more, he’d felt that, too. Watching. Waiting for who knew what.
Restless, edgy, mildly pissed off for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint, he got his bike. He’d ride out a few miles, take a little solo time, let the wind and speed blow away the mood.
He went out through a checkpoint, then opened the bike up on the long, flat road. From the first, he appreciated the sights, scents, sounds of the West. The echoing canyons, the fast rivers with their wild rapids tumbling, the sheer brilliance of the stars. But tonight, he yearned for home, the fields and forests, the roll of hills, his family, his friends. All the familiar.
When he’d worked with Mallick, he’d been able to take an hour or two now and again to flash home. But here, fully in charge, he couldn’t afford the luxury.
The agrodome had just begun—ha-ha—to bear fruit. Coyotes and wildcats meant constant vigilance with the livestock. Scavenging alone could equal a full-time job.
He shouldn’t, he knew, even be out like this, but, God, he needed it.
He needed to kick up the hand-to-hand training. D.C. meant street fighting, of the ugly and bloody. He wondered if he could devise a way to conjure the illusion of streets, buildings, rubble. It would help if he had a clear idea what D.C. looked like. It sure as hell wouldn’t look like the old pictures and DVDs.
Brooding, he nearly missed it, that shimmer of power on the air. Instinct kicked in. He slowed the bike, reached out.
Watching, he thought. Waiting.
Well, screw that.
He stopped the bike, got off. Put a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“If you need help, I can offer it. If you want a fight, I can oblige. Either way, grow some balls and come out.”
“I’m not interested in growing balls.” She rode a painted horse out of the dark as if she’d parted a curtain. “I’ve no problem slicing them off a man, if necessary.”
“I think I’ll keep mine.”
Late twenties, he thought, and striking enough he wanted to sketch those sharp cheekbones, the deep eyes, the long black braid that trailed to her waist. She carried a bow and quiver and sat the horse bareback.
“I might let you keep them, and just take the bike.”
“Nope.” He felt the movement behind him, tossed power back, heard the whoosh of stolen breath.
“Good reflexes,” she said. “But small brains to ride out so far alone.”
Another dozen riders walked through the curtain to flank her. In a finger snap he had his sword in his hand, laid down a line of fire between them.
Most of the horses shied, but not hers. Both she and her mount stayed steady.
“Is it worth your life?” she asked.
“Is it worth yours?” He started to scan the faces, stopped on one, a girl of about fifteen. “You were with the PWs. They made you a slave. Kerry—no. Sherry. They hurt you. They hurt her.” He looked back at the leader. “They branded her and … worse. Is she one of yours?”
“She rides with us.”
“Then you know we didn’t hurt her, and dealt with those who did. Our medic treated her, but she took a horse, slipped out of camp before morning. We looked for you,” he said to the girl, “to help, to give you supplies if you wanted to go, but we couldn’t find you.”
“Why would she stay? You may have done the same as the others.”
Heated now, Duncan’s gaze whipped back to the leader. “You know better. What kind of bullshit is this? Is this how you treat people who rescue others from PWs?”
She studied him, straight as one of the arrows in her quiver on the horse. “You didn’t kill them all. Why?”
“The ones we didn’t surrendered or were no longer a threat. Now they’re in prison.”
“Where?”
“In the East. They won’t hurt you again,” he said to the girl.
“Why do you care? She’s not one of you.”
“You don’t look like an idiot,” he shot back, “but that’s a stupid, ignorant question.”
Her eyebrows arched over those intense, dark eyes. “Your ancestors slaughtered mine, stole their land, brought them disease and starvation.”
“Maybe. My mother’s people came from Scotland. The English slaughtered our people, stole their land, burned their homes. But if some English dude’s ready to fight with me against the PWs, the DUs, and the rest of the fuckers, I don’t give a rat’s ass about what his ancestors did to mine. This is now.”
He looked back at the girl. “I’m glad you’re okay, and from the looks of it,