The Survivors: Book One (59 page)

Luke stood to get the net for her. He was very aware of her as a woman, of how tiny she was compared to him, and his eyes roamed her curves as she fought lightly with their dinner. A lot more comfortable with each other now, the strength of his attention had grown since that wet ride in the dark and he’d felt her looking at him, too. Slow and easy was the ticket to win her over, and he could probably try now, but he hesitated to get closer to her than he already was. She was pure, he was tainted, and when she found out, their time together would be over.

The end of her time with Luke was something Kendle had found herself thinking about more and more. It wasn’t right for her to stay with him. It didn’t look good to the townspeople, but the thought of not being close to him made her heart hurt. Soon, she would have no choice, unless she flaunted convention and did what she wanted.

Her health had dramatically improved, red skin finally starting to brown, and she was better emotionally too, unless a smell or sound hit her the wrong way, flashed her back to the ocean and its relentless grip. When that happened, it was Luke's comfort she sought, instinctively knowing he understood what she was going through. Some nights she still crawled into his bed and huddled against his warm back, shivering, sweating. He never mentioned it in the morning, just gently moved her off his big chest so he could get up. He was easy going, didn’t expect much, and the only time she’d even seen him even close to upset was today. With Ethan Kraft.

“You don’t really like the people here much, do you?”

Luke dropped the small grouper into their catch holder. “No. We don’t care about the same things.”

Kendle understood. The people here were rich, ostracized from civilization for one reason or another, while Luke was...what? A hermit? Definitely. A criminal? Maybe. Either way, he’d been nothing but great to her and she would respect his privacy and not ask what his crime had been. It would eventually come out and she would face it head on, but for now, he was a comfort that she wasn’t ready to give up. She knew there were choices coming, hard ones that would take strength she wasn’t sure she had, but for now, it was just the two of them in paradise.

Luke’s thoughts were again in line with hers, eager to put it off, but he was dreading her finding out the truth. It was a sin he could never atone for.

Cawwww!

They both looked up to see a scattered flock of dingy cranes heading for open ocean and doubted the birds would see land again, their movements implying sickness. Neither of them mentioned it. It wasn’t an uncommon sight anymore and only served to remind them both of the homeland they'd left behind.

“How did he know who I was?”

“Same way I did, I guess - T.V. reception out here was good for a while. Easy for him this time.”

His tone implied the playboy hadn’t had such an easy time finding out who he was and Kendle smiled, thinking his light cologne was so much better then Ethan’s heavy Polo. “Took him a while to find out who you were, huh?”

Luke chose his words carefully. “Yeah. He finally had to go through my garbage to get my fingerprints for Daddy Kraft to run.”

Kendle was horrified for him, at the invasion of his privacy, and Luke threw her a grin. “He got a mud bath for it. Ruined his four hundred dollar shoes.”

She grinned back, almost stealing his breath at her innocent beauty. It was a good moment for him and he memorized it studiously, from the muddy tennis shoes sitting by her bare feet and the face that was great without makeup, to the sound of water lapping and a rock falling somewhere nearby.

“Did he cry?”

“No, but it was close. One of the best days I’ve had here.” He looked away. “Until you came.”

Her mouth opened and he tensed for questions he knew he’d at least try to answer.

“It’s really bad, right?”

Luke met her eye, prepared to have it happen now, before he got anymore attached than he already was. “Yes.”

Kendle studied the eyes that waited, expected no mercy.

When she spoke, Luke felt her words reach the cold, barren part of his heart he’d been carrying for most of his adult life.

“That was the old world and it's gone. The people here may not believe it, but I do. You’re no longer that man.”

Chapter Thirty One

March 23
^rd
, 2013

Western Missouri

1

“…is Safe Haven…Red Cross convoy…survivors. Does anyone…”

Angela froze at the static-laced transmission. The Witch in her head whispered that her boy, Kenn, and grave danger, were much closer.

Marc came to the open passenger door, jarring her from her thoughts. “Everything okay?”

Angela’s voice was impatient as she pushed a stray curl back behind her ear that the warm wind had dislodged. “That’s them. That’s who we’re looking for. You ready?”

Marc shook his head, thinking that group had to be within a few hundred miles for them to hear it. “Few more minutes.” His heart thumped and he fished in his long black coat pockets for his smokes. Only another three weeks alone with her.

Angela got out and closed the door, ignoring the gray and black wolf on the roof that edged closer for her attention. “I’ll help.”

Marc understood her hurry, but wanted to linger over the radio, hoping for a location. She always pointed him in the right direction, but in this big empty, it would be easy to miss them.

“We won’t,” Angela answered firmly.

Marc lit a smoke, watching her quickly take care of their lunch mess, wiping her hands down her jeans as she finished. It was something she wouldn’t have felt relaxed enough to do during their first weeks together. She was constantly growing, learning, changing, and on some things, she was already as good as he was.

“They’re near Gillette, Wyoming. We’ll catch up in South Dakota I think, somewhere around Interstate 90.”

Marc frowned. They would be facing her man by the end of next week. Ten days left. His heart twisted.

“Come on, Brady. I’ll back it up and can do the chains.”

Marc cracked an imaginary whip, making them both grin as he got moving. They’d made good time, eating up nearly three hundred miles, and had chosen to tow one of the Blazers to save on fuel, something they were low on again.

“That’s it. You drive. I’ll check the maps for what’s between us and them.”

Angela got settled quickly, glad he had interrupted her thoughts. Instead of relief that she was about to be with her son, all she could feel was the fear of facing Kenny. Time to pay was very close now, and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to do it yet.

A minute later they were leaving Corning, Missouri. They were both uneasy as this was tornado country, part of the Alley, and it was eerie to see one block looking totally normal - if you could call looted, burned-down businesses normal - and the next street knocked flat with nothing but piles of debris standing. It was also farm country, crops of tobacco and river oats everywhere, surrounded by Indian grass and milkweed. There was no traffic in sight though, hadn’t been for the last day, and she held back a shudder, almost sure she knew why. Not many people had made it through the last town.

Pattonsburg, still fully decorated, had real bodies in every Christmas scene, even those on lawns, with each corpse painstakingly put in the place of the person they most looked like: Mary, Santa, Wise Men, even the baby Jesus. She and Marc had turned around immediately, the feeling of evil too strong to ignore. They had detoured an extra day, sure each of the scenes’ “actors” had been survivors of the War, not victims. They were just too fresh.

Pattonsburg had become, or maybe always had been, home to a serial killer now reigning unopposed, and she had marked it in her journal, then tried to let it go. Later, when she’d kept worrying over it, aware Marc wanted to go back and challenge the mad man just to ease her horror, the Witch had asked, and she’d said yes with a heavy heart.

After her own encounter with evil, she now understood that some people had earned death. The nut job in Pattonsburg was certainly one of those, and she had let the Witch hunt him down while she slept. The fact that it hadn’t been by her hand was helping, but death was something she couldn’t handle, and if she ever had to personally do it again, she might…

“Angie.”

She looked up to find Marc staring at her.

“Try to let it go.”

Angela closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The fact that she had saved future travelers was also helping. “I will. What did you say?”

“We’ll have to cross the Missouri to get into Nebraska, unless you want to parallel it until we get below Kansas City. Flatter land, might have a better chance of finding a shallow.”

She was already shaking her head, raising her sunglasses, “That’s another week. Let’s try to find a dam or a bridge around here that looks okay.”

Marc just stared, stomach suddenly very uneasy, and Angela gave him a quick look that revealed an almost desperate glare in her eyes. “I feel it too, but I can’t waste another week. I just can’t.”

“I won’t ask you to unless we can’t find a shallow or dam, like we did when we came over the Mississippi.”

Angela studied the mud-streaked lanes of Interstate 29. The cracked pavement was full of potholes and mud that was slowly drying in the steady breeze now that the temperatures had stayed above freezing for a few days. The wind was calm, the weather clear for a change, and Angela lit a smoke, not sure what was wrong, but sure something was since there was only darkness when she looked.

“Do you…”

The ground under them began to shake, and she slammed on the brakes, jerking them to a stop. Eyes wide, she started to get out as the vibrations increased.

Marc put a gentle hand on her wrist, “Wait. If it gets worse, we’ll get out. Watch for big cracks.”

His touch was soothing, exciting. He let go slowly, feeling her interest, and she sighed.

The ground under them rumbled and swayed, shifting nearby debris piles, and from the distance came the distinctive sounds of buildings collapsing, and telltale plumes of dust rising.

The shaking eased gradually, quieted over a period of maybe a minute, before finally going still. Angela looked at Marc, who was busy studying the map like nothing had happened. “Should we go on?

“Yeah, just stop if it starts again. Always stay clear of anything that can fall on you and watch for cracks. They open up fast.”

Angela eased back on the pedal, her mind shocked to find out that the fault line under St. Louis was not only there, but now active. They had felt other tremors of course, but not while driving, and not this strong. In the Midwest, the big one hadn’t come yet, but things were warming up.

They listened to Pink Floyd as she drove over weedy, debris-littered streets, rolling around the abandoned cars with indecipherable notes now mildewed to their dashboards, and the conversation was about anything other than the destruction all around them. Mother Nature was clearly the cause here.

Marc’s heart was aching. Time had begun to look very short for them, and though he could say they were true friends again, he wasn’t sure if there was more. She had been keeping the space between them since waking up in his arms in front of the burned-out fire, one of the best memories for him from the whole trip. She had been so peaceful in his embrace, so relaxed (sexy), and he was feeling discouraged. Appearing to look back at Dog, who was curled up contentedly on the backseat, he stole another look at her profile as she drove. She was still so far out of reach he didn’t think he’d ever have a real chance with her again, but that didn’t stop the want.

Angela could feel his hot looks, but was blocking so she didn’t pick up on the exact thoughts unless he sent them to her, and she tried not to fidget or look over. She loved that he was so close, but hated it too. Her female body was acutely aware of him sitting next to her and she was reminded of a time when the mere thought of sex didn’t make her cringe. She had loved to touch him, to kiss him, to run her fingers through his feathered black hair. They had stolen dark, shadowy moments of heaven, and the voices were whispering that he could conquer her fears and make her feel it again, that he could have a part in healing her that way too.

“You have to trust me.”

Angela threw him a startled look. “What?”

“You have to turn by that tree.”

Her eyes darted away, face red, and Marc thought again that she had done so much better on this journey than he’d thought she would. They both had.

2

The couple made it to the Nebraska-Missouri line just before dusk and stopped to look. Marc wasn’t encouraged.

The bridge they’d hoped to cross was almost completely submerged. The river was well over its banks, covering even the roads leading to the blue metal structure, but the water was only dammed up on one side, the south end nearly empty. It was so low, they couldn’t see it from where they were, and as a result, the ground between them and the bridge was mostly covered with water. Nasty, stagnant, reeking liquid, the edges were pushing up onto the road they were sitting on.