The Survivors

Ohio

January 18th

1

“I can’t keep them from you much longer.”

The preacher held the first dirty glass door open. He stayed close as they moved down the bare, littered hall; his dusty black robe flared out behind them like an evil shroud.

Angela scanned the faded Special Forces tattoo on his wrist. I can do this, even if he and the rest of the teachers here were military. I just have to show them I can’t be taken. “I don’t need your protection, Warren.”

“You’re wrong, child.” Warren leaned closer, hot breath puffing against her neck. “If you are not under my guardianship, like the others here, the staff will insist you stay!”

Tension thickened as they neared the main lounge. Angela knew his threats weren’t idle. These men had fought off draft soldiers. Those bodies were still rotting around the main entrance. By the time the draft had made it this far into the city, their trucks had been full, and their own numbers were low. When the college men won the first battle and eliminated three dozen soldiers, the rest of the trucks had rolled on. Warren had delighted in telling her the story. He was very proud of organizing the defense that earned him leadership of this group. If the others didn’t try to keep her here today, Warren would the next time she came. His lust for power was growing. She didn’t know how he’d discovered her secret, but she was sure that he at least suspected.

Angry male voices echoed from the room they were headed to.

“Today will force your hand.” Warren glanced over to be sure she understood.

“Thank you for the warning.” Angela stepped into the lounge where seven unwashed men waited for her. The thick beards didn’t hide their displeasure.

“Hello, gentlemen. How goes your day?” Her tone was unafraid compared to her thumping heart. Angela wasn’t encouraged when they only grunted or kept gawking at her like something on a store shelf just out of their reach.

“Over here.” Warren led her to a filthy couch in the center of the room; a young girl was shivering under layers of blankets.

Angela’s dislike of the greasy hypocrite eased a little. Warren was a weak man, but he feared losing his daughter. It was beating in his thoughts.

Angela was gentle as she shined the penlight around her neck into the unconscious child’s mouth and eyes. “How long has she been like this?”

“Five days, a week. It all runs together now.”

“I hear ya.” Angela pulled on gloves.

“Is it the radiation sickness?” one of the men behind them questioned loudly.

There was silence in the very dirty but otherwise undamaged administration lobby as they waited for her to answer. These men were all that remained of the technical college teaching staff, though Aaron, the bald man in the corner wearing his usual scowl, had only been a groundskeeper.

Angela traced red lines back to the site of the infection. “No, it’s not from radiation.”

“Praise the Lord!”

There were murmurs of relief and disbelief that changed to frowns when Angela began unbuttoning the girl’s shirt.

“What are you doing?” Warren stepped closer, worn Bible now in his beefy hands.

Angela ignored his question, thinking the slicked brown hair had probably been an attempt to show her that he could clean up. She wasn’t impressed.

Angela rolled the sick girl over and found the ugly, swollen gash on her shoulder. “This is causing the fever. The red lines coming over her shoulder is a sign of infection. If those lines get to her heart, she’ll die.”

“You can stop it?”

Hot gazes lingered on Angela’s slender hips and the long black braid that brushed against the floor as she knelt down.

Angela felt the testosterone in the room increase. She concentrated on the right words instead of her fear. “I have to clean it first to be certain, but I believe so.”

Warren let out a deep breath. He was glad he hadn’t waited any longer to seek out the doctor. His daughter was the only family he had left. I may kill myself if she dies.

“We’ll try not to let that happen.” Damn. Angela forced herself to keep working as if nothing had happened. He’d just gotten confirmation.

Warren had frozen.

The sound of glass breaking in one of the rooms above them drew attention. It gave Angela a second to recover. “I need some things. Two bowls of hot water, some rags, a sheet torn into long strips.” Angela’s breath streamed out as she spoke, visible in the cold air.

Warren’s gaze lowered, dropping to her lips. His grip on the book tightened as he waved at Aaron. “Get what she needs from my share of the supplies.”

The former groundskeeper moved reluctantly.

Warren stared at the woman, willing himself to ignore her pull, to feel only loathing for her strangeness. He could have, in the old world. I was so strong then! He’d been high in the parish before the war, a religious widower for a decade. It was a long time to go without even the soft caress of a woman’s hand, let alone more intimate contact.

Then the war and this woman had come, together. Years spent resisting sins of the flesh should have prepared him, but now, when The Judgment had come and gone, leaving his faith damaged, this woman had been sent to tempt him…and her lure was stronger than anything he’d ever known. She’s possessed.

These men might have already forced anyone else to stay here. Medical skills were as valuable as water, but Angela was different. She knew things there was no way she could unless a demon had possessed her. All the men, especially Warren, dreamed of claiming her and controlling that unknown power.

Angela kept busy laying out what she needed while avoiding making eye contact with any of the pitifully thin men ogling her every move. She never saw young males here. She suspected that was on purpose, like in the Mormon colonies where the average marrying age for a girl was thirteen. The boys were sent away to cut down on competition, but the females weren’t ever allowed to leave. It reminded Angela of the way she’d grown up, though the religion part had been slightly different.

Angela listened to Warren’s thoughts. The big decisions in this group belonged to him. His warning came from hoping she would accept his offer of protection. If she did, he wouldn’t have to fight the others for her. Angela almost understood. The men of the world now felt like they were in extreme competition for a mate. If she encouraged even one of these starving contestants, they would all begin fighting over her. Humankind, around here at least, had fallen backward in evolution. If they push me, I’ll only use their own nature against them. No one has to die here.

“I’m giving her three shots.” Angela kept her tone even. “One is for the pain. Don’t mix other dope with it, even if she cries. She’s too weak for stronger stuff. This second shot will fight the infection. The last one will bring down the fever. She should probably have a tetanus shot too, but we’ll cover that in a week or so.”

The little girl didn’t react when Angela injected her.

Warren flinched each time.

“Now, I’ll dig that piece of metal out of her shoulder. If she wakes up, you have to hold her still.”

Warren joined her on his knees, leaning close.

Angela controlled her fear. Showing weakness right now would be a huge mistake.

“Have you heard anything from your Marine?”

Angela tensed for a split second, considering her options.

Warren was impressed with the icy control that fell over her face, even as he frowned. Did she know her man and son would be in danger the minute they returned? He already had people watching for a man traveling alone with a teenager.

Angela shook her head. “He’s on the way.”

There was silence in response.

Her worry grew. They don’t believe that any more than I do.

It took Angela a couple minutes to pull the rough piece of car metal from the child’s infected shoulder, then clean out the wound. She started putting in neat stitches. “I’ll leave medicine, but watch those infection lines. If they fade, she’s getting better. If they keep spreading, get her to me right away.”

Warren groaned as Angela stuck the needle into his daughter’s skin.

In the heavy quiet, Angela heard the thoughts of the other men.

That’s it. That’s his weakness.

Aaron was right. We’ll use his girl.

Angela wanted to warn the preacher that he was in danger–not for his sake but for his daughter’s. It was a struggle to remain silent as she peeled off the gloves and bagged her supplies. When she stood, turning, Angela didn’t look at any of them directly. She was trying not to trigger the brawl. “Keep her lying down when you can, and feed her more. You know where I’ll be if she gets worse.”

Tension thickened as Angela turned toward the door. She stopped. The two men plotting against the preacher were blocking her way.

Aaron joined them. “Hand over that gun. You’re not leaving.”

Angela swallowed bitter fear. “Let me through. I already have an owner.”

Aaron’s bitter face twisted at the reminder of her Marine. “Not anymore! You’re mine!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his chest.

Years spent in hell allowed Angela to handle herself. These men were threats. Her Marine was deadly…and he’s not here to stop me.

A hum of raw power began to thrum through the cold lobby of the college.

Aaron’s face changed as he glanced down and found steam rising from where their skin was touching. He shoved her away.

“She burned me!” He spun toward the other men, who saw nothing but flinched back anyway.

Angela headed for the glass doors, heart racing. She kept herself from running only because of the voice in her mind whispering that if she showed fear to a dog, it would bite.

“Stop the witch!” Aaron screamed and waved at the other men.

When the two traitors came toward her, Angela froze. If her next trick didn’t work, she would use the real power inside instead of smoke and mirrors. She looked at Warren, eyes glowing. “Defend what you believe to be yours, man of a silent God!”

The widower couldn’t refuse. He stepped between Angela and the two men reaching out to take her arms. “She’s mine!”

The other two teachers only hesitated for a second, but it was enough time to give Warren the edge. The religious man had survived the jungles of Laos. He planned his actions, steeling himself to fight for her.

“She burned me!” Aaron stumbled from the room, slinging his arm around to dislodge the things that only he could see. “Get it off!”

The two teachers reached for Angela again.

Warren swung, knocking the rival on the right off his feet. He kneed the moaning man in the face and swung again, ducking a clumsy punch. The second hit landed on the other teacher’s temple, knocking him to the dirty floor.

“Mine!” Breathing rapidly, the preacher turned to Angela.

She cut him off. “Your reward is information. Those two,” She waved a hand at the unconscious men. “and Aaron, are plotting against you. Be careful. Between them and the cold in here, you’ll all be dead inside a month.” Angela slipped by him and out the door.

Raised voices came from the dim lobby.

Angela barely kept herself from running down the sloping, cracked pavement to her car. The pain in her gut, she ignored. There would be time to cry over her empty belly later.

Footsteps crunched.

She slowed a little to let Warren catch up, scanning the sickly crabgrass instead of the desperate faces of women and girls watching her exit from the upper windows of the college. The guilt was heavy, but she didn’t stop. They need a hero. That’s not me.

“Thank you. I had no idea.”

She dug through her bag as Warren fell in step. “There are still plenty of people left who are willing to sacrifice anyone to get what they want. That hasn’t changed.” Angela handed over two small bottles of pills, being careful not to touch him. “Instructions are on the labels.”

He pocketed the medication and opened the door of her muddy red Tempo, falling into the suitor mode he usually handled her with.

“You’ll kill them?”

When he shook his greasy head, she knew he was about to lie.

“Vengeance belongs to God. I’ll vote against it.”

Angela tensed at a distant gunshot. She quickly slid behind the wheel.

“You would be safe here with us now, with me.”

Angela pretended not to hear the invitation or the threat as she snapped on her seatbelt. “I think of it sometimes, but I can’t. My man, he’s strict–like you. He said stay, so I will.”

The preacher smiled at what he assumed was a compliment from a well-trained woman; age lines gave him the appearance of an evil cartoon badger.

“You’re sure he will come?”

Angela frowned. “Yes.”

“You will go hunting for him, go to meet him?”

She shook her head, horrified lie falling easily from her heavy heart. “No, never. He said he’d come. He will.”

Warren couldn’t hide his disappointment.

Angela looked away from the silent plea. She already had a jailor. She didn’t need another. She was careful not to hurt his pride, however. That might push him into trying to force her to stay now. “You’ll bring your daughter over next week for a checkup?”

“Yes.”

Wind gusted through the open window. The heavy draft lifted her long braid.

Warren’s dirty fingers were there to catch it, holding its softness for a brief second before handing it back. He forced their hands to touch.

Angela smiled her thanks, stomach rolling as she started the engine. She couldn’t wait to be gone.

“You’re sure she’s not got the sickness?”

“Yes, she should be fine in a few days.” Angela lit a cigarette and stared everywhere except into his needy, intimidating face.

“What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” She was glad she sounded calm. “That world is gone. Come by next week.” Angela shifted into gear and rolled away, relieved when the preacher mirrored her short wave without any sign the quick exit had offended him. She hated to come down here. One of these times she might not get back out, but her heart wouldn’t let her do anything else. She would help everyone she could now and pay the price later. That was the line she’d chosen for her life when she became a doctor.

Angela breathed a sigh as the brick walls of the weather-beaten dorms fell out of sight in her mirror, but she didn’t let her guard down as she drove by reeking slaughterhouses, burnt frames of homes and businesses. There were other people around here and they were all a threat to a woman alone.

Her gaze flicked over body after body as she drove, determining the cause of death: gunshot, knife wound, sickness, gunshot. Death had come in many ways, and not only to humans. Deer and cats were the most common corpses to represent the losses the animal population was taking, but there were also squirrels, dogs, and birds mixed in. Angela forced her mind away from it all. Maybe it isn’t as bad wherever Kenny and Charlie are right now.

Very little in the city where pigs fly had survived the riots. As she drove, Angela heard no sparrows calling, no engines revving, no lawn mowers rumbling, no pets yapping, no voices chattering, no horns blaring. There was only an occasional scream or gunshot to break the heavy silence.

The destruction grew worse the closer she got to downtown. Debris crunched under her tires as she rolled by dark, reeking restaurants full of rotting food. She winced at the sound of glass crunching under her tires as she neared the library where shadows shifted inside, trying to learn to fend for themselves. If she got a flat tire, she would have to abandon her car. Her body wasn’t able to break the lug nuts loose yet. She needed a set of those new tires that could go an extra fifty miles on a flat. Self-sealing or something, maybe even armor-plated if she could find it.

Her broken heart clenched, tears welling. She needed to find the fourteen-year-old son she’d been apart from for months now. It was killing her not to be with him, not to be able to hug him. She wished with all her heart, along with almost everyone else on the planet, that war hadn’t come. Hold on, Charlie. I will come for you!

Angela flipped on the heater and the defrost. She jumped as lightning forked overhead. The glare was almost blinding. She drove around telephone poles, burnt cars, busted furniture, rotting corpses. It was awful that so many people would never have the peace of being laid to rest.

She jumped again as the wind slammed against her car. A barrage of black hail pinged off the hood in nerve-wracking blasts. The sky was grayish brown, thick with layers of dust and smoke. The clouds racing toward her came through the grit easily, spewing fat drops of rain against the hood and windows.

Angela took refuge under a concrete viaduct as the storm bore down on the riot ravaged city. It released rain that began to wash away another layer of the dirt and blood left from the end of the world.

Angela put the car in park and finished her smoke as the stench of fishy shit from the nearby mill creek invaded the vehicle. She searched the crumbling, trashy buildings on either side, free hand staying between the seats. I was right to disobey Kenny. I need this gun.

You disobeyed Kenny? You’re in trouble! You’re in trouble!

Angela nodded at that inner voice of fear. The last two months had been full of things she hoped to never tell him. Kenny wouldn’t understand her breaking rules just to help strangers. If he had been here, things would have been different, but she’d been alone when the bombs fell, and still alone when the first desperate survivor had pounded on her door; she’d made the choice alone. Their suffering was too great for her to deny what little help she could give. Kenny would have turned them away with intimidating gestures and icy threats, but she couldn’t sit by and let people die without trying to prevent it. She would face him with the complete list of rules she had broken when he found her, or when she found him. For now, she wasn’t done adding up crimes. The two biggest transgressions, one of which he might kill her for, were still to come.

The storm flew by, threat disappearing as quickly as it had come. Angela eased the car up Queen City’s steep, narrow pavement, steering around chunks of debris sliding through the muddy ripples. Abandoned vehicles and wrecks had been pulled to the side of the winding hill, looking like lined up dominoes waiting to be pushed over. Angela saw no signs of people trying to continue like normal, but she could feel them watching her through barely cracked blinds. She was disappointed by it. Angela had hoped people would come together, but these survivors wanted nothing to do with her. They only wished for her to be gone.

She sped up, willing to comply. She understood how they felt. She hated to leave the small security of her den, but Warren had cleared this hill so she could make the trip rather than forcing her to live with the college group upon their first meeting. Saying no wasn’t an option. Whenever he called for her on the CB, she answered. She would have anyway, without the threats and innuendos. Her oath hadn’t vanished with the war, but she still sighed in relief when her three-story, yellow brick apartment building came into view.

Angela swept the nearly identical rows of red brick duplexes surrounding her, their matching mailboxes beaten, dented from enduring man and nature’s fury. It was all the same–awful.

Angela parked in the rear lot, next to the small flower bed. Her eyes immediately went to the tiny grave tucked amid rows of frozen violets. Grief smothered her.

She had gone into labor upon hearing the emergency broadcast. She hadn’t been able to connect with her missing son. The stress had topped off a troubled pregnancy with disaster. Her smart teenager had gone dim to avoid being taken in the draft. She’d made mental contact a few days later, but she had already lost the baby.

She’d placed her premature baby in the cold, wet ground herself as an ugly dawn broke. Angela had never felt more pain than when she covered him with earth. Despite all her power, she hadn’t been able to save her own child. Repairing damage was sometimes possible, but she couldn’t replace what hadn’t been given time to grow.

Barely registering the harsh wind, Angela forced herself to go to the grave and mourn, to keep feeling the awful pain so she could make peace with it. The blackness lurking in her mind wanted to block everything out, but it would take over. If she let that happen, she would never be with her teenage son again either. The darkness was too familiar, too consuming. She’d already spent a decade in it as her life flew by, unable to change the awful mistake she’d made by saying yes to Kenny.

The wind swelled again, but she paid no attention, broken fingernails digging into the cold skin of her palms. She sank to her knees in front of the grave. “My baby.” Tears spilled from under dark lashes. Four weeks had gone by, but it still felt like yesterday. I wanted him so much! His father hadn’t, but she had.

Pain tore through her battered heart. Angela let the darkness take over. Her grief was unbearable any other way.

2

Bands of pain were clamping down on her stomach when Angela became aware of her surroundings again. She staggered to the main door and unlocked it, hands shaking. Flashes of the past slapped her, but she refused to dwell on any of those ugly moments as she walked by her apartment. The life she’d led there with Kenny was over.

Angela eased down the carpeted stairs and slipped inside the blackness of the basement hallway. It still surprised her to do this. She’d been terrified of the dark as a girl, but she’d spent so much time down here since the war that she didn’t even use her penlight anymore.

The heavy door to the storage area slammed shut behind her, locking.

Angela winced at the noise, though there was no one left to tell on her and bring a punishment. This building had emptied out when the draft trucks came through.

Angela scanned for intruders, but there was only silence. She climbed over the debris to her den with the same thought she always had. I hate it here. I can’t wait to roll!

Angela eased in to the narrow door she’d hidden behind old mattresses and box springs. She slid into the tepid warmth with an unconscious sigh of relief. She was safe again for a little while.

She locked the door, then stepped over the bags and boxes littering the 8x6 storage room she’d claimed. Her legs trembled as she lit the lantern on the floor in the rear corner. She was almost shivering despite the warmth of her blanket covered area. Her body confirmed her decision. It would be at least three more weeks before she could leave. She wasn’t strong enough to make the cross-country trip. The early birth had damaged her body and her soul.

Angela tightened her grip on her emotions, heart screaming at how long it was taking. She stared at the circled date of February 12th on the calendar. Twenty-five more days of not having even a picture up in her apartment, or down here in her den. She’d buried most of them next to her baby. Warren was watching for her men to return. She refused to make it easy for the preacher by providing descriptions.

Angela pushed off her muddy shoes and socks, then replaced her other wet, dirty clothes. It had taken her days to drag supplies down here. Not being able to rest and recover had also hurt her, but there hadn’t been another choice in that first week. Gangs and killers had been sweeping homes and apartments for survivors left from the draft. Most of them had avoided this dark basement. The first thing she’d done was remove the lightbulbs down here by hitting them with a broom handle while blood ran down her legs and tears rolled over her cheeks.

Angela lit the propane stove at her feet, glad of the extra cylinders she’d found in the same crate with the handy appliance. It, along with a few other useful items, had come from the basement of a Goodwill store. She hadn’t realized how dependent on power they’d all been. She was daunted by the list of needed gear she’d prepared. She doubted she would be able to find it all.

“At least I’m not starving.” She thought of the first agonizing week after losing her son, when she’d forced herself to use the power and water while it still worked. She had cooked and dehydrated months of food until the utilities finally went off for good on New Year’s Eve. The hour-long blackouts before that had warned her to hurry.

Cramps exploded in her belly as Angela bent down to pour the boiling water into her mug. She clenched her teeth, grip tightening on the kettle. Suck it up! Her mind tossed out one of Kenny’s favorite responses to her discomfort.

Pain, the inner voice insisted. He caused us pain.

“Yeah.” Angela settled herself on the knee-high stack of cushions with her tea. She still had to force herself not to clean the plush, two-bedroom apartment above her despite how angry Kenny would be to discover the mess. It needed to appear looted and abandoned to anyone who wandered in.

Angela swallowed two pills, grimacing as they went down awkwardly. Gun in her robe pocket, she sat the portable radio/TV on the pillows next to her. She sipped, and flipped through stations, trying not to be disappointed when there was only static. She hadn’t really expected anything else. It was obvious that normal life was gone. The only unknown was for how long.

The last sad voice she’d heard had been on B105 last week, telling of hundreds of millions dead or dying. The crying man had advised people to go to caves or mountains. Angela refused to do that. She had a good plan, but she needed help. She had little chance of making it all the way on her own, no matter how many illusion spells she could cast. They didn’t work on everyone, and it would be a long trip. Over twelve hundred miles straight through. With detours, it would be more like fifteen hundred or even two thousand miles, with no outside energy. She would have to rely on natural strength.

Angela switched to the TV setting. She had hoped to make at least fifty miles a day at first, putting her on base in a month, but after a four-hour trip to get to the local store, which had already been cleaned out, she understood even twenty miles a day would be hard. It now came to three months on the road. So long, and so many of the odds are against me!

Gets better when you call the boy’s real daddy.

Angela shut her eyes as pain came. She’d never forgotten how it felt to belong to Marc.

Call him. He’s restless, adrift. He will come.

The woman huddling in the nicely warming storage room gave the idea sincere consideration this time, instead of pushing it away in terror. Marc was also a Marine; he had been for a long time. She had no doubt he could make the trip, and he owed her a huge debt.

Terror spoke up. You can’t! Kenny will kill you both!

Angela stretched carefully, wincing at a fresh bolt of pain in her gut. He would probably try. Kenny would think they had been having an affair all along, though she hadn’t seen Marc in almost fifteen years. There was an undeniable spark between them. Kenny would spot it right away.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve made my choice.” She would face the consequences when the time came. Nothing would keep her from her son, not after all she had lost, and maybe, just maybe, Kenny could be surprised into making a mistake by Marc’s presence, but also by how much she had changed. The witch inside was awake now. Kenny would find out that she wouldn’t resume her life of bondage.

First, she had to finish healing. Angela was scared that even if she managed to leave Ohio without Warren and the others here stopping her, she wouldn’t be able to handle the trip. If surviving in one place was now this hard, how bad would a three-month journey across this broken land be? She needed help, and there was no one else she could call. Marc had to come.

“But not yet.” She ignored the heart that jumped eagerly. She would call out to him when she was ready. That wasn’t today.

Angela blew out thick smoke rings that stayed intact until they hit the big, brown blanket hanging over the thin, wooden door. She had been an abused animal in a luxury cage, and it had happened fast. Her gift (Curse. Kenny always calls it my curse.) was the root of their fights. She’d locked away her power to keep Kenny from controlling it, and spent a decade in hell because of that choice. She’d only kept two things from him during their long, hard years together–her gift and the name of her baby’s father. Everything else had been under his unforgiving control each waking moment, and many of the sleeping ones.

Until the war. Being alone while her world was blown away had ripped off the locks on the witch inside. The cell door was barely standing. The dark, shifting spirit behind that thin shield whispered almost constantly to her now.

Angela found it easy to listen. She was still surprised to look inside and see the courage she’d been forced to lock away. She was suddenly allowed to be her own person again, to make her own choices based on what she wanted or needed. That included exploring the things she could do…and of that, there was a lot.

Her gifts had aged well in storage. Most of it was random, coming and going without control, but she was learning to trust the power inside again. The voice said the war was fated, that a new, more peaceful world would replace the old, but when Angela searched the future to see if her small family would be a part of that special population, there was only darkness.

Angela concentrated, sending her power out to sweep the area around her den.

She found no signs of life.

It didn’t stop her from continuing. I have to practice. My gifts might mean the difference between life and death.