The Survivors (Book 1): Summer (31 page)

I could only nod; there was no way I would ever forget that horrible face.

"Wait."  

There was a voice behind me, and then Michael stepped by me with the strangest look on his face.
 "I didn’t realise it before, but I think I know this man as well."

"
From where?"  Anahera spoke softly as she stared at him, her eyes narrowed dangerously in the grips of an irrational berserker rage.

Michael circled the prisoner, and stared at him from all angles, his brow knitted deeply in thought.
 "I used to work for the police force.  I know his face.  I just… need a moment to remember."

Silence descended over both groups as Michael stared at that terrible face from every angle.
 I stood back drawing deep breaths, trying to keep the shaking in my limbs under control.  I worried for my sweetheart, but I was afraid to move closer.  I wasn’t sure whether I would faint again if I did, or whether I would attack like a pack animal and tear that terrible man apart.

Suddenly, Michael drew a sharp breath and straightened up.
 

"
I remember now."  He looked at me for a long moment, and then his dark eyes returned to Anahera.  "He was a wanted man, but the riots hit before we could catch him.  I’m sorry to say that Sandy wasn’t his first victim."

"
What did he do?"  Anahera’s voice was like ice.  I could see her twitching, barely in control of her anger.  Michael stared at her, almost as though afraid of telling her the truth – or perhaps he was afraid of what he would do to the man himself if he spoke the words out loud.

"
He abducted a pair of little girls."  Michael closed his eyes and swallowed hard.  "Twins; it was all over the news when they went missing.  They were… five or six."  I felt my stomach drop to my knees.  I remembered seeing those sweet-faced children on television.  It was one of the last things we saw before the plague became everyone’s news.  Michael’s voice was heavy with sadness as he continued.  "He… violated them, strangled them, and then threw them into the Waikato River.  

"
My colleagues found them."  Michael grimaced and shook his head.  "One of the girls was already dead, but the other one was still alive.  She lived long enough to name her killer, but then she died in hospital.  He was her uncle.  They distributed pictures of him to everyone in the precinct, and it was all hands on deck looking for him.  I don’t think I could ever forget those tattoos."

In the silence that followed, tears sprang unbidden into my eyes again.
 I remembered those little girls.  It had been weeks between when they went missing and when they were found.  Someone had kidnapped them and tortured them for a long, long time.

Just like me.

It was the softest little noise that broke the silence, but it wasn’t a sob or a cry – it was a growl.  I looked up and saw Anahera shaking with pent-up fury, her dark-eyed gaze focused on the half-conscious man held up by her brethren.  They dropped him unceremoniously in the dirt and stepped back, as though sensing something terrible was to come.

"
You–" Her voice was a husky whisper as she rounded on the man, her feet planted wide apart, her hands clenched to fists. "–are not
my brother!
"

The last part wasn’t spoken, it was screamed.
 She punctuated the sentence with a kick so brutal that it sent the tattooed man rolling through the dirt.

Screaming in wordless fury, she chased after the crumpled form and stomped on him again; I heard the tell-tale sound of ribs snapping at the force of the blow.
 Her voice was so loud, so charged with pure rage that it startled birds out of the trees nearby and sent them fluttering away in distress.

At last, exhausted, she stepped back and took a deep breath to calm herself, then turned and looked straight at me.

"Is he really your brother?"  I stared back at her, horrified by the idea.

"
No, not by birth.  I consider all the men of my group to be my brothers, in the sense that common interests bind us into a form of adopted kinship.  But, this one betrayed me, and everything that we stand for.  He is a murderer.  There are no judges anymore.  No juries.  In
my
tribe, the only just punishment that I see is death." Her voice was dangerously soft, her eyes unreadable.  "But, you are the last living person that he sinned against, dear one.  His punishment is yours to decide."

"
Mine?"  The statement didn’t quite sink in straight away.  She wanted me to decide the fate, the ultimate punishment for the man who had held me captive for days; brutalised me again and again until I was so traumatised that even years later I felt crippling fear every time I met a stranger.

This was the man who had left me so emotionally damaged that I struggled to trust even good people, people who were kind to me and showed me generosity far beyond what I deserve.

This was the man that had broken my psyche so badly that I was afraid to make love to the man I adored.

This was the man who destroyed those beautiful little girls, and god knows how many others since then.

It was his fault.

His fate was mine to decide.

But, did I want the blood of another human being on my hands?  It was true that I’d killed before to save myself, but only in the heat of the moment and never in cold blood.  That was how I'd escaped from him, three years ago.  He’d gone somewhere, and left his lazy, drunk accomplice to use me as he pleased.  He’d been careless; now he was dead.

Did I want the ringleader dead as well?

Yes, I did – but also no.  Not like that.

"
I don’t want him to die." My voice was so low and breathless that it forced Anahera to draw closer to hear my words.  "He doesn’t deserve a quick death.  I–" I could hardly believe I was saying this. "I don’t know.  I think he deserves to suffer, like he made me suffer all of these years.  Like he made those little girls suffer.  I just want him to understand what he’s done to us."

"
What do you want me to do to him, dear heart?"  The woman spoke softly to me, her anger diluted by the pain she saw reflected in my eyes.

I shook my head and fought as tears gathered in my eyes.
 "I don’t know.  I don’t want to know.  Just… make him understand.  Make it so he’ll never want to hurt another girl ever again.  Please?"

Anahera watched me quietly for the longest minute, and then nodded slowly.
 "I understand, child.  You do not wish to cause another person pain, but you must so others like you never have to feel it.  I will do for you what your kind soul cannot."

I nodded, speechless, my face frozen in an attitude of distress.
 This woman, this teacher-turned-leader – she knew my innermost thoughts.

There was a soft sound of steel on leather, and then a long, curved knife appeared in her hand.
 "Go inside and rest, dear.  This man will never hurt you or any other person ever again."

Michael stepped in and gathered me to him, then hurried me away, but not before I saw the other group pick up the fallen man from where he lay in the dirt and drag him off.
 They took him far away from our home before they began his punishment, but it wasn’t far enough.

Even as Michael was tucking me into his bed where I fel
t safe and protected, I could hear the prisoner screaming.

The sound of the man’s torment haunted my dreams, but in spite of that I slept deeper and longer than I had in years.  The spectre no longer haunted me, mocking me, hurting me; the spectre was gone.  It was no longer an immortal, inhuman thing, but a physical being that I could fight off and destroy if I needed to.

I wasn’t afraid anymore.

It was dark when I awoke, and the room was faintly lit by moonlight through the open window beside the bed.  I could hear the sound of breathing in the dark, soft and even, but didn’t feel the warmth of a familiar body beside me.  I rolled over and saw the faint outline of the man I had come to care about so much, sitting in his chair by the window.  The faintest glint of steel told me that his shotgun rested in his lap.

He was protecting me.

"Michael?"  I whispered his name in the shadows.  He snapped awake at the sound of my voice; I heard his sharp intake of breath, and saw his outline moving.

"
Sandy?  You‘re awake?"

"
Yeah."  I yawned softly and snuggled down in the soft blankets.  "Why are you all the way over there?"

"
You need some space right now."  His voice was soft, but he still rose from his chair to sit on the edge of the bed instead.  Close enough for me to reach out and touch him, which I did.

"
I’m… okay, I think." I sought out his hand in the dark, and when I found it I twined my fingers through his and felt comfortable and content.  "Are they gone?"

"
Yes, hours ago."  He shifted a little bit and drew my fingers up to his lips to press a soft kiss against them.  "They left their gifts and went, and they took him with them.  The woman, Anahera, said that they were going to take him as far away from here as they could before they let him go."

"
What did they do to him?"  I wasn’t really sure that I wanted to know the answer, but morbid curiosity drove me to ask.

"
I’m not sure."  His voice was soft, but I felt him tense up and knew that he was lying.  I may be socially inept, but I wasn’t stupid.  

I decided to let it pass.
 Would knowing really help me to heal?  No, it wouldn’t.  My imagination could fill in the blanks.  I sighed and sat up, to lean against my sweetheart’s broad back.  "I wish I knew how to feel right now.  Part of me wishes I’d just let her kill him."

"
I know," he murmured, and then heaved a sigh himself.  "To tell you the truth, I almost did it myself.  If Anahera hadn’t been there, then I might have… might have…" He trailed off, and I felt his body tense up again.

"
I know," I whispered, and slid my arms around his waist.  There was no need for him to finish the sentence.  I knew what he was thinking.  Still, there were so many questions left unanswered, about everything.  "Michael?"

"
Hm?"  He glanced over his shoulder at me.

"
Why do you think he did it?  Not just to me, but to the others.  God knows how many women he’s murdered over the years."

Again there was silence, but this time it was while he thought it over.
 Finally, he spoke again, hesitant and uncertain.  

"
I think that he just didn’t care.  I’ve seen men like him before, men that think women just exist to please them.  They have no respect for the sanctity of human lives."  I heard a deep intake of breath, let out as a sharp exhalation a moment later.  "People like that don’t deserve to live."

I pondered that response and weighed my conflicting emotions against one another.
 He was right, of course.  Some people were just born evil, and no amount of nurturing or punishment would break them of the habits that nature had bred into their psyches.  As much as I’d have liked to put some logic to my former tormentor’s decisions, there simply wasn’t any.  I was just unlucky.  He'd seen me all alone, and that was enough.  If not for a moment of luck weeks later, that would have signed my death warrant.  I couldn’t help but wonder how many other lives he’d already snuffed out.

I lay my head against my policeman’s back and closed my eyes as I sifted through my muddled feelings.
 On the one hand, I felt terrible being the source of someone else’s misery.  On the other, he deserved it.  Those little girls didn’t deserve their fate, but they certainly deserved justice.  I was sure there were others out there like me, whether they were alive or dead.

But now I’d had my justice.
 That feeling brought with it a sense of peace.  What was there to be afraid of, if that man was no longer a threat?  I smiled to myself and snuggled closer to him, enjoying the warmth of Michael's skin beneath my cheek.  In my lowest moment, he’d not only stayed true to me, but he’d helped me to get that justice.

While Anahera had been the judge, jury and executioner, Michael was my officer of the law.
 My protector.  My hero.

"
Michael?"  I whispered his name again, a flush of warmth rising in my cheeks.  It’d been such a long time coming, but at last I truly felt safe.

There was a faint sound of movement as he turned towards me, and then his big hands dr
ew me up against his chest.  I snuggled in against him happily, feeling content and relaxed.  

"
I think I’m ready," I whispered the words softly in the darkness, and trailed my fingers along his stomach.  I could feel the heat of his skin beneath the light t-shirt he wore, and I longed to strip it away and have him all to myself.

One of his hands cupped my chin and tilted it upwards and his lips met mine in the darkness.
 He kissed me slowly and tenderly for what felt like forever, before finally drawing back to give me a quirky smile that I could only half see.  

"
No, you’re not."

That was not the answer I expected.
 

"
What?  Yes, I am!"

"
No, you’re not, and neither am I."  Although it was dark, I could see and feel the edge of tension about him, and it was not a kind of tension I recognised.  I didn’t like the way it felt.  Still, his hands were gentle as he ran his fingers through my long hair.  "Sandy, if we were to do this now, it wouldn’t be about you and me.  It would be about him, and revenge."

I froze, not sure what to say to that.

He did, though.  His voice dropped low as he cupped my face in his hands.  "I don’t want that.  I want to wait until it’s perfect and we’re both ready for it.  I want it to be about us, just us, no one else.  This isn’t just about sex to me, you know that.  This is about the fact that I love you, Sandy McDermott – and I want you to love me back."

"
Y-you… what?"  Did he just say what I thought he said?  It took me totally by surprise in a moment when I was already off balance.

But Michael, he just smiled enigmatically and silenced me with a kiss.

***

The thought that someone loved me galvanised me for days.
 Although we didn’t speak about it again, I found myself in a rare good mood that nothing seemed to be able to shake.  My foot had finally healed enough that I could walk around without pain, my family was safe and gradually settling into a comfortable routine, and I had a sweet, kind man that loved me.

Loved me.
 Loved
me.
 In spite all of my flaws, he loved me.

I wasn’t angry at him for rejecting my proposal that night, because in reality he was right.
 If we had made love, it wouldn’t have been as special when the wound was still so raw.   Amongst other reasons, it would be his first time ever and he deserved more than a wild fuck fuelled by hatred and revenge, and I wanted our first time together to be special, too.

I often thought of the man whose name I
had never learned over the days that followed.  Eventually, my feelings of guilt faded, replaced by a strong sense of relief.  Although he was still alive out there somewhere, he had lost his demonic countenance within my mind and my nightmares.  It seemed apt that Anahera was the weapon of his punishment – another woman, the avenging angel for his victims.

I hoped his other victims could feel the sense of relief that I felt now, if they were still alive.
 If not, then I hoped they rested easier for knowing they had been avenged.  

I wondered if perhaps I would have to face him alone someday, if h
e might come after me.  For the first time, I was no longer afraid of that thought.  He was no longer a faceless, mocking beast that writhed and hurt me in my memory.  That memory had been overwritten by one where he was just another human being, just as weak and pathetic as the rest of us.  The difference was that he had chosen to act out and try to make himself look strong by taking advantage of those that were weaker than him, something that I would never do.  That was what made him less than what any normal person could ever be.

If it ever came to a point where I had to kill that man, I had decided that I’d think of Anahera and try to be strong like her. My initial admiration of her had grown into something more like hero-worship, although I knew as well as anyone that it was ridiculous to worship someone who
was just as human as I am.  She was just as flawed on the inside, and yet she showed so many traits that I coveted – her emotional fortitude was just one of them.  I truly hoped that one day, I would grow to be like her.

Beauty tempered by intelligence.
 Ruthlessness tempered by compassion.  Strength tempered by gentleness.  She was everything I wanted to be.  She reminded me of my grandmother, my namesake and the woman who had inspired so much of my early life before I lost her to the plague.  I thought having a new, living role-model would be good for me in the long term.  I could only hope that having her to look up to would help me grow as a person.  Was there anything else that anyone could ever really ask for?

In the days that followed, my group was well-fed but not entirely content.
We spent most of our time tending to our little garden as a safeguard against winter’s inevitable arrival, but there was a thread of disharmony that ran through every conversation.  Not everyone was happy about the punishment that Anahera had meted out on our behalf.  Even I, the most socially inept of us, sensed the discontent amongst the group and it made me feel uncomfortable.

On the third day,
Michael found me sitting alone in the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon, brooding over a cup of black coffee.

"
Why the long face?"

I almost jumped out of my skin when his voice broke the silence, and promptly spilled hot coffee all over myself and the table.

"Ah, shit."  Sorry, Mum.   "Ow.  Michael!  Don’t sneak up on me like that," I complained, as I leapt up to go run my hand under a cold tap.  I heard him chuckling behind me, and then one strong arm slid around my waist from behind.  

"
Sorry," he murmured softly in my ear, then planted a kiss upon my cheek.  "So, why the long face?  Are you sulking again?

I paused for a long moment and thought over
my answer, then I let out a deep sigh and shrugged.  "I’ve been thinking about him."

Michael nodded.
 I didn’t have to explain which ‘him’ I meant.  "He’s long gone, honey.  You don’t have to worry about him anymore."

"
It’s not that."  I switched the tap off and turned around to face him, though I couldn’t quite meet his eye.  "It’s... I don’t know if we’ve done the right thing, Michael.  How do we know what’s right and wrong?  It used to be that we had people specially trained to do this for us, but now what do we do?  If the law falls into the hands of the people that it’s supposed to be protecting... I’m not sure I like where I can imagine that taking us."

Michael went silent as he thought over what I was saying, and then he nodded again.
 "We do need some form of justice, but not just lynch-mob justice."

"
Exactly."  I put my arms around his waist and leaned against him, but for once his strength couldn’t banish the troubled thoughts from my mind.  Eventually, I sighed again, and looked up at him.  "What do we do?"

Michael stared off into space for a few seconds, looking lost in thought.
 "I have an idea, but I think it should be a group decision.  Let’s get everyone together."

"
Okay."  I nodded my agreement, and hurried off.  

Twenty minutes later, we had our entire group
– all six of us, including Madeline – gathered together in the kitchen around the table.  As our leader, Michael stood at the head of the table while everyone settled into their places.

"
Thank you for coming," he spoke in that soft, deep voice of his, the one that always carried a note of strength and command.  "As you all know, we recently had to deal with an issue that has left many of us feeling troubled.  I think that we need to address the matter, and set up rules for the future.  As Sandy once pointed out to me, the world outside our nice little bunker is not a safe place.  We already have our own code of conduct, but we need to establish some method for dealing with things when they get out of hand."