Free Redaction: Extinction Level Event (Part I) by Linda Andrews

his helmet off the passenger seat, David plopped it on his head and opened the door. Gravel and dead leaves crunched under his boots as he slowly approached. He kept his finger near the trigger.
    The boy eyed the weapon. His Adam’s apple was a knobby elevator in his scrawny neck. The old man raised his chin and locked eyes with David. That one wasn’t afraid to die. Long brown hair wiggled down the back of the other woman in the car as she climbed from the back seat to the front. The brief flash of her hands showed they were empty, but that didn’t count for much.
    “Stay still, Sunnie.” Steel trimmed the woman’s soft voice along with a measure of irritation.
    But not fear. Interesting. So she was used to giving orders and being obeyed. He focused on her. Hot damn. She was a hell of a silver lining to chauffeuring duties. Silver striped her auburn hair, the windswept strands across her oval face, and a few clung off her bottom lip. Lucky hair. His gaze slipped down to her full breasts, noted the tuck of her waist and the flare of her hips. Luckier clothes.
    And he’d bet his breakfast, she could shoot.
    The old man cleared his throat.
    David returned his gaze to the woman’s face.
    “Good evening Sergeant Major.” Pink tinged her cheeks, and a light sparked in her eyes. She offered her gun. “I apologize for being out past curfew, but we seem to have a little problem with the lock.”
    Interesting. He accepted the gun, noting the wear on the grip, the slight callous on her trigger finger and the tape residue. A woman who could read the stripes on his arm and shoot. He was definitely tooling through the Lust suburb of Crushville. “Were you planning to shoot the lock, Ma’am?”
    “Not at all.” She flattened her palms against her thighs. The spark in her eyes flared into a bright flame, and she smiled, showing him even white teeth. “That would have drawn the attention of the Marines.”
    Ah, hell. She was a jarhead groupie. Damn Marines got all the glory jobs. Still, they weren’t here now, and he had saved her life.
    “I have a pair of bolt cutters in my trunk.”
    Bolt cutters? David rubbed his chin to make certain his jaw hadn’t dropped open. They weren’t standard equipment for anyone’s trunk. So what was she doing with them? He smiled back. Only one way to find out, and score some points along the way. “Why don’t you pop the trunk? I’ll put away your pea shooter here, and retrieve the bolt cutters for you.”
    “Sounds like a plan.” She stepped forward.
    The two males mimicked her like two leashed bookends.
    She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just have to get the keys from my front pocket.”
    David eyed the bulky shape high on her thigh. He’d offer to help but doubted the old guy would go for it. As for the kid... He’d probably require therapy. The younger generation had some peculiar notions about sex and people over thirty. “Use two fingers.”
    She nodded and slipped them in the pocket of her loose fitting Dockers.
    The dark-haired girl inside the Civic leaned across the bucket seat and rapped on the window. “Do you want me to pop the trunk?”
    A horn blared through the darkness.
    “Sergeant Major, clear the road or shoot them then clear the road.” Colonel Asshole’s voice sliced through the blaze of the Humvee’s bank of lights.
    “What an asshole,” the kid muttered.
    “Disrespectful.” The old man spat. “Like our lives aren’t worth anything cause he has to use the head.”
    David bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Or agreeing.
    The woman shook her head. “Pop the trunk for the sergeant major, Sunnie.”
    “Got it.” A soft thump signaled the trunk’s release.
    David backed away from the group. His shadow cut the Civic in half as he side-stepped in the front of the trunk. With one hand, he lifted the hatch. A whistle slipped past his lips. Pup tent. Sleeping bags. Backpacks. He unzipped one and peered inside—dehydrated