Lavender Dreams: Life After Us

Chapter One

IT WAS BAD ENOUGH THE airport in Portland had been bombed. Worse, the crippled United States had been invaded off the coast of Oregon. They had tried to run, attempted to hide, but to no avail. Everyone that helped them wound up, well, dead.

And now they were after one thing: Vicki Morel.

Now Ambrose and Vicki stood on a precipice, quite literally, both staring down at rushing rapids twenty feet below. He had no idea if they were shallow and would surely kill them, or if they would survive the plunge.

However, he knew he had no choice. He had to kiss Vicki to distract her, then push her off the ledge. With two dozen soldiers after them and a barrage of vaporizing weapons, he wasted no time. In mere seconds, he held his breath and jumped after her, the freezing, icy rapids sucking the air out of his lungs. He reached for her but missed. He watched her head bob under the water and grasped for her again, the darkness swallowing them both whole.

Finally, his fingertips scratched the end of her pack, and he pulled her to him. The creek was faster and more dangerous than they had both imagined, and they were carried downstream quickly. The soldier’s yells faded in the distance, replaced by the crash of the tumbling water.

Vicki gasped for breath as Ambrose pulled her head out of the water. She flailed around for a minute in a panic.

Let the water take you, let yourself float! he yelled, trying to calm her.

I can’t, I can’t... her head bobbed down again, and he pulled her back up. I can’t swim!

Oh, for God’s sake. Could things get any worse? He slid his arms around her waist, and her head escaped the rushing water once more. Hang on to my pack!

She grabbed the straps. She yanked them taut against his aching shoulder and he winced, resisting the urge to cry out.

Hang on. Just hang on tight, I’ve got you!

This early in the spring, the water was frigid. Ambrose knew they couldn’t survive these temperatures for long. He scanned the bank, looking for some way to escape, but the cliff side only grew steeper, the further the water swept them south. With his free hand, he tried to steer them towards the right side, hoping he could catch his footing. Thankfully, the creek was deeper than they had realized, and he kicked his legs hard to keep them both afloat, but the icy water was quickly sapping his energy. They floated downstream for what seemed like an eternity.

Vicki wasn’t even moving, but her chattering teeth told him she was still conscious. Ambrose felt himself getting drowsy—his arms were tired, his shoulder screaming in agony, and his legs were numb.

Finally, the cliff side dropped again and evened out, the rocky shoreline flattened into the tree line. The rapids slowed dramatically. Ambrose managed to touch the creek bed with the tips of his toes and used his good arm to pull them up onto the bank and away from the water.

They collapsed to the forest floor. Vicki’s breathing was shallow, and she moaned. Ambrose struggled to get the blood pumping back to his limbs, then turned to Vicki, rubbing her legs and arms and checking she was still alive. The trees were quiet around them he noticed, no sounds of soldiers, trucks, laser-guns—nothing. It was still the middle of the night, and not even the birds and crickets were awake anymore. Sunrise was still a few hours away.

He struggled to pull Vicki further into the forest. They couldn’t sit here on the bank and risk discovery.

She opened her eyes, narrow slits of exhaustion, and tried to push up from the silted, muddy bank. With a groan she fell back, struggling.

Ambrose helped her to her feet, still wobbly on his own. We have to get out of sight. He breathed heavily. And start a fire, before we freeze to death out here, he thought.

They stumbled through the forest. Ambrose couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, so they fell often. The sharp weeds and forest ferns cut his skin. Vicki cried out a couple of times too, though he tried to shush her.

On the horizon, the daylight peeked around the corners of the trees, the black sky yielding to light blue and crimson reds.

The tree line opened into a clearing, and much to Ambrose’s shock, there was a house. Well, part of a house. Covered in green and gray moss, part of one of the walls was crumbled, but the chimney stood proudly intact over the mossy roof. Ivy had taken over the once blue paint, and the red barn door was cracked and busted in.

As they approached, Ambrose spotted a rotted stack of firewood next to the crumbling wall.

He pushed Vicki a few more steps. Just there, he whispered. The night was cool, and their wet clothes slowed them down.

In there? she whispered. He could hear the fright in her voice.

It’s our only chance of survival.

She nodded at him, her eyes drooping shut.

The interior wasn’t much better than the outside. A broken, rusted metal folding chair, leaning heavily to one side, was propped against one wall. A metal spring bed frame sat opposite the chair. A rotted wooden table, collapsed on top of the remains of two chairs, sat in the middle. The floor was covered in layers of pine needles, dirt, and animal droppings.

Vicki leaned against one of the fragile walls while Ambrose motioned her to wait. He ducked out the door and pulled a low branch off the nearby pine tree, shaking the water from his hair and clamping his mouth shut to resist the shiver that ran through him. The azure light of day spread behind the thick tree line.

Inside, Vicki was trying to pull out clothes from the pack Lucy had prepared and was hanging them on the wire bed frame, her movements clumsy and slow. She swore under her breath the third time she dropped a pair of pants.

He had no idea what Lucy had packed, but he could see it was mostly clothes, a few cans of food, and a first aid kit. The old lady had certainly thought ahead, he thought grimly, but she had paid a high price: her life.

Ambrose frowned as he watched Vicki wrap her arms around herself as she shivered. Her teeth still chattered. The dawn was coming fast and so the daylight would warm them. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

He used the branch to sweep at the floor the best he could. Be right back. Once again, he ducked out the broken door.

The firewood he’d spotted on the side of the house was split and rotted; dozens of pill bugs spilled around the remains of a paper wasp nest abandoned years ago. Ambrose scrapped off the bugs with a stick he found nearby and picked up the soft, but surprisingly dry, logs.

Underneath the last log, a poppy sprung to life, suffocated but determined to open its petals to the coming daylight. Only two precious ruby petals clung to the sepal for dear life. Ambrose picked it and carefully laid it on top of his arm load. When he got back in the cabin, Vicki had hung the clothes on the upturned broken furniture, a desperate attempt to dry them. She was sitting on the rusted metal frame bed. She had unrolled the blanket and sleeping bag from his pack.

Still damp, she chattered, hugging herself.

Ambrose dumped the logs before the fireplace and turned to run his hand over the sleeping bag next to her. The plastic bags they were sealed in had kept most of it out, he told her, you did good, Vicki.

There’s... more... Vicki chattered, giving up. All around her was the contents of their pack – food, clothes, first aid kit, even that damn curling iron.

All that from Lucy?

More in your pack, she managed to say.

Ambrose nodded, then began stacking the fire in the small brick fire place, praying the chimney wasn’t clogged by a nest or fallen pine needles. He almost laughed. If they set fire to this cabin, it would certainly dry their clothes fast. The very thought sobered him immediately.

What are you doing?

He turned back to Vicki. "Making sure we don’t freeze to death. Besides, it’s almost daylight, and the smoke won’t give us away as much.

Teeth still chattering away, Vicki rummaged in the first aid kit. Aha! she exclaimed, her voice hoarse. Ambrose heard something skittering across the floor beside him, and he reached for it, turning it over in his hand.

A box of matches.

More importantly, a box of dry matches.

God bless that first aid kit. He motioned to the sealed plastic tub sitting next to Vicki.

There’s also this. She held up a small knife. Not any ordinary kitchen knife, but military issue, enough to do some serious damage.

I don’t know how we could use that. Ambrose fought another shiver. But I’m glad we have it.

She smiled, small and timid, but it disappeared immediately.

Surprised to find he was sad to see it go so quickly, he turned back to the fire, striking a match. It blew out immediately, much to his relief. It meant the chimney wasn’t blocked. He struck another, lighting under the wood, and threw some pine needles in, lighting those as well, and finally a small clump of branches.

Help me move this. He stood and motioned to the bed frame.

She nodded, and they scooted it closer to the fire. Sitting before the fire, she held her arms out and tried to soak up its warmth.

Ambrose turned and surveyed the room for their supplies, trying to gather how much they had. How long they could survive out here.

What’s this?

He looked over his shoulder and saw her twirling the small, wounded poppy between two fingers.

I found it, under the wood, Ambrose replied. He turned and sat next to her. The fire was blazing now, and his teeth stopped chattering.

For me?

It’s a fighter, Ambrose said. Like you. Like us.

He watched as Vicki’s hand wrapped around her middle, her eyes closed as she brought the flower up to her nose and inhaled. Her eyes opened, and she met Ambrose’s stare. Ambrose noted the way she hugged herself but kept his thoughts to himself of what he suspected: that Vicki’s life wasn’t the only one she needed to protect.

The cabin was dark, with only one broken window that filtered most of the sunrise. Somehow, he had the feeling she could see him perfectly. Despite the multiple obstacles he could barely make out in the small room, she had quietly stood next to him without stumbling over any of them. Not to mention the shadowed evidence of their packs laying neatly over the head and foot of the metal frame across the room.

I’d kill for a flashlight, Ambrose mumbled.

I can see fine without it.

Are you going to tell me how in the hell you can see in the dark? The fire crackled and spit to life, spilling heat into the little abandoned room.

Vicki just shrugged, folding her legs under her as she sat down next to him. Good eyes, I guess.

Yeah, I bet. Ambrose frowned at her, hoping she’d explain.

Instead she offered, How’s the shoulder?

Ambrose rotated his arm, surprised to find the pain was down to a dull throb, despite nearly drowning in the river. It’s much better.

Let me look at it.

Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?

No! She scooted backwards, looking genuinely horrified. She cleared her throat. I just mean ... I wanna make sure the water didn’t ...

Ambrose pulled off his wet shirt, glad to be rid of the soaking thing freezing him to the core.

She stared at his finely-toned chest, though marred with the sutured bullet hole in his right shoulder. With a trembling finger, she reached up to touch it. Does it still hurt?

Before he could respond, her hand flattened against it, sending a burst of warm through him.

A bright red blush spread over her face and she yanked her hand away.

Don’t, he breathed, suddenly struggling to restrain himself.

I can’t. She scooted away from him.

God, he wanted to kiss her again. Some part of him knew it was wildly inappropriate, considering they had come close to death a few hours before–not to mention she still wanted to find her fiancé. But he couldn’t help it. Something tickled him about her embarrassment. She was engaged – this wasn’t her first time seeing a shirtless man, surely. This wasn’t even the first time she’d even seen him shirtless, he remembered from the rest stop. A chortle rose in his throat. Vicki’s embarrassment was too funny in an odd way. He fell back against their damp blanket, holding his stomach as he chuckled.

Stop that! she exclaimed, her face even redder now. What is wrong with you?

My grandmother used to say, ‘Danger makes the fool giddy.’ I guess I’m a fool. He pulled her down over his bare chest, to his surprise, she let him. Her shirt was cold and wet against him, and he ignored it. You should try it. It makes the danger seem less...dangerous.

She snickered but tried to hide it. You’re crazy. Danielle shot you. You almost died, and would have, if it hadn’t been for Lucy and Spencer, when we found them in the middle of the woods. How can you laugh about any of this?

He trailed his hand along her side, tickling her. She giggled and finally laughed.

Shh, he cautioned as she writhed above him. You need to be quieter.

St...stop! She pulled his hand away.

You see, I’m not crazy, Ambrose grinned up at her. Feel better?

Vicki playfully slapped him on his good arm. Your grandmother had a good point, I guess. But it’s still weird to giggle like fools when we could very well be dead.

Way to be a buzzkill, Vicki.

She stared at him with a slight smile, and Ambrose realized their faces were scant inches apart.

His inner turmoil ripped at his insides.

Kiss her.

I can’t. She’s engaged. I never should have in the first place, but how else would I have forced her to jump?

She saved your life. Kiss her again and make her feel better.

No! I’m a good man!

As if his arm had a mind of its own, Ambrose reached up and tucked her wet hair behind her ear.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his hand.

You should get out of this dress before you freeze to death, he muttered.

Her eyes flew open at that, but she didn’t argue. As if she realized what was happening, she pulled away. With disappointing quickness, she pulled the sundress over her head, revealing a plain tan-colored bra that sent Ambrose’s senses tingling anyway. Just below her bra line, however, he noticed her flat stomach was slightly bulged. Was it? Or was he imagining it? He looked away sharply, disappointed with himself for ogling her briefly, and turned back to see she covered herself with a slightly damp sweater from the fireplace. He blinked, realizing he was exhausted. He must have imagined that bulge. She was wearing a baggy sweater hiding her curves, and her wet, stringy hair falling in her face, she was sexy as hell.

A few