Edge of Collapse Series (Book 4): Edge of Anarchy

by Stone, Kyla

  “Unless these two reanimate, they’re already dead.”

  “I mean the militia. They’re bad. All of them. They’re just like this.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not my battle.”

  “They’re dangerous! They’re destroying our town!”

  “This isn’t my town,” Liam said as gently as he could.

  She frowned. “You saved Hannah.”

  “That’s different.”

  “You saved me, too.”

  “They were here for me,” he said darkly. “I had to put them down.”

  He never wanted another soul put in harm’s way because of him. The idea sickened him. It was anathema to everything he stood for.

  “Exactly!” Her expression clouded. “They took control of the food. They stole it right out of our pantries! They made all these rules and regulations and curfews. Now they’re killing people. They have no right!”

  He felt her righteous anger seething off her. She had a reason to be angry. Hell, he was angry himself. Those scumbags had made it personal when they’d come after him and hurt Quinn instead.

  But that didn’t change the facts. Fifty against one weren’t odds anyone could defeat, especially armed with bump stocks, military-grade weapons, and gear. Not even a special operator.

  “They’re a small army,” he said wearily. “I’m one man. A man with a broken back.”

  “You’re more than that,” she said, not a shred of doubt in her voice. “I know it.”

  An engine splintered the night air. The sound came from the road in front of the house.

  “Hannah and Noah are back,” Quinn said.

  Liam heaved himself to his feet. “Go back to the house. I’ll do a check of the property and meet you there. Lock the doors, keep the lights off, don’t let anyone in until I come back. I’ll whistle ‘Happy Birthday’ so you’ll know it’s me.”

  Quinn wrinkled her nose. “Lame choice.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her.

  She grinned back, the red line on her face giving her that garish Joker’s smile again. “Whatever, Wolverine. I’m going, I’m going.”

  46

  Liam

  Day Thirty-Three

  After he watched Quinn safely enter the house, Liam checked the property.

  He holstered the Glock and used the M4. It had been a long time since he’d used one. Too long. It fit in his hands like a glove.

  He hadn’t gone a dozen yards when Ghost came hurtling toward him, a big fluffy cannonball. Growling fiercely, he tore past Liam and headed into the shed.

  Once he was sufficiently satisfied that the bad guys he’d smelled were indeed dead, he bounded back to Liam’s side. He loped beside him, tail sticking straight out, hackles still raised.

  “Stay alert,” Liam said in a low voice. “I think they were the only ones, but we need to make sure.”

  As if instinctively understanding this was a clandestine operation, Ghost chuffed softly. He remained at Liam’s side as they cleared the woods surrounding the house.

  Liam had grown used to the dog’s steady presence. Expected it, even enjoyed it.

  Ghost had accompanied him on most of the jaunts he’d taken nearly every day for the last week. He was edgy and restless, needing out of that oversized box of a house that still seemed claustrophobic.

  That, and he wanted to know the layout of Fall Creek like the back of his hand. He’d studied the map, but he needed to walk it himself—and so he did, putting the topography to memory, every road and river bend, the bridge, the businesses, and the neighborhoods.

  He’d analyzed the town for weaknesses, mentally designed exit strategies and pre-planned exit routes, choosing spots where he might hide a cache of weapons and supplies concealed in hollowed-out tree trunks or an abandoned shed. He’d scanned for choke points, potential sniper hides, and improvised weapons.

  He’d had no specific threat in mind, only the certainty that it would come, and he would be ready.

  The first threat had come sooner than he’d expected. It wouldn’t be the last.

  He found the two snowmobiles a quarter mile from the house along the edge of the river, hidden beneath hastily chopped pine boughs. As he’d suspected, they’d parked close by and hoofed it through the woods to sneak in undetected.

  Twenty minutes later, he was back in the house after he whistled and Quinn let him in. The lights were off except for a camping lantern placed on the coffee table. Everyone’s faces were drawn, tense, and bathed in shadows.

  Bishop stood guard by the back door, AR-15 in hand. Hannah and Noah stood several feet apart in front of the sofa in the living room, Hannah holding Charlotte, Noah with his hand on his holstered service weapon.

  Quinn went and sat cross-legged on the ottoman on the other side of the fireplace, holding an ice pack to her head. Milo was still sleeping.

  Ghost shook off his coat and tracked snow across the shiny wood floor all the way to Hannah. He leaned heavily against Hannah’s leg, still alert, as if he sensed the tension vibrating through the room.

  “Liam!” Hannah’s gaze locked on Liam. Her face paled. “You’re hurt!”

  He looked down at himself. Desoto’s blood stained his hands and much of his coat. “Only a little bit is mine. I’m fine.”

  “Like hell.” Hannah was already moving toward him. “Look at your ear.”

  Quinn reached out and offered to take the baby. Hannah laid Charlotte in her arms and strode across the living room. Ghost followed her.

  Liam glanced at Noah. The lantern threw shadows across the room. He didn’t miss Noah’s narrowed eyes, the naked jealousy flashing across his face.

  Hannah halted in front of Liam, put her hands on either side of his face, and examined him, her mouth pursed. “There’s alcohol in the bathroom and bandages below the sink. I need a bowl of warm water and some towels.”

  Noah went for the medical supplies and quickly returned. Noah watched Hannah clean, disinfect, and bandage the gash in Liam’s ear—with Bishop’s help—in stony silence.

  Charlotte cooed contentedly as Quinn rocked her and patted her back. She was good with the baby.

  “Thank you,” Liam said when Hannah and Bishop had finished.

  Hannah flashed him a grim smile. “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you tell them what happened?” he asked Quinn.

  “Mostly.” Quinn nodded. “I startled them. That’s why they had to hide in the shed. If it was someone else, maybe they would’ve just waited until whoever it was left and then went about their original plan to sneak in and attack you two. But Desoto saw it was me. He hates—hated—me because I humiliated him. He saw his chance and decided to take it.”

  She was a perceptive girl. Liam had suspected as much.

  “The militia is out of control.” Quinn shot Liam a pointed look. “We need to stop them.”

  “Why would they attack us?” Hannah asked tightly. “I don’t understand.”

  “Not you or Noah,” Quinn said. “They wanted Liam. They said ‘he’ ordered them to take out Liam. Bishop was a bonus if they could get to him. Two for the price of one. That’s what Desoto said.”

  “Who’s ‘he’?” Noah asked. “Did they say the name of the person who gave them the orders?”

  Liam shrugged. “Sutter’s the commander of the militia.”

  “Why would Sutter want you dead?” Hannah asked.

  “He wouldn’t,” Bishop said in a low voice. “But I can think of a few people who would.”

  “You haven’t even done anything,” Hannah said, but there was doubt in her voice. A growing trepidation.

  She was putting the pieces together. He could see it in her face—what he already suspected.

  Quinn twisted around on the ottoman. Holding Charlotte tightly, she pinned her gaze on Liam. “It’s because Wolverine here—Liam—was the one who killed Gavin Pike.”

  The room went silent. They stared at each other, the dread a palpable thing.

  “It was
Julian Sinclair,” Quinn said.

  “No,” Noah said firmly. “Absolutely not.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Everyone knows there’s animosity between the Sinclairs and Bishop. Especially Julian. That’s why Bishop was named, too. And the Sinclairs have every reason to loathe Liam. Julian sent Desoto to kill you because of Pike. This was revenge.”

  The back of Liam’s neck prickled. He hadn’t officially met the town superintendent, but he had no desire to have any further contact with the likes of Julian Sinclair.

  Rosamond Sinclair was Pike’s mother. That was all Liam needed to know. The apple never fell that far from the tree.

  Noah raked his hands through his hair. “You don’t know that. All this is speculation and rumor. There isn’t a shred of evidence connecting Julian to any of this. Julian wouldn’t do this.”

  “Julian had to know about this,” Quinn said. “It’s the only piece that fits.”

  Noah shook his head. “He was trying to help. He told me he would calm Rosamond down, that he would diffuse the situation.”

  “He lied,” Bishop said.

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  “Possibly, but I don’t think I am.” Bishop shifted his stance and tightened his grip on the rifle. His mouth was set in a grim line. “Nothing in this town happens without the approval of the Sinclairs. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.”

  Quinn raised her pierced eyebrows. “You think Rosamond Sinclair herself ordered this?”

  “No!” Noah gestured wildly. “This was the work of a few rogue militia soldiers. That’s all! Rosamond Sinclair would never sanction anything like this. Never. Listen to yourselves. This is crazy. It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not that ridiculous,” Quinn said. “Not anymore. Not after what’s happened.”

  “It wasn’t even Liam who did it,” Hannah said.

  Liam shot her a warning look. So did Noah.

  She ignored them. Her hand tightened in Ghost’s fur. “It was me. I’m the one who killed Pike.”

  Quinn’s mouth dropped open. Bishop didn’t look surprised at all.

  Hannah turned toward Noah, her expression stricken. “That’s why you

  didn’t want me to say anything. This is why you told me to keep it a secret. You knew Julian would come after whoever killed his brother. You knew.”

  Noah flinched. He opened his mouth, closed it, saying nothing. Guilt was written all over his face.

  Anger flashed through Liam at the hurt look in Hannah’s eyes. He tamped it down. Noah was a lucky man that so many witnesses were present. He could’ve wrung his neck then and there.

  Liam gritted his teeth. He’d attempted to like Noah for Hannah’s sake. It hadn’t worked. He was failing completely.

  His initial assessment that the man was weak-willed, indecisive, and willfully blind had just confirmed itself.

  “Enough.” Bishop did not speak loudly. He didn’t have to. His larger-than-life presence could command a room without speaking at all. “I’ve long suspected Julian played a role in the Crossway Massacre. And now this? Enough is enough. It’s time to find the truth. It’s time to find out exactly just how much he knows. And what he’s done.”

  “No!” Noah nearly shouted. “He’s Rosamond’s son. He’s protected. You can’t hurt him.”

  Bishop’s expression darkened. Shadows ringed his eyes. He was a man haunted by a past he couldn’t change, by a wrong not yet rectified. “I’ll do what I need to do.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Liam offered.

  In contrast to his initial impressions of Noah Sheridan, Liam had taken an instant liking to Bishop—a rarity for him. Bishop had lost the people he’d loved most in the world, just like Liam. They were both military vets, both bereft, unmoored in a cold and merciless world.

  “Thank you, brother, but no. The Lord is with me. This is my task, and mine alone. It’s been a long time coming, believe me.”

  “At least take the weapon.”

  Bishop set the rifle down and moved for the door. “I have an HK 45 pistol.”

  Noah strode forward and halted a few feet from Bishop, blocking his path. His hand moved to the holster at his waist, something like panic etched across his face. Real fear. “This is a mistake. Don’t do this.”

  Liam shifted slightly. He didn’t raise the carbine or do anything to draw attention to himself. He was ready to act if needed.

  “This is a terrible idea, Bishop,” Noah said. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

  “You won’t stop me this time, my friend,” Bishop said, steel in his voice. “Not unless you’re willing to shoot me.”

  Reluctantly, Noah lowered his hand.

  Bishop moved past him. His face a storm cloud, his eyes burning. “Julian Sinclair’s reckoning comes now.”

  47

  Hannah

  Day Thirty-Three

  “Maybe I should leave.”

  Hannah stared at Liam, stunned. “No.”

  “This isn’t my home,” Liam said grimly. “My home is north. I have a cabin, supplies, land. Everything I need. That’s where I belong. Not here.”

  The cold night air was crisp and sharp. Moonlight reflected off the snow. The trees stood, watching over everything like sentinels.

  They were sitting in the swing on the porch. Several inches between them. Hannah was wrapped in a blanket. Liam stiff and straight, the M4 resting on his other side, his gaze constantly scanning the yard.

  Charlotte was sleeping inside. Bishop had left a few minutes ago. Noah had driven Quinn home. She had her bright orange truck, but no one had wanted to let her drive home alone, not after what she’d just been through.

  Hannah faced Liam and expelled a puff of crystalized air. Her hands had turned clammy inside her gloves, her pulse rushing in her ears. “You do belong here.”

  “I’m an outsider in your home.”

  It still felt like Noah’s home, not hers. “It’s fine.”

  It wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. Liam knew it wasn’t. Noah certainly did.

  Every time Noah and Liam were around each other—which was often in the same house—it was incredibly awkward. Tension humming in the air.

  She knew Liam felt uncomfortable. She knew Noah was jealous.

  She could feel it, could feel them both circling each other warily, like wolves jockeying over territory, vying for supremacy.

  “I don’t want to leave you here.” Even in the dim light, she could see his expression contorting, the scowl on his face. “Noah can’t protect you like I can. But if I leave, you’ll be safer.”

  Everyone was shaken after the attack on Quinn, and Desoto and Benner’s failed attempt to assassinate Liam and Bishop.

  Liam had been hurt. And a teenage girl had almost been killed in the crossfire.

  Liam now had a target on his back. Because of her. Because he’d taken the burden of her actions upon his shoulders. Still trying to save her, even now.

  “It’s me they want,” Liam said. “Not you.”

  “Because of me. I’m the one—”

  He shook his head sharply. “You can’t say that. Not anymore. Not ever. Now Bishop and Quinn know. The more people who know the truth, the more danger you’re in.”

  She stared at his bandaged ear. She hated the thought that she was the reason Liam and Quinn could have died tonight.

  As if reading her mind, Liam said, “Whoever is behind this—the militia, Julian Sinclair—their actions are theirs and theirs alone. Not yours.”

  She bit her lip and nodded slowly.

  This last week had been a rollercoaster of emotions. One revelation after another threatening to topple everything like a house of cards.

  She felt like she still hadn’t regained her footing. They were all standing on thin ice, just waiting for the next crack to show itself.

  She watched as Ghost loped across the snowy yard, a flash of white against white. In the moonlight, he’d never looked more like his namesake.

&
nbsp; He glanced at them, tongue lolling, before resuming his patrol of the property. He slept during the day and remained alert and watchful at night.

  Just like Liam. Both of them protectors to their core.

  Her mouth felt dry. She shifted on the swing, the slats digging into her back. “You can protect us.”

  He turned to her in the darkness. His gaze intense, those gray-blue eyes haunted in a way that she understood now. “It’s not safe for you here, either. This place isn’t safe.”

  “It’s not safe anywhere.”

  He gave a noncommittal grunt.

  “Fall Creek is my home. Even with everything happening, everything going wrong. This is it.”

  Despite everything going on with the EMP, the militia, with Pike’s death, life still happened. Quinn came over often. So did Bishop and Noah’s cop friends, Reynoso and Samantha Perez. Annette King and Dave Farris stopped by, too.

  In her old life, her Fall Creek friends had mostly been Noah’s. Daphne and her little girls had come over often for playdates. Daphne had been her closest friend here—but now Daphne was dead.

  Hannah’s best friend from college, Carly, lived in Grand Rapids. Was she okay? Or had something terrible happened to her, too? She thought often of her parents and brother in the Upper Peninsula. They were probably better off than most people, but she longed to call them, hear their voices again. Connect with the people she’d loved most.

  The EMP had made the world a much smaller place. No more road trips. No more jumping on an airplane and zipping across the country in a few hours. No more phone calls, FaceTime, or Zoom meetings. No stores to visit or restaurants to enjoy.

  The world had shrunk to the borders of Fall Creek. And for Hannah, it was even smaller.

  Noah and Liam both felt like it was a good idea for her to stay close—the only thing they’d agreed on. She’d only left the house to visit Molly and Quinn, which she and Milo had done almost daily.

  Molly had already taught her how to wash clothes by hand, bake homemade bread on the woodstove, and showed her how to construct her own winter garden boxes.