Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) (31 page)

Manny pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. It trembled in his hand. Were they going to take his food, too?

The sergeant major flipped it open. “You’re three weeks behind. Still have the two little ones, Lucia and Jose?”

Taking a deep breath, Manny counted to three. Routine questions. They’re just routine questions. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Acquire any... cousins from California?” Before he could speak the soldier raised his hand. “Because three days after you failed to show up for ration distribution, we picked up the remains of an older woman with three known dependents. One was subsequently accounted for, but two remain at large. And if memory serves, they weren’t old enough to be on their own.”

Manny nodded. “Mary and Michael. I found them after the Aspero... After their grandmother died.”

The sergeant major nodded and scratched their names on Manny’s card. “Good to know. Ray, he’s behind on his supplies and has two others besides. See that he gets caught up.”

The ration card slapped the table before sliding to the edge. Ray caught it before it fell.

Connie backtracked until she found the wagon. Its wheels squeaked as she pulled it toward the table. “So what have you for us today?”

“Relax, kid.” The sergeant major blocked his view of the table. “That old lady could take on the whole platoon and win.”

“I heard that, Sergeant Major.” Connie chuckled as her hands groped for the cards.

Ray moved them into her path before jumping onto the truck and shouting for items.

“Manny.” The sergeant major snapped his fingers. A muscular soldier appeared with a paper bag and shoved it into the other man’s hand. Breaking the seal on the bag, the sergeant major peered inside. “What can you tell me about Taylor and Epstein?”

“The Aspero wanted the rations. All of them.” Manny licked his dry lips. His eyes stung. He blinked them. What was he crying for? He hadn’t been there.

“The ones with the snakehead tags?”

“Yeah. Rini says they came to take the food and Mr. Taylor fought back. They went after Basia, er, Mrs. Epstein because she’d already gotten her supplies.”

The sergeant major pulled out a ration card. Brown and red stained the cover and warped the pages. “Is that when Irina Epstein was assaulted?”

“No.” Manny scrubbed his face. Stupid tears. “The Aspero wanted Basia to trade Rini to them for the rations.”

The pencil in the sergeant major’s hands snapped in two. “How bad is her cousin, Stanley? Does he need a medic?”

Manny gasped for breath. Poor Stash. They’d just left him there. For the rats.

“Son of a —” The sergeant major cleared his throat. “Where can we find him?”

“My house.” Manny wiped his nose on his sleeve. Snot glistened before soaking into the hoodie. “Seven-oh-nine Sage Brush lane. H—He’s in my parents’ bedroom. Rini dragged him to us.”

The sergeant major set his hand on Manny’s shoulder and squeezed. “Listen. The Marines didn’t smoke all the bastards. So if things get bad here, I need you to get everyone to Thirty-Fifth and Bell. You may have to camp out so be prepared.” The soldier dropped the bloody ration card back into the bag. “Ray add Irina Epstein, minor, to Saldana’s list of dependents.”

Manny backed away. That was it. He’d made it without blabbing about the woman’s body.

“Sure thing, Sergeant Major.” Jumping to the ground, Ray plucked the last card from Connie’s hand and scribbled on it. The table was now piled high with sacks and cans. Henry began heaving them into the wagon. “Another order of flour, beans, sugar, rice, oats and powdered milk. Plus, two cans of peaches.”

Connie shuffled the ration cards before rubber banding them together. “No chocolate?”

“Sorry, ma’am. We—”

The sergeant major pulled a beige MRE bag from his trouser leg pocket. Reaching inside, he pulled out a handful of red wrappers. “Skittles. And some cookies.”

“Close enough.” Connie clapped her hands.

After shutting the bag, the sergeant major tossed the treats to Henry. “One more thing.” The soldier pulled a piece of paper out of his waistband. Using the sharpened end, he scrawled ten numbers across the back. “You got a working phone?”

“Landline at Connie’s.” Finished loading the wagon, Henry rolled over to them. “Comes and goes with the power.”

“This is my number. Let me know if you have to bug out. We may be able to give you a lift.” He handed Henry the paper.

“Will do, Sergeant Major.” Henry folded the note and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “Take care now.”

Manny jogged over to the wagon. He’d done it. Smiling, he grabbed the handle of the wagon. His thighs strained as he pulled. Finally, it budged.

“Get that gate open, Connie.” Henry snapped. “Don’t know if that grandson of yours has the strength to get that thing moving again.”

Irina placed her hand on the sack of flour and pushed. “They’re such big containers. How do you know how much to give?”

The wagon moved faster over the asphalt and Manny was able to stand upright, instead of at an angle. On the street behind Henry, the soldiers loaded up the table and climbed back in the trucks.

Connie finished tapping in the code to open the gate. As it slid open, she slowly walked forward. “Oh, we have that down pat. A coffee can full of rice, beans and oats. But only a margarine tub of powdered milk.”

Henry wheeled in front of her, and she set her hand on the back of his seat. “We usually keep all the flour and make it into bread using the sour-dough starter Mildred has going.”

“Fresh baked bread tonight.” Connie glanced over her shoulder at them. Her cloudy eyes sparkled. “Tuesdays are my favorite.”

Henry guided her through the opening. “And we’re having stew to go with it.”

Puffing, Irina straightened and held her side. “Manny can cook. He makes the best beans and rice.”

“Can he?” Once through the gate, Connie led them to the right.

He flushed. “I was a short order cook before...”

He stopped. Sweat beaded his forehead. God, he’d almost told them about being sent away for manslaughter.

“Well,” Henry piped into the silence. “We can’t let your skills go rusty. Now that the Redaction is over, you’ll want to get another job.”

“And Mildred will be glad to get a break.” Connie led them across the street to a two-story ranch with a slate gray roof. No weed, bush or tree marred the plain gravel front yard. Cane sweeping side to side, she led them up the driveway to the small portico. “This is Denise Power’s house.”

Henry scooted around her and pressed the bell. Once. Twice. Deep chimes resonated inside.

Manny unzipped his jacket, and then zipped it back up. Was this the home of the dead woman? Was she even now being a rat treat in her backyard? And what of the man? The killer that threw her bloody body off the balcony. Was he still around, waiting to strike? Jesus Christ. He should have told the soldiers. They could have caught the guy.

“Probably still in bed.” Henry grumbled, pressing the bell twice more.

“Be nice, Henry.” Connie rapped her cane on the door three times. The knocking blended with the dying peals.

Manny spun the metal tab of his zipper until the hoodie puckered. Tell them. I have to tell them. But now I’ll look guilty.

“We can’t sit here all day.”

Connie sighed and pushed her gray hair off her forehead. “Alright, get the key from under the mat.”

“I’ll get it.” Irina squeezed around them, knelt and lifted the corner of the straw welcome mat. She held the key out to Henry before standing next to Manny.

Her warm fingers slid against his. His muscles jumped with the need to grab her hand and run away.

Henry slid the key in the lock. The tumblers turned with a soft thud and the door opened on silent hinges.

Voices drifted around him and so did something else. The odor of evacuated bowels. The signature of death. Manny swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting. How could the house smell so strong if the body was outside?

Rini gasped and buried her head in his shoulder.

“Denise? Denise?” Connie stopped on the threshold. “It’s Connie. I’ve come with your supplies.”

Henry tugged her back outside and shut the door. Gray tinged his pale skin. “She’s gone to be with her children, Connie. Wait here while I go call the sergeant major.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

David zipped up the body bag. His pulse pounded at his temples. Stanley ‘Stash’ Epstein. Twelve years old. Beaten to death by a bunch of gangbangers over food. Food for fuck’s sake! There was enough for everyone, no need to steal or kill for it. Maybe humanity deserved the shit sandwich Mother Nature was about to force feed it.

At the very least, the people who did this deserved to rot in a particularly hot corner of Hell for eternity times two. Maybe longer. Stooping, he slid his hands under the kid. Plastic crinkled as he lifted the remains and cradled them against his chest. God, the kid weighed next to nothing. What threat could he have presented against anyone?

“Hey Big D.”

David closed his eyes for a moment. The kid had survived the Redaction, only to be killed for no damn good reason. None. He hoped the Marines hunted every last one of the gang and put a bullet through their heads. God knew, if one of the Aspero walked in front of his truck, he’d gun the engine.

“Yo, Earth to Big D.” Standing over the processing kits, Robertson snapped his fingers. “Come in, Big D.”

He adjusted the bundle in his arms and stepped out of his thoughts. “Robertson this had better not be about the hobbies of this month’s Playmate.”

Tsking, Robertson tucked the camera in the kit before closing it. “That babe was so smoking, no red-blooded man would have even pretended to read the articles.”

Stepping around the private, David headed for the door. He wasn’t in the mood for the dark humor Robertson specialized in. Maybe morgue duty was finally getting to him. It got to everyone sooner or later. Better to leave the room before he ripped the private two new ones.

“Big D.” He heard the rustle and grunt as the private lifted the kits. “Before you distracted me, I thought you should know that your phone was ringing.”

Well, hell. David strode down the hall. It wasn’t ringing now. Of course, that just meant he’d probably missed an important call. One demanding he deliver another package to the good doctor. Thoughts of Mavis shined a ray of sunshine into the dark hallway. Entering the living room, he glanced passed the stacks of toys to the sagging couch. Should he put the remains down and check the number?

Robertson brushed his back as he hustled by. Although his shoulders were bowed by the processing kits, he held out his arms. “I’ll take him, Big D. You see to the call.”

For a moment, David tightened his grip on the kid. He’d given him all the dignity he could. But with the call, he might be able to save the life of his cousin and the boy who’d given them both shelter. Maybe.

“Yeah, okay.” He placed the body in Robertson’s arms. His limbs felt lighter, empty. Sighing, he ripped off his gloves. “I’ll get the doors.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Big D. He doesn’t weigh anything.” Above his mask, Robertson’s face darkened. “You think we can find a nest of those plague carrying rats and dump them off at the Aspero’s house?”

Opening the door, David smiled. The plague was a nasty way to die. And slow. Plus, the bastards would infect each other. Sometimes a brilliant idea emerged from the dark corners of the private’s mind. “We’ll see.”

“Bullets are too good for the likes of them.”

Stepping onto the carport, David opened the back of the refrigerated truck before unzipping his bunny suit and stripping it off his shoulders. The slick fabric bunched around his ankles. Using his gloves as mitts, he unwound the duct tape from around his boots and shucked off the garment. Piling his soiled clothes on the dusty cement, he unclipped his phone from his belt. He glanced at the display and frowned.

Unknown name.

Not the Surgeon General with a pick-up, which meant no Mavis. Hmm. He hit up his voicemail then entered his code.

“Sergeant Major, this is Wheelchair Henry.” The man’s voice shook. “I mean Henry, the guy in the wheelchair.”

Dread spiraled down David’s spine and his heart thudded heavily in his chest. Christ. He’d just seen them today. Did the girl’s injuries require hospitalization?

“We live off of Baseline between Seventh and Central. You were here today dropping off supplies.”

David kicked at his discarded PPE. “Just get to the point.”

A heavy sigh came over the line. “We found a body. It’s Ms. Powers. She, uh, hanged herself.”

Closing his eyes, David tossed his head back. Suicide. It was a suicide. He breathed deeply, until his heart slowed. He snapped the phone shut.

“Trouble Big D?” Robertson’s boots hit the ground as the truck door clattered down.

“Another body.” David glanced at the private through his eyelashes.

Robertson unzipped his bunny suit before peeling off his gloves and nesting them one inside the other. “The Redaction, Plague or Hanta virus?”

“Suicide.”

“If they’d just waited, Mother Nature would have done it for them.” Robertson double bagged their garments, sealed them up, and then slapped on the biohazard sticker. Opening the door a crack, he stuffed the bag inside the truck bed. “Please tell me, the DB didn’t eat his shotgun. I am so not in the mood for blood and brains abstract art.”

David pulled a lock out of his pants pocket and secured the door. “I don’t know, but we’re headed back to Wheelchair Henry’s.”

“Damn, Big D. This is a bad side of town to be living on.”

It was emptying out pretty damn fast too. At least, this one wasn’t a murder. While walking back to the cab, he unclipped his phone, called up the last number and hit redial. The phone rang once. Twice.

“Hello?”

David licked his lips. Damn, he’d reached one of the women. Not that they weren’t competent, but he’d rather deal with Henry. The ex-Green Beret was unlikely to break down crying. He couldn’t deal with tears right now. “Yes, Ma’am. This is Sergeant Major Dawson. I’m returning Henry’s call.”