Mendez's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Mendez shoved the pistol into his belt and grabbed the rice. Riley was already at the doorway, rifle up, watching the road. Emmy stood between them, small and quiet, the way he'd told her to be. They moved fast to the jeep. He threw the cans into the back. Riley set the water jugs beside them. He reached for the driver's door. "Wait." Riley's voice was low. She was looking past the jeep, at the far side of the ruin. "Behind the wall." Mendez followed her eyes. A shape sat under a torn canvas tarp, half-hidden by fallen brick. He walked around and lifted the corner. Another jeep. Older, wrapped in weathered canvas, tires cracked but holding air. The bed was full. Ammo boxes. Two jerrycans of fuel. A crate of sealed rations. A medical kit still taped shut. "That's a month of food," Riley said. "That's the fortress fed," Mendez said. He looked at the road. Empty. The gunshot had gone up ten minutes ago. Something had heard it. Something always heard. "We can't take the second jeep," he said. "No time to check the engine. Load ours. Fast." They moved. Riley hauled the ammo boxes. Mendez took the fuel cans, one in each hand, and swung them into the back of their jeep. Emmy carried the medical kit without being asked. He didn't stop her. He just watched her set it down and go back for more. They worked in silence. Sweat ran down Mendez's neck. Every trip out from behind the ruin, he checked the road. Every trip back, he checked the sky. Riley's jaw was tight. She knew what he knew. They were burning minutes they didn't have. The last crate went in. Mendez tied the tarp down over the load and yanked the knot hard. "Riley. In. We're gone." He got in the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine caught. He looked at the passenger seat. Empty. He looked over his shoulder at the back seat. A pistol on the floorboard. A dented can rolling against the wheel well. No girl. "Emmy." Riley froze with her hand on the door. "She was just here," Riley said. "She brought the kit. I saw her." Mendez killed the engine. The quiet came back fast, and it was the wrong kind of quiet. He got out. He walked around the jeep once, fast, checking the shadow of the ruin, the rubble ring, the space under the canvas of the other jeep. Nothing. "Emmy," he said, louder. Not a shout. Not yet. No answer. He stood with one hand on the hood and made himself breathe. The supplies were loaded. The fortress would eat. He had done the job. And the child he had promised to keep between them was gone.