Redaction: The Meltdown Part II

by Andrews, Linda

  Rage surged from the pads of his feet. The knot in his stomach changed to a lump of glowing coals. “No. No!”

  He shook his head. The man couldn’t be dead. Nothing could happen to Wheelchair Henry. They needed him. He needed him.

  A single tear leaked from Mildred’s right eye. “I…I can feel it.” She drummed on her chest—the thuds louder than rocks on a casket. “I’m empty.” Her nose scrunched and she sniffed. “So empty…”

  Manny shook his fists out. This couldn’t be happening. This was not happening. Feelings don’t make something real. Please, God, don’t let it be real. “I’m sure he’s fine. You’ll see.”

  She bowed her head but the silence screamed.

  He opened his mouth to argue, to convince her, to force her to see the truth. They’d survived so much together. The fire. The gangs. The trek to the soldiers. The attack. Through it all, Wheelchair Henry had been there, guiding them through, knowing what to do.

  Metal rattled. Chains clinked.

  Following the sound, Manny glanced down a truck ramp. Black scuff marks marked the walls. A yellow gap appeared under a roll up door. It widened with each rattle and clank. The German shepherd stuck his head into the opening and sniffed the air. With a whimper, he lay at the feet of the soldier.

  The Marine lead them down the ramp, toward the light.

  Snow swirled around him, rested on Manny’s shoulders before lifting off and floating to the ground. Drifts created shallow pyramids along the curb.

  “Henry hated the snow.” Tears tracked through the powder on Mildred’s cheeks. She clapped a hand over her mouth but a moan seeped through her fingers.

  Don’t! The word ricochetted around his ribs. Don’t use the past tense. Don’t let Wheelchair Henry go. Ever.

  Another Marine appeared in the fully open gate. Dark splotches stained his tan shirt. Crimson gloves dripped from his hands. Unblinking, the serviceman stared at his palms.

  Mildred stumbled.

  Manny caught her as she pitched headfirst down the ramp. Tremors traveled up and down his spine. “It’s not his blood. It’s not.”

  “How is he?” Their guide waited at the bottom. Inside the store, camp lights cast a golden glow over the stacks of boxes and the ones strewn like loaded dice across the gray cement floor.

  The Marine in the door shook himself, knelt down and scooped up some snow. Pink droplets tainted the white with each rub of his hands. “I tried.”

  Their guide ducked his head and swiped at his eyes. His cheeks glistened when he turned to Mildred. “Mrs. Dobbins, I’m so sorry I can’t do anything more.”

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Robertson shouted.

  Manny backed away. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

  Mildred pulled away and swayed on her feet. Her bottom lip trembled for a moment then she squared her shoulders. “Thank you. Please take me to my husband.”

  Their guide set his hands around her waist and lifted her to the dock.

  The Marine at the top dried his bloody hands on his pants and lifted her the rest of the way. “The Colonel was the best, ma’am.”

  Manny reached for her. No! If she didn’t see, then it wasn’t real. Then Wheelchair Henry would still be alive.

  She took a step then paused. “Manny.”

  He wrapped his arms around his waist. Oh God. Please don’t make me go. Don’t take another person from me.

  Mildred’s hands fisted at her sides, and she inched forward.

  No one should have to face death alone. The command whispered inside Manny’s head.

  “Wait!” Slipping the rest of the way down the ramp, he slapped his palms against the platform. Bending his knees, he jumped then toed his way up the concrete until he hooked a knee onto the dock.

  The Marine reached for him, blood outlined the curve of his fingernails.

  Wheelchair Henry’s blood.

  Manny leaned away then clawed at the floor to keep from pitching over the side. “I can do it.”

  “I asked you a question, Marine,” Robertson barked.

  “The colonel insisted he be allowed to approach the target solo.” Their guide clambered into the bay. “He wanted the bastard to be brought in alive.”

  “He’d seen so much violence in his career, you see. Once he got out, Henry could abide the killing anymore. If he could stop one more person from dying, he would do anything, even if…” Mildred waited in the clearing in the center of the square room. Shirts in plastic sleeves spilled out of boxes and created a rainbow of blue and green in front of her.

  Manny jogged to her side and slipped his hand in hers. “I’m here.”

  She nodded once then shuffled toward the spilled boxes.

  White bandages fluttered in the breeze like flags of surrender.

  “What the fuck for?” Robertson’s boots pounded behind them.

  “The colonel thought he could convince the target to surrender.”

  The conversation faded to a buzz as Manny spied the boots. Clean and clear of mud and jeans neatly tucked in the tops, they stretched out beyond the box with laces neatly doubled knotted in bows. The wheel of Henry’s chair stuck up like a silver rainbow, clean, bright and impossibly still.

  The metallic taste of death hit the back of Manny’s throat. Swallowing it down, he continued forward. He had to see his friend.

  Mildred choked on a sob.

  Wheelchair Henry’s gray ponytail lay in the halo of blood around his head. White trimmed the red cloth at his throat. His eyes were closed. He could have been sleeping, if only his chest moved.

  Move dammit! Manny’s scream stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  But Wheelchair Henry didn’t move.

  And he never would.

  He was gone.

  Manny’s eyes burned and his chest tightened so much he couldn’t breath. Black crowded his vision.

  Mildred released his hand and knelt by her husband on the floor. Her hands hovered above his chest before they settled down and smoothed his shirt. “Silly man, you’ve ruined your favorite shirt.”

  He dropped to the cement. Cold leached into his skin, settled into his bones and iced his grief. No more. No more. He pounded his fists on his thighs.

  Never again.

  “—throat slit and he bled out.”

  Blocking out Mildred, Manny focused on Robertson and the Marine.

  “And where is the murdering bastard’s body now?” Robertson’s words were clipped.

  Yes. Where was the body? Manny twisted around to stare at the men. He needed to see it with his own eyes.

  Their guide cleared his throat. “Gone.”

  “Gone as in his carcass was carried away by rabid badgers?” Veins popped out on Robertson’s neck. “Or gone as in a fucking portal to hell opened up and he was sucked inside by Satan himself?’

  The guide opened his mouth.

  Robertson drilled the Marine’s shoulder with his index finger. “Because if it’s option C, gone as in escaped, I’m going to hand your balls and pecker over to the Sergeant-Major.”

  The Marine cupped his privates. “Option C.”

  “No!” Manny leapt to his feet and stormed forward. “No! He needs to die. You have to kill Trent Powers.”

  “Stand down, Manny.” Robertson shoved him backward then raised his rifle and pressed it against the Marine’s nose. “Give me one good reason why I don’t blow out your worthless piece-of-shit not-worth-a-fucking-damn brain.”

  There wasn’t one. Since they hadn’t killed Trent, the Marines should die.

  “Please lower your weapon, PFC.” Although soft, Mildred’s voice filled the storeroom. “Henry would not approve.”

  Manny’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh. Henry would have hated this. They needed to work together and solve this problem.

  Robertson’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled in a snarl but he complied. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This in-fighting is exactly the kind of trouble Trent enjoys stirring up.” Mildred shook o
ut her skirts.

  The scent of lavender surrounded Manny. “So we go after Trent Powers.”

  And gun him down.

  Manny stuffed his hands into his pocket. A gun would come in handy right about now. The soldiers would not go hunting without him.

  “That’s gonna present a bit of a problem.” A soldier rested his elbows on the dock and stared up at them. “We’re down two vehicles.”

  “Two?” Robertson stroked the barrel of his gun.

  It was unlikely the military would give him one. Manny scanned the room. Where had Wheelchair Henry’s gotten to?

  “We should have three, Michaelson. The murdering bastard took one.” Robertson held out his index finger as if the other soldier needed help counting that high. “Four minus one is three.”

  “We’re out of brake fluid substitutes.” Michaelson held up two fingers. “Four minus two is two.”

  “Did you just come here to shit on my rainbow?” Robertson kicked a box, crushing the side.

  The ones on top wobbled along with the lantern. Shadows shifted and Manny saw it—a shiny black gun by the open door. Would they notice if he took it? Would they care?

  “I do have some good news.” Michaelson smiled. “One of the Doc’s neighbor’s is a teacher. According to him, the districts gassed up all the little school buses when the attack hit so they’d have room for more government issued fuel.”

  Manny inched closer. Could he cover the ten feet and pick it up before the soldiers noticed him? He glanced at them. They seemed more focused on each other than him.

  “Yes.” Robertson punched the air. “So all we need is to find a school and we’ll have transport.”

  Michaelson waved a yellow piece of paper. “There was a phone book by the food court. There’s a school three klicks away.”

  Manny cleared two boxes. Four more feet to go.

  Michaelson carefully folded the scrap. “It’ll take me a while to figure out how to hot wire ‘em—”

  “I can do it.” Manny blinked. Had he just volunteered to hotwire a bus?

  Robertson, Michaelson and the Marines stared at him. The dog thumped its tail.

  Great. Now he’d never get the gun.

  “You know how to hot wire a car?” Robertson rocked back on his heels then shuffled closer.

  “Yeah. I can practically do it in my sleep.” God knew he’d had enough nightmares about it. And all that time in Adobe Mountain, all Manny had to do was think about stealing that stupid car.

  “Good.” Robertson swept up Wheelchair Henry’s weapon. He checked the chamber than the clip before offering it to Manny. “Don’t waste the bullets.”

  The gun slid against Manny’s palm; he dipped his finger into the trigger. It was lighter than the other times he’d handled it but it fit his hand perfectly. “I won’t.”

  The next time this gun fired, Trent Powers would die.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “Miss me, Princess?”

  Audra punched Eddie’s arm. From the way her heart shunted blood, she was surprised her fingernails didn’t fly off. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  He grunted and removed his hand from her mouth. “What was that?”

  Black ringed his eyes and his nose had swollen. Becky was right; he was good looking. She threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. He smelled of gasoline, sweat and snow.

  Setting his hands on her hips, he backed her up.

  She clung tighter. He’d come back for her. Her daddy hadn’t done that when the Redaction hit. Not even when her mother came down with the flu.

  Callused hands skimmed her arms then unwound her hands and eased her away. His brown eyes locked with hers. Anger simmered in their depths. “Did they…hurt you?”

  Audra cleared her throat and read the subtext. “No, we’re fine.” She turned her hands so her fingers glided between his. “I’m fine.”

  His gaze raked over her wet shirt sticking to her breasts. His lips thinned and he pulled free. “You can tell me about it later. For now, we have to run.”

  Tina knocked Audra’s arm. “Here.”

  Turning, Audra grabbed her jacket and stuffed her arms in the sleeves. Why was he acting so stand-offish? She was fine. Except for the kidnapping, nothing had happened to her.

  “Hold the door.” Eddie spun on his heel and stalked to the edge of the small porch. He leaned forward and glanced left then right. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”

  Yes, they would talk later. Audra flattened against the kitchen wall as the others stampeded by. If he was going to court her, he’d have to do it properly. This juvenile playground dance nonsense would have to stop. She just didn’t understand it.

  Tina grabbed her elbow and dragged her toward the door. “Come on.”

  Audra stumbled after her. How long had she been standing there lollygagging anyway? She stomped in the slush the others created. Cold stung her nose and sucked the body heat off her skin from her wet clothing and now damp jacket.

  “I knew Eddie would come for you.” Tina hunched deeper into her fleece-lined bomber jacket.

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, Audra shivered. “He shouldn’t have. He was supposed to keep the others safe.”

  They rounded the house. The bush next to the sagging back porch scratched at her as she passed. A frigid wind carried the scent of fire and gasoline.

  “Geez.” Tina rolled her eyes and jerked free. “It’s okay to think of yourself now and then, you know.”

  Tina didn’t understand. A Silvestre had a duty.

  Her friend jogged away until she reached Becky’s side.

  Audra stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and she ran across the yard. Cold. Cold. Cold. Her teeth chattered. Eddie waved the others onward.

  Deputy Pecos waited by a snow dusted pine near a listing mailbox. Tina’s bat rested on his shoulder. “This way ladies.”

  Eddie met her on the street. He shrugged off his Army jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  She snuggled into the warmth of his body heat. The sleeves were a poor substitute for his arms. Numb fingers fumbled with the buttons. “Won’t you get cold?”

  “We don’t have far to go.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. Trees crowded the road and the temperature dipped. “And you’re wet.”

  She slipped on the black ice coating the pavement.

  Eddie kept her on her feet.

  Another boom sounded in the distance.

  She glanced back. Fire painted the area in orange and red hues. Through the pines, she saw men racing back between the burning buildings. “I thought you’d arranged that.”

  “Dunn agreed to create a diversion so we could get to you.”

  “The principal?”

  “Yep. He’s quite the fire bug.”

  “The principal?” Of her school. But the man wore suits and ties and talked incessantly about proper behavior and district rules. Was no one what they seemed?

  Eddie slanted her a look as they approached a tee in the road. “You sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.” Maybe. She filled her lungs with his scent. Her thoughts scattered. Then again, maybe not.

  Deputy Pecos led everyone to the right.

  Silence stretched between them. Awkward. Drat Tina and Becky. They’d put such stupid thoughts inside her head. Thoughts she had no business thinking. She had people to get to safety. “Thanks for coming back for us.”

  “We’re not good without our leader.”

  “Stuart said—”

  Eddie’s fingers dug into her waist. “Stuie is not you.”

  No. Nor was he an Eddie. She rounded the corner. A small yellow and black bus idled in front of a white clapboard house. She blinked back her tears. It was the most beautiful sight besides him she’d seen all day. “Where did you find it?”

  Deputy Pecos stood guard while the women lined up single file to board.

  “The school yard.” Eddie tsked.

  She jabbed her elbow in
to his side. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Your mom dropped us off about five miles outside of town.” He slowed down to a fast walk. “We found it while we were looking for you.”

  “And the other bus?” The one she’d foolishly driven over those spikes.

  “Useless. Even if we could find two spare tires, they’d cut the gas line to get the fuel.”

  Principal Dunn broke through a low hanging bough. Soot stained his cheeks. “We need to be on our way. I saved the biggest explosion for last.” He grinned at Audra when she neared the bus steps. “The fools stored their fuel in one convenient location.”

  The next explosion rattled the teeth in her head and echoed through her chest. He hadn’t been exaggerating.

  Eddie’s fingers skimmed her hips. “Back of the bus with you.”

  Audra climbed the steps. “Just because you rescued me, doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.”

  Mrs. Rodriquez winked from the driver’s seat. “Welcome back, Princess A. Or maybe I should call you Damsel A, since you had to be rescued?”

  Bending down, Audra kissed the older woman’s wrinkled cheek. “I’m glad to see you too.”

  Eddie bumped her behind. “We gotta get your carriage on the road, Princess.”

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, Audra straightened. The last two rows of the short bus were clear. Coincidence or was there a conspiracy afoot? She unbuttoned Eddie’s jacket as she walked. Not that she minded, precisely. She wiped her damp hands on her equally wet jeans.

  The doors hushed shut and the bus coasted forward. She stumbled the last two rows before sinking onto the bench. Shrugging off his jacket, she hand-pressed the folds. Cold air washed over her when she handed it back.

  Bracing his knees against the edges of the seats, Eddie folded his arms over his chest. “Take off your shirt.”

  Her mouth fell open and the jacket fell to the floor. “What!”

  He bent over as they rounded the corner and stuck his face in hers. A vessel beat at his temple. “You stink of soap.”

  She blinked. That didn’t make sense. “Soap doesn’t stink. It smells clean.”

  “It’s foul when you use it to wash away…” Muscles worked in his throat as if he struggled to free the words.

  Poor Eddie. She cupped his cheek, felt the rasp of his beard against her palm.