Just what you always wanted: A weekend with Trent Powers.
So here is it ladies and gentlemen: Redaction: The Meltdown.
I’ll post the links as they go live:
Smashwords: It’s listed as 2.99 but but in coupon code PJ49P at checkout and it’ll be 0.99USD until the 10th of September.
Barnes and Noble–Finally live!
Okay, so it’s not completely done. But this is what we did. It’ll hold us until I can save up the 17K for a new kitchen.
The lights are from Home Depot and are LED lights. I absolutely love them. I didn’t realize we were living in a cave until I flicked the switch and voila.
Beautiful.
The cabinets we found at IKEA. 150 for all four of them and they’re mounted on a rod so no extra set of arms to hold the cabinet steady while trying to find the wall stud.
Well, here it is folks–the last chapter before the whole book comes out on September 1st. FYI, it’ll be 99 cents until the 8th of September so pick up a copy and red the rest of the 36 chapters.
Chapter Fourteen
Manny blinked away the dust clinging to his eyes as yet another truck lumbered by. The military convoy hadn’t seemed so long before. 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.
Solders 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 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 track suits 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 passed. 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 sucked, 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 going 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, allowed 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 the gangbangers down 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 high school. 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 shit 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.” An 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, before the service. 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 before it eats 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 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.”
I am a firm believer in the power of a name. After all, in order to perform an exorcism one must first know the power of the demon trapped inside. Yeah, that says a lot about my view on my writing–somewhere between possession and insanity lives a writer.
As you can imagine, I take great care in choosing characters names. They’re important. I once changed a character’s name in mid-book and he beat the tar out of someone as soon as I did.
It was amazing thing to behold.
When choosing my characters for Redaction, I deliberately picked very ordinary names because the story wasn’t about super people, but people in general.
Take Mavis Spanner for example. I love Mavis, heck, I like the name I chose. Mavis means song thrush. Birds herald the changing seasons and the day. And just like those birds, she sent out the call to everyone that something was coming, despite being told not to. What’s more, her last names, Spanner means she connects two things. She is the bridge between the world before and the one humans struggle to build in book 3. What’s more, the British have a saying “Spanner in the works” equivalent to “Wrench in the works”–meaning to mess up someone’s plans. And she does, actually, she messes up a lot of people’s plans.
David means beloved and Dawson means son of David. In other words, he’s David son of David. Redundancy is like a failsafe and provides security. Which he does in uniform, but in the way he looks after the men in his unit and people in general. He is also a small man fighting a giant of a system to do it.
Sunnie Wilson– Sunnie means bright and cheerful. And while she isn’t a ray of sunshine in the book, she is the bright spot in Mavis’s life and kept her going after the death of Mavis’s husband and son. Wilson means son of Wil (William being protection). I also chose Sunnie because it was light and frivilous in contrast to what was coming in the story.
Emmanuel Saldana–Emmanuel means God is with us, but he’s called Manny because he literarily represents every man. Because who among us is really prepared for the events in the story and wouldn’t be struggling to survive. Saldana, I stole from someone I used to know and is a place name.
Trent Powers–Trent went through many names changes in the story. Powers is obvious and is Trent’s goal in the story. The quest for it blinds him to everything happening around him and makes him uncaring about the suffering of others. Trent means gushing water. This is a twofer. Water destroys and shapes whatever it touches, but it also changes–adapting to fit any circumstance and situation–it is Trent’s greatest asset and allows exploit weaknesses and seem benign until the damage is done.
Audra Silvestre–Audra is a derivative of Audrey meaning noble strength. She begins book two holding onto values that are essentially good and virtuous. Unfortunately, they don’t mesh well with the new world. But the strength that is inside her helps to her adapt. Silvestre (from Silvester) means wood or forest, which are about to be destroyed by the coming Melt Down. But fire/destruction is also a natural part of a forests life cycle leading to greater biodiversity until the trees mature. Like Manny, she’s an everyone but no one special.
Even Papa Rose has a given name and yes, I know it. For the story, he got his name from the tattooes on his arm–one for each of the immediate family member he lost. His given name is Mike (from Michael–Who is like God?) Interestingly, his name is a question and in the story Papa Rose is questioning whether it’s worth it for him to continue to live. He thinks he knows the answer at the beginning. Papa Rose’s last name is Tahoma meaning water’s edge–symbolizing that line he walks in the story between wanting to live and wanting to die.
And while I don’t do this for all my characters, I’ve found that usually the names do reflect something about the characters in my stories–even those with bit parts.
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 Silvestre 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 bootheels 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 in 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 before. 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 out run them.” Fleeing was far better than stooping to barbarism. “But we can’t out run 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 all filed passed.
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. 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 toddler 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 before tossing it to her. “Call if you need…anything, Princess.”
She caught the warm plastic with the 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 before lunging 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 before taking us on.”
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 before 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 before opening 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 before.” 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 before pinching a couple legal pads. She eyed the cups before dismissing 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 before checking 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 passed 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 taillights 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.
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.”
She took the steps two at time before dumping her goodies on 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. She 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.
I hate shopping. Really, really hate it. And so it usually is with some desperation –ie most of my shirts look like Swiss cheese thanks to my job, my pants are worn in unmentionable places or I can’t find buttons to sew on to them anymore–that I venture to the stores in the first place.
I hate shopping that much.
It might have to do with the fact that I worked retail through high school and college, but I doubt it.
But desperate times call for desperate measures and I went to (shudder) the mall. You see, I’d seen the ads for JCP and their square deal and wanted to check them out. I am also a former JCP associate and am loyal to a few of their brands because of their quality.
As I strolled through the store searching for an elusive green and blue shirt, I stared at the prices. Dress slacks were on sale for 19.99 just like before the big change over. Although not on sale, the blouses were a couple dollars more than the big sale prices before Christmas. Two of the tee-shirts I bought were four dollars each and I got half off the clearance price of two blouses (4.50 each). My total was about 40% cheaper than I’d budgeted for.
But I hadn’t found the source of my quest–a blue and green shirt.
So off to Kohls we went. Big red signs advertised sales everywhere! And since I have money in my pocket, I continued my quest. But along the way, I decided to check JCPs prices against similar items in Kohls. The pants with the sale and the additional percentage off were still 5-7 dollars above what I’d paid. The bras I purchased were 2.50 more (same brand, different fabric design). And two blouses were 10 dollars more each. Socks were the same as were some clearance accessories that I’d eyed (and bought because they were a little more whimsical than at JCP).
I was quite shocked at how things added up.
Then I read about how the head of JCP was under fire for low profits since the change over.
I guess I’m not the only one brainwashed.
When did we chuck common sense and decide to be blinded by sale signs? Or respond like Pavlov’s dogs to the big red banners.
Even if we can’t do math, we have phones with calculators in them. The tip calculator is great for those who need it (of course this does involve subtraction if something is 30% off). Then again, one could just read the sliding scale on the sign.
Brainwashing is the only thing I’ve come up with.
But now it’s time to fight back!
So as the kiddies head back to school, you might want to resist the cultural brainwashing that we’ve all internalized until it’s gospel and infallible. We’ll show those madmen trained in thought-control, that instill in us a keeping up with the Jones’s mentality and play to our fears of being outside the herd.
We’ll think for ourselves and resist the siren call of that red sign.
But don’t over do it. Save your strength as you savor your euphoria–it’s an election year!
My crock pot hates me.
There, I said it. I put stuff in, turn it on and get mush or undercooked vegies out of it.
It’s a plot.
The toaster is in on it. I think they’re related.
I just don’t understand why I can’t master the darn thing. I can bake breads, cakes, pies and tarts. I can grill, saute, boil, deep fry, pressure cook and roast.
Yet, the crock pot and I are still at war after 20 years. I love to cook. I hate the darn green pot. I’m sure it’s possessed by evil spirits. These pitch-forked nar-do-wells spoon out the veggies so they’re undercook and the meat is shoe leather.
Most of the time when I come back, the lid is pulled back in lopsided smirk because it knows the much inside.
I bought a book with 1001 slow cooker recipes with the gift card my daughter gave me. I can deal with the fact that the recipes are naueseatingly bland. I can’t deal with the fact that the food turns out like crap.
So for now, I’m advancing in the opposite direction. The crock pot is being returned to its dark spot in the far corner of the cabinet (see, I told you it’s evil–it likes the dark).
But it has not won the war, just the battle.
I shall return (in about a year) and next time, I’m gonna kick some crockpot booty!
The coffee maker is grinning.
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 salt water 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 toddler 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 swallowed. “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 sliver he got while moping the deck.
“Get ahold 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 kicked, slouched down one pink heel. The wind must have been knocked from her as she didn’t say a word.
Christ Jesus! Twice in one day, they’ve 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 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 before sliding 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 momma.”
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 before following. “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 will 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. “Mom, I brought help. They’re soldiers.”
Her mother’s hand slid off her lap and landed palm up in a puddle.
“Mom!” 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.”
Mom 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 before catching 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 arm pits and lifted her up.
She hiccoughed. Her button nose blew snot bubbles.
Papa Rose tucked her close. Hot tears warmed his neck and thin arm strangled his shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get out of the rain.”
Just to be clear, I’m not talking about movies in the theatre. I’m talking about those available on the little screen. And just for grins, I’m throwing in some shows from TV as well.
I love a good story but at night, I just want to kind veg and so I open up Netflix and decompress for the hour and a half before bedtime. In the last week, I’ve watched:
The Glades–A cable show about a Chicago homicide detective that relocated to Florida and is now trying to adjust to life and death amid the swamps and alligators. To be honest, it took be a bit to decide to add this to my queue. I wasn’t really interested in another Dexter, but with the hubby home, I started the first episode. The lead character is funny and arrogant (but not in a nails on the chalkboard kind of way). There is a love interest which I like (hey, I do write romance novels) and her quirky son and obnoxious mother in law. The supporting cast is funny and interesting. We’ve watched 3 episodes so far and I really like the writing.
Alfred Hitchcock Presents–I don’t think this needs any thing from me. IT’s Alfred Hitchcock. FAbulous writing, great acting and amazing directions. The man was a genius and good golly is is funny. His before and after comments are almost as good as the stories. I was also pleasantly surprised when he approached the topic of alcoholism in 1955. I’m also amazed at how many folks were complaining about getting jobs and losing everything (there go my delusions about the good old days)
Queen of Hearts–A French movie with subtitles. I try to watch at least one foreign movie a month. And although I usually go with SciFi, this time I went with a romance. Well, it was in the romance category. The heroine is dumped by her longtime boyfriend and is forced to move out of the apartment they share. Being suicidal, she moves in with a distant cousin, who thinks if the heroine just gets laid she’ll be able to move on with her life. The subplots complement the main story line in a weird Gaullic shrug kind of way. There is on screen sex that might shock a few folks but the story is pretty good, I just wouldn’t call it a romance–more like an adult grows up.
And speaking of adults growing up,I watched what could only be described at a dude-flick. About Fifty is about two guys from California who are going through life changing events. One, a slick player in advertising, is having a brush with Prostate cancer. The other was bought out of his company because of his misuse of a golf club. Neither can admit that they’re grown up and in a creepy scene go out trolling for young hotties (ew!). But their relationship is funny and sad and just like Queen of Hearts, they end up as better people at the end of the movie then when the film starts. It’s a different kind of movie and well acted.
Attack the Block–I had very high hopes for this British movie. One, it’s British. 2-It’s a SciFi. 3-it involves folks fighting back against aliens that land in their neighborhood. Alas, I was disappointed. Hubby couldn’t even finish watching it but sat at the computer and played solitaire. It was an okay movie. The story is about a street gang of juveniles who mug a nurse at knifepoint. When a ‘meteor’ strikes a vehicle near them, the nurse escapes and the gang leader is attacked by the creature inside. To get revenge they kill the creature and then lo and behold more creatures fall to their neighborhood . Having taken down one of the aliens, the gang goes out to take out more and quickly realizes they aren’t equipped to do so. There are some very funny bits in the story and the acting is good, but the whole thing is just missing that something special. Still, it’s a good scifi rental.
All those who are geeks are heart raise your hand. Yep. That’s me. I’ve been avidly scouring the internet for those images sent back from the Mars rover, Curiosity.
So far, it looks a lot like the desert.
But that’s okay. Deserts have life and Curiosity is looking for life or the elements that would support it on Mars.
Very cool!
What’s even better is that NASA/JPL will release the footage of Curiosity’s bumpy landing. Not by the balloons like the others, but by parachuting to the planet. Right now, the rover is standing by until the squints decide it has made it safely, all parts intact, then the real search for ET begins.
Curiosity even took a picture of itself in a “Hi Mom, I’m okay” kinda way.
For more pictures, check out NASA’s site:
http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/msl/multimedia/gallery-indexEvents.html
Linda Andrews 