The generous swell of her—
“Come in!”
The CO’s bark shattered David’s fantasies of the bug doctor. Just another reason to hate the asshole. He adjusted his waistband to accommodate the swelling in his pants then opened the door and strode inside. “You wanted to see me, Sir.”
Colonel Lynch leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. Blobs of mud dripped off the soles of his scuffed boots to plop onto the paper on his blotter. Ink blurred the seal of the Surgeon General. “Ahh, Sergeant Major, I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Standing at attention, David kept his expression carefully neutral. It had taken him five minutes to get here. He’d wasted another two minutes outside the CO’s door. The asshole was looking for someone to piss on and David had drawn latrine duty. Keeping his focus on the painting of the President behind the officer’s desk, he watched his CO from his peripheral vision.
“Nothing to say, Sergeant Major?” Colonel Asshole plucked up the small, plush crocodile from his desk and opened and closed the jaws.
The hands at his side started to curl into fists, but he forced them to relax. Another well traveled route. Hell, as a drill instructor for young pukes, he’d dished this double talk out more than once. “It won’t happen again, Sir.”
Colonel Asshole tossed the toy onto his desk. “See that it doesn’t, or I’ll take a few of your stripes.”
“Yes, Sir.” David admired the President’s chin.
The chair squeaked and fabric rustled. “Your new orders came through, Sergeant Major.” Colonel Asshole set his feet on the ground and pinched the piece of paper between his finger and thumb. The officer dropped it into the garbage can beside his desk. “And so did the package.”
David bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. The Surgeon General knew how to get things done. But then, the sand had almost completely left the hour-glass. “Yes, Sir.”
The CO yanked open his desk drawer and lifted out a square box. “You are to deliver this to Dr. Spanner, at once.”
“I understand, Sir.” Red tape slashed at the brown surface. Black, block letters declared its contents as Eyes Only. The Surgeon General’s seal had been neatly sliced in two. Son of a bitch. Colonel Asshole obviously could not read. He reached for the box.
The CO slammed his hand on top of it. “You are to stay until the data is uploaded, then report directly back to me what was found.”
David clenched his jaw, felt the tightness stretch across his skull. The bastard wanted him to spy on Mavis. For his benefit? No fucking way. He relaxed his muscles and furrowed his brow before glancing at his superior. “Sir?”
Maybe he could get out of this—officers like Lynch always thought the enlisted were good for nothing dumbasses perfect for drawing sniper fire.
Colonel Asshole picked up the box and spun it in his hands. “I’ll make this real simple. You tell me what that bitch tells the SG, and you’ll get double rations.”
David’s stomach growled. Double rations? The CO must be desperate. Hell, most in his unit would be happy with full rations, instead of the three-quarter they’d had to suffer through. The CO was desperate. Not good. Desperation turned into stupid real fast and good soldiers died.
Soldiers like his men.
Colonel Asshole stopped spinning the box and leaned forward. “I’m waiting for a response, Soldier.”
Too bad shove it up your ass was out of the question. Still, there was a way to acknowledge the order with actually acquiescing to the demand. “Yes, Sir.”
A smile slithered across Colonel Asshole’s lips while he pushed the box toward David. “Good, I’ll expect a report when you return. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Sir.” David snapped off a salute, grabbed the package, turned on his heel and strode to the door. Lynch had fallen for it. Tucking the box under his arm, he reached for the handle.
“Oh, one more thing, Sergeant Major.”
David obediently turned back to his superior. “Yes, Sir.”
“Your new orders didn’t rescind the standing ones.” Colonel Asshole retrieved a baggie with a plastic doll from his desk. The character’s white flowing robes stood in sharp contrast to her dark skin and black hair. “Be back for MA duty at oh-six-hundred.”
Fucking A. “Yes, Sir.”
“Dismissed.” Colonel Asshole raised the plastic baggie to his mouth and tore it apart using his teeth.
David yanked open the door and strode outside. He hoped the officious bastard choked on the desiccant. And what kind of deviant hoarded kid’s toys? Sure Burger’s in a Basket had given everyone in uniform a meal as a gesture of thanks, but any decent father would have passed the plushies on to his children.
David slapped open the building’s door and stormed outside. Colonel Asshole should be demoted to Private Hemorrhoid. Turning away from the cluster of buildings in the camp, he marched toward the motor pool.
Good thing the base was twenty miles away from Mavis; he’d have plenty of time to cool down. A fat rat waddled across the cracked asphalt. He shuddered and tiptoed around it. God, he hated rodents. Tugging open the vestibule door, he went inside the small supply tent.
Light flared to life just as he reached the interior door.
What the fuck! He paused and peeked through the window in the door. Robertson and Ray Michelson leaned against the desk on the other side. Thumping his chest, he pounded his heart back to its normal rhythm. He kicked the door open. “Come to see me off?”
Robertson straightened. Michelson started before mimicking his comrade in arms.
Cold air spiraled down David’s spine straight to his toes. Ah, hell. The private was being serious. David set the box on the recently vacated desk and waited to be engulfed in the latest clusterfuck.
“No, Sergeant Major. We’ve come to report a theft.”
A theft? Shit. The citizens needed that food to survive. Turning his back on his men, he lifted the motor pool clipboard from its peg. Unless, the thieves had stolen the medicine. God, it was to the point where he didn’t know which was worse. Thumbing through the pages, he located the sign-out sheet for one of the Humvees. He hoped the Devil had a particularly unpleasant corner in Hell for the stealing bastards.
His men shifted behind him.
Well, shit. Time didn’t improve bad news. Scrawling his name next to his vehicle, he checked his watch. Zero-two-five-five. He had three hours to get the latest scoop, before he had to be on duty. “What did they steal, Private?”
From the corner of his eye, he watched Robertson hang his head. “Women’s shoes.”
David returned the clipboard. Had he heard right? “Women’s shoes?”
The words felt awkward on his tongue.
“Yes, Sergeant Major.” Robertson sniffed and stared at his shoes.
Michelson cleared his throat and nailed his attention to the floor. “Maybe a rat or two. Can’t be sure.” He coughed.
Robertson bounced and turned his back. The private’s shoulders shook.
David closed his eyes. A joke. They were playing a joke. Shaking his head, he opened his eyes then removed the Humvee’s keys from its hook. “Rats, too?”
“There were definitely holes in the box, what with them sitting so long. Could be a whole nest of rats, hundred’s like Old Mother Hubbard’s shoe.”
Robertson burst out laughing, before bending double and laughing. “The old woman’s shoe. Old Mother Hubbard had a cupboard.”
Michelson swiped at his eyes. “Hell, Rubberman, I can’t keep your shit straight.”
David spun the key ring on his finger. Despite his news, the boys were enjoying themselves.
Robertson elbowed him. “Did you see Big D’s face?”
“Yeah.” Michelson’s grin split his face. “I almost lost it.”
“Now that you boys have had you’re fun, I’ve got a job to do.” David lifted the box off the desk. Last thing he needed was one of these yahoos playing keep-a-way.
“We’re
not kidding about the shoes, Big D.” Straightening, Robertson smoothed his hands down his chest. “Course, they weren’t stolen.”
The humor fled Michelson’s lean face. “We swapped them out for the boxes of rations and facemasks in the CO’s trunk.”
The cardboard bent in David’s grip. Food and Personal Protective Equipment. Did the man have a thought for anyone but himself? “Bastard!”
“Yeah.” Robertson rocked back on his heels. “We just took out stuff, replaced it with the women’s shoes, and then sealed it back up.”
“Anything else missing?” David reformed the box. The CO had crossed the line. This time he wouldn’t go through official channels; he’d find a way to deal with it internally.
Michelson exchanged a glance with Robertson.
Ah hell. Any more bad news and he might have to steal a kiss from Mavis to make him feel better. “What?”
“Blankets, water rations, and boxes of antivirals.”
Son of a bitch! David slammed out the vestibule. “Are they in his trunk, too?”
“Not that we could find.” Robertson shook his head. “I have our guys searching the motor pool. He may be using that to stash the goods since his trunk was packed.”
The keys bit into David’s palm. His long strides ate up the distance to his Humvee. “Good. If you find anything, use the shoes as substitutes. We have plenty.”
After months of storing the foot gear, they might finally have found a good use for them.
Robertson jogged ahead to open the driver’s door. “Who do you want to watch the CO?”
“Keep an eye on the supplies.” David climbed into the seat. “Leave the CO to me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Manny scanned the three-car garage. He’d hit the mother lode. His palms itched as the headlamp illuminated the racks of camping gear—tents, sleeping bags, tarps, cook stove and lantern, plus tanks and tanks of propane.
All his for the taking.
He shuffled through the empty bays and ran his hand over the rough canvas of the two-room tent and the slick nylon of the sleeping bag. He squeezed the foam mats before stopping on the cold metal of the lantern. Real. They were real.
A rat scampered across his foot and he jumped back. Nasty things, rats. But smart. They’d been in the last house and had eaten all but the canned goods and cleaning supplies. But even those packages had gnaw marks.
Kicking aside the droppings, he scratched his head. Taking all the supplies would be wrong. They didn’t need it; they had a nice house now. At least he hoped it was nice. After jimmying the lock and disconnecting the alarm system, he’d left Irina and the niños to settle in while he shopped at the neighbors’.
While the twenty cans weighted his backpack, the food wouldn’t feed six people for long. He needed more. Much more. Then he’d approach the five people still living in the neighborhood to find out their distribution point. The soldiers handed out much larger portions. He might even take Irina and the kids to get a bigger share.
But that was the future.
He needed things to get them through at least a week. And they couldn’t eat camping gear. Manny tugged the neighborhood map out of his hoodie pocket. Biting the cap off the Sharpie, he bared the pen’s tip and marked the house with a CG. If they had to leave the area, he would return. Capping the pen, he returned it to his pocket with the map. In the meantime…
Shrugging off the backpack, he set it on the floor and unzipped it. The headlamp’s light bounced off the can tops. That should be enough room for the propane canisters. His hand closed around the blue cylinders, as one by one he packed them inside. The fabric strained as he closed the zipper.
After slinging the backpack onto one shoulder, he hooked a finger through the lantern, picked up the double-burner cook stove, and then carried the items to the side door. Setting them on the ground, he opened the door a crack and peered out.
Why had they left it unlocked? Had they expected someone? Or was someone out there, shopping at the abandoned houses like he was doing? He turned the lock. Maybe it would give him enough warning if someone returned.
And what if they took his stuff?
Manny glanced at the items. Was getting away better than starving? He hauled up the backpack. Working his way along the interior wall, he opened the nearest cabinet. Empty. Car washing supplies. Lawn food. Rats’ droppings. One after the other, he inspected them until he reached the last cabinet.
A rat sat in the center, chewing on the remains of a seed packet. Watching him through beady eyes, the brown rodent twitched its whiskers. Corners of paper and fecal capsules littered the rest of the cupboard. Piss. He slammed the cabinet. The rat inside squeaked and poked his head out.
Brushing off the feel of rat, Manny hurried over to the interior door and clawed at the knob.
It didn’t turn.
So someone had locked the door. Still, even if nobody lived here, he couldn’t chance losing the little food he had. Kneeling on the cement, he flipped open his switchblade and worked the lock. Cold leached into his legs and he swiped at the sweat stinging his eyes.
“Come on. Come on.” The door popped open. Exhaling, he sagged against the scratched door jamb. “Thank God.”
Filling his lungs, he staggered to his feet and stumbled inside. The fetid stench of decay hung heavy on the stale air. Tiny feet rasped behind him, and he kicked the door shut. The rats could find their own way in, if they hadn’t already. But he wasn’t going to help them.
Wiping his sneakers on the mat, he took in the laundry room. Tumble marbled floor, black granite countertops and cherry wood cabinets surrounded the stainless steel washer and dryer. A keyboard full of buttons glistened in the glow of his headlamp. He waded into the room and caught a whiff of sour laundry.
Someone had left clothes in the machine. Perhaps they had been in a hurry to leave. Resisting the urge to look in the tub, he opened the cabinet. Three large bottles rested on the bottom shelf. Two were environmentally friendly soap; one contained fabric softener.
They’d have clean clothes tonight. Smiling, he pulled the bottles down and set them by the door to the garage. If his good fortune continued he’d need a wheelbarrow to haul his stuff home. That kind of problem he would gladly handle.
He only hoped he was as lucky with the food. Easing the cabinet closed, he opened the next one. Tools, light bulbs and vases. Pass. Rolls of paper towels sat in neat rows in the third cabinet. His knees trembled. The heck with kitchen spills, the stuff would work equally well as toilet tissue. He quickly plucked the rolls of Bounty and stacked them next to the door.
First the Aspero’s firefight with the soldiers and now this. Saint Nicholas must be standing at his shoulder, watching over him. Manny made sure the cabinets were closed before entering the house proper.
A huge flat screen hung on one beige wall. Columns of speakers bracketed it. Manny closed his mouth. Man, oh, man. Imagine watching the World Cup on that sucker.
A rat poked its head out of the leather sofa. Puffs of stuffing littered the tan surface while small bodies squirmed under the neighboring seat cushion. Big rats, little rats. Shivering, he tiptoed around the glass and marble coffee table. Stopping in front of the TV, he stroked the flat screen and cut trails in the dust. Reluctantly, he dropped his hand.
Food, not electronics.
Turning away, he looked down. Cockroaches streamed out of a hole in the plush carpet. The flooring popped and crunched underfoot as he strode to the kitchen.
Yuck! Rats and cockroaches. He didn’t know which was worse. His shin tickled and Manny slapped at the legs of his jeans. God, he hoped the bugs hadn’t crawled up his legs. He twitched and reached for the door next to the refrigerator.
Cans and red-capped plastic storage bins stared back at him. He clung to the door to keep from collapsing and blinked back the tears in his eyes.
“Yes.”
They would eat tonight. And tomorrow. And the next day. Light invaded his body and he had to look down
to make sure his feet still touched the floor. He reached for a tall canister and pulled it off the shelf. Spaghetti noodles rattled inside the stiff plastic. A cube held macaroni and another spiral, multi-colored pasta. The rats had eaten the labels off jars of red pasta sauce. Bigger bins contained flour and sugar.
Manny ran his hands down his face then glanced at his damp palms. “God I hope you look after the person who did this.”
Definitely need a wheelbarrow. Juggling the plastic bins in one arm, he turned to return to the garage. A wedge of red caught his eye. Peering into the hall, he spied the plastic formed wagon. That would work.
The wheels squeaked as he tugged it into the kitchen and parked it by the pantry. He loaded the big bins on the bottom then piled the cans on top. Shelf-by-shelf he stripped the pantry. The booty stopped an inch above the wagon’s sides. Poor rats hadn’t gotten much out of this house.
A line of cockroaches marched across the tile. Neither had they. Should he check the other cabinets? He was here…
He reached for the one beside the pantry. The shelves seethed with shiny black and brown bodies. One cockroach flew at him. Crap! He batted it away and slammed the door shut.
Best just get the shampoo and toiletries then leave. Following the conga line of bugs, he entered the half bath. After removing the roll of toilet tissue, he opened the medicine cabinet. A two-inch cockroach crawled over an unopened toothbrush sleeve. Manny flicked it off, grabbed the package and the small tube of toothpaste.
Picking up the mesh wastebasket, he strode from the room, turned left and took the steps two at a time to the upstairs. He quickly stripped the hall bath and the master before stopping. No shampoo or body wash. Had they taken them with them?
He flicked open the medicine cabinet in the master bath. Aspirin. Tylenol. Antibiotic cream. Half a prescription of amoxicillin. Each went into the wastebasket.
He turned toward the stairs then stopped. Something was off. Where were the extras? He glanced down the hall. A set of wooden doors stared back at him.
“Gotcha.” He jogged to the end of the hall and tossed the cabinet open. Extra bottles of shampoo and conditioner. One deodorant. Two tubes of toothpaste. He raked them into the basket. Three toothbrushes. A small mouthwash. Tiny, shell-shaped rounds of soap and one of shower gel. Better than Christmas.
Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) Page 14
