The Survivors: Book One (27 page)

“There should be room for both of us.” She had crawled under the tarp and the radio made him jump.

“Copy.”

Angela stood on her roof, holding the tarp up so he could back in next to her, and Marc concentrated on watching what he was doing and not her. He put it in park and killed the engine, watched her step casually across his hood and jump down, tugging just right until he had to turn on his inside light to see by.

Now wearing gloves and a heavier coat, Angela was driving thick, steel pegs into the corners of the large tarp as he got out, and Marc went to secure the house, Dog at his side. His movements were careful, thorough, but his mind stayed with the woman he could hear working. She was an asset in this new world, he could see that already. She was strong, smart, and a possible target for every man who saw her. That was what had stopped him from leaving. Marc was almost sure the fire had been set.

He had found something on the corner of his tailgate that could just possibly be the trim of a bullet. The brothers had tried to fry her in her sleep, and when she’d woken too soon, they’d started shooting. The smoke had hurt the brothers’ aim, and saved their lives. Amid the cracking tree branches and roar of the flames, Marc hadn’t even known they were under attack. She wouldn’t stand a chance without him, and he had loved her too much to let her go on this suicide mission completely unprotected.

"Loved?"
his heart questioned scornfully and Marc pushed it away. They would stay on the back roads and be careful with shooting lessons that would draw attention.
One look at her and they would be under attack again,
he thought, not knowing how true that was.

An hour later, they were settled on their bedrolls on the floor, eating and trying not to stare at each other.

“I notice you don’t wear any insignia. What branch of the Marines were you in?”

She was red-eyed, exhausted, and Marc looked up from his mostly empty plate, still dwelling on her story of finding fresh meat in the basement of a mansion she’d passed in Edinburgh. Drawn by the lights in the windows, the generator was still running and there had obviously been people there recently, but she said she had seen no one while exploring the big house. What courage that must have taken!

“Brady?”

“The one with no name.”

His words made her frown. Hadn’t Kenny said about the same thing a few years ago, when she asked about the last advancement? She sighed, eyes going to the bedroll between her and the blanket-covered doorway as the wind howled outside. Kenny was going be so pissed she couldn't even predict what he might do. Was Brady equal to that? “Like The Unit?”

Marc looked up at her with a smile. “You watched that bs?”

“Every Tuesday, no matter what.”

Her bitter tone made his smile fade and he waited for more, but there was only silence. He could feel her wanting to ask if he was that good, and admired her control when she didn’t.

“Yes,” he finally said, answering her unspoken question.

Angela met his eye. “You’re sure?”

He nodded, not quite thinking about the harshest things he’d done as a Marine, but she could almost feel the darkness, the dirty stain on his soul, and was comforted.

“Him too. He’s got four years in now.”

Marc looked at her with shuttered eyes. “Most men don’t do it that long. It’s dangerous work.”

She heard it, felt there was more, and let herself ask this time, “How long for you, Brady?”

He didn’t look away. “Eight. I had my own team.”

Angela knew he was heartbroken over the personal loss, could hear it in his tone, but she couldn’t bring herself to mouth the usual pleasantries the old world would have required. He was mourning a great life. She’d barely had one to lose. Only two sons and now, one was rotting underground and the other was lost in the wilderness.

Belly content for the first time in a while, Marc looked at the pictures she’d set by his plate, and he was glad she hadn’t pushed him on why he had stayed in so long. That question required trust and they didn’t really have that yet. They would have honesty though, he sensed, but when he tried to make eye contact, she avoided his gaze, “Why didn’t you call me, Angie? I would have come and taken responsibility.”

She pushed away her half-finished burger and corn. “I wanted more back then. I wanted all of you or nothing.”

Angela lit a smoke. “Besides, they wouldn’t have left us alone, and you know it. Between their religious crap and your shame, we didn’t stand a chance.”

“Didn’t I deserve to make that choice?” he asked quietly.

Angela took the cigarette from her mouth with shaky hands she knew he saw. There was probably little he didn’t notice. He was a Marine. “Yes. We both deserved the right to be happy, but it was taken away. I found out about the baby, and I was alone. I did what I had to, made hard choices that were wrong sometimes, but we’ve always been together and no one’s ever told him he’s going to hell because of our sins against God.”

Marc winced, fading back in time to the confrontation with his mother.

“She’s your family! How could you?”

“Not by blood!”

Slap! “By God!”

“That was a long time ago.” Angela’s voice held a tremor.

“A lot of hurt between then and now,” He stated.

“We made our choices. What’s done is done.”

She yawned tiredly and stood up, still surprised to find that his obvious pain and regret didn’t please her. She really did owe him much worse for the way he’d abandoned her. She headed for the doorway, pulling on her jacket.

When he followed her, Angie said nothing, but felt immediately better that he was taking her request for protection seriously. “So, where all have you been since the War?”

She headed for her Blazer and he hung back, thinking her waist was still so small, he could span it with both hands. He shoved them into his pockets instead, remembering a time when he’d been free to do that and a lot more.

“I was in Virginia when the bombs fell, heading home for a funeral."

“Whose?”

“My mother’s.”

Angela started to offer her sympathy and he held up a hand. “Don’t bother. I went home to bury the past, not her. She’s been dead to me for a long time,” he lit a Winston, casual tone not changing at all. “After Roanoke, I headed northeast for a couple weeks, but it all looked worse. There were mutations in West Virginia and after that, I changed directions fast. I’ve been to about twenty other bases, offices, centers. There’s nothing.”

Hearing it only made Angela a bit sadder than she’d already been. That world was gone, and eventually they (she) would stop watching for its return. Angela got another duffle bag from the back seat and disappeared behind a tree, liking it that he waved the wolf after her. This was why she needed him. He would teach her to be strong, and look out for her while she learned.

"And what happens when he runs out of things to teach?
" the Witch asked ominously, but Angela wasn’t in any state to look that far ahead, and she didn’t answer.

They were quickly back inside the tepid warmth of the faded, drafty farmhouse, both of them avoiding looking at the happy faces of the family who had lived here, smiling from the walls around them.

“How much gas do you have?” He pushed the heater closer to the window so the draft would carry it farther into the room.

“Only a quarter tank, but I have two full, ten gallon cans in the back.”

“Great. I’ve got about the same. We should be good for a few days.” Marc spent a minute looking out the window at the landscape around their vehicles. He had chosen this room because it was the closest one to their wheels that had a window for a quick escape, and he wondered if he should point that out to her. How much did she want to learn while they traveled?

“Have you seen anyone rebuilding? Any place for people to go?” Angela asked, suddenly wondering if his home had included a wife. The pain was almost staggering.

“No, and I’ve been looking. It’s always the same. Things are bad and getting worse.”

Not surprised, she didn’t say anything. After ten days out in this horrible new world, she had seen too much to believe that this was the normal recovery time after a global tragedy, that eventually help would come. Clearly, the government was gone and its people were on their own.

“So, he’s a HAC-RAM?”

Angela smiled at the thought of how good her son had turned out, and the beauty of it made Marc stare. Enough of those could blind a man from even seeing other women.

“He has been for three years. Have a child, raise a Marine, was one of Kenny’s better ideas. They were in New Mexico at an annual competition when the War came. They never miss it; usually bring home a box of trophies. From the outside, he’s the perfect dad.”

Angela settled herself on the couch, rubbing at her tired eyes, and Marc forced his mouth shut. He was going slowly, so that he didn’t miss anything important, and was already seeing stuff that bothered him. The jumpiness and hand flinching toward her gun at every sound could be attributed to her being attacked by the brothers, but there was also the way she hesitated to walk very close or look him in the eye. The no physical contact was a given, but her cold reaction to his hug had been unexpected, uncalled for. What had…

“Where’d you get the wolf?”

“Dog?” Marc smiled awkwardly, not sure how much of his thoughts she’d been picking up. “He’s a half-blood, they think, brought in with a pack that was killing livestock. Some were trained for police work, but Dog here, refused to conform. I got him when no one could make any progress.”

“They were gonna put him down?”

“Yeah. My buddy had a farm with lots of room and once there, Dog just settled right in and we made friends.”

“He obeys well for still being mostly wild. It’s good that you didn’t take that from him.”

Marc lit a smoke, thinking most people didn’t realize that fact when they heard the story. “I only changed him where I had to. He went on base with me, on missions a few times. It saved my ass more than once to have him along.”

“It sounds like you’ve lived the ideal bachelor’s life.” Angela hated herself for being too weak to resist and was aware he knew the answer mattered.

Marc tried to steel his heart, but didn’t hesitate.  “There was never anyone for me after you. You’re a tough act to follow.”

The old Angela did enjoy the hurt in his voice this time, and she slapped out at him with sharp claws not quite fully extended. "Hell, Brady. Thought you’d have a supermodel by now. I never figured you for a swinging-single.”

Marc smiled uncertainly, shrugging, but his heart screamed ambush at her almost accusing tone. “I wasn’t that either. Too many strange ones out there. I had one very fast date with a girl who had a nose ring and three-inch black fingernails. Just strange.”

 Angela opened her mouth before she could censor the words and was appalled by the jealousy that spewed out. Her claws now sparkled, found blood. “Did she have long black curls and pale, white skin like all the others? Did you see my face when you exploded in her?”

Marc sucked in a breath, hurt face open with the truth.

Angela stood up in regret and fear. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I guess you owe me a few.” Marc stood too, reeling from the blow that she already knew he wasn’t over her, and frowned when he caught her flinch from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry, Brady. It won’t happen again.”

The note of real fear was unmistakable and he slowed his movements, turned his back to her so that she couldn’t see the rage on his face. She was afraid of him; terrified. “Better to let it out, Honey. The sooner we clear the air, the sooner you’ll trust me again and feel safe.”

“But, I do,” she protested.

Marc shook his head, moving toward the door, but his sharp gaze was on her and he saw the truth, saw the relief on her face when he kept going.

“I called you, didn’t I?” she argued tiredly as his hand went to the knob.

“Yes, but you’re not sure if you can trust me. It’s a problem we’ll have to work on.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m fine,” Angela insisted, worrying he was about to leave.

“Then why do you go for your gun every time I move?” He watched her slide trembling hands into her pockets. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Marc waved at the wolf, voice hard, “Stay. Guard her.”

The huge animal immediately lay down in the doorway, and Marc closed the door, leaving Angela relieved, confused, and sorry she hadn’t controlled her reactions better.

Marc walked the perimeter, furious. Angie was scared, and not that childish shit women did over mice and spiders: it was real fear of being hurt and he hated the people who had taught her that. He was hoping her life hadn’t been as bad as watching her implied, but every minute they spent together said it had been worse. The fear she was carrying was not from being attacked by the twins; it wasn't new. She was terrified of men, and that only came from being hurt by one.

"What if she’s been abused?"
his heart demanded.
"What if it’s just like she says? What if he comes for her and finds she’s not alone?"

“Then I’ll fight for her.” The words were instinctive and the Sergeant thought he’d probably end up doing that anyway. It was ingrained.

"If she chooses not to be with her Marine anymore,"
his conscience threw in the condition, but his heart lashed out in bitter anger.
"To Hell with her man! She was mine first!"

9

Swallowed by her black coat and hat, Angela came out as he came up the steps, sweet vanilla filling his nose as they passed. Marc shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out for her. They’d been apart so long and he had missed her so much!

Angela heard him as if he’d spoken, and she forced herself to stop and look at him as the stiff wind blew her stray curls around wildly. He was doing her a great service, and she didn’t want him to be upset. “It just wasn’t meant to be, Brady, but we’ll be friends again, in time. That’s something, right?”