Redaction: The Meltdown Part II

by Andrews, Linda

  “A perfect ally for the Reverend, then.” Good to know her instincts had been on the mark.

  Lister handed the tablet back to her. “What makes you think he and the Reverend are working together?”

  “They exchanged too many meaningful glances while I was talking and since neither of them are gay…” Five too many to be exact. Given his six and a half foot height and bulk, Ol’ Dirk was easy to pick out. He worked the crowd in a predictable pattern—stop every four feet, chatted up the males in his vicinity. If they turned red in the face, Benedict moved on.

  If they didn’t…

  A chill washed down her spine. She stuffed her hands into David’s jacket and sunk into his spicy scent. If any male seemed receptive to Benedict’s message, he would face front, then point at the man and give the thumbs up.

  The Reverend Trent had nodded each time and had almost smiled when Benedict had give one man two thumbs up. She detected a coup forming in the storm. Her fingernails bent against the metal laptop. That would not happen on her watch.

  “They’re up to something.” David drummed his fingers on the dash as the third truck plunged into the creek. Water eddied halfway up the tire and lapped at the step.

  She eyed the fourth truck from the end then panned east. Lightning flashed over the watershed, illuminating unbroken lines of rain. Her skin tightened over her bones. “Tell them to hurry.”

  Lister opened his mouth but David spoke first. “They’re going as fast as they can.”

  The next truck plunged in. Muddy water obscured nearly three-quarters of the tire. Branches appeared like shark fins in the river. Three more to go. How high could the water get before the trucks couldn’t make it across?

  The general cleared his throat then scrubbed his hand over his face. “We’ve just gotten rid of one bad regime, I’m not happy to be starting over again with a new crop of self-serving bastards.”

  “I want another two civilians.” She dragged her attention away from the creek. They would make it. They had to make it. “Four civilian representatives, one from every branch of the service and me. That’ll give us nine people, so there shouldn’t be any ties.”

  “Henry Dobbins should be one of them. He’s former military and a head shrinker. He might be able to profile the preacher and his minions.” Lister ripped his glasses off and tapped them against his laptop. “The last should be a woman, but make no mistake, you’re still in charge, Doc.”

  “Yes, I’m still in charge. I’ll still make most of the decisions. I still have the plan,” she tapped her temple, “up here. I want to use this committee to head off whatever Reverend Trent, Benedict and the others are planning.”

  Another truck dipped in the creek. She released a shaky breath. The water hadn’t risen too much.

  “There are more?” David raised his voice to be heard over the spitting rain.

  “Four more.” She brought up the pictures she’d taken during her speech and laid them side by side, severing limbs and body parts of the people around them.

  “You’re a sneaky woman, Doc.” Lister leaned closer and shouted to be heard above the rain and the squeaking wipers. “I thought you were adjusting the tablet to reduce glare and all the while you were taking snapshots.”

  That’s what he was supposed to think. She shrugged and showed it to David. With satellite connections being down most of the day, Sally hadn’t been able to identify them or dig into the Reverend’s background. Tomorrow, she’d chat up the men personally. “Do you recognize any of them?”

  David pointed to the first guy. “He was on my route. Never caused any trouble, kept to himself.”

  Great, isn’t that what neighbors said about serial killers?

  “And the others?” Her throat throbbed from shouting.

  The wiper screamed. Metal scraped glass. Dry glass. She stared straight ahead. Yet, the rush of water roared inside the Humvee. She froze while her brain frantically groped for the right connection.

  The next truck drove into the river. Water splashed up the grill. The vehicle in front of Sunnie’s inched down the bank. The currents swarmed its front tire. Headlamps shone on the small bushes churning in the water.

  She blinked and the thought snapped in place. Flood. Her mouth dried. Flash flood. Lunging forward, she ripped the earpiece from David’s head and shouted in the microphone. “Get out of the river. Get away from the water!”

  “What the—” David cupped his red ear.

  “Get out!” An arm manacled her wrist and jerked, moving the microphone away from her mouth. Clammy air pressed against her skin. In the flash of lightning, she spied it—a wall of brown water speeding toward the trucks. Tree trunks bobbed like broccoli on the surface then drowned in the murky darkness.

  Her heart stopped. Her lungs seized. Oh God! Setting her hand on the dash, she levered higher. They weren’t going to make it.

  “Mavis—”

  “No!” David’s cry disappeared in the wet slap of water against metal.

  The wave caught the tail of the first truck, spinning it. Headlights blazed then glowed weakly as the river swallowed the hood. A heartbeat later just the top of the arched canvas remained. Screams punctuated the night. The vehicle was swept out of sight.

  The river shoved the truck in front of Sunnie’s against the bank. A tree crashed into the side. Canvas was sucked away leaving exposed metal ribs. People stood up one second only to be swept off their feet and disappear in the dark water. The river crested the bank, knocking the carrier on its side. Water chewed at higher ground, undermining the earth under Sunnie’s truck before sweeping aside the overturned vehicle and gulping it down.

  Mavis lifted her hand. Blood screamed painfully through her veins as her heart resumed beating. Lister’s grip loosened then fell away. “Robertson, back that truck up. The ground is unstable.”

  “Copy that.” The back-up lights flowed over the glossy hood. “Backing up.”

  The truck behind him didn’t move.

  “All trucks, I need you to retreat to higher ground. Now!” The rear truck lit up the bumper then trundled backward. The lights disappeared between two high trees then emerged again. Soon it bumped along a level road twenty feet above the water.

  “All available personnel!” Lister groped on the floor before hooking Mavis’s headset and hurling it at David. “I need all available personnel with ropes and poles down to the river’s edge. We have people in the water. I repeat, we have people in the water!”

  Her head swam with voices, orders and acknowledgements. In the glow of the camp half a mile to her right, flashlights bobbed in the darkness.

  David stuffed the communicator in his ear and slammed the Humvee in gear.

  Mavis licked her dry lips. The second to last truck lumbered after the first. The third vehicle hadn’t budged. Sunnie was still blocked in. What was wrong? Why wasn’t it moving? “Who’s driving that truck?”

  David jockeyed the Humvee along the hill. “Who’s the driver behind you, Robertson?”

  “Don’t know, Sergeant-Major.”

  “Relieve him of duty and get your asses to safety.”

  Son of a— She raked the walkie off her belt. Her hand shook. They had to move. “Johnson? Johnson are you there?”

  Once the Humvee angled upstream, David flicked a switch on the dash. Halogen lights chased the darkness from a small portion of Fossil Creek. Not far enough to see to the nearest bend, but she didn’t need to. Her ear pricked at the building roar.

  Another wave was coming.

  “Johnson?” Please, answer. Please. She released the talk button.

  “We’re on it, Ma’am.” The medic’s voice soothed like a balm.

  Four men and a dog jumped from the truck. She recognized the Goliath-like build of one of David’s men, the muscular physiques of two fit soldiers and the silver prosthetic leg of her neighbor. The hulk aimed his rifle and scope at the trees near the river bank before he, the dog and her neighbor detoured into them. The other two swarme
d the cab, squeezing the original driver in the middle.

  Skeletal fingers of an uprooted tree glided into the Humvee’s spotlight. It careened on the surface of chocolate milk water. The wave’s roar shook the ground.

  She bit her lip to keep from screaming out orders. David’s men knew their job.

  “You’ve got about ten seconds.” David leaned forward, his breath steamed up the glass. He wiped it away.

  White lights signaled the shift into reverse. It began backing up, Robertson slowly followed. The gap between the two trucks widened.

  Why was he taking so long? Her niece was in that truck!

  The hulk stepped into the cone of light. A limp body hung from his arms.

  Shit! There were survivors in the bushes. She sucked in air. She wouldn’t order anyone to search. It was suicide.

  “They think they’ve spied the other truck about a mile further on.” Lister swallowed hard. “It’s upside down.”

  A big chunk of ground collapsed as the wave passed. She eyeballed the height of the wall of water moving down the canyon. The second truck was well and clear. Only Sunnie’s remained in danger.

  Nodding, she dropped her microphone onto the seat. Move it, Robertson. “Have them search the banks but no one goes in the river.”

  “Understood.” His reply barely registered above the rushing water.

  Her neighbor jogged from the trees. Two survivors ran on his heels, chased by the dog. They leapt onto the running board, clung to the mirror and each other. Robertson’s truck shot backward, the dog at it’s side.

  The floodwaters swept over where his front bumper had been, enveloping the bushes the survivors had escaped.

  Three people saved.

  Three out of the fifty on that truck.

  And that was only one of two they’d lost. She collapsed on her seat. “Have they found anyone?”

  Lister raked his hand down his face. His shoulders drooped. “No one alive.”

  “Yet.” She couldn’t give up hope.

  “We’re breaking out the Infrared. We’ll find them.”

  She nodded. The search would continue into the morning, until most of them could be accounted for.

  “What are your orders, Doc?” Leather creaked as David shifted in his seat. Concern knotted the skin between his eyebrows.

  Orders. Get her niece over here. But that wasn’t going to happen. Sunnie was safe. David’s men would look after her, as would her neighbors. “Those who can, I want to look for survivors using the IR rifle scopes. But no heroics.” They couldn’t afford to lose any more people. “Everyone else fall back to those buildings we passed and rest up.”

  “Roger that.”

  She flattened her palm on the window. If only she could pick up her niece’s truck and carry it with her. Be safe, Sunnie. “Take us to camp.”

  David shifted into gear and eased down the hill.

  If the water didn’t recede by morning, Robertson would need another way out. Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she opened her browser. A low battery warning popped up. She dismissed it and opened the web browser. No signal. An ache germinated inside her brain and pulsed against her skull.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Please God, don’t let tomorrow suck ass like today. Thunder rumbled through the mountains and shook the Humvee. She hoped that wasn’t an answer.

  Chapter Seventeen

  What a glorious night! Standing behind one of the personnel carriers, Trent stretched his arms wide and embraced the darkness. Water snaked down his face and dripped off his nose. Above the gush of the raging river, rain tapped the Bible as if God himself wanted his attention.

  He turned his face up and opened his mouth. Cold dotted his tongue, stung the back of his throat.

  Message received.

  With the bitch doctor and her flunky soldiers on the other side of Fossil Creek, he was in charge.

  As it should be.

  Opening his eyes, Trent surveyed his kingdom. Four trucks packed with supplies and people. The medic helped an old woman hobble into the building on his left. Of course, there must be sacrifices. He intended to uphold God’s rule of survival of the strongest.

  The old, the sick and the ugly would be purged.

  Even if Goth Lolita was beyond his reach, he wouldn’t waste his plan. Such brilliance should be carried out.

  “Reverend Trent?”

  He stiffened. Now what? Couldn’t the moron see he was out here thanking his Creator for the gifts he was about to receive?

  “Reverend?”

  Trent lowered his arms to his side and turned to the gnat disturbing his peace. The oversized silhouette faced the building. Light blistered the fat-swollen features. Dirk Benedict. With his skin slick with rain, he resembled a pale slug. How could he not have recognized the whine of his devoted minion? “Yes?”

  “We need to talk.” Benedict swiped at the water dripping from the first of his three chins.

  Weren’t they already? He bit back the sarcasm, the slug wouldn’t appreciate it. “Of course. Of course.”

  He didn’t move. Voices rose above the sucking noise of the river. More people were coming. Perhaps they’d be more acceptable than the others. He should inspect his stock.

  Benedict hitched up his jeans. His bowl of a belly jiggled and rippled around his frame a couple of times before shoving his waistband back where it had been. “Come on then.”

  The fat man stomped through the puddles forming in the ruts of the gravel road and lumbered away from the light.

  Did the slug really think he was in charge? Trent thumped the Bible against his leg. Well, since so much was going his way, he’d humor the fat fool. Besides, maybe he’d found more recruits. He would need some cannon fodder to throw at the soldiers who’d remained on this side. Mud sucked at his work boots. The blisters on his heels burned.

  But they wouldn’t be walking far.

  Benedict disappeared around the side of the truck.

  Trent turned the corner and stopped. Four men and Benedict encircled a glowing drum, eating food out of brown bags. Meals-Ready-to-Eat. Trent shuddered. How could any civilized person expect to exist on such inedible pap? Obviously his minions didn’t mind. He met them after the funerals but now he studied them.

  Gary Everett, the first man on his left grunted. Rain hissed when it hit the fire. Flames erupted from the drum as he fed it a piece of wood. He licked bloated lips. The shadows played over his hooked nose and the teardrop tattoo on his cheek. “The chicken and dumplings are my favorite.”

  Trent shuddered. Obviously Gary lacked tastebuds.

  Another piece disappeared inside the drum; nails studded this one. Trent recognized it as having covered the windows of the building. Good, his flock was resourceful. He hoped it mitigated their stupidity.

  “Gentlemen.” He bowed his head. It never hurt to be kind to the help.

  “Reverend.” They chorused. Two, the brothers from Alabama, Robert E. and Ernest Pyle threw their brown sacks in the fire. Gary stirred his Chicken and Dumplings and shoveled another bite into his mouth. The fourth crushed his empty water bottle in his fist. When he hurled it into the bin, a silver crucifix gleamed from his matted chest hair. Ah, yes, Jake Turner. And unknown entity.

  He gave Benedict his attention, at least until he could figure out which of these men would replace the Lardass. “You wanted to speak with me?”

  Benedict puffed up his chest, momentarily slimming his bulging gut. “We see this…” he gestured to the parked trucks, “as an opportunity.”

  “As a sign,” Turner corrected. “From God.”

  “Yes, yes as a sign,” Benedict parroted.

  Trent clasped both hands over the Bible. So Benedict had another pulling his strings. Of course, it was easy to manipulate the stupid and weak, but a man must have only one master. He must study Turner a bit more, deciding his fate. “I had just concluded the same thing.”

  Turner frowned.

  Obviously, he was not us
ed to dealing with intelligence. Trent eyed Gary as the man turned his MRE bag upside down and caught the last drops of gravy on his tongue. With confusion furrowing their foreheads, the other two watched the exchange. Good, Turner only had Benedict’s allegiance. Still, it wouldn’t do to alienate the Catholic too soon. Once he knew what Turner wanted, he’d use it to either kill or control him. Schooling his features, he aped humility. The posture itched.

  “I was about to pray to ask God how He wanted me to proceed when Mr. Benedict asked me over.”

  Ernest, Robert E. and Gary nodded—neutral parties in the tug-of-war.

  Turner squinted at him and played with his crucifix.

  Benedict scratched his belly. His pug features scrunched up as if he strained to remember something. “I’m sure the Almighty wants you to take charge, lead us from the desert like Moses did his people.”

  Trent blinked. Anger roiled through him, heating his blood until he was surprised the rain didn’t sizzle when it hit his skin. Were they testing him? The fuckers would have to go. He wouldn’t tolerate such insolence. “Moses and his people wandered around the desert for years. I don’t think we want to do that.”

  He focused on Turner.

  The man stroked his pointed chin. “We want a home. Where we can live according to the dictates of the Good Book.”

  Trent’s book. The hair on his neck rose. Did the man plan to steal it? No one stole from a Powers. The swell of voices grew into the high pitched notes of women, the yappy noise of young children and the grumble of males. He wanted to step back, to inspect his stock, but to retreat now would be a show of weakness.

  “I heard tell we’re going to Colorado.” Gary dumped his dinner remains in the trash and wiped his hands on his baggy jeans.

  “We’re being forced to relocate.” Benedict rephrased the truth for maximum effect. “No telling what the government will do to us once we’re there.”

  Gary, Robert E. and Ernest nodded.

  Trent inhaled deeply. He loved the smell of paranoia. Too bad, he wasn’t the one wielding it. Yet. “They say it’s the only safe place.”