by Angela White
There had been a brief hope in the beginning, after all their outgoing CB calls that someone might come back, but he’d waited over a week, and heard only survivors begging for help - saw only the same. When the power had gone off (he had been surprised to have it for almost two weeks), they’d left, unable to wait anymore as supplies ran low. Clearly, they were on their own, a Marine and a cadet adrift. What to do?
They would find a group to travel with, he decided, not looking forward to the boy’s reaction. The teenager expected them to head straight to Ohio, to his mother. Kenn sighed, automatically blocking his thoughts even though Charlie was snoring softly. He had never seen anything…different from the boy, but he was always careful. In a few years, the teenager would be the same age his mother had been when they’d met, and her gifts had been strong then. Angela had denied him access, but this sullen child wouldn’t be that strong.
Not that Charlie had any idea what was coming. Talk of magic was forbidden in their house, even the book and movie kind. Kenn had been very careful from the very beginning - just in case the power ran in every generation. There was still a chance to control it, and his role of step-father was driven by that thought. It was part of why he had insisted Charlie become a cadet. More time to create a bond, it also gave Angela time to heal before the boy saw it.
Despite his easy touch, Kenn and the teenager weren’t exactly comfortable with each other, but Charlie knew who was in charge and they were able to work as a team. It also helped that they both liked to win the annual father-son events hosted at different bases each year. They’d been in Arizona this time, at Ft. Defiance for the contests, and they’d cleaned up, winning over half the competitions.
Though they had different last names, Kenn had never let anyone assume he wasn’t the child’s biological parent. They were both tall and stocky, with the same high-n-tight and bright blue eyes, though the regulation haircuts were a bit too long now. Dressed alike, there was definitely a resemblance. They even had the same way of staring directly at someone while listening or talking, not looking away. When they averted their eyes, they were lying.
He wouldn’t say anything to the boy yet, Kenn decided. He wasn’t ready to tell him his mom was likely dead, and they weren’t going back to find out.
Leaning uncomfortably against the drafty wall, third-year cadet Charles White had fallen asleep while cleaning the gunk from under his nails. He was dreaming of his mother.
She was telling him how to handle Kenn, but more importantly, she insisted she would find him, no matter where they went. They were over 1200 miles apart, but his mom was special, different. She could do things that most people could only dream of, and though no one else knew…so could he.
Chapter Four
January 18th, 2012
Cincinnati, Ohio
1
“I can’t keep them from you much longer,” the Preacher warned quietly as he held the first, dirty, glass door open, and the woman sucked up her courage, wary eyes going over a faded Special Forces tattoo on his wrist.
Drawing in air, Angela told herself she could do this, even if he and the rest had been soldiers. She just had to show them that she couldn’t be taken and she would come back out when her work was done. “I don’t need your protection, Warren.”
As they moved down the bare, filthy hall together, his dusty robes flared out behind them like an evil bridal shroud. Her stomach churned when his voice lowered another notch in response, becoming urgent.
“You’re wrong, my child. Soon, they will insist you stay, and if you are not under my guardianship, like the others here, I will not be able to help you.”
The tension thickened as they neared the main lounge. She knew his subtle threats weren’t idle. If they didn’t try to keep her here, he would, probably the next time she came.
“Maybe today,” he confirmed, and the pale female nodded before stepping into the crowded lounge where seven unwashed, tense males waited for them with heavy beards and thick frowns.
“Hello, gentlemen. How goes your day?” Her tone was polite, unafraid compared to her thumping heart, but she wasn’t encouraged by the way they only grunted and kept eyeing her like something on a store shelf that was just out of their reach.
“Over here.” Warren gestured as he led her to a blanket-covered child of about ten, his daughter. Angela’s dislike of the greasy hypocrite eased a little with the love she could feel. He was a weak man, easily tempted she was sure, but he feared losing the flushed girl. It was beating in his thoughts, and Angela was gentle as she pulled the dusty blanket back.
“How long’s she been like this?” she asked, shining the penlight around her neck into the unconscious child’s dilated, brown eyes.
“Five days, a week. It all runs together now.”
“I hear ya,” the doctor muttered, pulling on gloves.
“Is it the radiation sickness?" one of the men behind them questioned loudly. There was silence in the very dirty, but otherwise undamaged, administration lobby as they all waited for her to answer. These heavily-bearded men were all that remained of the technical college’s teaching staff, though Aaron, the bald man with the constant scowl, had only been a groundskeeper.
“No."
“Praise the Lord!”
There were murmurs of relief and disbelief. They all frowned when she started running her hands under the child’s stained clothes.
“What are you doing?" the Father's deep brown eyes were leery as he stepped closer, a worn black Bible now in his beefy hands.
Angela ignored his tone as she turned to him, thinking his slicked back, brown and gray hair had probably been an attempt to show her he could "clean up." She wasn’t impressed. “Where’s her injury?"
Her breath streamed out, clearly visible in the cold air, and Warren’s eyes narrowed, dropped to her red lips as his grip on the holy book tightened: So beautiful!
He pointed, and Angela rolled the sick girl over on the dusty green couch, exposing the ugly, swollen gash.
“This is causing the fever. See the red lines coming over her shoulder? That’s an infection. If those lines get to her heart, she’ll die."
“You can stop it? Help her?"
The only doctor in Cincinnati still treating patients nodded. Male eyes lingered on her slender hips and the long black braid that brushed against the floor as she knelt down. Feeling the increase of testosterone in the room, Angela concentrated on the words instead of the fear.
“I have to clean it out first to be sure, but yes, I think so."
Relief flooded Warren’s face, and he was very glad he hadn’t waited any longer to seek out the (Witch!) woman’s help. Amy was the only family he had left. He would kill himself if she died.
“We’ll try not to let that happen,” Angela said it without thinking, and kept going as if nothing had happened. She ignored her pounding heart and the sound of glass breaking in one of the rooms above them. Sometimes her abilities made people unsure of themselves when they dealt with her, something definitely required while alone in a small lobby with armed men.
“I need some things. Two bowls of hot water, rags, and a sheet."
Warren exchanged awkward looks with the other men before turning to Aaron, the black man’s face never losing that contemptible expression. “Get what she needs from my share of the supplies.”
The man moved reluctantly and Warren turned back to the doctor, willing himself to ignore her pull, to feel only loathing for her strangeness. He could have in the old world. He’d been so strong then! The woman’s eyes were a clear, crystal blue and when she gave him a tiny, knowing smile, Warren turned to keep her from seeing the want on his face.
He had been high in the parish before the War, a stoutly religious widower for a decade, but that was a long time to go without even the soft caress of a woman’s hand, let alone any intimate contact. Then the War and this woman had come together. Years spent resisting sins of the flesh should have prepared him, but now, when The Judgm
ent had come and gone, leaving his faith crumbled at his feet, this demon had been sent to tempt him…and her lure was stronger than any he’d ever known!
These men might have already forced anyone else to stay here, the medical skills as valuable as water, but not her, not Angela. She was different. She knew things there was no way she could know, unless the Demon of Souls possessed her, and all the men, especially Warren, dreamed of claiming her and controlling that unknown power.
Angela kept busy laying out what she needed and avoided making real eye contact with any of the pitifully thin men watching her every move. She had never seen young males here, suspected that was on purpose, like in the Mormon colonies where the average marrying age for a girl was thirteen.
Angela discreetly let the Witch inside to listen to Warren’s thoughts, but picked up nothing other than lust. The big decisions belonged to him. She knew he wanted very much to keep her here for himself - that his warnings came from hoping she would accept his offer of protection, so he wouldn’t have to fight the others for her. The men of the world were now like the animals - in extreme competition for a mate (slave, whore) - and she knew if she encouraged even one of these starving contestants, they would all start fighting over her. Humankind had fallen backward in evolution to nearly the caveman days, and she was as impersonal as she could be.
“I’m giving her three shots. One’s for the pain. Don’t mix any other dope with it, even if she cries. She’s too weak for the stronger stuff. One will help fight the infection, and this last one will bring down the fever. She should probably have a tetanus shot too, but not for a few days.”
She did it quickly, feeling the Father wince behind her, but the little girl didn’t respond. “Now, we’ll dig that piece of metal out of her shoulder.”
Warren moved to help, leaning closer than she was comfortable with, and Angela was glad she was able to force herself to stand her ground, control her flinch. Showing weakness here was a huge mistake. If she gave them the smallest sign that she could be taken, they would try.
“Have you heard anything from your Marine?"
Warren saw the woman tense for a split second, considering her options, and was impressed with the icy control that fell into place, even as he frowned. Did she know her man would be in danger the second he returned? There were already people watching.
“He’s on the road."
There was only silence in response, and her worry grew.
It took Angela only a couple minutes to remove the small, rough piece of car hood from the child’s bleeding shoulder, clean it, and start putting in the small, neat stitches.
“I’ll leave medicine, but watch those lines. They fade, she’s getting better. They keep spreading, you get her to me - STAT."
Warren paled, turning abruptly from the needle moving in and out of his daughter’s pale skin. In the heavy silence, Angela could hear the thoughts of the other men as clearly as if they’d spoken.
"That’s it. That’s his weakness."
"Aaron was right. We’ll use the girl."
Angela wanted to warn the Preacher that he was in danger, not for his sake but for his daughter's, and it was a struggle to remain silent as she stripped off the gloves and gathered her supplies. When she turned, she didn’t meet his eyes. “Keep her lying down when you can and try to feed her more. You know where I’ll be if you need me.”
Warren nodded, and they both felt the tension thicken as she turned toward the door. The two men plotting against the Preacher were blocking her way out, had probably seen a little more in her reaction than she had wanted them to. As she had the thought, Aaron joined them.
“You'll be here!” the bald man informed her hatefully, moving closer. “You’re not leaving!”
Angela paled, but followed the Demon’s voice in her head that said to stand pat, call their bluff. She narrowed her eyes at the two nervous-looking men.
“Move and I’ll hold my tongue.”
Seeing only fear in their body language, Angela realized they were sidekicks with no real kick to them. “Let me by. I already have an owner.”
Aaron's bitter face twisted at the reminder of her man, the Marine. “Not anymore! You’re mine!”
As he grabbed her arm, the terror was nearly overwhelming, but the years spent in Hell allowed her to handle herself. These men were threats. Her man was deadly…and he wasn't here to stop her from using her gifts. Closing her eyes, Angela concentrated, raw power beginning to hum through the cold lobby of the college.
Aaron’s dark eyes widened suddenly, face changing as he looked down at his hand, at the steam rising from the contact. He jerked his fingers back, gasping at the sight of red and black blisters forming on his skin. “She burned me!”
He spun towards the other men, who saw nothing, but moved back anyway, and Angela headed for the glass doors, heart racing. She kept herself from running only because of the voice in her head whispering that if she showed fear to a dog, it would bite. It was simply in its nature.
“Stop her!” Aaron screamed it at the others.
When the two men moved her way, Angela froze. It wouldn’t take much kick to do her in, but if she let the Witch out, really used her power, someone might die.
"Trust me," the Witch whispered from inside her mental cage. "I only help you."
Scared and unsure, Angela let the Demon come forward for the first time in over a decade. She kept a tight hand on the cell door as the Sorceress locked eyes with Warren. "Defend what you believe to be yours, man of a silent God!"
The command was one the widower couldn't refuse, and he stepped between her and the two men reaching out to take her arms. "She's mine!”
The two teachers only hesitated for a second, but it was enough time to give Warren the edge. The religious man had survived the jungles of Laos, and he planned his moves, steeling himself to fight for her, as Aaron stumbled from the room, slinging his arm around wildly.
The two men went for her again, and Warren swung hard, fist knocking the dirty rival on the right off his feet. He kneed the moaning man in the face as he swung again, ducking a clumsily thrown punch. The second hit landed on the other teacher’s temple, knocking him to the dirty floor - where he stayed. “Mine!”
Breathing rapidly, the Preacher turned to Angela, but she cut him off. “Your reward is information. Those two,” she waved a hand at the unconscious men, “and Aaron, plot against you. Be careful. Between them and the cold in here, you’ll be dead inside the month.”
Shoving the Witch back, Angela slipped past him and out the door. Raised voices came from the dim lobby behind her, and she moved steadily, but didn’t run down the sloping, cracked sidewalk to her car. The pain in her gut, she ignored. There would be time to cry later.
Footsteps crunched and she slowed a little to let Warren catch up, eyes on the sickly-looking crabgrass instead of the desperate faces of women and girls watching her exit from the upper windows of the college. The guilt was heavy, but she didn't stop. They needed a hero, and that, she wasn’t.
“Thank you. I had no idea.”
She looked around, digging through her bag as she walked. “There are still plenty of people left who are willing to sacrifice anyone to get what they want. That hasn’t changed.”
The female healer handed over two small bottles of pills, being very careful not to touch him. “Instructions are on the label.”
He pocketed them and opened the door of her muddy, red Tempo, falling back into the suitor mode he usually handled her with so he could…what? Form a new plan? Probably.
“You’ll kill them?” she asked suddenly, hoping to get a genuine answer. When he shook his greasy head, she knew he was about to lie.
“Vengeance belongs to God. I'll vote against it.”
Angela said nothing, tensing instead at a distant gunshot, and then quickly sliding behind the wheel.
Warren saw her reaction as he closed the door and he leaned down. “You would be safe here with us, with me.”
> Angela pretended not to hear the personal invitation or the threat, shaking her head as she snapped on her belt. “I think of it sometimes, but I can’t. My man, he’s strict, like you. He said stay, so I will.”
The leader smiled at what he assumed was a compliment from a well-trained woman, age lines giving him the appearance of an evil cartoon badger. “You’re sure he will come?”
Angela struggled not to frown at his tone. She’d been right to be so careful. Warren was planning a murder to get her. “Yes.”
“You will go looking for him, though, go to meet him?"
She shook her head, the lie and horrified tone falling easily from her heavy heart, “No, never. He said he’d come, and he will!"
There was such firmness in her words that Warren couldn't hide his disappointment, and Angela looked away from the plea in his eyes. He was nice to her, wanted to protect her, but she already had a jailor. She was careful not to wound his pride, however, knowing that could easily push him into trying to force her to stay, and then people would get hurt. Nothing would keep her from getting to her Charlie.
“You’ll bring her over next week for the shot?"
“Yes.”
The wind gusted suddenly through the open windows, heavy draft catching her long, black braid, and his fingers were there to catch it, hold its softness for a brief second before handing it back.
He forced their hands to touch and Angela smiled her thanks, stomach rolling as she started the engine. She couldn't wait to be gone.
“You’re sure she’s not got the sickness?"
"Yes, she should be fine in a few days." Angela lit a cigarette and looked everywhere except into his needy, intimidating eyes. Aaron had forced her to show that she would defend herself, but instead of the leeriness she’d been hoping for, the vibes from Warren had gotten stronger. Had that been the plan all along? To see what she could do?