WastelandRogue

by Brenda Williamson

  “For a second, I thought you had read my mind.” He let out a short laugh. “Ludicrous idea, huh?”

  She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “You think so?”

  “Can you read my mind?” He looked into her steady gaze, not finding a hint she teased.

  “No.” She laughed.

  “Then how did you know I was wondering whether or not you’d be here when I woke up?” he asked, not trusting her answer.

  “By the tight hold you have on me.” Her hand moved to his abdomen and coasted to his opposite side as she laid her head on his chest. “We’re traveling to the same place. I’ve decided it’s best for us to work together. Haven’t you?”

  It would have been nicer to hear she stayed because she wanted to be with him. They might have had the same destination in mind, but he didn’t know that he’d go as far as trusting anything she told him. He’d learned his lesson. Sex with the beautiful female wasn’t going to muddle his head again.

  Chapter Nine

  Refreshed by the lazy time basking in the cool water of the creek and each other’s company, Rye and Sevrin resumed their trek toward Old Louis Ruins.

  Rain wasn’t something they’d anticipated, yet it came.

  As if the clouds held big buckets and tipped them all at once, a torrential downpour landed on Rye’s head. For what seemed a half of a day, she trekked behind Sevrin into the tempest. Thunder resounded so hard that it seemed to shake the ground as lightning bolts danced between the dark heavens and the mud-slick earth.

  She had wished for rain and now that she had more of it than she thought she could stand, she wished it were over.

  “This storm is going to kill us,” she shouted, trying to overpower the loudness of the winds.

  “Only if we’re hit by lightning or swept up into a cyclone,” Sevrin yelled back over his shoulder.

  The dry cracked riverbed they were crossing, once a tributary from a great river, had yet to gather water. Every drop of rain bounced on the hard terrain and then ran into the fissures in the soil. When the wind grew stronger, forcing water into Rye’s face, she took off her jacket and used it as a shield over her head. She searched the sky for whirling clouds that had the forceful ability of lifting her into the sky, but the heaviness of the rain blurred her surroundings.

  “How far is it across this gulch?” she asked.

  “I don’t know remember. This isn’t my usual route to Old Louis Ruins.”

  “Then why the hell are we traveling it now?” she grumbled under her breath.

  “What?” he shouted over the roaring winds.

  “Nothing.” She shivered at the coldness soaking through her shoddy attire and now rolling along her arms. Some drops made their way through the holes of her pants and trickled down the backs of her legs. The sensation wasn’t pleasant, nor was the thought of the danger coming at them.

  Suddenly, Sevrin stopped and she nearly walked into him. “Here, this will keep the water off you.” He removed his long leather coat and held it up for her to put her arms in the sleeves.

  “I’m all right.” She shrugged off his offer.

  “Then carry it for me. It’s making me too warm.”

  She’d not been with very many men, but the ones she’d known were always looking out for themselves. Did Sevrin know how sexy he was when he was doing things for her? She let go of her jacket, leaving it draped on her head, and accepted the coat Sevrin sat on her shoulders. Using one arm at a time, she slid his coat on. Then she resumed holding her jacket above her head.

  “I’m hungry. I need something to eat,” he announced, as if the rain meant no more to him than a ray of sunshine did.

  “Even with slow regeneration, your body shouldn’t need food.” She looked out from under her shielding jacket.

  “Tell that to my stomach. It feels sucked back to my spine.” He placed his hands on his hips and turned slowly as if he’d find food sitting out in the open waiting for him.

  Rye frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  She didn’t need to eat and neither should he. It made her wonder if he hadn’t tricked her into believing he was part lamian.

  “You get cravings for blood, don’t you?” He stepped closer, making it easier to hear him over the rumbling above.

  “Yes, but I don’t need it. And I certainly don’t eat things such as lizard innards or roots and mushrooms.”

  “While I do tend to let days go by without satisfying my hunger, I was brought up eating. Maybe it’s that human side of me. Anyway, didn’t you say you and your sister had a garden? If you don’t need food, then what are you doing growing—”

  “Flowers, Sevrin. We plant pretty flowers, not edibles. My sister Shay loves flowers.” Thoughts of Shay brought tears to her eyes. Because of the inclement weather, Sevrin wouldn’t know she was crying, so she let the tears glide down her face with the raindrops.

  “Let’s keep moving.” He nodded for her to go ahead of him.

  Eventually, the rain slowed to a drizzle. She lowered her jacket from above her head. Sevrin stood looking at his boots. Lifting one foot and then the other, he examined the bottoms.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, unable to figure it out.

  “Remember how I said I felt warm? I think it’s the ground.” As he said that, he turned as if to survey their surroundings.

  She glanced at the ground and had to admit, she was feeling a lot warmer. Several times she had wanted to take a drink from the flask, yet didn’t. Without knowing how far they had to go before they reached fresh water, she conserved what she carried and relied on wetting her mouth with the falling rain.

  Sevrin’s study of the area concerned her more than the ground’s warmth or her constant thirst.

  “Do you know where we are?” She wiped her hand over her eyes and gazed around at the rain-blurred horizon.

  “To an extent,” he answered.

  “We’re lost, aren’t we? No sun. No stars. We’ve turned around and are headed back in the same direction we came from.”

  “We’re not lost. I’m good with directions, day or night, and we’re still aimed for Old Louis Ruins.”

  “Are you sure?” She stared at the hills ahead.

  The horizon had an eerie familiarity about it. She found herself looking for old landmarks of the Taum Sauk—a particular formation of the trees, the skyline of a forest against the clouds, anything to argue against Sevrin’s assurance. Nothing stood out along the landscape.

  Then she spotted a building looking every bit similar to the one she always passed coming down from the Taum Sauk when she went salvaging. She quickened her pace, anxious to know if it was indeed the same rickety hovel.

  “Rye?” Sevrin called after her.

  Her mind hurried to conclusions. Distrust seeped into her thoughts. Sevrin was used to traveling the wastelands. He’d not get lost just because there were clouds hiding the sun. He was leading her somewhere but it wasn’t Old Louis Ruins. Why was he leading her home?

  “You lied,” she yelled back, hurrying through the rain to get a better look at what she knew she’d find.

  “About what?” He gave that same performance of sincere perplexity.

  “Where were you leading me?” The swell of trepidation pushed her into a run.

  What was she missing? Why would he lead her away from Old Louis Ruins?

  Maybe he didn’t want to hand her over to the scientists. But why? Could it be he was some kind of sentry for the Wickstrom Group? His brother worked there as a scientist. That was it—Sevrin was protecting his brother from her finding out that he had brought her sister there.

  Only that didn’t make sense either. Sevrin was half lamian. Wouldn’t his brother also be half lamian?

  Rye paused and looked back at Sevrin.

  Confused by her muddled thoughts, she ran toward the site that symbolized a safe haven—that shack sitting at the base of the Taum Sauk Mountain.

  The rain had stopped completely, yet the air remaine
d heavy with heat. She licked her dry lips, wishing she had a drink. While tears blurred her vision, there was also a strange fog surrounding her. It steamed from the ground, reminding her of how water danced on a hot skillet. Her feet tingled from heat spouting out of the crevices in the cracked earth. The thick air made breathing hard. She kept running, even though she wanted to stop and take a drink from the flask. A drink seemed important.

  Stripping Sevrin’s coat off to find relief from the scorching weather, she dropped it behind her along with the knapsack.

  “Rye, stop!” Sevrin yelled.

  She refused to heed the alarm in his voice. The loss of an unknowing captive naturally gave rise to his panicked tone. Why did she lean so easily toward trusting him? He didn’t have a lamian’s soul. At every turn, he had displayed a humanist way of thinking. Was her need for a companion—a lover—a friend so overwhelming she ignored his motives? When it came down to it, he was still a stranger.

  The need for a drink brought her to a halt, yet when she looked back, Sevrin was gaining ground.

  “Rye,” Sevrin shouted again. “Don’t go any close—er!”

  Then a thought hit her. The unbearable need she had for water. Dehydration was affecting sane reasoning.

  She turned to see Sevrin reaching for her in the fog. Stretching out her arm, she reached for him.

  Then as if the ground had a mouth, the soil gave way beneath her feet and a cavernous hole in the earth swallowed her up. Her scream drowned out Sevrin’s voice.

  Rock and wet sand tumbled in, following her descent. She clawed at the gnarled earthen walls, raking her fingers over the cutting sharpness of jagged stone and dirt. Pockets of air thwarted her efforts to find a secure hold. Petrified roots formed a tangled web. With one hand, she snagged a loop in them and hung above an unbearable inferno licking up from the depths.

  “Rye!” Sevrin’s voice echoed down to her.

  Hot smoke scalded her throat, making it impossible for her to shout back a reply. Her smoldering clothing had holes burned through to her skin. The searing heat melted her flesh, cooking her as if she were a human’s meal.

  She kicked to get a foothold to climb. Escape didn’t look good. Then she found an opening across the hole. She grabbed another root and swung toward the niche. Big enough to crawl in, the recessed cavern would place her out of the direct line of the blaze below. While roasting in an oven didn’t have any better appeal, she swung back and forth on a loose vine until she felt confident of making the jump.

  One, two, three. She threw herself into the niche. It was deeper than she had expected and she guessed it had once housed an underground stream. She pressed herself against the farthest wall of rooted dirt cave. Every breath remained a chore as the heated air worked to cook her insides.

  Rye had always hoped that when she died, someone would be there to cremate her. Never did she foresee doing it herself.

  Chapter Ten

  Sevrin had taken a chance crossing the dry riverbed in a storm. He’d seen massive sinkholes appear from floods before, but only after the rain had stopped. He thought he and Rye would be safe from them until then.

  “Rye!” he yelled, crawling close to the edge of where she slipped into the ground.

  Silence greeted him from the pit. Not even the sound of his voice echoed back. Lying flat, he leaned over the edge. A flare of heat singed his brows. Frustration, anger and a slew of other emotions hit him hard. He scooted back and slammed his fist on the hard-baked ground. Rye was gone.

  “You ought not to get too riled with the Earth, hitting it like that,” a woman said from ahead of him. “Or you’ll find it gives you what you want.”

  The prospect of Rye having survived pushed him up from the ground, all ready to admonish her for not listening to him when he shouted for her to stop. His hopes of her miraculous appearance sank back into the cold hollow of his chest. It wasn’t Rye speaking to him.

  “If I thought I’d get what I wanted I’d not stop,” he declared.

  “So then you do want to follow your female into the bowels of hell.”

  No, he wasn’t ready to die, even though he felt the loss of Rye as if he’d known her forever. “Is that where this leads?” he asked.

  “Can’t you feel the heat? Wouldn’t you think that’s a good guess?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m not much into believing or disbelieving in the hereafter myths.” He rose from his belly to his knees.

  The woman let out a laugh as she emerged from the steamy fog concealing her. “That eternal blaze has nothing to do with the hereafter, mister. But it does have to do with something evil and they go by the name of the Wickstrom Group.”

  “Wickstrom? What have they got to do with this?” He glanced at the ground, thinking he heard something. “Did you hear that?”

  “It’s the shifting of the interior. As the fire eats through the earth, it leaves tunnels. When they collapse, you feel the tremors much the same as an earthquake. You know what an earthquake is, don’t you?”

  He got to his feet, half listening to the woman. As the ground rocked, he stepped back from the hole. Who didn’t know what an earthquake was? Were there places on the planet that the ground didn’t shake?

  “Like I said, tremors,” the woman repeated. “Happens more frequently right after a rain. It’s a bad mix, the cool water with the hot core. We better move out of the riverbed before the next volatile eruption takes one of us into the belly of the earth.”

  Sevrin scooped up his coat from the ground where Rye dropped it. He left the knapsack and followed the woman. The rain started again. Guilt for leaving stopped him and he glanced back.

  “You’re welcome to hole up in my shack until the weather breaks,” the woman offered.

  Comfort wasn’t on his mind. Yet not knowing what else to do other than move forward, he resumed trailing her.

  “Name’s Iantha and yours is?” She opened the door of her dwelling.

  “Sevrin Renault.” He studied the lopsided porch roof propped up on an old board. “This doesn’t look any safer than the ground it’s sitting on.”

  “This shack’s been here for decades. Neither ground heat nor tremors have claimed it, so I’d say we’ll both be long dead before this place goes down.” She went inside.

  “Or we’ll die as it comes down,” he muttered, stepping onto the porch and ducking beneath the low door header.

  “Make yourself at home.” Iantha shed her outer garments, leaving her in a tight top and a wispy skirt, both dingy and torn from age.

  When she wiped her hands over the front of her shirt, she smiled at him. There was no mistaking her breed with her prominent fangs. How had he missed seeing the large pointed cuspids before?

  The lamian female was neither young nor old in appearance. She had short, slightly wavy brown hair. Her trim figure, more boyish than feminine, hinted of pure lamian genetics. She swept her hands over her head, pressing excess water from her dark hair.

  Her movements drew his gaze back to her chest. As she wrung the water from her shirt, he stared at the shadowed areas marking the tips of her breasts. The pebbled bumps of her nipples beneath the cloth made a ripple-free outline. He concluded she had no piercings—no small hoops of steel to fondle or tug.

  He looked away, ashamed of his deviant thoughts. Rye was more than a casual sexual encounter and that his mind only wandered there soured his stomach with a disrespectful flavor.

  A crackle from the wood Iantha added to a fire diverted his attention. She had a clay pit built with a layer of stones on one side of the room. In the center, a steel pot sat on a grate beneath a stovepipe in the ceiling. In the pot, something boiled. Soup? As flames tried to raise higher, rainwater dripping from the cylinder above doused them.

  Besides a bed, a couple chairs and a table, not much else furnished the one-room hovel. Then he saw a metal government storage box in the far corner. He suspected it contained her prized possessions.

  “I haven’t anything of value,”
she said, apparently noticing where he looked.

  “I wasn’t thinking you did.” He tossed his coat over the back of a chair and pulled his shirt off to dry it by the fire.

  “Of course, now that I have you here,” she hummed, “I can’t rightly say that, can I?”

  Iantha leaned, resting both hands on the table, showing more cleavage than he wanted to see. Any other time, the tease might have encouraged him. Now it only made him think about Rye’s creamy sweet skin, the soft lilt to her voice and the warmth of her personality. Iantha had a somewhat colder temperament. Nothing in her unsympathetic actions or voice offered a hint of empathy.

  She moved around the table and came toward him.

  “Not human.” She rolled her finger around the lingering scar on his abdomen. “But not actually lamian either.”

  “That’s right,” he answered.

  A half-breed, different yet similar to Rye.

  He stared at Iantha. Hearing but not actually listening.

  Her thin shirt clung to her damp skin, hugging her small breasts and the plumpness of her jutting nipples. Still, she lacked the generous peaks and valleys that attracted him. Rye had a beautiful shape.

  His face muscles tense, he closed his eyes and recalled Rye wearing his shirt. The fabric had enhanced her curves the way she tied it at her waist, marking her very feminine and lusciously inviting.

  “Hmmm, a half-breed and a fine specimen too.” Iantha purred a seductive sound as she ran her hands over his chest.

  He envisioned the light, sensual touch of Rye’s fingertips stroking his nipples, sending a rippling wave of sensations through his body. How easy she made it seem to stir such a reaction.

  He opened his eyes and glanced down at Iantha’s fingers. Her fondling of his nipples did nothing for him. She had a rough touch, gritty like sand, uncomfortably unappealing.

  He pushed her hand away.

  “She meant something to you,” Iantha stated as if she read his thoughts. “I can tell.”

  She rubbed his abdomen and he blankly watched.

  “She’d want you to move on and not dwell on her death.” Iantha caressed the front of his pants.