“Jack, this is Martin, come in.”
Jack’s pen skittered across the piece of paper he’d been working on – a list of urgent “Rowan Requests” – and he turned to glare at the offending two-way radio. How he missed the pop-music ringtones he’d programmed his cell phone with. He’d take vintage Michael Jackson over that squawking, popping, hissing radio any day. He set his list aside, picked up the radio and braced himself for the trouble that always came with such a summons.
“Martin, this is Jack, go ahead.”
“Jack, I’m at location India, and we have a situation here that requires your expertise. Over.”
Jack frowned, and swung to look at the map pinned to his office wall. Though Martin didn’t insist on the use of call-signs on the two-way, he had strict rules when it came to identifying locations by name on the open air. The last thing they needed, he said, was for other people to know where there was trouble. Jack agreed with the precaution, so they all carried maps of the area with locations of common or strategic interest identified in military alphabet code. Codes for the most often-used locales were rotated. This week, the church was location November.
Jack squinted at the map. The library? He keyed his radio. “Martin, say again. Over.”
“Jack, you’re needed at location India.” There was a loud booming noise, a pause, and when Martin’s voice returned, there was an edge to it that made the hair on Jack’s neck rise. “Sooner rather than later, preacher man. Out.”
Jack pulled his coat on as he jogged down the hallway, stuffing his radio in his pocket and retrieving the keys to the ATV that was waiting outside. It was unusual for Martin to call him in – when he needed finesse, he usually called Layla. Jack started the ATV and zoomed away from the church, only vaguely aware of the beauty of a rare, unseasonably warm February day around him. Martin’s use of the words “preacher man” hadn’t been lost on him, either – an epithet Martin only used when he was under duress. Whatever this was, it was serious. Jack’s heart rate accelerated steadily as he approached the library’s location.
A cluster of people were huddled together behind the old Grandmother’s Kitchen restaurant. Recognizing Martin among them, Jack pulled up and shut off the engine. Martin approached, his face equal parts grim and exasperated.
“Well, I hardly know where to start. It looks like we have another refugee from Colorado Springs, but I’m pretty sure she’s looney-tunes.”
Martin lifted his hand towards a man and a woman who were both holding rifles, waving them over. Jack frowned when he recognized them – Andrea and Paul – and his brain clicked through the duty roster. “Who’s at the sentry post if they’re here?”
“I left Thomas there, and we’ll send these two back as soon as they’ve told you what they heard. This woman didn’t make much sense, so I wanted both of them to report.” Martin nodded at Andrea. “Tell him what she said, everything you can remember. Maybe it will mean something to him.”
Andrea looked up, concentrating, remembering. “Well, she came roaring up to the roadblock on her motorcycle –”
“Dirt bike,” Paul interrupted. “Honda CRF 230.” He returned Andrea’s glare. “What?”
Andrea gave an irritated huff before she went on. “She came roaring up on her dirt bike, and I didn’t think she was going to stop. I was off to the side. She saw Paul first, and I thought she was going to run him down. I stepped in beside him, and she slowed down, then stopped. She didn’t shut the bike off, though – she sat on it and talked to us.”
“She was armed.” Paul broke in again. “Combat shotgun. A Benelli M1014. I’m sure of it.”
“What does it matter what kind of gun it was Paul? Do you want to tell this?”
Martin answered Andrea’s question before Paul could bluster up. “It matters because that’s a top-of-the-line military issue weapon. Marines or special forces.”
Jack spoke, directing his soothing tones to Andrea, who was so jumped up on adrenalin she was about to swat Paul, if he was reading the situation accurately. “Did she identify herself as military?”
“No. That’s the thing.” Andrea’s forehead wrinkled. “She said she was from Tara, and that her name was Scarlett. She spoke in this syrupy southern accent, and kept saying –” She glanced at Paul. “What was it?”
Paul’s face warmed to a rosy pink. “Fiddle-dee-dee.”
“Yeah, that was it. She said she’d made it past the damn Yankees, and then she shook her fist in the air and yelled, ‘As God is my witness, I’ll never go hungry again!’”
Jack and Martin exchanged a glance, and Martin’s mouth turned down. “It gets worse. Please go on, Andrea.”
“Well, she said she needed to get to the library. The accent came and went; sometimes she sounded British. She said she needed information from the ‘restricted section,’ that the chamber had been opened, and she thought she knew what to do about it.” Andrea looked down and swallowed hard. “My daughter used to love Harry Potter. What she said – it sounded just like something the Hermione Granger character would say. We told her we had to clear all newcomers with Martin, and called him”
“That was when it got really weird.” Paul couldn’t hold back any longer. He glanced sideways at Andrea, who made an exaggerated gesture, inviting him to continue. Paul paused long enough to sneer at her – honestly, were they siblings? They acted like squabbling children – before he went on. “This whole time, she mostly ignored me. She’d glance over every now and then, but she would look at my rifle, not at my face. She didn’t like it. She was afraid of it, and of me. I could feel that.”
Jack nodded. Like him, Paul picked up on the emotions of others. “Go on.”
“Well, when Martin arrived, she took one look at him and she…changed. It was like I felt her become a different person. I’d been trying to get a handle on her since she rode up – some people are harder to read than others – but this was so drastic. What she believed changed.” Paul shook his head. “It’s really hard to explain. But when she saw Martin, her face got really hard and mean. She yelled something about him being a ‘Big Bad’ and gunned her bike past us. We followed her, but when we got here, she’d already booted everybody out of the library. Judy – what did she say?”
Judy, an older woman who had been standing off to the side, stepped up. She had been an accountant in the time before and was now doing her best to keep the library organized. “She said her name was Buffy Summers and she wanted to know if her Scooby Gang had arrived yet. When we asked what she was talking about, she started shouting for us all to leave. I hustled the kids out as fast as I could.”
“She thinks she’s Buffy. You know – the Vampire Slayer?” Karleigh stepped into the growing circle, flanked by James and Ben, with Viola bringing up the rear. “It was, like, my favorite show. She thinks Martin is a vampire, or a demon or something.”
Jack frowned. “What are you all doing here?”
“Miss Layla asked us to work in the library today. We’re helping Judy with a card catalog, for the books. She had something going on, I guess. The littles are working in the greenhouse with Carla.”
Jack looked at Martin. “Has anyone tried to reach her? So far, we’ve got two literary characters and a pop-culture icon. This is right up Layla’s alley.”
Martin’s eyes evaded his. “We’ve tried. She’s not answering.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed, and his stomach went tight; whatever was going on with Layla, Martin knew about it, but he didn’t want to tell Jack. He shoved it to the side – time enough to deal with whatever it was when he didn’t have an obviously imbalanced stranger on his hands. “Where is this woman now?”
“Barricaded inside the library. She took three shots at me before she made it inside, but she aimed high, and I don’t think she wants to use her weapon in there. Judy said she saw me through the glass, and she raised her weapon, but then looked around and lowered it again.”
Jack looked at the library, a beautiful building, with its wood and stone façade and soaring glass windows. “She knew right where to go. Bet she was a librarian before, either in the Springs or somewhere else nearby. She wouldn’t want to damage the building or the books.” He looked around at the circle of faces. “She didn’t shoot at or threaten anybody but Martin?”
Heads shook all around, and Jack decided there was no time like the present. “All right. Judy, you and the kids go home – this could take a while. And if it doesn’t sound too ridiculous to say, I’d appreciate it if you’d cover me, Martin.”
Without waiting for agreement or discussion, he stepped into the open. He spread his arms wide, and started walking slowly towards the front doors. “Hello? I’m not armed. I just want to talk to you.”
He doubted the woman could hear him through the glass, but he was more interested in projecting his intent than in the actual words. If this woman, too, had changed, she might be able to feel his sincerity. He made it to the front doors without getting shot, and turned to look back at Grandmother’s Kitchen. Martin’s rifle was trained, rock-steady, on the front door. Jack gave him a thumbs-up, and walked through the doors.
“Hello?” His voice echoed in the soaring foyer. “My name is Jack. I’m one of the leaders here. I used to be a youth pastor, before.” He didn’t know if that would make her more or less hostile, but it felt right to say. “Can I help you with something? Are you a librarian? If you are, we could sure use your help. It’s pretty hard to find things without computers these days.”
“I used to be a librarian.” A voice floated up from behind the circulation desk. As Jack watched, short silver hair appeared, then a pair of bright-blue eyes that were narrowed in suspicion. “Now I’m whoever I need to be. Boudica. Scout. Beatrice.”
She rose to her feet, revealing a face that matched the eyes, set in lines of distrust. Her gaze flickered to the glass front of the building and her face hardened, just as Paul had described. Jack looked over his shoulder and saw that Martin was now standing in plain view, rifle held across his chest. He didn’t have his weapon aimed at the building, but Jack knew how fast that could change.
“’O God, that I were a man. I would eat his heart in the market-place.’” Her hands were white on the shotgun, but she didn’t point it at either Jack or the inexplicably hateful Martin.
“Uhm. Is that Shakespeare?” Her eyes flicked back to him, and she nodded, once. He gave her his best charming smile; boyish self-deprecation was usually effective with older women. “Well, that was a lucky guess. Literature wasn’t my best subject.”
Eyes that had seen much lasered in on him. “You can cut the schmooze. Religious men aren’t my type, and even if they were, I wouldn’t be interested in a puppy like you.” Her gaze returned to Martin, and this time, she brought her shotgun up. “If that asshat doesn’t stand down in ten seconds, I’m sending him back to hell.”
“Hold on! Just hang on a second!” Jack stepped into her line of sight, hands up. “He’s my friend, and he’s a good man. I’ll ask him to put down his weapon and step back, but he won’t leave. We don’t leave each other alone in tough situations. Not here.”
It was as if he hadn’t spoken. The woman stepped to the side and once more sighted in on Martin. “One. Two…”
Jack took a deep breath and threw his shields down, letting everything she was feeling buffet him. He needed to understand her, understand what was driving her hostility. He pressed his fingers to his temple and blinked hard and fast. Criminy, what a mess. It felt like he was in a room with ten overwrought people. But overriding the chaos was something that helped him understand – pure hatred for what she believed Martin represented: The military.
Again, he stepped between her and Martin. “You had a bad experience with a military group in the Springs, is that right?” Her eyes returned to him, and he nodded encouragingly. “I don’t know what you saw, but I can tell you that Martin isn’t like them.”
“He’s a vampire,” she hissed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that an offensive term? Should I say undead American?”
Where was Karleigh when he needed her? “Ma’am, I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying, but I’m pretty clear on what you’re feeling.” He paused, watching her eyes narrow as she processed what he had said. “You know Martin used to be a Marine, and I know how that makes you feel. How about you put your shotgun down and we talk about that for a minute?”
Slowly, she did as he asked. “People here are psychic, too?”
Jack wished he could put his shields back up; keeping all of her emotional personas sorted out was exhausting. First things first, though. “We call it ‘intuitive,’ and yes. Not everyone, but a lot of people, some stronger than others, and in different ways. Our children, especially.” He judged the moment to be right, and stepped to the side, gesturing to the still watchful Martin. “Martin can tell when people are lying. He helps us stay safe by letting us know whether people are trustworthy or not.”
“Hmph.” She sounded skeptical, but her shotgun stayed down, and her face no longer held a killing edge. “And how do you know he’s on the up and up?”
Jack worked up a hearty chuckle, then let it drop when she eyeballed him. If his suspicions were correct… “Why don’t you tell me? I have a feeling you’re pretty good at reading people. That’s the second time you’ve caught me being insincere, if I’m not mistaken.”
Her lips twitched at the corners. “I was a public school librarian for 30 years. I’ve heard every version of ‘The dog ate my library book!’ there is, and then some.” She shifted her gaze to Martin once more, and her eyes went unfocused. After a few moments, she blinked and set her shotgun down on the circulation desk. “Well. I see what you mean. He’s not going to leave you in here alone much longer, so why don’t you go tell him everything’s peachy? He may not be a vampire, but jury’s out on whether or not he’s an asshat.”
Jack’s chuckle this time was genuine. He turned and walked to the door, stepping outside. “Martin, you’re making her really tense. She’s picked up on your military ‘vibe’ and I’m pretty sure she’s seen something bad that she associates you with. How about you clear out of here for a while and leave someone else here to back me up?”
Martin frowned. “I don’t like it. Will she let us search and disarm her?”
“Ah, here’s the thing – I’m not even going to ask her. Not a chance.” Jack lifted his hand to his eyes on the guise of shading them from the bright, mid-day sun. “Has anyone reached Layla yet? I could sure use her literary background. I think we’ve got about ten characters rotating around in here.”
Again, Martin’s eyes evaded. “She’s on her way. Fifteen minutes or so.” He looked at Jack, but kept his eyes unreadable. “Owen’s bringing her in.”
He should have known. Should have known right from the start, and still, it was a kick to the gut that left him without wind for a minute. Layla had taken the day off, which no one had seen fit to share with him, and she was spending that day with Owen.
“Good. That’s fine. Good to know.” What a steady tone he produced. Jack was inordinately proud of it. “When they get here, why don’t you send Layla in and see if Owen will stand watch. In the meantime, it would help a lot if you would just step out of sight.”
Martin nodded. “I’ll be behind the restaurant.”
Jack turned, but before he went back inside, he took a moment. A deep breath, another, some mental gymnastics, and he had his shields up and solid, as well as his feelings about Layla’s blossoming love life shoved into the deepest crevice he could find.
The woman was sitting in a chair behind the circulation desk now, head resting in her hands. She looked up as Jack approached, and she looked so tired, so done-in, that Jack’s heart twisted in empathy in spite of his shields. Without speaking, he dragged a chair up and sat down across from her, offering his hand in silence. She stared at his palm for a moment, then laid her hand in his, a surprisingly delicate hand that was hard with calluses and hidden strength. She pillowed her head on the crook of her other arm, clung to his hand, and wept.
He went to a still place, a peaceful place, and honored her grief with his silence and his presence. He didn’t try to shush her or ease her pain. By the time the door behind him opened, her sobs had diminished to slow, hitching breaths. Layla pulled a chair up beside him and sat down. His nostrils flared, and before he could lock it down, violent jealousy sank long claws into his chest. Owen, on her skin, all over her skin, thick as over-done perfume.
Jack felt Layla’s startled glance – yeah, she had to have picked up that emotional spike – and ignored it. That milk was spilled. He took a deep breath and concentrated on keeping the woman’s hand cradled gently in his. “Ma’am, I’d like you to meet Layla. She’s our teacher, and also a leader here.”
The woman shifted her head to gaze at Layla, but didn’t sit up. “There’s a book of Revelation in everyone’s life,” she whispered. “And I’ve read mine this bitter night. I’ve kept vigil through storm and darkness.”
Layla leaned across the table to gather the woman’s other hand between her own. “So have we all. ‘Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning.’” She smiled. “Shall I call you ‘Anne?’”
The woman sniffled and nodded. “Anne spelt with an ‘e.’” She sat up. “When we’ve become kindred spirits, you may call me ‘Cordelia.’”
“I’ll look forward to it. It’s good to meet another literature lover. I used to teach English and drama at the high school.” She smiled wryly. “Now I teach all ages, everything.”
The woman surprised them with a gritty chuckle. “At least you won’t have to worry about the standardized tests this year. There is that.”
“True.” She glanced at Jack, silently asking his permission to take the lead. He nodded, and her eyes returned to “Anne.” “Martin says you’ve come to us from Colorado Springs? Is that right?”
“It is.” Her gaze turned to the soaring windows, but she wasn’t seeing the spectacular view, Jack was sure. Her brilliant blue eyes dimmed, and her shoulders hunched.
When she didn’t volunteer more, Layla gave her hand a soft stroke. “I can feel that it’s hard to talk about, but can you tell us about the situation there? We’ve only had one other person make it here from the Springs, and that was last summer. We have no idea what’s going on.”
“Anne” nodded, but had to swallow several times before she could start talking. “It’s bad,” she finally said. “I started out in the refugee camp on Fort Carson with my…with my…” Tears flooded, and she turned her head to glare at Jack. “Why did God let me live through this? Do you have an answer for that, mister youth pastor?”
“I don’t. I’ve asked myself the same question. All of us have.”
“Huh. Well, at least you’re honest.” She closed her eyes and firmed her mouth, then spoke in a rush. “I was in the camp with my son and grandson. My daughter-in-law died of the plague, but the three of us survived. We stayed, even when the food ran so low they were only feeding us once a day. There were riots. My son – he died –” The word cracked out of her, a whip of pain. “He died trying to protect my little grandson. People rushed the food wagon, and they were crushed.” She looked down at her hands. “I buried them where they fell. So many dead, and no one would help. So I put my grandson in my son’s arms, and I wrapped them both in a blanket, and I held them one last time before I gave them back to the Earth.”
“Anne” rocked as she spoke, arms clamped around herself, clutching at the meager comfort of her own embrace. Layla went around behind the desk and slid an arm around her shoulders. The woman shifted to grip Layla’s forearm with her small, graceful, strong hands. “I left after that. Most people did. There was no reason to stay – they were out of food. Some of us had heard about a group that started out camped in Memorial Park, then moved to take over the Colorado College campus and part of the Old North End. You know, those mansions up on Wood Avenue, along Monument Creek. When we got there, it was worse than Fort Carson. A lot worse.”
She shuddered. “There was more food to eat, but the things they did. The men in charge were monsters, there’s no other word for them. Vampires.” Her angry hiss made the hair on the back of Jack’s neck rise. “They used fear to keep people in line. Raped women and young girls, every night, where everyone could see. Killed people – publically executed them – if they spoke out or protested. When I got there, people were just keeping their heads down and their mouths shut.”
Jack stood and silently scooted a chair under Layla’s legs. She murmured her thanks, not taking her eyes off “Anne.” “What made you leave?”
The woman’s spine straightened and lifted, and a queen appeared suddenly before them. “I may have regrets,” she said, and though her voice was quiet, it thrummed with power. “I may have wished for death, but when I finally meet Hippolyta in the afterlife, when I can beg her forgiveness for the hunting accident that took her life, I must be able to tell her I died honorably, in battle.” Pride made her face beautiful. “I couldn’t take their food and enjoy their protection, not while others paid the price. I decided I would rather starve with honor than live like that.”
Layla smiled. “We welcome you, Penthesilea. Your sister will welcome and forgive you, I’m sure of it. In the meantime, your strength and your wisdom are much needed here.”
Jack was getting dizzy, but he managed a warm smile. “I don’t suppose you have a name us non-literary folks can pronounce?”
The woman glanced at him disdainfully, then looked at Layla. “Again with the smarm. Is he always like this?”
Layla snorted out a laugh before she caught herself. “Yep. He keeps forgetting that people can see through him now.” She darted twinkling eyes at Jack. “Some of us always could.”
Nothing for it but to ignore his smarting pride and play along. “Sitting right here, ladies. Hearing every disrespectful word.” He achieved the light tone, but his head had started a steady pound. “Are you hungry? Can we take you to get food, or medical attention, if you need it?”
The woman looked around wistfully. “I am hungry, but could I stay here? The books, they’re so…orderly. They make sense. They don’t change. It’s so good to be with books again.”
Layla raised her eyebrows at Jack, though she directed her words at “Anne.” “Of course you can stay. Jack can get someone to bring us some lunch, and I’ll bet we can track down Rowan, too. She’s our healer, though she hates when we call her that. Later, if you’re comfortable, maybe you could meet Martin and talk to him. He’ll be very interested in what you observed in the Springs. He’s pretty impressed by your fancy shotgun, and he’s hoping you’ll share how you got it…”
Jack left her chatting easily to “Anne,” telling her about their small community, settling and soothing as only Layla could. Stepping through the front doors, he came face-to-face with Owen, and just like that, his words left him.
God, he was so tired of pretending.
Apparently, so was Owen. Without greeting, or preamble, he said, “I waited. I waited for her while she waited for you.”
Jack gave him a tight smile. “Do you ever wish for the days when we could just nod civilly at each other and not have this conversation?”
“Layla says the changes are hard for you. That you’ve still got one foot in the past.”
Humiliation heated Jack’s face. “Seems like you two would have better things to do than talk about me behind my back.”
“Oh, we do.” Owen looked down, but not before Jack saw the very male, very private smile that touched his lips.
Jack shut his eyes. Merciful Lord, he prayed, his most heart-felt prayer in almost a year. Please seal my lips. Please bind my hands, before I attack this much larger, much stronger man. Please get me out of this before it gets any more awful than it already is. Jack opened his eyes to find Owen watching him.
“I’m not as smart as you, Jack. I’m not near smart enough for Layla, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. You two might have had something, but now it’s too late.” He gazed at Jack steadily for the space of three heartbeats, letting his resolve be seen and felt. “I just want us to be clear on that.”
“We’re clear.” Jack snapped the words out behind another tight smile. “Crystal clear.” Then, before he could say any one of the hundreds of things Satan was goading him to say – he believed completely in Ultimate Evil in that moment – he took refuge in doing, as he always did these days, world without end, amen. “I’m going to go get our visitor some food. I’d appreciate it if you’d step inside, just in case Layla needs help.”
He didn’t wait for Owen’s agreement, just headed for his ATV. Throughout the long afternoon, while he was zooming to and fro with food, and then ferrying Rowan, while he sat in on Martin’s meeting with the woman they were now calling “Anne,” he kept it stuffed down. Layla and Owen. Owen and Layla. Every time it bubbled up, every time his brain taunted him with imaginings that made him want to roar, he crammed it back down into the crevice.
By the time he, Martin and Layla met to debrief over a late supper, he was pretty sure it was locked down for good. He could sit across the table from her and not wonder if her pretty skin would turn rosy pink with whisker burn. Not wonder if her lush mouth would be soft or firm on a man’s skin. Not wonder if her night-black eyes would spark with light or go sleepy when she was aroused. Nope. Not wonder at all.
She looked up at him just as the thoughts scrolled through his mind and pinned him with narrowed eyes. Angry eyes. Before he could analyze that, she turned her attention to Martin. “You’re worried.”
“Very.” Martin stopped pretending to eat and leaned back. “What ‘Anne’ described – it’s a scenario we saw a lot of in other countries, where law and order had broken down. The powerful hoarding resources, using violence and fear to control a population. I warned Naomi about this, just the other day. We’re likely to see these situations, or worse, when we leave here. It’s probably happening all over the world, to varying degrees.”
Jack tilted his head to the side, “But it’s not happening here. And it’s actively worrying you. Forgive me for my honesty, but it’s not like you to trouble yourself with the problems of people you don’t know.”
“No forgiveness needed. I don’t. Trouble myself, that is.” He sighed. “I just don’t think we’re going to have the luxury of not knowing them forever.”
“You think they’ll come here?” Layla asked. “Why?”
“I know what I would do, in the same situation. Eventually, they’ll need to get out of the city, to establish a more defensible position. They’ll also need resources the city can no longer provide. Right now, they’re probably still able to live quite well by scavenging what was left behind. So many died, so fast, there were a lot of resources left. We just made it through our first winter pretty easily by collecting and distributing canned and dried goods, and they’ve got a much bigger city to scavenge from.”
Martin shook his head, his eyes far-away, fixed on a difficult future. “We’re in a time of transition, though. We’ve been able to use generators for at least minimal electricity. We’ve got gas from all the abandoned vehicles, and it hasn’t started to degrade yet. Batteries, laundry soap, pre-made clothing – you name it, we’ve still got it. But this time will end, for us and for them. We’ll all have to find a new way. When their resources are exhausted, they’ll probably look to move to high ground. They’ll either come to us or through us; either way, they’ll take everything we’ve got and leave a wasteland behind.”
Jack’s scalp prickled with the remembered terror of his nightmares. “They will,” he said hoarsely. For the moment, the drama with Layla, the confusion and misery in his heart, were the last things on his mind. He looked at both Martin and Layla, and said simply, “I’ve dreamed it. Like I dreamed of the plague. No information about ‘when’ – I just know it’ll happen.”
“What can we do? Surely we’re not going to just sit here and wait for them to destroy everything we’ve built?” Layla’s anger crackled around all three of them, power and outrage and protectiveness in equal parts. “We have to mount a defense. Stop them.”
Martin eyed her warily. “Are you going to change me into a toad if I ask you how? I’m the only person with a military background. Some of us know how to handle weapons well enough to hunt, and more are learning, but our only other marksperson won’t shoot at anything with a heartbeat.”
When Layla just gazed at him in tight-lipped silence, he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. “I don’t disagree. We can’t just sit here, but we need to be realistic about what we’re up against. Before the plague, Colorado Springs was having a lot of problems with what law enforcement called ‘Super Gangs’ – men and women with military training that got out of the service and returned to their gang roots. We can’t know if one of those gangs formed the basis of the group ‘Anne’ described, but we can be fairly certain that many of them have combat or other specialized training that we just don’t. We can’t outfight them. We’ll have to come up with another way.”
“Are you talking about relocating?” Jack asked.
“Yes. Though no matter where or how far we go, we’ll have to deal with them eventually.” Martin rubbed his forehead wearily. “I know a lot of people have moved in closer, but we’re still wide open. There’s no way to secure the town – we just don’t have enough people. Our checkpoints will only stop the folks who aren’t interested in sneaking in. Otherwise, a fairly sizeable group could slide right into the town square before we even knew they were here. But before we make that decision and ask people to move, we need more information.”
“Maybe ‘Anne’ can tell us more, when she’s had time to settle in and calm down.” Layla turned a troubled frown in Jack’s direction. “She can’t remember her own name. When I pressed her on it, ‘Penthesilea’ came back. She was a queen among the Amazons, according to Greek myth, and fought at Troy. She’s very regal and intimidating, and certainly doesn’t answer questions she doesn’t want to.”
“What does Rowan say about it?” Jack directed the question to a point beyond Layla’s right shoulder. Not looking at her helped him stay focused. “And where is Rowan, by the way?”
“I hope she’s home sleeping. With all the hullabaloo, I forgot to tell you; our numbers have grown by one.” She grinned. “Sophie and Alder had their baby this morning, just before dawn – a little boy they’ve named Oliver. Rowan was with them all night long. She’s thrilled to be an aunt, but she was wiped out. When I asked her about ‘Anne,’ she said something snarky about psychology not being her specialty. I’ll ask her again when she’s had some rest.”
One of the items on the “Rowan Requests” list had been birth control of any kind – little Oliver was just the first of what she was calling the “post-apocalyptic baby boom.” At last count, eleven women were pregnant in their small community – well, ten, as of this morning. As ever and always, survival led to sex, but in a society that had grown accustomed to reliable, readily-available birth control, it was also leading to a lot of unplanned babies. Against his will, Jack’s eyes slid to Layla. No. No, he would not permit himself to go there. Before his mind could create that awful what-if, he grimly re-focused his attention on the conversation, which had gone on without him.
Layla was smiling wryly at Martin. “At least Buffy didn’t show up again when you met with ‘Anne.’ I’m pretty sure she reserves that character for people she perceives as extremely dangerous, so maybe you should be flattered. I don’t know what all the psycho babble would be to describe it, but I think she ‘becomes’ these characters to handle what she doesn’t think she can handle as herself. And I don’t think we’ve scratched the surface of what she saw and experienced in the Springs.”
“Neither do I.” Jack’s sigh came all the way from his soul. He didn’t want to know about the awful things people were doing to each other. “All we can do is reassure her that’s she’s safe and wait, I guess. Martin, does this information change your plans? Is it a good idea to leave, in light of this?”
Martin’s defensiveness preceded his words. “My kids remain my priority. That’s non-negotiable. Weather permitting, we’ll leave in a couple weeks. We plan to be gone at least four or five days, possibly more, depending on what we find.” He made an obvious effort to throttle back his emotions. “I don’t think the threat is imminent, Jack. A group that size isn’t easy to move, especially not with the pass blocked. They’d be fools to try it before late spring, in any case. We’ll watch for scouts or for activity on Highway 24, and we need to send people to find out what condition Rampart Range Road and Old Stage Road are in. We don’t want them sneaking in the back door.”
“I’ll help coordinate all that.” Jack reined in the desire to argue, convince, manipulate. Martin had made it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate such machinations, not ever again. “Tomorrow’s soon enough, I think.”
Martin nodded and rose, murmuring a good night. Layla rose as well, but Jack held out a hand, forestalling her. “If you could wait just a minute, I need to talk to you.”
Layla’s eyebrows rose; typically, Jack turned back flips to avoid being alone with her. She folded her arms over her chest and propped a hip on the table, watching him with narrowed eyes. By unspoken agreement, they waited until they both heard the faint sound of Martin’s ATV start up outside. Then Jack rose to his feet as well.
“For future reference,” he said as levelly as he could manage, surprised by the amount of rage that was still surging in him, “I would appreciate it if you’d let me know next time you’re taking a day off. None of us have the luxury of sneaking off for a day of –”
Of what, Jack? He should have thought this through better. The pause got more and more suggestive, the longer he held it. Finally, he burst out with, “You’re welcome to sleep with whoever you want, whenever you want. Just let us know where you are in case you’re needed.” He slogged on, even though he could hear what a pompous jackass he was being. “All of us have responsibilities that supersede our sex lives. I hope you recognize that.”
Oh, holy Father. The look in her eyes. Jack felt vulnerable parts of his anatomy tighten close to his body for protection, and his scalp prickled, echoing the alarm. She straightened slowly, and let her arms drop to her sides. Why did it always look like her hair writhed to life when she was angry?
“Sneaking around? Is that your perception?”
Her voice was a dangerous hiss. “An interesting distortion of what
I would call common courtesy and privacy. My sex life is none of
your business – it never was, and it certainly never will be – but
thanks so much for your permission for me to carry on, whenever and
with whomever I want.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully,
while Jack fought to buffer the pure rage she made no effort to
hide from him. “Would you mind if Owen and I made use of the
sanctuary, next time we have a sunny day? Those stained glass
windows are so pretty, and the way the light falls on the pulpit, I
think the effect would be quite artistic...”
Jack’s hold on his own rage slipped, hard. “There’s no need to be
obscene.”
“I’m being obscene? I am?” Layla took a step towards him, then another, chest rising and falling swiftly. “Did you think I couldn’t feel what you were thinking earlier? You were all over me, and you had me all over you!” She shook her head at him in disgust. “Goddess grant me patience. You had your chance, Jack. I made that plain enough, to my ever-lasting humiliation. And now that I’ve moved on, now you want to play the jealous lover? I don’t need these childish games.”
“I’m not a child,” he said roughly. Then he, who had never laid a violent hand on another person in his life; he, who counseled gentleness and respect for women at all times and in all situations; he, who prided himself on mastering the needs of his body through prayer and self-control; he snapped.
Two steps brought him nose-to-nose with Layla, who, of course, stood her ground. He didn’t put his hands on another man’s woman, though. Oh, no. What he did was far worse.
Jack ducked his head, bringing his mouth so close to Layla’s, he inhaled her startled exhalation. Her eyes were startled, too, those exotic, dark eyes that promised such exotic, dark things. Things he could make her do. He locked his gaze on hers, and dropped his shields completely, letting her feel what she did to him, what she had always done to him. Her eyes went wide.
He could feel her shields trembling as she fought to keep them up, and he bent every bit of his will and purpose on getting her to drop them. Persuasion, coercion, manipulation – everything he’d learned of these things and the often blurred lines between them, he brought to bear on her faltering defenses. He needed to be inside her in this way, desperately needed the connection, more intimate than any sexual contact he’d ever experienced.
“Let me in.” He breathed the words onto her lips, watched them part, and felt lust slide, molten hot, down his spine. He shared that with her too, and was gratified when she shuddered. “Let me in, Layla. It would be so good. We would be so good together.”
“I want you to stop.” Power vibrated in her command. He felt the hesitation permeate his body. Muscles, blood, heart and mind wanted to obey her. She so rarely used this thing she could do, he forgot about it at times. It was wrong, she had said, she who was so hesitant to label things as “right” or “wrong,” “good” or “bad.” Wrong, to force another to obey your desire, to override their will and conscience, even if your intent was benevolent.
She’s lying. His own will slid the words into his mind. She wants this. Wants you. Jack smiled, and shook off her imperative as easily as he would shrug off a light jacket. “Kiss me, Layla. Put your mouth on mine.”
Just like that, her shields shattered around her. The avalanche of emotions staggered him – confusion, desire, anger, fear, lust, tenderness, exasperation, disappointment. He zeroed in on those that would serve his purpose and stroked them, amplified them. A low growl rumbled in his chest when one of his questions was answered: Sleepy. Her eyes went sleepy when she was aroused.
Her eyes. Her mindless, blank eyes. Eyes without Layla in them.
Jack took a step back. Then another.
She came back to herself as he watched, shaking her head slightly, as if she’d been in a trance. It began to sink in, then, what he had done, the vulnerability he’d inflicted on her like an attack. He had used what he knew of her, what he sensed from her, to control her. To take her will away, and insert his in its place. Worst of all, he realized, her trust in him had given him that power.
Jack thought he might vomit.
There they stood, both of them more than naked, completely exposed. Jack stared at her, as she lifted a hand to shield the mouth he had tried to force her to give. She stared back, eyes now filled with angry tears. Before she could speak the words of censure he felt rising in her, he held up his hand.
“I’m sorry. Layla, I’m so sorry.”
She left without saying a word. Left him, to sit alone in the growing darkness and marvel at the horrifying thing he had just learned he could do.