Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

“Wait!” Slipping the rest of the way down the ramp, he slapped his palms against the platform. Bending his knees, he jumped then toed his way up the concrete until he hooked a knee onto the dock.

The Marine reached for him, blood outlined the curve of his fingernails.

Wheelchair Henry’s blood.

Manny leaned away then clawed at the floor to keep from pitching over the side. “I can do it.”

“I asked you a question, Marine,” Robertson barked.

“The colonel insisted he be allowed to approach the target solo.” Their guide clambered into the bay. “He wanted the bastard to be brought in alive.”

“He’d seen so much violence in his career, you see. Once he got out, Henry could abide the killing anymore. If he could stop one more person from dying, he would do anything, even if…” Mildred waited in the clearing in the center of the square room. Shirts in plastic sleeves spilled out of boxes and created a rainbow of blue and green in front of her.

Manny jogged to her side and slipped his hand in hers. “I’m here.”

She nodded once then shuffled toward the spilled boxes.

White bandages fluttered in the breeze like flags of surrender.

“What the fuck for?” Robertson’s boots pounded behind them.

“The colonel thought he could convince the target to surrender.”

The conversation faded to a buzz as Manny spied the boots. Clean and clear of mud and jeans neatly tucked in the tops, they stretched out beyond the box with laces neatly doubled knotted in bows. The wheel of Henry’s chair stuck up like a silver rainbow, clean, bright and impossibly still.

The metallic taste of death hit the back of Manny’s throat. Swallowing it down, he continued forward. He had to see his friend.

Mildred choked on a sob.

Wheelchair Henry’s gray ponytail lay in the halo of blood around his head. White trimmed the red cloth at his throat. His eyes were closed. He could have been sleeping, if only his chest moved.

Move dammit! Manny’s scream stuck to the roof of his mouth.

But Wheelchair Henry didn’t move.

And he never would.

He was gone.

Manny’s eyes burned and his chest tightened so much he couldn’t breath. Black crowded his vision.

Mildred released his hand and knelt by her husband on the floor. Her hands hovered above his chest before they settled down and smoothed his shirt. “Silly man, you’ve ruined your favorite shirt.”

He dropped to the cement. Cold leached into his skin, settled into his bones and iced his grief. No more. No more. He pounded his fists on his thighs.

Never again.

“—throat slit and he bled out.”

Blocking out Mildred, Manny focused on Robertson and the Marine.

“And where is the murdering bastard’s body now?” Robertson’s words were clipped.

Yes. Where was the body? Manny twisted around to stare at the men. He needed to see it with his own eyes.

Their guide cleared his throat. “Gone.”

“Gone as in his carcass was carried away by rabid badgers?” Veins popped out on Robertson’s neck. “Or gone as in a fucking portal to hell opened up and he was sucked inside by Satan himself?’

The guide opened his mouth.

Robertson drilled the Marine’s shoulder with his index finger. “Because if it’s option C, gone as in escaped, I’m going to hand your balls and pecker over to the Sergeant-Major.”

The Marine cupped his privates. “Option C.”

“No!” Manny leapt to his feet and stormed forward. “No! He needs to die. You have to kill Trent Powers.”

“Stand down, Manny.” Robertson shoved him backward then raised his rifle and pressed it against the Marine’s nose. “Give me one good reason why I don’t blow out your worthless piece-of-shit not-worth-a-fucking-damn brain.”

There wasn’t one. Since they hadn’t killed Trent, the Marines should die.

“Please lower your weapon, PFC.” Although soft, Mildred’s voice filled the storeroom. “Henry would not approve.”

Manny’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh. Henry would have hated this. They needed to work together and solve this problem.

Robertson’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled in a snarl but he complied. “Yes, ma’am.”

“This in-fighting is exactly the kind of trouble Trent enjoys stirring up.” Mildred shook out her skirts.

The scent of lavender surrounded Manny. “So we go after Trent Powers.”

And gun him down.

Manny stuffed his hands into his pocket. A gun would come in handy right about now. The soldiers would not go hunting without him.

“That’s gonna present a bit of a problem.” A soldier rested his elbows on the dock and stared up at them. “We’re down two vehicles.”

“Two?” Robertson stroked the barrel of his gun.

It was unlikely the military would give him one. Manny scanned the room. Where had Wheelchair Henry’s gotten to?

“We should have three, Michaelson. The murdering bastard took one.” Robertson held out his index finger as if the other soldier needed help counting that high. “Four minus one is three.”

“We’re out of brake fluid substitutes.” Michaelson held up two fingers. “Four minus two is two.”

“Did you just come here to shit on my rainbow?” Robertson kicked a box, crushing the side.

The ones on top wobbled along with the lantern. Shadows shifted and Manny saw it—a shiny black gun by the open door. Would they notice if he took it? Would they care?

“I do have some good news.” Michaelson smiled. “One of the Doc’s neighbor’s is a teacher. According to him, the districts gassed up all the little school buses when the attack hit so they’d have room for more government issued fuel.”

Manny inched closer. Could he cover the ten feet and pick it up before the soldiers noticed him? He glanced at them. They seemed more focused on each other than him.

“Yes.” Robertson punched the air. “So all we need is to find a school and we’ll have transport.”

Michaelson waved a yellow piece of paper. “There was a phone book by the food court. There’s a school three klicks away.”

Manny cleared two boxes. Four more feet to go.

Michaelson carefully folded the scrap. “It’ll take me a while to figure out how to hot wire ‘em—”

“I can do it.” Manny blinked. Had he just volunteered to hotwire a bus?

Robertson, Michaelson and the Marines stared at him. The dog thumped its tail.

Great. Now he’d never get the gun.

“You know how to hot wire a car?” Robertson rocked back on his heels then shuffled closer.

“Yeah. I can practically do it in my sleep.” God knew he’d had enough nightmares about it. And all that time in Adobe Mountain, all Manny had to do was think about stealing that stupid car.

“Good.” Robertson swept up Wheelchair Henry’s weapon. He checked the chamber than the clip before offering it to Manny. “Don’t waste the bullets.”

The gun slid against Manny’s palm; he dipped his finger into the trigger. It was lighter than the other times he’d handled it but it fit his hand perfectly. “I won’t.”

The next time this gun fired, Trent Powers would die.

“Miss me, Princess?”

Audra punched Eddie’s arm. From the way her heart shunted blood, she was surprised her fingernails didn’t fly off. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He grunted and removed his hand from her mouth. “What was that?”

Black ringed his eyes and his nose had swollen. Becky was right; he was good looking. She threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. He smelled of gasoline, sweat and snow.

Setting his hands on her hips, he backed her up.

She clung tighter. He’d come back for her. Her daddy hadn’t done that when the Redaction hit. Not even when her mother came down with the flu.