Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (17 page)

The bitch always ruined everything for him.

He set one knee onto the bed and the mattress dipped. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he lifted her head and eased the loop around her neck.

Not even a flicker of an eyelid. His fingers curled into fists and his arms trembled. He wanted to slap her, wake her. But no, according to those forensics shows, that would leave marks. Gently, he pinched her nostrils shut.

She opened her mouth.

Swearing, Trent slipped his arms under her back and legs, lifting her from the bed. Shadows flickered over them as he straightened. Kicking aside the rope, he glanced at the TV. His son smiled from the screen. Five candles jutted from the group of dinosaurs on the cake.

Trent frowned at the picture. He didn’t remember that birthday. The camera panned the crowd of eager young faces and bored adults. Neither did he see himself. Not that unusual given his hours. But still, the Thomases were there. He’d never touched base with them about a policy. They’d have been worth at least half a million before the Redaction hit. That would have been a nice commission.

His ex mumbled in her sleep.

He juggled his hold until his lips pressed against her ear. “Wake up, babe. It’s almost time to die.”

Nothing.

“You’ve gained weight, you fat bitch.” His growl rumbled through him as he staggered out the door.

“Trent.” She whispered but didn’t open her eyes to look at him. Her foul breath washed over him, penetrated the mask.

He coughed and his mask slipped. Bending, he dropped her to the ground, pulled in the rope, and quickly tied a knot around the banister. He wiped his hands on the bunny suit’s pants before lifting her to her feet. Her head lolled back.

“This is the last time you’ll deprive me of my due.”

He pushed her over the edge. For a moment he thought she opened her eyes. Then she disappeared from view. Leaning over the railing, he watched the rope stretch taut and heard a crack. A moment later, all that remained was the creak of rope as her body swung to and fro.

The bitch didn’t even jerk or claw at the rope around her neck. Trent waited a heartbeat before retrieving the baggie from the bedroom.

He trudged down the stairs, grabbed his duffle and slipped into the night. As if to aid him, the moon slipped behind the cloud. After locking the door, he crossed the yard and crept into the riparian area.

Perfect.

Just as he planned.

Well, not exactly. She hadn’t suffered like she deserved. Still there was Belinda. He could hurt her all he wanted, and she’d still beg for more. Clutching the bag to his chest, he ran through the shadows to her house.

Easing inside the arcadia door, he paused. No sound disturbed the night. She’d never known he was gone. His alibi was intact. Stripping, he stuffed everything into his murder kit then returned it to his Jag. He poured himself a glass of wine then jogged up the stairs.

The smell of evacuated bowels hit him as he walked into the bedroom. What the... In the soft candlelight, he spied the fecal matter between her spread thighs. Wooden legs carried him to her side and he stabbed her neck with two fingers. The skin felt cool to his touch. And worse...

No pulse.

Her chest didn’t rise and fall either.

Rage welled up inside him like an erupting volcano. His ex hadn’t suffered. His fist struck Belinda’s face. His alibi was gone. Her nose crunched under the impact. His arms pumped like pistons—over and over until his lead-filled limbs dragged him down to the side of the bed. Warm blood trickled down his arms and soaked into the bedspread. Covering his face, he choked back a sob.

Why did women have to ruin everything?

Chapter Fifteen

David tucked in his tee shirt as he dodged the puddles on the glistening asphalt. The Colonel wanted to see him; that couldn’t be good. His breath hitched in his lungs. Could Colonel Asshole have figured out that David had told his men about the Redaction’s return?

He wouldn’t put it passed the CO to bug the men’s barracks.

David paused in a circle of light, crouched down and tied his boots. The wet laces slipped through his fingers as he knotted the lengths then tucked them into the side of his boots. Straightening, he fumbled with the zipper of his ACU jacket. His breath fogged the night in bursts of white as he hustled through the camp.

So how was he going to play this?

Rounding the canvas mess hall, he slowed to a jog. He damn sure he wouldn’t let his men take the fall for his actions. In front of him, the administration portable hunkered on its concrete slab. Dead bushes and grass surrounded the raised building.

Wood creaked as he mounted the six steps leading up to the building’s door. His hand closed around the clammy knob before he pulled the reinforced steel door open. Warm air washed over him when he entered, and David fought off the wave of claustrophobia. He was a soldier, meant for the rough conditions of the front line, not a cushy job pushing papers.

The heat pump hummed along as memories pummeled him. For the last six months, the only time he’d been called into this building was to collect the dead. In the recessed ceiling, the fluorescent emergency lights buzzed. Removing his hat, he strode down the long corridor. His footsteps thudded hollowly. Raising his arms, he fingered the empty brass plates next to the closed office doors.

Major Donaldson with her ready smile.

Lieutenant Glen a straitlaced officer, but a hell-raising drinking buddy.

Sergeant Habib—first generation American and damn proud of it.

David rolled his head, releasing the tightness bunching his shoulders. He hated this building. Hopefully, they’d tear it down when this mess was over.

If it ever ended.

If anyone was left.

David entered the wide, open space of the secretarial pool. Dust gathered on the papers and files on three of the desks. The fourth was clean and a screen saver danced across the computer monitor.

A map of the city hung on the wall behind it. Red marker outlined their corpse collection territory. As the Redaction progressed, the lines had been redrawn again and again until their collection zone covered nearly a third of Phoenix. Someone posted a sticky note in the center of the map—”See body. Pick up body. Refer men Rule!”

Shaking his head, David wound his way through the desks to the closed door in the opposite wall. A shadow sliced through the light seeping under the door. David squared his shoulders.

No worries.

No indication that he’d done anything wrong.

The CO would sense any weakness like a shark did blood in the water. Tucking his hat in his belt, David rapped on the door three times. The sound echoed through the building like a fading heartbeat.

A second passed.

Then two.

Three. Five. Did the CO ever get tired of these little power plays? The skin over his temple itched. David swiped at the bead of sweat. No sweating either. Sweating implied fear. He didn’t fear Colonel Asshole. But neither did he want to be taken off courier duty.

If his men were to survive the coming extinction event, he needed the information Mavis could provide.

David clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the faux wood-grained door. Knocking again wouldn’t gain him entry. In fact, Colonel Asshole would probably reprimand him for it. He had done it before. Water sprang to his eyes when he yawned. Now that he’d warned his men, he much rather return to his bed and think of Mavis.

The way her long, brown hair brushed her shoulders.

The way her lip full bottom lip curved up just so when she was amused.

The generous swell of her—

“Come in!”

The CO’s bark shattered David’s fantasies of the bug doctor. Just another reason to hate the asshole. He adjusted his waistband to accommodate the swelling in his pants then opened the door and strode inside. “You wanted to see me, Sir.”

Colonel Lynch leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. Blobs of mud dripped off the soles of his scuffed boots to plop onto the paper on his blotter. Ink blurred the seal of the Surgeon General. “Ahh, Sergeant Major, I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Standing at attention, David kept his expression carefully neutral. It had taken him five minutes to get here. He’d wasted another two minutes outside the CO’s door. The asshole was looking for someone to piss on and David had drawn latrine duty. Keeping his focus on the painting of the President behind the officer’s desk, he watched his CO from his peripheral vision.

“Nothing to say, Sergeant Major?” Colonel Asshole plucked up the small, plush crocodile from his desk and opened and closed the jaws.

The hands at his side started to curl into fists, but he forced them to relax. Another well traveled route. Hell, as a drill instructor for young pukes, he’d dished this double talk out more than once. “It won’t happen again, Sir.”

Colonel Asshole tossed the toy onto his desk. “See that it doesn’t, or I’ll take a few of your stripes.”

“Yes, Sir.” David admired the President’s chin.

The chair squeaked and fabric rustled. “Your new orders came through, Sergeant Major.” Colonel Asshole set his feet on the ground and pinched the piece of paper between his finger and thumb. The officer dropped it into the garbage can beside his desk. “And so did the package.”

David bit the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling. The Surgeon General knew how to get things done. But then, the sand had almost completely left the hour-glass. “Yes, Sir.”

The CO yanked open his desk drawer and lifted out a square box. “You are to deliver this to Dr. Spanner, at once.”

“I understand, Sir.” Red tape slashed at the brown surface. Black, block letters declared its contents as Eyes Only. The Surgeon General’s seal had been neatly sliced in two. Son of a bitch. Colonel Asshole obviously could not read. He reached for the box.

The CO slammed his hand on top of it. “You are to stay until the data is uploaded, then report directly back to me what was found.”

David clenched his jaw, felt the tightness stretch across his skull. The bastard wanted him to spy on Mavis. For his benefit? No fucking way. He relaxed his muscles and furrowed his brow before glancing at his superior. “Sir?”

Maybe he could get out of this—officers like Lynch always thought the enlisted were good for nothing dumbasses perfect for drawing sniper fire.

Colonel Asshole picked up the box and spun it in his hands. “I’ll make this real simple. You tell me what that bitch tells the SG, and you’ll get double rations.”

David’s stomach growled. Double rations? The CO must be desperate. Hell, most in his unit would be happy with full rations, instead of the three-quarter they’d had to suffer through. The CO was desperate. Not good. Desperation turned into stupid real fast and good soldiers died.

Soldiers like his men.

Colonel Asshole stopped spinning the box and leaned forward. “I’m waiting for a response, Soldier.”

Too bad shove it up your ass was out of the question. Still, there was a way to acknowledge the order with actually acquiescing to the demand. “Yes, Sir.”

A smile slithered across Colonel Asshole’s lips while he pushed the box toward David. “Good, I’ll expect a report when you return. Dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir.” David snapped off a salute, grabbed the package, turned on his heel and strode to the door. Lynch had fallen for it. Tucking the box under his arm, he reached for the handle.

“Oh, one more thing, Sergeant Major.”

David obediently turned back to his superior. “Yes, Sir.”

“Your new orders didn’t rescind the standing ones.” Colonel Asshole retrieved a baggie with a plastic doll from his desk. The character’s white flowing robes stood in sharp contrast to her dark skin and black hair. “Be back for MA duty at oh-six-hundred.”

Fucking A. “Yes, Sir.”

“Dismissed.” Colonel Asshole raised the plastic baggie to his mouth and tore it apart using his teeth.

David yanked open the door and strode outside. He hoped the officious bastard choked on the desiccant. And what kind of deviant hoarded kid’s toys? Sure Burger’s in a Basket had given everyone in uniform a meal as a gesture of thanks, but any decent father would have passed the plushies on to his children.

David slapped open the building’s door and stormed outside. Colonel Asshole should be demoted to Private Hemorrhoid. Turning away from the cluster of buildings in the camp, he marched toward the motor pool.

Good thing the base was twenty miles away from Mavis; he’d have plenty of time to cool down. A fat rat waddled across the cracked asphalt. He shuddered and tip-toed around it. God, he hated rodents. Tugging open the vestibule door, he went inside the small supply tent.

Light flared to life just as he reached the interior door.

What the fuck! He paused and peeked through the window in the door. Robertson and Ray Michelson leaned against the desk on the other side. Thumping his chest, he pounded his heart back to its normal rhythm. He kicked the door open. “Come to see me off?”

Robertson straightened. Michelson started before mimicking his comrade in arms.

Cold air spiraled down David’s spine straight to his toes. Ah, hell. The private was being serious. David set the box on the recently vacated desk and waited to be engulfed in the latest clusterfuck.

“No, Sergeant Major. We’ve come to report a theft.”

A theft? Shit. The citizens needed that food to survive. Turning his back on his men, he lifted the motor pool clipboard from its peg. Unless, the thieves had stolen the medicine. God, it was to the point where he didn’t know which was worse. Thumbing through the pages, he located the sign-out sheet for one of the Humvees. He hoped the Devil had a particularly unpleasant corner in Hell for the stealing bastards.

His men shifted behind him.

Well, shit. Time didn’t improve bad news. Scrawling his name next to his vehicle, he checked his watch. Zero-two-five-five. He had three hours to get the latest scoop, before he had to be on duty. “What did they steal, Private?”

From the corner of his eye, he watched Robertson hang his head. “Women’s shoes.”