The Life After War Collection

by Angela White

  Marc knew better than to let the demon do any pushing yet and kept him locked down. “The soldiers are coming, a thousand strong. We go to slow them down, to buy time for our camp to get away, to kill as many as we can.”

  None of the braves reacted, but tension filled the woods.

  The warrior in front of them, covered in gray and leathery skin, searched Marc for an endless moment. In that look, was awareness.

  “You are from Safe Haven.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  The warrior skimmed Marc’s men and his tone curled with scorn. “Those are not Ghosts.”

  Marc didn’t argue. “Braves in training, rookies.”

  The Indian didn’t crack a grin, but Marc thought that maybe he wanted to. Marc guessed he might be talking to the relative of a chief and waited respectfully for the man’s choice.

  “Three men to stop an army. The odds are not with you.”

  “If the Creator wills it, we’ll die. We don’t question the path we’ve been put on,” Marc stated gravely. “We do our duty to our people.”

  “He lies!” guttural warrior shouted. “He dies!”

  Marc pulled the demon forward a bit and turned to inspect the warrior. The menace in his stare was impossible to miss and guttural warrior fell silent, confused and leery.

  Marc turned his head to the warrior in front of him.

  The leader stared hard, face betraying some of his surprise. Thaddeus didn’t back down from anyone–ever–and Natoli respected Marc instantly.

  “We will escort you out of our lands, in exchange for the medicine,” Natoli decided.

  Marc gestured for Paul to get it. “Would you like to hold our weapons?”

  Now there was a reaction from the braves. To offer to ride defenseless among your enemy was fearless.

  Paul put the prepared bag in Marc’s hand and got back in line.

  The warrior searched Marc for another long moment and then kneed his horse toward the west. “I am Natoli, of the Choctaw. It is a three-day ride to tribal borders. You may hunt with knives and drink from the streams.”

  “We have rations,” Marc stated calmly. “I prefer to ride straight through for as long as my men can stand.”

  “As you wish.”

  Marc waited until the line of warriors began moving, and then gently kneed his horse. “Stay in my formation.”

  Paul and Jax went to their assigned places with no show of fear at the sheer number of horse-bound Indians now coming from the hills and woods to surround them.

  “Keep your hands away from your weapons, but don’t do anything else differently than you’ve been doing. Follow my lines.”

  The Indians didn’t like his words, but they did respect them. The others were exactly what he’d said–in training–but was he really the Ghost? If he were, that would change their own plans, their future.

  As they traveled, Marc could feel the nerves of his men, but also the curiosity of the braves. He resumed the last lesson he’d been teaching them.

  “Noise can echo for miles,” Marc stated, striking a match on the saddle to light his hand-rolled smoke. Packs and cartons were things of the past unless a scavenging run got very lucky. “We’ve gone over the items most common to give you away. Tell me what they were.”

  Jax spoke first, “Keys, belts and buckles, straps.”

  “Gear that isn’t packed right,” Paul added, controlling his nerves. It helped to have something else to think about. “Also unsecured weapons.”

  “One minute of silence. Tell me what you hear.”

  It was eerie, the way the Indians instantly went quiet.

  They’d been talking lowly, adjusting and using things from their pouches and packs, but at Marc’s instruction, there wasn’t a single sound from them.

  It was completely unnerving and the Eagles forgot how to work around it.

  Marc’s voice was laced with a generous respect. “Those are Ghosts, gentlemen. That’s your goal.”

  Marc didn’t wait for that good wave to sink in before firing the next. “Pay attention to them and what they don’t do. It wouldn’t hurt to pick up a few things while we’re traveling together.”

  Natoli didn’t look back. It was beneath him to do so, but he allowed his pace to slow until his top braves were in the lead and he was even with Marc.

  He didn’t speak, but Marc knew he had questions. Instead of rushing to fill them in, Marc began to hum. After a minute or so, the two Eagles along for this ride joined in. Adrian’s favorite song reminded them too much of home not to.

  For the Indians, it was a connection that they hadn’t expected. Riding and humming a soft, deep tune was something they’d been doing for centuries. For the Eagles, it was a calming habit that Marc had begun almost as soon as they’d left Safe Haven’s gates.

  Like he’d known we would need to do this, Jax thought, no longer as rattled. He loved this song.

  Natoli continued to search Marc in long glances that Marc refused to respond to. These were native people with strong traditions that were finally free to flourish unrestricted. When they asked questions, he would be ready. Until then, it was a companionable ride and he could keep training. Where Marc was hoping they would end up, Paul and Jax would need all the help he could give them.

  4

  Marc dozed lightly in the saddle as they rode through the thick woods. The trees here weren’t covered in mold and it made for sweet, clean breezes that relaxed a man’s heart and helped him see what mattered.

  Sensing movement on his right, Marc heard Paul shove Jax into his place and picked his next reaction. All of them were dozing–they’d been traveling for a full day and night since joining the Indians–but Jax kept falling in too deep.

  “Your man is weary. You may sleep here unharmed,” Natoli offered.

  Marc began rolling a fresh smoke. “No. He’ll keep up or go.”

  Jax did what none of them expected. He slapped himself three times, fast.

  Marc approved as he rolled a second smoke. When he offered one to the warrior still riding next to him, it was taken.

  “We shall hear from my chief soon,” Natoli stated, also accepting Marc’s lighter. He inhaled lightly, getting the taste, and grinned before inhaling normally.

  Marc lit his own and let the smoke gather until he could shoot a large bubble into the sky. He popped a few simple rings with the last of the smoke and studied the warrior.

  Natoli had spent a lot of time in what his grandparents had been forced to call the civilized world and he recognized things about Marc. He spotted the cunning and subtle manipulations, but it was the request he felt coming that stirred his heart. He’d always longed to be there. He was sure his strengths could have helped his people keep their land, their lives, and their dignity.

  When Natoli didn’t offer any more conversation, neither did Marc. They were about to reach the first border, where the Choctaw lands became another tribe’s marked-off slot. He wondered if the tribes were still obeying the jurisdictions. No reason to now. They could return to their homelands. Marc was curious as to why they had chosen to stay here, but after the trek he’d made since the war, it was clear they’d made the right choice.

  Jax began to slide–everyone knew what it was by the loud creaking–and Paul reached out to shove him again.

  Before his hand could get there, Marc turned and drilled Jax in the shoulder.

  Jax went off the other side of the horse and landed in a bewildered heap in front of guttural Indian’s horse.

  Thaddeus reigned up sharply with a scowl, but didn’t comment. The man had been punished for his negligence.

  As Marc stopped and stared, so did their escorts.

  Jax flushed a deep red. He picked himself up without saying anything and swung into the saddle without a grimace at the throb. Marc had a hell of a shoulder slide when he was pissed.

  “I’m not, really,” Marc stated. He’d had the demon listening in case Jax decided this was the time to let out that infamou
s temper. “You ready to give up that place yet?”

  Jax’s jaw settled into rigid lines. “No, I’m not.”

  Marc turned around. “Good. You sleep when I do. Not before.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The scouting party of Choctaw warriors continued to study these strange white men, but most of the escort party was already convinced of their truthfulness about where they were going. Now, they had to discover if Marc was the one they were waiting for. If he were, they would join his quest to defeat the treacherous white men. If not, all three of these enemy soldiers would die.

  5

  Now that Marc had shown he knew how to control his men, he demonstrated that he also knew how to care for them. That was vital when a man was seeking someone to fight under him. Spilling blood wasn’t the only thing a killer needed or wanted.

  “We’ll take a few hours soon and eat, sleep. Jax can cook. Paul can care for the horses.”

  On cue, Jax responded, “Rations or fresh?”

  “Stew,” Marc responded, slowly taking three throwing knives from a jacket pocket. He’d been scanning ahead with his grid, sure the Chickasaw scouts were close. He’d found an opportunity instead.

  “Dried beef stew or chicken?”

  Marc kneed his horse suddenly, using it to flush a thicket where a small den of rabbits scattered.

  He used the knives in quick succession.

  The Indians had flinched, some of them, and Marc’s rookies had half dismounted to stay on his heels no matter where he was suddenly going.

  Marc ignored them all as he went to retrieve his kill.

  “My thanks,” he murmured, snapping the neck of the hare he hadn’t killed with the last throw.

  Marc cut off the heads with his k-bar and then slit the rabbits from end to end as he held them up, keeping the blood from pooling in the meat. He quickly cleaned them out, not caring that he was holding up their convoy. These ten minutes would demonstrate many things.

  Marc didn’t take the time to skin the meat, but wrapped it in thick leaves from the bush the rabbits had been cowering in as the horses came by. He buried the rest of the mess, digging in quick jerks with his k-bar, then stored the meat in the top of a saddlebag.

  After he wiped his hands on a wet-wipe, he shoved it into his pocket to use as tinder later, and mounted up. “Make the flapjacks with the stew. Just like I showed you and be generous. We’ll pick up more supplies as we go.”

  Jax and Paul were in awe. They’d had no idea that Marc knew how to live like these Indians, but it was clear that they’d underestimated him. They’d thought to be doing typical government trickery, but Marc was the real thing.

  It was obvious that their escorts felt the same. As soon as Natoli picked an area, Marc was in a conversation with a dozen braves. It was good progress and his Eagles tried to listen as they went about the duties they’d been given.

  “We have a legend,” Natoli began from Marc’s right. “It says that Afterworld will be ruled by a Ghost.”

  He met Marc’s eye curiously. “Do you know of this tale?”

  Marc stripped his saddle and took it to where he would sleep. “Yes. A savior to unite the remaining people after mother earth expels the others.”

  Natoli trailed him. “They say he will have great power over the lands to the west and north, that even the south will join him on the quest,” Thaddeus added. Like them or not, he was also convinced of who Marc was. He hadn’t even known the rabbits were there. Who else but a ghost could have spotted them?

  “And you wonder if I am that man,” Marc supplied, tossing down his bedroll. “The one from your stories.”

  Paul brought the other two saddles over and Marc took the bedrolls from each of them and began to get all three of their places ready. “What if I told you I’ve always been called that, but never actually felt like it? Would my lack of belief matter to your people?”

  Thaddeus responded in light surprise at the honesty. “No. The spirits put men into place as if all life is one constant battle. If you are the one, you will take us there through your choices, not your belief.”

  Marc absorbed that as he dug through his kit. “So you would follow the Ghost into a battle, so long as you are sure he is the one of legend?”

  Thaddeus turned away. “Do not abuse our trust, white man. Too many have.”

  Marc understood how he could feel that way, but didn’t make any promises.

  That was also noticed.

  Jax steeled his nerves as he gathered what he needed for the large meal. He understood what Marc wanted, what he’d be doing for the next hours, and understood it was to toughen him up and show he’d been punished. It was something these men would respect and Jax handled his temper well considering how tired he was.

  After building the quick, light-smoke fire that Marc had shown them, Jax took a small pinch of a cotton ball covered in petroleum jelly from his watertight canister and placed it in the center of his tinder.

  Around him, the Choctaws observed curiously as he took a flint striker from his belt and struck a spark onto the cotton ball. It flamed right up.

  Despite the wind and the small piece of the ball, the tiny blaze continued to burn while he put the striker away and held the tinder to where it would catch easier. Seconds later, he had a nice fire started and went to get a pot and fill it with water.

  The Indians exchanged grins, gesturing toward the homemade fire kit.

  Marc caught Paul as he went by. “Some of their horses have cuts from the brambles we went through. Do ours, then theirs, but ask them first.”

  Paul agreed contentedly. He loved caring for horses, being out in the open, learning new ways. He’d already picked up quite a few tricks while observing their escorts, and unlike Jax, he was using his curiosity to stay alert.

  Paul finished their own animals quickly–he had been applying the salve to any injuries each night as he and Jax bedded them down–but when he started to go toward the closest Indian horse, Marc pinned him with a hard glare.

  Paul felt it from across their comfortable little camp and turned.

  Marc’s eyes went to Natoli. “His first.”

  Paul understood and respectfully approached the warrior. “May I tend your animal?”

  Natoli gave a short nod. “All of my braves will allow it. There is no need to ask each one.”

  Paul was in heaven from that moment on. Being surrounded by horses for the next few hours was perfect for him.

  Their company liked his happiness. They watched him closely, but after only a single animal, it was clear what his passion was.

  “He makes a fine horseman,” Natoli said, joining Marc by the cooking stew.

  “Yes. A good fighter, too. Loyal.”

  The warrior appraised Jax as he finished skinning the last rabbit and slid the meat into the pot. “What of this one?”

  Marc didn’t stare at the nervous Eagle, instead tossing him an extra pouch of mix from the kit at his side. “He kills.”

  That drew more respect and also a bit of doubt. Fumbling with the boxes and packs, Jax didn’t look dangerous at all. He looked like their women.

  Marc snorted at the images. “He cooks like one, too.”

  That was a compliment to these men, but Jax didn’t know it. He turned to Marc with a snotty glare and was saved an embarrassment by Paul stepping in front of him.

  “Here’s the whey milk I saved. Make ‘em good, squaw. We’re hungry.”

  Jax tried to stay mad and found himself laughing with everyone else. “Well, if I’m going to be treated like a woman, I’d better be protected like one, too.”

  It was an odd moment where Marc expected joking responses. What the comment received, was agreement.

  Interesting, Marc thought. We push this shit out even a little and the survivors soak it up as if they’re starving. Very interesting.

  6

  The meal was good. Jax hadn’t known how they would serve the stew to their escorts, but Marc handed him a small sta
ck of cups from his kit and he dipped as much as each one would hold. He gave them to Paul, who was already passing around stacks of flapjacks, and the campsite filled with happily feasting riders. The Indians hadn’t eaten anything from their own pouches or made any stops either.

  Now that they’d provided a meal for everyone, the Indians might provide something, like entertainment or the morning meal. It was a tradeoff system that Marc planned to stick with. The results were impossible to argue with.

  “More?” Jax asked, glancing around the group.

  Marc held out his sloppy cup. “Half way.”

  Marc never took seconds, not even when they were in camp.

  Jax turned away before the good feeling could bring up tears. He was one of those cursed people who cried when happy or angry, and he struggled to hide it from the Indians.

  Paul groaned as he stood up. “Permission to find a bush and crash?”

  “Granted,” Marc allowed, almost smiling. The food had been hot and they felt safe with their escorts. Life now was often much worse.

  Jax started cleaning up after handing Marc his cup, leaving him and Natoli alone. Marc took his time finishing the stew. Once they left tribal lands, they would use their rations. Few lights would be allowed in enemy territory until the fighting began.

  “Then I’ll give them all the light they can stand,” Marc muttered, mind going to the horrible feeling of doom he’d felt upon riding away from Safe Haven.

  Natoli studied Marc as he smoked, confident that his braves had them protected. “We have questions.”

  Marc had been hoping it would happen soon. “I have the time.”

  The warrior’s brows drew together. “Who are you?”

  Marc let the crimson bleed through and observed the warrior pale. He shoved a blast of power out, felt the man cringe from the harmless energy he’d sent.

  “Do not doubt me.” Marc pulled the demon in like he’d watch Angela do hundreds of times. It was harder than he’d imagined.

  “We few who stayed,” the warrior began, waving his braves off as they came to his defense. “We are not healthy. The winds come from the oceans and kill our animals, wither our crops. We cannot stay here.”