by Angela White
Water came rushing out around the tool, and Marc grabbed the jugs while Dog helped himself to a drink.
“Are those recent prints?”
Marc glanced 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 them much yet. They’re 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. We’ll stay alert here.”
Angie helped him collect the valuable liquid, and a few minutes later, Marc gestured toward 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 adding the coolant, she wished it were more. They’d been together for three weeks, and she had spent most of that time 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. They’d had to spend nearly five days at the cabin, waiting for the rain to come and melt the snowdrifts so that 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.”
4
“Ready to shoot something?”
Angela gave him a rare, genuine grin, looking at his bandaged arm, and he smiled back. “I said shooting, not stabbing.”
They laughed as he set up a dozen empty Coke cans on a long, wide, muddy log. “Is your weapon loaded?”
“Yes,” she answered nervously.
“Good. Check it again. Always anticipate problems. Expect them.”
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 bit higher. Now, envision where you want it to go, and put it there.”
Angela pretended not to be bothered by having him so close, but she was, couldn’t help but think maybe Kenn was around the corner–
“Angie?”
She glanced at him warily. “Sorry. I’ll pay attention.”
“Maybe you can’t do this,” he stated quietly, hoping she would rise to the challenge. That much of his Angie hadn’t vanished.
“I can. I will.”
He shrugged as if he had little faith, and made his tone a bit patronizing. “Pull the trigger slow. Aiming makes all the difference. Go on.”
Angela’s hands were shaking despite her efforts to be steady, and his sigh made her flush. Embarrassed, she pulled the trigger without aiming.
Marc was fast, moving behind her as the recoil rocked her into his waiting arms. The bullet slammed into the hood of his Blazer with a loud thud, and he dropped his cheek 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 eased 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 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 recoil and managed to keep her feet on the ground as the slug dug into the log, rattling the cans.
“Better. Aim a little below your target until you don’t jerk as much. Go on and empty it.”
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 grunted in satisfaction under the dim afternoon sky. “Third time’s a charm.”
She reloaded, and Marc swept the area, impressed with how fast she had settled in. He hadn’t expected her to hit anything yet, though she had 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 been there for the cut this woman I was sleeping with gave–”
He stopped at her stunned, pain-filled expression, and she turned away before he could try to take it back.
Marc cursed his thoughtless tongue. None of those women compared to Angie. Even after all these years, she could still make him feel more with a single stare than anyone else ever had, and it hurt to think their chance had come and gone. What a hard, lonely future waited.
5
They traveled west, both seeing the wrecked limousine on the side of the road, its plates (J. Lo U No) smeared with reddish mud. As they rolled through the empty farmland, miles of it, Angela caught a chill that quickly grew into a bad feeling.
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 forties, and she hadn’t noticed much in the way of fallout damage or mutations here. All of it was good.
Versailles appeared 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 raise an alarm without having a reason or a sign to support it.
Just before dusk, Marc pulled them up to an Amish schoolhouse 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. There were no homes in sight, only the barely visible outlines of the city they’d come through, but they were encouraged to behold a healthy-looking white rabbit dart from under the stairs.
The rabbit dove under a broken board of the decrepit shed behind the school as they got out of their cars, and inside the moldy shelter, the hare drew up too late and was caught. Large hands broke its neck in a brutal motion.
Smelling more nature than rot for a change, Marc secured the one-room school, not thinking it necessary to sweep the barn or farmhouse that sat almost half a mile behind it.
“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 lit up at the thought of fried chicken, and he agreed eagerly. “Deal. I’ll go after I set the disks.”
She got busy, smiling as he carried the heavier items to the porch for her and then set the alarms. He was considerate, and it worried her to think of how bonded they might be by April.
“Stay, Dog. Guard.”
Marc gave her a questioning glance, uneasy all of a sudden, but not sure why.
She waved. “I’ll be fine. You gonna pluck it?”
He quickly slid behind the wheel. “That’s woman’s work!”
He laughed at her mock glower 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 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, stalking them with cool calculation. 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 the man traveled swiftly across the porch before the wolf understood the trick and lunged for him.
Angela jumped at the
sound of the front door slamming. Something heavy hit it hard and yelped in pain.
“Is that Dog…?” Angela froze, heart squeezing as death bells echoed in her mind.
She sent out a silent scream for help, retreating toward the gun she wished she hadn’t yet taken off. “What do you want?”
The filthy mixture of man and nightmare came closer, making her skin crawl. His dead eyes told her he’d been alone for a long time, even before the war.
“Pretty, pretty,” he called softly, leering at her body.
Icy terror rushed through her. Frozen, all Angela could do at first was silently scream for Marc as Dog hit the door again and again, snarling furiously.
Marc dropped the pecking chicken and threw himself 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.
6
Angela dove for the gun as the 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 face 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.
He yanked her jeans down with brute force, ripping the zipper, and Angela felt hot tears of hate and shame as his hardness touched 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 witch said.
The man thrust excitedly against her. When he shifted 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. His hands grabbed at her shirt, ripping it again.
Now!
Angela extended an arm toward the table above her head, and curled the other around her attacker’s neck.
She pulled hard, stealing his energy. When the gun began to slide, they both heard it and glanced up, him in disbelief.
Her attacker saw it falling, and realized she would catch it butt first.
Before he could retreat, Angela’s arm tightened like a band of iron around his neck. She held him close as the witch’s furious red orbs blended with hers.
“Oh, no! You wanted it! Here ya go!” She shoved the barrel against his throat, 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 and footsteps crunched.
Angela staggered to her feet, spitting, wiping at her bloody face.
“Angie!”
She wanted to answer, but was busy gagging again as she pulled up her ripped jeans. She stumbled to the door, jerking it open as Marc flew up the stairs. 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, Marc! I shot him!”
Her thoughts spun from the beating she’d taken. 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, taking her to the passenger seat of his Blazer. His rage beat furiously at all the bruises, scrapes, and cuts on her hands, arms, and face. Her clothes were ripped, shirt nearly off, hair and face 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 shut 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 had dropped) and was horrified at the death scene she’d 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 as if she was in a daze, she took the one remaining gas can from the luggage rack, and his gut burned when he noted that she hadn’t cleaned herself up at all. Her face was terrible to view.
Marc was surprised by her strength as she calmly dug her lighter out of her torn jeans and marched back into the reeking cabin, tilting the can.
Bright flames shot up seconds later, and Angela kept the gas flowing as she came out and back 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 showered with hot sparks.
Marc stared at 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 she also didn’t flinch or resist either.
A minute later, the fire’s glow fell behind them. When she began to cry huge, silent tears, Marc shifted the towels closer and left her alone. This was her First Kill, and he 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 privacy as she emptied some of her pain. He watched the fog rolling over a dark, foreign landscape where anything or anyone might lurk, listening. She’d been hurt on his post. He would never forgive himself.
7
Angela sat with her knees to her chest, sipping water and pushing away flash after horrible flash. 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 as she was attacked, and it had been Kenny in her grip when 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, or hurt her again, she would kill him.
Angela shuddered as her attacker’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 her skin.
“Will you help me with my hair?”
Her voice was shaky, and Marc moved slowly to the jugs at her feet. “Hold the door and tilt your head back.”
She did it with only a large, white 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 up. When she got another jug and handed it to him, letting the drenched towel fall to the ground, Marc spun around and mentally recited the phonic alphabet.
Alfa. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. Echo.
“Rinse, please,” she instructed emotionlessly.
Shock settling in, he thought. Foxtrot. Golf. H
otel. India. Juliet...
Damn!
Marc poured the cold water over her, her gasp pulling at his male side, and he recited faster. 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. She wasn’t in danger from him, but he didn’t need the severe case of blue balls that would come from stealing peeks at her. There wasn’t a worse time for it. She was more off-limits now than she’d ever been.
8
Angela smoked, drank, and watched the dark houses roll by, but her tone wasn’t normal, 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 Marine, and he would help her if he could.
Thank you for understanding, but I’ll be all right. I just need some time, she sent mentally.
Marc sighed miserably, 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 that at the moment of choice, she had become a killer after all.
“It wasn’t your fault. You’re always telling me not to let my gun get out of reach. I should have listened.”
Marc said nothing, thinking that was something she wouldn’t forget now.
Angela put 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 stared around wildly, fingers dropping to the handle of the deadly gun on her hip.
“It’s over, honey. He’s dead.”
She grimaced, the wild feeling slowly fading, and lit a smoke with shaky hands. “I need to talk it out.”
