The Survivalist: Madness Rules Part 17

"I'm helping a cowboy to get back on his horse," she said in a l.u.s.t-filled voice.

"Connie-"

She leaned in and kissed him, hard and pa.s.sionate, like they were the last two people left alive.

Mason started to protest, images of Ava coming to his mind. But as Connie continued to kiss him, pressing her warm b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his bare chest, he felt himself falling under her spell. His hands rose along the soft skin of her back, and he pulled her toward him.

Neither of them noticed Bowie whining at the door, staring at them through the steam covered windows, wondering why no one was letting him back in.

"No wonder people are afraid of clowns," Connie said, combing her hair back into a tight ponytail.

She looked like she felt a thousand percent better. The truth was that Mason felt better too. The ordeal with the clowns had brought them closer, and making love like two teenagers in the cab of his pickup hadn't hurt either.

"I suppose clown makeup is no different than a ski mask," he said, steering the truck around a burned-out tractor-trailer. "It gives evil men something to hide behind."

"You've obviously dealt with this kind of thing before."

"Many times."

"And it doesn't bother you? All that violence?"

He thought about it a moment.

"When I see men who think they can take anything they want, I feel driven."

"Driven to kill them?"

"Driven to bring them to justice."

"And that's what you're about, isn't it? Justice?"

"That's some of what I'm about."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I was so afraid back there."

He nodded. "Most people are consumed by one of two thoughts when confronted by violence."

"What thoughts?"

"They either can't believe it's happening at all, or they wonder why it's happening to them."

She looked down at her hands.

"I guess I was thinking a little bit of both."

He reached over and placed his hand on hers.

"Sooner or later, we all find ourselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's better to focus on what it takes to get out alive."

She turned to him. "Are you afraid of anything?"

"Of course. Everyone's afraid of something."

"Other than dying, I mean?"

"I didn't say I was afraid of dying."

"How could anyone not be afraid of dying?"

He shrugged. "I accept that I'm going to die a violent death."

"Why would you say such a thing?"

"I'm a lawman trying to pick up the pieces after an apocalypse. It doesn't take Nostradamus to predict my fate."

She seemed disturbed by his statement.

"Even so, that's an incredibly sad thing to say."

"Why? My end will in no way diminish my accomplishments."

Connie thought about that for a moment.

"If you're not afraid of dying, what else could there be?"

Mason debated on whether or not to tell her. Like much of his life, it was private.

"Come on, open up a little."

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "I do have one fear that I think about quite often. But if I tell you, you may not understand."

She sat forward, her interest clearly piqued.

"Tell me anyway."

"My single greatest fear is failing people when they need me the most."

She furrowed her brow. "That's your greatest fear? Disappointing people?"

"Not disappointing them. Failing them. There's a difference."

"Give me an example."

"All right," he said, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "The first person I ever killed was an Iraqi colonel in the Republican Guard, a real butcher. My unit had been hunting him for nearly a week, but he had a knack for always managing to stay one step ahead of us. When we finally caught up to him, he was hiding in a school. We moved in, careful and deliberate, but he used our caution against us. By the time we cornered him, he had taken three young girls hostage. He knelt behind them with a bayonet stuck to the throat of the oldest, shouting the usual religious babble. The poor girl was so scared that she didn't even seem to notice the blood running down her neck."

Connie cringed. "That's awful."

"My fellow rangers were all lined up, everyone wanting to stop him but no one sure of exactly how to do it. When I looked into his eyes, I knew he was going to cut that girl's throat. Don't ask me why-maybe to show his resolve, maybe as some kind of brutal sacrifice. I figured I had maybe two seconds to act."

"What did you do?"

Mason stared off into s.p.a.ce, reliving the moment.

"I brought my rifle up and fired a single shot."

Connie sat quietly for a moment, waiting for him to finish.

"I never heard the gunshot, but I remember watching him fall."

"Was the girl okay?"

He nodded. "The bullet caught the colonel right under his eye, and he was dead before the bayonet hit the floor. Some of the rangers went around saying that it was the luckiest d.a.m.n shot they'd ever seen."

"And was it?"

"No. I refused to fail that little girl. If I'd had to take that shot a hundred times, I'd have hit him a hundred times."

"But that's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Missing that shot or acting a little too slowly? Seeing that girl, or whoever it is at the time, murdered before your eyes?"

"That's right."

She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"I don't think I've ever met a man like you, Mason Raines."

He smiled but said nothing.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your girlfriend."

Mason looked over at her, surprised.

"You knew Ava?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "The deputy told me about her. He said I should take it easy on you."

He smiled, imagining Vince warning her not to push him too hard. They had all been a little worried about him since Ava was killed.

"And what you did to me an hour ago was taking it easy on me?"

"No," she laughed, "that was me getting everything I wanted and more. I hope you didn't mind. I can be a bit pushy at times, in case you didn't notice."

"I didn't mind."

"How's your shoulder?"

Mason rotated his arm around a little.

"I'll live."

Bowie snuggled up against him as if sensing his injury.

"I said I'd live," he said, stroking the dog's head.

Bowie slid his tongue in and out a few times, laying his head on Mason's lap as content as a dog could be between meals.

"That dog loves you something fierce," she said.

"Bowie's the one constant in my life. Without him, I'd be lost."

She looked at the dog, clearly not fully understanding the connection between man and beast.

Mason motioned to a road sign showing that Ashland was still eighty-seven miles away.

"We're not going to make it before dark."

"It's all right," she said. "I know a place in Prestonsburg, maybe ten miles up the road."

He waited for her to offer more.

"It was the house I grew up in. My mom and dad have both pa.s.sed, but I've been down to it a few times. It sort of makes me feel safe, you know?"

"Sure," he said, thinking of his own family's cabin. "I can't say I know much about Prestonsburg, Kentucky. Was there much to do there when you were growing up?"

"Oh sure, as long as it had to do with farming or country music."

He smiled. "And what made you move up to Ashland?"

"To escape farming and country music, of course," she said, laughing.

"I see, and did you find what you were looking for there?"

"Almost."

"Almost?"

"I met a man."

"That sounds serious."

"It was. We were going to get married. Maybe even have a couple of kids."

"What happened?"

"He was killed by a drunk driver two years ago. One second he was there; the next he wasn't."

"I'm sorry."