Mavis froze. The woman couldn’t know, could she? What if she did? What if it were obvious?
Sunnie pressed her palm to Mavis’s forehead and frowned. “What’s wrong with her? Is she sick?” She stepped back a pace. “Is she contagious?”
Mrs. Bancroft laughed. Bandages wrapped the part of her arm exposed by her rolled cuff. “Oh, I’m sure every woman of a certain age is bound to get what your aunt has. But I’ve never heard of anyone catching it.”
Damn. The other woman knew. Mavis cleared her throat. How had she known? Had Johnson blabbed? Who else knew?
Sunnie chewed on her bottom lip.
“I’m okay. Really. I just need some crackers to settle my stomach.” Mavis could almost hear the pieces clicking into place in her niece’s mind.
Sunnie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re pregnant.”
“Shh.” Mavis pressed her finger to her lips. “I don’t want anyone to know yet.”
“But—but David—”
“Doesn’t know yet.” Mavis pulled Sunnie close and lowered her voice. No one was supposed to know. Yet.
“Bastard doesn’t deserve to know for leaving you for a stupid bottle.” Mrs. Bancroft’s lip curled. “Fooled every one into thinking he was a man of honor.”
Mavis stopped herself from defending him. Until his investigation concluded, she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the outcome or his life. “Who else knows?”
Mrs. Bancroft shrugged. “Anyone with eyes could see you’re under the weather. But it’s that odd shade of green that screams pregnant.”
“Great.” How do you disguise green? Make-up? Eyeliner and foundation hadn’t exactly been on her mind when packing for the apocalypse.
“Okay, maybe only those who’ve been in your shoes or have dealt with it would know.” Mrs. Bancroft crouched and scratched Shep behind his ears. “This is great news. The best, given our circumstances.”
The golden retriever pushed his head against Mavis’s hand, while the mutt wrapped around her legs. She scanned the corridor. No one lingered about. “Given our circumstances, it could have come at a better time.”
Sunnie scooped up the Chihuahua tugging the hem of her pants. “You mean the election?”
“Yes.” Among other things. Mavis yawned. What joy, she just woke and now she wanted to go to bed again.
Mrs. Bancroft clucked. “A woman’s never been elected President. A pregnant woman would be more than the testosterone-poisoned ones could handle.”
Mavis’s stomach rumbled. Geez, couldn’t it make up its mind? Needed to void one moment and demanding food the next.
“Run and grab your aunt some crackers. Then maybe she can face the sausage. Ha! Sausage. Testosterone.” Mrs. Bancroft winked at Mavis. “Get it.”
“Yes.” That’s exactly how she landed in this pickle. She leaned against the wall. Water leached the heat from her skin. So what if she got wet? Getting soaked beat having the dog trip her. She could hurt the baby. It had to be protected. Dirk and his puppet politician must not be allowed to win this election. She glanced at her niece. “Crackers please.”
“Be right back.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Mrs. Bancroft blew the dog fur off her fingers. “I’ll make sure no one says anything about your condition until you give the word.”
“I appreciate your discretion.” Puffs of fur drifted down to the ground. One month to elections. Others would figure out that she was pregnant. She couldn’t hide it forever. And she wouldn’t tell David until his mission was finished. Dividing his attention could be fatal. Now she was almost upset that Jake Turner had wanted a month.
If only she could make the time move faster.
An idea spun in her head and clicked. A sense of calm blanketed her. Should she do it? Could she do it? Oh, yeah, Lister and the others would be just as motivated to put this election behind them. “Mrs. Bancroft, may I ask you a question?”
“Sure thing. We gals gotta stick together.”
Mavis nodded. She supported girl power so long as there was no bra burning involved. There would soon come a day when such support systems would be in short supply. Then again, if things go bad, she’d need all the support she could muster. “What do you think of early voting?”
Mrs. Bancroft’s carefully shaped eyebrows met above her nose. A moment later, the confusion cleared and she grinned. “Why I think that’s an amazing idea. I’ll be sure to plant the bug in some ears. But the next cabinet meeting is a week away. Do you want to wait that long?”
“No.” Sally Rogers would have to program a voting system and Jake Turner, the snake, would need time to make sure it was legal. Mavis had to give them some lead time. Just not too much time. God help them all if Dirk and his cohorts got wind of her condition.
Sunnie sprinted across the threshold of the dining hall. Cracker packets poked between her fingers. “I got them.” Her hoarse whisper echoed off the halls.
Mavis nodded. Definitely couldn’t keep this a secret long. She plucked a packet from Sunnie’s hand and ripped it open with her teeth. With shaking fingers, she snapped off a corner and set it on her tongue. Sweetness flooded her taste buds as the carbs dissolved. Her stomach settled into a cushy nest of intestines. God bless whoever invented the cracker.
Mrs. Bancroft snorted. “I’ll get right on it.” She turned to head back down the ramp, stopped and retraced her steps. “One more thing. We’re missing some pick axes and shovels. Were they there when you put the tools away?”
Sunnie looked at the ceiling as if the answer was written on the wires, rock and lights over her head. “Yes, I’m pretty sure the axes were; I know the shovels were. But I’ll ask Robertson about the axes when we start today.”
“Good.” Mrs. Bancroft snapped her fingers and the dogs leapt to their feet. “Let’s go, you mangy mutts. You’ve already had your breakfast.”
“See you in an hour, Mrs. Bancroft.” Sunnie waved the packets at the other woman.
Shep trotted to Mavis’s side. Sitting, he leaned against her leg.
“What do you want me to do with these?”
Mavis held out her hands. Despite two crackers, her stomach wasn’t quite up to sausage. “I’ll take them.”
The dog eyed the exchange. His scruff rippled with anticipation.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not really feeling up to it.” She shuffled the packages into an organized stack. Six sets of crackers. How long would that last her? Six days or three?
“You have to go in there.” Sunnie jerked her head toward the canteen. “That jerkface Dirk has his candidate in there smoozing and pressing flesh. His goon squad is saying you’re too afraid to show your face.”
Really, could they be any more transparent? Maybe they’d double dog dare her next. Still… Quite a few men and women might see her decision to eat later as a bit chicken.
Sighing, she eyed her crackers. “What should I do with these?”
“Stick ‘em in your pockets.”
Duh. She’d definitely need a nap before making any major decision today. She ran her hand down her stomach. Stay! She waited a heartbeat. At least the cracker seemed to obey. “Let’s go.”
Sunnie linked her arm through Mavis’s. “Maybe we should give you a code word for your special supplies. Because I didn’t understand what you meant when you said you wanted a camera.”
Mavis nodded to the few people they passed. “I really do want you to get a camera, but not for me. Audra Silvestre, one of our teachers, wants to create a series of programs about radiation. Many of her students fear giant bugs.”
Dirk waved at her from across the cafeteria and pointed to a dark-haired man chatting with Mildred Dobbins, her head farmer.
“Oh. That sounds like fun. Do you think she’d let me help?”
“Why don’t you ask her when you deliver the camera?” Mavis grabbed a tray. Her stomach lurched when she neared the plates of sausage in gravy. Oh, God. Not now. She quickly set it on her tray
and moved down the line, grabbing dishes of granola and nuts as she went.
She hoped Shep was hungry.
“Doctor Spanner!”
A male voice boomed across the room. Conversations died. Shep growled.
Gripping the tray, she turned. Her orange drink sloshed in her glass. Now what were Dirk and his flunkies up to?
A dark-haired man stood on a table. A small group of people gathered around him. “I challenge you to a debate. It’s time the people understand that they don’t have to bow down to your tyranny any longer.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Papa Rose flattened himself against the rock wall. Above the smell of grass, he caught a whiff of animals. Not that unusual. This was the pasture. Except he hadn’t seen any animals. If he didn’t know better, he’d say they were a myth. Like potatoes.
“Who the fuck knew this place was so large?” Falcon slammed into the wall behind him. While the ex-Green Beret’s Glock aimed for the ceiling, he covered their six.
No one followed.
Papa Rose peeked into the next cavern. The empty green pasture stretched for fifty feet. He adjusted his grip on the Sig-Sauer. Did something just move in the dark hallway beyond? Nah, just the stupid shadows. “No place for cover in this one either.”
“Makes me almost miss fifty pounds of equipment strapped to my ass.”
“Almost.” He would kill for a Kevlar vest and a helmet right about now. Some protection had to be better than this. Hell, stripped, covered with honey and trapped in a room with killer bees had to be better than this. Above the plop of water, he caught the faint murmur of moaning. Stopping, he raised his fist.
The terrorists had to be close.
“Tell us what we want to know.” The words were clipped, rushed.
Someone was losing patience. Not good news for Eddie.
Eddie’s watery chuckles bounced off the rock. “You smell of ass.”
Papa Rose swallowed a growl. The dumb-fuck egged his attackers on. Did he want to get beaten to death?
Flesh pounded flesh to a soundtrack of grunts.
How long had Eddie endured the poundings? How much more could he withstand? Anything if his loved ones were in danger.
Falcon crouched low in the passage. “What do you think they’re after?”
“God knows.” And He needed to start sharing. Soon would be nice.
“It must be important for him to keep silent.”
“He knows the vulnerability of practically every system in these caves.” Papa Rose slipped his finger on the trigger. Eddie Buchanan was a terrorist’s wet dream. And he might just be the key to learning the bastards’ master plan.
“Fuck me.” Falcon kissed his gun for luck. “So are we killing or just maiming?”
Killing would be easiest.
It might also cost them more than it was worth. The terrorists needed to be taken alive. “Maiming.”
“You’re no fun anymore.” Falcon rose.
Papa Rose shoved off the wall and sprinted across the cavern. The spongy grass absorbed every footfall. At least, they could sneak up on the terrorists with little effort. Or the terrorists could sneak up on them. He glanced over his shoulder.
About ten feet behind him, Falcon gave him a thumbs-up.
Papa Rose plunged into the darker passage connecting the cavern system. The tunnel zigzagged ahead creating a blind. Gun at the ready, he crept closer. His heart thundered in his chest when he reached the bend. Spitting on his fingers, he loosened the nearest bulb until it blinked off. Before his eyes fully adjusted to the dark, he turned the corner.
A man’s elbow protruded into the opening.
Shit! They were almost on top of the bastards. So much for Plan A. Papa Rose loosened the next bulb just as Falcon joined him.
“I say we grab his woman. That way, if he still doesn’t talk, we could have a little fun with the bitch.”
A roar rushed down the tunnel.
A man in jeans and a flannel shirt fell in front of the opening. He turned his head toward the tunnel.
Falcon fired a round and a red dot appeared in the terrorist’s forehead. His skull exploded out the back.
“What the fuck!” the interrogator screamed.
Papa Rose sprinted for the entrance to the cavern. So much for a surprise attack.
“Now, you die,” Eddie growled.
Two more men rolled in front of the opening. Eddie’s fingers were wrapped around the bottom man’s throat. The terrorists clawed Eddie’s hands.
Papa Rose leapt over the duo and spun around. He aimed at empty rock. “Where’s Bad Ass number three?”
“There.” Down on one knee, Falcon pressed his fingers against the dead terrorist’s throat and jerked his chin toward the cavern’s exit.
Fuck! Papa Rose turned.
Bad Ass number three was five feet from the exit and closing fast.
Papa Rose shifted his aim from his target’s chest to his thigh and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked in his hand.
Bad Ass yelped. His leg collapsed underneath him and he pitched forward. His head collided with the wall. Bone snapped and his neck twisted at an odd angle. One twitch later and he lay still.
“Fuck.”
Falcon snorted. “Guess you can’t say anything about my oops now that you’ve had your own.”
“Asshole.” Setting the safety on his weapon, Papa Rose closed in on Eddie.
The terrorist’s face was bright red. His eyes bulged as he gasped and his struggles weakened.
Buchanan stared calmly at the other man and squeezed.
Papa Rose sucked in a breath. The dude hadn’t been kidding; he was a natural. “Eddie. That’s enough. You’re going to kill him.”
“No one threatens what’s mine.”
“I sympathize. I really do, but we need this man alive.”
Eddie’s eye twitched.
The terrorist’s eyes rolled back in his head.
Falcon raised his weapon and brought the butt down on Eddie’s head.
Eddie slumped forward, his hands flopped down next to him.
The terrorist gasped for breath.
Papa Rose pressed his finger to Eddie’s neck. A strong, steady pulse beat against his fingers. “Nice job.”
Falcon rolled Eddie onto his back, inspected his injuries. “By the time you worked through your inner touchy-feely, our prisoner would have been dead.”
Their prisoner scrambled backward on the grass and clover. “Th—Thank you,” he croaked.
Raising his gun, Papa Rose aimed at the man. At least if he winged the asshole here, he couldn’t fall and break his neck. “We’ve got some questions for you.”
“Me!” The prisoner held his throat. “He attacked me.”
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re innocent.” Papa Rose tapped the muzzle of his Sig-Sauer against the prisoner’s temple. “Save it for Saint Peter. What did you want with Eddie?”
“I—I was just walking and…”
Pinching the makeshift bandanna in his fingers, he yanked it down the terrorist’s face. Papa Rose mentally compared it to the profiles he’d memorized last night. His stomach cramped. Damn.
“That guy…” Their prisoner pointed to Eddie. “He attacked me.”
Pushing with his gun, Papa Rose turned the terrorist’s face to Eddie’s laptop. “See that there. That recorded the whole thing. Now, tell us what information you wanted from Buchanan.”
The terrorist paled. “I want a lawyer.”
Falcon leapt to his feet. “You see why we should have just put a bullet through his head?”
“Guard him while I contact Lister. Being former military, he should be real good at getting answers.”
“I—”
“If you tell me you have rights, I’ll smoke your ass.” Falcon’s finger settled on the trigger.
The pungent odor of urine filled the air. Dampness spread over the prisoner’s crotch. He stared at the inside of his skull and fell backward.
Falcon laughed. �
��The bitch fainted.”
“If he doesn’t die of fright, you can keep acting the Big Bad.” Papa Rose opened the email program on Eddie’s computer. He marked it high priority then added Lister’s and the infirmary’s addresses.
“What act?” Falcon strutted. “I’m big. I’m bad.”
“And little children fear you. Now, give me a list of Eddie’s injuries.”
Falcon rattled off the trauma, ticking his fingers with each word. “So we’re just going to turn this over to the new security force?”
“Yep.” Papa Rose sent the email. “Check out the other guys.”
“You don’t think they’re dead?”
“This guy wasn’t on our list.” He jerked his head to the unconscious terrorist. And if their list was wrong…
“You sure?”
He pinned his friend with a glare. “We missed something in our profile.”
Falcon raised his hands and backed up a step. “Right you have a knack for faces. You sure it’s important? I mean we have him.” He kicked the terrorist’s sneaker. “What do we need a profile for?”
“Three reasons. Toby. Olivia. Jillie.” Papa Rose named the three children they’d found and cared for. “The bad guys and their sympathizers must be cleared out once and for all.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Hello sweet-thang.” Robertson strutted up to Sunnie’s table.
Not that it could have been hard to find her. She was practically the only one in the dining hall. Wringing the rag into the dirty waterbucket, she shook her head. She had to keep it light. He mustn’t suspect she had a secret or he would keep after her until she slipped. She couldn’t betray Aunt Mavis like that. “One of these days, I’m gonna fall for your lines.”
He flexed his muscles. “I’m strong enough to catch you.”
She slapped the wet rag on the table with a splat. Water streaked the fake wood as she wiped up drops of white gravy, toaster pastry crumbs and sticky juice. “You saying I’m fat?”
“Leave it to a woman to find an insult in a gallant remark.”
“Mrs. Bancroft won’t be happy that we’re so late bringing the slops.” Sunnie refused to think why he was late. If he was fooling around with his latest flavor of the week, she didn’t want to hear about it. Finished cleaning the table, she tossed the rag into the bucket.
Redaction: Dark Hope Part III Page 16