The Survivors: Book One

Adrian paused again, this time to listen to the wind, not sure if... he shook his head at the obvious shadow outside his flap. That would be Dale; he could tell by the way the hips wore a tool belt with no tools. The rookie was trying to pass his first level test and didn't know he had already failed. The police force was very new. This group of nine men was only the second to try, and it wasn't promising, but they were moving fast out of need.

Adrian frowned. It was a necessity that had been driven home by Tonya. She and Joe had been a couple, but the drunken man who was considered his unofficial second in command, had fallen further into hell the farther they'd traveled. To his credit, the drunk had stubbornly ignored the spiteful redhead when she encouraged him to fight for the leadership she and everyone else saw Adrian earning, but it hadn't mattered.

"Too late by then," Adrian sighed.

He was in charge and Tonya hated it, mainly because he wouldn't give her the time of day, let alone any power. She had turned a hero into a drunkard, slept around on Joe in her quest for power, and tried to manipulate all of them, not understanding the loyalty she saw had to be earned, not stolen.

While Adrian had been busy with keeping them all alive, she had been plotting. Joe wasn't going to get her what she wanted, and instead of breaking it off with him and moving on, she'd convinced one of her lovers to stage a fight over her while Adrian was out of camp on a supply run. Her motive? Adrian still wasn't sure. Had she really thought the camp would just give Joe's place to her lover? Adrian's mind flashed back to the death, and his grip on the notebook tightened.

He knew by the unlit bonfire that something was wrong; how many had he lost?

Adrian followed the loud, male voice to the largest tent, sharp eyes seeing blood splatters and other signs of a fight. When he stepped inside the dim canvas, his arrival was noticed instantly.

"There's The Man!" Caleb, a greasy, blood-streaked biker, growled. He waved his dirty knife toward the corner, where a reddish heap lay in the shadows. "One down, one to go!"

Adrian's heart clenched with sorrow for arriving too late to save the man who had saved him. Then the anger, the rage, was flooding every space of his being. His people, his once-again terrified and cowering sheep, were all huddled in the back of the tent, watching with anxious, fearful eyes. Not about to challenge the lone killer, but clearly expecting him to. Fury like he'd never known filled Adrian. How dare someone try to steal his flock!