Aftershock. Jill Sorenson

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      He removed a backpack loaded with carabiners, ropes and pulleys. “It might be our way out of here,” he said, glancing at the narrow crack that snaked along the easternmost wall of the structure. A few stories up, near the top, there was a crevice that appeared wide enough to stick his arm through.

      “You can’t be serious,” she said, following his gaze.

      “We can fit an SOS flag through there. If the roads are blocked, our best chance of being seen is from the air.”

      “Are you an experienced climber?”

      “No, but I’ve done some parachuting.”

      “Well, that’s practically the same thing,” she said with false brightness. “Collapsed freeway, open sky. We’re saved!”

      He smiled at her sarcasm, taking no offense. “I meant that I’m familiar with heights and safety gear. Pararescue is all about rope work. But there’s no guarantee anyone will notice our flag, even if I can get up there.”

      She moistened her lips, glancing from the cracked concrete to the dark corner where their opponents resided. He knew what she was thinking. They’d be vulnerable to an attack while he attempted an ascent.

      He rifled through the contents of the trunk, shelving the climbing plan for later. “First we need to find a CB radio.”

      “What about cell phones?”

      “We can’t count on service coming back. Power might be out indefinitely.”

      Garrett found a duffel bag with the climber’s personal belongings, a change of clothes and identification. “Sam Rutherford,” he read on the driver’s license. Inside the duffel there was a strange object, like a dusky-gold vase.

      Lauren reached out to touch it. “That’s an urn.”

      He noted a woman’s name was engraved on the side before he put it back. “Maybe he was going somewhere to spread the ashes.”

      The climber also had a canvas tent and some camping supplies, along with a desert-style camel pack. Garrett slung the pack over his shoulder and released the drinking tube, filling his mouth with fresh water. It was amazing how thirsty one could get when fluids were scarce. He wanted to drink and drink and drink.

      Instead he offered the tube to Lauren. She stood on tiptoe to reach, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his arm. While he watched, entranced, her lips closed around the tube, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucked.

      Only a horny bastard would continue to stare, and think dirty thoughts, at a time like this. He dragged his gaze away from her pretty mouth and slender throat, but even the sound of her swallowing struck him as erotic.

      Focus on something else, Garrett. He grappled for a new topic and found only a random Dune quote: “‘Your water shall mingle with our water.’”

      She laughed, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Fremen.”

      Shaking his head at himself, he added the climbing gear to the supplies he’d stockpiled yesterday. They had crates, blankets, first-aid kits, empty containers, rope, tools and a number of other items that might prove useful.

      But what they needed most, other than water—and a weapon—was a way to communicate with the outside world.

      “Where should we search next? Use your Bene Gesserit powers.”

      She smiled at the idea. “If I’m Lady Jessica, who are you?”

      “Duke Leto,” he said, naming her lover.

      “He dies.”

      “Oh. Right. That’s okay.” Totally worth it.

      Giving him a weird look, she pointed to the west side of the structure. “I think I saw a semitruck over there. Just the cab.”

      Now that she mentioned it, he remembered walking by the Kenworth. Stress and lack of sleep, or maybe sensory overload, had caused the semi to slip from his mind. “Perfect,” he said. “Truckers always have radios.”

      She had to check on her patients again, so he went to a far corner and unzipped his pants. The women had been using the bathroom in the RV, and flushing infrequently to save water. He preferred this, more primitive method, though neither was ideal.

      When he was finished, he rejoined Lauren in front of the motor home. The temperature inside the collapsed freeway had been comfortable all morning, but now it was heating up. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead shiny with perspiration.

      “I need something else to wear,” she said, taking off her jacket.

      He waited while she found a clean tank top in the pile of supplies. Rather than going inside the RV to change clothes, she ducked behind it, shrugging out of the torn uniform shirt. Garrett caught a glimpse of her naked shoulders, bisected by thin bra straps. He averted his gaze, feeling heat creep up his neck. When she put on the top and turned around, he tried not to notice the soft white cotton molded to her breasts.

      She didn’t match his mental picture of the regal, dark-haired Lady Jessica. With her sun-streaked blond ponytail, ocean-blue eyes and perky figure, she looked more like a bikini model. Or a sexy lifeguard. She was lovely.

      The Kenworth cab was sitting near the south edge of the structure, unoccupied. Perhaps that was why it hadn’t tripped his radar. Over the past twenty-four hours, he’d been focused on bodies, dead or alive.

      “Where do you think the driver went?” Lauren asked.

      Garrett shrugged. There were several empty cars beneath the structure. He assumed that some of the inhabitants had abandoned their vehicles, only to be crushed by debris during the first aftershock. If Garrett had gone the opposite direction, he’d have been buried alive himself. “Maybe he escaped.”

      The Kenworth appeared no worse for the wear. Many of the other vehicles inside the structure had been smashed beyond recognition. He opened the driver’s-side door of the semi and climbed inside. The interior was clean and organized. It had a sleeper cab, with a narrow bed in the back, and a shiny black CB radio under the dash.

      The keys dangled from the ignition.

      Flashing a grin at Lauren, he sat down and fired it up. The engine roared to life. Garrett realized that they’d found a pot of gold. The truck could be used for communication, shelter, even transportation.

      He rose to check the glove compartment, his pulse accelerating with hope. Unfortunately, it didn’t contain any weapons.

      Lauren came in to investigate. Brushing by him, she scanned the sleeping area. Their eyes connected for a moment. She glanced away quickly, clearing her throat. While he turned on the radio, she searched the contents of the cab for any supplies they could use.

      Garrett didn’t find a clean channel. There was nothing but static and interference. He picked up the receiver anyway, handing it to Lauren.

      After a short hesitation, she sat down in the passenger seat and pressed the talk button. “This is Lauren Boyer of San Diego, California. We have an emergency situation and need immediate help.” СКАЧАТЬ