Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

Deputy Pecos and Principal Dunn loaded their weapons as they raced around the corner of the gas station. Eddie followed their example when he appeared. Bullets smashed into wood. Shells tinkled on the ground. “They started coming faster when they saw the first bus move.”

With her feet, she herded her goodies near the seat behind the driver. “What happened to the scouts?”

The Principal and Deputy leapt aboard. She kneeled on the seat as they rushed to the back.

Following the others, the fourth bus jumped the curb and picked up speed down the freeway onramp.

“Dead.” Eddie’s gas mask dangled from his chin as he climbed the stairs. “Dunn may act like a douche but he can shoot.”

Mother closed the doors and pressed the gas pedal. The bus lurched forward. Audra grasped the upholstered seat back and steadied herself.

Glass shattered and metal pinged. A rifle report boomed inside the bus.

“You’re not going to get us, you bastards!” the principal yelled.

“Best get down, Princess.” Bracing his feet apart, Eddie palmed the back of her head and pushed her face toward the cushion.

“Hey!”

Cool air whistled inside when he lowered the window. Loose plastic flapped. The bus rocked as it bounced over the curb. When he removed his hand, she glanced up.

The shotgun barrel rested on the window sill. Eddie pulled the trigger.

The blast shook her eardrums. Sticking her fingers in her ears, she melted onto the dirty floor, sliding toward the driver as they descended the on ramp.

The bus picked up speed as it reached the freeway and closed the gap between them and the rest of the convoy.

Please, God, let them reach the soldiers soon .

Manny blinked away the dust clinging to his eyes as yet another truck lumbered by. The military convoy had never seemed so long. Behind him, two Marines loaded the injured into the back of a wagon. Dust coated the blood stains on their uniform, dulling the bright red spots.

The convoy had been ambushed.

Soldiers had been shot at.

He tucked his shaking hands in his jeans. The rope belt clung to his hips.

“The tremors will pass.” Wheelchair Henry set the parking brake and folded his hands on his lap.

“Uh-huh.” He stood on the bank, staring into the wash. Wind tugged at his hoodie and a chill snaked down his spine. Rain sprinkled his black hair, left divots in the loose dirt.

“‘Course, you never really get accustomed to being shot at.”

God. What a thought. Fear soured his mouth. At least, he hadn’t crapped his pants. He would have if the old man hadn’t been there taking his mind off of it. Telling him how to survive it. To stop, think, observe and plan. No, that wasn’t right. He had to act, too. Jesus, how was he to survive if he couldn’t remember five simple words?

How was he to keep the niños safe?

Wheelchair Henry’s wife, Mildred and their neighbor, Connie watched over the niños playing along the packed dirt road lining the wash. A Golden Retriever darted around the lunging children. He paused near a gray leafed Ironwood tree to drop the ball at his feet, practically daring the niños to try to grab it.

“You’re not going catatonic on me, are you?” Wheelchair Henry rested his hand on the revolver on his lap.

An old man and surly kid stood next to the medical truck, each had an arrow notched in his bow. Manny had tried talking to the kid after the shooting, even offered him some of his candy. But he’d turned his nose up at a handful of dusty, slightly mushed Skittles. What an idiot.

Two old ladies in similar tracksuits chatted with an Asian dude and a dark skinned couple. They’d all been on his truck. He should know their names. Should but didn’t. He had a hard enough time walking, talking just required too much energy. He scanned the wash until he found Rini, the Wilson sisters, Beth and a shriveled, brown-skinned woman sorting through stacks of clothes and blankets.

“Manny?” Wheelchair Henry’s voice dragged his attention from the wash.

Tremors raced up his body then back down. “We should have been safe with the soldiers.”

He winced at the childish whine. Why weren’t they safe? He watched more trucks rumble past. Olive-drab Marines and blue-shirted Airmen coughed. Not from the dust. Never that. They were dying of that anthrax thing going around. And to think he’d almost taken the niños to Burgers in a Basket.

That would have killed them for sure.

Maybe it would be better to die and get it over with.

Especially if the soldiers could not keep them safe.

“Manny?” Wheelchair Henry snapped his fingers. “Safe is a foreign country no one has ever visited.”

Manny blinked, focused on the hand in front of his face. “Huh?”

“Enjoy your mini vacation from reality?”

“Reality sucks.” But where he’d gone wasn’t any better. No place was. Maybe he should have stayed home. Because of him, they were in danger and leaving everything behind.

“Reality always sucks, some times are worse than others.” Henry rearranged his withered legs so they crossed each other.

“It’s never been this bad.” He’d heard people talking about the human race becoming extinct. That couldn’t happen. They weren’t dinosaurs or anything.

Henry tugged on Manny’s hoodie. “That’s where you gotta change your way of thinking. We’re the healthy ones. We’ve got food in our belly, allies around us and weapons if we need ‘em.”

“I don’t want to need them!” Heads turned at his outburst. He slouched into his jacket. But hadn’t there always been guns around? He hadn’t lived in the best part of town. And the Redaction certainly had brought out the worst in people, allowing the people with guns to take what they wanted. The gangs had certainly moved in, claimed territory, ruled with terror.

Until the Aspero had taken on the Marines.

The military had mown down the gangbangers or blown them up. But now the Marines were sick.

Coughing.

Dying.

And the bad guys were once again moving into the vacuum of no government.

The strap of the gun slid off his shoulder. He caught it then slung it back on. How did he get stuck guarding the soldiers? He’d never fired a gun before.

Unlike the bad guys.

“Hell, Manny, I don’t want to kill anymore than I want to eat my vegetables, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to.”

Guns were not vegetables. Except in movies, vegetables never killed or raped or… He shut down the thought. Bad people did horrible things. And they were still out there. Why couldn’t they have been the ones to get sick? Why couldn’t they be the ones dying?

“So what’s really bothering you?”

Everything . “Nothing.”

“Do I look like a mushroom to you?”

“A what?”

“A mushroom? You being a former chef and all, you’ve must have heard of them.”

“I was a short order cook.” A chef had an education. He wouldn’t get that now. He wouldn’t even graduate highschool. Neither would the niños. Was this what their life would be like—running, shooting, dying? “And no, you don’t look like a mushroom.”

“Then why do you keep shoveling bullshit on me?”

Manny blinked. Ahh, now that made sense.

“Falcon and Papa Rose said they’d warned you about bottling things up.” Reaching up, Henry drilled Manny’s chest. “Didn’t they explain that keeping things inside would only end up hurting you and those you love?”

“Yeah, they did.” But they weren’t here now. They’d roared away on motorcycles heading… somewhere. Besides he had no words, just a knot spinning in his gut.

“Yo, Preacher Man.” A soldier yelled at a man in faded jeans and a flannel shirt. “You’re needed in the operating room.” He jerked his head to the truck behind him.