As she got closer, she lunged in a flat dive for her weapons. Her hands hit the pile of clothes and she came up with the Browning in one hand, and her knife in the other. Facing Trent, who sat nonchalantly on a rock, she bore no resemblance to the silky lilith who had just been bathing in the pool. With eyes hard as agate, she stood in a fighter's stance. Her hair clung wetly to her neck and had fallen across her chest, but did not conceal the dirt and leaves sticking to her breasts and upper part of her body.
He watched her breathing start to settle as she recognized him and apparently decided he did not present any immediate danger. The smile he gave her, and the appreciative gaze over her body, didn't seem to be improving her disposition.
"Enjoying the show?"
Trent chuckled. “Oh, yes."
She thumbed back the hammer on the Browning. “Get out of here."
"Not yet.” Trent smiled a little larger.
She pulled the trigger and the hammer fell on an empty chamber. There had not been any change in her expression, the usual widening of the eyes just before action, no warning at all. Just ... click.
The second surprise came when, without any hesitation, she threw the empty pistol at Trent, then followed it in with her knife, cutting edge up. Anyone watching would have laughed as Trent awkwardly lunged backward off the rock. She came right over the rock, and landed in the middle of him while he rolled. They came to a stop with her on top, knife ready to plunge, but the barrel of Trent's pistol nestled under her chin.
Water dripped from her hair onto his face as she panted in anger as much as at the exertion. Her breath smelled of the spearmint leaves she must have chewed earlier in the day, and her eyes were level, shining hard with resolve. For a minute, Trent thought she would try it. She was mad and scared, and it was in her to try to end it right here, and decide her fate with her own hand.
Gradually, a little sanity returned and her eyes turned wary.
"Easy, Katherine,” he said. “Let's not make any mistakes."
With her weight settled in on top of him, and her breasts swinging above his face, Trent was having a hard time keeping his mind on the matter at hand. Slowly, keeping the gun at her throat, he rolled her off onto her side, and took her knife. Nearly identical to his, it would have gutted him easily. As he knelt over her, seeing the fear and dread start in her eyes, he realized what she expected next.
Standing up, he reached down and took her arm, pulling her to her feet. He looked straight into her eyes. She did not shrink away from him, or try to cover herself. She stood defiant before him, and he liked her even more for it.
"Look,” Trent said. “I am sorry. I was out of line. I played a poor joke. But you should know better than this. I'm not going to hurt you."
"Why should I know better?” she said hotly. “I don't even know you."
"You will,” he said gruffly, and gave her a gentle shove back toward the water. “Wash up, and get dressed."
She looked at him, seeming to doubt, speculation furrowing her brow.
"We'll talk,” he said, because he desperately wanted to know her.
As she looked at him wonderingly, he walked away. She seemed to realize she was standing naked, and rushed back to the pool and her clothes.
A short distance away, Trent had seen a shallow depression where an old cedar grew up against a bluff. The tight foliage would diffuse the small amount of smoke from the hatful of fire he would build. He went to retrieve his pack and put some water on to boil.
Looking up, he saw the girl standing by the fire. Shifting her weight from foot-to-foot, she looked like she might bolt away at any moment. He noticed she had her weapons.
"You took my bullets.” Her tone indicated he would also suck eggs and eat skunks.
Trent reached into his pouch and brought out the .380's he'd taken from her clip. Handing her the shells, he smiled slightly and said, “Sorry."
"Sure you are,” she said sarcastically as she started to feed the bullets back into the clip.
"You should have known, you know, by the weight. You need to learn that."
Trent went quietly about making a stew. He had bagged a rabbit earlier, so he put that in the wooden pot, along with some arrow weed bulbs and wild onions.
"You followed me,” she said.
"Yes, I did."
She stared at him until he shrugged.
"I wanted to make sure you got to Base Camp all right.” He smiled “I didn't expect to find you in the pool. Lost my head, I guess."
Raising one eyebrow, she asked, “Is that all?"
"Of course not.” He looked at her steadily. “I admit it. I want to know you. Satisfied? I was afraid I would not see you again."
"You said I should know you wouldn't hurt me. How, Trent? Like I said, I don't know you. All I know is what I have heard, and that's not been too good.” She hesitated a moment, then sighed. “All right. I am a big girl. I will not deny I am attracted to you. But, the things I hear ... I'm not sure I want to know you."
"You are entirely correct, and I'm sorry."
"And, you shouldn't sneak up on people."
He grinned at her. “Somehow, I think you are going to make me do irrational things."
After studying him a minute, she sat cross-legged across the fire from him, studied the pot, then said, “Why doesn't the wood burn?"
"Won't,” he said, “as long as the fire stays below the water line. The water absorbs the heat."
"Why not use a metal pot? There are plenty of old camping supplies around."
"It is too dangerous. Metal shines and rattles in your pack when you bump it, so I don't carry it."
She looked at him in wonderment. “Are you always so careful?"
"Hope to be ... likely die if I'm not."
The girl sat across the fire from him and leaned forward to smell the stew. “Whatever is in there, it smells pretty good.” She looked at him. “I can do better."
"No doubt.” He looked at her seriously. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Her chin came up defiantly. “I've survived so far."
Trent looked at her levelly. “You've survived through no fault of your own. What if I had been someone else? Anyone could have followed you, and then you would be dead or something worse. And lady, you saw what something worse can look like, back down the trail."
She tried to hold his gaze but failed. “Why didn't you?"
"What?"
Her head snapped up. “Rape me. Kill me. Take your pick."
"Not my style."
She gave him a radiant smile as Trent looked warily at her.
"Well, I'm glad you didn't,” she said. “Thank you. You are sure getting your eyes full. You acted the same back at the clearing where we found Markie. Haven't you seen a woman in awhile?"
Trent snapped out of his stare. “No. At least, not one like you."
Katie settled back against a rock. “So, John Trent, what do we do now?"
"We rest. We talk. Then we will see.” Trent grinned at her. “Who knows, you might get to like me."
* * * *
Katie cradled a cup of coffee in her hands, made from the one metal utensil in Trent's pack, a coffee pot so blackened by campfires it had ceased to shine. She marveled at how peaceful the forest seemed, and felt surprise at being able to relax with a stranger, alone in the forest. But, thinking on it, he did not seem like a stranger. It had also been a long time since she had any real coffee to drink, other than the brew made from local Chicory root. She decided to enjoy it, at least for the moment.
The quietness of the forest settled in. First light, and evening, was always this way. The mist hung over the ground, swirling slightly in the breeze. Birds called, and the smells of the forest were always the strongest at the beginning, or end of the day.
Katie shook leaves from her hair and on impulse, let it out of the braids she had hurriedly put together. Taking a comb from her pack, she ran it through her hair, looking speculatively at Trent. In a rugged way,
he was handsome, although older than she. His age did not matter to her, but it sure would with her father. She caught him looking at her and felt a sudden pull toward those gray eyes and quick hands.
"It's quiet here,” she said softly.
"Yes, it is, but the forest is alive with sound. You just have to learn to notice it. In the old days, there was so much noise around, you could not hear anything. They called it noise pollution. Not a problem anymore."
"You sound almost glad things have changed."
"I can like the changes without liking the way it came about."
Katie watched Trent clean his guns. “Why so much attention to them? Why keep them so clean? Twice I have seen you, and both times you worked on your guns."
"This new world we've got, sometimes these guns are the only thing between me and being dead. I don't want to be dead.” He looked at her pensively. “Especially now."
Silence followed for a moment and she watched him with satisfaction. Katie smiled, knowing she had the power to make this man, this warrior, uncomfortable. Perversely, she wondered if he had a woman already, and if she made him uncomfortable too.
"I'm going to find a place to sleep for the night,” Trent said. “You're welcome to come along if you want. Your choice."
She looked at him speculatively, conflicting emotions jumbling her thoughts. Surprising herself, she said, “I'll tag along—for awhile."
* * * *
They moved out late with Trent in the lead. Disdaining the game trails, she watched him weave a path through the thick undergrowth, constantly keeping an eye out for a place to spend the night. He'd told her they would have a cold camp, with no fire to attract attention. She guessed discomfort was another price of survival, and felt amazed at the amount of information he'd given her in a short amount of time. Cooking was done during the day, then camp was moved somewhere else to lessen the chance of discovery. You never wanted anyone to see you before you saw them. Ever.
They found a spot under a white oak. The canopy of leaves would keep the dampness off and the wide expanse of dried leaves on the ground would give warning if anything approached.
She knew it was not only the people they had to worry about. This was a land of black bear, wild pigs, and more than once she had seen the tawny mountain lion, any of which would be hard to handle, especially at night.
Katie watched him stake out the horses, then wrap himself in a blanket. After a quick look around, he appeared to go to sleep immediately.
She sat for a while staring at the man. Reviewing the events of the day, she shook her head slowly in the darkness and smiled. A woman needs a man just as much as he needs her. Unless she missed her guess, this was quite a man. Maybe, just maybe...
* * * *
Dust rose in lazy clouds as four men pulled up in front of the rundown shack centered in the clearing. Slouched in their saddles, the men surveyed the area, looking for signs of life in the adjoining buildings. The forest was slowly winning the battle to take back the clearing. The barn had fallen in and the attached stock pens were overgrown with weeds. Smoke rose slowly from the chimney of the house.
"You better be right about this one, Pagan.” Red Seaver's voice took on a plaintive note. “The woman at the last place we hit was downright ugly, and fatter ‘n a cow."
The other men snickered, until Pagan Reeves silenced them with a glance. “I didn't know you were so particular, Red."
"He ain't,” one of the other men said, grinning and spitting a wad of tobacco into the weeds.
"Hello, the house.” Pagan Reeves voice echoed in the small clearing. When no response came, he said conversationally, “I know you're in there, McCracken. You don't come out, we'll just burn this shack down around your ears."
The front door creaked open and a gaunt man dressed in bib-overalls stepped onto the porch. A floppy hat came down to his ears, and his bare feet were stark white against the weathered boards of the porch. He held a shotgun in one hand, pointed at the floor.
"I told you last time, Pagan. We want no part of you.” The man's voice dripped with Arkansas drawl.
Pagan grinned at him. “Don't matter a bit, McCracken. You had your chance. Now you do not. So, why don't you call out your women? Me and the boys would like to get acquainted."
"What do you—"
The man stopped short at the sight of Pagan's gun on him. Casually, grinning widely, the other men drew their weapons.
"Drop the shotgun,” Pagan said.
Nervously, the settler started sidling toward the door, until a shot from Pagan's gun splintered the boards in front of him. The shotgun fell to the floor, next to McCracken's bloodied feet.
Immediately, Red Seaver and the others jumped from their mounts and swarmed onto the porch. One of the men knocked McCracken senseless with the butt of a pistol as they brushed past him into the house. Moments later, they emerged, towing two women behind them.
"Now this is more like it."
Seaver held the younger of the two girls. His hands pulled up her blouse, squeezing and fondling. Both girls were crying, looking at their father lying next to the house.
Pagan Reeves dismounted and walked up to the girls. Stopping at the older girl, he gently cupped one of her breasts. He spoke without turning his head. “Big, you and Smith keep watch for a while. Red and me have the first call on these ladies."
Big Waters started to grumble, but a glance from Pagan shut him up. “You'll get your turn, Big, as many times as you want."
As the youngest girl started to scream, Seaver silenced her with a slap.
"Hey,” Waters shouted, “don't mess them up too much."
* * * *
The sun was sliding past noon, leaving scant shadows around Pagan Reeves as he sat on a stump out in the yard. The McCracken girls were cleaning up after the meal they were forced to prepare for the men. Both were naked, and the younger girl had blood running down one leg.
Standing, Pagan said, “We had better be going. We're burning daylight, boys.” He looked at Seaver. “You know what to do with them, don't you, Red?"
Red Seaver grinned as he pulled his knife. “Oh, I surely do."
"No. Don't hurt them any more, Pagan.” The muffled and anguished cry came from the girls’ father.
"You should have joined us when you had the chance, McCracken."
"You people are vermin. Not fit to live on this earth. Some day you will get yours. I just wish I'd be there to see it.” McCracken's voice choked with emotion and his own blood. “Girls? I am sorry, girls. I should've done better for you."
Hours later, the four men reined in their lathered horses at a junction in the trail.
"We'll split up here. Seaver, you take the men and head for Big Springs. Look around for some more people. You know the kind we want.” Pagan's tone was terse, his mind on other things.
"Where you goin'?"
"I think it's time to pay another visit to the Sanchez ranch."
The men exchanged grins. “I know what you're after. That Sanchez woman is mighty fine looking."
"Forget it,” Pagan said. “That's one I won't share. Besides, we get her cattle and we'll have all the women we want."
Reeves stopped at the edge of the forest, calling back to Seaver. “Red, you see Hobbs, you send him to Base Camp after that bartender—what's his name, Walsh? He's been giving colonel what's-his-name too much information. Time we put a stop to it."
Seaver raised his hand in answer and jogged his horse down the trail with Big Waters and Jumbo Smith.
Chapter 4
TRENT RODE INTO the east side of Base Camp Bravo, leaving the protection of the forest and the things he understood—sliding his horse down the rocky embankment and scattering leaves onto Farm Road AP. He let his horse blow a moment as he reacquainted himself with the layout of the Army base Colonel Bonham had put together a few years ago.
Shunning the main roads, the colonel built his camp right in the middle of the part of Mark Twain National Forest skirting t
he White Fork River. Equidistant between Vanzant, to the west, and Burnham to the east, the camp was just a wide place in the road. It was comprised of a few buildings and storage bunkers and was surrounded by the rolling hills and forest of the Ozark Mountains. The colonel chose this location for its remoteness and easy accessibility to the forest he hoped to control.
As a primary mission, Base Camp Bravo was to make seasoned soldiers out of raw recruits sent from the plague-ravished land back east, and somehow by their very presence, bring law and order to the new surrounding countryside. If you had fuel, and most did not, you could reach the camp by vehicle. The Army had dwindling supplies, hoarded and confiscated from civilians, but those supplies were for very special occasions.
He watched, slightly amazed, while a green truck, the back covered with a green tarpaulin, disgorged a squad of men dressed in green clothes, faces streaked with camouflage paint, and carrying packs full of standard and useless army issue equipment. Lessons learned in jungle war across the globe, bought with blood, were still ignored.
Trent rode toward the main building where he hoped to give his dispatches to Colonel Bonham, passing by the soldiers on the way. He carefully looked them over as he rode by. All had packs piled high on their backs. With the packs catching on every tree limb they passed, coupled with wearing a steel pot on their heads, those men would be deaf and blind in the forest while their enemies would be able to hear them coming hundreds of yards away. Trent saw one man looking at his SATCOM navigation gear, while another calibrated motion and heat sensors. Assuming they recharged the batteries from a vehicle, how would they do it out there? Amazing. Useless.
The soldiers watched him as he rode by. The variety of expressions was typical. Some looked at him with scorn, some with suspicion, most with open hostility. Trent knew the drill. He had been part of it once. He did not dress like them; therefore, he was not with them. Anyone not with them was against them. Their confidence in themselves revealed a subtle arrogance, the result of superior weapons and training ... they thought. What they did not know was how inadequate their training was. Fire teams and massive firepower would not save them in the forest. They would need to think, to adapt. And fight. Fight as they had never dreamed. Hopefully, they would learn. If they lived.
After the Fall Page 5