Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Where you ain’t,” mumbled Renaldo.

Gabriella kneeled on the seat and peeked out the back window. “They’re real far back. No one’s coming yet, Nully.”

“Good. Keep an eye out.”

“Nully, there’s a big bag of food. And a box o’bullets, .45s.”

“Good. Hold onto it, Gabby. I want ’em. The bullets are for this Taurus, too. We can eat later.”

“’Kay.”

Phoenix drove the truck about a mile and a half, twisting past wreckage, ruts, shattered asphalt, fallen trees and debris. A half-mile back, he passed Luke’s team and their last stated position. Driving past the old church where Luke was likely hidden, he had a fleeting desire to slow, hoping Luke was being updated. But, he knew he would not make any obvious moves of his own with the two guns held on him and a clear willingness of the young boy to use them. Making good time, while his blood drained onto the floor beneath the brake pedal, Phoenix felt a cold anger build. With the pain starting to subside, his icy, calculating mind returned.

“Why’re you lead man, huh? What makes you different?” asked Renaldo.

“Umm,” said Phoenix. His mind was in the process of calculating angles, speed and vectors.

“Gabby, see what else is in that bag.”

Phoenix concentrated on the sharp right turn coming up ahead. Renaldo was distracted and talking to Gabriella when he slammed hard on the brakes. He grabbed for the door handle with lightening speed, ignoring the Taurus bullet fired inches past his face and the Berretta bullet missing his midsection. Slipping from the truck, he hit the pavement and slid at first then rolled as the truck slid past. Smacking his right side against the curb, Phoenix followed the truck. It nearly collided with a guardrail, before slamming into a Volkswagen. Scrambling up and behind a broken brown building, He turned, limping back the way they’d come. Renaldo jumped out of the truck, staring at the retreating figure, gun pointed. Urgently, he waved Gabby out.

“C’mon, Gabby!”

“I got the bag!”

“C’mon, we gotta run!”

“’Kay.”

Gabriella and Renaldo took off down Brownsville Road at a blistering fast pace. Running hard, Renaldo found it difficult to tuck the Taurus into his pants after slipping the Beretta into the bag that Gabby carried.

“Where we going, Nully?”

“Away! Away to hide.”

“’Kay.”

“Let’s go to the shopping center. Hide. Kroger’s roof.”

“Yeah.”

Not surprisingly, Renaldo and Gabriella showed little exertion for their efforts. Preparation was the key. Even when low on edible food periodically the past few years, they both continued to train as they were taught, running at least two hard miles every day. Today, as luck would have it, they were running into familiar territory; this area of Brownsville Road only had seven adults to watch out for, five of which were mostly harmless. Turning the bend toward the Burger King, Renaldo heightened his already sharp vigilance, keeping an eye out for crazy Betty. Recalling what his father had said, he knew the woman had made the Burger King restaurant her own personal fiefdom and had many large caliber weapons to emphasize the point.

“We better slow up, Gabby. We can walk a bit.”

“Good. I wanted to stop.”

“See why we train? Huh? See, Gabby?”

“Yeah,… we did good, Nully.”

“I know it. Lucky’s all.”

Renaldo gave the Burger King a wide berth, continuing a fast walk down Brownsville Road. And, nearing the small dilapidated Smithy’s bar at the next curve, his eyes were trained to keep an eye out for the bright red backpack carried by Tinderbox, an on again, off again friend of his daddy. Often, Tinderbox was seen tending to the large vegetable garden he’d fashioned in the Carrick Cemetery that was situated behind the old corner bar.

“Want a snack?” asked Gabriella.

“What’s in there?” Renaldo grabbed the bag from Gabby, opening the top. Feeling the heft of the bag, he was impressed at the weight that Gabby had carried with no complaint. Setting the bag on the ground, Renaldo reached into the bottom and pulled several large chunks of dried deer or dog meat wrapped in gray cloth. Reaching in further, he pulled three red apples into the evening sunlight. He handed one to Gabriella and held one for himself.

“Wow!” said Gabriella in delight.

“Wow’s right. Let’s keep walking, Gabby.”

“’Kay.” Gabby took a huge bite. Renaldo did the same, picking up the bag to carry. “I didn’t like that man, Nully.”

“I know, Gabby. Neither did I.”

“Papa woulda killed him.”

“No.”

“No?”

“He woulda let you kill him, if given the chance.”

“Oh…”

They walked, taking smaller bites of the delicious apples.

“I miss Papa… Momma, too.”

“Me, too. C’mon, let’s pick up the pace, Gabby. We need to get up into the back alley behind Kroger’s.”

“’Kay.”

“Mickey, you copy?”

“Copy. Go.”

“We got movement, back alley. Over.”

“What kind? Over.”

“Not sure. Wait, I see two kids. Young. One hundred yards out. Over.”

“Threat?”

“Nah, not likely. Over.”

“Okay. Keep an eye on them. Over.”

“Roger that.”

Mickey turned and approached Colonel MacMillen and the newly established team. Captain Daubney, Major McLeod, and Captains BB and Marty were speaking in the KFC dining area. Detailed plans were being arranged for the much-anticipated rendezvous with Colonel Starkes set for tomorrow at 18:00. Spirits were high and the men of his team were spending a great deal of time getting to know the colonel’s team. Sniffing the air, he appreciated the smell of a few cigars. The smell of fresh meat cooking made his mouth water; he realized he’d not eaten since early morning.

“What we got?” asked Captain Daubney, hearing Mickey on the radio.

“Nothing. A few kids walking near an alley.”

“How old?” asked Connor.

“I dunno. Young.”

“Rare to see kids. How young?”

Mickey was momentarily embarrassed that he did not have the information readily available and that he’d not thought to seek further clarification.

“Hold on, sir.” Mickey moved slightly away, radioing his men. “Stretch, do you know young those kids are? Over.”

“I dunno, Top. The boy’s maybe thirteen or fourteen. Girl’s maybe ten. Over.”

“Continue assessment. Over.”

“Understood, hold.”

“Holding for assessment. Roger.”

“They’re little, but sturdy. I’d say they’re a pretty good-looking pair, probably brother and sister by the looks of ’em. Maybe Hispanic of some type. They look healthy. Over.”

“Roger.” Mickey returned to the team, only to be interrupted, by Stretch’s voice on the radio.

“Hold on a sec, Top… over.”

“Copy. Go.”

“The boy keeps looking back behind him like they’re being chased or something. He’s reached behind his back to pull out something. Whoa, large handgun. I think he senses something’s wrong behind him. Over.”

“How? How far from you? Over.”

“We’re hidden well. Maybe forty yards ahead of ’im, tucked nice in the yard of a gray house. Snipers up top. No way he knows we’re here. Over.”

“What’s he doing now, over?”

“Umm, he’s saying somethin’ to the little girl, pointing behind him and then right in our direction. Over.”

“Okay. Keep an eye on ’em. Send a man behind them after they pass to see what’s up. Over.”

“Roger that. I’ll go out there myself once they pass. Out.”