The Survivors

Nine days after war

09AW

1

“It might storm soon.” Samantha braced for a bad reaction to her warning.

“Tell me something I don’t know. It’s rained every day since you geniuses blew us up!” Melvin glowered from his seat.

Samantha ducked her head, hiding her hatred. Instead of arguing, she poked at their reluctant fire with her once expensive shoe, hating the cold, creepy darkness of the highway overpass around them. The clinking echo of the heavy chain on her ankle made her quit before Melvin could yell about it.

Samantha had never hated anyone as much as she did the two drunken brothers sprawled in lawn chairs behind her. They were warm in their long johns under paint stained overalls while she shivered in the same torn, reeking clothes she’d been wearing when the chopper went down.

Samantha wanted to be out of the icy Wyoming wind and in their rusty van where she could search for something to use as a weapon. The two males liked to wait until she was nearing frostbite before climbing in behind her to take what they wanted. It didn’t stop her from fighting, but it did slow her down.

The notion of sex while bodies rotted in cars around them made her stomach lurch. It was supposed to be Henry’s night. He was the younger of the Cruz Painting Company brothers, but Melvin was making shot after shot of Wild Turkey disappear. When he got like this, Samantha and Henry gave in to keep him from getting bent out of shape. Melvin was mean when he was sober. He was a violent drunk.

Instant dick. Samantha scanned vague shapes of farms at the other end of the overpass. Just add alcohol.

The brothers believed she’d been a politician. Her badge had been lost in the crash. She’d told them she was a secretary, but they’d known better. Sam wished she had another gift. Predicting the weather wasn’t going to save her.

The wind blew harder, bringing the sounds of dogs yapping in hunger, thin, distant screams, and loud bangs she couldn’t identify. Their tiny fire was the only speck of light in the darkness. Samantha tried not to think about the horrors she couldn’t see. The two behind her were enough.

“Where we gonna go, Mel? It’s all trashed.”

Melvin took a swig from the dirty bottle, then dug at the filthy crotch under his large stomach. “Nah, man. Not south. We’ll stock up, go to Mexico. Take over like the A-Team.”

“Don’t hafta go on no boat, do we?”

“Prob’ly.” Melvin’s bloodshot eyes lingered on the pale leg showing from under Samantha’s grimy skirt. His thumbprint glared from her calf.

“Ain’t goin’ on no boat.” Henry let out a hard belch.

Melvin gestured toward Sam, cruel smile showing yellow, broken teeth. He threw a rock.

Both men laughed when she cried out.

Samantha let their laughter wash over her. She listened to the angry earth around them instead, resisting the urge to rub her stinging hip. The two abusive pigs keeping her captive, passing her like a bottle, assumed she meant a rainstorm, but it smelled like snow. It might even be a Blue Norther. About the weather, she was never wrong. Her predictions had earned her a pass to safety and given her this hell instead, but she didn’t try to tell them again. The scruffy, thirty-something painters liked to hurt her as punishment. She was covered in bruises. Keeping her mouth shut was a hard lesson to learn.

Get away. Try again! The wind blew harder as if to reinforce the mental demand.

Samantha shivered. The wounds from her first attempt were healing, but the damage to her self-respect never would. She’d used up all her energy for it. Not that she had time for trivial things like health or self-respect. Only survival mattered now.

The trio tensed at a loud gunshot from the west.

When a second shot didn’t come, the drunks went back to their bottle and their complaints.

Samantha resumed her desperate plans. She needed to stack the battle.

Samantha inhaled, concentrating... Snow.

A storm would usher in the new year. Could it help? Maybe, if I manipulate things. Right now, the brothers were drinking heavily. Set to stay up late and wake even later, what would they do upon rising to half a foot of snow on the ground?

She frowned. The brothers would wait out the weather, though they were only an hour from pushing aside the last vehicles blocking the road into Bonneville. They’ll go back to the other end of the overpass, to the deserted farm we stayed in last night.

The thought of being snowed in with the horny idiots sent fire into her gut. Her mind worked the problem while her stomach burned. She had always been a plan ahead person, but who the hell could have prepared for this? She needed the heartless drunks to sleep now and get up ready to go on before the snow got bad. It would put them all out in the blizzard together, possibly providing an opportunity to escape.

You know how to set that up, don’t you? She shuddered, drawing in a deep breath. Yes, but I don’t want to. She couldn’t stand being the one who started it, let alone having to participate or pretend she was enjoying it. It’ll be easier to kill them. I need a weapon. Sam ached to think of possible help at the Essex Compound being so close–

Pop-Pop-Pop!

The sound of tires squealing followed the gunshots, echoing from the southern darkness.

“Shit! They’re back!”

“Henry, get that fire out!”

Samantha climbed into the van as fast as the clinking chain around her ankle would allow, as eager for the tepid warmth as for the hiding place.

She slid onto the bed in the rear of the van. She wasn’t allowed in the front.

They were plunged into darkness as the brothers piled in, slamming the door. Sam sneered when Melvin pulled her between them, but she didn’t resist.

The males cleared spots on the dirty windows.

Samantha kept her chin down. She would be shoved away if she tried to look, but she could imagine the group now nearing the overpass where they were hiding. There would be lights, and gunshots. Then dirty, muddy, rusted trucks full of killers. There would be cruel shouts and mean gestures; scared, abused women would cower in the floorboards. Their futures were grim, short. All of it would be accompanied by dangerous driving, shooting at anything that caught their attention, and a complete disregard for all the death around them.

Danger filled the air as the noises got louder. Slugs slammed into the overpass. Bullets hit the cars around them, then the van.

Sam bit her wrist to keep from screaming.

The gang drove by slowly, lights glaring off debris-covered glass and metal.

They were all glad when the gang avoided the jammed overpass from Interstate 26, traveling below it instead. They were going into Bonneville, where desperate survivors on the CB had been calling for help, for American assistance.

What they’re calling for and what’s coming, Sam thought, tolerating the hands now roaming her sore body from both sides, are as opposite as they can be.

As the last of the noises faded, the van began to rock. Gently at first, it became violent.

A scream echoed.

Light, freezing rain fell over the broken ground.

2

An hour later, the brothers were passed out in the back. Samantha was in the front passenger seat, as far away from the men as the rawhide leash around her neck would allow. Full of cold depression, she yearned for even a cup of charbucks as she shivered and hurt.

Samantha wiped away a tear. Two weeks ago, she’d been at a warm table with a steaming cup of coffee, and her car and driver idling. What a difference from this hell!

Samantha had been alone before the war, but content. Her needs were met by the butler and servants, and then by agency staff when she’d taken over her parents’ work. They had died together while trying to measure a tropical storm during hurricane season. A year into that wild ride, she had predicted a supercell in Nebraska during the Democratic National Convention, and so saved President Milton’s miserable life. Samantha was used to being cared for, but thankfully, she was also able to confront her terrors. It made her a formidable opponent; she didn’t fear death, just the pain. Being a government storm tracker like her parents had been as natural as breathing.

And useless! What good is a tracking power when I have no defenses? Sam now wished she’d asked more questions about the other descendants. If she ran into one out here, she didn’t know how to defend herself from them either. Her parents had stayed solitary, and loyal to the government, for protection from their kind. I want to be back with the government, where I was safe from all these dangers!

Samantha had been with the abusive brothers for nine days now. She’d turned twenty-eight in captivity. For Samantha, who knew where two government compounds were, it was beyond awful. She’d begged them to take her to either bunker. She had even promised to get them passes. A lie, of course. She’d hoped to get the evil brothers shot, but it hadn’t mattered. They weren’t going to release the slave who’d literally dropped from the sky into their laps.

Samantha shivered. That first night had been life changing. No one had helped her. Not the convoys of draftees and soldiers as they rolled by, and certainly not the terrified citizens fleeing ahead of them. It had taken hours to stop calling out for help, days before she had realized the police with all their training hadn’t stood, hadn’t even been able to save themselves. In most of the places she’d been dragged through, the uniformed dead outnumbered civilians. She’d seen old men shot, women beaten, kids left lying where they’d been run over. We’ve lost everything. It’s all gone, and I’m stuck in the middle of the aftermath with alcoholics who know I was one of the chosen few valued by the government.

The aching woman lit one of her reward cigarettes, studying the darkness through the dirty window. They would be on her in an instant if she attacked them while they slept, or if she tried to run. I have to be patient.

The rain splatters faded to light gray sleet, covering the dying world around them. Samantha ignored her pain, calculating. The next twenty-four hours would be hard, but if she was careful, if she picked just the right moment, she would be free.

Sam glanced over her bruised shoulder, eyes now glowing vivid red. And you two bastards might be dead.

3

Samantha didn’t know if it was the icy cold or the bands of pain wrapping around her stomach that woke her to day ten of captivity. She came alert all at once, mind returning to the plan she’d been working on as she fell asleep. She had decided she wouldn’t go to the Essex Compound. On the chopper, the soldier had told her it was being evacuated. That was also the direction radiation victims were coming from. Plus, the brothers knew to follow her there. She couldn’t take the chance they would hunt her down. If they did, she wouldn’t get another opportunity to run. This was her last try.

Samantha took a deep breath, preparing herself to follow through no matter how ugly it got.

Stomach shifting uncomfortably, Samantha stretched over and started the engine. As she flipped on the heater, she told herself at least she wouldn’t have a baby. She’d had a shot the day before the war; it was good for three months.

“What...uh? What’re you doing?” Melvin elbowed Henry.

Samantha struggled to act normal as the wipers cleared a vision into a wintery hell. She was surprised the weather had muffled the sounds. We slept through it, she thought sickly, hoping the gang had traveled on during the night. Bonneville was in flames–all of it.

The sight firmed her decision. Today had to be the day. I’m not going in there. Anyone who ventures into that warzone isn’t coming back out.

“The city is on fire.” She didn’t tell them it was also snowing. She slid onto the floorboard, out of the way.

Her words got Melvin up. He shook Henry awake.

Samantha worried her freedom might come at the cost of innocent lives. Did I make it happen? Am I responsible?

Her grieving mind insisted she knew better. They had hidden from that gang before. They were attacking towns, trying to… What? Eliminate survivors? That fit. Samantha’s heart cried in protest at the loss of people she hadn’t known.

“Get dressed!” Melvin shoved Henry onto the floor, bringing groans. “We came up here for Gail. She needs me!”

Henry struggled to pull on his pants, not arguing.

Melvin glared at Samantha, but he didn’t say anything about her being in the front of the van. I’ll punish her later.

Melvin yanked on his boots and then his coat, peering through the dirty windows for a view of the burning city.

Henry finished dressing, then waited for orders. He was very hungover.

Melvin unlocked the door and opened it. “You walk the area while I scan with the binoculars.”

Henry’s somber face fell into resentment; he still didn’t protest. He couldn’t beat Melvin in a fight on a good day, and this wasn’t one of those. I feel like I might die.

Melvin and Henry stepped outside and slammed the door.

Samantha started searching the front for anything she could use as a weapon. This was the first time they had left her alone in the van. She was quiet.

“No way is your girl still there, man. It’s all on fire.”

Melvin scanned the city, then the clouds raining ashy flakes over everything. “Gail’ll be there. I told her to stay.”

“I don’t know, man.” Henry stared at the roof of the farmhouse behind them. It wasn’t his girlfriend; he didn’t want to go where there was obvious danger.

“I do. We’ll make it by dark. We gotta get started moving shit again.”

“It’s an overpass, Mel. No stores if the storm gets worse.”

Melvin waved a dirty hand. “These cars are the grocery now, and we’re not stuck anywhere. The van’ll go through any storm, even a Norther.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Henry scanned the rotting corpses in many of the cars.

Melvin’s laughter was mean. “The bitch’ll hunt for supplies while we’re shovin’ that semi over. We’ll chain her to the bumper like usual.”

Samantha’s gut clenched in nervous hope. Maybe she would find a real weapon while searching those cars.

“Turn off the engine! Get out here, slut! Time to earn your keep.”

Samantha tried to sound prissy. “In the snow?”

She could hear them snickering as she pulled the keys from the ignition and stuffed them under the dash. Hopefully, the jumble of wires would hide the keys long enough to buy her a head start if fate gave her the chance to run…although she hesitated to do that now. I’m holding too much hatred to just scurry away and pretend none of the abuse happened.

“Yes, in the snow! Come on!” Melvin opened the door.

Samantha yanked on her ruined flats.

“Get out here.” He leaned in.

She tried to control her voice and pounding heart. “I’m in a skirt. I’ll freeze.”

“Find us some clothes in them cars. For you too, but only dresses or skirts. My women don’t wear the pants. I do.”

Samantha nodded obediently. She held her leg out for him to clamp the hated tow chain over her bruised ankle.

Sam sighed in relief when he lifted the rawhide leash from her neck. She forced a small smile. Melvin was the one she might have to kill to get away. It would be best if he thought she was accepting her fate so she would have an element of surprise.

Samantha exited into half an inch of gray flakes, shoe landing on a slick piece of wrapping paper with a smiling Santa. She slipped, crying out as the van door caught her hip. The rusty metal tore through her rotting skirt as she hit the wet ground.

The two painters laughed; Henry doubled over.

Samantha’s anger grew colder.

“Get shoes too.” Melvin kept laughing. “Dumbass woman.”

Samantha picked herself up, rubbing her throbbing hip. She wanted to scream that she had been thrown onto a government chopper; she hadn’t been planning to travel in the snow or anywhere else. She turned away before she could. Fighting back now is not part of the plan.

Samantha’s feet turned icy as she stomped to the farthest car she could reach, thankful the brown, dented wagon was empty of human remains. She ducked into the front, tugging her chain.

Her anger flared hotter as her fingernail caught on the heavy metal and ripped off in a hot flash of pain. I’m almost at my limit. This may be the last sane hour of my life.

4

Samantha was still searching the wagon. At least ten minutes had gone by. She darted a quick glance at the two men struggling with the truck. They weren’t paying attention to her. She took the unobserved moment to evaluate what she’d found. A fanny pack, a lighter, two Bic pens–one of which she slid behind her ear and covered with her dirty hair. Half a pack of smokes and one unopened can of Diet Coke completed the stash. She shoved it all into the fanny pack before switching to the rear. This vehicle was crammed with bags, suitcases, boxes; it was a wonder there had been room for a driver.

The suitcase at the bottom of the floorboard was newer, barely in reach…and full of women’s clothes, she realized, staring at the lacy bra she’d fished out. Her numb fingers resumed exploring the many pouches.

In the last pocket, when she could hear Melvin coming her way, Samantha found the Taser.

She sought, and found, the symbol for a charged battery. The cold edge of hatred sank into her heart. I now have the power of electricity... Samantha deemed it enough as Melvin jerked her around.

“What are you–”

Sam hit the button.

A vicious blast of electricity slammed into Melvin’s chest.

“Uuhhh!” He jerked, letting go of her.

She held the button in.

Melvin stumbled, teetering.

The instant she let go, he thumped to the wet, snowy ground, twitching. His eyes rolled back in his head, nicotine stained fingers landing on her foot.

She kicked his hand away. “Shoulda been nicer, Mel.” That felt good!

She tossed the weapon and its jumble of wire darts into the wagon’s rear seat while Melvin’s body continued to twitch like he was touching a live wire. Sam waved at Henry. “Hey! Something’s wrong with Mel!”

Henry came on the run. He dropped to his knees in the snow next to his brother, who was trying to talk, to warn him.

Sam snatched the pen out of her hiding place, keeping it behind her hip. She let the cap fall to the frozen ground.

Melvin’s lids shut, body stilling.

“What is it? What happened?” Henry stared up at Sam in helpless fear.

Sam shrugged, trying to block his view of the Taser with her body. “A seizure? Make sure he doesn’t swallow his tongue.”

Henry looked back down.

Sam swung from the hip, leaning all her weight into the blow.

The pen plunged into Henry’s neck with little resistance. It made an awful sound. She jumped backward as his body stiffened.

Blood squirted around the pen now protruding from his Adam’s apple.

“Ug!” Henry’s arms jerked; blood rained down his shirt in furious streams. He collapsed across Melvin’s chest.

Sam sucked in a ragged breath, glorious in her victory… I can’t just stand here and wait for Melvin to recover! He’s more dangerous than Henry.

As if to prove her thought, the surviving brother moaned.

Sam clenched her teeth against a surging stomach as she pushed Henry’s bloody body over. She used the dead man’s bootlaces to bind Melvin’s hands and feet, shivering in the snowy wind. In this setup, he wouldn’t be able to stand, let alone run after her. That was good because he wouldn’t take her body for this. It would be her life.

The coldness inside now had little to do with the wind or snow. I’m a killer. I can never go back.

Satisfied with Melvin’s bonds, Sam used icy slush to scrub her hands as she considered where to go. She already knew she would avoid the burning city, and the Badlands to the northwest. She wasn’t going anywhere she’d already been or anywhere Melvin might think of. She had no chance of traveling the Rocky Mountains littering her hazy view to the southeast, at least not on foot, but taking the van was also out of the question. She couldn’t squeeze it through the abandoned traffic by herself and Melvin could probably track it.

To the west, more smoke was rising, backdropped by distant purple mountains. She shivered. Yellowstone. Terrible things are happening there. That only left due east or south. Samantha pushed off the wave of fear waiting to overwhelm her. NORAD is south. I can make it that far.

“Ugh…” Melvin began to regain consciousness.

Sam stayed out of his range as she went back to the snowy wagon. Dirty flakes fell in heavy sheets; the wind gusted as she retrieved the suitcase of clothes and set it on the hood.

Behind her, the trussed man came alert, twisting and groaning. “What the...? Henry! What’d ya do to Henry?”

Samantha ignored him, hated ankle chain rattling while she dug through the suitcase.

“You killed him!” Melvin glared, struggling against his bonds. “I got the keys, bitch! Come get ’em!”

Sam paused, choosing his fate. Did he need to die? That was the only kind of death she was okay delivering.

“Come on!”

“It won’t take long to get the Taser ready again. I’ll come on after your heart attack.” She sat on the icy seat. Her teeth chattered in loud clicks as she began to feed the wires back into the small box. Samantha wasn’t sure if the weapon could be reused this way. She thought it needed a new cartridge or something, but the asshole at her feet wouldn’t know that. Sam smiled at him. Then again, she didn’t know for sure it wouldn’t work. If not, if he pushes me, I have another pen.

Melvin scooted backward as she paused to give him a furious smile of anticipation. “Wait! Okay! We’ll trade. Let me go, we’ll split up!”

Sam worked faster as the captive man pushed himself backward through the slush.

“Okay! Okay! The keys are in my front pocket. You can have ’em. I won’t hurt you!”

Sam shrugged. “I can’t say the same.”

Melvin finally began to beg, sounding sincere. “I’m sorry, lady.”

His voice got louder when she stood.

“Please don’t. Please, lady!”

Fury burned in Samantha’s heart. “You don’t even know my name!”

“No, come on! You’ll kill me. No! I’m sorry for what we did!”

Melvin cringed as Sam dropped to a knee.

She shoved the box against his crotch. “It might not kill you, but you’ll wish it had. Be a good dog now, Mel. Don’t even breathe.”

He kept pleading as she sent a rough hand into his pocket and came up with her freedom.

Sam jumped out of range of his kicking feet, then unlocked the hated chain. It fell to the dirty snow.

“I should lock you to the bumper and leave you here!” She landed a vicious kick to his knee before stepping over him. She stripped, revealing dozens of bruises, and blood crusted to her thighs. She used the grimy skirt to clean up, then threw it in his direction.

Sam pulled on a pair of warm sweats. “Who wears the pants now, you piece of shit?” She kept track of his backward progress as she got what she needed from the weathered wagon.

“What’re you gonna do?”

Sam snapped the fanny pack around her waist. “Henry always carried that knife, the one he used to cut off half my hair! Use it and stay away! Don’t make me kill you.”

Melvin spat at her. “Just ’cause you have a gift that don’t mean you’re worth shit out here in this world! I hope it haunts you that we went right by the compound!”

Samantha left without responding to any of his taunts, threats, lies, or frantic pleas. She would watch out for him. Melvin deserved to die. That was the only way she would feel safe, but she couldn’t, not unless it was needed. One premeditated murder was enough. It was…heavy, as if the chain that had been around her ankle was now clamped to her soul.

Samantha traveled fast, glad when the snow became thicker and the wind blew harder. It muted Melvin’s screams and covered her tracks. It also might kill her if she waited too long to take shelter, but Sam didn’t stop yet. She went by house after warm, empty house to keep her enemy from finding her. Sam wished she could drive one of the vehicles she was climbing around, but they had spent the first few days after the war hunting for something quieter and easier on gas than Melvin’s van. She’d been forced to tell them about EMPs; they’d been lucky the van had even started. Almost anything that ran on electrical components in a damage zone was now junk.

Samantha blinked away tears as the wind stung her, lungs aching from the cold. She ran a damp sweater sleeve across her dripping nose and curled her numb fingers tighter into the wet material as she caught her balance and pushed on.

Sam sucked in a surprised breath as another icy blast of wind hit, but she still didn’t stop. The more space between her and Melvin, the better.

“By and by, Sammi.” She lowered her chin against the wind. “One foot in front of the other.”

5

The snow was blinding. Travel through it was no longer possible on foot. Samantha chose a house behind a thick row of trees; her hands, feet, and face were burning.

She filled a bag of treasures from the home–blankets, a man’s heavy trench coat, a pair of gym shoes, peanut butter, and a loaf of bread with only a little mold on it. She was tempted to enjoy more of the old comforts, but she made her feet take her to the small tool shed behind the house instead of staying there.

The shed held a small, green riding mower and three bales of inviting hay. The gusting wind tried to pull the door from her numb fingers as she shut it. Sam frowned at the little latch. It wouldn’t keep anyone out, and enough time had gone by for Melvin to have gotten free. He would have his rage to drive him through the storm. If he finds me, one of us won’t walk away.

Samantha hung her wet shirt over the window to dry, and to block her shadow. She wasn’t afraid of the darkness or the unfamiliar room. Her terror walked on two legs.

Sam made a bed in the warm, scratchy hay. After two peanut butter sandwiches and the icy Diet Coke, she dozed, covered in blankets and stiff garden bedding. She held a sticky kitchen knife tight in her grip and rested easier than she had in ten days.

6

Melvin didn’t find the knife. He hadn’t checked his dead brother’s boots. The windblown snow covered him, dropping his body temperature. Just before dawn, the painter dreamed of falling into the icy pond behind their childhood home in southern Michigan. The frigid water was suffocating, but Henry wasn’t there to pull him out this time. As his heart stopped beating in the dream, Melvin went into cardiac arrest under six inches of drifting snow. He didn’t wake up as he died.

Five miles away, Samantha’s eyes snapped open. They glowed vivid red in the darkness of her den.

Sam waited to feel worse or better, but nothing changed in her heart.

I feel dead inside. I’m free, but I didn’t win. Their ghosts will haunt my dreams forever.