Polo Shirt frowned at him. “It was dark.”
The woman looked up from cradling the man’s head in her lap. Blood bubbled through her fingers from where she pressed against the man’s chest. “And there were more of you than the six that came into our camp, acting like our friends.”
It was a Mexican stand off and he knew it. Something had to give.
Falcon twitched on the ground, just enough so Papa Rose knew he was conscious and willing to follow his lead.
Papa Rose released the woman, pushing her toward one of the men. “Take care of your wounded.”
The man caught her and shuffled her behind him.
“Listen very carefully and think.” Papa Rose hit the consonants hard, emphasizing the word. His gun drifted from target to target. His bullet wound began to throb and he felt cold from the lack of adrenalin. “You watched us for a good half hour and what did we do?”
Polo shirt shifted on his feet. “Turned on the well, directed the irrigation.”
“Exactly. Do you know why?”
The man licked his lips and glanced at his friends. Slight head shakes followed the semi-circle. “No.”
“Because Palo Verde is on the verge of exposing her rods and melting down.” Papa Rose dipped the gun toward Falcon. “We promised the Surgeon General, Mavis Spanner that we’d keep the plant going for three more days to allow as many survivors to get to safety as possible.”
His former hostage crept around the men standing guard. “You don’t work at the plant. We would know.”
“No ma’am. I don’t. But we were sent to help Glen.” Thank you B, for learning the nuclear technician’s name. He’d personally see to it that the squid got a chest full of medals. Too damn bad it was posthumously.
Polo Shirt scratched his chin, lowered his weapon slightly. “Glen Navarro or Hisslip?”
Papa Rose shrugged. “Never learned his last name.”
“But Glen will vouch for you?”
He wished. “Glen died about an hour ago.”
The gun raised again. “So you have no proof.”
“My proof that I’m not those animals is that I haven’t killed you where you stand.” Papa Rose aimed at Polo Shirt. “I have two bullets and haven’t fired. I’m willing to bet my life that all your weapons are empty.”
In one swift motion, Falcon swooped up the M-4. Still on his back, he aimed it at the man closest to him. “Hell, I just want to take out the rest of you for killing our brother.”
The six men retreated a step. The one on his left dropped his shotgun and raised his hands. It clattered to the ground.
Polo Shirt looked at his people. “But you came from the generating station.”
Papa Rose’s gut clenched. Ah, hell no. He braced his feet apart, waiting for the shit that just kept rolling his way. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“That’s where they were headed. They saw the lights on and figured they could set up base there.”
Falcon jumped to his feet. “Fuckin’ A.”
Papa Rose stumbled toward the gate. “The munchkins!”
Those assholes had already nearly killed those kids once. He’d be damned if they’d get another chance.
“What munchkins?” Polo Shirt chased them through the gate.
Papa Rose thundered around Falcon, slipped his hand around the man’s waist and heaved him along faster. “We’ll get to them in time.”
“Damn straight.”
Footsteps pounded beside them. Polo Shirt pulled abreast of him. “Where are you going?”
“We left our kids at the power plant.” Please God let them be safe. Don’t take them away just when I’ve found them.
“Tiffany! Tracy!” Polo Shirt stopped. “Bring me the ammo.”
Papa Rose’s chest heaved as he lugged Falcon to the truck. “You think they’re going to shoot us in the back?”
Falcon glanced over his shoulder. “They try it and I’ll drop ‘em where they stand.”
A red-headed kid, barely old enough to shave, shot passed them and opened the passenger door. “If you’re going after those assholes, we’re going with you.”
Five men sprinted around them and threw themselves in the back of the truck. No sooner had they landed than they began to search their pockets for more ammunition.
Ha! He knew they were out of bullets. Papa Rose folded Falcon in the passenger seat then slammed the door.
The kid climbed into the rear seats and shut himself in. “We think there were twelve of them but can’t be sure.”
Polo Shirt tossed boxes of ammunition to the men in the back.
Limping, Papa Rose climbed behind the wheel. He gunned the engine and stomped on the accelerator just as Polo Shirt took a seat in the cab.
“They all have guns but we’re not sure how much ammunition they have left since they wanted our weapons.”
“Did they get any?” Papa Rose fishtailed across the rutted field. He focused on the strip of road that led to the pavement.
“Two shotguns, no shells.” In the rearview mirror, the man paled. “And a few knives.”
Papa Rose clamped his jaw shut. He had a feeling the blades had been tested.
Falcon ripped the mud-splattered bandanna from his neck. With one hand, he wrapped it around his thigh. “What else can you tell us?”
“They deserve to die.” The kid leaned over the front seat and picked up the edges of the bandanna. He knotted the points and pulled it tight.
Falcon hissed and arched his back. “Tighter.”
The kid complied. His bloody fingers left smears on the seat as he sat back. “If your munchkins are little kids, they’ll probably just kill them right away.”
And that was supposed to be good news? Papa Rose laid rubber on the blacktop. Kicking aside the floor mat, he floored the accelerator. The needle climbed. One hundred. One ten. It wasn’t fast enough.
Polo Shirt plugged new shells into his shotgun. “I know it doesn’t help, but we’re sorry about your friend. We had to protect ourselves.”
“Yeah.” It didn’t help. It just reminded him, he had more blood on his hands. Papa Rose followed the curve in the road. The domed reactors glowed in the building storm.
“In future, this is what you do.” Falcon ejected his clip and slipped in a new one. “You send two or three folks out to greet the newcomers, hold the rest back and cover the welcoming committee. Before you open fire, get the lay of the land, see if your balls draw up tight.”
“Or your gut clenches or the hair on the back of your neck stands at attention.” Papa Rose ran it through his head, again and again. Brainiac shouldn’t have approached them like that. He strangled the steering wheel. No matter how the shells landed, it was a FUBAR moment waiting to happen.
“Anything feels off, then you fall back, keep vigil and if necessary, bring out the guns.” Falcon thumbed new bullets into the empty clip. “Always approach with the expectation of help. It’s called Plan B but it’s to be used first, not second.”
Plan B. The squid would be proud. Papa Rose sniffed. “Of course, we’re not using it this time.”
“Hell no.” Falcon straightened on the seat. “We’re going to tuck these bastards in for a long dirt nap.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
With his hand hooked around the metal rib, Trent swayed to the motion of the personnel carrier. Near his knees, the wood gate rattled and the metal chain clinked. Snow fell in soft wet flakes that melted when they hit the desert floor. Vermin scurried across the mud patches, leaving shallow prints that quickly filled with water.