Redaction: The Meltdown Part II (52 page)

“I worked so damn hard to make a living for us, to establish my practice. “ Jake’s face turned red. “It was my fucking idea to get a life insurance policy. Mine.”

Black tinged Trent’s vision. His lungs caught fire. He gave up trying to pry loose the fingers and went for Jake’s eyes.

Jake swatted his hands away and annoyance drew his features in tight. “And while I was working on a case that would allow us to put a down payment on a house in Carefree, you screwed my wife.”

Trent raised his knee to the other man’s groin. The bastard was going to kill him over an unfaithful bitch? No way.

Jake twisted his body, blocking the shot. “She confessed the affair when she contracted the Redaction, begged me to forgive her.” His eyes glistened. “And I did. But I will never forgive you.”

Trent’s ears buzzed. His vision reduced to the man in front of him. From a great distance, he heard knocking. God damn it! He wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Jake banged him against the wall once. Twice.

Trent barely registered the pain. His eyes fluttered closed.

Jake released him.

Cold air poured down Trent’s throat. His numb fingers reached for his damaged windpipe as he slid to the floor.

“When you showed up pretending to be a preacher, I knew God had given me an opportunity I couldn’t refuse.” Jake bent over and shoved his face into Trent’s. “Just a word in Dirk’s ear, and you reacted like I knew you would. You couldn’t resist the power.”

“Mr. Turner?” The bitch’s voice was muffled behind the door. “It’s time.”

Jake straightened. “I only wish you’d gotten a real taste of it before I took it all away.”

Trent coughed. He wasn’t anyone’s puppet. The fool was delusional. Jake Turner was a coward—one of those losers who dreamed of having it all but when the time came, didn’t have the balls to follow through. “DeeDee was a lousy fuck.”

Jake sucked in a breath.

“And you should have paid for a better tit job. It would have distracted from her flabby ass.”

“Come in!” Jake’s shout rattled the metal sink.

The bitch and her lackeys crowded into the small room. Trent memorized their faces. Dawson—the short, bland Hobbit extra. Lister—the graying Marine caricature. Judge Bob Anderson—a pattern card for the Monopoly cartoon without the monocle.

All of them would suffer for this insult.

“Let it be recorded that the sentence of banishment was carried out at…” the judge smoothed his vest, tugged a gold chain out and consulted the watch at the other end, “seven-oh-three on the morning of March thirteenth.”

What century was the man in anyway?

The bitch fished a vial out of her pocket. She flashed the white labeled vial at the judge. “Please verify that this contains the sleeping aid as recommended by the medical staff.”

Trent stiffened. “What sleep aid?”

The judge patted his chest then slid his reading glasses down from his comb-over. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

They were not going to ignore him. Setting his hands on floor, he pushed himself up.

Dawson pointed a pistol at his head. “Stay sitting.”

“You won’t dare shoot me.” It would violate their stupid code. Plus, his supporters would learn about it.

The judge waved his hand. “Not fatally. I’m sure you can still hobble around with one good leg.”

“Or I could just target other pieces of his anatomy.” Dawson shifted from targeting Trent’s head to his crotch.

Fucking asshole. Trent cupped himself. “This borders on cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Stubble it or I’ll have you gagged.” The flunky general grinned.

The bitch ripped open a syringe, bit off the cap and spat it on him. Staring at him, she jabbed the needle into the vial and drew back the plunger. “Four-point-five ccs were the required dose to knock him out.” She removed the vial then aimed the needle from the ceiling and depressed the plunger. Liquid arced out of the tip and sprayed him.

“Hey!” Trent brushed at the liquid staining his new sweater. “Watch the clothes.”

She handed the syringe to the judge who passed it to Jake. “That’s the agreed amount.”

“Corpsmen!” Lister barked.

A soldier in Navy blue and an anchor tattoo on his steroid-induced bicep marched into the room.

“Do it.”

“Yes, Sir.” He knelt, pulled a length of rubber from his pocket and tied it around Trent’s upper arm.

“Think you can get it a little tighter?” Trent snapped. His arm began to prickle from the constriction.

The corpsmen shoved Trent’s sweater up to his elbow. Grabbing his hand, the military lackey twisted his wrist until a plump blue vein came into sight. Cold air washed over Trent’s skin when he cleaned the area with an alcohol swab.

His traitorous attorney handed him the syringe. “How long until it takes effect?”

“Not more than a minute.”

Trent shrugged. They could ignore him all they wanted. His time would come. He faked a yawn. “I feel tired already. Oh, wait. That’s just boredom.”

The corpsman shoved the syringe into the vein then unsnapped the band.

Cold heat blazed up Trent’s arm. He sucked in a breath. Fuck that hurt. The bastards just stared at him, waiting for a reaction, no doubt. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

The corpsmen jerked the needle free and taped a cotton ball to the puncture.

The bitch crouched down next to him. “There’s one thing we forgot to mention. Along with the drugs, we injected a GPS capsule. It’ll settle in your heart and if you ever set foot in Colorado, we’ll use it to hunt you down like a rabid dog and blow your brains out.”

They’d tagged him like a dog? His tongue swelled in his mouth. Fatigue slammed his lids closed. Trent felt himself falling over. Then he felt nothing.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Trent opened his eyes. Bright sunlight flared across the back of his skull. He blinked several times until his vision adjusted. Wobbly muscles pushed him to a sitting position. Wet fabric molded to his body and a saturated blanket rolled onto his lap. The world tilted on its axis. The shrubs and sand see-sawed back and forth. He set his hand on the tire tracks. Eventually, they had to lead him to a road.

And a road meant people.

Yet, the sun was near to setting and he hadn’t found anyone. He dragged his tongue across his teeth. And the drugs the bastards had given him hadn’t helped. He kept fucking passing out. But he wouldn’t let the military stop him. He was destined for greatness.

Then they would pay.

But first, he had to find the God damn road.

A noise scratched his ears. On his left, a crow pecked at the brown Meals-Ready-to-Eat pouch. It pulled up a shred of brown then threw back its head and swallowed it down.

“Get!” Trent croaked.

The crow flapped its black wings, dug its yellow talons into the MRE and shifted away.

Fucking bird. He hoped the damn thing exploded from eating that shit. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Gah. What did they give him? He opened his last water bottle sticking out of the snow and chugged it.

The ammonia hit the back of his throat at the same time as the scent of urine registered.

He sprayed out the water.

God damn it. They’d pissed in his water. He scooped up a handful of snow and scrubbed his tongue. Fuckers. He tossed the bottle across the desert. A cold wind slipped through the knit weave of his sweater.

If they thought he’d die of dehydration, they had another thing coming. He would bury them.

Some of them while they still lived.

He rolled onto all fours. Vomit soured his mouth and his gut collapsed to spew its contents. After the dry heaves passed, he wiped his mouth on his wet sleeve and pushed to his feet. He swayed for a minute and listened to the sound of retching.

Trent touched his hand to his lips.

What the fuck?

He glanced to the left. Four school buses were parked along the side of the road. People milled about. His pulse quickened. They obviously needed a leader.

And he needed followers.

He took a step in their direction. His leg buckled. Yelping, he crumpled into the snow and mud.

“Who’s there?” a weak voice called from behind a tree. A watery splat quickly followed.

Trent froze. God, what was the man doing over there?

“Who is it?” A blustery fart soon followed.

He covered his nose and mouth. Damn, those MREs just weren’t healthy. Of course, a man suffering from diarrhea didn’t pose much of a threat. And he did have people and transportation.

But he’d thought that once.

He’d be more cautious this time. No one would take advantage of his trusting nature again. “Hello?”

Tossing the blanket into the nearest bush, Trent mussed his hair and tore his sweater and clothes. Their pity would be his way in. He heard a zipper close then the tree branches moved.

A sandy-haired man stared at him. Sweat glistened on his pasty face. “Where did you come from?”

Trent flapped his arms, imitating some of the losers who the military had picked up. “I got separated from my group. I think they left me.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. The man was falling for his line. Not that he doubted it. Now he just had to wait until the idiot said the magic words.

“You can join us.”

Bingo. Trent smiled. Step one complete. Two or three more would assure his victory. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” He stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Trent Powers.”

“Stuart Graham.” A long fart punctuated his name. The man cupped his ass.

Thank God, he didn’t reach for Trent’s hand. He ducked his head to hide his disgust.

Pain flickered over Stuart’s soft features. “Excuse me.” He ducked behind the tree.

What the hell was wrong with the man? And was it contagious? Trent didn’t want to be the leader of a bunch of sick people. “Are you okay back there?”

“It’s the anthrax. We ate tainted food and now…” A long burst drowned out the rest of his words.

Ah. Anthrax wasn’t contagious. Still… Trent counted the people around the buses. Forty or so that he could see. Not very many men his age. That worked. “How many are sick?”

“There’s only three of us left.”

Trent shifted so he stood upwind of the stench. Three people from forty still left him a good number to build his kingdom. Of course, if more became sick then he’d have to prioritize who could stay and who would just be dead. “How’d you get it?”

“Audra picked up some buns from Burgers in a Basket.”

Audra? Another fucking bitch in charge? Trent clenched his fists. The scabs on his knuckles broke open. That wouldn’t do. “That your wife?”

“Nah.” Stuart grunted. “She’s just someone who teamed up with my people to survive.”

Right. Trent wasn’t buying that load of shit. This Audra was probably like the bitch in charge of the military. “Women, huh.”

Fabric rustled then Stuart reappeared, wiping his hands on his pants. “Women what?”

Ahh, the first test. Trent stuck his hands in his pockets. “They need men to protect them, tell them what to do.”

Keep them in line.

Stuart cocked his head as if that bit of truth wasn’t self-evident. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He’d know so when Trent got through with him. And then he’d die. Trent would be the only male in his kingdom. There’d be no mistakes this time. “So where are you going?”

“To join the soldiers.” Stuart trudged through the snow.

Not if he could help it.

“Audra should join us there.”

“She’d not with you?” Trent’s blood warmed. God had given him another opportunity. It was perfect. He followed in the other man’s footsteps.

“We got separated a while back.” Stuart shrugged. “Then the storm happened.”

What a wuss. This Audra was obviously leading the fool around by the short hairs. He would change that. He would change everything. Leaping over a puddle of melted snow, he landed on the road. Faces turned to him. Most were old. A few held promise. Ah well, he wouldn’t be too choosy. He smiled back at them.
Behold your future king.

“Who’s this then?” A hag draped with pearls and diamonds glared at him.

She’d have to go. He plastered a smile on his face. But he’d keep her jewelry. “Trent Powers and I’m sure glad to see you folks. I’ve been wandering around the desert all night.”

She ignored him and stomped to the truck.

Most of the others followed suit.

Trent tsked. They would have to be taught proper respect.

“Ignore her.” Stuart jostled his arm. “Come on. You can ride with me.”

“Thanks.” Trent followed him onto the second bus. How long will it take to convince Stuart Graham not to join the soldiers? Half an hour? Forty-five minutes? Trent checked the road and boarded the bus. How ever long it took, he was sure God would arrange it.

Trent deserved nothing less.

Chapter Forty-Nine

“Do you think they’ve waited?” Tina whispered.

Audra didn’t know why she bothered. In a bus this small, everyone heard even the most intimate conversation. Her cheeks heated at the thought. Thank God she’d stopped Eddie at a little petting last night. Heaven knows she wouldn’t have been able to face them if they’d gone farther.

“I don’t know.” Arching her back, she stretched out her legs and arms. “I do hope Mother and the others found the soldiers.”

Outside the bus windows, the businesses gave way to houses. A pack of six coyotes lazed in the driveway of one ranch-style home.

“We can’t be too far behind the others.” Eddie braked the bus as he turned the corner, following the black arrow spray painted on the street sign directing them to the soldiers’ camp. “I can practically smell Stuie.”

Tina clasped her hands together. “We may have been forced to camp out along the road in the blizzard but Stuie and the farting fifteen would have had to make constant pit stops.”

If they were still alive. Eddie’d said only fifty percent of those infected with the gastronomic form of anthrax would survive. There might be only eight left. And Mrs. Rodriquez had come back for her. What were their chances without a nurse?