Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I)

by Andrews, Linda

  “Miles better not have said any such thing.” She pursed her lips while edging around him but kept their hands locked together.

  “It’s all a matter of interpretation.” And a very big imagination. Mavis certainly inspired his to take flight. Someone pounded on the security door. Impatient bastard. “I’ll answer that, while you crunch numbers.”

  She bit her bottom lip.

  David tugged her forward, toward the dining room table and her computer. “Relax. Marines don’t go anywhere without their corpsmen. Since the Corps prides itself on being prepared, the resident squid will undoubtedly be carrying a year’s worth of drugs.”

  She slid the box onto the tabletop before strangling the chair back. “I should be there when they examine her.”

  “Then get that data plugged in.” He jerked his head toward the package.

  The rattling of the security door intensified. The general had better not dent the metal.

  “We’re coming!” David shouted above the racket.

  Metal hummed to a stop. The silence raged in his ears, but he didn’t move.

  Mavis rolled her eyes, hooked the chair with her heel and pulled it out. “Fine. I’ll get the sims underway.”

  That’s what he wanted to hear. Even if there was bit of whine in it. He winked at her, walked to the door, and yanked it open. Despite the light, the men on the porch were flesh-colored blobs through the sieve of metal, but he could clearly make out the gold stars on the taller man’s collar. “We’ve got a sick female, approximately nineteen years of age, in the back bedroom. Fever, cough, and chills.”

  At least, he hoped she had those symptoms. He hadn’t actually seen her; he’d been too busy taking care of Mavis. David unlocked the security door and stepped back.

  “Corpsman, see to the girl then report back.” General Lister wrenched open the door and strutted inside.

  Damn cocky Marine. David bit the inside of his cheek. Did they teach the wily bastards to walk like that during Basic? Of all the men in his unit, only Robertson had that infernal swagger.

  Jostling a number of bags, the navy corpsman sauntered in. Black skin showed through the shorn hair on the sides of his head. He nodded to David once as he passed and turned right, before doing an about face and heading in the opposite direction.

  “Doctor Spanner would like to be present for the examination.” Securing the door, David looked at Mavis.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard like startled birds, wanting to land but unsure if it was safe. Yet, her attention remained riveted on the ever-changing screen. “Absolutely. You should know, she’s taken a dose of aspirin for the fever and body aches.”

  The corpsman paused at the branch in the hallway. “Any allergies?”

  “None.” Mavis tapped the enter key and the screen blanked. A moment later, a map of the United States appeared. Red fuzzed the west coast before it spread across the landscape like a pool of blood from a fresh body. Wiping her hands on her purple pajama top, she marched barefoot to the medic’s side. “And she has no congenital conditions or any lasting effects from the influenza.”

  The corpsman jiggled the medical bag. “When did she contract the Redaction?”

  “November.” Mavis brushed by him before turning the corner heading away from the master bedroom. “She had the fever for three weeks and coughed until Christmas.”

  “A typical infection, then.”

  Distance muffled their voices slightly before David heard hinges creak.

  “Sunnie?” Mavis spoke softly. “There’s someone here to diagnose your illness.”

  David inched closer to the hallway. Was the Doc’s niece Patient Zero? Maybe he should join them. Mavis might need a shoulder to cry on.

  “Christ Almighty.” General Lister moved in front of the computer. A moment later, his voice boomed around the room. “This is what we can expect? Everyone dead?”

  Then again, maybe not. David raked his fingers through his hair and focused on the laptop’s screen. The US was one giant black spot, except for the ninety-nine percent splashed across the front. “Not quite everyone. One in a thousand will survive.”

  “What the hell kind of odds are those?” Lister turned Mavis’s cane back chair around and straddled it.

  “Not good.” David remained standing. Lister may be a Marine but he was still a general. “Hopefully, we’ll find something to give us an edge.”

  “We’d better.” Lister ran his index finger over the cursor pad. When a menu button popped up, he clicked rerun.

  Silk whispered and David turned in time to watch Mavis turn the corner. He liked the sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts. From the corner of his eye, he spied on Lister. David shifted, blocking the general’s view. This time the Army Reserve had arrived before the Marines and weren’t about to cede territory to a star toting jarhead. Cupping her elbow, he escorted her to the table. “How is Sunnie doing?”

  Mavis licked her lips. Unshed tears swam in her eyes. “The corpsman thinks it might be Plague. I… I didn’t even notice the flea bite on her arm.”

  Lister swore under his breath and reached for the cell phone clipped to his belt.

  “But that’s good, right?” David held out a new chair for her and gently guided her onto the seat. “The corpsman will give her antibiotics, and she’ll be better in no time.”

  “If we caught it in time.” Propping her elbows on the table, she clutched her head between her hands. “For the antibiotics to be most effective, it has to be caught early.”

  “Well, she wasn’t sick yesterday so we must have caught it early.” David watched Lister rise from his seat and stride down the hall. He probably had to report that there’d be no shooting doctors tonight.

  “Maybe.”

  “No. Not maybe.” Leaving her side, he skirted the kitchen island, heading for the coffee pot. “We did.”

  Turning her face toward him, she flashed him a brief smile. “You really are a glass three-quarters full kind of guy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tossed the old coffee down the drain, rinsed the pot then added enough water to brew the full eight cups promised by the maker. If the general planned to stay a while, David would need the caffeine to keep awake.

  Marines were notorious womanizers.

  Starting with the far left cabinet, he opened the doors.

  “Coffee’s in the next one.” Mavis spun the laptop around until the screen faced her. “No improvement.”

  He opened the cabinet. Inside was a hazelnut frou-frou coffee and the real stuff. Popping the plastic lid, he measured out enough grounds so the brew would allow a spoon to stand at attention then turned on the coffee maker. “Now we need a bug out plan.”

  “Why leave?” Closing the keyboard of his Smartphone, Lister swaggered back into the room. “We have all that we need here, plus we can shop at all the empty residences.”

  “The people may be dead, but their bodies are still lying around, decomposing and feeding the rats.” David removed two mugs from the wooden tree near the window. In the glass’s reflection, he saw Mavis wince. Tact wasn’t exactly a skill that survived sleep deprivation. He reached for a third mug then stopped. The corpsman could wait on the general.

  “The President will make an announcement tomorrow and let everyone know about the Plague.” Lister plopped down on the reversed chair and scooted closer to the table.

  And to Mavis.

  Damned officers. He was definitely getting his own coffee. While the machine gurgled, David measured out two spoonfuls of sugar into a mug. She had taken sugar, hadn’t she?

  “Bodies are one thing, but the nuclear power plant is another threat altogether.” Mavis frowned at her laptop then tapped a few keys.

  “Give the order and we’ll shut Palo Verde down.” Lister leaned in his chair until his head practically rested on her shoulder.

  Lecherous, pretty boy. Acting like he was all that and a home-cooked meal. David kept his clenched fists hidden behind the cou
nter. At least he knew something that lascivious Lister didn’t.

  Mavis cleared her throat. “It’s not so simple. Without a reliable supply of gas or coal, there’s no way we can supply enough electricity to keep the hospitals operating.”

  “And since Operation Deep Six was aborted during week two of the Redaction, there are spent fuel rods stored on site. They will evaporate off their water, ignite and send enough radiation to kill everything.” He made sure he kept the smug look off his face. Last thing he wanted was to be dressed down in front of his woman. “Staying is not an option.”

  Mavis turned the computer screen so the general could see it without putting his head in her lap.

  “Fair enough.” Lister retreated a few inches. “I might be able to help. I grew up in the area.”

  Of course he did. Where was a plague-infested rat when he needed it? David grabbed the half-full pot from the machine and filled the mugs. The rich scent of coffee didn’t soothe him as it usually did.

  “What do you know of Colorado?” She tapped her computer and a green glow highlighted her checks. “Specifically, this area.”

  Probably a topographical map. Not that it would help him worm his way into the conversation. He’d spent most of his years in service either overseas or in the South. Picking up the mugs by the handles, he joined Mavis.

  “I’ve been there a couple of times. It’s rough terrain.” Lister brushed her hand as he shifted the focus of the map to another area. “This location would be better. There’s water and it’s relatively flat for farming.”

  Shaking her head, she reached up and took one of the mugs. “You don’t quite understand what I’ve said. We’re not going to be living on the Earth’s surface but under her skin. These mountains are loaded with metals to block the radiation, plus there are a warren of tunnels we can make use of right away.” Setting her mug down, she shifted back to her original target area, then zoomed in to the valley. “This has a power connection to Glen Canyon Dam and will provide us with enough electricity while we set up our new underground civilization.”

  David blew steam off his mug. That was his girl, showing the general she was more than just a pretty face. Much more. And the face was damn wonderful.

  Lister scratched his clean-shaven chin. “So we’ll need supply stations along the exfil route.”

  “Yes.” Frowning, Mavis pulled the mug from his hand and set it next to hers.

  What the hell? She already had a cup; she didn’t need his.

  “Why don’t you catch up on some sleep before your shift?”

  Tugging his mask down, Lister reached out and nabbed David’s stolen cup.

  Thieving bastard. He crossed his arms. Damn Jar heads always got the good stuff. “I can help plan the exodus.”

  She set her hand on his arm. “You can, but I’d rather you catch up on the sleep you’ve lost since you’ve been assigned to me. And don’t bother to deny it. I’m a trained observer and I know a fatigue case when I see one.”

  After a squeeze and a smile, she released him and disappeared down the hall.

  Lister sipped David’s coffee then smacked his lips.

  Yeah, well, at least she cared enough about him to worry. That was better than a cup of coffee any day. Mavis’s permission allowed fatigue to flood his body, infusing his limbs with lassitude, which made it hard to keep his eyes open. He’d comply, because she was his superior and she’d worry. She had enough on her plate without his health. Besides, he really could use the sleep.

  A door squeaked twice, before she returned with blanket and pillow in hand. “Will you be comfortable on the couch or do you want the spare bed?”

  “The couch.” He took the items and trudged to the sofa. The sweet scent of roses wafted from the bundle. He’d sleep with both ears and one eye open. Marines were not to be trusted.

  She followed him to the couch and helped him tuck a sheet around the cushions. “What time do you need to wake to report back to base before your shift?”

  “Six should be plenty of time.” David dropped the pillow onto the sheet then ripped open the Velcro of his jacket before lowering the zipper.

  Lister scooted his chair closer to hers. “We’ll be sure to wake you.”

  Mavis rolled her eyes.

  Double-dog bastard. Turning his back on the general, David sat down and worked off his boots. Maybe he could sleep with both eyes on the Marine.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Manny blinked at the light shining on his eyelids before burying his face in his pillow. The soft scent of flowers invaded his senses. Flowers? Rearing back, he looked around. The twin-sized bed butted against a tan wall. A thin strip of seashell wallpaper hung midway down. Next to a glass jar of sand dollars and starfish, a white pitcher and bowl sat on a nightstand. Across from that was another twin bed. His brother, Jose’s favorite superhero-action figure sat among the rumpled sky blue covers.

  Fear fisted his heart and squeezed.

  This was not his home. While his brain struggled against the cotton batting wrapping his thoughts, he sprang from the bed. His bare feet sank into the plush carpeting, before he spun around. The niños! Where were the niños?

  The sound of laughter trickled inside the strange bedroom.

  Stumbling out of the blanket bunched around his ankles, Manny staggered to the window. Shaking hands pushed aside the tan drapes. Beyond the neatly trimmed desert landscaping, Jose sat atop a blue bicycle, laughing.

  “Don’t laugh, Jose Saldana.” Irina shook her finger at him while lifting a red bicycle off Mikey. “You fell off the bike many times after your Pop removed the training wheels.”

  Thrusting out his trembling bottom lip, the five-year-old pushed off the asphalt and remounted the bike. “I’m not gonna fall this time.”

  “That’s the spirit.” White-haired Connie sat on the sidewalk handing Lucia and Mary pieces of chalk from the bucket in her lap. Neither girl seemed to mind that a blind woman chose the colors for their art.

  Manny’s shoulders relaxed. Safe. They were safe. Rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes, he pushed the sleepiness away. His heart resumed a normal rhythm as happiness invaded his limbs. Neither was he alone.

  Memories flooded his skull—Connie, Henry, Mildred. Adults to protect them, to help him take care of the niños. His belly rumbled due to emptiness. Food wasn’t a problem either. The soldiers had caught him up on his family’s weekly rations.

  And the murder.

  He licked his dry lips. Had the murderer seen him standing in the common area of the development? Surely, if Manny could see him, the reverse must also be true.

  But would the killer return?

  The soldier seemed to think so.

  Henry had identified one of the murderer’s victims as the man’s ex-wife and said that he’d lived in the neighborhood prior to their divorce.

  Fortunately, the soldier had promised to relocate them within a week. Did he have a week? Manny let the curtain fall. Yes, he did. He had to believe that.

  If the murderer came back before then, Henry had pledged to hide him.

  So had Mildred and Connie.

  Tears stung his eyes and pricked his nose. Stupid to cry now. He was finally safe. The niños didn’t have to fear the gangs or starvation. They could relax and play outside. He shuffled to the dresser shoved against the wall opposite the beds and window. Underneath a framed print of white sand and a turquoise ocean, toys were carefully lined-up on the dresser.

  Opening the top drawer, he pulled out a change of clothes. Holding the folded tee shirt and jeans against his nose, he inhaled the scent of laundry soap. God, he missed smelling clean. Padding into the bathroom, he did his business then pressed the toilet lever. No water. Pushing aside the shower curtain, he filled the mop bucket with water from the tub and poured it down the bowl. The crude flushing system worked and he lowered the lid.

  Gathering up the niños’ dirty clothes, he made his way past the four bedrooms. Voices bounced off the cream
walls before being absorbed into the beige carpeting. Someone else was here. Manny paused at the entry to the family room/dining area and peered around the corner. Henry rolled his wheelchair up to the kitchen table, a pad of paper in his hand and a radio on his right.

  “You’re going to have to wind that radio soon, Henry.” In the open kitchen behind him, Mildred pounded blobs of white dough on the granite countertop. Flour dusted the bright red curls escaping the handkerchief tied around her head.

  “I’ll get to it, woman.” Henry’s gray ponytail slipped over his shoulder to tease the walnut table top. “Just gotta finish taking all this information down.”

  Manny released the breath he’d been holding. The voices had come from the radio. It wasn’t the Child Protective Services coming to take the niños away from him.

  “You just remember the last time you let it run all the way down.” Mildred plopped a round into a glass loaf pan. “All that cranking made you cranky.”

  Shaking his head, he entered the large room. Their bickering reminded him of his parents. For the first time, the reminder wasn’t a punch to his gut, but a warmth infusing his limbs. These gringos were good people.

  While taking another hunk from the silver mixing bowl on her left, Mildred looked up. “Well, you look like a brand new man.” She slapped the dough into countertop. Flour puffed up and coated her ‘Kiss me cuz I could be Irish’ apron. “Put the dirties in the laundry room then come and sit. I’ll get your breakfast as soon I get these on to rise.”

  Henry flicked off the radio before swiping it off the table and working the hand crank on the side. The soft whirring filled the silence.

  “I can help with the bread if you’d like.” Manny adjusted the load in his hands. Had there been an announcement on the radio that the older man hadn’t wanted him to hear? He wracked his brain. Nah, they’d just talked about burning trash and the rat problem.

  “Pshaw.” Mildred waved a white-crusted hand. “I’m almost done here. Besides, it gives me an opportunity to take out my frustrations. Pounding dough is much better than pounding sense into that man’s head.” She jerked her chin toward her husband. “Easier, too.”