Sole Survivors: Crux Survivors, Book 2

by Dani Worth

  She finally brought herself to look at the shelf with the wooden box. It held poison. Stored for when she thought she couldn’t take being alone anymore. She’d never really considered using it, not even when she’d thought her heart was shattered from the loss of Dax. She’d still had her father. And even in the last three years, she’d kept going, kept making life work…kept hoping something would change.

  It wasn’t until the last few months she’d started to feel differently. The nights seemed to be getting longer and the stories she’d used to write had stopped coming.

  “I’m sorry I moved you down here, Dax. I won’t be opening that box after all. And not only because of the people who showed up today. I’d already decided I couldn’t do it. I left you here because…well, I think I was starting to go crazy. Was talking to you so much.”

  Keera stood and walked to one of the lower shelves with the cedar chests. She opened the one she knew had cloth bags and began filling them. Clothes, shoes and jars of food she’d canned herself. Those she wrapped in towels she’d stored, and even a few she’d made. Those weren’t so bad. It wasn’t that hard to make a towel.

  “There’s something about this Chase, Dax. I think you would have liked him.”

  Before she left the shelter, she carefully replaced her husband’s urn on its shelf. “I’m not going to take you back to the house this time.”

  She couldn’t. All she’d done was talk to the urn and losing her sanity was her biggest fear.

  “I’m also going to invite them here. Instead of playing it safe as I have my entire life, I’m going to take a gamble.” She touched the urn one last time. “If I’m wrong about these guys, I won’t be back.”

  Chapter Four

  Chase cursed and slammed his fist on the steering wheel. The slices of road they’d been able to follow were gone completely now, and trees and cars—covered in twisted brown dead vines—had stopped forward movement. “We can’t get further.”

  “We’ll have to walk there.”

  Chase closed his eyes, and kept his face away from his brother. “It’s too far to carry back food, and we can’t risk leaving the RV—not with raiders still possible in the area.”

  “We can’t just not show up!” Tripp got out of the passenger seat to pace the small space between the table booth and counters.

  Turning to watch him, Chase took in the holes in his brother’s clothes and the ratty condition of the once red booth seats and faded flowered couch behind the booth. The RV had been nice in the beginning—a luxury vehicle meant for rich retirees who could afford the tripped-out solar power choice. But he’d found it years before trying to live in a house again with his brother and sister, and over the last year, the roof had leaked, damaging most of the inside. Chase had repaired it, but it was time to find another RV.

  Or find a home.

  He really wanted to give Tripp a real home. Keera’s image came to mind. She could do that. Give Tripp what he needed. That knot reappeared in his gut. She could do that for him too.

  “Chase.” Tripp sat in the passenger seat, and rested his elbows on his knees. “She could have family, could have been protecting them. People, Chase. Breathing, talking people with food.”

  Chase had thought she could be lying about others, but he had a strong feeling she wasn’t. She had an aloneness to her—a solitary aura of one who only relied on herself. He smiled at his brother. “Breathing, talking people, eh?”

  Tripp nodded, bright blue eyes full of a light Chase wanted to see more often.

  “Okay. I’m going to stay with the RV this time.” He handed Tripp the map. “Take one of the compasses because it’s going to be hard to find the place. She said her car is little. Maybe it can make it back to us.”

  His brother’s eyes grew huge. “Really? You’re not going to throw a fit about me traveling on foot in what’s basically a jungle full of wild cats and wolves?”

  “I don’t like it, but you know how to stay safe. Take extra ammo.” Tripp was a man. Chase told himself that over and over as he checked the guns, hoping he’d be convinced at some point. Once Tripp had a pack of food rations and extra ammo, he shot out of the door with a hollered “Be back soon!” before loping into the woods.

  Chase restarted the RV and drove it into a stand of trees. Tripp would know to search once he got back. They never left it in the open. Restless, Chase slammed out of the door, then regretted it when the thing lost one of its hinges.

  Sighing, Chase hurriedly dragged broken limbs across the ground and propped them against the RV, camouflaging it. Then, he went back inside and grabbed his toolbox. An hour or so later, when the gunshot sounded, Chase’s blood froze. He dropped the toolbox and grabbed one of the solar flashlights, his rifle and the Glock he kept under the driver’s seat. He checked it for ammo and grabbed a box of extra.

  He set off toward the sound at a full-out run, his heart beating so loud, he felt it despite the hard slams of his boots on the ground.

  Another shot came from his right. Closer than he expected. Chase halted and squatted behind a tree to quiet his breaths so he could listen. The dried vines under his boots crunched. He stood, and dodged a few trees.

  When he spotted movement ahead, he halted and crouched behind a bush.

  Another shot rang out, and then someone whooped. “Fresh rabbit!”

  Holy hell. Another woman.

  Chase wished he’d brought his family to Louisiana years ago.

  “Why’d you use the gun? It’s probably rabbit mush now.” The man’s voice carried affection and amusement.

  “She said she needed the practice.”

  Chase closed his eyes and leaned his head back on a tree. Three separate voices, one female, two male. They could be raiders.

  They could have his brother.

  Their voices grew quieter as they moved away. Chase followed silently, glad they continued to bicker. A clearing showed through the trees and he stopped to watch the three walk into a small campsite. Another man stood up from where he’d been sitting on a rolled-up sleeping bag. This one was young—possibly a teenager still—but he was too far away to see clearly.

  He grinned when he spotted the rabbit. “Is there any left after you used the twelve gauge?” He started laughing harder.

  Chase moved closer so he could hear over the forest sounds.

  “I’m sorry I hid your crossbow,” the kid said.

  “You hid it?” The woman stalked fully into the light as she approached the youngest man. Blonde hair so pale it was nearly white glowed atop a long, slender figure. She held out bloody hands and he backed up.

  “Sorry! Sorry! Come on, I already bathed today and that creek was fucking cold!”

  She growled loudly. “Why’d you hide my bow, Cadmar?”

  “A joke?” He backed into the side of a semi-truck. “Sorry, Jenna. I’ll dress the rabbit, okay? Will that make you forgive me?”

  “What if we’d come upon a raider?” One of the other men asked. This one made Chase lift a brow. Broad shoulders sat wide on a six and a half foot frame. He sounded angry, but he was stroking his hand down a shorter, dark-haired man’s arm, so he wasn’t too mad.

  “I would have grabbed it right away.” The kid spoke fast, though humor still laced his tone.

  “He hid it because he’s flirting again,” the dark-haired man said as he leaned into the other’s side.

  “I’m not! I wasn’t! I swear!”

  The big guy laughed. “We don’t blame you, Caddie.” With one last squeeze, he walked up to the woman. “How could you not flirt with this beautiful thing?”

  The kid scowled. “Don’t call me Caddie. It’s not dignified.”

  Big guy bit his lip, then stepped back when the woman turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

  “Thing?”

  Chase held his breath when she grinned and leaned up to kiss the man. Not an affectionate peck, but a full-on, tongue-in-mouth kiss. Chase’s eyebrows went up. He could have sworn the big man had been wi
th the other guy, but that one only laughed harder as they pulled apart and the big guy realized she’d put her bloody hands on his shirt.

  “That’s what you get for calling me a thing.” Jenna. The kid had called her Jenna.

  Chase settled in to watch longer, though he was pretty sure they weren’t raiders. He couldn’t see inside their truck, but he didn’t think his brother was in it. They roasted their catch over a fire and the smell of warm, cooked meat made his stomach growl. When they pulled out jars of vegetables, he sighed. He really had to settle somewhere and learn to do this.

  The woman was a stunner. Her white-blonde hair glowed in the sun and her body was long, lean and elegant. He figured out quickly she was with two of the men. The big one was called Ross, the other Dorian. The affection between the three of them spoke of the long term. It wasn’t a bond of convenience—it was a true-love match. Small touches, ready smiles and teasing banter filled the morning air. Throughout it all, Chase noted that none totally let down their guard. How could they? He’d bet his shitty RV they’d spent their lives as he, Tripp and Maggie had.

  Carving out some kind of survival. Avoiding raiders.

  And it wasn’t like the raiders wore matching outfits to give themselves away. No gang colors or identical leather jackets like in movies he’d seen as a kid.

  No, they could look exactly like these people. Or not, he thought as he watched Ross rest his lips on top of Jenna’s pretty hair before he nuzzled his nose in it. The most incredible expression of belonging spilled over his face.

  Raiders had a harder edge, usually looked at you like you were food. Sometimes they shot before even looking.

  Sudden grief slashed through his stomach as he thought of Maggie. It had been a year since her death and the pain felt as fresh as it did the day he’d awakened to more agony than he’d believed possible. He’d also awakened to a permanently changed brother.

  The knot in his chest grew heavier as he watched the people snuggling by the fire. Though they seemed to be on their way somewhere because their conversation centered mostly on plans to rescue the youngest man’s family, no one was hurrying to leave. The boy said they were close, only an hour and a half south of his family’s farm.

  He shivered as the temperature dropped and clouds filled the sky. He should start back, but the combination of seeing people again and exhaustion from a sleepless night kept him from moving for a long time. Despite the homey scene, all four kept fairly quiet and watched the woods around them. They’d hear or see him moving. So he waited while they cleaned up their site, then bickered over who had to drive first. Ross won the argument and Chase’s heart clenched as he watched the big man kiss Dorian and Jenna before they all climbed into the semi-truck.

  Chase took advantage of their movements to sneak away. As much as he had wanted to find other people, find a settlement, he couldn’t risk approaching them in case he was wrong and they were raiders—not with Tripp off on his own. Regret slowed his steps as he made his way back to the RV, even when it started to rain. He didn’t bother to open one of the freeze-dried packs of food. They were running low and if Keera didn’t show, the food would have to be stretched. He changed into a pair of clean, dry jeans and another T-shirt, then fell onto the bed in the back of the RV. He curled under the blanket and stared into the hazy room as rain pattered the outside of the vehicle. He couldn’t help but worry about Tripp as he fell asleep.

  He’d only been out a short time when he was jerked awake by a woman’s voice and the point of a crossbow aimed at his face.

  “Did you know the sound from all those crunching dead vines under your feet carries?”

  It took Keera a lot of time to circumnavigate all the fallen trees, but she finally parked her little car next to a statue of a woman in a long toga dress. And kudzu. Only her head, one bare shoulder and part of her dress showed under the tenacious gray vines.

  Keera stayed in the car, frowning at the hard and fast rain that had made her trip take even longer than she’d expected. Water poured down the Spanish moss carcasses hanging from the huge trees, the streams louder on the roof of her vehicle. There would be no running into the building for shelter. Part of the roof had caved in years before. It was possible some of the porch remained, but it didn’t look so good. She remembered a pretty trellis around it, but everything was covered in vines. Something moved behind that gray.

  Squinting, she leaned forward. Tripp was on the porch. He stood and waved at her. She watched for his brother, frowning when he didn’t stand and wave too. She started the car and pulled it closer, then opened the window a crack. “Chase didn’t go inside, did he?” she yelled.

  Tripp shook his head. “He had to stay with the RV! We couldn’t get it here!”

  “Come get into the passenger side!” Keera leaned over to open the door because it no longer opened from the outside. Rain invaded the car with a relentless force that had her wincing as Tripp folded his long body into her tiny car.

  He turned to grin at her, water dripping down hair that was darker while wet. His teeth were in surprisingly good shape. Every raider she’d come across had nasty teeth…when they still had them. Tripp had pretty full lips, fuller than his brother’s, but she didn’t find it hard to pull her eyes off them.

  “I can’t believe you went up there.” She reached into the back seat and pulled one of the towels from around two jars. She set the jars on her lap and handed him the towel.

  He buried his face in the towel, shivered, then groaned. “It’s soft. A real, soft towel.” He wiped it over his neck and stared at her. “We have a few towels left, but they’re so ratty, we started cutting up old blankets.” He paused, blinked at her. “Wow, you look even prettier with your hair up.”

  She started to feel uncomfortable, then really looked into his blue eyes and knew she didn’t have anything to worry about from him. Yes, he was bigger and could easily overpower her in this car, but something in his poet’s face told her he would never do such a thing. He had the sad eyes, sculpted cheeks and general aura of sweetness that would have given her favorite writer, Oscar Wilde, enough writing inspiration for years.

  “Don’t get nervous,” Tripp murmured. “I tend to blurt out what I’m thinking. Drives my brother crazy sometimes. You’re safe with me.”

  Heat crept up her neck. She’d thought she’d squashed the nerves down fast enough. The kid was observant.

  He lowered the towel to his lap, but kept his hands wrapped in it. “What’s in the jars?”

  “One of them is gumbo. With deer sausage.”

  His brows were darker than his hair and they crawled up his forehead as his eyes grew huge. “Really?”

  Keera nodded. “I brought a lot of it. Also jars of regular vegetables, fruits. Some honey jams and other stuff. Pickles.” She held up the other jar in her lap.

  “I remember pickles,” he murmured. “Don’t you need vinegar to make them?”

  She shrugged. “I make it. Make my own yeast, everything.”

  “Did you learn from books?”

  “Sure. Quite a bit from books, but my father taught me to be prepared for anything. I already knew how to take care of myself when the Crux first hit.”

  “How old were you?”

  She chuckled. “Is that your way of asking how old I am?”

  This time, his cheeks turned red.

  Laughing, she opened the pickle jar and handed it to him. “I was eleven when people first got sick.” The small car filled with the scent of garlic pickled cucumbers. She hoped he liked garlic because she’d used a lot.

  He took the jar and just stared down into it. “It’s been so long since I ate something like this. I almost want to wait so my brother can enjoy them too.”

  “You plan to eat the entire jar?” She grimaced. “Please don’t. Your stomach won’t be used to that much acid. Should start slow.” She watched him stare into the jar and could tell he was dying to try one. The fact he wanted to wait to share the experience with his brother ma
de her heart feel all soft and mushy. “Go ahead. We’ll watch him eat them too and it’ll be like the first time all over again.” She pointed to the packed back of the car. “Plus, there are a lot of firsts for you two to experience together.”

  He caved, reached into the jar with his fingers and grabbed a pickle. “They’re still cold.”

  “Yeah, I keep most of my canned goods underground. I just pulled those out this morning. But I have a refrigerator. You must too, in that RV.”

  He still held the pickle as if savoring the anticipation. “It hasn’t worked in years.” He put the pickle on his tongue and closed his eyes. “Oh wow. I don’t remember pickles being this good.”

  She shrugged and set the other jar into the back seat. “They probably weren’t unless your parents did them from scratch. Even as a kid I thought homemade stuff was always better. Though sometimes I think about how much I loved frozen pizzas. I do miss those.”

  “And marshmallows,” he murmured, sliding another pickle into his mouth.

  “Oh, so, so much!” She reached into the jar and pulled one out for herself. Crunching into the savory garlicky goodness, she grinned. “I tried to make marshmallows. Was a huge failure. I never took the time to figure out how to get gelatin and nothing else worked.”

  “Chase tried to cook us a cake on our sixteenth birthday but we didn’t have eggs or sugar. Was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, but Mag—” He broke off and his throat moved as he swallowed hard, like the pickle had turned into a boulder.

  Keera waited for him to continue, really wanting him to. She was starved for conversation with another human being, for stories and ones that had anything to do with Chase especially. Then she clued in to the “us” part of what he’d said. He’d shared a birthday with someone. She wanted to ask if it had been a twin, but his expression was ripping into her heart like a claw.