“Nuh-uh.” Toby crossed his arms and shivered.
He rolled up the teeshirt’s hem to the neckline and tugged it over Toby’s head. “I don’t like chocolate. My favorite is the shortbread.”
The child’s scrawny arms poked through the sleeves. “How comes you don’ like choc’late?”
“Don’t know.” He released the shirt and the hem fell to the boy’s knees and the sleeves dangled past his elbows. “I’ve never liked chocolate.”
“That’s weird.”
He tucked Toby back into the jacket. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you my chocolate chip cookies and you give me your shortbread. Deal?”
Not that he had any intention of taking food from the kid’s mouth. Talking silly helped him remember this was someone else’s kid. As soon as they found another group of survivors, he’d palm the kid off.
“‘Kay.” Toby thrust out his hand.
Papa Rose stared at it for a moment before swallowing it with his big one. So soft, so fragile. It hurt to breathe. He pumped the lad’s hand once then dropped it. The boy’s whole body moved.
“Now let me see those feet.”
Setting one hand on his shoulder, Toby balanced on one foot and kicked the other at him.
He cradled the icy skin, slid the sock over it, then folded it back down, so the cotton doubled in thickness. Next, he shook open one MRE bag and slipped it over the sock. “Okay, put your weight on it.”
Toby giggled but obeyed. “It feels weird.”
“I’ll bet.” He rummaged in his duffle until he found a roll of half-finished duct-tape. Using his thumb, he found a neatly folded corner. He sucked air into his iron lungs. Miranda, his wife always ended the tape that way.
“Hows they ‘posed to say on?” Toby waggled his foot and the bag and sock slipped down.
Shaking off the past, Papa Rose ripped a foot of tape free. “You’ll see. Now put that foot down again.”
Toby’s face scrunched up. “Is it magic?”
With the roll end swinging like a pendulum, he reached into his boot and pulled out a knife. The blade sliced cleanly through the gray strip and the cardboard roll plopped to the ground.
“Gots it.” Toby hopped then crouched, catching it before it left the island. He twirled the circle around in his hands then used it as a chunky bracelet.
At least that would keep the kid busy for a few seconds. With one hand, he gathered the top of the bag around the boy’s ankle, loose enough to pull off but tight enough to stay on. Next, he wrapped the tape around the MRE bag, securing it in place. “How’s that feel?”
He looked up and his heart stopped.
With his tongue held firmly between his teeth, Toby folded over the corner of the tape. “All better.”
Beaming, the little boy held out the roll to him.
Get a grip. Lots of people folded over the corner. Lots. Slowly, his heart tried out a beat, then two. Finally, it eased into an galloping rhythm. Papa Rose ignored the tremor in his hand as he accepted the gift. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “How’s the new shoe?”
Toby glanced down. Raising his covered foot, he shook it. The bag wiggled a bit but didn’t come off. Next, he hopped three times. “Cool!”
Dropping the duct-tape, he picked up the lone sock. “Okay, let’s get the other one on.”
“‘Kay.” Holding up his unshod foot, Toby balanced by setting his hand on Papa Rose’s shoulder.
The slight weight pressed down on him. He quickly constructed a second shoe and chucked the tape into the bag. “There. All done.”
Toby hopped along the island until he reached the next gas pump. “New shoes. New shoes.”
“I forgot how little it takes to make them happy at that age.” Falcon darted out of the double doors. His rifle hung from his shoulder and a handful of white bags dangled from his hands.
Papa nodded and concentrated on rearranging his belongings. Children were so vulnerable, got sick so quickly. He licked his dry lips. Died with such a soundless whimper.
“You got something for me to wear?” Jillie stood in front of him, arms wrapped tight around her torso and legs wrapped around one another. Her teeth chattered behind her blue lips.
Falcon held out a bag. “Found these. Something should fit.”
She swapped the white grocery sack for the small bar of Brainiac’s bar of soap. “Any shoes?”
Papa Rose held up two MRE wrappers. “Got your customized pair right here.”
“Excellent! I haven’t had a new pair in a long while.” She smiled. Blood wept from the graze at her temple. “Be right back.”
Turning on her heel, she padded toward the side of the building.
“Yo, Brainiac.” Falcon shoved a handful of clean bags into Papa Rose’s gut. “Check out the bathroom for the lady.”
“Aye, aye.” With a palm flash, Brianiac jogged through the rain to the side of the building.
Jillie splashed through the puddles then disappeared around the corner of the building.
Hinges squeaked. “Bathroom is clear. Hey, where’s my soap?”
“I gave it to the bald dude.”
Papa Rose shook his head. Maybe he should change his name. He eyed the blood red ink blooming on his arm. What was the point? His past would never free him.
Falcon snorted. “Hey, bald dude, given any thought to how we’re going to transport the munchkins?”
Toby jumped off the island. His plastic shoes crinkled as he landed. Dark wisps of hair hung in his brown eyes. “What’s a munch’in?”
“That’s you, little man.” He tossed a pair of clean socks from hand to hand. Damn but the kid looked so innocent and trusting. Lightning fractured the lowlying clouds and highlighted the lines of rain streaking down. A snare drum of thunder chased hard on its heels. He had to find a way to get rid of the kids.
Soon.
“I’s Toby, not a munch’in.” The preschooler shook his head. With knees bent, he swung his arms back and forth then jumped the six inch the curb.
“Papa Rose?” Falcon snatched the socks out of the air. His dark fingers dug into the white ball of fabric. “How we going to transport the munchkins?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “The boy will ride in front of me on the bike, and the girl will hang on from the back.”
“Is it safe?”
He’d told his wife it was and their children had never gotten hurt. “I’m willing to pick another curtain, just tell me which one.”
The point of Falcon’s yellow bandanna flopped over his eye. With his free hand, he smoothed it back. “Maybe we can find a group of survivors and… you know.”
“Yeah.” He knew. Their suicide pact hadn’t exactly gone as planned. They were having a hell of a time getting to the dying part. His gaze slanted to Toby. “Right now we need to focus on finding gas or there won’t be any survivors. Just corpses that glow in the dark.”
Falcon tugged a folded up paper from the back pocket of his jeans. “You think radiation poisoning is as bad as the Doc said?”
“Worse.” Brainiac sauntered through the rain, his M-4 cradled in his arm. “I’ve seen videos of exposure victims. It isn’t pretty.”
Papa Rose grunted. Guys like him didn’t deserve pretty.
Falcon shrugged. “There’s always plan B.”
Eating his gun? That was too fast. Men who put their own wants above their family deserved to suffer. The man who brought the Redaction to Phoenix deserved to suffer.
A bullet to the brain was out of the question for him, but he’d make sure the ex-green beret was buried before signing up for a nuclear tan.
Holding the knotted plastic bag over her head, Jillie slipped around him and under the safety of the awning. Her bare feet slapped the cement. She drew to a halt beside them and held out her hand. “I’ll take my shoes now.”
“Here you go, Miss Thang.” Falcon placed the socks on her palm.
“What’s plan B?” Brainiac crouche
d by the bag. His long fingers raked the contents from side to side and found the sliver of soap sweating inside a baggie. Pinching it between his thumb and index finger, he lifted it free then tucked it into his breast pocket.
They wouldn’t tell the squid their plan. He had something to live for. While Falcon busied himself with unfolding the paper in his hand, Papa Rose supplied an answer, edited for small ears. “Kiss our butts goodbye unless we find fuel to keep the power plant running for another four days.”
Brainiac grinned, revealing the gap between his two front teeth. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Well, while you’ve been thinking, I’ve been planning.” A gust of frigid air shook out Falcon’s folded paper. It snapped flat.
No, not paper. Papa Rose leaned closer. Neat grid lines carved up the top. Leave it to a spec ops guy to find a map. Red x’s marked the corners of some streets. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the names hanging from green signs at the intersection, picking it out on the map. The red mark had a black line running through it.
Brainiac caught the flapping edge and pulled it taut. “What’s this?”
Falcon rolled his eyes. “It’s a map. Don’t they teach squids anything?”
“Kinda hard to navigate with a map in a sub.” Papa Rose nodded to the sailor. “They don’t have windows so they wouldn’t know to turn right at the mermaid or that something is due south of Atlantis.”
“Ha. Ha.” Brainiac folded his arms across his chest. “We use computers to navigate in a sub. Very, very expensive computers.”
“This is old school GPS.”
“Great, great-grandfather’s school.” Brainiac poked one of the x’s. “What do those mean?”
Falcon smiled. “Please say we didn’t let you tag along for your brains.”
Papa Rose’s inside cramped. Maybe the squid wasn’t as smart as they thought. He eyed Toby before his gaze skipped to Jillie. She sat on the dry island, adjusting the MRE bags over her feet. Damn, they needed to find survivors to dump the kids. “Those are gas stations.”
“Oh.” Brainiac blotted at the water beading on the muzzle of his rifle. “How do you know where they are? Did you live around here?”
A muscle flexed in Falcon’s jaw and he squeezed his eyes closed for a minute.
Damn, the squid had gotten personal. Had he forgotten rule number one? The apocalyptic version of ‘don’t ask; don’t tell’. “Look B—”
“Yeah.” The raw words emerged from Falcon. “Yeah, I grew up around here. A lifetime ago.” He cleared his throat. “But I know where the stations are because I consulted a phone book. I picked the chains, not the mom and pop shops, since I knew most of the chains were slated to open.”
“Oh.” Brainiac raked his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, dude. I—”
“B!” Christ Jesus. The squid didn’t remember rule number two. No apologies. Life was too short.
Jillie looked up from adjusting her new shoes.
“S’alright.” Falcon pointed to a black line near the x marking their current location. “This is the most efficient route to take. We should be able to find gas along there somewhere.”
He hoped, maybe even prayed a little. For the munchkins’ sakes, not his own.
“But that’s just it!” Brainiac bounced on the balls of his feet. “I don’t think we need to look any farther. I think we have gas right here.”
Obviously the elements had gotten to the squid. His brain had frozen. “We already checked the tanker. It was empty.”
“Yeah, but where did the fuel go?” Brainiac clunked the concrete slab with the heel of his boot. “The driver might have filled up the underground storage tanks when…” He jerked his head toward the convenience store and the bodies slaughtered within. “Think about it. Why else would the tanker still be here? And all these vehicles…”
Papa Rose looked at the intersection. “The squid has a point. They could have been waiting to fill up.”
“We were.” Jillie pointed to the gold Honda several cars down the line. “Daddy woke us so we could get our ten gallons and leave.”
Papa scoped out the car. Jillie’s family had been easy pickings for the murderers to run up to them with guns drawn, drag them out of their cars then shove them inside and shoot them.
Falcon scratched the stubbled sprayed across his narrow chin. “What happened?”
Jillie swallowed and hugged herself. “A lady in a big red truck with a light bar ran out of gas. She called out for help.”
Except there was no big red truck with a light bar in line. Papa Rose stared into the incoming storm. Since the power had been off for days, Palo Verde might already be on the verge of a meltdown. He checked his dose badge. Still showing the all clear. “Did your dad help her?”
Jillie dipped her head. “He got out of the car along with some others.” She pointed to a few of the cars around them. “They were going to push her up the curb, but…but men stood up in the back and aimed their guns at them. And then… And then…”
Her hands formed fists at her side.
Papa Rose glanced at the store. The bodies inside finished the story.
“You did good remembering, Jillie.” Falcon smoothed her wet hair. “Real good.”
And they knew what kind of vehicle to look for.
Brainiac cleared his throat. “So now we know we have gas.”
Falcon shook his head. “We know there was gas here, but we don’t know if any is still left.”
“The store has a back-up generator.” Brainiac rubbed his hands together. “I’ll take a gallon from the bikes and power it up, then we can pump the gas back into the tanker and be on our way.”
Falcon raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips.
Damn but why did the Spec Ops guy always get to play the strong, silent type? Even in civilian life the grunts did all the work. And now Papa Rose got to be the party pooper, too. “We need the gas to reach Palo Verde.”
“Yeah, but there’s bound to be thousands of gallons under our feet.” Brainiac stomped his foot.
For emphasis or a tantrum. It was hard to tell. The squid couldn’t be much older than Jillie. “If it was there, why did the bad guys not take it?”
“They took some.” Jillie bit her lip. “They took the cards out of the wallets and filled up the three trucks.”
Three? So there was more than a truck full. “How many men were there?”
“Lots.”
Papa Rose grunted. Despite how self-possessed she appeared, she was just a kid.
A tug on his shirt had Papa Rose looking down.
Toby held up his teddy bear. “Papa mad?”
“No, I’m not mad.” He ruffled the preschooler’s dark hair.
Brainiac snorted. “Papa’s just a stubborn, old goat.”
Toby covered his mouth. “Papa goat.”
“Papa Rose, Toby. Papa Rose.” He speared the squid with a glare.
Brainiac raised his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is, we know there was gas delivered. Just one measly gallon will turn on the generator enough for me to know if there’s any left in the underground tanks and how much. If it’s there, we won’t have to drive around the valley looking for it, plus I can repay what I’ve taken.”
“That’s a big if.” The squid was stubborn. Papa Rose would give him that. “A measly gallon can mean the difference between a trip to Palo Verde or one that’s a day’s walk away. And in case you hadn’t noticed, the tanks on those bikes aren’t exactly huge.”
“Half a gallon, then.”
Falcon shrugged.
Great. The decision to be wrong was all his. “Fine. Half a gallon. Not a drop more.”
“Yes.” Brainiac pumped the air. “Come on squirt you can help me roll the bike closer.”
Jillie shuffled after him. Her new shoes scuffing the ground as she walked.
Falcon shook his head. “When do you think he’s gonna figure out we got no hose?”
Yeah, that would be a problem.
Papa Rose scanned the parking lot and his attention stuck to a red box with a black rope coiled at its side. Of course, an air station. “We got one.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. This just might work.”
“So we gonna pick our noses while B takes the credit for saving us old farts?”
“Who you calling old?”
“If the gray hair fits…” He glanced at the white hair at Falcon’s temples. Insults weren’t personal, they were a way to keep insanity at bay. At least a little while longer.
Toby leaned against the gas pump, his thin arms wrapped around the teddy bear and his eyes opening and shutting.
Papa Rose slid his arms around the preschooler and lifted him. Toby snuggled closer. The clean scent of soap wafted from his skin. For a moment, his grip tightened. He definitely needed to find a group of survivors and soon. Turning on his heel, he headed for the tanker.
Falcon shielded the kid’s face with the map. “Put the kid in the truck’s cab. He’ll be safe and dry and can see us if he wakes up.”
“You think I’m walking in the rain for shits and grins?”
“You’re regular Army. There’s no telling how you get your jollies.”
“Just open the fucking door.”
“Watch your language around the kiddies, Papa Baldy.” Falcon opened the door and climbed up the metal running board.
Juggling the sleeping kid, he slowly lifted him up. “Go soak your head.”
“Been there, done that, have the teeshirt to prove it.” Falcon carefully twisted around and lowered Toby onto the bench seat. “You sleep now. We’ll be just outside if you need us.” He smoothed the long teeshirt over the preschooler’s legs then carefully closed the door. “Snug as a bug.”
Papa Rose didn’t wait to hear if Toby answered. He had to find a car—a foreign compact that got great gas mileage. He would drive the children to the power plant in that, then B would drive away with them, leaving him and Falcon behind with their demons.
The radiation would silence them.
Forever.
Brainiac darted out of the small room on the side of the convenience store, glanced around the parking lot and rushed to the air station. Metal winked as he cut off a length of hose and ran back. He threaded one end in the open gas tank then disappeared inside again.
Redaction: The Meltdown Part II Page 9
