Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (38 page)

Fluffy eggs, golden dry toast and the Vienna sausage he’d rescued yesterday. Manny slurped up the spit pooling in his mouth. God, it had been so long since he’d had meat, he’d almost drooled on his plate. He speared a pale round and tucked it in his mouth. His teeth masticated the bite, releasing the pork goodness and a hint of fat. Ahh, fat. He groaned. He shoveled up a forkful of egg but didn’t put it in his mouth yet. The longer it took to eat, the more food his stomach was convinced it ate.

Henry coasted back toward the door then shut it. “Mildred has been really looking forward to eating someone else’s cooking.”

“Amen to that.” Mildred patted his shoulder before returning to the kitchen. “I’ll need you to drop off the loaves to the Wilsons. Tell them, since the electricity went out so early today, I’ll be making the rest of the bread tomorrow.”

Nodding, Henry parked his chair by the table then picked up the radio. “We’ll also tell them to get ready to bug out with us.” Releasing the crank, he shoved the pad until it bumped into Manny’s plate. “Go over this, will you? It’s just a rough idea, and we’ll add more things if we find them, but we need to cover our whole tribe, Wilsons included.”

Manny picked up his toast. Crumbs littered his tee shirt and peppered his eggs. The Wilsons had been two sisters orphaned upon the death of their parents last Thanksgiving. The older folks had looked after them but hadn’t been able to convince them to move into Connie’s house. So despite the curfew, the adults had taken turns walking by their house at night. An open curtain in the front window would signal a need for help.

Irina had befriended the eleven and nine-year-old, hoping to convince them to move closer.

Manny had seen them waver, but he’d also seen the tenacious hope in their eyes. Their parents had promised family would come for them. So far, none had. But the quarantine had only been lifted the same day as the public gathering ban, not enough time for the Wilsons’ relations on the East coast to reach Arizona.

If they ever did.

Scanning the list, he finished his reconstituted eggs. The onions and chives made them palatable. He’d have to remember that. Focusing on the neatly printed words marching down the page, he made the connection to the items. “It’s mostly camping gear.”

“Yes, the sergeant-major said we might have to camp out.” Henry finished cranking the radio and set it back on the table top. He didn’t turn it on.

Mildred cleared her throat and arched an eyebrow at her husband.

Henry scratched the back of his neck. “And speaking of not wanting to eat your own cooking...” He wiggled in his chair, and then straightened. “We were thinking we’d celebrate your safe arrival by taking everyone to Burgers in a Basket.”

Manny choked on his last bite of sausage. Burgers in a Basket. The
niños
had so hoped to go. He’d even kind of promised them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t found any money in his shopping rounds.

Mildred set a glass of water at his elbow. “I know the fresh meat would do everyone a bit of good. And well, it might help the little ones get ready for being around others again. You know, for when school starts up in a couple of weeks.”

He gulped down the water. How was he going to tell them? “The
niños
...” If they’d already mentioned their plans to the
niños
, he was sunk.

“We didn’t mention it to them.” Henry picked up Manny’s empty plate and set it on his lap. “As their guardian, we thought you ought to make the decision.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. They respected him when it came to the
niños
? But he was just a kid, not really an adult. “I—”

Mildred stood by her husband’s chair. “I know you probably don’t have any money. But we do. Too much, in fact. The government is talking about eliminating currency altogether. We’re afraid if we don’t spend it lickety-split we might lose it.”

“So you’re doing us a favor, really.” Henry passed the plate to his wife. “The Wilsons have even agreed to go if you guys do. They haven’t come out of their house since the Redaction started.”

Manny blinked back his tears. What had he done to deserve these people and their kindness? Nothing. He’d stolen a car with his best friend, Irina’s brother that ended up getting him killed. He’d admitted his crime, been locked up in juvenile detention then released to bring the Redaction home. Entering their neighborhood, he’d witnessed a murderer disposing of a body. Because of him, they’d have to leave behind everything they built.

“Manny, honey.” Mildred stooped next to him then wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing his head against her apron front. “Don’t cry. You’ll get me started and I’ll never stop.”

“She’s right,” Henry grumbled. “The woman leaks more than a faucet.”

Manny sniffed and struggled for control of his emotions. “I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t.”

“Ah, honey.” Mildred patted his back. “Of course, you do.”

He shook his head. “No.” They didn’t understand what he’d done. His guilt. He tried to push out of Mildred’s embrace, but she’d wrapped him up tighter than a
chimichanga
.

“It’s this way, son.” Henry rolled closer until he snared Manny’s gaze. “You can’t let survivor’s guilt eat you up or deprive you of life or happiness. Mildred and I went to visit our newest grandbaby in Michigan. We flew home just as the first cases of the Redaction were coming to light. We brought the disease home.” Henry’s voice broke and he squeezed his eyes.

Mildred’s hand found his. The knuckles shone white and they clung to each other. “We visited our children here, to catch up. They were young and healthy. They were dead before we recovered. It may have been a kiss hello or a sneeze over dinner, but we killed our children.”

Manny sank into her embrace, clutched her arms. Oh, God. They did understand. They did know.

“We did it.” Henry wrapped his arm around his wife and clutched Manny’s shirt back. “We hope that somewhere someone is taking care of our grandbaby like we’re taking care of you.”

“It’s our way of making it right with our Maker.” Mildred pressed a kiss into his hair. “Not that it will bring them back, but it does help to wake up in the morning.”

Manny wiped his nose on his sleeve. He’d have to help a lot of people to cover every one in his family who’d died of the Redaction. “I think I’d like a burger. I
know
the
niños
would love one.”

After a thump on Manny’s back, Henry wheeled to his end of the table. His cheeks glistened. “Well then as soon as we stop blubbering, we got some neighborhood shopping to do. I think we can clean out a few houses before our lunch trip.”

Manny nodded and scrubbed at his own damp cheeks. God was giving him a second chance—community service in exchange for early release. “It’ll be easier with the wagon.”

***

“Okay folks.” Henry eased his handicap adapted van into the parking lot. “I say we eat inside and let someone else do the dishes for a change.”

In the front passenger seat, Connie chuckled. “Just because it’s your turn to clean up, doesn’t mean we all want to eat here.”

“I do!” The
niños
chorused. Behind him, the foursome sat in a row on the bench seat, bookended by the Wilson sisters. The two girls had remained mute on the ride, but their face masks spoke of their fears.

“I’d like to eat inside.” Irina seconded it the same time Mildred did.

Sitting on the floor between Mildred and Irina, Manny glanced out the front window. Unease twitched down his back. “The parking lot seems kind of empty.”

The van coasted through the three-way intersection before turning toward the fast food restaurant. “This is the third day after opening. I hope they didn’t run out of food.”

Manny swayed as the older man pulled into the handicapped spot in front. Seat belts unsnapped and fabric rustled. His attention remained on the white sign on the door. “Maybe they didn’t reopen.”

Henry shifted the car into park, but didn’t kill the engine. His face lost some of the color as he twisted in his seat to face the back. “Might be. Manny can go check.”

“Sure.” Manny scooted around Mildred and opened the sliding door. Numb legs carried him to the sparkling glass entrance. He read the sign, once. Then twice. His heart raced and sweat beaded his upper lip.

Closed due to illness.

He drew a ragged breath into his lungs. Bright red letters on crisp white paper. The sign was new—too new to be from the initial outbreak of the Redaction. Stars danced on the fringes of his vision.

Oh, God. Was the dying about to start all over again?

Chapter Thirty-Two

Trent licked his dry lips and shielded his eyes from the midday sun. Hours. They’d been walking for hours, steadily heading east. And his companion, whose body odor stunk like decaying fish, was growing more pungent with each passing minute. “How far is this place anyway?”

The bum, Lump, pulled another ball of crumpled paper from his many tattered layers and tossed it to the ground. He’d been a fat man when he’d first stumbled across Trent in the dry Salt River bottom, but as the day progressed, the man had whittled down to a shambling reed. “Not far.”

“That’s what you said an hour ago.” And the one before that, and the one before that. Trent’s borrowed boots slipped around his feet. Blisters burned his heels through his cashmere and wool socks. Off the rack shoes were just one more offense the bitch who’d shot him would pay for. He shuddered at the image of his hobo companion pulling them off the stiffening feet of the corpse stretched out next to Trent.

“You got somewheres to go?” The bum abruptly bent over and coughed. His face turned an old shade of puce as spittle hung in gossamer threads from his open mouth.

“Yeah.” Trent had to find the gang-bangers who’d high-jacked his car and retrieve his murder kit. But not before he used it again. He rubbed his thigh careful not to pull his trousers away from the wound where the bullet had grazed him. “I’ve got places to go and people to see.”

And kill.

After a little friendly torturing. Belinda had given him a taste of the power that accompanied inflicting pain. Of course, the two gang whores wouldn’t like it as much as that masochistic slut.

“Thought you didn’t remember nothing.” Lump hocked up a lougie before scratching at the scabs on his exposed arms. Fleas jumped from his clothes, aiming for Trent.

He swatted the pests with a rolled up newspaper. Despite his best efforts some of the buggers had already gotten through. New itches rose just thinking about the insects sucking his blood.

“I don’t,” he lied. Fortunately, the graze at his temple gave him a perfect excuse to hang out with the losers of the world—amnesia. At least, until one of bum cartel told him where the gangbangers hid out. “But look at me.” He raised his arms showing off the abused Armani suit. “This is a designer suit. That means money. Someone should be looking for me.”

The cops for one. They’d be trying to find him to inform him of his ex-wife’s suicide. On the bright side, he wouldn’t have to feign any emotion. He could pretend he didn’t remember her. God that would stick in Denise’s craw.

Lump straightened and wiped his nose across his sleeve, the smear of dried-snot indicated a well-worn path. “You coulda stolen it.”

Trent clamped his jaw closed. Idiot. Couldn’t the fool see the coat was cut to accentuate his toned stomach and muscular shoulders? No, of course he couldn’t—the man was a loser, a bum, a nobody who wallowed in his own filth.

“I don’t think I did.” He adjusted his suit jacket. “It feels like it was made for me.”

“Could have been a gift from some wealthy Sugar Mama.” Lump dug his fingers into his matted black beard. The man’s age was hard to pin down. The tanned skin looked young, until a smile pleated his skin with age. The track marks on his arms, whittled teeth and scabs on his face spoke of drug use. The brown eyes under black busy brows were far too observant for Trent’s taste. “Then her daddy showed up and shot you. Only reason I can see to shoot a man in his privates.”

Trent shook his fists out. For this...this cretin to think for a minute, he’d be beholden to a woman... He hoped God struck him and his wheezing cough dead. His feet pounded the dirt as he followed Lump along the river bottom.

“Unless...” Lump chuckled, shook his head and changed his shuffling north. Toward civilization.

And the tank in the center of the intersection. About a hundred yards away, Marines sat on the tan behemoth, facing the four cardinal directions, guns at the ready.

God damn it! Trent’s mouth dried. He’d thought they’d agreed they wouldn’t pass the soldiers. That last thing he needed was a bunch of nosy bastards in his business. Trent glanced back at the gnarled trees and dense brush. Maybe it wasn’t too late to dive into the vegetation.

Lump turned around and walked backward. “Unless of course, your wife caught you cheating and decided to shoot off the beans and frank.”

The bum’s bark of laughter dissolved into another coughing fit.

The Marine’s attention swung their way, complete with gun turret.

Fucking shit! Trent’s skin wiggled over his skeleton as if it wished to slough off and disappear into the cracks in the street. Twitching on the cold pavement, he stopped by his doubled-over companion. “I thought we’d agreed to avoid the soldiers. For all I know, it was one of them who shot me.”

Lump snorted before straightening. “If a Marine had shot you, you’d have woken up in pieces. Legs on one side of the street, head on the other and nothing but a streak of goo in between.”

Yeah, he’d seen those pictures, too. Normally, the chances of that happening to him were remote. He glanced at his itinerate companion. But then he wasn’t keeping as refined company as he once had. And who would miss a few bums? He shifted behind Lump. If the soldiers did open fire, maybe he could get away while they focused on cutting the real bum in two. “Where is this mission place anyway?”

Lump shook his head. “Ain’t gonna tell you, man. You’ll cheat me out of my lighter.”