The Survivors
Broken Bridges

Western Missouri

90 Days AW

1

“This is Safe Haven… Red Cross convoy… survivors. Coming through…”

Angela froze at the staticky transmission.

Marc came to the open passenger door. “Everything okay?”

“That’s them. That’s who we’re searching for.”

Marc knew the group had to be within a few hundred miles for them to hear the transmission. He fished in his pockets for a smoke. That only gave him another three weeks alone with her.

Angela got out and shut the door, ignoring the gray and black wolf on the roof edging over for her attention. “I’ll help.”

Marc understood her need to hurry, but he wanted to linger over the radio for a location. In this big empty, it would be easy to miss them.

“We won’t. I won’t.”

Marc lit a smoke, watching her take care of their lunch mess. She wiped her hands down her jeans as she finished. It was something she wouldn’t have felt relaxed enough to do during their first weeks together. She was growing, learning, changing, and on some things, she was as good as he was.

“They’re near Gillette, Wyoming. We’ll catch up in South Dakota, I think, around Interstate 90.”

Marc recalculated, not doubting her. They would be facing her man...by the end of next week. Ten days. His heart twisted.

“Come on. I’ll back it up; you can do the chains.”

Marc swallowed his unhappiness and cracked an imaginary whip, making her snicker. They’d chosen to tow one of the Blazers to save fuel since they were low again. “You drive. I’ll check the maps for what’s between us and them.”

Angela nodded, glad he’d interrupted her thoughts. Instead of relief that she was about to be with her son, all she could feel was fear. Time to pay was close now, and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to do it.

The mood was somber as they left Corning, Missouri. This was tornado country, part of the alley. It was eerie to discover one block normal–if you could call looted, burned businesses normal–and the next street had only piles of debris standing. It was also farm country, crops of tobacco and river oats were everywhere, surrounded by Indian grass and milkweed. There was no traffic in sight; there hadn’t been for the last day. Angela knew why. Few people had made it out of or through the last town.

Pattonsburg, fully decorated, had bodies in every Christmas scene. Each corpse had been painstakingly put in the place of the person they most resembled. Mary, Santa, Wise Men, and even the baby Jesus were represented. She and Marc had gone around; the feeling of evil was too strong to ignore. They had detoured an extra day, sure each of the actors had been survivors of the war, not victims. They were too fresh. Pattonsburg had become, or maybe always had been, home to a serial killer.

She had marked it in her journal, then tried to forget about it, but she’d kept stewing. Marc had offered to go back and challenge the mad man to ease her mind. She’d denied him, but when the witch had asked the same question, she’d said yes with a heavy heart. After her own encounter with evil, Angela now understood some people had earned death. The nut job in Pattonsburg was one of those; she had sent the witch out to hunt while she slept. The fact that it hadn’t been by her direct hand helped, but death was something she couldn’t handle. If she ever had to kill again, she might–

“Angie.”

She glanced up to replace Marc staring at her.

“Try to let it go.”

Angela breathed deeply. Knowing she had saved future travelers mattered. “I will. What did you say?”

“We’ll have to cross the Missouri to get into Nebraska, unless you want to parallel it until we get below Kansas City. Flatter land might mean a better chance of replaceing a shallow place to cross.”

She was already shaking her head, lifting her sunglasses. “That’s another week. Let’s try to replace a dam or a bridge around here that’s okay.”

Marc stared, stomach uneasy.

Angela gave him a quick look that revealed a desperate need. “I feel it too, but I can’t waste another week. I can’t.”

“I won’t ask you to unless we can’t replace a shallow place or a dam, like we did when we came over the Mississippi.”

Angela studied the empty lanes of Interstate 29. The cracked pavement was full of potholes and mud. She wasn’t sure what was wrong, but she knew something was. “What do you–”

The ground under them began to shake. Angela slammed on the brakes, jerking them to a stop. She started to get out as the vibrations increased.

Marc put a gentle hand on her wrist. “Wait. If it gets worse, we’ll get out. Watch the ground for cracks.”

His touch was soothing, exciting.

He let go slowly, responding to her interest.

The ground under them rumbled and swayed, shifting debris piles. The distinctive sound of buildings collapsing echoed in the distance.

The shaking eased gradually, quieting over a minute before going still. Angela looked over at Marc, who had gone back to studying the map as if nothing had happened. “Should we go on?”

“Yeah, just stop if it starts again. Always stay clear of anything that can fall on you, and watch for cracks. They open up fast.”

Don’t I know it. Angela eased on the pedal, surprised to discover there was a fault line under St. Louis, and it was active. They had felt other tremors, but not while driving and not this strong. In the Midwest, the big one hadn’t come yet, but it felt like things were warming up.

They listened to Pink Floyd as Angela drove over weedy, debris littered streets, rolling around abandoned cars with indecipherable notes mildewed to dashboards. The conversation was about anything other than the destruction around them. Nature was the cause here.

Marc was aching. Time looked short for them, and though he could say they were almost friends, he wasn’t sure if there was more. She’d been keeping space between them. Marc stole another look at her profile as she drove. She was so far out of reach that he didn’t think he would ever have a real chance with her again, but it didn’t stop the desire.

Angela felt his hot looks, but she was blocking so she didn’t catch the exact thoughts unless he sent them. She tried not to fidget. She loved having him so close, but she also hated it. Her body was too aware of him. She was reminded of a time when the mere thought of sex didn’t make her cringe. She had loved to touch him, to kiss him, to run her fingers through his feathered black hair. They had stolen dark, shadowy moments of heaven. The voices whispered he could conquer her fear and make her feel that way again.

“You have to trust me.”

Angela threw him a startled look. “What?”

“You have to turn by that tree.”

Her eyes darted away, cheeks reddening as she realized she’d misheard.

Marc wondered if she’d been thinking about their sparks, but he didn’t push. I know better. She taught me that lesson years ago.

2

They made it to the Nebraska-Missouri state line before dusk and stopped to inspect the area. Marc wasn’t encouraged. The bridge they’d hoped to cross was almost submerged. The river was well over its banks, covering the roads leading to the blue structure, but the water was dammed up on one side. The south end was so low they couldn’t see it from where they were. As a result, the ground between them and the bridge was covered in nasty, stagnant, reeking liquid; the edges of it were pushing up onto the road they were sitting on.

After a long study, Marc handed her the binoculars. “No way we could cross, even if we found a way in.”

Angela knew he was right as soon as she looked. “Damn. I’m surprised the bridge hasn’t fallen yet. Is that a bulldozer jammed up against the railroad trestle?”

“What’s left of one. The water backing up behind the bridge might mean there’s a shallow spot a bit downstream. Go slow.”

The Blazers rolled as Marc searched, picking out places that appeared solid so he could guide her around the quicksand mud that would suck them down.

Half a mile from the doomed bridge, Marc had her stop so he could get out for a better view.

Angela waited, stomach full of spiders. She grimaced at that thought and hid it as he came back to her window.

“It’s steep, but maybe we can make it. Tracks say someone else did recently. If I had to guess, I’d say they did it in a small, light car. Look at it while I unhook my Blazer and then we’ll try. You’ll go first.”

Angela did as he said, hating the way the damp ground gave under her weight and tried to steal the boots from her feet. She felt a little better when she saw it wasn’t a straight drop into the riverbed, but it still looked rough. She could see the tire ruts that someone else had left further down, just above the shallow water rushing by with bits of bobbing debris.

Not feeling the sun anymore, Angela tightened her seatbelt and drove toward the muddy bank, heart thumping. This wasn’t going to go well.

Better tell him, the witch warned.

Angela shook her head. It was too late to go back now. Nothing will keep me from my son!

The radio crackled. “Nice and slow until you hit the flatter part before the water, then pick up speed.”

Angela rode the brakes as she started down; the vehicle bounced over the big rocks, jarring her.

“A little faster, honey.”

She eased off the brake, letting it coast as the water rushed by. It was deeper than she’d first thought, and moving fast. Angela eased on the gas too late; sprays of water flew up from her submerged tires, creating small rapids that surged outward.

Her tires slipped near the middle of the wide riverbed, going sideways in the water, and then she was back in control and shooting across, heart pounding.

Marc came down the incline behind her.

Angela felt the tires slip again as she hit the muddy embankment on the other side. Pedal going to the floor, her tires dug into the wet ground. The Blazer came to a stop and snapped her seatbelt against her chest.

Angie let off the gas and hit reverse, but the tires sank further into the thick slop. She got no response from the four-wheel mode either. Angela was overwhelmed by the feeling of danger. The Blazer fishtailed as the ground began to shake again.

Out! We have to get out! Angela mashed the pedal, spinning the tires. White smoke billowed up.

Marc didn’t warn her as the rumbling increased. He hit the gas and slammed into the rear of her smoking, sliding Blazer, knocking it up and out of the thick mud with little visible damage.

The sound of the bridge’s final collapse was loud. Angela didn’t notice as she was hit hard and moving again. She cleared the edge and she picked up her mike, stopping to look back. “Damn that was... Marc! Get out!”

Marc knew the wall of water was surging toward him. I’ve been here before. When his tires bogged down where hers had, Marc shoved himself out the window and climbed onto the hood, glad Dog was with Angie this time, out of reach.

“The tree! Grab the tree!” Angela’s scream was frantic.

Marc darted across the protesting hood, jumping just as the water slammed into the Blazer. It was snatched by the current and rolled. The thick swells carried it under.

“Marc!” Angela jumped out with the rope from her kit in hand; she ran to the embankment and leaned over the edge. “Marc!”

“Here!”

She spotted him in the center of the churning, rising water. She threw the long cord as hard as she could.

It landed on his outstretched fingers. She saw him double it around his wrist.

She tied the other end to the hitch of her Blazer and ran for the driver seat, not thinking, just doing what instinct told her to.

Marc held the rope and then his breath as the water closed over his face.

The rope tightened, jerking his shoulder brutally, and then he was out like a fish caught by a boater, gasping for air. He coughed violently, feet and hands digging into the mud, clawing for purchase as she hauled him up.

The water roared in protest.

Angela saw him collapse in her mirror. She had her medical bag in hand as she rushed to him. “Marc! Are you hurt?”

Marc pushed onto his knees as he coughed out mouthfuls of diseased river water. He hadn’t been able to hold his breath long enough this time.

She ignored his protests, running her hands over him to check for injuries.

“...finger, or should I give you something?”

Marc was confused, trying to get his air back. “What?”

She gestured at the rising water. “Some of that’s inside you now. We have to get it out before it can settle in and do damage. I have something that’ll bring it up.” She set a small vial on the ground by his feet. “I’ll get camp set.”

Marc blew out a sigh, pushing up onto shaky legs. “Fucking quake. Some great joke.”

“...swallow it all and then take a deep smell of the bottle. Are we okay here?”

Marc blurrily scanned the muddy ground. There was a park about two hundred yards away. It appeared normal. “Over...there. This should be part of the Brownville...State Rec area. Leave my duffle bag, couple of jugs of water. No fire. Stove’s okay.”

Angela left him alone, glad the sound of the water crushing anything and everything would mute his misery and provide privacy.

Angela scanned for problems, pushing her gift out a full mile to be sure no one else was around. She was relieved to replace it empty. Angela turned to check on Marc and saw his torn shirt hit the ground, exposing a wide chest she was drawn to over the distance. When his hand dropped to his belt buckle, she spun around, clumsy fingers getting the Coleman stove lit. I almost lost him. Her impatience had almost killed them both.

Angela found Marc’s naked body across the distance again; she couldn’t look away. He poured the clean water over himself. She felt a stronger chill of desire. He was a beautiful man, and they would be sharing a bed tonight to stay warm. She should have been afraid of getting that intimate, but things had changed for her. She wasn’t afraid of him as a man anymore. It was a welcome change from the paralyzing fear she had lived with for so long. Their bond of trust was one of those blind comforts that might mask the truths she wasn’t ready to face. It would be too easy to fall into a submissive role under Marc and forget her own needs just to make him happy. However, knowing she could feel a normal attraction again gave her hope that Kenn hadn’t damaged her beyond repair when it came to things like love…and sex.

Marc could feel her staring. His body swelled to thickness in seconds. He took his time rinsing, drying, dressing, brushing his teeth. He was alive. So, let her stare all she wants. Maybe she’ll see something she likes and take it.

Angela snickered, picking up the thought. The wall between them had crumbled when the water reached out for him like alien hands.

Marc walked slowly, shirt open, duffle bag over his uninjured shoulder. Their eyes locked over the distance, speaking louder than the water rushing by.

Angela scowled at all the scrapes, cuts, and bruises on his arms, chest, neck, face. I almost got you killed.

Marc shook his head, full of fierce gratitude that he would never be able to express. You saved my life!

I’m sorry.

“Don’t be.” Marc pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “No way to know the smartass upstairs was going to pick those ninety seconds to shake the ground again. Your quick actions saved me. You deserve a promotion.”

Angela waved a hand at the tailgate. “Have a seat. I’ll patch you up while you tell me about this raise.”

He took the Irish coffee she pushed into his clammy hands.

The wolf sat on the ground at his feet.

“All right. In the Corps, you’d start out a Private, but you would have been a Private First Class after Versailles.” Marc watched for signs it was bothering her, but he spotted nothing as she lifted a brow.

“And now?” Angela opened packages from her bag as the sun sank, leaving a pale orange and purple sky. Angela felt him fishing, but that bait had already been stripped by her own guilt.

“Now, I’d say...a Lance Corporal.”

She laughed, hiding her wince. Kenny was a Lance Corporal, though he also would have been ranked higher if he could have followed orders. “Better get a good raise with that. What about you?”

Marc shrugged, concentrating on the red of her lips instead of the stinging from the alcohol pad. “I’m happy where I am.”

Angela heard it all in his voice: the need, the respect, the fierce joy to be alive. She slid his dog tag aside to smear gel over his scrapes. It was heaven and hell to touch him. She barely kept the old Angela from doing something they might regret…like letting her hands wander over his hot skin.

Angela’s pulse was pounding when she stepped back. “Ready for–”

The ground under them lit up again, rattling the Blazer and everything inside it.

“Just a tremor. We’re all right.”

“Okay.” The ground shifted under their feet. Angela stumbled.

Marc caught her.

Angela sucked in a breath, tight against his bare chest. Instead of pulling away when the ground stilled under them, she enjoyed his embrace. His heart was pounding as hard as hers was. She saw his nostrils flare, as if he was scenting her. She blushed. I want him. What a wonderful feeling!

Marc let her have the lead, patiently waiting, hoping desire would have its way. He was dying to kiss her. He craved it. I have to have at least one kiss to take back out into the wilderness with me.

A wave of sadness fell over him when she pulled away; he let her go, trying to keep it from his face. Who was he kidding? He would never take it, and she would never offer.

Angela pushed a bowl of hot soup into his hands. “Any other cuts?”

“No.” He stirred the noodles absently. “I didn’t even tear my jeans. Lot of bruises, though.”

She handed him pills and a cup of water. “Painkillers.”

Marc smiled. His body was sore all over, but his shoulder hurt the worst. Throbbing sharply, it was continuing to swell. He was surprised it hadn’t been dislocated, but he didn’t complain or even mention it. There had been little time for anything else.

“We’ll stay here tonight.”

Marc agreed, watching her set up a lawn chair next to the stove. She waved a hand.

He went where she wanted him.

Angela dropped a blanket over his legs and held up another. “Lean forward a little bit.” When he sat back, she pulled it around his wide shoulders, not flinching when their fingers brushed.

Marc couldn’t stop a small moan of pain when her hands settled onto his shoulder. Then she began rubbing, soothing, pushing, manipulating it back into position. Her fingers were fire one minute and ice the next as she healed him.

Drained, Angela stepped back. “I’m going to put the discs out. Twenty feet?”

He nodded, smothering a yawn as he handed her the wristband controller. “Two rows. One at twenty and one at thirty.”

She did it as he had shown her.

Marc watched for a minute, before rising to his feet. “You want a cup?”

The wind gusted as he scanned the distant but clearer shapes of the mountains to their south, bringing the stench of rotting fish. He kept from gagging by sheer will. His body felt foreign, clammy.

“I’ll get it. Sit down, will ya? That was enough dope to knock you out.”

When he only put a hand on the hatch for support, she came over and slipped an arm around his lean hips. “Come on, Grunt. Time to hit the rack.”

“Been waitin’ weeks to hear that.”

She surprised him by laughing. “Well, wait a while longer, Romeo. Come on now, slide in.”

Marc eased onto the stiff bed.

She tossed the two top blankets over him. When he looked at her, his face was full of fear instead of the male pride she had been expecting.

“I’ll get sick now, right?”

She didn’t lie to him as she brushed dust from her jeans, then leaned inside to pull his blankets up further. “Maybe.”

“Will I die?”

“God, no!” She slid in next to him. “At the worst, you’ll be tired, have diarrhea, and throw up, but it’ll only last a couple weeks because you’re in great shape.”

“So, I’ll feel like I died.”

She grinned, running her hand over his brow to smooth his hair back. She loved the feel of it against her fingers. “That’s the worst. We handled it quickly. You might just be a little queasy for a couple days, but probably not even that. You’ll be fine.”

Marc sighed, relieved. He stared at her until he wasn’t able to stay awake any longer.

The chill in the wind made Angela shiver as she stepped outside to repack everything. She loaded it quickly so Marc wouldn’t get a draft. All the propane cylinders for the heater were gone, and they couldn’t waste the quarter tank of gas they had left to run the engine while they slept. Body heat would do.

Finished, Angela ignored her racing pulse as she shut herself inside the tepid Blazer with Marc and laid down, leaving Dog outside. She slid against his back, covering up as the horror of the day washed over her.

That constant voice of fear whispered she would pay for breaking Kenny’s rules, that it wasn’t just her life in danger. She wasn’t allowed to talk to another man, let alone crawl into bed with one. The past rose up to assault her weary mind; thoughts of being separated from her children crept in. She let herself cry a little against his warm comfort. What am I going to do? She was chained to one man, but she loved another.

Marc had woken the second she left the Blazer. Her pain was something he couldn’t ignore. He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll be okay.”

Angela didn’t respond. She could only hope he was right.

“I am.”

She stared at him.

Marc brushed away her tears. “We’re connected. Always were. No one can stop that.” He kissed her cheek, felt her shiver. “We belong together, Angie, and right or wrong, I still love you. I always have.”

“I love you too.” Her tears fell harder. “There’s no future for us. He’ll never let me go.”

Marc’s heart thumped. She loves me! “We’ll replace a way.”

“And if we can’t?”

Marc didn’t hesitate. “We’ll grab Charlie and run, together this time.”