Kevin Anderson - Ill Wind

Coming in, they had walked along the rim trail, stopping at every viewpoint, relaxing, taking their time. They had no agenda, no reservations, no jobs to get back to. Heather felt invigorated, a new person.

They heard no screaming children, no yelling parents, no arguing tourists, no sightseeing planes buzzing along the rim. The sky was as deep blue as a Christmas tree ornament. In front of her, the canyon dropped a mile like the gulf between the old ways and the new world that would eventually emerge in the aftermath of the petroplague. Heather Dixon was on the right side of that chasm.

After standing there for a moment, Connor grabbed her from behind, pulling her against him as he wrapped his arms around her waist. When he nuzzled his chin against her shoulder, Heather squirmed from his scratchy beard stubble, then giggled.

He fluttered his fingers against her pants pockets, then crept slowly down her hips and across her abdomen. A sudden, startling shiver traveled like a ricochet up her spine, and she wiggled her buttocks back against the hardness in his groin.

Connor rubbed his hand against her crotch, pushing his fingers against the denim. His touch sent a warm glow through her. He ran his fingernail in a quick tik-tik-tik up the length of her zipper, teasing her.

Heather squirmed away, blinking in the bright sun and looking at the guard rails in front of her. “If you get any hornier, we’ll fall off the edge.”

Connor shrugged, grinning at her with his disarming “good old boy” expression. “It’s a long fall. We’d still have time for a quickie before we hit bottom.”

“I’d rather find a place in the shade.”

“Good idea.”

The day Connor appeared on her doorstep, turmoil had seethed inside her. She knew what the stronger part of her wanted, but she was also afraid of being rejected, afraid of what might happen with this total stranger. Maybe that’s why she had banished him to the back yard.

He had his shirt off when she appeared at the door; water sprayed from the hose, soaking the ground. He held his shirt balled in one hand.

She motioned him in, trying to sound upset. “You’re wasting water. Turn that off and come inside.”

With the electricity out, Connor had no light in the bathroom. He left the door ajar as he shucked his pants. Heather went into the kitchen, but soon she found herself drawn back to the partially open bathroom door.

The gap looked wider, as if Connor had opened it a bit more. She could see only dim shapes, then a flash of bare skin as he slipped into the shower. He turned and seemed to look directly at her before ducking behind the cloth shower curtain.

Heather was sick and tired of being afraid. She had already begun working the buttons on her blouse. She undid her bra. She stepped out of her jeans, listening to him splashing water and gasping in the cold. She would never have done anything like this before—and that was exactly why she insisted on doing it now.

Heather stood naked in the doorway. She knew she had a good figure, and she probably looked best without any clothes on, since she had found no fashion that didn’t make her look cumbersome. Connor watched her through a gap in the shower curtain. He didn’t say anything.

Moving slowly, she left the door open behind her and walked to the shower, peeled the shower curtain back, and stared at him. She smiled. He looked lean and well-muscled—and erect.

She stepped into the tub. Goosebumps crawled over her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to block the cold water. Connor twisted the shower head to deflect the spray against the tiled wall, leaving only a misty splash in the air. “You’ll get used to it in a minute. If you stay in long enough, that is.” He was staring at her. “I think you will.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

Connor shrugged. He still hadn’t moved to touch her. “I thought you might do something like this. I could see it in your eyes.”

Heather looked up at him, trying not to shiver. “Is that why you asked for a shower?”

Connor shook his head. Water droplets fell from his shaggy blond hair. “No, but I can roll with the changes and think on my feet.”

The cornball line came out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “But can you think in bed? ” Heather tried to make her voice sultry, but the cold water dripping off the tip of her nose ruined the effect.

“I won’t be too concerned about thinking when I get you in bed.” Before she could say anything, Connor bent down and took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked hard. She gasped, partly in surprise and partly in pleasure, then moaned as he slid his fingers between her legs.

The shower water sprayed off the wall, splattering down their bodies, but Heather stopped noticing the temperature….

Now, standing on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, Heather turned and looked at the small village that had once lived off the tourist trade. The place was a ghost town. Most of the employees had probably tried to get back to “civilization.” None of them would want to be stranded with no way back to the cities.

Connor stroked her from behind. “Let’s forget about finding a spot in the shade,” he said. “I’m tired of sleeping on the ground. Let’s get a room instead.” He gestured to the imposing, posh Bright Angel Lodge farther up the rim trail. “We can get one of the penthouses!”

Heather had never done that before. Never anything nice. It always seemed too extravagant. “Yeah, they might have a room or two available.” She grinned at him. “All right, we’ll get something special.”

“About time, if you ask me.” Connor’s face became self-righteous. “All my life I’ve been watching everybody else get the things I deserve. I’m sick of it.”

Heather loaded the pistol at her hip. Connor shifted the long rifle on his back. “Let’s go,” he said.

Hand in hand, they walked toward the Bright Angel Lodge.

Air Force security policemen spread up and down the street in a show of force. On horseback, an officer shouted orders like a cavalry commander. Uniformed men and women fanned out, securing the intersection. Two elite MPs used the butts of their rifles to knock in the glass door of an office building, then climbed three stories to position themselves on the roof. They sprawled out, covering the area with their rifles.

Forced into the streets by military teams pounding on doors, civilians gathered in the intersection. Some rubbed their eyes out in the open for the first time in days; some protested as they were herded to the center of the street. The crowd remained quiet except for a few small children crying and three teenagers protesting about being treated like animals. It took only fifteen minutes, but over 500 people filled the intersection.

Down the street, General Bayclock watched the assembly from atop his own horse. Five security policemen surrounded him, guarding against malcontents and assassination attempts. It was the fourth such gathering he had witnessed, and the twentieth conducted since the orders declaring martial law throughout the greater Albuquerque area.

In the center of the crowd a master sergeant stood on several overturned crates stenciled with the words “Hatch Green Chiles.” According to the schedule, down on Central Avenue another enlisted man would be making similar pronouncements.

The sergeant raised his arms for quiet, then recited the familiar speech. “Under martial law, absolutely no breach of security will be tolerated. Without radio or TV, we don’t have the means to broadcast this order to the public, so everyone needs to make darn sure their neighbors get the word. At the moment we are unable to print this information for wide distribution.