Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (44 page)

Trent licked his lips. Maybe he’d be her first. Then she’d think of him every time another man fucked her. With only one small window six feet off the ground to provide light, she would have to pass him to get out. He was in control here. “The door was unlocked.”

He stepped into the small office.

“You shouldn’t be back here.” She stood. Her oversized black Ramone’s tee shirt brushed her bare thighs as she backed up. When she hit the black particle board bookcase, it wobbled.

All that white skin. His cock twitched. Yeah, he’d have fun breaking her in. He leaned back against the wall. The blade flattened against his ass. But there was one little matter he needed to know about first. “Do you want me to wait outside for the police to show up?”

“Yeah, wait outside.” Her gaze faltered and she sucked on her full bottom lip for a moment. “The police should be here any minute.”

Trent smiled. She was lying, and liars should be punished. He would take care of that. “Your father did an excellent job raising you. It couldn’t be easy, such a pretty girl among all this...” He raised his empty hand. “...this riffraff.”

She glanced up at him. The muscles in her neck convulsed as she swallowed hard. “Just outside the door is a stoop. You can sit there until the police come.”

“Of course, dear old dad will be most disappointed in you now.” He shook his head, tsking softly, and stepped further into the room. “Lying is a sin.”

She inched along the bookcase, away from him. “I’ll scream, if you don’t leave right this minute.”

“I’ve found I like screaming.” Trent took another step away from the door.

“You’re sick.” Her eyes darted from him to the door then back, all the while moving along the bookcase, keeping the desk between them.

That’s it. Measure the distance. Believe you can make it
. He took another step. “And you’re alone.”

Clearing the desk, she dashed for the exit.

With his free hand, he grabbed her hair, yanking her back.

Momentum carried her feet out from under her. She clutched at her hair while she went down.

“We haven’t had our fun yet.” His heart raced toward the finish line as his erection raged against his fly. Trent whipped up the knife. Not quick enough to get her under control, only to nick her.

“Go fuck yourself!” Gaining her feet, she twisted and raised her knee. Her full lips pulled back from her even teeth.

He turned in time to avoid her assault then propelled her toward the wall. With his free hand still in her long hair, he slammed her skull against it. Once. Twice. Power surged through his veins. This was one bitch who’d learn her place. The drywall flaked and cracked. “No, I plan to fuck
you
.”

She swung her hand around. Her fingers, clasped to a tight point, hit the delicate skin by his eye.

“Bitch!” Rage flooded him. She’d tried to blind him. Him. He slammed her head against the wall and felt her legs go limp. Excitement made his grip on the knife slippery. Releasing her, he watched her body collapse onto the worn carpet. Her black shirt rolled up to reveal the purple tee-back. He lifted his leg back to kick her.

“Leave her alone!”

Something slammed into his side.

He tripped over Goth Lolita. Momentum carried him into the damaged wall. What the fuck! Trent twisted so his back could take the impact and swung the knife up. The blade sunk in until his hand encountered soft flesh and a slurpy sound reached his ears.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Tattoo’s shout rang like a clapper inside Trent’s skull.

A meaty fist banged into his jaw and a metallic flavor flooded his mouth. Trent grasped at the blade but his fingers slipped off the handle. Shit! The man was going to kill him.

Another fist pounded his temple. Stars filled his vision, fighting the blackness for space. Ignoring the knife, Trent slipped his hand down the soft fleece of the big man’s sweatpants, grabbed his balls and twisted viciously.

The big man squealed like a stuck pig and reached for his nutsac.

Using his advantage, Trent shoved the brute away from him. He stood on his toes, raising the man’s scrotum and stuck his face into the other man’s. “If you want to fuck the bitch, you’ll have to wait until I’m through with her.”

Tattoo’s eyes fluttered. His teeth clenched and sweat beaded his upper lip. “If you touch her...,” he wheezed in a falsetto. “...I’ll hunt you down and kill you!”

Trent squeezed the ball sac tighter, felt the hard nuts ping inside the twisted flesh. What the hell was wrong with him? The man acted like he wasn’t a criminal, robbing the dead and dying. That was much worse than fucking a worthless bitch. “Wrong answer.”

Cold metal pressed against his injured temple.

“Let. Him. Go.” Goth Lolita moved into his peripheral vision. Blood trickled down her cheek and joined the beads weeping from the nick on her throat. The look in her eye was familiar.

He’d seen it in his reflection when he thought of his ex-wife.

His now deceased ex-wife.

So the little cock-tease was prepared to kill. After one final twist, Trent released Tattoo’s balls.

The big man clutched himself, before collapsing into a gasping heap on to the floor.

Trent raised his hands almost shoulder level. Too bad he hadn’t known about the gun. He could have used it instead of the knife. “Now what?”

Her gaze never left his face. “You have three seconds to leave before I start shooting.”

He stepped over Tattoo on his way to the door. The muzzle of the gun never left his head. Nor did it waver.

“Two.”

Trent lurched for the door. The bitch didn’t even have the decency to start at one. He cleared the threshold.

“Three.” A bullet splintered the wood frame.

Chips dug into his cheek. He bounced off the wall. From the corner of his eye, he watched Goth Lolita walk after him. He sprinted down the hall. His heart pounded; his breath rung in his ears. Out. He had to get out. His boots barely touched the worn carpet.

Slowing, he banked wide to make the turn.

With both hands on the gun, she stalked him. A smile pinned to her bleeding and swelling face.

Trent made the turn. There was a bang then something hot streaked across his back. Fucking bitch. He’d been shot again. By a woman! He eyed the door at the end of the hall. The next woman he met, he’d kill on principle. They all needed to die!

A bullet whizzed over his shoulder and sunk into the metal door.

He shoved it open and stumbled onto the wooden platform. Careening down the steps, he struggled to find his footing. Rocks oiled the ground and he went down. Fire blazed across his knees and palms.

The door banged shut.

Jumping to his feet, he sprinted toward the open chain link fence. A stitch dug into his side and he gouged his fingers into the ache. No fucking way was he stopping. As soon as he got to the corner, he’d tell the Marines about the bitch. They’d take care of her.

He cleared the gate and jogged into the street. His attention zoomed to the intersection a hundred yards away. It was empty.

He slowed to a walk and sucked air into his lungs. No Marines.

What the fuck was wrong with the world?

Chapter Thirty-Six

Pain woke David. The throbbing in his arm extended to his hip and knee. His mouth felt like he’d sucked on dry cotton all night. Scraping the build-up off his tongue with his teeth, he opened his eyes. Across the empty room, the silver coffee dispenser sat on an empty table. Well, hell. They hadn’t bothered to move him to more comfortable quarters after he’d been shot.

Bracing his good arm against the table he laid upon, he struggled to sit up. The movement jostled his injury igniting starbursts of agony inside his skull. It was going to be a wonderful morning. He shoved aside the bloody, cut sleeve and glanced down. Blood stained the white bandage wrapped snuggly around his arm. He wiggled his fingers; every cell screamed in protest. Heat bolted down his arm.

Hissing through the pain, he tried again. Same reaction. Okay, then. David hugged his injury close. He’d be holding his M-4 with one hand during today’s deliveries.

“Oh good, Sleeping Beastie has awakened.” General Lister’s voice boomed across the empty mess hall.

“Sir.” David eased off the table. His gaze drifted to the brain and blood halo splattered around the vestibule. It was a lot of goo considering how little Colonel Asshole had used it. David breathed through his mouth but the stench of death infested his nostrils all the same.

“After you grab a cup of Joe get your assets over here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Bile welled up in his throat as he crept toward the coffee. Today was going to be a pearl of a day. His hip hurt from sleeping on a wooden table. His arm hurt from being shot. His neck hurt from how his head had lain all night. Hell, only his eyelashes didn’t hurt. He blinked. Nope. Even those suckers hurt.

But coffee. Yeah, coffee would cure most things. He grabbed a Styrofoam cup and opened the spigot on the dispenser. Black liquid filled his cup halfway before it slowed to a trickle. Oh no fucking way was he going to start his day with only half a cup. Gritting his teeth, he raised his injured hand, placed it on top the cylinder and tilted it forward. Pain lanced down his torso and tightened his groin.

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. He chanted in his head. Black liquid filled the rest of his cup and he pushed the dispenser back onto the table. He licked at the sweat beading his upper lip before blowing on the tendril of steam dancing above his cup.

David turned in time to see Lister kick open the double vestibule doors.

“Corpsman! Private!” He barked before turning on his heel and faced David again. “Lot has happened since you were shot.”

Swigging his coffee, he followed his superior officer across the nearly empty mess hall. Besides his table and the one with the coffee urn, only one more remained. The stoves, ovens and burners had all gone AWOL. Just how long had he been asleep? He checked his watch. Nine-fifty-seven. “Shit!”

Lister picked up his own cup and drained it. “Given the amount of morphine it took to stop you from twitching while the Corpsman stitched you up, I gave orders to let you sleep until it wore off.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He should be out there with his men as they distributed food. David glared at his coffee as he joined the general at the table.

A Marine and a soldier rushed through the door before standing at the ready. The general finished his coffee. “Finish clearing out this tent. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Sir,” they repeated in unison before breaking down the tables. One man carried the coffee urn while the other folded the tables.

David’s feet pointed at the door.

“Your men left the Humvee for you to join them.” The general lifted a pile of papers before removing a khaki MRE bag. “They also left chicken and dumplings.”

David’s stomach growled. Chicken and dumplings. His favorite. Setting his cup on the corner, he reached for the bag.

Lister waved him away. “I don’t have all day to wait for Gimpy to get the bag open.” He stabbed the top paper with a blunt finger before whipping out his knife and slicing the top off the MRE. “Red are the current fall back positions. Blue marks the original deployments of our tanks.”

Blue dots marked most of the city’s major intersections, red barely a quarter of the original. Many of the less populated areas had been left undefended. So it had begun in earnest. His stomach cramped. “How many are sick?”

“I’m down seventy percent as of oh-eight-hundred.” After adding the water to the heating sleeve, the general folded the top of the MRE bag over then handed an open square of spice cake.

“Christ.” David bit off a corner of the cake. The ginger and cloves barely masked the bitterness coating his tongue. There were some good people in those neighborhoods. And a few really fucked up morons. “The areas unprotected have people in them. Probably thirty percent children and forty percent over sixty years old.”

After adding water to the chocolate milk shake sleeve, the general pinched it closed and shook it. His jaw thrust forward. Brown dotted the maps. “I don’t have the manpower to watch over everyone. As it is, I’ve had to get Dr. Spanner to officially override the Governor and leave off protecting infrastructure.”

Go Mavis. Setting his cake down, David held out his hand for the shake before it evaporated in a chocolate shower. “Why not patrols instead of fixed points? If you mixed it up, put everyone in within a two block zone, you’ll be able to cover each quadrant several times a night.”

Lister flopped the milk shake baggie into David’s waiting hand. “Not enough gas to keep the tanks in motion for more than a few days. A week tops.”

Mavis’s simulations replayed through his head. Seventy percent infected and it had officially started yesterday. Tomorrow practically everyone would be sick. “We both know we’ll be forced to retreat before the week is up.”

“Sooner.” The general slit open the pouch of bread then the packet of grape jelly. “And we’re not ready. No resupply stations have been set up.”

“Then we’ll do it from our supplies.” David finished his spice cake in two bites then washed it down with the last of his coffee. “Our weekly shipment is due into Luke tomorrow morning. We can use that.”

Lister rolled up his collection of maps. “I’ll see if I can drum up enough helicopter pilots to make the drops.”

After downing his chocolate shake, David reached for his pouch of chicken and dumplings and his wrapped fork. “My men know to fall back to Luke after today’s deliveries?”

“Yes. I have given you one of our... computers.” Lister tucked the rolled up papers under his arm. “It will provide you with GPS coordinates of your men.”

David almost dropped his food. The handheld computer that streamed infrared and satellite data in real time? Good God, it really must be the end of the world if the Marines were sharing their fancy toys. “Much obliged.”

“Don’t mention it. And don’t bother saluting. It’s painful to watch.”

That was an order. “Yes, Sir.”

With his breakfast in one hand and the computer tucked under his arm, he strode across the empty tent and out the vestibule’s double doors. He stopped on the cracked cement just outside. The camp was gone. Bare patches in the grass marked where tents had once stood. Supply trucks lined the road leading to the tank guarding the gate. Gray smoke drifted like a foul fog, pooling in the divots.