The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1)

by Melissa Riddell

  A couple of large, fallen gray logs lying perpendicular to each other in the center, between our tent and what will be our fire pit later, come into view.

  Spongy, bright green moss covers the top halves of the wooden masses.

  Jareth’s form ambles out of the woods and into camp.

  There’s an easy bounce in his step. Even after losing everyone he loved and trying to end his life, he brought himself back from the pain.

  The courage in admitting his weakness raises my level of respect. Someone who fights failure, and breaks through its surface, and then comes out on the other side is brave.

  He may be mostly talk and bluster, but deep inside, there’s a person who I can trust in moments of crisis—who’s not afraid to make tough decisions. So, he’s had to do terrible things. Any survivor left now has had to make terrible choices, because the world itself is terrible. There are bad people out there, and sometimes, they require tough choices—that’s the unfortunate truth of life now.

  I don’t know the exact reason for it, but something inside of me shifts when I look at him—and it scares me. Why? Because I worry it’ll somehow interfere with my goal: survive and find Sissy.

  The royal blue of the flannel shirt under his jacket makes those mahogany brown eyes appear lighter, amber again. He belongs here in the wild, submerged in the outdoors; wiry body taut and sure with each confident stride of his legs.

  I slow my pulse. The thick clouds above lend a weight to the air that seems to push on my shoulders.

  Focus, woman, focus. Goals, remember? The thing I should be thinking about right now is how soon we can get back on the road—not how sexy he is in those ratty old jeans. Or how his raw masculinity causes my toes to curl.

  A fat, cold raindrop plops onto my head, and I jump. He sits opposite of Kodiak and me, his back to the big logs that’ll surround the fire later.

  “All’s clear as far as I can see—nothing for miles.” His eyes bounce from Kodiak’s stare to my own. “According to the map, we should be getting close to Louisiana.” He leans on an elbow. “And, I’ve got a snare set, so I hope I’ll have better luck than Mr. Cujo over here.”

  His finger twirls toward Kodiak, who wags his tail and lifts his head from my leg.

  I nod, feeling more excitement. Soon, this little group and I are going to be leaving Texas. When we make it into the next state, it’ll start feeling like I’m getting somewhere.

  His head turns to take in the campsite, the logs, the surrounding trees. “Where’s Sparky? You didn’t kill him while I was gone, did you?” His voice mocks in a half-joking manner. Lips quirking in amusement, he shifts his attention back to me.

  My own eyes stay down and focus on the ground. I use an index finger as a pencil and draw shapes in the dirt beside my leg. “No, I sent him to collect dry wood.” Tracing a heart in the dirt, I elaborate. “But I must admit, killing him sounds like a better plan.”

  He snorts. “Oh, so, you just wanted to get rid of him.”

  A snicker slips out. “Maybe.”

  Fat globs of rain crash to the ground, the patter becoming louder as the rhythm intensifies. His chocolate eyes caress my jades. The tension is physical, like a rubber band looping around my chest and pulling me into him. My body has a mind of its own when he’s near me, and it wants to climb into his lap.

  Deep breaths force air into my lungs and I drag my gaze to the sky. Wiping rainwater from my forehead, I shift my leg to stand. “Well, let’s get inside before we’re drenched.” Or before I do something I’ll regret.

  Kodiak rises and shimmies his body, sending musky droplets shooting out in all directions.

  “You better get the shakes out of your system because you’re not doing it in the tent. You hear me?”

  A yawn stretches across his muzzle.

  “Hey, earlier, I set out several empty bowls in the hopes of capturing rainwater.”

  “Saw them on my return.” With his arms overhead, he stretches. “Looks like water won’t be a problem for the next leg of the journey.”

  “Come on, boy.” Standing at the mouth of the tent, I let fur-butt brush past my leg.

  “After you.” He holds the flap.

  In a crouch, I enter the tent, Jareth on my heels.

  Feeling the chill of the temperature drop and moisture on my skin, I unroll a sleeping bag and slide my legs in for warmth.

  “Cold?” Jareth zips the opening shut in one continuous motion.

  “Yeah, a little.” Kodiak crawls inside with his head toward my toes.

  A long, bushy tail hangs out at the top and wags back and forth.

  “You’re not the only one.” Jareth lays his bedroll parallel to mine.

  There’s not much room in the tent with the supplies at the other end, so I don’t mind—much.

  Inside, it continues to get darker. Even though it’s not night yet, the dense cloud cover continues to shield the sunlight. What little illumination forces its way through the moisture can’t penetrate the tent’s thick, dark green waterproof material.

  Faint glimmers of light bounce off Jareth’s face when he shifts his head toward me.

  A bright flash of lightning paints the inside of the tent in a bluish-purple light, and a loud crack of thunder sounds with a concussive boom.

  “Wow, that was close.” My heart races inside my chest, threatening to gallop away. There was a bad storm that night in Abilene, too.

  Shivering, I pull my blanket over my arms. I don’t want to think about that night, not here—not with him.

  “Yeah, real close. I think I smell the ozone it left behind.” When he speaks, the sound soothes my nerves.

  “Oh, so not only do you hear every little noise, but you also smell layers of the atmosphere?” A tiny snort comes from my throat. “You’re something else.”

  His elbow bumps into mine. “Jealous because you can’t?”

  Another sizzle of light and a loud crack shakes the earth. In the brief afterglow, Jareth’s silhouette emerges.

  Though I hate myself for it, I feel the first edges of panic when memories from Abilene try to creep inside my head.

  Desperate to do something to keep the fear at bay, I blurt out the first thing to enter my mind. “There was a bad storm just a few days after I first set out.”

  Do not tell him that story. Even though I don’t want to tell him what happened, something drives me forward.

  He stills, and I think he senses the battle going on inside me.

  I start up again, fighting through the tightness in my chest and the unseen weight on my back. “There was this little motel on the outskirts of Abilene, and a storm was rolling in. I’d been on the road for a couple of days, so I was still trying to figure out what the hell I was doing, and where I was going.”

  Another peal of thunder rages through the sky, and the long streak of light shine through the material of the canvas.

  “Anyway, the storm sent me in search of shelter at the motel. When I found an open room, there was another person inside. Instead of mistrust or anger, he welcomed me to stay and ride out the storm.”

  Needing to take another breather, I fumble around the bandage on my neck, using it as a distraction.

  Should I take it off, and let it air out?

  “What happened, Tilly?” There’s something in his tone which gives me the strength to go on, and my heartbeat slows.

  “I was stupid.” A sliver of bottled fear returns, constricting my throat. “He offered me some of his food, and I sheltered from the storm in the little room, making small talk and exchanging survival stories. He seemed nice, told me he used to be a preacher. When the storm passed, I took one of the double beds in the room and went to sleep.”

  Pausing, I swallow the fear and push on.

  “Sometime later, a heavy pressure on my body woke me up.”

  Kodiak snuggles closer as if to say, hey, I’m here for you.

  “When I realized someone was on top of me, I tried to claw his hands off.”
I draw the blanket around my shoulders. “He punched me in the face and tried to—you know—”

  I can’t say the words, not here, not in front of Jareth. Shame and anger flood my face, and I’m glad he can’t see how miserable—how ashamed—I feel.

  No matter how many times I tell myself I didn’t do anything wrong, every time I think of those hands and mouth on my body, it fills me with disgust. Not just for him, but for me—for how powerless I felt in that moment. How naïve I’d been to trust him.

  His warm hand reaches out, fingers twining with mine, and he squeezes. The gesture is comforting and gives me the reassurance I need to go on.

  “He ripped the neck of my shirt and grabbed my wrists.” A chill hits, making me shiver. “Then he held me down.”

  The wind whips the trees around outside, and the walls of our tent flap.

  “When his attention went to his zipper, he lifted his hips enough to give me wiggle room. I kneed him in the crotch as hard as I could and ran. On the way out, I hooked an arm through my backpack but left everything else. I had no idea how long he’d be down or if he’d try to catch me.”

  He squeezes my hand again and strokes the back with his thumb, tracing small, lazy circles. It’s distracting and comforting at the same time.

  My attention focuses on our hands, trying to make out their melding in the dark tent.

  After that old motel room, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to endure another person’s touch again. The weight of his hand on mine and the body heat emanating from his flesh wraps me in a cocoon of safety and protection.

  His voice is low and close to my ear. “I wish I’d been there. I would’ve pulled him limb from limb for even thinking about touching you.”

  The tone of his voice is tight and full of fury.

  Tensing his muscles, he shifts his body closer. Our thighs touch through the thick material of the bedding.

  His nearness is a blanket. That shower clean scent of his enfolds me, though I don’t know how. Neither of us has had a bath over the last three days. Well, I know he hasn’t. It’s been a little longer for me and Kodiak.

  Each time he exhales, the breath tickles my neck and causes my heart to thump against my chest.

  Somehow, speaking about what happened is freeing, like letting go of a helium balloon to watch it float away into the sky. I feel lighter and untethered from that event, as if it can no longer weigh me down.

  The wind outside continues to roar, and the thunder’s loud enough to split rocks. But here, in this small space, I feel safe and unburdened for one of the first times in months.

  My eyelids lower, and I breathe, enjoying this moment with him.

  His smell wraps around me, and I remember my lack of bathing over the past week.

  I bet I smell like roadkill. Shit.

  Embarrassment floods my face, and I try to shift farther away to sniff my armpits. I pretend to rub my chin on my shoulder.

  Oh, Jesus Christ. Yep, I’m an onion left uncovered overnight in the fridge. Okay, so I don’t like to take cold baths outside, but this is one time I’m regretting the decision.

  How tough would it be to creep down to the pack at my feet and grab a stick of antiperspirant without him noticing? After my whiff, though, I might need more than a stick of Degree. A better idea would be to just stand outside in the rain with a bar of soap.

  Don’t panic. I squeeze my armpits closed and scoot my butt to my pack.

  “Red, what’re you doing?”

  My body pauses. “Uh, just going to get something.”

  “Right now?” Even in the dark, I can hear the amusement. “You need it now—at this instant?”

  “Well, I guess not, but you’re always making fun of me for stinking, so I was going to grab it. God forbid I choke you out.” Even though what I’m saying is embarrassing, I can’t hide my offense at his constant remarks.

  Quiet laughter wraps itself around my hair, and he pulls me back.

  “Red, you smell like freedom and sunshine. You don’t need deodorant.”

  Irritation creeps into my voice, and I twist to look at him. Flashes of his face are visible when lightning streaks across the sky.

  “Then why do you always try to imply I stink?”

  “Because I lie sometimes. Plus, you ever think maybe I just want to give you a bath?”

  He grabs my hand before I can pull it away.

  “Have I told you how repulsive you are?”

  “Oh, at least ten times a day.” He tries to nuzzle my ear, but I hold my head away to stave him off. “Besides, if I’m so repulsive, then why can’t you keep your eyes off me?”

  There’s a self-satisfied smirk in his words.

  At this point, I don’t know if I want to push him away or pull him closer.

  “You okay?” He lets loose a low chuckle. “You’re awful quiet.”

  His fingers comb the strands of hair on the back of my head. The sensation is wonderful, and I lean into his chest, wanting to purr like a kitten. The fingers stop stroking. “Red, have you thought about what happens after you find your sister?”

  “What do you mean?” I shift a little, uncomfortable with where he might be going with the question.

  “It’s just—there are so few people left now. What happens after you reach Florida?”

  “No, not really. I don’t even know what I’ll find when I get there.” I don’t add the worst fear—she’ll be gone or dead, because he knows.

  “Survival. That’s all I think about and all I can hope for at this point. Existence may not even be in the plans for humankind anymore.”

  “Wow. You’re full of doom and gloom right now, aren’t ya?”

  “No. I’m a realist. What if there’s a third stage to kill off the few of us who still live? If that happens, what’s the point of thinking about a future?” I try to keep the despair out of my voice. Contemplating the end of all things, and remembering the many friends and family I’ve lost, is an instant downer.

  When Jareth poured his story out yesterday, I empathized with his reasons for wanting to die. I felt the same way when I lost my parents, and the one thing that kept me from doing something drastic was the hope of not being alone, and the belief that Sissy was alive and well.

  “Jareth, it terrifies me to think about being alone in the world without someone to love or love me in return. So no, I can’t think any farther than reaching Florida.”

  The wind is a howling banshee, and the tent is in danger of blowing away under the constant assault of the wind, battering like a ram.

  I think about Sparky out in the woods.

  “Oh, shit.” Is he still trying to gather wood through the shrieking gale and drenching downpour?

  “What?”

  A laugh wants to bubble up and out of me. The image of his dumb ass selecting sticks from the ground while the storm rages all around offers some comic relief.

  If we’re lucky a large branch will drop on him.

  Turning my head to the side, I scoot away to see his face, or at least glimpses. “Do you think Sparky’s okay out there? I mean, I don’t know why I’m asking—of course, he’s okay—he’s a robot.” Idiot. “He survived a shotgun blast to the head.”

  I wave my hand in dismissal and irritation for even wondering about the robot. Why should I care if he’s okay? His people sure didn’t show me, my parents, or anyone else the same courtesy.

  His teeth cut through the dark. He tugs my hand to his chest, the movement unhurried and sensual.

  I surrender and let my body follow, unable, and unwilling to fight his magnetic pull.

  He shifts my back to his chest and wraps firm arms around my waist. His warm embrace gives me strength—and hope.

  A scruffy chin rests on the top of my head. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

  I can feel his mouth tighten into a smile.

  “He probably hasn’t even realized there’s a storm outside.”

  I’m quiet for a few moments, not wanting to break the spell
of the moment. The rain gushes around the tent. I’m grateful Kodiak’s earlier hunting antics made the group stop and make camp sooner than normal.

  My nutty dog still lies curled in the sleeping bag, but his half-smiling muzzle hangs out, and he’s dead to the world. A soft whickering noise comes from his nostrils every couple of seconds. Not even a tornado could wake this guy right now.

  Feeling shy in such close proximity to Jareth, an unbidden question tumbles from my mouth. “What do you think will happen? Will they continue to wipe us out until we’re all gone? Is it just about the planet’s resources?”

  It’s not as if they’ve ever shown themselves before. Sparky’s the closest any survivor has ever gotten to learning anything about Earth’s conquerors. At least, he’s the closest this survivor’s ever gotten to the aliens.

  Jareth shifts his legs in the dark, assuming a more comfortable position by straddling my hips between his legs. His gentle breathing quietens my nerves.

  “I think they must not be in a hurry for whatever they’ve planned. I mean, why didn’t they kill everyone in one fell swoop if it’s what this is all about? It would be a lot easier and much less trouble. Instead, they destroy technology before the virus, which leaves those who are immune as unfortunate survivors. I think this scenario says a lot about their motives.”

  “It tells me they’re asshats.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” His explanation makes a lot of sense. My focus has been on the repercussions of their actions, not the implications. “So, what’re you saying? They want people to survive the virus, and made sure we didn’t have the technology to fight back?”

  He doesn’t respond for a moment, and his breath tickles my neck. “Uhm hmm.” The tips of his fingers trail up my arm, under the blanket. They continue along the curve of my shoulder, tracing the roundness, and then move to my collarbone.

  The breath catches in my throat when he swipes a lock of loose hair from my neck. His mouth lowers to touch the sensitive skin, and his whiskers graze the tender flesh.

  Goosebumps prickle my arms. I shut my eyes at the shiver of fire racing through my veins.