The Survivors: Book One

by Angela White

  Angela fired, a bit wildly on the first few shots, and one of the rounds caught the wolf in mid-leap, slamming into its chest. It landed on the ground with a hard thud as Marc rolled and hit his feet, began to fire.

  “Watch your six!” he warned, immediately sure they were pack-hunting. He put them back to back as the brittle stalks around them swayed with barely seen movement. The sky had begun to darken as they worked out, but neither had worried, used to being in the dark, but this time they had let dangerous predators get close.

  Suddenly, they were under attack, moving eyes gleaming at them through the dusk-tinted rows. They fired at the same time, dropping two wolves that had jumped from opposite sides.

  A dark shadow appeared at her hip, and Angela stopped herself from shooting as she recognized Dog. Her eyes narrowed on a stocky white wolf running in and out of the distant, yellow stalks. Before she could take aim on the leader, another shadow streaked past her.

  “Damn it!” Again, she kept herself from firing by only a hair. “Dog just went to my right, chasing the white one.”

  Marc nodded, turning them to face another duel attack meant to separate. They came in low, lunging for legs, and both shots killed, but two more hungry hunters jumped at Angela, coming fast.

  “Duck!” she shouted, firing. She got the low animal in the chest as the other went sailing overhead, and she heard Marc take care of it as more and more eyes shined mercilessly in the dimness. Wolves were now streaming through the corn like rats.

  Making sure they stayed tightly against each other, Marc moved them in half circles, firing and kicking at those not hungry enough to lunge, but still bold enough to snap. He could feel Angela doing the same behind him, her grunts and shots mirroring his.

  Flames rose up behind them suddenly, Marc catching a tall shadow from the corner of his eye as he turned, shot a leaping wolf in the chest, turned, and killed a snapping wolf going for Angie’s leg.

  More fire erupted, along with the pungent smell of gasoline as full darkness fell over them, and some of the wolves hesitated, but not those hungry frontrunners.

  Angela jerked forward, stiff-arming a determined predator in the throat. Her gun was empty and she knew by the silence behind her that Marc's was too. Drooling, fur bushed up, the wolves moved closer with hungry eyes.

  Angela fumbled for the speed loader on her belt, and Marc turned them again, slamming his in as two more wolves lunged. He caught one in the neck, blood spraying, and shoved them backwards in time to let the second animal go sailing by.

  “Incoming!”

  Reloaded, Angela shot the wolf as it hit the hard ground and fired at eyes in the air, then the flames were between her and the corn as Marc rotated them again. Shadows lunged, coming through gaps in the wall of fire, and she picked them off, assuming Brady’s silent gun meant he was reloading.

  Marc stared intently at the hulking man intently, the 3/4 circle of flames discouraging many of the animals. The newcomer was gigantic, eight by five it seemed like, and yet he was light on his feet as he poured the last of the gasoline to close the gaps.

  “Stay inside,” the big man instructed gruffly without turning, voice heavy under his furs and hood.

  Before Marc could say anything, Angela spun around, six shots gone. She gasped in surprise at the big man, but just like Marc, her fingers didn’t stop. She had to be ready when he turned them again.

  “On your right, woman!”

  She slammed the clip home and fired without looking, almost able to hear the slobbering jaws about to clamp down on her ankle. A heavy body thudded to the ground.

  “Dog! Guard her!” Marc shouted, firing.

  The wolf appeared at her side, bloody muzzle snarling viciously at two more animals trying to sneak through a thin gap in the fire wall.

  4

  Kenn shifted restlessly in the plush seat of his truck, unafraid of moving alone through the darkness, but more than scared of not being able to find a way to keep Adrian from discovering what he’d done, who he’d been.

  Angela was close. He could feel it, and though it had been a relief to get to Cheyenne and find only the Slavers (he’d watched for an extra day to be sure she wasn’t there, high in the trees with his scope), he knew she was within a day of him, just not sure in what direction.

  She was likely southeast, coming in on a straight line, but instead of heading that way at the highway sign, Kenn kept the Bronco on the path he had taken after slipping away from the massive Slaver camp. With fresh mags for his M16 - swiped from the Slaver camp - it had been an easy choice, and the Marine was sticking to it.

  Kenn had his lights off, brake bulbs loosened to eliminate the telling glows, and he slowed as loud, rapid gunshots echoed in the darkness. Window down, he rolled slowly, trying to pinpoint the location. It was her, he was suddenly sure of it. When the noise continued, he edged closer.

  More gunshots rang out, a battle for survival it sounded like, and he stopped as movement and light caught his eye. Scope always at hand, Kenn’s eyes narrowed on what appeared to be a burnt down ring of fire.

  She was in trouble, he could feel that clearly, and the plan fell into place with a horrible snap. He would arrive in time to finish off whoever had just killed his wife.

  And if she survives? his worry asked, and Kenn grinned in the pitch black truck. The camp would be told she hadn’t. If they even found out how close she’d been. He certainly had no intentions of telling them.

  5

  Angela muttered a curse as three more wolves slunk into the ring and heard Brady echo her expletive as he fired repeatedly, hitting them all. They were in deep. It was time to let the Witch out and worry about the consequences later. “Fire!”

  Bright blue flames spewed from Angela's outstretched hands, hitting a gap in the wall just as two wolves tried to dart through, and their fur lit up, the heat of her power blowing them back into the dark cornstalks as the gap closed.

  “Over here!” Marc shouted desperately as the big man took a rifle from the sling on his shoulder, and the Witch obeyed, flames shooting like golden-blue comets from her fingers. It closed the spaces and each infusion traveled the wall of fire, strengthening it until the ring was solid.

  “That’s it, Brady,” she gasped. “I’m low.”

  All the animals were outside the ring now, whining uneasily, fighting with each other, and Angela pushed the Witch back as she continued to shoot weak balls of light that disappeared into the air before they could reach the fire wall. Stop. We can't win this way.

  There were numerous dead wolves, but dozens and dozens of eyes still gleamed hungrily at them from the darkness behind the flames. They would wait for the fire to burn out and attack again.

  “Bad time to be bleedin',” the big man stated, before he fired a well-aimed shot that took down a pair of wolves trying to breach the wall, one bullet doing the job of two.

  Marc nodded, keeping just as close an eye on the big stranger, as he was the wolves.

  “You hit, Brady?” Angela demanded, keeping her eyes on flickering shadows.

  “No. Duck!”

  They moved at the same time, dropping low, firing together, and two more wolves hit the dirt, slid through the already dying flames.

  Dog jumped suddenly, meeting a wolf as it came over the fire. His powerful jaws clamped down on an unprotected throat, and Angela fired at the second animal now stalking Dog.

  Her first shot landed near its paw, Angie afraid of hitting the wrong dark body, but her second shot went straight between its eyes.

  “This is my last clip.”

  “Me too.”

  The big man was firing a bright red flare into the sky before their words had faded and seconds later, a tremendous howl split the air.

  Wwwhhhhhooooo!

  It was a piercing whistle or maybe a caller of some kind, the notes melodic and offensive at the same time. Like a wolf's howl, Angie thought.

  It seemed to go on forever, and Marc put a calming hand on Dog’s
head as the wolves hesitated in their attack, thinking it had come from maybe two miles away, but no more.

  Angela winced as the wailing increased, the animals joining in. The volume continued to rise as the wolf call came again, pulling at them, drawing them.

  “That'll be the Missus. She’ll have the bait out, and be holed up with the others. We’ll be able ta go in a bit.”

  “Won’t she need help?” Brady asked, amazed to see the wolves starting to leave.

  “No. They don’t climb none too well.”

  “How will you get to them without running into the wolf pack?” Angela asked.

  The man stepped closer, big form intimidating. “You tell me, Witch,” he grunted.

  Angela concentrated, feeling Brady tense behind her. “Underground.”

  The man grunted, tossed back his hood to reveal a horribly disfigured face partially hidden by a thick, shaggy beard. Deep brown eyes glared at her.

  Angela stiffened as the Witch whispered. “What payment do you expect for helping us? Nothing’s free. Not before and certainly not now.”

  The man shrugged, eyes darting over her shoulder to Marc. “We got a broken radio and no medicine, no ammo. Got any of that?”

  She relaxed. “Possibly. What else? That doesn’t equal the debt.”

  His eyes were hard as he looked her over from head to toe. “Girls could use some clothes...maybe some books?”

  Surprised, Angela gave him a genuine smile.

  Marc heard the man’s sudden intake of breath. He recognized the sound, that reaction to Angela, and rotated them again. “The woman is not for trade.”

  The huge man’s hardened face tightened, and he turned away. “Can’t hardly get it up now anyway,” he muttered, stepping over the dying flames. “Damn diabetes. Come on. She’ll have supper waitin'.”

  Angela and Marc exchanged a long look of uncertainty, but chose to follow the big man’s shadowy form in the darkness. The corn around them was empty now, but not silent. The breeze moved through the hollow stalks, making an eerie moan that resembled the calling howl they’d heard, and Dog followed closely, his black-and-grey fur still bushed out in warning. Danger wasn’t far.

  Once again glad to be alive, Angela and Marc quietly followed the big man through the corn, both still unsure of his intentions. When the rows ended, revealing a dark stretch of tall, sick-looking evergreen trees, they exchanged looks that said they would be careful. The wind was cool, smelled of shit, and they both spotted the fresh wolf scat that littered the dead rows of waist high corn. This was part of their hunting ground.

  “Almost there,” the big man grunted, moving steadily despite his size. He stopped in front of a large clump of bushes.

  Marc stayed by Angela, and Dog did too. His thick fur was flecked in blood, and they both saw the big man casting hard looks at the timber wolf. Marc estimated they had come about two clicks from the battle scene.

  “Grab an end.” The man bent down to clasp a large handful of the damp foliage.

  Marc did it while keeping his eyes open, not liking to be unfamiliar with an area, but content enough to let the man’s true colors show when they would. The odds on him winning weren’t nearly as high as with the wolves.

  “Pull!”

  Angela grinned in surprised admiration at the cleverly disguised sewer entrance that rose up like a blanket. There were thin, dark green puddles where it met the ground, a poison of some type Angie guessed, and she was careful not to step in it, wondering if it was the fumes alone that kept the animals from coming through or if they’d learned to avoid it from seeing their packmates die.

  “Close the flap and watch out for the rats. The antifreeze don't tempt 'em, and they don’t scare easy neither.”

  As they moved into the damp, stinking air of underground, Marc gestured to the night vision glasses on her belt. Instead of putting them on, she tapped the big man on the arm, held them out.

  He started to take them, and then shook his head, stepped by her. “You keep ‘em and watch out. Your blood’ll likely make fire shoot from their arses, and we’d never be able ta keep ‘em out.”

  Angela heard Marc snort in amusement and she slid the glasses back onto her belt with a frown. She didn’t sense evil in their huge guide, but his knowing what she was made her uncomfortable, and she dropped back, putting more distance between them.

  Marc however, was starting to relax. He was almost sure the man had been military before the War, and he lit a smoke, gun still in hand, as they walked quietly through the stone tunnels. They moved over and around rotting furniture, mildewed piles of clothes, whole and broken cinder blocks. Gray and green moss climbed the tall, dank, concrete walls that met a cobwebbed ceiling about 20 feet above them, and their steps echoed along with the distant drip of water.

  “About there. Be quiet. She’ll have the little 'uns back ta sleep by now,” he said, indicating that the battle with the wolves was a long-running one.

  Angela caught Marc’s silent words. “He thinks we’re a couple. Tell him different, I may have to fight for you when it comes time to leave.”

  She too felt the enormous man’s interest, but it eased her a little that there was no sense of him being the one to fear. They came to a stop, and when Marc gestured upward, she saw a trap door in a wooden floor that was over twenty feet up, an impossible jump.

  Suddenly a rock flew through the air to slam into the big man’s cheek and he sucked in a surprised breath at the pain as another, bigger stone sailed down at them from the damp darkness.

  “Damn! It’s me!”

  The rock barrage stopped and a woman’s indignant voice called down to them, “Shoulda said something!”

  The big man grunted, rubbing his arm where the second rock had hit. “Jealous, I think. Seen your woman in action.”

  Marc agreed: Angie was a tough act to follow.

  “Come on, Lenore! Did I save ‘em from the wolves to feed ‘em to the rats? ”

  There was no sound from above them, and Angela was unable to keep from grinning at the sigh of long-suffering the big man let out.

  “Definitely jealous.”

  “I am not! The rope’s kinked up again. Hang on!”

  Eyes, round and gleaming in the darkness, appeared in the deeper shadows around them.

  Angela's gasp was followed by the man’s urgent voice, “Now, woman! They’re comin'!”

  The trap door slid open and a rope ladder dropped on top of the man’s head.

  “’Bout damn time. Here!” He grabbed Angela’s black sweater and lifted her onto the ladder in one effortless move. As she started to climb, his big hands settled firmly on her ass, shoving, squeezing, caressing.

  Angela jerked herself up and out of his reach, her .357 in hand a second later, pointed at his head. “You ever touch me again, your Missus will use your balls for bait!”

  The man stopped halfway through the opening, glaring at her.

  “Angie,” Marc’s tone was patient, resigned.

  “What?” she snapped, backing up.

  “There’s a rat about a foot long trying to eat my boot. Let him through.”

  Angela felt the rage clear from her eyes and reholstered her weapon as she turned to look at the only other person in the big, cluttered kitchen of what was probably a one floor, ranch style home - Lenore.

  Dressed in a stained white shirt and an enormous pair of farmer’s overalls with the pockets ripped off, the large woman was smirking at her man. A grand beehive of black and white hair hung in every direction like a bad wig and the long, jagged scars on her face and arms told Angela she had fought beside him to protect what was theirs.

  “I’m Missus Lenore Codd.”

  Angela held out a hand to the giantess, the name ringing a faint bell. Wasn’t there a fairy tale based on the life of a giant by that name? “Angela. Angie. I hope we won’t be a bother to you.”

  The woman’s sharp brown eyes watched even as she shook firmly. “Me? No. Him?”

  She
indicated the man leaning down a hand to help Brady, not reacting at all when the wolf riding uneasily on Marc’s shoulders nipped at him. “Probably already has. T'was me that seen and sent him after ya. Told him I wudn’t cookin' till he got ya here.”

  Angela covered the woman’s large hands with her own. “Then it’s you I owe the debt to. Good.” She moved closer, running on instinct. “Maybe we can barter, but for now, let me start paying on the debt I owe. I’m a Doctor.” Her voice lowered, “Diabetes can be controlled by doing certain things, and then the side effects go away.”

  The woman grinned, clapped her on the back, and Angela held onto her big arm to keep from falling as the reek of corn filled her nose. “Might could be. Let’s get them men fed and we’ll talk.”

  Angela nodded, taking her sweater off in the warmth. There was barely room to walk in the dusty, ten by twelve space and the cluttered shelves full of bags, canisters, and unpacked boxes told her the couple had come here only recently.

  “Can I help? Set a table? Do cleanup?”

  “Polite, eager to help. You remind me of the past,” Lenore mused matter-of-factly.

  Frowning, Angela didn’t look away, though the stench of corn was making her eyes water. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Wudn’t all evil.”

  Angela didn’t agree with her, but the look of understanding they shared said this new world wasn’t all bad either.

  “Damn it, woman! Feed me! Them,” the man ordered, dropping down at the long, wooden table in the narrow, lantern-lit room.

  His wife waved at a chair over in the corner, seemingly indifferent to the large, wild wolf standing tensely in her kitchen. “Put your man to the right. We’ll stand. Only got two chairs left now. Keepin' warm’s more important than pass-me-downs.”

  Angela shook her head at Marc when he started to offer to take the floor, and her eyes told him to be careful, that the man wasn’t in charge here.

  She brought the heavy chair over with no visible effort and knew the big woman was pleased when Marc obeyed her and sat. The feeling increased when Angela looked at Dog, pointed at the trap door, and the wolf immediately went to that spot and laid down, only his eyes and ears moving. Angela stayed close to the woman as she served big bowls of what appeared to be stew from a large metal pot on a double burner gas stove.