The Survivors: Book One

Nothing moved on the dirty suspension bridge swaying precariously behind him, just the same wind and rain-blown debris that was everywhere. Up ahead, were the burned frames of two Hum-vees (11) with a charred Wright Patterson logo on the sides. Both had crashed into a stand of dead and dying pines. His frown deepened.

It was bad here, contaminated, and Marc was glad Angie had left, even while he worried about her being alone. Clearly, it had become too dangerous to stay. Sighing, Marc consulted the map. Where was he? His heart jumped as he figured out his location. Close. Very close to the home Angie had left her ghosts in.

A very short ten minutes later, the Sergeant was rolling up Queen City hill, seeing, but not worried about, the cleared lanes. Probably happened back in the first weeks after the War, when some cities had actually tried to return to normal…which was when their power had gone off.

Marc wondered again why he was here. Angie had a man. Why wasn't he helping get their son back? Had her husband run out on her? Maybe he'd been taken in the draft, along with the boy. Marc nodded. That made sense.

"Maybe he's dead," his heart whispered an alternative eagerly.

The grunt shoved the thought away with revulsion as he braked gently in front of the yellow brick apartment building. He had been here a decade ago, but hadn't possessed the courage, the callousness, to knock. She'd had a completely new life by then and he had realized it was one that didn't include him - one he had no right to disrupt.

Marc had returned to duty and thrown himself into his career: saving, fixing, and impressing. Eventually, he'd ended up in MARSOC, where they used his brains as well as his brawn, but he had never married, unable to even look for a woman he could settle for. He'd never regretted loving Angie, only that he'd let them get caught before they could run.

"She's not here now. Place is empty," Marc muttered, glad he didn't have to face her man, but not really sure why he had come to this place.

Chasing ghosts was always a bad idea, but here he was, drawn into the past again against his will. He had spent his entire adult life trying to convince himself that it hadn't meant much, that she hadn't been the one. Marc was filled with sudden, familiar shame - he'd taken advantage of her, had known it was wrong, but had been unable to resist, and oh God, hadn't every orgasm since paled in comparison? He owed her a huge debt, and there was little she could ask for that he wouldn't give. After all, she was family.