The Survivors (Book 1): Summer

by Dreyer, V. L.

  "What do you want me to do to him, dear heart?" The woman spoke softly to me, her anger diluted by the pain she saw reflected in my eyes.

  I shook my head and fought as tears gathered in my eyes. "I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Just… make him understand. Make it so he’ll never want to hurt another girl ever again. Please?"

  Anahera watched me quietly for the longest minute, and then nodded slowly. "I understand, child. You do not wish to cause another person pain, but you must so others like you never have to feel it. I will do for you what your kind soul cannot."

  I nodded, speechless, my face frozen in an attitude of distress. This woman, this teacher-turned-leader – she knew my innermost thoughts.

  There was a soft sound of steel on leather, and then a long, curved knife appeared in her hand. "Go inside and rest, dear. This man will never hurt you or any other person ever again."

  Michael stepped in and gathered me to him, then hurried me away, but not before I saw the other group pick up the fallen man from where he lay in the dirt and drag him off. They took him far away from our home before they began his punishment, but it wasn’t far enough.

  Even as Michael was tucking me into his bed where I felt safe and protected, I could hear the prisoner screaming.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The sound of the man’s torment haunted my dreams, but in spite of that I slept deeper and longer than I had in years. The spectre no longer haunted me, mocking me, hurting me; the spectre was gone. It was no longer an immortal, inhuman thing, but a physical being that I could fight off and destroy if I needed to.

  I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  It was dark when I awoke, and the room was faintly lit by moonlight through the open window beside the bed. I could hear the sound of breathing in the dark, soft and even, but didn’t feel the warmth of a familiar body beside me. I rolled over and saw the faint outline of the man I had come to care about so much, sitting in his chair by the window. The faintest glint of steel told me that his shotgun rested in his lap.

  He was protecting me.

  "Michael?" I whispered his name in the shadows. He snapped awake at the sound of my voice; I heard his sharp intake of breath, and saw his outline moving.

  "Sandy? You‘re awake?"

  "Yeah." I yawned softly and snuggled down in the soft blankets. "Why are you all the way over there?"

  "You need some space right now." His voice was soft, but he still rose from his chair to sit on the edge of the bed instead. Close enough for me to reach out and touch him, which I did.

  "I’m… okay, I think." I sought out his hand in the dark, and when I found it I twined my fingers through his and felt comfortable and content. "Are they gone?"

  "Yes, hours ago." He shifted a little bit and drew my fingers up to his lips to press a soft kiss against them. "They left their gifts and went, and they took him with them. The woman, Anahera, said that they were going to take him as far away from here as they could before they let him go."

  "What did they do to him?" I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to know the answer, but morbid curiosity drove me to ask.

  "I’m not sure." His voice was soft, but I felt him tense up and knew that he was lying. I may be socially inept, but I wasn’t stupid.

  I decided to let it pass. Would knowing really help me to heal? No, it wouldn’t. My imagination could fill in the blanks. I sighed and sat up, to lean against my sweetheart’s broad back. "I wish I knew how to feel right now. Part of me wishes I’d just let her kill him."

  "I know," he murmured, and then heaved a sigh himself. "To tell you the truth, I almost did it myself. If Anahera hadn’t been there, then I might have… might have…" He trailed off, and I felt his body tense up again.

  "I know," I whispered, and slid my arms around his waist. There was no need for him to finish the sentence. I knew what he was thinking. Still, there were so many questions left unanswered, about everything. "Michael?"

  "Hm?" He glanced over his shoulder at me.

  "Why do you think he did it? Not just to me, but to the others. God knows how many women he’s murdered over the years."

  Again there was silence, but this time it was while he thought it over. Finally, he spoke again, hesitant and uncertain.

  "I think that he just didn’t care. I’ve seen men like him before, men that think women just exist to please them. They have no respect for the sanctity of human lives." I heard a deep intake of breath, let out as a sharp exhalation a moment later. "People like that don’t deserve to live."

  I pondered that response and weighed my conflicting emotions against one another. He was right, of course. Some people were just born evil, and no amount of nurturing or punishment would break them of the habits that nature had bred into their psyches. As much as I’d have liked to put some logic to my former tormentor’s decisions, there simply wasn’t any. I was just unlucky. He'd seen me all alone, and that was enough. If not for a moment of luck weeks later, that would have signed my death warrant. I couldn’t help but wonder how many other lives he’d already snuffed out.

  I lay my head against my policeman’s back and closed my eyes as I sifted through my muddled feelings. On the one hand, I felt terrible being the source of someone else’s misery. On the other, he deserved it. Those little girls didn’t deserve their fate, but they certainly deserved justice. I was sure there were others out there like me, whether they were alive or dead.

  But now I’d had my justice. That feeling brought with it a sense of peace. What was there to be afraid of, if that man was no longer a threat? I smiled to myself and snuggled closer to him, enjoying the warmth of Michael's skin beneath my cheek. In my lowest moment, he’d not only stayed true to me, but he’d helped me to get that justice.

  While Anahera had been the judge, jury and executioner, Michael was my officer of the law. My protector. My hero.

  "Michael?" I whispered his name again, a flush of warmth rising in my cheeks. It’d been such a long time coming, but at last I truly felt safe.

  There was a faint sound of movement as he turned towards me, and then his big hands drew me up against his chest. I snuggled in against him happily, feeling content and relaxed.

  "I think I’m ready," I whispered the words softly in the darkness, and trailed my fingers along his stomach. I could feel the heat of his skin beneath the light t-shirt he wore, and I longed to strip it away and have him all to myself.

  One of his hands cupped my chin and tilted it upwards and his lips met mine in the darkness. He kissed me slowly and tenderly for what felt like forever, before finally drawing back to give me a quirky smile that I could only half see.

  "No, you’re not."

  That was not the answer I expected.

  "What? Yes, I am!"

  "No, you’re not, and neither am I." Although it was dark, I could see and feel the edge of tension about him, and it was not a kind of tension I recognised. I didn’t like the way it felt. Still, his hands were gentle as he ran his fingers through my long hair. "Sandy, if we were to do this now, it wouldn’t be about you and me. It would be about him, and revenge."

  I froze, not sure what to say to that.

  He did, though. His voice dropped low as he cupped my face in his hands. "I don’t want that. I want to wait until it’s perfect and we’re both ready for it. I want it to be about us, just us, no one else. This isn’t just about sex to me, you know that. This is about the fact that I love you, Sandy McDermott – and I want you to love me back."

  "Y-you… what?" Did he just say what I thought he said? It took me totally by surprise in a moment when I was already off balance.

  But Michael, he just smiled enigmatically and silenced me with a kiss.

  ***

  The thought that someone loved me galvanised me for days. Although we didn’t speak about it again, I found myself in a rare good mood that nothing seemed to be able to shake. My foot had finally healed enough that I could walk around without pain, my family was safe and gradually s
ettling into a comfortable routine, and I had a sweet, kind man that loved me.

  Loved me. Loved me. In spite all of my flaws, he loved me.

  I wasn’t angry at him for rejecting my proposal that night, because in reality he was right. If we had made love, it wouldn’t have been as special when the wound was still so raw. Amongst other reasons, it would be his first time ever and he deserved more than a wild fuck fuelled by hatred and revenge, and I wanted our first time together to be special, too.

  I often thought of the man whose name I had never learned over the days that followed. Eventually, my feelings of guilt faded, replaced by a strong sense of relief. Although he was still alive out there somewhere, he had lost his demonic countenance within my mind and my nightmares. It seemed apt that Anahera was the weapon of his punishment – another woman, the avenging angel for his victims.

  I hoped his other victims could feel the sense of relief that I felt now, if they were still alive. If not, then I hoped they rested easier for knowing they had been avenged.

  I wondered if perhaps I would have to face him alone someday, if he might come after me. For the first time, I was no longer afraid of that thought. He was no longer a faceless, mocking beast that writhed and hurt me in my memory. That memory had been overwritten by one where he was just another human being, just as weak and pathetic as the rest of us. The difference was that he had chosen to act out and try to make himself look strong by taking advantage of those that were weaker than him, something that I would never do. That was what made him less than what any normal person could ever be.

  If it ever came to a point where I had to kill that man, I had decided that I’d think of Anahera and try to be strong like her. My initial admiration of her had grown into something more like hero-worship, although I knew as well as anyone that it was ridiculous to worship someone who was just as human as I am. She was just as flawed on the inside, and yet she showed so many traits that I coveted – her emotional fortitude was just one of them. I truly hoped that one day, I would grow to be like her.

  Beauty tempered by intelligence. Ruthlessness tempered by compassion. Strength tempered by gentleness. She was everything I wanted to be. She reminded me of my grandmother, my namesake and the woman who had inspired so much of my early life before I lost her to the plague. I thought having a new, living role-model would be good for me in the long term. I could only hope that having her to look up to would help me grow as a person. Was there anything else that anyone could ever really ask for?

  In the days that followed, my group was well-fed but not entirely content. We spent most of our time tending to our little garden as a safeguard against winter’s inevitable arrival, but there was a thread of disharmony that ran through every conversation. Not everyone was happy about the punishment that Anahera had meted out on our behalf. Even I, the most socially inept of us, sensed the discontent amongst the group and it made me feel uncomfortable.

  On the third day, Michael found me sitting alone in the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon, brooding over a cup of black coffee.

  "Why the long face?"

  I almost jumped out of my skin when his voice broke the silence, and promptly spilled hot coffee all over myself and the table.

  "Ah, shit." Sorry, Mum. "Ow. Michael! Don’t sneak up on me like that," I complained, as I leapt up to go run my hand under a cold tap. I heard him chuckling behind me, and then one strong arm slid around my waist from behind.

  "Sorry," he murmured softly in my ear, then planted a kiss upon my cheek. "So, why the long face? Are you sulking again?

  I paused for a long moment and thought over my answer, then I let out a deep sigh and shrugged. "I’ve been thinking about him."

  Michael nodded. I didn’t have to explain which ‘him’ I meant. "He’s long gone, honey. You don’t have to worry about him anymore."

  "It’s not that." I switched the tap off and turned around to face him, though I couldn’t quite meet his eye. "It’s... I don’t know if we’ve done the right thing, Michael. How do we know what’s right and wrong? It used to be that we had people specially trained to do this for us, but now what do we do? If the law falls into the hands of the people that it’s supposed to be protecting... I’m not sure I like where I can imagine that taking us."

  Michael went silent as he thought over what I was saying, and then he nodded again. "We do need some form of justice, but not just lynch-mob justice."

  "Exactly." I put my arms around his waist and leaned against him, but for once his strength couldn’t banish the troubled thoughts from my mind. Eventually, I sighed again, and looked up at him. "What do we do?"

  Michael stared off into space for a few seconds, looking lost in thought. "I have an idea, but I think it should be a group decision. Let’s get everyone together."

  "Okay." I nodded my agreement, and hurried off.

  Twenty minutes later, we had our entire group – all six of us, including Madeline – gathered together in the kitchen around the table. As our leader, Michael stood at the head of the table while everyone settled into their places.

  "Thank you for coming," he spoke in that soft, deep voice of his, the one that always carried a note of strength and command. "As you all know, we recently had to deal with an issue that has left many of us feeling troubled. I think that we need to address the matter, and set up rules for the future. As Sandy once pointed out to me, the world outside our nice little bunker is not a safe place. We already have our own code of conduct, but we need to establish some method for dealing with things when they get out of hand."

  "You mean, what do we do if someone else tries to rape our women and murder our children?" Skylar asked, her face pale and tense. Out of all of us, she had been the one most vocal in her discontent, which didn't surprise me. "We should have killed him. The just thing to do would have been to kill him!"

  "You don’t know that," the doctor interrupted, and waggled a finger at Skye like a disapproving school teacher. "Who are we to decide if a man lives or dies? If we start murdering people wantonly, then we become no better than they are. Who are we to play God with the lives of others?"

  "But now he knows where we live," she argued back vehemently. "What if he decides that he wants to come after us for revenge? What happens then? What about Sandy – or me and Maddy? We’re just his type!"

  "Enough." Michael held up his hands for silence, and then looked each and every one of us in the eye. When he got to me, he gave me a soft, reassuring smile. He could see that I was tense and nervous, but his smile made me feel better. "What’s done is done. We can’t change that. We’re going to be alert and careful in case something does happen, but what I’ve gathered you here for is to work out a way to prevent this kind of disharmony from happening in future."

  "You said you had an idea?" I spoke up softly to prevent further argument from breaking out, and he nodded to me.

  "I do." The young man looked up and around at us all, then smiled. "I suggest that in future, we use a system not unlike the one that we had before the end, to ensure that justice is had for all. If a crime is committed, then we appoint one person to act as an adjudicator and consider the evidence. If the person is found guilty, then all of us vote on the punishment. The adjudicator would be the person who has the least emotional investment in the crime that occurred. That way, everyone has a chance to have their say, but we’re not driven purely by emotion."

  "Who suggests the punishments?" I asked, genuine curiosity replacing my discomfort. It was an interesting idea, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. Michael was our paragon of justice.

  "The victim, if they want to," he answered, "or if they’re not comfortable then the adjudicator can. It’s unlikely that any of us could be completely impartial towards someone that hurt one of our friends, but I think that’s as close as we’re going to get."

  "That... does seem fair." Skylar had calmed down enough to look interested in the discussion, and beside her Ryan nodded thoughtfully.

  Micha
el and I looked towards the Doc, and he nodded as well. "I also agree with your proposal. I feel it is important that we do everything we can to avoid descending back into barbarism."

  "I think it’s a good idea." The little voice that spoke up was the last one that we expected: Madeline. We all turned and looked at the girl, who stared back at us with huge, solemn eyes. "There are bad men out there. Lots and lots of bad men. Some bad ladies, too. We should be careful. We don’t want to become bad like them. Do we?"

  None of us quite knew what to say to that, but it settled the issue once and for all. By universal consensus of all our members, we created our own internal judicial system. I think that we all felt better for having that, even if we hoped that we’d never have to use it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A few days later, I found myself wandering through our motel looking for my sister, feeling relaxed and content with my lot in life for the first time in what felt like forever.

  I drifted past the hydroponics room, but instead of Skylar I found the doctor focused intently on the tiny seedlings while he instructed his granddaughter in their care. They were oblivious to me, but I stood and watched for a moment anyway. A surge of affection rose in me. Although we share no blood ties, they were becoming like family to me.

  Mutual survival bonded you in a way I’d never understood before. Now that I did, I felt strangely complete.

  I left them without alerting them to my passing and moved on.

  A few minutes later, I peeked into the communal lounge, where I found Ryan and Michael lost in conversation over some point of maleness that was completely irrelevant to me. Again, I retreated without being seen, and left them to their bonding as I moved on in search of Skylar.

  When at last I found my little sister, she was where I least expected her to be: In her own room, curled up in bed despite it being the middle of the day, looking pale and unhappy. She wasn’t asleep though, and when I stepped into the room she looked up at me with sad eyes.