The Survivors

Indiana

February 14th

1

The twin brothers crawled toward the dim campfire and the quilt covered woman sleeping behind it, coordinating with simple hand signals. The area around them was wooded, dark; there was no glare of moonlight off bald scalps to give them away as they stalked the female. The Morgan Monroe State Forest had been remote even before the war. There was no one to help her.

The brothers had come far east of their main group to take revenge on the snitch who’d put them in prison. After those two bloody days, the brothers had resumed their travels, ferreting out survivors whenever they wanted shelter or sex. They’d found girls and their mothers huddled in basements after the draft had taken their men, but the waves of energy this lone woman was sending out had called to them. They’d followed from a distance to make sure she was alone. When the woman stopped to change a tire–her third in two days–they’d made plans based on knowing she would have to rest afterward. She wasn’t healthy.

Now, she was sleeping.

Dean and Dillan had been dishonorably discharged from the Army for the murder of a Korean civilian. They expected no trouble from one lone woman. The assassins excelled at front line infiltration; only the sound of the cold, Indiana wind howling through the trees echoed as they slipped from rough trunk to yellow grass. Their movements were so alike they appeared to be one 6’, 220lb threat instead of two.

Exhausted, Angela was dreaming of murder, rape, torture. The men in her nightmare were giving no mercy. Their knives flashed across the girl’s body while they talked.

“They’ll throw us out for this.” One of the men sank his blade deep into a soft, dead breast.

His twin nodded, poking her bruised thigh. “We’re not going back. Come on. Her daughter’s awake.”

Angela snapped awake as mental alarms blared, telling her she’d let danger get too close to run. She jerked her gun from under the blanket, searched the darkness beyond the dim firelight.

The grove of trees she had eased the Blazer into were the only things in sight through the darkness. There were no sounds, not even a cricket–just the wind and the popping of her small, unevenly rocked fire. His cover was good. She found the intruder by the layers of overlapping slime in his mind. Angela pointed her gun in his direction, not sure if she could shoot a person.

Defend yourself! Use the fire!

The witch ordered it, but Angela couldn’t. The intruder hadn’t done anything wrong, though she knew his lean body was ready to react. She could feel it.

“Don’t make me shoot you!” Angela hated her shaky tone. The flag blanket fell unnoticed to the damp dirt as she stood.

“I’m hungry. Got any food?”

The words fell awkwardly, tone devoid of empathy. It gave her a chill of terror when he took a small step closer. She lifted the weapon. “Don’t! I will shoot you!”

Energy, fear, and adrenaline raced through Angela. She called for a defense other than her gun. She wasn’t good enough with it.

A door appeared in her mind, one carrying a feel of death. She put a hand on the knob, but hesitated, not wanting to take a life.

“What’s your name? Pretty bitch?”

The intruder’s simple, awful words made her understand the smoke and mirrors she had used on Warren wouldn’t deter this seasoned hunter. She opened the mental door, preparing to do battle for her life. Nothing will keep me from my son!

The witch whispered again, revealing secrets.

Angela’s stomach clenched. “Where’s your brother?”

The witch took immense pleasure in the surprise that spread across his smooth face.

Angela darted a quick glance at her Blazer while he was distracted. It was too far away.

“How do you know that?” The hunter stalked through the cool darkness.

Dean. His name is Dean. Angela felt a great wave of heat jump from her chest to form a thin shield between them.

The shield was only visible for a second, but Dean saw it.

“Be gone, killer. You have no welcome here!” Angela forked her hands at him.

The burned-out fire flared to life; the crackling flames reached for the surprised man.

The mercenary took an unconscious step backward, revealing his brother and the barrel of his gun.

“Drop it!” Dillan wasn’t sure why his brother had hesitated. It had never happened before; he couldn’t think of anything that would cause it now. They feared nothing. “You shoot, you die slow.”

Angela stepped through the mental door.

A dangerous voice echoed from the dark distance in her mind. You accept?

I do.

Power flew from her chest. It slammed against the brothers, knocking them both to the ground.

Angela’s breathing was harsh as silence fell; the thin shield vanished as the fire sank to a dim glow.

“Whhoooo!”

The wolf call was close, as if it was responding to her cry for help.

Dean gaped at his twin. “What is she?”

Dillan frowned at his brother’s spooked tone. He hadn’t seen the shield or the fire; he’d already passed off being knocked down to gusting wind. “Ours. We’ll have her now!” Dillan reminded his brother of who they were.

They shared an evil leer, then spun, rushing her.

Angela threw herself toward the Blazer, firing wildly.

The twins dropped low.

The dry click of her gun echoed.

They stood up, closing in for the kill.

“Fire! Ice!”

The flames blazed between them again but faded just as fast. Her energy was spent.

The brothers leapt at the same time, ignoring bits of hail falling on them.

Crack! Crack!

Only Dillan made it across the short flames as bullets flew through the air.

A predator padded into the circle of light as Dean hit the tall grass beyond the fire, clutching his leg.

Dillan grabbed for Angela’s arm, meaning to use her as a shield against whoever was shooting at them.

Powerful jaws sank into his wrist.

Dillan let go of her, bullets forgotten. “Ahh! Dean!”

The timber wolf shook, not letting go.

Dillan punched the creature with hard, serious blows that had no effect.

Angela winced, retreating as bones crunched between the wolf’s teeth.

“Kill it! Dean! Help!”

Dean stayed quiet, hands searching for the gun he’d lost when the slug had slammed into his leg, but his gaze was fixed on the shadows. He hunted for the dead man who had done this.

“Dean! Shoot it!”

The wolf jerked the hurt brother to his knees, blood covering his muzzle.

When the beast finally let go, baring sharp, red teeth, Dillan scrambled to get away.

“He’ll go for your throat if you move.” Angela forwarded the warning from the beautiful predator, stunned.

The twin stilled, holding his mauled arm.

Angela retrieved the gun she had dropped as the injured killer glowered at her. His hatred gave her another deep chill. Her death was in those remorseless eyes; it was ugly.

“This isn’t over!” Dillan was almost crying tears of rage.

Angela paled.

“Yes, it is! You’re both dead!” Marc stepped from behind her muddy Blazer, Colt aimed where the other man had fallen out of sight. He advanced in that direction, content the wolf had things under control here.

“Marc.” Angela stopped him despite the witch warning her not to interfere with the defense she had chosen. “I’m not hurt. Let’s just go.”

Marc hesitated. “It’s a bad idea.”

Her heart thumped at the sound of his voice. “I know.”

Marc gave in, fading into the shadowy darkness by her vehicle to provide cover without being a clear target. “Go on, then. I’ll catch up.”

Angela grabbed her things. She was glad when the wolf stayed between her and the furious killer on the ground. The doctor inside wanted to help, but his hatred! Even if she could change the way the brothers saw her, they would always loathe her for this surprise defeat. She would be healing them so they could hunt her.

They will anyway, the voice behind the now shut mental door warned. Better to let your new man kill them.

No killing. And Marc isn’t my man.

“We’ll come for you!” Dillan sat up, shirt soaked with blood.

The wolf snarled, telling Angela to stay away. If Dillan got a hand on her, he would snap her neck with his good arm.

“You’ll look over your shoulder forever, witch!” Dean shouted from the tall grass, still searching for his gun. “You’ll bleed rivers while we have you!”

Evil laughter floated on the wind, giving Angela another chill despite Marc’s presence.

When she lifted a brow, Marc sighed heavily, cold gaze returning to the snake in the grass. “You already know what I think.”

Angela studied her conscience for a brief second, but she had lived by the old rules for a long time. “Let’s just go.”

Dillan was in agony; the mangled wrist was excruciating. He was horrified to find himself relieved by her decision. For the first time since they were teenagers, the twins had underestimated their prey. It was humbling for men who had engaged entire military units alone, but especially for Dillan, who was more aggressive. This humiliation would never be forgotten.

Angela opened the door, but she hesitated to leave Marc with the two killers.

“Now. Take Dog if he’ll go.”

Marc’s words held a tone of command she responded to, even as she frowned.

Man is your guardian. I am his. Go. The wolf pushed against her leg.

Surprised by the clear answer from the animal, Angela climbed into the Blazer and shut the door. The powerful engine fired up. She slid the window down. “That should be a fatal injury now. Will you die?”

“Who are you?!” Dillan demanded.

The witch smiled through her lips, hunger glinting. “You’ve called enough of my names. Stay clear of me.”

The Blazer was out of sight a few seconds later.

When both man and beast started to retreat, the twins began to hurl insults, hoping to grab Marc and use him to draw Angela back.

“The railbird is running!”

“Coward! Can’t you finish the job?” Dean stood, gun now in hand.

Dillan was furious. He didn’t care that he was an easy target if Marc chose to fight. “Hell won’t be far enough for you to run! We will have her!”

Marc stayed silent, aware of their tactics (hadn’t Warren tried the same thing?) but he was sure they meant every word they screamed. Unlike the bitter preacher from her hallway, these two could back it up.

Out of sight now, Marc wound through tall oaks and high bushes, leaving muddy prints in the grass. The wolf kept pace.

The big animal leapt into the vehicle the second he opened the door, going to his spot in the rear.

Marc slid in and started the engine.

The radio lit up, making them both flinch from the unfamiliar sound.

“You there?”

He shifted and hit the gas as he keyed the mike. “Be in your mirror in a click. Kill your lights; stay close.”

The bright red tattles disappeared. “I will.”

Marc slowed a little as he went around her on the gravel road, pleased she had left room for him to take the lead. When she fell in tight behind him, he let his knowledge of the area take over. He swung them onto an old dirt path that would bring them out well away from the vengeful threats they were leaving alive. It would help that the ground here was dry but not dusty enough to leave tracks.

Ignoring his gut that said doing this was a huge mistake, Marc lit a smoke and lowered the window. Angie hadn’t wanted it. The last thing he needed was for her to know he was a hardened killer… Even though I am.

They rolled over streets and dirt roads that Angela didn’t have time to find on her map before they took a different one. She kept her doors locked and her attention on the Born Free & Die that Way! bumper sticker she could read whenever Marc hit his brakes. He’s here. Marc came!

Marc kept one eye on the winding dirt road and one on the vehicle in his mirror, glad when she copied his path. They rolled around downed trees, crushed cars, and wireless telephone poles–damage he was almost sure had been caused by an earthquake. She was following him as he had followed her, trusting the choices he made–like he had trusted her choices when he’d tracked her here. It occurred to him again that some of her decisions had been reckless. Finding her had been easy because she wasn’t taking the easiest or most reasonable path, just the quickest–like the water crossing in Geneva. They’d both been lucky that bridge had held.

Marc stared at her shadowy form in the mirror. That’s Angie! Marc wanted to grab the mike and tell her how happy he was that she’d called, but he resisted. This wasn’t the time or place, and not just because of anyone who might be listening. He had to get himself under control first.

His mind flashed to the image of her bathed in firelight, no longer the innocent young girl of his memories but a rounded, beautiful woman. He felt the pain keenly. Slender curves, a pale, flawless profile, midnight black hair… It was suddenly easy to remember how silky it had felt under his trembling fingers. It had only been one weekend, fifteen long years ago, but he had never gotten close to it again. The occasional barracks bait he’d succumbed to had been blue-eyed, with long dark hair, and he had loved them all in the dark. Searching for what he’d lost, he was always unsatisfied when it was over. Being with Angie for just these few minutes had already reminded him of how lonely he’d been. Unless he could hide it, she would know his one weakness. I never got over her. I never will.

2

Nerves began to eat at Angela as the miles passed. She found herself hoping he would keep driving all night. She was grateful for the rescue, but she had counted on at least one more day to figure out what to say to him. What she needed was dangerous. She was crazy to try guilting him into it using something that had happened so long ago. It would never hold him.

Then tell him the basics and let him make his own choices.

Angela agreed with the witch’s advice. That’s what I’ll do, and hope the rest takes care of itself.

Her dreams had kept some things alive in her memory, but she had forgotten about his hard, tanned skin and the way a couple days’ stubble was attractive on him. Marc was a modern-day cowboy now, with wide shoulders and lean hips in dusty jeans and scuffed boots. He wore a wide brimmed, faded black hat, and a dog tag under his shirt and black trench coat. He also sported a gun on each hip; the crisscrossed belts accented the great shape he was in. Her Marc was all grown up. They had been devoted friends once, lovers… Maybe even soul mates. She was counting on his sense of honor, but also worrying about how to protect her heart. I have to be careful not to encourage anything. The past is done. We can’t go back.

By 2:00 am, storm clouds were rolling, and Angela was ready to stop. She was too tired to worry about talking. She yawned as they rolled onto yet another weed dotted gravel road; a street sign flashed by too fast in the darkness.

They drove by small buildings she recognized as restrooms and showers. She assumed this path wound around a campground of some kind, or maybe even the rear of the state forest she had been in.

Marc’s brake lights stayed lit as he came to a stop in front of a wide log house overtop a two-car garage with a dark second-floor window. A caretaker’s home, maybe. Garbage littered the area. The trees were spaced out; spots were cleared for campsites. Only oddly colored weeds grew in those neat rock circles now. It was spooky. She jumped when the radio lit up.

“I need to check it out. Stay close, okay?”

“Yes.” Angela shut off her engine, but she didn’t get out as Marc exited and Dog took off to water the weeds. She wanted to watch and see if the Marine took over Marc the way it did Kenny, but she also needed to know where her enemies were. Angela shut her burning eyes, searching for the evil twins she had stopped Marc from killing.

3

Dillan and Dean tracked the couple with their lights out, blood-soaked clothes sticking to the seats of their jeep. The two Blazers were easy to spot when brake lights flashed like beacons in the darkness. Not disconnecting those bulbs was a mistake. It was understandable, considering the circumstances, but it was also enough to get them trapped.

“You have gas left?” Dean stayed low as Dillan observed their prey through the binoculars. They had followed separate trails for the first two days of tracking the woman, being careful not to lose her, until tonight, when they’d come together for the attack.

“Two gallons. You?”

Dean smothered a cry, fingers digging into his thigh for a bullet. “Four. We’ll wait until they’re asleep and send them both to hell.”

Dillan wrapped his mauled wrist. “Yes. I need to hear her scream while she burns.”

4

Marc frowned as he came out of the garage. Angie hadn’t emerged from the Blazer that was the exact same shade of mud-spattered black as his own. Able to feel the hum of raw energy, he stopped himself from reaching for the handle. She’s hunting for the brothers.

When she opened the door, Marc stepped closer. She didn’t look thirty. He, on the other hand, knew he was five years older by the age lines and gray starting to show in the mirror. His birthday had been eight days before the war. Marc wished he had celebrated it this time. “Everything okay?”

Angela shrugged, coming out of the zone. “For now, but they’ll come for us… For me.”

She doesn’t sound right.

Angela didn’t tell him she had seen only darkness in their future. She eased out of the Blazer, trying not to wince at the pain in her gut.

Marc saw she had a Therma Care patch stuck to her seat. What a great idea. He scanned the .357 on her hip. Her random firing at the twins said she didn’t know what she was doing with the six-shooter. It was probably too big for her hands, chosen because it was pretty. Marc sighed inwardly. She’d be better off using his old piece of shit. Though really, the M9 in the bottom of his kit didn’t fit that old USMC nickname. He’d had more respect than that. “We’ll make some distance in the next few days and lose them for good.”

Angela shivered as the fog cleared, hoping he was right. The two men were dangerous. I should have let Marc take care of them… Marc. We’re together again. She peered up, becoming aware of the tension.

Marc couldn’t fight the stunned happiness. He felt as if he was in one of his dreams. He didn’t register her fear as his arms came up, nor the rigid body he wrapped them around with a groan of longing. “God, I’ve missed–”

“Let go of me!”

Marc retreated as if burned. Angie’s afraid of me?

“Not at all.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed her hand plunging toward her gun. “I just don’t like to be touched.”

His expression darkened. Since when?

“Is it okay to go in?” She buttoned her long black sweater, then slung two big duffle bags over her shoulder.

“Yes. Window’s covered, so our lights won’t be seen.”

Angela hit her rear latch button and shut her door, not staring at the decaying bodies of two wood thrushes near her tire, or the man she’d dreamed about almost nightly for years. During the day, she’d been careful to keep Kenny from catching her loneliness, but dreams were hers. She’d used them to remember.

“Get out what you need, I’ll take it in.”

“I’ve got it.”

Marc wasn’t surprised when she stepped by him. The waves of anger coming from her stiff form were hard to mistake. He went to get his own gear, stealing little glances. He felt her doing the same, despite her anger shield.

When she stepped into the dark garage without hesitation, it surprised him. The Angie he had known was afraid of the dark, terrified even.

This isn’t her, the voice inside advised. Go slowly.

Marc stepped in behind her. He waited for Dog, then shut the door.

Dog began sniffing the bottom floor.

Angela switched to the far side of the small, mostly empty top room; the pen light on the chain around her neck shined dimly. “Figured we’d use the loft. It’s a good vantage point.”

Angela slid her bags back over one shoulder.

Marc was unable to keep his eyes from her ass as she disappeared into the darker shadows of the second floor. She came back down less than a minute later. He said nothing about her cushioned movements as they brought in the vehicles. Is she in pain?

Angela backed her muddy SUV in first, while Marc held the garage door and kept Dog out of the way. As they switched places, he delivered a silly wave that reminded her of the past, when he had been willing to try anything to pull a laugh from her.

Instantly sad, Angela climbed to the loft and set up the heater. Having emotions sucks. Angela sighed in relief as the red glow came on. She had chosen the far rear corner floor that was just bare, dusty planks. She was making her bed as Marc came up the stairs.

Angela knew from her life with a Marine that he would want the spot closest to the exit. She unrolled her bag in the far corner.

One of them had to say something soon to cut the tension. It was awkward, sad.

“Where did you find a heater? I kept finding cylinders, but no base.” He was impressed.

Angela tried to pretend it wasn’t relief filling her at the sound of another human voice. “The basement of a Goodwill. It’s great to have.”

Marc studied her, hunting for clues.

Angela began to set up the Coleman stove he had brought in, not sure how to begin the conversation.

Rain began to fall, drowning out the hard, new world on the other side of their four walls. Below them, Dog curled up on a pile of old hides and drifted off.

Marc took off the long leather coat and draped it over the rail.

Angela was drawn to his thick arms as he dug out his own bedroll. He did indeed put it between her and the ladder.

They both avoided the boxes, bags, tarp covered bike frames, and tall mirrors layered in thick dust. There were a million things she wanted to say. Where to start? “Want some hot chocolate?”

“Sounds good.”

She handled his stove confidently; she knew what she was doing. Marc kept quiet, wishing she would meet his stare for more than a second at a time. What’s her problem? The urge to ask questions was hard to resist, even for him, but he knew she was tired. If she said she’d rather wait until morning to talk, he would agree, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Angela lit the Coleman, a twin of the one sitting in the rear of her Blazer. When she’d noticed him taking his in, she had left her own packed. It made her think about their vehicles. They hadn’t just chosen the same camping equipment. Of all the cars and trucks in the country, they had picked the same color, year, and make. Is that a coincidence?

“Can you use the gun on your hip?”

Angela increased the fire on the small pot of water. “I can load it and pull the trigger. Does that count?”

Marc noticed she bagged the garbage instead of leaving it. I like that. “Not really. You use it before tonight?”

“No. I didn’t want to attract attention. Guess I did anyway, but I had a flat and the flashlight wasn’t enough to see by.” She tried to keep an even tone as her mind flashed memories.

His dread of her story increased.

“Thank you for coming. There’s no one else I can ask.”

Marc wanted to insist she could count on him but stopped himself. “I’ll help if I can.”

Angela poured the hot water and stirred. When she brought their cups over, she quickly retreated despite his hand reaching out.

She balanced on each foot to slide her shoes off. Settling herself on her bedroll, Angela pulled the blanket over her lap before easing out of her sweater to reveal a simple white T-shirt with a flag on the front. The jeans hidden under the quilt were unfastened around her aching guts. She had been pushing herself and she was paying for it.

Marc also settled on the floor, lips tightening at the attempt to hide her pain. He busied his hands cleaning one of his Colts, but his attention stayed on her and the details his years of experience allowed him to glean. A pretty (small) diamond ring hung on a chain around her slender neck. It was a claim of ownership that she obviously still felt or she wouldn’t be wearing it. She was thinner than she should be–probably only 120lbs, and her nose was crooked, though that was barely noticeable. He also spotted the shadow of a scar under the edge of her wrinkled shirt sleeve. She looked scared, sick.

Instead of the guilt or anger he had expected her to use, Marc now sensed sadness. The old need to protect her rose, stronger than ever. He kept his mouth shut by a hair, sure anything he said would be met by scorn or sarcasm. This was her show until he agreed, and he hadn’t yet.

Their eyes locked; heat began to melt the ice wall between them.

Her gaze flinched away.

There was joy and pain in that brief glance, enough to make his heart skip a beat. I was right. There’s little she can ask for that I won’t give. I haven’t felt so alive in a decade. Exploding buildings and flying bullets are nothing compared to being with my Angie again.