From The Ashes (Life After War) (24 page)

“
They can't find out what I am. The lies we'll have to tell will keep the rumors growing.”

“
Yes,” Kyle agreed, admiring her even more than he already had, but fearing her, too. She now held the power to destroy him.

“
You're not worried about trouble over me?”

“
Counting on it,” Kyle stated bravely. “Because everything they’ll say will push us together in defiance. And, in time, you won't be using me–you'll want me around for more than just my protection or the sense of safety that I provide.”

Fear, sharp and thick, welled up in her throat. He knew!

Kyle stayed still, giving her time to read that he wasn't angry–that he'd counted on her reacting this way. “I know what I signed up for with you... Witch.”

Jennifer didn't say anything. There was a bond between her and this killer with the lonely soul that she wasn’t sure about, but there was no denying its power. She didn’t want to be away from him.

“
I have to go again. I have duty.”

Loneliness settled its familiar claws into her chest, but Jennifer didn’t protest. “I’ll be fine.”

She was looking better–sunken face starting to fill out, skin taking on the healthy glow that came from the development of life. Kyle didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more beautiful. “You can’t hide in here.”

Jennifer shrugged. “I know, but... it’s safer.”

Kyle’s heart broke, and he stepped closer–stopped at her instant flinch. “Everyone's busy getting ready to roll out.”

She didn't answer, and Kyle pushed. “The babies need fresh air.”

“
I’ll go,” Jennifer agreed miserably. Another shower would feel good, but the taunts would cover her clean skin in shame.

Kyle hated forcing her to do things that she didn’t want to, but the bossman was out of patience and so was the camp. The mobster left reluctantly, torn between her and his duty over the QZ. He moved through the packing camp with a scowl that discouraged eye contact and absolutely forbade conversation.

2

“
Can I have a minute?”

Adrian didn't pause on his rounds. “Walk along.”

Cynthia fell in, sore though she'd been attending classes every day. The workouts were hard.

Always known for looking like a reporter, as well as acting and sounding like one, it drew attention to see Cynthia striding across the camp in calf-high black boots, black jeans, and a rookie Eagle jacket. She wore her gun low on her hip, hair high on her head, and she didn’t hesitate to speak her mind. The camp was used to that, but not the words. Hearing Cynthia defending a camp rule, or Adrian, was a shock still flying though Safe Haven.

“
I need to say something.”

On his way to the kids' area to help carry and direct, Adrian moved them away from the passing members who were busy loading their vehicles. He knew what came now.

“
Go on.”

“
I was wrong about you.”

“
Yes.” Adrian met her eye. “And no.”

Cynthia was startled, unable to speak. She was so used to being on the outside! This feeling!
More!

Adrian delivered another revealing wave of light, making sure she was firmly where he needed her. Once the effects had been mapped out, he'd found a place for their reporter. “I didn’t know you were supposed to be one of us, Cyn. I’m sorry for missing it.”

The last of the bitterness rolled off of her shoulders. “I’m on the right side now.”

Adrian grinned, reminded of their hours together. “Side, front, top…”

Cynthia smirked. “I knew I had
that
part of you pegged right.”

She lowered her voice, sweeping the content people around them. “Wonder how many of Safe Haven’s females have fallen for it?”

Adrian’s affectionate gaze lingered here and there, some surprising, some expected. “Enough to keep me fighting for their future.”

“
What about the ones who conceive or become obsessed?” Cynthia asked carefully.

Adrian sent out that magnetic draw–the one that had pushed her over the edge as he whispered his gratitude.

“
I love them.”

Cynthia watched him go, trying not to hope for it, and failing. Being the mother of Adrian’s child would guarantee a woman priority whenever shit hit the fan. But more than that, it was an eighteen year tie to the leader that any of the females here would kill for–including herself.

Not Angela
, the reporter corrected, sweeping the training area. That Eagle was slowly walking by on her way to direct traffic, Brady on her heels, and their occasional warm look was a confirmation. Adrian’s desire wasn’t going to make any difference. That one had made up her mind, and Cynthia applauded the choice. Adrian might be the more powerful of the two, but Brady would give his woman his all.

Cynthia nodded at Zack as he neared her on a round, thinking her mind had never been clearer. Her relationship with Jeremy had been as close as she could get to the Eagles–to Adrian. She hadn’t cared for Jeremy until he’d shown an interest in Samantha. Now, she didn't want him at all.

Cynthia’s attention swung to the parking area, where Samantha was on duty with Doug. Like her or not, there was no denying that Samantha was worthy of the slot on Angela’s right. The choice she’d made of staying single for the greater good was important.

Angela and Marc, along with several camp members, stopped to view an outdoor training set, and Cynthia studied them with her newer, already more observant Eagles eyes.

Neil and Jeremy were holding their own alone against the rest of their team as they tried to get to the laughing hostage in the center–Charlie. It was uplifting to watch, to see the teenager happy, but it was also wonderful because the two men trying to 'rescue' him had spent months tearing their team apart.

As the set finished, Jeremy yanked Charlie clear while Neil use Kai to disarm and then disable the last 'enemy' standing. Neil and Jeremy were bruised and dirty, layered in side-by-side triumph, and Cynthia could feel the respect for Samantha going up among the Eagles. Sam had sacrificed her needs to make this happen, and the distress it was causing was obvious. The storm tracker's hair was always slightly wild now–gaze the same–and there was a hardness to her body that said she needed a release.

Cynthia wondered who it would be with. Neil and Jeremy were mostly even, in her opinion.
Tall, lean, and arrogant
, she thought. Wide shoulders dripped sweat into waistbands around lean hips and thick arms.

The camp members clapped and went on about their loading–except for two of the former slaves. Those two stayed, hoping for a chance to talk to any of Neil's team. Eagle groupies were following Adrian's army now, hoping for any details, while the camp men congratulated them in envy that they likely wouldn't have been able to handle if the situations had been reversed. All survivors were welcome in Safe Haven, but not just anyone could be an Eagle.

The two former slaves, Sheila and Grace, were staring at Neil and Jeremy like they were heroes, and Cynthia hid a grin when the two males walked over to talk to them.

The two women gushed from the first line, showering praise and admiration in amounts meant to send male egos through the clouds and prevent actual thinking.

On duty nearby, Samantha’s face hardened as she noticed her men being fawned over. Instead of a fight, Sam turned her back to them. Cynthia nodded her approval.

Sheila and Grace, encouraged by Sam's behavior, moved in for the kill. They invaded personal space openly, trying to stake a claim. Grinning, Neil and Jeremy both sent subtle glances in Samantha’s direction.

Disappointment immediately crept in and cut the conversation short. A minute after Samantha turned her back, Grace and Sheila were standing alone and the two males were walking dejectedly into the training tent. They were trying to draw Sam's interest with jealousy, working together on it.

How sweet,
Cynthia thought.
And extremely naive.
Samantha knew she didn't have anything to be jealous about. When she wanted them, her men would come–even if they were in someone else's arms when she sent the call.

3

Angela stood stiffly as the camp began to load into their vehicles. She was directing them–if needed.
Make work
, she thought, rolling her eyes. This was their last travel day for the next few, and she was glad. She had big plans for her team. Adrian would camp them outside Wichita–not so close as to be overrun if the city was occupied, of course–and she would hold her first meeting.

“
How’s the shoulder?” Zack asked as he walked by on a patrol.

“
Sore. How’s the nose?”

The trucker snorted, stopping. “Still stings when I blow too hard.”

Angela chuckled, but lightly, not about to destroy their friendship by wounding his pride. “Blame Brady. It was one of the first things he taught me.”

Zack didn’t respond. Brady was picking up the slack, and most of the Eagles were okay with it. Zack’s hesitance was only in that it made him continuously re-examine his loyalty to Kenn.

“
When are they letting you back in?”

“
Unknown yet.”

“
Plenty of ants to practice on in the meantime.”

Angela chuckled. Moving targets were a much more effective training tool, and Adrian had his Eagles using the ants to sharpen their knife-throwing skills. So far, she could hold her own with a gun in her left, but throwing was another story. Thanks to her bad aim, a number of ants were only minus a limb instead of their lives.

Zack stubbed out his stale smoke against the truck she was using for cover and a subtle leaning post. “I’ll be around.”

Call if you need me.

Zack's follow-up thought came through clearly, and she nodded, accepting the newest shift in their relationship without an obvious reaction. She checked on the Mess as he left.
Clear.

Zack was still serving as Kenn’s right hand man, but it was obvious that he didn’t want the job as much anymore–which was bad for Kenn, who finally appeared to be coming around. Kenn was even supporting the females who were now proudly wearing their own rookie jackets.

That was another mark against him, considering the trouble the Eagles were having with the situation. To have women showing up for tryouts was new, but to suddenly have them at every training session, every workout, at every duty post, was a severe disruption. Unlike Angela, who had wanted to win the males over, these rookies didn’t care, didn’t try. They only wanted one thing–to make XO on the first female team in Adrian's army.

4

Safe Haven began to roll out of the area a little after noon, a line of hope that stretched for two miles behind a red, white, and blue semi with a shotgun behind the seat.

Seth slid into the passenger side of his assigned vehicle, one of the last dozen to leave. “Good morning, Rebecca.”

The girl turned to glare at him, exposing deep bags beneath her bloodshot eyes. “It's cloudy, my head hurts, and there's a rock stuck in my shoe–again. What's so good about it?”

Seth blinked. For some reason he sometimes still expected cheerful Little Becky. “Uh... not so much, I guess.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes, noting the signs of their world gone by. It had been six months, and most horrors didn't faze them anymore. The dead were still everywhere, their bones starting to show. Occasionally, however, a scene that was above the usual ugliness drew awareness... and haunting pain. Such as the stack of rotting corpses that they were passing.

The bodies stretched the length of an entire cornfield. On the top, the decay was current, but the bottom layers of the structure were in tatters. What wasn't dragged off by predators or shifted during the storms would fuse together and remain for hundreds of years. Six-feet by two-feet, it was the beginning of a skeleton wall.

“
Why would someone do that?” Becky was horrified.

“
Marking their turf, I think,” Seth said. “There are letters painted on some of the bottom skulls.”

In their revulsion, it was easy to miss the rotting frame of a house in the corn behind the human wall. Of the entire convoy, the animals and Angela were the only ones to feel the menace inside it. They shifted restlessly in response.

“
I don't understand men at all,” Becky grumbled.

Seth hated her being so changed. He tried humor. “How do you know it was done by a man?”

Becky couldn't find an answer, and it made her angry. That was something she didn't have an outlet for, didn't know what to do with.

When she guided the truck toward the wall and stopped, Seth frowned.

Becky took her mom's 'secret' bottle of whiskey from the glove box and fashioned a quick Molotov cocktail with napkins.

Seth was impressed by the finished product. It was definitely usable.

When she held the small bomb out, waiting patiently, he grudgingly lit the tip for her. John wasn't even allowing the girl a lighter right now.

Becky hit the wall, but the bodies didn't want to burn. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the struggling flames were extinguished by the wind less than a minute after she'd thrown the cocktail.