The Survivors: Book One (58 page)

A small group was gathered around the side of a big red van, watching Peggy Ann Kelly, the single, forty-something, redheaded mother of little Becky, change a flat tire. This class had solved the need for one crew to do all of the work, all of the time. This way, the entire camp did it.

The cute, reddish-blond woman was sweating and greasy. Most of the men watching would have gladly done it for her, to get her attention, but Adrian had made it clear that each person needed to be able to fend for themselves as well as function as team, and the males offered advice, but no actual help.

Peggy struggled to break the last lug nut and Adrian shook his head at the bald, black professor who stepped forward to help. The portly man carried his profession proudly, from his thick glasses to his plaid-patterned suit, and Adrian didn’t look away from the baleful glare the teacher sent his way. He also didn’t keep his voice down and the gusting wind carried it further than just the class.

“She has to learn. What if she gets separated?”

The dark man frowned, able to feel the thick, disapproving silence from the others, “You sure it ain’t ‘cause I’m black and she’s white?”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed at the accusing tone. Joseph had been here long enough to know how things worked. Was he still holding onto that shit? They didn’t have many of the other races represented here yet, but that wasn’t because he didn’t want them. The War had split more than just families. The old segregation lines had slammed down, making most races look for their own kind. It was something he needed people like this bitter teacher to help him with.

“You’re from Salt Lake City. You were almost dead when we found you. Group of white men had beaten you up so bad, we didn’t think you’d live at first. There were only twenty of us then and no one knew what to do with you. About you.”

“Because I’m a nigger."

It wasn’t a question and Adrian’s tone grew sharp as the people around them frowned at the word. No one used it, not even in joking. Adrian would throw you out for that, even if you meant it affectionately.

“We had only our basic laws and race was something we hadn’t even talked about. We saw you bleeding and had to make a choice. Let you die, and continue America’s ‘quiet’ racism, or let you in and find a way to deal with all the problems ‘your’ people inevitably bring with them.”

Adrian’s words were blunt and he had the attention of everyone close enough to hear. “We made the choice in about fifteen seconds. Because you’re a survivor first, not black or white, but American, and that’s the only one that matters to me.”

Kenn brought home forty-one survivors and Adrian met them eagerly with Seth at his side, but both men were once again disappointed. They now had a hairdresser, yet another bank teller (it wasn’t surprising to Adrian how many of them had survived: they were used to having their lives threatened), and a lot of other careers they didn’t really need, but none of them, not even Greg, the blind radio man, had what he was looking for.

There was no fire burning in these people, only bright fear and desperation, and he was unable to sleep until very late, sure he had passed one of his own somewhere. He chose to linger a bit, knowing it was a dangerous thing to do considering how close they were to the Slavers, but he needed the help as much as these refugees needed him, and he would hope their calls were heard.

Chapter Thirty

March 22
^nd
, 2013

Pitcairn Island

1

“I can’t handle that. Server’s been gone for months.”

Kendle slid the credit card back into her pocket and pulled out money, ignoring the dumpy island woman’s abrupt tone. “Cash okay?” she asked evenly, but her pale eyes were defiant.

The middle-aged store keeper frowned. She darted a tense glance toward Luke as he waited, lounging carelessly against the small shop’s front door.

Kendle gave her a sharp look of warning, pulling her attention away from LJ. “One of those caps too.”

It was up on a shelf that required the heavy woman to climb for it and Kendle smiled sweetly when the pie-faced female glared at her in the almost stifling heat of the general store. “Love the Dodgers. Gotta have it.”

Storekeeper or not, the woman clearly wanted to tell her to go to hell and Kendle flashed her a look that said
do it at your own risk
. The air in the musty little shop was cold despite all of them sweating.

Luke shoved his hands into his jean pockets, embarrassed and yet impressed with the way Kendle was handling things. Plump but scrappy, with the air of a born snob, Mary Jo had been born on the Island and hated outsiders. The fact that Kendle’s show had been popular even here made the frumpy spinster more jealous. LJ sighed. She also hated him. That didn’t help.

The moment was long and tense and it was the vivid, reddish-brown skin of the movie star that convinced Mary Jo. She was obviously tough, and the Island native turned to climb the ladder for the ball cap, muttering under her breath.

Satisfied, Kendle took a moment to look around as the sharp odor of cleaning products stung her nose and smothered the light hint of LJ’s sexy cologne. There were neatly stacked baskets and racks, tasteful signs and pictures, and not a speck of dust to be found. The front glass windows were spotless as well, the white curtains closed to dim the bright, noonday sun, and Kendle was suddenly sure the woman now jabbing at numbers on her tiny calculator hadn’t been the one to clean any of it.

“A hundred even.”

Kendle laid the cash on the spotlessly neat counter with a frown, but said nothing at the too high price, wanting only to go. Not for herself, but for Luke, whose embarrassment she could feel. They didn’t like him here. Why? Did they know his secret? It explained his reluctance to go into town to replace the things they had lost in the storm. Kendle turned to meet his eye in the dimness of the store.

When sparks flew between them, the storekeeper shoved the full bag at her. Kendle spun back around in time to catch it just before it fell to the tiled floor. “Is there a problem?”

She saw Luke’s wide shoulders tense from the corner of her eye, wondering if they were about to mix it up, and knew the clerk did too.

When the woman’s brown eyes went from unfriendly to mean, Kendle held up a hand. “Of course there is. Let’s do it like this. I plan to be here a while. Should I spend my money with the crazy lady across the creek?”

The storekeeper seemed surprised she knew there were other options and shook her head, voice hateful. “No. Come back anytime.”

Kendle smiled sweetly as she turned away. “Not even if you bent over and kissed my red ass! Have a great day!”

Luke held the door as she swept out, regal as any Hollywood snob he’d ever seen, and he grinned at the speechless clerk. “I’d pay to see that!”

He slipped out before she could respond and went to help Kendle store their things on the cart attached to the back of the bike.

“She always act like that?”

Luke nodded, waved at one of the four other shack-like, brown and green stores that made up town proper on this side. The Bounty Bay the tourists saw wasn’t the real Pitcairn Island. “Yes. Wanna go to Baxter’s? They have shoes.”

Kendle met his eye, hand on her slender, jean-clad hips, and Luke’s gaze moved to her tiny waist.

“Same attitude, right?”

He looked away, voice a low mutter of embarrassment. “Probably.”

She frowned, looked around the tiny town again. There were patches of wild roses amid small clumps of Miro trees with multi-colored parrots in the tops that hung over every inch of the town, creating shaded canopies. There were no cars, only two dirt bikes parked by theirs, and she saw the outlines of neat, white-fenced shacks in the distance she assumed were the storekeeper’s homes. There were no mailboxes, no addresses on the doors, just gravel walkways and rocking chairs on the porches. There was a striped barber pole on the last shop that made her stomach clench with longing. She missed her home, her country.

“How about we go fishing instead?”

Luke’s eyes lit up and Kendle felt her first response to him, to his happiness. There was something there.

“Sounds like a plan. Now?”

She grinned back, feeling soft and attractive for a change, instead of just being grateful to be alive. Another spark flew between them that the people lingering in shop windows felt. “Yes, the sooner the better.”

Eager to be in the cool, quiet jungle, Kendle swung her leg over the bike, staying back to leave him room, and she blushed at the thought of holding close and tight to him while they were flying along. They were getting closer now and it surprised her. She never would have seen herself attracted to a calloused, big handed, suspenders and plaid-wearing war veteran.

It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm, cloudless blue sky above and a saltwater breeze that made her shiver. She couldn’t...

“Leaving so soon?”

Kendle saw Luke tense at the male voice and immediately knew he not only disliked the owner of it, he hated him. When she turned, it was easy to see why. The man was everything Luke wasn’t.

Pretentious shoes, expensive slacks and Polo top, deep scorn in the 30-something island god’s dark green eyes. Great body and teeth; deeply tanned, manicured hands; a watch on his wrist that had probably cost more than she had made on her last show. Instead of being impressed, Kendle only wondered vaguely if it still worked. She had no interest in a trust fund baby.

“Introduce us,” Ethan ordered.

Kendle stood up when she saw a muscle in Luke’s stubble-covered jaw twitch.

“Be careful, Pasta Boy or...”

Kendle stepped between them before Luke could finish the threat, holding her hand out. The menace in LJ's body language was a surprise to Kendle and like a whiff of cooking meat to the lonely woman inside.

“Roberts, Kendle. And you are?”

“In awe of your beauty,” oozed the tall playboy as he gently kissed her hand. Keeping hold of her it, he introduced himself, flashing expensive veneers. “I’m Ethan Kraft, oh Goddess of survival. I own this island.”

“Just the town,
Fader
.”

Kendle pulled her hand away with a warning look that said not to get too friendly.

Ethan frowned at the
nice
term for someone who can’t follow through and pretended not to see the red-skinned movie star wipe her hand down the side of her jeans, like he might have contaminated her.

Luke saw it though and his grin widened.

“Give me time,” Ethan boasted arrogantly, flashing beautiful dimples at Kendle, and she frowned at the unspoken implication that he would have her too. Not in a million years.

“You ready?” Luke interrupted, indicating the bikes.

“Yes.”

Ethan stepped forward as she turned away, meaning to take her hand again.

Luke, unsure of his intentions, slapped both palms against the playboy’s hard chest and shoved him, forcing him to move back to keep from falling. “Don’t ever touch her unless she says it okay! You got that?”

Ethan bristled, but wasn’t sure about crossing LJ, despite being 20 years younger. “Sure.”

His eyes were hard as he watched them ride off together. Maybe she just didn’t know what kind of man she was staying with. Ethan turned toward the store he had spotted her coming from, steps lightening. Maybe he would have to make it his job to see that she found out.

2

Later, with the sun fading behind a light layer of ugly-looking clouds rolling in from the southeast, Kendle watched Luke cast out over the calm water of the second fishing hole they’d tried, the first full of debris.

“You never talk about yourself. You know everything about me.”

Luke turned to look at her with unreadable eyes, wondering how he’d fared in her comparison to Ethan. “Does it matter?”

Kendle sent her eyes back to her twitching line, vaguely listening to frogs and gulls calling to each other. “Sometimes.”

She heard him sink the pole into the ground next to his chair and then there was silence, but she knew he was nervously waiting for her questions to begin. So, she didn’t ask. Not only was she living on his dime out here, he had been good to her, understanding, and she wouldn’t push. If he wanted to tell her, he would.

Kendle dug her bare feet and hands into the bur grass around them, still in love with the land. She closed her eyes, hearing the rustle of a small animal in the underbrush, dragonflies zipping over the surface of the water. She thought she could even hear the ants and beetles crawling over the salty soil and she held back the tears only by will power. She was alive!

Luke outwardly relaxed when she didn’t speak, went back to enjoying the beautiful day, but inside, he was worrying over what to say. He had a horrible secret and while she hadn't found out today, sooner or later, she would. He needed to be the one to tell her.

“You want to go back to town for lunch? Stacey’s place has good chicken sandwiches.”

Kendle jerked her line hard, felt the fish get hooked. “Not really. Fish is fine,” she lied, thinking if she never ate another piece of any kind of seafood, it would be too soon.