The Survivors: Book One

by Angela White

  Before, they might have had three or four days of warning. Now, they had one if they were alert, and only a few hours if they were not. The days of city pumps and mandatory evacuations were gone, but the natural warnings were abundant. Flocks of brightly-colored birds that normally spent a few days in the area, kept going, their cries uneasy, upset. The surf was growing steadily rougher, pushing further onto the debris-littered beaches, despite no visible storm clouds. The wind threw out sudden downdrafts and heavy rain bands that had gust sensors reaching 70 before settling back down to 35. The barometers were dropping sharply; the tides almost impossible to distinguish as the rough surf moved further inland, and animals had begun to beach themselves.

  It was enough to convince even the most foolhardy. Sharks, whales, dolphins, all fleeing and panic-stricken, were willing to suffocate themselves on the beaches, rather than face whatever was coming. This was no tropical depression, and alert coastal survivors raced to get out of its path.

  Some people however, had no idea danger was once again approaching. Large parts of Georgia, made oceanfront property in the War, were underwater, and Valdosta, where the crack had split the land, was full of people who had been on the road for the holiday. Stuck with no way to go forward and no way to go back, they had no understanding of the ocean’s dangerous fury and the cost of the lesson was high. The group of survivors in Valdosta only numbered a hundred, but they were unrelated families who could have repopulated the entire country without any fears of inbreeding. Their laws might have been drastically different, their future waiting for them…

  Out in the toxic waters of the Gulf, a monster had honed in on American soil. Hurricane Amanda, as it might have been called if anyone had been left to name it, was bigger than anything on record and it surged due north, powered by a hot ocean current and violent winds full of radiation.

  It had churned for weeks, drawing smaller storm systems in, and at its peak, the outlying winds were sustained at 300 mph, with gusts upwards of 375 mph. The storm surge was 25 feet high in places as it pushed into southern Georgia, and ten inches of rain fell from the angry sky in the first hour. If satellite pictures could have been accessed, they would have shown a storm that, at its height, covered over half the United States, with rainbands touching both Mexico and Canada.

  Amanda moved northwest as she came ashore, submerging whole towns and leaving an immense path of destruction in her wake. The parts of the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, and Cuba that survived the War, were destroyed - flooded with high water that receded slowly, reluctantly giving back only half of what it had taken. The War had raised ocean levels as much as ten feet globally, and those lands already at or below sea level, were wiped off the map by Hurricane Amanda, becoming a part of the vast, angry ocean.

  Nearly no one survived in these isolated havens of “fun in the sun”, yet not all the victims came from the land. Boat after boat was flooded, rolled and sank, including battleships and Coast Guard vessels, which, having survived the War, could only drift on the tides without their engines and compasses. These people joined the millions of others already under the salty waves.

  The eye of Hurricane Amanda hit Valdosta, GA head-on and moved inland like a wall of liquid destruction, leaving not a single structure or tree for ten miles inland. It was shocking to see a seven hundred foot long cargo ship sitting evenly atop a school building half its size. Upon closer inspection, it was not a container ship but a former battleship that had been turned into a floating hospital of aid; the boxes littering it not pods, but crushed cars and homes. The USNS Comfort had crossed the oceans on thousands of missions of mercy, but its days were over now; gone like the police, 911, lottery contests, and elections. Gone like Hollywood, American Idol, and the entire west coast. The Survivors, the War’s desperate refugees, now have only the simplest of goals: they want to live, to continue, and if enough of the right people can find each other, they just might stand a chance.

  Hurricane Amanda did give the survivors one benefit: it brought in warmer air from the South, where there was less grit in the sky to block out the sun’s rays. For the first time since the War, it began to feel like the season it was.

  The downside - with these fresh winds, came violent storms. Mother Nature was still furious, venting her rage indiscriminately, and America’s losses continued.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  March 18th, 2013

  Somewhere in Missouri

  1

  They were lost in middle-America. The storm battered their vehicles, lashing out at them violently. The rain came in sporadic bursts, cold droplets that set skin on fire, and thick, orange clouds rolled menacingly overhead.

  Marc and Angela had been making good time until they’d gotten to Kirksville, Missouri, but getting past the tangled piles of wreckage was impossible. Stretching as far as they could see, even to her untrained eye, it was clear a massive flood had destroyed this town.

  Boats were on front porches; heavy river barges piled against a Don Pablo’s restaurant like firewood. Homes and businesses were collapsed and scattered, ambulances and fire trucks crushed together, and for the first time, Marc wished for a navigation system, forgetting for an instant that they wouldn’t work without access to the satellites.

  Their way blocked, they had doubled back, but the route was closer to the North Fork Salt River, and when the storm broke over them, the water had begun to rise, blocking their way. As Marc moved them to higher ground, he jumped from one unknown street to another in order to escape the churning water, and now they were lost.

  Marc surveyed the area with a careful eye and a thumping heart. He didn’t want to stop now despite all the debris flying through the storm. He hated how low this area was.

  “Let’s try that parking garage,” Angela suggested.

  Marc frowned. “It’s kinda low.”

  She pulled around him to take the lead, trying not to react to the Santa hat that blew by her windshield as she looked for a marker or a name. They were driving over glass and jewelry, passing downed telephone poles. The signs that they could see, they couldn’t read because the paint was too faded. “Sturdy though,” she finally answered.

  The four-story garage sloped gently upward in circles and they were surprised to see only half a dozen cars in the whole place as they did a drive through check first. The vehicles were dusty, a couple with notes still taped to the inside of the windows and there was a lot of garbage cluttering the lanes, including broken neon bulbs and the shredded exit sign on the first level.

  Marc didn’t like it that they couldn’t see out once they were inside, but although there were bodies all over this town, there were none in here. The smell of them however, was under the salty, smoky rain.

  “Up here should be okay for tonight, right?” Angela turned to face the exit and backed in, frowned when he didn’t answer. “Brady?”

  Silence, and she looked to see him gesturing at his mic, and then the ceiling, and understood they had no radio in here.

  Angela put her vehicle in park, but didn’t turn it off as Brady backed in next to her. She’d put them in a far corner, like he would have, but the rain was still dusting the hood and front windows and the wind was strong, rocking both Blazers.

  Marc stepped out and disappeared, securing the perimeter with Dog at his side as Angela watched the darkness around them, gun in her tense hand. She knew the open area wasn’t to his liking as he moved back toward her and waited to see if he would override her decision. If so, she’d go along with his choice. He’d been surviving out in the world a lot longer than she had.

  Whammmm!

  They both ducked as something heavy slammed against an outside wall. When he opened her door, his face was relaxing, “Probably the best place we can be, as long as nothing collapses. We can go up two more floors if we have to.”

  Angela nodded, reaching back in for her duffle bag. The wind gusted against her door, and only Marc’s quick reflexes kept it from hitting her leg.

&nb
sp; “Damn. We need to get out of this wind. We’ll make camp over by the elevators, in that hallway.”

  Marc grabbed each item as she removed it from the back seat of the blazer, and when she closed the door, empty-handed, he gestured toward the dark hallway he had already checked over.

  “Light and gun. Let’s go.”

  Angela started to tell him this was no time for a lesson and then stopped, realizing this was the perfect time. “Okay.”

  Dog now alertly at her side, she tried to concentrate as he’d shown her, tuning out all the distractions. She slipped quietly through the loud darkness and Marc’s sharp eyes watched their rear…and hers.

  A short time later, Angela was unpacking just what they needed, preparing to hunker down and wait out the storm while he went back for his things, thinking she wasn’t as nervous as she had been just nine days ago. Killing had definitely changed things, changed her. She was suddenly a much harder person than she’d ever been before.

  Angela set the heater against the wall and made up one large sleeping area between it, and the cooler and boxes, creating a wall to block the wind. She started getting settled as he came back with his arms full, the wolf at his heels.

  “Great idea.”

  Angela took off her sweater, listening to the wind howl, as he added his own items to the barricade.

  “Hungry?”

  She shook her head, setting up the stove. “Not really. You?”

  Marc dropped his trench coat on top of a box and pretended not to see how her eyes went to his chest, lingered there. “No, but we should eat.”

  She nodded, but only put on water, and he left her alone. “I’m gonna mark the water levels. Be right back.”

  She pushed off her shoes and sat down against her pillows - journal, pen, and cup on one side, gun and ashtray on the other. She was calm. She had already seen them, safe and sound, in this very spot as dawn broke, preparing to leave. They had seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, but she hadn’t sensed any real danger and was able to relax. Trusting the Witch inside was a lot easier since Versailles.

  Brady wasn’t as confident, using a can of waterproof chalk to mark where the water was, and then every ten feet, all the way to their Blazers. A quick look would now tell him how fast it was rising.

  Angela was lighting a joint when he came back, and he smiled as he saw his own side of the big bed had been set up identical to hers. Even Dog’s quilt was lined with a bowl of food and water. Neat and organized. He put his gun next to the ashtray on his side of the makeshift bed. When she casually held the joint out, not looking up from her writing, their fingers brushed, sparked.

  Angela pulled back without looking up, but Marc saw her nostrils flare and his heart pounded, wishing she’d meet his eye. That hadn’t felt like fear to him, and if she wasn’t scared anymore, then it was proof he had made some progress by being her friend; by waiting and holding back all the things his heart still longed to say.

  They were traveling well together now, starting their days with a quiet meal and then a workout, where he taught her things, like how to breathe and read the ground. Afterwards they would do a training session; first, hand-to-hand and then weapons, which would put them on the road around 10 a.m. They traveled until it was too dark to see, and then he would pick a place…if she told him it was okay. Her magic was something they usually shied away from, Marc having no experience with the subject, but her gifts were used when they made camp. He wasn’t taking any more chances with her life.

  “So tell me about him.”

  Angela’s eyes immediately met his, before she realized who he meant.

  “Charlie’s a great kid, warm, funny.” Sadness was in her face. “Probably looks different now, older.”

  Knowing he wanted more, Angela let her worried mother’s heart speak, and the father felt it in his gut, how much she loved her child.

  “He’s smart. So much that it makes me ashamed I’m so dumb, and I’m a doctor. He’s loyal, hardworking, and cares about things like saving the whales. It’s agony for me to not be with him after all that’s happened. Sometimes a boy needs his mom, and sometimes a mom needs her boy.”

  Not wanting to let emotions get the best of her, Angela dug through her bag and tossed a yellow packet onto the blanket by his leg. “These are from his first birthday. I still love the clown outfit.”

  Marc looked up. “He was born on Halloween?”

  “Yes, on 10/31, at 10:31 in the morning.”

  Her voice was rough, sexy, and he let his eyes go where they wanted while she wrote in her journal. “Is he special too?”

  She tensed before giving a quick nod. She could trust Marc. “Yes. He’ll be stronger than me.”

  “Is it because of being born on Halloween?” He inhaled as she shrugged, passed it back to her.

  “I assume because he’s male. Fate controls, not the moon and stars.” She inhaled deeply again, closing her eyes against a sharp curl of smoke.

  Marc thought about how erotic it would be to give her a shotgun. “You still believe in destiny and the great plan?”

  Angela hesitated, not wanting to stir up that old argument, still not sure who would survive the encounter with her Marine. Marc was good, she’d seen that, but so was Kenny and her fear of that reunion was great.

  “Yes and no. It’s not a set plan. People miss their purpose in life and have to spend an eternity repeating it, looking for that one moment they’ve missed.”

  “And do they find it? Does fate give second chances?”

  The implication was clear and while she didn’t want to encourage him, she couldn’t help it, couldn’t lie. “Yes, almost always. Fate wants the world to be perfect, and each correct or corrected life, is a step on that road.”

  He met her eye, taking the joint back. “You know that for sure?”

  She shook her head at his question. “No, but I look at the world around me and get my answer there. Everything on this planet dies, ends, and usually violently. If not war, maybe it would have been the plague or an asteroid. For some reason, it was all fated to die.”

  “But why everyone? Why not just the bad?”

  Angela shrugged again, tone resigned. “That’s a question I can’t answer yet.”

  Marc held up the pictures as she eased down. “You want these back?”

  “No. I’ve got the memories.” She closed her eyes, covering herself up to her neck. “Goodnight, Brady. See you in the morning.”

  “Yes, you will. Sweet dreams, Honey.”

  Not likely, she thought, the nightmares a lot of the reason she smoked just before bed. Her heart whispered again about his arms. She couldn’t help thinking about it, but there was no way she could accept that comfort this time. She already had a fear that Kenny would sense it if she even touched the line, let alone crossed it, and try to kill her. In her dreams, he succeeded.

  Outside, the storm showed no signs of letting up, and they were up until well after midnight before finally lying down. Marc set his watch and checked on the water every half hour, and each time his footsteps faded into the darkness, red and black-eared wolf at his side, Angela knew it.

  Around 2 a.m., Marc and Dog went to check the markers again, and Angela snuggled deeper into the thick blankets, trying to ignore the heart crying for her to move into his spot. She sighed sadly, feeling guilty that hairy legs and maybe bad breath were the only things stopping her from sleeping in Marc’s big arms. Being attacked and not only surviving it, but also killing the man responsible for hurting her, had unlocked the last of the old chains, freeing the young girl who feared nothing. Slowly, Kenny’s timid mouse was disappearing.

  How was she ever going to face her Marine after being with Brady again? Kenny would use her up quickly in this new world, and she would die young. With Marc though, the Witch said there was a chance for the love and future that had been stolen from them. She wanted to talk about it, to ask and tell, but didn’t encourage him. It didn’t matter that she was falling...

 
; Angela stopped herself, trying to imagine telling him how she was feeling. "I can’t stop thinking about you, about us and how good we were together, and I may want another chance with you once I get my boy back and find a way to ditch my man."

  Never in a million years.

  Even if Kenny was out of the picture - and he wasn’t, not by a long shot - there were other walls between them. Still, the young girl who had believed in the dreams began to whisper and it was hard to ignore as sleep refused to come. They were still a great match, and she still cared, still wanted the life he had promised her so long ago. Soon, he would figure that out and do something about it. Then, they would all be doomed.

  Marc returned to his side of their bed, thinking they were getting closer despite her trying not to let it happen. She was so strong! Any other woman would have still been crying over being attacked, but not his Angie. She not only recovered quickly, she grew stronger and more confident from each encounter.

  She wasn’t afraid to meet his eyes now, to walk close to him, and when he wasn’t looking. He could feel her watching, thinking about him and their past. She felt it too; he could read it on her pretty face. She felt the... What? Love? Maybe. Lust? You bet that sweet ass, he thought, slipping his belt and buckle loose. For him anyway.

  He had never lit up around a woman the way he did with Angie. He had no doubts about his feelings, but he would accept nothing less than all of her. He had roughly four weeks left to convince her that giving into her man’s will wasn’t her only choice anymore.

  2

  Waking with a feeling of revulsion, Angela brushed at her arms as she sat up, eyes still closed in the damp morning air. Her skin prickled with tiny irritations, and her hair seemed to be moving on its own…she was so tired!

  “What the hell?”

  It was the sound of Marc’s voice that got her eyes open, and Angela couldn’t stop the yelp of disgust that echoed off the concrete.