by Kyla Stone
He could feel his father’s eyes on him. His sister and his mother. All watching him, studying him, analyzing him, finding him wanting.
He fumbled at the latch, swung the doors open, and stepped onto the deck.
The setting sun dipped low on the horizon. Vibrant yellows, oranges, and crimsons streaked the clouds. Lake Superior reflected the jagged shoreline, the limestone cliffs, the lush trees. The sunlight like burnished gold painted the waves.
It was a sight he’d seen a thousand times. Familiar, yet no longer comforting. Instead of the tranquil beauty of the great lake, he felt the coldness in his bones. The great sunken ships resting in the dark, symbols of man’s hubris, their weakness against nature’s wrath.
The placid surface hid the bodies of the dead. Cody Easton was among them. They might never find his corpse. But he was out there. He was a part of it now—the icy lake, the harsh wild, the ghosts of the deep.
A great grief rolled through him, the crumbling of things he didn’t yet fully understand as the foundation of the everything he knew gave way.
The world was disintegrating. It was slower here, but it was happening. He could feel it, could see people fraying at the edges. Things were bad and about to get much worse.
He had relied upon the laws and the rules to protect him, to protect them all. And what now? How would those laws change? Who would enforce them, protect the people?
As the sun sank, a seed of resolve grew within him. He could not fix the breaking world, but whatever was in his power to fix, he would do it.
For Lena, his best friend, returned home at last. For Shiloh, the fierce orphan he adored. For Lily and Cody, those who he had failed.
And for Eli, the boy he’d loved like a brother and then betrayed.
For all of them, for the innocent children they once were and the broken men and women they had become.
There had to be redemption.
It existed. He believed.
* * *
The End
I hope you enjoyed The Light We Lost, book one in the Lost Light survival series.
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To preorder book two, The Dark We Seek, get it on Amazon HERE.
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As darkness falls across the Northern Hemisphere, evil rises…
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Please scroll to the next page for the Author’s Note and a list of my available books. Also, scroll past “About the Author” for a free preview of book one in my bestselling post-apocalyptic series, Edge of Collapse.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As I embark on a brand new post-apocalyptic series, I want to thank all my readers for coming along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it! There is more to come from Jackson, Eli, Lena, and Shiloh. And of course, Bear.
First, I want to give heartfelt thanks to the behind-the-scenes readers who give early feedback on the raw manuscript. They are invaluable as I shape the final story that you hold in your hands.
To my fabulous BETA readers: Ana Shaeffer, Fred Oelrich, Melva Metivier, Jim Strawn, Sally Shupe, George hall, Jose Jaime Reynoso, Randy Hasting, Annette King, Rick Phipps, Kathy Schmitt, and Courtnee McGrew. Your thoughtful critiques and enthusiasm are invaluable.
To Michelle Browne for her line editing skills. Thank you to Joanna Niederer, Cheree Castellanos, and Jenny Avery for detailed feedback and proofreading.
A very special thank you goes to David Kepford for his tactical expertise and excellent advice.
Thank you Karen Colley Cleaver to for sharing what it’s like to live with type 1 diabetes. Your experience has helped to shape the character of Lena Easton.
Any errors are my own.
Thank you to our armed forces who put their lives on the line to keep us safe and protect freedom around the world.
To my husband, who takes care of the house, the kids, and the cooking when I’m under the gun with a writing deadline. To my kids, who show me the true meaning of love every day and continually inspire me.
Thanks to God for His many blessings. He is with us even in the darkest times.
Thank you.
ALSO BY KYLA STONE
The Edge of Collapse Post-Apocalyptic Series (EMP):
Chaos Rising: The Prequel
Edge of Collapse
Edge of Madness
Edge of Darkness
Edge of Anarchy
Edge of Defiance
Edge of Survival
Edge of Valor
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The Nuclear Dawn Post-Apocalyptic Series (Nuclear Terrorism):
Point of Impact
Fear the Fallout
From the Ashes
Into the Fire
Darkest Night
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Nuclear Dawn: The Complete Series Box Set
* * *
The Last Sanctuary Post-Apocalyptic Series (Pandemic):
Rising Storm
Falling Stars
Burning Skies
Breaking World
Raging Light
* * *
Last Sanctuary: The Complete Series Box Set
* * *
No Safe Haven (A post-apocalyptic stand-alone novel):
No Safe Haven
* * *
Historical Fantasy:
Labyrinth of Shadows
* * *
Contemporary YA:
Beneath the Skin
Before You Break
* * *
Audiobooks:
Nuclear Dawn series:
Point of Impact
Fear the Fallout
From the Ashes
Into the Fire
Darkest Night
Edge of Collapse series:
Chaos Rising
Edge of Collapse
Edge of Madness
Edge of Darkness
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I spend my days writing apocalyptic and dystopian fiction novels, exploring all the different ways the world might end.
I love writing stories exploring how ordinary people cope with extraordinary circumstances, especially situations where the normal comforts, conveniences, and rules are stripped away.
My favorite stories to read and write deal with characters struggling with inner demons who learn to face and overcome their fears, launching their transformation into the strong, brave warrior they were meant to become.
Some of my favorite books include The Road, The Passage, Hunger Games, and Ready Player One. My favorite movies are The Lord of the Rings and Gladiator.
Give me a good story in any form and I’m happy.
Add a cool fall evening in front of a crackling fire, nestled on the couch with a fuzzy blanket, a book in one hand and a hot mocha latte in the other (or dark chocolate!): that’s my heaven.
I love to hear from my readers! Find my books and chat with me via any of the channels below:
www.KylaStone.com
www.Facebook.com/KylaStoneAuthor
www.Amazon.com/author/KylaStone
Email me at [email protected]
PART I
SNEAK PEEK OF EDGE OF COLLAPSE
HANNAH
DAY ONE
The light went out. That was the first thing that alerted her.
The single lightbulb encased in wire mesh on the ceiling glared down on her continuously, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.
The sudden darkness pressed against the backs of Hannah Sheridan’s closed eyelids. Her body sensed the change and woke her from her restless nightmares. She sat up on the bare mattress on the cold cement floor. She turned her head left and right, straining her eyes.
At first, she thought she’d been plunged into complete and utter blackness. But no, the narrow eight-inch rectan
gle of window on the southwest side of the room let in the barest trickle of dim light.
The window was located beneath the back deck. Very little daylight made its way to her down here, filtering through the iron bars.
She’d grown used to it.
Hannah blinked, let her eyes adjust. Shadowy shapes appeared—the bean bag in the corner, the doorless bathroom across from her, the small fridge, the rolling cart with the microwave, the narrow counter with the sink and the cabinet where she kept her dishes along the far wall.
The silence.
That was the second thing.
She was used to quiet. But this was something else.
The rumble of the generator outside the window. The buzz of the small fridge. The cycling of air from the heating and air conditioning unit tk.
Everything had gone still and silent.
No sound but her own breathing. In and out. In and out.
For several long minutes, she didn’t move.
Was this another trick? A trap just waiting to spring its jaws?
She was used to tricks, too. She lived inside a trap.
The light didn’t come back on. The fridge didn’t buzz. The generator didn’t rumble back to life. She glanced at the tiny camera affixed to the ceiling above the secure metal door. The little glowing green dot no longer glowed. The camera was blind.
The power had never gone out before. That was what the generator was for. To keep her alive. He came and checked it almost every week, made sure everything worked and remained in tip top condition—the electricity, the water, the heat, the camera, the security system.
Slowly, she pushed aside her two blankets and rose from the mattress on the floor in the corner of the room. Her bare feet hit the chilly concrete floor, but she barely noticed.
Her mind spun and whirred, confused thoughts ricocheting against her skull. It didn’t make sense. Why would the power go out? Had he forgotten to refill the generator? Was it something else? A storm or a power surge? When would it come back on? Would it come on? Would he know it was out and return to check on her?
When was the last time he’d come? Sometimes, it was every seven days. Sometimes, two weeks passed. There was no rhythm or reason to his visits. No way to tell how many days she’d need to survive before he returned. If he returned.
It was easy to lose track of time here. At first, tracking the days had been of crucial importance. Counting the hours. The days, weeks, months. Then the years.
Always hoping for rescue. Praying for it. Desperate for an escape that never came.
She looked at the calendars she’d made with chalk on the wall above the mattress. It was too dim to see them with her eyes, but her mind conjured the images clear as day. She’d stared at those blunt marks hundreds, thousands of times.
She knew it was day by the dull gray light. But what day? What month? November? December? Or even later? When had she stopped keeping track? Only a few weeks. No, it was longer. Maybe even months.
Her mind was clouded and foggy, like it had been stuffed with cotton. It was hard to think straight. Got harder every day that passed, every day that took her further from who she used to be and sucked her down deeper into this hell that never ended.
Fatigue gripped her and tugged at her arms and legs. Who cared what day or month it was? Nothing ever changed. Nothing ever would. Her entire life consisted of these four cement walls. A fifteen by twenty room.
She should’ve given up long ago.
She was close now. She felt the despair like a sucking black hole, pulling at her, threatening to take her under once and for all. A bottomless sea of darkness closing over her head, drowning her slowly, strangling the breath from her lungs.
For almost five years, she’d fought it. Every day, an hour of calisthenics to keep her muscles from atrophying. Jumping jacks. Sit ups. Squats. Every day, writing in the journal with the crayons he allowed her. Every day, mentally practicing her guitar. Composing songs in her head.
Imagining the life she would have if—when—she got out of this place. Imagining the life her husband and son were living right that minute. Her family and friends and co-workers—the whole wide world continuing on without her.
But the last few months, it had become harder and harder to cling to that miniscule seed of hope. Hope was the ultimate Judas. It had betrayed her hundreds, thousands of times. It caused the most suffering, in the end.
Hannah stared across the room at the imposing metal door and the electronic key code and lock. She stared until the shadowy shape took solid form, until her eyes ached and begged her to blink. She didn’t.
What if he wasn’t coming back? What if the water turned off along with the generator? She had MREs and enough supplies for another two weeks if she rationed, but no longer.
She had a single cup, a single bowl, and two pans she could fill with water. And the small sink built into the counter—she could fill the basin. How long would that last? A few days? A week?
What about the heater? The chilly cement floor felt like it was growing colder by the minute. Even the air on her face and hands felt cooler.
She thought she was still in Michigan, though she wasn’t sure. Wherever she was, the winters were brutal. Only the heater kept her from freezing to death down here.
She knew the season by the temperature drop, the coldness of the floor. When she pushed the rolling cart beneath the single window, climbed on top of it, and peered out through the bars, she could see the snow on the ground, sifted beneath the wide wooden planks of the back porch.
She would freeze to death long before she ran out of food or water.
Outside, the dog barked. He’d been quiet the last day or two. She’d never met him, but she’d pictured him in her mind a million times. A huge German Shepherd/Wolfhound/Rottweiler mix, with vicious eyes and razor-sharp teeth, judging by the deep menace in his bark.
A monster, like his owner.
Placed there like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades just in case anyone was stupid enough to try to get in—or out.
She’d never heard another human voice, other than his. The man who’d put her here. Who kept her imprisoned like a rat in a cage. No neighbors. No visitors. Only the damn barking dog and the occasional rumble of a truck or snowmobile engine when he came to see her.
Fear crept into the corners of her mind, anxiety tangling in her belly. She padded to the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, trying to push the cobwebs from her sluggish brain, trying to think.
She wrapped her arms around her thin ribs and rubbed her arms. She wore a green knit sweater that matched her eyes over a thin nightgown with a pair of long johns beneath them—the same clothes she wore every day, washed in the tiny sink once a week by hand.
How long would it take the temperature to drop to intolerable levels? How long for the human body to freeze to death inside an unheated concrete basement?
Maybe, it was nothing. She was panicking over nothing. The electricity would switch back on in an hour or a day. Somehow, she knew it wouldn’t.
Or maybe he’d finally tired of her and decided to let the generator run out. Even that thought didn’t ring true. When it was time to kill her, he would do it himself. She knew that like she knew her own name.
Something had happened. He’d been killed in a crash or struck by a train or dropped by an aneurism. Anything was possible. There were a thousand ways to die. A hundred ways to go missing, to suddenly disappear from your own life.
She knew that better than anyone.
As much as she longed to see him dead, he was her only link to the outside world. To life. She loathed him but depended on him for every single thing.
He’d used that to control her completely. To exert his indomitable will over every aspect of her pitiful life.
Grinning with that dead-eye smile as he keyed in the lock code each and every time he entered the room. Hurt me and you kill any chance of ever getting out of here alive. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how lethal
hope was—how powerful a weapon it could be.
She felt the door like a physical presence to her right. She turned again, faced it. Nothing worked. Not the power. Not the heat. Not the little blinking camera. What if…
It was always locked. A power outage wouldn’t change that.
She lowered her hand to her stomach, nearly touched the rounded, basketball-sized belly, but didn’t. Her hands dropped limply to her sides.
Hannah Sheridan was just as trapped as she’d ever been.
2
HANNAH
Almost without thinking, Hannah found herself moving numbly, mechanically toward the sink. She knew every inch of this room by heart. She didn’t need to see to know what she was doing.
She pulled her two pans out of the cupboard and filled them with water. She set them on the counter. Next, she filled her single cup and bowl. She plugged the the small stainless-steel basin and began to fill it.
A few days-worth of water. She wouldn’t use the water for anything but drinking, conserving as much as she could until it ran out. But the cold…she only had the two blankets and the sweater she already wore. It wouldn’t be enough.
None of it would be enough.
She would die here in this horrible prison, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Panic and dread swirled in her stomach. Nausea crawled up her throat and she almost retched.
She tugged the hair tie from her wrist and pulled her thick, waist-length dark brown hair into a messy bun. She used to brush it every day. But lately…lately she could barely muster the energy to feed herself.