An Unyielding Desire (After The End Book 2) (20 page)

As abruptly as the screaming started, Mina fell silent. It wasn’t the normal silence of someone who had exhausted their voice. It was an eerie stillness, as though she was one of the electronics that had been crippled by the solar storm and just stopped, never to start again. It was the silence of the broken, and as he rocked her, Coop wondered if they could even begin to help her mend with a lack of resources and
no experts on mental health.

*****

Shane drove until the pain in his face was too much. The flat tire making the vehicle continuously joggle didn’t help matters. He parked the Humvee at an awkward angle. Half-delirious with agony, he slid from the vehicle and stumbled away. It had started to snow, and he was vaguely aware of the danger of wandering around, but too disoriented to make a plan or go back to the Humvee.

He walked until he stumbled, falling face-first into the snow. The cold substance provided a slight numbing effect, and he buried his face in the soft snow, letting the
lack of sensation soak into the wound. Blackness danced on the edge of his vision, and he succumbed to it, briefly wondering if he could drown in snow.

The next time he woke, his face was on fire, but he was more lucid. Shane sat up slowly, using the early morning light to look around him. He had no idea where he’d left the
Humvee, but got to his feet and started walking in what he hoped was the right direction. It took more than an hour before he stumbled across the vehicle, the door still standing open. Amazingly, no one had come by and stolen it, which would have been easy with a quarter-tank of gas and the keys in the ignition, even with a flat tire.

Feeling dizzy, Shane went around to the driver’s side and got in. The first aid kit under the seat had an assortment of products, and he sterilized the wound, hissing at the
sting. Enduring the excruciating pain, Shane changed the flat tire, having to wipe the slow ooze of blood from his eye several times. After that, he started the vehicle and got back on the road. He was in search of a place where he could stop to clean the wound and figure out his next move.

Shane drove for more than an hour before coming across a small gas station and convenience store off the road. He pulled in without using his turn signal and stopped near the entrance. The keys were a reassuring weight in his hand when he put them in his pocket before getting out. Locking the doors behind him, he grasped the first-aid kit in one hand and his knife in the other
, leaving his gun in its holster. It was empty after his wild firing spree, and he cursed the fact that he’d dropped his spare clip back at the Marsden farm. It was probably in the damned hayloft or barn. He’d lost it somewhere without even realizing it, which was a damned stupid mistake for a soldier with his training.

There was no door on the store, and he entered cautiously. A quick inspection revealed the place was picked over, but no one seemed to be
hiding out or using it as a place to stay. Shane went to the backroom, finding the employee bathroom. It was disgusting, but it had a large mirror above the sink. The lighting was less than ideal, provided only by natural ambient light from the narrow window high on the wall, but he could see well enough to probe the wound with his finger.

Cursing aloud at the pain, he ran his finger over and into the wound, satisfied the bullet had passed up and through. If that bitch had been a quarter-inch to the left, or had a straighter aim, he would have been missing an eye, if not dead. “Fucking whore.” When he got Mina back, he was going to make sure Emme was dead. The thought was so pleasing that he got a bit of an erection from the image of driving his knife into
Emme’s chest over and over.

Once he got control of the pain, his thoughts would crystallize, and he wouldn’t be so erratic. Shane spent more time cleaning the wound and dressing it before leaving the shitty bathroom to return to his vehicle. He didn’t bother looking through the store for anything usable, certain it had been picked clean long ago.
What he wouldn’t give for some painkillers, or even a fifth of scotch.

With a sigh, he started the
Humvee again, worried by the low tank level. If he didn’t find gas soon, he was going to be on foot. With the throbbing wound, the thought of each step jostling him made him groan.

*****

Shane slumped onto his side on the couch. The gas tank had hit empty two days ago, and he’d started walking. For a while, the pain hadn’t been as bad, but then it had flared again. When he’d found a mirror to examine the wound, he’d discovered it was inflamed and hot to the touch. Fucking infection was probably going to do him in.

He’d started searching houses
that appeared uninhabited, hoping to locate some antibiotics. So far, he’d managed to find a small bottle of ibuprofen and the last three pills left over from a prescription for ear infection. He had no clue if they would actually help, but he’d taken them all eight hours apart, as directed.

He had found this two-story house that appeared to be deserted about an hour ago. It had taken a while to get inside, since it was locked. A rock through a window around the side had taken care of that
when he’d exhausted his patience trying to force the dead bolt. Shane had managed a quick scout of the house, finding no evidence that pointed directly toward current habitation. There were two packs of ramen noodles in the cupboard, along with a can of peaches. He planned to make a meal of it, once his stomach settled.

For now, he was just resting on the couch, hoping he didn’t die from the fever raging through him. As much as his face hurt, maybe death wouldn’t be so bad. That would mean giving up on getting Mina ba
ck and on killing the bitch that had caused all this agony. He was determined to live just for that and clung to his goal as he slipped into a state somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness.

A noise woke him an undetermined time later. Shane opened his eyes to see someone bent at the waist, their face about a foot from his.
Salt-and-pepper hair framed a craggy face framing cold black eyes.

“Someone’s been snooping in our house, and he’s still here.” The other man gave him a chilling grin. “Hello, Goldilocks.”

Fever was making him disoriented, but Shane had enough faculties left to ease his pistol from the holster. His body had slumped over in a way that obscured it until he brought it up. The man’s dark eyes flickered with uncertainty, and Shane cocked the weapon. It was only as he fired that he remembered he was out of ammunition, but had no time to contemplate what they’d do to him as he lost consciousness again.

*****

Shane woke again later, surprised to find himself stretched out on the couch and not restrained. His face hurt, but he had no pain elsewhere to suggest he’d been beaten while he was out. Slowly, he turned his head, his gaze immediately landing on the man he would have shot if he’d had a bullet.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” The man gave him a crooked grin.

“I’m still alive?” asked Shane in a raspy voice.

“You can thank Pardons for that.”

A moment later, a tall man appeared in Shane’s line-of-sight, saluting him casually.

“Pardons was a nurse before all this shit. I always thought male nurses were pansy-assed wimps—and Pardons hasn’t made me change my mind—but it was good to find someone with medical training.”

“How am I still alive?”

“Antibiotics,” said Pardons.

“We dipped into the stash for you, man,” said the other guy, as he dug into the can of peaches Shane presumed was the same one he’d planned to eat when his stomach settled.

“Why am I alive?”

“Les took a shine to you,” said Pardons before shining a light into his injured eye.

Shane cursed and turned his head. “Are you Les?” he asked the one he’d tried to shoot.

Les nodded. “Sure am.”

“Why then?” He looked at his holster, a bit surprised to see his gun still there. Of course, they all knew it was out of ammo now. “You’d have been dead if I’d had a bullet.”

Les nodded again. “Sure would’ve. In the world we live in, you need reliable folks at your back, prepared to do whatever it takes. One look into your eyes, and I knew you were a stone-cold killer. Thought we’d make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Shane wanted to deny the allegation that he was a stone-cold killer, but then an image of Santiago flailing in the air, desperate for anything to stop his fall, assailed him. When he’d impulsively shoved the private out the window, he’d been filled with satisfaction. Now, the image left him more uncomfortable than pleased. “What’s the offer?”

“You can join us. More guns and useful hands make us all safer.”

It sounded close to what
Janie Marsden had said, making him wince again. His life on the farm was gone now. He’d have to find a way to steal Mina from them, but there was no way they could reside there after the last confrontation. Plus, they’d surely frown on him killing Emme and then expecting to stay on.

In lieu of a better offer, or other options, Shane shrugged. “Why not?”

“Good. In that case, give him some more of the antibiotics, Pardons.”

Pardons nodded before leaving. When he returned a few minutes later, he had a syringe. Shane rolled up his sleeve, surprised by how weak that left him. “So, this is your house?”

“For now,” said Les. “Until we strip the area and move on.”

“That’s how you survive?” He kept his tone neutral, knowing he was in no position to judge.

“It’s been working for more than a year. When it became obvious the infrastructure was falling apart, and no one was going to ride to the rescue, we started doing what we had to. Picked up a few more folk along the way. You’ll meet them shortly.”

“How big is your group?”

“Six right now. We lost a couple recently.” Les set aside the now-empty can, licking his fingers. “Seven with you.”

“What if the rest don’t want me to join you?”

Les chuckled. “You act like this is a democracy or something, man. You’re living in the Land of Les now. I’m the king.”

Shane didn’t like that idea one bit, but he didn’t argue. He was in no position to fight off even the two guys in the house right now. With the idea of four more coming back soon factored in, he might as well slit his own throat with the knife if he protested the hierarchy. “I’m a military man. I know how to follow the chain-of-command.”

“Kinda thought you might be. You got that look about you.” Les’s gaze moved to his wound. “What’s your story?”

Shane was reluctant to tell the other man about the farm. Having discerned Les was the kind of guy who took whatever he wanted, he couldn’t be assured Mina
or his son would be safe if he persuaded this group to help him attack the Marsden place. “Had a group that disintegrated. Fighting and disagreements.” He almost touched his face, drawing back his fingers at the last minute. “Things escalated beyond words.”

“Hmm. Occupational hazard these days.” Les rubbed his stubbly chin. “That your
Humvee we came across a couple days ago?”

Shane nodded. “Needs gas, but should work otherwise.”

“Yeah, we were pleasantly surprised to find that the case. We had a stash of gas, hoping we’d recover a vehicle that still ran, so it was a good find.” Les clapped his hands together once as the sound of a door opening reached them. “I have a feeling running across you has been a lucky thing…man, I don’t even know your name?”

“Shane West.” He didn’t bother with his old title. That was part of a dead world.

“Well, West, you know Pardons.” He gestured toward him. “Come meet the rest.”

Shane got up slowly, his head spinning a bit. He followed Les, determined not to show weakness. This group had a feel of
jackals about it. If he showed blood, they wouldn’t hesitate to turn on him and rip him apart.

There were three men and a woman in the kitchen. He had to admit the woman surprised him, since they seemed like a predatory bunch. She sure didn’t have the air of a victim. When she embraced Les, who had to be old enough to be her father, some of the mystery resolved.

“This is Antaya, the love of my life,” said Les, kissing the shoulder of the lovely African woman who stood a half-foot taller than him. She was all long lines and lean angles, a sharp contrast to the shorter man’s paunchy gut. “Hands off.”

“You don’t have to warn him,” said
Antaya. “Anyone who touches without my permission will find himself a hand—and more—short.” She traced a loving finger down the large knife sheath at her side, which probably shielded a serious weapon, judging from the handle.

“Ma’am.” He nodded respectfully.

“Then you got Hardy, Dingle, and Spam.”

“Dwight Ingle,” said the one identified as
Dingle. He looked pained by his nickname. Shane nodded at him before looking at the one Les had called Spam.

“Spartan
Amitoza,” said the one with curly black hair. “It’s Greek.”

“I guess I’m glad you’re calling me West,” said Shane with a small smile.

Les laughed. “It could always be worse, hey?”

Shane nodded, immediately thinking of Mina. It made his chest ache to know she was beyond his reach, at least for the time being. He had a hard time imagining things being much worse, but he didn’t offer a dissenting view to the madman who’d decided to spare him.