The Survivors: Book One

There should have been emergency broadcasts, signs, flyers, people taking pictures, measuring, monitoring, all dressed in little white space suits, and yet there was nothing. There should have been soldiers in jeeps, all with itchy trigger fingers and bullhorns, giving orders, and not really helping…but there was only silence.

There should have been aid stations set up, Red Cross units overloaded with patients to be examined, tested, recorded, and left to die. The healthier ones would be kept close enough to force them to beg for handouts, so the scientists could keep studying the effects, and Marc was suddenly sure he couldn't ever do that, would die first. Not that it mattered now. The government that had killed so many, had likely died with them.

"So where to?" He ran a hand over soaked black hair. Where would normal people gather? In stadiums or maybe even malls…

Marc tensed suddenly, some part of him registering the change, a note to the wind that hadn't been there before. Almost as if someone were calling for him, looking.

"Marcus… "

He swung around, drawing drenched leather as his surprised eyes searched for whoever he had let sneak up on him. He frowned when he saw nothing but dogwood flowers and the decaying bodies of two songbirds lying in the yellowish grass. He could have sworn…

His heart thumped as his mind matched the face to the voice, coming up with the one he had banished to his dreams so long ago.

"You'll love me forever?" The girl asked as she let go of the blanket, terrified to trust.

The boy tilted her head up as he pushed gently between her long legs. "Just that long. Not a second more."

The girl smiled happily, leaning up to meet his thrust, and as he kissed her, teenage body on fire, the boy knew instinctively nothing in his adult life would ever be this good. She was perfect…his. He'd never let her go!

Marc's heart clenched with old longing, and the wolf whined uneasily at his Master's pain. It was a wound that time hadn't healed, and the sniper forced his mind from the hurtful memories.

2

Finally reaching the small building on the hill, Marc fell into Marine mode as he squared away the small church (empty, thankfully) and tiny shed that was attached. He moved warily, and once satisfied he was alone, put up alarms. A Marine always carried an emergency kit, and Marc was aware his training would make this new world easier for him than for most. He'd been playing war for years.