The Survivors
Hard Goodbyes

Ohio

February 6th

1

I’m leaving today. This is no longer my home.

Angela was dreading the journey she was about to make; the horror in her dreams said it would be worse than her life with Kenny. The nightmares warned she would confront dangers that made the Marine seem like an amusement park ride, but none of it mattered. She couldn’t wait any longer to leave. The circled day on her calendar was over a week away, but she was going now. She just needed to know where Marc was first. Angela had to be sure he was coming this time.

She wasn’t eager to tell her story. She planned to put it off as long as she could, but the odds were against her making it alone. Kenny was also a huge problem. He wouldn’t just hand her son over. Between her man and the trip, she needed help. Marc was the only one left to ask for it.

You can’t! Her fear shouted this time. Kenny will kill you for this!

The door in her mind stayed shut.

The power inside wasn’t at her beck and call. She shared space with a gifted spirit who was still sore about the years in a mental cage. Angela didn’t have more information on how it all worked or where her kind had even come from. All she knew was she needed to use it right now but the witch inside wasn’t cooperating.

I’m scared.

Of being locked up again?

Of him killing us this time.

Angela stood in the dark hallway of her apartment building, understanding only fear was preventing the call. Anger took control. “I’ll kill him if I have to!”

The rush of angry energy blew her fear away. The door in her mind swung open. Her breathing became shallow as power ran through the mud tracked mental halls. Memories washed over her, strengthening the connection.

Jet-black hair, long, feathered, soft on her fingers as their mouths touched. She called for him now, releasing a powerful vibration that rattled like an earthquake. Marcus!

His hands had been light, gentle as they crossed forbidden lines. Marcus!

He had loved her and left. She had never recovered. Marcus!

I’m here, Angie.

He sounded older, used. She winced at the pain of having him in her mind. It reminded her of when it had just been them against the world. “Are you coming?”

I’ll be in Cincinnati by the end of the week.

Angela let out the breath. Five days. She was worried Marc wouldn’t care once he found out what she wanted. She didn’t know what kind of person he had become. She was depending on an old debt.

Will you tell me what’s going on? I picked up a few things, but I can be better prepared if I know more.

Angela listened to her heart. You do know what kind of person he is, or you wouldn’t have called him. The old Angela, the one the war had almost freed, stared hopefully from her twisted cell door.

Angie?

“I’m here, Marc.” She could almost feel him wince this time. It surprised her to discover she didn’t enjoy it. She owed him much worse.

Can you tell me what’s going on?

The caution in his voice allowed the old Angela to open the door between them a little wider. The words fell through silent tears. “My son is somewhere in the middle of the country. I need you to get me there...and then help me get him back. I’m leaving now. We can meet up on the road.”

There wasn’t even a pause after her request.

It’s bad out here, Angie. I wish you’d wait for me.

Pain slammed into her heart. “I tried that already!” She was suddenly sixteen again, hurt, betrayed and alone, with no one to depend on.

She slammed the door on Marc’s incoming protests, but the old Angela was stronger now. She was forced to listen to the muffled explanations he labored to push at her. She heard his remorse, but no matter what he said, Angela refused to answer.

2

Under dawn’s early light, Angela approached the shiny black Blazer in the secluded garage. Her anxious gaze swept the extra tires on the luggage rack, the rear area crammed with boxes, and of course, the tiny grave she had spent time at every day since the war. Leaving her baby behind was hard. She had to force the grief down. I can’t abandon the living child to stay and mourn the dead one.

Angela wiped away her tears, then finished her comparison of contents to the lengthy list in her hand. Do I have everything?

After another minute, she put the paper in the mailbox, along with an envelope in plastic and the door keys from around her neck. It would have to be enough.

She swept the red Tempo, making sure the weather hadn’t dislodged her notes. She had also written on Charlie’s bedroom wall and left the keys in the ignition of the car–just in case. Her quiet, respectful son was becoming angry and impatient. If he slipped off on his own (and survives! Please, let him survive!), she would change course to intercept him.

She had no delusions about the world they were in now. She’d made sure her son would know the truth if he came here–the real truth, not that bullshit she had been forced to tell him for the last decade. There had been a great love, a hard choice, a lie, and a deal of convenience, but really, none of it mattered now. What did matter was telling him how to survive if he found himself alone. The notes would keep him alive until his father came for him.

Light, ashy flurries started to fall as Angela got the last bag from the hallway. She stepped out the door, spotting a woman reflected in the glass she wasn’t sure she knew anymore. She was much stronger than she appeared. Someday, I’ll look the part. Angela slid into the driver’s seat, giving a thin smile. I’m changing again. It’s good...

“Going somewhere?” Warren’s cold tenor outside the open door was unexpected.

Angela flinched, but didn’t draw the gun her hand was resting on. How hard do I have to fight? Will a good bluff set me free? She hadn’t heard them come up, hadn’t felt a warning. They’d probably been here all along, letting her do the labor of loading the supplies.

Half a dozen men lined up across the bare, muddy courtyard in front of her building, cutting off her path of escape. They leered at her openly this time. They were quiet too, another bad sign. She recognized the outline of vests under their thick layers of clothing. Her heart skipped a beat. They came prepared.

Or so they believe, the witch inside comforted. Hold your ground.

Angela tried talking first. “My owner called me. I have to go.”

“Shut up.”

Warren’s bruises told her the chain of command at the college had changed, making this a more dangerous confrontation. Talking her way out was improbable as she stared at the zealot.

“If you try to run, they’ll open fire.” Warren grabbed the door handle. “Get out here.”

Angela slid to her feet, scanning the six men. All of them had a gun aimed at her. She sneered at Warren, gesturing toward the bible under his arm. “No longer under your protection, Preacher?”

“No one is.”

It was confirmation, yet none of the others stepped up to do the speaking, to take control. They stayed well back, even Aaron. Aaron hated her because she’d stayed independent after the war. He was the one who would shoot her. The others wanted her alive. Aaron wanted her dead for humiliating him. “Let me go. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Her would-be captors exchanged nervous looks instead of the scorn she’d been hoping for. It told her they had discussed the possibilities of getting hurt but were determined to follow through.

Her anger flared to life. She would have to fight her way out. Angela let the witch have a little more control. She had to fight–she didn’t have to kill. And I won’t!

The scruffy males advanced toward her together, faces grim, leery.

The witch whispered words; Angela muttered them. “Poison! Blindness! Disease!”

The reaction was instant.

“I can’t see. I can’t see!”

“Skin’s on fire! Someone put me out!”

“The bugs!”

“Help me!”

Warren wasn’t fooled by the vivid bluff. He put a hand out to grab her... He jerked away as lightning flew into a tree in the courtyard next to them, shaking the ground.

The oak exploded, raining wooden shrapnel.

Warren snatched Angela by her sweater, jerking her against his hard, thin body. “Surrender to me! I want that power!”

Her face became a snarl of hatred. “I belong to no man!”

Lightning crashed again, close.

She pushed him away with a strength he wasn’t expecting. When he tried to grab her again, the witch whispered two words.

Angela shut her eyes as her newest gift was revealed. “Fire! Ice!”

Lightning cracked a third time, striking the truck Warren had arrived in. It exploded, raining twisted metal over the battlefield.

Warren and Aaron ducked.

The sky opened up. Chunks of heavy black hail began pelting them.

The four rear teachers whose names she had never learned recovered quickly, but they fled, not using the guns they’d brought as their bluff. They couldn’t use the power if they killed her.

The witch held out a hand; flames danced along her fingertips.

The two remaining men stopped.

“If you push me, I will kill you.” The witch’s voice was ice cold.

Aaron lifted his gun, finger tightening on the trigger.

The witch surged forward to laugh at him. “The woman may die, but I am immortal!”

Aaron paled at her glowing red orbs.

Horns sprouted; her long, crooked mouth opened to reveal sharp, needlelike teeth. When the forked tongue lashed out at him, Aaron ran. He didn’t look back.

The witch remained, resisting Angela’s attempts to get her under control, but the preacher revealed no fear even though he was now facing her alone.

“You are not strong enough to override her morals. She’s a doctor. She will not let you kill me.” Warren was sure of his answer.

The witch grinned, red eyes becoming reptilian. “Doctors kill often. They don’t murder. This will be self-defense.”

Warren grabbed her arm again, Bible in his hand. “I am the Lord’s prophet! I see you, Demon of Souls! Surrender yourself to me in the name of the Father, the Son–”

The witch released the ball of flames before Angela could stop her.

“Ahh!” Fire leapt up the preacher’s bare hands. He slapped at himself.

Angela shoved the witch back before she could deliver a final, consuming blast. Stop! It’s enough.

Never! Never be enough! The witch roared, furious at the attempted theft of her power.

Angela glowered at Warren, ignoring his pain as he tried to put the fire out. “You have offended us. The witch wants your lifeforce as payment.”

Fear filled his face.

“She’ll settle for your death.” Angela held out a hand, where tiny flames were growing, shaping into a ball. “Does it have to be today?”

Warren wanted to push anyway; she could feel it. Angela let the witch’s red orbs blend with her own again. “Last warning…”

The religious fanatic spun away, tattered book falling to the muddy ground.

Angela sucked air into lungs burning from holding her breath. She’d won. I’m free!

Her scream of triumph echoed as her attackers fled.

More confident now that she had another defense to depend on, Angela strode to her Blazer. Warren wouldn’t die and the others wouldn’t follow her even if he wanted them to. If he came for her later, it would just be him, and maybe Aaron. Two against one is much better odds.

Fate laughed at her.

Angela pulled the Blazer door shut as Warren vanished into the thick, rolling black smoke billowing from his burning truck. When his faint outline was gone, the witch retreated to allow Angela an untainted view of the home she had lived in for the last fourteen years.

Angela pushed the grief away as she swept the tiny grave. Shadows darted through the rolling smoke around her.

Angela started the engine and shifted into drive. She was sad and excited, but mostly scared, even with the gun. My kind is not meant to be alone. She pulled her sunglasses over teary eyes and drove away.

Empty and full mailboxes waved a final, hard goodbye in the mirror. Angela was suddenly sure she would never be back here.

3

It was a long day.

The slow going made Angela grit her teeth in frustration and curse as she spent the entire morning creeping west. She squeezed through wherever she could, pushing dog houses, a dumpster, furniture, and even cars out of the way.

The pavement everywhere was cracked, full of spring potholes. She found herself listening for the hit that would give her the first flat tire of her journey. Worried, she began to ease through muddy yards to avoid the glass littering the streets, then berated herself for only making two miles in four hours. More than once, she found her way blocked and had to drive through fences, wincing at every snap of wood, plastic, and bone as she traveled through the riot ravaged areas she had known before the war. Everything was so different, so dangerous; she would never have recognized the towns if she hadn’t been there before. Doubts about her ability to make the trip hit her hardest as she passed through Cheviot, Ohio.

Angela tried to steel herself as she entered the city limits, assuming it would be as bad as her own neighborhood. It was worse. She cried as she drove, tears blurring the awful scene but not enough. The medical salve under her nose pushed back the stench, but again, not enough as the gritty wind gusted harder.

Half of the buildings were gone, burned to charred, blackened frames. Those remaining had shattered doors. The main street was crammed with abandoned cars and wrecks; the corpses made her heart ache. Had no one in this small town found safety?

Angela steered around the blackened shell of an Army transport truck where the driver’s uniformed body was rotting. She sucked in a horrified breath as she cleared the vehicle, able to see what remained of the local municipal building. Only the tall pillars still stood. The wide field of rubble behind it was unrecognizable. Tears came harder at the sight of so many who had represented authority decaying on those charred stone steps. Police, soldiers, and citizens lay in a tangled, gruesome heap.

The Blazer fishtailed on the ice.

Angela hit the brakes too hard and slid on the slushy street. Her front tires slammed into the curb, throwing her against the seatbelt.

The scare allowed her to get control of herself. She concentrated on the quiet rumble of her engine. After a moment, she felt better.

Angela started to reverse... Something changed in the air. She switched off the heater to listen as she swept the area.

Not a threat, the witch informed her, settling back. Just more starving refugees.

Angela put the Blazer in park. She climbed into the rear seat, ignoring the greed insisting she couldn’t spare anything. Yes, I can.

It only took her a few minutes to gather a few things and write a note. She set the two bags outside her door, then got moving again. She had included a list of local stores that still had nonperishables, but Angela knew she’d only delayed the inevitable. Guilt slapped her. She was leaving them here to die.

Because they’re lost, the witch commented sleepily. Without a shepherd, they’ll stay out in the cold and freeze to death. They’ve lost their strength. Those who cannot replace hope will not survive.

Those words pulled at Angela, echoing in her bitter heart. Kenny had found his reason to fight. Charlie’s dreams were full of the survivors they’d joined. She knew they were going to Montana. It made her stomach burn to wonder what kind of sorry bastard was now in charge of her child. She didn’t trust Kenny’s judgment at all; she paid little attention to her son’s inexperienced impressions. No one Kenn approved of could be good.

Angela drove by long gravel driveways surrounded in pine trees and shrubs gone wild from lack of care. The houses on the outskirts gave no comfort as she left the ghost town behind. They were sprawling beasts with paint-chipped porches and untended lawns, their fields ready to be planted. The two-car garages would hold one white or red Ford Crown Victoria, and one midnight blue Starfire that would wait forever for its owner to restore it. There were no signs of normal life, or any other. She drove faster, holding tight to her determination. She was terrified, but she could never turn back and live with herself. Her firstborn son was out here in this hell. I’ll get him back or die trying.

4

Angela made camp her first night in an old cornfield lined in patches of black ice and dirty snow drifts. It was half a mile from the jammed lanes of Interstate 74. The brown, brittle stalks didn’t come to the roof, but when she threw a wide, dark tarp over the top of the car, then scattered slushy snow on it, the vehicle blended in. She felt better as darkness rolled over the broken land.

Angela went to the area she had driven through, straightening rows until the path was normal again, eyes darting at every sound or shift of shadows. She didn’t see any insects or other wildlife, not even ants crawling over the dirt as she set camp. She did hear a robin, but she was unable to pinpoint its location by the weak call. Things were no better here than what she’d left behind.

Angela only got out what she needed for dinner. Nursing a smashed thumb and a sore finger she’d pulled a large splinter from after making her fire and hanging the tarp (nailing things and lighting them up were what her Marine was good at), she left the rear hatch open. The ends of the wide tarp hung to the ground, almost shielding her from the road as she ate.

The sandwiches were gone quickly, as was the vivid green sunset. She sat on the tailgate, surrounded by pillows, sipping a hot cup of chamomile as darkness filled the land. The warmth of the heater pushed back a little of the loneliness as she drank her tea, mourning.

She hadn’t heard anyone on the CB, but gunshots in the distance had made her drive faster through some places. She hadn’t expected to replace normal towns, but not seeing any survivors bothered her. When she filled in a page on her journal from now on, she would include how many people she saw and what each town was like. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to do it, but instinct said she should. In this new world, instincts were a defense that had to be used. She’d only managed eight miles, but it was enough to drive it home. The world had changed. Danger was her new constant companion.

More of it waited for her upon success. Once she found Charlie, there would be a price to pay for leaving when her significant other had made it clear he wanted her to wait for him in Ohio. Until the war, she’d never disobeyed Kenny. They had a deal and he got mean when she broke the rules. He would be upset about her leaving, but he would be furious about Marc. Blood would spill, likely hers. Kenny would never believe anything she offered as an explanation. She would have to warn Marc that it might come to violence. It was only fair he knew what he was getting into.

I wonder where he is now...?

The witch tried to seduce her. You can call him again and ask.

Angie didn’t fall for it. Not because it was wrong, but because a part of her was too excited. She couldn’t wait to see him again. What if I still love him?

Angela told herself she was eager because it meant getting to her son. She was finally able to sleep.

Her dreams were haunted by visions of spending eternity searching the wastelands, but never replaceing him.