Page 19 of Protected

Burgundy has her gun out, and she keeps it aimed at the woman as I kneel beside Deck, washed in relief when he sits up on his own, looking stunned and messier than ever but basically intact.

He brushes me off grumpily when I run my hands down his arms and chest to check for injuries. Then heaves himself up to his feet, waving me off again when I try to inspect his backside. His shirt and jeans are stained with mud, and he must have fallen into some sort of brambles because he’s got twigs and vines caught in the tangle of his hair. He might be bruised—hemustbe bruised after that collision and fall—but he moves easily and purposefully as he strides over with his rifle to aim at the woman.

“Oh, thank you!” She’s got a sob in her voice, butsomething about it feels off to me. No particular reason. Just a bone-deep instinct I’ve always had that gets triggered when people aren’t entirely sincere. “Thank you for saving me!”

Burgundy frowns, still leveling her pistol. “Saving you?”

“They… they had me in that house. Using me… I thought they would kill me for sure. You’re not going to hurt me, are you? You’re women, so I know you understand.”

There are actual tears streaming down her face, and every woman alive today knows exactly what she’s implying happened to her. That weird little vibration of warning still bothers me, but neither Deck nor Burgundy look suspicious. Burgundy has already holstered her gun, and Deck is still holding his but not aiming it at the woman.

“We won’t hurt you unless you try to hurt us,” Burgundy says slowly.

“I won’t. I promise. I’m Trisha,” the woman says. She’s attractive with hair around the same shade of brown as mine but blue eyes and a curvier body. She cries some more as Deck hauls the man’s body and the motorcycle off her. “I’m just so glad to be away from those monsters.”

Maybe she’s telling the truth. If I were in her place and had been held by that gang, I’d probably be weeping and pouring out thanks on my rescuers too. I shouldn’t be so mistrustful. I know as well as anyone that women have a distinct disadvantage in what this world has becomebecause we’re so often physically smaller than men. She probably had little choice but to be with them.

And even if she made some sort of conscious choice, it wouldn’t have been a real one. I wouldn’t blame any woman for using any means at her disposal to stay alive. Sometimes that means using sex. I don’t consider myself fortunate, but at least I haven’t been cornered into having to offer sex to survive.

I’m in the wrong here. I’m letting my general bitterness infect my view of this woman. Burgundy is smiling and introducing all three of us, and Deck has reached down to help the woman to her feet.

The woman has an injured leg. She clings to Deck for support. He finally swings her up into his arms to carry her. She can’t walk. That’s the only reason he’s holding her like that.

So judge me. Maybe I am a bitch at heart—or maybe this life has turned me into one. As I watch her beam up at Deck and wrap her arms around his neck, I conclude I definitely don’t like her again.

7

When we reachthe big house, Logan and the rest of the group have either killed or chased off the entire gang. We are now in control of the property, the building, and its stockpile of food and supplies.

Everyone has spread out, busily searching the rooms or setting up guard posts around it. Logan strides out to meet us when he sees our approach, and Burgundy quickly explains what happened.

Logan tells Trisha she’s welcome to stay with us as long as she’s willing to contribute. She immediately agrees.

For some reason, I was hoping Logan would have the same instincts I have concerning her. He’s a good judge of people. I’ve seen that firsthand over the past month. But he doesn’t appear wary or guarded. Just as matter-of-fact as ever.

Resigning myself to the fact of her presence and tryingto talk myself out of the irrational antipathy, I do allow myself to say, “Maybe someone else can help Trisha. Deck took a really bad fall, and I’m sure he’s bruised if not worse.”

Deck gives me a small glare, which I ignore, and I’m relieved when Logan calls Micah over to carry Trisha into the house.

Burgundy goes with them, so Deck and I are left alone, staring at each other.

“Youarehurt,” I tell him. “Act as macho stoic as you want, but you’re hurt.”

He gestures down at my right leg.

“That’s a pulled muscle. It’s not the same as you trying to tough out a fall like you had.”

He makes a face at me, but then his expression changes. He nods toward where Trisha and the others disappeared into the house.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly, answering his unspoken question. “Something doesn’t feel quite right about her.” At his look of concern, I add quickly, “No, it’s nothing specific. Nothing that we can act on. I don’t know. Just vibes.” I shrug and shake out my hands as if they had gone numb. “It might be nothing. I don’t want to leave an innocent woman stranded merely because I’ve got my quills out. But maybe keep your eyes open.”

He nods soberly and then puts one big hand on the middle of my back to get me to walk inside.

The house is in such good condition and there’s so much food stored there that Logan announces we’re going to stay here for the time being.

It’s happened before, although not in the month I’ve been with his group. The only reason we travel is to find more sources of provisions and supplies. If there’s a place that provides both that and secure shelter, then Logan has us stay until we’ve used up enough to require traveling again.

I’m excited. I haven’t really minded riding in the back of a pickup for most of my days. I’ve gotten used to the motion now, so it doesn’t make me queasy, and there’s always something new or interesting to see or do. But it’s a luxury to stay in a real house that’s in livable condition. It means I’ll be able to relax. Rest. In a way that’s impossible on the road. Sure, there will be duties required. Cooking or housekeeping or guarding. But Logan always puts us on rotation, so there will still be a lot of time left with nothing required of me.

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