Polo Shirt plugged new shells into his shotgun. “I know it doesn’t help, but we’re sorry about your friend. We had to protect ourselves.”
“Yeah.” It didn’t help. It just reminded him, he had more blood on his hands. Papa Rose followed the curve in the road. The domed reactors glowed in the building storm.
“In future, this is what you do.” Falcon ejected his clip and slipped in a new one. “You send two or three folks out to greet the newcomers, hold the rest back and cover the welcoming committee. Before you open fire, get the lay of the land, see if your balls draw up tight.”
“Or your gut clenches or the hair on the back of your neck stands at attention.” Papa Rose ran it through his head, again and again. Brainiac shouldn’t have approached them like that. He strangled the steering wheel. No matter how the shells landed, it was a FUBAR moment waiting to happen.
“Anything feels off, then you fall back, keep vigil and if necessary, bring out the guns.” Falcon thumbed new bullets into the empty clip. “Always approach with the expectation of help. It’s called Plan B but it’s to be used first, not second.”
Plan B. The squid would be proud. Papa Rose sniffed. “Of course, we’re not using it this time.”
“Hell no.” Falcon straightened on the seat. “We’re going to tuck these bastards in for a long dirt nap.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
With his hand hooked around the metal rib, Trent swayed to the motion of the personnel carrier. Near his knees, the wood gate rattled and the metal chain clinked. Snow fell in soft wet flakes that melted when they hit the desert floor. Vermin scurried across the mud patches, leaving shallow prints that quickly filled with water.
Clouds covered the sky like a lead sheet, blotting out the sun.
Trent checked his watch. One minute until nine. Almost time.
Anticipation unfurled in his gut. Thanks to the overcast, he could see into the cab of the truck behind him. A wiry soldier stared at him from behind the wheel. Soon he would no longer matter. Keeping a small smile on his lips, Trent glossed over the driver to the other man. In the passenger seat, Ernest Pyle fiddled with the long, black handle of his flashlight, just like he’d been doing since they’d ditched the other two trucks nearly three hours ago.
When the truck headed up another incline, Trent swayed forward then set his hand over his heart.
The signal was sent.
Let the future begin.
Trent savored the sweet victory flooding his mouth and waited.
Ernest raised his flashlight and swung it toward the soldier’s head.
At the last minute, the driver raised his arm to block the move.
Fucker! Trent tightened his grip. Ernest wouldn’t let him down. Not in such a key moment with both their futures at stake.
Ernest hopped on his seat and swung the flashlight again. And again. And again.
Trent’s blood quickened. Go Ernest!
The soldier blocked one swing but another connected and his head snapped back. Letting go of the steering wheel, he raised both hands. The truck careened to the side of the dirt road. Its wheel caught in the ditch and its fender gouged the walls cut out of the hill. The men fell onto the seat, disappearing from view.
No! Trent ground his teeth together. He wanted to watch the fucking soldier die.
The black flashlight arced over and over the dashboard until finally crimson spotted the windshield. A red hand appeared grabbed the wheel and tugged it back to the road.
Trent licked his lips. Had the soldier’s head caved in like a melon, popping out his eye like a ripe grape? Did his bones crunch when they broke? Had his blood coated Ernest’s hands like warm, woolen mittens? His ex-neighbor’s body had done all that and more when he’d pounded on her. Trent’s penis hardened.
Who knew manual labor could be so rewarding?
Ernest’s blood smeared face appeared over the dash then disappeared. The side door popped open and the soldier’s body was shoved out. It landed in a bush, crashed through the branches before getting stuck halfway to the ground.
Pity. Trent shoved down his disappointment. Ah, well, he supposed getting to watch the truck eat up the body was a Hollywood fallacy.
Shutting the door, Ernest gave him a bloody thumbs up then honked his horn.
Perfectly executed. Just as he deserved. Trent sank onto his spot on the bench. Any moment now Ernest’s brother Robert E. would begin his attack on their driver. He too had a heavy-duty metal flashlight, filled with sand to make it a more effective weapon.
The truck jerked to the right.
Trent closed his eyes, imagining the crack of the flashlight against the driver’s skull. How many whacks would it take to render the soldier insensible? Three. Four. Heat flared in his groin. But why stop there? Ten would be better. Twenty and he could peel away the cracked bits like the shell of a boiled egg and peer inside.
The truck bumped over the road. Vegetation slapped the sides of the truck.
He lurched forward but caught the bench seat. Something collided with his ankle. Sighing, he released the remnants of his fantasy.
A high pitched scream pierced the rattle and hum of the truck.
A woman, no doubt. She would need to learn her proper place. All of them would. He might save the task of breaking the females for his own pleasure, but he suspected a few of his faithful followers would enjoy the taste.
And if they enjoyed it, he could use it to control them.
A win-win situation all around.
For him.
Trent planted his feet against the floorboards and locked his arms. What was taking Robert E. so long to take out the garbage? Was he less competent than his twin brother? Trent could have used that information before putting him in charge of the task taking place in his cab. The truck drifted to the other side. Then he heard it. The wonderful hollow thud of a body hitting dirt. Since the vehicle didn’t stop, his side must have won.
He waited a moment.
The horn blared twice.
Victory trilled through him. Tonight, they would celebrate. A couple of MREs and women should keep everyone happy.
The truck swerved to the right. His head banged against the sides of the carrier. Dammit, couldn’t the man drive straight.
Someone else screamed. Another sobbed.
A boy of fifteen asked, “What’s going on? Are we going to crash?”
They needed to learn control. Trent scanned the back until his gaze landed on Gary, faithful minion number four. With his hooked nose and beady eyes, Gary resembled a rat. Ah well, Trent couldn’t afford to be that choosey at the moment. But that homely face was definitely not going to breed. Once Trent had more worthy followers, he would select the new attributes that should carry into the future.
Gary would become extinct.
But for now, he served a purpose.
Gary’s hand disappeared inside his coat.
Trent nodded.
Gary whipped out a shiny silver blade. The six inches of sharpened stainless steel sliced through the air. “Shut your fucking mouths.”
The pathetic masses shrunk away from the swinging blade. Two boys, each with a handful of whiskers on their cheeks, pushed to their feet near the cab. They chorused, “You can’t do this.”
Oh look, they wanted to play hero. Trent chuckled. Didn’t they know they were only here as labor?
“And who’s going to stop me?” Gary lunged at them, slashing with the knife and nicking the boy on the right.
The kid slapped his hand over the bleeding gash on his arm and stumbled back.
His friend kicked out, hitting Gary’s wrist.
Thankfully, his faithful minion didn’t lose his grip on the blade. Gary stabbed the air near the next kid. “You wanna play rough, bitch?”
A woman gasped. “That is quite enough.”
Oh hell, no! A stupid bitch wasn’t going to take credit for bringing peace. That was his part. Trent shoved to his feet and walked to the back. “Gentlemen.”
Gary and the kid parried, lunged, ducked and kicked.
The woman rose from her seat.
The truck hit a bump. Trent used the lurch to shove the bitch back down. His gaze raked her. Damn the slut had twenty pounds too many on her fat hips. Who let the fat cow on his truck?
“I’ll take care of it.” His fingers dug into her shoulder.
She slouched down in her seat and hissed through her teeth.
“Sorry.” Not. He shoved off her and faced Gary.
His minion carved up the air, not close enough to cut the wanna-be heroes but enough to keep them at bay.
Trent stroked his chin. Gary liked the knife. If no one claimed the fat chick, then he could let Gary have fun with her. Hell, maybe Trent would watch. Maybe he’d make them all watch, just so the punishment for disobedience was crystal clear.
And now to inform the rest of them of the change in plans.
He set his hand on Gary’s shoulder and squeezed. “Lower the knife, if you please.”
Gary lowered his knife.
The two boys feinted a lunge at Gary.
Trent raised his free hand. “No. You two. Sit.”
Like obedient dogs, they complied.
He inhaled the sweet smell of power. Damn, he should have taken control sooner. The world would be a much better place with him in charge.
“He started it.” The boy with a cut on his arm glared at Gary.
Trent swallowed a growl. The worthless boys would ruin his victory with their whining. Muscle bunched under his palm. He dug his fingers into Gary until they reached bone. “Patience.”
Bending his knees, Gary tried to escape.
Trent let him go. “As you may have figured out, there’s been a change in plans.”
The fat chick opened her mouth.
Trent jerked his head toward her.
Gary pounced, ramming his knee into her crotch while scraping the knife over her throat.
“Once we stop for lunch, you’ll be assigned your new duties. Until then, sit down and shut up.”
Gary licked the woman’s cheek. Spittle glistened in the low light.
The man’s poor taste was just another reason he had to be chlorinated from the gene pool. “Any disagreement can be taken up with my friend’s knife.”
Slipping the blade under the woman’s blouse, his minion sliced through her bra and shirt. The fabric fluttered down, exposing a mound of wobbly skin.
Vomit burned Trent’s mouth. How could the bitch stand looking at herself with that much flab? “Gary, please. I wish to eat lunch in a few hours. Wait until we stop.”
Gary trailed the tip of his knife down her chest. Red beaded through the cut. “You promise?”
“Of course.” Who else would want her? Trent returned to his seat. “Now keep them quiet. One cut for crying. Two for moaning. Three for disobedience.”
Gary prowled the aisle, looking for his next target.
No one made a sound.
Good, he needed the silence to plan. He had a new world to build. Since he would rule it, nothing less than perfection would do.
Chapter Thirty-Three
David leaned against the Humvee’s door. His fingers trailed over Mavis’s before slipping his fingers through her gloved ones.
“Five minutes.” Lieutenant Sally Rogers kept the time better than Big Ben.
Damn her. Mavis didn’t need reminding that the hour was almost up.
She tugged her fingers free then bit the gloved tip and stripped her hand bare. After stuffing the glove into her pocket, she tucked her hand inside his.
David ignored the Marines walking in circles around their vehicle and the four personnel carriers. The residents who had attacked them when they’d entered Strawberry had disappeared shortly after he and Mavis had returned from speaking with Brother Bob.
Glancing down the road, he watched snow dust the blacktop in powdery lace. “They’re fools for not coming.”
Rogers kicked at the snow then stomped toward her fellow Marines near the John Deere tractor blocking the road. “They’ll be dead soon. What a waste of life.”
Without a word, Mavis leaned against him and buried her face in his jacket.
He wrapped his free hand around her shoulders, pulling her close. Her shivers transmitted across his legs. “Maybe you should wait in the vehicle. I can turn the heater on.”
She shook her head but didn’t look up. “We can’t afford to waste the gas.”
Her words were warm puffs through his jacket.
“We can’t afford for you to get sick.” He freed his hand. Shuffling her a little to the side, he unzipped the thing and wrapped it around her.
She sighed and melted against him. Her cold palms flattened against his back. “This is much better than sitting in the car alone.”
“Sergeant-Major?” Robertson whispered.
David pressed his finger against the device in his ear while checking his watch. What the fuck? The private wasn’t due to check in for another fifteen minutes. “Robertson is Sunnie alright?”
Mavis stiffened in his arms but didn’t pull away.
David rubbed her back. Please don’t let it be Sunnie.
“She’s recovering.” Robertson’s voice hitched and he sniffed.
Fuck no! He’d warned his men about Trent and the others when they’d checked in at seven. But two soldiers had been beyond his reach. Two would be ignorant of the danger. “Singleton and Janovich.”
“We found ‘em, Sergeant-Major.” A dog barked in the background.
Found them? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Where?”
“God damn-fucking-piece-of-shit-ass-licking-bitches left them on the side of the road.”
Five swear words. Robertson was beginning to get hot under the collar. David cleared his throat. “Status?”
“Singleton’s head was nearly caved in. Medic Johnson doesn’t know if he’ll make it.” Robertson inhaled a shaky breath.
The private must be losing his touch if he used a measly five swear words for that? David would have gone for thirteen.
Mavis tightened her arms around David’s waist. “Trent?”
“Yeah.” He tucked her head under his chin. They’d get through this. Together. “How’s Janovich?”
“Asshole always did have a hard head.” Robertson’s laughter was a pitch higher than normal. “Johnson says he’s concussed and needs to rest.”
One on the mend and the other on the hopeful list. The bastards would pay. “And the Goddamn-fucking-piece-of-shit-ass-licking-bitches that did it?”
“Forty minutes ahead if we go by the time difference on Janovich’s watch.” Robertson’s voice faded. “They’ll be running flat out once they hit the highway. Unless they stop to take a dump, we’ll catch ‘em in Flagstaff. The roads are blocked pretty good there.”
David inhaled the scent of Mavis’s fruity shampoo. No new survivors, two men down and an asshole in charge of innocent civilians. When would he get some good news? Hell, maybe it came this morning when Lister made it a capital offense to undermine the military. “Take ‘em out, Robertson.”
“No.” Mavis tugged on his arm. “If at all possible I need Trent Powers alive and relatively unharmed.”
Hell no! The bastard deserved to die. David shook his head. No way would he counterman his order.
Robertson hummed softly. “You wanna repeat that, Big D?”
She fisted his shirt, plucking out David’s chest hair in the process. “Trent Powers is a symbol. As much as I would love to stomp on the scumbag’s corpse, killing him would undermine the military’s authority by creating a rift between the civilians and us.”
Fuck the military and the civilians. These were his men. He grasped her arms and pulled her up on her toes until she wobbled at eye-level. “Would you give the same order if they’d bashed in Sunnie’s head then dumped her on the side of road like garbage?”
Pain flared in her brown eyes but she didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t like it
. Hell, I would hate it. Would you risk everyone’s life for revenge? Not just your men, and Manny’s and Wheelchair Henry’s but Lister’s and all the Marines, National Guardsmen and… everyone.”
“Those are my men!”
“And I swear that you will get your revenge. I will serve it to you with a parsley garnish on a silver platter, but it must be cold.” She released his shirt to stroke his chest. “Trent Powers must be exposed to everyone or else we can’t take him out.”
Rage hammered against the cage of his ribs despite her petting. “I want him dead.”
She nodded and bit her lip.
Why couldn’t she argue? He could find a flaw in her reasoning and do what he wanted. Fuck. “Take Powers alive if possible.”
“Thank you.” Mavis kissed him on the lips. It ended before he could reciprocate. She snuggled against his chest. “Of course, if he looks like he’s going to run, I’d blow off his kneecaps. He won’t actually be standing at his trial.”
Well, now that was a nice temporary compromise. “Did you copy that, Robertson?”
“Copy that, Sergeant-Major. Johnson will make sure he doesn’t bleed out. We’ll meet you in Winslow.”
“Ma’am! Sergeant-Major!” Lieutenant Rogers sprinted around the tractor. “They’re singing!”
Mavis pulled out of his arms and straightened her clothes. “Singing?”
“Church music.” Rogers bounced on the balls of her feet. “You did it, Ma’am. They’re coming.”
Mavis walked toward the tractors, paused then held out her hand to him.
He laced his fingers through her. “I knew you would sway them.”
“I’m glad one of us did.” She squeezed his hand then jogged along the road.
They rounded the green and yellow tractor and stopped.
People carried bundles in their arms and sang about unbroken circles. Young and old, dark haired and white, men and women, girls and boys. Brother Bob hung from the open door of a snow plow, conducting them. Trucks pulling animal trailers brought up the rear. Sick, coughing people crammed the beds of some, bungee cords strapped blue tarps across others.
Redaction: The Meltdown Part II Page 31
