On the Road: Book Two

by Angela White

  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 inter
est 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.