Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3 (66 page)

“Where’ve you been, Sam?” Reuben asked as Sam appeared in the media tent for his turn on watch, only a few minutes late.

“I got a little sidetracked on the way,” Sam said, and Graham waited for the reason, but Sam didn’t offer one. Instead, he was busy bringing in what looked like spools of drab-green paracord on sticks of various sizes, as well as a hatchet.

“So, you’re on watch now. I’ll go relieve the guard for dinner,” Reuben said.

“I can take a turn too, Reuben,” Graham said.

“We need you here until Rick’s back. We need two people as runner and listener in case we hear or see something on camera,” Reuben explained.

Graham agreed with that logic, and then Sam said, “Hey, Reuben before you leave, make sure McCann and Macy are back by dark. If they’re not, let me know.”

“Where’d McCann go?” Graham asked as Sam unrolled large lengths of the paracord on the ground between his knees.

“He’s on a mission. He’s fine. Guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.” Sam pulled out his pocket knife and cut off a precise length of cord, tying a knot on the opened end.

“Gotcha. Graham said, snickering and let it lie, knowing what McCann was up to but concerned about his condition all the same. What are you making?”

“Traps,” Sam said, but nothing more.

“Wait, is McCann mounted?” Reuben called from the door.

“Yeah. He’s mounted,” Sam said, and Reuben left to resume his other duties.

After Reuben left, Sam said, “I don’t envy you. Two daughters . . .” He looked up at Graham and shook his head as if the condition were the worst plague ever imagined.

“Yeah, but this is nothing.” He watched Sam cut off two more lengths of cording about the same length of the first. “At least they aren’t fighting right now. That drives me crazy. Tala’s good with them, though.”

“How’s she getting along with the move? Sorry we had to pull you guys over here, but it’s for the best,” Sam said with a strand in his mouth.

“She’s a trooper. She’s got everything worked out. Nothing rattles her too much . . . except for the idea of me getting killed, that is,” Graham admitted.

“Yeah, losing Steven has been a real blow, and having Dalton this far gone really has us at a disadvantage. He’ll come through it though—out of pure will if nothing else. He won’t leave those boys if he can help it.” Sam laid the paracord lengths to the side to pick up the hatchet and a sturdy
V
-shaped stick. He started to cut a notch below the
V
.

Graham got the intensity of Sam’s statement, but he still worried about Dalton as their leader. With Rick compromised over the loss of Steven, this group would go astray without Dalton’s leadership. They had the tactical power to fight off a large group, but being short on men had them at a disadvantage. Graham scanned the cameras again while Sam worked on what he could only guess was a snare of some kind.

“What’s the contingency, Sam? If we hear from them, that is.”

“Depends on what they do and how close they get,” Sam said. “If they track us here, we’ve got to fight them and run for it. We’ve got the vehicles with provisions all ready and a route planned north to bug out. We’re hidden here, but not that well hidden. It’s a matter of time. We’ve got to go after them before they discover us. Right now, we’re sitting ducks. That’s not a good position to be in.”

“Have you ever been a police officer or a soldier, Sam?”

“No, but I’ve fought man, bear, and beasts of all kinds in my time. I’d count these guys in the beasts category. No man would ever be this vile. These are too far gone for redemption. They must be exterminated like the scum they are.” Then he sunk the hatchet into the notch he’d just created.

Graham had never heard Sam speak more than a few sentences strung together. This kind of thinking was still new to Graham, but he had to agree. They needed to fight back and fast, but the problem was that they didn’t know how widespread the invaders were. They could have been pouring into Texas and the southern borders all this time.

“I’m on board one hundred percent, Sam,” Graham said.

Graham checked the cameras again in detail. The center of Cascade looked clear aside from a herd of deer munching on new spring growth near the post office.

“Did McCann look like he was stable enough to ride on his horse?” Graham asked after a moment. He watched as Sam formulated an opinion while working on the second stick. “No, but he knows what he’s doing. My mother would say that boy is touched with an old soul. I wouldn’t worry about that one. Mark and Marcy, on the other hand, are going to make you a pops before too long.”

“Don’t say that, man,” Graham pleaded, holding up his hand. “I don’t know what to do with those two.”

“Nothing you can do. Nature tells them what to do, what’s needed. Right now there’s a need for more babies in the world. Problem is, we’re still fighting the enemy. We’re not safe yet.”

Amid the surveillance camera equipment, both of their heads popped up from their tasks as the occasional repeaters operated—now with an eerie human voice erupting over the waves. Their eyes met. It was a voice of normality from the past stating the frequency and call of the programmed repeaters, still announcing its duty in a world with few men left to care about it. It teased them. Sam shook his head in fervent hatred and Graham nodded, looking past him in resigned agreement.

It was the forest again. Her smell lingered among the shadowed pines. Once he entered, the sunset glimmered through the high trees alerting McCann to the time; too few minutes remained before it would set. He gently called to her, “Maaacy.”

Only silence filled the air, leaving it bereft of her. McCann tempted her with another soft call. The drugs were impairing his senses, but he felt her here, he knew her presence.

Then a chance sunset ray caught a strand of her golden hair behind a tree trunk. He searched further and found her peeking out at him with one blue eye.

“Macy.”

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“Looking for you.”

She leaned out from the tree, using one hand for leverage to look at him wholly. “You’re crazy,” she said, somewhat flattered that McCann had come looking for her in his condition.

“Come, Macy. Don’t make me get down. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back up,” he admitted, holding his right arm out for her as if she’d obey him that easily.

“I want to go home. Not there,” she complained.

“It is our home for now. It’s safer, Macy. Come here, please,” he coaxed further.

She shot behind the tree again and out of sight.

“Dammit, Macy. Come here,” he said, swaying in his saddle, his head spinning while he looked for her in the dimming light.

“Go back, McCann. I’ll come in later. When I want to.”

He got more frustrated; light was sinking farther down through the pines. Her voice seemed to be moving around him.

“Macy, please, come to me,” he pleaded, knowing the stern voice would never do with her. He waited, hoping she’d have mercy on him. He closed his eyes to the dusk and tried to listen for her. Moments passed and no alert came to him. He took a deep breath, knowing he’d have to dismount to find her. He blew the breath out with control, steadily, needing to pull as much patience from the act as possible.

“Okay, I’m coming for you,” he said in final resignation, lifting his boot to dismount. A light grasp on his thigh shocked him through. Macy’s blue eyes pierced McCann with what little golden flickers remained of the descending sun. He gave her his right arm, steady and strong. She embraced it and used her knee as leverage against the horse’s side as he pulled her up and settled her in front of him in the saddle.

“You should probably drive, sneaky,” he said. He handed her the reigns, and then wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered into the back of her neck, “Don’t worry, Macy. I’d never leave you.”

Dalton’s chest rose and fell with a cadence that Rick’s own breathing began to emulate. “Come on, Dalton. Wake up, man. I’ve got crap to do.”

Rick tossed his hat a few more times, letting the circumference loop through his hands while he stared down between his knees. The silence, interrupted only by mechanical beeping, was driving him nuts. “Seriously, a lot of shit is going on, man. I’m not sure we can do this without you.” He slid his hand over his own tired face, the skin still rough and calloused from the work of grave digging.

“How’s he doing?” Clarisse asked, startling Rick as she entered the room. “Any changes?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s okay. You can get back now. I’ve told the boys.”

“How’d they take the news?” he asked her.

Clarisse ran her hand over her smooth hair, making sure it was still in place. “I wanted to tell them the truth. I wanted to let them know the reality that he could still die.” Remembering, she broke eye contact with Rick and looked down at the ground, shaking her head. “I couldn’t do it. He’s got to pull through this. He has no choice.”

“He will, Clarisse,” Rick said. “Yes, he has no fucking choice. Hear that, asshole?” Rick directed the message at Dalton’s sleeping form, then stood and stretched.

“You should go get some sleep, Rick.”

“Can’t. No rest for the wicked, and I’m going to be very fucking wicked here soon,” he said as he departed the tent into the evening air.

Clarisse watched him go, and felt a menacing tingle; every hair on her arms and neck stood on end. Rick was a man renowned of many unique talents. Now he was a man hell-bent on brutal annihilation, and with his mind working on the demise of another, she thought,
hell hath no mercy for those on the wrong side of vengeance
.

She shrugged off the prickles and focused on Dalton again. Scanning every machine connected to the man she loved, she was relieved that there were no changes indicating a setback of any kind. She needed to wake him now to find out if there would be any further emergencies as he gained consciousness.

Leaving Dalton’s side, she walked over to close the tent flap door for privacy and then removed her glasses. “Okay, sweetheart. Time to come back to me.”

A white sheet was tucked at Dalton’s waistline, and Clarisse pulled it slowly down to his ankles, accessing the broken body before her and taking in the unbroken parts of him that she loved so much. She ran her hand, lightly and slowly, to the inside of his hairy, muscular thigh. She couldn’t think of a better way of waking him from such a deep sleep than kissing him lightly on the lips and massaging him where she knew he loved her touch. She carefully avoided the torn shoulder, moving her other hand to his dark-blond locks and gently weaving them through her fingers.

Dalton’s right hand flinched in her peripheral view after a moment, and she turned her head to the side to glance at the EKG machine, where the needle showed a slight increase in heart rate.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” came his husky breath to her ear.

She smiled down at him, overjoyed that he had come back to her. With tears dropping to his chest, she whispered, “I never stop what I’ve started. You know that about me.”

Tala woke up on her side in their temporary accommodations, Graham spooning behind her, his arm draped over her swollen belly. The baby kicked and turned within her.

“
He
wants to play,” Graham said sleepily into the back of her head.

“You mean
she
don’t you?” Tala said as he smoothed his hand over her creamy bare skin where her tank top rode up. Then she felt his hand travel to her hip.

“Tala,” he said, nuzzling in closer.

“Nope,” she said and pointed to the other side of the tent where a little boy snored soundly, but not soundly enough. She put her finger to her lips and smiled teasingly up at Graham. “Shhh.”

He dropped his head in defeat. “Okay, I’ve got to go to help out anyway,” he said and swung his legs over the side of their cot.

“Me, too. I’ve got kitchen duty this morning.”

“Take it easy, please,” Graham said, tugging on his jeans.

Tala propped herself up on her elbows to watch him dress. “Did you make sure the boys were in the boys’ tent and the girls were in the girls’ tent last night?”

“Yes, I did, at around three this morning when I got off guard duty, but that doesn’t mean anything. Sheriff was with Macy though,” he said, leaving the tent for the showers.

“Have a nice day at work, Graham.” Tala tormented him again with a wicked smile and a raised eyebrow, and he shot her a devilish look that said
Enough,
or you’ll be sorry
. She lay back down after he left, curling up where his warmth and smell still lingered on the bed. It frightened her that they couldn’t feel safe in their own cabin, alone—just Tala, Graham, and the children she’d come to love and call her own.

Now the twins were in the tent set up next to theirs, and the boys were on the other side, all in a row like the rest of the preppers. There was no more making Graham coffee at dawn, or the little things that made up their morning routine. Even the kids, only on their second day at the prepper camp, were still adjusting, though they all knew it was for the best and they had to make it work for now.

“Are we going to work in the garden today?”

Tala rolled over to see Bang peeking back out at her. A blush threatened her face. She hoped he hadn’t been awake long and had picked up on their playful banter. “Yes, I think so; after breakfast,” she said.

Tala sat up, pulled her sweater on over her cotton tank top, and said, “Time to start the day.”

Bang smiled at her. “I have to take care of the chickens. They don’t like it here. They think they’re lost,” he said.

“Hmm,” Tala said, knowing he was talking about more than the chickens. “Are you giving them the same feed?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Are you spending time with them like you used to?”

“Yeah,” he said nodding.

“Well,” she said and brushed his hair out of his eyes, “try talking to them and letting them know this is only temporary. It’s safer here and nothing will happen to them while we have more people to guard them. Let them know that as soon as danger has passed, we will return to the cabin, but for now we have to adapt to our new circumstances.”

“Are the bad men that killed Steven coming here?” Bang asked in a dropped whisper with eyes wide in fright.

Tala closed her lips in a thin line, thinking of what was best to reveal and what he didn’t need to know at his age. She finally pulled his small frame to her side and said in all honesty, “We don’t know yet, Bang, but we will keep you safe no matter what.” That seemed to be all he was asking for, just that much reassurance. He leaned into her and she hugged him with her heart on edge.

When she left the tent with Bang, he headed off in the opposite direction toward the animal section and waved as if he was going off to school and she to work. She’d never realized how much the prepper camp was like a little city, all within the confines of a gated enclosure—except for Clarisse’s quarantine lab, which was not simply a lab.

She’d hoped to hear word about Dalton’s condition, and as she neared the mess hall she ran into Marcy already hard at work taking orders from Olivia. She hugged Marcy and said, “Good morning, dear.”

“Good morning, Tala,” Olivia said. “You didn’t have to come in this early in your condition. You should sleep as much as you can. When the baby’s born, forget that luxury.”

“Oh, I know; it’s already waking me up early, though. It’s okay. I want to help out as much as I can now. Have you heard anything about Dalton?” she asked while putting on an apron.

Olivia bent over a vat of steaming oatmeal, stirring while Marcy spilled a couple handfuls of raisins into the pot. “Yes! He’s awake and doing well. Rick came in last night, said Clarisse stopped by the media tent on her way in to tell him that Dalton was up and looking good. He’s already out of bed. I haven’t seen him yet, but Rick said Clarisse won’t let him do too much yet. His shoulder’s bandaged, and he’s in a lot of pain, but she’s taking care of him. He’ll be fine.”

“That’s great news. We all needed that,” said Tala. Then she stacked paper bowls and set up plastic spoons near the oatmeal station. Marcy was filling the large commercial coffee maker with water, and Tala set out the sugar, faux sugar packets, and stir sticks. She then looked for the powdered creamer but there was none.

“Olivia, is there more creamer somewhere?”

“Ah . . . nooo,” she said with a dismayed look on her face. “We are all out of the powdered creamer, and Dalton is going to start a revolution when he finds out. I’ve been slipping canned evaporated milk into his coffee, which Rick came in for earlier, but we don’t have much of that left either. It’s black from now on, if anyone asks—until we run out of coffee itself, that is.”

“God help us all when that happens,” Tala said, thinking of how grumpy Graham was without his coffee.

Marcy laughed. “That’s just too bad. They both need to get off caffeine anyway. It’s bad for you.”

Olivia stirred brown sugar into the oatmeal and tapped the large metal spoon on the side of the pot when she was through. She smiled and laughed at a memory, “Honey, you don’t want to be around Rick or St—” she shuddered, stopped, and the smile dropped from her face utterly.

Tala looked at her, saddened by her obvious heartache.

“I’m sorry. It’s so hard to accept he’s gone,” Olivia said.

Before Tala could comment, people started filtering in for breakfast. Olivia put on a bright smile through her watery eyes and welcomed them while Tala looked at Marcy, who now appeared in painful remorse too. These things couldn’t be helped; they had their own sadness at Ennis’s passing—even now—and they both knew that grief took time.