The Survivors: Book One (67 page)

Dog jumped suddenly, meeting a wolf as it came over the fire. His powerful jaws clamped down on an unprotected throat, and Angela fired at the second animal now stalking Dog.

Her first shot landed near its paw, Angie afraid of hitting the wrong dark body, but her second shot went straight between its eyes.

“This is my last clip.”

“Me too.”

The big man was firing a bright red flare into the sky before their words had faded and seconds later, a tremendous howl split the air.

Wwwhhhhhooooo!

It was a piercing whistle or maybe a caller of some kind, the notes melodic and offensive at the same time.
Like a wolf's howl,
Angie thought.

It seemed to go on forever, and Marc put a calming hand on Dog’s head as the wolves hesitated in their attack, thinking it had come from maybe two miles away, but no more.

Angela winced as the wailing increased, the animals joining in. The volume continued to rise as the wolf call came again, pulling at them, drawing them.

“That'll be the Missus. She’ll have the bait out, and be holed up with the others. We’ll be able ta go in a bit.”

“Won’t she need help?” Brady asked, amazed to see the wolves starting to leave.

“No. They don’t climb none too well.”

“How will you get to them without running into the wolf pack?” Angela asked.

The man stepped closer, big form intimidating. “You tell me, Witch,” he grunted.

Angela concentrated, feeling Brady tense behind her. “Underground.”

The man grunted, tossed back his hood to reveal a horribly disfigured face partially hidden by a thick, shaggy beard. Deep brown eyes glared at her.

Angela stiffened as the Witch whispered. “What payment do you expect for helping us? Nothing’s free. Not before and certainly not now.”

The man shrugged, eyes darting over her shoulder to Marc. “We got a broken radio and no medicine, no ammo. Got any of that?”

She relaxed. “Possibly. What else? That doesn’t equal the debt.”

His eyes were hard as he looked her over from head to toe. “Girls could use some clothes...maybe some books?”

Surprised, Angela gave him a genuine smile.

Marc heard the man’s sudden intake of breath. He recognized the sound, that reaction to Angela, and rotated them again. “The woman is not for trade.”

The huge man’s hardened face tightened, and he turned away. “Can’t hardly get it up now anyway,” he muttered, stepping over the dying flames. “Damn diabetes. Come on. She’ll have supper waitin'.”

Angela and Marc exchanged a long look of uncertainty, but chose to follow the big man’s shadowy form in the darkness. The corn around them was empty now, but not silent. The breeze moved through the hollow stalks, making an eerie moan that resembled the calling howl they’d heard, and Dog followed closely, his black-and-grey fur still bushed out in warning. Danger wasn’t far.

Once again glad to be alive, Angela and Marc quietly followed the big man through the corn, both still unsure of his intentions. When the rows ended, revealing a dark stretch of tall, sick-looking evergreen trees, they exchanged looks that said they would be careful. The wind was cool, smelled of shit, and they both spotted the fresh wolf scat that littered the dead rows of waist high corn. This was part of their hunting ground.

“Almost there,” the big man grunted, moving steadily despite his size. He stopped in front of a large clump of bushes.

Marc stayed by Angela, and Dog did too. His thick fur was flecked in blood, and they both saw the big man casting hard looks at the timber wolf. Marc estimated they had come about two clicks from the battle scene.

“Grab an end.” The man bent down to clasp a large handful of the damp foliage.

Marc did it while keeping his eyes open, not liking to be unfamiliar with an area, but content enough to let the man’s true colors show when they would. The odds on him winning weren’t nearly as high as with the wolves.

“Pull!”

Angela grinned in surprised admiration at the cleverly disguised sewer entrance that rose up like a blanket. There were thin, dark green puddles where it met the ground, a poison of some type Angie guessed, and she was careful not to step in it, wondering if it was the fumes alone that kept the animals from coming through or if they’d learned to avoid it from seeing their packmates die.

“Close the flap and watch out for the rats. The antifreeze don't tempt 'em, and they don’t scare easy neither.”

As they moved into the damp, stinking air of underground, Marc gestured to the night vision glasses on her belt. Instead of putting them on, she tapped the big man on the arm, held them out.

He started to take them, and then shook his head, stepped by her. “You keep ‘em and watch out. Your blood’ll likely make fire shoot from their arses, and we’d never be able ta keep ‘em out.”

Angela heard Marc snort in amusement and she slid the glasses back onto her belt with a frown. She didn’t sense evil in their huge guide, but his knowing what she was made her uncomfortable, and she dropped back, putting more distance between them.

Marc however, was starting to relax. He was almost sure the man had been military before the War, and he lit a smoke, gun still in hand, as they walked quietly through the stone tunnels. They moved over and around rotting furniture, mildewed piles of clothes, whole and broken cinder blocks. Gray and green moss climbed the tall, dank, concrete walls that met a cobwebbed ceiling about 20 feet above them, and their steps echoed along with the distant drip of water.

“About there. Be quiet. She’ll have the little 'uns back ta sleep by now,” he said, indicating that the battle with the wolves was a long-running one.

Angela caught Marc’s silent words.
“He thinks we’re a couple. Tell him different, I may have to fight for you when it comes time to leave.”

 She too felt the enormous man’s interest, but it eased her a little that there was no sense of him being the one to fear. They came to a stop, and when Marc gestured upward, she saw a trap door in a wooden floor that was over twenty feet up, an impossible jump.

Suddenly a rock flew through the air to slam into the big man’s cheek and he sucked in a surprised breath at the pain as another, bigger stone sailed down at them from the damp darkness.

“Damn! It’s me!”

The rock barrage stopped and a woman’s indignant voice called down to them, “Shoulda said something!”

The big man grunted, rubbing his arm where the second rock had hit. “Jealous, I think. Seen your woman in action.”

Marc agreed: Angie was a tough act to follow.

“Come on, Lenore! Did I save ‘em from the wolves to feed ‘em to the rats? ”

There was no sound from above them, and Angela was unable to keep from grinning at the sigh of long-suffering the big man let out.

“Definitely jealous.”

“I am not! The rope’s kinked up again. Hang on!”

Eyes, round and gleaming in the darkness, appeared in the deeper shadows around them.

Angela's gasp was followed by the man’s urgent voice, “Now, woman! They’re comin'!”

The trap door slid open and a rope ladder dropped on top of the man’s head.

“’Bout damn time. Here!” He grabbed Angela’s black sweater and lifted her onto the ladder in one effortless move. As she started to climb, his big hands settled firmly on her ass, shoving, squeezing, caressing.

Angela jerked herself up and out of his reach, her .357 in hand a second later, pointed at his head. “You ever touch me again, your Missus will use your balls for bait!”

The man stopped halfway through the opening, glaring at her.

“Angie,” Marc’s tone was patient, resigned.

“What?” she snapped, backing up.

“There’s a rat about a foot long trying to eat my boot. Let him through.”

Angela felt the rage clear from her eyes and reholstered her weapon as she turned to look at the only other person in the big, cluttered kitchen of what was probably a one floor, ranch style home - Lenore.

Dressed in a stained white shirt and an enormous pair of farmer’s overalls with the pockets ripped off, the large woman was smirking at her man. A grand beehive of black and white hair hung in every direction like a bad wig and the long, jagged scars on her face and arms told Angela she had fought beside him to protect what was theirs.

“I’m Missus Lenore Codd.”

Angela held out a hand to the giantess, the name ringing a faint bell. Wasn’t there a fairy tale based on the life of a giant by that name? “Angela. Angie. I hope we won’t be a bother to you.”

The woman’s sharp brown eyes watched even as she shook firmly. “Me? No. Him?”

She indicated the man leaning down a hand to help Brady, not reacting at all when the wolf riding uneasily on Marc’s shoulders nipped at him. “Probably already has. T'was me that seen and sent him after ya. Told him I wudn’t cookin' till he got ya here.”

Angela covered the woman’s large hands with her own. “Then it’s
you
I owe the debt to. Good.” She moved closer, running on instinct. “Maybe we can barter, but for now, let me start paying on the debt I owe. I’m a Doctor.” Her voice lowered, “Diabetes can be controlled by doing certain things, and then the side effects go away.”

The woman grinned, clapped her on the back, and Angela held onto her big arm to keep from falling as the reek of corn filled her nose. “Might could be. Let’s get them men fed and we’ll talk.”

Angela nodded, taking her sweater off in the warmth. There was barely room to walk in the dusty, ten by twelve space and the cluttered shelves full of bags, canisters, and unpacked boxes told her the couple had come here only recently.

“Can I help? Set a table? Do cleanup?”

“Polite, eager to help. You remind me of the past,” Lenore mused matter-of-factly.

Frowning, Angela didn’t look away, though the stench of corn was making her eyes water. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wudn’t all evil.”

Angela didn’t agree with her, but the look of understanding they shared said this new world wasn’t all bad either.

“Damn it, woman! Feed me! Them,” the man ordered, dropping down at the long, wooden table in the narrow, lantern-lit room.

His wife waved at a chair over in the corner, seemingly indifferent to the large, wild wolf standing tensely in her kitchen. “Put your man to the right. We’ll stand. Only got two chairs left now. Keepin' warm’s more important than pass-me-downs.”

Angela shook her head at Marc when he started to offer to take the floor, and her eyes told him to be careful, that the man wasn’t in charge here.

She brought the heavy chair over with no visible effort and knew the big woman was pleased when Marc obeyed her and sat. The feeling increased when Angela looked at Dog, pointed at the trap door, and the wolf immediately went to that spot and laid down, only his eyes and ears moving. Angela stayed close to the woman as she served big bowls of what appeared to be stew from a large metal pot on a double burner gas stove.

Marc fell into a conversation with the man about the wolves, he and Angie quietly keeping track of each other.

“Everything's a’gin us now,” the mountain man stated, cracking his knuckles impatiently.

“But so many? Packs are never more than ten or fifteen,” Marc observed.

“We killed the world. They hate us enough to band together.”

“Surely that can’t be?”

The man grunted, spoon already in his beefy hand as Lenore set his deep bowl down with a heavy thud. Angela looked away from the mats of dark hair on his forearms as he began scooping up huge bites of the steaming stew.

“Tis not just the wolves. Rats, snakes, ants. People’r the enemy.”

Marc was frowning at the picture, and Lenore’s eyes stayed on him. “Must not be that way where you came from?”

He shook his head, military mind calculating the odds of mankind if that were true. “No.”
Slim to none.

“How far have you come?”

“So many miles I can’t feel my ass anymore.”

Lenore’s eyes lit up and she leaned closer, sharp intelligence clear. “Tell me. Is it safe? When were you there?”

Wondering if it was the wolves that had scarred them up or something older, Marc eyed Angela. “Wrong one to ask.”

Lenore produced a tight, grim smile - satisfied - and turned to Angela with approving eyes, “He’s well-trained. We can make some deals, trade. I’m Lenore. He’s Maxwell. Welcome to the killin' fields of Nebraska.”

6

“Ohio, huh?” Lenore grunted, handing her a thick slab of cornbread, and they both ignored the loud belch and male grunt that echoed from the table. “Never been past the Missi'sip.”

Angela closed her eyes, smiling in delight. Marc frowned when the man’s gaze went to her face, lingered there.

“This is so good!”

“Missus makes the best,” Max stated gruffly, eyes now on her chest. Angela held her ground though she had the urge to put her sweater back on.

“You’ve been here since the War?” Marc asked the man and wasn’t surprised when he looked to his wife first.

“Tell ‘em what ya will. I see no harm.”

Lenore ducked through a heavily-curtained doorway that held a long, oddly decorated horn Marc thought was probably the wolf caller.

When Angela turned to see what he was staring at, Max waved a hand. “She’s checkin' their breathin'. Corn fumes.”

They both frowned, confused, and the man finished his last bite before explaining.

“We have the corn. Keep it from the rats. Fumes build up while it sets. Poison, o’ course, so we sleep in shifts. People start coughing and puking, we get out the guns and open the windows till it airs out.”

Angela was horrified. “Why?”

The big man’s tone was rough, but his eyes said he too hated it. “Why? To eat. Can’t hunt anymore. Damn wolves get ya or there’s no meat close enough cause o’ them. Gotta eat. Gotta last ‘em out.”

“You could leave,” Marc suggested, which was met with silence.

Angela shook her head when he would have repeated himself. “Not our business. Maybe you should look at their radio now.”

It was enough to fool the man, who immediately responded to the tone, getting up. Angela hid a grin at the warning look Marc slid her way. Up to a point, this could be fun.