Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

First the Aspero’s firefight with the soldiers and now this. Saint Nicholas must be standing at his shoulder, watching over him. Manny made sure the cabinets were closed before entering the house proper.

A huge flat screen hung on one beige wall. Columns of speakers bracketed it. Manny closed his mouth. Man, oh, man. Imagine watching the World Cup on that sucker.

A rat poked its head out of the leather sofa. Puffs of stuffing littered the tan surface while small bodies squirmed under the neighboring seat cushion. Big rats, little rats. Shivering, he tip-toed around the glass and marble coffee table. Stopping in front of the TV, he stroked the flat screen and cut trails in the dust. Reluctantly, he dropped his hand.

Food, not electronics.

Turning away, he looked down. Cockroaches streamed out of a hole in the plush carpet. The flooring popped and crunched underfoot as he strode to the kitchen.

Yuck! Rats and cockroaches. He didn’t know which was worse. His shin tickled and Manny slapped at the legs of his jeans. God, he hoped the bugs hadn’t crawled up his legs. He twitched and reached for the door next to the refrigerator.

Cans and red-capped plastic storage bins stared back at him. He clung to the door to keep from collapsing and blinked back the tears in his eyes.

“Yes.”

They would eat tonight. And tomorrow. And the next day. Light invaded his body and he had to look down to make sure his feet still touched the floor. He reached for a tall canister and pulled it off the shelf. Spaghetti noodles rattled inside the stiff plastic. A cube held macaroni and another spiral, multi-colored pasta. The rats had eaten the labels off jars of red pasta sauce. Bigger bins contained flour and sugar.

Manny ran his hands down his face then glanced at his damp palms. “God I hope you look after the person who did this.”

Definitely need a wheelbarrow. Juggling the plastic bins in one arm, he turned to return to the garage. A wedge of red caught his eye. Peering into the hall, he spied the plastic formed wagon. That would work.

The wheels squeaked as he tugged it into the kitchen and parked it by the pantry. He loaded the big bins on the bottom then piled the cans on top. Shelf-by-shelf he stripped the pantry. The booty stopped an inch above the wagon’s sides. Poor rats hadn’t gotten much out of this house.

A line of cockroaches marched across the tile. Neither had they. Should he check the other cabinets? He was here…

He reached for the one beside the pantry. The shelves seethed with shiny black and brown bodies. One cockroach flew at him. Crap! He batted it away and slammed the door shut.

Best just get the shampoo and toiletries then leave. Following the conga line of bugs, he entered the half bath. After removing the roll of toilet tissue, he opened the medicine cabinet. A two-inch cockroach crawled over an unopened toothbrush sleeve. Manny flicked it off, grabbed the package and the small tube of toothpaste.

Picking up the mesh wastebasket, he strode from the room, turned left and took the steps two at a time to the upstairs. He quickly stripped the hall bath and the master before stopping. No shampoo or body wash. Had they taken them with them?

He flicked open the medicine cabinet in the master bath. Aspirin. Tylenol. Antibiotic cream. Half a prescription of amoxicillin. Each went into the wastebasket.

He turned toward the stairs then stopped. Something was off. Where were the extras? He glanced down the hall. A set of wooden doors stared back at him.

“Gotcha.” He jogged to the end of the hall and tossed the cabinet open. Extra bottles of shampoo and conditioner. One deodorant. Two tubes of toothpaste. He raked them into the basket. Three toothbrushes. A small mouthwash. Tiny, shell-shaped rounds of soap and one of shower gel. Better than Christmas.

He piled the two four packs of toilet tissue on top and carried his treasures to the first floor. Kneeling by the wagon, he repacked the food, added the toiletries then the laundry soap. The wheel squeaked as he dragged the wagon to the garage.

Manny stopped. Should he leave it behind? No way could he carry everything in one trip. And more trips meant more chance of discovery. He couldn’t risk getting them tossed out. Opening the door to the garage, he lifted the wheels over the threshold then down the one step to the exit. The squeak echoed in the empty space.

Damn. No way would anyone think that was a rat. Leaving the wagon by the door, he returned to the kitchen and marched to the sink. Cockroaches scratched inside the steel sink. Grabbing the dish soap, he ran to the garage. The scent of lemon swelled in the chilled air as he squirted the soap on to the squeaky wheels.

He moved the wagon back and forth. No squeak. Good enough. Manny wedged the dish soap between the packages of toilet paper, returned to the house door and locked it before leaving the garage.

Following the block path across the yard, he opened the gate to the common area. Dawn cracked the night, revealing the pink underbelly of the gray sky. He’d better hurry if he wanted to be home before someone found him.

Pausing, he waited. The wood and wrought iron gate hit his heel and bounced back. Only his second house and already he was a pro at being quiet. Slowly, he moved his foot forward until he heard the latch click shut. Gravel crunched as he tugged the wagon through the rocks. Muscles screamed as the wheels locked up.

Maybe he shouldn’t have taken everything at once

The gated community was a great place to shop. He could have done it a little at a time. Food first, then soap and hygiene products and the stove and lantern last. He shook his head. He’d need the stove to cook with if the house’s range ran on gas.

Stop it! What’s done is done. He lifted the wagon onto the concrete path winding through the common area of the neighborhood. Not far now and he should be home. Lucia would love the soap. He ducked under the low branches of a mesquite tree. And maybe they could have enchiladas for dinner and—

“You stupid slut!”

Manny froze. A man. Here. Slowly, he scanned the area through the branches and caught the flash of bare skin. White skin up high, maybe on the second story. Had he seen him? Would he call the cops?

“Why do you women have to fuck everything up?”

Manny shivered, breaking his paralysis. The gringo’s voice was so full of hatred toward the woman. Yet, she hadn’t said a word. Crouching, he gently lowered the wagon’s handle to the path. This near the ground he had a clearer view of the speaker on a railed balcony.

And the woman.

Or what was left of her. Manny choked on the bile lighting a fire in his mouth. Good God, what had he done to her face?

“You’re not going to ruin my life. Do you understand?” The man shook the woman so hard her head flopped up and down and her tight tank and skirt rode up, exposing her feminine parts.

Manny stuffed his hand in his mouth to keep from screaming. Why were her parts so bloody? And what were those hanging bits?

Without another word, the man chucked the woman over the balcony. The pop of bottles, squeal of rats, and crinkle of plastic marked her landing. The man dusted his hands. “Now you serve a useful purpose. As rat food.”

Turning on his heel, the man re-entered the house.

Manny retreated until his back hit the tree’s trunk. Should he leave? What if the guy came out again? Hell, what if he lived there and never left. Biting his lip, Manny stared down the path. The untrimmed trees covered most of the trail.

But could he chance it?

He’d have to.

Eventually, Irina or Jose would come looking for him. Shrugging off his backpack, he yanked off his jacket and draped it over the side of the wagon. At least most of the red would be covered. His sweaty hands slipped on the metal grip. He took a deep breath to slow his racing heart.