by Angela White
There were no greetings as they lined up, no chatter, and Marc also wondered how much these particular men disliked him.
It may get a bit uncomfortable, he thought. Then, someone blew a whistle, and he was forced to concentrate on staying on his feet.
Marc was hit hard, again and again, and not only when he got to the ball. He ducked punches and jumped over outstretched arms and legs, but didn’t retaliate the way he had with Doug. He made contact but tried to be neutral about it, though, they let themselves go and brought him down every time they could.
There were few taunts in the game, and Neil hung back, let him continue to do what he’d done all day. Prove he belonged.
There were big hits, as well as a couple of dazzling steals and attempts that caused men to yell and people to point and cheer. The small crowd along the sidelines continued to grow.
A while later they stopped for a quick break and an injury that would need stitches. The score was five to one, with Marc’s team losing. The crowd had grown to about thirty, and when play resumed, Neil was at his side again.
“You’re back,” Marc said, sweaty and bloody. He had scratches and bruises on his arms, back, and chest.
“You’ve shown ‘em you can hold your own alone. Now, we’ll show ‘em you’re also a team player. Stick close.”
Marc wasn’t sure what Neil had in mind until he slammed into the first guy to challenge their progress with the ball, sending him out of the game with a nose gushing blood. From there, they were unstoppable; alternating as they traveled the field, one moving, the other protecting from as many sides as possible.
When the game ended, seven to ten, Marc wasn’t ashamed of the loss. They had played hard, and he’d loved it. He was bruised, scraped, and sweaty, covered in grass and mud stains, and eager for the next game. He’d missed this! His teammates hadn’t protected him, but they had been impressed that he would defend them when they had the ball.
When they reformed for game two, Neil and Marc had more men on their side than they needed. They both welcomed him when Seth and his very pale chest lined up with them, and again, Marc saw the others automatically adjust teams. So… Seth was someone here too. It appeared he had lucked into two powerful friends.
“Threesome?”
Seth nodded as the wind gusted, bringing the scent of rain and decay. “Neil and I have been hoping for someone who can keep up. Too bad they won’t let the wolf play.”
They shared a laugh.
“Stick close, gentlemen. I’m in the mood.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “That means he’s set to piss people off. Get ready to really be hit.”
Marc’s grin widened, thinking he’d been hit pretty real already, and then the whistle came and they ran together, shoving through the pack that included some of their own men.
Neil kicked the guy with the ball, knocking him out of contention so Seth could get it, and he and Marc ran blocks, taking and giving nasty hits. Losing their worries in the competition, they scored repeatedly, and each time, there was a roar from the crowd that was now yelling, betting and forgetting–for a little while–all the hell they’d survived.
4
“Preparing your own meat, class one. Today, we’re slaughtering a pig and a cow. We’ll put ropes around the hind legs, pull them up, and slit their throats so the blood will drain. Tomorrow we’ll skin the carcasses, clean them, cut them, and freeze it all. First, is equipment and preparing the area. We need rope. Measure it by the weight of the animal. For a cow, the rope should be how thick, XO?”
Kenn grunted, digging strong, yellowish coils from the various boxes stacked neatly in front of the trees they were about to use. “At least three inches. Measure it with your three middle fingers side by side, like this.” Kenn held his hand up.
“And for a pig?” Adrian asked.
“The same. Pigs are smaller, but not lighter,” Kenn explained. “It’s mostly fat.”
Men were sitting on truck bumpers, hoods, and the ground, smoking and listening. Adrian’s classes were always full of an energy that most of their other instructors lacked. Their leader was always the first one to start new things, try some new setup. When he personally taught a class, everyone wanted to be there, no matter the lesson.
“Tell us what’s first, Doug,” Adrian instructed.
“Canopy over the top,” the big, bruised, and bandaged man answered quickly, still very embarrassed but determined not to let it interfere with his normal place.
“Protecting your food supply begins by protecting the area where it’s processed.” Adrian dug out a very large green tarp and two staple guns as he talked. “We’ll have to refine this, like we do everything else now. Two important things are bird shit and predators that will be drawn by the smell of blood. Who knows why the shit is more important than the predators?”
“Because of E. coli?” one of the rookies asked.
“Exactly. No shit of any kind near the food. One piece of infected meat will kill everyone in this camp.”
Adrian let that sit with them for a moment. This was his newest group of rookies, but after tonight, a fresh level would take their place. He had no doubts about their passing. This was one of the strongest groups he’d put together since Seth’s team.
Adrian scanned his camp. Not calm, and the short bathroom and shower lines told him people were missing. The faint, excited voices said it was something happening in his camp, though, not outside of it. Kyle would handle it or call for assistance.
“Who can tell me how we’ll put the tarp over that first limb? Without climbing.”
The fourteen men considered, exchanging ideas, and again, Kevin had an answer. “We’ll staple ropes to each side and shoot it over with arrows.”
Kevin was among the few men he was currently considering for leadership, and Adrian was pleased. It was exactly what Kenn had come up with.
“Any other suggestions?”
There were, of course, but none as simple. No one spoke.
“That’s what we’ll do. Who are the best shooters here?”
Everyone glanced at Kenn, and Adrian gestured him forward. “Who else?”
Daniel, a tall, bald, private investigator from Utah, stood up nervously. “I’m next, I think. Kenn only got me by one shot on the last test.”
Adrian nodded as another roar echoed from the camp behind them. Louder this time, it made his gut tighten. “One miss is all it takes. Okay. Let’s do this.”
It went about as smoothly as the taking of a life by amateurs can go: Adrian’s cut was deep enough to kill; the steadiers were a little squeamish but willing; the pulling was a little too rough, too hard. But the branch held, and the tarp directed the pungent mess.
Less than ten minutes had gone by, and the cow carcass was staked three feet off the ground, steadily draining, and fires had been lit in the corner cans.
Adrian and his men took a minute, careful not to put bloody fingers on their mouths while they smoked.
“We’ll have two guards here and motion detectors, so remember that when you come for your tests tonight.”
Adrian swept the area and was a bit eased by the motion he got from Kyle, who had come to the edge of the caution tape. Everything was under control.
“All right. This time, Jeremy and I will supervise. Who’s cutting and who’s steadying?”
It didn’t go as smoothly with the cow, or nearly as fast. The crew had to fight to get the ropes around the animal’s sharply stomping hooves. The mess was considerable, but they got the job done, and as the men were washing up, Adrian signaled Kyle over.
“Class is dismissed. We’ll resume at dawn.”
Waiting until they were alone, both men frowned when Kenn left without a word to any of the joking, blood-splattered Eagles.
Kyle’s tanned face deepened to a scowl, and he blew out a frustrated breath. Where had this Kenn come from? He was nothing like the helpful, resourceful XO they were used to.
“Where do you think he’s g
oing?” Adrian asked.
“Where he shouldn’t be.” Kyle caught the attention of the nearest Eagle, who immediately followed the angry Marine.
“Observe only?” Adrian asked, turning to avoid a strong gust of wind as he lit a smoke, irritated.
“Not anymore. He’s been over there three times today, watching while she doesn’t know. I changed the order on my last round. If there’s a problem, the Eagle will interrupt and say that you want him, but not why.”
Adrian thought Kyle was wrong about Angela not knowing Kenn was there. “I don’t want the Eagles to oppose him openly if we can help it, but pass the word among the higher levels. She’s under my direct protection and I want her to be treated as if she’s my heir and doesn’t know it. Stress the secrecy part. If it gets out too soon…”
Adrian stopped, and Kyle shook his head, mind racing. “It won’t. You can trust us.”
Adrian filled with pride. “I do, most of them. I trust you completely.”
Kyle didn’t need to ask. He was reading it in Adrian’s face. “It’s true, then. Kenn thinks he has that honor sewn up.”
Adrian was watching the clouds gather in the west. For a change, they appeared to be moving below the thinning layer of smog that backdropped the beautiful Black Hills, instead of behind it.
“Right-hand man,” Adrian intoned. “No higher for Kenn. Ever.”
Kyle felt a heavy weight roll from his shoulders. It had only been a single, short conversation with Neil one foggy morning shift, but he had felt terrible since then–like their pact to challenge Kenn for leadership if anything happened to Adrian made them traitors.
“I always knew.” Adrian’s tone was compassionate, approving. “You have great instincts, like Neil, but your secret isn’t one and wouldn’t be a betrayal anyway. The natural order is already in chaos. Kenn in charge would tilt us over the edge. He’s where he belongs. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”
Adrian sighed at another loud roar from the gaming area, sure Neil and Marc were involved. “Did everyone check in? Where are the other new people?”
5
“He’s waiting for you at the ball field. Says to hurry up,” Charlie announced, sticking his head into the tent.
Angela tensed, causing the pregnant orange cat to sink a claw deep into her wrist as Chris took its temperature.
“He said you’ll go to dinner with him after that.”
Angela hated hearing Kenn’s orders coming from her son’s mouth. “I’d rather stay. Do I have to go to the contest?”
“No.” Charlie stared at her with eyes saying yes.
“I can grab a sandwich later?”
Charlie nodded, clearly not wanting to be the one to tell Kenn.
“Bring a double tray.” Chris didn’t look up from the clipboard. “She’ll eat here.”
“Deep six that!” Kenn marched into the large, smelly tent, glowering angrily. “You’ve hidden here long enough. It’s time to go.”
The dogs started barking furiously, reading the tension. The vet wasn’t the only one who noticed, though he thought he was.
“I’ll eat here. We’re about to start with the kittens.”
“Leave now, and maybe you’ll come back later.”
“I’m not ready to go yet.” Angela was shaking, her voice full of nervous tremors.
The animal doctor frowned. Who was Kenn to her? Wasn’t the Wolfman her owner?
“You’ll do what you’re told!” Kenn growled.
“I’ll stay as long as I want!” Angela retorted, hating him as much as she ever had. When she’d told Marc she didn’t want Kenn dead, she had lied. She just didn’t want to be responsible for it in any way.
The open defiance made Charlie gasp.
Kenn’s hands curled into fists before diving into his jacket. “Angela.”
It was an ugly tone, hinting at violence.
When Chris detected her subtly going for the gun on her hip, he stood up, drawing attention as the dogs continued to bark and transfer their unease to the other animals around them.
Soon it will raise the guards, the vet thought, but he didn’t wait for backup. He didn’t need it. He knew how to handle this.
“Wonder what Adrian would say?”
Kenn’s face was a surprised mask of anger as he glared at the annoyed doctor. “Stay out of this! It’s none of your business!” he snarled.
Chris shrugged, sensing the Eagle now in the doorway. He always knew when he was being watched. It was a side effect of being in a POW camp for seven years. “You brought it in here, not me. She said she’s staying. Get lost!”
The vet clearly wasn’t afraid of him, and Kenn knew if he pushed any further, the surly doctor would put it in his nightly report to Adrian. Grunting, Kenn spun and stomped out of the tent, furious profile promising retribution.
Angela breathed a sigh of relief. He had been checking up on her all day, sending hostile waves of warning. She’d known she would have to face him eventually, she hadn’t expected the woman-hating veterinarian to defend her.
Before she could thank him, Chris shoved another pregnant cat into her gloved hands, taking the orange one. “When it’s time, bring a double tray here and do it openly so he can’t hassle you.”
“You sure?”
Angela gave him a tight smile, and Charlie left with worry in his heart that she knew he was right to feel. The old Kenny was a dangerous foe who never forgot a transgression, and in case all this self-control was play-acting, she would avoid being alone with him and knew Charlie would as well. Kenn was on the edge, and she pitied the person who finally sent him over. They probably wouldn’t survive the encounter.
Chapter Forty-Four
Right on Target
Night Two
1
Neil and Brady’s team won the second game. As the dim sun started to sink below the grit, they left the third match, up by two points.
Invitations to join their teammates for the meal were accepted, and as they walked toward the shooting area, Marc raised brow at Neil. “So, did you plan all these…encounters?”
He paused to adjust his gun belts, still trying to get his breath back. “Or, did you get lucky it turned out so well?”
The sweaty cop shrugged, met the eye of a nearby guard for a check-in and got a nod in return. Clear.
“Both, I guess. Really, I just set up the hands. You played ‘em.”
Marc grinned. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get.”
“That’s what Adrian said. Come on. Let’s see how you handle yourself under pressure.”
Marc fell in step, tired, sore, and not nearly as wound up as he had been. “Today wasn’t pressure?”
They laughed together, moving with the thickening crowd toward where he had taken his gun test. The sound of people, of a large crowd, floated toward them on the cool breeze, swelling into a din.
The fighter inside Marc tensed as the mob of people came in sight, perceiving guns, hostile attitudes, and hard bodies wanting to back up the glares. On top, these sheep were nice and normal with their jeans, jackets, and pain-lined expressions, but underneath, was a glint of madness that Adrian hadn’t been able to erase yet. The leader still had a lot of work to do.
There was no time for a shower, and Marc was a bit self-conscious as they merged with a constantly shifting group of about a hundred, being careful not to bump anyone but also not shying from those who intentionally got in his way. There were blondes, brunettes, and older, slower blue-hairs everywhere, but no Angie.
People were in lawn chairs and on blankets, the two rows of bleachers packed, and the males were stopped many times for congratulations on the games and for introductions to those who had heard about it or about Doug. The people were only a little friendlier, though, and a lot nosier. Marc could hear them whispering about him and Angie, and about Kenn.
Neil gave him a sympathetic look and gestured at home plate, where bales of hay were stacked in a neat half circle, two deep. “We have to sign
in.”
They went around the chain-link fence, and Marc felt an immediate change in the atmosphere, especially from the front row of camp members. These were the people who had been here for hours to get a good seat, the real fans of Kenn and Adrian, and every other shooter except him. Their stares were hard, disapproving, and it surprised Marc when they let out a cheer as he and Neil got into line. Then he heard their words.
“New blood. Hard lesson. Get what he deserves.”
Letting out a resigned sigh, Marc tried not to be upset that most of those here would be happier if Kenn shot him instead of the targets, eliminating the problem.
As it was, Kenn was already talking angrily to Adrian, casting a furious glower toward where Marc and Neil were standing. Clearly, Kenn didn’t think he should be allowed to shoot.
Marc dug for his paper as Neil held out a hand for it.
“Wonder how red he’ll get this time?” Neil leered.
Marc chuckled. Kenn had certainly rubbed the trooper the wrong way.
Neil handed the green sheet to Adrian, and when he locked glares with Kenn, Marc was impressed again. It made him try harder to conceal his anxiety. Being alone hasn’t been healthy for the Marine inside, Marc thought. He’d become skittish around people…again.
“He’s good. Get signed up.” Adrian handed Neil the paper back, waving off Kenn’s protests.
The furious Marine stomped to the far end of the line, face like thunder.
“If he didn’t hate you before, he does now,” Marc observed, putting the paper in his pocket.
Neil nodded, both of them turning toward the field as four spotlights came on. “He did. Still worries I’m after his place at Adrian’s side.”
Marc tested their new bond a bit. “Are you?”
Neil grinned at the furious Marine from across the line of shooters. “Negative, but since it bothers him to think it, why should I say differently?”
