by Angela White
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 rea
ction 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.”
