The Survivors: Book One

by Angela White

  “A hundred even.”

  Kendle laid the cash on the spotlessly neat counter with a frown, but said nothing at the too high price, wanting only to go. Not for herself, but for Luke, whose embarrassment she could feel. They didn’t like him here. Why? Did they know his secret? It explained his reluctance to go into town to replace the things they had lost in the storm. Kendle turned to meet his eye in the dimness of the store.

  When sparks flew between them, the storekeeper shoved the full bag at her. Kendle spun back around in time to catch it just before it fell to the tiled floor. “Is there a problem?”

  She saw Luke’s wide shoulders tense from the corner of her eye, wondering if they were about to mix it up, and knew the clerk did too.

  When the woman’s brown eyes went from unfriendly to mean, Kendle held up a hand. “Of course there is. Let’s do it like this. I plan to be here a while. Should I spend my money with the crazy lady across the creek?”

  The storekeeper seemed surprised she knew there were other options and shook her head, voice hateful. “No. Come back anytime.”

  Kendle smiled sweetly as she turned away. “Not even if you bent over and kissed my red ass! Have a great day!”

  Luke held the door as she swept out, regal as any Hollywood snob he’d ever seen, and he grinned at the speechless clerk. “I’d pay to see that!”

  He slipped out before she could respond and went to help Kendle store their things on the cart attached to the back of the bike.

  “She always act like that?”

  Luke nodded, waved at one of the four other shack-like, brown and green stores that made up town proper on this side. The Bounty Bay the tourists saw wasn’t the real Pitcairn Island. “Yes. Wanna go to Baxter’s? They have shoes.”

  Kendle met his eye, hand on her slender, jean-clad hips, and Luke’s gaze moved to her tiny waist.

  “Same attitude, right?”

  He looked away, voice a low mutter of embarrassment. “Probably.”

  She frowned, looked around the tiny town again. There were patches of wild roses amid small clumps of Miro trees with multi-colored parrots in the tops that hung over every inch of the town, creating shaded canopies. There were no cars, only two dirt bikes parked by theirs, and she saw the outlines of neat, white-fenced shacks in the distance she assumed were the storekeeper’s homes. There were no mailboxes, no addresses on the doors, just gravel walkways and rocking chairs on the porches. There was a striped barber pole on the last shop that made her stomach clench with longing. She missed her home, her country.

  “How about we go fishing instead?”

  Luke’s eyes lit up and Kendle felt her first response to him, to his happiness. There was something there.

  “Sounds like a plan. Now?”

  She grinned back, feeling soft and attractive for a change, instead of just being grateful to be alive. Another spark flew between them that the people lingering in shop windows felt. “Yes, the sooner the better.”

  Eager to be in the cool, quiet jungle, Kendle swung her leg over the bike, staying back to leave him room, and she blushed at the thought of holding close and tight to him while they were flying along. They were getting closer now and it surprised her. She never would have seen herself attracted to a calloused, big handed, suspenders and plaid-wearing war veteran.

  It was a beautiful day. Sunny and warm, cloudless blue sky above and a saltwater breeze that made her shiver. She couldn’t...

  “Leaving so soon?”

  Kendle saw Luke tense at the male voice and immediately knew he not only disliked the owner of it, he hated him. When she turned, it was easy to see why. The man was everything Luke wasn’t.

  Pretentious shoes, expensive slacks and Polo top, deep scorn in the 30-something island god’s dark green eyes. Great body and teeth; deeply tanned, manicured hands; a watch on his wrist that had probably cost more than she had made on her last show. Instead of being impressed, Kendle only wondered vaguely if it still worked. She had no interest in a trust fund baby.

  “Introduce us,” Ethan ordered.

  Kendle stood up when she saw a muscle in Luke’s stubble-covered jaw twitch.

  “Be careful, Pasta Boy or...”

  Kendle stepped between them before Luke could finish the threat, holding her hand out. The menace in LJ's body language was a surprise to Kendle and like a whiff of cooking meat to the lonely woman inside.

  “Roberts, Kendle. And you are?”

  “In awe of your beauty,” oozed the tall playboy as he gently kissed her hand. Keeping hold of her it, he introduced himself, flashing expensive veneers. “I’m Ethan Kraft, oh Goddess of survival. I own this island.”

  “Just the town, Fader.”

  Kendle pulled her hand away with a warning look that said not to get too friendly.

  Ethan frowned at the nice term for someone who can’t follow through and pretended not to see the red-skinned movie star wipe her hand down the side of her jeans, like he might have contaminated her.

  Luke saw it though and his grin widened.

  “Give me time,” Ethan boasted arrogantly, flashing beautiful dimples at Kendle, and she frowned at the unspoken implication that he would have her too. Not in a million years.

  “You ready?” Luke interrupted, indicating the bikes.

  “Yes.”

  Ethan stepped forward as she turned away, meaning to take her hand again.

  Luke, unsure of his intentions, slapped both palms against the playboy’s hard chest and shoved him, forcing him to move back to keep from falling. “Don’t ever touch her unless she says it okay! You got that?”

  Ethan bristled, but wasn’t sure about crossing LJ, despite being 20 years younger. “Sure.”

  His eyes were hard as he watched them ride off together. Maybe she just didn’t know what kind of man she was staying with. Ethan turned toward the store he had spotted her coming from, steps lightening. Maybe he would have to make it his job to see that she found out.

  2

  Later, with the sun fading behind a light layer of ugly-looking clouds rolling in from the southeast, Kendle watched Luke cast out over the calm water of the second fishing hole they’d tried, the first full of debris.

  “You never talk about yourself. You know everything about me.”

  Luke turned to look at her with unreadable eyes, wondering how he’d fared in her comparison to Ethan. “Does it matter?”

  Kendle sent her eyes back to her twitching line, vaguely listening to frogs and gulls calling to each other. “Sometimes.”

  She heard him sink the pole into the ground next to his chair and then there was silence, but she knew he was nervously waiting for her questions to begin. So, she didn’t ask. Not only was she living on his dime out here, he had been good to her, understanding, and she wouldn’t push. If he wanted to tell her, he would.

  Kendle dug her bare feet and hands into the bur grass around them, still in love with the land. She closed her eyes, hearing the rustle of a small animal in the underbrush, dragonflies zipping over the surface of the water. She thought she could even hear the ants and beetles crawling over the salty soil and she held back the tears only by will power. She was alive!

  Luke outwardly relaxed when she didn’t speak, went back to enjoying the beautiful day, but inside, he was worrying over what to say. He had a horrible secret and while she hadn't found out today, sooner or later, she would. He needed to be the one to tell her.

  “You want to go back to town for lunch? Stacey’s place has good chicken sandwiches.”

  Kendle jerked her line hard, felt the fish get hooked. “Not really. Fish is fine,” she lied, thinking if she never ate another piece of any kind of seafood, it would be too soon.

  Luke stood to get the net for her. He was very aware of her as a woman, of how tiny she was compared to him, and his eyes roamed her curves as she fought lightly with their dinner. A lot more comfortable with each other now, the strength of his attention had grown since that wet ride in the dark a
nd he’d felt her looking at him, too. Slow and easy was the ticket to win her over, and he could probably try now, but he hesitated to get closer to her than he already was. She was pure, he was tainted, and when she found out, their time together would be over.

  The end of her time with Luke was something Kendle had found herself thinking about more and more. It wasn’t right for her to stay with him. It didn’t look good to the townspeople, but the thought of not being close to him made her heart hurt. Soon, she would have no choice, unless she flaunted convention and did what she wanted.

  Her health had dramatically improved, red skin finally starting to brown, and she was better emotionally too, unless a smell or sound hit her the wrong way, flashed her back to the ocean and its relentless grip. When that happened, it was Luke's comfort she sought, instinctively knowing he understood what she was going through. Some nights she still crawled into his bed and huddled against his warm back, shivering, sweating. He never mentioned it in the morning, just gently moved her off his big chest so he could get up. He was easy going, didn’t expect much, and the only time she’d even seen him even close to upset was today. With Ethan Kraft.

  “You don’t really like the people here much, do you?”

  Luke dropped the small grouper into their catch holder. “No. We don’t care about the same things.”

  Kendle understood. The people here were rich, ostracized from civilization for one reason or another, while Luke was...what? A hermit? Definitely. A criminal? Maybe. Either way, he’d been nothing but great to her and she would respect his privacy and not ask what his crime had been. It would eventually come out and she would face it head on, but for now, he was a comfort that she wasn’t ready to give up. She knew there were choices coming, hard ones that would take strength she wasn’t sure she had, but for now, it was just the two of them in paradise.

  Luke’s thoughts were again in line with hers, eager to put it off, but he was dreading her finding out the truth. It was a sin he could never atone for.

  Cawwww!

  They both looked up to see a scattered flock of dingy cranes heading for open ocean and doubted the birds would see land again, their movements implying sickness. Neither of them mentioned it. It wasn’t an uncommon sight anymore and only served to remind them both of the homeland they'd left behind.

  “How did he know who I was?”

  “Same way I did, I guess - T.V. reception out here was good for a while. Easy for him this time.”

  His tone implied the playboy hadn’t had such an easy time finding out who he was and Kendle smiled, thinking his light cologne was so much better then Ethan’s heavy Polo. “Took him a while to find out who you were, huh?”

  Luke chose his words carefully. “Yeah. He finally had to go through my garbage to get my fingerprints for Daddy Kraft to run.”

  Kendle was horrified for him, at the invasion of his privacy, and Luke threw her a grin. “He got a mud bath for it. Ruined his four hundred dollar shoes.”

  She grinned back, almost stealing his breath at her innocent beauty. It was a good moment for him and he memorized it studiously, from the muddy tennis shoes sitting by her bare feet and the face that was great without makeup, to the sound of water lapping and a rock falling somewhere nearby.

  “Did he cry?”

  “No, but it was close. One of the best days I’ve had here.” He looked away. “Until you came.”

  Her mouth opened and he tensed for questions he knew he’d at least try to answer.

  “It’s really bad, right?”

  Luke met her eye, prepared to have it happen now, before he got anymore attached than he already was. “Yes.”

  Kendle studied the eyes that waited, expected no mercy.

  When she spoke, Luke felt her words reach the cold, barren part of his heart he’d been carrying for most of his adult life.

  “That was the old world and it's gone. The people here may not believe it, but I do. You’re no longer that man.”

  Chapter Thirty One

  March 23rd, 2013

  Western Missouri

  1

  “…is Safe Haven…Red Cross convoy…survivors. Does anyone…”

  Angela froze at the static-laced transmission. The Witch in her head whispered that her boy, Kenn, and grave danger, were much closer.

  Marc came to the open passenger door, jarring her from her thoughts. “Everything okay?”

  Angela’s voice was impatient as she pushed a stray curl back behind her ear that the warm wind had dislodged. “That’s them. That’s who we’re looking for. You ready?”

  Marc shook his head, thinking that group had to be within a few hundred miles for them to hear it. “Few more minutes.” His heart thumped and he fished in his long black coat pockets for his smokes. Only another three weeks alone with her.

  Angela got out and closed the door, ignoring the gray and black wolf on the roof that edged closer for her attention. “I’ll help.”

  Marc understood her hurry, but wanted to linger over the radio, hoping for a location. She always pointed him in the right direction, but in this big empty, it would be easy to miss them.

  “We won’t,” Angela answered firmly.

  Marc lit a smoke, watching her quickly take care of their lunch mess, wiping her hands down her jeans as she finished. It was something she wouldn’t have felt relaxed enough to do during their first weeks together. She was constantly growing, learning, changing, and on some things, she was already as good as he was.

  “They’re near Gillette, Wyoming. We’ll catch up in South Dakota I think, somewhere around Interstate 90.”

  Marc frowned. They would be facing her man by the end of next week. Ten days left. His heart twisted.

  “Come on, Brady. I’ll back it up and can do the chains.”

  Marc cracked an imaginary whip, making them both grin as he got moving. They’d made good time, eating up nearly three hundred miles, and had chosen to tow one of the Blazers to save on fuel, something they were low on again.

  “That’s it. You drive. I’ll check the maps for what’s between us and them.”

  Angela got settled quickly, glad he had interrupted her thoughts. Instead of relief that she was about to be with her son, all she could feel was the fear of facing Kenny. Time to pay was very close now, and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to do it yet.

  A minute later they were leaving Corning, Missouri. They were both uneasy as this was tornado country, part of the Alley, and it was eerie to see one block looking totally normal - if you could call looted, burned-down businesses normal - and the next street knocked flat with nothing but piles of debris standing. It was also farm country, crops of tobacco and river oats everywhere, surrounded by Indian grass and milkweed. There was no traffic in sight though, hadn’t been for the last day, and she held back a shudder, almost sure she knew why. Not many people had made it through the last town.

  Pattonsburg, still fully decorated, had real bodies in every Christmas scene, even those on lawns, with each corpse painstakingly put in the place of the person they most looked like: Mary, Santa, Wise Men, even the baby Jesus. She and Marc had turned around immediately, the feeling of evil too strong to ignore. They had detoured an extra day, sure each of the scenes’ “actors” had been survivors of the War, not victims. They were just too fresh.

  Pattonsburg had become, or maybe always had been, home to a serial killer now reigning unopposed, and she had marked it in her journal, then tried to let it go. Later, when she’d kept worrying over it, aware Marc wanted to go back and challenge the mad man just to ease her horror, the Witch had asked, and she’d said yes with a heavy heart.

  After her own encounter with evil, she now understood that some people had earned death. The nut job in Pattonsburg was certainly one of those, and she had let the Witch hunt him down while she slept. The fact that it hadn’t been by her hand was helping, but death was something she couldn’t handle, and if she ever had to personally do it again, she might…
r />   “Angie.”

  She looked up to find Marc staring at her.

  “Try to let it go.”

  Angela closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The fact that she had saved future travelers was also helping. “I will. What did you say?”

  “We’ll have to cross the Missouri to get into Nebraska, unless you want to parallel it until we get below Kansas City. Flatter land, might have a better chance of finding a shallow.”

  She was already shaking her head, raising her sunglasses, “That’s another week. Let’s try to find a dam or a bridge around here that looks okay.”

  Marc just stared, stomach suddenly very uneasy, and Angela gave him a quick look that revealed an almost desperate glare in her eyes. “I feel it too, but I can’t waste another week. I just can’t.”

  “I won’t ask you to unless we can’t find a shallow or dam, like we did when we came over the Mississippi.”

  Angela studied the mud-streaked lanes of Interstate 29. The cracked pavement was full of potholes and mud that was slowly drying in the steady breeze now that the temperatures had stayed above freezing for a few days. The wind was calm, the weather clear for a change, and Angela lit a smoke, not sure what was wrong, but sure something was since there was only darkness when she looked.

  “Do you…”

  The ground under them began to shake, and she slammed on the brakes, jerking them to a stop. Eyes wide, she started to get out as the vibrations increased.

  Marc put a gentle hand on her wrist, “Wait. If it gets worse, we’ll get out. Watch for big cracks.”

  His touch was soothing, exciting. He let go slowly, feeling her interest, and she sighed.

  The ground under them rumbled and swayed, shifting nearby debris piles, and from the distance came the distinctive sounds of buildings collapsing, and telltale plumes of dust rising.

  The shaking eased gradually, quieted over a period of maybe a minute, before finally going still. Angela looked at Marc, who was busy studying the map like nothing had happened. “Should we go on?