Near the roof’s western edge, Simon struck from the right, kicking the gun free of her hand. It flew over the edge and down into darkness. He’d fallen short of a direct hit, however, giving her just enough time to spin around and away from his follow-up hit. He was within striking distance, though. She threw a desperate left hook, but she caught nothing but air. As she tried to pinpoint his location, she eased back from the edge of the roof.
A fist collided with the side of her head, briefly dizzying her, but giving her the intel she needed. Simon’s location. She leaned to her left side and delivered a strong kick to the ribcage. He grunted and staggered backwards. She moved in on him quickly, catching him with a solid jab to the throat, calling on all her Army hand-to-hand combat training, hoping her skills were still sharp enough to see her through this.
He countered with a sharp hook to her left flank, a direct shot that took her breath away. He was much stronger than she was; too many more of these shots would incapacitate her. She held her ground, steeling herself for one more shot before she executed her final gambit. He hit her again, this time with a hook on the opposite flank. It was harder than the first and left her doubled over in pain.
He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her close until their faces were inches apart.
“Look what you did to me,” he hissed at her, rage dripping from every word. The right side of his face was badly scarred from the burns he had suffered at her hands five years ago.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, rearing back for another blow.
“And when I’m done, I’m going back to get that girl,” he said. “Payback for my son.”
She’d gotten him to square up against her, which was what she had wanted. She delivered a mighty kick to his groin, driving her knee square up into his midsection. He howled in pain and let go of her collar. Then the secondary pain set in, and he staggered past her, back toward the roof edge.
Now, Goodwin, now!
She rushed at him, driving her hands into his back and pushing him toward the edge. He tried to stop their momentum as her gambit became clear, his arms flailing like windmills, stomping his feet into the ground, but it was too late; she’d built up too big a head of steam. She kept going as far as she could before delivering a one final shove. He disappeared over the edge, his scream filling the night air as he plunged three stories to his death.
Lucy stumbled and tripped to her knees at the edge. Her forward momentum kept her going as well, and she felt herself starting to go over. She curled her body into a ball and tried to direct herself away from the edge. Her body pinwheeled to a stop right at the edge; the rough concrete gouged deep scrapes in her arms.
But she was alive.
She rolled onto her back.
She was alive.
It was over.
Jack. She had to get to Jack now. She did not know how much longer the barrier would hold up. She knelt by him and shook him by the shoulders. This was no time to be delicate.
“Wake up, Jack,” she said. “We have to go.”
It took a minute or so, but he finally started to come around.
“Did we win?” he asked groggily.
“Yes.”
“Cool.”
“Come on, we need to get out of here.”
She helped him to his feet.
“How do we get out?” he asked dully.
“There has to be a fire escape.”
They followed the perimeter of the roofline, nearly giving up hope before the metal staircase came into view.
“There!” she called out, picking up the pace.
On the northeast corner was a narrow ladder descending to ground level. Behind them, the door to the rooftop access blew open. A handful of armed men streamed onto the rooftop, slowed by the thickening smoke.
“Can you make it?” she asked.
He coughed.
“Yeah, I think so,” he said. “But maybe I’ll wait ‘til you’re at the bottom.”
She scrambled down the ladder and was on the ground within seconds. She shielded her eyes and looked skyward as he took his turn coming down. He was wobbly and took several breaks, but eventually, he made it down.
They hugged tightly.
“You did it,” he said.
“We did.”
Around them, it was sheer chaos. Throngs of Haven residents were intent on fighting the still burning fires, dazed and stunned at the sudden attack on their once impregnable fortress. The smoke and commotion were welcome companions as Lucy and Jack made their way to the exit.
It was almost dawn. They had a long journey ahead of them.
But soon, they would be home.
Epilogue
Five Weeks Later
It was December 23. The day before Christmas Eve.
Lucy watched as Norah hung the last decoration on Promise’s Christmas tree. It was a chilly afternoon, but they had a large campfire burning. The clouds were thick and low, and it looked like it might snow. Lucy didn’t mind a little snow, especially at Christmas, but she did not want a big storm, not so early in the season. Snow was a potentially deadly threat these days.
The residents of Promise cheered loudly as Norah took a bow. They retreated to the warmth of the fire, sipping hot cider. Lucy would have loved to cook up S’mores, but chocolate was a luxury item they rarely saw anymore. No matter. They had full bellies and a safe place to lay their heads.
It was an astonishing turn of events. Lucy and Jack’s stealth attack had triggered a total and complete defeat of the Haven. The memory of their terrible battle on the roof loomed large, as fresh in her memories now as it had been when they had made it back to Promise later that morning.
By the time they arrived, close to mid-day, the Haven had all but been abandoned. The place had risen and fallen with Simon at the helm. The fires had largely dissipated; Jack’s sabotage had been extremely effective. Every single building he’d attacked had collapsed.
Lucy’s pregnancy continued unremarkably. It was too early to feel the baby move, but thankfully, there was no sign that Simon’s blows to her midsection had caused any damage. No spotting, no bleeding. She wouldn’t know for six more months, and the waiting would be terrible, interminable.
Norah was still mourning Alexander’s death and probably always would. Lucy could not blame her. The boy had been instrumental in the defeat of the Haven. Lucy had finally told Norah that; she still felt guilty for coming down so harshly on her that keystone day she had confronted them. Inadvertently, she had stolen a little of Norah that day. Ruining what was one of their final times together.
But time was healing many of the wounds. They were close again. They mourned together. She missed Tim terribly. She had not yet begun to process his loss. It was still too fresh. Too raw. For now, she kept herself afloat by remembering that part of him now grew inside her.
As she finished her cider, Lucy spotted movement from the corner of her eye. A man was staggering toward them from the woods. He looked disoriented, stumbling to and fro on anything but a straight line; he seemed to have locked in on the campfire as a beacon. Lucy drew her weapon, as did several others who’d noticed his arrival.
But the man did not seem put off by the bevy of weapons suddenly pointed at him.
“Hang on there, friend,” someone called out.
The man froze, as though he had just noticed them. Then his legs buckled, and he collapsed into the snow. Lucy and several others moved toward him gingerly, keeping their weapons drawn. He was emaciated, his face scratched to hell. He was Black, but his skin had taken on an ashy tone. She pressed the back her of hand to his head. He was not feverish, and he did not appear to be ill. He did seem dehydrated, starving, exhausted to the point of collapse. He was almost certainly hypothermic.
Lucy and three others picked him up and carried him to the clinic. He began shivering once they placed him in the bed, so they covered him with a number of blankets. She took his temperature. Ninety-one degrees Fahrenheit. They go
t to work stabilizing him, bringing his core temperature back up slowly. They couldn’t do it too quickly, lest they trigger a shock response that could kill him. They helped him down a few ounces of a salty broth, which he was able to keep down. It would do him no good if he couldn’t keep it down. As his condition stabilized, he fell into a deep sleep just after sunset. Lucy monitored him for the rest of the evening. She slept on the cot in the office, wanting to be nearby in the event his condition changed.
He was awake and sitting up in bed when she went to check on him in the morning. He still looked extremely thin and weak, but his color was much improved.
“Good morning,” Lucy said.
“Morning,” he said. He was glancing around the room as though he could not quite remember how he had gotten here.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“Solomon Tigner.”
“I’m Lucy,” she said. “I’m the chief medical officer here.”
“Is Jack here?”
The question took her by surprise.
“Jack?” Lucy replied.
“Jack Goodwin.”
“You know Jack?”
“I do,” he said. “Are you his sister?”
“I am,” she said.
“You look like him.”
“How do you know Jack?”
“Is he here?” Solomon asked. “I have to speak with him. I’ve been looking for him.”
“How do you know him?”
The man clasped his hands together as though in prayer.
“Please. Is he here? I’ve been looking for him for a long time.”
“Okay,” Lucy said. “I’ll get him.”
Terri had arrived and was doing inventory in the storeroom. Lucy asked her to fetch Jack from his tent. They returned a few minutes later. His breath caught ever so slightly when he saw the man in the bed.
“Jack, do you know this man?”
“Yes,” he said cryptically.
“How you been, buddy?”
“What are you doing here?” Jack asked, his voice small and strange. There was a hint of fear in his voice.
“Jack, listen to me.”
He motioned for Jack to draw closer. Jack took a hesitant step toward the man.
“What?”
In a whisper, just loud enough for Lucy to hear:
“I know how to turn the lights back on.”
Coming Spring 2021
The Third Book in the American Midnight Series
Daybreak
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Afterword
I wrote NIGHTFALL over a ten-week span between May and July 2020, as we all came to grips with the new reality of our pandemic lives.
Writing the book was a welcome distraction from the increasingly bad news regarding the coronavirus, which continues to rage virtually unchecked as of November 2020.
The pandemic has been catastrophic. By the time the year is out, more than 250,000 Americans will have died, part of the one million-plus worldwide who have lost their lives to this terrible disease. It is an unimaginable tragedy and the defining moment of not just my lifetime but of the last century.
But good news is on the horizon. As of this month, there are two vaccines that appear extremely effective in combating the virus, and by the time you read this book, hopefully the vaccine will be flowing through the veins of millions of people.
Sometime in 2021, the third and final book in the AMERICAN MIDNIGHT series will be published, and my fervent hope is that by the time that installment is in your hands, the pandemic will be receding from view.
Until then, stay safe.
David Kazzie
November 2020
Acknowledgments
To my Advance Reader Team, thank you for your feedback, support and encouragement. We make quite the team.
To Dave Buckley, thank you for standing on the front lines of my first drafts.
To Ali Funk, thank you for your careful and meticulous work proofreading the final draft.
All errors are mine alone.
About the Author
David’s first novel, The Jackpot, was a No.1 bestselling legal thriller. He is also the author of The Immune, The Living, Anomaly, The Nothing Men, and Shadows.
His short animated films about law and publishing have amassed more than 2.5 million hits on YouTube and were featured on CNN, in The Washington Post, The Huffington Post, and The Wall Street Journal.
Visit him at his website or follow him on Facebook (David Kazzie, Author).
American Midnight | Book 2 | Nightfall Page 25