Refugee Road (Freedom Fighters Series Book 1) (10 page)

Both of us were heavily armed. Guns strapped to our waists and thighs, knives, and a rifle on Mal’s back. He always carried a rifle, double barrel shotgun, large hunting knife, small pocket knife, and a revolver. I carried two knives, a pistol and a revolver. Plenty of ammo was secured in Mal’s larger pack.

The sky was black, nearly empty of clouds, while the moon, crescent shaped and slowly rising higher managed to keep us hidden in shadow, only peeking through the trees in sporadic flashes of pearly white. Sneaking past the guards and through the gate was so simple I almost laughed. The only reason I didn’t was because if I could get out, then who could get in? Our friends, our entire camp, was in danger. When I returned, I would speak to Darren about our vulnerability.

Mal and I walked for several hours heading south. Alec and his militia base were located in the exact opposite location, northeast. To the west was Dayton, too far a trek on our own. South made the most sense. Several cities including Circleville, lay to the south. It was rich farmland, miles of endless stretch, and only one major militia base too far away in Lancaster to give us much trouble.

Close to dawn we found an abandoned barn, full of hay, and nestled off the back country roads. The interior was dry and comfortable, albeit dark, but the perfect cover to lay low for a few hours of rest. Malcolm shut the doors behind us, tying them off with rope, and preventing anyone from catching us unaware.

I slid the backpack to the floor and shook out my bedroll. Exhausted I sat down and yawned, yearning for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“Lizzie, get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

I nodded but never responded, out before the words could form on my lips.

I woke up shivering. The barn was drafty and cold, despite the easy temperature of sixty five out in the sunshine. My teeth were chattering. Mal sat down next to me and held out his arms.

“Th, thanks.” I stuttered, shivering.

With Mal’s warmth spreading through my body, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

Gunfire. The quick pop pop of an automatic reached my ears. Even in slumber I knew the danger and sat up fast, Mal straitening nearly quick as me.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I fell asleep too.”

“No worries.” I whispered.

It was late afternoon, when the shadows elongated every item, inanimate or not, and sent the sun’s rays on an endless chase. I glanced around the barn. The danger was outside.

More gunfire. The sound of raised voices could be heard outside. They were close. Mal and I packed and exited the barn in minutes, heading toward the direction of the noise.

“Shhh,” he warned, rustling in the trees ahead drew our attention.

My expectation at that moment was nonexistent. I had no idea what lingered here, in the way of animals, man, or the militia.

“Freeze!” A loud voice boomed, at the same moment I heard the click of a gun as the hammer pulled back, and it locked into place, aiming right at my head.

“Shit.” I heard Mal curse, noticing his shotgun was aimed at the man as he stepped through the trees.

The man was not alone. A dozen guns were aimed at our heads. Mal let out a long slow breath. “It’s all right Lizzie. Nothing is going to happen.”

The man laughed. “You sure about that, boy?”

I saw the irises of Mal’s eyes tighten. “About as sure as you are old man.”

Silence. Then a loud guffaw. “Where you two lovebirds headed?”

Mal shrugged. “A soft bed and a hot meal with my wife would suit just fine.”

I looked at him sharply but he ignored me. The man seemed to contemplate that. For a moment I thought he might still shoot, but then he lowered the gun and the others did the same. He approached Mal with a smile.

“We don’t see many strangers around here. What’s your real purpose?” He watched Mal’s face closely.

“Recruitment.” I answered before Mal had a chance, ignoring the frown he gave me. “For the refugees.”

The man eyes lit up but the scowl on his face remained. “Is that so?”

Mal grabbed my hand and pulled me close. “Yes, if you are interested, we can discuss it. But…” he glanced at me then back, “my wife needs rest and something to eat. We can pay you for your hospitality.”

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m interested.” His eyes flew to my face and then my belly. “How far along?”

I gasped. He thought I was pregnant?

“Three months,” Mal answered, his eyes never wavering.

“Name’s Ballard. And you are?”

“Malcolm and Lizzie.” I felt his arm hug me close. A slight tremor ran through Mal’s body and into mine, like he was almost afraid. Did he fear these men or their intentions?

“Follow me.” Having little choice, we followed Ballard a few miles until we approached an old warehouse, surround by tall fencing with barbed wire running along the perimeter.

The yard was scattered with people, mostly men, practicing combat skills and shooting rifles at targets. The late afternoon sun was giving way to early evening, the shadows condensing instead of growing, hinting at the night as it approached. The smell of food and burning wood caught my attention. My belly growled in response.

“Hey Delia!” Ballard called. “We got a couple here that needs something to eat.”

A robust woman, as round as she was tall, peeked through a doorway. “Come on in. Fresh vittles are on the stove.”

Mal held my hand tightly, keeping my body close to his. We sat at a large oblong table, side by side, with the wall to my left and Mal on my right. He sat with carefree abandon, at ease with his environment, except for the way his body was angled to protect mine. Ballard eyed him with humor and nodded his head, like he approved Mal’s obvious stance.

“Eat up then,” Delia set a couple of bowls of stew before us, “much better hot than cold.”

After dinner Ballard insisted we walk with him, showing us the layout of his compound. I have to admit, for a group out entirely on their own, they had a good grasp on their fortification and a regular guard that switched shifts every four hours. Large platforms built on scaffolding had ladders attached at the base, allowing those who were on patrol to see for miles. Men patrolled the compound regularly, walking the perimeter with sniper rifles and shotguns, always vigilant against attack.

“May I ask you something Ballard?” I ventured, curiosity burning greater than caution in my brain.

“Sure, out with it,” he answered with a smile.

“It seems a lot of effort is made here for fortification and defense. That’s important, but my questions is, why haven’t you joined up with the refugees and are you expecting an attack soon?”

“That’s two,” he winked but continued, “I’ll answer the second question first. Yes, we have been attacked more than once, from vigilantes looking to steal from us and from the militia who never seem to tire of exploiting anything that does not belong to them. We intend to protect our own. You can’t do that looking down a barrel of a gun or behind your back constantly.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

Mal raised an eyebrow. “And the other?”

“I have a very large dislike for anything, shall we say, military.”

Mal seemed to think on that answer. “A dislike for military…or Darren?”

Ballard laughed and shook his head, clapping Mal on the back. “Son, you are too smart for your own good.”

“I’ve been told that once or twice.”

Ballard scratched at the beard on his chin. “Not one for bullshit are you?”

Mal shook his head. “No sir.”

“I like that. Too much bull around here sometimes. A man has to know who he can trust.”

Mal relaxed. “Agreed.”

Ballard ended his tour, showing us their food stores, the crops to the south of the compound, and the well they used for fresh water. Inside the building he led us down a long corridor of rooms, stopping at the end.

“Here’s your room. I hope it’s comfortable for you miss, we do the best we can. Bathroom is attached, one of the few that has one. There’s another down this hall if you turn left. You’re welcome to stay, as long as you like. Breakfast is at eight. I wouldn’t keep Delia waiting.” He chuckled to himself and left, whistling his way back down the hall.

Mal yanked me into the room as a sigh escaped his lips, locking the door against intrusion. His arms encircled me and he pulled me close, resting his chin on my head. “I think we are safe but I cannot be sure.”

“I’m fine. We are not in danger.” I squeezed him around the waist to reassure him, glancing at his face. Worry lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Relax.”

Gently his finger brushed my cheek. “Let me be the judge of that.”

“Sure Mal,” I replied, winking.

“It doesn’t hurt to be cautious,” he replied, glancing around the room.

One full bed in the center of the room was the only place to sleep. The space was small but warm and comfortable. A desk with a chair on the left next to the bathroom and a small table with two folding chairs on the right occupied a bulk of the room. Across from the bed was a dresser and a closet, although even that was tiny.

Mal set down his pack and laid it next to mine. “This is the only place to sleep Lizzie. We’ll have to share the bed.”

“I know,” I whispered, “I’ll feel safer here with you anyway.”

He smiled at that. “Of course.”

Mal and I shared the tiny bathroom, brushing our teeth and washing our faces, removing the grime from our travel. He left me to change, lounging on the bed when I emerged. I flopped next to him, bouncing on the firm surface, and smiled.

He grinned. “At least it doesn’t squeak.”

I blushed. “Um, nope.”

He shook his head. “Come here. It’s chilly tonight.”

Whether that was an excuse or not, I ignored the possibility that Mal was anything more than a friend. Snuggling in the crook of his arm, my head resting on his shoulder, I drifted into a dreamless sleep.

I awakened early, snuggled warm and cozy in the strong arms of a man who was not supposed to be anything more than a brother, and yet, laying there, it felt right to be in his embrace, somehow normal, as if I should have been all along. The thought of it made me stiffen and I had to force myself to relax. He was not Alec.

Mal was still asleep, his warm breath tickling the back of my neck. The weight of his arm rested against my shoulder, holding me tight, wrapped snug, hugging me close to his chest as if he was afraid I might disappear. I don’t know how long I lay there, not moving a muscle, torn between leaving the bed and waking him up. In the end I did neither, preferring to stay close to him.

“Good morning.”

I had fallen back to sleep. “Morning Mal.”

He didn’t move. “That’s the best I’ve slept in years.”

“Oh? I wonder why. Perhaps it is the bed.”

“Maybe,” he held me tighter, “maybe not.”

Neither of us moved for another half hour. Only once breakfast approached did we get out of bed, without a word to each other, and dressed for the day. Mal took my hand and pulled me enthusiastically down the long hallway and stairs until we reached the large kitchen. We sat in a corner, Mal flanking me on one side and the wall the other, just as last night.

Most people were friendly, nodding to us and saying hello. The kitchen was full, some people standing, others waiting in line to fill their plates. Ballard joined us a few minutes later, taking the empty seat across the table.

“Morning. How did you sleep?” He asked, taking a large bite of biscuit smothered in sausage gravy.

“Good.” We replied at the same time, glancing at each other and smiling.

He chuckled to himself. “Glad to hear it.”

He shoved his plate aside a few minutes later. I watched him out of curiosity, trying to discern what kind of man he was. Middle aged and fit, slightly greying beard, and an average height, he was someone that could have been a father to either of us. An interesting thought.

There was a gruff but sweet undertone to his personality. I saw it in his dealings with his people. He was not a dictator but held the position of leader with a degree of appreciation. He was respected. I could tell that. He made his decisions for the good of the group as a whole. I realized quickly he was ten times the leader Darren would ever be.

I was curious. How did he know Darren? What interaction did they have? Was there a falling out? Were they enemies?

Mal squeezed my hand, clasping it in his and sidling closer to me. “We would like to make ourselves useful. I thank you for the hospitality.”

Ballard nodded. “I could use some help on the range. Some of my men are a bit green and could use some pointers. I assume you are an excellent shot.”

Mal shrugged noncommittally. “I’m fair.”

“The way you were armed and how steady you held that shotgun, no, not just fair. A damn fine shot to be sure,” he observed.

Mal grinned. “You have me there.”

Ballard glanced at me. “I assume you can shoot too. Why else send you if you cannot defend yourself.”

“I’m not as good as Mal.”

He accepted that answer. “See you both at lunch. Twelve thirty. Delia runs this kitchen like the Nazis ran their military. Strict, brutal, and full of hot air.”

“I heard that!” She scolded, stirring something over the stove.

I stifled a giggle. “She’s an amazing cook.”

“That she is.” He watched her stirring, his eyes softening as her round backside jiggled with the exertion.

Mal saw it too and he smiled. “We’ll see you at lunch.”

Training the recruits came easy to us. Mal and I already had that task with the refugees. In just a few short hours, most of them were aiming steadier and hitting the targets with precision. Ballard walked by once, checking on our progress, and nodded his head, pleased.

After lunch we trained with them some more until dinner. Delia had made a huge buffet. All home cooked and comfort foods. A meal I hadn’t had since a kid. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, country friend steak, biscuits, fresh preserves, and green beans with bacon. For dessert peach cobbler and chocolate cake. Mal and I practically gorged ourselves.

“That is, without a doubt, the best meal I have ever eaten in my life,” he observed.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I agreed, licking my fingers that were sticky from the peach cobbler. I really had a thing for peaches.

Mal laughed and burped loudly. “Damn. If I stayed here I would get fat.”

“Me too,” I laughed, patting my belly. “I could eat peach cobbler like that on a daily basis.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “You and peaches.”

“Don’t forget peanut butter,” I added.

He hugged me close and tickled my sides. “Yes, peanut butter. How could I forget?”

I giggled and shoved his hands aside. “Stop!”

We fell in a heap on each other outside, close to the apple orchard, where we took a late walk before bed. Still laughing he landed on my chest, pinning me to the ground. I gazed up at him, smiling from ear to ear, when I noticed he was staring at me with an intensity I had never seen before.

“Mal-”

His lips cut me off. In our entire friendship of three years, Mal had never looked at me like that or even hinted at it. His kiss took me by surprise, blowing away any certainty I had about his feelings or mine, leaving me confused and stunned, with his mouth lingering on mine.

Our first kiss.

He pulled back and smiled at me sheepishly. “I, uh…”

I arched an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

He blushed and I realized my cheeks were a little pink along with his. How did we continue after this?

Mal grabbed my hands and pulled me up, one arm circling my shoulders and continued our walk. He never said a word. I could almost hear the wheels churning in his head. Mal was as analytical as I was. If I was thinking about it, he definitely was. Both of us acted like it never happened.

I fell asleep the same way as the night before, his arms around me. And the next morning, the same again. He held me until we had to get up, tight, no words between us, no declaration of love, no heart pounding moments of passion, just his steady heartbeat against my back, his chest close to me, and a warmth that flooded me, engulfing my soul.

“I suppose you two will be leaving soon,” Ballard observed later in the afternoon.

Mal nodded. “We haven’t really spoken about why we came. Perhaps you would sit with us tonight and have a little discussion.”

“How about now?”

Mal looked surprised. “Sure.”

Ballard led us to the second floor and into a private study. I was in awe of the collection of books he acquired. Without a glance at either of them I ran my finger along the bindings and marveled at his collection of classic literature. Where did he find all of these treasures?

“You like to read?”

“Yes, as often as I can,” I replied, turning to him. “You have an impressive collection.”

“Maybe it will be an enticement to get you two to stay. We need more people like you who can fight and teach others to defend themselves. We need honorable men,” he admitted, looking at Mal, “men I can count on.”

Mal looked flattered. “I appreciate that. But our mission here was to recruit you, not the other way around.”

Ballard smiled, a bit reserved. “I know that, and had you been asking me to join someone other than Darren I would probably agree to check it out with you, but as it stands, I cannot accept.”

“Why?” He asked bluntly. “No point in pretending I don’t want to know.”

Ballard laughed. “Right you are. I know Darren quite well. I started in his group, way before you both came along, about five years ago now.”

I stared at him, shocked.

Mal just sat down in a chair, his hands behind his head. “Go on.”

“The raids here started three years ago, but the fighting and militia, they have been around a lot longer.” At Mal’s nod he continued. “Darren was quite the young hot head. I found his enthusiasm refreshing and I agreed to join his cause. The refugees were much smaller back then, not nearly the same impact on the militia. I was eager to start up a cause that would save lives and help end the war. We did not see eye to eye.”

I must have looked confused.

Ballard cleared his throat. “Darren would not be challenged. I’m sure that part of his personality is still the same. We argued. He insisted that we launch our attacks on the cities, regardless of casualties, even if innocents were present. I could not condone that.”

Mal regarded him with respect. “You left, not wanting to cause strife.”

“Not before he took my daughter on that raid with him and got her killed.” A bitterness and anger rose within him and he shook his head. “Forgive me, the ghosts of the past are never forgotten.”

“What was her name?” I asked. “Was it Jamie?”