The Wrangler was a modern interpretation of the Willys Wheeler, the olive-green all-terrain vehicle that had been used by the military during the Second World War. But this was very unlike its older brother. Leather seats, touch screen controls, air-conditioning, and automatic gearbox. The fuel was part of the biofuel production Mickey-O coordinated back at his compound. Euan moved directly to the trunk of the jeep to ensure they had enough supplies to get them through any outcome.
The twist in his gut told him they were going to need them.
He was counting ammunition when he heard Nick call his name. His eyes turned in the direction of the shout, and saw her.
Kira stood before a house she had called home almost her entire life. She had suffered the worst of what had happened to mankind safe in, and under, those walls. There were memories of family, of love and happiness within that building. Memories Euan hoped he could create for her again.
But for now, he’d give her what he could. He slapped his pockets until he found what he was looking for and did his best to jog towards her.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders when he reached her. She leaned into his embrace. Warrior, woman. Strong, fragile, perfect. She sniffed, and Euan bent to kiss the top of her head before he opened his palm in front of her face.
‘I took this before they packed the pictures. Thought you might like to keep it safe.’
She hiccupped and took the small photograph. It was a picture of her brother William and herself that had been in pride of place on the bunker’s living room wall. Two blonde children who smiled brightly at a camera. Arm in arm, their grins were bright and their identical blue eyes creased with happiness. They sat on the very same porch Kira stared at now, but there was no smoke that thickened the air, no ash moats that warned them the fire was licking at their heels. Instead, blue sky, green grass, lavender flowers coloured the image.
‘My mother took this photo,’ she whispered as she thumbed the image of her brother. ‘I was six, he was eight, maybe nine. I remember my grandmother gave us ice-blocks that afternoon because it was so hot.’
Euan nuzzled her crown, squeezed her tighter, allowed his heartbeat to synchronise with hers. ‘Time to go, sweetheart.’
She breathed in, coughed. ‘Wait. I have something for you too.’
She turned in his embrace and after digging into a pocket at her breast, she offered a small piece of paper. Worn, the edges frayed, brown. Euan knew what it was instantly. ‘I gave that to you.’
Her eyes were melancholy. ‘And I’m giving it back. It’s yours.’
She pressed the picture into his hand and he opened it with care. A drawing, one completed by his own hand. It was a picture of both Nick and Kira, wrapped in each other’s embrace, sleeping.
He remembered drawing it. Taking the pencil and paper he had found in one of the storage rooms and feathering the lead over the white page. It had been chance. Fate, that had provided the utensils close at hand when he had been beside them, propped on lumpy pillows as he watched them sleep. Nothing had been more striking in that moment. The way Kira’s blonde lashes fanned against her cheeks. Nick’s brow so smooth in sleep. The last time he had seen this picture he had left it on the pillow beside Nick’s head the night he left them to find retribution.
In one swift move, he bent and lifted Kira up into his arms. His feet screamed from the extra weight, and the pain in his shoulder bloomed through his muscles to radiate into his throat, his chest. But he ignored it all. Kira was in his arms, she was safe, whole, his. He swallowed her squeak with a kiss and took the few steps needed to place her in the back of the jeep. Their embrace lingered for only a few moments before he pulled back to brush the wetness on her lips with his thumb. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
She smiled, and even as her eyes said no, her voice said, ‘Yes.’
Nick pressed the Glock in Euan’s hand as he rounded the jeep to the driver’s seat just as the shout to head out was made.
Engines revved. Men whooped and hollered.
They met at the driver’s side door. Nick’s hand was on the handle, Euan’s frown was deep. ‘Nick.’
Nick pressed his lips together, licked them. ‘I’m sorry, big man. But I’m driving.’
Euan’s reply was determined. ‘I can drive.’
Nick’s gaze softened, so did his tone. ‘You’ve only got one eye …’
The blink of that single eye was rapid. Sometimes he was so conscious of his disability, and others …
Trucks were beginning to take off, there was no time for arguments or platitudes. As much as Euan despised it, it was the truth. The loss of his vision could be the deciding factor between success and failure.
Euan bumped his fist against the door once before he moved off to make way for Nick. The muscles between his shoulder blades pinched. He rolled them to do nothing more than ease the tension and strain. He trusted Nicky, he just had to trust himself.
A gust of wind carried the smoke. Nick coughed.
There was no more time. They needed to leave.
The trucks around them formed a convoy of rumbling engines and groaning steel. The vehicles grumbled under the weight of the men and supplies. The green lawn was churned up in their wake, the scent from the lavender flowers was consumed by exhaust and ash. The house where Euan had met Kira, the garage where he had tied a traumatised boy to the wall, the bunker that had sheltered them, allowed their love to blossom and grow was now in their
