Refugee Road (Freedom Fighters Series Book 1)

by Landis, Nikki

  He watched Alec’s reaction closely.

  “She was worth every minute I spent with her,” he told him truthfully.

  For good measure, he made an hour glass figure in the air with his hands. More guffaws. More laughter at her expense. He wanted to defend her honor but of course it was ridiculous in this circumstance. Donnovan was still watching him.

  “I wouldn’t have let her escape so easily. That sweet little body demanded way more attention than that.”

  Alec almost shivered at the lewd and suggestive tone. Outwardly, he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. Inwardly, he was seething. Donnovan was not someone to take lightly. If Lizzie was ever captured again, he would make it his mission to rehabilitate her. She would never survive it. He had seen the effects of Donnovan’s work before.

  “I have a way with women,” he laughed and winked at the group.

  More claps on the back. Everyone but Donnovan smiled.

  “I see,” he commented.

  Alec took several breaths to calm his inner turmoil. Donnovan was a constant irritant. They had taken an instant dislike to each other, rivals the second they met. He could not place it on one reason. It was Donnovan’s manner, his lack of social skills, and his total disregard of respect or chain of command. It was disconcerting that he had never been reprimanded. Warning bells went off in Alec’s head. Someone high up protected him. It was the only logical explanation.

  The other soldiers tolerated him and brushed off his behavior. Not Alec. Someone had to watch the fool, before he landed the lot of them in serious trouble. Donnovan had transferred from another base. The only information in his file listed the request as personal. Alec could guess the rest. Senior officers must have wanted him gone, unwilling to deal with him any longer. Now he had to deal with Donnovan on his own.

  “What is going on? I heard the gunfire,” he asked, more curious than he let on.

  “We saw some deer.”

  “Ha!”

  “Old Sullivan here thought he could take down a whole passel of wild boar on his own. Nearly pee in his pants!!”

  They all began talking at once and Alec laughed. On the whole, he liked his men. As their leader and commander, he kept a strict leash but never minded letting them blow off steam now and then. The easy banter and friendship enabled him to focus his mind where it was needed. On his mission.

  Later in his bed, when everything was quiet, he thought of Lizzie. How was it that she had managed to capture him body and soul? Since the first moment he met her, he knew she was the only one for him. It was Lizzie or no one. Alec had fallen in love with her that night they met. He had given her his heart and his promise to return for her. He never forgot that.

  There was an instant connection that drew them together. Sure, they were attracted to one another. But there was something else, a deep underlying current, like a shared soul. It was as if an invisible cord attached to them both, connecting their bodies, across time and space. It was unbreakable. Undeniable. He marveled at that, more than once. Perhaps it was how he always knew she was alive. He never doubted his ability to locate her.

  What would she think if he told her that? If he revealed the depth of his feelings? He was three years older than Lizzie. Was it the age difference that made him so resolute? So determined? Maybe. Those three years had to count for some small measure of maturity and experience. But it was more than maturity that cemented his determination.

  Alec loved her. For him, that was it. He could only hope that her feelings were as strong for him. If not, he could bide his time. He had already waited three years. He could wait longer if needed.

  Life had taught Alec many lessons in his twenty one years. Lessons young men should not have to learn. Experiences of war that revolved around the horrors of gunfire and desperate men. Blood. Death. Dismemberment. Self –defense. Murder. Torture. Loss. Pain. It was a testament to his stalwart mind and strong body that he had endured it. That he was intact in spirit. Alec persevered through it all. He was whole. Sound in mind and body. Alec was a survivor.

  Lizzie was a survivor too. He knew the depth of her anguish and sorrow, and yet there still remained a simple grace that radiated from her. A purity. He had seen it in those few days she was here. He had been in awe of her. Her beauty. Her innocence. She had no idea of her effect on him or the radiance that beckoned him, signaling to him in the night.

  Lizzie was a light. A beacon in the dark. She called to him, like a siren in dark and troubled waters, navigating him toward freedom. She calmed his restless soul. And Alec was restless. He needed her. Needed her light to keep him from the dark that threatened to swallow him whole. A light at the end of the tunnel. His radiant angel.

  Alec’s life in the militia was a lie. He lived with constant deception, hiding his true nature and intentions. Infiltrating the militia had been both brilliant and suicidal. He lived on borrowed time. He knew it would eventually catch up with him but he was in deep now. Too late to turn away or turn back.

  Three long years of living in their midst, pretending to swallow their lies, acting like their indoctrination worked. He was cunning and believable. They promoted him several times, admiring his intelligence and dedication, never realizing the true extent of his deception.

  Alec was going to destroy the militia. He was going to crush it. Dead. Like the bodies of all his family and every innocent lost. Gone forever…

  Chapter Three

  It was a long, cold, dark walk back to our base camp in the mountainside. Clouds covered the sun, overcast and dreary. The thick trees blocked what little light managed to filter through. I was freezing and weak with hunger when I finally reached the bunker, close to dusk. I could barely keep walking, stumbling often in an effort to keep my body moving.

  If I stopped, I was certain to freeze to death, falling into a sleep from which I would never awaken. My knee had buckled underneath me so many times I was afraid of ever making it. Pain helped me to keep my grip on reality. But it was slipping. How much further was it now?

  When I got close, a shout went out from the look-out, sounding the alarm.

  “Hey, it’s Lizzie!”

  Through my bleary and tired eyes, I saw Darren and some of the others approaching. I couldn’t go on any longer and sank to my knees. Pain shot through my right knee and I gasped at the stinging ache, trying to cradle it in my frozen fingers. I could feel myself fading out before they reached me but I couldn’t stop it. I was exhausted. The last memory I had was feeling someone lift me with strong arms and then I was out.

  I awakened to bright light all around me. Blinking my eyes slowly, I opened them as they adjusted to the room around me. It had to be midday. I must have crashed hard for about ten hours. I looked around the room, momentarily confused. I wasn’t in my bed. I usually bunked with everyone else, females and males separated, in rows of bunks. This was definitely not the bunkhouse.

  I was lying in a nice comfortable bed, in a rich private room. Darren. It was Darren’s bed. Irritation shot through me. Why the hell would he put me here? My bed was good enough. I didn’t need preferential treatment, especially in front of the others. It would make me appear weak. Frustrated, I jumped out of bed, and headed toward the door. I would tell him exactly what I thought about being in his room.

  Bad idea. I made a slight miscalculation. Actually two. First, I was weak. I hadn’t eaten in at least twenty four hours. Second, the pain in my knee had been forgotten. I overestimated my body’s ability to handle that adequately.

  About halfway to the door, I got lightheaded and dizzy, wobbled on my knee, and I started to fall. I grabbed at the closest thing to me, a nearby table, and crashed to the ground, knocking over a lamp and breaking it next to my head. I knocked the wind out of me and I lay there gasping for breath when Darren ran into the room with several other people.

  “Lizzie! Are you all right? What happened?” He yelled.

  He picked me up gently and I let him carry me back to the bed. Carefully he covered with
me with the quilt and sat down next to me, looking me over for damage.

  “I’m sorry. I’m hungry…I thought I could make it to the door…” I trailed off, feeling lightheaded again.

  “You look pale. Are you feeling ok?”

  I shook my head. “I’m dizzy and weak.”

  He put his hand against my forehead. “You’re burning up. Fever is setting in. I bet you got sick from traveling all that way in the cold and wet snow. I’m sorry…”

  Why was Darren looking at me like that? His expression wasn’t just concerned. It seemed pained. What was going on around here? Maybe I felt so bad I was imagining things. And I did start feeling bad, aching muscles, fatigue, hot and cold flashes, and a terrible headache.

  I moaned.

  “Lizzie?” He asked.

  I opened my eyes and looked at Darren. “My head is pounding now too.”

  He nodded his head. “I’m going to get you some medicine and some broth. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.”

  I watched his tall, lanky frame leave the room. In his absence the room was cleaned and tidied. I lay perfectly still and tried not to moan again. I felt like a piece of road kill. This was not good. I was sick. It was going to be days before I felt well enough to resume my duties. I didn’t like to be idle. It gave me too much time to think. Thinking led to remembering and remembering was bad. Very bad. Worse than remembering was the thought of staying in this room, this bed, and with him.

  I would have to tell Darren when he returned. I wanted out of here as soon as possible. I couldn’t think of a worse combination than idle thoughts and Darren hovering at the same time. I needed my own bunk.

  “Lizzie, I have a tray for you and some Tylenol. Doc is coming to see you later. I made him drop everything. You should have seen his face, scurrying to do as I asked. Funny, huh?” He asked.

  I moaned in response and the smile faded from his lips. He rushed over to me, giving me the Tylenol and some cool water first. When I felt better he started giving me sips of broth, refusing to let me do it myself. I knew better than to argue. Darren was a good leader for many reasons, one of those being his stubbornness. When he was determined, you let him go with it.

  After I finished the broth to his satisfaction, I grabbed his hand.

  “Darren…I’m sorry. I won’t be able…to do my share…for a few days,” I told him weakly.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “Why are you worried about that? Nobody cares. There are many others missing. They haven’t returned yet either. People always pitch in when they are needed. We are a team, remember?”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…”

  I looked away, embarrassed. He tilted my chin back toward him.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound harsh. There are many worries around here. People missing. Several funerals. Missing food rations. My only concern is getting you well at the moment. Let me deal with delegating what needs to be done. It is my job, after all,” he told me, chidingly.

  I nodded.

  “There is another big shipment coming soon. Another ammunition resupply. This time we are going to be prepared. I want those RPGs. I’m training new recruits right now as we speak.”

  Another shipment? “When is it coming?”

  “In three weeks. I have to have everything ready by then. There’s a meeting tonight. We are planning our strategy. I think Malcolm is going to try to lead the first wave this time. He has proven his worth and I trust him. This next shipment is even bigger than the last one and could reap a pretty big supply of weapons and reward our hard work.”

  “Malcolm is a good soldier. He has a lot of knowledge if you listen to him.”

  “I know, but he is so stubborn and one-sided…”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “He’s not the only one.”

  Darren grinned at me, knowing exactly what I meant.

  “I guess I should let you rest now. I’ll come back later in case you need anything.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

  My eyelids were already fluttering. He watched me drift off, a small smile playing on the edge of his lips.

  That night I dreamed of K.D. We all referred to it by the same name. The acronym that everybody used because it was too painful to say the name aloud. It changed briefly with each individual experience but the end result was always the same. Death. Destruction. Horror. Loss. No one escaped its cruelty or its finality. It was the day that everything changed. The day I almost died. And should have.

  It was our Kill Day…

  The sirens were already too late, blaring their ungodly wail in addition to the deafening roar of the planes. The bombers had snuck in under radar, dropping their torpedoes all over town. You could hear them coming, swooping to the ground in quick succession, giant birds of prey bringing death and destruction on the back of their wings, riding on the current of the wind, as they struck their mark one by one. Each hit precise, each jarring impact causing a crater wide area of destruction that snatched the lives of everyone around us.

  Screaming. The thing I remember most is the screaming. I could hear it in every direction, the desperate cries of agony and loss permeating the air like some dying beast. Friends. Neighbors. Innocents. The screaming voices of loved ones and strangers alike, flooded the ebony night, and branded into the deep recesses of my mind…

  I ran for the underground bunker just like we practiced so many times before. I still replay it constantly in my mind, as if I could change the past by some minor detour in my thoughts or actions. A delay. A turn in another direction. A pause. Anything. But I couldn’t alter the course nor the choices I made that night. I never saw the bomb that hit our house. It knocked me to the ground, propelling me forward and into a nearby tree where I instantly lost consciousness.

  When I awakened, it was hours later. The bombing was over. A creepy stillness had overtaken the screaming, leaving a haunting desperate quiet in its wake. Nothing made a sound. No birds. No animals. Sparks from a nearby electrical pole shot into the air above me, waving in defiance, lurking and sulking, awaiting the next victim to cross their path.

  My nostrils burned. The still night air reeked of destruction. The stench of oil, gasoline, burning wood and debris, metallic blood and rotting flesh, and death filled the air. It permeated everything.

  Death. It assaulted my senses. I started coughing in the cloudy, dark night air. My chest constricted with the effort it took to breathe. That’s when I noticed I had pain, and an abundance of it. So much pain, unlike any I had ever felt before. I fought for control over my body.

  Pain seemed to reach with clawed hands toward my consciousness, ripping and pulling. Dominant. Desperate. I could not let it reach the destination. Somehow I knew, I would die if I let the pain win. Death was sneaky. Death was cunning. It masked itself as pain.

  I was covered in blood. My shirt was soaked, clinging to my clammy skin with a heavy copper scent, and I knew from the pain in my abdomen that it couldn’t be good. There was a large gash across my left thigh that still sported the scar today. My left arm was broken. I also had a concussion. My head was throbbing and my vision was blurry, fading in and out as the pain increased. Fight, I thought. Fight! Death would not win.

  Moaning from nearby caught my attention. It sounded an awful lot like Lydia. I called out for her, trying to discern exactly which direction I was going to have to crawl. My head throbbed with every breath I took, making it difficult to hear and distinguish the noises around me. Vertigo hit. Between the sparks, her moaning, and my own spinning head, I was confused. I called to her again. No answer greeted me. Silence. I tried a third time.

  “Lydia? Lydia!”

  “Lizzie?” A faint voice answered back.

  She was calling to my right. With my left arm wrapped around my middle for support, I crawled over to my sister. It took only a few minutes to creep over but it was agonizing. Clawing my way slowly across the uneven earth, I made my way to Lydia. Inch b
y agonizing inch.

  When I reached her I almost fainted at the site of her wound. She had a section of her abdomen blown open by a large piece of debris, still protruding, and mixed with intestine. She was making a funny gurgling sound when she breathed, her chest rising and falling quickly.

  “Lydia, it’s me, Lizzie. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get a doctor and find mom, she-”

  She interrupted me. “Mom’s…dead.”

  I stared at her in shock. I wasn’t fully comprehending.

  “How do you know?” I asked her.

  “Saw…her…go,” she responded, her voice weaker.

  “Oh God,” I whispered.

  I didn’t know what to do. There was blood everywhere. How did I stop the bleeding when I couldn’t tell exactly which organs were involved and where her injury was located? She was bleeding out fast, much too quickly for me to stop it. I suddenly realized she was going to die. Right in front of me. There was nothing I could do. Frantically I held my hand up against her stomach, but stopped when I saw her wince in pain.

  Mom would have known what to do. She was a nurse. She had taught me first aid. Right now I could remember nothing. Not a damn thing. I wished she was there. Oh mom. Mom…

  Fatigue was starting to set in. Behind the fatigue a numbness marched quickly behind. The numbing crept into my mind. Fight! I had to fight and stay awake. No death, not tonight.

  I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to restore my befuddled thoughts. Fight it Lizzie! Struggling, I had a hard time keeping my eyes open. I couldn’t help it. The harder I fought it, the more my head hurt until I finally succumbed. No, not now. No…

  We both fell asleep. I woke up in a panic, calling for Lydia frantically until I heard her answer. Fainter and fainter, her voice faded as her body declined. I took her hand trying to comfort her as best I could. Squeezing it from time to time, I talked constantly, hoping my voice distracted her from the pain and gave her some small measure of comfort. She had to know she wasn’t alone. In her final moments, I wanted her to know I was there.