Edge of Collapse Series (Book 1): Edge of Collapse

by Stone, Kyla

They’d lost the pursuing ATVs quickly enough. They couldn’t go nearly as fast as the Ski-Doo, rickety as it was.

  They skirted town after town and kept going. On every side lay forests interspersed with bleak and wintry farmland. The endless white pockmarked by an occasional dark smudge of a dilapidated barn or shed or house.

  It was sometime in the early morning on New Year’s Eve. Nothing moved. No cars or trucks on the road. No planes arcing across the black sky.

  They might have been the only living creatures in the universe.

  Finally, Liam slowed to a stop and switched off the engine. He pulled off his helmet. “We just exited Manistee National Forest. We’re outside of Newaygo.”

  They were parked on the shoulder of an empty road lined with pine forests. To their right sat a three-story ramshackle farmhouse on a small hill set far back from the road. No other houses or buildings were in sight.

  “Stay here,” Liam said.

  Hannah was too exhausted to argue. She just wanted to get off the stupid snowmobile and find somewhere safe to rest—and to pee. And she was desperately worried about Ghost.

  Liam retrieved his pistol, slid off the snowmobile, and slipped on his snowshoes. He moved cautiously toward the tree line. Within a few moments, his stealthy form had disappeared into the dark.

  He didn’t use his flashlight or approach the property head-on like most people. He was sneaky. An invisible threat.

  She shuddered, once again grateful he was on her side.

  Hannah managed to get her helmet off and let it drop into the snow. She clambered awkwardly off the Ski-Doo and sagged against it, hugging her arms to her chest and shivering.

  Her legs were blocks of ice. She could barely stand, let alone walk back to check on her dog.

  The wind had stilled. The night was pitch black and utterly still. Miles and miles of endless snow.

  Everything sounded different in the freezing cold. Sharp-edged and brittle. The hiss of the wind skimmed over the ice and hard-packed snow and through the bare stiff branches of oak and maple and birch. Pine boughs rustled.

  Her mind was sluggish. It felt like her brain cells were freezing. Her mind drifted. She didn’t even hear Liam returning until he was at her side.

  He held the pistol low at his thigh. “The house is empty. And the barn. No one’s been there for at least a week.”

  “G-Ghost,” she said through chattering teeth. “What about Ghost?”

  Liam knelt next to the sled and checked on Ghost. He was conscious but sluggish and barely alert. His whole body was shivering violently. Snow and ice crusted his coat.

  The poor dog had been exposed to the elements the entire trip. If only they’d had a blanket or something to shield him from the wind and cold. Hopefully, his thick fur was enough to protect him.

  Hannah’s heart constricted. If anything happened to him, she didn’t think she could bear it. Not after everything she’d already been through. Not after everything she’d endured.

  One more loss might break her, shatter her into a thousand pieces.

  It didn’t matter that she’d only known this dog for a week. They were the same. He was hers, and she was his. Her past and future entwined with his in ways she couldn’t articulate.

  She needed him. She needed him to be okay.

  “Is it safe to stop?” She hoped desperately that Liam would say yes. Ghost needed rest, and so did she. “Can we stay here?”

  Liam stood, scanned their surroundings again before answering. “He’s still out there.”

  “H-he won’t give up. He’ll come after us. But I don’t think he’ll come tonight.” She angled her chin at the dog. “Ghost did a job on his arm.”

  Liam gave a tight nod. “He did good.”

  “He’s hurt. He needs a veterinarian.”

  “Don’t know where we’ll find one.”

  “We have to look. Not every town will be like Branch. Some will still be holding up okay.”

  “It’s a risk to stay here.”

  She licked her chapped lips. Liam wasn’t wrong. But Ghost was wounded. He needed medical attention. Maybe he’d be okay and heal on his own, or maybe his brain was swelling dangerously or he’d sustained some other traumatic injury they couldn’t see.

  “Ghost saved me. We can’t just leave him like this.” She raised her chin. “I won’t.”

  “Fine.” Liam shook his head in resignation. “At dawn, we’ll look for a doctor. We’ll stay here for a few hours to rest and get warm. That’s it. Not a minute longer.”

  “In the farmhouse?”

  Liam pointed to a large red barn behind the farmhouse. “It’s safer to stay there. Less of a chance of someone breaking in looking for food. The hay will insulate us from the cold.”

  She nodded. He was right. She didn’t want to be anywhere near other people.

  They were both skittish and edgy, their nerves raw.

  Liam pulled a penlight from his pack and handed it to her. “Keep it aimed low.”

  He dropped Hannah off at the barn, used a lock pick to open the old padlock barring the doors, and shoved one open.

  Hannah trudged into the barn, kicking snow off her boots, and breathed in the musty scents of hay and manure and grease.

  A couple of old tractors hulked in the shadows on the far end. Piles of hay. Four stalls and a tack room. Large rusty tools she didn’t know the names of hung along one wall.

  Liam parked the snowmobile behind the barn, out of sight of the road and the farmhouse. Hannah took the opportunity to relieve herself. It was as awful as it always was—the bone-rattling cold, her teeth chattering, fingers so stiff she could barely get her pants back up.

  After she’d finished, Liam reappeared, cradling Ghost in his arms like a child. She aimed the light at the ground and held the barn door open as Liam carried Ghost inside.

  He gently laid the dog on a pile of hay next to an empty horse stall. He searched the tack room and returned with several moth-eaten saddle blankets.

  He knelt beside Ghost and rubbed the snow from his coat and wiped down his legs and tail. He draped the blankets across his torso. Unslinging his backpack from his shoulders, he tugged out a first aid kit and daubed at the bloody fur of Ghost’s head and throat with blood-clotting gauze.

  After so callously dispatching multiple human beings, Liam treated the animal with more tenderness than Hannah would’ve expected.

  She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But right now, she was too tired to object to anything, certainly not rest and warmth.

  When Liam was finished with Ghost, he turned to Hannah. “Where are you hurt?”

  Gingerly, she grazed her ribs with her fingers. They were sore and tender, but hopefully not broken. Her scalp stung. She pushed up her hat and felt dried blood crusted at her hairline.

  The memories rushed in—his face looming over her, that red slash of a mouth, the awful scent of cloves clogging her throat, the terror.

  She closed her eyes, forced them open. Pike wasn’t here. She was safe. “He kicked me. Punched me. Ghost got there before he…before anything happened.”

  Liam’s mouth tightened. His eyes went hard. “I’d say plenty happened.”

  Her hand strayed unbidden to her stomach. She felt movement, like a fish flopping, an alien creature sliding around inside her.

  She didn’t care. Told herself she didn’t want it. Loathed the idea of his spawn growing inside her. And yet…The barest glimmer of relief flickered through her.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Everything’s okay.”

  “You’re not fine, Hannah,” he said gruffly. “Let me help you.”

  She stiffened but allowed him to clean the cut on her forehead, apply a topical antibiotic and butterfly bandage, and give her Tylenol for her sore ribs. His fingers were calloused but gentle.

  Her stomach knotted with a tangle of competing emotions. To be touched in kindness rather than cruelty was both incredibly unnerving and a comfort at the same time.


  Her eyes were suddenly wet. She could have wept right then and there.

  Liam was certainly dangerous, but he wasn’t a danger to her. He’d proved that again and again tonight. He was on her side.

  It was her own fear she needed to conquer.

  He drank from his water bottle and handed the spare one to her. It was still full.

  She drank deeply and wiped her mouth. “Thank you, Liam.”

  He only grunted.

  She handed Liam the penlight and collapsed into the pile of hay next to Ghost. His chest rose and fell—barely. He smelled like wet fur and dog breath and comfort. She snuggled against him, his furry back against her belly, his fur tickling her cheek. He whimpered softly.

  “What time is it?” she asked Liam.

  “Two twenty-five a.m.”

  “It’s New Year’s Eve,” she said, hardly able to believe it. “Today.”

  Liam only grunted. He brought her two extra saddle blankets. “It’s just a day like any other. Cover yourself with hay and drape the blankets over you.”

  Her bones ached with exhaustion. Her lower back hurt, along with her ribs in several places. She winced as she drew the blankets over her legs.

  Instead of joining them in the hay, Liam stationed himself on an overturned five-gallon bucket near the barn door, the AR-15 rifle he’d stolen in his lap. Standing guard. Still watching over them, even though he had to be as weary as she was.

  He set the two pistols he’d confiscated from the thugs beside him on the barn floor, pulled out an emergency thermal blanket from his go-bag, and draped it across his shoulders.

  “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

  “Not tired.”

  She didn’t believe that. Looking at him again, she realized how weary he truly was. How he moved gingerly, pain shadowing his eyes. He was hurting. Physically, but also, more than that.

  He’d saved her tonight, her and Ghost both. And it had cost him to do so.

  62

  Hannah

  Day Eight

  Brittle cold fingered through the cracks in the barn walls. Hannah burrowed deeper into the hay. The heat from Ghost’s body radiated into her own. If she wasn’t warm, at least she wasn’t freezing.

  Liam took off his hat, raked his hand through his chestnut hair, and pulled it low over his ears. He glanced at her, his expression tense. Dark shadows ringed his eyes. His jaw worked like he had something to say but was restraining himself.

  “What is it?” she asked, even though she already knew what was coming.

  Liam watched her steadily, his gaze unrelenting. “What does he want?”

  Her cheeks heated. She wanted to look away. To run and hide. But she couldn’t. It was time to have this conversation. Liam Coleman more than anyone deserved an explanation. The truth.

  “He wants me. He wants this.” She gestured at her belly. “He’s going to cut it out, and then he’s going to kill me. He can’t let me live. It’s like—like as long as I’m alive, he loses. And he can’t bear losing control of anything.”

  “Then we make sure he doesn’t find you.”

  “He—” she swallowed. “He knows where I’m going.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, not which small towns we’ll stop at on the way or our direct route. But he knows the destination. He knows where home is.”

  She closed her eyes, sucked in several deep breaths, opened them.

  The darkness pushed in, but she pushed back. Counted the wooden planks of the barn wall, the colored threads of the saddle blanket, the strands of straw.

  She willed herself to stay present, to remain centered. It was easier this time. “Because I know him. I’d…forgotten. But I remember now. Who he is.”

  Hannah saw the scene unraveling in her mind’s eye as vivid and visceral as if it were happening here and now. The chilly winter night. The busted tire. The shoulder of the empty, isolated road.

  Snow crunching beneath her boots, icy crystalized clouds billowing from her mouth with every breath as she cursed herself for not having a spare tire. She’d gotten a flat a month ago and never got around to replacing the spare.

  Yet another fight between her and Noah. She wanted to replace the spare; he said they couldn’t afford it. Not with her looming tuition and the enormous daycare bills for three-year-old Milo.

  Because she wanted to go back to school and finish her degree, and Noah wanted her to stay home. Not because he was sexist, but he wanted Milo to have what he hadn’t—two present, engaged parents.

  Hannah had had Milo at eighteen. A surprise, not a mistake. She loved him with her whole heart. She’d never call him a mistake.

  Still, her pregnancy had changed the trajectory of her life in unexpected ways.

  Twenty-two-year-old Noah Sheridan had proposed after only five months of long-distance dating. I want to be a father, he’d begged her. I want to make a go at this.

  Hannah had always been one for adventure, jumping feet-first into the unknown. She’d dropped out of her Music Theory and Music Education dual degree program at the University of Michigan, packed up her meager campus-housing belongings, and moved in with Noah in his hometown of Fall Creek.

  And just like that, she was a cop’s wife, about to be a mother, stranded in a tiny backwoods township in southwest Michigan—cut off entirely from the life and dreams she’d known.

  It hadn’t been easy for either of them. They were young, selfish, and immature.

  Noah was used to a bachelor’s life. He was loyal to the friends he’d known all his life. Too loyal. Hannah was the outsider. The one who didn’t belong.

  After three tense and miserable years, she was done trying. Done with feeling so lonely and isolated, so angry and resentful.

  She sat in the Camry’s driver’s seat, ruminating on her failing marriage, getting angrier and angrier at him, at herself, at this ridiculous situation, her gloved fingers restlessly drumming the steering wheel.

  The heat and the radio were both cranked to max. She angry-sang along to “All I Want for Christmas is You.” Guilt stabbed her. She would be gone on Christmas, wouldn’t be home for presents and pancakes smothered in peanut butter and whipped cream, Milo’s favorite.

  She’d make it up to Milo, she swore to herself. Earlier that day, they’d tried to be a family for him, spending the afternoon at a ski resort, showing him the ropes with the tiny new skis her parents had shipped as an early Christmas gift.

  They had always made it work when he was present. They both loved him. It just wasn’t enough.

  She picked up her phone again and stared at it, simultaneously guilty, furious, and heart-broken. The stupid battery was dead. The charger she usually kept in the Camry was gone. Noah had used it for something and forgot to put it back.

  She hurled the phone on the passenger seat and wiped fiercely at her face.

  Shivering, she peered through the frosted windshield at the scarecrow trees on either side of the road. A few ragged clouds drifted across the moon. Darkness loomed just beyond her headlights, suddenly seeming sinister and alive.

  Unease sprouted in her gut. She’d planned to drive ninety miles north to her best friend’s house in Grand Rapids. Not her wisest decision at eleven o’clock at night on Christmas Eve, but it was too late to change her mind now.

  She hugged herself, rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled from more than the cold. No one knew she was out here.

  She glanced at the gas needle. Still three quarters of a tank. The heat would last for a while.

  What if no one drove by all night? What if no one stopped? What if—

  The rumble of an engine broke through the music on the radio. Headlights washed over her and filled the interior of the car.

  A black Ford F350 with a shiny grille, bull bar, and hunting spotlights set atop the roof pulled onto the shoulder behind her Camry.

  Relief flared through her veins, followed by a twinge of apprehension. A woman alone had reason to wor
ry.

  In her rearview mirror, she watched a broad, shadowed shape climb out of the truck and shut the door, engine still running. He strode through the snow toward her. He wore a uniform beneath his coat. Like a police officer, but not quite.

  Hannah! That disarming smile. An unassuming guy, medium height, medium build. Buzzed dirty-blond hair, pleasant features. Brown eyes so dark they were almost black. Hannah Sheridan. What are you doing so far from home?

  At first, she’d just stared at him blankly. Then she’d recognized him. He lived in Fall Creek on the other side of town. He was some kind of law enforcement officer.

  She’d seen him a few dozen times before—at the gas station and grocery store, the bar with friends a couple of times, a New Year’s bash one of Noah’s cop buddies had thrown.

  An acquaintance. He was the brother of her husband’s best friend. Both of them cops. She didn’t think he was, but now she wasn’t sure.

  She’d never really liked him, but that didn’t matter now, did it?

  The man lifted his coat slightly, revealed the badge clipped to his belt. Smiled wider. How’s Noah doing? He playing any football lately, or is that tennis elbow still giving him problems?

  He was a known entity. A friend, or close enough. The tension in her shoulders eased. She smiled back at him.

  You’re out awfully late, Hannah. Anyone know where you are? A question laced with hidden minefields. She hadn’t seen the danger, hadn’t known to watch her step.

  With her phone dead, she hadn’t had a chance to check in with her best friend, Carly. Carly would give her the spare room in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Hannah hadn’t needed to ask ahead of time. That was the kind of sister-bond friendship they shared.

  As for her husband…no. She hadn’t said a word to him as she’d furiously packed an overnight bag and stormed from the house, slamming the door for good measure.

  You’re shivering! You need to get out of the cold. Sorry I don’t have a spare, but I’m happy to give you a ride home. I was just on my way to visit my mother. It’s hardly even out of the way.

  She’d had no reason not to trust him.