Life After War: Books 1-3

by Angela White

  The women and children - there were only two, but Adrian was glad to have them anyway - were huddled on blankets on the truck’s dirty floor, the elderly sitting in chairs with pillows and blankets. The oldest among them, her long, white hair almost silver, raised a thin, arthritic arm. “Will ya help an old woman up, young man?”

  Adrian and Kyle moved at the same time, gentle with her, Seth on the footrails to assist. “Yes Ma’am, and so will any of us. Eagles, assembly line and someone find out how long before the food’s ready. Welcome to Safe Haven. May it become your home.”

  When the truck was empty, Adrian went to Chris, who was still waiting by the tailgate.

  “You lose your men and boys to the Draft?”

  The man nodded, dropping his eyes to the left. “Half our females too.”

  Adrian frowned. What else was he lying about?

  “Thank you for taking us in. I’ll make sure they behave.”

  “No, you won’t. That’s my job now.”

  Chris gave in quickly, meeting his eyes with relief, “And thank you for that too. I thought I wanted to be in charge, but I’m not enough, and I give it up with a grateful heart.”

  Chris on his heels, Adrian moved toward the fullest tent, glad the doctor wasn’t being overwhelmed, and when Kenn appeared at his side, Adrian said nothing about his tardiness.

  “We now have 28 new camp members. This is Chris. This is Kenn, my second in command. There’s little he can’t handle, so if you need something, he’s the one to talk to. We’ll need names, ages and occupations, and they’ll need the medications John prescribes, lists of rules, clothing, and sleeping gear for tonight. Chris will go with you to get them settled. They’ll also need porto-cans and some kids to run errands for them - your boy too, if you’re all right with it.”

  Adrian paused to let him catch up and took in the messy hair, the corner of his shirt untucked. If Kenn found a woman here, all the better. “We’ll work out tent arrangements first. Double the watch again and tell everyone inside to go back to what they were doing. Lights out at 1 a.m.”

  11

  The tired leader was back in the office hours later, writing in his journal, and looked up at yet another creak of footsteps outside the open door - where over a hundred of his sheep were resting, finally calm enough to sleep.

  “You busy?”

  “Nope. What’s up?”

  Charlie hesitated, took a step inside, but only after looking up and down the dim hall first. “I heard something while I was shoveling…about the new people.”

  The question was there and Adrian nodded. “Tell me.”

  “It wasn’t the Draft. They left to find help.”

  Adrian’s sharp mind added up the clues. “They tried to stop them? Made them run?”

  Charlie's voice was low. “Some of them escaped, and died. They chained them.”

  Angry, Adrian asked before he knew he was going to. “Should they be allowed to stay?” Once it was out, he didn’t pull it back, waiting for this curious child’s decision.

  Charlie shrugged, aware that it had become his choice, but not why or how. “They’re sorry. They hope some of them might come back, left them notes about us.”

  Adrian considered. Sometimes guilt would make changes where little else could, and sometimes your instinct was all you had. The boy thought they should be allowed to stay, would feel guilty if his words got them thrown out. “It’s not always wrong now, death. Your mom might tell you that, I think.”

  Adrian was taking a big guess and knew he was right by the silence. If it were anything else, he would have denied wanting his mother.

  Charlie hesitated, lonely and wanting to trust, but his fear of Kenn was as big as his mother's and it made him turn away without saying any of the things he wanted to, without offering a ...special, kind of help.

  Kenn was busy getting the new people settled and his mood was good despite missing his rendezvous with Tonya. He had plenty of help without having to ask and the Marine was confident his place here was sealed. Right-hand man belonged to him now, had all along according to Adrian, but the camp’s approval could make or break you, and now he had it.

  Adrian’s other men, those who had been here longer (and still wanted what was no longer available) tried not to be bitter or hateful, accepting that Adrian saw something in the Marine that they did not, something they themselves were lacking. Their desire for Adrian’s approval and recognition would make them uneasy and awkward with Kenn at times, but only Neil had spoken against it and not openly. Adrian had made his choice, and now Kenn could openly give what the job demanded - everything.

  Chapter Twenty One

  February 25th, 2013

  Pitcairn Island

  1

  Kendle’s exile in the wilderness lasted for 60 days and 60 nights, and then, as suddenly as her nightmare had begun, it was over. The small, weathered speedboat washed up on a sandy shore while she slept, and it was the painful twisting and cramping of her stomach that woke her.

  The adventurist crawled clumsily to the side of the boat with her eyes still closed and retched until her belly was empty and her throat burned. She didn’t notice the lack of motion that was causing her misery and dipped her hand to splash her face, crying a little at the abrupt beginning to her day. Instead of debris-filled waves, there was only the warm wetness of her vomit and the hard grit beneath it.

  Caw! Caw!

  Kendle’s eyes flew open. Trees, thick and green, waving over a vast, sandy beach, greeted her.

  Birds called curiously above her head, flew into the thick palm trees with annoyed chirps, and she blinked, smelling fragrant flowers and earth. Her eyes went to steep, green and orange cliffs, and hills of waving trees. Land?

  Kendle stood up in a quick, jerky movement and her stomach twisted again, knocking her off her feet and out of the boat. Her hands and legs flailed, tried to keep herself afloat, and she hit the sand with a hard thud that knocked out the instinctive breath she’d sucked in. She lay on the warm, dry beach, coughing and crying as she cradled her aching stomach. Land! She was on land!

  Kendle forced her shaking knees together and stood on dirt for the first time in eight weeks, her muscles protesting as they struggled to hold her up. Her entire body felt weak, wrong, and she swiped distractedly at tears. She hadn’t thought she would ever feel safe again, and her eyes repeatedly returned to the bright green treetops. She was on land! She could survive here.

  The model-turned-actress forced her new legs to carry her into the hated floating coffin for her meager supplies, swearing it would be a long time before she got back into one. She’d been afraid to fly before, but what was a quick, fiery plane crash compared to the hell she had lived through?

  It took Kendle a while to gather her things and she cringed each time the rough surf caressed the battered boat, terrified the waves would pull her back out. She picked the middle of three paths into the dense jungle, and dragging the pillowcase behind her, began to walk, heart lighter than it had been since losing her sister. Her tender feet protested the cool, sharp, forest floor and the pain sent joy rushing through her. She knew how to survive in this world. She was safe!

  2

  Luke Johnson gently set his pole into the small holder he’d dug in the lush paddle grass, absently watching his line twitch as a fish toyed with his bait. He leaned back, clear eyes full of worry, as bees and other fat insects buzzed around the beach and moved on, drawn to the waves rushing ashore with more garbage.

  The monthly supply plane hadn’t come since December, and they hadn’t been able to raise anyone on any of the CB’s or satellite phones. And now, Frank hadn’t shown up for their annual week together. The two men had forged a strong bond in the jungles of Vietnam and the retired pilots, who’d both been shot down and lived through 18 months in the same POW camp, never missed their week together. Not once in 30 years.

  The retired soldier stood up to stretch, wishing he had one of those internet hookups all the tourist
s had been attached to last summer. It was just a little black case that opened up like a Battleship game. Sometimes technology was great, but out here, it was nearly nonexistent.

  This island was about as cut off from civilization as anyone could get. The whole island had only one bay for ships, the rugged cliffs foreboding, and there wasn’t a single telephone line. The lack of communication to the outside world was frustrating sometimes, the island taking back as much as it gave, but for the most part, it was why people came here and stayed. “It makes us uneasy though.”

  Luke thought of the silent Coast Guard, who they could normally hear even during storms, and then the ocean itself. Not one cruise liner in the distance and he’d know, he was on the ‘traffic’ side of the beach most of every day - fishing, reading, swimming…forgetting. There was nothing but static and debris. Pitcairn Island seemed to have been completely forgotten.

  It wasn’t a crisis here. The 61 people calling this tropical paradise home had learned to pull their needs gently from the land around them, but it was causing unrest and lowly-spoken conversations in town. What had happened to their old lives? Blown away? Luke nodded, almost sure. He’d spent time in a war zone and knew the signs. No contact, strange sunsets, rough storms despite it not being the season, and of course, all the debris.

  The water levels had risen, bringing in load after load of garbage until they’ had to expand the town dump. Even now, Bounty Bay was alive with crawling crabs, booby birds, and broad-winged albatrosses that were pillaging the trash. The explosions that had left behind this much wreckage had surely cost lives, he thought, packing up his gear. What the hell had happened? Had America gone to war and lost?

  Sinking below a green and purple sky, the dim sun cast hues of blue and orange over the waves, the beauty almost hypnotic. Luke turned on his flashlight as he headed back to his one room cabin to brush his grill and hit the rack. He suspected the entire world was AFU and while there hadn't been any proof, he'd already begun to grieve for his country. He wanted to know for sure and planned to be on the north beach at daylight with the town’s strongest CB.

  3

  LJ found Kendle before he hit the beach and recognized her immediately in spite of her rough condition. He had noticed her tracks, followed them on a whim, and now stood quietly in front of the crude shelter, thinking it looked very sturdy for being handmade.

  Shoe strings around thick branches formed a frame, a green tarp covered with Johnson grass for a roof, palm leaves as the walls. She’d even dug a drainage ditch to keep drier. It was clever. This 26-year-old female of mixed parentage was clearly no timid brunette, though right now she didn’t seem much like the outgoing, vivacious woman he’d watched on TV either.

  The thin, infamous woman sleeping barefoot and restless inside her shelter, would probably come to the chin of his 6’1” frame and she looked sick. Her short black curls were sun-streaked, as were her long, dark lashes, and her skin was an unnatural shade of red that made him frown. Where had she come from? He knew everyone in this community and the Survival Challenge star wasn’t a resident.

  Kendle woke slowly, mind and body protesting. Her inner alarm had jolted her, telling her she wasn’t alone, something she had been for so long that there was no mistaking it. The man’s lean shadow (and it was a man, she felt that clearly) was blocking the sun from her eyes and she groaned as she sat up, stomach rolling. Had a boat found her? Was she rescued?

  Her haunted, bluish-gray eyes locked on the tall, leafy greenness behind him, where a teal fruit dove sat on a low branch, watching them anxiously. Tears welled as she remembered. She was on land!

  “You real?” she croaked, slowly climbing to her feet and he nodded, watching the pulse in her neck pound.

  “As can be. Luke Johnson, LJ, at your service.”

  Kendle stumbled forward on shaky legs and fell into his plaid-covered arms, sobbing, and Luke was unable to stop himself from being glad her smell wasn’t strong despite her faded, mismatched clothes.

  “So glad...to see you! Been alone...soo...long!”

  There was total horror in those last two words, the kind that drew him instantly. It said she, and she alone, might be able to understand him. He held her close, forced his mind to stay where it belonged - in the present.

  “Sshh... It’s okay.”

  Kendle trembled in his arms, tears falling hotly on his weathered skin. “I’m K-K-Kendle Roberts. Nice to meet you.”

  Luke grinned as her arms tightened around his waist and he slowly turned them toward his cabin, her heat baking into him. “Likewise. You need a doctor, little girl. How’s about we go to town and...”

  She sagged against him and Luke swung her into his arms, aware she was very sick and might be contagious. The thought didn’t scare him. He’d faced death before.

  Luke headed home, frowning at not only her appearance and heat, but also at how light she was in his arms. His mind connected her to the tides and sunsets, already sure she was a survivor of whatever had happened…a survivor who might have answers.

  A shudder wracked her thin body, and he increased his pace, not out of breath. She weighed almost nothing and he’d maintained a strict workout routine since exiling himself here.

  “Ship's dead,” she croaked, “all dead.”

  Her words gave him a chill. Her story would be no cakewalk and as much as he needed to know, he was dreading it.

  “You okay, Sweetheart?” There was no response, and once he put her in his bunk and stoked up the fire, he took the dirt bike into town.

  4

  The next few days were a blur for Kendle as the pneumonia raged and she fought for her life again, her immune system weakened by her exposure to the radioactive flash. She had only brief periods of alertness, where she tried to tell him what happened, but wasn’t sure if he understood. It was a full week after washing up on the north beach, that she came to, feeling alert and aware of who and where she was.

  Kendle knew instinctively she was alone with the gently snoring man in the recliner closest to her - the fat, loud female healer gone - and she stared at his face in wonder. He looked so healthy! The sickness hadn’t come here?

  She closed her eyes as her head thumped. She was alone, but that death ship was still out there. Would they (she) spread it? Huge tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  The quiet sobs woke LJ from his unsettling dreams. He couldn’t ignore her misery and went to her with his blanket. As he pulled it to her shoulders, her claw-like hand flew out and locked around his wrist with an iron grip.

  “We’re on land?”

  Her pain rushed over him, and he longed to erase the desperation in her panicked eyes. “In my cabin, on Pitcairn island.”

  More tears slid out, and when the Island Outcast held his arms open, she went without hesitation, feeling the connection of survival with him.

  “You’re safe here, Ms. Roberts. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She nodded against his shoulder, and Luke eased them down, holding her close. He hurt for her, wanted to tell her it would fade in time, but he didn’t. it hadn’t for him and it had been half a century.

  After a while, her tears eased, and her even breathing told him that she had cried herself back to sleep. Her feverish body pressed tightly against his, Luke knew he should get up, but only pulled the blankets over them and let her warm nearness lull him into a slumber that was, for once, without nightmares of being stalked by his mistakes.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  March 5th, 2013

  Outside Versailles, Illinois

  1

  Angela flinched as Marc slammed the hatch on his Blazer, trying to get it to close over the full load of gear in the back.

  “Can’t we do something else? What can you teach me that won’t land me on my back?”

  Brady swallowed his first thought, and said, “How about a new weapon today, instead of hand-to hand? We could try a knife or even a crossbow. I have one.”

  “Okay. Knive
s are quiet.”

  Before she could blink, he drew the blade from his muddy boot and threw it where it landed deep in a nearby oak tree, the handle vibrating. “They’re also deadly.”

  She watched him pull it out with a smooth motion.

  “This is a K-BAR, Marine combat knife. You try.”

  Unsure, Angela took it and threw too quickly. The knife’s hilt bounced off the tree’s rough bark and skidded across the ground, landing in the damp dirt. Bracing for a correction, she was relieved when he got it for her without comment, handed it back.

  Angela slowed herself down and tried to aim, but was very nervous with his big body standing just behind her, and the blade sailed past the tree. It skidded into the dense undergrowth next to the bare squares where their tents had been set up along U.S. 51.

  “Sorry. I’ll get it.”

  She moved out of his reach fast, wading through the drifts of sticker bushes and he watched her, remembering a blizzard and their house of snow. That had really been the beginning of them, of stolen, stunning moments and he hadn’t forgotten any of it. Had she?

  No, but she didn’t say so and her confused heart distracted her. Angela threw the knife harder than she meant to, wrist twisting. It bounced off the edge of a different tree and flew back, the sharp edge hitting Marc’s arm. Deflected to the ground, it slid back into the stickers as blood welled.

  Angela gasped, taking a fast step back. “I...I’m so sorry! I’ll get my bag.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him say it was only a scratch, and when she came back out, he saw her hesitate and knew she expected him to punish her.

  “Can you slide your arm out?” She knelt at his feet to dig in her bag, tense body waiting for the blows to begin.

  Marc did it quickly, not really in pain despite the increased bleeding from the movement. The air was thick with tension and he watched her closely, sure he was about to learn something important.