What does that mean?
Five days later I’m waiting for Dr. Avanti. A messenger came this morning asking if I could move my appointment up three days. Of course I said yes.
I’m trying not to read too much into this. I’m sitting on the edge of an examination table wearing a threadbare robe-like garment. Hospital attire sucks. But not half as much as worrying. This might just be about rechecking my wound.
Or it might not.
A nurse comes in and takes my vitals. “Dr. Avanti is running a few minutes late,” she tells me.
I remember the days of iPhones. I remember scorning months-old magazines. There’s nothing in here but a duct-tape-patched examination table and plenty of room to swing my feet.
I’m ready to get up and see if they forgot me when the doctor hurries into the room.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
She barely gives me time to say “fine” before she’s lifting the back of my robe and probing the wound.
“Any fevers?”
“No.”
“Notice any redness or swelling around the wound?”
“No.”
“Have you experienced internal pain in that area?”
“No.”
She knocks on my back. It’s tender at the wound site, but it doesn’t hurt.
“No trouble going to the bathroom?”
“None.”
She drops the gown and takes down some notes.
“Ever heard of a place called Tintagel?” she asks. She doesn’t even look up.
I all but fall off the table. “Yes.”
“Someone thinks you might be interested in finding it.”
“Someone might be correct.”
She turns to me. “This place isn’t perfect, but it’s as safe as you’re going to find. Do you understand?”
“I do. Believe me, I do.”
“But you’re in love.”
“How do you— I don’t—”
“Let’s just say you were a little sticky when you got here.” She raises her eyebrows.
Oh. My. God. My face burns.
“You’re not pregnant, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.”
I close my eyes and practically fold in half. Thank God.
“You really should be a little more careful. It’s not the same world it was when I was your age.”
I wince. “I know. I thought I was going to die and it wouldn’t matter.”
She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a folded piece of paper. She hesitates, then hands it over to me. “This is for you. From a friend. I know nothing about it.”
“And I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I reach over to my pile of clothes and tuck it into the pocket of my jeans.
“Well,” she says, turning to go, “I guess we’re done here.”
She saved my life, snuck me top-secret information, and helped Garrett get word to me. I really should return the favor. “One more thing.”
She looks back, eyebrows raised.
“You’ve really saved my butt, so I’m going to give you a little advice.”
She smiles like there’s nothing a girl my age can tell her that she doesn’t already know.
“Dad’s looking for a wife. Someone smart, important to the future of the community, well respected, and of childbearing years.”
Her lips part, and her eyes round in shock.
“He’s considering you. Some other women too. My advice—he’s a coldhearted bastard.”
I tell her the story about Misty and Joanna. I tell her about Mom, about my friend Vaughn. By the time I’m done, she’s pale.
“He had me under his thumb from that moment on. I had no control over anything—not even what I wore to bed. I couldn’t go anywhere he didn’t approve first, and his people reported back to him every movement I made. If I did something inappropriate like help a girl out and give her some warm clothes, I got the belt.”
Her expression is grim. She fiddles with her clipboard, then lets it fall to her side.
“Do whatever you want,” I tell her. “I just thought you should have all the facts first.”
She takes a deep breath through her nose and nods. “Thank you, Ilsa.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Thank you.”
I’m not pregnant. ThankGodthankGodthankGodthankGod! No way in hell am I prepared to have a baby. I’m not even sure what end is worse—the one that pukes or the one that poops. But now I have a choice.
I throw on my clothes as fast as I can and then yank out Garrett’s note.
Party of Seven at King Arthur’s table, back of Tom’s. Room for an 8th. Two a.m. Tonight.
I can count on cannibals and gangs, a wasteland void of crops and game, temperatures that fall below zero every night, and blizzards that descend without warning. There is only a slim possibility of finding Talon. But I’m going to try.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A thickset guy with a crew cut takes one look at me and scowls. “No fucking way!”
An older guy—twenty-five, maybe?—rolls his eyes and turns on Garrett. “Come on, man. They’ll send an entire column of soldiers after us.”
I clutch a sack of potatoes to my chest, feeling both foolish for showing up and ashamed that I didn’t think how the others would feel. In fact, I think I might cry.
“Shut your pie hole,” Gwen says to no one in particular. “You have no idea what the general’s done to her.”
“I don’t give a shit,” says the older guy. “Our chances of getting anywhere with her along are pretty much zero.”
Garrett gets in his face. “I provided the machines. This is my plan. She doesn’t go, you don’t go.”
The guy clasps his head and mutters something I don’t catch.
“It’ll be fine,” says—holy shit—one of my new bodyguards.
I gape at him, and he winks back at me. “I’ve got security clearance. How do you think we got in and stole the fuel?”
I laugh. “Thank you so much. I brought potatoes.”
It’s a thirty-pound sack, and I’m not supposed to be carrying anything heavy, so I hand them to Garrett.
“You don’t pack light, do you,” he says.
“I read in a book that you can bake them and then stuff them in your pockets. They’ll keep your hands warm, and then when they cool, you can eat them.”
“No way,” says a redheaded girl.
“We don’t have time for this,” says Garrett. “Everyone, stow your stuff and mount up. Ilsa, you’re riding with Lawrence.”
He points to the older guy who a moment ago was bitching up a storm.
Bugger.
Well, I’m not about to turn coward now. I march over and hand him the crossbow I stole from Dad’s office. “Got someplace to put this?”
He accepts the weapon and darts me a surprised look.
“Not many bullets left these days. You can always make arrows.”
He blinks and nods his head.
While he’s stowing the last of our stuff, I adjust my backpack. The heaviest thing in it is a plastic tarp and the fleece I took from my bed. I really only packed what was absolutely necessary.
And believe me, there are extra socks and underwear in there. Toothpaste too.
Lawrence mounts the machine and gives me a hangdog look.
“I took a shower. I promise.” I climb on behind him, and although I really don’t want to, I clasp him about the waist.
I’m a fool to think I’ll ever find Talon out here.
Maps don’t account for roads hidden by snow or towns we have to skirt because folks don’t like strangers. Anytime we see smoke, we steer clear. Garret thinks once we get closer to the Smoky Mountains, there will be signs that civilization is near. He could be right. There is plenty of evidence to prove Bluefield exists, and people find it every day.
Not everyone is admitted, but they find it.
Sometimes I feel like everything I experienced during those infamous two weeks never
really happened. The kidnapping, the escape, Talon—it was all so intense, and it feels like it was so long ago. That night I cuddle in the soft blanket and burrito myself with the tarp. I’m warm, and moisture doesn’t get to me, but the loneliness does, and that’s when I reach down into my panties.
I come, but it’s not the same. I squeeze my eyes shut, and silent tears escape. I can’t help it. I miss him.
The next day, snow begins to fall and travel is especially grueling. We’ve used up more than half of the fuel, and Lawrence is getting louder. Grumpier. He grumbles almost nonstop.
“Will you shut it?” He’s bitched at me once too often.
“What’s wrong, princess? Am I not licking your butt properly?”
I pinch him between the shoulder blades.
“Cut it out!”
“You cut it out,” I shout over the noise of the engine. “If Dad hasn’t caught up to us by now, he’s not coming.”
“You don’t know—”
“I do know. When I was kidnapped, he sent assassins after me.”
He twists his head like he’s trying to look at me. Not even remotely possible on this thing.
“Me being kidnapped made Dad look weak. He had to make a point to General Barry that he couldn’t get to him through me. I matter so little he’ll kill me himself, see?”
He’s silent, but his back is straight. Stiff. I’ve shocked him.
“Don’t worry,” I continue. “Me running away is just saying he has an ungrateful daughter. I’m bad PR now. He won’t want me back.”
He’s quiet after that.
We’ve been following Interstate 40 south for some time. We’re somewhere around the Tennessee-North Carolina border, but I’m not sure. We’re definitely in the forest, definitely in the mountains. We’ll start heading southwest anytime, as soon as we find the Appalachian Trail. But dark-fall is almost here, and we stop and make camp.
“What if there is no Tintagel?” asks the redheaded girl, Bethany.
“Then we make one.” I’m staring at the fire, not really paying a whole lot of attention.
“How’s that, ungrateful daughter?” Lawrence leans over and offers me a strip of jerky.
I blink at him, but I take it. Seriously, wow. Not even a hint of bitterness in his voice.
I shrug. “Dad didn’t start with much.”
Lawrence’s eyes sparkle with challenge. “How would we protect ourselves?”
I think about that ancient city the professor talked about. Tintagel, village on top of a mountain. History was full of wars. The Art of War is a classic book on military strategy. Dad had two copies. “Pick a high spot where you can see what’s coming for thirty miles in any direction. Build a fortified structure there. Anyone here have engineering training?”
Lawrence wrinkles his brow. “I got as far as my junior year at Georgia Tech.”
“Perfect. Build a structure, say, ten stories tall, and plant the potatoes I brought. If anyone was smart enough to steal seeds—” I glance at Gwen and she smirks. She worked at the gardens. “We set up our garden the same way Dad did. If anyone flees from Bluefield Mountain, they can stay with us.”
“Dream on,” says one of the guys.
I shrug. He’s probably right.
“You’d better find Tintagel, then.” I take a bite out of the jerky. We’ll be out of fuel soon. What will we do then? Hike, I guess, but that will leave us more vulnerable to predators. The human kind.
We settle in for the night. This time I don’t even bother to touch myself. There’s no relief there. I fall asleep to the sounds of deep, even breathing and the crackling of fire.
A hand clamps over my mouth, shooting me full awake.
“Gotcha,” someone whispers in my ear.
Joy surges through me and sends tears to my eyes. I know that voice.
“I’m going to take my hand away,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t scream.”
I’m already wet for him. I nod, and he takes his hand away.
“Are you kidnapping me?” I can hardly breathe.
“I told you,” he says. “You’re mine.”
I swallow at the lump in my throat. “My pack is under my head,” I whisper. “I stole a crossbow from Dad’s weapon room. It’s in the back of the red-striped snowmobile.”
He gathers me up. A figure I didn’t notice retrieves my pack, then heads for the red snowmobile.
Talon carries me half a mile or so in silence. I rest my head against his chest and listen to the strong, steady beat of his heart.
Finally he sets me down and unwraps me from my cocoon. With my arms free, I brush the hair out of my eyes. He seizes my hands in his hard grip and holds them as though telling me, showing me he can do what he wants. He scowls down at me, and my breasts feel heavy. He crushes me to him and kisses me with the passion of a madman.
Our tongues touch, and his masters mine until I whimper against him. God, all I want him to do is touch me, fuck me until I scream for him to stop. When he steps back, he looks pleased, like he’s just broken in a new colt.
“How’s your wound?” he asks. He balls up the bedding and hands it over to that guy, the one I never seem to notice. He’s tall. He’s a shadow.
The guy nods at me. “That her?”
Talon takes a deep breath. “That’s her.”
The guy smiles, and I see a flash of white against the darkness. The smile disappears again, and he moves off ahead of us.
“Can you walk?” Talon takes my hand and leads me along a path I can’t see.
“I’m not sure how far,” I tell him. “I’m healing, though. I got my stitches out recently.”
He draws a ragged breath and squeezes my hand tight. “I can’t believe… You were almost dead. I thought, no way you’d make it.”
“Yeah, well, I thought Garrett killed you. For a while, anyway.”
He tosses his head, indicating the camp. I can’t even see the glow from the fire anymore. “He’s the one that let me go.”
“How the hell did you get him to do that? He’s like Dad’s perfect soldier.”
“He felt sorry for you. He said your dad didn’t give a shit about you and I was probably your only friend.”
“No freaking way.”
“Said there’d be a party heading this way in a few weeks, and I might want to watch out. See if you’re with them.”
And Garrett let me worry all that time. Jerk. “You know, I’m bloody sick of secrets. Why do people have to keep everything from me?”
“I’m not keeping anything from you.”
I bite my lip, and I can feel my eyes glow as I gaze into his.
“You’re the only one who never did.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
We’re miles from the highway now, and I’m trying not to be a pain in the butt, but this is a lot. When we reach the top of an especially grueling hill, I bend over to catch my breath. I’m tired, I’m weak, and I’m shaking. I thought by now I’d be all healed, but I guess my body’s not on board with that.
Talon runs his hand down my back. “It’s another four miles, baby. Think you can make it?”
Four miles. In this terrain? I want to cry. But I hold it in. “Okay.”
“You don’t sound okay.”
“I am. Dr. Avanti said my kidney’s healing just fine.”
He nods, but his lips thin. “Kidney. Right.”
He hands my pack to our mystery friend, Mr. Shadow, and scoops me up over his shoulder.
“Oh for crying out loud, Talon.”
“I can’t have your wound opening up.”
“I feel ridiculous.” I do. My ass is, like, on show. It doesn’t matter that it’s too dark to see it.
“I’ll beat your behind if you don’t shut up.”
He sounds serious. But he’s joking. Isn’t he?
I shut up.
Along about light-time I detect the smell of wood burning.
“Are we close?” I ask.
Talon grunts.
&nbs
p; I take it for a yes.
“For goodness’ sake, please put me down. My head feel like it’s going to pop.”
Our shadow companion chuckles.
Without a word Talon kneels down and sets my feet on the ground.
“Thanks.” I sway for a moment or two until the blood leaves my head.
When I right myself, I try to see more of our invisible companion, and immediately I understand why I could barely see him in the dark. He’s Mediterranean. Either that or he’s Middle Eastern. Specifically what group, I don’t know, but this man is dark.
So that’s it.
I smile tentatively, then duck my head. I’m not sure of my welcome here.
“Guess I can see why you like her,” the man says. “She looks like Lucrezia Borgia. You remember, that old Showtime series.”
“That’s enough, Urick.”
“I’m just saying your lady’s fine.”
Talon squares his shoulders and stares Urick down.
“All right,” the man says, stepping back. “I get the hint.”
He dips his head to me in a slight bow. “I’ll see you later.”
Talon’s fist tightens. “Urick.”
Urick’s laugh fades as he walks away.
Talon presses a hand in my back and guides me along the street. It’s dotted on each side with various-sized cabins. It’s a tiny town, maybe twenty or so structures.
“What is this place?”
“Used to be cabin rentals. My friend’s dad owned it.”
“It’s so cute.”
“Cute. Right. It’s safe. The terrain around here is intense. If you don’t know it’s here, you’ll never find it. The road was only ever a dirt trail, and I don’t think anyone could find the place even if they tried.”
He turns toward the second to the last and pushes open the door. The remains of a fire smolder in the fireplace. “You want to hide from the world, this is the place to do it.”
“Oh my gosh, this is perfect! Is this yours?”
Talon spins me around, slams the door shut, and pushes me against the wall. His lips find mine, and it’s like the sun has returned. His hands are all over me, down my back, up my hips, under my clothes. He steps away, lifts my tops over my head, and flings them to the floor. He gives the bra one glance, frowns, and rips it from me.
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