Redaction: The Meltdown Part II (12 page)

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.”