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“I had a vision,” Rev says. “The six of us—seven once we get Jud back—we all have Gifts. You know what I’m talkin’ about?”
The two men on the sides glance at their commander, who answers with a nod. “What’d this vision show you?”
“Your ranch. Log house, huge acreage. Livestock. How to get here. That’s all. Not sure why the Working sent us here when we think our man is in Louisiana, but I’m the Reverend, see? And with the Judge gone, I’m in charge. Figured the Working has its reasons showin’ me your settlement. It hasn’t led us astray so far. So, here we are.”
“Working, huh?” The commander relaxes his grip on his weapon and points the muzzle to the ground. He flips up his visor, giving us a good look at his face for the first time. He’s clean shaven and fair-skinned with lines around his eyes and mouth that show his age to be somewhere around Rev’s. The other two don’t budge.
“That’s what I call it,” Rev says. “Whatever entity chose us to survive and gave us these Gifts. See, it’s active, not passive, and it has a purpose, though I don’t claim to know what that purpose is. So, I call it the Working, an active, purposeful name.”
“You don’t know this Working’s purpose, yet you trust it enough to follow it to our doorstep?” This comes from the man on the commander’s left. His voice is aggressive and southern. “Not knowing what kind of men we are?”
“I do,” Rev says, not reacting to the aggression. “I trust it implicitly.”
The silence that follows is cut through by the distant sound of a rooster crowing. A thin ribbon of hazy lavender stretches across a vast horizon. The sense of immediate danger is passing, and I become aware of a pervasive smell of cow shit.
The third survivor, the one holding the radio, touches two fingers to his ear, telling me he’s receiving a message through an earpiece. He says something I can’t make out to the commander, who raises his weapon again and aims at Rev’s heart.
“When were you gonna tell us you have a woman in your company?”
Chapter 2
Rev
My blood freezesin my veins. How did they know about Cora?
But there’s no time to indulge my shock.
In a flash, Doc draws his Desert Eagles like we’re in some kind of old-west movie.
Before he can cock back the hammers, I launch out a hand and grip his forearm. I can be quick when I need to be, and right now, a rattlesnake has nothing on me. “Stand down, son.”
All three survivors have crept forward. The barrel of a semi-automatic kisses Doc’s forehead.
The stubborn mule isn’t backing down.
“Stand down, Doc,” I growl. “For Cora’s sake.”
“How did they know?” he grits out from between clenched teeth. A fine tremor has the tips of his weapons trembling. Adrenaline. He’s ready and willing to kill to protect our woman.
It’s Grim who answers. “They have Gifts, too.” His voice is tense, but he hasn’t drawn any weapons himself. Hell, heisthe weapon.
I push Doc’s forearm downward, and he doesn’t fight me. In fact, he lowers the other as well. At the same time, I explain to our new friends, “Her name is Cora. She’s with us willingly. She’s the only female survivor we know of in the entire northwest. That’s why my man, here—” With the muzzles of Doc’s pistols aimed at the ground, I pat his shoulder—“had such a strong reaction. I assume it’s the same down south, gentlemen? No women?” To Doc, I hiss, “Holster them, son.”
He complies, but the look on his face is murderous. Once those Desert Eagles slide home in his double holster, I release a breath.
“Fuck.” His whispered curse tells me just how close we were to disaster. Thank the Working no blood was spilled.
It would’ve been completely unnecessary. These men are trustworthy. I don’t know if the Working is blessing me with a bit of Jud’s Gift or if it’s just my usual knack for reading people, but I’d bet my life these men are just like us. They’re survivors making their way in this new world, minding their business and doing no harm unless required.
Slowly, I spread my hands out to my sides, palms open. Voice calm, I jerk my head toward Mr. Hothead. “This here’s Doc. His Gift is healing. This is Grim.” I angle my head to my other side. “If you like living, don’t touch him. His skin is deadly on contact. In the back of Bessy here, we’ve got Scrap. He’s our youngest at twenty-six. Can fix anything with tech or a motor. In the missile truck, we’ve got Brawn. Strong as ten oxen. He’s guarding Cora. Then we’ve got Shep in the Humvee. He’s our cook and he tends our garden and animals. The dishes he can whip up with basic ingredients are the stuff that makes life worth living. Oh, and if you see a ragged-looking pelican flying around, don’t shoot him. That’s Bernard. He’s with us.”
The commander blinks at that. One of the men at his side glances to the sky. I can tell because his face plate tilts upward. But at the moment, there’s nothing to see. Bernard has made himself scarce. The commander sizes the three of us up then lowers his weapon again. “Stand down,” he tells his companions.
When they lower their weapons, I breathe my second sigh of relief for the night.
“You may not know why you’re here,” the commander says. “But I might have an idea.” He nods to himself, like he’s made a decision. “Your crew can come in, but only with sidearms and only in the Humvee. The trucks stay out here. We’ll keep an eye on them with our security cams.” He cocks a grin that deepens the parentheses around his mouth. “It’ll be nice to have a lady in the house for breakfast.”
Cora
