The Will to Love

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Those? Oh, I spent hours at the building trying to pull away rubble and debris to find someone…anyone….” Kerry handed the cloth back to him. When his fingers met hers, she absorbed the warmth like a greedy beggar. Right now, she felt like an emotional thief on the prowl, stealing energy from Quinn, who was giving so unselfishly to her. That wasn’t right, but Kerry couldn’t help herself. Quinn seemed to bring out every emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for the last two weeks. That caught Kerry off guard, and she labored beneath the violent ebb and flow of her grief, rage, frustration and sadness.

  “Any luck?” he asked, tucking the cloth back into the large pocket in the thigh of his cammos.

  Shaking her head, Kerry felt sadness overwhelm her once more. “No…none. Not one survived. I stayed there all the next day, Quinn, but I couldn’t find anyone alive, or hear any cries for help. It was just so…devastating.”

  Looking around the shopping center, Quinn could see people moving about. Here and there, he saw small campfires, with people huddled around them for warmth. They were cooking a meager breakfast. Probably preparing whatever food they could find.

  “The natural gas odor got so bad, I had to leave. I was afraid of an explosion,” Kerry related.

  “We heard at the base that there were a lot of explosions and fires after the quake.”

  Nodding, Kerry said, “Yes, there were. There aren’t now. The pipelines have all been shut off.”

  “So how did you get involved in all of this?” He swept his arm around the area.

  “By accident, I guess.” Kerry shrugged. “I retrieved what I could out of my cruiser—the shotgun, the emergency medical kit, my shoulder radio—and went looking for a place where I might find some electricity, a generator. Uppermost in my mind was to get help. There was a hardware store two blocks down from the sheriff’s building and across the street from the apartment where I used to live. I went there and dug out a small gasoline generator. About five blocks down, there was a small electronics store. I broke into what was left of it and found a radio that hadn’t been destroyed. The gas station was still standing for some reason, and I managed to siphon off gas from a car that was nearby. I carried the container of gas to the generator, and got it fired up and working. Once it was on-line, I hooked up the radio and started calling for help. By chance, I got lucky and zeroed in on Logistics at Camp Reed. From there, I talked to Morgan Trayhern, who, thankfully, was able to get you here. You and the supplies.” Kerry grimaced. “I needed a place for a helicopter to land, so I set off to try and find a big enough clearing. The shopping center was a mile away, so I came here. The asphalt parking lot was chewed up, but the area was clear of downed power lines and there was no natural gas or propane around. I told Morgan about it, and that’s when he started ordering the Huey to fly in as often as it could during the daylight hours to deliver food, water and medicine.”

  “And so you set up your H.Q. here as a result?”

  “Yes.” Kerry smiled softly. “I asked for volunteers to help me move the generator and radio to this place. The people who lived in this area pitched in with their hearts and souls. They’re wonderful, Quinn. Most of them have lost family members. But they rallied and helped me. Over the last two weeks, this neighborhood has really pulled together in order to survive. These people are great. The area has a mix of nationalities—lots of Koreans, Hispanics. Elderly folks on a fixed income…It’s a poor area of Los Angeles. But everyone—” she glanced over at him “—and I mean everyone, has helped. They understand that the only way they’re going to survive this is to work together as a team.”

  “So there’s been no fighting among them for food or water?”

  “None. They’re a tribute to the human race, Quinn.” Kerry wrinkled her nose. “But then, a week ago, Diablo started infiltrating, and it has been hell ever since. We aren’t prepared for such a group—men who take and don’t share. There aren’t any guns available to fight them off, either—the houses are crushed. You can’t dig inside to find anything, not with aftershocks happening dozens of times a day.” Touching her holster at her side, she added, “I’m the only one with a weapon. But I can’t be everywhere. If I go somewhere, I have to walk. I can’t just hop in my cruiser, lights flashing, and go to the scene where I’m needed.”

  “I understand,” Quinn said. His admiration for Kerry skyrocketed. She was an incredibly resourceful woman. Single-handedly, this stalwart person was helping hundreds of people survive. And as Quinn looked around, watching quake survivors get up from their shabby, crude sleep areas, he began to understand that Kerry was a very special person. Her bravery, her strength under the circumstances, was worthy of a medal. Her cool-headed efforts, her ability to organize and be a leader when the world was in chaos around her, spoke volumes.

  “Let’s get to your distribution center,” he told her with a slight, tender smile. “Let’s see what we can do to help you and these folks out a little more.” He knew his first priority was to close down the bad guys if possible, but even now, he could see his mission changing, just as Morgan had warned that it might.

  Hope spiraled strongly in her breast. As Quinn gazed at her, Kerry felt her heart expanding with such joy that it overshadowed all the sadness she was feeling. There was a burning look in his eyes meant for her alone, and she knew it. Somehow, her sharing the awful trauma with Quinn had forged a new and wonderful connection between them. Kerry was as scared as she was euphoric. Never had she felt like this. As she walked at Quinn’s side once more, she told herself it was because she was traumatized, her emotions stripped and vulnerable. Quinn represented help and survival, she tried to tell herself sternly. And that was all. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t quite make herself believe that completely. No, there was another emotion, a special one, growing between them. She had seen it banked in his narrowed eyes…and she was afraid of it. Afraid, and yet eager at the very same time.

  Chapter Four

  January 14: 1015

  Private Orvil Perkins gave Quinn a look that spoke volumes. The thin, wiry marine was surrounded by civilians who had desperate looks on their faces and in their eyes as they asked him question after question. As Kerry and Quinn approached, the crowd of about twenty people, mostly adults, turned to face them, hope burning in their eyes.

  In shock, Quinn saw that the people were all dirty and unkempt. It looked as if he’d stepped into a third world country. He’d been in some, but he’d never seen people in such a state. Even in those countries, people were able to bathe, wash their threadbare clothes and keep their hair neat and combed. Not here. These people were gaunt, with red-rimmed eyes, their hands caked with dirt. The desperation in their faces rocked him deeply.

  “Is help coming?” One balding man spoke up, his voice booming across the others.

  “My baby,” a woman cried. “She’s got a fever and I can’t get it down. I can’t even get to the aspirin in our house. It’s too dangerous to crawl in and try to find it. Can you help me?”

  “We need water,” another man said. “We aren’t getting enough. My animals have already died. I’ve got a teenage son with a broken leg. I can’t move him. I need more water for him. Can you help us?”

  Swallowing hard, Quinn placed his rifle across his right shoulder. Holding up his hand, he silenced the restless, anxious group.

  “My name is Corporal Grayson. The Marine Corps is beginning to initiate help. You are in Area Five, as most of you probably already know. We’re here to provide safety as well as continuing organization.”

  “When are we going to get medical help?” a red-haired woman called out angrily. “I got a little girl, six years old, and she’s diabetic! I gotta have insulin or—” she choked up “—she’s gonna die! You gotta help me!”

  Kerry lifted her hands to silence them. “Folks, I know your stories and your needs. Today, Corporal Grayson is going to assign one of his men to write down each of your specific requests. We’ll pass them along to the Huey crew that
flies in our supplies. That’s the best we can do. There’re millions of people in the basin just as bad off, or worse, than us. Corporal Grayson is the beginning of a vanguard, but he can’t do everything. He and his fire team are here primarily to protect us from Diablo.”

  A sigh of relief went up from the crowd, which edged closer and closer. Kerry saw Quinn cut her a quick glance. He said nothing to her about her suggestion. They hadn’t talked about it, but Kerry knew it would help defuse the anxiety if written requests were collected.

  “Thank God!” a man cried. “Those bastards killed my wife!” He began to sob, and pressed his hands against his face. “All for a lousy box of crackers.”

  Quinn stared at the man, who appeared in his thirties. He was weeping uncontrollably.

  Kerry gripped Quinn’s left arm. “Folks, please get back into line for your water ration. I need to take Corporal Grayson around our immediate area, fill him in on our needs, so he can radio back to Logistics at Camp Reed. It’s there that plans for the future are worked out. The more information I can give the corporal, the more potential help we can get.”

  “We need medicine! I need insulin!” the woman cried, desperation in her tone. “My baby’s gonna die without it! Somebody has to do something soon!”

  “I hear you,” Kerry said soothingly. “And help is coming. Just get into line, Martha. Please.”

  The crowd began to hesitantly break up. People trudged wearily back into a ragged line to await the one-quart bottle of water that would have to suffice for them and their families for the next twenty-four hours.

  Quinn felt Kerry release his arm and he glanced at her. The look in her soft gray eyes compounded the emotions he felt in his chest. As they moved out of earshot, he growled, “I never realized how bad off these people really were. Not until now…”

  Mouth compressed, Kerry nodded. “You’ve seen only the tip of the iceberg, Quinn.” Her voice broke with emotion as she added, “Believe me.”

  He halted and turned to face her. “You’ve been holding this paper bag on wheels around here together since the beginning, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” Shrugging, she sent the people waiting in line a compassionate look. “I’m a law enforcement officer. It’s my duty to help keep the peace. To help direct people in a disaster.”

  “You’re doing a helluva lot more than that.” Giving the crowd a dark look, he returned his gaze to Kerry. “I like your idea of having them write down their needs. That woman has to have insulin for her daughter. We need them to write this stuff down, and then we can go through it like a triage, separating common requests from real emergencies. Thanks for suggesting it.”

  Smiling slightly, Kerry said, “I didn’t mean to usurp your authority. It was one of the things I thought of doing once you guys arrived.”

  “It’s a good suggestion. Speak up on anything else you have in mind. Frankly, I wasn’t trained for this kind of duty.”

  “Who was?” Kerry asked wryly, giving him a tentative half smile. She liked the way his blue eyes warmed when he looked at her. Despite Quinn’s warrior toughness, he was a man with a heart. A big, generous heart.

  “I read you loud and clear on that one. Let’s make a circuit around the shopping center. From the looks of it, a lot of people are sleeping out in the parking lot, with makeshift tents, and cardboard for beds. I want to see the whole thing. Then we’ll go back to your H.Q. and make plans. I also want to radio Logistics and try to get an extra flight out here today with certain supplies that you think are needed right away.”

  “The insulin, for sure,” Kerry said.

  “Absolutely…”

  As Quinn turned and began to walk again, with Kerry at his side, he wrestled with the exploding shock of seeing Americans in such a state of helplessness. He felt overwhelmed by it all. They were only a five-man marine fire team. His main mission was to hunt down Diablo, but how was he going to do that and try to help these people, too? Torn, Quinn knew that Kerry’s help, as well the knowledge she’d gained from the past two weeks of dealing with this horrific situation, was absolutely essential to him in order to make good decisions for everyone here. And he knew Morgan would support his helping the people first, before trying to locate Diablo. One fire team could do only so much.

  January 14: 1515

  By 1500, Quinn had radioed in for some extra supplies—emergency items needed to keep people alive. Luckily, according to Morgan Trayhern, Camp Reed had just gotten ten more helicopters delivered, U.S. Navy choppers that would hold a lot more cargo. They were setting up a dirt landing zone at Camp Reed, a second, makeshift airport desperately needed in this escalating situation. Marines at Camp Reed were now moving supplies to this new airport so that the larger, heavier helicopters could carry more supplies in one flight to each affected area.

  Kerry had looked tired as Quinn had stood outside her hovel and made the radio call. Sylvia was baby sitting Petula nearby.

  Quinn had shared more of his MREs with them, but Sylvia had gobbled her food down and promptly thrown up. The food was too rich for her in her starving condition. She’d cried afterward because she hadn’t listened to Kerry’s instructions to eat just a little, slowly, and then eat more an hour later. The teenage girl was so hungry she’d eaten like a starving dog. Quinn had felt badly for her. He’d seen the unshed tears in Kerry’s eyes as she’d held the girl while she vomited. This was an unfolding and shocking nightmare to him. And it was going to get worse.

  In his eyes, the only good thing about the situation was Kerry. She was a bulwark of quiet, gentle strength. Throughout the day, her home was like headquarters for the area. Anyone who needed something came to Kerry. By late afternoon, she had given away the two extra blankets she slept on to two needy families who had nothing and were sleeping out on the yellowed lawns outside their destroyed homes, huddled together to keep warm. The only blanket she didn’t give away was Petula’s and the ones that hung in the door of their hovel.

  Once Sylvia was feeling better she took Petula for a walk, and Quinn took the opportunity to sit with Kerry outside her home. She looked drawn.

  The sun was low in the sky, on the opposite side of the shopping center now, leaving the house in the shade. Kerry was sitting on the chewed-up ground sifting through at least fifty handwritten notes before her. Her brows were drawn downward, but as the breeze lifted some of the strands of her hair, she looked beautiful to him.

  Opening the pack he left inside the hovel, Quinn knelt down opposite her and prepared a heating tab.

  Kerry looked over. “What are you doing?” Quinn had two tin cups in hand and several packets near his boot.

  “Making us some well-deserved instant coffee.” He grinned at her. “Interested?” He tore open the pack and sprinkled it into the bottom of a cup, then added water.

  Sighing, Kerry whispered, “Coffee?”

  The longing in her voice touched him. “Yeah. Not the real stuff, and certainly not a mocha latte, but it’ll do in a pinch, as my ma would say. Want some?” The moment he lifted his head, he drowned in her widening eyes. When they were alone, Quinn noticed, Kerry’s official demeanor melted away. He was privileged to see the real woman behind the badge. And he liked what he saw—more than he should. All day he’d found reasons to touch her arm or hand or shoulder briefly. Quinn liked touching Kerry. Every time he did, he saw her expression change perceptibly. Saw her dove-gray eyes go soft for just a moment. And it made his heart sing. He felt his chest expanding and widening like a river flowing at flood stage. Kerry Chelton was affecting him like no other woman he’d ever met. And Quinn found himself dying to know all about her on a personal level.

  Yet all day they’d dealt with people, with problems, trying to come up with solutions to help them. It was a pathetically useless effort, as far as Quinn was concerned. They didn’t have medicine, blankets, food or water for the people, except what was being flown in hourly, and that merely helped stave off the long-term problems.

  “Coffee…�
� Kerry sighed. “Wow! Do you know, in my dream last night, I was at a Starbucks over on Central?” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “Just two blocks from where I worked there was a Starbucks. Now it’s gone. I used to love to get my coffee there before I went on shift.”

  Chuckling, Quinn created a tiny stove with some pieces of asphalt and placed the cup between them. The magnesium tab flared to life, bright and burning. Soon, the water was bubbling. “Yeah, I don’t move without my coffee, so I know what you mean.”

  Smiling, Kerry placed her hands over the papers so they wouldn’t blow away in the breeze. The sky was a light blue, the sun bright. She looked forward to the afternoons because the temperature warmed up and she could take off her coat. By this time of day, the chill and dampness of the night before was only a memory.

  “You have the most wonderful soft, Southern accent, Quinn. Were you born in the South?” she asked as he lifted one cup off and set it aside, then placed the second one over the burning tab. She saw his cheeks grow a dull red as she complimented him. Even though he’d shaved that morning, a five o’clock shadow darkened his face, giving him a dangerous, predatory look. It excited her.

  “I was born in Kentucky. Up in the mountains. My folks are hill people.” Quinn held up sugar and cream. “Any of these?”

  “Oh, yes, please. One of each?”

  The sudden excitement in her voice made him sad. Kerry’s eyes were bright with eagerness for such a small, seemingly insignificant gift. After he tore each packet open and poured the contents into the steaming coffee, he stirred it with a spoon. “There,” he murmured, and held the cup toward her. “Coffee for a purty lady.”

  Blushing, Kerry laughed. It was the first time in weeks that she had. Her hand closed around the handle of the cup. “Thanks, Quinn. You are truly an angel in Marine Corps disguise.”

  “Drink up,” he told her brusquely, unable to meet the gentle look of thanks in her eyes. “You’ve more than earned this cup of coffee.” And she had. Quinn was finding that Kerry was giving away everything she had to those who were worse off than she.