The Survivors: Book One

"Loved?" his heart questioned scornfully and Marc pushed it away. They would stay on the back roads and be careful with shooting lessons that would draw attention. One look at her and they would be under attack again, he thought, not knowing how true that was.

An hour later, they were settled on their bedrolls on the floor, eating and trying not to stare at each other.

"I notice you don't wear any insignia. What branch of the Marines were you in?"

She was red-eyed, exhausted, and Marc looked up from his mostly empty plate, still dwelling on her story of finding fresh meat in the basement of a mansion she'd passed in Edinburgh. Drawn by the lights in the windows, the generator was still running and there had obviously been people there recently, but she said she had seen no one while exploring the big house. What courage that must have taken!

"Brady?"

"The one with no name."

His words made her frown. Hadn't Kenny said about the same thing a few years ago, when she asked about the last advancement? She sighed, eyes going to the bedroll between her and the blanket-covered doorway as the wind howled outside. Kenny was going be so pissed she couldn't even predict what he might do. Was Brady equal to that? "Like The Unit?"

Marc looked up at her with a smile. "You watched that bs?"

"Every Tuesday, no matter what."

Her bitter tone made his smile fade and he waited for more, but there was only silence. He could feel her wanting to ask if he was that good, and admired her control when she didn't.

"Yes," he finally said, answering her unspoken question.

Angela met his eye. "You're sure?"

He nodded, not quite thinking about the harshest things he'd done as a Marine, but she could almost feel the darkness, the dirty stain on his soul, and was comforted.

"Him too. He's got four years in now."

Marc looked at her with shuttered eyes. "Most men don't do it that long. It's dangerous work."

She heard it, felt there was more, and let herself ask this time, "How long for you, Brady?"

He didn't look away. "Eight. I had my own team."

Angela knew he was heartbroken over the personal loss, could hear it in his tone, but she couldn't bring herself to mouth the usual pleasantries the old world would have required. He was mourning a great life. She'd barely had one to lose. Only two sons and now, one was rotting underground and the other was lost in the wilderness.