Redaction: The Meltdown Part II (6 page)

“Actually I was looking at how high the swells are,” Brainiac shot back sarcastically.

His tire bumped over the curve. He quickly glanced up at the awning over the pumps. No one peered back. He pulled alongside the tanker and stopped. The engine throbbed between his thighs. His reflection stared back from the shiny tank.

Gravel crunched as Falcon parked behind him.

He killed the engine. After nearly two hours of the hog drumming in his head, the silence nearly knocked his legs out from under him. A breeze stirred the grand opening banner draped from the red and yellow eaves. His nose twitched at the stench of death and the hair on his arms stood up.

He knew what black and tans smelled like long before the Redaction hit.

“I think I know where the people are.” Hooking the kickstand with his boot, he set it down and lowered the bike’s weight onto it. He tugged the Glock from his waistband and nodded toward the double glass doors at the front of the store.

Brainiac hopped off the bike. His finger settled next to the trigger. “I think there’s only black and tans sunning themselves.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the north-bound lane. One lane had been cleared—enough for a stream of cars to get through.

Falcon’s eyes narrowed. He dismounted and fingered the weapons hanging on his belt. Bypassing the knives and machete, he removed a Sig-Sauer. “Give me a status on the tanker, B.”

“Aye.” Brainiac spun on his heel. Keeping alert, he approached the semi.

Keeping the tank at his back, Falcon inched toward the fence. The white wall of the building next to the gas station covered their flank—provided no one was on the roof.

But would they risk blowing up the precious fuel to get to them?

Maybe they’d emptied it and stored the barrels inside. Papa Rose stepped toward the convenience store.

“Negative, Papa.” Falcon’s voice swirled inside his ear. “Hang tight.”

He retreated and watched the action from his peripheral vision.

“I”m going up.” Brainiac hitched his weapon over his shoulder, set one foot on the bumper and grabbed the rungs welded to the back of the tank. Metal creaked as it adjusted to his full weight.

“That can’t be good.” A full load would be heavy, certainly heavier than Brainiac who could be carrying a fifty pound sack of flour and still weigh nearly nothing. Damn. This pit stop could be a waste of precious time

“Yeah, I think she’s empty.” Brainiac balanced on top of the cylinder and hunched over as he walked toward the cab. “Notice how hollow my footsteps sound.”

Falcon shook his head. “You keep that racket up and anyone within ten clicks of us will hear. Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Hell no.” Brainiac grinned at them and crouched low. Metal gears ground together. “I’m improvising. Isn’t that what you special forces cock-suckers admire?”

Papa Rose coughed over his laugh.
Even squid have teeth.

“You’re gonna admire my boot up your ass if your caterwauling gets me shot.” Falcon kicked a rock in his direction. “Stop laughing.”

“I thought you said you barely knew the runt?” The stone skipped over the asphalt and thudded to a stop against Papa Rose’s worn steel-toed workboot. Rain studded the blacktop. Soon the smell of wet asphalt competed with the stench of decay.

Metal clanged together, echoing around the belly of the tanker.

“Empty, just like I thought.” Brainiac straightened and dusted his hands. “Maybe we shouldn’t have driven through the side streets. We might have had better luck looking for a full truck on the interstate.”

Maybe, but there was no point in second guessing themselves. They were almost out of Tolleson and soon they’d be on the open road and could look there. “My mama told me never to crash a party without a gift, and I don’t intend to disappoint her.”

And if they didn’t find any gas between the western suburbs of Phoenix and Palo Verde, well then, they were just going there to piss in the wind.

Brainiac hooked his hand around the handle arcing over the top of the tanker. “Your mama tell you what goes with radioactive fondue?”

“Get your fool ass down here.” Falcon shoved up the visor of his helmet.

“Aye, aye.” Brainiac climbed down faster than a monkey from a tree. With his wiry build, he resembled one too. His heels rapped loudly against the silence when he jumped the rest of the way to the ground.

Falcon swore. “Keep it up and we’re gonna get holes punched in our asses.”

The skin between Papa Rose’s shoulder blades itched. Could someone be watching them from behind the tinted glass? He inched closer to the double doors. Only one way to find out. “Anyone want a Slim Jim?”

Squaring his shoulders, Falcon swung his gaze to the convenience store and nodded once. “How many do you think you can get?”

So the other soldier felt it too. Good to know his spider senses weren’t misfiring. He shoved up his rain spotted visor. “Won’t know until I enter.”

Falcon’s finger slipped onto the trigger. “I got a powerful craving. Stand watch, B.”

Cradling his M-4, Brainiac strode to the motorcycles. “I’d like some chips if you can find any.”

“Sure thing.” Was the kid dense or buying into the game? Papa Rose waited until Falcon fell into position behind him as he walked toward the door. Anyone with a lick of sense would recognize it as an offensive position. Still, there was a chance civilians cowered in the dark interior.

He stepped onto the shiny green landing in front of the store, turned his body to make a smaller target then reached for the handle. His fingers crossed the clammy surface wrapped around the handle, then he yanked it open.

The door swung out silently.

Death perfume rolled out of the opening.

Papa Rose swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Maybe he’d discarded his face mask prematurely.

Lightning flashed in the west, shooting rays of light into the gloom. Empty white shelves protruded like bleached bones from the mass of bodies tossed three and four deep on the floor. Dark stained pockmarks marred one wall. Broken glass glittered like diamonds across jackets and spilled hair.

“Looks like they were herded inside then shot.” Falcon stepped over the outstretched arm of one man and found an empty place next to his head.

“Not all at once.” Locking the door open, he shifted aside an empty potato chip bag and placed his weight on his leg. “Some are stiff.” He pointed with his weapon to the pale, stiff fingers reaching for the blood-spattered ceiling then to the fat woman whose rolls oozed around her limp body and leaked fluids. “Others have been here a while.”

The newcomers would have learned their fate too late to prevent it.

“Should we check to see if any are alive?”

Hell no. Lifeless eyes stared back at him, accused him from death masks etched in pain and fear. Thunder rumbled down the street and rattled the windows. Right, if he wanted to get into heaven and see his wife and kids, he’d better earn it. “I’ll take the right.”

Falcon nodded.

Sliding his finger off the trigger, he crouched down and poked the doughy neck of the nearest body. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—

A loud thump came from deep within the store.

He shot to his feet, aiming his gun at the swinging doors near the brain-splattered hot dog carousel. His heart hammered his chest. A few controlled breaths calmed his thoughts. “Could be a rat.”

Falcon crept toward a blood smeared end cap. “What and avoid this smorgasbord?”

Yeah, his thoughts were messed up. But dammit why did he have to keep shooting people when most were going to die anyway? How the hell was he supposed to work off the body count he had already accumulated when he kept adding to it? He’d never reunite with his family this way.

Falcon directed their assault with one hand.

Papa Rose’s finger returned to the trigger. Guess they were going in. Hunkering down, he set one boot on the cadaver’s belly. Gingerly, he shifted his weight onto it. It collapsed in a burst of stink just as he lifted his heel. His teeth clattered and his ankle wobbled as his sole hit the spine.

Falcon’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ribs, dip shit.”

Excuse him. He’d never used corpses as stepping stones. Shaking the tepid goo off his boot, he aimed for the next body’s chest.

“There’s ribs in there?” Brainiac buzzed in his ear like an annoying insect. “Damn, I’m hungry.”

He closed his eyes and shifted his weight.
Please don’t splat. Please don’t burst.
After a brief wobble, it firmed. The next one shifted as the one underneath it gave way. They’re not people; they’re stones. Stepping stones. Breathing through his mouth, he crept down the aisle. His brain short-circuited, neutralizing his taste buds, planting him firmly in the moment but not the charnel house.

Sweat stung his eyes. Rain pattered the pavement, hissing as it hit. Lightning exploded in the sky and thunder soon followed. He increased his speed, leaving the stones almost as soon as they began to shift. If they waited too long, the storm would disguise the actions of whoever lay beyond those doors.

Falcon stood to the side, out of sight of the glass panes in the black doors, waiting.

Finally, Papa Rose lowered his foot to the brown linoleum. Two refrigerator cases stretched between him and his target. The tacky blood stuck to his heels when he inched forward, but at least his boots didn’t squeak.

The double doors exploded outward with a scream.

A very human scream. The world slowed down as he processed everything at once. A dark shadow cleared the threshold. The doors banged against one wall and Falcon. The impact knocked his weapon off target. A bullet slammed into the racks, spraying metal chips in the air.

Papa Rose raised his gun.

The shadow threw itself against the door holding the other soldier.

Fuck! If he shot, he’d hit Falcon. Muscle coiled around bone and he sprang forward.

Lightning cracked the darkness, illuminating the fear on the kid’s face. Wide blue eyes stared back at him. Dried blood glued the hair to the side of her head.

It’s a kid. The thought skimmed his consciousness just as he tackled her. Twisting at the last minute, he bore the brunt of the impact with the door. The rubber gave just a bit but the crash rattled out his bones.

Falcon’s groan transmitted across the wire.

“Do you need back-up?” Brainiac’s question swirled inside his head.

He wrapped his arms around the squirming kid, slithering up and down his body while her heels played his shins like a xylophone. “It’s okay, kid. You’re safe.”

She answered him with a jab in the gut.

“Kid? What kid?” Brainiac spat into his skull.

The door shoved against his spine and he and the kid slid along the floor with the grace of a sidewinder.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

“Hold your position, B!” Falcon’s scream overrode the girl’s threats. “Get the kid under control, Papa.”

“We’re not going to hurt you.” He rolled, pinning her under him.

Her bones, as fragile as a hummingbird’s, shuddered. Once. Twice. A third time. Finally, she lay still. “Don’t hurt me. Please. Don’t hurt me.”

Christ Jesus. What had she been through? A body, decaying inches from her nose, told the story.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone.” Falcon squatted next to her bare feet. “We’re here to help.”

“Help?” She blinked.

He rolled off her. Close enough to contain her, but far enough to give her a little space. “Yes. We’re soldiers.”

She turned her head and stared at him, a wild animal gauging the threat in the darkness.

“You’re safe now.” Lowering his gun to the side, Falcon reached into his pocket and withdrew a packet of cookies. He held them out to her. “We’re going to keep you safe.”

She stared at it for a moment. Her hand shook as she reached for it.

From fear or starvation? He clenched his jaw shut. Not that it mattered. The cookies would hold her until he got a Meals-Ready-to-Eat warmed up for her. The skinny thing needed food and they had extra.

Falcon smiled and dropped it into her waiting hand. His teeth gleamed white against his black skin. “Is there anyone else hiding in the back?”

She paused before biting the package. The corner dangled from her teeth when she ripped it open. She spit it on the ground then dumped the cookies into her palm. One by one, she divvied them up.

Papa closed his eyes for a moment. There
was
another survivor.

“Toby, you can come out now.” Once done yelling, she popped half in her mouth then fisted the other and pushed to her feet.

He turned to see a preschooler dragging a teddy bear emerge from the stockroom. “Daddy?”

Air froze in his lungs. His son Patrick had sounded just like that.

“No, not Daddy.” The girl stumbled over an outstretch hand trying to reach the preschooler. “Soldiers. They brought cookies.” She cupped his hand and poured his share into it. “See?”

“I yike cookies.”

Falcon cleared his throat and sniffed. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Yeah, their plans for a one-way trip just crumbled. No way could they have a weenie roast over a nuclear fire when they had kids to get to safety. “I can take ‘em on my bike.”

He’d done it in another lifetime. His fingers curled into fists. This time he wouldn’t fail.
Please, God. Don’t force me to ink another rose onto my arm.
He was already fully sleeved.

Chapter Five

Seventeen-year-old, Emmanuel Saldana sidled to the back of the personnel carrier. So many people, yet most didn’t say a word. They should be celebrating, happy. They’d made it to the soldiers and safety. Plopping down onto the folded tent, he tugged a Halloween size bag of Skittles out of his pocket.

Life was good.

A German shepherd dozed near the gate. Its legs twitching as if it chased a plump rabbit in its sleep.

He stroked the coarse fur. The dog opened one eye as Manny scratched behind one silky ear. “It’s only going to get better. Right, boy?”

The dog woofed softly before closing its eye.