The Survivors

Outside Versailles, Illinois

March 5th

1

Angela watched as Marc slammed the hatch on his Blazer again. He was trying to get it closed over a full load of gear. “Can’t we do something else, even though it’s muddy? What can you teach me that won’t land me on my back?”

Marc swallowed his first thought. “How about a new weapon today, instead of hand-to-hand? We could try a knife or even a crossbow. I have one.”

“Okay. Knives are quiet.”

Before she could blink, he drew the blade from his boot and threw.

It landed deep in a nearby oak tree, handle vibrating. “They’re also deadly.” He pulled it out of the tree. “This is a K-BAR. Marine combat knife. You try.”

Angela took it and threw too quick. The knife bounced off the tree’s rough bark and skidded across the ground, landing in the dirt.

Bracing for a correction, she was relieved when Marc only got it for her and handed it back.

Angela slowed herself and tried to aim, but she was nervous with his big body standing behind her. The blade skidded into the dense undergrowth next to the bare squares where their tents had been set up along US 51.

“Sorry. I’ll get it.” She shifted out of his reach, wading through the sticker bushes.

Marc studied her, remembering a blizzard and their house of snow. That had really been the beginning of them, of stolen, stunning moments. He hadn’t forgotten any of it. Has she?

No. Angela threw the knife harder than she meant to, wrist twisting. It bounced off the edge of a different tree and flew back. The sharp edge hit Marc’s arm. Deflected again, it slid into the stickers as blood welled.

Angela gasped, retreating. “I-I’m so sorry! I’ll get my bag.”

She didn’t seem to hear him say it was just a scratch. When she came back out, he saw her hesitate and knew she expected to be punished.

“Can you slide your arm out?” She knelt at his feet to dig in the bag, tense body waiting for the blows to begin.

Marc did it quickly, not in pain despite the increased bleeding from the movement. The air was thick with tension.

When Marc didn’t get mad, it calmed her a bit. Angie let the doctor inside take charge. If I do a good job, he might not hurt me. “Bend here, please, and keep your arm up.”

He did what she said, observing her face as she tied an elastic band around his upper arm. Blood dripped from his elbow in scarlet splatters while she opened the sterile packages with an ease that said she’d done it many times. She’s a nurse?

Angela dumped water over the wound, then spent a moment examining the cut. She placed a large gauze pad over it, pressing hard. “Hold this while I thread a needle.”

Angela made five neat, overlapping stitches. As she finished, she became aware of how close they were standing. Her hands shook as she put on the medicated bandage. “I’m sorry. I guess knives weren’t a good idea.”

“We’ll keep working on it.” Marc smiled, tossing his torn coat into the open window of his Blazer. “I’ve gotten worse from new recruits.”

Angela stayed tense. Kenny would start using his fists on me for drawing his blood, intentional or–

“I’m not him.”

Her eyes flew up.

Marc shrugged. “Sometimes, I can read it. I know what you’re expecting, but that’s not me, not ever, for any reason.”

Angela allowed herself to open up a little. “I used to know that, but I… I’m afraid.”

“I’m going to keep proving it to you.” Marc forced a snicker. “What were you aiming at? A rain drop?” He went to hunt for the knife, enjoying her laughter. It was good, genuine. “So, how much medical training do you have?”

“I’m an MD.” Angela couldn’t help the defensiveness that had crept into her voice.

“A doctor. I never would have guessed. Didn’t you want to be a writer?”

“Yeah, but I needed something dependable. Then I realized I could help people who couldn’t figure out what was wrong.” Angela handed him a pain pill.

Marc dry swallowed without asking what it was.

“How can you be a doctor and a battered woman at the same time?” The question came out of Marc’s mouth before he could stop it.

Angela flushed. “People become masters of disguise. To do anything else means bringing the wrath down. And I had a powerful reason to do what he said–my son.”

“Wasn’t it a challenge to his…authority, for you to be a doctor?”

“Not when he got to take credit for it.” Angela pushed aside her bitterness to give him more details. “Kenny would say it’s because of our deal, that I had no choice. That’s partly true, but mostly, it was the money. He hated my name on the check, but he didn’t mind spending it on war games or a new gun. He insisted I finish my medical training. He said any woman of his had to contribute.”

Marc heard no anger in her voice; he was offended for her. “So, keeping your career was part of the deal, but not marriage?” Marc wanted confirmation of his suspicion. He hadn’t heard her say husband even once.

Angela shuddered. “He wanted it to be, but even back then, I understood if I said yes, he really would own me.”

Marc was unprepared for the wall of guilt her answer caused. I left her to handle the world alone, pregnant. I’m a piece of shit.

Angela scanned their surroundings instead of his guilty face. Corn. “You going to work out before we leave?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m ready to do it too.”

Marc said nothing when she began to set up the course, but his expression was full of questions.

Angela didn’t want to tell him or anyone! about her baby, but he would know soon. She wasn’t sure how well she was going to hold up under the routine he did every day, but they were about to find out.

Marc sensed her doubt. “Should you be doing this yet?”

She winced. “No, probably not.”

“Then why are you?” He frowned “You don’t think I can handle things?”

She scowled. “If I thought that, I wouldn’t have called. I have to get stronger and I can’t do that while I’m resting. Time is a luxury I can’t afford.”

Marc studied her, like he’d done with every man he’d trained, but inside, she continued to impress him. “Quit when you know you should. I do a hard run. You’ll need to build up to it.”

When she agreed absently, not listening, he waved a hand at the steady drizzle that had begun to fall. “After you.”

2

“You should go back now.”

The rain was coming down hard; the slick ground tossed up gooey brown sprays as they traveled the course.

“Not...maxed out yet.”

“Fine.” Marc picked up the tempo as he always did for the last ten minutes of his workout. He was surprised when she managed to keep pace. The situps and pushups had been hard on her, as were the meditation positions, but she hadn’t complained once. He’d enjoyed her quiet company.

Angela winced as she stumbled against a muddy rock, catching herself awkwardly.

“You okay?”

She nodded, not using her breath for talking.

He frowned. “You’re a very stubborn woman.”

The respect that laced his tone gave Angela the last bit of determination she needed to hang the full hour. When pain radiated through her abdomen, she hid it.

Marc knew she was struggling as they went over the end of the obstacle course, but he didn’t realize how badly until they hit the end and were done.

Angela shut her eyes, body cold, foreign. She swayed on her feet, hands going out to clutch at the nearest support.

Marc froze as her hand gripped his arm. He felt her legs fold...

Marc swung her into his arms, ignoring her feeble protests. She’s too light. I’ll feed her more. “Are you okay?”

She muttered something indecipherable against his shoulder.

“Angie?”

“...can walk.”

He ignored her, only putting her down when he got to the car.

Her hand grabbed at the handle for support; she missed.

“Angie!”

Her lashes fluttered briefly, then she was falling and he was scrambling to catch her.

3

Marc’s handsome face was the first thing Angela saw as she came to. His deep frown sent her to other waking moments of not knowing if the pain was over or the break had just ended. Fear flashed through her mind; her hand went for her gun.

Marc stayed still, waiting for her to wake enough to realize it was him and not her abuser.

Angela dropped her hand, controlling it. Marc won’t hurt me. I have to believe that.

Marc kept waiting for the fog to clear. She appeared weak; the heavy bags under her eyes were purple and black, making his heart clench. One of the things that caused her symptoms was pregnancy. If she’s carrying her man’s child, this has just gone from bad to unwinnable.

“I’m not.”

“Say it again and mean it.” Instead of the anger he wanted, unfathomable grief oozed off her in waves. Marc knew before she said it. There had been another child.

“I lost a son during the war.”

She’d been pregnant, but her man still hadn’t come for her. “Miscarriage?”

She nodded. “It was a lot to handle. I wasn’t strong…before.”

Knowing how much she must ache and burn inside allowed him to put her need in front of his fury. “You were alone?”

“Before, during, and after.”

Marc was sure she needed to talk about these things, and not just in her own mind. “You should have died too, right?”

Tears welled. Angela controlled herself, not telling him she sometimes wished she had. “I assisted in more than fifty births at the hospital. It saved me.”

Marc gave a comforting smile. “I’m glad.”

“Me too, sometimes.” She smiled back, wondering who would die when they reached Kenny. He wouldn’t miss the sparks. She stood up slowly.

“You should rest.”

“I’m fine. I just pushed a little too hard. I’ll ease into it from here.” She smoothed her curls down. “This first time, I just...” She hesitated, not telling him the ache to hold her baby was almost as overpowering as her fear. The torment had to have an outlet that accomplished something.

Marc finished it for her. “...had to do it all, like me.”

Angela tried to seal that gaping hole and failed. She was maintaining a kind of radio silence with her son now to keep Kenny from knowing she was still alive. The lack of contact was awful. “I needed to prove that I could.”

Marc snorted. “Not to me, honey.”

“No. To me.”

4

“I have to make a stop.”

“Copy, on your six.”

Marc wanted to tease her about the near perfect response, but he had car trouble.

They pulled into the deserted parking area of the Versailles, Illinois RV resort. Gravel crunched under the tires. The large lot was empty. Not a single camper sat on any of the concrete pads. Marc rolled to the main complex of shadowy cabins and sheds. He stopped near the largest building, recognizing an older spigot setup.

Marc got out and opened the hood, avoiding broken glass and piles of muddy rubble. Pockets of steam billowed from the hood of his Blazer.

Marc turned around to tell Angela to stand watch.

She was already doing it, with Dog pacing a wide perimeter around them both. Her face had better color, but her movements were still careful, as if she was hurting. He tried to hurry.

Angela ignored the rotting bodies–an old woman, young boy, and three adult males, all with bullet wounds–to sweep the traffic and trees, then the distant outline of yet another dead city. Nothing looked alive here, not even the bluestem prairie grass Illinois was famous for.

Marc broke the plastic end from his screwdriver and held the flat side against the top of the 6x3 water tank. Using two sure hits, he drove the metal shaft into the tank. Water came rushing out around the tool.

Marc got the jugs while Dog helped himself to a drink from the ground.

“Are those recent prints?”

Marc glanced away from the sign in the lot’s main office that wished them a erry mas & ne year. He eyed the deep ruts. “Yeah. You can tell from the depth and clarity. Elements haven’t changed them much. They’re a day old at the most, probably only a few hours with the way this wind is blowing.” He frowned, noticing more tire tracks nearby. “Movin’ fast too or they’d have taken the water. Stay alert.”

Angie did while helping him collect the valuable liquid.

Marc scanned for trouble, then gestured toward the lifted hood. “Fill me up, just like yesterday.”

Angela was self-conscious, though proud she had learned something. As she finished adding the coolant, she wished it were more. They’d been together for weeks, but she had spent most of that time just regaining her strength and adjusting to his routines. A third of her journey was over, but she wasn’t anywhere near ready to face Kenny. “Can we do some shooting? With real bullets this time?”

They’d had to spend five days at the cabin, waiting for the rain to melt the snowdrifts so they could drive. As a result, he had only gotten to show her basic gun care and hand positioning. “Okay.”

Angela smiled.

Marc turned away. Being a man of my word is hard.

5

“Ready to shoot something?” With her help, it had only taken half an hour to set up a shooting range.

Angela gave him a rare, genuine grin, pointing at his bandaged arm.

He laughed. “I said shooting, not stabbing.”

They chuckled as he set up the last dozen empty Coke cans on a long, muddy log.

“Is your weapon loaded?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Check it again. Always look for problems. Try to expect them.” Marc held up his weapon, demonstrating. “Curl your finger a little more. Good. Hold it a bit higher. Now, see where you want it to go and put it there.”

Angela pretended not to be bothered by having him so close, but she couldn’t help but think maybe Kenny was around the corner–

“Angie?”

She tensed. “Sorry. I’ll pay attention.”

Marc tried a challenge. “Maybe you can’t do this.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I can. I will.”

He shrugged as if he had little faith, tone patronizing. “Aiming makes all the difference. Go on.”

Angela’s hands were shaking despite her efforts to be steady.

His sigh made her flush. Embarrassed, she pulled the trigger without aiming.

Marc moved behind her as the recoil rocked her back into his waiting arms.

The bullet slammed into the hood of his Blazer.

Marc dropped his cheek to her sweet-smelling shoulder. “The cans, honey. The cans!”

His breath on her neck gave her a chill. Angela eased out of his arms, waiting to be punished and still hating to be touched.

“Do it again.”

His tone was more amused than anything else. She moved back to him, not as afraid. If he hadn’t hit her for drawing his blood, what was a bullet in his car?

This time, Angela expected the recoil. She managed to keep her feet on the ground. The slug dug into the log, rattling the cans.

“Better. Aim a little above your target until you don’t jerk as much. Go on, empty it.”

Angela felt the zone this time, that moment when the gun was perfectly in tune with her hand. Cans flew off the log. “Yes! Third time’s a charm.” She reloaded.

Marc swept the area, impressed by how fast she had settled in. He hadn’t expected her to hit anything yet, though she had adjusted well to the size of the .357 during their dry fire sessions. Challenge is definitely the way to calm her down. “That’s great. I’ll see if you put my Blazer out of its misery, and then we’ll go.”

She blushed.

Marc grinned at her. “Accidents happen, honey. Don’t worry. This woman I was sleeping with gave me a–” Marc stopped at her stunned, pain-filled expression.

Angela marched away before he could try to take it back.

Marc cursed his thoughtless tongue. None of those women had compared to Angie. Even after all these years, she still made him feel more with a single look than anyone else ever had. It hurt to think their chance had come and gone. What a hard, lonely future waits.

6

They traveled west, both seeing the wrecked limousine on the side of the road, its plates (J. Lo U NO) smeared in reddish mud. As they rolled through miles of empty farmland, Angela caught a chill that quickly grew into a bad feeling.

They had made almost ten miles today, despite flooding that had kept them detouring. She should be happy. The sky was calm, the temperature was in the forties, and she hadn’t seen much in the way of damage or mutations here. All of it was good. Versailles appeared clear on the other side, and that was good too, but the feeling of danger was strong. Angela was torn, doubting herself. She said nothing to Marc, not wanting to raise an alarm without having an obvious reason.

Just before dusk, Marc pulled them up to an Amish schoolhouse surrounded by barns, sheds, and empty, weed dotted soybean fields. Lofty willow trees in front of the school hung over the long, white fence, partially obscuring a rustic bell. There were no homes in sight, only the barely visible outline of the city they’d come through.

Marc drew his gun at a shadow. A white rabbit darted from under the stairs. He relaxed.

The rabbit dove under a broken board in the decrepit barn behind the school as they got out of their cars.

In the moldy shelter, the hare drew up too late and was caught. Large hands broke its neck with a brutal motion.

7

Marc secured the one-room school, then scanned their surroundings again. There was a barn almost half a mile behind them, but nothing else. We’re good.

“I can take our stuff in, if you want to go check that coop we passed. I’m almost sure a couple of them survived.”

Marc lit up at the thought of fried chicken. “Deal. I’ll go after I set the disks.”

Angela got busy, smiling as he carried the heavier items to the porch for her, then set the alarms. It worried her to think of how close they might be by April.

“Stay, Dog. Guard.” Marc gave Angela a questioning glance, uneasy all of a sudden, but not sure why.

She waved. “I’ll be fine. You’ll pluck it, right?”

Marc slid behind the wheel. “That’s woman’s work!” He laughed at her mocking glower and was gone a few seconds later, leaving a trail of dust.

Angela looked around, suddenly scared. She shook it off and picked up a box to take in, telling herself she was jumpy, as usual. This time she was worried over nothing. There are no open doors, no voices whispering. Everything is silent, dark. That means okay. ...right?

A dirty man came from behind the barn, stalking with cool calculation. When he saw the man leave, he moved quick and quiet toward the woman. He held the dead rabbit in one large hand. As he entered the schoolyard, breaching alarms, he flung the meat by the wolf’s nose.

The animal went for it.

The man ran across the porch before the wolf understood the trick.

Angela jumped at the sound of the front door slamming. Something heavy hit it hard and yelped.

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

The filthy mixture of man and nightmare came closer, making her skin crawl. His dead eyes told her he’d been alone for a long time even before the war.

“Pretty, pretty...”

Icy terror overwhelmed her. Frozen, all Angela could do was scream for Marc as Dog hit the door again and again.

Marc dropped the pecking chicken and threw himself into the Blazer as Angela’s piercing screams echoed through his mind. Think, Angie! You have to think!

Dirt and gravel spewed from his tires as Marc hit the gas, but he already knew he would miss most of whatever was happening. I’m coming!

Angela lunged for the gun on the table as the stranger shoved her to the floor. 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. She tried to roll over, but he shoved against her, hands fumbling with her jeans.

“Get off me!”

He punched her in the cheek and back, curling her into a familiar ball. His rough hands pulled at her pants as he humped her from behind, biting her neck.

He yanked on her jeans, ripping the zipper.

Angela cried hot tears of hate and shame as his hardness touched her bare thigh.

Distract him! Get the gun, her witch ordered.

Angela continued to grapple with him; she couldn’t reach it

It will come to you.

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

The man ground his nasty mouth against hers, teeth scraping her tender lips as he shoved between her legs. His hands grabbed at her shirt, ripping it again.

Now!

Angela extended an arm toward the table above her head...and curled the other arm around her attacker’s neck. She pulled hard, stealing his energy.

When the gun began to slide, they both heard it and glanced up–him in disbelief.

The man saw it falling and realized she would catch it, butt first.

Angela’s arm tightened like a band of iron around his neck as he tried to retreat. The witch’s furious red orbs blended with hers as the gun fell into her hand. “Oh, no! You wanted me!” She shoved the barrel against his throat. “You got me.” She pulled the trigger.

Warm wetness sprayed her.

The man collapsed. His blood ran over her neck.

Angela rolled him off, gagging.

Outside, tires slid to a stop; footsteps crunched.

Angela staggered to her feet, spitting, wiping at her bloody face.

“Angie!”

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

“Angie!”

She clutched Marc’s shoulder, smearing blood onto his shirt. “He tried to hurt me! I shot him!” Her mind spun from the beating she’d taken. I’m a killer now.

Her battered face told Marc it had been a fight for survival. He swung her into his arms, taking her to the passenger seat of his Blazer. His rage increased upon seeing all the bruises, scrapes, and cuts on her hands, arms, face. Her clothes were ripped, shirt nearly off, hair wild, jeans ripped and undone. How far did he get? Was she raped?

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

Marc ignored her sharp tone as he slid her onto the seat; he dug towels and water out of the duffle bag at her feet. “Up, Dog. Guard.”

The wolf leapt to the hood, then to the roof as Marc locked and shut the door on her pale face.

He was only in the cabin for a minute to gather some of their things–the heater, the gun she had dropped. Marc was horrified at the death scene.

Marc came right back out and began hooking her Blazer to his. She didn’t need to be alone right now.

Angela got out of the vehicle, moving like she was sleep walking. She hadn’t cleaned up at all. Marc watched her take the one remaining gas can from the luggage rack. He was surprised by her strength as she dug a lighter out of her torn jeans and staggered back into the reeking cabin, tilting the gas can.

Bright flames shot up. Angela used the rest of the gas as she came back out, fire following. She tossed the empty can into the sweltering flames; she didn’t flinch at the explosion of plastic, though she was showered by hot sparks.

Marc stared. This hell isn’t new to her.

The heat where she was standing was beginning to scorch the ends of her wild hair when Marc finally took her by the arm and led her to the Blazer. He understood she’d needed to see it burn to have closure. “Come on, honey. Let’s get out of here.”

She didn’t respond, but she also didn’t flinch or resist when he put her in his passenger seat and shut the door.

A minute later, the cabin fell behind them. When she began to cry huge, silent tears, Marc shifted a roll of towels closer and left her alone. This was her first kill. He ached for her, remembering his own. He’d thrown up afterward until his stomach hurt.

“Stop!”

He hit the brakes.

Her door swung open in time to avoid the hot streams that flew from her mouth.

Marc put it in park, then got out to give her privacy while she emptied some of her pain. He watched the fog roll over a dark, foreign landscape where anything or anyone might lurk. She was hurt on my watch. I’ll never forgive myself.

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

Her years of abuse had filled her mind as she was attacked. It had been Kenny in her grip when she pulled the trigger, always Kenny. In that instant, she had seen the true feelings she now held for him. If he ever hurt her again, she would kill him.

Angela shuddered as her attacker’s cold eyes slammed into her mind; she wished again that she could kill him twice.

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

“Will you help me with my hair?”

Her voice was shaky. Marc moved to the jugs at her feet. “Sure. Hold the door and tilt your head back.”

She did it with a large, white towel around her naked body. He was shocked by her trust in him as he lathered her hair, face, and neck. He avoided her bruised shoulders, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

Red suds soaked into the towel; pink water pooled at her feet as he clipped her clean hair up. When she got another jug, letting the drenched towel fall to the ground, Marc spun around and mentally recited the phonic alphabet. Alfa. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. Echo.

“Rinse, please.”

Foxtrot. Golf. Hotel. India. Juliet...

Damn! Marc poured the chilly water, her gasp pulling at his male side. He recited faster. Kilo. Lima. Mike. November. Oscar. Papa. Quebec. Romeo...

Marc saw her sexy outline under the water–pert nipples and creamy, water-flecked skin. He dropped the empty jug and the distraction attempt. She wasn’t in danger from him, but he didn’t need the severe case of blue balls that would come from stealing looks at her. There wasn’t a worse time for it.

8

Angela smoked, drank, and chatted as the dark houses rolled by, but her tone wasn’t normal. 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. Marc hoped she would realize that and not let it eat her up inside. Killing wasn’t easy, even for a Marine. He would help her if he could.

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

Marc sighed miserably. Even her voice in his head didn’t sound right. “I’m sorry, Angie. I never should have left you alone.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You’re always telling me not to let my gun get out of reach. I should have listened.”

Marc said nothing, sure her weapon would never be forgotten again.

Angela put on a Pink Floyd CD and leaned back, eager to escape into sleep; she only got darkness for a brief half hour and none of it was comforting.

“Marc!” Angela jerked up, lids flying open. She stared around wildly, fingers dropping to the gun on her hip.

“It’s over, honey. He’s dead.”

She grimaced, wild feeling slowly fading. She lit a smoke with shaky hands. “I need to talk it out.” It was something Kenny couldn’t do for her.

Marc switched the music off. “You can tell me anything, Angie. You know that.”

She nodded. I do. “I thought it was you at first, when the door opened and then I froze, 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. I should have been the one to pull the trigger! All Marc could think of to say was the same thing his CO had 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 made better choices.”

Angela let his words help her. When she shut her eyes this time, sleep came without dreams.

9

Around three in the morning, Marc pulled them into a far corner of Siloam Springs State Park, an isolated nature preserve. He wasn’t surprised when Angela woke the instant that he shut off the engine.

“Where are we?” She pulled her sweater on with slow movements.

“Couple miles from Stonington. I’ll set us up. Dog will stay here until I’m done.”

She leaned against the seat as he got out, hitting the door lock.

Dog took his spot.

“Marc?”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want to be alone. Y’know?”

Marc hadn’t planned on separate tents or vehicles again until her voice and eyes were back to normal. “No problem.”

Marc used his key to get in and out of the rear. He set up the small tent, then put the blankets and heater inside.

When he stepped to her door, she opened it.

She didn’t hesitate as she came out into the chilly fog and stiff breeze, but she stumbled and almost fell. Marc swung her into his arms. Her face looks like the man used her for a punching bag.

Marc took her into the tent, loving the curl of her arm around his neck.

Angela gasped in pain as images of holding her attacker this way flashed. Holding him tight so I could–

“Angie?” Marc had stopped. When she nodded against his shoulder, he got moving again.

For a brief minute, Angela was distracted from the pain in her mind by the man against her fingers, able to feel his strength as he ducked into the tent and laid her down.

He retreated too quickly.

She stopped the old Angela from asking if he still loved her. Her heart clenched as 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.

Marc pushed the heater closer to her as drizzle began to fall. “It’s just Dog, sniffing for his dinner. I’ll be right outside.”

Angela shivered harder, 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 outside the tent flap, finishing a smoke while beating himself up. It would never happen again. If there’s danger from here on, I’ll face it, not her!

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

“I can stop being stupid, though.”

His mutter caused the wolf to stare.

Marc snorted. She would insist on doing a workout tomorrow. He had no doubt about that. She was stronger than anyone he’d ever known, and that included hardened Marines. Because she’s already lived through worse. Her man will pay!

It was dark, cold, and silent when Marc finally crawled into the bedroll. The wolf was asleep just inside the doorway.

Marc took off his coat and crawled in next to Angela. His matching Colts went under his pillow.

When he curled his body around hers, Angela relaxed against him and fell into a deeper sleep. Her fear of Kenny was overpowered by the need for comfort that only Marc’s arms could give her right now.

10

“Do we keep following?”

Dillan grunted, wrist aching with the rain. He was studying a wrinkled map while Dean fanned a fire to life. The cabin below smoldered hotly, so their smoke would appear to be part of it. They had been running a cold camp every night to avoid being spotted. Both men were ready for a hot meal and a strong cup of coffee. “They’re moving northwest, like every time they head out. We’ll be able to track them. He’s not covering their trail at all.”

“Back to Cesar, then?”

Dillan nodded. They had been following the couple, waiting for the right moment, but it had never come. The witch and her soldier were too careful. The one time they might have ambushed them while traveling, the two Blazers had stopped for a moment, then took a different path–like they’d known trouble was waiting.

Tonight, the brothers had been nearby, set to try again after dark. When the hunter had distracted the wolf and snuck in, they’d gotten even closer. It had only taken a few seconds to feel the power in the air and realize the woman was the only one coming out of that encounter alive. Dean and Dillan might have gone in anyway, if not for the single gunshot, which either meant the woman was dead and they had no reason to, or the hunter had given his life and the witch would be ready for anything. She had stumbled through the door looking like easy, terrified prey, but they knew she wasn’t.

The twins needed help. It was something they’d rarely faced, even when only a cell had stopped them from doing whatever they wanted. Now, a mere woman had hurt them, had made them feel fear. They loathed her for it.

“Where do you think the deformed bastard is?”

Dillan’s glassy stare went to the map, then checked his watch for the date, wincing. He had splinted his mangled wrist, and it was healing, but it would always be useless now. “He said every big town along 25. Maybe three days each, four on the bigger ones, skip every other, empty... He should be near Denver. We’ll follow Interstate 80 until we pick them up on the CB.”

“Or until we see smoke after a storm.” Dean stood up. “’Cause where there’s a storm, there’s a Cesar.”

11

Ccrrraaackkk!

Thunder from the fading storm rattled the ground, shaking the tent.

Marc woke suddenly from his dream of thick smoke and desperate screams. I’m alone.

Surprised he hadn’t woken when she got up, Marc stepped out into dawn’s dimness, finding Angela by the open passenger door of her Blazer. Medical supplies were spread across the seat; she was using the mirror to clean the injuries on her face.

Dog was sitting nearby. He looked at Marc, expression concerned. She’s in pain. Can’t you help her?

Marc went to her, making sure she was aware of him. He took the alcohol pad from her trembling fingers, wincing when she winced, heart breaking at her pain. She didn’t seem nervous about his larger body, but he was careful not to crowd her as he applied the gel she held out. “Good morning, Baby-cakes.”

He saw her tears, felt the agony coming off her. When she tried to turn away, he wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll get easier, in time.”

Her tears fell thickly, but even in her misery, Angela noticed the body pressed against hers. Noticed it, and compared it to what she remembered. She retreated.

“You want to stay here a day or two?”

Angela sniffled, carefully wiping her bruised, swollen cheeks. “And do what?”

Not expecting the question, Marc pulled up a thoughtless answer. “I could teach you to hunt.”

He heard the words and braced for anger or more tears.

Angela gave him a tiny, rueful smirk. “Might as well. I just passed the gun test.”

They spent two full days at the preserve. Angela improved steadily, telling herself repeatedly that she’d had no choice. They passed the days working on defenses and then drilling on what she’d learned. Marc’s arms during the nights kept her nightmares at bay and his heart frustrated by the walls keeping them apart.

They were back on the road soon after, and then back to separate tents without a word spoken about it, but things had changed between them again.