The Road to Wolfe (The Sanctuary Series Book 4) Read online

  "I don't like it, it's uncomfortable."

  He doesn’t respond to my complaint but buckles himself in and turns the key in the ignition, starting the car.

  Vehicles all around us come to life, their engines rumbling in the desert. I turn my gaze to the car next to us, focusing on the young man driving. I don't recognize him. I don't recognize anyone. Who are these people?

  "Where are we going?" I ask Wolfe as he hits the gas and turns the car back on to the road.

  "Sanctuary," he says cryptically.

  "Any specific Sanctuary?" I ask him sarcastically.

  "Santa Fe."

  "Well that's convenient." When he doesn't say anything back, I fall silent. There's so much I want to say, to ask him, but pride keeps me silent. He left me. I'm not sure what he's doing back in my life now. I don’t even know if we’re on the same side. Is he kidnapping me or is he helping me get to the next Sanctuary on my list?

  I turn in my seat, staring out behind us. Looking for the cars that belong to my team. With the dirt being thrown up as the cars race away from the fueling station, I can't pick them out. I hope they’re following close behind. I don't know what this is, don't know why it took Wolfe six cars and one year to find me, but I want my people for backup. Even just for emotional support. These are the people who have fought at my side and my back. People that I trust, and who trust me. People who will defend me in a heartbeat, if I ask.

  Wolfe is driving an early century car, one I don't recognize, but some kind of sports car, I think. As the world fell to the Primitives, luxury items such as sports vehicles were some of the first to go. Anything built for looks over durability didn't sustain. This one seems to be doing okay as it flies over the rutted road.

  "Nice car."

  He grunts. "I found it in the Tijuana Sanctuary."

  I raise an eyebrow. "I thought Tijuana fell thirty years ago."

  "Thirty-four," he corrects me. "They rebuilt. I went there after I left Tucson."

  I look at him, my eyes drifting down his arms to land on his knuckles where they rest on the steering wheel. I forgot how scarred his hands are, some of the fingers twisted at the knuckles, clearly having been broken at some point. Despite that, his hands look capable. Capable of building, capable of destroying. Capable of touching a woman.

  "What happened in Tijuana 34 years ago?" I'm not sure if I care, but Santa Fe is at least half a day away and sitting in complete silence for the entire trip will be boring.

  "The city fell."

  "Why’d the city fall?" Jesus, this is going to be a long ass conversation if he doesn't start volunteering more information.

  Finally, he glances at me and speaks. "I was five. We were warring with neighbouring Sanctuaries, including Tucson. We didn't have enough resources and went after others for food, water and medical supplies. We weren’t prepared to defend ourselves against the fallout."

  I shiver at his short but brutal explanation. War. It's almost better when cities topple from things outside the hands of humans, like flu and Primitives. It's worse when we’re the cause of our own downfall. It breaks my heart imagining the five-year-old Wolfe getting caught up and displaced in the war.

  "So you’re originally from Mexico… or where Mexico used to be?"

  When cities, regions and nations fell, borders became meaningless. The only borders that matter anymore are the ones staked out around Sanctuaries. Everything else in between is a lawless no man's land, where Primitives roam and Outsiders take refuge. Still, there are enough surviving people who remember the time of the Great Fall. They keep the memory of our former geography alive.

  I’m originally from what used to be Canada, from somewhere in the west. We lived in a secluded wooded area with many natural resources, but the winters were harsh and the area was lonely, mostly devoid of other people. When everything fell to shit, what was left of my family travelled south.

  He shrugs. "I guess. Never knew where my parents came from."

  "What about your family? What happened to them?" I'm almost afraid to ask. If his story ended happily, his parents would be alive and well, and he would know about his heritage. If his family had survived, I suspect he wouldn't be the hardened killer that he is today. Our pasts have shaped us, his and mine. We’re both killers now.

  "Dead. They fell when Tijuana went down."

  "I'm so sorry," I murmur, lifting my hand to touch him. I drop it to the seat between us. He doesn't want my sympathy.

  Then he surprises me. He reaches out and takes my hand in his, giving it a squeeze. As though he knows I wanted to touch him and aborted. I can feel my face flushing with emotion.

  "Don't be sorry for me," he says. "I don't remember them. I was lucky enough to be picked up by a group of refugees heading north, toward Santa Fe. They could've easily left me behind as dead weight, but they took pity on a filthy, starving, injured child."

  "Is that how you lost your eye?" I want to call the question back immediately. It’s personal and I’m crossing a line. Wolfe never talks about his eye. Yet from the day I met him, I've always been curious.

  "Yes," he says simply.

  In the space of just half an hour I've learned more about Wolfe than I had in the years I lived with him in the Santa Fe Warlord’s palace.

  Eight

  The New Santa Fe Sanctuary is located at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in the Rio Grande Valley. When the original Santa Fe fell, the remaining inhabitants and refugees rebuilt closer to the mountain range, creating a natural fortress. The wall held for fifty years, until the second fall of the Santa Fe Sanctuary, one year ago.

  It’s gut wrenching to be home again… or the place I used to call home. Regrowth and rebuild is happening along the wall. From what I can tell, it's being built stronger than ever, able to withstand entire armies of Primitives. I shudder as the thought enters my brain. Armies. That's what we've come to. Primitives have organized themselves. They've always travelled in packs, but the groupings used to be smaller, more easily managed. Now, they travel in hordes. Great big massive hordes.

  As we approach the main gates, I tip my head back to stare up at the wall, a wall just as high as the Tucson Sanctuary wall. I frown and wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Are those… are those bodies up there?"

  Displayed across much of the face of the wall is what looks like rotting corpses. My stomach heaves in protest and I look away.

  "They’re a deterrence to the enemy,” Wolfe explains. “Primitives don't like coming across their dead any more than we do."

  I stare at him. "How can you tell?"

  He doesn't speak right away and I wonder if he won't answer me. This is Wolfe. He speaks sparingly and in his own time. He never explains himself, definitely not to me. Not even to the Warlord, when Silas was still alive.

  Finally, he answers, "Noticed after I left the Tucson Sanctuary. I hammered one of them to the hood of my car, a statement to the others. Fuck with me and die."

  "And it worked?" I ask skeptically.

  His eyes remain on the gates as they swing open and we’re both distracted for a moment as he drives through. The last time I was here we were rushing in the opposite direction through the gates, taking as many vehicles and refugees as we could manage. Out of the 70,000 people residing in Santa Fe at the time, we'd only been able to take a few hundred. And out of that few hundred only a few dozen, including Wolfe and myself, made it to the Tucson Sanctuary alive.

  But now, I see a bustling city, people moving through the streets with purpose. As we drive, I realize that there are far more than the handful that should have survived being left behind to survive a zombie attack.

  I say as much to Wolfe.

  "Some survived the initial attack; managed to hide and wait out the Primitives. Others are refugees from the eastern Sanctuaries. They heard we were rebuilding here in Santa Fe and asked for asylum."

  I see an older woman making her way slowly across the road, a cane clutched in her hand for balance. She’s well
past childbearing age and at first glance doesn't appear to be in the best of health. This woman would never have been given Sanctuary under Silas’s regime, or in most other Sanctuaries. How has she managed to get into Santa Fe?

  Following my gaze, Wolfe understands my silent question and explains, "We accept anyone who begs for Sanctuary. The only exceptions are those that were turned away from the city for crimes."

  I'm surprised. Both at this amendment to the old law and at the way Wolfe is making it sound like he's a decision-maker for the city. In his old role as head of security and right hand to the Warlord, he’d helped make decisions, but he mostly kept to himself. Perhaps he’s taken up his old position again. I know I’m wrong, though. My gut is trying to tell me he’s something more to the Santa Fe Sanctuary.

  Finally, I ask the question that's been burning from the moment I found out I would be coming here. "Who… who is Warlord now?" I need to know who took my husband’s position.

  This time, though, Wolfe doesn't answer. He maneuvers the vehicle through the city, driving it into the underground garage beneath what used to be the palace. I get a quick glimpse of the tall building before we drive into the underground. I'm blinded by darkness for a moment until my eyes can adjust. By the time I'm ready, Wolfe has parked the vehicle.

  We get out and I join him as he strides toward the stairs leading up. I'm reminded of the effort it takes to climb the stairs as we go up and up and up at a dizzying pace. Wolfe is clearly in top physical condition, not that he ever wasn't. The man's body is made out of rock, probably the same rock as his heart.

  I'm huffing and puffing by the time we arrive at our destination: the Warlord’s throne room.

  As we enter, I see that not much has changed and a stab of pain takes my breath away as I picture Silas in his role as Warlord, sitting in his big ornate chair on a dais, elevated above the rest of the room. Now, of course, it’s empty of his frail dying body.

  I'm about to insist once more that Wolfe tell me who the new Warlord is. I have my suspicions, but I want him to confirm. Before I can ask, though, several soldiers come through the door, lining up next to Wolfe. In unison, they bow their heads, a habit left over from Silas's days. He loved his pomp and ceremony. These men must've belonged to him. Must've somehow survived the attack.

  "Warlord," one of them begins. "We’re situating your guests."

  "Good," Wolfe acknowledges. "Leave us now."

  Without another word the soldiers file out, their eyes anywhere but on me. The averted gaze of the soldiers is reminiscent of my time in the harem. They weren’t allowed to look directly at me or any of the harem women. Only Wolfe had repeatedly broken that rule, looking at me often. The Warlord hadn’t cared though; he believed that Wolfe’s coldness toward me indicated his lack of interest. I’d believed the same thing.

  I have trouble keeping the edge of bitterness from my voice. "Warlord Wolfe. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

  He says nothing, but his one-eyed stare says it all.

  Nine

  "So you're the new Warlord of the Santa Fe Sanctuary." Scorn drips from my words.

  Wolfe would make a good Warlord; he's a good choice for securing a city that has fallen to the Primitives. He’s strong, decisive and brutally efficient. But there's something about him, about the situation, that angers me. He’s stepping into the role that belonged to my husband, and I hate the reminder of how much my life has changed.

  Wolfe shrugs. "Temporarily."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

  Before Wolfe can answer, if he was going to answer, we’re interrupted by an approaching woman. "The requested rooms have been prepared for your guest."

  Before Wolfe can acknowledge her, she turns and starts to walk away.

  I'm shocked and say out loud, "Hannah?"

  Could it be possible? Is this the woman who took my place at Silas's side one year ago? The last time I saw her, she was standing next to our husband, her hand on his shoulder as I was dragged away kicking and screaming.

  The woman stiffens and turns her head slightly. "Skye." She says my name in cool acknowledgement and then continues walking.

  "Wait, Hannah…" I take a few steps after her, but Wolfe catches my arm and holds me in place.

  I look sharply down at his hand, but he doesn't remove it. He tightens his grip until I tilt my head back to look up into his eye.

  "Let her go," he says quietly. "She's not the same woman you used to know."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I say, letting the frustration leak through in my voice. "What's going on around here? What happened when we left? How could she possibly have survived?"

  Wolfe begins walking, giving me no choice but to follow him or fall, since he still has hold of my arm. I hurry to keep up with his longer strides.

  "She can answer all of your questions, but you need to give her time. She's not the same woman."

  I growl my frustration. "Yeah, you said that. What kind of a woman is she now? Half zombie?"

  Wolfe doesn't say anything, but I see a slight shake to his shoulders telling me he's laughing. He’d better be laughing at my joke and not at me.

  I realize that I need to calm down, process what's happening. I'm standing in a place that used to be my home, but everything has changed. My husband, the man who I shared this palace with, is now dead. Even if he somehow managed to survive the Primitive attacks, like Hannah did, he wouldn't have survived the neuroblastoma in his brain.

  I try to relax my shoulders and follow Wolfe willingly. I know I can trust him with my safety. He might be frustrating as hell, a soldier to the core, but he would never willingly leave me in danger. As long as I'm under his roof, I should be safe.

  I'm surprised when he shows me to the harem. "This is where you plan on keeping me?"

  "For now." He nods at one of the guards who opens the door.

  Nostalgia hits me hard as I step through the opening and into another world. I can't help but look at everything with new eyes.

  The large common room is tidy, everything put in its place, as though the women of the harem hadn't fled in a panic, leaving everything where it fell. I suspect Hannah must've had the place cleaned up. Where it used to be bustling with a dozen women and servants, it's now devoid of people.

  Bolts of fabric line one of the walls where seamstresses used to measure us and create beautiful outfits. Next door is the kitchen, where our chef created amazing meals out of limited resources. The bedrooms are in the back. Each wife had her own room, privacy being a prized commodity at the time. We were among the lucky few. We hadn't been turned out to starve, to fight for our livelihood, to endure the hardships that other citizens would've had to endure. The only expectation was that we please the Warlord when summoned.

  "Thought you'd be more comfortable in a familiar place," Wolfe says from behind me.

  I raise a skeptical brow and turn to look at him. "Since when do you care about anyone's comfort? No, I think there's another reason for putting me in the most secure room in the palace."

  Wolfe’s expression is hard, his gaze icy as he looks me over, his eye drifting down my body. "Indeed."

  Anger begins to rise at his one-word response. "Since you wish to secure me separate from my people," I say, swinging my hand around to indicate that my people are not with me, "I must assume that you have a reason. Are you trying to lock me in, or lock someone out?"

  Again, he pauses before answering. "Both."

  "Can you give me more?" I ask in frustration, pacing away from him. "Why am I here? I have a mission to complete. We can stay for a maximum of a few days, long enough to teach your doctor how to replicate and administer the vaccine, then we must move on."

  "No." He says it simply, as though that one word explains everything.

  I'm beginning to have an inkling of what's going on in that big, brutal brain.

  "Wolfe," I say slowly, "you can't keep me here. I have to leave with my team. I have to move on to the next Sanct
uary, and then the next one after that. You understand that, don't you?"

  He shakes his head. "No, you're needed here. You stay."

  Horror begins to rise up, making me feel dizzy. If Wolfe has a strong hold on the city and he wants to keep me here, then I’m not going to be able to fight him. My team is too small to face Wolfe and his army. They won’t be able to help.

  This isn’t the first time a Sanctuary has attempted to separate me from my team and keep me. Other cities had thought to leverage me for control of the vaccination. I learned quickly not to tell them about the origins of the vaccine. Not to tell them it was created using my blood. Warlords can’t be trusted with that kind of information.

  Of course, Wolfe already knows about my blood.

  "You plan to use me to control the vaccine?" I ask him, wanting to be completely clear on what's happening.

  "No, I don't care about the vaccine. It's a Band-Aid solution. It'll stop the rapid growth of Primitives, but it won't fix the world we now live in."

  "There's more to it than that," I say angrily, pacing away from him, my arms wrapped protectively around my waist. "The vaccine doesn't just stop people from turning into Primitives. It’s showing promising signs of turning Primitives back into people."

  I can tell right away that Wolfe didn’t know this piece of information. He seems to be turning it over in his mind.

  "Does it work?" he asks skeptically. "Is it capable of turning zombies into humans again?"

  I give my head a slight shake. "Not so far, but I'm confident that it will."

  "Who’s doing the research?"

  "Dr. Bishop, from the Tucson sanctuary." There's no point in keeping the information from him. The more I talk, the more likely it is he'll let me go if I say the right thing. "After Emery was bitten, Taran’s blood was able to turn Emery back. She died three months later from massive organ shutdown, but the possibilities inherent in this vaccine are massive. If we can just get it to work on the Primitives, we could eradicate the virus entirely.”