The Survivors: Book One

"You'll see that I get time with Charlie, even if we have to sneak?"

Her voice was shaky. "Yes. You'll protect us from Kenny, even if it comes to blood?"

The open fear in her eyes hurt him. "With my life."

The answer fell easily despite the years between them. When she only nodded, Marc caught the fact that she didn't tell him that it wouldn't come to that. What the hell was he walking into?

"Then I agree." Mindful about keeping his distance (still stinging from it) Marc didn't put out his hand until she did hers, and he saw her reluctance, saw her almost draw back before placing her small fingers against his.

Lightning flashed overhead, forking into thick black clouds that rolled across the sky as the lovers touched. Electricity sparked between them, threatening to sweep them into the past. Marc let go, moved back. He was a man of his word.

For Angela, the silence after the crash was deafening, but she didn't apologize for the small theft of some of his healthy energy, almost sure he hadn't noticed. Her oddness was something she planned to rely on now, and he would have to get used to it. Kenny couldn't, hadn't even been able to consider accepting her for what she really was without using it for his own gain. Would Brady?

She stood up, began cleaning. Only time would tell. "Well, come on then, Sir Lancelot. I'd like to make another five by dark."

He snapped a stiff salute, grinning, and she turned away before he could see the disappointment in her tired eyes. Had a tiny part of her lonely heart been hoping that one of his conditions might be another chance with her if she decided not to stay with her Marine?

She swallowed the hurt, closed and locked her door. That was exactly what the old Angela had been waiting for, and it was a struggle not to cry as she shifted into gear.

8

They traveled until it began to get dark. The rain had returned for another light round and then cleared, leaving only the damp, reeking wind as they rolled over dead wires still attached to downed poles and around trees by the hundreds that had their tops sheared off. It was sad, monotonous, and despite her need to hurry, Angela was glad when he finally called her on the radio. She was beat.

"Ready?"

"Yes. You pick, I'll cook."

"Deal. That long drive on your right."

Carefully easing up the long, muddy driveway full of cracks and weeds, she saw the benefits of his choice. Thick trees blocked them from view on one side as far as the eye could see and an unturned cornfield did the same on the rest of the property surrounding the small, grayish farmhouse.