Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (9 page)

Yet.

Wood bumped rhythmically against the rafters as his brother pulled up the ladder. There was a moment of silence then a scrape and whoosh as the cover was slid into place. Manny peered into the closet. No seam of the opening was visible. Please let it be enough to keep them safe.

“Don’t come out until they’ve gone. No matter what you hear. Understand?”

One rap on the ceiling was his answer.

The Aspero made no distinction between children and adults. And age wouldn’t protect the girls from the worst of the lot. In fact, it might encourage the pedophiles and sadists.

Hefting the bat to his shoulder, Manny pushed the closet door half-closed. Avoiding the pile of toys, he leaned against the wall before peering around the doorway into the kitchen.

The plywood remained firmly shut, and the chain snaked across the floor. Steam wafted from the pot of beans and added the aroma of food.

Had they given up? Or were they going to try a new door or window? He twisted the bat in his sweaty palms. He’d have to check.

Leaving the kitchen, he glanced right then left. The bedrooms or the carport. The carport was the only door no longer boarded up. They’d probably try it first so more of them could rush in, overwhelm him, and torment him before the beat down. His hand shook as he reached across the chipped linoleum for the knife. He brushed the brown handle and the blade spun.

Swearing, he leaned farther inside the kitchen and caught it mid-spin. He lifted the knife and scooted his fingers down to the handle. Warm blood trickled down his palm. He sucked on the cut before sticking the knife blade down in his tube sock.

Keeping the light on, Manny fingered the metal flap of the pocket door shut before grasping the cold handle. The painted wood rolled silently closed. He listened to his raspy breathing for a moment, then two. The VCR timer pulsed blue light around the room.

Enough. He had to know where they were and how many had come. Turning away from the living room, he headed for the curtains hanging from the door jamb of the laundry room.

A thump rumbled through the rafters.

Manny held his breath and looked up at the ceiling. Was it the kids or... them? His chest burned, and then his pulse drummed against his temple.

No screams.

No cries for help.

No more noise.

Slowly, Manny exhaled. With the bat still resting on his shoulder, he ran his cut hand down the silky fabric. The faint scent of lavender stirred in the air and an image of his mother flashed inside his head, so real he could have swore she stood in front of him.

He shook the thought from his head. His mom was dead. It was up to him to keep the
niños
safe. The chintz curtains rustled as he slipped between them. Light trimmed the door and stabbed the darkness. The peephole was a pale eye in the wood plank.

Heart jack-hammering, Manny waded into the mounds of dirty clothes. Closer. Closer. He gripped the bat with both hand, moved his hands up to compensate for the narrow space.

The doorknob jingled.

Would the lock hold? Manny’s knee buckled. Pitching to the side, he felt the stinky fabric give under his leg. He released the bat in time to slam his palm against the washer.

The impact was a drum in the silence.

“Fuck!” In one motion, Manny swung the bat up, catching it with his free hand, and held it up like a shield in front of his chest. He stared unblinking at the closed door. His body vibrated. He panted for air, until his face tingled.

Still no one ripped the door off the hinges or shot out the lock.

What the hell?

Eying the door, he rose to his feet.

A soft scratch and then...

“Manny?”

He blinked. He knew that voice. She’d followed him and his best friend everywhere. The bat thudded to the clothes at his feet. “Irina?”

“Please let us in.” Her voice broke on a sob. “The Aspero are coming.”

He stepped forward and touched the knob. The cold metal injected a dose of self-preservation and he jerked to a stop.

Irina could be bait.

“Hurry.”

Stumbling forward, he flattened himself against the door and raised his eye to the peephole. Leaves swirled across the empty carport. Should he let her in, take the chance that she was alone? And what of his family?

“Please, God!” Irina cried.

He’d taken in Mary and Mikey, neighbors who had gone to his church. How could he do any less for his best friend’s sister? Manny’s fingers slipped on the lock, before he turned it and opened the door.

Chapter Nine

Mavis eyed the eagle pinned to the colonel’s lapel. Could he be right? Could the Rattling Death be back? She sucked on her bottom lip. It wasn’t unusual for flu season to pick up in the spring. Still... She replayed the officer’s message inside her head, tripping over his last words.

“Even if it is more virulent, those of us who got sick should be immune.” Her stomach clenched. The burger she’d consumed earlier felt like a rock. Unless it had changed enough. Sweet Jesus! She’d taken Sunnie out, exposed her. They’d both gotten the influenza; both recovered.

The disease couldn’t strike them again.

“Impossible.”

But it wasn’t. Viruses were simple things. And they could mutate fast. Very fast. Yet, to change so much that a healthy immune system couldn’t recognize an antigen... She locked her gaze on the Colonel’s.

He reshaped the metal hasp of his mask across the bridge of his nose.

Mavis’s nails bit into her palm. The deaths in Asia would have been occurring for a while. Might never have stopped. “Why did the government lift the public gathering ban if they even suspected it could come back?”

The porch light blinked on then off. A question from Sunnie disguised as a normal power fluctuation.

Mavis scratched the back of her head, before flashing the peace sign. She was all right. Sort of. Maybe. Probably not. Lowering her hand to her side, she replayed their excursion to the fast food restaurant. Had anyone coughed or sneezed? No. She would have remembered. Heck, everyone would have stampeded from the building. But people had talked.

And bugs hitchhiked on the spoken word.

The colonel thumped the silver briefcase in his hand against his leg, before looking around the cul-de-sac and adjusting his facemask. Again. “Perhaps we should have this conversation inside.”

“Of course.” Mavis spun on her heel and crossed the cement porch. She didn’t particularly want the man in her house. Something about the Colonel set off her gag reflex. But the last thing she needed was Mr. Quartermain’s grandson finding out about the return of the Rattling Death and skewering her with an arrow.

Soles thudded softly behind her. One set, the colonel’s no doubt. The career NCO wouldn’t have survived by making so much noise. Mavis’s irritation meter spiked. And why hadn’t the officer introduced himself? Just another petty mind game, power-hungry thugs liked to play? Like not turning over the case to her and leaving?

“Did you observe any sick civilians while you were out?” The colonel’s nasally twang disturbed the night.

“No.” And she would have noticed. Everyone would have. She jabbed her key in the deadbolt and twisted. “Everyone seemed shocked, guarded, but otherwise healthy.”

Turning the knob, she pushed the door open and keyed in the pin for the alarm. The faint chemical smell from the pellet stove surrounded her.

“Of course, you can’t be sure.” The colonel brushed her back as he darted inside. “You weren’t looking for the signs of the illness.”

Butt head! Mavis jerked on her key but it refused to come free. “Everyone was looking for signs of the illness. The high fever, the raspy breathing, the unquenchable thirst, and the broken blood vessels in the eyes.” Bracing her foot against the base of the door, she tugged on the key. Why wouldn’t it come free? “No one will ever forget watching a loved one drown slowly in their bed.”

A calloused hand slipped around hers. “Ma’am?”

Tingles raced up her arm. The sergeant major. Not that she’d forgotten him. Who could? There was something about him, more than his buzz cut or his clean ACUs. More than the scent of honest sweat and determination. Her husband had smelled like that.

“Have at it, Sergeant Major.” Mavis scuttled away.

The colonel’s lips quirked.

She stopped on the threshold. The pompous prick probably assumed she’d been glad to hand over the difficult task of opening doors to a man. Raising her chin, she looked the CO in the eye. “The lock always sticks.”

Metal jingled behind her. The sergeant major’s voice was soft as velvet. “It’s the Arizona dust. Gets into everything.”

Stepping into the foyer, she smoothed her jacket. Like they were here to talk about deadbolts and dirt. Still she appreciated his effort to put her at ease.

“Exactly.” She shrugged off her purse strap while walking past the closed doors of the den, heading for the great room.

The colonel stepped backward, bumping the abstract hanging on the wall. The four-by-six foot collage wobbled. “Now about the Redaction...”

Mavis reached out to steady the work of art but it had stopped moving. A quick glance and she spied the sergeant major taking his hand from the painting. The CO could learn a few manners from his non-commissioned officer. “What information have you brought me to look at?”

Turning to flip on the light switch, she eyed the sergeant major.

The recessed CFLs in the great room buzzed before slowly brightening.

A grin flirted with his full lips and dimples flashed in his clean-shaven cheeks. He glanced down at her loafers before lazily making his way up her legs, over her stomach, lingered on her breasts, then paused on her mouth before meeting her gaze. Heat flared in his brown eyes.

Mavis’s cheeks tingled and her skin prickled with awareness. Oh my. He looked like he was willing to teach her a few things as well. Good Lord, no man had looked at her like that since Jack.

He held out his hand. “Your keys, Ma’am.”

She shook off the soldier’s spell. Careful not to touch him, she plucked the keys from his fingers. “Thank you.”

The colonel cleared his throat. “Sergeant Major, please make sure the house is secure.”

The sergeant major’s jaw clenched. “Yes, Sir.”

Mavis fisted the keys. “My niece should be in the back bedroom.”

The soldier’s dimples flashed. “I’ll be sure to make plenty of noise so I don’t scare her, Ma’am.”

“I’d appreciate it.” She smiled. The warning was for her niece to stop listening in the hall and get to her bedroom. Dropping her keys in the Royal Dolton bowl on the hall table, she placed her purse next to it then faced the colonel.

The light wasn’t kind to him and she almost asked him to put the mask back on. His close-set eyes, pursed lips and swallow complexion reminded her of a sick pig. His gut strained the Velcro of his stained uniform. Sloppy and disrespectful. The Army must have been harder hit by the Rattling Death for anyone in their right mind to make this man a full bird colonel.

“Now, Mrs. Spanner...”

“Dr. Spanner, Colonel.” Best to use proper titles when dealing with worms. Especially when he didn’t seem inclined to hurry and hand over her case. Not that she’d begrudge his curiosity. Something told her he wouldn’t use the information for the public welfare.

Mavis crossed to the round teak dining room table. Moonlight filtered in the open vertical blinds in the niche. She grabbed the dirty glass off the bar of the open kitchen and set it inside the soapstone country sink.

“Of course, Doctor.” He strode across the beige ceramic tile into the sitting area of the great room. He scanned the contents.

She could almost feel him calculating the value of the painted aboriginal masks and original artwork on the beige walls. Her skin crawled when he focused on the gilded canopic jars from Egypt, the Samurai sword and sheath, and the red and black Minoan bowl on the built-in bookcases. The uncouth moron probably didn’t recognize them as reproductions.

“I think we’ll use the table, Colonel.” Mavis pulled out one of the cane back, oak chairs then took the seat opposite it. “That way we have room to spread out.”

And you don’t get too comfortable.

The officer trailed his fingers along the blue and green Persian rug hanging by the arcadia doors before stopping next to the circular table with her replica Ming vase.

Mavis crossed her arms over her chest. If he touched her honeymoon souvenir from the Great Wall of China, she’d break off his fingers and feed them to him.

The colonel sauntered along the perimeter, pausing in front of the two folded flags displayed on the mantle between the portraits of her husband and son in their dress blues. He quickly clasped his hands behind his back. “Your record didn’t state that your husband was a career military man.”

Mavis flattened her palms against the wood table. She seriously doubted he had a high enough security clearance to see her record. Or he’d have known her husband had mustered out after eight years. “You know the Marines, Colonel. They guard the Embassies in all sorts of exotic locations.”

“Yes.” Smoothing his rumpled uniform, the colonel cast one last lingering glance at the vase before drifting his attention to her. “Posted mostly to the Middle East and Asia, from what I can gather.”

She had been posted there, not her husband. As part of an international team, she’d searched for biological and chemical weapons. Only later, she had been loaned out to the International Atomic Energy Agency to check for nuclear weapons programs. Her husband Jack had either been watching their son, or guarding her back. “Have you served in those regions?”

“Only in the trenches.” A smirk distorted his moon-pie face. “I couldn’t shake the sand out of my boots long enough to sight-see.”

Right, like she believed the doofus had ever seen combat. Those veterans wore that primal edge like a second skin. Still, she pasted on her smile and felt it settle into place. She hadn’t survived twenty years in the Weapons of Mass Destruction program to be rattled by a lying puke. With her foot, she kicked the chair out a little more than gestured to it with her head. “Desert Storm?”