Redaction: Dark Hope Part III

by Linda Andrews

  “I thought the Sergeant-Major quit.”

  A sour smell wafted from the bucket. Wrinkling his nose, Manny shifted it toward the foot of the bed. His misbehaving stomach didn’t need any encouragement. “It’s probably some black op mission—secret stuff, you know. I found out because I was there. Helping.”

  He dried his damp palms on his jeans. The cots danced as the solid rock moved in waves. Maybe he should lay down for a bit. Dragging his pillow out from under his blanket, he balled it under his head.

  Justin tapped both his heels against the stone floor. “So the Sergeant-Major isn’t on some bender but he’s actually investigating the missing vegetables?”

  “Yep, he came up the conveyor from the greenhouse.” Manny closed his eyes. Please stop the world from spinning.

  “He was in the greenhouse?” Justin’s voice cracked on the last word.

  “Yeah, but he wasn’t radioactive or nothing. He didn’t go outside before he came in. He only went back out to take out the rag he used to mop up the water.” Manny replayed the words. The white noise inside his head made it impossible to concentrate. That made sense, didn’t it?

  Fabric rustled.

  Manny opened one eye.

  Justin yanked on his shoelaces.

  “Hey, where you going?”

  A curtain of brown hair blocked Justin’s face from view. “I—I gotta be at work in ten minutes.”

  “Oh.” Manny sunk deeper into his pillow. His eyes closed of their own accord. Fatigue weighted his limbs. Yeah, he should take a nap. Chef had given him the rest of the day off. Something nagged at his conscience. There was something he was supposed to do, right?

  The thought clicked. “You’re gonna help me find the bad guys, right?”

  Silence rang in the cave.

  “Justin?” Manny opened his eyes. Only a single bulb burned in the room. Turning his head, he checked Justin’s bed. Empty. Where had the other guy gone? He didn’t have a job.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Damn.” Falcon leaned back in the office chair, propped both feet on his desk and interlaced his fingers behind his head. The yellow bandanna slipped over his black skull. “What happened to you?”

  “I nearly got blown up.” Papa Rose peeled back the Band-aid on his arm. Red stained the pad and blood still wept from his cut. Cuts and bruises he could deal with. He just hoped the aspirin chaser took away the pain soon. Toby and Jillie wanted to kick around the ball after school. He smoothed the bandage in place and applied a little pressure.

  Falcon shook one long leg at him. “Pull the other one.”

  Papa Rose crossed the office and sank into his chair. The split faux leather cushion sighed around him. Thank God for small pleasures. “I was near the atom splitter when it went.”

  “Seriously?”

  “As a heart attack. And it wasn’t an accident. I smelled C-4.” He swallowed hard. Damn flashbacks.

  Both of Falcon’s boots hit the ground. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.” Water dripped on the metal awning over their heads. For a moment, he lost himself in the rhythm. There in the darkness, Carter had seemed so real, so alive.

  “You think it’s related to the elections?”

  Papa Rose shook off the past. He’d recovered quickly from today’s flashback. That had to mean something. “What elections?”

  “That fat asshole demanded elections and the shyster lawyer seconded it.” Falcon swept his finger over the mouse pad and tapped it once. “I can’t believe we still have bullshit at the end of the world.”

  “Bullshit is eternal.” And so are power plays. What better way to gain office than make the current president look inept? “They’re related.”

  “Yeah, well, the military must have the Doc’s back. They owe her.”

  “Everyone owes her. Some just don’t want to repay the debt.” Papa Rose drummed on the table. But who? Movement caught his eye. He glanced at the entrance. Pumpkin, an orange Tomcat, sauntered inside. The stray had adopted them ever since they’d found him in Phoenix.

  “We don’t owe her.” Leaning over in his chair, Falcon wiggled his fingers at the cat. “Our trip to the nuke plant paid that tab in full.”

  The hell it did. Providing a little water to keep spent nuclear fuel rods from burning for a couple days wasn’t the same thing as providing food, medicine, water and air for thousands of people. Day after day after day. Like those who worked these tunnels before, they were miners in debt to the company store and Doc was the owner.

  Pumpkin’s tail twitched as he swiped his cheeks against Falcon’s fingers.

  The former Special Ops soldier sighed. “Isn’t the military looking into it?”

  “The Airmen doctor and a Marine showed up, rooted around.” Papa Rose booted up his computer. “And lied to us.”

  Falcon stilled. “What about?”

  The cat meowed and leapt onto the table.

  “They said they’d done tests for trace evidence but they brought no equipment. They also said they were collecting evidence but had no bags. And they didn’t take statements from either of us.” The whole situation just stunk.

  “Us?” Falcon leaned back when Pumpkin jumped onto his lap. While the cat plumped him, his friend scratched the tabby under his chin.

  “Eddie Buchanan.”

  “Buttcannon? That dude smells of ass.” Falcon’s white teeth flashed in his ebony face. “You think he did it?”

  “He’s smart enough, knows the system.” And has a record of violence. Hell—Papa Rose stretched—he didn’t know anyone who couldn’t be violent when the situation called for it. Even his daughter Jillie had flat out attacked him when they’d first met. “No, my gut says he didn’t do it.”

  End of story.

  “Fair enough.” Falcon stopped petting the cat, and the feline stretched across his warm computer.

  Papa Rose opened a spreadsheet with his clients. Purple highlighted those with a military background.

  “What about the investigators? They’re doing a shoddy job protecting one of their own? It might be deliberate. Not everyone felt joy at the Doc’s decision to disband the armed services.”

  And they might create a little havoc to prove some kind of militia was necessary. But there was that call for elections… “It’s possible.” He scanned his case notes on the vets that had come to talk to him. “I don’t have any former military with anything against the Doc. You?”

  Falcon pointed to the sprawled cat. “Nothing comes to mind.”

  Pumpkin blinked, rolled onto his back and yawned, flashing an impressive array of sharp, white teeth.

  Papa Rose smiled. “Move the cat and check.”

  “Easy for you to say, your ass is already ugly and scarred.”

  “It’s a cat, not a tiger. Pick it up and move it.”

  Falcon crossed his arms over his chest.

  Pumpkin twitched his tail.

  Papa Rose checked his mental score sheet. Pumpkin twenty-four; Falcon one. Who’d have thought ex-Special Forces would be afraid of a furry kitty. “Cats aren’t stupid. They sense fear.”

  “This cat survived the end of the world. I’m giving him a little respect.”

  “Chicken.” He laughed. Served Falcon right for that ugly and scarred comment.

  Falcon shrugged. “I did check into Dirk Benedict and Jake Turner. The asshole and lawyer respectively. Neither have been to see us.”

  Papa Rose scrolled through his patient list. Son of a bitch. “You mean neither have been to see me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You. Hey, don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to know if either of those morons would be better than the Doc and her brain trust.”

  He tapped the table. Should he open the files, look at their backgrounds? Not necessary. He had living, breathing Cliff Notes across from him. “Are they?”

  “Fuck no! I wouldn’t trust that asshole Benedict to tie my shoes, and well… who trusts a lawyer?”

  “Find anything to indicate they could rig a bl
ock of C-4?”

  Falcon snorted. “Watch the right type of movie and you could learn to shove the blasting cap in and set the clock. But, nah, I don’t think they did it.”

  “Your gut?”

  “Yeah. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’re completely innocent. Asshole certainly looked ready to blow a gasket when Doc all but accused him of being in on the anthrax delivery.”

  “She didn’t?” Damn. The one cabinet meeting he missed and it ended up being a doozy.

  “She did. Course, she was lying about something. No doubt the asshole’s accepting hush money.”

  “When did she use her tell?”

  “At the beginning, same as usual. Drew in real tight, then forced herself to loosen up before uttering a word.”

  So they wouldn’t know where she lied, just that she had. The Doc was brilliant. Hell, better than brilliant. “What’s the official story?”

  “There isn’t one technically. The story she put out is that a pharmaceutical company released the anthrax to force FDA approval for their new vaccine and drug.”

  Papa Rose leaned back in his chair. If the military was behind the bombing of the atom splitter, could the Doc have orchestrated it? “How did she take the news of the election?”

  “I think she expected it.” Falcon shrugged. “Maybe just not so soon.”

  “So she didn’t fight it?” Didn’t use fear or intimidation to stay in power? She wielded a lot of power; surely she wouldn’t give it up so easily.

  “Nope. Just continued business as usual.”

  He had to give it up to the Doc, she never lost her cool. “If she ever turns evil, we’ll need to borrow an army to take her out.”

  “Fuck that, I’ll take my chances in outer space.” Falcon pushed out of his chair. “So are we going to be unsung heroes and save the world again?”

  “Hello? We didn’t save the world the last time.” Papa Rose opened his arms and gestured to the cave. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re living deeper in the ground than they bury corpses.”

  “Yeah and the air is starting to stink.” Falcon checked his watch. “We have an hour before school lets out.”

  “Then let’s not waste it.” Papa Rose powered down his computer. “I hear the armory is nice this time of day.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  David backed slowly out of his old quarters while sweeping the surveillance detector back and forth. The middle three lights remained dead. Just the one bug then. At least, it wasn’t an infinity device. He’d never been able to track down who was eavesdropping if the bad guys had gone through the telephone line. With the quarter-sized transmitter he’d found, many suspected could be eliminated based on its range.

  Shep lifted his head off the air mattress and thumped his tail.

  The faint scent of flowers wrapped around him. Mavis. He closed his eyes and inhaled. God he loved how she smelled.

  Hands glided up his back and she curled against him.

  If only he could stay. If only… He turned off the detector and slipped the card-sized device into his pocket. It clunked against his trophy currently pickled in rubbing alcohol. “I only found the one.”

  Mavis snuggled closer. “I hate it when Lister is right.”

  “Yeah.” Of course, she was right more than pretty much everyone put together. “Guess it’s a good thing we scripted our breakup.”

  “I felt silly saying those things to you.” After a quick squeeze, she released him. “Especially since it didn’t really seem to give you an in with the vegetable thieves.”

  “They don’t want me because I’m military.”

  “I want you.” She turned in the middle of the room and smiled. Fatigue bruised the skin under her eyes. Strands of her hair escaped the bun at the base of her neck.

  He cupped her cheek, run his thumb over the satiny skin. She was so beautiful. “You have me.”

  “But I have to share.” She pressed a kiss into his palm. “For the greater good.”

  He sucked air into his lungs. She hadn’t asked him to stop doing what he was doing, stop protecting and serving. In fact, she’d insisted he head up the investigation under Lister. Would she cancel that order now?

  “I don’t suppose you’ve found the bad guys and have come back to stay.”

  “Not yet. But I have a lead.” Unfortunately, Manny had gotten to Justin Quartermain first. Now, the latter had rabbited and David would have to spend the next few days searching the mines for him.

  “Good.” She pulled away and strolled toward their bed. “Wrap it up quick. We have to talk.”

  “Talk?” Nothing good ever followed when a woman said those words. He doubted the end of the world had changed that.

  “Relax. It’s nothing bad.” She sat on the air mattress. Shep rolled onto his side as the wave of motion reached him. She tugged off her shoes and dropped them on the ground. “And no, I’m not breaking up with you.”

  “Oh.” That’s okay then. He crossed to her side. Wool cushioned his fingers as he draped the blankets around her. “So why not tell me now?”

  “Because it’s a good thing, an incentive to get the job done faster.”

  He snorted. She was all the incentive he needed. He brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. “How about a hint?”

  She hugged his pillow to her chest and sunk deeper into her mattress. “Not a chance, Soldier.”

  David stood guard until her breathing evened out then kissed her on the forehead. “Stay,” he ordered the dog.

  Shep stretched against Mavis’s back, chuffed once then closed his eyes.

  “Don’t get comfortable.” David intended to claim his spot again. And soon.

  *

  “I really want to thank you, Big D.”

  David rested his hand on the crate of nine millimeter rounds. Was this fifty-one or two? With the way Robertson’s mouth flapped all the time, he’d have to inventory it a third time.

  “I mean, who wouldn’t rather be stuck in this dark, damp hole counting munitions instead of flirting with a beautiful lady, rescuing her from near certain death—”

  “—It was a dead chicken, Robertson, not a fire-breathing dragon.” David shifted to the beginning of the line. Five, eight.

  “That Chef Jardin could probably fake the dragon bit.” Robertson propped his elbows on a nearby crate. “She didn’t quite buy the killed by horse hooves story.”

  Twenty. He took the marker and wrote the number on the metal. “That’s because you followed it up with the dead chicken plucked itself. No one in her right mind would buy that.”

  “Sunnie laughed.”

  David marked off another ten. “That’s because she’s half in love with you.”

  “Only half?” Robertson snorted. “Damn, I must be losing my touch.”

  Fifty-five. Fifty-six. David checked the computer readout. Shit there were supposed to be fifty-seven in inventory. He inched up the line looking for the missing box. It had to be here. He glanced around the cave at the boxes on pallets, covered by tarps and sitting on shelves. Somewhere.

  He just had to find it.

  “I got a box of nine mills over here.” Robertson rapped on a box.

  Fifty-seven. David checked them off. Now to move onto the things that went boom. He walked toward the stockpile of grenades.

  “I got sixteen cases of fifty millimeter rounds.”

  “Take the M112s.” He gestured toward the pile housing the blocks of C-4 explosives on the other side of the room. Too bad the cave echoed. He could have used the silence to focus. “We should have forty-four cases.”

  Robertson strutted down the aisle. “You aren’t going to warn me away from Sunnie, are you, Big D? I mean you were practically her step-uncle until Lister sent you undercover.”

  David marked the tenth box. He would be her uncle once this mission was finished. “You know what I’ll do to you if you break her heart, don’t you?”

  “Rip off my arms and beat me to death with them?”

 
Well, what do you know, the former private had been listening. He marked the twentieth box. “Well, that won’t be anything compared to what Mavis will do to you.”

  “The Doc’s one scary chick.”

  “Chick?” David laughed. Mavis’s intelligence was intimidating and her ability to see patterns was damn near supernatural, but deep down… Deep down, she was just like the rest of them—scarred by loss, uncertain of the future and desperate to survive. Some nights she held him so tight her nail marks didn’t fade until lunch. He’d vowed to protect her. He refused to fail. “Don’t let her hear you calling her that. Ever.”

  Robertson rolled his eyes. “Just ‘cuz I have a Southern drawl doesn’t mean I’m slow.”

  “I’d say the apocalypse has made a man outta you.” David counted the last box then checked the inventory. Damn, they were one short. He scanned the piles they had yet to count. None had the right-sized crate. “Looks like the bad guys got grenades.”

  “Fuck that noise.”

  “How’s the C-4?”

  “I—”

  All the lights but two went out.

  Shit. Someone had opened the door. Had the terrorists returned? David pulled Mavis’s Sig-Sauer from his waistband and sprinted for the wall. In the gloom, he spied Robertson, gun in hand, running parallel with him. They hit the dark zone five feet from the wall and disappeared in the shadows. Turning, David flattened against the stone and waited.

  The bad guys had just made a fatal mistake.

  He eased the safety off and slid his finger on the trigger. His pulse marched to a primitive beat.

  Two silhouettes stretched into the room.

  Ah, hell, just two? What was Robertson going to do? Raising his weapon with one hand, David reached behind him with the other. Wet rock skinned his fingertips before he found the switch.

  “Why the hell is the door unlocked?”

  “We might have to reconsider our theory.”

  David compared the voices to the men’s from the greenhouse. Not a match. Good, he wanted fresh meat. He flicked the switch. Light flooded the room. Blinking rapidly, he surged forward and planted the gun’s muzzle against the side of the newcomer’s skull. “Don’t move.”