Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Taking his attention from the rear-view mirror, David lifted his foot off the gas. His hand dropped to weapon lying on the passenger seat. Yeah, cause that’s what he’d enlisted for—to shoot his fellow Americans.

He gazed ahead, taking in the graffiti smeared brick walls, the burned out cars at ten, eleven and two o’clock. Overflowing dumpsters hunkered at two and three. What remained of the ground cover wouldn’t hide a squirrel. But…

The eucalyptus at one had a partially concealed sniper’s nest. The current occupants were a boy with a bow and arrow and an old man. Were they protecting the neighborhood or looking at the people in the car as prey? He ducked under the strap of his M-4 and switched his attention to the woman.

Well, well, the little missy had a gun. Even if she didn’t know how to use it, she could still do harm. A shadow shifted in the late model Civic. Another person, probably a woman. Maybe armed. Bows and arrows versus guns. That battle had been settled more than a hundred years ago. Still, the Redaction certainly had made life interesting.

And the four in front of him might continue to live so long as they didn’t swing their weapons his way. A noise caused David to shift his attention once more to the backseat.

Colonel Lynch sucked bits of food from his teeth before picking up one of the plastic wrapped toys from Burgers in a Basket. The bagged green, grinning crocodile swung from his glistening fingers. White powdered desiccant clung to the toy’s belly. “A little bloodshed always makes things more interesting.”

David kept his expression neutral. The Redaction hadn’t brought out the best in everyone. The CO, in particular, had degenerated into a butt-ugly caricature.

Diamonds glittered in the black and platinum Hublot watch hanging from the CO’s wrist and his footlocker had more sparkle and glitter than a dragon’s hoard. “You won’t get to shoot anyone in the DMZ. North Korea is just blustering. As usual.”

Asshole. The prick had dangled the carrot of active duty in front of David for a full fifteen minutes before demanding he chauffeur him to his daily knob polishing appointment. What were privates for, if not to do the grunt work?

David stopped the Humvee behind the Civic and shifted the truck into park. The woman gripped the Sig-Sauer by her thumb and index finger and held it away from her body. The boy and old man had disappeared from sight. He scanned the hunter’s blind. Bastards had no doubt left the women alone to be shot.

Not the first incidence of cowardice he’d encountered.

Not likely to be the last.

David checked his body armor before resting his hand against his gun’s grip. “Shall I clear the road, sir?”

Colonel Lynch’s left cheek bulged. “Call in the tanks.” Bits of masticated beef and bun dotted his lips. “There’s got to be one around the corner somewhere. The damn jarheads are probably gambling rather than doing their jobs.”

David locked his jaw tight. The Marines had become Colonel Asshole’s favorite refrain. Missing MREs—the Marines’ appetites were notorious. Looted mansion—Marine laxity. Missing personal effects—the Marine’s had provided security for the transport of the valuables to the Medical Examiner’s office. Now he’d use the Corps to needlessly slaughter two women.

Not on his fucking watch. Still, David reached obediently for his radio just as a head appeared between the branches of a eucalyptus tree. In the silence, metal scraped brick before an aluminum ladder was seesawed over the top of the fence then lowered to the street side. The old man moved cautiously from the fence to the other ladder before climbing down. The boy quickly followed. Neither had a visible weapon.

David swallowed his curse. The brave idiots. They’d be flesh shrapnel if his plan didn’t work. “I’ll patch you through, Colonel Lynch. You’ll have to use official channels to let the Corps know that the Army needs its help in dealing with two women, an elderly man, and a boy.”

The words hung in the Humvee’s grease-scented interior. One second passed, then two. His chest tightened and the knuckles of his radio hand bleached to white. Shit. Had he underestimated the CO’s pride?

Colonel Asshole swallowed his bit of burger before raising the drink and hooking the straw with his tongue to draw it in his mouth. Flat, silver eyes stared back at David from the rearview mirror.

The bastard actually considered killing civilians a viable option. David pressed the talk switch and heard the crackle of the live line. “Omega Base this is—”

“Belay that order, Sergeant Major.” The CO chucked a crescent of bun into his Burgers in a Basket bag and picked up his cup of French fries. “Deal with the situation.”

“Yes, Sir.” Scooping his helmet off the passenger seat, David plopped it on his head and opened the door. Gravel and dead leaves crunched under his boots as he slowly approached. He kept his finger near the trigger.

The boy eyed the weapon. His Adam’s apple was a knobby elevator in his scrawny neck. The old man raised his chin and locked eyes with David. That one wasn’t afraid to die. Long brown hair wiggled down the back of the other woman in the car as she climbed from the back seat to the front. The brief flash of her hands showed they were empty, but that didn’t count for much.

“Stay still, Sunnie.” Steel trimmed the woman’s soft voice along with a measure of irritation.

But not fear. Interesting. So she was used to giving orders and being obeyed. He focused on her. Hot damn. She was a hell of a silver lining to chauffeuring duties. Silver striped her auburn hair, the windswept strands across her oval face, and a few clung off her bottom lip. Lucky hair. His gaze slipped down to her full breasts, noted the tuck of her waist and the flare of her hips. Luckier clothes.

And he’d bet his breakfast, she could shoot.

The old man cleared his throat.

David returned his gaze to the woman’s face.

“Good evening Sergeant Major.” Pink tinged her cheeks, and a light sparked in her eyes. She offered her gun. “I apologize for being out past curfew, but we seem to have a little problem with the lock.”

Interesting. He accepted the gun, noting the wear on the grip, the slight callous on her trigger finger and the tape residue. A woman who could read the stripes on his arm and shoot. He was definitely tooling through the Lust suburb of Crushville. “Were you planning to shoot the lock, Ma’am?”

“Not at all.” She flattened her palms against her thighs. The spark in her eyes flared into a bright flame, and she smiled, showing him even white teeth. “That would have drawn the attention of the Marines.”

Ah, hell. She was a jarhead groupie. Damn Marines got all the glory jobs. Still, they weren’t here now, and he had saved her life.

“I have a pair of bolt cutters in my trunk.”

Bolt cutters? David rubbed his chin to make certain his jaw hadn’t dropped open. They weren’t standard equipment for anyone’s trunk. So what was she doing with them? He smiled back. Only one way to find out, and score some points along the way. “Why don’t you pop the trunk? I’ll put away your pea shooter here, and retrieve the bolt cutters for you.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She stepped forward.

The two males mimicked her like two leashed bookends.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just have to get the keys from my front pocket.”

David eyed the bulky shape high on her thigh. He’d offer to help but doubted the old guy would go for it. As for the kid… He’d probably require therapy. The younger generation had some peculiar notions about sex and people over thirty. “Use two fingers.”

She nodded and slipped them in the pocket of her loose fitting Dockers.