Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

She nodded. Stuart and his group had their own Casa Grande. Not that it justified allowing her to walk through a potentially dangerous area. Lord a’ mercy! What if she hadn’t been wearing her mask?

The doctor continued talking. “You will need to stand for what is right, although there may be no one to witness your transgressions. Discord cannot be allowed to gain even a toehold or we may all still perish.”

Goosebumps blistered her skin. Her daddy used to say things like that. God, it was like a voice from beyond the grave. She couldn’t leave them now.

“Please follow the routes. Please join us. Now, more than ever, every person counts. You count. And we need you. We can and we will overcome this tragedy. With your help and your hope, the human race shall remain.”

A man’s voice replaced the woman’s. “For those in North Phoenix—”

Stuart shut off the radio and began cranking the handle. “The East Valley is the last one mentioned.”

Audra adjusted her mask. With that in place, she was safe inside. “How many people do you have?”

His cranking slowed. “Twenty-four adults. Sixteen kids.”

Forty people. They could replace those they’d lost. They were familiar with the city and its dangers. As long as Stuart didn’t place her or her children in jeopardy again, they would get along fine. “We have room on the buses but you’ll have to split up.”

“Some of us are sick.”

“That Doc lady said it wasn’t contagious.” Eddie cradled his shotgun. “The government may lie but the Surgeon Generals kept getting fired for telling the people the truth about the Redaction. I say we trust her.”

Audra rubbed her forehead. The throbbing increased as she processed Eddie’s statement. The Surgeon General was part of an untrustworthy government but they could trust it? “Okay…”

Stuart shrugged. “The soldiers will be following her orders.”

She expected reluctance from Eddie—the man took great pride in heckling her, but Stuart’s reluctance stuck in her craw. Perhaps he needed to lead to compensate for other shortfalls. Not that she cared. She’d only taken charge because it was her duty. A Silvestre always did her duty.

And as soon as she reached the soldiers at the Polytech Campus that would end. In the meantime, she’d fall back on the old drill. “Everyone who’s sick needs to board bus two-eight. Those who aren’t sick, find any jugs of vegetable or cooking oil.”

“Cooking oil?” Stuart leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

She swallowed the bitterness in her mouth. Her buses, her rules. “We need some gas to tide us over until we reach the campus.”

Behind him, people began to shift. A few coughing individuals shuffled around the counter. Her flashlight was passed forward.

“What else?”

“Gather every useable item you can and load them onto bus niner-niner.”

“We’ve already collected all the canned goods. Unfortunately, it’s not much food.”

She hadn’t expected there to be. “What about paper products?”

Stuart frowned. “You can’t eat paper.”

No, but it has other uses, not that men always needed it. And the whole world seemed to have been picked clean. She wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity. “Ask six of your strongest men to help unload the departed. Everyone who doesn’t have any oil, please take as much as you can carry. Food first, then paper products.”

The people glanced at her then focused on Stuart. He nodded once; they began to move.

Principal Dunn jogged in, waving his pistol. “Company’s coming from across the field. I think they have weapons.”

Trent Powers set his hand on the pages of the Bible to keep the wind from turning them and bowed his head. Power surged through him as the crowd remained silent. He controlled them. Closing his eyes, he moved his lips, stretching out the moment. This was how it was meant to be. His whole life practically led up to this moment.

Around him, leaves and seed pods rustled in the breeze. The advancing storm’s anvil pressed closer and weighted the air.

Someone cleared her throat. His fingers spasmed on the pages, crinkling them. Who would dare interrupt? Trent opened his eyes to mere slits. A dowdy woman with gray streaked hair covered her mouth and cleared her throat again.

Mavis Spanner.

Doctor Mavis Spanner. The bitch in charge of everyone. It wasn’t enough that the military kissed her ass, she had to steal the attention away from him. Again! Her droning on and on about the need for the strong to care for the weak had chased people away. As if anyone really believed such bullshit. Still, it hadn’t all been bad. His faithful minion Dirk had found five more enforcers.

Standing next to her, General Flunky shifted in his dulled black shoes and coughed into a ladies handkerchief embroidered with the Marine Corps insignia. Of course, six enforcers weren’t enough to take out the military. Yet. But his time would come.

Others stirred. A few even started murmuring.

Fuck! The bitch would learn she’d made a mistake messing with him. A fatal mistake. Ask his late ex-wife. Warmth washed through him. He’d never felt so alive as at that moment. Even this… Closing the bible, he spread his hands wide. Even this adulation fell short.

But it was close.

So close.

He allowed his lips to curve in a serene smile and opened his eyes. “Amen.”

“Amen.” They chorused—sheep grateful for a leader.

Grateful to him for leading them.

Mavis nodded her head once. Seven rifles fired. Again. And again before falling silent. The civilians thrown in the mass grave with the soldiers were getting a military funeral. Either way, it was a waste of ammunition. He would have put those bullets to better use.

His fingers bit into the leather covering. She was not as grateful as she should be. No doubt she hated men, because really what man would want her? An idea flooded his brain, blinding in its brilliance. He could seduce her. Yes, she’d probably be grateful. Hell, he might even fuck her. He could consult the pornographic rolodex inside his head and picture a beautiful babe when he plowed the ugly troll.

“Thank you for the service, Reverend Franklin.” The head bitch offered her hand.

Damn! His smile stiffened.

“Trent, please.” He reminded her again. At least no one around them knew of that tiny name mistake. Tucking the bible under his arm, he slid his fingers across her palm and cupped the other over the back. Her calluses chaffed his soft hand. Couldn’t the woman at least attempt to make herself attractive? “I wish I could say it was my pleasure but…”

He waited for her to beg him to finish what he started. They all wanted the reassurances only he could offer.

Her nostrils flared and she gently tugged her hand free. “But these are trying times.”

Behind her, the air sounded with the grunts as soldiers shoveled and threw the remains of houses on top of the empty pools they’d filled with corpses.

“Reverend.” With steel cutting his voice, General Flunky thrust his hand out. “You might want to avoid Revelations in future graveside services. Folks have enough doom and gloom served up on their plate.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Trent gingerly eased his hand into the meat grinder. At the first pump, his bones ground against each other. On the second, they seemed to fuse in place.

General Flunky released him after the third. “See that you do.”

Blood screamed into his fingers. Currents of pain radiated up his arm. Son of a bitch. Once he was in charge, the asshole was going to have an accident. His heart quickened. He hadn’t killed a man. Ever. One, even as old as the general, should be worthy prey.