Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (5 page)

Releasing her breast, he leaned forward, grabbed a fistful of hair and gently angled her head so he could look her fully in the face. He didn’t want to spook her, panic her, make her scream before he was ready.

“This is my fantasy, too. Remember?” It just wouldn’t play out exactly as their texts, emails and calls recorded.

She sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

Digging his fingers into her hair, he pressed his mouth against hers. His tongue breeched her lips and invaded—tasting and taking. The second she responded, he broke off the kiss and released her.

She sagged against the wall, gasping for breath.

“Go make dinner.” He retreated back to his sports car.

Nodding, she straightened and took a wobbly step toward the door. Moisture glistened on the insides of her thighs and her skirt rolled up, exposed the rest of her ass. “Are you coming?”

Not yet, but soon they’d both be.

“Gotta get the wine first.” Opening the Jag’s door, Trent glanced at the gym bag on the seat. Adrenaline kicked him in the gut. His heart galloped against his ribs and warmth flooded his muscles. Ignoring the duffle, he reached for the paper bag holding a dubious Chianti from the liquor store up the street.

Tugging it out, he switched it with a similar bottle he’d brought from home.

Wrapping his fingers around the neck, he set his thumb on the puncture in the seal. Not that she’d ever see the mark left by his syringe. He’d open the bottle and drive the corkscrew into the exact spot where he’d added the drugs, leaving not even a trace for the cops to find.

Easing out of the car, he closed the door with his hip.

Later.

Much later.

He’d come back for his murder kit.

Chapter Five

Emmanuel Saldana stole through the alley. On his left, rats darted in-and-out of the mounds of garbage and raced through the chain link fence. Shadows streaked black tendrils across the spilled refuse while overhead the reds, pinks and oranges deepen to purple. Manny stuck his empty hands in his pockets and slouched into his over-sized hoodie. A cold breeze whistled past his ears and scored the skin exposed by the holes in his worn jeans. He spat the taste of rot and smoke from his mouth before wiping his lips on his sleeve.

Why hadn’t the bastards come?

Did they think everyone was dead? Did they hope they’d turned on each other and finished the job started by the Redaction? The Aspero had certainly tried. The gang’s serpent tagged nearly every fence and home in the neighborhood. A can rattled behind him and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. For a moment, fear turned his heart to coal and burned ashes inside him. Shit! Manny glanced over his shoulder. Eyes strained to decipher movement in the twilight.

He saw nothing. But what did that mean?

He knew better than to ask who’s there.

There were some questions best left unanswered.

Quickening his pace, he stomped on the garbage bags. Nails glistened in the board he’d planted in the clear patch. His first booby-trap. First, but not his last. His fingers bumped over the rusted switchblade in his pocket. Not much help in a gunfight, but it was better than nothing. Yellow caution tape flapped against the boarded-up windows of Mrs. Hernandez’s house. She’d made the best tamales. Orange biohazard tape streamed through the brown remains of Old Man Andersen’s prize garden.

Green paint flaked on the unhinged doors of the next four houses—burned out husks of blackened and crumbling block. The occupants had died after the city had run out of fancy tape to mark the houses of the dead. The Aspero had looted the house shortly after the bloated bodies had been stuffed into garbage bags and carted away.

Too bad he hadn’t gotten there first.

He could have used that food.

Hitching his jeans up, he glanced north toward downtown Phoenix. During daylight, smoke formed a gray sludge and the rolling blackouts destroyed the golden haze that used to cloak the heart of the city. The light was not a friend now. His wasn’t the only occupied home that remained dark after the power kicked on. If only he’d convinced his neighbors to move closer. They might have stood a chance against the Aspero, might have been able to protect their food.

Pausing, Manny checked the padlock on the gate. No sign of tampering. He glanced over his shoulder. Still nobody. Yet, the hair on the back of his neck remained standing. Someone was there. Should he walk past, pretend he didn’t live here?

His feet turned his body, aiming it further down the alley. His ribcage shrunk, squeezing his ribs. He couldn’t leave. Ignoring the gate, he climbed up the slats of a pallet and set his hands on the top of the block fence. His mouth dried as he eyed the swollen water bottle containing pool acid next to his hand. A few bubbles clung to the nails and tacks at the bottom of the yellow liquid. Holding his breath, he swung his leg over. Please, God, don’t let it explode on me.

His shadow deserved to have the shrapnel cut into his flesh. Manny landed with a soft thud and waited. One second. Two. The make-shift bomb remained intact. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted through the weeds and ducked between the slats in the wooden fence dividing the yards.

Steering clear of the rusted bear-trap under the weeds next to the gate, he crept closer to the single-story ranch house. Plywood covered the windows and faded red plastic tape snaked across the ground. Sand scratched under his sneakers as he slunk across the patio, avoiding the fishing line holding his mom’s old wind chimes. A battered wooden door was propped at an angle against the house. Ignoring it, Manny tugged on the lower half of the plywood nailed across the back door and slipped inside the building.

Waiting a heartbeat, he slipped the chain through the rungs he’d screwed to the plywood. The links rattled across the Saltillo tile while he threaded them around an exposed kitchen wall stud. He hooked the lock through the ends and secured it. Shrugging out of his empty backpack, Manny set it on the floor. His stomach rumbled; the sound echoed around the empty space.

Why hadn’t the Guard shown? Should he go back tomorrow? And if they didn’t show again?

“Manny?” The soft whisper sliced through his thoughts.

He shook himself. The little ones couldn’t see his fear. He had to be strong for them. There’d be time enough to come to a decision tonight, while they slept. “Yeah. It’s me.”

There was a click then light flooded the battered kitchen and cut into his eyes. Raising a hand, he shielded his vision. “Lucia, shine it at the floor or ceiling.”

“Sorry.” The spotlight dropped to his feet.

Manny blinked, and slowly he focused on his eight-year old sister.

Lucia leaned against the kitchen doorway. Pink tipped her brown toes and fingers. Dirt muted the sparkle of rhinestones on her pink tee shirt and stained the rolled cuffs of her matching sweat-pants. “I’m hungry.”

“I know.” Bending, Manny swung her up before settling her on his hip.

“Did the soldiers have chocolate?” She smiled and dimples appeared in her sunken cheeks. A thin layer of flesh moved over her bones. She hadn’t been plump before the Redaction made her sick, but now... Her shirt slipped off her shoulder, exposing the sharp edges of her collarbone.

He had to get food.

The Redaction had whittled them down to skeletons, but if he didn’t do something soon starvation would kill them.

“Nothing today.” He squeezed his eyes until they cleared of tears then kissed her head.

Sighing, she rested her head on his arm. The ends of her short hair tickled his chin. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Damn Guardsmen. Why hadn’t they shown? Didn’t they know people depended upon those supplies?

“Maybe.” He stroked her shorn hair before setting her on the ground. “Dinner will be served soon. We just have to wait for the power to turn back on.”

Lucia raised her hand to her head. Her lower lip trembled as her fingers encountered not the cork-screw curls she’d had before she’d gotten sick, but emptiness. Lowering her hand, she stared at her palm. “Can we have enchiladas?”

“Not tonight.” Maybe not ever. His stomach growled again. He’d bet the gringos had gotten their supplies. Rich, white folks didn’t know hunger. Stepping around his sister, he retreated back into the kitchen. “Tonight, it is rice and beans.”

She groaned, smacked her palm against her forehead, and collapsed against the wall. “Not again.”

“Yes, again.” And they were lucky to get it. Manny removed the lid from the pot on the burner. Tilting the opening toward the flashlight, he peered inside. The pintos had swollen since he’d set them to soak last night. Normally, he picked out the ones that had popped out of their husk. But that waste was a luxury they couldn’t afford. “Don’t you like my beans?”

Crossing her arm, Lucia stuck her bottom lip out further. The dot of light shone on the water-stained ceiling. “I want a Tween meal from Burgers in a Basket.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” Manny’s stomach rumbled in agreement, and he tasted the sourness of hunger. He closed his eyes and images of juicy burgers and crisp fresh vegetables used his eyelids as screens. Setting the pot down with a clunk, he rubbed away the temptation. Damn commercials.

“We’re going to Burgers in a Basket?”

Manny opened his eyes in time to see his seven-year old brother, Jose, leapt into the air and punch toward the ceiling.

“Yes!”

“No!” Manny yelled over his shouting brother and winced. He resisted the urge to pull back the tattered curtain over the sink. With the window boarded up, he’d see nothing. But his brother’s shout would carry, making them a target to the two-legged animals prowling the darkness.

“But…” Jose’s brown eyes shone brightly in the dim light.

Manny ruffled his long hair. “Sorry, Little Man. Even if we had money, we can’t go outside after curfew.”

“Soldiers?” Jose wrapped his thin arms around Manny’s thighs. “I thought they were gone?”

“Not yet.” Manny set his hand on his brother’s head.

“They won’t come here, will they?” Lucia chewed the pink off her thumbnail.

Manny sighed. He didn’t quite know what had happened before he’d been released from Adobe Mountain Juvenile Correctional Facility, but he knew without a doubt that the missing portions of brick wall around their neighborhood and burned out cars had something to do with it. What had the military done?

And why hadn’t they killed the gang-bangers while they were at it?

The Aspero certainly deserved it.

Jose tugged on Manny’s baggy shirt. Hope shone in his brown eyes. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” Manny’s throat tightened and his knees trembled. Flattening his palms against the chipped linoleum countertop, he propped himself up. They were his responsibility now. He’d brought home the Redaction. He’d infected his parents, his aunts, his uncles, and his older brother and sisters.

The whole neighborhood.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead and the house began to hum as electricity once more flowed through its copper veins.

Lucia clicked off the flashlight and set it on the counter.

“Can I go to Burgers even though I wee-ed again?” Five-year old Mary Volchek spoke around the thumb in her mouth. Wetness stained the front of her pajamas and darkened an area on the pink blanket she clutched to her narrow chest.

“Of course, you can.” Releasing the counter, Manny sank to the tiled floor. Cold seeped through his skin and settled in his bones. He eased the blanket from her dirty fingers.

She gripped it until her hands shook and her knuckles turned white. “No,” she whimpered.

“Here now. You know I’m only going to wash it.” He brushed her flaxen hair out of her wide hazel eyes and tucked the long strands behind her ears. God only knew what had happened to her, or how long she and her brother had been alone before he’d found them eating moldy and maggot-infested garbage. Two weeks had passed since, and still she woke up screaming and wetting the bed. He needed to add soap to his grocery list. He stopped trying to pry the blanket loose and held out his hand. “Please, Mary.”

She bit her lower lip before nodding. “I’ll get it back before bedtime?”

“Of course.” He accepted the blanket. Holding it away from his body, he dropped it into the mound of dirty clothes by the carport door. He’d have to go outside tonight. Hopefully, the curfew would keep everyone else inside. “If the water is on, why don’t you go take a bath? Then you can have clean pajamas and a blanket tonight.”

Lucia wrinkled her nose. “Water is on, but we don’t have any soap.”

Sucking her thumb, Mary eyed the blanket. “I don’t want to take a bath.”

Her twin brother, Michael crept up behind her. “Can we go outside tomorrow?”

Outside. Where people would see them?

“Not tomorrow, Mikey.” Manny pounded his chest to get his heart pumping.

Michael’s forehead wrinkled. “When?”

“Manny, how are we to wash without soap?” Lucia tapped her pink toes on the dusty tile.

“I—” How had his parents raised seven children? Answered all their questions, fed them, kept them clean? He rubbed his forehead, but his head still ached. Turning slightly, he reached for onion in the wire basket when a splash of orange caught his eye. He scooped up the bottle and shoved it toward his sister. “Use this to clean both of you now.”

Lucia sniffed the bottle, before wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “Cool. We’ll smell like oranges.”

“Oranges?” Mary licked her lips and followed Lucia out of the kitchen. “Does it taste like them, too?”

“Don’t eat the soap and don’t use it all up.” Stepping into the hall, Manny raised his voice as loud as he dared. “And leave the tub full when you’re done. Your brothers need a bath, too.”

The water was starting to prove unreliable. Another thing the gringos probably didn’t have to worry about.

“Okay, Manny.” Lucia waved the bottle at him and disappeared inside the pink bathroom.

Mikey blinked his blue eyes. “I wanna go outside, Tio Manny.”

His pulse traveled across his forehead and resonated at his temples. “Maybe the day after.”