“I agree. Long Valley gave us a whole new set of safety rules I suppose,” she said and went quiet.
“Hey, you there RomWriter148?” he asked softly.
“Yes, I’m still here.”
“What do you do?”
Good way to distract her, and she knew it.
She braced. Most macho men, in her experience, made fun of her occupation. “I’m a romance author.”
“Awesome. I’m very impressed.”
His voice sounded silky, and she couldn’t decide if he was intrigued with the romance part or impressed because she was any type of writer at all.
So she decided it was better to ask than wonder. “Impressed with the writing or with the romance?”
“Both. Anything published?”
“Yes. Ten books. I’ve been doing it quite a few years.”
“I’m even more impressed.”
“Well, thanks, but publishers aren’t much interested in manuscripts these days. Not even from people who escaped the initial disaster and have dramatic stories to tell.”
“Why not? People still want to read.”
“Not as many as you’d think. They’re just trying to survive.”
“Got that right.”
A voice intruded way in the background, another rough-and-ready deep masculine voice. “Hey man. My turn. Get the hell off the box.”
“Roger that,” Rescue248 said. “Gotta go RomWriter148.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
A hesitation made her wonder if he’d already signed off, but then he asked, “Hey RomWriter148, will you be available tomorrow?”
Immediately she craved more connection with that rumbling, unforgettable voice. “Definitely. Same time?”
“Yep. Two o’clock tomorrow then.”
“Roger out, RomWriter148.”
He’d signed off, and when she looked at the clock she wished it were two o’clock tomorrow afternoon and she was listening to the smooth, sexy voice of Rescue248.
Chapter 2
Mally stopped typing and exited the word processing program on her laptop. She closed the computer and put it on the coffee table in front of her. She was sprawled on her couch topside, enjoying the sun streaming in the windows even though it was muted by the tinted windows and the ash fall that had entered the high atmosphere. She wondered if she could smell the ash if she went outside. She glanced at her wristwatch and jumped from the couch. Almost two o’clock. She ran downstairs, eagerness nipping at her heels. She realized at the bunker door that she was acting like an idiot. She’d been burned several times when she hadn’t realized men were interested in her money and not her. She kept hoping she could find a man who appreciated her. Regardless, she went into the bunker and crossed the living room and into the office and headed for the ham radio.
She waited patiently for Rescue248 to sign on. All day she’d worked on her manuscript, fortified by an energy she hadn’t felt in some time. During that time, she thought of her mysterious Rescue248. She’d inherited her father’s paranoia, and one half of her distrusted strangers with a passion. Oh yes, she’d seen enough even from her compound to know that many people had lost whatever ethics they had in the mad panic of apocalypse. Sure, there were some good people out there, but she hadn’t tried to find them. The risk factor was too extreme. On the other hand, Rescue248 had sounded…she didn’t know. Different. Trustworthy. Confident. His voice had engendered new enthusiasm and energy inside her. She didn’t understand it but decided to ignore her confusion and just write.
She waited by the radio, staring at it. Two came and went. At two ten a hollowness started inside her. She stood and started out of the room. The radio squawked, and she almost came out of her skin.
She put one hand to her chest. “Shit.”
“CQ. CQ. This is Rescue248. RomWriter148 are you there?” Rescue248’s deep voice broke the silence.
With a smile she strode back to the radio. “Rescue248, this is RomWriter148. Come back.”
“Hey, RomWriter148. Sorry I’m late. Work went to hell. I just got home.”
“Body guarding?”
“You could say that.”
Right. “You work strange hours.”
“I do.”
“Look if you’re going to be mysterious we don’t need to do this. It isn’t like I’m dating you or something.” Mally regretted the flippant words the moment they escaped.
“Whoa. Hold on.” His voice stayed calm and conciliatory. “I’m very punctual normally. We had a client from a large corporation that needed an escort, and the guy was a douchebag. Dealing with him was a major problem. But he pays well, and my boss took the contract. I do my job.”
Regret filled her. She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m sorry. I…I’m a punctual person. Not that I’ve had to be anywhere on time for a long while.”
“It’s all right.”
“No it isn’t. I’m also not usually rude.”
“Give yourself a break. These are weird times. We all do things we wouldn’t have done…before Long Valley.”
He was dead right. She was even willing to ask questions and say things she wouldn’t have before. “Are you talking about yourself?”
“I’ve had a few challenges. It hasn’t been easy. But I won’t compromise my integrity. I won’t do anything illegal.”
All she had was his word. “That’s good.”
A pause hung there before he said, “Are you okay?”
The concern in his voice took her a bit by surprise. “I’m good. I’ve been writing like crazy. I’m happy for the inspiration.”
“What inspires you?”
“These days? I don’t know. I have no clue.”
“Come on, I don’t believe that. Before Long Valley…what made you want to write?”
“That’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all afternoon.”
She settled deeper into the leather swivel chair. “I don’t know where to start.” She shrugged even though she realized he couldn’t see her. “It’s just something inside me that’s always there. I’m happiest when I’m writing. It’s a passion.”
“When did you start writing?”
“When I was fifteen. I’ve always loved to read, too.”
“So have I. I’ve never read a romance, though.” Amusement entered his voice. “But I don’t know any men who have.”
“Surprise, surprise.” She smiled, liking the direction toward humor. “Let me guess. You read sci-fi.”
“Good guess. I read some sci-fi, mystery. True crime and biographies.”
“Typical guy stuff.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No. I like those genres, too. Imagine that. I’ve got something in common with a security dude.” Something made her ask, “What did you do before you worked for Sentry Security?”
“I was in the Air Force. A pararescueman.”
She’d heard of them. Who hadn’t? They were a special forces-type unit that went in and rescued military and civilians in war zones. They had elite combat and medical experience all wrapped up in one package.
“Impressive,” she said.
“Yeah, well…” He almost sounded embarrassed. “I loved doing it. It wasn’t work to me.”
“We’re two rare people, then.”
“How’s that?”
“Most people never work in a job they really love. Why aren’t you still in pararescue?”
“I was in Iraq on a mission. When we went in for an extraction we were ambushed. We got off the ground but I was hit by a bullet. Broke my right ankle. That was the end of my career. I got out on a medical.”
Her suspicious mind grabbed hold of that tidbit. “But you’re healthy enough to be a bodyguard?”
“The doctors didn’t think I could hack the physical demands of the military job. The security company didn’t believe that.”
“Did you believe it when you first got out of the military?”
“I trie
d to convince the air force they didn’t need to kick me out.” He sighed. “It was an honorable discharge. I had that.”
“You’d rather be rescuing people right now.”
“Yeah. But…I can still keep people safe. Or try to.”
Another pause came between them, and she almost panicked for a wild moment, thinking she’d lost him. “At least we’re heading into summer. We made it through the last two snowstorms. That’s a plus.”
“Washed the air clean.”
Mally’s curiosity made her ask, “Do you have any other family?”
“Maternal grandparents. My father died in the first Gulf War. He was Army infantry. My mother died a year after that.”
Deep sympathy tore at her. She understood the pain too well. Remembering her own mother at that moment tightened her guts into a knot. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” He went silent for a bit. “My maternal grandparents are a piece of work, though. They’re in Kentucky.”
“I take it something isn’t right between you?”
“That sums it up.”
“What did they do?” She was being nosy as hell, but she didn’t care.
“They’re bigots. Certified cliché, back country, hillbilly bigots.”
“And?”
“My paternal grandmother is mixed race. African-American and white. My paternal grandfather is Cajun. When my mother married my dad her parents disowned her and have nothing to do with me. I’m an only child.” His voice had a hard edge to it, almost broken glass.
“Oh.” She drew the sound out a bit.
“This is where some women get turned off right away and dump me, so if you have any problems with—”
“What?” She was instantly indignant. “No. I’m not a bigot.” Static suddenly squealed over the line. Urgency compelled her to talk again. “Rescue248 are you there?”
“Yeah.” His voice had turned to granite, doubt still ridged along the syllable. “Sorry. I’ve just had that happen a couple of times.”
“Even if a woman knows you well before she finds out your genetic makeup?” She asked with sarcasm.
“Yep. I was dating this girl from Texas once. I was on my last tour in Iraq, and she was an air force nurse. We started to get serious and when I told her about my family…well, that was it.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
The radio crackled again. “Look, I’m not some guy who’s hung up on what other people think. I don’t give a damn. But I don’t waste my time now on friendships with people who find that part of my heritage offensive.”
“I understand.” Courage and curiosity took her a step farther. “While we’ve got that out in the open, how old are you?”
He laughed, and the smooth, sexy sound stirred sweet longing inside her. Wow.
“I’m thirty-five,” he said.
“Good. I’m thirty. I don’t date men that are too young.”
He chuckled again. “Are we dating?”
Heat filled her face. Damn and double damn. “I…I didn’t mean dating. I mean—”
“Conventional dating doesn’t work anymore, right?”
“No.”
“Good. But you haven’t told me anything about your family.”
That stopped her cold. Here she was picking his brain, but the idea of telling this man her identity made her nervous as hell. “No, I haven’t.”
“RomWriter148, it’s only fair after what I’ve told you.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Okay, here’s my rules. I show you mine, you show me yours. That’s the way I roll.”
She could have signed off and never talked to him again. Maybe, in the instability of life these days it made sense. No entanglements. Nothing to connect her to another human being. Not when she could lose them in a heartbeat to the violence outside this compound.
“I don’t know who you really are Rescue248,” Mally said softly. “What if you’re a…nutcase? A serial killer.”
He made a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “Okay, I get it. I understand. Trust me. I’d never hurt you.”
Liquid with slightly more of the south, his voice rasped over her senses. She yearned for more reassurance. But she jumped off the bridge and took the chance.
“My name is Mally Andretti. My father was Damian Andretti the geologist.”
“Holy—” He cut himself off. “That Damian Andretti?”
She hung in suspense, wishing she could see his face and could gauge his expression. “Yes.”
Again the line crackled and was silent, so she broke the quiet. “I know. Don’t say it. Damian Andretti, the crackpot scientist. The CEO of Geophysics Labs who was born from money and built a compound in a small town Maine. Who was so eccentric and had so many weird theories about the end of the world he drove my mother away and they divorced.” Tears formed in her eyes, and the unexpectedness of her own reaction threw her off. She wiped at the moisture with impatience. “He practically drove me to my grave, too.”
He would know her mother’s story, too. How she’d slipped in the tub when Mally was eleven, and Mally found her dead. Everyone knew that story.
“Damn,” Rescue248 said softly. “I’m sorry. Your father was…eccentric, but he was right about the end of the world thing, wasn’t he?”
“Not exactly. He didn’t have it all right.”
“Enough of it. He told us the volcano would blow. He just didn’t know when.”
Rescue248 didn’t say anything about what her father did after he’d made the prediction ten years ago. It didn’t erupt, and then he predicted the eruption every year after that. Her companion on the radio didn’t mention that her father had turned into a Christian fundamentalist with the idea that if everyone followed the one true way the eruption wouldn’t happen. He’d moved them from Bangor while she was in high school and built this compound and bunker. Year after year his mind became more and more deranged. When Mally was in college getting her bachelors in history, ready to be a teacher, he’d totally flipped. He’d been institutionalized and when he died five years ago she’d inherited his huge estate and the money with it. And all the problems.
Maybe radio dude thought it would make her angry to talk about her father, or that it was too sad and pitiful to mention. He shut up, and she didn’t know what to say. What to do.
“Perhaps now you don’t want to know me,” she said.
“That sort of thing doesn’t matter to me.” His voice went soft. “You’re not your father.”
“How do you know? I could be as nutty as he was.”
He chuckled. “Okay, I suppose you could be. But I’m a pretty good judge of character and you haven’t said anything to lead me to believe you’re a whack job.”
She laughed this time. “Yeah.”
“Hey, I hate to cut this short but I’m supposed to attend a meeting in less than ten minutes,” he said. “Talk same time tomorrow? I’ll be on time.”
She didn’t want to rely on that. “Sure.”
“Take care, all right?”
“You, too.”
After they signed off, she wondered if that was the last time she’d talk with him. And he didn’t give me his name.
Chapter 3
The water flowing through her kitchen tap came out murky, and Mally stopped rinsing the mug. She washed one mug and one dish a day. Not that she didn’t eat three meals a day, but she didn’t see much point in rotating the dishes to prevent wear and tear. Even though she could have used grandmother’s old china in the cabinet, it seemed sacrilegious. Post apocalypse many things seemed frivolous. Overtly ostentatious. This huge house unnecessary. She was one person among a mall-sized labyrinth of bedrooms, an enormous kitchen, living room and other useless rooms. With power and water—maybe—while others did without.
“Shit,” she said out loud and turned off the water.
She’d have to use bottled water from the bunker until she determined why the water system suddenly wasn’t cleaning as
h residue. She dried her hands on a thick hand towel and hurried to the bunker. After opening the mechanical room, she discovered the first problem. Water leaked from somewhere. Everything she needed for long-term survival operated from this big room. Electricity, the heating and cooling, air filtering, water filtration…all of it was in here and now the water system was freaking out. She had bottled water up the yin yang that would last years. Didn’t mean she wanted to use it for personal hygiene.
After three hours of working on the system, she groaned threw in the towel. Father had taught her how to repair most everything in this place but she couldn’t get this to work right. Worry crawled around inside her. Damn. She had to locate someone who could fix this. She dropped a wrench back into the tool box. She closed it, left it in the big room and retreated down the hall to the bunker living room. The clock on the stove and microwave said it was three o’clock in the afternoon. Crap. Rescue248 may have called but she couldn’t hear the radio from the room where the system was located.
She sank down on the couch in the bunker and flipped on the TV. Once more the news bombarded her with devastation and death. So many people were trying to leave the U.S., and newscasters predicted that soon Mexico and Canada would close their borders. Mexico, Canada, and other allies had their own problems created by the super volcano’s effect on the world. No one was getting out of this completely unscathed. The worldwide economy was crashing, and a depression would soon follow. There was a quick mention of some riots on the streets of Buckleport, and she wondered if Rescue248 was working to help contain them. Other news rattled across the screen, but she couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed the remote off the coffee table. She stayed in the bunker and after rolling this knowledge around in her mind, she fell asleep on the couch, the television still running. In a bizarre dream, Rescue248 was an insanely ugly man, and she cared for him anyway. Looks didn’t matter…only affection did. In the dream she kissed him, glad for his help and companionship. The radio crackling woke her up, and so did the sound of Rescue248’s voice.
Relief steadied her breath, and she hurried into the office and fell into the chair. She snatched up the handset. “Rescue 248 this is RomWriter148.”
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