by Angela White
Marc had woken the second she’d gotten back out of the Blazer and her pain was something he couldn’t ignore. He slowly rolled over and wrapped his arms around her.
“It’ll be okay, Honey,” he whispered, and she hoped he was right.
“I am.”
She looked at him questioningly, and he brushed away her tears.
“We’re connected. Always were. No one can stop that.” He kissed her cheek, felt her shiver. “We belong together Angie and right or wrong, I love you. Always have.”
Her tears fell harder. “There’s no future for us, Brady. He’ll never let me go.”
“We’ll find a way to convince him.”
“And if we can’t?”
He didn't hesitate. “Under no circumstances will I allow you to just give in. You’re going to fight back and he’s gonna get a wakeup call.”
Chapter Thirty Two
March 26th, 2013
South Dakota state line
1
Danger to the herd!
Adrian woke to the ground beneath his tent grumbling, groaning in protest. He grabbed for his boots as the tremor strengthened and the panic started.
Things were falling, breaking, feet were running, an engine started, and radios crackled, but the silent roar of the quake distorted the sounds somehow, making his ears vibrate.
Adrian pulled his jacket over his bare chest and ducked outside as he zipped it up, sharp eyes finding those of the nervous, unsure guards. They’d had tremors before, but not as strong as this, and he keyed his mic. “Hold your posts, Eagles.”
Adrian waved Neil and Kenn over, the two black-clad men roughly the same height. They came to him quickly, dodging camp members in robes and slippers who were fleeing - most toward the parking areas.
He hit his radio again. “Empty your clip, Doug. Turn ‘em around!”
The towering, red-vested giant didn’t question, just fired into the air above the small mob of about 30.
Ground no longer rumbling, the gunfire got immediate attention. The panicked herd of sheep pulled up short and stopped, eyes wild with fear.
Doug’s heavily-bearded face was full of disapproval, but he only waved a beefy hand to where Adrian stood, before limping back to his post.
The crowd slowly turned, staring at the sight of Kenn and Neil hunkered down to let Adrian stand on their shoulders. It was such an unexpected thing that it instantly captured the twitching crowd, and the red-vested giant watching it all had the thought that Adrian had expected this, had planned his reaction perfectly. It was simple - distraction.
Seth, a quiet shadow ready to protect the boss, had the same thought, and he shared a grin with the Eagle on point, Kyle, who knew where he was hiding. Nearly everyone was watching, the crowd growing as more people came out of their tents.
Adrian tapped the dark heads below him. “Up.”
The Eagles moved slowly, but there was little teamwork, and Adrian swayed dangerously - amusingly. His wild face and arm movements drew small titters from the calming group of nearly sixty, most of them refugees from Cheyenne who had broken their quarantine.
The leader grinned as they lifted him up and the watching people gave a small, uneasy cheer in return.
“We had a tremor. This is how it feels.” Adrian lowered his voice. “Walk, guys, and do it together for God sakes or I’ll break my friggin' neck!”
He raised his voice, “We survived it.” He swayed, almost fell, and the two tall Eagles grabbed at his legs, pulling more laughter from the people.
“Damn it!” Adrian hauled himself up by sheer will, struggled to stay there. Hearing real calm now in their reactions, he gave up the fight, wobbling.
“He’s gonna fall!”
“Grab him!”
“Down, guys!” Adrian rolled forward with the fall as Neil and Kenn bent down, and ended up on his feet in front of the crowd that let out a cheer, clapping.
Adrian waded into the thick of them, and they quieted, most of them realizing they had overreacted, and were due a scolding.
His men watched silently, thinking they were beyond lucky that once again Adrian had known how to handle the crisis - nothing broke the spell of panic and fear like laughter.
Nose full of sulfur and smoke, Adrian felt the air shift, knew by their downcast eyes and silence that they understood, and said nothing, only looked back with hard, blue eyes. The silence stretched out.
When many of them were about to start offering apologies, Adrian stopped them with a shake of his head. “During a quake, you get away from anything that can fall on you and then stop. Wait and look for cracks that often open up.”
He pointed to the jagged, gaping hole in front of Doug that a lot of them would have fallen into if he hadn’t stopped them. “Like that one. Panic makes people do stupid things, and sometimes, it costs your life, something I can’t give back.”
Neil watched with the other Eagles, hands on his narrow hips, thinking Adrian was giving them what Kyle like to call the “lay”, or how things stood.
“All of you have broken Quarantine and will have extra time in it, along with all the camp members I’m looking at.” Adrian paused to spot them out with his sharp gaze, and the crowd was silent, ashamed. “This is nothing we can’t handle, if we use our heads. It's over now and I want this camp back the way it was and everyone accounted for.”
There was only silence and Adrian scowled, letting them see how displeased he actually was with an impatient jerk of his hand. “Move.”
The commanding tone had them all rushing off and he turned to Kenn and Neil as people went by, torn between talking of the tremor and his juggling act. “Sitrep in five. Check-in of the guards is first. Gather your team, Neil, and round up the strays. Kenn, get Mitch on the radio. Have Zack and his guys oversee the cleanup. I heard engines. Try to call ‘em back. Have Doug handle the count and tell the cook to start chow. Almost dawn anyway. Kyle keeps point. I’ll be around.”
Neil saw Seth’s tall, thin shadow go with Adrian, and the Arizona cop sent his gaze over the camp that already looked and felt better. He and Seth had hit it off, and he knew the redhead would cover Adrian’s overloaded back.
Five minutes later, Kenn and Adrian were in the Mess, the camp a flurry of activity in the foggy morning. They’d had no serious damage, no injuries, and all but two people were accounted for.
Adrian finished his coffee with a grimace as the stench of rot wafted through the crowded, loud, Mess. About three miles southwest of their camp, a large herd of bison lay dead. John was testing the bodies for radiation since there was no obvious cause of death. The big ants (that Adrian sometimes thought might be following them) were also here, along with a burgeoning population of field mice that they had set out traps out for.
This area was all nature as far as they could see, no sign that mankind had ever been here, except for the corpses. Adrian dreaded dropping south into the Badlands, but knew he would if John said fallout had killed the bison. That strange, eerie landscape would be better than sickness, but the barren area had little they needed. South Dakota was the sunshine state no more.
They wouldn’t stay long, only a couple of weeks total instead of the month they usually did, he decided. There wouldn’t be any camp tours of Mount Rushmore or any of the Wild West sites that featured Annie Oakley and Wild Bill Hickok. That world was gone.
“Everyone accounted for?” Adrian asked a short time later, and Neil opened his book.
“Almost. We had five cars leave camp. All but one is on the way back, and we made contact with the supply team. Chris said he hasn’t been able to reach the 5th yet.”
“They were together?”
Neil continued his report, “Says he saw two people in her convertible. They’ll probably show up at dawn.”
Adrian’s eyes spoke for him as he looked to his XO.
Kenn waved a hand for Kyle to join them from his post on the Mess. “Get your team and do a recon for Tonya and the Bitch. Half hour check-ins.�
��
Kyle’s eyes narrowed, but he swallowed his dislike, knowing the orders actually came from Adrian. Kenn didn’t like the reporter, few of them did, and though he was screwing the redhead, the mobster didn’t think he really cared for her. Women were possessions to the Marine, Kyle thought, calling in his relief early. He pitied the female who had shared Kenn’s bed before the War, when there had been no Adrian to keep him in line.
Kenn waited until the stocky, uniformed Eagle was out of earshot, noting the body language indicating the Mobster’s displeasure, but even that didn’t ease the thumping of his heart as he turned to Adrian. Angela was close. He had to leave.
“Mitch took a call. Thinks I missed someone in Cheyenne. A woman named Samantha.”
Adrian looked at him, saw the edge of fear in his Marine’s eyes. “Could you have?”
Kenn’s face was miserable. “Yes.”
Adrian knew instinctively there was more and waited unhappily when Kenn looked to the black hills that surrounded their camp, instead of maintaining eye contact.
“I need to leave for a while. Charlie’s stayin' here. I’ll recheck Cheyenne first and bring the woman back if she’s still there.”
His tone implied he doubted she would be, and Adrian hid his grimace as his heart skipped, sending pain into his arm. He couldn’t keep it from his eyes, and Kenn mistook it.
“I’ll be back. Soon.”
Chest slowly easing, Adrian gave him a hard look, mind and body already dreading the Marine’s absence. He had been more help than he knew. Fresh out of the quarantine zone, Kenn had only been back in camp for half a day as it was.
“When?”
Kenn didn’t want to look at him. “Now.”
Flat, devoid of emotion, and careful.
Adrian stopped, looked at him. “I told you once that everyone here is free to go anytime they please, and I meant that. If you have something to do, somewhere to go, come back when you’re ready. Just don’t forget about us. And watch your six. We need you.”
Kenn, light beard covering his guilty flush in the windy darkness, responded, “I hear that.”
Adrian frowned. It had been his experience that when someone said that, the opposite was true.
“I’m comin' back,” Kenn repeated, addressing the uniformed shadow who had given himself away by his quick breath at the news. “Hold my place.”
“You know it.”
The Marine hadn’t been sure how to bring up the subject, didn’t want to give details, but in his heart, he was sure the lone female had been Angela, not Samantha, the radio static making Mitch misunderstand. She was close. He had to go now and set her straight before the camp (before Adrian) met her. They could never be allowed to know who she was or what she could do.
2
As dawn finally broke, Tonya and the reporter rolled into camp, flanked by Kyle’s team, while Kenn waited nearby. He lingered in dawn’s last shadows, waiting for the camp to get settled around the Mess for chow.
A few minutes later, her tent flap opened, revealing a dim, smoky interior. A small red glow winked on and off, and he moved forward. No one else was around. Not that it mattered anyway. If she and Adrian had been an item, it was over now.
Kenn stepped inside the pungent tent, inhaling from the thick joint that slid between his lips. The flap closed them in darkness, and he remained still, smoking as unseen hands rubbed him, opened his jeans…stroked.
The redhead was aware that something was happening with Adrian’s right-hand man. She’d seen his loaded Bronco, and wanted to be sure her place with him was secure before he left. Kenn was her ticket to power here, and Tonya gave him an amazing effort, trying to dig her hooks in deeper. For a little while the hard new future was forgotten by them both.
Chapter Thirty Three
March 28th, 2013
Pitcairn Island
1
“Want to sleep with me?”
Face sweaty and flushed, Luke stopped in the middle of a sit-up, shocked before his mind replayed what she’d really said, what his male mind had misheard. “Want some company?”
The smile in her eyes made him look away. Her skin was evening out, weight finally coming up, and these awkward moments of tension were happening more and more as she recovered. “I’ve got more books if you’re bored,” he offered, finishing number eighteen.
He’d already done the 40 push-ups, Kendle forcing herself to pretend to be reading, but her eyes had stayed mostly on him and she wondered if he knew. “I’d rather get back in shape and that looks like it works.”
LJ grinned at her, at the compliment, and she blushed, but didn’t look away. He might be 50, but he wore the frame of a very healthy 35-year-old. “I mean it. I get out of breath just carrying our basket to the fishing hole. I used to be so…” she trailed off, eyes wistful as memories swirled over her, something Luke understood all too well.
“In the morning?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She dropped her eyes back to The Stand, the last book on his wall shelves that she hadn’t read yet, but her mind was on leaving…on going home. She dreamed of it most nights that the ocean didn’t claim her, of facing her terror and trying to get back. It made her stomach clench painfully and her spine look for a place to hide, but so help her, she really was considering the attempt. She wasn’t pushing herself much and Luke wasn’t pushing her at all, but she wasn’t going to be content here for very long. She had to get healthy. Right now, she was weak, tired, and it would still be at least a month or two, on top of the seven weeks she had already spent here, but in that time, she planned to find a way back to America that didn’t involve those awful waves that called to her…mocked her.
“Lotta hard words?”
Kendle looked down into his understanding face, thinking she might not go if Luke wouldn’t come with her. Being alone was something she didn’t ever want to face again. “I’m sorry?”
“You haven’t turned a page. I thought maybe you were stuck.”
She smiled sadly, closed the book of death and destruction with gentle, reddish-brown hands that her eyes lingered on. “It’s too depressing.”
Luke wiped his face with the towel from the pocket in his cutoff jeans, and then slid it back. “Great writing, though.” He fell silent, thinking America was now experiencing it firsthand and knew she was too.
“Alright, enough of this,” Luke said, “Let’s do something.” He was pulling on his running shoes, trying not to stare at the long legs her dark shorts allowed him to see. “I’ll skip the run and we can play some cards or something.”
He paused, looking around the neatly-cleaned cabin. No carpet on the wooden floor, two recliners, a table, two beds, two doors, four walls, white curtains she’d sewn, a three drawer stand he’d made for her things, all of it dusted, washed, and made up. They were inside too much. She needed to get out there again if she was going to recover. What had helped him when he’d first come here?
“Hey. We could work on my garden.”
That got Kendle’s attention and she smiled eagerly, forgetting how loud the ocean was outside the safety of his small cabin. The only time she was alone was to get a shower or relieve herself and she liked it that the small generator would come on anytime they used water in the M*A*S*H-style shower and outhouse set up because it drowned out the noise that tormented her.
“Now?”
Warm breeze blowing on his skin, Luke shrugged, trying to remember the last time he’d broken his exercise routine, but couldn’t. Making her happy here was important, and sometimes, like when they were sitting in his leather recliners, reading, listening to his records, it was hard to remember how quiet (lonely) his life had been before she came. “After lunch. We’ll have grilled salmon hoagies and then play in the dirt.”
Kendle’s spirits picked up a bit, adventurous soul long since bored. She was looking forward to having work to do, instead of just staring at him when he wasn’t looking her way, and staring at the walls when he
was.
2
Hearing albatrosses and seagulls fighting over a beach full of small, red crab hatchlings and the dull roar of an upset, unhealthy ocean, Kendle’s eyes were wide as she looked over the terribly tangled vines and sticker bushes. They were at least five feet high and so thick, she was unable to determine where the brambles ended and the jungle began or how big the area behind the cabin was.
“When’s the last time you came out here?”
“Couple years. Planted a big garden when I first came, spent a lot of time letting the earth soak into me. It seemed to help.” Luke let out a sigh. “Then the ocean took it back.”
Kendle heard the haunted tone and understood more than anyone else could have, but she said nothing as she dug through the box of tools he’d pulled from a small attic space. “Clippers?” she asked, holding them up.
She saw his eyes darken. Clearly, he was struggling with something, a deep frown planting itself on his forehead. When he turned back toward the cabin without saying anything, she wondered again what crime had made him choose the painfulness of solitude over the quick end of suicide. He wasn’t a coward, but he was doing penance, she was sure of it. Luke had been hurting himself for a long time and Kendle wanted it to stop. He’d done so much for her! She almost felt like a normal person again. There had to be something she could do for him in return, some way to ease his pain.
The jungle was alive around her, monkeys and squirrels chattering from vine-covered banyan trees and leafy palms that waved in the warm, dry wind. The sun was shining comfortably, the breeze light, and sometimes, like now, it felt like they were the only ones on this nearly deserted southern island. If not for the heavy, hurting heart that needed to know, she thought she could be happy here.
Luke came back out carrying a long, black sword case decorated with Marine patches, an American flag, and the initials, L.L.J. His blue eyes were dazed, far away, and Kendle watched curiously as he unzipped the bag, removing a worn machete. Shiny and no doubt deadly, he dropped the empty sheath into the thick paddle grass by her feet, mind clearly not in the present. She left him alone, eager to inspect the markings on the case.