Redaction: The Meltdown Part II (23 page)

“Relieve him of duty and get your asses to safety.”

Son of a— She raked the walkie off her belt. Her hand shook. They had to move. “Johnson? Johnson are you there?”

Once the Humvee angled upstream, David flicked a switch on the dash. Halogen lights chased the darkness from a small portion of Fossil Creek. Not far enough to see to the nearest bend, but she didn’t need to. Her ear pricked at the building roar.

Another wave was coming.

“Johnson?” Please, answer. Please. She released the talk button.

“We’re on it, Ma’am.” The medic’s voice soothed like a balm.

Four men and a dog jumped from the truck. She recognized the Goliath-like build of one of David’s men, the muscular physiques of two fit soldiers and the silver prosthetic leg of her neighbor. The hulk aimed his rifle and scope at the trees near the river bank before he, the dog and her neighbor detoured into them. The other two swarmed the cab, squeezing the original driver in the middle.

Skeletal fingers of an uprooted tree glided into the Humvee’s spotlight. It careened on the surface of chocolate milk water. The wave’s roar shook the ground.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming out orders. David’s men knew their job.

“You’ve got about ten seconds.” David leaned forward, his breath steamed up the glass. He wiped it away.

White lights signaled the shift into reverse. It began backing up, Robertson slowly followed. The gap between the two trucks widened.

Why was he taking so long? Her niece was in that truck!

The hulk stepped into the cone of light. A limp body hung from his arms.

Shit! There were survivors in the bushes. She sucked in air. She wouldn’t order anyone to search. It was suicide.

“They think they’ve spied the other truck about a mile further on.” Lister swallowed hard. “It’s upside down.”

A big chunk of ground collapsed as the wave passed. She eyeballed the height of the wall of water moving down the canyon. The second truck was well and clear. Only Sunnie’s remained in danger.

Nodding, she dropped her microphone onto the seat.
Move it, Robertson
. “Have them search the banks but no one goes in the river.”

“Understood.” His reply barely registered above the rushing water.

Her neighbor jogged from the trees. Two survivors ran on his heels, chased by the dog. They leapt onto the running board, clung to the mirror and each other. Robertson’s truck shot backward, the dog at it’s side.

The floodwaters swept over where his front bumper had been, enveloping the bushes the survivors had escaped.

Three people saved.

Three out of the fifty on that truck.

And that was only one of two they’d lost. She collapsed on her seat. “Have they found anyone?”

Lister raked his hand down his face. His shoulders drooped. “No one alive.”

“Yet.” She couldn’t give up hope.

“We’re breaking out the Infrared. We’ll find them.”

She nodded. The search would continue into the morning, until most of them could be accounted for.

“What are your orders, Doc?” Leather creaked as David shifted in his seat. Concern knotted the skin between his eyebrows.

Orders. Get her niece over here. But that wasn’t going to happen. Sunnie was safe. David’s men would look after her, as would her neighbors. “Those who can, I want to look for survivors using the IR rifle scopes. But no heroics.” They couldn’t afford to lose any more people. “Everyone else fall back to those buildings we passed and rest up.”

“Roger that.”

She flattened her palm on the window. If only she could pick up her niece’s truck and carry it with her.
Be safe, Sunnie.
“Take us to camp.”

David shifted into gear and eased down the hill.

If the water didn’t recede by morning, Robertson would need another way out. Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she opened her browser. A low battery warning popped up. She dismissed it and opened the web browser. No signal. An ache germinated inside her brain and pulsed against her skull.

It was going to be a long night.

Please God, don’t let tomorrow suck ass like today. Thunder rumbled through the mountains and shook the Humvee. She hoped that wasn’t an answer.

Chapter Seventeen

What a glorious night! Standing behind one of the personnel carriers, Trent stretched his arms wide and embraced the darkness. Water snaked down his face and dripped off his nose. Above the gush of the raging river, rain tapped the Bible as if God himself wanted his attention.

He turned his face up and opened his mouth. Cold dotted his tongue, stung the back of his throat.

Message received.

With the bitch doctor and her flunky soldiers on the other side of Fossil Creek, he was in charge.

As it should be.

Opening his eyes, Trent surveyed his kingdom. Four trucks packed with supplies and people. The medic helped an old woman hobble into the building on his left. Of course, there must be sacrifices. He intended to uphold God’s rule of survival of the strongest.

The old, the sick and the ugly would be purged.

Even if Goth Lolita was beyond his reach, he wouldn’t waste his plan. Such brilliance should be carried out.

“Reverend Trent?”

He stiffened. Now what? Couldn’t the moron see he was out here thanking his Creator for the gifts he was about to receive?

“Reverend?”

Trent lowered his arms to his side and turned to the gnat disturbing his peace. The oversized silhouette faced the building. Light blistered the fat-swollen features. Dirk Benedict. With his skin slick with rain, he resembled a pale slug. How could he not have recognized the whine of his devoted minion? “Yes?”

“We need to talk.” Benedict swiped at the water dripping from the first of his three chins.

Weren’t they already? He bit back the sarcasm, the slug wouldn’t appreciate it. “Of course. Of course.”

He didn’t move. Voices rose above the sucking noise of the river. More people were coming. Perhaps they’d be more acceptable than the others. He should inspect his stock.

Benedict hitched up his jeans. His bowl of a belly jiggled and rippled around his frame a couple of times before shoving his waistband back where it had been. “Come on then.”

The fat man stomped through the puddles forming in the ruts of the gravel road and lumbered away from the light.

Did the slug really think he was in charge? Trent thumped the Bible against his leg. Well, since so much was going his way, he’d humor the fat fool. Besides, maybe he’d found more recruits. He would need some cannon fodder to throw at the soldiers who’d remained on this side. Mud sucked at his work boots. The blisters on his heels burned.

But they wouldn’t be walking far.

Benedict disappeared around the side of the truck.

Trent turned the corner and stopped. Four men and Benedict encircled a glowing drum, eating food out of brown bags. Meals-Ready-to-Eat. Trent shuddered. How could any civilized person expect to exist on such inedible pap? Obviously his minions didn’t mind. He met them after the funerals but now he studied them.

Gary Everett, the first man on his left grunted. Rain hissed when it hit the fire. Flames erupted from the drum as he fed it a piece of wood. He licked bloated lips. The shadows played over his hooked nose and the teardrop tattoo on his cheek. “The chicken and dumplings are my favorite.”

Trent shuddered. Obviously Gary lacked tastebuds.

Another piece disappeared inside the drum; nails studded this one. Trent recognized it as having covered the windows of the building. Good, his flock was resourceful. He hoped it mitigated their stupidity.

“Gentlemen.” He bowed his head. It never hurt to be kind to the help.

“Reverend.” They chorused. Two, the brothers from Alabama, Robert E. and Ernest Pyle threw their brown sacks in the fire. Gary stirred his Chicken and Dumplings and shoveled another bite into his mouth. The fourth crushed his empty water bottle in his fist. When he hurled it into the bin, a silver crucifix gleamed from his matted chest hair. Ah, yes, Jake Turner. And unknown entity.

He gave Benedict his attention, at least until he could figure out which of these men would replace the Lardass. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Benedict puffed up his chest, momentarily slimming his bulging gut. “We see this…” he gestured to the parked trucks, “as an opportunity.”

“As a
sign
,” Turner corrected. “From God.”

“Yes, yes as a sign,” Benedict parroted.

Trent clasped both hands over the Bible. So Benedict had another pulling his strings. Of course, it was easy to manipulate the stupid and weak, but a man must have only one master. He must study Turner a bit more, deciding his fate. “I had just concluded the same thing.”

Turner frowned.

Obviously, he was not used to dealing with intelligence. Trent eyed Gary as the man turned his MRE bag upside down and caught the last drops of gravy on his tongue. With confusion furrowing their foreheads, the other two watched the exchange. Good, Turner only had Benedict’s allegiance. Still, it wouldn’t do to alienate the Catholic too soon. Once he knew what Turner wanted, he’d use it to either kill or control him. Schooling his features, he aped humility. The posture itched.

“I was about to pray to ask God how He wanted me to proceed when Mr. Benedict asked me over.”

Ernest, Robert E. and Gary nodded—neutral parties in the tug-of-war.

Turner squinted at him and played with his crucifix.

Benedict scratched his belly. His pug features scrunched up as if he strained to remember something. “I’m sure the Almighty wants you to take charge, lead us from the desert like Moses did his people.”

Trent blinked. Anger roiled through him, heating his blood until he was surprised the rain didn’t sizzle when it hit his skin. Were they testing him? The fuckers would have to go. He wouldn’t tolerate such insolence. “Moses and his people wandered around the desert for years. I don’t think we want to do that.”

He focused on Turner.

The man stroked his pointed chin. “We want a home. Where we can live according to the dictates of the Good Book.”

Trent’s book. The hair on his neck rose. Did the man plan to steal it? No one stole from a Powers. The swell of voices grew into the high pitched notes of women, the yappy noise of young children and the grumble of males. He wanted to step back, to inspect his stock, but to retreat now would be a show of weakness.

“I heard tell we’re going to Colorado.” Gary dumped his dinner remains in the trash and wiped his hands on his baggy jeans.

“We’re being
forced
to relocate.” Benedict rephrased the truth for maximum effect. “No telling what the government will do to us once we’re there.”

Gary, Robert E. and Ernest nodded.

Trent inhaled deeply. He loved the smell of paranoia. Too bad, he wasn’t the one wielding it. Yet. “
They say
it’s the only safe place.”

He added the emphasis for maximum doubt.

All five men muttered.

They responded like fish on a professional angler’s line.

Turner held his palms over the fire. “I don’t see why we’d have to go all the way to Colorado. There have to be some small towns in Arizona that don’t have a Burgers in a Basket. They wouldn’t have the anthrax and we could settle there.”

Yes! They were behaving just as he wanted. “The soldiers wouldn’t take to kindly to us changing their plans.”

“Fuck ‘em. I’m not too keen on being under the government’s thumb.” Gary swept the moisture off his tear drop tattoo. “They have too many stupid laws.”

And he was obviously not smart enough to avoid being arrested. That wouldn’t be a problem in his new world, provided he followed orders.

“We’re citizens,” Robert E. piped up. “We have rights. If we don’t want to go with them, they can’t force us.”

What an idiot! But ever so easy to manipulate. Trent rocked back on his heels. “They have the guns, trucks and supplies.”

“The taxpayers paid for all of it,” Ernest chimed in. “We have just as much a right to it as the soldiers.”

Turner’s white teeth gleamed in the firelight. “We might have to take what’s ours.”

The neutrals simmered into a grumble.

Gary shrugged. “There’s a lot more of us than them. Even with their guns they have to sleep sometime.”

Gravel crunched.

The last truckload of survivors had made it to buildings. Would there be any more soldiers? He could use their strength and liked that they’d already been broken, but too many of them had poorly chosen loyalties.

“So we ditch the soldiers and keep the rest?” He needed more civilians, more people to do the little things.

“I won’t be party to killing anyone.” Both Alabama brothers spoke at the same time.

Spineless losers. Trent controlled his irritation. It was better this way. He could teach them the correct way, his way, to do things. “No one said anything about killing.”

“Right.” Turner shrugged. “We just leave them behind with the sick. You know, weed out the undesirables.”

Gary tossed his weight from foot to foot.

In the old world, the man might have been undesirable. In this one, Trent could use him.

“Henry Dobbins, you old fool!” A woman shrieked. “Let the soldiers push you up the hill. I didn’t come all this way to watch you die from a heart attack.”

Fear formed a block of ice in Trent’s gut. If Henry Dobbins was here the woman must be his wife, Mildred. His hands fisted. Damn, those busybodies would ruin his plans just like they had his marriage. He couldn’t let that happen, not now.

This was his time to lead.

He had to eliminate them before they saw him, before they told his followers that he was an insurance salesman. If they found out he wasn’t a preacher, he might lose their loyalty. That could not happen.

Not when he was so close to achieving all he deserved.

“Let’s walk a little, stretch our legs.” He gestured down the road, away from Henry Dobbins and his meddling wife. Why had God let such worthless creatures survive? The old and feeble should have been the first ones killed. Thankfully, many of his men believed the same.