Redaction: The Meltdown Part II by Linda Andrews Page B

cleaned his clothes with boiling pool water.
    “Yep. Choc’late chip.” The boy craned his neck to peer inside the bag. “I can eat two whole big ‘uns ‘fore my tummy hurts.” He thumped on his hollow stomach.
    “That many?” Papa Rose dug out a pair of socks, two empty MRE bags and a flannel teeshirt. Setting the items on the bag, he peeled the jacket off the kid.
    “How many do you eats?” Eyes narrowed, Toby spun around as he was unwrapped.
    Was the kid worried he was going to steal his cookies? Then again, it wasn’t as farfetched as it should be. Others had stolen far more. “None.”
    “Nuh-uh.” Toby crossed his arms and shivered.
    He rolled up the tee-shirt’s hem to the neckline and tugged it over Toby’s head. “I don’t like chocolate. My favorite is the shortbread.”
    The child’s scrawny arms poked through the sleeves. “How comes you don’ like choc’late?”
    “Don’t know.” He released the shirt and the hem fell to the boy’s knees and the sleeves dangled past his elbows. “I’ve never liked chocolate.”
    “That’s weird.”
    He tucked Toby back into the jacket. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you my chocolate chip cookies and you give me your shortbread. Deal?”
    Not that he had any intention of taking food from the kid’s mouth. Talking silly helped him remember this was someone else’s kid. As soon as they found another group of survivors, he’d palm the kid off.
    “‘Kay.” Toby thrust out his hand.
    Papa Rose stared at it for a moment before swallowing it with his big one. So soft, so fragile. It hurt to breathe. He pumped the lad’s hand once then dropped it. The boy’s whole body moved.
    “Now let me see those feet.”
    Setting one hand on his shoulder, Toby balanced on one foot and kicked the other at him.
    He cradled the icy skin, slid the sock over it, then folded it back down, so the cotton doubled in thickness. Next, he shook open one MRE bag and slipped it over the sock. “Okay, put your weight on it.”
    Toby giggled but obeyed. “It feels weird.”
    “I’ll bet.” He rummaged in his duffle until he found a roll of half-finished duct-tape. Using his thumb, he found a neatly folded corner. He sucked air into his iron lungs. Miranda, his wife always ended the tape that way.
    “Hows they ‘posed to say on?” Toby waggled his foot and the bag and sock slipped down.
    Shaking off the past, Papa Rose ripped a foot of tape free. “You’ll see. Now put that foot down again.”
    Toby’s face scrunched up. “Is it magic?”
    With the roll end swinging like a pendulum, he reached into his boot and pulled out a knife. The blade sliced cleanly through the gray strip and the cardboard roll plopped to the ground.
    “Gots it.” Toby hopped then crouched, catching it before it left the island. He twirled the circle around in his hands then used it as a chunky bracelet.
    At least that would keep the kid busy for a few seconds. With one hand, he gathered the top of the bag around the boy’s ankle, loose enough to pull off but tight enough to stay on. Next, he wrapped the tape around the MRE bag, securing it in place. “How’s that feel?”
    He looked up and his heart stopped.
    With his tongue held firmly between his teeth, Toby folded over the corner of the tape. “All better.”
    Beaming, the little boy held out the roll to him.
    Get a grip. Lots of people folded over the corner. Lots . Slowly, his heart tried out a beat, then two. Finally, it eased into an galloping rhythm. Papa Rose ignored the tremor in his hand as he accepted the gift. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “How’s the new shoe?”
    Toby glanced down. Raising his covered foot, he shook it. The bag wiggled a bit but didn’t come off. Next, he hopped three times. “Cool!”
    Dropping the duct-tape, he picked up the lone sock. “Okay, let’s get the other one on.”
    “‘Kay.” Holding up his unshod foot, Toby balanced by setting his hand on Papa Rose’s shoulder.
    The