Redaction: The Meltdown Part II

by Andrews, Linda

  Dirk snorted and folded his flabby arms over his oversized belly. The black cotton fabric gave up the fight and rolled up, exposing swirls of black hair on gelatinous pale skin.

  The loser swiped at the tears leaking from his eyes. “She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t.”

  Trent scratched at the scab at his temple. Why was the man blubbering on? The woman wasn’t much to look at alive. At least dead, she kept her mouth shut.

  Finally, the loser pushed off the bench. The wood creaked. He released it and shuffled toward his wife.

  Dirk stretched his feet out.

  The loser stumbled over the work boots and fell onto the man across the aisle. The sick loser barely grunted from the impact.

  “Sorry. So sorry.” The loser smoothed the man’s clothes and straightened. He shambled the two feet to the corpse pile and dropped to his knees, scooping up his late wife’s hand and holding it close.

  Dirk grunted. “What a loser. Why would anyone cry over a woman? Treacherous bitches the lot of them.”

  Exactly. Trent smoothed the cover of his Bible. “I’m Reverend—”

  “Benjamin Trent. I know.”

  Damn. Trent forced a smile and held out his hand. Hadn’t he told the bitch in charge his name was Trent Franklin? He’d have to find a way to correct her assumption when the cow sought him out. And she would. She had to. Since she’d sent someone to spy on him, she must know that he was too important to be kept down with these losers.

  Dirk engulfed his hand in a fleshy prison, pumping his arm three times.

  “You really don’t think we deserve this shit?” He opened his arms encompassing the interior of the truck and nearly smacking his sleeping neighbor in the face. Balloons of flesh dripped from his arms.

  From the corner of his eye, he checked the spy. She seemed focused on the blue lipped man. Good, he had time. But how should he proceed? The fat slob seemed to be a kindred spirit, but then Trent seemed to be a reverend. Of course, Dirk wasn’t intelligent enough to fool a blind deaf/mute.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Benedict.” Trent used the formality. The man probably hadn’t been respected his entire life. Then again, he wasn’t worthy of respect. But Trent knew how to play the game. Once upon a time, he’d been the top insurance salesman in Arizona and had dined with influential people.

  He would have his status back soon. Maybe even more.

  Dirk sat up straighter. The shifting of weight eased the strain of his shirt and it draped back over his fuzzy navel. “Call me, Dirk. Please.”

  “And I’d appreciate it if you would call me Trent.” In fact, he’d have everyone calling him Trent to avoid the confusion. Reverend Trent had a nice ring to it. At least, until he could be crowned ruler.

  “Trent.” Dirk’s thin lips arrowed into his jowls. “A good, strong man’s name.”

  The smile set like concrete and his gut clenched. Shit. The asshole might be gay. He hadn’t counted on that. Slowly, he eased his hand free.

  “Trent sounds like he should be the man in charge, not some fucking woman or the uptight military. Am I right? Or am I right?”

  He eyed the spy. Still busy. Good. Now to have a little fun and test the worthiness of his new minion.

  Dirk slapped his thunder-thighs. “I mean if this is Judgement Day, we should have a man of the cloth in charge, not some Eve standin fucking up our chances at Paradise.”

  Point in Dirk’s favor. He recognized that womankind had gotten uppity. Trent swept his fingers along the satiny edges of the Bible. He had to play this smart. With the right wording, this conversation could have three endings. He could turn Dirk over to the bitch and her lackey and be rewarded. Trent could undermine the regime with Dirk’s help and take his rightful place in charge. And if the idiot messed up the coup, he’d have a fall guy.

  No matter how he sliced it, he won.

  “I am but a humble man of God…”

  The words dangled in the air like bait. Would the fool really think he’d be able to manipulate Trent?

  “Of course, that’s why you’re the perfect person to take charge.” Dirk wrapped an arm around Trent’s shoulders and squeezed.

  His spine popped from the mangling but he didn’t move away. The conversation was just getting interesting. He blanked his expression—the perfect foundation for option one. “Take charge of what?”

  “Our people.” After a brutal slap, Dirk released him. “You need to lead the new world order.”

  Beautiful. Trent kept the smile from his lips. The fat man’s loose lips had just sealed his own fate. He had his leverage into the Humvee sanctum. But the other two options glittered from a distance. Catching scent of the alluring perfume of power, his nose twitched. Why should he stop now? Didn’t he deserve to lead?

  “You’re unhappy with the way things are running?” There. Things couldn’t get anymore innocuous than that.

  Dirk nodded, the motion rippled up and down his overripe body. “Me and a few others. These bootstraps are nothing but gun-toting thugs.”

  Others? He stilled. Others had potential, especially if they’re healthy while most of the military was sick. He traced the cross embossed on the Bible. “Tell me more.”

  After all, why should he share the seat of power in the Humvee?

  Chapter Three

  “You’re relieving me of command?” Mavis Spanner’s gut clenched. No. This couldn’t be happening. She had been working when her son was killed in Afghanistan. She’d gone to the office to file a report when her husband died. Now, when her stupid job had a chance to save the life of someone she loved, this jarhead threatened to take it away.

  “I have to consider it.” Across the bench seat of the Humvee, General Lister tapped on the screen of his laptop. The blue light of the screen tarnished the United States Marine Corps insignia on his collar.

  “Why?” She’d worked despite being infected with anthrax. She’d stared at reports until her eyes burned and the information blurred. She coughed into the crook of her arm. With each spasm, her diaphragm shrink-wrapped her gut around her ribs, squeezing air out of her lungs with a high-pitched whistle. God, it hurt to breathe, to blink, to think. What more could they want from her?

  What more did she have to give?

  “You’re obviously sick.”

  Ending her coughing jag on a wheeze, she stuck her hands into her pockets. Empty throat lozenge wrappers rained like confetti on the dark upholstery. She raked her fingers through the garbage. Surely, there would be one left. Please God, let there be one left. “Practically everyone is sick.”

  Billions of anthrax spores swirled in the air, clung to people’s clothes and stuck to people’s shoes.

  “What makes me so special that I get relieved of duty?” If she knew, then she could find a solution to stay in her position. Her niece needed her to stay in her position. She skimmed a hard knot in her pocket, stopped and delved deeper in the detritus then came up with a foil wrapped wad of gum. Damn it! A tickle skimmed her throat before she started coughing again. The graphics on her tablet computer swam as her eyes teared up. Hacking up a lung would be so much easier.

  General Lister glanced at her over the top of his wire-rimmed reading glasses. The slim silver earpieces pointed directly to his graying temples. “The Sergeant-Major and his handful of Army flunkies tell me you haven’t gotten more than a couple of hours sleep in the last two days.”

  Sighing, Mavis collapsed against the seat. Her attention darted to the driver’s seat of the Humvee. Sergeant-Major David Dawson winked at her in the rear view mirror. Her Sergeant-Major as the general damn well knew. She straightened. Wait just a New York minute. “You’ve had my… men spy on me?”

  Her lover spied on her? She rubbed her sternum, hoping to ease the ache building under the bone. Where was his loyalty?

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Doc, the shit has already hit the fan.” Lister ripped off his glasses and chewed on the earpiece. “And now we’re being sucked into the downdraft, ready to
be chopped into bits by the blades.”

  And how exactly did that justify David’s betrayal? Her gaze shifted to the floor. “And the Sergeant-Major and his men are now the judges of good health and competency?”

  Sure, David and his men were practically the only ones healthy since their commanding officer hadn’t shared the anthrax tainted toys. Not that the asshole had known of the biological attack at the time. The CO had been too busy lining his own pockets by selling the meals and toys Burgers in a Basket had churned out to thank the military, government officials, police, fire and healthcare workers.

  And all those toy baggies had spilled their grams of anthrax masquerading as desiccant into the air, exposing the disease to everyone who breathed. She and her niece had been at one of several thousands of ground zeroes around the world. Now, she was infected and her niece, her sole remaining relative, was dying.

  “Hell, the Army isn’t competent to judge their own assholes.” Lister snorted then coughed into his handkerchief. Moments later, he wiped his mouth and tucked the square of embroidered linen in his uniform pocket. “Putting the Army in charge of anything explains why we’ve gone barely ten miles in two hours. Isn’t that right, Sergeant-Major?”

  “Yes, Sir.” The vehicle swayed side-to-side as David maneuvered it out of the wash and onto hard packed dirt running next to it. The Humvee slowed to a crawl as they approached the paved road.

  Men. She resisted the urge to throw up her hands and smack some sense into him. As the jarhead knew, they moved slowly to pick up survivors along the evacuation route. His nonsense wouldn’t distract her from his earlier threat.

  “Why are you threatening to remove me from office?” Kill my niece? And using my lover to spy on me?

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, Doc,” Lister set his glasses back on his nose, “you are the only one who seems to have a bird’s eye view of the big picture. Right now, the wheels up here are spinning.” He tapped his silver temple. “But if you don’t take care of yourself, the motor will run out of oil, seize up and stop working altogether. I’m not planning on dying because you’re being self-centered.”

  Her mouth fell open. She was being selfish? Who did he think she was working day and night to save? Her niece, yes, but them too. They were in this together.

  “You start getting some sleep or I’ll remove you from duty.” He slid her tablet off her lap. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “Fine.” She turned toward the window and yawned. No need to let the moose-jawed bully know she was tired. His gloating alone would keep her awake. Slouching in her seat, she closed her eyes. They popped back open. Come on. She needed to clear her head, needed to keep her job.

  Outside the window, the world was decorated in apocalypse chic. Smoke writhed over the smoldering neighborhoods. Carbonized studs and charred tiles marked the remains of affluent homes. Ash flaked off skeletal branches of trees and shrubs. The air reeked of burnt hair and roasting meat. Singed rats scavenged in the decay.

  At the top of the embankment, ash-coated survivors shivered next to their meager pile of belongings. White eyes blinked in chalked faces. A Bible-black sky roiled behind them, while flashes of lightning illuminated the mountains behind the town of Cave Creek, still miles in the distance. Trails of red climbed the dark hills as fire serpents crawled across the ground, devouring everything in its path.

  “Tell them we’re full up,” Lister barked as David shifted the vehicle to the side, parked it and killed the engine.

  Mavis rolled her eyes. “The Sergeant-Major knows the drill. I’m sure he had it down the second time you said it.”

  The twentieth was a bit of overkill.

  “He’s Army and enlisted. They need the repetition.” Lister groped along the floor until he found his half-empty water bottle. Deviltry glinted in his pale blue eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

  David set his helmet on his head and wrapped his hand around the barrel of his M-4. “Which of the trucks still have room, Sir?”

  Room. The trucks had so little room. Yet they couldn’t leave the sick and take only the healthy. Anthrax could take up to a month and a half to present symptoms. Everyone needed to climb on board and pray they weren’t already the walking dead. A chill slipped down her spine. Great, the fever was back and her throat hurt. If she hoped to get any rest, she needed another dose of aspirin. She reached for her purse by her feet.

  The general tapped his keyboard. “Put them in seven and twenty-three.”

  Her fingers wrapped around the medicine bottle and her nails bent under her grip. “Twenty-three?”

  That truck housed her niece Sunnie. Glancing over her shoulder, she peered into the dust and smoke clogging the dirt road and rising from the wash. Where in the convoy was she? The trucks had leap-frogged each other so many times, it had been turned into a shell game. Sure, she’d started in the same vehicle as her niece but there’d been so many decisions that she’d been forced to move to the Humvee with General Lister. David had accompanied her, filling in when the original driver had nearly hit a tree when fever had rolled his eyes back in his head.

  He’d be dead by morning. As would half the soldiers. Instead of protecting them, the anthrax vaccine had supercharged their immune system, drowning them with their own antibodies. She thumped her chest, temporarily dislodging the congestion. Hopefully, her forty-one year old, slower-to-respond system would prevent her from meeting the same fate.

  “Trucks twenty-three and seven have room.” Lister twisted the cap off his water bottle, tossed back his head and drained the contents.

  She rubbed her burning eyes. At least anthrax wasn’t contagious. But given the amount blowing around, it didn’t need to be.

  The general eyed her. “You going to change my orders?”

  Yes. She squeezed her eyes closed. Please, please, please, let her recover. She bartered her soul for her niece’s life. “No.”

  “You know Johnson will have other patients to attend.”

  “I know.” The words were razor blades in her throat. She’d been lucky to have the medic just on Sunnie for as long as she had. Everything her niece needed to beat the infection had already been dispensed. All that remained was one-on-one mortal combat.

  Please, God, let my niece win.

  “Maybe if we had more leaders like you, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” Lister turned back to his computer.

  Don’t bet on it. She’d sacrifice them all to keep her niece alive. She’d promised her sister to look after Sunnie and she’d be damned if she broke that promise.

  Speaking into his headset, David notified the numbered vehicles of the impending visitors then opened his door. Smoke tainted air drifted inside. “Try the walkie. She might be awake.”

  Walkie. Where’d she put the darn thing? Forgetting the medicine, Mavis patted down her chest then thumped the plastic walkie. Sighing, she plucked it off her belt and pressed the talk button. “Sunnie? Are you there?”

  She released the button. Static crackled in the air for a moment.

  “She’s asleep, Ma’am.”

  Mavis curled against the seat back as the medic’s deep voice drifted through the line. Sleep was good. She’d like to be sleeping right now. “How’s she doing?”

  “No better or worse than fifteen minutes ago. Respiration is shallow and she’s still whistling Dixie, but her temperature is stable and she’s keeping down the Cipro.”

  Good signs all of them but it was a long way from healthy.

  “Thank God.” Mavis closed her eyes. “Let me know when she wakes up.”

  When, not if. She needed to keep a positive attitude. She yawned. Eighty winks sounded pretty good right about now.

  “Before you drift off to the Land of Nod, Doc.” Lister flicked the walkie which jostled her hand. “With all these delays, we’re going to need to revise our plans.”

  Opening one eye, she glared at him. Sleep, don’t sleep. The man had more ups and downs than a yo-yo. “I could shoot you righ
t now.”

  He grinned, revealing white teeth, but fatigue hung heavily under his eyes. “That’s why I moved all the guns and knives out of your reach.”

  She opened her other eye and shifted in the seat. Did they put the lumps in them on purpose? “I don’t need a gun or knife to kill.”

  Her training had taught her that those things could easily be taken away and used against her. Instead, she’d learned to improvise. A pen made an effective weapon under some circumstances. So did a bed spring. Unfortunately, neither was particularly handy.

  And the brass-toting fat head keeping her awake probably had the same training.

  “That’s why you’re in charge.”

  No, she was in charge because she’d been second-in-command to the Surgeon General. Now she was all that remained of the US government besides the rapidly dwindling numbers of servicemen and women. And they were determined to maintain a chain of command with her being the ‘it’ girl.

  Outside the Humvee, David guided the sleep-walking survivors to the right side of the vehicle while the convoy lumbered by. Pebbles pinged the metal body and dust coated the windows like brown powdered sugar. A truck filled the review mirror. She twisted on her seat. Was Sunnie in that truck?

  “Now, about our evac plans. We need to revise our ETA.”

  “No need.” Guess, she’d find out later. After hooking the walkie back on her belt loop, she fished in her purse for the bottle of aspirin. Since she was up for a while longer…. Gripping the bottle, her shaking fingers fumbled to line up the raised arrows. The plastic top slipped against her palm but didn’t open. Child-proof, her behind. Adult proof was more like it.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because, I’ve already accounted for these delays.”

  Lister held his hand out for the bottle.

  Mavis glared at it then bit down on the top and pulled. Pain flared in her jaw. Finally the cap popped off. The pills rattled against plastic. She spit the cap onto the seat near Lister’s open palm.