by Sylvia Ryan
Sarge convinced himself that she needed him. She needed somebody who was stronger, dominant, and totally confident in his masculinity to complement the personality she had formed from the male-only upbringing that Ethan had provided her. Ethan had known. Sarge was absolutely sure now that Ethan wanted them together. But he had also known his daughter well enough to know that Grace would summarily reject a fix up.
To know that Grace had been so close all this time had Sarge feeling a little pissed at Ethan. So much time wasted by both him and her when they might have found happiness with each other. Now, she was skittish when it came to men. She must be the only woman in the world who didn’t believe she could find the fairy tale. It was sad, really. How badly had other men hurt her to get her so turned off by love? He wanted to hunt them down and kill them, slowly and painfully. They had ruined a part of her that he wasn’t so sure she could get back. Sarge knew all too well that when hope and optimism got crushed, cynicism scabbed over the wound. After that, it was rare to heal to the point where the cynicism didn’t shade positive emotions, transforming them into something not to be trusted.
Grace had given in to his seduction their first night together, but only after she’d made it perfectly clear to him that it would be the emotional equivalent of scratching an itch. Since then, Sarge swore to himself that he would be more to her than someone who was simply scratching her itch. She deserved more than that, and so did he.
Now, he was only twenty feet away from her and it still felt too far. His body carried the memory of her pressed into him in the small twin bed. Sleeping next to her every night was an exquisite torture, the intensity of which didn’t diminish as the days wore on.
He lifted his head and tried to see into the darkness outside the halo of light his flashlight cast. He knew she was there, but he couldn’t see her. He wanted to go to her, hold her, kiss her. But he could wait for the right time. He could wait until she felt the same way about him.
* * * *
Grace followed Sarge out of the house, taking a circular route through backyards toward the main street that would dead end at the lake. They were dressed in black and moved quietly in any cover they could find, but the moon was bright, and it lit the street better than the last time she’d been out. As they neared the end of the residential street, Grace saw a haphazard barricade of cars resting on their sides, blocking the exit to the main road. There were narrow openings on either side of the barricade that would allow only a single person to walk through at a time. Sarge stopped about twenty-five feet before they reached it and then waited for Grace to catch up to him.
“We should go back to the shelter. This is not that important,” she hissed as she approached him. “I have a bad feeling about being out here.”
“Now that we’re out, I’d like to get a feel for what’s going on. Go back if you want. I’m just going to check things out.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you out here by yourself.”
He nodded to her. “I’ll go through first and scout for any trouble. Don’t come through unless you hear me whistle. Wait two minutes. If there’s no whistle, go home. Do not come looking for me.” He gave her a hard glare. “Understand?”
Grace was about ready to protest, tell him again that she wouldn’t leave him behind. But after the spanking she got the other day, she was hesitant. She met his serious gaze and gave him a wordless nod of acknowledgement. She watched as Sarge crept soundlessly toward the narrow exit between the dark SUVs that were perched precariously on their sides. Their undercarriages loomed in front of him ominously. He darted his head through the opening several times before he slipped through.
As soon as Sarge disappeared from her view, a cacophony of barking and snarling rose from the other side. Adrenaline coursed through Grace’s veins as she advanced closer to the barricade so she could help him if he called out to her. Otherwise, she’d give him the two minutes he had asked for. Then, if she didn’t get the whistle, she’d go through shooting. The unmistakable sound of a dog’s yip sounded, and the clamor of barking decreased significantly. Then, thirty seconds later, there was silence.
She waited for her signal while her heart drummed violently. It only took seconds for anxiety to attack her. She held her breath and neared the opening cautiously, quietly.
She searched the dark around her, taking the time to really notice her surroundings. Odd, miscellaneous items littered the street, a roll of toilet paper with its slightly unraveled tissue waving in the breeze, a shoe, a child’s toy. Fear shuttered through her. It was the first time since the EMP that she felt genuinely uncomfortable, skittish.
Before she had time to focus on the unsettled feeling, she heard Sarge’s short, sharp whistle from the other side of the barricade. Relieved, she let out a breath and closed her eyes for a moment.
Thank you, God.
Grace jogged the last few steps to the passage and through it without hesitation. Her eyes found Sarge first and then focused on the two massive dogs lying on the ground at her feet. Both had their chains wrapped around their necks. She turned around to join Sarge. He was bleeding. A series of puncture wounds on his arms seeped blood. He was a warrior standing there with his gun in hand and blood dripping from the ends of his fingers onto the ground. As she began to follow the direction Sarge was walking, Grace caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of her eye and jerked around raising her gun.
Her eyes focused on human…
“Jesus,” she whispered.
Human heads were balanced on the tops of spikes, like gruesome lollipops. The spikes were driven into the tree lawns directly adjacent to the passageways. She let out a shocked puff of air, as if someone had just sucker punched her in the gut, as she took in the entire scene. The barricade was a grisly still life comprised of artistically displayed warning graffiti, severed heads, and large, manmade contraptions with sharp edges, wires, and dangling things that would make noise if touched. Along with the dogs, it was an obstacle course built to prevent easy advancement and passage through the car barricade. Apparently, she and Sarge were not the only people who were going to try to ride this out at home. Somebody had gone through quite a bit of trouble to make anybody think twice before deciding to travel down their street.
Grace felt a hand close on her arm and swung around, raising her weapon before realizing it was Sarge.
“Let’s go,” he mumbled as he led her in the direction of the lake.
“No. We need to go back. You’re bleeding.” She tried to examine his arms, but he pulled away.
“Now, Grace! I’m sure the dogs alerted someone. We need to get out of here before they show up. Whoever those dogs belonged to will be coming from our street.” He tugged her arm. “Let’s go!”
Anarchy. It was starting. People were on the move now, probably leaving to find food, cleaner water, or medical aid. All along the street, the storefront windows were broken. Useless items and broken glass littered the pavement.
She couldn’t believe that they were still moving toward the lake. Sarge had to have known the streets would be this way. Was he walking her through all of this to make a point? To show her firsthand how dangerous it was getting? Because if he was, it was working.
Taking in all the destruction, Grace became desperately worried about Van. She just wanted to see him again, make sure he was all right.
Over the past two days, a plague of disturbing worries about Van’s well-being interrupted her thoughts. Every time she heard a gunshot or yelling outside the house, it shook her, and just like a bottle of shaken soda, she felt ready to explode. Van was the reason they were going to the lake, the reason Sarge got bitten by those dogs, and the reason why they were risking their lives. She wondered how furious Sarge would be if he knew. She shook her head. She knew better than this. Her thoughts and decisions were so backasswards that it felt like she didn’t even know herself anymore.
The fact that she couldn’t extend a hand to help
Van made her throat tighten up and her insides roil with grief and rage. If it were her shelter, she would have taken him in. A brief idea flitted through her mind. Maybe she should take Van back to her shelter. But just looking around made her common sense reject that idea. They’d be lucky to make the three-hour journey alive.
The area was quiet and looked deserted. Grace followed about twenty feet behind Sarge, and both of them had their guns drawn. A sudden halt from Sarge sent Grace’s adrenaline surging again, and her senses searched the shadows for danger.
Her eyes landed on what had made Sarge stop. It was Van. Her body reacted to the sight of him instantly. She was awash in a tidal wave of relief, and she rushed forward toward the man.
“It’s just me,” she heard him say to Sarge, holding one palm up when he stepped out of the shadows.
Sarge lowered his gun quickly, and the men shook hands and exchanged a few mumbled words. Van’s eyes moved through the darkness searching for her, and then a smile with an undercurrent of simmering desire transformed his face when he’d located her. Sarge resumed his trek down the street while Van flashed his twinkling eyes over to Grace. He waited for her to catch up, a dark shadow in the moonlight, and then fell into step beside her.
“Hi, Grace,” he whispered, reaching out and running a hand down her arm. “How you holding up?”
She felt like she wasn’t getting enough air, and the more she tried to regulate her breathing to normal, the more breathless she sounded. “No complaints. You?”
“I’m good.” He glanced down at her for just an instant and then swept his gaze back and forth across their path. His large body moved with finesse as he scrutinized every crevice for threats. He gripped his rifle as if it were a natural extension of his body. Grace wondered if she would even get the chance to sight a shot before he blew any threat into oblivion.
When they got to the piers, Sarge motioned for Grace to advance with him. Van stayed on the shore while they walked to the end of the pier together. Without a word, she stripped and slid into the water. A second later, Sarge leaned over and handed her a bar of soap. Grace washed quickly while the men stood guard then lifted herself onto the pier, dried, and dressed herself before lifting her gun and giving Sarge a nudge indicating that she would cover him.
In less than a minute, Grace heard Sarge slide into the lake. She forced herself to keep watch, despite curiosity baiting her into catching a glimpse of him naked.
She looked down to the mouth of the pier at Van. Her blood rushed, and her insides danced at the memory of their kiss. Grace experienced a keen sense of confusion. These men were splitting her in two, and the divided halves of her mind and body were struggling, one against the other, clambering to be acknowledged.
Sarge was out of the water quickly, and moments later, he stepped next to her fully dressed.
They walked side by side toward the shore, and then Sarge stopped to fill the water containers.
Grace faced Van, her eyes examining the haggard face that looked back. “Jeez, Van, you look like shit.”
“You look a little worse for wear, too. What happened?” He nudged his chin toward the grisly looking wound on her arm.
She beamed at him. “Good eyes. Ran into a bullet. I can be so clumsy sometimes.”
Van’s eyes turned lethal. “Let’s see if we can get you home without you being such a klutz this time,” he said, looking over her shoulder. She heard Sarge approaching from behind her. The three of them started toward home in the same configuration they had formed before. As they neared their street, Sarge stopped his forward progress and motioned toward Grace and Van to join him.
“You’re going to have to let us travel the rest of the way on our own,” Sarge said to Van, looking like he meant business.
Van nodded. “Good luck. I’ll see you next time.” The men shook hands then Van touched Grace’s arm. “Bye, Grace,” he whispered.
Their eyes met and locked. Grace felt her face flush. She wanted to lean into him and kiss him, and it looked as if that was exactly what he was going to do.
The sound of the gunshots and Van falling to his knees in front of Grace seemed to occur at the same time. The next shots came from Sarge’s gun. The sound of them exploded in her ears while Van pulled her down and covered her with his body, pinning her to the ground and squeezing the air out of her lungs.
Time ran in slow motion while she was trapped on the ground. She watched Sarge shoot in the direction of the gunfire that was pinning them down. And then she watched the impact of a bullet ripple through his body. She didn’t know where, but Sarge was hit. Moments later, he fell to the ground.
Chapter 10
Sarge’s face landed inches from her own. His eyes were open, looking at her. “I’m okay.” His expression was fierce and dangerous as he rolled over onto his stomach and began firing his gun again. “Go! I’ll cover you,” he screamed over his shoulder at her, just as more shots sounded.
Yeah, right.
He had to know by now that she wouldn’t leave him wounded and under fire. Grace watched him bow his head for several moments, and then his eyes fluttered. Slowly his weapon fell from his limp hand. In the next second, he was face-first on the cement.
Grace screamed his name and scrambled to get out from under Van’s body. She knelt, firearm raised toward the building the shots had come from, but she didn’t draw any fire. She waited for movement or anything else that would tell her where the shooter was. Nothing. Sarge had either gotten the person or they’d run for cover.
Grace quickly assessed the situation. Sarge lay facedown with a rapidly growing blood pool forming beneath him. She rolled him over, and her eyes found the bullet wound in his thigh. She ripped off her shirt and tied it tightly around the seeping wound and then picked up her gun, put it in her waistband, and did the same with Sarge’s.
She turned her attention to Van. He was shot in the shoulder, and his arm hung uselessly at his side. She watched him struggle briefly to get to his feet. Then, he wrapped his good hand around Sarge’s bicep.
“Take the other side,” he ordered as he started dragging Sarge away. “Which way?”
“Right. Go right at the barricade on the next street.”
They worked together to drag Sarge through the narrow opening between the upended vehicles.
“Turn up here.” She pointed up the driveway of a house a few doors down from Sarge’s. They scurried through yards until they reached the fence that surrounded Sarge’s backyard. She unlatched the gate and helped Van drag Sarge through, then up the back stairs and into the kitchen.
Once inside, the house with the door locked safely behind them, Grace and Van collapsed to the floor, sucking in air from the exertion.
“I’m going to pass out,” Van said as he tried to stay sitting. The last surge of activity had weakened him, and he lost the battle to stay conscious quickly, slumping over, next to Sarge, on the kitchen floor.
Grace didn’t let either man’s unconsciousness affect her. She had to get the men to the safety of the shelter and then start tending their wounds. Both men were probably around two hundred pounds. How the hell was she going to get them down there?
She stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, then rubbed her hand over her forehead and through her hair.
Think.
Grace closed her eyes, gathered herself. Her pulse pounded in her temples, and she could hear the rush of blood in her veins.
She looked around for something to stop the bleeding at Van’s shoulder. When she didn’t see anything readily available, she pulled off Van’s boots and stripped him of his pants, giving him the once-over to make sure he wasn’t injured anywhere else. She wrapped the length of his pant leg tightly over the bleeding wound at his shoulder, under, up again at the armpit, and snugged it as tightly as she could before she tied a knot with the excess material to hold the dressing in place.
Then Grace ran to Sarge’s bedroom and stripped the neatly tu
cked comforter from his bed. She laid the comforter flat on the kitchen floor next to Sarge and rolled him onto it. From there, she pulled the comforter as hard as she could, moving him through the house to the small opening at the top of the shelter stairs. She put his feet as far as she could inside the cubbyhole then cradled his head on her stomach with the top half of his body between her thighs.
Grace inched forward through the cubbyhole. He was deadweight, and she panicked a little when she realized that she was literally moving his body a mere inch or two during each strained and struggling attempt to maneuver him through the hole to the flight of steps on the other side. It seemed to take an eternity to get his entire body through and positioned feetfirst down the stairs.
She struggled for a controlled descent, inching forward slowly, and lowering them both down the stairs on her rear end one step at a time. It took everything she had to guide him down without letting gravity take over and landing them both in a heap at the foot of the stairs.
By the time Sarge’s body was eased to the bottom, Grace was damp with sweat. She rested for several minutes in the blackness, listening to her own panting, until she was ready to feel her way over to the solar lantern on the table and turn it on.
Quickly, she checked the blood flow of Sarge’s wound. It seemed to have slowed.
Grace moved Sarge’s body a little more by grabbing the bottom of his pant legs and dragging him farther into the room, and then she attempted to calm herself with a deep breath. Her strength was sapped. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to repeat what she’d just done, but she was sure as hell going to try.
Grace ran up the stairs, taking two at a time, and grabbed the blanket she left outside the cubbyhole. She repeated the same technique that she used to get Sarge down the stairs with Van. When she had finally completed the task, the two men were laid out next to each other.