by Kyla Stone
From the floor, Ghost gave an exasperated chuff. Hannah tossed him another piece of venison jerky, which he scarfed down in a single mouthful, then turned his soulful eyes upon her once again, begging for more.
She sighed and tossed him another piece. “You big baby. One more. That’s all.”
“How’s Quinn?” Liam asked in a low voice, slanting his chin at Milo.
“She’s doing better.” Hannah chewed her lower lip. “She thought killing Sutter would fix something inside her. In the end, she realized it wouldn’t. She’s talking about it. That’s a good thing. Her and Milo, though…it’s like she’s afraid to be around him. I’m not sure what to do.”
Milo and Quinn still circled each other like ships passing in the night—both apprehensive, skittish, and hurting.
Liam had no suggestions. He wasn’t good at this stuff. Couldn’t figure out his own crap, let alone anyone else’s.
Hannah studied the yellowed table, frowning. “This world steals their innocence.”
“That’s what it takes to survive.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s the price everyone has to pay,” Liam said.
“I wish I knew it was worth it.”
He understood the darkness. He’d lost himself to it.
A man haunted by his past, by his years overseas, but also everything that had happened since the EMP—the things he’d had to do, the choices he’d made.
He closed his eyes and saw it again. The plummeting plane, the careening wreckage, the dead bodies everywhere.
His brother lying in the street, unmoving. Jessa on the bed, blood staining her legs, her chest, the sheets beneath her.
Save him, Liam. Save my baby…
He forced his eyes open. He had saved L.J. and Jessa’s parents. And Hannah.
It was Hannah who’d brought him back, who’d saved him in return.
Quinn would find her way, too. He would help her as best he could. If he was still around.
“In this world, there’s no choice,” Liam said. “You struggle through and make it to the other side, or you don’t.”
Hannah wiped drool from Charlotte’s chin and nodded. She understood it, too. She’d faced her own demons and come out the other side, stronger and tougher.
“You’re right. As always.”
He snorted. “I doubt that.”
“Since we’re still waiting, I could use your help.”
“What do you need?”
She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolded it, and pushed it across the table. “We have a couple hundred volunteers to help with the spring planting. I have a list. Dave, Annette, and I have organized them into teams and assigned each one a specific farm.
“We need armed patrols with each group to keep watch while people are working. I could use your input on which people to put where, to best use their strengths.”
Liam raised his brows. “I’m impressed.”
“Organization and leadership are key. We have hundreds of seedlings growing in the greenhouses we’ve built. Jamal and Tina have constructed some hydroponics farms with solar grow lights. They can build more with the proper supplies.
“We need PVC pipes, plastic tubing, Styrofoam containers, buckets, and pea gravel. We also need more fencing for the goats, chickens, and cows we want to keep in town. It’s getting harder to source what we need. And of course, it’s impossible to send out scavenging parties with the General breathing down our necks.”
“I’ll make the list, but I need every soul we have to man the perimeter and blockades.”
Hannah sighed. “I figured.”
Liam reached into his pocket and withdrew his everyday carry—a hard-shelled sunglasses case. It contained his multi-tool, stainless steel tactical pen, small LED flashlight, two lighters, a folding knife, lock-pick set, and a handkerchief wound with paracord.
He pulled out the tactical pen, flipped over the paper, and wrote names in his messy scrawl.
“Wow. That’s some handwriting.”
“Beautiful handwriting wasn’t a job requirement for the army.”
“Good thing, too. That looks like a tangle of hair in a shower drain.”
Liam snorted. It was an accurate assessment.
Charlotte attempted to stretch her chubby arms across the table and seize the pen. He pulled it safely back out of her reach. “Not this pen, little one. This beauty is a weapon.”
“What makes it a tactical pen?” Hannah asked. “It looks normal.”
“Ordinary pens are made from flimsy plastic.” Liam balanced it on his palm, then flipped it and gripped it in his fist, the ballpoint facing up, the hard pointed tip facing downward. “This is constructed from military-grade titanium. It has these rigid handles for a superior grip if you need to use it for self-defense. In the hands of the right user, this pointy end can do serious damage. It’s designed to penetrate and injure, to incapacitate.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Now I’m impressed.”
He adjusted his grip from kill-mode to writing mode. “It’s a glass-breaker, too. It’s discreet. I carry it everywhere, including through airport security.”
“Not anymore.”
A pained look crossed his face. “No, not anymore.”
She returned her attention to the list, her brow wrinkling. “We’re building something good here. People depend on us. We have to protect it. We have to.”
Ghost raised his head, ears pricking.
The Great Pyrenees leapt to his feet and let out a booming bark.
17
Liam
Day One Hundred and SIx
Liam tensed. He snatched the Glock and lowered it beneath the table between his legs, out of sight but ready to use.
Footsteps sounded outside the bar. The bell over the door jangled, and Corinne Marshall strode in, followed by Dave and Annette, and several townspeople.
Molly, Quinn, and Jonas jostled in the back of the small crowd, along with a few local farmers. He recognized Dwayne Lawson and Kale Burrows, two of the men who’d accosted him in this very bar not two months ago.
Evelyn was busy in the medical bay, but Travis was present, baby L.J. balanced on his hip. He gave Liam an encouraging smile.
Everyone crowded into the bar. A sweaty, unwashed scent hit his senses, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
Their faces were thinner, harder. Wrinkled clothing hung from tough, ropy frames. They were armed with shotguns and handguns. Many boasted knives along with the occasional axe.
Satisfied they weren’t a threat, Ghost trotted up to Dave and sniffed his hand. His plumed tail waved in greeting as Dave scratched behind his ears.
Liam rose to meet them, back straight, standing tall despite the pain. He’d meet his fate like a warrior.
Corinne Marshall stepped forward. The owner of the local hardware store, she was in her forties. She wasn’t old, but her skin had been etched by hardship and adversity. Her husband, Wayne, had been killed in the final battle with the militia.
She said, “We’ve decided.”
The bar fell silent. No sounds but for breathing, a shuffling of feet. Everyone watched Liam’s face, their own expressions inscrutable.
He watched them in return, his nerves raw, every muscle tensed. His stomach knotted in trepidation.
It mattered to him. He hadn’t realized how much until this moment. How bitter it would be when they turned on him. E Tu, Brutus?
Corrine stood staring at him with that grief-hardened gaze, not an ounce of pity or softness in her.
“Go ahead, Corinne,” Dave said.
“The General claims he represents Lansing. That Governor Duffield sent him. Yet when we rebuffed his soldiers, he retaliated by murdering two of our own. Two innocent civilians. It is our belief that no legitimate member of the United States military would commit such a heinous act, no matter the uniform he wears or the authority he claims. General Sinclair is the same as Rosamond and Sutter, or worse.”
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Corinne’s gaze slipped to Hannah. “We’ve dealt with a tyrant before. It took us too long to recognize the signs. We were complacent until it was too late. We paid a dear price for it, too. But we’ve learned from that mistake, and we won’t make it again.”
Liam stared at her, his mind scrambling to make sense of her words. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. He found himself completely unprepared.
Corinne paused. “Fall Creek refuses to submit to his demands.”
Liam gaped at them. “You know what this means. What you’re saying.”
“We’re letting the deadline pass,” Annette said. “We’re not giving you up.”
“You’re one of us, Liam,” Dave said. “No way we’re sending you to your death. Not gonna happen.”
Liam’s face flushed. “This isn’t the militia. The General boasts hundreds of soldiers. We’re outnumbered. Outgunned. We’ll lose. We can’t stand—”
“We know the odds,” Corrine said in a firm voice. “If it comes to it, we’re going to fight. Whatever you need us to do to prepare further, we’ll do it. All of us. Together.”
Hannah grinned for real this time. A flash of beauty, of hope. “Now do you believe it?”
Liam couldn’t answer around the sudden lump in his throat.
18
Liam
Day One Hundred and Seven
M4 in hand, Liam stood at the window of the historic courthouse and studied Main Street through his night vision goggles, or NVGs.
Everything shimmered in ghostly shades of green. He checked the store fronts, alleys between the buildings, the windows and rooftops, alert for the glimmer of a scope or subtle movement of shadows that didn’t belong.
The night was dark and still. It was 2200 hours, and nothing moved. At least, nothing human.
A couple of raccoons scuttled down the sidewalk in search of trash to raid. To the east, a stray dog slunk around the corner of an apartment building, eyes glowing.
Everything was quiet and appeared normal—the new normal.
The security elements had reported in ten minutes ago. So had the forward observers who were within range.
All quiet on the western front.
The calm before the storm.
“The deadline passed yesterday afternoon,” Annette said from behind him. “Nothing’s happened. Not a peep.”
The last thirty-six hours had been all-hands-on-deck. Every able-bodied citizen manning the blockades, foxholes, sniper hides, and security patrols, leaving their posts only to eat or take a piss.
They’d expected an attack or aggressive reaction. At a minimum, another tortured farmer sent to deliver a malevolent message.
Instead, there was nothing. No message. No response.
The scouts reported zero troop movements at the Boulevard Inn.
Fall Creek found itself trapped in a terrible limbo, cowering from shadows, awaiting an unknown fate from a faceless enemy.
Liam half-turned toward the room. A single kerosene lantern set on conference table cast orange shadows across the council members’ faces.
His gaze swept each person, checking body language, hand placement, facial expressions. Always alert for a threat, even among friends.
Hannah, Dave, Annette, Reynoso, Mike Duncan, Perez, and Bishop were present. Hayes and Darryl Wiggins were on night patrol duty. Weapons leaned against chairs or sat on the table within reach of their owners.
Shadows like bruises rimmed their eyes, their skin gray with fatigue. The intense stress of the last three days alone had worn everyone’s nerves to a razor’s edge.
“Maybe he’s waiting for something. Back up or intel.” Reynoso gave a helpless shrug. “Who knows?”
Bishop rubbed his face with both hands and sighed. “We need actionable intelligence. It feels like we’re blind. I hate this.”
Liam hated it, too. He loathed the anxious, powerless feeling permeating the room, seeping into his pores. He was a man of action, not inertia.
“What will the General do next?” Hannah asked. “How might he choose to attack?”
He shifted his grip on the carbine and scratched at his scalp. He needed a shower. Showers were a once-a-week treat if they were lucky, with washcloth wipe-downs the intermediary method.
He needed sleep, too. He’d survived on about three hours of sleep for the last couple of days.
“We know they have a Black Hawk. And a .50 caliber machine gun will rip through a regular building like paper. Some National Guard regiments are trained in mortars as well.”
“You think the military will use a weapon like that on civilians?” Dave asked, incredulous.
“If they believe we’re domestic terrorists and pose a real and present threat to this country, then yes,” Liam said. “Their intel is erroneous, intentionally manipulated for one man’s gain, but they don’t know that. They’re trained to follow orders.”
Annette blanched. “How do we defend against that?”
“You don’t,” Liam said. “You run. Or you hide. But you better have a damned good hiding spot.”
Annette looked pensive for a moment, then her face brightened. “I might have an idea.”
“Spit it out,” Perez said. “We’re in sore need of ideas.”
“The high school and middle school were built in the early sixties during the Cold War. They both have large fallout shelters in the basement. We’ve been using them for desk storage and janitorial supplies for decades, but we could get a team to clear them out. Would that work?”
Liam mulled it over. “The walls are thick. It would make a defensible fallback position. We would need to sandbag everything, block windows with metal plating, place sandbags on the roof for firing positions.”
“And there’s the historic jail downstairs,” Hannah added. “That concrete is six inches thick at least—and underground. It’s not a huge space—maybe a hundred feet by seventy-five feet? But we can cram a couple hundred people in there. We’ll have to use buckets for toilets. It won’t be pretty, but if it keeps people alive…”
“We need a town-wide alarm system,” Reynoso said. “A signal for folks to retreat if hostiles breach the perimeter.”
Bishop ran a hand through his afro. “Crossway Church’s bell still works. It’s a pain to get up to the steeple, but once it’s ringing, you can hear it throughout town.”
“Good,” Dave said. “That should work.”
Hannah had her notebook out and was scribbling intently, eyes bright. “We’ll designate families for each space and coordinate team leaders, just like we’re doing with the farms. Once that bell rings, people need to move immediately.”
“So, what do we do next?” Annette asked.
As one, all eyes flicked to Liam.
Liam turned from the window. “You won’t like it.”
Dave raised both hands, palms out. “You’re our expert, Liam. We’ll defer to your judgement.”
“We need to be more than ready,” Liam said. “We need to strike first.”
The council members stared at him in shock, faces blank.
“What?” Dave sputtered. “With what army?”
“We don’t wait for the General to make his next move. That gives him too much power.
It makes us reactive instead of proactive. We go after him first. Not a full-frontal assault—we wouldn’t last ten minutes. Guerilla warfare. A coordinated sneak attack on weapons, fuel, and supplies. We’ll only have one shot. He won’t be expecting it. It’s our best—probably only—chance to take him by surprise.”
Perez leaned forward, her black hair slicked behind her ears, her expression intent. “Hell yeah. I’m in.”
“We have no hope of defeating him,” Liam warned her. “But we can make it harder for him. Eliminate or steal resources he’d use against us. Wear him down. Drain and weaken his soldiers as much as we can. Hungry soldiers aren’t so eager to fight.”
Annette looked sick. “That seems risky.”
Liam glanced at Hanna
h. Her gaze was steady, grim but undaunted. He took strength from her. “Everything we do or don’t do is a risk.”
Perez waved a hand, grimacing. “We’re waiting around to be attacked. It feels like death warmed over. Like we’ve already given up, like we’re just rolling on our backs and showing our bellies.”
“In other words, we agree with Liam,” Reynoso said wryly.
Weary nods around the room. Their faces were grave, expressions bleak but not yet broken.
Liam’s gut knotted. The threats facing Fall Creek loomed over them. The responsibility for their lives was a thousand bricks pressing down on his chest.
“Don’t forget about the Syndicate,” Perez said. “They’re still out there, too.”
Liam clenched his jaw. “I haven’t forgotten. Not for one second.”
With one last glance out the window, Liam headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Bishop asked.
“We’ve got a hell of a lot of work ahead of us. First, there’s someone I need to see.”
19
Liam
Day One Hundred and Seven
Liam shined the flashlight in James Luther’s face. “Looks like I have a use for you after all.”
Luther scratched his unruly beard, blinking blearily. He was rank. His rumpled clothing stank of sweat and B.O. and other bodily functions. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
“Does that light have to be so bright?”
Liam lowered the flashlight. He’d covered the bulb with a red transparent film to make it less noticeable.
“Thank you,” Luther said. “You have any food? I’ve only had a can of bean sprouts in two days.”
Liam handed him a small package of cornbread wrapped in a square of aluminum foil. “Molly wants the foil back. Can’t waste anything these days.”
He waited with restrained impatience while Luther consumed the cornbread, stuffing it into his mouth and shamelessly licking the crumbs from his fingers.