Redaction: The Meltdown Part II

by Andrews, Linda

  “Where you going, Papa?”

  “Shopping.” Jogging down the driveway, he eyed the vehicles. There. In the center lane. A blue compact. Now, he just had to clear a path.

  Falcon stopped next to him. “See one you like?”

  “Yeah.” He pointed to the car. It was going to be a bitch getting out of the jam, but Toyotas were supposed to get great gas mileage. “That one.”

  “Of course, the one facing the wrong direction and in the center lane.” Falcon shook his head. “Why didn’t you just pick one two blocks over parked in a tree?”

  “Because that would be too easy.” He opened the door on the closest truck. Keys dangled from the ignition. He tried the engine. Nothing. Shifting it in neutral, he braced one hand on the door opening and the other on the dash. Muscle burned as he pushed. One inch. Two. Rain slipped into his eyes. Wasn’t the street supposed to be flat?

  Hands slapped metal and the truck lurched forward. Falcon shoved on the tailgate.

  Guess the man was good for something. He steered it straight, passed the entrance until they reached the first car in the log-jam. Yanking hard, he guided it into place and let it coast to a stop.

  Falcon shook the rain from his crew cut. “One down and only twenty or so to go.”

  From the gas station, a generator started with a deep throated growl.

  “Ha!” Brainiac’s shout drowned out the motor. He bounced out of the room and kicked at the rain. “We’ve got three thousand left.”

  Well, shit. The squid would never let them hear the end of it.

  “That’s great.” He yanked open the door of the next vehicle. Hopefully the Buick would be easier to move than the truck.

  “Now how do we put it back in the tanker?” Falcon took up his position behind the maroon trunk.

  Brainiac scratched his head then grinned. “We’re going to pump it.”

  Before shifting into neutral, he tried the engine. Dead. The bad guys must have drained them first. Fuckers. He changed gears, climbed out and set a hand on the frame and another on the wheel. “That will take forever.”

  It took forever to fill up his truck and that was merely twenty-six gallons. They’d be here all night and into tomorrow to get three thousand out. At his nod, they both pushed the sedan. It slowly eased forward.

  “Not if you use the right pump.” Brainiac pointed to the equipment store on the opposite side of the street. “I’ll need a pump that’s—”

  “We’re a little busy at the moment.”

  “Hey, I can give you a little gas to get them moving.”

  Falcon hung his head. “I hate squid.”

  “You said it.” Papa guided the car to a stop along the median. Damn, now he felt old and stupid. Wiping the rain from his eyes, he stared at the ex-sailor. “What do you want us to get?”

  “A submersible pump.” Brainiac cupped his hands around his mouth. “And make sure it’s in good working condition and no frayed cords. One stray spark and we all go boom.”

  Falcon leaned against the Buick. “Rocks, paper, scissors?”

  “I’ll go.” He squeezed between the bumpers of two sedans and stepped onto the median. At least, he knew what a submersible pump looked like. Cassia bushes scratched at his jeans as he squeezed through to the other street. He set his hand on the blue Toyota. Soon, you’ll be mine.

  “Help!” A woman shouted above the rain. “Someone help me!”

  Chapter Nine

  Mavis stared at the clump of dirt on the Humvee’s carpet. Black rock in brown soil. Another round pinged the vehicle, freeing emotion from the yoke of logic. Sunnie! Her lungs sawed for breath. Lacing her fingers, she clasped them so tightly her hands shook. Please God. Please. Please, please, let her be alright.

  More gunshots merged with the rumble of distant thunder. Was the gunfight over? Could she get up? Could she check on her niece? She tried to straighten but a weight along her spine kept her folded like a table stowed under the seat. Bits of brain matter swung on the strands of her hair and oozed in bloody rivulets down the door.

  “Keep down.” General Lister’s warm breath swirled through her hair, filling her cramped space with the smell of stale coffee. “Dawson I need a report. ASAP.”

  A cramp stitched her side, sewing up the muscles coiled to spring her from the Humvee. Indistinct voices murmured near her left ear. Forcing her hands apart, she fumbled along her shoulder until she brushed cool plastic. Numb fingers pinched the sticky plastic communicator before she worked it into her ear.

  “They’re falling back.” David’s voice parted the static crackling inside her skull. “Shall we pursue, General?”

  No! She couldn’t risk losing him, too. Slapping her hand across her mouth, she trapped the words.

  “Search and destroy, Sergeant-Major. Put a bullet in every last mother fucker’s head.” Lister’s bark echoed around the SUV. “This is an approved exfil route and I won’t have the MFs preying on the innocent.”

  “Roger that, Operation Eliminate Dumb Asses all ready in progress and nearing it’s end. Thank you sir for permission to continue.” David huffed.

  Moans and cries interrupted the static being transmitted. Calls for help came from inside her head and outside the Humvee. So many voices. So much pain. Her mouth dried. Was one of them Sunnie? Had she been killed in the shooting? She yanked out the earpiece and threw it to the floor.

  “I want a fucking perimeter set up ten minutes ago!” Lister shouted. Leather creaked as he sat up and the weight lifted from her back. “And someone better start yakking.”

  She sprang onto the seat. Where was the walkie? Her fingers crawled like spiders over the seat. She’d had it before the firefight started. Her gaze darted from floor to bench to console to floor. Post-modernism blood spatter decorated the interior. Where could the walkie have gone?

  “We have casualties, Sir.”

  Casualties. She blinked. This was her fault. She’d plotted this egress route and through the Emergency Alert System told the whole world where to find them. She’d told the bad guys where to ambush them and kill her niece. The knowledge settled in her gut with the weight of a quantum singularity. Get a grip. Get a grip. Her thoughts distorted and twisted. She clutched her head and squeezed. Think. She needed to think.

  “How many?” Lister stared at her from under bushy gray eyebrows. His lap contained the cup of a Marine’s skull.

  The first victim of the ambush, but not the last, not the only one.

  Death was part of the trip. She knew this would happen, had calculated the effects of human predation. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Why couldn’t she have gone the rest of her life without seeing this again? The scene shifted to distant lands with more sand, turbaned men with covered faces, hot metal, spilled blood and fresh gunpowder. She focused on the scars on her wrists—souvenirs of ropes and shackles. Get a grip. Her presence of mind had saved her from the blinding darkness, the utter aloneness and the indignity of institutionalized hate.

  It would save her again.

  Save them all. She held her breath until her lungs burned and black crowded her vision. In the hypoxia, her thoughts queued up in order, forming a plan.

  Plans were good.

  First, she needed to check on Sunnie. Which meant she needed the walkie. She seriously doubted the general would let her out of the vehicle until David sounded the all clear. “Walkie?”

  Lister’s lips twitched. Slowly, he leaned closer. His fingers crept along the bench toward her thigh. “Glad to have you back, Doc.”

  At least he hadn’t reprimanded her for her panic. Hell, the man might have had his own PTSD episode. Smell tended to do that. “I wish I could say it’s good to be back, but that would be a lie.”

  “True.” He skimmed her thigh and her leg jiggled. “Might want to shake your ass for me.”

  She glanced down. He pinched the hard plastic antennae of the walkie lodged under her thigh. She rolled her weight to the side. “Why didn’t you just say I was si
tting on it?”

  “And miss the fun?”

  “Let me know when I have permission to leave the vehicle.” Snatching the device from his hand, she stabbed the talk button. “Sunnie? Sunnie can you hear me?”

  “I’m thinking it might be safe in Colorado.”

  She shook her head. Technically, she was in charge here. But Lister had the gun and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to conk her on the head for the good of his men. Hell, she would do just about anything to keep Sunnie safe. And speaking of her niece… “Sunnie? Hello? Mr. Johnson?” She addressed the medic. “Is anyone there?”

  “Mavis?” A man answered then fell silent.

  Her heart slammed to a stop. Oh no. If neither Sunnie or Johnson were answering, it must be bad. She set her hand on the metal door handle. Lister would need his gun to stop her.

  “Mr. Q-Quartermain?” She tripped over the name of her neighbor. It must be really bad if he used her first name. He’d always called her Mrs. Spanner.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The old man’s voice warbled before disintegrating into a watery cough. His emphysema sounded worse. “Sunnie slept straight through the whole thing, Mavis. There’s not a scratch on her.”

  She bit her lip. Would the old man lie? He too had someone to protect. She shook her head. Lying didn’t make sense. The wily octogenarian would know she’d be around to check for herself. But why was her neighbor answering the walkie and not the medic? Good Lord, could he have gone with David and the rest of his unit? “Is Johnson injured?”

  “No, Ma’am. He has his hands full at the moment.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. Of course, the casualties. Fear had produced tunnel vision. Squeezing her eyes closed, she refocused. All that remained of her neighborhood was in that truck and she hadn’t bothered to ask about any of them. How could she expect them to look after her niece, if she didn’t keep their welfare in mind?

  And now, after everything they’d survived together, one had been lost. “Who?”

  Their faces played against her lids. Snapshot memories. Mr. Quartermain with his bow and arrows. The twin septuagenarians with identical tracksuits. Noni with her clacking dentures. The young couple afraid to be happy about her pregnancy. And a handful more. Which one had died?

  “No one we knew.” Mr. Quartermain wheezed. “Four of the new arrivals were in too much shock to duck when the shooting started.”

  Thank God. She sagged against the seat. Lumps poked her back. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “We gotta look after each other.”

  His words resonated inside her, shaking ideas loose. Mavis stared at the silent walkie as the pieces slowly clicked into place. Of course, how could she be so stupid? Before flight or fight kicked in, the body froze.

  “Perimeter is established.” Lister nudged her shoulder. “I have men coming with gear. You will wear it or you’ll never leave this car, understood?”

  “Yes.” But a helmet and Kevlar vest wasn’t what was needed, wasn’t what would keep people alive. Soldiers on the front line stopped fighting for God, country and cause when the shooting started. They fought for those in the trenches next to them. The survivors may have arrived in groups, but that didn’t make them connected, didn’t mean they had someone to live for.

  She needed to give them that.

  And she knew just the way. Evolution may favor the survival of individuals, but nature skewed the odds toward those who worked for the group. Deep in their mammalian brains, humans were highly social animals, cooperating with others gave them an edge over the loners.

  Two million years of human conditioning was a powerful weapon, and she would take advantage of it

  A shadow moved over her window right then her door opened.

  A woman in a tan and green Army Combat Uniform shoved a helmet and vest inside. Wind stirred her sandy hair and a droplet winked on the cracked right lens of her eyeglasses. Thunderheads boiled over her shoulder and rain streaked the horizon.

  Mavis’s nose twitched as the smell of burning and damp mingled. The storm would chase them north, putting out the fires in front of them. At least something had gone their way.

  “The lieutenant will be your own personal bodyguard until we reach safety.” Lister held his thumb to his earpiece while swiping the goo off his laptop.

  “Got it.” Mavis plunked on the helmet. The straps danced over her shoulders through her shirt but she didn’t care. Sunnie might be awake and wondering what the hell was happening.

  “You’ve got ten minutes.” Balancing the laptop on his knees, Lister straightened his wire readers. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  “Since we’re stopped anyway, I want the civilians and every available serviceman assembled in the wash.”

  “You wanna expose our folks? Just because your boy-toy is chasing the snipers doesn’t mean it’s safe for everyone to lollygag in the open.”

  “If I don’t give people a reason to live, they’re as good as dead.” Slipping out of the car, she quickly eased into the bullet-proof vest and adjusted the velcro until it molded around her body. The weight pressed against her chest and she tugged on the collar brushing her throat. Did they have to make them so high?

  “What about those up ahead?” Leaning over the seat, he jerked his head to the dust and smoke trail in the distance. “Want me to call them back?”

  She shook her head. Most of the front trucks were sick soldiers and the folks that had brought the farm animals. They already had responsibilities that kept them moving, alive. She was after the singles, the loners, and the orphans. “No need. I just want the civilians.”

  He combed the chunks of the soldier’s brain from his buzz cut. “Assemble the non-coms in front.” Using his hand, he covered the mouthpiece. “What about our dead?”

  “Unload them. We’ll bury them here.” She rubbed at the blood drying on her face. Sunnie couldn’t see her like this. She yanked the bottle of water off the floor.

  “Where? The heavy equipment only dug graves farther down the road.”

  She poured some water into her palm, splashed it on her face and scrubbed her cheek. God help her if she was just smearing it around. “This is Phoenix. Practically, everyone has a pool and most were told to use the water to flush the toilets and conserve potable water.” She would know. She’d written that order on her second day working on the Influenza pandemic. “They should be empty or nearly so.”

  Instant mass grave.

  Lister grunted. “Hell of a brave new world.”

  She slammed the door as he started barking orders. Even without her earpiece, her head still rang with his shouts. Her helmet slipped back as she jogged toward the truck behind the Humvee.

  “You should probably secure your helmet, Ma’am,” the Marine said.

  And have something else strangling her? No thanks. She cleared the open door of the personnel carrier. Holes punctured the canvas sides. Dark stained threads fluttered like thin red banners from the opening.

  She raised her hand to touch them, changed her mind and curled her fingers into a fist. “How many people did we lose in this truck?”

  “I don’t know, Ma’am. Shall I check?” Hazel eyes widened behind the lieutenant’s glasses.

  Maybe the military wasn’t as occupied as they needed to be to get through this. Surviving wasn’t easy for anyone, add in a healthy dose of guilt and she had a recipe for disaster. Mavis read the name stuck over the Marine’s right breast. “Do you have a first name, Lieutenant Rogers?”

  “Sally, Ma’am.” The soldier’s gaze prowled the camp.

  “What’s your specialty, Sally?” Not that it mattered, but everyone needed to know that they mattered, that someone cared about them. Mavis would be that person until they found another. And in forging the social contract, more eyes would watch after Sunnie. If her planned worked, everyone would be part of the village.

  Whether they liked it or not.

  Up ahead, a male Airman planted himself at the end of the t
ruck pulled alongside Sunnie’s. Frustration cut deep grooves into his pale cheeks. “Reverend, I understand your work is important but there are others that request your help.”

  “I can tend those in here until the shooting stops.” The whine came from behind the canvas.

  Mavis clenched her teeth. Maybe not everyone should be part of the village. Especially men like Reverend Trent P. Franklin. She hated the man on sight and didn’t trust him farther than she could spit into the wind. God forgive her, but she wished the man had been killed in the firefight. “I thought priests were supposed to put others’ needs above their own.”

  “He’s not a priest.” Sally’s lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. Contempt twisted her lips when she stared at the Reverend Franklin hiding in the shadows of the truck.

  She stopped and surveyed her bodyguard. There was a story here. But was it enough to excommunicate the preacher? “He isn’t?”

  “No. Priests are celibate. Reverends and ministers aren’t.” Pink colored the lieutenant’s cheeks. Her jaw worked a couple of times before words came out. “I…I—”

  “I understand.” Ew! Sleeping with a snake held more appeal than that blond haired, blue eyed scum bucket. And the snake was still a serpent after shedding its skin. She had a nasty feeling that something far worse lurked under the good Reverend’s well-maintained facade. She needed to check with the general and see if his men were still keeping an eye on him.

  “It was a slip of the tongue. I’m Catholic, so everyone in a collar is a priest to us.” But even preachers usually wore a collar. Reverend Trent P. Franklin had been in grungy street clothes when the Marines introduced the wolf into her flock.

  Mavis shuffled to the back of Sunnie’s truck. Two Marines stood at the rear of the personnel carrier. They counted to three, then each lifted a blond kindergartener from the truck. The children squealed as they were swung high.

  “Do you know the Reverend well?” Is that why you slept with such an asshole? To return, however briefly, to your life before the world went to Hell?