The Survivors: Book One

by Angela White

  “We’ll need a stronger tranquilizer.”

  Dillan’s dark face was full of bloodlust. “And, sharper knives. I want it to last.”

  7

  Angela and Marc didn’t stop until almost noon. They were both bleary-eyed and exhausted as they sat on opposite corners of their tailgates with the tuna sandwiches and coffee she had made.

  The layer of grit in the sky seemed thicker despite the heavy rain the night before, and Angela tried to avoid looking at the suburbs of identical condos crammed together across from the field. It sickened her to see how many had corpses of starved pets in backyards and front windows, most still appearing to be looking, searching for the Masters who had left them to such an awful fate.

  “We have to come to some terms before we go any farther together.”

  Her eyes swung to his, a sweet smile of relief lighting up her tired face and making him suck air into lungs that felt too small. Marc watched her happiness cool, knew instinctively she was waiting to see if she could pay the price he was about to demand. “First and most important, I’ll teach you to use your gun and some basic self-defense.”

  Angela nodded, frowning at the thought of being close enough to him (to any man!) long enough to learn something like that. “Okay, to both.”

  “Good. We’ll plan routes together, share the chores, and I’ll keep my distance as best I can and still protect you. In return, I’ll need more than an introduction. It can wait until you decide about your man, but then they’ll both have to be told so I can spend time with my son.”

  She frowned again. The things he wanted were fair, reasonable, but there was still great fear in her heart. “Agreed, anything else?”

  Marc waved a hand, dark blue eyes smoky, serious, “Yes. I’ll need to know things about your life, and that we’ll leave for when you’re ready, but on the way I’d like you to tell me about...Charlie. Everything I missed. Bedtime stories, any pictures you have?”

  She gave him a small smile that didn’t reach her cold eyes, and he wondered what about his words she hadn’t liked. All of it?

  Angela gave him another nod, a thin smile. “Is that it? Good. Now, I have conditions. First and most important, we will travel every day. I’m in a hurry, and I want that clear up front. Second, you’re in charge, but when I say to change direction, we do it. We’ll use the maps, but I’m tracking him too, and I trust me.”

  Marc thought she sounded like a mother bear protecting her cub, and for a man who hadn’t had anything but guilt and loneliness for a long time even before the War, it was very attractive. “Agreed, next?”

  “Next is last. When we get there, do as I ask and abide by my choice. I want no violence if it can be helped.”

  “You’ll see that I get time with Charlie, even if we have to sneak?”

  Her voice was shaky. “Yes. You’ll protect us from Kenny, even if it comes to blood?”

  The open fear in her eyes hurt him. “With my life.”

  The answer fell easily despite the years between them. When she only nodded, Marc caught the fact that she didn’t tell him that it wouldn’t come to that. What the hell was he walking into?

  “Then I agree.” Mindful about keeping his distance (still stinging from it) Marc didn’t put out his hand until she did hers, and he saw her reluctance, saw her almost draw back before placing her small fingers against his.

  Lightning flashed overhead, forking into thick black clouds that rolled across the sky as the lovers touched. Electricity sparked between them, threatening to sweep them into the past. Marc let go, moved back. He was a man of his word.

  For Angela, the silence after the crash was deafening, but she didn’t apologize for the small theft of some of his healthy energy, almost sure he hadn’t noticed. Her oddness was something she planned to rely on now, and he would have to get used to it. Kenny couldn’t, hadn’t even been able to consider accepting her for what she really was without using it for his own gain. Would Brady?

  She stood up, began cleaning. Only time would tell. “Well, come on then, Sir Lancelot. I’d like to make another five by dark.”

  He snapped a stiff salute, grinning, and she turned away before he could see the disappointment in her tired eyes. Had a tiny part of her lonely heart been hoping that one of his conditions might be another chance with her if she decided not to stay with her Marine?

  She swallowed the hurt, closed and locked her door. That was exactly what the old Angela had been waiting for, and it was a struggle not to cry as she shifted into gear.

  8

  They traveled until it began to get dark. The rain had returned for another light round and then cleared, leaving only the damp, reeking wind as they rolled over dead wires still attached to downed poles and around trees by the hundreds that had their tops sheared off. It was sad, monotonous, and despite her need to hurry, Angela was glad when he finally called her on the radio. She was beat.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes. You pick, I’ll cook.”

  “Deal. That long drive on your right.”

  Carefully easing up the long, muddy driveway full of cracks and weeds, she saw the benefits of his choice. Thick trees blocked them from view on one side as far as the eye could see and an unturned cornfield did the same on the rest of the property surrounding the small, grayish farmhouse.

  A few of the big windows were broken, but it looked otherwise undamaged, and Marc headed for the small carport, hoping there was room for two. He had honestly expected her to be driving something flashy and unusable - her obvious seriousness about making this trip was something of a relief as well as a worry. It spoke of someone who wasn’t exaggerating.

  Marc stopped, watching her slowly back into the hard, dirt row of corn, snapping a surprising few of the knee-high stalks as she pulled in near the house. Obviously, she’d done it a few times, and it made sense. He too preferred not to sleep in homes where family ghosts still lingered. Closing his mouth on the correction he had started to give, Marc waited to see what she had in mind.

  Angela pulled out a rolled-up, camouflage tarp, and when she tossed it over her Blazer, pulling gently on the stiff ends, the muddy 4x4 seemed to disappear. Marc felt the Marine inside stir in respect at her resourcefulness. Fresh recruits tried hard for eight weeks to impress, usually without success, and she’d done it in less than a day.

  “There should be room for both of us.” She had crawled under the tarp and the radio made him jump.

  “Copy.”

  Angela stood on her roof, holding the tarp up so he could back in next to her, and Marc concentrated on watching what he was doing and not her. He put it in park and killed the engine, watched her step casually across his hood and jump down, tugging just right until he had to turn on his inside light to see by.

  Now wearing gloves and a heavier coat, Angela was driving thick, steel pegs into the corners of the large tarp as he got out, and Marc went to secure the house, Dog at his side. His movements were careful, thorough, but his mind stayed with the woman he could hear working. She was an asset in this new world, he could see that already. She was strong, smart, and a possible target for every man who saw her. That was what had stopped him from leaving. Marc was almost sure the fire had been set.

  He had found something on the corner of his tailgate that could just possibly be the trim of a bullet. The brothers had tried to fry her in her sleep, and when she’d woken too soon, they’d started shooting. The smoke had hurt the brothers’ aim, and saved their lives. Amid the cracking tree branches and roar of the flames, Marc hadn’t even known they were under attack. She wouldn’t stand a chance without him, and he had loved her too much to let her go on this suicide mission completely unprotected.

  "Loved?" his heart questioned scornfully and Marc pushed it away. They would stay on the back roads and be careful with shooting lessons that would draw attention. One look at her and they would be under attack again, he thought, not knowing how true that was.

  An hour later, they were settl
ed on their bedrolls on the floor, eating and trying not to stare at each other.

  “I notice you don’t wear any insignia. What branch of the Marines were you in?”

  She was red-eyed, exhausted, and Marc looked up from his mostly empty plate, still dwelling on her story of finding fresh meat in the basement of a mansion she’d passed in Edinburgh. Drawn by the lights in the windows, the generator was still running and there had obviously been people there recently, but she said she had seen no one while exploring the big house. What courage that must have taken!

  “Brady?”

  “The one with no name.”

  His words made her frown. Hadn’t Kenny said about the same thing a few years ago, when she asked about the last advancement? She sighed, eyes going to the bedroll between her and the blanket-covered doorway as the wind howled outside. Kenny was going be so pissed she couldn't even predict what he might do. Was Brady equal to that? “Like The Unit?”

  Marc looked up at her with a smile. “You watched that bs?”

  “Every Tuesday, no matter what.”

  Her bitter tone made his smile fade and he waited for more, but there was only silence. He could feel her wanting to ask if he was that good, and admired her control when she didn’t.

  “Yes,” he finally said, answering her unspoken question.

  Angela met his eye. “You’re sure?”

  He nodded, not quite thinking about the harshest things he’d done as a Marine, but she could almost feel the darkness, the dirty stain on his soul, and was comforted.

  “Him too. He’s got four years in now.”

  Marc looked at her with shuttered eyes. “Most men don’t do it that long. It’s dangerous work.”

  She heard it, felt there was more, and let herself ask this time, “How long for you, Brady?”

  He didn’t look away. “Eight. I had my own team.”

  Angela knew he was heartbroken over the personal loss, could hear it in his tone, but she couldn’t bring herself to mouth the usual pleasantries the old world would have required. He was mourning a great life. She’d barely had one to lose. Only two sons and now, one was rotting underground and the other was lost in the wilderness.

  Belly content for the first time in a while, Marc looked at the pictures she’d set by his plate, and he was glad she hadn’t pushed him on why he had stayed in so long. That question required trust and they didn’t really have that yet. They would have honesty though, he sensed, but when he tried to make eye contact, she avoided his gaze, “Why didn’t you call me, Angie? I would have come and taken responsibility.”

  She pushed away her half-finished burger and corn. “I wanted more back then. I wanted all of you or nothing.”

  Angela lit a smoke. “Besides, they wouldn’t have left us alone, and you know it. Between their religious crap and your shame, we didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Didn’t I deserve to make that choice?” he asked quietly.

  Angela took the cigarette from her mouth with shaky hands she knew he saw. There was probably little he didn’t notice. He was a Marine. “Yes. We both deserved the right to be happy, but it was taken away. I found out about the baby, and I was alone. I did what I had to, made hard choices that were wrong sometimes, but we’ve always been together and no one’s ever told him he’s going to hell because of our sins against God.”

  Marc winced, fading back in time to the confrontation with his mother.

  “She’s your family! How could you?”

  “Not by blood!”

  Slap! “By God!”

  “That was a long time ago.” Angela’s voice held a tremor.

  “A lot of hurt between then and now,” He stated.

  “We made our choices. What’s done is done.”

  She yawned tiredly and stood up, still surprised to find that his obvious pain and regret didn’t please her. She really did owe him much worse for the way he’d abandoned her. She headed for the doorway, pulling on her jacket.

  When he followed her, Angie said nothing, but felt immediately better that he was taking her request for protection seriously. “So, where all have you been since the War?”

  She headed for her Blazer and he hung back, thinking her waist was still so small, he could span it with both hands. He shoved them into his pockets instead, remembering a time when he’d been free to do that and a lot more.

  “I was in Virginia when the bombs fell, heading home for a funeral."

  “Whose?”

  “My mother’s.”

  Angela started to offer her sympathy and he held up a hand. “Don’t bother. I went home to bury the past, not her. She’s been dead to me for a long time,” he lit a Winston, casual tone not changing at all. “After Roanoke, I headed northeast for a couple weeks, but it all looked worse. There were mutations in West Virginia and after that, I changed directions fast. I’ve been to about twenty other bases, offices, centers. There’s nothing.”

  Hearing it only made Angela a bit sadder than she’d already been. That world was gone, and eventually they (she) would stop watching for its return. Angela got another duffle bag from the back seat and disappeared behind a tree, liking it that he waved the wolf after her. This was why she needed him. He would teach her to be strong, and look out for her while she learned.

  "And what happens when he runs out of things to teach?" the Witch asked ominously, but Angela wasn’t in any state to look that far ahead, and she didn’t answer.

  They were quickly back inside the tepid warmth of the faded, drafty farmhouse, both of them avoiding looking at the happy faces of the family who had lived here, smiling from the walls around them.

  “How much gas do you have?” He pushed the heater closer to the window so the draft would carry it farther into the room.

  “Only a quarter tank, but I have two full, ten gallon cans in the back.”

  “Great. I’ve got about the same. We should be good for a few days.” Marc spent a minute looking out the window at the landscape around their vehicles. He had chosen this room because it was the closest one to their wheels that had a window for a quick escape, and he wondered if he should point that out to her. How much did she want to learn while they traveled?

  “Have you seen anyone rebuilding? Any place for people to go?” Angela asked, suddenly wondering if his home had included a wife. The pain was almost staggering.

  “No, and I’ve been looking. It’s always the same. Things are bad and getting worse.”

  Not surprised, she didn’t say anything. After ten days out in this horrible new world, she had seen too much to believe that this was the normal recovery time after a global tragedy, that eventually help would come. Clearly, the government was gone and its people were on their own.

  “So, he’s a HAC-RAM?”

  Angela smiled at the thought of how good her son had turned out, and the beauty of it made Marc stare. Enough of those could blind a man from even seeing other women.

  “He has been for three years. Have a child, raise a Marine, was one of Kenny’s better ideas. They were in New Mexico at an annual competition when the War came. They never miss it; usually bring home a box of trophies. From the outside, he’s the perfect dad.”

  Angela settled herself on the couch, rubbing at her tired eyes, and Marc forced his mouth shut. He was going slowly, so that he didn’t miss anything important, and was already seeing stuff that bothered him. The jumpiness and hand flinching toward her gun at every sound could be attributed to her being attacked by the brothers, but there was also the way she hesitated to walk very close or look him in the eye. The no physical contact was a given, but her cold reaction to his hug had been unexpected, uncalled for. What had…

  “Where’d you get the wolf?”

  “Dog?” Marc smiled awkwardly, not sure how much of his thoughts she’d been picking up. “He’s a half-blood, they think, brought in with a pack that was killing livestock. Some were trained for police work, but Dog here, refused to conform. I got him when no one could make an
y progress.”

  “They were gonna put him down?”

  “Yeah. My buddy had a farm with lots of room and once there, Dog just settled right in and we made friends.”

  “He obeys well for still being mostly wild. It’s good that you didn’t take that from him.”

  Marc lit a smoke, thinking most people didn’t realize that fact when they heard the story. “I only changed him where I had to. He went on base with me, on missions a few times. It saved my ass more than once to have him along.”

  “It sounds like you’ve lived the ideal bachelor’s life.” Angela hated herself for being too weak to resist and was aware he knew the answer mattered.

  Marc tried to steel his heart, but didn’t hesitate. “There was never anyone for me after you. You’re a tough act to follow.”

  The old Angela did enjoy the hurt in his voice this time, and she slapped out at him with sharp claws not quite fully extended. "Hell, Brady. Thought you’d have a supermodel by now. I never figured you for a swinging-single.”

  Marc smiled uncertainly, shrugging, but his heart screamed ambush at her almost accusing tone. “I wasn’t that either. Too many strange ones out there. I had one very fast date with a girl who had a nose ring and three-inch black fingernails. Just strange.”

  Angela opened her mouth before she could censor the words and was appalled by the jealousy that spewed out. Her claws now sparkled, found blood. “Did she have long black curls and pale, white skin like all the others? Did you see my face when you exploded in her?”

  Marc sucked in a breath, hurt face open with the truth.

  Angela stood up in regret and fear. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that.”

  “After everything you’ve been through, I guess you owe me a few.” Marc stood too, reeling from the blow that she already knew he wasn’t over her, and frowned when he caught her flinch from the corner of his eye.

  “I’m sorry, Brady. It won’t happen again.”

  The note of real fear was unmistakable and he slowed his movements, turned his back to her so that she couldn’t see the rage on his face. She was afraid of him; terrified. “Better to let it out, Honey. The sooner we clear the air, the sooner you’ll trust me again and feel safe.”