by Stone, Kyla
He cleared his throat. “Consolidating the supplies makes it easier to disseminate and keep an active list of who needs what and who’s received what. That’s all this is.”
Bishop’s face darkened. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh, is that all this is?”
“They’re out of control,” Dave said. “You know it. I know you do.”
“They can’t just come into this town and make up their own rules,” Annette said.
A rumble of displeasure swept through the crowd.
“We need to do something,” Jamal Duncan muttered. “This isn’t right.”
They were angry. Hungry, scared, and angry. Noah remembered how bad things had gotten after the Crossway Massacre, before Ray Shultz and his crew were summarily executed in front of the courthouse. The people had nearly rioted.
It wouldn’t take much to rile them into a frenzy, to push them over the edge.
Fear sprouted in Noah’s gut. These people weren’t fighters. Bishop had military training and experience, but not the rest of them.
They wouldn’t stand a chance against fifty armed militia. They were liable to do something stupid and dangerous. The militia would retaliate, and good people would get hurt.
He had to prevent that from happening, even if they hated him for it.
“We know what happened at Winter Haven,” Annette said. Her gaze slid toward Mrs. Blair. “Everyone knows. Those militia killed two of our people. Murdered them and left them to rot.”
“In the act of an armed home invasion,” Noah said quickly. “They were assaulting the homeowner—”
Bishop’s eyes bulged. “Homeowner? Are you kidding me? You sound like you’ve been drinking the Kool-Aid, Noah.”
Anger flared through him. “Thomas Blair and Ted Nickleson broke the law. They endangered the entire community when they chose to attack and steal another’s home. Things are different, you all know that. The consequences for every decision are swift and severe. If we want to make it when every town and city in our state is on the verge of collapse, we have to be willing to make the hard choices. There is light on the other side, I promise. We just need to make it through winter. We can do it, if we work together.”
“And what about my dead husband?” Mrs. Blair asked. She was a diminutive woman, thin and pretty. Now, she looked collapsed somehow, her shoulders hunched inward like broken wings. “What about us?”
He pushed aside the guilt, forcing himself to focus on the big picture. “I am truly sorry for the families. We need to take this as a learning experience, as a warning for us all moving forward. The best we can do is to move forward and focus on working together to make it through this crisis. What’s done is done. It’s over now.”
The townspeople looked at each other with skeptical expressions. Annette shook her head. Tina Gundy glared at him.
He clenched his jaw. He was doing the best he could. Rosamond was better at this sort of stuff.
“But it’s not over,” Mrs. Blair said. “We went to the middle school this morning to get our daily food allotment. The soldiers checked our names on a clipboard and turned us away. We have been labeled ‘dissidents,’ and as such, are no longer eligible for rations.”
Noah tried to keep his expression fixed, to hide his surprise. He had not been privy to this decision, either. He pressed his lips together, forcing his voice to remain steady and confident. “I’m sure that’s an error we will get ironed out shortly.”
Tina Gundy crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s next? We do or say something wrong, and we starve? Is that the way things are, now?”
“No, of course not—”
“Anyone who speaks out against the superintendent or her guard dogs, they’re gonna get put on a list,” Mrs. Blair said. “How do you think that will go?”
“Let’s not succumb to fear-mongering,” Noah said, his voice stern to hide his growing dismay. “What-ifs do no one any good. Just worry about what’s right in front of you. Take one day at a time. We’ll get through this—”
“It’s not fear-mongering if it’s true,” Dave Farris muttered.
Noah shot him a look. He needed fellow council members on his side, not stirring people up even more. “Things are under control. Fall Creek is under control.”
Bishop stepped forward. The crowd parted around him. “You need to take a long, hard look at the people surrounding you, Chief Sheridan. The things you think you’re controlling aren’t so in control.”
“Now, that’s uncalled for—”
“It’s about control,” Bishop said. “The consolidation of power in the guise of public safety. It’s an age-old game that’s been played a thousand times throughout time on government stages large and small. The erosion of our rights is the slow death of freedom. We’re the frogs basking in the warm pan bath while the water boils us to death, and some of us don’t even realize it.”
Noah gritted his teeth. “Bishop, may I speak to you in private?”
Bishop motioned toward the hallway. “By all means.”
They moved into the hallway and paused in front of the last storage room. A ribbon of yellow caution tape stretched across the doorway. The room where Bishop had cradled his dead daughters and his dead wife.
Bishop did not look inside. Neither did Noah.
Regret filled Noah. Frustration and anger. He felt torn in two, backed into a corner.
No matter what he did, he disappointed someone. Either way, he was letting those he cared about down.
At least this way, he was keeping people alive.
“You’re the one who’s losing control, Bishop,” Noah said in a low voice. “What are you doing in there? Are you trying to create civil unrest? Are you trying to incite a riot?”
“This is wrong. Real people are being hurt here. Real people are dying. Don’t you see that?”
“What about turning the other cheek? Isn’t that what you preach? What about peace and harmony?”
“All of those things are important,” Bishop said quietly. “But this is tyranny.”
“That’s a big word you’re throwing around. Be careful. Rosamond is doing the absolute best that she can.”
“Is she?”
“Of course!”
Bishop leveled his steady gaze at him. “Some of us strongly disagree on that count.”
Noah threw up his hands, searching frantically for anything to strengthen his argument. “Aren’t Christians supposed to obey the government? ‘Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s’, or whatever?”
“We honor civil authority wherever possible, to the point where such authority abuses the people it is set up to protect. Where the government threatens freedom and violates those God-given rights, we have a duty to resist.”
Noah thought of Mattias Sutter executing Octavia Riley. Julian shooting Billy Carter in the head. Desoto opening fire on Fall Creek citizens.
He had to get Bishop to understand. He needed him to take this seriously. Keep his head down. Toe the line. It was the only way they would all get through this.
At least until spring. At least until the worst of this crisis was over.
“You don’t know who you’re messing with.” Noah was on the verge of panic. His pulse thudded loud in his ears. His palms were damp beneath his gloves. “Sutter is a dangerous man.”
Bishop’s eyes flashed. “He isn’t the only one.”
“All the more reason to let this go! It’s just food, Bishop. Food the militia are giving back to the people. Who cares who gives it, as long as it happens?”
“It’s much more than that, and we both know it.”
Noah said nothing to that. What else could he possibly say? He’d tried his best.
Bishop had always been stubborn. He saw things a certain way, and that was it. He was like a boulder in the middle of a river. No matter how furiously the river raged, he was immoveable.
Bishop shook his head. “I’ve got to get back to work. We’ve got families going hungry. We’ve got to figure out how
to help them.”
He turned away from Noah and strode down the hall.
“Bishop!” Noah called after him. “You need to let sleeping dogs lie.”
Bishop paused. He glanced back at Noah, his hands still balled into fists. Emotion flickered across his face—a smoldering anger. “Who says they’re sleeping?”
38
Quinn
Day Thirty-One
Gran held open the door. A blast of cold air gusted inside, but Gran didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Gran said. “Come in, come in. You must be freezing. Make yourselves at home.”
Quinn clicked off “Bohemian Rhapsody,” which had been blaring on her iPod, took off her earbuds, and draped them around her neck.
She stared at Gran like she’d grown three heads. She might as well have. Quinn had never seen her act so nice in her entire life.
Gran smiled nervously and gestured to their guests. “Welcome, welcome.”
Milo entered first, slower and quieter than normal. The big white dog followed him. He trotted right to the center of the living room and shook himself. Snow and ice pellets sprayed everywhere.
The three cats who’d been sprawled lazily across various pieces of furniture sprang to life like they’d been electrocuted. Aggrieved growls and hisses filled the air.
Thor’s orange fluff stood on end. He leapt from the back of the sofa and skittered down the hall toward the bedrooms.
Odin was so startled that he promptly fell off the back of Gran’s favorite armchair. He barely landed on his feet. He scooted as far as he could beneath the armchair.
With a screech of terror, Loki shot beneath the couch and disappeared.
The dog merely watched their antics with his head cocked and his ears pricked, looking slightly amused. He didn’t chase them, which was a good thing. The cats would probably have jumped into the rafters and never come down.
Milo giggled. Quinn winked at him.
Hannah Sheridan entered Gran’s house next, cradling her newborn baby. Hannah freaking Sheridan. Standing in front of them, right here in Gran’s living room.
The girl who’d vanished. The girl who’d come back.
The big, muscled soldier Quinn kept hearing about came last. He ducked to enter the low doorway. He was as handsome as she’d imagined. His features rough and craggy, strong and fierce. He looked like he could break a few necks with his bare hands.
He scanned the room, taking in everything with a single glance. His expression wasn’t exactly hostile, but wary. Just like a soldier.
Quinn dragged her gaze from Liam Coleman and looked past him out onto the porch. The sky was darkening to twilight. Shadows stretched across the snow. No one else was outside.
“Where’s Noah?” she asked.
Hannah’s mouth tightened. “He was going to come, then he got called away for work. A couple of neighbors fighting over a stolen snowmobile. It turned into a fistfight. He’ll stop by later if he can.”
Quinn scowled in frustration. She’d always had a hard time hiding her feelings. She vacillated between being so irritated with Noah that she could spit and desperately missing their camaraderie.
Noah was changing, becoming someone she didn’t recognize. Whether it was the overbearing militia or the pressure of keeping things together after the collapse, she didn’t know.
Maybe Hannah being back would fix things. If not everything, at least Noah.
“Welcome, welcome.” Gran gave a brisk clap of her hands. “It’s not much, but it’s our home.”
Gran didn’t light the fireplace often, preferring the woodstove in the kitchen, but tonight, the fire crackled and popped.
Two Aladdin lamps glowed from the fireplace mantel. They were brighter than normal oil lamps, and gave off both light and heat. Gran had put a mirror behind the lamps to reflect even more light.
“It’s lovely,” Hannah said quietly.
Gran blushed, her wrinkled cheeks turning red, her blue eyes bright. She turned and shuffled for the kitchen, leaning heavily on her cane. “I’ll just be in the kitchen,” she said over her shoulder.
Gran was like a whole different person. Suddenly sweet and polite and gracious.
Well, who knew how to act around a woman who’d returned from the dead? Quinn sure didn’t.
Should she ignore Hannah’s five-year disappearance altogether? Just pretend she’d been on an extended spa vacation or something? Pepper her with questions about her trauma? Stick to small talk and ask her about the weather?
It was weird for everybody. Probably weirder still for Hannah herself.
Quinn touched her lip piercing a little self-consciously. She glanced down at Milo. He stood a few feet from Hannah, looking uncomfortable. Honestly, the kid looked miserable.
Poor Small Fry. His whole world had already been turned upside down. And now this.
Everyone else probably assumed he’d be happy. Thrilled. Elated.
Not Quinn. She more than most people knew the darker side of life.
How things rarely turned out how you’d expected. How the moments that were supposed to be the happiest were often tinged with shadows. How reality could never quite match the fantasies in your head.
Imagining a mother was different than having one appear right in front of you—especially one you didn’t remember.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Hey, Small Fry. Long time no see. Have you grown five inches since I last saw you? Or do you just really need a haircut?”
Milo gave her a tremulous smile. There he was. The smart, fearless kid she knew was still in there. He just needed a little encouragement.
“I see you got a new horse as a pet. You want to introduce us?”
“He’s a dog, silly. A Great Pyrenees.” He shot a furtive glance at Hannah. “He’s—he’s not mine.”
“Of course, he is,” Hannah said.
Milo stood a little taller. “This is Ghost. He’s our protector. He’s the best dog ever.”
As if sensing that he was the center of attention, Ghost raised his head and pricked his ears. He’d been busy examining every corner of the house.
He trotted over to Milo. He was huge—practically as tall as Milo, with a massive head and a barrel chest and super fluffy. Milo wrapped his arm around the dog’s furry ribs.
Ghost nuzzled his cheek and gave a pleased little chuff.
He turned his head toward Quinn, gazing at her with those big brown eyes. It felt like he was examining her, deciding whether she was worthy or not.
Quinn stood still. She held out one hand, palm up. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted this magnificent creature to like her—to approve of her—until this moment.
Ghost left Milo and padded across the living room. He halted in front of her and sniffed her hand. The room fell pin-drop quiet. Quinn didn’t move.
His hot breath warmed her palm, his whiskers tickling her skin. His black nose was warm and dry.
He was different than most dogs. All the dogs she knew were jumpy, energetic, friendly, and eager to please.
Ghost was regal. A solemn, serious dog. His eyes shone with a keen intelligence. He pressed his muzzle against her hand. His plumed tail swept slowly back and forth.
“That means he likes you,” Hannah said with a pleased smile.
Quinn couldn’t help herself; she beamed.
Milo snorted. “You should see him with Dad. It’s like he thinks Dad’s an alien or something. He gets all growly and mad.”
Quinn grinned. “I can totally see that.”
Hannah shot Liam a wry look. “It does take him a while to warm up to certain individuals.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Liam deadpanned.
Milo looked around. “Where are the cats?”
“Hiding in terror,” Quinn said. “They might not come out for a week.”
A loud hissing sound came from the kitchen.
“That’ll be Hel,” Quinn said. “Ruler o
f the Underworld. She’s just letting us know how displeased she is. Dogs don’t belong in her domain. She’s got a bit of a temper, but she’s protective, too.”
As if on cue, a small dark creature streaked from beneath the couch and launched itself at the dog’s butt.
With a savage hiss, Loki sank his claws into Ghost’s long, plumed tail.
Ghost didn’t snap or snarl like Quinn expected. He calmly flicked his tail, and Loki lost his hold. He plopped to the floor.
Before he could make his escape, Ghost turned around and nosed him.
Loki froze, shaking, hackles raised, while Ghost sniffed him all over.
Ghost let out a bemused sigh and plopped down in the middle of the floor, Loki between his front paws.
Surprisingly, Loki didn’t flee. He stayed put, and even ventured to sniff Ghost back.
Odin crept out from beneath Gran’s armchair. The dog’s tail thumped the floor gently. The animals sniffed each other. Satisfied that Ghost wasn’t a furry monster attempting to murder him, Odin climbed back into the armchair.
A minute later, even Thor came downstairs to investigate. Valkyrie, who’d been stalking mice outside, strolled in from the kitchen. She was fearless and didn’t seem fazed by the new arrival.
The big white fluffy thing was calm and quiet. And soft. The cats decided maybe they liked him, after all. Maybe he’d even make a great warm blanket to sleep on. Maybe.
“Great Pyrenees aren’t herding dogs like some people think,” Hannah explained. “They’re livestock guardian dogs. Their job is to protect the flock. Usually that’s sheep and goats, sometimes chickens. Or their human family. I suppose it’s not outside the realm of possibility for a Pyr to consider cats his flock.”
“Good luck with that, Ghost,” Quinn quipped.
Everyone chuckled, even Liam.
39
Quinn
Day Thirty-One
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!” Gran called from the kitchen.