The Survivors: Book One

A few of the big windows were broken, but it looked otherwise undamaged, and Marc headed for the small carport, hoping there was room for two. He had honestly expected her to be driving something flashy and unusable - her obvious seriousness about making this trip was something of a relief as well as a worry. It spoke of someone who wasn't exaggerating.

Marc stopped, watching her slowly back into the hard, dirt row of corn, snapping a surprising few of the knee-high stalks as she pulled in near the house. Obviously, she'd done it a few times, and it made sense. He too preferred not to sleep in homes where family ghosts still lingered. Closing his mouth on the correction he had started to give, Marc waited to see what she had in mind.

Angela pulled out a rolled-up, camouflage tarp, and when she tossed it over her Blazer, pulling gently on the stiff ends, the muddy 4x4 seemed to disappear. Marc felt the Marine inside stir in respect at her resourcefulness. Fresh recruits tried hard for eight weeks to impress, usually without success, and she'd done it in less than a day.

"There should be room for both of us." She had crawled under the tarp and the radio made him jump.

"Copy."

Angela stood on her roof, holding the tarp up so he could back in next to her, and Marc concentrated on watching what he was doing and not her. He put it in park and killed the engine, watched her step casually across his hood and jump down, tugging just right until he had to turn on his inside light to see by.

Now wearing gloves and a heavier coat, Angela was driving thick, steel pegs into the corners of the large tarp as he got out, and Marc went to secure the house, Dog at his side. His movements were careful, thorough, but his mind stayed with the woman he could hear working. She was an asset in this new world, he could see that already. She was strong, smart, and a possible target for every man who saw her. That was what had stopped him from leaving. Marc was almost sure the fire had been set.

He had found something on the corner of his tailgate that could just possibly be the trim of a bullet. The brothers had tried to fry her in her sleep, and when she'd woken too soon, they'd started shooting. The smoke had hurt the brothers' aim, and saved their lives. Amid the cracking tree branches and roar of the flames, Marc hadn't even known they were under attack. She wouldn't stand a chance without him, and he had loved her too much to let her go on this suicide mission completely unprotected.