The Survivors: Book One (43 page)

2

“You should go back.”

The rain was hard now, the slick ground throwing up nasty brown sprays with every step.

Angela shook her head, winded. “Not... maxed out yet.”

“Fine.” Marc picked up the tempo like he always did for the last ten minutes, and was surprised when she managed to keep pace. The sit-ups and pushups had been hard on her, as were the meditation positions, but she hadn’t complained once, and he’d enjoyed her quiet company.

Angela winced as she stumbled against a muddy rock, catching herself awkwardly, and masked her discomfort.

“You okay?”

She nodded, not using her breath for talking, and he frowned. “Damn, stubborn woman.”

 It made her smile, gave her the last bit of determination she needed to hang the full hour with him. When the pain began to radiate through her abdomen, she hid that too.

Marc knew she was struggling as they went over the garbage obstacle course he’d set up, but he didn’t realize how badly until they hit the end and were done.

Angela closed her eyes, body suddenly cold and foreign, and she swayed on her feet, hands going out to clutch at the nearest support. Brady.

He saw her legs start to fold and swung her into his arms, ignoring her feeble protest as he headed for their vehicles. “Angie? You okay?”

She muttered something indecipherable, but gave a nod against his shoulder. “...can walk.”

 He ignored her mutters, putting her down only when he got to the door of her 4x4. Her hand grabbed at the handle for support, missed.

“Angie?”

Her lashes fluttered briefly, then she was falling and he was scrambling to catch her.

3

Marc’s handsome face was the first thing she saw as she came to, and his deep frown sent Angela to other waking moments - of not knowing what to expect. Fear flashed in her eyes, and her hand tried to grab at her gun, before she controlled it. Brady wouldn’t hurt her. She had to believe that.

Marc waited for the fog to leave her hazy eyes, relieved she’d woken so soon but still very worried. She looked weak, the heavy bags under her eyes purple and black, and he felt his heart clench. One of the things that caused her symptoms was pregnancy. If she was carrying her man’s child, this had just gone from bad, to not winnable.

“I’m not.”

Marc met her eye. “Say it again and mean it.”

Instead of the anger he wanted, there was only unfathomable grief and he knew before she spoke. There had been another child. She’d been pregnant and her man still hadn’t come.

“I... I lost a son during the War.”

“Miscarriage?”

She nodded, eyes haunted, voice was emotionless, “It was a lot to handle, and I wasn’t very strong… before.”

It was as close as she’d come to directly mentioning the abuse she’d suffered, and knowing how much she must ache and burn inside allowed him to put her need in front of his fury. “You were alone?”

“Before, during, and after.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then looked at her, sure she needed to hear these things, and not just in her own head. “You should have died too, right?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Angela controlled herself, not telling him that she sometimes wished she had. He already knew that. “I’ve assisted in over 50 births at the hospital. It saved me.”

Marc gave her a gentle, comforting smile in the morning fog that still lingered around the Blazers. “I’m glad.”

She smiled back, wondering who would die when they found her man. There was no way Kenny would miss the sparks that flew when their eyes met.

“Me too, sometimes.” She stood up slowly, waving off his protest.

“You should rest.”

“I’m fine, Brady. I just pushed a little too hard, that’s all. I’ll ease into it from here,” she lied, smoothing her curls back. “This first time, ...I just...” she hesitated, not telling him the ache to hold her boy was almost as overpowering as her fear, and Marc finished it for her.

“You had to do it all, like me.”

She tried to seal that gaping hole back up, not looking at him. She was maintaining a kind of radio silence with her son to keep Kenny from knowing she was even alive, let alone where she was, and the lack of contact was awful.

“I needed to prove that I could.”

“Not to me.”

“No. To me.”

4

“We have to make a stop.”

“Copy, on your six.”

Marc wanted to tease her about her near perfect response, but made himself pay attention as he pulled into the deserted, gravel parking area of the Versailles, Illinois, RV resort.

The large lot was empty, not a single camper on any of the hundred concrete pads, and Marc rolled slowly past them to the main complex of shadowy cabins and sheds. He stopped near the largest storage building, eyes seeing an older spigot setup.

“You overheating again?”

Marc got out and opened the hood, nodding at her as he stepped over broken glass and piles of muddy rubble. Pockets of steam were escaping from under the hood of his Blazer, and Marc turned around to tell her to stand watch, only to find her already doing it, Dog pacing a wide perimeter around them both. There was better color in her face, but her movements were careful, as if she was hurting, and he tried to hurry.

Angela ignored the bodies she could she see - an old woman, young boy, and three adult males, their corpses riddled with bullet holes - and sent her eyes over the traffic and trees, the distant outline of yet another dead American city. Debris moved with the wind, gravel crunched under their feet, and though she saw no mutations, nothing was growing here, not even the bluestem prairie grass Illinois was famous for.

Marc broke the plastic end off of his screwdriver and held the flat part against the top of the 6’ x 3’ white water tank. Using only two sure hits, he drove the metal shaft into the tank. Water came rushing out around the tool, and Marc grabbed the jugs as Dog helped himself to a drink.

“Are those recent prints?”

Marc looked away from the sign in the lot’s main office that wished them a “erry mas & no year” and eyed the deep ruts.

“Yeah. You can tell from the depth and clarity. Elements haven’t changed ‘em much yet. A day old at the most, probably only a few hours with the way this wind is blowing.”

He frowned, noticing more tire tracks nearby. “Movin’ fast too, or they’d have taken the water. Keep your eyes open.”

Angie helped him collect the valuable liquid, and a few minutes later, Marc waved a hand at the raised hood. “Fill me up. Just like yesterday.”

Angela was still a little self-conscious, though proud that she had learned something. As she finished, she wished it were more. They’d been together for three weeks, and she had spent most of that time just regaining her strength and adjusting to the daily traveling. A third of their journey was over, and she wasn’t anywhere near ready to face Kenny.

“Can we do some shooting? With real bullets this time?” she asked, liking Marc’s freshly shaven face and sexy black hair more than she would admit to. They’d had to spend nearly five days at the cabin, waiting for the rain to come and melt the snow drifts so they could drive, and as a result, he had only gotten to show her basic gun care and hand positioning.

“I’ll set it up.”

5

“Ready to shoot something?”

Angela gave him a rare, genuine grin, looking at his bandaged arm, and he shook his head, smiling back.

“I said shooting, not stabbing.”

They laughed as he set up a dozen empty Coke cans on a long, wide, muddy log. “Your weapon loaded?”

She nodded nervously as the damp wind played with her curls. “Yes.”

“Good. Check it again. Always look for problems.”

She did it slowly and carefully, as he had shown her.

Marc held up his own weapon, demonstrating. “Hold it with your right and cup it with your left. Curl your finger a little more. Good. Hold it a little higher. Now, see where you want it to go, and put it there.”

She pretended not to be bothered by having him so close, but she was, couldn’t help but think maybe Kenn was around the corner, watching...

“Angie?”

She looked up at Marc’s frown and quickly dropped her head. “Sorry. I’ll pay attention.”

“Maybe you can’t do this,” he stated quietly, knowing she would rise to the challenge. That much of
his
Angie hadn’t vanished.

Marc was rewarded with a tilt of the chin and straightening of the shoulders that reminded him of the past.

“I can. I will.”

He shrugged like he had little faith, made his tone just a bit patronizing. “Pull the trigger slow, aiming makes all the difference. Go ahead.”

Angela’s hands were shaking despite her efforts to be steady, and his frown made her flush. Embarrassed, she flipped off the safety and pulled the trigger.

Marc was fast, moving behind her as the recoil rocked her back and into his waiting arms. The bullet slammed into the hood of his Blazer with a loud thud and he dropped his head to her sweet-smelling shoulder, loving being so close.

“The cans, Honey,” he groaned against her. “The cans!”

His breath on her neck gave her a chill and Angela moved out of his arms, still waiting to be punished and hating to be touched.

“Do it again.”

His tone was more amused than anything else, and she moved back to him cautiously, thinking she hadn’t been quite as afraid this time. If he hadn’t hit her for drawing blood, what was a bullet hole in a car?

This time Angela expected the jar and managed to keep her feet on the ground as the bullet dug into the log, rattling the cans.

“Better. The recoil will kill even a perfect shot, so you have to adjust for it. Aim a little below your target until you don’t jerk as much. Go ahead and empty the clip.”

Angela felt the zone this time, felt that moment when the gun was perfectly in tune with her hand, and cans flew off the log.

“Yes!” She grinned in satisfaction under a dim afternoon sky. “Third time’s a charm.”

She began reloading, and Marc took a quick look around, impressed with how fast she had settled into it. He hadn’t expected her to hit anything yet, even though she’d adjusted well to the size of the .357 during their dry-fire sessions. Challenge was definitely the way to calm her down.

“That’s great. I’ll see if you put my Blazer out of its misery, and then we’ll go.”

She blushed and he grinned at her, not thinking before he spoke. “Accidents happen, Honey. Don’t worry so much. You should have seen the cut this woman I was sleeping with gave me…” he stopped at her stunned, pain-filled eyes, and she turned away before he could try to take it back.

Marc cursed his thoughtless tongue, thinking none of those women compared to Angie. Even after all these years, she could still make him feel more with a single look than anyone else ever had, and it hurt to think their chance had come and gone. What a hard, lonely future waited.

6

They headed west, both seeing and not mentioning a wrecked limousine on the side of the road heading into town, its plates (J. Lo) smeared with reddish mud. As they rolled through the empty farmland, miles of it, Angela felt a chill that quickly grew into a bad feeling. Like they were walking into a new danger.

They had made almost ten miles today despite the flooding that had kept them detouring, and she should be happy with it, but wasn’t. The sky was calm, the temperatures in the 40’s, and she hadn’t seen much in the way of fallout damage or mutations. All of it was good.

Versailles looked pretty clear on the other side, and that was great too, but the feeling of danger was strong and she was torn, doubting herself. She said nothing to Marc, not wanting to without having a reason or a sign to back it up. It was something she bitterly regretted later.

Just before dusk, Marc pulled them up to an Amish school house surrounded by barns, sheds, and empty, weed-dotted soybean fields. Lofty willow trees on either side of the school hung over the long, white fence and partially obscured a rustic liberty bell hanging from the small porch eave. There were no homes in sight, only the barely visible outlines of the city they’d rolled carefully through, but they were encouraged to see a healthy-looking white rabbit dart from under the school’s steps.

The rabbit dove under a broken board of the decrepit gray shed behind the school as they got out, but inside the moldy shelter, the hare drew up too late and a very large hand snatched it by the neck and twisted, snapping bones.

Smelling more nature than rot for a change, Marc secured the one-room school, not thinking it necessary to sweep the barn or farmhouse almost half a mile behind it, something he too regretted later.

“I can take the stuff in, if you want to go check that coop we passed. I’m almost sure a couple of them survived.”

 Marc’s eyes lit up at the thought of fried chicken, and he nodded eagerly, even though he knew not to leave her alone. “Deal. I’ll go after I set the disks.”

She nodded and got busy, smiling as he carried the heavier items to the porch for her, and then set the alarms. He was very considerate, and it worried her to think of how close they might be by April.

“Stay, Dog. Guard.”

 Brady gave her a questioning look, uneasy all of a sudden, too, but not sure why, and she waved. “I’ll be fine. You gonna pluck it?”

He grinned, sliding behind the wheel. “That’s woman's work.” He laughed at her amused look and was gone a few seconds later, leaving a trail of thick dust in his wake.

Angela looked around, suddenly scared, but shook it off and picked up a box to take inside, telling herself she was just jumpy as usual. This time she was worried over nothing. There was no open door, no voices whispering. Everything was silent, dark, and that meant okay, right?

The dirty, dangerous man came from behind the barn, watching them with cool calculation, and when he saw her mate leave, he moved quickly and quietly toward the woman.