Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

She nodded.

A moment later, Falcon’s hand hovered inches from her mouth.

No screaming. They were off to a good start. Papa Rose inched closer. “What’s your name?”

Falcon rolled his eyes.

Yeah, the guy might be drilled in interrogation techniques, but Papa Rose had experience talking to kids. And scaring the pants off them was hardly the way to get them to talk. “Name?”

The girl slid her slicker over her knees until she was a red ball. “O—Olivia.”

“Hello, Olivia. I’m Papa Rose. That ugly guy behind you is Falcon.” He quickly positioned the gun behind his knees. “Isn’t Falcon a stupid name?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and nodded.

“At least, I’m not named after a flower,” Falcon growled. “Doesn’t he look more like a weed than a rose?”

Olivia’s eyes scrunched up as she giggled.

Papa Rose smiled. Now that he’d gotten all friendly… “Are you supposed to be meeting someone here?”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around her shins. “Our neighbors. Mama was too slow so they went ahead to get us a place with someone leaving.”

He blinked away the rain. A slow mama might have saved their lives. If it was true. A big if. “Is your mother sick? Is that why you need help?”

Her pointed chin rose a notch. “She’s getting better. She didn’t get the Redaction the first time around, so it’s just making up for it now.”

Hell, someone hadn’t gotten the Redaction. What were the odds? He shook off the thoughts. Now was not the time. He’d pencil it in next to never. Right now, he needed to find out what kind of threat she and her ‘mother’ posed. “Anyone else traveling with you and your mother?”

Olivia stiffened.

Falcon set his hands on his thighs, not touching her but close enough to grab her if need be. “A little brother or sister, perhaps?”

She scrubbed her nose with the palm of her hand. “They died. Yesterday. I tried to take care of ‘em, cuz Mama was feeling bad but…”

He glanced at Falcon.

The ex-Green Beret nodded.

So they both bought the story. Let’s hope they were correct. But just in case… Papa Rose pushed to his feet and held his hand out to her. “Let’s go find your mama.”

He hoped Brainiac at least got the message to stay put.

“‘Kay.” Olivia slid her hand into his.

His fingers closed around the small bones. Why did God make children so fragile?

Falcon waited for them to thread through the first car then followed. “How far away is your mother?”

She shoved her hair over her shoulder. The locks slapped her slicker. “Not far.”

Given the way kids told distances, that could be miles or a block. Either way, Papa Rose would find out all too soon. The world darkened as she steered them toward the shadows of the building. Too bad he wasn’t the kind to leave people behind. Maybe this would earn him a little forgiveness.

Maybe the girl’s mother would take Toby and Jillie and he could die like he planned. She led them across the intersection. Rats peeked at them from under piles of garbage. She turned into the alley. Bags of garbage overflowed large metal bins. Water fell in waterfalls from the eaves. Bare legs stuck out from a recessed doorway.

Hot damn. Close really was close.

Olivia tugged out of his hold and sprinted to the legs. “Mama, I brought help. They’re soldiers.”

Her mother’s hand slid off her lap and landed palm up in a puddle.

“Mama!” Olivia screamed and shook her mother. The other arm flopped to the ground.

Oh, God. Papa Rose’s stomach turned into a fist in his gut. Slack features, partially closed lids.

“Hey, Olivia.” He tugged on a lock of the girl’s black hair.

Rain streaked her tan skin when she turned her face to his. “She’s going to be okay, right? She’s just tired.”

Mama may look like she was sleeping, but this rest was eternal. “Why don’t we let Falcon here check her out, okay?”

Olivia threw herself at his knees. Sobs wracked her body.

Papa Rose stumbled back a step then caught himself. She hung on.

Kneeling next to the mother, Falcon set his middle finger against her neck. After a bit, he shook his head.

Fuck. Instead of getting rid of the children, he’d just acquired one more. Shaking off his anger, Papa Rose slid his hands under her armpits and lifted her up.

She hiccoughed. Her button nose blew snot bubbles.

Papa Rose tucked her close. Hot tears warmed his neck and thin arms strangled his shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get out of the rain.”

“No! Not the gangs!” Stuart’s people melted into the shadows of the restaurant’s kitchen. Metal clanged. Someone screamed. A wail bounced off the tiled wall.

Good gravy. Audra’s fingernails dug into her palms. Panic was all she needed. It was more contagious than the Redaction and twice as dangerous. She had people to get out of the restaurant, making the gathering of those supplies more critical.

“Calm down!” Her shout bounced around the fast food restaurant. From the corner of her eye, she watched her mother and the children near the restrooms cringe. One little girl stuck her finger in her mouth and pulled hard enough to tighten the skin over her cheeks. Just wonderful. Audra was scaring children now. She closed her eyes and prioritized. Fuel. Dead bodies. Supplies. Evacuate. With forty extra people—

“You have guns, right?”

Audra opened her eyes to watch Stuart edge along the prep counter. No doubt he wanted to cower in the kitchen, hide in the darkness. Too bad. Everyone had a part to play. “Those with jugs of oil please make your way to the buses. We need to fill up.”

No one moved in the kitchen. What was wrong with them? Didn’t they know their hiding space had already been compromised? They would be found, hurt, unless they all left together. She bit her lip to keep from shouting the words. The truth would induce panic not free them from it.

“How many guns do you have?” Stuart faded into the black kitchen until his pale face hovered above his shadowy form.

Her attention flicked to her mother. Jacqueline shrugged and continued to file the children through the facilities. Wonderful. Even her mother had stopped listening to her. Audra jerked her head toward the shotgun in Eddie’s hand.

“Yes, we have some guns.” But not enough for everyone. Not enough for some shootout at the OK Corral. The children could get hurt. She had to protect the children until she could hand them off to the soldiers. “Please order—”

“We have far more ammunition than guns.” Eddie scooped a handful of shells out of his pocket. Red sleeve cartridges rolled over his calloused palm.

Stuart’s nose twitched. “You need to shoot them. Kill them.”

“We are not going to solve this with violence.” The very idea left a bad taste in her mouth. “Now, about that fuel—”

“You don’t know these animals.” Wild fire blazed in Stuart’s blue eyes. He rushed her, crossing the serving area in seconds.

She retreated. Her boot heels scraped the tiled kick plate and the register drawer dug into her back. Her heart ratcheted up a notch. Was the man mentally unsound?

“You don’t know what they’ve done.” White flecks of spittle clung to his lips and punctuated the air.

“I have a pretty good idea.” Raising her hand, she set it on his chest and pushed him away as she straightened. The massacre at Casa Grande replayed inside her skull—the helpless women used as bait, the offer of assistance, the clearing of the buses at gunpoint, the bloody spray of bullets and the slow descent of friends’ bodies as they fell to the ground. Shaking her head, she cleared the image. “We cannot descend to their level. We have to be better than that.”