The Survivors: Book One (44 page)

In one large hand was the freshly killed rabbit. As the man entered the schoolyard, breaching alarms, he flung the bloody meat past the wolf’s nose. The animal went for it, fooled at first, and he moved swiftly across the porch before Dog turned and lunged for him.

Angela jumped at the door slamming, turning as something heavy hit it hard, and yelped in pain.

“Is that Do…?” Angela froze, heart squeezing as death bells echoed in her mind, and she sent out a silent scream for help, backing toward the gun she wished she hadn’t yet taken off. “What do you want?”

The filthy mixture of man and nightmare moved closer, making her skin crawl as he smiled. His dead brown eyes told her he’d been alone for a very long time even before the War.

“Pretty, pretty,” he called softly, eyes running up her body as rotted teeth grinned, and icy terror rushed through her body. Frozen, all she could do was scream silently for Marc as the wolf hit the door again, snarling furiously.

Brady dropped the pecking chicken and threw himself back into the driver’s seat as Angela’s piercing screams echoed through his head.
"Think Angie! You have to think!"
Dirt and gravel spewed from his tires as he hit the gas, already knowing he would miss most of whatever was happening.

Angela dove for the gun as the dirty stranger shoved her roughly to the floor. She cried out as his nails ripped her shirt off one shoulder and sank into her skin, drawing blood.

He fell on top of her, pinning one arm under her stomach, and she tried to roll over, but he shoved heavily against her, hands fumbling with her jeans.

“Get off me!”

Her shriek was piercing, and he punched her in the head and back, curling her into a ball. His rough hands pulled at her pants as he humped her from behind, biting her neck and telling her that her ass was first.

Frustrated, he yanked her jeans down with brute force, ripping the zipper, and Angela felt hot tears of hate and shame as his hardness touched the back of her bare thigh.

“Be still, Bitch,” he growled. “Don’t you move!”

"Distract and get the gun,
" the Witch ordered, but Angela continued to grapple with him, knowing she couldn’t reach it.

"
It will come to you.
"

The man thrust excitedly against her. When he moved back to get into a better position, Angela automatically locked her ankles, and was able to lift him enough to roll over into his surprised arms.

He immediately ground his nasty mouth against hers, teeth scraping her tender lips as he shoved between her legs, hands grabbing at her shirt, ripping it again.

"
Now!”

Angela extended an arm toward the table above her head, curling the other around her attacker’s neck. She pulled hard from him, stealing his energy. When the gun began to slide, they both heard it and looked up, him in disbelief.

Her attacker saw it falling, saw she would catch it handle first, and before he could move back, her arm tightened like a band of iron around his neck, holding him close as the Witch’s furious red eyes blended with hers.

“Oh, no! You wanted it! Here ya go!”
She shoved the barrel against his throat before he could bring his hands up, and pulled the trigger.

Warm wetness exploded, blood spraying as he collapsed on top of her, and Angela rolled him off, gagging. Outside, tires slid to a stop, footsteps crunched, and she staggered to her feet, spitting, wiping at her bloody face.

“Angie!”

She wanted to answer, but was gagging again as she pulled up her ripped jeans and stumbled to the door, jerking it open as Marc came flying up the steps. She fell into his arms, coughing and crying as Dog streaked inside the cabin.

“Angie!”

She clutched his shoulder like a life raft, smearing his shirt with blood. “He tried to hurt me, Brady! I...I shot him.”

Her head spun from the beating she’d taken, heart screaming she was a killer now; a murderer.

Her battered face told Marc it had been a fight for survival, and he swung her into his arms, heading for the passenger seat of his Blazer. His heart beat furiously at all the bruises, scrapes, and cuts he could see on her hands, arms, and face. Her clothes were ripped, shirt nearly off, hair and eyes wild, jeans ripped and undone. How far had he gotten? Had she been raped?

“No, but I feel like it. Give me a minute, huh?”

Marc ignored her chilly tone as he slid her onto the seat, digging towels and water out of the duffle bag at her feet.

“Dog. On top. Guard.”

The wolf leapt to the hood and then the roof as Marc closed the door on her pale face, motioning for her to lock it. He was only inside the cabin for a minute to gather some of their things (the heater, the gun she’d dropped) and was horrified at the death scene she had been a part of.

Two minutes later he had finished hooking her Blazer to his and watched as she got out of the passenger seat. Moving like she was in a daze, she took the one remaining gas can from the luggage rack, and his heart burned when he saw she hadn’t cleaned herself up at all. Her face was terrible to look at.

He was surprised by her strength as she calmly dug her lighter out of her torn jeans and headed back into the reeking cabin, tilting the can as she went. Bright flames shot up seconds later, and Angela kept the gas flowing as she walked back out and down the stairs, the fire following hungrily. She tossed the can into the sweltering flames and didn’t flinch at the almost instant explosion of plastic, though she was being showered with hot sparks.

Marc watched her worriedly.
"It’s because she’s been through this before,"
the Marine inside stated.
"This hell isn’t new to her."

The heat where she was standing was beginning to scorch the ends of her wild hair, and Marc took her gently by the arm, led her back to the Blazer. “Come on, Honey. Let’s get out of here.”

She didn’t respond, but didn’t flinch or resist either, and a minute later, the fire’s glow was falling behind them. When she began to cry huge, silent tears, Marc moved the towels closer and left her alone. This was her First Kill, and his heart ached for her, remembering his own. He’d thrown up afterward until his stomach hurt.

“Stop!”

He hit the brakes and her door swung open just in time to avoid the hot streams that flew from her mouth.

Marc put it in park and got out to give her some privacy as she emptied some of her pain. His eyes watched the fog rolling over a dark, foreign landscape where anything or anyone might lurk, listening. She’d been hurt on his watch.

7

Angela sat with her knees to her chest, sipping water and pushing away flash after horrible flash in her mind. She was hurting, horrified, ashamed, guilty, and still full of furious rage. She wanted to go back and shoot him again!

Her years of abuse had filled her mind as she was attacked, and it had been Kenny’s face she was seeing as she pulled the trigger…always Kenny. In that instant, she had seen the true feelings of the old Angela, and not only was there no way that girl would ever let him touch her again, she also knew both of the females inside wanted him dead. More importantly, if he pushed her enough, hurt her enough, she could do it.

Angela shuddered as the man’s cold, dead eyes slammed into her mind, and she wished again that she could kill him twice.

Marc walked a wide perimeter, the wolf watching from the roof. After a while, he heard sounds that told him she was changing and cleaning herself up. Good. She’d have to feel a little better with the man’s stink off of her skin.

“Will you help me with my hair?”

Her voice was shaky, and Marc moved slowly to the jug at her feet, keeping his eyes on the fog-covered ground. “Hold the door and tilt your head back.”

She did it with her eyes closed, standing with only a large white beach-towel around her naked body, and he was shocked by her trust in him as he lathered her hair, face, and neck, avoiding her slender shoulders.

Red suds soaked into the towel and pink water pooled at her feet as he clipped her clean hair on top of her head. When she picked up another jug and handed it to him, letting the drenched towel fall to the ground, Marc spun around and began mentally reciting the phonic alphabet. Alfa. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. Echo.

“Rinse, please,” she instructed, tone emotionless -
shock settling in,
he thought, not looking at her. Foxtrot. Golf. Hotel. India. Juliet.
Damn!

He poured the cold water over her head, her gasp pulling at his male side, and he recited faster in his head. Kilo. Lima. Mike. November. Oscar. Papa. Quebec. Romeo.

Marc saw her sexy outline under the water from the corner of his eye, pert nipples and creamy, water-flecked skin, and then he was moving away from her, dropping the empty jug and the distraction attempt. He was ready, though not willing, and there wasn’t a worse time for it. She was more off-limits now than she’d ever been before.

Angela smoked, drank, and watched the dark houses roll by, yet her tone wasn’t right, and Marc knew her eyes wouldn’t be either. Everyone dealt with death in their own way. It was harder for someone who’d sworn an oath to protect life, but she hadn’t had a choice, and he hoped she would realize that and not let it eat her up inside. Killing wasn’t easy, even for a trained Marine, and he’d help her if he could.

"Thank you for understanding, but I’ll be all right. I just need some time."

Marc nodded, thinking even her voice in his head didn’t sound right again. “I’m sorry, Angie. I never should have left you alone.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see what she’d become, that at the moment of decision, she had chosen to be a killer after all. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re always telling me to not let my gun get out of reach. I should have listened.”

Marc said nothing, thinking that was something she wouldn’t forget now.

Angela turned on a Pink Floyd CD and leaned back, exhausted and eager to escape into sleep, but there was only darkness for a brief half hour and none of it was comforting.

“Brady!"

Angela jerked up, eyes flying open and she looked around wildly, fingers dropping to the handle of the deadly gun on her hip.

“It’s over, Honey. He’s dead.”

She frowned, the wild look slowly fading from her bloodshot, blue eyes, and she lit a smoke with shaky hands. “I need to talk it out.”

It was something Kenny couldn’t do, but Marc immediately turned the music down. “You can tell me anything, Angie. You know that.”

She nodded. She did. “I thought it was you at first, when the door closed, and when I turned and saw his eyes, I froze. Just like I always do.”

The longer she talked, the guiltier and angrier Marc felt. He never should have left her alone. He should have swept the other buildings. He should have been the one to pull the trigger, and then she wouldn’t be hurting so badly! As it was, all Marc could think to say was the same thing his CO had quietly told him after he'd finished throwing up. “He was the enemy. Don’t doubt that. This is War and he got what he deserved for his crimes. He should have chosen better.”

 Angela found his words did help a little, and this time when she closed her eyes, sleep came without dreams.

8

Around 3 a.m., Marc pulled them carefully into a far corner of Siloam Springs State Park, the nature preserve very isolated. He wasn’t surprised that she awoke the instant he shut off the engine.

“Where are we?” she asked groggily, pulling on her sweater with slow movements and tired eyes.

“Couple miles from Stonington. I’ll set up camp and Dog will stay here with you until I’m done.”

She dropped her head back against the seat, and as he got out, locking the doors, Dog took his spot. “Brady?”

He stopped, looking back at her.

“I don’t really want to be alone. Y’know?”

Marc nodded, thinking he hadn’t planned on separate tents or cars until her voice and eyes were normal again. He used his key to get in and out of the back and quickly had the small Marine tent up and ready. He put the blankets and heater inside, and as he stepped to her door, she opened it.

Angela didn’t flinch when he offered a hand, and he noticed it, saw she didn’t hesitate as she stepped out into the chilly fog and stiff breeze, but she stumbled, and almost fell. Marc swung her into his strong arms, thinking her face looked like the man had used her for a punching bag.

 He headed for the tent, loving the curl of her arm around his neck, but Angela gasped in pain as images of holding her attacker that way flashed in her mind. Holding him tight so she could…

“Angie?”

Marc had stopped. When she nodded against his shoulder, he got moving again, holding her closer. For a brief minute, Angela was distracted from the pain in her mind by the skin under her fingers, able to feel his strength as he ducked into the tent and gently laid her down.

He moved back too quickly, and she barely stopped the old Angela from asking him if he still loved her. Her heart clenched, and she covered herself up, shivering. She didn’t have to ask. She already knew and it changed nothing.

Clink!

Her eyes flew to his in alarm, and he smiled soothingly, pushing the heater closer as the light drizzle began to fall. “It’s just Dog, looking for his dinner. I’ll be right outside.”

She nodded, shivering harder, and closed her eyes, feeling small and alone as he left.

Half an hour later, Marc had placed three rows of disks, secured the area more fully, and was sitting just outside the tent flap, finishing a smoke, beating himself up.
It would never happen again. If there was danger from here on, it’ll be me that faces it, not her!

Marc sighed, knowing he couldn’t make that promise, even to himself. This new world was a nightmare, and he couldn’t protect her from all sides.

“Can stop being stupid, though,” he muttered, causing the wolf to stare questioningly. Marc shook his head. She wouldn’t be left alone again, it wasn’t a mistake he’d let happen twice, and he would step up her training too. She was like a sponge, making it clear she wanted to know anything he could teach her, and he would after she recovered.