The Survivors

Somewhere in Missouri

March 18th

1

They were lost. The storm battered their vehicles, lashing out at them. The rain came in sporadic bursts; orange clouds rolled through the sky.

Marc and Angela had been making good time until they reached Kirksville, Missouri, but getting by the tangled piles of wreckage was impossible. Damage stretched as far as they could see. It was clear a massive flood had destroyed this town.

Boats were on front porches; heavy river barges were piled against a Don Pablo’s restaurant like firewood. Homes and businesses were collapsed and scattered, ambulances and fire trucks crushed together. For the first time, Marc wished for a navigation system, forgetting for an instant that it wouldn’t work without access to satellites. They’d doubled back, but the new route was closer to the North Fork Salt River. When the storm broke over them, the water rose, blocking their way. Marc had relocated them to higher ground, jumping from one unknown street to another to escape the water. Now, they were lost.

Marc surveyed the small town. He didn’t want to stop now, despite all the debris flying through the storm. He hated how low this area was.

“Let’s try that parking garage.”

“It’s kinda low.”

“But sturdy.” Angela let go of the mike and pulled around him to take the lead, trying not to react to the Santa hat that blew by her windshield as she searched for a name. The paint on the signs was too faded to read.

The four-story garage sloped upward in circles; they were surprised to discover only half a dozen cars in the place as they did a drive through check. The abandoned vehicles were dusty, with notes taped to the inside of the windows. A lot of garbage cluttered the lanes, including broken neon bulbs and a shredded exit sign on the first level. Otherwise, it was empty.

“Up here should be okay for tonight, right?” Angela backed in, worried when he didn’t answer. “Marc?”

Silence.

She saw him gesturing at his mike and then the ceiling. They had no radio in here.

Angela put her vehicle in park, but she didn’t switch it off as Marc backed in next to her. She’d put them in a far corner, like he would have, but the rain was dusting the hood and front windows, and the wind was rocking both Blazers. She waited to see if he approved.

Marc exited and disappeared, going to secure the perimeter with Dog.

Angela surveyed the darkness, gun in her tense hand. She knew the accessible area wasn’t to Marc’s liking as he came toward her. If he overrode her decision, she would go along with his choice. He’d been surviving out in the world a lot longer than she had.

Whammmm!

They both ducked as something heavy slammed against an outside wall. When he opened her door, he was nodding. “This is probably the best place we can be, as long as nothing collapses. We can go up two more floors if we have to.”

Angela nodded, reaching in for her duffle bag.

The wind gusted against her door; Marc’s quick reflexes kept it from hitting her leg. “Damn. We need to get out of this wind. We’ll make camp by the elevators, in that hallway.” Marc grabbed each item as she took it from the Blazer.

When she shut the door, emptyhanded, he gestured toward the dark hallway he had already checked. “Light and gun. Let’s go.”

Angela started to tell him this wasn’t an appropriate time for a lesson, then stopped, realizing this was perfect. “Okay.”

Dog heeling at her side, Angela tried to concentrate like Marc had shown her, tuning out the distractions. She slipped through the loud darkness.

Marc watched their rear. And hers.

2

Angela unpacked what they needed, preparing to hunker down and wait out the storm while Marc went back for his gear. She wasn’t as nervous as she had been nine days ago. Killing had changed her. She was suddenly a much harder person than she’d ever been before.

Angela set the heater against the wall, then made one large sleeping area between it and the cooler, creating a wall to block the wind. She started getting settled as Marc returned with his arms full and Dog at his heels.

“Great idea.”

Angela took off her sweater, listening to the wind howl as he added items to the barricade.

“Hungry?”

She set up the stove. “Not really. You?”

Marc dropped his trench coat on top of a box and pretended not to notice how her gaze went to his chest, lingering there. “No, but we should eat.”

She agreed, but only put on water for tea and coffee.

“I’m going to mark the water levels. Be right back.”

Angela pushed off her shoes and sat against her pillows–journal, pen, and cup on one side, gun and ashtray on the other. She was calm. She had already foreseen them safe and sound in this spot as dawn broke. They had seemed to be in a bit of a hurry to leave, but she hadn’t sensed real danger. Trusting the witch inside was easier since Versailles.

Marc wasn’t as confident. He used waterproof chalk to mark where the water was, then marked every ten feet, all the way to their Blazers. A quick glance would tell him how fast it was rising.

Angela was lighting a joint when he returned.

Marc saw his own side of the big bed had been set up identical to hers. Even Dog’s quilt was lined with a bowl of food and water. Neat, organized. I like that. I like her.

Marc put his gun next to the ashtray on his side of the makeshift bed. When she held the joint out, not looking up from her writing, their fingers brushed, sparked.

Angela dropped her hand without looking up, but Marc saw her nostrils flare. That didn’t feel like fear to him, and if she wasn’t scared anymore, then it was proof he had made progress by holding in all the things he still longed to say.

They were traveling well together. They started their days with a light meal and then a training session. First was hand-to-hand, and then weapons, which put them on the road around ten each morning. They traveled until it was too dark to keep going, then he picked a place if she told him the area was okay. Her power had been avoided before the attack, but her gifts were now being used whenever they made camp. He wasn’t taking any more chances with her life.

“So, tell me about him.”

Angela flinched before she realized who he meant. “Oh. Charlie’s a great kid, warm, funny.” Sadness came into her face. “Probably looks different now, older.” She sighed, heart hurting. “He’s smart. So much that it makes me ashamed I’m so dumb, and I’m a doctor. He’s loyal, hardworking, and he cares about things, like saving the whales. It’s agony for me to be away from him. Sometimes a boy needs his mom, and a mom always needs her boy.” Not wanting to let emotions get the best of her, Angela dug through her bag and tossed a yellow packet onto the blanket by Marc’s leg. “Those are from his first birthday. I love the clown outfit.”

“He was born on Halloween?”

“Yes, on 10/31, at 10:31 in the morning.”

Her voice was rough, sexy. Marc let his gaze roam her while she wrote in her journal. “Is he special too?”

She tensed before giving a quick nod. She could trust Marc. “Yes. He’ll be stronger than me.”

“Is it because of being born on Halloween?”

“I assume because he’s male. Fate controls that, not the moon and stars.” She inhaled again, closing her eyes against a sharp curl of smoke.

Marc thought about how erotic it would be to give her a shotgun. “You still believe in destiny and the great plan?”

Angela hesitated, not wanting to stir up old arguments. “Yes, and no. It’s not a set plan. People miss their purpose in life and have to spend eternity repeating it, searching for that one moment they missed.”

“And do they find it? Does fate give second chances?” The implication was clear.

Angela didn’t want to encourage him, but she couldn’t lie. “Yes, almost always. Fate wants the world to be perfect, and each correct or corrected life is a step on that road.”

“You know that for sure?”

“No, but I examine the world around me and get my answers there. Everything on this planet dies, and usually violently. If not war, maybe it would have been the plague again or another asteroid. For some reason, it was all fated to die.”

“But why everyone? Why not just the bad people?”

Angela shrugged again, tone resigned. “That is a question I can’t answer.”

Marc held up the pictures as she eased down. “You want these back?”

“No. I’ve got the memories.” She rolled over and covered herself up to her neck. “Goodnight, Marc. See you in the morning.”

“Yes, you will. Sweet dreams, honey.”

Not likely, she thought. In her dreams, Kenny tried to kill her. Most nights, he succeeded.

Around 2am, Marc went to check the markers again. He was relieved to find the water going down.

Dog followed, eager to sniff the area again.

Angela snuggled deeper into the thick blankets, trying to ignore the heart crying for her to slide into his spot. She sighed sadly, feeling guilty that hairy legs and maybe bad breath were the only things stopping her from sleeping in Marc’s big arms. Being attacked and surviving, but also killing the person responsible had unlocked the last of her chains. It had freed the young girl who feared nothing. Slowly, Kenny’s timid mouse was disappearing.

How was she ever going to face him? Kenny would use her up in this new world. With Marc, the witch said there was still a chance for the future that had been stolen from them. Angela tried to imagine telling him how she was feeling. I can’t stop thinking about you, about us, and how good we were together, and… I may want another chance with you once I get my son back and find a way to ditch my other man.

Never in a million years. Even if Kenny were out of the picture–and he wasn’t, not by a long shot–there were other walls between them. Still, her thoughts were hard to ignore as sleep refused to come. They were a great match, and she still wanted him. Soon, Marc would figure that out and do something about it. Then we’ll all be doomed.

Marc returned to his side of their bed. They were getting closer despite her trying not to let it happen. She was so strong! She not only recovered quickly, she grew more confident from each encounter. She wasn’t afraid to meet his eyes anymore, or to walk close to him. He could feel her thinking about him and the past. She felt the... What? Love? Maybe. Lust?

You bet that sweet ass, he thought, slipping his belt buckle loose. He had never lit up around a woman the way he did with Angie. He had no doubts about his feelings; he had four weeks left to convince her that surrender wasn’t her only choice.

3

Angela brushed at her arm as she sat up, waking with a feeling of revulsion. Her skin prickled with tiny irritations in the damp morning air; it seemed to be moving on its own.

“What the hell?”

Marc’s curse brought her fully awake. Angela couldn’t stop the yelp of disgust that echoed off the concrete.

“It’s spiders or crickets trying to get out of the water. I’m not sure which. Come over here and let me brush you off.” His tone was soothing.

Angela stood still while Marc rid her of the nickel-sized spiders with legs twice as long as their bodies.

She moaned, horrified. “They’re under my clothes!”

Marc grabbed the edges of her shirt and yanked it off. He shook it out and gave it back, watching Dog avoid the mutations instead of snapping at them as he normally did with insects. “Do under your pants. I’ll get our stuff loaded. The water’s low enough to roll through if we’re careful.”

Angela began removing her pants, scanning their things. All of it was moving. “It’ll have spiders in it.”

Marc listened to the storm rumbling, sure they should stay, but the water was rising again, and they couldn’t share their shelter. He needed to get her out of here. “Yeah. When you put those on, tuck the cuffs into your socks and gather what you want. We’ll leave the rest.”

As he stepped by her with the heater and their duffle bags, it occurred to Marc that she hadn’t jumped when he’d reached for her shirt.

His heart stirred.

4

Angela listened to the voices as the wind pushed them through Matenea, Missouri. “I think we should take cover.” Little black balls of hail were pinged off their roofs and hoods.

“What’s...? Oh, shit! Stay on my ass!”

Angela spotted the funnel cloud by following his line of sight; for a second, she couldn’t move. The twister wasn’t wide, but it was closing in fast, as if it had sensed the presence of humans and dropped out of the sky just for them.

“Come on!”

Marc’s shout startled her; Dog’s piercing bark through the radio broke her daze. Angela hit the gas. That’s a real tornado!

“I thought this only happened in the movies.” She was scared as she caught up to Marc’s bumper, but the raw fury of something they had no chance of controlling was beautiful too. Angela knew she would never forget it if they got away.

Marc turned them into a large, mostly empty parking lot, speeding up. When he sent his Blazer crashing through the front glass windows of the theater, plastic and glass flying, she followed.

Behind them, the tornado churned across the small city, smashing through anything in its way as it zeroed in on the enemy.

“Get as far in as you can!”

Angela swerved in next to him, lobby props tumbling. They both ducked as the tornado hit the theater.

The building shuddered. Both Blazers lunged forward in the wind, bashing into the high wall of the concession stand. Glass sprayed as the display shelves caved in. Large chunks of debris banged off them as the roar grew louder.

A blast of straight-line winds swept through the cinema, grabbing and spinning Angela’s Blazer in dizzying circles before shoving it into a line of heavy arcade machines. Marc watched as the big games were sent flying into the air and each other from the hard impact. Glass and coins erupted like tiny, silver volcanoes. Her muddy Blazer slid the length of the lobby before coming to a tire-squealing halt just inches from his front bumper. A second later, it was over except for the rain.

Marc scrambled over wet debris to open her door and help her out. “Are you hurt? Are you all right?”

She shivered in Marc’s arms. “I don’t remember asking for the quick tour.”

He chuckled. “Me either. You’re okay?”

Angela trembled, a bit shook up. She rested against his hard, comforting body and held on. “Yes.”

Marc rubbed her arms to warm her. The shock of being woken so abruptly and then being forced to deal with the fury of their environment before she’d even had a cup of coffee had shaken her, made her vulnerable. He refused to take advantage of her. “Dog, up. Shhh... It’s okay, honey.”

Angela kept her arms locked around his waist as the wolf leapt to the hood, then the roof. Marc held her, watching the drumming rain continue as his body tried hard to ignore hers. It was still a perfect fit.

“Are we safe here?”

Marc recognized the moment. If she can ask me that and be prepared to believe it, things have changed. “I think so. I just need to do a quick check.”

Angela shivered when he stepped back, cold as he disappeared into the dim shadows. The wind blew her hair around. This storm was traveling northwest, toward her son. She had to warn Kenny again. She gathered herself quickly, doing it before fear could make her change her mind.

Marc felt energy humming through the cinema as he returned. Without knowing he was going to try, Marc slid in front of her, concentrating. He was blocked by a wall of mental bricks. Let me in.

The wall crumbled.

Angela’s lashes fluttered, but she didn’t protest having Marc fully in her mind for the first time in fifteen years.

Where are you?!

The man’s voice was loud, intimidating, familiar somehow. Marc stored it to work on later.

You have to take cover. Bad storms are coming your way.

One more time, bitch! Where are you?

It was a struggle for Marc to remain silent.

At his side, Dog’s fur began to bush up as he caught the vibes.

A lot closer. How’s Charlie?

Happy with me. How close?

The barely controlled anger was clear. Angela forced herself to stand, emboldened by Marc’s presence. I’m coming for him as fast as I can.

You’ll never get him unless you do what I say!

Searing rage filled Marc, but it was nothing compared to the fury radiating off Angela. It came in clouds of heat he could actually feel.

You won’t keep me from my boy, Kenny! That was the old world. Things have changed, and you’re the one who should be careful!

She sucked in a breath as he screamed obscenities, then overpowered him with her anger. The words blasted out in a furious snarl. If anything happens to my son, there won’t be a place on this fucking planet where you can hide! She slammed the door before he could respond in kind.

She flashed a weak smile at Marc. “He’s in a good mood.”

Marc was pissed. He now had the proof she wasn’t lying, though he’d been sure for weeks. “I’ll protect you both. My word on it.”

Angela turned away. That was the first time in over a decade that she had stood up to Kenny. There would be a payment for it. “You can’t promise that. You think you know what you’re up against, but you don’t. He’s a violent, trained killer, and in the end, blood will spill.”

Marc’s tone deepened. “His, not yours.”

Angela hated it that he was thinking of murder. “Please don’t. It’s on my hands if you kill him. It would destroy me as sure as losing Charlie would. My freedom is not worth a life. I need you to swear you won’t.”

Marc shook his head. “I can’t. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. I won’t sit by and watch it.”

“I’ll figure something out.” She looked around. “For now, do you think we can stay here until the storm is over?”

Marc sighed at her obvious distraction technique, running a hand over his neck length hair in frustration. Am I getting to her at all?

“Sometimes, too much.”

Marc flinched.

“Well?”

“I don’t know. Let’s have a look around, and we’ll decide.” Marc let it go, not saying he could make it appear like an accident and not feel any guilt. He was also a violent, trained killer.

“Dog, in.” Marc shut the Blazer door behind the big animal, not wanting him to get distracted by things blowing in the heavy wind. “Guns and light. Move out.” If he decided to handle her man, Angie would never know. He’d lock it up so tight that even he wouldn’t be able to access the memory. I’ve done dirty work before.

5

“Wanna watch a movie while we wait for the storm to pass?”

Angela smiled sadly. She hadn’t been to a movie since Charlie was a baby. She kept herself from saying it only by looking at the poster for A Miracle on 34th Street, trading one pain for another. “You know how?”

“Yes.” They were on the upper balcony of the theater. The ghostly smell of popcorn and butter that still haunted the stale air was almost covered by the fishy rot blowing in with the rain through the broken doors. Marc listened harder, fighting the urge to find a room with a window. “Just have to find the generators and add some gas.”

Angela read the fading posters, ignoring her unease. After the morning they’d had, that was to be expected.

“Okay. How about The Shadows of Fate? I loved The Chronicles of Riddick.”

Marc grinned, feeling unworthy of her with his long hair and unshaven face. “You just like Vin Diesel.”

Angela laughed at his joking accusation, admiring his sexy goatee. It added to his image of an old west gunfighter. My own John Wayne. “It was a good story.”

“It was crap with a lot of eye candy.”

She snickered.

Marc stilled suddenly, scanning the destroyed lobby and dark, shadowy hallways where he thought bodies should be but weren’t. This would have made a good place to hole up, but until they’d hit it, literally, there hadn’t been anyone here. “Did you hear that?”

Angela listened for a moment, hearing only the storm and things moving with the wind. “No. What?”

“I’m not sure. It sounded like someone clearing snow with a metal shovel.”

The image made her grimace. Angela pushed at the door in her mind as her stomach dropped. They had made over a hundred miles in the last week and she was tired. The door hadn’t opened on its own. Something was happening. “Up, I think. We should go up.”

BOHICA, Marc thought. Bend over. Here it comes again. “But Dog and the Blaz–”

“No time.”

The noise came again. It was a headache-causing sound of metal and stone meeting, but instead of a distant echo, it was loud and close. Vibrations rattled the walls and pounded through the floor under them.

Angela ran for the employee door to the right of the upstairs concession area. “We have to–”

The grinding noise was suddenly deafening; Marc grabbed her arm. He shoved them both into the dark stairwell as the building around them shifted, knocked forward on its foundation.

A twenty-foot wall of mud and debris slammed into the rear of the movie theater like a bomb, blowing out walls and windows. The sound of it was like a tanker truck jackknifing. The space immediately began filling with sliding ooze. The entire back wall of the cinema crumbled under the onslaught, filling the rows of seats with thick, dark mud. The side walls held. The mud was slowed and then finally stopped by something bigger–the strip mall around the theater that was more than a mile wide.

Sludge continued to invade open spaces, flooding the theater and parking lot around it with feet of thick, lumpy glop. It gushed over counters and ticket booths, shoving the two vehicles against the glassless front doors and then out them.

Angela and Marc flipped on their penlights to view the dim stairwell and bowed-in door.

“Is that mud?”

Marc shined his light on the bottom of the door, where thick, blackish silt was pushing underneath.

“Yeah. A slide.” He motioned her upward. “That door’s not gonna ho–”

Craack! Swwwooosh!

The door gave way, buckling under the weight of the sopping mud flowing into the hall.

Marc nudged her further up the steep, twisted stairs. “Keep going. It’ll take a full day to dig out that way.”

She turned reluctantly. They climbed to the roof’s exit door, both listening for Dog.

Marc pulled her back before she could go out. “Wait. Always check it out first.”

“Teach me how to do this.”

He nodded. She really would have made a good Marine, a strong fighter. “Stay no more than two feet away and put your feet where I do mine. If I fall, you should come back here and dig your way out with boards or whatever you can find.”

Angela kept her head down at the thought of losing him; her mind flew to her gifts. She’d do what she had to, no matter how forbidden it was.

“The whole hillside’s gone!”

They stood just outside the doorway. Most of the roof had cracked, crumbled, was missing in places. The Show Me state gave them an awful view of missing homes, businesses, and roads that had been between the hill and the theater. Even the reeking turkey farm and rye field beside them were now a ten-foot high piles of uneven, treacherous mud and debris for miles to the east. Small puffs of smoke and dust rose eerily in the early morning chill.

“Look.” Angela pointed to a black corner, where thick, sloppy mud was still spilling around the front of the theater. “Is that your Blazer?”

Marc was relieved. “Mud must have pushed them out. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Angela smiled. “Think we already did. I hear Dog.”

“Come on. Let’s get down from here before the whole mall collapses.”

“We need rope.”

“It’s in the Blazer with my kit.”

Marc scolded himself for leaving his kit.

Angela gestured to dead telephone wires. “Can we use those?”

Marc considered. “Maybe. The poles and wires are sprayed with a flame retardant chemical that makes them slippery. We’ll have to braid a rope together.” He began fishing in his pockets. “We’ll hope the pole wasn’t loosened by the slide.”

He cut the phone, cable, and electric wires and quickly wove them together.

“Will this work?”

“We’re gonna find out. If it breaks, try to go limp.”

“Okay...”

Marc wrapped the braided cord around his fist and then his waist.

Angela scowled fearfully. “This is the best we–?”

“Hang on!”

A second later, she was tight against his body, feet in the air, and they were dropping off the side of the building.

“Semper Fi!”

His shout gave her the courage to wrap her legs around him and keep her head up as the ground flew closer.

Marc had swung them toward the pole, hoping to slow their descent. He put his feet straight out; his boots slammed into the wood with a jerk that made their grips on each other tighten painfully.

Legs now holding them to the slippery pole, Marc picked out a shallow-looking patch of mud and swung them for it... The braided cord snapped under their weight.

They dropped to the ground with a hard, wet thud.

They landed with her on top, legs pinned around his waist. Angela winced as the layer of mud shifted beneath them, putting pressure on her knee. “You okay?”

His eyes were shut. She leaned in, muddy hands feeling for his pulse. “Marc?”

Dazed but aware that she was getting upset, Marc opened his eyes and said the first thing that came to mind. “Never have I seen anything so beautiful.”

Angela blushed, fighting the urge to lean down and kiss his pouty lips in relief. “If you say so. How about getting off my leg?”

They were on their feet a second later. Marc reached for her. “Let me see.”

Angela flinched away, slinging mud from her hands. “I’m fine. Let’s check on Dog.”

Marc followed her, frowning. Another side effect of her man or the life she’d led?

Neither, his heart whispered. She feels the attraction too. She’s not scared. She’s interested and feeling guilty about it.

That made sense. Angie and loyalty went hand in hand.

When Marc let the anxious wolf out, Dog eagerly rushed to check them both over. Did you see that shit?! It was a wall of shit!

Angela took that minute to scan what was left of the town for survivors. She still hoped they might be able to help if someone was stuck, or maybe leave food, but there was only silence. Kirksville was a ghost town. It made her think of the History Channel. Would archeologists discover all the bodies that must be buried under that mile-long stretch of thick mud hundreds of years from now and try to figure out what had happened?

“We got lucky.”

Angela didn’t say anything, sure it was more than luck. Fate had allowed both of them to survive repeatedly. Was it because it wanted something from them, something bigger than just their tiny lives?

The two Blazers were mud-splattered, the glass on Marc’s side window cracked, but other than dents in the fender and bumper, both vehicles had held up despite being shoved through the windows by a wall of mud. They climbed into their seats with squelches, grimaces, and shared shrugs. They were alive. It had been a good day.

As they drove, Angela stewed on her reaction to Marc reaching for her. She had wanted to melt into his embrace! She was no longer able to ignore the intimacy that was growing.

“You okay back there?”

She flashed her light in response. She’d been a fool not to call him all those years ago.

“Ready to go till dark?”

She picked up the mike. “And then some. You lead, I’ll follow.”

“Copy that.”

They had been traveling together for a month now; they’d come through five hundred miles of heartbreaking, gut wrenching, unbelievable horror. Missouri was no different from Indiana, Virginia, or Ohio except, the ground here felt and smelled worse. They had seen their first mutation yesterday. The single black ant had watched them alertly as they went by. It had drawn attention because it was too big and the shape was too odd. When Angela had stopped, Marc had waited while she squashed the freak under her tires. It had been a powerful moment for him, seeing Angie so appalled by something that she’d decided it didn’t have the right to exist anymore. He had never felt closer to her than at that moment. It was how he had spent most of his adult life.

“Three o’clock, down low.”

Angela scanned, then immediately hit the brakes, searching for a clear path to her target.

“Use your gun this time.”

Angela didn’t fight the urge to destroy.

“Slow down. Don’t scare them off.”

The small colony of mutated ants didn’t stray from their slow, disorderly course through the dying switch grass. They didn’t seem afraid of the tires that rolled closer, but the witch said they were aware. She could feel the scent of alarm coming from them.

Angela slid her window down.

“That’s far enough.”

The witch protested the distance, but Angela agreed. She could hit them from here if she tried and Marc knew it. He wanted her to use this as a lesson too.

My how we’ve changed, the witch commented as anger and revulsion took over Angela’s trigger finger. Not a killer, huh?

Angela ignored the hurtful jab. These mutations couldn’t be left free to turn America into a cheap horror film. Angela opened fire.

The ants tried to flee, panic-stricken. Angela took a savage, guilty pleasure in their destruction, getting the last one with her tire as it darted for cover under the Blazer.

Marc was impressed and aroused. He struggled to keep it from his voice as he keyed the mike. “Very good. Ready?”

“Yes. Let’s roll.”

They traveled until it was almost dark; the land around them was wet, deceitful-looking. By the time they hit higher, dryer ground, the mud had molded to them like a second skin.

Marc chose to make camp on a flat, almost deserted stretch of highway where the only cover was two moss-dotted dogwood trees, both without a single bloom.

Angela laughed as she got out. “You look like an abused dog.”

Marc snickered and stomped to the rear of his Blazer, trying to dislodge some of the dried mud. “Feel like one.”

“Let’s make a shower.”

He thought about it for a minute, then began to gather a mental list. “Got an empty gallon jug?”

“In the back, under the sleeping bag. I’ll get us something to eat. You make us a shower?”

Marc snapped off a salute. “You got it.”

6

“Where should we set it up at for the showers?” The wolf was out roaming the breezy darkness around them, and they had tested his crude invention on the dinner dishes. Now, he wanted to be clean.

Angela had already considered that. She tossed a blanket onto the roof of his Blazer and moved one of the jugs they had warmed to the hood. When she turned, his face was red. “What’s wrong?”

“Who’s gonna hold your towel?”

Angela hid her nervousness. “I’ll pull my Blazer alongside. Once we open the doors and hang a couple of sheets, it’ll be fine.”

“Cool.” Marc got busy, hoping this wasn’t hard on her. The sheets weren’t for him. He had showered with ten other naked men in the room nearly every day for years. His flush had come from the image of her naked and soapy that flooded his mind.

Angela parked her Blazer in the right place, then climbed onto the roof and held the sheets while Marc adjusted them around the doors.

“You first.” Angela began opening the supplies she’d already placed on the hood.

Marc took off his Colts and entered the cozy four-by-four area. As he began undressing, Angela lit a smoke, trying not to imagine his every action but failing as she kept watch on the dark Missouri landscape. Her sharp gaze picked out shadowy forms of mountains to the east that she assumed were the Ozarks. Everything appeared normal here, but she wasn’t fooled.

Rap-rap-rap-rap!

Angela fumbled for her gun. She felt Marc’s displeasure even though she couldn’t see it.

“It’s just a woodpecker.”

“This time of night?”

“Yep. Everything’s screwed up now for them, too.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t be, just remember it. Once you familiarize yourself with the sounds of your surroundings, you’ll only react to what’s not normal for that environment. Your mind will sort it out for you.”

Angela smiled, grateful for him and all she was learning. Marc was the perfect teacher. He never made her feel stupid or acted like he was better.

Angela heard his dog tag clink. Her mouth went dry at the thought of his naked chest. His belt buckle was next, then a zipper and a rustle of jeans that made her heart pound.

“Hit me, woman.”

Angela slowly began pouring warm water into the shower. I didn’t hear underwear...

She sucked in a surprised breath when her body responded to that image.

“Soap, please.”

That brought a new set of images; she was careful not to touch his wet fingers as she handed him the blue cake.

“Washrag?”

She got it quickly.

When he finally called for a rinse, she was relieved. Too many feelings and memories were coming back to her, but it had to stop. A spark hadn’t been enough back then. It wouldn’t be now.

“I’m done. You can stop drooling.”

Angela flushed, stuttering in embarrassed denial.

Marc laughed, drying off. “Well, I thought it was funny.” He quickly pulled on his clean jeans and shirt, and stepped out in his bare feet. “Come on down. Your turn.”

He sat on the bumper to tug on his socks.

Angela moved slowly, fear growing at the thought of being defenseless with a man above her.

Marc felt it. Their eyes locked, spoke.

I’m scared.

You can trust me.

...prove it?

“Hang on.” He pulled on his boots and then dug out another blanket that he tossed over the top of the makeshift shower. He left a small opening for pouring water. “If it gets lighter, you’ll know I’m peeking.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Angie. You know that.”

Marc kept up a steady stream of chatter about their travel plans as she washed, not letting the vibes become sexual for even an instant. She’d asked for proof. He gave it to her.

Angela hurried, body tingling from her hands and thoughts. By the time she finished, she had relaxed more than either of them had thought she would.

Marc moved to the fire as she dressed, making a half pot of hot chocolate with their last pack of mix.

Angela joined him on the blanket he’d put out, taking a mug with a smile. Chocolate was always welcome. She sipped it as she dug her brush from her kit.

Marc got his kit out and started working on both his guns. Marc watched her while he cleaned the weapons, unwilling to look away from the flames dancing over her black curls and pale skin. “I can do that without ripping all your hair out. The birds could make a nest with what you’ve thrown into the fire every night.”

Angela’s first thought was no. “Deal. You battle the tangles, I’ll roll.”

His surprised, happy look kept her from withdrawing the offer. She surrendered the brush reluctantly when he held out a hand.

Marc shifted behind her and knelt down. He started with the damp ends, aware of how tense her posture was.

It was an uncertain moment for Angela. She listened with a thumping heart, hearing leaves rustling in the soft breeze, the gravel crunching under Dog’s paws as he returned, panting... She waited for footsteps and gunfire. Kenny could be here by now.

Dog sniffed their feet, their beds, and then curled up near the fire.

Angela told herself to relax. The wolf would hear anyone sneaking around, even a Marine. Besides, she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She got her journal out to prove that.

By the time he had gotten a third of the way up her small waist, Angela had relaxed. Marc eased down, legs on either side of her. She tensed again as his big body surrounded hers, but when he only continued to work on her damp curls; she continued writing in her journal.

Marc wondered if she would note today’s escape in her journal. She’d had him telling stories every night for the first few weeks, but she hadn’t asked for one lately. He suddenly wondered why. Had his tale of betrayal and self-preservation during Katrina bothered her that much?

“Not so much your part. You followed orders.” She closed her journal and dug a joint from her case. “It just makes me sad all those people were hurt.”

Marc agreed. “I almost left the Marines over it. I mean, we could hear them screaming for help. How’s a guy supposed to live with that?”

Angela wanted to comfort him, but she was afraid to say the wrong thing and break the peacefulness. She did the best she could. “They wouldn’t let you help. You were knocked out when you tried to anyway. Nothing you could do.”

Pop!

Angela jumped into his arms as the log in the fire exploded into a shower of sparks.

Marc was pleased when she laughed and didn’t move away. He kept his hands working, almost holding her now.

When he finished, he put the brush down and rested his chin on her shoulder. “You got that lit yet?”

Angela’s stomach tightened at the feel of his warm breath on her cheek, but she didn’t pull away. “It’ll burn, but it won’t be pretty. Stale doesn’t describe this shit.”

He chuckled, fishing in his pockets for a lighter. When he leaned in to share the flame, their bodies made gentle contact for the first time in fifteen long years.

Angela’s heart immediately settled into a rhythm of a peace that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Look, honey. The moon.”

She leaned back against Marc’s hard chest to peer up. “It’s a good sign.” She still didn’t move away. “We need more of those.”

They smoked in silence; Angela let the warmth and comfort of Marc’s body carry her away. She was safe, if only for this moment.

Her lashes fluttered when he slid an arm around her to pass the joint. Caught up in the good moment, Marc couldn’t resist putting a soft kiss on her smooth cheek. “Never did I see such beauty, such courage, such passion, and such fear in her eyes. The lonely heart demands and the mind refuses, but the body, the core, pulses with need.” He inhaled and passed, continuing to speak his poetry as they relaxed in clean jeans and matching Marine sweatshirts. “Never did I see such hair, dark as the night, and lips of love, red as a rose. A body that tempts me, begs me, and blue eyes that follow me into my dreams and beyond. Forgive me these careless slips of shameless flattery. I cannot explain, with mere words, what you mean to me. Hold to the truth, to your heart, to love… To us.”

Angela rested her cheek against his chin, pushing away the voice now screaming of Kenn’s anger. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s the way you make me feel, what you make me see. My life was so empty without you.”

Hers, too. Other than her son, she’d had no one she could love or trust. When Marc wrapped his arms around her, she relaxed against him. The long day had worn her down.

Don’t lie to yourself, her heart scolded.

Angela faced it this time. She was too aware of the man behind her to keep denying it. Marc was the only one who had ever understood her and what she needed. When he kissed her jaw again, she said nothing to make him stop.

“You smell good.” He rubbed his cheek against hers, sweet vanilla assaulting his senses. The feel of his lips on her skin sent an unexpected shiver of pleasure into her stomach.

“Are you cold?” He tightened his arms around her.

Angela flushed, nodding so he would pull the blanket around them and make their innocent embrace more private.

Aware that things were going too fast, Marc wrapped the quilt around them anyway and pulled another cover over their legs. As he wrapped himself around her, she slipped her hand into his.

Marc sucked in a breath, heart skipping.

They sat together in silence, both very aware of the other, yet content to just be so close.

The day caught up to Angela quickly. When she was asleep in his arms, Marc gently laid them down and pulled the covers up. He cradled her, loving every second. As he buried his face in her hair, he placed a long, slow kiss to her neck that gave him chills and jerked her eyes open.

Marc forced himself to stop despite how hard it was. “Night, honey. See you in the morning.”

“Yes, you will,” she mumbled groggily, already falling back to sleep.

Marc joined her, the wolf at their feet.