“A handsome man lies beneath all that hair, scars, and muscle,” she said. He blinked rapidly. I’ve caught him off guard. He was a different version of Pagan. Tenser. He instinctively ran a hand along the length of his healing head wound. She shifted her weight to her back leg like a cat waiting to pounce.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded.
His jaw clenched. Fury lay beneath his almost flat features waiting to emerge. It was as if it took all of his energy to control his own emotions. “Where is she?” he breathed. “Tell me.”
“You know, you aren’t very polite. The least you could do is say thank you for the compliment.” She gave him a heavy sigh.
He was silent.
Her eyes judged him. “I’m a forward woman, but you don’t have to be such a sourpuss,” she said.
The mustache of his beard twitched. “I’m Mark.” He expected to be heard when he spoke.
“That it? Usually you army guys love to talk about your rank, unit, and cock size. So what are you? Like a general or something?” she said.
She glanced back at Pagan over her shoulder. The lightly bearded Marine looked up and over his gun watching, ready to fire his weapon at any moment. She could barely make out his finger tapping the trigger guard of his gun. He only did that when he was nervous. If I hit the deck, he’ll light them up. He’s a good shot. Then it would be whether or not Mark could get rounds into her before he was destroyed by hot lead.
“I have no rank.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What’s with the uniforms? Former military?”
“We’re not former military either; they were a gift. I used to work for the federal government.”
She laughed and grinned at him. “I knew it. You douches are all the same. Always have to be something sexier than the last guy, thinking you are going to pick up chicks. It’s like you all read the same friggin’ book.”
“I’m not here to get laid.” He looked over her shoulder at the bikers lining the entrance. More Red Stripes were gathering.
Still sizing us up for a fight. Back to me, tough guy. “Sure you aren’t, Mark. Every man wants to get laid.” She narrowed her eyes a bit. “I’m down here.”
His eyes regarded her with indifference. “Are you in charge of this place?” he said, gesturing with his head.
She looked down at her small chest. “What you afraid of? A woman ruling the roost?”
His lips tightened.
“No. I’m here to find,” he paused for a second, but the look in his eyes said it all. “I’m searching for a woman. The tracks led us in this direction.”
“Can you be more specific? A lot of people come and go from here,” she said.
“Mid-fifties, blonde hair, petite. Her name is Dr. Mary Steele.”
“Lost your mom, huh?” she said. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Pain crossed his features and then anger.
“Are you mocking me?” His face filled with disgust.
“A man of your stature? Nah. Wouldn’t even think it.”
His jaw tightened beneath his beard, the tendons on the sides of his face hardening. “Have you seen a lady that matches that description?”
“Thunder, you seen a Dr. Mary Steele?” Tess called back.
Thunder shook his head. Skinny Joker laughed next to him. “Sure did. Kept me warm last night.”
Mark squinted his eyes. “What did he say?” he growled.
Tess put a hand out toward Mark. He dodged her, bringing his gun up slightly. “No. Don’t worry about him. He’s just an asshole,” she said.
“Real nice,” Joker taunted, thrusting his hips out and rolling them in a circle.
Thunder shoved him. “Shut up, you idiot.”
In a split second, the barrel of Mark’s firearm was an inch from her face.
Tess licked her lips and looked into the black hole of his gun barrel. The bullet wouldn’t have to go far to evaporate the back of her skull.
Mark stared at Thunder over her. “Give her back and nobody has to get hurt,” he called to them.
Tess blinked, trying not to piss herself. Cool as a cucumber. “Joker’s a big prick. Got a little one, but he’s fucking with you. Cruel, yes. But that’s the boy of a man he is. You can come inside and look around. If she’s not here, I’ll help you find her.”
Mark’s eyes jumped from vehicle to vehicle of their protective ring.
Slowly, Tess let her hand rise up and rest on the barrel of his gun. “I would prefer if you stuck that thing somewhere else.” Her lips curled into a smirk. She met his angry blue eyes.
He let his gun be lowered inch by inch, and the two parties visibly exhaled. He pointed his carbine downward and shook his head. He ran a hand through the hair on his head that hadn’t been carved off. He sighed, letting his hand fall to his thigh.
“Long day?”
He nodded. “When’s it not?” He gestured down the coastline. “About eight miles south of here. Her house was burnt down. There were a lot of tire tracks. Some led this way.”
Tess gulped, trying to hide her discomfort.
Steele’s eyes pierced her face looking for deceit.
“What is it? What do you know?” he said.
“Not much. This isn’t the first time this has happened. We can talk about it inside.”
His look was serious but relieved. “Can we keep our weapons?”
“Of course. You’re free here.”
She stepped closer to him and leaned in close to his face. She didn’t know if she made him nervous or if he didn’t like people being that close. “But don’t shoot anybody. Okay?” she whispered. She patted him on his shoulder and it felt like she patted a pet rock.
Mark exhaled. “Thank you.” He relaxed, but his eyes mistrusted the circle of vehicles. He looked as if he expected an ambush at any moment.
He waved his group forward. “Come on.”
His crew walked up. Tess gave the blonde an eye. The woman returned her glare, and Tess turned away and walked back to Little Sable Point. The Red Stripes let them pass unhindered, their patched vests and guns making them an intimidating sight.
“I don’t like him,” Pagan said, falling in at her side.
“Of course you don’t, babe. He’s like you, rough and ready for a roll in the hay,” she said. She bumped her shoulder into his playfully.
“Military?” Pagan said. He gave the newcomers a look out of the corner of his eye.
“No, some sort of Fed.” She wrapped an arm around Pagan’s waist, sticking a hand through his belt loop. She gave a look behind her at the others. Mark and his crew followed behind her like a pack of feral dogs being tempted by the whiff of a free meal. She could feel Mark’s eyes on her.
“There’s food over there. If you want extra, you can trade something for it.” She waved her free hand at a semi-trailer stuffed with boxes, its doors open. “Bessie, give them a day’s worth of my winnings.”
“You got it, Tess,” Bessie shouted. She hacked a cough into her hand.
“Everyone is on their own for lodging. I’m sure if you ask around, someone will take you in for the night.”
“We have tents,” Steele said.
Her eyebrows lifted. “Suit yourself. Soon it will be too cold for that. In the meantime, come over to my camper and talk with us.”
They followed her to her camper. Pagan opened the screen door. “After you,” he said, his head leaned back and his chest out.
Everyone piled inside. With more than two people, the camper seemed like a crawl space. Thunder and his sergeant at arms or enforcer, Garrett, stood sideways their girth filling in the narrow space. Mark’s crew stood crammed together on one side; the Arab man stood halfway in the doorway.
Tess hopped onto her fold-out bed and scooted back into the corner. “You wouldn’t mind sending some of your crew outside, would you?” she said to Mark.
Mark nodded, his beard smashing on his chest. “Can you guys leave while we talk? Kevin and Ahme
d can grab some water and food.” Quieter he said, “Gwen, can you check out about trading for more food?”
A tall lanky man stepped outside following the stocky Arab man. Gwen stood her ground.
“I’m not going,” she said, voice level. Mark gave her an evil stare and met her eyes.
She’s his woman, and she’s as stubborn as a mule. Don’t make it too easy on yourself, do you, bearded man? A glutton for punishment.
“I think we’re good. She can stay,” Tess said, feeling behind her. Patting under a pillow, she pulled out her weed stash and rolled a joint, licking the paper so it would stick. Thunder plopped down on a built-in table bench, shaking the camper then placing a hand on his knee like a gorilla.
“Want a hit?” Tess asked the two newcomers.
“No,” they said in unison.
Tess laughed. “Straight-laced even now? You two must be a real joy to be around,” she said, with a smirk at Pagan. “Probably strict missionary too.” She laughed. The emerald-green-eyed blonde stared at her coldly.
Steele brushed it off, his emotions hidden beneath his stonelike unamused surface. He’s a man that’s to the point. No frills. Just action.
Tess sparked up her joint and took a long drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs. She closed her eyes and let the joys of the apocalypse dim a bit. His voice brought her back.
“What can you tell us about the fires?”
Tess opened her eyes and passed the joint to Thunder, who took it in his fingers, sucking in the smoke. Pagan stood in the kitchen, his arms folded over his chest, M27 resting near his leg.
“Before we get all cozy, who are you?” Pagan demanded. Dislike shone on his face.
Tess rolled her eyes. Jesus.
“I’m Mark Steele. I was a counterterrorism agent with the Division before the outbreak.”
Recognition passed over Pagan’s face. “I’ve heard of you guys. Pretty tight outfit.”
“We get the job done. You?” Steele said.
“Force Recon,” Pagan said.
“Tough bastards. High-speed shit,” Steele said.
“They’re all right.” Pagan looked up at Steele’s head. “How’d you get that scar on your dome?”
“Some asshole shot me in West Virginia.”
Pagan smiled and lifted up his shirt. A golf ball-sized discolored scar stuck out on his abdomen. “Snuck through the vest in Fallujah.”
Tess let the smoke come out her nose to mask her slight irritation. These two and their posturing are boring me.
“Okay, guys, you done jerking each other off? If I wanted to watch bro-bachelor in apoco-paradise, I would have stayed in the real world.”
Steele ran his hand over his head scar again, and Pagan let his shirt fall down.
“All right. Tell me what’s going on here,” Steele said. He rested a hand on the tomahawk in his belt.
Tess tapped the end of the joint in an ashtray. “Since we’ve been here, we’ve only run into one other large group. They’re a bit religious. Call themselves the Chosen.” She stopped and looked at Steele for acknowledgment that he understood. He kept his face flat.
“We’re talking medieval Christians.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Very uncompromising to say the least.”
“What’s the matter with the Christians?”
Maybe he would be better off finding them on his own.
“Nothing is wrong with being Christian. If that’s where they find salvation, then so be it. I’m surprised they still believe in anything at this point. But these guys,” she said. She shook her head and took a drag off her joint. “These guys have taken worship to a whole new level. We’re talking about waging a holy crusade against the living and the dead. Like they think they’re some sort of army of God or something. I dunno.”
“I’m not objecting to waging a holy war against the dead,” Steele said, his brow furrowed as if he dared her to say otherwise. “The infected have caused enough grief, and giving some of that back would be nice.”
Thunder coughed, his beard almost seamless with his gray chest hair. “Nobody minds bashing in a few skulls more than me, Steele. The fewer of the bastards the better, but these folk are none too friendly to outsiders.”
Pagan rubbed his short beard. “A couple that came in the other day said the crazies burnt down their house. They hid in the forest for hours before they could escape,” he said.
Mark’s eyes widened.
“Young couple,” Tess said, shooting him down.
“When me and the Red Stripes first rode up this way weeks ago, we drove past several burned-out buildings along the coast. And it ain’t just a few of ’em. We seen dozens,” Thunder said.
Mark took a deep breath. “My mother’s home was torched.”
“Then it don’t look good,” Thunder said. His hands rested on his knees and his gut hung down the middle as if he could breathe better that way.
When there was only a tiny prick left, Tess mashed the joint out in her ashtray.
“Mark, you should spend the night,” Tess said. Gwen’s eyes flamed. A jealous one, huh? “You and your group can rest here, take a load off. Maybe Thunder here would be willing to loan you one of his bikes then you, Pagan, and maybe a few of the Red Stripes can scout around a bit, see what you can discover regarding your mother.”
“I wouldn’t just loan you a bike,” Thunder boomed. He twisted his head to the side. “But Lenny’s gone now. Bugger got butchered taking a shit in the woods. I told him not to go that far.” Thunder shook his head in disgust. “You can borrow his old chopper, but don’t get any ideas about keeping it.”
Steele sat, contemplating the overture.
It’s a good offer, knucklehead, Tess thought, smiling at Steele and then Gwen. I’m giving him what you can’t, her eyes said to Gwen. Tess met Steele’s eyes with ease, feeling coy and mellowed out.
“I appreciate your help.” He gave a curt nod of thanks.
Of course you do. Her lips curved. “You’re smarter than you look.”
STEELE
Little Sable Point, MI
Late morning came on slow and dragging like an infected’s leg. The sun hid behind a sheet of cloud cover, and waves splashed onto the shore as if they were reluctant to touch the land.
Steele had been up with the roosters and had been waiting for the arrival of his reconnaissance escorts. Across the vehicle enclosure, he watched the arrival of Pagan and Thunder. They both looked over in his direction. Steele stood.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Gwen said. She sat cross-legged on a blanket in the sand, her M4 resting upright against an RV, almost as if she were at the beach in the summer. Ahmed leaned on the RV nearby, muscular arms crossing his chest. A bat leaned up next to him like a tired lover.
“Probably the best way to kill me,” Steele responded, watching the men.
He lifted his carbine sling up and over his shoulders, letting the gun hang low on his back. With a twist of his hips and a reach rearward, he could have the gun back up and ready to fire. He wouldn’t carry a pack today; it was too heavy for a recon mission on a motorcycle. Some extra mags shoved in his pockets made his pants hang low on his waist. His sidearm on one side and his tomahawk on the other were all he needed.
“You sure you don’t want me to go with? We could ride together. I’ll watch your back,” Ahmed said, hefting his bat and holding it nonchalantly.
Steele glanced at the man. “Not today, buddy. If we were looking for a fight, I’d bring you with. And I don’t want to give the Red Stripes the wrong idea.”
Ahmed nodded with a grin. “Since when do you care what other people think?”
“Since I decided to roll out with a motorcycle club I know nothing about.”
Steele eyed the bat. Ahmed’s last one had been lost in the hills of West Virginia. “Where’d you get that?”
“This?” Ahmed held it up. “Traded one of the kids for it.”
“Traded them what?”
Ahm
ed lifted his eyebrows. “What every kid wants. Candy.” Ahmed gestured ahead and Steele turned.
Pagan made his way toward them walking across the shared grounds. He held an M27 IAR casually draped downward in front of his jeans and a dirty checkered long sleeve. He stopped and stood tall in front of Steele. “You ready?”
“Yes, sir.” Leaning down, Steele kissed Gwen’s cheek. Her cheek was a cool bottle of milk beneath his lips.
Her demeanor bothered him. Is this all we have to look forward to? Short goodbyes? Is this all we have until I fall on some soon forgotten battlefield? Her indifference made it a little easier to focus on his mission. Do I fight only to fight? Or am I actually serving a greater purpose?
“Come back,” she commanded, green eyes pained. Her arms enclosed her stomach as if she protected it. She must feel the same way. She has to feel it. Despair. Fear. But not of death. Of the unknown. He nodded to her and Ahmed. Ahmed understood. He would watch out for her. Just like Mauser had done? Steele swallowed his worry.
Steele joined Pagan and they walked through beach sand past the rusty-brick colored lighthouse. A thin black gun barrel stuck out of the top like a metal toothpick high in the air.
“Everyone volunteers to take a shift up in the lighthouse,” Pagan said.
“Everyone?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because I know everyone here isn’t a marksman. Probably more likely to fall off the lighthouse than hit anything or anyone.”
“We have some hunters who are pretty good shots. They don’t have the same formal training as a sniper, but you should see some of the shots these guys take. A lot of them grew up with bolt-action hunting rifles in their hands.”
“Yeah, my dad used to hunt up here,” Steele said.
Pagan nodded and patted Steele’s shoulder. “We’ll find them.”
Not him. Maybe my mother.
They approached a gang of motorcycles near the entrance to the community. Two pickup trucks parked grille to grille sealed them off from the rest of the world. Despite the lack of adequate cleaning supplies, the gang’s choppers reflected what little pieces of the sun had managed to penetrate the earth’s atmosphere. Silver exhaust pipes shined, gas tanks and fenders were polished bright, and the engines were immaculate.
The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 8
