Linda Andrews - Extinction Level Event

Gritting his teeth, Trent followed. If he didn’t need information, he’d punt the arrogant bum straight to Hell. “So you think if they shoot me, you can just pick the lighter off my body?”

“Shame for it to go to waste.” Lump ran his fingers along the chain link fence, which walled off a metal warehouse on the west side of the street. Weeds and trash trimmed the bottom of the barrier. Rats scurried in and out of the garbage “Course if they hit the lighter, you’re liable to catch fire. Human’s aren’t pine-scented.”

“Tell me about it.” A breeze stirred the debris and re-introduced Lump’s stench into Trent’s nose. He covered his mouth. How could the man stand his own stink?

“I’ll be glad to hold the lighter for you.”

“No way. A deal’s a deal.” Trent trusted the man about as far as he could piss. Not that he couldn’t find him if he welshed on taking him to this mission place. He’d just have to follow his nose. No one else could smell that bad. “Besides, I’m beginning to think this place with its free meals and clean clothes is just a myth.”

As he walked, Lump plucked at the fence, transmitting the rattle along its length.

Trent stuck his fists into this pockets to keep from bitch-slapping the idiot. The fool was deliberately trying to draw attention. Not that he would show fear. As far as the dumb jarheads were concerned, he’d done nothing wrong.

As far as Trent was concerned, his actions were justifiable.

“You’ve got trust issues, dude.” Lump hunched into his layers of clothes as they reached an opening in the fence. “Fortunately for you, I’m an honest man.”

Trent rolled his eyes. And politicians had “the good of the people” in mind, when they legislated their Pork-Barrel projects.

Lump sauntered through the open gates and headed for the metal warehouse a hundred feet away. “Welcome to the mission.”

Trent glared at the building. One of the side doors was propped open with a cinder block, the portal looked like a black scab on the flaking metal surface. A beat-up Oldsmobile was parked along the side of the building.

“What trick is this?” Missions were adobe structures with arches, bells and monks in brown robes running around. This place looked like it had been abandoned. And for good reason. While the structure seemed solid enough, the pink letters painted on the facade were so faded as to be illegible. Yellow posts picketed the sidewalk trimming the building’s front. A few had been knocked at angles like rotten teeth waiting for the extraction. “No one’s here.”

“That’s cuz the sermon has started.” Lump hitched up his pants and trotted toward the building. “If we don’t hear half the preacher’s preaching, then we don’t eat.”

Great. Just what he needed to hear. Some moron droning on and on about brotherly love. His stomach overrode his brain. Food and information awaited in that building. He needed both. Besides, he could always plan his revenge while the good reverend babbled on and on. Increasing his pace, Trent reached the building’s entrance right behind Lump.

Trent leaned against the wall, felt the heat sinking into his back, as the preacher finished his sermon. Unbelievable. These fools actually enjoyed being told the Redaction was punishment for their sins, and that they had to do penance for their transgressions. Enjoyed it. Hell, they lapped it up.

If only he could bottle such stupidity, he could use it to sell millions of dollars of insurance policies. Not that the social rejects, packing what had once been a five truck loading dock, had enough coins to buy toilet paper to wipe their asses.

Still, he deserved this kind of worship. He was smart, handsome, and erudite. Learned in the cultural arts and refined, in short, everything civilized man should aspire to. Closing his eyes, he imaged the adoration—clapping and choruses of amens were for him.

He deserved it.

A pointy elbow dug into his side. “Now we eat, so pay up.”

Trent glared at Lump but dug the cheap lighter out of his pocket and slapped it into the dirty palm. “Enjoy.”

Lump flicked it a couple of times until the flame burned bright. “I will.” Still playing with the lighter, he disappeared into the crowd inching toward a set of double doors behind the beat-up table that served as both pulpit and altar.

Rolling his shoulders, Trent pushed off the wall and scanned the cortege of bums making its way to the doors. A few talked to each other. Most kept their heads down, buried like turtles in their shells of rags. Tough sell. He’d had tougher. Pasting a smile on his face, he waited until someone made eye contact.

A second later, a creature in a blue beanie caught his eye. Dirt added color to her pale skin.

He cranked up the wattage of his smile. Women often melted at it, bent to his will. “Good afternoon.”

Beanie ducked her head, shoved the two men in front of her aside and scrambled from view.

What the hell? Sure, he was too good looking for the femi-loser, but that shouldn’t have sent her scurrying as if she’d seen the devil. He shrugged and toned down his smile. A man would probably be a better bet anyway. Women tended to be stupid creatures. He waited for a burly, black man to approach. Tattoos mottled his skin. Some looked homemade.

Probably an ex-con. Damn, he really had come down in life. A temporary setback only. And who knew, he might be able to use some of these contacts. Lowlifes had their place, too. Especially, in some businesses. “Afternoon.”

Tattoo nodded as he passed but didn’t say a word.

Son of a bitch! An ache spread up Trent’s jaw. What were these losers a bunch of deaf-mutes?

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” A woman spoke softly from behind him.

Trent whirled about.

The speaker stared up at him from beneath coal black bangs. Ebony eye-liner ringed her blue eyes. Red roots showed through her black hair. She raised her pointed chin, flashing the spikes on her dog collar. She looked about twenty and had the know-it-all-seen-it-all attitude to match.

His hands itched to tame her, to teach her what he knew about obedience. He’d use the torn fishnet stockings to tie her up, then he’d cut off the short miniskirt and the skull tee shirt with a sharp knife that left red trails on her pale skin. He’d let her keep the platform shoes… His groin tightened, sending twinges of pain through his body. If he couldn’t find the gang skanks, she might be a good substitute.

He blinked. How much time had gone by since she’d spoken? “Sorry. I thought it was ‘shun the new comer’ day.”

Her black lips curved up. “That was yesterday.”

He bowed slightly. At least someone was normal around here. For a moment, he’d thought he’d lost his charm. “Yes, I am new here.” He felt his features shift as he donned a new mask, one that would exploit her weakness. “I don’t suppose you could show me around.” He set his hand on his stomach. “I don’t remember the last time I ate.”

“Sure.” She gestured to the double doors across the nearly empty room. “It’s this way.”

After one last glance at her skinny legs, he fell into step beside her. Maybe he’d come back after he recovered his Jag. She was bound to be impressed by the car. All women were. Then he could drive someplace private and do what he wanted.

But first he had to gain her trust.

That shouldn’t be too hard. She suffered from a bad case of arrogance. He cleared his throat, switching to a confused mask. “So, uh, what should I expect?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Do you remember the cafeteria when you were in grade school?”

His stomach clenched and his jaw tightened before he forced it to relax. Did she think he was eighty? He was forty-six, not in a fucking walker. He shook his hands, releasing the tension in his body. Remember, this is an act. All an act. She had to think she was saving him. “It was so long ago…”