The Survivors: Book One (51 page)

Kendle covered her face with her wet sleeve as she sneezed. Wrist aching, swelling a little, she looked around for a place to change. Seeing nothing private enough, she settled for peeling off her drenched shoes and socks and hanging her dripping jacket over a chair. Shivering as she listened to the rumble of the storm, the castaway waited nervously for her host to come back.

Luke rolled the wrecked, but fixable bike inside and leaned it against the wall so that the mud would drip onto the tarp. His very male eyes quickly looked away from Kendle’s see-through shirt and slacks. He got a coil of rope and a blanket from a shelf, aware of how her gray eyes lingered on him while he attached the rope to the ceiling near the bunk beds.

He threw a long blanket over it to duplicate the area he had made for her back at the cabin when she’d said she preferred to stay with him, if he didn’t mind. “I’ll make some coffee while you change,” he offered, going to the tarp to take off his muddy boots.

Kendle smiled gratefully, moving behind the blanket. She couldn’t wait to be warm and dry again. Being wet reminded her too much of her nightmare on the ocean.

Luke tossed his soaked, mud-streaked coat over the other chair and couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering to the slender shadow on the wall as he wiped his face and got the water heating on the stove. He was decades older than her, with blood on his hands that he could never atone for, but he couldn’t deny the want. He’d been alone for a long time, and she was beautiful, young, brave… he’d found his eyes watching her for signs of interest.

She had told him that her career had kept her busy, that there was no husband or even a boyfriend to mourn, and he had been able to read nothing else. She was nice, friendly to him, good company, but very careful and closed-off. She’d clearly been through hell, had a fortress around her heart, and Luke had decided he wouldn’t even try to breach those walls without at least knowing whether she saw him as an eligible man or just an old man.

“How long did all this take?” she asked from behind the blanket, and Luke forced his eyes away from her alluring shadow, thinking she had to be the strongest female he’d ever met. Even the resourceful island women would still be in tears over that close call, and she sounded like nothing had happened.

“Over four years.” He got the cups out, wiping the dust from them, ears listening to her movements.

“Anyone else know it’s here?”

“Probably. Everyone out here has a hole-up. It’s the way you do things on Pitcairn.”

“How long have you lived alone out here?” It was one of the first personal questions she’d asked, and his reluctance to answer was clear when he finally did.

“All my life it seems like sometimes.”

Kendle tossed her dripping sweater over the rope, hiding her underclothes beneath her slacks, and her eyes found his, locked.

Luke felt his lungs tighten. Her vivid red skin was a sharp, sexy contrast to the simple white dress that outlined a perfect young body, and for an instant, Luke considered just asking her outright to be his woman. Common sense returned quickly, with guilt on its heels.

He turned away, missing her look of relief. Those were choices she definitely wasn’t ready to make yet. She was weak, vulnerable, still dealing with the grief of losing her sister. Men and sex were the last things on her mind…right?

“How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“Day or two probably. We’ll be able to see the beach come dawn. If the crabs and sandpipers are out, I’ll know for sure it’s okay. Likely, I overreacted."

Kendle smiled, pulling dry, white anklets over slender feet. “I’m okay with it.”

Luke ducked behind the blanket while Kendle wandered the far ends of the long room, impressed. She and her parents had each had an area in their homes, but his was the King of all shelters - medical supplies, survival books, a long box with a picture of a thermal tent on the side, and a generator in the back corner. All these things said Luke was a realistic, reliable person - but the creature comforts, like the cigars, the chocolate bars and music, said life with him wouldn’t be cruel either, and it pleased her.

Life with him?
Kendle asked herself sharply, hearing the clink of pants with a belt still in them hitting the wooden floor.
Are you conceding your real life for this? Not even planning a single, foolish attempt to get back?

She shook her head. No. Going back on the water was unthinkable. Unless a plane came, she was here to stay. With Luke?  Kendle wasn’t sure yet, wasn’t sure how much she could give him. There were younger, more arrogant men here. She’d met them and been asked out by a couple, but had said no, even letting one think she and Luke already had something going on, so he would take the hint and leave her alone.

She felt safe with Luke, knew instinctively he was her own kind, and while she knew people who’d started relationships with less, she didn’t think she was ready for all the complications that always came up. She owed him a great deal, and he was definitely one of the good guys, but his eyes said he’d done terrible things in the past, and she often wondered if his solitary life here was a self-imposed penance for it. He was closed-off, giving few details about his life, and she wasn’t sure yet how close she wanted to be to him.

There was a choice coming, though. She saw it in his heated blue eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking, felt it when shared a meal over flickering candlelight, and while it flattered her, she didn’t encourage him or lead him on. Luke was a full-grown man who could easily take what he wanted if provoked, and that was nothing to play with when you were almost alone together on a deserted island paradise.

“Where did you get all this stuff?” she asked, needing to fill the silence as he stepped from behind the blanket. His big, scarred hands were tucking in his plaid shirt around lean hips, and Kendle quickly looked away, thinking he really was in great shape for being sixty.

“Plane used to come. Some from crashes and what the tide brought in. Little from people leaving, not wanting to take it back to the mainland with them.” He paused, looking at her with dark eyes lined by the coming of old age. “Some from my time in the service.”

Kendle nodded, recognizing the first information he’d
offered
about his past. She stopped herself from asking anything, knowing he expected it, but didn't really want to give it. Instead, she sat down, still shivering a little.

Luke took a long suede jacket from a wall peg and draped it over her shoulders, not letting his restless fingers make contact with her skin.

She pulled it close, smiling her thanks and noticing the light smell of whiskey before he moved back. Luke had been a complete gentleman the entire time they'd been together. Weak most of the time, she felt guilty, wanting to help with the chores, but the doctor had told him to make sure she took it easy, and he did. He cooked and cleaned, did the laundry, and sometimes, let her dry dishes or set the table.

As a result, she was starting to regain the weight she’d lost and was feeling better every day. Even the tears at night were coming less frequently. It had been almost a week now since her last nightmare, and she was grateful to him for everything.

"Enough to give your body? When a man’s been alone as long as he has, that’s a powerful thing to be used."

No. Her virginity was worth more to her than just the payment of a debt or a bond to keep from being alone.

The storm outside their den grew stronger, and Luke turned on the CD player, surprising her with Aerosmith’s greatest hits, then left her alone, knowing she needed time to heal. She reminded him of how bad off he’d been when he first came here.

He too, had been on the edge of death, on the line of putting his gun in his mouth, but this simple life had healed him enough to go on, and it would her as well, in time. He’d had Frank and she would have him. It would be enough to keep either of them from ending it when the nightmares got bad.

2

Hours later, Kendle jerked awake in the warm darkness, eyes flying to the shadow of the man standing over her. Her eyes locked with his, seeing the terror that would probably never be spoken of. Being here, around the mementoes of his past, had hurt him.

Responding to his desperate need, she slowly pulled back the blanket, inviting him in. They’d passed many nights in each other’s arms, usually when he couldn’t stand the sound of her sobs anymore.

Luke curled away from her, embarrassed, and Kendle molded herself to his back. Feeling his rapid heartbeat, his quick rasps for air, had her holding him tighter, lending her comfort. Laying there, listening to his struggle, she thought that maybe together, they might teach each other to live with all that had happened, and go on despite the scars they would always carry.

Earlier, she’d been sure she wasn’t ready to handle any type of a relationship right now, but the feel of his pain made her accept that she was already in one. She cared for Luke, wanted him to find a measure of peace with whatever demons were tormenting him…and he wanted the same for her. It wasn’t a traditional relationship, but there was something about it that was comforting.

Luke’s body shuddered as his control gave a little, and Kendle comforted him as best she could, not quite daring to tug him into her full embrace. Physical contact, she definitely wasn’t ready for yet, but being alone…away from Luke, just wasn’t an option anymore.

Chapter Twenty Six

Bad weather sensors and alarms on buoys out in the Atlantic Ocean were storing data on a system of unparalleled size, but the warnings went unheeded, those operating the stations long gone; their dark halls abandoned.

Most water front areas had emptied out right after the War. Storm surges, tidal waves, and horrible flooding forced the tourists and vacationers to go, but there were still people surviving along the coast. They were the longtime residents who had stayed for Hurricane Camille in ’69 and again for Andrew in ’92. These were the die-hard survivors who abandoned their homes for nothing…and now, they were leaving.

The ocean was telling them there was a monster on the way, though it was over two months before the season officially started. Some of these residents held hopes of returning, but most suspected there would be little to come back to. They had seen the signs and understood.

Before, they might have had three or four days of warning. Now, they had one if they were alert, and only a few hours if they were not. The days of city pumps and mandatory evacuations were gone, but the natural warnings were abundant. Flocks of brightly-colored birds that normally spent a few days in the area, kept going, their cries uneasy, upset. The surf was growing steadily rougher, pushing further onto the debris-littered beaches, despite no visible storm clouds. The wind threw out sudden downdrafts and heavy rain bands that had gust sensors reaching 70 before settling back down to 35. The barometers were dropping sharply; the tides almost impossible to distinguish as the rough surf moved further inland, and animals had begun to beach themselves.

It was enough to convince even the most foolhardy. Sharks, whales, dolphins, all fleeing and panic-stricken, were willing to suffocate themselves on the beaches, rather than face whatever was coming. This was no tropical depression, and alert coastal survivors raced to get out of its path.

Some people however, had no idea danger was once again approaching. Large parts of Georgia, made oceanfront property in the War, were underwater, and Valdosta, where the crack had split the land, was full of people who had been on the road for the holiday. Stuck with no way to go forward and no way to go back, they had no understanding of the ocean’s dangerous fury and the cost of the lesson was high. The group of survivors in Valdosta only numbered a hundred, but they were unrelated families who could have repopulated the entire country without any fears of inbreeding. Their laws might have been drastically different, their future waiting for them…

Out in the toxic waters of the Gulf, a monster had honed in on American soil. Hurricane Amanda, as it might have been called if anyone had been left to name it, was bigger than anything on record and it surged due north, powered by a hot ocean current and violent winds full of radiation.

It had churned for weeks, drawing smaller storm systems in, and at its peak, the outlying winds were sustained at 300 mph, with gusts upwards of 375 mph. The storm surge was 25 feet high in places as it pushed into southern Georgia, and ten inches of rain fell from the angry sky in the first hour. If satellite pictures could have been accessed, they would have shown a storm that, at its height, covered over half the United States, with rainbands touching both Mexico and Canada.

Amanda moved northwest as she came ashore, submerging whole towns and leaving an immense path of destruction in her wake. The parts of the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, and Cuba that survived the War, were destroyed - flooded with high water that receded slowly, reluctantly giving back only half of what it had taken. The War had raised ocean levels as much as ten feet globally, and those lands already at or below sea level, were wiped off the map by Hurricane Amanda, becoming a part of the vast, angry ocean.