Redaction: The Meltdown Part II

by Andrews, Linda

  After handing off her pen, Mavis flicked the pages, one after the other. Ten men. Twelve. Frustration shredded her insides. Come on. They had to be here. Lucky number thirteen. Hooked nose and beady, close-set eyes. “Gary Everett.” His occupation surprised her. One would think Trent would pick his friends more closely. “Ex-con. Drug dealing.” She smiled as she scanned Gary’s rap sheet. “And a piece of good news, he’s ratted out cronies before.”

  Lister shook a speared sausage at her. “So we have a wedge.”

  That better not be her sausage breakfast.

  David set an MRE by her cold coffee and opened her wheat bread.

  With her free hand, she dipped the corner into the gravy and tossed it into her mouth. Her finger left streak marks across the screen. Numbers fourteen and fifteen showed two brothers from Alabama caught in Phoenix during the Redaction. They’d have an axe to grind for keeping them from their loved ones. “Add Ernest and Robert E Pyle. Both are long haul truckers.”

  She watched David’s face, saw his eyes widen when the implication sunk in. “My men will be on guard once they realize they’re cut off from the platoon.”

  If they have time to realize it. Trent may not want to wait to replace the soldiers with his new chauffeurs.

  She flicked through more pictures. Come on. Where was the last? Two flew by and she backtracked. A man in a suit stared back at her. Thin lipped, flat black eyes and crooked nose. Black chest hair carried a gold crucifix above the first button of his white dress shirt and loose tie. “Jake Turner.”

  This was a man used to being in charge but he’d been the first recruit.

  Perhaps Trent had his own wolf. She scanned his vitals and smiled. “Guess what gentlemen. We’ve just found Trent Powers’ defense lawyer.”

  “Why try him at all? We know he’s guilty.” Lister stabbed another sausage chunk. “Let’s just kill the bastard.”

  She handed the tablet back to Sally. “In case you hadn’t noticed civilians outnumber servicemen and that gap is only going to widen. If we go around shooting people, no matter how much they deserve it, then we’re dead. We can’t fight for survival and each other.”

  Lister shook his bread at her. “I don’t want the bastard getting off on a technicality either.”

  “Oh he won’t, I promise you that.” She broke her bread into pieces and dropped them into the sausage gravy, stirring it with her fork. “Find me a civilian lawyer and thirty potential jurors, cross-reference their names with anyone who lost a loved one to the lawlessness that occurred at the beginning of the Redaction.”

  “Damn, Doc,” awe-tinged Lister’s voice, “that’s brilliant and sneaky.”

  If she couldn’t get a conviction with a stacked jury, then she’d find another means. One way or another, she’d get those victims justice.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  David stuffed the last piece of cake in his mouth, as Mavis reached the door. The food settled like lead shot in his gut. Damn Lister. The Marine had tossed him under the bus by telling Mavis about the sabotage.

  Something David himself had been forced to swear to keep to himself.

  And then she’d looked at him.

  And he’d spied the pain in her hazel eyes.

  He tossed his garbage on the tray. The lance-corporal can clean up this mess by himself. David had damage control of his own to do. Without asking permission, David strode to the door.

  Lister intercepted him, picking his teeth with the folded edge of a bag. “Good luck.”

  David was surprised it wasn’t the quill from a canary, the conniving bastard. “Thank you, Sir.”

  He stepped into the morning light. To his right, people shuffled in the pearly dawn. Overhead, night fled before the sun, but the storm clouds to the north advanced. That wasn’t the only bad weather.

  On his left, Mavis marched toward the river. Pausing, she turned and arched an eyebrow, daring him.

  David squared his shoulders and followed. His men were in harm’s way, her niece was at risk and a pecker head threatened to undermine everything they’d hoped to build but he’d never ignore a dare.

  As soon as he reached her side, she began to walk. “I take it you’re ready to talk.”

  He stumbled over a step. Damn. Nothing good ever began when a woman wanted to talk. He would know. Twenty-six women ended their relationship with a variation of those words.

  Would telling her he was ordered to withhold information from her keep her by his side?

  Maybe.

  “I don’t have anything to say.” He wouldn’t defend his actions, or his allegiance. His men were his family. If she couldn’t understand that… “But I figured you did.”

  “Yes.” She stopped by a shrub, ran her fingers through the grayish leaves. With a sigh, she faced him. “I’m glad you don’t have anything to say, because I want to get this out.”

  David clasped his hands behind his back. Why had he hoped she’d understand? Because of Sunnie? Despite her announcement, she’d fight harder to keep everyone alive with her niece by her side than with Sunnie buried in a roadside grave.

  And his words definitely hadn’t helped his cause.

  “Today tested your loyalties and I came out the loser.” She grimaced and wrapped her arms around her waist. Her attention slipped off him. “I detest losing.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Her lips quirked. Slowly, she raised her gaze until their eyes locked. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Huh? She was apologizing to him?

  “What we have is too new and untested to withstand these trails.”

  He curled his free hand into a fist. Cue the break-up music. He dug his heels into the ground.

  “So I release you.”

  And now he just had to wait for the end credits to roll and the curtain to fall. Tonight, he’d find a cold cot to climb into. Yay him.

  “You don’t owe me a professional loyalty, just personal one.”

  The music in his head screamed to a stop. “What?”

  This was the weirdest break-up he’d been through.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, I won’t share you with another woman.” She stepped closer and rested her hands against his chest. “I just don’t expect you to put me ahead of the needs of your men or the military.”

  David stepped back, swaying a little on his feet. His thoughts chased round and round inside his skull. “Maybe you better repeat that.”

  Because he couldn’t have heard what he thought he did.

  “Your men and the service need you more than I do right now.” She closed the gap between them once again but this time she didn’t touch him. “I won’t ask you to choose. To tell me every little thing. I just ask that when the time comes, if the time comes when I…”

  She inhaled deeply.

  David caught her hands, threaded his fingers through hers. He’d be there when she needed him. Always, no matter what happened between them. She’d gotten the loyalty part right. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”

  She smiled and rested her head against his chest. “You know I’m only doing this because you keep me warm.”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He set his chin on the top of her head and watched as a bird swooped out of the sky toward the river. Wait a minute. If he was allowed to keep secrets from her, was she keeping secrets from him?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Papa Rose kicked the length of two by four wedged into the wheel, opening and closing the irrigation gate. Mud oozed around his boots and dripped down his backside. “Move.” Kick. “Your.” Kick. “Ass.” Kick. Kick.

  His knee throbbed with each impact. Sweat beaded his forehead; a frigid breeze whisked it away.

  “You do know that it doesn’t have an ass.” Falcon squished through the mud on the other side of the white metal gate. A ball bearing rattled around the spray can in his hand before he sprayed the WD40 on the rusted nut holding the wheel.

 
“Unlike you.” Brainiac stopped playing with the wires of the generator and perched on the edge of the truck bed. The logo of Palo Verde Generating Station decorated the white door. Of all the elements in the logo, only the orange mountains and golden sun and reactor dome would remain. The green saguaro would die from the radiation as would the rest of the vegetation.

  And forget using the farmlands for the next hundred thousand years or so.

  The squid smiled. “You should have seen your face when you went down.”

  Papa Rose rubbed the dried mud off his hands. Beside the ditch stretched a field. Furrows divided the dark soil into neat rows. That crop would never grow. “Remind me again, why you’re not helping to open and close these stupid gates?”

  “Because I have to make sure the generators are wired correctly to power the wells.” Brainiac shook the open edge of a heavy duty cord at him. Red, white, black and green coated copper wires bristled from the ends. “It’s a delicate procedure. If we blow this, Doc won’t get three more days.”

  Falcon stopped his spraying. The painted metal glistened in the morning sun. “Try it again.”

  Shaking off his thoughts, Papa Rose slammed his boot against the wood. Metal screamed. Hallelujah! It budged. Bracing his feet against the wall of the ditch, he leaned against the two by four. Splinters bit into his palm and he sunk deeper into the green slime at the bottom of the ditch.

  The damn thing didn’t move.

  He glared at Falcon. “Wanna give me a hand?”

  “Nope.” The former Green Beret grinned. He carefully set the spray can on the dirt road running parallel to the ditch. “But I will, we’re running out of time and you’re taking forever.”

  “Asshole.”

  After blowing him an air kiss, Falcon rested his hands on the other end of the plank, pushing in the same direction. The wheel squeaked as it turned inch by inch.

  Brainiac took out a knife and scored the plastic covering the wires in his hand. “Oh we have plenty of time now. The water from the first well has already made it down to the ponds. Glen is routing the water to the pools.”

  “Who is Glen?” Papa Rose’s knees banged against the metal gate. Pain burned across his back as he continued to push with his upper body. Christ Jesus, this was getting old.

  “The nuclear tech.” Brainiac bit the tip of the green plastic and pulled, skinning the wire. “I should probably check on him. He didn’t sound too good.”

  “We’re lucky he’s lasted this long.” Releasing his plank, Papa Rose turned in the ditch and grabbed the one Falcon had been pushing. Bracing his foot in the muddy side, he pulled.

  “He’s been sick nearly thirty hours, right?” Mimicking his actions, Falcon manhandled the wood toward his chest.

  Brainiac spit the piece of plastic onto the field. “Thirty-two.”

  Time was almost up. Thankfully, they were about done and he could return to the munchkins. God knew what trouble they would get up to with no adult supervision.

  “I just want to be there for him when, he… you know.” Brainiac focused on scoring the red plastic.

  “Yeah.” No one should die alone. The wheel spun faster. The metal gate lifted off the ditch floor. Using the side of his fist, Papa Rose loosened the two by four and pulled it free of the valve. Sweat dampened his palm when he grabbed the wheel and turned it.

  Falcon braced his hands on the sides of the ditch before pulling himself out. “How many more of these do we have?”

  Brainiac scored the black and white wires. “Two or three.” With his knife, he pointed down the dirt road. Brick walls and house roofs popped up from the fields. Beyond it, black clouds expanded like foam on the horizon. “The last well is that-a-way.”

  “Call Glen when we get there.” Falcon picked up the spray can and tossed it into the back of the truck. “Let him know we’re almost done.”

  After checking to make sure the gate was fully open, Papa Rose threaded the chain links through the wheel then rammed the hasp into the lock. No asshole was going to undo all their hard work. This thing would stay open until the metal rusted into flakes or the land became habitable again.

  Brainiac tossed a leg over the edge of the truck, straddling the ledge. “I think he’s waiting for us to be finished.”

  Papa Rose climbed out of the ditch and picked up the plank. “He’s a hero. We would have thought everything was A-OK by just filling the generators.”

  “Yeah.” Dropping the cord in the bed, Brainiac threw his other leg over and slid to the ground. “I never would have thought to check the chillers or the water.”

  Tossing the plank in the back, Papa sat on the lowered truck gate. Green mud dripped from his swinging legs. “Onward!”

  Brainiac shook his head and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a low-throated grumble.

  Picking up the M-4, Falcon sat on the hump over the passenger wheel. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”

  “Yeah.” He scanned the fallow field. Raw desert surrounded them and the bushes bowed and scraped every time the wind kicked up. “Even though we haven’t seen anyone all day, I don’t like being in the open like this.”

  The truck bumped along the ruts. He slid to the right then the left.

  “I don’t like the silence.”

  Picking up his Sig-Sauger, he used a twig to try and scoop the mud out of the barrel. He’d take it apart and clean it when they set off to join the Doc and Colonel. “At least the rain yesterday kept the dust down.”

  Nothing like a big ol’ brown plume to give away their position.

  Brainiac slowed as they approached a perpendicular dirt road cutting the field in half.

  Falcon rubbed his nose. “There better not be another fucking gate.”

  “We have to make certain the water all goes to the plant.” He switched to falsetto as he aped Brainiac. “Even one drop goes down the wrong ditch and we won’t have three days.”

  Falcon chuckled. “I’m not sure if the squid is enjoying his power trip or if he and Glen actually calculated the time to meltdown in drops of water.”

  “Probably both.” Papa Rose blew into his gun. Balls of dirt flew out.

  The right light blinked then Brainiac turned onto the paved road.

  “You think the munchkins are alright?”

  “Sure.” Papa Rose grabbed the edge of the gate with one hand when they bumped onto the asphalt. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  Falcon snorted. “Because they’re kids and there’s no adults to tell them not to do this or that. I get a white hair every time I think of what I did at their age.”

  Using a waded up flyer, Papa Rose scraped the mud off the side of the gun. “God, I remember playing ball in the street, lighting shit on fire, crawling through construction zones and rafting on pallets in the canal overflows.”

  “Imagine being locked inside a nuclear power plant.”

  His hand stilled. “Shit.”

  “I keep thinking the power will go off and the electronic locks will magically open on the doors.” Falcon scratched his head. “When you were a kid, would you have been able to resist a clear pool of water?”

  “B says it’s a hundred and twenty-two degrees. Not exactly swimming temperature.”

  “Will they know that?’

  God only knows. Papa Rose set the pistol to the side. “We’re almost done.”

  “And we’ll have B ask Glen to check on the munchkins.”

  “They’re probably sleeping.” Too bad he didn’t believe it. He wouldn’t have slept if his parents were away. “We’ll look like idiots.”

  “B will look like an idiot.”

  “Yeah.” Serves the squid right for leaving them to do all the dirty work. He liked the plan.

  The truck slowed. Six foot high brick fences hemmed them in on both sides.

  Falcon pushed off the wheel and stood behind the cab.

  Picking up his Sig-Sauger, Papa Rose climbed to his knees. His attention roamed the streets as they pas
sed. Brown seed pods rattled and rolled through the pock-mocked streets. Yellow, purple and maroon blossoms clung to the gutters. The skeletal limbs of Mesquite and eucalyptus trees swayed in the breeze. Row after row. Unlike in Phoenix, these homes sat perfectly preserved, waiting for owners that would never return.

  “Hey!” Brainiac shouted out the window as the truck stopped. “Do either of you remember that truck being here last night?”

  Papa Rose zeroed in on the cherry red pick-up at the corner. Gray brick tumbled around its oversized wheels and the lift kit kept the crinkled hood almost even with the top of the fence. The light bar hung to the side as if someone tried to rip it off the roof. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  Falcon tightened his grip on his rifle. “Anyone else see a resemblance to the vehicle Jillie describe the assholes that murdered her and Toby’s parents?”

  “Fuck, Falcon.” Brainiac coasted through the intersection. “You’re a paranoid son of a bitch.”

  “Hate to agree with the squid,” Papa Rose joined Falcon near the cab, “but this is rural Arizona. Lifts and light bars are almost as commonplace as gun racks.”

  Not that he’d had one on his Ram. His wife hadn’t allowed it. The memory of her smile was a punch to the chest. Damn, he missed her.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t remember it from last night.” Falcon flicked off the safety but kept his finger off the trigger.

  Papa adjusted his weight on the balls of his feet when the truck picked up speed. “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on our parts. I certainly wouldn’t mind blowing out the brains of those murdering bastards.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We might get lucky and meet up with them on the road.” He set his elbows on the cab. The cold metal leached the warmth from his skin. “Jillie said they listened real carefully to the evacuation routes.”

  “Probably to pick off more survivors.”

  Maybe. Hell, probably. But there was nothing they could do about it. If the bastards did follow the soldiers, they’d be far away by now. He and Falcon had to protect the munchkins. Thankfully, justice could still triumph. “If they do show up, Jillie will be able to identify them.”