by Ryan Schow
“I don’t know,” she says.
God, she looks so thin. She looks so thin it hurts. I bend down, circle her arm around my neck. Slowly she gets to her feet and again, I try not to see her, but it’s hard not to.
“I figured we’d be together like this,” she says, weary, “but this isn’t how I imagined it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I kind of like you, stupid,” she says with no humor in her voice.
I walk her to the kitchen table, sit her down and say, “Can you sit up while I look for your clothes?” She nods. “Good.”
When I find her clothes, I bring them to her, help her into them. I won’t lie, once or twice I caught catch myself thinking of her like this before, but now it’s different. Avoiding looking directly at her privates, I get her in her clothes then I head back into the prisoner’s chambers where I release the surfer.
“Bro…” he says this with laughter in his voice, or joy. It’s like me getting him out is the last thing he ever expected. The guy we beat, the dude with the beard, he’s still asleep and breathing heaving through his throat. The broken nose can’t be helping. I don’t bother waking him, but I do leave the cage door open.
When we walk out to the kitchen, the surfer walks past the dead warden with the stomped peach in his mouth and he spits on him.
“Sick son of a bitch,” he mutters.
In the kitchen I introduce him to Bailey and say, “I’m going to make us dinner, or lunch. Whatever. I’m going to make us something that doesn’t involve a damn peach. You in?”
“Hell yeah,” he says.
“What’s your name?” Bailey says with a hoarse throat.
“Sebastian.”
“How’d you get out here Sebastian?”
“My mother lives in Irvine. I was out here to meet a girl. Thought I had the right house when this freaking weirdo shot me with a tazer gun and dragged me in here.”
We eat together (a grilled cheese sandwich with mango/pineapple juice and fresh carrot sticks) and then we invite Sebastian to come with us to San Francisco.
“I got my own road, guys. But I appreciate you. Thank you for getting us out of there.”
“Thanks for kicking that douchebag in the ballbag when he needed it.”
“Yeah,” says the voice we didn’t expect. We all jump, then see the beaten guy with the swollen nose and the trendy beard. “That hurt. Still hurts, if I’m being honest. Which I am.”
“Grilled cheese?” I ask.
He gives a slow nod, then says, “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s not,” I say.
So yeah, I guess this is what Stockholm Syndrome feels like. For whatever reason, this idiot who pissed on me, he was in the same predicament as me and we got out. So maybe I shouldn’t make him a sandwich, or be nice, but I don’t need any more anger, and more people equal more distractions.
Eventually, however, I’m going to have to do what I need to do. So after lunch, I find a shovel, head out back, find a soft plot of soil and dig a shallow grave for the boy. Sebastian and the thug left by then and Bailey was sleeping in a guest bedroom after taking a hot shower when I decided to bury the boy. I lay him to rest, say a few words, then toss soil on him as the sun goes down. By then Bailey is up, looking and feeling better, much more alert.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, slipping her hand in mine.
I don’t know what this gesture means, but I’m thinking we’re just two people who survived a nightmare we shouldn’t have survived. But here we are, together, clinging to each other because we’re all we have.
“Thank you, Nick.”
I stop, turn in to her and give her a hug. She holds on for dear life, as do I. It feels good to hold someone, to not feel so alone. There is a connection between us, but I don’t know what it is. Maybe she feels like I feel and that’s enough. We’re attracted to each other, but this is not Autumn in New York, or a sunset stroll on the beach. This is a hell and we’re not out yet. I have no idea what’s happening and I need to get home, but in the meantime I allow myself this much needed moment.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her.
When we get back to the boat, there are no lights on. We look for Marcus, but he’s not there. Closing the door, locking it, we head to our separate rooms, but then I go to her because it seems silly to be so far away from each other.
“Nick?” she says in the darkness.
“It’s me.”
It’s pitch black, but I hear her pulling the blankets aside. I crawl into bed next to her and she says, “I’m glad you came. I wanted you to sleep with me.”
There are no sexual overtones, just the pleas of a woman who spent too much time curled up in a box. She moved her back toward me and I realize she’s wearing a shirt but nothing else. She pulls my hand over her so it’s laying across her chest, and then she slides her hand into mine and before long she’s asleep.
I don’t understand what this is, or how things will turn out with us, but in the morning everything will change. We’ll have to assess our food, supplies and weapons. We’ll also have to either discuss this, what’s happening between us, or we’ll have to ignore it completely. Pretend this isn’t happening. I’m not sure which. But it doesn’t matter because for now—
Interrupting my thoughts, Bailey wakes up, rolls toward me, then reaches up, curls a hand around my neck and pulls me toward her. Her kiss is soft and inviting, her lips parting to meet mine. I shouldn’t kiss her back, but I do. Everyone needs someone. I don’t have my daughter and some other man has my wife, so for now—on this boat, in the middle of this war—Bailey and I will have each other. But tomorrow is a new day, and there will be new challenges. I just hope I survive it long enough to get home.
And if things go well, then perhaps Bailey will come with me. I think Indigo would like her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ten days had passed and The President sat across the large table, sanctimonious, emotionally devastated, ready to EMP the nation, if only he had a spine. He did.
It needed to be done.
Everyone was pushing for it, everyone but Cooper who now looked defeated.
“Don’t press it, sir,” Director of Homeland Security Miles Tungsten said.
He looked at the man.
“Why not? The nation is being ransacked.”
Director Daniels said, “When you press this, the warheads will be deployed and the war with the machines will be over. It’s your duty to protect your country. Not Miles duty to change your mind. Just press the damned button, sir.”
Tungsten looked across at Daniels and said, “What the hell are you doing, Coop?” He knew though. His friend got cold feet ten days ago.
“This isn’t right,” he told Tungsten.
The President saw it right then. He saw the conspirators, the conspiracy. He saw a man who saw what was about to happen and didn’t want it happening.
“You son of a bitch,” the President growled.
The traitor had been sitting across from the President, waiting, watching, deciding how exactly they’d stop the President from employing the EMP. He wanted the machines to kill the humans. He wanted the extermination.
Before he knew what was happening, Miles Tungsten drew a weapon, shot Cooper in the head, then opened fire on everyone. When he ran out of ammo, he drew another pistol and emptied that magazine, too.
In the end, DHS Miles Daniels shot all but one man.
“Miles,” the POTUS said, mortified, bone white and shaking, “why?”
“This was inevitable, sir.”
“But you’re in charge of Homeland Security,” he said, incredulous. “This was your country as well as mine.”
“The operative word here is ‘was.’” Pulling back the hammer, checking the chamber for a round, Director Tungsten sighted down the President and said, “The world is their homeland now and I’ll be damned if you’re going to nuke it.”
Looking a
t the Director of Homeland Security, thinking of his wife and girls, of the world he was leaving behind, the dead nation, he stared at the man and his gun feeling defeated. “Well what are you waiting for you sick Judas goat? Pulled the damned trigger already.”
And with that, Tungsten had a thought…
END OF BOOK 5
The series continues in The Barbarous Road (July, 2018)
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Afterword
IF YOU ENJOYED THE KILLING FIELDS, MAKE SURE YOU LEAVE A MARK…
If you enjoyed this book, I’d be immensely grateful if you could leave a quick and easy review (it can be as long or as short as you want) when prompted by Amazon*, or by clicking the link below. Not only do honest reviews like yours help this series get the exposure it needs to grow and thrive, reading your kind reviews has become the highlight of my day. For that, I would like to thank you in advance!
*Please note, the way Amazon’s review system works is five stars is good, four stars is alright, and three stars or less is just degrees of no bueno. Thanks again!
CLICK OR TAP HERE TO LEAVE A REVIEW FOR THE KILLING FIELDS (THANK YOU!!!)
CLICK OR TAP HERE TO JOIN VIP EMAIL LIST. STAY UP TO DATE WITH NEW RELEASE DATES AND COVER REVEALS, AND GRAB YOUR FREE COPY OF THE ZERO HOUR (INDIGO’S STORY) IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YET.
CLICK OR TAP HERE TO VISIT ME AT THE LAST WAR FAN PAGE AND GET AN EXCLUSIVE LOOK AT THE CHARACTERS FROM CURRENT AND UPCOMING BOOKS, INSPIRATIONS FOR FUTURE NOVELS, ADVANCED CHAPTER REVEALS FOR THE NEWEST BOOKS AND A FIRST LOOK AT WHAT’S AHEAD FOR THIS AND OTHER SERIES!
