Nathan thought. It was a good point. How would he know? It might not be possible to give the boy a direct order.
“We need a code!” Tony said, warming to the idea. “A code. That’s preparing, too, right? That’s what Mom would have done, yeah?”
“Great idea. What shall we use?”
Tony thought. And Nathan thought. As he did so, Nathan finished taping the gun to the underside of the seat.
“Got it!” the boy exclaimed. “It’s perfect.”
“Go on.”
“You never call me Anthony. Ever. If you call me that, then I’ll know. Yeah?”
Nathan smiled, and he hugged his sons.
Yes.
Yes, it really was the perfect preparation.
No one was watching the F-350. The Big Winter was, at last, giving Nathan and the others a break. Something positive to use to their advantage.
As Tony moved toward the open car window, Nathan fired the Magnum past Brant’s ear. The mayor flinched and yelled, but now every soldier in the yard was focused on Nathan. Brant was bitching about his ear while Tony was throwing the Colt from the widow, and Lucy caught it.
The two soldiers near her were down in the snow before anyone realized what was happening.
By the time Syd reached the F-350 to open the door and reach inside, Free and the men had overpowered the distracted soldiers covering them and were relieving them of their weapons.
Nathan pushed Brant forward onto his knees.
“Please! Please! I’m sorry! Don’t kill me! Please! I’m sorry!” Brant’s brief show of backbone had melted completely. He was down in the buzzing, insecty snowflakes, collecting snow on his head and on his shoulders, snow silting up across the bloody handprint where Nathan had held him.
Oh man, how far we’ve come, Nathan thought. From a thrown together band of mechanics, runaways, millionaires, and lone star Texans. How they’d drawn together in all this adversity, which he thought had changed them irrevocably.
The Big Winter had turned them into hunters, survivors, widowers, fathers, and now mothers. It had turned them inside out, and it had shaken them down. This would not be the last danger they faced, and Nathan was sure it was not the last time they would be in a situation which brought them within a hair’s breadth from death.
But Nathan was also sure that the Big Winter hadn’t changed at least one thing about him.
It hadn’t turned him into an executioner.
“I’m not going to shoot an unarmed man on his knees, Brant. You would. You’d do that without thinking, and you’d be smiling while you did it. But you and this damned winter haven’t turned me into you. And it never will.”
One Year Later
“It’s them, Daddy! They’re coming!”
Tony, half a foot taller, ruddy-faced and building muscles that Nathan would never have thought possible on his once thin frame, came running down the trail to the Cliff Palace.
Nathan was keeping an eye on both Brandon and Hope, Lucy and Free’s daughter, while her parents were heading out on a three-day hunting trip into the mountains with Carmel and Syd. A fire was burning in a round stone hearth, but it really wasn’t meant to provide heat today—just to boil water for coffee.
Brandon was running hither and thither within the wooden compound Nathan had built. Hope, a beautiful, round-faced, blonde-haired child was gurgling in her sprung chair, looking out over the valley. Their camp lay in the ancient Puebloan sandstone dwellings, which in later years had become part of the Mesa Verde National Park in southwest Colorado.
Nathan and the others had been led there by Tommy eleven months before. And although it was still cold and snow would continue to fall, there was a softening of the climate to be felt here. Perhaps it was to do with the favorable positioning of the caves, the depth of the valley, or the natural shelter provided by the surrounding landscape. Since the crust of the Earth was no longer shifting around the mantle, stopping any Coloradan earthquakes, and the Big Winter had retreated a little—north and east of Denver—they had found a place that was almost temperate. As the New Year had turned, there had been an actual spring. The first Nathan could remember for three or four years.
Tony came bounding around the corner of the Square Tower and bounced up to Nathan. “Two A1s. Fifteen soldiers, I reckon. Be here in five. You want me to lead them down?”
Nathan stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. He’d been sowing winter lettuce and onion seeds, to see if they could catch up with the unexpected spring. He thumbed at the aching back of his left hand where the ragged scar of the gunshot was lumpy and red, and then pointed back to the trail. “Sounds like a plan.”
Tony ran back up the trail to meet the soldiers, and Nathan walked over to the sandstone block which contained the cell.
Tommy was watching over Brant.
Brant had known today would come, and had had eleven months in captivity to either plan an escape or find a way to end his own life. Since they’d heard the soldiers were coming for him, Nathan had put a round the clock baby-sit on the ex-mayor. That Nathan and the others had managed to keep him chained up, relatively healthy, fed but not entirely happy, had been a huge bone of contention with the others. Keeping Brant alive was a waste of resources, said some of them, others warning that he’d get away and bring hell down on them. I’ll kill him myself, had said one more.
In the end, it had been Tommy who’d really gotten it and understood where Nathan was coming from.
“You have to be better than them, right?”
Nathan had nodded. “What’s the point of resisting them, if you become just like them? What’s the point of surviving all this if you give in to everything that makes a mockery of being human? Of being civilized?”
And so, they had kept Brant alive.
When they’d reached Mesa Verde, and the Cliff Palace they’d converted into homes for all of them, they’d also made a cell. It had a bed, a chemical toilet, and some books. Brant was chained by the ankles on a halter line riveted to a wall plate, and he was kept handcuffed unless someone was watching over him.
For months, he’d just spat insults through his broken teeth at anyone who came close enough to hear, but when no one had given him the satisfaction of responding, after a while, he’d just given up. He’d even asked for more books to read, which Nathan had gladly supplied from their trips down into libraries in the nearest towns.
Brant and Tommy looked up as Nathan approached. “They’re here.”
Brant’s eyes fell. “You know they’re going to kill me, don’t you? You might not get blood on your hands, but it’s there by proxy.”
Nathan sighed. “Justice is what justice does, Brant. I don’t know what they’re going to do to you. Maybe you’ll hang; maybe you won’t. I hope you don’t, precisely because I think hanging’s too good for you.”
Brant’s eyes cut the air around Nathan. His lips thinned and drained of color.
Nathan met the hatred in the gaze and plowed on. “I’d rather you lived out your life regretting every single thing you’ve done. Seeing the face of everyone you’ve had murdered and killed yourself every time you closed your eyes. That’s my idea of justice. But it’s not in our hands anymore.”
Brant got to his feet and Tommy pulled his hands behind his back. “It’ll never be the America it was before, Tolley. You’ve lost everything, too. It’ll never be the same again.”
“I really hope it isn’t,” Nathan said truthfully.
Brant blinked, his face confused.
“I want it to be better,” Nathan said, and together, Tommy and he walked Brant out of the cell and into the Cliff Palace courtyard.
“Mr. Tolley! Or should I say Mr. Grieves? Great to see you again.” Lieutenant Toothill, fully recovered from her Carmel-inflicted wound, greeted Nathan as they came into view. Knowing that Toothill had been coming here today was another reason that Carmel had lit out in the morning with Lucy and Free. Carmel had been shocked to find out Toothill and her men ha
d not been the bad guys she’d thought they were when she’d brought down her extreme form of vigilantism on them last year.
Toothill was now part of a conglomerate of military and militia forces who were trying to regain control of the country. She had been contacted by Dave and Donie two months ago. They’d been setting up solar-powered printers to make copies of Elm and Cyndi’s ledger of remedies for distribution, and seen on the recovering internet how Toothill was making a name for herself.
Toothill’s forces had been fighting the vicious gangs, robber barons, and corrupt FEMA forces in Denver, Detroit, and Chicago for the last eight months, and they were getting results. It would take a while for it all to come to fruition, but Nathan knew that if people like Toothill were out there fighting for what America should stand for, then maybe there was hope.
And not just a child named for it.
After the introductions were finished, and Brant, deflated and silenced, was put into custody, Toothill stayed for a simple meal with Nathan, Tommy, and the children before heading out again.
When it was time to end their visit, Toothill turned back to Nathan. “We’ll be in touch. I think men like you are exactly what we need right now. I think you could do great things.”
Nathan didn’t know what to say, so he just shook Toothill’s proffered hand and waved as she and her soldiers pushed Brant up the steep slope toward the plateau above the cave.
Later that evening, when everyone was back—and the hunting had been good, so the deer was fresh—Tony cornered his father in the roaring firelight, out of everyone’s earshot. His face showed extreme concern.
“What’s up, son?”
“Lieutenant Toothill was offering you a job.”
Nathan thought about it. “Yeah, I guess she was. In a way.”
“Don’t leave us, Daddy. We need you here. Let someone else be a hero.”
Nathan put an arm around his son’s shoulders. “We’ve all gotta be heroes now, Tony. You, me, everyone.”
“I know… but not yet, yeah? Not now.”
Tony’s eyes were glittering with what might have been tears, and he wiped at his eyelids before the water had a chance to roll over his cheeks.
“I’m not going anywhere, son. Not at the moment. Not while there’s so much to do here.”
“Promise. Really promise?”
Nathan took his son’s cheeks in his hands and looked deep into his eyes.
“Really promise, Tony.”
Tony sighed and smiled.
“Family first,” Nathan said.
End of Black Ice
After The Shift Book Three
PS: If you love EMP fiction then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Dark Retreat.
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About Grace Hamilton
Grace Hamilton is the prepper pen-name for a bad-ass, survivalist momma-bear of four kids, and wife to a wonderful husband. After being stuck in a mountain cabin for six days following a flash flood, she decided she never wanted to feel so powerless or have to send her kids to bed hungry again. Now she lives the prepper lifestyle and knows that if SHTF or TEOTWAWKI happens, she’ll be ready to help protect and provide for her family.
Combine this survivalist mentality with a vivid imagination (as well as a slightly unhealthy day dreaming habit) and you get a prepper fiction author. Grace spends her days thinking about the worst possible survival situations that a person could be thrown into, then throwing her characters into these nightmares while trying to figure out "What SHOULD you do in this situation?"
You will find Grace on:
BLURB
Three months after life as she knows it was decimated, Megan Wolford has only one goal: protect her daughter, Caitlin, at any cost. When a mysterious illness strikes Caitlin down, Megan is forced to forage for medical supplies at a remote lodge. The last thing she wants is help from her fellow survivors when so many in her life have let her down—but soon she'll find herself with no other option.
Ex-Navy SEAL Wyatt Morris is doing everything he can to hold his family together after the tragic death of his prepper Dad, so when Megan enters their lands, he is mistrustful at first despite feeling drawn to her. He won't turn away an ill child though—no matter how deadly the world has become. The arrival of another stranger named Kyle soon gives them all a new reason to be suspicious. Wyatt knows he’ll have to forge alliances in order to keep his family safe, but trusting the wrong person could be a deadly mistake.
When Megan and Wyatt discover her daughter’s illness may be linked to Kyle’s arrival, it sets off a race to discover the truth before it’s too late to save Caitlin—and the rest of the Morris clan. Can they work together for survival . . . and something more?
Grab your copy of Dark Retreat
(EMP Lodge Series Book One) from www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com
EXCERPT
Megan Wolford stumbled over a rock and nearly dropped her daughter before she quickly regained her footing. The sight of a log cabin through the trees had given her a boost of adrenaline and she found she was practically running through the damp forest despite her heavy burden.
She’d fallen several times, bruising her knees and twisting her ankle. Her arms had deep cuts from tree branches that showed no mercy. There wasn’t exactly a trail to follow, which meant she was cutting through the heart of the forest and its unforgiving terrain. She was making her own way, as usual, which always seemed to be far harder than it had to be.
“Caitlin, hold on, baby. Hold on,” she whispered to the lifeless seven-year-old in her arms.
Megan was doing her best not to panic, but Caitlin had collapsed a couple miles back and she’d been carrying the sleeping child ever since. Carrying her where she didn’t know, but now that she saw what appeared to be a hunting lodge of some sort in front of her, she had a destination in mind. She had a goal.
It gave her something to focus on other than the agony that was tearing through her entire body. Another tree branch slapped her in the face, making her wince in pain. Her physical discomfort was nothing compared to the emotional anguish she felt at the thought of losing her daughter. Caitlin was the only thing she’d left in this world. She couldn’t lose her.
Her arms were burning and her lungs felt like they would collapse, but nothing would stop her from getting her daughter to what she hoped would be medicine. Without it, Megan knew her only child would die.
She didn’t have a clue what had made her so sick, but Caitlin was gravely ill. In the past twenty-four hours, her daughter went from bubbly and energetic to lethargic and weak. Megan had left their most recent camp in the hopes of finding something to help her. They’d walked through one small town yesterday and found nothing. Every single place she checked had been emptied already forcing them to travel for miles.
She was afraid to walk through the city streets overrun with looters. Megan knew it wasn’t safe for her and definitely not for Caitlin. It wasn’t as if she could leave her daughter alone while she went on a scavenging mission. She had to do it with Caitlin or not all. Common sense told her she didn’t have the strength to fight off the hundreds and thousands of other people vying for the same basic supplies. Instead, she’d decided to head out of town in the hopes of finding clinics, stores, and homes in more rural areas that weren’t as likely to be quite so dangerous.
Megan took long strides, slightly shifting her daughter, as she kept moving forward. Her sweaty hands were making it difficult for her to hold on to Caitlin. Gripping her hands together under her daughter’s backside, Megan pressed on.
She tried to protect her daughter
’s head as best she could from the branches and sharp twigs that seemed to be jumping out and stabbing the intruders in the forest. Another branch hooked her sleeve, scratching painfully at the skin beneath and she could feel blood trickling down her arm, towards her fingers. She wanted to scream at the trees and order them to stop their assault.
Her back was killing her with the awkward posture of leaning back to keep her daughter secured against her chest. The weight of her pack helped pull her backwards, but also put more strain on her hips. She was grateful to have had an old hiking pack in the closet. The internal frame made it easier for Megan to carry it and allowed her to carry a lot more without much additional strain. She didn’t know if she would have been able to carry her daughter and her supplies without it. Right now, she was grateful the pushy salesman had persuaded her to spend the extra money on the pack.
Regardless, everything hurt. She could feel dried blood on her bare arms pulling the fine hairs whenever Caitlin’s body rubbed against the cuts, further adding to the misery. Each twist tore open the dried wounds, causing them to start bleeding again.
She’d fallen several times, catching herself with one arm and holding her daughter with the other. She could tell her left knee was swollen. It was stiff and difficult to bend. It didn’t matter. Her daughter’s life was all that mattered.
“A few more steps,” Megan chanted more for her own benefit than her unconscious daughter.
She was thankful the weather had been mild. It was early spring in the northwest, but there were still little piles of snow in the shady areas. Climbing steadily uphill, her overused muscles screamed at her to take a break but she knew if she did, she wouldn’t be able to get back up again. The cabin ahead was growing steadily larger as her strides ate up the distance. Because of the harsh winter storms, mountain residents were prepared to outlast storms for weeks at a time, which meant they would have supplies, including medicine.
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