Linda Andrews

THE MELTDOWN

To my husband, my critique partners and beta readers

Thanks so much for sticking by me

through the books many edits.

A special thanks to:

Kimberly Adams—wife, mom of three and US Air Force vet—for your insight.

Dan Shaw, US Navy (retired), for being a voice at the other end of cyberspace!

Evvere Anthony, Arizona National Guard vet, your encouragement means so much!

Dian Napier for the perfect title suggestion.

My editor, Serena Tatti, for doing the impossible—understanding grammar!

Chapter One

Day 7

After Anthrax Exposure

“Is that where we’re going, Missus S?”

Audra Silvestre checked the rearview mirror of the bus. Snores and raspy breathing came from many of the survivors traveling with her. A pair of wide brown eyes in a chalky, half-covered face stared back at her. Oscar Renault. She’d had the pudgy, pimply-faced twelve-year-old in her class last year. Between his ADHD and his mother’s insistence that he was the perfect child, she’d decided to give up teaching. They had been the last straw in a baleful.

The notion seemed pathetically pitiful now. Thankfully, she hadn’t told anyone.

“You sick, too, Missus S?” Oscar slid off the seat behind her and scooted forward on his knees, seemingly unaware that he’d asked another question without having an answer for the first one. Snot left dark trails down the thighs of his worn, dirty jeans sticking in the aisle. His hand shook and he wrapped it around the pole on her right.

“No, Oscar. I’m fine.” Her words puffed against the bandanna covering the lower half of her face and whispered hot, moist breath back at her. Clammy sweat beaded her forehead and her stomach cramped from the overwhelming odor of excrement. Hopefully it was from the slops bucket in the back and not…anything else. Unfortunately rolling down the window to blow away the stench wasn’t an option.

“You sure?” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand before scraping it off on his jeans.

“I’m sure,” she reiterated for the fourth time in the last five minutes. But God knew how long she’d be healthy. How long anyone of them would be.

She was going to die.

And one of these kids, probably Oscar who now hovered closer than her shadow, would infect her. The steering wheel jerked under her hands and she clamped down. Nails dug into her palms and her fingers cramped as she guided the big yellow bus half on the shoulder and half off the interstate.

“You think you won’t not get sick again?” Oscar perched on the edge of his seat, scabby knees poked through the holes in his pants as he hung practically in the aisle.

Her skull throbbed from the double negative. Proper English didn’t really seem so important at the end of the world. Still… “I’m sure I will get sick this time. Especially since so many are sick again.”

But it hadn’t happened that way the first time. She’d stayed in the school nursing the sick, cooking meals, forcing folks to eat, then recording the dead and handing them over to the military for mass burial. For six months, she never caught the Redaction—the influenza pandemic that had killed thirty-five percent of everyone worldwide. She’d never come down with a sniffle, sneeze or cough.

Surely, she wouldn’t be so lucky this wave.

“Why don’t you rest a bit? We’re still a long way from the soldiers.”

Oscar opened his mouth but no words came out.

Movement in the mirror caught her attention. Faye Eichmann prowled the aisle, heading straight for the front. White hibiscus petals painted the hot pink fabric of her designer dress. The long skirt fluttered around her toothpick legs. Pink and red plastic bangles clinked on her bony wrists while chunks of diamonds winked from her ears, throat and fingers.

The fortune in jewels was meant to ensure she could buy food and shelter. Audra was pretty sure it would get her killed. The influenza wasn’t the only thing out there murdering innocents.

Oscar folded himself into the seat and shrank away from the diamond-encrusted harpy.

Too bad she couldn’t do the same. Audra stared at the dozens of cars abandoned on the blacktop. Maybe she could pretend dodging the vehicles took up all her attention and ignore the middle-aged woman.

In a puff of sour sweat and faded perfume, Faye stopped next to Audra. With her feet apart, she braced her hand on the metal rail. “Why couldn’t people have pulled off to the side of the road when they’d broken down?”

Because they were sick, dying or dead. Audra winced as the stench of the woman’s smelly pits momentarily overrode the odor of the slops bucket. Bad enough she had to wallow in her own stink, why did the woman feel the need to share hers when she asked rhetorical questions? “It certainly has slowed us down.”

Up ahead a black Ford pick-up truck tilted in the dip between the North and Southbound lanes of Interstate Ten. Its driver hung halfway out the open door. The stillness of his body didn’t relate his death as did his hands, swollen like black oven mitts, dangling an inch above the weeds. Of their own volition, her eyes checked the passenger side when she passed. Two dead children lay on their backs in a mat of weeds, their bodies bloated in the weak sun. Flies swarmed around them, laying larvae that would devour the soft tissue with surgical precision.

“We’re up to seventeen.”

Wincing, Audra forced her eyes on the road and jerked on the wheel. Faye wasn’t callous; she just coped differently. Lots of folks didn’t want to get chummy with anyone, especially the sick, because of the risk of loss. It was understandable. It pissed her off.

“Nice driving.”

She shrugged off the sarcasm. Parents weren’t much different than their teenagers—rude, difficult and unwilling to learn. God, she hated being a teacher almost as much as she hated this new world. “I’ve learned a thing or three in the last nine hours.”

Nine hours from Tucson to Phoenix when it used to take only two and a half. Her stomach cramped. And what did it gain her? This place looked no safer than where she’d come from, than where she’d passed through. Add in the intermittent belch of the air-raid sirens plus the lack of people and the creep factor spiked off the charts.

“You’re a cool one, Audrey.”

Taking a deep breath, she let the name slight pass and focused on what was important—surviving until she could dump her busload of sick onto the soldiers and get on with her life. She maneuvered into a lane completely free of vehicles. Maybe she’d be rid of them faster than she thought. Her foot stomped on the gas pedal and the bus picked up speed. “Seventeen sick isn’t that bad. We have nearly forty people on the bus.”

And if this flu worked like the last one, most of those seventeen would survive. She sucked on her bottom lip. But this infection didn’t seem to be playing by the same rules. They’d left quite a few corpses behind in the school cafeteria. Much more than a third.

Faye leaned forward. Her floral bodice gaped open and a strand of pearls dribbled out. They swayed from side to side. “That’s the number of dead on the bus. Not that you care. You’re immune.”

Audra released her bottom lip with a pop. But there’d only been fifteen sick when they’d left last night. She would know. They all crowded around her like she was their personal lucky rabbit’s foot. Ask the rabbit how lucky he felt. No wait, you couldn’t, the rabbit was dead.

“I care, and there’s no telling if I’m immune this go round.”

Faye snorted. Light and shadow played across her face, highlighting her crow’s feet and the frown lines around her mouth. “Doesn’t look like heading for Phoenix was such a good idea from where I stand.”

In the distance, pillars of black smoke dwarfed the skyscrapers wicking scarlet flames ever closer to the sky. The sunrise had painted a fuzzy, jaundiced ball over the jagged Superstition Mountains to the East. Ebony storm clouds spread like spilled ink on the western horizon and were cleaved apart by cracks of lightning.

Her nightmares were far more pleasant than this new world. They also contained fewer people, less rats and no out-of-control fires that were supposed to contain them. Soon she could walk away from it all. She just had to find the soldiers.

“That’s Phoenix. We’re going to Mesa.” Lifting her hand, she pointed out the right side of the bus.

The vehicle tilted as many passengers shuffled closer to the windows and pressed their noses against the glass. Seventeen may be dead but the rest were awake and, aside from a few snuffles, she hadn’t heard a single cough. How could that be?

Oscar ducked under Faye’s arm, crawled over the yellow line and sat on the top step. He swayed from side to side as he looked out the folding door’s spotted panes of glass.

“At least the fires seem to be out.” Faye tucked her pearls back into her dress.

Not with that much smoke still billowing. Great belches of gray rose from the ground, obscuring any buildings except those along the freeway.

“There’s nothing on the freeway that would burn.” But the bridges and overpasses could collapse. Tucson had taught her that. Yawning, Audra shook her head to try to clear it. Tears raced to her eyes blurring her vision. She blinked them away. It had been a long night.

Oscar twisted at the waist to look at her. “What if all the soldiers are dead?”

“Then we salvage what we can and push on.” She slapped on the turn signal. Weaving through a handful of abandoned vehicles, she worked her way to the right hand lane. Someone had cleared enough space for her vehicle to merge onto the 202. She hoped it was the military and not some parasite laying a trap for travelers.

“To where?” Faye shot back.

Audra sighed. Like I have all the answers. Most of you didn’t listen to me when I was trying to teach your little ingrates English, yet now I’m supposed to know everything. “Not everyone in the military can be dead. Someone flew those Army choppers and Air Force planes. We saw them just this morning and they were heading north.”

A lucky guess on her part since they’d set out last night. Of course, not everyone had gone with them. Most had stayed behind at the school. They weren’t her problem now. Neither were the two buses who hadn’t made it beyond Casa Grande. And, if they reached the soldiers, this lot wouldn’t be either.

She wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving them.

“North could be Flagstaff for all we know.”

A muffled sob rose from the back. Either someone new was sick or they’d discovered the person next to them was dead.

I can’t deal with this anymore. I can’t… She clamped down the thought. The opposite of can’t was death. She refused to die. “Then we will go to Flag and find them.”

“And how are we going to get there if we can’t go through Phoenix?”

“I’ll find a way.” Audra clamped her jaw closed. She’d go to Timbuktu to get rid of the woman. The engine grumbled as she climbed the onramp onto the Santan freeway. Merging, she blinked. The freeway was deserted. Four empty lanes as far as her eye could see. True, blowing smoke reduced that to a mile or so, but she’d take it.

“Missus S?”

“What is it, Oscar?”

“I’m glad we came with you.” His heel tapped out a beat on the floorboards. “You’re smarter than anyone I ever knowed. You can get us through this.”

Well, crap. Why did he have to go say something like that? Now, she couldn’t throw him off the bus, let alone correct his improper English. Most of the half-covered faces in the rearview mirror nodded. “Thank you, Oscar. I hope you’re right.”

For all our sakes.

“I am, Missus S.” He leaned against the dash and drummed on his leg. “I am.”

She cleared her throat and blinked rapidly to clear away the tears. Stupid smoke must be getting in her eyes.

“Breaker. Breaker. Two. Eight. This is seven-niner. Come back.”

Audra rolled her eyes at the gibberish crackling through the child’s walkie-talkie strapped to the dashboard in an old blue jean’s pocket. Mrs. Rodriquez had certainly thrown herself into bus driving with enthusiasm. Her passengers quieted and expectation hummed in the air. After seven hours of near silence someone outside their bus spoke, too bad it wasn’t a radio broadcast with an update.

“Can I answer, Missus S?” Oscar jumped to his feet. Steadying himself, he clutched the bar near her head, snagging a lock of her hair in the process.

Heat burned along her scalp at the pull. Leaning toward his hand, she eased the burn a little bit. “Sure.”

Faye snorted and plopped down on the seat behind Audra. “An adult should answer it. That toy is the only thing keeping us together.”

She was the only thing keeping them together. For some strange reason, people listened to her, followed her. Good Lord, when would it end?

Duct tape protested when Oscar pulled the walkie free. A corner of the empty pocket folded over. He squeezed the black button on the side and held the toy against his mouth. “This is bus twenty-eight, er, I mean two-eight coming back to you seven-niner.”

“Good morning two-eight,” Mrs. Rodriquez chirped.

Audra twisted her hands on the wheel. How could someone be so happy so early in the morning and without coffee, especially when they’d been up all night driving?

“We’re running low on gasoline.”

Audra bit her lip. The happy pronouncement was battery acid in a wound. No gas. No go. No soldiers. No safety. No rest. She eyed her own gas gauge. The red needle flirted with the bar just a hair above empty. The tank had been full since the schools were prepping to return to action when the Redaction had returned. She eyed the roadsign, mentally tallied the distance between them and the targeted campus. “How low are you? We’ve got twelve miles to go.”

“I’m near to coasting.” The chirp dulled in her voice. “And we have no idea how long the last twelve miles will take.”

Three other voices echoed Mrs. Rodriquez’s concerns. That made every driver in the convoy. Audra tapped her brakes as the smoke thickened.

“We can’t stop here!” Lurching to her feet, Faye swayed while standing on the yellow safety line. “I hear rats.”

Gray clouds pressed against the windshield and the sound of squeaks penetrated the bus. Rats. Audra’s toes curled in her cowboy boots. The flames herded them. She leaned forward until the steering wheel cut into her belly.

“Do you see the fire?”

Bending, Faye braced one hand on the dash. Her head turned from side to side. “It’s everywhere.”

Which meant they couldn’t stop or even slow down.

Oscar clicked the on/off button, punctuating the rat serenade with static. “What do you want me to say, Missus S?”

“Ask if anyone sees flames.” Her eyes strained to detect the red tongues of fire high above the sloping concrete walls. Rats streamed down the pink surface but didn’t swarm in a panic. Still, if they pulled off too soon, they’d be overrun and eaten by the fleeing vermin. Cold snaked down her spine. She’d seen it before. Please God, don’t let me ever see it again.

“Missus S wants to know if anyone can see where the fire is.”

“In the smoke breaks, I can see some intermittent meatball in marinara sauce,” Mrs. Rodriquez answered.

Oscar giggled.

Audra swallowed the bile in her throat. Whoever referred to the rat roadkill as food should be shot. Spaghetti and meatballs had been her favorite dish until they’d coined the reference. She doubted she’d want to eat it ever again. And her problem still wasn’t solved. They needed to know where the fire was.

“I think I see flames in my rearview mirror.” Jacqueline Silvestre’s voice drifted through the walkie. “Would someone please verify?”

Audra inhaled a slow breath. Despite everything they’d been through, her mother wouldn’t simply make a statement lest she offend a stranger. Not that she minced words with her daughter. Oh, no, Audra was issued commands every time they met or spoke. She should have stopped listening to her mother years ago. Heck, even ten hours ago would have been smart. Then she wouldn’t be in charge of this group. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and eased into the center lane. But as soon as she found the soldiers all that would be in the past.

“Good call, Jackie O,” Mrs. Rodriquez confirmed. “We’ve passed the fires.”

Audra smiled at the nickname. No one would have dared abbreviate Jacqueline Silvestre’s name back in Washington D.C. or compared her to a Democratic First Lady. The Silvestre lineage dated to the Founding Fathers and so did the family fortune. They bled Republican. Welcome to the new world, Mother.

“I think we should go another mile up to be safe, then exit,” Mrs. Rodriquez sang. “What say you, Princess A?”

Oscar grinned showing teeth he’d yet to grow into. “That’s you.”

“I know.” Audra winked at him and scanned the horizon. Unlike from some people, the title was practically an endearment when the older lady said it. Besides, the smoke did seem thinner.

“Exit?” Faye flapped her scrawny arms. “Why exit? We have all the fuel we need in the last bus. We can stop right here on the freeway. No need to get off.”

Audra ignored her. Advice was so easy to give when no one asked for it. Especially when everyone already knew it.

“What should I tell her?”

She slapped on the turn signal and made her way to the right hand lane. “Tell her we’re going to fill up.”

The buses followed her lead and swerved.

She shifted in her seat. Maybe she could empty her bladder and stretch a bit. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to refill from the barrels on her mother’s bus—the one carrying the last of their food and many of their belongings.

Plus a few corpses.

The corpses. She sucked on her bottom lip. What should she do with them? Leaving them on the side of the road seemed so callous, especially when rats prowled for a meal. But carrying them further was out of the question—they could be contagious. The scent of fecal matter drifted by. Her gut threatened to exit her mouth. And there was the matter of the slops pot. The five-gallon bucket they used as a potty needed to be emptied.

“Miz R, we’re pulling over,” Oscar shouted into the walkie.

The rest of her passengers scuttled to their seats. Three of them raised their hands.

She shook her head. Once a teacher… “Yes, Haley?”

An eight-year-old in a red jumper stood up, crossed legs and wedged a hand against her private parts. “Can we get out, Miss Silvestre? I have to pee.”

“Yes.” Ignoring the shoulder, she guided the bus up the ramp. They needed facilities, hopefully the kind with running water. “Grab your buddy and stay close to the parent assigned to watch you.” If they are still alive. “I don’t want anyone getting lost, you hear?”

Groans interspersed the ‘yes, Missus S’.

“Pit stop sounds delightful, Princess A,” Mrs. Rodriquez twittered through the walkie. “Mr. Know-It-All says we could try for the Burgers in a Basket. He says they were opened for a few days and will have laid in a supply of cooking oil we can use to conserve our biodiesel supply.”

Cooking oil for biodiesel? That didn’t sound right. Audra braked at the top of the ramp. But then what did she know? She taught English not science. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Cars jammed the intersection. Flies swarmed some—a sign that their occupants slowly rotted inside. The stench of death clung to the pervading smoke drifts. She glanced right then left. Two gas stations stood across the freeway. Would one of them have batteries to power their radio? Surely, there had to be news somewhere.

“I see one, Missus S.” Isaac jumped on the floor. “I see one.”

She followed the direction of his pointing. On the south side, along with a string of stores, sat a gas station and a Burgers in the Basket. Wood boarded up the windows of the gas station and only the eight remained of the eighteen-ninety-five price tag for a gallon of regular gas on the milky sign. Gang tags stained the stucco walls in bloody hues. At the restaurant, faded posters proclaimed the arrival of toys for the new movie Hatshepsut.

Grand reopening signs hung from the eaves of the grocery store and fluttered in the breeze. Empty carts scattered across the rutted parking lot. Here and there, tall weeds sprouted above closely cropped greenery. A narrow strip of asphalt had been cleared through the metal bottleneck, funneling them to the restaurant. The skin on her neck prickled. Please don’t let this be a trap. Please. Please.

Cranking the wheel hard, she eased onto the gas pedal. The front fender scraped black paint off the side of a BMW. Metal screeched as she pushed the car back against the median. Maybe she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of driving a bus. Hopefully, no one was around to hear.

As soon as the bus straightened out, she pulled the steering wheel in the other direction. An ache spread from her clenched jaw and tightened her scalp. Who was the idiot that designed such a tight turn? She jerked backward when the bus jumped the curb. Her hand shot out and her fingers curled into Oscar’s jacket, keeping him on his feet.

“Whoa!” His dirty nails dug into her arm.

“Why don’t you put the walkie back and sit down?” She rolled through the empty gas station bays.

With a shrug, he tucked it back into the jeans pocket on the dash then smoothed the fabric flat and fiddled with the tape. By the time he’d finished, the bus had coasted into the fast food joint’s parking lot.

Kids. She shook her head and shifted the bus into park. A check in the rearview mirror showed that Mr. Johnson hadn’t stirred in his seat.

Faye grabbed Oscar by the scruff of his neck and shoved him toward his seat, catching Audra’s eye. “He passed around four this morning.”

Fear banded her lungs. He’d been recovering yesterday. Well, the day before yesterday. Still, she couldn’t remember the Redaction killing so fast or folks seeming to recover then getting worse. She shook off the thoughts. She’d think about it later, when they were safe with the soldiers. “Do you want to check for strangers?”

Shaking her head, Faye glanced outside. “I’ll watch over the children.”

Great. Audra ran her fingers through the keys in the ignition. She had to go outside. With shaking fingers, she undid her seatbelt. The metal buckle clunked against the floor but she barely heard it over the pounding in her ears. Slowly, she turned in the seat. Her legs tingled from the change in position. “Get me the flashlight.”

“Why? It’s not dark outside.”

Really? Was the woman so dense or was she desperate to get behind the wheel? God, what if she took off, leaving Audra behind? She flexed her fingers. Faye wouldn’t take off without the supplies or fuel. “For protection from unfriendly strangers.”

Children lined up behind Faye—each doing a unique potty dance.

Faye spun around but didn’t make an effort to move. “Can someone pass the flashlight forward?”

Like a green baton, they passed it overhead until it reached the front of the bus.

Faye was smirking when she turned again. “Here you go.”

Audra’s palm closed around the warm metal. “Thanks. If it’s safe, I’ll radio for the children and you can empty the slops pot.”

Faye gasped.

If Audra had to risk her life, she shouldn’t have to lug the poop as well. Squaring her shoulders, she tugged on the metal handle and the doors folded back. Warm air rushed in. Under the ever present smoke, she detected the faint odor of calamari thrown on a hot charcoal grill. Her stomach clenched.

Somewhere close by, people had burned.

Please don’t let them have been alive at the time. She finished the prayer as her boots scraped asphalt. The last buses in the caravan pulled up until they bracketed the fast food restaurant. A man in a gas mask and camouflage exited the bus behind her. Eddie swung his shotgun left then right then rushed her.

Exiting bus seven-niner, a man in a dirty business suit waved his pistol in the air then jogged to the area behind the bus. Principal Dunn sure did like acting like a desperado, then again, after twenty-nine years, maybe he hoped he could shoot some of the more difficult parents as payback. She hoped it didn’t get him killed. A moment later, a trim woman in torn jeans and an oversized AC/DC tee-shirt jumped off the bus. Tina, her former teaching assistant, gave her a thumbs-up, swung her Louisville slugger for a moment before setting it on her shoulder.

Eddie puffed like Darth Vader as he slid to a stop next to her. A snakehead tattoo throbbed over his carotid artery. “We got twenty-two dead, Princess.”

She winced. Only he made princess sound like an insult. But she was above such things. She was a Silvestre.

“Seventeen for us.” Audra set her hand against her bandanna as the wind tried to sneak under the fabric. Her ears pricked and her heart tripped over a beat. Did she hear voices?

Tina sprinted from Principal Dunn’s side to join them. A sheriff’s deputy in faded khakis replaced her and tamed the pistol waving.

“We have ten dead on our bus. Principal Dunn thinks we can put them in the gas station.” She jerked her chin at the boarded up building. Her blue surgical mask slipped and her almond-shaped brown eyes widened as she shoved it back in place.

A hot wind bent the weeds and shook the busses. In the distance, something exploded.

Audra flinched and faced the noise. Black smoke belched from a neighborhood across a vacant lot. Evil red fireflies danced in the cloud. The sparks landed on the shingle roofs.

Frown lines appeared on Tina’s forehead. “I wonder what caused the explosion.”

“People.” Eddie wheezed. “If we stay here too long, they’ll find us. We need to complete our business before they attack.”

Chapter Two

“Why?” The man on his right wailed.

Trent Powers’ fingers tightened, crinkling the pages of the Bible. Five minutes. Couldn’t he have just five fucking minutes without some sniveling, sick bastard demanding his time? This was that damn Marine’s fault for mistaking him for a man of God just because he carried a Bible.

And what had it gotten him?

A ride with the unwashed masses of the world, dismissed by the powers that be, relegated to human cargo in a military convoy.

He should have corrected the ugly Lieutenant Sally Rogers when he first arrived at the camp. Should have but didn’t. That Marine had fucked up his plans by recognizing him, withholding food unless he kept up the pretense. Slutty Sally had encouraged it, seducing him with the promise of power. And now he was stuck.

Without power.

Surrounded by whiners who hadn’t the decency to die.

How could they not see he deserved better than this. Relaxing his hand, he dragged it down the page and watched the words exposed by his index finger. Would the idiot believe he was reading? Would he leave Trent in peace?

It had worked once.

He swayed with the motion of the truck, bumping shoulders with his neighbors, driving a sharp elbow into soft flesh. The storm compressed the air, adding humidity to the body odor, sickness and the noxious gases expelled by the corpses stuffing the back of the truck. Canvas slapped his shoulders and neck in time with the wind and the hard wooden bench drove splinters into his ass.

He needed out of here, needed to be restored to his rightful place. But how? The inner circle seemed comprised of only two people—a United States Marine Corps General and the bitch who stood for the Surgeon General. Both of them had consigned him back here with the losers of the world. The words on the thin paper blurred. Not that it mattered—the Book was boring and contained horrible English. He’d stopped attempting to read it hours after he’d acquired it.

If it wasn’t for the money tucked in the pages, he’d have let it burn. He ran his index finger down the paper. A ridge of hardness bumped against the pad. Was it another fifty dollar bill? Or… His palms itched. Or maybe another hundred? He’d already found three of them. He followed the soft edge to the middle of the page. Five would be nice. Ten hundreds would be better. He licked his lips. Maybe he could pretend to pray over the dead and take a quick peak.

He could use a little alone time.

“Reverend?” The man on his right barked and tugged on Trent’s sleeve.

His finger left the corner of the hidden money. Shit! The assholes wouldn’t leave him be. Flattening his palm against the open pages, he glanced into the narrow aisle running the length of the truck bed.

Hanging from the metal ribs, flashlights swung in an epileptic rhythm to the lumbering personnel carrier. Rain tapped tentatively on the canvas, raising liver spots on the drab green and brown covering. Near the open back of the truck, a trio of men and two women wearing dark stained scrubs and crooked surgical masks hovered over a man. Blue stained his lips and his lungs rattled with each wheeze and gasp. One woman picked up his wrist, settled her finger against the pale skin inside his cuff.

Why did they bother? Nothing they did helped. He was a dead man; he was just too selfish to die.

Others, equally sick, leaned against each other haphazardly and clung precariously to the benches. Near the cab, a handful of dead lay in fetal positions, stealing valuable space from the living.

The corpses should have been thrown out the back. They could be contagious. They could get him sick. Trent pressed against the truck wall and adjusted his face mask. Maybe that’s why the powers that be had sent him here. He snapped the book closed, the small breeze stirred his hair and he smoothed it flat. If that was their plan, they would have to come up with a better one.

He refused to die.

“Hey!” The man on his right drilled his index finger into Trent’s bicep. “I’m talking to you.”

He sighed. Whining was not talking.

The medical team glanced in his direction. One man took a step toward him.

He raised a hand. Great, that’s all he needed—another sick, mewling bastard wanting to hear God’s word, wanting him to sit next to him and hold his hand until the asshole passed on. He had better things to do with his time. He needed to find a way into the inner circle.

The male medic gave him a slight nod then turned back to his team.

Since they were going to leave him alone, Trent could work on the more immediate problem. He turned to his bench mate.

Fleshy bags hung under the man’s bloodshot eyes. Skin dripped from his narrow cheekbones as if the fat had melted rapidly from under it. His long nose pointed to his thin lips and yellow, crooked teeth.

“Did you need something?” He’d be damned if he said ‘my son’ or other such bullshit. It should be enough that he stooped to talking to the scum of humanity. Soon, he’d be sitting all comfy in the air conditioned Humvee, stretching his legs out as much as he wanted. He just needed a moment to plan his rise.

His neighbor scratched the black stubble on his receding chin. Red rimmed his tan eyes and tears blotted the ash-coated mask on his face. “Why, Father?”

Father? What the hell! He looked young for thirty-six. Far better than this middle-aged asshole. His mouth opened just as his brain made the connection. Damn, he must be tired to not have caught on quicker. “I’m not Catholic.”

Therefore not a priest or father. Unless that bitch Sally had assigned him a denomination. He pinched the hasps on his mask until the metal dug into the bridge of his nose.

The loser nodded and his jowls swung to and fro. “Why, Father? Why is God doing this?”

Trent squeezed his eyes closed a minute. Telling the loser that he deserved it was out of the question. That slut Sally had taken him to task when he’d mentioned it yesterday. Not even fucking her twice had dispelled his anger. He smoothed his hair, skimmed the shell of ash. If the preacher he’d stolen the sermon from wasn’t already dead, he would kill him.

Some man of the cloth, he turned out to be. He’d made Trent believe that people wanted to hear they deserved this living Hell, that they had to atone for their sins, that only he, the gatekeeper to God, could provide salvation.

He’d been tricked.

The man on his left hacked into the crook of his arm before collapsing against the side wall. “It’s Judgement Day. That’s why. We’re dying because we’ve sinned.”

Trent’s ears perked up and warmth flooded his limbs. The lying preacher that had run the homeless shelter had spoken of Judgement Day. Twisting at the waist, he inspected the man on his left. Perhaps, he had not selected his audience correctly.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Reverend.” A black tee-shirt strained against the beer gut hanging over his belt like an old woman’s tit. Sour sweat leaked from his overlarge pores and invaded Trent’s space cushion. “Dirk Benedict.”

The only difference between Dirk Benedict and the bums he’d had the misfortune to meet was that this man seemed to be better fed. But that didn’t rule out his usefulness. Trent hugged the Bible close. Maybe some good would come out of this after all. Brute force often came in handy and fools with low brows tended to have rudimentary intelligence—perfect for manipulation. “Why would I do that, Dirk?”

The loser on his right stiffened. One claw-like hand wrapped around Trent’s bicep and jerked him around. “Are you saying my wife deserved to die?”

Trent turned on his seat and faced the aisle. All five members of the medical team faced him. Damn the asshole! Concern etched lines in four faces, but the fifth sharpened with interest. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the woman leaned closer.

He sifted through his memories. Shit! She’d been watching him. No doubt, the bitch in charge had ordered it. He sat up a little straighter. So Mavis Spanner had noticed his worth. Had he blown it when he’d tried the preacher’s message on the medics. They certainly hadn’t been receptive. Not that he’d expected any different. The fools treated women as equals, took orders from a woman.

He’d have to be careful. Clearing his throat, he dismissed the medics. If Mavis Spanner had recognized his worth, she might see him as a threat. He couldn’t have that. Not yet anyway. Not until he had an action plan.

“No, he’s not saying that your wife deserved it.” Half-moon shapes burned into his skin from the grip but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t have the spy moving closer, not when he’d just found a patsy in Dirk. Leaning the Bible against his belly, he raised his hands up like he’d seen the preacher do. “I’m saying we’ve lost our way and this is the Almighty’s method of getting our attention.”

“My wife didn’t deserve to die,” the loser blubbered.

Of course, she did! He’d sat next to her and listened to her whine and sob until she had the decency to die. Feeling the spy’s eyes, Trent patted the man’s hand. “No one is saying that.”

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 stand-in 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 jar-head 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 jar-head 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 right 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.

“You knew this was going to happen?”

“Basic rule of planning, consider how long something should take then multiply it by the human factor, also known as four, and then pray everything works out.” She dumped eight pills into her palm then popped one into her mouth. Bitterness and saliva flooded her mouth but soon the fire in her throat was doused. Blessed relief. Thank God the corpsmen had known that little trick. She scraped the residue off with her tongue and waited for the medicine to kick in. The rest she’d take with water.

Lister took the bottle from her hand and measured out his own dose then capped it. “The human factor is four?”

He tossed them in his mouth and chewed.

Yuck! She shivered. Either the guy needed more hair on his chest or he was trying to prove something. Like she had something to prove. She’d take hers with water and be damn proud of it. She scanned the seat, leaned forward and checked the floor. Now to find her water bottle. There. By the door. Dumping the pills into a pile on her tongue, she retrieved her drink, opened it and took a gulp. Warm water washed down the tiny tablets.

“Most doom-and-gloom predictors prefer eight, but I like being optimistic.”

And practical.

The Palo Verde nuclear power plant lying eighty miles to the west was days away from melting down and spewing radioactive waste. With a storm heading for them, they would be directly in the fallout’s path. And that held only three of the thousand reactors on the planet.

They had a thirty-percent chance of surviving the anthrax.

None of them would escape cancer if they didn’t find a place to duck and cover within the timetable.

And God help them if they received a lethal dose.

There wasn’t enough cyanide to spike everyone’s punch.

“Doc?”

Mavis pushed aside the thoughts and blinked until the screen of her tablet came into focus. A map had replaced her earlier graph. Blips of light arched across the green matrix. “What’s this?”

“Wide view radar.” Lister held his screen next to hers. “It looks like we’re being invaded.”

She glanced at her water bottle then sniffed it. It smelled like water not vodka. “I really need some sleep. I thought you just said invaded.”

“I did.” He set a finger on her screen, shifted the view then tapped it. The image zoomed in on one glowing circle until silver wings appeared.

“That’s a plane.” Please, God, don’t let China have followed up their biological attack with a more conventional one. She tilted the tablet to get a side view of the plane’s logo. Doh! Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

“It’s a commercial airliner.” Chuckling, he tapped the screen again and the view widened. Hundreds of dots studded Japanese air space until they merged into one giant splotch as America’s west coast appeared.

The Japanese were invading the US? “What can they be thinking?”

“They’re directly in China and India’s fallout path. The Japs know better than anyone, except the Reds, the shit sandwich they’re about to be served.”

She scrubbed her hands down her face. Why hadn’t she considered this? She’d only gotten sick a couple of days ago. Good Lord, what’s going on in Europe?

Lister shoved his face in hers and breathed stale coffee on her. “Now’s the time to get that big brain of yours working, Doc.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. And you can.” Lister eased away. “What did you do before the war?”

The war. Her brain slipped gears until it found a groove and turned. Funny how she didn’t think of either the influenza pandemic or the germ attack by China as war. Yet it was.

Humanity teetered on the precipice of extinction.

The nuclear meltdown threatened to push them over the edge.

And she’d been on the front lines serving in the Weapons of Mass Destruction program, trying to prevent selfish nations and self-serving despots and tyrants from bringing humanity to the verge of extinction in the first place.

She reached into her jacket pocket, searching for another cough drop. “I worked for the United Nations.”

“Exactly. You were a known spy. You know what WMDs can do, you understand their tactics. But more than that, you’ve been behind enemy lines, had guns shoved in your face, and been taken hostage by rogue governments.”

Shot, stabbed, nearly raped. All those things and more. Sweat misted her skin. But she hadn’t been alone. Others had her back.

“You, Doc, are the epitome of cool. You talk about bugging out, nuclear meltdown and extinction level events without so much as batting an eyelash.”

Her teeth clicked together. She wasn’t cool. She’d washed plenty of crabgrass out of her undies. Still…knowing her enemies meant she knew their weaknesses and how to thread the needle just right so humanity could come out the other side.

“What’s the answer? I know you have it.” Hope blazed in his eyes. “It’s people like you that’ll give us the edge.”

He needed to believe she had the answers just like his men needed to believe the officers knew what needed to be done. Just like the citizens needed to believe in the soldiers. So why did she picture herself as the nail keeping the kingdom from being lost?

On the other side of the window, David helped an elderly woman into the waiting arms of a soldier.

Well, hell, if everyone around her was delusional, didn’t that make crazy the new sane? She picked up her tablet and refocused. She could solve this problem. It was just one problem. The satellite zeroed in on the flock of silver birds. “Not all of them are heading this way. Some look like they’re heading toward Australia.”

He picked up a headset and adjusted the mouthpiece. “Give me a status on the Rising Sun Birds.”

White caught her eye. She shifted the screen and tightened the image on the slash under the plane’s wings. For a moment, blue waves filled her screen then the familiar bow-shape appeared. “There are ships under the planes.”

Lister eyed her screen. “That one’s a sailboat.”

The Japanese citizens hadn’t been thinking; they’d been following a primitive instinct to flee as if their lives depended on it. And they did. Unfortunately, they couldn’t outrun the radiation. In months, the American west coast would be awash in ghost ships ferrying corpses.

She set her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Every problem had several solutions. I just need to find the solution. Find it. “Where are our boys?”

“Australia is mum on accepting the birds.”

Probably because there, too, everyone in charge had been wiped out by China’s anthrax stuffed animals. Which made landing a squadron of planes a rather tricky maneuver. But desperate people did suicidal things. She switched screens to her list of military assets. “Give me locations on the pacific fleet.”

The ships too far out of port to be safely recalled had been ordered to set sail for Antarctica. Those in Europe, Asia and the Middle East had evacuated as many personnel and their families as they could handle and headed for the same destination.

Lister changed screens. Blips popped up with unreadable names.

Mavis resisted the urge to slap herself for her shortsightedness. Zeroing in on the naval ships near Okinawa, she tapped them. “These guys need to save the insane from suicide and escort the other ocean going vessels to Australia. I want all airplanes routed to San Francisco, San Diego and Seattle.”

After relaying the order, he glanced at her. “I thought radiation will cross the equator and sterilize Africa, South America and Australia.”

“It will, but it will take a lot longer to reach and the exposure will be reasonably low.” At least that was the theory. How it played out in real life was anyone’s guess. She eyed the swirling weather fronts over the Indian Ocean. Nothing like playing chicken with Mother Nature.

But she would have to tackle the Southern hemisphere’s problem in the future.

For now, she had to help as many people into the future. “These submarines, why are they dry docked?”

Lister’s display showed the planes rerouting toward American shores. “Are you expecting another attack?”

“Nope, just thinking outside the box.” She double checked the class of subs. All were nuclear. Hot damn. She’d just won the lottery. “Do we have enough people to staff them?”

“Not fully, but operationally probably. Why?”

“Nuclear subs have years of power and can provide unlimited oxygen and fresh water to their inhabitants. And as a bonus, they could hunker down under the water safe from the radiation.”

“How long will our people need to stay under?”

God only knew, and He wasn’t talking. “Three months minimum.”

Probably longer. She still had to research how long it took for the atmospheric radiation to normalize after Chernobyl and Fukushima. All she knew was that it took less than seven days to sweep around the globe multiple times.

Multiply that by a thousand and their future was so bright it practically glowed.

She pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time for pessimism.

He adjusted his glasses. “I’ll have the supplies loaded.”

“Good. And have the sailors with families take them too.”

“Uh, Doc, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. There could be knife fights in the sardine can.”

She pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I know that under normal circumstances that is to be avoided at all cost. However, this is not normal. And Joe Squid might miss the reactor going from screwed to fucked because he’s worrying about his wife and kiddies somewhere on shore.”

His jaw thrust forward. “A phone call will set that straight.”

“Don’t count on phones or any technology working after the meltdown. Nothing but the green robots worked at Chernobyl. Nothing.” Men in uniform had saved the planet in the end. With only one tenth of one percent of the population predicted to survive, she couldn’t afford to throw anyone into the breach.

Doubt beetled his clipped eyebrows and he sighed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She smiled at his acquiescence. Sometimes it was good to be the nail holding the kingdom together. Hiding her gloating, she turned her attention back to her tablet. What other assets had she overlooked?

The door opened ushering in a whiff of smoke. David set his weapon across his lap before closing it. He started the engine just as the passenger door opened next to Lister.

A Marine with Ladykiller stenciled on the side of his helmet leaned inside. “Everyone’s nipped and tucked, Sir. The menu is being prepared.”

Referring to the survivors as dishes to be served up was a little crass, but dark humor was a survival mechanism just like fight or flight. Mavis opened her email, waiting for the new data attachment. Maybe they’d get lucky and this bunch would have stayed home instead of visiting Burgers in a Basket, or living near one, or breathing anthrax-laden air.

Lister glanced up from his laptop. “Excellent. I hope this one was a bumper crop.”

David started the engine.

The Marine stepped back then paused. “Sir, Meals-on-wheels are reporting hostiles east of our position. Or north, they’re a bit confused. Our chefs haven’t reported anything, but they’re—”

Bullets thunked against the side of the Humvee. One shattered the front passenger window with radiating fractures. Ladykiller’s forehead opened up like the splatter of an overripe melon.

“Get down!”

Clasping her hands over her head, Mavis dove for the floorboards. Heat stretched across her back and warm blobs rained down on her.

Chapter Four

“I think I see a miracle at eleven o’clock.” Using the face of a clock to define position, Papa Rose spoke into the mic dangling in front of his mouth like an overfed blowfly. Easing up on the gas, he swerved the Harley Davidson around the corpse sitting next to an abandoned Honda. Lucky bastard. Imagine just sitting down and dying like that.

Some people had all the luck.

“Roger that Papa Rose.” On the motorcycle next to him, Falcon nodded. Lightning glinted on the ex-Ranger’s ebony helmet. Instead of covering his mouth, his yellow bandana fluttered against his black neck. “Looks like Santa came early.”

On the seat behind Falcon, Brainiac lowered his face mask and adjusted his mic. “A tanker should keep Palo Verde running until we can join Doc and the others in the safety of the mountains.”

More than enough. Unfortunately, Papa Rose had hoped to buy a one way ticket to ground zero. God needed to stop fucking with his plans.

He hopped the curb and drove down the sidewalk. The semi’s cab tilted down the entrance to a gas station several blocks away. The hoods of cars, vans and trucks aimed at it. The stubble on his bald head stood on end.

Brainiac’s panting came over the wire. He raised the M-4 off his lap, ready to aim left or right. “Anyone else’s ‘oh shit’ meter pinging?”

Papa Rose scanned the area. Right to left. Left to right. Smoke crept between the open spaces, not thick enough to hide anything. Rats waddled along the debris trimming the storefronts. Car doors remained shut. Windows were rolled up. Interiors were empty. “Where are the black and tans?”

He scanned for the corpses—black where the blood pooled and tan where the flesh rotted. Bodies decomposed on every corner and street. Every one but this one. That just wasn’t natural.

“Fuck,” Falcon swore softly as they wove through the congestion. “Should we abort?”

Abort? They taken this mission to ensure they died. But…shit. What had been the point of his surviving his wife and kids if he died in an ambush. “Hell no!”

“We need that gas to keep the generators running for four more days.” Brainiac eyed the rooftops, the muzzle of his weapon tracked his progress. “Doc just needs four days.”

Doc. A woman who they’d met once, right before they’d volunteered for this mission. She’d given the survivors hope, and now she counted on them to keep it alive. Today was not a good day to die. “I’ll take point.”

Papa Rose added enough gas to dart in the front. The extended front wheel ate up the distance and the throbbing of the engine echoed off the store fronts lining the street. Vertical blinds rattled in the empty window panes. Papers rustled in the gutter. A cool breeze carried the scent of smoky water.

His gaze shifted right then left. Back and forth, to and fro. There had to be some evidence of what had gone down here, of where the people went. His attention dropped to the asphalt. No blood puddled under the trunks. Was it possible they had simply walked away?

A hundred feet from the corner, he eased between a Dodge caravan and a Ford pick-up. He took his hand from the handlebar and skimmed the hood as he passed. “It’s cool.”

“The others were as well,” Falcon confirmed.

The information was paltry and could be lethally misleading if they put too much stock in it. They didn’t know in what order the cars had arrived. Papa Rose zig-zagged around the nose of a sedan then a coupe. One more lane of traffic to go. The wind kicked up, tugged at his denim jacket.

“Still looks clear,” Brainiac whispered.

“This has to be the end of the world. We have a squid for lookout,” Falcon muttered. “You’re not looking for rocks, are you Brainiac?”

“Or icebergs.” He joined in the hazing as his front wheel cleared the cars. His heart raced and his palms sweated against the handlebars. The dark glass face of the convenience store stared back at him. What lurked in the interior?

“Actually I was looking at how high the swells are,” Brainiac shot back sarcastically.

His tire bumped over the curve. He quickly glanced up at the awning over the pumps. No one peered back. He pulled alongside the tanker and stopped. The engine throbbed between his thighs. His reflection stared back from the shiny tank.

Gravel crunched as Falcon parked behind him.

He killed the engine. After nearly two hours of the hog drumming in his head, the silence nearly knocked his legs out from under him. A breeze stirred the grand opening banner draped from the red and yellow eaves. His nose twitched at the stench of death and the hair on his arms stood up.

He knew what black and tans smelled like long before the Redaction hit.

“I think I know where the people are.” Hooking the kickstand with his boot, he set it down and lowered the bike’s weight onto it. He tugged the Glock from his waistband and nodded toward the double glass doors at the front of the store.

Brainiac hopped off the bike. His finger settled next to the trigger. “I think there’s only black and tans sunning themselves.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the north-bound lane. One lane had been cleared—enough for a stream of cars to get through.

Falcon’s eyes narrowed. He dismounted and fingered the weapons hanging on his belt. Bypassing the knives and machete, he removed a Sig-Sauer. “Give me a status on the tanker, B.”

“Aye.” Brainiac spun on his heel. Keeping alert, he approached the semi.

Keeping the tank at his back, Falcon inched toward the fence. The white wall of the building next to the gas station covered their flank—provided no one was on the roof.

But would they risk blowing up the precious fuel to get to them?

Maybe they’d emptied it and stored the barrels inside. Papa Rose stepped toward the convenience store.

“Negative, Papa.” Falcon’s voice swirled inside his ear. “Hang tight.”

He retreated and watched the action from his peripheral vision.

“I”m going up.” Brainiac hitched his weapon over his shoulder, set one foot on the bumper and grabbed the rungs welded to the back of the tank. Metal creaked as it adjusted to his full weight.

“That can’t be good.” A full load would be heavy, certainly heavier than Brainiac who could be carrying a fifty pound sack of flour and still weigh nearly nothing. Damn. This pit stop could be a waste of precious time

“Yeah, I think she’s empty.” Brainiac balanced on top of the cylinder and hunched over as he walked toward the cab. “Notice how hollow my footsteps sound.”

Falcon shook his head. “You keep that racket up and anyone within ten clicks of us will hear. Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Hell no.” Brainiac grinned at them and crouched low. Metal gears ground together. “I’m improvising. Isn’t that what you special forces cock-suckers admire?”

Papa Rose coughed over his laugh. Even squid have teeth.

“You’re gonna admire my boot up your ass if your caterwauling gets me shot.” Falcon kicked a rock in his direction. “Stop laughing.”

“I thought you said you barely knew the runt?” The stone skipped over the asphalt and thudded to a stop against Papa Rose’s worn steel-toed workboot. Rain studded the blacktop. Soon the smell of wet asphalt competed with the stench of decay.

Metal clanged together, echoing around the belly of the tanker.

“Empty, just like I thought.” Brainiac straightened and dusted his hands. “Maybe we shouldn’t have driven through the side streets. We might have had better luck looking for a full truck on the interstate.”

Maybe, but there was no point in second guessing themselves. They were almost out of Tolleson and soon they’d be on the open road and could look there. “My mama told me never to crash a party without a gift, and I don’t intend to disappoint her.”

And if they didn’t find any gas between the western suburbs of Phoenix and Palo Verde, well then, they were just going there to piss in the wind.

Brainiac hooked his hand around the handle arcing over the top of the tanker. “Your mama tell you what goes with radioactive fondue?”

“Get your fool ass down here.” Falcon shoved up the visor of his helmet.

“Aye, aye.” Brainiac climbed down faster than a monkey from a tree. With his wiry build, he resembled one too. His heels rapped loudly against the silence when he jumped the rest of the way to the ground.

Falcon swore. “Keep it up and we’re gonna get holes punched in our asses.”

The skin between Papa Rose’s shoulder blades itched. Could someone be watching them from behind the tinted glass? He inched closer to the double doors. Only one way to find out. “Anyone want a Slim Jim?”

Squaring his shoulders, Falcon swung his gaze to the convenience store and nodded once. “How many do you think you can get?”

So the other soldier felt it too. Good to know his spider senses weren’t misfiring. He shoved up his rain spotted visor. “Won’t know until I enter.”

Falcon’s finger slipped onto the trigger. “I got a powerful craving. Stand watch, B.”

Cradling his M-4, Brainiac strode to the motorcycles. “I’d like some chips if you can find any.”

“Sure thing.” Was the kid dense or buying into the game? Papa Rose waited until Falcon fell into position behind him as he walked toward the door. Anyone with a lick of sense would recognize it as an offensive position. Still, there was a chance civilians cowered in the dark interior.

He stepped onto the shiny green landing in front of the store, turned his body to make a smaller target then reached for the handle. His fingers crossed the clammy surface wrapped around the handle, then he yanked it open.

The door swung out silently.

Death perfume rolled out of the opening.

Papa Rose swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Maybe he’d discarded his face mask prematurely.

Lightning flashed in the west, shooting rays of light into the gloom. Empty white shelves protruded like bleached bones from the mass of bodies tossed three and four deep on the floor. Dark stained pockmarks marred one wall. Broken glass glittered like diamonds across jackets and spilled hair.

“Looks like they were herded inside then shot.” Falcon stepped over the outstretched arm of one man and found an empty place next to his head.

“Not all at once.” Locking the door open, he shifted aside an empty potato chip bag and placed his weight on his leg. “Some are stiff.” He pointed with his weapon to the pale, stiff fingers reaching for the blood-spattered ceiling then to the fat woman whose rolls oozed around her limp body and leaked fluids. “Others have been here a while.”

The newcomers would have learned their fate too late to prevent it.

“Should we check to see if any are alive?”

Hell no. Lifeless eyes stared back at him, accused him from death masks etched in pain and fear. Thunder rumbled down the street and rattled the windows. Right, if he wanted to get into heaven and see his wife and kids, he’d better earn it. “I’ll take the right.”

Falcon nodded.

Sliding his finger off the trigger, he crouched down and poked the doughy neck of the nearest body. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—

A loud thump came from deep within the store.

He shot to his feet, aiming his gun at the swinging doors near the brain-splattered hot dog carousel. His heart hammered his chest. A few controlled breaths calmed his thoughts. “Could be a rat.”

Falcon crept toward a blood smeared end cap. “What and avoid this smorgasbord?”

Yeah, his thoughts were messed up. But dammit why did he have to keep shooting people when most were going to die anyway? How the hell was he supposed to work off the body count he had already accumulated when he kept adding to it? He’d never reunite with his family this way.

Falcon directed their assault with one hand.

Papa Rose’s finger returned to the trigger. Guess they were going in. Hunkering down, he set one boot on the cadaver’s belly. Gingerly, he shifted his weight onto it. It collapsed in a burst of stink just as he lifted his heel. His teeth clattered and his ankle wobbled as his sole hit the spine.

Falcon’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ribs, dip shit.”

Excuse him. He’d never used corpses as stepping stones. Shaking the tepid goo off his boot, he aimed for the next body’s chest.

“There’s ribs in there?” Brainiac buzzed in his ear like an annoying insect. “Damn, I’m hungry.”

He closed his eyes and shifted his weight. Please don’t splat. Please don’t burst. After a brief wobble, it firmed. The next one shifted as the one underneath it gave way. They’re not people; they’re stones. Stepping stones. Breathing through his mouth, he crept down the aisle. His brain short-circuited, neutralizing his taste buds, planting him firmly in the moment but not the charnel house.

Sweat stung his eyes. Rain pattered the pavement, hissing as it hit. Lightning exploded in the sky and thunder soon followed. He increased his speed, leaving the stones almost as soon as they began to shift. If they waited too long, the storm would disguise the actions of whoever lay beyond those doors.

Falcon stood to the side, out of sight of the glass panes in the black doors, waiting.

Finally, Papa Rose lowered his foot to the brown linoleum. Two refrigerator cases stretched between him and his target. The tacky blood stuck to his heels when he inched forward, but at least his boots didn’t squeak.

The double doors exploded outward with a scream.

A very human scream. The world slowed down as he processed everything at once. A dark shadow cleared the threshold. The doors banged against one wall and Falcon. The impact knocked his weapon off target. A bullet slammed into the racks, spraying metal chips in the air.

Papa Rose raised his gun.

The shadow threw itself against the door holding the other soldier.

Fuck! If he shot, he’d hit Falcon. Muscle coiled around bone and he sprang forward.

Lightning cracked the darkness, illuminating the fear on the kid’s face. Wide blue eyes stared back at him. Dried blood glued the hair to the side of her head.

It’s a kid. The thought skimmed his consciousness just as he tackled her. Twisting at the last minute, he bore the brunt of the impact with the door. The rubber gave just a bit but the crash rattled out his bones.

Falcon’s groan transmitted across the wire.

“Do you need back-up?” Brainiac’s question swirled inside his head.

He wrapped his arms around the squirming kid, slithering up and down his body while her heels played his shins like a xylophone. “It’s okay, kid. You’re safe.”

She answered him with a jab in the gut.

“Kid? What kid?” Brainiac spat into his skull.

The door shoved against his spine and he and the kid slid along the floor with the grace of a sidewinder.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

“Hold your position, B!” Falcon’s scream overrode the girl’s threats. “Get the kid under control, Papa.”

“We’re not going to hurt you.” He rolled, pinning her under him.

Her bones, as fragile as a hummingbird’s, shuddered. Once. Twice. A third time. Finally, she lay still. “Don’t hurt me. Please. Don’t hurt me.”

Christ Jesus. What had she been through? A body, decaying inches from her nose, told the story.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone.” Falcon squatted next to her bare feet. “We’re here to help.”

“Help?” She blinked.

He rolled off her. Close enough to contain her, but far enough to give her a little space. “Yes. We’re soldiers.”

She turned her head and stared at him, a wild animal gauging the threat in the darkness.

“You’re safe now.” Lowering his gun to the side, Falcon reached into his pocket and withdrew a packet of cookies. He held them out to her. “We’re going to keep you safe.”

She stared at it for a moment. Her hand shook as she reached for it.

From fear or starvation? He clenched his jaw shut. Not that it mattered. The cookies would hold her until he got a Meals-Ready-to-Eat warmed up for her. The skinny thing needed food and they had extra.

Falcon smiled and dropped it into her waiting hand. His teeth gleamed white against his black skin. “Is there anyone else hiding in the back?”

She paused before biting the package. The corner dangled from her teeth when she ripped it open. She spit it on the ground then dumped the cookies into her palm. One by one, she divvied them up.

Papa closed his eyes for a moment. There was another survivor.

“Toby, you can come out now.” Once done yelling, she popped half in her mouth then fisted the other and pushed to her feet.

He turned to see a preschooler dragging a teddy bear emerge from the stockroom. “Daddy?”

Air froze in his lungs. His son Patrick had sounded just like that.

“No, not Daddy.” The girl stumbled over an outstretch hand trying to reach the preschooler. “Soldiers. They brought cookies.” She cupped his hand and poured his share into it. “See?”

“I yike cookies.”

Falcon cleared his throat and sniffed. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Yeah, their plans for a one-way trip just crumbled. No way could they have a weenie roast over a nuclear fire when they had kids to get to safety. “I can take ‘em on my bike.”

He’d done it in another lifetime. His fingers curled into fists. This time he wouldn’t fail. Please, God. Don’t force me to ink another rose onto my arm. He was already fully sleeved.

Chapter Five

Seventeen-year-old, Emmanuel Saldana sidled to the back of the personnel carrier. So many people, yet most didn’t say a word. They should be celebrating, happy. They’d made it to the soldiers and safety. Plopping down onto the folded tent, he tugged a Halloween size bag of Skittles out of his pocket.

Life was good.

A German shepherd dozed near the gate. Its legs twitching as if it chased a plump rabbit in its sleep.

He stroked the coarse fur. The dog opened one eye as Manny scratched behind one silky ear. “It’s only going to get better. Right, boy?”

The dog woofed softly before closing its eye.

He ripped open the bag and shook a few of the rounds into his palm. Behind him, children laughed. He picked out his younger sister Lucia’s giggle over his brother Jose’s snort. The orphans he’d taken in, Mary and Mikey, were there too, being taught their lessons by Blind Connie. He picked out two yellow Skittles and popped them into his mouth. Lemon bit the back of his jaw. His favorite.

The engine rumbled to life accompanied by an odd popping noise.

The dog leapt to its feet, crouching low. He bared his teeth and growled.

The sugar sweetness glued Manny’s jaw shut. He blinked. That sounded like gunshots. Accompanied by a dull thwacking sound, bullet points of gray light blistered the canvas walls. The green fabric convulsed like a snake swallowing its prey.

“Gun!” Manny dove for the floor. “Get down!”

The German shepherd sailed out of the back.

No! He hadn’t meant to chase the dog away. His palms scraped the dirty truck bottom. Red, orange, purple and green candies bounced near his arm. One dirty sneaker and one red sock with puppies on it appeared in his peripheral vision. He whacked on an ankle. Puffs of ash billowed at his touch. “You need to get down!”

The owner of the ankle remained deathly still.

Shit! The person was too scared to move. He’d have to grab her or him. Manny levered his torso up.

Somebody wrapped a hand around his wrist and yanked. “Stay down!”

One arm slipped forward while the other buckled. He landed on his face and chin. The impact rattled out his skull, turning his eyes to pingpong balls in their sockets. He shook his head and followed the hand around his wrist to its owner. “What the—”

Wheelchair Henry lay at the other end. His gray pony tail made designs in the dust coating the floor and the wheels of his chair ticked as they continued to spin. “She’s already dead.”

“Dead?” How could that be? They were supposed to be safe. They were with the soldiers. The old man must be wrong. He glanced up.

The bullet had blown out the front of her face, leaving nothing but blood and clumps of brains in place of eyes, nose and upper lip.

He threw his attention back to the floor. A yellow Skittle wobbled on the floor. He reached for the candy.

“Manny.” Wheelchair Henry’s voice sounded far away.

Farther away than the candy. The candy was important. He pinched the oval between his finger and thumb. He’d brush it off and eat it. No point in it going to waste.

A child cried out.

His heart stopped in his chest. The niños! He squeezed the candy. The yellow coating cracked at the edges and the cream-colored guts oozed out. He had to protect them! They were his responsibility. He curled his legs under him. Muscles bunched.

The grip on his wrist tightened. “Stay where you are.”

His body relaxed at Wheelchair Henry’s bark. Stay. Yes. He would… Wait a minute. He wasn’t like the others. After his parents died, he’d survived for four months in gang infested South Phoenix. He’d kept his younger brother and sister alive, rescued the five-year-old twins from next door and saved his best friend’s sister from the gangs. He could—

“Focus on my voice, Manny.” Wheelchair Henry smashed his hand against the bottom of the truck.

Pain radiated from his knuckles up his arm. Manny jerked his hand back. “Hey!”

Wheelchair Henry held tight. “Good. Look at me.”

He glared at the old man.

“You’re mad. That’s good.”

He wouldn’t think it was so good if Manny punched him in the face. “Let me go.”

“No.” Using his elbows, Wheelchair Henry dragged himself closer. His useless legs wiggled like cooked spaghetti when he pulled free of the wheelchair. “You’re going to do something stupid.”

Bullets pinged against the side of the truck.

Embarrassment heated his face. A girl mewled. Lucia! He rose a little off the floor. His sneakers slipped until they gained traction against an obstacle on the floor. “I’m going to protect my family.”

“Think boy.” Spittle flew out of Wheelchair Henry’s mouth. “You won’t do the niños any good dead.”

He was thinking. He had to get the niños.

“Hold your breath to the count of four. Hold it.” Wheelchair Henry tightened his grip.

Manny felt the man’s fingers grind against his wrist bones. He caught his breath.

“Good. Now let it out for four.”

The dust and ash swirled as he slowly let it out.

“Now, lifting only your head, tell me what you see.”

He raised his head. Heaps of arms and legs writhed along the bottom of the truck.

Wheelchair Henry jerked his wrist. “Start with the faceless doll on your right and tell me everything.”

“Doll? What doll?”

“The girl doll who’s ankle you tapped. Tell me.”

Manny studied the girl. No, not girl, a doll. Red dripped on the chewed nails of her right hand. Gray blobs clung to her pink tee-shirt. “Her jaw is slack.”

“She didn’t see the bullet coming so it came at her from the back,” Henry translated. “Do the holes in the canvas blow in or out?”

A few long threads drooped from the bullet holes. “In.”

“Check the other side to be sure.”

Manny’s attention swiveled to the other side. Scanning the canvas, he didn’t see any threads hanging on the inside. “The firing seems to be coming from the right side only.”

A soldier in a khaki tee-shirt slid on his belly through a slit in the canvas. A soft thud marked his landing on the left side.

“Good. Our boys will be heading out there to give them what for.” Wheelchair Henry tugged. “What else do you see? And I’m specifically talking about the truck this time.”

Rolling over onto his shoulder, he eyed the canvas then the ribs. “The roof seems free of holes.”

“Lower. Look lower.”

He did. The mass of bodies breathed as if they were one. A few dolls remained in their seats.

“What do you see?”

Frustration clawed at him. Obviously the old man wanted him to name something specific. “People.”

Guns fired close by. The rat-a-tat filled the canvas shell beating down the inhabitants. He ducked lower.

Wheelchair Henry chuffed. “The lower sides of the truck are metal while the upper half and top are canvas. What’s more, there are supplies and belongings packed under the benches. That’s the original Kevlar. It will stop your poop chute from getting plugged with lead.”

Poop chute. Chuckles bubbled out his mouth.

Footfalls crunched on the gravel behind him. A dog barked. Bullets whizzed by.

He covered his head with his free hand. Why had he been laughing? People were trying to kill him. People were dying.

“Laughter is one of your best survival tools. Now, you know where the enemy is positioned.” Henry jerked his head to the right. “You know where your safe zone is. Now what do you need to do?”

Another round and the doll on the bench spasmed.

He flinched. Please, God, don’t let her fall. God what if she fell on him. Her brain could gush out and splatter him.

“Manny. What do you need to do now?”

She’s just a doll. It’s just a doll. He drew in a deep breath to the count of four. “Survive?”

“Too broad. Think smaller. Something in this truck.”

Something in the truck. His thoughts spun. Some— “The niños!”

“Exactly.” Instead of gripping his wrist, Henry patted it. “Now, can you see them?”

Eying the side, he rose on his hands and knees in a half push-up. In the dim interior, he spied Connie’s white hair. Her red cane lay folded on the bench behind her. Henry’s wife, Mildred’s bright red bun settled like a cherry on a sea of brown. He scanned the mass of curved backs and bowed heads. A soldier crouched near the front moving back and forth, a red cross marked his metal helmet. Manny looked for the twin’s blond hair, his sister’s shorn black locks, or his brother’s Diamondback’s cap.

“I don’t see them.” Fear tattooed his heart, changing its rhythm to a primitive beat. Where were they? Where could they have gone? Oh God! What if they’d been shot and lay bleeding out under the people.

Henry grabbed his hand and slammed his knuckles against the floor. “Stay with me.”

Pain swept aside the fog of fear. Dropping back down, he stared at the old man. Blood beaded on a cut on his hand. Outside, the time between shots blurred into one. Someone screamed. Then another. More footsteps sounded at the rear of the truck. The soldiers were advancing.

“You know where the niños are. Close your eyes.”

Manny squeezed them shut. But his ears kept feeding him information. The crunch of gravel. The rumble of engines. The waves of ragged breathing.

“Picture the interior. The way it’s been for the last two hours.” Wheelchair Henry’s voice remained monotone. “The landmarks haven’t changed. The Doc’s niece is still up front on a stretcher near an IV on a pole. A tent is still next to you.”

As if conjured by his words, Manny assembled the images. An ancient man with an oxygen tank sat next to the sick girl. An angry kid inspected his bag of arrows with jerky motions. Two white-haired old women in matching jumpsuits had read books with half-naked men on their covers.

“Do you see the niños?”

His memory panned down. They’d sat in the cramped center of the floor. The twins had colored apples on a page with a big letter ‘A’. Blind Connie had cradled his sister while Lucia read Green Eggs and Ham. Twirling his ball cap, his brother guessed at the multiplication facts when Henry’s wife flashed the cards. “Yes. I see them.”

As they had been. But when he’d looked up, they hadn’t been there. He’d seen Connie and Mildred…

“Were their heads above or below the protective sides when you last saw them?”

He rolled back the memory when he opened his eyes. “Below. They were below.”

Henry patted his hand. “Good. Now, if you had gotten up, where would you have been?”

With one last shout, the guns fell silent.

He glanced right and his vision slammed into the dead body. It wasn’t a doll but a girl. Not much older than his sister.

“Manny.” Wheelchair Henry snapped his fingers.

What? He jerked his attention away from the girl, er, doll. He grasped onto the older man’s question. “Um, I would have been above.”

“You would have gotten shot for no reason.” Wheelchair Henry grabbed the bench and pulled himself up a little higher. “And the niños would have been without their protector.”

The medic pressed bloody fingers against his earpiece and looked at them over his shoulder. “Everyone stay down. There’s still a few trigger happy yahoos that need to be rounded up.”

He sucked cold air over his teeth. “I panicked.”

How could he have been so stupid?

“You acted better than most untrained folks.” Henry lowered himself back to the floor. “Actually many folks don’t act at all. They just stay there like dolls waiting to be posed.”

He refused to look at her again.

“You’ll do better next time. I just taught you the steps to survive.”

Sure he might be alive, but all he did was lay there. The soldiers did the work. “You did?”

“Yep.” Wheelchair Henry picked up a Skittle. “The first part, stopping, that’s instinctual. Everyone freezes when the world turns upside down.”

Manny nodded. He had frozen like a chicken on the chopping block. “But then I thought of the niños and tried to reach them.”

“Thinking of someone else snaps you out of the freezing real quick. But you skipped steps two through four and rushed right into five—the action part.”

Cold washed over his skin. That one thing… “That almost got me killed.”

“Acting is good. It’ll save your life.” Wheelchair Henry rolled the candy between his fingers. “But you have to take the time to get there.”

“Time?” In a gunfight? Was the old man crazy? No one had that kind of time when bullets started flying.

“In survival situations, the brain will process everything at once. It will seem like times slows down. You’ve just learned how to process all that information.” Wheelchair Henry palmed the candy and marked each point with a finger. “Stop. Observe. Think. Plan. Act.”

He replayed what he’d done inside his head. “I didn’t plan.”

“No need to in this case. The niños were safe.” Wheelchair Henry wiped the Skittle on his flannel shirt. “A word of caution about plans though.”

He popped the Skittle in his mouth and chewed.

It had been lemon yellow. He eyed the floor. Purple. Bleah. Green. He reached for the treat.

Wheelchair Henry grabbed it first, bounced it against his palm.

He watched it jump up and down before dismissing it. The old man could eat the dirty one. Somewhere he had a half-full package. “What about plans?”

“Take ‘em out for a spin but don’t marry ‘em. You’ve got to be able to kick ‘em to the curb when they start running around on you.”

He nodded. Wheelchair Henry had deliberately eaten his favorite favors to teach him a lesson. “I won’t forget. Stop, observe, think, plan and act.”

The medic stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. “All clear. You can move back to your seats now and I’ll be around to check your injuries.”

“Good.” Wheelchair Henry offered him the candy.

Manny waved it away. “No, thanks.”

“Green’s my favorite.” He tucked it into his pocket and patted it. “Now help me up.”

Help him? Cold snaked down his spine. Had the old man been shot? Or did the fall break a bone?

“Relax. I’m fine.” Wheelchair Henry thrust out his hand. “Helping each other is what will keep us alive.” He jerked his head to the three dolls posed on the bench. “Touching another human being, laughing with them, gives us the strength and courage to live despite a broken body. Those who look only after themselves, they merely survive and not usually for long.”

Crawling over the folded tent, Manny wrapped both hands around the man’s wrists. Muscles burned across his back as he pulled him into a sitting position. The pain was good. He felt good. Alive.

Around him, the mass on the floor began shifting and sorting itself into individuals. Connie and Mildred unfolded, revealing his brother and sister underneath. An Asian man and a woman with the face of a dried apple moved aside to free the five-year-old twins. Lucia began gathering crayons. José smoothed the coloring books pages. None of them were hurt. None. Whispers bubbled from the mass as people helped each other.

“The niños are your reason for being, for going on when so many give up.” Henry straightened his wasted legs.

Manny righted the wheelchair. He had done things he never thought he would to keep them alive. “Sometimes I couldn’t think straight, then I’d get this image of them in my head, and my path was clear.”

The surly teenage boy set his bag of arrows on the seat and picked his way forward. “You need help?”

“Sure.” Henry crooked his arms, holding them up like a bird preparing to take flight. “Between the two of you, you should be able lift this old bag of bones.”

He took the offered arm. Sinew played like molten steel against his palm.

“Bend your knees now,” Henry coached. “Wouldn’t want you hurting your back, you’re gonna have to be our eyes and ears. Worse things are still to come.”

Worse? They’d just been shot at. People had died. And people were still dying of this anthrax thing going around. And the dog had run off.

“We can handle it.” Henry winked at him. “Together.”

Calm blanketed him, stilled his racing thoughts. Stop. Observe. Think. Plan. Act. He could do it. Jose laughed. The noise dispelled some of the tension. He would do it. No, they would do it. Him. Wheelchair Henry. The soldiers. Even the surly kid.

Together, they would survive whatever came their way.

Thunder boomed. The vibration traveled through the truck, shaking the foundation he stood on.

Shit. What if God took that as a challenge?

Chapter Six

“The explosion could have another explanation.” Audra tasted the lie as the words left her mouth. The bullet holes and blood art on the side of the busses drew her attention.

Eddie’s snort sounded hollow in his respirator. “Didn’t you learn anything from Casa Grande?”

She straightened. The ambush at Casa Grande wasn’t her fault. She’d told them not to stop for hitchhikers. God, why had she listened to her mother? Why had she taken charge? For a teacher, she seemed incapable of learning.

On her right, Tina set her Louisville Slugger on her shoulder. Her blue-black pony tail wiggled down the back of her AC/DC tee shirt and scabby knees peered from under her shorts. “She told us to keep going. If we’d stopped like you wanted, we’d have been executed on the side of the road like the others.”

Aiming his shotgun at the ground, Eddie towered over the petite Asian girl. “My brother was on that bus! We could—”

“That is enough.” Audra’s soft word snapped like a bear trap, cutting off the argument. “We have only a few weapons and barely any ammunition. We would have been slaughtered just like bus four-five.”

Eddie swiped at his damp eyes. “My brother was fourteen. My responsibility.”

And sweet, with a smile that practically tucked the corners of his mouth into his ears. She sucked air into her lungs but the constriction didn’t ease.

“I knew everyone on that bus.” Jacob. Mary. Roddy. She’d nursed them all back to health. Then she’d pressed the gas down while they lined up on the side of the road, heard the bang of the guns, and watched them fall. “Every one. Every age.”

Her voice cracked at the end and she squeezed her eyes shut. Go away. Just go away for a minute or ten. Why couldn’t she have quit last year? A montage of faces played on her lids. If she’d broken her teaching contract, she would see them as they had been: annoying, condescending and alive.

Alive forever.

“Audra,” her mother snapped. “We’re waiting.”

She scrubbed a hand down her face then stared at her mother. Not even the wind dared free a strand of hair from Jacqueline’s tidy bun. The older Silvestre didn’t carry a weapon—good manners and breeding apparently could stop anything. Good manners and breeding meant Audra had to lead.

“You two stand guard here.” She pointed to her mom and Tina, then at the asphalt. “We’ll go check out Burgers in a Basket.”

Eddie nodded and raised his shotgun at the glass front of the fast food joint.

“What about me?” Mrs. Rodriguez pounded down the steps and handed Audra her walkie-talkie. White swirled through the black curls on her head. She pulled two machetes from the black belt wrapped around her pink mumu. “Where do you want me?”

Using her flashlight, Audra pointed across the restaurant’s parking lot to the boarded up gas station. Universal emblems of male and female marked the two white closed doors. “Find out if those are serviceable then peek under the boards to see if there’s anything left in the convenience store.”

“Will do.” The machetes sliced the air as she twirled her wrist. “I’ll take Deputy Pecos as backup.”

As if hearing himself mentioned, the man in khaki pants separated from Principal Dunn and waited for the older woman.

Hitching the walkie to her belt loop, Audra opened the line and exhaled slowly. Seven adults outside. Seven. Add the requirement to keep an adult on the bus at all times, and that meant they were down to thirteen total. There had been fifty-seven last night.

Most of them had seemed to be getting better.

What in the world was going on?

Eddie hunched over his weapon and stepped onto the sidewalk surrounding the fast food joint. “Coming?”

Audra swallowed the wad of fear in her throat. “Yes, of course.”

Digging her fingers into the metal casing of the flashlight, she waded through her memories until she dragged her courses on combato self defense to the fore. Smash the assailant upside the head with the flash light. Thrust the heel of her hand into a nose. Rubbery legs carried her to the side entrance behind Eddie.

He tugged on the metal handle. The door moved half an inch; the lock kept it from moving farther. He raised the butt of the gun.

“Don’t!” She grabbed the muzzle and held on, preventing him from hitting the glass. “What if it accidentally goes off?”

He tugged on the weapon. “It won’t.”

How could he know? He had to be shown how to pull the trigger and that had been during Casa Grande when his brother had been executed. “You’ll not only waste shells but you’ll let those bad guys know where we are.”

His hazel eyes narrowed above the respirator. “Then how are we going to get inside, Princess? Say open sesame?”

“You could or we could check the drive-in window.” She jerked her head to the side where the drive through lay. “Since it says it is open twenty-four hours, the window might not have a lock on it.”

“Fine.” He stalked off. His boots pounded the blacktop. “And if that isn’t open?”

“Then we smash it.” Audra hefted her flashlight. Damaging it wouldn’t be a big loss since it was dead. The important thing was that the gun couldn’t discharge and kill someone. Or get them all killed.

His humph swirled around his respirator.

“I’ll let you do the smashing.” That should make him happy and get rid of some of his anger.

“Fine.”

Thousands of words in the English language and Eddie barely used a hundred of them in the six months since she’d met him.

He paused by the window and slapped his palm flat against the glass.

“Wait.” She hustled to his side. “You have the gun. Let me open the window, while you aim.”

He rolled his eyes and stepped aside.

“Oh Princess A.” Tina jogged to the edge of the building.

Audra gritted her teeth. Great, now even her best friend was calling her by that odious name.

Tina tapped her bat on the ground. “Mrs. R says the gas station has four clean toilets but no running water.”

No water. She shuddered. The piles would just keep climbing toward the ceiling. She’d rather use the slops pot. “Do they have tanks?”

“Yep and they’re full.”

Thank God for small favors. They would get a flush out of each before the tank emptied and they could use the slops to gravity-force some more down. “What about the interior?”

Please, please, let there be batteries.

“Empty but also clean. I guess they didn’t get too far in the reopening plans.”

Her sigh stirred her long bangs. Fudge. “Tell Deputy Pecos and Principal Dunn to begin laying out the dead. Then have bus seven-nine line up to use the facilities. Everyone goes.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” After curtseying, Tina pivoted on the heel of her sneakers.

Audra reached for the window then paused. If the building was cleaned… “Tina?”

She stopped and glanced over her bat. One eyebrow raised.

“Once they enter the building have them check the storeroom. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Maybe we will.” Whistling, Tina jogged back to the group.

Hushed murmurs and giggles floated on the air as the children streamed from bus seventy-nine. Mrs. Rodriguez ushered them in two lines to the bathrooms. Principal Dunn wrestled a wheelbarrow from Mom’s bus while Deputy Pecos cut behind the evacuating bus, heading for the emergency exit.

“Anytime now.” Eddie waved to the window with the shotgun.

“You have a date?” Tucking the flashlight between her thighs, she flattened both palms against the tinted glass.

“Yeah.” He set the stock against his shoulder. “If the toilets are clean, I plan to be the first one to take a shit.”

Nice. Her damp hands slid across the glass; she tightened her grip. The window eased open. Ha! She’d done it. Smiling, she bit back the gloating. Once the window was fully seated, she tucked her head inside. Geometric shadows melted into darkness in the cooking area. A tiled wall prevented her from seeing into the seating area. Stale, greasy air hit her in the face. “Hello?”

Eddie snorted. “You expecting anyone to answer?”

“You never know. Give me a knee.”

“Shouldn’t I go first? I have the gun.”

Was that a serious question? With him, it was hard to tell. She measured the window’s opening with her hands then held her spread hands near his chest. An inch of flesh overlapped each side. “Can you suck it in?”

A vein throbbed at his temple.

Guess that was a no. “I’ll enter and open the side door for you.”

“How are you going to see?” He propped the shotgun against the brick building, bent one knee and offered his hand.

“I worked for Burgers while attending college.” She didn’t mention that her father owned ten of them. A Silvestre didn’t flaunt her wealth when there was so many other subtle ways to show it off. “They’re all laid out identically.”

Wedging the flashlight on the corner of the window sill, she set her left foot on his thigh, placed one hand in his and grabbed hold of the opening with the other. “On three.”

He nodded.

She bent her knee, pictured herself going through the window, landing on the tiled floor on the other side. “ One. Two.”

“Wait.”

She blinked.

“You have one minute to get to the side door.” Eddie jerked his chin and his grip tightened. “If you’re not there in sixty seconds, I’m coming in after you.”

Wow! The man had given her nothing but grief since they’d met and now he was being heroic. Was there something different in the air? It certainly hadn’t affected her or her mother. Maybe their breeding made them immune. “I’ll be there in sixty seconds.”

“Count it down.”

Down? She counted up. Opening her mouth, she quickly snapped it closed. What did it really matter. “On three. One. Two. Three.”

Shoving with her foot on the ground, she straightened the leg on his knee and pitched to the side.

“Steady there.” With his free hand, Eddie hooked a finger through the belt loop of her trousers and gathered the fabric in a clump.

She ground the bones in his hand together before correcting her aim. Thigh muscles burned. She released his hand and grabbed at the window pane, pulling her torso inside.

A hand flattened against her left buttock.

“Oh!” She glanced over her shoulder. What had he done that for?

“Almost there.” He shoved.

“No.” Her fingers lost their grip and the floor rose up to meet her face. The sill scraped her belly then thighs. Fabric ripped. She raised her hands and held her breath. Flesh slapped tile. Her elbows absorbed the shock as they bent and her chin rested on her chest. Her legs cleared. Exhaling, she tucked and rolled. Years of falling in ballet had finally paid off. Mother would be proud.

She rolled onto her boot soles and stopped in a wobble on her toes.

“Sixty. Fifty-nine.”

He was actually counting. Pushing off the cold tiles, she stood. The world spun a little and she grabbed hold of the metal countertop to steady herself. The surface felt gritty to the touch. Shoddy cleaning. Her father would have fired the night manager over it.

But he was gone now.

She hoped Daddy was laughing at her from Heaven. Her neck popped as she straightened. Maybe that hadn’t been as graceful as she imagined. Then again, she was healthy and whole. She inventoried her body as she walked between the staging area and the counter.

The side door rattled. “Forty-two. Forty-one.”

She set both hands against the small of her back. Eddie might not speak English well, but at least he could count down from sixty with his shoes on. “I’m coming.”

Rounding the corner, she angled across the lobby. The faint scent of musk lingered in the air. Good gracious, whoever had worn it must have doused themselves with very liberal splash of cologne since it still lingered two days after the restaurant had closed.

Eddie cupped one hand to the window and peered inside. “Thirty-one. Thirty.”

“I can see you.” Which meant he should be able to see her. Which meant he should stop counting down. Her boots stuck to the floor by the soda machine. Lord a’ Mercy, why hadn’t the night crew cleaned better.

He shook his head and backed away from the glass door. “Twenty-five.”

She unlocked the door and shoved it open. “Patience is a virtue.”

He stepped back then sidled through the door beside her, the shotgun clutched in his hands. “So is having clean briefs.”

“Must you?” The world may be ending but really it was no reason to abandon civilized manners.

“It’s perfectly natural.” He stalked across the tile, heading for the bathrooms near the counters. “You have something against nature, Princess?”

“No, I—”

A cough interrupted.

Fear tracked down her spine. “Are you sick?”

Eddie stopped cold by the soda machine and raised his shotgun, aiming into the kitchen. “That wasn’t me.”

Chapter Seven

“Why do they always run, Big D?”

Sergeant-Major David Dawson clutched his M-4 as he humped his ass up the incline. A German shepherd crouched by the top of the incline. Ears flat against his head, he stared at the far side of the hill. His sides heaved and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, but David could swear the dog was laughing.

“The dog likes the chase.”

Private First Class Robertson snorted. “We should make him an honorary member of our squad. He’s already bagged one bad ‘un with your help.”

He shrugged. The dog had control of one hand, but the bad guy had a weapon in both and he’d planned to use it on the dog. A bullet had stopped him. The stitches from where his late commanding officer had tried to kill David pulled at his skin. Charred bushes and trees created gray smudges in his peripheral vision. When the hell had Phoenix gotten so many hills? His knees ached; pain radiated down his spine. Damn, but he loved the service.

“Just once I wish the assholes would trip. They always trip in the movies when they’re being hunted.”

And they’re always scantily clad women. David smiled. He liked nearly naked women just on principle. “Guess, they didn’t watch the movies.”

“Oh, they’ve watched them. They know we’re going to smoke their asses as soon as we get them in our sites.”

“They shot first.” Near the top of the hill, he dropped to his knees and scrambled forward. Rain drummed on his helmet. For a moment, the triple scents of damp earth, wet fur and asphalt overrode the stale barbecue smell.

Robertson belly flopped on his right. The kid wasn’t even winded from the two and a half mile sprint.

“Guess they didn’t expect us to fire back.” Near the top, he scooped up some of the gray ash and smeared it onto his tan and green helmet. Last thing he needed was to poke his head over the hill and have it blown off. Mavis wouldn’t like it, and he’d be damned if he allowed Lister to have her, even if he was a general.

“Fucking morons.” Robertson rolled to the side and removed his Close Combat Optic. “We’re in a damn military convoy. We’re armed and know how not to shoot ourselves in the foot.”

Yeah, but they hardly dressed the part. No combat shirt, kevlar vest or flak jacket. He and his men could be scavengers just like the scum they pursued. Removing his own scope, David dropped it into his pocket. Despite the weak sunlight, he wouldn’t have the glint of light reveal their position. For all he knew, they’d just run pell mell into a trap. He would not be responsible for getting the majority of the healthy servicemen killed.

Ray, a six-foot-seven Latino with enough muscles to make a body-builder drool, dropped his two large bags. “Candy. Get your candy here.” He snapped his fingers and the dog walked closer. He scratched the German shepherd’s ears. “Next time, I’ll bring biscuits for our latest recruit.”

The other six members of his squad fell to the ground, replenished their rounds of ammunition, then checked their weapons.

David fingered the throwing knives in each boot and the extra clips in his pockets. Good to go. In the span of a heartbeat, he belly-crawled across the cold asphalt to the top and peered over. The dog appeared on his right, his ears worked like a radar station.

A brick and stucco high school hunkered in the valley below. Their quarry hobbled across the weed-infested parking lot aiming for the wrought iron gate. Two look outs crouched in the northwest and southwest corner of the auditorium’s flat roof and aimed their rifles in David’s direction.

Robertson’s sigh stirred the dusting of gravel on the road. “Two Smokies on the far building, might be a gymnasium, given its height.”

On the far east side, Robertson’s lookouts smoked. The red eye of their cigarettes glowed intermittently and their weapons dangled from their backs. Beyond the auditorium lay an elongated u-shaped dirty white stucco building, no doubt holding the classrooms. Four pasty men, stripped to the waist, batted a soccer ball across the yellow grass.

“Four kicking around in the quad.” That made eight near the buildings.

Their quarry shouted. The dog growled. The players in the quad stopped.

“Shh.” He pressed his finger to his lips and eyed the dog. The German shepherd quieted.

“Word about our arrival is spreading.” Robertson wet his thumb and held it up in the still air.

Three of them strolled to the side to pull their shirts over their flabby bellies. One laughed, kicked the ball into the air and caught it. He tossed it from side to side while the others stared at him.

“Not everyone seems concerned.” David continued his scan of the area. Fire had raced over the mountain, clearing the vegetation and leaving only a few black scarred trunks. Lice could find better cover on a bald man’s head. Fortunately, they’d experienced this kind of thing in the Sandbox.

In the football field north of the auditorium, humans were caged in chain link pens—half-naked women, bound men, and huddled, silent children. Nearly two handfuls of armed men strolled the perimeter. The dog’s lips peeled away from his fangs.

“Shit-fuck-damn, Sergeant-Major.” Robertson raised his M-4 and peered down his iron sight.

Only a string of three swear words from the private, did he not see the same thing? The scene below was worth twenty at least. David contained the fire of hate. To see such a thing in his own country; when had people become such animals? He sank his fingers in the dog’s fur, felt the quiver of muscle under his hand. “We’ll kill the bad guys. Free the people.”

Black and white; right and wrong.

The private’s finger settled on the trigger. “Give me a minute and I can treat all the fuckers to a dirt nap, easy-peasy.”

“We play this smart; I don’t want civilians used as flesh shields.” Fisting the back of Robertson’s jacket, David scooted back down, dragging the swearing private along. The dog followed; his tail swept the ground as if he waited for instructions.

“I can hit them, Big D.” Despite his ego, the kid was a first class soldier and an even better sniper.

“I’m counting on it.” David squat-walked to the dirt on the side of the road and etched out the layout of the buildings in the ashen powder.

His men crowded around him. The air practically hummed with purpose. Gut clenching in pre-mission jitters, he drew the oval of the stadium. They had to get the targets away from the civilians to minimize casualties. A deep groove marked the crescent-shaped mountain arcing around the school.

“Four up top. Four more here.” He marked x’s on the quad. “Over a dozen on the ground.”

And God knew how many more in the buildings. Too bad the Almighty wasn’t talking.

Ray, the munitions mule, dragged his bags closer. “Which is the high priority target?”

Hell if he knew. But their quarry hadn’t run inside any building to report the counter attack. Either the gunplay had rattled the guy or he wanted to shake the shit out of his shorts before reporting his failure. Then again, there was always option c—the guy with the soccer ball. His balls drew up tight. That settled it.

“Hit the black-haired dreadlocked caucasian wearing dirty jeans, black sneakers and no shirt.” Although he might have put it back on by now. “He has a serpent tat on his left chest and down his arm.”

Robertson gently attached his sight. “I’ll take him out first.”

He nodded. “I want you and Michaelson up on the ridge.” The motorpool PFC was the second best shot in the squad. Together they’d take out any target in the open. Too bad the targets in the quad were animal enough to dive for cover once their scum-sucking comrade’s skulls started flying. “Clean up the quad then the rooftops then go down to the gallery.”

He poked the guards near the prisoners. Lots of open space there, plenty of time to pick off the fleas. They would never reach safety.

Michaelson wiped dust from his goggles then grabbing another clip from the bag. “We taking prisoners?”

Hell no. They barely had enough room in the convoy for people worth saving. These targets didn’t even rate a bullet. But they did deserve to die. Fortunately, it was his job to give anyone who followed the evacuation route a chance to survive. Which meant taking out the trash and sweeping it away.

“We’re sending them to a new detention facility called Hell.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Robertson grinned and leapt to his feet. He kept his weapon at the ready as he charged up the ridge, out of sight of those at the school.

The dog looked at the private before staring at David.

“We’ll radio you once we’re in position, Sergeant-Major.” Puffs of ash rose from Michaelson’s heels as he raced after his comrade.

“Come on boy.” With the dog loping at his side, David jogged across the cracked asphalt and down the hillside. Charcoal twigs and branches crunched underfoot. Arriving at the base, he scanned the area. A drainage ditch sucked at the retaining wall that ran to the school’s entrance. The pink stucco blistered and flaked off in patches. Where parts of it had collapsed, upside down triangles appeared along the length. Near the second and fourth one, the vegetation had been trampled.

If they ran behind the retaining wall, they could get close enough for a little shock and awe. But there was always the possibility they’d lose some hostages. Damn. He ran his hand down his face and crept out just far enough to get a clear view of the parking lot. Not even a stripped car to hide behind.

He’d have to split up his men. Again. From his pocket, he extracted a yellow and gold High Explosive Round and loaded it into the fat M203 slung under the barrel of his M-4. “Vegas and Singleton, wait here until Robertson clears the rooftop. Once we begin the flash/bang, you infiltrate the football field and recover the hostages.”

“Yes, Sergeant-Major.” They both nodded, loading their own grenades and rechecking their weapons.

“Robertson, which way are the targets facing?” David backtracked along the road, keeping out of the line of sight. He hoped, prayed, felt the other three members of his squad ghosting behind him and the dog hunting at his side. Damn, where was the smoke and fire when he needed it? And just why had it stopped raining after that piddling? God, if you’re listening, we could use a break about now.

“They’re still facing your position, Sergeant-Major.” Robertson’s huffs and puffs came through David’s earpiece and rasped inside his skull.

“How close are you to your position?” He trotted farther away from the school. Finally. The bricks folded back on themselves. Rainwater dribbled out of the neighborhood via a concrete channel and emptied into the ditch.

“Five minutes.”

“Anything stirring in the neighborhood in front of the school.”

Time ticked by in heartbeats. He glanced over his shoulder. Another five feet and the targets on the roof would be able to see them. It had been a miracle he and his men hadn’t been picked off running up the street like a bunch of green recruits.

“Nothing stirring, I…” Robertson cleared his throat. “I think it’s a dumping ground, Sergeant-Major.”

“Roger that.” David jumped into the ditch and ran for the opening. Mud squelched under his boots. He ran up the other side, ducked behind the retaining wall then followed it around the corner. He drew up short.

Naked bodies of every kind lay in neat rows along the street. Only an infant in a pink onesy still wore clothes. It stood next to a decomposing couple posed in a sixty-nine position and was held up by the fire hydrant that had no doubt caved in its skull. Here and there men and women rotted in obscene positions. Unattached limbs were strewn across dead lawns, like discarded props in a zombie movie. Soft bellies disappeared in the hunger of flies and predators. From one blackened doorway, two coyotes with blood beards stared back at him.

The dog whined. He held his breath to a count of four then released it to the same count. Maybe humanity didn’t deserve to survive. “Jesus Christ!”

PFC Folger slammed into his back. “Sorry, Sergeant—” The kids eyes widened and green tinted his pale complexion. His freckles stood out like liver-spots and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck.

David stepped forward blocking the view. The kid hadn’t been with them in Iraq. Hell, he’d flown drones from Germany and shot the bad guys like a video game, then moved onto guarding the gate at their temporary base. He did not have the time for the kid to shut down, nor could he spare a man.

But a liability would endanger them all.

Ray hitched the spare munitions bags higher on his shoulder. His jaw thrust forward. He shook his head and stared fixedly at the openings in the wall. Janovich gagged, swallowed it down and filed by behind Ray.

He nodded to them as they passed. The dog sat down, but stared after his men. “Look at me, Private.”

Folgers’ brown eyes locked on his. He didn’t even blink. “Sir?”

David let the slip pass. “We’ve got targets to destroy, a mission to complete, do you understand?”

“Target. Mission.” Folgers swallowed again. Finally, he blinked then a shudder rippled through him. He tightened his grip on his weapon and his chin raised a notch. “I won’t let you down Sergeant-Major.”

“Let’s move out.”

Folgers stepped around David and jogged to where Janovich and Ray crawled passed the opening in the downed wall. Scanning the area, he followed. Too bad the targets would be taken out cleanly. For this, they should suffer; they needed to suffer.

“We’re in position, Sergeant-Major,” Robertson whispered in his earpiece.

“Status of targets?” He crawled across the dirt and rocks poured in through the collapsed retaining wall before jumping to his feet and closed in on his men. The dog raced ahead and waited by the next opening.

“Still alert on the rooftops. Down in the grass, Priority One has dressed for his funeral and seems to be using original quarry as a punching bag. In the pens, the targets are clustered in four groups.”

Good, let the bastard suffer. Too bad it couldn’t last an eternity. He joined his men bunched up by the second collapse in the wall. Almost an entire section gone. Six whole feet of opportunity—for the bad guys—to pick them off. He eyed the packed dirt and followed it to a wooden board spanning the ditch.

Since someone took the time to roll out the red carpet, they would go in there.

“Any movement in the buildings?”

“Negative,” Robertson reported. “Looks like they’re making it easy for us.”

Yeah, because that’s what assholes did, made it easy to take them out. David waited for his balls to draw up tight or the skin between his shoulder blades to itch. Maybe this wouldn’t be a FUBAR moment. “Vegas. Singleton.”

“Ready.”

The single word shot adrenalin into his body. Muscles warmed, pain disappeared. He stalked to the front of his men and double-checked his M203. “Take ‘em out.”

The dog crouched low. His muscles shuddered as he waited to take off.

The report of two rifles bled into each other until they sounded as one.

“Priority One is down.”

After he slid his optic onto his rifle, David’s heart picked up tempo. The M-4 settled into his arms like a favorite lover. His senses opened, feeding everything to his brain—the lazy path of an incoming fly, the burble of the water in the ditch, and the sweet anticipation in his mouth.

A second duet cracked across the valley. Then a third.

“Quad is clear.”

After two more blended shots, he rushed through the opening. The dog sniffed the air, caught a scent and leapt over the ditch.

“Roofs cleared.”

Wood thudded under his boots and the board bounced as he sprang across the ditch. Ten feet to the parking lot. Thunder rolled over the next volley.

“Galley chickens are running in all directions.” Robertson chuckled.

Gravel crunched under his boots. The dog panted. Seventy yards across the parking lot to the auditorium’s covered entrance.

“More like fish in a net,” Michaelson added his own bastardized cliche.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Vegas and Singleton hustle across the open parking lot, heading for the football field. Sixty yards to go. Thirty-three yards until he could use his grenade launcher. Bullets sprayed asphalt chips at his feet. The dog yipped.

“We’re taking heat,” he spat into his microphone. There were fuckers inside.

“Roger that,” Michaelson returned. “I’ve got movement three up, two left.”

Third floor, second window from the left. David glanced up. The auditorium was one solid wall of red brick. What the hell? Where was the shooter?

“I haven’t got a shot,” Michaelson growled. “The bastard is popping up and down like a weasel.”

“Got him,” Folgers squeaked in the headset.

He felt more than saw the private stop. White light winked from the second floor of the school building. Well, damn, he was looking in the wrong place. A red bead raced across the white stucco.

The weasel popped his head up.

Folgers found the target’s right eye, then his bullet found his skull.

“Game on, Folgers,” Robertson spoke. “Maybe next time you can play with the big boys.”

Folgers grunted.

Fifty yards. He began to breathe through his mouth and sighted the glass front of the auditorium. Another red ball played on the glass ten feet from him.

“Damn it,” Michaelson swore. “The targets are taking hostages.”

“How many are left?” At forty yards, he pulled the trigger of the grenade launcher. He felt the recoil tear the stitches in his shoulder. The dog slowed, keeping pace. Warmth trickled down his chest. With a hollow k-thunk sound, the explosive arced from his weapon. A second one joined it.

“Three.” Robertson shouted. “Fuckers are hiding behind the naked women. I can’t get a lock.”

Faster. He pumped his legs harder. His men drew abreast of him. His round punched the glass and exploded. The second one landed a foot from the box office before going off. Glass bowed, splintering and blowing inward. The deadly slivers left the twisted metal frame dusted with sharp-edged glitter.

“Me neither.” Michaelson’s frustration prowled the space between them. “Come on. Come on, ladies. Get out of the way. Give me a clear shot.”

He didn’t urge them to keep trying. They would. Adjusting his hold on his M-4, he dumped the spent shell and reached into his pocket for another.

Folgers hit the first floor doors of the classroom building. Ray aimed higher, hitting the second story landing. The stuccoed balustrade showered the yellow grass with chunks of plaster and wire mesh.

David pressed against the outside wall and closed his eyes. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of IR goggles right now. He heard his crew fall in beside him, including the dog. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and opened the remains of the door. Metal squealed. He stepped inside, grinding the glass to sand under his boots. Well, it wasn’t as if the assholes didn’t know they’d made the Army’s most wanted list. “We’re entering the classrooms. First floor.”

“Roger that,” Robertson interrupted his humming to answer. “Holy shit!”

He aimed straight then right as he stepped into the hallway. The dog snaked around his legs, sniffed the ground and then the air, then the ground again. Boxes crammed the space, reducing the aisle from six-feet wide to two. They’d stolen all the ready-to-eat meals. God knew where the medicine had gone.

“We’re clear of the bleachers,” Vegas spoke just as a gunshot echoed through his mic.

David’s heart stilled, but his body kept moving to the right and the wing of classrooms. “Report!”

The dog stared at the corridor where Ray and Janovich searched.

The sound of heavy breathing amplified inside his ear.

“That’s right, you beautiful ladies.” Robertson laughed. “You kill the bastards that kept you in there.”

Michaelson chuckled. “You can stop cowering, Vegas and Singleton. The women are taking care of the last three targets.”

He cleared the classroom on the right, while Folger worked on the left side. Only the scent of floor cleaner stirred in the empty space. Where were the desks and chairs?

“Oh! Did you see that?” Robertson gasped and another gunshot rattled the window. “She shot another one.”

“He’s not dead.” Vegas huffed. “She shot his dick off.”

“Damn, remind me not to piss that one off.”

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” Vegas raised his voice on the last word. “Can you put the gun down?”

David finished his sweep of the classrooms. Empty. All of them. “Someone ask them how many bastards there were.”

After meeting with Folger in the corridor, they headed back to the entrance. Ray and Janovich were three-quarters of the way down the hallway. The dog darted ahead before stopping at the last classroom. He laid down on the floor and stared at the door.

“Yes, Ma’am. We’re here to help.” Vegas kept his voice monotone. “Could you give me the weapon? The weapon… Thank you.”

He jogged past the open doors of the rooms his men had already cleared. Beds sat in the center of the rooms. He didn’t want to know what the assholes had done with the blood-stained ropes, chains and belts that lay like dead serpents on the white floor.

“We got a locked one, Sergeant-Major.” Ray stood outside the second to last classroom on the north side. Behind him, Janovich aimed his M-4 at the faux wooden door.

“There seems to be a consensus that there’s twenty-five bad…” Vegas caught himself, “bad guys.”

David added up the numbers in his head. They’d eliminated thirty-six targets so far. The math was off. Either some had kept hidden or they’d added a few new recruits—bad apples had a way of spoiling the whole bushel.

“Roger that.” They would have to search the rest of the grounds. He glanced at the dog and knew exactly where to start. Nudging Ray to the side, he waited for the other two to take their positions then kicked the door open. His knee twinged at the impact. Girls squealed when the door banged against the wall.

Slim young bodies in adult satin collapsed against the wall. Metal clanked as they slid like beads on a string along the chain that held them in place. They cowered in a heap in the corner farthest from him.

After scanning the empty room, David removed his finger from the trigger and lowered his weapon. “Just hold on girls, and we’ll get you out of here.”

Folgers blushed.

“We’ll finish this floor.” With one shot, Janovich popped the loop bolting the chain to the wall, then turned on his heel and left. Folgers dashed out on his heels.

The girls looked at him, then at the chain, then back at him again. Great. Statues. “Slide the chain off then line up in twos behind me. We’ll remove the handcuffs once we get back to camp.”

The first girl in the line stood frozen. The dog loped into the room and bumped her leg. With his nose, he nudged her hand atop his head. She blinked.

The second one eased the chain from their handcuffs and set her hand on the statue’s back. “It’s a dog!”

“That’s good. Help each other follow the dog. He’s a nice doggie.” The German shepherd accompanied him to the door. The girls shuffled behind him. Pausing, he peered into the hallway. Folgers stood near the exit. He waved the dog onward. “Robertson, radio the convoy. We need transport. At least four trucks and medics wouldn’t hurt either.”

Chapter Eight

What could God have been thinking? Papa Rose threaded the end of the blue rope through the belt loop and drew it tight. He should never be trusted with the lives of innocents. Wasn’t he responsible for the deaths of his own children and step-children? His gut twisted.

Brainiac stood between the back of the empty tanker and the corner of the convenience store. Rain spotted his Navy peacoat, whittling away the ex-sailor’s skinny frame. Water dripped off his nose, ears and hair but he didn’t budge from his post. His finger rested alongside the M-4 cutting across his middle. “Don’t use all my soap now.”

“I won’t.” Jillie, the preteen girl they’d found in the convenience store, shivered fully clothed under the water pouring through the down spout and washed the blood from her hair. “Geez, you’ve already told me twice.”

“Yeah, well.” Brainiac glanced at her before scanning the street. “If you’re like my sister, you don’t always listen.”

“Is she with you? Your sister?”

“Nah.” Brainiac turned his face up the falling rain. “She worked at Burgers in a Basket.”

Brothers. Sisters. Family. Tune them out. Focus on what you’re doing. Papa Rose’s fingers trembled as he looped the ends of the rope over each other. At least, he didn’t have anything to do with the anthrax attack. He tugged on the rope, gathering the waistband of the baggy pants. “Say when.”

The preschooler standing in front of him giggled, wiggled and sucked in his flat stomach. Ribs created waves on his flesh and baby teeth gleamed white in his tan face.

Christ, there wasn’t an ounce of spare meat on the kid. Papa Rose stopped pulling and waited for the little boy to relax. “You’re ticklish, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you remember your name?” Were your parents one of the slaughtered masses in the convenience store behind them where Falcon scrounged among the remains of the dead, looking for something these two could use? He kept his tongue still. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t interrogate a three-year-old. Hooking the waistband, he tamed the wiggling kid and waited.

“Toby.” The little boy stuck his thumb in his mouth. His cheeks collapsed as he sucked hard on it.

“Nice to meet you, Toby.” Papa Rose quickly knotted the rope, careful to avoid touching his ticklish tummy. “I’m Papa Rose.”

Spittle clung to his thumb when Toby removed it from his mouth with a pop. “That’s a girl’s name.”

He smiled. The stiff muscles tightened across his scalp. People like him didn’t deserve to ever smile again. “Do I look like a girl to you?”

“No.” Toby shook his head. His blue eyes widened. “That’s silly. You’re a boy.”

“That’s right.” He bit his tongue. No way would he say his real name. That man was dead, like the family he murdered. He just had to find someone to take care of these two so he could die like he should have.

Like he deserved.

He scratched his fingers over his bald head, used the furrows of pain to concentrate. These two children deserved better than having him look after them.

A cold wind whistled through the gas pumps, rattling the metal handles in their holders. Shivering, Toby crossed his arms over his chest. His teeth began to chatter.

“Cold, huh?” Papa Rose shrugged out of his jacket. The breeze penetrated his tee-shirt and needled his skin.

“Y-yeah.”

He draped it around the child, overlapping the front completely to hold it closed. “That should keep you a little warmer.” With string at a premium, he needed some duct tape. “Hold it closed until I can get you a shirt.”

“‘Kay.” His pink fingers pinched the edges.

“I’ll be right back.” Papa scooted the child between the pump and a brick column holding the awning over their heads. At least the kid would be a little out of the wind. He stepped off the curb and headed toward the Harley parked by the empty fuel tanker. He had a couple extra shirts in his bag. They were clean and he’d make do. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need anything much longer.

Rain pelted his bare head. Cold water sluiced down his neck and snaked down his spine. Fuck, it was cold. He jogged to the motorcycle and yanked on the bungee cords holding his bagful of belongings to the seat. The black hooks clanged against the sides then puddled on the ground.

“Don’t damage the bike, Papa.” Brainiac scanned the rooftops of the buildings across the street.

“Bite me.” Holding the bags to his chest, he eyed the beads of moisture on the leather seat. Maybe he should move the bikes under the shelter of the awning.

Lightning crackled across the sky.

Nah, they needed to be on their way soon. He spun on his heel and nearly tripped over his feet. His heart played his ribs.

Toby stood in the puddle not even a foot away. Water darkened the triple rolled cuffs at his bony ankles. His sandy-hair lay like dried apricots against his skull.

Christ Jesus! “Toby!” he shouted. “Get out of the rain.”

The preschooler’s lower lip shook and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Papa Rose squeezed his eyes closed. Damn him and his temper. If God needed proof that these two shouldn’t have been placed in his care, that should have provided it. He’d made an orphan cry. What kind of low-life did that? He peeked through his lashes.

Toby hunched his shoulders and hung his head.

His silence was a sucker punch to a glass jaw. Fisting the bags in one hand, Papa Rose stepped forward and swept the boy up with the other. “Sorry I yelled at you. I just don’t want you to get sick.”

Thin arms looped around his shoulders. “You still my Papa Rose?”

No! Never! With tears pricking his eyes and nose, he stumbled under the awning. He tightened his grip on the boy. Just to keep him from falling. Nothing else.

“Sure,” he rasped.

Toby laid his head on Papa Rose’s shoulder. “I yike my new papa.”

Emotion lodged in his throat cutting off his oxygen. Black rimmed his vision. Set the kid down, get on your motorcycle and ride away. Far away. Where you can’t hurt anyone ever again. His feet carried him to the fueling island. The boy’s wet hair soaked through his black tee-shirt and warmth thawed the ice around his heart until it cracked. Memories escaped the prison he’d built—wet kisses, sticky hands, even the hardheaded wisdom of his clueless teenage daughter.

Ageless children in glass tombs. His to watch forever, but never to touch again.

Never to tell them that he was sorry.

“You cryin’ Papa?” Toby’s words sealed the cracks with the precision of a laser.

He blinked and his tears disappeared in the water running down his cheeks. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he felt it settled like a rock in the pit of his stomach. “Me? Nah. Why would I when I have you?”

Toby lifted his head and frowned at the ground. “My mama cried lots. It made her not so hungry, sos I eats her food.”

He sank to the concrete island before his legs gave out. Not even the finest medical care had saved his children. Nothing could. The disease had been too new, too unusual. He kissed Toby’s hair then set him on the ground. “I hope you’re not planning to eat my cookies all the time. Cuz, I have to say, I really like cookies.”

“Me, too.” Toby rubbed his belly. “I yike the choc’late chips bestest.”

“Chocolate chip, you say?” Setting his belongings between them, he unknotted the garbage bag. The scent of laundry soap wafted from the darkness. God bless those ladies who’d cleaned his clothes with boiling pool water.

“Yep. Choc’late chip.” The boy craned his neck to peer inside the bag. “I can eat two whole big ‘uns ‘fore my tummy hurts.” He thumped on his hollow stomach.

“That many?” Papa Rose dug out a pair of socks, two empty MRE bags and a flannel teeshirt. Setting the items on the bag, he peeled the jacket off the kid.

“How many do you eats?” Eyes narrowed, Toby spun around as he was unwrapped.

Was the kid worried he was going to steal his cookies? Then again, it wasn’t as farfetched as it should be. Others had stolen far more. “None.”

“Nuh-uh.” Toby crossed his arms and shivered.

He rolled up the tee-shirt’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 low-lying 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 crouched 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 tee-shirt 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 tee-shirt 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.

“Where you going, Papa?”

“Shopping.” Jogging down the driveway, he eyed the vehicles. There. In the center lane. A blue compact. Now, he just had to clear a path.

Falcon stopped next to him. “See one you like?”

“Yeah.” He pointed to the car. It was going to be a bitch getting out of the jam, but Toyotas were supposed to get great gas mileage. “That one.”

“Of course, the one facing the wrong direction and in the center lane.” Falcon shook his head. “Why didn’t you just pick one two blocks over parked in a tree?”

“Because that would be too easy.” He opened the door on the closest truck. Keys dangled from the ignition. He tried the engine. Nothing. Shifting it in neutral, he braced one hand on the door opening and the other on the dash. Muscle burned as he pushed. One inch. Two. Rain slipped into his eyes. Wasn’t the street supposed to be flat?

Hands slapped metal and the truck lurched forward. Falcon shoved on the tailgate.

Guess the man was good for something. He steered it straight, passed the entrance until they reached the first car in the log-jam. Yanking hard, he guided it into place and let it coast to a stop.

Falcon shook the rain from his crew cut. “One down and only twenty or so to go.”

From the gas station, a generator started with a deep throated growl.

“Ha!” Brainiac’s shout drowned out the motor. He bounced out of the room and kicked at the rain. “We’ve got three thousand left.”

Well, shit. The squid would never let them hear the end of it.

“That’s great.” He yanked open the door of the next vehicle. Hopefully the Buick would be easier to move than the truck.

“Now how do we put it back in the tanker?” Falcon took up his position behind the maroon trunk.

Brainiac scratched his head then grinned. “We’re going to pump it.”

Before shifting into neutral, he tried the engine. Dead. The bad guys must have drained them first. Fuckers. He changed gears, climbed out and set a hand on the frame and another on the wheel. “That will take forever.”

It took forever to fill up his truck and that was merely twenty-six gallons. They’d be here all night and into tomorrow to get three thousand out. At his nod, they both pushed the sedan. It slowly eased forward.

“Not if you use the right pump.” Brainiac pointed to the equipment store on the opposite side of the street. “I’ll need a pump that’s—”

“We’re a little busy at the moment.”

“Hey, I can give you a little gas to get them moving.”

Falcon hung his head. “I hate squid.”

“You said it.” Papa guided the car to a stop along the median. Damn, now he felt old and stupid. Wiping the rain from his eyes, he stared at the ex-sailor. “What do you want us to get?”

“A submersible pump.” Brainiac cupped his hands around his mouth. “And make sure it’s in good working condition and no frayed cords. One stray spark and we all go boom.”

Falcon leaned against the Buick. “Rocks, paper, scissors?”

“I’ll go.” He squeezed between the bumpers of two sedans and stepped onto the median. At least, he knew what a submersible pump looked like. Cassia bushes scratched at his jeans as he squeezed through to the other street. He set his hand on the blue Toyota. Soon, you’ll be mine.

“Help!” A woman shouted above the rain. “Someone help me!”

Chapter Nine

Mavis stared at the clump of dirt on the Humvee’s carpet. Black rock in brown soil. Another round pinged the vehicle, freeing emotion from the yoke of logic. Sunnie! Her lungs sawed for breath. Lacing her fingers, she clasped them so tightly her hands shook. Please God. Please. Please, please, let her be alright.

More gunshots merged with the rumble of distant thunder. Was the gunfight over? Could she get up? Could she check on her niece? She tried to straighten but a weight along her spine kept her folded like a table stowed under the seat. Bits of brain matter swung on the strands of her hair and oozed in bloody rivulets down the door.

“Keep down.” General Lister’s warm breath swirled through her hair, filling her cramped space with the smell of stale coffee. “Dawson I need a report. ASAP.”

A cramp stitched her side, sewing up the muscles coiled to spring her from the Humvee. Indistinct voices murmured near her left ear. Forcing her hands apart, she fumbled along her shoulder until she brushed cool plastic. Numb fingers pinched the sticky plastic communicator before she worked it into her ear.

“They’re falling back.” David’s voice parted the static crackling inside her skull. “Shall we pursue, General?”

No! She couldn’t risk losing him, too. Slapping her hand across her mouth, she trapped the words.

“Search and destroy, Sergeant-Major. Put a bullet in every last mother fucker’s head.” Lister’s bark echoed around the SUV. “This is an approved exfil route and I won’t have the MFs preying on the innocent.”

“Roger that, Operation Eliminate Dumb Asses all ready in progress and nearing it’s end. Thank you sir for permission to continue.” David huffed.

Moans and cries interrupted the static being transmitted. Calls for help came from inside her head and outside the Humvee. So many voices. So much pain. Her mouth dried. Was one of them Sunnie? Had she been killed in the shooting? She yanked out the earpiece and threw it to the floor.

“I want a fucking perimeter set up ten minutes ago!” Lister shouted. Leather creaked as he sat up and the weight lifted from her back. “And someone better start yakking.”

She sprang onto the seat. Where was the walkie? Her fingers crawled like spiders over the seat. She’d had it before the firefight started. Her gaze darted from floor to bench to console to floor. Post-modernism blood spatter decorated the interior. Where could the walkie have gone?

“We have casualties, Sir.”

Casualties. She blinked. This was her fault. She’d plotted this egress route and through the Emergency Alert System told the whole world where to find them. She’d told the bad guys where to ambush them and kill her niece. The knowledge settled in her gut with the weight of a quantum singularity. Get a grip. Get a grip. Her thoughts distorted and twisted. She clutched her head and squeezed. Think. She needed to think.

“How many?” Lister stared at her from under bushy gray eyebrows. His lap contained the cup of a Marine’s skull.

The first victim of the ambush, but not the last, not the only one.

Death was part of the trip. She knew this would happen, had calculated the effects of human predation. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Why couldn’t she have gone the rest of her life without seeing this again? The scene shifted to distant lands with more sand, turbaned men with covered faces, hot metal, spilled blood and fresh gunpowder. She focused on the scars on her wrists—souvenirs of ropes and shackles. Get a grip. Her presence of mind had saved her from the blinding darkness, the utter aloneness and the indignity of institutionalized hate.

It would save her again.

Save them all. She held her breath until her lungs burned and black crowded her vision. In the hypoxia, her thoughts queued up in order, forming a plan.

Plans were good.

First, she needed to check on Sunnie. Which meant she needed the walkie. She seriously doubted the general would let her out of the vehicle until David sounded the all clear. “Walkie?”

Lister’s lips twitched. Slowly, he leaned closer. His fingers crept along the bench toward her thigh. “Glad to have you back, Doc.”

At least he hadn’t reprimanded her for her panic. Hell, the man might have had his own PTSD episode. Smell tended to do that. “I wish I could say it’s good to be back, but that would be a lie.”

“True.” He skimmed her thigh and her leg jiggled. “Might want to shake your ass for me.”

She glanced down. He pinched the hard plastic antennae of the walkie lodged under her thigh. She rolled her weight to the side. “Why didn’t you just say I was sitting on it?”

“And miss the fun?”

“Let me know when I have permission to leave the vehicle.” Snatching the device from his hand, she stabbed the talk button. “Sunnie? Sunnie can you hear me?”

“I’m thinking it might be safe in Colorado.”

She shook her head. Technically, she was in charge here. But Lister had the gun and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to conk her on the head for the good of his men. Hell, she would do just about anything to keep Sunnie safe. And speaking of her niece… “Sunnie? Hello? Mr. Johnson?” She addressed the medic. “Is anyone there?”

“Mavis?” A man answered then fell silent.

Her heart slammed to a stop. Oh no. If neither Sunnie or Johnson were answering, it must be bad. She set her hand on the metal door handle. Lister would need his gun to stop her.

“Mr. Q-Quartermain?” She tripped over the name of her neighbor. It must be really bad if he used her first name. He’d always called her Mrs. Spanner.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The old man’s voice warbled before disintegrating into a watery cough. His emphysema sounded worse. “Sunnie slept straight through the whole thing, Mavis. There’s not a scratch on her.”

She bit her lip. Would the old man lie? He too had someone to protect. She shook her head. Lying didn’t make sense. The wily octogenarian would know she’d be around to check for herself. But why was her neighbor answering the walkie and not the medic? Good Lord, could he have gone with David and the rest of his unit? “Is Johnson injured?”

“No, Ma’am. He has his hands full at the moment.”

She sucked in a deep breath. Of course, the casualties. Fear had produced tunnel vision. Squeezing her eyes closed, she refocused. All that remained of her neighborhood was in that truck and she hadn’t bothered to ask about any of them. How could she expect them to look after her niece, if she didn’t keep their welfare in mind?

And now, after everything they’d survived together, one had been lost. “Who?”

Their faces played against her lids. Snapshot memories. Mr. Quartermain with his bow and arrows. The twin septuagenarians with identical tracksuits. Noni with her clacking dentures. The young couple afraid to be happy about her pregnancy. And a handful more. Which one had died?

“No one we knew.” Mr. Quartermain wheezed. “Four of the new arrivals were in too much shock to duck when the shooting started.”

Thank God. She sagged against the seat. Lumps poked her back. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“We gotta look after each other.”

His words resonated inside her, shaking ideas loose. Mavis stared at the silent walkie as the pieces slowly clicked into place. Of course, how could she be so stupid? Before flight or fight kicked in, the body froze.

“Perimeter is established.” Lister nudged her shoulder. “I have men coming with gear. You will wear it or you’ll never leave this car, understood?”

“Yes.” But a helmet and Kevlar vest wasn’t what was needed, wasn’t what would keep people alive. Soldiers on the front line stopped fighting for God, country and cause when the shooting started. They fought for those in the trenches next to them. The survivors may have arrived in groups, but that didn’t make them connected, didn’t mean they had someone to live for.

She needed to give them that.

And she knew just the way. Evolution may favor the survival of individuals, but nature skewed the odds toward those who worked for the group. Deep in their mammalian brains, humans were highly social animals, cooperating with others gave them an edge over the loners.

Two million years of human conditioning was a powerful weapon, and she would take advantage of it

A shadow moved over her window right then her door opened.

A woman in a tan and green Army Combat Uniform shoved a helmet and vest inside. Wind stirred her sandy hair and a droplet winked on the cracked right lens of her eyeglasses. Thunderheads boiled over her shoulder and rain streaked the horizon.

Mavis’s nose twitched as the smell of burning and damp mingled. The storm would chase them north, putting out the fires in front of them. At least something had gone their way.

“The lieutenant will be your own personal bodyguard until we reach safety.” Lister held his thumb to his earpiece while swiping the goo off his laptop.

“Got it.” Mavis plunked on the helmet. The straps danced over her shoulders through her shirt but she didn’t care. Sunnie might be awake and wondering what the hell was happening.

“You’ve got ten minutes.” Balancing the laptop on his knees, Lister straightened his wire readers. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Since we’re stopped anyway, I want the civilians and every available serviceman assembled in the wash.”

“You wanna expose our folks? Just because your boy-toy is chasing the snipers doesn’t mean it’s safe for everyone to lollygag in the open.”

“If I don’t give people a reason to live, they’re as good as dead.” Slipping out of the car, she quickly eased into the bullet-proof vest and adjusted the velcro until it molded around her body. The weight pressed against her chest and she tugged on the collar brushing her throat. Did they have to make them so high?

“What about those up ahead?” Leaning over the seat, he jerked his head to the dust and smoke trail in the distance. “Want me to call them back?”

She shook her head. Most of the front trucks were sick soldiers and the folks that had brought the farm animals. They already had responsibilities that kept them moving, alive. She was after the singles, the loners, and the orphans. “No need. I just want the civilians.”

He combed the chunks of the soldier’s brain from his buzz cut. “Assemble the non-coms in front.” Using his hand, he covered the mouthpiece. “What about our dead?”

“Unload them. We’ll bury them here.” She rubbed at the blood drying on her face. Sunnie couldn’t see her like this. She yanked the bottle of water off the floor.

“Where? The heavy equipment only dug graves farther down the road.”

She poured some water into her palm, splashed it on her face and scrubbed her cheek. God help her if she was just smearing it around. “This is Phoenix. Practically, everyone has a pool and most were told to use the water to flush the toilets and conserve potable water.” She would know. She’d written that order on her second day working on the Influenza pandemic. “They should be empty or nearly so.”

Instant mass grave.

Lister grunted. “Hell of a brave new world.”

She slammed the door as he started barking orders. Even without her earpiece, her head still rang with his shouts. Her helmet slipped back as she jogged toward the truck behind the Humvee.

“You should probably secure your helmet, Ma’am,” the Marine said.

And have something else strangling her? No thanks. She cleared the open door of the personnel carrier. Holes punctured the canvas sides. Dark stained threads fluttered like thin red banners from the opening.

She raised her hand to touch them, changed her mind and curled her fingers into a fist. “How many people did we lose in this truck?”

“I don’t know, Ma’am. Shall I check?” Hazel eyes widened behind the lieutenant’s glasses.

Maybe the military wasn’t as occupied as they needed to be to get through this. Surviving wasn’t easy for anyone, add in a healthy dose of guilt and she had a recipe for disaster. Mavis read the name stuck over the Marine’s right breast. “Do you have a first name, Lieutenant Rogers?”

“Sally, Ma’am.” The soldier’s gaze prowled the camp.

“What’s your specialty, Sally?” Not that it mattered, but everyone needed to know that they mattered, that someone cared about them. Mavis would be that person until they found another. And in forging the social contract, more eyes would watch after Sunnie. If her planned worked, everyone would be part of the village.

Whether they liked it or not.

Up ahead, a male Airman planted himself at the end of the truck pulled alongside Sunnie’s. Frustration cut deep grooves into his pale cheeks. “Reverend, I understand your work is important but there are others that request your help.”

“I can tend those in here until the shooting stops.” The whine came from behind the canvas.

Mavis clenched her teeth. Maybe not everyone should be part of the village. Especially men like Reverend Trent P. Franklin. She hated the man on sight and didn’t trust him farther than she could spit into the wind. God forgive her, but she wished the man had been killed in the firefight. “I thought priests were supposed to put others’ needs above their own.”

“He’s not a priest.” Sally’s lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. Contempt twisted her lips when she stared at the Reverend Franklin hiding in the shadows of the truck.

She stopped and surveyed her bodyguard. There was a story here. But was it enough to excommunicate the preacher? “He isn’t?”

“No. Priests are celibate. Reverends and ministers aren’t.” Pink colored the lieutenant’s cheeks. Her jaw worked a couple of times before words came out. “I…I—”

“I understand.” Ew! Sleeping with a snake held more appeal than that blond haired, blue eyed scum bucket. And the snake was still a serpent after shedding its skin. She had a nasty feeling that something far worse lurked under the good Reverend’s well-maintained facade. She needed to check with the general and see if his men were still keeping an eye on him.

“It was a slip of the tongue. I’m Catholic, so everyone in a collar is a priest to us.” But even preachers usually wore a collar. Reverend Trent P. Franklin had been in grungy street clothes when the Marines introduced the wolf into her flock.

Mavis shuffled to the back of Sunnie’s truck. Two Marines stood at the rear of the personnel carrier. They counted to three, then each lifted a blond kindergartener from the truck. The children squealed as they were swung high.

“Do you know the Reverend well?” Is that why you slept with such an asshole? To return, however briefly, to your life before the world went to Hell?

A handful of teenagers paused above the dropped gate. The girls accepted a helping hand from the servicemen, but the boys leapt to the ground in splats of mud.

Sally shook her head then tucked a loose strand of hair under her helmet. “No Ma’am. I was the one who registered the Reverend when he arrived in camp.”

Ah, yes, Mavis had meant to look into how the military had registered people. That had not been her department with the Surgeon General’s Office. Perhaps they had gleaned some nugget she could use.

“You did?” She counted the children as the teens shepherded them past. Four youngsters and two tweens. Although pale and thin, they appeared unhurt and even smiled. But they’d known each other before. They would do alright. She watched the teenage boy David had brought in teasing two battered teenage girls and chasing after the youngsters. Her gaze swung to the Reverend’s spot. Gone but not forgotten.

“I suppose the Reverend asked who needed the most attention. And given that you were registering folks, you’d know. Right, Sally?”

Dull eyed adults shuffled along the dirt road. Many had specks of blood staining their clothes. They followed each other in ant lines—stepping where the one in front stepped, moving in syncopated rhythm but not in harmony. Harmony required a connection; these were little more than robots allowing servicemen and women to guide them. These were her high risk category; the ones that would sit down and die.

Sally snorted. “The Reverend was more interested in camp politics than ministering to anything but his needs.”

The hair on Mavis’s nape rose. The wolf was hunting among her flock. Like all predators, he was trying to suss out the strong and the weak. No doubt he’d already picked his targets.

He’d find out soon enough, he picked the wrong herd. These folks were under her protection. And she never showed mercy for those that threatened hers.

She shifted to the side, leaned against the truck behind Sunnie’s. Heat wafted from the engine grill. She needed to be smart about culling the Reverend. Killing a man of the cloth wasn’t actually good community building. She needed more data to formulate an effective offense.

Working in tandem, the Marines unloaded first a wheelchair then an old man with withered legs. A red-haired woman tucked a blanket over his lap. He swatted her behind and she straightened with a huff.

“For that Henry Dobbins, you can make your own way down.” With a toss of her head, she tucked a white haired woman’s hand in the crook of her arm and stomped off.

“I intend to, woman.” The old man chuckled. He rocked the chair back and forth a few times. By the time, he got it moving, most of her neighbors had been unloaded. They waved at her before following him along the dirt road.

“Did he talk about himself at all?” With his arrogance, he was bound to want to talk about how smart he was.

“Once he got started, I couldn’t get him to stop.” Sally clasped her hands behind her back. “I thought reverends were supposed to be good listeners.”

Mr. Quartermain climbed gingerly to the ground; his grandson jumped down next to him. Glaring at her, the boy shoved aside his long hair and adjusted the bow and quiver of arrows on his shoulder. She smiled back. No doubt the kid missed his internet full of government conspiracies. Hmmm. She swatted at a fly buzzing in her ear. If the man was half as smart as he thought he was, he might use the general paranoia to institute a regime change.

She’d have to warn Lister.

“What else did Reverend Franklin talk about?”

“Franklin, Ma’am?” Sally’s forehead wrinkled.

Mavis watched the man in question finally climb down from the protection of the truck. They were talking about the same wolf, weren’t they? What were the odds that two wolves would appear in her flock? She nodded toward the flannel-clad man. “Yes, Reverend Trent P. Franklin.”

Sally’s eyes narrowed. “He registered under Benjamin Trent.”

“Did he now?” Ah, yes, she’d forgotten the man’s disdain for women. Arrogance could be his fatal flaw.

“Definitely.”

“What information did you gather when he registered?”

As if feeling her gaze, the Reverend slanted her a glance. Straightening, he brushed and smoothed his flannel shirt. Annoyance slithered off his face before he smiled.

Shit! The asshole was coming over.

Sally shifted in front of her, blocking her view. “I got his fingerprints. They’re not the best.”

Reverend Franklin slowed.

Fingerprints could open lots of information vaults. Mavis grinned. She could hug the officer and the military for their intelligence gathering in times of a disaster. “I’m surprised he gave them up.”

Doubt tempered her joy. Unless… unless he didn’t have a record.

“Reverend!” A woman shouted. “Reverend Trent!”

He turned in the direction of the call and the smile scurried away from his lips.

Soon, the woman in a blood-stained uniform dragged him out of sight.

“Trent refused to give them so I took advantage of a distraction and pressed his hand to the reader.” The lieutenant chuckled. “I don’t think he knows that I did it.”

He would hate knowing a woman got the better of him, especially, if she was able to use it to expose him as an imposter. “Run a background check on him. Full check.”

Every conman left a trace somewhere.

“But Ma’am, the electricity…”

Yes, the electricity was out. “The government’s personal generators are still working, which means the computers connected to them are still running. You just have to find a working cellphone signal.”

Sally grinned. “Or I can rig a satellite phone to the handheld and run his background from anywhere.”

Mavis waited until the Marines climbed the tailgate and disappeared inside the carrier then made her way to the back of the truck. “Do it and let me know as soon as you find out anything.”

The sooner the wolf was dealt with, the safer they all would be.

Chapter Ten

Easing in front of Audra, Eddie aimed his shotgun at the restaurant’s dark kitchen. “Come out, or I’ll shoot.”

Audra swallowed the lump of fear wedged in her throat and tiptoed into place behind him. Stupid! How could she have been so stupid? She’d been so busy showing Eddie that she knew her way around the fast food place that she hadn’t even remembered her flashlight. Now, it sat on the drive-thru window and she was defenseless.

Hadn’t her daddy always said pride was a pitfall?

Eddie stepped sideways, sweeping the muzzle of his gun from side to side.

What was he doing? That wall might hide someone but it protected him, too. She tugged on his shirt. “Stop moving.”

He wiggled as if to escape her hold. “I’m giving you to the count of three, then I’ll start firing.”

What! From this range? Was he nuts? The blast wouldn’t go that much farther than the staging area. And didn’t shotguns only hold two shells? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

What if there were more than two people back there?

“One.” Eddie steadied the gun, pointing it toward the dark aisle leading to the grills.

“Don’t shoot!” A man’s voice echoed off the tiled walls. “We’re not armed.”

“We?” She gathered the fabric of Eddie’s shirt in her trembling hands. Her tongue felt like foam in her mouth. We meant more than one, but how many more? There was only a baker’s dozen adults left in her group and so many children. Were they outnumbered? Evenly matched?

Could she take a chance on either? Using a toilet wasn’t worth the risk and they had enough fuel for a while, at least until they reached the soldiers.

“The mask is over my mouth, not my ears, Princess.” He stepped closer to the kitchen, yanking his shirt out of her grip.

She leaped after him, fisted the camouflage and tried to reel him back. Not one more person would die because of her mistake. Not one. “Maybe we should leave them be. Get out of here while we can.”

While everyone was alive.

God help her, if she lost people like she had in Casa Grande.

“No. We need that oil to reach the soldiers or my brother died for nothing.” Muscles bunched in Eddie’s back.”Come into the light. I want to see you.”

The shadows shifted by the deep fryer near the drive-thru window. “How do I know you won’t just shoot me?”

Her fear ebbed under the warm glow of hope. She’d walked by the fryer. If they’d meant her harm, they could easily have snatched her up while Eddie was locked outside. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

“Why would I do that?” Her would-be protector adjusted his aim a little to the left tracking the sound.

Could she take the chance that they were friendly?

“Others have.” The stranger volleyed back. “For less.”

Audra swallowed despite her dry mouth. They sounded like a bunch of preschoolers arguing. In her limited experience, thugs didn’t argue, they bullied and threatened, occasionally flat out stole. One of them had to be the first to believe in the harmless intentions of the other or the soldiers would depart while they continued this showdown.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind Eddie’s sheltering body. She trailed her fingers over the half wall separating the dining room from the ordering area. If the stranger and his followers did have weapons, perhaps she could dive behind it.

“We mean you no harm. Please come out.” She set her hand on the shotgun’s muzzle, pushing it down slightly.

“What are you doing?” Eddie hissed.

“We’ve heard that before,” Shadowman answered.

So had they. Throbbing started at her temple, she couldn’t live her life like this. Her stomach knotted. Then again, if this was another Casa Grande, she wouldn’t be living much longer.

“Is that why you’re hiding?” Eddie shifted on his feet but didn’t raise his weapon.

“No, we’re hiding from the gang that just came through here.”

She sucked air in through her teeth. People had caused the explosion. People with bad intentions. She glanced over her shoulder. On the other side of the tinted windows, storm clouds dimmed the weak sunlight. Children lined up to use the toilet at the gas station, but she couldn’t see the field or the neighborhood where the explosion occurred.

Were the bad guys already making their way back to them?

Her toes tapped out the seconds. It was time to be all in or cut their losses and leave.

“They’ve been harassing us for the last two days.” The man’s voice broke, “Picking us off. Stealing our food.”

“And what? They just magically didn’t come in here?” Eddie jerked the muzzle free and aimed it at the kitchen again. “The only restaurant that was open during the Redaction was magically bypassed?”

A shadow morphed into a silhouette then a man emerged from the darkness. Pale skin, black Polo shirt, dark slacks and brown hair. Lines bracketed his mouth and fatigue hung on his eyes. “Haven’t you heard the broadcasts?”

He certainly looked like a man being harassed. “What broadcasts?”

Fabric rustled behind him. Just how many people were back there? There was only one way to find out. It was time to cooperate and a Silvestre’s duty was to lead.

“We drove up from Tucson last night and our radio is dead.” Crossing the ordering area, she set her palms on the counter between them, proving she was unarmed. Trustworthy. “What do these broadcasts say?”

“There’s a radio under the counter.” The man took another step toward the serving counter. “I’ll get it and you can hear for yourself.”

“Hell no!” Eddie charged the counter.

Raising his hands, the man backpedalled until he crashed into the staging area. Metal clanged as his heels hit the stainless steel cabinet. “Okay. Okay!”

A muffled cry came from the back.

“That’s enough!” Geez, these two were worse than tweens. “I’ll get the radio.”

“Audra,” Eddie growled. “He could use you as a hostage.”

“I would never!” the stranger protested.

She shoved her bangs out of her eyes. Did he think she was completely naive? “They had plenty of opportunity to do so when I entered and you were locked out.” Still, Eddie had a point. Keeping her eye on the stranger, she rounded the corner of the counter and pushed at the fake wood door cordoning off the area.

“You won’t take it, will you?” His hands dropped from ear-level to shoulder. “We need it to find the soldiers.”

Soldiers. The magic word. Practically the keys to Heaven. “You’re looking for the soldiers, too?”

With the stranger and the kitchen in her peripheral vision, she ran her hands under the stainless steel counter. Nothing sat on this stack of plastic trays. Clearing the first register, she skipped the cup holders. A dark lump sat on the tower of trays.

“Yeah, they’re supposed to be evacuating the city, but no one showed up at our gathering point so we’re heading out along the route as directed.”

“The fires don’t seem so bad here.” Eddie approached the counter. The muzzle dipped a bit.

She snatched up the radio and stabbed the on button. Nothing. Not even static. Please God, can’t they get one break. Was there really a broadcast?

“The fires aren’t the problem.” The stranger reached for the radio before raising his hand again. “With the soldiers gone, some folks have just gone a little… crazy.”

Eddie nodded. “We know.”

“Batteries are dead.” She set it on the counter. Not that it changed anything. They would still head for the university’s east campus. The news had showed images of the soldier’s temporary base there.

“It’s a wind-up. No batteries.”

The side door banged against the wall. A gust of wind blew half charred leaves across the tile. Eddie swung around aiming for the new intruder.

Jacqueline Silvestre marched through the side entrance. A small pout tugged at the corners of her eyes when she spied the weapon pointed in her direction.

Eddie pointed his weapon at the ground.

“Really Audra, how long can…” Her mother trailed off as she spied the stranger.

“Mother.” Hitching her behind on the counter, she swung her legs over and spun around then dropped to the other side. “You were supposed to wait for me to signal the all clear.”

“You didn’t answer the walkie-talkie, dear.”

“It was on the entire time.” She reached for it on her belt to show her mother she wasn’t completely stupid but her fingers encountered empty air.

“You lost the walkie, Princess?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the pounding from blowing off the top of her head. “It might have fallen off when you pushed me through the window.”

“The children couldn’t wait, dear.” Her mother snapped her fingers and two lines paraded toward the restroom.

“You have children.” The man jerked his chin toward the back. “We do, too.”

“How nice.” Mom smoothed her hair. “Since that is settled, Audra, I really must insist that the children be permitted to make use of the facilities.”

Audra threw up her hands. Obviously the wrong Silvestre was in charge. Turning back to the stranger, she scanned the ground. Her walkie-talkie squatted like a black bug near the staging area’s kick plate. “Do you have anyone using the facilities?”

“No. We’re all in the back.”

“Go ahead, Mother.” She watched two lines of children march by.

At the restroom doors, Mom parted them, sending half into the boys room and half into the girls. Their murmurs and whispers blended with the swell of voices coming from the back room. Now for the hard part.

To take them or leave them?

“I can get that going for you, Audra, isn’t it?” The stranger held out his hand for the radio.

Since he called her by her name and not that odious Princess like some people did, she picked it off the counter and placed it into his palm. “You have me at a disadvantage, Mr….”

A muscle ticked in Eddie’s jaw. Strangling the shotgun’s stock with one hand, he stomped around the counter and snatched up the walkie. “What is this an apocalyptic tea party?”

“Manners are important. Now more than ever.”

“Yeah.” Eddie snorted, shaking the walkie. “Right.”

Faces emerged in the gloom behind the stranger. Men. Women. Young. Old. Burning with hope; tempered by fear.

“Actually, I’ve found most people to be polite and helpful.” She smiled at the newcomers.

“Even the ones shooting at you?” He smacked the walkie against the counter then used his thumb to work the switch. “It’s dead.”

“As the woman, this Doctor person in charge said, we’re all in this together.” A soft whirring sound filled the air and the stranger’s torso shook as he spun the crank. “I’m Stuart. Stuart Graham.”

He didn’t offer his hand, but then they were full with the radio. So that was all right then. “I’m Audra Silvestre.”

Eddie snorted. “And I’m Eddie, Eddie Buchanan. Now can we listen to the stupid message and get going, Stuey?”

“Stuart.” The stranger turned the radio on and leaned it against the cash register. “Stu and Stuey sound a little too much like dinner.”

Static crackled through the radio’s speakers before a woman began to speak.

“This is Doctor Mavis Spanner, Surgeon General and acting Commander-in-Chief of the United States Armed Forces. On March fifth, our country was attacked by a foreign government. Instead of bombs, the enemy used biological or germ warfare, specifically anthrax.”

Ripples of fear traveled out her fingers and toes. Anthrax, not influenza. That explained the odd symptoms. And… She swallowed hard. And meant, she wasn’t immune. Although, the attack had happened on the fifth and here it was the twelfth and still she hadn’t gotten sick.

Eddie reared back. “What the fuck! I thought we were fighting the Redaction.”

“Shh!” She held her finger to her mask. “We need to listen to what she says.”

He wedged his hand through his hair but fell quiet.

“The spores were delivered in the plush toys promoting the new film Hatshepsut.”

The world swirled around her. Audra blinked bringing the posters promoting for the movie of the Egyptian pharaoh, Hatshepsut, into focus. Oh, no! No. No. No! Anger boiled through her until she was sure her hair caught fire. White powder dusted the toy bins under the counter across from her. A growl rumbled up her throat. She wrapped her fingers around the warm barrel of the shotgun and yanked.

Eddie jerked forward, ripping the weapon out of her hold. “Calm down, Princess.”

What was wrong with him? He’d been willing to shoot the treacherous stranger earlier. Now, when he learned they were allowed to willy-nilly enter this place of death, he backed down. Fine, let him be that way. She reached over the counter. Hard metal pressed against her stomach. Shallow breaths minimized the discomfort while she searched. There had to be a weapon here, somewhere. “You let me bring children in here! They could catch this anthrax bug and die.”

“It’s clean.” Stuart ran his hand over the prep counter then flashed his fingers at her. “See.”

“Fire will not destroy them,” the doctor continued as if listening to the conversation.

Oh God. Oh God. Fabric cut into her belly.

“Easy, Princess.” Eddie hooked a finger through her waistband. “Let’s hear the rest of it before you release your inner psycho.”

Her fingers skimmed cups as she was pulled backward. They clattered and bounced on the tile. She caught the edge of the counter. “You don’t understand. He’s killed us all.”

“I understand.” Squeezing his hand between her stomach and the counter, he flattened his palm against her bare skin.

His rough skin branded her. Sucking in her belly, she jerked upright. What right did he have to do that to her?

“If we end up dying, I promise we will shoot him first.” His breath disturbed her hair.

She pushed off his hand and jerked her shirt over her skin. Was he raised in a barn?

He winked at her and backed up a pace.

“As such,” the acting Surgeon General continued, “I have ordered the evacuation of all cities. Directions for your egress routes will follow.”

And to think, she’d been about to invite them to join her? She could have killed everyone. So much for the Silvestre’s divine duty to lead, to know the right decision.

“Anthrax is not contagious. While the sick cannot pass it to one another by coughing or sneezing, I ask that you continue to wear your face masks. The spores are in the air and the masks will protect you.”

She nodded. They’ve all been wearing their masks. That was good. She checked her hair. Perhaps, her anger had been a touch hasty.

“The trek ahead will be long and dangerous. While we have laid in food, water, shelter and medicine along the routes, you will need to depend on one another to survive.”

Stuart looked toward the window. “That gang, they control the supplies on this side of town. When we refused to give them what they wanted, they killed…” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his exposed throat. “There were more of us an hour ago.”

She nodded. Stuart and his group had their own Casa Grande. Not that it justified allowing her to walk through a potentially dangerous area. Lord a’ mercy! What if she hadn’t been wearing her mask?

The doctor continued talking. “You will need to stand for what is right, although there may be no one to witness your transgressions. Discord cannot be allowed to gain even a toehold or we may all still perish.”

Goosebumps blistered her skin. Her daddy used to say things like that. God, it was like a voice from beyond the grave. She couldn’t leave them now.

“Please follow the routes. Please join us. Now, more than ever, every person counts. You count. And we need you. We can and we will overcome this tragedy. With your help and your hope, the human race shall remain.”

A man’s voice replaced the woman’s. “For those in North Phoenix—”

Stuart shut off the radio and began cranking the handle. “The East Valley is the last one mentioned.”

Audra adjusted her mask. With that in place, she was safe inside. “How many people do you have?”

His cranking slowed. “Twenty-four adults. Sixteen kids.”

Forty people. They could replace those they’d lost. They were familiar with the city and its dangers. As long as Stuart didn’t place her or her children in jeopardy again, they would get along fine. “We have room on the buses but you’ll have to split up.”

“Some of us are sick.”

“That Doc lady said it wasn’t contagious.” Eddie cradled his shotgun. “The government may lie but the Surgeon Generals kept getting fired for telling the people the truth about the Redaction. I say we trust her.”

Audra rubbed her forehead. The throbbing increased as she processed Eddie’s statement. The Surgeon General was part of an untrustworthy government but they could trust it? “Okay…”

Stuart shrugged. “The soldiers will be following her orders.”

She expected reluctance from Eddie—the man took great pride in heckling her, but Stuart’s reluctance stuck in her craw. Perhaps he needed to lead to compensate for other shortfalls. Not that she cared. She’d only taken charge because it was her duty. A Silvestre always did her duty.

And as soon as she reached the soldiers at the Polytech Campus that would end. In the meantime, she’d fall back on the old drill. “Everyone who’s sick needs to board bus two-eight. Those who aren’t sick, find any jugs of vegetable or cooking oil.”

“Cooking oil?” Stuart leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

She swallowed the bitterness in her mouth. Her buses, her rules. “We need some gas to tide us over until we reach the campus.”

Behind him, people began to shift. A few coughing individuals shuffled around the counter. Her flashlight was passed forward.

“What else?”

“Gather every useable item you can and load them onto bus niner-niner.”

“We’ve already collected all the canned goods. Unfortunately, it’s not much food.”

She hadn’t expected there to be. “What about paper products?”

Stuart frowned. “You can’t eat paper.”

No, but it has other uses, not that men always needed it. And the whole world seemed to have been picked clean. She wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity. “Ask six of your strongest men to help unload the departed. Everyone who doesn’t have any oil, please take as much as you can carry. Food first, then paper products.”

The people glanced at her then focused on Stuart. He nodded once; they began to move.

Principal Dunn jogged in, waving his pistol. “Company’s coming from across the field. I think they have weapons.”

Chapter Eleven

Trent Powers set his hand on the pages of the Bible to keep the wind from turning them and bowed his head. Power surged through him as the crowd remained silent. He controlled them. Closing his eyes, he moved his lips, stretching out the moment. This was how it was meant to be. His whole life practically led up to this moment.

Around him, leaves and seed pods rustled in the breeze. The advancing storm’s anvil pressed closer and weighted the air.

Someone cleared her throat. His fingers spasmed on the pages, crinkling them. Who would dare interrupt? Trent opened his eyes to mere slits. A dowdy woman with gray streaked hair covered her mouth and cleared her throat again.

Mavis Spanner.

Doctor Mavis Spanner. The bitch in charge of everyone. It wasn’t enough that the military kissed her ass, she had to steal the attention away from him. Again! Her droning on and on about the need for the strong to care for the weak had chased people away. As if anyone really believed such bullshit. Still, it hadn’t all been bad. His faithful minion Dirk had found five more enforcers.

Standing next to her, General Flunky shifted in his dulled black shoes and coughed into a ladies handkerchief embroidered with the Marine Corps insignia. Of course, six enforcers weren’t enough to take out the military. Yet. But his time would come.

Others stirred. A few even started murmuring.

Fuck! The bitch would learn she’d made a mistake messing with him. A fatal mistake. Ask his late ex-wife. Warmth washed through him. He’d never felt so alive as at that moment. Even this… Closing the bible, he spread his hands wide. Even this adulation fell short.

But it was close.

So close.

He allowed his lips to curve in a serene smile and opened his eyes. “Amen.”

“Amen.” They chorused—sheep grateful for a leader.

Grateful to him for leading them.

Mavis nodded her head once. Seven rifles fired. Again. And again before falling silent. The civilians thrown in the mass grave with the soldiers were getting a military funeral. Either way, it was a waste of ammunition. He would have put those bullets to better use.

His fingers bit into the leather covering. She was not as grateful as she should be. No doubt she hated men, because really what man would want her? An idea flooded his brain, blinding in its brilliance. He could seduce her. Yes, she’d probably be grateful. Hell, he might even fuck her. He could consult the pornographic rolodex inside his head and picture a beautiful babe when he plowed the ugly troll.

“Thank you for the service, Reverend Franklin.” The head bitch offered her hand.

Damn! His smile stiffened.

“Trent, please.” He reminded her again. At least no one around them knew of that tiny name mistake. Tucking the bible under his arm, he slid his fingers across her palm and cupped the other over the back. Her calluses chaffed his soft hand. Couldn’t the woman at least attempt to make herself attractive? “I wish I could say it was my pleasure but…”

He waited for her to beg him to finish what he started. They all wanted the reassurances only he could offer.

Her nostrils flared and she gently tugged her hand free. “But these are trying times.”

Behind her, the air sounded with the grunts as soldiers shoveled and threw the remains of houses on top of the empty pools they’d filled with corpses.

“Reverend.” With steel cutting his voice, General Flunky thrust his hand out. “You might want to avoid Revelations in future graveside services. Folks have enough doom and gloom served up on their plate.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Trent gingerly eased his hand into the meat grinder. At the first pump, his bones ground against each other. On the second, they seemed to fuse in place.

General Flunky released him after the third. “See that you do.”

Blood screamed into his fingers. Currents of pain radiated up his arm. Son of a bitch. Once he was in charge, the asshole was going to have an accident. His heart quickened. He hadn’t killed a man. Ever. One, even as old as the general, should be worthy prey.

A soldier appeared at his side. Sweat ringed the armpits of her form-fitting khaki shirt and dust dulled her blond hair. “Ma’am.”

Not a bad rack. Thumbing through the Bible, he studied the new arrival. From the red in her eyes, she might have lost someone today.

“Ah, Lieutenant Lucas.” Mavis set her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “I am so sorry for your loss. If there’s anything you need me to do, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

General Flunky’s salt and pepper eyebrows nearly reached his crewcut. Was that dissent in the ranks. He held his breath until his heart rate settled. It was bound to happen with a woman in charge and this their first day out.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” The Lieutenant sniffed and held up a bundled jacket. It jingled like a bag of coins. “I’ll be fine.”

Were they robbing the dead? Trent licked his lips. How could that perk have slipped his mind? Some people would have carried money and valuables.

Mavis accepted the bundle and cleared her throat. Cradling it in her arm, she adjusted the folds. “I appreciate the job you and the others are doing.”

“What will you do with them?” Lieutenant bit her lip.

Yes, what? Trent leaned forward a little. Maybe he could get a look, pick out the choice pieces. Only someone with his exquisite taste would know a cubic zirconium from a real diamond. Besides, he deserved some reward for his important services.

“If any family survives, the effects will be returned to them. The dog tags will be displayed. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten.” The doctor’s voice cracked on the last word. Clearing her throat, she hugged the bundle to her chest and left. General Flunky quickly followed.

So, the head bitch had a heart. Good. He could exploit the weakness.

With a jerk of her head, Lieutenant Lucas imitated their example.

Oh no, you don’t. Trent jogged after her. Not too fast. He loved the swing of her ass. Would it be firm like a ripe peach when he grabbed it, slapped it? His palms itched. Soon he intended to find out. “Lieutenant.”

She stopped in her tracks and faced him.

He almost missed the view, but then those marvelous tits pointed at him. Damn, but he did like big jugs.

“Something I can do for you, Reverend?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

The mass jiggled as if anxious for his attention. He forced himself to look at her face. The view wasn’t as nice but he could maintain it for a while. “Doctor Spanner can only offer so much comfort.”

A muscle flexed in her jaw and her eyes narrowed.

He shifted on his feet, glad his baggy pants hid his erection. Obviously her training set her apart from most women; she actually seemed to sense the predator inside him. The chase tasted sweet. “Perhaps when we stop for the night, you and some of your comrades might join me for…”

He faked a cough. Damn, what was the word? There was a little more to this ministering gig than he thought.

Her arms loosened enough to hang below her breasts.

With his hair hanging over his eyes, he looked his fill. After a second or three, he thumped on his chest like he’d seen others do, then straightened. “Pardon me. What was I saying?”

“You were about to invite me to a Bible Study group.”

Bible study. Yes, that must be it. It definitely sounded serious and boring like most church stuff. “Exactly. There are many who are suffering and only one of me to attend them.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m a Marine.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear then left.

Good. She flirted with him. He watched her walk toward the other soldiers. Definitely lots of promise there. As he knew she would, she glanced back at him when she picked up her shovel.

Her mouth moved but the wind whisked away her words.

Not that what women said was important. His cock twitched. But their mouths could serve a higher purpose. He chuckled at his own joke and stroked the Bible. His good luck charm.

“Reverend?” Another woman called out.

He stilled. God damn it, would he never get rid of that dog-faced whore. He’d already screwed her. He didn’t owe her anything else. Why couldn’t she have been one of the dead? Shoring up his lips, he turned to face her—mouse brown hair, flat chest, a pouchy belly and cellulite ass. He must have been desperate.

“My dear, what can I do for you?” He didn’t use her name, although he knew it. Sally was as interesting as day old flan, and twice as unappetizing. She also didn’t seem to serve much purpose now that they’d left Phoenix. She’d misled him, taken advantage of his shock. He should have known better than to trust a woman.

Laughter drifted on the breeze.

He slanted a glance at Lieutenant Lucas. Of course, big tits compensated for the lies and deception.

“The first trucks are beginning to move out. They house the sick and dying.” Stopping in front of him, Sally smiled, but it didn’t reach her faded blue eyes.

Perhaps his disinterest was beginning to penetrate the cow’s thick skull. God, he hoped she wasn’t the clingy sort. His heart skipped a beat. Then again, there were a rumors of rapes going around. One was bound to end in death, sooner or later. He stroked his Bible. He wasn’t opposed to setting the timetable. “Are the poor souls calling for me?”

She shrugged and stared at a spot over his shoulder. “The Good Book offers them comfort.”

He nodded. Yes, and as the only one who possessed it, he was the only one who could give comfort. If only they weren’t so sick. He hated their coughing, whining for water, and begging to see their loved ones. The military said anthrax wasn’t contagious, but what did they know? Besides hadn’t the government claimed the same thing when the Redaction hit and cleaned so many useless people off the face of humanity?

Thankfully, he was well rewarded for his service.

“Of course. Of course.” He thumbed through the pages. The familiar green and white edge of a fifty dollar bill caught his attention before it disappeared. Shit! I thought I had gotten them all. “I’ll be right there.”

She arched an eyebrow and tapped her foot.

Did she think he did her bidding? She was nothing. No one even noticed her, wouldn’t know when she’d disappeared. “I have something to do.”

He hitched up his trousers as he’d seen some of the uncouth servicemen do.

She blushed and looked at the ground. “Of course. I’ll hold a truck for you.”

Bitch! “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He waited for her to leave.

She coughed, pointing to a clump of trees in the wash. A stream of white toilet paper waved from thin green branches. “They’ve set up the head down there.”

What was he, an animal? He could hold it until they reached someplace civilized. Then again, anything was better than being with her and he had to get that money—after all he’d called himself Benjamin in honor of it. And with the way people kept touching his Bible, someone was bound to steal it. He took a step toward the wash. “See you in a bit.”

Finally the bitch left.

Sand and gravel slipped inside his boots. His thigh burned as he slipped down the incline. Finally, Trent reached the bottom and stopped for a battered Ford truck to pass. A horse whinnied from the full trailer it pulled. Coughing, he waved away the dust and crossed the packed dirt road and stomped on the crushed shrubs. Using the Bible, he pushed aside the branches then gagged. The place stunk of shit.

Burying his nose inside the crook of his arm, he kept hold of the back cover and flicked his wrist. The pages fanned open with a soft purring sound but the fifty didn’t come free. Gritting his teeth, he shook the cover harder. The bill fluttered loose. He swiped the air to catch it, but a gust blew it out of reach.

“Shit.” Forgetting the stink, he lunged for it. Small branches smacked him in the face. Thorns raked his skin. Flannel ripped and trails of fire burned his exposed skin.

The fifty dollar bill danced out of reach before wrapping around a branch. The edges flapped like a trapped bird.

He had it now. Lifting a bough, he ducked under it then raised his foot. His boot hovered inches about the trough that served as a toilet. For a seat, two planks of wood balanced on four rocks over the ditch. Tufts of white clung to an empty cardboard roll. What the hell? Resuming course, he sidestepped around the fecal pit.

His fingers skimmed the surface of the bill just as the wind freed it and shoved it through the branches. God damn it! If that stupid cow hadn’t hovered around him, he wouldn’t be here now. He reached for another branch.

“Thank you, Jesus!”

Trent stilled at the deep baritone. A dark shadow moved beyond the green needles and branches. He wasn’t alone.

“I always wanted to be rich enough to wipe my ass with a Benjamin.”

He blinked. Son of a bitch! That was his money. His. He knew someone would steal it. Pushing through the foliage, he drew up short.

A six-and-a-half-foot tall black soldier tugged on the drawstring of his trousers. He released them to grab for the M-4 leaning against a tree.

Trent threw up his hands, dropping the Bible.

“Sorry, Reverend.” The soldier finished knotting his drawers and his pants climbed a little higher on his lean hips. “After the firefight, you should be more careful approaching folks.”

“Of course. Of course.” He checked the man’s hands. Where was his money? Did he put it in his pocket? He should report the man for stealing and have him punished.

“Is the other head taken?” The soldier wiped the dust from the rifle’s stock then cradled it in his arms.

You prick! You’ve taken my money. “What?”

“The other john, is someone using it? I thought I heard them, but…” His eyes narrowed as he looked at the wall of greenery behind Trent’s back.

Fuck! What was with the interrogation? He wasn’t the thief here. “It lacked…”

Basic sanitary conditions.

“Ah.” The soldier raised his chin. “We’re out of toilet paper here, too.” He took a step forward and the space between them disappeared. “You should appreciate this, Reverend. I was just sitting on the throne thinking how I was gonna wipe my ass…sets when like a gift from God, here comes a Benjamin.”

His nails bit into the Bible. “What did you do?” With my money.

“Used it as toilet paper, of course.” He chuckled, flashing oversized white teeth. “It’s pretty much the only thing it’s good for these days.”

His mouth dropped open and the fetid taste of waste flooded his mouth. He covered his gagging with a cough. If the loser in front of him could take the smell, he could hardly do any less.

“Thought you would like it.” Balancing his rifle in one arm, he opened his right thigh pocket. Velcro screamed apart. A white square shone brightly against his dark fingers. “Here you go, Reverend.”

Trent held up his hand. Plastic scratched his palm as his fingers curled over it. He didn’t want any damn toilet paper; he wanted his money back.

The soldier cocked his head. “Best get about your business. We’re moving out.”

With that, he left.

What the hell was with these losers telling him what to do? Protecting his nose, he covered it with the crook of his arm then shuffled to the trench. The neatly folded bill crested a mound of brown. He punched the nearest branch. Pain flared up his arm. Perhaps he should leave it behind. No! No, that was his! He was sick and tired of being deprived of his due.

With a kick, he shoved the seat aside. It landed with a loud thud and straddled the trench.

“Did you hear that?”

He jerked his head up at the sound. A woman’s voice. No, a girl’s voice.

“I hear a lot of things,” another replied. This one was young as well and familiar. “Now, hurry up. I have to pee.”

How did he know the voice? She didn’t sound sick, so he doubted he’d tended her.

“Oh, this is so gross.” A zipper growled then a stream of water splashed.

Trent stared at the hanging branches separating them. Should he take a peek? He stood up.

“Here,” the familiar voice repeated. “At least we have toilet paper.”

Cold sweat misted his skin. No. It couldn’t be. He shook his head. That Goth Lolita had been left behind in the burning city. She couldn’t be here. Not now. She would ruin everything!

“My turn.”

His thighs twitched, then the trembling seized him. Don’t panic. He had to plan. The little cock-tease would probably accuse him of trying to rape her once she saw him. Her kind always pleaded innocent. Good Lord! What if she still had the gun?

“Ahhhh, that’s a relief.” Goth Lolita sighed. Fabric swished then leaves rustled.

“Come on. I want to ride with Manny and Wheelchair Henry. I need a rest from nursing the sick.”

The tree swayed and the silhouettes moved. “I know what you mean. I could use a nap but you heard the Doc. More survivors are on the way. They’ll need us.”

Trent’s heart slammed against his chest. Goth Lolita was tending the sick. How had he avoided her until now? He locked his muscles, controlling shakes. Calm down. I don’t know that is Goth Lolita.

But there was one way to find out.

With one last glance at the trench, he used the Bible to beat back the branches and rounded the tree. Two girls in tee-shirts and jeans picked a path across the wash. He ignored the blond and focused on the one with red roots shining through her coal black hair. That was the same.

She turned to say something to her friend. A purple bruise marred her high cheek bone and a red slash marked her pale neck. His knees nearly buckled. It was Goth Lolita! He should have cut her throat when he’d had the chance.

He mentally pulled himself together. It was time to stop letting bitches ruin his life. He’d have to take care of her. A truck rumbled to a stop on the makeshift road in the wash, blocking his view of the girls.

The oversized black soldier waved his arm. “Hop on board, Reverend.”

“Thanks.” Clutching the Bible, he loped to the truck. Instead of the stupid cow, the girl would be the first casualty of the camp rapes. But how was he to achieve it?

Hands reached down to help him up.

He slammed his shin against the bumper but didn’t care. A plan. He needed a plan.

“Ah, Reverend.” A man stared at him from behind a face mask. He recognized the doctor, but the blood staining his tee-shirt was new. “Mrs. Harmon is requesting prayers.”

He nodded. Fuck prayers. Why couldn’t the dying just die? Why did they have to make such a fuss? He needed to focus on his plan, not on some loser who was of no use to him.

A gloved hand closed around his upper arm as he made his way to the back. “A bullet lodged in her spine, paralyzing her and I’m sure she has internal bleeding. She doesn’t have long.”

“I understand.” Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! He’d have to stay at her side until the bitch croaked. What if they stopped before he could plan? What if Goth Lolita climbed on board to help?

The doctor returned to stitching up a teenage boy’s arm.

The light dimmed the farther he traveled toward the front. Finally, he reached the area closest to the cab. An upside down bucket had been placed next to the bottom cot. He balanced on the round seat. “Mrs. Harmon?”

“Yes, that’s me.” She didn’t turn her head but tears leaked from her eyes. She smelled of iodine and a saline bag swayed from the bottom of the bunk above hers. “Thank God you’ve come, Reverend.”

Yak. Yak. Yak. Did women ever shut up? Well this one wouldn’t sabotage his plan. He set the Bible next to her on the bed then clasped her cold hand. “They tell me that you can’t move your legs or arms.”

“No. The bullet…” Her lower lip trembled. “I’m worried.”

“Don’t worry.” He glanced over his shoulder. The medical team was busy up front. The patients in the bunks around them appeared to be sleeping and the ones above couldn’t see him in the narrow space. This could work to his advantage. “It’ll be over soon.”

Smiling, he leaned over her and set his hand over her nose and mouth. Her teeth rasped his palm.

“No biting.” He dug his fingers into her cheeks, felt the slip of molars under his pads.

Her eyes widened in fear and panic. She tried to twist away but couldn’t move. Perfect. She mewled loudly. He glanced around. No one paid them the slightest attention. Her next one was softer. The third barely a sigh.

“You’re going to Hell. You and every woman deserves it.” Slowly, ever so slowly the life drained from her eyes.

He removed his hand, stared at it. Where was the rush of power? The thrill? He wiggled his fingers. This had been particularly unsatisfying. Why would that be?

The violence?

Perhaps. He’d have to test his theory on Goth Lolita.

Chapter Twelve

Pressed against the brick pillar of the gas station, Papa Rose peered into the streaming rain and raised his Glock, aiming it beyond the traffic jam of abandoned cars. The hair on the back of his neck brushed his collar. God, he hated Urban warfare. “So many fucking places to hide.”

“Amen brother.” Legs bent, Falcon crept to the other island. The Sig-Sauer became a lethal extension of his black hands and low storm clouds camouflaged his whip-cord body until his position was identified only by his yellow bandanna.

Damn. Did they teach that spooky shit in Special Ops?

“What do I do?” Brainiac’s high pitched voice whispered through the earpiece. “You want me to take point?”

“Fuck no!” Taking his eyes off the street, Papa glanced at the cab of the tanker. “You drink saltwater lately?” The windows remained clear of little Toby, but the preteen Jillie should be standing right next to the squid.

Falcon darted for the forward pillar. “Where’s the munchkin?”

Heart hammering against his ribs, he followed Falcon’s lead. Rain bounced off the concrete pad and ran in dark rivulets toward the street. Discarded paper and dead leaves swirled in the gutter. “I put him in the cab.”

To keep him safe from the storm.

And now the preschooler would be unprotected.

“Please!” the woman called out again. “Someone help me.”

Falcon’s eyes narrowed. “Brainiac, you and Jillie fall back to the generator room.”

“Understood.”

Jillie’s indecipherable voice drifted through the com, then hinges squeaked.

“We’re in,” Brainiac whispered. “I can see the cab door from my position.”

“Please, it’s my mom! Someone? Anyone?”

Mom. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He reset the age of the voice, dropping it to early teens. Probably not much older than Jillie. The perfect bait.

Falcon hunkered down and raced for the side of a blue SUV.

Holding his breath, Papa Rose darted toward a red Ford pick-up. Wind drove the downpour into his bald scalp and quickly saturated his shirt. The cold needled his ears.

“You do know it’s probably a trap,” Brainiac rasped, his breathing shallow. “Probably how they lured all these people here.”

Was this the kid’s first time in combat? Surely life aboard a submarine couldn’t be that protected. Of course it was. The squid probably earned a purple heart from a splinter he got while mopping the deck.

“Get a hold of your breathing, B, or you’re going to hyperventilate.” Falcon rolled his eyes before slipping between the hood of the SUV and the trunk of a sedan.

“I should be out there. Fighting.”

What kind of idiot wanted combat? Papa Rose scooted between the bumpers of two trucks. The license plate snagged his jeans. Fabric ripped. Damn, did they have to park them so close?

“Stowe your periscope, B.” He stepped into the path between the rows of vehicles.

Falcon crouched by the driver’s side door, two cars ahead. The ex-Green Beret glanced over his shoulder and mouthed Papa Rose’s last statement.

He shrugged. It sound properly Navy-ish. Besides, what did the Navy really do besides paddle their boats? “We’re here to protect you. Your mission is to delay the blossoming of the mushroom clouds.”

“Stay put.” Falcon darted another two cars up then stopped. “No matter what happens to us, you are to maintain your position until it is all clear to proceed. Understand?”

“Aye, Sir.” Brainiac sighed.

He moved forward, keeping two vehicles between his position and Falcon’s. Rain plastered his shirt to his back and trickled down his spine to saturate his underwear. If this was a trick, he’d shoot the bad guys twice for picking a fight in a damn cloud-burst.

“Hello?” A roll of thunder swallowed the girl’s call.

Rain drummed on metal. Fucking storm. How were they supposed to get a fix on the girl?

Falcon set one knee on the ground and turned his head from side to side. After a brief pause at four o’clock, he pointed in the same direction.

What the hell? Did the military implant radar in his head when he got the special hat? Shielding his gun from the elements, he waited.

“Is anyone there?” A rock bounced off the car between them.

Then he heard it. Squishy footfalls heading this way. Damn but he hated it when Falcon was right. Drawing up tight in the wheel well, he waited. Lines of rain. Light fractals intermittently shattering the gloom. Water snaking down his cheeks. Time counted down to the encounter.

“Please. Please.” The mantra followed the beat of steps. Closer now. So close.

Falcon tucked his gun against the small of his back.

Papa Rose traced the curve of the trigger guard. The kid wouldn’t be the threat. If there was one, it would be farther out, watching, waiting. The kid would probably be disposable. It was a hell of a world.

God, please let him off it soon.

Falcon launched off the pavement and collided with a cherry red form.

“Ahh!” she shrieked

Twisting in midair, he landed on his back with the girl on his stomach.

Her legs flailed. Soggy, black-bottom socks slouched down over her pink heels. He must have knocked the wind from her as she didn’t say a word.

Christ Jesus! Twice in one day, they’d attacked children. Papa Rose closed the distance between them, aiming at the ground.

“Shh.” Falcon cupped his hand over the girl’s mouth. “I’ve got you. It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Brown eyes stared up at him. Black ropes of hair rolled off her shoulders. Tiny brown hands tugged at the arms constricting her. Geez, what was she ten, eleven?

“You’re okay.” He kept his Glock out of her range of sight. “We’re soldiers.”

Her body went limp. Heels rested on the ground. Her elbows dropped to her stomach, and her eyes closed.

The magic words. How long until the assholes figured it out and the word conjured up fear instead?

In the valley between cars, Falcon sat up, taking the girl with him. “I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth, but you can’t scream, okay?”

Her hands released his arm to drop in her lap. Rain coursed down her red slicker and slid off her indigo jeans. She turned her face up to look at Falcon.

Poor thing. No doubt, she’s scared witless. He touched her chin, drawing her attention. “No screaming. Got it?”

She nodded.

A moment later, Falcon’s hand hovered inches from her mouth.

No screaming. They were off to a good start. Papa Rose inched closer. “What’s your name?”

Falcon rolled his eyes.

Yeah, the guy might be drilled in interrogation techniques, but Papa Rose had experience talking to kids. And scaring the pants off them was hardly the way to get them to talk. “Name?”

The girl slid her slicker over her knees until she was a red ball. “O—Olivia.”

“Hello, Olivia. I’m Papa Rose. That ugly guy behind you is Falcon.” He quickly positioned the gun behind his knees. “Isn’t Falcon a stupid name?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and nodded.

“At least, I’m not named after a flower,” Falcon growled. “Doesn’t he look more like a weed than a rose?”

Olivia’s eyes scrunched up as she giggled.

Papa Rose smiled. Now that he’d gotten all friendly… “Are you supposed to be meeting someone here?”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around her shins. “Our neighbors. Mama was too slow so they went ahead to get us a place with someone leaving.”

He blinked away the rain. A slow mama might have saved their lives. If it was true. A big if. “Is your mother sick? Is that why you need help?”

Her pointed chin rose a notch. “She’s getting better. She didn’t get the Redaction the first time around, so it’s just making up for it now.”

Hell, someone hadn’t gotten the Redaction. What were the odds? He shook off the thoughts. Now was not the time. He’d pencil it in next to never. Right now, he needed to find out what kind of threat she and her ‘mother’ posed. “Anyone else traveling with you and your mother?”

Olivia stiffened.

Falcon set his hands on his thighs, not touching her but close enough to grab her if need be. “A little brother or sister, perhaps?”

She scrubbed her nose with the palm of her hand. “They died. Yesterday. I tried to take care of ‘em, cuz Mama was feeling bad but…”

He glanced at Falcon.

The ex-Green Beret nodded.

So they both bought the story. Let’s hope they were correct. But just in case… Papa Rose pushed to his feet and held his hand out to her. “Let’s go find your mama.”

He hoped Brainiac at least got the message to stay put.

“‘Kay.” Olivia slid her hand into his.

His fingers closed around the small bones. Why did God make children so fragile?

Falcon waited for them to thread through the first car then followed. “How far away is your mother?”

She shoved her hair over her shoulder. The locks slapped her slicker. “Not far.”

Given the way kids told distances, that could be miles or a block. Either way, Papa Rose would find out all too soon. The world darkened as she steered them toward the shadows of the building. Too bad he wasn’t the kind to leave people behind. Maybe this would earn him a little forgiveness.

Maybe the girl’s mother would take Toby and Jillie and he could die like he planned. She led them across the intersection. Rats peeked at them from under piles of garbage. She turned into the alley. Bags of garbage overflowed large metal bins. Water fell in waterfalls from the eaves. Bare legs stuck out from a recessed doorway.

Hot damn. Close really was close.

Olivia tugged out of his hold and sprinted to the legs. “Mama, I brought help. They’re soldiers.”

Her mother’s hand slid off her lap and landed palm up in a puddle.

“Mama!” Olivia screamed and shook her mother. The other arm flopped to the ground.

Oh, God. Papa Rose’s stomach turned into a fist in his gut. Slack features, partially closed lids.

“Hey, Olivia.” He tugged on a lock of the girl’s black hair.

Rain streaked her tan skin when she turned her face to his. “She’s going to be okay, right? She’s just tired.”

Mama may look like she was sleeping, but this rest was eternal. “Why don’t we let Falcon here check her out, okay?”

Olivia threw herself at his knees. Sobs wracked her body.

Papa Rose stumbled back a step then caught himself. She hung on.

Kneeling next to the mother, Falcon set his middle finger against her neck. After a bit, he shook his head.

Fuck. Instead of getting rid of the children, he’d just acquired one more. Shaking off his anger, Papa Rose slid his hands under her armpits and lifted her up.

She hiccoughed. Her button nose blew snot bubbles.

Papa Rose tucked her close. Hot tears warmed his neck and thin arms strangled his shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get out of the rain.”

Chapter Thirteen

“No! Not the gangs!” Stuart’s people melted into the shadows of the restaurant’s kitchen. Metal clanged. Someone screamed. A wail bounced off the tiled wall.

Good gravy. Audra’s fingernails dug into her palms. Panic was all she needed. It was more contagious than the Redaction and twice as dangerous. She had people to get out of the restaurant, making the gathering of those supplies more critical.

“Calm down!” Her shout bounced around the fast food restaurant. From the corner of her eye, she watched her mother and the children near the restrooms cringe. One little girl stuck her finger in her mouth and pulled hard enough to tighten the skin over her cheeks. Just wonderful. Audra was scaring children now. She closed her eyes and prioritized. Fuel. Dead bodies. Supplies. Evacuate. With forty extra people—

“You have guns, right?”

Audra opened her eyes to watch Stuart edge along the prep counter. No doubt he wanted to cower in the kitchen, hide in the darkness. Too bad. Everyone had a part to play. “Those with jugs of oil please make your way to the buses. We need to fill up.”

No one moved in the kitchen. What was wrong with them? Didn’t they know their hiding space had already been compromised? They would be found, hurt, unless they all left together. She bit her lip to keep from shouting the words. The truth would induce panic not free them from it.

“How many guns do you have?” Stuart faded into the black kitchen until his pale face hovered above his shadowy form.

Her attention flicked to her mother. Jacqueline shrugged and continued to file the children through the facilities. Wonderful. Even her mother had stopped listening to her. Audra jerked her head toward the shotgun in Eddie’s hand.

“Yes, we have some guns.” But not enough for everyone. Not enough for some shootout at the OK Corral. The children could get hurt. She had to protect the children until she could hand them off to the soldiers. “Please order—”

“We have far more ammunition than guns.” Eddie scooped a handful of shells out of his pocket. Red sleeve cartridges rolled over his calloused palm.

Stuart’s nose twitched. “You need to shoot them. Kill them.”

“We are not going to solve this with violence.” The very idea left a bad taste in her mouth. “Now, about that fuel—”

“You don’t know these animals.” Wild fire blazed in Stuart’s blue eyes. He rushed her, crossing the serving area in seconds.

She retreated. Her boot heels scraped the tiled kick plate and the register drawer dug into her back. Her heart ratcheted up a notch. Was the man mentally unsound?

“You don’t know what they’ve done.” White flecks of spittle clung to his lips and punctuated the air.

“I have a pretty good idea.” Raising her hand, she set it on his chest and pushed him away as she straightened. The massacre at Casa Grande replayed inside her skull—the helpless women used as bait, the offer of assistance, the clearing of the buses at gunpoint, the bloody spray of bullets and the slow descent of friends’ bodies as they fell to the ground. Shaking her head, she cleared the image. “We cannot descend to their level. We have to be better than that.”

Eddie snorted.

She speared him with a look. He hadn’t taken up the mantle of leadership in the months since he and his brother had wandered into her school. Why was he challenging her now?

His eyes narrowed above the gas mask. After returning the shells to his pocket, he raised the shotgun and prodded Stuart’s shoulder. “Back up there, Stuie, Princess A is in charge of our little kingdom. If you want to ride the magic carpet, you have to pledge allegiance to the kingdom upon which she stands.”

Audra blinked. Had Eddie just defended her?

“We have a right to protect ourselves.” Stuart slithered back into the shadows. “We must shoot them! Kill them!”

“Princess A.” Standing near the side door, Principal Dunn cleared his throat. “What are your orders?”

She jerked her head once. Their show of solidarity meant a lot. “Defending ourselves is one thing, Stuart.” Striding to the drive-thru window, she ripped a large paper bag from the stack. “Murder is another. Now, I need those with oil to follow Principal Dunn to the buses. He’ll show you which ones to fill up so we can leave. Have our armed people stand by the station, out of sight. We don’t want to provoke a firefight.”

Eddie set the shotgun on his shoulder. “But we can return fire if they shoot first?”

“Yes. Fine.” She planned to be far away by the time they arrived. Which meant she needed more information. “I’ll need a walkie and want an update on where they are and how fast they’re coming.”

“They have weapons,” Stuart shouted. “They’ll shoot you as soon as they see you.”

She forced her jaw to relax. God forgive her, it was so tempting to just leave them here. Nine more miles. Nine more miles to the soldiers. “Confirm if they have weapons. Long range. Not bats and such.”

She had no doubt they were a threat, but so was Stuart’s hysteria.

Six people with a gallon jug of oil in each hand averted their eyes as they shuffled around Stuart and jogged toward the principal.

“Follow me!” The principal waved his pistol, adjusted the handkerchief covering his face and raced out the door.

Audra threaded the bag over the napkin holder then wedged her finger under the napkins and lifted them into the sack. “I need the rest of you to gather up any more oil and, when that runs out, paper products before making your way to the buses.”

Setting his shotgun within reach on the counter, Eddie stuffed more take-out bags with utensils, salt and pepper and condiments. “You heard her. Let’s move it people!”

No one else budged. She rubbed her forehead then grabbed another sack and filled it with ketchup. If they didn’t help, they didn’t go. The skin between her shoulder blades itched. It was a nice idea, but she couldn’t live with herself if she put in in practice.

An accusing finger emerged from the shadowy kitchen. The swollen ball at the joint spoke of painful arthritis. Age lined the old man’s face like a map to hard to reach places. “You brought this upon us! They had left us in peace until you arrived.”

They hadn’t been safe. She folded the top of the bag holding the ketchup then dumped the salt, pepper and sweetener into a fresh one. “It’s possible. The buses are noisy.” Especially, when this post-Redaction world was devoid of electricity. “They certainly would have noticed them in the parking lot. They’re painted yellow to draw your attention.”

Not that she would apologize. The bumble bee colors had been designed to protect the children. Who knew the world would go to pot and turn it on its ear. As for the danger, she made a calculated risk when she pulled in, plus she hadn’t known they’d hidden inside. Shaking out a new bag, she raked in the utensils. “If we all work together, we’ll get out of here faster.”

Stuart wedged his fingers through his hair, until it stood up in brown spikes. “You have to shoot them! They’ll just follow us.”

“Do they have vehicles?” Eddie lined up the bags on the counter in front of his weapon.

Audra quickly cleared the rest of the supplies and added her bags to the line. Now she had to go into the back, through his mannequin people. Wiping her damp hands on her jeans, she faced the darkness.

Stuart licked his lips. “Well, no…”

“Then we can outrun them.” Fleeing was far better than stooping to barbarism. “But we can’t outrun them without fuel. Please direct your people to carry out the oil.”

Near the bathrooms, her mother nodded and smiled softly. Bowing her head, she whispered into the ear of the preteen boy who stood directly in front of her. He grabbed the hand of the younger kids waiting next to him and shuffled forward, grabbing a sack as he passed. The next child followed his example as did the one after until all the ones who’d used the facilities filed past.

At least, some people followed her direction. The others would need to if they expected to survive. Unclipping the walkie at her waist, she switched it on. The batteries were still dead. Darn it. No wonder she hadn’t received an update. She glared at Stuart. The time for dinking around had come to an end.

“Everyone grab as much cooking oil as you can carry.”

Silence greeted her request.

What were they, statues? She clapped her hands. “Now, people!”

Three women squeezed between the fry area. Blanket slings bulged from their bellies and backs. Shoulders stooped under the weight of the gallons of golden oil.

One, with a preschooler clinging to the bloodied hem of her skirt, paused. “This gets us a ticket on the bus?”

Audra smiled and set her hand on the cold metal of the fry station. Ten of the forty were helping. Things were looking up. “Absolutely.”

The cortege rounded the counter just as Principal Dunn jogged through the side door. His mask hung under his nose; his hands remained empty. Panting, he bent over, one hand on his knee and held out a walkie. “Buses are gassed up with three gallons each but we’ve still got seventeen bodies to unload.”

“Get as many off as you can. We can unload the rest, if we need to stop and refuel.” On the SanTan freeway where it was safe, or God willing, with the soldiers.

“You okay with me helping?” Walking to the lobby, Eddie cradled his shotgun but his gaze stuck on Stuart.

And leave her alone with the do-nothings? No, but duty called. She squared her shoulders. “Sure.”

He snatched the walkie from the principal’s hand and tossed it to her. “Call if you need…anything, Princess.”

She caught the warm plastic with a thump.

After touching the muzzle of his shotgun to his forehead, Eddie sprinted outside, followed closely by the principal.

Six more people emerged from the back. Three more middle-aged adults each carried a box containing four gallons of cooking oil. Pepperoni pizza acne scarred the chin, cheeks and nose of a teen girl. She held a snot-nosed baby on one hip and the hand of a boy missing his two front teeth.

“We carry for them.” The last woman sucked back her dentures after she spoke.

She inhaled slowly, fighting for calm. Perhaps, she’d come on a bit strong if they’d thought she’d leave children behind. “Thank you.” Leaning back, she caught sight of her mother by the bathrooms. Two lines of children waited patiently by the wall. “Mom, how much longer until everyone is finished with their business?”

Jacqueline counted heads then her fingers. “The last dozen should be wrapping up now. Then I’ll do a sweep and we’ll return to our busses.”

Fabric rustled in the kitchen. People grunted. Finally, they seemed to be moving.

At last, some good news. Holding the walkie to her mouth, she pressed the talk button. “Are the visitors still on their way?”

Two men in soot-stained dress shirts and torn slacks marched by carrying a box of cooking oil. Two gray-haired women with half-dressed preschoolers hobbled after them.

More than halfway there. With her free hand, she shook the flashlight then tried the power button. No light.

“Yep,” Eddie chirped. “And we’ve got a confirmation of weapons—rifles and shotguns.”

She shook the flashlight again. No luck. Dang it, how was she to see in the back?

“How far out are they?”

Stuart bumped her. “Here.”

She stared at the finger-thick flashlight.

He twisted it and a beam of light lasered through the darkness.

“They’re gathering across the field,” Eddie reported.

“There’s no more oil.” A woman wailed. “Does that mean we have to stay here and die?”

Audra gritted her teeth. An ache started at her jaw and tightened the skin on her scalp. Patience. She could do this. It was just for a little while longer. They would reach the soldiers tonight.

“Just grab anything that can be of use—utensils, condiments, paper.” Especially paper. She’d give her soul for actual toilet paper. Squeezing between the counter and the people with boxes filing by, she scanned the room. The light flashed a circle on the yellow grease. Darn but she wished they had time to pump it. “Principal Dunn reported that the visitors were on their way.”

“Two scouts are converging on our position.” Voices murmured underneath Eddie’s statement. “The rest seem like they’re waiting in the back and their numbers are growing.” Static crackled in the silence. “Oh, Principal Dunn says to let you know that the bodies have been moved to their final resting place.”

Wading deeper into the kitchen, she swept the light over the sandwich wrappers. Those wouldn’t be of much use. Sweat beaded her forehead. She inhaled the stale, fetid air of closely packed bodies. “How close are the scouts?”

“Two hundred yards or so.”

“And the rest?”

“Roughly two klicks.”

“In English, please.” Turning, she eyed the shiny grill then the space around it. Her mouth watered despite the body odor. Buns. Hamburger buns. She waited for a break in the group then lunged forward. The light aimed at the ceiling when she clawed a plastic bag off the shelf.

“Little more than a mile, Princess.”

A mile gave them time. “Good. Keep the weapons hidden.” She thrust the packaging into waiting arms. Using the light, she motioned for the next person to grab the other bag of buns. “I don’t want them to know we’re armed.”

“Why not? It might make ‘em think twice.”

Was she the only one who remembered they had children present? “It will probably provoke them and bring the rest of the thug-uglies running.”

And shooting.

As God was her witness, everyone with her would make it to the soldiers.

“If they shoot first…”

“Then you can shoot back, but until then just watch and wait. We’re almost done here.” She swept her flashlight across the back wall.

Four senior citizens clutched their belongings with liver-spotted hands. A woman with blue hair and white roots held up her left hand. A diamond glittered on her thin finger. “There’s nothing left to carry but I have jewelry. I can pay.”

Sweet Jesus. Their faces swam; Audra blinked back her tears. How could they think she’d make them pay for a place on the bus? She said that to get people moving, to break them out of their fear-induced stupor and break that helpless feeling. She shone the beam on the closed door next to the freezer. “Let’s check the manager’s office.”

In her day, they’d stored toilet paper and hand towels in there. Plenty of stuff to carry, so these good folks would think they’ve earned their keep.

A stooped old man clawed at the silver knob and opened the door.

She spotlighted a full bag of toilet tissue and a box of hand towels. “See? Now between the four of you, I think you can carry the rest.”

Without a word, a man entered and divvied up the items. When they each had an armful, they popped and creaked by. She stepped through a cloud of eucalyptus-scented air and swept the light over the top shelves.

“I’ve never seen anyone take charge like that.” Stuart’s voice sounded overly loud in the cramped space.

Ignoring the training manuals and accounting stuff, she focused on the three gallon jugs of bleach. Those they could use. “You’ve obviously forgotten what elementary school was like.”

“You were a teacher before…”

Before the world ended. “Yes. English.”

Bending, she wrapped her fingers around the handle and yanked. Liquid sloshed around the half empty bottle. She’d carry this one and since his hands were empty, he could lug the other two. “Grab those.”

He brushed her arm as he passed. “You must have been great at it.”

She’d sucked at it. Her students all hated her and the parents constantly complained about her being unreasonable. Sweeping her hand over the desk, she grabbed the pens and a couple legal pads. She eyed the cups then dismissed them.

“Yo, Princess, the scouts have caught sight of Principal Desperado and his pistol.”

Her heart stumbled over a beat. “What are they doing?”

“Returning to the main unit.”

Using the edge of the pad, she closed the manager’s door. “Is the big group moving out?”

“Not yet.”

Good then they didn’t have a way to communicate over long distances. At least that worked in their favor. “We’re coming out.”

Swearing filled the line. “You and Prince Charming better hurry. They’re on the run.”

Run? Why were they running? “Toward their group?”

“Toward us.”

Oh God. One minute they were moving away, the next they were heading for them. Why? She chased after the circle of light bobbing around the kitchen. “Start the buses and prepare to move out.”

She swerved around the registers and checked the bathrooms. Empty. The children must be on the bus.

Stuart leapt over the counter. “They won’t leave without me, will they?”

“What about you?” Her mother called over the walkie.

Stuart cleared the side door threshold without looking back.

Such a gentleman.

“I’m almost there.” A pen dropped from her hand and pinged on the tile. She slowed. Ahhh, they could have used that to teach the kids while they traveled. Her sneakers squeaked as she passed the beverage station.

“Dunn and Pecos fall back to the bus,” Eddie shouted through the walkie.

She sprinted into the watery sunshine, sucking her face mask into her mouth. Two shots rang out. Someone screamed.

“Get everyone down. Get everyone down!” Mrs. Rodriguez’s shout punctured the air and blitzed through the walkie.

Air brakes screeched and the second bus lurched forward.

“Audra was supposed to drive the first bus. We can’t leave with it blocking the road.”

“I can drive.” Faye Eichmann gunned the engine of the first bus. She never glanced Audra’s way as she skated past the drive-thru.

Dropping the bottles of bleach, Stuart threw himself at the open door as the next bus rumbled by.

“Princess, they’re coming in hot. You better have your royal pain in the ass aboard.”

She was trying! With a loud pop, glass shattered behind her. She drew up short as another bus cut in front of her. Three down, two to go. Coughing on the overpowering scent of bleach, she leapt forward when the tail lights cleared her.

The fourth bus skimmed her heels. Her mother’s pale face stared at her from the driver’s seat of the fifth bus. With the door open, it drifted forward.

Audra jumped. Her feet slapped the bottom step. Momentum pitched her forward. Her knees banged into the riser; her pilfered goodies scattered. Pain shot out her skull. Christ Almighty. That hurt! Grabbing the railing, she steadied herself then slowly pulling herself to her feet.

Deputy Pecos and Principal Dunn loaded their weapons as they raced around the corner of the gas station. Eddie followed their example when he appeared. Bullets smashed into wood. Shells tinkled on the ground. “They started coming faster when they saw the first bus move.”

With her feet, she herded her goodies near the seat behind the driver. “What happened to the scouts?”

The Principal and Deputy leapt aboard. She kneeled on the seat as they rushed to the back.

Following the others, the fourth bus jumped the curb and picked up speed down the freeway onramp.

“Dead.” Eddie’s gas mask dangled from his chin as he climbed the stairs. “Dunn may act like a douche but he can shoot.”

Mother closed the doors and pressed the gas pedal. The bus lurched forward. Audra grasped the upholstered seat back and steadied herself.

Glass shattered and metal pinged. A rifle report boomed inside the bus.

“You’re not going to get us, you bastards!” the principal yelled.

“Best get down, Princess.” Bracing his feet apart, Eddie palmed the back of her head and pushed her face toward the cushion.

“Hey!”

Cool air whistled inside when he lowered the window. Loose plastic flapped. The bus rocked as it bounced over the curb. When he removed his hand, she glanced up.

The shotgun barrel rested on the window sill. Eddie pulled the trigger.

The blast shook her eardrums. Sticking her fingers in her ears, she melted onto the dirty floor, sliding toward the driver as they descended the on ramp.

The bus picked up speed as it reached the freeway and closed the gap between them and the rest of the convoy.

Please, God, let them reach the soldiers soon.

Chapter Fourteen

Manny blinked away the dust clinging to his eyes as yet another truck lumbered by. The military convoy had never seemed so long. Behind him, two Marines loaded the injured into the back of a wagon. Dust coated the blood stains on their uniform, dulling the bright red spots.

The convoy had been ambushed.

Soldiers had been shot at.

He tucked his shaking hands in his jeans. The rope belt clung to his hips.

“The tremors will pass.” Wheelchair Henry set the parking brake and folded his hands on his lap.

“Uh-huh.” He stood on the bank, staring into the wash. Wind tugged at his hoodie and a chill snaked down his spine. Rain sprinkled his black hair, left divots in the loose dirt.

“‘Course, you never really get accustomed to being shot at.”

God. What a thought. Fear soured his mouth. At least, he hadn’t crapped his pants. He would have if the old man hadn’t been there taking his mind off of it. Telling him how to survive it. To stop, think, observe and plan. No, that wasn’t right. He had to act, too. Jesus, how was he to survive if he couldn’t remember five simple words?

How was he to keep the niños safe?

Wheelchair Henry’s wife, Mildred and their neighbor, Connie watched over the niños playing along the packed dirt road lining the wash. A Golden Retriever darted around the lunging children. He paused near a gray leafed Ironwood tree to drop the ball at his feet, practically daring the niños to try to grab it.

“You’re not going catatonic on me, are you?” Wheelchair Henry rested his hand on the revolver on his lap.

An old man and surly kid stood next to the medical truck, each had an arrow notched in his bow. Manny had tried talking to the kid after the shooting, even offered him some of his candy. But he’d turned his nose up at a handful of dusty, slightly mushed Skittles. What an idiot.

Two old ladies in similar tracksuits chatted with an Asian dude and a dark skinned couple. They’d all been on his truck. He should know their names. Should but didn’t. He had a hard enough time walking, talking just required too much energy. He scanned the wash until he found Rini, the Wilson sisters, Beth and a shriveled, brown-skinned woman sorting through stacks of clothes and blankets.

“Manny?” Wheelchair Henry’s voice dragged his attention from the wash.

Tremors raced up his body then back down. “We should have been safe with the soldiers.”

He winced at the childish whine. Why weren’t they safe? He watched more trucks rumble past. Olive-drab Marines and blue-shirted Airmen coughed. Not from the dust. Never that. They were dying of that anthrax thing going around. And to think he’d almost taken the niños to Burgers in a Basket.

That would have killed them for sure.

Maybe it would be better to die and get it over with.

Especially if the soldiers could not keep them safe.

“Manny?” Wheelchair Henry snapped his fingers. “Safe is a foreign country no one has ever visited.”

Manny blinked, focused on the hand in front of his face. “Huh?”

“Enjoy your mini vacation from reality?”

“Reality sucks.” But where he’d gone wasn’t any better. No place was. Maybe he should have stayed home. Because of him, they were in danger and leaving everything behind.

“Reality always sucks, some times are worse than others.” Henry rearranged his withered legs so they crossed each other.

“It’s never been this bad.” He’d heard people talking about the human race becoming extinct. That couldn’t happen. They weren’t dinosaurs or anything.

Henry tugged on Manny’s hoodie. “That’s where you gotta change your way of thinking. We’re the healthy ones. We’ve got food in our belly, allies around us and weapons if we need ‘em.”

“I don’t want to need them!” Heads turned at his outburst. He slouched into his jacket. But hadn’t there always been guns around? He hadn’t lived in the best part of town. And the Redaction certainly had brought out the worst in people, allowing the people with guns to take what they wanted. The gangs had certainly moved in, claimed territory, ruled with terror.

Until the Aspero had taken on the Marines.

The military had mown down the gangbangers or blown them up. But now the Marines were sick.

Coughing.

Dying.

And the bad guys were once again moving into the vacuum of no government.

The strap of the gun slid off his shoulder. He caught it then slung it back on. How did he get stuck guarding the soldiers? He’d never fired a gun before.

Unlike the bad guys.

“Hell, Manny, I don’t want to kill anymore than I want to eat my vegetables, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to.”

Guns were not vegetables. Except in movies, vegetables never killed or raped or… He shut down the thought. Bad people did horrible things. And they were still out there. Why couldn’t they have been the ones to get sick? Why couldn’t they be the ones dying?

“So what’s really bothering you?”

Everything. “Nothing.”

“Do I look like a mushroom to you?”

“A what?”

“A mushroom? You being a former chef and all, you’ve must have heard of them.”

“I was a short order cook.” A chef had an education. He wouldn’t get that now. He wouldn’t even graduate highschool. Neither would the niños. Was this what their life would be like—running, shooting, dying? “And no, you don’t look like a mushroom.”

“Then why do you keep shoveling bullshit on me?”

Manny blinked. Ahh, now that made sense.

“Falcon and Papa Rose said they’d warned you about bottling things up.” Reaching up, Henry drilled Manny’s chest. “Didn’t they explain that keeping things inside would only end up hurting you and those you love?”

“Yeah, they did.” But they weren’t here now. They’d roared away on motorcycles heading… somewhere. Besides he had no words, just a knot spinning in his gut.

“Yo, Preacher Man.” A soldier yelled at a man in faded jeans and a flannel shirt. “You’re needed in the operating room.” He jerked his head to the truck behind him.

“Then start yakking.” Henry uncrossed his legs and set his feet on the rests. “Unless I miss my guess this is the first time you’ve been in a gun fight.”

The preacher’s blue eyes locked with Manny’s for a moment before he was dismissed. Something niggled at the back of his mind. The man seemed familiar but that couldn’t be, he wasn’t even a practicing Catholic let alone whatever faith preachers led.

Henry brushed his fingers across the back of Manny’s hand. “You’re slipping away son.”

He shook off the memory and focused on the present. Words. He needed to find the magic words that would untangle the ball. “It’s not right.”

Plain words. Simple words. A child’s truth, yet the pressure eased a bit. He didn’t seem to be pushing against a steel shirt when he breathed.

“No one ever said it would be.” Henry rested one hand on the brake of his wheelchair.

“It’s not fair.” They should have been safe with the soldiers. “Why isn’t it?”

“No one tries to make it so. We’re too busy living our lives to care about our neighbors. I lived next to Denise Powers for years, knew her husband, Trent was a cheating asshole, but didn’t want to interfere and look what happened? That bastard Trent snuck back into our neighborhood and killed her, making it look like a suicide. For all I know, he got away with it.”

Manny nodded. He’d witnessed Trent Powers throw the beat-up body of another neighbor over the balcony so the rats could eat her. “Exactly, how can you believe in a God that would allow someone like that to live.”

Wheelchair Henry frowned. “Who says God has anything to do with it?”

“Some fat guy. He was saying how this whole thing…” Manny opened his arms to include the burning city, the black skies and the dead, “this was God’s judgment upon us and if we didn’t repent and agree to only follow the Preacher guy, then we were going to hell.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.”

“Yeah.” But some folks nodded; a few even said amens. Manny rocked back on his heels. Rini had called the man an idiot, but Beth had paled and asked to leave. “That’s why we helped you instead of attending the service for the soldiers.”

“Earning your way into heaven, were you?”

“What? No!” He’d never get into Heaven. He’d brought home the Redaction from Juvenile Hall that had killed his parents and older brothers and sisters. Even if he spent a lifetime, he’d never work off that debt. But he could try.

Wheelchair Henry flicked the parking brake off and on. “Why did you help Rini when she showed up all beaten and broken on your doorstep, knowing the gang would find you through her?”

“She’s my best friend’s sister.” He shifted under the old man’s gaze. A best friend with whom he’d jacked a car that had crashed. He’d gone from the hospital to Juvenile Hall. His best friend had gone from the driver’s seat to the morgue. Guilt may have played a tiny part in letting her inside.

“And Beth Goodman?” Wheelchair Henry jabbed the air in the direction of the girl with black hair and red roots. “I knew her dad from his work at the Mission. He always preached that fire and brimstone twaddle. You helped her after she shot at us.”

“She’s just a kid.” A couple years younger than him. And without her goth make-up looked so much younger. “Besides, she’d just been attacked by some pervert.”

Cold sweat misted his skin. Nowhere was safe. Not with the soldiers, not in a church. Maybe that fat man was right. Maybe this was God’s punishment. But if that were so, then why was he still alive? Among everyone around him, he deserved to die.

“So everyone deserves forgiveness but you?” Wheelchair Henry goaded.

Manny pawed his chest until he found the gun strap, then he hung on. He stared at the medical truck as it rolled by. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about survivor’s guilt. You’ve got it bad and it’ll get you killed if you don’t start dealing with it.”

He fell back a step. God, was it written on his face? Could everyone see it?

“The disease that killed your parents wasn’t your fault, Manny.”

He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Wheelchair Henry held up his hand. “The niños told us about it. They don’t blame you, not one little bit. Hell, Mikey and Mary think you walk on water for saving them.”

Heat swarmed his face. “I didn’t do much.”

There hadn’t been much food to share when the soldiers stopped coming around.

“You did a hell of a lot. Them kids would probably be dead by now if you hadn’t taken ‘em in and you know it.” Henry thumped on his chest. “In here, you know it. You’re a good person Manny. You need to let go of the guilt or it will eat you alive.”

The older man’s praise chased the chill from his skin. If only it were that simple. Maybe, if he really was a good man… But he wouldn’t lie to his friend. “I’m only helping them in case something happens to me then… then the niños… they’ll…”

He choked on the words and couldn’t swallow them down.

Henry smiled.

“I think it’s brilliant.” Mavis Spanner stopped next to him and placed her hands on her hips. “Your actions may seem selfish, but they worked for the greater good. To help give your brother and sister a better life, you’re helping someone else. In short, you’re doing exactly as I hoped everyone would, building a civilization where the strong take care of the weak, the young, and the ill.”

The fat man’s words smashed through her speech. That dirty Benedict guy hadn’t thought much of helping anyone but himself. In fact, he seemed to imply that people needing help shouldn’t be given it. “Not everyone’s selfishness would be so nice.”

“True. There will always be wolves in the flock, just as there are dogs to stand guard.” She gestured to the rifle on his shoulder. “I think we know which group you belong to.”

He shook his head. She wouldn’t be saying things like that if she knew his past. He gripped the strap. He wasn’t worthy. He should give the gun back. He tightened his hold.

“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation.” She shoved her hair out of her eyes. “I just wanted you to know that I appreciate your volunteering and to let you know the trucks will be here in a couple minutes.”

She pointed to the glowing pair of headlights that popped up over the hill in the distance. “There has been some… mistreatment, so you may want to help just the men and the little, little kids.”

Manny swallowed hard. Mistreatment. His gaze skipped to Rini and Beth. They knew first hand about mistreatment.

She handed a tablet to Henry. “But you’re the expert, I’ll let you decide who goes where.”

Smiling sadly, she left to join the guys with the bows and arrows.

The lit screen cast a ghostly glow on Henry. “This is a nightmare. And I’m leaving these cases to you, Rini and Beth because, quite frankly, the idea of dealing with ‘em scares the Bejesus out of me.”

Manny tensed. What could give the old man nightmares? “Wh-what is it?”

“Teenagers.” He shuddered and squeezed his eyes closed. “Scariest thing on God’s green Earth.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Look at the sunset.” Papa Rose set his forearms on the steering wheel and stared through the windshield of the Toyota Prius. Bright pink sky burst through the black clouds and tinted the raindrops clinging to the glass.

In the passenger seat, Olivia snuggled deeper in the silver emergency blanket. The lightweight fabric rustled and dark lashes spiked against her tan skin. “I don’t care.”

His chest pinched. Poor kid. Falcon had to drag her kicking and screaming away from her mother’s corpse and shove her inside the car. Papa Rose had her buckled and on the move before she could escape. “Now, don’t say that.”

“It’s pink!” Toby’s high pitched voice drifted from the backseat. “I yike pink.”

He smiled. There wasn’t much the preschooler didn’t like. Pins and needles pricked his chest. No, he wouldn’t let the boy in. He strangled the steering wheel. As soon as Brainiac staved off the meltdown for four days, they’d leave to join the soldiers while he and Falcon waited their turn to die.

That was the deal.

He glared at the red tail lights creeping through the intersection ahead. Not that the squid knew of the plans, but Falcon did. So why had the former Green Beret left him alone in the car with the kidlets instead of Sailor B? The Spec Ops soldier had best not be going soft on him.

Just because they hadn’t found any survivors to take the children off their hands, didn’t mean he was going to be stuck with them.

“Why?” Jillie slurped her drink.

Clearing the intersection, Papa Rose glanced in the rearview mirror. “Why what?”

“Why should she care about a stupid sunset?” Wisps of blond hair drifted around Jillie’s oval face. A bruise dotted her left cheek and temple. The red slash running through it marked where the bullet had grazed her temple.

A chill snaked down his spine and he shifted on the cushion. The girl was damn lucky to be alive. Maybe it was a good thing they hadn’t crossed paths with any survivors—not if they were like the animals that slaughtered those people in the convenience store.

Her gaze skittered away from his but she kicked the back of his seat. “It’s just a stupid sunset.”

Everything was stupid since they’d left the gas station. Four hours of pessimism crammed the compact interior. “People came from all over the world to see an Arizona sunset. We’re famous for it.”

“That’s dumb.” She fiddled with the straw, sliding it in and out of her tan drink pouch.

He sighed. Favorite adjective number two: dumb. Why did he keep trying to engage the girls in conversation? Because of Henry Dobbins. The old coot had harassed him into dealing with his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from his tours in Afghanistan. Too bad he hadn’t been able to make any inroads into the guilt. He was certain the psychologist would have loved to treat the man who’d brought the Redaction to Phoenix.

The man who was responsible for killing over two million Arizonans.

Hell, the wily ol’ devil might even have convinced him to forgive himself.

Not going to happen now.

His course was set. Looking after these three body, mind and soul was just a temporary setback not a course change. Not that they particularly liked his efforts. Fortunately for them, he was just as stubborn as Wheelchair Henry.

“You don’t like pink, Jillie?”

She shrugged.

“You were wearing a pink shirt… earlier.” He focused on the black ribbon stretching out beyond his headlights. He didn’t know if she’d been wearing the clothes when her family had been massacred. Given the amount of blood staining it, he thought it most likely. “I kinda thought it was your favorite color.”

It had been his daughter’s favorite. Don’t go there. It’s not the same. This is about the kid’s mental health. Nothing else. He couldn’t let it be about anything else.

She sucked on her trembling bottom lip for a moment and blinked rapidly. “Not anymore.”

“Don’t let those b—” he swallowed the swear word, “buttheads take that away from you. You like pink, you go on liking it. Then you win, not them.”

“Whatever.” She puffed on the glass, fogging it. With a tapered finger, she drew a gun.

Frustration shredded his insides. Dammit, he had to break through her shock. Get her back to the teasing girl who’d been showering in the rain using Brainiac’s precious soap.

Maybe the grief was too new.

Maybe he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

He probably shouldn’t have taken over caring for Toby. Little Jillie may have needed to be needed. Once they stopped, he’d put that burden back on her. And then he’d coerce Olivia into taking care of Jillie. Given how close the two were in age that should prove interesting. “I think it’s important to find three beautiful things everyday.”

“Why?” Toby slipped down in his seat until the belt cut across his chest.

Damn. He should have looked for a booster seat. At least, it would have made it difficult for the little eel to escape. “Jillie.” When she looked up at him, he jerked his head in Toby’s direction.

She leaned over the little boy and tugged on his arm until he sat up properly. “Silly head.” She mussed his curly hair. “The belt is supposed to go across your tummy not boobies.”

“Boobies.” He giggled and buried his face in his teddy bear. “I don’t gots boobies. I’s a boy.”

“Everyone has boobies. Boy’s boobies are just flat, that’s all.” Jillie rolled her eyes, ten going on thirty.

Papa Rose held his breath. His wife did that. So did their daughters. He exhaled slowly. But it didn’t mean anything. It was just something in the X chromosomes.

“Boys don’t have boobies.” Olivia set one hand on the seat and peered into the back. “They have nibbles that are bad so they don’t grow into boobies.”

He coughed out a laugh. Olivia would talk about boobies and nibbles but nothing else? Perhaps they should have skipped the sunset and talked about lighting his farts on fire as a private in the Army.

“Ohh.” Toby nodded, as if that weirdness was the answer to world peace. “When are we gonna be there?”

Clearing his throat, Papa Rose touched his earpiece making sure the line was open. No point of him hoarding all the fun of an old fashioned family road trip. He quickly locked down the warmth infusing him. Not that this was his family, but hazing passed the time, especially when someone else was the hazee. “What’s our ETA, B?”

“Jesus Christ, Papa.” Brainiac hissed. “You asked…” fabric rustled, “four and a half minutes ago.”

“So that makes it how long again?” He winked at Jillie in the mirror.

“I gots ta pee, Papa.” Toby’s chubby face scrunched up and his hand cupped his private parts.

“Four and a half minutes less than last time.” Brainiac bit off the ends of his words.

Looks like someone was losing their temper. B would have to work on that. The kids couldn’t have him yelling at them when he drove them to safety. “Toby has to pee.”

Falcon’s deep throated chuckle filled his ear. “Of course, he does.”

“Can’t he hold it?” Brainiac chuffed. “We’re not too far away. Ten minutes tops.”

Papa Rose buzzed down the window and stuck his head out. The cool air smelled of wet earth. Lightning and thunder rumbled in the east valley and dissolved the Superstition Mountains. Outside the cone of his headlamps, dusk turned the buildings into rectangles. If they were that close, shouldn’t he see the power plant? Then again, he’d been starting at the tanker’s mud flaps for the last four hours. It almost made him homesick for the three hours they’d spent pumping the fuel into the tanker.

“Can you hold it, Toby?”

“I gots to go real bad, Papa.” His voice rose and his shoulders hunched.

His bladder gave a sympathy twinge and he almost crossed his legs. Poor tyke. “He can’t hold it.”

For a moment, the brake lights blazed lighter on the truck. The moment passed and they quickly returned to normal demon glow.

“We’re not stopping, Papa. No telling what’s out here.” Falcon’s order came through clearly. “And we’re sitting on a fucking bomb.”

“He’s just a kid,” Brainiac shot back. “It won’t take but a minute for him to whip it out and piss.”

“Tick-tock. Mission critical,” Falcon snapped. “Papa, you’ve been this route. Have the kid pee in a bottle or cup. We’ll dump it when we arrive.”

Asshole. “Roger that.” He turned down the volume of his earpiece. “Jillie, I need you to find an empty MRE bag.”

She cocked her head to the left. “Aren’t they in the trunk?”

“Empty ones.” They’d packed the trunk with Meals-Ready-to-Eat at the refugee staging area they’d found. It had been deserted, the stuff untouched, even by the rats. That just wasn’t natural. “Did you save your lunch bags like I asked?”

“Yep.” She disappeared from the rearview mirror. When she reappeared, she held the brown plastic bag. More bags, plastic utensils, a bottle and a wadded up napkin spilled over the top.

“I gots ta go really, really bad.” Toby wailed.

“It’s okay, Toby.” Jillie stroked his arm. “When are we going to pull over?”

“We’re not.” Papa forced his grip to loosen on the wheel. “Take the bottle out of the bag, uncap it and let him pee in it.”

Her face scrunched up but Olivia spoke. “Eww! Gross.”

“It’s necessary.” And it was only number one. The girls would probably try to climb out the window if he told them how to go number two. His daughters had threatened to call Child Protective Services if he ever made them poop in a can.

“Papa!!!” Tears glistened on Toby’s cheeks.

“It’s okay, Toby. We’re going to take care of it. Jillie!”

“Fine.” Tossing her blond hair over her shoulder, she yanked out the bottle. A fork, ball of cellophane and a drink pouch rained down on the carpet. “But I am so not holding it while he goes!”

“He can hold it.” Whether she referred to the bottle or Toby’s penis, he didn’t ask. The point was moot. “Undo your seat belt Toby and stand up.”

“Buts you said not to takes it off.”

“It’s okay. Just this once. For an emergency.” That should cover ninety-nine percent of the situations they would encounter. It may have been years since his children were that young, but he still remembered the twists their logic could take. He’d had the gray hair to prove it until he shaved his head.

Toby slithered under the engaged seatbelt and stood up, pinching the fly of his oversized pants.

“Oh, I can’t look!” Drawing her legs up, Olivia covered her face then set her hands on her knees. Dreadlocks slipped over her cheeks.

“Here.” Jillie shoved the bottle into his hands then turned toward the window.

“I’s not thirsty, I gots ta pee.” Toby accepted the bottle then held it to his mouth and threw back his head, catching a drop of water on his tongue

“No, Toby.” The car shook as it veered onto the shoulder. He quickly steered back into his lane. “I want you to pee into the bottle. Can you do that? Can you do that for Papa Rose?”

The preschooler held the opening to his eye then shrugged. “‘Kay.”

“Good boy.” He nodded in encouragement. Anytime now.

Setting the bottle on the seat, Toby shivered while raking the oversized tee-shirt above his tummy. He stuck his tongue between his lips and jerked on the rope holding his pants up. It didn’t move. His brow furrowed and he tugged again. Nothing.

Damn, he’d done too good of a job dressing the kid. “Jillie can you help him pull down his pants?”

Olivia giggled.

With a deep sigh, Jillie stabbed the release button. Her seatbelt retracted with a thump of metal against plastic. Rolling off the seat, she crouched on the floor, grabbed the fabric near Toby’s hips and yanked.

The pants puddled near his knees and the boy giggled.

Christ Jesus. Papa Rose pressed his thighs together. Was she trying to unman the lad? “Pee into the bottle, Toby.”

“‘Kay.” The preschooler swept it off the seat and pressed the opening against the length.

He lifted a little out of his seat. Oh, shit, they were about to have their very own golden arch. “No. No! Line up the holes.”

Olivia’s shoulders shook.

“Here.” Jillie plucked the bottle from his hands, inverted it and slid the plastic over Toby’s penis. With a jerk of her head, she pushed both down like a light switch.

“Easy!” He banged his knee against the dashboard trying to cross his legs. “That thing is attached.” And sensitive. Good Lord, what if it got stuck inside the bottle? Falcon and Brainiac would never let him live it down. “You could break it off.”

“Nuh-uh.” Jillie’s eyes narrowed.

Toby’s mouth opened as he released. Yellow streamed in the bottle and the cab filled with the warm, pungent odor of fresh urine.

“Honest.” He held up three fingers.

Olivia peeked at him through locks of hair. “Really?”

God, maybe he was scarring them for life. Then again, telling his daughters that a man might break off inside of them could have kept the boys at bay. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t lie about something like that. It would break the guy code.”

Jillie thrust out her jaw. “Don’t you mean the soldier’s code?”

She was a suspicious little thing. Her daddy must have raised her right. “This is one strictly for us boys. After all, some of our best soldiers are girls.”

Women. Ah, fuck political correctness. The world was ending.

Toby wiggled and jumped while pulling up his pants.

Wrinkling her nose, she held up the half-full bottle. “What do you want me to do with this?”

Setting his finger on the controls, he rolled down her window. “Chuck it out.”

Olivia’s head jerked up. Her dreadlocks swung back and forth, skimming her shoulders. “That’s bad for the environment.”

The environment was going to be royally fucked in a couple of days when the power plant blew up. But they didn’t know that. They didn’t need to know that. It was just one more bogeyman to chase from their nightmares. “Okay. Cap it, put it back in the bag and we’ll toss it when we get to Palo Verde.”

“Are the soldiers there?” Olivia asked.

None that were alive. At least, none had answered Mavis Spanner’s or the military’s calls. “We were on a mission when we found you.”

“I found you,” Olivia corrected.

“Exactly. So we have to complete the mission and then we’re all going to join the soldiers.” Or what’s left of them. Thousands had died on their first and last night at camp. Maybe there wouldn’t be any left in three days.

“Heads up, Papa,” Falcon barked in his ear. “We got lights in the distance.”

Lights? People. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. People could take away the kidlets. Or… Hadn’t B said the meltdown might be a flash of light, not a mushroom cloud? His mouth dried. “Is it…”

“Hot damn!” Brainiac shouted. “The power plant still has electricity.”

He sunk into his seat. Thank God! They hadn’t arrived too late. “Toby, back in your seat. Jillie buckle up. Olivia, feet on the floor.”

Olivia’s bare feet hit the carpet with a thud and she leaned forward in the bucket seat. “I don’t see it.”

“There!” Jillie tapped the window. “Is that it? The place with the lights?”

“Let me see.” Instead of returning to his seat, Toby squeezed in behind the chair and pressed his face against the window.

“Toby! Get back in your seat.” What could the kid be thinking? He was traveling at over sixty miles per hour. Didn’t he know he could get killed if they hit something.

“I wants ta see.” The preschooler didn’t budge. “Oooh, pretty.”

“Now, you’ve seen get back in your seat.” His damp palms slipped on the wheel. The boy still hadn’t moved. “Jillie, help your brother back into his seat.”

Her attention snapped to him and their eyes locked in the rearview.

“Now, young lady.”

An odd look flashed on her face. There and gone before he could decipher its meaning. “Come on, Toby.”

“I yike the lights.” Toby waited patiently while Jillie undid the seatbelt then climbed up, raising his hands above his head until she secured him.

“I wanna see,” Olivia whispered.

“You will.” He checked the mirror.

Jillie flounced into her seat and shoved the belt into the latch. “Happy now?”

“Yes.” Night leaned against the windows and the children wiggled closer to the interior light. “Let’s get a good look at where we’re going.”

He stomped on the accelerator and swerved into the oncoming lane. Three domed reactors rose like bone-white tombstones from the blackened desert. Lights pockmarked the concrete and brick buildings clawing at the reactors. He gulped. “It’s huge.”

Certainly a hell of a lot bigger than a nuclear sub.

“You got this covered, right B?” Say yes.

“Sure, Papa. No sweat.”

He scraped his hand down his face and swung behind the tanker. No sweat, huh? Then why did the squid’s voice shake?

Olivia craned her neck. “Can we stay the night?”

Hell no! Didn’t she see the danger? But she didn’t, no one had until so many people died that Mother Nature had no choice but to hammer the final nail in humanity’s coffin. “We’re on a dangerous mission, so I’m going to need all of you to stay close and do as you’re told. No questions. No arguing. Got it?”

Olivia nodded. “So we can stay?”

“For the night and maybe most of tomorrow.” Then they’d get the hell outta Tonopah and hightail it to the soldiers and safety. “You understand the rules, Jillie?”

“Yeah.” Jillie stretched the word into three syllables. “I’m not deaf, you know.”

He bit back his retort. Sarcasm was wasted on the young. “I’m counting on you two to look after Toby.” Jillie glared at Olivia. “It’ll take both, because the little squirt can get into trouble lickety-split.”

Jillie crossed her arms and flung herself against the seat back. “I know how to watch him.”

He’d have to talk to the girl, explain that Olivia needed her too.

“I’s not a squirt.” Toby hugged his teddy bear. “I’s a munchkin.”

“I’ll help.” Olivia snuck a peek at the backseat.

“Good.” He followed the tanker off Wintersburg Road onto a side street. It wouldn’t be long now. Instructions welled up in his throat. He should have spent time warning them instead of trying to fix them. “I’ll—”

“Heads up, Papa Rose.” The tanker’s brake lights bathed the car’s interior in a bloody hue. Gears ground as Brainiac downshifted. “We’re pulling up to the guard station.”

Why had Falcon let the squid drive? The sailor manned boats not semis. “Roger that.”

“Fuck me!” Pride colored Falcon’s voice in phosphorescent hues. “They’ve got tanks guarding the place. Four. Five. Six of them. Flash your lights.”

Yeah, they didn’t want to be blown to bits, not when they were so close to completing their mission. All they had to do was transfer the gas to the generators, make sure the reactors were powered down and voilà, everyone got four extra days on the Earth’s surface.

What could possibly go wrong?

Lifting his foot off the accelerator, he coasted behind the big rig. Tanks. Well, why not? Too bad the attack had come from tiny kids toys. There’d better be a particularly nasty corner of Hell for the asshole that dreamt up that offensive. He lifted his Sig-Sauer from the door’s pocket. “I want you guys to lay low until I say so. Got it?”

“Toby’s already low.” Jillie laid her head behind the sleeping boy’s and set her hand on the chubby one holding the teddy bear.

“Am I low enough?” Olivia slouched in her seat. The interior dome light sparkled on her silver emergency blanket.

Her head stuck a couple of inches above the window. A good target for a half-assed sniper. “Why don’t you sit on the floor and put your head on the cushion?”

Eyes wide, she nodded and unclipped her seatbelt.

“You could come back here.” Jillie stuck her hand between the two front seats.

Olivia clasped it and dove into the back. The blanket snapped like a cape behind her and her foot collided with his elbow. “We can share the blanket.”

“Thanks.”

He rubbed the ache from his arm and stopped the car. “Okay, we just have to clear the checkpoint.”

Hopefully without shooting. He set his hand on the gear. Maybe if he threw it in reverse, he could get the kids far enough away before the tanker exploded.

Falcon swore softly. “It’s unmanned. I repeat the station and tank are empty. I’m going to unlock the gate.”

The Prius stilled underneath his feet. God, he hated that. It always felt like the engine died. “You need help?”

“This isn’t amateur hour.”

He heard the cab’s door shut.

“Hey, Papa?” Brainiac drummed on the dashboard to an old AC/DC song. “You think the same kids that go to special ed classes later have to go to Special Forces when they enlist?”

The squid must have been thinking up that one all day. “Sounds about right to me. Notice how Falcon barely speaks, gotta be some mental handicap in there somewhere.”

“Fuck you two.” Falcon popped the lock then there was a click and the gate rattled as he pushed it open.

“Obvious anger issues.” Brainiac tsked.

“Probably why they wear the funny colored hats, too.” He scanned the fence encircling the property. Damn. Why wasn’t there a coyote or bird or something out? This stillness made his balls itch. “Helps to know at a glance what kind a mental midget you’re dealing with.”

“While you two comedians are yucking it up, I’m doing the heavy lifting.” Falcon grunted. “The job was the death of old Fred here.”

He tensed and clicked the safety off his weapon. “Foul play?”

“Natural causes. Or what passes for it nowadays. There’s a damn Burgers in a Basket plushie sitting on his computer monitor.” An odd clicking sound drifted through the com. “I’m lowering the pylons now.”

“Why would they have pylons?” Brainiac scoffed. Air brakes burped then the tanker drifted forward. “I mean, anyone who wanted in could just plow through the fence.”

“And the guards with automatic weapons would pick ‘em off if they got close to the reactors.” Falcon breathed heavier, no doubt sweeping through the building.

“And the fields are mined on the other side,” Papa interjected. Why should Falcon be the only one pulling lies out of his ass? “Go off the paved road and boom!”

“Really?” The brake light flared as Brainiac coasted by the guard station.

“No, you dipshit.” Falcon ghosted out of the building and behind the truck, flipping the bird while passing in front of the Toyota’s hood. “Papa’s just messing with your squishy squid brain.”

Killjoy. He jackrabbited the car close to the other man’s legs. “Are you finished snapping holiday pictures, Falcon? Can we get on with the mission?”

“Patience.” Falcon disappeared around the side of the tanker. A moment later, the cab door slammed.

The tanker picked up speed.

“Name’s Papa Rose and if you don’t know it by now, you might wanna take a refresher course in Special Ed.” He shifted into drive and followed the truck. Headlamps illuminated construction equipment until it was subsumed by shadows.

“Can we get up now?” Olivia stared up at him from the back floor.

“Not yet.” He leaned into the turn. The reactors and assorted buildings blazed on the left. Plenty of places for a sniper to hide. “But soon.”

“‘Kay.” She shrunk back down but her hand gripped the teddy bear’s.

They’d be okay. He’d make sure they’d be okay. Whatever it took. They braked at an intersection and turned left, heading for two bat-shaped three-story buildings. The hair on his neck rose as he scanned the area. What was pinging his ‘oh shit’ meter?

“Falcon?” He had to be missing something, but what? His senses sharpened. Rows of black birds studded the field of skeletal towers. A Burgers in a Basket hamburger wrapper flapped against a curb. Private vehicles decomposed slowly in faded parking spots.

“Copy that,” Falcon whispered. “Despite the lights there’s too damn many shadows.”

As they coasted past an arrow-shaped parking lot, he caught motion from the corner of his eye. “Ten o’clock. The camera moved.” He slapped the steering wheel. The impact rattled up his arm. “Someone is tracking our movements.”

Brainiac snorted and led them through the parking lot toward a pill bug-like buildings. “They’re probably motion activated. Man, are you paranoid.”

“Doesn’t mean someone’s not out to get us,” Falcon answered. “You know where you’re going, B?”

Driving with one hand, he kept the gun in the other. This corridor was the perfect place for an ambush.

“The generator rooms are next to the reactors.”

Like that helped. There were buildings all around the damn domes. “Can you be a little more specific?”

Brainiac pulled the truck to a stop near a black rectangle. “Not until I check it out.”

“Well, hell, I need to stretch my legs anyway.” Falcon spoke just at the lights on the tanker died. “How’re the munchkins, Papa?”

Parking behind the squid, he glanced in the back seat. Toby slept on but tremors rippled through the wide-eyed girls. “Holding up.”

“We’re going to need you for this jaunt.” Falcon appeared at the back of the truck.

“Roger that.” Killing the engine, he released his seatbelt and twisted on the seat. He tucked the blanket around Olivia’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back. You’re safe for now, but I think you should keep low until I get back.”

“Will you come back?” A single tear skipped down Olivia’s cheek.

“I promised to take you to the soldiers and I will.” He swept a blond strand off Jillie’s forehead. “I never break a promise. Now be good and I should be back in a few minutes.”

“You’ll leave the light on?” Jillie bit her knuckle.

“You bet.” He stepped out of the car. A beep warned him of the light but he shut the door anyway. Gun in hand, he joined Brainiac and Falcon by the tanker. “What’s the plan?”

“They alright in there?” Falcon jerked his head toward the Toyota.

“Toby’s sleeping. Olivia and Jillie are scared but keeping it together for each other.” He stood a little straighter. No whining or wailing from his girls.

With his M-4, Brainiac pointed to the boxy building in front of them. Two round tanks separated it from the dark rectangular pool they’d parked alongside. “I think this is the generator room.”

Falcon checked his gun. One in the chamber. “Let’s check it out.”

The former Green Beret took point. Papa Rose scanned the road. Nothing moved in the light puddles. Pivoting, he jogged behind B. His attention never rested any place too long. His stomach cramped. Both of them were expendable, this was Brainiac’s show. He hoped the squid gave a command performance.

They quickly arrived at a plain steel door with a black access panel beside it. A diamond with colors and numbers was screwed to the wall next to a red box marked emergency phone.

“I was right.” Brainiac pumped the air. “This is the generator room.”

“How can you tell?” Papa Rose eyed the camera staring at him from the corner. His finger twitched on the trigger. Someone had to be behind it, watching them. But why weren’t they confronted when they entered the site?

B tapped the red number. “Flammable not radioactive. They have to be inside.”

Falcon worked a pinch of white explosive in between his fingers. “Let’s have a look.”

“Don’t move! Or I’ll kill us all.” A male voice blared around them before disintegrating into a cough.

“What the fuck!” He aimed at the double headed speakers hanging a foot over the door. Brainiac hadn’t been the only one to be right. They weren’t alone.

B turned toward the camera and slung his M-4 on his shoulder. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled. “We’re here to help. We have fuel.”

“I can’t hear you, you idiot.” The man managed between coughs.

“Papa.” Falcon jerked his head toward the phone box.

Since when had he been knighted the great communicator? Lowering his gun, he ripped open the box and lifted the headset. The plastic was cold against his ear. The phone rang once. Twice.

“Dying of radiation exposure is very nasty. First you—”

“I’ve already gotten the Cliff Notes,” he snapped. “Doctor Mavis Spanner sent us. We picked up some fuel to keep the generators running so everyone can get to safety?”

“Fuel? Fuel!” the man shrieked. “I’ve got fucking fuel! It’s water I need. Water! In eighteen hours, the first spent fuel rods will be exposed to air and then everything will glow for thousands of years!”

Chapter Sixteen

Mavis’s stomach jumped into her mouth. Whoa! She clawed at the ‘oh shit’ handle above the rear door and jerked upright in her seat. Humvees weren’t supposed to move sideways. After swiping her hand over her mouth to wipe away any drool marks, she peered out the window. Headlights shimmered on Fossil Creek. Rain snaked down her window and drummed on the metal roof.

“The river’s running pretty high.” Black currents sucked at the sandy banks and white foam swirled on the wide, usually placid water. Stubby blades of grass bobbed on the waves. The sand bar on the left had completely disappeared.

“Current’s strong.” David didn’t glance at her in the rearview mirror. Muscles flexed in his jaw and under his tee-shirt as he manhandled the steering wheel.

The back of the Humvee swung to the left. Shrubs clawed at the side. She tightened her grip until her fingers began to feel numb. “It’s been raining all day, but I didn’t expect this.”

Hadn’t taken the rain into account in her bug out plans. Or the snow being reported at higher elevations. Her three day trip was beginning to seem ridiculously optimistic. Good thing she’d asked Papa Rose, Falcon and Brainiac to buy her four days.

General Lister reached for her abandoned cup of coffee. He sniffed it then drained the last couple of sips. “Rain’s a nice break from the sandstorms and blistering heat of the Middle East, isn’t it, Sergeant-Major?”

“Yes, Sir.” The tires dug into the blacktop and the vehicle shot forward. Headlights illuminated the break in the trees and shrubs lining the creek bank.

Light shone inside the vehicle as the personnel carrier behind them entered the water. He didn’t veer off course or fishtail. Perhaps the heavier vehicles would be okay.

One by one, Mavis pried her fingers from the handle. Pins and needles crept along her skin. She might have overreacted a smidge. “It’s not the rain that’s the issue. We’re traveling through washes and unmaintained roads.”

Lister grunted over the squeal and thump of the wiper blades. Part of the dry-rotted rubber flopped over the glass with each swish. “They couldn’t slow us down any more than stopping for all those civilians. Besides, we’ll be on state roads soon. Smooth sailing all the way to Colorado. Should be snug in a mine shaft by this time tomorrow.”

It would be nice, but they both knew it was a fairy dream.

Those small towns along the way posed a hazard, especially if folks were unwilling to move or barricaded the road. Mentioning the impending meltdown might have pried a few people loose. Then again, it hadn’t kept settlers from claiming radioactive homesteads around Chernobyl. And would surely have led to panic when it was coupled with the anthrax attack.

At least there was tangible proof of the disease.

Too many people would dismiss the nuclear threat because it couldn’t be seen, touched or felt.

With a bump, the Humvee lurched from the river, the swoosh of draining water barely discernible above the crackle of thunder. Gravel pelted the undercarriage as they steamed along the muddy road and the interior quickly flooded with the crimson glow of the tail lights in front of them.

Mavis grabbed her computer and lifted it from the floor. Might as well get a few more hours of work in. “Did Sunnie’s truck make it to camp?”

“They’re behind us.” Instead of following the carrier in front of him, David veered into virgin desert. The vehicle rocked wildly and branches scratched at the doors. Tires slipped, dug in, then pushed them higher. “Have been since we stopped for lunch.”

Right. She knew that. Her cat nap had dulled her wits but at least the fire in her throat had settled into a low simmer. She glanced out the window. From their vantage on a hill above the river, she counted ten large trucks serpentining down the dirt road plunging into Fossil Creek. “Which one is she, do you know?”

“Fourth from the rear.” Headlamps spotlighted Lister as another truck left the river.

Nine trucks remained.

David jockeyed the car back and forth until she could see the convoy through the thump and squeak of the wipers. “Robertson, flash your headlights.”

The fourth truck from the back fell dark then blazed on.

Lister chuckled.

Lucky guess or was the general really that good? Mavis opened her laptop. Probably a combination of both, gold stars were hard to earn in the Corps. She ripped her attention from the crossing and focused on the screen. Worrying wouldn’t help Sunnie. Besides, only they seemed to struggle across the creek bed. “I’ve been thinking about adding a civilian consultant or two to our group.”

Funny. Technically, she was a civilian, yet neither she nor many of the other survivors seemed to think of her that way.

Lister chewed on the earpiece of his readers. “The snake who thinks he’s a preacher and doesn’t know his name?”

She rubbed the goosebumps from her arms and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Definitely him.”

“Keep him close, limit his influence.”

Because a bullet through the brain was off the table, at least for the moment. Perhaps, she’d find a side benefit in the hazardous road ahead. With the human race facing extinction, one death would make a huge impact on future generations. Especially if certain undesirable traits were chlorinated from the gene pool.

“Exactly. But I was thinking more in terms of this fine upstanding gentleman.” She brought up a picture of an obese man in a dirty flannel shirt. Deep-set beady eyes glared at her from extra rolls of flesh.

Lister’s salt and pepper eyebrows soared toward his crewcut. “I’m too tired for sarcasm, Doc. Why him?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s in league with Reverend Trent.” She resisted the urge to wipe her tongue on her sleeve just associating a man of God with that scumbag. But until she had proof, she had no choice.

God help her if Trent P. Franklin really was a man of the cloth.

She called up everything Sally had managed to compile on the fat man before handing her laptop to the general.

“Dirk Benedict.” Lister prodded his glasses higher up his nose. “He’s got a record of drunk and disorderly and resisting arrest. Could be an authority issue.”

“It was ten years ago and that’s not why I picked him.”

“I know that name.” David turned in the driver’s seat. “Can I see a picture of him?”

Lister angled the screen so David could see it.

“Yeah, he has authority issues and is a lying asshole.” His lips twisted in a sneer. “He tried to claim to support dead people so he could get more rations. When that didn’t work, a couple of folks in his neighborhood reported that he’d stolen their supplies. God knows how many he bullied, but I’d bet it was more than a handful.”

“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 swarmed 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 used 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.”

He added the emphasis for maximum doubt.

All five men muttered.

They responded like fish on a professional angler’s line.

Turner held his palms over the fire. “I don’t see why we’d have to go all the way to Colorado. There have to be some small towns in Arizona that don’t have a Burgers in a Basket. They wouldn’t have the anthrax and we could settle there.”

Yes! They were behaving just as he wanted. “The soldiers wouldn’t take to kindly to us changing their plans.”

“Fuck ‘em. I’m not too keen on being under the government’s thumb.” Gary swept the moisture off his tear drop tattoo. “They have too many stupid laws.”

And he was obviously not smart enough to avoid being arrested. That wouldn’t be a problem in his new world, provided he followed orders.

“We’re citizens,” Robert E. piped up. “We have rights. If we don’t want to go with them, they can’t force us.”

What an idiot! But ever so easy to manipulate. Trent rocked back on his heels. “They have the guns, trucks and supplies.”

“The taxpayers paid for all of it,” Ernest chimed in. “We have just as much a right to it as the soldiers.”

Turner’s white teeth gleamed in the firelight. “We might have to take what’s ours.”

The neutrals simmered into a grumble.

Gary shrugged. “There’s a lot more of us than them. Even with their guns they have to sleep sometime.”

Gravel crunched.

The last truckload of survivors had made it to buildings. Would there be any more soldiers? He could use their strength and liked that they’d already been broken, but too many of them had poorly chosen loyalties.

“So we ditch the soldiers and keep the rest?” He needed more civilians, more people to do the little things.

“I won’t be party to killing anyone.” Both Alabama brothers spoke at the same time.

Spineless losers. Trent controlled his irritation. It was better this way. He could teach them the correct way, his way, to do things. “No one said anything about killing.”

“Right.” Turner shrugged. “We just leave them behind with the sick. You know, weed out the undesirables.”

Gary tossed his weight from foot to foot.

In the old world, the man might have been undesirable. In this one, Trent could use him.

“Henry Dobbins, you old fool!” A woman shrieked. “Let the soldiers push you up the hill. I didn’t come all this way to watch you die from a heart attack.”

Fear formed a block of ice in Trent’s gut. If Henry Dobbins was here the woman must be his wife, Mildred. His hands fisted. Damn, those busybodies would ruin his plans just like they had his marriage. He couldn’t let that happen, not now.

This was his time to lead.

He had to eliminate them before they saw him, before they told his followers that he was an insurance salesman. If they found out he wasn’t a preacher, he might lose their loyalty. That could not happen.

Not when he was so close to achieving all he deserved.

“Let’s walk a little, stretch our legs.” He gestured down the road, away from Henry Dobbins and his meddling wife. Why had God let such worthless creatures survive? The old and feeble should have been the first ones killed. Thankfully, many of his men believed the same.

They would help him and they didn’t know it.

Shunning the warmth of the fire, Trent led them into the night. Across the river, lights twinkled off and on, like the fireflies he’d caught as a child and kept in a jar until they died.

Good times.

“God, why didn’t He get rid of the screeching old bats?” Benedict folded his arms across his massive chest.

Gary nodded, but the brothers stared at the ground. The fools thought they had to protect women. That would change once they got a taste of what true power could offer and he would show it to them.

Tucking the Bible under his arm, he rubbed his hands together. “Gentlemen, I think it is time we decided how we’re going to take back our freedom.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Wake-up, Princess.” Eddie’s words accompanied a pinching and wiggling of her big toe.

Audra jerked it free but her sock stayed behind. Cold air washed over her arch as she curled up on the bus seat. Goodness, it felt like she’d just nodded off. Grit scratched her eyes as she blinked herself awake.

“You should let her sleep.” Stuart straightened in the seat behind Eddie. “She’s done a lot today and needs to rest.”

Eddie sat up in the driver’s seat then draped her stolen sock across his muscular thigh. His gas mask dangled from his tattooed neck. “She’s our leader. I’m sure she’ll want to be awake to hand us over to the soldiers.”

“Soldiers.” Clawing at the seat, she pulled herself up. Her heart raced. She definitely wanted to be awake at the moment of her liberation. “Where are they?”

She pressed her nose against the glass, cold quickly leached the warmth from her skin. Night crowded the windows and rain drummed on the metal roof. Thunder rolled overhead followed quickly by lightning hurling golden forks at the darkness. Joints popped and muscles ached. She checked her wristwatch. Good heavens, they’d been on the road for nearly twenty-four hours.

“We’re not there yet.” Stuart tore off a piece of bread, squished it into a ball between his index finger and thumb then tossed it in his mouth. An empty hamburger bun sleeve fluttered on the floor.

Her stomach growled. Damn it. That was her bread. She swiped at the drool pooling in the corners of her mouth. The first time in nearly half a year that real bread was within her reach and someone stole it while she slept. And he’d no doubt eaten the other bag as well. Forget manners, next time she found bread, she’d stuff her face until a button popped off her pants.

“But I thought…” Her waistband cut into her stomach when she leaned forward. A jacket rolled down her chest. She detected the faint scent of sweat, rain and Old Spice. Eddie. She caught the brown leather before it touched the floor and hung it on her bent knees.

“Relax, Princess.” Dangling her sock from his middle finger, he angled his arm back toward her. “We’re almost there.”

She swiped the sock up and stuffed her foot inside. No doubt he waneted to make fun of the pink monkeys on the white striped fabric. “We’ve been almost there since lunchtime.”

And they’d used all the fuel they’d gathered at Burgers in a Basket. Soon they’d be burning their reserves. The soldiers had better be there.

The Hawaiian dancer tattoo danced on Eddie’s bicep. “Don’t blame me. Prince Charming here is the one who gave us the directions.”

Stuart chomped on the last bit of bread. “The name is Stuart.”

Two syllables. Emphasis on both. Eddie must have been working his magic on the newcomer. Not that the bread thief didn’t deserve it. She sincerely hoped the man got a belly ache. “Gentlemen.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Stuie.” Eddie’s lips twitched. “Princess Audra will protect you.”

She closed her eyes. One. Two. Stuart may deserve it but she’d done nothing to warrant the migraine that accompanied the soundtrack. Five. Opening her eyes, she looked out the windshield. Water slid in sheets down the glass, parting here and there on bug bodies, then joining up again.

The bus’s headlamps shot cones of light across a muddy road. On the right, white capped black water ran through a deep ditch. “Where are we?”

“Following the canal.” Turning his head, Eddie winked at her then concentrated once more on the road. “Someone who’s actually been to the Polytech Campus said that this canal will take us right by the school.”

Licking his finger, Stuart blotted up the crumbs on his jacket. “I never said I’d actually been to the campus.”

He’d never said he hadn’t either. Ergo their nine mile trip had instead serpentined over half the east valley when they followed his directions. The soldiers had better not have left.

Stuart leaned down and scooped up the empty bag. Brown and white crumbs slid along the crease on the bottom. Tossing back his head, he funneled them into his mouth.

The nerve of some people. She stomped into her boots. Her heels thudded hollowly along the bus floor. “Have you even been to Mesa?”

Behind her, people yawned and muttered.

“Sure.” Stuart licked the residue off his lips. “There’s a couple of really good restaurants here—spicy Italian, mouth watering Thai…” he snapped his fingers, “and once I went to a concert at the performing arts center in downtown Mesa.”

Her stomach growled. Did he have to mention food? Besides, he’d probably used a GPS system to guide him. They hadn’t been so lucky and it had cost them time and fuel. “You led me to believe that you were familiar with the area.”

His breath fogged the bag as he blew into it. The plastic puffed up; he clamped the opening closed. “I used to drive the Santan freeway everyday on my way to Scottsdale when the Redaction hit. I’d seen the signs for the school. I didn’t think it would be that hard to find.”

Her fingers curled into fists. “The roads had been clogged with broken down cars and decomposing bodies.” She wouldn’t have asked the bread-stealing twit how to get to the campus otherwise. “You said you knew another route.”

“I did.” Stuart twisted the opening, holding it in one hand. He sidled closer to the edge of his seat. “It wasn’t my fault that way was blocked too.”

Audra blinked. He wouldn’t. It was too juvenile to consider.

Stuart clapped his hands together. Caught in the middle, the bag exploded with a pop. It echoed like a shot around the metal interior.

A baby’s wail rose on the ringing silence.

“Son of a bitch!” Eddie half rose from the driver’s seat; his fist punched the space behind him, missing Stuart’s arm by inches. He swung again.

Chuckling, Stuart waved the flaccid bag, brushing Eddie’s fingers.

Someone moaned; others peppered the air with one word questions.

The bus veered toward the canal.

She leaped from her seat. “Eddie, please!”

His jacket rolled down her legs, tangled with her feet. Pitching forward, she slammed against the pole. The impact of metal against her temple rattled her. Bile rose in her mouth, coating her tongue with bitterness.

Eddie maneuvered the vehicle into the center of the dirt road while steadying her with a hand on her hip. “Control your pet, Princess.”

With a shake of her head, she turned her attention to Stuart. The world tilted slightly when she released the pole and held out her hand. “Give. Me. That. Bag.”

Stuart’s thin lips bloated in a pout but he slapped her open palm with the plastic. “You don’t know what he’s been like these last few hours.”

“I’m a light sleeper.” Besides, she’d practically lived with the man for the last six months. An elementary school auditorium wasn’t very big when you crammed a hundred people into it. Wadding up the plastic, she tucked it into her jeans pocket. “Now, either behave or you’ll have to go to the back of the bus.”

With the slops pot.

Sliding back in his seat until he hit the side of the bus, Stuart crossed his arms. “It was just a bit of fun.”

Good Lord, she had students who knew better. “We’re on a dirt road running next to a canal. I don’t particularly want to go swimming in the dark, do you?”

“Geez, Eddie’s right, you are uptight.”

Heat flared in her cheeks. Guess, she’d slept a little more soundly than she thought if she missed them talking about her. Raking Eddie’s jacket off the floor, she folded it in half then slapped his arm with it. “Thanks for the use of your coat.”

The metal button on the cuff thudded against his wrist bone. “Ouch!” He pushed the jacket back at her. “Keep it. It’s getting cold out.”

Her fingers dug into the fleece collar. “I’ll be fine.”

“Then set it on the seat next to you.” In the rearview mirror, Eddie’s brown eyes locked with hers. “And I never said you were uptight. I said you need to relax and unwind.”

Folding the coat, she sank onto her seat. The cushion sighed as it adjusted to her weight. “That’s hardly much better.”

Eddie shrugged. “Despite Stuie’s behavior, we are a little more mature than twelve-year-olds. Delegate a little.”

“I can help you with that.” Stuart smoothed his jacket. “I have an MBA and two years of management experience.”

What was she, Human Resources?

“Two whole years, huh?” A muscle flexed in Eddie’s jaw. “Wow, I didn’t think you were that old.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. They weren’t much more mature than twelve. “Soon, it won’t matter. We’ll be with the soldiers.”

And they’ll be giving orders.

They’ll be responsible for everyone.

And she would be free to relax.

Eddie rolled his shoulders. “And speaking of soldiers, I think that is their camp on the left side.”

Scooting to the edge of her seat, she tucked the jacket in her lap and leaned forward. Beyond the shine of the headlamps, she couldn’t see anything but darkness. “Where?”

Fabric rustled between a few coughs. Those on the right side, knelt on their seats to peer through the left bank of windows.

“Wait for the lightning.” Eddie slowed the bus. “You’ll see it then.”

Audra’s stomach cramped. The camp wasn’t ablaze with lights? Sure, the electricity was out, but the military had plenty of fuel to keep the generators running. Setting his coat on the seat, she pushed to her feet. Her sweat-slicked palm squeaked on the metal pole when she grabbed it. Bracing her feet apart, she stood next to Eddie.

“You don’t think they’ve left, do you?” She pitched her voice low so as not to be overheard above the engine’s growl but didn’t take her eyes off the view. If this was the soldier’s camp, she didn’t want to miss the first opportunity to see it.

Eddie twisted his hand on the steering wheel. “We are a bit late getting here.”

And they hadn’t known they were coming. In Tucson, the soldiers had just said to prepare to evacuate the city. They’d left for Phoenix within two hours, hoping to beat the rush. Maybe if they’d have listened to the message they would have known all the cities were being abandoned.

Maybe she wouldn’t have wasted their precious fuel driving to the Valley.

Eddie skimmed a knuckle down her forearm. “It’s not so bad, is it? Being stuck with us for a while longer?”

Guilt itched like a thousand ants along her skin. Her needing to be alone was a bit selfish. Especially since following her had cost Eddie’s brother his life. She squeezed his shoulder. And he’d never once blamed her for the execution. “Some of you aren’t so bad.”

Tilting his head back, he winked at her. “‘Bout killed you to admit it, didn’t it?”

“Hush now, and drive.”

Stuart huffed. “I don’t see the camp. Perhaps you’re lost.”

Muscles bunched under her palm. Eddie stopped the bus. “Then so is the sign.”

Headlamps spotlighted a large green street sign. Someone had spelled camp under the Williams Field Road. Black water shimmered over the cracked asphalt road. Well, shoot. The camp was dark. But that didn’t mean it was deserted. They could be out of fuel or sleeping.

Please, God, just don’t let it be deserted.

“Brace yourself, Princess.” He slapped on the left hand blinker. As he cranked the wheel, the bus coasted forward.

Gravel sprayed the wheel wells as they shifted onto the pavement.

“Alright everyone,” she leaned against the pole and into the turn, “please take your seats. If you have your ration books or any identification, please have them ready. For those who’ve been with us since Tucson, don’t worry. We have everything you need.”

They drifted through the chain link fence. A big white sign with a black arrow pointed the way to the checkpoint.

So far, so good. Another turn and they faced the direction they’d just come from. The bus’s headlights swept over the craggy peaks of tents. Lightning rippled along the clouds, illuminating the camp. Wind toyed with untied flaps. Water pooled on bowed white tables. Run-off sucked at the tires of vehicles perched half on the road and half in a ditch. Glowing eyes tracked their progress. Rat tails slithered through piles of garbage. Rain rippled through the puddles in chaos.

A coyote loped across the road and ducked through an open wooden door into a large tent.

No person shooed the scavenger out, or greeted them.

Her knees shook. “That can’t be good.”

Night blanketed the camp just as thunder rolled.

“Where is everyone?” Stuart’s words fogged the glass. The headlamps from the buses behind them swept over the camp.

“I don’t know.” She locked her trembling legs. This was not the time for timidity. “But I intend to find out.”

“Not by yourself.” Eddie parked next to a wooden sign painted with the words check-in in neon green. He killed the engine but kept the lights on.

Stuart scooted to the edge of his seat. “What’s the plan?”

She shook out her handkerchief and tied it over her face. “I need a flashlight.”

Stuart pulled the penlight from his pocket and twisted the barrel. A round of light encircled her belly button. “I’ll go with you.”

Eddie yanked the keys from the ignition. “I’ll go with her. Prince Charming’s job is to ride to the rescue.”

Stuart’s blue eyes narrowed. “It’s my light.”

Audra sneezed. Testosterone was a bit like day-old fish in the Arizona summer; both stank. “You’ll both go with me.”

She eyed the jeans pocket duct-taped to the dash. Too bad the batteries had died in the walkie four hours ago.

Leaning over the driver’s seat, Eddie removed the shotgun from behind the back and rested it on his shoulder. “You’re right, Stuie. You should carry the light. It makes you an easy target.”

Stuart paled and turned off the light.

She snapped the straps of Eddie’s gasmask. “Cover up.”

Eddie winced and jerked away from her. “Damn it. That hurt.”

“Not as much as getting anthrax.”

He rubbed his cheek and set the mask over his face. His brown eyes twinkled. “You have a sadistic streak, don’t you, Princess?”

“I’m a teacher.” Which made her more of a masochist than sadist.

Stuart cleared his throat. “Are we ready now?”

“Not yet.” Grabbing her wadded up jacket that she’d used as a pillow from the seat, she shook it out and stabbed her arms through the sleeves. She zipped it closed and turned up her collar.

Stuart held the flashlight in his mouth while adjusting his green slicker. “What are we waiting for?”

A sharp rap rattled the door.

Stuart fell back onto the seat and the penlight tumbled from his mouth to the floor.

“Relax, Stuie. It’s just our group.” Eddie grinned as he pulled the bar opening the door.

“It’s a regular cloud burst out there.” Mrs. Rodriguez shook her bright yellow slicker as she stomped up the steps. Rain dripped from her matching hat and plopped on the sunflowers decorating her flip flops.

Audra retreated a few steps so the older woman could squeeze into the front seat.

Principal Dunn shook water droplets from his hair as he climbed in. “I brought my gun.” He lifted the garbage bag he’d cut holes in for his arm and flashed the revolver tucked in his waist band. “I don’t want the soldiers to shoot me, but…”

“But there aren’t any soldiers here.” Deputy Pecos took off his hat and ran his fingers through his short hair. “Are we supposed to be wearing our masks? I thought, given the rain and all, we weren’t going to encounter any anthrax.”

Audra’s mother paused on the bottom step to shake out her pink floral umbrella. “It is most disheartening. I had hoped for a warm meal and a soft bed.”

“Plenty of tents.” Stuart dodged Eddie’s hand when he shrugged into his jacket. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t make use of them.”

“They might be occupied.” Audra scooped up the flashlight from the floor. “Who has a working light?”

Principal Dunn raised his hand. “One of Mr. Graham’s folks gave it to me.”

Added to hers, that made two flashlights. Searching for more than the necessities would have to wait until morning. “Alright, we’re going to break into two groups. Eddie, Stuart and Mrs. Rodriquez will accompany me to search the check-in. Principal Dunn, Deputy, and my mother will search the first set of barracks after locating the latrines.”

“What about dinner?” Stuart licked his lips.

He was worried about food? Wasn’t her bread enough for him? She glared at the thief.

“I’m sure some of the children are hungry.”

Mrs. Rodriquez shifted. “I know that last batch of people we picked up hadn’t eaten in a day. If this rain had come a day or two earlier, folks wouldn’t be in such a tight spot.”

Audra sighed. They were all in a tight spot. Food would last only another two days and she didn’t want to think about fuel. “Barracks and check in first, then we’ll get everyone settled and prioritize our needs.”

Her mother unfurled her umbrella with a snap of her wrist. “Who do you have to drive the bus in case…”

“I can do it.” Faye Eichmann stretched to a stand then sauntered down the aisle. Diamonds winked from her ears. “I didn’t do too badly leaving Burgers in a Basket.”

Audra bit her tongue. She’d rather have almost anyone than Faye behind the wheel.

Stuart shook his head so hard his mask slipped. “She almost left us behind last time.”

“Hello!” Faye flapped her skinny arms. “They were shooting at us and I had a bus load of children.”

She’d like to think Faye meant it. Unfortunately, working with teenagers had deprived her of that naiveté. Yet, she’d come up with the rule that had almost left her stranded. “She was just following orders.”

Stuart snorted. “You’re in charge. Did you order her to peel rubber out of the restaurant?”

She nodded. “We’d decided that if things became too dangerous we’d have to leave some folks behind. The children are our priority.”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “We’re all prepared to make the sacrifice to protect the children.”

Struggling for breath, she set her hand on his. God only knew what it had cost him to drive away while his brother was taken out to be shot. She owed him her life for sticking to the agreement.

“That’s a messed up rule!” Tendons roped Stuart’s neck. “Who’s going to raise your precious children if all the adults are dead?”

Eddie snapped open the shotgun and checked the cartridges. “If you don’t like the rules, you can stay here.”

“I can’t stay here.” Stuart stomped his foot. “Phoenix and the valley have to be evacuated because of the anthrax threat.”

“We can discuss this in the morning.” She squeezed Eddie’s hand, hoping for understanding. “There are a lot of new folks who don’t know the rules, so they should be informed.”

“Some decision. You have the buses, fuel and food.”

But she didn’t have time for his tantrum. Pushing up her sleeve, she checked her watch. “I have ten after seven. I say we report back here in ten minutes.”

Principal Dunn checked the gold watch on his wrist. “Seven twenty. Got it. Let’s go.”

Her mother dissolved in the storm. The principal switched on the flashlight; he and the deputy followed.

“Turn off the lights, Eddie. We can’t afford for the battery to die.” Audra turned the barrel and the penlight came to life.

With a push of a button, darkness swallowed everything but the small beam in her hand.

Keys jingled.

“You know what to do, Faye,” Eddie whispered.

“Let’s go.” Pressing against the steering wheel, Audra shined the light on the steps.

Eddie led the way, followed by Stuart. Mrs. Rodriquez’s shoes squeaked as she passed.

Heart pounding in her ears, Audra stumbled down the steps. The door swished closed behind her. She resisted the urge to shove it back open. Faye was following protocol. Rain cut cold paths across her scalp. She fell into step next to Eddie, leaving Stuart and Mrs. Rodriquez to follow.

“Do you think the coyote is still inside?” Mud squished under her boots. Water chased away the rats as she splashed through the puddles. She spit out the damp fabric. Maybe it was safe enough to remove the covering.

“We’ll find out.” He paused by the opening and settled the stock against his shoulder. “Sweep the light over the inside then I’ll shoot any glowing eyes.”

Her arm brushed his as they inched through the vestibule. The inky interior swallowed the tiny ball of light. Holding her breath, she stepped into the rectangular tent. The orb swept right to left, gliding over bare tables and empty chairs. Wind snapped the canvas and plucked at the ropes. Papers tumbled over the dry floor.

“I think Mr. Coyote went out another door.” With the barrel, Eddie gestured to the dark pit at the fringe of the light’s reach. “I’ll close it in case he decides to revisit.”

She nodded. The last shred of her hope left on the draft. No soldiers. Now what was she supposed to do? This was her plan B. There was no C.

“Why would he?” Stuart scratched down his handkerchief. “There’s nothing here.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Mrs. Rodriquez chuckled, grabbing a handful of papers off the floor. “We’ve got toilet tissue.”

Stuart stepped back and wrinkled his nose.

Where had he lived the last few months?

“Don’t like that, eh, Prince Charming?” Mrs. Rodriquez fished around her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a plastic lighter. With a soft phft sound, a flame leapt from the top. “We can always burn it to keep warm.”

Audra blinked at the letters on the paper. Not…r…sur… She bounced on her heels. Those words might be a message.

A wooden door banged.

She jumped. The coyote!

Then another.

She aimed the light at the direction of the noise.

Eddie sauntered into the shadows. “The locks are broke so they might slam open again.”

Her heart left her throat and sunk into her chest. She really needed more sleep if she’d forgotten so quickly. Kneeling, she pinched a paper and lifted it.

Footsteps pounded on the wood floor behind them.

The deputy skidded to a stop and wiped his mouth. “We’ve found the soldiers.”

Praise Jesus! She collapsed against the table. It was over. Her job was done. “Where?”

Stuart pumped the air and high-fived Mrs. Rodriquez.

“Two tents down. They’re dead.” The deputy covered his mouth and gagged. “All of them.”

“Fuck!” Stuart punched the table then shook his hand and cradled it against his chest.

Exactly. She stared at the paper, not seeing it.

Eddie shuffled closer, propped a hip against her table. “Are any of the tents useable?”

The deputy nodded.”Two so far, enough for all of us to sleep in a cot tonight. Jackie O and Principal Dunn are sorting our people now. The latrines are nearby and aren’t overflowing.”

They’d done exactly as she’d asked. And she hadn’t kept up her part of the bargain. There was no safety. No soldiers. She blinked back the tears.

“So now what are we supposed to do?” Stuart clasped his skull between his hands. “I told them I’d get them to safety.”

Get in line to board the failure train. God, her mother was going to be so disappointed. And Eddie’s brother would have died for nothing. And… The words on the paper shifted into focus. Notice for survivors.

Congratulations. If you’re reading this you’re alive. To keep your ass firmly in the land of the living follow these directions…

Her attention raced over the words… evacuation route…supplies laid in…antibiotics for anthrax…rendezvous in Winslow… She straightened then checked to make certain her feet still touched the ground. Laughter bubbled up her throat and bounced off her tongue.

Four sets of eyes stared at her.

Audra shook the paper at them. “I know what to do. I know where the soldiers went.”

Chapter Nineteen

Day 8

“Dude! I’m trying to work here.” Brainiac fisted Toby’s oversized teeshirt, lifted the preschooler up and set him on the floor two feet away from the makeshift desk.

Papa Rose shook his head. The squid had done that three times already and Toby hadn’t gotten the message. “He’s a kid, not a dude.”

All that energy created a vortex around children, deafening them to adult words.

“I’s a mun’kin, not a dude.” Grinning, Toby pointed his thumb at his small chest. His bare feet slapped the concrete as he ran in front of the construction yellow saw horses holding up a four by eight foot plank of particle board.

Brainiac hunched over his tablet computer, pounding at the keys.

Toby dropped to all fours and crawled toward Brainiac.

“You tell him, munchkin.” Across the room, Falcon grinned and stretched his long legs in a vee. He sketched Olivia’s face on the bare concrete between his thighs with a broken piece of drywall.

Laying on two lengths of recycled denim insulation, Papa Rose bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. Damn, the tyke was persistent and restless. He should have expected the cabin fever. They’d been stuck in this room for the last ten hours while Brainiac and the nuclear tech tried to figure out how they were going to get millions of gallons of water to the generating station.

Olivia and Jillie sat on Falcon’s left side playing Tic-Tac-Toe. Hashmarks filled with X’s and O’s covered the floor on the other side of the room.

Papa Rose cleared his throat.

Falcon glanced up from shading Olivia’s cheeks.

He nodded his head toward the preschooler under the table just as Toby set his hand on Brainiac’s thigh and shoved the top of his head into the squid’s groin.

Brainiac yelped and pealed away from the table. The wheels of his rolling chair squeaked before B stomped his feet down and stopped his flight. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Falcon’s eye narrowed. “Language…dude.”

Yawning, Papa Rose shrugged into his jacket. The fifteen minutes he’d slept over the last two hours would have to hold him until after the mission.

“What’s going on?” The nuclear tech’s wheezing sounded tinny coming through the phone speakers. The shiny black plastic glinted in the fluorescent lights overhead. “Did you lose satellite connection again?”

“Not this time,” he answered while Brainiac glared at Toby. No doubt the spotty connection had contributed to B’s short temper. He checked his watch. The ticking time bomb nearby didn’t exactly help matters either.

Eight hours until the spent fuel rods were exposed.

If they didn’t get moving soon, lunch would be everyone’s last meal.

His vertebrae popped when he stretched. Brainiac would do it. The squid didn’t have a choice. Failure was off the table. Pushing to his knees, Papa Rose shoved three lengths of the recycled denim insulation side by side—a comfy bed where the kidlets could snooze while they’re away delaying the inevitable.

Olivia yawned. Her dreadlocks slapped her cheeks when she shook her head. “Can we go to sleep now?”

Falcon pealed off the paper backing, exposing more chalk. “In a bit. B?”

Still sitting in the rolling chair, Brainiac duck walked toward the desk and his tablet. “I’d be done in five minutes if someone could keep the munchkin away from me.”

Toby smiled. “I yike B.”

Shaking his head, Papa Rose tied his boot laces then rose to his feet. The preschooler liked everything. “All right, munchkin and munchkinettes, let’s take a potty break then we’ll tuck you in.”

Olivia and Jillie tossed aside their bits of drywall and leapt to their feet.

Jillie scratched her cheek, leaving streaks of white behind on her dusky skin. “Can we have a snack and drink?”

“I’ll think about it.” He adjusted the handkerchief over his nose and mouth. A snack and a drink meant another trip to the bathroom later, when he and Falcon wouldn’t be around to watch over them.

Jillie’s shoulders slumped and she stared at the floor. “Adults always say that when they mean no.”

Damn. Why was he disappointing them? He swept the curls out of her eyes and checked her surgical mask. “Not always, but we have to make sure you’re safe.”

Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

The word yes hovered on his lips. How many adults had said that but had been unable to keep their promise? He scrubbed a hand down his face. He’d broken so many promises at the end. His wife and children hadn’t gotten better. He couldn’t help them to breathe. The nurses and doctors hadn’t been around.

“Of course.” Kneeling on the floor, Falcon wrapped his hands around her waist and spun her around to face him. “I never break a promise.”

She nodded slowly but doubt clouded her eyes.

Olivia slid Toby’s plastic bag shoes over his feet then dusted her hands on her skirt. “You better not.”

Tongue lodged between his teeth, the preschooler bee-lined for the door.

“Get your slicker on.” Papa Rose scooped Toby up, swinging him in a high arch. Warm, wiggling skin and bones. How did children manage to feel so alive?

When his plastic shoes skimmed the metal door, the munchkin screamed and clapped his hands over Papa Rose’s. “Again. Again.”

Something cracked in his chest. His kids had always loved to be swung. He set Toby on his hip. “Later, munchkin.”

Small legs locked around his waist and thin arms wrapped around his neck. “Okay, Papa.”

Falcon zipped up Olivia’s red slicker and carefully tucked her hair under the hood. “Ready?”

She nodded then skipped to Jillie’s side. The two girls clasped hands.

His palm brushed warm metal. He turned the knob and shoved the door open. Water dripped from the eaves and rippled across the puddles dotting the ground. Light blazed across the power plant, turning night into day—just like it had been before the world ended. Rectangular buildings crowded the mushroom-shaped reactors a couple of hundred yards away.

Falcon splashed through puddles as he headed for the two Port-O-Potties near the metal storage sheds. Olivia lifted her hem and jumped over water. Jillie skirted the small pools and slipped on the mud.

Resting his head against Papa Rose’s chest, Toby sucked on his thumb. The door banged shut behind them startling the preschooler, who stiffened in his arms.

The boy’s eyes grew wide and his lips pursed together. “That scared me, Papa.”

“It’s alright.” He stroked Toby’s silky hair. “You’re safe now.”

At least for the next eight hours.

“‘Kay.” The munchkin snuggled against him and resumed sucking his thumb.

He reached Falcon just as the girls disappeared inside the bathrooms. The plastic doors slammed shut and the signed flashed to red-occupied.

Falcon rubbed the preschooler’s back. “How’s he holding up?”

Papa Rose glanced down. Toby’s long lashes lay against his cheeks. Someone had flipped the kid’s switch turning him off. “He’ll be fine.”

“You know B isn’t gonna be able to watch them.”

“I know.” Pressure filled his chest. Did the Special Forces teach soldiers how to read minds? He’d spent the evening chasing after a solution. Falcon wouldn’t like the decision he’d reached. “The squid is still pretty much a kid himself.”

“And he has a mean temper.” Falcon kissed Toby on the head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “He’ll scar ‘em for life.”

“If he doesn’t kill them first.” He held Toby a little tighter, inhaled the slight floral scent wafting from his hair. “That’s why I’m releasing you from our suicide pact. You need to watch over them, see they get safely to Colorado and join the soldiers.”

“Me?” Falcon rocked back on his heels. “You’re their Papa.”

He shook his head. No, that wasn’t the way it was going to be. He had to stay here to make sure everything worked and they got three more radioactive free days. “Olivia and Jillie like you best.”

And he had too much to atone for.

“Yeah, they do, don’t they?”

He kissed the boy’s head. Maybe Toby would remember him fondly. Maybe in the end someone alive wouldn’t think he’d been such a fuck-up.

Falcon rubbed his jaw, the stubble making a rasping sound against his fingers. “But the munchkin only listens to you. You’ll have to come with us.”

He shook his head. Pain hollowed him out, left his heart banging like a drum. “No. You don’t understand…”

“Flight twenty-nine sixty-three.”

His lungs seized. Oh, God! Falcon knew! Falcon who’d lost his entire family to Influenza. Why hadn’t the former Green Beret slit his throat while he slept? “What!”

Toby mumbled something and turned his face in the other direction.

“Flight twenty-nine sixty-three. The airplane that brought the Redaction to Phoenix. You were on it.”

His jaw moved but no sound came out. No wonder the man agreed to the suicide pact. Falcon probably wanted to watch the man responsible for the death of everything he loved die horribly and painfully. Papa Rose swallowed despite his dry throat.

Falcon turned his face up to the black velvet sky. Stars twinkled, but the moon had deserted them. “I was three rows behind you, aisle seat.”

Muscle turned to unset gelatin. His knees buckled and his stomach fluttered in his throat.

Quick as lightning, Falcon swung Toby out out his arms.

“Papa!” Toby squealed.

Water sprinkled the mud as Papa Rose landed in the puddle. Cold saturated his jeans, creeping up his thighs and pebbles gouged his knees. He glanced up. “You were…”

Shadows carved up Falcon’s dark face, masked his expression. The ex-Green Beret set Toby on the ground, mud closed around the boy’s makeshift shoes. He swatted the preschooler’s behind, pushing him toward the latrines. “Why don’t you go potty?”

Toby about faced and squished through the mud to his side. “Papa ‘kay?”

His hands lay like dead wood on his lap and his tongue was spray foam in his mouth. The plane had been full that day, but he’d never thought…

“Papa Rose is just fine.” Falcon mussed up Toby’s curls. “He’s just a little tired. Someone ate his cookies at dinner.”

Toby shoved his face in his. Concern etched lines in the smooth baby cheeks. “I won’t eats your cookies again, Papa.”

Christ Jesus! He’d made a kid feel bad. Papa Rose wrapped his arms around the boy and held him close. The preschooler was as substantial as a hummingbird. “You can eat my cookies anytime, munchkin. Anytime.”

Small hands patted his shoulder. “Are you crying, Papa?”

He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Me? Nah. It’s just the rain, that’s all.”

Except even the preschooler knew that it was no longer raining. Hadn’t been for the last several hours.

He set the lad away from him and forced his lips into a smile. “You go and use the potty, okay?”

Toby’s bottom lip protruded for a moment. After a bit he sucked it back in. “‘Kay.”

With one last glance, the munchkin splashed through the puddles toward the bathroom.

“You gonna wallow in the mud all night?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” When Papa Rose shoved to his feet, water dribbled down his shins and crept into his socks.

“Thought you knew.” Falcon gestured to a five gallon bucket of drywall mud near the storage shed. “That will make a good toilet.”

No. He didn’t know. He hadn’t really paid much attention to anything after the Influenza had claimed his last child. “We’ll grab the seat off the potty for the girls to use.”

“And let’s not forget the toilet paper. Girls go through a lot of it.”

Jillie exited the john, nearly smacking Toby with the door. He giggled and she held out her hand. They entered the bathroom without exchanging a word.

Mud sucked at his boots as he followed Falcon across the field. Questions simmered inside his head. Some were dismissed as irrelevant, others needed answers. “Is that why you agreed to the pact?”

Squatting next to the bucket, Falcon grabbed the lid and twisted. The green lid twisted off. “I’ve been praying for a sign. Since your…offer came so close to the Doc’s request for volunteers, I figured that was it.”

“Yeah.” It had coincided beautifully. Once they’d taken Colonel Henry Dobbins to safety, his debt had been repaid. There’d been nothing left to live for and death by guilt was a little too slow for his taste.

Falcon’s nose wrinkled at the musty odor and pushed the bucket over. Black mold marbled the white drywall and clouded the water standing on the top. “Still, the Doc’s message hounded me.”

“It was broadcast everywhere. To help the survivors.” A breeze rippled the tarp over a pile of wood. His wet pants molded to his thighs.

“Every time we turned the corner, that one line played. Every one mattered. Now more than ever.”

Papa Rose’s skin tightened. He’d dismissed that as a product of his imagination but if the other man heard it too…

“Then we met the munchkins.”

“Right where we’d found the fuel.” And a portable generator that they would actually need to delay the inevitable meltdown.

“And no other survivors to take care of Toby, Jillie or Olivia.” Falcon turned the bucket upside down and thumped on the bottom. Chunks of drywall mud vomited to the ground. “I began to think I’d misread the signs.”

He scanned the ground for a stick. And the coward had hi-tailed it to the trailer to hide. “So you left me alone with them.”

Damn, he was slowing up in his old age.

“Thought it would be easier to stick to the plan that way.”

He crossed to the tarp and lifted one edge. Two by fours. He could use them. The plastic flaked off in places when he threw it aside. Webs netted the smaller cuts of wood in the center. Black spiders dotted the surface. He selected a two foot long piece and tapped it on the pile to dislodge the inhabitants. “Then came the last ten hours.”

Falcon accepted the wood then scooped out the remaining goo. “I was a goner the moment I picked up Olivia and tore her away from her mother.”

He smeared the cobwebs on his pants. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

The door to the potty banged shut.

“Yeah.” Falcon tossed the board away, grabbed the handle of the bucket and rose to his feet. “We’re gonna owe the Colonel a debt we’ll never repay if he helps us to deal with the guilt.”

“The old man is gonna love it.” Papa Rose’s boots barely touched the mud as he returned to the potties. “I’ll get the seat.”

“Don’t forget the toilet paper.”

“Hey!” Brainiac stuck his head out of the building. “We need to get a move on. A chiller to the cooling pools is malfunctioning. We now have four hours.”

Chapter Twenty

“Can’t sleep?” Eddie whispered from his chair next to the door.

Audra rolled on left side to face the vestibule he guarded. No matter how much she blinked, shadows didn’t emerge from the darkness. “How did you know I was awake?”

“Just did.”

On her right, Mrs. Rodriquez mumbled in her sleep. Further in the tent, Principal Dunn snored. Others slumbered quietly on the cots lined up in neat rows. She raised her wrist but couldn’t see the time. How long would she have to lay here? “When is dawn?”

A pale green light washed over Eddie’s face—there and gone just when she picked out his profile. “In a couple of hours.”

“You still have the flashlight?” She shoved aside the blankets. A chill washed over her, sowing goosebumps up her arms. Rubbing them away, she tugged on her boots. Cold leather felt stiff against her skin.

There was a soft click and a small ball of light raced across the floor and up her legs. “Going to do a little exploring?”

“I’m awake.” And thinking and thinking and thinking but not accomplishing anything. Pushing off the cot, she gathered the blanket in her hands. The coarse material slipped through her fingers. She matched the corners and folded it, over and over until it matched the size of her pillow.

Eddie chuckled.

She smoothed the sheet over the mattress, tucked in the sides. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re always so proper.” The light bounced around, growing bigger until the edges stretched across her narrow cot.

After a quick tweak to the pillow, she ran her fingers through her hair. Thank goodness no one could see the rat’s nest. “Things should always be returned in the same condition or better as when you borrowed them.”

Fabric rustled, then warmth enveloped her shoulders. “You’ll need your jacket.”

Her fingers brushed his; he pulled away. “Thank you.”

“Can’t have our Princess getting sick on my watch.”

She stiffened. Why did he always have to be so odious and call her princess? She stuffed her arms into her sleeves and zipped up her fleece jacket.

“What’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning?” Eddie spotlighted her hand, clasped it and tugged her toward the door.

“I just need to know what I have to work with.” She dragged her boots over the wooden floor, hoping not to trip. God knew, Eddie probably wouldn’t let her live it down if she did a face plant at his feet.

The beam shone along the creased green floor covering. Hinges whined when he pushed open the first door. Cold air twined around her ankles and caressed her cheeks. “Always prepared, huh?”

Using her free hand, she turned up her collar against the chill. Gracious. It must be fifty degrees out. She caught the door before it banged shut and eased it into the jamb.

“Were you a Boy Scout?” Eddie held open the outside door and stepped to the side, allowing her to precede him.

She tugged her hand free and stepped across the threshold. Her boot squished into the mud. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a girl.”

“I know exactly what you are, Princess.”

She didn’t ask him to elaborate. It would no doubt be unflattering to actually hear what he thought of her. Especially since what he did say was nasty enough.

Deputy Pecos rose from his seat by the outside door—one man-shaped shadow among the rectangular ones. “Evening, Eddie. Princess.”

She bit her tongue. Eddie deserved a boil on his posterior for giving her that stupid nickname. “Deputy. Any sign of trouble?”

Eddie flicked the light over the revolver in the other man’s hand.

“No, Ma’am.” The deputy hitched his pants a little higher. “But Prince Charming’s loyal subjects are constantly lining up near the toilets.”

She eyed the vestibule of the next tent over. The door banged open.

Eddie shone the light on the figure bursting through the door.

Slipping in the mud, Stuart raised his hand, shielding his eyes. “What the fuck, Pecos! You know it’s me.”

“It’s not Pecos.” Eddie lowered the beam to Stuart’s chest. “You don’t look so good, Prince Charming. Are you sick?”

Stuart clutched his stomach. “It’s those damn pills that Audra forced us to take. They’re making me sick.”

Oh, for pity’s sake. He was a grown man. It wasn’t like she’d sat on him and shoved them down his throat. “You’re the one that didn’t want to take them with food.”

“Audra?” He tossed his weight from foot to foot.

“Yes. Audra.” Was it easier to talk about her when she wasn’t here? “Now, I—”

Stuart clapped his hand over his mouth and darted toward the toilets, splashing through the water pooled in the quad.

Chuckling, Eddie tracked his progress until the door banged shut behind him. “Guess, he really had to go.”

Two more people stumbled out of Stuart’s tent. She recognized a teenager and the elderly man that had so rudely pointed his finger at her. Both had hid in Burgers in a Basket.

She set her hand over her belly. “Do either of you feel any stomach upset?”

Eddie shined the light between them, dividing his face into planes of light and darkness. “Nah, I’ve got a cast-iron stomach.”

“Deputy?”

Pecos shrugged. Water slithered down his brown poncho. “Nope. But I ate when I took my dose.”

She stuck her hands into her pockets. It made sense but… The idea inserted its hooks, refused to let go. “Anyone know the symptoms of anthrax?”

Another person sprinted from Stuart’s building.

Eddie shone the light in front of them as they ran for the toilets. “You think they’ve got it?”

Deputy Pecos scratched the stubble bristling from his chin. “Thought it was flu-like symptoms.”

“Stomach flu symptoms?” That might explain the frequent trips to the commode.

“Dunno.” The deputy shrugged.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Does it matter? It’s not supposed to be contagious.”

Anthrax wasn’t, but… Fear iced the marrow in her bones. “What if it’s something else?”

“Good ol’ Stuie will have to stay by himself.” Eddie smiled.

What made him so happy? She couldn’t leave them behind. And quarantining them would be a nightmare. They only had five buses. Plus, someone healthy would have to drive the sick. “I wish I knew what the symptoms were.”

But wishes were about as useful as a lamp with no light bulb or power.

She pulled out the folded up instruction paper left by the soldiers. Adjusting it so the light shown on it, she reread the list of recommended rations and medicines. “Let’s go see what supplies are left.”

Please, God, don’t let them have been raided.

She headed away from the empty check-in tent. The supply tent had to be back here somewhere.

“You know if Stuie doesn’t accompany us, we’ll lose most of the adults that came with him.” Eddie cupped her elbow and guided her over the well-worn path toward the back of the camp. Rats rustled in the piles of garbage. Water plopped into pools gathered under the sloped canvas roof. Unsecured window flaps slapped the sides of the tents while the wind plucked at the guy wires.

She wasn’t planning on leaving him behind. But Stuart had made noises about staying here a day or two. That was madness. God only knew when those thugs would trace them here. And they would. She knew it. “I would hate to leave anyone behind.”

But she would, if she had to. She had to get her people to the soldiers. She’d promised.

“With all the new folks, we’ll need more hands.” Eddie flashed the light on a large tent. A wooden sign twirled in the breeze. He caught it and flipped it over to read the painted words: Mess Hall.

She opened the door and waited for him to precede her. “We can manage. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Eddie shook his head and stomped ahead. “You bossed, threatened and blackmailed people into taking care of others, and it nearly killed you.”

Heat flared in her cheeks. No one was supposed to have noticed. A Silvestre never showed weakness. It should have been bred out of the bloodlines. “I was fine.”

He yanked open the door and waved her inside. “That time you passed out three times in one day, lost five pounds you don’t have to spare, and slept for thirty-six hours scaring the hell out of all of us.”

Good heavens. She stopped across the threshold and waited for him to light up the black space. “I didn’t know you were keeping track.”

“You saved my life and my brother’s. I owe you.” He panned the light around the space landing on tables and folding chairs, silver coffee urns and chaffing dishes.

She ignored the twinge of disappointment. Feeling a debt to someone was far different than caring about them. Not that she wanted him to care for her. She brushed the thoughts aside. “Let’s see if they have any cooking oil.”

“We found two fifty gallon barrels of diesel by the motor pool.”

“That’s great!” But they had five hungry busses to feed and nearly four hundred miles to travel.

Eddie navigated through the rows of tables to the serving area in the back. “If Stuart and his people go with us, I think you’ll need to delegate some tasks.”

Ouch! That hurt. Suddenly Stuart’s MBA and his two years experience was a better leader than she was? She had a master’s degree too. So what if it was in elementary education? It had certainly come in handy when everyone had been sick and behaving like a bunch of juveniles. “I thought you didn’t care for Stuart’s style.”

“I don’t.” He led her around the serving row toward the cook stove and stainless steel sink.

She blinked. Had she missed part of the conversation? Bracing her hands on the edge of the sink, she eyed the drain. Dark, oval shadows skittered around the bottom. “Then are you applying for the job?”

He swept the light over the empty shelves. “I have a GED courtesy of my stay in the State Penn, I hardly think anyone would see me as management material.”

Holy mackerel! Pivoting, she stared at him. “You’re a convict.”

He shone the lamp toward the ceiling. Shadows twisted and dissolved his features, leaving only a grotesque mask behind. His eyes glittered. “Scared, Princess?”

“No.” She fisted her hands. Her ears strained to hear above her pounding heart. Thank God the darkness masked her trembling. “Of course not.”

He advanced, closing the distance. His knuckles brushed her belly and his other hand blocked her exit. The sink cut across her spine. “You should be.”

She raised her chin and swallowed hard. A Silvestre never retreated, no matter how much they wanted to. “Why?”

“I could rape you, kill you and dispose of your body.” His hot breath washed down her face.

She replayed his words, processed then denied them. Fear drained away and she swayed on her feet. The teacher had just been taught. “Alright, I’m delegating you my second in command.”

His black eyebrows met in a vee above his nose. “What the fuck!”

“That’s what this little lesson is about, isn’t it?” She set her hand on his chest but couldn’t quite bring herself to push him away. “Your unique experience gives you a better perception of the dangers. I agree.”

“My unique experience?” He stepped back. “I’m an ex-con, not some MBA, soft-handed cover boy with the right connections. Put Prince Charming as your second.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Stuart placed himself above the needs of the whole.” That was not the characteristics of a great leader.

“Just smile and flirt with him a little and he’ll do whatever you say.”

Smile? Flirt? She shoved him, pushing him backward. What century did he think this was? “I will do no such thing.”

“Then unbutton your shirt and flash—”

“Don’t say it.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Don’t even think it.”

“Stuie can be like the Vice-President. They don’t do much except hide during a crisis.”

That did fit Stuart’s personality, especially the hiding part. “That would satisfy his followers.”

And keep them on the buses. Yes, it was a very good plan.

“I’ll take security.”

“I hardly think—”

“You think people are basically decent.”

He said that like it was a bad thing. She folded her arms across her chest. “Most of them are.”

She’d never forget the lessons of Casa Grande or their stop at Burgers in a Basket.

“Maybe during the initial crisis, they’re too shocked to misbehave. But the crisis is over.”

“No, it isn’t.” Hello? They were leaving the cities, heading off to the wilds of Colorado to start again.

“The point is, there’s a vacuum in the authority department. Some people are going to give in to their baser instincts and others are going to let them.” He cupped her elbow and steered her out of the kitchen.

Let them? No, that couldn’t happen. Yet, normal looking women had flagged them down in Casa Grande. And the men with guns hadn’t worn a black hat or twirled handlebar mustaches. Neither had they looked like monsters. “Evil happens when good men do nothing.”

“Yeah, something like that. And once, you start sliding down that slope, it’s easy to keep going.”

Was that what happened to him? She’d bite her tongue off before asking. Besides, what did it really matter anymore? That world was over and he’d been nothing but honorable since. “Can you keep us on the straight and narrow?”

He shrugged and stalked past the table and chairs. “Straight and narrow doesn’t exist anymore, Princess. We’re talking about survival.”

Despite his words, she knew they were not mutually exclusive things. “I should tell Deputy Pecos about your new duties.”

“No need.” Eddie held open the door for her. “We decided after Casa Grande.”

They knew yesterday but were only just now telling her? She slapped open the outside door. “Thanks so much for telling me.”

“Don’t bend your tiara, Princess.” He caught up with her and turned her deeper into the camp. “He’ll be keeping an eye on things during the day, and I’ll take the night watch.”

She stopped at the next tent. No sign dangled from the canvas but biohazard tape curled on the ground. The wind whipped around the corner and she detected the odor of decaying bodies. Not this tent then. She faced Eddie. “Does Pecos know about you…”

She didn’t want to throw it in his face, but the lawmen of her acquaintance had black and white views that she doubted even the apocalypse could shake loose.

“He knows.” With the flashlight, Eddie gestured to a tent two rows down and on the other side. Bright red Biohazard tape sealed the edges of the door. “We found the supplies over there.”

An ache built behind her eyeballs. She pinched the bridge of her nose to keep it from spreading. He’d allowed her to wander all over camp when he’d known where the medicines and food were all along. “Why didn’t you just say so from the beginning?”

“You didn’t ask.”

She stomped through the puddles. “I shouldn’t have to ask. You had information, you should have shared it.”

“I just did.”

Ooh. She wanted to… to punch him. She shook her fists out. What was it about the man that brought her to the brink of violence? “If I had this information, I might have gotten more sleep.”

“Nah.” He pulled a knife from his pocket and flicked it open. Light winked from the blade as he cut the tape. “You would be up all night worrying about someone stealing it.”

Maybe, but she would have liked the option to worry about having too many supplies as opposed to not having enough.

“Princess? Eddie?” Deputy Pecos jogged up to them. “You better come quick. Stuie is waking his people. They’re lighting up the camp.”

Her heart stopped. On a night like this, the light would be a beacon for the bad guys.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Aunt Mavis?”

David blinked awake and reached for his rifle. Cold metal brushed his fingers; he wrapped his hands around the barrel. Underneath him the air mattress hissed. He sat up and aimed for the tent’s door. The wind bowed the fabric. “Who’s there?”

“Aunt Mavis?” The woman’s voice dissolved in a fit of coughs.

He twisted to the left, looking for the source. A black walkie-talkie tumbled onto the yellow floor.

“Are you sure we’re not already out of range?”

Mavis mumbled in her sleep and shimmied closer to him. Her arm tightened around his waist.

He tucked the sleeping bag around her shoulders, leaned across her and scooped up the walkie. “Hello?”

“You have to release the talk button if you want to hear their response.”

David grinned. Leave it to Medic Johnson to point out the obvious. Obvious was good this time of the morning especially with no coffee in sight.

“Oh. Okay, I—” Sunnie’s voice disappeared.

Pressing the talk button, he whispered into it. “Hello?”

“David?” Sunnie chirped. “Is Aunt Mavis with you?”

“Yeah.” Slipping his hand under the sleeping bag, he set it on her shoulder. “She’s sleeping at the moment.”

She had just gotten to bed a couple of hours ago, in fact. If the anthrax didn’t kill her, she would work herself to death. And everyone here would let her, because she had the plan. He had to protect her.

“Oh.”

He swallowed hard. Damn. Despite having her soft body curled against his, he was in a hard spot. Letting her sleep would prevent her from talking to her niece, but waking her might affect her health and everyone’s survival.

“I guess you should let her sleep.”

Fuck it. “No.” He squeezed Mavis’s shoulder, shaking her gently. “I’ll wake her. She’s been wanting to talk to you for days.”

“Are you sure?” Sunnie coughed again.

“Lay down,” Johnson ordered. “Or I’ll take away the walkie. You’ve got a long way to go before you’re recovered and if you relapse the Sergeant-Major will have my ass.”

And other more sensitive parts.

“Mavis.” David leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Wake up.”

Her lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks.

“Mavis.” He kissed her forehead. “Time to wake up.”

She flattened her palm against his nose and pushed. “Give me another hour of sleep then we can have sex.”

He chuckled. The woman had a one track mind. After checking to see that the talk button hadn’t been depressed, he tugged her hand off his face and slipped the walkie into it. “Sunnie wants to talk to you.”

Her eyes popped open. “Sunnie.”

“She’s awake.” He lifted her hand with the walkie in it so she could see. “They’re about to pull out and there’s no telling how long you have until they’ll be out of range.”

Mavis winked at him then sat up. “Ooh, better than sex.”

“Not the way I do it.” He smiled and crawled out of the sleeping bag. Leaning over, he grabbed his boots and stuffed his feet inside.

“You don’t have to leave.” She snuggled deeper into the sleeping bag and bit the walkie’s antennae.

“I’m on burial detail in fifteen minutes and need coffee.”

“Bring me some?”

“Nope.” He shrugged into his jacket. His fingers fumbled with the zipper.

“Why not?” She grabbed his waistband and held him in place. “If it’s about the sex remark, I apologize. You’re great. The best! I—”

Her arm wrapped around him when he twisted. After a moment, he slanted his mouth across hers to shut her up. As soon as she relaxed, he pulled away. “No coffee, until zero-six-hundred. I don’t want anyone to know you’re awake.”

Releasing him, she snuggled into the pillow. “You really are great, the best.”

She kept talking like that and his head would rise far above the bars on his sleeve. “See you at six.”

“Five forty-five.” She patted his side of the sleeping bag. “I’ll keep your spot warm.”

Hell of an incentive to be on time. He unzipped the flap and crawled out of the tent. A brisk wind scoured his cheeks. After sealing Mavis inside, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Frost crunched underfoot and cold needled his nose. Snores sounded from the large TEMPER barracks on his right.

Generators hummed around him and powered the lights shining down on the green and mud brown camp. Clumps of tan speckled the vehicles lined up against the rutted road. A personnel carrier’s headlamps shone as it backed against the abandoned power plant. A banner bearing the familiar red cross hung from a window with no pane. A woman in blood-stained scrubs carried a bag of fluids and ran along the side of the stretcher two Airman ferried to the truck.

“Coffee’s on.” Lister’s words came out on a cloud. “Doc up?”

“No, Sir,” he lied. Technically, Mavis was in charge and she ordered him not to return until quarter to six. As far as he was concerned, she was sleeping until zero-six-hundred.

“Good.” Lister jerked his head toward the canteen. “Your boy, Robertson, has requested a secure line.”

Robertson? If something was wrong, wouldn’t Sunnie have said? He glanced back at Mavis’s tent. Doc wasn’t running for the river, so it couldn’t be too bad.

“The girl thinks they haven’t left yet.”

He checked his watch. Fear soured his mouth. “They should have been on the road fifteen minutes ago.”

“They were, then they had to stop and that’s all Robertson would report to a mere Marine Corps General.”

His ‘oh shit’ meter blew the scale. Fuck! Robertson was a damn good soldier when he set his mind to it, he wouldn’t withhold information unless he had cause. “Where?”

“This way.” Lister marched past the canteen and strode through the rows of barracks. He turned left at the third one. Stepping over the ropes securing the tents, he continued on.

Outside the light bubble, animals rustled in the darkness, studied them with glowing eyes. Clouds scuttled across the horizon, blotting out the stars. His nose pricked with moisture.

“Snow’s in the forecast to four thousand feet.” Lister sipped his coffee. “We’re above that now.”

Wonderful. So much for a new day bringing better news. “At least, we’ll be sticking to the highways.”

“Too bad there isn’t anyone to man the snowplows.”

There was that. But surely, the snowfall couldn’t be that deep. Yet. He followed Lister onto a path. Light poured from a building behind a chain link fence. Men in uniform paced in front of the window. Oh, his day was just getting better. He straightened his uniform and opened the door for the general.

Lister preceded him inside. He crumpled his Styrofoam cup and tossed it on the floor. “Dawson’s here, Robertson. Now what the fuck is going on!”

The door hit David’s backside then the latch clicked in the lock. Airmen in blue, regular Army in tan and Marines in olive glared at him. Enough brass hung on their collars to decorate a large Christmas tree. He would hand Robertson his ass if this wasn’t important.

“Sergeant-Major?” The private’s voice trembled in the computer’s speakers across the cramped room.

The Marine working the communications fiddled with the cords. A black line serpentined across a warped metal desk and climbed to a satellite dish wedged in the window.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Robertson’s voice never shook, not even when they were pinned down in Kandahar. “Here, Private.”

“Are you alone?”

Lister looked about ready to chew on the metal window screens and spit shrapnel.

“Absolutely.” If you didn’t count the ten officers crowding the space thinking they were about to overhear something that fell under ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ purview.

“We woke up this morning and our coms are dead, except Ray and Vegas’s who were on guard duty.”

Lister’s eyebrows retreated to his hair line. The Airmen shook their heads.

David’s gut clenched. “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“Yeah, we thought so too. Then Vegas was hit from behind and his com taken.”

Son of a bitch! They were talking sabotage? “And Ray?”

It would take a lot to bring down the two-hundred eighty pound munitions mule. But desperate people did crazy things.

“Fuck, Big D! Whose do you think I’m talking to you on?”

Ray’s obviously. He scratched the stubble on his chin. That’s what he got for trying to think without mainlining a couple of cups coffee. But deliberate sabotage. Desperation would almost be better. This was a planned attack with some intelligence behind it. Against his men! Goddamnit, he should be with them. “Any of our people injured?”

“Vegas isn’t seeing straight, but he was always messed up in the head.” Robertson’s laugh was forced.

“How many men at your disposal?”

“There’s the eight of us, three Marines are down but more than happy to shoot. Colonel Dobbins is capable even confined to the wheelchair and then there are the bow and arrow gramps and grandson that bagged us a couple rabbits this morning.”

Fourteen people across four trucks and God only knew how many enemies. “You’re spread thin through the trucks.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

His skin tightened. There was more? What on Earth possessed him to leave Mavis’s bed?

“Singleton and Janovich are driving the first two trucks. They didn’t stop when we broke down.”

Broken down trucks and stolen coms. “What the hell happened?”

“I ran over a board with nails conveniently wedged under the passenger side wheels. I recognize the boards from the house where we stayed last night.”

But that didn’t explain how they got under their wheels. “So you have one truck down?”

“No, Sergeant-Major. Two.” Robertson cleared his throat. “Vegas was behind us. His brake line was cut but he was able to stop with a little help from our bumper.”

Well, shit!

“Son of a bitch.” Lister punched the wall. Flakes of plaster rained onto the dirty floor.

The other officers looked like they wanted to follow his lead.

The next question hovered on his lips. He didn’t want to ask it. “Anything else?”

“Michaelson is pissed that someone tampered with his babies but the grease monkey packed a few parts and he’s doing God knows what with a piece of hose, duct tape and bubblegum to get both trucks moving again.”

“What the hell are they using for brake fluid?” Lister barked.

“I didn’t ask, Sir.” A voice muttered through the speakers. “Looks like we’re ready to move out.”

“Impressive,” Lister checked his watch, “for the Army.”

For anyone. The jarheads couldn’t do any better. Michaelson had oil in his veins. “Any idea who did it?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.” Engine noise rumbled through the background then a door slammed. “I can tell you no one breached our perimeter last night.”

“So it must have been an inside job.” Punching the wall seemed like a good idea right about now. But he wouldn’t. The Marines already thought too highly of themselves and he wouldn’t let the Army down by following the Corps’ example.

“Why the fuck did we save the civilians if they were going to turn on us?” Lister crossed to the Marine by the computer. “Get me Lieutenant Rogers.”

Many of the officers nodded.

David shook his head. These were his people. They couldn’t abandon them, neither could they survive with just a military family. Too many of them were sick. “Who do you suspect?”

“No one. Everyone,” Robertson growled. “Hell, Big D, we were up most of the night pulling bodies out of the water, aside from Mavis’s neighbors and the Colonel’s group, I really didn’t see who we had with us.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, Lister paced the small room—a panther looking for an opportunity to pounce. “Anything odd about who’s in your vehicles?”

David stepped against the wall to give the general room.

“We have the sick and injured, plus the volunteers who are helping with nursing duties.” Robertson spoke over a deep baritone. “Ray says to tell you that there are a lot of old folks with us, but that makes sense as we’ve got Johnson.”

Lister stopped and addressed his fellow officers. “Or someone is making off with the prime beef.”

That would be bad. Very, very bad. Mavis updated her Sim last night. The survival rate had plummeted to less than one in ten thousand, military personnel under thirty had lottery ticket odds. “Who handled the seating arrangements today?”

“Dunno. Everyone was sorted when we finished chow.”

The skin between David’s shoulderblades itched. That was a little too convenient. “Keep the com safe and conserve the batteries. Check in every hour on the hour.”

“Understood, Sergeant-Major. Robertson out.”

Silence elbowed into the room.

Lister stopped next to the sagging desk and leaned over the Marine. “Where’s Lieutenant Rogers?”

“S-she’s not answering her com, Sir.” The boy paled. “I have men searching the morgue and barracks for her.”

“Dammit!” Lister’s bark rattled the remaining window panes. “We need to know who’s traveling with that convoy.”

And Mavis needed to know about the threat to her niece. David pivoted on his heels and strode to the door.

“Stop right there, Sergeant-Major.” Lister’s footsteps pounded the cement. “You will not tell the Doc about this, do you understand? Despite taking advantage of your Army assets, Doctor Spanner is working for the good of her niece. If something happens to that girl, I’ve no doubt the Doc would consign us all to Hell.”

Not tell Mavis? Fuck! She wasn’t going to forgive him. But he couldn’t let his men down either.

“You’re still in the army, Sergeant-Major, and I gave you a direct order.” Lister’s words pelted his back. “That goes for the rest of you. This information doesn’t leave this room.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched the officers nod.

“Understood, Sergeant-Major?”

“Yes, Sir.” He understood alright. Mavis’s niece wasn’t the only one in danger.

“Go get some coffee, six cups. Black.” Lister rubbed his hands together. “From here on out, any action taken against the military will be punishable by death. Anyone disagree?”

He wanted to. These were his fellow Americans, people he’d fought hard to save, to keep alive. David stepped outside, closed his eyes and turned his face up to the darkness. God, what a day and the sun hadn’t even risen.

Not one officer had voted down the proposal.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I love you too, Sunnie.” Mavis released the talk button of the walkie.

“See you tonight in Winslow, Aunt Mavis.” Sunnie coughed. “‘Bye.”

“Bye.” Mavis didn’t bother pushing the button again. She’d already kept her niece on the line long after she should have let her go. It was just so good to hear from Sunnie that she was feeling better. Although her throat had to be killing her. Good thing Johnson knew the aspirin trick.

Sunnie would need it.

Mavis stretched inside the sleeping bag. Her toes brushed the frigid zipper at the bottom and she shivered. Good Lord, it was cold out. She checked her watch in the light cast by the electric lantern by her head.

Five-forty.

David should be showing up soon. Tucking the walkie under her pillow, she rolled over and inhaled his spicy scent. She hoped he would be on time. She felt like celebrating.

Something scratched at the tent fabric.

She rolled over. A woman’s silhouette crawled up the side of her tent. No. No, no. No! She was supposed to have another fifteen minutes. She pulled the pillow over her head. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, they’d go away until six.

“Doctor Spanner?” A woman’s voice seeped through the tent walls.

Mavis peered out from underneath the pillow. She knew that voice.

“Ma’am?”

Her brain clicked. The Lieutenant she’d asked to run a background check on Reverend Trent P Franklin, or whatever his real name was. “Sally?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Can I come in? I need to show you something.”

Well, crap. Mavis pushed her hair out of her eyes and sat up. Her bottom sunk through the air mattress to land on the ground. Cold crept down her back. “Sure, come in.”

Sally’s silhouette reached for the zipper and pulled it down. As the flap curled open, the lieutenant came into view. Fatigue bruised the skin under her bloodshot eyes. Wrinkles scored her cheek and a bar indented the soft tissue. “Sorry to wake you, Ma’am, but I thought you’d want to see what I’ve found.”

Mavis bit her lip. She hadn’t meant for the poor girl to work all night long. Still… Her gut clenched. If it was about Reverend Trent, she doubted it could be good. Wind whistled inside the tent and bulged out the back. Wiggling her weight, she tugged the sleeping bag up her back and around her shoulders. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Crouching, Sally hop-walked inside the tent. After securing the door, she set her tablet on the canvas floor.

Up close, she looked more tired than Mavis felt. “Have you had any coffee?”

“A gallon or two.” Sally swiped at the drool mark at the corner of her mouth then picked up her tablet. Her lips firmed as she glared at it. “I’d been asleep for about twenty minutes when my tablet chimed.”

“I appreciate your dedication.” Mavis unburied one arm. The frigid air chased goosebumps across her skin. “What have you found?”

“Nothing under the names Benjamin Trent or Trent P Franklin,” Sally spat. “I had to run his fingerprints that I gathered during check in. As you know, they weren’t complete because he hadn’t been willing to give them but there’s no mistaking that smirk.”

Sally slapped the screen, turned it around and handed it to her.

Mavis took a deep breath. Please let it be something she could use to control or eliminate the threat the man presented. Please. She waited for the gyro built into the tablet to settle. A clean shaven man with blue eyes and sandy hair smiled back at her. No, smile was too nice. There was a superior edge to it. Definitely a smirk.

Definitely the Reverend.

She scanned down the page to the vitals collected. “Trent Powers.”

“Insurance salesman.” Sally’s laugh sounded hollow. She raked her fingers through her hair, creating furrows down to her scalp. “How far from a man of God can you get?”

Mavis shrugged. She’d known some decent salesmen and women. But the fact that he’d lied about being clergy should help her smash whatever alliance Trent and Dirk Benedict were building.

But it might not be enough to kill it.

Lots of folks looked up when they were neck deep in shit.

“Anything else?” Something she could use to make sure Trent never threatened her or hers again.

Sally rubbed her eyes and sighed. She seemed to collapse into a ball. “Of course, there is. I couldn’t sleep with just a liar and a slimy salesman.”

The lieutenant rose on her knees and opened a new tab. The picture came into focus. A woman’s body dangled from a loft. Her neck lolled to the side as if broken but a office chair stood about a foot under her toes. Why would she have the chair if she jumped off the loft? The hair on Mavis’s neck rose.

“This is Denise Powers, his wife.” Sally growled. “Ex-wife, I should say. He’s wanted for questioning in her murder.”

Yes, he did have that Ted Bundy-esque charm. Her fingers scrolled through the report. “There’s no fingerprints at the scene, just footprints leading away from the house.”

“He was the sole beneficiary of the wife’s life insurance policy.” Sally rolled back on her heels until she sat on the floor. “He blamed her for the deaths of their kids and has two domestic violence calls against him during their marriage.”

Motive was good, but was it enough? The evidence was still circumstantial and… Mavis’s heart sank. And David had collected the evidence. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t been involved at the time. Appearances were all that mattered. And to many it would appear that she and the military were colluding to eliminate a man of the faith.

And it would appear that she was colluding with the military to railroad a man of God. She had absolutely no doubt, Trent Powers would cling to the sham of ministry until the last.

“What else?”

Sally’s eyes widened. “That’s not enough?”

Mavis shook her head and hand the tablet back. “You’ve met him, been charmed by him. He’s good at hiding his true self.”

She’d give the scumball that. Good thing, she was better. Experience with despots, tyrants and dictators had made her that way. Her hands curled into fists, nails dug into her palms. Unfortunately, she couldn’t just put a bullet in his head and throw his body in the mounds of corpses.

She was in a position of power, with the military at her beck and call.

One misstep and she would be accused of being a despot, tyrant or dictator. Not exactly a good position if she hoped to created a new civilization.

“This should do it then.” Sally called up another page and tossed the tablet in Mavis’s lap. “If this doesn’t convince you that the dog needs to be put down, I don’t know what will.”

Bits of bone shone through the blobs of skin and black blood. Only the one perfect eyeball behind a slit lid told Mavis it was a face. A human face. Bile soured her mouth. God, who would do such a thing? But she knew.

“His fingerprints are at the scene of the crime, on a wineglass and fork, no less.”

Mavis nodded, scrolling through the list of evidence. “There’s a witness.”

“Yeah.” Sally hunkered low in her jacket. “Emmanuel Saldana, aged seventeen. He saw Trent throw the woman’s body off the balcony into a pile of hungry rats.”

The bastard probably hoped the vermin would get rid of the evidence for him. Mavis shoved off the sleeping bag and reached for the wad that was her jacket. After stuffing her arms inside the cold, stiff fabric, she stomped into her shoes. “Where is Trent Powers now?”

“I don’t know.” Sally shrugged. “I haven’t really looked for him. And he definitely hasn’t searched me out. Are you going to arrest him?”

Hooking the walkie to her waist, she crawled for the exit. “I have to consult with David, er, Sergeant-Major Dawson and General Lister first.”

She had to keep the military out of it as much as possible. The last thing she needed was people to start mistrusting the folks with the guns. Someone might get shot. Grabbing the tablet, she opened the door and stepped outside.

“And then are you going to arrest him?”

“Something like that.” If no one has seen him, she’ll just put a bullet through his head and pretend he was one of the ones who were swept away by the river last night. If folks had seen him…. Then she’d have to think of plan B.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Hey!”

Manny jumped at the sound of Irina’s voice. His ear rang for a moment and he stuck his finger inside it. The engine of the personnel carrier rumbled through him. He swayed on the bench to the motion. “What did you yell at me for?”

Sitting on his left, she grinned then winced. Green ringed the purple bruises on her jaw and temple. “Because you were snoring.”

“Are we boring you, Manny?” On his right, Beth elbowed him. Her bruises were just a tad fresher from the pervert that tried to rape her in her father’s church.

A church for pity’s sake. Manny rubbed his ribs. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He’d been with the soldiers looking for the bodies of last night’s drowning victims. And finding them. His stomach tossed the vanilla milkshake he’d had in his morning MRE. He swallowed it down and rubbed the image off his eyes. His parents had looked peaceful when they’d died. Not so, those poor people.

Beth bit her bottom lip. A curtain of black hair covered her face. “Then I guess we’ll let you sleep.”

“Just don’t snore.” Irina set her head on his shoulder. “Or we’ll wake you up again.”

“I don’t snore.” Manny glanced across the aisle of the personnel carrier.

A man twisted the crucifix hanging from a thick gold chain around his neck. Black chest hair waved from the vee of his unbuttoned polo shirt. His gaze narrowed; it bounced from Irina to Beth.

Manny glared back at him. What? They were friends. He hadn’t beaten them up. He choked down his anger. They should never have listened to the Benedict fellow who told them to separate from Henry, his wife, Mildred and Connie and the niños.

“You do too.” Irina opened her mouth and made an obnoxious sound. “That’s exactly like what you sound like.”

“No. No.” Beth reached across him to tap Irina on her jean-clad knee. She made a bizarre honking noise that ended on a loud snort. “That’s what he sounds like.”

Like he needed to hear bad snoring in stereo. He’d better change the topic. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping the girls?”

He jerked his head toward the dozen teenagers sitting near the front of the personnel carrier. Three sat on the floor but they all whispered across and around each other.

“Nah,” Irina dismissed them with a wave of her hand. “They weren’t raped or anything. The Sergeant-Major and his men saved them.”

From rape. “They were chained together like animals.”

Most had rings of torn skin on their wrists. He rubbed his own. He knew what that was like.

Beth set her hand over his. For a moment, her fingers dug into his thumb. “Relax. They’re talking about it between themselves. Because they understand. They were there.”

And who did Beth talk to about her experience now that Henry wasn’t around? He set his hand over hers. “How are you doing?”

“Good.” She smiled and pulled her hand away. “It helps that I fought him off then ran him off with my father’s gun. I wasn’t helpless…”

But she was for a time. He heard it in her voice. And that scared him. Hell, he knew what helpless felt like. Everyone here did.

He pushed off the bench, lifted his hands over his head and stretched.

Irina tugged at his pants. “Hey, where you going? You should sleep. At lunch, we’ll rejoin Mildred and Connie then you’ll have to watch the niños all day.”

A smile wiggled over the man with the crucifix’s lips.

Unease settled in Manny’s gut. What was that about?

The man arched an eyebrow.

Manny stared out the back of the truck. He blinked. “Hey! There’s no truck behind us!”

Silence filled the interior for a moment, then fabric rustled. People groaned.

Beth stood in front of him. “Where are the soldiers?”

“Everyone sit down.” The man with the crucifix’s voice boomed inside.

Irina dug her nails into his back.

“Now!”

The girls from the school yelped. One started crying.

What the fuck! Manny squared his shoulders. “We need to let the driver know that the other trucks aren’t there.”

“You stupid, boy?” The man leapt from his seat and stuck his face in Manny’s.

He wasn’t a stupid boy.

Irina tugged on his shirt and pulled him backward. “It’s alright. We’re sitting.”

His knees hit the bench but he didn’t sit. It wasn’t right.

“Please, Manny.” Beth’s voice broke on his name. She tugged on his arm with both of hers.

Manny gave in to their pleas and dropped to the bench.

“Don’t give me any trouble, boy.” The man grinned. “And I won’t need to make an example of you.”

Clamping his jaw shut, Manny trapped the swear words in his head. The soldiers would make an example of the man once they caught up and he’d be there to rip that cross from the man’s neck.

“As you can see, there’s been a change of plans.” The man opened his shirt enough to show a knife inside. “You’re no longer under the soldier’s protection, but my little group’s. Cooperate and things won’t be so bad.” He nodded to Manny. “If you don’t, things will get quite unpleasant.”

Irina and Beth leaned against his arms. Their trembling woke something inside him. Anger faded. Stop. Observe. Think. Plan. He could do this. He would do this. And when opportunity arose, he would act.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A cold wind drove through Mavis’s fleece jacket, scouring the heat from her body. She wrapped her arms around her belly and hunched her shoulders. “Holy Mother of God! When did we reach the Arctic Circle?”

Her words hung on a cloud in the air.

Holding a tablet in her left hand, Lieutenant Sally Rogers threw open her arms and embraced the frigid wind. “I just love the cold, don’t you?”

Obviously the poor girl had suffered brain trauma. No sane person loved the cold. It was too damn cold. Mavis stomped her feet. Three seconds out in it and she was already losing feeling. Pain needled her nose and ears. “Let’s check the cafeteria. Lister and Sergeant-Major Dawson are probably eating.”

She placed the wooden stumps that had once been feet, one in front of the other. The wind snatched at her jacket and she tucked her bare hands under her armpits. Her teeth chattered and pushed into the gale.

Sally shook her head. Strands of brown hair escaped from the clip at the base of her neck. “I just came from there.”

“We’ll get a cup of coffee then and ask around.” Wrapping the mug with her hands and drinking the scalding brew would help her defrost from the inside out. “Some one will know where they’ve gone.”

A general couldn’t just disappear.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Red blossomed in the lieutenant’s cheeks and her eyes twinkled despite the bags of fatigue.

A Marine in an olive drab tee-shirt and brown and tan ACU pants pushed open the latrine door. It slammed against the blue port-o-john with the help of the wind. His gaze leapt wildly around the camp then landed on them. “Sally.” His step faltered when he spied Mavis and he drew up short. “Er, Ma’am.”

Jealousy flared deep inside before being snuffed out. Men were always warm, the lucky devils. She shifted to the side so his massive frame blocked the wind. “Have you seen General Lister or Sergeant-Major Dawson?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I just came from them.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his thick neck. “They sent me to find the lieutenant.”

“Good.” Her nose twitched when it caught the aroma of fresh roast. Coffee first or the military? She scanned the camp. Soldiers ferried loaded stretchers out of the barracks. Hushed voices and soft snores swirled on the gusts. Dawn lightened the black clouds as the sun peeked over the mountains. She waited for the hair on her neck to stand up or her stomach to clench.

Neither happened.

Still, Trent Powers and his predators in training would no doubt have been plotting during the night. She must anticipate whatever he planned and begin her offensive. Besides, if he was still in camp, there still might be time to plan a little accident. Longing swept through her. Coffee would have to wait but not for long. She smiled at the Marine. After all, what good was power if you didn’t occasionally use it?

“I’ll take Lieutenant Rogers to the general, just give me their direction.”

The Marine’s ruddy complexion paled. His mouth opened and closed twice. “Ma’am?”

Interesting. Now both her hair and stomach reacted. What was going on? Had Trent already made a preemptive strike? No. If that were the case, the soldiers wouldn’t be on morgue duty but on the hunt. Then what? “Where can I find General Lister?”

Had they not awakened her because it was a minor problem. God knew, both David and Lister were protective of her. She was the woman with the plan.

The Marine blinked, wiping away the shock. “I—I can take you to him, Ma’am.”

Sally straightened. “We can find our way, Lance Corporal.”

Hmm. This was getting interesting. The men were protecting her. Her heart lurched. Damn! What if it was about Sunnie? She tromped down her rising panic. No, she’d just talked to her niece. Everything was fine. Then why was there a serpent writhing through her belly?

Because the general and David would lie about Sunnie to make sure Mavis did her part and saved everyone from the anthrax, from the meltdown, from anarchy.

Her fingers curled into fists under her arms. Right. Time to find out what they were hiding. “Please tell us where to find Lister and Dawson.”

The lance corporal clasped his hands behind his back and stared over Mavis’s shoulder.

“You can take that as an order.” There. That should absolve him of any guilt or retribution. Thanks to the Redaction and biological attack, she was the Commander-in-Chief of the US Military.

Some of the square left the Marine’s shoulders as he pointed to the southwest. “At the end of the camp, there’s a small brick building that the military had commandeered.”

Poor kid. That bit of information practically killed him to relay. God only knew what the divided loyalties were doing to David. She’d have to deal with it. Now. She inhaled through the pain. If she didn’t deal with the conflict, it would fester and destroy them. Better make her expectations clear now before she became too accustomed to having him around.

“Please grab us some breakfast MREs and coffee, then join us.” She wanted him tied up so they could arrive unannounced, but she wouldn’t allow him to be punished because of her actions.

“Yes, Ma’am.” With parade ground precision, he turned and marched to the canteen.

Mavis hooked her arm through Sally’s. Damn, but the lieutenant was warm. Must be the age. She certainly never remembered being this cold. Then again, most of her time had been spent in deserts. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t understand why the lance corporal acted the way he did.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She would do all the worrying. Somehow, she was at the heart of the matter and Sunnie influenced her orbit. Perhaps, she needed to set the record straight on another matter as well. Mavis hopped over the obstacle course of tent lines in the alley between the barracks. The canvas wobbled like dark green gelatin with each gust.

“You won’t report him for insubordination, will you, Ma’am?” Sally glanced back at the canteen as they turned the corner. “I’m sure he was only following orders.”

“I’m sure he was.” Which was why she wanted to reach the headquarters and maybe do a little eavesdropping. Having the Lance Corporal around would be like sneaking into an enemy camp with a herd of elephants. Sally’s stomping made her loyalties apparent as well.

The Marine Corps rarely bred any other kind.

A small building squatted in the distance. In the camp’s stadium lighting, she made out the blue and pink graffiti spray painted on its side. Metal screens secured the narrow windows. Broad-shouldered shadows glided across the dirt. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Something had the brass agitated and angry. “I hope they don’t mind me crashing the party.”

Too bad if they did.

Sally increased her pace. “This doesn’t look good.”

Mavis kept up. At least the exercise defrosted her bones. She rubbed her hands together, barely resisting the urge to blow on them. Now if only the rest of her would follow suit.

“I know we lost more people in the trucks that washed away then we did overnight to the anthrax.”

“We did?” Mavis didn’t know that. Then again, the lieutenant had been up all night. She was bound to hear other choice tidbits.

“Yeah. And the medicos haven’t diagnosed any new cases.”

“That was good.” But the incubation period was up to forty-five days or more. And they’d only made it through eight. Plus, Sally made it certain there’d be no eavesdropping. Ah well, deception wasn’t Mavis’s specialty.

Ten yards away from the headquarters, the door banged open. The light inside formed a halo around Lister’s buzz cut. “Lieutenant, I was beginning to fear that you’d been swept away in the flood.”

From the tilt of the general’s head, Mavis knew he stared at her not Sally. Uncrossing her arms, she held them firmly at her side. “Sorry to cause you concern. But if you remember, you assigned her to look after me. Perhaps, you should have checked my tent first.”

Take that, you four starred fox. She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Playing mental games with Lister would help pass the time to Colorado. After all, they both wanted the same thing: survival.

Lister stepped back as she approached. “I’ll remember that next time.”

I just bet you will. And to throw him off the scent…

“She finished up the task I assigned her, regarding the good Reverend Trent. I knew you’d be interested in hearing the results.” Mavis avoided touching him as she stepped inside. An office chair missing its back pad listed to the side under a warped metal desk. Metal blinds lay in heaps under bare windows, their slats fanning out. Semper Fi scrolled across the screen saver of the sleek computer on the desk. A single black cord crawled up the wall to connect to the satellite dish wedged between the metal grill and the outside wall.

Two colonels in Air Force blue, one in Army green and three junior officers stood in front of a yellowing wall. The names of David’s men and several others were written in black marker. Twelve names out of the two hundred on those four trucks. Thirteen if you counted Sunnie’s, which was written to the right of the column.

She’s alright. You just talked to her. Mavis rubbed her red fingers together, wincing as the blood flow resumed. She faced her panel of servicemen. Many didn’t meet her eye. Well, hell. Pinning a smile, she tucked her hands into her back pocket. “Oh, good, everyone’s already here. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

Everyone but David.

Had he been sent to delay her arrival to the little war council? Probably. Except this was her war, too. She flexed then relaxed her fingers, holding her hand out for the marker. “I’ll fill-in the names of those I know traveled with Sunnie while Lieutenant Rogers fills you in on what she’s found.”

The lieutenant jumped when Lister slammed the door behind her.

No other officer moved.

“Perhaps, we should wait for Sergeant-Major Dawson as this affects him too.” Mavis almost felt sorry for them. Almost. The sneaky bastards. At least, she didn’t get the ‘I’m feeling a coup vibe’. She quickly penciled in the names of her neighbors as well as a few of the survivors David’s men had rescued after the ambush. She sincerely hoped the flash flood hadn’t traumatized them further.

“What affects Dawson?” Lister growled over the squeak of the marker.

Mavis looked over her shoulder. The lieutenant stood statue still by the door, frantically tapping on her computer. “Sally?”

Blinking, the woman seemed to give herself a shake. Sally gave the final tap and mentally rejoined them. “Yes, Ma’am. Sirs.” She turned on the computer and joined Mavis by the far wall. “Doctor Spanner asked me to check into the man we know as Reverend Trent.”

The door banged open and the wind shoved a bunch of dried Mesquite needles across the cement-stained floor. David carried a tray of styrofoam cups and an insulated carafe. Steam dipped and dance above each offering.

“Perfect timing.” Capping the marker, Mavis rushed across the room. Her fingers scissor walked above the cups. Tar. Black tar. Really black tar. God only knows what that one contained. She settled over a ebony liquid with a bit of brown in it. Not a creamer or sugar in sight. She lifted her choice free, grabbed the next lightest one, then shuffled back to the desk and handed the brew to Sally.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“No need.” Mavis brushed off the gratitude. God only knew what the stuff would do to their insides. But given the men who liked it, she’d have to check her esophagus for hair. “Wait until they’re settled. Men aren’t multi-taskers.”

The lance-corporal who’d told them where to find the headquarters shut the door behind him. He hefted two bags in his hand, one of water bottles and one with the tan Meals-Ready-to-Eat bags. He started toward the general before veering toward her. “Ma’am.”

Closing her eyes, Mavis reached inside the bag. Plastic scratched her hand as she rooted through them. She pulled one out, turned it over and looked at the name stamped on it. “Yes! The pork sausage patty.”

A few men chuckled.

“My favorite.” Which only tasted a little more rubbery than the apple oatmeal. If she never ate oatmeal again, it would be too soon. Tucking it under her chin, she plucked a water bottle from the other bag. Now she just had to figure out how to open the pouch and heat it up.

When she turned around, David was there. “Allow me.”

She handed first the water bottle then the MRE to him. “Thanks.”

A shadow crossed his eyes. “No problem.”

They definitely needed to talk.

“Get to cooking, Lance Corporal. Lieutenant, tell us what you found on that bastard.”

Every officer gave Sally her undivided attention. “When he registered, the Reverend gave his name as Benjamin Trent. Later, when Doctor Spanner asked his name, he gave it as Trent P Franklin.”

Mavis blew on her coffee. Steam wafted back at her. She carefully took a sip. Bitterness flooded her mouth. Bleah, it was even worse than she imagined. She lowered her hand to the desk when the coffee kicked in. Heat settled in her gut and radiated outward. Maybe there was something to this coffee thing. She took another sip then scraped the grounds off her tongue. This would be so much better if her tastebuds didn’t work.

“Can’t shoot a man for lying about his name, can we?” Lister rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Even if it’s martial law.”

The Air Force Colonel shook his head. “Now if he’d impersonated an Army chaplain or officer, I think we’d have grounds.”

“Are you a lawyer?” Mavis plugged her nose and forced down another sip.

“No, Ma’am.”

She scratched her nose then set the cup on the table. Liquid lapped at the lip from the tilt. “Too bad, we could use one.”

The young Marine and David slit open the MRE pouches, added water to the heaters and combined the two bags.

“Oh!” Lister’s face brightened. “The good Reverend has been a naughty boy?”

And then some. Mavis watched David’s face. Would he recognize Trent? “Sally.”

“Trent Powers is not a reverend.” The lieutenant scrolled through the screens then turned Trent’s smirking face toward her audience. “He sells insurance.”

David’s attention whipped from his task. Water poured onto the table before he caught himself.

“Hell, I knew I didn’t like him.” Lister frowned at his empty cup while striding to the desk and the carafe. “But that’s not a crime either.”

“Now if he was selling used cars…” the Air Force Colonel joked.

David waited until Sally showed him the picture. “I know that man.”

“You should.” The lieutenant spun the tablet around in her hands, switching screens. “You flagged him as a prime suspect in a double homicide.”

“Fucking bastard.” David swore as Sally showed everyone the crime scene pictures.

Lister choked on his coffee. He wiped a drop off his lip and grinned. “Hot damn! Now that we can shoot him for.”

Yes, they could. Mavis smiled. “But we need to try him first. He’ll pretend to be a Holy man to his last breath and the evidence can damn the military if he spins it right.”

And he would. This predator was very cunning.

“My last JAG lawyer died yesterday.” The Air Force Colonel shook his head.

That might not be a bad thing. Mavis took another sip of her coffee. Gah! It didn’t improve by cooling off. She returned it to the desk. “Hopefully, there’ll be one among the civilians.”

An incompetent bumbling boob who was interested in justice more than the letter of the law.

“Sally can you search for one?”

The lieutenant stared at her screen and bit her bottom lip.

Why did the woman persist in looking at the pictures if they disturbed her so much?

“Lieutenant Rogers!” General Lister barked.

Sally started. “Sorry, Sir. We have a bit of a problem.” The lieutenant cleared her throat. “When I noticed the names on the wall, I realized that you were trying to figure out who was on those four trucks.”

Mavis’s stomach clenched. The coffee she swallowed threatened to repeat. “Trent Powers is over there with Sunnie, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Lister exchanged a look with David.

Mavis caught the warning and the worry. Ah, she’d been right. “Let’s get one thing clear.”

The officer’s swiveled their heads, giving her their undivided attention.

“Sunnie is my main concern, but not yours.”

David opened his mouth to speak.

She raised a hand to quiet him. “I know we have people over there. I know that the Sergeant-Major’s men will die to protect my niece. If they should fail…” Pain banded her chest and she struggled to drag in a breath. “I give you my word, that come Hell or more high water,” she gestured to the swollen river less than half a mile away, “I’ll guide everyone through the fun and excitement of surviving in a mine.”

She owed David that.

She owed Lister and the rest that promise. The military could have taken over at any time, and they hadn’t.

Lister stroked his chin. Silent communication passed between the officers.

She felt the weight of her promise and their judgment press down on her. Words in her defense bubbled through her. She clamped her lips together. The foundation of trust had to be laid on solid bedrock. They didn’t know it, but life in the mines would be where the real treachery began.

This was the easy part.

Lister looked at David, jerking his head in her direction.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “So if your niece dies, you’re going to abandon her body in a shallow grave and go live a long happy life with us?”

She flinched at the harsh words, knowing they were part of the test. “I don’t know about the happy part, but, yes, I’ll die in Colorado.”

Color washed up David’s cheeks.

Mavis offered him no comfort. Grief over losing her husband and son within months of each other had turned her into a raving bitch. She’d probably drive him away, if her words about his divided loyalties didn’t shatter their fragile relationship. Her attention skittered away from his and focused on Lister. “Any more questions?”

“Nope.” The general held out his hand. “Welcome to the survivor’s club, Doc.”

She slid her hand into his, felt the large callus on his trigger finger. “Now let’s bag some rabid wolves. Sally, is there a Dirk Benedict on those trucks?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The Lieutenant flashed the obese man’s picture at them.

Mavis wrote Trent and Dirk’s name on the board, far away from Sunnie’s. “What is his occupation?”

The lieutenant frowned down at her tablet. “He was a mechanic until an accident put him on workman’s comp.”

“Son of a bitch!” Lister crumpled his empty coffee. “That’s our saboteur.”

Ah, they’re finally going to let her in on the big secret. “What did he sabotage?”

After a nod from Lister, David filled her in. “The brake lines of one of the trucks.”

Mavis set her hand over her chest, writing on her chin with the marker. “Is anyone injured?”

Lister’s eyes narrowed.

She glared at him. She promised to help them, not to stop worrying about her niece.

“They were able to stop using the bumper of Sunnie’s truck. No injuries reported.” David held up his hands. “Sunnie called after it happened and she never said she was hurt, did she?”

“No.” But the medic might have told her not to. Damn, she hated knowing they lied to her. “Any more sabotage?”

“Robertson’s truck suffered two flat tires. He conveniently ran over boards with nails.” David held up two fingers. “Two, only on the passenger’s side and all but one of the comms have dead batteries.”

“Let me guess, the two damaged trucks were the last in the convoy.” Separating the civilians from the military would make it easier to take control. “Were the people rearranged?”

“Yes and yes.”

Very clever. She chewed on the marker’s cap. “Sally, bring up the photos of all the men between forty and fifty on those trucks.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“What are you thinking, Doc?”

The same thing the bastard was, she hoped. “Trent would want more than one henchman and I snapped four men at the funeral that had Dirk’s thumbs up. What do you want to bet, they’re together?”

“I don’t like to lose.” Using his teeth, Lister ripped open the plastic encasing his fork.

“It’s ready, Ma’am.” Sally handed her the tablet.

After handing off her pen, Mavis flicked the pages, one after the other. Ten men. Twelve. Frustration shredded her insides. Come on. They had to be here. Lucky number thirteen. Hooked nose and beady, close-set eyes. “Gary Everett.” His occupation surprised her. One would think Trent would pick his friends more closely. “Ex-con. Drug dealing.” She smiled as she scanned Gary’s rap sheet. “And a piece of good news, he’s ratted out cronies before.”

Lister shook a speared sausage at her. “So we have a wedge.”

That better not be her sausage breakfast.

David set an MRE by her cold coffee and opened her wheat bread.

With her free hand, she dipped the corner into the gravy and tossed it into her mouth. Her finger left streak marks across the screen. Numbers fourteen and fifteen showed two brothers from Alabama caught in Phoenix during the Redaction. They’d have an axe to grind for keeping them from their loved ones. “Add Ernest and Robert E Pyle. Both are long haul truckers.”

She watched David’s face, saw his eyes widen when the implication sunk in. “My men will be on guard once they realize they’re cut off from the platoon.”

If they have time to realize it. Trent may not want to wait to replace the soldiers with his new chauffeurs.

She flicked through more pictures. Come on. Where was the last? Two flew by and she back-tracked. A man in a suit stared back at her. Thin lipped, flat black eyes and crooked nose. Black chest hair carried a gold crucifix above the first button of his white dress shirt and loose tie. “Jake Turner.”

This was a man used to being in charge but he’d been the first recruit.

Perhaps Trent had his own wolf. She scanned his vitals and smiled. “Guess what gentlemen. We’ve just found Trent Powers’ defense lawyer.”

“Why try him at all? We know he’s guilty.” Lister stabbed another sausage chunk. “Let’s just kill the bastard.”

She handed the tablet back to Sally. “In case you hadn’t noticed civilians outnumber servicemen and that gap is only going to widen. If we go around shooting people, no matter how much they deserve it, then we’re dead. We can’t fight for survival and each other.”

Lister shook his bread at her. “I don’t want the bastard getting off on a technicality either.”

“Oh he won’t, I promise you that.” She broke her bread into pieces and dropped them into the sausage gravy, stirring it with her fork. “Find me a civilian lawyer and thirty potential jurors, cross-reference their names with anyone who lost a loved one to the lawlessness that occurred at the beginning of the Redaction.”

“Damn, Doc,” awe-tinged Lister’s voice, “that’s brilliant and sneaky.”

If she couldn’t get a conviction with a stacked jury, then she’d find another means. One way or another, she’d get those victims justice.

Chapter Twenty-Five

David stuffed the last piece of cake in his mouth, as Mavis reached the door. The food settled like lead shot in his gut. Damn Lister. The Marine had tossed him under the bus by telling Mavis about the sabotage.

Something David himself had been forced to swear to keep to himself.

And then she’d looked at him.

And he’d spied the pain in her hazel eyes.

He tossed his garbage on the tray. The lance-corporal can clean up this mess by himself. David had damage control of his own to do. Without asking permission, David strode to the door.

Lister intercepted him, picking his teeth with the folded edge of a bag. “Good luck.”

David was surprised it wasn’t the quill from a canary, the conniving bastard. “Thank you, Sir.”

He stepped into the morning light. To his right, people shuffled in the pearly dawn. Overhead, night fled before the sun, but the storm clouds to the north advanced. That wasn’t the only bad weather.

On his left, Mavis marched toward the river. Pausing, she turned and arched an eyebrow, daring him.

David squared his shoulders and followed. His men were in harm’s way, her niece was at risk and a pecker head threatened to undermine everything they’d hoped to build but he’d never ignore a dare.

As soon as he reached her side, she began to walk. “I take it you’re ready to talk.”

He stumbled over a step. Damn. Nothing good ever began when a woman wanted to talk. He would know. Twenty-six women ended their relationship with a variation of those words.

Would telling her he was ordered to withhold information from her keep her by his side?

Maybe.

“I don’t have anything to say.” He wouldn’t defend his actions, or his allegiance. His men were his family. If she couldn’t understand that… “But I figured you did.”

“Yes.” She stopped by a shrub, ran her fingers through the grayish leaves. With a sigh, she faced him. “I’m glad you don’t have anything to say, because I want to get this out.”

David clasped his hands behind his back. Why had he hoped she’d understand? Because of Sunnie? Despite her announcement, she’d fight harder to keep everyone alive with her niece by her side than with Sunnie buried in a roadside grave.

And his words definitely hadn’t helped his cause.

“Today tested your loyalties and I came out the loser.” She grimaced and wrapped her arms around her waist. Her attention slipped off him. “I detest losing.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Her lips quirked. Slowly, she raised her gaze until their eyes locked. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Huh? She was apologizing to him?

“What we have is too new and untested to withstand these trails.”

He curled his free hand into a fist. Cue the break-up music. He dug his heels into the ground.

“So I release you.”

And now he just had to wait for the end credits to roll and the curtain to fall. Tonight, he’d find a cold cot to climb into. Yay him.

“You don’t owe me a professional loyalty, just personal one.”

The music in his head screamed to a stop. “What?”

This was the weirdest break-up he’d been through.

“Don’t misunderstand me, I won’t share you with another woman.” She stepped closer and rested her hands against his chest. “I just don’t expect you to put me ahead of the needs of your men or the military.”

David stepped back, swaying a little on his feet. His thoughts chased round and round inside his skull. “Maybe you better repeat that.”

Because he couldn’t have heard what he thought he did.

“Your men and the service need you more than I do right now.” She closed the gap between them once again but this time she didn’t touch him. “I won’t ask you to choose. To tell me every little thing. I just ask that when the time comes, if the time comes when I…”

She inhaled deeply.

David caught her hands, threaded his fingers through hers. He’d be there when she needed him. Always, no matter what happened between them. She’d gotten the loyalty part right. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”

She smiled and rested her head against his chest. “You know I’m only doing this because you keep me warm.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He set his chin on the top of her head and watched as a bird swooped out of the sky toward the river. Wait a minute. If he was allowed to keep secrets from her, was she keeping secrets from him?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Papa Rose kicked the length of two by four wedged into the wheel, opening and closing the irrigation gate. Mud oozed around his boots and dripped down his backside. “Move.” Kick. “Your.” Kick. “Ass.” Kick. Kick.

His knee throbbed with each impact. Sweat beaded his forehead; a frigid breeze whisked it away.

“You do know that it doesn’t have an ass.” Falcon squished through the mud on the other side of the white metal gate. A ball bearing rattled around the spray can in his hand before he sprayed the WD40 on the rusted nut holding the wheel.

“Unlike you.” Brainiac stopped playing with the wires of the generator and perched on the edge of the truck bed. The logo of Palo Verde Generating Station decorated the white door. Of all the elements in the logo, only the orange mountains and golden sun and reactor dome would remain. The green saguaro would die from the radiation as would the rest of the vegetation.

And forget using the farmlands for the next hundred thousand years or so.

The squid smiled. “You should have seen your face when you went down.”

Papa Rose rubbed the dried mud off his hands. Beside the ditch stretched a field. Furrows divided the dark soil into neat rows. That crop would never grow. “Remind me again, why you’re not helping to open and close these stupid gates?”

“Because I have to make sure the generators are wired correctly to power the wells.” Brainiac shook the open edge of a heavy duty cord at him. Red, white, black and green coated copper wires bristled from the ends. “It’s a delicate procedure. If we blow this, Doc won’t get three more days.”

Falcon stopped his spraying. The painted metal glistened in the morning sun. “Try it again.”

Shaking off his thoughts, Papa Rose slammed his boot against the wood. Metal screamed. Hallelujah! It budged. Bracing his feet against the wall of the ditch, he leaned against the two by four. Splinters bit into his palm and he sunk deeper into the green slime at the bottom of the ditch.

The damn thing didn’t move.

He glared at Falcon. “Wanna give me a hand?”

“Nope.” The former Green Beret grinned. He carefully set the spray can on the dirt road running parallel to the ditch. “But I will, we’re running out of time and you’re taking forever.”

“Asshole.”

After blowing him an air kiss, Falcon rested his hands on the other end of the plank, pushing in the same direction. The wheel squeaked as it turned inch by inch.

Brainiac took out a knife and scored the plastic covering the wires in his hand. “Oh we have plenty of time now. The water from the first well has already made it down to the ponds. Glen is routing the water to the pools.”

“Who is Glen?” Papa Rose’s knees banged against the metal gate. Pain burned across his back as he continued to push with his upper body. Christ Jesus, this was getting old.

“The nuclear tech.” Brainiac bit the tip of the green plastic and pulled, skinning the wire. “I should probably check on him. He didn’t sound too good.”

“We’re lucky he’s lasted this long.” Releasing his plank, Papa Rose turned in the ditch and grabbed the one Falcon had been pushing. Bracing his foot in the muddy side, he pulled.

“He’s been sick nearly thirty hours, right?” Mimicking his actions, Falcon manhandled the wood toward his chest.

Brainiac spit the piece of plastic onto the field. “Thirty-two.”

Time was almost up. Thankfully, they were about done and he could return to the munchkins. God knew what trouble they would get up to with no adult supervision.

“I just want to be there for him when, he… you know.” Brainiac focused on scoring the red plastic.

“Yeah.” No one should die alone. The wheel spun faster. The metal gate lifted off the ditch floor. Using the side of his fist, Papa Rose loosened the two by four and pulled it free of the valve. Sweat dampened his palm when he grabbed the wheel and turned it.

Falcon braced his hands on the sides of the ditch before pulling himself out. “How many more of these do we have?”

Brainiac scored the black and white wires. “Two or three.” With his knife, he pointed down the dirt road. Brick walls and house roofs popped up from the fields. Beyond it, black clouds expanded like foam on the horizon. “The last well is that-a-way.”

“Call Glen when we get there.” Falcon picked up the spray can and tossed it into the back of the truck. “Let him know we’re almost done.”

After checking to make sure the gate was fully open, Papa Rose threaded the chain links through the wheel then rammed the hasp into the lock. No asshole was going to undo all their hard work. This thing would stay open until the metal rusted into flakes or the land became habitable again.

Brainiac tossed a leg over the edge of the truck, straddling the ledge. “I think he’s waiting for us to be finished.”

Papa Rose climbed out of the ditch and picked up the plank. “He’s a hero. We would have thought everything was A-OK by just filling the generators.”

“Yeah.” Dropping the cord in the bed, Brainiac threw his other leg over and slid to the ground. “I never would have thought to check the chillers or the water.”

Tossing the plank in the back, Papa sat on the lowered truck gate. Green mud dripped from his swinging legs. “Onward!”

Brainiac shook his head and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine started with a low-throated grumble.

Picking up the M-4, Falcon sat on the hump over the passenger wheel. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“Yeah.” He scanned the fallow field. Raw desert surrounded them and the bushes bowed and scraped every time the wind kicked up. “Even though we haven’t seen anyone all day, I don’t like being in the open like this.”

The truck bumped along the ruts. He slid to the right then the left.

“I don’t like the silence.”

Picking up his Sig-Sauger, he used a twig to try and scoop the mud out of the barrel. He’d take it apart and clean it when they set off to join the Doc and Colonel. “At least the rain yesterday kept the dust down.”

Nothing like a big ol’ brown plume to give away their position.

Brainiac slowed as they approached a perpendicular dirt road cutting the field in half.

Falcon rubbed his nose. “There better not be another fucking gate.”

“We have to make certain the water all goes to the plant.” He switched to falsetto as he aped Brainiac. “Even one drop goes down the wrong ditch and we won’t have three days.”

Falcon chuckled. “I’m not sure if the squid is enjoying his power trip or if he and Glen actually calculated the time to meltdown in drops of water.”

“Probably both.” Papa Rose blew into his gun. Balls of dirt flew out.

The right light blinked then Brainiac turned onto the paved road.

“You think the munchkins are alright?”

“Sure.” Papa Rose grabbed the edge of the gate with one hand when they bumped onto the asphalt. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

Falcon snorted. “Because they’re kids and there’s no adults to tell them not to do this or that. I get a white hair every time I think of what I did at their age.”

Using a waded up flyer, Papa Rose scraped the mud off the side of the gun. “God, I remember playing ball in the street, lighting shit on fire, crawling through construction zones and rafting on pallets in the canal overflows.”

“Imagine being locked inside a nuclear power plant.”

His hand stilled. “Shit.”

“I keep thinking the power will go off and the electronic locks will magically open on the doors.” Falcon scratched his head. “When you were a kid, would you have been able to resist a clear pool of water?”

“B says it’s a hundred and twenty-two degrees. Not exactly swimming temperature.”

“Will they know that?’

God only knows. Papa Rose set the pistol to the side. “We’re almost done.”

“And we’ll have B ask Glen to check on the munchkins.”

“They’re probably sleeping.” Too bad he didn’t believe it. He wouldn’t have slept if his parents were away. “We’ll look like idiots.”

“B will look like an idiot.”

“Yeah.” Serves the squid right for leaving them to do all the dirty work. He liked the plan.

The truck slowed. Six foot high brick fences hemmed them in on both sides.

Falcon pushed off the wheel and stood behind the cab.

Picking up his Sig-Sauger, Papa Rose climbed to his knees. His attention roamed the streets as they passed. Brown seed pods rattled and rolled through the pock-mocked streets. Yellow, purple and maroon blossoms clung to the gutters. The skeletal limbs of Mesquite and eucalyptus trees swayed in the breeze. Row after row. Unlike in Phoenix, these homes sat perfectly preserved, waiting for owners that would never return.

“Hey!” Brainiac shouted out the window as the truck stopped. “Do either of you remember that truck being here last night?”

Papa Rose zeroed in on the cherry red pick-up at the corner. Gray brick tumbled around its oversized wheels and the lift kit kept the crinkled hood almost even with the top of the fence. The light bar hung to the side as if someone tried to rip it off the roof. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

Falcon tightened his grip on his rifle. “Anyone else see a resemblance to the vehicle Jillie describe the assholes that murdered her and Toby’s parents?”

“Fuck, Falcon.” Brainiac coasted through the intersection. “You’re a paranoid son of a bitch.”

“Hate to agree with the squid,” Papa Rose joined Falcon near the cab, “but this is rural Arizona. Lifts and light bars are almost as commonplace as gun racks.”

Not that he’d had one on his Ram. His wife hadn’t allowed it. The memory of her smile was a punch to the chest. Damn, he missed her.

“Yeah, well, I don’t remember it from last night.” Falcon flicked off the safety but kept his finger off the trigger.

Papa adjusted his weight on the balls of his feet when the truck picked up speed. “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on our parts. I certainly wouldn’t mind blowing out the brains of those murdering bastards.”

“Maybe.”

“We might get lucky and meet up with them on the road.” He set his elbows on the cab. The cold metal leached the warmth from his skin. “Jillie said they listened real carefully to the evacuation routes.”

“Probably to pick off more survivors.”

Maybe. Hell, probably. But there was nothing they could do about it. If the bastards did follow the soldiers, they’d be far away by now. He and Falcon had to protect the munchkins. Thankfully, justice could still triumph. “If they do show up, Jillie will be able to identify them.”

They could kill the bad guys in Colorado just as well as here.

“There is that.”

Once cleared of the neighborhood, the area opened into farmland. The sidewalk ended in a dirt trail next to the irrigation ditch. Pristine furrows cut through the rich loam. Towering trees swayed around a mobile home and an empty tire swing dangled from a white limb.

“You know, I never knew what a well looked like until today.” Falcon’s arm brushed his as Brainiac steered their vehicle back onto a dirt road.

“Completely ruined the image I had of a round thing with a roof and a bucket.”

Falcon squinted at him.

“What?” Papa Rose shifted. Knowing frou-frou things didn’t make him a pussy. “I had five daughters and each one loved a different fairy tale.”

Falcon’s lips twitched. “Cinderella.”

“Grimm’s or Disney?”

“What, are you fucked in the head? Disney. Grimm’s is a little to dark for a five-year-old.”

Or a twenty-year-old for that matter. Papa Rose jerked his head toward the evil metal wheels of the gates. “You’re up.”

Brainiac pulled alongside the ditch and stopped.

“Rocks, paper, scissors?” Falcon wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hell no.” Papa picked up the two by four and shoved it at the former Green Beret. “You cheat.”

Falcon traded the M-4 for the wood. “How do you cheat at rocks, paper, scissors?”

“Easy.” Brainiac turned up the collar of his pea coat. “Papa Rose always chooses paper. As long as you pick scissors, you win.”

Papa Rose blinked. Shit. He did always pick paper. What was wrong with him? And them… Some friends they were. They’d never told him. “Assholes.”

“Nice going, B.” Falcon set the plank on his shoulder and strutted to the gate. “Now, I’m going to get stuck with latrine duty.”

“Better than getting my boot stuck up your ass.” Papa Rose mentally smacked his forehead. How could he have been so stupid?

Brainiac tugged a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and unfolded it. The wind snagged the map and tore through the worn creases. “Okay. You need to open this one here.” He pointed to the one leading to the housing development. “And close this one.” He indicated the open gate heading away from them.

“Gee, thanks, B. I don’t think we could have figured it out on our own.” Falcon’s lip curled into a sneer as he pushed the two-by-four into the wheel of the closed gate.

“He’s just remembering your special training.” Papa Rose picked the padlock on Falcon’s valve, jumped the ditch and did the same thing to the open gate. Thankfully, closing them was much easier than opening them.

Brainiac carefully folded his map. “I’m gonna go to the well and get it hooked up.”

Falcon jumped in the ditch. Water splashed up the sides. “I don’t think we should split up.”

Setting the rifle on the ground, Papa Rose leaned over the wheel. “I agree with Falcon.”

“Oh, come on!” Brainiac flapped his arms. His crew cut seemed to stand on end. “I’m just going to be a hundred yards away. You’ll see me the entire time.”

Falcon glanced at the well, kicking at the plank. It moved half a turn. “Looks like our boy’s growing up.”

“Fuck you!” Brainiac stomped to the truck and yanked open the door. “I don’t report to either of you.”

Falcon’s eyes widened and he placed a hand to his chest. “Was it something I said?”

“Keep an eye out, B.” The engine revved, drowning out Papa Rose’s words.

The squid peeled out in a spray of mud.

“I don’t like that neither of us remember seeing that truck.” He spun his wheel and the metal gate lowered into place.

The truck did a donut in the field before Brainiac backed it toward the well. Chain link rattled when it hit.

“Relax Papa Worrywart. We can see the squid.”

As if hearing Falcon, Brainiac shoved open the door, flipped them off and stalked to the back of the truck.

Once the metal panel was fully seated, Papa Rose snaked the chain through the gears and locked it. “I guess it was time for B to grow a pair.”

“And then some.” Using the plank, Falcon opened the gate. He smiled as it rose silently. “Jealous?”

“Nope.” The asshole would get the easy one. Picking up the rifle, Papa Rose leapt the ditch. His boot heels dug deep into the damp ground. Lucky him, he got to slog his way to the well. Damn Falcon and his sarcasm.

“Are too.”

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost.” Falcon removed the wood and handed it to him. “Here’s something to remember me by.”

Papa Rose dropped the two-by-four into the mud. Never would be too soon to remember this.

After Falcon looped the chain through the wheel and secured it, he climbed out of the ditch. He turned toward the housing development a klick away and frowned. “I’ve got an itch.”

Papa Rose handed him the assault rifle and tugged the gun from his waistband. He didn’t see anything, but he trusted the ex-Green Beret’s instincts. “It’s at times like this that I miss crickets and birds.”

“They’re an under-appreciated alarm system.”

With their asses in the open, they were easy targets. Worse, they wouldn’t know the direction the attack came from until the bullets started flying. “Run or walk?”

“My ass says run, but I think we should walk it.” Falcon looped the strap around his neck as he sauntered toward the well. “They haven’t made a move so far, they might just be lookouts.”

Papa Rose held the gun at his side as he walked. While he faced straight ahead, his eyes scanned the surroundings. Still nothing but his muscles twitched with the need to run for the cover of the truck. A couple of layers of metal was pretty good protection from bullets, provided one didn’t strike the gas tank. “Jillie wasn’t real clear on their numbers.”

“I’d say we take her nine and add three.” Falcon stopped and crouched down, pretending to tie his shoe while he looked behind them. “I’m thinking the house or the neighborhood.”

Papa Rose’s leg jumped as he waited patiently. He turned to the neighborhood but kept the house behind the well in his peripheral vision. “The house is boarded up with one plank over each window. Wouldn’t be easy to aim through it.”

A shadow crept over the ground as a black cloud scuttled in front of the sun.

“Could come charging around the sides.” Falcon adjusted his jeans leg over his shoe and stood.

“Not exactly in keeping with the attack MO Jillie described.”

Falcon shrugged as they continued on their path. “Not exactly any rooftops they can fire from and funneling people is a little hard in an open field.”

Fifty yards separated them. Papa Rose’s finger twitched on the side of the gun. “You think B’s radar is pinging?”

“Hard to tell with the squid. He’s damn smart but sometimes he lacks common sense.”

“Like when he was dealing with Toby.”

Falcon’s smile was strained. “Did you see him jump?”

Papa Rose used his laugh to look over his shoulder. Still no movement in the neighborhood. What were they waiting for? “Having a kid shove his head in your crotch can startle a man.”

The truck jiggled when Brainiac climbed in the back. A soft scraping noise drifted on the wind.

Papa Rose identified it as the generator being dragged across the bed. Twenty yards to go. He shifted his attention to the house. Could they come charging from the back yard?

Brainiac’s face turned red as he lugged the gennie into the caged area. “Hurry up you two. I’m not doing all the work.”

“The squid’s definitely grown a pair.” Falcon shook his head, lingering just a tad when he faced the neighborhood.

“Brass ones, too.” A piece of paper fluttered from the house’s backyard. Papa nearly tripped over his feet. “Eleven O’Clock.”

“A piece of paper.”

“Yeah.” A fucking white banner carried aloft into the sky. “You see any trash piled along the curb in the neighborhood? The whole city has been damn clean.”

Brainiac returned to the side of the truck and hefted two cinder blocks out of the back. “Since you two are being such lazy asses, you can unload the fuel.”

“The squid is oblivious.” Falcon raised the M-4 so it no longer pointed at the ground.

“Focused.” Papa Rose corrected. “All he can see is the job is almost done.”

It was a killer attitude.

Brianiac returned to the truck for the next load of blocks. With one hanging from his hand, he did a second take. “Maybe I should leave these for you two to carry.”

Ahh, he’d finally noticed. Papa Rose shrugged. “We’ll get the drum.” He nodded toward the house, not the blue fifty-gallon barrel in the bed. “You can carry those.”

The squid turned and ambled back to the well. His head tracked slowly from left to right before it tilted back. “I guess it’s a little too much to believe that the paper just missed the garbage.”

“If it had, it would be sopping wet and stuck to the ground.” Papa stopped next to the truck bed and pulled out the last block. At least his gun hand was still free.

“Now we get into a rather sticky situation.” Falcon leaned against the truck and crossed his ankle. “Do we continue to act like nothing is happening or do we go on the offensive?”

Brainiac arranged the blocks so the drum could sit on it and feed the generator to keep it running for the next twenty-four hours. “We need to get this well running. It’ll pump out fifty-four million gallons that the plant will need to give us three more days.”

Papa Rose dropped his block next to the pile and let the squid rearrange them. “Why isn’t the hundred million the other two are pumping out enough?”

“Because the chillers aren’t working.” After organizing the make-shift pedestal, Brainiac dusted his hands on his pants. “Glen has to move more water to keep the pool cool. Given the rate of evaporation and the time we need to reach Colorado, that’s one hundred and fifty million gallons to be safe.”

Papa Rose faced the house. No movement in the back yard but the hair on his neck stood at full attention. Damn, why didn’t they show themselves? He watched the paper landed safely in a Mesquite tree. “Have you checked in with Glen?”

“He’s not answering.”

Dead then. Papa Rose tightened his grip on his weapon. If anything happened to them, the munchkins would join them shortly. Not going to happen. “So how should we work this?”

“We need that water on for twenty-four.”

“Given that they could have attacked and didn’t, I say we finish up.” Falcon ducked his head under the strap and handed the M-4 to Brainiac. “Watch the house.”

Wrapping the strap around his forearm, the squid kept the muzzle pointed at the house, right where he was staring.

Nothing like a new recruit to tip off the bad guys. Tucking his gun in the small of his back, Papa Rose climbed onto the bed. His balls drew up tight. Damn. The only thing missing was a fat target on his bald head. “Without being obvious, B.”

Brainiac tracked back across the house then skipped to the neighborhood. “Sure thing.”

Papa Rose scooted across the bed on his knees. At least, the sides protected some of his assets. He sighed when he made it to the cab and scrunched down. With his back to the cab, he planted his boots on the fifty gallon drum and shoved. “You realize we may have no choice but to take care of our invisible friends.”

Falcon grunted as he worked the lip over the divot between the gate and bed. “There is only one way in and out of the plant.”

Brainiac stared at the house.

“B!” Papa Rose barked.

The squid stopped staring at the house. “What if they just let us leave?”

“This is our exit route. We’re going to be traveling along that road to get to the interstate.” Papa Rose shoved the drum onto the gate then slipped to the ground. “They’ll be waiting to ambush us when we come back.”

“What if they’re friendly?” Brainiac aimed at the dirt.

Papa Rose shook his head. Had he ever been that gullible? He caught hold of the ropes secured to the barrel. Having unloaded drums twice today, he’d gotten the how-to down to a science.

“Then they would have shown themselves by now.” Falcon established his grip and counted off to touch down. “Three. Two. One.”

Muscles strained in Papa Rose’s back. Sweat beaded and slipped down his spine. His thighs trembled as they staggered toward the brick platform. Yeah, he was going to feel this for the next decade of Mondays. Getting old sucked. “Make sure the platform is ready.”

Once they lowered the damn thing, they weren’t lifting it again.

“Maybe they’re just scared.” Brainiac walked the short distance next to them and kicked the upright bricks.

“Let’s focus on getting this thing running.” Papa Rose groaned as he lowered the drum onto the cinder blocks. Mud squelched around the support. After untangling his arms, he set his hands on either side of the gun and arched his back. Vertebra popped. He palmed the gun as he straightened.

Falcon held his hand out for the M-4. “Get it done, B.”

Brainiac handed the rifle over then tugged a hose from his pocket. After opening the cap, he threaded one end inside the drum. The heavy scent of gasoline hung on the air. “I’m just saying, we should try to approach them in a peaceful manner.”

“You mean like Jillie and Toby’s parents did?” Falcon propped a hip against the side of the truck and rested the M-4 on the ledge, the weapon casually aimed at the front door.

“No.” Feeding the other end into the generator, Brainiac rolled his eyes. He adjusted the hoses and the cow-pie contraption he’d rigged to keep the fuel flowing then turned on the generator. It vibrated to life, belching smoke.

“Then how?” Papa Rose glanced toward the house. Still no movement.

“Let’s just leave ‘em alone.” Brainiac trailed his fingers over the well’s pump, switching it on.

Papa Rose shook his head. “We’re going to have children when we pass this way again.”

He would not knowingly put Toby, Jillie or Olivia in danger.

Falcon mimicked his actions.

After a couple seconds, water gurgled and sloshed out the six inch pipe. It gushed into the irrigation ditch, stopped then vomited in one continuous stream. White foamed on the surface. The air bubbles burst and the water reflected the black clouds overhead.

Brainiac held up his hand. “We did it! They’ll give us a medal for this, don’t you think?”

“Sure, B. A bright shiny medal.” Papa Rose high-fived him. Using his free hand, he pulled one side of the chain link gate closed. “Now let’s get on the road.”

Brainiac closed the other one but the bent metal didn’t quite line up. He looped the chain through it and pinched the lock closed. “We’re going to leave them be?”

Guess the squid really had been angry at his and Falcon’s hazing.

Falcon backed slowly toward the driver’s side door. “We’ll circle round the neighborhood and come at them from the field.”

“I’m sure we can find a horse trail or something that will take us right by it.” Papa Rose kept the house in his peripheral vision as he walked to the passenger side.

Brainiac rounded the edge of the fence. But instead of turning toward the truck, he faced the house.

“B!” Papa Rose yanked over the side door. “What the fuck!”

The first bullet smashed into the ground near the squid’s right shoe.

“Shit!” Ducking behind the open door, Papa Rose raised his weapon. No head popped above the hedges. “Where is the shooter?”

The second bullet ripped through Brainiac’s shoulder, twisting his upper torso. Light glinted around the left corner of the house.

“Got you!” Papa fired off two rounds.

The M-4 spat bullets. Bits of foliage exploded. A cry rang out.

Another bullet hit Brainiac in the chest and exploded out the back of his peacoat. The squid collapsed in slow motion—heels rose up, knees bent, and his hands dropped to his sides.

Falcon opened up the M-4, strafing first one side of the double wide then the other. “Get B!”

Firing his weapon at any twinkle of light, Papa Rose rushed forward. He grabbed the squid’s collar and he hit the dirt, dragging him behind the well’s pot-bellied pump, generator and drum of gasoline. He collapsed on the ground next to the squid.

Blood trickled from Brainiac’s mouth and foamed with bubbles when he coughed. The trail was dark against the brown mud. “We’re heroes, aren’t we, Papa Rose?”

“Sure, B.” Papa Rose applied pressure to the hole over the squid’s chest. Warm blood seeped through is fingers, more oozed in a growing puddle around his. Please, no. Not the squid. Please.

“I always wanted to be a hero.” Brainiac coughed. His brown eyes clouded. “I…”

The squid’s head lolled to the side and life slipped silently out of him.

Papa Rose pounded on Brainiac’s chest. “No you don’t.” His corpse convulsed with each hit. “You have to live to get that stupid medal.”

The generator cut out then continued with determination. Water rushed into the ditch.

“Dammit, B!” Papa Rose hit him again. Brainiac’s lifeless hand brushed his thigh. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t.”

Firing nonstop at the house, Falcon sprinted toward them. When the clip emptied, he slid the rest of the way on his knees. “How bad is it?”

Papa Rose scraped the blood from his hand and tried to pour it back into Brainiac. It didn’t work. Nothing would. He tugged the dog tags off and dropped them in his pocket. This ended now. He ejected the clip from his Sig. The new one nearly slipped out of his grip before he rammed it home. Rage hammered through him and he raised his gaze. “No mercy.”

Falcon swiped at his eyes and inserted a fresh clip. “No prisoners.”

He counted down on three fingers then charged the house.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Good Lord. Even the Redaction hadn’t smelled like this cesspit. Audra leaned over in the driver’s seat. Fresh air from the open window combed through her hair and filled her lungs. Maybe she should have let Stuart and his sick people stay like he’d demanded in his predawn meeting. She yawned and rubbed the grit from her eyes. As soon as she reached the soldiers, she’d get a good night’s sleep.

“You should have your mask on if you’re gonna breathe the outside air.” Eddie scooted over to the edge of his seat. “Anthrax is everywhere.”

His voice was muffled behind his gas mask.

Lucky duck. Those filters on the side probably made the air smell like petunias. Sighing, she adjusted her handkerchief over her nose and mouth. The malingering odor of fecal matter quickly seeped inside. She tried breathing through her mouth but practically tasted the emissions. There was only one cure for it. She turned her face in the breeze. “Happy now?”

Eddie winked at her. “Nope.”

Tough. She was driving the toilet on wheels and the windows stayed down. Anthrax be damned.

“Princess A.” Using the tops of the bus seats as handholds, Mrs. Rodriquez worked her way down the aisle. Chunks of brown smeared the Hibiscus print of her mumu. They rained to the floor when she stopped next to Eddie. “I’m out of saline.”

“There should be another supply station outside of Payson.” Audra tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Water puddled along the sides of the ribbon of blacktop winding through the hills. Dark clouds huddled on the northern horizon. They were heading straight for the storm with a busload of sick people. “Can we wait until then?”

Mrs. Rodriquez scratched her scalp. Steel-gray curls swirled around her fingers. “I was a school nurse. Until the Redaction hit, the worst I had to deal with was sniffles, lice and boo-boos.”

Audra steered the bus half onto the shoulder to get around an abandoned SUV. “You did great.”

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Rodriquez glanced over her shoulder. “The truth is, I don’t know if the IVs are doing any good.”

“It would help if we knew what made them sick.” And if they’d found the soldiers who had people to deal with this. Soon, Audra promised herself. By tonight they should reach the military convoy and Stuart and his sick followers would be someone else’s problem.

“I think I know.” Grabbing hold of the silver bar by the door, the nurse lowered herself onto the front seat opposite Audra. “It was the bread.”

“B-bread?” No. Not the stuff, she’d picked up at Burgers in a Basket. Audra braked as a coyote ran across the Beeline Highway. The animal’s eyes glowed yellow in the weak morning sunshine as it disappeared into the desert. A cactus wren poked its head out of a hole in a towering saguaro.

“Yep. They all ate it.”

“Ha!” Eddie set the laptop he’d pilfered from the Army base on his knees.

“Did you get that thing to work?” Audra took her eyes off the road for a moment. There was no doubt about it; her new head of security was very talented at acquiring things. Had that led to his incarceration? She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. The past didn’t matter.

“Uh-huh.” He tapped on the keys. “It just needed the battery recharged.”

“And that’s where these things come in, right?” She flicked the cellophane-like paper stuck to the dashboard. A brown cord ran down to the step and attached to a box with wires and D-batteries inside.

“Yep. It’s a solar charger.”

“We’ll have light tonight.” Not that they would need the flashlights. Unless something untoward happened, they should reach the soldiers in four hours. No, they would reach the soldiers in four hours.

“How are you getting anything on that, anyway?” Mrs. Rodriquez peered over Eddie’s shoulder.

“The CDC computers are still up and this thing is connected to them through a satellite.”

Excitement coursed through her veins and she wiggled on the hard seat. “Does it tell you how far ahead of us the soldiers are?”

Maybe they could join them by lunchtime and she’d escape the flatulence symphony behind her.

“Huh?” Eddie’s black eyebrows connected above his nose. “No, not the soldiers. You already know where they are. I’ve been looking into the sickness.”

Her gut clenched. She knew where they were supposed to be. But they hadn’t been at the Polytech campus. For all she knew, she was chasing spooks. Stop that! No more negative thoughts. Having dealt with teenagers for the last three years, she knew they could become a self-fulfilling prophecy. “And what have you discovered about this sickness?”

“They’ve got anthrax.”

Pursing her lips, Mrs. Rodriquez smoothed her dress over her knees. “They’re not coughing.”

That was what the anthrax victims were supposed to do, right? Despite her face mask, Audra smiled at the nurse. Thank heavens the woman hadn’t taken Eddie’s comment as a slight to her professionalism. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Stuart had done nothing but complain about his treatment since they’d boarded the bus at daybreak. “How can you tell?”

“Only a test can confirm it for sure but it makes sense. We were at Burgers in a Basket, the place where the attack happened. And there’re several forms.” Eddie turned the screen to Audra then the nurse. “The skin kind. See, it looks like a bite, a flea bite except the center is black.”

She glanced at the picture before turning her attention back to the road. Thanks to the large infestation of rats, she’d seen plenty of those recently. She absently scratched her arm. Maybe she’d gotten a few more last night. Or… a chill slid down her spine. Or, she’d spent too much time in the fast food restaurant. Her skin burned under the rake of her nails. “Are they deadly?”

“The skin kind?” Eddie turned the computer to face him, avoiding her gaze. “Nah. Some antibiotic cream will clear them up.”

“Good.” She forced her hand on the wheel. Wind buffeted the bus from the Northwest and rain hit her windshield.

“Our stinky friends in the back—”

“—the farting fifteen,” Mrs Rodriquez interrupted.

Eddie’s dark eyes sparkled with laughter. “Yeah, the farting fifteen.”

“Please.” Audra glanced in the back. Most of her passengers sat on the five gallon buckets that served as a toilet and rested their heads on the seat back. The croak of passing gas accompanied the watery splat of diarrhea.

Anguish etched deep grooves into Stuart’s ashen face.

She ignored the itch of guilt. Okay, she’d been irritated that they’d stolen her bread and wished the bread thief would suffer, but she hadn’t wanted them this. They’d been evacuating their bowels since midnight last night.

“Sorry, Princess.” Eddie cleared his throat. “The Flatulence Fifteen are probably suffering from gastrointestinal kind of Anthrax.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Did he really think she’d object to the word fart? Had he forgotten she’d taught preteens? She’d heard far worse. Heck, she’d been called more obscene things. “What are the symptoms?”

The interior of the bus darkened. Rain pattered on the bus then pounded. White pellets danced on the road. The computer screen cast a ghostly pallor on Eddie’s face, distorting the gas mask into a pig snout and tusks. “Nausea. Loss of appetite.”

Appetite. She flipped on the wipers. They scooped up the pea-sized hail and shoved it to the side. “I don’t have much of an appetite thanks to the smell.”

Mrs. Rodriquez patted her shoulder then swept a hand over Audra’s forehead. “It is certainly isn’t a Thanksgiving Day feast kind of smell.”

Audra’s nose twitched with the alcohol scent of hand sanitizer.

Straightening, Eddie caught the computer in his hand. “Is she sick?”

“No!” Geez. His security duties didn’t include babying her. “I’m fine.”

They’d eaten all her bread.

“Princess A still rules from her Ivory Tower.” Mrs. Rodriquez skimmed her fingers over Eddie’s forehead, pushing his long hair to the side. “And Sir Galahad lives to serve her another day.”

Audra twisted her hand around the hard plastic. Eddie looked better with his hair wild, not tamed. He cocked an eyebrow at her. She shifted on the seat. Damn, why couldn’t bus manufacturer make a decent cushion? “Sir Galahad betrayed his liege, basically committing treason.”

“But he got the Princess in the end.” Jerking her head in Audra’s direction, Mrs. Rodriquez flashed her dimples.

“He did?” Eddie tugged off his gas mask and tossed it on the bench seat next to him. Crease marks curved over his chin and jaw.

Unbelievable. Mrs. Rodriquez was playing matchmaker. Audra squared her shoulders. Time to end such nonsense. “Are there any other symptoms?”

“Fever. Stomach pain.” The nurse’s smile dissolved on a sigh. “Blood in the stool.”

“Exactly.” Stubble rasped against his fingers as he rubbed the red marks on his left cheek. “Did you cheat?”

Mrs. Rodriquez swatted his arm. “I don’t have to cheat.” She nodded her head toward the passengers. “I’ve seen it all.”

God! Audra eased her foot off the gas as the speedometer needle inched toward seventy. The wipers squeaked against the dry windshield and she slapped them silent. “What are the chances for survival?”

Eddie closed the laptop and traced the Marine Corps insignia on the front sticker. “Better than for the kind that is inhaled.”

Which meant what exactly? It must be bad if he didn’t want her to know. “Tell me.”

“Three out of every ten survive Inhalation Anthrax.”

If three survived then seven… She gulped. The lump of nerves lodged in her dry throat. Then seven died. Seventy percent mortality. The very notion escaped her comprehension like gnats through a butterfly net. “But the gastrointestinal one is better, right?”

It couldn’t really be much worse.

“Yeah.” He shoved the laptop onto the seat. “Fifty to seventy-five percent will survive.”

Audra’s jaw slackened. Cold air washed over her teeth. Four to eight of the people on her bus would die from eating bread. Bread that she salvaged. She shuddered. Bread that she’d plan to eat. “But it looked clean.”

Sure the drink station had been a bit sticky. And there’d been grit everywhere.

“Apparently Anthrax is very hard to eliminate.” Eddie set his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs found the knots and rubbed them in circular motion. “They may have wiped everything down, but it didn’t kill it.”

“We’ll have to get rid of everything we took from the cursed place and burn it, so no one else can get sick.” Better use her hand than to have anyone else die over toilet paper. Fortunately, she carried most of those supplies.

“No burning.” Eddie shook his head. “Apparently that would expose us to the inhalation kind.”

Mrs. Rodriquez nodded to the computer. “Does it say how to treat it?”

“Antibiotics.”

Tension drained out of Audra each time Eddie completed a circle. “That’s good. We’re all on antibiotics. Cipro’s an antibiotic, right?”

The nurse’s lips firmed. “They’re not keeping those horse pills inside long enough to do anything.”

Which meant they’re not being treated with antibiotics. Audra resisted the urge to punch the dash. “So what are we supposed to do? Watch them die?”

“It’ll take two to four days.” Eddie’s hand stilled. “We should be with the soldiers by then. They’ll have medicines.”

“Why wait that long?” Mrs. Rodriquez scooted closer to the aisle. “I say we hit a hospital or pharmacy and pick up some antibiotics. I can use a syringe.”

Yes. Audra nodded. That was better than waiting around for the Grim Reaper to make an appearance. “Eddie, get on that computer and find every pharmacy in Payson.”

His fingers trailed down her neck when he pulled back. “I don’t think the yellow pages website is up.”

“Try the Food and Drug Administration or the Center for Disease Control website.” Mrs. Rodriquez’s knees popped when she pushed to her feet. “They may have a list of health care providers and directories that were opening.”

“I’m on it.”

“I’d best return to the Flatulent Fifteen.” The nurse shuffled to the back.

Good. This was good. They had a plan. Even if it did include stealing. Maybe Eddie would stop calling her Princess. “We’ll stop at the survivor’s station first and check the supplies the military left before we begin raiding stores and pharmacies.”

Because theft should be their last option.

“Sure thing, Princess.”

She swallowed the bile in her mouth. “I agreed to the plan.”

Heck, she’d even made it up.

“I found a few listed on the CDC website.” Eddie brushed her arm when he leaned forward and held the list of stores in front of her face. “Bonus! They’re on Eighty-seven.”

She peered over the top. Good thing they had the highway number on the address or she’d be lost. She frowned as they passed a mangled sign. Someone had spray painted over the ‘Welcome to Payson’ with the words ‘keep out.’ Was it a hold over from the Redaction’s quarantine measures? “That’s what the BeeLine Highway turns into, right? Eighty-seven?”

“Yeah, but—” Switching the computer to his left hand, Eddie pushed to his feet. “What the fuck!”

Her heart slammed to a stop and she snapped her attention to the road. Across the black asphalt, silver sparkled in a stray sunbeam. Rising up in her seat, she stomped on the brake.

Someone screamed. Others groaned. Things shifted and slid along the bus’s floor. Something knocked against her heel.

“Stop!” Eddie lurched from his seat.

“I’m trying!” But it was too late. The metal spikes bit into the front tires, chewing up the rubber. The wheel jerked out of her hands and the back fishtailed. She jerked her feet off the pedal and grabbed the steering wheel.

Eddie’s hands bracketed hers. “Turn into the skid, right.”

“Right!” She could handle this. Muscle burned as she cranked the wheel. Good Lord, this was much harder to drive than her Mini Coop. Rubber slapped the undercarriage of the bus.

Behind her, the other four buses in the caravan squealed.

She got the wheels on track just as the nose skidded off the road. The vibration traveled up her arms, rattling her teeth. A metallic taste flooded her mouth as the bus slammed into an embankment. Mud splattered the windshield.

She burped a laugh and pried her fingers from the wheel. “We did it.”

And they weren’t dead.

Yay!

Eddie stiffened.

The door burst inside. Glass sprayed the steps in glittering diamonds. Ice cold metal circled her temple. She looked down the double barrels of the shotgun to the tapered fingers holding it.

“Move and I’ll blow your brains out.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

David leaned forward in the Humvee’s driver’s seat. White snowflakes swirled in the breeze and collected in drifts along the side of the red-tinged asphalt road. The flakes melted when they hit the windshield and were quickly swept away by the wipers. Behind him, green and tan military vehicles linked brightly colored pick-up trucks hauling animal trailers in a convoy snaking through the hills near Strawberry.

“I think I have the last of the jurors, Ma’am.” Speaking from the front passenger seat, Lieutenant Sally Rogers handed her tablet to Mavis in the back. “She lost a sister about the same time and age as Trent’s second victim. The sister was raped and beaten to death before martial law was enforced.”

He rolled his shoulders and adjusted the heat vent to blow in the back. Green and brown needles danced as they fell off the towering pines. The hill rose sharply on his left and here and there among the forest, he picked out the shiny glass of unbroken windows. On the right, the ground dipped into empty meadow lands divided by barbed wire strung across wooden poles. Sheds listed to the side and snow dusted a faded totem pole. Loose boards slapped the sides of double wides. Blood red paint flaked off barns and vegetation choked the overgrown dirt drives.

Everything appeared abandoned, empty.

Still, his gut clenched.

It was too damn quiet. Maybe it was the hush of the snow. But he doubted it. Up ahead, the road dipped and curved. Plenty of places for an ambush or to hide an IED. David tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Whose stupid idea was it to put their leaders in the front of the caravan?

Mavis cleared her throat and handed the tablet back to the lieutenant. “Yes, I think she’ll be a wonderful juror. When you pass the names onto council, make certain you provide only the vital statistics they gave at registration. We don’t want any Big Brother paranoia.”

David scanned the road ahead. Right to left. Left to right. Up the hill; down in the meadow.

Lister removed his sidearm from his holster and closed his laptop. “This is an approved egress route, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Mavis set her hand on David’s seat and pulled herself forward. “And there aren’t any people.”

Did that mean he wasn’t paranoid if everyone else felt it too? Light winked at nine o’clock. There and gone before he could register it. “Did anyone else see that?”

Mavis shifted out of sight of his rearview mirror. “There’s a house back there. It could be anything.”

“I don’t like anything.” Lister thumbed off the safety but kept his weapon flat on his lap. “I like specific things.”

David nodded. Targets were good. “Someone want to hand me my rifle?”

Mavis rolled her eyes but unsnapped her seatbelt and leaned into the back. “Did it ever occur to you that the last soldiers through here evacuated everyone?”

“Sure.” And he’d believed in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus once too.

Mavis handed it forward.

The lieutenant intercepted it. “I’ll take this.” She caressed the barrel.

And he got to what—spit on the enemy? “With all due respect, Ma’am—”

“You can use my sidearm.” She pulled it out of her holster and handed him a shiny, black 9mm pistol. “That way you can drive and fire at the same time.”

He ground his teeth together. He could drive and shoot his M-4 at the same time. That baby had been with him for years. She wouldn’t like being handled by someone else. She definitely wouldn’t like being swapped out for a peashooter. Damn military regs. Steering with one hand, David accepted the pistol with the other. Such a fucking girlie weapon. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Oh don’t be such a baby.” Rogers checked the clip then the chamber. “I’ll take good care of it.”

“Her.” He corrected then wished he’d bit his tongue off instead.

Rogers nodded. “I’ll take good care of her.” Holding her weapon at the ready, but below the window. “How far off is she?”

David strangled the steering wheel. If the Marine lieutenant insulted his weapon, he’d rip if from her hands, officer or no. No one messed with a soldier’s weapons.

“Sergeant-Major?”

“Laser site is on target.” He’d compensated for that as soon as he’d been issued his baby. “Iron site is two degrees to the left.”

“Thanks.”

Her finger settled in the groove beside the trigger. The groove he created. His groove. The Humvee dipped low as it rounded a bend. “You should get on your jacket and helmet, Doc.”

Mavis lifted her jacket to show the Kevlar vest. “I always dress in layers during cold weather.”

His fingers tingled and he relaxed his grip on the wheel. He should have known she’d be a couple steps ahead of him. Except in one area. “Helmet.”

She pursed her lips. “Happy now?”

Hell no! The happy dance didn’t start until they reached Colorado and she was safe.

She banged his helmet against his upper arm. “Don’t forget your party hat.”

David pinched the side and ducked to get the thing on. “Happy now?”

She winked at him. “Now, let’s play a game called why don’t we give Mavis Spanner a weapon.”

Lister snorted. “You’re not getting a weapon, Doc. You’re ducking and covering when the shooting starts.”

“I’m very good.” Mavis crossed her arms and glared at the general. “And I’ve shot pretty much every weapon you have.”

“When you pry the gun from my cold dead hand, it’s yours.”

Damn. David sincerely hoped that didn’t become a self-fulfilling prophecy. “I could use another set of eyes on the left.”

Mavis sighed. “Thanks. I need something to distract me from the Earps gearing up for the shootout at the OK Corral.”

David crested another rise and tapped the brakes. The Humvee’s rear end slid to the right. He eased off the pedal and his borrowed pistol clunked against the wheel as he steered into the skid.

The lieutenant slammed against the door.

“What do you see, Sergeant-Major?” Lister leaned into the opening between the bucket seats.

A trailer shifted to the side of the pick-up behind him and a horse whinnied.

“Company’s around. Somewhere.” After getting the vehicle under control, David eased to a stop in the middle of the road. Three green John Deere tractors, two white monster trucks and a crumpled Toyota straddled Fossil Creek Road leading into the town of Strawberry. “Looks like they want us to stop.”

With one foot on the brake, he kept the other over the gas and his hand on her shifter. One way or another, he’d keep Mavis safe.

Lister looped his comm around his ear. “Convoy halt. We have an obstacle in the road. I repeat, there is an obstacle in the road. Stand by.”

The channel was left open so everyone could hear, including Trent the bastard’s people if they had stolen a Comm off his men.

Mavis cleared her throat. “We’re going to have to clear it.”

Lister flipped open his laptop. “Give me a minute and I’ll get us some Marines to sweep the area.”

She shook her head and pointed to the balcony on the A-Frame house on the ridge and the bell tower on the stucco church at eleven o’clock. “They’d be picked off on their way up here.”

“My men can handle it.”

“You send a group of well-armed Marines up here and whoever’s out there will interpret that as a hostile move.” She checked the zipper at her throat and slid David’s borrowed gloves on her hands. “Two people, preferably women, will move the vehicles.”

“Oh hell no!” The words roared from his throat. No fucking way would he allow her to risk her life.

Lister aimed his weapon at Mavis’s legs. “I agree with the Sergeant-Major. You even reach for that door, Doc, and I’ll shoot both your kneecaps off.”

Mavis covered her knees. “Then who is going to go?”

“I will, Ma’am. Sir.” Gripping his M-4, Lieutenant Rogers opened her door and slipped out.

Slamming the Humvee into park, David gripped the lieutenant’s wimpy pistol tighter. Such a stupid weapon. “I’ll be back.”

He shoved open the door and had boots on the ground in two seconds.

Rogers cleared the Humvee’s hood, the sweep of the assault rifle tracked the motion of her head. “I’ve got bogeys from ten until two.”

Hunching as he walked forward, he double checked her findings. Adrenalin pulsed through him, sharpening his senses. “Two on the A-Frame. Two on the bell tower. One had high noon. Three at one behind a mobile home. And another two behind the shed at two o’clock.”

And them smack dab in the middle. He’d admire their brilliance more if he wasn’t about to get his ass shot.

“Nice job laying down the crossfire.” Lieutenant Rogers edged closer to the first tractor. “Think any of them have military training?”

What the fuck did that matter? Whoever was out there could be blind and they still had a pretty good shot at hitting them.

She released the barrel of the M-4 and reached for the John Deere’s door handle. Bullets strafed the ground in front of her boots. She jumped back with a yelp. “Fall back! And hold your fire.”

David’s finger twitched on the side of his gun. Like he was a green recruit that needed to be told those were warning shots. Without turning, he retreated to the Humvee and slammed the door shut.

Mavis’s hands patted his shoulder then his arms. “Are you hurt? Did they shoot you?”

“I’m fine.” He squeezed her hand through the gloves. “They were warning us off.”

Lister hurumphed. “Maybe they’re just damn bad shots.”

Lieutenant Rogers grinned. “Oh, no, Sir. If they’d wanted us dead we would be. We were sitting ducks out there. We counted ten enemy combatants.”

“Now I’ll call in the Marines.”

Mavis grabbed the mic, holding it in her fist. “We can’t afford to lose any more people. We’ll try talking to them first.”

Lister snapped his teeth near her hand. “I bite, Doc.”

“So do I.” She let go of his mic. “And I’ve been exposed to a lot of very scary diseases. Things that will make your testicles turn purple and shrivel up.”

That’s his girl. David straightened in his seat. Mavis wouldn’t be bullied by the damn jarheads. “Orders?”

Rogers sucked her lips between her teeth but he caught the flash of dimples.

“Sorry, David. Sally. I need you to go out there again.” Mavis’s fingers spasmed on his shoulder. “And I’ll need you to put your weapons on the hood of the car before you approach.”

Fucking A. Even the pistol was better than nothing.

Lister scraped his fingers through his buzz cut. “Are they supposed to invite the enemy to a tea party?”

“No, the enemy is going to invite us to a tea party. Ask them for ten minutes of their time to speak to all survivors. Talk. That’s all.” Mavis sat back in her seat. “Now General, I know how much you like phallic symbols so you have your men unpack those hand grenade launchers you brought with us. Don’t load them, just, you know, flash them around a bit.”

“I like showing off my toys.” Lister grinned.

Satan probably wore a similar expression when he retrieved the damned. But as David wasn’t about be have his soul collected, he focused on the most immediate problem. “Who’s going to talk to them?”

“Me.” Mavis shook her finger under Lister’s nose. “And don’t threaten my kneecaps or any other piece of my anatomy. They haven’t rolled out the welcome mat for the military, so a civilian needs to go in. Like it or not, that’s me.”

“I don’t like it. Think of something else.” Lister practically chewed on the mic. “The toys are being unwrapped.”

“What civilian do you trust? What civilian knows about Palo Verde?”

Lister’s eyes narrowed and his jaw thrust forward.

“Go!” Mavis waved him away. “We’ll have this sorted by the time you come back with their answer.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” After a quick nod to the lieutenant, David opened his door and pushed outside.

Rogers unwound his M-4’s strap from her arm. “You should talk. If they are vets, they might prefer stripes over bars.”

David set his pistol on the hood and held his empty hands in the air. The snow hissed when it hit the hot metal. “Understood.”

She laid the carbine to rest, pointing at his weapon then raised her hands. Mavis’s and Lister’s muffled voices drifted out the closed windows.

After a quick nod, they advanced in step. Four feet to the front bumper. Three. Two.

“What are you stupid?” A bull horn distorted the man’s voice. “We will shoot you!”

“We just want to talk.” David’s heart galloped over a couple beats. “Ten minutes. That’s all.”

“Go back the way you came. We don’t need the military here.” The megaphone burped. “We don’t want the military here.”

“Is the Doc a mind reader or something?” Rogers asked out of the side of her mouth.

He gritted his teeth. Of course, Mavis would be spot on in knowing civilians’ mentality. She hadn’t been sequestered on a base for the last six months. The men on the A-Frame house and the church’s bell tower aimed their rifles at the sky. “Fossil Creek is flooded. We can’t go back, just forward.”

“And if we don’t get out of your way, you’ll just use those fancy weapons to blast your way through, is that it?”

Rogers momentarily dropped all her fingers but one index finger.

Yeah. He’d identified the speaker as coming from one o’clock. The rusted mobile home could be their command center. “We’re asking nicely for permission to pass. And we haven’t fired a single shot despite you shooting at us.”

“Why should we believe anything you say?”

Well, fuck. He didn’t want to offer a reason. Mavis could risk his life all she wanted. He was a trained soldier, used to combat.

Rogers didn’t have the same investment. “Doctor Mavis Spanner wants to talk to you.”

Megaphone man stepped out from behind the trailer. “The Surgeon General lady from the broadcasts?”

“Yes!” He’d have to talk with Rogers later. Hell, maybe he’d just sacrifice her to Lister. She was his jarhead after all. “She told you about the anthrax attack. She nearly got herself shot for acting in the best interests of the people rather than following government protocol.”

There. That should satisfy the paranoid assholes.

“We’ll take her and her alone to speak to our people.”

David’s hands clenched. Over his dead body. “She doesn’t go anywhere without us.”

He jerked his head toward Rogers. Taking the Marine along should appease Lister. Or not. This was Mavis’s idea.

“You two and no one else.”

“Agreed.” Dropping his hands, David backed up to the Humvee. Technically a wimpy little pistol wasn’t a person.

Truck engines roared to life and black smoke belched from the exhaust of the tractors. The air smelled faintly of French Fries as the vehicles shifted to the side, clearing the road.

Lister slammed his door. “If one hair on the Doc’s head is harmed, don’t set foot in Colorado.”

He stalked toward the convoy shouting orders into his mic.

“That went well.” Rogers lifted the rifle from the hood and climbed into the passenger seat.

David grabbed her pistol and slid behind the wheel. “Looks like you’ve won all around.”

Mavis snorted. “That’s what the Sioux thought after creaming Custer at the Little Big Horn. The last four trucks, with several dozen nearly healthy Marines, are staying behind to evacuate those who want to go.”

A man stood in the center of the road. He raised two pistols, aiming into the air.

David braked.

The back passenger’s side door opened. A man in a ski mask entered. He set the shot gun on his lap with the business end pointed at Mavis. “Are you Doctor Spanner?”

Son of a bitch! David reached for the pistol.

Rogers grabbed it first and targeted the guy through the seat.

“Yes, I am and that weapon is making my security detail twitchy.” With one finger, she moved the muzzle so it pointed at David’s back.

His lover might be a little too eager to sacrifice him. He frowned as two pistols waved him to the right. As soon as they passed, the two tractors blocked the road behind them.

“You have identification.” The man rolled the ski mask up his face. Long blond hair spiked out of the knit fabric.

“None that couldn’t be faked.” She lifted off her seat and dug two fingers into her pocket. A black wallet bounced on the seat between them. “My Arizona driver’s license, my United Nations ID, my Department of Defense ID, my Center for Disease Control Id, and my US AMRIID identification should be in there.”

The man arched a pale eyebrow. Picking up the wallet, he flipped it open and dealt out the colorful cards. “You have any id not issued by the government?”

Bastard. Like the government wasn’t good enough for him.

“Blood donor card. A positive.”

The ids sifted through his fingers. He caught a snapshot. “Who’s this?”

Mavis inhaled a shaky breath. “My husband and son.”

“And they are—”

“Dead.” She snatched the picture back and pressed it to her chest. “Within weeks of each other.”

But not of the Redaction and not within weeks of each other. She’d lied.

Mavis caught his eye in the rearview mirror; she looked out her window and sniffed.

The man stuffed the cards back into the wallet and shoved them at her. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She cleared her throat. Her hands trembled when she tried to insert the picture back inside. How much was real and how much was fake, he couldn’t say. One thing was for sure, she hadn’t been kidding when she’d claimed that she could be both predator and defender depending on the needs of those around her. He just hoped he remained on her good side.

“Thank you. But we’ve all lost family. I just want to prevent any more senseless deaths.”

Armed men guided them along the main drag past boarded up store fronts and abandoned cars. They turned past a Mormon temple and that’s when he saw it. Kids running around a playground. Masks covered half their faces but they swung on swings, climbed monkey bars, and shot baskets like the world hadn’t ended.

“We’re safe here.” The man gestured out the window. “No need to go all the way to Colorado.”

An older couple guided them into the school parking lot then toward a handicapped spot near the double glass doors. Adults and teens jogged for the entrance. They really were coming to hear what the doc had to say.

Mavis shrugged. “If you still feel that way after I’ve said my piece, then I give you my word, we’ll leave you to die in peace.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mavis unzipped her jacket then zipped it back up. Voices swelled in the cafeteria around her. Except for the first row, full of elderly folks, everyone stood, filling the rectangular hall and spilling three deep out the door. Good Lord. The entire surrounding vicinities of Pine and Strawberry must be here. Twittering, chatting, nervously glancing at David and Sally.

A man in his fifties smoothed his salt and pepper comb-over and walked toward her. The minuscule stage creaked under his dress shoes. “As you’ve requested, Doctor Spanner, we’ve assembled everyone except the small children to hear your address.”

Mavis released her zipper and forced her hands to her sides. “Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation, Brother Bob.”

She addressed him by the name he’d been introduced to her in a show of respect but didn’t ask him to call her by her given name. Her title and education were her means of authority, her credentials for what she was about to tell them. Proof would come in three days, if her people kept the power plant running that long.

Bob’s pale blue eyes drifted to David and Sally then lingered on their weapons. “I hope your words were of peace not a warning of violence to come.”

From the corner of her eye, she checked her personal bodyguards. David’s rifle pointed to the ground and his fingers wrapped the clip. Sally’s pistol remained holstered although her hand rested on its grip. The ‘them versus us’ mentality was settling in. The military would have to be phased out then repackaged.

“You have nothing to fear from me or our military.” She stressed the commonality. They had to be united.

He grunted, then checked his watch. “I understand there are four of your trucks packed with armed soldiers standing by.”

Mavis unzipped her jacket and flashed her Kevlar vest. Its weight rubbed her shoulders and cut across her nape. In the Humvee it had been comforting, now it hung from her like a millstone. “I nearly faced mutiny leaving them to talk to you. But the trucks were left to take anyone who wants to leave.”

“And if no one does?” Brother Bob rubbed at the damp spots on his navy blazer. “Will we be rounded up like cattle and forced on board?”

So the threat of the grenade launchers had swayed them into listening to her. Ah, well. If they feared those, wait until she told them about the real ticking time bomb. “If anyone wishes to stay after my speech, we will continue on our way without you.”

She glanced at the crowd. Some would stay. The decision etched their faces in lines and grooves. Ah, well, perhaps they would help others on their path to Colorado.

Brother Bob steepled his fingers under his chin and pursed his lips. “I suppose I must trust you to keep your word.”

She inclined her head. From his tone, he didn’t trust her as far as he could spit.

“Shall we begin?” He clapped his hands and walked toward the center of the stage.

Silence rippled over the crowd until it stifled the flow of air.

Mavis waited in the wings behind the frayed red curtains. Gold tassels dripped from the edges in gossamer threads. The floor creaked behind her. She caught the whiff of spice above the damp and cold. David.

His fingers skimmed her spine before he removed his touch. “You ready?”

“No.” She shook her hands, hoping to break loose of the tension gripping her. “I don’t have a speech or anything prepared.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Maybe if she prepared for a week. Or a month.

Brother Bob raised his hands, palms forward a gesture of nothing to hide and openness. “Brothers and sisters.”

Mavis stopped her shaking. God, now they were his family and she was the invader at their barricade. “He’s good.”

“You’re better.” David nudged her shoulder.

Not even in her dreams.

“We have stood together, with the Grace of God and faced down the Horseman called Pestilence.” Brother Bob raised his hands higher, catching a sunbeam that strayed in through the cutout windows over the door. “We have beaten his Horseman called Death by sharing our meager stores and taking care of our neighbors.”

Oh, Lord. “He’s a preacher.”

And not the evil Trent Powers kind. A true believer. It rang in the power of his voice and echoed off the ceiling. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She was the opening act to a superstar and the superstar had gone first.

David rested his hand on the small of her back. “Must be why I’ve got the urge to say a few Hallelujahs.”

“And now a new Horseman rides across our meadows and hills, marking the pines surrounding us. War has been brought to our shores and is carried on the wind, into our homes.” Brother Bob clasped his hands in prayer and bowed his head. “The herald of such bad news has joined us today.”

Hostility bubbled from the crowd like lava in a volcanic vent.

Great. Now she was going to be condemned for being the messenger. Divine messenger, true, but she didn’t plan on being a martyr today.

Brother Bob shook his head. “Nay, brothers and sisters. We cannot condemn Doctor Spanner any more than Mary condemned Gabriel for bringing news of the savior growing within her womb.”

Mavis blinked. What? Had she missed something? Was the preacher actually comparing her to an archangel?

“Doctor Spanner warned us of the coming apocalypse. She delivered unto us medicine, food, supplies and other brothers and sisters in need.” He pointed a finger at her.

Was it her imagination or was there an accusation in there? She stepped out from behind the curtain and faced the congregation. If any one of them picked up a stone or lit a torch, she was outta here. Fortunately only a few remained hostile. Of course, a few could quickly turn this gathering into a riot.

“And now, Doctor Spanner has arrived with the world’s most powerful army at her back.” Mutters rippled through the crowd. Two men in the doorway dissolved in the falling snow. “And although she brings tidings of war, she walks in peace.”

Well…shoot. She changed the swear word. Mental or not, Brother Bob’s sermon had turned this lowly auditorium into a church.

“Brothers and sisters, open your heart and minds to Doctor Spanner’s message.” Backing away from center stage, Brother Bob opened his arms to her.

Great. She’d been invited to be the guest speaker at a ‘Come to Jesus’ meeting.

“I have faith in you.” With a little pressure, David pushed her toward center stage.

Hundreds of eyes tracked her progress. She stepped to the right of where the Reverend stood and touched her hand to her chest. “Thank you Brother Bob, but I’m no archangel sent from God.”

A few twittered among the stony silence.

She splayed her fingers wide and opened her arms to the crowd. Nothing to hide here. “What I am is a scientist, well versed in how men kill each other en masse. I speak the language of war, hatred and intolerance.”

In the front row, skepticism replaced set jaws and narrowed eyes. Here and there, crossed arms relaxed.

“I tell you these things so you can understand how it was that I recognized the anthrax attack.”

“And we thank you for that, Doctor Spanner,” Brother Bob shouted from the wings.

A few heads nodded.

She swallowed her apologies for failing to do so sooner. Now was not the time. “But I was remiss in my broadcast for not warning you of another threat. One greater than anthrax and the Redaction combined.”

Her audience glanced at each other as if the answer was written on their neighbor’s face.

“In 1945, brilliant men, with the best intentions, unleashed the power of the atom upon the face of this planet.”

Their attention returned to her. Hostility fled in the wave of confusion and interest.

“They brought a horrible war to an equally horrible end but from those ashes came the hope of something new. A peaceful atom, one that would provide us with clean energy.”

“Nuclear power!” a man in the back shouted as if on a game show.

“Yes. Nuclear power. The United States and many other nations embraced this new energy source. For more than sixty years, we have lived with these generating stations humming on our doorsteps. Palo Verde just outside of Phoenix has three such reactors.”

“Don’t they power down in an emergency?” a voice on the left piped up.

“Yes.” She nodded. Fear crackled in the air. “But the spent fuel rods are stored in pools of water. Water that will evaporate then boil off, leaving the rods to burn freely and pollute our atmosphere with radiation.”

A woman in red fainted. Hands lifted her until a burly man carried her away.

“But we’re safe here. Phoenix is nearly a hundred miles away.”

Heads nodded.

Mavis sighed. Now she had to shatter their illusions, destroy what for many of them had become a sanctuary. “These hills are filled with metal and might protect you a little. But we’re not looking at the meltdown of just Palo Verde, but the thousands around the globe. There is no one left to man the cooling pools, to keep the rods covered.”

She waited for her words to blanket the crowd, to smother their hope.

“It took seven days for the radioactive fallout from Chernobyl to circle the globe. Eleven days for the radiation to reach Los Angeles from Fukishima.” She hit them with the stuff of nightmares. “And we don’t know how long the Chinese reactors have been abandoned, but I can tell you that the Japanese have abandoned their homeland. Boats are heading for Australia, planes landed on the west coast hours ago and are now moving to safe havens in the mountains.”

“Safe havens?” Men and women grabbed onto the lifeline.

“Mines. We’re going to live underground for the next hundred years.”

“A hundred years.” The crowd collapsed against each other, unable to bear the burden of truth.

Brother Bob shuffled onto the stage. His skin resembled ash. “What if we stay.”

“The rods will burn for years and eventually the plume will reach you.” Mavis faced him. This man, his followers would march with into Hell. If he believed her, then there was a chance they would join her and the soldiers. And, God help her, she’d love to rub Trent Powers’ nose in the cloth of a true preacher. “We’ve given you iodine pills to stop your thyroid from absorbing the iodine isotopes.”

Brother Bob nodded. “We have taken them as directed.”

“The trouble comes from the Strontium and Plutonium isotopes. Our bodies will confuse them with Calcium and iron. Some will settle in our bones, giving us and our children and our grandchildren leukemia. Others will accumulate in our lungs and liver, giving us cancer.”

Sadness filled Brother Bob’s brown eyes. “Given the current state of our health care system, neither will be treatable.”

Or survivable.

“If we band together, like you have here, helping our neighbors, the strong taking care of the weak, sharing what we have, then we all can survive this.”

Mavis stuffed the facts and figures she’d memorized inside her head. No one needed to know that Plutonium had a half life of twenty-four thousand years. None of them would live that long.

“I’ve said my piece.” She held out her hand to Brother Bob. “We’ll wait for an hour. If you don’t show, then I wish you luck.”

Brother Bob grasped her hand and squeezed lightly.

“And if we don’t show, then I hope you’ll all pray we succeed.”

Amens chorused around the room.

She tugged her hand free, strode off the stage and out the side door.

David caught up with her as she hit the main sidewalk. “You’ve got the makings of a fine preacher, Doctor Spanner.”

“No thank you.”

Sally dodged around her and opened the back door of the Humvee. “Do you think they’ll come?”

David shifted the vehicle into gear and backed out of the parking lot.

Mavis rested her forehead against the cold glass. Her breath fogged the view, blotting out the sight of children playing. “We’ll find out in an hour.”

Chapter Thirty

The shotgun barrel tapped Audra’s temple. She flinched as the pain skittered across her scalp. “You don’t have to do this. We’re cooperating.”

At least two dozen men in various shades of black swarmed the buses. Rifles, shotguns and handguns directed the evacuation of the people. Ball caps covered their hair; dark blue and black handkerchiefs masked their noses and mouths. Mirrored sunglasses hid their eyes. A few wore gloves; most had bare, chapped hands.

Someone behind her slammed a bat against the back of her knees.

Audra’s legs folded. The pavement rose up to meet her and she dropped her hands to catch herself. She hit the drift of snow on the side of the road first. Then pebbles dug into her flesh through her jeans. She hissed at the assault.

“Shut up.” The gun locked on her temple and a hand sunk into her hair and yanked.

Tears blurred her vision as the burn lit fire to her head. She raised her hands, reaching for the person’s hold. Metal knocked her away.

“Leave her alone!” Eddie pushed Stuart away from where he carried him and stalked toward her.

Stepping forward, a bulky man with a camouflage handkerchief swung for home. His bat collided with Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie doubled over with an oomf. Red flooded his face and he went down on his knees, catching himself with one hand.

The man raised his bat again.

“Don’t!” Audra begged. “He’ll behave.”

Spittle dripped from his open mouth before Eddie dragged in a deep breath. His gaze locked with hers.

Please, she mouthed. Please.

Rage flared in his eyes. Nodding, he sucked down another lungful.

The man with the bat lowered it to his muscular shoulder. Biceps and triceps played under the tight long sleeved tee-shirt. “Don’t play hero again, boy.”

Thank God. Audra sank onto her heels. Sleet pattered around her. The snow melted under her knees.

The man with the bat hauled back his leg and kicked Eddie in the side. Bone crunched upon impact. “I can’t hear you, boy.”

The attack pushed Eddie to his side. He coughed again and clutched his ribs.

Oh God, Eddie! Audra’s nails burrowed into her palms.

“Stop it!” She rose up on her knees. “You don’t have to hurt him. You don’t have to hurt anyone. We’re cooperating.”

Despite the hand holding her, she jerked her chin toward the emptying buses. Her friends and family were at risk all because of her. She should have been paying better attention. She should have seen the spikes on the road.

Stuart flattened his hand against his stomach and tried to straighten. “That’s right. We’re doing as you ask.”

The thug with the bat raised it until it shoved up Stuart’s chin. “You gonna be a hero too?”

Stuart swallowed hard then let loose of his bowels. The dark stain oozed down his slacks and crept out his shoes.

The thug burst out laughing. “You’re smarter than your girlfriend there,” he pointed to Eddie, “to be scared shitless of me. Now sit on the bitch and shit again.”

“W-what?” Stuart stumbled backward.

The leader swept Stuart’s legs out from under him. Stuart landed half on Eddie, half on the ground. Eddie coughed again.

Audra bit her lip. Why were they doing this? Hadn’t they done as they’d been ordered?

“That’s it, pretty boy.” The leader goaded. “Now sit on your girlfriend.”

Stuart squeezed his eyes closed and gripped his stomach.

“Move your ass, or I’ll have my men shoot off your balls.”

Stuart shifted until he sat on Eddie’s behind.

The thug leader hefted the bat on his shoulder and swaggered forward. “Watch this.” He circled the pair once then shoved his face into Stuart’s. “Boo!”

Stuart evacuated his bowels. Eddie’s lips thinned.

The man’s party of thugs hooted. One clapped. In the distance, two children cried.

When the grip on her hair loosened, Audra jerked her head free but didn’t crawl forward. She shoved aside the pain. So what if she got a few bald patches. She had to get her people out of this mess. “He’s sick, you idiots. He has anthrax. They all do.”

She pointed to the Flatulent Fifteen, each wrapped up in their own pain and humiliation of disobedient bowels. Mrs. Rodriquez knelt about ten feet away from them, unable to help.

The leader with the bat stomped closer. “I’m getting a little sick of hearing your mouth, girlie.”

Audra glared at him. “Do you want to be like them? Do you want to catch the anthrax?”

“We heard that woman’s warning.” He thumped the bat against his palm. Her image cowered in his mirrored lenses. “Anthrax isn’t contagious.”

“That’s the inhalation kind. This is the gastrointestinal kind. We started out with only one sick this morning and now we have fifteen.” She lied. Maybe if the jerk thought they were contagious they’d be able to go on their way.

The leader tapped the bat against the asphalt and squatted in front of her. His fingers dug into her cheek when he gripped her jaw. “I’m gonna enjoy showing you other things to do with your mouth.”

“You most certainly—” She ended in a whimper of pain.

He clamped down pushing soft tissue against jagged teeth, cutting off her words. “Shut up, bitch.”

Over the thug leader’s shoulder, she watched Eddie half rise from the road. Stay still. Please. She pleaded with her eyes.

“That’s better.” He threw off his grip.

The quick jerk to the side heated her neck and base of her skull. She worked her jaw to check for any permanent damage. Thank God he hadn’t dislocated it. She swallowed the metallic taste of blood.

Eddie focused on her.

“I’ve found my bitch.” The thug smacked her cheek then fisted her jacket front and pulled her to her feet.

She gasped for air as her toes brushed the ground and his knuckles pressed against her throat.

“Pick your women, men.” Metal jingled then cold steel encircled her wrist.

Her stomach emptied into her throat as the handcuffs joined both hands. She swallowed the dregs of her breakfast. The jerk deserved to be vomited on, but somehow she knew Eddie would suffer for it.

“Missus S!” Oscar called out in a reedy voice.

Audra step forward. Her arms were pulled back and aches radiated from her sockets. “It’s okay Oscar. I’m okay.”

Jerking her hard against his wide chest, the head thug turned toward the boy. “My you have a lot of friends.”

Oscar skidded on the snow but caught himself before he fell. “Don’t take her.”

Faye Eichmann jogged behind Oscar. Ropes of pearls and chunks of diamonds glistened in her hand. “We can pay. Take it. All of it. Just let us pass in peace. All of us.”

The head thug shoved Audra’s shoulders.

Her knee twisted from the torque. Joints popped and her leg collapsed. She tried to catch herself, but the handcuffs hampered her movement. Rocks scraped her palms as they rolled out from under her. She landed on her elbow then her shoulder. The impact rattled out her head. She closed her eyes least they popped out.

“I don’t want your jewelry, you stupid bitch.”

Something hit the ground near her head. The jewelry most likely. God bless Faye for trying.

“Now get back or I’ll kill you.”

“Take me instead of her.”

Audra’s eyes popped open. Mom! “No!”

Jacqueline Silvestre planted herself in front of Oscar and Faye.

“I don’t want an old, worn out hag.” The man reached down and grabbed Audra by the hair. “I want someone young enough to train but old enough to have a couple of bad habits I can enjoy breaking.”

Her neck arched, crackled down her vertebrae. Bitterness coated her tongue. “It’s alright.” Audra caught her mother’s pale eyes. “I’ll go with them.”

He bent down and shoved his face in hers. “You think you have a choice?”

No. She knew the status quo. But eventually it would change and she would take advantage of it. Instead of answering she raised her chin.

“I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you.” Without releasing her hair, he glanced up. “Men take your women and line ‘em up. As soon as we take care of this, the sooner we can party.”

Feminine cries rippled through the group. Tina the Teacher’s Assistant was shoved to the ground next to her. Becky the high school student joined her. Two more girls that Audra didn’t know followed. Fear widened their eyes. They all looked to her, begged her to do something. Anything.

Helplessness welled up from the pads of her feet. She sought out Eddie. Two men jerked him to his feet then slammed him against the bus. His head bounced off the metal then lolled back.

Loss fisted her heart. Oh Eddie. Please be alive.

The men tossed him aside like garbage.

“This is the way it works in my kingdom.” The leader released her hair. “We take what we want and we want these prime bits of cattle.” He ran a knuckle down her cheek.

She jerked away.

“The rest of you will board your bus and get the hell off my land.”

Audra’s mother opened her mouth.

“But if any of you says a word, we’ll shoot one of our prime breeding stock.” He smacked Audra across the face. “Cover ‘em up.”

Tingles raced across her skin. Her breath locked in her throat as someone produced pillowcases. One by one, the women next to her had their faces covered. She heard them sob, felt an answering one in her chest. A blue and green striped one flapped open next to her.

“No.” The leader pushed the pillow case away. “The bitch needs to see what happens to the disobedient.”

Oh God.

“Round up the rejects.”

His men forced her people to their feet. Her mother glanced back over at her as the thugs pushed and shoved her people toward the working buses.

“Don’t think about coming back because if you do, they’ll be the first to die.”

Mrs. Rodriquez helped Eddie to his feet. He staggered a few paces to the left then the right.

The constriction in her chest eased. Thank God he was still alive. He would get everyone to safety.

Holding his messed up pants away from his bottom, Stuart tip-toed after them. “I’ll look after them Audra.”

“Now see what you’ve done.” The leader jerked on her upper arm.

She leapt to her feet.

“Everyone stop!”

His thugs cocked their weapons and aimed randomly at people’s head. None of her people moved.

“He didn’t mean it. Please.”

“Get used to begging.” He wrapped his arm around her neck, making her stoop. “Cole, which one of the bitches is yours?”

A man in black jeans and leather jacket pointed to Tina.

Audra shook her head. “Please. Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her.”

“You’ll do anything I say anyway.” He petted her like she was a dog. “Ralph. You know what to do.”

A beefy man stood behind Tina. The small Asian girl straightened. He pulled a gun and aimed it at her chest.

Audra willed her eyes to shut. They refused to obey. She needed to see this, needed to bear witness to the cost of her failure.

Powder exploded from the barrel. Tina jerked forward then fell. Ralph raised his arms above his head and planted one foot on Tina’s chest.

The teacher’s assistant wiggled. Her people gasped. A few of the older folks stepped forward. Guns pushed them back.

“She’s still alive.” Audra tried to reach Tina, help her. The leader’s arm cut off her air.

“Damn Ralph. Next time, take the head shot.” The leader chuckled. “Now, they’ll watch her die as they leave.”

Audra began to sink to her knees. Poor Tina. She’d been so kind and gentle. “Please let me…”

A cloth was yanked over her head.

She recognized the green and blue stripes from the pillowcase. Light filtered in through the cotton; it tightened around her throat.

“Now that I’ve made my position clear. Get the hell out of here!”

She flinched as more shots rang out. Oh God, please don’t let them have killed anyone else. Before she heard the thud of any more bodies, engines started. The deep rumble of the buses. She heard the belch of brakes then the crunch of slow moving tires.

Her heart ripped in half. Don’t leave me. Be safe. Don’t leave me. Be safe. Blackness crowded her vision as her lungs sawed for air.

A cold wind shoved through her clothes as she stood there.

First the tires fell silent, then she couldn’t hear the engines anymore.

“Ralph, make sure they’re good and gone.” The leader loosened the noose around her neck. “Okay, men, let’s get the ladies to their new home.”

A firm hand gripped her elbow and dragged her forward.

She stumbled along, dragging her feet over the dirt. Her twisted knee throbbed. She swallowed the whimper clawing her insides.

“Don’t worry, Audra, isn’t it?” His hot breath invaded her pillowcase, filled it with the scent of stale coffee. His fingers bit into her upper arm. “You’re Audra, aren’t you?”

She loved to remain silent but not if it cost her another life. She’d already lost Tina. A hot tear trailed down her cheek. “Yes.”

“You’ll need that fire to get you through what’s to come. It’s why I picked you.”

Fuck you, she fumed inside her head. Despite his grip, she slipped down the incline. She felt every beat of her heart through her knee. Mud squelched beneath her boots. A wash, maybe. Why did she bother memorizing the route?

Because she planned to escape.

How? Oh for pity’s sake! The ying and yang inside her head needed to be quiet for a moment. Or a hundred. Eddie and her mother, Oscar and Faye, Mrs Rodriquez, the principal and deputy were safe. What happened to her no longer mattered. She’d done her duty.

Around her, the men fell quiet.

Even the wind seemed to still. She drowned in the rise and fall of her own breathing. Sweat trickled down her temple despite the chill creeping into her toes. Don’t think about what’s up ahead. Don’t think about the raping or… She truncated the thought.

Trees stirred the air around her and the light seeping through her hood dimmed. They walked farther on pavement then her boots clomped on wood. Her thighs burned from the trek. Her knee nearly buckled each time she put weight on it.

“Alright boys.” The leader pulled her to a stop.

Hinges creaked. A puff of warm air brushed her shoulder. Callused fingers slid over her hands, tugging on her handcuffs.

“We’ll let the ladies rest up before resuming their new duties.”

The bracelets fell away from her wrists. She ignored the throbbing in her joints as she moved her hands in front and rubbed the abraded skin.

His hand returned to her elbow then he steered her forward again. “Step up.”

She automatically obeyed. The toe of her boot knocked something before she found the step.

A hand swatted her bottom and thrust her forward. She stumbled then crashed into flesh and bone. Arms caught her as she fell and hands helped her stand on her own.

“Five minutes, ladies. I suggest you prepare yourself for your new role.”

She’d like to prepare him for a head chopping.

A door slammed shut. A key turned in the lock.

Audra whipped off her pillow case. If those thugs thought she’d submit, they were sadly mistaken. By the light of the single bulb overhead, she took in her surroundings. A scream bubbled up her throat.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rage boiled under Papa Rose’s skin as he sprinted over open ground. Mud sucked at his boots, water dropped on his bald head. His senses expanded and he raised his gun. Pulled the trigger. In a puff of leaves, a white spot on the hedge to the left of the mobile home exploded.

Someone cried in pain.

He rushed forward.

Bullets whizzed passed his ear. Bark splintered off the tree to his right.

He sited his gun, sweeping it right. A flash of red. He squeezed the trigger.

Another yelp.

The M-4 spat behind him.

Fire burned across his upper arm. The fuckers had shot him! He roared, a primal sound that ripped from his throat and battered the house.

Falcon’s battle cry echoed behind him.

Two more shots rang out.

His right ear melted in a puddle of warm wetness. He let loose another round on a spot of yellow.

No shout of pain answered this time.

Damn. He’d missed. Ignoring the tree trunk offering shelter, he charged across the semi-circular drive. Gravel rolled under his boots like marbles. His left and right legs tried to go separate ways. Pain roiled through his groin. Switching it off, he headed for the gate.

Brainiac would be avenged.

“Shit!” Falcon swore behind him.

A bullet slammed into Papa Rose’s shoulder. Swinging his hand, he caught the gun in his left hand. Raising the weapon, he aimed at the yellow blob among the green. He fired. Once. Twice. Red burst from the yellow then it disappeared.

“That’s for B!”

The wooden gate loomed. Papa Rose didn’t slow. He twisted so his bad shoulder took the brunt of it then slammed into the gate. Wood screamed as the force shredded it. Metal rattled as the hinges gave up the fight. Blackness exploded inside his head.

Fuck that hurt. He shook away the encroaching pain. No time to be a wuss over a flesh wound. Mission incomplete. He stumbled through the gate. Dead grass crunched underfoot.

Falcon steamed by firing at men as they scattered. Bam! One tumbled down by the swing set.

Another shot. Another corpse by the above ground pool. Blood spattered the blue sides and an arc of green peed onto the ground.

Nearing the end of the mobile home, Papa caught a third near a rusting bicycle.

The man tangled with the bent wheel as he went down.

From the corner of his eye, movement snared his attention. Papa Rose zeroed in on it.

A little boy, just a hair older than Toby, screamed, “Daaa-Dee!”

What the fuck! Papa Rose shifted his arm just as he tightened on the trigger. “There’s kids!”

Jillie hadn’t said anything about kids.

A woman in gray sweats and a blue jacket tackled the boy, curling her body around him.

Or women!

Slowing, Falcon cleared the house. He raised the M-4 so it pointed slightly skyward.

A board connected with the former Green Beret’s head. His eyes rolled back in his skull and he went down.

Papa Rose aimed at the head peeking round the corner. “Drop it.”

The wood clattered to the ground.

Six guns swung in his direction.

He grabbed the woman by the hair and pulled her in front of him. With this back to the mobile home, he pressed the gun to her temple.

Falcon lay still. Blood dripped from the gash on his chin and out his mouth. More poured from his shoulder and thigh.

A man in slacks and a Polo shirt waved a pistol in his direction. “Drop your gun and we’ll kill you quick.”

Papa Rose smiled. “If that gun was loaded, you would have already shot me and my friend. Now, I have one for her and…”

The man in slacks glanced at the M-4.

Papa Rose tightened his grip on the woman until she whimpered. “And whoever is stupid enough to go after the rifle. Then I’ll just pull my other gun and shoot the rest of you murderers.”

“Murderers!” The woman on the ground uncurled. Tears streaked her cheeks, her fists pounded the ground. “We welcomed you into our camp and after eating our food, accepting our hospitality, you raped and beat and…”

The boy clutched her shirt and cried.

Thoughts clicked into place. The truck in the wall had been new. It must have belonged to Jillie and Toby’s attackers. Papa Rose inhaled through a rush of pain. Brainiac had been right. They’d been too scared to call out to them and he had more innocent blood on his hands. “Did the animals who attacked you last night drive a red pick-up with a light bar and lift kit?”

The woman on the ground wiped her nose on her sleeve before scurrying to the fallen man’s side. He moaned when she rolled him over. The child stuck closer than a shadow.

Papa Rose shifted his attention to the man in the polo shirt. “Did they?”

His forehead wrinkled but anger still tightened his features. “Like you don’t know.”

“Listen up asshole,” Papa Rose growled.

The folks with the guns backed up a step.

Okay, maybe cursing at them wasn’t the most diplomatic move. But dammit, they’d killed Brainiac. He took in a steadying breath and scanned the backyard. Six bodies lay unmoving. No telling how many more fell on the other side. His pulse throbbed at his temple. “Do either of us look like the fuckers who attacked you last night?”

Polo Shirt frowned at him. “It was dark.”

The woman looked up from cradling the man’s head in her lap. Blood bubbled through her fingers from where she pressed against the man’s chest. “And there were more of you than the six that came into our camp, acting like our friends.”

It was a Mexican stand off and he knew it. Something had to give.

Falcon twitched on the ground, just enough so Papa Rose knew he was conscious and willing to follow his lead.

Papa Rose released the woman, pushing her toward one of the men. “Take care of your wounded.”

The man caught her and shuffled her behind him.

“Listen very carefully and think.” Papa Rose hit the consonants hard, emphasizing the word. His gun drifted from target to target. His bullet wound began to throb and he felt cold from the lack of adrenalin. “You watched us for a good half hour and what did we do?”

Polo shirt shifted on his feet. “Turned on the well, directed the irrigation.”

“Exactly. Do you know why?”

The man licked his lips and glanced at his friends. Slight head shakes followed the semi-circle. “No.”

“Because Palo Verde is on the verge of exposing her rods and melting down.” Papa Rose dipped the gun toward Falcon. “We promised the Surgeon General, Mavis Spanner that we’d keep the plant going for three more days to allow as many survivors to get to safety as possible.”

His former hostage crept around the men standing guard. “You don’t work at the plant. We would know.”

“No ma’am. I don’t. But we were sent to help Glen.” Thank you B, for learning the nuclear technician’s name. He’d personally see to it that the squid got a chest full of medals. Too damn bad it was posthumously.

Polo Shirt scratched his chin, lowered his weapon slightly. “Glen Navarro or Hisslip?”

Papa Rose shrugged. “Never learned his last name.”

“But Glen will vouch for you?”

He wished. “Glen died about an hour ago.”

The gun raised again. “So you have no proof.”

“My proof that I’m not those animals is that I haven’t killed you where you stand.” Papa Rose aimed at Polo Shirt. “I have two bullets and haven’t fired. I’m willing to bet my life that all your weapons are empty.”

In one swift motion, Falcon swooped up the M-4. Still on his back, he aimed it at the man closest to him. “Hell, I just want to take out the rest of you for killing our brother.”

The six men retreated a step. The one on his left dropped his shotgun and raised his hands. It clattered to the ground.

Polo Shirt looked at his people. “But you came from the generating station.”

Papa Rose’s gut clenched. Ah, hell no. He braced his feet apart, waiting for the shit that just kept rolling his way. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s where they were headed. They saw the lights on and figured they could set up base there.”

Falcon jumped to his feet. “Fuckin’ A.”

Papa Rose stumbled toward the gate. “The munchkins!”

Those assholes had already nearly killed those kids once. He’d be damned if they’d get another chance.

“What munchkins?” Polo Shirt chased them through the gate.

Papa Rose thundered around Falcon, slipped his hand around the man’s waist and heaved him along faster. “We’ll get to them in time.”

“Damn straight.”

Footsteps pounded beside them. Polo Shirt pulled abreast of him. “Where are you going?”

“We left our kids at the power plant.” Please God let them be safe. Don’t take them away just when I’ve found them.

“Tiffany! Tracy!” Polo Shirt stopped. “Bring me the ammo.”

Papa Rose’s chest heaved as he lugged Falcon to the truck. “You think they’re going to shoot us in the back?”

Falcon glanced over his shoulder. “They try it and I’ll drop ‘em where they stand.”

A red-headed kid, barely old enough to shave, shot passed them and opened the passenger door. “If you’re going after those assholes, we’re going with you.”

Five men sprinted around them and threw themselves in the back of the truck. No sooner had they landed than they began to search their pockets for more ammunition.

Ha! He knew they were out of bullets. Papa Rose folded Falcon in the passenger seat then slammed the door.

The kid climbed into the rear seats and shut himself in. “We think there were twelve of them but can’t be sure.”

Polo Shirt tossed boxes of ammunition to the men in the back.

Limping, Papa Rose climbed behind the wheel. He gunned the engine and stomped on the accelerator just as Polo Shirt took a seat in the cab.

“They all have guns but we’re not sure how much ammunition they have left since they wanted our weapons.”

“Did they get any?” Papa Rose fishtailed across the rutted field. He focused on the strip of road that led to the pavement.

“Two shotguns, no shells.” In the rearview mirror, the man paled. “And a few knives.”

Papa Rose clamped his jaw shut. He had a feeling the blades had been tested.

Falcon ripped the mud-splattered bandanna from his neck. With one hand, he wrapped it around his thigh. “What else can you tell us?”

“They deserve to die.” The kid leaned over the front seat and picked up the edges of the bandanna. He knotted the points and pulled it tight.

Falcon hissed and arched his back. “Tighter.”

The kid complied. His bloody fingers left smears on the seat as he sat back. “If your munchkins are little kids, they’ll probably just kill them right away.”

And that was supposed to be good news? Papa Rose laid rubber on the blacktop. Kicking aside the floor mat, he floored the accelerator. The needle climbed. One hundred. One ten. It wasn’t fast enough.

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 God-damn-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.

The Marines formed an orderly queue, carrying the heavier bundles as they helped the survivors into the backs of the personnel carriers. As she’d ordered earlier, the servicemen allowed the people to separate into their own groups.

The snowplow belched black smoke as it stopped. Two young men hopped aboard the John Deeres and backed them down a driveway.

No sooner had they cleared than Brother Bob strode toward them with his hand outstretched. “Doctor Spanner, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Mavis shook his hand with her free one. “You were worth waiting for. Are you sure you wish to leave behind members of your flock?”

“Noticed that did you?” Brother Bob offered his hand to David. “Twenty-seven folks remained, hard-headed relatives of some of the town’s founders. There’s a few mine shafts they can hide in, plus they wanted to help those who follow you.”

David shook the man’s hand. “I’m glad you made it.”

“We would have been here sooner but it took about twenty minutes for me to remember what I did with the keys to ol’ Bertha.” Brother Bob pointed to the snowplow. “My old bones tell me we’re going to be blessed with snow all the way to Colorado.”

Blessed was not the word David would use. Still, it might not be so bad with Bertha clearing the road.

“Would you like to ride with us in the Humvee or would you prefer to ride with the others?” Mavis practically glowed with happiness.

“I always wanted to ride in one of those.” Brother Bob winked at her and offered his arm. “Besides, now I can grill you on how you plan to help us survive.”

Grill Mavis. Good luck with that. David reluctantly released her hand. The Doc would reveal her plans in her own time. Anyone who tried to find out beforehand just ended up with a headache. He’d watched Lister chew his way through half a bottle already.

“I’d be glad to, Brother Bob.” Mavis’s eyes twinkled. “And I really hope you’ll consider being one of my advisors.”

“Well, I don’t know…” Brother Bob rubbed his chin.

Damn, she was already at work. David secured her in the vehicle then climbed behind the wheel. Rogers jumped in the passenger seat as he started the engine.

Mavis pulled her laptop off the floor and opened it. “Sergeant-Major, I’d appreciate it if you could inform the General of our current status.”

“With pleasure.” A snowplow, Brother Bob and survivors. Lister was going to be eating crow at the Doc’s success. Perhaps things had finally turned in their favor.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The scream ripped from Audra’s throat and flew past her lips. Blood pounded through her veins. Had she finally lost her mind? Was she seeing a ghost? There was only one way to know. She leaped forward and poked Tina the Teacher’s Assistant. “I thought you were dead.”

Audra encountered soft flesh and warmth. She wrapped her arms around her friend and felt the wetness on her cheeks.

Tina hugged her back. Black hair slipped out the braid running down her back. “You’re not the only one.”

Audra held her away. “How did they miss? I saw you fall then that odious cretin planted his foot on you like he was on some African safari.”

Inserting her finger in her left ear, Tina wiggled it. “They fired next to my head then pushed me down.” She turned around, showing the dusty footprint on her jacket. “This was to hold me down.”

It had been an illusion. Audra rubbed the red marks on her wrists. Well, not all of it. “What do you suppose it means?”

Tina turned her head so her good ear faced Audra. “That they want their women alive.”

Becky, the high school student, wrapped her arm around her waist and shivered in her jeans and tee-shirt. “They’re going to rape us.”

Nodding, the two teenagers next to her sobbed. By the light of the bare bulb hanging from the exposed rafters, Audra watched the bleak reality settle over the faces of the ten women. Friends or newcomers, it was her duty to protect them. Lead them. She drew herself up to her full five seven. “No they won’t. We’re getting out of here.”

She scanned the small room. Bare wood. Jagged nails on dark studs. Wind whistled through the gaps around the door, ripped off the peeling green paint. She acknowledged two shiny brass deadbolts and their keyless locks. No way out there.

Rose print curtains dry rotted where they hung from a drooping black rod. Curtains! She squeezed Tina’s shoulders then released the young Asian and slipped through the group. Curtains meant windows. And windows meant an exit.

Audra flung them open and coughed on the cloud of dust. White bars molded around the frame. Maybe they could be loosened. She slapped open the latch and shoved up the sash. Her arms trembled but the stupid thing didn’t move.

“It’s painted shut.” Tina ran her finger over the green wood.

Audra rubbed the glass with her sleeve. Grime smeared across the pane and turned the Kelly green fabric gray. Snow gathered on the brown leaves of the overgrown hedge.

“Do you see them?” Tina rose on her toes as if to peer around the plant.

Following her friend’s example, Audra tried to see over the top. Nothing doing. “All I can see is the bush.”

The muffled sobs continued.

Like crying helped anything. She clapped her hands, waited until everyone faced her. “Alright ladies. Let’s look around and see if we can find any weapons.”

Not that she held out much hope. Her gut was telling her their kidnappers were experience in abductions. She swallowed despite her dry throat. Now that was a depressing thought, especially as there was no one else here but the women who had traveled with her.

Had they raped and killed their previous victims?

Or worse?

She shook her head, clearing it of speculation. Paralyzing herself with fear wouldn’t help anyone and these women needed her, depended on her. Fisting her hands, she set them on her hips. She would not disappoint them again.

“The walls are bare, Missus S.” Becky bit her lip.

Audra squeezed her cold hand. At least the high schooler wasn’t crying. “What about those nails?” She grasped hold of the rusted metal. It slipped through her damp fingers. Gritting her teeth, she wiggled it back and forth.

“What good is a nail going to do?” One of the girls collapsed to the ground and hugged her knees.

Tina focused on the nail.

Sighing, Audra sunk to the ground and set her hand on the girl’s knee. Blond hair hung from the two inches of brown roots. Mud clung to her purple Van’s and the hem of her DKNY jeans. Free of make-up, her smooth cheeks and four pimples put her age around fourteen or fifteen. Not much older than Audra’s students. The bastards were pedophiles. “What’s your name?”

“Cindy.” The girl hiccoughed. Blood pooled around her thumbnail where the French tip had been destroyed.

“Well, Cindy.” Audra swept the girl’s bangs out of her green eyes. “A nail can kill.”

Doubt wrinkled Cindy’s brow. “How?”

Audra stuffed a brittle leaf between her index and middle finger, forming a fist with it sticking out. “When your attacker gets close.” And the bastards would, as they would no doubt rape the women they’d selected. “You shove it into their eye.” She punched the air, then with her free hand caught the leaf and held it. “Then hammer it home with the base of your palm.”

Cindy’s mouth dropped open. “That’s gross.”

“Yeah.” Tina wiped her hands on her jacket. “Where did you learn that?”

“I’ve taken some self-defense classes.” Daddy had insisted when she’d moved out to the wilds of Arizona. Then when she’d slummed in the middle-class suburbs, her father hired a personal coach to teach her a combat system that focused on maiming and killing.

No one messed with a Silvestre.

Becky raised her hand. “I don’t think I can do that, Missus S.”

Tina shrugged. “It’s moot anyway. I can’t get the stupid nail out.”

Audra ran her fingers through her hair, winced as she pulled through the knots. Maybe that was a blessing. Assaulting a dummy or a man in padding wasn’t the same as the real thing. “Okay, what else do we have to work with?”

“There’s another door back here.”

Everyone stepped aside until nothing stood between her and the door. Another door. Wood creaked as she walked toward it.

Tina materialized at her shoulder. “I really wish I had my bat right about now.”

“You and me both.” Audra wished Eddie and his shotgun were handy too. She sucked in a breath. Eddie. Was he okay? The bastards had beat the tar out of him. Blood had dripped down his face and he hadn’t even looked at her as Mrs. Rodriquez helped him onto the bus. She hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye.

“There’s no locks.” Tina raised her fists. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

“Of course.” Audra licked her lips. Her hand shook when she reached for the handle. Cold metal sweated against her palm. “Everyone stay back.”

She heard the others footsteps as they obeyed.

Tina bounced on the balls of her feet. “I don’t suppose you learned any offensive skills in those classes.”

Audra twisted the knob. The clearing of the latch bounced like a shot around the room. “All defense.”

And Daddy never thought it proper for a girl to learn hunting. How he justified twisting a man’s scrotum in her hands or ramming a nail into his brain, she’ll never know.

“Ready?”

“No.” Tina squeaked.

The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a short hallway. She heard the drip of water then the stench hit her. Fecal matter. The smell of death. Her lungs seized. Is this where they stored the women when they were done with them?

“Ohmygod.” Tina buried her nose in her collar.

Audra fought the urge to slam it closed. Black spots danced on her peripheral vision and she forced herself to breathe. If she had to walk through a cesspit to escape, she would. Releasing the knob she crept inside. The wood floors creaked underfoot. One step. Two. Three. At five she pulled abreast of two closed six-paneled doors. The divot in the white painted wood indicated they were sliders. She slipped her fingers inside the handle.

“Listen first.” Tina hissed.

Audra pressed her ear against the clammy door. Buzzing overrode the pounding of her heart. “I think it’s the generator.”

Tina assumed a boxer’s stance.

“You know how to fight?”

Her friend shrugged. “Tai bow.”

Great. Maybe they could aerobicize them to death. Audra eased the panels apart. They stuck halfway in the pocket. Flies buzzed out. She batted them away. Blankets and sheets covered bodies. They filled the sofa and carpeted the floor. She slammed the doors shut and leaned against them. That would not be their fate.

Bending over at the waist, Tina panted. “Oh, God. I hope the rest of the house isn’t a fricking morgue.”

“Yeah.” Audra closed her eyes, ignored the images of the corpses and tried to recall the windows. Digging her nails into the door, she sighed. The picture window in the front of the parlor had been barred. No way out. They had to go forward. She pushed away from the door. “Come on.”

Tina slowly straightened.

Ten baby steps later, Audra reached the end of the hallway. Weak light cut rectangles on the wall. After a wide opening, the left turn dead ended in a linen closet. On the right, there was another opening and a door with shiny keyed dead bolts.

She turned left and crept forward.

Tina clawed at her arm. “Did you hear something?”

It was hard to hear anything above her own breathing. Still, she paused near the opening, ears straining. Then she heard it. A soft moan and a low whistle of air leaving congested lungs.

“Not everyone is dead.”

Tina shook her head. “Do you think it’s them?”

Them. Such a benign word for the bastards who kidnapped them. “Why would they be quiet?”

Audra peered around the corner. Six beds filled the twenty-by-twenty foot space. Each one occupied by a shivering figure. She scanned the room. Hopelessness washed through her. Each window had bars on it. “Let’s check the other room.”

“What did you see?”

“Sick people.” Was it possible that they’d been kidnapped to nurse and not… breed? Eddie would probably scoff at her naïvety. Actually, he’d bust a gut laughing at it then tease her unmercifully.

But Eddie wasn’t here.

Please, Lord, let him be somewhere safe. Audra strode to the other room. Soiled linens covered the warped linoleum floor. Bare shelves lined the kitchen in an L-shape. A small door appeared in a bump out. She passed the dripping sink, the barred window in front of it and yanked open the door. Rust ringed the bowl of the commode within.

Deflating like a balloon, she sunk to the floor and stared at the only unbarred glass in the place—six inserts of four by four inch frosted glass in the yellowing walls.

They were well and truly stuck.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“I’ve had enough.” Trent peered through windshield at the drifting snow. The highway had disappeared under the interstate nearly an hour ago and they weren’t through Flagstaff. At this rate, the military would beat them to the stash of supplies and he would be stuck with the leftovers. “Pull over.”

Ernest raised his eyes at the cars and trucks cramming the interstate and stopped in the middle of the road.

Trent twitched. How could he expect his people to follow him when his hand-selected minions were willfully disobedient? “Tell them to unload the trucks.”

Ernest diddled with the keys in the ignition. “Boss?”

“Get everyone out of the trucks.” Trent bit off each word. Was the cretin deaf as well as inbred?

After turning off the personnel carrier, Ernest shoved open the door and jumped to the ground.

Trent shivered in the draft then raised his bare hands to the vent. The fucker had turned off the heat. He heard men yelling. A woman screamed. That bitch had to go. She was messing up his happy empire. He watched in his rearview mirror as his people stood on the side of the road.

Scrawny boys shivered in lightweight jackets and jeans. The girls wore similar clothing but he detected a few curves here and there. Of course, they’d be more than willing to flaunt their wares once he explained the rules. The engine ticked as it cooled. Still, the world really was at an end if this was the pick of the litter.

All the more reason to set up along the official exodus routes. He could choose the worthy from the dregs.

Hunching his shoulders, Ernest trudged through the snow. His footprints punched holes in the pristine whiteness. He rapped twice on the door but made no more to open it.

Trent counted to ten then pushed it open.

“Everyone’s out.”

“Good.” Trent climbed down and stepped onto the road. Snow dribbled icy fingers into his boots. The cold soon soaked his jacket. He’d have to do a little shopping. These clothes wouldn’t do for a man in his position.

Following the path Ernest cleared, Trent reached his people. Faces turned to him. Young and full of fear. Soon they would transform into an eagerness to please.

“My good people…” He opened his arms like the preacher had done. “As you can see, our path is blocked by these cars.”

“Where are the soldiers?” a woman piped up. The skinny teenage boys shifted until he spied her. The bitch that had made trouble earlier.

“They have deserted us.” Trent waited until his words sunk in. “But I have not deserted you. We will unite under my leadership and form a new society.”

“That isn’t right.”

Trent scanned the crowd until he found Gary Everett leaning against the tree, cleaning his nails with his knife. “Gary perhaps you can teach that woman some manners. It isn’t polite to interrupt when someone is speaking.”

“You can’t do this!” she yelled at him.

The girls cowered in a heap to the right. Most of the boys fell back but a few remained blocking the path.

Not moving forward, Gary twirled a knife in his hand.

Trent’s fingers curled into fists. He eyed the man with the gold cross. “Jake.”

Jake brandished one of the rifles they’d collected after tossing aside the soldiers. He fired off two shots. The crowd ducked and covered their heads. “Trent is our leader and you will do as he says.”

The boys moved aside.

Gary sauntered closer to the woman.

She raised her hands. “Stop right there.”

Gary slashed at her palms.

She turned on her heel and sprinted for the woods.

Gary pounced on her before she made ten feet. With one hand, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the pines. She kicked him until he backhanded her. Once. Twice. On the third time, crimson sprayed the snow. He kicked her once then reached down, pulled her up and slung her over his shoulder.

There. Much better. Trent smoothed his clothes. “Now, I know some of you are under age so this next bit is going to be a treat.”

His audience still faced Gary and the woman. What is wrong with them? Trent clapped his hands. A few heads turned. “Jake.”

The man fired two more rounds.

Finally his people gave him their full attention. “As I said, your new orders will be a treat. I want you all to pick a car and drive it off the road. Crash them up a little if you want.”

A pimply face youth in front raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“When do we eat?”

Trent smiled. Yes, he had the power here. “After we’re through and… the person who clears the most vehicles gets two MREs and the person who clears the fewest gets none.”

Brilliant motivation, if he did say so himself.

They didn’t move.

“Get to it.”

The boys dashed forward. The girls were slower to respond. Useless females—only good for one thing.

“We’re going to need warmer clothes.” Resting the barrel of his rifle against his forearm, Jake Turner loped toward Trent.

Trent’s skin itched. He didn’t trust the man. The air practically stunk with his ambition. No doubt, Jake lacked the vision to build a new society but not the drive to take it over once it was established. Trent flicked a snowflake from his shoulder.

Jake Turner was temporary help only but he could be exploited.

“Are you familiar with the area?”

Jake pointed across the East bound interstate. Buildings jutted up through the gloom. “That looks like a mall to me.”

Trent recognized several clothing chains. Asshole. “Let’s go.”

“What about them?” Jake jerked his chin toward the teenagers.

They trickled between the lanes of cars. A few even climbed behind the wheel.

“They’ll be fine.” Light winked off the rifle. Then again, Trent didn’t plan on this being a one-way trip. “Give Ernest the rifle in case anyone gets ideas.”

Like shooting me in the back.

Jake nodded, pivoted about and ran back to the twin brothers. He climbed into the driver’s seat as Trent secured his seatbelt. Heat blasted from the vents when he turned the ignition.

Trent rubbed his hands in the warm air. He deserved this small luxury.

Slamming the truck into gear, Jake grinned. “I always wanted to take one of these things off-road.”

Jake gunned the engine. Metal crunched as he plowed the truck through the stopped cars.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Trent strangled the seatbelt and braced his legs on the floor.

“Relax.” Jake cranked the wheel. The truck rumbled through the snow, half on the shoulder half off. “I’m in control.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Manny rose on his toes to see above the crowd. Where was this leader guy? Maybe if he could speak to him, he, Rini and Beth would be allowed to wait for the soldiers. He didn’t want to be part of the new society. He wanted to be with Wheelchair Henry and the niños.

Shifting to the right, Manny felt his jeans slip below his hips despite the rope tied around his waist. He glanced down.

Rini had hold of his belt loop. “What do you see?”

“Nothing.” At five-ten he was too damn short. He hitched up his jeans then shifted left. Again his pants dropped. Now what? He looked down.

Beth had hold of the loop on the other side.

He tugged up his pants and held them with one hand.

The taller kids in front of him swayed, blocking his view. When the man yelled at them to get to it, they scattered.

And Manny got his first look at the leader. Blond hair, blue eyes and tall. His breath lodged in his throat, choking him. Oh God. No! He spun on his heel. It couldn’t be him!

Beth collapsed against Manny, curling around his body.

He caught her. His fingers dug into her back as he raised her. God, he was shaking so much, her teeth practically rattled.

“Wow!” Rini released his pants. “He’s kinda good looking.”

“What?” Manny checked over his shoulder. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe the man wasn’t his nightmare come true. He blinked and watched the man move away.

No mistaking. It was the man from Wheelchair Henry’s neighborhood, the one who’d murdered his wife. The one Manny witnessed throwing a woman’s bloody body from a balcony.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rini poked him in the shoulder. “Just cuz the guy is hawt doesn’t mean I’m sticking around. We’re going to stay and wait for the soldiers.”

Stay? Hell no! They were going to run away. They weren’t safe here. Manny opened his mouth.

A woman screamed.

The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up and his stomach clenched. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about what that man is doing to her.

Rini latched on to his arm. “You don’t think—”

“He’s raping her.” Beth clawed up his chest to stand. “That—That man, the speaker, he’s the one who…” Her hands moved up and down her bruised body. “He tried…”

Manny dragged his hands down his face. He could handle being a target but not Rini and Beth.

“Oy!” One of the men pointed his gun at Manny. “Get to work clearing the cars or you don’t eat.”

Manny grabbed the girls’ hands and pulled them through the lines of cars. “We need to get out of here.”

“Uh, yeah.” Beth wrapped herself around his arm, squeezing between two sedans at his side instead of behind him. “Do you think he’s seen me?”

“I don’t think so.” Manny watched the lead truck shove cars out of its way.

Another scream pierced the air.

He could practically taste the pain behind it. In front of him, two teenagers wrestled a body from behind the wheel of a red Chevy. A blue PT cruiser bumped down the incline into the stand of pines.

“I can’t believe he’s a rapist.” Rini jogged behind them. “I mean he’s cute.”

Cute. Cute! How can she be so stupid. Manny stopped and turned. He crowded Rini against the side of a Ford pick-up. “He’s a murderer, Rini.”

Her blue eyes widened in her mottled green and yellow checks.

“He’s the man I saw dump that woman into the garbage pile. He’s the one the soldiers think killed his wife.”

Rini shook her head. Her spiky blond hair fluttered with the motion.

Didn’t she see? Didn’t she understand that he was a monster? “He’s the reason we had to leave the neighborhood and find the soldiers.”

“Stop scaring her.” Beth wedged herself between him and Rini. “I thought he was cute once too. When I first met him.”

Manny threw up his hands. What the hell was wrong with them? Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stomped down the road.

“But I was wrong. There’s a monster underneath.” Beth wrapped her arm around Rini’s shoulders. Their footsteps crunched behind him. “One that did this to me.”

“Why can’t people look like what they are?” Rini moaned.

“Manny does.” Beth giggled. “He’s nice and nice looking.”

Manny tripped over his feet. He caught himself on the side of a Ram truck. How did they get to talking about him? “We need to get out of here.”

Beth shoved her black hair out of her eyes. “How?”

He scoped out the men with the guns. One stood on the hood watching them, the other on the shoulder, writing his name in yellow on the snow. Although they were forty yards away, he didn’t want to chance bullets hitting them.

A yellow cruiser bumped down into the ditch. The kid inside hooted when the bumper crunched into a tree.

Another scream. Louder this time.

His ears ached from the pitch.

“Can we help her?” Catching up with him, Rini squeezed his hand.

He didn’t know if he could help her—or any of them. “We can try.”

Standing near a black SUV, two boys whispered, looked around then whispered again. One moved his finger over his palm like the lines were a map. They flinched as the next scream started almost before the other ended.

Guess he wasn’t the only one planning an escape.

Manny and the girls would have better luck with others. Wheelchair Henry had taught him that. “Come on.”

Slipping through the cars, he approached the two kids. Snow crunched under his sneakers.

The two looked up, suspicion narrowing their brown eyes.

“What do you want?” The boy on the left spoke first. He was about an inch taller than the other. Lift tickets clung to his black jacket and fluttered like toe tags.

Manny took a deep breath. If they squealed, he and the girls were in big trouble. “I’m Manny. This is Rini and Beth. We’re getting out of here. To find the soldiers.”

“Oy!” The guard on the side of the road yelled at them. “This ain’t no cotillion. Move those damn vehicles.”

Manny shook his head. What the hell was a cotillion?

“Thanks for drawing attention to us.” The kid sneered and his lift tickets jerked in agitation.

“I just thought you wanted to go and help her.” After jerking his chin toward the woods, Manny opened the door of the SUV. Thankfully there wasn’t a body inside. He shifted it into neutral.

Rini climbed into the seat and cranked the wheel so the tires headed toward the woods. “Ready.”

Manny braced his hands along the frame. “We’re going to push you down the slope. Once the car stops, get out and run into the woods.”

The two boys moved to the back. “Why are you going to help us rescue our aunt?’

Their aunt? Crap, now they’d have to suceed. No one should have to lose a loved one like this. Manny shoved the car. His feet slipped in the snow. “We have a better chance of surviving if we stick together until the soldiers arrive. “

The taller boy grunted. “I’m Pete. This is my brother, Paul.”

Paul waved a blue glove and shivered in his green hoodie.

Beth’s hands slipped along the passenger door. “Now that that’s out of the way, we need to do this on the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

The SUV inched forward, slowly at first, then gained speed as it bumped off the curb. Manny released the frame and stepped back. It slammed to a stop after coasting a short distance and the horn honked.

He swore under his breath. Ten yards separated Rini from the woods. And thanks to the blare, the men were looking his way.

Rini rolled out of the door and crouched in the snow.

“Stay,” Manny hissed to her then motioned for Pete, Beth and Paul toward the next vehicle, walking backward so he could watch the men.

The guards stared back.

“Don’t hit the horn when it’s your turn.” Pete glared at Beth.

“I won’t.” Crossing her arms, she walked to the front of the sedan. Sighing, she yanked open the door and screamed when a body fell out. The seat belt caught it at a forty-five degree angle. Liquid oozed out of the cracks in the skin.

After a few seconds, the guard looked away.

Manny waved for Rini to run for the woods.

Crouching low, she bounced over the snow and slipped between the trees.

“That’s not good.” One boy grabbed the body by the arm and tugged it the rest of the way out. “She left tracks. We’ll all leave tracks.”

Manny eyed the holes in the snow. The white stuff hadn’t really accumulated under the trees. “We’ll be fine once we get into the woods.”

He hoped.

Beth shifted the sedan into neutral but didn’t get behind the wheel. She cranked the wheel then set one hand on the dash and the other on the door frame.

Black stained the seat.

Manny opened the back door and shoved the corpse inside before joining the boys in the back.

This one went a little farther than the other.

He checked their guards. Neither was looking their way. “Go!”

Beth ran for the woods.

He turned to the next vehicle and groaned. The bumper of the truck reached his chest and the tires were wider than he was. “Damn.”

“Yeah.” Pete dusted his hands on his pants. “I say we all go after this one.”

“Agreed.”

Scrambling inside, Manny released the brake. They worked the vehicle back and forth until finally they got it moving. His arms trembled by the time it rolled down the hill. As it moved up the next, he sprinted after it then headed for the woods.

“Hey!” One of the guards yelled. “Get back here.”

He pumped his legs harder, kicking the snow in front of him. Damn this was hard.

The gun popped. He reached the woods.

Standing in dark wood, Beth waved at them from in front of a pine tree trunk. “This way.”

Manny veered toward her, too late realizing they were heading back toward the guards and their guns. Rini dashed between the trunks in a flash of color. With a burst of speed, he caught up with Beth. “Are you nuts?”

Rini stopped in a small clearing. Gray sunlight shone on the brown and white ground. “We’ve found blood.”

Jesus. He’d forgotten the woman.

Pete and Paul overtook him and burst into the clearing. “Where?”

Manny staggered to a stop next to Beth.

“Here.” Rini pointed to the ground. Red spots dotted the brown pine needles. A single set of footprints stomped the snow.

“We’ll follow them to Aunt Alma.” Keeping an eye on the ground, Pete jogged to the right. Paul followed hard on his heels. Soon they were shadows in the dim light.

Beth and Rini entered the woods next.

Manny followed.

Pete disappeared, then Paul went down.

What was going on? His heart beat double time.

Rini yelped and was jerked to the right.

“No!” Manny reached for Beth.

Someone slapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her into a clearing.

No. They wouldn’t get them. Manny slapped away a bough just as the woman screamed again. He stumbled over something. Air slammed from his lungs. He rolled over and raised his fists.

A man loomed over him. Sunlight glinted off the rifle in his hands.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Relax Manny.”

They knew his name? Oh God, he was going to die. Manny blinked the man into focus. Tan and green jacket. Wide grin. Helmet. Not a man; a soldier. One he knew. His gaze shifted to the name on the right side of his jacket. “Robertson?”

“Yep.” Robertson grabbed Manny’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. The German shepherd sniffed Manny’s leg then moved on to Pete. “Sorry about that, we didn’t have time to take out the garbage.”

The soldier nodded to the body at Manny’s feet.

A knife stuck out of the man’s throat. He recognized him as one of the murderer’s men.

The woman sat holding a cloth to her swollen lip, but otherwise unharmed on a fallen log.

A big soldier stood at her side. “Okay, one more scream, but this time I want you to kinda strangle off on the end.”

She took a sip from her water bottle. “If it helps.”

Paul and Pete fell at her feet, touching her hands, knees, and arms. “Aunt Alma, are you alright?”

“Sure, they rescued me before he could do anything.” She cupped each of their cheeks. “I told you we could trust the soldiers.”

“Manny.” Robertson snapped his fingers in front of his face. “How many bad guys are there?”

Rini and Beth walked from the woods, arm in arm chatting to the soldiers on either side of them.

Everyone was safe. Everyone was okay. Manny swatted at the needles sticking to him. What had Robertson asked? Oh, yeah. “With him gone, there’s four left. But only two stayed to guard us.”

Robertson’s face flushed red and he bit off one word. “Trent?”

Manny retreated a step. Whoa. The soldier was one pissed off dude. “Who?”

“The man you saw kill that woman from the old neighborhood.”

Trent. Manny rolled the killer’s name around in his head. Trent seemed like he’d sell fancy things, not murder people. He mentally smacked his forehead. Now he sounded like Rini. “Um, Trent and another guy took off.”

“Do you know where?”

“They talked about shopping,” Pete spoke up. “I saw them break through a fence, heading toward a bunch of buildings.”

“Damn,” Robertson swore softly. His fist pounded his thigh. The dog dropped to the ground and waited.

Manny reached for him then dropped his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s where our people are. Colonel Dobbins thought we should pick up some blankets and jackets since we had to wait for you to show up.”

Manny’s stomach rolled when he made the connection. “Wheelchair Henry?”

Robertson nodded. “Everyone.”

Oh no! The niños. Manny lurched forward. He had to get to them.

Robertson grabbed his arm, spinning him back into the clearing. “I know you want to go to them, but I’m asking you to trust us.”

“With all you here, who’s watching them?” Protecting them. If anything happened to the niños, he’d never forgive himself. They were his responsibility. A responsibility he’d shirked just to be normal for a bit.

And look what happened.

“We’ve got three armed Marines and Colonel Dobbins.” Robertson leaned closer. “I’ll say this for your ears and if you ever repeat it, I’ll deny it even under torture.”

“What?” What was he talking about?

Robertson looked around. “Even sick, the Marines are more than enough to take out Trent and his asshole. Of course, given that your Wheelchair Henry is Army Special Forces, he doesn’t need the jarheads to take out the trash.”

“But he’s…” Manny stilled his tongue. The man had done more to help him survive than anyone. He wouldn’t speak disrespectfully of him.

Robertson rocked back on his heels. “Hell, man, that’s his secret weapon. They’ll underestimate him and bam!” He punched his fist. “They’re dead before they hit the ground.”

The information shuffled around Manny’s head. Blind Connie and Mildred had protected the niños earlier when the soldiers had been fired upon. So had a lot of other people. His heart resumed a normal beat in his chest.

“I hate to ask it of you man, but my men and I can really use your help.”

Manny tensed. The soldiers wanted his help? He’d held a gun earlier but the weight of it… God knew if he could even fire it.

Robertson waved to the kids and the girls. His men drifted back into the trees, melting in the shadows. “I need you guys to go back.”

“Back?” Manny resisted the urge to clean out his ears. He couldn’t have heard right. They’d just got here.

“I know you wouldn’t want to leave the others.” Robertson rested his hands on his gun. “And we can’t go in there guns blazing. Those assholes are bound to take some people hostage.”

Manny’s stomach shifted like he’d swallowed handfuls of bee-bees. It wasn’t his problem. He’d only promised to look after Rini and Beth. To see to the woman. The bee-bees settled dragging his stomach to his knees. But he’d promised to help take care of each other. And those girls the sergeant-major had rescued were part of that. Part of what he left behind. “What can we do?”

Robertson squatted, picked up a twig and scratched out rectangles. “Here’s the truck.” He made a big shape behind a dozen or so others. “These are the cars.” He pointed to the smaller ones. “We want you to clear out three rows around the truck, then fall back to here.” A line marked the boundary beyond the rectangles. “Keep down but aware.”

“Aware of what?” Pete asked.

“Of the targets’ locations.” Robertson wiped the smaller rectangles away. “This should be enough space for us to pick them off, but if they reach the cars things might get hairy.”

Manny scratched the peach fuzz on his chin. Hairy was obviously something to be avoided. “Okay.”

Robertson pushed to his feet. “Good. Vegas, get into costume.”

Costume? What costume? Manny sidled closer to Rini and Beth. “Are you okay doing this?”

Beth swallowed hard. “Trent won’t be back will he?”

“He won’t be in a position to hurt anyone after we’re finished with him.” Robertson cracked his knuckles.

A dark-skinned Latino emerged from the shadows. Without a word, he skinned the jacket and tee-shirt off the corpse. “Pants ain’t gonna fit.”

Manny compared the dead body to the soldier’s. The corpse’s legs were half the size of the Vegas’s tree trunk thighs and in the uniform that would be noticeable. The knot on his rope belt dug into his gut. “You can have mine.”

He fumbled with the rope.

Vegas snorted and shook his head. “Manuel, I ain’t gonna get one of my legs in there.”

“It’s Manny.” Working the knot free, he stepped away from the girls and held out the waistband. Two of him could now fit where one had once strained to fit. Skipping meals for six months had taken off all the bulk he’d acquired in Juvenile Detention.

Robertson whistled. “Damn.”

Vegas looked at the ground. “Come on, Manny. We don’t want to give the ladies a show.”

Holding up his pants, Manny followed the soldier into the woods. Quiet settled around him. A few snowflakes drifted through the branches overhead.

“You’re gonna need to stay behind the vehicles as much as possible when you return.” Vegas stripped off his jacket and shirt. Another tan shirt molded to his chest.

Manny turned around and pulled off his pants. Cold air slapped his legs. Scars criss-crossed his thighs from the accident that had killed Rini’s brother. “I don’t think they’ll know if I was wearing camo pants.”

He tugged the string out of the belt loops and wrapped it around his fingers.

“They’ll notice.” Vegas growled. “Every damn one of you is wearing jeans.”

Manny jerked the wide legs over his damp sneakers, careful not to let the blue jeans get any damper. Cupping one hand over his shrinking privates, Manny turned around.

Blood stained the front of the tee-shirt and created lines on the jacket Vegas wore. “You know about the power of military ACUs don’t you Manny?”

He swapped his soft jeans for the stiff fabric. Water beaded on the outside. What had they done to it? It felt like those weird tablecloths his mother used to put on the patio table. “What power?”

“You step into those uniform pants and the girls are gonna wanna take theirs off.” Vegas jumped a little as he pulled the jeans over his legs.

Heat burned Manny’s face as he stepped into his new pants.

“And you’ve already got yourself one admirer.”

Manny cleared his throat and tried to slip the rope through the belt loop. “Beth and I are just friends.”

“Whatever you say.” Vegas chuckled. “It’s gotta drawstring already.”

Now he felt like a fool, too. Folding down the waistband, he caught the string and tugged. As the fabric gathered, he pushed it back bunching it around his sides and back. “Why are you dressed in that man’s clothing?”

“I’m going to escort you out of the woods, then pretend to go back and play with Mrs. Hunt.” Vegas tucked the tee-shirt into his pants then pulled it out again. “That way there’s a reason why you and the others came back.”

“You two about done in there?” Robertson stepped out from behind a tree. The dog thumped his tail and his ears twitched.

“We’re ready.” Vegas picked up his rifle. “Remember what I said about those pants, Manny.”

Manny rolled his eyes. Like he believed it. After folding the cuffs, he trailed behind them.

Talking with her hands as much as her mouth, Rini spoke with Pete and Paul under a big pine. Beth stood a little to the side. When she spied Manny, she inspected him from head to toe.

Manny stood a little straighter.

Vegas nudged his shoulder. “Told you. Chicks dig the uniform.”

Robertson checked his weapon. “Alright, let’s get this thing going.”

Vegas led the way through the woods.

Manny fell in behind him.

A twig snapped; Beth slipped her hand into his. “I’m scared.”

Who wasn’t? “We’ll be fine.”

The soldiers would take care of the bad guys. His job and hers was to keep everyone behind the cars. There would be no hostages.

The pines cleared enough so they could see the trunk. Robertson gathered them close. “Okay I want you to look scared. Don’t go near the targets unless you absolutely have to.”

Vegas bowed and motioned for them to precede him with a bloody knife. “After you.”

A hand settled on Manny’s shoulder as they reached the clearing.

Vegas grinned. “Mind your step,” he whispered, shoving his shoulder. “And don’t interrupt me again.”

Manny staggered across the snow, digging a trench. When he looked up, the two guards were watching him. He jogged a little faster and caught up with the girls. “Let’s get going.”

The three rows of cars had been cleared.

“We have to hurry.” They separated, each taking a row. None of the other kids looked at him. He passed a bumper of a Honda. Two kids shoved the body in the driver’s seat to the passenger’s side. Beth stayed behind him. They’d paused by the open door when a shot rang out.

Someone screamed. Everyone ducked.

Manny pushed Beth in front of him then onto the road.

“Hey boy!” The guard standing on the hood aimed at him. “Get over here.”

Manny rose to his feet. His legs shook.

“Don’t go!” Beth clawed at his hand.

He had to. Swallowing the lump stuck in his throat, he put one foot in front of the other. Three rows of cars had been cleared. The soldiers would take out the bad guys soon. He moved abreast of the rear wheels.

“Faster.”

Where were they? Manny held his arms stiffly at his side. Don’t look at the woods. Don’t look at the woods. He set his hand on the trunk. Another step and he’d be in the open.

Another shot rang out.

The guard on the road jerked his head backward then he fell.

“Robert E!” The one on the hood turned toward the wood, raising his weapon. Another shot and red splattered his chest. He crumpled onto the metal then rolled off. The German shepherd darted out of the trees, beelining for the bodies.

Robertson strode from the woods, blowing the barrel of his weapon.

While two soldiers knelt at the edge of the wood, sweeping the area with their muzzles, two more stormed across the road. Vegas stooped near the first body on the ground and touched his throat. “Clear.”

A big burly soldier with two bags stopped near the second. He checked for life signs. “Clear.”

The dog loped over to Robertson and plopped down.

“Alright everyone,” Robertson shouted. “Get in the trucks, we’ll join the others for lunch.”

Manny turned to take Beth’s hand just as another shot rang out.

This one came from where Trent had gone. Where the niños were.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Trent toggled the security device off the sweater. It wasn’t cashmere but it would do in a pinch. Melted snow dripped onto the stockroom floor. The smell of starch mingled with mildew. Faint popping noises drifted through the metal receiving door. Either Robert E. and Ernest enjoyed displaying their power or those stupid kids were getting uppity.

Wool scratched his fingers as he slid the sweater into the bag. Must be the power. The teens had no reason to complain. After all, Trent was letting them drive. He grabbed the bag off the battered, wooden prep table. The weight pulled on his arm. Not a bad haul. Trousers that would need to be hemmed. Dress shirts to mask the itch of the wool sweaters. Of course, the two pairs of dress shoes, black socks and boxer-briefs weren’t up to his usual standard, but he shouldn’t complain too much.

And then there was the little extra something he’d found.

His ears twitched at a whisper of movement.

So ol’ Jake decided to kill him now instead of waiting until later.

Well, Trent had a little surprise in store for him. He scanned the storeroom. Stacks of boxes morphed into dark towers. Melted snow crawled across the concrete and made black puddles in the divots. Palming the flashlight in the same hand as the bag, he swung them over his shoulder. Cold seeped through his sweater where the barrel rested and a bright yellow eyeball of light rolled over the storeroom.

With his free hand, he scraped the box cutter off the table and kept it close to his pant leg. The asshole would only see the glimmer of the blade when Trent struck.

A hollow thump sounded to his right.

He spun on his heel, scratching the soles of his new shoes. So the bastard thought to sneak up on him in the dark. The fool. Trent smiled. Time to have a little fun before the carving began. “Who’s there?”

“Trent?” A man called out. A stack of boxes wobbled in the flashlight’s glow.

He blinked. That didn’t sound like Jake. Neither did it sound like Ernest or Robert E. Could it be Gary? Had he gotten so bloody cutting up the woman that he needed to change his clothes? “Gary?”

“No. It’s Henry.” A cone of light sprayed the aisle. “Henry Dobbins.”

Trent stumbled backward. No. No, it couldn’t be. He eyed the towers walling him in. No break in the boxes. No way to hide, nowhere to run. Fuck! How could this happen to him?

Henry Dobbins rolled around the corner. His steel gray ponytail draped over his flannel covered shoulder. “Dang. It’s hard to maneuver around this place.”

Trent’s thoughts raced. Henry was here. Henry who should have been left behind. If Henry was here, then the soldiers must be too. Cold misted Trent’s skin. Those shots…

“Done a little shopping, I see.” Henry nodded to the bag sticking out from behind Trent’s back.

Trent opened his fingers. Static electricity crackled down his back as the plastic slid to the floor.

He shone the light around the wheelchair-bound man.

Empty space. But what did that mean? For all he knew, the soldiers could be behind the boxes waiting to spring. The metal housing of the box cutter slipped against his palm. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping.” Henry shrugged. “Same as you.”

Trent swallowed a snort. The man didn’t have anything on his lap. He hadn’t gone shopping. But he did block the exit. Was the old man trying to stall for time until the soldiers surrounded Trent? “Didn’t find anything to your liking?”

“It’s in the truck.” Henry raised his hands, flashing his palms. The gesture lay bare the pistol on his lap.

Son of a bitch. A box cutter against a gun, he knew how that would end. He had to get out of here and he’d have to go through his ex-neighbor to do it. The asshole always had to stick his nose in other people’s business. In Trent’s business. Henry had ruined Trent’s marriage and now he wanted to ruin his new society.

Not today.

Trent tightened his grip on the box cutter. “Guess this isn’t a friendly talk, after all.”

Henry sighed and picked up the weapon but didn’t aim it at Trent. “The gun is a precaution.”

Trent stooped to pick up his bag. The light from his flashlight bounced wildly around the room. He would use the stupid man’s ignorance of gun etiquette to make his escape. “Against what?”

“Against you getting any ideas of running away.”

“Run away?” Straightening, Trent crooked his arm so he spotlighted the other man. When the time came, he’d blind him with it, but for now he’d pretend to go along. “We were heading for the main group. It’s not our fault that your truck fell behind.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Henry shrugged. “But the soldiers hold you to blame for what happened to their drivers.”

Fuck. Trent ground his teeth together. Those idiots! He should have insisted they stop and throw the bodies farther from the road. Who the hell knew they would be found? Out. He needed an out. No, he didn’t. He was innocent. “I was riding in the back. What happened to the drivers?”

Henry shook his head. “Gonna deny everything to the end?”

Trent inched closer to the cripple. “I haven’t done anything. Of course, I am guilty of shoplifting. But you, yourself said you were getting a five-finger discount, too.”

“Cut the crap, Trent. You were a lying, cheating, asshole when we met and you’ve only gotten worse.”

Worse? He paused. Something else was going on here. “What do you mean?”

“Denise. Your wife.” Henry aimed the gun at Trent’s chest. “I found her body.”

So the bitch had been found. So what? There was nothing to trace her death back to him. He’d made sure of it. His plan was flawless. “The police said she hung herself. Just another person who couldn’t live with the grief.”

“The police had nothing to do with it.” Henry snarled.

The cripple hadn’t reported it? That was even better. Trent crept forward again. Another five feet and he could throw the bag.

“I should have let the soldiers shoot you when you left the store.”

Ah-ha. The soldiers were outside the store. Were there enough of them to cover all the doors? The old man may be stupid, but he wasn’t a complete moron. He wouldn’t have come alone. “So why did you come, old man?”

“I wanted you to have a fair trial.”

Fair trial? Trent ran his hand down the metal side of the box cutter. He’d never been treated fairly in his life. People were always jealous of his looks, his intelligence and his talents. They colluded to keep him down, keep him small like the dregs of humanity. He closed the gap by another foot.

“Why would I go on trial? I’ve done nothing wrong.” His wife deserved what she’d gotten. As for those soldiers… “I was in the back with everyone else. I didn’t even know those men were missing until we stopped for lunch.”

And there were at least forty witnesses to confirm his alibi.

Henry rolled back. The wheelchair turned at an angle since he only used one hand. With the gun, he motioned toward the stockroom’s exit. “Let’s go.”

The hair on Trent’s neck stood up. No way was he going through those double doors. The soldiers must be on the other side, waiting. He slowed. His plan should work. After all the old fart was no match for him.

And as a bonus, he’d keep the gun.

Henry retreated behind the stand of boxes, clearing the aisle to the doors.

No, that wasn’t going to work. Trent stopped. The cripple needed to be within sight. “You know those soldiers are going to kill me as soon as I step outside. You’ll have my blood on your hands.”

The hypocrite.

“They won’t. They gave me their word.”

“Like you can trust them.” Trent snorted. How long would it take for the old man to realize he wasn’t obeying orders.

Henry rolled forward. “I do more than—”

Trent hurled the bag and flashlight. Just as he planned, they landed in Henry’s lap, smothering the gun.

Henry jerked his hands out from underneath the clothes then shoved them off his lap.

Trent body slammed the boxes next to the cripple. Cardboard crunched under the impact of his shoulder. They wobbled then two toppled over.

Henry grabbed his wheels and shot forward. He angled his chair up and over the bag.

No. He wouldn’t get away. Trent slashed at his hands, ripping open the flesh.

Henry yanked his hand away.

Plastic stretched, catching the wheels. Boxes crashed into the wheelchair’s handles. In slow motion, the seat tilted back farther until gravity caught it.

Henry raised the gun.

Trent leapt onto the wheelchair, pinning Henry’s arms to the seat with his legs. The handles hit the ground. The cripple’s head lolled back. Victory slammed through Trent. His heart sped up, red blurred the edges of his vision. He slashed the old man’s exposed throat with the box cutter. Warm liquid sprayed his hand. His grip slipped on the second pass. Flesh unzippered with each swipe.

The gun fired.

Heat blazed along his thigh.

The fucker tried to kill him. He slashed again. And again. And again. Bastard wouldn’t ruin his plans.

“Colonel Dobbins.” A man called through the door.

Trent blinked and the world exploded in his vision. God damn it. He had to get away. Now. He wouldn’t be able to kill the man properly. The soldiers were here.

The old man gurgled. Blood bubbled out his throat.

Metal rattled beyond the door.

He had to stop them from entering. Trent rolled off the loser and scrambled to his feet. The box cutter slipped from his shaking hands, clattered to the ground.

In slow motion, Henry raised the gun.

“Fuck you.” Trent wrenched it out of his hand. He aimed it at the old man and stroked the trigger. It would be so easy.

Henry glared up at him.

Too easy. The bastard deserved to drown in his blood. Trent tucked the gun in his waistband. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to shoot you.”

Henry tried to speak but only blood came out of his mouth.

“How does it feel to lose, old man?” Flattening his back against the boxes, Trent shoved with his legs. Muscle burned as he moved them toward the door. One row. Two. He dusted his hands on his trousers. That should hold them for a while.

The boxes wobbled when something hit the door.

Or someone.

“Take it down, Marine.”

Fuck. Trent jogged to the receiving doors. Bracing his hand against the rolling door, he pushed up. It didn’t budge. Damn. Metal clinked. He blinked at the chains. Excellent. Grabbing hold with both hands, he yanked.

Pulleys screeched. The door rolled up two inches. Three.

Wood splintered. Two boxes tumbled over. Dress shirts in clear plastic vomited across the floor.

“Halt!” A shot slammed into the cinder block wall near his head. Jagged chips sprayed around him.

Hand over hand, Trent yanked on the chain. Faster. Must move faster. Four inches. Six.

More shots dug into the wall. The boxes crunched and slid.

The Marines were getting in.

At ten inches, Trent dropped to his belly and wormed underneath, pushing snow aside. Footsteps pounded behind him.

“Shoot the chain. Crush the SOB.”

Trent gripped the ledge.

A pop echoed inside. Metal clanged.

Trent slithered free just as the door rattled down. Ha! He dropped to his feet and ran up the ramp. Snow crunched underfoot. His knees throbbed as he plowed on.

A shadow crept across the snow.

He glanced up. No! A military truck blocked the ramp.

Trent fell to one knee and reached for the gun. His fingers touched wet wool. Shit. Why did this always happen to him?

Metal screeched behind him.

The fuckers were coming through the loading dock.

The truck door popped open.

Jake stared back at him. “Hurry up.”

It was about time the asshole showed up. Trent lurched to his feet and sprinted up the incline. He leaped on the running board just as a bullet thumped into the canvas.

The truck rolled forward, picking up speed across the parking lot.

Trent threw himself onto the seat and pulled in his legs. The door slammed close behind him. “Thanks. They’re trying to kill me.”

“You and me both.” With one hand, Jake opened the right flap of his jacket—a neat hole burned through the layers of denim and fleece. Letting it go, he gripped the wheel as they jumped the curb, taking the shortcut back to the freeway.

“Where did they come from?” And how did they get here before me? Did he have a traitor? Dirk Benedict. It had to be that fat fool. Payment, no doubt, for the fatso being left behind that morning.

“They were parked on the other side.” Jake swerved around two tractor trailers advertising dog food on its sides. “I blended in while carrying blankets but Dirk noticed me when I bent down to tie my shoe.”

Trent stared at the man’s boots. “You don’t have laces.”

“I know.”

Rage roiled up through Trent. He was surrounded by incompetent fools. Next time, He would have to pick his own minions. His hands curled into fists.

“I think I disabled their trucks. Both of them.” Jake sat up in his seat. “They won’t be following us.”

Well, that was something. Trent settled into a simmer. He checked the mirror. No one seemed to be behind them. But he’d thought that once and the military had gotten ahead of them.

“Where to?” Jake tapped the steering wheel.

“The convoy.” They had no one, nor very many supplies. The convoy and the bitch in charge had plenty of both.

Jake stopped his tapping. “Isn’t that risky?”

Trent uncurled his fists. Blood on his hands made his skin sticky. “Not really. You did take care of all their headsets, didn’t you?”

“Sure.” Jake licked his lips as the truck bumped onto the freeway’s exit ramp.

“Then we have nothing to worry about.” Trent wiped his hand on his damp slacks, blood streaked the dark fabric. Unless, of course, Jake was the traitor. Then the man had everything to fear.

And this time, Trent would take his time and savor the execution.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

“How did the fuckers get around us?” Papa Rose punched the steering wheel then the dash. His knuckles popped and pain zig-zagged up his arm. He glanced at Falcon. The ex-Green Beret deserved a sock to the jaw too. Where was his Spec Ops mojo when they needed it?

When Jillie, Olivia and Toby needed it.

Papa Rose’s throat closed. If anything happened to the munchkins…

Outside the truck’s windows, the desert flew by and the reactors of Palo Verde blazed white against the black clouds. So close, yet too damn far away. The bastards that had killed the kids’ parents could already be there, doing God knows what.

“We had to travel off the main road to reach the second well.” Falcon adjusted the bandage on his thigh. Blood trickled through, staining the seat cushion. “They could have snuck past us then. Can’t this rust bucket go any faster?”

Papa Rose checked the speedometer. One-forty-five. The truck vibrated with the motion but he doubted he’d get any more juice putting the pedal through the floorboard. He banked the truck as the road curved. “We were out of sight of the street no more than twenty minutes.”

Falcon wiggled on the seat then checked the cartridge of the M-4. “That was all it took.”

“What time was that?” Polo Shirt leaned forward from the back seat.

Time? What did that matter?

“We left about day-break and spent an hour at the first well.” Falcon scratched his whiskered cheeks. “I say eight-thirty, nine o’clock.”

Polo Shirt shook his head. “Couldn’t have been then.”

The red-hair kid behind Falcon bounced in his seat. “We chased the last one off about nine-thirty.”

Papa Rose eased off the gas. Something wasn’t adding up here. “We would have been on the main road by then.”

Falcon set the rifle across his lap. “In and out of the ditches, but we would have noticed if anyone approached.”

“And Glen was alive up until half an hour ago.” Papa turned toward the entrance to the power plant. “With all these cameras around the place, he would have noticed any new arrivals.”

The nuclear tech had seen them coming miles up the road.

“So where are they?” Falcon glanced out his window.

“Could they have gotten lost?” Papa Rose pried his fingers from the wheel. Despite being a straight shot, it was possible. The idiots had driven their vehicle into a brick wall.

Falcon straightened on his seat. “We’ll have to hunt them down. We can’t have them breaking into the plant and undoing all our hard work.”

“Yeah.” Especially since they still had to get the munchkins to safety. Papa Rose coasted to a stop where the entrance forked, to the right lay the guard’s station, to the left another road circled the station. “Or we can let them come to Papa.”

Falcon’s white teeth shone brightly against his ebony skin. He jerked his head toward the tank near the entrance. “The soldiers left behind some of their toys.”

“You think the main gun is loaded?” Papa Rose angled the truck across the left road and killed the engine.

“With missiles?” Falcon rolled his eyes. “No, but there’s usually some of the fun stuff packed by the turret.”

Ripping the keys out of the ignition, Papa Rose shoved open his door.

A cowboy in the bed tipped back his white Stetson and raised his shotgun. “I think they’re coming.”

Papa Rose glanced at Wintersburgh Road. Two oversized trucks barreled down the two lane street. Weapons bristled from the back and cab while the occupants hooted. He punched his palm. Oh, yeah, it was going to be fun killing the mother fuckers.

Slamming the door, he turned to Polo Shirt. “Think your boys can hold ‘em off until we can get a few toys?”

Polo Shirt glanced at the six men in the back of the truck then flashed his eye teeth. “Won’t be much left for you boys to do when we’re finished with ‘em.”

Papa Rose tugged his Sig-Sauger out of his waistband and offered it to Polo Shirt. “One full clip.”

Polo Shirt shifted his shotgun into one hand then accepted the gun. “I’ll give it back when I’m done.”

“No need.” Papa Rose waved him away. Without bullets, the thing was about as useful as a paperweight. “I’ll find something.”

The men in the truck jumped over the side and landed with a thud on the asphalt. Two stationed themselves at the front and tail of the truck. Two more trotted left and lay belly down in a landscaping dip. The two that jogged right, hunkered down in a shallow ditch, dug their elbows in the mud and aimed at the turn-off.

Skirting the front of the truck, Papa Rose met Falcon by the bumper. “Need a hand?”

Bloody handprints smeared the hood. “Never would have felt it if I was younger.”

Yeah, cuz a bullet through the thigh meat was a flea bite when you’re twenty. Papa Rose ducked under Falcon’s arm. Adrenalin deadened his own aches and pains. They raced for the gate. “What kind of toy is Santa going to bring you?”

Falcon snorted. “I’m looking for an M203 and some rounds. Two should do it.”

“What’s an M203?” Keeping pace with them, the red-haired kid ran backward and aimed his shotgun down the road.

“Grenade launcher that fits the M-4.” Papa Rose increased his speed. Twenty yards to go. He wouldn’t be upstaged by the little twerp.

Falcon kept pace but sweat ran down his cheeks in rivulets. “I want two, one for each truck.”

“Why not use the cannon thingy?” Red pointed to the turret.

“You mean the main gun?” Papa Rose clarified. He’d rip off his own testicles before admitting he’d never crewed a tank. Maybe if he had a little more time, he could have improvised. He was good at improvising.

“Yeah, the main gun,” Red agreed.

Falcon chuckled. “It’s gotta be running for anything to work. And we’re pretty sure it’s out of gas.”

“Plus there’s the fact that no one would leave the keys in the ignition.” It did have keys, didn’t it? Papa Rose shrugged off the thought. “You think there’s any SAWs left?”

“Don’t know if the Army or Marines guarded the plant.” Falcon glanced over his shoulder.

The Marines always got the good stuff. Papa Rose headed for the exit gate and the tank stationed there.

Gun shots sounded behind him.

Red fired his shotgun; the blast bounced off the small guard shack.

“Save your ammo until they’re within range.” Was the kid that gung-ho or stupid? Papa Rose slowed to a walk. A brown tarp covered the equipment stowed on the turret.

Red clamored up the side and dropped into the main hatch. “Ooh, this is so cool!”

“Kids today.” Falcon braced his hand against the side of the tank. “Hand me a round, will you?”

“Sure.” Papa climbed up the rungs, edged around the turret and whipped off the tarp. He scanned the boxes of 50 mm shells and two empty cannon rounds. “No good, they’re all for the tank.”

“Check the shack and cover your mouth.” Straightening, Falcon raised the M-4. “Looks like they ate their burgers inside.”

Great. All he needed was a side of anthrax. Papa Rose pulled up the collar of his tee-shirt and hung it on his nose.

The bastards’ trucks turned onto the road leading toward the plant.

“Looks like we’ve got incoming.” He sprinted around the gate to the other side of the building and threw open the door. Miniature plush animals sat around the computer. A screen saver threw nets of color over the monitor.

A soft whirring noise slipped through the windows.

Ah, fuck. The kid had gotten the Death Whisperer started. Papa Rose scanned the room. A small desk, two office chairs with butts imprinted on the seats and… His heart leapt with joy. And four M-4s complete with grenade launchers and scopes. Two duffels sat next to them. Crossing the room, he dropped to his knees and unzipped the bags.

Hot damn!

Gold tipped rounds lay in a neat row. He lifted one up and grabbed a rifle, loading it as he walked. Just as he reached the door, the fifty millimeter machine gun spat rounds.

Falcon grinned from the open hatch. “That’s for Jillie and Olivia, you bastards!”

Well, shit they were gonna have all the fun without him. Papa Rose slammed through the door and knelt on the road. Using the optic, he sited the first truck.

Puffs of smoke burst from the ditches. Two men fell out of the bed. The truck kept coming. He pulled the trigger. With a hollow thunk, the projectile rocketed across the distance. It hit the shiny grill off center then exploded.

The burst shoved the truck backwards. Glass sprayed everywhere in a twinkle of light. Flames licked the vehicle’s hood. Three men in the bed bailed out the sides, only to fall under Falcon’s spitting gun. Neither figure in the cab moved.

“That’s for Toby!” Papa Rose pushed to his feet, emptied the casing.

The second truck veered around the first.

Falcon’s bullets pocked the hood.

The bastards kept coming.

Fine with him. Papa Rose had one for them, too. He loaded the second High Explosive round and raised the carbine.

The M1 coughed; a missile whistled through the air.

God damn it! Papa Rose lowered his rifle. Falcon had said the stupid thing wouldn’t be loaded.

Color fled the faces of the men in the truck. Their eyes widened as their jaws dropped. Then the missile hit, penetrated the radiator and detonated. Doors, body parts and the hood blew in all directions. The engine block landed with a splat twenty feet away. Black smoke billowed from the wreckage.

Falcon’s gun fell silent. He ran his hand across his forehead and wiped off the sweat. “Well that sucks.”

“Yeah.” Papa Rose hitched the M-4 on his shoulder. He missed his chance to fire the damn cannon.

Red popped up through the hatch behind Falcon. A toothy grin split his face. “Did you see that! That’s so much better than the video games.”

“You did good kid.” Bracing his hands on both sides of the hatch, Falcon levered himself out.

The kid got lucky. Papa Rose swallowed the bitterness. “Nice job.”

An engine rumbled.

A truck broke through the smoke. He raised the M-4 and settled his finger on the trigger. A red dot tracked across the pocked windshield and stopped on Polo Shirt’s forehead. Papa Rose lowered the rifle.

Steam hissed from the engine as Polo Shirt pulled it along side the guard shack. Bullet holes burrowed into the sides. “Sorry about the condition.” He threw it into park and slipped out the door. “It should run long enough to get you to your children but not much farther. Pity. We could have used it to get some of us to safety.”

We? Some? If these survivors went, was there a need for him and Falcon to survive? Papa Rose lowered the truck’s gate then entered the guard station. Yes, there was. Toby, Jillie and Olivia needed them. A white box with a red cross hung on the wall. He lifted it off the screws and carried it outside.

Falcon limped around the corner, heading for the truck bed. “There’s plenty of other trucks.”

“And a van.” Papa Rose set the first-aid kit on the gate and popped open the lid. Sifting through the assorted contents, he selected some butterfly bandages, packets of antibiotic cream, sterile gauze and white tape.

Polo Shirt eyed the kit and licked his lips. “Yeah, but they won’t do much good without gas.

The back dipped as Falcon climbed on. “I think we can help with that.”

“You can?” Hope glittered in Polo Shirt’s eyes; he quickly banked it.

“Yep.” Damn. This new world sucked the big one. Papa Rose shoved the items he’d selected at Falcon then closed the case. “We’ll be safer if we travel in a group, share the load. People going it alone don’t last long.”

He held out the first aid kit to Polo Shirt.

The man hesitated before grabbing it and clutching it to his chest. “Thanks. If you can get gas, we’ve got our own vehicles already loaded and ready to go. My wife is a nurse, she can take care of that injury for you.”

“Nah. It’s just a flesh wound.” Falcon had scooted near the cab.

Papa Rose slammed the gate and winced as it jarred the graze to his shoulder. Flesh wound his ass. Falcon needed stitches. And his wound could use a little TLC if the nurse was pretty.

“We’ll be back in ten.” He jerked his head. “There’s three more M-4s and two bags of ammo. Cover your mouth when you go in. It’s contaminated.”

“Will do.” Polo Shirt stepped back.

“Red,” Papa Rose shouted to the kid. “Can you drive?” He eased behind the wheel and laid his rifle across the seat. His ear throbbed and his shoulder burned. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt it at twenty. Maybe pigs flew.

“Yes, sir.” Red grinned.

“Get in.” After the kid climbed in the back, Papa Rose shifted into gear and pressed the gas. Red warning lights flared on the dash. Fuck that noise. He didn’t have far to go.

Peering through the steam, he rounded the corner. The bat-shaped admin building wavered up ahead. The munchkins had to be fine. Had they heard the firing? Were they scared?

The engine sputtered, then shuddered. He gunned it. The momentum slammed him against the seat.

Falcon swore.

Serves Mr. Flesh Wound right. Papa cranked hard on the wheel and pulled off the side of the road in the lot across from the building. The tanker would need the room to turn. He turned off the engine. Leaving the keys in the ignition, he grabbed the rifle then backed out of the vehicle.

Falcon crawled over the side of the bed and slid to the ground.

Red gawked at the buildings, his head swiveling on his neck so much, he might unscrew it.

Papa Rose caught Falcon. “No resting.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell us getting old would hurt so much?” Falcon leaned on him for a moment, then nodded.

They limped across the street. “Cuz they were afraid we wouldn’t join the old codger’s club if we knew.”

“Codger.” Falcon shivered. His normally black skin was pale and sweaty. “Does anyone use that word anymore?”

“Sure, they do. It’s the hip new word.” Papa Rose tugged the keys to the Toyota out of his pocket and tossed them to Red. “Blue Prius. It’s parked around the corner.”

Red caught the keys then took off.

Without another word, Papa Rose helped Falcon cover the distance to Jillie, Olivia and Toby’s bedroom.

The former Green Beret rested against the jamb while Papa Rose opened the door. The hinges squeaked. A blue screen shone from the computer monitor.

Jillie sat straight up, a two-by-four clutched in her hand like a bat. “What!”

“It’s me, Papa Rose.” He crossed the room. The three munchkins lay on the blue jean insulation bed. Jillie and Olivia on the outside, Toby curled up in the center, hugging his teddy bear. Safe. Sound. In one piece. He blinked away the tears. Thank God.

Toby rolled over and blinked. “Papa?”

“Yes.” He cupped Jillie’s cheek, combed his fingers through Toby’s silky hair and then tucked a dreadlock behind Olivia’s ear. “It’s time to go join the soldiers. You’ll like Colorado.”

Chapter Forty

Five minutes. Audra twisted the fabric into a rope. Water poured out, gathered in the rusted metal sink then swirled down the drain. It had been more like five hours. Her stomach growled. Breakfast was just a memory and lunchtime had already come and gone without food.

“Why are we doing their dirty, stinking laundry?” Tossing her black ponytail over her shoulder, Tina threw a sheet over the line strung across the kitchen. Red hands smoothed the fabric over the cord.

“Because it smells and we are locked inside with no way out.” And no one wanted to practice self-defense on the air. They wanted flesh and blood targets. Audra squeezed the rest of the sheet dry. Water soaked through her shirt molding it to her body as she trundled toward an open spot on the line.

“Not good enough.” Amy blotted her forehead with her sleeve. “We could stand next to the open window and breathe fresh air.”

Audra slung one end over her shoulder, unfurled the other and draped it over the line. “Because maybe if we take care of their sick, they’ll feed us.”

“And not rape us.” Becky poured boiling water into the galvanized tub they’d found under the sink. White suds foamed up the sides.

“Definitely that.” Audra finished hanging the sheet. An ache spread across her shoulders. She’d give all her inheritance just for the luxury of a Maytag washing machine. “How many more do we have?”

With a groan, Becky bent over and pinched fabric between her fingers. The sheet unrolled, revealing the dark stains on the blue and green stripes. “Last one.”

“Thank God!” Setting her hands along her spine, Tina arched her back. “I hated laundry day at Tucson Unified.”

Audra nodded. That school had united the three of them, kept them alive during the worst of the Redaction, taught them to do laundry the evil way—by hand and a bucket. “At least there we only had laundry duty once a month.”

Becky stirred the sheet with a metal spatula. “And the men helped. I see no reason why women should have to do all the crap work. Everyone dirties the clothes, everyone should have to clean them.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get the same consideration here.” Audra returned to the sink. Holding her shirt’s hem away from her body, she wrung the knit cloth. Water dropped into the sink.

“That’s because Eddie isn’t around to bully the men into pulling their weight.” Tina jumped on the chipped linoleum counter and sat. Her sneakers banged against the warped doors of the bottom cabinet.

“Eddie bullied people?” Audra shook her shirt while staring at the black bars caging them inside. A cold breeze slipped under the sash they’d managed to pry open a couple of inches. Goosebumps chased across her skin. She wiped the fogged glass with her sleeve. Outside, snow swirled in big fat flakes.

“He wanted to impress you.” Becky slapped the soaking fabric.

Audra turned away from the window. Eddie wanted to impress her? He never seemed to care what anyone thought. “Why?”

Tina laughed and pulled the rubber band from her hair. “Because he’s gotta crush on you.”

Becky dropped the spatula with a clatter. “Big time. He follows you around like a lost puppy.”

Eddie liked her? The thought spun inside her head but couldn’t find traction. “That’s ridiculous.”

Her suitors brought flowers and chocolates. They opened doors for her and took her to nice restaurants. They were courteous to her and respectful of her mother. Eddie didn’t do any of those things. Good heavens, he’d even told her mother to mind her own business.

“Oh, he knows you outclass him by a mile.” Tina flapped her hand in the air. “Why do you think he calls you Princess?”

Heat rolled up Audra’s cheeks. She hoped they blamed the color on the heat, not embarrassment. The name calling had nothing to do with their different classes. “To annoy me.”

“Like little boys on the playground.” Becky scrubbed the stained cloth. “I even saw him pull your hair once.”

Audra relaxed. They were teasing her. Eddie couldn’t have a crush on her. She would have known.

“Eddie’s not a child.” He was a grown man. A little skinny, but he’d skipped a few meals. She sucked on her bottom lip. Oh Lord, he’d given her part of his rations, claiming he wasn’t hungry.

“You just figured it out.” Tina clapped her hands and rocked on the counter. “You really didn’t know he’d fallen for you?”

“I thought…” What had she thought? Audra planted her fists on hips. “I thought he was just being nice.”

He’d been so gentle with his brother when he’d been sick. He’d nursed the sick children and taken them into the classrooms when they’d recovered so they could play Hide and Seek, Red Light-Green Light, and Mother May I.

“Eddie wasn’t nice before…” Becky scrubbed another spot. Suds oozed down the sides of the tub.

Tina pushed off the counter and landed on the floor with a thud. “The Redaction changed everyone.”

And the metamorphosis wasn’t over. Audra stared at her reflection in the window pane. What would she become? She stared at her cracked nails then at the bars. “Eddie says he did time.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth. Oh bother, she hadn’t meant to share that. He deserved a chance at a new life like the rest of them.

“Relax. We already knew.” Tina cocked her head. “The question is how do you feel about him now that you know his dark secret.”

How did she feel about him? She… She liked the man. Really liked him. “He’s a good guy.”

“And he didn’t deserve to go to jail for it.” Becky dropped the sheet with a splat. Water rained down on the parquet floor. “He beat up his dad for beating up his little brother and mom.”

Audra propped her hip against the counter. “Eddie was abused?”

How could that be? But Becky would know. She’d been friends with Eddie’s brother. And why would any kid lie about that?

“Apparently the whole family was.” Becky returned to poking the sheet with the spatula. “One day he’d had enough and beat the dad so much he had to be hospitalized. Because he was sixteen, he ended up in Florence.”

“What happened to the dad?” Tina crouched by the tub.

“He ran away from the hospital because the police wanted to arrest him.” Becky shrugged. “Eddie’s mom lost their house because she couldn’t pay the hospital bills and they had to move away. I was really surprised to see them at the school.”

Audra swiped at the tear blurring her vision. Poor Eddie. He didn’t deserve to be punished. Sighing, she stared out the window. A black blob moved across the pane. She wiped it clear. Her heart slammed against her sternum. “Someone’s coming.”

Laundry forgotten, Becky and Tina jumped to their feet. “What do we do?”

Shoving away from the window, Audra headed for the hallway, grabbing the spatula from Becky’s hand as she passed. “Let’s join the others. “

They stood a better chance if they stood together.

Audra entered the sick room just as the man’s silhouette shimmered across the window.

Six women congregated by the last occupied bed. The oldest drew the sheet over the boy’s face. Sadness hung heavy on her pale features.

“Get in the hallway.” Using the spatula, Audra pointed to the space behind her.

The women grabbed hold of each other as they tromped en masse around the bed. Tina and Becky shuffled them against the linen closet.

Two more broad-shouldered silhouettes crept into the sick room.

“Get your coats on.” Audra backed slowly away from the boarded up door. The handle of the spatula bit into her palm. Really, what did she think she was going to do with it? Flip them flapjacks or make them eggs?

“We’re ready.” Tina draped the coat over Audra’s shoulders and smoothed the fleece.

“Look!” Becky squeaked and pointed to the door near the kitchen.

And take her eyes off the front door? No way. Audra shook her head when movement in her peripheral vision snagged her attention. Sweet Jesus! There were more at that door. She held out one arm and backed up until she hit warm flesh.

“They’re going to rape us.” Someone sobbed.

“Hush now,” Audra hissed. They had to be strong. They had to get the hades out of here.

Someone pounded on the wood covering the sick room door.

“Knock. Knock.”

Her skin crawled at the sing-song voice.

Tina wiggled out from behind Audra. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, the teacher’s assistant raised her fists.

Becky appeared on Audra’s right and mimicked Tina’s stance.

“Go for the eyes, throat, knees and genitals,” Audra whispered. “They’re the weak spots.”

Two more girls shuffled forward. Instead of curling their fingers they pressed them to a point like duck bills. “I heard this way is best.”

Audra nodded. It was best, if you went for the eyes. She didn’t correct them, they’d stood up. It was all she asked. “Remember your elbow is the hardest point on your body, so ram it into their gut if you get the chance.”

“Oh, ladies!” the man chorused in falsetto. “You have visitors!”

Audra flipped the spatula in her hand until the flat part rested against her upper arm. If she could thump someone upside the temple, she might be able to do a bit of damage. Swaying from side to side, she warmed her muscles for the action to come.

Keys jingled. “Now, ladies, don’t be difficult. We didn’t mean to neglect you for so long, but we wanted everything prepared for your welcome.”

A face pressed against the window next to the door. Hands cupped around it, casting the features in the dark.

Glaring back, Audra raised her chin.

“You’re going to regret your attitude,” he taunted.

The bolt slammed home.

Becky jumped.

“Why don’t we rush them?” Tina rasped.

“Because they have guns.” Audra wouldn’t have anyone getting shot on her watch. But was standing by while they were raped any better? Did she have a choice. At least alive, there was the possibility of escape. Eventually. “Besides where are we to go?”

Their rides had taken off. They were in a strange town. Add in the weather, and they were screwed. Audra flinched. Poor choice of words. Add in the weather, and they were up a shit creek with only a spatula to help them.

Metal scratched metal. They were opening the second lock.

“I hope you’ve taken good care of our boys.”

Tina hissed. “Oh, God, they’re their children.”

Their dead children. Were they going to be punished for not saving the boys? Or killed? Damn. Audra eyed the sickroom door then the one by the kitchen. “We’re going to rush them.”

“But you said—”

“It’s a chance we have to take.” Audra shuffled forward. Someone stepped on her heels as they shadowed her. “I’ll go first.”

If anyone would be shot, it would be her.

Tina locked elbows. “We’ll go together. And we’ll scream. Everyone scream as loud as you can. That’ll scare the bejeezus outta them.”

The door knob turned just as Audra cleared the entryway into the sickroom. “On the count of three. One.”

The latch cleared the plate. Hinges creaked as the door started to open.

“Two.” She hunkered down. Her throat closed and she labored for breath. Just a little wider. A little wider.

A boom rattled the windows.

The door slammed back in the jamb.

“What was that?” Tina jerked upright.

“Cole. Lucas. Ralph. Check it out.”

Audra shivered. She recognized that voice. That was the thug leader; the one who claimed her as his…bitch.

“But the women,” someone whined.

“Did I stutter?” the leader barked.

Audra strained to hear over her breathing. Had they locked the door? The shadows moved away.

Another boom sounded. Closer this time. Hands clawed at her back, pulling her collar against her throat as the women behind her shrank away from the sound.

“Sit tight, ladies,” The leader shouted. “And think about what I said. I’ll be back.”

One lock turned. Then another.

But it came from the sick room door, not the kitchen one. Audra pulled free. Maybe, just maybe they could use the explosion to their advantage. “Becky, check to see if they’ve left.”

The teenager tiptoed in the kitchen and leaned over the sink. “I see four men walking away.” She rocked back on her heels. “There are buildings on fire.”

Good. Misfortune couldn’t happen to more deserving people. Audra’s hand shook when she reached for the door handle. Cold metal pressed against her palm as she turned the knob. The latch cleared the plate. Now if they’d forgotten to set the deadbolt. She yanked.

The door came free.

They’d done it! Her heart fluttered. Resisting the urge to clap, Audra inched across the threshold.

A man loomed from the side. He clapped an icy hand over her mouth just as a scream rose in her throat.

Chapter Forty-One

Manny sprinted across the parking lot. His lungs heaved; his thighs burned. He had to get to the niños. Had to save them.

With his rifle clenched in both hands, Robertson panted next to him. The dog kept pace with them both. “We’re parked around the back.”

Nodding, Manny veered to the left. Once around the big box store, he’d see the niños, know for certain they were alright. But he had to get there first. Fifty yards. Forty. Slush caved under each footfall. Thirty yards. Sweat stung his eyes. He pumped his arms faster.

When he was twenty yards away, a Marine ushered Mildred around the corner. Her red hair stood on end and she twisted the apron over her sweatpants. She paused when she spied him then rushed off the curb. “Manny! Are you alright? When did you get back?”

He slowed to a walk but kept moving forward. If Mildred was fine, then the niños would be too. A stitch tightened his side and he dug his fingers into the soft tissue to break it. “I just… got… here.”

“Oh good.” Mildred tossed her arms around him and squeezed tightly. She held on for a moment then another. “I’m so glad.”

Her words were glass, fragile and easily broken. Mildred was usually strong and sure.

Fear tangled Manny’s insides and dropped a lead ball deep in his gut. “Is something wrong?”

Her trembling transmitted aftershocks through his body. She pounded on his back and leaned away but didn’t release his upper arms. She chewed bits of pink lipstick off and deep lines radiated from her eyes. “I don’t know. They’re not telling me.”

His legs shook. He locked his knees to remain upright. “The niños?”

“They’re fine.” She patted his arm. Her lips wiggled but collapsed under the weight of her smile. “Connie gathered all the little ones together to play school.”

Playing. Manny swayed and tingles blossomed in his fingers. The niños were playing.

“Ma’am.” The Marine coughed into the crook of his arm before wheezing to a stop. “We should hurry.”

Mildred’s fingers spasmed and tears brightened her eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” She turned away but didn’t release him. “Manny… Do you think… Will you…”

Manny folded her hand in his, rubbing the cold from her skin. The niños were okay; she needed him. He knew Wheelchair Henry would expect nothing less. But where was the old man? “I’ll come.”

Her shoulders squared then she smoothed her red hair. “Thank you, dear. I certainly appreciate it.”

The Marine gave a curt nod, pivoted then headed for the center of the mall. His gun pointed in whatever direction he surveyed. And he surveyed all of them. “This way.”

The German shepherd sniffed the air and raced ahead.

The hair on Manny’s neck stood up. Why hadn’t the Marine looked them in the eye? Was it because of the shooting? He sniffed. He didn’t smell that sharp scent of gunpowder. Who had been doing the shooting? And who had they fired upon? He hoped it was that asshole Trent Powers. The dude needed to be killed for giving that woman over to that guy with the knife, for killing his wife, and for beating his neighbor to death.

Robertson waved at the two soldiers behind him. “Return to base and collect the truck. Let’s get our people together and consolidate our position.”

Mildred leaned against him and seemed to slow the closer they got to the center store.

Manny leaned down to whisper into her ear. “What’s going on?”

“They haven’t said.” She scraped the rest of her lipstick off. “But it must be Henry.”

He blinked. “Henry?”

Nothing could happen to Wheelchair Henry. The man knew how to take care of himself. Jesus, the older man knew how to take care of everyone.

“I think he’s been…” she dragged air into her lungs, “…hurt.”

She glanced up at him. Grief hollowed out her hazel eyes and the emptiness sucked at him.

Rage surged from the pads of his feet. The knot in his stomach changed to a lump of glowing coals. “No. No!”

He shook his head. The man couldn’t be dead. Nothing could happen to Wheelchair Henry. They needed him. He needed him.

A single tear leaked from Mildred’s right eye. “I… I can feel it.” She drummed on her chest—the thuds louder than rocks on a casket. “I’m empty.” Her nose scrunched and she sniffed. “So empty…”

Manny shook his fists out. This couldn’t be happening. This was not happening. Feelings don’t make something real. Please, God, don’t let it be real. “I’m sure he’s fine. You’ll see.”

She bowed her head but the silence screamed.

He opened his mouth to argue, to convince her, to force her to see the truth. They’d survived so much together. The fire. The gangs. The trek to the soldiers. The attack. Through it all, Wheelchair Henry had been there, guiding them through, knowing what to do.

Metal rattled. Chains clinked.

Following the sound, Manny glanced down a truck ramp. Black scuff marks marked the walls. A yellow gap appeared under a roll up door. It widened with each rattle and clank. The German shepherd stuck his head into the opening and sniffed the air. With a whimper, he lay at the feet of the soldier.

The Marine lead them down the ramp, toward the light.

Snow swirled around him, rested on Manny’s shoulders before lifting off and floating to the ground. Drifts created shallow pyramids along the curb.

“Henry hated the snow.” Tears tracked through the powder on Mildred’s cheeks. She clapped a hand over her mouth but a moan seeped through her fingers.

Don’t! The word ricochetted around his ribs. Don’t use the past tense. Don’t let Wheelchair Henry go. Ever.

Another Marine appeared in the fully open gate. Dark splotches stained his tan shirt. Crimson gloves dripped from his hands. Unblinking, the serviceman stared at his palms.

Mildred stumbled.

Manny caught her as she pitched headfirst down the ramp. Tremors traveled up and down his spine. “It’s not his blood. It’s not.”

“How is he?” Their guide waited at the bottom. Inside the store, camp lights cast a golden glow over the stacks of boxes and the ones strewn like loaded dice across the gray cement floor.

The Marine in the door shook himself, knelt down and scooped up some snow. Pink droplets tainted the white with each rub of his hands. “I tried.”

Their guide ducked his head and swiped at his eyes. His cheeks glistened when he turned to Mildred. “Mrs. Dobbins, I’m so sorry I can’t do anything more.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Robertson shouted.

Manny backed away. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

Mildred pulled away and swayed on her feet. Her bottom lip trembled for a moment then she squared her shoulders. “Thank you. Please take me to my husband.”

Their guide set his hands around her waist and lifted her to the dock.

The Marine at the top dried his bloody hands on his pants and lifted her the rest of the way. “The Colonel was the best, ma’am.”

Manny reached for her. No! If she didn’t see, then it wasn’t real. Then Wheelchair Henry would still be alive.

She took a step then paused. “Manny.”

He wrapped his arms around his waist. Oh God. Please don’t make me go. Don’t take another person from me.

Mildred’s hands fisted at her sides, and she inched forward.

No one should have to face death alone. The command whispered inside Manny’s head.

“Wait!” Slipping the rest of the way down the ramp, he slapped his palms against the platform. Bending his knees, he jumped then toed his way up the concrete until he hooked a knee onto the dock.

The Marine reached for him, blood outlined the curve of his fingernails.

Wheelchair Henry’s blood.

Manny leaned away then clawed at the floor to keep from pitching over the side. “I can do it.”

“I asked you a question, Marine,” Robertson barked.

“The colonel insisted he be allowed to approach the target solo.” Their guide clambered into the bay. “He wanted the bastard to be brought in alive.”

“He’d seen so much violence in his career, you see. Once he got out, Henry could abide the killing anymore. If he could stop one more person from dying, he would do anything, even if…” Mildred waited in the clearing in the center of the square room. Shirts in plastic sleeves spilled out of boxes and created a rainbow of blue and green in front of her.

Manny jogged to her side and slipped his hand in hers. “I’m here.”

She nodded once then shuffled toward the spilled boxes.

White bandages fluttered in the breeze like flags of surrender.

“What the fuck for?” Robertson’s boots pounded behind them.

“The colonel thought he could convince the target to surrender.”

The conversation faded to a buzz as Manny spied the boots. Clean and clear of mud and jeans neatly tucked in the tops, they stretched out beyond the box with laces neatly doubled knotted in bows. The wheel of Henry’s chair stuck up like a silver rainbow, clean, bright and impossibly still.

The metallic taste of death hit the back of Manny’s throat. Swallowing it down, he continued forward. He had to see his friend.

Mildred choked on a sob.

Wheelchair Henry’s gray ponytail lay in the halo of blood around his head. White trimmed the red cloth at his throat. His eyes were closed. He could have been sleeping, if only his chest moved.

Move dammit! Manny’s scream stuck to the roof of his mouth.

But Wheelchair Henry didn’t move.

And he never would.

He was gone.

Manny’s eyes burned and his chest tightened so much he couldn’t breath. Black crowded his vision.

Mildred released his hand and knelt by her husband on the floor. Her hands hovered above his chest before they settled down and smoothed his shirt. “Silly man, you’ve ruined your favorite shirt.”

He dropped to the cement. Cold leached into his skin, settled into his bones and iced his grief. No more. No more. He pounded his fists on his thighs.

Never again.

“—throat slit and he bled out.”

Blocking out Mildred, Manny focused on Robertson and the Marine.

“And where is the murdering bastard’s body now?” Robertson’s words were clipped.

Yes. Where was the body? Manny twisted around to stare at the men. He needed to see it with his own eyes.

Their guide cleared his throat. “Gone.”

“Gone as in his carcass was carried away by rabid badgers?” Veins popped out on Robertson’s neck. “Or gone as in a fucking portal to hell opened up and he was sucked inside by Satan himself?’

The guide opened his mouth.

Robertson drilled the Marine’s shoulder with his index finger. “Because if it’s option C, gone as in escaped, I’m going to hand your balls and pecker over to the Sergeant-Major.”

The Marine cupped his privates. “Option C.”

“No!” Manny leapt to his feet and stormed forward. “No! He needs to die. You have to kill Trent Powers.”

“Stand down, Manny.” Robertson shoved him backward then raised his rifle and pressed it against the Marine’s nose. “Give me one good reason why I don’t blow out your worthless piece-of-shit not-worth-a-fucking-damn brain.”

There wasn’t one. Since they hadn’t killed Trent, the Marines should die.

“Please lower your weapon, PFC.” Although soft, Mildred’s voice filled the storeroom. “Henry would not approve.”

Manny’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh. Henry would have hated this. They needed to work together and solve this problem.

Robertson’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled in a snarl but he complied. “Yes, ma’am.”

“This in-fighting is exactly the kind of trouble Trent enjoys stirring up.” Mildred shook out her skirts.

The scent of lavender surrounded Manny. “So we go after Trent Powers.”

And gun him down.

Manny stuffed his hands into his pocket. A gun would come in handy right about now. The soldiers would not go hunting without him.

“That’s gonna present a bit of a problem.” A soldier rested his elbows on the dock and stared up at them. “We’re down two vehicles.”

“Two?” Robertson stroked the barrel of his gun.

It was unlikely the military would give him one. Manny scanned the room. Where had Wheelchair Henry’s gotten to?

“We should have three, Michaelson. The murdering bastard took one.” Robertson held out his index finger as if the other soldier needed help counting that high. “Four minus one is three.”

“We’re out of brake fluid substitutes.” Michaelson held up two fingers. “Four minus two is two.”

“Did you just come here to shit on my rainbow?” Robertson kicked a box, crushing the side.

The ones on top wobbled along with the lantern. Shadows shifted and Manny saw it—a shiny black gun by the open door. Would they notice if he took it? Would they care?

“I do have some good news.” Michaelson smiled. “One of the Doc’s neighbor’s is a teacher. According to him, the districts gassed up all the little school buses when the attack hit so they’d have room for more government issued fuel.”

Manny inched closer. Could he cover the ten feet and pick it up before the soldiers noticed him? He glanced at them. They seemed more focused on each other than him.

“Yes.” Robertson punched the air. “So all we need is to find a school and we’ll have transport.”

Michaelson waved a yellow piece of paper. “There was a phone book by the food court. There’s a school three klicks away.”

Manny cleared two boxes. Four more feet to go.

Michaelson carefully folded the scrap. “It’ll take me a while to figure out how to hot wire ‘em—”

“I can do it.” Manny blinked. Had he just volunteered to hotwire a bus?

Robertson, Michaelson and the Marines stared at him. The dog thumped its tail.

Great. Now he’d never get the gun.

“You know how to hot wire a car?” Robertson rocked back on his heels then shuffled closer.

“Yeah. I can practically do it in my sleep.” God knew he’d had enough nightmares about it. And all that time in Adobe Mountain, all Manny had to do was think about stealing that stupid car.

“Good.” Robertson swept up Wheelchair Henry’s weapon. He checked the chamber than the clip before offering it to Manny. “Don’t waste the bullets.”

The gun slid against Manny’s palm; he dipped his finger into the trigger. It was lighter than the other times he’d handled it but it fit his hand perfectly. “I won’t.”

The next time this gun fired, Trent Powers would die.

Chapter Forty-Two

“Miss me, Princess?”

Audra punched Eddie’s arm. From the way her heart shunted blood, she was surprised her fingernails didn’t fly off. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He grunted and removed his hand from her mouth. “What was that?”

Black ringed his eyes and his nose had swollen. Becky was right; he was good looking. She threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. He smelled of gasoline, sweat and snow.

Setting his hands on her hips, he backed her up.

She clung tighter. He’d come back for her. Her daddy hadn’t done that when the Redaction hit. Not even when her mother came down with the flu.

Callused hands skimmed her arms then unwound her hands and eased her away. His brown eyes locked with hers. Anger simmered in their depths. “Did they…hurt you?”

Audra cleared her throat and read the subtext. “No, we’re fine.” She turned her hands so her fingers glided between his. “I’m fine.”

His gaze raked over her wet shirt sticking to her breasts. His lips thinned and he pulled free. “You can tell me about it later. For now, we have to run.”

Tina knocked Audra’s arm. “Here.”

Turning, Audra grabbed her jacket and stuffed her arms in the sleeves. Why was he acting so stand-offish? She was fine. Except for the kidnapping, nothing had happened to her.

“Hold the door.” Eddie spun on his heel and stalked to the edge of the small porch. He leaned forward and glanced left then right. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”

Yes, they would talk later. Audra flattened against the kitchen wall as the others stampeded by. If he was going to court her, he’d have to do it properly. This juvenile playground dance nonsense would have to stop. She just didn’t understand it.

Tina grabbed her elbow and dragged her toward the door. “Come on.”

Audra stumbled after her. How long had she been standing there lollygagging anyway? She stomped in the slush the others created. Cold stung her nose and sucked the body heat off her skin from her wet clothing and now damp jacket.

“I knew Eddie would come for you.” Tina hunched deeper into her fleece-lined bomber jacket.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Audra shivered. “He shouldn’t have. He was supposed to keep the others safe.”

They rounded the house. The bush next to the sagging back porch scratched at her as she passed. A frigid wind carried the scent of fire and gasoline.

“Geez.” Tina rolled her eyes and jerked free. “It’s okay to think of yourself now and then, you know.”

Tina didn’t understand. A Silvestre had a duty.

Her friend jogged away until she reached Becky’s side.

Audra stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and she ran across the yard. Cold. Cold. Cold. Her teeth chattered. Eddie waved the others onward.

Deputy Pecos waited by a snow dusted pine near a listing mailbox. Tina’s bat rested on his shoulder. “This way ladies.”

Eddie met her on the street. He shrugged off his Army jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

She snuggled into the warmth of his body heat. The sleeves were a poor substitute for his arms. Numb fingers fumbled with the buttons. “Won’t you get cold?”

“We don’t have far to go.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. Trees crowded the road and the temperature dipped. “And you’re wet.”

She slipped on the black ice coating the pavement.

Eddie kept her on her feet.

Another boom sounded in the distance.

She glanced back. Fire painted the area in orange and red hues. Through the pines, she saw men racing back between the burning buildings. “I thought you’d arranged that.”

“Dunn agreed to create a diversion so we could get to you.”

“The principal?”

“Yep. He’s quite the fire bug.”

“The principal?” Of her school. But the man wore suits and ties and talked incessantly about proper behavior and district rules. Was no one what they seemed?

Eddie slanted her a look as they approached a tee in the road. “You sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” Maybe. She filled her lungs with his scent. Her thoughts scattered. Then again, maybe not.

Deputy Pecos led everyone to the right.

Silence stretched between them. Awkward. Drat Tina and Becky. They’d put such stupid thoughts inside her head. Thoughts she had no business thinking. She had people to get to safety. “Thanks for coming back for us.”

“We’re not good without our leader.”

“Stuart said—”

Eddie’s fingers dug into her waist. “Stuie is not you.”

No. Nor was he an Eddie. She rounded the corner. A small yellow and black bus idled in front of a white clapboard house. She blinked back her tears. It was the most beautiful sight besides him she’d seen all day. “Where did you find it?”

Deputy Pecos stood guard while the women lined up single file to board.

“The school yard.” Eddie tsked.

She jabbed her elbow into his side. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Your mom dropped us off about five miles outside of town.” He slowed down to a fast walk. “We found it while we were looking for you.”

“And the other bus?” The one she’d foolishly driven over those spikes.

“Useless. Even if we could find two spare tires, they’d cut the gas line to get the fuel.”

Principal Dunn broke through a low hanging bough. Soot stained his cheeks. “We need to be on our way. I saved the biggest explosion for last.” He grinned at Audra when she neared the bus steps. “The fools stored their fuel in one convenient location.”

The next explosion rattled the teeth in her head and echoed through her chest. He hadn’t been exaggerating.

Eddie’s fingers skimmed her hips. “Back of the bus with you.”

Audra climbed the steps. “Just because you rescued me, doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.”

Mrs. Rodriquez winked from the driver’s seat. “Welcome back, Princess A. Or maybe I should call you Damsel A, since you had to be rescued?”

Bending down, Audra kissed the older woman’s wrinkled cheek. “I’m glad to see you too.”

Eddie bumped her behind. “We gotta get your carriage on the road, Princess.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Audra straightened. The last two rows of the short bus were clear. Coincidence or was there a conspiracy afoot? She unbuttoned Eddie’s jacket as she walked. Not that she minded, precisely. She wiped her damp hands on her equally wet jeans.

The doors hushed shut and the bus coasted forward. She stumbled the last two rows before sinking onto the bench. Shrugging off his jacket, she hand-pressed the folds. Cold air washed over her when she handed it back.

Bracing his knees against the edges of the seats, Eddie folded his arms over his chest. “Take off your shirt.”

Her mouth fell open and the jacket fell to the floor. “What!”

He bent over as they rounded the corner and stuck his face in hers. A vessel beat at his temple. “You stink of soap.”

She blinked. That didn’t make sense. “Soap doesn’t stink. It smells clean.”

“It’s foul when you use it to wash away…” Muscles worked in his throat as if he struggled to free the words.

Poor Eddie. She cupped his cheek, felt the rasp of his beard against her palm.

“I wasn’t raped. None of us were. We spent the last few hours watching children die and scrubbing dirty laundry.” She swept her thumb over his bottom lip. “Guess which duty I got.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that the truth?”

“Yes.” Tina’s voice bounced off the metal interior. “Now kiss and make-up. Some of us would like to sleep.”

Embarrassment heated Audra’s cheeks and her attention dropped to the floor. My, look at all the mud.

Eddie crouched down.

Her gaze was now firmly on his crotch. Good Lord. She jerked her attention to his face.

“I’m gonna have to insist you take off your wet clothes.” He chuckled. “I can’t have our fearless leader getting hypothermia. Not after all the trouble we went to getting you back.”

She slouched in her jacket. Must they have this conversation in front of everyone? “I don’t have anything to change into.”

“I don’t mind.”

Her palms itched. “This is not funny.”

Eddie reached for the hem of his shirt. “Today’s your lucky day, Princess.”

A flame ignited low in her belly. Was he going to strip here? Now? Leaning to the right, she glanced around the bus. Was anyone watching?

Mrs. Rodriquez sat up higher in the driver’s seat, dividing her attention between the rearview mirror and the road. Tina and Becky were turned around in their seats, watching. So were the rest of the women.

Audra opened her mouth. Eddie should know he had an audience.

In one smooth motion, he stood up and pulled the black long sleeved shirt over his head. Instead of flat abs and a dusting of chest hair, she got a black spandex bike shirt.

Becky hooted.

Tina clapped. “Take it off. Take it all off.”

“I got dollar bills in my purse,” Mrs Rodriquez shouted.

Audra flattened herself against the seat and stuffed her hand in her mouth. Lord almighty! Laughter chugged up her throat and spilled past her lips. The sound was rusty, unused. Doggone it felt good.

Gyrating his hips, Eddie spun the shirt over his head then tossed it.

Her face caught it. She clawed it off as tears streamed down her cheeks. “You are such a tease.”

He waggled his eyebrows. The leer ended on a wince. “Say the word and it’ll be a promise.”

The word bounced on her tongue. She wanted to say it. She wanted… Instead, she shook the shirt at him. “Turn around so I can change.”

“Why? You looked.” He propped a hip against the seat.

“You had another shirt on underneath.” The conversation was ridiculous and stupid. It was just want she needed. “I don’t.”

“Nothing?” He licked his lips then focused on her breasts. “At all?”

She held the shirt in front of her. She had a bra on. Not that she’d tell him. Besides, it was as drenched as her shirt. “Turn around.”

Tsking, he did as she asked. “Now who’s the tease?”

Shrugging off her fleece jacket, she scooted between the seats, pinched the wet fabric in her fingers and peeled it over her head. Clammy trails marked her skin where it touched and she shivered. Funny how she hadn’t felt the cold moments ago.

The sodden material landed on the seat with a squish.

“Finished?” He glanced over his shoulder

“No!” She sunk down until her bottom touched the floor. Poking her head through the collar, she let the warm fabric cascade down her back while she pinched her bra clasp. The elastic snapped free. She shrugged off the bra while wiggling into the shirt. “Okay. I’m decent.”

“Pity.” Eddie faced her just as she rose to her feet.

She draped her wet clothes over the seat back. Eventually they’d dry.

He eyed her lacy bra before sitting next to her. “I always was partial to red.”

Her mouth dried. This wasn’t the talk she had planned but the words were there. Jumbled but there. Despite the Christmasy greenery and pristine snow, the apocalypse surrounded them.

Duty warred with desire. Time ticked by. The battle raged then stopped. The Silvestre world had ended—taking with it the concerns of station, appearance or heritage. The shackles fell away and she practically floated.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow and doubt dimmed his smile.

Audra took a deep breath and teetered on the precipice. One more step and she’d be falling. Hopefully, he’d catch her and she wouldn’t land with a splat. “Funny, I always took you for a flesh toned kind of guy.”

“You have a point.” Grabbing his jacket off the floor, he shook it open, draped it around her shoulders, then rested his back against the side of the bus.

She snuggled against his chest. Blessed warmth seeped into her bones and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Rest now.” He held her tightly, his fingers resting on her hip. “I’ll wake you when we reach the soldiers.”

She nodded. Reaching the military convoy didn’t matter as much now. As long as they had each other, as long as they looked out for each other, cared for each other, they’d be okay.

She’d do whatever it took for them to be safe.

Even if those things required violence.

Chapter Forty-Three

Mavis smoothed the blanket over her arm. The wool-synthetic blend scratched her fingers. With her hip, she hit the bar on the door and shoved. The wind threw it against the school’s exterior wall with a bang. Cold found any opening in her clothing and abraded her skin. Stupid, stupid man.

She grabbed hold of the metal door and tugged. And tugged. The wind died down long enough for her to slam it closed. Shielding her eyes from the glare on the snow, she stared at the field across from Winslow High School. A shadow stood vigilant, staring down Interstate Forty toward Flagstaff.

Hunching into her borrowed parka, she stomped through the snow. I’m supposed to be an intelligent woman. I should have learned how stubborn men in uniform were when I married Jack. But no…. She stumbled over the curb then kicked at the snow.

Why did she have to fall for a soldier? They were just as ornery as Jack’s Marines.

She glared at David. The idiot raised his M-4 and aimed down the freeway. Maybe he was a little more irritating. Not that she hated his loyalty. No, it was the fact that the fool was out here and his men wouldn’t be arriving for at least another hour.

If he caught pneumonia and died, she’d kill him. She tromped through the drifts. And it wouldn’t be a pleasant death. She was a scientist. There were lots of ways she could kill the fat head.

Lowering the rifle, he turned to face her. Late afternoon sunlight glinted off his sunglasses. “What are you doing out here? You should be inside where it’s warm.”

She should be inside. She should… The thought sputtered. “I would be inside if my moronic boyfriend wasn’t out here freezing his ass off.”

He tugged on his glasses and looked at her over the top of the gold frames. “You got another boyfriend?”

Did he think that was funny? No one was funny at this temperature. Her lips would fall off if she laughed. She slapped his arm with the blanket. “I’m talking about you.”

“Ah.” He pushed up his glasses. “You said marvelous boyfriend. Wind must be messing with my hearing, I could have sworn you said something else.”

He must practice his stand-up act to pass the time. “They won’t be here for a while yet. Why don’t you come inside and wait?”

“Nope. I don’t want to miss them.”

Mavis sighed. The man wasn’t stubborn, he was intractable. “How could you miss them? They’re coming here.”

“Not Robertson, Sunnie and the others.” David raised the rifle and glanced down the scope. “That bastard is coming.”

“You think Trent Powers is coming here? Where all the pissed off military are?” She should have come out sooner. David’s brain must have frozen. He wasn’t making sense.

“Oh yeah. I promised God I’d sacrifice twenty-five virgin…” he lowered the gun, “Daiquiris to the altar of my beer gut if He delivered the bastard to me.”

Definitely out in the snow too long. It just wasn’t natural to live in places this cold. She snapped the blanket out flat and draped it around his shoulders. “I don’t think God works that way.”

“This time He will.” A muscle flexed in David’s jaw. “That bastard murdered Singleton. He’s mine.”

To murder. That would destroy everything they were trying to build. “David—”

He shrugged. The blanket puddled in the snow. “Don’t David me. I have a right to kill the bastard.”

“You don’t under—”

“—Stand?” His lips twitched with contempt. “Singleton knocked my ass to the ground in the sandbox, saving my life. Janovich kept me sane with his stupidity.” He poked her shoulder. “I owe them. I never should have been separated from them.”

For her.

She recoiled then caught herself. No way was he winning this argument.

“You wanna share the pain, huh? Spread it around in a misery loves company kind of way.” She jabbed his chest with her finger. “Say mean, hurtful things to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” She poked him again. “And you probably meant them, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

A growl rolled up her throat. He was wearing that look—the kind guys wore when the pretended not to know what they did wrong when really they knew exactly the right tone, inflection and word to provoke. She hated that look. “Listen to me, David J Dawson.”

“Mavis—” He released the M-4 and raised his hands. The carbine fell against his hip.

“Nuh-uh. You listen with your mouth closed.”

He folded his arms across his chest.

What a gigantic pain in her heart. If she was any less stubborn, she’d let him win and walk away. Sucks to be him, that she wasn’t the pushover type. “If Trent Powers does come up that road, he will be arrested and tried for murder.”

“Singleton’s?”

“No. His wife and neighbor.”

David picked up his rifle and checked the interstate. “And no one gives a shit that some poor slob in a uniform dies, is that it?”

Mavis stuck her hands in her pockets. It wasn’t a perfect world. Instead of making it so, the Redaction, anthrax attack and impending meltdown had made it unbelievably fragile.

And David threatened to pop the thin skin holding it all together.

But she could give him one thing. Maybe it would be enough. “You can have the live round on the firing squad.”

Instead of answering, he adjusted his scope.

Her stomach cramped and she glanced at the road. Nothing. She saw nothing. “David?”

His finger shifted on the trigger. “I’ll be the bastard’s executioner alright.”

She shoved the barrel up in the air just as he fired.

He hauled the rifle over his shoulder, aiming the butt for her face. “Dammit woman.”

The Marines on the school’s rooftops scrambled to their feet.

She waved them down. “We can’t take him out this way.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

“Everything we do now, we will pay for later. Everything any man or woman in uniform did in the past, we will be held accountable for.” Didn’t he see? Didn’t he understand?

“That’s nuts. We’re heroes to these people.”

“You’re a hero to the cold, tired and hungry. But what happens when they’re cold, tired and hungry in three months? Six? They’ll see those cookies you saved from your MRE as extra food. The rumors will start. The memories will surface and be twisted.”

He stomped away from her.

She ran after him. Hard-headed baboon. Like she didn’t have anything better than to chase him all afternoon. “That need for justice pumping through your veins is every bit a part of the human psyche as paranoia and envy.”

He paused and took aim.

Taking a deep breath, she planted herself in front of his gun.

Swearing, he looked up. “Get out of the way.”

“If you absolutely have to kill Trent Powers then shoot me first. Because I’m tired of fighting losing battles, of having every thing I do countermanded by stupid politicians, angry soldiers and Murphy’s Law.”

“You don’t think I will?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. He was more than capable. And given his mindset, her odds were fifty-fifty at best. “I honestly don’t know. But I won’t stand by and watch what’s left of humanity rip itself apart over that bastard.”

A hot tear leaked from her eye. Stupid cold. Not only did it cause her nose to run, now her eyes were watering.

“Dammit, Mavis…”

“Please.” She plugged the barrel with her finger. “I’m begging you.”

David’s shoulders slumped and he glanced up at the clouds. “You swear he’ll be convicted.”

Oh, thank God. She’d gotten through to him. “I’ve stacked the jury and I have the judge in my pocket.”

“There’s a judge left alive?”

“Brother Bob is a Justice of the Peace. He’s agreed to preside at a trial.”

“I thought he was a preacher?”

“He had a Bible, married people and presided over their burials during the Redaction, people just assumed he was.” Was that how Trent had slipped on a new skin? He certainly kept his Bible close enough.

The Marines on the rooftop waved and pointed West.

He set the safety on his weapon and slung it over his back. “Then let’s go arrest the bastard. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll fall a couple billion times on his way to the janitor’s closet.”

She’d won. For now. But David wasn’t the only pissed off military man with a weapon and Trent Powers in his cross-hairs. “As long as no one can see his injuries…”

“With luck, the bastard won’t live long enough for a bruise to form.”

“Send up the flare. We wouldn’t want our guest of honor to get lost.”

Mavis stomped her feet to keep the blood flowing. The wind whisked the snow off the drifts piled along the curb and tossed it in the air. She batted it away. “If I wanted to live in a snow globe I’d have shrunk myself and climbed in a plastic ball.”

Standing on her right, David snorted. “I’m beginning to suspect you don’t like the cold, Doc.”

On her left, Lister brushed the snow from his uniform. “This isn’t cold. You’ll know cold once we get to Colorado. That wind chill will freeze the tits off a bear.”

And she would be snug in a nice warm cave, just like a hibernating bear. She crossed her arms over her chest. Given the general’s words, that might not be an association she wanted. “Everyone knows what to do, right?”

“Yes.” Lister turned to the two Military Police officers standing behind them. “We know our parts.”

“You better.” She tucked her nose into her collar. How cold did it have to be before it froze and fell off her face? “Our audience isn’t exactly going to be thrilled by our actions. They think Trent Powers is a reverend.”

Civilians and military alike lined the two lane street. Many crowded the park around the small parking lot. Huddled together for warmth, no doubt. Everyone had turned out for the reunion. Only a handful of officers knew Robertson and the others wouldn’t be joining them for another forty-five minutes.

She glanced up. Lead-colored clouds stretched across the horizon. Too bad it wasn’t real lead. They would be shielded from the radiation. She raised her mic. “Any change?”

“Background radiation is still normal, ma’am.” The tick of the Geiger counter competed with the boredom in the soldier’s voice.

“Thank you.” Mavis forced the words between her teeth. Maybe she was a little hyper-vigilant, but these people were all the eggs in her basket. One drift of fallout and humanity left the building without a ‘thank you very much.’

Brother Bob jostled her elbow and squeezed in the space between her and David. “Did I miss it?”

“No.” She turned to the Justice of the Peace. Holy cow!

He adjusted his red power tie and smoothed the creases in his black suit. Snow ruined the polish on his dress shoes. A gold set of scales was pinned to his lapel. He certainly took his job seriously.

She hoped it didn’t get in the way of justice. “Did you sign the warrant?”

Not that it mattered. Trent Powers would be arrested and tried. She just wanted the appearance of a civilian court, not a military drumhead.

He nodded and pulled a folded paper from his pocket. “I found a copy of a warrant from the JAG database.”

Mavis plucked the paper from his grasp and let the wind unfold it. Skimming over the legalese, she scanned the note for Trent’s name, the two charges of murder and the data. Everything seemed to be in order. But what did she know? Hopefully, Trent’s government-supplied lawyer wouldn’t make a fuss. “Thank you.”

Brother Bob smoothed his salt and pepper hair. “I’ve also reviewed the evidence.” He shoved his fists into his pockets. “I can’t find any irregularities in the collection. All of it should be presented to the jury.”

And it will, especially the pictures. The bodies displayed on a forty-eight inch LCD screen should sway the jury and the audience. She handed the warrant to Lister.

He kissed the paper then addressed his MPs. “Arrest the puke, cuffs and everything, then throw him in our makeshift jail. If he resists shoot off his knee cap.”

Brother Bob opened his mouth then closed it again. “Opposing counsel should be given the opportunity to interview the witnesses.”

Mavis shrugged. That was the way it worked on TV. “The Sergeant-Major can answer his questions. The witness Emmanuel Saldana and other investigator, PFC Robertson have been a little… delayed.”

Brother Bob arched an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“I don’t want to bias your opinion,” she lied.

A personnel carrier turned down the street. People rushed forward to get a better view before the Marines helped them back to the sidewalk.

When would they notice it was only one truck?

Murmurs started at the end and spread across the crowd. People rose on tiptoes and leaned to get a better view.

They’d noticed. The hair on her arms stood up. And they were not pleased. Excellent. Score one for her side. She cleared her throat. Now to play her part.

The truck slowed to a stop. The engine idled loudly then it finally fell silent. Behind the wheel, Jake Turner paled.

If this little homecoming unnerved him, the next bit should make him crap his pants.

Mavis stepped forward. “Alright, let’s unload the sick and injured.”

Four Marines hustled to the rear of the truck.

The crowd closed around the back. Some stared at the empty road then the single carrier as if trying to reconcile the two.

She stifled a smile. Everything was going as planned. Now to up the ante. “Where are the people with blankets and coats? We’ve got children here.”

Chains rattled as the gate dropped.

Jake opened his door.

Trent must have done the same on the other side.

Someone shouted, “It’s the reverend! Thank God he’s alive.”

David straightened, fists clenched at his side. He stomped into the street.

Brother Bob clamped a hand on his shoulder and reeled him back. “Easy, soldier.”

Good thing she insisted David leave his gun behind. Despite his promise, he might have shot Trent.

“Doc!” A Marine jogged over to her. Anger left spots in his cheeks. “The back is empty.”

Mavis looked over his shoulder, gauging the crowd’s reaction. “There should be fifty people in the back. Most of them children.”

Nearly everyone felt the need to protect children.

Confusion shifted to hostility. Men pushed forward. A few scrambled into the back. “It is empty.”

Anger lasered on the two men who’d ridden in the cab.

Trent sprinted around the front bumper. He raked a hand through is hair until the dirty blond locks stood on end. “Thank God we found you.”

Mavis nodded.

The two MPs marched forward. Handcuffs dangled from the fingers of one. “Trent Powers you’re under arrest.”

“What!” Trent reared back too late.

A silver bracelet dangled from his wrist. The MP quickly attached the other one, binding his hands in front, instead of back.

“You can’t do this!” He raised his arms to show the crowd. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The crowd shuffled closer. Speculation swarmed like riled bees.

Airmen bracketed her and Brother Bob. Marines lined the walkway to the cafeteria keeping the path to the janitor’s closet-turned-jail free.

David cupped her elbow. “I wish I had my gun now.”

“We were attacked.” Trent shouted as the two MPs dragged him inside. “It’s not my fault the others aren’t with us.”

The buzz of voices grew in volume. She felt the tide of belief lap at Trent’s shores.

“The soldiers ran away instead of protecting us.” He jumped as the MPs shoved him through the door.

“Bastard.” David’s fingers dug into her muscle.

Mavis flinched but didn’t pull away. A bruise was a small price to pay to keep him from executing Trent. As for the crowd… She panned the audience.

Brother Bob shook his head. “Mr. Powers seems to have lost a bit of sympathy with that last bit.”

“True.” More than half of the audience dismissed Trent’s words. But several others had to think it over. A handful bought his words without thought.

“Worried?” David loosened his grip.

“Only twenty-five percent of the Colonists supported independence from England.” One in four. The number of people in the audience willing to think the worst of the military exceeded that now. She might have to rethink her timetable. “And look where that got us.”

Brother Bob scratched his freshly shaven chin. “The trial will help most see Trent Powers’ true nature.”

Yes, the trial. She turned her back to the crowd. Resting his hand on his holstered pistol, General Lister stood next to Jake Turner. The trial would start tomorrow. The mistrust must be contained. “Mr. Turner.”

Lister escorted the man over. “We were just having a little chat about our mutual friend.”

Jake Turner twisted the crucifix at his neck. The chain it hung on cut into his neck. “Ma’am.”

“I understand you are a criminal defense attorney.” Mavis held her hand out to David, who set a tablet computer on it.

Jake wedged a sausage thick finger under his coat collar and tugged. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. In the morning, you’ll be defending Trent Powers, insurance agent, on two charges of first degree murder.” She shoved the laptop into his chest. “The witnesses will be available to you once they arrive.”

Once she saw Sunnie was alive and well.

Jake swallowed hard. “Murder?”

The crowd fell back at the magic word. Soon they rearranged themselves into clumps to discuss the latest turn of events. Good thing they’d already sequestered the potential jurors. Even as she acknowledged their voices, she heard Trent being acquitted or convicted just on impressions he’d made. But the murder wasn’t the main topic: his pretense of being a man of God angered them more.

“Yes, murder in the first degree.” If the man could only speak one word sentences the case would be won too easily. There must be some sort of defense to protect the military, protect their fledgling society. “All the evidence is electronically recorded as are the statements and case notes.”

Jake flicked on the screen. Denise Powers hung from the loft of her house. Green tinged his cheeks. “I don’t know much about military law.”

“You don’t need to. Since both casualties were civilians, the Doc thinks it best to keep to civilian rules.” Lister tucked the warrant into Jake’s pocket and patted it.

“So there could be a jury?” Ignoring the warrant, the defense attorney pulled up another picture. Belinda’s battered face stared back at him. His hand shook as he turned off the screen.

“We’ve drawn up a list of names of people who’d sat on a trial before. Our prosecutor will go through the candidates with you for the actual selection.” Mavis’s hind brain niggled at her consciousness. Something was off here. “I know the trial will be a cruder version of what you’re used to, but it will be legal and binding. Given our current status, there will be no appeals.”

Execution would be carried out as quickly as the judge said the words.

Jake’s lips twitched. He tucked the book under his arm. “Then I guess I should consult with my client right away.”

Lister snapped his fingers and a Marine stepped from the crowd. “Escort counsel to his client.”

“He seems like a competent attorney.” Brother Bob stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “I think he’ll put on a good defense.”

“Not too good.” David cracked his knuckles.

Mavis watched Jake Turner disappear through the cafeteria door when it hit her. “He didn’t react at all to the news that Trent Powers wasn’t a preacher.”

Not even a blink. It was as if Jake had already known. Her throat tightened. Had she made a mistake? If Trent was acquitted, the military would take their justice and everyone would pay the price.

Chapter Forty-Four

What the fuck was going on? Trent paced the small room. Four steps to the side wall, five to the rusted sink on the back. Three steps to the right and he had to duck under the warped, empty white shelves that lined the other.

He kicked at a blue bucket near the sink. Pain radiated up his shin. Son of a bitch! Hunching over, he grabbed his throbbing toes and hopped to the second. Empty but the roll of toilet paper on the ground spoke volumes. No way would he use that as a toilet.

He was a human being.

A reverend.

Lowering his foot to the ground, Trent slowly added his weight. Muscles jumped at the slight twinge but he refused to lift it. He wasn’t a loser; he could take the pain. And speaking of pain, where was his Bible?

They would never dare treat him like this if he’d had it.

Was it left behind in the other truck? Had someone stolen it? He’d suspect Jake but he would have produced it if he had. The book had power. Trent hobbled to the door and pressed his ear to the faux wood. The pounding of his heart obscured any sounds. Flattening his palm, he inched closer.

Where were his followers?

He’d heard them earlier, asking for him, demanding his release.

The idiots hadn’t stated what he’d allegedly done. He could have used that bit of information. Growling, he shoved away from the door and continued his circuit. This was the bitch Mavis Spanner’s fault.

She was jealous of him, of his power, of the fact that God favored him.

No doubt she’d trump up some charge to get rid of him.

His fingers traced the lip of the stainless steel sink. No matter what her stupid little mind dreamt up, he’d find a way around it. And when he was restored to his rightful place, she’d be in a pine box, suffocating to death while the faithful tossed dirt on her eternal cell.

Keys jingled then the knob rattled.

Trent turned. The metal trough sink cut across his ass. Weapon. He needed a weapon. Frustration clawed up him. They’d left him nothing. His nails raked the wood shelves. The fucking things didn’t budge.

“Thank you.”

Trent sagged. He knew that voice. Jake. Jake’s intelligence was rudimentary, but he was cunning. Especially if he convinced the military to let him in.

“I’ll knock when I’m finished.” Jake Turner slid through the opening, balancing tan bags of Meals-Ready-to-Eat.

The door slammed shut behind him and he skipped forward as if it hit him.

Planting his fists on his hips, Trent glared at the man. “There’s not enough room for me in this dungeon, let alone you too.”

“I brought you something to eat.” Jake dropped two bags when he tossed one over.

Trent batted it away. It bounced off the wall and slid to the floor. “I don’t want fucking food. I want to know why I was humiliated and locked up.”

He rubbed his wrists. Although the handcuffs were gone, he still felt their weight. Someone would pay for that.

“Oh, I know that.” Jake smiled then bent over and picked up the MREs.

“You! They told you!” Spittle flew out of Trent’s mouth but he didn’t care. If they locked him up in these inhumane conditions, they had to expect he would act like an animal. “Why would they tell you?”

“Because I’m your lawyer.”

“My what?” Trent’s fingernails dug into his palms.

“Your lawyer.” Jake lined up the packages on the shelf. “I had a very successful practice before the Redaction.”

Trent snorted. Successful by little men standards. He’d certainly never heard of Jake Turner. It was only because he was so good with names that he remembered him now. “And if I decline your services?”

Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “You might want to hear the charges first.”

Like that would change his mind. Still… “What are the charges?”

“Stealing government property.”

Trent’s mouth fell open. He snapped it closed. “They humiliated me, cuffed me in front of my followers and dragged me in front of everyone for that!”

“Apparently, they want to use you as an example.” Jake shrugged. “There’s been lots of thefts lately, people hoarding MREs and the like, and they want everyone to know you can’t get away with it.”

“Why the hell would anyone steal that shit?”

Jake checked his fingernails. “Apparently not everyone has your… tastes.”

Well, no. Trent was evolved while most everyone else was pond scum. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”

A vein throbbed at Jake’s temple. He cleared his throat. “The truck we rode in on is a rather damning piece of evidence against you.”

“Against you.” Trent crossed the room and shoved his face into the other man’s. “You were driving.”

Jake took a deep breath then shook out his arms. “Which is why your sentence is mine as well. While you’re the only one officially being charged, I’ll receive the same sentence.”

Trent eased back. That didn’t make any sense. “You were driving. You’re punishment should be harsher.”

That would be fair. It was hardly his fault. He could claim innocent. How could he know the back was empty? Yes, he fingercombed his hair. That’s the story he’ll tell the jury. They were being attacked. People were dying. He’d tried to help someone but they were shot in his arms. He climbed aboard the cab just as it pulled out.

With a few smiles and fake tears, he could sell it to the jury.

He was damn good at selling shit.

And Jake would take the wrap on his own.

As it should be.

“When is the trial?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Jake retreated to the corner. “But I think we should forgo the jury and let a judge handle it.”

“What! Why?” Juries are easily manipulated. Trent paced in front of his ‘lawyer’.

“While I was getting your dinner, I heard rumors that the other trucks are on the way.” Jake lowered his voice. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours, plenty of time for the military to add charges.”

Trent twitched and his heart raced. What had he done? What could be traced to him? Gary would rat him out in a heartbeat. But Ernest and Robert E. had actually done the beating of the soldiers and stealing of the trucks and sabotaged the other two vehicles in the convoy.

He was safe, wasn’t he? Well he had done the one thing. “Letting kids play bumper cars with real vehicles isn’t a crime. Everything else is just hearsay.”

Color flooded Jake’s cheeks. He pushed away from his corner. “I’m talking about you handing over that woman to Gary and his knife. Everyone heard her screams and they weren’t of sexual ecstasy.”

The bitch had deserved it. Of course, the bleeding heart liberals around him probably wouldn’t see it that way. “What’s to stop them from charging me with Gary’s crime later?”

He certainly wasn’t going down for that scumbag’s crime.

“Evidence. But I want this bit of nonsense over and done with before the others show up.” Jake rearranged the MREs on the shelf. “You know how soft people are about kids. And there were a lot of kids on those trucks.”

The idiot had a point. As charming as he was, he couldn’t compete with that. Add in the fact that the girls were well versed in using their tits to control men… It might be best for him to go with the judge. “Will I get to make a statement?”

Jake shook his head. “Just enter your plea of not guilty and waive your right to a trial.”

Hmm. Trent would like it better if he could talk to the judge. He was good at talking. “Is the judge male or female?”

“Male.”

Ah, well. Men required more time to bring around. Time he might not have if the others were scheduled to join them soon. “Okay. We’ll do it your way.”

“Great.” Jake rubbed his hands together before knocking on the door.

It opened a crack.

“Tell the judge and prosecutor, we’re ready to enter our plea.”

Trent frowned as the door shut. “Wait. Don’t I get to get out of here?”

Proclaim his innocence to the world, to his faithful followers.

“Best not.” Jake flashed his palms. “Some of the folks had kin on those trucks. They’re very angry. You’re safer in here.”

Typical government bullshit. “The military is supposed to protect me. Of course, they would slack off.”

It was a conspiracy and that doctor bitch was at the heart of it.

He would let everyone know when he was released. That might work to his favor, gain him some worthy followers when he left the convoy again. Those outside had to be better than the slag he’d been stuck with.

The door opened and a man in a three piece suit stepped through. Gold glinted on his lapel and pinky finger. “You wanted to see me?”

Ah, perfect a good ol’ boy network kind of guy. This was going to be better than he thought.

Behind him stood the ugly bitch in charge and a scrawny sallow-skinned man in Dockers and a Polo shirt.

If this was the loser gang facing him even Jake couldn’t lose.

Jake cleared his throat. “My client wishes to enter his plea now, Judge Anderson.”

The bitch raised an eyebrow.

Surprised was she? Just wait until he got his revenge.

The judge smiled. “That will move things along nicely. How do you plead?”

Trent glared at Mavis and enunciated each word. “Not guilty.”

She rolled her eyes.

Fuck you! he mentally cursed.

“Of course. Of course. I don’t blame you.” Judge Anderson nodded then turned for the door. “If counsel will get started on jury selection, we can begin at oh-six hundred.”

“Wait.” Jake raised his hand. “My client wishes to waive his right to a trial by jury.”

“No!” The bitch’s shout bounced off the walls.

Trent flashed his eye teeth. What do you know? If she wanted a trial, then Jake had done well to suggest he avoid one. “That is my wish.”

Judge Anderson frowned at Mavis. “I’ll review the evidence tonight and render my verdict in the morning.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Trent offered his hand. By breakfast tomorrow, he should be sitting down to a hot meal and recruiting for his new civilization.

Chapter Forty-Five

Day Nine

Manny yawned and rubbed the grit in his eye. He’d sleep. Later. When Trent Powers was dead. He hunched down in his hoodie and stuck his hands in his pocket. His fingers caressed the warm metal. He hoped he could get off two shots before…

He swallowed hard.

It didn’t matter what happened to him.

All that mattered was Wheelchair Henry be avenged.

Trent Powers had to die.

He shifted on the hard plastic seat. His butt had fallen asleep early this morning. His legs were numb. But his mind was clear. He checked the clock. Five o’clock. One more hour until opportunity sashayed through the door. Those soldiers wouldn’t be able to protect that bastard Trent when he came in the cafeteria to hear the judge speak.

Boots squeaked on the floor behind Manny.

He didn’t turn. People were filing in for the big show. Their beloved preacher was being railroaded by the military. Religion was on trial because the Doc was an atheistic scientist.

How they didn’t see Trent Powers as the douchebag, he’d never know. And he didn’t care.

Wheelchair Henry deserved justice.

Someone walked in front of him and he leaned back.

With a sigh, Sergeant-Major Dawson sank onto the molded plastic chair. “You’re up early.”

“I didn’t sleep.” All Manny saw on his eyelids was Wheelchair Henry and another soldier wrapped in plastic like shirts then slowly lowered into a pit and buried with rocks.

“No. I expect not.” The sergeant-major stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I was sorry to hear about the Colonel. He was a good man.”

Manny’s throat tightened and tears pricked his nose. But they wouldn’t fall. He wouldn’t be able to cry until he’d completed his mission. “The best.”

He didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. Not by someone like Trent.

“You fired in the salute, didn’t you?” David’s fingers traced the flap over his pants pocket. “At his and Singleton’s funeral.”

For a moment, Manny’s heart stopped. The soldier knew about the gun. Would he take it away? Would his plan be over already? “Sorry about your soldier.”

“He died for these people.” David sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And many of them resent us. Can you believe that?”

Manny relaxed slightly. This wasn’t about the gun. “They’re idiots.”

“That’s my opinion but the truth is we need them. Conspiracy nuts and all.”

“Why?” They should just get rid of them. Once they were out there, on their own, they’d learn the lesson Manny had months ago.

“Do you know how to build a house, wire it, plumb a line, grow food, sew clothes or teach science?”

“No.” But nobody knew all of that. How could they?

“Neither do I.” David sat up. “That’s why we need them. We don’t want to survive this crap, we want to live again. Build a society that isn’t as fucked up as the one we left behind. Those comforts we took for granted are part of that.”

“And so we have to put up with the stupid people?”

“Pretty much.” David slipped his hand in his pocket. “Of course, they have the easier task of putting up with us.”

Manny laughed then caught himself. He shouldn’t laugh. Wheelchair Henry lay in an unmarked grave back in Flagstaff.

The soldier looked him in the eye. “If I asked you not to shoot Trent Powers, would you do as I asked?”

“No.” Manny’s fingers tightened on the gun.

“I understand.” David’s mouth tightened. “But I’m gonna have to ask you to change your pants.” He nodded to the camo pants Manny still wore. “I can’t have my men implicated. We’re going to look foolish enough having let you slip passed our perimeter.”

Manny blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“I wish I didn’t either then I’d take the bastard out myself. But the Doc was right.” David pushed to his feet. He opened his palm revealing a slim black rectangle inside. “Fresh clip. Twelve rounds, plus the one that’s in the chamber. You’ll be able to fire all thirteen.”

Manny reached for the ammunition.

David clasped his hand, sandwiching the ammunition between their palms, and shook it. “Make them count.”

“I will.” Manny stared at the clip. Thirteen rounds. Seven for Trent and six for the buddy that helped him.

“Now go change. I’ll make sure your seat is waiting for you when you get back.”

Manny stuffed the clip in his hoodie and pushed to his feet. The soldiers weren’t going to stop him. He staggered down the aisle. Pins and needles stung the feeling back into his legs. The door stretched far away then snapped back.

Robertson jogged across the back of the room, intercepting him by the exit. “Here. You should eat something.”

Without thinking, Manny reached for the tan MRE pouch. Heat pulsed under his fingers. “Thanks.”

“Sausage. My favorite.” Robertson pushed open the door. Generators hummed in the darkness. Stadium lights lit up the park across the street. People moved in the pearly gray light. Two men shoveled snow into piles. “Of course, I heard your crew is making flapjacks and biscuits for breakfast, so save room.”

“My crew?”

“Yeah. The folks you and the Colonel rescued.”

Someone laughed. Manny’s breath caught. That sounded like his sister Lucia. He shoved the MRE pouch at Robertson. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” Robertson caught it then hot-potatoed it. “Shit, that’s hot.”

Manny ran out of the cafeteria and down the cleared sidewalks. Leaping the snowbank, he landed in the street then crossed to the park.

Luce stood at the top of a pile patting snow in her palms. A red tassel dangled from her knitted cap and slapped her cheek. “We’re having a snowball fight, Manny.”

Something wet and cold slammed against his back. He turned as his brother José hurled another one. It hit his hoodie pocket, knocking the gun into his gut. Christ! “Don’t do that.”

What if the gun had gone off. What if the niños had been hurt?

“Chicken.” Jose clucked while scooping up another ball.

Connie set another round by her boots. “Now, Jose. You know the rules. No hitting those who don’t want to play.”

Jose kicked at the mound of snow. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yoo-hoo, Manny!” Standing under a huge pergola, Mildred waved her arm. Her red hair stuck out of the bun at the back of her head. “Come help. We’re going to have lots of hungry people soon.”

“Go on, young Manny.” Connie shooed him with her hands before selecting a snowball from her stockpile. “I’ll look after these rapscallions.”

She hurled it through the air, hitting Jose squarely in the belly.

Jose clutched his stomach. “Ooh, you got me.” He fell back in the snow bank.

“Thanks.” How did the blind woman do that? He shook off his thoughts. After he talked to Mildred and found out what happened to his things, he’d change then come back and…

He trudged across the parking lot. And what? Say goodbye to the niños? If he shot Trent, he’d die too. And that was fine.

But would the niños understand?

Or would they think he deserted them like their parents, brothers and sisters?

Mildred looked up from stirring flour. White streaked her cheek. “Ah, just the man for the job. Dilute that goat’s milk, won’t you. Half and half for the flapjacks.”

Manny’s hands shook as he measured out the water and milk then dumped them into a bowl. “Where are my clothes?”

Behind the pavilion, men added twigs to the grills. A woman stirred a giant pot on another. Steam danced above the top. Blue and white speckled pitchers bubbled on a third.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Mildred cracked eggs on the wooden picnic table. With one hand she separated the shell and the egg dropped into the pit in the flour. “I’ll tell you where your clothes are, if you give me Henry’s gun.”

“I—”

“Don’t bother to lie to me, young man.” She shook the wooden spoon at him. Batter dripped from it and plopped into the bowl. “I know you have it. I saw it at the funeral.”

Manny hugged his hoodie pocket. “I’m going to avenge him.”

“That’s not your place.” Mildred beat the batter until the bowl spun. “It’s mine.” She stopped, placed both hands flat on the table and drooped over the bowl. “I loved that man for forty-two years. And I’ll have to live how ever many come next missing him.”

Tears plopped into the bowl.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed. “It’s my eye that man took and for me to take his eye in payment.”

Manny bit his lip. It was her right. He dipped into his pocket and eased his fingers around the gun. “Henry wouldn’t want you to kill him.”

Mildred shook her head. More red curls sprang free. “I know he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m going to honor his memory by forgiving that bastard.”

He reeled backward until he slammed into the neighboring picnic table. “Forgive him?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand. “And if you cared at all about my husband, you’ll do the same.”

His hand shook on the gun. “How can you say that? Of course, I care. That’s why I have to avenge him.”

“Henry wouldn’t want it. Neither do I.” She snapped her fingers. “You want to make someone like Trent Powers suffer. Then live a full life, love someone with your whole heart and be happy. That little twerp will never get that and it will eat him up inside and kill him very, very slowly.”

How could she say things like that? People like Trent only understood violence. “That’s not good enough.”

“You will not kill anyone with my husband’s gun.” Mildred picked up the spoon again and shook it at him. “I will not have Henry looking down from Heaven and see you becoming just like Trent. He would never forgive me. And I…” her face crumpled, “and I would never forgive myself.”

His vision swam then something burned his right cheek then his left. He touched his face and encountered wetness. He was crying. The constriction in his chest broke open, anger drained through the cracks, leaving only pain and emptiness. But he wasn’t alone. Not any more. He was with people who understood him and what he’d gone through.

“We failed to protect our children and grandchildren from the Redaction.” Tears settled in the laugh lines around her eyes, smoothing them out. “Henry and I can’t fail you too. And if you go through with your plans for vengeance, we will have. I don’t know if I’d survive that. I just don’t know…”

He knew he wouldn’t. But he needed to stop thinking only of himself. Others needed him and he couldn’t let them down.

“We’ll be okay.” Manny set the gun on the table. “We’ll help each other through it. Like Henry would want us to.”

Instead of reaching for it, Mildred opened her arms.

He circled the table and fell into her embrace. On the wind, he could almost hear Henry whisper ‘about damn time.’

Chapter Forty-Six

David scanned the cafeteria turned courtroom. The German shepherd hunkered at his feet, waiting for his command. People crowded in the seats, sometimes three on two folding chairs. Men and a handful of women packed the twelve feet between his men, stationed at each of the six double doors. Arms crossed and chin down, the civilians’ hostility flowed around the room like hot lava.

He hoped his men didn’t get burned today.

Walking to the front, he made eye contact with Vegas, stiff with anger. Michaelson’s oil stained finger aligned over the trigger. Janovich on duty despite his swollen face. Young Folger with a white knuckled grip on his M-4. Ray, whose muscles intimidated more than his carbine. Stalking at his side, the dog sniffed the air.

Damn Mavis. The woman had the uncanny knack of being right. One false move and the whole place would erupt.

And the civilians would get hurt.

With the modified stock on the M-4, his men would keep firing until they were overrun. David nodded to Robertson standing by the entrance to the hall where the bastard Trent Powers was being held.

The private jerked his chin toward the empty seat behind the defendant’s folding table.

Manny hadn’t returned.

Good. Someone had reminded the kid of how much he had to lose. Powers wasn’t worth it. David removed the reserved sign as he passed. He pointed to an elderly woman worrying rosary beads between arthritic fingers. A man in his forties helped her to the seat then returned to his post by the serving station.

After one last look, David turned his back on the crowd. His footfalls blended with the buzz of chatter.

Mavis, General Lister and two full bird Air Force Colonels sat at a table. None of them wore their Kevlar vests. The higher ups always did like making it hard on the enlisted folks.

Standing next to the prosecutor, Lieutenant Sally Rogers fiddled with the camera aimed at the judge’s table in the front to record the proceedings. She smoothed back her hair, resuming her seat at a desk. After checking her side arm, she rested her fingers on the keys.

The American flag stood to the left of the judge’s table. The Arizona State flag hung on the right.

The clock recorded one minute until zero-six-hundred. Almost show time.

He thumbed the safety off his weapon and planted himself beside Mavis. The dog stretched out in front of the stage. He’d do his best to keep her safe, get her out alive.

“I have coffee if you need any,” she whispered behind him.

“I’m fine.” With her at his side, he faced the crowd. His hands rested on the carbine.

A Marine appeared in the hallway and nodded.

Lieutenant Rogers stood up. “All rise, this court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Bob Anderson presiding.”

Feet stamped, metal chair legs scraped linoleum and fabric rustled as everyone in the cafeteria pushed to their collective feet.

Mavis set her hand on his back, cupping his shoulder blade through his vest. “I think it only fair to report that dozens—”

“—One hundred three—” Lister interrupted.

“—One hundred and three military issued tablet computers have gone missing,” she finished.

David shook off her touch. What the hell was she doing distracting him now with such nonsense?

Lister coughed. “And the evidentiary database has been accessed nearly two thousand times.”

Holy shit. The whole of the camp must have looked…. David turned as the judge draped in a purple graduation robe strode toward the desk. “Which files?”

Mavis smiled. “Why Trent Powers’, of course.”

David grinned. Hot damn. Trent’s sneaky maneuver to be tried by a judge had back-fired. The people had access to all the ugly details of his crimes—no filter through counsel or the courts. Made him glad he’d linked Colonel Henry Dobbins and PFC Singleton’s death to the case.

Lister smoothed his jacket. “We won’t be prosecuting anyone for the violation. I have to agree with the Doc that sometimes full disclosure is in the best interest of the people.”

“We would like for you to collect our property back.” Mavis winked. “We’ll need the computers eventually.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Damn but she was brilliant. David had no doubt she’d arranged the whole thing. He stood up straighter.

The judge took his seat. He patted his pocket and removed a pair of readers. Unfolding the glasses, he hooked them behind his ears. “Sit down everyone. Can’t have you looming over me.”

After a few chuckles, the people who had chairs resumed them.

“Bring in the defendant and his counsel.”

The Marine disappeared down the hall. He returned a moment later with his comrade and the accused.

Trent Powers strutted to the defendant’s table. He waved to the crowd and gave them a thumbs up. The nutjob didn’t seem to realize the people weren’t exactly pleased to see him. His blue sweater had creases and a sticker clung to the back pocket of his charcoal trousers. His dress shoes reflected the fluorescent lighting.

His lawyer, Jake Turner wore loose jeans and a stained collared shirt. A blue and red tie hung from his neck.

David tightened his grip on the rifle. The fucker had new clothes. Where the hell had he gotten them?

Brother Bob tugged a single sheet of yellow legal paper from under his robes. “Will the accused please stand.”

Trent pushed to his feet.

“Having reviewed the case all night, I am prepared to render my verdict and my sentence at once. As explained to your counsel, there will be no appeals. My decision is final and binding. Do you understand?”

Trent’s brow furrowed before he smoothed it. “Of course, your honor.”

Good, the bastard was worried. David hoped he shit his shorts when he learned he was sentenced to die by firing squad. Every soldier would have live ammunition. Given the times, it would be foolish not to. And when they were done, the asshole would be in more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle.

That was justice.

Judge Bob adjusted his glasses and unfolded the paper. “I, Judge Anderson find you guilty on the count of first degree murder of your ex-wife, Denise Powers and second degree murder of your neighbor Belinda—”

A smattering of applause rippled around the cafeteria. Someone shouted a denial. A few in the audience set this jaws. Damn. Not everyone was on Mavis’s side.

“What!” Trent jumped and banged his fists on the table. “You can’t do this!”

Judge Bob glanced up. “Counsel control your client.”

“I’m sorry your honor.” Jake Turner reached for Trent.

Trent punched him in the face. “Lying, cheating.”

Judge Bob snapped his fingers at the Marines. “Restrain him while I pass sentence.”

The two Marines stalked forward, each grabbed an arm.

Trent dangled between them like a slab of beef—if beef kicked and swore while hanging from a hook.

David forced the smile from his lips. Couldn’t happen to a more deserving bastard. Now for the really fun part. The sentence. What would the asshole do when he learned he was about to die?

“This is a travesty! I’m innocent,” Trent yelled.

Judge Bob stood up. “The sentence is banishment.”

Banishment? Banishment! David slipped his finger on the trigger. What the fuck good was that? The fucking asshole would still be alive.

Standing, Mavis leaned over the table. Anger outlined her lips in white.

“You can’t do this!” Trent arched his back and slithered toward the floor. The Marines held him tight.

“If you are ever seen near any of our settlements, you are to be shot until you are dead.” Judge Bob pounded on the table. “Now get outta my sight.”

The Marines dragged Trent toward the hallway. The convicted kicked at any by-stander, twisted and turned. His curses rang from the wall.

The crowd murmured among themselves. Here and there, heads nodded. Some men punched their palms, women shook their heads. He wasn’t the only one unhappy with the sentence.

Mavis pushed passed him and stalked toward the judge.

Now what was she up to? David shadowed her movements.

Lister moved to the front and raised his hands. “If everyone could prepare to board their assigned vehicles, we need to get on the road. Colorado awaits.”

Although many rose from their seats, few moved to the doors. “How do we know he won’t kill again?” a voice shouted from the back.

“Or find others to hurt?” another asked.

“He won’t.” Judge Bob’s voice boomed across the cafeteria. “He’ll be dead from radiation exposure shortly.”

“Radiation? What are you talking about?” The question was chorused around the room.

Mavis bit her lip.

David’s stomach cramped. The radiation would take longer than Judge Bob planned to kill the fucker.

Mavis climbed up on Trent’s chair then the table. “If I may have your attention please.”

The crowd hushed and jostled forward.

“Many of you are aware of the anthrax attack from the emergency alert system.” She opened her arms. “That message was drafted before I fully realized the extent to which the government was compromised.”

David twitched. Damn. Except for the slight throat clearing, he had a hard time reading the lie in her body language. She appeared as if she was truthful and forthcoming. Yet, she’d just lied her ass off. Her simulation models had depicted these events from day one.

“Within five days after the attack, we lost the people who operate the nuclear generating stations.”

A woman on the left fainted. She was scooped up. Like in a mosh pit, hands lifted her above heads and transferred her to the outside.

Mavis’s attention drifted over the crowd.

David knew with whom she made eye contact. The men and women seemed to relax. It quickly spread to their neighbors.

“The reactors themselves automatically powered down and then the fuel rods were transferred to the pools, where they’d be safely stored underwater.” Mavis dropped her hands to her sides. “But the rods are hot and require a constant supply of water from the waste water reclamation facilities. There is no one left to man those either. After eighty-four hours the water boils off, leaving the rods to burn and spew radiation. Killing most of the life on the surface.”

“We’re going to die!” A man wailed. He pushed and shoved against his neighbors trying to get out.

They held onto him, trapping him. His agitation spread.

Mavis shook her head. “We’re not going to die. We’re going to Colorado to live in some abandoned mines that will shield us from the worst of the radiation. It won’t be easy, but if we work together we can make it a home until it’s safe to come out on the surface again.”

A man in the back stood on a chair. “So that…that asshole might find a rock to crawl under and survive this too?”

Shrugging, Mavis flashed them her palms. “He doesn’t know. In this case and every case hereafter, banishment means death. There will be no lone survivors living off the land.”

So he would be walking around getting a nuclear tan. Damn. David grinned. It was almost better than a firing squad. Except for one small point.

The man set his hands on his hips. “What’s to say he won’t follow us?”

Got it in one.

“We’ll take him out into the desert and drop him off,” Lister barked. “He won’t be able to find his way out.”

Unless he followed the tire tracks.

Judge Bob scratched his chin. “Sedate him. Then take him out to the desert. Give him a week’s rations and leave him.”

One problem solved. But the big one remained. David waited in silence with the others. Would Mavis solve it?

“We’ll chip him like we do wild animals. Our satellite network is still up and running. We’ll track his movements and if he sets foot in Colorado, we’ll kill him. And if he goes near any other settlement, we’ll do our best to get a warning to them. Crimes like his means he’s not fit for society and only those doing their part have a place and a share in the food, water and supplies needed to survive. It isn’t perfect but it’s the best we can do.”

A few grumbled, but most seemed to accept it. David smiled. And as a bonus, Mavis gave anyone planning to cause problems a warning. The civilians filed out the door chatting among themselves.

David set his safety. He’d like to see one of them come up with a better solution.

Mavis sat on the table and hugged her knees. “We’ll need a medic or corpsman for the proper sedative dosage and a vet with a chip.”

“Damn fine idea.” Judge Bob unzipped his purple robes. “I know killing him would be the best solution, but after what he’d done, I thought we’d use him as an example. A bad example.”

“Why Brother Bob I didn’t know you were so vindictive.” Mavis sat her chin on her knees.

Judge Bob shrugged out of the robe and rolled it into a ball. “I’m not. There are worse things than death, Doctor Spanner. And I’m thinking one of those things is Trent Powers’ company. He’ll die broken and alone.”

And hopefully horribly and slowly, David added. That would be justice.

Chapter Forty-Seven

“I’m innocent!” Trent punched the door to his cell. Pain rocketed up his arm. The skin across his knuckles split. He pounded again. Again. And Again. Blood streaked the wood. “You can’t do this to me!”

The door didn’t open.

He flattened himself against the door.

No murmurs. No voices.

Son of a bitch. He shook his hand but it didn’t help. He felt his pulse race across the broken skin. He wouldn’t let the bitch win.

As for that traitor Jake Turner…

He’d have to think of some way to repay him. Crossing the small space, he knelt by the bucket and plunged his hand in the water. Red bloomed in the clear liquid. He stroked his thumb across the cuts, used the pain to focus. Killing outright was too good for Jake Turner. He’d have to suffer first.

Trent licked his lips. Maybe he’d have Jake strapped to a table then cut pieces off of him. Little bits at a time and feed them to him. How much blood could a person lose before they died? He wouldn’t want the asshole to die too quickly. The fucker should lose his fingers, toes, ears, nose, lips, balls and dick first.

But was it enough?

Maybe for the lies, but not for the humiliation. Rocking back on his heels, Trent rested his wrists on the lip of the bucket. Blood ran down his hands and dripped into the pink water. He’d rethink his plan later, after he got out of this hellhole.

Which would happen sooner rather than later.

He’d heard the trucks moving out while he’d sat in that sham of a courtroom. And the fools had sentenced him to banishment. Pushing to his feet, he dried his hands on his slacks. Like he wanted to be part of their stupid settlement anyway.

No, he would rule his own kingdom and, one day, he and his descendants would crush that bitch’s world and wipe out everything she stood for.

He just had to wait until they let him out.

Standing in the center of the room, he closed his eyes. Her weak children would grovel at his feet. He’d rape the girls and maybe find someone to fuck the boys over. His hand skimmed down his wool sweater and he stroked himself through his new slacks.

Once they’d been broken, he’d have their hearts cut out on the floor of his throne room. He’d force captives to watch them eat the pieces. Yes. His heart thudded heavily in his chest. It would be wonderful. So wonderful, he might make it a yearly occasion.

No monthly.

His enemies would need to think twice.

Keys jingled.

Trent opened his eyes and the fantasy faded in the yellowing walls of his cell. He grunted. His release was going to be faster than he thought. The losers. Only the weak showed mercy.

When it came their time, he would show them how the strong delivered justice.

They would not live to tell the tale to others.

He smiled at the door. Although, a head on a spike might get the message across. Really, it was a shame the practice was discontinued by bleeding heart liberals.

Jake Turner poked his head around the door. “All finished with your little tantrum?’

Trent clenched his fists. Blood spotted the floor. Turning his attorney’s face into hamburger would be too quick. Besides, the fucking soldiers would stop him just as he popped out the traitor’s eyes and squished them like grapes. No, his revenge would wait a bit longer.

“If you think you’ll ever seize power from that bitch and her lapdogs, you’re wrong. You should have stuck with me. I would at least have allowed you to eat at the table, they won’t even throw you scraps after they learn about Flagstaff.”

Jake eased the rest of the way into the room and leaned against the door. “They already know all about Flagstaff. My version, of course.”

Trent forced his fists to uncurl. “And when I tell them the real events…”

“They won’t believe you.” Jake smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. “But the teens are backing up what I’ve said. They think I’m a hero for coaxing you away from them by taking you shopping. Besides, I’ve already gotten what I wanted.”

“To lick that bitch’s boots.” Trent laughed. Who did the idiot think he was fooling? Jake had no power, no authority. He’d blown his best chance to get even a little respect. “With all the soldiers panting to get into the ugly cow’s underwear, you won’t even get to fuck her.”

Jake shook his head and folded his arms over his chest. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

The hair on the back of Trent’s neck itched. Had he missed something? “Get what?”

Jake pushed away from the door. “I never wanted power or women. I wanted revenge.”

“The military—”

“Not against the fucking military. You.” Spittle foamed at the corners of Jake’s mouth. “I wanted revenge against you!”

Trent blinked. What the fuck was going on here?

“You don’t get it.” Jake’s laughter fell like stones in a dry well—hollow and potentially lethal. “Does the name Deirdre Turner ring a bell? She went by the name DeeDee.”

DeeDee Turner. A face swelled from the depths of Trent’s memory as well as a two million dollar policy and a little extra something-something for him. “Blond hair. Nice rack. Shaved—”

Closing the space between them, Jake grabbed Trent by the throat and shoved him against the wall, lifting him to his toes. Drywall flaked around him. “She was my wife!”

Trent tried to suck in air. His lungs inflated but there was no oxygen in the vacuum. He clawed at the fingers digging into his neck.

“I worked so damn hard to make a living for us, to establish my practice. “ Jake’s face turned red. “It was my fucking idea to get a life insurance policy. Mine.”

Black tinged Trent’s vision. His lungs caught fire. He gave up trying to pry loose the fingers and went for Jake’s eyes.

Jake swatted his hands away and annoyance drew his features in tight. “And while I was working on a case that would allow us to put a down payment on a house in Carefree, you screwed my wife.”

Trent raised his knee to the other man’s groin. The bastard was going to kill him over an unfaithful bitch? No way.

Jake twisted his body, blocking the shot. “She confessed the affair when she contracted the Redaction, begged me to forgive her.” His eyes glistened. “And I did. But I will never forgive you.”

Trent’s ears buzzed. His vision reduced to the man in front of him. From a great distance, he heard knocking. God damn it! He wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Jake banged him against the wall once. Twice.

Trent barely registered the pain. His eyes fluttered closed.

Jake released him.

Cold air poured down Trent’s throat. His numb fingers reached for his damaged windpipe as he slid to the floor.

“When you showed up pretending to be a preacher, I knew God had given me an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.” Jake bent over and shoved his face into Trent’s. “Just a word in Dirk’s ear, and you reacted like I knew you would. You couldn’t resist the power.”

“Mr. Turner?” The bitch’s voice was muffled behind the door. “It’s time.”

Jake straightened. “I only wish you’d gotten a real taste of it before I took it all away.”

Trent coughed. He wasn’t anyone’s puppet. The fool was delusional. Jake Turner was a coward—one of those losers who dreamed of having it all but when the time came, didn’t have the balls to follow through. “DeeDee was a lousy fuck.”

Jake sucked in a breath.

“And you should have paid for a better tit job. It would have distracted from her flabby ass.”

“Come in!” Jake’s shout rattled the metal sink.

The bitch and her lackeys crowded into the small room. Trent memorized their faces. Dawson—the short, bland Hobbit extra. Lister—the graying Marine caricature. Judge Bob Anderson—a pattern card for the Monopoly cartoon without the monocle.

All of them would suffer for this insult.

“Let it be recorded that the sentence of banishment was carried out at…” the judge smoothed his vest, tugged a gold chain out and consulted the watch at the other end, “seven-oh-three on the morning of March thirteenth.”

What century was the man in anyway?

The bitch fished a vial out of her pocket. She flashed the white labeled vial at the judge. “Please verify that this contains the sleeping aid as recommended by the medical staff.”

Trent stiffened. “What sleep aid?”

The judge patted his chest then slid his reading glasses down from his comb-over. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

They were not going to ignore him. Setting his hands on floor, he pushed himself up.

Dawson pointed a pistol at his head. “Stay sitting.”

“You won’t dare shoot me.” It would violate their stupid code. Plus, his supporters would learn about it.

The judge waved his hand. “Not fatally. I’m sure you can still hobble around with one good leg.”

“Or I could just target other pieces of his anatomy.” Dawson shifted from targeting Trent’s head to his crotch.

Fucking asshole. Trent cupped himself. “This borders on cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Stubble it or I’ll have you gagged.” The flunky general grinned.

The bitch ripped open a syringe, bit off the cap and spat it on him. Staring at him, she jabbed the needle into the vial and drew back the plunger. “Four-point-five ccs were the required dose to knock him out.” She removed the vial then aimed the needle from the ceiling and depressed the plunger. Liquid arced out of the tip and sprayed him.

“Hey!” Trent brushed at the liquid staining his new sweater. “Watch the clothes.”

She handed the syringe to the judge who passed it to Jake. “That’s the agreed amount.”

“Corpsmen!” Lister barked.

A soldier in Navy blue and an anchor tattoo on his steroid-induced bicep marched into the room.

“Do it.”

“Yes, Sir.” He knelt, pulled a length of rubber from his pocket and tied it around Trent’s upper arm.

“Think you can get it a little tighter?” Trent snapped. His arm began to prickle from the constriction.

The corpsmen shoved Trent’s sweater up to his elbow. Grabbing his hand, the military lackey twisted his wrist until a plump blue vein came into sight. Cold air washed over Trent’s skin when he cleaned the area with an alcohol swab.

His traitorous attorney handed him the syringe. “How long until it takes effect?”

“Not more than a minute.”

Trent shrugged. They could ignore him all they wanted. His time would come. He faked a yawn. “I feel tired already. Oh, wait. That’s just boredom.”

The corpsman shoved the syringe into the vein then unsnapped the band.

Cold heat blazed up Trent’s arm. He sucked in a breath. Fuck that hurt. The bastards just stared at him, waiting for a reaction, no doubt. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

The corpsmen jerked the needle free and taped a cotton ball to the puncture.

The bitch crouched down next to him. “There’s one thing we forgot to mention. Along with the drugs, we injected a GPS capsule. It’ll settle in your heart and if you ever set foot in Colorado, we’ll use it to hunt you down like a rabid dog and blow your brains out.”

They’d tagged him like a dog? His tongue swelled in his mouth. Fatigue slammed his lids closed. Trent felt himself falling over. Then he felt nothing.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Trent opened his eyes. Bright sunlight flared across the back of his skull. He blinked several times until his vision adjusted. Wobbly muscles pushed him to a sitting position. Wet fabric molded to his body and a saturated blanket rolled onto his lap. The world tilted on its axis. The shrubs and sand see-sawed back and forth. He set his hand on the tire tracks. Eventually, they had to lead him to a road.

And a road meant people.

Yet, the sun was near to setting and he hadn’t found anyone. He dragged his tongue across his teeth. And the drugs the bastards had given him hadn’t helped. He kept fucking passing out. But he wouldn’t let the military stop him. He was destined for greatness.

Then they would pay.

But first, he had to find the God damn road.

A noise scratched his ears. On his left, a crow pecked at the brown Meals-Ready-to-Eat pouch. It pulled up a shred of brown then threw back its head and swallowed it down.

“Get!” Trent croaked.

The crow flapped its black wings, dug its yellow talons into the MRE and shifted away.

Fucking bird. He hoped the damn thing exploded from eating that shit. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Gah. What did they give him? He opened his last water bottle sticking out of the snow and chugged it.

The ammonia hit the back of his throat at the same time as the scent of urine registered.

He sprayed out the water.

God damn it. They’d pissed in his water. He scooped up a handful of snow and scrubbed his tongue. Fuckers. He tossed the bottle across the desert. A cold wind slipped through the knit weave of his sweater.

If they thought he’d die of dehydration, they had another thing coming. He would bury them.

Some of them while they still lived.

He rolled onto all fours. Vomit soured his mouth and his gut collapsed to spew its contents. After the dry heaves passed, he wiped his mouth on his wet sleeve and pushed to his feet. He swayed for a minute and listened to the sound of retching.

Trent touched his hand to his lips.

What the fuck?

He glanced to the left. Four school buses were parked along the side of the road. People milled about. His pulse quickened. They obviously needed a leader.

And he needed followers.

He took a step in their direction. His leg buckled. Yelping, he crumpled into the snow and mud.

“Who’s there?” a weak voice called from behind a tree. A watery splat quickly followed.

Trent froze. God, what was the man doing over there?

“Who is it?” A blustery fart soon followed.

He covered his nose and mouth. Damn, those MREs just weren’t healthy. Of course, a man suffering from diarrhea didn’t pose much of a threat. And he did have people and transportation.

But he’d thought that once.

He’d be more cautious this time. No one would take advantage of his trusting nature again. “Hello?”

Tossing the blanket into the nearest bush, Trent mussed his hair and tore his sweater and clothes. Their pity would be his way in. He heard a zipper close then the tree branches moved.

A sandy-haired man stared at him. Sweat glistened on his pasty face. “Where did you come from?”

Trent flapped his arms, imitating some of the losers who the military had picked up. “I got separated from my group. I think they left me.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. The man was falling for his line. Not that he doubted it. Now he just had to wait until the idiot said the magic words.

“You can join us.”

Bingo. Trent smiled. Step one complete. Two or three more would assure his victory. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” He stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Trent Powers.”

“Stuart Graham.” A long fart punctuated his name. The man cupped his ass.

Thank God, he didn’t reach for Trent’s hand. He ducked his head to hide his disgust.

Pain flickered over Stuart’s soft features. “Excuse me.” He ducked behind the tree.

What the hell was wrong with the man? And was it contagious? Trent didn’t want to be the leader of a bunch of sick people. “Are you okay back there?”

“It’s the anthrax. We ate tainted food and now…” A long burst drowned out the rest of his words.

Ah. Anthrax wasn’t contagious. Still… Trent counted the people around the buses. Forty or so that he could see. Not very many men his age. That worked. “How many are sick?”

“There’s only three of us left.”

Trent shifted so he stood upwind of the stench. Three people from forty still left him a good number to build his kingdom. Of course, if more became sick then he’d have to prioritize who could stay and who would just be dead. “How’d you get it?”

“Audra picked up some buns from Burgers in a Basket.”

Audra? Another fucking bitch in charge? Trent clenched his fists. The scabs on his knuckles broke open. That wouldn’t do. “That your wife?”

“Nah.” Stuart grunted. “She’s just someone who teamed up with my people to survive.”

Right. Trent wasn’t buying that load of shit. This Audra was probably like the bitch in charge of the military. “Women, huh.”

Fabric rustled then Stuart reappeared, wiping his hands on his pants. “Women what?”

Ahh, the first test. Trent stuck his hands in his pockets. “They need men to protect them, tell them what to do.”

Keep them in line.

Stuart cocked his head as if that bit of truth wasn’t self-evident. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He’d know so when Trent got through with him. And then he’d die. Trent would be the only male in his kingdom. There’d be no mistakes this time. “So where are you going?”

“To join the soldiers.” Stuart trudged through the snow.

Not if he could help it.

“Audra should join us there.”

“She’d not with you?” Trent’s blood warmed. God had given him another opportunity. It was perfect. He followed in the other man’s footsteps.

“We got separated a while back.” Stuart shrugged. “Then the storm happened.”

What a wuss. This Audra was obviously leading the fool around by the short hairs. He would change that. He would change everything. Leaping over a puddle of melted snow, he landed on the road. Faces turned to him. Most were old. A few held promise. Ah well, he wouldn’t be too choosy. He smiled back at them. Behold your future king.

“Who’s this then?” A hag draped with pearls and diamonds glared at him.

She’d have to go. He plastered a smile on his face. But he’d keep her jewelry. “Trent Powers and I’m sure glad to see you folks. I’ve been wandering around the desert all night.”

She ignored him and stomped to the truck.

Most of the others followed suit.

Trent tsked. They would have to be taught proper respect.

“Ignore her.” Stuart jostled his arm. “Come on. You can ride with me.”

“Thanks.” Trent followed him onto the second bus. How long will it take to convince Stuart Graham not to join the soldiers? Half an hour? Forty-five minutes? Trent checked the road and boarded the bus. How ever long it took, he was sure God would arrange it.

Trent deserved nothing less.

Chapter Forty-Nine

“Do you think they’ve waited?” Tina whispered.

Audra didn’t know why she bothered. In a bus this small, everyone heard even the most intimate conversation. Her cheeks heated at the thought. Thank God she’d stopped Eddie at a little petting last night. Heaven knows she wouldn’t have been able to face them if they’d gone farther.

“I don’t know.” Arching her back, she stretched out her legs and arms. “I do hope Mother and the others found the soldiers.”

Outside the bus windows, the businesses gave way to houses. A pack of six coyotes lazed in the driveway of one ranch-style home.

“We can’t be too far behind the others.” Eddie braked the bus as he turned the corner, following the black arrow spray painted on the street sign directing them to the soldiers’ camp. “I can practically smell Stuie.”

Tina clasped her hands together. “We may have been forced to camp out along the road in the blizzard but Stuie and the farting fifteen would have had to make constant pit stops.”

If they were still alive. Eddie’d said only fifty percent of those infected with the gastronomic form of anthrax would survive. There might be only eight left. And Mrs. Rodriquez had come back for her. What were their chances without a nurse?

“Looks like they waited.” Eddie pointed through the windshield. Four buses were parked alongside the road.

Audra read their numbers as they passed. Seventy-nine. Twenty-eight. Thirty-nine. Forty-eight. These were her people. She glanced down to make sure her feet still touched the floor. Her fingers tingled. Life was good. “Where do you suppose they are?”

A shriek rattled the windows.

Eddie yanked hard on the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes.

Pigtails flying, a little girl in a red jumper dashed in front of the bus.

Audra caught herself on the front divider. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the thump of a body hitting the bumper. Nothing. She peeked through her lashes.

The little girl jumped up and down in the middle of the street. “They’re here! They’re here!”

Audra rose from her seat; the girl had disappeared to the right. Children climbed on monkey bars and swung on swings. Older folks held the young ones on bright painted animals attached to the ground by metal springs. “It’s a park.”

The children were playing in the park. Why did something so normal seem so strange?

“Looks like it’s just us and a few new additions.” Eddie killed the engine, grabbed the lever and opened the door.

Audra’s happiness dimmed. “No soldiers?”

Tina squeezed her hand. “We’ll catch up to them tonight.”

They needed to have reached them now. They were low on gas and had only had one MRE in the last twenty-four hours. Her stomach growled and she flattened her hand over it.

“I’ll see if I can catch us some rabbits.” Eddie winked at her. “Hopefully those coyotes haven’t eaten them all.”

“Thanks.” She leaned over to kiss him.

Turning his face, he cleared his throat. “Your mother is behind you.”

“Good.” She grabbed his ears, angled his face up to her and planted a wet one on his lips. Just as his lips parted, she pulled back. Ha. That’ll teach him.

“Audra!” Her mother hissed.

“Good morning, Mother.” Audra straightened. She arched an eyebrow, daring him to say anything.

Eddie grinned. “I should call you Princess Tease.”

Her cheeks flamed. “If anyone heard that—”

“Too late,” Mrs. Rodriquez barked. “And we’re not changing her name in mid-stream. Now stop playing kissy-face and get off the bus. Some of us need to pee.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Audra stumbled down the steps.

Her mother grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward an oversized picnic area. The metal pergola shaded half the tables. “We need to talk.”

Audra waved to the people who called out to her. “If this is about Eddie—”

“What? No. For such a blunt spoken young man, it certainly took him a long time to screw his courage to the sticking point.” Her mother wrung her fingers.

Her mother knew and approved?

Audra stumbled backward. Good Lord, it really was the end of the world.

Eddie paused five feet away and pulled something out of his pocket. His eyes narrowed as he raked her mother from head to foot. “Everything all right?”

“Yes. We’re good.” Audra hoped he picked up on the double meaning. Her attention dropped to the red scrap in his hands. “Is that my bra?”

Her good one, with the Belgian lace? The one extravagance she’d allowed herself before the Redaction hit six months ago?

“No.” He attached the hook and eyes. “This is a double barrel sling shot. And these will make fine skinning knives.” He flashed the two black underwires.

She covered her face with her hands. She’d loved that bra.

“I’ll be back with some rabbits.” He kissed her ear. “Then you can have it back.”

She winced as the sound bounced inside her skull. Men just didn’t understand. She bared her face, watching him walk into the field across from the park. Well, shoot. Then again, she had more bras and, as long as she didn’t have to sacrifice another, it was a small price to pay for real meat. “It better be a fat rabbit.”

Her mother waved her hands in front of Audra’s face. “Please get your mind off Eddie and the rabbits. We have something more important to discuss.”

The hair on Audra’s neck stood up. Her mother had used that tone only once in her life—when Audra’s father had died. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What’s wrong?”

“While you were… away, we picked up a stray.”

Cold slithered down Audra’s spine. Away, what a quaint euphemism for kidnapped. She rubbed at the cold sweat on her upper lip. She was safe now. That was all that mattered. Eddie had told her over and over last night that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her again.

She believed him.

She needed to.

It helped that she wasn’t as helpless as she appeared.

Taking a calming breath, she stared across the park grounds. Half a dozen new faces glanced at her, they quickly turned away. So did a few old ones. What was that about? “Are we short on food?”

“No. In fact, we’re gassed up and ready to go but…” Her mother turned her to face her, blocking out the rest. “It’s this new stranger. This Trent Powers. He’s convinced Stuart not to join the soldiers but to find a small town and set up shop there.”

“What!” That was ridiculous. They had to join the soldiers. Few of the people here had practical skills. Heavens, aside from Eddie’s dubious efforts, almost everyone here hunted food in the grocery store. “We can’t survive without the soldiers.”

“I know that.” Worry pinched her mother’s blue eyes. A strand of hair escaped her bun and she didn’t quickly tuck it back. “And that Trent Powers has some peculiar notions on women and their proper place. I tell you, Audra, no Southern lady has felt like this since Sherman marched through Atlanta.”

Audra blinked. Good Lord. Given that the Union general had burned his way to the sea, that was serious. Very serious indeed.

And…” Her mother nodded to a building across the street. “And I think he raped one of the girls. She’s won’t say so, but her wrists are bruised and she’s walking funny. But even without her testimony, I witnessed him smack Anna for bringing him cold coffee.”

Audra’s fingers curled into fists. That behavior would not be tolerated. Trent Powers had to go. “I’ll talk to Stuart.”

Her mother hugged her quickly then smoothed her hair. “I knew you would. You’ll fix everything, just like your father.”

Her father had his money, family name and connections to make things happen. She was on her own. “Where is Stuart?”

“In the football field with that man.” Her mother pointed beyond the cafeteria. Small blue boxes lined the space behind the bleachers.

Stuart obviously hadn’t recovered from his stomach upset.

Audra shook her hands as she walked. If Stuart didn’t want to go with her. That’s fine. She’d offer his people the choice then be on her way. But the buses were hers. Stuart could find another way to reach his utopia.

When she was about a hundred feet away, a man exited the toilet.

He smoothed his blond hair and smiled at her. His eyes focused on her breasts under her lightweight jacket.

If she’d had anything in her stomach she would have vomited on him. This had to be Trent Powers. Mother was right to be concerned. “Stuart? It’s Audra. We’ve arrived.”

“Audra?” Stuart’s voice was muffled despite the ventilation in the top of the portable toilet.

“I’ll talk to her, Stuart.” The man sidled closer.

She checked the ground for an oil slick. None.

“Why don’t we walk a bit and chat? I’m sure Stuart would appreciate the privacy in his condition.”

“Fine.” She straightened her shoulders and stomped toward the baseball diamond, out of the wind squeezing through the row of toilets. But it would be a short conversation.

He set his hand on the small of her back.

She shoved it away. Rage bubbled under her skin. Those bastards who had kidnapped her touched her without permission. No one would do so again. “The buses belong to my group. We’ll be taking them when we leave to join the soldiers.”

The oily mask melted from Trent Powers’ face. Hatred flared in his shark eyes. “I don’t think so.”

She stopped. “I don’t care what you think. I’m taking what is mine and offering a ride to any of Stuart’s people who wish to join us.”

Trent grabbed her hair and shoved her face-first toward the dirt. “I’ve had enough of bitches like you.”

Audra planted her hands in the slush. Enough was enough. She mule kicked her attacker in the knee. Bone crunched and the joint bent backward.

He yelp and released her hair. “You cunt!”

“That is it.” She laced her muddy hands together and came up swinging. The back of her hand collided with his jaw when she was halfway up.

His head snapped back. Blood poured from his nose. He shook his head, spraying her with droplets. “So you like it rough?”

Hopping on one leg, he jabbed. His fist collided with her nose.

Stars burst in her vision and warmth cascaded down her face. Blood tainted her mouth. Her training surged to the fore. Pain had been expected.

“I can play rough.” He leapt on her. His forearm tightened on her throat.

The aggressive stance was lethal and predictable. She didn’t waste time trying to pull his arm off her. That wouldn’t work, but something else would. Thank you Daddy for those combato self-defense lessons.

“After you pass out, I’m going to fuck you in ways you only dreamed about.”

In his dreams. She pushed with her feet, shoving her body into his.

Off balance, he stumbled backward.

She gathered her fingers and thumb into a hard point and jabbed his eye. The soft tissue burst and goo coated her fingers.

“Bitch.”

She wrapped her feet around his. And they fell. Her stomach fluttered in her throat as they continued to fall. She reached for something to grab on to and closed her hands around air.

A heartbeat later, they landed with a thud and crack of bone.

The hand around her neck loosened. She shoved it away and rolled off him. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she raised her fists. Ready for round two.

Trent Powers’ head lay at an odd angle.

She shifted back. Was he dead?

“What the fuck did you do to me?” His eyes glanced left then right. “Why can’t I move?”

Audra slowly straightened and dropped her hands to her side. Her heart pounded in her chest. She’d done it. She’d won. “Your neck is broken.”

Someone skidded to a stop beside her.

She jumped and took a swing.

Eddie ducked. “Sorry it took me so long to get here.” Two dead rabbits dangled from his fists. “But damn, you’ve got some excellent moves, Warrior Princess.”

Pride shoved her tears to the surface. She wrapped her arms around her chest. She’d done this. “What do I do now?”

Her self defense teachers told her to run away and call for help. That didn’t exactly apply now.

“You going to fucking help me, bitch.”

“Mind your language, asshole.” Eddie kicked Trent in the ribs. Despite the crunch of bone, Trent didn’t flinch. “We don’t do anything. He’ll either suffocate in a couple of minutes or the coyotes will eat him.”

“You can’t do this.” Trent twitched.

“Yeah, I can.” Eddie pulled her bra from his pocket, wadded it up and stuffed it into Trent’s mouth. “But I don’t have to listen to you. Sorry, babe, but you’re not getting your boulder holder back.”

A vein throbbed at Trent’s temple. His shouts were a garble of noise.

“It’s okay.” Tremors traveled up and down her spine. Hot tears mingled with the blood pouring out her nose. How was she going to live with this?

Eddie kissed her hard.

She blinked and sniffed. Blood and snot hit the back of her throat. “What did you do that for?”

“Because I’m proud of you.” He daubed at her face with the hem of his shirt. “Do you think Tina or Becky or anyone else would have been able to take out this piss ant?”

“No.” She shook her head. They hadn’t been drilled like she had.

“Exactly. You protected your people like a leader does. You did the shit work leaders do.”

“But I killed him.” Leaders didn’t do that. She blinked. Leaders ordered it done. Did that make her better or worse?

“You didn’t kill him.” Eddie wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “See, he’s still breathing.”

His body heat chased the cold from her marrow.

“And he’ll go on breathing until the coyotes get here.” After one last squeeze, Eddie walked over to Trent. Using her sharpened underwires, he slit the rabbits’ bellies. Their insides tumbled out and splatted on Trent’s stomach.

Audra covered her mouth. Good Lord, the smell was horrible. “What are you doing?”

Standing in the middle of the baseball diamond, a coyote sniffed the air. Another soon joined it. Then another.

Eddie milked the blood from the cuts and dribbled it over Trent. “Garnishing the main course.” He scooped out the heart and lungs and dropped them onto Trent’s groin. With the gutted carcasses swinging from his hands, Eddie strolled toward her. “Let’s go cook these up and leave the coyotes to their meal.”

“Eat?” She swallowed the vomit in her mouth.

“You think I’m going to waste this fancy bit of tail on him?”

It wasn’t right, letting the animals eat another human being. She glanced at Trent. Hatred blazed in his one good eye. She shivered and held onto Eddie. Then again, Trent would have done far worse to her if he could. She turned her back on him.

Trent Powers wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again.

From the corner of her eye, she watched the coyotes lope closer. She rested her head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Fifty

The bastards! Using his tongue, Trent shoved at the gag in his mouth. Did they think they could just leave him? He was Trent fucking Powers. As soon as he got the gag out of his mouth, he’d yell for Stuart.

Stuart would help him.

That loser didn’t like being under a woman’s heel. They were kindred spirits. And Trent would use him until he regained the use of his limbs again. That asshole who’d dumped guts on him would pay first.

Then that bitch, Audra.

A door slammed shut.

Fuck! Stuart must be done shitting his brains out. Trent rammed his tongue into the gag swelling in his mouth. Fabric looped around his tongue. When he tried to yank free, the material slipped deeper into his mouth. Son of a bitch!

The wind carried the scent of crap and the voices.

He picked out Stuart’s from the lot. What was the bitch and her lover telling him?

Sweat pricked his temples when he tried to raise his head. Dead grass met his eyes. Dammit! If he couldn’t see them, Stuart wouldn’t be able to see what those two had done to him.

Stuart had to see him!

Trent couldn’t end this way. He was too smart, too good looking, too talented. He dug the back of his skull into the embankment. Maybe he could pull himself up. Maybe then Stuart would see him.

Engines started.

What the fuck? Trent’s heart beat faster. This wasn’t happening to him. He worked harder but didn’t seem to go anywhere. His eyes burned and his vision twisted. Fine. He didn’t need Stuart. The man was pretty much useless anyway.

More people would come through this site. The soldiers had set it up as one of the points on their stupid evacuation routes. Someone would find him. And they would be worthy of his leadership.

Worthy of him.

Soft footfalls sounded near his head. Ah, so Stuart hadn’t left him after all.

A shadow stretched across his legs—sharp ears pointed above the head.

Trent blinked. No. He turned his head. A coyote sniffed the air then lowered its head. Golden eyes fixed on Trent then slipped to the steaming entrails on his stomach. He shook his head. No. Get away!

The gag stifled his commands.

The coyote closed the distance and dug into the pile. Pressure built on his groin.

He felt that. He was getting better. Now if he could just move his hand… He tilted to the side. Yes, he—

Another coyote had his hand in its mouth. Red blood streamed down his arm, spotting his sleeve and the ground.

His eyes bulged and terror ripped through him. A scream tore out of his throat as a third coyote chomped down on his other arm and snapped bone.

Chapter Fifty-One

Colorado

Mavis stood under the awning dug into the side of the mountain. Clean air scoured her lungs. People filed into the tents set up in the valley then snaked up the trails to the various mine shafts. The afternoon sunshine sparkled on the snow capping the jagged peaks. It was beautiful. It was damn cold.

David pressed a cup of coffee into her hands. “We made it.”

“Yes, we did.” Sunnie was over the worst of her sickness. Trent had been dealt with. Life was good. She inhaled the sweet aroma then took a sip. Bitterness exploded across her mouth. Lister must have brewed it. She scraped grounds off her tongue and watched more people register.

“Eddie Buchanan.” The young man in army fatigues set his gas mask on the table. “If it has a motor, I can fix it.”

Leiutenant Sally Rogers tapped in the information then fingerprinted him. “We can always use a good mechanic.”

“Audra Silvestre.” The slim woman next to Eddie offered when Sally turned to her. “Teacher.”

Sally beamed at her. “We definitely needs those as well. Now would you like to stay with your group or a small bump-out in the cave?”

Audra glanced at Eddie who nodded. “With our group. After everything we’ve been through, they’re family. And family sticks together.”

David blew on the steam dancing over his mug. “That group is the mother lode. A couple of teachers, a principal, a deputy, lots of kids, and, get this, a registered nurse.”

It was a good day. Really. Yet those who weren’t here nagged at Mavis. She’d made so many mistakes. She hoped sending Papa Rose, Brainiac and Falcon into the field wasn’t one of them. “Any word from our men?”

“Not yet. But they’ll wander in.”

Maybe. Background radiation was slowly increasing. Someone’s nuclear power plant had melted down. More would follow. People had days, maybe hours, to get here and hide underground.

Sally burst out of a tent, looked around and jogged up the trail to Mavis. A man in a blue Royal Air Force uniform chased after her.

“You’re not going to believe this, ma’am.” She shook a handful of dog tags at her. “It’s the British. They’re invading.”

The British airman behind her shook his head. “Not an invasion, mum. We had to draw lots for places underground and…”

And some people had lost.

She couldn’t imagine would it would be like to have only half a family saved.

“We figured we’d come here since we’re poor, tired and wretched. Fortunately, we didn’t huddle en masse upon your shore but landed safely at Durango airport.” He finished the reference in case she didn’t recognize the words etched onto to base of the Statue of Liberty. “There were Germans and Poles following our exhaust.”

“Register them, Lieutenant.” They couldn’t afford to turn anyone away. Mavis checked her tablet. Three thousand two-hundred twelve survivors. And they weren’t clear of the anthrax yet. She hugged the computer. It had to be enough.

“More will come.”

“I hope so.” Five thousand would be a nice number. Surely the human race would survive with that many people.

“I have something that will cheer you up.” David eased the computer from her hand. He flicked through apps then tapped on the screen. Spinning it around, he showed it to her.

Mavis peered at the smear on the desert floor. She zeroed in on the image. A head came into view then a torso. So did the murder of crows pecking at it. “A corpse?”

“It’s Trent’s.” David smiled. “Or what’s left of him. Given that he made it back to camp, the bastard hooked up with another group. They didn’t stand for his bullshit.”

She noted the lack of hands and feet. The dark trails leading away from the body. “Looks like coyotes got him.”

“Yup.” David caressed the picture. “I hope he didn’t give them indigestion.”

Black humor seemed a fitting tribute to the asshole. “I’m sure he did.”

“Is this our new home, Papa?” A small voice squeaked. “I’s afraid of the dark.”

“I’ll be here, Toby. Papa Rose will keep you safe.”

Papa Rose. Mavis whipped around at the sound. What are the odds of two men having the same nickname?

The bald man huffed into view. A preschooler perched on his shoulders.

“I’m not afraid of the dark.” A nine year old girl tossed her dreadlocks over her shoulder. She released a lanky African-American man’s hand and skipped after Papa Rose. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Falcon, too.

David leaned down and whispered into Mavis’s ear. “Told you.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark either.” The blond haired girl holding Falcon’s other hand looked up at him. Shadows clung to her pale eyes.

“Of course, not Jillie. You’re very brave.” Falcon ruffled her hair.

Mavis rose on tiptoe to peer around them. Where was the third man? Where was Brainiac.

Papa Rose paused. He dipped his hand in his pocket. Metal jingled then clunked against the table. “We bought you thirty more hours, ma’am.”

Mavis’s chest clenched. Dog tags. Brian Acreman. Ensign. US Navy. She raked them from the table. “He won’t be forgotten.”

Falcon scooped up the blond girl and held her close. “No, ma’am. He won’t.”

Without another word, they tromped up the hill and were swallowed by dark mine entrance.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself. They volunteered to go.”

“I wasn’t.” She didn’t know what that said about her. That she could cast aside lives so easily.

“So what were you thinking?”

“Something John F. Kennedy said.” It was corny but the words touched her like a live wire. “Let every nation know, whether it wishes us good or ill, we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure our survival.”

“We’re going to do more than survive, Doc.” David laced his fingers through hers and tugged her toward the mine’s entrance—a dark hope in the fight ahead. “We’re going to live and be happy.”

She sighed. “I think I like that quote better.”

Author’s Note

Should any of you refer to the information in this book about Palo Verde to plan nefarious activities, you should know that I’ve deliberately altered key bits and was vague on others. As a long time resident of Phoenix, I do not want to wake up with a Radiation Tan.

Ever.

The quote at the end by John F. Kennedy is deliberately changed to reflect the trials that occur in the story. The actual one reads:

Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and success of liberty. Inaugural address, January 20, 1961.

Other Books by Linda Andrews

Thank you for purchasing a copy of Redaction: The Meltdown. Look for the sequel featuring our survivors in the caves of Colorado coming December 2012.

If you’re interested I have two scifi horror short stories available:

Intelligent Design: LifeNeeds Corporation’s Board of Directors are looking for the next big thing to meet the demands of an ever-changing market and fill their pockets. While the heads of LifeNeeds Research and Development departments scramble to survive in their cutthroat business, C’Bre Rah designs a marketing plan to die for. Will he save his project from budget cuts and make humanity the latest commodity hawked on the universal market? Intelligent design: Sometimes it’s better to make up your own purpose for being than to discover your creator’s true intent.

Kindle

Nook

2012: Winter Harvest: Out of the galactic equator comes a race intent on harvesting every last human on Earth. Now on the longest night one man and one woman will find the key to prevent the human race’s extinction.

Kindle

I’m also on twitter http://twitter.com/#!/LindaAndrews

And facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Author-Linda-Andrews

And have a blog: http://lindaandrews.wordpress.com/

About the Author:

Linda Andrews lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her husband, three children and a menagerie of domesticated animals. While she started writing a decade ago, she always used her stories to escape the redundancy of her day job as a scientist and never thought to actually combine her love of fiction and science. DOH! After that Homer Simpson moment, she allowed the two halves of her brain to talk to each other. The journeys she’s embarked on since then are dark, twisted and occasionally violent, but never predictable. If you’ve loved one of her most demented creations so far, she’d love to hear from you at lindaandrews at lindaandrews dot net

Copyright

Kindle Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Linda Andrews

Published by Linda Andrews at Smashwords

Cover Design by Linda Andrews

Photos by Marijus Auruskevicius, Svetlana Romanova

Edited by Serena Tatti, story-editor.com

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Content

Linda Andrews
THE MELTDOWN

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Author’s Note

Other Books by Linda Andrews

About the Author:

Copyright