by Angela White
She hadn’t heard anyone on the CB, just gunshots in the distance that made her drive faster, and she hadn’t expected to, but not seeing any people, at least not any alive, had bothered her too. When she filled in a page on her journal from now on, she would include how many people she saw on the way and what each town was like. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to do it, but instinct said she should, and so she would. In this new world, instincts were a defense that had to be used.
Though she’d only come eight miles, it was a start. Enough to drive it home that once she found Charlie; there would be a price to pay for leaving when her man had made it clear he wanted her to stay and wait for him no matter what. Until the war, she had never even considered disobeying Kenny. They had a deal, and he got mean when she broke the rules. He would be pissed about her leaving–but about her calling Marc, Kenny would be furious–and blood would be spilled, likely hers.
Kenny would never believe anything she offered as an explanation, and she would have to warn Marc that it might come down to real violence. It was only fair he knew what he was getting into... Where was he now?
You can open the door, the witch tried to seduce, but Angie didn’t. Not because it was wrong, but because a part of her was too excited, couldn’t wait to see him again. What if she still had feelings?
Not only would it complicate everything, but also it had to be a mortal sin to long for one man while still firmly attached to another.
Angela told herself she was eager because it meant getting to her son, and was finally able to sleep.
Her dreams were not easy, though. She was haunted with visions of her son, gone forever, and of her being left to spend eternity searching the new American wastelands for him. Morning’s arrival was a relief.
Chapter Eleven
Dangerous Secrets
February 10th
1
“Angie!”
Marc snapped out of the nightmare abruptly. He focused on steamed-up windows, and felt sweat rolling down his neck and spine in small torrents.
He flipped off the heat and shut his eyes again.
He could still see how Angie’s long, brittle hair had flared in the dust, how the blood-smeared footprints dragged out behind her as she walked the broken landscape, searching for her son while the radiation victims from his bus escape–the walking dead–followed on her heels. Was it only a dream or perhaps a vision, a warning? No way to know for sure, but it made him uneasy.
Marc snapped his seatbelt on over his long black coat, telling himself it didn’t matter. Wherever she was, he would find her.
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the animal curled up on the neatly packed rear seat. “How’s it hangin’, Dog?”
The big timber wolf ducked his snout under a wide paw and groaned.
Marc grunted agreement, wishing the sun would hurry up and rise so he could make better time and also because he was sick of the damp, cold air that always hinted of snow. Not yet. No snow until he found her.
“I hear ya, Dog. Few more days and we’ll take a break–get some hot food and extra sleep.”
As if he understood, and Marc wasn’t sure he didn’t, the blackish-red and gray animal rolled over and stared at his master upside down with piercing gold eyes full of patience.
Marc yawned again, wanting a shave and shower, but he swallowed a pill instead, needing to be alert to drive. He was exhausted. He had made two hundred fifty miles in eleven days, with over half of it in just the last five. He’d even been eating while he traveled and had only pulled over when he couldn’t stay awake any longer.
Marc had calculated that Angie was roughly a hundred miles ahead of him, and he had pushed hard to get here. As a result, he wasn’t completely sure where in southwest Ohio he had stopped. The roads here were unbelievable, and intersections required hours to get through in some places. It had taken him a full day to get across the suspension bridge from Kentucky. Would have been faster if he’d left his vehicle behind, but Marc wouldn’t do that without having another lined up. He rolled down the window to view the foggy street sign.
The first thing he noticed was the billboard above him wishing the city of Cincinnati a happy, prosperous New Year.
“Some great joke,” he muttered, seeing a muddy, rusting CSX rail yard under inches of sludge. The dark trestles were barely visible through the fog, and even the graffiti he could see (Die Milton! Hondo eats draft ballz. Px2012) looked like it had been there for years instead of eight weeks.
Nothing moved on the dirty suspension bridge swaying precariously behind him, just the same wind and rain-blown debris that was everywhere. Ahead were the burned frames of two Hum-vees with a charred Wright Patterson logo on the sides. Both had crashed into a stand of dead and dying pines.
It was bad here, maybe contaminated, and Marc was glad Angie had left, even as he worried about her being alone. Clearly, it had become too dangerous to stay.
Sighing, Marc consulted the map. Where was he? His heart leapt as he figured out his location. Close. Very close to the place where Angie had left ghosts of her life.
A short ten minutes later, Marc rolled up Queen City Hill, seeing but not worried about the cleared lanes. It had probably happened in the first weeks after the war, when some cities had actually tried to return to normal…then the power had gone off.
Marc wondered again why he was here. Angie had a man. Why wasn’t he helping get their son back? Had her husband run out on her? Maybe he’d been taken in the draft, along with the boy. That made sense.
Maybe he’s dead, Marc’s heart whispered the alternative eagerly.
Marc shoved the thought away with revulsion as he braked gently in front of the brick apartment building. He had been here a decade ago, but hadn’t possessed the courage, or the callousness, to knock. She’d had a completely new life by then and he had realized that it didn’t include him. He had no right to disrupt her happiness.
Marc had returned to duty and thrown himself into his career. By saving, fixing, and impressing, he’d eventually ended up in MARSOC, where they used his brains as well as his brawn. But he had never married, was unable to make himself settle for another female. He’d never regretted loving Angie, only that he’d let them be caught before they could run.
“She’s not here now. Place is empty,” Marc muttered, not sure why he had come. Chasing ghosts was always a bad idea, but here he was, drawn into the past again against his will.
He had spent his adult life trying to convince himself that it hadn’t meant much, that she hadn’t been the one and Marc was filled with sudden, familiar shame. He’d taken advantage of her, had known it was wrong but had been unable to resist, and oh God, hadn’t every orgasm since paled in comparison?
He owed her a debt, and there was little that she could ask for that he wouldn’t give. After all, she was family.
I want to know what type of life she’s had, Marc thought. That’s why I came–recon. I don’t want to face her in the dark.
He left the engine running and Dog watching anxiously. He didn’t lock the door, though the remote entry was in his pocket. Anyone who tried to enter the Blazer would get a big surprise.
Marc jogged through the drizzle to the front of the building, only vaguely noticing the burnt shape of a truck that was more recent and an oak tree that had obviously been hit by something harsh. His mind dismissed it as yet another battle scene.
Opening the cracked door, Marc slid his coat behind his gun handles without even thinking about it.
The hallway was dark and smelled like burnt sugar. Two sheets of paper on the carpeted floor caught his attention and Marc knew instinctively who had written them.
I’ll settle for whatever is in those pages, he decided, snapping on his penlight and picking them up from the mud-tracked carpet. He didn’t really want to go inside the home that another man had shared with Angie, where some lucky bastard had lived the life Marc had dreamed about every night since being ripped from her side.
Charlie, lock yourself inside and be as quiet as you can. Do it right now!
If you’re reading this, either we missed each other or I didn’t survive the trip. I’m terrified of that, of leaving you on your own. I wish I could be with you! I love you and miss you so much it feels like there’s a knife in my gut.
I have a big secret to tell you, one that was supposed to wait until you were grown and out of the house. Kenny is not your dad. I know you’ve suspected, but I couldn’t tell you before, and I’m sure you understand why.
Your dad is Marcus Charles Brady.
Our family was bible-strict Christian and when your dad and I fell for each other, only cousins by marriage; it was too close for people to accept. We hid it for a long time, but feelings like that can’t be fought.
We didn’t plan on it, we were swept away. We had decided to leave when I was older, but fate didn’t give us time. A bit after your dad was sent away, I realized you were coming. And I wanted you more than anything.
I didn’t tell anyone, just ran as fast as I could. They had legal control until I was of age, and since I was only sixteen, they could have taken you. Worse, I’ll always believe they would have made me get an abortion. I ran, and… Kenny found me.
How it happened is my own personal hell–you already feel too much of my pain–and I won’t share that. Kenny and I made a deal that said you and I would become his obedient family. It seemed like the best I could do at the time. I know now that it was the wrong choice. How could I not know, when I can feel it in your looks? He has been our master.
Yet, after all that’s happened, he has chosen not to come back. That only leaves one person you can trust–your real dad. You have to call Marc, and you know what I mean by that. He’ll come once he knows it’s true. I’m so sorry that I never told Marc, never gave him the chance to be your father. He had no idea you existed, or he would have come for us. I know it in my...
There was more, but Marc let it go. Anger, guilt, and joy warred in his heart. They had a son. They made a baby! She should have told him! He would have come back a happy man.
Really? His heart was cruel. You wouldn’t have felt like a trapped criminal, sure that it was wrong?
Marc let out a harsh sound. That’s exactly how it would have felt then, but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t knocked, and she’d been forced to survive on her own.
“I should have talked to her that day,” Marc said aloud.
“Yes,” another voice answered with a deep satisfaction. “You should have.”
Understanding instantly that this man had been here all along, waiting for her–their!–son, Marc spun as he drew.
“You must be the sinner she talks about in the letter. Her lover,” Warren sneered, pain lacing his words.
Marc took in the charred skin and furious face, and instantly connected him to the wrecks outside. “You’re why she couldn’t wait for me.”
Marc was suddenly sure this man had forced Angie to defend herself and the rage was nearly overwhelming.
Warren scowled at the confirmation of their relationship, raising his own gun as he moved out of the dark corner where he’d been lurking. “My daughter and my leadership are long gone because of your witch. Will she come back for you?”
Marc’s face darkened. “She’s not who you should worry about.”
They moved at the same time, but only one shot lit the darkness as the Colt barked loudly in a flash of justice and death.
Warren’s weapon dropped to the carpeted floor, blood blooming on his chest. A second later, the broken preacher dropped to his knees, expression almost relieved as scarlet ran in small streams from a corner of his mouth.
Marc stared down at the shuddering man for whom death was fast approaching.
When Warren’s mouth opened but no sound came out, Marc understood anyway.
“She’s not here to serve any man. She’s special.”
“A demon!” Warren choked out.
Marc’s sympathy vanished and he watched the man take his last breath while either thunder or gunfire cracked violently in the distance.
“Look at yourself. You have no right to judge.”
2
After pulling Warren’s cooling corpse out into the wet morning and around the corner of the building, Marc put the letter back together on the glass door, where he was sure it had originally been.
He returned to his warm vehicle, giving the anxious wolf a quick rub of comfort. He flipped on the wipers to clear the heavy layer of rain now thumping down on them. He wiped the stinking liquid from his hands and face as he drove away.
Concentrating the way she had taught him so long ago, Marc called out as the riot-ravaged streets of Cincinnati rolled by. He had to know she was okay. “Angie!”
He hit the brakes as a child’s weather-faded ball rolled across the street, its color that of the dirty pavement, and he slowly rolled on as the wet wind gusted against the muddy car.
“Angie!”
I’m here.
Her tone was cool, unreadable.
“Where? I just left Queen City Hill.”
Angela hesitated, knowing by his tone that he had read the letter that was meant for their son. How long had he known where she lived?
About ten miles north of Greensburg, Indiana, she finally sent.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I wish you had. I’m thrilled. I never thought to have a child.”
Did his words mean anything to her? Did she still have feelings for him?
She sent a clear warning. He’s mine. Parentage doesn’t matter.
Marc didn’t respond, though he wanted to. If she sensed the things floating through his mind, she would disappear. The idea hit him again, and he felt himself grinning. He had a son! It was a reason to have hope, a goal, and his heart was lighter than it had been since the war. He would now serve his child…and maybe that child’s mother.
“I ran into a friend of yours here. Had some burns.”
Marc could feel her scowling at the words and he was aware of Dog observing alertly.
Warren. He’s dead? Angela asked.
Now, Marc was the one frowning. Something else she should have mentioned…though she hadn’t known Marc would go there. “Yes.”
I’m sorry. Killing wasn’t what I wanted. I had hoped he was no longer a threat.
“It was his choice.”
There was silence between them for a moment, broken by the drumming rain and the squeak of his wipers, but the connection, the bond between them, was strong. It allowed him to hear stray noises–a clink, a snap, a grunt of effort. She was breaking camp. She didn’t want him around yet.
“Where are you holed up at?”
He could feel her wondering how he knew she wasn’t on the road, and though suspicion laced her answer, she didn’t ask. That meant she didn’t know how much he was picking up. Good. More time to recon without being evaluated in return.
I’m in a cornfield off highway 3.
“You could probably stay there and take a break for the holiday. It wouldn’t take me long to catch up,” he sent the option carefully this time, knowing instinctively not to mention Valentine’s Day by name.
No.
He was glad when she didn’t sound mad, but he frowned at how set her tone was.
“You okay?” he asked, still feeling that old need to protect her.
I’m fine.
“Okay… I can’t wait to see you.”
The words were perfectly normal for the situation, but there was no mistaking his eagerness.
Marc felt another cold warning rush out to slap at him.
Nothing’s changed for us, Brady. Don’t think it has.
“I don’t, but I had reasons, Angie.”
I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Only my son does.
Marc wished he could view her face, so he would know if it was true. He couldn’t say that an
d mean it, and it stung to think that she could.
Angela let go of the connection, and Marc didn’t bother saying anything else as he steered around bodies of people, dogs, and other corpses he couldn’t identify through the rain. She wasn’t ready to deal with him yet–probably hated him, despite what she had written to soothe their child. He would have to let her have the lead when it came to settling the past. If he pushed, she would slip away, and if he wanted to get to know his child, he definitely needed her along.
If? A big grin filled Marc’s face. There was no if. He would track her down, but as long as he made it clear that he wouldn’t interfere with her personally, things should be okay. She would have her missing child, and he would only ask for time with the son he hadn’t known existed.
Marc was a little surprised by how much he wanted the boy, by how much his heart liked it that their love had created a new life. He was grateful for this chance to be bonded to someone again.
Marc ignored the part of him that was quietly hoping to have peace at last; sure she still had no welcome for him. Not that it mattered. Angie had called, and he would go to her as fast as he could.
3
In Indiana, Angie got into the driver’s seat of her Blazer, emotions chaotic. Why did Marc have to tell her that he was happy about having a child? Hadn’t she longed to hear that so many times? The pain was fresh and she dealt with it.
If Marc was in Cincinnati now, then he was a week behind her, and Angela wanted to keep that distance a bit longer. She had to be able to look back after this was all over and know she had gotten the journey started.
Also, she still had no idea how to ask Marc for what she needed. Only a fool would agree.
Chapter Twelve
The Doctor
February 11th
Rawlins, Wyoming
1
“You don’t know who to call, even if you fix it.”