Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

Toby glanced down. Raising his covered foot, he shook it. The bag wiggled a bit but didn’t come off. Next, he hopped three times. “Cool!”

Dropping the duct-tape, he picked up the lone sock. “Okay, let’s get the other one on.”

“‘Kay.” Holding up his unshod foot, Toby balanced by setting his hand on Papa Rose’s shoulder.

The slight weight pressed down on him. He quickly constructed a second shoe and chucked the tape into the bag. “There. All done.”

Toby hopped along the island until he reached the next gas pump. “New shoes. New shoes.”

“I forgot how little it takes to make them happy at that age.” Falcon darted out of the double doors. His rifle hung from his shoulder and a handful of white bags dangled from his hands.

Papa nodded and concentrated on rearranging his belongings. Children were so vulnerable, got sick so quickly. He licked his dry lips. Died with such a soundless whimper.

“You got something for me to wear?” Jillie stood in front of him, arms wrapped tight around her torso and legs wrapped around one another. Her teeth chattered behind her blue lips.

Falcon held out a bag. “Found these. Something should fit.”

She swapped the white grocery sack for the small bar of Brainiac’s bar of soap. “Any shoes?”

Papa Rose held up two MRE wrappers. “Got your customized pair right here.”

“Excellent! I haven’t had a new pair in a long while.” She smiled. Blood wept from the graze at her temple. “Be right back.”

Turning on her heel, she padded toward the side of the building.

“Yo, Brainiac.” Falcon shoved a handful of clean bags into Papa Rose’s gut. “Check out the bathroom for the lady.”

“Aye, aye.” With a palm flash, Brianiac jogged through the rain to the side of the building.

Jillie splashed through the puddles then disappeared around the corner of the building.

Hinges squeaked. “Bathroom is clear. Hey, where’s my soap?”

“I gave it to the bald dude.”

Papa Rose shook his head. Maybe he should change his name. He eyed the blood red ink blooming on his arm. What was the point? His past would never free him.

Falcon snorted. “Hey, bald dude, given any thought to how we’re going to transport the munchkins?”

Toby jumped off the island. His plastic shoes crinkled as he landed. Dark wisps of hair hung in his brown eyes. “What’s a munch’in?”

“That’s you, little man.” He tossed a pair of clean socks from hand to hand. Damn but the kid looked so innocent and trusting. Lightning fractured the low-lying clouds and highlighted the lines of rain streaking down. A snare drum of thunder chased hard on its heels. He had to find a way to get rid of the kids.

Soon.

“I’s Toby, not a munch’in.” The preschooler shook his head. With knees bent, he swung his arms back and forth then jumped the six inch the curb.

“Papa Rose?” Falcon snatched the socks out of the air. His dark fingers dug into the white ball of fabric. “How we going to transport the munchkins?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “The boy will ride in front of me on the bike, and the girl will hang on from the back.”

“Is it safe?”

He’d told his wife it was and their children had never gotten hurt. “I’m willing to pick another curtain, just tell me which one.”

The point of Falcon’s yellow bandanna flopped over his eye. With his free hand, he smoothed it back. “Maybe we can find a group of survivors and… you know.”

“Yeah.” He knew. Their suicide pact hadn’t exactly gone as planned. They were having a hell of a time getting to the dying part. His gaze slanted to Toby. “Right now we need to focus on finding gas or there won’t be any survivors. Just corpses that glow in the dark.”

Falcon tugged a folded up paper from the back pocket of his jeans. “You think radiation poisoning is as bad as the Doc said?”

“Worse.” Brainiac sauntered through the rain, his M-4 cradled in his arm. “I’ve seen videos of exposure victims. It isn’t pretty.”

Papa Rose grunted. Guys like him didn’t deserve pretty.

Falcon shrugged. “There’s always plan B.”

Eating his gun? That was too fast. Men who put their own wants above their family deserved to suffer. The man who brought the Redaction to Phoenix deserved to suffer.

A bullet to the brain was out of the question for him, but he’d make sure the ex-green beret was buried before signing up for a nuclear tan.

Holding the knotted plastic bag over her head, Jillie slipped around him and under the safety of the awning. Her bare feet slapped the cement. She drew to a halt beside them and held out her hand. “I’ll take my shoes now.”

“Here you go, Miss Thang.” Falcon placed the socks on her palm.

“What’s plan B?” Brainiac crouched by the bag. His long fingers raked the contents from side to side and found the sliver of soap sweating inside a baggie. Pinching it between his thumb and index finger, he lifted it free then tucked it into his breast pocket.

They wouldn’t tell the squid their plan. He had something to live for. While Falcon busied himself with unfolding the paper in his hand, Papa Rose supplied an answer, edited for small ears. “Kiss our butts goodbye unless we find fuel to keep the power plant running for another four days.”

Brainiac grinned, revealing the gap between his two front teeth. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Well, while you’ve been thinking, I’ve been planning.” A gust of frigid air shook out Falcon’s folded paper. It snapped flat.

No, not paper. Papa Rose leaned closer. Neat grid lines carved up the top. Leave it to a spec ops guy to find a map. Red x’s marked the corners of some streets. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the names hanging from green signs at the intersection, picking it out on the map. The red mark had a black line running through it.

Brainiac caught the flapping edge and pulled it taut. “What’s this?”

Falcon rolled his eyes. “It’s a map. Don’t they teach squids anything?”

“Kinda hard to navigate with a map in a sub.” Papa Rose nodded to the sailor. “They don’t have windows so they wouldn’t know to turn right at the mermaid or that something is due south of Atlantis.”

“Ha. Ha.” Brainiac folded his arms across his chest. “We use computers to navigate in a sub. Very, very expensive computers.”

“This is old school GPS.”

“Great, great-grandfather’s school.” Brainiac poked one of the x’s. “What do those mean?”

Falcon smiled. “Please say we didn’t let you tag along for your brains.”

Papa Rose’s inside cramped. Maybe the squid wasn’t as smart as they thought. He eyed Toby before his gaze skipped to Jillie. She sat on the dry island, adjusting the MRE bags over her feet. Damn, they needed to find survivors to dump the kids. “Those are gas stations.”

“Oh.” Brainiac blotted at the water beading on the muzzle of his rifle. “How do you know where they are? Did you live around here?”

A muscle flexed in Falcon’s jaw and he squeezed his eyes closed for a minute.

Damn, the squid had gotten personal. Had he forgotten rule number one? The apocalyptic version of ‘don’t ask; don’t tell’. “Look B—”

“Yeah.” The raw words emerged from Falcon. “Yeah, I grew up around here. A lifetime ago.” He cleared his throat. “But I know where the stations are because I consulted a phone book. I picked the chains, not the mom and pop shops, since I knew most of the chains were slated to open.”

“Oh.” Brainiac raked his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, dude. I—”

“B!” Christ Jesus. The squid didn’t remember rule number two. No apologies. Life was too short.