Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

The door came free.

They’d done it! Her heart fluttered. Resisting the urge to clap, Audra inched across the threshold.

A man loomed from the side. He clapped an icy hand over her mouth just as a scream rose in her throat.

Manny sprinted across the parking lot. His lungs heaved; his thighs burned. He had to get to the niños. Had to save them.

With his rifle clenched in both hands, Robertson panted next to him. The dog kept pace with them both. “We’re parked around the back.”

Nodding, Manny veered to the left. Once around the big box store, he’d see the niños, know for certain they were alright. But he had to get there first. Fifty yards. Forty. Slush caved under each footfall. Thirty yards. Sweat stung his eyes. He pumped his arms faster.

When he was twenty yards away, a Marine ushered Mildred around the corner. Her red hair stood on end and she twisted the apron over her sweatpants. She paused when she spied him then rushed off the curb. “Manny! Are you alright? When did you get back?”

He slowed to a walk but kept moving forward. If Mildred was fine, then the niños would be too. A stitch tightened his side and he dug his fingers into the soft tissue to break it. “I just… got… here.”

“Oh good.” Mildred tossed her arms around him and squeezed tightly. She held on for a moment then another. “I’m so glad.”

Her words were glass, fragile and easily broken. Mildred was usually strong and sure.

Fear tangled Manny’s insides and dropped a lead ball deep in his gut. “Is something wrong?”

Her trembling transmitted aftershocks through his body. She pounded on his back and leaned away but didn’t release his upper arms. She chewed bits of pink lipstick off and deep lines radiated from her eyes. “I don’t know. They’re not telling me.”

His legs shook. He locked his knees to remain upright. “The niños?”

“They’re fine.” She patted his arm. Her lips wiggled but collapsed under the weight of her smile. “Connie gathered all the little ones together to play school.”

Playing. Manny swayed and tingles blossomed in his fingers. The niños were playing.

“Ma’am.” The Marine coughed into the crook of his arm before wheezing to a stop. “We should hurry.”

Mildred’s fingers spasmed and tears brightened her eyes. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” She turned away but didn’t release him. “Manny… Do you think… Will you…”

Manny folded her hand in his, rubbing the cold from her skin. The niños were okay; she needed him. He knew Wheelchair Henry would expect nothing less. But where was the old man? “I’ll come.”

Her shoulders squared then she smoothed her red hair. “Thank you, dear. I certainly appreciate it.”

The Marine gave a curt nod, pivoted then headed for the center of the mall. His gun pointed in whatever direction he surveyed. And he surveyed all of them. “This way.”

The German shepherd sniffed the air and raced ahead.

The hair on Manny’s neck stood up. Why hadn’t the Marine looked them in the eye? Was it because of the shooting? He sniffed. He didn’t smell that sharp scent of gunpowder. Who had been doing the shooting? And who had they fired upon? He hoped it was that asshole Trent Powers. The dude needed to be killed for giving that woman over to that guy with the knife, for killing his wife, and for beating his neighbor to death.

Robertson waved at the two soldiers behind him. “Return to base and collect the truck. Let’s get our people together and consolidate our position.”

Mildred leaned against him and seemed to slow the closer they got to the center store.

Manny leaned down to whisper into her ear. “What’s going on?”

“They haven’t said.” She scraped the rest of her lipstick off. “But it must be Henry.”

He blinked. “Henry?”

Nothing could happen to Wheelchair Henry. The man knew how to take care of himself. Jesus, the older man knew how to take care of everyone.

“I think he’s been…” she dragged air into her lungs, “…hurt.”

She glanced up at him. Grief hollowed out her hazel eyes and the emptiness sucked at him.

Rage surged from the pads of his feet. The knot in his stomach changed to a lump of glowing coals. “No. No!”

He shook his head. The man couldn’t be dead. Nothing could happen to Wheelchair Henry. They needed him. He needed him.

A single tear leaked from Mildred’s right eye. “I… I can feel it.” She drummed on her chest—the thuds louder than rocks on a casket. “I’m empty.” Her nose scrunched and she sniffed. “So empty…”

Manny shook his fists out. This couldn’t be happening. This was not happening. Feelings don’t make something real. Please, God, don’t let it be real. “I’m sure he’s fine. You’ll see.”

She bowed her head but the silence screamed.

He opened his mouth to argue, to convince her, to force her to see the truth. They’d survived so much together. The fire. The gangs. The trek to the soldiers. The attack. Through it all, Wheelchair Henry had been there, guiding them through, knowing what to do.

Metal rattled. Chains clinked.

Following the sound, Manny glanced down a truck ramp. Black scuff marks marked the walls. A yellow gap appeared under a roll up door. It widened with each rattle and clank. The German shepherd stuck his head into the opening and sniffed the air. With a whimper, he lay at the feet of the soldier.

The Marine lead them down the ramp, toward the light.

Snow swirled around him, rested on Manny’s shoulders before lifting off and floating to the ground. Drifts created shallow pyramids along the curb.

“Henry hated the snow.” Tears tracked through the powder on Mildred’s cheeks. She clapped a hand over her mouth but a moan seeped through her fingers.

Don’t! The word ricochetted around his ribs. Don’t use the past tense. Don’t let Wheelchair Henry go. Ever.

Another Marine appeared in the fully open gate. Dark splotches stained his tan shirt. Crimson gloves dripped from his hands. Unblinking, the serviceman stared at his palms.

Mildred stumbled.

Manny caught her as she pitched headfirst down the ramp. Tremors traveled up and down his spine. “It’s not his blood. It’s not.”

“How is he?” Their guide waited at the bottom. Inside the store, camp lights cast a golden glow over the stacks of boxes and the ones strewn like loaded dice across the gray cement floor.

The Marine in the door shook himself, knelt down and scooped up some snow. Pink droplets tainted the white with each rub of his hands. “I tried.”

Their guide ducked his head and swiped at his eyes. His cheeks glistened when he turned to Mildred. “Mrs. Dobbins, I’m so sorry I can’t do anything more.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Robertson shouted.

Manny backed away. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t.

Mildred pulled away and swayed on her feet. Her bottom lip trembled for a moment then she squared her shoulders. “Thank you. Please take me to my husband.”

Their guide set his hands around her waist and lifted her to the dock.

The Marine at the top dried his bloody hands on his pants and lifted her the rest of the way. “The Colonel was the best, ma’am.”

Manny reached for her. No! If she didn’t see, then it wasn’t real. Then Wheelchair Henry would still be alive.

She took a step then paused. “Manny.”

He wrapped his arms around his waist. Oh God. Please don’t make me go. Don’t take another person from me .

Mildred’s hands fisted at her sides, and she inched forward.

No one should have to face death alone. The command whispered inside Manny’s head.