Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (14 page)

David set his feet on the floor. The cold seeped into the pads of his feet. He didn’t have to say the words for his men to be protected or informed. “You may want to listen to Rubberman’s rantings, Private. Might just save your life some day.”

“Yeah?” Flesh smacked flesh to the drum of a toned gut.

“Huh?” A sleepy voice sounded from the darkness. “What the fuck, Ray?”

Robertson stomped up and down the aisle. “God-damn-fucking-shit-faced-whore’s-son.”

“Big D has something he doesn’t want to tell us,” Ray whispered loudly. “So he’s using Rubberman as a meat puppet.”

David pushed out of bed and looked through the mesh window. A red dot glowed where a sentry on duty took time to smoke. Lightning cut across the clouds beyond the Phoenix skyline. Nothing else stirred. “You all understand. I’m under orders to button it.”

At least about the Redaction’s return, but the CO had said nothing about Mavis’s occupation. David counted on his men being smart enough to listen to the silence.

A few more grunts later and the remaining handful of men in his squad gathered around his bunk.

Robertson paced at the foot of David’s bunk, cursing in French and Spanish. “The fucking asswipe doesn’t want us to know he visited a doctor.”

“If it’s Monday, the CO’s visiting a doctor.” Ray muttered and silhouettes around him nodded. “We just add another tick mark to the tally.”

“Not that kind of doctor.” David felt the rustle of his men moving in the darkness. One froze, then another, and another until they were all still. Some caught on faster than others. “Her license plate was B-U-G-D-R-2.”

“Bugs?” Ray snorted. “It’s the fucking rats that are getting into everything.”

“Not that kind of bug, you mental midget.” Robertson spat. “The Redaction is back.” The word slithered through the darkness as one spoke of the boogeyman. “That’s what was up with the fancy computer and solar cell.”

“The CO wasn’t happy to part with them either.” David smiled at the foul expression on his superior’s face. “Doc called the Surgeon General himself and made Lynch hand the stuff over.”

Robertson whistled over the men’s chuckles. “Doc has balls, big, brass ones, to take on the CO. She’s lucky he didn’t threaten to shoot her.”

“He did.” David clenched his fists. He’d never felt as helpless as when he stood in the hallway and listened to Colonel Asshole threaten her. Mavis Spanner was either incredibly brave or stupid. Or both. “She didn’t back down, but calmly picked up the phone and dialed the SG.”

Since the martial law had been instituted, the soldiers reported to the governor who took her orders from the Surgeon General.

“So what did she say?”

David shrugged. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but Rubberman tells a good tale.”

“How bad can it be? We’re immune.” Robertson flopped down on the cot next to David. “Right, Big D? We’ve all gotten sick and recovered, so we can’t get sick again.”

David folded one leg across the other. This is the bit where it got dicey. How to tell them, without telling them? “People in authority once told us Santa was real too. But things changed, and we found out what we believed isn’t necessarily what it is.”

“God-damn-mother-fucking-shit-eating-bastard.” Robertson flung himself off the bed and pawed at the window. “How the hell are we to protect ourselves against this shit?”

David smiled. At last they’d reached the bright spot of the day. “I’ll ask the Doc when I see her again.”

“Will you be able to tell us or will the CO issue another gag order?”

“I’ll be going myself. I’m her new courier.” A cushy job that Colonel Asshole would make him pay for one way or the other. Still Mavis Spanner had chosen him. And he wasn’t raised to waste an opportunity.

“Yeah, but if she’s high enough up the food chain to have the Surgeon General in her contact list, will she tell us?”

“She will.” Not that David knew for certain, but he’d overhead her being chastised for not playing nice with others. Rebels in the system were how things got done.

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Robertson turned to him.

“Count our supplies, look for the signs of infection, and protect ourselves. And wear masks when we do food distribution.”

“What about the jarheads? They had noncom contact too.”

“Spread the word, on the down low, of course.” He owed Mavis that much at least. Her husband and son had been Marines. “We don’t know where the orders come from, and we don’t want a panic on our watch.”

Seattle. The thought was a wet blanket over the tent. Although none of them had been there, they’d heard the accounts of the deaths and panic.

Somewhere in the camp a wooden door slammed and gravel crunched under boots.

David glanced at Robertson, standing by the window.

“Shit! It’s the Colonel.”

The men dove back to their bunks. David heard the last hit the deck before the outer door slammed open. A moment later, light flooded the room.

Colonel Lynch swayed on his feet near the barrack’s vestibule. “Sergeant Major report to my office immediately.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Is everyone ready to leave?” Manny hitched the backpack higher on his back. The milk sloshed in the margarine containers stowed at the bottom and the chill seeped through his clothing into his skin. He hoped the house he’d picked still had food in it.

He hoped they made it past the soldiers to reach it.

Eyes wide, the four
niños
crowded into the doorway of the kitchen.

“We’re ready.” Irina stood behind them. Black and blue flesh nearly obliterated her eyes and blood crusted the cut at the corner of her swollen mouth. She rolled up the heating pad and slowly wound the cord around it.

He didn’t know how she could see. Her eyes were mere sparks of light in bruised flesh. Ice might have helped, but thanks to the rolling blackouts, it didn’t last long.

“Will we come back, Manny?” The pink puffball on Lucia’s hat wobbled when she nodded. She clutched her raggedy elephant to her lumpy chest.

He ran a damp dishcloth over the clean counter before draping it across the faucet. Would they ever come back here? His rib cage seemed to shrink, wrapping his insides in tight bands. “Sure.” Glancing around the kitchen, he memorized the chips in the counter, the cracks in the tile and the cabinet next to the sink that never quite shut. “This is our home.”

But it wasn’t safe. Not until the neighbors moved back, and the good people outnumbered the bad.

If they moved back.

If any of them were still alive.

Eying the chained door, he jiggled the keys in his pocket. Once they left, they couldn’t come back. He didn’t want any of them to end up like Stash—beaten to death because he didn’t want the
niños
raped in exchange for food.

He shook off his thoughts. They could do this. They had to. “So? Everyone got their hats on?”

“Irina made sure my hair was hidden.” Mary tugged on the knot under her chin.

“She did a good job too.” Manny cleared his throat. His mom had knitted that hat for his sister when she’d been Mary’s age. Not that Manny had been alive then. But he’d seen the pictures.

The pictures...

Another thing he’d have to leave behind. How would the
niños
remember their parents, their families? Focus. They had to leave before the soldiers began their rounds.

“Hats check.” He set his hand on Jose’s knit cap. “And how many layers of clothing do you have on, Little Man?”

“Six.” Jose wiggled his behind before plucking at his underwear. “The layers are giving me a wedgie.”

Irina laughed a light refrain of chuckles that made her wince. “Better a wedgie than a rat biting your hiney.”

“This way you had room in your backpacks for toys.” Scanning the others, he noted the obvious bulges of multiple layers. The extra padding was almost enough to make his mother’s clothes fit Irina. Almost. She was still so thin. “Now, who remembers rule one?”

Mikey raised his hand until Manny pointed at him. “No talking, screaming or crying if we can help it.”

“Very good.” Manny adjusted the Diamondback’s baseball cap on his head then tucked a lock of pale blond hair under it. “Rule two?”

“Keep hold of your partner’s hand.” Lucia reached down and laced her fingers through Mary’s.

“Exactly, we don’t want anyone left behind.” Manny eyed the naked stalks that marked the dirt where his herbs had once grown. “And the last rule?”

“Do what you tell us, when you tell us and step where you step.” The five of them chorused.

Sheesh. Manny shook his head and picked up the baseball bat. Maybe he had repeated it often in the last hour, but it was important. He’d been out there the most. He’d booby-trapped the alleys around their house. “Okay. Let’s roll.”

Shooing them back, he led the way through the laundry room. Three layers of jeans made his joints stiff, but didn’t hinder his range of motion. That would be suicide. A second backpack hung below the first and slapped his thighs as he walked. He kicked aside the dirty clothes and leaned against the peephole.

Darkness seethed, shrouding the carport and transforming the houses into soulless black boxes. His eyes strained to decipher the swaying branches from the blowing debris from the ever present rats.

At least the street seemed deserted.

Fabric whispered behind him and the small laundry room swelled with breathing. “Curtain’s closed, Manny.”

“Thanks.” He looked over his shoulder and saw nothing. His heart stuttered for a moment. They’re still there, right? They couldn’t have disappeared. He raised his hand and hit warm skin.

“Ouch.” Lucia shoved aside his touch.

“Sorry.” After one last check, he threw the deadbolt and twisted the knob. “Here we go.”

Manny led them into the darkness. The wind moaned in his ears before dying. He tugged his jacket close and swallowed the words clinging to the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t talk. That would encourage the others to do so.

That could get them killed.

Clinging to the side of the house, he tiptoed toward the end of the carport. The others shuffled behind him, bumped into the wall. He winced at the thud.

Hinges creaked as Irina eased the door closed.

Manny waited until he felt a hand on his shirttail, before creeping across the yard to the neighbor’s house. His neckline pressed against his throat, so he slowed his pace. In the sliver of dark heaven, stars twinkled, but the moon had escaped with her comforting silver glow. He skirted the front of the house and crunched over gravel before sneaking across the covered porch of the next one. Puffs of dust rose in their wake as he led them to the third house.

His human train obediently followed.

Adrenalin pumped through his veins, chasing away the chill that abraded his cheeks. Sneakers tapped on concrete as he ducked behind the hedge edging his neighbor’s walkway. Rasping came from behind him. No one said a word, but he paused to let the
niños
catch their breath. Peeking over skeletal limbs, he surveyed the street.

One light still burned at the corner. Its jaundiced glow glinted off the budding leaves before dying. Not that way. He wouldn’t risk it. A ghostly white grocery bag wrapped around the streetlight’s base, fluttered like trapped wings. Holding his breath he listened for the others. A shuffle and a snort. One sniffed. Good. Time to move again.

Manny eased forward. For a moment, his shirt tightened then it loosened. Right foot. Left foot. Right. Left. Steady as a heartbeat. Well, not quite. He crept around a station wagon with four flat tires then reached a wooden gate. Reaching over the top of the fence, he pushed the nail out of the lock hole and lifted the latch. The gate swung open silently.

Lucia’s sneakers scraped his heels as she tried to walk through him.

Manny hissed through the pain, reached his free hand behind him and stopped her. Blinking the tears from his eyes, he peered into the backyard. The high weeds shushed him as they swayed in the breeze.

No one there.

He hoped.

Pushing the gate open a little further, he slipped into the backyard. Sweeping the bat through the weeds, he headed for the back fence and the alley beyond. The stench of rot swelled in the darkness. Tiny feet scampered over plastic bags. Squeaks punctured the rattle and clank of shifting cans and bottles.

Behind him, someone sneezed.

“Bless you.” Irina whispered.

“Shhh!” Manny hissed and stopped. Ears cocked, he listened to the night. Over the pounding of his heart, he heard rats scurry through the mounds of refuse and branches creak from the wind’s onslaught. No shouts from the soldiers. No burp of automatic gunfire. Thank God.

Thorns scratched him as he waded deeper into the yard. Vegetation rustled as the rest pushed their way after him. Reaching the fence, he prodded the grass with his foot until a hollow k-chunk answered. He paused, listening.

Only the rats and his entourage seemed to have heard. Stepping on the cinderblock, he swung one leg over the four-foot tall chain link fence. He hopped a little to protect his man parts before finding his footing in a sturdy pile of garbage in the alley. Clearing the fence, he reached over for Lucia. His arms trembled as he lifted her.

She set her hands on his shoulder. Her nails dug into his skin as he swung her into the alley.

Placing her down in a relatively clear spot, he waited for her to release him. She dug in tighter and her trembling transmitted through him. “Luce.”

Her hands sprang away before she hugged herself.

Manny tweaked the pom-pom on her hat before turning to the next niño. Metal rattled. Perched on the top of the fence, Mary reached for him—her hands opening and closing like pinchers. Irina stood behind her, holding the little girl steady. When he set her down, his fingers brushed Irina’s arms. Lucia pulled the five-year old into her embrace as soon as her feet touched the ground. Like he’d seen his father do, he clucked them both under the chin, and then turned back to Jose.

Irina had his brother up on the fence like she’d done for Mary.