Linda Andrews - The Meltdown

“My crew?”

“Yeah. The folks you and the Colonel rescued.”

Someone laughed. Manny’s breath caught. That sounded like his sister Lucia. He shoved the MRE pouch at Robertson. “I have to go.”

“Sure.” Robertson caught it then hot-potatoed it. “Shit, that’s hot.”

Manny ran out of the cafeteria and down the cleared sidewalks. Leaping the snowbank, he landed in the street then crossed to the park.

Luce stood at the top of a pile patting snow in her palms. A red tassel dangled from her knitted cap and slapped her cheek. “We’re having a snowball fight, Manny.”

Something wet and cold slammed against his back. He turned as his brother José hurled another one. It hit his hoodie pocket, knocking the gun into his gut. Christ! “Don’t do that.”

What if the gun had gone off. What if the niños had been hurt?

“Chicken.” Jose clucked while scooping up another ball.

Connie set another round by her boots. “Now, Jose. You know the rules. No hitting those who don’t want to play.”

Jose kicked at the mound of snow. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yoo-hoo, Manny!” Standing under a huge pergola, Mildred waved her arm. Her red hair stuck out of the bun at the back of her head. “Come help. We’re going to have lots of hungry people soon.”

“Go on, young Manny.” Connie shooed him with her hands before selecting a snowball from her stockpile. “I’ll look after these rapscallions.”

She hurled it through the air, hitting Jose squarely in the belly.

Jose clutched his stomach. “Ooh, you got me.” He fell back in the snow bank.

“Thanks.” How did the blind woman do that? He shook off his thoughts. After he talked to Mildred and found out what happened to his things, he’d change then come back and…

He trudged across the parking lot. And what? Say goodbye to the niños? If he shot Trent, he’d die too. And that was fine.

But would the niños understand?

Or would they think he deserted them like their parents, brothers and sisters?

Mildred looked up from stirring flour. White streaked her cheek. “Ah, just the man for the job. Dilute that goat’s milk, won’t you. Half and half for the flapjacks.”

Manny’s hands shook as he measured out the water and milk then dumped them into a bowl. “Where are my clothes?”

Behind the pavilion, men added twigs to the grills. A woman stirred a giant pot on another. Steam danced above the top. Blue and white speckled pitchers bubbled on a third.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Mildred cracked eggs on the wooden picnic table. With one hand she separated the shell and the egg dropped into the pit in the flour. “I’ll tell you where your clothes are, if you give me Henry’s gun.”

“I—”

“Don’t bother to lie to me, young man.” She shook the wooden spoon at him. Batter dripped from it and plopped into the bowl. “I know you have it. I saw it at the funeral.”

Manny hugged his hoodie pocket. “I’m going to avenge him.”

“That’s not your place.” Mildred beat the batter until the bowl spun. “It’s mine.” She stopped, placed both hands flat on the table and drooped over the bowl. “I loved that man for forty-two years. And I’ll have to live how ever many come next missing him.”

Tears plopped into the bowl.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed. “It’s my eye that man took and for me to take his eye in payment.”

Manny bit his lip. It was her right. He dipped into his pocket and eased his fingers around the gun. “Henry wouldn’t want you to kill him.”

Mildred shook her head. More red curls sprang free. “I know he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m going to honor his memory by forgiving that bastard.”

He reeled backward until he slammed into the neighboring picnic table. “Forgive him?”

“Yes.” She held out her hand. “And if you cared at all about my husband, you’ll do the same.”

His hand shook on the gun. “How can you say that? Of course, I care. That’s why I have to avenge him.”

“Henry wouldn’t want it. Neither do I.” She snapped her fingers. “You want to make someone like Trent Powers suffer. Then live a full life, love someone with your whole heart and be happy. That little twerp will never get that and it will eat him up inside and kill him very, very slowly.”

How could she say things like that? People like Trent only understood violence. “That’s not good enough.”

“You will not kill anyone with my husband’s gun.” Mildred picked up the spoon again and shook it at him. “I will not have Henry looking down from Heaven and see you becoming just like Trent. He would never forgive me. And I…” her face crumpled, “and I would never forgive myself.”

His vision swam then something burned his right cheek then his left. He touched his face and encountered wetness. He was crying. The constriction in his chest broke open, anger drained through the cracks, leaving only pain and emptiness. But he wasn’t alone. Not any more. He was with people who understood him and what he’d gone through.

“We failed to protect our children and grandchildren from the Redaction.” Tears settled in the laugh lines around her eyes, smoothing them out. “Henry and I can’t fail you too. And if you go through with your plans for vengeance, we will have. I don’t know if I’d survive that. I just don’t know…”

He knew he wouldn’t. But he needed to stop thinking only of himself. Others needed him and he couldn’t let them down.

“We’ll be okay.” Manny set the gun on the table. “We’ll help each other through it. Like Henry would want us to.”

Instead of reaching for it, Mildred opened her arms.

He circled the table and fell into her embrace. On the wind, he could almost hear Henry whisper ‘about damn time.’

David scanned the cafeteria turned courtroom. The German shepherd hunkered at his feet, waiting for his command. People crowded in the seats, sometimes three on two folding chairs. Men and a handful of women packed the twelve feet between his men, stationed at each of the six double doors. Arms crossed and chin down, the civilians’ hostility flowed around the room like hot lava.

He hoped his men didn’t get burned today.

Walking to the front, he made eye contact with Vegas, stiff with anger. Michaelson’s oil stained finger aligned over the trigger. Janovich on duty despite his swollen face. Young Folger with a white knuckled grip on his M-4. Ray, whose muscles intimidated more than his carbine. Stalking at his side, the dog sniffed the air.

Damn Mavis. The woman had the uncanny knack of being right. One false move and the whole place would erupt.

And the civilians would get hurt.

With the modified stock on the M-4, his men would keep firing until they were overrun. David nodded to Robertson standing by the entrance to the hall where the bastard Trent Powers was being held.

The private jerked his chin toward the empty seat behind the defendant’s folding table.

Manny hadn’t returned.

Good. Someone had reminded the kid of how much he had to lose. Powers wasn’t worth it. David removed the reserved sign as he passed. He pointed to an elderly woman worrying rosary beads between arthritic fingers. A man in his forties helped her to the seat then returned to his post by the serving station.

After one last look, David turned his back on the crowd. His footfalls blended with the buzz of chatter.

Mavis, General Lister and two full bird Air Force Colonels sat at a table. None of them wore their Kevlar vests. The higher ups always did like making it hard on the enlisted folks.

Standing next to the prosecutor, Lieutenant Sally Rogers fiddled with the camera aimed at the judge’s table in the front to record the proceedings. She smoothed back her hair, resuming her seat at a desk. After checking her side arm, she rested her fingers on the keys.