Jericho: Through The Ashes (Jake, Anna, teen) - Part 4/4

[scribblerfic]

Title: Through The Ashes

Author: scribblesinink
Rating: Teen

Characters: Jake, Anna, OCs galore
Warnings/labels: AU, adult concepts and language
Word count: TBA

Author notes: Many, many, thanks to Tanaqui for relentless cheerleading and handholding, when I thought the story sucked and should be scrapped entirely. And of course for stellar beta and editing work. Without her, this story would've been so much worse....
Though some of the places mentioned in this story really exist, I've taken geographical liberties with the layout and appearance of those places, and the states they exist in. And while I don't think it's strictly necessary, it may help to read my story Triage first.


Summary: What if-AU. When Freddy lay dying in his arms, Jake swore he'd get Anna—and Freddy's unborn baby—safely away from San Diego. Suspecting Ravenwood is still on their trail, even after they make it out of the city, Jake decides to accompany Anna until he can leave her with her parents in Houston. His own plans for going to Jericho and talking to his father about his grandfather's inheritance can wait a few days longer. Little does Jake know those few days will turn into months....

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Chapter 15

Fate smiled on Jake and Anna—or perhaps Molly's prayers for nice weather had paid off—during the first week and a half of their journey north. Though the nights were noticeably colder than a month ago, the sleeping bags they'd smuggled from the camp warded off the chill. None of the fall storms from the Gulf blew up into Texas, nor did any low pressure fronts move in from the north, leaving the days dry and sunny. Some afternoons, it almost grew too hot for comfortable walking and at times the trip was even enjoyable. Jake even began to cautiously think that aiming for a Thanksgiving arrival might not be that far off the mark after all.


They avoided contact with others as much as possible. It wasn't difficult: Texas wasn't a crowded state at the best of times and they quickly confirmed Jake hadn't imagined the desolation during his food run to the organic farm. Would seem the rumors, which had been flying around camp shortly before they left, were true: at the governor's urging, people were gathering in towns and cities, abandoning their remote ranches and farms to the elements. Concentrated in settlements, it'd be easier for the government to offer protection and safety. And those who'd remained behind and refused to leave their homes or their livestock proved to be a suspicious lot, as wary of strangers as Jake and Anna were of them. More than once, Jake sensed distrustful eyes following them, along with the kind of prickle in his neck that told him shotguns were being aimed in his direction. They never saw anyone when that happened though, and the feeling of being watched lessened slowly as they hiked on and the farmstead they were passing fell behind.


Six days into their journey, they heard a car. The low, deep grumble of a diesel engine was no longer as familiar as it had once been. Instead, it was an out-of-place and threatening interruption of the quiet.


"Jake?" Anna asked, half in question, half warning.


"I hear it."


"What do we do?" She'd stopped walking and cocked her head to hear better. The car―or cars, Jake wasn't sure yet―was approaching fast, coming up from behind, where the low rise they'd just crossed hid it from view. Up ahead, the dirt road stretched out, flat and straight and featureless.


Jake hesitated for only a heartbeat. "We hide." Better safe than sorry; the only people driving cars were either soldiers rounding up stragglers or gangs scouring the countryside for loot. They could expect scant sympathy from either.


"Where?" Anna asked. Jake quickly looked around, taking stock of their surroundings. The land was bare, offering few options. There was a cluster of bushes further up ahead. A quick glance told Jake it was too far; the car would be on them before they could reach it. As it got closer, he decided from the noise that it was a single truck and, judging by the change into a higher pitch, it had started up the incline. Time was running out.


"Into the field." He pointed, grabbing Anna by the arm. She was already moving. The coarse, yellowed grass formed knee-high patches and, with luck, would hide them from casual view. Several yards into the field, they stopped and he helped Anna slip out of her backpack before throwing off his own.


"Jake, hurry." Anna had already lain down flat on her stomach, pressed into the dirt. Jake took a second to check the packs were well shielded behind a clump of grass, and dropped next to her.


Not a moment too soon, either. He barely had time to grab the gun out of the belt at his back, before the truck came over the ridge and started down the shallow slope toward them. Catching a glimpse, Jake recognized it as a deuce-and-a-half flatbed in a dark color.


"Who are they?" Anna kept her voice to a whisper, despite there being no risk the people in the car would hear her over the engine noise.


"Don't know." The engine could do with a tune up, so they most likely weren't military, but he couldn't be sure who they were otherwise. Not without lifting his head, something he wasn't gonna chance for the sole purpose of satisfying his curiosity.


The truck slowed right across from their position. They both tensed. Metal grated on metal and Jake winced involuntarily as the driver inexpertly switched gears. Then the truck sped up. Jake expelled the air from his lungs with a whoosh and forced himself to relax his grip on the gun, which he'd instinctively tightened as the truck slowed.


They waited until the engine's noise had faded completely before daring to get to their feet. Anna slapped at her knees to brush the dirt off, before straightening to allow Jake to help her back into her rucksack. "Thanks," she muttered, tightening the shoulder straps with trembling fingers. Wordlessly, Jake squeezed her shoulder for an instant, ducking to grab his own pack.


From then on, they heard an engine every two or three days. Making sure to get well off the road every time, they never did see any of the actual cars and the noise never got closer than a rumble in the distance. The most pressing issue each day continued to be finding sufficient food to sustain them. The area they were traveling through consisted largely of patches of cultivated farmland in between rough pasture, allowing them to forage from the abandoned fields as they went. Nevertheless, their supplies quickly dwindled, and they were increasingly forced to spend precious time replenishing them. Yet, Jake reminded himself on the evening of the tenth day, marking their daily progress on the map and grumbling every time it turned out to be less than he'd hoped, if they didn't eat, they'd never make it to Jericho at all.


One cool, sunny morning, not quite two weeks since they'd left Camp Austin, they were busy breaking camp and readying themselves for the day. They'd spent the night in an overgrown meadow not far from a dilapidated shed Jake had spotted around sunset. He'd hoped it would provide a place to sleep but Anna had taken one peek inside the shed, observed the cobwebbed, dust-coated interior, and declared she'd rather sleep out under the open sky. Truth be told, as long as it didn't rain―and rain hadn't been likely, the way the stars had popped out in the clear sky―Jake was inclined to agree with her. So they'd zipped their government-issue sleeping bags together, found a flat spot where the long grass would provide a thin, prickly cushion, and huddled for warmth as they slept.


They were slowly developing another daily routine: Anna cleaned their stuff after breakfast―usually a piece of fruit and a spoonful of left-over broth from last night's supper―and Jake took care of the sleeping bags and backpacks. He was zipping the bags apart and shaking them out to get rid of the grass and dirt when a soft gasp and a quiet "Oh!" made him look up. Anna had stilled in washing up the dishes, one hand splayed on her stomach, the knife she'd been cleaning forgotten in the other. Jake couldn't make out what he saw in her face as she goggled back at him. Surprise? Shock?


Dread slithered through him. "Are you okay?" He struggled to keep the fear from showing in his voice. If there was something wrong with the baby....


Anna's reply was breathless. "It moved...." The smile that accompanied her words dimpled her cheeks and Jake's fear subsided a little. "The baby," she went on. "It moved." She hunched her shoulders shyly. "I mean, I thought I've felt it before, but now I'm sure—there it is again!" She dropped the knife, letting it fall among the rest of the items they hadn't yet packed away and scurried over to Jake. Reaching out, she grabbed his wrist. "Feel that?" Before Jake knew what she was doing, she'd pressed his palm flat to her lower belly.


He concentrated, but he felt nothing beyond her body heat seeping through her shirt, hot against his palm. "Sorry, no...."


Her smile faltered and disappointment replaced it. "I suppose it's too weak for you to make out." She let go of his hand. "Anyway, it's stopped."


"There'll be other times." Jake didn't know if he was trying to console her or himself, that he hadn't been able to share this with her.


"Yes," she agreed in a voice still full of wonder, and Jake couldn't but help smile.


He went on looking at her as she turned away and started gathering up their gear again, relieved by the confirmation that she and the baby were apparently doing fine. The baby was what worried him the most about taking Anna on a months-long journey, far away from any doctors or medical support. At least, at the refugee camp, they'd had the clinic nearby. He still couldn't help asking, "How are you doing?"


It took her an instant to catch his deeper meaning. "Okay, I guess." Busying herself with cramming things back into her pack, she added, "The nausea's mostly gone."


Jake hadn't dared comment on her seeming to do better as far as her morning sickness went. He'd been too afraid to draw her attention to it.


"Molly gave me ginger root to help with the symptoms," Anna added, "but I think I'm outgrowing it, too." She glanced up again, bashfully. "Helen told me the second trimester should be the easiest, so you picked a good time for our road trip." The smile as she said it didn't quite mask the worry in her eyes. If he were concerned about the lack of available medical care, he reckoned Anna must be absolutely terrified―and yet, she'd trusted him enough to go with him. The sudden sense of responsibility that washed over him made his chest constrict. Jake swallowed and consciously forced himself to take in a lungful of air as he tightened the strap on the sleeping bag he'd rolled up with more force than strictly necessary.


"And we're making excellent time," he reminded her, perhaps as much to encouraged himself as her. They'd not make it to Jericho by Thanksgiving now, but celebrating Christmas at his parents' house was still a definite possibility.


She let out an amused little snort at that, but her brow crinkled with doubt.


Jake saw the frown. "What is it?"


Anna worried at her bottom lip. "I'm running low on the vitamin supplements," she admitted. "The clinic gave me enough to tide me over until my next monthly check-up. Which, you know...." She huffed a small laugh, gesturing at the yellowed grass around them.


Jake hmmed unhappily at the news. While they weren't in danger of starving, their diet was pretty lacking in variety, and he'd counted on the supplements to keep her and the baby in good health until they could ask April for help. "How many have you got left?"


Anna dug up the bottle of pills and considered the contents. "Two weeks' worth."


"Okay." He tried not to show his dismay. Even if they could maintain their current pace, they wouldn't even have crossed into Oklahoma in two weeks, let alone they'd be anywhere near Jericho. "We'll find some more." There had to be a way. If necessary, they could try going into a town. They'd simply have to approach it with care.

o0o

The following afternoon, the weather took a turn for the worse. For the next week, they plodded on under fat, low-hanging clouds that delivered heavy showers, lashing at them and turning the road underfoot into slippery mud. The flimsy rain capes―originally meant for a single emergency use―that they'd pilfered from the abandoned gas station weeks earlier weren't enough to keep them dry. But they trudged on, neither of them willing to stop and wait for better weather.


As they slogged on through yet another pounding shower, Jake spotted a road sign at a crossroads. He tilted his head up to read it; road signs helped to make certain they hadn't accidentally veered from the right track. Wiping the water from his eyes, he snorted. Anna glanced at him, pushing the wet strands of hair that had escaped the plastic hood of her cap back from her face. From her expression, she clearly had no idea what Jake was finding so amusing during the miserable downpour.


"Wanna say hello to Sheriff Kobler?" he asked.


"Who?" Anna's expression went from faintly curious to confused.


"The sheriff in Vernon." Jake flicked a hand at the sign. Its right arm pointed east; they were fifty miles out from the town. "We're nearly back where we started."


"Oh...." Anna peered at the sign and smiled uncertainly. "Um, you want...?" She spoke hesitantly, evidently wondering if the rain had rusted his brain.


Jake grimaced wryly, embarrassed. "No, I don't." He barked a bitter laugh. Vernon, Texas, was the last place on Earth he wanted to go to. Even if the town had been on the route to Jericho, he'd have taken a wide detour to avoid going near there. The sheriff had been hard pressed to keep his town under control even immediately after the attacks; Jake didn't want to picture the situation there two months and little government aid later. "Sorry. That was a lame joke."


"Okay..." Anna didn't even award him a ghost of a smile as she trudged on.


Jake followed, trying not to slip in the treacherous mud underfoot. He snuck a peek up at the clouds. The sky to the west seemed to be lightening up and he hoped it wasn't an illusion. Cause he was getting sick of this weather―literally, he shivered.


He jogged a few paces to catch up with Anna. "Let's find a place to wait out this storm and dry ourselves out," he suggested.


"You sure?"


"Positive." Much as they both wanted to get to Jericho as quickly as possible, finding shelter would be the wiser choice at this point. A barn, or a garage. A place they could make a fire, at least. Everything they carried was wet or damp; the waterlogged backpack felt twice as heavy on his shoulders; and he could swear mold was starting to grow between his toes.


It took them four miles and the best part of the afternoon before they came across what Jake had been hoping for: a small ranch house, neat and well-maintained, with a fresh coat of paint on the siding. It had clearly been abandoned for some time: Mother Nature was busy reclaiming the grounds, with weeds shooting up at the edges of the asphalted driveway and wind-blown sand collecting in small dunes against the walls. A layer of dust caked the windows.


As they entered the yard, Jake peered around. Aside from the house, the place consisted of a single small barn with a tiny orchard behind it. It hadn't been a working farm, he reckoned; more like his Grandpa's ranch in Jericho.


The pang of longing that went through him at the memory took Jake's breath away for a second.


"Jake?" Tilting toward her voice, Jake saw Anna was already halfway to the barn, waiting for him to follow. He took a step in her direction and then hesitated, a new idea taking hold. His gaze shifted to the house and back to Anna. She was shivering visibly, her wet hair plastered to her face. Dark patches showed where the rain had soaked into her jeans. No, the barn wouldn't be enough.


"Come on." He flapped a hand for her to come with him and strode in the direction of the house.


"What are you―?" She joined him on the porch, out of the rain. "Oh, Jake!" She gasped in alarm as Jake tilted over one of the heavy flower pots flanking the door, the plants in it wilted and dry, and let out a small cry of triumph. As he'd hoped, a key was hidden there. He quickly snatched it up and set the pot back in place.


"Jake! We can't do this!" Anna grabbed his sleeve, holding him back from inserting the key into the lock. "That's... that's breaking and entering!"


"No breaking involved." Jake chuckled sourly and shook the key at her. But Anna did have a point: he didn't want to think about what he would've done if the key hadn't been there. Then again, would his grandfather have objected if people in their situation had broken into his ranch after he'd died?


No, he wouldn't have. Jake was sure of it. Grandpa would've been okay with it, and he'd have hoped whoever it was in need of shelter would also discover the stash of scotch he'd always kept hidden from Jake's mom behind the big saucepan in the kitchen cabinet.


"You know what I mean." Red splotches showed in Anna's cheeks.


"Yes, I do." Jake sighed, and, pocketing the key, took her hands in his. They were icy cold to the touch. "Listen, we're both freezing. If we don't dry out, we'll get sick. Catch pneumonia." He didn't mention the baby; she was far more aware of her condition and what it meant than he could ever be. "We'll be careful, okay? We won't break anything. But we need a fire. I don't want to start one in the barn; we'd risk burning the entire building down." Barns, in Jake's experience, were always full of dust and straw and hay and other easily combustible things.


"Jake, this is somebody's house." Tears glistened in her eyes.


"I'm aware of that." It wasn't the first time they'd had to break in to shelter from bad weather. But it was the first time it wasn't a shed or an office or a store. Yet it couldn't be helped. "This is the best thing, trust me."


Anna bit her lip and, several heartbeats later, nodded.


Jake found the key again and unlocked the door. It opened straight into a tidy living room that smelled faintly of dust after two months of being abandoned. He raised a foot to step over the threshold, but Anna hauled him back by the strap of his backpack.


She jabbed a hand toward his feet. "Boots."


Jake grimaced. "Good point." Their boots were splattered with mud up to their ankles, and the soles were caked with dirt. He knelt awkwardly to loosen the laces, before kicking off the boots. Leaving them on the porch, he walked on inside in just his socks.


Under the gray skies and with dusk approaching, it was gloomy in the house and chilly from lack of occupation. Jake could make out a comfortable sofa, two easy chairs and a coffee table. A bookcase holding family photos stood against one of the walls. He averted his eyes. The pictures made him feel more keenly like an intruder than taking the key or actually walking inside had done.


He looked across his shoulder; Anna was hovering uncertainly on the doorstep. "Come on," he urged as he shook his rucksack off and planted it next to the sofa.


Taking another look around, Jake saw a small pile of firewood lay stockpiled beside the hearth. He smiled in satisfaction: as he'd hoped, there was a working fireplace. Kneeling in front of it, he quickly stacked the logs together and added kindling, before glancing around for matches―the damp had gotten into theirs, but there had to be―Ah. He discovered the box on the ledge above the hearth. Striking a match, he held the flame to the dry kindling. It took a minute, but after that he soon had a blazing fire going.


Anna had resigned herself to his actions and followed him inside and shut the door. Still shivering, she walked up to the fire, instinct conquering her misgivings. "Here, gimme that." Jake got to his feet and held on to the straps of her pack as she pulled her arms free. She quickly circled them around herself, hugging herself tight. "Please, sit," Jake suggested, but she stubbornly remained standing.


Sighing quietly, Jake left her to her own devices and went to explore the rest of the house. The fire was a good start, but they had to get out of their wet clothes and they'd need to find something else to wear while everything dried. Their spare clothes wouldn't do; they were as wet as the things they had on. Not even the plastic they'd wrapped everything in had succeeded in keeping the rain out.


Upstairs, he found further signs of the owners' hasty departure: drawers hanging half-open, closets emptied out with forgotten clothes dangling crookedly from their hangers. He discovered a number of blankets in one of the closets, and an oversized, brand-new track suit in a back room. His arms full, he went back downstairs.


Anna hadn't moved from where he'd left her in front of the fire. She was holding out her hands toward the flames and no longer huddled in on herself so guiltily. Jake considered it an improvement.


"Let's get you out of your clothes," he suggested, dumping the blankets onto the couch.


"What?" She gave him a bewildered look.


"Sorry. That sounded―." A rush of embarrassed heat that had nothing to do with the roaring fire washed over Jake. "I meant, you're soaked through. I found you something to wear." He showed her the track suit. "It's on large side, but it's dry and warm."


"I can't wear that!" Anna exclaimed. "It's... Those're someone else's clothes!" The suggestion she put on the track suit was clearly a far graver offense than Jake's unintended indecent proposal.


Jake sucked in a deep breath, tamping down on his temper. He was trying, dammit! And, he reminded himself, she wasn't upset with him so much as the situation. This wasn't easy on her. "Will you at least accept a blanket?" he asked, trying to keep his words as gentle as possible He didn't want to argue with her; she was close to bursting into tears, and he hated to see her cry.


A fresh shiver ran through her frame, and finally she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "I guess...."


Her hands were cold and her stiff fingers struggled clumsily with the buttons of her shirt. Slinging a blanket over his shoulder, Jake went to help her. They'd grown familiar with each other over the course of the past months, having quickly discovered that modesty was more trouble that it was worth, and stripping to their underwear in the other's presence no longer bothered either of them.


He pulled the damp shirt down along her arms, tugging at as it clung to her skin. Unintentionally he glanced down and―his hands froze and he couldn't help but stare. There was―. He hadn't looked at her closely when she'd been this naked for the last two weeks and last time he had looked, she hadn't been showing an unmistakable bump of the baby growing.


"What?―Jake!" Anna twisted away from him, leaving him standing there stupidly with her damp shirt in his hands. She snatched the blanket from his shoulder, quickly tucking it around herself. "Sheesh!"


"Sorry. I didn't mean―I was―." Jake's cheeks burned. Draping the soggy shirt over the arm of the nearby chair, he busied himself poking at the fire to hide how flustered he was.


"I know. I'm getting fat." Anna dropped into the chair. "That was still plain rude."


Surprisingly, she didn't sound as angry as her words would suggest. Jake darted her a sideways glance. She'd curled up her legs, wrapping herself from top to toe in the blanket, distracted enough that she was no longer upset that she was in someone else's home uninvited.


"I know, sorry. But you're not―. I've never seen a pregnant woman before. I mean, I have, of course, but not like you and―." Jake clamped his mouth shut, aware he was stammering but still reeling. He shouldn't have been so shocked, but understanding on an intellectual level was a different thing from seeing the evidence up close and personal. Even the grainy ultrasound he'd seen after they first arrived in the refugee camp hadn't brought it home this hard.


"Shut up, Jake." Anna snorted, and this time there was distinct amusement in her voice. "You're only digging yourself in deeper."


He sighed and gave a low laugh. "I know."


He poked at the fire one last time for good measure, and proceeded to worm out of his own clothes. Unpacking their gear, he draped everything carefully around the living room so it could dry out.


They spent the night in front of the fire. Despite the heat of the flames, Anna still snuggled up to Jake in her sleep. Waiting to fall asleep, he went over the afternoon's events in his mind, quietly laughing at his own dismay. What had he expected? There was a baby growing inside her―Freddy's baby.


The thought sobered him. What sort of life could this child expect? Its father dead, its mother homeless and alone.... Involuntarily, he tugged her closer to him, pulling the blanket up higher. As he fell asleep, he swore to himself he'd do his damnedest to give her child as best a chance at a good life as he could.

o0o

In the morning, the rain had stopped and there were breaks in the clouds. Their clothes and other things had dried overnight, and Jake was feeling optimistic about continuing on. Working quickly, they refolded everything carefully and crammed it all back in their packs, before setting the house to rights. They'd agreed to try and leave it as they found it best they could.


Once they were done and ready to hit the road, Anna took the backpacks outside onto the porch and put her boots back on, while Jake finished with a final inspection of the place. Sliding a last glance around the living room before pulling the door to, he bobbed his head in satisfaction: other than the ashes in the hearth, the owners would never have known they'd been there.


His gaze fell on the coffee table and his mouth curled up into a wry smile. The folded sheet of notepad paper sitting there put the lie to his words: the thank-you note Anna had insisted they leave. Chances were, the original residents would never find it, depending on where they'd been taken during the evacuations. Nevertheless, he'd seen how important it had been to Anna to write it, so he'd happily helped her locate pen and a notepad, and even signed his name next to hers, his chicken scrawl clearly a different hand to her round feminine script.


Shutting the door behind him, he locked it with care, and put the key back under the flower pot. He laced up his boots and hefted his backpack. "Ready to go?"

o0o

Thanksgiving Day broke unseasonably warm, with the sun quickly burning off the frozen crystals that had gathered on the surface of their sleeping bags during the night. Though they'd made good progress each day, they'd barely reached the southern part of the Texas panhandle and it was discouraging to think about how far they still had to go.


Mid-afternoon, they came upon a small lake, its blue, still water sparkling in the sunlight. Wiping an arm across his sweaty face, Jake squinted longingly at the surface. It looked invitingly cool after hauling a heavy backpack under the hot sun for hours. Letting his gaze travel along the shoreline, he spotted a grassy field, protected by willow trees, sloping down to the water, sunlight dappling the ground through the canopy. The sight cinched it for him. "I vote we camp here."


It was on the early side for them to stop, but they'd been pushing hard for the past couple of days. Anna had to be tired, and this looked like as good a place to spend the night as they'd ever find. Besides, today was a holiday, even if they had no means to celebrate it―but, Jake amended, glancing at Anna, they had plenty to be thankful for, all things considered.


Without objection, Anna slogged after him as he headed toward the clearing. In the shade of the trees, he dropped his pack and helped her set down her own.


She straightened, knuckling her back with a weary sigh, which made her bangs flutter. "See if we can wash out our clothes?" she asked, scanning the lake and surrounding area with a critical eye. "If we hang them over those branches, they should be dry by tomorrow."


"Sure." It had been days since they last laundered anything and at the mere reminder, Jake wanted to scratch under his shirt. He resisted the urge, thinking that they probably both stank, too. Luckily, he'd discovered, you quickly became inured to funky smells. Putting action words, Jake dug through his backpack, while Anna sorted out her own clothes.


Arms filled with an odd assortment of shirts and shorts and pants, Jake walked over to the water's edge. The lake bank turned out to be higher than he'd realized. Dropping the dirty clothes in a heap, he knelt, the first shirt clutched in his fists, and awkwardly tried to lean over far enough he could dip the shirt in the water, but not so far he'd fall in.


Oh, what the hell. Putting the shirt back with the rest, Jake stood up so he could kick off his shoes and socks and strip out of his jeans. If their clothes could do with a good wash, so could he.


Mud squelched between his toes as he waded into the pool. The water was cool, but not as cold as he'd expected, and the sun warmed his back through his shirt.


He resumed his work with the laundry. It didn't take long; lacking detergent all he could do was plunge and rinse everything, and squeeze the excess water out, leaving the rest for the sun to dry. Wringing out the final garment he saw Anna had sat down near the water's edge. She was squinting into the glare of the sun's reflection on the lake's surface while she watched him. There was amusement in her face, and something else that Jake couldn't decipher that made his stomach tighten involuntarily.


"What?"


"Nothing." The smile broke through fully and dimpled her cheeks. "It's―." She shrugged, biting her lip.


Conscious she was laughing at him but trying not to, Jake waded closer to the shore. Holding the last garment he'd washed―a pair of his own shorts― in one hand, he used the other to scoop up a handful of water to splash up at her.


"Jake!" Anna squeaked in shock, not having expected it. She threw up her arms to protect herself and, laughing, sprang up and took a step back to get out of range of any more spray.


Jake reached the shore and folded the shorts on top of the rest of the wet and moderately clean clothes. Anna lifted the dripping bundle off the ground. "Lemme hang those." She scurried toward a cluster of low bushes at the far side of the clearing, where the sun would be shining for another hour or so.


Jake watched her walk off. She still moved with the easy sway of her hips she'd learned navigating tables and rowdy drunks, and her tan had deepened from spending hours in the outdoors. But she'd definitely lost weight since San Diego. So had he, for that matter. How could they not, with their meager diet of fruit and vegetables?


He puffed out a breath, brushing his too-long hair from his eyes, shoving the concern away. There wasn't anything he could do about their food situation that he wasn't already doing.


Planting one foot on the bank, he paused before climbing the rest of the way out. Doing the laundry had been hot work, and the water was smooth and cool.


Changing his mind about getting out, he dragged his T-shirt up over his head, chucked it onto the shore with his shoes and jeans, and dived back into the lake. As the water closed over him, he gasped in shock: it had seemed warm enough for a swim while he'd been exerting himself, but under water and further out, it proved colder than in the shallows near the shore. Spluttering and gasping, he broke the surface. Turning himself parallel to the shore, he started swimming up and down with long, powerful strokes to warm himself up. By the time his skin had pebbled with cold, he reckoned he was plenty clean. And Anna might enjoy a splash in the lake, too.


Circling around, he aimed for the edge of the lake. A faint noise made him freeze up in mid-stroke. Was that—? He couldn't be sure over the splash of water. Then he heard it again: a horse snorting, not far off.


Abruptly, the friendly, sunlit clearing didn't feel half as safe as it had. Jake pushed for the shore as fast as he could and scrabbled to find his footing in the soft mud. "Anna, get the gun," he hissed quietly, as soon as he was close enough that he reckoned she could hear him. Even as he spoke, he saw she was already holding the Beretta ; she must have also recognized the horse's snort.


He tried to scramble out of the water as quickly as he could. It wasn't easy; the embankment was steep and slippery, and the mud gave way beneath his toes and fingers. Feeling himself slip back, he blindly grabbed for the nearest handhold, a branch sticking out sideways from a fallen tree trunk, and tried to use it to help him pull himself out of the water. The rotting trunk creaked and rolled over, nearly dumping him back into the lake. Something hissed angrily an arms' length away as Jake fought to regain his balance.


"Stay still," a man's voice commanded, harsh and urgent.


Jake froze, out of instinct more than on account of the order he'd just been given, as his worst fears were confirmed. The part of him that had been holding out hope the horse was a free-roaming beast withered with self-recrimination. How could he have been so dumb as to let them be snuck up on unawares?


He tilted his head in an attempt to take stock of the threat. The shadow of a tall horse fell across him, its rider silhouetted against the sun. Jake couldn't make out the man's face, but he could see the guy had broad shoulders and was wearing a cowboy hat. The man reached behind him for the shotgun slotted into a rifle holster, and Jake stiffened further—.


"Mister, don't move." Anna sounded firm, in spite of a slight quaver in her voice. She approached slowly across the clearing, keeping the Beretta trained on the rider.


The horseman, to Jake's surprise, chuckled. The gun being aimed at him didn't appear to bother him in the least. "Ma'am, you're pointin' that thing at the wrong critter."


"What?" Now Anna sounded puzzled.


Instead of a reply, the rider gave a slight head tilt in Jake's direction. Jake heard the hissing noise a second time and he forced himself to shift his focus away from the stranger to find out the source of the noise. That―. His breath stuck in his throat as he saw the snake. It had to be several feet long, even coiled up. It had been dozing in the cool shade of the tree trunk and he'd disturbed its slumber during his mad scramble to get out of the lake. The snake was now flattened and poised to strike at the smallest threat. Jake fought the reflexive urge to recoil. If the snake went for him, it wouldn't miss. And the pair of soaked, skimpy boxers clinging to his hips would offer no protection against its sharp fangs. He risked another look at the stranger, mindful of the need not to move. The man sat watching Jake calmly, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, but loose and relaxed.


Jake decided to take a chance. "Anna, it's okay." He struggled to keep the panic out of his voice.


After an uncertain glance in Jake's direction, Anna lowered the Beretta. The click as she put the safety back on was loud in the still, warm air of the afternoon. As soon as she'd secured the gun, the rider took his shotgun from its holster and slid from the saddle, moving slowly but smoothly. Twisting the gun around until he held it by the muzzle, he jabbed the butt at the snake. Distracted by this sudden new threat, the snake swung its head away from Jake, and struck. Jake sucked in an involuntary gasp as the snake's teeth grazed the rifle's stock, once, twice, before it jerked away, hissing, its tongue flicking in and out of its mouth. The horseman poked the gun at the snake again and it gave up. With a last, angry hiss, it slithered off through the grass. A small splash suggested it had dropped into the lake to hide among the reeds.


Shoving the rifle back into its holster, the rider held out a gnarled hand to help Jake conquer the remaining couple of feet onto the muddy shore. As Jake regained the bank, he got his first good look at his rescuer. The man was perhaps in his late fifties, with the deep tan and crinkled eyes of an outdoorsman. "Thanks." Jake dipped his head in gratitude and, shivering despite the sun, looked around for his shirt.


"Welcome." The man chuckled. "Now, son, no need to be so pale. That was nothin' but a teensy water snake. Harmless beast, mostly, but its bite can hurt like hell and bleed worse than any tiny cut has any right to."


Jake let out a heavy sigh. Coming face to face with the snake had scared the crap out of him, and learning it hadn't been venomous didn't make him feel much better. Nor did the fact he sensed no immediate threat from the stranger. He still felt horribly vulnerable: unarmed, half-naked and shivering as cold lake water dripped from him.


Anna, giving the horseman a wide berth, joined him, holding out his shirt and jeans. Jake accepted them gratefully and scooted back into them as quickly as he could. It was clumsy going, the material sticking to his wet skin, but at last he was dressed. He took the Beretta from Anna.


From the faint, unconcerned smile the rider shot him, the handover hadn't gone unnoticed, but the man didn't comment on it, simply stuck his hand out to Jake a second time. "Jackson Welch. And this is my land."


"Jake." Jake shook the proffered hand uncertainly. "This is Anna. And sorry. We'll go soon as―."


Welch laughed. "No problem. As long as you don't spook the cattle or mess up the fences or set fire to the grass, it's alright. Where's you folks headed?"


"North." Welch sounded friendly enough, but caution had become ingrained in Jake and he wasn't willing to give further details.


"North, eh?" Welch pulled down his brows. "Most folk I see are heading south. Gonna be damned cold up there soon, without electric."


Welch wasn't wrong. "I got family there." Again, Jake didn't offer specifics. Behind him, Anna hovered close, clearly as uncertain what to make of Welch as Jake was. They'd both seen and heard too much to trust the man's easy demeanor quickly―even if he had saved Jake from a potential snake bite.


"Ah. Family's important. 'Specially these days." Welch pushed his hat to the back of his head and scratched his skull. "Got a couple sons over in Arizona. First time ever those boys ain't made it home for Thanksgiving." He sounded sad. Settling his hat back in place, he swung up into the saddle. He peered down at Jake and Anna, considering them for a minute. "Tell ya what. I shot me a turkey the other day―," he patted the well-worn stock of his gun with a grin, "―and you folks look like you could do with a decent meal. Why don't you come on over to the house?"


"Um―."


As if he could tell what Jake was thinking, Welch reached for the reins and added, "Up to you, of course, but the wife'd be pleased to have someone beside me and my big mouth to feed over Thanksgivin'."


Jake weighed the options, while Welch waited patiently for an answer. He thought he could trust the man, but the caution he'd learned over the past two months, for everyone and everything, was hard to ignore. On the other hand, he'd love a real, hot meal eaten at a real table. And maybe Welch and his wife could tell them what to expect further north. It'd be nice to have fresh intel instead of working mostly blind. And who knows, maybe the Welches could even shed light on those four or five presidents Jake had been reading about on the camp bulletin board.


He sought Anna's gaze for her input but found no guidance there: she gave him an undecided little shrug. He shoved the Beretta into his waist band, taking comfort in its weight. They weren't completely defenseless. "Alright," he conceded, taking Welch up on his offer. "Thanks."


"Wonderful!" Welch exclaimed happily. "I'll go ahead 'n tell the wife we got company comin'." He wheeled his horse around. "The house's 'bout a mile to the north. Follow the lake shore until you get to a dirt track goin' off to the left. You'll see the house from there." He waited for Jake to nod his understanding before spurring his horse into the undergrowth between the trees. An instant before the branches closed behind him, he shot across his shoulder, "And be careful of them water snakes." His laughter followed him into the bushes.

o0o

Chapter 16

The turkey was huge.


Watching Madge Welch adjust the roasting pan on the table, Jake admitted to himself that it was probably only of average size. But it had been so many years since he'd last enjoyed a home-cooked meal for Thanksgiving that he'd forgotten what it was like.


He let his gaze wander over the rest of the feast set out on the dinner table. Aside from the turkey, which was a crisp gleaming brown on the outside, Madge had made glazed carrots, potato mash, cranberry sauce, and―as divulged by Welch in a stage whisper as he pulled out a chair for Anna―pumpkin pie for dessert. Everything a traditional American holiday dinner required. Jake's mouth watered and his stomach gurgled involuntarily at the sight of all that food.


Just as Welch had promised, his wife had welcomed Jake and Anna warmly as they'd walked up, declaring she must've had a premonition they'd be coming, because she said she'd prepared far more than "me and Jackson could ever eat without burstin'". She'd dabbed at her eyes then. Recalling her husband had mentioned two sons stuck in Arizona, Jake's throat had clogged up as he'd thanked her. Was that how his mom had felt when he'd first left Jericho?


A timer had dinged in the kitchen, breaking the awkward moment. Madge had scurried off, exclaiming the oven called for her and suggesting Jake and Anna freshen up at the well while they waited for the meal to be done cooking. She'd also offered the use of her clothes lines to hang up the damp garments Jake had laundered in the lake. It was strung across the yard beside the house, which was a two-story T-shaped building painted a creamy white that glowed under the sun. Around it, a number of outbuildings had been erected, and some pale cows grazed in a fenced-off field behind it, briefly lifting their heads to check Jake out as he hung the washing.


Welch's deep voice brought Jake back to the present. "Thank you, Lord, for the food we're about to receive...."


The smells of the dishes tantalized Jake to the point of rudely wanting to grab the nearest bowl, courtesy be damned. But he resisted the impulse and waited for Welch to finish praying. The farmer expressed their thankfulness for the food and for keeping them all safe, and asked that God watch out for their friends and loved ones. He included Jake and Anna in his entreaty. Although Jake didn't put much stock in God, considering the horrors he'd witnessed in his years away from Jericho―and even less so following the nuclear attacks―he was touched by the old farmer's words. He snuck a glance at Anna, sitting across from him. Her head was bowed as she listened, but moisture glistened on her face. She had to be thinking about Freddy, her parents, her sisters―.


"Amen."


"Amen." Anna furtively brushed at her cheek with the back of her hand, confirming Jake's suspicions she'd been crying. She seemed to want to keep her tears hidden from the others, though, so he pretended he hadn't seen them.


"Everyone, dig in!" Jackson waved grandly at the table with the carving knife as he got to his feet so he could get a better grip on the turkey.


During the meal, conversation drifted this way and that, sticking to general, safe subjects. They discussed the weather―unseasonably mild―the state of Welch's cows―damned fine beasts, if stubborn as heck―and even argued over who'd have won in the World Series last month if the attacks hadn't happened. While it was impossible to completely ignore the events of September, none of them was willing to touch on deeper and personal issues―which was fine by Jake. It allowed him to concentrate fully on enjoying the food.


The meal tasted as delicious as it had smelled, even if eating with a knife and fork again felt odd for the first five minutes. Jake had warned Anna to go slow with the meat; their digestive systems wouldn't take kindly to it after they'd lived on a diet of greens and fruit and grains for so long. The two or three slivers of chicken they'd occasionally found in their soup at the camp had hardly counted. However, he found it very difficult to resist gorging himself.


Not until the pie had been brought out and Madge had distributed generous slices did she first broach a personal subject, asking Jake about their travels. He explained briefly that they were headed to Kansas to join his family. After sneaking a peek at Anna from under his lashes, he pre-empted the obvious follow-up questions about how they'd ended up in Texas by talking about the eerily deserted countryside and the abandoned houses. He knew Anna hadn't stopped feeling guilty since she'd left the camp, deep down still believing she was abandoning her parents, and wouldn't want the Welches to know more about her personal business than necessary. He deflected their curiosity further by asking the Welches how they'd been allowed to remain at their farm.


"Ha!" Welch gladly let Jake's question distract him. "Not for lack of tryin' to make us go!" He went on to explain how he and his wife had early on made the decision to stay, despite soldiers coming round several times to urge them to leave. The third visit, the army had declared the next time would be a mandatory evacuation. "But me 'n Madge, we saw them comin', and we hid in the hayloft, so they stood there in the yard hollerin'." Welch laughed harshly, and added, gesturing wildly with his fork to underscore his words, "Ain't nobody gonna tell me to abandon my cows and my home for no reason but a damned government order."


"Hush!" Madge admonished. She dipped her head in the direction of the fork. "Put that down before you stab someone."


Welch grinned sheepishly and dropped his hand. "Sorry." He pricked up another piece of pie. "Anyway, we're doin' fine here. Got food, got heat. Clean water from the well. Don't need much else." He chewed and swallowed. "'Sides, we wanna be here when—."


Madge cleared her throat and muttered, "I don't think they wanna hear about that, Jackson."


Abruptly, the light mood around the table grew heavy. Jake swallowed his last bite of pie. "Mm," he commented in an attempt to bring everyone's spirits back up. "That was as good as my mom's blueberry."


Even as the last word left his lips, he wondered if it had been the right thing to say. He darted a glance at Madge. Would she take it as the compliment he'd intended it to be? He needn't have feared: the corners of her mouth curved up in a soft smile.


"Thank you, Jake. My boys―." Madge paused, her smile slipping until she forced it back. "My boys always loved that pie."


"They will again, Mother." For such a boisterous man, Welch could be remarkably gentle. Madge inclined her head, either to acknowledge her husband or to hide her face until she had herself under control.


Anna cleared her throat to break the awkward silence that once again had settled over the dinner table. "Your husband said they're in Arizona?" Jake gave her a sharp look, not convinced continuing this tack was the right one.


"Flagstaff. They're both students at Northern Arizona." Molly didn't seem unwilling to talk about her sons, perhaps even relieved to be able to do so, and Jake relaxed as she spoke with the parental pride of a woman who'd never attended college herself. "Here, this is them, three years ago." She got up to show them a framed photo of two boys, both wearing high school football jerseys. There was no mistaking the straight nose and heavy brows they'd inherited from their father.


"They're twins?" Jake asked, seeing how close in age the Welch boys were in the picture.


"Fraternal, yes." Molly beamed.


"They're handsome boys." Anna returned the frame to Madge, who set it down carefully next to her plate.


"We talked to them shortly after, you know. Haven't heard a peep since." Madge made a noise that might've been meant as a laugh. "Guess the mail's no longer working way it used to."


"You were lucky to get through," Jake said. The lines in Vernon had been dead by the time they'd gotten there and he and Anna didn't see a working phone again until the one in the gas station store had scared the living daylights out of them. The EMP grilling every electrical device had put an end after that to any hopes he'd had of phoning his parents to let them know he was still alive and where he was.


"I know." Welch nodded to underscore his agreement. "The line was bad, but at least we know the boys're alright."


There was another long pause, before Madge grabbed the knife she'd used to slice the pie. "Jake, a second piece?" Her voice was strained with forced gaiety. Jake started shaking his head; he was as stuffed as the turkey had been. Madge went on in a normal tone, "Sure? You could do with a bit of fattening up, if you ask me."


He laughed, waving her away. "No, really, thank you."


"How 'bout you?" Madge turned to Anna, the knife poised and ready.


Anna also shook her head. "Thanks, no. It was delicious, but―." She puffed up her cheeks and blew out the air, patting her stomach with a hand.


Madge's gaze traveled down to Anna's hand, resting on her belly. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she set down the knife. "So, lemme guess: four months?"


"What?" Startled, Anna dropped her hand and sat up straighter. Faint color rose in her cheeks.


Madge grinned, amused at Anna's astonishment. "You're four months along," she clarified. "Am I right?"


"Uhm...." Anna met Jake's eye for an instant, her shock evident. "Eighteen weeks, actually. How did you know?" She glanced down as if to check her appearance.


"What the blazes are you two on about?" Welch broke in. "Jake? You got any clue?"


"Anna's pregnant. We didn't think it was that obvious yet." Jake himself hadn't been able to tell until he helped her get out of a wet shirt, and he'd had all the facts.


"You're not showing yet, don't worry." Madge's smile took on a smug cast. "But women know such things."


"I'll be damned!" Welch smacked a fist on the table, setting the cutlery dancing and the glasses rattling. "Congratulations! I'd break out the scotch to celebrate. Except I don't have any left." He frowned. "And the moonshine I've been brewing's better suited for the generator. Even this latest batch."


"You'll figure it out, honey." Madge patted her husband's shoulder fondly as she moved round the table and started stacking empty plates together. She looked over at Jake. "It's gonna be winter up north soon," she pointed out. "And we hear there's refugee camps further south. With hospitals and everything." She directed her gaze from Jake to Anna and back. "It could be safer for you to go there instead of trying to make for Kansas."


Jake huffed a bitter laugh. "We came from one of those camps."


"You did?" Madge sat back down, the dishes seemingly forgotten. "Why'd you leave?"


"It wasn't safe." Jake shrugged. "Too many people, not enough food. Not enough of anything, really."


"There was a riot," Anna added softly. "People died. Jake suggested we leave."


"So, now you're headin' up there, huh?" Welch jerked his head in the direction he meant. "Think it'll be better in Kansas?"


"I don't know," Jake admitted. "I hope so." His dad had kept the town together during bad times before, and he'd never failed in mediating disputes between neighbors. He would've found a way to bring in the harvest, too; he wouldn't have let the corn and everything go to rot in the fields because of a damned regulation that said he should. "We've certainly eaten better on the road than we did at the camp. Although―," he grinned over at Madge and dipped his head at the leftovers and dirtied plates on the table, "―not half as good as this. Thank you."


She beamed at his praise. "I'll wrap some up for you, to take with you tomorrow. Should hold for a couple days, at least."


Getting to her feet again, she continued collecting the dirty plates, waving away Jake and Anna's offer to help. "You're guests here." She did, however, tell her husband to "get his rear end up and moving". Which Welch did with such an amount of muttered grumbling and griping that it made Anna laugh, and Jake understand it was a thing: Welch wouldn't really deny his wife.


Alone with Anna, Jake sought her gaze. "You okay?" he asked softly, meaning both physically and emotionally.


"It's hard, with the memories, but―they're nice people." Anna went quiet for a minute. "I'm glad we came."


"So am I," Jake agreed. Before he could say anything else, the door to the kitchen opened and Madge returned, carrying a tray with―Jake inhaled, hardly believing his nose. "Coffee?" he blurted.


Welch, following behind his wife, smirked over her shoulder at Jake as she set the tray down. "Surprised?"


"Very," Jake admitted, drawing in a deep whiff of the scent. Coffee, being a luxury, hadn't been among the supplies Ravenwood had bothered bringing to the camp. They'd prioritized more nutritious provisions, such as flour and rice. "Did you―?" He paused, not wanting to be nosy but curious to learn whether the Welches had simply been saving their supply for this occasion or if they'd had such a large quantity coffee stashed away they hadn't run out two months after the bombs hit.


"Cost me half a cow." Welch was happy to satisfy Jake's curiosity. "At the old farmer's market―a trading post, I guess you could call it now."


"Trading, huh." Jake thoughtfully blew on the coffee Madge had poured him. He'd refused her offer of sugar or milk, preferring to enjoy the taste of pure coffee. Who knew when he'd have the chance again. Though Welch's news shouldn't have come as a surprise: trading goods had sufficed to get people what they needed for centuries and with supermarkets and stores out of commission, everyone would've resorted to the old ways.


"Would they have vitamins?" Anna asked. Jake smiled; he'd been thinking the same thing.


"Vitamins?" Welch repeated. "Sure thing, sweetheart. Whatever you want: vitamins, tylenol, ibuprofen, about every over-the-counter pill you can think of." His face darkened. "Under-the-counter goods, too, on the black market."


"Where is this trading post?" If it wasn't far, it would be worth a detour to see if they could find the supplements for Anna, as well as any other useful provisions―although Jake had no idea what they could offer in trade.


Welch waved a gnarled hand. "A day's ride southwest of here."


A day's ride...? It took Jake a minute to recalculate. A day's ride on horseback would be at least two days on foot for them. And in the wrong direction, too. He sensed Anna's questioning gaze on him, and he gave her a small shake of the head. She sighed unhappily, but seemed resigned to going along with his judgment that they shouldn't try to go to this trading post. She'd had studied the map as closely as he'd had done and would know as well as he did that they couldn't really afford to take a days' long detour on the off chance they could find her the pills.


"Honey, I don't think you need to worry about it," Madge assured her softly. "With what you told me of your diet, you're gettin' plenty to make for a healthy baby." Jake gave her a thankful smile.


"'Sides," Welch offered, "there's probably some such place further up north, too. Met a few folk who're going from place to place to trade everywhere." He set down his mug, licked his lips and chuckled."You should hear some of the gossip that goes around.... Like the governor is thinking 'bout Texas goin' it on our own." He blew out air and scrubbed the back of his neck. "Secession.... Might be it's for the best.... Did you know there's six presidents now?" He snorted to show what he thought of that. "As if one of those wasn't bad enough. Look at what―."


"Jackson." Madge's admonition was quiet but firm.


Jake buried his face in his coffee mug to hide his grin. He'd recognized the signs: Welch had been gearing up to get his rant on about politics and Madge wasn't having any of it. It reminded him of his own parents: his mom had never allowed his father to talk politics at the dinner table, either, even as she'd supported him without complaint through a number of mayoral campaigns.


Welch glared at his wife across the table. "I'm just sayin'―."


It was Anna's turn to interrupt. "How can there be six presidents?"


"There aren't," Jake said quickly, not giving Welch a chance to answer. "I read about this at the camp." Although then there'd been only four contenders. Obviously, the situation had become even more complicated since they'd left. And if Texas were to secede.... He didn't know what it'd mean, but none of it would be any good. "They simply don't know who the rightful president is, so they're all claiming it's them. I guess the legal line of succession isn't clear, with so many officials dead in Washington."


"So how do they figure it out?"


Jake drained the last of his coffee. It had gone lukewarm. "I don't know. I suppose they start making deals, compromise. Or―." He stopped, not wanting to finish his sentence to its logical conclusion.


"Or they fight," Welch growled, finishing for him.


An uncomfortable silence fell over the room at Welch's words. At last, Madge broke it. "Well," she pushed back her chair, "that's neither here nor there. Why don't I show you two to your room? It's gettin' late, and I'm sure you're tired from all that walking."

o0o

"And this is the guest room." Madge pushed open a door on the second floor and walked in. A double bed took up a large part of the floor space, while a small dresser with a wash pail on it stood against one wall and a large wardrobe was backed up against the other. It smelled fresh, of clean laundry and flowers. "There's towels in here," Madge went on as she walked over to the dresser and set the oil lamp next to the wash basin. "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with sponge baths. We were using the generator to power the hot water, but we ran out of the last of our gas a week ago. I'll have Jackson bring you up some, though." She pulled the flowered curtains shut. "Come on in," she waved them in from the landing, "and make yourselves comfortable."


Jake let Anna enter ahead of. Her voice shook as she quietly thanked Madge, adding, "This is wonderful."


"You're welcome, sweetheart." Madge put her hand on Anna's arm for a heartbeat and squeezed lightly. "I hope you sleep well."


Jake stepped back to allow Madge to leave, all the time eyeing up the double bed. It looked incredibly soft and inviting, with a thick duvet and smooth, white sheets. But he shouldn't―. His gaze traveled across the room and landed on the wicker chair in the corner.


"Don't tell me you're gonna suggest you sleep in that chair!" Anna's tone held a mixture of amusement and exasperation.


Jake swung round to face her: it had been exactly what he'd been thinking, unwilling as he might have been to give up the bed. "I'm―."


"Cause that'd be ridiculous, after all these weeks." She cocked her head.


Jake's mouth curled up in a wry half-grin under her scrutiny. Anna was right; they'd been sleeping together for months, either sharing a sleeping bag for warmth or a cot in a pretense of being married. It'd be foolish to not use the soft bed to its full advantage. "Was looking for a place to put our packs," he lied.


Anna made a noise, part snort, part laughter, that told Jake he hadn't fooled her for a second. When had he become so transparent? Shaking his head at himself, he dropped the backpacks near the foot of the bed.


There was a knock, and Welch announced from the doorway, "Got ya the hot water." He sounded out of breath from lugging a bucket up the stairs.


"Thanks. I could've done that." Jake took the bucket from him. Steam swirled up into his face.


Welch waved Jake away. "Hey, you're the guests here. 'Sides, not like I haven't been hauling buckets o' water every day for the past week." He winked and added, "Nicer than a cold lake full o' snakes."


Jake set down the bucket―it was heavy―and laughed. "You're not gonna let me forget that, huh?"


Welch smirked. "Nope." Looking from Jake to Anna, he nodded once. "G'night. Holler if you need anything. Me 'n Madge are down the hall."


"Okay. Goodnight." Anna closed the door behind Welch as his heavy footsteps faded further down the hall.


Chuckling, Jake carried the bucket over to the dresser and poured some of the water into the pail for Anna. Setting the bucket on the floor, he scanned the small room. They'd be hard-pressed to find any privacy.


"Um, I'll go―." Failing to find a credible excuse to leave the room, he gave up and simply stepped out onto the landing. Perhaps, if they'd been a married couple for real, it wouldn't have mattered, but as things stood―.


After a few minutes, plenty of time for a thorough sponge bath, the door opened behind Jake with a soft click. "Your turn."


Several minutes later, feeling cleaner than he had in weeks, Jake joined Anna under the covers, trying to get comfortable on his back. The mattress was soft and the pillow cradled his head pleasantly, but Jake still found it hard to catch sleep. And from the way Anna's breathing hitched occasionally, he could tell she wasn't asleep either.


In fact, she sounded like she was trying not to cry, and he longed to hold her. The conversation over dinner had maybe upset her; it had been a while since she talked about her parents or what might've happened to them. But he didn't dare reach out for her. His rational mind told him he was being absurd, but the rest of him discovered that lying beside her in a real bed made it difficult not to remember she'd been engaged to his best friend and she was carrying that friend's baby.


"Jake?" Her question sounded small and sad, and hearing it broke through Jake's reluctance. How lonely she must feel. No matter his own discomfort, he was her only friend. If he couldn't offer her comfort, who could?


He rolled over, curling his body around hers, and she shifted until she lay spooned against his chest. She was just starting to relax in his embrace when he felt her tense up again. "What's wrong?"


"Ssh." She reached around until her grasping fingers closed around his wrist. Dragging his arm forward, she splayed his palm across her belly. He could feel the soft swell of the baby and―.


He sucked in a gasp. "Is that―?"


"Yes," she whispered back. "Feel it?"


Jake nodded, although, with her back to him, she wouldn't be able to see the gesture. He didn't dare speak. Heck, he hardly dared breathe. Beneath his palm, so slight that at first he wasn't even sure it wasn't his imagination, he felt movement. Warmth surged through him, and something else, that he didn't recognize at first, before it dawned on him: a desire to protect. And it might be old-fashioned, and possibly even sexist, but right then, he didn't care.


He kept his palm flat on her belly for at least five minutes. Finally, Anna twisted and shifted around until she could look at him. He could barely make out her features in the gloom that filtered through the thin curtains. He raised up on one elbow to see her better.


"I'm glad you're here," she whispered, so softly Jake had to strain to make out the words, despite the silence of the night.


"I'm not going anywhere."


She smiled faintly, her eyes glittering and her lips parted ever so slightly and Jake moved in to―. He flinched as if burned, realizing he'd been going to... to kiss her. He dropped his head onto his pillow, wanting to draw away from her as far as he could. But he also didn't want to alert Anna that anything was wrong, so he settled for suppressing a groan. Anna turned her back on him once more and settled down. Lucky, she seemed unaware of what he'd almost done, or she'd have kicked him out of the bed for sure.


Staring at the lighter square of the window, Jake attempted to get his racing heart under control. What the hell had he been thinking? Ten minutes ago, he'd been worried about sharing a bed with her because she'd been engaged to another man, and five minutes ago he'd resolved he'd do whatever he needed to do to protect her―and then he'd been willing to take advantage of her vulnerability at the first opportunity?


Swearing he'd keep himself in check—that what had nearly happened would never happen–he waited until Anna had fallen asleep, her deep, even breathing giving her away. Once he was convinced she was asleep, he rolled onto his back, carefully keeping away from her, believing he wouldn't be able to sleep at all.


But the soft bed must have called to his weary body more than he'd expected. Despite his mental turmoil, Jake drifted off. He didn't wake again until Welch knocked on their door the following morning, with sunlight was streaming in through the curtain.

o0o

Whistling as he went downstairs for breakfast, Jake felt more refreshed than he had in weeks. Last night had been like a bad dream, and he convinced himself it had just been the effect of the general sense of relaxation brought on by the copious Thanksgiving dinner, nothing else.


Madge had to be an early riser: the table was already loaded with scrambled fresh eggs and toasted thick slices of her homemade bread. Jake savored every available bite of the morning meal, knowing it could be weeks before he had one like it. When we get home, he caught himself thinking, smiling.


His good mood was infectious, or perhaps Anna's spirits had also lifted after a good night's rest in a real bed and the wonderful food Madge had served. She walked with a spring in her step Jake hadn't seen in weeks.


Repacking their bags with the now-dry clothes, they also crammed in a number of tinfoil-wrapped parcels and packets, which Madge had put together for them "for on the road". At last, they were ready to go and saying their farewells. Madge remained on the porch, waving until she was just a speck in the distance. Welch accompanied them to the end of his driveway. "Take care when you're crossing I-40." Welch's eyes crinkled as he squinted in the direction of the interstate that cut from east to west a couple dozen miles further north. "They haven't been sighted this far south―," The 'yet' was unspoken but implied in his concerned tone, "but I been hearin' there's a band of outlaws waylaying whoever they can."


"Thanks, we'll be careful." Jake reflexively checked the Beretta was in his belt at his hip. Then, shaking Welch's hand, he waited while Anna gave their host a hug and a kiss on his cheek. Jake had to bite his lip to hold back the smile as the old farmer blushed under his leathery tan and brusquely waved them away.


"Off you go! Got a long walk before you."

o0o

They crossed the interstate two days later, under cover of darkness.


Mid-afternoon, when they were roughly a mile from the road, Jake had stopped them. "Let's wait for sunset." Dropping his backpack, he'd stretched his stiff spine until it crackled. Welch's warning still rang clear in his mind. "Better be safe." They hadn't seen any sign so far of a road gang, but Jake wasn't prepared to risk their lives just to gain a few hours of time.


Dusk was settling over the land by the time they gathered their feet back under them, hoisted their backpacks, and set off on the final miles of the day. Their load had grown less heavy as they'd slowly eaten Madge's provisions and soon they'd have to scrounge for food again. But first, they had to make it safely across the highway.


It had grown overcast while they waited and night was on them quicker than Jake had anticipated. They hit the southern service road in deep gloom and Jake stopped at its edge, peering left and right into the darkness, searching for movement or lights. All he saw was an endless black nothing.


"Okay, let's go." He took Anna's hand to help her across the uneven strip of dirt between the service road and the west-east lane of the interstate. They crossed the sand-sprinkled asphalt quickly, scrambled over the divide, across the next lane and over the second service road. Stumbling at last onto a dirt track leading further north, they paused to catch their breath.


"It's creepy," Anna muttered.


Jake glanced at her, but he couldn't make out anything about her beyond a vague shape. "What is?"


"This." She flapped a barely visible hand at the highway. "I mean, it's not San Diego, of course, but I can't help thinking there should be some traffic on the interstate: trucks, trailers, you know. Or at least you should be able to see lights in the distance."


"Right." Jake considered the invisible road for a minute. In truth, it was no more eerie than the barren, abandoned landscape they'd been traveling through, but the highway brought the desolation home more starkly. "Come on, we should keep going."


With heavy clouds blocking the moonlight, they barely could see their hands in front of their faces, and it was tricky walking along the dirt track. It'd be far too easy to trip over a pothole or a loose stone and twist an ankle, and Jake considered getting out the flashlight. But Anna's subdued comment had reminded him how far the glow would be visible in the flat emptiness of northern Texas: an obvious sign of human presence for anyone who cared to look for such things.


They stumbled on awkwardly for a mile or so. Reckoning they were far enough away from the interstate that they should be safe, Jake called a halt. It was impossible to scout around for any shelter in the impenetrable dark, so they simply edged to the grass at the side of the track and sat down. There, they put up their simple camp by touch. Jake chuckled inwardly at the irony: they'd had enough practice that they could have unrolled and zipped together their sleeping bags blindfold.


He was glad they'd eaten before crossing the interstate. That earlier foresight meant they could simply crawl into the sleeping bags and lie down to wait for morning.


As he lay on the hard ground, Jake struggled to relax. Everything indicated they'd succeeded in sneaking across the highway without anyone the wiser. Nonetheless, he slept fitfully, constantly waking up convinced he'd heard the sound of approaching engines. Each time, as he strained his ears, he detected nothing beyond the wind through the grass. Still, he was glad when daylight came and they could leave the interstate behind for good.

o0o

Two more days went by and, by Jake's calculation, the interstate was twenty miles behind them, when the sun came out again. It was chilly, though; the temperature had dropped several degrees since Thanksgiving. He was just starting to look out for a good place for their midday break when a sixth sense made the hair of the back of his neck stand on end. He stopped dead in his tracks, pricking up his ears and extending his other senses, trying to determine what had gotten his instincts screaming at him.


"What's going―?" Anna had carried on walking and was now several paces ahead. She halted and turned around to face Jake, the rest of the question written on her face. She didn't need to finish asking; her brows shot up as she, too, recognized the sound that had brought Jake up short. And the noise was growing progressively louder with each passing second, its origin unmistakable. "A plane?" she whispered, disbelievingly.


The next instant, two jet fighters roared overhead to one side of them, flying low as they followed the contours of the land. Jake rotated on his heel as he tracked the planes' path across the sky. "Those are Typhoons...." Surprised, he raised his hand to block the sun and confirm the type; they weren't the kind of jets he'd expected them to be. "Germans?" It was difficult to make out the markings as the planes zipped by, but he was fairly certain he'd identified them correctly.


"What?" Anna also tracked the jets' flight as they screamed northward. "From Germany?"


Jake smiled inwardly; she sounded as puzzled as he was. The last thing he would've expected to see over Texas was German jets.


"Why would there be European military planes here?" Anna gave voice to their confusion as they continued to watch the planes until they were two small specks on the horizon, leaving nothing but stunned silence in their wake.


"Beats me." Foreign jet fighters patrolling US airspace had only happened once in history, though Germany was also part of NATO, Jake reminded himself. "If they're German, they're our allies. So―."


A new noise broke the still afternoon, cutting Jake off mid-sentence. It came from the south, approaching on the same trajectory as the jets had. Jake swallowed the rest of his words, cocking his head and turning back to where he'd first spotted the Typhoons. This sound was different. Not the high pitched screech of fighter engines, but the low, lazy rumble of―he frowned, baffled. "Bombers?" he muttered, half to himself.


"Bombers?" A note of panic crept into Anna's voice. "Jake, what the hell's going on?"


"I don't know." He scanned the area instinctively, but the flat, bare land offered no shelter. Then heavy-bodied planes came out of the sun at last and Jake exhaled, relieved, as he recognized the model. These were C-130s: either their own, or...?


The planes had British tail markings, he saw, once they were close enough he could feel the thrum of their heavy engines in his stomach. "Jake!" Anna hissed. "Shouldn't we take cover?"


Despite his unease at the entire situation, Jake had to fight back a laugh at how she sounded like a character in a bad war movie―but, he reminded himself, war movies and the TV news would have been as close as she'd ever gotten to experiencing armed conflict before the bombs two months ago. "No, those're transport planes, not bombers." Besides, there was only scant cover to be had and he doubted that, whatever the planes' mission was, it included dropping bombs on a couple of refugees on a country road.


As if to prove him wrong, objects started tumbling out of the planes. Jake sucked in air, shocked speechless. White parachutes bloomed against the deep blue sky and he expelled the breath. Nobody put a parachute on a bomb. Did they?


He counted the parachutes: seven, eight.... Twelve in total. "Come on," he urged Anna. "One of those landed close by. I want to see what it is." What purpose could the Germans and British have for dropping stuff in a field in Texas? He mentally called up the map of the state, having studied it so often he no longer needed to consult the paper copy. They were a dozen or so miles east of Pampa, the biggest town for some distance round. Perhaps Pampa had been the planes' target?


It took twenty minutes of fast walking to reach the field with the payload. The parachute, fluttering lazily in the cold wind coming in from the north, was tied to a square, tarp-covered parcel, the entire structure a couple inches taller than Jake. Canvas straps were keeping the tarp in place. Jake dug for his pocket knife.


"We should―," Anna tried to caution him, but Jake had already cut the first strap and was peeling off the tarp. Underneath, he discovered a pile of wooden crates and cardboard boxes, stenciled with mysterious numbers that meant nothing to him, alongside an emblem of a circle of golden stars on a blue background.


Jake recognized the symbol, and a fresh wave of relief washed through him. "It's definitely European," he told Anna, pointing at the mark. Whatever the contents of the cargo were, he didn't believe it was a threat. He hefted one of the boxes from the pile. It was heavy, and he grunted as he set it on the yellowed grass. Using his knife again, he cut the tape that held it closed, and peeled back the lid, revealing neat rows of cans. He picked one out to read the label.


He whistled with pleasure. His German was largely limited to the Danke schön and auf Wiedersehen he'd picked up from the Austrian aid workers in Afghanistan, but he didn't need to be able to read the label to recognize the cans for what they were. "It's food." He peered up at Anna. She was leaning over his shoulder, the frown between her brows smoothing out as he grinned up at her. "It's an aid drop."


He wanted to throw his head back and laugh. The rest of the world hadn't missed what had happened in the United States. Help was coming.

o0o

After discovering what was in the cargo, they quickly shucked their backpacks and started going through the rest of the crates and boxes systematically. The drop was a smorgasbord of goods, an odd mixture of sensible and less pragmatic items. Jake quickly sorted through boxes filled with bags of flour and rice, bars of soap, packets of laundry detergent―.


"Ooh!" At Anna's delighted squeal, he looked up from the toy cars and teddy bears he'd unearthed in the latest box. She grinned goofily as she held up a squarish packet of―.


"Toilet paper," she confirmed gleefully, wiggling her brows.


Jake snorted a laugh and nodded―yes, they could take it. She put the pack with the rest of the goods they'd already set aside. The six-pack of rolls was bulky, but toilet paper didn't weigh much, and it would be pleasanter than tufts of grass.


Continuing his own exploration, Jake folded the flaps closed on the box with the toys―not his highest priority, he chuckled―and put it out of the way. He pulled a second crate from the pile. As he pried open the lid, it was his turn to cry out in triumph. Protected in foam pellets were a number of small transistor radios, along with packets of spare batteries. Now that was more practical than kids' toys! He took out one of the radios and tore open a packet of batteries to test the radio hadn't been damaged during its fall and that everything was working. While all he caught was static, it told him the radio's receiver was working fine. He set it aside and picked up another radio―best to have a spare. He'd try going through the frequencies later and see if he could receive any broadcasts.


Despite Jake's delight at his prize, it was Anna who discovered the mother lode among the treasures. "What the heck is this?" she asked, her tone puzzled.


Abandoning the crate of radios, Jake twisted on his heel to see her holding up a handful of small tinfoil pouches, bafflement creasing her brow. Each of the pouches was labeled with an image of a plate full of appetizing food, and the mere sight of the pictures made Jake's mouth water.


Heart beating against his ribs in suppressed excitement, he scrambled over. "I think you struck gold," he muttered. He picked up another pouch and turned it over. The description printed on it was in two languages: English and a European language he didn't recognize. Also German, he reckoned, although it might have been Swedish. He hefted the package, gauging its weight, already making calculations. "It's freeze dried food. Used in mountain expeditions and backcountry trekking."


Anna was reading the instructions on the back. "It says here," she flicked the label printed on the pouch with a finger, "that you just add boiling water and you'll have chicken noodles ten minutes later?"


"That's the idea."


"It's...." Anna raised her head, her mouth open. "Jake, that sounds awful."


Jake laughed at the face she was making. "It does, doesn't it?" He reminded himself this was the same woman who'd considered eating a beetle, one day when they'd been very low on supplies. She'd snapped it up in her fingers as it crawled over her while they were taking a break in the grass and cradled it in her palm. The beetle had been big, black and sporting too many legs.


"TV says they make a good source of protein."


"You're not saying―?" Jake had goggled at Anna instead of the bug. Most women would've screamed in fright and disgust at the mere sight of the bug and slapped it away quickly. They wouldn't have held it in their hand and they definitely wouldn't have suggested what Anna was considering.


"Why not? Lots of cultures have bugs in their diet."


Jake had shuddered and shaken his head, laughing. "If you want to, go ahead. I don't think I'm that starved yet."


"Hm." She'd watched the beetle for a minute longer as it crawled up her index finger. With a soft chuckle, she'd shaken it off and watched it scuttle away. "Me neither."


Jake tried to estimate the number of pouches in the box. One thing was for sure: they wouldn't need to eat beetles for a while.


"Who cares if it's horrible? It's food. Probably not as bad as it sounds, either." Jake would guess these meals were similar to the MREs the troops had shared with him on occasion in Iraq. For all the soldiers had bitched about the prepackaged meals, they hadn't tasted too bad. He grabbed a handful of the packets from the box and bounced them in his palm. "More importantly, they're light and easy to carry. With this," he jerked his head at the box, "we can stop worrying about our next meal until we get to Jericho." The contents of this one box alone was more than enough to make it to Kansas twice over. It'd offer a relief from the constant nagging worry about looming starvation that was never far from his mind. Especially since the weather was growing colder with each passing day and with every mile further north that they walked.


And not having to scrounge for supplies would also allow them to make better time. Abruptly, Jake had a vision of Christmas at the house: a fire in the hearth, sharing a drink with Dad, Mom making roast beef in the kitchen....


Shaking off the fantasy, he crammed as many of the tinfoil meals into his backpack as he could manage, waving for Anna to do the same. "Let's take as many of these as we can carry, and get out of here."


"Don't you want to see what else might be in there?" She knelt next to him and started grabbing handfuls of the pouches.


"No." Jake scanned the area around the field. "We should be going." They'd hung around at the drop site for far too long already. He hadn't tracked the time, but by his reckoning, at least an hour had passed since the Hercules transports had flown over. Chances were others had seen the planes as well and were coming to check out what had been dropped. They could be friendly, like Jackson Welch and his wife had been, but they could just as easily be mercenaries, like Ravenwood, or black market traders, or simply hungry and hostile people from nearby towns. In any case, not people Jake wanted to tangle with. "Besides, I doubt we'll find anything more valuable than this."


After they'd filled their packs with as many of the pouches as they could, Jake put the two radios and several spare sets of batteries on top and tied the straps. As soon as Anna had grabbed her rolls of toilet paper and made sure her backpack was properly secured, they got out of the field. Whoever came round next to investigate the cargo was welcome to it.

o0o

Chapter 17

Hearing the distinct whine of engines far in the distance a little later, Jake was glad they'd left the field when they did. They never saw the cars; and they'd put a good number of miles between themselves and the drop point by the time nightfall found them holed up in a dip between low hills, setting up camp on a sandy patch of ground next to a gurgling brook. They used soap from the aid drop to wash up in the small stream, before Jake built a fire so they could boil water for their instant meals. It'd be safe enough; the shallow depression would keep the flames from being spotted unless someone stumbled right onto them.


Reading the instructions for a final time, still wearing a dubious wrinkle between her brows, Anna poured hot water in two of the packets. She sniffed the contents suspiciously while they steeped, her nose crinkling up in a way Jake secretly found cute.


Once the prescribed number of minutes had ticked by, she scooped out a small bite of food from the packet and nibbled it off the spoon, tasting it cautiously. Through his lashes, Jake observed her quietly. At last, her apprehensive frown eased up. She glanced across the fire at Jake, rolling her eyes when she saw how intently he'd been watching her. "This isn't bad," she admitted, lifting another spoonful to her mouth. "Not bad at all."


"Uh-huh." Jake grinned back and reached for his own pouch. He soon agreed with her assessment: the venison stew in his meal tasted pretty good. Could be due to the quality of the foreign freeze-dried meal, or could be because he'd grown unaccustomed to well-seasoned flavors. Frankly, he didn't care. He quickly wolfed down the meal, more sated than he had since the Thanksgiving dinner at the Welch farm.


Once they'd eaten their fill, Jake collected the empty wrappers and buried them in the dirt, while Anna lay in the soft grass, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction. Excavating handfuls of the dirt to make a hollow, Jake couldn't have explained why he was bothering to bury their trash―nobody would care about the environment these days―but it felt like the right thing to do. And it wasn't a chore, anyway. He brushed the long blades of grass over the disturbed ground, and then threw another branch on the fire to ward off the evening chill. As the flames licked at the fresh wood, he settled across from Anna, folding his legs under him, and took one of the radios from his pack. Re-inserting the batteries, he switched it on. Twisting up the volume until he could hear a soft whisper from the tiny speaker, he started dialing through the frequencies.


"You really think you can catch anything on that?" Anna had raised herself on her elbows and the glow of the fire reflected rosily on her face as she scrutinized the tiny radio in Jake's hands.


"Hope so." Jake offered a one-shouldered shrug. "It's worth a try. Medium wave radio signals can travel a long distance, especially at night. Assuming someone's still broadcasting, we should―." He broke off, thinking he'd found something.


"Hm." Anna sat up fully and stretched out her hands to the flames. Behind them, outside the circle of light cast by the fire, the dark night was growing cold.


The noise turned out to be nothing but a crackle of static. Jake went on dialing further up the AM-band, moving the knob forward in tiny increments, listening carefully. For the most part, the radio hissed nothing but white noise. Until, abruptly, a scratchy voice rang out across their camp, spitting sentence fragments. "...vernor Todd of Tex...remain calm...under control...Republic of...."


"Oh my God." Anna drew in a sharp breath and crawled over to sit on her knees next to Jake, her gaze glued to the radio as if it were magical. Jake desperately tried to fine-tune the reception. He raised the radio, aiming it this way and that. Nothing made a difference: eventually, whatever station he'd caught faded into static.


"Who was that?"


"I don't know." Jake replayed the fragments in his head. "A Texas station, I'd guess." The bits and pieces he'd understood had been part of an official news broadcast. "Sounds like the authorities are still out there, trying to get things back under control."


"Try again." Anna leaned forward, as if she wanted to snatch the radio out of his grip. "Maybe there's more."


Jake chuckled at her impatience, but she didn't need to tell him twice; churning the snippets from the broadcast over in his mind, he went on rotating through the rest of the AM-band. If there was one station broadcasting, there might be others.


They found the next station several frequencies further on. It came on as unexpectedly as the first, blasting a combined rhythm of congas and trumpets out into the silent night, the noise so unexpectedly loud Jake nearly dropped the radio from shock. The music was Latin―he thought it was salsa―and it offered such a slice of pre-bombs normal life that Jake stared open-mouthed at the radio.


"Music!" Anna recovered from her surprise first. Laughing delightedly, she pushed to her feet. "God, how I've missed that."


Jake uttered a laugh of his own at the sheer joy on her face. She'd always had the radio on in the background at the bar, set to a San Diego music station. He watched her as she danced across the sand, twirling on her toes, feet tapping and hips swaying to the rhythm. Mesmerized and smiling, he watched her.


"Come on, Jake." She gestured for him to join her. Jake hesitated. He wasn't much of a dancer at the best of times. Not taking no for an answer, Anna shimmied over, grabbing his hand and trying to drag him to his feet. "C'mon! Before it's finished."


"Careful," he protested, yet his grin widened. He quickly placed the radio among their packs, so they wouldn't trip over it, and let her pull him onto her dance floor of patchy grass and soft sand.


"No, like this." Anna's cheeks dimpled as she showed him the steps. It took Jake a couple of tries to get it right. Just as he was getting the hang of it, the song ended and a rapid burst of spoken Spanish replaced it.


Anna cocked her head to listen. "It's a Mexican station." She looked up. "I suppose the rest of the world is still normal?"


"I guess so." As normal as could be at any rate, with the United States basically paralyzed.


The DJ finished whatever he'd been announcing, and the next song came on. This one was a ballad, sung by a female singer in a wistful voice.


Jake didn't want the moment to be over so soon. He sought Anna's gaze and she gave him a barely perceptible nod. Drawing her closer, he rested one hand firmly on the small of her back and the other on her hip. She put her arms over his shoulders and twined her fingers together around his neck, and let him guide her into a less extravagant slow dance. This was something Jake could do.


The soft music washed over the dell, the singer's voice mingling with the low crackling of the flames and gurgle of water. Sensing Anna's mood had gone back to the stark realities of their lives, Jake murmured reassurances into her hair. "We'll be fine. " She smelled a little of the soap from Europe and Jake relished her scent as he breathed it in. It was nice to have real soap again.


She drew her head back until she could lift her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were dark pools, unreadable. Without thinking, Jake lowered his head, and captured her lips with his. Anna responded unhesitatingly, kissing him back for several seconds, before she drew away. "Jake, I―."


He yanked his hands from her hips as if burned. "I'm sorry," he gasped. It was hard to concentrate with the taste of her on his tongue, but―she was Freddy's girl. "I'm so sorry."


Not waiting for her to reply, he wrenched free of her arms, still around his neck, and stumbled off into the darkness, until he could no longer feel the heat of the fire and all he saw ahead was inky blackness. He gulped down several deep lungfuls of the cold night air, fighting to get his hammering heart under control. Dear God, what had he done?


Behind him, the music stuttered, atmospheric disturbances breaking up the radio waves. Ears perked up, he detected the tiny click as Anna turned off the radio and cut off the buzz that had replaced the music. The sudden, heavy silence that followed seemed especially deafening. He furtively glanced across his shoulder, not really wanting to meet Anna's gaze, afraid of what he'd see in her face. She wasn't looking at him; she'd was busy unrolling their two sleeping bags.


Jake hesitated. He should go help her; sometimes the zipper on her bag proved tricky and would get stuck. And he couldn't stay out here all night. He shivered in the freezing air. Steeling himself, he headed back down the slight slope into their dell. As he re-entered the circle of light cast by their fire, Anna tilted her head a little in his direction, though she didn't meet his eyes. He swallowed. "Anna, I'm―."


"Let's just go to sleep, okay?" She offered him the unzipped ends of the sleeping bags. She kept her head low and he couldn't tell from her tone or her expression what she was thinking.


But I can make a pretty good guess. Wordlessly, Jake took the sleeping bags from her and zipped them together into a single big one. Perhaps he should offer to sleep across the fire from her. But it was cold, and getting colder by the minute, and they were both tired, and the fire would go out while they slept. Sharing a sleeping bag with Jake would be the last thing Anna would want to do, but it was also the best way to stay alive.


Once they'd climbed into the sleeping bags, Jake remained lying stiffly on his back, one arm pillowed behind his head, in stark contrast to the way he'd lain spooned around Anna, sharing as much body heat as possible, for the past month. As the hours went by and the fire slowly sunk into glowing embers, the cold started sneaking in the bag. Anna instinctively sought his warmth, curling up against his side, startling Jake awake from a restless slumber. He hardly dared move as he lay listening to her breathing and waited for morning.

o0o

At first light, Jake crawled awkwardly from the sleeping bag, stiff and sore. Despite his care, the movement woke Anna. She yawned as she pushed away the covers and sat up.


As per their usual morning routine, they didn't speak beyond, "Hand me that rope?" and "Don't forget to fill the water bottles before we leave," while they rolled the sleeping bags and repacked the backpacks. Neither of them mentioned what had happened the night before. Jake glanced at Anna as he removed the batteries from the radio so they wouldn't leak, before stashing everything on top of the rest of his stuff and tying the straps of his backpack. Though she caught his glance, she didn't comment, and Jake had no clue what he could say that she'd want to hear. So he said nothing.


Their mutual silence was both a relief and a torment. Several times during the following days, he considering apologizing to her further. Until he remembered the taste of her, and the warm, yielding softness of her lips, and how nice it had been to kiss her. Despite the guilt, the apology would die unspoken in his throat.


For Anna's part, Jake got the impression she preferred to act as if nothing had ever happened and, despite his own intermittent desire to explain, perhaps he should respect that. In the end, he settled on firmly determining that it could never, ever happen again.


In spite of their unspoken understanding to not talk about the kiss, their relationship had changed. At first, Jake couldn't put his finger on exactly how. At last, as he mulled it over while they put mile after mile behind them, he figured it out: the easy friendship they'd gradually developed between them―the same closeness that had made him kiss her in the first place―was gone. They'd reverted to a level of awkwardness reminiscent of those first hours after they'd fled San Diego. He silently mourned the loss; it was hard enough to survive in this new world without feeling you couldn't rely on the person you were with. He hoped that, over time, he could regain her trust. He'd certainly try to. And in the meantime, he'd concentrate on getting them to Jericho as safely and as quickly as he could.


A handful of strained days later they were crossing through the narrow Oklahoma panhandle, the last bit of land that kept them from Kansas. From home. Jake chuckled ruefully as he picked up on the stray thought; he hadn't consciously called Kansas home in a long time. But seeing the country go up in flames around him had changed his perspective. Now he longed to see the cornfields stretching over the gently rolling low hills surrounding Jericho. Although, at this time of year, he amended, he hoped to see those fields stripped bare, with the harvest secured to tide Jericho over the coming winter.


The morning had dawned overcast, slate gray clouds blocking the sun. During the first couple days after the aid drop, the sky had been clear enough for them to spot the occasional contrail, high up, though they hadn't seen any other planes. They certainly wouldn't be seeing any today. Despite the clouds, the air was still crisp, their breath fogging in front of their faces. Jake reckoned the first snow storm of the season was approaching, and he kept one eye on the clouds and one on the road. Snow would slow them considerably and might interfere with his hopes of reaching Kansas by the next nightfall―and even making it home before Christmas if the weather held well enough.


Putting one foot in front of the other, he walked on on auto-pilot, daydreaming of their arrival in Jericho. He pictured his mother's face when she saw him striding up the path to the porch, and smiled to himself.


"Jake?"


Jake blinked and lifted his head. The wind was picking up and a blast of cold air brought tears to his eyes.


Anna was pointing to a rough wooden sign Jake had missed entirely, deep in thought as he'd been. The words Gopher Creek Trading 3m were burned into the surface of the sign. An arrow directed travelers right onto a narrow track of hard-packed dirt. Jake peered down at the dirt, for a long minute not understanding what was strange and different about it. Over time, the elements had smoothed the surface of the dirt tracks they'd been walking along into unmarked layers of dust and sprouting weeds, but this trail was showing signs of motorized traffic having passed not long ago.


Frowning absently at the tire tracks and trying to determine the implications of cars on the road, Jake grew aware Anna had carried on talking to him.


"...should we look for vitamin supplements? I'm almost out...."


Welch had talked of a place where people traded goods. He must've been talking about a place like this, a trading post, and he'd said they sold all kinds of over the counter medicine. So they might have the vitamins Anna needed at Gopher Creek.


Jake weighed their options. Should they veer off course three miles to the east, on the off chance the trading post offered what they wanted? Both ways, it meant a six mile detour—which would set them back half a day. On the other hand, Anna's stock of vitamins from the camp wouldn't stretch until they reached Jericho. And while the manufacturer's statements on the freeze-dried food labels boasted proudly of the various vitamins their meals contained, Jake didn't know how reliable those claims were, or if they were the kinds of vitamins a pregnant woman needed.


"Okay," he agreed reluctantly. The tire tracks worried him―who'd have the gas to spare to drive a car these days? Maybe he should—no, if he went by himself, he'd have to leave Anna behind on her own, and that'd be as bad as taking her into an uncertain situation with him. At least if he took her with him, he'd be able to keep an eye on her. If he didn't like the look of the place, they could simply go back, no harm done other than the loss of time. And if the trading post did seem safe, perhaps it'd also offer shelter from the approaching storm. "Let's go."


A mile or so down the track, they were forced to scramble onto the shoulder by a handful of pickups driving up fast from behind. The trucks―rusted and dented models dating back at least several decades―were rolling by in what Jake instantly recognized as convoy mode. What had worked in Iraq worked in post-attack America too: there was safety in numbers. The tips of shotgun muzzles stuck out of passenger windows and tarps covered what was the beds. In the back of each truck sat an armed guy huddled deep into his coat against the chill, guarding the cargo.


The last of the trucks, a two-toned Ford 100 as old as the others, flew a Confederate flag, a sticker proclaiming White Pride Worldwide on the bumper. As it passed them, the guy in the back got up, holding onto the cab's roof with one hand as he balanced precariously in the bouncing truck. Jake glimpsed an unshaven face scowling out of the hood of a sweatshirt as the guy hollered at Anna, "Hey, baby, wanna ride?"


Jake's hand instinctively sought out the Beretta in his belt. Thankfully, the truck didn't slow down, just left them coughing in the cloud of dust settling in the wake of the convoy. Jake slowly let out a deep breath. "Sorry 'bout that."


Anna offered him a rueful smile. "I've heard worse."


Jake snorted a laugh. He bet she had, running a bar in San Diego. Shaking off the memory of the leering face, he followed her back onto the road.


Not long after, they had their first sighting of the trading post, several hundred yards off. Jake steps faltered as he got a good look. He couldn't tell what he'd expected―an old log cabin, like in the movies, maybe. It certainly hadn't been a sprawling complex of crooked lean-tos, corrugated metal sheds and tents, fenced off with barbed wire. He could spot at least two armed men patrolling the perimeter.


As they moved closer, he took stock of the steel oil drums blocking the dirt track leading into the trading ground. They'd be filled with water or sand, so any truck moving in or out of the place would have to navigate carefully around them, and nobody would be able to gatecrash into the compound at high speed. The setup made sense; Jake had seen enough chaos and danger to understand how caution really was the better part of valor.


A field outside the fence served as a parking lot. The pickups that had passed them earlier had been left haphazardly among a number of other equally ancient cars. Jake even spied a horse-drawn cart.


Beyond the guards and the fence, many people were milling around. The number should've been reassuring, but it didn't make the place appear any friendlier to Jake.


"Wow...." Anna muttered, giving voice to her shock. She'd cocked her head, a small frown creasing her brow as she regarded the trading post. She seemed as full of doubt as Jake. Did they want to get mixed up with this place?


"What do you think?" Jake shifted the backpack.


Anna offered him a small shrug. "We've come this far, might as well go in."


"Okay." Jake tightened the shoulder straps on his pack. "But let's make it quick, okay? In and out." Looming snowstorm or not, he didn't think he wanted to spend a second longer behind that fence than absolutely necessary. "And stay close."

o0o

One of the armed men patrolling outside the fence stopped them as they made their way around the oil drum blockade. Sporting gray stubble beneath a dirty baseball cap, he scrutinized them both from head to toe and back, his gaze lingering on Anna longer than necessary. At last, he extended his hand in Jake's direction, palm up. "Guns."


Jake stared at the open hand. Once they'd made the decision to detour to the trading post, he'd put the Beretta within easy reach in his belt. The weight of the weapon was comforting. Having now seen the actual compound, he had no desire whatsoever to walk through that fence without it. "We're not armed," he tried.


"Course you ain't." The guard snorted in disdain. "Think you're bein' original? Sorry pal, no guns on the grounds. Management's orders." He shrugged, as if he didn't particularly care. "Up to you. You either gimme your weapons for safekeepin', or you can haul ass right back where you came from."


Jake mentally groaned in frustration. The guard wasn't going to be fooled or swayed. To be honest, while he didn't want to relinquish his gun, it was also somewhat reassuring that whoever was running the place had set a no-guns rule and was enforcing it. He curled a hand under his jacket to get the Beretta. "I want it back."


Eyeballing Jake with part exasperation, part offense, the guard grunted something unintelligible that Jake took as assent. He held the guy's gaze for a moment before placing his Beretta in the man's outstretched palm. He couldn't care less if the guard was offended; he wanted there to be no misunderstandings.


Without looking, the guard passed the weapon over to another man, his gaze never leaving Jake and Anna. The second guard was younger than the first, around Jake's own age, and wearing camouflage pants and an old army jacket. He took Jake's gun into a small rickety shed next to the opening in the fence. A gun rack was mounted on the wall, holding the strangest assortment of weapons Jake had ever seen: everything from dainty Derringers to sawed-off shotguns, and pretty much every type of firearm ever manufactured in between.


The man hung Jake's Beretta among the odd collection on the board and returned to shove small wooden token at Jake. "That'll get ya back your gun when you leave."


Jake took the token and made sure he stowed it securely in his jeans pocket. He'd have to trust the guards on their word; the only alternative was to walk away from the trading post without having tried to find Anna's supplements―and that'd be a waste of a six-mile walk.


He glanced over at Anna to check she was ready to go on, and moved to walk past the guards. "Whoa, hold up." The younger guard lowered his shotgun and aimed it roughly in their direction. Jake stopped dead in his tracks. The gun was steady, the guard's finger resting loosely on the trigger.


His older partner rolled his eyes a second time. "Yours too, sweetheart." He dipped his head at Anna.


"What...?" Anna answered his look with one filled with puzzlement. In the next instant, her posture changed to understanding and she spread her hands. "I don't have a gun."


Pushing his baseball cap to the back of his head, the guard raised his brows. "That so?" He considered Anna as if weighing the truth of her words, casting a sharp look briefly in Jake's direction. It made Jake think he was at fault. He answered glare for glare; these two were starting to get on his nerves and he wanted to get on with the business they'd come for and get out of here.


Besides, guns weren't exactly lying by the roadside. Anna had taken a great risk to steal them the Beretta. And she wasn't as helpless as the guards thought: she was carrying the pocket knife that Jake was careful to keep honed sharp.


The younger guard guffawed a hoarse laugh. "Mebbe we should make sure you're tellin' the truth, darlin'." He licked his lips, and winked.


Seriously regretting giving them the Beretta, Jake moved to put himself between the jackass and Anna, standing so close that the tip of the man's shotgun brushed the material of his jacket. "She said she's not carrying a weapon," Jake snarled through clenched teeth. He had an inch or two on the guy, but he was unarmed and he tried hard not to show his anxiety as he stared back. It was a contest of wills, and if the man wanted to have this fight, Jake'd be screwed.


"C'mon, Barry." The elder of the pair hoisted the shotgun he'd been holding loosely across his chest onto his shoulder and gestured for his companion to do the same. "Cut the lady some slack." He stepped back, flapping a hand at Jake and Anna to wave them through. "You two register at the barn over there. They can tell ya who to ask for whatever ya need, too."


His companion held Jake's gaze for a few seconds longer to make his point, sniffed once and lowered his shotgun. Reaching behind him, Jake grabbed Anna's hand and quickly tugged her after him, past the men and through the fence. The jerk continued to glower darkly from under pulled-down brows as they passed, but he didn't stop them.


They easily found the barn the older guard had talked about: sitting at the heart of the compound, it was the only solid building in the place. Jake supposed it must've been built long before the bombs and, as the local traders flocked to it, the rest of the trading post had sprung up around it. People were coming and going through the double doors, some carrying bundles of goods, others empty-handed.


Next to the doors, a huge blackboard, that had once belonged in a classroom, was nailed to the wall. Moving closer, Jake saw every inch was filled with local news and gossip. He made a mental note to examine it carefully before they left; even if it was all hearsay and rumors, it might give them an idea of what to expect on the journey ahead.


"All those people." Anna's voice held wonder, and perhaps a hint of disquiet, as she peered around. Jake couldn't fault her the nervousness: they'd spent weeks walking through an empty landscape, not seeing a soul, until, without a great deal of warning, they were surrounded. Even to Jake, the crowd felt overwhelmingly large, though in reality, it could only have been a hundred people or so, scattered among the structures. With the bustle around the various stalls selling all sorts of goods―from second-hand clothes to antiques to food―the whole place resembled a farm town on market day.


"Let's see what's what." He led Anna into the barn, which smelled faintly of manure and hay, though the livestock in the stalls had been replaced with stacks of cardboard boxes and wooden crates, the stall doors locked to keep unauthorized customers from getting to them. A few low-wattage light bulbs were hanging from the rafters, trying hard to chase off the gloom―if he concentrated, Jake could detect the low hum of a generator underneath the buzzing of voices.


They drew eyes as they walked in and Jake came to the uncomfortable realization that Anna was one of very few women at the compound. She held herself stiffly, evidently aware of the stir she was causing, though he supposed that, as a bartender, she was better than most at ignoring that kind of scrutiny. It'd still be best if they got away from the trading post as soon as possible, though. The back of his neck was prickling as he considered all the things that could go wrong.


A rough voice barking, "Names?" interrupted Jake from urging Anna again to stay close. The order came from a stubbled clerk with a clipboard. Judging by his weathered tan, the man had likely been a stable-hand before the bombs, not a pencil pusher. When Jake wondered aloud what would be the point of signing in visitors, he gave a bored shrug. "Dunno. Mr. Thornton's orders. He runs the place; I just do as I'm told."


Shaking off his curiosity―what did it matter, anyway―Jake gave the clerk a couple of fake names. Watching as the man wrote them down, Jake suppressed a smile. Probably hadn't needed to give him false names; he doubted anyone would be able to read the clerk's chicken scrawl.


"Now, would you be needin' a stall?" The clerk tucked his clipboard under his elbow and scratched the back of his neck.


"Huh?" Jake blinked, clueless as to what the man meant.


"A stall," the clerk repeated with a put-out sigh, clarifying, "For business'. Ya can rent 'em by the hour, or for the day."


"I see." Jake realized the clerk thought they were here to sell goods. "No, thanks. We're just hoping to stock up on stuff."


"Maybe you can help us," Anna added, stepping up next to Jake. "We're looking for―." But the clerk had lost interest in them the instant Jake had made it clear he couldn't earn anything off of them and walked off in the direction of a man unlocking the padlock on one of the stalls. Anna gave voice to her annoyance with a soft grunt. "Guess we're on our own."


Jake quirked a wry grin. "Guess so." He looked around, wondering where to start, and saw a second board tacked to the back wall. It held two columns: one titled On offer, the other Wanted. "Let's take a look over there." He pointed out the board.


The Wanted list turned out to be far shorter than the eclectic mix of items offered for trade. Morphine, diesel and gas were all in high demand―as was salt. Jake goggled at the word, his mind racing. Jericho had the Anderson-Stevens mine.... Would his father know Jericho was sitting on a virtual pot of gold in this new world?


Yes, he would, Jake answered his own question. As mayor, Dad seemed to know every obscure detail of the town's history and its economy. He'd be aware how valuable salt would be. Besides, it made sense, salt being a natural preservative. And hadn't it been used as currency in the past?


"Jake?" Anna tugged on his sleeve, her quiet question drawing him from his thoughts. "How're we gonna pay for the supplements? If we find any, I mean."


It was a good question. The dollar bills at the bottom of his backpack, all that remained of the San Diego stash, would be worth less than the paper they'd been printed on. Only deeply ingrained habit had made it impossible for Jake to throw the money out. Same way he was still carrying his bank cards in his wallet.


"We'll trade for it."


"With what? We don't have anything."


He grunted in annoyance; he should've thought of that earlier. "We'll figure something out." He briefly considered the Wanted list again, mentally comparing it to what they were carrying around in their backpacks. They could probably trade for a few bags of the instant food, if―. Jake mentally smacked himself. "The radio," he said, keeping his voice low. "I took two of them." He hadn't consciously been thinking they could trade one of the transistors when he'd grabbed a spare, but he was doubly glad he'd thought to take a second one.


Thinking about the radio brought back other memories. Memories of a quiet night by a small river stream, with the music from a distant Mexican station drifting over them and―. Jake squashed the memory and hoped Anna wouldn't notice the blush he was sure had settled on his face.


He peered at her from under his lashes. She wasn't meeting his eye this time. Dammit. So much for her not understanding what track his thoughts had taken. He cleared his throat. Best pretend that kiss had never happened. "We can trade for one of those," he went on. "The batteries too, if need be." He figured either should be valuable to a black market trader. Certainly worth enough to swap for some vitamin tablets.


"Okay." Anna's voice was hardly more than a whisper and she wasn't looking at him. Jake had no clue what she was thinking and he figured he didn't want to know.


After another moment of awkward silence, he turned away from the board. "Let's try to find a trader who has what we need."

o0o

They asked the nearby stallholders for suggestions, until they were told to go see a trader running a booth in the gaggle of kiosks that had been set up on the north side of the barn. Hunching into the cold wind that came blasting down the alley between the stalls, Jake and Anna made their way to the fourth stall up from the barn. The trader manning it, a small, portly man with a balding head, was huddled in the shadow of the canvas awning. He looked them up and down in leery scrutiny while Jake asked if he had any supplements.


"Might be as I have some," the trader grunted in confirmation. "It'll cost ya, though." Eyes narrowing, he took in their backpacks. His brows drew together . "You got anythin' to trade? 'Cause I ain't runnin' a charity here." He spat into the dirt.


Jake's temper rose at the man's attitude but he did his best to swallow his irritation. He wasn't here to make friends, just to get the trader to part with whatever vitamins he had, so they could get back on the road to Jericho. Despite his efforts, he couldn't keep the sharpness from his tone, "We don't want―."


"Jake." Anna put a hand on his arm, her touch barely noticeable through the many layers he was wearing. "Let me?"


Glancing down at her, Jake gave her a doubtful look, to which she smiled briefly. Jake relaxed; she'd dealt expertly with the frightened bookseller the day after the bombs, and he couldn't count the times he'd watched her handle drunk fratboys in San Diego. She was right; she was better suited to barter with the surly trader than he was.


"Alright, sure." He took a pace away, allowing her to join the trader under the awning out of the wind, and took in his surroundings. They were within sight of the news boards he'd glimpsed earlier. If he read those while Anna was bartering, they could kill two birds with one stone and get out of here all the sooner.


He nudged Anna lightly to get her attention and waved toward the big blackboard. "I'm gonna be over there, okay? Catch up on the news." She grinned at the way he'd phrased it, and he quirked up his mouth. It did sound funny. His grin melted back into earnestness. "Stay within sight, okay?"


Reaching the barn, Jake glanced across his shoulder, confirming he could still see Anna. Shaded by the awning, she was gesturing briskly at the trader, who was shaking his head in response. Looked like the merchant wasn't going to come around as easily as she'd hoped. Chuckling, Jake went back to scanning the chalky handwriting on the blackboard.


In local news, a road gang had been spotted on Route 64 toward Buffalo—further east than they planned to travel, so the gang shouldn't pose a problem for them. The weather forecast was predicting snow. Not a surprise; Jake could smell it in the air. He dearly wished winter would've held off a short time longer, until they were closer to Jericho.


Twisting his head, he snuck another glimpse toward the booth. Anna must've sensed his gaze, because she raised her face and briefly met his eyes. She inclined her head a fraction at him, and he assumed it meant she was making progress with the negotiations. Leaving her to handle it, Jake went back to skimming the second column of news and gossip.


The aid drop they'd witnessed hadn't been the only one: there were reports of support goods being flown in from a number of different countries: China, Sweden, Australia.... On the other hand, Mexico had closed its borders to refugees. And it was something to know the number of contenders for the presidency hadn't gone up further than the six Welsh had mentioned. Even so, Jake walked away from the board in disgust; he'd read all he could stomach and they needed to get back on the road. If Anna wasn't done dealing with the trader yet, perhaps it was time he added his weight and put some pressure on the guy.


"Mister, gotta light?" A filthy teenager peered up at him, waving a tattered cigarette around. The boy was perhaps thirteen, his eyes huge in a too-thin face.


Jake frowned at the kid. "Aren't you a little young―Hey!" A small hand was trying to worm into his jeans pocket. Jake quickly clamped his fingers over it and the owner of the hand squeaked in surprise, vainly trying to pull loose. Holding on to the pickpocket's wrist, Jake saw the thief was younger than the first boy, his features betraying that they were related. Brothers, most likely, the older to distract the mark while the younger picked his pocket.


Jake checked with his free hand for the token that would get him back the Beretta. It was still in his pocket: he'd captured the thief before the kid could grab it. And everything else was stashed in the inside pockets of his jacket, safely out of a pickpocket's reach.


Jake glared at the pair, conflicted. What was he supposed to do with them? Turn them over to what passed for the police here? The boys both stared back at Jake, pale with fear. They would've seen the warnings signposted all over the compound describing the punishments for thieves.


"Please, mister," the elder of the two boys pleaded, his voice shaking, his gaze shifting desperately from Jake to his brother and back. Jake had to give him credit: he hadn't run off when Jake had grabbed his little brother. The younger boy sniffed back tears, his small hand lying cold and limp in Jake's grip.


Jake sighed and let go of the boy.The brothers sprinted off without so much as a thank-you, disappearing into the crowd. Perhaps he should've given them a warning, but from the appearance of the pair, he doubted they'd have taken any notice; they had been half-starved to death.


Puffing up his cheeks in exasperation, feeling both sorry for the boys and angry at the circumstances that forced kids to become pickpockets, he started for the trader's stall. Time to get Anna and―. Jake's train of thought stalled abruptly when his gaze landed on the stall. It was empty, the gloomy area under the awning deserted. No sign of either Anna or the trader. Dammit! He'd told her repeatedly to stay in sight! But he hadn't been watching, had he? a small voice whispered in the back of his mind.


His heart hammered in his chest as he quickly closed the final yards to the stall. The heavy backpack thumped painfully on his shoulders and he barely heard the protests as he bumped against people in his haste. He couldn't care less. Anna had simply walked deeper into the structure, he told himself over and over. He'd find her and the trader inside, taking shelter from the wind. Wouldn't he?

o0o

Chapter 18

Reaching the booth, its canvas flapping in the wind, Jake swerved inside, stumbling into the shadows under the awning.


"Hey! Watch where ya goin'!"


At the indignant shout, Jake skittered to a halt, realizing he'd almost run smack into the surly trader. Ignoring the man's scowl, he peered past him, quickly scanning the small area under the awning. Boxes had been stacked high deeper in the shadows and a curtain partitioned off the rear section of the structure. He saw no sign of Anna; the trader was alone. He shot the man a sharp glare. "Where is she?"


With a snort, the short trader craned his neck, Jake's anxious tone not fazing him. "Was about to ask you the same thing." He showed Jake a small brown bottle. It was half-full with white pills. "Told me she was lookin' for these, so I went in back to get 'em for her. I come out, she ain't 'ere."


Reflexively, Jake reached for the bottle. "Oi!" The trader quickly snatched it out of his reach. "I ain't been paid yet. Promised me a working transistor for these pills, that was the deal."


Jake mentally smacked himself. Of course Anna hadn't been able to carry out the actual trade: Jake had the radios in his pack. If Anna had reached an agreement with the merchant, she'd have come get Jake, to ask him to hand over the radio. Had they simply missed each other? He wasn't sure how he could have, but it was surely the only possible explanation.


Taking deep breaths to hold back the panic that threatened to rise like bile in his throat, Jake stepped out from under the awning and scanned the people strolling past or milling around in front of the news board, telling himself he'd spot her any second now. But no matter how hard he looked, he saw no sign of Anna. Where could she have gone? And why?


"D'you want these, or don't ya?"


Jake ignored the bottle of supplements being shoved in his face, no longer caring about the pills. "Where did she go?"


The merchant scrubbed a palm over his balding pate and shrugged unconcernedly. "How should I know?" He smirked briefly. "Mebbe she needed to hit the head?" His expression turned sour again. "So, do we have a deal or not?"


"Come on." Jake struggled not to shout. "You must know something." Anna wouldn't have walked off without telling Jake. She was smarter than that. "Did she say anything where she was going?"


"No, she didn't." The merchant glowered. "I'm tellin' ya, she was here, we cut a deal, I go to get the broad her pills. Next thing I know, she's gone, and you come stormin' in here, makin' like I'm supposed to watch your woman."


Jake's hands balled into fists from sheer frustration and he struggled not to hit the man. It was obvious this jerk didn't care one whit for Jake's panic or Anna's fate and didn't intend to be of any help at all. Perhaps he―. Jake had a sudden vision of Anna lying unconscious and bound behind the curtain dividing the back of the booth from the front. He shoved the spluttering merchant aside. "Anna?" Jake hurried toward the curtain. "Anna!"


"Hey! That area's off-limits." The merchant snatched at Jake's sleeve.


Jake shook him off. Ripping aside the curtain, he saw―stacks of cardboard boxes, stenciled with Chinese letters. No sign of Anna.


"Dammit, dude, I keep tellin' ya. She ain't here." The merchant set the bottle of pills down on the rough-hewn wood counter and flapped a hand at Jake. "And if you don't wanna trade, you gotta go. Before someone calls security. That's trouble I don't need."


Glancing past the merchant, Jake discovered a small crowd had gathered, craning their necks to peer into the stall and see what was going on. Ignoring them, he hauled the dealer close by the collar. Not expecting it, the guy squeaked in surprise, and, perhaps, a little fright. "You should've thought of that before―."


"Hey, buddy, take it easy." A heavy hand landed on Jake's shoulder.


Letting go of the merchant, Jake whirled around to face the newcomer. Steely-blue eyes met his.


"You're not gonna be of help to your lady friend if you get yourself in trouble with security," the new arrival cautioned. He shifted his grip from Jake's shoulder to his elbow. Though he held Jake lightly, Jake could feel the hidden strength in the man's grip. "She's clearly not here. Why don't we step outside, so you can calm down and figure out what to do next."


Jake opened his mouth, wanting to argue, wanting to―. He rolled his neck to clear his mind from the red haze of fear and anger. Whoever this guy was, he was right: getting into a scrap with the trader and getting tossed from the trading grounds wasn't gonna help him find Anna any sooner. Better to ask around. Perhaps he could find someone who'd seen what happened.


Wordlessly, he allowed the man to steer him out of the booth, ignoring the indignant huff of the merchant behind him. Once he'd walked into the cold wind, he sucked in a lungful of air in an effort to keep his mind off the message that was on constant repeat: Must find Anna. As pressing as the desire to act was, he needed to think first. No use going off half-cocked.


"Okay, folks, show's over." The stranger waved his arms to chase off the crowd. "Nothing to see here."


Muttering amongst themselves, people wandered off. Jake watched them go, not really seeing them. Perhaps he should go talk to security after all; they were supposed to be the law around here, weren't they? They would know something.


"You okay?"


Jake blinked, finding himself alone with the stranger. The crowd was gone; the trader had disappeared, presumably behind the curtain at the back of his booth. "Yeah," he croaked.


"So, the woman who's gone missing?" The man scratched his neck. "That the pretty Latina you were with?"


Jake stiffened, his jaw tightening. "What do you know about her?"


"Nothing that'd help you." The other man met Jake's gaze directly and without a hint of dishonesty. "Saw you and her walk around, earlier, is all. Why did you―?" He gave a curt shake of his head and stuffed his hands under his armpits against the cold. "Never mind that."


He didn't need to finish for Jake to know what he'd wanted to ask. It was the same question Jake had been asking himself ever since he'd come back to the merchant's stall and discovered Anna was gone. Why had he left her? Why hadn't he stayed with her?


He dragged more of the freezing air into his lungs, relishing the burn of the cold; plenty of time for recriminations after he'd tracked Anna down. He was dimly aware that the temperature had dropped several degrees since they had arrived at the trading post―another factor ratcheting up his concern for her. "I should―." He gestured vaguely toward the main entrance.


"Good idea." The other man dipped his head. "I'll walk with you."


Jake didn't have a clue why the stranger was bothering to come along, yet he couldn't say he objected to the company. There was something reassuring about the guy, as if he was confident everything would work out, no matter what.


"I'm Jake," he offered without thinking, hunching his shoulders against the wind while he started for the main gate.


"Chavez." The other man fell in step with Jake.


Jake shot a disbelieving glance sideways, failing to hide his skepticism as he took in the blond hair and blue eyes.


Chavez quirked an amused eyebrow at him. "What?"


Jake snorted. "You don't look like a Chavez."


Chavez chuckled. "I get that a lot."


Several stalls further on, a tall man stepped out from one of the other booths and made a beeline for them. He wore a frayed coat and a knitted scarf around a thin neck. Jake caught a whiff of something unpleasant; the guy obviously didn't hold soap in high regard. Jake hurried on. He wasn't interested in whatever the trader wanted to sell him.


"You the one lookin' for that girl?" The trader's words stopped Jake dead in his tracks.


Hope flaring, Jake eagerly leaned in, ignoring the smell. "You've seen her? Do you know where she went?"


The skinny merchant gestured vaguely with a mittened hand. "Saw her walk off with some guys."


"What?" That made no sense. Anna wouldn't go off with strangers. And something in the guy's tone told Jake there was more to the story than he was saying. It took an effort not to grab him by his scarf and wring the information out of him. "What guys? Where?" Why?


The trader hung his head and shook it, sadly. "She's gone, man."


"Problem?" a voice asked sharply from behind Jake. The trader's gaze shifted to somewhere beyond Jake's shoulder.


Jake turned on his heel. In his peripheral vision, he saw Chavez doing the same. A pair of armed guards were ambling up to them, their hands resting lightly on the stocks of their weapons. Jake recognized one of them as the older of the pair who'd been on duty at the entrance.


"Yes," Jake snarled at them, his temper so frayed it finally snapped. "My wife's gone missing, and nobody wants to tell me what the hell's going on here!"


The older guard frowned at him. "Your wife's the girl you came in with?"


"Yes! And this sonofabitch," Jake groped blindly behind him, snatching a fistful of woolen muffler, "knows something." He dragged the skinny merchant forward, pushing him toward the guards. "But he won't tell me what."


"Hey!" the merchant protested and tugged his scarf back in place. "Try doing a guy a favor...."


The second guard unshipped his gun from his shoulder and took a step back to give himself space to aim it.


"Jake," Chavez warned quietly. But Jake no longer cared what happened to him. He was done being jerked around by these people while Anna could be suffering untold misery.


"Whoa, easy now." The first guard held out his hands placatingly, preventing his companion from raising his shotgun. "Let's all keep cool, alright? So―Applewhite, innit?" He addressed the merchant, who bobbed his head in confirmation. "What's this about a missing wife and you knowin' about it?"


The scrawny merchant drew up his narrow shoulders. "C'mon, Karl. You know what it's like."


Karl scratched at his skull under the baseball cap and shook his head. "What what's like?"


Applewhite heaved an aggravated sigh, as if he was regretting getting involved or having to provide an explanation. The gesture made him resemble an undertaker even more than his gaunt appearance already did. "Good-looking girl, left on her own? Around here?" He pursed his lips, adding half under his breath, "And her Hispanic, too."


"What's that supposed to mean?" This time, it was Chavez' turn to ask.


Karl ignored Chavez. His brows drew together in a frown. "McCuskey's guys?" he asked softly, evidently catching on to what the trader wasn't saying.


Applewhite nodded morosely.


"Goddammit," Karl swore. The other guard let out a noise that Jake couldn't place.


"Who's McCuskey?" Jake didn't like the tone of the conversation or the direction it was taking. If he hadn't already been sick with worry about Anna, he certainly would have been by now.


Karl puffed out his cheeks and released a long sigh, his breath fogging in the cold. He adjusted his baseball cap. "C'mon." He jerked his head toward the compound's entrance. "Maybe they haven't left yet." He set off at a half-trot.


Jogging to catch up with the guard, Jake grabbed Karl's sleeve. "You haven't answered my question. Who the hell's McCuskey, and what does he want with Anna?"


Karl snuck Jake a sideways glance, quickly averting his eyes when they met Jake's. It only served to increase Jake's discomfort. "Let's say he deals in cheap labor." Karl sounded unhappy.


"Huh?" Jake felt as if he was constantly one step behind everyone else. "Like a job bank?"


"No." Chavez had been following them at a trot. "He's talking about slavery. Am I right?" Though he spoke calmly, Chavez' tone held a hint of suppressed fury that made Jake very glad Chavez was in his corner.


"Come again?" Jake was shocked enough to pull up to a full stop. As it was, they weren't far from the main entrance and he could see out into the field where the trucks and carts were parked.


"Dammit. They're gone." Karl was gazing out across the field; the number of pickup trucks parked there had lessened considerably. Among the vehicles that were no longer there was the old red-and-white Ford, the one with the Confederate flag flying from it.


Icy tendrils tickled Jake's insides and a shiver ran down along his back, and neither came from the wind howling unhindered across the empty landscape. "Oh God," he whispered.


Shoulders hunched up to his ears, Karl met Jake's eyes briefly, before his gaze skittered away, but Jake still caught the sympathy in his expression. It didn't improve his mood any―in fact, it made him feel worse.


Karl's voice was soft as he asked, "You're not really married to the girl, or anything, are you?"


Jake blinked, startled. It wasn't at all what he'd expected the guard to say. "Um...."


Karl dipped his head toward Jake's clenched hands. "No ring."


"Right." Struggling to hold on to his last shred of self-control, Jake shook his head. "No," he admitted. A memory flashed through his brain: of a cold evening, a campfire, the music from the radio, and―he shoved the recollection away, concentrating instead on explaining the matter to Karl. "It was a good story to use on the road. Safer." He uncurled a fist and scrubbed his palm across his face. That plan had worked out so great, too. "What's that got to do with it, anyway?"


"Just―." Karl paused. "Thought it'd make it easier. As you're probably better off forgettin' her."


"What?" Jake must've misheard. What sort of man would do that? Sure, Anna wasn't his wife, but she was his friend, and he'd be damned if he let those bastards who took her―Jake's mind shied away from the terrible things his imagination wanted to come up with. No longer able to contain himself, he clutched Karl's shoulders and struggled not to shout in the man's face as he asked, "Why would you even say that?"


Karl didn't resist as Jake shook him. He just hung his head regretfully. "She's gone, man. Forget her."


"No, dammit." Jake refused to accept that for the truth, no matter what Karl might say. He'd get Anna back. Somehow. "Tell me where they took her," he hissed, giving Karl another violent shake.


This time, the man did pull free of Jake's grip. "Springfield." He flicked a hand in the direction of the dirt track Jake and Anna had walked in on. "'Bout two miles west of the crossroads."


Jake was ready to start loping off in the direction Karl had pointed, but a hand grabbed him by the elbow. "Whoa there. Not so fast." Chavez' fingers were clamped tightly around Jake, preventing him from taking off.


Jake gave a start; in his haste to find out what happened to Anna, he'd totally forgotten Chavez. Not that it mattered. He yanked his arm, failing to break free. "Let go of me."


Chavez held on, his grip tightening. "Jake, don't be an idiot. If you go after them like this, you'll end up dead." His voice was low, insistent.


"Don't care," Jake snarled, refusing to acknowledge the ribbon of dread that slithered through him. He wasn't gonna give up on Anna. He'd made a promise, once. And even if he hadn't, he still wouldn't abandon her to whatever fate her kidnappers had in store for her.


Chavez' grip remained firm and Jake swung up his other hand, planning to lay in on the other man until he let go. But he wasn't well-balanced and too much in a panic and his stroke was clumsy. Chavez easily deflected it, snatching Jake's other wrist with his free hand.


"And what do you think happens to the girl then? Jake, you gotta be smart about this." Chavez lifted an eyebrow. "Are you even armed?"


"I'm―." Chavez' words finally filtered through the white haze of panic and fear that held Jake in its claws. He slumped. "No." The Beretta was stored in the guardhouse and he was going to need that gun. How else would he break Anna free? Lob transistor radios at the slavers? But―. "I got to get her back." His whispered words hitched with desperation.


"Of course you do." Assured Jake was no longer going to hare off and do something stupid, Chavez let go of him. Jake rubbed at his wrist as Chavez regarded Karl. Surprisingly, the guard was still there, watching them, his countenance reflecting his earlier sympathy. "What do you know about this crew?" Chavez leaned forward on the balls of his feet ever so slightly.


"I don't―." Karl swallowed, hard, and darted a quick look around, as if wondering why he hadn't backed out when he had the chance. Tilting his head to indicate they should follow him, he walked a few measured paces away from the main gate, so they were out of earshot of any casual passer-by. He scratched under the baseball cap absently while he collected his thoughts. Jake waited impatiently "McCuskey's the leader." Karl spoke quietly. "Used to be a wheat farmer, owns the biggest farm in the area. After the attacks, in the chaos that followed...." Karl spat in the dirt. "He saw his chance."


Jake frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"


"At first, nothin'. Usual crazy stuff. Talkin' about secession, settin' up a new confederate state." Karl fell silent, watching a quartet of unshaven men in winter coats stomping past and out through the gate. As they walked toward one of the horse-drawn carts, he went on, "Then he threw out the mayor. Brought in some of his out-of-state buddies. Unpleasant lot. Next, I heard it said he had the sheriff murdered." Karl paused a second time, his gaze shifting from Jake to Chavez and back, as if confirming something, before he added in an even lower tone, "Now it's white folks at the top, and everyone else...." He gave another shake of the head. "They been terrorizin' these parts ever since." He adjusted the shotgun dangling from his shoulder nervously. "Snappin' people up left 'n right. People who speak out against 'em, or people―like your friend."


"Hispanics," Chavez filled in for Karl, his voice hard.


"Blacks, too," Karl added. "New immigrants from down south, mostly, but also folk who've been neighbors for decades. Nobody knows fer sure what's done with them, but―." He broke off and huffed a humorless laugh. "Guess he saw an opportunity to make a buck."


"And nobody tries to stop them?" Jake had been aware things were bad, with the road gangs and the looting. But slavery? That was a whole new level of messed up.


Karl uttered a rueful sound. "Took a while for people to catch on, at first. 'Bout a month ago, some folks decided they'd had enough." He swallowed. "They're either dead, or gone. Since then, those assholes can pretty much do as they please." He glanced up at Jake from under his lashes, before scuffing at a clump of grass with his toe. "Folk learned quickly how to be invisible."


"You know an awful lot about this bunch." Chavez' tone was light, as if they were talking football and not human trafficking.


"I hear things, round here," Karl explained, "and—." Jake saw how Karl's gaze met Chavez' and he paled visibly. "Hey, man, you don't think I―." He spread his hands and went on in a quiet voice, "I hate what they're doin'. But I got a wife and a couple kids to think about." He again sought out Jake rather than Chavez. "I'm sorry, I shoulda said somethin' when you came in."


"Damned right you should've." Jake couldn't muster the energy to be angry with Karl. If he'd known, if Karl had warned them, he'd never have let Anna out of his sight. Heck, they'd have turned around right there and then, and those vitamins be damned. Wasn't worth risking their lives over. Anna's life, a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind, adding to his burning need to find her. He combed his fingers through his hair, clamping down on the renewed urge to sprint off toward Springfield. "How many?"


"Come again?" Karl gave him a confused look.


"How many men has McCuskey got?" Jake clarified.


"Dunno." A shrug. "Depends. I reckon there's a couple dozen in McCuskey's crew, total, but they move around the county all the time."


Jake blew out a frustrated grunt. Even if Karl was right and he got lucky and a large segment of the gang were away from their base, he could end up facing anything from one or two to a dozen of the bastards. With one Beretta and a handful of bullets. Those had to be the suckiest odds he'd ever faced. Yet, even so, there wasn't a single part of Jake that considered not going after them. He had to try; he simply couldn't leave Anna in their hands.


He looked up at the sky. It had grown noticeably darker since he and Anna had arrived at the trading post: the snow storm he'd sensed coming was going to break any minute. And he had no time to lose: every minute he lingered here was another minute those bastards could do God knows what to Anna. He dug the token from his pocket and shoved it at Karl. "Just give me back my gun."


Karl didn't immediately take the token. "Think about it, son," he cautioned. "What're you gonna do? You can't take on that whole damned crew. Not on your own."


"He won't be on his own." This time, there was nothing light about Chavez' low tone as he also held out a token.


"What's that supposed to mean?" Jake asked as Karl accepted both tokens without another word and set off toward the small guardhouse.


"Means I'm coming with." Chavez' blue eyes were hard, and his jaw was tight, and Jake sensed the determination coming off of him. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have wanted Chavez as an enemy.


"Why?" While Jake was glad of the backup, he hadn't laid eyes on the guy until fifteen minutes ago. Why would Chavez want to risk his life for complete strangers?


Chavez shrugged, and some of the tension left his body. "Country's bad enough as it is. Don't need asshats like this McCuskey making things worse."


Karl returned with their weapons. He gave the Beretta to Jake, and handed Chavez another semi-automatic. "You two actually gonna do this? Good luck." From Karl's tone, it was clear he didn't expect them to make it out alive. Considering the odds, Jake wasn't too certain, either.


"Thanks." Jake slipped the magazine out of the Beretta and checked it, before sliding it back in and stashing the gun under his jacket in his belt. From the metallic noises coming from Chavez' direction, he was also checking his gun hadn't been messed with and was fully loaded. "But I got no choice. I'm not leaving her."

o0o

The first snow flakes started drifting down mere minutes after Jake and Chavez had set out to Springfield. Unaware he was doing so, Jake picked up his pace, until Chavez tapped his shoulder to draw his attention.


"Slow down, man. Gotta pace ourselves."


Jake shot him a surprised look―the guy wasn't even breathing hard―but took his advice and slowed to a steady jog, the backpack bouncing lightly on his shoulders. Much as he might want to run as fast as he could, Chavez was right: it wouldn't do any good if he ran himself into the ground before they found out where McCuskey's goons had taken Anna.


In an attempt to keep his speed steady, he tried to concentrate on what they were facing. How would they discover the location where Anna was being held? How many guards would there be? And what could the two of them do against the greater numbers they'd undoubtedly find? His brain refused to cooperate, returning over and over to what might be happening to Anna instead. Terrible scenarios played out in his head: rape, murder, torture.... God knows what those bastards would do to her.


"She'll be okay for a while."


It was as if Chavez was reading his mind. "How did you know―?"


"Blind man could see what you're thinking." Chavez grinned humorlessly. His expression sobering, he answered the next question on Jake's lips. "If that fellow," he pointed with a thumb back across his shoulder in the direction of the trading post, "is right, they won't harm her."


Jake scowled. He wanted to believe it, he really did, but he had no illusions about what criminals such as the thugs who took Anna would do to a helpless woman, especially if they thought they could get away with it.


"No, I'm serious." Chavez quickened his pace until he pulled ahead of Jake and was able to look back at him. "They'll want to make a good price for her. And they won't get that if if they damage the goods." Chavez' mouth twisted as if he'd tasted something foul, and a shiver ran down Jake's spine at the implications. Chavez' words made sense, though, and Jake's spirits lifted a little. Perhaps there was still time.


Assuming Anna didn't give her captors any trouble.... Jake's brief hope fluttered away as he huffed inwardly, half smug and half disheartened. Not much chance of that. Anna wasn't gonna take crap from anyone. The way she'd taken the shot at the road gang―she'd been scared out of her mind, and she'd done it anyway. Or how she'd reacted to Jackson Welch, before they had any idea if he was good people or not. No, Anna wasn't going to go down without a fight. He suspected they'd threatened her at gunpoint to get her to come with them as quietly as she had.


Twenty minutes later, he and Chavez reached the crossroads and paused to catch their breath. The wind had picked up further and the snow was falling more heavily, leaving a thin layer of white on the ground and thicker patches where the wind wasn't scouring it away as strongly. Above them, the sky was an unbroken sheet of lead, rapidly growing darker as night fell. "We should keep going," Jake urged. They had another two miles to go before they reached the town.


Chavez grunted his assent and trotted on. Jake shifted his heavy backpack into a more comfortable position and followed. As he jogged on through the snow, his feet pounding in a hypnotic rhythm, he turned his mind back to what they should do when they got to Springfield. He didn't have much idea what they'd find beyond what Karl had told them, and they could hardly march into town and simply demand McCuskey hand Anna over to them.


Chavez slowing down finally dragged Jake out of the half-numbed state he'd fallen into. "What is it?"


"Nearly there." Chavez pointed out a town sign next to the track. Welcome to Springfield. It had been used for target practice and was riddled with bullet holes. Jake could just make out the words, despite the gloom.


"So, let's―." Jake began to speed up again, but Chavez snatched at his sleeve.


"Hold on a second, Jake."


Jake gritted his teeth in frustration as he yanked free of Chavez' grip. "What is it now?" he demanded.


"We need to be smart about this." It wasn't the first time Chavez had brought it up and it was beginning to chafe on Jake's nerves. He wasn't a fool, dammit.


"I get that."


"Do you? Really?" Chavez' gaze bored into Jake's. "Cause before we get there, I need to know you're not gonna do anything harebrained. I understand you're worried about your girl, but we can't walk in there and simply start tearing up the place."


Jake shot another impatient look in the direction of the town. He couldn't see any evidence of it yet beyond the sign. "I know. And her name is Anna."


"Okay." Chavez gave a curt nod of acceptance. "Anna." Again, he pinned Jake with his gaze. "We'll find her, okay? I promise. Just follow my lead."


Despite his concern for Anna, Jake's instinctive reaction to Chavez assuming command was to put his back up. Chavez carried on holding his gaze. What Jake saw in Chavez' eyes made the protest die on his lips. "Okay."


"Then let's go, and see what we can find out."


"Who are you?" Jake muttered under his breath as Chavez jogged off.


The wind carried his words further than he'd intended. Chavez chuckled "A concerned citizen of the United States, is all," he shot back across his shoulder.

o0o

They walked into Springfield proper before they were aware of it. With no street lights, the only indication they'd reached the town were the bulky, square shapes of unlit buildings suddenly popping up around them, half-veiled by the falling snow. Chavez veered off into the shadows of the nearest building and crouched next to it.


"What―?" Jake began as he knelt next to Chavez.


"Keep your voice down."


Jake snapped his mouth shut, shamefaced. The snow and wind would mute any noise they made, but sound would carry easily in the night. Especially in such a quiet town. Until they'd figured out what they were walking into, they needed to take every precaution possible.


Glancing around, Jake took better stock of their surroundings. The streets were empty, though light was sneaking through cracks around the shutters at a handful of the houses. The rest of the buildings were dark, many of the windows broken. Jake suspected those homes had belonged to people whom McCuskey had deemed unwelcome in Springfield.


Suppressing a shiver that wasn't entirely due to the cold wind whipping in from the north, he checked that his Beretta was in easy reach. Chavez had also apparently finished his initial inspection: he flicked a hand at Jake, silently signaling they should move on.


The deserted streets made it easy to quickly check the empty buildings to see if Anna had been locked up in one of them. Unfortunately, Jake realized, as he retraced his steps down a snowy driveway, they were leaving clear tracks in the snow, which could easily give them away if anyone bothered to look. He wordlessly pointed his tracks out to Chavez. The other man shrugged. Can't be helped, that gesture said, and wasn't that the truth. Luckily, it was now snowing heavily, with flurries dancing before the wind and snow drifts building in sheltered corners, and their footsteps began to fill in even as Jake watched.


They continued their search, careful to not to disturb the snow any more than they had to and keeping tucked as closely to the buildings as they could. They reached what Jake guessed was Main Street. Boarded up store fronts lined the street; further on, he could see a church and a barber shop.


"Psst." Chavez' low hiss reached Jake. He jerked his head toward the church.


Jake waited, squinting around into the swirling snow, alert for any sign of life, while Chavez darted up the church steps and peered inside. Next, he circled the church, briefly disappearing from view, before popping back up around the other side of the building. He shook his head as he hurried back to Jake. Not there.


They went on searching, but they reached the far end of Main Street without finding any sign of Anna. Blinking snowflakes from his lashes, Jake considered their situation, exchanging a look with Chavez. Would they have locked Anna up in any of the occupied houses? It was a possibility, of course, but not one he liked at all. He'd hoped―.


The wind fell off briefly, and a sudden burst of shouting and laughter rang out through the darkness, startling them both. Unsure where it had come from, they dove together behind the nearest snow-covered hump. Waiting with bated breath, afraid a plume of fogged breath might give them away otherwise, Jake realized the snow heap was actually a car. A recent model, resting on bare rims, with rust already setting in. The EMP would've fried all its circuits, so it had been stripped clean of any remaining useful parts.


Once the laughter had faded and they were certain the coast was clear, Chavez inched out of their hiding place. Jake let out the breath he'd been holding and got to his feet as well, brushing the snow from his jacket. Chavez pointed in the direction the laughter had come from. Let's check it out.


Just as wordlessly, Jake nodded his agreement. Keeping his head low, staying in the deeper shadows close to the buildings, he snuck after Chavez, stepping in Chavez' footsteps as much as possible. Ducking around a corner onto a side street, they discovered the source of the ruckus: the local saloon was still in business. Jake huffed a silent, wry laugh. Of course it was.


Wavering light filtered through the windows,the unevenness of the glow telling Jake they were using candles or oil lamps. The place was packed, even so, if the low buzz of noise reaching them through the closed door was anything to go by. At least now they knew where everyone was. He doubted they'd brought Anna with them into the saloon and—at least, God, he hoped not!


Abruptly, an image of Anna on display on the bar popped into his brain, and Jake felt suddenly sick. Swallowing down bile, he dashed over to one of the windows before Chavez could grab him and hold him back. He needed to know.


Slowly raising himself up far enough to peek over the window sill, Jake scanned the interior of the bar. As he'd expected, it was crowded. Thankfully, he didn't see any sign of Anna. Lowering himself back down, he allowed him a sigh of relief. Then Chavez was on him.


"What the hell―?" Chavez hissed, his voice so low that only Jake would be able to hear him.


"Sorry," Jake muttered, recognizing the danger he'd put them in. If anyone came out of the saloon―.


Shaking his head, Chavez prodded Jake to get going, and they quickly scurried past the building and around the next corner, where a line of trucks were parked. Jake stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw clenched in anger. Smack in front of him, at a crooked angle to the snow-covered sidewalk, was one of the pickups he'd seen at the trading post.


"Jake?"


"This is their truck."


"You sure?" Chavez' voice was a warm whisper in Jake's ear.


Jake took another good look. Despite the darkness, he was certain: the confederate flag flapping from the car's roof in the wind and the White Pride bumper sticker, which stood out sharply in the faint light reflected from the snow, gave it away. It would be too great a coincidence for the owner of that truck not to be connected to what had happened to Anna. "Positive."

o0o

Jake's fingers were stiff from cold and he could no longer feel his hands. A muscle in his left calf threatened to cramp up and he tried to flex his foot to relieve the ache.


"Stay still," Chavez hissed.


Jake froze for a heartbeat, before slowly letting his hands creep further under his jacket, hoping Chavez would allow him at least that. His cold fingers came in contact with the warm skin of his belly and he shivered. Chavez was right: they shouldn't move. But he also needed to keep his hands warm or he'd be unable to even hold a gun when the time came. And right now, his own body heat was all he had available.


They'd been hiding in the back of the pickup for what seemed like an eternity, squashed together in a tight tangle of limbs. After checking out the cab for clues, they'd hurriedly discussed their options in short, terse sentences. From what Karl had told them, McCuskey's farm must be several miles out of town. As they hadn't been able to find any sign in town of where the thugs might've taken Anna, the odds were she was out at the farm.


Chavez had pointed to the back of the truck, where a filthy tarp had been squished into an untidy heap, half-covered with snow already. "Get in. Little luck, they take us right to her."


Jake had taken off his pack and crawled under the tarp. Chavez had followed, making sure the tarp covered them both before curling up next to Jake. Then they'd waited, not moving, while the snow slowly hid the tarp under a blanket of white. At least the covering kept the wind off of them, and Jake could feel the other man's body heat where his shoulder touched Chavez'. But the truck bed under his ass was freezing cold and the chill had slowly seeped through his clothes. If the owner of the truck didn't show up soon, they'd both turn into popsicles.


He tried to gauge how much time had passed. Minutes? Or hours? It was certainly long enough for his imagination to have time to start running wild again and for Jake to begin second-guessing Chavez' suggestion they get into the truck and let the slavers take them to their headquarters. Wouldn't they be better out searching? They hadn't checked every building in town yet. What if they were wrong and came too late? He had visions of Anna being bundled into a second truck and transported off to a horrible fate, out of his reach forever, while he froze his ass off hidden under a tarp that stank of mold.


"This is stupid," he muttered. He started to slide out from under their cover. Hiding in the pickup's bed had been a wild gamble to begin with, and he was acutely aware that what they were gambling with was Anna's life. Hers and the baby's.


"Wait." Chavez curled a hand around Jake's leg to prevent him from crawling any further. Before Jake could jerk free of Chavez' grip and throw the tarp off, a brief burst of sudden noise made him freeze. The noise meant the door to the bar had been opened and shut again. Wasn't the first time since they'd crawled into the truck. But were people going in or out?


Shuffling footsteps came their way, the snow muffling the sound. A man grumbled something, though Jake couldn't make out the words. An instant later, the truck rocked as whoever it was climbed behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him.


Jake let the tarp settle back over them as gently as he could and allowed his muscles to go slack.


The truck set off with a jolt. Lacking anything to grab onto, Jake and Chavez were tossed around like two sacks of potatoes as the car slid and bumped along the slippery road, and then turned and started down a country lane that was even rougher. Taking a chance, Jake shifted until he was facing forward on his stomach, and cautiously lifted the tarp a little so he could peer out. Next to him, he sensed Chavez doing the same.


The dice had been rolled and the choice was out of his hands. All Jake could do was hope and pray their gamble paid off and that they wouldn't arrive too late.

o0o

Chapter 19

For a long time, Jake couldn't make out much beyond snowy fields gleaming whitely in the headlamps as they passed. Some fifteen minutes and five or six miles later, a pinpoint of light materialized on the horizon, barely visible in the driving snow. As the truck rumbled closer, Jake made out a farmhouse, with a barn and a couple of outbuildings outlined as square black shadows against the yellow glow spilling from the farmhouse windows.


His heart thudded against his ribs. Was this McCluskey's farm? Were they going to find Anna here?


As the compound grew nearer, Jake saw several shapes moving around in the yard. Guards, would be his guess.


Chavez' hand on his arm made him turn his head. Chavez pointed up with his chin toward the rear end of the truck. "Gotta jump."


Jake understood: they had to get out of the truck before it got too close or they'd be seen. He quickly slithered out from under the tarp, dragging his backpack with him. Chavez glanced back one last time, presumably to make sure the driver—who'd had more to drink than he should have, judging by the truck's meandering path along the track— was too occupied to notice anything going on behind him. "Go!" Chavez gave Jake a push.


Jake shoved the backpack off the truck and dropped from the edge. Oomph! His hope that a layer of snow would cushion his fall proved vain: he hit the road hard enough to force the air from his lungs and leave him breathless as he rolled, carried by his momentum. Gasping as the snow soaked into his jeans, he came to a stop, taking a precious few seconds to gather his breath and collect his wits.


"C'mon." Chavez dragged him off to the side of the road, scooping up Jake's backpack with his other hand. He propelled Jake into a ditch. "You up to this?" he asked, lowering his head to scan Jake's features. "Maybe you should sit―."


"Like hell," Jake snarled. He yanked the backpack out of Chavez' hands.


"Right." Chavez chuckled briefly, before pointing at the backpack. "You gotta leave that here."


Chavez was right. The backpack would only be a nuisance— but Jake didn't want to abandon it; its contents were too valuable to lose. After a moment's thought, he pushed it deeper into the ditch, covering it with handfuls of loose snow. Rooting around, he dug up a couple sticks to shove into the snow next to it , marking its location with a cross so it'd be easier to find later. As he checked the sticks were secure, he realized he no longer felt as cold; either adrenaline or the exercise had warmed him up.


While Jake was busy burying the pack, Chavez had crawled closer to the farm, aiming for an abandoned tractor at the edge of the yard. Keeping his head down, Jake scurried after him, following the ditch as far as he could and hoping the curtain of swirling snowflakes would hide him from the guards as he crossed out in the open. He let out a breath of relief once he'd joined Chavez and was flattening himself behind the tractor without raising an alarm.


Chavez was peering around one of the tractor's huge, airless tires. Jake wriggled so he could survey the yard from behind the other side of the wheel. He was surprised to find the truck's driver was only just tumbling from the cab.


"Jimbo, what'ch'all doin' out'ere?" the guy slurred, flailing an arm at the two men hovering in front of the barn, and at a third, who was stepping down from the porch and making a beeline for the truck. "Iz too goddam' col'."


"Your father's orders." Jimbo―the thug from the porch―hunched deeper inside his jacket. He had a shotgun slung over his shoulders and a woolen hat drawn down over his ears. The other two were similarly armed and bundled up. "He weren't too happy 'bout that piece of ass we snatched us in Gopher."


"Whyever the 'ell not?" The driver—evidently McCuskey's son—spat in the snow. "Bes' catch inna long time. Oughta bring inna shitload o' dough."


"If we can find someone wants 'er, Billy." Jimbo shrugged. "Boss ain't too convinced there's a market for knocked-up bitches."


Relief washed through Jake so strongly that he grew dizzy. They had to be talking about Anna.


Chavez kicked Jake to get his attention. She's pregnant? he mouthed silently, brows arched. Though he didn't actually add, You didn't think to mention that? the wordless rebuke was evident in the way he held Jake's gaze. Jake offered a slight, one-shouldered shrug in return. Wasn't something you broadcast to strangers, was it? Not even helpful ones.


"And he says he don't believe she was on her own." Jimbo was still talking. "Told us to keep an eye out." He stamped his feet to warm them. "Rather do that from next to a fire, though."


"Ya tell 'im she was by 'erself when we grabbed 'er?" Billy barked a harsh laugh. "'Sides, if they come lookin', we can handle a bunch of goddamn spics, right?"


"Hell, yeah." Jimbo's breath was a plume of white in front of his face.


"An' hey," McCuskey Junior went on with another guffaw, "if nobody don' wan' her, I can think of somethin' else the bitch'd be good for. She ain't gone fat yet." He grabbed his crotch with one hand, leaving little to the imagination. Jake stiffened involuntarily, his fingers curling more tightly around the Beretta's grip.


"Easy, Jake," Chavez warned him softly. Jake forced himself to stay in place, though everything in him screamed to start moving and get Anna away from these assholes as soon as possible. He tried to placate his conscience with the fact that he and Chavez had come to the right place and that they'd rescue her as soon as the coast was clear.


Jimbo let out a laugh of his own. "So long as you don't keep her all to yourself."


"Course not." Junior smirked drunkenly. He flapped a loose hand at the barn. "She in there?"


"Uh-huh."


Jake couldn't stop a small exclamation of relief from escaping. She was here; they weren't too late. He exchanged a glance with Chavez, who grinned grimly, giving Jake a small nod of understanding.


"Hey, wait up!" Jimbo's shout snagged Jake's attention back to the yard. Hurrying to catch up with McCuskey Junior, who was lumbering none too steadily toward the barn, Jimbo grabbed the younger man's sleeve. "You don't mean straight away, do ya?"


"Why not? A'least we get our fun outta her, before my dad decides to get rid o' her." Billy stumbled as he yanked free from Jimbo's hold. He scowled. "Mebbe ya think ya ain' man enough for her no more?" Chuckling, he went on, "Shit, dude, ya shoulda seen your face af'er she kicked ya in the nuts...."


Jimbo's brows drew down in irritation. "Bitch learned better," he growled, smacking one fist into the other palm.


God, Anna.... Jake swallowed, hard. "We gotta do something," he whispered urgently. "If they―." He couldn't continue. He didn't need to; Chavez had heard the exchange too. They couldn't wait any longer.


Chavez looked unhappy about it, though. He dipped his head at the Beretta, its steel cold in Jake's hand. "How many rounds?"


"Twenty-five." Jake'd started out with a full clip of thirty. He'd had to use a couple to chase off a pair of hungry dogs, after throwing rocks hadn't discouraged the animals from trying to steal their backpacks.


"Hm." Jaw set grimly, Chavez let his gaze wander around the yard a last time, running a visual check of the house and the four scumbags they could see. Billy had reached the barn door, and was arguing with the two guards posted there. "Four guys in the yard," Chavez muttered, "and we don't know how many in the house. Or the barn."


"I know, but―." Jake'd be damned if he'd sit by and do nothing while that bastard raped Anna.


"I hear ya." Chavez had pulled out his own gun. "Stay here, cover me. Watch the house."


"Okay." Jake shifted on to his knees, crawling until he had a good view of the house and could aim the Beretta at the front door. Though the porch was filled with shadows, he could make out the outline of the door from the light filtering around the cracks at the edges.


Chavez had raised himself in a crouch, two hands on his gun, ready to duck out from behind the tractor, when they heard the sudden growl of an engine, loud in the still night. The next instant, a beam of light washed over them, bright enough to momentarily blind Jake.


"Dammit!" Chavez dropped back behind the huge wheel, sucking in a mouthful of air, and grumbling to himself about needing to watch the road. Jake rolled over until he was certain he was out of sight, side by side again with Chavez, both of them leaning against the tractor's tire. Once Jake had his thumping heart under control, he cautiously peeked around the tire again.


A dark-colored Hummer was slowly rolling to a halt next to the pickup. The passenger door flew open, and a squat, middle-aged man wearing a padded camouflage jacket and a military style fold-down hat jumped out. "What the hell d'you think you're doin'?" he snarled, stomping over to the barn with large, furious strides, the headlamps of his Hummer making his shadow run ahead of him and loom up against the barn doors. "Goddammit, Billy, what did I say 'bout not messin' with the fuckin' merchandise?"


Jake didn't need to see the way the four men standing near the barn's doors had sprung to attention to figure out that this had to be McCuskey. Though he wasn't tall, the man exuded power and determination.


Jake swallowed a cold clump of fear that had stuck in his throat, glancing at Chavez. The other man was too focused on the goings-on in the yard to pay Jake any attention. He spared a moment to wonder why both of them had missed the sound of the Hummer's engine as it was coming up the track. The noise must have been washed away by the wind, blowing away from the farm, or they'd surely have heard it sooner. And if the slaver had arrived thirty seconds later, he and Chavez would've been caught with their pants down, figuratively speaking, finding themselves easy targets caught between McCuskey, and his guards. The odds of survival were already stacked against them badly enough, but if they'd died, Anna would've―.


He shuddered again, shaking his head to banish the mental images, and tried to concentrate on what he was seeing and hearing—just in time to see McCuskey slap his son in the face, hard. "Get your goddamn drunk ass into the goddamn house."


Judging by McCuskey's anger, Anna was safe from Billy's advances for while longer.


"But Pa―," Junior whined. "Wa'n't gonna do anythin'. Jus' yank 'er chain some."


"Now!"


McCuskey Junior slunk away to the house, proverbial tail between his legs, not looking half as tough as he had five minutes earlier. The other three thugs shot anxious glances at McCuskey. It was clear to Jake the slaver ruled his crew with an iron fist.


"Wasn't my idea to―," Jimbo began.


"Shut the hell up." At the barked order, Jimbo snapped his mouth shut so fast, Jake imagined he could hear his teeth clacking all the way from his hiding place behind the tractor. "Go check around the house."


"Yes, Boss." Jimbo trotted away and out of sight around the corner of the farmhouse. Jake watched him go, anxiously trying to keep track of who went where, while McCuskey addressed the other two guards.


"Pete, Mark, spread out. Watch the road." He turned and flapped a hand at a fourth man who'd walked up behind him, who must have been driving the Hummer and ordered him to, "Follow me."


The two guards named Pete and Mark gave McCuskey a quick salute and hurried toward the entrance to the yard, passing Jake and Chavez so closely that Jake could have reached out a hand and grabbed their boot laces. Luckily for Jake and Chavez, they were so eager to follow McCuskey's orders to the letter that they didn't glance around them as they headed down the track. Pressing himself tightly against the tractor's wheel, Jake prayed the snow had covered their tracks enough they were no longer visible in the darkness.


"Stay here," Chavez hissed at Jake.


"What―?" Jake wanted to ask, but Chavez was already gone, disappearing into the night without a sound. Jake had an impression of a shadow moving as he rounded the barn and then he lost sight of him altogether.


Jake groaned inwardly. Wasn't that great? What was he supposed to do?


He snatched a final look at McCuskey as the gang's leader and his driver went into the barn. In spite of himself, Jake tensed. Should he follow them? This might be his best chance, but would he be able to take out both men before they could raise the alarm? Or should he follow Chavez' order and stay where he was.


For what it was worth, he didn't think Anna was in immediate danger. She was valuable to McCuskey. On the other hand, any minute she was in that scumbag's hands was one minute too long. Torn between the desire to act, and not wanting to put Anna at any further risk by botching the rescue attempt, he wavered indecisively behind the tractor.


A few agonizing minutes and several aborted attempts at starting for the barn later, a body plopped next to Jake on the ground. Jake's heart jumped into his throat as a fresh shot of adrenaline blasted through him. Whirling around to defend himself, he nearly fired his Beretta before he recognized Chavez. He hadn't heard him come back in the rush of the wind around the tractor. "Dammit, man."


"Gotta watch your back, Jake." Chavez shot him an unrepentant grin, before the humor drained from his features. "What's up?"


"McCuskey went in to see her, with another guy. Those other three―." He broke off, squinting at Chavez warily. "Where'd you go?"


Another flash of a grim smile. "Won't have to worry 'bout them anymore."


The way Chavez spoke made Jake decide he didn't want to know.


Not bothering to clarify further, Chavez stuck his head around the tractor wheel before pulling his head back and looking intently at Jake. "Just the two of them?"


"Assuming nobody was inside with her."


"Hm."


"We should―." Jake began.


He broke off as the sound of voices drifted over to them. Chavez scooted further back behind the wheel. Lying flat on his belly again, Jake peered under the tractor to see McCuskey and his underling reappear.


"Should I put a man on her?" the underling asked, shoving the doors shut and fumbling with the padlock.


McCuskey thought it over. "Nah," he decided. "Nobody I trust not to touch her." He smacked his gloved hands together. "Lock up tight and get Jimbo and the others. Y'all can come inside."


The other thug scratched his neck in puzzlement. "But she just told you she ain't alone―?"


McCuskey snorted a laugh and Jake could see his teeth gleam in the light of the Hummer's headlamps. "Ya think the dumb bitch would admit she was alone? 'Sides," he tilted his head to peer up into the storm. "Don't matter if she's tellin' the truth. Ain't nobody comin' out to rescue her in this weather."


A minute later, McCuskey had disappeared into the house, after detouring past the Hummer to switch off the lights. His deputy muttered in annoyance as the yard was plunged into darkness and dug out a flashlight to finish with the padlock. In the light spilling sideways from the dancing beam, Jake saw him turn and beging walk past the tractor, calling out into the dark night, "Pete, Mike? Get your asses―."


His hail ended abruptly in a grunt, and he fell to the ground, revealing Chavez standing behind him. Jake blinked; he'd never even noticed the other man had moved from their cover.


Chavez lugged the body, its head lolling on its neck, around the tractor and out of sight of the house. Jake stared at the dead guy, his mouth dry, until Chavez poked him in the shoulder and offered him the flashlight. "Now, let's get your girl."


As Jake clambered shakily to his feet, the wind got a good grip on him, and he shivered. The snow had soaked into his jeans and the front of his jacket. He ignored the freezing cold and got ready to dart toward the barn when he realized Chavez was standing considering the house thoughtfully. "Hey," Jake asked softly. "What're you thinking?"


"Gotta make sure nobody can follow us." Chavez dipped his head at the Hummer and Billy's pickup. Sabotaging their cars would be a good idea. "Shouldn't be anyone in the barn, so you'll be fine on your own. Get your girl out and get away. Don't wait for me." He jogged off, not waiting for Jake's response.


Jake huffed a wry laugh. Concerned citizen, my ass. Chavez was far too competently sneaky for that to be all he was. Jake wasn't gonna complain, though. Not when Chavez was helping him save Anna.


Focusing on his own task, Jake loped toward the barn, careful not to slip in the snow. As he'd feared, the padlock was heavy and the doors were sturdy. He wasn't going to be able to break in, not without making the kind of racket that would bring McCuskey and his crew running. And the doors were in plain sight of several of the farmhouse's windows, so he didn't want to linger any longer than necessary: trying to pick the lock was out of the question—never mind he didn't have the tools to try it with. No, he had to find another way into the barn.


Glancing back to see where Chavez had gotten to and finding no sign of the man at all, Jake started creeping along the barn wall. Another glance showed him people were moving around inside the house, casting shapes in the lit windows. Otherwise everything remained quiet; the remaining slavers must still be unaware that he and Chavez were sneaking around.


Moving slowly, Jake searched with his fingers for a window or a loose board that he could pry out to make a gap to crawl through. But whatever else you could accuse McCuskey of, not maintaining his barn properly wasn't it.


His frustration growing―he didn't have time for this!―Jake rounded the next corner. He was at the back of the barn now and could no longer be seen from the house. Pricking up his ears for any signs of someone coming back out into the yard, he began investigating the rear wall. There! His heart leaped with hope: a second, smaller door. It also turned out to be locked, but it gave a fraction when he pushed against it, and the wood didn't feel as strong or unyielding as the rest of the barn. He might be able to pry it open.


Cautiously directing the flashlight around in the inky blackness of the night, he caught a glimpse of a chopping block, with an ax set into its surface. He grinned triumphantly. Thank God for whoever had been sloppy enough to leave the ax out. Moving across to the chopping block, he jerked the ax out and carefully tested the blade. Fortunately, the carelessness of the ax's owner didn't extend to the ax head itself: the blade was sharp.


Properly armed, he slunk back to the barn and started hacking at the door. Hoping the howling wind would muffle the soft thwack of the blade biting into the wood, he aimed carefully, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. It only took three blows around the lock before he could shoulder the door open.


Setting down the ax, he slipped through the narrow opening. The dusty air carried a strange, unpleasant smell, very different from the comforting scents of fresh hay and manure Jake associated with farm barns. It was also pitch black, even darker than outside, where the snow had reflected what sparse light there was. He waited for a minute, hoping his eyes would adjust, while he kept his ears open for any sounds of life. He heard none.


Several minutes later, he still couldn't make out his hand even if he waved it in front of his face, so he decided to risk the flashlight. Shielding the beam in his palm, he switched it on. The small glow he allowed to escape through his fingers was enough to confirm the barn was empty of livestock, although the stalls were filled with straw.


He cautiously moved along the barn, aware that McCuskey might've set a guard on Anna after all. It seemed McCuskey's distrust of his men ran deep, though, and the barn appeared completely deserted. Until, as he peered into one of the stalls, he heard a noise.


He stilled, listening intently. There! The sound of rapid, frightened breathing, barely audible over the howl of the storm outside. "Anna?"


There was a second or two of stunned silence, as whoever had made that sound held their breath, before the whispered reply came. "Jake?"


"It's me." Jake angled the flashlight in the direction of the voice and discovered Anna on her knees in one of the stalls on the opposite side. Her hands were cuffed around one of the barn's rough-hewn uprights. Oddly, her backpack was at her feet. He ran over to kneel next to her. "Are you alone?"


"What?" For an instant, she sounded puzzled, and then she nodded. "Yeah, they went away." She twisted around on the dirty straw, angling her body awkwardly toward him. "Jake, I'm sorry, I didn't―. I knew you'd come for me, but I didn't know if you even knew where to look and―." She shuddered, "―and then I heard you, and I hoped―but I was scared it was them again and―." She hiccuped a fresh sob, and Jake squeezed her arm through her coat, wanting badly to gather her to him.


"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm here now." In the gleam of the flashlight, he examined the cuffs on her wrists, cursing softly: they were steel law enforcement issue. Hard to break open.


Anna was clutching something between her fingers. It looked like a thin wire, maybe a paperclip. Jake closed his own hand over hers. Her fingers were cold to the touch. "You were trying to pick the cuffs?"


"Uh-huh." She sounded calmer than before.


"Any luck?"


He couldn't see her, but he could feel her shake her head. "Not so far."


"Okay." Letting go of her hands and pushing back to his feet, he allowed a small beam of light to escape through his fingers again, letting it dance around the barn. "We'll figure it out." Pointing the beam at the far end of the barn, he discovered a tool rack on the wall near the door he'd snuck in through, a pair of bolt cutters dangling from a peg. He smirked in triumph. "Hang on."


He scurried over to the rack and grabbed the cutters and hurried back. The thin chain linking the two cuffs together fell away with a satisfying snap as he closed the bolt cutter's blades around it. Anna let out a small noise of pleasure and rolled her shoulders to relief the ache of the awkward position she'd been forced into.


Putting the bolt cutters down, he helped her up. As they regained their feet, she flung herself into his arms, clinging tightly to him with her face hidden in his shoulder. "Thank you." The words were muffled by his jacket. A little embarrassed, Jake held her for a moment, before reluctantly pushing her away.


"We gotta go." Every minute they stayed in the barn was another minute for McCuskey to change his mind about not needing any guards or another minute in which Junior could grow bold enough to defy his father's orders.


Anna sniffled, wiping a hand across her face, and nodded. Taking her by the elbow, Jake nudged her ahead of him toward the door at the rear of the barn, grabbing her pack with his other hand. Judging by the weight, Anna's kidnappers hadn't searched it yet; he was absently grateful for their incompetence. Getting away and getting home safely would be so much harder if they lost her sleeping bag and the food she was carrying.


They'd just reached the door, where snow was already piling up inside, pushed by the wind, when Jake heard an engine growl outside. "Wait." He snatched at Anna to stop her and she clamped both hands onto his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh.


BOOM!


The explosion came so suddenly and unexpectedly that Anna let out a small shriek of fright. Around them, the barn shook with the force of the shockwave, showering them with dust from the rafters. "Down!" Shoving Anna to the ground, Jake covered her body with his, expecting the barn to collapse around them.


Nothing of the sort happened and once the echo of the detonation faded, and his ears were working again, all Jake could detect was the howl of the wind and the crackle of flames. What the hell...? Chavez, his mind answered instantly. Had to be. He'd no idea what Chavez had done, but if there ever was a time to get out, it was now.


He yanked Anna back to her feet and shoved her through the door ahead of him. She reeled against the sudden onslaught of the wind, and he put an arm around her to steady her. "Are you okay? The baby―?" She nodded. "Can you walk?" Another dip of her head. "Okay, let's get out of here."


He guided her away from the barn in a straight line, not caring which direction they were going, as long as it was away from the farm. When he glanced back after a hundred yards or so, the barn was outlined against the flickering orange glow of a huge fire blazing somewhere beyond it. Jake chuckled grimly: the fire was big enough that Chavez had to have blown up the entire farm house. The thought sobered him: he hoped the guy was okay.


They'd gone another half a mile and come upon a ditch running parallel to a field when Jake stopped them. "Wait here." He dropped Anna's pack, and gestured for her to crawl into the ditch, which was half-full with snow.


She snatched his sleeve. "Where...?"


"I gotta get my backpack." He had no idea why they were still whispering. "I'll be right back."


As he turned around to go for the pack, he saw someone was following them, a dark shape running in a crouch along the snowy track he and Anna had left in the snow. Anna made a small, frightened noise as she also spotted the figure. Hearing it, Jake swore to himself that, no matter what, he wouldn't let them grab her again. He reached for his Beretta, aiming it at the shape as it approached, moving to keep himself and the gun between their pursuer and Anna.


"Don't shoot, it's me." The shadow stopped a dozen yards away and straightened, holding its hands out sideways. "Glad to see you paying attention, though." The last was said with a hint of laughter.


Jake lowered the gun. "Chavez." He twisted his head to give Anna an encouraging smile across his shoulder. "This is Chavez. He helped me rescue you."


"Um, thank you." Anna peered around Jake distrustfully.


"Welcome, Miss." Chavez shot her a toothy grin. "Think you might need this." He shoved something heavy and bulky at Jake. Catching it awkwardly, Jake recognized his backpack.


"Thanks." Jake's mouth quirked in wry amusement as he slipped the pack on. "That was you?" He indicated the farm. The flames were no longer blazing as high into the sky so either the snow was dousing the flames, or the fire had consumed all its fuel and was dying out.


"Yep. Those bastards aren't gonna snatch anyone ever again." Chavez' tone was cold and grim, causing goosebumps to spring up all over Jake's skin.


"They're dead?"


"Ones we saw, anyway. I can't be sure there weren't more, so let's get outta here, alright?" He jerked his head in the direction Jake and Anna had been heading. "We can stop and catch up later."

o0o

They slogged through the snow for hours, until Jake lost all sense of time or distance. Chavez, carrying Anna's backpack, walked in front to cut a path through the loose snow. They'd have had easier going if they'd gone back to the rutted track, but Chavez shook his head when Jake suggested it. One of McCuskey's neighbors might've seen the explosion and come to check it out, he reminded Jake. He didn't need to add that McCuskey's remaining neighbors would all be cut from the same cloth as the dead slaver and they could expect no help from them.


So they struggled on as best as they could through the snowy fields. Anna leaned more heavily on Jake with every step―evidence the ordeal had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit―and Jake grew worried about her and the baby. His fear of what would happen if any of McCuskey's gang caught up with them was greater, though, so he kept encouraging her onward, promising rest and safety soon.


"This way." Chavez' order was curt, none of them with breath to spare for full sentences. He was pointing to the left. Following the outstretched hand, Jake realized with a start that daylight had seeped back into the world and he could actually make out the dilapidated shed Chavez had spotted from several hundred yards away. Around them, everything was covered with a blanket of soft, white snow, leaving the landscape featureless except for their trail. It stretched back behind them, easy to follow for anyone who wanted to now that it had stopped snowing. It couldn't be helped; Anna was at the end of her tether, and Jake didn't think he could walk much further himself.


He flapped a faint wave in Chavez' direction to tell him to go ahead and bent his head toward Anna. "A few more steps," he urged her, "and you can rest." He didn't even know if she heard him.


The reached the shed five minutes later. Chavez appeared in the narrow, slanting door. "There's some snow come in through the roof, but the rest of it's dry. And it'll keep us out of sight."


Jake snorted, tilting his head toward the trampled swath they'd cut through the immaculate whiteness, and Chavez offered a wry chuckle in return


"It'll snow again later," he promised, sounding unconcerned. Jake felt surprisingly reassured. Though he barely knew the man, he trusted him to know what he was doing, after what had happened at the farm. And Chavez was probably right about the snow, too. The sky was a dark slate gray and the wind was still strong. There was definitely more snow in the offing. With luck, their tracks would be filled in soon. Jake hoped nobody would come after them before then.


He helped Anna over the threshold and into the shed. Chavez had been right: a pile of snow had accumulated in a corner, but the rest of the shed, while gloomy, was dry. Sagging bales of old straw stacked against one wall gave off a musty smell. He helped Anna sit on one of the bales, and she slumped forward, curling in on herself.


"She okay?" Chavez briefly blocked the meager light filtering in through the narrow door as he ducked back inside.


"Don't know," Jake admitted, digging through his pack in search of the flashlight. Finding it, he switched it on, angling it so it wouldn't blinding Anna as he knelt in front of her. "Hey." She raised her head slowly, trying to smile at him and failing miserably. Her eyes were too large in a too pale face and a darkening bruise bloomed on her left cheek, standing out starkly against her pallor. Jake hadn't noticed it before, too preoccupied with getting away. "They hit you?" He reached up a hand to touch it, pulling back at the last instant.


Anna sucked in her bottom lip. "Once."


"Bastards." The curse Chavez uttered was quiet, but full of feeling. Jake couldn't agree more. Renewed hatred for the assholes who'd taken Anna surged through him. He automatically took a look back at the door, almost ready to get up and head back out again despite his exhaustion: if Chavez hadn't killed the slavers already, he'd have gone back and finish the job.


"Jake?" As if she knew what he was thinking, Anna did her best to muster another weak smile. "I'm alright." She shifted, resting one hand on her stomach. "We both are."


He scanned her for other injuries, wishing he could take her to a hospital to make sure she was okay. "God, when you were gone, I thought―." His voice cracked. Dropping the flashlight on the bale of straw, he scooped her up, pulling her to him and hiding his face in her neck. She clung to him as tightly as he held her, seeking reassurance, and they remained like that for what felt a long time.


Reluctantly, Jake pulled back at last, taking her hands between his. They were freezing cold, and he started chafing them, trying to warm her up. He observed with startled surprise that Chavez had dragged some of the hay bales into place to create a rudimentary screen between them and the cold air coming in through the sagging door. Jake wished they could light a fire but with all the dry straw, that was much too dangerous; the last thing they needed to do was to burn down their shelter.


Something chinked softly as he rubbed Anna's hands. Pulling up her sleeve, Jake discovered the handcuffs still dangling around her wrists. He'd completely forgotten them. He frowned angrily. "Let's get these off. You still have that thing you were using to pick the lock?"


"I do." Freeing one of her hands from his grip, Anna sat up straighter so she could dig into her jeans' pocket and hand the object over to Jake. He held it in the beam of the flashlight, at first thinking, as he had in the barn, that it was a straightened paperclip. But when he got a good look at it, he saw it was a mangled earring. He quirked a brow in surprise, before bending over the first of the cuffs.


Five minutes later, he was cursing in frustration: the lock stubbornly refused to give. It always looked so easy on TV.


"Let me...?" Chavez knelt next to Jake, palm out to accept the wire. Jake passed it over and scrambled out of the way to give Chavez room. Seconds ticked by. Then there was a click, loud in the silence, and Anna let out a small cry of joy.


"Better, huh?" Chavez grinned up at her, and she gave him a shy smile in return. Jake leaned forward, impatiently waiting for Chavez to finish the job, and watched Chavez starting on the second cuff. That took even less time. Handing her back the earring, Chavez removed the cuff from her wrist. Soon as he was done, Jake scurried forward, jostling Chavez aside. He curled his fingers around Anna's wrists again, running his thumbs over the red angry marks the cuffs had left.


"Who―?" she asked, giving a quick nod in Chavez' direction. Getting the cuffs off and being able to rest had brought her vigor back and her curiosity: before that, she hadn't been interested in who or what Chavez was.


Jake quirked up a corner of his mouth. "Best not to ask, I think." Anna was still toying with what was left of the earring hoop, rolling the silvery wire between her fingers absently, and Jake dipped his head toward it. "Good thing you had these, huh? Why'd you bring 'em, anyway?" He vaguely remembered seeing her wearing them, that day she'd visited him at his apartment in San Diego to ask for his help. He didn't think he'd seen her wear them since. They certainly weren't practical on a cross country hike, and she was smarter than that.


Anna didn't respond immediately. Lifting his gaze, he saw her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Freddy gave them to me," she whispered. "For my last birthday."


"Oh...." Mentally smacking himself, Jake struggled to find something to say and came up empty.


"Ahem." Chavez cleared his throat, sparing Jake further embarrassment. "I'll go scout around. Check there won't be any surprises. You kids behave, okay?" The last words were accompanied by a grin for Jake's benefit. Jake could tell from his expression that, while it was a good idea to secure their perimeter, his offer to go take a look around was also partly an excuse to give them some time alone.


"Sure." Jake's voice was hoarse. "Thanks."


Chavez disappeared. Jake turned back to Anna. The spark was starting to reappear in her eyes, though she still looked ready to keel over.


"I know it's silly to keep them, but―." She spoke so quietly he could hardly make out the words. There were tears in her voice as she went on, "I don't have anything else left to remember him by. And... and I miss him, sometimes."


Jake's chest tightened. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't―I didn't mean to―." He didn't know what he was trying to tell her. Was he apologizing for bringing up bad memories? Partly, yes. There was something else, something much worse, that he should apologize to her for, as well. He drew in a deep breath, and started over. "What happened the other day, what I did―."


"No, please, don't." Anna put a finger to his lips to silence him. "That's okay, I'm not upset about that. In fact...." Spots of color rose in her cheeks. "I sorta liked it," she muttered. "Does that make me a bad person?"


"What?" Jake blinked, shocked. She couldn't believe that, could she? "No, of course not. Just―." Not sure what it was he could say to her―how could he tell her that it was okay, after he'd tried to apologize for that same kiss not a minute earlier? He cleared his throat and drew away from her. "You should get some sleep," he suggested, cutting of any further discussion. Her backpack, with the sleeping bag still rolled up on top of it, lay nearby. Chavez must've left it there for her.


"Okay."


Jake couldn't make out if she sounded relieved or bothered. "We can figure it out later, right?"

o0o

Anna slept through rest of the day, while Jake and Chavez alternated catnaps with bouts of restless roving around their hideout to make sure they remained undiscovered and safe. Around noon, it started to snow heavily again. When it was Jake's turn to crawl out for a scan of the area, he discovered, to his relief, that their half-frozen tracks were rapidly filling in.


Breathing more easily with every passing minute―the longer it took for anyone to find them, the more convinced Jake became they'd made a clean getaway―he snuck back inside, settling on the ground next to Anna, who lay curled up under both their sleeping bags. He glanced down at her in the gloomy light, her barely visible features smoothed out in sleep.


Sensing eyes on him, he raised his head. Chavez was watching him from under his brows.


"What?" Jake asked, trying not to sound challenging. Chavez' sudden scrutiny was making him nervous and self-conscious.


Chavez smirked without speaking, and went back to rubbing a cloth over the gun part he was cleaning. Despite knowing better, knowing he should drop it, Jake couldn't help but repeat, "No, what?"


Chavez dropped his hands into his lap. "Wonderin' why you'd drag a pregnant woman cross-country. One who isn't your wife or girlfriend, but whom you clearly have a thing for."


"I don't have a thing for Anna," Jake objected.


"Sure." Chavez' lips twitched in disbelief.


"I don't." Again, a memory flashed before Jake: the fire, the music, the feel of her lips against his.... He guiltily shoved the recollections away. That had been a mistake he wasn't going to repeat any time soon, no matter what Anna said. "And the rest―." He wanted to tell Chavez it was none of his business, that helping them didn't give him a right to pry, but he was too tired to muster the energy. "The rest is a long story."


Chavez held his gaze for a long time, before he began reassembling his gun with quick, deft fingers. "Okay."


Jake blinked at the response. He'd expected pressing questions, insistent prodding. "That's it? Okay?"


"Yep." Chavez was finished with his weapon and he slipped it back under his jacket. He stashed the cloth he'd been using in another pocket. "One day, when all this," he flicked a hand around, "is over, you can tell me, huh?"


Jake stared at him for a few heartbeats before letting out a wry chuckle. "Yeah, one day."

o0o

At nightfall, they melted snow to make supper over a small fire Chavez had gotten going outside. As they were waiting for the water to boil, Chavez told them it was time for him to leave.


"Now?" Anna asked incredulously. "Don't you want something to eat? And it's dark out, and snowing."


"Best time to disappear." Chavez gave her a slight smile. "But I meant after we'd eaten. And I'd stay with you guys, see you home safe, except―." He shrugged, giving them a wry smirk. "Got places of my own to be, things to do."


Jake snorted a laugh at Chavez' mysterious explanation. A part of him regretted that their paths would split—the road ahead would still be full of danger and Chavez was obviously a good man to have around when things got dicey—but at the same time, he'd never expected Chavez to tag along with them after the rescue. He'd recognized the type: Chavez was a loner.


Abruptly, something else dawned on him, and his amusement faded. After the mad dash away from the farm last night, he'd basically dogged Chavez' heels without caring where they were going. And even if he had, the darkness and the swirling snow would've given him no clue as to which direction they'd been headed. Short version: Jake had no clue where they were.


"Um," he began, embarrassed at having to admit that he was lost. Chavez didn't laugh at him, simply asked if Jake had a map. "Yes, we do," and Jake dug up the map of Texas. It was small scale, and the Oklahoma panhandle was only roughly sketched in at the top edge of the map, but it was good enough for Chavez show Jake where the burned-out farm should be relative to their position.


Jake considered the map. "So, the trading post is here?" He caught Chavez' confirming nod. "Okay." Once he'd reoriented himself, it was easy for him to figure out how to get back on their road north.


"Where you wanna go?" Chavez asked.


Before he was able to stop himself, Jake let slip, "Jericho, Kansas. I grew up there."


If Chavez' eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly at the name, Jake put it down to the dim gloom inside the shed, which made it hard to see the map at all. 'Cause what interest could a man like Chavez possibly have in a small town in western Kansas? But Jake clamped his mouth shut anyway; he hadn't been so careful all this time about not telling strangers where exactly they were going for no good reason. And while he trusted Chavez further than anyone else they'd met on the road, that habit was hard to ignore. Besides, it didn't matter: Chavez was off to do his own thing, anyway.


Not needing to pack, Chavez was ready to go five minutes after they finished eating. Anna hugged him, muttering another thank-you, and Chavez lowered his head and whispered something in her ear. Jake couldn't hear what it was, but Anna's eyes grew round and a slight blush reddened her cheeks. She nodded, biting her lower lip thoughtfully, before her gaze dipped briefly in Jake's direction.


"Jake." Chavez held out his hand.


Jake gripped it. "Thanks. For everything." Those simple words couldn't begin to convey the gratitude he felt toward the other man: for his help, his quiet support―for giving him back Anna.


Chavez rolled his shoulders, mouth quirking up further. "Just doin' my part."


Jake let out a laugh of his own. "Of course."


He followed him out and Chavez turned to Jake a final time. "You'll be okay here till morning. Weather should've improved by then, too." Chavez looked briefly at Anna, huddled in the doorway of the shed, her arms wrapped around herself. "Remember the road you need to go?"


"Got it all in here." Jake tapped the side of his skull. "And," he added with a chuckle, "marked on the map."


"Okay." Chavez hunched deeper in the heavy jacket he was wearing. He traveled light but didn't seem to be lacking anything he might need. "See you later."


Jake laughed again—fat chance they'd run into each other a second time—and Anna gave a small wave as Chavez set off with a final backward glance. Jake watched him for a minute until the darkness and fresh snow coming down swallowed him up. Shivering, he ducked back into the shed. He and Anna would wait for daylight before resuming their trek.


Only when they were snug in their sleeping bags, Anna securely in Jake's arms, did she mutter, "Do you think he'll be okay?"


Jake chuckled. "Chavez? Yeah. He'll be fine." He doubted they'd ever learn for certain, though.

o0o

Whoever Chavez really was, he was one hell of a weather man. They woke to blue skies and a pale sun sparkling off of the painfully white snow. Jake regarded the glittering landscape warily as they got ready to leave. The deep snow would make for hard going, at least until they made it back to the road. And they ran the risk of snow blindness. "Wait up," he told Anna as she lifted her backpack.


"What's going on?" Her voice quavered with fear and he gave himself a mental kick. She was still plenty spooked after having been kidnapped to be afraid at the slightest idea something was wrong.


"Everything's fine. But we need to do something about this glare." Thinking for a moment, he dug through his backpack until he unearthed an old shirt that he'd torn beyond repair on some sharp rocks several weeks ago. He'd slid down a river's crumbling bank to fill up their water bottles and had lost his balance. He'd no idea why he'd kept the shirt but it would come in handy now. It didn't take him long to tear the shirt up into a couple of long strips and tie one around Anna's temples to protect her eyes without completely blindfolding her. She chuckled in embarrassment as she poked at the material. And true, Jake acknowledged with a crooked grin as he tied the other strip around his own face, it did make them look ridiculous. But better than being half-blinded by the sun's reflection. Besides, who was there to laugh at them?


Prepared at last, they finally left the shed behind.

o0o

As Jake had feared, the snow slowed them down compared to their previous pace. While most of it melted away after a few days, Christmas Eve found them still thirty miles south of Jericho.


They huddled beneath their blankets in a dry ditch, under a cold, starry sky. Jake held Anna close, both for warmth and for mutual comfort, while they passed the time by telling each other stories of other Christmasses in low voices, and he idly marveled how perfectly she fit in the crook of his arm.


Staring up, Jake spied a meteor streaking across the sky, and he pointed it out to Anna quickly, before it burned out.


"A shooting star...." She twisted around in his embrace and raised her head. He could just make out her smile by the white glint of her teeth. "Your turn to make a wish."


He chuckled quietly, remembering he'd offered her the same opportunity early on in their long journey. "I wish―." His voice trailed off as he listed all the things he wanted in his mind. There were so many things to wish for. Right now, though, he only wanted for those last thirty miles to go by quickly and unadventurously, so they'd be home soon.


"Don't say it out loud." Anna reached up, planting gloved fingers to his lips before he could give voice to any of his desires. "It won't come true if you do."


He smiled down at her. "Okay."


His mood sobered as he mulled over what might happen once they arrived home. Getting to Jericho had sounded like such a brilliant idea, but as they got closer, he was beginning to second-guess himself more and more. Anna would be safe, yes, and he'd have kept his promise to Freddy. But beyond that.... She was pregnant and alone. And deep down, he knew he wouldn't mind if she―. He shied away from finishing the thought. No, better not go there. That was the road talking, and their mutual dependence. The reality of living in town, among others, with his family, seeing Dad.... That would be another matter entirely.


The silence had lengthened, and Jake was just thinking that Anna might've fallen asleep, when she drew in a deeper breath. "Jake...?"


"Hmm?"


"Thank you. I know this wasn't what you signed up for―."


"Shh, don't―."


"No, please, let me finish." She shifted around, snuggling closer against him, her cheek on his chest. "I loved Freddy. Still do. But... he's gone. And... and―." She broke off mid-sentence, and Jake tightened his grip on her. He wanted to interrupt, tell her it didn't matter. He resisted the urge; she'd only shush him again. After a minute, she continued, her voice trembling. "I know he'd want me to move on with my life, with the baby. And if that was with someone else, he'd be okay with it?"


The last came out as a question, and Jake hesitated. Was she asking his opinion on what Freddy would think? For his blessing? Or was she asking—? What could he possibly say to that? "Um..." He cleared his throat. "Let's get to Jericho first, okay? We'll see how it goes?"


She sniffled another sigh. "Okay." Her voice was muffled, but he could detect something in it: disappointment, relief, uncertainty?


"Hey," he hugged her tighter to him. "No matter what, I'll look out for you, 'kay?"


He felt her move her head against his chest. "Okay."


After that, they remained silent, both busy with their own thoughts, until they fell asleep.

o0o

Welcome to Jericho - Founded 1876―the mere sight of the painted wooden sign made Jake's throat constrict painfully, even as his stomach fluttered with excitement. Though they'd missed making it for Christmas by two days, they were almost home. He swallowed. What would they find? Would everyone be okay? And what about facing his father.... What would Dad say? Would Jake even be welcome?


Yes, he answered himself, shaking off the doubts. Even if Dad was still upset, Mom would welcome him, would welcome Anna. He groped for Anna's hand without even realizing it, twining their fingers together despite the woolen gloves they'd taken from an abandoned house where they'd spent a night. He picked up his pace, knowing that as soon as they crested the low hill, they'd see the town spread out in the shallow valley below.


Reaching the summit, he halted, afraid to go on. But also so he could drink in the sight: the white church steeple, its tip catching the last of the daylight; the silvery thread of the Tacoma river far off in the distance; the park where they always had the summer fairs, its bare trees cloaked in evening gloom. The light was fading quickly and Jake assumed that Jericho, like every other town, lacked electricity. But even as they watched, he saw a handful of lights blinking on, sparkling points of brightness in the encroaching night. He smiled and hefted his pack.


"We'd best hurry." He didn't need to explain why to Anna.


If if were any other town, Jake wouldn't have dared approach after nightfall at all; people were nervous, trigger-happy. They were bound to shoot first and ask questions later when random strangers walked up out of the darkness.


But this time was different. This was Jericho.


This was home.


Author's closing note: after first posting this story I received a number of glowing reviews and comments (for which: thank you!) that nevertheless expressed disappointment with the story not including the family reunion in Jericho.

And I agree with those comments: I also would've very much liked to see such a reunion.

Unfortunately, taking Jake out of Jericho means there is a lot that will be completely different from what we saw in canon. And to do those differences justice would, in my view, require more than a simple reunion scene. It would require a completely new story. Not the "What if Jake had gone with Anna?" tale but the "What if Jake had not been in/near Jericho when the bombs went off?" story.

For example, I believe Johnston would've died from his infection. Without Jake, Eric may never have dared to go to Rogue River for medicine, and even if he had, I don't think he'd have survived and come back. And that's only one or two differences among many.

That said, I do have (vague!) plans to some day write that story, but since it will require some extensive speculation (and rewatching the show...) it won't be any time soon.

Disclaimer: this story is a transformative work based on the Junction Entertainment/Fixed Mark Productions/CBS Paramount Television series Jericho. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without author attribution.