by Kyla Stone
His joy and relief swiftly gave way to harsh reality. She still wanted nothing to do with him. Her gaze flickered to him once, then danced away, landing on Benjie instead, who’d leapt from the table and rushed into her arms with a jubilant shout. It’d felt like a savage punch to his gut.
Gabriel clenched his jaw. How dare he wish for anything else? Yet he did. Every fiber of his being longed to tug her jagged hair back from her face and kiss her long and hard. She was alive, and for that he was grateful.
He deserved nothing but spite and contempt from her, he knew that. He deserved death by a thousand cuts for the betrayals he committed, the part he played in the deaths of innocents. But he still couldn’t stop his dark and traitorous heart from loving what he could never have.
“We need to leave immediately,” Jericho said, jerking Gabriel back to the present. “It’s more crucial than ever that we get to Fort Benning. They’ll have medical facilities.”
“They’ll use the antibodies in her blood to develop a vaccine, or hell, even a cure.” Horne raked his hand through his hair, grinning broadly. “I always knew that girl was special.”
“Wait.” Harmony held up a hand. She gestured at Gonzales, who bent next to her as she whispered something in his ear. He nodded and walked swiftly out of the cafeteria. “Of course, you must go. But please, stay one more night. Get a few more warm meals in your bellies. Take today to gather the supplies you’ll need for the journey. At dinner, I’ll have Gonzales show you the best route to take. A hundred miles of lawlessness lies between you and Fort Benning. You need to be prepared.”
“That’s my vote,” Micah said.
Gabriel had no vote. He said nothing, though leaving immediately seemed the wisest choice by far. He watched the scene warily, taking everything in.
“Besides,” Harmony said with a wink at Benjie, “Benjie can help me and Gracie milk the cows and gather the eggs.”
Benjie nodded eagerly. “Can we, Mister Jericho? Please, Lo Lo?”
“I could definitely use another spaghetti dinner,” Willow said.
“Me, too.” Finn gave another one of his enormous burps. “I’ll never turn down an offer of more food.”
Harmony ruffled Benjie’s unruly hair with a grandmotherly affection. Benjie giggled, his eyes bright. This place was good for the kid. He looked happy, the way a kid should.
“What do you say, Jericho?” Harmony asked, her voice unusually high. She looked more haggard than usual. The lines in her face were deep, and her eyes held a sadness that belied her chipper tone. She must be burning candles at both ends, caring for her dying nephew even as she ran the compound.
“We’ll stay one more night,” Jericho said grudgingly. He didn’t look pleased about it. “We leave at dawn.”
“Thank you for your hospitality and generosity.” Micah adjusted his glasses and grinned, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “You’re very kind.”
Harmony glanced down at her hands. She rubbed her polished nails beneath her gloves. “We all do what we must.”
This all seemed so easy, too easy. He’d learned from hard experience that truly kind people were rare enough that they might as well not exist.
It seemed too good to be true. But no one else batted an eyelash, not even Jericho.
“We need to gather our supplies and repack everyone’s packs.” Jericho glanced at Harmony. “And we’d like to offer something for transportation and more ammo. We’ve got a couple of valuable SmartFlexes.”
Harmony raised her gray eyebrows. “Not so valuable anymore.”
“Gold and precious gems will always hold value,” Gabriel said.
Harmony stood, pushing her chair back from the table. Her gaze flicked to Benjie, who held an ancient relic of a quarter, in the middle of showing Gracie how to hide it behind her ear. “True. Some things will always be valuable. Priceless, even . . .” she faltered.
“Do you feel all right?” Micah asked.
She swallowed and wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, even though the cafeteria wasn’t warm. Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry. I’m upset about Carson lying sick in that room.” She cleared her throat. “I’m fine, really. Why don’t you guys head over to the kitchen? Anna and Gonzales will load you up with water, fresh bread, and cheese. I’ll check with Russell about any nearby usable vehicles our scouts may know of.”
Jericho nodded. “Gabriel and Micah, come with me. Silas, keep training Willow. The rest, pack your things and then help Sweet Creek with whatever they need. We leave tomorrow at dawn.”
Gabriel followed Jericho down the gravel path toward the residence buildings. The sun hid behind a stack of gray clouds, a chill in the air. Brown leaves crunched beneath their boots. Winter was coming.
He rubbed his chafed wrists. As soon as they were out of sight of the compound tomorrow, Jericho would cuff him, and he’d be a prisoner again. Death was coming for him, but he was still determined to face it on his own terms. He refused to die at the hands of a cruel, corrupted government with more blood on its hands than any New Patriot.
He was guilty of his own heinous crimes, but not the ones they’d hang him for. Amelia was alive and well. His brother was safe. No one needed him anymore. He’d escape tonight at dinner, when Jericho was preoccupied with preparations.
All he needed was a gun, a bullet, and a head start.
“Here’s the likeliest safest route.” Harmony spread an old-fashioned paper map on the table. “It’s faster to take Interstate 137, but far more dangerous. Skirt the highway by taking Edgewood Parkway past Buena Vista and Cusseta. From Maple Grove, you can cross over and only have a small stretch of highway between that point and the base. You’ll hit some suburbs, but that’s the best you’ll get.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth as he stared at the red line she’d drawn over the giant, multi-colored spider’s web of roads across the paper. No wonder people only used GPS. Who could figure out anything from such a complicated mess?
“Russell found two older model trucks without bioscan verification, so they’re hackable if you know what you’re doing.”
“I do.” Simeon had taught him many skills. His chest tightened as a memory of his mentor flashed through his mind—Simeon’s wide, stunned gaze as Gabriel pulled the trigger, the way his body fell, crumbling like his bones were water. Gabriel balled his hands into fists.
“Their batteries are dead.” Russell chomped noisily on his gum. He slouched against the wall, his arms crossed over his skinny chest, his gaze darting around the room, never landing on anyone for more than a few seconds. “We can tow them here and charge them. A fresh charge should take you halfway, at least. After that, you’re on your own.”
“Thanks.” Jericho placed Amelia’s gold-plated, diamond-encrusted SmartFlex in the middle of the map. “Will this do in trade?”
Harmony raised her brows. “I’m impressed. Thank you. Why don’t you grab Micah and Gabriel and help Russell tow those trucks? He’ll need it.”
Gabriel liked Gonzales well enough. He held his own on the mission to the FEMA camp. Russell, though, had sly, shifty eyes. He reminded Gabriel of a ferret, cunning and wily. There was something in the man’s gaze he didn’t like. But he’d be free of all of them by tonight. What did it matter? “I’ll go.”
“And me,” Micah said.
Nadira came out of the kitchen carrying a small denim backpack. She wore a simple blue dress that matched her headscarf. A smudge of flour dusted her right cheek. She handed the pack to Gabriel. “I packed some lunches for you: goat cheese with barley bread and beets.”
He took the pack and slung it over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
She stepped closer, her gaze intense as she studied his face. He fought the urge to look away, that disquieting sensation that she could see straight to his black, twisted heart settling over him. “What do you want?”
She lowered her voice. “In Islam, those who do deeds of righteousness earn their redemption—combined with Allah’s grace, of course.”
>
He glanced across the table, but Jericho, Micah, and Harmony were still bent over the map, finalizing their plans. “I thought you didn’t know if you believed.”
She smiled. “I have found my faith again.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“I see the good things you are doing. You saved me and Benjie in the warehouse when you could have fled. You went to the FEMA center and discovered the truth. Now, you are volunteering to get the transportation we need.”
“What’s your point?”
“You’re a better man than you think you are.”
“I highly doubt it.”
She touched his arm gently. “The Qur'an says that you can earn your salvation, Gabriel. This is how you do it.”
His fingers tightened on the straps of the backpack. He resisted the urge to recoil, to snarl something ugly, to flee. “I don’t think you understand,” he said through gritted teeth.
She wiped at the smudge of flour with the back of her hand and smiled sweetly at him again. “I do. Like I said before, I’m praying for you.”
He turned away from her. “You really shouldn’t.”
She didn’t say anything further. After a moment, she walked quietly back to the kitchen. He pushed their unsettling conversation out of his mind. He didn’t believe in Allah or God or salvation or any of it. Her words didn’t matter. They were meaningless.
Tonight, it would all be over.
A few minutes later, they were ready to leave.
“Let’s head out.” Russell pushed himself off the wall. He shot Gabriel a hard, appraising glance, then looked away. “We’ll be back by dinner.”
As they headed for the garage, Gabriel fell into step beside Micah. “You should watch out for that one,” he said quietly. “He’s shifty.”
“So are you,” Micah retorted.
Gabriel raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “Something isn’t right about all this, this place. They’re just gonna hand over two working trucks? Precious commodities like that?”
“Why do you doubt everything and everyone?” Micah whirled on him. Wavy tendrils of black hair fell into his eyes.
“You have to be prepared for anything—”
Micah’s eyes flashed. “Or maybe the dishonest always assume others are like them.”
“I’m telling you, there’s something off with that guy.” He bit back his frustration. “Why aren’t you listening to me?”
Micah shook his head. “Sometimes, good people are just that—good people.”
“And sometimes they’re not. I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” Micah shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “You’re the most dangerous person here, Gabriel. Don’t you see that?”
Gabriel raised his hands placatingly. “Look, I get that things can never go back to how they were with us. I know what I did—” The little girl flashed again through his tortured mind, her lemon-drop bathrobe, that small, still face haloed by dark hair. “—And I know what I didn’t do. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
Micah hesitated, a shadow crossing his face. They both remembered how many times Gabriel had played off his brother’s innate goodness to get what he wanted. But this time was different. There was no absolution for him. Micah couldn’t give that to him even if he wanted to. He knew that now. “I want you to know that I’m sorry—for everything.”
Micah didn’t speak. He lowered his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets against the chill. He kicked a rock off the path and they both watched it skitter into the weeds. Ahead of them, Russell backed a tow truck out of the garage.
They wouldn’t be alone for much longer, and Gabriel was running out of time. He knew it was a lost cause, knew it in his head but his heart was a different matter. The words tore from his throat. “Just us.”
Micah looked at him. Gabriel saw the little boy he used to be, the round cheeks, the huge, trusting eyes. He waited for it. He could die with peace if he could only hear that word one more time. Always.
“I’m sorry,” Micah said. “I can’t.”
His brother hurried up the path after Jericho and Russell, leaving Gabriel behind.
32
Willow
Willow wiped sweat from her brow and took a deep breath. She circled Silas in the center of the small clearing near the hay bales behind the compound. The muscles of her legs and arms ached. She couldn’t remember being this tired or this sore. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to admit it.
“Focus.” Silas spun the wooden stick he was using in place of a knife.
She tightened her fingers around her own stick. “I am!”
Finn, Amelia, and her mother were working with Benjie and Gracie in the small garden in front of the cafeteria, pulling weeds and gathering turnips and other weird-sounding fall vegetables for dinner. Celeste was supposed to be working, too, but she’d believe it when she saw it. Willow would rather train to fight any day.
Nadira watched them spar for a while before wandering off to find a private spot to pray. Willow had met plenty of religious people in her life, but none seemed as genuine as Nadira and Micah. They believed different things, but they both tried to be good people. That had to count for something, especially in this world.
Jericho, Gabriel and Micah were still off collecting the trucks. After packing the slim contents of her backpack, she found Silas. They’d been at it for over two hours.
“Come on. We don’t have all day.” Silas lowered his stick and tapped it against his thigh.
She studied his body movements. He seemed wide open, his stance loose and slouching, his attention on taunting her rather than defending himself. She lifted her stick and lunged at him.
Silas spun and easily deflected her attack. She came at him again, swinging hard. In one swift move, he dodged beneath her outstretched arm, darted in close, and thrust his stick against her throat. “You’re dead.”
“Damn it!”
“With every strike, look for what your attacker is leaving vulnerable.” He shoved the stick until it pricked her skin. “There’s always something. Your enemy won’t play fair. Neither should you.”
She batted his stick away and rubbed the stinging scratch on her neck. She had scrapes and bruises all over her body. “You don’t have to be such an asshat about everything.”
A sly smirk played across his lips. “You’re too soft, little girl. Wanna cry and give up?”
She blew her bangs out of her eyes and crouched back into her fighting stance. “I’m just getting started.”
“Me too.” He whacked her across the back of the knees, knocking her off her feet.
She landed hard on her tailbone, pain exploding through several body parts simultaneously. “Oww! You just broke my . . . everything.”
He flashed her a wicked smile, his eyes glinting with amusement. “My apologies.”
She sucked in a breath and glared up at him. Now that Amelia was well, Silas had returned to his arrogant, sardonic, infuriating self. He’d made no mention of their afternoon breaking walls in the cabin, and neither did she. Some things you didn’t need to talk about. Besides, it was much easier to hate him.
She gritted her teeth, tasting blood. “Again.”
An hour later, her stomach growled too loudly to ignore. She couldn’t get enough of the real food they served here. It was terribly unfortunate how long it took to grow, harvest, and then prepare actual fruits, vegetables, and grains. She missed fast food, even if most of it was prefab crap.
“Ready to quit so soon?” Silas taunted.
“Not a chance.” Though she felt more like curling into a ball and nursing her wounds than enduring another round with Silas the sadist. But she would never admit it. She wiped the sweat filming her forehead. “I need some fuel first.”
But she never got the chance. The rumble of a dozen engines broke through the sounds of birds, trilling insects, and squawking chickens. Motorcycles.
Willow whipped her head toward the noise. “Do you think it’s them?”
Silas’s face went hard. “Only one way to find out.”
Only one thought shot through her mind. Benjie. “Come on!”
Silas slung his rifle over his shoulder and loped toward the front of the complex, heading for the cafeteria. Willow raced after him, her pulse thudding in her throat. Maybe they were driving past. Maybe it was another group. Maybe they were harmless. But the apprehension that gripped her warned otherwise.
They rounded the corner of the cafeteria and reached the garden as the first biker appeared, roaring up the long, winding driveway leading to the compound.
“Someone’s coming!” she called breathlessly.
Harmony crouched next to Benjie, holding a half-full basket as he picked leaves of Swiss chard, kale, and collard greens. She straightened and shielded her eyes. Her lips pursed. “I hear them.”
“Who is it? Are they dangerous? Do we need to run?”
“Settle down, dear,” Harmony said calmly, though a line appeared between her gray eyebrows. “Let’s not upset the children.”
Gonzales rested on his hoe. “They’re traders.”
Amelia stood beside her mother, a handful of basil leaves in her fist. Nadira picked herbs next to them. Finn and Celeste lounged on a checkered blanket, playing an old-fashioned game of chess. A handful of Sweet Creek people were busy picking apples from several trees shading the small garden. And Horne sprawled on the steps of the cafeteria, eating an apple.
They all paused and watched the growing cloud of dust. A dozen bikers followed the first. Willow’s veins flushed cold as she recognized the animal pelts flapping behind them. “They’re Headhunters.”
“You trade with them?” Celeste asked incredulously. “Have you met them? They threatened to kill us. Two of them shot a family dead on the highway—”
“Hush your mouth.” Harmony smiled sharply, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sorry, honey. But we’ve dealt with these people for years. They must be . . . handled correctly.” She smoothed her long, flowery dress and straightened her shoulders. “It’s best to go with the flow. Trust me on this.”
