Redaction: Dark Hope Part III

by Linda Andrews

  “Yes, Sir.” Officers! They were always concocting the obvious plan long after the enlisted. And the grunts always had to play along and pretend they were brilliant.

  Even when the mission clearly wouldn’t work.

  The bastards had already denied him membership because he was former military. He’d find another way to crash their party. He did love a challenge.

  Lister ripped the cap off his bottle, raised it to his lips and drained the last two sips. “Get me names, Sergeant-Major. My balls tell me the bastards are just warming up. I want them outside working on their tan before they strike again.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dirk dodged the puddles on the tunnel floor and consulted his tablet computer. A red dot blinked, marking his position next to a green box indicating his destination. He glanced up and down the dimly lit passage. The stupid computer must be broken. The church couldn’t be here. Not in this pit.

  Sighing, he refreshed the screen.

  The red dot next to a green square reappeared. Useless piece of trash. He thumped it with his heel. The stupid military had deliberately given him a broken computer. They wanted him to get lost.

  They wanted him out of the way, so their illegal police state could continue.

  He eyed the painted stripes with numbers on the walls of the tunnels. They were doomed to disappointment. He’d use the trail markers to find his way out, not this stupid map. Zooming out, he watched Technicolor lines cut up his dark screen. The green line would take him to Section Seven.

  He licked his lips. By leaving, he would be admitting defeat. He’d already failed to convince Kevin to run for president, he had to find a candidate soon. His share of the potatoes awaited.

  “May I help you, brother?”

  Dirk’s skin shimmied over his frame. What the hell! The prick needed to be taught a lesson in sneaking up on people. He set his fist over his pounding heart and turned toward the voice. The words stuck in his throat, choking him. “You startled me.”

  The weak light darkened Stuart Graham’s sandy hair. “Sorry about that, brother.”

  “Not your fault. I was thinking and not paying attention.” What’s with this brother business? Spinning that on the campaign might be a little difficult. Dirk placed the computer on standby and the screen blanked. No point letting on that he’d been looking for the other man.

  “Are you lost?”

  Dirk shifted on his feet and wiped his damp palms on his pants. Subtle or straightforward? He eyed Graham’s tan Dockers, blue Polo shirt and scuffed dress shoes. No fancy watch or flashy pinky ring. Not really what Dirk had expected from an Ivy League graduate. Of course, he was a minister. Straightforward it was. “Actually, I was looking for you.”

  Graham smiled. “I’m not up on all my faiths, but I’ll promise to help as best I can.”

  Faiths? Dirk blinked. He wasn’t here to pray.

  “Come into my church.” Graham crossed in front of Dirk. Four paces later, the darkness swallowed him.

  Jesus! Dirk’s mouth dropped open. The minister had just disappeared, and he was expected to follow? Not likely. He wanted a little better odds for his leap of faith. His hands dived into his jacket pocket. Where had he put that stupid lamp?

  Metal clanged.

  “Ouch. I really need to see about having the room rewired. I don’t mind turning off the lights when I’m not here, but I would prefer to be spared the bruises.”

  Room? He shuffled closer to the black splotch. There was a room back there?

  A soft click later, light poured out of the room. Graham stood next to a scarred table. “There. That’s better.”

  “This is the church?” Dirk glanced around the room. A double-wide aisle bisected six rows of folding chairs and pointed to another table at the front draped in a white sheet. Behind the makeshift altar stood a black, wooden cross. Off to one side rested a crate. A basket of MRE extras spilled from the top. A large galvanized tub teetered on its end near the gutter carrying water from the room.

  “It is indeed.” Graham rubbed his hands together.

  “But…” Dirk entered the church and ducked. So much for cathedral ceilings. The room in here was barely eight foot tall. He reached up and touched the mesh catching the dripping water. No wonder Jake had picked the minister. Who wouldn’t do anything to get out of this hellhole. “This room is an insult to God.”

  And country. Small wonder God had used the government’s own weapon against the people. His fingers dug into the laptop. He had to save them from themselves. It was the only way mankind would have a future.

  Graham stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Why would you say that, brother?”

  Why would he not? “The chairs are rusting. The tables are rickety. And the cross is just slapped together.”

  “The water is certainly taking its toll on the metal.”

  Dirk set his computer on the table. Was the man a Pollyanna, or had he lived in squalor so long he no longer saw anything wrong with it? “We should be exalting God, offering him the best we have in thanks for our survival. Not giving him our leftovers.”

  Graham’s brown eyes narrowed. “Everything was new when I opened the church. Doctor Spanner insisted I take what I needed first. She expected there to be plenty of folks needing to speak to God.”

  “She did?” No one had told him that. And hopefully not too many others knew either.

  “Yes, of course, most folks were mad about what had happened.” Graham chuckled. “I had a few folks even hit the cross a few times. It’s not new, by the way. The Airmen brought it in from their chapel on base. It’s funny how the wood is outlasting the metal. Nature trumps man’s hard work.”

  Shaking his head, Dirk drummed his fingers on his tablet. The man was a little pro-military, but he could work on that after the election—when the time for the military trials came.

  “But I don’t think you’ve come here to debate philosophy or my decor.” Bending slightly, Graham reached under the table. A soft whirring sound filled the room then he positioned two chairs by the table facing each other. “Please sit.”

  A warm draft stirred the air by Dirk’s ankles. He peeked under the table. Red coils stared back at him from a gleaming metal rectangle. Holy Mother of God. A space heater. He’d begun to think they’d gone the way of the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus. He skimmed the metal with his fingers. Heat licked his flesh before he pulled back. “I can’t believe it.”

  Graham propped his feet by the grill and wiggled his toes inside his shoes. “It is nice to have, but I usually only use it when I’m writing my sermons. Thanks to the low ceilings, the place warms up pretty fast when I have a full house.”

  Dirk’s palms itched. Was the minister really saying he didn’t want the heater? His back would certainly benefit from it.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  As someone who was disabled, he deserved to have the heater.

  “Mr. Benedict?”

  Dirk ripped his attention from the heater. “You know me?”

  “I watch the cabinet meetings.”

  He sat up straighter. It’s about time someone realized he stood up to tyranny and oppression.

  “What goes on helps me find subjects for my sermons and anticipate what could be troubling my brothers and sisters.”

  Good. This was good. He rubbed his hands in the warmth. “I’m glad to hear you’re paying such close attention to those goings-on. Our country is in real trouble. We’ve allowed the Godless to come to power. And it’ll take a Man of God to return us to the right path.”

  Graham leaned back in his chair and picked at a threadbare patch over his knee.

  Tingles raced up Dirk’s arms. He got the man right where he wanted him, now he just had to land him. “I want you to run for President, Mr. Graham.”

  The minister froze for a moment. His hands flattened against his thighs. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Your country needs you.” Dirk scooted his chair clos
er to the heat. “This is a moment in time, a God-given opportunity, if you will, to set humanity on the straight and narrow. With the right leadership, we have a chance to fulfill our divine destiny.

  “Mr. Benedict—”

  “Dirk, please.”

  “Dirk.” Graham nodded. “In the seven weeks we’ve been down in these mines, I’ve seen and talked to nearly everyone in the cabinet, including Dr. Spanner herself.”

  Dirk opened his mouth but shut it when Graham raised his hand.

  “We have the right leadership in place. They are looking after the needs of the people, and they’re doing it with tolerance toward all.”

  Dirk’s stomach clenched. What just happened? What was happening now?

  “Whereas you, I’ve never seen except on my TV screen until today.” Graham rose from his chair. “I’m happy with things the way they are.”

  “You’re telling me no?” Heat rushed through Dirk as he leapt to his feet. The chair collapsed with a bang. What was wrong with the man? He was supposed to be educated, in touch with the people, a leader. Yet, here he was kissing Doctor Spanner’s ass. It made no sense unless…

  “I am.” Graham moved his chair back in place in the last row.

  The man was afraid. Obviously, Doctor Spanner had threatened the minister with violence if Graham spoke against the military or the regime. And they checked in on him regularly. That must be why a bunch of murderers and atheist scientists came to church.

  To keep the good man in line.

  Dirk set his hand on Graham’s shoulder. “We can protect you.”

  Graham frowned.

  “I’ll move you to another part of the cave. I have followers in section seven that will make sure you stay safe. You don’t have to live in fear any longer.” And they could spin the threats into shackles for the current jack-booted thugs.

  Graham threw back his head and laughed.

  Laughed? Had the terror driven him insane? Dirk allowed his hand to fall to his side.

  “I’m not afraid. Not anymore.” Graham opened his arms. “On the way here, all I knew was terror—running for my life from gangbangers. Watching those I loved die. One after the other, after the other.”

  Dirk inched closer. Charisma poured off the minister, and his confession created a bond between them. He had to get the man to run for office. Doctor Spanner and her kind wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “Then, I was the only one left—lost, angry and grieving. I’d sworn to my father that I’d watch over fifty people. Strangers, yet members of my father’s church.”

  Jackpot! Dirk clasped his hands together. No one could stand against a legacy of ministry. And he was a hero, saving fifty people. He wouldn’t have to write any speeches or remake some ugly truths.

  “I prayed for death, hid in plain sight, hoping the gangbangers would find me and end it. Or the anthrax would take us.”

  Whoa. Maybe he shouldn’t put away the spackle and trowel just yet. A suicidal running mate was only good if you’re the vice president. Dirk blinked. Then again, there always needed to be backup. Who’s to say he couldn’t fill the position?

  “Just when I thought I’d achieve my goal…” Graham looked at the cross, but his eyes were filmed over with memories. “A group of teachers rescued me and my followers. They took us in and fed us. I hated them, especially Audra. She was everything I wasn’t—strong, brave, and confident. I hated her.”

  Dirk made a mental note of the name. It might be a good idea to add a chick or two to the slate. Right now they were a little testosterone rich. Besides, a little eye candy never hurt.

  “As if in answer to my prayers, I became sick and Audra was taken.”

  Oh well. Dirk scratched her off his list. It wasn’t a bad idea. Perhaps he’d run it by his partner. “You survived.”

  “Yes, but in my weakness I was seduced by a man who fed my hate and concentrated my anger into a lust for power.” Graham’s gaze sharpened as he returned to the present. “I ignored the pleas and cries of people who stood by me and focused on my own selfish goals. If Audra hadn’t arrived in time, God knows what damage I might have done to those who trusted me.”

  He made it sound like power was bad. Sure, it could be but that depended on the person wielding it. The right people could do amazing things. “Aren’t you harming your flock now, by not standing up to tyranny?”

  Graham sighed. “Good people are in charge.”

  Dirk gritted his teeth. “They’re responsible for unleashing the plague upon us.”

  “I don’t know who’s responsible for the disease but I do know that we all bear some responsibility for there being so few of us left.” Graham leaned down and righted the fallen chair. “I won’t oppose Doctor Spanner, Dirk. I’ll stay in my church, ministering to those who need it until the tears this mountain weeps dry up and only laughter rings in these tunnels.”

  Weeping mountains? “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  Crazy. Dirk tugged on his hair and stormed from the room. The world had gone crazy. Here he was offering a position of power and comfort and no one wanted it. He turned left toward the green tunnel leading to System Seven.

  Gavin Neville leaned against the wall. Water soaked his Made-in-America T-shirt. “Evening, Bossman.”

  “Gavin.” Dirk strode past, shaking the failure from his fingertips. Two failures in one day. He had to find someone to run or he’d look like a fool. “How’d it go today?”

  Gavin smoothed his black hair. “Ian got a little whiny and Quartermain keeps pushing for us to recruit the lapdog.”

  Dirk huffed as the path climbed. “Dawson? Wouldn’t that be something if we could get him to run against his former lover?”

  “No way. The military were responsible for blowing up our camp in Payson, killing our people. It must have been Special Forces. A dozen or more to slip past our guard.”

  He waved away the story of his camp and the early-morning attack. God, the man loved the spotlight. Dirk slowed. Tall, good-looking and well-spoken like all presidents should be. Plus as a former actor, Gavin was used to following a script. It was brilliant. “Gavin, how would you like to be President?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Manny stumbled into his room. His lunch simmered in his stomach. Please don’t let me throw up. Don’t let me be sick. He still had to find Justin. A headache pulsed between his temples. Maybe he should lie down for a bit.

  He flicked on the switch.

  Dolls, trucks, blocks and books filled the aisle between the rows of cots. The niño’s needed to get better at picking up their toys. Rumpled quilts and afghans marked their beds. Blind Connie’s, Mildred’s, Beth’s and Rini’s military-issued blankets were stretched tightly across their thin mattresses. His bed was a mix of neat and messy while Justin’s…

  A wave of dizziness washed over Manny.

  A lump lay under Justin’s blankets.

  He was here. After hours Manny had spent searching the cave system, Justin was in their room. Manny mentally smacked his head. Maybe he should have tried their room first. Flattening his hand against his belly, he shuffled closer. “Justin?”

  Justin lifted the pillow from his head. Static electricity lifted his fine shaggy brown hair. “Dude, you look like shit. If that’s the result of your cooking, then I’m glad to be living off MREs.”

  “Funny.” Hunched over, Manny shuffled to his bed. God, he felt bad. Was this radiation poisoning? Duh. Of course it was. He dropped onto the cot. Maybe he should have gone to the infirmary first.

  “Yeah, I’m a budding comic.” At least he was talking now. After his grandfather’s death the guy had done nothing but answer with a word or two, usually cursing.

  Manny swallowed his lunch. Again. Would throwing up make him feel better? He glanced around the room. Where had Connie put the bucket?

  Tucking his pillow under his armpit, Justin rolled to his side and faced Manny. “You gonna turn off the lights so we can sleep?”

  “I need to talk to
you.” He burped. God, MREs tasted nasty the second time around.

  “You look like you’re gonna hurl.” Justin shoved aside his blankets and sat up. Brown hair snaked down his skinny arms and legs. “You want the bucket?”

  Manny’s next burp was liquid. He clapped his hand over his mouth and nodded.

  Leaning over his bed, Justin retrieved the bucket and set it on the floor between their cots. Half-digested contents sloshed around the bottom.

  Manny tumbled off the mattress and gave up his lunch. His nose burned from the stench of bile. A half-empty water bottle appeared in his peripheral vision.

  “Looks like we both ate some bad MREs.”

  Unscrewing the cap, Manny swished the chilled water around his mouth and spit it into the bucket. “It’s not the MREs.” He wiped off the moisture clinging to his lips with his sleeve before slowly rising to sit on his bed. His stomach cramped. “At least not for me.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Radiation poisoning.”

  The scabs from burst pimples and newly forming red ones blazed in Justin’s pale skin. “I thought we were sealed in this tomb. No air, no nothing from the outside could get in.”

  Manny raised the bottle to his lips and took a sip. If he had to throw up, water was better than nothing.

  “Manny?” Justin’s fingers curled around the edge of his cot. Color fled his knuckles. “Where’s the leak? What is Doctor Spanner doing about it?”

  “There’s not a leak, not like you think.” Manny capped the bottle and wedged it between his sneakers. It was good that Justin was interested, that he cared. Engaged as Wheelchair Henry would have said. But the old man was dead, and Manny had to reach out to others like Wheelchair Henry would have wanted. “Someone snuck into the mine through the conveyor system.”

  “Wh—what?” Justin tugged at the collar of his T-shirt.

  “Someone came through the conveyor system. The Sergeant-Major thinks it was the vegetable thieves.”

  “Dawson?” he squeaked.

  “Yep, he’s investigating it. He found a pine needle and tiny puddles of water. Melted snow, probably.” Not a leak. Of course, with the way the mountain dripped water anything was possible.