by Angela White
6
An hour after dawn barely lit the sky, the rain and fog had both lightened, and the wagon sat on Routt Ridge. The older couple waited silently, but their hope was gone, the billowing smoke undeniable. Their safety was in flames.
Surveying the surrounding area, John watched ants taking the poison bait balls he’d thrown out of the window when they’d first stopped. The ants here were bigger, but their hill was enormous–two feet high and as wide–with a snakeskin and the bones of lizards scattered around it. The order of nature had been reversed, and even here, the smells of smoke, rot, and mildew lingered under the fresh scent of clean air and pine trees.
“Check again. Maybe we’ll hear survivors.”
Anne did it slowly, but they heard nothing until the last station. John put a gentle hand on his wife’s wrist to keep her from changing the channel. “Wait.”
A second later, the radio lit up with heavy static and a man’s determined words.
“Safe Haven… Red Cross... Welcome all survivors follow…clear means closer...”
They lost it, the radio going to full static, and John looked over Routt Ridge, not needing to witness the horrors in the bunker to know they were there.
“Whatever you think, Johnnie.”
Anne’s voice was shaky, but there was confidence on her aged face–confidence in him.
He hesitated, considered. They could at least check them out from a distance. With NORAD gone, there was nowhere else John could think of. If that complex had fallen, and those pillars of black smoke said that it had, then no place was safe.
John headed them west, sure they couldn’t have heard the transmission if the new people were south. The mountains wouldn’t allow the waves to carry that well on his cheap radio. He would narrow it down by the clarity of the calls, and they would determine if this so-called Safe Haven was aptly named.
John believed leaving their home was the right thing to do. They had started seeing rats the day before, and his last memory of the home they’d shared for so long was of hanging the “Warning! Rodents!” sign on the front door.
They would probably be sick by now if they’d stayed. He had waited as long as he could. John knew the group they ended up with probably wouldn’t be what he was hoping for, but if his beloved wife would be safe and have a guaranteed place after he was gone, he would offer his services in exchange.
If that didn’t work, he would beg.
Chapter Thirteen
Guns and Magic
February 14th, 2013
Indiana
1
Using simple hand signals, the Kelly brothers slowly snuck toward the dim campfire and the woman covered in a quilt who was sleeping behind it. The area around them was heavily wooded. The Morgan Monroe State Forest was remote even before the war, and there was no glare of moonlight off bald scalps to give them away as they stalked the female.
The brothers had come far east of their main group to take revenge on the man who’d put them in prison. After those two bloody days, the brothers had resumed their travels, ferreting out survivors. They’d found girls and their mothers huddled in basements after the draft had taken their men, but the waves of energy this lone woman was sending out had called to them.
They had followed from a distance to make sure she was alone, and when the woman had stopped to change the tire–her third in four days–they’d made their plans, knowing she would have to rest again afterward. Now she was asleep and they would wait no longer.
Dean and Dillan had been dishonorably discharged from the Army for the murder of a Korean civilian, and they expected no trouble from one woman. They were spies, assassins who excelled at front line infiltrations, and there was only the sound of the cold, Indiana wind howling through the trees as they slipped from rough trunk to yellow grass. Their movements were so alike, they appeared to be only one six-foot, two hundred twenty-pound threat, instead of two.
Exhausted, Angela was dreaming of murder, rape, and sadistic torture. The men in her nightmare were giving no mercy as their knives continued to flash across the girl’s naked body.
“They’ll throw us out for this,” one of the men worried, sinking his blade deep into a soft, dead breast.
His twin nodded, marking a bruised thigh with an ugly symbol. “We’re not going back. Come on. Her daughter’s up.”
Angela snapped awake as the alarms in her head blared, told her she had let danger get too close to run from. She jerked her gun from its holster and shakily searched the darkness beyond the dim firelight. The groves of trees that she had eased her Blazer into were the only things in sight. There were no sounds, not even a cricket–just the wind and the popping of her small, unevenly rocked fire.
His cover was good. She found the intruder only by his fast, lustful thoughts, layers of slime overlapping. Angela pointed her gun in his direction, not sure if she could shoot a person, though the witch was telling her to defend herself first and ask questions later.
Use the fire!
The demon ordered it, but Angela couldn’t. The intruder hadn’t done anything wrong, though she knew his lean, sinewy body was ready to react. She could feel it.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” she warned, hating her shaky tone. The flag-draped blanket fell unnoticed to the damp dirt as she stood.
“I’m hungry. Got any food?”
Obviously a lie, the words fell awkwardly, tone devoid of feeling. It gave her a chill of terror when he took a small step closer.
She raised the weapon, flipping off the safety. “Don’t! I will shoot you!”
Energy, fear, and adrenaline raced through Angela, and she called for a defense other than her gun. She wasn’t good enough with it.
A door appeared in her mind, one that carried a feeling of death. She put a hand on the knob and still hesitated, not wanting to take a life.
“What’s your name? Pretty bitch?”
His simple, awful words made her understand that the smoke and mirrors she had used on Warren wouldn’t deter this seasoned hunter. She opened the mental door, not looking at what had been chosen as she prepared to do battle for her life. Nothing would keep her from her son!
The witch whispered again, revealing secrets, and her eyes widened in fear. “Where’s your brother?”
The witch took great pleasure in the surprise that spread across his hairless face, and Angela darted a quick glance at her Blazer while he was distracted. It was too far away, and that sucked because it was a presidential model.
“How do you know that?” the man demanded menacingly, moving forward through the cool, moonless darkness.
Dean. His name is Dean. Angela felt a great wave of heat, of force, jump from her chest to form a thin shield between them.
The shield was visible only for a second, but Dean noticed and stopped.
“Be gone, killer. You have no welcome here!” Angela forked her hands at him.
The burned-out fire flared to life, and the crackling flames reached for the surprised man. The mercenary took an unconscious step backward, revealing the second brother and the barrel of his gun.
“Drop it, bitch!” The second man–Dillan– wasn’t sure why his brother had hesitated. It had never happened before, and he couldn’t think of anything that would cause it now. Dillan believed they feared nothing. “You shoot, you die slow.”
The witch waited no longer, surging forward, and Angela stepped through the thick mental door, white energy oozing around her.
You accept without question? a voice thundered in her head.
I do.
Arcing as it rushed out, power flew from her chest, violent in its passage. It slammed against the brothers as it traveled, knocking them to the ground.
Angela’s breathing was harsh as silence fell, the thin shield vanishing as the fire sank down to a dim glow.
“Whhhoooo!”
The wolf’s call was close, as if it was responding to her cry for help.
Dean gaped at his twin with worry.
“What is she?”
Dillan frowned at his brother’s spooked tone. He hadn’t seen the shield or the fire, and had already passed off being knocked down to the gusting wind.
“Ours, and we’ll have her here and now! You go first.” Dillan spat, reminding his brother of who they were.
Both men missed the shadows moving closer as they shared an evil leer and then suddenly spun, rushing at her.
Angela threw herself toward the Blazer, firing wildly.
The twins dropped low and kept moving. Then, the dry click of her gun echoed, and they stood up, openly closing in for the kill.
“Fire! Ice!”
The flames blazed between them again, but died just as fast. Her energy was spent, and the brothers leapt at the same time, ignoring the bits of hail falling on them.
Crack! Crack!
Only Dillan made it across the short flames as bullets flew through the air. An unseen predator padded into the circle of light as Dean hit the tall grass beyond the fire, clutching his leg.
Dillan grabbed for Angela’s arm, no doubt meaning to use her as a shield against whoever was shooting at them, but powerful jaws sank into his wrist.
Angela saw pain flash across Dillan’s face as he let go of her, the bullets forgotten as blood sprayed violently.
“Aaaahh… Dean!”
The timber wolf shook its head and Dillan punched the creature with hard, serious blows that had no effect.
Angela winced, retreating further as bones crunched between the wolf’s teeth.
“Kill it! Dean!”
Dean stayed quiet, hands searching for the gun he’d lost when the unexpected slug had slammed into his leg, but his gaze was fixed on the shadows. He was hunting for the walking dead man who had done this.
“Dean! Shoot it!”
The wolf jerked the hurt man to his knees, blood covering his muzzle.
When the beast let go, baring sharp, red teeth, Dillan scrambled to get away.
“He’ll go for your throat if you move again,” Angela forwarded a thought from the beautiful predator’s mind, and the twin stilled, holding his mauled arm.
Angela quickly retrieved the gun she had dropped, and the injured man glowered at her with a hatred that gave her another deep chill of fear. Her death was in those remorseless eyes, and it was ugly.
“This isn’t over!” Dillan snarled, almost crying tears of rage.
Angela paled, but before she could respond, a voice rang out in commanding fury.
“Yes, it is! You’re both dead!”
Marc stepped from behind her muddy Blazer, Colt aimed where the other man had fallen out of sight. He advanced purposely in that direction; content the wolf had things under control. There was no hesitating, no doubt about what had to be done.
“Marc.” Feeling their deaths in his mind, Angela stopped him, despite the witch warning her not to interfere with the defense she had chosen. “I’m not hurt. Let’s go.”
Marc didn’t turn. “It’s a bad idea.”
“I know,” she agreed, heart thumping at the sound of his voice.
Marc gave in reluctantly, slowly fading into the shadowy darkness by her vehicle to provide cover without being such a clear target. “Go on, then. I’ll catch up.”
Angela moved fast, grabbing her things, and was glad when the wolf stayed between her and the furious man on the ground. The doctor inside wanted to help, wanted to try to make peace–but his hatred! She knew even if she could change the way the brothers saw her, they would always loathe her for this surprise defeat. She would only be healing them so that they could continue to hunt her.
They will anyway, the voice behind the now shut door warned. Better to let your new man kill them.
No killing, Angela denied. And Marc isn’t my man.
“We’ll come for you, bitch!” Dillan was slowly sitting, clothes tacky with blood.
The menacing wolf snarled, telling Angela to stay away. If she stepped too close, if Dillan got even a hand on her, the man would snap her neck with his good arm. She caught that image too, and was careful not to get within his reach.
“You’ll look over your shoulder forever, witch!” Dean shouted from the tall grass, still searching for his gun. “You’ll bleed rivers while we have you!”
Evil laughter floated on the wind, giving Angela another chill despite Marc’s presence.
When she raised a brow, Marc sighed heavily, cold gaze returning to the snake in the high grass. “You already know what I think.”
Angela studied her conscience for a brief second, but she had lived by the old rules for a long time. “Let’s just go.”
Dillan was in agony, mangled wrist excruciating. He was horrified to find himself relieved by her decision.
For the first time since they were teenagers, the twins had underestimated their prey, might even need help. It was humbling for men who had engaged entire military units alone, but especially for Dillan, who was the more aggressive. This humiliating defeat would never be forgotten.
She opened the door, but was hesitant to leave Marc alone with the two killers.
“Now. Take Dog, if he’ll go.”
Marc’s words held a tone of command that she recognized and responded to, even as she frowned. Angela motioned to the wolf and was a bit surprised by how clear the mental answer was from the beautiful animal.
“Man is your guardian. I am his.”
The wolf pushed against her leg, able to sense his master’s impatience.
Angela climbed into the Blazer, closing the door. The powerful engine fired up and she slid the window down to stare at the mad man on the ground. “That should be a fatal injury now. Will you die?”
“Who are you?!” Dillan demanded with hatred.
The witch smiled, hunger glinting. “You’ve called enough of my names. Stay clear of me and mine.”
The Blazer was out of sight a few seconds later.
When both man and beast started to retreat, Dean and Dillan began to hurl insults, hoping to trap Marc, and use him to draw Angela back.
“Look at the railbird run!”
“Coward! Can’t you finish the job?” Dean yelled, gun now in hand.
Dillan was furious. He didn’t care that he was an easy target if Marc chose to fight. “Hell won’t be far enough for you to run!” he shouted, standing awkwardly as his brother came to his side.
“We will have her.” Dean confirmed ruthlessly. “You can’t protect her forever!”
Marc stayed silent, aware of their tactics (hadn’t Warren thought to do the same thing?) but also sure they meant every word they screamed. Unlike the bitter man from her hallway, these two could back it up.
Out of sight now, Marc wound through tall oaks and high bushes, leaving muddy prints in the grass. The wolf kept pace, and the big animal was inside the second he opened the door of his own vehicle. Dog headed for his place in the rear.
Marc slid in and started the engine, and the radio immediately lit up, making them both flinch from the unfamiliar sound.
“You there, Brady?”
He shifted and hit the gas as he keyed the mike. “Be in your mirror in a click. Kill your lights and stay close.”
The bright red and white tattles disappeared. “I will.”
Marc only slowed a little as he went around her on the gravel road, pleased she had left room for him to take the lead. When she fell in tight behind him, he let his training and knowledge of the area take over, eager to lose the brothers and be alone with her.
Glad that the ground here was dry but not dusty enough to leave tracks, he swung them onto an old dirt path that would eventually bring them out well away from the vengeful threats they were leaving alive.
Ignoring his gut that said doing this was a disastrous mistake, Marc lit a smoke and lowered the window a little. Angie hadn’t wanted it, and the last thing he needed was for her to think he was a hardened killer…even though he was.
Marc sighed. The damp air rolling in warned of rain so
on, a lot of it, and he told himself to relax. Between the twins’ injuries and the weather, he and Angie should be able to get at least a good night’s sleep before they had to begin doing sentry duty.
Moving quickly, they rolled down streets and dirt roads that Angela didn’t have time to examine on her map before they were taking a different one. She kept her doors locked and attention on the Born Free & Die that Way! bumper sticker that she could only read when he hit his brakes. They traveled through the thick, silent darkness and her stomach filled with butterflies, pulse racing. He was here. Marc had finally come!
Marc kept one eye on the winding dirt road and one on the vehicle in his mirror, glad she copied his actions exactly as they rolled around downed trees, crushed cars, and wireless telephone poles–damage that he was almost sure had been caused by an earthquake. She was following him as he had followed her, trusting the choices he made, as he had trusted her choices when he’d followed her trail. It occurred to him again, that some of her decisions had been risky and reckless. Finding her had been easy because she was not taking the easiest or most reasonable path, only the quickest–like the water crossing in Geneva. They’d both been lucky that bridge had held.
Marc wanted to pick up the mike and tell her how happy he was that she’d called, but he resisted. This was not the time or place, and not only because of anyone who might be listening. He had to get himself under control first.
His mind flashed to the image of her bathed in firelight, no longer the innocent young girl of his dreams but a full, rounded woman, and he felt the pain keenly. Slender curves, a pale, flawless face, midnight black hair…it was suddenly easy to remember how silky it had felt under his trembling young fingers.
One single, unforgettable weekend fifteen long years ago, and he had never gotten close to it again. The occasional barrack bait he’d succumbed to had been blue-eyed with long dark hair, and he had loved them all in the dark. Searching for what he’d lost, he was always unsatisfied and regretful when it was over. Being with Angie for only these few minutes had already reminded Marc of that, of how lonely he’d been, and unless he could hide it, she would know too. He’d never gotten over her.
