by Angela White
“So, I’ll just feel like I died.”
She grinned, running her hand over his brow to smooth his hair back, loving the feel of it against her fingers. “That’s the worst. We handled it quickly. You might be a little queasy for a couple days, but probably not even that. You’ll be fine.”
Marc sighed, relieved, and stared at her until he wasn’t able to stay awake any longer.
The chill in the wind made Angela shiver as she stepped out to repack everything, and she loaded it quickly so he wouldn’t get a draft. The heater was dead, all the propane cylinders gone, and they couldn’t waste the quarter tank of gas they had left to run the engine while they slept. Body heat would have to do.
Finished, Angela ignored her racing pulse as she shut herself inside the tepid Blazer with Marc and lay down, leaving Dog outside. She slid carefully against his back, covering up as the horror of the day washed over her.
That constant voice of fear whispered that she would pay dearly for breaking Kenny’s rules, that it wasn’t just her life in danger. She wasn’t allowed to talk to another man, let alone crawl into bed with one. The past rose up to assault her weary mind, thoughts of being separated from her children flashing, and she let herself cry a little against his warm comfort. What was she going to do? She was chained to one man, but she loved another.
Marc had woken the second she’d gotten out of the Blazer, and her pain was something he couldn’t ignore. He slowly rolled over and wrapped his arms around her.
“It’ll be okay, honey,” he whispered.
Angela didn’t respond. She could only hope he was right.
“I am.”
She stared at Marc questioningly, and he brushed away her tears.
“We’re connected. Always were. No one can stop that.” He kissed her cheek, felt her shiver. “We belong together, Angie, and right or wrong, I love you. I always have.”
Her tears fell harder. “There’s no future for us. He’ll never let me go.”
“We’ll find a way to convince him.”
“And if we can’t?”
Marc didn’t hesitate. “Under no circumstances will I allow you to give in. You’re gonna fight back, and he’s gonna get a wakeup call.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rude Awakenings
March 26th
South Dakota state line
1
Danger to the herd!
Adrian woke to the ground beneath his tent grumbling and groaning. He grabbed for his boots as the tremor strengthened and the panic started. Things fell and broke, feet ran, engines fire up and radios crackled, but the silent roar of the quake distorted the sounds, making ears vibrate.
Adrian pulled his jacket over his bare chest and ducked outside as he zipped it up, scanning the nervous, unsure guards. They’d had tremors before, but not as strong as this, and he keyed his mike. “Hold your posts, Eagles.”
Adrian motioned Neil and Kenn over, the two black-clad men roughly the same height.
They came to him quickly, dodging members in robes and slippers who were fleeing–most toward the parking areas. He hit his radio again. “Empty a mag, Doug. Turn ‘em around!”
The towering, red-vested giant didn’t question, just fired into the air above the small mob of about thirty.
Ground no longer rumbling, the gunfire got immediate attention. The panicked herd pulled up short and stopped, faces wild with fear.
Doug’s heavily bearded face was full of disapproval as he waved a beefy hand to where Adrian stood.
The crowd slowly turned, staring at the sight of Kenn and Neil hunkered down to let Adrian stand on their shoulders. It was such an unexpected thing that it instantly captured the twitching crowd, and Doug had the thought that Adrian had expected this, had planned his reaction perfectly. It was simple, a distraction.
Seth, a quiet shadow ready to protect the boss, had the same thought, and he shared an admiring glance with the Eagle on Point, Kyle.
Nearly everyone was watching Adrian, the crowd growing as more people came out of their tents.
Adrian tapped the hats below him. “Up.”
The Eagles moved slowly, but there was little teamwork, and Adrian swayed dangerously, amusingly. His wild arm gestures drew titters from the calming group of nearly sixty. Most of them were refugees from Cheyenne who had broken their quarantine.
Adrian grinned as they finally got him up all the way, and the watching people gave a small, uneasy cheer in return.
“We had a tremor. This is how it feels.” Adrian lowered his voice. “Walk, guys, and do it together for God sakes, or I’ll break my friggin’ neck!”
He raised his voice again. “We survived it.”
Adrian swayed, almost falling, and the tall Eagles grabbed at his legs, pulling more laughter from the people.
“Damn it!” Adrian hauled himself up by sheer will, struggled to stay there. Hearing real calm in the crowd’s reactions, he gave up the fight, wobbling.
“He’s gonna fall!”
“Grab him!”
“Down, guys!” Adrian rolled forward as Neil and Kenn bent down, and ended up on his feet in front of the crowd that let out a cheer, clapping.
Adrian waded into the thick of the people, and they quieted, most realizing they had overreacted and were due a scolding.
Adrian’s men watched silently, thinking they were beyond lucky that Adrian had known how to handle the crisis. Nothing broke the spell of panic and fear like laughter.
Nose full of sulfur and smoke, Adrian felt the air shift, and knew by their guilty demeanors that they understood. He said nothing and the silence stretched out.
When many of them were about to offer apologies, Adrian stopped them with a curt gesture. “During a quake, you get away from anything that can fall on you and then stop. Wait for cracks that open up.”
He pointed to the jagged, gaping hole in front of Doug that a lot of them would have fallen into. “Like that one. Panic makes people do stupid things. I understand, but sometimes, it also costs your life and I can’t return that.”
Neil watched in approval with the other Eagles, hands on his narrow hips. Adrian was giving them what Kyle like to call the “lay,” or how things stood.
“All of you have broken quarantine and will have extra time in it, along with all the members I’m looking at.” Adrian paused to spot them out with his sharp gaze, and the crowd was silent, ashamed. “This is nothing we can’t handle if we use our heads. It’s over now, and I want this camp back the way it was and everyone accounted for.”
There was only silent stillness, and Adrian let them understand how displeased he actually was by impatiently jerking his hand. “Now.”
The commanding tone had them all rushing off, and he gestured to Kenn and Neil as people went by, torn between talking of the tremor and of his juggling act.
“Sitrep in five. Check-in of the guards first. Gather your team, Neil, and round up the strays. Kenn, get Mitch on the radio. Have Zack and his guys oversee the cleanup. I heard engines. Try to call them. Have Doug handle the count and tell the cook to start chow. Almost dawn anyway. Kyle keeps Point. I’ll be around.”
Neil observed Seth’s tall, thin shadow following Adrian, and was pleased. He and Seth had hit it off, and he knew the redhead would cover Adrian’s overloaded back.
Five minutes later, Kenn and Adrian were in the mess, the camp a flurry of activity in the foggy morning. They’d had no serious damage, no injuries, and all but two people were accounted for.
Adrian finished his cold coffee with a grimace as the stench of rot wafted through the crowded, loud mess. About three miles southwest of their location, a large herd of bison lay dead. John was testing the bodies since there was no obvious cause of death. The big ants (that Adrian sometimes thought might be following them) were also here, along with a burgeoning population of field mice that they had set out traps for.
This area was all nature as far as they could see, no sign that humanity had ever been
here, except for the corpses. Adrian dreaded dropping south into the Badlands but he would if John said fallout had killed the bison. That strange, eerie landscape would be better than sickness, but the barren area had little that they needed. South Dakota was no longer the sunshine state.
They wouldn’t stay long–only a couple of weeks total instead of the month they usually did, Adrian decided. There wouldn’t be tours of Mount Rushmore or the Wild West sites that had featured Annie Oakley and Wild Bill Hickok. That world was gone.
2
“Everyone accounted for?” Adrian asked a short time later, and Neil opened his book.
“Almost. We had five cars leave. All but one is on the way back, and we made contact with the supply team. Chris said he hasn’t been able to reach the fifth yet.”
“They were together?”
Neil nodded, continued his report. “Says there were two people in her convertible. They’ll probably show up at dawn.”
Adrian glanced to his XO.
Kenn immediately waved a hand for Kyle to join them from his post on the mess. He’d been expecting it. “Get your team and do a recon for Tonya and the bitch. Half hour check-ins.”
Kyle swallowed his dislike. The orders actually came from Adrian. Kenn didn’t like the bitch, few of them did, and though he was screwing Tonya, the mobster didn’t think he really cared for her. Women are only possessions to Kenn, Kyle thought, calling in his relief early. He pitied the female who had shared Kenn’s bed before the war, when there had been no Adrian to keep him in line.
Kenn waited until Kyle was out of earshot, noting the body language indicating the mobster’s displeasure, but even that didn’t ease the thumping of his heart as he spoke to Adrian. Angela was almost here. He had to leave.
“Mitch took a call. Thinks I missed someone in Cheyenne. A woman named Samantha.”
Adrian had recognized the edge of fear in his tone. “Could you have?”
Kenn was miserable. “Yes.”
Adrian knew instinctively there was more and waited unhappily when Kenn scanned the black hills that surrounded their camp instead of maintaining eye contact.
“I need to leave for a while. Charlie’s stayin’ here. I’ll recheck Cheyenne first and bring the woman if she’s still there.”
His tone implied he doubted she would be, and Adrian hid his grimace as his heart skipped, sending pain into his arm. He couldn’t keep it from his eyes, though, and Kenn mistook it.
“I’ll be back. Soon.”
Chest slowly easing, Adrian gave him a hard stare, mind and body already dreading the Marine’s absence. Kenn had been more help than he knew. Fresh out of the quarantine zone, he had only been back from Cheyenne for half a day as it was.
“When?”
Kenn didn’t look at him. “Now.”
Flat, devoid of emotion, and careful. Adrian stopped. “I told you once that everyone here is free to go any time they please, and I meant that. If you have something to do, somewhere to go, come home when you’re ready. Just don’t forget about us. And watch your six. We need you.”
Kenn, beard covering his guilty flush in the windy darkness, responded, “I hear that.”
Adrian frowned. It had been his experience that when someone said that, the opposite was true.
“I’m comin’ back,” Kenn repeated, addressing the uniformed shadow who had given himself away by a quick breath at the news. “Hold my place.”
“You know it.”
Kenn hadn’t been sure how to bring up the subject, didn’t want to give details, but in his heart, he was sure the lone female had been Angela, the radio static keeping Mitch from understanding. Kenn had to go now and set Angela straight. Adrian could never be allowed to know what she was.
3
As dawn finally broke, Tonya and Cynthia rolled in, flanked by Kyle’s team.
Kenn waited nearby. He was lingering in dawn’s last shadows, waiting for the people to be settled at the mess for chow.
A few minutes later, Tonya’s tent flap opened, revealing a dim, smoky interior. A small red glow winked on and off, and Kenn moved forward. If she and Adrian had been an item, it was over now.
Kenn entered the pungent tent, inhaling from the thick joint that slid between his lips.
The flap shut them in darkness, and he remained motionless, smoking as unseen hands rubbed him, opened his jeans.
Tonya had quickly figured out that something was happening with Adrian’s right-hand man. She’d seen Kenn’s loaded Bronco and wanted to be sure that her place with him was secure before he left. Kenn was her ticket to power here, and Tonya gave him an amazing effort, trying to dig her hooks in deeper. For a little while, the hard new future was forgotten by them both.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Old Wounds and New Bonds
March 28th
Pitcairn Island
1
“Want to sleep with me?”
Face sweaty and flushed, Luke stopped in the middle of a sit-up, shocked. He quickly replayed what she’d said, what his male mind had heard. “Want some company?”
Luke quickly glanced away. These awkward moments were happening more and more as she recovered.
“I can dig up other books if you’re bored,” he offered, finishing number eighteen.
He’d already done the forty push-ups while Kendle forced herself to pretend to be reading, but her eyes had stayed mostly on him. She wondered if he knew. “I’d rather get back in shape, and that looks like it works.”
Luke grinned at the compliment, and she blushed. “I mean it. I get out of breath just carrying our basket to the fishing hole. I used to be…” she trailed off, wistful as memories swirled over her.
It was something Luke understood all too well. “In the morning?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She dropped her attention to The Stand, the last book on his shelves that she hadn’t read yet, but her mind was on leaving…on going home. She dreamed of it most nights that the ocean didn’t claim her. It made her stomach clench painfully and her spine hunt for a place to hide, but so help her, she was now considering the attempt.
Kendle wasn’t pushing herself much yet, and Luke wasn’t pushing her at all, but she wasn’t going to be content here for long. She was weak, tired, and it would still be a month or two, on top of the seven weeks she had already spent here, but she planned to find a way back to America that didn’t involve those awful waves that called to her, mocked her.
“Lotta hard words?”
Kendle looked down into his understanding face, thinking she might not go if Luke wouldn’t come with her. Being alone was something she didn’t ever want to face again. “I’m sorry?”
“You haven’t flipped a page in a while. I thought maybe you were stuck.”
She gently closed the book of death and destruction with reddish-brown hands that her gaze lingered on. “It’s too depressing.”
Luke wiped his face with the towel from the pocket in his cutoff jeans and then slid it back. “Great writing, though.” He fell silent, thinking America was now experiencing it firsthand and knew Kendle was too.
“All right, enough of this,” Luke said, “Let’s go do something.” He began pulling on his shoes, trying not to stare at the long legs that her dark shorts allowed him to view. “I’ll skip the run, and we can play some cards or something.”
He paused, scanning the neat cabin. No carpet on the wooden floor, two recliners, a table, two beds, two doors, four walls, white curtains she’d sewn, a three-drawer stand he’d made for her things, all of it dusted, washed, and made up. They were inside too much. She needed to get out there again if she was going to recover. What had helped him when he’d first come here?
“Hey. We could work on my garden.”
That got Kendle’s attention, and she smiled, forgetting how loud the ocean was outside the safety of his small cabin. The only time she was alone was to get a shower or relieve herself, and she liked it that the small generator wou
ld come on anytime they used water in the M*A*S*H-style shower setup. It drowned out the noise that tormented her.
“Now?”
Warm breeze blowing on his skin, Luke shrugged. He tried to remember the last time he’d broken his exercise routine, but was unable to. Making Kendle happy here was important, and sometimes, like when they were sitting in his leather recliners, reading and listening to his records, it was hard to remember how quiet (lonely) his life had been before she came.
“After lunch. We’ll have grilled salmon hoagies and then play in the dirt.”
Kendle’s spirits picked up a bit, adventurous soul long since bored. She was looking forward to having work to do, instead of staring at Luke when he wasn’t looking her way and studying the walls when he was.
2
Hearing albatrosses and seagulls fighting over a beach full of small, red crab hatchlings and the dull roar of an upset, unhealthy ocean, Kendle examined the terribly tangled vines and sticker bushes warily. They were at least five feet high and so thick, she was unable to determine where the brambles ended and the jungle began or how big the area behind the cabin was.
“When’s the last time you came out here?”
“Couple years. Planted a big garden, spent a lot of time letting the earth soak into me. It seemed to help.” Luke let out a sigh. “Then the ocean took it.”
Kendle heard the haunted tone and understood more than anyone else could have, but she said nothing as she dug through the box of tools he had pulled from a small attic space.
“Clippers?” she asked, holding them up.
“No. They’ll never chop through this tangle.”
Clearly, he was struggling with something, a deep frown planting itself on his face. When he strode toward the cabin without saying anything, she wondered again, what crime had made him choose the painfulness of solitude over the quick end of a suicide. He wasn’t a coward, but he was doing penance; she was sure of it. Luke had been hurting himself for a long time, and Kendle wanted it to stop. He’d done so much for her! She almost felt like a normal person again. There had to be something she could do for him in return, some way to ease his pain.
