Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (8 page)

Colonel Asshole swallowed his bit of burger before raising the drink and hooking the straw with his tongue to draw it in his mouth. Flat, silver eyes stared back at David from the rearview mirror.

The bastard actually considered killing civilians a viable option. David pressed the talk switch and heard the crackle of the live line. “Omega Base this is—”

“Belay that order, Sergeant Major.” The CO chucked a crescent of bun into his Burgers in a Basket bag and picked up his cup of French fries. “Deal with the situation.”

“Yes, Sir.” Scooping his helmet off the passenger seat, David plopped it on his head and opened the door. Gravel and dead leaves crunched under his boots as he slowly approached. He kept his finger near the trigger.

The boy eyed the weapon. His Adam’s apple was a knobby elevator in his scrawny neck. The old man raised his chin and locked eyes with David. That one wasn’t afraid to die. Long brown hair wiggled down the back of the other woman in the car as she climbed from the back seat to the front. The brief flash of her hands showed they were empty, but that didn’t count for much.

“Stay still, Sunnie.” Steel trimmed the woman’s soft voice along with a measure of irritation.

But not fear. Interesting. So she was used to giving orders and being obeyed. He focused on her. Hot damn. She was a hell of a silver lining to chauffeuring duties. Silver striped her auburn hair, the windswept strands across her oval face, and a few clung off her bottom lip. Lucky hair. His gaze slipped down to her full breasts, noted the tuck of her waist and the flare of her hips. Luckier clothes.

And he’d bet his breakfast, she could shoot.

The old man cleared his throat.

David returned his gaze to the woman’s face.

“Good evening Sergeant Major.” Pink tinged her cheeks, and a light sparked in her eyes. She offered her gun. “I apologize for being out past curfew, but we seem to have a little problem with the lock.”

Interesting. He accepted the gun, noting the wear on the grip, the slight callous on her trigger finger and the tape residue. A woman who could read the stripes on his arm and shoot. He was definitely tooling through the Lust suburb of Crushville. “Were you planning to shoot the lock, Ma’am?”

“Not at all.” She flattened her palms against her thighs. The spark in her eyes flared into a bright flame, and she smiled, showing him even white teeth. “That would have drawn the attention of the Marines.”

Ah, hell. She was a jarhead groupie. Damn Marines got all the glory jobs. Still, they weren’t here now, and he had saved her life.

“I have a pair of bolt cutters in my trunk.”

Bolt cutters? David rubbed his chin to make certain his jaw hadn’t dropped open. They weren’t standard equipment for anyone’s trunk. So what was she doing with them? He smiled back. Only one way to find out, and score some points along the way. “Why don’t you pop the trunk? I’ll put away your pea shooter here, and retrieve the bolt cutters for you.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She stepped forward.

The two males mimicked her like two leashed bookends.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just have to get the keys from my front pocket.”

David eyed the bulky shape high on her thigh. He’d offer to help but doubted the old guy would go for it. As for the kid... He’d probably require therapy. The younger generation had some peculiar notions about sex and people over thirty. “Use two fingers.”

She nodded and slipped them in the pocket of her loose fitting Dockers.

The dark-haired girl inside the Civic leaned across the bucket seat and rapped on the window. “Do you want me to pop the trunk?”

A horn blared through the darkness.

“Sergeant Major, clear the road or shoot them then clear the road.” Colonel Asshole’s voice sliced through the blaze of the Humvee’s bank of lights.

“What an asshole,” the kid muttered.

“Disrespectful.” The old man spat. “Like our lives aren’t worth anything cause he has to use the head.”

David bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Or agreeing.

The woman shook her head. “Pop the trunk for the sergeant major, Sunnie.”

“Got it.” A soft thump signaled the trunk’s release.

David backed away from the group. His shadow cut the Civic in half as he side-stepped in the front of the trunk. With one hand, he lifted the hatch. A whistle slipped past his lips. Pup tent. Sleeping bags. Backpacks. He unzipped one and peered inside—dehydrated rations and pouches of water. After closing the pack, he tucked the Sig-Sauer between a hand-cranked flashlight and radio.

Hot damn!

If he couldn’t love this woman, he should just eat his gun.

“The bolt cutters should be under the Pup tent.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He lifted the tent from its place. The orange-handled bolt cutters lay on top of the soft-sided first aid kit. He lifted them out. Maybe if she was single, she wouldn’t mind camping around with him. Sure he’d crowd the pup tent, but he’d let her sleep on top of him. Lowering the trunk, he walked toward the threesome. They parted before him, leaving the square lock illuminated in the Humvee’s lights.

“If you could cut just the lock, then we’ll get out of the way.” She pointed to the lock. “We don’t want to cause you any trouble with the CO.”

“Never mind the CO, Ma’am.” David snugged the snips around the shackle and squeezed. His arms trembled as the blades slid through the metal. Too bad his Active Combat Uniform was so loose that his biceps couldn’t be seen. The lock dropped with a pop then the chain rattled to the asphalt. “I’ll make sure to exfiltrate this route.”

He didn’t mention that it was illegal to block the roadway. People had a right to protect their property. God knew, the government was more concerned about keeping businesses safe than its citizens. He pivoted on his heel and faced her.

“Much obliged.” She held out her hand.

Instead of the bolt cutters, he slid his free palm against hers.

Her eyes widened and he could have sworn her pupils dilated despite being in the headlights. It was an encouraging sign.

“Not a problem.” He held her hand a heartbeat longer than necessary before releasing her and offering his hand to the old man.

“Take care, Sergeant Major.” The old man’s grip tightened before he bent over to cough. His face turned a bright red before he stopped. After spitting a wad of phlegm, he straightened. “Emphysema.”

David resisted the urge to retreat and cover his mouth. A heartbeat later, common sense reasserted itself. The man had smoker’s cough not the Redaction. He let out a shaky breath and offered his hand to the boy.

“Dude,” the kid said, thumping his closed fist against David’s palm.

When he’d finished the hand jive du jour, David raised the bolt cutters. “I’ll just put these back in the trunk and let you be on your way.”

Pivoting about, he marched to the Civic’s trunk. He’d also read her plates to run them when he got back to base. Then all he’d need was an excuse to see her again.

After tucking the tool under the pup tent, he shut the trunk and looked up. The boy and old man had reached the ladder. The Civic’s engine started and warm exhaust puffed near his leg. She checked the rearview mirror before easing forward. His focus dropped to her license plate when she drifted forward. BugDr2.

God had a special place in his heart for enlisted men. Whistling under his breath, David jogged back to the idling Humvee. Opening the door, David tossed his helmet and gun onto the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel.

“That took too long, Sergeant Major.”

“Yes, Sir.” Instead of giving Colonel Asshole a one-fingered salute, David shifted the Humvee into gear. He hoped whatever woman who’d drawn the short straw tonight would put a smile on the CO’s face. When he checked the rearview mirror, he noticed the facemask.

Cold air snaked down David’s spine and the hairs on his arm scratched the inside of his jacket.

“That old man coughed, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Sir. Smoker’s cough, Sir.”

The CO adjusted the mask’s ties. “That’s what they said before the Redaction hit.”

Well, shit. He twisted his grip on the steering wheel. Weren’t the little guys always the last to know? David tapped the GPS on the dash until it faced him. Not that he needed to. He’d memorized the route and destination since his butt had been blackmailed into driving duty. Now, he might have been exposed to the fucking Redaction.

They’d said you couldn’t get it again.

Then again, they’d also said it was over.

The area between David’s shoulder blades itched as he followed the Civic’s glowing headlights turn for turn. BugDr2. The pieces clicked into place like he’d finally solved a Rubik’s cube. The CO wasn’t here for a nob-polishing. He was here about the Redaction. Sure enough, she backed into the driveway right where his GPS marked his destination.

A shadow moved in the depths of the garage. Must be the girl slinking off to safety. Smart given the CO’s appetites.

“We’ve arrived, Sir.” David eased the Humvee to a stop next the curb, shoved it into park, donned his gear and jumped down. Two steps brought him to the rear door and he jerked it open.

The CO glanced from David to the woman who now stood on the porch. The garage door rumbled closed.

“Damn, she’s been out in public already.” Colonel Asshole looked at the briefcase, then David before lifting the satchel off the floor and sliding out. “Bring the SEEK.”

David fished out the handheld Secure Electronic Enrollment Kit before hoisting the bag containing the rest of the Quick Identification Platform and followed his superior officer.

With a silver briefcase in his hand, the CO goose-stepped to the porch, stopping five feet away from the woman. “Dr. Spanner. Dr. Mavis Spanner?”

“Yes.”

Marching forward, David held out the rectangular SEEK device. “If you would place your finger here.”

Her lips compressed into a thin line but she set her thumb on the LE reader. “Would you like to tell me what this is about? I no longer work for the government.”

The display returned her identification as Dr. Mavis Spanner and provided a picture. Anything else required a higher security clearance. David nodded to the colonel. So much for searching the records to find out more about her. Mavis. An unusual name. It suited her.

Colonel Asshole smoothed his stained uniform. “You no longer work for the Weapons of Mass Destruction Coalition, Doctor, but I assure you that you still work for the US government.”

“In what capacity?” Her gaze darted from him to the Colonel, before sticking. “The Rattling Death is over.”

“No, Ma’am.” The CO shook his head. His briefcase bumped against his leg as he adjusted his face mask again. “Our contacts in Asia say it’s mutated and is more lethal than ever.”

Chapter Eight

Manny twitched to the right, toward the lap of water in the bathroom, the humid orange-scented air and the girls. Before he moved to get them, a gasp glued him in place. The boys! Jose and Mikey played in the living room. They were closest to the kitchen.

The closest to where the intruders were trying to enter.

Manny’s heartbeat roared in his ears, urging him to save them. All of them. Yet, his feet remained rooted on the worn carpet. Tears swam in his eyes. He blinked them away.

He wouldn’t let his family down.

Not again.

Warmth gushed through him, breaking the paralysis. Pivoting about, he lurched toward the living room and tripped over the cinder blocks he called feet. His shoulder slammed against the drywall. The board crunched under his weight and flakes of white plaster speckled the green carpet. Pushing away, he staggered into the bathroom. The bubbled linoleum cracked underfoot.

“Manny?” Lucia’s whisper stirred the foam swelling over the edge of the tub.

As white as the suds around her, a wide-eyed Mary sunk deep into the bubbles. Her hand covered her mouth and her fingers dug into her cheeks.

Grunting, he shook the feeling back in his fingers. Funny how it didn’t hurt. “Hide. In the attic. Just like we practiced, Luce.”

Lurching from the room, he staggered forward without waiting to see if she obeyed. She would. They all would.

They had to.

Manny careened into the living room and stopped. Swaying on his feet, he listened. Only the plip-plop of the simmering beans and the whirl of the microwave came from the kitchen. Had they stopped trying to get inside?

“Is it the soldiers?” Standing near the open coat closet, Jose held Mikey’s hand. Both had a flashlight and a backpack. A rope ladder hung from the open attic access inside the tiny space.

“No, Little Man. It’s not the soldiers.” They would not be that lucky. Whatever lurked in the darkness was worse. Far worse.

The Aspero.

And all the long, sharp knives were in the kitchen.

He should have hidden them around the house, should have planned better. “Get up the ladder.”

Jose’s cinnamon-colored chin thrust forward.

Manny’s stomach clenched. Not now. He couldn’t handle an argument right now. “Just like we practiced.”

Mikey jerked his hand free and reached for the rope. “Please Jose. I’m scared.”

Jose’s lower lip trembled. Sighing, he reached through the coats hanging in the closet and pulled out a bat. “Here.”

Manny’s heart ticked like the clock of a bomb as he lifted the scarred bat. It sounded hollow as he thumped it against his palm, but felt real. Solid. Popi had said it was maple. Maybe he’d get to split someone’s head open before they shot him.

The rattling came again. Louder as whoever was on the outside pulled on the chain with more determination.

Lucia and Mary’s bare feet slapped the tiles as they ran into the living room. Bubbles clung to their hair and the damp towels they had wrapped around their thin bodies. Holding the terrycloth in one hand, they lugged backpacks in their other. The pink bags thumped against their legs with each step. Lucia slowed to let Mary move in front of her then they were scrambling up the ladder.

Twisting the bat in his hand, Manny waited. He had to make sure they were safe. They were his responsibility. And he had time. They hadn’t gotten through the chain.