by Angela White
“No, but I feel like it. Give me a minute, huh?”
Marc ignored her chilly tone as he slid her onto the seat, digging towels and water out of the duffle bag at her feet.
“Dog. On top. Guard.”
The wolf leapt to the hood and then the roof as Marc closed the door on her pale face, motioning for her to lock it. He was only inside the cabin for a minute to gather some of their things (the heater, the gun she’d dropped) and was horrified at the death scene she had been a part of.
Two minutes later he had finished hooking her Blazer to his and watched as she got out of the passenger seat. Moving like she was in a daze, she took the one remaining gas can from the luggage rack, and his heart burned when he saw she hadn’t cleaned herself up at all. Her face was terrible to look at.
He was surprised by her strength as she calmly dug her lighter out of her torn jeans and headed back into the reeking cabin, tilting the can as she went. Bright flames shot up seconds later, and Angela kept the gas flowing as she walked back out and down the stairs, the fire following hungrily. She tossed the can into the sweltering flames and didn’t flinch at the almost instant explosion of plastic, though she was being showered with hot sparks.
Marc watched her worriedly. "It’s because she’s been through this before," the Marine inside stated. "This hell isn’t new to her."
The heat where she was standing was beginning to scorch the ends of her wild hair, and Marc took her gently by the arm, led her back to the Blazer. “Come on, Honey. Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t respond, but didn’t flinch or resist either, and a minute later, the fire’s glow was falling behind them. When she began to cry huge, silent tears, Marc moved the towels closer and left her alone. This was her First Kill, and his heart ached for her, remembering his own. He’d thrown up afterward until his stomach hurt.
“Stop!”
He hit the brakes and her door swung open just in time to avoid the hot streams that flew from her mouth.
Marc put it in park and got out to give her some privacy as she emptied some of her pain. His eyes watched the fog rolling over a dark, foreign landscape where anything or anyone might lurk, listening. She’d been hurt on his watch.
7
Angela sat with her knees to her chest, sipping water and pushing away flash after horrible flash in her mind. She was hurting, horrified, ashamed, guilty, and still full of furious rage. She wanted to go back and shoot him again!
Her years of abuse had filled her mind as she was attacked, and it had been Kenny’s face she was seeing as she pulled the trigger…always Kenny. In that instant, she had seen the true feelings of the old Angela, and not only was there no way that girl would ever let him touch her again, she also knew both of the females inside wanted him dead. More importantly, if he pushed her enough, hurt her enough, she could do it.
Angela shuddered as the man’s cold, dead eyes slammed into her mind, and she wished again that she could kill him twice.
Marc walked a wide perimeter, the wolf watching from the roof. After a while, he heard sounds that told him she was changing and cleaning herself up. Good. She’d have to feel a little better with the man’s stink off of her skin.
“Will you help me with my hair?”
Her voice was shaky, and Marc moved slowly to the jug at her feet, keeping his eyes on the fog-covered ground. “Hold the door and tilt your head back.”
She did it with her eyes closed, standing with only a large white beach-towel around her naked body, and he was shocked by her trust in him as he lathered her hair, face, and neck, avoiding her slender shoulders.
Red suds soaked into the towel and pink water pooled at her feet as he clipped her clean hair on top of her head. When she picked up another jug and handed it to him, letting the drenched towel fall to the ground, Marc spun around and began mentally reciting the phonic alphabet. Alfa. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. Echo.
“Rinse, please,” she instructed, tone emotionless - shock settling in, he thought, not looking at her. Foxtrot. Golf. Hotel. India. Juliet. Damn!
He poured the cold water over her head, her gasp pulling at his male side, and he recited faster in his head. Kilo. Lima. Mike. November. Oscar. Papa. Quebec. Romeo.
Marc saw her sexy outline under the water from the corner of his eye, pert nipples and creamy, water-flecked skin, and then he was moving away from her, dropping the empty jug and the distraction attempt. He was ready, though not willing, and there wasn’t a worse time for it. She was more off-limits now than she’d ever been before.
Angela smoked, drank, and watched the dark houses roll by, yet her tone wasn’t right, and Marc knew her eyes wouldn’t be either. Everyone dealt with death in their own way. It was harder for someone who’d sworn an oath to protect life, but she hadn’t had a choice, and he hoped she would realize that and not let it eat her up inside. Killing wasn’t easy, even for a trained Marine, and he’d help her if he could.
"Thank you for understanding, but I’ll be all right. I just need some time."
Marc nodded, thinking even her voice in his head didn’t sound right again. “I’m sorry, Angie. I never should have left you alone.”
She didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see what she’d become, that at the moment of decision, she had chosen to be a killer after all. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re always telling me to not let my gun get out of reach. I should have listened.”
Marc said nothing, thinking that was something she wouldn’t forget now.
Angela turned on a Pink Floyd CD and leaned back, exhausted and eager to escape into sleep, but there was only darkness for a brief half hour and none of it was comforting.
“Brady!"
Angela jerked up, eyes flying open and she looked around wildly, fingers dropping to the handle of the deadly gun on her hip.
“It’s over, Honey. He’s dead.”
She frowned, the wild look slowly fading from her bloodshot, blue eyes, and she lit a smoke with shaky hands. “I need to talk it out.”
It was something Kenny couldn’t do, but Marc immediately turned the music down. “You can tell me anything, Angie. You know that.”
She nodded. She did. “I thought it was you at first, when the door closed, and when I turned and saw his eyes, I froze. Just like I always do.”
The longer she talked, the guiltier and angrier Marc felt. He never should have left her alone. He should have swept the other buildings. He should have been the one to pull the trigger, and then she wouldn’t be hurting so badly! As it was, all Marc could think to say was the same thing his CO had quietly told him after he'd finished throwing up. “He was the enemy. Don’t doubt that. This is War and he got what he deserved for his crimes. He should have chosen better.”
Angela found his words did help a little, and this time when she closed her eyes, sleep came without dreams.
8
Around 3 a.m., Marc pulled them carefully into a far corner of Siloam Springs State Park, the nature preserve very isolated. He wasn’t surprised that she awoke the instant he shut off the engine.
“Where are we?” she asked groggily, pulling on her sweater with slow movements and tired eyes.
“Couple miles from Stonington. I’ll set up camp and Dog will stay here with you until I’m done.”
She dropped her head back against the seat, and as he got out, locking the doors, Dog took his spot. “Brady?”
He stopped, looking back at her.
“I don’t really want to be alone. Y’know?”
Marc nodded, thinking he hadn’t planned on separate tents or cars until her voice and eyes were normal again. He used his key to get in and out of the back and quickly had the small Marine tent up and ready. He put the blankets and heater inside, and as he stepped to her door, she opened it.
Angela didn’t flinch when he offered a hand, and he noticed it, saw she didn’t hesitate as she stepped out into the chilly fog and stiff breeze, but she stumbled, and almost fell. Marc swung her into his
strong arms, thinking her face looked like the man had used her for a punching bag.
He headed for the tent, loving the curl of her arm around his neck, but Angela gasped in pain as images of holding her attacker that way flashed in her mind. Holding him tight so she could…
“Angie?”
Marc had stopped. When she nodded against his shoulder, he got moving again, holding her closer. For a brief minute, Angela was distracted from the pain in her mind by the skin under her fingers, able to feel his strength as he ducked into the tent and gently laid her down.
He moved back too quickly, and she barely stopped the old Angela from asking him if he still loved her. Her heart clenched, and she covered herself up, shivering. She didn’t have to ask. She already knew and it changed nothing.
Clink!
Her eyes flew to his in alarm, and he smiled soothingly, pushing the heater closer as the light drizzle began to fall. “It’s just Dog, looking for his dinner. I’ll be right outside.”
She nodded, shivering harder, and closed her eyes, feeling small and alone as he left.
Half an hour later, Marc had placed three rows of disks, secured the area more fully, and was sitting just outside the tent flap, finishing a smoke, beating himself up. It would never happen again. If there was danger from here on, it’ll be me that faces it, not her!
Marc sighed, knowing he couldn’t make that promise, even to himself. This new world was a nightmare, and he couldn’t protect her from all sides.
“Can stop being stupid, though,” he muttered, causing the wolf to stare questioningly. Marc shook his head. She wouldn’t be left alone again, it wasn’t a mistake he’d let happen twice, and he would step up her training too. She was like a sponge, making it clear she wanted to know anything he could teach her, and he would after she recovered.
Marc grinned bitterly. She would insist on a workout tomorrow, he had no doubt. She was stronger than anyone he’d ever known, and that included hardened Marines. His smile faded. Because she’d already lived through worse. Her man was going to pay!
It was dark, cold, and silent except for the restless mutterings of the woman in the vinyl shelter when Marc finally went to bed. The wolf was asleep at the doorway, and Marc took off only his coat as he crawled in next to her. His matching .45’s went under his pillow.
When he curled his body protectively around hers, Angela relaxed against him and fell into a deeper sleep almost immediately, her fear of Kenny overpowered by the need for comfort that only Brady’s arms could give.
9
“Do we keep following?”
Aching with the rain, Dillan shook his head, dark, angry eyes studying a wrinkled map as Dean eagerly fanned the fire to life. With the cabin still smoldering hotly, their smoke would appear to be part of it. They had been running a cold camp to avoid being spotted and both men were ready for a hot meal and a strong cup of coffee.
“No. They’re still moving northwest, just like every time they head out. Going somewhere. We’ll be able to track them down. He’s not covering their trail at all.”
“Back to Cesar, then?”
Dillan nodded. They had been tracking the couple, waiting for the right moment, but it had never come. The Witch and her soldier were very careful. The one time they might have been ambushed while they were traveling, the two Blazers had stopped for a moment, and then went a different way. Like they'd known there was trouble waiting ahead.
Tonight, the twins had been nearby, planning to try again after dark. When the hunter had cleverly distracted the wolf and snuck inside, they’d moved even closer. Hoping to kill her soldier and then her attacker, it had only taken a few seconds to feel the waves of power in the air and realize it was the man who wasn’t coming out.
Dean and Dillan might have gone in anyway, if not for the single gunshot, which either meant the woman was dead and there was no reason to stay, or the hunter had given his life, and the Witch would be ready for anything. They had watched her stumble out the door, looking like easy, terrified prey, but they knew she wasn’t. They also hadn’t missed her fast recovery.
The twins had finally accepted that they needed help. It was something they’d rarely encountered, even before, when only a cell had controlled them, stopped them from doing what they wanted. Now, a mere woman had hurt them, had made them feel fear, and they loathed her for it.
“Where do you think the deformed bastard is?”
Dillan’s glassy eyes went back to the map and then checked his watch for the date, wincing at his mangled arm. He had splinted it, and it was healing, but it would always be useless. “He said every big town along 25. Maybe three days each, four on the bigger ones, skip every other, empty... He should be near Denver. We’ll just follow Interstate 80 until we pick them up on the CB. Or until we see smoke after a storm.
Dean grinned as he stood up. “’Cause where there’s a storm, there’s Cesar.”
10
Ccrrraaackkk!
The thunder from the fading storm rattled the ground, shaking the tent, and Marc woke suddenly from his dreams of thick smoke and desperate screams. He was alone.
Surprised he hadn’t noticed Angela leave, he quickly stepped out into dawn’s early dimness, immediately finding her standing by the open passenger door of her Blazer. Medical supplies spread across the seat, she was using the mirror to see in, as she cleaned her injuries.
Marc moved to her side slowly, making sure she was aware of his presence. He gently took the alcohol pad from her trembling fingers, wincing when she did, heart breaking at the pain in her eyes. She didn’t seem afraid of him like she had been, wasn’t nervous about being hemmed in by his large body, but he was very careful not to crowd her as he applied the gel she handed him.
He saw her tears, could feel the pain coming off her in waves. When she started to turn away, he gently wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll get easier, in time.”
Her tears were falling thickly, yet even in her misery, she noticed the body pressed against hers. Noticed and compared it to what she remembered. Angela stepped back slowly.
“You want to stay here a day or two?”
“And do what?”
Marc pulled a thoughtless answer out of his head, not expecting the question, “I could teach you to hunt.”
He winced as he heard himself, bracing for anger or more tears, and was amazed by her strength when she gave him a tiny, rueful look of accomplishment.
Might as well. I’ve passed the gun test.”
They spent two full days at the preserve, and Angela improved quickly, telling herself over and over that she’d had no choice. They spent the days working out, drilling on what she’d learned, and Brady’s arms during the darkness kept her nightmares at bay and her heart frustrated by the walls still keeping them apart.
They were back on the road soon after, and then to separate tents without a word spoken about it, but things had changed between them. Angela felt it and worried over who would survive the resulting firestorm when Marc realized it too. Everything was getting closer now.
Chapter Seven
March 7th, 2013
Wyoming, mid-state
1
Waking with the feeling that something very valuable had been stolen from him, Adrian listened first for the sounds of his flock - tents flapping, dogs yapping almost casually, a soft, calm crunch of footsteps, the moderate murmur of voices - and allowed himself to relax, the sounds were there and normal. He sat up, reaching for his cigarette pack.
Naked except for his green boxers, Adrian lit a joint, not cold but aware of the chill in the tent. His watch showed it was 5:33 a.m - time to get his busy day started, and he took an extra five to get ready. The day’s list was almost double what it usually was, and everyone would be busy right up to the shooting contest after dinner.
He hit the joint hard and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, thinking his goatee needed a trim. He coughed at the lungful of smoke and smiled. Tonya sure knew how to grow it. Too bad tha
t wouldn’t be allowed when they settled down somewhere, but if he let in one, all the rest would follow. In the meantime, stashes and supplies would run out like everything else, forcing people off of their habits without him having to be a cruel leader.
Adrian inhaled harder, until his lungs burned. He was tired and worried, his usual state of being since the War, and it took only a few hits for him to feel the effects. He closed his eyes, lower mind planning the day, fitting things together for convenience, his higher mind searching for those he had to believe were still on their way. Maybe they were already here, just overlooked. Maybe he’d passed them by.
"I need help!" Adrian shouted silently, "I can’t keep doing this alone!"
The leader let out a harsh sigh, knowing he would keep trying until he was used up, and probably even beyond that. He wouldn’t give up as his father had. The guilt rolled over him at that, and behind it, came the overwhelming need to right the wrongs that he could.
Adrian got up, again listening for his people, something he did when he woke each morning. They were the reason he worked so hard, and he began to move faster, eager to be with them.
Pulling on his black jacket against the chill of mid-40’s, he stepped out into the strong wind, and his eyes went immediately to the sky. Adrian frowned at the ugly look of it. Something was racing their way. Rain? Snow? Both? He would have to look, and that meant using his own magic, something all of those he was searching for would also have - to one degree or another.
The leader took a careful look around, seeing only the guards’ eyes on him, and he closed his own, concentrating. “Show me!” he demanded silently, and as his lids opened, the wind gathered strength. A two-foot dust whirl rose off the dry ground, spinning wildly toward him. It broke apart against his legs, covering his jeans in thick dust, and Adrian’s heart thumped. A sand storm.