by Angela White
Even with the windows up, the smell was revolting: blood, shit, and charred skin. When he lowered the glass, stopped momentarily to listen for survivors, he heard only wind and crackling flames, nothing else. The equality state was no longer that. Now, only the strongest would survive…and those with them, John thought, looking over at his wife, before turning his eyes back to the dangerous land around them. He and Anne had been that type in their youth, but now he could only hope to find someone that would keep her protected.
Pushing away the worry, he tried to concentrate on the debris-laden road, but found his eyes flicking off the horror to peer at the sky. He hated it that there was no moon, no stars, just grit and thick, nasty smelling smoke. Like a damned episode of the Twilight Zone, he complained silently, grateful that the pills were pushing back the agony.
John had automatically slowed to watch for signs of survivors, but the gang had been very thorough and after a long minute, he drove on. Granby was a cemetery without a headstone.
4
Dawn was just starting to break as they cleared the city limits, the dusty sky barely hinting at light, and while he knew he couldn’t go another full day without sleep, he also knew they weren’t stopping near here, not even for a stretch. Those men might...
“Want me to drive?” Anne asked, making him jump. “I’ve got my glasses.”
He nodded, smiling tightly as he loosened the belt over his swollen abdomen. “Yes, but not yet. We’ll switch after brunch and I’ll snooze in your warm spot.”
She smiled back as she adjusted her silk shawl tighter over her sweater, then closed her eyes and laid her head back on the pillow against the locked door. Instead of giving him hell about not telling her he was sick, she was hadn’t even mentioned it, just adjusted to care for him as they traveled. She was handling the trip well. Had she too been just a little bored, a little restless?
Hell of a way to have an adventure, he thought, still wanting to see the stars. There was a bite to the wind that said they would be running the heater all day, and he was very glad of the cans on the luggage rack. Three hours at a gas station with a foot pump had given him a nasty backache, but they were good for two weeks of driving, and he hoped to find a safe place long before it ran out.
Along with the gang they had just hidden from, there had also been other dangers on this trip, like the radiation victim that had snuck up on them in the fog three days ago and almost got the door open before he could get the wagon into drive. Talk about taking some years off my life, John thought with a touch of bitterness. The weather was also hard to drive in, but at least the acid rain would force the walking dead to hole up somewhere and start dying. With the open sores and lack of reasoning skills, the zombies would go to ground and not come up.
The doctor inched along without headlights toward the government compound, casting his eyes over the tarp in the back of the wagon that hid their belongings - the last remnants of their life together. He desperately wanted to find a group of people like themselves…different. John knew they were out there, gathering somewhere, he could feel the pull of their calls, but saw no one, and the old Ford kept on chugging.
5
Half an hour before dawn barely lit the sky, the rain and fog had lightened and the wagon sat on Routt Ridge. The occupants waited silently, but their hope was gone, the billowing smoke was undeniable. Their safety was in flames.
Surveying the surrounding area, John watched ants taking the poison bait balls he’d thrown out of the window when they’d first stopped. The ants here were bigger, but their hill was enormous, - three feet high and probably just as wide - with a snakeskin and the bones of lizards scattered around it. The order of nature had been reversed and even here, the smells of smoke, rot, and mildew lingered under the fresh scent of clean air and pine trees.
“Check again. Maybe we’ll hear survivors.”
Anne did it slowly, but they heard nothing until the last station. John put a gentle hand on his wife’s wrist to keep her from changing the channel, almost able to feel something coming. “Wait.”
A second later, the radio lit up with heavy static an a man’s determined words.
“Safe Haven - Red Cross... Welcome all…survivors follow…clear means closer...”
They lost it, the radio going back to full static, and John looked over, not needing to see the horrors in the bunker to know they were there.
Anne’s voice was shaky, but there was confidence in her aged brown eyes - confidence in him. “Whatever you think, Johnnie.”
He hesitated, considered. They could at least check them out from a distance. With NORAD gone, there was nowhere else he could think of for them to go. If that complex had fallen, and the pillars of sickly black smoke said it had, then no place was safe.
“All right.”
John headed them west, sure they couldn’t have heard the transmission if the people were to the south. The mountains wouldn’t allow the waves to carry even that well on his cheap radio. He would narrow it down by the clarity of the calls, and they would see if this so-called Safe Haven was aptly named.
John believed leaving their home was the right thing to do. They had started seeing rats the day before, and his last memory of the home they’d shared for so long, was of hanging the Warning! Rodents! sign on the front door.
They would probably have been sick by now, if they’d stayed. He had waited as long as he could, and though he knew the group they ended up with probably wouldn’t be what he was hoping for, if his beloved wife would be safe and have a guaranteed place after he was gone, he would offer his services in exchange. If that didn’t work, he’d beg.
Chapter Thirteen
Valentine’s Day, 2013
Indiana
1
Using simple hand signals, the Kelly brothers slowly snuck closer to the burned-down campfire and the woman covered in a quilt that slept behind it. The area around them was heavily wooded, the Morgan Monroe State Forest remote even before the War, and there was no glare of moonlight off bald heads to give them away as they stalked the lone female.
They had come far east of their main group to take revenge on the man who’d put them in prison. After those two bloody days, the brothers had gotten back on the move, ferreting out female survivors. They’d found girls and their mothers still huddled in basements after the draft had taken their men, but the waves of energy this woman was sending out had drawn them to her, making them leave the others behind…their bodies, anyway.
Following from a distance to make sure she was alone, when the woman had stopped to change the tire - her third in four days - they’d made their plans, knowing from watching that she would have to rest afterwards. Now she was asleep and they would stay back no longer.
Dean and Dillan had been dishonorably discharged for the rape and murder of a Korean civilian, and they expected no trouble from one woman. They were spies, assassins who excelled at front line infiltrations, and there was only the sound of the cold, Indiana wind howling through the trees as they slipped from rough trunk to yellow grass. Their movements were so alike, they appeared to be only one 6', 220 lb. threat instead of two.
Exhausted, Angela was dreaming of murder, rape, and sadistic torture, the men in her nightmare giving no mercy as their knives continued to flash across the girl’s naked body.
“They’ll throw us out for this,” one of the men worried, sinking his blade deep into a soft, dead breast.
His twin nodded, marking her bruised thigh with an ugly symbol. “We’re not going back. We’re Mercenaries now. Come on. Her daughter’s up.”
Angela snapped awake as the alarms in her head blared, told her she’d let danger get too close to run from, and she jerked her gun from its holster. Her wild eyes searched the darkness beyond the dim firelight, but there was nothing in sight except the groves of poplar trees she had eased the Blazer into. There were no sounds, not even a cricket - just the wind and the popping of her small, unevenly-rocked fire.
His cover was good. She found the intruder only by his fast, lustful thoughts, layers of slime overlapping, and she pointed her gun in his direction, not sure she could fire even though the Witch was telling her to defend herself first and ask questions later.
"Use the fire." The demon ordered it, but Angela couldn’t. The intruder hadn’t done anything (yet!), though she knew his lean, sinewy body was ready to react. She could feel it.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” she warned, hating her shaky tone. The flag-draped blanket fell unnoticed to the damp dirt as she stood.
“I'm hungry. Got any food?”
Obviously a lie, the words fell awkwardly, tone devoid of feeling. It gave her a chill of terror when he took a small step closer.
She raised the weapon, flipped off the safety. “Don’t! I will shoot you!”
Energy, fear, and adrenaline raced through Angela, and her mind called for a defense other than her gun or new power. A door appeared in her mind, one that carried a feeling of death. She put a hand on the knob, but still hesitated, not wanting to take a life.
“What’s your name? Pretty bitch?”
His simple, awful words made her understand that the smoke and mirrors she had used on Warren wouldn’t deter this seasoned hunter. She opened the mental door, not looking at what had been chosen as she prepared to do battle for her life. Nothing would keep her from her son!
The Witch whispered again, telling secrets, and her eyes widened in fear. “Where’s your brother?”
The Witch took great pleasure in the surprise that spread across his hairless face, and Angela darted a quick look at her Blazer while he was distracted. It was too far away, and that sucked because it was a Presidential model...
“How do you know that?” Dean growled menacingly at her, moving forward through the cool, moonless darkness.
Angela felt a great wave of heat, of force, jump from her chest to form a thin shield between them.
Visible only for a second, Dean noticed, dark eyes narrowing, feet stopping.
“Be gone, Killer. You have no welcome here!” She forked her hands at him, and the burned-out fire flared to life, the crackling flames seeming to reach for the surprised man.
The Mercenary took an unconscious step back, revealing the second brother, and the barrel of his gun.
“Drop it, bitch!” Dillan wasn't sure why his brother had hesitated. It had never happened before, and he couldn’t think of anything that would cause it now. They feared nothing. “You shoot, you die slow.”
The Witch waited no longer, surging forward, and Angela stepped through the thick mental door, white-hot energy oozing around her. "You accept without question?” the voices thundered in her head, and she nodded, closing her eyes. “I do.”
Arching as it rushed out, power flew from her chest, violent in its passage. It slammed against the brothers as it went, knocking them to the ground. Angela’s breathing was harsh as silence fell, the thin shield vanishing as the fire sank back down to a dim glow.
“WWhhhhoooo!”
The wolf’s call was close, like it was responding to her cry for help, and Dean looked at his twin with worried eyes.
“What is she?”
Dillan frowned at his brother’s spooked tone and face. He hadn’t seen the shield or the fire and had already passed off being knocked down to the gusting wind.
“Ours, and we’ll have her here and now. Your turn to go first.” he spat, reminding his brother of their goal and who they were.
Both men missed the shadows moving closer as they shared an evil grin and suddenly spun, rushing her.
Angela threw herself toward the Blazer, firing wildly. They dropped low, but kept moving. Then, the dry click of her gun echoed, and they stood, eagerly closing in for the kill.
“Fire! Ice!”
The flames blazed up between them again, but died just as fast. Her energy was spent, and the brothers jumped it at the same time, ignoring the bits of hail falling on them.
Crack! Crack!
Only Dillan made it across the short flames, bullets flying through the air, and an unseen predator padded into the circle of light as Dean hit the tall grass beyond the fire, clutching his leg.
Dillan grabbed for Angela's arm, meaning to use her as a shield against whoever was shooting at them, but powerful jaws sank into his wrist. Pain flashed, making him let go, the bullets forgotten as blood sprayed violently. “Aaaaaahhhh… Dean!”
The huge timber wolf shook his head and Dillan began punching the creature with hard, serious blows to the head that had no effect.
Angela wince, moving back farther as bones crunched between the wolf's teeth.
“Kill it! Dean!”
Dean stayed quiet, hands searching for the gun he’d lost when the unexpected slug had slammed into his leg, but he was tracking the shadows, looking for the walking dead man who’d done this.
“Dean! Shoot it!”
The wolf jerked the hurt man to his knees, blood covering his muzzle. When he let go, baring sharp, red teeth, Dillan scrambled to get away.
“He’ll go for your throat if you move again,” Angela forwarded a thought from the beautiful predator's mind, and the twin stilled, holding his mauled arm.
Angela quickly retrieved the gun she’d dropped and the injured man looked at her with a hatred that gave her another deep chill of fear. Her death was in those remorseless eyes and it was ugly.
“This isn’t over!” the Slaver snarled, almost crying tears of rage.
Angela paled, but before she could respond, a voice rang out with commanding fury.
“Yes, it is. You’re both dead!”
Brady stepped from behind her muddy Blazer, Colt aimed where the other man had fallen out of sight. He moved purposely in that direction, content the wolf had things under control. The Marine was angrier than he’d ever been, and there was no hesitating, no doubt about what had to be done.
“Brady.” Feeling their death in his mind, Angela had to stop him, despite the Witch warning her not to interfere with the defense she had chosen. “I’m not hurt. Let’s just go.”
Marc stopped, but didn’t turn. “It’s a bad idea.”
She nodded, heart thumping at the sound of his voice. Brady was here! “I know.”
He gave in reluctantly, slowly moved back into the shadowy darkness by her vehicle to provide cover without being such a clear target. “Go on, then. I’ll catch up.”
Angela moved fast, grabbing things, and was glad when the huge wolf stayed between her and the furious black man on the ground. The doctor inside wanted to help, wanted to try and make peace, but his hatred. She knew even if she could change the way he saw her, he would always loath her for this surprise defeat. She would only be healing him so he could continue to hunt her.
"They will anyway," the voice behind the now closed door whispered, warned, "Better to let your man kill them."’
Angela shook her head. No killing…and he wasn’t her man.
“We’ll come for you, bitch!” Dillan was sitting up slowly, clothes tacky with blood.
The menacing wolf snarled, telling Angela to stay back. If she stepped too close, if the man got even a hand on her, he would snap her neck with his good arm. She caught that clearly too, and was careful not to get within his reach as she broke camp.
“You’ll look over your shoulder forever, Witch!” Dean shouted from the tall grass while searching for his gun. “You’ll bleed rivers while we have you!”
Evil laughter floated on the wind, giving Angela another deep chill despite Brady's presence. She looked at him, saw his eyes on her, but she could read nothing on his handsome face.
When she raised a brow, he sighed heavily, cold blue gaze returning to the snake in the high grass. “You already know what I think.”
Angela studied her conscience for a brief second, knowing he was right, but she had lived by the old rules for a long time. “Let’s just go.”
Dillan was in pain, mangled wrist screaming with pain, and
he was horrified to find himself relieved by her decision. For the first time since they were teenagers, they had underestimated their prey, might even need help. It was humbling for men who had engaged whole military units alone, but especially for Dillan, who was the more aggressive of the twins. It was a humiliation he would never forget.
Angela opened the door, but hesitated to leave Marc alone with the two killers, despite this very thing being why she needed him.
“Now. Take Dog, if he’ll go.” Marc’s words held a tone of command that she recognized and responded to, even as she frowned. Angela motioned to the wolf and was a bit surprised by how clear the mental answer was from the beautiful animal.
"Man is your guardian. I am his," the wolf pushed against her leg, able to sense his master’s impatience.
Angela climbed into the Blazer, closing the door. The powerful engine fired up and she slid the window down, locked eyes with the mad man on the ground. “That should be a fatal injury now. Will you die?”
“Who are you?” Dillan demanded. His dark face was full of hatred.
The Witch smiled back, red eyes glinting. “You’ve called enough of my names. Stay clear of me and mine.” She already knew they wouldn't. Their kind never did.
The Blazer was out of sight a few seconds later, and when both man and beast started to retreat, the twins hurled insults, hoping to lure him in, use him to draw her back and make her surrender.
“Look at the railbird run!”
“Coward! Can’t you finish the job?” Dean yelled, gun now in hand.
Dillan was furious enough not to care that he was an easy target if the man chose to fight. Just as long as Dean killed that white, dog-tag-wearing mother fucker!
“Hell won’t be far enough for you to run!” He shouted, standing awkwardly as his brother came to his side.
“We will have her!” Dean confirmed ruthlessly. “You can’t protect her forever.”
Marc stayed silent, aware of their tactics (hadn’t Warren thought to do the same thing?), but also sure they meant every word they screamed. Unlike the scarred man from her hallway, these two could back it up.