1 Chapter 1

1: Rescue

“You okay, honey?”

The words were the first he ever spoke to me, when he pulled me out of the rubble. I was only semi-conscious, but the gentle, concerned tone, in a voice that was nevertheless deep and virile, reached into me and made my heart melt.

He was pulling me free with his hands around my ankles, and I was on my stomach, covered with concrete bits and powder. Then, once freed, gentle but strong hands reached down and turned me over. I heard the intake of breath. This was followed by the words, “Oh!You’re a dude.”

These were spoken with definite disappointment. On the one hand, that was okay. I mean, I ama dude, as he put it—more or less, though I dislike being constrained by such a label. On the other hand I felt the loss of that momentary sense of being—well, cared for, cared about. I had never felt that before from such a virile man, who pretty obviously must be straight. It was nice.

The new tone, disappointment, while a let-down for me, wasn’t hostile, which was good. But still, the initial question, the attitude conveyed by it, still haunted me. I found myself wanting it again.

As I came to full consciousness, however, I thought of the word, “honey.” That, certainly, wasn’t an appropriate word to address a woman, unless that woman was the guy’s girlfriend or something, and possibly not even then. This realization made me start to dislike this man. The term “sexist oaf,” floated through my mind. Then it occurred to me that he’d thought I was a kid, a girl. That was better. I am, after all, rather slight of build. I began to forgive the guy in my mind and thought again—of that tone

I shivered at the remembrance and made to sit up. The guy had removed his hands, and I felt a sense of loss over that. They had felt so reassuring. Even as I struggled onto my elbows, I thought about how I might induce another action like that on his part. I groaned.

Nothing. The light was limited, but I looked up at the ceiling first thing when I opened my eyes.

“It’s safe.”

I nodded and groaned when this hurt my head.

“Uh, you need help?”

I tightened my lips. There was hesitation in this offer, reluctance. That I was used to. I looked at the guy kneeling over me—and did a double take.

He was lit from the side—a lantern that sat on a piece of concrete to one side was the only illumination—and this threw his face into high contrast. But I could see enough to be impressed.

He was good enough looking, strong jaw-line, broad, kindly face, and blond hair in a short cut. I also saw that he appeared to be wearing some kind of blue-shirted uniform.

I groaned again and nodded.

The hands came around again, still strong and capable, still reassuring and kind, but more reserved. I used his strength and my own will to sit up fully. Then I let out my breath.

“Wow!” I murmured. I had, in the process of this movement, gotten a look at the guy’s figure generally. He was built—so much so that my heart actually fluttered.

“What?” he said.

I looked at him. His eyes, I decided might be blue—probably were blue.

“Oh,” I said. “Sorry!” I raised a stiff arm slowly up and felt my head. “Painful.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Lucky you weren’t killed, though. You were just at the edge of the fall. I saw you in the distance when it happened. Lucky for you that the two big pieces fell over you and not onto you.”

I turned around stiffly and looked. I saw what he meant. Then I turned back and looked at him.

“Really?”

“What?”

I shook my head and winced at the pain. “Would have been better if they had fallen on me.”

The man’s face tightened, though he did nod. But then he shook his head.

“That’s no way to talk. You’re alive, right?”

I stared at him and shrugged.

“You want some water?”

“You have water?”

He nodded and proffered an actual canteen. He opened the top and held it up for me to drink. More importantly, he also held the back of my head. It felt nice.

After I’d drunk, I said, “Well, you’reprepared.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. As it happens. A friend of mine and I, we’re members of a survival group that meets near here. We had the stuff in our lockers for the meeting. It was going to be tomorrow.”

His voice trailed off, and I felt a sense of sadness.

“Your friend?” I asked.