by Stone, Kyla
We don’t have the full story, likely we never will,” Collins said. “Far as we’ve heard, none of the engineers made it out alive.”
Evelyn stifled a gasp. L.J. started coughing again, and she fumbled for a bottle to soothe him. He gave several barking coughs before he settled.
“How many casualties?” Travis asked.
“Hundreds. Could be thousands. Don’t know if anyone has even gone into the hot zone yet,” Collins said grimly. “All I know is, I wouldn’t be caught dead within a twenty-mile radius of that plant. Everyone that could, fled. If you’re heading toward a potential hot zone, take care.”
“Isn’t there a plant near Champaign?” Evelyn asked, her expression strained. “Have we been exposed?”
“That’s Clinton Power Station, right?” Chung asked. “From what we’ve been told, every other plant in Illinois shut down, or if they didn’t, the concrete containment structures contained the radiation.”
Liam nodded, his gut tightening. Dave Farris had mentioned Cook Nuclear Power plant, which was located only fifteen miles from Fall Creek.
He made a mental note to check out the reactors. No one would feel, smell, or see a radioactive leak—until it was too late.
“Thank you for your help,” Travis said. “We don’t want to take up more of your time. If we’re going to reach our destination by dark, we should go.”
Collins and Chung stepped back. “We’ve cleared most of I-94 and have been working with local authorities—those still showing up, anyway—to patrol what we can. Still, keep your eyes open. It’s every man for himself.”
Liam grimaced. The pain was getting worse. What he wouldn’t give for some morphine or even a few shots of whiskey. “Been that way for a while.”
Collins dropped his gaze to the M4 at Liam’s feet and gave a half-smile. “Looks like you can take care of yourselves.”
Chung waved to the National Guardsmen manning the blockade. They moved back, clearing a path for the vehicle to slip through.
Chung looked at L.J. again and frowned. “What happened to you…what’s happening. We won’t let it continue, not while America still has blood running through her veins. And she does, I assure you. Things are hard. They’ll be hard for years. But we are still free.”
“We won’t give up,” Evelyn said.
Chung smiled wearily. “Damn straight.”
29
Liam
Day Eighty-Nine
Travis drove along I-94 at thirty miles per hour, mindful of ambushes and wary of obstacles in the road that might pop a tire or cause an accident.
This was neither the time nor the place to stop. An hour ago, they’d paused only to refuel from a jerrycan Liam had stashed in the back.
Flat barren fields and scraggly trees shorn of their leaves stretched on either side of the road. The highways of Indiana weren’t clogged like the big cities; it wasn’t difficult to weave between the occasional stalled car.
Despite the cold and the throbbing pain in his side, Liam kept the M4 at the ready, sweeping his gaze across both sides of the highway for threats.
Travis drove, his complete focus on the road ahead. Evelyn entertained L.J., changed his diaper and fed him the last of their thin, watery formula while keeping an eye out.
As they passed through one small town after another, Evelyn and Travis stared in dull, wide-eyed horror. Liam had witnessed the destruction on the way in; it didn’t make the sight any easier.
Streets were strewn with piles of trash, glass, bricks, splinters of wood, and other detritus scattered everywhere. In several towns, buildings were scorched husks; others broken, bullet-scarred, and gutted.
They witnessed more than a few bodies lying untended, left to rot where they’d fallen. Liam grimaced at the stink of decaying corpses, the fetid stench mingling with a stew of excrement and other bodily fluids.
As the warmer weather thawed the frozen ground, it also thawed the corpses of animals and humans alike. Diseases like dysentery and even cholera would spread like wildfire.
The last hundred miles were uneventful. A few stragglers on the road eyed them with desperate greed, but Liam’s M4 dissuaded anyone from attempting an attack.
With every passing mile, Liam’s anxiety and anticipation grew. For days, he’d been cut off from Hannah and Charlotte and the others, from the connection and warmth he craved.
He longed to see her face, to hear her laugh, to feel her warm gentle hands massaging the pain from his back, from his soul. Her presence tugged him back from the abyss.
After a few hours, they crossed the unobstructed border into Michigan, the Indiana guardsmen waving them through without stopping.
An hour after that, they reached the last bend in the road, the bridge over Fall Creek appearing in the distance.
Liam’s heart swelled in his chest. Despite the stab of agony beneath his ribs, he sat up straighter.
Fall Creek was a small town like any other. From the outside, it was nothing special. But within its borders lived the people he cared for.
“This is it.” His voice choked with emotions—relief, impatience, gratitude. And something else, something he hadn’t expected to feel again, but knew was true with every beat of his heart.
This, truly, was where he belonged.
30
Hannah
Day Eighty-Nine
“That wasn’t us,” Bishop said to Flynn with a calmness that Hannah didn’t feel. “We already told you, it was the militia. We didn’t know what they were doing, and when we found out, we fought them at an incredible cost, including the lives of several of our own people.”
Dallas crossed her arms over her chest. “Convenient excuse, if you ask me.”
Perez took a menacing step forward. “What the hell did you just say?”
“Okay, okay, we came here to discuss terms—” Mick started, attempting to keep the peace among his group, but it wasn’t working.
“We’re not brokering any terms with you people!” a man spat.
Perez looked furious enough to claw someone’s eyes out. “No kidding. And where were you when we fought the militia, huh? We asked for your help, and you were nowhere to be found. Left us high and dry.”
“I tried,” Mick said.
“Tried isn’t good enough—”
“For all we knew, you could’ve been on the militia’s side and ambushed us,” Flynn said. “We protect our own. Why would we risk anything for you?”
“Exactly,” Perez said. “Don’t expect us to help you the next time you come calling, either.”
“We will,” Hannah said, reining in her frustration. “That’s what the Community Alliance is about, isn’t it?” She shot a pointed look at Mick, then Flynn. “Communities coming together to help each other, to defend each other against stronger threats. That’s what we’re interested in. Working with you to form a larger, stronger group. Strength in numbers.”
“No way,” Flynn shot back. “We’re not working with Fall Creek. No way in hell.”
Flynn and his men had arrived with their hackles up, angry and itching for a fight. They were out for blood.
Everyone was on edge, nerves raw.
She was grateful Ghost was with Milo and Quinn. The Pyr would’ve taken a bite out of at least one of them. Perez was bad enough; she was champing at the bit to do the same.
“Give us our supplies!” Dallas said. “You know, all the stuff you stole.”
Bishop’s features went taut, his jaw bulging, though he kept his baritone voice composed. “As we’ve explained, we didn’t steal it.”
“Who says we’re giving you anything?” Perez snapped.
Flynn’s face purpled. “That was the agreement! It’s the reason we came, not to fraternize with thieves and liars. You owe us!”
Perez stiffened. “We don’t owe you a damn thing!”
A distant buzzing filled Hannah’s ears. It felt like watching a slow-motion train wreck the passengers couldn’t see coming. There was nothin
g she could do to stop it.
It was all going to fall apart. Everything they’d fought and sacrificed for. What Oren Truitt, Wayne Marshall, and even Noah had died for.
They hadn’t overthrown a tyrant only to succumb to infighting, petty disagreements, and mistrust.
They were better than that. Humanity was better than that.
She knew it, felt it deep in her bones. They just needed to open their eyes and see the truth. But how to make them see it? How could she make a difference?
After all, she’d tried and failed with Noah.
A fresh bout of grief savaged her heart. She pushed aside the pain and focused on the present. No matter how they distrusted each other, the way forward was together.
“Stop it!” she yelled.
They didn’t hear her. Flynn continued to shout at Perez, jabbing his finger in her face. Perez shoved him back, fury in her eyes. The men behind Flynn moved forward, hands reaching for the butts of their pistols at their hips.
Perez drew her service pistol. “Don’t you move!”
Flynn raised his shotgun and aimed at Perez. His men pointed weapons at Bishop and Hannah. Bishop’s pistol was drawn but remained low at his side.
“Wait a minute!” Mick cried, but his people weren’t listening to him anymore.
“Weapons down!” Bishop shouted. “Weapons down!”
Hannah’s Ruger remained in her holster. Though her pulse roared in her ears, her palm damp from adrenaline and fear, she refused to draw it. If anyone fired, their chances for peace went down the drain, never to be recovered.
It was now or never.
“We’re on the same side!” Hannah said.
“Are we?” Perez sneered. “Because we came here to talk love and peace and all that crap, and these tools are the ones accusing us of raiding and sabotage. No one comes into our house and disrespects us like that. No one.”
Flynn hurled a string of crass insults.
“You can starve for all we care,” Perez said.
“Then we’ll take what’s ours by force!”
“I’d like to see you try!”
Hannah put two fingers between her lips and gave a loud piercing whistle. “That’s quite enough! All of you!”
She pushed between Perez and Flynn, hands out, separating them, pushing Perez back toward Bishop, who placed a restraining hand on her arm. Perez tried to shake him off, but Bishop was strong.
“Don’t you see what’s happening? What’s at stake? We don’t have a choice. We have to work together.”
Perez shook her head and spat into the straw.
Frustration and fear clawed at her. They were so stubborn, so blinded. “If we rise, we rise together. If we fall, we fall together.”
Flynn’s scowl deepened. “Pretty words. Too bad there’s no substance behind them.”
“There is,” Hannah said. “We brought the supplies in six trailers. They’re out back behind the arena. We can hitch them to your trucks, your horses, whatever you need. You can have them. Right now. Nothing asked in return. No strings.”
“Nothing in return—?” Perez sputtered.
Bishop shot her a hard look, and she quieted.
Flynn raised his bushy red brows. “Why do I not believe that?”
“Believe what you want. The trailers are right there. Go see for yourself.”
“It’s not enough. It won’t make up for—”
“It’s a start,” Bishop broke in, his booming voice echoing through the arena. “And quite a generous one, considering. I’m sure you’d agree, Mick.”
“I do agree.” Mick angled his head at Dallas. “Why don’t you and Ortega get a few folks to load the supplies. And Flynn, get a security team together to see us back safely. We’ve only got a few hours until dark. We need to move.”
The tension stretched as both sides eyed each other—and their guns.
“We’re on the same side,” Hannah repeated, her heart bucking in her chest like a wild thing. “It’s about time we started acting like it. Lower your weapons. All of you. We’re not fighting each other today—or ever.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Bishop’s approving nod. He holstered his pistol and spread his hands, palms out. “If you shoot us, you’ll be shooting unarmed people.”
Flynn’s jaw bunched, his eyes narrowed. “If you think—”
“Flynn,” Mick said, steel in his voice. “It’s done.”
“Mick’s right.” Dallas put her hand on Flynn’s arm. “Come on. We’ve got what we came for.”
Defeated, Flynn’s shoulders slumped, his big body deflating. With another mumbled curse, he lowered his shotgun. His men followed suit.
With a scowl, Perez aimed her service pistol at the ground but didn’t holster it, just in case. Her posture eased.
The threat was over—for the moment.
Hannah let out the breath she didn’t remember holding. “That’s better.”
“This changes nothing,” Flynn growled. “You don’t fool me. We’ll never trust Fall Creek—”
Footsteps pounded outside. As one, everyone turned toward the sound, hands again moving toward weapons.
Dave Farris burst into the arena, panting hard, his face red from exertion. “It’s Liam!”
Pure relief flooded Hannah’s veins. “He’s back.”
Dave glanced at her, dismay in his eyes. “He is. But he’s hurt.”
31
Quinn
Day Eighty-Nine
The feral dogs were gone, but Quinn had no time to feel grateful.
She found herself surrounded by another sort of threat.
At least four dozen people crowded the small clearing, ranging out to form a loose half-ring around her, just like the dogs.
They wore regular clothing—jeans, cargo pants, leather jackets, combat boots—but were all armed, bristling with bizarre weapons: spears, crossbows, scythes, clubs, and axes.
At first, Quinn thought they were adults. Most were older than her, but a few looked her age, like the skinny black guy standing in the center of the group.
They were in their early twenties, a few in their teens. Most of the guys boasted shaved heads, while the girls shaved the sides of their skulls and left the center long, worn either as a thick single braid or several locks that tumbled down their backs.
They’d just rescued her, but their expressions were grim, suspicious, almost outright hostile.
The group watched her, shuffling and murmuring, a strange eager glint in their eyes that took her a second to read—anticipation. But anticipation for what?
She didn’t know why, couldn’t put her finger on it, but warning bells clanged in her head. A sour-sick feeling slicked her insides.
Quinn silently pleaded with Milo to remain hidden in the branches of the oak tree behind her. Whoever these guys were, it was better they didn’t know about Milo.
This far into the woods, the noise from the fairgrounds had faded. Even the distant reports from Reynoso’s range had fallen silent.
Birds trilled in the trees. The wind rustled through the underbrush, shafts of gray light bleeding through the barren branches of the tree canopy.
Heart pounding in her chest, she rose slowly to her feet—damp leaves clinging to her knees, muddy snow caked on her palms and in her fingernails—and raised her arms.
Ghost was on his feet beside her, ears cocked, body quivering. A rumbling snarl vibrated deep in his chest.
“Don’t move!” snapped a big guy carrying a huge spiked mace that looked like a medieval melee weapon stolen out of a museum. Every inch of him bulged with muscles. He had flat features and a broad, misshapen nose.
He looked like a bouncer, or some thug’s righthand man. The guy who did all the dirty work—and relished it.
“I’m not armed,” she said. “Don’t shoot me. Don’t shoot Ghost. He was fighting the other dogs. He’s not—he’s not feral like them.”
“We love dogs,” said a male voice from somewhere in the middl
e of the group. “Don’t we?”
A guy of about twenty strode forward, a long sword tucked into a scabbard on his right hip, the wicked curved blade of a sickle slung on his left side. He looked strong, wiry rather than big, with elongated features and stringy wheat-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“It’s okay, Jett,” he said to the guy with the mace, who lowered his weapon with reluctance, then he spun toward the skinny, acned kid. “You killed all these dogs, Tyrell? You know how I feel about killing dogs.”
The skinny guy—Tyrell—shifted nervously. He pointed at a dog carcass. “They were fighting each other. We were just breaking it up. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” the blond one said with a sneer, eyes flashing. “Maybe I should beat you with that hatchet of yours like you were beating those innocent dogs. That’s all.”
“They attacked us,” Quinn said. “Ghost fought them off.”
As if on cue, Ghost let out a low warning growl.
The blond guy’s gaze snapped to the dog. His eyes widened as he took in Ghost’s enormous size, his regal head, jaws dripping with red saliva, white chest stained red.
The anger in his face vanished, replaced with something akin to admiration, to awe.
The guy nudged his scabbard aside and dropped to one knee, so he was eye-level with Ghost. “This fine animal took on those dogs?”
“He did.”
“Damn straight. Color me impressed.”
“You should be.”
He glanced up at her as if seeing her for the first time. A smile broke across his face, but it wasn’t entirely friendly.
He rose to his feet, light and graceful, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Pardon my manners. I’m Xander Thorne.”