by Angela White
“It’s hard to tell. A little of both?”
Before Kyle could add anything, Adrian spun. The movement was so fast; his hand was there before the action had been registered.
Adrian let go of the fingers that had been about to rob him of the dangling bandana in his front pocket.
“Damn!”
“Pass.”
The Eagle, a plumber from Oregon, swallowed his surprise and snapped off a smart salute before vanishing into the darkness.
Kyle grinned, thinking of his own level test a few days ago. “Daryl thought he had you.”
“That’s how he failed. Rushed the end and made a noise as he tried for it.”
Kyle lit a cheroot with a calloused hand, waiting to see if Adrian had anything else for him.
“Chris also passed. Dale needs to do it again.”
Kyle wrote it down, not questioning. Adrian was a sharp judge of character, and Kyle already trusted him completely.
“I’ll be in my tent,” Adrian said.
Kyle watched him go, thinking these people were lucky to have the natural-born leader. The blond man was hitting on all eight, knew what was coming, and was preparing to handle it. Because of him, most of these people would probably live. If they finally got some of the help that Adrian had all of his top men on the lookout for, there might even be a chance at more than just surviving.
Chapter Eight
Right Place, Right Kind
February 1st
Utah
1
Charlie saw them first and knew instinctively that they were who Kenny was looking for.
It was only three o’clock, but the blanket of sky crap, as Charlie called it, made it feel like dusk. Five long days of traveling in the gritty wind had given them both red, squinted eyes and rough, scratchy skin on their faces and hands. The bike had been left in northern Arizona. Empty of fuel and with no refills in sight, the Honda was now another rusting pile of metal on the side of a road.
After that, things had gone downhill fast. It had rained nearly every day since the war, but Kenn refuse to consider trying to sterilize and drink it, worried it would still make them sick. As a result, they had run out of clean water this morning and towns around here were nonexistent. This was the Southern Badlands, the Black Rock Desert, and they were in trouble.
Kenn knew there had to be at least a gas station somewhere, but with the sand blowing so thickly, he couldn’t see much beyond the occasional dead car or body. He had chosen not to leave the main road because of that. Utah was a huge place, and there would be no rescue party sent after them if they got lost.
Kenn hadn’t located a home or business of any kind since dawn yesterday, only the faint, gritty shadow of mountains to the east, north, and west. There was occasionally still a vehicle, the battery dead and the paint faded, with few windows and with inches of dust inside, but there weren’t any structures. There were only layers of sand.
Kenn’s eyes swung east, toward home, but his mind was on NORAD. There had been smoke from that direction almost continuously, and he’d advanced them further west to check the Dugway Proving Ground. Overall, 257 was a surprisingly desolate stretch of highway. It was depressing, and Kenn forced his sore feet to keep moving and his scratchy orbs to keep searching.
Brought up in a wealthy family where he had been the clown and party favorite, being totally on his own was new to Kenn. Even in the Corps, there had been his fellow Marines to seek admiration from and to depend on. The feeling of isolation was not welcome. It also didn’t help that Charlie still wasn’t talking to him unless he had to. Their direction wasn’t due east and the teenager didn’t want to hear about slavers or detours. He wanted his mom.
Charlie was staying a couple of feet behind the wide-shouldered Marine, sheltered from some of the stinging sand as he looked through Kenn’s powerful binoculars. He wasn’t searching for anything, was just bored, sleepy, and very tired of walking. There was nothing to view except the big ants that Kenny wouldn’t waste their ammunition on, and no sounds beyond the wind and crunch of their boot steps.
He swung around to investigate behind them and a flash of silver caught his attention. His jaw dropped and a spiteful wave of wind sent harsh, stinging sand into his open mouth.
He began to cough and spit, doubled over.
When Kenn put a hand on his arm, Charlie thrust the binoculars at him. “People!” he choked out, pointing. “It’s... headlights…right? Lots of them.”
Kenn tensed, studying hard. A long line of people, but were they survivors or slavers?
Guess we’ll find out, he thought, studying the large convoy of semis, cars, and trucks now turning toward them.
Lights flashed from the lead rig and then from each vehicle as they were spotted.
Kenn felt his heart warm a little at the familiar American greeting, but it didn’t ease the worry in his gut. “Stay by me, boy. Do what I do.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two weary travelers waited tensely, Kenn automatically trying to estimate the convoy’s number. Not that it mattered. They couldn’t fight so many, and there was no place to take cover, but he drew his gun anyway as the vehicles got closer, letting the weapon hang along his side.
Thick sand blew harder as all the vehicles except the leading rig slowed and stopped. The red, white, and blue tractor-trailer came forward, and Kenn got ready to fight.
The semi stopped smoothly next to them, and as the driver’s window went down, Kenn stepped in front of Charlie and lifted his gun to his hip. The barrel was still pointed at the dusty ground, but with his finger on the trigger, it was a clear warning.
The driver’s big hand was on the wheel and when the left hand finished with the window, it joined the right.
“Do you intend to use that weapon, soldier?”
The voice was a cold bark, and years of training made both males square their shoulders. The correct response fell automatically from Kenn’s mouth, despite the insulting title.
“A Marine never draws without intent. That would be a mistake.”
“And what’s wrong with that, grunt?” The hard tone allowed no hesitation.
“Because the United States Marine Corps does not make mistakes!” Kenn and Charlie answered together.
Kenn snapped his mouth shut, studying the driver. Short, golden blond hair; black, mirrored sunglasses; white T-shirt; and yes, there was the single dog tag. He had been found by one of his own.
“So where ya headed?”
This tone was friendly, open, but Kenn understood that the first, sharp edge of command he had greeted them with was his real voice.
“Northeast.”
“Looking for family?”
Kenn shrugged, not glancing away as the wind pushed more sand toward them. “Something like that.”
“He your son?”
Always working on how he appeared to others, Kenn used a protective tone. “He might as well be. I’m Kenn. He’s Charlie. We’re from Fort Defiance.”
The driver took off his glasses and peered at Kenn with beautiful pale blue eyes.
“I’m Adrian.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Those are my people, and they’re from everywhere. We have room as long as you follow the rules and pull your weight.”
The tone was casual, but that startling gaze was hard, assessing.
Kenn put away his gun, voice firm. “For a while, but he stays with me and we leave together when I say. He’s my people.”
“We’re Americans, Marine. No one is here against their will.”
Trying not to flush at the scorn in the response, Kenn stayed quiet.
Adrian picked up his mike and told someone to come get them. “We’ll make camp in about an hour and Neil will get you settled.”
“Thanks. We could use some R&R.”
Adrian smiled. “Don’t thank me yet. After a full week of working with us, you may want to be alone again.”
Kenn was encouraged. Work meant organization, authority, a
nd planning. All the things he was looking for in the people they would join.
A small gray minivan pulled up next to the semi, the side door already open, and Kenn automatically snapped a quick salute to Adrian. Not waiting for it to be returned, he waved Charlie in and climbed aboard, sliding the door shut.
The males were very grateful to be in any shelter, but this one was warm, comfortable, and moving. Kenn sank down with a groan of relief even as he swept the three nicely armed men observing him. One was roughly the size of a tank, and the other two wore the weapons and tools of military men, though they clearly weren’t.
Neil noticed the reaction, mind already racing as he reversed the minivan to third in line. “It’s not like that. If he thought you were a threat, he would have split you two up. You’d be alone with him.”
Kenn was introduced to Doug, Kyle, and Neil and he gave them only a first name in return, with no details. Their leader knew he was military. These people could figure it out for themselves.
All three men instinctively knew that there was important work waiting for Kenn; serious deeds that would benefit them all. They also sensed there was something not quite right, not completely true, about the new man.
“The boss has you with us. It means he probably already has a job in mind for you,” Kyle stated from the front passenger seat, turning to stare at the 9mm on Kenn’s hip.
When their eyes met, the Eagle thought they would probably never drink from the same bottle. There was something hinky about the new guy.
Kenn frowned at the stocky sentry with the tanned skin and black curls. “Like what? We just met.”
All three men hesitated, shrugging, and Kenn sensed it was respect keeping their mouths closed. Those were the boss man’s questions and these were his highest men.
“Could be anything,” Neil said finally. He ran a hand over shoulder-length brown hair in a way that implied disappointment and a little bitterness. “Mechanic, baby sitter, it’s hard to tell. He sees things in people, discovers their talents.” Neil paused, examining him in the mirror in a way that was polite but not friendly. “Hell, he might think you should be one of us.”
Kenn took the cigarette that was offered and handed the bottle of water to the boy relaxing next to him, aware of the red-vested giant watching the teenager. Maybe wondering what stories Charlie might tell if he was alone? Kenn would make sure that didn’t happen for a while.
“Sounds like a club,” Kenn provoked lightly, testing the water. His comment drew a warning from the Irishman in the swivel seat in front of them.
“It is. We’re his chain of command and we support him–completely,” Doug stated.
Kenn smiled easily, not intimidated. “I’d like to be able to do that too. We owe him our lives now. Sell me.”
Adrian shifted into gear and got his convoy moving. They were going to Delta for people who had called on the CB this morning, and then he planned to spend a few days in Oak Creek National Forest. The dust and wind were horrible for driving. The sand got into everything as it gusted against their battered vehicles, and he wanted to wait until it settled some before heading out again.
His thoughts went to his newest additions as he drove, mind replaying the meeting. Their uniforms hadn’t mattered. He had known the man and boy for what they were the second he saw their shadowy outlines, and he didn’t think it was only coincidence that they were Marines. The few he was hunting for would have that special spark. With their bloodline, how could they not? Atlantis and Mary Magdalene might be long gone, but their descendants were not.
Kenn would likely turn out to be one of his circle, Adrian could feel that, but instead of being elated to finally have found his first, he was worried. There was a sinking feeling that Kenn might also be a weak link, and that was dangerous because the first of his circle would be the one he depended on the most. The bond of bringing these people through the wilderness was one that would need to be strong enough to hold them all together. It was the foundation, and if there was a crack, a weak brick, the whole thing could fall.
Head starting to ache from peering through the grit, Adrian sighed. It didn’t matter right now. The man was desperately needed, no question there, and he didn’t have the luxury of “cherry-picking” his help. Besides, Kenn had put the boy behind him instead of in front. That said enough about his character.
Didn’t it?
2
The ride was a slow but quiet one. Kenn and Charlie dozed most of the way. Kenn was impressed from the minute they stopped to make camp. The feeling only grew as he watched them set it all up, recognizing the equipment and techniques. There was no denying the feeling of longing, the old edge of excitement and glory that he’d been missing. Not just a fellow grunt, Adrian had been a military leader, and Kenn was about to serve him.
Tents were erected, campers and trucks guided into place, and yellow caution tape wound around the entire perimeter. People ran for bathrooms, animals were let out, supplies unpacked, and through it all, there was Neil–talking, directing, solving, and supervising. Kenn knew instinctively it was a perk of leadership to have that job, commanding this authority during the moves, and was only a little surprised to already feel himself wanting it. He had definitely found his own kind in Adrian, and it took only a couple of minutes for him to understand by the actions of the guards that the blond leader had no Executive officer. His right side was empty and they were all vying for the place of XO.
Kenn’s sharp gaze found Adrian directing the camp members in the parking area, and his eyes narrowed, feet already moving. Was someone sneaking through the cars?
He was at the leader’s side seconds later, drawing frowns from the men around them, but instead of saying anything, he chose to handle it himself, hoping to earn points.
When the shadow tried to slip a hand between the metal bodies of the cars, Kenn locked it in a tight grip, 9mm pointed at the infiltrator.
Adrian was pleased. “Easy. He’s one of ours.”
Realizing it was a test or challenge of some type that he’d interrupted, Kenn leered as he let go. “Boo-ya!”
Adrian swept the surprised men, most of whom hadn’t noted the rookie at all because of the blowing sand. “Training lesson number eight–sometimes, no matter how or what you plan for, fate throws in a wild card and you do the best you can to survive.”
Adrian gave Jeremy a motion. “Pass. Help them set up the targets and we’ll discover if our new man knows how to use the weapon on his hip.”
Kenn took the hint, holstering as Jeremy threw him a sharp glare and stomped off.
“Maybe I could help with a drill or something,” Kenn offered.
Adrian’s tone was full of warning. “That and more, but you’ll have to work for it. Nothing’s free in this new world, and certainly not in Safe Haven.”
“I’ve always earned my way before, and I expect to now.”
“Welcome aboard, grunt. Let’s get to work.”
Kenn grinned as he fell in on Adrian’s right, aware of the camp watching him openly, whispering, wondering who he was. Finally! The attention he craved.
Charlie hid his frown and stayed close to Kenn. It felt good here, but it wasn’t home, and he had a strong sense that the Marine would want to stay and never go back. These were Kenny’s type of people, the teenager could feel that, and he wanted his mom even more.
She said she was coming soon, but he couldn’t help his doubts. He’d heard her calls to someone named Markus, was sure Kenny had too, though he had pretended to be asleep, and Charlie was afraid for her. He and Kenn were Marines, and they had been in big trouble more than once–been lucky to escape. She would never make it alone. She needed help that could not only get her here, but would fight for her when she arrived. Kenny was a true badass and not just anyone would be able to handle him.
Chapter Nine
Mercy and Death
Ground Hogs’ Day
NORAD Road, Colorado
1
Any hopes Sam
antha had of finding help at Cheyenne Mountain were gone before she got there. The smoke she had sort of been following all morning rolled up from behind the hills in thick, black waves that signaled fresh devastation. Then, there were those wide-winged birds circling menacingly in the sky above Colorado Spring. Something was wrong.
Sam had built it up in her mind that the government had been ready for decades. All she had to do was get there, persuade one sentry to check her name and her prints, and she would be safe inside the protective bunker. Ignoring the voice that repeatedly asked why she was more worthy of protection than the dead she had passed along the way, Sam had pushed herself relentlessly, making eight to twelve miles a day on foot. She longed to drive (she was sure some of the vehicles she passed wouldn’t have been damaged by the EMPs), but she couldn’t handle any attention she might attract.
The dreams of safety and authority had been the only thing keeping her going for the last four frightening weeks. Alone and mostly defenseless, Samantha was moving through a new, unknown world that tried hard every day to break her.
This kind of existence went against how she’d been raised. Her sheltered childhood and wealthy parents allowed her to stay above all the human misery she was witnessing daily now, and it was heartbreaking. So many times she had thought of gathering supplies and hiding somewhere, but the hope of real safety at the compound had kept her moving.
She’d been through Rawlings, where rats as big as a loaf of bread were starting to take over, and through Table Rock, where she’d been chased out of a barn by an animal that looked like a cat and acted like a rabid raccoon.
This morning, she had bleached her yellow locks to kill the lice that were now immune to pesticide products. She wasn’t sure where she had picked them up, thought it was likely from the dead soldier when she’d taken his gun and ammo. In all reality, the tough little bugs were the least of her worries.
To distract herself, she’d been hunting for a groundhog, only a little interested in knowing if another six weeks of winter was in the future. She needed a break from the flashes of murdering Henry, from the fear that Melvin was tracking her, but mostly, from the terror she felt at the thought of not finding any help.