Edge of Collapse Series (Book 2): Edge of Madness

by Stone, Kyla

  “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” She rolled her eyes. “Why aren’t you helping the law enact their draconian orders?”

  “I’m off for the night. Milo and I were hoping to stock up on supplies before they went into effect.” He gave a wry smile. “Looks like I’m too late to the party.”

  His cart was filled with stuff parents bought—boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese, Jif peanut butter, all-natural fruit snacks, granola bars, Rice-a-Roni, electrolyte drinks, and a few packs of batteries, toilet paper, and other items.

  Deeper in the store, someone shouted angrily. Another voice—this one female—yelled back, equally furious.

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “I think the party’s just starting, actually.”

  “Not one we want to attend, trust me.” Noah motioned at her cart. “You got enough to cover that?”

  “Yeah. But it’s gonna be over the fifty-dollar limit.”

  “Give it to me. I’ll hand it to the cashier on the way out.”

  “But you’re a cop.”

  Noah smiled tightly. “You’re still paying for it. It’s not stealing. Hurry up before they get to us.”

  Quinn complied. Noah took her cash and they skirted the checkout counters on the entrance side. Noah surreptitiously placed her cash along with a wad of twenties from his pocket on the end counter while Milo grabbed several plastic grocery bags from the carousel rack.

  Whitney glanced anxiously back at him, but he just smiled at her. “Everything’s fine. I’m just checking out on my own. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Okay, Officer Sheridan,” she said, and returned to her endless line of frustrated, amped-up customers.

  They quickly dumped their things into the grocery bags and headed out of the store.

  A grandfather with a little kid saw what they’d done and started for the entrance with his full cart, not even bothering to stop and pay a thing. Two women followed suit, one holding a crying toddler in one arm.

  From across the store, Officer Reynoso caught sight of the leaving customers. “Hey!” he shouted, hurrying over. “Stop right there!”

  Quinn, Milo, and Noah were already out of the store. They left the angry, shouting crowd behind.

  It was cold inside Friendly’s, but outside, it was brutal.

  “Thanks!” Quinn said as Noah and Milo headed for their snowmobile. Milo waved at her.

  “Have a good night, Smurf!” Noah called over the wind.

  Quinn kept moving. She sucked in a sharp breath at the startling cold, the frigid air searing her lungs and burning her nostrils. The wind battered her and kicked up swirling gusts of snow. Dusk was fast approaching.

  She could barely see across the parking lot. There were a few dozen snowmobiles, but only a handful of working cars or trucks parked in the store’s parking lot. Most people had walked here from their homes.

  Beyond the parking lot, she couldn’t even see the road or the other buildings along Main Street through the swirling snow. The four miles back to Gran’s house would be a dangerous drive. At least there wouldn’t be many other vehicles on the road.

  Twenty feet from the Orange Julius, she suddenly stopped. A chill trickled down her spine.

  Two figures lurked along the perimeter of the parking lot. They were just dark blurred shapes against so much blinding whiteness.

  There was something about them that gave her pause, that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. The way they moved—low and skulking. Like predators creeping toward their prey.

  Quinn Riley sure as hell wasn’t prey.

  “You there! I can see you!” She dropped her grocery bags to the snow and shoved her hand into her pocket, going for the slingshot. “Get away from my grandpa’s truck, or I promise you’re gonna regret it!”

  25

  Quinn

  Day Three

  “We were just admiring your F150, darling,” the first, taller guy drawled.

  “Get away from the truck,” Quinn warned.

  The taller figure stepped forward. He was maybe ten feet away. “Still a free country, far as I know. It still a free country, Billy?”

  The shorter figure moved closer. He was short and compact, five-foot-four at most, the same height as Quinn. But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

  Quinn stiffened. They were both bundled in heavy winter gear, but this close, she could make out the white exposed ovals of their faces. She knew them.

  They were cousins of Ray Shultz, her mother’s deadbeat, drug-dealing boyfriend. Billy and Tommy Carter, brothers and partners in crime. Scumbags she’d always hated.

  “Hey, I know you.” Billy Carter was watching her with his oily, beetle black eyes. He had a lazy eye that made him look particularly shifty. “You’re Octavia Riley’s little girl.”

  “Not so little anymore.” Tommy sneered. He was tall and thin with a narrow, horsey face and a weird southern drawl he’d picked up somewhere. He spoke slow and languid, drawing out every word, every sentence. It was creepy as hell.

  She noticed the hunting rifles slung over both their backs. The parking lot was eerily silent. And empty. It was almost dark now. Everyone else was still inside, getting held up by the mandatory inspections.

  Billy smiled, showing his yellowed crooked teeth, damaged from all the meth he did.

  Instinctively, she took a step back, her boots sinking into deep snow.

  She wouldn’t retreat any further. It took her away from the truck. The truck had belonged to Gramps. She wasn’t losing it.

  She whipped the slingshot out of her pocket, along with a three-eighth-inch steel pellet, and aimed it at them, drawing back to her right cheek underneath her dominant eye and sighting down the bands. Checking the angle of the fork was second nature.

  She and Gramps loved shooting old cans in the backyard for target practice or catching Gran a rabbit or two for stew. It was great for small game—squirrels, rabbits, quail, doves. Not so much for people, but there was no time like the present to give it a go.

  “Get lost, losers.”

  Neither of them moved back. They didn’t look scared. If anything, they were amused. She hated them for that.

  Tommy patted the hood of the Julius. “Not many cars working these days.”

  “Touch the truck again and I’ll take out an eye, jerkface.”

  Tommy didn’t remove his gloved hand. He stroked the hood, smiled at her. “We had some beautiful snowmobiles. They were stolen from us. We’re just in need of a ride, darlin’. That’s all.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Oh, I think it is.” Billy took a quick, darting step forward. In an instant, he was less than five feet away.

  Quinn’s heart jolted. She stretched the bands back as far as they would go, tightened her position, and aimed right for his lazy eye. “Get back, or I’ll—”

  His hands balled into fists. He leered at her. “Or you’ll what?”

  “Hey! What’s going on here?”

  Everyone started. They’d all been so intent on each other, on their tense exchange, that they hadn’t heard Noah Sheridan’s approach over the gusting wind.

  Quinn didn’t move.

  Billy’s shoulders relaxed, his fists loosening. A dark smile played across his thin lips. He turned to face Noah, but his lazy eye remained fixed on Quinn.

  “Nothin’ much, officer,” Tommy drawled. He patted the hood again. “Just admiring this fine machine.”

  Noah’s shoulders were tense. His right hand hovered just above the holster attached to the service belt at his hip. A warning. “It’s not yours. And you’d best be on your way.”

  Billy Carter glanced across the parking lot to where Noah’s snowmobile idled, headlights catching swirling snowflakes. Milo straddled the front seat wearing an oversized helmet, waiting obediently.

  Billy’s gaze moved slowly back to Noah, his lips thin as a knife blade. His lazy eye made it look like he was glaring at Noah and Quinn at the same time. “Nice Kawasaki. It looks part
icularly . . . familiar.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Noah said evenly. “We needed to requisition a few machines to help us protect the town and keep the peace. They will be returned to you as soon as we find some additional resources.”

  Billy watched them with pure hatred and disgust glimmering in his black eyes.

  “Where I come from, we call that stealing,” Tommy said easily, his voice light but his eyes as hard as Billy’s.

  “I don’t really care what you call it. I’m going to need you boys to leave this girl alone and move along. And if I hear that you’ve bothered her again, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.”

  Billy smirked. “We hear you loud and clear. Officer.”

  Noah didn’t relax. His hand hovered just above his service pistol. “I said to leave.”

  The front doors of Friendly’s opened and two families hurried out into the parking lot, ducking their faces against the wind, carrying only a few flimsy grocery bags each.

  Tommy elbowed Billy. “Come on. Let’s get outta here already. I need a nice warm body to keep me company.” His gaze slid over Quinn. “You got any suggestions?”

  “Tell your mom we said hi,” Billy said, still smirking.

  Quinn tightened her grip on the slingshot handle, anger firing through her. “Screw you!”

  Tommy just laughed.

  They turned and strode away, headed for Main Street, still laughing. They faded into the swirling darkness and disappeared.

  She shoved the slingshot in her pocket and whirled on Noah, still shaking both from adrenaline and fury. She should’ve shot one of them. Maybe both. They sure as hell deserved it. “I can handle myself. Thank you very much.”

  “It wasn’t a question of you, Quinn,” Noah said quietly, lowering his voice as Milo scampered toward them through the snow. “Those two men are extremely dangerous. Criminals with long arrest records who’ve both done prison time.”

  “I know,” she said, sharp and defiant. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know exactly who they are.”

  Noah nodded, understanding dawning. “Through your mom.”

  “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “That was awesome, Quinn!” Milo said excitedly. He mimed her slingshot. “You were like, ‘don’t mess with me!’ BAM!”

  Quinn couldn’t keep a small grin off her face. “It would’ve been more awesome if I’d actually let loose and hit one of them.”

  “It’d probably go right through an eyeball into the brain, right?”

  “A good shot with enough velocity? Sure it could—”

  “Okay, well, let’s not advocate for violence.” Noah retrieved her shopping bags—already covered with a thin film of snow—and handed them to her. “Right?”

  She took them grudgingly. Yeah, she had a slingshot. She could do some damage. But she wasn’t stupid enough to think she could singlehandedly take on Billy and Tommy Carter if they really wanted to hurt her. “Whatever.”

  Noah the Cop might have just saved her from something awful.

  Now, she owed him. She hated owing people things.

  “Milo, you were supposed to stay with the snowmobile,” Noah said. “It wasn’t safe for you.”

  “I’m fine, Dad!” Milo huffed. “I’m not a baby. I’m eight whole years.”

  “Eight whole years?” Quinn winked at him. Milo grinned back.

  “We’ll talk about this later.” Noah rolled his eyes and turned back to Quinn. “You okay at home? Staying warm enough?”

  “I’m staying with my Gran. We’re fine.”

  “It’s freezing at our house!” Milo said, his teeth chattering. “Colder than an ice cube.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Noah said. “We’ve got firewood for the fireplace.”

  Milo rolled his eyes. “That’s just one place. I can’t even play in my bedroom. Our beds are in the living room now.”

  She felt herself softening. “Do you have a kerosene or propane heater?”

  Noah shook his head. “The hardware store is already sold out.”

  “Do you have a terracotta flowerpot and small candles, like tea lights? Steel washers and bolts? You can make a small heater with that.”

  “We’ve got that stuff at home. Can you tell me how to make one?”

  She quickly explained. “So some people claim it can heat a small room, but it can’t. It’ll only give off as much heat as the candle gives off, but with the flowerpot, you catch the heat instead of letting it float up to the ceiling, where it won’t do you any good. Basically, you use a set of nesting clay pots, separated by and attached to a central steel bolt, with steel washers spaced in between the pots to form a heat exchanger thing.

  “Then you flip it over and support it on a few bricks to position the center bolt directly above a small candle or three. The flame heats the steel bolt directly, causing it to heat the clay pots and trap the hot air rising from the flame. The clay radiates heat. You’ll have to huddle close to it or use it in a small space, though. You can also use a couple of Sterno cans and a larger pot to get even more heat.”

  He looked impressed. “That’s genius. I should get this information to the townspeople. It could save lives.”

  She touched her eyebrow piercing absently. Gran didn’t like visitors unannounced. But this was a special case. And it would make her and Noah even.

  “Oh, fine.” She sighed heavily, a cloud of crystalized air misting her face. “Come to my Gran’s house. She taught me everything I know. She can teach you exactly how to make one and even more survival stuff. Maybe even feed you supper. But only if she likes you.”

  “What if she doesn’t like you?” Milo asked in complete seriousness.

  Quinn wriggled her half-frozen eyebrows at him. “Then she chops you up, puts you in a pot, and makes you for supper.”

  Noah frowned. “Please don’t scare him.”

  But Milo didn’t look scared at all. He grinned. “Mmm . . . tasty.”

  26

  Quinn

  Day Three

  “We can just go in already,” Quinn said when Noah paused on the front porch.

  It was completely dark out. Without the ambient light of street and security lights or the warm yellow squares of their neighbors’ windows, the night was pitch black.

  The wind moaned around the corners of the house. Tree branches creaked and snow blew from all directions, whipping into her face.

  “I’m a stranger,” Noah said. “It’s polite to knock.”

  “Oh! Can I do the knocking?” Milo asked, way too excited for such a small thing. Kids were so weird. “Please?”

  “Hurry up already, Small Fry. I’m freezing my tail off out here.”

  The screen door of Gran’s house sagged. The whole house was old and creaking, slowly falling into disrepair as Gramps and Gran got too old to properly care for it. It was the land that made it valuable—five rolling wooded acres abutting the river at the end of Tanglewood Drive, a long country road.

  Quinn scowled. She hated feeling embarrassed in front of anyone. She loved this house, even if it was looking a little faded and worse for wear.

  Gran finally shuffled to the front door. She pushed open the front door and looked them over with a frown. “Took you long enough.”

  Her words were sharp, but Gran’s face was blotchy. Her eyes were wet and red-rimmed. She’d been crying again, Quinn realized with a jolt. She’d just waited until Quinn had left the house.

  “Everything you requested.” Quinn handed Gran the grocery bags, and then pushed her way inside. It was too damn cold to remain on the porch a second longer. Noah and Milo quickly followed.

  Quinn stomped her boots on the welcome mat and swallowed the rising lump in her throat. She resisted the urge to wrap Gran in a hug. She knew Gran would be embarrassed, especially in front of guests.

  She gestured at her new friends instead. “Noah the Cop and Small Fry, this is my Gran, otherwise known as Molly. Gran, this is Noah the Cop and Small Fry.”r />
  Noah stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Molly. Your granddaughter is something special.”

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “Please.”

  So did Gran. “I already know that. You trying to butter us up, officer? You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

  Noah looked a little taken aback for a moment, but then he snorted. “Yeah, I guess I will. I can see I’ll have to stay on my toes with you two.”

  “See that you do.” Gran wiped her face quickly before turning back to them. “Something we can help you with?”

  “Yes, I hope so.” Suddenly looking nervous, Noah glanced from Gran to Quinn and back again. “Quinn mentioned you had a lot of old-school knowledge that could help the town.”

  Gran’s face brightened. Humility had never been one of her strong suits. Quinn knew she loved helping and being useful, even if she’d never admit it. “Sure do. I grew up on a farm not twenty miles from here. We did everything ourselves. Grew our own crops. Made our own milk and butter. Butchered our own deer and cattle.”

  “Walked six miles to school every day, uphill both ways,” Quinn muttered.

  “Were you there?” Gran snapped. “Who says I didn’t?”

  Gran had worked the land her whole life, and she was proud of it. She still cooked everything from scratch on the woodstove, had a winter garden in her barn, raised chickens, and even chopped her own wood until the last two years after her stroke.

  Quinn had occasionally taken over that job to give Gramps a break.

  A pang struck her chest. Now it would be her job permanently.

  Noah smiled. “I guess we’re all going old-school for a while. Might as well get used to it.”

  Surprisingly, Gran smiled back at him. “Shoot, I guess I’ve got a few minutes before I have to get back to canning. People need to know how to take care of themselves. Come on in and ask your questions.”

  They removed their snow-covered boots and coats at the door and traipsed into the warm kitchen. Cats were everywhere.