Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

He swapped his soft jeans for the stiff fabric. Water beaded on the outside. What had they done to it? It felt like those weird tablecloths his mother used to put on the patio table. “What power?”

“You step into those uniform pants and the girls are gonna wanna take theirs off.” Vegas jumped a little as he pulled the jeans over his legs.

Heat burned Manny’s face as he stepped into his new pants.

“And you’ve already got yourself one admirer.”

Manny cleared his throat and tried to slip the rope through the belt loop. “Beth and I are just friends.”

“Whatever you say.” Vegas chuckled. “It’s gotta drawstring already.”

Now he felt like a fool, too. Folding down the waistband, he caught the string and tugged. As the fabric gathered, he pushed it back bunching it around his sides and back. “Why are you dressed in that man’s clothing?”

“I’m going to escort you out of the woods, then pretend to go back and play with Mrs. Hunt.” Vegas tucked the tee-shirt into his pants then pulled it out again. “That way there’s a reason why you and the others came back.”

“You two about done in there?” Robertson stepped out from behind a tree. The dog thumped his tail and his ears twitched.

“We’re ready.” Vegas picked up his rifle. “Remember what I said about those pants, Manny.”

Manny rolled his eyes. Like he believed it. After folding the cuffs, he trailed behind them.

Talking with her hands as much as her mouth, Rini spoke with Pete and Paul under a big pine. Beth stood a little to the side. When she spied Manny, she inspected him from head to toe.

Manny stood a little straighter.

Vegas nudged his shoulder. “Told you. Chicks dig the uniform.”

Robertson checked his weapon. “Alright, let’s get this thing going.”

Vegas led the way through the woods.

Manny fell in behind him.

A twig snapped; Beth slipped her hand into his. “I’m scared.”

Who wasn’t? “We’ll be fine.”

The soldiers would take care of the bad guys. His job and hers was to keep everyone behind the cars. There would be no hostages.

The pines cleared enough so they could see the trunk. Robertson gathered them close. “Okay I want you to look scared. Don’t go near the targets unless you absolutely have to.”

Vegas bowed and motioned for them to precede him with a bloody knife. “After you.”

A hand settled on Manny’s shoulder as they reached the clearing.

Vegas grinned. “Mind your step,” he whispered, shoving his shoulder. “And don’t interrupt me again.”

Manny staggered across the snow, digging a trench. When he looked up, the two guards were watching him. He jogged a little faster and caught up with the girls. “Let’s get going.”

The three rows of cars had been cleared.

“We have to hurry.” They separated, each taking a row. None of the other kids looked at him. He passed a bumper of a Honda. Two kids shoved the body in the driver’s seat to the passenger’s side. Beth stayed behind him. They’d paused by the open door when a shot rang out.

Someone screamed. Everyone ducked.

Manny pushed Beth in front of him then onto the road.

“Hey boy!” The guard standing on the hood aimed at him. “Get over here.”

Manny rose to his feet. His legs shook.

“Don’t go!” Beth clawed at his hand.

He had to. Swallowing the lump stuck in his throat, he put one foot in front of the other. Three rows of cars had been cleared. The soldiers would take out the bad guys soon. He moved abreast of the rear wheels.

“Faster.”

Where were they? Manny held his arms stiffly at his side. Don’t look at the woods. Don’t look at the woods . He set his hand on the trunk. Another step and he’d be in the open.

Another shot rang out.

The guard on the road jerked his head backward then he fell.

“Robert E!” The one on the hood turned toward the wood, raising his weapon. Another shot and red splattered his chest. He crumpled onto the metal then rolled off. The German shepherd darted out of the trees, beelining for the bodies.

Robertson strode from the woods, blowing the barrel of his weapon.

While two soldiers knelt at the edge of the wood, sweeping the area with their muzzles, two more stormed across the road. Vegas stooped near the first body on the ground and touched his throat. “Clear.”

A big burly soldier with two bags stopped near the second. He checked for life signs. “Clear.”

The dog loped over to Robertson and plopped down.

“Alright everyone,” Robertson shouted. “Get in the trucks, we’ll join the others for lunch.”

Manny turned to take Beth’s hand just as another shot rang out.

This one came from where Trent had gone. Where the niños were.

Trent toggled the security device off the sweater. It wasn’t cashmere but it would do in a pinch. Melted snow dripped onto the stockroom floor. The smell of starch mingled with mildew. Faint popping noises drifted through the metal receiving door. Either Robert E. and Ernest enjoyed displaying their power or those stupid kids were getting uppity.

Wool scratched his fingers as he slid the sweater into the bag. Must be the power. The teens had no reason to complain. After all, Trent was letting them drive. He grabbed the bag off the battered, wooden prep table. The weight pulled on his arm. Not a bad haul. Trousers that would need to be hemmed. Dress shirts to mask the itch of the wool sweaters. Of course, the two pairs of dress shoes, black socks and boxer-briefs weren’t up to his usual standard, but he shouldn’t complain too much.

And then there was the little extra something he’d found.

His ears twitched at a whisper of movement.

So ol’ Jake decided to kill him now instead of waiting until later.

Well, Trent had a little surprise in store for him. He scanned the storeroom. Stacks of boxes morphed into dark towers. Melted snow crawled across the concrete and made black puddles in the divots. Palming the flashlight in the same hand as the bag, he swung them over his shoulder. Cold seeped through his sweater where the barrel rested and a bright yellow eyeball of light rolled over the storeroom.

With his free hand, he scraped the box cutter off the table and kept it close to his pant leg. The asshole would only see the glimmer of the blade when Trent struck.

A hollow thump sounded to his right.

He spun on his heel, scratching the soles of his new shoes. So the bastard thought to sneak up on him in the dark. The fool. Trent smiled. Time to have a little fun before the carving began. “Who’s there?”

“Trent?” A man called out. A stack of boxes wobbled in the flashlight’s glow.

He blinked. That didn’t sound like Jake. Neither did it sound like Ernest or Robert E. Could it be Gary? Had he gotten so bloody cutting up the woman that he needed to change his clothes? “Gary?”

“No. It’s Henry.” A cone of light sprayed the aisle. “Henry Dobbins.”

Trent stumbled backward. No. No, it couldn’t be. He eyed the towers walling him in. No break in the boxes. No way to hide, nowhere to run. Fuck! How could this happen to him?

Henry Dobbins rolled around the corner. His steel gray ponytail draped over his flannel covered shoulder. “Dang. It’s hard to maneuver around this place.”

Trent’s thoughts raced. Henry was here. Henry who should have been left behind. If Henry was here, then the soldiers must be too. Cold misted Trent’s skin. Those shots…

“Done a little shopping, I see.” Henry nodded to the bag sticking out from behind Trent’s back.

Trent opened his fingers. Static electricity crackled down his back as the plastic slid to the floor.