The Survivors: Book One

The Witch released the ball of flames before Angela could stop her, and the fire leapt hungrily up the drunken Preacher's bare hands and face. He slapped at himself frantically.

Angela shoved the Demon back before she could hit him with a final, consuming blast. "Stop! It's enough."

"Never! Never be enough!" the Witch roared, furious at the attempted theft of her freedom.

Angela looked at Warren with hard eyes, ignoring his pain as he tried to put himself out.

"You have offended us, Preacher, and the Demon wants your soul as payment," she stated harshly as he yanked off his smoking jacket. Fear and hatred filled his face.

"She'll settle for your death." The woman held out a hand, where tiny flames were flowing in her palm, growing, shaping into a ball. "Does it have to be today?"

Warren wanted to push anyway, she could feel it, and Angela let the Witch's red eyes blend once again with her own. "Last warning…"

The religious fanatic spun away, tattered book falling to the muddy ground.

Angela sucked air into lungs that burned from holding her breath. She'd won. She was free! Her scream of triumph echoed as they fled.

More confident now that she had another defense to fall back on (flames and ice; fire and brimstone - how fitting!) Angela moved toward her Blazer, reasonably sure Warren wouldn't die, and content that the others wouldn't follow, even if he wanted them to. If he came for her later, it would be only him and maybe Aaron. Two against one were much better odds, she thought, not knowing how wrong that was.

She pulled the Blazer's door closed as Warren vanished behind the thick, rolling black smoke billowing from his burning truck. When his faint outline was gone, the Witch slid fully back to allow Angela a last look through her own eyes, at the empty home - prison cell - she had lived in for the last fourteen years. All she felt was relief. She was finally free and she couldn't wait another second to go.

Locking the doors, Angela pushed the wall of grief and guilt away as the tiny grave caught the corner of her eye. Shadows darted and smoke rolled, as she started the engine and shifted into drive. She felt sad and excited, but mostly scared, even with the gun at her side. Her kind was not meant to be alone. With a last look, she pulled her sunglasses over teary eyes and drove away, empty and full mailboxes waving a final, hard goodbye.