The Survivors: Book One

by Angela White

  The twins had finally accepted that they needed help. It was something they’d rarely encountered, even before, when only a cell had controlled them, stopped them from doing what they wanted. Now, a mere woman had hurt them, had made them feel fear, and they loathed her for it.

  “Where do you think the deformed bastard is?”

  Dillan’s glassy eyes went back to the map and then checked his watch for the date, wincing at his mangled arm. He had splinted it, and it was healing, but it would always be useless. “He said every big town along 25. Maybe three days each, four on the bigger ones, skip every other, empty... He should be near Denver. We’ll just follow Interstate 80 until we pick them up on the CB. Or until we see smoke after a storm.

  Dean grinned as he stood up. “’Cause where there’s a storm, there’s Cesar.”

  10

  Ccrrraaackkk!

  The thunder from the fading storm rattled the ground, shaking the tent, and Marc woke suddenly from his dreams of thick smoke and desperate screams. He was alone.

  Surprised he hadn’t noticed Angela leave, he quickly stepped out into dawn’s early dimness, immediately finding her standing by the open passenger door of her Blazer. Medical supplies spread across the seat, she was using the mirror to see in, as she cleaned her injuries.

  Marc moved to her side slowly, making sure she was aware of his presence. He gently took the alcohol pad from her trembling fingers, wincing when she did, heart breaking at the pain in her eyes. She didn’t seem afraid of him like she had been, wasn’t nervous about being hemmed in by his large body, but he was very careful not to crowd her as he applied the gel she handed him.

  He saw her tears, could feel the pain coming off her in waves. When she started to turn away, he gently wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll get easier, in time.”

  Her tears were falling thickly, yet even in her misery, she noticed the body pressed against hers. Noticed and compared it to what she remembered. Angela stepped back slowly.

  “You want to stay here a day or two?”

  “And do what?”

  Marc pulled a thoughtless answer out of his head, not expecting the question, “I could teach you to hunt.”

  He winced as he heard himself, bracing for anger or more tears, and was amazed by her strength when she gave him a tiny, rueful look of accomplishment.

  Might as well. I’ve passed the gun test.”

  They spent two full days at the preserve, and Angela improved quickly, telling herself over and over that she’d had no choice. They spent the days working out, drilling on what she’d learned, and Brady’s arms during the darkness kept her nightmares at bay and her heart frustrated by the walls still keeping them apart.

  They were back on the road soon after, and then to separate tents without a word spoken about it, but things had changed between them. Angela felt it and worried over who would survive the resulting firestorm when Marc realized it too. Everything was getting closer now.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  March 7th, 2013

  Wyoming, mid-state

  1

  Waking with the feeling that something very valuable had been stolen from him, Adrian listened first for the sounds of his flock - tents flapping, dogs yapping almost casually, a soft, calm crunch of footsteps, the moderate murmur of voices - and allowed himself to relax, the sounds were there and normal. He sat up, reaching for his cigarette pack.

  Naked except for his green boxers, Adrian lit a joint, not cold but aware of the chill in the tent. His watch showed it was 5:33 a.m - time to get his busy day started, and he took an extra five to get ready. The day’s list was almost double what it usually was, and everyone would be busy right up to the shooting contest after dinner.

  He hit the joint hard and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, thinking his goatee needed a trim. He coughed at the lungful of smoke and smiled. Tonya sure knew how to grow it. Too bad that wouldn’t be allowed when they settled down somewhere, but if he let in one, all the rest would follow. In the meantime, stashes and supplies would run out like everything else, forcing people off of their habits without him having to be a cruel leader.

  Adrian inhaled harder, until his lungs burned. He was tired and worried, his usual state of being since the War, and it took only a few hits for him to feel the effects. He closed his eyes, lower mind planning the day, fitting things together for convenience, his higher mind searching for those he had to believe were still on their way. Maybe they were already here, just overlooked. Maybe he’d passed them by.

  "I need help!" Adrian shouted silently, "I can’t keep doing this alone!"

  The leader let out a harsh sigh, knowing he would keep trying until he was used up, and probably even beyond that. He wouldn’t give up as his father had. The guilt rolled over him at that, and behind it, came the overwhelming need to right the wrongs that he could.

  Adrian got up, again listening for his people, something he did when he woke each morning. They were the reason he worked so hard, and he began to move faster, eager to be with them.

  Pulling on his black jacket against the chill of mid-40’s, he stepped out into the strong wind, and his eyes went immediately to the sky. Adrian frowned at the ugly look of it. Something was racing their way. Rain? Snow? Both? He would have to look, and that meant using his own magic, something all of those he was searching for would also have - to one degree or another.

  The leader took a careful look around, seeing only the guards’ eyes on him, and he closed his own, concentrating. “Show me!” he demanded silently, and as his lids opened, the wind gathered strength. A two-foot dust whirl rose off the dry ground, spinning wildly toward him. It broke apart against his legs, covering his jeans in thick dust, and Adrian’s heart thumped. A sand storm.

  Observant eyes watching, Kenn joined Adrian and opened his notebook without being told, erasing his neat mental chalk board with one swipe. He wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but it gave him a flash of the determined woman on the way to her son, and he kept his eyes on the page, so Adrian couldn’t see the guilt there.

  “We’ll only have an hour. It’s moving fast.”

  Kenn’s eyes followed Adrian’s, and he too frowned. Their mountain view to the South was becoming obscured by the wall of danger racing towards them, the sandy wind beginning to beat on their tents, tarps, and cars. The dogs were now barking in an agitated manner, the livestock trailers able to be heard too, and the Marine’s gut unclenched from the boring resignation he’d woken with. This would not be an average day. “I’ll keep ‘em rolling.”

  Adrian lit a Winston, working on details, and Kenn shook his head at the Level Two Eagle from Neil’s team, who’d stopped nearby. Jeremy kept going at the denial, frowning.

  “We have to roll in the camp by at least half a click. It’s too big to protect.” The leader took his knife from his boot and knelt down to draw in the dirt. He made deep marks to keep the wind from distorting it, thinking the sound of tent flaps smacking harshly in the heavy wind was a warning few would understand. This storm would kill as many survivors as the blizzard had. Nature was pissed.

  “The Mess in the center. Line up seven rigs on the redline in front of it; back them in as close as you can get. Make the wire tight and put a bathroom camper on each end. The weight of the water will hold them better than a semi. These two ends have to be right up against the corners of the Mess, and then line the other vehicles up behind us, sideways, big to little. It’ll create a barrier. Put tarps on the sides to close it off. Tie ‘em to the trucks, but watch for gaps. If they billow in the wind, we’ll be one big sail.”

  Both men looked up at an odd whine to the wind, just in time to be hit with a small tornado of dust as high as a car. It slapped at them with hundreds of bits of stinging sand, and Adrian’s dirt map disappeared.

  Wiping his face with a gritty hand, the blond went on like it was still there. “Put the ends under the tires and heavier stuff. Make sure it’s secured right. Everything else has to be
broken down and shoved into the outer trucks to add weight. Cover the livestock and dogs. They go in the very front.”

  Kenn was copying – orders and the map - and those nearby watched alertly in the gritty dimness as the wind increased. The sense of something big about to happen was starting to spread.

  “The sheep in the center trucks?”

  Adrian’s blade flashed through the dirt again, ringless fingers nicked, scarred. “Yes, here and here. Make the weight as even as possible. Do the best you can. One bag allowed and put those stickup dome lights inside, so there are no fumes or flames. Gear: goggles, boots, ski masks, orange safety vests - all Eagles on shift inside the area.”

  Kenn finished writing, looked up. “What about the guards on the perimeter?”

  Adrian’s eyes went back to the brownish black wall of sand that was noticeably closer, vaguely aware of raised voices as people started to see what he and Kenn already had - danger heading their way.

  “Only in the front trucks - anywhere else is voluntary, and I don’t recommend the rear. Even inside cabs, there’ll be flying glass and debris if the windows go, and they probably will. Make it clear that anyone crazy enough to do it, better bring the right equipment.”

  Still writing, Kenn wanted to volunteer just for the credit, but he also knew Adrian would need him to help with the herd. Waving Eagles over, Kenn barely hid a grin of excitement. He thrived on shit like this, couldn’t wait for it to begin.

  2

  The dust storm bore down on them like an angry swarm, first invading with fierce winds that ripped tent pegs from the ground, then hitting them with a thick wave of sand and grit that blanketed everything. The sky darkened, turning almost black as it came over the last ridge. It smothered the land like night falling and they watched in amazement as great chunks of buildings were torn away from their foundations and sent flying.

  It raced toward Safe Haven like a missile looking for a target, and Adrian felt his stomach churn even as his heart thumped. He hated it that his people weren’t safe, but loved the fury of Nature. There was nothing else like it.

  “Here it comes.”

  Adrian and the three levels of Eagles were in the much smaller Mess, thick telephone poles a great anchor. The tarps kept out a lot of the grit, but all the men wore the gear they’d been given, ready to assist wherever Adrian told them to.

  “Brace for impact!”

  They moved to the center as the winds picked up, tarps slapping violently, and then the air came alive with tiny, stinging bits of sand that filled every inch of the rolled-in camp.

  “Damn!”

  “Look at that!” Kenn pointed excitedly to a shed, faded red and breaking apart, rolling by in the thick grit, and just missing the end truck. The winds increased; dust burning its way through their masks, and men began to cough.

  “Bandana’s too! Use your shirts!”

  Adrian pulled his turtleneck up over the bottom of his mask, struggling to stay on his feet as the storm engulfed them. The wind was awful, whipping, slapping at them, pulling violently, and the air around the area and trucked-off camp was alive with flying debris of every shape and size.

  Caruunncch!

  “What the…”

  Bang! Rriippp!

  Baammmm!

  The men closest to the actual Mess truck stumbled at the impact as the rig was hit, pushed forward on its side. Only the two trucks on the end kept it from going further.

  Dust flew up in monstrous clouds, filling the area with a blinding whirl of dark sand they could hardly see through.

  “Get those edges closed! It’ll rip us apart!”

  Men rushed to grab the ends of the snapping plastic, tying it back to the poles. It immediately became easier to breath, the dust sinking down to their knees.

  Adrian nodded, keyed his mic. “Check-in. One, clear.”

  “Two, clear.”

  “Three, all good here.”

  “Four, no problems.”

  There were a lot of trucks, and noises in the background of each that made Adrian wince. Crying kids, voices on the edge of panic, arguments, and as soon as the last one checked in, he hit the button again. “Turn your radios up, Eagles. Let them hear me.”

  Adrian lit a smoke, knowing his herd needed good words and calm tones. “We’re watching the storm from about ten feet away. It’s unbelievable, scary. We can’t see anything outside the Mess, but we’re hearing it, same as you. Lots of stuff flying through the air, slamming into the trucks. That’s the noise you hear, but so far, everything’s good here. I repeat. We are five-by, and so are you.”

  Adrian turned to watch a huge sheet of wood go tumbling around the edge of the far truck, barely missing it. He fought to keep that close-call out of his tones. “We’ll do bathroom breaks now, groups of four from each truck, women and kids first, as usual.” He paused, eyes growing hazy as he sang to his herd, pushed his calming magic over them. “I’ll be by each truck in the next few minutes, and I know I’ll see card games and people spending time together, not working themselves and others into a panic. This is nothing we can’t handle.” His voice deepened, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  As if to prove him wrong, the wind whipped through the Mess from a billowing gap, ripping the tarp free, and they were again covered in a vortex of spinning sand that tried to invade every inch of space available, and then space that wasn’t.

  “Grab that!”

  “I’ve got it!” Kenn rushed to the loudly flapping tarp and hauled it down, securing it better as he fought against the wind trying to pull it out of his grasp.

  The Marine had a huge grin on his face, Adrian could almost feel it under the mask, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Was he ready? Only one way to find out.

  The leader looked around, saw men helping with the tarp, Eagles watching alertly, trucks holding against the wind. Rigs, seven of them, full of his sheep and protected, but still vulnerable because they had no one on duty in the rear, where the sand was hitting them the hardest.

  Anyone could sneak up on them just by following the wake of the storm and they wouldn’t know until it was too late. There was almost no visibility and the tales from the refugees they’d been picking up were a warning Adrian wouldn’t ignore. The Slavers liked to hit during bad weather, and they were only two hundred miles away as of last week, which wasn’t nearly far enough. Sooner or later, Safe Haven would attract their attention, may have already. The pictures Kenn and Kyle had brought back from Cheyenne Mountain had indeed been worse than the other places, and they’d been keeping a weekly watch on the big group.

  Adrian waved a handful of Eagles off to start the bathroom breaks, hating the thought of so many using only two campers, but there was no other solution in this wind and it had been his experience that sand storms usually took their time to pass through.

  He looked at Kenn, seeing the excitement held under perfect control, the leadership rolling off him in waves, and he waved a hand. They’d find out now if he was ready for leadership. “Eagle Two has point. I’ll be around.”

  Adrian stepped out into the storm, leaving surprise among his army.

  “Boo’yah, baby!” Kenn’s grin had widened. It was official to him now. He was second in command.

  Adrian ran to the trucks first, calming, assuring, jumping and grinning with them, taking care of his flock as debris slammed into the trucks and sent clouds of sand rolling. He didn’t hurry the stops, understanding people needed him, but he didn’t let them cling either. They had to learn to stand on their own.

  Yanking his shirt back up, Adrian went next to the animal area they had covered with sheets of plastic, frowning at the sloppy job Danny and Zack had done. The dust was coming under the edges in small waves, and the animals were coughing, pacing.

  “On a dark, desert highway, cool wind in my hair…” Adrian sang as he weighted down each side with the heavy cages, adjusting the edges until the dust began to settle and the animals began to relax.

  “Last thin
g I remember, I was runnin’ for the door…” The sand he’d already been blasted with gave him a rough rasp, and the blond grinned in the dimness of the vibrating plastic dome. Kenn wasn’t the only one who felt alive when confronting danger.

  Holding his breath, Adrian headed for his semi. The winds back here were so strong he had to punch his way through with low, powerful steps.

  Doing what no one expected despite all he’d done for them in the beginning, Adrian watched over them, staying in his rig throughout the storm. He’d secured the lives he needed to, the camp now in Kenn’s capable hands, and he rode out the fury in his truck, marveling at the unchecked power while he watched for trouble.

  Adrian was one of three men to take the Drag position. Seth - who wasn’t an Eagle, but wanted to be - and Kyle, were on either side him. The cop and the mobster guarded him, as he guarded his sheep, and neither mentioned, not even to each other, that they heard the warning he sent out.

  Not over a radio, but rushing out in powerful mental waves designed to get ahead of the storm, it rang through the air and into their heads until the urge to go to the blond’s truck had them both fighting tight grips on the door handles. There were times, later, when both men doubted themselves, but at night, while watching their leader do rounds after a twenty hour day, they’d think about it, and admit the truth to themselves - that he had tried to save survivors in the storm’s path, cared enough about the loss of life to risk using his gifts and maybe be banished…to help people he didn’t even know. He wasn’t like the rest, he was...special.

  The secret bonded the two men, and earned Adrian their complete loyalty. Both males were sure he’d known they were there, trusting them with his secrets. He was their Guardian, and either would give their life if called upon.