The Road to Wolfe (The Sanctuary Series Book 4) Page 2

  Finally, I ask the same question that I tried two days ago. "Where are you taking me?"

  This time, he answers. "Sanctuary."

  My heart leaps in anticipation. My odds of survival go up exponentially inside of a Sanctuary. "Which one?"

  "Santa Fe."

  Santa Fe. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s a thriving Sanctuary. I wonder why an Outsider would want to go to a Sanctuary. They usually avoid them like the plague (Ha! Zombie reference) since city security forces are just as willing to kill Outsiders as they are Primitives. Outsiders are notorious for attacking Sanctuaries, or convoys headed in and out of Sanctuaries, in search of food and supplies.

  "What’s your name?" I ask, pushing my luck now that I’ve finally got him talking.

  He lifts his shaggy head and gives me the same icy stare he’s been treating me to for two days.

  "Talon."

  Two

  Wolfe

  Location: Santa Fe Sanctuary

  "I'll take her," the Warlord says, his lascivious eyes glued to our new arrival. "How much?"

  I can tell from the look on the woman's face that she had no idea she was being brought into Sanctuary as a slave. About to be sold into our Warlord’s harem.

  As I watch the shadows cross her face it becomes clear that this news has crushed her. I can actually see her spirit shrink as sadness eclipses the look of hope that she'd walked in with. A naïve woman if she thought she was being taken to safety by an Outsider. Sanctuary will come at a price for this one.

  And that price is…

  "I want twelve months of supplies, including food, bedding, clothes, the usual. You can throw in a coin purse of a few hundred dollars too, in case I find a Sanctuary willing to trade in currency."

  "Six months supplies," Silas counters.

  "Eight months."

  Silas looks at the woman critically, taking in her lovely features and beautifully sculpted body, before nodding his head. "Done."

  Of course, it could be much worse. She could have been sold to another Warlord, one who’s far more brutal. Though I don’t like or respect my Warlord, he’s not a cruel man. He likes women and fills his harem with them. Every shape and size, every temperament. The only requirement is that they be beautiful. And this one is no exception.

  Once more my gaze strays to her. If her face wasn't twisted in misery it would be a work of art. High cheekbones, long nose, perfect lips. Her face is surrounded by a cloud of dark brown hair with reddish hints. She’s tall, with hints of curves in all the right places, though it's clear that she hasn't eaten well in a long time.

  The harem women will fatten her up, show her that she’s safe and help her settle down. Eventually, like the others, she’ll learn to enjoy her time here. And if she's lucky, the Warlord will take her as a wife. Given her stunning beauty, I can't imagine he would pass on this one.

  I turn to the guard standing nearest to me. "When the sale is finished, take her to the harem. Have Hannah take care of her."

  "Yes, sir," he says, his eyes on the woman.

  "You will remove your eyes from the Warlord’s new slave before I do it for you," I promise him.

  He swiftly drops his eyes and takes a couple of steps away in the guise of doing as I say, though I suspect I make him uncomfortable. Most of the palace guard have learned that I will follow-up threat with action. It’s best to follow my orders immediately without question.

  The sale finishes and Silas turns to speak to his guards. "Take her to the harem."

  As the guard reaches for her, she moves suddenly, plunging her hand into his belt. The startled palace guard stumbles back while she drags his knife from the sheath. She spins on the spot and lunges forward, pointing the knife at Silas and the Outsider. It's clear from the way she’s standing and holding the knife that she has no idea what she's doing. Though I’m not worried that she'll do much damage, I have no choice but to step in. Our Warlord prefers not to have threats on his life.

  She raises the knife high and slashes it in a downward arc toward the Outsider’s belly, clearly intent on disemboweling him. I snap my hand over her wrist before she can make contact and swing her around. Her startled grey eyes lift to mine and I'm struck by the passion and fury within. When she was first brought to the throne room I thought I was seeing a woman defeated. I dismissed her as just another harem girl. Frightened and alone, but a woman who would settle easily into her new home. Instead, I’m seeing something else, something more to this woman. A fight I did not anticipate.

  She opens her mouth to say something to me and I would have given up my food rations for a week if she'd been able to finish the sentence, but before she can speak the Outsider slams his fist into the side of her head. She drops like a stone at my feet.

  "Bitch," he snarls, spitting on her unconscious form.

  I drag my pistol from the holster and hold it on the Outsider. "You insult the Warlord’s woman?" My stance and the ice in my words must alert the other man to the danger surrounding him. All of my palace guards are now on full alert, their hands on their weapons, their gazes on me.

  They’re awaiting instructions from their commander. If I tell them to kill this Outsider, he will be dead within seconds.

  But in an unusual move, the Warlord steps in. He places his hand on my arm and when I stiffen, he drops it and takes a step back. Though I am technically his subordinate, we both know if I wanted him dead, he would be dead. I tolerate him as Warlord because it suits me.

  Silas once asked me why I never became a Warlord. I didn’t answer the question because he didn’t need to know. Instead, I commented, "When I want the position, you'll be the first to know."

  From that day, Silas’s gaze became sharper whenever it landed on me, more guarded. Silas is a man who understands his strengths and his weaknesses. He’s a thinker, not a fighter. He surrounds himself with loyal and talented people who are willing to help fight for Sanctuary. What he fails to understand is that I have no respect for him. I am here out of purely selfish reasons. By creating a place for myself within the Sanctuary, in a security position, I’m ensuring a long-term home for myself. I have food, equipment, and men at my back. In this shithole of a world we live in now, a man can't ask for much more than basic comfort and safety.

  As I look down at the beautiful woman sprawled across the floor, her fiery attitude contained by a punch to the head, I wonder if my solitary existence is at risk. There's something about her, something that has made a tiny crack in a heart turned to ice long ago. In those few seconds when she fought for her freedom, thought to avenge herself, I saw a kindred spirit.

  Silas finishes paying the Outsider, sends him on his way and turns to one of the guards. "Take her to the harem. Tell Hannah to take special care of her." Silas kneels next to the woman, brushing the hair off her forehead and looking down at her flawless features. "Stunning, isn't she? Her name is Skye."

  Skye. Stormy and deceptively beautiful.

  He looks up at me as he says it, something in his gaze telling me that he sees in her what I see. Jealousy rips through me and for the first time in a long time I consider cutting him down right now and taking his place.

  We stare at each other for long, tension filled seconds and I wonder if he can read my mind. He’s calm, not calling out to the guards to protect him. Even if he did, they'd be confused. Protect him from his second-in-command? I’ve never made a move against him and I'm not about to start now. Besides, if I wanted him dead, there would be nothing the palace guards could do to stop me. I am second-in-command for a reason.

  I have no intention of harming my Warlord though. No one is worth the pain in the ass of having to run a Sanctuary, not even this woman. She’ll take her place in the harem, settle down and learn to accept life in the palace. I will assign her a guard, same as the other harem women, and I will likely not see her often. As the Warlord’s second, I run security in the palace and on the wall. I work with the police force in the city to maintain order. Our pat
hs won’t cross often. She’ll be just another pretty face, like any other. She will likely cross the room when she sees me coming, and avoid me in the hall, like the other women.

  Yet, as the guard reaches for her, to do Silas's bidding and take her to the harem, I push him out of the way. "I’ll take her." There’s no room for argument in my tone as I scoop the unconscious woman into my arms.

  I try to ignore the way her body feels against mine as I stride through the halls toward the harem. She’s thin from lack of food, but I can feel the definition of muscles beneath her skin. I wish her eyes were open. I want to see if they’re as stormy grey as I remember them from those few seconds when she looked up at me with such passionate fury.

  The harem doors open in front of me and I stride through, guided by Hannah to an empty room. I set the woman on the bed and step away. A sensation sweeps through me, something I've never felt before. Regret. I don't want to let her go.

  I decide I better leave the harem before I do something stupid. It's time to forget this woman exists.

  Before I leave, I say to Hannah, "Take good care of this one." I pause and then add, "Watch yourself, she’s a fighter."

  With one last look at the woman, I turn and walk away, determined to put her out of my mind. She belongs to the Warlord and I am not the Warlord.

  Three

  Skye

  7 years later

  Some call them Primitives, people who see them as once being relatives and friends. I call them zombies, because until a cure is developed the only real cure is my blade. They aren’t human, they are the walking dead.

  I don't know what wakes me up but over the past several years I've learned to trust my instincts. I tense, slowly reaching one hand for my revolver and the other for my long deadly knife. Both items are resting on the seat next to me and easily reachable. I barely breathe, a weapon in each hand, as I listen intently for whatever woke me up.

  Along with several members of my team I'm sheltering inside a downed passenger airplane. Two of my men are supposed to be outside the airplane patrolling, watching for Primitives.

  As I blink the sleep from my eyes, I realize the airplane is filled with some kind of smoke. It takes me a couple of heart stopping seconds to realize that it's not smoke from a fire but mist. The plane had gone down near the Rio Grande river, around the time of the Great Fall, and it's a particularly humid evening, creating an atmosphere of fog.

  I reach an arm out, using the edge of my knife to tap the man sprawled out in the seat across the aisle. He wakes up with a start, his hand immediately going to the holster at his side. Consciousness comes to him quickly, and he looks silently over at me, his brow furrowing. I lift a finger to my lips indicating that he shouldn't speak. My entire team is trained to keep as silent as possible. Primitives are attracted to noise, which means humans have had to become wraiths when working and moving in a world dominated by the diseased.

  "We’re not alone," I whisper to Deacon, my second-in-command for this mission.

  Like me, Deacon slowly reaches for his weapons, hefting them in his hands and squinting through the fog. The gaping hole on the top right side of the airplane allows the outside atmosphere in. The hole is high enough up that it should keep out any lurking Primitives, but that won't stop them from surrounding the airplane or attacking my lookouts.

  I don't know how and I don't know why, but I know to the marrow of my bones that they’re out there. I always know. Like a sixth sense. I was born with it. It developed over the years, particularly after the death of my husband, Silas. Survival has become my single objective.

  Deacon doesn't question me. He's learned that I'm always right when I predict a zombie attack. I point my knife toward the back of the airplane indicating that he should move to the rear, wake up the rest of our team.

  To their credit, the team is completely noiseless as each one is woken up from a deep sleep. They've had to learn the hard way, with the loss of several of our team close to the beginning of the mission. Primitive attacks can be sudden, brutal and are often predicated by how much noise we make.

  We’ve been travelling this region for weeks with little to no sleep. It's a barren desert region that shouldn't have been a breeding ground for Primitives. They should be closer to the cities, where they can find food. I don't know why they’re all the way out here, but they are.

  My core mission is to take a vaccination that was created in the New Tucson Sanctuary and spread it as far and as wide as I can. The mission hasn't been an easy one, given the scarcity of working vehicles and fuel. But so far, over the past eight months of travelling, we’ve managed to take the vaccination to half a dozen Sanctuaries, hitting all of the major West Coast cities. Now, we’re making our way east.

  As my team wakes, they move into formation, each member taking their place. I use hand signals to inform them that they'll be leaving the airplane at various exits.

  I whisper just loud enough for all of them to hear, "Attack first, kill them all, no mercy, no remorse."

  This has become our battle mantra over the long months of travelling. We can't show pity, though the Primitives could easily be our friends or family. We can't hesitate, even if the vaccination has shown some signs of reversing the virus. We have a mission and we can't allow compassion to get in the way.

  Each member of my team nods back, their eyes grave. Though they've all been vaccinated, they could still be killed if the Primitives get hold of them. Even if they can no longer turn, they can still die by dismemberment or being eaten alive.

  They are loyal to me and every member of my team will follow me into hell. I've built this team, earned their trust and fought by their sides. Each member knows that I would fight to the death for them if necessary.

  With the fluidity of a well-oiled machine we split up into teams, hitting each of the exits. Two in the rear, two in the front and two at each of the emergency exits in the middle of the plane. I wrap my hand around the emergency exit pull on the right side of the plane. This is the most dangerous exit. Deacon and I will be alone on this side of the airplane, fighting whatever enemy is outside.

  I look back at him, my eyes burning hatred in the darkness. I remind myself that these are the creatures that destroyed almost all of my family and killed my husband. I want them all dead.

  Deacon nods, silently telling me that he has my back.

  "Attack!" I yell.

  All of the exits are opened at once, Deacon and I jump out onto the wing of the airplane. As soon as my feet hit, I begin to slide because the airplane is tilted with the end of the wing resting on the ground. My knees to buckle and I lie flat on the wing, allowing gravity to take me down to the ground. The second my feet touch I swing my blade out into the foggy darkness, making contact.

  Four

  "They're getting more organized every time we see them."

  I don't look at Deacon when he speaks to me, my eyes continuing to rove over the tree line searching for movement. He's right. The Primitives have been exhibiting growth. Now that there’s a vaccine, it seems as though their brain functions are increasing and adapting at a much faster rate. I don’t know if the two concepts are related or if it’s purely coincidental.

  "Well then," I look over, my expression cold, "it’s that much more important that we get the vaccine distributed."

  I glance around the space outside the airplane. It's now littered with Primitive bodies. I feel no sadness for them, nor any shame at having killed them. Maybe my heart is dead. Maybe I can no longer feel. I don't know and I don't care. I have a job to do and I'm going to do it.

  There’s no sign of our two lookouts. They were either turned or killed. A depressing reality that has hammered away at our collective morale. We’ve grown close as a group, watching each other’s backs, learning about each other. Almost as if we each want our legacy known before we become the next victim. It breaks my heart to see my team behaving this way: weary, sad, resigned, scared. Especially because I’m both their leader and
the one who must be protected above all else, since my blood is needed for the vaccine.

  "Do we continue in the same direction, into New Mexico?" Deacon questions.

  I want to snap at him that of course we will continue on. One brief Primitive attack won't set us back. We've gone through dozens of similar attacks over the months, pushing through each one and moving on to our next destination, distributing the vaccine as we go.

  That's not why Deacon’s asking the question though. It's because the next Sanctuary on our list is Santa Fe. The place where I loved and lost my husband. Rumor has reached us that there are survivors and that they’re rebuilding with a new Warlord at the helm. I've been hesitant to go back, to show my face. I feel guilty at having left survivors behind when we fled the massacre a year ago. Yet, I'm also eager to go back to the place I called home. To see if there's anything left.

  I stifle my annoyance at Deacon. It’s not his fault the apocalypse has put me in a permanently bitchy mood. "Of course. We continue until we’ve reached every Sanctuary. No matter what happens, no matter who dies, our mission remains the same. Spread the vaccine."

  I stride away from him, my mood dark. Not that my mood could ever be described as pleasant. But this trip, being the leader of this small group of warriors, is beginning to try my patience.

  Wolfe had been my only real companion. The only man I was able to stand for longer than a few minutes. Maybe because he was silent most of the time. Or maybe because he's just as bad tempered as me.

  My anger begins to rise again as I think of him. He abandoned me to this. He abandoned me after I lost my husband, my friends and my Sanctuary. I want to hate him for it, call him selfish, but I can't. I was the one who drove him away. I was the selfish one. And this… maybe this is my punishment.