He briefly covered her hand, squeezing it, before returning to the wheel to keep it steady on the rough road. He was there sheltering her, providing her warmth and strength, taking care of her and keeping her safe.
Thirty grueling minutes later, he said, “We’re going to need to find some gas. We’re almost out.”
Saint checked his phone. “It’s a risk, but there’s a turnoff up ahead that will take us back to the main road and there will be a gas station on the righthand side about fifteen minutes away and is about twenty minutes from the border. In and out and we can skedaddle to safety.”
“I’m all for skedaddling,” Aella said with a soft smile.
Saint, still looking at his phone, nudged her, aware with his grin that she was teasing him.
“I’m waiting for him to say something like, ‘That dog won’t hunt,’” Chry said.
“He has said he’s from the holler, and it’s just over yonder,” 2-Stroke said. “The twang was thick. Only ever happens when he’s shitfaced.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Saint said as everyone laughed.
She loved the look they exchanged. It was clear how close they were and had become through all this. The brotherhood, indeed. She could only be grateful that he’d had these guys on his side. It assuaged the ache in her heart that he had been alone. Maybe now he could dispense with the walls and give them all a real chance at knowing him.
Chry looked out the windshield and suddenly noticed the heavy smoke coming from the hood of the van. She reached over and grasped 2-Stroke’s arm, but he’d already seen it. The van sputtered, smoothed out, then sputtered and as 2-Stroke pulled over to the side of the road, died.
“Well fuck,” Saint said. “Let me see what we’re looking at here.”
“You know engines?” 2-Stroke asked.
“Do I know engines?” he said with confidence. “I had some souped-up rides to transport my moonshine. I know cars.” He opened the side door and stepped out into the cold. “Pop the hood,” he said as he slid the door closed.
“Wait,” Striker said. “There’s a place over there where we may be able to get some spare parts. It’s getting dark, and I say we wait in there until Saint gets this thing running. Then when we’re done, we can skedaddle to the gas station.
“I like that plan,” Aella said. “That place looks defensible.” She got out and came around the front and she and Saint murmured to each other.
“All right,” 2-Stroke said. “We’ll recon that abandoned farmhouse, then if it’s safe, we can hole up there.”
2-Stroke and Chry exited the van and came around to the front while Striker started grabbing bags.
“What’s the verdict?” 2-Stroke asked.
“Radiator hose,” they said together.
2-Stroke smiled. “Looks like the two of you are fixing the van.” He looked around. “We should probably hide it.”
They pushed the vehicle into the cover of the thick foliage, the branches of the trees reaching up high as the forest stretched out all around them while Chry stood near the bags on the road, then headed her way.
2-Stroke brushed a soft kiss against her temple when he reached her. “Lean on me.”
She grabbed his coat and slid against him. He stared at her for a moment. “We’re tougher than they are,” he murmured.
She made a soft sound and he caught her along the jaw and tipped her head back so he could see her face. His gaze was intent, but there was an odd smile hovering around his mouth, as if her look saddened him. She didn’t answer him, only nodded, guarding her own vulnerability for his sake.
The expression in his eyes softened a little, and the corner of his mouth lifted with a trace of wry humor. “They can go fuck themselves.”
That made her laugh, and with that laughter still on her lips, she kissed him hard and quick.
She walked with him supporting her as they all left the van, the waning light limning them all in a golden light, making them look almost transparent, like half-forgotten memories.
Saint moved slowly to the back of the house. It looked like something out of a horror flick, but he suspected that any ghosts that were here had moved on. The silence of the approaching dusk was eerie, and it set him on edge, his shoulders tight. Aella stuck close to him. 2-Stroke and Striker had gone to check out the barn. His gaze roved over the immediate area, looking for anything that could trip them up. He stepped forward. Turning to Aella, he said, “Stick close, darlin’.” He set her hand on his shoulder. “Walk where I walk.” He carefully checked the back door for any wires or booby traps and found nothing.
But when he heard the telltale click, and felt the pressure plate beneath his boot, he froze.
It was a good thing Aella had quick reflexes and was focused.
“What’s the matter?” she whispered.
“I just stepped on a land mine. Let go of my shoulder and back up. Go get 2-Stroke.”
He felt the pressure of her hand slip from his shoulder. “Zach.”
“Go, Aella. There’s nothing you can do. 2-Stroke is our EOD Tech. Get him.”
He heard her footsteps recede as she followed their route around to the front of the house. He heard her shouting.
Minutes later, he heard footsteps. “Getting yourself into a bind, man?” 2-Stroke said as he walked around to the front of Saint, his eyes steady and confident. “Let’s see what we have. Don’t move.”
He crouched down and took several seconds looking over the mine. “Pressure plate. You’re very lucky it didn’t detonate.” He looked up at someone behind Saint’s shoulder. “I need you to shove your knife in the ground across from the mine.” There was movement behind Saint, then Striker was at his left side. “You got any det cord, bro?”
Striker pulled some from his vest and handed it over. Using the combat knives as anchor points, he tied the cord across the plate, then looked up at Saint. “You ready?”
Saint nodded and jumped off when 2-Stroke said, “Go!”
He landed on the ground next to his buddy.
“You can cross that off your bucket list,” 2-Stroke said with a grin.
Saint grinned back. “Yeah, let me catch my breath.”
“Hey, I saved your babymaker and those handsome good looks.”
Saint hooted a relieved laugh. “All the ladies thank you,” he said.
Striker offered him his hand and Saint rose. “Let’s not have any more drama,” he said.
Saint nodded and the small group dispersed, except for Aella.
“Hand to shoulder,” she asked, her voice husky, shadows in her eyes. He nodded and turned toward the steps to the back door.
Climbing them, he turned the knob and pushed the door open as Aella’s hand tightened on his shoulder. He could feel the weight of her presence behind him. She was as tough as he first thought she was. Tougher. She had gotten under his skin.
It was a wreck inside, cracked, peeling paint, broken chairs, rusted appliances, the floor pitted and uneven. The air was heavy with a musty odor coupled with rot and decay. It saddened him that this had once been a thriving farm, this house once sheltering a hardy and happy family…before war. Unfortunate and probably targeted casualties.