Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

“I’m thinking it might be safe in Colorado.”

She shook her head. Technically, she was in charge here. But Lister had the gun and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to conk her on the head for the good of his men. Hell, she would do just about anything to keep Sunnie safe. And speaking of her niece… “Sunnie? Hello? Mr. Johnson?” She addressed the medic. “Is anyone there?”

“Mavis?” A man answered then fell silent.

Her heart slammed to a stop. Oh no. If neither Sunnie or Johnson were answering, it must be bad. She set her hand on the metal door handle. Lister would need his gun to stop her.

“Mr. Q-Quartermain?” She tripped over the name of her neighbor. It must be really bad if he used her first name. He’d always called her Mrs. Spanner.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The old man’s voice warbled before disintegrating into a watery cough. His emphysema sounded worse. “Sunnie slept straight through the whole thing, Mavis. There’s not a scratch on her.”

She bit her lip. Would the old man lie? He too had someone to protect. She shook her head. Lying didn’t make sense. The wily octogenarian would know she’d be around to check for herself. But why was her neighbor answering the walkie and not the medic? Good Lord, could he have gone with David and the rest of his unit? “Is Johnson injured?”

“No, Ma’am. He has his hands full at the moment.”

She sucked in a deep breath. Of course, the casualties. Fear had produced tunnel vision. Squeezing her eyes closed, she refocused. All that remained of her neighborhood was in that truck and she hadn’t bothered to ask about any of them. How could she expect them to look after her niece, if she didn’t keep their welfare in mind?

And now, after everything they’d survived together, one had been lost. “Who?”

Their faces played against her lids. Snapshot memories. Mr. Quartermain with his bow and arrows. The twin septuagenarians with identical tracksuits. Noni with her clacking dentures. The young couple afraid to be happy about her pregnancy. And a handful more. Which one had died?

“No one we knew.” Mr. Quartermain wheezed. “Four of the new arrivals were in too much shock to duck when the shooting started.”

Thank God. She sagged against the seat. Lumps poked her back. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“We gotta look after each other.”

His words resonated inside her, shaking ideas loose. Mavis stared at the silent walkie as the pieces slowly clicked into place. Of course, how could she be so stupid? Before flight or fight kicked in, the body froze.

“Perimeter is established.” Lister nudged her shoulder. “I have men coming with gear. You will wear it or you’ll never leave this car, understood?”

“Yes.” But a helmet and Kevlar vest wasn’t what was needed, wasn’t what would keep people alive. Soldiers on the front line stopped fighting for God, country and cause when the shooting started. They fought for those in the trenches next to them. The survivors may have arrived in groups, but that didn’t make them connected, didn’t mean they had someone to live for.

She needed to give them that.

And she knew just the way. Evolution may favor the survival of individuals, but nature skewed the odds toward those who worked for the group. Deep in their mammalian brains, humans were highly social animals, cooperating with others gave them an edge over the loners.

Two million years of human conditioning was a powerful weapon, and she would take advantage of it

A shadow moved over her window right then her door opened.

A woman in a tan and green Army Combat Uniform shoved a helmet and vest inside. Wind stirred her sandy hair and a droplet winked on the cracked right lens of her eyeglasses. Thunderheads boiled over her shoulder and rain streaked the horizon.

Mavis’s nose twitched as the smell of burning and damp mingled. The storm would chase them north, putting out the fires in front of them. At least something had gone their way.

“The lieutenant will be your own personal bodyguard until we reach safety.” Lister held his thumb to his earpiece while swiping the goo off his laptop.

“Got it.” Mavis plunked on the helmet. The straps danced over her shoulders through her shirt but she didn’t care. Sunnie might be awake and wondering what the hell was happening.

“You’ve got ten minutes.” Balancing the laptop on his knees, Lister straightened his wire readers. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”

“Since we’re stopped anyway, I want the civilians and every available serviceman assembled in the wash.”

“You wanna expose our folks? Just because your boy-toy is chasing the snipers doesn’t mean it’s safe for everyone to lollygag in the open.”

“If I don’t give people a reason to live, they’re as good as dead.” Slipping out of the car, she quickly eased into the bullet-proof vest and adjusted the velcro until it molded around her body. The weight pressed against her chest and she tugged on the collar brushing her throat. Did they have to make them so high?

“What about those up ahead?” Leaning over the seat, he jerked his head to the dust and smoke trail in the distance. “Want me to call them back?”

She shook her head. Most of the front trucks were sick soldiers and the folks that had brought the farm animals. They already had responsibilities that kept them moving, alive. She was after the singles, the loners, and the orphans. “No need. I just want the civilians.”

He combed the chunks of the soldier’s brain from his buzz cut. “Assemble the non-coms in front.” Using his hand, he covered the mouthpiece. “What about our dead?”

“Unload them. We’ll bury them here.” She rubbed at the blood drying on her face. Sunnie couldn’t see her like this. She yanked the bottle of water off the floor.

“Where? The heavy equipment only dug graves farther down the road.”

She poured some water into her palm, splashed it on her face and scrubbed her cheek. God help her if she was just smearing it around. “This is Phoenix. Practically, everyone has a pool and most were told to use the water to flush the toilets and conserve potable water.” She would know. She’d written that order on her second day working on the Influenza pandemic. “They should be empty or nearly so.”

Instant mass grave.

Lister grunted. “Hell of a brave new world.”

She slammed the door as he started barking orders. Even without her earpiece, her head still rang with his shouts. Her helmet slipped back as she jogged toward the truck behind the Humvee.

“You should probably secure your helmet, Ma’am,” the Marine said.

And have something else strangling her? No thanks. She cleared the open door of the personnel carrier. Holes punctured the canvas sides. Dark stained threads fluttered like thin red banners from the opening.

She raised her hand to touch them, changed her mind and curled her fingers into a fist. “How many people did we lose in this truck?”

“I don’t know, Ma’am. Shall I check?” Hazel eyes widened behind the lieutenant’s glasses.

Maybe the military wasn’t as occupied as they needed to be to get through this. Surviving wasn’t easy for anyone, add in a healthy dose of guilt and she had a recipe for disaster. Mavis read the name stuck over the Marine’s right breast. “Do you have a first name, Lieutenant Rogers?”

“Sally, Ma’am.” The soldier’s gaze prowled the camp.

“What’s your specialty, Sally?” Not that it mattered, but everyone needed to know that they mattered, that someone cared about them. Mavis would be that person until they found another. And in forging the social contract, more eyes would watch after Sunnie. If her planned worked, everyone would be part of the village.