Redaction: The Meltdown Part II by Linda Andrews

the statue’s back. “It’s a dog!”
    “That’s good. Help each other follow the dog. He’s a nice doggie.” The German shepherd accompanied him to the door. The girls shuffled behind him. Pausing, he peered into the hallway. Folgers stood near the exit. He waved the dog onward. “Robertson, radio the convoy. We need transport. At least four trucks and medics wouldn’t hurt either.”
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
     
    What could God have been thinking? Papa Rose threaded the end of the blue rope through the belt loop and drew it tight. He should never be trusted with the lives of innocents. Wasn’t he responsible for the deaths of his own children and step-children? His gut twisted.
    Brainiac stood between the back of the empty tanker and the corner of the convenience store. Rain spotted his Navy peacoat, whittling away the ex-sailor’s skinny frame. Water dripped off his nose, ears and hair but he didn’t budge from his post. His finger rested alongside the M-4 cutting across his middle. “Don’t use all my soap now.”
    “I won’t.” Jillie, the preteen girl they’d found in the convenience store, shivered fully clothed under the water pouring through the down spout and washed the blood from her hair. “Geez, you’ve already told me twice.”
    “Yeah, well.” Brainiac glanced at her before scanning the street. “If you’re like my sister, you don’t always listen.”
    “Is she with you? Your sister?”
    “Nah.” Brainiac turned his face up the falling rain. “She worked at Burgers in a Basket.”
    Brothers. Sisters. Family. Tune them out. Focus on what you’re doing . Papa Rose’s fingers trembled as he looped the ends of the rope over each other. At least, he didn’t have anything to do with the anthrax attack. He tugged on the rope, gathering the waistband of the baggy pants. “Say when.”
    The preschooler standing in front of him giggled, wiggled and sucked in his flat stomach. Ribs created waves on his flesh and baby teeth gleamed white in his tan face.
    Christ, there wasn’t an ounce of spare meat on the kid. Papa Rose stopped pulling and waited for the little boy to relax. “You’re ticklish, huh?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Do you remember your name?” Were your parents one of the slaughtered masses in the convenience store behind them where Falcon scrounged among the remains of the dead, looking for something these two could use ? He kept his tongue still. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t interrogate a three-year-old. Hooking the waistband, he tamed the wiggling kid and waited.
    “Toby.” The little boy stuck his thumb in his mouth. His cheeks collapsed as he sucked hard on it.
    “Nice to meet you, Toby.” Papa Rose quickly knotted the rope, careful to avoid touching his ticklish tummy. “I’m Papa Rose.”
    Spittle clung to his thumb when Toby removed it from his mouth with a pop. “That’s a girl’s name.”
    He smiled. The stiff muscles tightened across his scalp. People like him didn’t deserve to ever smile again. “Do I look like a girl to you?”
    “No.” Toby shook his head. His blue eyes widened. “That’s silly. You’re a boy.”
    “That’s right.” He bit his tongue. No way would he say his real name. That man was dead, like the family he murdered. He just had to find someone to take care of these two so he could die like he should have.
    Like he deserved.
    He scratched his fingers over his bald head, used the furrows of pain to concentrate. These two children deserved better than having him look after them.
    A cold wind whistled through the gas pumps, rattling the metal handles in their holders. Shivering, Toby crossed his arms over his chest. His teeth began to chatter.
    “Cold, huh?” Papa Rose shrugged out of his jacket. The breeze penetrated his tee-shirt and needled his skin.
    “Y-yeah.”
    He draped it around the child, overlapping the front completely to hold it closed. “That should keep you a little warmer.” With string at a premium, he