The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(7)

“No, not dead, but he’s not looking too good.”

“Dump him. We need the van.”

“I’m not dumping a sick guy on the side of the road, just so we can steal his car.”

“Great. So we’re gonna lug around a half-dead guy, wait until he dies, and then dump him on the side of the road?”

Hockey counted three different male voices.

“You are such an *!” That last shrill, horrified statement had come from a female.

“Fuck you. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s f*cking Armageddon out here! Survival of the fittest.”

“If we dump him, we’re no better than those monsters trying to kill us!”

“It’s his arm. He’s got blood poisoning. See? But he’s not septic…yet.”

“Who the f*ck cares?”

“He’s a human being! You should care!”

“All of you, shut up! Get in the damn van and find me a pharmacy. In the meantime, someone give me a knife.”

Hockey decided right then and there whoever this man was, he liked him.

“Why?”

“Gotta cut these stitches out.”

“You’re not a f*cking doctor!”

“No, but I was a medic. I know what I’m doing.”

The voices faded out after that. A few times, he thought he could feel the van jerking beneath him.

Sometime later, he felt his body being moved and juggled awkwardly around. He was laid out on something flat and cold and…searing pain was shooting up his arm, and then…everything went black.



The next time Hockey awoke, his head was clear, his fever was gone, and seated around him in a circle on the floor of a pharmacy were five people.

Tyler—a blond-haired, blue-eyed, twenty-six-year-old army medic turned gym teacher—was a friendly, easygoing guy. He was a hard worker and handy to have around in case of medical problems.

Rachael—a curvy, blonde-haired thirty-one-year-old—wasn’t the easiest person to like. She complained incessantly about matters of little concern, and she was useless in most situations. Hockey got the feeling she’d been pampered and spoiled before the world changed, and he often found himself wondering how she’d survived the initial fallout.

Chris—a scrawny seventeen-year-old with long black hair and an excessive amount of facial piercings—was an idiot. He outright didn’t like the kid. Hardheaded and a know-it-all, his manic temper at times reminded Hockey of Xan—except this kid was scrawny, he couldn’t hurt a fly, and he was as dumb as a brick. Xan was neither scrawny nor dumb. Xan was lethally intelligent and remarkably strong, and Hockey desperately hoped his friend had survived that fateful raid and made it home to the clan.

Then there was David, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark-skinned, thirty-six-year-old businessman whose muscles rivaled Hockey’s own. The guy was almost as quiet as he was and kept mostly to himself. He didn’t involve himself with the arguments of the others, and yet something about him struck Hockey as…not quite right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his gut told him not to trust the guy, and his mam? had always said the gut didn’t lie. Considering his mam? had never lied—most times, she had been painfully truthful—he was inclined to believe her. It wasn’t as if he could kill the guy before he did something. But if he ignored his gut, he might not be in time to catch David before he completed his goal.

He knew what his tat? would say—no man should be judged before he acts. Then there was what Xan would say—shoot now, drink later.

No question, Xan would have killed David months ago. But Hockey wasn’t Xan, and he’d never killed a man. Animals, yes. Skins, yes. But never another human being.

But now, holed up on the top floor of a ten-story warehouse on the outskirts of Philadelphia, ready to wait out the winter before they started traveling again…

What would cabin fever do to a man like David?

Lastly, there was Mira—a nineteen-year-old college student, petite with fair, freckled skin and dark brown hair, who was a tomboy and a ridiculously talented shot. She had killed several Skins from a good distance with just one hit. She was also strapped head to toe with knives that never failed to hit their target. He’d asked her once, after she’d killed a Skin with a single knife toss with terrifying accuracy, what sort of training she’d had.

“I’m a military brat,” Mira said, laughing, “and an only child. Therefore, I reaped all the benefits of the son who never was.”

Hockey smiled. It was the first time he’d smiled since he’d been separated from the raiding party.

? ? ?

So when Mira asked if he’d like to double up, Hockey didn’t have to think too long. “Yeah,” he whispered back, holding open his blanket for her. “Let’s double up.”

As she scooted closer to him, he closed the blanket around her. She immediately buried her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. But even as he reveled in the extra heat, guilt welled up inside him.

He missed Becki.

No matter what, he would find his wife.

He would find his clan.

Until then, he was…surviving.





Chapter Five


Winter

Squinting as he tried to see through the blizzard outside, Marko Siwak pulled his truck off the icy highway and onto the first exit ramp.