Before the End (Beyond Series Ultimate Glom Edition)

by Kit Rocha

  “Got it.”

  “Jeni?”

  “Yeah?”

  There was sympathy in Dallas's eyes. Pain. But also unbending, steely resolve. “Go find Hawk. It's time.”

  “I'll tell him.” Alya wasn't going to like it. And Hawk— Jeni's peculiar calm shattered in an instant, replaced by pain, by a regret too deep for words or even tears.

  Sector Four was his home now, but the farm in Six would always be a part of him. And now it was a part he had to destroy.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hawk didn't argue when Jeni offered to come with him to Sector Six.

  He should have. A stronger man would have. He could have left her at home, snug in the heart of Dallas's territory—

  Except even that didn't feel safe anymore, not when they knew for sure there were Special Tasks soldiers outside the wall. Silent, invisible killers who'd been waging the cruelest, sickest kind of war on all of them. They'd sown desperation while cleaning up the city's messes, and some twisted part of Hawk couldn't help but admire their efficiency. They'd turned a handful of necessary, practical deaths into a spectacle of heartache and hopelessness.

  So it felt wrong to leave Jeni behind. But it felt wrong to bring her into the most likely path of an army that could already be preparing to march—especially now that she'd confessed how they knew about the spies and their faked suicides.

  The mystery tablet. She'd been nervous, admitting what she'd been doing with Noelle and Noah during all those long, secretive afternoons locked up in the tech room. No doubt she'd expected him to explode in a protective fury. But Hawk just nodded, because if there was one lesson he'd learned from watching Shipp with Alya all these years, it was to keep those explosions in check. Hawk couldn't protect Jeni if she didn't want to come to him with the truth.

  And now that he knew the truth, letting Jeni accompany him to Six was the only choice he could live with. If she was with him, he could keep her safe.

  He guided his car over the final rise and down the hill toward the farm. The moon and stars were obscured behind clouds, leaving endless darkness cut only by his headlights and the distant glow from a few of his family's windows.

  The children were probably already in bed. The adults would be gathered around hearths and tables, resting weary bones and sipping Big John's godawful liquor as they prepared for another busy day of spring planting.

  He was about to tear their placid little oasis to the ground and salt the earth beneath their feet.

  Jeni reached across the car and touched his hand. “I'm sorry.”

  The soft caress helped. “She'll survive starting over. Most of us did, at least once.”

  “That doesn't—” Her voice broke. “That doesn't make it okay.”

  Tears roughened the words. The same tears he couldn't let himself shed, because when the children tumbled from their beds, terrified, on the brink of losing the only home they'd ever known, he had to be there. Solid and reassuring, confident enough to convince them everything was going to be all right.

  Hawk twined their fingers together and pulled Jeni's hand to his lips for a kiss. “No, it's not okay. But I've got to go in there believing I can make it okay for them, or they won't believe me when I say they can do this.”

  “I know.” She swiped at her cheeks with her free hand. “What can I do?”

  “Help my sisters.” They reached the bottom of the hill, and Hawk used one hand to steer, pulling the car to a stop close to Alya's porch. “They might have questions about Sector Four that they don't wanna ask their brother.”

  “I can handle that.” Jeni squeezed his hand until he looked over at her. “Hawk, I'm here for them. But mostly...I'm here for you.”

  The kitchen light went on, proof Alya had heard his car and would be on the porch soon—probably with a shotgun. Hawk leaned in and caught Jeni's mouth in a quick, fierce kiss. Familiar sweetness washed over him—the way her lips parted so eagerly, the skill of her kiss. She could strip him raw with the honeyed glide of her tongue and the sharp scrape of her teeth, but she wasn't trying to tonight.

  Tonight she was building him armor.

  He broke away with a harsh sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. “This might get ugly.”

  She glanced at the kitchen window. “Do you need to talk to Alya alone?”

  “No. Shipp'll be there anyway. And maybe you can help, if she has any questions about what you found.” He pulled back with the best smile he could manage—lopsided and weak, but if he'd learned anything from the O'Kanes, it was this. Laughing at the worst life could dish out. “If she grabs the shotgun, dive for cover.”

  But Jeni didn't laugh.

  By the time they got out of the car, Alya was waiting for them on the porch, Shipp at her side. Hawk climbed the steps, the words he'd practiced for half the drive tumbling end over end in his head.

  Before he had a chance to say anything, Shipp sighed roughly. “Either someone died, or your son's come to give us even worse news, Alya.”

  Hawk stopped on the next-to-last step, putting him at eye level with his mother. She was barefoot, dressed in worn jeans and a tank top that showed off her lean strength. The years usually rolled off Alya as if they couldn't touch her, but the eyes he'd inherited from her were ancient, the lines around them deeper than he remembered.

  She knew. She'd kick and scratch and fight them down to the last minute, but Alya had seen too many bad days not to recognize one staring her in the face.

  Hawk said it anyway. “It's time, Ma.”

  She flinched. Squeezed her eyes shut. “Why? What's changed?”

  “We uncovered a network of spies in Four,” Jeni said softly.

  Shipp cursed. “Did O'Kane haul them in already?”

  “No. They're all dead. Staged to look like suicides. I guess…” She looked away. “I guess they'd outlived their usefulness.”

  “So that's it.” His voice was flat, but Shipp's hand was trembling when he touched Alya's shoulder. “Eden's getting ready to move.”

  “We don't know that,” she insisted, her voice like steel. But her eyes—Hawk's chest hurt. She was dying behind those eyes, begging him to reach out, to save her.

  And he had to shove her under the water and let her drown. “Are you willing to take the chance? They could be on the move already. Do you want to wait until the army's here? Do you want to tear the babies out of their beds and try to get them past a bunch of MPs who won't give a shit about shooting them in the fucking head?”

  Alya's hands curled into fists. “Do you want to burn their home down over a maybe?”

  “Yeah,” Hawk replied harshly. “Because we can rebuild a home, as long as they're alive to be in it.”

  “That doesn't have to happen.” Jeni looked around, taking in the cabin, the fields and houses beyond it, then focused on Alya. “Do you have people who would be willing to stay behind? Just a few. Enough.”

  Alya hesitated, but some of the wildness faded from her gaze.

  “They can wait out the maybe. But they should know—” Jeni stopped, then started over. “You should know they might not make it out.”

  Alya's mouth was still pressed into a tight line when she nodded. “We'll start the evacuation,” she bit out, turning back to the door. “And no one lights so much as a damn match until I'm ready.”

  The door snapped shut with the force of her temper, and Hawk winced. “I fucked that up.”

  Shipp snorted. “There's no way to make something like that easy to hear.”

  No. Nothing about any of this would ever be easy. “Dallas wouldn't have sent us if he wasn't as close to positive as he could get. I trust his gut, Shipp.”

  “Settle down,” he shot back. “She'll do it. She won't leave anyone here to die, even if they jump at the chance. Even if they're ready and willing.”

  Hawk wasn't so sure—but he didn't need to be. He trusted Shipp's gut, too, and there was no doubt there, no hesitation. Just an understanding of Alya that went bone-deep, because th
ey'd been together long enough to smooth away the sharp edges of uncertainty.

  In a decade, maybe he and Jeni would be that easy, too. Hawk would have to add that to his dreams, to the promise that kept him moving forward while his past crumbled around him.

  In spite of her objections, it was clear that Alya had been planning for this moment, maybe even for years.

  Alya gathered everyone and quickly explained the situation. No one questioned her, even though she'd just told them to uproot their lives, to take only what they absolutely needed and leave everything else behind. They simply moved to obey as she went on to delegate more tasks and give instructions regarding the animals and machinery.

  Jeni watched. She answered Shipp's terse questions as best she could, then soothed some of the younger children. She tried to keep them busy and out of the way, because it seemed like everyone knew what to do, had a job—

  Everyone except for her.

  She kept an eye on Hawk, too. He took charge as easily as his mother, directing the people who came to him for guidance. He focused on the equipment, getting whatever could be driven ready to move, and helping to load the rest onto flat trailers to be hauled away.

  Outwardly, he looked calm. Collected. But Jeni watched as tension lined his shoulders, tighter and tighter, drawing him in on himself, as if the constant pressure was the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

  It made her throat ache and her eyes burn. But she kept the tears at bay, kept going, because if he could do this, then she damn well better be able to help him.

  The sky was just beginning to lighten along the eastern horizon when she seized the chance to pull him aside. Most of the vehicles were long gone, loaded down with possessions and people. Only Shipp's men and some of Hawk's family remained, finishing up what needed to be done.

  Jeni urged Hawk into the barn. It was bare and cavernous now, stripped of everything they could haul away, a completely different place from the building where she'd accepted his collar—Christ, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  She gripped his shoulders and almost winced at how rigid his muscles were beneath her fingers. “Hawk, look at me.”

  He did, but there was nothing there. His usual guarded expression had hardened into something even more heartbreaking—a blank mask.

  “Hawk.” She touched his cheek, right on the spot where a dimple would appear every time he smiled, and wondered if she'd ever see it again. “Are you going to make it through this?”

  The muscles under her fingers tightened. “It's harder than I thought it would be.”

  Do you need to go? The words died on her tongue. Useless, a waste of breath, because he would never abandon his family. She would never ask him to. “I wish I could fix this for you.”

  He curled his hand around the side of her neck, his thumb coming to rest on the medallion on her collar. “There's only one way to fix this.”

  It didn't sound like he was talking about winning the war. There was something too intimate, too desperate, in his voice. “I don't understand.”

  “By sunset tonight there'll be nothing left,” he said softly. “My entire past, burned to ash. I need to keep dreaming, Jeni, but I can't do it by myself. I need to believe you see a future for us, too.”

  A tiny sliver of ice lodged in her gut. “You know how I feel about you. About us.”

  “I know.” A feverish light filled his gaze. Instead of being hard and cold now, he was shaking with barely restrained emotion. “But today isn't enough. Now isn't enough. I want forever, Jeni. I want ink.”

  If he hadn't been holding her, she would have stumbled back. “What?”

  “It shouldn't make a difference.” He touched the collar again. “If you want me enough for this, then why not?”

  Because his world was falling apart. Because he was spinning, feeling powerless about so many things that this could be nothing more than a way to center himself, to feel like he was in control of something, which meant it wasn't about her at all.

  And, above all else, because he'd told her the same thing about the collar she was wearing—that it meant she was his, that it was more than enough. That it was everything.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Pain twisted his expression, carving lines into his face before he forced the blank mask back into place. But it was imperfect, cracked, radiating his hurt and his desperation as his hand trembled on her skin. “Then maybe I don't know how you feel about me after all.”

  For one horrible moment, she thought about simply walking away. It hurt that he would ask her like this, with the earth shifting beneath them, when she couldn't be sure if he meant it or if he was just scrambling for purchase. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't.

  She took a deep breath instead. “Hawk, you know this isn't the time—”

  “When?” His harsh question cut deep. “When it's too fucking late? There is no time. Or am I just the guy you fuck when the world's ending, not after we save it?”

  The ice was taking over now, everywhere but in her burning eyes. She clamped her lips together and bit her tongue, anything to keep the sob rising in her chest from escaping. Finally, she dragged herself under control enough to speak. “That's why not. Because you're upset. You're so upset you're saying things you don't mean.”

  “And you're managing me.” Hawk's hand fell away, leaving them close but not touching. The empty space between them was a few insignificant inches—and an impassable chasm. “At least be real with me. Be honest.”

  “Why?” The word materialized without thought, without second-guessing, and Jeni plunged ahead. “You've been lying about everything. You're lying to me right now.”

  “Lying? About what?”

  “All your dreams.” It hurt to think, and even more to say aloud, with him looking at her like she was breaking his heart. “You paint pretty pictures, but you don't believe them. You think we're all going to die—that's why you need this now, now, now. Why you can't wait for both of us to have our heads on straight. And I don't even blame you. Sometimes I think we're all going to die, too. But when I admit it, you act like—you act like it means I'm giving up or that I don't love you, and that's not fucking fair. It's not right.”

  Hawk reached for her, his hand hovering over her cheek, his face suddenly stricken. “Jeni—”

  “Don't.” Her cheeks were wet with tears, her vision blurred. “I gave you things that I shouldn't have, and I knew better.”

  He wiped away her tears with his thumb. “I'm sorry. I just— Fuck, Jeni. I just wanted one thing in my life—” He cut off as a wash of red light filled the barn through its open doors.

  The sky outside blazed with exploding flares hanging high in the clouds. More were rising to the east—

  In the direction of the city.

  “Fuck.” Hawk's hand closed around hers, tight and warm. “We need to get you to the car.”

  Jeni dug in her heels. “People are still here—”

  “No arguments.” His tension and uncertainty were gone, washed away. The man who dragged her out of the barn was a soldier who calmly and quickly assessed the chaos of the people spilling out of buildings and running toward cars before hauling her toward the main house.

  Another flare shot into the sky to the northeast. Red smoke billowed from it, like blood spilling across the lightening sky. Hawk's jaw clenched as he hurried their steps. “Anderson's farm. We have to move.”

  A flurry of sharp pops somewhere off in the distance broke through Jeni's shock. “That's gunfire.”

  “No shit, that's gunfire.” Shipp jumped off the porch, swung a rifle off his shoulder, and tossed it to Hawk. “They're headed this way.”

  Hawk checked the rifle. “Who's left to evacuate?”

  Shipp hesitated. “Alya's freaking out. We can't find Luna.”

  Jeni blanched. No one should have been running around alone on a night like this, a night when they were packing up their whole lives to flee. “One of the little ones was upset earlier. He couldn't
find his stuffed toy—Luna promised him she'd bring it.”

  “Okay.” Hawk prodded Jeni toward his car as Alya came out the front door. “Ma, Jeni and I are going to look for Luna. You guys need to—”

  Something hot and wet splashed on Jeni's arm. She looked down, expecting to see water, rain, anything but the dark blotches that covered her skin and shirt.

  Then Hawk slammed into her, driving her to the ground.

  And Alya started screaming.

  “Stay down,” Hawk hissed before rolling away.

  Wood shattered above Jeni's head. Everything seemed far away and in slow motion as she looked up. Fire, blazing in the distance. Big John reaching for Alya as she dove across the grass and clawed her way up Shipp's body—

  Shipp's body. He stared into the night—fixed, unseeing. A dead man's eyes. The side of his head was gone, blown out all over the cool green grass.

  All over her.

  “Shipp!” Alya drove her elbow into Big John's face. He released her with a curse, and she crawled higher, her hands framing Shipp's face as if she couldn't see the hopelessness, the blood, the death. “Shipp, baby, you can't—you can't—”

  Her fingers slipped on his bloody cheek. Found the edge of his wound.

  She threw her head back and screamed.

  Big John hauled her up, blood streaming from his nose, painting his face dark in the predawn light. “Go,” he growled. “I've got her.”

  Hawk froze on his knees, his gaze swinging from his dead friend to his sobbing mother. But John was already running into the darkness, shoving Alya's face against his shoulder to quiet her cries.

  Hawk grabbed Jeni's hand hard, but she barely felt it. She barely felt anything as he tugged her to her feet and herded her toward the side of the house, hunched over her, his body forming a solid wall between her and the direction of the shots.

  When they made it around the side of the wall, he crouched and tugged her down with him. “Which kid was it? Who was talking to Luna?”

  Every time Jeni tried to remember the child's face, all she could see was Shipp. “Curly b-blond hair, about four years old. Reese?”