s. The calloused skin comforted even as she eased the hair band back into place. “North Korea wouldn’t launch ground forces. Although they still outnumber us soldier for soldier, their military technology comes from either Russia, or is corroded from the use of salt water in China’s manufacturing plants. We’d kick their butts with our military at fifty percent.”
Untangling her fingers, Sunnie rubbed at the patch of dry skin around her thumb. One day, she’d get up the nerve to ask Aunt Mavis what she’d actually done for the government during the Redaction. But not today. Today, it was enough that her aunt knew things.
Although, it wasn’t always comforting.
She pinched her pursed lips. “Do you mean half our soldiers are dead?”
“Soldiers? No.” Aunt Mavis’s auburn hair brushed her shoulders. For a moment the car filled with the click-click of the blinker as they coasted toward the freeway exit. “They’re at sixty-five percent, about the same as the Coast Guard and Air Force. The National Guard took the hardest hit as they drew MA duty.”
MA duty. Mortuary Affairs. Refers. The body snatchers who collected families of dead for cataloging and burial, storing them like sides of beef in refrigerated trucks and trailers. Military fatigues had become the new funeral black.
Half a dozen cars crept along the six-lane thoroughfare. Sunnie checked the clock. Six P.M. The height of rush hour. She leaned against the seat as the Civic merged with traffic. Gas rationing didn’t explain the lack of cars.
Martial law might. That still was in force. Anyone left on the street could be eliminated with extreme prejudice. At least they had twenty minutes until it went into effect. Plenty of time to drive the two miles home.
Sunnie’s attention drifted out the passenger window. Black clouds crowded the horizon and gusts of wind shook the thigh-high weeds sprouting from the cracked asphalt. Her ghostly reflection drifted through the derelict strip mall—the only life in the abandoned buildings. A ray of sunlight glinted off the sharp fangs of shattered storefront glass. Dark smears on pocked white stucco testified that not all looters had made off with their booty.
Looters. Soldiers. She replayed her aunt’s words. One service group hadn’t been mentioned. With the Guard occupied, another branch had maintained the infrastructure. The Halls of Montezuma might have been an easier assignment than Main Street U.S.A for Aunt Mavis’s beloved Marines.
“And the Marines?”
In the beginning, people had protested about the armed soldiers who prevented them and their neighbors from getting their groceries en masse, breaking-up peaceful protests with water cannons and rubber bullets, and, later, strafing mobs of looters. But when the Redaction had spread, the pacifists wanted more shooting and less restraint. Still it would be a while before a spit shine could polish the Corps’ tarnished brass.
“They’re at fifty percent.” She smiled. “But I’d take fifty Marines over seventy-two soldiers and seventy-two fly-boys any day.”
“Oorah!” Sunnie repeated her uncle’s favorite saying. Her aunt’s bias was well known. After all her husband, Jack and their son, Joseph had been jarheads.
“Exactly.” Aunt Mavis chuckled.
Sunnie winced. How long until laughter seemed appropriate again? A shudder rippled through her, and she adjusted the vent. Outside, urban decay pressed against the windows. Soot streaked a burned out Sonic Drive-in. The red car awnings hung like shredded banners from their supports. Prophetic messages of doom clung to the side of the pharmacy in blood-colored graffiti. Concrete barricades surrounded an empty gas station.
This new world sucked.
Sunnie splayed her fingers on the glass. “Do you think the city will ever recover?”
The Civic slowed as they approached the intersection. Dead traffic lights bobbed over the tank lodged in the center of the four-way. Two Marines sat on the turret, SAWs in their laps. The silly looking guns spat so many bullets they could literally cut a man in half within seconds. One used his weapon to wave them through the empty intersection.
Raising a hand in acknowledgement, Aunt Mavis turned left onto the street leading to their neighborhood. A large, white banner flapped from the eaves of a chain grocery store, announcing the grand reopening tomorrow. What good would stocked shelves do? Few had been able to work in the last months. Most didn’t have any money, relying solely on the aid packages from the Guard.
Aunt Mavis’s attention flitted to the burned-out strip mall on the corner opposite the grocery store. “Some of the buildings were abandoned before the Rattling Death hit. The work went to China, India or elsewhere and wasn’t coming back.”
Aunt Mavis chewed on her bottom lip and white dotted her knuckles.
Sunnie ripped a sliver of dry skin from her thumb. Pink flesh winked at her before blood oozed into the opening. Outsourcing. The favorite refrain of her aunt’s generation. So much so, that the complaint had been as common as the weather. “Yeah. And…”
“And, we’ll find it very difficult to build the items we need if China does push us into war.” Aunt Mavis eased the Civic down the street.
Collapsed rafters were visible through the shattered storefronts. On each side, graffiti marked the six-foot high concrete walls edging the road. The wind moaned through the skeletal remains of charred shrubs and loose bone-white limbs of the eucalyptus trees clattered against their trunks.
Sunnie pinched the collar of her jacket tighter and adjusted the vent. Some life had returned. Fuzzy, green bougainvilleas shuddered and splattered the ground with their crimson blossoms. Yellow puffballs swayed at the tips of the weeds.
“The neighborhoods are the worst. All those empty homes where neighbors once lived.” Aunt Mavis maneuvered around a cluster of burned out vehicles and braked. She stared down the road as if she could see the taped and boarded up homes in the neighborhood.
Sunnie shrugged. She had barely met most of the neighbors before the quarantine went into effect. But Aunt Mavis and Uncle Jack who had lived here since their marriage, had raised their son here. Now all that was gone. Now, the men were gone. Forever. Sunnie’s nails bit into her palms. At least, Aunt Mavis had photos of her family. Who knew if she’d ever be able to return home and collect remembrances of her mother, brother, sister and stepfather?
Metal creaked, jerking her thoughts back to the Civic. A sign proclaiming that trespassers will be shot swung from the chain lashed between two eucalyptus trees, blocking street access to the neighborhood. Tipped onto its side, a blackened Jeep Liberty attested to the will of the neighborhood to enforce the sign.
“I thought North Korea was threatening war not China.” Sunnie combed her fingers through her hair.
“North Korea wouldn’t do anything without China’s blessing.”
“So you think there’ll be a war then?” Sunnie scanned the area. Seven firebombed vehicles—three with bullet holes punched in their sides and one with arrows in its tires. Victims of the gauntlet created by two rusted dumpsters near the firs
t street and lots of tall trees on either side.
Aunt Mavis honked the horn twice, waited a beat then hit it one more time. Shifting the car into park, she leaned forward until her chin rested atop of the steering wheel and stared through the windshield. “I would have thought Mr. Quartermain would have challenged us by now.”
Sunnie rolled her eyes. Really? First the movie premiere then this. Did her aunt think she’d be put off twice in an hour? And who cared about old Mr. Quartermain? The man could wake up at dawn, and it would be noon, before he managed to reach the foot of his bed. She set her hand on Aunt Mavis’s. Sunnie wanted, no, needed answers. Real answers. Like yes and no.
“Do you think there will be war with North Korea or not?” She spoke slowly like her mom had done when she was younger and stupid. Mom. Her chest seemed to shrink and her vision wavered. She swiped away her tears. How long until her insides didn’t feel like they’d been run through a grater at the thought of her family?
Aunt Mavis’s sigh fluttered through her auburn bangs. “It’s a complicated situation.”
Adult speak for either I don’t know, or I don’t want to explain it to you. But Sunnie was an adult now, had been for a year and a half. Crossing her arms, she leaned back and let the leather seat cup her spine. No one stirred in the empty street. “Since Mr. Quartermain moves at the speed of a snail on fly paper, I think we have time for you to explain it to me.”
Aunt Mavis squeezed her eyes closed and her lips slowly moved. One. Two. Three.
Good God, didn’t adults know how irritating that was? Or did they do it on purpose, hoping the kid would just give up and go away? Cold air crept into the car. The engine ticked as the metal cooled. She eased her toes back into her sneakers.
Twelve. Thirteen.
A gust of wind scooped up dirt and leaves, spinning them into a cyclone that crossed the empty street. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked.
Sixteen. Seventeen. Aunt Mavis uncurled along the bucket seat. “I think China is up to something.”
Complicated or off-topic? Sunnie rubbed her fingers together, until the friction built-up enough heat to drive away the chill. “China? But they’re not threatening us; North Korea is.”
Aunt Mavis’s lips pursed like she’d chomped on a rotten lemon. “If North Korea is saber-rattling, then China is up to something. They’re using the Koreans as a distraction.”
Sunnie snorted. “Why? Why not just challenge us themselves?”
“Why not, indeed?”
“No, that was my question.” Sunnie tugged her ponytail free and shook the silky stands around her shoulders. God, adults could be such a pain sometimes. “I’m asking you why they’d do that?”
“Taiwan, maybe?” Aunt Mavis jerked on the chrome handle and her door sprang open. “To test our strength and resolve. They’d never do so outright. They have too much to lose. But using a proxy is clever and hard to prove.”
Taiwan. What did that have to do with anything? “But—”
“Wait here.” Grabbing the keys from the ignition, her aunt slid out of the car and slammed the door shut after her.
Frustration rumbled through Sunnie’s chest. She was so tired of being treated like a child. Clawing for the handle, she jerked on the latch and shoved at the door. Wind whistled around her and leaned against the car. She pushed out of the Civic and jumped clear before the door slammed shut.
“Aunt Mavis?” Hair tickled the back of her throat. She finger-combed her hair into a ponytail and tucked the tresses under her jacket collar.
A gust whipped the hair out of Aunt Mavis’s face and muted the rattle of keys in her hand. She scanned the pine trees across the street. “Mr. Quartermain should have been here by now.”
Like it really mattered where the old geezer was. This was war they were talking about. War. There could be a draft. Women could be called to fight. She could be called to fight. “About China, Thailand and North Korea…”
“Taiwan, not Thailand.” Aunt Mavis strode closer to the padlock connecting the two chains. “When the communists took over mainland China, the US recognized the government of Taiwan as ruling all of China. So when mainland China became recognized, they wanted Taiwan back into the fold, and the US wouldn’t let them.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” That and a quarter would buy half a gumball. Sunnie waved her hand before holding back her bangs. Rain dotted the road, and the wind swelled with the smell of wet asphalt. “But what about war?”
“I already told you.” Aunt Mavis dug her fists into her hips and checked the lock before focusing on the pines again. “There won’t be an overt war. China has too much to lose.”
Sunnie’s arms drooped from her shoulders. No war. That was good. Then she remembered the hedging. Overt. Did that mean there’d be a hidden war? Terrorist attacks that struck without warning, killed indiscriminately. “Aunt Mavis?”
“Sunnie, I don’t have a magic ball. I don’t know what is going to happen for sure.” She bit her bottom lip and frowned at the lock. “Except that if we don’t get home soon, we will get shot.”
The streetlights blinked on then off.
Sunnie checked her watch. Ten minutes to curfew, when the Marines could legally shoot to kill. The very Marines who were a mere hundred yards away at the corner. She slouched in her jacket. The warm fleece brushed her tingling ears. “Don’t you have the key?”
Her aunt nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not supposed to use it without another here as witness to my continued health.”
Like those stupid rules mattered. This was a matter of life and death here. Her life and her death. “Geez, Aunt Mavis. We’re going to be shot in another eight minutes, and you’re worried about upsetting an octogenarian with a Robin Hood fetish.”
“Mr. Quartermain is very good with his bow and arrows. He hunts every year and brings home elk, javelina and doves.”
“But he’s not here now, is he?” Balancing on one foot, Sunnie tapped the lock with the tip of her sneaker. “Just open it before the men with guns show up and shoot us.”
She glanced over her shoulder. No Hummer in sight. So far, so good.
Aunt Mavis shook her keys.
“Please?” With both feet on the ground, Sunnie rocked back on her heels. “I’m cold and I want to go home.”
And find out what was happening on the net. Not that she didn’t trust Aunt Mavis, but someone might know something more.
“All right.” Aunt Mavis sifted through her keys, picked out a small, silver one and crouched in front of the lock.
Finally! Pivoting about, Sunnie began to retreat to the car when she detected movement in the corner of her eye. Turning, she looked at the bird.
No, not a bird.
An arrow.
Shooting through the air toward… “Aunt Mavis!”
Chapter Four
Trent Powers pulled his Jaguar into the three-car garage and eased it to a stop next to a cherry-red BMW. With the powerful engine purring, he idly watched the garage door close behind him, shutting out the rapidly fading twilight and the genteel decay that had reached even this suburban utopia thanks to the Redaction. Perfect. Absolutely perfect for his plans with Lucinda. Dorinda? Linda?
His heart skipped over a few beats. Why couldn’t he remember her name? Names, details, and those little nothings made people think they mattered to him, personally.
It was what he did best.
It was why he was successful at everything he did.
Almost everything.
His one failure surged from the dark corners of his mind. Red painted his ex-wife’s collagen-enhanced lips. The scarlet sneer contorted her oval face into an ugly mask.
She wouldn’t be laughing much longer.
A tap on the tinted driver’s side window pulled him away from the past.
“Hey, honey, you getting out?” Hand propped on her cocked hip, the woman’s baby doll lips pursed in a shallow pout. Wisps of blond hair teased the knife’s edge of the deep cleavage that nearly reached her chin
.
His attention darted between the puckered nipples pressing against her skimpy tank top. Dark aureoles made twin dots under the pink shirt. Would they taste vanilla like her body lotion?
The oversized take-out bag crinkled against the toned thigh outlined by her clingy mini-shirt. “Like what you see, darlin’?”
Honey. Sweetheart. Darlin’. Did she remember his name? She would be screaming it before sunrise. He’d make sure of it.
“Yes, ma’am.” His erection throbbed against the fly of his Armani suit as his gaze traveled down her flat belly to her mound. Not a panty line in sight. Just like she’d promised in her Sext. But would she be shaved? Heat exploded in his groin, the thermal shrapnel piercing his limbs. “You’re perfect.”
Perfect for everything he planned tonight.
“Then get out of the car, baby.” The hand on her hip skimmed up her tiny waist to cup one huge breast. “Or I’ll start and finish without you.”
She tossed her head and blond curls fell over her forehead to dangle in front of her China-blue eyes. With one last look, she turned on her pink stilettos. Trent ran his fingers through the keys dangling from the ignition and listened to the soft tinkle before killing the engine and leaning against the seat. Her tight ass jiggled the right amount, and his palms itched with the need to stroke it, slap it. Her stretchy mini rode up with each sway of her hips until he almost caught sight of the pink bull’s-eye.
His penis hardened to tempered steel, and he stroked himself through his slacks. The bitch liked to tease. That came through in her emails and Sexts. She also liked to be dominated and punished.
He’d give her that and so much more.
She slowed before reaching the end of the Jag and peeked at him from behind the curtain of hair.
Opening the door, he unfolded his body and rose to his full six-foot-four. He was upon her in seconds flat, sandwiching her body between him and the unfinished dry wall. Her face turned to his. He ground his erection against the firm mounds of her ass. Easing up on her a little, he snaked his arm around until he pinched one puckered nipple.
Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) Page 3