The Price We Pay (Life After War Book 7) Read online

  Angela felt a sudden sob burn the back of her throat. “I miss John.”

  “Me too,” Marc answered. It didn’t help that she’d recently been reading John’s personal notebooks and papers from his tent. A fast death compared to the lingering that one many of their sheep were still suffering was preferable, but it didn’t make the aftermath any less emotional. It had been almost two months, but the pain was fresh.

  Marc glared at the new doctor. “We use the recliner and real sheets.”

  “That is incredibly inconvenient to the physician and unsanitary,” the doctor huffed.

  Marc stared in cold thought. “You know, Doctor, we don’t have a place for anyone who can’t follow our rules and ways. And that includes important people, like healers. “I’ll have someone come for you after mess. Let you get a hot meal first.”

  Marc steered Angela out of the tent, ignoring the doctor’s angry protests.

  “We need him,” Angela stated resignedly. “It’s why I’ve allowed it.”

  “No more,” Marc stated. “They live here under our care. They can follow or go.”

  “Don’t throw him out if you can help it,” Angel gave, allowing Marc to handle this one on his own. “We will need him later.”

  Marc led her to the rear tents that wouldn’t be up much longer and directed her in to Hilda, who was sitting at a small table as if she’d known they were coming. Marc hadn’t sought the information yet, but he’d always known the sources Adrian had used.

  Angela sank down in the padded seat as Marc leaned over and whispered a few words to the German. Angela had assumed Marc wanted her to visit the real doctor, but she’d been tempted to have Hilda midwife her and it was a relief to know they could share this.

  Hilda shrugged in response to Marc’s query. “Don’t need to pass word. When they see she’s here, they’ll follow.”

  Marc was satisfied. The new doctor would lose half his patients and suffer the outcast status for a while. He’d either come around or be left behind, and Marc wasn’t sorry. Here, you were either one of the team or you fended for yourself outside the fence. No one was too important.

  Angela wasn’t sure she agreed, but she suspected this lesson would teach the new doctor to get to know his patients, as any good family physician should. Hurtful or not, it was part of the job to bond with them as people, not paychecks.

  Marc stayed with Angela while Hilda checked her out. While she worked, Hilda told them of the midwifing she’d done. She didn’t say it had been done in another camp, a lifetime ago, but they knew. She’d been forced to hold those females hostage, but she’d cared for them too or those women wouldn’t have made it to birth. They would have had their baby slit from their guts as soon as they began to show. Hilda also reminded them to keep the doctor’s students happy, so that they would stay. Hilda’s age wouldn’t allow for this type of work for much longer than John’s illness had.

  After the exam, Hilda went outside with Marc while Angela dressed. They both knew she could hear them, but it was easier to pretend they were alone than to talk to the witch right now.

  “Well?”

  Hilda’s face was grave. “Things are twisted. She’ll need a caesarian section. If…”

  Marc paled. “If, what?”

  “If she makes it to term.” Hilda lowered her voice, though she knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I would not give you odds on that.”

  “Why not?!” Marc demanded. They could cut the baby out when the time came. What else was there?

  “I told you. Things are twisted, injuries that healed incorrectly. When she begins to stretch, there will be problems.”

  Marc’s mind went straight to Kenn, but Hilda’s next words eased that fury.

  “Many woman are tilted, but in her case, the doctor made a mistake. I have seen it happen.”

  Marc’s face was thunderous. “And didn’t tell her.”

  “I’d guess that she knew anyway.”

  Marc was suddenly terrified. “What can I do?”

  “Pray?” Hilda shrugged at his upset expression. “Miracles do still happen, especially now.”

  Marc didn’t answer. He was busy mentally calling for his demon. Hilda and the doctor might be limited, but he wasn’t.

  “What have you got?” Marc demanded.

  The demon hated to answer. You won’t like it.

  Marc braced himself. “Tell me anyway.”

  3

  Kendle spotted Adrian moving through the sparse trees in the rear of camp. He looked rough, weaving lightly, and she sighed heavily as she left the tray of freshly harvested green beans she was supposed to be snapping and bagging. During the last few days, she’d discovered things about Adrian and Safe Haven. They weren’t observations that she could share with anyone, but observing his stop, his pause in obvious discomfort, she found pity for him anyway. He wasn’t a good man, despite what some of the people here thought, but he wasn’t evil either.

  “He’s a man,” she muttered, moving toward him. “They expected him to be perfect.”

  Adrian heard steps behind him, but he was busy fighting the heaviness in his chest. He’d gone for a fast trot around the fence and the dizziness had forced him to find a private place for recovery.

  Kendle took a seat on a big boulder next to him and stayed silent. She wouldn’t have known what to say even if she’d been a member of this camp all along. The things he’d done, the rumors circling the Eagles, were nothing short of criminal. Most of the men thought Marc had plans to take Adrian out on a run and put a bullet into him.

  “He’ll use his hands.” Adrian barked a laugh. “Bullets are too valuable to waste on a Jody.”

  “He actually prefers the knife,” Kendle stated tonelessly. She was getting used to being around others like herself, but slowly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you scared of him? ‘Cause you should be. He loathes you.”

  Adrian slowly stood up, but didn’t look at her as he answered, “The only thing I fear is already being held over my head.”

  “The camp being told what you’ve done?” Kendle guessed.

  Adrian snorted. “Like I care now.”

  That sentence, that incredible heartbreak, gave the needed clue and she made the connection. “Banishment. Being away from her.”

  Adrian didn’t answer verbally, but Kendle heard him thinking death was preferable.

  “Marc will give you that.”

  “So you’ve said,” Adrian muttered. “Why are you here?”

  Kendle sighed restlessly. “I have no idea why I’m here at all. None.”

  Adrian saw her distant stare, the tears she wouldn’t let anyone know that she shed each night, and felt his own misery ease off a bit. “Are you okay? She does want you to fit in here.”

  “And find a man,” Kendle finished angrily. “Stop it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  Each word was nearly a growl and Adrian felt an honest grin stretch his lips. “You are a bitch, aren’t you?”

  Not insulted, Kendle bobbed her head. “Of course. And you?”

  Adrian’s amusement faded. “I’m a sorry son of a bitch.”

  Kendle snickered this time. “Just be honest. It works for you.”

  “No,” Adrian denied quietly. “It never has.”

  He turned to go and stumbled a bit as the dizziness returned, stronger.

  “Shouldn’t have tried it yet,” Kendle scolded, slipping her stiff arm around his waist as he began to shake. “More idiots now than before the war.”

  Against his protests, she led him to his tent on the outskirts of camp. “Come on. Take a snooze.”

  Adrian stopped arguing and tried to pretend he didn’t need her help. He tossed an arm around her shoulders instead and tugged her closer. “Thanks.”

  Kendle shuddered at the manhandling and dug her fingers into his hip until her nails were able to rake skin even through the shirt. Her other hand tightened on the g
un in her holster.

  “Easy,” Adrian calmed. “I’m not him.”

  Kendle pulled the rage in as best she could and tolerated the closeness. Being touched without a warning was enough to send her into a bloody fury now.

  “I understand a little,” Adrian stated, surprising her. He’d avoided her mental state during the times Angela had scheduled them together. It was ironic that they had today free from each other and yet here they were.

  “About what?” Kendle faked understanding, trying to avoid this conversation.

  “Why you need to kill to get a release.”

  Kendle paled a bit at hearing it aloud, but didn’t deny. “So do I. I’m killing him again and again.”

  “A lot of the women here feel that way,” Adrian pointed out. “It’s why females in the Eagles had to happen. If not, women might have become dangerous.”

  Kendle stopped and shrugged his arm off. “Don’t you understand that we already are? Men, in control just because they are men, is a myth. We’ve allowed it. And at some point, we’re going to make a different choice and slaughter your gender. You’ll go in the first few waves.”

  She left him standing there with a thoughtful expression on his face. She didn’t care why. All she could see was a future where women ruled and men served. It was her dream now, along with blood. She only hoped she lived long enough to witness that shift in power. Males didn’t understand how often women reconsidered their choices to be subservient. Now that the war had done so much damage to the world, it would be an easier repeal. No mistakes that a woman-ruled world could make would ever be as bad as what the men had done to them.

  4

  Cynthia was relieved to discover the main room of the workout tent abandoned. The Eagles were busy loading and training outdoors with the new hit-and-run styles that Angela and Marc had introduced upon his return, trying to get the basics down before everyone left for their missions.

  Cynthia dropped down on the weight bench with a low grunt, hoping the morning mess bell now ringing would also keep people occupied. She needed the peace.

  The weight limit for her was too strict as far as Cynthia was concerned, but she didn’t push it. She wasn’t going to do anything to risk her child’s life. At least, no more than she had to in order to survive. Angela’s chore was ugly enough to cost both their lives if she screwed up or something unexpected went wrong, but that was a risk everyone was taking.

  “Can I join you?”

  Cynthia didn’t growl at the primped rookie Eagle who had just come in, like she wanted to. “I’m not good company.”

  Kip didn’t take the hint, immediately choosing the bench next to hers, instead of one of the other five scattered around the canvas. Cynthia’s Asian features were the center of every fantasy he’d ever had. “No sweat. I’ll talk for both of us.”

  Cynthia gritted her teeth and kept doing the repetitions without a change in expression, but the air in the tent grew chilly. She wanted to be left alone.

  “So, I hear you like to read. Me too. Read a lot before the war.” Kip loaded too much weight for his 5’11”, 190 lb. frame onto the bar, and didn’t secure the disks tightly.

  He dropped heavily onto the bench, making the plastic fart loudly. “Bet we like the same stories.”

  Kip began doing fast lifts that quickly had him breathing like a train and throwing off stale body odor.

  Cynthia ground her teeth harder and tried to concentrate. The temperature in the tent went down again, cooling her off despite the sweating.

  “I was thinking you and me are a lot alike. We should date or something.”

  Kip snatched a quick peek at his love interest and saw her nipples poking against the thin shirt and bra she had on. He lost his grip and the weights tilted, sliding the disks off the bar.

  They slammed to the floor with nerve-jarring clangs.

  “Damn it.” Trying to be cool, Kip spun up and off the bench and slammed into the metal brace for the bar.

  “Ug!”

  He slid to his knees. “Oh…”

  Kip felt around on his skull, whining. “That hurts! Why didn’t you warn me?”

  Cynthia’s breath streamed in front of her as she blew anger through clenched teeth instead of screaming. She lifted the weights faster as he stumbled around collecting the pieces and grumbling. What an asshat.

  “I guess I’ll have to pay you back for that one,” Kip said, sounding serious. Trying to carry too much at once, he lost his hold on the stack of heavy disks and they clanged to the floor again.

  Cynthia stopped; set her bar into place. Icy air blew across the tent and lifted the flap from the inside.

  “In exactly one minute, this tent will be ripped apart. You should leave.”

  Kip opened his mouth to protest and a gust of cold wind slammed into his face, sucking his breath away and replacing it with painful, choked tears.

  Cynthia couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to. The wind slammed down Kip’s throat until he was clutching his neck and gasping. His face filled with panic, face going bluish, and Cynthia closed her lids in ecstasy. She’d never felt anything so amazing.

  It will kill him. I can kill him.

  The thought snapped Cynthia into a place of miserable guilt and Kip fell to the ground as the wind vanished. He lay there gasping and coughing, as Cynthia moved to his side.

  She knelt down, stung by the way he flinched, but she didn’t let that stop her from taking his hand into hers.

  “Do you still want me and my dangerous child?”

  As he realized it was the baby, not her, Kip felt some of his anger fade. The fear however, had him cautiously shaking his head.

  “Good.” Cynthia smiled, patted his cold hand. “I’m sorry for what he did to you. I promise to talk to Angela about it and learn how to control him.”

  Soothed more, Kip rubbed at his throat and kept his mouth shut. Talking would feel like chewing broken glass.

  Cynthia leaned closer, face serene enough to make Kip think she was about to hug him. What she did was put her mouth against his neck and sniff him as if he were a buffet.

  When she drew back, Kip was shaking lightly, expression fearful again.

  “You’ll tell them you gulped your entire mug of coffee while it was still hot,” Cynthia instructed. “They’ll give you pain meds. You’ll spend a few days in your tent stoned and off of work detail.”

  She stared hungrily at his neck, though she actually thought his smells might make her puke.

  “This didn’t happen. Because if it had and you told on my child, I might have to do something about that,” she warned in a low, terrifyingly cold tone.

  “You can see that, right?”

  Kip nodded jerkily and opened his mouth to swear he’d never tell.

  Cynthia placed a finger across his lips and he froze in revulsion and near panic.

  “Shhh. That coffee was hot. You better go visit the doctor.”

  Kip didn’t move until she did and then he was up and out of the tent before she could blink.

  Cynthia sat down on the bench, ignoring the evidence in the tent and the feeling of being gaped at. She was too shocked at what she’d done.

  “That won’t work on everyone.”

  Cynthia found Kevin in the doorway of the large hay room. He’d witnessed it all, then. They hadn’t spoken since Marc had delivered the news.

  Cynthia shrugged as if she wasn’t horrified at her own tactics. “It will on his kind.”

  Kevin stayed where he was as he asked, “Don’t you think it was overkill?”

  “You can say that.” Cynthia’s voice was dazed.

  Kevin frowned. “What is it?”

  Cynthia slid a loving hand over her mostly still flat stomach. “My son.”

  Kevin felt the curls of jealousy and fear, but it also completed Cynthia for him. She’d been a fierce reporter and as a mother, she would be dangerous. It was admirable. And intimidating.

  Cynthia started to ask Kevin if he
’d made a choice yet, but he was gone from the doorway. The sound of him hitting the bags in the large hayroom echoed and Cynthia felt the chill wanting to return.

  She rubbed her stomach. “How about some food?”

  “If you wait a couple minutes, I’ll go along,” Kevin called, swinging out his anger and confusion as best he could.

  Cynthia, surprised, stayed sitting on the bench, listening to his sounds and trying to catch a hint of his smells.

  She wasn’t worried over Angela finding out. Her own kind wouldn’t become deadly when they found out how powerful her baby already was. However, the sheep would become the wolves and tear her apart in their blind terror. She’d known that as soon as she’d felt Jennifer’s child express her anger at a hold that was too tight. Only a handful of people knew, thanks to careful babysitting and swift excuses, but something like this was a much more direct threat. The camp wouldn’t understand that the babies had no other way to communicate yet. How Cynthia knew that was common sense.

  In a few months, when their brains were more developed, advanced relating might be possible, but for now, it was sleepy, angry, hungry, content, and nothing else would pacify them until those needs were satisfied. It was exhausting. She had no idea how she was going to hold it all together, but if it was like this for her, what was it like for their leader, who had to be a rock at all times? Cynthia wouldn’t have traded places with Angela for anything. The stress, on top of this constant demanding and weariness, would be too much.

  5

  “You’re quiet these days.”

  Jennifer tore her gaze from the amazing mountain views around camp and gazed at Kyle with shuttered eyes. She didn’t like pretending things were fine when they weren’t.

  “I’m growing up these days.”

  Kyle didn’t argue. It was becoming harder and harder to think of her as a teenager.

  Jennifer flushed. “I know. You’re doing great.”

  Kyle grinned at the praise—he couldn’t help it. “You think?”

  “Yes,” Jennifer confirmed. “Especially at night.”

  Kyle swallowed at the quick, hot images. Just lying in the same tent, in the same bed, was enough to keep him…