on the road

*For a summary of book one, please flip to the very back.
*Due to an extensive rewrite and professional editing, this book is now split in different places. If you are at all worried you may have missed
something, book one is also free and contains both of these files. If you have an old copy, simply deleted it from your library and re-download the
newest editions.
Life After War
Book Two
On The Road
By
Angela White
New Edition © 2012
Edited by Kim Fillmore
Beta-read by Sharon, Dana & Diane
All rights reserved
Angela White © 1991
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Standard Copyright laws apply. Made in the United States.
Table of Contents
Hard New World
The Castaway
Cabin Fever
Once a Liar…
Paradise
Self Defense
True Grit
Close Call
Night Ride
Coastlines
Hard Days
The Devil & his Minions
Success and Failure
Fame and Fortune
Broken Bridges
Rude Awakenings
Old Wounds
Wrong Place
Fire and Desire
Close
Notes
Extras
*Please don’t be afraid to follow the (14) footnotes. The links will bring you right back to that page.
In Desperate Need of a Hero
Dear red, white, and blue
Is there still hope for you?
I wonder
Perhaps with someone in power
Who slaves by the hour?
To remain true
A person of dignity
Who's not a give-me
Or quota-fill
No reek of greed
No corruptive seed
Growing unchecked
A leader who can inspire
Who raises people higher
Than themselves
A soul with grace
Not colored by race
Of any kind
A take-charge warrior
An environmental voyeur
Who loves this planet
A Hero to lead
With only one creed:
America
Where do we find such belief?
When do we get the relief?
Of being loved in return
We'd die for the President
Would he pay the same rent?
Of course not!
Your sacrifice we do not require
We serve willingly, sire
If you're worthy
If you will get your hands a bit dirty
To further our lives
And enrich our minds
To earn our trust
It's all or bust
And always
America first!
Finally, a Hero with enough strength, enough hope, to give us back some of what was stolen.
-A.W.
Chapter One
February 21st, 2013
Devils Head, Colorado
1
They hadn’t gone away. Cold and hungry, they were determined not to let Man regain control, and even a lone female was a threat to this new awareness. Mother
Nature, having recognized the chance for a different outcome, was uniting species all over the world – most of them natural enemies - and her army was relentless,
growing.
Arrrooooooo!
Samantha’s eyes flew open and she froze, listening intently. After a minute, she told herself to relax, that she had more pressing problems than wolves or coyotes
outside.
The pain in her leg was agony, and her hands and feet were so cold she couldn’t feel anything in them but pain. It was dark and drafty in the cabin, the flames long
gone, and she forced herself to scoot over to the fireplace.
Sam clenched her teeth at every jar of her leg against the hard floor, knowing she needed heat, but all she could really think about was how much she wanted to
shoot up. It was the same craving making her almost drool when she woke in the darkness with only the flaring misery to comfort her, so she made herself wait. She
would not come out of the War an addict.
It was frigid in the hunting lodge, but the woman was thankful that the front glass windows had survived the cold wave with only small cracks. The thick line of birch
and evergreens in front of the cabin had taken the brunt. And the birds, she thought, shuddering.
Sam hadn’t realized the birds were there until she watched them freeze. The larks were huddled on an upper branch for warmth, and it had been awful, seeing their
eyes as it happened. She could still just make out the faint yellow hue of their snow-covered bodies. It was like seeing her own fate, had the windows not held.
It was growing warmer now, enough that she could even go to the outhouse, and while she was glad the freeze had let up, there was still plenty of nasty weather she
would have to travel through. The feeling of wrongness invading this place said it wasn’t safe here anymore. She needed to get moving again.
Adapting to the thick, groggy feeling of the morphine upon waking each day, she slowly stacked some of her dwindling supply of wood into the charred pit.
Finished, her eyes surveyed the dark corner, glad to see the crackers were gone. She had noticed the animal cage in the SUV’s backseat as she’d come up the
driveway to the hunting lodge, but it hadn’t registered and she’d mistaken the ferret for a mouse in her fear of doing self-surgery. Its brown and white fur had hung sadly
from its narrow frame, and she’d been feeding it whenever she ate, leaving water out. If it would come to her, maybe she would have a companion.
Shivering now, Samantha squirted the lighter fluid gently and struck a match, having to use three before it finally roared to life, singing her fingertips. Vaguely thinking
she had never looked or smelled worse in her life, Sam pulled the blanket tighter around her thin shoulders, huddling as close to the heat as she could.
Needing to know what her wound looked like, she gently pried back the bandage over her leg, trying not to disturb the newly forming scabs. It was still ugly, but
clearly improving and she could even put a little weight on it now. Her shaking hands replaced the mostly clean material, thinking it had hurt more than…
Arrrooooooo!
Samantha turned her head and froze at the sight of red, malevolent eyes glaring through the front window. She stared at those eyes for a long moment, reading,
evaluating her situation. It had been three days; blizzard cold, the snow was falling heavily even now, and the wolves were still out there…stalking her.
Sscccraatch... ssscchh.
Paws digging at the small gap under the front door got her moving, but her gaze stayed on the window, where more hungry eyes had appeared. She was in trouble,
and once again there would be no rescue but the one she provided.
Sam squared her shoulders, feeling the helpless anger that always rose when she thought of the old world now. Fine, if they wanted a war with humans, she would
give them a taste of what they were in for.
2
The first thing the Storm Tracker did was give herself a light dose of liquid gold and use the bedpan, glad her leg felt stronger. She would need that.
She dressed as fast as she could, knowing the layered shirts would help protect her from bites and scratches; the sweatpants going over the jeans for the same
reason. After tying her dirty blonde braid back, she strapped the gun around her hips, wishing it had more than just two bullets in it.
Samantha chose to make her stand in the corner, to the left of the stone fireplace, and was crying hard tears by the time she had tumbled the cumbersome wooden
desk onto its side, pulling it in like a wall.
After stowing all her things behind it, she filled a half dozen syringes with morphine, leaving the caps off, and added them to the knives already in the wide pockets of
her trench coat. They made a comforting clink. When the wolves came, it would be through the windows already weakened by the first, strong wave of the blizzard, and
it would get cold in here fast.
“Sure could use a solid,” Sam muttered hoarsely, very aware that this was probably where her luck would run out. “If I’ve got any credit, I’d like to use it now,
please.”
Taking a little more of the morphine she feared she would crave forever, Sam shook her head, recapping the needle with shaking fingers. She had already survived
worse. Wolves, no matter how determined, were nothing compared to Melvin and Henry, both drunk and wanting sex.
Scratch…Paw...Sniff.
Sam counted two shadows under the door, four pairs of eyes at the window. Six animals, and probably a few others hanging back, waiting. But not for much
longer, she thought, almost able to feel their hunger, their hatred, as they watched her movements through the frosted glass. The storm had piled up at least a foot of
thick snow, giving the wolves a step-up to see her better, and she glared back as she put the torches near the fire, not sure why she’d made them. The fire poles were
a last resort, she thought, turning to look at her would-be killers. As if on cue, the newest battle for survival began.
Smaaaaash!
The front glass shattered, a huge black wolf landing on its side as sharp pieces of glass flew across the floor, and snow, dark and dirty, flew through the jagged hole.
Snarling at her before it gained its feet, the wolf padded her way with red eyes promising death.
Crack! ...Thud...Ccrrssshhh!
The second window failed, snow and wolves streaming through the gaping opening.
Hungry fangs bared, their claws digging into the floor, Sam watched them with her heart in her throat, waiting for them to get close enough for her meager weapons
to be effective.
Craasshhh!
A third window exploded under the weight of a large white wolf. It didn’t slow as it hit the wooden floor, using it to jump again, fangs bared in anticipation.
Sam moved fast, jerking needles from her pocket, slamming two syringes into the white wolf’s furry chest as it came down on her. Grunting, she pushed the double
dose in, cringing away from the heavy, reeking weight.
A second wolf had lunged with its leader, and was hit with the Alpha’s convulsing body, knocking them both into the corner of the desk. The heavy marble slid
against Sam’s good leg, shoving her back and away from their snaps.
Pictures crashing to the floor behind her, Sam ignored the stabs of pain, looking up quickly to see a lanky wolf flying through the air, two others about to launch.
She fired the last two bullets in her gun, only one of the shots connecting, and then the third animal was flying toward her, snapping viciously…
Sam leaned into the wolf’s lunge, knife from her pocket impaling, ripping upward.
Iiiipe!
She let the bloody blade fall as she grabbed the Taser she’d found refill packs for, shocking the wolf she’d missed with the gun. She hit in the muzzle as it went for
her injured limb. The wolf fell, whining loudly.
She kicked the animal that had recovered from hitting the desk’s sharp corner with her good leg, blood trickling from its ear.
Iiippe! Iippe!
Her boot crunching against its ribs, the shocked wolf yelped horribly. Then all of the animals were fleeing, retreating before the injured prey that had taken out half of
their pack.
Sam turned in time to see the remaining three wolves jump through the snowy window, disappearing into the cold drifts of slush with their tails tucked between their
legs. Bloody paw prints marked their path of retreat, drops and sprays of scarlet scattered over the floor. Their howls of mourning as they vanished into the storm were
haunting.
Samantha lowered her arms, struggling not to puke at the blood on her hands, but when the white wolf at her feet twitched, the double dose of morphine not killing
it, she did, plunging her last knife deep into the Alpha’s thick chest.
Scratch…
Sam swung around, her shoulders relaxing when she saw the ferret’s dark, beady eyes. Not thinking it odd to see the pet despite all the noise, she didn’t notice the
restless twitch of its tail, nor the fact that it was charging her until it was too close for her to do anything but stomp.
She hit it with her injured leg as it lunged for her ankle, saliva dripping from its sharp, little fangs, then its head was crunching under her boot, guts and blood
squeezing out as stabbing pain shot up her leg.
Furious, Sam ground the ferret into the bloody floor, taking bitter satisfaction in every snap, crack, and dark splatter. “Slam you too!”
Tears in her eyes, Sam moved to wash and gather her things. It wasn’t safe here. She would go now, ready or not. It truly was survival of the fittest, and those who
didn’t listen to the warnings and prepare for nature’s worst would die.
Chapter Two
12/21/2012
The Pacific Ocean
1
“Let me go!
The dark-haired females struggled against each other, but they went mostly unnoticed in the mayhem that had taken control of the enormous cruise ship.
“Keep going! We have to get below!” Kendle dodged the arms of a group of crewmen who were running down the crowded deck, grabbing wildly at unsuspecting
women, and shoved the younger girl out of their reach. Everything was out of control now.
“Stop!”
Kendle shoved the girl again as she came forward, one mesmerized eye on the horribly fascinating tidal wave eating up the ocean as it raced towards the boat, and
one terrified eye on the much younger and bloodier sister in front of her.
“We gotta help dad!” Dawn screamed, skin on fire.
Kendle shook her head, noises buzzing together unpleasantly as they stumbled along the debris-covered deck. They were being jostled by other panicked holiday
passengers, many of them also bleeding, having to stop and vomit. Tears blurred her vision and the actress wiped a hand across her face, not surprised to see a red
smear.
“Move!”
“Fall back!”
Dawn took a swing at her famous, survivalist sister for the first time in her life, missing, and Kendle’s thin control over her own emotions snapped. Her terror (the
first she’d felt in many years) flew out uncensored as the roar of the ocean grew louder, the screams more frantic. “He’s dead, Dawn! You saw his eyes explode!”
The girl screamed again, this time in horrified denial, and Kendle shoved her harder, sending the rebellious teenager tumbling down the dark stairwell. Ready to mix
it up to keep her alive, Kendle quickly followed, wishing for her camera crew - she hated to be without backup - and she yanked the dazed girl up by her arm.
“Hang on to this rail. Supposed to be unsinkable but if it flips, we’ll just have to hope…”
“Flips?”
Kendle locked her arms around the suddenly gutless teenager and the banister, the already-damaged wooden planks under their bare feet groaning in protest as the
ocean under them swelled, roared.
“Hang ooonnn...!”
The seven story wall of water slammed into the side of the Carnival Cruise Liner like it wasn’t even there. Not just flipping it, but rolling it repeatedly like dead wood
as it thundered past. The 80-foot wave then continued across the open ocean to engulf the small island state of Hawaii.
February, 2013
“Go away. Please, God. Make it go away.”
The young woman swallowed a groan as the shark fin rose out of the water and ran along the side of the faded speedboat. It had been stalking the drifting boat for
the last few days, almost certainly drawn by the blood in her urine, and today it had begun nudging her floating home until only her screams drove it back.
The Great White was big. Twenty feet long at least, and it acted as if it hadn’t seen a boat before. Kendle was sure just the simple shot of a flare would get rid of it,
but she had no flares, no gun, no knife, no gas, and no radio. She was adrift on a dead stranger's boat somewhere in the Pacific Ocean - the sole survivor of a
passenger manifest that had numbered over a thousand.
The shark was circling the boat again, and the red-skinned woman braced herself to follow through with the plan she'd made. Fight back or die had served her in
the past and it would now as well.
Bump!
The boat rocked and her grip tightened.
Bump...Bump!
More violent this time and there was an awful creak of waterlogged wood that got her up on her knees. Her boat wouldn’t take much more, and she would likely
only get one shot. She would have to get closer.
Kendle rose onto her knees near the side of the boat, not feeling the splinters digging into her clothes and skin. Her attention was focused on the shark streamlining
her way for another hit, this one likely an attack. It too had heard the water-weakened wood.
She sucked in a breath as the great white came in high on the water, the hunter moving in for its meal.
“Aaaahhh!”
Kendle swung the claw hammer with all her strength, the boat dipping precariously with her violent movement, and she buried the hammer in one of the shark’s cold
eyes.
Blood squirted, and the surprised predator jerked downward, yanking the weapon from her grip. It disappeared beneath the murky waves, tail thrashing against the
battered boat. One shot and she had nailed it. Was it enough?
Her eyes searched intently, her heart relaxing a little more with each second that passed. She’d lost her fishing hammer, but kept her life and her boat, and that was
a fair trade as far as she was concerned.
Kendle moved back, keeping her eyes on the waves, but after starting to doze off as the adrenaline rush faded. It was gone. Her heart fell. Like her world. She had
no idea where she was. The gas had run out a long time ago, and she was alone, at the ocean’s mercy.
Her bluish-gray eyes searched the waves as they swelled and dipped around her, finding nothing but debris and endless water. Forcing herself to ignore the waiting
tears, she got out her strings and began to tie a square of net to "fish" with.
“Fifty days and nights,” she muttered, cracked lips aching, skin a constant bruise from the lightest touch. In all that time, she hadn’t seen anyone, not a ship in the
distance, not even a plane overhead. Surely, they had found the liner by now, counted bodies, and started a search for survivors. Hadn’t they? Shouldn’t she have at
least seen a plane by now, one of those big 747s? They wouldn’t be able to see her, of course, but just knowing she wasn’t alone would be a comfort.
Fingers aching as she tied off the ends, Kendle flexed her hand a couple of times before starting on the next side, making small, tight squares that would trap
anything bigger than a marker. She let her mind wander as she worked on it, each piece a different color or type of material. She was almost out of things to drink and
was hoping for a bottle of water. Kendle croaked a bitter laugh, thinking of the saying about ‘water everywhere and not a drop to drink’.
“Definitely fits.”
Her throat was raw from trying to scream the shark away, and at that thought, her eyes looked around wildly, searching for a Great White with a hammer in its head
and revenge in its heart. Instead, murky waves, the unnatural, vivid green sunset, and the dark layer of clouds now ever-present in the sky, were her only companions.
Below was another world, but it was one she was terrified of now, full of foreign creatures that brushed against her wooden home and stole her breath. Where the
hell were the planes, the rescue ships? The land?
“It was a Carnival Cruise Liner, for God sakes!” she blurted in frustrated fear, head turning as if to see the Coast Guard pulling alongside. “Front page news!
Wealthy stars go missing, massive search ensues!”
Someone should be looking for all those citizens, all those lifeboats, shouldn’t they? And what was with the ocean? While she was grateful - it had certainly kept her
alive so far - she could only worry about an explosion that had been big enough to literally litter an ocean with debris.
Just about anything she could think of was floating in the salty waves -bottles, cans, cups, clothes, jugs. It was like a constantly moving store shelf of surprises (some
awful, like the hand she’d pulled up, still inside the leather glove), and she was constantly scanning the water, trying to find more each day than she used. She currently
had three weeks worth of food, divided evenly into the corners for balance, but her stomach clenched painfully at the thought of being on the ocean long enough to use it
all. Where was the land?
Kendle tied the net to the remaining guardrail on the faded orange and white speedboat with thick knots, finishing as a wave broke over the side and soaked her
from head to toe in cold saltwater. Her vision faded a bit, eyes blurring, and she was thrown back in time to the storm that had taken her sister just days after they’d
snuck off the doomed cruise ship.
“Hold on!”
“Help me!” the terrified girl screamed again, nails drawing blood from Kendle’s wrist as the weight of the rail that had ripped away pulled her down toward the
angry sea, where the rest of their group, also still anchored to the heavy metal, were fighting for every breath they took.
“Dawn!” Their wet fingers slipped, and the screaming teenager was yanked off the boat, as Kendle jerked frantically on the rope around her other wrist, unable to
get free to follow.
“Dawn!”
Bam!
Kendle screamed as the speedboat was hit hard from underneath, rising out of the water and tossing against the steering wheel. Stars bursting across her vision, her
hands found the wide, wooden spokes just as the craft plunged back down. It slapped up sprays of water and she barely kept herself from flying out, arm wrenching
painfully.
Bump, splash...Bump!
The boat rocked violently from the hits, and she held on to the wheel, heart thudding at every creak of waterlogged wood.
Thud...splash!
Her shark was back. She saw the fin, watched it roll over. Her eyes widened when she realized her net was wrapped around its streamlined body. It was trapped.
If it dove, she would go under too.
"Move!" her mind screamed, and she slid closer to the wildly thrashing animal as her fingers went for the net. ‘No time!’ the panic ordered, water sloshing into the
shallow boat as the shark tried to roll itself free. ‘Kill it!’
Kendle looked around. How?
The claw hammer was still buried in the shark’s eye, the long handle being pried out by the ropes of her net, and she grabbed the biggest can she had, its label long
gone. Kendle hefted it over her head, trying to wait for the right moment.
The Great White suddenly plunged downward, pulling the boat with it and as water began to pour in, she swung, slamming the heavy can down on top of the
hammer.
A sound of agony was ripped from the shark. More a vibration than a noise, the cry was one of a fatal wound and Kendle shoved herself back against the side of
the boat to rebalance it, shivering. She had just killed her first shark. That was something she hadn’t done before the War, when she couldn’t wait to face nature's
challenges.
After a minute, the shark stopped moving, blood leaking out into the softly lapping waves, and she forced herself toward the corpse, her back and shoulder on fire.
She ripped the hammer out of the animal’s head, the tearing sound making her gag, but she didn’t stop, swinging the slimy weapon back into the shark’s meaty area.
She ripped out a big chunk, coughing and wrenching. When her thumbnail tore off, she didn’t notice her blood mixing with that of the shark. Kendle wrapped the
meat in a towel, then began untying the carcass, not sure if she had taken it to eat or to look at and know the shark was dead. She felt the tears rise again, and didn’t
stop them this time.
The boat and the sisters had barely survived the rollover - being right by the stairs had saved them - but after three days of looters, fights, illnesses spreading, and
drunken pounding on the door, Kendle had chosen to get off the crippled ship before they were dragged from their staterooms. Others had been - they’d listened in
horror - and on the fourth morning after the tidal wave, she and Dawn had crept out to one of the three remaining lifeboats.
There had been five men there already and the girls had gone with them willingly. It had to be better than the rapes and murders on the boat that had started when
the Captain admitted he had no idea how to fix the ship and get them home, didn’t even know for sure where they were, then barricaded himself in the wheelhouse.
One day after the seven of them jumped ship, they found the speedboat, its owner looking much like the bodies they’d left on the doomed cruise liner. When its
engine started, they’d all been crying, hugging. It hadn’t lasted long. The boat’s radio, compasses, and lights were out, the fuel gone before daylight, and the speed
runner had come to a heartbreakingly slow stop with no land in sight.
“Lost two in the first week,” she croaked, hating the sound of her rough voice, but needing to hear it just the same. “Didn’t even know their names.”
The third to go had either fallen in or jumped, and was hit by something Dawn had sworn was the roof of a house. He hadn’t come back up, and the loss hadn’t
registered.
There had been little movement or conversation after that. Talking or moving required awareness, and no one wanted that until there was hope to go with it. They
had survived by fishing garbage out of the ocean, slowly adjusting to life on a world that was never still.
Kendle had been alone now for 45 days, marking the boat each morning since the storm that had taken her companions. It wasn’t the longest stretch she’d done -
that would be her 88 days spent hiking from one end of the Colorado to the other – but it was the first time she was totally without backup. She had no phone, no
camera crew with access to the outside world. “On my own for real this time.”
Kendle's skin felt very hot as she turned to look at the chunk of shark meat. “‘Cept for you.”
She laughed again and when it turned to sobs, she rocked herself gently for comfort. She would get through this the same way she had all the other trials. One day at
a time.
The sun vanished slowly, leaving eerie, beautiful trails of green and orange that threw strange shadows over the deep, dark waves, and Kendle huddled in the middle
while she dozed. She was miserable and heartbroken as the fading light left her with only her sense of hearing and smell, both of which checked in and recorded lapping
water and salt, nothing more.
Maybe the land was gone. Maybe that was why she was finding so much of the world in the water. A War? Hell, maybe an asteroid had hit and flooded the earth.
If so, she hoped the waters receded soon and set her Ark on a mountain before she went mad. Out here, she was defenseless.
Chapter Three
February 23rd, 2013
Illinois
1
“No, please. No more bodies. There’s not room for them anymore!”
Angela’s words brought Marc instantly awake and he rose up on one elbow to look at her tear-stained cheeks in the dim lantern light. Dog’s golden eyes were also
watching her cry in her sleep.
“Angie?”
There was no answer. She was having another nightmare. It wasn’t the first time she had woken him this way and though he hadn’t said anything, it bothered Marc
that he couldn’t protect her in her dreams, too. Any small part of him that had been wondering if she was exaggerating, so she could play two ends against the middle,
was gone. Their first week together had revealed what she hadn’t told him and he was furious.
How could anyone treat her badly? She had been affectionate…passionate, and he loathed her man for changing that. He’d never felt hate so strongly.
“It’s how he was raised. He didn’t know any other way to deal with someone like me,” Angela answered his thoughts.
Marc jumped and gave her an awkward smile, having to pry his eyes from the long dark curls messed sexily over her shoulder. “You would have made a good
Marine,” he stated, not wanting to hear her defend someone who had obviously hurt her so much.
Angela sat up, pulling the thick, flag-covered quilt closer, her eyes roaming over pictures of foreign, seductive landscapes and dark, dirty windows, instead of
looking at him. “Not me. I don’t kill. I won’t.”
He frowned at her argumentative tone, wondering if it was the dream or something she had picked up from him.
“You okay?” he asked carefully, relaxing a little when she sounded more like herself, but her face was pale in the orange glow of the propane heater.
“I will be. Rough night.”
Marc grunted. Five or six this week. “Wanna talk about it?”
Angela tried to imagine telling him about her life of rape and assault, and total, unforgiving control. She closed her eyes against the shame and betrayal she thought
she’d come to terms with long ago.
“No. How about you tell me something from your life I don’t know. Shouldn't be hard.”
He ignored the tone. “Like what? After the War? Before?”
“Tell me something from our past, the answer to one of the questions we used to ask each other.”
His eyes swung to her pale face at the tone, but his mind was again screaming ambush from the almost resentfully spoken words. “Why?”
Marc could almost hear her telling herself to let it go, to preserve the careful peace they’d been sharing, and shook his head. “The truth is all that’s left now. Tell me
why.”
She opened her eyes, and he was only a little surprised by the coldness of her gaze. “Because I need to know what was more important than the way we felt. I need
to understand why. What was worth more than the love you left behind and forgot about?”
Marc pulled in a wounded breath, reeling from the blow. “I’ve never said it was worth it and I never forgot you!” he protested.
Her words fell like chips of frosted glass. “Clearly it was or you would have at least had the decency to come back and tell me where we stood. You weighed the
old life against the new one and if you ever looked back, I never knew. Last thing I heard was - I’ll find you. And don’t give me that ‘it was for the best’ crap, because
it wasn’t.”
“I wouldn't. I did a lot of things, helped a lot of people, but I’ve never considered it a fair trade. For the most part, it’s been lonely…cold… I’ve spent the last
decade aware that I made a mistake.”
She shrugged, not interested in his apologies, and too angry and hurt to be afraid of arguing with him. Their breakup and her life with Kenny was all she could see
when she closed her eyes, and the pain in his baby-blues was finally a balm to the old Angela.
“Tell me something I don’t know about your life,” she repeated tonelessly.
“I don’t... Okay. You remember how we wanted matching tattoos? I’ve got four now. Three can be shown in public.”
That caught her off guard, and he saw a flash of the old Angie, his Angie, in her response, “I’m public. Let’s see ‘em.”
Not expecting that, he reluctantly pushed up his camouflage sleeve to reveal a simple, thin green band around his thick arm, its edges artfully spiked. The other
sleeve hid a neat Marine emblem, an eagle on top of the earth. Her eyes lingered on his muscles as she wondered against her will, where the politically incorrect one
was. Ass?
“And the third?” Seeing the hesitation, she threw a rare grin. “Come on. You said three were politically correct.”
Marc stared at her. It had been so long! He was immediately sorry her already swinging mood was about to take a hit. He uncovered slowly, hating the fear on
her face when his hands went to the buckle of his dusty jeans. He only slid the waistband over his hip a couple of inches as he rolled toward her.
“I know those. Those are Recon wings. Kenny has the same…” she stopped, heart clenching as she read it. Kenny had the traditional "Mother" in the center of his.
Marc had "Angie Forever".
Their eyes met, locked, and memories swirled between them, old and powerful.
“You’ll love me forever?” the girl asked softly, terrified to trust.
The boy met her eyes as his hips pushed between her long legs. “Just that long. Not a second more.”
She smiled, leaned into his thrust as he kissed her.
Marc turned away with a heavy heart. That moment had been a very long time ago, but right now it felt like yesterday. He had to fight with himself not to go to her,
not to tell her how he felt, or that he had come back for her. It had been too late then, and it was too late now.
The big Timber wolf stretched, yawning widely before following his master, and Angela watched Marc’s big shoulders as he lit the stove. Her name on his tanned
hip flashed through her mind, and she slammed her eyes shut as she lay back down. She was sure it had been done when he was fresh into the Corps and still pissed at
his mother for putting him there. If their love had meant so much, he would have come back for her, right? He hadn’t, and in the years that had gone by, he'd changed.
The boy she’d loved had been her willing slave on most things, her ally and best friend. This new man was closed off, very adept at keeping to himself, and she
missed their closeness, hated the circumstances preventing them from having it back. "It’s for the best," her fear whispered. "What if friendship wasn’t enough?"
Angie gave the old dream only a brief glance before shoving it back behind the doors. Kenny would never let her go. The question didn’t matter.
Relieved when her even breathing told him that she’d gone back to sleep, Marc was certain any of the things he might have said would only have caused more
tension. They were mostly avoiding the old wounds, concentrating on working out an efficient travel routine. In that way at least, he knew he had pleased her.
They’d made 127 miles in the week since leaving the wounded brothers behind, compared to her 120 in nine days alone, and took turns at the cooking and cleanup.
She had expected to do all the work despite the agreement, and it bothered Marc to see her staring, wondering if she could still trust him, or if he was up to something.
She was jumpy, always looking over her shoulder or reaching for the comfort of her gun. She never asked if they were safe, wouldn't have believed him anyway, he
guessed, and he had begun doing things to make her feel better, like walking the perimeter often and always using the motion alarms. Marc was determined to show her
that he could keep her alive, that she could count on him.
He also kept his distance and kept his mouth shut, sure when she relaxed a little more, she would realize he was still the same man who had taken her virginity with
sweetness and care. Feeling himself stir at that hot, shadowy memory, Marc pulled on his coat and stepped out into the very cold Illinois air after motioning the wolf to
stay.
They were camped in a large, one-room log cabin deep in the Eagle Creek Recreation area, this particular building chosen for its complete lack of Christmas
decorations. The area in which he had chosen to make camp was on the farthest edge of the resort complex, away from the main clubhouse and lavish apartments. He’d
even shunned the golfing side, choosing instead to hole up deep in the campground. It was almost serene here, no damage visible thanks to the thick forest around them,
and he was glad they had finally cleared the St. Louis quake zone.
The cabin had no yard to speak of, just dense willow and oak trees that hung thickly over the rustic rails. Marc hefted himself into their canopy, wanting to see what
(who) was around them, but even with his scope, the leaves were too thick to see the outlines of the wealthier resort area. Only the shadows of blackened foliage told
him that Angie’s words of a huge fire were true. Not that he’d doubted her.
Frowning, Marc stayed in the tree, watching. Their first week together had gone smoothly. Even crossing the ugly, swollen Mississippi River had been easy, by using
an out of the way dam. He tried to do things for her, but she was stubborn, always insisting on the hardest path. The tone of her voice seemed to beg for another mile
each time he asked if she was ready to stop for the night, and he always gave in. As a result, she was exhausted, and he was tired, so much that they weren’t unpacking
anything but their bedrolls and the heater most nights. Marc sighed again. She needed a break. Soon, they both would.
2
Angela awoke abruptly, instantly aware that other than the wolf, she was alone in the chilly room. She concentrated, worried Brady had tired of babysitting her and
left, but she found him just outside and tried to relax. Between the fear of Kenny’s reaction hanging over her head like a noose, and her dreams of the twins, she was
freaking out a little. She knew Marc was picking up on it and was grateful for the things he did to make her feel better, but there would be hell to pay once Kenny…
"Something’s coming."
The door appeared in her mind, pulling at her, and she immediately closed her eyes and turned the knob, heart thumping. The twins?
An icy wind blew her hair back as she stopped in the doorway, knowing not to go further, and she shivered as she looked into another world.
This landscape was blanketed by a thick blizzard and dotted with the shadowy forms of people, but only one of them - a dirty blonde with a nasty limp - actually
looked alive as she plowed determinedly through the knee-high drifts. She moved toward where Angela stood on the threshold, the edges of her dirty brown trench
coat dragging over the deep snow, leaving a clear trail.
This world was pure white except for the people; even the trees were bent, covered in ice. Angela thought she saw a pack of dogs in the far distance, but wasn’t
sure. The other people paid no attention to the open door, but the blonde limped straight toward her, frozen eyelashes glistening like jewels. “It’s coming. Get ready.”
There was a radar map in the woman’s eyes, like a reflection of an old weather broadcast. Angela’s heart raced as she realized that she and Marc weren’t the only
ones caught in the path of the massive winter storm moving in from the South. Her son was in danger, along with all the people they’d joined at Safe Haven refugee
camp.
A strong wind pushed her back as the door slammed shut between them, echoing, and Angela jerked upright, eyes flying open. She would wait until the snow was
falling before she sent the warning - Kenny would never believe her otherwise - but it was coming and they would all have to get ready.
Fear raced through Angela’s veins and her heart sped up. She had to call Kenny. He was about to find out the first big rule she’d broken. He would know for sure
that she was on her way.
3
Angela stepped out onto the porch, wolf disappearing into the trees, and found Marc instantly - though she couldn’t see him from the doorway.
Marc grinned when she moved into view, looking up at him. “You see me or sense me?”
She frowned, not really comfortable talking to him about the things she could do. “I’m not sure.”
He dropped down. “You all right?”
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “Not really, but I’ll be better when we’re on the move again.”
She lit a smoke, prepared herself to take a chance. Would he believe her?
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a bad storm coming. A winter storm,” she said quietly, waiting for the questions.
“Snow?”
She still didn’t look at him. “A lot of it, and I think it’s going to get colder. I’ve got a roll of plastic.”
Marc smiled, showing sexy white teeth. “I’ve got a staple gun and duct tape.” His unquestioning acceptance brought her eyes up and they stared at each other. Both
of them could feel that old connection wanting to grow again. He looked away before she could.
“What smells so good?”
“Omelets. It’s all rehydrated or powdered though, so don’t expect much.” Powdered eggs suck, Marc thought, and Angela went back to cooking with a smile of
agreement, not searching for his thoughts, but not blocking them either.
“Can I do anything?” He followed her slowly, mindful about keeping his distance.
“Yes. Teach me some defensive moves today after lunch.”
“Sure. We’ll start with the basics and move up.”
“I really need something I can use now.”
He frowned at her insistent response. “I know quick ways, but they’re for Marines. Not pretty,” he warned.
She shrugged, brushing a stray curl back behind her ear as she turned off the stove. “Pretty doesn’t matter. Only results do.”
“Remember you said that.”
Angela frowned at the second warning, but didn’t ask for details or change her mind as she handed him a plate and sat down on the far end of the couch. “I will.
Let’s eat.”
Angela wrote in her journal the whole time, and then bundled up and slipped out the door without a word, leaving Marc to worry as he waved the wolf to follow.
Where was the carefree young girl who had insisted they build a clubhouse in the middle of a snow storm? Where was the innocent enchantress he had eased into
womanhood and how could he get her back? There had to be a way.
When he stepped out, Marc was surprised by how much gear she already had on the porch. Obviously, she was serious about the storm, and he kept his eyes from
lingering on the rounded ass sticking from the rear of her Blazer each time she retrieved something else. He carried her things inside instead.
Coming back for the last load, he noticed the temperature with a frown. It had dropped nearly five degrees in less than two hours. That definitely wasn’t normal and
it confirmed her warning. Again, not that he’d really doubted. Her gift had always been a part of their lives, one of the reasons his mother had been so against him
spending time with her, but it didn’t bother him anymore now, than it had then. It was useful, and he had little to hide. Marc had often wondered what it would be like to
see and feel everything the way she did, but he didn’t envy her abilities because he knew the terrible price she paid for them.
“Need some help?”
Angela hadn’t known he was so close behind her, and Marc saw the hand flinching downward before she stopped herself. “I’ve got it.”
Her tone was sharp, and he backed off, stepping through thick Bermuda grass as he went to get his own things. She was trying to keep the wall between them, and
he would respect her wishes….for now.
It only took them half an hour to improve the cabin’s temperature, using large sheets of plastic to enclose the area around the couch. They worked together in
silence, Angela anticipating his needs as she had when they were kids. Once finished, they dug out warmer clothes and Marc tossed a plastic-wrapped pouch on her
bedroll. “Thermal blanket. Used to a part of my sniper gear.”
Trying not to frown at the word sniper, she tossed a similar looking package on the couch. “He left some of his things behind this year.” Their similarity, from
supplies to transportation, made them both sad. What a great team they would have made. It also had Marc a bit more uneasy about the future. Her man had sniper
training, too. Great.
4
Angela tried to calm herself down. She knew Marc wouldn’t hurt her, but still flinched as the door opened and Marc came back in from doing a walk of the
perimeter.
“Ready for your first lesson?”
She nodded nervously, rubbing sweaty palms down her jeans. “In here?”
He motioned at the small area, very aware of how uncomfortable she was. “Warmer in here, more room out there. You pick.”
“Outside,” she chose, hoping the cold might distract her from her fear of being touched, of being hurt. She was already shaking.
Stopping at the foot of the steps, she drew in a deep, calming breath as he took off his gun belts and set them on the porch. It was lined in scraggily patches of
weeds trying to grow - with little success.
Marc watched the fear in her eyes grow as he moved toward her. “We can start out slow.”
"I can do this.”
Marc circled her. “I believe that too. Just remember to think.”
She nodded, and he rushed her.
Marc swung a leg behind her knee and gently took them to the ground. Not letting his weight fall on her, he tried not to think of her as a woman, but as a cadet to
be trained, instructed.
Fear bursting through her mind like a rocket, and Angela struggled thoughtlessly.
Marc clenched his teeth in an effort to stay soft. She felt good! “Rubbin’ that body against a man won’t make him stop, Honey.”
Angela froze, cheeks bright red. “I don’t want...”
“You can’t talk your way out, either. You have to think and then act. Start with locking your ankles together and try to throw me off.”
She did as he said - heart pounding, mind screaming - and Marc met her eyes.
“You have to get in control of it. Being scared makes you human, but you have to think too. Your hands should be trying to find a weapon while your legs keep
trying to throw him off. Your gun, his knife, a rock; anything in reach, and don’t waste your time yelling. It will only tire you out.”
Angela sucked in air, closing her eyes against the fear in her heart.
“He’ll be saying things, pawing at you, but surprise is your weapon. Distract him and then bite, punch, kick, whatever it takes, but don’t let him turn you over.”
She nodded, wanting him off of her, and Marc raised a brow. “Make me.”
She surprised him with an almost gentle butt to the head, and then they were struggling against each other, Marc using only pressure, no force. The fear in her eyes
was intense, preventing his body from responding.
After a full minute, he let her roll him over and off. She was on her feet in an instant, hair wild, eyes flashing as he stood up.
“Lesson two. When a man corners a woman, he watches to see if she’s a runner or a fighter. Your eyes and body language tell him how to prepare for you, and
again, surprise is your weapon. Keep your hands at your sides. Make him think you’ve frozen, and when he moves in, cup your hands into a fist and bring them up at
the same time as your knee. Pound his nuts into his stomach, and run for a weapon or your car. If you miss, you’ll be on the ground again. Ready?”
She was glad he had given her the warning this time, but couldn’t help freezing when he rushed her. They were on the ground a second later.
“Lock those ankles, Angie. Use your knees! You can’t hurt me, but I could hurt you, if I were a bad man. You need to pretend I am.”
She answered him with a harder butt to the chin that sent tiny stars of vivid shades across his vision. He let her roll him over again.
Angela quickly gained her feet for a second time, and Marc took a quick look around as he got up. Clear. “Very good. Ready?”
He was moving in before she nodded. Angela remembered to drop her hands, but was afraid to really hit him, terrified deep in her heart that he would hit her back,
as Kenny had so many times.
Marc tripped her easily, taking them down again. This time, her arms were pinned by his chest and the heavy weight of his body. “Don’t roll over and don’t unlock
those ankles!”
Angela twisted her hips to make room and flung a handful of dust half-heartedly in his direction. Her knee brushed his groin, and again he let her roll him off.
She got up a bit slower this time, almost winded as she tried to remember his words over the fear screaming in her mind.
Marc realized he was going to have to use a different method to circumvent her fear of men. She had to see him as a stranger. He backed up a little, ignoring the
heart that didn’t want her to be afraid of him for any reason or length of time. She froze when he got close, afraid of what would happen afterwards if she hurt him,
which she couldn’t. He needed to reach that place inside that came out when survival was on the line, so she would remember how to handle herself when it counted.
“Not going to the ground means the difference between rape and escape. You have to stop me by any means necessary.”
Angela frowned, backing up as he edged closer. “I can’t just attack you.”
“I’m gonna make it so you can. Remember to think.” Marc sent his very male eyes over her body with clear want, letting the animal side out just a bit, and Angela
felt terror go through her at his words. He wasn’t like them, right?
“Pretty white bitch,” he growled, mimicking the brothers' menacing tone almost perfectly. He hated her reaction, but didn’t stop, forcing her to deal with it. “How
'bout a kiss? Been alone a long time.”
She shook her head, still moving carefully away, and he was glad to see her eyes locked on his. At least she knew that much.
He rushed her suddenly and Angela brought her hands and knee up together. The force behind it was meant to hurt, but it didn’t. Neither said a word, Marc only
letting his body strain against hers.
It took him a full minute to get her off her feet this time, Marc not really trying, of course, and once on the ground, he kept her there, showing her where to hit,
scratch, kick, and punch.
A few minutes later, Angela knew she was done, and stilled, closing her eyes so he wouldn’t see how afraid she was that he wouldn’t stop.
“Done now… Let... me up.” To her great relief, his weight was gone an instant later.
There was no way she could have stopped him, and she knew he felt her shaking when she allowed him to pull her to her feet. She let go quickly and put some
distance between them, stomach muscles now aching, pinching.
“You okay?”
Her words were breathy. “Good... exercise even... if I don’t... learn anything.”
“You will.”
Their eyes met, sparked, and hers darted away, making him frown. He had provoked real fear in order to teach, but it had taken so little!
“I’ll work on it, Brady. Again...tomorrow?”
He grinned at her, surprised she wanted to. “Absolutely. You did great. Next time, I’ll teach you ways to keep anyone from getting close enough to grab you.”
She nodded, sweating despite the chill in the lightly gusting wind. She didn’t notice the wolf curling up on the porch, but Marc did, and was glad. He was never
completely sure the animal would return.
“Cool... guns now?”
His eyes were unreadable as he considered. He had shown her proper cleaning and hand positions, and they’d done some dry fire exercises, but she needed to
practice, and that made a lot of noise, would draw attention they weren’t ready to handle. “Not until we leave here. For today, we’ll use something quieter.”
Pulse and respiration racing, she only nodded again as they headed in, unwilling to ask him for more. She needed to get used to caring for herself. Wasn’t that why
she’d called him, to teach her?
“You mean that?”
Angela was surprised he was picking things up from her, the look on his face said he hadn’t been expecting it either, and the moment hung between them like a
flame in the darkness. Back in the old days, they had been open to each other in every way.
“Yes. Will you?”
He looked away from her, thinking her eyes were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Pretty cars and expensive jewels had nothing on Angie’s baby-blues.
“Absolutely. In fact...” He dug in his kit. “I found this back in Mattoon.” He handed her a small, purple gift bag from his pack. It held an orange dart gun with half a
dozen darts and a paper target. She saw the benefits even as she laughed at the toy.
“I’ll treasure it always,” Angela joked as he taped the target to the wall. She loaded the bright orange weapon and stepped back to practice, concentrating.
Marc stayed in a back corner, occasionally offering direction and trying not to sniff his hands. They reeked of her scent. He kept a groan to himself. Damn, he had
it bad.
When Angela looked around a bit later, the wolf was at the door, gray ears up, reddish-black head down, golden eyes watching contentedly. Marc had settled on
the couch to clean his guns, and she felt peace and bitterness warring in her heart. This is how it should have been for them…and it had been stolen.
5
After a quiet meal of beans and Bambi, they settled in to wait out the storm. It wasn’t quite dark yet and they were surprised upon moving outside. Not to step out
into cold, white darkness, but by the amount of snow that had already fallen. It was still coming down in thick sheets, at least six inches of the dirty grey flakes covering
everything. The wind swirled the falling moisture into tiny tornadoes that raced across the cornfield to slam apart against the broken stalks and their snowy, tarp-covered
vehicles.
The pair split up wordlessly, Marc waving the wolf after her as she stepped behind a large, ice-covered tree and out of his sight. The wind howled, growing
stronger, and sheets of falling snow whipped violently, producing a whiteout effect that the flashlights around their necks barely penetrated. Making a fast round of the
perimeter, the Marine uncovered alarms, then joined her on the porch, careful to keep his distance.
Angela didn’t meet his observant eyes, didn’t want him to see how scared she was. “I have to warn Kenny this is coming," she thought, but only said, "I’ll be out
here for a few minutes.”
Marc heard both statements. He wanted to stay and listen, but gently, closed the door instead, jealousy burning in his heart. He could feel it a moment later,
powerful waves of warning that seemed to vibrate in his head as they rushed over miles and miles of broken American ground. He was hit with the urge to interrupt, to
make his presence as her new protector known, but that would give away the element of surprise, and the Marine inside held him in check. Longing to at least hear what
was being said, Marc began to clean his guns…again.
Angela slammed the door in her mind, trying to stop crying and shaking. Kenny was so mad!
His anger had slapped her, terrified her, and she wiped at her eyes as she turned toward their warm den. He wanted her to go back to Ohio, said he would come
get her when he was ready, but she could hear him wishing she would die there or anywhere along the way. Under the layers of fear, she was furious and more
determined than ever. She would never turn back now. Never!
Marc saw her face as she and Dog came in, and acid burned in his gut. Her man couldn’t reach her physically, but he could reach her emotionally, and he had.
“You okay?”
She shook her head, face tear-streaked, beautiful black hair flecked with snow. “No, but I can’t fix it from here. Montana by the end of March sound right?”
That was exactly what he had figured when she’d told him where her man was headed. “Yes, quicker if we do some night traveling too.”
Angela sat on the couch and pulled the quilt around her shoulders, unable to stop hearing the threats, the ugliness. Kenny had been angry from the start, but had
spun out of control quickly, suddenly screaming, and she wondered why. Heart now skipping rapidly in fear, she paled even more. Had he seen something he shouldn’t
have when she’d shown him the storm? Icy terror sank deep into her heart. Did Kenny know she wasn’t alone?
Angela flinched as Marc pushed the heater closer to her, kneeling down to turn it up higher. Not mentioning it, he wished there was something he could do to make
her feel better. When he looked up, her eyes were locked on his, a desperate glare in her blue depths.
“Tell me you’ll back me up, no matter what. Tell me the code, the Corps, and everything else comes second to me.”
Marc smiled bitterly, but answered without hesitation. “Wasn’t it always that way? According to our family, I went against them and God to have you, and there
was never a second that I wouldn’t have come if you’d called.” He dropped his eyes, sighed. “Still isn’t.”
Angela gave him a shaky smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Marc clamped down on another attempt to get her to change her mind. “Me too. Fifteen years was a long time.”
Angela shuddered, closing her eyes and mouth on the hell she’d been through. Only the future mattered, and that was Kenny. He was a violent man and seeing her
and Marc together might be enough to send him over the edge. Especially if he snuck up on them and saw anything, like the sparks that flew when their eyes met. Blood
would spill then, and her boy's parentage wouldn’t be an issue.
6
Two pairs of dark, frustrated eyes watched the couple move about inside the cabin, both unhappy with the lesson they had just witnessed through shared binoculars.
The snow had Dean and Dillan pinned down in a thermal tent. They were unable to get any closer because of the wolf and the tracks they were too injured to cover.
Forced to wait until the storm broke and their wounds healed more, the brothers watched every move of the man and woman, plotting their revenge.
Shooting them was talked about, as was an open ambush during their next lesson, but neither plan was acted upon. In their conditions - both of their wounds angry
red and leaking blood - they couldn’t be sure of victory. The evil twins wouldn’t underestimate their prey again though, and hunkered down to wait for their moment of
triumph.
7
Angela’s dreams were worse than usual, and she jerked awake to see Marc already sitting up, watching her with concerned eyes.
“Is there a problem?”
She shook her head, keeping the thick quilt around her shoulders as she headed for the door. Not bothering with her shoes, when she slipped outside, Marc waved
the wolf after her and got up.
She was jumpy, more so now than the night they’d been reunited, and she never slept for more than a few hours without her nightmares interrupting. It made him a
little more nervous and a lot more pissed with each passing day. Her man was definitely going to be taught a lesson. How hard it would be was the only unknown.
Marc put his hands to work, caring for his guns yet again, as his ears strained to hear any noise outside. He finished with the beautiful, matching Colt’s and slid them
onto his hips with a feeling of completeness he knew not to put much faith in. Being good with a gun wasn’t nearly enough now. It took listening to everything around
you, but mostly to your gut. His was telling him that this mess was all his fault, and the time had come to fix it. He was a United States Marine, and it was his duty to
open the door to her cage.
Shivering, Angela sat in the back seat of her Blazer, the open door letting the wind swirl dark flakes inside. Her mind was awash with the past - her man’s violence,
mixed with childhood demons, and the horror of seeing the War up close - and she wished she didn’t have to sleep. She would never have an unbroken night’s rest
again until she was with her son.
"The arms of the man, your new guardian, would ease these things. His heart is pure."
Angela frowned at the wolf, shaking her head. She had little doubt it would work, but Marc would never just offer, and she couldn’t imagine asking. It went against
everything she’d had beaten into her.
"This man is not the same. He is yours."
She shook her head again. “Not anymore. That was a long time ago.”
"Then why does it feel like it was yesterday?" the old Angela questioned.
Her heart sobbed, giving the answer that Kenny must never, ever be allowed to discover. “Because I still have feelings for Brady. They never went away.”
Chapter Four
February 24th, 2013
Wyoming, near Kemmerer
1
Kenn listened to the early morning chatter at the boss’s center table with only half an ear - something he usually never did. His clever mind was busy searching for a
way to tell Adrian about the coming storm. He had no doubts, had seen the deep snow drifts around the tarp-covered outlines of two vehicles (two!), but how could he
convince Adrian, without telling him about Angela?
"Lie," his mind whispered and Kenn looked up guiltily to see everyone staring at him.
“Sorry, what?” he sputtered.
Adrian frowned. “Supply list?”
Kenn handed it to him from the stack on the table, being careful not to let the stiff wind rip it from his fingers. “Here ya go.”
Adrian looked it over, nodded, and turned to Neil. “Who’s going with you?”
The cop handed him a smaller sheet of paper as a bird’s wild call echoed, and they all looked up at the grit-covered sky. Tension gripped the crowd in the Mess,
but when it wasn’t spotted, the normal noises slowly resumed. Wind blowing tarps, the clink of dishes, footsteps, vehicles lining up for a full days travel - Adrian told
himself he was just feeling jumpy.
“There are the names and some other details. Do you want…”
Kenn let their conversation fade away from him again, mind clearly not on the meeting.
Adrian sighed, banging his cup down hard on the picnic table. Everyone jumped and the Marine’s eyes flew to his. “Is there something I should know?”
“Yeah,” Kenn confirmed quickly, and Adrian was glad to see relief on his XO’s scruffy face instead of the guilt he’d been expecting.
“It’s gonna snow tonight and we’ll be caught out in the open unless we get ready,” Kenn announced, then waited, dreading the questions that would force him to lie
to Adrian.
“Snow?”
Kenn set his cup down and squared his shoulders. “From the South, at least a foot by midnight, maybe more. We need to hole up somewhere.”
Kyle, Doug, and Neil were looking at him with open mouths, but Adrian’s tone was thoughtful.
“And what do you suggest?”
“We passed a mall in Green River, a the roller rink back in Rock Springs, but really, Kemmerer’s only a few miles away, and it has a bowling alley with a mall
across the street. We’ll hook up heat, maybe even get a few lanes going,” Kenn stated casually, ignoring the frowning guards. Adrian’s opinion was the only one that
mattered, and he looked at Kenn now, deep blue eyes shuttered.
“You’re sure?”
Kenn didn’t look away. “I must be. I’m risking my new place here on it, right?”
Adrian cocked an eyebrow and looked at him flatly, “Yes, you are. The bowling alley in Kemmerer?”
“Yeah, Sage Lanes. It could snow for a week and we’d be okay there,” Kenn said, not hesitating, still seeing the snow-covered vehicles in his mind. Not one, but
two. Angie wasn’t alone.
The other three men clearly wanted to question, but didn’t because they also knew that only Adrian’s decision really mattered. They could feel him weighing it, even
as all five of them turned to watch money - a large number of twenties - go blowing by with the gusty Wyoming wind. Two of them still felt the natural urge to gather it
up, despite its uselessness.
Adrian looked around. They had a great view of the Rocky Mountains, where grizzly bear and elk were no doubt hiding from the survivors, but down here in the
basin, there were bodies of lizards and gophers scattered among the mesquite shrubs and cactus with their yellow and red tinged flowers, and not a single tree in sight.
There were barbed wire fences, rows of unturned fields, and garbage littering the area, but as for civilization, there were only the distant outlines of two farms, and they
looked boarded up, like they’d been condemned before the War had come. No other shelters. They were very exposed to the weather here, and if his Marine was right
about the snow, they were in danger.
“Notebooks open. Plans have changed.”
They did it reluctantly. A Gulf War Veteran, a State Trooper, and a Mobster getting a taste of crow, Kenn thought.
“We’ll need all three generators, a full fuel truck, the big tool chest, and a crew for bathroom setups, since those scheduled for here already did theirs.” He looked
at Kenn, not scowling like he wanted to, when the wind blew a fresh wave of recent decay over their table. “You’ll do the hookups?”
Kenn nodded, and Adrian lit a smoke. “Good. Go spend some time on the radio. Tell Mitch and Matt I want them.”
Kenn moved right away, figuring ‘he heard it while monitoring the CB’ would be his excuse to the camp. While he was glad he hadn’t had to lie to Adrian yet, he
knew the questions would come and he would need to have an answer ready.
The camp around them now murmuring, watching. Adrian gave his closest men understanding looks, sure their light beards hid suspicion and dislike. “I know you
don’t trust him and that’s all right, as long as you trust me. Do you?”
“You know it,” came the unanimous answers, but all three black-uniformed men were indeed hiding frowns under light stubble and blank looks. They didn’t even
like the Marine, let alone trust him.
“Good. We’ll see what happens, and in the meantime, a day in a bowling alley with heat and real lights sounds good. You guys gonna be on my team?”
There were boasts and grins, Adrian in the thick of it, and his inscrutable eyes never hinted at how much he wanted, needed the Marine to be proven right. It would
cement Kenn’s place here, but more than that, the ability to predict foul weather headed their way was invaluable. It was a skill he hadn’t suspected the man of having.
The camp had no problem with getting a break from the expected hours of traveling, and nearly all the Eagles cracked jokes about the calm skies and temperatures
that were currently above freezing. Kenn only told them to wait and see, but inside he was terrified of being wrong. He knew Angela wasn’t trying to trick him, but what
if the storm had gone past them or dissipated? His face hurt from forcing himself to laugh at the remarks, and through it all he could feel Adrian's thoughtful blue gaze on
him, watching and waiting.
2
A small town, Kemmerer appeared to be empty, the roads surprisingly clear of abandoned traffic, but there was heavy damage from looters, and even the animal
population hadn’t been spared. The town’s dog pound was the site of a horrific battle that made Adrian drive faster past the decaying canine and human cadavers
littering the charred, glassless, brick complex.
Like the other towns they’d been to, Kemmerer had a lot of bodies, dozens of rotting, gruesome corpses, and Adrian was glad to see that none of them slowed
obvious signs of radiation sickness. The town itself held burnt frames, broken windows, looted stores, but no wrecked military vehicles, no kicked-in doors. Apparently
riots, not the Draft, had conquered this American town.
The parking lot at Sage Lanes was deserted until they pulled in, and Adrian steered into the hard breeze as he keyed his mic, “Back the Mess truck up near the
door. Supply trucks in the rear. Double the watch. Eagles ten, seven, and twelve, secure our campsite. Eagle Three, escort and assist Kenn. Everyone else, stand by.”
Adrian stepped inside with a frown, running his eyes over arcades, cleaning machines, rows of welded-down tables and hard swivel chairs behind racks of balls and
lined-up pins at the end of wide, dust-covered lanes. The maroon carpet, its fine layer of sand devoid of footprints, led to separate bar and food areas, their wooden
counters and brick walls covered with glittery signs and unopened party favors. Tired of seeing the heartbreaking reminders of a world gone by, Adrian’s sharp gaze
picked out mouse droppings on the bar, a ceiling full of New Year’s confetti, and he nodded as calls of ‘all clear’, echoed.
“It’ll do. Set us up.”
3
Kenn set the mouse trap in the corner, hitching up jeans, as he stood, aware that they were no longer too tight. He watched Doug and Neil move toward the steps
leading to the basement, about to do a second sweep. The limping redhead in the green army jacket was shaking long, wild hair in response to the tall, thin Trooper, and
Kenn caught Zack’s eye.
Reading him easily (the career trucker now wore the clothes of a rookie Eagle trying to make Level One status) Zack trotted quickly across the wide, dusty room.
“Hey, Neil, wait up. I got a question about yesterday’s lesson.”
Satisfied there would be no unauthorized plotting done with the rookie’s nosey eyes on them, Kenn ran a hand over his neck-length black hair. “Next?”
It took the camp nearly an hour to get everything inside and set up. Dozens of lanterns gave the spacious room a dim, flickering light and a harsh odor that Adrian
knew wouldn’t mix well with the other smells they would create. He hung smoke detectors, air-fresheners, and signs requesting that the bathroom doors be kept closed,
then headed to the basement while the camp ate lunch and picked out their sleeping areas - women and kids away from the doors and windows.
Adrian waved a hand at Kyle, and the stocky Eagle fell in step. The two men kept their eyes open as they moved down the long, dark hall, flashlights on their belts
casting eerie shadows.
“You been back out since we got here?”
“Few minutes ago. Looks like snow moving in from the South. Temperature’s dropping fast,” Kyle wasn’t exactly gunning for the Marine, but he’d never trust him,
never be one of his many supporters. He liked it that Kenn had been behind the 8 ball, even if only for a few hours. “Don’t think it’ll hold till dark.”
“It won’t matter, if Kenn can get the lights and heat on.”
Adrian’s words were still hanging in the chilly air when a deep rumble started under their feet, rattling the whole building. It grew steadily louder, drawing yells as
dust began to fly from vents, and then changed to a long, loud hiss that died out gradually. There were a few seconds of tense silence and Adrian waited in the darkness
with his hand on his holster as he listened to the unease of his herd.
The rumbling came again, much quieter this time, and the two males got moving, grinning when the dusty bulbs overhead flickered halfheartedly, then began to glow,
bright and beautiful. They now had electricity.
A hearty cheer went through the bowling alley, echoing to Kenn and Neil, who had heard voices in the dark and drawn their guns. No one else was allowed down
here. Relaxing when Adrian and Kyle came into view, Kenn flipped a switch as he reholstered, killing the lights and drawing a loud moan of protest from upstairs.
“What about heat?”
The Marine smothered a curse, wiping sweat from his eye. “Our cords aren’t strong enough. We need something heavy duty. After that, should just be a matter of
bleeding out the system. We’ll have to make sure all the outside vents and ducts stay clear.”
To Kenn’s pleasure, Adrian wrote it down and the two guards watched jealously.
“We passed a big laundromat on the way in. Wouldn’t they have the industrials?”
Kenn was glad it had been Kyle, and not Neil, who made the suggestion. He and the mobster got along better now - handling Leon together had helped - but he
couldn’t make peace with the state cop at all, and he had officially given up trying.
“Good. Give them the lights back and you guys go get what we need. The space heaters will hold us a bit longer.”
Kenn got another cheer when he flipped the switch.
Though they were grinning as they went up the hall together, under real lights for the first time in nine weeks, it was an odd feeling. None of them spoke until they got
to the loading docks where the trucks were neatly lined up.
The guards tensed when they saw the four men come out of the dock doors and immediately began sweeping the landscape harder, paying more attention. Kenn’s
words had indeed drawn them to an awareness of their unique positions in his army, but it was Adrian’s guidance, his strong leadership, they were protecting, and in
doing so, were securing their own places in this hard new world. Kenn had eyes on Adrian almost all the time now. Even the new guy, Seth, was doing it, without even
being an Eagle. The guards were all relieved when Adrian went back inside where it was safer. To these men, their leader was invaluable. He was the last of his kind,
and no one could take his place.
4
By dark, Adrian's camp was being fed, and those finished were taking their turn on the 25 lanes that Kenn and Doug had managed to get working. Beautiful, warm
heat was gushing out of the vents while snow fell heavily outside, and nearly everyone who had cracked a joke had now given Kenn apologetic words and claps on the
back for saving them. If they had been caught out in the open, even a little snow and cold might have cost them lives. There were a lot of questions, but the story of
hearing it on the radio had already flown through the camp, and Kenn was glad not to have to repeat it. One lie was already going to be too much.
Adrian, Kenn, Kyle, Doug, and Neil were sitting at a round table on the top deck of the bowling alley. The Eagles were watching, laughing, and letting the camp
have their fill first, but the leader’s eyes were on his right-hand man.
Kenn was playing with a new deck of cards, fanning them out in different shapes and scooping them back up like a pro. His face was pale, uncomfortable, and at
that moment, Adrian found it hard to accept that the Marine might be...special. Loyal and hardworking? Yes. Psychic? No, and it wasn’t because Adrian didn’t believe
in it. He did, deeply, and while he longed for one of his circle to have such a gift, he just couldn’t place it with Kenn.
Then how did he know? Adrian asked himself the important question, and the blunt, quick answer made him frown. Kenn was in contact with someone not in
this camp, and he was either lying, or about to.
Almost as if Neil had picked up on that thought, Adrian’s most steadfast man turned to the quiet Marine, unable to hold back any longer. “So, come on, Kenn.
How’d you know?”
Neil’s question had the attention of the entire table and the Marine dropped his eyes. “I’d rather not say.”
“Why? You’re the hero now,” Todd insisted.
Kenn didn’t look up. “You won’t believe me.”
There was a thick silence as everyone looked at Adrian, and Kenn understood his moment of betrayal had come when those sharp eyes turned to him, searching.
He sucked in a breath. “I feel things...sometimes," he said carefully, not looking up.
It was the answer Adrian wanted, the magic he’d been looking for, but it fell awkwardly from the Marine’s lips. He was right. None of them believed it.
“Oh.”
“Okay.”
No one questioned though, that was Adrian’s chore, and the leader said nothing yet, still evaluating.
“Who’s ready to bowl?” Kenn asked cheerfully, distracting he hoped.
All but Adrian agreed and started getting up. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up after I make rounds.”
Kenn opened his mouth to offer his company and snapped it shut, sensing Adrian’s unease. Let the boss man have some time to think about how big an advantage
it would be to have a bad weather alarm that was never wrong. With that skill on his list, he’d never lose his place here.
"Until the real deal comes," his mind reminded, and Kenn pushed it away. She wouldn’t make it this far west even with help. There was no way one of her weakassed
hospital friends could keep two people alive through a thousand miles of this. She might even be dead now. Kenn grinned widely and went to be admired by his
followers.
Adrian did continue to think about it, not how great it would be, but about the lie they’d just been told. He stood inside the glass doors, watching the snow fall
harder, feeling the alert eyes of the guards on him as his mind worked it. Clearly it wasn’t true. The Marine was in contact with someone, and he didn’t want them here.
That was the only thing that made sense. Why?
Because they know the old Kenny, he guessed, frown growing. They knew what Neil suspected, and Kenn was leaving them out there to die, rather than bring
them to safety and deal with it. Adrian’s face darkened. If that were true, he would have to change his plans for their future. By his own actions, the Marine would be
unworthy. The one Adrian left leadership to needed to value life the way he did.
The thick, dark flakes fell harder, and Adrian pushed Kenn from his mind for the moment as he looked over what there was to see of the town around them.
Pleased to see his Eagles doing Recon nearby, taking pictures, and widening the perimeter as they’d been taught, he concentrated. A foot or more - were they prepared
for that? No. Livestock trucks would have to be heated and covered; water and main supply trucks would have to be brought around front. Warmer clothes and shoes
dug out, shovels too. Mind racing, Adrian stepped back inside and began putting his sheep to work.
As Adrian talked to people, got them moving, he noticed Kenn’s boy, Charlie, hanging around. When they were alone for a moment, the leader stepped over to
him, thinking he needed to eat more and have some fun.
“You okay?”
The teenager nodded, but said nothing, and Adrian frowned, lowering his voice.
“You sure? I’m all yours right now.”
Charlie shook his head, eyes saying different. “No big deal. Just bored.”
Dark circles under the teenager’s eyes showed he still wasn’t sleeping well, but Adrian was encouraged that he wasn’t constantly standing at attention anymore.
“Sounds like you need a job.”
The 14-year-old agreed right away and Adrian wondered if he should give him make work or something that really mattered.
“Something that matters?”
Adrian nodded, smiling, “Everything matters now, son. I’ll change your schedule when I do the next set. In the meantime, how about some snow shoveling? We
need to keep a clear path to the trucks.”
There was no reluctance on the boy’s pale face, “Sure. Now?”
“No. We have to get some supplies first. You can beat me up at a game like your dad will, I’m sure,” Adrian joked. He wanted to question the slight grimace that
came over the boy’s face but didn’t.
“Sure. Can I be on your team?”
“Absolutely. Lane 17 in half an hour. Bring coffee.”
Charlie shoved his hands into the deep pockets of the baggy, hooded shirt he wore over dusty jeans and left Adrian alone in the dim hallway outside the main office.
The leader watched him go, almost certain the child had wanted to scream at him. That Kenn wasn’t his dad, maybe? Adrian yawned and stepped into the cool
darkness. It was yet another sign something wasn’t right with his newest man, and it didn’t occur to him until later to replay their conversation and listen to the way the
boy seemed to read his mind.
Adrian moved inside the stale darkness of the office, but before he could flip on the light, a voice with a fake, southern drawl mocked him, “Avoidin' people is bad
for ya image.”
Adrian turned quickly, an annoyed scowl on his face, and Tonya took a step back at his glare of distaste. “Not if they’re bad news.”
The sexily-dressed redhead gave him a knowing smile. “Wasn’t what ya were sayin' when ya were between my legs.”
His body was tempted, the office pitch black, but his eyes were emotionless, and he returned her mocking tone. “Musta dreamed it. Never happened.”
Tonya gave him a sexy grin, but her green eyes were unsure. “We’re alone. Ya can’t deny it ta' me.”
Adrian gave her a tight smile and sneered confidently, “Yes, I can. Prove it.”
He gave the door a gentle shove with his boot and couldn’t resist a parting blow, voice full of contempt. “Find someone else to spread those legs for. I’m busy.”
“Maybe I will,” Tonya muttered, accent dying as she moved back to her sleeping bag near the basement door, “And maybe you’ll be surprised by who.”
Adrian was more worried about the fiery redhead, than he’d let on and was glad no one had heard their short exchange. He knew she was currently looking for a
way to pay him back, ‘hell hath no fury’ and all that, but even more, her kind had been a bitch before the War, and that hadn’t changed much. Adrian tensed at the
creak of steps outside the barely open door.
“Can I talk to you?”
Adrian flipped on the lights, waved him in. The small room had only a chair and a messy desk, a single filing cabinet in the corner, and a layer of dust on the floor
that they were leaving tracks in. Good thing he hadn’t taken Tonya up on her offer. Those heeled black boots she wore left unmistakable prints and his Eagles were
getting sharper. “What’s on your mind?”
“Kenn.”
Adrian brushed absently at the layer of dust, sitting on a corner of the cluttered desk. “As in, how did he really know?”
The former cop’s green eyes were full of suspicion. “Exactly. Mitch and Matt cover the hell out of that radio. No way that he heard it and no one else did.”
The leader nodded a second time. He’d already gone down this road with himself. The sheep would believe it, though, and that was all that mattered. They would
never hear Kenn’s real answer. “How do you think he knew?”
Neil shrugged, his hat twisting in his restless hands. “I don’t have a clue, and that bothers me. He saved our ass, that’s for sure, and now these people love him,
but…” Neil paused before pushing on carefully. “Something isn’t right with him.”
Adrian lit a smoke, waiting, and the cop looked at the man he respected more than anyone he’d ever known, hoping he wasn’t about to make a big mistake. “I
know he’s your choice, and you have my complete support, but him, I plan to watch. You should know that.”
“Good.”
Neil blinked, and Adrian grinned, stood up to clap him on the shoulder. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
The trooper shook his head, stern face confused. “No. I thought I’d be in trouble.”
Adrian’s pale eyes were serious. “I expected no less. I want to be told about the smallest thing that catches your attention, Eagle. The smallest thing.”
“You know it.”
“He knows what?”
Neither man flinched, but both were caught off guard, and turned with nearly identical frowns. What was it with women and lurking in doorways?
“You need something?” Adrian demanded.
Cynthia’s shrewd brown eyes lost some of their eagerness at his bark and she nodded quickly. “Yes. Sorry. The door was open.”
Adrian went from pissed to bored in seconds, and he stared back at the Asian-American reporter with shuttered eyes and a cold smile. “Yes, it was. What can I
do for you, Ms. Quest?”
The thin brunette looked at Neil, but apparently thought better of asking him to get the hell out. “I have some questions.”
“There’s a surprise,” came his response, and the dry tone made the normally unshakable reporter flush and hesitate, unsure if she should go on. He was a hard man
to read.
“What, Cynthia? Tell me your deepest desires.”
The words hung in the dusty room, and now she was the one caught off guard, unable to give him anything, but the honesty his eyes were insisting on. The truth flew
out of her mouth like a bullet.
“You. What kind of monster were you before? What are you atoning for?”
Cynthia missed Adrian’s flinch, horrified to hear those private words spoken, the ones she wanted known the least, but the trooper noticed it, felt the change in the
man at his side.
Neil scowled darkly, automatically protecting his boss. “None of that old shit matters anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. Only our survival does. You should
wake up before you piss off the wrong person and find yourself on the outs. See ya later, Boss.”
Adrian watched Cynthia step hurriedly back as the angry trooper moved past and there was a tense silence where he let her squirm for a long moment.
“You have questions?” he asked finally.
Glad he was willing to pretend she hadn’t crossed the line when they both knew she had, Cynthia took a small step inside the dusty office. “Yes. I’d like to
volunteer to teach a class when you get them going.”
Adrian’s cool eyes never left hers, and she could feel his pull, her woman’s body softening under his gaze. “Maybe a teacher's aide or something?”
Adrian opened his notebook and wrote it down, and Cynthia held herself in check. She was hard too, an old dirt-digger, but she wasn’t immune to his spell any
more than Kenn or Neil were. Just like them, she wanted to be close to Adrian, wanted to be useful.
“What class?”
The reporter controlled herself tightly, itching to ask, demand, trick, trap, and badger until he broke, but knew he wouldn’t, even if she didn’t care about being
banished, which she did. He wasn’t like the others, wasn’t part of Before, as far as she knew, and treating him like he was, wouldn’t work. “I’m quick at basic math
and I have a Pulitzer Prize for my writing. That should be worth something, right? My contribution to your New America.”
Instead of correcting her wording as he might have done with nearly anyone else, Adrian used the moment to pay back just a little of what she’d given him. “And,
what do you get out of it? How are you benefited?” he mimicked her accusing tone perfectly.
She flushed, but didn’t drop her eyes. “The chance to teach a journalism class once we get settled somewhere.”
“You realize that’s a camp vote, because of the material?”
Cynthia’s brown eyes were bitter as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Why do you think I came to you? With your support, they’d agree to
almost anything.”
He didn’t confirm or deny, but was pleased she knew it. Cynthia had been a White House reporter before the War, a dangerously good one, and while she had
only been here a few weeks, she already understood how things worked. Then, there was Tonya. She'd been with him since Nevada and still had no clue how to legally
get what she wanted.
“Deal. And just maybe, I’ll have more important things for you later. If you’re interested?”
Cynthia agreed right away, surprised, suspicious, and he smiled at her, one of his genuinely beautiful moments that made her heart thump. There wasn’t a man in
camp who could compare.
“Anything else?”
“Yes. I’d like to go the mall across the street. I’m out of supplies.”
“Alone?”
Cynthia hesitated again, not wanting to tell him she hadn’t really made any friends yet. She did have the eye of one of his guards, but she said nothing. Jeremy was
on duty outside and would never leave his post.
“No one wants to walk in a blizzard just for notebooks and pens,” he guessed. Then surprised her again. “It’s nasty out there. I might be able to find you an escort.”
Adrian watched her quickly hide the relief in her eyes, and was glad to know the Ice Queen could feel fear too. They had found her sleeping in a school bus, and
she hadn’t hesitated to speak her mind even then, alone, with only one bullet left in her gun.
“That would be great. I’ll be ready when they are.”
He looked at his watch, thinking she wore too much perfume. The room now reeked of flowers she’d probably never even seen. “The truck leaves in ten minutes.
Kenn and the Eagles are heading over to collect our reserves. You’ll be expected to help and do what you’re told.”
“No problem. Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
“No. See you later.”
Cynthia left quickly, glad she’d heard good words about her future here, but disappointed she hadn’t gotten anything new. She still had no clue who he had been
before and that question ate at her some nights. If it was the last thing she did, she would find out.
Adrian watched her go, thinking he would reward Neil for the unknowing distraction, but she wasn’t going to give up because of a warning or even a mysterious
possible offer somewhere down the line. Cynthia was going to keep digging, keep watching, and he would have to be careful. Because that female was smart enough to
figure out his puzzle if given enough pieces.
Hearing footsteps near the door again, Adrian looked up with a frown. One of the new men, Seth Daniels, appeared, green eyes much more excited than his even
tone. “We think something’s happening outside. It sounds wrong.”
Adrian immediately got up, reaching for his jacket.
Seth moved aside to let him through. “I guess you know I was an undercover cop, before. I’d make a good Eagle.”
Adrian met his eye as they went up the dim hall. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
Seth nodded, dropped back to allow him the lead. “I’ll be here.”
As they neared the front, glass doors of the alley, Adrian stopped, listening to the noises growing louder, closer.
Crunch...Snap!
Recognizing the sound, his eyes widened, and he waved to Kenn and Kyle, “Get them all in the hall, bring the heaters! Perimeter men too!”
The next three minutes were total panic and chaos as a hundred sheep ran for the cover of the windowless hallway. Adrian watched with worried eyes, hoping the
generators wouldn’t freeze, but there wasn't time to bring them inside.
Heavy tree limbs were snapping off, slamming into banks of ashy, black snow, and when the windows in the mall across the street began to shatter, the din of fear
increased. Adrian moved the Eagles to the front and rear of the terrified crowd, keeping his herd together.
Not as severe as in other places, the wave of freeze didn’t take out all of the bowling alley’s glass. Layers of plastic and mats were sealed over drafty doorways,
and the temperature inside continued to climb despite the below zero winds that forced the guards to watch from the few trucks that hadn’t frozen. Because of Kenn
and Adrian, more than a hundred people were saved, and the camp relaxed quickly, went back to enjoying the light and heat when Adrian led them out.
5
The noise in the 34 lane alley was almost deafening, awful, and totally beautiful to those making it. Pins fell, balls thumped and rolled, voices talked, laughed, argued.
Arcades dinged wildly, music blared from the speakers, and outside, snow fell in heavy sheets, blanketing everything. Other than the guards now watching from snowcovered
trucks and the plastic hanging all over the inside of the alley, it was as if the crisis hadn’t happened. Adrian was pleased that they had handled it so well.
Chris, Daryl, and Jeremy were the only Eagles on guard outside, all Level Two, and very uneasy as they kept the rest of those on duty alert. The noise was loud
even through the muffling effect of the snow storm, and the lights glared out in the darkness. If anyone was still around here, they were hearing and seeing it too.
Temperatures hovered in the low teens as full darkness settled over the slick, ashy gray town, and the supply trucks couldn’t be seen after only crossing the street.
When they returned promptly, it wasn’t just Adrian who was relieved. The Eagles came in with quick steps, arms loaded with warmer clothes and boots, and with
boxes of extras, like books and music, all of them eager for the warmth and comfort of camp. This town, like so many others they had come through, was full of the
dead and empty of signs of life.
The guards changed shifts at dinnertime and their fresh eyes swept the blowing darkness around their people, as uneasy as the last men had been, but inside there
was confidence. Kenn would get the credit for the good day, but it was Adrian who had listened, Adrian who had made the right choice, and once again, his people
were safe because of it.
Kemmerer appeared to be empty, but it wasn’t. The noise of Adrian’s camp was a reminder of happier, lost times, and it rang through the small town, drawing the
attention of the 30 or so people hiding there. They existed mostly in basements and schools now, connected by walkie-talkies. By 10 p.m., a small group of these
survivors had gathered, agreed to beg for help. Their town was dead around them, and while they were hoping the Alley people were from the government, they knew it
wasn’t likely, and were willing to settle for just normal survivors who could offer them a little hope for the future.
6
“Strike! Beat that kid!”
Adrian sat down to record his score as Charlie stepped up to the sparkling, confetti-covered lane, and the leader was glad he’d had Zack cut it down before dinner.
He hadn’t wanted his sheep trying to eat while the party decorations had hung over them like a neon sign that said "Your world is dead, you’ll never get this back."
All the other reminders had already been put in bags and tossed in the dumpster.
Adrian hid a wince as all the pins fell again, grinning instead. He had a terrible headache, longed to spend some time in his silent semi, but it pleased him to see
everyone happy and he wouldn’t tell them to tone it down for a while. They needed this, and right now, he was trying not to get skunked by a 14-year-old with the arm
of a pro. The boy was better than Kenn.
That thought made Adrian look around, and he was a bit surprised not to see the Marine. Kenn liked to be the life of the party, and when he wasn’t, he was
working on things they needed. Was he back in the basement? Suddenly anxious, Adrian stood up, meaning to send someone for him. That ripple of unease grew as
heavy footsteps echoed over the noise of the din before he could.
“Adrian! Headlights!”
Jeremy and Seth were running toward him, people moving out of the way, and everyone stopped to watch, to hear. Strikes and cups fell unnoticed as men went for
their guns, his herd watching nervously to see if they should stampede.
His eyes found Neil and Kyle in the twitchy crowd. When he motioned, the men went quickly to the front doors, and both of their teams fell in behind them without
being called. This was their job.
Adrian pulled the plug on the music and looked over his scared camp, the silence almost a relief. “If you’ve passed the gun class, form a line inside the door. Do not
draw your weapon. Get behind the guards. Everyone else, stay behind them.”
Aware of Seth on his heels, Adrian pulled on his jacket as he went out and opened his holsters, taking the safety off both guns. Just in case. He was hoping for
survivors, but the odds were high they had drawn a threat instead, and he would die defending his sheep if he had to.
7
Down in the basement of the alley, where most of the bulbs were burnt out, Kenn was checking cords and connections, glad to see nothing overheating. He heard
the music stop and assumed Adrian had tired of the noise. He also noticed the lack of balls and pins falling, but didn’t understand what it meant.
“All by your lonesome?”
Kenn’s spin was fast, gun in hand, and Tonya held up a hand, eyes saying she liked it that he was dangerous. “Easy there, big boy. It’s just the one ya been watchin'
when ya thought no one was lookin'.”
Responding to the sexy accent, Kenn reholstered his gun, eyes crawling up slender ankles to creamy thighs. “The party’s upstairs. And I’m no boy.”
Tonya slowly moved towards him, hoping Kenn would be at least half as good as their fearless leader. “I’ve noticed.”
The Marine frowned at her, ears straining to hear if they were really alone. “What do you want?”
Tonya sauntered closer. “I never got to congratulate you on making XO.” She wiggled a finger, other hand slowly sliding her short skirt up, and Kenn didn’t
hesitate, his need overflowing.
Tonya melted against him, lips finding that sensitive spot on his neck, and he lit up, arching against her. Nose full of pot, whiskey, and woman, he locked their
mouths together. He’d gone without for a long time.
Head spinning, Kenn grunted as his jeans fell to his ankles and groaned as Tonya’s soft hand closed over his hard flesh like a glove. His eyes closed as her lips slid
from his neck, and his big hands tangled in her thick curls, pushing her to her knees. If anyone had come down the hall, it would have been too late to hide, but luck was
with them and they remained alone while Adrian met the new people.
8
“Where?” Adrian stepped into the storm, Doug and Neil flanking him, but didn’t really need them to point out what could only be the headlights of a big truck
moving carefully through the heavy snow. Adrian’s gut immediately said sheep and he turned to Doug, storing the fact that Kenn was still nowhere to be seen. “Tell the
doctor he has patients and put up tents in the lea of the building. Get some heaters in them too. Also have...Maria, start a fresh batch of meals.”
The big Gulf War Vet was still scribbling the information down and as he and Neil moved away, they were dividing up the list. Adrian watched the semi get closer to
the only part of the alley’s entrance that was still visible through the eight inches of gray slush. Their noise had drawn more of his own and he wanted them, but maybe,
just maybe, there was another of his circle in that truck, too.
“Get everyone back inside. This is now a quarantine zone!” Adrian barked to the Eagle on his flank.
Kyle waved his men over, and Adrian watched the semi turn into the lot, weaving past deeper looking drifts that were concrete blocks. The inside light of the red rig
was on and he counted four white, middle-aged males crammed inside, their hands in plain view.
“Lesson three, Eagles. Move.”
Nothing happened for a second and then Kyle, drawing his Glock, stepped forward. “Weapons out. Don’t shoot unless I do.”
The other eight men immediately dropped back to form a neat, wide V-shape in front of Adrian, aiming their guns at the truck’s huge tires.
The driver reacted fearfully, gears squealed in protest as the semi shuddered to a stop about 40 feet away, sliding a little in the thick slush.
Adrian nodded, pleased. “Very good.” He said nothing else, only waited.
Kyle stepped forward. “Secure and disarm. Move out.”
They went in a hurry, like the professionals from before the War, and the faded truck was surrounded before Adrian finished grinding out his smoke.
9
“Damn, that was good. Wanna do it again.”
Kenn grinned, nodding against her sweaty neck as his body twitched inside hers. He slowly moved out of her slick depths and let her slide down the wall, mouth
running before enough blood had made it back to his brain to allow thinking. “Later. We got lucky no one came down.”
Tonya hadn’t expected to be claimed right away, but his obvious reluctance hurt her, drew claws seeking a taste of his blood. “They’re busy in the parking lot,
talking to the new people.”
Her green eyes were lit up with satisfaction and spite. “He’ll wonder where you were, but he’ll understand leadership comes with...perks.”
Tonya’s tone was gloating, and Kenn kept himself from hitting her by only a hair. Tonya seemed to sense it and ducked under his arm, moving away.
“If I lost ground, I’ll claim you to make you pay. Don’t ever come between us again! You’ll be sorry.”
Tonya acted unafraid, though inside she knew he wasn’t bluffing, and the greedy redhead gave him a seductive smile as she fixed her clothes, tossed him his shirt. “I
won’t. You gonna...cum to me tonight?” she asked, eyeing his chest as he pulled the shirt on over mussed hair.
Kenn jerked her up against his hard body, grinding his mouth against hers. Her arms curled around his neck and Kenn tasted her again before shoving her away.
“Yeah. Here, late. I’ll bring a blanket.”
10
“Hi! I’m Chris. This is Tim, Carter, and Paul. We live here.” The man paused, eyes full of horror. “Or at least we did. Now we hide here.” The thin face was lined
with worry, and Kyle waved toward Adrian.
“Hand over that shotgun and you can talk to the Boss.”
Chris did, with little hesitation and motioned for the others to do the same. “Give ‘em up, boys.”
The other three were less trusting, and without their guns, they all looked scared and desperate. Heavy beards and thin bodies said they were, and Adrian greeted
them with friendly, compassionate tones, handshakes hiding his disappointment. Only sheep in this batch, no shepherds.
“I’m Adrian. Welcome to Safe Haven. You come in peace?”
All the thinly-jacketed men nodded, but Chris was clearly in charge and they let him speak. “You bet your ass. Peace and hope.”
Adrian grinned, aware of Seth’s disappointed face as he waited by the front doors with the others who weren’t Eagles. Whoever the undercover cop was looking
for, he already sensed they weren’t with these people.
“Then you’re welcome here. What do you need?”
Relief fell over the man’s face, and he let out a sigh, “Help, son. We need help.”
“We need food! They’re starving!” Paul blurted.
The other three men turned to stare disapprovingly at Paul’s red face, before turning back to Adrian.
“I’ll beg if I have to. We’re dying,” pleaded Chris, shame in his tired brown eyes.
Adrian shook his head, words full of conviction, “Not another one of you if I can help it. We offer you sanctuary so long as you follow the rules. Be sure, though.
We consider ourselves a Red Cross convoy and we gather survivors while we search for safety. Travel four days out of seven, sometimes more.”
All of them nodded again, eyes relaxing a little at his words, and while Adrian was glad to see they weren’t a problem, he knew he wouldn’t be finding any of his
own in this group. They were clearly in need and he would help them, but damn it, where was his help?
Neil leaned close, whispered, and the four townspeople moved back nervously as Adrian turned to them with scowling eyes. “Who’s in the truck?”
Their faces fell at the accusing tone, and Chris hurried to explain. “Our families. We couldn't leave them while we came to talk to you. It’s not safe here.”
“Or anywhere else. You should have mentioned them already.”
Adrian gave Neil a look that said to watch them, and moved to the rear of the long vehicle before the man could defend himself. All four of the locals followed at a
distance, very aware of guards who had yet to reholster their weapons.
“Eagles. What is part B of lesson three?”
There was silence, and then Kyle’s dismayed voice. “Never assume cargo area is empty. Approach and handle as if it is full of the enemy.” They hadn’t secured the
entire threat.
“No harm this time, and while you’ve done okay, this won’t be considered a success. Open these doors.”
Knowing they’d all just lost Level Three status, Kyle smothered his own disappointment to unlock the heavy door and shoved it upward. He took a quick look,
nodding calmly, and then moved back to allow Adrian inside.
The reek of unwashed bodies hit them hard, but the slicked-back hair and messy braids told Adrian they’d at least attempted to make themselves presentable. He
looked hard at their worried and hopeful eyes, seeing hunger, but not starvation; need, but not the desperation the four men had alluded to. Why the lie? Protection from
the gangs? He could provide a little of that.
“Eagles, these are our newest camp members. We’re going to feed them, give them medical care, and protect them. In return, they’re going to follow our rules and
help each other survive.”
The women and children - there were only two, but Adrian was glad to have them anyway - were huddled on blankets on the truck’s dirty floor, the elderly sitting in
chairs with pillows and blankets. The oldest among them, her long, white hair almost silver, raised a thin, arthritic arm. “Will ya help an old woman up, young man?”
Adrian and Kyle moved at the same time, gentle with her, Seth on the footrails to assist. “Yes Ma’am, and so will any of us. Eagles, assembly line and someone find
out how long before the food’s ready. Welcome to Safe Haven. May it become your home.”
When the truck was empty, Adrian went to Chris, who was still waiting by the tailgate.
“You lose your men and boys to the Draft?”
The man nodded, dropping his eyes to the left. “Half our females too.”
Adrian frowned. What else was he lying about?
“Thank you for taking us in. I’ll make sure they behave.”
“No, you won’t. That’s my job now.”
Chris gave in quickly, meeting his eyes with relief, “And thank you for that too. I thought I wanted to be in charge, but I’m not enough, and I give it up with a grateful
heart.”
Chris on his heels, Adrian moved toward the fullest tent, glad the doctor wasn’t being overwhelmed, and when Kenn appeared at his side, Adrian said nothing
about his tardiness.
“We now have 28 new camp members. This is Chris. This is Kenn, my second in command. There’s little he can’t handle, so if you need something, he’s the one to
talk to. We’ll need names, ages and occupations, and they’ll need the medications John prescribes, lists of rules, clothing, and sleeping gear for tonight. Chris will go
with you to get them settled. They’ll also need porto-cans and some kids to run errands for them - your boy too, if you’re all right with it.”
Adrian paused to let him catch up and took in the messy hair, the corner of his shirt untucked. If Kenn found a woman here, all the better. “We’ll work out tent
arrangements first. Double the watch again and tell everyone inside to go back to what they were doing. Lights out at 1 a.m.”
11
The tired leader was back in the office hours later, writing in his journal, and looked up at yet another creak of footsteps outside the open door - where over a
hundred of his sheep were resting, finally calm enough to sleep.
“You busy?”
“Nope. What’s up?”
Charlie hesitated, took a step inside, but only after looking up and down the dim hall first. “I heard something while I was shoveling…about the new people.”
The question was there and Adrian nodded. “Tell me.”
“It wasn’t the Draft. They left to find help.”
Adrian’s sharp mind added up the clues. “They tried to stop them? Made them run?”
Charlie's voice was low. “Some of them escaped, and died. They chained them.”
Angry, Adrian asked before he knew he was going to. “Should they be allowed to stay?” Once it was out, he didn’t pull it back, waiting for this curious child’s
decision.
Charlie shrugged, aware that it had become his choice, but not why or how. “They’re sorry. They hope some of them might come back, left them notes about us.”
Adrian considered. Sometimes guilt would make changes where little else could, and sometimes your instinct was all you had. The boy thought they should be
allowed to stay, would feel guilty if his words got them thrown out. “It’s not always wrong now, death. Your mom might tell you that, I think.”
Adrian was taking a big guess and knew he was right by the silence. If it were anything else, he would have denied wanting his mother.
Charlie hesitated, lonely and wanting to trust, but his fear of Kenn was as big as his mother's and it made him turn away without saying any of the things he wanted
to, without offering a ...special, kind of help.
Kenn was busy getting the new people settled and his mood was good despite missing his rendezvous with Tonya. He had plenty of help without having to ask and
the Marine was confident his place here was sealed. Right-hand man belonged to him now, had all along according to Adrian, but the camp’s approval could make or
break you, and now he had it.
Adrian’s other men, those who had been here longer (and still wanted what was no longer available) tried not to be bitter or hateful, accepting that Adrian saw
something in the Marine that they did not, something they themselves were lacking. Their desire for Adrian’s approval and recognition would make them uneasy and
awkward with Kenn at times, but only Neil had spoken against it and not openly. Adrian had made his choice, and now Kenn could openly give what the job demanded
- everything.
Chapter Five
February 25th, 2013
Pitcairn Island
1
Kendle’s exile in the wilderness lasted for 60 days and 60 nights, and then, as suddenly as her nightmare had begun, it was over. The small, weathered speedboat
washed up on a sandy shore while she slept, and it was the painful twisting and cramping of her stomach that woke her.
The adventurist crawled clumsily to the side of the boat with her eyes still closed and retched until her belly was empty and her throat burned. She didn’t notice the
lack of motion that was causing her misery and dipped her hand to splash her face, crying a little at the abrupt beginning to her day. Instead of debris-filled waves, there
was only the warm wetness of her vomit and the hard grit beneath it.
Caw! Caw!
Kendle’s eyes flew open. Trees, thick and green, waving over a vast, sandy beach, greeted her.
Birds called curiously above her head, flew into the thick palm trees with annoyed chirps, and she blinked, smelling fragrant flowers and earth. Her eyes went to
steep, green and orange cliffs, and hills of waving trees. Land?
Kendle stood up in a quick, jerky movement and her stomach twisted again, knocking her off her feet and out of the boat. Her hands and legs flailed, tried to keep
herself afloat, and she hit the sand with a hard thud that knocked out the instinctive breath she’d sucked in. She lay on the warm, dry beach, coughing and crying as she
cradled her aching stomach. Land! She was on land!
Kendle forced her shaking knees together and stood on dirt for the first time in eight weeks, her muscles protesting as they struggled to hold her up. Her entire body
felt weak, wrong, and she swiped distractedly at tears. She hadn’t thought she would ever feel safe again, and her eyes repeatedly returned to the bright green treetops.
She was on land! She could survive here.
The model-turned-actress forced her new legs to carry her into the hated floating coffin for her meager supplies, swearing it would be a long time before she got
back into one. She’d been afraid to fly before, but what was a quick, fiery plane crash compared to the hell she had lived through?
It took Kendle a while to gather her things and she cringed each time the rough surf caressed the battered boat, terrified the waves would pull her back out. She
picked the middle of three paths into the dense jungle, and dragging the pillowcase behind her, began to walk, heart lighter than it had been since losing her sister. Her
tender feet protested the cool, sharp, forest floor and the pain sent joy rushing through her. She knew how to survive in this world. She was safe!
2
Luke Johnson gently set his pole into the small holder he’d dug in the lush paddle grass, absently watching his line twitch as a fish toyed with his bait. He leaned
back, clear eyes full of worry, as bees and other fat insects buzzed around the beach and moved on, drawn to the waves rushing ashore with more garbage.
The monthly supply plane hadn’t come since December, and they hadn’t been able to raise anyone on any of the CB’s or satellite phones. And now, Frank hadn’t
shown up for their annual week together. The two men had forged a strong bond in the jungles of Vietnam and the retired pilots, who’d both been shot down and lived
through 18 months in the same POW camp, never missed their week together. Not once in 30 years.
The retired soldier stood up to stretch, wishing he had one of those internet hookups all the tourists had been attached to last summer. It was just a little black case
that opened up like a Battleship game. Sometimes technology was great, but out here, it was nearly nonexistent.
This island was about as cut off from civilization as anyone could get. The whole island had only one bay for ships, the rugged cliffs foreboding, and there wasn’t a
single telephone line. The lack of communication to the outside world was frustrating sometimes, the island taking back as much as it gave, but for the most part, it was
why people came here and stayed. “It makes us uneasy though.”
Luke thought of the silent Coast Guard, who they could normally hear even during storms, and then the ocean itself. Not one cruise liner in the distance and he’d
know, he was on the ‘traffic’ side of the beach most of every day - fishing, reading, swimming…forgetting. There was nothing but static and debris. Pitcairn Island
seemed to have been completely forgotten.
It wasn’t a crisis here. The 61 people calling this tropical paradise home had learned to pull their needs gently from the land around them, but it was causing unrest
and lowly-spoken conversations in town. What had happened to their old lives? Blown away? Luke nodded, almost sure. He’d spent time in a war zone and knew the
signs. No contact, strange sunsets, rough storms despite it not being the season, and of course, all the debris.
The water levels had risen, bringing in load after load of garbage until they’ had to expand the town dump. Even now, Bounty Bay was alive with crawling crabs,
booby birds, and broad-winged albatrosses that were pillaging the trash. The explosions that had left behind this much wreckage had surely cost lives, he thought,
packing up his gear. What the hell had happened? Had America gone to war and lost?
Sinking below a green and purple sky, the dim sun cast hues of blue and orange over the waves, the beauty almost hypnotic. Luke turned on his flashlight as he
headed back to his one room cabin to brush his grill and hit the rack. He suspected the entire world was AFU and while there hadn't been any proof, he'd already
begun to grieve for his country. He wanted to know for sure and planned to be on the north beach at daylight with the town’s strongest CB.
3
LJ found Kendle before he hit the beach and recognized her immediately in spite of her rough condition. He had noticed her tracks, followed them on a whim, and
now stood quietly in front of the crude shelter, thinking it looked very sturdy for being handmade.
Shoe strings around thick branches formed a frame, a green tarp covered with Johnson grass for a roof, palm leaves as the walls. She’d even dug a drainage ditch
to keep drier. It was clever. This 26-year-old female of mixed parentage was clearly no timid brunette, though right now she didn’t seem much like the outgoing,
vivacious woman he’d watched on TV either.
The thin, infamous woman sleeping barefoot and restless inside her shelter, would probably come to the chin of his 6’1” frame and she looked sick. Her short black
curls were sun-streaked, as were her long, dark lashes, and her skin was an unnatural shade of red that made him frown. Where had she come from? He knew
everyone in this community and the Survival Challenge star wasn’t a resident.
Kendle woke slowly, mind and body protesting. Her inner alarm had jolted her, telling her she wasn’t alone, something she had been for so long that there was no
mistaking it. The man’s lean shadow (and it was a man, she felt that clearly) was blocking the sun from her eyes and she groaned as she sat up, stomach rolling. Had a
boat found her? Was she rescued?
Her haunted, bluish-gray eyes locked on the tall, leafy greenness behind him, where a teal fruit dove sat on a low branch, watching them anxiously. Tears welled as
she remembered. She was on land!
“You real?” she croaked, slowly climbing to her feet and he nodded, watching the pulse in her neck pound.
“As can be. Luke Johnson, LJ, at your service.”
Kendle stumbled forward on shaky legs and fell into his plaid-covered arms, sobbing, and Luke was unable to stop himself from being glad her smell wasn’t strong
despite her faded, mismatched clothes.
“So glad...to see you! Been alone...soo...long!”
There was total horror in those last two words, the kind that drew him instantly. It said she, and she alone, might be able to understand him. He held her close,
forced his mind to stay where it belonged - in the present.
“Sshh... It’s okay.”
Kendle trembled in his arms, tears falling hotly on his weathered skin. “I’m K-K-Kendle Roberts. Nice to meet you.”
Luke grinned as her arms tightened around his waist and he slowly turned them toward his cabin, her heat baking into him. “Likewise. You need a doctor, little girl.
How’s about we go to town and...”
She sagged against him and Luke swung her into his arms, aware she was very sick and might be contagious. The thought didn’t scare him. He’d faced death
before.
Luke headed home, frowning at not only her appearance and heat, but also at how light she was in his arms. His mind connected her to the tides and sunsets,
already sure she was a survivor of whatever had happened…a survivor who might have answers.
A shudder wracked her thin body, and he increased his pace, not out of breath. She weighed almost nothing and he’d maintained a strict workout routine since
exiling himself here.
“Ship's dead,” she croaked, “all dead.”
Her words gave him a chill. Her story would be no cakewalk and as much as he needed to know, he was dreading it.
“You okay, Sweetheart?” There was no response, and once he put her in his bunk and stoked up the fire, he took the dirt bike into town.
4
The next few days were a blur for Kendle as the pneumonia raged and she fought for her life again, her immune system weakened by her exposure to the
radioactive flash. She had only brief periods of alertness, where she tried to tell him what happened, but wasn’t sure if he understood. It was a full week after washing
up on the north beach, that she came to, feeling alert and aware of who and where she was.
Kendle knew instinctively she was alone with the gently snoring man in the recliner closest to her - the fat, loud female healer gone - and she stared at his face in
wonder. He looked so healthy! The sickness hadn’t come here?
She closed her eyes as her head thumped. She was alone, but that death ship was still out there. Would they (she) spread it? Huge tears began to roll down her
cheeks.
The quiet sobs woke LJ from his unsettling dreams. He couldn’t ignore her misery and went to her with his blanket. As he pulled it to her shoulders, her claw-like
hand flew out and locked around his wrist with an iron grip.
“We’re on land?”
Her pain rushed over him, and he longed to erase the desperation in her panicked eyes. “In my cabin, on Pitcairn island.”
More tears slid out, and when the Island Outcast held his arms open, she went without hesitation, feeling the connection of survival with him.
“You’re safe here, Ms. Roberts. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She nodded against his shoulder, and Luke eased them down, holding her close. He hurt for her, wanted to tell her it would fade in time, but he didn’t. it hadn’t for
him and it had been half a century.
After a while, her tears eased, and her even breathing told him that she had cried herself back to sleep. Her feverish body pressed tightly against his, Luke knew he
should get up, but only pulled the blankets over them and let her warm nearness lull him into a slumber that was, for once, without nightmares of being stalked by his
mistakes.
Chapter Six
March 5th, 2013
Outside Versailles, Illinois
1
Angela flinched as Marc slammed the hatch on his Blazer, trying to get it to close over the full load of gear in the back.
“Can’t we do something else? What can you teach me that won’t land me on my back?”
Brady swallowed his first thought, and said, “How about a new weapon today, instead of hand-to hand? We could try a knife or even a crossbow. I have one.”
“Okay. Knives are quiet.”
Before she could blink, he drew the blade from his muddy boot and threw it where it landed deep in a nearby oak tree, the handle vibrating. “They’re also deadly.”
She watched him pull it out with a smooth motion.
“This is a K-BAR, Marine combat knife. You try.”
Unsure, Angela took it and threw too quickly. The knife’s hilt bounced off the tree’s rough bark and skidded across the ground, landing in the damp dirt. Bracing
for a correction, she was relieved when he got it for her without comment, handed it back.
Angela slowed herself down and tried to aim, but was very nervous with his big body standing just behind her, and the blade sailed past the tree. It skidded into the
dense undergrowth next to the bare squares where their tents had been set up along U.S. 51.
“Sorry. I’ll get it.”
She moved out of his reach fast, wading through the drifts of sticker bushes and he watched her, remembering a blizzard and their house of snow. That had really
been the beginning of them, of stolen, stunning moments and he hadn’t forgotten any of it. Had she?
No, but she didn’t say so and her confused heart distracted her. Angela threw the knife harder than she meant to, wrist twisting. It bounced off the edge of a
different tree and flew back, the sharp edge hitting Marc’s arm. Deflected to the ground, it slid back into the stickers as blood welled.
Angela gasped, taking a fast step back. “I...I’m so sorry! I’ll get my bag.”
She didn’t seem to hear him say it was only a scratch, and when she came back out, he saw her hesitate and knew she expected him to punish her.
“Can you slide your arm out?” She knelt at his feet to dig in her bag, tense body waiting for the blows to begin.
Marc did it quickly, not really in pain despite the increased bleeding from the movement. The air was thick with tension and he watched her closely, sure he was
about to learn something important.
Not seeing him get mad calmed her a bit, and Angie let the doctor take charge, instinctively hoping if she did a good enough job, he wouldn’t hurt her for it. “Bend
down here, please, and keep your arm up.”
He did what she said, eyes watching her face as she tied an elastic band around his upper arm. Blood dripped from his elbow in scarlet splatters as she opened
sterile packages with an ease that told him she’d done it many times. She was a nurse?
Angela dumped water over the wound, and then spent a moment examining the cut. She placed a large gauze pad over it, pressing hard. “Hold this while I thread a
needle.”
She made seven small, neat overlapping stitches, and as she finished, Angela became aware of how close they were standing - of the thick tension around them.
She didn’t look up and her hands shook as she put on the medicated bandage. “I’m sorry, Brady. I guess knives aren’t such a good idea.”
Marc smiled, tossing his torn coat into the Blazer's open window. “We’ll keep working on it. I’ve gotten worse from new recruits.”
She nodded. Kenny would have been using his fists on her right now, for drawing his blood, intentional or not..
“I’m not him.”
Her eyes flew up and he shrugged. “Sometimes, I can see it in your eyes and know what you’re expecting, but that’s not me, not ever, for any reason.”
She sighed, eyes haunted as she allowed herself to open up a bit to him. “I used to know that but I….I can’t help it that I’m afraid.”
“I’m gonna keep proving it to you.” His words were almost a promise, and he grinned. “In the meantime, where’d my knife go, and what in the hell were you aiming
at? A rain drop?”
He moved to look for it and her laughter was good, genuine. “So how much medical training do you have?” he asked casually and frowned when her tone
immediately became defensive.
“I’m a certified M.D.”
“A real Doctor. I never would have guessed. Didn’t you want to be a writer?”
“Yeah, but I needed something dependable, and I found I could help people who couldn’t figure out what was wrong.”
Brady was still frowning, and when she carefully handed him a pain pill, he surprised her by dry swallowing it without asking what it was. Clearly, he trusted her.
“How can you be something like a Doctor and a battered woman at the same time?” The question was out of Marc’s mouth before he could stop it.
She flushed, but didn’t drop her eyes. “We often become masters of disguise - to do anything else, means bringing the wrath down on your head.” She looked at
him with her head held high. “And I had good reasons to keep my head down and do what he said. My innocent son.”
“What about him? Wasn’t it a challenge to his… authority, to have you be a doctor?”
“He would say it’s because of our deal, that I had no choice but to go back to work because he said so. That’s partly true, but mostly, it was the money. He hated
my name on the check, but he didn’t hate spending it on war games or a new gun. He insisted I finish my medical training. He said ‘Any woman of his had to
contribute’.”
Marc heard no real bitterness and was offended for her.
“So keeping your career was part of the deal, but not marriage?” he asked, finally seeking confirmation of his suspicion, one he’d been working hard on. He'd never
once heard her say husband. He was unprepared for the wall of guilt her quiet answer caused.
“He wanted it to be, but even then I understood if I said yes, he really would own me.” She turned to look at their surroundings. Corn. “You gonna workout before
we leave?”
“Yes.”
He said nothing when she joined him, help him set it up, but his eyes were full of questions that made her shrug and look away.
She didn't want to tell him (or anyone!) about her baby, but was sure he’d soon know. She wasn’t sure how well she could hold up under the routine he did every
day, but she was about to find out. “I wasn’t ready before.”
He didn’t ask and she was glad, but knew by the look in his eyes that he already had his own suspicions.
“Should you be doing this yet?” Marc knew by her wince he was right, respected her for the quick, honest answer.
“No, probably not.”
“Then why are you? You don’t think I can handle things without your help?”
She frowned, shaking her head. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t have called. To be free, I have to learn, and I can’t do that while I’m resting. Time is a luxury I can’t
afford.”
Marc studied her with cool eyes, but inside she continued to impress him. “Quit when you know you should. I do a hard run and you’ll need to build up to it.” He
was already sure she wouldn’t stop until he did, and when she agreed absently, clearly not listening, he waved a hand at the steady drizzle that had begun to fall. “After
you, my Lady.”
2
“You should go back.”
The rain was hard now, the slick ground throwing up nasty brown sprays with every step.
Angela shook her head, winded. “Not... maxed out yet.”
“Fine.” Marc picked up the tempo like he always did for the last ten minutes, and was surprised when she managed to keep pace. The sit-ups and pushups had
been hard on her, as were the meditation positions, but she hadn’t complained once, and he’d enjoyed her quiet company.
Angela winced as she stumbled against a muddy rock, catching herself awkwardly, and masked her discomfort.
“You okay?”
She nodded, not using her breath for talking, and he frowned. “Damn, stubborn woman.”
It made her smile, gave her the last bit of determination she needed to hang the full hour with him. When the pain began to radiate through her abdomen, she hid that
too.
Marc knew she was struggling as they went over the garbage obstacle course he’d set up, but he didn’t realize how badly until they hit the end and were done.
Angela closed her eyes, body suddenly cold and foreign, and she swayed on her feet, hands going out to clutch at the nearest support. Brady.
He saw her legs start to fold and swung her into his arms, ignoring her feeble protest as he headed for their vehicles. “Angie? You okay?”
She muttered something indecipherable, but gave a nod against his shoulder. “...can walk.”
He ignored her mutters, putting her down only when he got to the door of her 4x4. Her hand grabbed at the handle for support, missed.
“Angie?”
Her lashes fluttered briefly, then she was falling and he was scrambling to catch her.
3
Marc’s handsome face was the first thing she saw as she came to, and his deep frown sent Angela to other waking moments - of not knowing what to expect. Fear
flashed in her eyes, and her hand tried to grab at her gun, before she controlled it. Brady wouldn’t hurt her. She had to believe that.
Marc waited for the fog to leave her hazy eyes, relieved she’d woken so soon but still very worried. She looked weak, the heavy bags under her eyes purple and
black, and he felt his heart clench. One of the things that caused her symptoms was pregnancy. If she was carrying her man’s child, this had just gone from bad, to not
winnable.
“I’m not.”
Marc met her eye. “Say it again and mean it.”
Instead of the anger he wanted, there was only unfathomable grief and he knew before she spoke. There had been another child. She’d been pregnant and her man
still hadn’t come.
“I... I lost a son during the War.”
“Miscarriage?”
She nodded, eyes haunted, voice was emotionless, “It was a lot to handle, and I wasn’t very strong… before.”
It was as close as she’d come to directly mentioning the abuse she’d suffered, and knowing how much she must ache and burn inside allowed him to put her need in
front of his fury. “You were alone?”
“Before, during, and after.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then looked at her, sure she needed to hear these things, and not just in her own head. “You should have died too, right?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and Angela controlled herself, not telling him that she sometimes wished she had. He already knew that. “I’ve assisted in over 50 births at
the hospital. It saved me.”
Marc gave her a gentle, comforting smile in the morning fog that still lingered around the Blazers. “I’m glad.”
She smiled back, wondering who would die when they found her man. There was no way Kenny would miss the sparks that flew when their eyes met.
“Me too, sometimes.” She stood up slowly, waving off his protest.
“You should rest.”
“I’m fine, Brady. I just pushed a little too hard, that’s all. I’ll ease into it from here,” she lied, smoothing her curls back. “This first time, ...I just...” she hesitated, not
telling him the ache to hold her boy was almost as overpowering as her fear, and Marc finished it for her.
“You had to do it all, like me.”
She tried to seal that gaping hole back up, not looking at him. She was maintaining a kind of radio silence with her son to keep Kenny from knowing she was even
alive, let alone where she was, and the lack of contact was awful.
“I needed to prove that I could.”
“Not to me.”
“No. To me.”
4
“We have to make a stop.”
“Copy, on your six.”
Marc wanted to tease her about her near perfect response, but made himself pay attention as he pulled into the deserted, gravel parking area of the Versailles,
Illinois, RV resort.
The large lot was empty, not a single camper on any of the hundred concrete pads, and Marc rolled slowly past them to the main complex of shadowy cabins and
sheds. He stopped near the largest storage building, eyes seeing an older spigot setup.
“You overheating again?”
Marc got out and opened the hood, nodding at her as he stepped over broken glass and piles of muddy rubble. Pockets of steam were escaping from under the
hood of his Blazer, and Marc turned around to tell her to stand watch, only to find her already doing it, Dog pacing a wide perimeter around them both. There was
better color in her face, but her movements were careful, as if she was hurting, and he tried to hurry.
Angela ignored the bodies she could she see - an old woman, young boy, and three adult males, their corpses riddled with bullet holes - and sent her eyes over the
traffic and trees, the distant outline of yet another dead American city. Debris moved with the wind, gravel crunched under their feet, and though she saw no mutations,
nothing was growing here, not even the bluestem prairie grass Illinois was famous for.
Marc broke the plastic end off of his screwdriver and held the flat part against the top of the 6’ x 3’ white water tank. Using only two sure hits, he drove the metal
shaft into the tank. Water came rushing out around the tool, and Marc grabbed the jugs as Dog helped himself to a drink.
“Are those recent prints?”
Marc looked away from the sign in the lot’s main office that wished them a “erry mas & no year” and eyed the deep ruts.
“Yeah. You can tell from the depth and clarity. Elements haven’t changed ‘em much yet. A day old at the most, probably only a few hours with the way this wind is
blowing.”
He frowned, noticing more tire tracks nearby. “Movin’ fast too, or they’d have taken the water. Keep your eyes open.”
Angie helped him collect the valuable liquid, and a few minutes later, Marc waved a hand at the raised hood. “Fill me up. Just like yesterday.”
Angela was still a little self-conscious, though proud that she had learned something. As she finished, she wished it were more. They’d been together for three
weeks, and she had spent most of that time just regaining her strength and adjusting to the daily traveling. A third of their journey was over, and she wasn’t anywhere
near ready to face Kenny.
“Can we do some shooting? With real bullets this time?” she asked, liking Marc’s freshly shaven face and sexy black hair more than she would admit to. They’d had
to spend nearly five days at the cabin, waiting for the rain to come and melt the snow drifts so they could drive, and as a result, he had only gotten to show her basic gun
care and hand positioning.
“I’ll set it up.”
5
“Ready to shoot something?”
Angela gave him a rare, genuine grin, looking at his bandaged arm, and he shook his head, smiling back.
“I said shooting, not stabbing.”
They laughed as he set up a dozen empty Coke cans on a long, wide, muddy log. “Your weapon loaded?”
She nodded nervously as the damp wind played with her curls. “Yes.”
“Good. Check it again. Always look for problems.”
She did it slowly and carefully, as he had shown her.
Marc held up his own weapon, demonstrating. “Hold it with your right and cup it with your left. Curl your finger a little more. Good. Hold it a little higher. Now, see
where you want it to go, and put it there.”
She pretended not to be bothered by having him so close, but she was, couldn’t help but think maybe Kenn was around the corner, watching...
“Angie?”
She looked up at Marc’s frown and quickly dropped her head. “Sorry. I’ll pay attention.”
“Maybe you can’t do this,” he stated quietly, knowing she would rise to the challenge. That much of his Angie hadn’t vanished.
Marc was rewarded with a tilt of the chin and straightening of the shoulders that reminded him of the past.
“I can. I will.”
He shrugged like he had little faith, made his tone just a bit patronizing. “Pull the trigger slow, aiming makes all the difference. Go ahead.”
Angela’s hands were shaking despite her efforts to be steady, and his frown made her flush. Embarrassed, she flipped off the safety and pulled the trigger.
Marc was fast, moving behind her as the recoil rocked her back and into his waiting arms. The bullet slammed into the hood of his Blazer with a loud thud and he
dropped his head to her sweet-smelling shoulder, loving being so close.
“The cans, Honey,” he groaned against her. “The cans!”
His breath on her neck gave her a chill and Angela moved out of his arms, still waiting to be punished and hating to be touched.
“Do it again.”
His tone was more amused than anything else, and she moved back to him cautiously, thinking she hadn’t been quite as afraid this time. If he hadn’t hit her for
drawing blood, what was a bullet hole in a car?
This time Angela expected the jar and managed to keep her feet on the ground as the bullet dug into the log, rattling the cans.
“Better. The recoil will kill even a perfect shot, so you have to adjust for it. Aim a little below your target until you don’t jerk as much. Go ahead and empty the
clip.” Angela felt the zone this time, felt that moment when the gun was perfectly in tune with her hand, and cans flew off the log.
“Yes!” She grinned in satisfaction under a dim afternoon sky. “Third time’s a charm.”
She began reloading, and Marc took a quick look around, impressed with how fast she had settled into it. He hadn’t expected her to hit anything yet, even though
she’d adjusted well to the size of the .357 during their dry-fire sessions. Challenge was definitely the way to calm her down.
“That’s great. I’ll see if you put my Blazer out of its misery, and then we’ll go.”
She blushed and he grinned at her, not thinking before he spoke. “Accidents happen, Honey. Don’t worry so much. You should have seen the cut this woman I was
sleeping with gave me…” he stopped at her stunned, pain-filled eyes, and she turned away before he could try to take it back.
Marc cursed his thoughtless tongue, thinking none of those women compared to Angie. Even after all these years, she could still make him feel more with a single
look than anyone else ever had, and it hurt to think their chance had come and gone. What a hard, lonely future waited.
6
They headed west, both seeing and not mentioning a wrecked limousine on the side of the road heading into town, its plates (J. Lo) smeared with reddish mud. As
they rolled through the empty farmland, miles of it, Angela felt a chill that quickly grew into a bad feeling. Like they were walking into a new danger.
They had made almost ten miles today despite the flooding that had kept them detouring, and she should be happy with it, but wasn’t. The sky was calm, the
temperatures in the 40’s, and she hadn’t seen much in the way of fallout damage or mutations. All of it was good.
Versailles looked pretty clear on the other side, and that was great too, but the feeling of danger was strong and she was torn, doubting herself. She said nothing to
Marc, not wanting to without having a reason or a sign to back it up. It was something she bitterly regretted later.
Just before dusk, Marc pulled them up to an Amish school house surrounded by barns, sheds, and empty, weed-dotted soybean fields. Lofty willow trees on either
side of the school hung over the long, white fence and partially obscured a rustic liberty bell hanging from the small porch eave. There were no homes in sight, only the
barely visible outlines of the city they’d rolled carefully through, but they were encouraged to see a healthy-looking white rabbit dart from under the school’s steps.
The rabbit dove under a broken board of the decrepit gray shed behind the school as they got out, but inside the moldy shelter, the hare drew up too late and a very
large hand snatched it by the neck and twisted, snapping bones.
Smelling more nature than rot for a change, Marc secured the one-room school, not thinking it necessary to sweep the barn or farmhouse almost half a mile behind
it, something he too regretted later.
“I can take the stuff in, if you want to go check that coop we passed. I’m almost sure a couple of them survived.”
Marc’s eyes lit up at the thought of fried chicken, and he nodded eagerly, even though he knew not to leave her alone. “Deal. I’ll go after I set the disks.”
She nodded and got busy, smiling as he carried the heavier items to the porch for her, and then set the alarms. He was very considerate, and it worried her to think
of how close they might be by April.
“Stay, Dog. Guard.”
Brady gave her a questioning look, uneasy all of a sudden, too, but not sure why, and she waved. “I’ll be fine. You gonna pluck it?”
He grinned, sliding behind the wheel. “That’s woman's work.” He laughed at her amused look and was gone a few seconds later, leaving a trail of thick dust in his
wake.
Angela looked around, suddenly scared, but shook it off and picked up a box to take inside, telling herself she was just jumpy as usual. This time she was worried
over nothing. There was no open door, no voices whispering. Everything was silent, dark, and that meant okay, right?
The dirty, dangerous man came from behind the barn, watching them with cool calculation, and when he saw her mate leave, he moved quickly and quietly toward
the woman.
In one large hand was the freshly killed rabbit. As the man entered the schoolyard, breaching alarms, he flung the bloody meat past the wolf’s nose. The animal went
for it, fooled at first, and he moved swiftly across the porch before Dog turned and lunged for him.
Angela jumped at the door slamming, turning as something heavy hit it hard, and yelped in pain.
“Is that Do…?” Angela froze, heart squeezing as death bells echoed in her mind, and she sent out a silent scream for help, backing toward the gun she wished she
hadn’t yet taken off. “What do you want?”
The filthy mixture of man and nightmare moved closer, making her skin crawl as he smiled. His dead brown eyes told her he’d been alone for a very long time even
before the War.
“Pretty, pretty,” he called softly, eyes running up her body as rotted teeth grinned, and icy terror rushed through her body. Frozen, all she could do was scream
silently for Marc as the wolf hit the door again, snarling furiously.
Brady dropped the pecking chicken and threw himself back into the driver’s seat as Angela’s piercing screams echoed through his head. "Think Angie! You have
to think!" Dirt and gravel spewed from his tires as he hit the gas, already knowing he would miss most of whatever was happening.
Angela dove for the gun as the dirty stranger shoved her roughly to the floor. She cried out as his nails ripped her shirt off one shoulder and sank into her skin,
drawing blood.
He fell on top of her, pinning one arm under her stomach, and she tried to roll over, but he shoved heavily against her, hands fumbling with her jeans.
“Get off me!”
Her shriek was piercing, and he punched her in the head and back, curling her into a ball. His rough hands pulled at her pants as he humped her from behind, biting
her neck and telling her that her ass was first.
Frustrated, he yanked her jeans down with brute force, ripping the zipper, and Angela felt hot tears of hate and shame as his hardness touched the back of her bare
thigh.
“Be still, Bitch,” he growled. “Don’t you move!”
"Distract and get the gun," the Witch ordered, but Angela continued to grapple with him, knowing she couldn’t reach it.
"It will come to you."
The man thrust excitedly against her. When he moved back to get into a better position, Angela automatically locked her ankles, and was able to lift him enough to
roll over into his surprised arms.
He immediately ground his nasty mouth against hers, teeth scraping her tender lips as he shoved between her legs, hands grabbing at her shirt, ripping it again.
"Now!”
Angela extended an arm toward the table above her head, curling the other around her attacker’s neck. She pulled hard from him, stealing his energy. When the gun
began to slide, they both heard it and looked up, him in disbelief.
Her attacker saw it falling, saw she would catch it handle first, and before he could move back, her arm tightened like a band of iron around his neck, holding him
close as the Witch’s furious red eyes blended with hers.
“Oh, no! You wanted it! Here ya go!” She shoved the barrel against his throat before he could bring his hands up, and pulled the trigger.
Warm wetness exploded, blood spraying as he collapsed on top of her, and Angela rolled him off, gagging. Outside, tires slid to a stop, footsteps crunched, and she
staggered to her feet, spitting, wiping at her bloody face.
“Angie!”
She wanted to answer, but was gagging again as she pulled up her ripped jeans and stumbled to the door, jerking it open as Marc came flying up the steps. She fell
into his arms, coughing and crying as Dog streaked inside the cabin.
“Angie!”
She clutched his shoulder like a life raft, smearing his shirt with blood. “He tried to hurt me, Brady! I...I shot him.”
Her head spun from the beating she’d taken, heart screaming she was a killer now; a murderer.
Her battered face told Marc it had been a fight for survival, and he swung her into his arms, heading for the passenger seat of his Blazer. His heart beat furiously at
all the bruises, scrapes, and cuts he could see on her hands, arms, and face. Her clothes were ripped, shirt nearly off, hair and eyes wild, jeans ripped and undone. How
far had he gotten? Had she been raped?
“No, but I feel like it. Give me a minute, huh?”
Marc ignored her chilly tone as he slid her onto the seat, digging towels and water out of the duffle bag at her feet.
“Dog. On top. Guard.”
The wolf leapt to the hood and then the roof as Marc closed the door on her pale face, motioning for her to lock it. He was only inside the cabin for a minute to
gather some of their things (the heater, the gun she’d dropped) and was horrified at the death scene she had been a part of.
Two minutes later he had finished hooking her Blazer to his and watched as she got out of the passenger seat. Moving like she was in a daze, she took the one
remaining gas can from the luggage rack, and his heart burned when he saw she hadn’t cleaned herself up at all. Her face was terrible to look at.
He was surprised by her strength as she calmly dug her lighter out of her torn jeans and headed back into the reeking cabin, tilting the can as she went. Bright flames
shot up seconds later, and Angela kept the gas flowing as she walked back out and down the stairs, the fire following hungrily. She tossed the can into the sweltering
flames and didn’t flinch at the almost instant explosion of plastic, though she was being showered with hot sparks.
Marc watched her worriedly. "It’s because she’s been through this before," the Marine inside stated. "This hell isn’t new to her."
The heat where she was standing was beginning to scorch the ends of her wild hair, and Marc took her gently by the arm, led her back to the Blazer. “Come on,
Honey. Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t respond, but didn’t flinch or resist either, and a minute later, the fire’s glow was falling behind them. When she began to cry huge, silent tears, Marc
moved the towels closer and left her alone. This was her First Kill, and his heart ached for her, remembering his own. He’d thrown up afterward until his stomach hurt.
“Stop!”
He hit the brakes and her door swung open just in time to avoid the hot streams that flew from her mouth.
Marc put it in park and got out to give her some privacy as she emptied some of her pain. His eyes watched the fog rolling over a dark, foreign landscape where
anything or anyone might lurk, listening. She’d been hurt on his watch.
7
Angela sat with her knees to her chest, sipping water and pushing away flash after horrible flash in her mind. She was hurting, horrified, ashamed, guilty, and still full
of furious rage. She wanted to go back and shoot him again!
Her years of abuse had filled her mind as she was attacked, and it had been Kenny’s face she was seeing as she pulled the trigger…always Kenny. In that instant,
she had seen the true feelings of the old Angela, and not only was there no way that girl would ever let him touch her again, she also knew both of the females inside
wanted him dead. More importantly, if he pushed her enough, hurt her enough, she could do it.
Angela shuddered as the man’s cold, dead eyes slammed into her mind, and she wished again that she could kill him twice.
Marc walked a wide perimeter, the wolf watching from the roof. After a while, he heard sounds that told him she was changing and cleaning herself up. Good.
She’d have to feel a little better with the man’s stink off of her skin.
“Will you help me with my hair?”
Her voice was shaky, and Marc moved slowly to the jug at her feet, keeping his eyes on the fog-covered ground. “Hold the door and tilt your head back.”
She did it with her eyes closed, standing with only a large white beach-towel around her naked body, and he was shocked by her trust in him as he lathered her hair,
face, and neck, avoiding her slender shoulders.
Red suds soaked into the towel and pink water pooled at her feet as he clipped her clean hair on top of her head. When she picked up another jug and handed it to
him, letting the drenched towel fall to the ground, Marc spun around and began mentally reciting the phonic alphabet. Alfa. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. Echo.
“Rinse, please,” she instructed, tone emotionless - shock settling in, he thought, not looking at her. Foxtrot. Golf. Hotel. India. Juliet. Damn!
He poured the cold water over her head, her gasp pulling at his male side, and he recited faster in his head. Kilo. Lima. Mike. November. Oscar. Papa. Quebec.
Romeo.
Marc saw her sexy outline under the water from the corner of his eye, pert nipples and creamy, water-flecked skin, and then he was moving away from her,
dropping the empty jug and the distraction attempt. He was ready, though not willing, and there wasn’t a worse time for it. She was more off-limits now than she’d ever
been before.
Angela smoked, drank, and watched the dark houses roll by, yet her tone wasn’t right, and Marc knew her eyes wouldn’t be either. Everyone dealt with death in
their own way. It was harder for someone who’d sworn an oath to protect life, but she hadn’t had a choice, and he hoped she would realize that and not let it eat her up
inside. Killing wasn’t easy, even for a trained Marine, and he’d help her if he could.
"Thank you for understanding, but I’ll be all right. I just need some time."
Marc nodded, thinking even her voice in his head didn’t sound right again. “I’m sorry, Angie. I never should have left you alone.”
She didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see what she’d become, that at the moment of decision, she had chosen to be a killer after all. “It wasn’t your fault.
You’re always telling me to not let my gun get out of reach. I should have listened.”
Marc said nothing, thinking that was something she wouldn’t forget now.
Angela turned on a Pink Floyd CD and leaned back, exhausted and eager to escape into sleep, but there was only darkness for a brief half hour and none of it was
comforting.
“Brady!"
Angela jerked up, eyes flying open and she looked around wildly, fingers dropping to the handle of the deadly gun on her hip.
“It’s over, Honey. He’s dead.”
She frowned, the wild look slowly fading from her bloodshot, blue eyes, and she lit a smoke with shaky hands. “I need to talk it out.”
It was something Kenny couldn’t do, but Marc immediately turned the music down. “You can tell me anything, Angie. You know that.”
She nodded. She did. “I thought it was you at first, when the door closed, and when I turned and saw his eyes, I froze. Just like I always do.”
The longer she talked, the guiltier and angrier Marc felt. He never should have left her alone. He should have swept the other buildings. He should have been the one
to pull the trigger, and then she wouldn’t be hurting so badly! As it was, all Marc could think to say was the same thing his CO had quietly told him after he'd finished
throwing up. “He was the enemy. Don’t doubt that. This is War and he got what he deserved for his crimes. He should have chosen better.”
Angela found his words did help a little, and this time when she closed her eyes, sleep came without dreams.
8
Around 3 a.m., Marc pulled them carefully into a far corner of Siloam Springs State Park, the nature preserve very isolated. He wasn’t surprised that she awoke the
instant he shut off the engine.
“Where are we?” she asked groggily, pulling on her sweater with slow movements and tired eyes.
“Couple miles from Stonington. I’ll set up camp and Dog will stay here with you until I’m done.”
She dropped her head back against the seat, and as he got out, locking the doors, Dog took his spot. “Brady?”
He stopped, looking back at her.
“I don’t really want to be alone. Y’know?”
Marc nodded, thinking he hadn’t planned on separate tents or cars until her voice and eyes were normal again. He used his key to get in and out of the back and
quickly had the small Marine tent up and ready. He put the blankets and heater inside, and as he stepped to her door, she opened it.
Angela didn’t flinch when he offered a hand, and he noticed it, saw she didn’t hesitate as she stepped out into the chilly fog and stiff breeze, but she stumbled, and
almost fell. Marc swung her into his strong arms, thinking her face looked like the man had used her for a punching bag.
He headed for the tent, loving the curl of her arm around his neck, but Angela gasped in pain as images of holding her attacker that way flashed in her mind.
Holding him tight so she could…
“Angie?”
Marc had stopped. When she nodded against his shoulder, he got moving again, holding her closer. For a brief minute, Angela was distracted from the pain in her
mind by the skin under her fingers, able to feel his strength as he ducked into the tent and gently laid her down.
He moved back too quickly, and she barely stopped the old Angela from asking him if he still loved her. Her heart clenched, and she covered herself up, shivering.
She didn’t have to ask. She already knew and it changed nothing.
Clink!
Her eyes flew to his in alarm, and he smiled soothingly, pushing the heater closer as the light drizzle began to fall. “It’s just Dog, looking for his dinner. I’ll be right
outside.”
She nodded, shivering harder, and closed her eyes, feeling small and alone as he left.
Half an hour later, Marc had placed three rows of disks, secured the area more fully, and was sitting just outside the tent flap, finishing a smoke, beating himself up.
It would never happen again. If there was danger from here on, it’ll be me that faces it, not her!
Marc sighed, knowing he couldn’t make that promise, even to himself. This new world was a nightmare, and he couldn’t protect her from all sides.
“Can stop being stupid, though,” he muttered, causing the wolf to stare questioningly. Marc shook his head. She wouldn’t be left alone again, it wasn’t a mistake
he’d let happen twice, and he would step up her training too. She was like a sponge, making it clear she wanted to know anything he could teach her, and he would
after she recovered.
Marc grinned bitterly. She would insist on a workout tomorrow, he had no doubt. She was stronger than anyone he’d ever known, and that included hardened
Marines. His smile faded. Because she’d already lived through worse. Her man was going to pay!
It was dark, cold, and silent except for the restless mutterings of the woman in the vinyl shelter when Marc finally went to bed. The wolf was asleep at the doorway,
and Marc took off only his coat as he crawled in next to her. His matching .45’s went under his pillow.
When he curled his body protectively around hers, Angela relaxed against him and fell into a deeper sleep almost immediately, her fear of Kenny overpowered by
the need for comfort that only Brady’s arms could give.
9
“Do we keep following?”
Aching with the rain, Dillan shook his head, dark, angry eyes studying a wrinkled map as Dean eagerly fanned the fire to life. With the cabin still smoldering hotly,
their smoke would appear to be part of it. They had been running a cold camp to avoid being spotted and both men were ready for a hot meal and a strong cup of
coffee.
“No. They’re still moving northwest, just like every time they head out. Going somewhere. We’ll be able to track them down. He’s not covering their trail at all.”
“Back to Cesar, then?”
Dillan nodded. They had been tracking the couple, waiting for the right moment, but it had never come. The Witch and her soldier were very careful. The one time
they might have been ambushed while they were traveling, the two Blazers had stopped for a moment, and then went a different way. Like they'd known there was
trouble waiting ahead.
Tonight, the twins had been nearby, planning to try again after dark. When the hunter had cleverly distracted the wolf and snuck inside, they’d moved even closer.
Hoping to kill her soldier and then her attacker, it had only taken a few seconds to feel the waves of power in the air and realize it was the man who wasn’t coming out.
Dean and Dillan might have gone in anyway, if not for the single gunshot, which either meant the woman was dead and there was no reason to stay, or the hunter
had given his life, and the Witch would be ready for anything. They had watched her stumble out the door, looking like easy, terrified prey, but they knew she wasn’t.
They also hadn’t missed her fast recovery.
The twins had finally accepted that they needed help. It was something they’d rarely encountered, even before, when only a cell had controlled them, stopped them
from doing what they wanted. Now, a mere woman had hurt them, had made them feel fear, and they loathed her for it.
“Where do you think the deformed bastard is?”
Dillan’s glassy eyes went back to the map and then checked his watch for the date, wincing at his mangled arm. He had splinted it, and it was healing, but it would
always be useless. “He said every big town along 25. Maybe three days each, four on the bigger ones, skip every other, empty... He should be near Denver. We’ll just
follow Interstate 80 until we pick them up on the CB. Or until we see smoke after a storm.
Dean grinned as he stood up. “’Cause where there’s a storm, there’s Cesar.”
10
Ccrrraaackkk!
The thunder from the fading storm rattled the ground, shaking the tent, and Marc woke suddenly from his dreams of thick smoke and desperate screams. He was
alone.
Surprised he hadn’t noticed Angela leave, he quickly stepped out into dawn’s early dimness, immediately finding her standing by the open passenger door of her
Blazer. Medical supplies spread across the seat, she was using the mirror to see in, as she cleaned her injuries.
Marc moved to her side slowly, making sure she was aware of his presence. He gently took the alcohol pad from her trembling fingers, wincing when she did, heart
breaking at the pain in her eyes. She didn’t seem afraid of him like she had been, wasn’t nervous about being hemmed in by his large body, but he was very careful not
to crowd her as he applied the gel she handed him.
He saw her tears, could feel the pain coming off her in waves. When she started to turn away, he gently wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll get easier, in time.”
Her tears were falling thickly, yet even in her misery, she noticed the body pressed against hers. Noticed and compared it to what she remembered. Angela stepped
back slowly.
“You want to stay here a day or two?”
“And do what?”
Marc pulled a thoughtless answer out of his head, not expecting the question, “I could teach you to hunt.”
He winced as he heard himself, bracing for anger or more tears, and was amazed by her strength when she gave him a tiny, rueful look of accomplishment.
Might as well. I’ve passed the gun test.”
They spent two full days at the preserve, and Angela improved quickly, telling herself over and over that she’d had no choice. They spent the days working out,
drilling on what she’d learned, and Brady’s arms during the darkness kept her nightmares at bay and her heart frustrated by the walls still keeping them apart.
They were back on the road soon after, and then to separate tents without a word spoken about it, but things had changed between them. Angela felt it and worried
over who would survive the resulting firestorm when Marc realized it too. Everything was getting closer now.
Chapter Seven
March 7th, 2013
Wyoming, mid-state
1
Waking with the feeling that something very valuable had been stolen from him, Adrian listened first for the sounds of his flock - tents flapping, dogs yapping almost
casually, a soft, calm crunch of footsteps, the moderate murmur of voices - and allowed himself to relax, the sounds were there and normal. He sat up, reaching for his
cigarette pack.
Naked except for his green boxers, Adrian lit a joint, not cold but aware of the chill in the tent. His watch showed it was 5:33 a.m - time to get his busy day started,
and he took an extra five to get ready. The day’s list was almost double what it usually was, and everyone would be busy right up to the shooting contest after dinner.
He hit the joint hard and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, thinking his goatee needed a trim. He coughed at the lungful of smoke and smiled. Tonya sure knew how to
grow it. Too bad that wouldn’t be allowed when they settled down somewhere, but if he let in one, all the rest would follow. In the meantime, stashes and supplies
would run out like everything else, forcing people off of their habits without him having to be a cruel leader.
Adrian inhaled harder, until his lungs burned. He was tired and worried, his usual state of being since the War, and it took only a few hits for him to feel the effects.
He closed his eyes, lower mind planning the day, fitting things together for convenience, his higher mind searching for those he had to believe were still on their way.
Maybe they were already here, just overlooked. Maybe he’d passed them by.
"I need help!" Adrian shouted silently, "I can’t keep doing this alone!"
The leader let out a harsh sigh, knowing he would keep trying until he was used up, and probably even beyond that. He wouldn’t give up as his father had. The guilt
rolled over him at that, and behind it, came the overwhelming need to right the wrongs that he could.
Adrian got up, again listening for his people, something he did when he woke each morning. They were the reason he worked so hard, and he began to move faster,
eager to be with them.
Pulling on his black jacket against the chill of mid-40’s, he stepped out into the strong wind, and his eyes went immediately to the sky. Adrian frowned at the ugly
look of it. Something was racing their way. Rain? Snow? Both? He would have to look, and that meant using his own magic, something all of those he was searching for
would also have - to one degree or another.
The leader took a careful look around, seeing only the guards’ eyes on him, and he closed his own, concentrating. “Show me!” he demanded silently, and as his
lids opened, the wind gathered strength. A two-foot dust whirl rose off the dry ground, spinning wildly toward him. It broke apart against his legs, covering his jeans in
thick dust, and Adrian’s heart thumped. A sand storm.
Observant eyes watching, Kenn joined Adrian and opened his notebook without being told, erasing his neat mental chalk board with one swipe. He wasn’t sure
exactly what had just happened, but it gave him a flash of the determined woman on the way to her son, and he kept his eyes on the page, so Adrian couldn’t see the
guilt there.
“We’ll only have an hour. It’s moving fast.”
Kenn’s eyes followed Adrian’s, and he too frowned. Their mountain view to the South was becoming obscured by the wall of danger racing towards them, the
sandy wind beginning to beat on their tents, tarps, and cars. The dogs were now barking in an agitated manner, the livestock trailers able to be heard too, and the
Marine’s gut unclenched from the boring resignation he’d woken with. This would not be an average day. “I’ll keep ‘em rolling.”
Adrian lit a Winston, working on details, and Kenn shook his head at the Level Two Eagle from Neil’s team, who’d stopped nearby. Jeremy kept going at the
denial, frowning.
“We have to roll in the camp by at least half a click. It’s too big to protect.” The leader took his knife from his boot and knelt down to draw in the dirt. He made
deep marks to keep the wind from distorting it, thinking the sound of tent flaps smacking harshly in the heavy wind was a warning few would understand. This storm
would kill as many survivors as the blizzard had. Nature was pissed.
“The Mess in the center. Line up seven rigs on the redline in front of it; back them in as close as you can get. Make the wire tight and put a bathroom camper on
each end. The weight of the water will hold them better than a semi. These two ends have to be right up against the corners of the Mess, and then line the other vehicles
up behind us, sideways, big to little. It’ll create a barrier. Put tarps on the sides to close it off. Tie ‘em to the trucks, but watch for gaps. If they billow in the wind, we’ll
be one big sail.”
Both men looked up at an odd whine to the wind, just in time to be hit with a small tornado of dust as high as a car. It slapped at them with hundreds of bits of
stinging sand, and Adrian’s dirt map disappeared.
Wiping his face with a gritty hand, the blond went on like it was still there. “Put the ends under the tires and heavier stuff. Make sure it’s secured right. Everything
else has to be broken down and shoved into the outer trucks to add weight. Cover the livestock and dogs. They go in the very front.”
Kenn was copying – orders and the map - and those nearby watched alertly in the gritty dimness as the wind increased. The sense of something big about to happen
was starting to spread.
“The sheep in the center trucks?”
Adrian’s blade flashed through the dirt again, ringless fingers nicked, scarred. “Yes, here and here. Make the weight as even as possible. Do the best you can. One
bag allowed and put those stickup dome lights inside, so there are no fumes or flames. Gear: goggles, boots, ski masks, orange safety vests - all Eagles on shift inside
the area.”
Kenn finished writing, looked up. “What about the guards on the perimeter?”
Adrian’s eyes went back to the brownish black wall of sand that was noticeably closer, vaguely aware of raised voices as people started to see what he and Kenn
already had - danger heading their way.
“Only in the front trucks - anywhere else is voluntary, and I don’t recommend the rear. Even inside cabs, there’ll be flying glass and debris if the windows go, and
they probably will. Make it clear that anyone crazy enough to do it, better bring the right equipment.”
Still writing, Kenn wanted to volunteer just for the credit, but he also knew Adrian would need him to help with the herd. Waving Eagles over, Kenn barely hid a
grin of excitement. He thrived on shit like this, couldn’t wait for it to begin.
2
The dust storm bore down on them like an angry swarm, first invading with fierce winds that ripped tent pegs from the ground, then hitting them with a thick wave of
sand and grit that blanketed everything. The sky darkened, turning almost black as it came over the last ridge. It smothered the land like night falling and they watched in
amazement as great chunks of buildings were torn away from their foundations and sent flying.
It raced toward Safe Haven like a missile looking for a target, and Adrian felt his stomach churn even as his heart thumped. He hated it that his people weren’t safe,
but loved the fury of Nature. There was nothing else like it.
“Here it comes.”
Adrian and the three levels of Eagles were in the much smaller Mess, thick telephone poles a great anchor. The tarps kept out a lot of the grit, but all the men wore
the gear they’d been given, ready to assist wherever Adrian told them to.
“Brace for impact!”
They moved to the center as the winds picked up, tarps slapping violently, and then the air came alive with tiny, stinging bits of sand that filled every inch of the
rolled-in camp.
“Damn!”
“Look at that!” Kenn pointed excitedly to a shed, faded red and breaking apart, rolling by in the thick grit, and just missing the end truck. The winds increased; dust
burning its way through their masks, and men began to cough.
“Bandana’s too! Use your shirts!”
Adrian pulled his turtleneck up over the bottom of his mask, struggling to stay on his feet as the storm engulfed them. The wind was awful, whipping, slapping at
them, pulling violently, and the air around the area and trucked-off camp was alive with flying debris of every shape and size.
Caruunncch!
“What the…”
Bang! Rriippp!
Baammmm!
The men closest to the actual Mess truck stumbled at the impact as the rig was hit, pushed forward on its side. Only the two trucks on the end kept it from going
further.
Dust flew up in monstrous clouds, filling the area with a blinding whirl of dark sand they could hardly see through.
“Get those edges closed! It’ll rip us apart!”
Men rushed to grab the ends of the snapping plastic, tying it back to the poles. It immediately became easier to breath, the dust sinking down to their knees.
Adrian nodded, keyed his mic. “Check-in. One, clear.”
“Two, clear.”
“Three, all good here.”
“Four, no problems.”
There were a lot of trucks, and noises in the background of each that made Adrian wince. Crying kids, voices on the edge of panic, arguments, and as soon as the
last one checked in, he hit the button again. “Turn your radios up, Eagles. Let them hear me.”
Adrian lit a smoke, knowing his herd needed good words and calm tones. “We’re watching the storm from about ten feet away. It’s unbelievable, scary. We can’t
see anything outside the Mess, but we’re hearing it, same as you. Lots of stuff flying through the air, slamming into the trucks. That’s the noise you hear, but so far,
everything’s good here. I repeat. We are five-by, and so are you.”
Adrian turned to watch a huge sheet of wood go tumbling around the edge of the far truck, barely missing it. He fought to keep that close-call out of his tones.
“We’ll do bathroom breaks now, groups of four from each truck, women and kids first, as usual.” He paused, eyes growing hazy as he sang to his herd, pushed his
calming magic over them. “I’ll be by each truck in the next few minutes, and I know I’ll see card games and people spending time together, not working themselves and
others into a panic. This is nothing we can’t handle.” His voice deepened, “Nothing I can’t handle.”
As if to prove him wrong, the wind whipped through the Mess from a billowing gap, ripping the tarp free, and they were again covered in a vortex of spinning sand
that tried to invade every inch of space available, and then space that wasn’t.
“Grab that!”
“I’ve got it!” Kenn rushed to the loudly flapping tarp and hauled it down, securing it better as he fought against the wind trying to pull it out of his grasp.
The Marine had a huge grin on his face, Adrian could almost feel it under the mask, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Was he ready? Only one way to find out.
The leader looked around, saw men helping with the tarp, Eagles watching alertly, trucks holding against the wind. Rigs, seven of them, full of his sheep and
protected, but still vulnerable because they had no one on duty in the rear, where the sand was hitting them the hardest.
Anyone could sneak up on them just by following the wake of the storm and they wouldn’t know until it was too late. There was almost no visibility and the tales
from the refugees they’d been picking up were a warning Adrian wouldn’t ignore. The Slavers liked to hit during bad weather, and they were only two hundred miles
away as of last week, which wasn’t nearly far enough. Sooner or later, Safe Haven would attract their attention, may have already. The pictures Kenn and Kyle had
brought back from Cheyenne Mountain had indeed been worse than the other places, and they’d been keeping a weekly watch on the big group.
Adrian waved a handful of Eagles off to start the bathroom breaks, hating the thought of so many using only two campers, but there was no other solution in this
wind and it had been his experience that sand storms usually took their time to pass through.
He looked at Kenn, seeing the excitement held under perfect control, the leadership rolling off him in waves, and he waved a hand. They’d find out now if he was
ready for leadership. “Eagle Two has point. I’ll be around.”
Adrian stepped out into the storm, leaving surprise among his army.
“Boo’yah, baby!” Kenn’s grin had widened. It was official to him now. He was second in command.
Adrian ran to the trucks first, calming, assuring, jumping and grinning with them, taking care of his flock as debris slammed into the trucks and sent clouds of sand
rolling. He didn’t hurry the stops, understanding people needed him, but he didn’t let them cling either. They had to learn to stand on their own.
Yanking his shirt back up, Adrian went next to the animal area they had covered with sheets of plastic, frowning at the sloppy job Danny and Zack had done. The
dust was coming under the edges in small waves, and the animals were coughing, pacing.
“On a dark, desert highway, cool wind in my hair…” Adrian sang as he weighted down each side with the heavy cages, adjusting the edges until the dust began to
settle and the animals began to relax.
“Last thing I remember, I was runnin’ for the door…” The sand he’d already been blasted with gave him a rough rasp, and the blond grinned in the dimness of the
vibrating plastic dome. Kenn wasn’t the only one who felt alive when confronting danger.
Holding his breath, Adrian headed for his semi. The winds back here were so strong he had to punch his way through with low, powerful steps.
Doing what no one expected despite all he’d done for them in the beginning, Adrian watched over them, staying in his rig throughout the storm. He’d secured the
lives he needed to, the camp now in Kenn’s capable hands, and he rode out the fury in his truck, marveling at the unchecked power while he watched for trouble.
Adrian was one of three men to take the Drag position. Seth - who wasn’t an Eagle, but wanted to be - and Kyle, were on either side him. The cop and the
mobster guarded him, as he guarded his sheep, and neither mentioned, not even to each other, that they heard the warning he sent out.
Not over a radio, but rushing out in powerful mental waves designed to get ahead of the storm, it rang through the air and into their heads until the urge to go to the
blond’s truck had them both fighting tight grips on the door handles. There were times, later, when both men doubted themselves, but at night, while watching their
leader do rounds after a twenty hour day, they’d think about it, and admit the truth to themselves - that he had tried to save survivors in the storm’s path, cared enough
about the loss of life to risk using his gifts and maybe be banished…to help people he didn’t even know. He wasn’t like the rest, he was...special.
The secret bonded the two men, and earned Adrian their complete loyalty. Both males were sure he’d known they were there, trusting them with his secrets. He
was their Guardian, and either would give their life if called upon.
3
The storm raged around Safe Haven for hours, wind forming and then moving tiny cities of sand that vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. The Eagles handled
themselves well, rushing to anchor tarps, secure trucks, and comfort their people during the nonstop bathroom breaks, as the storm grew stronger. When the winds
finally began to die down, everyone was glad, even those who loved the excitement.
It was almost lunch before Kenn decided it was all right to come out. The Eagles noticed that Adrian waited for the Marine to make the call, and that Kenn didn’t
look to him first for an okay when he did. They used snow blowers to clean up the piles of sand, moving them outside the shrunken camp’s perimeter.
Adrian’s eyes took in the damage with worry deep in his heart for his country and her people. The landscape had been completely altered; nothing looked the same.
Piles of brackish sand in feet-deep drifts covered ripped-up tents, and grit blanketed everything, including his army. The damage was extensive, total. How many more
American lives had been lost?
“Eagle Two will keep point. Everyone else, shift.”
Kenn nodded at him from across the camp, and then motioned Seth to go along on his rounds. In time, the redhead would be one of his, too, Kenn thought, like
Zack and maybe Kyle. No one else knew Seth was Adrian’s undercover guard and Kenn supported it completely. The detective was good and someone had to do it.
Adrian had to be protected.
Kenn knew what his Boss wanted, knew how to get things done, and three short hours after the storm was gone, Safe Haven looked almost like it hadn’t been hit, a
stark contrast to the destruction outside the perimeter. Full-sized again, retaped, clean, and running normal, Adrian was more than pleased. They were growing stronger.
Soon, more would be expected of them.
By 1 a.m., Adrian was once again roaming the sea of tents, unable to sleep. He was satisfied with the way they’d come through, happy with the job Kenn had done,
but he hated the aftermath more than the actual storm.
The land around them now looked totally devoid of life, instead of just isolated. It was foreign - like what the surface of Mars might be like. Even the smells had
changed. The rot was still here, along with a hint of salty smoke, but the strongest was a thick, stomach-tightening mildew he didn’t need John to tell him was from all the
dead. The sand not only covered them, it scraped away tiny bits of decaying flesh that were flung about by the wind. It wasn’t comforting.
“Did anyone see you?” questioned a man’s voice, one he knew well, and Adrian’s sharp eyes found the shadow just outside a dusty supply truck.
“No. Let me in.”
The woman’s voice was also familiar and the leader wondered if the guards had seen them. Probably not, but they would if Kenn wasn’t more careful. It didn’t
bother him, but it would the camp. Adrian grinned suddenly. Hell, maybe Kenn could straighten her out a little and put her to use. Surely Tonya had a skill that didn’t
involve her knees or her back.
4
“You look tired.”
The Marine had fallen in step as Adrian came out of his tent. He nodded, but didn’t offer details as he opened his book. He had dreamed Angie was here. After
that, sleeping again had been impossible. “I am a little.”
Adrian eyed the three-foot gray and brown piles of sand that were now their perimeter, the caution tape gone again during the night. “I need Seth and Mitch to
come see me around 9:30 and make sure he doesn’t leave the radio unattended again. I need ten minutes with the doctor around noon, and then we’ll do a lesson with
the rookies at 3. We’ll have a little surprise waiting for Kyle and his team right after that.”
Kenn nodded. Adrian had sent them out immediately following the storm to do a recon to the Southeast. The blond wanted to know if the Slavers were closer, and
of course, to search for any survivors.
“We’ll keep it simple. Use the laser tag vests.”
Kenn wrote, and Adrian ignored the stomach wanting light toast with heavy butter. His people ate before he did, and they were low on bread. Flour was one of
those things they just didn't find much of.
“We’ll need crews to clean up after the contest and to help with the targets during. You’ll have to look through the schedules that end today to see who’s already
got their hours in or has a shift tonight. Set the contest up just like last time, over in that softball field. People not shooting will stay behind the gate.”
Adrian paused to sip his coffee, eyes on the line where Kenn’s boy was. All of his people looked healthy, normal, and he knew they had been lucky to have so few
medical problems despite spending so much time on sour ground. They’d had a couple of deaths in the last weeks, mostly heart failures, and an EKG machine was one
of the things on his constantly growing list.
“That it?”
Adrian snorted, watching the lines grow as more people started to come to the Mess and the noise levels increased. Coughs, moans, groans and laughs - to Adrian
it was beautiful, the sound of normal life continuing. “Until lunch. Here’s some FND work - a faster Mess, one that has them in line for less than five minutes for both
food and drinks.”
Having finished writing, Kenn picked up Adrian’s cup. “Refill?”
“You know it.”
When Kenn moved toward the line, Charlie slid by and put a small plate in front of Adrian. He kept moving toward the table he usually shared with Timmy and
Mike, one of the guards’ teenage boys, but Adrian stopped him with a question. “You busy later?”
Checking to see that Kenn was busy, the boy moved back toward Adrian, shaking his head. Crew cut like Kenn’s when they’d first come, the leader was glad to
see the boy loosening up, dressing in what he wanted.
“No. Do we get new schedules tomorrow?”
Adrian watched closely, despite appearing absorbed in taking the plastic from his light toast with heavy butter. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about their talk in the
bowling alley, and had come to the conclusion that Kenn was not gifted, but was in contact with someone who was. This quiet, blue-eyed boy perhaps? Claiming it to
protect the child? If so, the lie was acceptable...almost. At least it explained why the Marine had flat out refused to use his “gift” when Adrian had mentioned it a few
days after the freeze.
“Mug of coffee, fresh pack of smokes and a cardboard box this big.” Adrian showed him with his hands. “Bring those things to my tent around 10:30. We’ll do
some rounds and you’ll get your schedule then.”
The boy nodded eagerly, scuffed gym shoelaces dragging the inch of sand covering the Mess floor as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. “Sure. You need
anything else?”
Adrian grinned, still watching closely from under lowered lashes. “Yeah, a ton of food and water. You get an idea, make sure I’m told quickly?” he half joked. His
alert eyes saw the boy’s serious nod.
“You know it.”
“He knows what?”
Charlie jumped, and Adrian waved him on as Kenn returned with two full cups and sat down.
“Kids need to be kept busy. We have to pick the next list of places to look. Bring the maps by after lunch and we'll....”
5
A short time later, stomach pleasantly full of toast, Adrian sat in the lea of his tent - chair, folding table, and notebooks in front of him. The wind had finally calmed
down, and he got started making schedules for the next week, glad he wouldn’t have to spend the extra hours trying to figure out who didn’t have all their shifts in yet.
As of midnight, everyone was back at zero.
He worked on them in alphabetical order, trying to fit the person with the chore by their skills, and all the while, he was listening to the voices of his people as they
walked by, approving of the long pants and sleeves most of his camp was wearing. Both John and his suggestions had been accepted.
“Those eggs was nasty and it’s still the best meal I’ve had since January.”
“Glad we’re back on full water rations.”
“Oohh. Imagine a hot bubble bath.”
“Girl, a hot shower would be heaven.”
“Yeah, like that’ll happen. It uses too much water.”
Adrian turned to a back page and scribbled a note, then went back to the schedules.
Mitch showed up ten minutes late, giving the CB updates personally, and Adrian handed him a sheet of paper, still not totally sure he’d chosen the right person for
this job. They had given a dozen men the radio test, but only this sloppy drunkard hadn't flunked.
“This is the way I’d like things run from now on. What we put over the air matters.”
The red-nosed man gave it a quick read over, nodding. “Sure.”
“Kenn will be installing a more powerful CB system in the next week, so when he’s ready, move to another truck, til he’s done.”
“You got it, A-Man. I’ll catch you later.”
The hung-over man left, eager to start using the bolder system, and the leader was relieved to see the ass-kisser go. He hated it that the camp saw him dealing with
someone that no one really liked, but it couldn’t be helped. He suspected Mitch was too good to waste and he’d leave him where he was, until he knew for sure.
When he was gone, Adrian waved Seth over and began gathering up his papers. He lit a smoke and gave the tensely waiting undercover cop a hard look. “Long
wait.”
The redhead gave a tight smile, taking off his black cap as he sat down. It didn’t escape Adrian’s attention that he was wearing the uniform of an Eagle, despite not
being one. Yet. The redhead had been busy, trailing him almost continuously for the last week and he was good, right up there with Kyle, but the question was, why?
“I don’t mind. It’s better we’re alone anyway.”
Adrian finished off his cold coffee with a grimace of distaste. “Because you want to know why I passed you up for the new Level Ones again, but don’t want
anyone to know you’re questioning my judgment?”
Adrian’s words were brutally honest and Seth nodded, not sure whether he was ready for the truth he’d come for, or if the things he needed to say to this man, who
he now respected above all others, would get him asked to leave.
“Because I’m not sure about you yet.”
The cop's hurt green eyes flew to his, and Adrian shook his head, thinking of his surprise when it was Seth who joined Kyle to watch with him during the storm.
“Not like that. Not sure where I need you the most.”
“I do.” Seth clamped his mouth shut and waited to be told their conversation was over.
Adrian didn’t speak for a minute, thinking that right there was what concerned him. Seth was a good man, he knew that, but he also had a short fuse, which was not
a great trait for a bodyguard in this new world. “Have you thought about something else? There’s a lot we need.”
Seth didn't look at him, but said, “Yeah.”
Adrian's cool eyes searched the man. Seth was often the first one at the tape to look over the new people when there was a call, never skipping it, and his devotion
had gotten attention. He hadn’t been surprised to find out the undercover cop had been planning to apply to the secret service academy, had wanted to guard the
President. In time, he might still get his chance.
“Why a Level guard, Seth? Why does it matter so much?”
A little surprised at the easy opening to what he needed to say, the 30-year-old cop found the truth with no problem, didn’t hesitate to meet Adrian’s waiting eyes.
“Because you need help, and I need to serve. Because there’s no one watching your six and I want the job.”
Adrian's eyes were full of warning. “You sure? That may be a very dangerous job in the future.”
Seth grinned. “More than anything. It’s what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Adrian looked at him for another long moment, before shrugging like he wasn’t sure the cop could do it, when nothing could be further from the truth. “I’ll change
your schedule, but keep in mind it takes more than just good aim and confidence. It’s hard work and it's dangerous.”
“I belong there. You’ll see.” the cop stood up, holding out his hand, and Adrian returned the gesture. “Thank you.”
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“So do I.”
Adrian watched him leave and noticed Charlie heading his way, right on time and hands full.
“What do you think about him?” Adrian asked the boy, indicating Seth. He didn’t know he was going to, and saw the boys deep blue eyes grow hazy.
“Seth’s okay. He never found his little girl and he’s still upset.”
Adrian didn’t comment, thinking he’d have to be careful how he handled the special boy. As for Seth, the redhead was another above-average sheep trying to
become a shepherd, and he would help him make the transition, but where were those who had been born to lead?
“I’ll put this stuff inside and you can go with me on rounds.”
Charlie nodded, not sure why the Boss wanted his company, but eager to help if he could and be seen doing it - like everyone else here.
Adrian folded up the table, taking it and a chair to the flap, and the boy automatically carried the other one, but didn’t step inside because he hadn’t been invited.
Adrian nodded his thanks. Well-trained…and it bothered him - a lot.
“Grab that box and come on.”
The first stop was the Mess, where 30 or so people were in line or already sitting down to canned chili, crackers, and applesauce. Adrian stopped near the flagpole
ropes.
“Raise our colors, boy.”
Charlie and Adrian saluted, as did others, and the blond man’s quick eye saw those who looked natural, like they’d done it before. It likely meant they had military
training or a history of service. He saw two, maybe three, and mentally added them to the list of interviews for the next set of Level One guards. There was work for
them if they still had the desire to serve. He wouldn’t respect them as much if they didn’t. In the Corps, in for life, but he definitely understood, and wouldn’t treat them
differently.
Kenn fell in on Adrian’s right as they moved on and Adrian noticed Charlie dropping back out of eye, but not earshot, pretending to be very involved in kicking a
path through the sand that had blown back into the camp during the night.
“I have a great idea.” Kenn handed Adrian a slip of paper. “That’s our next supply run. Everything we need for a while, depending on how lucky we get.”
Adrian’s mouth curved into a smile and he clapped Kenn on the back. He really should have already thought of this. “Great is an understatement. Kyle’s men will be
your escort. Leave day after tomorrow. I’ll need a list of people and supplies by tonight.”
“You know it,” Kenn answered, writing the directions down.
Adrian saw a look of satisfaction on young Charlie’s face. Had the boy helped Kenn? It was a brilliant idea, over half of America’s goods transported by rail and
the massive boxcars would just be sitting there, waiting to be found and emptied. Some, say half even, would already be cleaned out or too damaged, but the rest would
still be on the tracks where the EMPs or lack of fuel shut them down. It was a terrific idea. Kenn’s or the boy’s?
“What else?”
They moved to the parking area, Charlie trailing them, listening hard while appearing not to be.
“Last thing, I know you do fuel-ups by yourself on days when we’re shorthanded, like at the end of the month, and I thought maybe you could change things a little.
Like for the Eagles to graduate to the next level, they have to put in hours on a teaching class. That would free up six or seven short shifts.”
“We are always short ten men.”
Kenn nodded, ran a beefy hand over his short black hair as the gritty wind ruffled it. “Give me one of the extras. That’ll still leave you two.”
Adrian laughed. “Two instead of ten. I won’t know what to do with the extra time.”
“Sleep,” Kenn said immediately, and they shared a grin of commiseration. Both of them averaged less than five hours a night.
“I’ve given your boy a full-time job.”
The wide-shouldered Marine nodded, okay with Charlie being distracted. The constant whining about his mother was relentless, and Kenn had found himself
spending as much time away from the sulky teenager as he could. “He’s a hard worker.”
“I’ve noticed. You take the hand-to-hand test yet?”
Kenn shook his head, not reminding him they’d both passed one in basic training. What had happened before the War was mostly that: before.
“Doug’s class should still be going. Tell him I said to give you a quick run, but you should watch for a bit first, so you know what you’re up against.”
Kenn snapped off a quick salute as he left, and the boy moved back to Adrian’s side.
Adrian frowned, thinking the Marine couldn’t really help him teach the guards unless he was willing to go through the same things they did. He had decided the man
wouldn’t have his own team of Eagles; he would serve the Boss instead. Kenn couldn’t do both, but he still had to do everything the teams did, in order to help teach
them. A little less confidence for the match tonight wouldn’t hurt either, Adrian thought. The Marine was sharp and had only lost last time because the wind had
gusted at the wrong second and ruined his shot.
Charlie felt sorry for whoever Kenn was cursing in his thoughts. When he did that, someone (usually his mom) ended up bleeding.
“Come on. Grab that box.”
Charlie did as he was told, clamping down on the request for his schedule that wanted to fly out of his mouth. Adrian would give it to him. He never went back on
what he said, like most people.
6
An hour later, Adrian was almost sure the rail yard had been the smart, observant boy’s idea, was coming to think that the magic that fate had hinted at, was already
here - had been for a while. It was just too young, too raw, to really be useful yet.
“So what’s this box for?” Charlie asked as they moved to the Mess line for bowls of soup and fresh biscuits.
Adrian grinned at him. “I thought you’d ask long before now. Line it with a garbage bag from the truck and put a note on it. Set it by the cans. ‘Food only’. It’s for
the pregnant dogs.”
The boy had just finished and joined Adrian at the table when excited voices echoed, causing people to turn and look. A small group of talking men came by,
helping a bloody Doug towards the medical tent, and Adrian grinned wryly, shaking his head as he and the boy went back to eating. He had underestimated Kenn. He
wouldn’t do it again.
A second group of noisemakers arrived a couple minutes later, Kenn happily in their midst.
“Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
“Shoulda seen it!”
“Two hits! Just two hits!"
“Broke it. I heard it snap.”
Kenn was saying nothing, just grinning as they got in line, and Adrian looked to Charlie, noticing how he’d tensed. “Ready?”
The boy immediately got up, and they slipped out before Kenn was even halfway through the long, loud line.
Their next stop was the new livestock trailers and even newer vet, Chris. The Utah man had only been out of the QZ for a week and hard at work most of that time
- alone, because of his surly attitude and smart mouth.
“Anybody home?”
There was movement from inside, but no answer, and Charlie raised his hand to open the semi's faded white door.
“Not a good idea boy, but you do what you want.”
Charlie dropped his hand, and they turned to see the tall, thin veterinarian step out of a nearby tent, his neat white coat and handsome face not hiding the frosty
green eyes of a born loner.
“Star’s in there giving birth. She’s not in the mood for company.”
Adrian stepped over to him. “You see them yet?”
Chris tossed a small, white bag into the teenager’s hands. “One, normal as far as I can tell. When she’s done, we’ll knock her out and run the blood work.”
“Good.” Adrian shook his head at the offered envelope. “Kenn's job now. He’ll be by.”
Adrian turned to Charlie, eyes intent. “What’s your job that matters, son?”
“I’m a Dog Handler. Or at least I will be.”
“And do you know why this is a job that matters?”
Charlie thought about it, then shook his head. “No, sir.”
Adrian smiled, pleased. The boy would probably turn out to be very helpful in the future, reminded him of… Adrian stopped the stray thought. Not till they hit
Arkansas. He wasn’t allowed to think of it (be distracted by it) until then, and that was still a lifetime away.
“That’s okay. When you do, come see me. In the meantime, Chris is the boss and teacher, so pay attention.”
Charlie snapped off a salute. “You know it.”
The very smart teenager stepped over to Chris with his hand out. “Hi. I’m Charlie, your new slave. What should I do first?”
Adrian grinned, and the stern-faced vet nodded, hiding his own smile.
“That’s a real good start, boy. Put on the clothes in the bag and then come in the truck. I’ll have her chained up by then. Today, we help dogs repopulate the earth.”
“Cool.”
7
On his way to the next stop, Adrian caught sight of movement in the gritty sky and watched an Eagle fly over his camp. It glided at an odd angle on the wind,
swooping in sickly circles, as if she were lost, and Adrian mourned the bird and the country it unknowingly represented. Like the Eagle, America wasn’t doing well.
Suddenly feeling weighed down with the burdens he was carrying, Adrian went to the medical area, not happy to see all the seats empty. People were afraid to hear
what might be wrong, and soon he would have to enforce the testing law unless he thought of another way to get them in. Too bad Anne wasn’t a doctor too. Being
female would automatically draw in the women.
“Coming in.” He ducked inside and smiled at the uniformed doctor and nurse kissing in a dim corner. They parted slowly and Adrian smiled at Anne when she
blushed. Brown eyes twinkling happily, she stepped outside to give them privacy without being asked.
“Guess you’ve been a good boy,” Adrian joked.
John nodded, faded eyes grateful. “Me and you both. She’s glad we came now, and it does my heart good to see her happy.”
Adrian perched on a stool, seeing the slight shake of scarred hands as the stocky man sat down across from him. “I’m glad too, John. We need you both. I guess
by now you’ve pretty much got things figured out?”
The doctor shrugged, eyes alert. “Enough to know we came to the right people, the right leadership.”
“I appreciate that. There’s a question I need to ask. Any idea?”
John nodded without hesitation, glad he could. “Yes and you have it. We’re with you. I’m with you.”
Adrian handed him a glossy black notebook and an envelope from the unusually light inside pocket of his jacket. “These are some things I need answers to if you
can. I’ll get the equipment - just tell me exactly what you need. Most importantly, this stays between us.”
John took it, slipping his glasses on and he read the paper quickly. “These are smart questions. I’ve got some of my own work I’ve wanted to do that will help you,
especially with effective treatments. I’ll need specimens.”
Adrian moved toward the flap. “I have a few coolers in the back of my semi. I'll tell Kyle to give you free access."
John watched him leave before hiding the paperwork. Adrian was being very careful, knew how to sing to his herd and still get things done, and the doctor was sure
that their young leader bent out of shape would be something to see.
As Adrian left the medical tent, Kenn was there.
“Kyle’s three hours out. Mitch just talked to them.”
“Good. He mention where they are?”
“No. Call them back?” Kenn made a note to himself not to ever have to give the same answer again. From now on, he’d have the information.
“No.”
Adrian climbed under the broken fence, moving steadily through the sand he’d already had two boys rake and clear of debris, thinking the dust storm would be the
burial for those who wouldn’t otherwise get one.
“Game?”
Kenn shrugged, still a bit disappointed Adrian hadn’t said anything about him sending Doug to the medical tent. “If you like.”
Adrian dug through the dusty, but otherwise untouched box of sports equipment that they’d put out this morning, and came up with a football. “Go long.”
Kenn immediately took off running, and the blond threw the ball high and hard, hoping to draw some interest from his sheep. These games were good for them, but
hard to get started. Most of the refugees kept to themselves as they dealt with their grief, and Adrian scheduled regular times for things like this, knowing they needed it
as part of their recovery.
Kenn hurled the ball with a hard spin that made Adrian pay attention, and for the next few minutes, he left the heaviness of leadership on the sidelines and lost
himself in having fun. The passes were hard and long, punishing catches, and it was the echo of their laughter and taunts that drew people.
A small crowd slowly gathered, and when there was enough for teams, Adrian moved toward them. “Game anyone?”
He and Kenn were the quarterbacks, and it got rough from the start. The Marine, who still sometimes struggled to hide his true nature, slammed his way through
three other players, knocking them back to run by for a score.
“If you bleed, you’re out. Eagle Two’s team has six. Our turn.”
Adrian’s team let out a shout of approval and the game became an outlet for them as they tripped, shoved, elbowed, and harassed each other. Sweating, shirts
coming off, they drew in more of the camp’s people who were very sensitive to noises now. When Adrian looked up, nearly 50 people were watching, with about half
waiting to play.
“Time out!”
Adrian waved Kenn over as he headed for the sidelines, the stiff wind cooling his sweaty skin. “Pick your replacement. We’ve got a level test to give.”
Adrian threw the ball to Zack, knowing it would please Kenn. “Take my place, will ya? I’ve been knocked down enough.”
Everyone was laughing as the two men left. The leader had been tripped and hurried, but hadn’t hit the ground even once due to great protection, deft footwork,
and respect.
The game went on behind them, and both men were pleased, Kenn mostly because his side had been up by twelve when they stopped.
“Gather the Level Ones, Seth too. Send ‘em to that barn half a mile back and have them put on the vests. Neil is their supervisor, but not their leader. We'll find out
who that is today. Their mission begins with securing a 200 foot perimeter and staying out of sight. If anyone sees them leave, they fail. Meet me at the house next to the
barn in half an hour.”
Kenn nodded eagerly, hoping the Boss would like his plan, and handed him the paper as he left. It was his first attempt at tests like these, though he had worked
with the Man, before the War. Nobody had been better than Brady at high-casualty ambushes.
Adrian gave it a quick look, then put it away, heading for his tent. In and out, he was in the parking area a few minutes later talking to Daryl, the only Level Three
Eagle not out of camp with Kyle.
“Anyone come in?”
The tall, thin football coach shook his head. “No, it’s all quiet.”
Adrian sighed, not showing his disappointment. The help he needed wasn’t coming today. “Kenn will be by for the paperwork. That’s his job now. When’s Kyle
due?”
Smothering a frown, Daryl checked his watch, “Little over an hour.”
“Great. Let’s give them a call. Message is to put on the vests and pay attention before reaching camp. Mission objective, shake my hand to pass to Level Four
status.”
Daryl grinned and keyed his headset, one of a dozen Kenn had finished this week. “Base to Eagle Four.”
There was only a few seconds of silence, then Kyle’s calm voice, “This is Four, base - go ahead.”
“I’ve been instructed to tell you to put on the noisemakers and look alive before you hit camp. Copy?”
“Copy. What is the mission objective?”
“Physical contact with Eagle One.”
“Copy. Four out.”
Daryl took a quick look around the dusty landscape before turning back to Adrian. “Can I help?”
“Absolutely. You’re the instructor and then the hostage. The barn half a mile back. The rookies are headed there now. Go now and...entertain them - the way I did
at your first test.”
Daryl grinned at the memory and the responsibility he’d just been given, and Adrian slipped into his truck as the guard left. The leader changed clothes, made
contact with the next shift coming on, then snuck away to play with his army.
8
All the guards entered camp the way they’d left, Adrian and Kenn following more slowly behind.
“No one asked any questions. Big mistake. Seth’s team got lucky to win.”
Kenn was eager to help another of his picks. Zack was about to graduate to a Level One Eagle and had Kenn to thank for his name even being on the list. Now, all
the truck driver had to do was live up to it. There would be no slacking off allowed. “True, that. Seth sure surprised ‘em all.”
Adrian lit a smoke. “Yes, he did. Give him a level test tonight. If he makes it, bump him up to Level Four and we’ll catch him up. I always thought that team should
have been ten strong, just didn’t know who went there. Do it after dinner.”
Kenn didn’t look up from writing, glad for the redhead and hating the jealous part of him that wanted to say he’d done well with Doug, ask for his reward.
“So who’s our MC tonight?”
Kenn gave a tight smile, tone even, “Doug said he’d give that to you at Mess.”
Adrian met his eye, feeling his man’s need, meeting it. “That’s your job now. Once an evening you’ll do rounds and collect envelopes. Organize it into something I
can read quickly.”
Kenn kept his head down again, realizing he was being rewarded, and his heart eased. “Sure. That’s it for the list. See you at Mess?”
“You know it.”
Their radios crackled to life. “Mitch to Eagle One. Just took a call, A-Man.”
Adrian’s heart thumped, and he and Kenn exchanged a look. The drunk’s tone wasn’t encouraging.
“Still on the air?”
“No, low battery. Said they’d call back.”
“Copy.”
Kenn stayed at Adrian’s side as they headed to the COM truck, where Kyle had just taken up his post on watch. The cabin reeked of whiskey and Mitch rewound
the tape without saying as much as usual, able to feel Adrian's disapproval.
“This one sounds legit to me, but I just roll your waves.”
Adrian had to force himself not to frown. Mitch Hopkins was one hell of a radio man, but he was still too often just loud, crude, arrogant, and intoxicated. All things
Adrian and the camp had little tolerance for because it reminded them too much of what had been wrong with the old world when it had fallen. “Play.”
The fat-faced man nodded, green eyes smiling at all the people watching, seeing him with the Boss.
“This is Safe Haven. We are a convoy of American Red Cross survivors who will help if we can no matter your age, race, location, or injuries. Does anyone copy?”
There was silence after Mitch’s loud voice, and Adrian could feel the alcoholic fingering the button, wanting to move on and be done with this round of calls. Then,
there was a pause when Mitch had known instinctively that an answer was coming, and waited instead of garbling the transmission. Definitely one of the best before, and
despite his glaring flaws, probably was the best now.
“SOS, Safe Haven! Need a military escort to the nearest compound! Will pay any price!”
The words were surprisingly clear considering the awful clamor of background noise and static, and Adrian liked Mitch’s answer.
“Americans help first and ask questions later. Stand by while I get the Boss.”
“Can’t. Battery’s dyin’. There must be some place taking in refugees.”
The ex-dispatcher’s voice was quick, pointed, “Yeah, us.”
“But if you’re Red Cross, who do you get your orders from? Where are they?”
“Those aren’t questions for me. I just work the radio. What’s your situation?”
“Bad. People are hurt, sick. Supplies are gone, food’s real low. Where are you? Close?”
“That’s another one I won’t answer on open waves. You need to talk to the boss. Call back and we’ll get him quick, but for now, what’s your message?”
There was a long pause and then there came a tired voice full of despair that made Adrian’s heart demand action.
“I’m overloaded. I can’t describe it. We need protection, a way out to someplace safe. Tell him we’re American citizens begging for his…”
The transmission ended suddenly, and Mitch shut off the tape. “Figured they went dead.”
Adrian looked at the waiting alcoholic. “You did a great job. Get me right away when he calls back.
Red nose swelled, Mitch was all shit-eating grin at the praise. “You got it, A-Man. Catch you later?”
Adrian forced himself to nod and was glad to leave the drunk behind.
Kenn and Adrian went to his semi (always in the lead) and the leader climbed behind the wheel, leaving the door open. Time was running out, he could feel it
threatening what he held dear, and yet, he couldn’t ignore the call.
He motioned at the glove compartment, at the maps crammed inside. “Find out how far to Cheyenne and what’s between here and there.”
Kenn got to work as Adrian picked up the mic, knowing the leader was hoping for a reason to get the camp behind a rescue.
“Let’s do a count, Mitch. Eagle One, all clear.”
The count-off always took a while, people forgetting or going in the wrong order. Usually Adrian handled it, straightened them out, but today he let it go, waiting.
After a full minute of not getting by thirteen, Mitch took control, knowing Adrian wanted the radio clear, and again, he pleased the Boss.
“Fourteen, ready.”
“Okay Fourteen, but Thirteen goes first. Thirteen, you ready?”
“Roger that.”
“Good. We know fourteen is ready, so let’s move on.”
“Rogetssscccfourteenssch,”
Mitch’s voice boomed over the radio. “Fourteen! Put your mic down! Hang it up now!”
“Roger.”
The two men shared a grin, as the check continued more smoothly, everyone knowing Mitch had little patience, and now, Adrian's blessing to keep them in line.
“Three hundred miles. Laramie and Casper are the only big towns.” Kenn peered closer at the small writing. “Damn. There are only a couple of reservoirs. Not a
good enough excuse to go.”
Adrian's cool eyes looked over the dusty Wyoming land around them, as Kenn got his notebook out, shaking his head at the radio.
“Come on Twenty! Why are you calling out of order?”
“Because I’ve got too many kids in my area!”
“Did you check the…” The radio went quiet for a moment as the guards straightened out the mix up.
“Your impression?”
Kenn’s voice was flat, “He said protection before food or water, like we might be walking into something and have to fight for them.”
“Are we able to do that now?”
Kenn shrugged, sounding more confident than he really felt. Marines, these people were not. Most were more like showers shoes – not even a boot camp graduate.
“Maybe we could be. Kyle’s team might be now.”
“Just a simple plan, a team of a dozen,” Adrian said, leading him, and Kenn’s pen started moving, copying his own words as he too settled into the groove and gave
Adrian exactly what he needed at that moment - signs of progress.
“We’d need to start more men as Eagles, snipers, a long-range communications system, and we would need to be running full-time gun classes…wish we could find
ammo for the rifles, but we’ll make do.”
Adrian waited, wanting to see if Kenn would get the most important parts.
“Also need more tents and some practices for the camp, a drill of some kind.”
Kenn looked up suddenly. “Cheyenne’s close to the Slavers’ path, on 25. Will the camp go, with the base in Montana so close?”
Adrian looked out the dirty window, voice like stone, as Kenn spoke what he’d been thinking. Even his right-hand believed they were still going. He would take
care of that at the next camp meeting. “All the Eagles will. The camp would feel extremely unprotected while we’re gone.”
Kenn said nothing at the threat, not doubting. Those words wouldn’t be used, but the message would be clear. Adrian was going, and those who were with him,
would follow. The rest would have to fend for themselves, until - if - he came back for them. “When will they be told?”
“Right after the next call, but it’s best to start with little hints now. Have people ‘overhear’ the men say it’s our duty. If not for that, none of them would be safe right
now. Remind them that Americans don’t turn away from doing what’s right, just because it’s hard.”
9
The sky was full of vivid shades of purple and green that were mesmerizing, and Adrian saw people taking long looks at the mysterious beauty as he headed to
dinner. There was a large crowd in and around the Mess, most people talking of the shooting contest to come and of Kenn’s match-up with Doug.
There were still yells and groans from a late-running football game, garbage cans full of trash burning at the four corners of the camp, and two warmly-dressed
women were playing their guitars softly around the large bonfire. It felt like early October as Adrian got his tray and headed for the already full middle table. The smell of
salt came to him, bringing flashes of an angry sea, and he wondered where and how many they’d be come Fall.
The rookie guards were at a double table nearby, still congratulating and welcoming Seth, and the Level Threes were on the other side of the Boss’ table, looking
glum, as they listened to the happy voices.
Doug and Neil sat across from Kenn, and when Adrian pushed his mostly finished tray aside, the others did too. “Mini meeting and we can skip it later.”
Notebooks and pens came out, and Adrian got busy, not lowering his voice. It was crucial to his plans that the camp thought they knew how he ran things. “Sitrep
on your run.”
“We got everything on the lists, except gas. All the stations were dry or destroyed.”
“Alpine?”
“Just like all the rest. Nothing alive. We took pictures.”
“Okay. That’s it. Who’s ready to shoot something?”
The men laughed, the boasting loud, and Adrian saw Doug hand Kenn his envelope with an apologetic nod that he was glad to see the Marine accept casually, as if
Doug hadn’t insulted him, when clearly he had. Things were looking up.
10
“All right, let’s get to it.” Bonfire warming his back, Adrian stood in front of two teams of men, his Army, and raised his bottle. “Rookies! Congratulations on
passing!”
All the men cheered, one group much louder than the other, and they all drank together.
“You are now Level One Eagles. You boys get to choose your leader tonight and I’ll need a name before this meeting’s over.”
He raised his bottle again. “Level Three Eagles, congratulations on passing!”
There were a lot of surprised looks with the cheers and Adrian waved a hand at Kyle. “You made it past Kenn and while there were mistakes, you couldn’t have
won anyway. Seth was the wild card that you can’t always be ready for. I consider it a success.”
Both groups cheered fully this time, drank, and Adrian held up a hand as it lingered this time. “We have one more challenge tonight, a personal level test.”
The leader waved a hand. “Come up here, Seth.”
The cop left his beer and new friends, approaching Adrian with pride and confusion.
“You have demonstrated great thinking skills, excellent teamwork, and an above average slyness that American men have used to protect this country for centuries.
As a reward, Kenn will give you a test. If you pass, you’ll graduate straight to the top level and start with Kyle and his Eagles tomorrow.”
The men all cheered, glad for him, and Seth raised a brow as he grinned. “When?”
Kenn stood and Adrian grinned back. “Now.”
The leader tossed his dog tags at Kenn’s booted feet, and the wind immediately began trying to cover the shiny metal with sand. “All you have to do is pick ‘em up
and hand ‘em to me.”
“That’s it?”
The newly-crowned Level Four men groaned, snorted at the question. Kenn’s look was menacing enough to make Seth get serious, as he realized this wouldn’t be
a give-me. The Marine had beaten Doug.
“Just get by me, is all,” Kenn sneered.
Seth nodded, handing his gun to Adrian. The second he let go of it, he spun and dove for the tags.
He came close, but Kenn kicked his shoulder with the flat of his boot at the last second, sending him rolling through the grit.
Seth got easily to his feet, eyes on the prize, and this time when he rushed Kenn, the Marine used his own weight to throw him across the ring of now standing and
shouting men.
He gained his balance, rolling as he landed. When the cop rushed a third time, Kenn planted a hard fist in his ribs that had him grunting.
“This is for real! If you don’t want it, quit now!” Kenn growled, not about to take it easy on the redhead even though he hoped for another ally in him.
Seth shook his head, side hurting and heart waking at the challenge. His body language changed, became intent.
Each of the Level men watched him, remembering their own tests, and that moment when they too had realized they wanted it almost more than anything - because
of Adrian.
Seth moved closer, circling, no longer eyeing the metal under Kenn’s feet, but keeping track of it. This time when the redhead rushed, he came in low and hard,
making the Marine take a step back as they shoved against each other.
Kenn quickly delivered a vicious kick to his knee, then another to his ankle, and Seth fell, grunting in pain.
“Just quit,” Kenn ordered. “Give up!”
Seth’s face hardened, and everyone watching knew that he wouldn’t. The feeling of failing Adrian was one that would never go away, not in this new life.
The redhead got to his feet for a fourth time, and Adrian watched with real interest, as fire grew in the cop’s eyes. Seth stepped straight at Kenn, like he meant to
rush again, and instead, swung a roundhouse that landed on Kenn’s jaw, rocking him back.
The other fist came around, slamming into the Marine’s cheek, and then Kenn was hitting back, and Seth went to his knees in the sand as the Marine beat on his
face. Seth sank his head into Kenn’s hard gut, shoving with his legs, and as they rolled over, his fingers clutched at the dusty ground. His pinky snagged the chain and
when he got to his feet, the dog tags were securely in his grip.
He flashed them at Kenn, who was moving determinedly in his direction. “I got ‘em! It’s over, right?” he panted, and then ducked as Kenn swung.
“But, I’m done. I...”
No one spoke, waiting for him to figure it out.
His eyes narrowed at Adrian’s outstretched hand and then he was moving, ducking, darting, and shoving his way to the man whose life he often dreamed of giving
his own for.
Kenn spun him back by the shoulder, and Seth threw out a fist, punching him hard and Kenn swung back, rocking the cop on his heels.
Pissed now, Seth returned the hit, putting his weight into it. When Kenn did the same, the Eagles watching were impressed that Seth stayed on his feet.
The two men kept swinging, trading blow for fast blow, but when Adrian gave him a subtle nod, Kenn delivered a nasty hit to Seth’s forehead that knocked him
face down in the dirt at the leader’s feet.
When Seth’s hand rose, Adrian bent down and retrieved his property. “Pass. Effective immediately, you are a Level Four Eagle.”
“No.”
There was a shocked silence as Seth climbed to his feet, covered in sand and blood drops.
“Because?”
“Because…they...voted me team leader...earlier. Can’t have… that as a Level Four.”
Adrian grinned, and Kenn slung an arm around the cop’s tense, gritty shoulders. “If you knew you didn’t want it, why did you go through with the test?”
Seth grinned at his fellow Eagle, but the look in his eyes said his words were for Adrian. “To prove…that I could.”
11
The call came just as Adrian was grinding his hard body against a very willing ass, breath coming in short rasps. He pressed a quick, apologetic kiss to her neck as
he stepped back, zipped up.
He left without a word, heading quickly through the blowing grit to the communications truck - sliding into the sandy seat a minute later.
As he keyed the mic, Adrian was aware of Kenn waiting nearby to help him. Good. The Marine would make it easier. “This is Eagle One. Go ahead with your
message.”
“We need help.”
“Tell me what exactly.”
“We have to leave no matter what, but we need an armed escort. Things are rough here.”
“How rough? Don’t send me in blind, but be careful what you say.”
“Slavers.”
That one word brought mutters from the half a dozen men now lingering around the radio truck and Adrian keyed the mic, “Do any of you know Morse code?”
“No... Wait.”
There were a few seconds of silence.
“We know it.”
Adrian waved a hand to Kenn and the Marine opened his notebook, slid into the other chair. “Get ready for a message. Word for word, Marine. Don’t miss one.”
“Go ahead, Safe Haven.”
Adrian gave Kenn the mic. “Say the number, five.”
Kenn tapped and they waited.
“Five.”
“Say the state, Nevada.”
“Nevada.”
Kenn gave Adrian a nod and got ready to work.
“We will fight for you, protect you, and feed you. In return, you’ll be expected to obey and work for it.”
There was a lot of tapping and silence, and Adrian waited impatiently for this part to be over so he could get to the information he needed.
“Agreed, but everyone goes.”
Kenn handed the mic back to Adrian, and the leader’s voice was flat, “We don’t leave Americans behind. I’ve got some questions. Ready?”
“Roger that, Safe Haven and thank you. You’re the first Americans we’ve heard, who aren’t in the same boat as us.”
Kenn took the mic back, frowning. “Tell exactly double the number of people you have. Include everyone.”
“Seventy.”
“How many fighters? Double it.”
“Ten.”
Both men winced. “Weapons?”
“Limited.” Tap tap tap tap tap. “A few hand guns. No ammo.”
“Have you seen the Slavers?”
“Yes. Twice, from a distance.”
“How many are there? Double it and add a hundred.”
“Not exact, four hundred?”
Adrian’s frown was deep. “Where are they now?”
The taps went on for a long time, Kenn’s hand flying, and then he was circling an area on the map and holding it up for the boss to see. Adrian counted quickly.
Tap tap tap tap tap…
He looked over his Marine’s shoulder, reading out loud: “Heard them this morning. They spend a few days each time they take a town. Most people here are from
the places they’ve invaded.”
Kenn gave Adrian a look. “Based on his calculations, they’re only four towns away from Cheyenne. Two and a half weeks.”
Adrian nodded, the plan falling into place in his head. He didn’t like it, but it was the only thing he could do. “Tell them to be ready from the 21st. Radio silence until
then, unless they see or hear of the Slavers reaching Wellington. Switch to channel 18 and say double the date I’ve just given you.”
“Forty two.”
Adrian took the mic back, hoping the Slavers weren’t listening. Hundreds of channels and both calls had lasted less than seven minutes total. Maybe they would get
lucky. “Hang in there, Overloaded. Liberty and Justice will prevail.”
“Roger that, Safe Haven. Cheyenne, out.”
Adrian looked at his right-hand man, “It’s yours, Marine. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.”
Kenn’s eyes were confident, “We’ll come and go like the wind.”
Chapter Eight
March 10th, 2013
1
Still alone and once again in danger, Samantha’s heart was pounding, as she waited motionless in the dank basement of a farmhouse on the outskirts of Boulder,
Colorado.
Her worried eyes watched the drunken passage of a very large group of dirty, well-armed Mexican men, rolling down the street like they owned it. Praying none of
them looked her way, she listened to shouts, glass breaking, and wild gunfire that made her duck down a bit more.
These were the stragglers, hurrying to catch up to the main group she had already watched go by, the sky behind them warning of another nasty storm coming. She
ignored the throbbing leg that confirmed the forecast. Samantha had been moving very cautiously since surviving the battle with wolves, and her alert eyes saw the
billowing, black smoke filling the air in the direction the Mexicans had come from. Were they the ones who had taken NORAD?
The small cellar room Sam had taken shelter in was cold and stank of mildew. The floor was covered in standing, stagnant water, but she only had eyes for the
dangerous men moving through the devastated neighborhood bordering the big, dark city.
Samantha didn’t know who they were, but it was clear they were trouble. Not that she would have made contact even if they’d looked okay. She hoped to be left
alone until she got to Cheyenne, and it never crossed her mind that this group might be headed there, too.
Samantha had seen more bodies around here than in other places, the dead carrying sores that made her push away horrible flashes of the bunker where she had
killed her first man, but there had been live people, too - brief, distant glimpses of her fellow survivors that sent her dropping out of sight as fast as she could.
Sam was heavily-armed now, shame and paranoia her constant companions. The pair had settled onto her shoulders, making her prefer the lonely solitude to the
conversations she would be forced to have. What would she say? “Hi. I’m Sam. I had a pass to the government’s safe bunker, but my chopper crashed, and now
I’m stuck out in this hell with you common folk.” Not a good idea.
She did want to be with others again, longed for her normal life back, but there was only one type of people she could live with, she understood that now. The
thought of being alone didn’t bother her nearly as much as how everything had changed, how dangerous even living had become.
Sam’s eyes looked over the last of the vehicles driving though the dirty slush, lingering on the very distant shadow of purple mountains with dull, white peaks. They
would be full of lavender columbine by now, gigantic ash trees and evergreens providing homes for the rabbits, cranes, and larks she hadn’t seen down here. Up there
was a whole different world.
Her leg had healed slowly and painfully, forcing her to spend two full weeks at a farmhouse just south of the hunting lodge. She was glad the morphine had only held
out for the first six days. Any more than that might have turned her into a junkie. Almost had anyway, she thought, still wanting that liquid gold buzz, even though normal
Tylenol was controlling the pain.
Traveling was hard though, and she had only been able to keep going because of the cart she’d found in a shed behind a vandalized golf course. She had been back
on the road for almost a week now and still wasn’t sure if it had been hunger driving the wolves, or something else. The way they’d tracked her, surrounded her, and
waited for the storm’s cover, implied organization.
“Almost like they planned it,” she muttered lowly, pulling her trench coat closer as the last of the muddy jeeps fell out of her view that was distorted by the light rain
on the dirty glass, and the tier of dark Hanukah candles that would stay that way forever. “They were the hunted before. Now they’re the hunters.”
Her words, spoken quietly, disturbed the occupants of the dank basement that she hadn’t noticed when she’d quickly limped down the steep wooden steps,
seeking refuge from the large group of obviously dangerous men. Suddenly, Sam realized her safe shelter wasn’t so safe.
There was movement in the corner and she froze, heart thudding. A soft slither around a cobweb-covered ceiling beam - long and drawn out as it slid closer,
another ripple of movement along the floor, a dark, weaving shadow under the inches of water - and Sam’s paralysis broke. She had to get out of here!
Staying low, Sam swung the sharpened walking stick in front of her as she limped to the steps, able to feel the snakes gliding toward her from above. There was no
hissing, no noises except for hers, and it was menacing.
Samantha took the steep stairs two at a time, seeing another, larger snake coming from behind the wooden steps and she lunged up the last three.
Unable to stifle a cry as she rolled, she lost her cane, her bad leg taking the brunt of her weight.
The air moved near her head, and she rolled again, hitting the wall. On her feet a second later, Sam quickly limped to the door, not able to see anything following,
but sure the hungry reptiles were there.
The feeling was gone as she moved through the heavily-decorated front door, but she didn’t slow as the rain pelted her, only slid her goggles over haunted blue
eyes. The ghost town around her was silent, smoking heavily in places, and Sam wondered if the fallout that was changing nature’s routines and habits, was also
affecting the people.
She had seen things since the War that made even Stephen King’s stories seem tame, and it was everywhere. Dead corpses full of bullet holes, female bodies still
lying with their legs spread and mouths open in mi-scream, the family dog impaled on a broken porch rail, blood smears in the shape of a small hand on the stone walk.
Her eyes landed on these things and flew away each time, but she knew she’d see them ‘up close and personal’ in her dreams. There was no escaping it.
2
Cesar and his Slavers were indeed headed toward southern Wyoming, where survivors had been heard calling for help, attracting his attention instead. These
refugees read the American Pledge of Allegiance and sang the anthems over the radio. Cesar couldn’t wait to show them who this new America belonged to.
Chapter Nine
March 11th, 2012
Pitcairn Island
1
Kendle winced at a brilliant bolt of white lightning forking across the cloudy sky, her stomach churning as the storm roared down on them.
“Nice night for a ride. Come on!" Luke shouted over the thunder, grinning, and Kendle moved faster, fighting the stiff wind and driving rain. She pulled the cabin
door shut and shouldered the backpack while she ran for the idling bike.
The storm had been growing all day. When Luke had said to pack a bag, that they were going to higher ground, she hadn’t argued, despite not wanting to be
soaked and get a chill from a midnight ride. She would face anything that kept her off that merciless ocean. She threw her leg over and grabbed hold of his belt buckle.
The bike jerked forward, throwing her back, and Luke grabbed for her blindly. He snagged her jacket and pulled her back on behind him. He found her hand,
wrapped it around his hips, and she buried her head against his strong back, heart skipping in her chest. The angry sky above them lit up again, lightning flashing wildly,
and Luke wanted to comfort her when she jumped, but already had his hands full keeping the Yamaha moving steadily on the muddy path.
Kendle knew to mold her body to his so their matched movements would help him keep them balanced. She held on tight, feeling his muscles flexing, controlling, his
heartbeat comforting against her ear, and these things were a relief in spite of the fear. All in all, she’d much rather take her chances on land, with Luke. There wasn’t a
road or any lights that signaled other people, the island natives miles apart, and she closed her eyes when the path they were on narrowed suddenly by more than half.
Soon they were under the protective canopy of a thick forest of tall, leafy trees. Sheltered from the worst of the weather pounding on the thick vegetation far above
them, he took a moment to check on her. “You okay?”
She pushed closer against his back, not looking, as lightning flashed again.
“Be there in half an hour.”
She nodded, miserable physically, but emotionally, she felt only unbelievable gratitude that someone else was in charge of this crisis.
They moved through the thick, black jungle at a steady pace for what seemed like hours to Kendle. Muddy, unseen, leafy plants and vines slapped at them from the
dense darkness around their speck of a headlight, and the rain began to beat on them again when Luke turned onto an extremely narrow path that veered out of the
trees and down a steep hill.
The fast-moving bike hit the bottom, and Kendle clung to him as they shot upward, very close to tipping over. They evened out onto a rocky path that led gradually
up a tall hill dotted with heavily-swaying banyan trees. Rain pelting their faces, wind stealing her breath in little, painful gusts each time he rounded a curve, Kendle held
on tight, and waited for it to be over.
Blindingly vivid lightning flashed overhead abruptly, moving toward them at thousands of miles per hour, and their ears were filled with a roaring thunder as it
slammed into the ground, exploding in a ball of vivid red and white light.
Ccrraaacckkk!
There was no way to avoid the flaming, bushy tree that crashed to the ground across their path, and the bike tire hit the thick log at full speed, flipping them into the
air.
Arm still deadlocked around his waist, Kendle screamed, and then the breath was knocked out of her as they hit the mud and slid toward the edge of the steep hill.
Kendle sucked in air to scream again, hands clawing for purchase as she felt herself start to go over, and the small breath shot out in another piercing shout as she
started to fall.
Luke snagged her slick wrist, pulling it out of its socket for a second of awful pain, before hauling her up and into his arms. “You all right, Darlin?”
She buried her head against his chest and Luke held her close as he got to his feet. Moving back to the muddy path that he had no trouble seeing in the dark, Luke
had a brief, horribly real flash of trying to carry each villager out of ground zero and shook it away. Now was not the time.
The rain fell harder, washing away some of the mud on their hands and faces, and Luke didn’t stop to look at the bike, but carried her to a dark hillside before
setting her gently on her feet.
“Hang on a minute, little girl, and we’ll be inside.”
Kendle saw nothing that resembled a shelter, and her eyes widened when he pulled aside a large patch of grass like it was a carpet, revealing a wide, steel door set
into the earth.
Realizing carpet was right, she watched him twist the combination lock into place. When he disappeared inside, she followed with only a little hesitation. She had
that unnerving sense of wrongness as she went in, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been previously and she guessed that was one of the few wounds that might heal
completely with enough time. She had been back on land for a little over three weeks, but a lot of the horror was still there, lurking just under the surface of her polite
smiles and casual words.
The storm’s sounds were muffled by the dirt, and when a light flared in the darkness, then brightened, allowing her to look around, Kendle was glad to know they
wouldn’t be laid up short.
Luke lit the lamps hanging in each corner of the 8’ x 10’ x 30’ room, and Kendle stared in approval. Everything they needed was here. The walls were concrete, the
floors, ceiling, chairs, and small table all made of plain yellow wood - as were the long rows of shelves running the length of the back wall, and everywhere she looked,
there were supplies. Serious survival supplies.
Lamps, batteries, weapons, a gas stove hooked to a grill, lots of dusty boxes marked ‘fragile, handle with care’. It was all neatly arranged, and there were personal
touches here that were missing from the bare walls of his small cabin, like the pictures of a jungle, behind American soldiers holding rifles up and grinning.
Were these the men he had served with in ‘Nam? LJ hadn’t said he’d been there, hadn’t even told her that he was a soldier, but she knew. He was way too tightlipped
and organized to be anything but military, and she’d figured the place by his age. He had told her he would be sixty-one on the sixth of July, but she was pretty
sure that back in the day, Luke had been a badass. The young man in those pictures certainly looked the part.
“This is amazing. You built it yourself?”
Luke unfolded a blue tarp behind the open door as she got a towel out of the backpack to wipe her face. “Dug it, mostly. Frank helped when I started putting in the
walls and ceiling. We’re only three miles from the cabin, but we’re almost a hundred feet higher. Even a rogue wave won’t reach here.”
He ducked back out into the storm, and Kendle forced herself to wait, hating the awful loneliness that swept over her every time Luke was out of sight. She could
follow. He'd made it clear he liked having her around. He hadn’t even wanted to tell her that the doctor had a room in town if she felt uncomfortable staying with him.
She got the sense that he was lonely too, and his full days backed that up. It spoke of someone wanting to be too tired to think or even dream when he went to bed,
and that, she understood completely.
Kendle covered her face with her wet sleeve as she sneezed. Wrist aching, swelling a little, she looked around for a place to change. Seeing nothing private enough,
she settled for peeling off her drenched shoes and socks and hanging her dripping jacket over a chair. Shivering as she listened to the rumble of the storm, the castaway
waited nervously for her host to come back.
Luke rolled the wrecked, but fixable bike inside and leaned it against the wall so that the mud would drip onto the tarp. His very male eyes quickly looked away
from Kendle’s see-through shirt and slacks. He got a coil of rope and a blanket from a shelf, aware of how her gray eyes lingered on him while he attached the rope to
the ceiling near the bunk beds.
He threw a long blanket over it to duplicate the area he had made for her back at the cabin when she’d said she preferred to stay with him, if he didn’t mind. “I’ll
make some coffee while you change,” he offered, going to the tarp to take off his muddy boots.
Kendle smiled gratefully, moving behind the blanket. She couldn’t wait to be warm and dry again. Being wet reminded her too much of her nightmare on the ocean.
Luke tossed his soaked, mud-streaked coat over the other chair and couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to the slender shadow on the wall as he wiped his face
and got the water heating on the stove. He was decades older than her, with blood on his hands that he could never atone for, but he couldn’t deny the want. He’d been
alone for a long time, and she was beautiful, young, brave… he’d found his eyes watching her for signs of interest.
She had told him that her career had kept her busy, that there was no husband or even a boyfriend to mourn, and he had been able to read nothing else. She was
nice, friendly to him, good company, but very careful and closed-off. She’d clearly been through hell, had a fortress around her heart, and Luke had decided he
wouldn’t even try to breach those walls without at least knowing whether she saw him as an eligible man or just an old man.
“How long did all this take?” she asked from behind the blanket, and Luke forced his eyes away from her alluring shadow, thinking she had to be the strongest
female he’d ever met. Even the resourceful island women would still be in tears over that close call, and she sounded like nothing had happened.
“Over four years.” He got the cups out, wiping the dust from them, ears listening to her movements.
“Anyone else know it’s here?”
“Probably. Everyone out here has a hole-up. It’s the way you do things on Pitcairn.”
“How long have you lived alone out here?” It was one of the first personal questions she’d asked, and his reluctance to answer was clear when he finally did.
“All my life it seems like sometimes.”
Kendle tossed her dripping sweater over the rope, hiding her underclothes beneath her slacks, and her eyes found his, locked.
Luke felt his lungs tighten. Her vivid red skin was a sharp, sexy contrast to the simple white dress that outlined a perfect young body, and for an instant, Luke
considered just asking her outright to be his woman. Common sense returned quickly, with guilt on its heels.
He turned away, missing her look of relief. Those were choices she definitely wasn’t ready to make yet. She was weak, vulnerable, still dealing with the grief of
losing her sister. Men and sex were the last things on her mind…right?
“How long do you think we’ll be here?”
“Day or two probably. We’ll be able to see the beach come dawn. If the crabs and sandpipers are out, I’ll know for sure it’s okay. Likely, I overreacted."
Kendle smiled, pulling dry, white anklets over slender feet. “I’m okay with it.”
Luke ducked behind the blanket while Kendle wandered the far ends of the long room, impressed. She and her parents had each had an area in their homes, but his
was the King of all shelters - medical supplies, survival books, a long box with a picture of a thermal tent on the side, and a generator in the back corner. All these things
said Luke was a realistic, reliable person - but the creature comforts, like the cigars, the chocolate bars and music, said life with him wouldn’t be cruel either, and it
pleased her.
Life with him? Kendle asked herself sharply, hearing the clink of pants with a belt still in them hitting the wooden floor. Are you conceding your real life for this?
Not even planning a single, foolish attempt to get back?
She shook her head. No. Going back on the water was unthinkable. Unless a plane came, she was here to stay. With Luke? Kendle wasn’t sure yet, wasn’t sure
how much she could give him. There were younger, more arrogant men here. She’d met them and been asked out by a couple, but had said no, even letting one think
she and Luke already had something going on, so he would take the hint and leave her alone.
She felt safe with Luke, knew instinctively he was her own kind, and while she knew people who’d started relationships with less, she didn’t think she was ready for
all the complications that always came up. She owed him a great deal, and he was definitely one of the good guys, but his eyes said he’d done terrible things in the past,
and she often wondered if his solitary life here was a self-imposed penance for it. He was closed-off, giving few details about his life, and she wasn’t sure yet how close
she wanted to be to him.
There was a choice coming, though. She saw it in his heated blue eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking, felt it when shared a meal over flickering candlelight, and
while it flattered her, she didn’t encourage him or lead him on. Luke was a full-grown man who could easily take what he wanted if provoked, and that was nothing to
play with when you were almost alone together on a deserted island paradise.
“Where did you get all this stuff?” she asked, needing to fill the silence as he stepped from behind the blanket. His big, scarred hands were tucking in his plaid shirt
around lean hips, and Kendle quickly looked away, thinking he really was in great shape for being sixty.
“Plane used to come. Some from crashes and what the tide brought in. Little from people leaving, not wanting to take it back to the mainland with them.” He
paused, looking at her with dark eyes lined by the coming of old age. “Some from my time in the service.”
Kendle nodded, recognizing the first information he’d offered about his past. She stopped herself from asking anything, knowing he expected it, but didn't really
want to give it. Instead, she sat down, still shivering a little.
Luke took a long suede jacket from a wall peg and draped it over her shoulders, not letting his restless fingers make contact with her skin.
She pulled it close, smiling her thanks and noticing the light smell of whiskey before he moved back. Luke had been a complete gentleman the entire time they'd
been together. Weak most of the time, she felt guilty, wanting to help with the chores, but the doctor had told him to make sure she took it easy, and he did. He cooked
and cleaned, did the laundry, and sometimes, let her dry dishes or set the table.
As a result, she was starting to regain the weight she’d lost and was feeling better every day. Even the tears at night were coming less frequently. It had been almost
a week now since her last nightmare, and she was grateful to him for everything.
"Enough to give your body? When a man’s been alone as long as he has, that’s a powerful thing to be used."
No. Her virginity was worth more to her than just the payment of a debt or a bond to keep from being alone.
The storm outside their den grew stronger, and Luke turned on the CD player, surprising her with Aerosmith’s greatest hits, then left her alone, knowing she needed
time to heal. She reminded him of how bad off he’d been when he first came here.
He too, had been on the edge of death, on the line of putting his gun in his mouth, but this simple life had healed him enough to go on, and it would her as well, in
time. He’d had Frank and she would have him. It would be enough to keep either of them from ending it when the nightmares got bad.
2
Hours later, Kendle jerked awake in the warm darkness, eyes flying to the shadow of the man standing over her. Her eyes locked with his, seeing the terror that
would probably never be spoken of. Being here, around the mementoes of his past, had hurt him.
Responding to his desperate need, she slowly pulled back the blanket, inviting him in. They’d passed many nights in each other’s arms, usually when he couldn’t
stand the sound of her sobs anymore.
Luke curled away from her, embarrassed, and Kendle molded herself to his back. Feeling his rapid heartbeat, his quick rasps for air, had her holding him tighter,
lending her comfort. Laying there, listening to his struggle, she thought that maybe together, they might teach each other to live with all that had happened, and go on
despite the scars they would always carry.
Earlier, she’d been sure she wasn’t ready to handle any type of a relationship right now, but the feel of his pain made her accept that she was already in one. She
cared for Luke, wanted him to find a measure of peace with whatever demons were tormenting him…and he wanted the same for her. It wasn’t a traditional
relationship, but there was something about it that was comforting.
Luke’s body shuddered as his control gave a little, and Kendle comforted him as best she could, not quite daring to tug him into her full embrace. Physical contact,
she definitely wasn’t ready for yet, but being alone…away from Luke, just wasn’t an option anymore.
Chapter Ten
Bad weather sensors and alarms on buoys out in the Atlantic Ocean were storing data on a system of unparalleled size, but the warnings went unheeded, those
operating the stations long gone; their dark halls abandoned.
Most water front areas had emptied out right after the War. Storm surges, tidal waves, and horrible flooding forced the tourists and vacationers to go, but there
were still people surviving along the coast. They were the longtime residents who had stayed for Hurricane Camille in ’69 and again for Andrew in ’92. These were the
die-hard survivors who abandoned their homes for nothing…and now, they were leaving.
The ocean was telling them there was a monster on the way, though it was over two months before the season officially started. Some of these residents held hopes
of returning, but most suspected there would be little to come back to. They had seen the signs and understood.
Before, they might have had three or four days of warning. Now, they had one if they were alert, and only a few hours if they were not. The days of city pumps and
mandatory evacuations were gone, but the natural warnings were abundant. Flocks of brightly-colored birds that normally spent a few days in the area, kept going, their
cries uneasy, upset. The surf was growing steadily rougher, pushing further onto the debris-littered beaches, despite no visible storm clouds. The wind threw out sudden
downdrafts and heavy rain bands that had gust sensors reaching 70 before settling back down to 35. The barometers were dropping sharply; the tides almost impossible
to distinguish as the rough surf moved further inland, and animals had begun to beach themselves.
It was enough to convince even the most foolhardy. Sharks, whales, dolphins, all fleeing and panic-stricken, were willing to suffocate themselves on the beaches,
rather than face whatever was coming. This was no tropical depression, and alert coastal survivors raced to get out of its path.
Some people however, had no idea danger was once again approaching. Large parts of Georgia, made oceanfront property in the War, were underwater, and
Valdosta, where the crack had split the land, was full of people who had been on the road for the holiday. Stuck with no way to go forward and no way to go back,
they had no understanding of the ocean’s dangerous fury and the cost of the lesson was high. The group of survivors in Valdosta only numbered a hundred, but they
were unrelated families who could have repopulated the entire country without any fears of inbreeding. Their laws might have been drastically different, their future
waiting for them…
Out in the toxic waters of the Gulf, a monster had honed in on American soil. Hurricane Amanda, as it might have been called if anyone had been left to name it, was
bigger than anything on record and it surged due north, powered by a hot ocean current and violent winds full of radiation.
It had churned for weeks, drawing smaller storm systems in, and at its peak, the outlying winds were sustained at 300 mph, with gusts upwards of 375 mph. The
storm surge was 25 feet high in places as it pushed into southern Georgia, and ten inches of rain fell from the angry sky in the first hour. If satellite pictures could have
been accessed, they would have shown a storm that, at its height, covered over half the United States, with rainbands touching both Mexico and Canada.
Amanda moved northwest as she came ashore, submerging whole towns and leaving an immense path of destruction in her wake. The parts of the Bahamas, the
Florida Keys, and Cuba that survived the War, were destroyed - flooded with high water that receded slowly, reluctantly giving back only half of what it had taken. The
War had raised ocean levels as much as ten feet globally, and those lands already at or below sea level, were wiped off the map by Hurricane Amanda, becoming a part
of the vast, angry ocean.
Nearly no one survived in these isolated havens of “fun in the sun”, yet not all the victims came from the land. Boat after boat was flooded, rolled and sank, including
battleships and Coast Guard vessels, which, having survived the War, could only drift on the tides without their engines and compasses. These people joined the millions
of others already under the salty waves.
The eye of Hurricane Amanda hit Valdosta, GA head-on and moved inland like a wall of liquid destruction, leaving not a single structure or tree for ten miles inland.
It was shocking to see a seven hundred foot long cargo ship sitting evenly atop a school building half its size. Upon closer inspection, it was not a container ship but a
former battleship that had been turned into a floating hospital of aid; the boxes littering it not pods, but crushed cars and homes. The USNS Comfort had crossed the
oceans on thousands of missions of mercy, but its days were over now; gone like the police, 911, lottery contests, and elections. Gone like Hollywood, American Idol,
and the entire west coast. The Survivors, the War’s desperate refugees, now have only the simplest of goals: they want to live, to continue, and if enough of the right
people can find each other, they just might stand a chance.
Hurricane Amanda did give the survivors one benefit: it brought in warmer air from the South, where there was less grit in the sky to block out the sun’s rays. For
the first time since the War, it began to feel like the season it was.
The downside - with these fresh winds, came violent storms. Mother Nature was still furious, venting her rage indiscriminately, and America’s losses continued.
Chapter Eleven
March 18th, 2013
Somewhere in Missouri
1
They were lost in middle-America. The storm battered their vehicles, lashing out at them violently. The rain came in sporadic bursts, cold droplets that set skin on
fire, and thick, orange clouds rolled menacingly overhead.
Marc and Angela had been making good time until they’d gotten to Kirksville, Missouri, but getting past the tangled piles of wreckage was impossible. Stretching as
far as they could see, even to her untrained eye, it was clear a massive flood had destroyed this town.
Boats were on front porches; heavy river barges piled against a Don Pablo’s restaurant like firewood. Homes and businesses were collapsed and scattered,
ambulances and fire trucks crushed together, and for the first time, Marc wished for a navigation system, forgetting for an instant that they wouldn’t work without access
to the satellites.
Their way blocked, they had doubled back, but the route was closer to the North Fork Salt River, and when the storm broke over them, the water had begun to
rise, blocking their way. As Marc moved them to higher ground, he jumped from one unknown street to another in order to escape the churning water, and now they
were lost.
Marc surveyed the area with a careful eye and a thumping heart. He didn’t want to stop now despite all the debris flying through the storm. He hated how low this
area was.
“Let’s try that parking garage,” Angela suggested.
Marc frowned. “It’s kinda low.”
She pulled around him to take the lead, trying not to react to the Santa hat that blew by her windshield as she looked for a marker or a name. They were driving
over glass and jewelry, passing downed telephone poles. The signs that they could see, they couldn’t read because the paint was too faded. “Sturdy though,” she finally
answered.
The four-story garage sloped gently upward in circles and they were surprised to see only half a dozen cars in the whole place as they did a drive through check
first. The vehicles were dusty, a couple with notes still taped to the inside of the windows and there was a lot of garbage cluttering the lanes, including broken neon bulbs
and the shredded exit sign on the first level.
Marc didn’t like it that they couldn’t see out once they were inside, but although there were bodies all over this town, there were none in here. The smell of them
however, was under the salty, smoky rain.
“Up here should be okay for tonight, right?” Angela turned to face the exit and backed in, frowned when he didn’t answer. “Brady?”
Silence, and she looked to see him gesturing at his mic, and then the ceiling, and understood they had no radio in here.
Angela put her vehicle in park, but didn’t turn it off as Brady backed in next to her. She’d put them in a far corner, like he would have, but the rain was still dusting
the hood and front windows and the wind was strong, rocking both Blazers.
Marc stepped out and disappeared, securing the perimeter with Dog at his side as Angela watched the darkness around them, gun in her tense hand. She knew the
open area wasn’t to his liking as he moved back toward her and waited to see if he would override her decision. If so, she’d go along with his choice. He’d been
surviving out in the world a lot longer than she had.
Whammmm!
They both ducked as something heavy slammed against an outside wall. When he opened her door, his face was relaxing, “Probably the best place we can be, as
long as nothing collapses. We can go up two more floors if we have to.”
Angela nodded, reaching back in for her duffle bag. The wind gusted against her door, and only Marc’s quick reflexes kept it from hitting her leg.
“Damn. We need to get out of this wind. We’ll make camp over by the elevators, in that hallway.”
Marc grabbed each item as she removed it from the back seat of the blazer, and when she closed the door, empty-handed, he gestured toward the dark hallway he
had already checked over.
“Light and gun. Let’s go.”
Angela started to tell him this was no time for a lesson and then stopped, realizing this was the perfect time. “Okay.”
Dog now alertly at her side, she tried to concentrate as he’d shown her, tuning out all the distractions. She slipped quietly through the loud darkness and Marc’s
sharp eyes watched their rear…and hers.
A short time later, Angela was unpacking just what they needed, preparing to hunker down and wait out the storm while he went back for his things, thinking she
wasn’t as nervous as she had been just nine days ago. Killing had definitely changed things, changed her. She was suddenly a much harder person than she’d ever been
before.
Angela set the heater against the wall and made up one large sleeping area between it, and the cooler and boxes, creating a wall to block the wind. She started
getting settled as he came back with his arms full, the wolf at his heels.
“Great idea.”
Angela took off her sweater, listening to the wind howl, as he added his own items to the barricade.
“Hungry?”
She shook her head, setting up the stove. “Not really. You?”
Marc dropped his trench coat on top of a box and pretended not to see how her eyes went to his chest, lingered there. “No, but we should eat.”
She nodded, but only put on water, and he left her alone. “I’m gonna mark the water levels. Be right back.”
She pushed off her shoes and sat down against her pillows - journal, pen, and cup on one side, gun and ashtray on the other. She was calm. She had already seen
them, safe and sound, in this very spot as dawn broke, preparing to leave. They had seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, but she hadn’t sensed any real danger and was
able to relax. Trusting the Witch inside was a lot easier since Versailles.
Brady wasn’t as confident, using a can of waterproof chalk to mark where the water was, and then every ten feet, all the way to their Blazers. A quick look would
now tell him how fast it was rising.
Angela was lighting a joint when he came back, and he smiled as he saw his own side of the big bed had been set up identical to hers. Even Dog’s quilt was lined
with a bowl of food and water. Neat and organized. He put his gun next to the ashtray on his side of the makeshift bed. When she casually held the joint out, not looking
up from her writing, their fingers brushed, sparked.
Angela pulled back without looking up, but Marc saw her nostrils flare and his heart pounded, wishing she’d meet his eye. That hadn’t felt like fear to him, and if she
wasn’t scared anymore, then it was proof he had made some progress by being her friend; by waiting and holding back all the things his heart still longed to say.
They were traveling well together now, starting their days with a quiet meal and then a workout, where he taught her things, like how to breathe and read the
ground. Afterwards they would do a training session; first, hand-to-hand and then weapons, which would put them on the road around 10 a.m. They traveled until it was
too dark to see, and then he would pick a place…if she told him it was okay. Her magic was something they usually shied away from, Marc having no experience with
the subject, but her gifts were used when they made camp. He wasn’t taking any more chances with her life.
“So tell me about him.”
Angela’s eyes immediately met his, before she realized who he meant.
“Charlie’s a great kid, warm, funny.” Sadness was in her face. “Probably looks different now, older.”
Knowing he wanted more, Angela let her worried mother’s heart speak, and the father felt it in his gut, how much she loved her child.
“He’s smart. So much that it makes me ashamed I’m so dumb, and I’m a doctor. He’s loyal, hardworking, and cares about things like saving the whales. It’s agony
for me to not be with him after all that’s happened. Sometimes a boy needs his mom, and sometimes a mom needs her boy.”
Not wanting to let emotions get the best of her, Angela dug through her bag and tossed a yellow packet onto the blanket by his leg. “These are from his first
birthday. I still love the clown outfit.”
Marc looked up. “He was born on Halloween?”
“Yes, on 10/31, at 10:31 in the morning.”
Her voice was rough, sexy, and he let his eyes go where they wanted while she wrote in her journal. “Is he special too?”
She tensed before giving a quick nod. She could trust Marc. “Yes. He’ll be stronger than me.”
“Is it because of being born on Halloween?” He inhaled as she shrugged, passed it back to her.
“I assume because he’s male. Fate controls, not the moon and stars.” She inhaled deeply again, closing her eyes against a sharp curl of smoke.
Marc thought about how erotic it would be to give her a shotgun. “You still believe in destiny and the great plan?”
Angela hesitated, not wanting to stir up that old argument, still not sure who would survive the encounter with her Marine. Marc was good, she’d seen that, but so
was Kenny and her fear of that reunion was great.
“Yes and no. It’s not a set plan. People miss their purpose in life and have to spend an eternity repeating it, looking for that one moment they’ve missed.”
“And do they find it? Does fate give second chances?”
The implication was clear and while she didn’t want to encourage him, she couldn’t help it, couldn’t lie. “Yes, almost always. Fate wants the world to be perfect,
and each correct or corrected life, is a step on that road.”
He met her eye, taking the joint back. “You know that for sure?”
She shook her head at his question. “No, but I look at the world around me and get my answer there. Everything on this planet dies, ends, and usually violently. If
not war, maybe it would have been the plague or an asteroid. For some reason, it was all fated to die.”
“But why everyone? Why not just the bad?”
Angela shrugged again, tone resigned. “That’s a question I can’t answer yet.”
Marc held up the pictures as she eased down. “You want these back?”
“No. I’ve got the memories.” She closed her eyes, covering herself up to her neck. “Goodnight, Brady. See you in the morning.”
“Yes, you will. Sweet dreams, Honey.”
Not likely, she thought, the nightmares a lot of the reason she smoked just before bed. Her heart whispered again about his arms. She couldn’t help thinking about
it, but there was no way she could accept that comfort this time. She already had a fear that Kenny would sense it if she even touched the line, let alone crossed it, and
try to kill her. In her dreams, he succeeded.
Outside, the storm showed no signs of letting up, and they were up until well after midnight before finally lying down. Marc set his watch and checked on the water
every half hour, and each time his footsteps faded into the darkness, red and black-eared wolf at his side, Angela knew it.
Around 2 a.m., Marc and Dog went to check the markers again, and Angela snuggled deeper into the thick blankets, trying to ignore the heart crying for her to
move into his spot. She sighed sadly, feeling guilty that hairy legs and maybe bad breath were the only things stopping her from sleeping in Marc’s big arms. Being
attacked and not only surviving it, but also killing the man responsible for hurting her, had unlocked the last of the old chains, freeing the young girl who feared nothing.
Slowly, Kenny’s timid mouse was disappearing.
How was she ever going to face her Marine after being with Brady again? Kenny would use her up quickly in this new world, and she would die young. With Marc
though, the Witch said there was a chance for the love and future that had been stolen from them. She wanted to talk about it, to ask and tell, but didn’t encourage him.
It didn’t matter that she was falling...
Angela stopped herself, trying to imagine telling him how she was feeling. "I can’t stop thinking about you, about us and how good we were together, and I
may want another chance with you once I get my boy back and find a way to ditch my man."
Never in a million years.
Even if Kenny was out of the picture - and he wasn’t, not by a long shot - there were other walls between them. Still, the young girl who had believed in the dreams
began to whisper and it was hard to ignore as sleep refused to come. They were still a great match, and she still cared, still wanted the life he had promised her so long
ago. Soon, he would figure that out and do something about it. Then, they would all be doomed.
Marc returned to his side of their bed, thinking they were getting closer despite her trying not to let it happen. She was so strong! Any other woman would have still
been crying over being attacked, but not his Angie. She not only recovered quickly, she grew stronger and more confident from each encounter.
She wasn’t afraid to meet his eyes now, to walk close to him, and when he wasn’t looking. He could feel her watching, thinking about him and their past. She felt it
too; he could read it on her pretty face. She felt the... What? Love? Maybe. Lust? You bet that sweet ass, he thought, slipping his belt and buckle loose. For him
anyway.
He had never lit up around a woman the way he did with Angie. He had no doubts about his feelings, but he would accept nothing less than all of her. He had
roughly four weeks left to convince her that giving into her man’s will wasn’t her only choice anymore.
2
Waking with a feeling of revulsion, Angela brushed at her arms as she sat up, eyes still closed in the damp morning air. Her skin prickled with tiny irritations, and her
hair seemed to be moving on its own…she was so tired!
“What the hell?”
It was the sound of Marc’s voice that got her eyes open, and Angela couldn’t stop the yelp of disgust that echoed off the concrete.
“Spiders or crickets; trying to get out of the water. Not sure which. Come over here and let me brush you off.”
His tone was soothing, and Angela stood still while Marc rid her of the black and brown, nickel-sized spiders that had legs twice as long as their bodies, that were
bent over them like grasshoppers.
“They’re under my clothes!” she moaned, horrified.
Marc immediately grabbed the edges of her shirt and yanked it over her head. He shook it out and gave it back, eyes watching Dog avoid the mutations instead of
snapping at them as he did with normal insects.
“Do under your pants and I’ll get our stuff loaded.”
“It’ll all have spiders in it.”
Marc listened to the storm still rumbling overhead, sure they should stay, but the water was rising again and they couldn’t share their shelter with mutations. He had
to get her out of here. “Yeah. When you put those back on, tuck the cuffs into your socks and come get what you really want. We’ll leave the rest.”
As he stepped past her with the heater and their duffle bags, it occurred to Marc that she hadn’t jumped when he’d reached for her shirt, and his heart stirred.
Things were changing.
Half an hour later, they were passing through Matenea, Missouri, and Angela listened to the voices in her head as the wind pushed them along, little black balls of
hail (acid balls) pinging off their roofs and hoods.
“I think we should take cover.”
“What’s...? Oh, shit! Stay on my ass!”
Angela spotted the funnel cloud by following his line of sight and for a second, couldn’t move. The twister wasn’t very wide, but it was moving incredibly fast and
closing in, like it had sensed the presence of humans and dropped out of the sky - just for them.
“Come on!”
His shout startled her, Dog’s piercing bark through the radio breaking her daze, and Angela hit the gas, heart pounding. It was a real tornado and moving their way!
“Thought this only happened in the movies,” she whispered, scared as she caught up to Marc’s bumper, but the raw fury of something they had no chance of
controlling was beautiful too, and Angela knew she would never forget it if they got away.
Marc turned them into a large, mostly empty parking lot, speeding up. When he sent his Blazer crashing through the front glass windows of the theater, plastic and
glass flying, she followed.
Behind them, the tornado churned across the small city, smashing through anything in its way as it headed for the enemy: Man.
“Get as far in as you can!”
Angela swerved in next to him, lobby props tumbling, and they both ducked down as the tornado hit the theater.
The building shuddered, and both Blazers lunged forward with the wind, bashing into the concession stand’s high wall. Glass sprayed as the display shelves caved
in, large chunks of debris banging off them as the roar grew louder.
A blast of straight-line winds swept through the cinema on the twister’s heels, grabbing and spinning Angela’s Blazer in dizzying circles before shoving it into a line of
heavy arcade machines. Marc watched helplessly as the big games were sent flying into the air and each other from the hard impact, glass and coins erupting like tiny,
silver volcanoes.
Bouncing back with a jarring thud, her muddy Blazer slid the length of the lobby before coming to a tire-squealing halt just inches from his front bumper.
A second later, it was over except for the rain, and Marc was scrambling over wet debris to open her door, help her out. “Are you hurt? Are you all right?”
“I don’t remember asking for the tour,” she joked breathlessly, eyes wide, and he grinned at her.
“Me either. You’re okay?”
Angela trembled, a bit shook up, and didn’t tense when he surrounded her with his arms, just buried her head against his hard, comforting body and held on tight.
She couldn’t stop herself from trembling.
Marc rubbed her arms to warm her, knowing it was the shock of being woken so abruptly and forced to deal with the fury of their environment before she’d even
had a cup of coffee that had shaken her, made her a bit vulnerable.
“Dog, up. Sshhh... It’s okay, Honey.”
Angela kept her arms locked around his waist as the wolf went to the roof of his 4x4. Marc held her close, watching the drumming rain continue as his body tried
hard to ignore hers. It was still a perfect fit.
“Are we safe here?”
Marc recognized the moment. If she could ask him that, and be prepared to believe it, things really had changed. “I think so. I need to do a quick check.”
Angela shivered when he stepped back, immediately feeling colder as he disappeared into the dim shadows. The wind blew her hair back, and her heart whispered
this storm was headed northwest, toward her boy. She had to send Kenny another message, had to warn him again. Heart thumping, she gathered herself quickly, doing
it before the fear could make her change her mind.
Marc could feel the waves of energy humming through the cinema. Without knowing he could or that he was going to try, he stepped directly in front of her and
closed his eyes, concentrating.
He was blocked at first by a wall of crumbling mental bricks, but he sent his want ahead of him and it fell easily enough. Angela’s lashes fluttered, but she didn’t
protest, and then he was in and frowning.
“Where are you?” The man’s voice was loud, intimidating, and familiar somehow?
“You have to take cover. Bad storms headed your way.”
“One more time, Bitch! Where are you?”
It was a struggle for Marc to remain silent, but he did.
“A lot closer. How’s my boy?”
“Happy with me. How close?”
The barely-controlled anger was clear and Angela forced herself to stand, emboldened a little by Brady’s presence, “I’m coming for my son just as fast as I
can.”
“You’ll never get him back. Not unless you do what I say.”
Searing rage filled Marc, but it was nothing compared to the fury coming off Angela in clouds of heat he could actually feel.
“You won’t keep me from my boy, Kenny! That was the old world. Things have changed, and you’re the one who should be careful!” She sucked in a
breath as he screamed obscenities, then overpowered him with her anger. The words blasted out in a furious snarl. “If anything happens to my boy because you
didn’t listen, there won’t be a place on this fucking planet that you can hide from me!” she slammed the door before he could respond in kind.
“He’s in a good mood,” Angela said with a shaky smile, forcing her demon back.
Marc’s voice and eyes were hard. “I won’t let him hurt you or the boy. I’ll protect you. My word on it.”
Angela turned away as her heart continued to thump. That was the first time in over a decade she had stood up to Kenny so openly. There would be a payment for
it.
“You can’t promise that. You think you know what you’re up against, but you don’t. He’s a violent, trained killer, and in the end, someone’s blood will spill.”
“His, not yours,” Marc stated flatly and she shook her head, hating it that he was thinking of murder again.
“Please don’t, Brady. It’s on my hands if you kill him, and it would destroy me as sure as losing my boy would. My freedom’s not worth another life. I need you to
swear to me that you won’t.”
“I can’t. You don’t deserve to be treated that way, and I won’t just sit by and watch.”
“I’ll figure something out. For now, you think we can stay here until the storm’s gone?”
He sighed at her obvious distraction, looking around as he ran a hand over neck-length black waves in frustration. Wasn’t he getting to her at all?
“Sometimes too much.”
He flinched guiltily, and she waved a hand. “Well?”
“I don’t know. Let’s have a look around and we’ll decide.” Marc let it go, didn’t tell her he could make it look like an accident and not feel any guilt. He too, was a
violent, trained killer.
“Dog, in.” Marc closed the door behind the big animal, not wanting him to get distracted by things blowing in the heavy wind and run off into the storm.
“Guns and light. Move out,” he ordered, thinking if he decided to handle her man that way, Angie would never know. He’d lock it up so tight, even he wouldn’t be
able to access the memory.
3
A few minutes later they were on the upper balcony, the ghostly smell of popcorn and butter that still haunted the stale air, almost covered by the fishy rot blowing in
through the broken glass doors with the rain.
“Wanna watch a movie while we wait?”
Angela smiled sadly. She hadn’t been to a movie since Charlie was a baby and kept herself from saying it only by looking at the poster for A Miracle on 34th
Street, trading one pain for another. “You know how?”
Marc listened harder, fighting the urge to find a room with a window. “Think so. Just have to find the generators, add some gas.”
Angela was reading movie posters, ignoring the unease of her stomach. After the morning they'd had, that was to be expected. “Okay. How about The Shadows of
Fate? I loved The Chronicles of Riddick.”
Marc grinned, feeling unworthy of her beauty with his long hair and unshaven face. “You just like Vin Diesel.”
Angela laughed at his joking accusation, eyes admiring his sexy goatee. It added to his image of an old west gunfighter. My own John Wayne, she thought, smiling.
“It was a good story.”
“It was crap with a lot of eye candy.”
She turned away, grinning. “Not just for the eyes.”
Marc stilled suddenly, looking over the destroyed lobby and dark, shadowy hallways where he thought maybe bodies should be, but weren’t. This would have
made a good place to hole up, but until they’d hit it (literally) there hadn’t been… “You hear that?”
She listened for a moment, hearing only the storm and things moving with the wind, then shook her head, “No. What?”
He turned, shrugging. “Sounds like someone clearing snow with a metal shovel.”
The image made her frown, and she pushed at the door in her mind, as her stomach dropped. They had made over a hundred miles in the last week, and she was
tired. The door hadn’t opened on its own. Something was happening.
“Up, I think. We should go up,” she whispered, eyes narrowing, ears open.
BOHICA, Marc thought. Bend over. Here it comes again. “But Dog and the Blaz…”
“No time.”
Then they both heard it: that headache-causing sound of metal and stone meeting, but instead of a distant echo, it was loud and close. The vibrations rattled the walls
and pounded through the floor under them.
“Up?”
Angela nodded, heading for the employee door to the right of the upstairs concession area. “We have to…”
The grinding noise was suddenly deafening, and Marc grabbed her arm, shoved them both into the dark stairwell as the building around them moved, knocked
forward on its foundation.
A twenty foot wall of mud and debris slammed into the back of the movie theater like a bomb, blowing out walls and windows. The sound of it was like a tanker
truck jackknifing, and the space immediately began filling with feet of sliding ooze. The entire back wall of the cinema crumbled under the onslaught, filling the rows of
seats with thick, dark mud. The side walls held against the wall of mud, which slowed and then was finally stopped by something bigger than it was: the strip mall around
the theater, which was more than a mile wide.
Sludge continued to invade, flooding the theater and parking lot around it with ten feet of thick, lumpy glop that poured around. It gushed over counters and ticket
booths, shoving the two vehicles against the glassless front doors and then out of them.
Angela and Marc flipped on their penlights to see the dim stairwell and bowed-in door below them.
“Is that mud?”
Marc shined his light on the bottom of the door, where thick, blackish silt was gushing under and he waved a hand, looking upward. “Yeah. A slide.” He waved her
up the steps. “That door’s not gonna ho….”
CCrraack! Sswwwooosh!
The door gave way, buckling under the weight of the sopping mud that began to flow into the dark hall from a doorway. The soggy dirt was almost up to the ceiling,
and pale worms the size of pencils squirmed all over each other and the debris, trying to rebury themselves. It horrified Angela. It was normal that the smallest and
fastest breeding animals would begin to change first; snakes, rats, worms, but the sight was enough to wake that steel in her spine.
“Those are wrong. They shouldn’t be that big,” Angela stated with an odd tone to her voice, feet rooted to the spot as the desire to kill them flooded her. They were
a future danger, an abomination. They needed to be handled.
“Not by us, Honey,” Marc nudged her further up the steep, twisted stairs. “Keep going. It’ll take a full day to go back that way.”
She turned reluctantly, and they moved to the roof’s exit door, but Marc pulled her back before she could step out, both of them listening for Dog in the light wind.
“Wait. Check it out first. Always.”
“Teach me how to do this.”
He nodded, leaving his eyes on hers. She really would have made a good Marine, a strong fighter. “Stay no more than two feet away and step where I do. If I were
to fall, you should come back here and start digging your way out with boards or whatever you can find.”
Angela kept her head down at the thought of losing him, and her mind flew to her gifts. She’d do what she had to, no matter how forbidden it was.
“The whole hillside’s gone.”
They stood just outside the doorway, the rest of the roof cracked, crumbled, missing in places. The Show Me state gave them an awful view of missing homes,
businesses, and roads that had been between the hill and the theater. Even the reeking turkey farm and rye field beside them was now a twenty foot high pile of uneven,
treacherous mud and debris as far as they could see to the east. Small puffs of smoke and dust rose eerily in the early morning chill.
“Look.” Angela pointed to a black corner, where thick, sloppy mud was still spilling around the front of the theater. “Is that a Blazer?”
Marc sounded relieved. “Mud must have pushed ‘em out. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Angela smiled. “Think we already did. I hear Dog.”
“Come on. Let’s get down from here before the whole mall collapses.”
“We need rope.”
“It’s in the Blazer with my bag.”
Marc was reprimanding himself for leaving his kit when she pointed to the dead telephone wires. “Can we use those?”
Marc frowned. “It’s the grip that’s hard. The poles and wires are sprayed with a flame retardant chemical that makes it slippery. We’ll have to braid a rope
together.”
He began fishing in his pockets. “We’ll hope the pole wasn’t loosened by the mudslide.” He cut the phone, cable, and electric wires, and quickly wove them
together.
“Will this work?”
He shrugged. “We’re gonna find out. If it breaks, try to go limp.”
Angela watched as he stood up, eyeing a dark patch of brackish mud that she was sure covered a deer that had been impaled by the thin branch of a walnut tree.
Marc wrapped the braided cord around his fist, and then his waist.
Angela scowled fearfully. “Is this the best we can...”
“Hang on!”
A second later she was tight against his body, feet in the air, and then they were dropping off the side of the building.
“Semper Fi!”
His shout gave her the courage to wrap her legs around him and keep her head up as the ground flew closer.
Marc had swung them toward the pole, hoping to slow their descent. He put his feet straight out so that they slammed into the wood with a jerk that had their grip
on each other tightening painfully.
Legs holding them to the slippery pole, Marc’s eyes picked out a shallow-looking patch of mud and swung them for it just as the braided cord snapped under their
weight, dropping them to the ground with a hard, wet thud.
They landed with her on top, legs pinned around his waist, and she winced as the layer of mud shifted beneath them, putting more pressure on her knee.
“You okay?”
His eyes were closed, and she leaned closer, muddy hands feeling his pulse. “Brady?”
Dazed, but aware she was getting upset, Marc opened his eyes and said the first thing that came to mind, “Never have I seen anything so beautiful.”
Angela blushed, fighting the urge to lean down and kiss his pouty lips in relief. “If you say so. How about getting off my sore leg?”
They were on their feet a second later, and he was reaching for her. “Let me see.”
"I'm fine." Angela moved back, turning away as she slung mud from her hands. “Let’s see about Dog.”
Marc followed her, frowning. Another side effect of her man or the life she’d had? "Neither," his heart whispered. "She feels the attraction too. She’s not
scared. She’s interested and feeling guilty about it." That made sense. Angie and loyalty went hand in hand.
While Marc let the anxious wolf out, Dog eagerly rushing to check them both over, Angela took a minute to scan what was left of the town for people, for survivors.
She still hoped they might be able to help if someone was stuck, or leave food, but there was only silence. Kirksville was a ghost town, and it made her think of the
History Channel. All the bodies that had to be buried under that mile-long stretch of thick mud - would archeologists find them hundreds of years from now and try to
figure out what had happened?
“We got lucky.”
Angela nodded, but didn’t say anything, sure it was more than luck. Fate had allowed both of them to survive again and again. Was it because it wanted something
from them, something bigger than just their tiny lives?
The two Blazers were mud-splattered, the glass on Marc’s side window cracked, but other than dents in the fender and bumper, both vehicles had held up despite
being shoved through the glassless windows by a wall of mud. They climbed into driver’s seats with squelches, grimaces, and shared grins. They were alive and on the
move. It had been a good day.
As they drove, Angela’s mind was on her reaction to Marc reaching for her. She had wanted to step into his embrace! She was no longer able to ignore the
closeness that was growing. He’d broken through her walls, and the old Angela was now wide awake and longing. They had traveled well together, even with the
occasional awkward looks and searing tension that sometimes happened. He was still a good man. "Your man?" the Witch questioned and Angela was glad when
Brady interrupted.
“You okay back there?”
She flashed her lights in response and saw he wanted to say something, but wouldn't. She’d been a fool not to call him all those years ago.
“Ready to go till dark?”
She smiled, picked up the mic, “And then some. You lead, I’ll follow.”
“Copy that.”
They had been traveling together for a month now. Five hundred miles of heartbreaking, gut wrenching, unbelievable horror, and Missouri was no different than
Indiana, Virginia, or Ohio. Except that the ground here felt bad; smelled and looked worse. They had even seen their first mutation yesterday. Only a single ant, pitch
black and the size of a baby’s shoe, all six of its eyes had watched them alertly as they went by.
When she’d stopped, Marc hadn’t said anything, just waited while she squashed the freak under her tires. It had been a powerful moment for him, seeing Angie so
appalled by something that she would decide it didn’t have the right to exist, and he had never felt closer to her than at that moment. It was how he’d spent most of his
adult life.
“Three o’clock, down low.”
Angela narrowed her eyes and immediately hit the brakes, looking for a clear way over.
“Use your gun this time,” he instructed and Angela didn’t fight the urge to destroy, the need to do something overpowering. She’d had to let the worms go. These
she wouldn’t.
“Slow down. Don’t scare them off.”
The small pack of mutated ants didn’t stray from their slow, disorderly course through the dying switch grass, and didn’t seem afraid of the tires and engines that
moved closer, but the Witch said they were aware, that she could feel the scent of alarm coming from them. Angela slid her window down and took the safety off her
gun.
“That’s close enough.”
The Witch frowned at the distance, but Angela nodded. She could hit them from here if she really tried, and he knew it, wanted her to use this as a lesson too.
“My how we’ve changed,” the Witch commented as anger and revulsion took over her trigger finger. “Not a killer, huh?”
Angela ignored the hurtful jab. These mutations were in reach and couldn’t be allowed to endanger more of her people, couldn’t be left free to turn America into a
cheap slasher film.
Angela opened fire and ants began falling. They tried to flee, squealing, and panic-stricken and she took a savage, guilty pleasure in their destruction, getting the last
one with her tire as it darted for cover under the Blazer.
Marc was impressed, turned on, and he struggled to keep it from his voice as he keyed the mic, “Very good. Ready?”
“Let’s roll.”
4
They traveled until it was almost dark. The land around them was wet, deceitful-looking, and by the time they hit higher, dryer ground, the mud had molded to them
like a second skin. Marc had chosen to make camp out in the open, on a flat, almost deserted stretch of highway because of the mud, and their only cover was two
moss-dotted dogwood trees, both without a single bloom.
“You look like an abused dog.”
Marc grinned, moving to the rear of his Blazer. “Feel like one too.”
“Let's make a shower.”
He thought about it for a minute, then began to gather a mental list. “Got an empty gallon jug?”
An hour later, the wolf was out roaming the breezy, almost warm darkness around them, and they had tested their crude invention on the dinner dishes, sharing a
tired grin of accomplishment. It had been a long day.
“Where should we set it up at?”
She didn’t answer, just tossed a blanket onto the roof of his Blazer and moved one of the jugs they had warmed to the hood. When she turned, he was frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
It amused her to see his face was red in the light of their small fire. “Who’s gonna hold the towel?”
She grinned back, starting to get a bit nervous but hiding it. “I’ll pull my Blazer alongside. Once we open the doors and hang a couple of sheets, it’ll be fine.”
Thinking this was probably going to be hard on her, Marc got busy. The privacy was for her, not him. He had showered with ten other naked men in the room
nearly every day for years.
When the jugs were ready, Angela climbed confidently onto the roof and sat down, supplies next to her. Marc took off his Colt’s and stepped inside the cozy little
4x4 area. As he began undressing, Angela lit a smoke, trying not to imagine his every move but failing, as she kept watch on the dark, Missouri sky.
Her sharp gaze picked out shadowy forms of mountains to the east that she assumed were the Ozarks. It looked normal from here, but she wasn’t fooled, and went
back to keeping watch.
Rap-rap-rap-rap!
Angela fumbled for her gun, felt Marc's frown even though she couldn't see it.
“It’s just a woodpecker.”
“This time of night?”
“Everything's screwed up right now for them, too.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Don’t be, just remember it. Once you make yourself familiar with the sounds of your surroundings, you’ll only react to what’s not normal for that situation. Your
mind will sort it out for you.”
She smiled softly, grateful for him and all she was learning. He was the perfect teacher, never made her feel stupid, or acted like he was better, and she loved being
with him. Angela heard his dog tag clink and felt her mouth go dry at the thought of his naked chest. His belt buckle was next, then a zipper, and a rustle of jeans that
made her heart pound.
“Hit me, woman,” he called cheerfully and Angela slowly began pouring warm water into the “shower” they’d made, thinking she hadn’t heard any underwear. She
sucked in a surprised breath when her body responded to that image. He was the only male she had ever been physically attracted to.
“Liar.” She ignored the Witch.
“Soap, please.”
That brought a new set of images, and she was careful not to touch his wet fingers as she handed the blue cake down.
“Washrag?”
She got it quickly, wishing he would hurry. When he finally called for a rinse, her mind was glad. Too many feelings and memories were coming to her, and it had to
stop. A spark hadn't been enough then and it wouldn't be now, either.
“I’m done, so you can stop drooling.”
Angela flushed, shaking her head in embarrassed denial.
Marc laughed, drying off. “Well, I thought it was funny. Come on down. Your turn.”
Angela moved slowly, fear creeping into her veins at the thought of being defenseless with a man above her.
Marc sensed it as he stepped out, pulling on his shirt. Their eyes locked, spoke.
"I’m scared."
"You can trust me."
"Prove it."
Marc nodded. “Hang on.” He pulled on his shoes and then dug out another blanket that he tossed over the opening, making her smile gratefully. “If it gets lighter,
you’ll know I’m peeking.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes darkened. “Anything for you, Angie. You know that.”
Marc kept up a steady stream of chatter, from their travel plans to breakfast, and Angela hurried, her body tingling from her hands and thoughts.
By the time she finished, Marc pouring water through a very small hole, she had relaxed a lot more than either of them had thought she would. She trusted him.
Marc had always been hers, and that hadn’t changed.
5
A bit later, they settled closer to each other than usual, sharing a pot of hot chocolate by the fire. Angela was trying to comb out her hair, the length making it
difficult. Darkened eyes watched her while he cleaned their weapons, never looking away as the flames danced over her golden black curls and pale, white skin.
“I can do that without ripping all your hair out. The birds could make a nest with what you’ve thrown into the fire.”
Angela’s first thought was no, and she was shocked to hear her own eager voice. “Deal. You battle the tangles, I’ll roll.”
His surprised, happy look kept her from taking it back, and she surrendered the brush reluctantly when he held out a hand for it.
Marc moved behind her and knelt down, then began to gently work the tangles out. He started with the damp ends, aware of how shallow her breathing had
become, how tense her posture was.
It was an uncertain moment for Angela, and she listened with a thumping heart, hearing leaves rustling in the soft breeze, the gravel crunching under Dog’s paws as
he returned, panting. And all the while, her heart waited for the footsteps and gunfire, fear insisting Kenny could be here by now.
Dog sniffed their feet, their beds, and then curled up near the fire, eyes on the darkness, and Angela told herself to relax. The wolf would hear anyone sneaking
around, even a Marine. Besides, she wasn’t really doing anything wrong. Marc was just brushing her hair.
By the time he had gotten a third of the way up, close to her small waist, Angela had adjusted and Marc eased down, legs on either side of her. She tensed again as
his big body surrounded hers, but when he only continued to work on her damp curls, she went back to what she was doing.
Marc wondered if she would note today’s escape in her journal. She’d had him telling stories every night for the first few weeks, but hadn’t asked for one lately and
he suddenly wondered why. Had his tale of betrayal and self-preservation during Katrina bothered her that much?
“Not so much your part, you followed orders. It just makes me sad all those people had to be hurt.”
Marc agreed. “I almost left the Marines over it. I mean, we could hear them screaming for help. How’s a guy supposed to live with that?”
Angela shook her head, wanting to comfort him, but afraid to say the wrong thing and break the peacefulness of their camp, knowing “You signed with the wrong
guys.” wouldn’t help. She did the best she could, sure it wasn’t enough. “They wouldn’t let you; you were knocked out when you fought. Nothing you could do.”
Marc sighed glumly, wishing he had… He sighed. If he had shot his way out, he’d be dead now too.
Pop!
Angela jumped back into his arms as the log in the fire exploded into a shower of sparks, bodies brushing as they laughed.
Marc was pleased when she didn’t move away. He kept his hands working, almost holding her. When he finished, he laid the brush down and rested his chin on her
shoulder. “You got that rolled yet?”
She held it up, and they both laughed at the misshapen joint. Angela’s stomach tightened at the feel of his warm breath on her cheek, but she didn’t pull away. “It’ll
burn, but it won’t be pretty.”
He grinned, fishing in his pockets for a lighter. When he leaned closer to hold out the flame, their bodies made full, willing contact for the first time in fifteen long
years. Angela inhaled, closing her eyes as her heart settled into a normal rhythm of a peace she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Look, Honey. The moon.”
She leaned her head back against his hard chest to peer up and was happy to be able to see the dim outline through the grit. “It’s a good sign.” She closed her eyes,
didn’t move her head. “We need more of those.”
They smoked in silence, and Angela let the warmth and comfort of Marc’s body carry her away. She was safe with him, if only for this moment.
Her lashes fluttered when he slid an arm around her to pass the joint back. Caught up in the good moment, Marc couldn’t resist putting a soft kiss on her smooth
cheek. “Never did I see such beauty, such courage, such passion, and such fear in her eyes. The lonely heart demands and the mind refuses, but the body, the core,
pulses with need.”
He inhaled and passed, continuing to speak his heart’s poetry as they relaxed in clean jeans and matching Marine sweatshirts.
“Never did I see such hair. Dark as the night, and lips of love, red as a rose. A body that tempts me, begs me, and blue eyes that follow me into my dreams and
beyond. Forgive me these careless slips of shameless flattery, for I cannot explain in mere words what you mean to me. Hold to the truth, to your heart, to love…to us.”
“It’s beautiful.” Angela let her head rest against his chin, pushing away the voice screaming of Kenn’s anger.
“It’s the way you make me feel, what you make me see. My life was so empty without you.”
Hers too. Other than her son, she’d had no one she could love or trust for a very long time, and when Marc wrapped his arms around her, she relaxed against him,
the long day wearing her down.
“Don’t lie to yourself,” her heart scolded, and she faced it this time, too aware of the man behind her to deny it. Brady was the only one who had ever understood
her, what she needed. When he kissed her jaw again, she closed her eyes and said nothing to make him stop.
“You smell good,” he mumbled against her neck, sweet vanilla assaulting his senses. The feel of his lips on her skin sent an unexpected shiver of pleasure into her
stomach.
“Are you cold?” he asked, tightening his arms around her.
Angela flushed, nodding so he would pull the blanket around them and make their innocent embrace more private, romantic.
Aware that things were going fast, knowing tomorrow she’d probably be standoffish again, Marc wrapped the quilt around them anyway, pulled another cover over
their legs.
As he wrapped himself around her, she slipped her hand into his. Marc sucked in a breath at her movement, heart skipping at the feel of her, and they sat together in
silence, both very aware of the other, yet content to just be so close.
The day caught up to her quickly. When Angela was asleep in his arms, Marc gently laid them down, pulled the covers up. He cradled her, loving every second of
having her so close. As he buried his face in her hair, he placed a long, slow kiss to her neck that gave him chills and sent her eyes flying open.
Marc put his head down, forcing himself to stop despite how hard it (he) was.
“Night, Honey. See you in the morning.”
“Yes, you will,” she mumbled groggily, already falling back to sleep, and he joined her, the wolf at their feet. They would face their demons together when the time
came.
Chapter Twelve
March 19th, 2013
1
Dillan and Dean made it to the filthy Slavers camp just before dawn, pulling three middle-aged (used up) women and a strikingly beautiful teenage girl behind their
horses on long, tight, rawhide ropes. The females had all come from Kimball, Nebraska, where the brothers had spent a few days waiting out a dust storm.
Surrounded by a thick wall of mountains, the Slaver camp was a sprawling, unorganized mess of mud-splattered, bullet-ridden vehicles and torn, dusty tents
camped across 287, just out of sight and sound of 25, and the next town.
There were burnt frames of cars around them and ranches with crushed mailboxes. One house was completely reduced to only a charred frame with anti-religious
phrases sprayed on its sheds and outbuildings; targeted due to it being covered in Christmas decorations. The hundreds of statues and displays were riddled with bullet
holes and melted by Molotov cocktails, but there had simply been too much to destroy all of it. Now, it stood as a warning: That world of rich, white excess was over.
Smoke swirled sharply with the wind from burned-down fires, and hordes of flies buzzed and landed, swarmed and resettled over the garbage dump just behind the
camp, where small corpses lay rotting in the foggy drizzle. The females on the ropes didn’t react to these horrors as they stumbled by, concentrating only on moving their
feet so they could draw another breath. The rawhide was constantly shrinking, rubbing away the skin on their necks until they were slowly choking all the time. Even
rape was secondary to breathing.
The brothers came into the camp openly, not expecting to see guards – and they didn’t. Word had spread, and many of the places ahead of the Mexicans would
probably already be abandoned by the time they got there. That would work in the twins’ favor. Empty towns meant no women or fun, and for these men, that might
lose Cesar leadership if it went on long enough. They had an offer that would be to the Mexican leader’s advantage. Or so he would think, if they did this right.
They had made it over four hundred miles in two weeks, alternating driving, always on the move until they stopped near the Nebraska-Colorado state line to rest up
and to pick up some females (peace offerings) for Cesar. His uncontested rule had given the Mexican a sense of power and control that few would be stupid (brave)
enough to challenge and it was that strength they had come for.
Despite owing the Mexican their lives, Dean and Dillan felt no loyalty towards the mean little man. There was respect for his quick, brutal methods of control, but if
not for their failure with the Witch, they likely would have never come back. It was one more thing they hated her for. They had been gone a long time and Cesar was
unstable, making it hard to know how well they would be received. He might order them killed before they had a chance to make him the offer.
Very few of the passed out/sleeping Mexicans noticed their arrival and those who did, acknowledged them and ignored the bandages, ran a quick eye over the
women, then averted their gazes. Word had also spread about the black brothers, and despite their long absence, now was clearly a bad time to draw their attention.
Even the camp mutts, starving mixes of indecipherable origins, shied from them, and their menacing air.
Dean and Dillan walked around the back of the dirty camp, past the reeking, rusted semis. They shoved the cringing captives into the back of an empty one, locking
them in. These were the holding pens for slaves, and there was no guard. Those already broken had no courage left to run, and those who were fresh wouldn’t make it
far before every man in camp was on them. A loose slave was fair game.
With their noses full of the holding cells’ decay and the harsh odor of gasoline, the twins headed for the center of the muddy, stinking camp, certain they would find
the leader there. His tent would be surrounded by his men so that if they were attacked, he wouldn’t be hit first. Cesar was smart, ruthless; and exactly what they
needed.
The grungy green tent was indeed in the middle and it was one of only a few dozen vinyl shelters. Most of the men preferred the open sky above them after years of
not seeing it at all from federal detention centers. It was also a lot easier to just wrap up in a blanket and sleep under a big truck.
From outside Cesar’s tent, the twins could see the Loveland, Colorado skyline, lit up with flames and thick, black smoke. Their eyes were drawn to the charred
frame of the hulking jumbo jetliner resting in a thicket of piñon trees to the right of the burning town. Backdropped by a muddy, devastated landscape, covered in inches
of reddish, ill-looking dust, the crushed plane was still more unbelievable than the destroyed city.
Loud snores were just audible over dogs yelping, women crying, and the pop of neglected campfires, but there was an instant silence as the twins slid inside the
center lean-to…and then the sound of a gun being cocked.
“Who ees there?”
The smells of sex, blood, and violence mixed badly with the cigar smoke in the dark tent, and the cautious brothers stayed in the shadows so that there was no clear
shot. Their dark eyes lingered on the naked teenager chained to the center pole of the filthy tent like a dangerous, white dog. She was curled into a ball against it, showing
a body they immediately wanted.
Jennifer felt it, tensing. Other than that, she didn’t move.
“We have an offer for you.”
“And an untouched gift.”
Cesar grunted in recognition, putting his weapon back under his pillow. When he yawned lazily, the twins grimaced in distaste as bad breath mixed with the other
strong odors.
“So, you have returned. I did not think you would.”
A candle flared to life, giving them a better view of the Mexican and the thin, bloody girl at his feet whose swollen face and blood-crusted thighs said she had passed
a rough night in Cesar's tent.
“What happened to you?” the slaver demanded, getting a look at their bandages as he pulled up his cruddy jeans. The material was tacky with dried blood - the
girl's from the look of her. “Who attacked you?”
“A Witch,” the bald brothers answered together.
The lightly-bearded Slaver grinned hesitantly as he lit a cigar. Cesar had never really sure about these two, and he studied their faces while pulling on muddy boots.
If not for the good work they had done for him in the past, he would kill them here and now. “A bruja?”
They nodded at the same time, dark eyes full of hatred. “Yes, magic.”
“Spells. A Witch.”
Cesar’s slanted eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what they could hope to gain from such a lie. When he found nothing, he let himself consider what it could do
for him. He was no stranger to the occult and its mysteries, and if the twins were telling the truth, if they had found what the old world hadn’t, his plans to seed America
with his bastards and control it through them would be unstoppable. “You have seen this?”
The twins nodded together and told him everything that had happened. They offered no excuses for their failure, didn’t talk up their actions, and it convinced the
Mexican. The mercenaries believed what they were saying. Was it possible? A real Witch?
The three men tensed suddenly, turning as the flap opened to reveal a stocky, gray-eyed Mexican with crisscrossed gun belts, and an ugly scar that stretched across
his forehead and ran over the top of his right eye. It cut his face in half and gave him the appearance of someone who liked causing pain. “Everything is okay?”
Cesar waved him in with his deformed hand. The twins ran scornful eyes over his broken, yellow teeth, baggy shirt, and torn, muddy pants, but saw him for what he
was - a possible threat to their plans.
“No, but it cannot be helped. Get the men up and ready for tomorrow - then give Richard the signal. Trace light red ‘e uno green.”
Cesar hated the sound of the broken English coming from his mouth, hated anything American, but with so many of those here not knowing their native language, he
had little choice if he wanted to be understood.
José’s slanted eyes went over the negro hermanos with clear dislike. He had been openly against Cesar letting these two live, even though he had voted to spare
Rick. The mercenaries smiled back tauntingly. “We have esclavos in truck six.”
“See to them.”
The heartless killer bared his broken fangs at them before ducking out into the heavy wind and mud. He was scowling openly as he slapped at a snapping fly the size
of a milk jug lid. Men about to move toward him with questions, turned around.
José was only a cousin and not nearly as deadly as Cesar, but had earned a vicious reputation with his temper. He was left alone when he headed to the trucks,
worrying about the twins. They were hard-asses and if they decided they wanted control of Cesar’s camp, there was a good chance they would get it. Back in Mexico,
they were the ones to call when no one else could get the job done.
The wind beat against the tent and in the thick silence after José ducked out, all three men could hear the girl’s nervous breathing.
Jennifer had been with him since the week of the War and fear for her life was a feeling that never really went away, even when she was alone.
Cesar looked at the brothers with hard, calculating eyes. “There is no way to explain these things?”
”No.”
“We followed for almost a month. She was alone until she sent out the wave of power.”
They looked almost desperate to Cesar, clearly not the same men who had left him in New Mexico. “You know where she goes?”
“She’s only headed northwest, never deviates.”
“Toward Montana?”
They saw the determined anger in the Slaver’s eyes.
“There is a group near Yellowstone that calls for survivors.”
“You hear them this far away?”
He frowned, pulled a beaten-up sombrero from the debris-littered floor and slapped it on over his tightly-kinked black hair, “Si. Your bruja is headed to them?”
“Maybe. We think she’s looking for family.”
Cesar’s frown grew, eyes going over burnt spots on their clothes and the grimy red bandana wrapped around Dillan’s bandaged wrist. The white of the gauze had
long since turned black. “We must get her before she reaches them. This group is big, organized. A Witch would make them a threat to me.”
He looked up, mind racing. “You can take her?”
Dean shook his head, while Dillan shrugged, neither of them meeting his eyes, and Cesar felt a tremor of worry in his gut. He had never seen or heard of a time
when the twins had disagreed on anything. The woman’s soldier must truly be strong.
“Not by ourselves,” Dillan stated finally, and Cesar saw his grimace when he moved his hand to deflect a determined fly. The injury to his arm was obviously bad.
That was it, Cesar decided. It was her man they wanted, her soldier. Surely he was the one responsible. Then why say a woman? That was worse. Either way, it
came down to revenge.
“So, this is why you’ve come back.”
It wasn’t a question and he looked at them with cool, dark eyes, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to agree…for now. “Mine during the day, yours at night?”
They both nodded eagerly at the lie and Cesar grinned, his gold front tooth flashing. “It will be good. We will lay a trap, kill her soldier and have her.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“She knows things.”
Cesar fingered the handle of his hoja, hating it that they were always so disrespectful.
The injured brothers waited for him to pull the knife and hand over his camp. Either way, they would lead these men against the Witch.
“You have a plan?” the Slaver asked finally, eyes full of controlled anger. Anyone else, he would have already challenged, but against these two vicious assassins, he
wasn’t sure he could win with only the blade he was sitting on, and a hangover. He was too far from his gun.
“Yes.” Dean’s hot eyes lingered on the chained girl, but he was aware that the evil Mexican was now an enemy instead of an ally and would need to be handled as
such. “We’ll follow her, see where she’s headed. If it’s a good place, we can take shelter there for the winter.”
“You are estupido to let her reach familia. Then you face dos brujas, yes?”
The twins were clearly pissed at the insult, had killed for less, and Cesar kept his hand on the knife, thinking he would at least be able to take one of them with him.
“It’s better to control them both, than to have the missing one ambush us, and we can’t find the other until she does.”
“How will you get them once she reaches the safety of this camp?”
“You’ll surround them and demand they hand over both. We’ll pick off a few easy targets, use your inside traitor to cause chaos, and then make it clear we
followed her so they will be more likely to hand her over to save themselves.”
“Once they do, we’ll make her use her power against any defenses they have, and you’ll be in control of a safe area, new supplies, a Witch, and slaves - all without
having to fight and lose men.”
Cesar was nodding, but thinking he would need proof to go through so much. Their word wasn’t enough. Surely this was a trick?
“The men will not believe.”
“They will later, but for now it doesn’t matter. They don’t even have to know. Just keep heading north and give them whores and whiskey.”
“Didn’t you tell us you wanted to take Cheyenne and Casper by May?”
Cesar’s eyes lit up greedily. “Si, and my men know it.”
“Good. That will put us on an intercept course. Dean and I will keep an eye on her in the meantime, track her, and we’ll also find some bait to send in with Rick.”
Cesar considered it. He had used the betrayer again and again, and no one ever suspected him until it was too late - because he was white. The Americanos should
have remembered their own history. Whites were not any more trustworthy than the Russians or even himself for that matter. They were just a bit more careful to cover
their asses.
“Less than a month from now, you’ll own Wyoming, probably have a good start on Nebraska, and be only a day or two from the tank hidden near there. Best of
all, you’ll rule the entire western half of this country, from the Nevada wastelands to the Midwest corn belt,” Dillan stated.
Dean finished it off. “Plus, this group you want will know you’re coming and lose courage.”
Cesar grinned savagely and the brothers knew they’d won.
“America is dead and I will show them that!” He gestured violently, the missing fingers making it a grotesque motion. He didn’t see the looks they were giving his
young slave. She was his personal property, and he didn’t share. He wanted to be sure the bastards he left were his, and every man in his camp knew he would kill (the
girl and the man) to be sure of it.
“It shall be as you say. Drink, smoke, rest. Tomorrow we take Windsor and then you shall have the revenge you deserve. Now, let us go see my gift and you will
prove she is pure.”
2
Cesar invaded the untouched town of Windsor under the cover of darkness and a violent thunderstorm, ruthlessly directing his men to block escape routes at all four
corners of the city.
They split up and began moving in at the stroke of midnight and gave no mercy to anyone, just like they hadn’t in any of the twenty other towns and cities they’d
taken along Interstate 25. Moving inward, the Mexicans slowly took over Windsor for the next six hours, burning everything as they went. Those few who managed to
escape would have nothing to return to.
Doors were kicked in and terrified girls and women dragged out into the rain, floors and bed clothes soaking up the blood of their husbands and fathers. Those
found with the radio broadcasting good old American values were tortured, beheaded, and dismembered, left with Mexican flags draped over their faces. All the males
were killed where they were found, babies left to die alone, and female after female was raped, beaten, broken.
During the first hours of this hell, the twins were in Cesar’s tent, taking what was his. They snuck back to join the battle (slaughter) after they filled her with seed
over and over again, and Cesar never knew they hadn’t been with him all the time. A few of his sharper men could have told him, but that might mean a confrontation
between the three and Cesar’s men weren’t sure he would come out on top.
The twins were hard, and none of Cesar’s men wanted them in control. Their way of life now was perfect, without rules, and the stocky Mexican was still followed
without hesitation even when they got to Ft. Collins and found it abandoned. Word had spread through the area, and the survivors were scared. The Slavers were
coming.
Chapter Thirteen
March 21st, 2013
1
This was going to have to be close enough.
Adrian waited for Kenn to finish updating the newest Eagle who was about to take over his post for the 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift. Jeremy was on Neil’s team, Level
Three status, and the right to have point had only been earned last night.
Adrian sighed, tired and worried as the camp got ready to head out for another day of hard travel. They were on the edge of the Thunder Basin National
Grasslands, just off 387, and while he was glad to be east of 25, pictures had verified that Casper and Buffalo were ghost towns.
It made his stomach burn. One was buried, the other submerged. His warning hadn’t been heard, hadn’t mattered. They hadn’t picked up a single survivor since the
dust storm, which made these people in Cheyenne all the more important.
Sighing again, he turned his eyes to the mountains that surrounded them. Would the evergreens up there have the mold that the fir and pine trees down here did?
Would it smell like smoke and unburied dead? Were there bodies of deer, moose, and people? He was almost sure they would find out for themselves. People were
talking about it.
“You’re the Man on this one, Marine. You ready?” Adrian asked as the Marine came to his side, sharp tone of a drill instructor replacing the calm demeanor the
camp always saw. The Slavers’ rampage had moved up Interstate 25 faster than they had estimated, and Cheyenne had called again.
“Locked and Loaded. Kyle’s team is stowing the beans, bags, and bullets.”
“They’re good to go, eager to prove themselves. What about you, Jarhead? How do you feel?”
Kenn’s smile was hard as his eyes took in Adrian’s dusty jeans and wrinkled camouflage shirt. He’d been up all night, again. “Good, ready.”
“In and out, Marine, just like with the old lady but if not, if something goes wrong and you have to fight?”
Kenn’s eyes were intent. “Then we’ll kill as many as we can.”
It may have been wrong in the old world, but it was all that was left to them now, and Adrian preached it, made them believe in it by doing it when he thought the
man’s crimes (it was almost always men who committed the big transgressions now) warranted it. This definitely did.
The Slavers were a growing threat he felt duty-bound to challenge, to eliminate. Yet he couldn’t, at this point, not against 150 well-armed men who had become
good at conquering large groups of survivors. The terrible stories of the refugees who escaped, town after town, neighborhood after neighborhood (life after life!) made
him burn to do something.
It pleased him that Kenn seemed to feel it too, repeating himself to make sure his boss knew. “If any opportunity comes up to do damage, we’ll take it. I’ll take it.”
Adrian clapped him on the back, satisfied the wide-shouldered Marine meant it. They had been falling behind, and would arrive later than expected. That made the
mission more dangerous, putting the Eagles and the Slavers near Cheyenne at about the same time.
“Watch your six. We need you.”
“Semper Fi.”
“Oorah!”
A deep frown planted itself across Adrian’s forehead as Kenn and the Eagles left camp. He hated it that their first encounter with these dangerous men would
happen without him there to judge the threat. Adrian hit the button on the tape player in his pocket, listening intently. Was he missing anything?
“SOS, Safe Haven! This is Cheyenne! SOS!”
“Go ahead, Overloaded.”
“They’ve hit Wellington! We can see the smoke and people are coming here, and I can’t care for them! We need help now!”
Adrian hit stop, the desperation making him consider changing places with Kenn, but shook his head. He couldn’t. The Marine wasn’t ready for leadership of an
entire camp yet. For this mission though, he was perfect. Kyle and his team were good, making steady progress every day, and though only ten men were getting into
the armored vehicles, they would still be a force to be reckoned with.
Fighting a migraine, Adrian headed for his tent. Another forty souls would bring their number to a hundred and seventy seven. They were only a week from
Cheyenne, but there was no way the whole camp could go and get out without being seen. Kenn and Kyle would make it in two days, and he would worry the whole
time.
2
“All those jeeps worry me,” Kyle stated quietly, lowering the binoculars.
“We’ll have to draw them out,” Kenn replied, sharp eyes watching the heavily-armed Mexican men patrol the top and four sides of the large brick school house
where the refugees were hiding. Two on top, one each on the sides and rear, and two more on the front doors - maybe four inside, but judging from all the jeeps parked
wildly along the exits, probably more like six or ten.
They were outnumbered, but not by much, and Kenn frowned in concentration as the thick clouds rolled overhead, colored lightning flashing in the distance. He sent
his sharp eyes over it again, seeing holiday lights torn down and Christmas pictures that had been used for target practice, but underneath, he was evaluating how best to
kill them all.
”You and me covering the top?”
Still missing his rifle, Kenn merely answered with his eyes. They hadn’t found any ammo for the M16’s, so that meant getting close enough for handguns. When it
started, a few of the Mexicans would come out, but most of them would take up positions around the hostages and they’d have a standoff. For a little while. Then their
reinforcements would come. This was only a scouting party, and it bothered Kenn that neither he nor Adrian had expected this level of organization. They would have to
do it quietly. No telling how far out the big group was.
It had only taken Adrian’s Eagles 30 hours to get here, driving straight through in six five-hour shifts. The men who hadn’t driven, stood watch when they arrived, to
let the others get a short rest. They had snuck close, as dusk slowly closed in.
The Slavers weren’t the only ones who knew how to use nature as a cover, and the ten men watching hated how it looked, how it smelled here. It reeked with
decay, and even the constant gusts of salty, smoky wind couldn’t knock it back. The awful odor came from all the bodies. Thousands of them, fresh and old, littered the
city, along with lines of burnt houses, cars, and businesses. There were thick drag marks in the dust left by the storm, garbage and mud-covered streets, and little pillars
of smoke rising that signaled the path the Mexicans had taken to get here. It was a war zone.
“What do you want to do?”
The edge of frustration in the former mobster’s rough voice was what Kenn had been waiting for, and he stood up, always feeling the need to prove who was in
charge when they went on missions together. To the listening men, he said just the right thing. Only Kyle would sting afterwards when he remembered almost losing his
cool with only silence used against him. “We kill them all.”
Kenn knelt in the dirt, flipping open his K-BAR to draw in the damp dirt behind the big storage sheds they were using for cover. He hadn’t created this plan, but
these men wouldn’t know that. “We go with silencers. Take out this side and corner, and as they come out, we pick them off. If the Man comes out too, it’ll all be
over.”
“And if not?” Kyle kept the bitterness out of his tone, but not his eyes. He almost hated the smug Marine leading his team today, was now actively keeping an eye
out for someone who was a match to throw his support behind.
Kenn shrugged, sliding his knife back into his muddy black boot. “We’ll have taken out at least half these men and that’ll leave a lot of exits with light or no cover.
We’ll look from those trees along the windows first, then slip in, and nail ‘em as we find ‘em. Once inside, we head for the gym, ‘cause that’s where they’ll be with a
group of sheep that size. From there, we’ll do what we do best.”
“They might negotiate, surrender.”
Kenn stood up, automatically checking his gear and gun, and the other Eagles followed his lead. They had been on a few missions where hostages were involved,
but only once had there been a shootout, the small gang of Aryan Brothers not wanting to give up their captives. They had given their lives instead, but the newness of
doing battle hadn’t worn off for the Eagles yet.
Kenn tapped his good luck charm, a Zippo lighter he kept in his pocket, voice hard. “Adrian wouldn’t and we won’t either. Top four shooters with me, the rest to
the sides and meet up. I’m man in the middle. On my mark.”
Kenn’s timing was perfect. He and Kyle fired as they ran, and the two Mexican lookouts jerked at the same time, fell together. The other dark-skinned man on the
roof ran toward his comrade and then he too arched, stopped, falling as the second rush of black-clad Eagles hit the building.
They came to the wall in two, fast waves, Kenn and Kyle stepping into view as the front doors opened and two short, hard-looking Slavers walked out.
Kyle whistled and then waved a ringed middle finger at their shocked faces. The two men drew their guns, and the Eagles ducked back out of sight as they gave
chase.
“One...two...three. Now!"
Jumping out together, their guns took down both men before they could return fire, Kenn shooting twice.
The two Eagles quickly dragged the heavy bodies around the corner as Chris, Kyle's second Eagle, pointed to the other row of trees. “The Banners center there.
That’s probably the gym.”
Eight men carefully eased up the trees a minute later, using the thick branches for cover from the ground and windows, glad they were gloved against the moldy
bark.
“Bulletproof glass.” Kenn's voice was barely audible.
Kyle grinned, showing white teeth, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Not today. All the Eagles are packing armor-piercing rounds. Your gat clips, too.”
Kenn's mind raced as he peered through the dirty glass, seeing only five armed men around the circle of roughly 50 civilians on the filthy, gymnasium floor. Which
one was the Man?
A door opened on their side of the building, and a tall, thin Mexican with a face completely hidden by his bandana stepped out, saw the bodies. “Dedro!”
“Aaahhh!”
Kenn’s shot connected, but the guerilla’s yell ruined their element of surprise. Eyes were now on the windows, footsteps running toward them.
Kenn aimed for the jeep in front of the glass doors, trying to time it as the next rush of men came out.
The Marine’s earlier shot to the gas tank was already allowing a long stream of the pungent liquid to escape, and Kyle and the Eagles were still, waiting for the
distraction Kenn was providing.
Woosshhh!
His shot sparked the puddle of gas, and they watched bright, orange flames flash eagerly over the concrete and scorched their way up the fuel dripping from the gas
tank. KKkaaaablammm!
The explosion shattered half of the windows along the front of the building, throwing the jeep through the doors just as they opened. The slavers rushing out were
consumed in a cloud of twisted metal and hot flames.
“Fire!”
“We hafta get out!”
“Sit down!”
The gym was in chaos, people pushing for the doors. The slaver’s orders were ignored in the panic, causing the guerillas to raise their guns and take aim at retreating
backs.
“Now, Eagles! Open fire!”
Bullets began to fly, raining down on the Mexicans before they could retaliate, and the shooting was very, very good. Their targets were moving and mixed in with
the small sea of terrified civilians, and slugs found foreheads and throats amid total chaos. Despite the people all trying to get out of the chained doors, only slavers were
killed.
“Damn!”
Kenn turned to see Chris examining his arm, blood dripping down the thick tree trunk in steady streams, “I’m trimmed - that’s it.”
Kenn and Kyle were both relieved, ignoring the refugees who continued to panic. Neither man ever wanted to tell Adrian they’d gotten one of his army killed.
Seeing no more enemy movement, Kenn leaned inside the window he’d shattered with his shots. He saw shaggy, unkempt hair, cold sores, gloves with holes, and
smelled body odor that made him grimace. No threats to his place in this group.
“U.S. Eagle Force! Safe Haven!”
The shout echoed in the concrete room, getting attention, and Kenn grinned at them as they looked up warily, quieting. “Someone here named Overloaded? Your
taxi’s waiting.”
Kyle and his men were dropping ropes, lowering themselves to head for fire extinguishers, as a tall, thin man with a long staff and a dirty bandage over his eyes
slowly moved toward Kenn’s window position, voice hopeful. “What’s the word?”
Kenn's eyes went to the bodies on the floor and then to the door, where Kyle and Chris were getting the small fire under control. He keyed the mic on his belt.
“Freedom. Mission accomplished. Let’s do some cleaning and get these people back to camp.”
It took Kenn and Kyle under an hour to evacuate the filthy American school; would have been one hour exactly if the Marine had swept every room, but they didn’t
bother with the basement, where the dead had been placed. As they pulled away, no one saw the hysterical blonde woman running up a nearby road, her arms waving
frantically. They never looked back.
3
The constantly growing camp seemed almost empty to Adrian once Kenn and the Eagles were gone, and the leader threw himself into the work, forcing a faked
optimism that only his men noticed.
Adrian didn’t like the feeling of being incomplete, but never doubted that they were. He hated to have people out of camp, only relaxed when the entire flock was
under his watchful eye, and he knew they'd been lucky so far that everyone who had gone out had returned. He’d increased their chances with the addition of armed
escorts, but looked forward to a time when he could settle them down and show them how to provide for their needs, instead of scouring this broken land like
scavengers.
Now camped in the heart of the Thunder Basin National Grassland, they were only fifteen miles from the South Dakota state line. The tall pines, blue grass, and
Forget-Me-Nots were a comforting sight after all the horror along 387. If not for the heavy fog, they would be on the road now, sheep gawking out the windows at the
vividly-colored lightning flashing in the sky over a muddy landscape that included a crashed government chopper.
Adrian tensed suddenly, feeling that uneasy mix of power and magic fill him. The landscape wavered, changed, and for a moment, he could see a survivor of the
crash, her outline tall, thin and tough. He looked away from the vision, thinking it had been so long since he had one that he’d forgotten how it made his heart feel
squeezed.
Hoping she was one of his, Adrian got moving again, feeling a little bitter with Fate. He had been promised magic, and so far had only gotten a gifted teenager who
was too young to really be much help.
Adrian lit a smoke, telling himself it didn’t matter. When the boy was needed most, at least he would be here, already under the discreet eyes of the Eagles, who had
been told to watch him right after the restless teenager had gotten his own tent. The result of a noisy fight where Charlie had almost hurt one of the other boys he was
bunking with.
Kenn’s cadet was a bit unstable. Unhappy, Adrian corrected himself. Even the job with the vet wouldn't be enough to hold him here. Something had the teenager’s
mind, pulling at him, and when Kenn got back, Adrian hoped to find out what it was.
The busy leader moved a little faster, looking things over. There was a full day of activities planned – the biggest: a towing contest. Their clearing times had
improved because he’d made it into a race to see who could do it fastest without breaking any safety rules. Tonight, the first crew leader would be picked by whoever
won and with his Marine out of camp, more people would be willing to try. There was very little that his right-hand man wasn’t good at and it sounded different without
him here. The people were subdued somehow without his energetic, boisterous XO.
Adrian kept walking, sick of hearing tents flapping in the wind. It was slow going right now. He was organizing them, teaching them to survive, and the whole time,
he had been moving them north, toward Montana. That had changed last week when he’d convinced them that going any further north would run them into a ground
zero and probably give them lethal doses of radiation. Stories from refugees they’d picked up, backed him up. They were moving by vote now, picking a long list of
places to try, but he would have headed them east even if they hadn’t voted to. It was bad here. They couldn’t stay in Wyoming any longer.
The packs of mutated ants were thick throughout the state, and once he got the camp a couple hundred miles further from 25 and the Slavers, he planned to head
southeast for a while, toward Georgia and the miles of caves hopefully still waiting there. He hadn’t thought of a better place yet, and dreaded having to confirm that
going into the mountains was the only way they’d see the first year's end. There had to be somewhere else!
Comforted by the steady whoosh of footsteps guarding their perimeter, Adrian moved past Kenn’s improved Mess - where coffee and food lines were now open
on both sides - coming to the traveling emergency class. Tents flapping mockingly in his ear, he paused to listen to part of the lesson and was immediately assaulted with
the odors of cologne, sweat, and cigar smoke. He grinned. It was the smell of people, and it beat the hell out of all the other shit they were usually inhaling.
A small group was gathered around the side of a big red van, watching Peggy Ann Kelly, the single, forty-something, redheaded mother of little Becky, change a flat
tire. This class had solved the need for one crew to do all of the work, all of the time. This way, the entire camp did it.
The cute, reddish-blond woman was sweating and greasy. Most of the men watching would have gladly done it for her, to get her attention, but Adrian had made it
clear that each person needed to be able to fend for themselves as well as function as team, and the males offered advice, but no actual help.
Peggy struggled to break the last lug nut and Adrian shook his head at the bald, black professor who stepped forward to help. The portly man carried his profession
proudly, from his thick glasses to his plaid-patterned suit, and Adrian didn’t look away from the baleful glare the teacher sent his way. He also didn’t keep his voice
down and the gusting wind carried it further than just the class.
“She has to learn. What if she gets separated?”
The dark man frowned, able to feel the thick, disapproving silence from the others, “You sure it ain’t ‘cause I’m black and she’s white?”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed at the accusing tone. Joseph had been here long enough to know how things worked. Was he still holding onto that shit? They didn’t have
many of the other races represented here yet, but that wasn’t because he didn’t want them. The War had split more than just families. The old segregation lines had
slammed down, making most races look for their own kind. It was something he needed people like this bitter teacher to help him with.
“You’re from Salt Lake City. You were almost dead when we found you. Group of white men had beaten you up so bad, we didn’t think you’d live at first. There
were only twenty of us then and no one knew what to do with you. About you.”
“Because I’m a nigger."
It wasn’t a question and Adrian’s tone grew sharp as the people around them frowned at the word. No one used it, not even in joking. Adrian would throw you out
for that, even if you meant it affectionately.
“We had only our basic laws and race was something we hadn’t even talked about. We saw you bleeding and had to make a choice. Let you die, and continue
America’s ‘quiet’ racism, or let you in and find a way to deal with all the problems ‘your’ people inevitably bring with them.”
Adrian’s words were blunt and he had the attention of everyone close enough to hear. “We made the choice in about fifteen seconds. Because you’re a survivor
first, not black or white, but American, and that’s the only one that matters to me.”
Kenn brought home forty-one survivors and Adrian met them eagerly with Seth at his side, but both men were once again disappointed. They now had a
hairdresser, yet another bank teller (it wasn’t surprising to Adrian how many of them had survived: they were used to having their lives threatened), and a lot of other
careers they didn’t really need, but none of them, not even Greg, the blind radio man, had what he was looking for.
There was no fire burning in these people, only bright fear and desperation, and he was unable to sleep until very late, sure he had passed one of his own
somewhere. He chose to linger a bit, knowing it was a dangerous thing to do considering how close they were to the Slavers, but he needed the help as much as these
refugees needed him, and he would hope their calls were heard.
Chapter Fourteen
March 22nd, 2013
Pitcairn Island
1
“I can’t handle that. Server’s been gone for months.”
Kendle slid the credit card back into her pocket and pulled out money, ignoring the dumpy island woman’s abrupt tone. “Cash okay?” she asked evenly, but her
pale eyes were defiant.
The middle-aged store keeper frowned. She darted a tense glance toward Luke as he waited, lounging carelessly against the small shop’s front door.
Kendle gave her a sharp look of warning, pulling her attention away from LJ. “One of those caps too.”
It was up on a shelf that required the heavy woman to climb for it and Kendle smiled sweetly when the pie-faced female glared at her in the almost stifling heat of the
general store. “Love the Dodgers. Gotta have it.”
Storekeeper or not, the woman clearly wanted to tell her to go to hell and Kendle flashed her a look that said do it at your own risk. The air in the musty little shop
was cold despite all of them sweating.
Luke shoved his hands into his jean pockets, embarrassed and yet impressed with the way Kendle was handling things. Plump but scrappy, with the air of a born
snob, Mary Jo had been born on the Island and hated outsiders. The fact that Kendle’s show had been popular even here made the frumpy spinster more jealous. LJ
sighed. She also hated him. That didn’t help.
The moment was long and tense and it was the vivid, reddish-brown skin of the movie star that convinced Mary Jo. She was obviously tough, and the Island native
turned to climb the ladder for the ball cap, muttering under her breath.
Satisfied, Kendle took a moment to look around as the sharp odor of cleaning products stung her nose and smothered the light hint of LJ’s sexy cologne. There
were neatly stacked baskets and racks, tasteful signs and pictures, and not a speck of dust to be found. The front glass windows were spotless as well, the white
curtains closed to dim the bright, noonday sun, and Kendle was suddenly sure the woman now jabbing at numbers on her tiny calculator hadn’t been the one to clean
any of it.
“A hundred even.”
Kendle laid the cash on the spotlessly neat counter with a frown, but said nothing at the too high price, wanting only to go. Not for herself, but for Luke, whose
embarrassment she could feel. They didn’t like him here. Why? Did they know his secret? It explained his reluctance to go into town to replace the things they had lost
in the storm. Kendle turned to meet his eye in the dimness of the store.
When sparks flew between them, the storekeeper shoved the full bag at her. Kendle spun back around in time to catch it just before it fell to the tiled floor. “Is there
a problem?”
She saw Luke’s wide shoulders tense from the corner of her eye, wondering if they were about to mix it up, and knew the clerk did too.
When the woman’s brown eyes went from unfriendly to mean, Kendle held up a hand. “Of course there is. Let’s do it like this. I plan to be here a while. Should I
spend my money with the crazy lady across the creek?”
The storekeeper seemed surprised she knew there were other options and shook her head, voice hateful. “No. Come back anytime.”
Kendle smiled sweetly as she turned away. “Not even if you bent over and kissed my red ass! Have a great day!”
Luke held the door as she swept out, regal as any Hollywood snob he’d ever seen, and he grinned at the speechless clerk. “I’d pay to see that!”
He slipped out before she could respond and went to help Kendle store their things on the cart attached to the back of the bike.
“She always act like that?”
Luke nodded, waved at one of the four other shack-like, brown and green stores that made up town proper on this side. The Bounty Bay the tourists saw wasn’t
the real Pitcairn Island. “Yes. Wanna go to Baxter’s? They have shoes.”
Kendle met his eye, hand on her slender, jean-clad hips, and Luke’s gaze moved to her tiny waist.
“Same attitude, right?”
He looked away, voice a low mutter of embarrassment. “Probably.”
She frowned, looked around the tiny town again. There were patches of wild roses amid small clumps of Miro trees with multi-colored parrots in the tops that hung
over every inch of the town, creating shaded canopies. There were no cars, only two dirt bikes parked by theirs, and she saw the outlines of neat, white-fenced shacks
in the distance she assumed were the storekeeper’s homes. There were no mailboxes, no addresses on the doors, just gravel walkways and rocking chairs on the
porches. There was a striped barber pole on the last shop that made her stomach clench with longing. She missed her home, her country.
“How about we go fishing instead?”
Luke’s eyes lit up and Kendle felt her first response to him, to his happiness. There was something there.
“Sounds like a plan. Now?”
She grinned back, feeling soft and attractive for a change, instead of just being grateful to be alive. Another spark flew between them that the people lingering in
shop windows felt. “Yes, the sooner the better.”
Eager to be in the cool, quiet jungle, Kendle swung her leg over the bike, staying back to leave him room, and she blushed at the thought of holding close and tight
to him while they were flying along. They were getting closer now and it surprised her. She never would have seen herself attracted to a calloused, big handed,
suspenders and plaid-wearing war veteran.
It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm, cloudless blue sky above and a saltwater breeze that made her shiver. She couldn’t...
“Leaving so soon?”
Kendle saw Luke tense at the male voice and immediately knew he not only disliked the owner of it, he hated him. When she turned, it was easy to see why. The
man was everything Luke wasn’t.
Pretentious shoes, expensive slacks and Polo top, deep scorn in the 30-something island god’s dark green eyes. Great body and teeth; deeply tanned, manicured
hands; a watch on his wrist that had probably cost more than she had made on her last show. Instead of being impressed, Kendle only wondered vaguely if it still
worked. She had no interest in a trust fund baby.
“Introduce us,” Ethan ordered.
Kendle stood up when she saw a muscle in Luke’s stubble-covered jaw twitch.
“Be careful, Pasta Boy or...”
Kendle stepped between them before Luke could finish the threat, holding her hand out. The menace in LJ's body language was a surprise to Kendle and like a
whiff of cooking meat to the lonely woman inside.
“Roberts, Kendle. And you are?”
“In awe of your beauty,” oozed the tall playboy as he gently kissed her hand. Keeping hold of her it, he introduced himself, flashing expensive veneers. “I’m Ethan
Kraft, oh Goddess of survival. I own this island.”
“Just the town, Fader.”
Kendle pulled her hand away with a warning look that said not to get too friendly.
Ethan frowned at the nice term for someone who can’t follow through and pretended not to see the red-skinned movie star wipe her hand down the side of her
jeans, like he might have contaminated her.
Luke saw it though and his grin widened.
“Give me time,” Ethan boasted arrogantly, flashing beautiful dimples at Kendle, and she frowned at the unspoken implication that he would have her too. Not in a
million years.
“You ready?” Luke interrupted, indicating the bikes.
“Yes.”
Ethan stepped forward as she turned away, meaning to take her hand again.
Luke, unsure of his intentions, slapped both palms against the playboy’s hard chest and shoved him, forcing him to move back to keep from falling. “Don’t ever
touch her unless she says it okay! You got that?”
Ethan bristled, but wasn’t sure about crossing LJ, despite being 20 years younger. “Sure.”
His eyes were hard as he watched them ride off together. Maybe she just didn’t know what kind of man she was staying with. Ethan turned toward the store he had
spotted her coming from, steps lightening. Maybe he would have to make it his job to see that she found out.
2
Later, with the sun fading behind a light layer of ugly-looking clouds rolling in from the southeast, Kendle watched Luke cast out over the calm water of the second
fishing hole they’d tried, the first full of debris.
“You never talk about yourself. You know everything about me.”
Luke turned to look at her with unreadable eyes, wondering how he’d fared in her comparison to Ethan. “Does it matter?”
Kendle sent her eyes back to her twitching line, vaguely listening to frogs and gulls calling to each other. “Sometimes.”
She heard him sink the pole into the ground next to his chair and then there was silence, but she knew he was nervously waiting for her questions to begin. So, she
didn’t ask. Not only was she living on his dime out here, he had been good to her, understanding, and she wouldn’t push. If he wanted to tell her, he would.
Kendle dug her bare feet and hands into the bur grass around them, still in love with the land. She closed her eyes, hearing the rustle of a small animal in the
underbrush, dragonflies zipping over the surface of the water. She thought she could even hear the ants and beetles crawling over the salty soil and she held back the
tears only by will power. She was alive!
Luke outwardly relaxed when she didn’t speak, went back to enjoying the beautiful day, but inside, he was worrying over what to say. He had a horrible secret and
while she hadn't found out today, sooner or later, she would. He needed to be the one to tell her.
“You want to go back to town for lunch? Stacey’s place has good chicken sandwiches.”
Kendle jerked her line hard, felt the fish get hooked. “Not really. Fish is fine,” she lied, thinking if she never ate another piece of any kind of seafood, it would be too
soon. Luke stood to get the net for her. He was very aware of her as a woman, of how tiny she was compared to him, and his eyes roamed her curves as she fought
lightly with their dinner. A lot more comfortable with each other now, the strength of his attention had grown since that wet ride in the dark and he’d felt her looking at
him, too. Slow and easy was the ticket to win her over, and he could probably try now, but he hesitated to get closer to her than he already was. She was pure, he was
tainted, and when she found out, their time together would be over.
The end of her time with Luke was something Kendle had found herself thinking about more and more. It wasn’t right for her to stay with him. It didn’t look good to
the townspeople, but the thought of not being close to him made her heart hurt. Soon, she would have no choice, unless she flaunted convention and did what she
wanted.
Her health had dramatically improved, red skin finally starting to brown, and she was better emotionally too, unless a smell or sound hit her the wrong way, flashed
her back to the ocean and its relentless grip. When that happened, it was Luke's comfort she sought, instinctively knowing he understood what she was going through.
Some nights she still crawled into his bed and huddled against his warm back, shivering, sweating. He never mentioned it in the morning, just gently moved her off his big
chest so he could get up. He was easy going, didn’t expect much, and the only time she’d even seen him even close to upset was today. With Ethan Kraft.
“You don’t really like the people here much, do you?”
Luke dropped the small grouper into their catch holder. “No. We don’t care about the same things.”
Kendle understood. The people here were rich, ostracized from civilization for one reason or another, while Luke was...what? A hermit? Definitely. A criminal?
Maybe. Either way, he’d been nothing but great to her and she would respect his privacy and not ask what his crime had been. It would eventually come out and she
would face it head on, but for now, he was a comfort that she wasn’t ready to give up. She knew there were choices coming, hard ones that would take strength she
wasn’t sure she had, but for now, it was just the two of them in paradise.
Luke’s thoughts were again in line with hers, eager to put it off, but he was dreading her finding out the truth. It was a sin he could never atone for.
Cawwww!
They both looked up to see a scattered flock of dingy cranes heading for open ocean and doubted the birds would see land again, their movements implying
sickness. Neither of them mentioned it. It wasn’t an uncommon sight anymore and only served to remind them both of the homeland they'd left behind.
“How did he know who I was?”
“Same way I did, I guess - T.V. reception out here was good for a while. Easy for him this time.”
His tone implied the playboy hadn’t had such an easy time finding out who he was and Kendle smiled, thinking his light cologne was so much better then Ethan’s
heavy Polo. “Took him a while to find out who you were, huh?”
Luke chose his words carefully. “Yeah. He finally had to go through my garbage to get my fingerprints for Daddy Kraft to run.”
Kendle was horrified for him, at the invasion of his privacy, and Luke threw her a grin. “He got a mud bath for it. Ruined his four hundred dollar shoes.”
She grinned back, almost stealing his breath at her innocent beauty. It was a good moment for him and he memorized it studiously, from the muddy tennis shoes
sitting by her bare feet and the face that was great without makeup, to the sound of water lapping and a rock falling somewhere nearby.
“Did he cry?”
“No, but it was close. One of the best days I’ve had here.” He looked away. “Until you came.”
Her mouth opened and he tensed for questions he knew he’d at least try to answer.
“It’s really bad, right?”
Luke met her eye, prepared to have it happen now, before he got anymore attached than he already was. “Yes.”
Kendle studied the eyes that waited, expected no mercy.
When she spoke, Luke felt her words reach the cold, barren part of his heart he’d been carrying for most of his adult life.
“That was the old world and it's gone. The people here may not believe it, but I do. You’re no longer that man.”
Chapter Fifteen
March 23rd, 2013
Western Missouri
1
“…is Safe Haven…Red Cross convoy…survivors. Does anyone…”
Angela froze at the static-laced transmission. The Witch in her head whispered that her boy, Kenn, and grave danger, were much closer.
Marc came to the open passenger door, jarring her from her thoughts. “Everything okay?”
Angela’s voice was impatient as she pushed a stray curl back behind her ear that the warm wind had dislodged. “That’s them. That’s who we’re looking for. You
ready?”
Marc shook his head, thinking that group had to be within a few hundred miles for them to hear it. “Few more minutes.” His heart thumped and he fished in his long
black coat pockets for his smokes. Only another three weeks alone with her.
Angela got out and closed the door, ignoring the gray and black wolf on the roof that edged closer for her attention. “I’ll help.”
Marc understood her hurry, but wanted to linger over the radio, hoping for a location. She always pointed him in the right direction, but in this big empty, it would be
easy to miss them.
“We won’t,” Angela answered firmly.
Marc lit a smoke, watching her quickly take care of their lunch mess, wiping her hands down her jeans as she finished. It was something she wouldn’t have felt
relaxed enough to do during their first weeks together. She was constantly growing, learning, changing, and on some things, she was already as good as he was.
“They’re near Gillette, Wyoming. We’ll catch up in South Dakota I think, somewhere around Interstate 90.”
Marc frowned. They would be facing her man by the end of next week. Ten days left. His heart twisted.
“Come on, Brady. I’ll back it up and can do the chains.”
Marc cracked an imaginary whip, making them both grin as he got moving. They’d made good time, eating up nearly three hundred miles, and had chosen to tow
one of the Blazers to save on fuel, something they were low on again.
“That’s it. You drive. I’ll check the maps for what’s between us and them.”
Angela got settled quickly, glad he had interrupted her thoughts. Instead of relief that she was about to be with her son, all she could feel was the fear of facing
Kenny. Time to pay was very close now, and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to do it yet.
A minute later they were leaving Corning, Missouri. They were both uneasy as this was tornado country, part of the Alley, and it was eerie to see one block looking
totally normal - if you could call looted, burned-down businesses normal - and the next street knocked flat with nothing but piles of debris standing. It was also farm
country, crops of tobacco and river oats everywhere, surrounded by Indian grass and milkweed. There was no traffic in sight though, hadn’t been for the last day, and
she held back a shudder, almost sure she knew why. Not many people had made it through the last town.
Pattonsburg, still fully decorated, had real bodies in every Christmas scene, even those on lawns, with each corpse painstakingly put in the place of the person they
most looked like: Mary, Santa, Wise Men, even the baby Jesus. She and Marc had turned around immediately, the feeling of evil too strong to ignore. They had
detoured an extra day, sure each of the scenes’ “actors” had been survivors of the War, not victims. They were just too fresh.
Pattonsburg had become, or maybe always had been, home to a serial killer now reigning unopposed, and she had marked it in her journal, then tried to let it go.
Later, when she’d kept worrying over it, aware Marc wanted to go back and challenge the mad man just to ease her horror, the Witch had asked, and she’d said yes
with a heavy heart.
After her own encounter with evil, she now understood that some people had earned death. The nut job in Pattonsburg was certainly one of those, and she had let
the Witch hunt him down while she slept. The fact that it hadn’t been by her hand was helping, but death was something she couldn’t handle, and if she ever had to
personally do it again, she might…
“Angie.”
She looked up to find Marc staring at her.
“Try to let it go.”
Angela closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The fact that she had saved future travelers was also helping. “I will. What did you say?”
“We’ll have to cross the Missouri to get into Nebraska, unless you want to parallel it until we get below Kansas City. Flatter land, might have a better chance of
finding a shallow.”
She was already shaking her head, raising her sunglasses, “That’s another week. Let’s try to find a dam or a bridge around here that looks okay.”
Marc just stared, stomach suddenly very uneasy, and Angela gave him a quick look that revealed an almost desperate glare in her eyes. “I feel it too, but I can’t
waste another week. I just can’t.”
“I won’t ask you to unless we can’t find a shallow or dam, like we did when we came over the Mississippi.”
Angela studied the mud-streaked lanes of Interstate 29. The cracked pavement was full of potholes and mud that was slowly drying in the steady breeze now that
the temperatures had stayed above freezing for a few days. The wind was calm, the weather clear for a change, and Angela lit a smoke, not sure what was wrong, but
sure something was since there was only darkness when she looked.
“Do you…”
The ground under them began to shake, and she slammed on the brakes, jerking them to a stop. Eyes wide, she started to get out as the vibrations increased.
Marc put a gentle hand on her wrist, “Wait. If it gets worse, we’ll get out. Watch for big cracks.”
His touch was soothing, exciting. He let go slowly, feeling her interest, and she sighed.
The ground under them rumbled and swayed, shifting nearby debris piles, and from the distance came the distinctive sounds of buildings collapsing, and telltale
plumes of dust rising.
The shaking eased gradually, quieted over a period of maybe a minute, before finally going still. Angela looked at Marc, who was busy studying the map like nothing
had happened. “Should we go on?
“Yeah, just stop if it starts again. Always stay clear of anything that can fall on you and watch for cracks. They open up fast.”
Angela eased back on the pedal, her mind shocked to find out that the fault line under St. Louis was not only there, but now active. They had felt other tremors of
course, but not while driving, and not this strong. In the Midwest, the big one hadn’t come yet, but things were warming up.
They listened to Pink Floyd as she drove over weedy, debris-littered streets, rolling around the abandoned cars with indecipherable notes now mildewed to their
dashboards, and the conversation was about anything other than the destruction all around them. Mother Nature was clearly the cause here.
Marc’s heart was aching. Time had begun to look very short for them, and though he could say they were true friends again, he wasn’t sure if there was more. She
had been keeping the space between them since waking up in his arms in front of the burned-out fire, one of the best memories for him from the whole trip. She had
been so peaceful in his embrace, so relaxed (sexy), and he was feeling discouraged. Appearing to look back at Dog, who was curled up contentedly on the backseat,
he stole another look at her profile as she drove. She was still so far out of reach he didn’t think he’d ever have a real chance with her again, but that didn’t stop the
want. Angela could feel his hot looks, but was blocking so she didn’t pick up on the exact thoughts unless he sent them to her, and she tried not to fidget or look over. She
loved that he was so close, but hated it too. Her female body was acutely aware of him sitting next to her and she was reminded of a time when the mere thought of sex
didn’t make her cringe. She had loved to touch him, to kiss him, to run her fingers through his feathered black hair. They had stolen dark, shadowy moments of heaven,
and the voices were whispering that he could conquer her fears and make her feel it again, that he could have a part in healing her that way too.
“You have to trust me.”
Angela threw him a startled look. “What?”
“You have to turn by that tree.”
Her eyes darted away, face red, and Marc thought again that she had done so much better on this journey than he’d thought she would. They both had.
2
The couple made it to the Nebraska-Missouri line just before dusk and stopped to look. Marc wasn’t encouraged.
The bridge they’d hoped to cross was almost completely submerged. The river was well over its banks, covering even the roads leading to the blue metal structure,
but the water was only dammed up on one side, the south end nearly empty. It was so low, they couldn’t see it from where they were, and as a result, the ground
between them and the bridge was mostly covered with water. Nasty, stagnant, reeking liquid, the edges were pushing up onto the road they were sitting on.
After a long look, Marc handed her the binoculars. “No way we could cross that, even if we found a way in.”
“Damn. I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen yet. Is that a bulldozer jammed up against the railroad trestle?”
“What’s left of one. The water backing up like that behind the bridge might mean there’s a shallow a bit downstream, though.”
The Blazers rolled slowly, and Marc’s sharp eyes searched, picking out places that looked solid as he guided her closer to the river and avoided the spots that were
a quicksand-like mud that would suck them under.
Half a mile from the doomed bridge, Marc had her stop so he could get a closer look, and she waited nervously, stomach full of spiders. Angela grimaced at that
thought and hid it as he came back to her window. There was danger here.
“It’s steep, but maybe we can make it. Tracks say someone else did recently, and if I had to call it, I’d say they did it in a small, light car, like a Toyota. Look at it
while I unhook my Blazer and then we’ll try. You first.”
Angela did as he said, hating the way the damp ground gave under her weight, tried to steal the boots from her feet. She felt a little better when she saw it wasn’t a
straight drop into the riverbed, but it looked rough. She could see the tire ruts someone else had left a bit further down, and the shallow water rushing by with bits of
debris bobbing along furiously.
Not feeling the peeks of sun anymore, Angela tightened her seat belt and slowly headed for the muddy bank, heart thumping wildly. This wasn’t going to go well.
The danger was close now. "Better tell him," the Witch warned, and Angela shook her head. It was too late to go back now. Nothing would keep her from her
son!
“Nice and slow until you hit the flatter part just before the water, then start picking up speed.”
Heart in her throat, Angela rode the brakes as she started down, and the 4x4 bounced over the big rocks, jarring her.
“A little faster, Honey.”
She eased off the brake, let it coast as the water rushed by. It was deeper than she’d first thought, maybe two feet, and moving fast, and then she was out in it.
Easing on the gas too late, sprays of water flew up from her mostly submerged tires, creating small rapids that rippled and surged outward.
Her tires slipped near the middle of the wide riverbed, going sideways with the water, and then she was back in control and shooting across, heart pounding.
Marc was now coming down the incline behind her, and Angela felt her tires slip again as she hit the muddy embankment on the other side. Pedal now to the floor,
her tires dug into the wet ground, and the Blazer came to a stop with a jerk that snapped her seatbelt painfully against her chest.
Angie let off the gas and hit reverse, but only sank further into the thick slop. She got no response from 4x4 mode. Slamming it back into drive, she was
overwhelmed by a feeling of danger, the Blazer fishtailing as the ground began to shake again.
Out! They had to get out! Angela mashed the pedal, eating up stuck tires, and a cloud of white smoke billowed into the sky.
Marc didn’t warn her as the rumbling increased, just hit the gas and slammed into the back of her smoking, sliding Blazer, knocking it up and out of the thick mud
with little visible damage.
The sound of the bridge collapsing was extremely loud, painful as it echoed.
Angela was suddenly hit hard and moving again, and as she cleared the edge, she picked up her mic, stopping to look back. “Damn that was... Brady! Get out!”
Marc didn’t need to look, knew the wall of debris-laden water was now surging toward him hungrily. He’d been here before. When his tires bogged down where
hers had, he shoved himself out the window and got onto the hood, glad Dog was already up on the hill, out of reach.
“The tree! Grab the tree!”
Angela’s scream was frantic and he ran across the protesting hood, jumping just as the water slammed into the Blazer.
The 4x4 was snatched from its tires and turned against the current, rolling violently as the thick waves carried it under.
“Brady!” Angela was out, rope in hand, running to the embankment. “Marc!” She leaned over the edge, eyes frantic as Dog yapped furiously next to her.
“Here!”
Her eyes found his arm and head still above the churning, rising water, and she threw the long cord hard, landing it on his outstretched fingers.
She saw him double it around his wrist, and then she was moving, tying the other end to the bumper hook of her Blazer. She headed for the driver’s seat, not
thinking, just doing what the Witch told her to.
Marc held the rope and then his breath as the water closed over his face, body submerged, scraped, bumped, sliced, battered.
The rope tightened, jerking his shoulder brutally, and then he was out like a fish caught by a boater, gasping for air. He coughed violently, feet and hands digging into
the mud, clawing at the grass for purchase as she hauled him up.
The angry roar of the water echoed in protest at the escape.
Angela saw him collapse in her mirror and had her bag in hand as she rushed back to him. “Brady!”
She saw him move and remembered to breathe. “Are you hurt?”
Marc shook his head, pushing up onto his knees as he coughed out mouthfuls of diseased river water. She ignored his protests, running her hands over him to
check for injuries.
“...finger or should I give you something?”
Marc looked up, confused as he tried to get his air back, and she gestured at the rising water that was rushing loudly by. “Some of that’s inside you now. We have
to get it out before it can settle in and do damage. I’ve got a shot of something that’ll do it.”
She set a tiny vial on the ground by his feet, swatting at thick flies hovering around them. “I’ll get camp set up.”
Marc stammered as he blew out a disgusted sigh, pushing up onto shaky legs. “Fucking quake. Some great joke.”
“...swallow it all and then take a deep smell of the bottle. Are we okay here?”
Marc’s blurry eyes looked over the muddy ground and a park-like area about 200 yards away. No buildings in sight, crooked elm and willow trees behind plum
fields, and thick, lush grass sprinkled with poppies. It actually looked pretty good.
“Over... there. Should be... part of the Brownville... State Rec area. Leave my duffle bag... couple jugs of water. No fire ... stove’s okay.”
Angela left him alone, glad that the sound of the water crushing anything and everything would drown out his misery, and provide a little privacy. She took a good
look around before getting anything out, and watched the wolf jump up onto the roof to watch, though clearly he had wanted to stay with his master.
Angela turned to check on Marc and saw his torn shirt hit the ground, exposing a wide chest that she was drawn to even over the distance. When his hand went to
his belt buckle, she spun around, clumsy fingers getting the Coleman lit. She’d almost lost him. Her impatience had almost killed them both.
"If it was supposed to be, it would have been," the Witch tried to comfort, as Angela set up camp.
Her wide eyes found Marc’s naked body across the distance and couldn’t look away. His hair and face were lathered, and as he poured the clean water over his
head, Angela felt a chill of desire shoot down into her belly. He was a truly beautiful man, and they would be sharing a bed tonight to stay warm.
She should have been afraid of getting so close to Marc so openly, but she realized things had changed for her again. She certainly wasn’t afraid of Marc as a man,
was almost eager to be close to him. It was a very welcome change from the paralyzing fear that she had lived with for so long. The question was, would she feel this
confident around other men, or was it just Brady she could respond to? Their bond of trust was one of those blind comforts that might mask the truths she wasn’t
ready to face, she thought suddenly. It would be too easy to fall back into a submissive role with Marc and forget her own needs in order to make him happy. Also,
knowing she could feel a normal attraction to a stranger, would give her hope that Kenn hadn’t damaged her beyond repair when it came to things like love…and sex.
Marc could feel her staring, his body responding immediately, swelling to thickness in seconds and he took his time rinsing, drying, dressing, and brushing his teeth.
He felt a little better already, though he hurt all over, and he was still alive, so let her look all she wants, Marc thought to himself. Maybe she’ll see something she likes
and hold me down and take it.
Angela grinned, picking up on the thought. The block between them had crumbled when she’d seen the water reaching out for him like alien hands, and she frowned
at all the scrapes, cuts, and bruises on his arms, chest, and face. As he moved closer, Dog jumped down to meet him, welcome him.
Marc walked slowly, shirt open, bag over his uninjured shoulder, and their eyes locked over the distance, speaking louder than the water still rushing by.
"I almost got you killed."
Marc shook his head, full of fierce gratitude he would never be able to express. "You saved my life."
"I’m sorry."
“Don’t be,” Marc stated firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead that allowed her to smell his clean, sexy scent.
“No way to know the smart-ass upstairs was gonna pick those 90 seconds to shake the ground again. Your quick actions saved me. You deserve a promotion.”
Angela grinned, waving a hand at the tailgate, “Have a seat. I’ll patch you up while you tell me about this raise.”
He took the Irish coffee she pushed into his clammy hands and the red-flecked wolf sat on the ground at his feet.
“All right. In the Corps, you’d start out a private, but you would have been a Private First Class after Versailles.” He watched for signs that it still bothered her but
saw nothing as she raised a brow.
She’d felt him fishing, but that bait had long since been stripped to the bone by her own guilt. “And now?” she asked, opening the packages from her bag as the sun
sank, leaving a pale orange and purple sky that looked almost normal.
“Now, I’d say... a Lance Corporal.”
She laughed, hiding her wince well. Kenny was a Lance Corporal. “Better get a good raise with that. What about you?”
Stifling a sneeze, Marc shrugged, concentrating on the blue of her eyes and the red of her lips instead of the stinging from the alcohol pad. “Happy where I am.”
Angela heard it all in his voice: the need, the respect, the fierce joy to be alive. She kept her eyes from his as her fingers tenderly moved his dog tag aside to smear
gel over his cuts and scrapes. It was Heaven and Hell, being so close, touching him, and she barely kept the old Angela from doing something they might regret…like
letting her hands wander freely over his hot skin.
“Soup when you’re ready for a bite to eat, then pills.”
Angela tried to hurry, to ignore how he felt, and her pulse was pounding when she stepped back.
“Ready for….” she fell silent as the ground under them lit up again, rattling the Blazer and everything inside it. She met Marc’s eyes in the fading light of dusk.
“Just a tremor. We’re all right.”
She hated the way the ground moved under their feet, and when it pounded through her legs, the dirt giving a little, she stumbled, and Marc caught her.
Angela sucked in a breath, tight against his bare chest, but instead of immediately pulling away when the ground stilled under them, she was drawn by the devotion in
his dark gaze as he looked back at her. His heart was pounding as hard as hers was, body warm under her fingers, and she saw his nostrils flare, like he was scenting
her. The image made her flush, and her pulse raced. She wanted him. What a wonderful feeling!
Marc let her have the lead, patiently waiting, knowing desire would have its way eventually, and she’d make the first move. Inside he was dying to kiss her, craved
it. He swore to himself that before she got back to her man, he’d have at least one taste of her to remember when he was alone again.
Angie felt the wave of sadness fall over him and when she pulled away, he let her go, tried to keep it from his face. Who was he kidding? He would never just take
it and she would never just offer.
She pushed a bowl of hot soup into his hands. “Any other cuts?”
He shook his head, stirring the warm noodles. “No. I didn’t even tear my jeans. Lots of bruises though.”
She handed him a small cluster of pills and a cup of water. When he heard ‘painkiller’, Marc smiled. His body was sore all over, aching, but it was his shoulder that
really hurt. Throbbing sharply, it continued to swell. He was surprised it hadn’t been dislocated, but didn’t complain or even mention it. There had been little time for
anything else.
“We’ll stay here tonight.”
Marc agreed, watching her set up a lawn chair next to the stove.
She waved a hand, and he moved to where she wanted him, leaning back and closing his eyes with a small smile she had to turn away from. Would his kiss still light
her up, or would it repulse her, the way Kenny’s did?
Angela dropped a blanket over his legs and held up another. “Lean forward a little bit,” she coaxed, laying it over the chair and when he sat back, she pulled it
around his wide shoulders, not meeting his eyes when their fingers brushed.
Angela stayed behind him, and Marc couldn’t stop a small moan of pain when her hands settled firmly on his shoulder. Then she was rubbing, soothing, pushing,
manipulating it back into position, her fingers like fire one minute and ice the next as she healed him.
Exhausted, drained, Angela stepped back. “I’m gonna put the discs out. Twenty feet?”
He nodded, smothering a yawn as he handed her the wrist band controller. “Two rows. One at 20 and one at 30.”
She did it like he had shown her and Marc watched for a minute, then got slowly to his feet in the light breeze. “You want a cup?”
The wind gusted as Marc’s eyes went over the distant, but clearer shapes of the mountains to their south, bringing the stench of rotting fish. He kept himself from
gagging only by sheer will, his whole body suddenly feeling foreign, clammy.
“I’ll get it. Sit back down, will ya? That was enough dope to knock you out,” Angela scolded, finished.
When he didn’t answer - only put a hand on the hatch for support - she went to him, slipped an arm around his lean hips. “Come on, Brady. Time to hit the rack.”
“Been waitin' weeks to hear that,” he joked tiredly and she surprised him by laughing. “Well, wait a while longer, Romeo. Come on now, slide in.”
Marc eased onto the stiff bed, and she tossed the two top blankets over him. When he looked at her, his deep blue eyes were full of fear instead of the male pride
she had been expecting. “I’ll get sick now, right?”
She didn’t even consider lying to him as she brushed dust from her jeans and then leaned inside to pull up his blankets. “Maybe.”
“Will I die?”
“Oh, God no!” she exclaimed, sliding in to sit next to him. “At the worst, you’ll be tired, have diarrhea, and throw up, but it’ll only last a couple weeks because
you’re in great shape.”
“So, I’ll just feel like I died.”
She grinned, running her hand over his clammy brow to smooth his hair back, loving the feel of it against her fingers. “That’s the worst. We handled it quickly. You
might be a little queasy for a couple days, but probably not even that. You’ll be fine.”
Marc sighed, relieved, and she stayed with him until he fell asleep, staring at her until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.
The chill in the wind made Angela shiver as she stepped out to repack everything, and she loaded it quickly so he wouldn’t get a draft. The heater’s batteries were
dead, all the propane cylinders gone, and they couldn’t waste the quarter tank of gas they had left to run the engine while they slept. Body heat would have to do.
Finished, Angela ignored her racing pulse as she closed herself back inside the tepid Blazer with him and laid down, Dog still outside. She slid carefully against his
back, covering up, and closed her eyes as the horror of the day washed over her.
The constant voice of fear was whispering that she would pay dearly for breaking Kenny's rules, that it wasn’t just her life in danger. She wasn’t allowed to talk to
another man, let alone crawl into bed with one. The past rose up to assault her weary mind, thoughts of being separated from her children flashing, and she let herself cry
a little against his warm comfort. What was she going to do? She was chained to one man but loved another.
Marc had woken the second she’d gotten back out of the Blazer and her pain was something he couldn’t ignore. He slowly rolled over and wrapped his arms
around her.
“It’ll be okay, Honey,” he whispered, and she hoped he was right.
“I am.”
She looked at him questioningly, and he brushed away her tears.
“We’re connected. Always were. No one can stop that.” He kissed her cheek, felt her shiver. “We belong together Angie and right or wrong, I love you. Always
have.”
Her tears fell harder. “There’s no future for us, Brady. He’ll never let me go.”
“We’ll find a way to convince him.”
“And if we can’t?”
He didn't hesitate. “Under no circumstances will I allow you to just give in. You’re going to fight back and he’s gonna get a wakeup call.”
Chapter Sixteen
March 26th, 2013
South Dakota state line
1
Danger to the herd!
Adrian woke to the ground beneath his tent grumbling, groaning in protest. He grabbed for his boots as the tremor strengthened and the panic started.
Things were falling, breaking, feet were running, an engine started, and radios crackled, but the silent roar of the quake distorted the sounds somehow, making his
ears vibrate.
Adrian pulled his jacket over his bare chest and ducked outside as he zipped it up, sharp eyes finding those of the nervous, unsure guards. They’d had tremors
before, but not as strong as this, and he keyed his mic. “Hold your posts, Eagles.”
Adrian waved Neil and Kenn over, the two black-clad men roughly the same height. They came to him quickly, dodging camp members in robes and slippers who
were fleeing - most toward the parking areas.
He hit his radio again. “Empty your clip, Doug. Turn ‘em around!”
The towering, red-vested giant didn’t question, just fired into the air above the small mob of about 30.
Ground no longer rumbling, the gunfire got immediate attention. The panicked herd of sheep pulled up short and stopped, eyes wild with fear.
Doug’s heavily-bearded face was full of disapproval, but he only waved a beefy hand to where Adrian stood, before limping back to his post.
The crowd slowly turned, staring at the sight of Kenn and Neil hunkered down to let Adrian stand on their shoulders. It was such an unexpected thing that it
instantly captured the twitching crowd, and the red-vested giant watching it all had the thought that Adrian had expected this, had planned his reaction perfectly. It was
simple - distraction.
Seth, a quiet shadow ready to protect the boss, had the same thought, and he shared a grin with the Eagle on point, Kyle, who knew where he was hiding. Nearly
everyone was watching, the crowd growing as more people came out of their tents.
Adrian tapped the dark heads below him. “Up.”
The Eagles moved slowly, but there was little teamwork, and Adrian swayed dangerously - amusingly. His wild face and arm movements drew small titters from the
calming group of nearly sixty, most of them refugees from Cheyenne who had broken their quarantine.
The leader grinned as they lifted him up and the watching people gave a small, uneasy cheer in return.
“We had a tremor. This is how it feels.” Adrian lowered his voice. “Walk, guys, and do it together for God sakes or I’ll break my friggin' neck!”
He raised his voice, “We survived it.” He swayed, almost fell, and the two tall Eagles grabbed at his legs, pulling more laughter from the people.
“Damn it!” Adrian hauled himself up by sheer will, struggled to stay there. Hearing real calm now in their reactions, he gave up the fight, wobbling.
“He’s gonna fall!”
“Grab him!”
“Down, guys!” Adrian rolled forward with the fall as Neil and Kenn bent down, and ended up on his feet in front of the crowd that let out a cheer, clapping.
Adrian waded into the thick of them, and they quieted, most of them realizing they had overreacted, and were due a scolding.
His men watched silently, thinking they were beyond lucky that once again Adrian had known how to handle the crisis - nothing broke the spell of panic and fear
like laughter.
Nose full of sulfur and smoke, Adrian felt the air shift, knew by their downcast eyes and silence that they understood, and said nothing, only looked back with hard,
blue eyes. The silence stretched out.
When many of them were about to start offering apologies, Adrian stopped them with a shake of his head. “During a quake, you get away from anything that can fall
on you and then stop. Wait and look for cracks that often open up.”
He pointed to the jagged, gaping hole in front of Doug that a lot of them would have fallen into if he hadn’t stopped them. “Like that one. Panic makes people do
stupid things, and sometimes, it costs your life, something I can’t give back.”
Neil watched with the other Eagles, hands on his narrow hips, thinking Adrian was giving them what Kyle like to call the “lay”, or how things stood.
“All of you have broken Quarantine and will have extra time in it, along with all the camp members I’m looking at.” Adrian paused to spot them out with his sharp
gaze, and the crowd was silent, ashamed. “This is nothing we can’t handle, if we use our heads. It's over now and I want this camp back the way it was and everyone
accounted for.”
There was only silence and Adrian scowled, letting them see how displeased he actually was with an impatient jerk of his hand. “Move.”
The commanding tone had them all rushing off and he turned to Kenn and Neil as people went by, torn between talking of the tremor and his juggling act. “Sitrep in
five. Check-in of the guards is first. Gather your team, Neil, and round up the strays. Kenn, get Mitch on the radio. Have Zack and his guys oversee the cleanup. I
heard engines. Try to call ‘em back. Have Doug handle the count and tell the cook to start chow. Almost dawn anyway. Kyle keeps point. I’ll be around.”
Neil saw Seth’s tall, thin shadow go with Adrian, and the Arizona cop sent his gaze over the camp that already looked and felt better. He and Seth had hit it off, and
he knew the redhead would cover Adrian’s overloaded back.
Five minutes later, Kenn and Adrian were in the Mess, the camp a flurry of activity in the foggy morning. They’d had no serious damage, no injuries, and all but two
people were accounted for.
Adrian finished his coffee with a grimace as the stench of rot wafted through the crowded, loud, Mess. About three miles southwest of their camp, a large herd of
bison lay dead. John was testing the bodies for radiation since there was no obvious cause of death. The big ants (that Adrian sometimes thought might be following
them) were also here, along with a burgeoning population of field mice that they had set out traps out for.
This area was all nature as far as they could see, no sign that mankind had ever been here, except for the corpses. Adrian dreaded dropping south into the
Badlands, but knew he would if John said fallout had killed the bison. That strange, eerie landscape would be better than sickness, but the barren area had little they
needed. South Dakota was the sunshine state no more.
They wouldn’t stay long, only a couple of weeks total instead of the month they usually did, he decided. There wouldn’t be any camp tours of Mount Rushmore or
any of the Wild West sites that featured Annie Oakley and Wild Bill Hickok. That world was gone.
“Everyone accounted for?” Adrian asked a short time later, and Neil opened his book.
“Almost. We had five cars leave camp. All but one is on the way back, and we made contact with the supply team. Chris said he hasn’t been able to reach the 5th
yet.”
“They were together?”
Neil continued his report, “Says he saw two people in her convertible. They’ll probably show up at dawn.”
Adrian’s eyes spoke for him as he looked to his XO.
Kenn waved a hand for Kyle to join them from his post on the Mess. “Get your team and do a recon for Tonya and the Bitch. Half hour check-ins.”
Kyle’s eyes narrowed, but he swallowed his dislike, knowing the orders actually came from Adrian. Kenn didn’t like the reporter, few of them did, and though he
was screwing the redhead, the mobster didn’t think he really cared for her. Women were possessions to the Marine, Kyle thought, calling in his relief early. He pitied
the female who had shared Kenn’s bed before the War, when there had been no Adrian to keep him in line.
Kenn waited until the stocky, uniformed Eagle was out of earshot, noting the body language indicating the Mobster’s displeasure, but even that didn’t ease the
thumping of his heart as he turned to Adrian. Angela was close. He had to leave.
“Mitch took a call. Thinks I missed someone in Cheyenne. A woman named Samantha.”
Adrian looked at him, saw the edge of fear in his Marine’s eyes. “Could you have?”
Kenn’s face was miserable. “Yes.”
Adrian knew instinctively there was more and waited unhappily when Kenn looked to the black hills that surrounded their camp, instead of maintaining eye contact.
“I need to leave for a while. Charlie’s stayin' here. I’ll recheck Cheyenne first and bring the woman back if she’s still there.”
His tone implied he doubted she would be, and Adrian hid his grimace as his heart skipped, sending pain into his arm. He couldn’t keep it from his eyes, and Kenn
mistook it.
“I’ll be back. Soon.”
Chest slowly easing, Adrian gave him a hard look, mind and body already dreading the Marine’s absence. He had been more help than he knew. Fresh out of the
quarantine zone, Kenn had only been back in camp for half a day as it was.
“When?”
Kenn didn’t want to look at him. “Now.”
Flat, devoid of emotion, and careful.
Adrian stopped, looked at him. “I told you once that everyone here is free to go anytime they please, and I meant that. If you have something to do, somewhere to
go, come back when you’re ready. Just don’t forget about us. And watch your six. We need you.”
Kenn, light beard covering his guilty flush in the windy darkness, responded, “I hear that.”
Adrian frowned. It had been his experience that when someone said that, the opposite was true.
“I’m comin' back,” Kenn repeated, addressing the uniformed shadow who had given himself away by his quick breath at the news. “Hold my place.”
“You know it.”
The Marine hadn’t been sure how to bring up the subject, didn’t want to give details, but in his heart, he was sure the lone female had been Angela, not Samantha,
the radio static making Mitch misunderstand. She was close. He had to go now and set her straight before the camp (before Adrian) met her. They could never be
allowed to know who she was or what she could do.
2
As dawn finally broke, Tonya and the reporter rolled into camp, flanked by Kyle’s team, while Kenn waited nearby. He lingered in dawn’s last shadows, waiting for
the camp to get settled around the Mess for chow.
A few minutes later, her tent flap opened, revealing a dim, smoky interior. A small red glow winked on and off, and he moved forward. No one else was around.
Not that it mattered anyway. If she and Adrian had been an item, it was over now.
Kenn stepped inside the pungent tent, inhaling from the thick joint that slid between his lips. The flap closed them in darkness, and he remained still, smoking as
unseen hands rubbed him, opened his jeans…stroked.
The redhead was aware that something was happening with Adrian’s right-hand man. She’d seen his loaded Bronco, and wanted to be sure her place with him was
secure before he left. Kenn was her ticket to power here, and Tonya gave him an amazing effort, trying to dig her hooks in deeper. For a little while the hard new future
was forgotten by them both.
Chapter Seventeen
March 28th, 2013
Pitcairn Island
1
“Want to sleep with me?”
Face sweaty and flushed, Luke stopped in the middle of a sit-up, shocked before his mind replayed what she’d really said, what his male mind had misheard.
“Want some company?”
The smile in her eyes made him look away. Her skin was evening out, weight finally coming up, and these awkward moments of tension were happening more and
more as she recovered. “I’ve got more books if you’re bored,” he offered, finishing number eighteen.
He’d already done the 40 push-ups, Kendle forcing herself to pretend to be reading, but her eyes had stayed mostly on him and she wondered if he knew. “I’d
rather get back in shape and that looks like it works.”
LJ grinned at her, at the compliment, and she blushed, but didn’t look away. He might be 50, but he wore the frame of a very healthy 35-year-old. “I mean it. I get
out of breath just carrying our basket to the fishing hole. I used to be so…” she trailed off, eyes wistful as memories swirled over her, something Luke understood all too
well.
“In the morning?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She dropped her eyes back to The Stand, the last book on his wall shelves that she hadn’t read yet, but her mind was on leaving…on going home. She dreamed of
it most nights that the ocean didn’t claim her, of facing her terror and trying to get back. It made her stomach clench painfully and her spine look for a place to hide, but
so help her, she really was considering the attempt. She wasn’t pushing herself much and Luke wasn’t pushing her at all, but she wasn’t going to be content here for very
long. She had to get healthy. Right now, she was weak, tired, and it would still be at least a month or two, on top of the seven weeks she had already spent here, but in
that time, she planned to find a way back to America that didn’t involve those awful waves that called to her…mocked her.
“Lotta hard words?”
Kendle looked down into his understanding face, thinking she might not go if Luke wouldn’t come with her. Being alone was something she didn’t ever want to face
again. “I’m sorry?”
“You haven’t turned a page. I thought maybe you were stuck.”
She smiled sadly, closed the book of death and destruction with gentle, reddish-brown hands that her eyes lingered on. “It’s too depressing.”
Luke wiped his face with the towel from the pocket in his cutoff jeans, and then slid it back. “Great writing, though.” He fell silent, thinking America was now
experiencing it firsthand and knew she was too.
“Alright, enough of this,” Luke said, “Let’s do something.” He was pulling on his running shoes, trying not to stare at the long legs her dark shorts allowed him to
see. “I’ll skip the run and we can play some cards or something.”
He paused, looking around the neatly-cleaned cabin. No carpet on the wooden floor, two recliners, a table, two beds, two doors, four walls, white curtains she’d
sewn, a three drawer stand he’d made for her things, all of it dusted, washed, and made up. They were inside too much. She needed to get out there again if she was
going to recover. What had helped him when he’d first come here?
“Hey. We could work on my garden.”
That got Kendle’s attention and she smiled eagerly, forgetting how loud the ocean was outside the safety of his small cabin. The only time she was alone was to get
a shower or relieve herself and she liked it that the small generator would come on anytime they used water in the M*A*S*H-style shower and outhouse set up because
it drowned out the noise that tormented her.
“Now?”
Warm breeze blowing on his skin, Luke shrugged, trying to remember the last time he’d broken his exercise routine, but couldn’t. Making her happy here was
important, and sometimes, like when they were sitting in his leather recliners, reading, listening to his records, it was hard to remember how quiet (lonely) his life had
been before she came. “After lunch. We’ll have grilled salmon hoagies and then play in the dirt.”
Kendle’s spirits picked up a bit, adventurous soul long since bored. She was looking forward to having work to do, instead of just staring at him when he wasn’t
looking her way, and staring at the walls when he was.
2
Hearing albatrosses and seagulls fighting over a beach full of small, red crab hatchlings and the dull roar of an upset, unhealthy ocean, Kendle’s eyes were wide as
she looked over the terribly tangled vines and sticker bushes. They were at least five feet high and so thick, she was unable to determine where the brambles ended and
the jungle began or how big the area behind the cabin was.
“When’s the last time you came out here?”
“Couple years. Planted a big garden when I first came, spent a lot of time letting the earth soak into me. It seemed to help.” Luke let out a sigh. “Then the ocean
took it back.”
Kendle heard the haunted tone and understood more than anyone else could have, but she said nothing as she dug through the box of tools he’d pulled from a small
attic space. “Clippers?” she asked, holding them up.
She saw his eyes darken. Clearly, he was struggling with something, a deep frown planting itself on his forehead. When he turned back toward the cabin without
saying anything, she wondered again what crime had made him choose the painfulness of solitude over the quick end of suicide. He wasn’t a coward, but he was doing
penance, she was sure of it. Luke had been hurting himself for a long time and Kendle wanted it to stop. He’d done so much for her! She almost felt like a normal
person again. There had to be something she could do for him in return, some way to ease his pain.
The jungle was alive around her, monkeys and squirrels chattering from vine-covered banyan trees and leafy palms that waved in the warm, dry wind. The sun was
shining comfortably, the breeze light, and sometimes, like now, it felt like they were the only ones on this nearly deserted southern island. If not for the heavy, hurting
heart that needed to know, she thought she could be happy here.
Luke came back out carrying a long, black sword case decorated with Marine patches, an American flag, and the initials, L.L.J. His blue eyes were dazed, far
away, and Kendle watched curiously as he unzipped the bag, removing a worn machete. Shiny and no doubt deadly, he dropped the empty sheath into the thick paddle
grass by her feet, mind clearly not in the present. She left him alone, eager to inspect the markings on the case.
The past instantly, vividly, came alive for Luke as he held the machete, the memories running up the blade and into his heart. He hadn’t touched it in years, not since
clearing the land where his cabin sat. After that, he had locked it up with the rest of his old life. The first swipe was sweet, powerful, and Luke was jerked through time,
suddenly facing his greatest joy and his biggest bête noir.
The other men in his platoon had hated cutting a path through the dense jungles of Cambodia, griped constantly about the back-breaking, mind-numbing work, but
not Luke. He understood that clearing their own road meant they were there before the enemy, before the mines and homemade traps meant to blow their legs a mile
away. He’d been known as Whacker then, had used that excuse to explain always volunteering for point, but more than safety, hacking his own path gave him a feeling
of power and control that the 16-year-old runaway had fallen in love with.
Sweat rolled into his eyes and Luke automatically pulled off his white tank top and wiped his face, keeping the deadly weapon in hand. He pushed the shirt into his
pocket and went back to work, enjoying the only good thing that had come from his time in the service.
Frank, his mind insisted, Frank had been good. The POW hadn’t been from Luke’s platoon, but he had been another American soldier (teenager much too
young to be killing people) and they had formed a bond that was stronger than with the other prisoners. They had been hostages together, tortured together for their
friendship, and when they’d gotten the chance, they had escaped together, taking nine other survivors along.
It had gotten them both medals and citations, but there was no erasing everything that had happened during the escape. An award couldn’t bring back all those lives.
Regret rolled over Luke in waves and he stopped swinging, breathing harsh. That world was decades gone, but it always seemed much closer.
Bright blue-gray eyes drawn to Luke’s bare back, Kendle was surprised by her reaction. She hadn’t expected the hard, sexy muscles or narrow strip of hair running
down his flat stomach to capture her attention so completely. And then he’d started swinging again, tan, naked back flexing gracefully, and her mouth went dry.
Luke turned in time to see her staring and there was no way he could mistake the desire as a light breeze blew deliciously over his sweaty skin. The male inside him
demanded he grab her, kiss her…claim her.
Sun beating on his gritty neck, LJ took a single step before stopping, pulling back. He turned away instead, putting his shirt back on. Would she have denied or
welcomed him?
Kendle’s face was red, but with his sweaty, sexy skin covered, her mind seemed to wake from the sexual daze she’d fallen into. Her eyes went back to the
machete, realizing the weapon hadn’t left his hand once. Must be special to him, she thought, and was surprised when he came over and gently pushed the handle into
her grip.
“You can do the rest.”
She hesitated. “I don’t have a clue.”
Luke threw her a challenge in response, very aware of the salty air and the thick green jungle around them. It felt like he was caught between the past and the
present. “I’ll show you. Unless you don’t think you can?”
Kendle carefully took hold of the sharp weapon’s worn handle; stepping over to the area that was almost a third cleared, and looked back at him expectantly.
Not quite smiling, Luke answered by stepping behind her and tugging her gently into his big arms. Barely suppressing a groan of pleasure, he wrapped himself
around her and guided them, mouth near her ear, giving soft instructions.
It went awkwardly at first, Kendle too aware of the hard male body molded to hers to work with him, and the images of his naked skin flashed through her mind as
they bent and swung, dipped and cut.
“Close your eyes.”
She did it reluctantly, hating to give up control, but almost immediately, the feeling hit her. Total power, it was undeniable and consuming. She grinned against his
jaw, not opening her eyes as he led.
They settled into a rhythm that made her stomach jump, as primitive and sexual instincts converged stunningly with each carefully controlled and yet harshly violent
swing.
For Kendle, it was the release she needed and the attraction she’d long ago lost hope of finding. She had wanted the real love that her parents had shared, the kind
that set off bells and whistles in her heart, and while this wasn’t that, it was definitely lust and she let her body melt against his as they ducked and swung, bent and
rubbed.
The area was cleared too quickly for both of them and they stopped reluctantly, neither of them moving away as sparks flew.
Kendle was lost. Even the sand in her shoes felt right. When he placed a light kiss on her jaw, she turned toward him, eyes still closed.
Moving slowly, the lonely Pilot slid his lips to the corner of her mouth for a chaste, erotic kiss that gave her chills of want, and drew a moan of frustration when he
started to move back.
Luke felt the denial, her need, and tilted her head up, sealing their lips.
It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever had, one to remember a lifetime later and he leaned back to look at her dark blue eyes, thinking it shouldn’t go any further yet.
Liquid pools of desire looked back and Luke forced himself away from her, putting the machete back in its case. Would she want that room in town now? A line had
definitely been crossed.
Kendle could still feel his lips against hers, his hardness behind her as they moved together, and she went to the box of tools with a smile of pleasant discovery. It
was what she’d been looking for since high school and she was a bit stunned that she had found it here and now, and without even looking.
She glanced up to see his sexy eyes watching her warily and she blushed, smiled. “Sorry. Guess I got carried away.”
“Me too, Darlin'. You’re safe here with me. It won’t happen again.”
Luke grinned at the protest in her eyes and saw her clamp down on her first response, giving him another smile instead.
“I know that. If I have to be stranded in paradise, I couldn’t have better company.”
They let it go, got back to the gardening, but it stayed on both their minds and Luke was very aware of how often her eyes were on him. She was young, innocent
(despite being a star from California) and he would try to give her time to adjust to the new feelings before taking advantage of her…but time was running out.
He could feel it pulling them along, and he wanted to tell her what was in his heart but didn’t, still not sure of what response he might get.
3
Not one to wait, Fate stepped in. A few hours after their first embrace, they were forced to confront their future directly.
“Is Miss…Roberts about? I thought I’d take her on a tour of my estate.”
Luke clamped his jaw shut against his first thought: No, Jackass, not if she has any taste, and used a polite response instead. “Hang on, damn it.”
Spinning away, he slammed the door in the surprised son of a millionaire’s face, hard enough to rattle the frame. Luke longed to order the playboy off his property,
but knew he couldn’t. All the island males had come sniffing around (Ethan Kraft the most determined) and though it was her decision to make, Luke couldn’t help the
jealousy that filled his heart. His! She was his!
“Kendle! Company!” he shouted out the back door and her soft words made him grin, like her even more.
“I’m not here.”
Luke shook his head, not bothering to lower his voice. “Too late. Come say ‘Hi’ to Ethan.”
“Shit.”
Luke was laughing as she came to the door and stepped around him, muttering about people with more money than brains. He settled in his chair with a drink and a
cigar, shamelessly turning off the record player to listen.
Kendle yanked the front door open with a frown and held it, not inviting him in and not stepping out. This was the fifth time he had “dropped by” in the last two
weeks, becoming more and more frustrated that none of his power and money seemed to matter to her. He’d finally reached annoying.
“Hello, Ethan.”
He blinked at her tone and flashed a brilliant smile meant to blind so that she wouldn’t see his pale, green eyes crawl up her jeans, go over her chest, and finally
make it to her face. “How lovely you look, Ms. Roberts. I’ve come to sweep you away for that tour I’ve been promising.”
She shook her head, held up dusty gloved hands, “I’m gardening. It’s slow work.” She hoped he would take the hint and frowned when the tall, curly blond,
daddy’s-boy moved closer, eyes almost leering.
“I could help.”
“Do what? You ain’t no farmer,” Luke grunted from his chair in the corner.
Kendle flushed, hoping the snobbish fop hadn’t heard. “Thanks, but I already ran Luke off. It’s very relaxing.” Kendle looked over the tropical jungle that was alive
with life, bushy leaves waving in the soft, warm breeze, and tried not to respond to his smug, patronizing tone.
“You should be resting. Let me take you to my estate on the bay. I’ll pamper you…show you what the red carpet treatment is.”
“And, probably every venereal disease known to mankind,” Luke muttered.
Kendle couldn’t stop the smile that mistakenly encouraged Ethan to begin telling her what he would “introduce” her to, like she were some backwards bush-baby he
had to tame.
After a full minute, Kendle found herself getting angry. Didn’t he know who she was? She had once done a two week stretch in the South American jungles of
Brazil after her plane crashed, and she’d photographed the entire event - turned it into an award-winning documentary.
“I’ve also got a rock-wall I’ll show you how to climb. It’s the biggest one the company ever made,” Ethan stated arrogantly.
Luke’s scornful voice echoed, loud and clear, “Yeah, forty grand for a wall when he could have climbed these hills for free. Bet daddy’s real proud.”
Ethan’s handsome face disappeared behind his scowl and Kendle turned beet red, embarrassed, but struggling not to laugh.
“You said you’re busy. I’ll come back another day.”
“Ethan, wait.” She stepped out, but left the door open. “I’m sorry. I know you want to be my...friend, but really, I just need a little more time to myself.”
Keeping his voice even, he answered, “I should think you would be eager to be with your own kind.”
Frowning at him, Kendle crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s that mean?”
The dandy’s green eyes were eager now, mean, and she suddenly wished she’d let him go away mad.
“It means normal people, Miss Roberts, not an old man who hid here from crimes he was never punished for. Be careful. You could be in danger.”
He left before she could think of a response. As she stepped back in and closed the door, Luke’s shuttered eyes met hers.
“He’s right. Not about you being in danger, but about my past. I did something awful that cost a lot of lives, and I was never charged, barely even investigated
because of the scandal it would have caused. It was swept under the rug and I was sent to a different part of the world in a new unit.”
His voice was careful, expecting the worst, and Kendle nodded calmly, hating the Kraft heir just a little for the pain in LJ’s eyes. There was no comparison between
the two men and she liked the fact that Ethan had backed down. It said she was safe with Luke, that he could handle things.
“I knew it was something like that. How terrible to have carried it so long. Alone.”
Surprised by her reaction, or lack of, he repeated his words, “He’s right. You should be with your own kind.”
Kendle sighed, shaking her head as she pulled off the dirty gloves. “You’re my kind. He just can’t understand how it is with us. He only wants me because I say
no.”
Luke’s eyes darkened as tension invaded the room. “How is it with us, Kendle? Tell me, so we’ll both know.”
Face red and heart thumping, Kendle stared at the floor. “I don’t think we should do this yet.”
“Too soon?” he asked, trying to steal himself for her words of rejection, despite the kiss he couldn’t stop thinking about.
“Too awkward. It…may not be what you’re hoping for and I... I don’t want to hurt you.”
Luke smiled at her, voice sad. “You’d be surprised by how little I’d settle for.”
He let out a gentle sigh filled with resignation, as if he knew he wasn’t worthy and it broke her heart to see the hurt lurking in his face.
“I understand. I’m content with our friendship.”
“Really?”
He bent down to place a soft kiss on her cheek that sent chills into her belly. “Yes. Anything more is up to you.”
Unsure where the future would take them, Kendle followed her heart. They would take what Fate gave them. “I know I don’t want any strings. I haven’t made
plans for the future.”
“And you don’t have to. We’ll keep things like they are.”
Kendle shook her head, heart saying it would never be enough. Not now. “I’d like to try a little more.”
Luke’s breath caught in his chest at her words, “What do you mean by a little, Darlin’?”
She flushed at the grin. “I want you to follow your feelings, stop holding yourself back from me. I can handle it.”
“I hold back out of respect for you and your reputation,” he hedged, knowing it was really the stain on his soul and the feeling of worthlessness he wore like a cloak.
“People will see it as wrong. I’m old enough to be your grandfather.”
Kendle's mind flashed to their embrace in the garden and she shook her head, telling him what the male inside had been longing to hear.
“I don’t care what they think. I don’t see you that way.”
His dark blue eyes seemed to light up and he moved forward slowly, eyes on hers. “How do you see me?”
Kendle smiled, face hot. “I see an attractive, resourceful man I’d like to know more… intimately. If you’re interested?”
Luke pulled her into his arms and this time, when their lips met, he let the man in him have control. He held her with a hand tangled in her short, dark curls and the
other on her slender hip, keeping her close as his tongue tasted her.
He broke the kiss reluctantly and her lashes fluttered open, eyes full of hazy desire that made him grin. “I’m interested.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and she smiled sexily. “How about another?”
Luke chuckled, body under tight control. “I’ll need an ice shower.”
Kendle slid her arms around his neck and pressed her soft woman’s curves against him. “No need. I’m not a tease.”
She kissed his lips softly, breath catching against his mouth when he slid a hand down her hip to her cheek. As he deepened the kiss, Kendle was swept away,
tightening her grip around his neck.
The wind gusted against his hot skin and Luke held himself in check as he swelled, wanting to push against her like a horny teenager. He made himself pull back,
move away from her hot, sweet embrace.
“We hafta slow down, Darlin’,” he said and put a little more distance between them. “This is one of those moments you can’t get back. You should be sure.”
“I am,” she protested, moving closer.
Luke forced himself to do the right thing. He lied. “I’m not.”
Kendle’s desire fell under an immediate wave of self-doubt. What was she doing? Acting like a whore came to mind and she turned away. “Yeah, okay.”
Embarrassed by her actions, she was gone a second later and he watched with regret in his eyes, sorry he’d hurt her, but sure it was happening too fast. He
wouldn't be able to stand it if they made love and she was sorry when it was over.
Kendle was horrified by the way she’d thrown herself at him and couldn’t stop the hot tears. She told herself she had been treated worse by people she was related
to, but the feeling of rejection was heavy in her gut as she went back to the garden.
“Stupid,” she muttered, wiping at her eyes,.“Red skin, no hair. No wonder he didn’t want me.”
“That’s not even close to true.”
Kendle jumped, but didn’t look up. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her shirt, “Doesn’t matter. My fault for thinking I could have what I want and not consider how you feel. I put you on the
spot and I apologize. I used to have better manners.”
“Don’t do that to yourself!” Luke stated sharply, moving toward her. “You did nothing wrong.”
She looked up, pretty blue eyes streaming with tears that the sun lit up like sparkling jewels as they rolled down her cheeks. “Then why don’t you want…”
“What? You think I don’t want to make love to you?”
Flushing scarlet, she didn’t answer. When she started to turn away, Luke pulled her back, forced her to meet his eyes. “I want you so much I dream about it,” he
whispered, leaning close to slide his lips along her jaw.
“I want to be with you more than any woman I’ve ever known and the next time you invite me, I’ll do my best to love you the way you deserve.”
Luke kissed her damp cheek and moved back to the cabin, afraid he’d fallen in love with someone who would never be able to feel the same. It’ll be enough, his
heart said. He would love her a lifetime's worth in the weeks or months that Fate let them have, her fears of the future groundless. Death was in the air. His…and the
only time he wasn’t scared was when he was close to her.
Chapter Eighteen
March 29th, 2013
1
“You forget who I am! Never talk to me that way again!” José snarled, hand dipping toward his belt.
Dean’s dark eyes narrowed as he looked up from the muddy ground. The thin layer of grit was still keeping most of the sun from peeking though the windows and,
without the glare, he had a perfect shot.
“Whoever did this might still be around. Listen to my brother, Josey, and shut up, or maybe your body will join that one by the burnt jeep. It is one of your
hombres, yes?”
The school had obviously been the site of a battle. Blackened jeeps, fly-ridden Mexican corpses, puddles of drying blood, drag marks in the deep sand - and the
front of the red brick building looked like a bomb had gone off. The stocky guerilla picked it all out through his binoculars. Seemingly concentrating on the scene in front
of them, he stored the insults, thinking one day, when he was in charge, these two negro hermanos would be muerto.
Dean seemed to sense the thought and snorted, “You’d better bring help, Josey.” Mounting his solid black horse awkwardly, he silently cursed the wound which
had healed, but left nerve damage that prevented the smooth control he used to have over his leg.
At the second intentional slur of his name, the scarred Mexican considered trying anyway.
Dean saw it in his slanted eyes, and he grinned at Cesar’s ugly cousin. “Don’t miss.”
It was a long moment between them, and Dillan reluctantly distracted his brother. They needed Cesar. Killing his reckless second in command wouldn’t help. “Fresh
tracks. Not ours.”
Dillan stood up from his perusal of the hard ground and Dean continued to eye the Mexican who abruptly turned his back to them. He was pretending to watch
mutated ants the size of an infant’s shoe, climb in and out of a huge, two-foot high hill of dirt, but both brothers knew he was really like a coiled snake, waiting for the
right moment to strike. If he could conquer his carelessness, José might eventually gain the deadly air his cousin carried, but for now they weren’t impressed.
“They were overpowered?” José asked, lighting a thick cigar with hands that were steadier than the brothers expected.
Dean realized Dillan had been right to stop him. For now. “If they had won, they would have maybe stayed, held your men as hostages. They fled,” Dean stated
curtly, annoyed they had to ally themselves with such amateurs. Cesar was the only real threat; the only reason José was still drawing breath.
“They had help. Casings are from 9 millimeters.” José’s plump, scarred face screwed up in anger as cigar smoke swirled in the gusting wind.
“Safe Haven,” Dean stated flatly, sliding his coat back to finger the sniper rifle on his pommel. His rage towards the Witch grew as he watched his brother swing up
onto his horse and wince. The painful pressure on his mangled wrist was too much to hide.
“Only group we know of organized enough to use those and do this. Go tell Cesar to make camp here. Last call said he’s three hours out,” Dillan ordered, knowing
the Slavers were still finishing up with stragglers in Wellington who had barricaded themselves in. Rick had been sent to take care of it. “And tell him we’ll track them,
find out where they’re camped.”
Hand holding the dirty white sombrero on as the wind gusted sharply, the Mexican spun away angrily, and the twins rode off in a cloud of dust purposely kicked up
to insult him further. When he was in charge, these two were dead and he would do it himself!
2
“Who has done this?” Cesar shouted furiously, brown face red with anger.
The dozen men in the gymnasium with him looked at the filthy, bloody floor and the bodies of their men, instead of meeting his eyes. They were glad when José
hurried in.
José was Cesar’s right-hand man, the scarred guerrilla the only one to speak his mind when choosing time had come, but all the men knew the Kelly twins (when
they were here) were really second, and everyone else was behind them.
“Safe Haven. The twins are tracking.”
“I want them dead!” Cesar screamed in frustration, stomping down a long, dim hall that should be full of bound slaves, but held only dust and cobwebs.
“I will get el los solsados ready to attack.”
Cesar didn't slow, and José hurried to catch up, eyeing the gold-handled pistols in the Slaver’s crisscrossed gun belts. Was this the moment?
“No.”
“But now, while they don’t...”
“No,” Cesar lowered his voice, reluctantly confiding. “They have a powerful weapon. We will send in el traidor to take care of it.”
“What kind of...”
Cesar scowled, shaking his tightly-kinked curls. Would the young never learn? “Not here.”
He used his deformed hand to open a door marked Office and the two Mexicans stopped short, coming face to face with a tall, blonde woman wearing a long,
unbuttoned brown trench coat.
They saw stunning blue eyes full of hatred, and then she darted between them. Even limping, she was halfway down the hall decorated with Christmas pictures
before they reacted. The two men gave chase, words a mix of English and Spanish.
“Apurarse! Stop her!”
“Grab that puta!”
Samantha made it out through a side door, the men in the gym just as surprised as Cesar and José when she darted by, but it shut loudly behind her, and she froze.
A sea of Mexican faces turned her way at the echo, slanted eyes lighting up. A loose slave was fair game.
Terror ran through Sam’s veins, making her shiver, and she dropped submissively to her knees, heart thudding furiously in her chest as they all moved toward her.
She was in deep shit, even worse than when the chopper went down, worse than when the wolves attacked. Help me, please! she screamed silently.
The doors opened behind her a second later, and Sam cried out as she was jerked backward by her thick braid, landing on her back in the dirt. Cesar gave José a
nod and the evil man swung a knee over each shoulder, pinning her arms as he opened his filthy pants, already hard.
Dark eyes without mercy, Cesar knelt beside them, puffing on a fat cigar to get it red-hot. Then he moved it toward the bare stomach now showing from her
struggles. Sam had time to notice he was missing two fingers on his left hand, and then he was grinding the cigar against her hip, and she was screaming.
José thrust into her open mouth, gagging her as he pushed in as far as he could. With a hand on Cesar's stocky shoulders as his brace, his free paw roamed her
body mercilessly.
“Bite me you die!” the Mexican growled, breath already short, and Cesar held her by her hair so the scarred Mexican could shove all the way down her throat.
“I have questions, chica,” Cesar stated casually as José thrust in and out of her mouth, forcing her to breathe through her nose, “and you will answer.”
José stiffened, hips bucking forward, and Cesar’s evil face filled with delight as he slammed his deformed hand over her nose and watched her choke, unable to
breath.
José pulled out, dark eyes feverish at her purple face. Maybe he would do it again and not stop, he thought, but when Cesar motioned for him to move, he did.
Sam rolled over, gasping, straining for even a thread of air as tears streamed from her eyes.
“Each of my men waits for a turn, puta, and they will get it if you tell a single lie,” Cesar warned, moving toward her as she continued to cough and gag.
“Your name and why were you left behind. You have disease?”
“Samantha...not left. Here... too late. Saw... them leaving.” She stayed on the ground, coughing it up, and cringed when the short, stocky leader jerked her to her
feet.
“Tell me,” he ordered, not letting her turn away from the wind that was gusting sand at them in small clouds.
“Two ... jeeps, three vans? ...Like SWAT,…. only solid black.”
“How many men?”
She shook her head, trembling. “They were leaving when I... came up 210. I only saw them go.”
“She lies!” José exclaimed, stepping toward her with eyes that said her mouth hadn’t been nearly enough. “They left her because she is diseased. I claim her.”
Cesar watched her face, saw how fast the fire blazed in her hate-filled American eyes.
“They did not leave me! They would have loved to have me, but the dumb-ass driver never looked back!”
Cesar swung her around, forcing eye contact, “And why es it that they would love to have you, puta? What makes you so especial?”
Sam dropped her eyes and stepped through destiny’s open door. “I’m a storm tracker. Who doesn’t need that now?”
Cesar hid his pleasure and gave José a nod as he shoved her, tripping her so she hit the dirt. “My tent first. Show her what I expect tonight. Mañana, she does
rounds of el los soldados.”
Samantha's heart clenched with fear like she’d never known, unable to believe they saw no value in her. Escape! Her mind began to scream it, and she immediately
began to make a plan, ignoring the dark hands now crawling inside her torn shirt.
She had gotten out a call and been answered, but the radio had gone dead before she could find out if they would come back. She couldn’t count on that. She
would have to save herself again. Samantha began looking around, desperately searching for anything that could help her. Crooked tents with Mexican flags and slogans
were going up, the smoky breeze carrying the odors of feces, rot, blood, and death, screams echoing from the other side of the big camp…it took only a moment to
understand. These men were evil, plain and simple.
She had stayed in the school because she’d been hoping the men who had gotten the others would come back, had decided to give them a full week to get here if
they were coming, but now her time had run out. A piercing scream echoed, making her jump, and she stopped her light struggles as José led her roughly through one
side of the unorganized camp. There were other whites here, but they were in the same boat as she was.
Sam’s mind suddenly replayed the evil man’s words: show her what I expect tonight. Fear filled her body from the feet up. Melvin and Henry had been bad. This
was going to make her want them back.
José shoved her into a large, lopsided tent. When he followed her in, closing the flap, Sam’s eyes glazed over with terror.
3
The second she was able to move, Samantha forced herself to her feet and began searching for a weapon, ignoring the blood that dripped from her mouth, her nose,
and down her bruised thighs. Longing for a shot of antifreeze to calm her nerves and take the edge off the deep, familiar ache low in her guts, Sam kept looking even
though the tent held only piles of reeking garbage.
Her attacker had chained her ankle to the tent pole like a dog, the cold metal a horrid reminder of her weeks in captivity with Melvin and Henry, and her heart was
blazing with determination to get away. Now. Tonight. They would be expecting it, but wouldn’t think she’d kill to escape. They didn’t know what she was capable of!
Stomach aching, Samantha edged to the flap and slowly lifted a tiny corner to peer out, eyes moving quickly over the men, who appeared unhealthy with cold sores,
coughs, and noses that were wiped on filthy shirt sleeves. They were an ugly group of hardened killers, bruised faces and clothes still streaked with innocent blood that
drew insects. Sam instantly hated the penny-sized snapping flies she could see swarming over the filthy camp, but thought it was fitting the mutations were here, in this
place of abominations.
What she could see of the town around them offered no hope either. Rusting Army trucks rammed through the gates of a charred warehouse, block after block of
damaged, destroyed, burnt homes, and bodies, rotting openly. This place had been gone before the Slavers, and Sam cursed herself for being caught off guard. She
should have known there was trouble coming by the way the rescue party had been so well-armed and alert. It had taken her days to figure out how to charge up the
CB System, and after finally succeeding, she’d fallen asleep in front of the radio, and hadn’t heard the Slaver’s engines over the wind or her own bad dreams.
Samantha shivered as the noise levels increased - cries, gunfire, barking, and shouts. All the men she could see from her tiny peephole were Mexican, most dark
and fearsome in their blood-tacked leggings and long shirts. Help would not come from the town or any of these men. What about the females here? There were none in
sight. As she started to raise the flap higher, instinct took over, and she ducked as a big boot slammed into the tent where her head had been.
“Closed!”
Samantha scrambled back, afraid the guard would come in and hurt her too, but there were only the noises of the camp. A loud, drawn-out scream, a gunshot, and
more shouts in a rough Spanish dialect she was only vaguely familiar with. What the hell was she gonna do? Keep trying. That, she would do until she was dead. It was
who she was. A survivor, no matter how many times this new world tried to kill her. She went back to searching.
At one point, Samantha had lain low in a supermarket full of decaying bodies during a dust storm, the warning arriving only an hour before the sand, but it had been
enough. The waves of energy had made her heart clench in longing, knowing instinctively that it had come from someone who was…different, like her. She had almost
chosen to skip Cheyenne and hunt down that person, but wasn’t sure exactly how to do it. Now, she bitterly wished she’d tried.
Unlike NORAD, the school still had small treasures, like clothes and shoes, and a basement of boxes she’d happily explored after finding a case of fruit cocktail on
top of a crate of bottled water stacked for the vending machines. Apparently, the rescue party hadn’t swept the basement, and neither had any of those hiding here.
Why? Just because of a few bodies? Were they stupid? Those were everywhere they looked anyway. What was a few more if it meant fresh supplies? She shrugged,
running her fingers around the entire tent line. Their loss had been her...
“You won’t find anything.”
Samantha was on her knees in front of the flap, and looked up, scared gaze going wide at the sight of a tall, thin, dirty white man with beautiful, shifty green eyes and
a black bandana around his neck. He stood outside, holding the flap open. He held a jug of brownish water in one hand, and looked so much like one of the Slavers
that Samantha forgot her own plan.
“What do you want?” she snarled, calling him a traitor in her head as she backed up on the blood-splattered floor. She wouldn’t get near that cot again unless she
was dead or unconscious.
“He wants you to get cleaned up and ready for him.”
Sam ignored the words, escape plans reforming in her mind as she watched his vivid green eyes crawl over her exposed flesh. She felt that steel in her spine and
slowly stood up, faced him. Maybe she’d just gotten lucky. If he still wanted her when she looked like this, he was a sexual deviant at the very least and therefore,
weak.
“Are you one of his men?”
Rick shook his head, the lie falling easily as he stepped inside, letting the flap close them in smelly dimness. “Slave.”
Sam took in the fresh and old bruises, dirty, ragged jeans, and shirt that hung on him, no jacket despite the low temperatures. She took a step closer, lowering her
voice as her heart warned this was yet another man who couldn’t be trusted. “Can you get a gun?”
Rick shook his head again, beady eyes on the bare skin showing through her torn shirt. “No. Pills, though. You’ll be a zombie while he’s...using you.”
Her face was pale as she forced her lips to curve into an inviting smile. “Do you have a woman or family here?”
Rick shook his head again, thinking Cesar would be very pleased with how easy this was going to happen. “No.”
She smiled again, and he felt his body respond, the blood and bruises indeed a turn-on for him. That was another reason he’d stayed. Here, a man was allowed to
be just that: a man.
“Do they let you come and go?”
“Sometimes,” he said absently, staring at her platinum hair and pale blue-and-black eyes with a hot gaze that hid a scheming, evaluating male mind. “Sometimes I
have a guard.”
Rick gave a slight wince he made sure she saw. “I got away once,” his voice lowered to a mutter. “Haven’t tried in a long time, now.”
Very aware of the dim daylight fading fast, Samantha ran a hand up his arm, letting her shirt fall open. “You like women?”
His eyes were full of want, mind full of control. It was all part of the plan, and he’d done it enough to know he had already succeeded. He was numb to the guilt as
he worked her. “Hell, yeah.”
“Wanna touch?”
Rick’s breath was coming short. He did want her - unlike the other females, who cried too much and cowered - and he broke Cesar’s first rule: don’t touch until the
deal is done.
Samantha was unprepared for the bolt of lust his gentle hands drew. When she arched into his caress, to her shame, it wasn’t completely faked. She smiled, deeper
this time, with obvious meaning. “Wanna do more?”
His hands slid down her bony hips and she pulled back, closing her torn top as best she could. “Then get us out of here…and I’ll be your slave.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed, hands lowering in mock fear. “He’ll kill us.”
She defiantly held his gaze. “We’re white. He’s gonna do that anyway.”
There was a lot of truth to the statement, and she leaned against him, sensing growing weakness. “It’ll be great. Just the two of us and you’ll never be alone.”
His eyes darkened, and his words surprised her even though it was what she wanted to hear. “It’ll have to be fast and while they’re drinking. Be ready.”
4
“She went for it already?”
Rick told him everything word for word, as he always did, trying not to let the Slaver’s rank odors blow over his scruffy face as they stood just out of sight of the
tent Samantha was in.
“She is smart. Talk to her only a little. Sneak out on one of the twins’ horses.” Cesar fingered the handle of the knife in his belt as the light, cool wind blew by them.
“You will contact me in two weeks. If you do not…”
The Mexican let his words trail off, and Rick gave in with no fight, shame not even in the picture anymore. “You’ll have what you want, just like in Trinidad and
Boulder. This plan always works.”
Cesar met his eye with a cruel sneer. “And what reward do you ask, White man, for betraying your people? Again.”
Rick didn’t deny or even flinch, didn’t feel anything at the jab. They were not his people anymore. They hadn’t been since the War. “The woman, until I’m tired of
her.”
Cesar’s dark eyes narrowed. “There are no white unions here!”
“Not a union. My slave.”
Scowling, Cesar slammed his deformed hand on top of his dirty sombrero to keep a gust of wind from stealing it. “If there were to be a child, it would be killed.”
Rick’s eyes were hard as he snorted. “I want her, not some screaming shit machine. If she comes up pregnant, I’ll make it go away.”
Cesar didn’t doubt the tone. “Deal. Don’t forget. Two weeks and you will deliver this Safe Haven to me.”
5
“You two will follow. Make sure your Witch is with them. We’ll be along,” Cesar ordered quietly, watching Rick go back to the white woman.
The twins hovered in the shadows, eager to do as instructed, so they could be sure she was indeed what they’d said. The tracks from the school might have led
them to her, but the twins had lost them in a sewer drain, and hadn’t been able to find the tracks again, despite checking exits for hours.
The weeks that had gone by had made them doubt themselves, and if she wasn’t what they’d thought, then they would just keep going. Cesar had already put a lot
of time and effort into this now. He’d made strong plans based around the control of such a power, and to be denied, would mean someone's life. It was a big risk they
were taking - knowing they’d likely be caught and killed in the future if they had to run - but the need for revenge on the woman and her protector was undeniable. And
if she was what they thought, then they would gain something any man would risk his life for. Complete control.
Now feeling on top of what could be a future problem, Cesar watched them go. First, the twins as they left to hide and follow, and then Rick and the woman,
sneaking through the shadows. He had no doubts the traitor would contact him. The men here had no rules, no chores, just sex and drinking, with killing thrown in for
fun. It was the real American dream, Cesar thought, gold tooth gleaming as he grinned cruelly. His dream, and he’d kill any group that tried to change things back.
America was in for a long storm season.
Chapter Nineteen
March 30th, 2013
Near Chadron, Nebraska
1
“We are an American Red Cross Convoy picking up survivors. We offer food, shelter, medical care and protection. Does anyone copy?”
“We hear you, Safe Haven! We’re in Hot Springs. We’re out of food. Are you close?”
The man’s voice that answered was different from the one they’d been hearing regularly for the last week, and Marc and Angela both stopped cleaning up their late
lunch to listen to the conversation. It was nearly three o’clock, and they needed to get moving again, but the waves of authority from that voice were impossible to
ignore. To Marc's ears, he sounded military.
“Close enough. How many people?”
“Twelve. Two are sick. We don’t know what it is.”
“That’s a lie,” Angela stated, able to hear it, read it, in the woman’s shaky voice.
“We offer help to everyone, sick or not. Do you know Morse or phonetic code?”
“I know both, but go slow, it’s been a while.”
“You an ex-sailor by any chance, Hot Water?”
The surprise was clear in her voice, “Nancy, and yes, for seven years. How’d you know that?”
The Safe Haven man’s tone was laced lightly with a comforting humor, “Because of the slight edge of dislike in your words. Marines and Navy didn’t usually
mix.”
“No Sir, they didn’t.”
“They do now. We’re all soldiers in the same fight for survival. Take down this message.”
“He tells his men that too,” Angela muttered, listening in more ways than one.
The taps came slowly enough for Angela - who’d been learning the code from Marc - to understand, and she frowned deeper. “They’re in the Black Hills. That’s
only one day from us.”
Over the hood, Marc's eyes locked onto hers, the words silent and full of longing, "I want more time."
"Me too."
"Can’t we?"
Silence…
Two days would be All Fools’ Day. Was it an omen?
Marc frowned. “You all right?”
Angela stared at the vast field of corn that ran as far as the eye could see on both sides. They were only about five miles from the Nebraska-South Dakota state
line, where there were barbed wire fences and grass struggling to survive along the side of the road, but no trees. Except for a faded red barn with a tall, blue grain silo
on one side, there was only corn here.
“Angie?” She turned to look at him, and Marc hated to see the fear in her eyes. It hadn’t been there much in the last weeks, she had worked hard to overcome her
weaknesses, and he was still amazed by how fast she’d done it. “You could call now. Talk to your boy.”
Angela shook her head, pushing the fear back as her mother’s heart spewed awful words at the refusal. “I don’t want Kenn to know how close we are.”
She turned away with a sigh. “And we need to talk, Brady, about what happens when we get there.”
Marc straightened up, heart thumping. “After we make camp tonight?”
“Let’s stay here. Meet up with them in the next few days,” she stated quietly, eyes wandering over large circles of charred dirt that reminded her of the empty silo
holes they’d seen in middle Nebraska.
Marc’s frown grew. They had just covered three hundred miles in nine days, driving continuously. Last night, he’d had to insist they rest and get ready to face
whatever was coming. They had only made one long stop to replace his Blazer (again they were identical, the only one they had found was the exact match to hers.
Fate…), and she had been pushing them hard to get here. Now she was hanging back. Nerves?
“Are you sure? We could be there by dusk tomorrow.”
“No. It’s already been ninety eight days. A few more won’t matter.”
Marc took a step toward her. “You can’t put it off, Honey. Just face it, and we’ll go from there.”
Angela watched Dog patrol the edges of the shoulder-high corn, knowing she had to let him in on what she was feeling, thinking. “I’m not avoiding, but I am
nervous. I’m cutting ropes, erasing his hold on me, and he’ll hate it, hate me for it. You need to have the details you asked for back in Indiana.”
She met his eye with complete openness. “Will you drill me on the things you’ve taught me, remind me that I can fight back?”
Marc’s heart broke for her. “I think that’s a great idea. You’ve gotten a lot stronger. He won’t know how to handle you.”
2
“Faster. You can handle it.”
Angela pushed the pedal down and the Blazer leapt forward, throwing them back.
“On my mark. Just like before.”
Angela was concentrating, hands and feet connected to the thrum of the engine, the vibrations of the tires.
“Now.”
She turned the wheel, jerking up on the emergency brake, and then they were spinning in the dusty street, seat belts holding them in place.
“Now.”
Gunning the engine, Angela straightened the Blazer out, and it shot forward.
“Again. Seventy this time.”
Angela mashed the gas, emboldened by her repeated successes, and managed to make the emergency turn on her own. She grinned, waved at the line of dirty,
faded targets they had come to a stop facing. “Next?”
Marc nodded and made another mistake that would later haunt him. “Loser has dishes!”
Angela took off at his challenge, heading for the distant line of dented soda cans they’d set up. Grinning, distracted by her obvious happiness, Marc gave chase,
leaving their nearly identical vehicles in the middle of the street for anyone to see.
Angela was able to match him shot for shot until he moved the cans back so far she could barely see them. After missing half and him missing none, she put her gun
away. “That’s not really a challenge for you, is it?”
Marc shrugged, looking at her with shuttered eyes. “Does it matter?”
“Maybe. Kenn’s very good. Go stand by that speed limit sign. I wanna see.”
Their eyes locked for a brief, intense moment. “If you like.”
It was amazing to watch. When she asked him to move farther back, he did it with no comment, just a curious look she chose not to respond to. He was wondering
if she was seeing a showdown between him and her man…and she was.
He didn’t miss a single shot, and Angela knew instinctively that this still wasn’t very hard for him. Marc was good. Better than anyone else she’d ever seen, maybe
even Kenn, who liked to take her to the range, but not let her shoot. Designed to rub in how defenseless she was, it was yet another reaction that said these two men
were worlds apart. Kenn had been her warden, while Marc... He was her protector. He made her feel safe, she realized, watching him reholster his gun and move
toward her. He was a good man; one she trusted, cared about…one she still wanted.
Angela smelled him as he stepped by, smoke, sweat, and deep underneath, sexy, musky man. Her nostrils flared, and she inhaled deeply, instinctively, before it was
gone. Feeling the restless yearning of her heart, she turned away, suddenly lost and hurting. They’d missed so much!
“You all right?”
It was a question he couldn’t stop asking, and she smiled, looking at a thinner layer of sky grit instead of his handsome face. She could almost see the sun again, but
even the good things couldn’t distract her from the fear, the desires. There was no way this would end well. “Just thinking.”
“Care to share?”
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes. “No.”
Marc could feel her unease, her sadness, and he tried one last time to get her to take the easy way out. “Let’s just grab him and go. We’ll find some other people to
settle down and rebuild with.”
“I can’t.”
Marc sighed, eyes on her face. “Because you owe him.”
Angela shook her head, choosing to give him complete honesty, whether he was ready to hear it or not. “Not anymore. When he left me out here to fend for myself
- hoping I couldn’t, that I wouldn’t - that cancelled our deal more than anything else he’s done.”
“Then why?”
“It’s hard to explain. I’m going for my son, but there’s something else that’s pulling at me too, at the other side of me. I dream a lot. I’m sure you know.”
He knew very well. The nightmares had come less often, but when they did, they seemed worse. Twice, she’d woken him up screaming about a metal monster.
“I see a refugee camp most nights, and it’s full of people. Our kind of people and they need help. I want to belong there. I want us to be a part of that protection.”
There wasn’t a lot Marc could say. Being alone with her was great, but it couldn’t stay this way. “In the same group as your man? Don’t you think that’s asking a
little much?”
She stuck a cigarette in her mouth. “Of course it is. For now, our son’s all that matters, anyway. We’ll handle it as it comes.”
“Remember the night we made him?” Marc hadn’t meant to say it out loud and was relieved to see her blush rather than get scared or mad.
“No, not so much.”
“Ouch. That hurts.” He feigned being crushed, aware that he really felt it - he’d thought of little else during sex for the last fifteen years.
Her eyes softened a bit. “Don’t ask questions unless…”
“…you’re prepared to hear the answer,” he finished, laughing with her.
“We could talk about it,” Marc teased. “Maybe you’d recall.”
“No need to.”
“So you do?” Marc watched her eyes turn a smoky, midnight blue and tensed.
Angela was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “All the time, at first, Brady. I’d think about you, and I’d wonder what raven-haired, blue-eyed whore
you were with. I’d wonder if you were able to sleep afterwards, if you stayed until morning and kissed her lips, if you promised to love her forever as you walked out
the door.”
Marc took a step closer, heart aching. “No Angie, to all of it. I’ve only had one love, only said it once, and I meant it. Forever hasn’t come yet.”
A tear spilled from under her dark lashes, “Don’t. It hurts.”
“I’d take it away if I could.”
“You have some of it. Knowing you came back means something to me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t knock.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“Truce?” He held out a hand, and she shook it, smiling. “Didn’t know we were at war.”
Angela let her hand linger, the contact with another human, sliding across her skin in warmth, was something she had missed. When he moved toward her, she held
still, needing to see if the stray curls of want she’d been feeling were real. Could she be whole in time?
Marc saw her nostrils flare as his hands came up to her face, and she closed her eyes when his palm slid along her cheek, thumb rubbing lightly across her bottom
lip.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, head leaning forward. “A Goddess.” Marc pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, felt her sudden intake of breath. Not sure if it
was fear or desire, he pulled back. “Angie?”
Her hands curled into balls, wanting his kiss, wanting to be faithful. Not sure, either, about that flood of heat low in her gut, Angela stepped into his arms and tilted
her mouth up.
Marc didn’t give her time to change her mind.
Angela stiffened as his hand went to the back of her head, but the mouth against hers was sweet…musky…he tugged her closer, and she curled her arms around his
neck, lost in the first real passion she had felt in too many years.
Marc deepened the kiss, let their tongues touch, rub, and the doors between their minds swung open, thoughts mixing.
“Missed you!”
“Need you!”
“Taste like a woman.”
“Smell like a man.”
“My Woman.”
“My Man.”
The last one made Angela gasp against his mouth, and she slammed the doors, broke the kiss in surprise. So much feeling in a single embrace!
Marc stepped back, turned away to lie. “I’m sorry.”
“Brady.”
Her voice was rough, sexy, and he looked back slowly, prepared to hear almost anything.
“It wasn’t fear.”
Marc grinned as she turned away, body hard, and heart light. It was going to be a good day.
Angela’s thoughts were along the same line, and she was hoping that feeling would stay with her through the hard reunion she knew was coming. She had a plan of
action based on what little she’d picked up about the people Kenn was with. Marc would have to watch his back, but there might be a chance for peace if her Marine
could be reasoned with. She would know within the first few hours of being around his people, if that stood a chance. If not, she would use the backup - they’d run.
After all this time with Brady, there was no way she could go back to being what she’d been before – caged. There was no way the Witch or the old Angela would
allow that. They’d kill Kenny first.
3
Angela ducked under his arm, grunting in effort as she spun and dropped, throwing her leg out to trip him. Anticipating her, Marc jumped, but she’d counted on that
and immediately spun again, her leg catching his ankle as he landed.
Tripping, he rolled forward. Marc was on his feet in an instant, turning, and knew she was already there, and he was impressed.
Angela used the palms of both hands to shove him, hard, and for the first time since he’d begun to teach her, Marc landed on his ass in the dirt, grunting at the
impact. “Very, very good. Now, do it again.”
Angela rushed him the second he was upright, eyes going to his right. When he defended the left, she came straight up the middle, hands going to his big arms, leg
sweeping him again as she shoved and ducked the fingers that tried to pull her along as he fell.
“That’s was great,” he praised, starting to get back up.
“Don’t move!”
Her tone froze him with his hands splayed out in the dirt. He sensed movement near his fingers as she slowly drew her weapon.
“Roll to your right when I start, and come up firing. Targets at ten, two and three.”
Marc heard the soft pad of paws, more than one, and watched her eyes for the moment to react.
“Shit. Two more at 12 o’ clock,” Angela watched the three lanky, gray-and-white wolves, trying to judge their intentions. When a big black-and-gold animal she
hadn’t seen lunged toward from the shadows, there was only time to react.
Angela fired, a bit wildly on the first few shots, and one of the rounds caught the wolf in mid-leap, slamming into its chest. It landed on the ground with a hard thud
as Marc rolled and hit his feet, began to fire.
“Watch your six!” he warned, immediately sure they were pack-hunting. He put them back to back as the brittle stalks around them swayed with barely seen
movement. The sky had begun to darken as they worked out, but neither had worried, used to being in the dark, but this time they had let dangerous predators get
close.
Suddenly, they were under attack, moving eyes gleaming at them through the dusk-tinted rows. They fired at the same time, dropping two wolves that had jumped
from opposite sides.
A dark shadow appeared at her hip, and Angela stopped herself from shooting as she recognized Dog. Her eyes narrowed on a stocky white wolf running in and
out of the distant, yellow stalks. Before she could take aim on the leader, another shadow streaked past her.
“Damn it!” Again, she kept herself from firing by only a hair. “Dog just went to my right, chasing the white one.”
Marc nodded, turning them to face another duel attack meant to separate. They came in low, lunging for legs, and both shots killed, but two more hungry hunters
jumped at Angela, coming fast.
“Duck!” she shouted, firing. She got the low animal in the chest as the other went sailing overhead, and she heard Marc take care of it as more and more eyes
shined mercilessly in the dimness. Wolves were now streaming through the corn like rats.
Making sure they stayed tightly against each other, Marc moved them in half circles, firing and kicking at those not hungry enough to lunge, but still bold enough to
snap. He could feel Angela doing the same behind him, her grunts and shots mirroring his.
Flames rose up behind them suddenly, Marc catching a tall shadow from the corner of his eye as he turned, shot a leaping wolf in the chest, turned, and killed a
snapping wolf going for Angie’s leg.
More fire erupted, along with the pungent smell of gasoline as full darkness fell over them, and some of the wolves hesitated, but not those hungry frontrunners.
Angela jerked forward, stiff-arming a determined predator in the throat. Her gun was empty and she knew by the silence behind her that Marc's was too. Drooling,
fur bushed up, the wolves moved closer with hungry eyes.
Angela fumbled for the speed loader on her belt, and Marc turned them again, slamming his in as two more wolves lunged. He caught one in the neck, blood
spraying, and shoved them backwards in time to let the second animal go sailing by.
“Incoming!”
Reloaded, Angela shot the wolf as it hit the hard ground and fired at eyes in the air, then the flames were between her and the corn as Marc rotated them again.
Shadows lunged, coming through gaps in the wall of fire, and she picked them off, assuming Brady’s silent gun meant he was reloading.
Marc stared intently at the hulking man intently, the 3/4 circle of flames discouraging many of the animals. The newcomer was gigantic, eight by five it seemed like,
and yet he was light on his feet as he poured the last of the gasoline to close the gaps.
“Stay inside,” the big man instructed gruffly without turning, voice heavy under his furs and hood.
Before Marc could say anything, Angela spun around, six shots gone. She gasped in surprise at the big man, but just like Marc, her fingers didn’t stop. She had to
be ready when he turned them again.
“On your right, woman!”
She slammed the clip home and fired without looking, almost able to hear the slobbering jaws about to clamp down on her ankle. A heavy body thudded to the
ground.
“Dog! Guard her!” Marc shouted, firing.
The wolf appeared at her side, bloody muzzle snarling viciously at two more animals trying to sneak through a thin gap in the fire wall.
4
Kenn shifted restlessly in the plush seat of his truck, unafraid of moving alone through the darkness, but more than scared of not being able to find a way to keep
Adrian from discovering what he’d done, who he’d been.
Angela was close. He could feel it, and though it had been a relief to get to Cheyenne and find only the Slavers (he’d watched for an extra day to be sure she wasn’t
there, high in the trees with his scope), he knew she was within a day of him, just not sure in what direction.
She was likely southeast, coming in on a straight line, but instead of heading that way at the highway sign, Kenn kept the Bronco on the path he had taken after
slipping away from the massive Slaver camp. With fresh mags for his M16 - swiped from the Slaver camp - it had been an easy choice, and the Marine was sticking to
it.
Kenn had his lights off, brake bulbs loosened to eliminate the telling glows, and he slowed as loud, rapid gunshots echoed in the darkness. Window down, he rolled
slowly, trying to pinpoint the location. It was her, he was suddenly sure of it. When the noise continued, he edged closer.
More gunshots rang out, a battle for survival it sounded like, and he stopped as movement and light caught his eye. Scope always at hand, Kenn’s eyes narrowed
on what appeared to be a burnt down ring of fire.
She was in trouble, he could feel that clearly, and the plan fell into place with a horrible snap. He would arrive in time to finish off whoever had just killed his wife.
And if she survives? his worry asked, and Kenn grinned in the pitch black truck. The camp would be told she hadn’t. If they even found out how close she’d
been. He certainly had no intentions of telling them.
5
Angela muttered a curse as three more wolves slunk into the ring and heard Brady echo her expletive as he fired repeatedly, hitting them all. They were in deep. It
was time to let the Witch out and worry about the consequences later. “Fire!”
Bright blue flames spewed from Angela's outstretched hands, hitting a gap in the wall just as two wolves tried to dart through, and their fur lit up, the heat of her
power blowing them back into the dark cornstalks as the gap closed.
“Over here!” Marc shouted desperately as the big man took a rifle from the sling on his shoulder, and the Witch obeyed, flames shooting like golden-blue comets
from her fingers. It closed the spaces and each infusion traveled the wall of fire, strengthening it until the ring was solid.
“That’s it, Brady,” she gasped. “I’m low.”
All the animals were outside the ring now, whining uneasily, fighting with each other, and Angela pushed the Witch back as she continued to shoot weak balls of light
that disappeared into the air before they could reach the fire wall. Stop. We can't win this way.
There were numerous dead wolves, but dozens and dozens of eyes still gleamed hungrily at them from the darkness behind the flames. They would wait for the fire
to burn out and attack again.
“Bad time to be bleedin',” the big man stated, before he fired a well-aimed shot that took down a pair of wolves trying to breach the wall, one bullet doing the job of
two.
Marc nodded, keeping just as close an eye on the big stranger, as he was the wolves.
“You hit, Brady?” Angela demanded, keeping her eyes on flickering shadows.
“No. Duck!”
They moved at the same time, dropping low, firing together, and two more wolves hit the dirt, slid through the already dying flames.
Dog jumped suddenly, meeting a wolf as it came over the fire. His powerful jaws clamped down on an unprotected throat, and Angela fired at the second animal
now stalking Dog.
Her first shot landed near its paw, Angie afraid of hitting the wrong dark body, but her second shot went straight between its eyes.
“This is my last clip.”
“Me too.”
The big man was firing a bright red flare into the sky before their words had faded and seconds later, a tremendous howl split the air.
Wwwhhhhhooooo!
It was a piercing whistle or maybe a caller of some kind, the notes melodic and offensive at the same time. Like a wolf's howl, Angie thought.
It seemed to go on forever, and Marc put a calming hand on Dog’s head as the wolves hesitated in their attack, thinking it had come from maybe two miles away,
but no more.
Angela winced as the wailing increased, the animals joining in. The volume continued to rise as the wolf call came again, pulling at them, drawing them.
“That'll be the Missus. She’ll have the bait out, and be holed up with the others. We’ll be able ta go in a bit.”
“Won’t she need help?” Brady asked, amazed to see the wolves starting to leave.
“No. They don’t climb none too well.”
“How will you get to them without running into the wolf pack?” Angela asked.
The man stepped closer, big form intimidating. “You tell me, Witch,” he grunted.
Angela concentrated, feeling Brady tense behind her. “Underground.”
The man grunted, tossed back his hood to reveal a horribly disfigured face partially hidden by a thick, shaggy beard. Deep brown eyes glared at her.
Angela stiffened as the Witch whispered. “What payment do you expect for helping us? Nothing’s free. Not before and certainly not now.”
The man shrugged, eyes darting over her shoulder to Marc. “We got a broken radio and no medicine, no ammo. Got any of that?”
She relaxed. “Possibly. What else? That doesn’t equal the debt.”
His eyes were hard as he looked her over from head to toe. “Girls could use some clothes...maybe some books?”
Surprised, Angela gave him a genuine smile.
Marc heard the man’s sudden intake of breath. He recognized the sound, that reaction to Angela, and rotated them again. “The woman is not for trade.”
The huge man’s hardened face tightened, and he turned away. “Can’t hardly get it up now anyway,” he muttered, stepping over the dying flames. “Damn diabetes.
Come on. She’ll have supper waitin'.”
Angela and Marc exchanged a long look of uncertainty, but chose to follow the big man’s shadowy form in the darkness. The corn around them was empty now,
but not silent. The breeze moved through the hollow stalks, making an eerie moan that resembled the calling howl they’d heard, and Dog followed closely, his blackand-
grey fur still bushed out in warning. Danger wasn’t far.
Once again glad to be alive, Angela and Marc quietly followed the big man through the corn, both still unsure of his intentions. When the rows ended, revealing a
dark stretch of tall, sick-looking evergreen trees, they exchanged looks that said they would be careful. The wind was cool, smelled of shit, and they both spotted the
fresh wolf scat that littered the dead rows of waist high corn. This was part of their hunting ground.
“Almost there,” the big man grunted, moving steadily despite his size. He stopped in front of a large clump of bushes.
Marc stayed by Angela, and Dog did too. His thick fur was flecked in blood, and they both saw the big man casting hard looks at the timber wolf. Marc estimated
they had come about two clicks from the battle scene.
“Grab an end.” The man bent down to clasp a large handful of the damp foliage.
Marc did it while keeping his eyes open, not liking to be unfamiliar with an area, but content enough to let the man’s true colors show when they would. The odds
on him winning weren’t nearly as high as with the wolves.
“Pull!”
Angela grinned in surprised admiration at the cleverly disguised sewer entrance that rose up like a blanket. There were thin, dark green puddles where it met the
ground, a poison of some type Angie guessed, and she was careful not to step in it, wondering if it was the fumes alone that kept the animals from coming through or if
they’d learned to avoid it from seeing their packmates die.
“Close the flap and watch out for the rats. The antifreeze don't tempt 'em, and they don’t scare easy neither.”
As they moved into the damp, stinking air of underground, Marc gestured to the night vision glasses on her belt. Instead of putting them on, she tapped the big man
on the arm, held them out.
He started to take them, and then shook his head, stepped by her. “You keep ‘em and watch out. Your blood’ll likely make fire shoot from their arses, and we’d
never be able ta keep ‘em out.”
Angela heard Marc snort in amusement and she slid the glasses back onto her belt with a frown. She didn’t sense evil in their huge guide, but his knowing what she
was made her uncomfortable, and she dropped back, putting more distance between them.
Marc however, was starting to relax. He was almost sure the man had been military before the War, and he lit a smoke, gun still in hand, as they walked quietly
through the stone tunnels. They moved over and around rotting furniture, mildewed piles of clothes, whole and broken cinder blocks. Gray and green moss climbed the
tall, dank, concrete walls that met a cobwebbed ceiling about 20 feet above them, and their steps echoed along with the distant drip of water.
“About there. Be quiet. She’ll have the little 'uns back ta sleep by now,” he said, indicating that the battle with the wolves was a long-running one.
Angela caught Marc’s silent words. “He thinks we’re a couple. Tell him different, I may have to fight for you when it comes time to leave.”
She too felt the enormous man’s interest, but it eased her a little that there was no sense of him being the one to fear. They came to a stop, and when Marc
gestured upward, she saw a trap door in a wooden floor that was over twenty feet up, an impossible jump.
Suddenly a rock flew through the air to slam into the big man’s cheek and he sucked in a surprised breath at the pain as another, bigger stone sailed down at them
from the damp darkness.
“Damn! It’s me!”
The rock barrage stopped and a woman’s indignant voice called down to them, “Shoulda said something!”
The big man grunted, rubbing his arm where the second rock had hit. “Jealous, I think. Seen your woman in action.”
Marc agreed: Angie was a tough act to follow.
“Come on, Lenore! Did I save ‘em from the wolves to feed ‘em to the rats? ”
There was no sound from above them, and Angela was unable to keep from grinning at the sigh of long-suffering the big man let out.
“Definitely jealous.”
“I am not! The rope’s kinked up again. Hang on!”
Eyes, round and gleaming in the darkness, appeared in the deeper shadows around them.
Angela's gasp was followed by the man’s urgent voice, “Now, woman! They’re comin'!”
The trap door slid open and a rope ladder dropped on top of the man’s head.
“’Bout damn time. Here!” He grabbed Angela’s black sweater and lifted her onto the ladder in one effortless move. As she started to climb, his big hands settled
firmly on her ass, shoving, squeezing, caressing.
Angela jerked herself up and out of his reach, her .357 in hand a second later, pointed at his head. “You ever touch me again, your Missus will use your balls for
bait!”
The man stopped halfway through the opening, glaring at her.
“Angie,” Marc’s tone was patient, resigned.
“What?” she snapped, backing up.
“There’s a rat about a foot long trying to eat my boot. Let him through.”
Angela felt the rage clear from her eyes and reholstered her weapon as she turned to look at the only other person in the big, cluttered kitchen of what was probably
a one floor, ranch style home - Lenore.
Dressed in a stained white shirt and an enormous pair of farmer’s overalls with the pockets ripped off, the large woman was smirking at her man. A grand beehive
of black and white hair hung in every direction like a bad wig and the long, jagged scars on her face and arms told Angela she had fought beside him to protect what
was theirs.
“I’m Missus Lenore Codd.”
Angela held out a hand to the giantess, the name ringing a faint bell. Wasn’t there a fairy tale based on the life of a giant by that name? “Angela. Angie. I hope we
won’t be a bother to you.”
The woman’s sharp brown eyes watched even as she shook firmly. “Me? No. Him?”
She indicated the man leaning down a hand to help Brady, not reacting at all when the wolf riding uneasily on Marc’s shoulders nipped at him. “Probably already
has. T'was me that seen and sent him after ya. Told him I wudn’t cookin' till he got ya here.”
Angela covered the woman’s large hands with her own. “Then it’s you I owe the debt to. Good.” She moved closer, running on instinct. “Maybe we can barter, but
for now, let me start paying on the debt I owe. I’m a Doctor.” Her voice lowered, “Diabetes can be controlled by doing certain things, and then the side effects go
away.”
The woman grinned, clapped her on the back, and Angela held onto her big arm to keep from falling as the reek of corn filled her nose. “Might could be. Let’s get
them men fed and we’ll talk.”
Angela nodded, taking her sweater off in the warmth. There was barely room to walk in the dusty, ten by twelve space and the cluttered shelves full of bags,
canisters, and unpacked boxes told her the couple had come here only recently.
“Can I help? Set a table? Do cleanup?”
“Polite, eager to help. You remind me of the past,” Lenore mused matter-of-factly.
Frowning, Angela didn’t look away, though the stench of corn was making her eyes water. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Wudn’t all evil.”
Angela didn’t agree with her, but the look of understanding they shared said this new world wasn’t all bad either.
“Damn it, woman! Feed me! Them,” the man ordered, dropping down at the long, wooden table in the narrow, lantern-lit room.
His wife waved at a chair over in the corner, seemingly indifferent to the large, wild wolf standing tensely in her kitchen. “Put your man to the right. We’ll stand. Only
got two chairs left now. Keepin' warm’s more important than pass-me-downs.”
Angela shook her head at Marc when he started to offer to take the floor, and her eyes told him to be careful, that the man wasn’t in charge here.
She brought the heavy chair over with no visible effort and knew the big woman was pleased when Marc obeyed her and sat. The feeling increased when Angela
looked at Dog, pointed at the trap door, and the wolf immediately went to that spot and laid down, only his eyes and ears moving. Angela stayed close to the woman as
she served big bowls of what appeared to be stew from a large metal pot on a double burner gas stove.
Marc fell into a conversation with the man about the wolves, he and Angie quietly keeping track of each other.
“Everything's a’gin us now,” the mountain man stated, cracking his knuckles impatiently.
“But so many? Packs are never more than ten or fifteen,” Marc observed.
“We killed the world. They hate us enough to band together.”
“Surely that can’t be?”
The man grunted, spoon already in his beefy hand as Lenore set his deep bowl down with a heavy thud. Angela looked away from the mats of dark hair on his
forearms as he began scooping up huge bites of the steaming stew.
“Tis not just the wolves. Rats, snakes, ants. People’r the enemy.”
Marc was frowning at the picture, and Lenore’s eyes stayed on him. “Must not be that way where you came from?”
He shook his head, military mind calculating the odds of mankind if that were true. “No.” Slim to none.
“How far have you come?”
“So many miles I can’t feel my ass anymore.”
Lenore’s eyes lit up and she leaned closer, sharp intelligence clear. “Tell me. Is it safe? When were you there?”
Wondering if it was the wolves that had scarred them up or something older, Marc eyed Angela. “Wrong one to ask.”
Lenore produced a tight, grim smile - satisfied - and turned to Angela with approving eyes, “He’s well-trained. We can make some deals, trade. I’m Lenore. He’s
Maxwell. Welcome to the killin' fields of Nebraska.”
6
“Ohio, huh?” Lenore grunted, handing her a thick slab of cornbread, and they both ignored the loud belch and male grunt that echoed from the table. “Never been
past the Missi'sip.”
Angela closed her eyes, smiling in delight. Marc frowned when the man’s gaze went to her face, lingered there.
“This is so good!”
“Missus makes the best,” Max stated gruffly, eyes now on her chest. Angela held her ground though she had the urge to put her sweater back on.
“You’ve been here since the War?” Marc asked the man and wasn’t surprised when he looked to his wife first.
“Tell ‘em what ya will. I see no harm.”
Lenore ducked through a heavily-curtained doorway that held a long, oddly decorated horn Marc thought was probably the wolf caller.
When Angela turned to see what he was staring at, Max waved a hand. “She’s checkin' their breathin'. Corn fumes.”
They both frowned, confused, and the man finished his last bite before explaining.
“We have the corn. Keep it from the rats. Fumes build up while it sets. Poison, o’ course, so we sleep in shifts. People start coughing and puking, we get out the
guns and open the windows till it airs out.”
Angela was horrified. “Why?”
The big man’s tone was rough, but his eyes said he too hated it. “Why? To eat. Can’t hunt anymore. Damn wolves get ya or there’s no meat close enough cause o’
them. Gotta eat. Gotta last ‘em out.”
“You could leave,” Marc suggested, which was met with silence.
Angela shook her head when he would have repeated himself. “Not our business. Maybe you should look at their radio now.”
It was enough to fool the man, who immediately responded to the tone, getting up. Angela hid a grin at the warning look Marc slid her way. Up to a point, this could
be fun.
There was quiet except for the wind outside, but all of them tensed suddenly, sure the wolves were out there. Angela turned to Lenore as she stepped back through
the curtains. “You vent the corn?”
The woman handed her a list. “Yes, but the generator is out of diesel. This is what I need and what I have to trade. I’ll throw in cornbread only if you got the last
one on there.”
Angela went over the list quickly. When Lenore handed her a pen, Angela understood the male here wasn’t allowed to know how much of what they had. To keep
down thievery? Control was more probable, and the fact that Max had none, was likely more responsible for his impotence than the diabetes.
“I can spare this much of each, and you can find that one here. This one, I haven’t seen in over a month.”
Lenore creased her brow. “And the last?”
Angela grinned. “Six months worth sound good?”
The giantess’ eyes said it would go faster than that. “Deal. I’ll bake while you sleep with your man.”
Unprepared for the probing comment, Angela flushed and saw the woman’s eyes light up with speculation. She hurried to distract.
“You have room?”
“Too much. You’ll stay?”
Angie didn’t like the hungry look the woman gave Marc, as he removed his coat to work on the radio, big arms flexing. “Yes, but let’s have this clear now. The man
is not for trade.”
Lenore studied her coolly. “Things not for trade are often taken by force.”
Angela felt the Witch surge forward and knew it showed in her eyes when the woman paled. “And often, people die in the trying. Perhaps Mankind will be smarter
this time.”
Lenore grunted, her voice bitter. “Not the men.”
Angela let a bit of the heat come into her words, “And maybe not the women either.”
The giantess flushed at the pointed tone, but didn’t back down. “But, if he’s not yours...”
“He is!” Angela cut her off curtly, prepared to fight if she had to.
Marc was listening intently, ready to help, and both of them were relieved when the woman sighed resignedly.
“I’ve mistaken, maybe. Forgive me?”
Angela waved it away, hoping this was the end of it. “My first time in control. I overreact.”
“First one’s always the best. They still have a hope it will change back.” Lenore grinned, clapped her on the arm again, and this time, adrenaline kept Angela on her
feet.
7
Hours later, as Marc finished changing parts inside the radio, Lenore led Angela through a dark, and blanket-covered room where at least five adult women and
three kids were sharing a very large bed.
As Lenore pushed open a back hallway door, she saw Angela’s look and shook her head. “You’re putting no one out. They sleep together for warmth now that
their men is gone and the snow comes unexpected.”
Angela heard and understood the tone of betrayal in Lenore’s words. “The Draft?”
Lenore recognized a fellow victim. “Aye. Yours too?”
Angela’s eyes were haunted. “My son. I’m on my way to get him back.”
The giantess raised a surprised brow. “Just the two of you?”
“Yes. No one will keep me from my blood.”
Respect laced the woman’s voice. “My prayers will be with ya. Not that God listens any more now than he did before.”
Angela smiled her thanks, suddenly tense as the wide bed, lit by a candle in each corner, came into view. She hid it, and closed the door with relief. A few minutes
alone at last!
8
“Coming in,” Marc called softly, as he stepped in and then locked the door. Dog went straight to Angie, and then began exploring the room. Covered in dust, it
sported a rickety bed, one end table, a plush, dusty chair below a window, and a long, cluttered dresser with no mirror.
Marc frowned when he saw she had a row of medical supplies spread out on the dresser. “You hurt?”
Angela didn’t look up from the needle she was threading. “You are.”
Marc gave her a sheepish look at the dry tone and began taking off his coat and sweat-stained shirt. He tried not to wince as the cloth peeled painfully away from
the wound, the blood long-dried.
“When did I get you?”
Marc shrugged out of the gun belts and laid them on the stand near the bed as Dog curled up under the front corner. “First few shots. It’s just a trim.”
Angela rolled her eyes at the crusted, three-inch furrow along the underside of his arm, “I’m always hurting you, Brady. I’m sorry.”
He noticed that she had cleaned herself up and put on the jeans and black shirt from her emergency bag. They’d gotten lucky to have them close by when the
wolves attacked. “Mistakes happen.”
“I could have killed you.”
Marc tensed as she cleaned the wound with alcohol pads, and Angela found herself watching the way his muscles flexed.
“This world is full of chaos. It was your first real fight. I think you did great.”
She met his eye, needing to know how true it was. “Really?”
"Yes," Marc said, his tone revealing that he wasn’t blowing smoke and Angela smiled, fighting the urge to reach out and run a soft hand along his lightly-bearded
jaw.
“You learned well.”
Her eyes darkened, and she looked down at his injury, letting the Doctor take over. “Hope it’s enough.”
Marc twitched at the needle as it sank into his skin, and Angela moved faster. It occurred to her that she now had stitching in both of his big arms. How many more
times would he be put in the line of fire for her? The wind outside picked up suddenly as if responding, and Angela shivered.
“Damn. It got colder. How would they keep warm in these back rooms?” Marc mused.
Angela kept her tone light, but flushed at the pictures running through her mind. “They don’t use them. They all share one bed for body heat.”
Marc‘s eyes showed understanding: that explained all the people in one sloppy tangle in that center room, and it made him think of how the big woman had held his
arm as she led him through, fingers caressing. Lenore had whispered of being a good master if he was unhappy with his current one.
Angela turned to look at him, anger making the demon’s red eyes bleed through. “She made a move on you when she brought you back here?”
Marc said nothing and Angela moved to her side of the bed as she dried her hands and controlled her rage. She had no real claim to him. If he wanted to sleep with
the woman, he could.
“I don’t.”
Her eyes flew to his in time to see him grimace as he tried to pull on his shirt.
“You sure?”
Marc’s eyes were amused, and it calmed her. “Yes.”
He began trying to button the emergency shirt, but with only one arm and pain shooting through the other, it was slow going.
Angela waved a hand at him. “Leave it open or you’re gonna rip out those stitches.”
“You could do it for me,” he suggested, feeling the throbbing increase.
She frowned, thinking he wouldn’t ask for a painkiller, but he’d take it if she said to. What was it with men and their pride?
“There’s Vicodin in my bag, top left side. Take two, leave the shirt as it is, and go to bed, will ya?”
Marc raised a brow at the curtness and Angela sighed. “Damn. I’m sorry, Brady.”
He moved slowly towards her bag. “You wanna tell me what’s got you on edge?”
Angela turned toward the window, glad for the bars on it as she spotted shadows padding restlessly outside. “Besides the wolves out there? I’m not sure. “
Marc saw the V on the bottle and dry swallowed two of the tiny blue pills without really looking at them, thinking she sounded restless.
“Nerves from today. You wanna talk it out, play some cards? Both?”
She shook her head, shivering. She wasn’t anywhere near ready for that bed, either. “No.”
Marc sat in the chair and began working on their guns, hands always sure and steady.
He was right, it was just nerves from the battle, Angela agreed, starting her own nightly rituals, but she was very aware of the man pretending not to watch her. This
was their first time in a real bed together since they’d made a baby, and the old Angela was harassing her with memories of how good their time together had been. The
mating had been sweet, soft and beautiful, and she’d forgotten none of it.
Marc knew she was thinking about him, but kept quiet, sure he was out of time. If she said her man was close, then he was and that meant this was their last night
alone together. His heart was already breaking, missing her, and Marc burned to remind her of what it was like to be made love to, instead of being taken.
The sparks in the room thickened, and Angie felt him tense when she unbraided her long, black hair and began to brush it.
“Can I do that for you?” he heard himself asking, thinking his heart was pounding harder than it should be.
When she hesitated, Marc smiled. “Please.”
Angela couldn’t deny him or herself. The need to get close to him tonight was undeniable. When he stepped behind her, big body warm and hard, she snapped her
eyes shut and held herself in place.
The feel of her curls running over his calloused hands was like silk, and Marc took his time, using his fingers to gather it, brushing her neck softly.
Angela heard the brush hitting the bed behind them, felt his big hands go to her shoulders, but instead of moving away, she allowed him to rub her. The heat from his
touch was like heaven.
“That feels good,” she moaned, and Marc breathed in deeply of it before moving back a bit, his body hardening.
Angela knew it was teasing him and surprised them both by letting him continue, even when his fingers brushed the curve of her breast, and sent little chills into her
stomach. She forgot to listen to the voice of fear as his thumb brushed her again, the sensation rushing into her gut like a bullet. “Mmmmm…”
Marc’s eyes snapped shut at that sound, liquid heat flooding his gut. He moved his hands away from her ribcage, sending them to her waist, her slender hips.
They had to stop now, Angela knew that, knew she’d probably hate herself later, but the feel of him was comforting, enticing… When he tugged gently, she leaned
back against his hard, bare chest, wishing she had the nerve to give him what he so clearly wanted.
Marc controlled himself, didn’t push against her ass like he wanted to. When she would have turned to get closer, he moved back, not willing to destroy the peace.
Angela stifled a protest at his retreat, her face flushed. She hadn’t meant to lead him on, had done really well so far, but the need was on her, the Witch and the old
Angela crying for release.
Marc realized her confusion. The killing had done it for her. It was something no one liked to admit, but he’d had some of the best orgasms - alone - right after a
battle where blood was spilled. “You okay?”
Her eyes darted to the threadbare coverlet pulled across her lap. “Yeah, you?”
Marc noted the bars over the windows, arm still throbbing. “Sure. You got that rolled yet?”
Angela forced a grin as the temperature dropped lower in the dusty bedroom, blowing grit across the dark, hardwood floor. “It’s in your pack.”
Marc got it and fired it up, body tight. He tried to force his mind to other things as she pulled her sweater over her shoulders. Her long curls hung around her pale
skin, the smell of her was assaulting his nose, and Marc frowned at himself as erotica flashed through his mind.
He moved to the other side of the bed, not really feeling the cold anymore, but he saw her pointed chest and knew she was. Marc got another blanket from his kit
and tossed it on the pillow next to her. “Put that one around your shoulders.”
Angela didn’t look at him as she drew on her courage. “Share it with me?”
Marc felt the need rise up, strong and hungry, as he sat back against the headboard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Honey.”
He held the smoldering joint out and she took it carelessly, letting their fingers brush. Flames sparked, vanished.
Marc felt like he was sweating, body making it hard for him to sit. He shifted restlessly, waiting for it to go away like it usually did. He had quietly pleased himself
from time to time when she was asleep, but right now, he felt like he hadn’t in years, and he struggled to keep it out of his voice as he took the joint back. “You ready
for tomorrow?”
Angela blew out a thick stream of sweet, pungent smoke. “As much as I can be.”
Marc turned toward her, unable to stop his eyes from falling to her red lips. “You’ve learned a lot. I think you’ll do fine.”
She smiled at him, in a good mood despite the wrongness here, and she tried not to let the thuds and creaks outside the ranch home bother her as the wind gusted
loudly. She was with Marc. They could handle just about anything together. “I had a good…teacher.”
Sparks flew between them, the hunger alive, and Angela felt heat flood her stomach. The passion was new to her, almost like she’d never felt it.
When his eyes darkened, she felt a streak of heat that she knew he sensed by the way his grip on the joint tightened and the muscle in his jaw began to twitch. She
should be scared, she knew that too, but this was Brady. Nothing would happen that she didn’t want.
Marc moved off the bed and settled himself in the wide chair under the window, blowing out the candle closest to him. He left only one flickering flame in the far
corner that gave off very little light, not trusting himself. He lit a smoke, body and arm now throbbing together, one pain, one sharp and sweet. What the hell was wrong
with him?
Angela was asking herself the same thing. She wasn’t some tramp and she was pushing him. Marc was a man, one with needs that hadn’t been met for a long time,
and here she was letting him kiss her, rub her, touch her breast. Her face flamed at that thought, and she heard him shift in the chair, as if he picked up on the image.
Her heart thumped as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His shirt fell open at the movement, and she couldn’t look away, wondering where that furious
wave of need was coming from.
“Angie.”
She heard it in his voice and instead of fear, the woman inside responded. “Yes.”
Marc’s eyes snapped open, but her guilty face had him shaking his head. “No. Go to sleep.”
Angie braced herself. There was one last lesson to be learned. “Come back to bed, Brady.”
Marc groaned, breaking out in a sweat, and he shook his head, not looking at her. His blood was pounding through tight veins, breathing rough.
Angela frowned at him. “Are you all right?”
Marc tried to nod, but the tempo of the lust beating inside him grew, and he shifted again, thinking he’d have to do something about the iron bar in his jeans before
climbing into bed with her. That picture made the need tighten another notch, and he jumped when he felt her cool hand settle on his brow. He hadn’t heard her move.
“Damn, you’re hot. Let me see your eyes.”
Marc grit his teeth as she checked him out, the feel of her hands on him, her hair sliding across him, incredible torture.
“I don’t understand. You don’t ha…” Angela broke off, frown growing. Her bag. She’d told him top left. “I think I know what’s wrong with you.”
He did too. He needed to get laid more often.
”You didn’t take Vicodin. It was Viagra.”
Marc’s eyes flew open again, horrified. “What?”
She opened her worn medical bag. “It got mixed up during the fight. You didn’t read the label.”
Marc watched her step back, hands itching to pull her close. “How long will I be like this? And why the hell do you have that?”
Angela flushed. “It’s for diseases. Lenore wants to trade it for the cornbread.”
Marc groaned again, body on fire. He eyed the white pills she held out.
“This is really Vicodin.”
He swallowed it before she could get him anything to drink and looked at her with wide, glazed eyes. “How long?”
She looked away. “At least four hours, maybe six or eight.”
Marc’s head snapped back, eyes slamming shut. He wouldn’t last that long. “Can’t you give me something to counteract it?”
When she hesitated to speak, he knew there was something, but she didn’t want to tell him.
“What?” he demanded.
“If you...take yourself in…” Face a furious red, Angela indicated the bed, “It will go away once you...” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Marc no longer felt the cold or heard the wind. “Next!”
“Let it wear off.”
Marc stifled a curse, shifting again. “There’s gotta be something else.”
“I’m sorry, there isn’t.”
The tension in the room only continued to grow. After five minutes of watching him squirm (and feeling her own hormones responding), Angela stood up.
“I’m gonna step out in the hall for a few minutes, have a smoke,” she stated, waving off his protests. “I’ll take Dog. You... handle things.”
“Stay?”
Angela froze at the blatant need in his rough voice, looking at him. “While you…?”
Marc looked down, surprisingly embarrassed, and heard himself beg. “Please.” He’d never been so hard in his life, not even during their time together all those
years ago.
His voice was gruff with embarrassment, and Angela was surprised to find herself considering it, woman’s body long denied any real pleasure. “I couldn't...”
“I’ll stay right here. I won’t move from this spot,” he pleaded.
Angela knew she should go before things went any farther, but the heat between them was pulling, stronger than the fear for a change, and she hesitated, torn. He’d
made her feel so alive when they were young! Memories, old and powerful, swirled through the drafty room.
"I can't," he groaned as their lips met again, "I'm sorry."
The beautiful girl shifted restlessly under him, body begging for his touch. "But I want you to!" she complained
The boy held himself in place only by a hair. They'd never gone this far before, and the hormones were in control of her mind. She was too young, forbidden…
When she slid a hand between them, he sucked in a harsh breath. "I can't do..."
"Sshhhh..." her hand closed over him, stealing his voice, and he bucked in her grip as she stroked.
Struggling to think, he let her slide his tense hand under her skirt.
"Love me, Brady," she moaned against his mouth, "as much as you can."
Tortured will crumbling, he did just that.
"One of my favorite memories of us."
Angie flushed at his words. The time after that, they'd gone as far as they could. There hadn't been any holding back.
"I can't, Marc, I just..."
"Shhh...." His beautiful blue eyes were tunnels to the past. "Love me, Angie. As much as you can."
Jerked into the pain and loneliness she'd been forced to endure for so long, Angela nodded shakily and watched his hands go to the buckle of his jeans with wide
eyes. Marc couldn’t stop himself, the lust raging, and he held his breath as he popped the button on his jeans, expecting her to flee the tense seat she was taking on the
corner of the bed.
Angela’s face was red, but there was no denying she wanted to be here. When he raised his hips to slide his pants down, she tore her eyes away, breathing rapidly.
“Throw me a blanket.”
His voice was gruff, laced with need and control, and she did it without moving from her perch. She heard the blankets rustle, hands shifting for comfort, and
couldn’t stop herself from stealing a peek. It was just in time to see his hand go around a rod of flesh that had her on her feet.
Marc saw her eyes go over his body, flashing fear and desire, and tightened his grip. “Mmm…”
The sound woke the woman inside, and Angela found herself returning to the bed to lean against the headboard while she watched him pull the blanket up and start
to stroke…she wasn’t sure she could look away.
Marc watched her through narrowed slits, feeling the need tighten as she stared at the movements the blanket now hid. Slowly, he pulled it back down so she could
see.
Angela’s breath went out in a rush, the sight of his thick flesh sending heat into her gut.
Marc nodded, hand stroking faster. “You, too? You used to love this.”
I still do, Angela though, shaking her head. How many hours had they spent this way before the lust had driven them across the line?
Marc heard the man inside push. “There’s another blanket. I’ll stay right here.”
She shook her head again, shifting restlessly, and he closed his eyes…most of the way. “I won’t look.”
Angela was still shocked to find herself here, in this moment, but fear wasn’t the strongest emotion – desire was. Physical contact was something she’d been
reminded of during this trip and it was one of the things she had hoped to have conquered by now. In all the years since they’d been apart, she’d only pleased herself a
dozen times, and not at all in the last year.
“Please?”
Before she could change her mind, Angela grabbed the second cover and tossed it over herself, but from there…
“Angie, you don’t have to do this.”
The sudden flare of guilt from him had her shaking her head. He had nothing to feel guilty about – and neither did she. With that choice, she put her hand beneath the
cover and went back to watching Brady…like she used to, when it was just them against the world.
Marc tried to slow himself down, not wanting to be done before she was, but he was on that edge already. He saw her arm brush a rigid nipple as she got
comfortable and listened to her small hiss of surprise at the sensation, with fire boiling. She did it again, intentionally this time, and he stroked harder. This was the Angie
he knew, the fearless, sexual nymph he’d eased into womanhood, and it was okay to think of that moment now, of how her tight body had wrapped around him in
willing surrender.
He groaned at the feel of the memory mixing with reality and jerked himself back from the edge by a hair.
Angela had stopped, watching him, remembering. She flushed when his burning eyes met hers. “I can’t wait much longer…”
The fear rose, making her tense, and Marc delivered one of those smoldering looks she had always been effected by. “Scared?”
She nodded, voice rough. “A little.”
He started to pull the blanket back up.
“No!”
He stopped, eyes knowing, and his smile was beautiful to her. “You are free to do as you please, Angie. No one owns you anymore.”
The happiness that gave her! Because it was true. She grinned, cheeks darkening further. “I’ll watch you for a minute.”
Marc wasn’t sure he had a minute after that. Lust surged, sending his hand back to rub and caress in slow movements that he burned to increase the speed of. Her
hands were moving under the blanket now, slowly at first, with her eyes glued to his movements. The urge to storm that bed and have her screaming out in climax was a
hard one to resist.
“Move the blanket,” he coaxed. “Let me see, too.”
She did it slowly, revealing long, sexy legs, and then white panties with a hand pushing the center aside. Her fingers moved in small circles and Marc’s heart
thumped as the edge flew his way.
“Damn, that’s hot. Lay your head back, pretend you’re alone.”
“Mmm…” The sound of Marc’s sexy voice had her convulsing in pleasure and her legs opened further to reveal dark curls and slick skin than began to pulse.
“With me, Brady!” Angela demanded hoarsely as the first wave of fierce light exploded through her body.
“Uuhhh!” Marc arched, grip freezing as he released wildly at her climax. “Yeah!”
Coming down first, Angela immediately rolled over, pulling the blanket up. She’d thought to face fear or even guilt, but there was only a huge relief as her body
continued to jerk and twitch in satisfaction. She was free now.
Very unsure of her mood, Marc cleaned himself up and kept his mouth shut. He blew out the candle and moved toward his side of the bed, intending to give her
some space to think. He was surprised when she held the blanket back and smiled at him.
“After that, I think it’s probably okay to ask if you’ll hold me while we sleep.”
His heart skipped a beat and he grinned as he eased into the bed with her. This was what he wanted the most, what he had longed for at night.
Sated, the Witch and old Angela went away a bit, pushed back by the new person emerging. This new woman belonged to herself, wasn’t so afraid to take chances
that she forgot to live, and Angela smiled, tight against Brady’s hard chest. She fell asleep listening to his heartbeat for the first time in fifteen years.
Marc didn’t sleep at all – just held her and remembered.
Listening from the next bedroom, Lenore was disappointed, but she would keep her word and let them go with no trouble, sure the minute they were out of sight,
she would forget about the handsome couple. There was trouble on the horizon for all of them. The giantess could feel it coming, and she didn't think she would see
them again…at least not alive.
Chapter Twenty
March 31st, 2013
He really hadn’t expected to see her again, not even the body.
Fury-darkened eyes watched the couple as they slept, ignoring the unpleasant feel of the tall ash tree between his legs and the darkness that only let him hear the
animals padding restlessly below. They sniffed and pissed, tried to find a way into the truck he had right up against the thick trunk, but the furious Marine paid them little
attention.
Kenn had found the sprawling ranch house just before dawn, hitting shapes in the fog that were either dogs or coyotes as they attacked his tires. He’d taken up a
high vantage point to watch the windows as a dim, foggy morning lit up the area, sure she was in there. His starlight scope had penetrated seven windows, and then he’d
found them.
Covers tangled, limbs entwined, they looked like a night of passion had worn them out. She wore only a sleeping shirt that barely covered her thighs, flashing white
panties, and the man, the wife-stealing, walking dead man, had on a pair of green boxers that the intruder recognized even from a distance. They were Marine issue…
Kenn’s grip tightened on the sniper rifle in his hand, nails digging shallow grooves into the stock as his eyes saw dog tag, familiar Recon tattoos, and that careful look
around upon waking that every Marine did.
Dread and cold rage formed a thick knot of hate deep in Kenn’s gut. The man was one of the few people he’d ever felt threatened by. Brady was with Angela.
Sergeant Marcus Brady was her show of force.
The Marine struggled with himself: the old Kenny wanting to aim and fire, the new Kenn not wanting to kill without justification, and he waited tensely to see just
how close his wife and his team leader really were.
End of book two – On The Road
Notes
Dear Reader,
It took a long time to get them here, but we’ve finally arrived, and with an ugly glimpse of the new world the refugees must now adapt to. Unable to stop them from
gathering, the Slavers and Mother Nature have no intentions of giving up. Neither does Kenn, whose true side is about to be revealed to Adrian and his Eagles. We can
only hope the time he’s spent with the blond leader has been enough to keep him in control.
I’d like say thank you to my editor and the betas, who spent a big part of their year helping me. Don’t know where I’d be without you. I also have an enormous
amount of gratitude for the folks over at the Zombie Squad. Doc, Kutter, Razor, Swoop, Lex, and all the rest. You took the time to drill it into my head and I’m in awe
of your patience. Honored to have met you, that’s me.
Thanks to the ZS, this edition had footnotes. I’m very curious as to how you liked/hated them. This series is a long one, at least nine books. I have folders and
notebooks that are overflowing with the next steps in this journey and I can’t wait to share them with you.
Btw, thank you for the time it took to read all this! If you liked the books, I’d love to hear from you. If you hated the books, I NEED to hear from you. Please leave
a review. I check for new ones daily.
Have a wonderful year,
Angela White
http://www.law-angelawhite.com
Extras
Safe Haven
Deleted Scene 1
Deleted Scene 2
Character Bios
Safe Haven
Safe Haven: A place of safety and of light, of duty and honor: A Refuge for survivors.
Also: A place of death and darkness, where magic and murder go hand in hand.
Angie and Marc have made it to Safe Haven and her Marine is already on the edge of murder over their romance. Will Adrian be able to stop the bloodshed, or will
everything he’s built start to fall?
Reunited
"He’s here. Kenny’s here!"
Footsteps crunched behind her, and Angela's hand dropped to her gun as she turned, eyes finding Brady in the barn’s moldy doorway.
Marc snapped his mouth shut on the warning that would have been too late, realizing he knew the Marine now striding determinedly down the middle of the street -
and not just from their time together on the base. The cold look of ownership he threw Marc’s way said this was her man. The piper was here and it was time to start
paying.
Kenn stopped a few feet away, watching with expectant eyes that wished she’d pull the gun so he could kill them both and claim self-defense to Adrian.
“Kenny?”
The Marine knew the joy spreading across her face wasn’t for him and it faded fast.
“You’re alone.”
Kenn ignored her disappointment as he glared. “I’ve come to get you.”
Her brow wrinkled, and he saw a flare of anger on her pale face that was unexpected. She should be scared.
“Little late for that now,” Angela pointed out, aware of the violence flashing in his eyes, but she stood her ground, able to feel him trying to control himself. Would he
end it all right here? Marc was silently telling her just to duck and he’d do the rest, and she didn’t look away from Kenn’s thunderous face, waiting to see who would
live and who would die.
Kenn hated her calm confidence and his sarcasm hid a note of unease when she didn’t blink, didn’t move her hand from the gun on her hip.
“So, you have no welcome for me?”
Angela hesitated. “Of course I do. We’ve been apart a long time.”
The breeze gusted, sending her hair flying wildly, and Kenn was glad to see her wary look as his eyes went there. She wasn’t allowed to have it down in public. It
was another transgression to be held accountable for. “Then come show me you’re glad to see me,” he ordered.
Angela stepped into his big arms with a heavy heart. Could she could tolerate, endure a little (six years!) longer, so no one else would get hurt? Could she just give
in?
Hand resting on his unsnapped holster, Marc watched from the lonely doorway, unable to believe he hadn’t been able to put her clues together and come up with
loud-mouth, sometimes-obnoxious, always-snotty, Lance Corporal Kenn Harrison.
Marc’s stomach was full of white, hot anger and he felt himself preparing for battle, even as the pain of seeing her in someone else's arms flooded his heart. Angie
had her man back, and he didn’t seem at all surprised to see them. Had he been spying? Their moment in the bedroom, right after they’d woken, came to mind, and
Marc’s gut tightened. What all had Kenn seen? Them in bed together, the kiss…too much.
It implied a lot more than there was, and as their eyes locked over Angie’s tense shoulder, the message was clear: She’s mine. Go way or I’ll kill you!
Dog’s thick fur began to bristle, golden eyes filling with dislike. When he gave a low growl, Marc put a hand on the big animal’s head. “Me too, boy. Me too.”
Angela regretted the hug the second Kenny crushed her close. She tried to pull away when his head lowered to hers, but he had a hand tangled tightly in her thick
curls, holding her still as his tongue invaded, conquered, revolted.
Kenn ground his mouth against hers, as that distinctive, addictive scent of vanilla filled his nose, wondering how much more Brady would allow before stepping in
and getting himself killed.
Ah! Not much at all, Kenn gloated to himself, half turning them to be in the right position as he shoved his tongue deeper. Her Tag-a-long was already moving from
his place in the doorway.
Angela picked up the thought and understood he was trying to provoke Marc, catch him off guard. She slammed her boot against Kenn’s ankle, leaning her weight
into it as she elbowed him in his flat stomach.
Not expecting her to fight, Kenn grunted, letting go. Angela stayed between the two men, only backing up a little as she tried to remember what she’d learned. He
would see right now that things had changed.
“What the hell was that for?” Kenn snarled at her, closing the distance between them.
Her eyes narrowed as the Witch said to provoke him now so they could either kill him or be killed, but be done with it. “You wouldn’t let go.”
Kenn’s voice was savage as he leaned toward her, itching to break her crooked nose again, “And I never will!”
His eyes went to the Marine now standing alertly near her bumper, big black-and-gray dog bristling at his side, then back to her. “You have one minute to tell me
what you’re doing with him! Who is Brady to you?”
Kenn grinned harshly at her surprise. “Yeah, I know him! Answer me!”
He was trying to intimidate her, but Angela surprised them all by shoving him with both hands, moving him out of her personal space as she'd learned. “Stop yelling
at me!” she blared, catching him off guard again.
She only lowered her voice a little, finger waving. “We can have a normal conversation or we can spill blood right here and now,” she warned coldly. “It’s your
choice.”
It was dangerous to push, but the old Angela, the one who’d battled him early in their relationship, was guiding them through this minefield. When his eyes flicked to
Brady again and then Dog, she relaxed a bit. Getting Kenny to think before he acted was the key to surviving the encounter.
Shocked at the words more than her actions, Kenn hated it that he might be outnumbered by the tense Marine edging closer, by the bristling animal at his side that
upon closer inspection, appeared to be a wolf, and also by Angela, who had obviously done a lot of changing (reverting) during her trip.
“Fine. We’ll talk,” he sneered sarcastically.
Angela cocked her head as the sun came through the clouds of grit above them as if to back her up. “We’ll start the entire conversation over.”
He grunted and Angela forced a cheery smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Hello, Kenn. Good to see you. How have you been?”
The Marine grinned coolly, instantly recognizing her tactics. He should. He’d used them daily on her. “Never better. Enjoy your trip?”
Kenn felt his rage go up another notch when she nodded, shuttered eyes finding her escort before returning to his angry face.
“Some of it, yes.”
Kenn’s eyes promised payment. “Hope it was worth it.”
Angela continued without hesitation, even though his beefy hands were now clenched into tight fists. “It was. Where’s my boy?”
Kenn said nothing, waiting, wanting to hear her beg. He wasn’t prepared for the hate that filled her face.
“I don’t need you to find him! How do you think I got here?” she ground out through clenched teeth.
Kenn was too pissed to be worried, though he had an idea he might be in a little danger. She’d done more than revert. She was using the power! She'd unlocked it!
He had always known she could and the old, thwarted bitterness settled into his stomach like it had never left. Was there a way he could get control of it now? His mind
flashed a picture of her son. Yes. There was.
“That may be, but you do need me to get near him. Charlie’s with my men. They won’t want to kill you, but they will.”
Angela didn’t back down, didn’t look away, and Kenn hated the new knowledge about life and death he read in her eyes. She thought she could handle him and
that was bad. How much practice had she gotten? What had she done, been through, to get here?
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Angela stated tonelessly.
Kenn stared at her in shock, unable to believe she would dare to get in his head so openly, so arrogantly. Didn’t she remember what he’d threatened to do if she
used it on him?
“Everything has changed, Kenn. You broke our deal when you abandoned me for that group of strangers you’ve been lying to!”
On the edge of control at her veiled threat to reveal his secrets, Kenn was surprised to discover that her disobedience, her betrayal, was worse. He hadn’t thought
her hold on him was that strong anymore. “You have six years left! You belong to me!” he hissed violently, moving closer.
Angela, struggling against the fear, fought back. “Not anymore. I want out!”
“No!”
“You don’t own me!”
“How long have you two been sleeping together?”
“We aren’t!”
“Lyin' bitch!”
“You go to Hell!”
Kenn’s hand flinched, and Angela felt herself being brushed aside.
Marc stepped between them, finally eye-to-eye with the man responsible for hurting his Angie over and over. “It’s been a while, Harrison.”
“Not long enough, Brady.”
Marc didn’t respond to the accusation in Kenn’s eyes as he waited for one of them (Angela) to get nervous and start talking, but they (she) remained silent and
Kenn frowned deeper.
“You’re...traveling together?” he asked finally.
Marc took the lead, big shoulders prepared to take whatever came. “Yes. We were both headed this way, and I couldn’t let her go it alone. She was hard to
convince, though,” Marc lied easily. This was indeed a thin line, and he wasn’t the only one walking it. She hadn’t been exaggerating even a little. The LC was deadly
with the M16 on his back.
“Well, thanks buddy, but I’ve got it from here. You can hit the redline.”
Marc’s grin widened into sharp white teeth as the wolf lingered at his hip, dark fur on his back and tail bushed-out aggressively. “Welcome, pal, but a funny thing
happened on the way here. I discovered I want to be with… other people, and I might just stick close for a while.”
Clearly taunting, Angela knew blood was about to flow and stayed out of it, waiting to see if Kenn would force his own death. Brady was eager and while she
wasn’t, doing it now, while Kenn was alone, was best if it had to happen.
Marc took a step forward, bringing them to within inches of each other as the wind gusted through the dead corn. “Real close.”
Kenn’s eyes narrowed and his hairy knuckles inched toward the 9mm on his hip. “She has a man, you fucking Jody! Back off!”
Marc snorted, furious blue eyes full of contempt. “If you want to call yourself that.”
“What the hell's that supposed to mean, boot?” Kenn sneered threateningly, lightly-bearded face full of hate.
Marc put them chest to chest without hesitation, “It means she’s not your punching bag anymore! You wanna hit someone, grungeshit, you hit me!”
Kenn didn’t hesitate either, and he swung hard. The hit rocked Marc's head back and then the two men were at each other, trading vicious blows.
“Like that?” Kenn taunted, following the upper cut with a powerful roundhouse.
Marc ducked the blow, landed a nasty knuckle to Kenn’s temple that made the Marine stagger. “Yeah! More!”
Kenn rushed him, head slamming into his gut, and Marc immediately drove his elbow into Kenn’s shoulder blade.
Kenn jerked, grunting as he was rocked off his balance, and they hit the dirt with a hard thud, swinging, wrestling, trying to get the advantage.
Angela waved a hand at Dog to stay back as Marc pushed Kenn off of him with his legs and rolled onto his feet.
Kenn rushed, and Marc ducked again, foot flashing out at the last minute to trip him up.
The blow the jealous man had been throwing glanced off Marc’s wounded arm and Brady kicked him in the ribs as he went down, wound stinging from ripped
stitches.
Kenn was on his feet in a blur, hand flying toward his hip, and both of Brady’s guns were out before the furious Marine could pull his own.
“Do it!” Marc goaded, fingers tightening…longing to squeeze. “Make it count. I will.”
Book Three: Safe Haven
Deleted Scene 1
12/21/2012
Granite Mountains Complex
Stunned, Press Secretary Pat Michaels sat in the back of the large, crowded room that was embedded under a dank maze of tunnels. Half a mile beneath a secret
military base, the compound was now being overrun with terrified citizens demanding the protection they knew the Essex could (but would not) provide.
The limestone command center was thick with smoke and people, some of them in on the original testing of these weapons. Pat hoped his own punishment would
not be as harsh as theirs. After all, they had known firsthand what a horrible thing had been created. It was so powerful, so unstoppable, that the America above them
was about to be destroyed and a new, hostile world would take its place.
The slyest of presidential defenders since Nixon’s well-used man - Pat Michaels, former Press Secretary - was useless, forgotten in the chaos, and not even sure he
should be here. His family had been in New Jersey... Someone had been with him when he got the news, had brought him along when they had evacuated from the Las
Vegas convention-hall, although he wasn’t sure who it had been. Amanda, the kids! How would he go on? How would anyone?
Panic was rampant. Voices barked orders, people scrambled to get information, papers floated through the humid air, and satellite phones rang continuously,
annoyingly. Thanks to an EMP and a lucky shot from a disgruntled citizen with a grenade launcher, the Vice President was dead. The Speaker of the House was now
the legal recipient of the highest seat in the land, but she wasn’t here and neither was the new Secretary of State. No one had discovered where they had been
evacuated to, or even if they were still alive. Those jobs were no longer in demand, and the result was chaos, fear in control. Maybe that would change later… if they
survived the missile headed for Montana.
Deep and sturdy, this complex had been built secretly during the 1990’s and was not only untested, it was less than one hundred miles from what was about to be a
direct hit. Pat shuddered. They would probably feel it.
Lurking near the back wall of air vents and panels, the Press Secretary broke out into a light sweat as one of the remaining clocks on the cold, sterile walls around
him neared, and then passed, the five minute mark.
Washington, New York, and most of the East Coast had already been destroyed. Of the seven warheads that the long-denied Star Wars program hadn’t been able
to shoot down, three were definitely going to find more U.S. targets and maybe two others that they had lost radar on as well. Their own warheads had decimated
countries around the globe. Now, America would pay the price.
The huge, multi-picture screen in the front of the crowded room changed when the next clock hit four minutes, flashing to a satellite view of the incoming missile
careening towards the Sunshine State, and Pat found he couldn’t look away.
Why, in God’s name, had the former President done this? And who had given the technology-challenged man the disk that would allow him such unforgiving
control? Surely this was a bad dream? If not, millions more were going to die in only:
03:45
03:44
03:43
The computer went to full alert, alarms all over the vast compound warning of the impending arrival. The Press Secretary’s stomach churned as the ceiling lights
began to flicker a hazy red.
America was in the same panicky state as this room, thanks to the convoys of soldiers taking all males, ages 10-60. Told to get a full truck of warm bodies any way
they had to and be back within eight hours, gunfire was filling town after town. They had reports of it in nearly every major city across the country, soldiers and civilian
wars over their sons and husbands and over remaining food and weapons. The end was close… and everyone felt it.
02:50
02:49
02:48
Would mankind survive? Had they really blown themselves up? How much of this new hell was he personally responsible for? Millions of lives were already gone…
so many cultures, and their history!
01:20
01:19
01:18
Pat cringed at a freshly braying siren from the front of the loud, crowded, tactical room. They'd destroyed the world. Was that the red stain on his hands that refused
to wash off?
00:40
00:39
00:38
When was my last orgasm? he wondered suddenly, too scared to recall what it had felt like or what the intern’s name had been. Greg? Gary?
00:25
00:24
00:23
When was my last confession? Pat struggled to remember, heart thumping wildly, stomach lurching. Did I mean it? Is it too late?
00:15
00:14
00:13
He closed his eyes and began the comforting, useless litany from his seat, still unable to make himself get on his knees even though the true hour of judgment had
come.
“Please forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”
00:02
00:01
00:00
“I did it for my country...”
Deleted Scene 2
“Everyone shooting must sign in. Only people that have passed the gun class can enter. Shooters will stay in front of the gate, everyone else behind. Sign in folks and
let’s get started.”
Jeremy was the MC tonight, Neil’s second Eagle, and as Adrian stepped by, he again caught a whiff of perfume he now recognized as Cynthia’s, but said nothing.
He wasn’t worried the Eagle would slip with anything he shouldn’t. Before the war, Jeremy had been a devout Catholic, quiet and observant. He knew the meaning of
secrecy and he’d found his place here, something the church had been unable to provide. The guard would be careful with it.
There was standing-room-only in the bleachers, and a large crowd lined the gate as the shooters signed in, and checked their weapons. Adrian was glad to see no
real fear, no desperation in the faces of his people. The watching crowd talked loudly, betting on their favorites as they sat in chairs in the sand or on thick blankets, and
the men shooting waited behind the gate, eager to start.
“Okay. We have 29 shooters tonight,” Jeremy announced.
Adrian stepped over to the clipboard on the bales of hay. “Make that 30.”
The crowd cheered loudly and the other shooters groaned.
“First, Kenn Harrison.”
The sun was gone now, the night dark and gritty, but the moon’s outline, while not clear, gave some light and made people feel better just to be able to look up and
finally find it in the sky. It was something they hadn’t seen much of for almost a hundred days. The area was still dim, but huge spotlights on top of the trucks lit up the
ball field and roller-bound targets.
The ones set at 25 and 50 feet were hardly a challenge to the men watching his XO get set, but the ones at 100 and 125 were, and all the contestants knew they
would likely be gone before round seven. He and Kenn had dueled it out last time, easily leaving everyone else behind. When they were shooting, no one else stood a
chance.
“As many direct hits as you can, any target. On your mark.”
The Marine grinned, holding the gun steady against the gusty wind, accounting for it, and then he was firing smoothly.
The crowd cheered when the call came and the guards on the perimeter stayed alert, knowing the noise would carry.
“Eight bulls eyes! Next, Adrian Mitchell.”
The leader checked his weapon, and then put it back into his holster, letting his hand hang loosely like an Old-West gunslinger.
The newer people, who hadn’t yet seen him shoot, watched nervously, sure he would miss and prove he was as fallible as the rest of those who had tried to lead.
Adrian’s hand was a blur as he drew and fired, fired, fired. He twirled the black 9 mm a single time and slid it neatly into the holster on his hip.
“Eight bulls-eyes!”
The crowd roared and Jeremy had to shout to be heard as Adrian grinned, stepped over to Kenn.
“Next, Kyle Reece.”
No one missed a shot until the end of the round. Mary and Heather, two females he’d sent to the class for match-making purposes, didn’t get any bulls-eyes, but
Adrian was pleased that they had hit anything at all. For the women here, that was definite progress.
The third woman, Lexa, was a gun shop owner from Los Angeles. Short, with a big chest and a long, brown ponytail, she hit half the targets, making Adrian wish he
could add her to his list for the next Level One Eagles. Her draw was beautiful, almost a perfect copy of his, and with a little instruction, it would become as natural to
her as breathing.
Adrian wondered if he would ever get his Eagles to accept women on the teams. He needed one of these shell-shocked females to be a warrior in disguise that
could hold her own among his army and make the rest of the camp accept it too. For now though, it looked like Lexa was eliminated.
“Last shooter. Rebecca Ann Kelly.”
The cute teenager moved toward the line and Adrian frowned as the crowd cheered and catcalled. Had she made it through the gun class somehow without him
knowing it? There was always a wait because he hand-filled over half the seats.
Adrian was almost certain she hadn’t, but instead of immediately calling her on it, the leader let her have one try, thinking again of how much he needed one of these
timid homemakers to really be Xena, the warrior Princess.
Becky was innocent, sexy, playful, and many of his men were watching the slender girl, waiting for her sixteenth birthday in October, when it would be legal to ask
her out. That included Kenn, but Adrian thought she had a thing for one of his other top guards. Either way, the girl would be something here. What, was up to her.
Rebecca’s reddish blond hair was wild with frizzy curls and she brushed it back impatiently as she took her place, knowing she would only have this one chance to
get noticed, to show these men she was useful too. She’d almost swallowed her tongue when Adrian signed in, sure he’d see her name and single her out…
“Anytime you’re ready, shooter,” Jeremy encouraged, eager to get the next round started, and the nervous girl nodded. She was ready now and she wanted them to
know, needed Adrian to know.
Feeling the magic, the confidence of holding a gun she knew she could use, Becky pulled the trigger gently, lovingly. The light recoil was well controlled and she was
smiling as she aimed and pulled, lined it up and pulled again.
The bullets dug into the targets, and she turned her eyes to the frowning blond man moving her way, while the crowd waited for the call.
“Eight Hits, 5 bulls-eyes!”
They were as loud for her as they had been for Kenn, and she was grinning in satisfaction as the leader stopped next to her, eyes impressed and displeased at the
same time.
“That’s some impressive shooting, Miss Kelly.”
She grinned, face lighting up at his words, and then she dropped her head, remorseful. She hadn’t broken his rules lightly. Now she would pay the price.
“I’m sorry.” She moved toward Jeremy without waiting to be told. “I have to withdraw.”
The Level Two Eagle frowned as the crowd muttered, and those who knew she hadn’t taken the class waited to see if Adrian would let her ruin her own chances
here by owning up to it. If she admitted she cheated, it would be a label she’d carry forever.
“Why?”
“Because I…”
“She forgot she has a shift with the Vet. Right now, we’ll move onto the next round since we’re losing a shooter.”
Adrian’s calm words weren’t doubted and his men were pleased. If Becky had ruined herself tonight, they couldn’t show any interest in her, not without losing their
place by Adrian, and that was now something most of these men would never jeopardize.
“Rebecca is eliminated. Kenn will start round two.”
Becky smiled gratefully at Adrian as she left, very thankful he’d chosen to stop her admission. His men weren’t the only ones who were aware of all she’d risked to
be noticed.
“Three shots this time and only those beyond 25 feet count. Bottom two will be eliminated.” Jeremy looked at Kenn. “You ready?”
The Marine opened fire in answer.
Character Bios
Adrian Mitchell is a lifelong Marine with a huge secret, one that might have prevented the War. Full of guilt he can never be free of, Adrian is driven, obsessed
with gathering enough survivors to restart his broken country.
Samantha Moore is a Storm Tracker. Born with a predictive gift that allows her to mentally track the weather, Sam led a sheltered life before the bombs fell, and
her road to Adrian's camp is full of pain and horror as she struggles to adjust.
Angela White is many things: doctor, battered wife, mother, and Witch. She long ago locked up her powers to keep her man from using them for his own gain, but
the War freed the Demon inside, and now it is her best defense as she tries to cross the broken country in search of her missing son.
Lt. Kenn Harrison is a Marine adrift when he joins Adrian's camp. An angry man with secrets, months of trials at Adrian's patriotic side have begun to change
him, but what will happen to all the progress he's made when Angela finally comes for her son?
Sergeant Marc Brady has been in love with Angela since they were kids. Split up as teenagers, he had no idea they’ created a baby. He can't wait to get to know
his son, but it's the thought of being with Angie again, that sends him running to answer her call for help.
Kendle Roberts is a famous TV star, but the survival goddess wasn't prepared for the wave that rolled her cruise ship and left her adrift on the restless ocean with
no land in sight. For two months.
John Harmon has been a doctor for over 40 years. Sure he has terminal Cancer, his wife pretends not to know, and they set off to find safety so one of them can
die, and one of them can live.
All Angela White Titles
Life After War series
The Survivors
On The Road
Safe Haven
Adrian’s Eagles
Bachelor Battles Trilogy
To The Death
The Changeling
Flash Fiction
Twisted Shorts
Alexa’s Travels
A Prelude
Bone Dust & Beginnings
Upcoming Releases
The Network
The Killin’ Fields of Nebraska
Liberation
Summary of Book One, The Survivors
Samantha
After being taken from her Seattle office at gunpoint during the apocalypse, Samantha's chopper crashes and she is taken
hostage by the Cruz brothers. Abused and hurting, to get her life back, she has to take theirs and learns a harsh lesson in
survival.
Kenn/Cadet
Kenn and the cadet were missed in the evacuations and instead of heading home for the boy's pregnant mom, the Marine
heads them for NORAD, sure the timid little woman he'd controlled for so long, couldn't have survived the end of the world.
These two are picked up by Safe Haven Mobile Refugee Camp and the Marine quickly begins building himself a place among
these strong survivors.
Angela/Brady
Angie lost her baby in the war and that pain forced her to face the awful truth. Without using her gifts, those forbidden powers
that have kept her chained to Kenn for more than ten years, she will never see her teenage son again. Forced to wait for her
body to heal before she can start her quest, Angie calls out to her son's real father, Brady. They are reunited in the post
apocalyptic remains of Indiana and it's clear that the sparks are still there.
Adrian
Has a secret that no one knows and he struggles to keep it hidden even as he risks everything to gather his flock. He is a
Leader, a Patriot, and there's nothing he won't do in his quest to keep some of his Country alive. Even kill.
Cesar/Rick
Rick is a traitor. He belongs to the leader of a group of Mexican Guerilla's that are intent on destroying what's left of the post
apocalyptic United States. Cesar leads these ruthless killers, sending Rick into camps of refugees as his spy, before murdering
the men and taking the women hostage. Cesar hates America and heads up Interstate 25 like an end of the world plague. He
thinks he is unstoppable but already, there's a nagging worry that the forces of fate have something planned. For now, though,
his reign of terror goes unopposed.
Mother Nature
Angry at the callous indifference of humans, Mother Nature has called her creatures together for the apocalypse. Animal
attacks and ambushes become common place and add yet another adventure these brave souls must face in their quest for
survival.