The Survivors: Book One

Warren's face was alive with hatred. "Will she come back for you?"

Brady's stormy eyes darkened. "She's not the one you should worry about."

They moved at the same time, but only one shot lit up the darkness as the Colt barked loudly in a flash of justice and death.

Warren's weapon dropped to the carpeted floor, blood blooming on his chest. A second later, the broken preacher dropped to his knees, eyes almost relieved as scarlet ran in small streams from one corner of his mouth.

Marc stared down at the shuddering man death was fast approaching. When Warren's mouth opened, but no sound came out, he seemed to understand anyway.

"She's not here to serve any man. She's special."

"A Demon!" Warren choked out.

Marc's eyes went colder, but he only frowned, watching the man take his last breath while either thunder or gunfire cracked violently in the distance.

"Look at yourself. You have no right to judge."

2

After pulling Warren's cooling corpse out into the wet, morning light and around the corner of the building, Marc put the letters back together on the glass door where he was sure they had originally been, and left yet another ghost to haunt the world.

Brady returned to his warm vehicle, giving the anxious wolf a quick rub of comfort as he turned on the wipers to clear the heavy layer of rain now thumping down on them. He wiped the stinking liquid from his hands and face as he drove away, then lit a smoke and tried to relax.

Concentrating the way she had taught him so long ago, Marc called out as the riot-ravaged streets of Cincinnati began to roll by. He had to know she was okay. "Angie!"

He hit the brakes as a child's weather-faded ball rolled across the street, its color that of the dirty pavement he was driving on, and slowly rolled on as the wet wind gusted against the muddy 4x4.

"Angie!"

"I'm here, Brady." Her tone was cool, unreadable.

"Where? I just left Queen City hill."

Angela hesitated, knowing by his tone that he had read the letter that was meant for their son. How long had he known where she lived?

"About ten miles north of Greensburg, Indiana," she sent as she got up and started packing her small camp neatly back into the Blazer, trying not to let her teeth chatter in the early morning chill.

If he was in Cincinnati now, then he was still a week behind her and Angela wanted to keep that space for a bit longer. She had to be able to look back after this was all over and know she had gotten the journey started. She also had no idea how to ask him for what she needed yet, hadn't worked out the words in her head.