Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (Edge of Collapse Book 7)

by Kyla Stone

  “To murder children?”

  “Not murder. We were supposed to take her and bring her to the General. That’s all.”

  “How did you know which house was hers?”

  The hostile winced. “The General knew. He had a map of the town and circled the road and the house. Once we penetrated the perimeter, we surveilled the house all afternoon. I saw the woman bring the baby here. We waited until everyone was asleep and in-between patrols. Then we broke in. Get in, get the baby, get out. Those were our orders.”

  “There are two babies. You were after them both?”

  “Just the girl. Didn’t know there was another kid. Almost grabbed that one by accident. It was the girl he wanted.”

  “Why?”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  Liam went at him again.

  The hostile convulsed like electric volts were shooting through him. When he could speak again, he said, “The kid is related to him! A granddaughter? Great-granddaughter? I don’t know! Hell, it hurts!”

  Shaken, Liam sat back. Cold sweat broke out on his brow.

  His mind whirled, cycling through the possibilities, the ramifications, what this meant for them, for Fall Creek and for Hannah.

  The General knew.

  Rosamond hadn’t shown a shred of interest regarding her blood ties to her granddaughter. Evidently, her father felt differently.

  That mealworm scumbag Sutter had told the General about Charlotte. Or else Luther had.

  Maybe Luther was playing both sides.

  If he was, Liam would find him and filet his skin from his skeleton.

  “That’s why the General hasn’t attacked yet,” Jenkins wheezed. His eyelids fluttered. His makeshift bandages leaked thick dark blood. A widening puddle stained the carpet beneath him. “Just…waiting on the…kid. He’s gonna blast you terrorists to hell…”

  Once he had the intel he needed, Liam gave Jenkins a quick death, as he’d promised.

  He stood slowly, back twinging, and wiped his hands on a towel. He cleaned his tactical knife and sheathed it.

  Sickened, he turned from the corpse.

  He’d done what he had to do. If it meant he kept his loved ones safe, he would let his soul burn for eternity.

  “What does this mean?” Reynoso asked, dismayed.

  Liam couldn’t answer him. He needed to talk to his spy. He needed information.

  He seized the radio, switched to the correct channel, and radioed Luther.

  The radio hissed static. There was no answer. It wasn’t their prescribed check-in time. Besides, without the repeater stations, the radio was out of range.

  Dread settled in his gut like a block of ice. Liam tried again and again.

  Again and again, nothing.

  32

  Hannah

  Day One Hundred and Ten

  “It’s not over,” Hannah whispered.

  “It is for tonight,” Liam said. “You’re safe now.”

  She didn’t feel like it. Try as she might, she couldn’t still the fear pulsing through her. She couldn’t stop trembling.

  Reynoso and Perez had conducted a thorough search of Fall Creek, and Liam had ordered increased patrols and twenty-four seven surveillance of Hannah’s house. He refused to leave her side.

  Lightning flashed outside the window. A moment later, thunder rumbled.

  A storm was coming.

  Hannah was back home, Liam with her. They sat on the sofa, Milo and Charlotte asleep in their beds. The fire crackled in the fireplace as orange shadows flickered along the walls.

  Ghost stretched out in front of the hearth, alert but rested his head on his front paws, his brown eyes watching their every move. Every so often, he’d nose his injured hind leg and give a plaintive whine.

  It was three a.m. Neither she nor Liam had slept.

  Anxiety wound a knot in Hannah’s belly and wouldn’t let go. Her mind kept rewinding and replaying the night’s events. “What if I’d missed? What if Charlotte was seriously hurt? What if—”

  “You did everything right,” Liam said.

  “She could’ve died. L.J., Milo. Evelyn and Travis—”

  “They didn’t. You can’t beat yourself up about what might have been.”

  She nodded dully.

  “You did good,” Liam said, pride in his voice. “The bad guys are dead, and you aren’t. Charlotte is safe. You’re safe.”

  “I killed a man tonight.”

  “You did what you had to do.”

  She stared at the fire. The flickering flames danced and blurred. “I didn’t miss, Liam. I was scared to death, but I didn’t miss.”

  Not like before. She remembered the night of the blizzard, trapped in the house with Pike. The confrontation in the hallway when she could’ve shot him dead but missed, her hands shaking with panic, her bad hand unusable.

  How much had changed.

  She had changed. She was stronger.

  Still afraid, but fear wasn’t a lack of courage. True courage was action in the face of fear.

  And she’d acted.

  “That makes you strong, Hannah.”

  She looked at him with burning eyes. “He wants you dead. He wants my baby.”

  “He’s not going to get what he wants.”

  She shuddered. “This family is poison. It’s like they never die. When Pike was chasing us, that’s how it felt, like he was the devil himself.”

  “He wasn’t, though. You killed him. He was a human being, just like General Sinclair. He can be killed.”

  Hannah rubbed her crooked fingers. “The evil in that family. Do you think it started with Rosamond’s father? What if it’s a genetic curse passed from generation to generation?”

  “We all have choices,” Liam reminded her. “No one is born evil.”

  “What if Charlotte has it?”

  “She doesn’t. She won’t. You’re raising her with love, kindness, everything good.”

  Her chest went tight. Now that the danger was over, she was shaky and weak. The tension and fear crashed down upon her. The stress, the pressure, the exhaustion. She couldn’t get enough oxygen.

  “We’ll protect her,” Liam said. “I promise you.”

  Lightning flashed. A rumble of thunder trembled the house. The first drops of rain dribbled down the windowpanes. She was suddenly so cold.

  Concern flashed in Liam’s eyes. “You’re shaking.”

  “I almost lost her, Liam.” A sob escaped her throat. “I came so close—”

  “Hey, hey.” He turned toward her on the couch, only a foot away. “Look at me.”

  With great effort, she raised her eyes. As he’d done in the nursery, he placed his hands on her shoulders, comforting her. Once, she would have flinched from him in fear, the specter of Pike rising up in her mind. No longer.

  “You did it,” Liam said softly. “You kept Charlotte safe. You’re her mother. You protected her.”

  She nodded. He was close, so close she could inhale the smell of him, earthy and masculine.

  He lifted one hand and brushed her hair back from her face. “I will protect her, I promise you. I will lay down my life for hers.” He hesitated, his eyes dark and bottomless. “I would die for you, Hannah.”

  An electric charge shivered through her.

  The way he was looking at her. The intensity in those gray-blue eyes. The question waiting there for her to answer.

  It felt like the boundaries of their relationship had abruptly shifted. She felt disoriented, dizzy.

  The rain fell harder, battering the roof. More thunder pealed.

  The fear was there. But so was something else, something stronger.

  Hannah placed her bad hand on his arm. Her fingers felt the sinewy strength of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. The broadness of his chest. That rugged, handsome face.

  He glanced down at her hand, looked up at her. Longing in his eyes. The same desire throbbing in her own chest reflected back at her.

  Her
heart leapt. A tingling warmth started in her belly and spread through her limbs.

  Something released inside her. A letting go, an opening up, like a butterfly’s wings unfurling.

  “Liam—”

  Liam leaned forward and kissed her.

  33

  Liam

  Day One Hundred and Ten

  Liam kissed the woman he loved.

  Gently at first, then deeply, fiercely. And then his hands were cupping her face, fingers tangled in her hair, drawing her close.

  Liam was a soldier. A tough, battle-scarred warrior. And yet butterflies swarmed in his belly, sparks flaring beneath his skin at her touch.

  Together, they had traveled two hundred miles of hostile winter terrain. They’d escaped a madman. They’d made it to Fall Creek and forged a home amid savagery and chaos.

  He had cradled her in his arms. She had stripped naked and crawled into bed with him, skin to skin, the heat of her body offering his hypothermic limbs life-sustaining warmth. He’d knelt between her legs and brought her child screaming child into the world.

  Nothing had felt this intimate, raw, fragile. Like if he took a wrong step or breathed too soon, the moment would shatter.

  They loved each other the way hurt people loved. Cautious, stretching carefully, testing their injured souls, checking to see if their damaged hearts still beat.

  He pulled back for a moment, unable to catch his breath. His heart raced, his palms damp.

  She looked up at him, those green eyes glinting in the firelight, her gaze frank and steady.

  “I have to say something.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Never had Liam been so acutely aware that tomorrow was promised to no one.

  The broken world was closing in on them. Death hovering above their heads, the looming threat of a war they couldn’t win.

  Tomorrow, he would take the fight to the General. He might not come back.

  And yet. In this moment, none of that mattered. Nothing but Hannah.

  “I’m no good at this stuff. I—I love Charlotte like she was my own flesh and blood. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I was hers. And Milo, I care for him, too. He’s smart and brave. And you…” He cleared his throat. “Hannah…”

  He’d never felt so nervous and yet so sure in his life. He felt suddenly foolish, way out of his element, but he blundered forward. “I want to be with you. I want to be where you are.”

  Hannah’s eyes glistened. “I want to be with you.”

  In one fell swoop, she had undone him and knit him back together. She had shown him a glimpse of what a meaningful life could be—what love could be.

  It was a painful thing, coming back to life. Like his frozen limbs thawing, prickling and stinging as the numbness withdrew and sharp glorious warmth pressed in.

  The pain was worth it.

  She was worth everything.

  “I mean it.” This time, he did not hesitate. He laid himself bare. “I’m all in, Hannah. Whatever happens next, I need you to know that. You, Milo, Charlotte.” His voice choked. He struggled to continue, to get it out. It was important to say. He needed to say it. “If you will have me.”

  She leaned in, her forehead touching his, her green eyes bright. “I will, Liam Coleman. I will have you.”

  Just like that, he was rendered speechless. A deep, abiding joy radiated through him. He couldn’t have said anything in that moment, even if he’d wanted to.

  With great tenderness, he tucked his hand beneath her chin and tipped her face to his.

  Liam couldn’t help himself. He kissed her again.

  Hannah’s lips parted. She kissed him back.

  He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. He kissed her hungrily, deeply. He buried his hands in her hair, breathed in the scent of her. Felt her heart beating hard against his own ribs.

  He wasn’t a poet or an orator or one prone to religious experiences, but he’d give anything in the world to remain in this moment forever. Here in this place, here with her. With this beautiful woman he didn’t deserve, but still loved with every beat of his heart.

  It was real. The thing he’d yearned for, longed for, all these lonely years.

  Liam didn’t know how long they sat there, wrapped in each other, enraptured. He’d never felt so warm. So cherished. So completely loved.

  All along, this was where he’d belonged: in Hannah’s arms.

  34

  Liam

  Day One Hundred and Eleven

  The next morning, Liam’s assault teams headed to St. Joe.

  From Luther’s intel, they knew the General had four units scattered at different locations in the field. The soldiers guarded fuel storage, ammunition dumps, and vehicle staging areas.

  They would strike first—hitting soft targets rather than infantry.

  Liam took point, his eyes up and out, scanning for threats. Bishop followed, with Reynoso covering their six as rear security. Hayes and Perez led the secondary teams in other parts of the city, while the bulk of their fighting force remained in Fall Creek.

  They’ d come prepared. Liam wore his plate carrier body armor beneath his chest rig. Several fragmentation grenades and a few flashbangs nestled in the pouches at his belt.

  He had his M4 and the .308 slung across his back for sniper work, along with the Glock and Gerber. Reynoso and Bishop carried the same. Their faces were painted with charcoal, gear taped to reduce noise.

  Trash skittered across the road. Two raccoons perched on the lid of a dumpster. Stray dogs lurked in shattered doorways, staring at them with bold aggression.

  Liam’s pulse thudded in his ears. Anxiety rippled through him, every sense on full alert. His heart rate kicked at every sound. Enemies lay in wait everywhere.

  Other than the shanty tent cities crowding the beachfront, St. Joe was a ghost town. It felt like a corpse—a dead thing crawling with maggots and rats.

  St. Joseph, or St. Joe as everyone local called it, had once been a thriving beachfront city with a population of ten thousand before the Collapse. Established in the 1820s, the buildings were historic, constructed of vintage brick and steel.

  The businesses and shops had been raided months ago. Most people had migrated to the outskirts, where there were trees for firewood, yards for planting gardens, and farms with crops and livestock.

  As they crept through the barren city, they moved from cover point to cover point. Reynoso held a handmade tape measure-and-PVC pipe antenna, searching for the enemy’s location.

  The antennae looked like the skeleton of a kid’s homemade kite-building project for the Science Fair, but it worked. Every time they got to a covered point, he took a compass bearing.

  From what they’d ascertained, the General’s troops weren’t bothering with EMCON—radio silence. Liam would use that against them.

  Military radio traffic data was encrypted. Plus, it automatically switched frequencies at mind-numbing speeds. Luckily, they didn’t need the data itself; they just needed a compass bearing to follow.

  Jamal and Dave had put their heads together to build homemade directional antennas made from a tape measure with steel tape, PVC pipe, stainless hose clamps, electrical tape, 50 Ohm coaxial cable, and a receiver with an S-meter to locate directional signals.

  Dave already had some directional finder equipment. It was a hobby many ham radio aficionados enjoyed. As Dave proudly informed him, the popular sport was known as Amateur Radio Direction Finding, or ARDF.

  Like ham radio, the gear was primitive, and most of it had survived the EMP.

  They’d hunted the source of the transmission via triangulation. With the homemade antenna, Reynoso took multiple compass bearings at separate locations along the lines of the transmissions—where the lines crossed on the map pinpointed the location of the unit.

  Perez’s team had a similar antenna. They’d tracked down the ammo dump several blocks away on Port Street, and were awaiting the signal.

  Three blocks from their ta
rget, Liam bladed his body and crept around the corner of a boutique coffee shop, weapon up and scanning as Bishop came out behind him, searching to the left.

  Twice, they glimpsed movement on rooftops—overwatch—and took great care to avoid detection. They kept to the shadows, alleys, and doorways.

  Like invisible wraiths, they moved past boutique shops, tourist traps, and hotels. A vacation home rental office with a placard in the unshattered window advertised beachfront homes for five hundred bucks a night.

  In dripping blue paint, someone had sprayed “Free housing,” followed by expletives, across the glass. Inside the building, it smelled rancid. Like death.

  Block by block, they closed in on their target.

  The General’s command and control center—the Boulevard Inn—was too well defended to attack. The building was six stories of beige stucco, steel, and glass.

  The National Guard had blocked the roads surrounding the hotel. Roving patrols protected the perimeter, with guards posted inside the hotel, fortified entry and exit points, plus two-man sentry teams on each block. According to Luther’s intel, each checkpoint boasted an M60 belt-fed machine gun.

  Though the General’s mercenaries were fair game, Liam would not willingly kill an American serviceman or woman. It was the only way he could live with himself. By the expressions on his team’s faces, they felt the same.

  With caution, they approached Broad Street, passing cafes, bars, a bank, and a lawyer’s office. The streets were deserted. The streetlights shattered. The air still but for the distant rumble of the Humvee patrol roaming the empty streets.

  Stacking up behind the pillar, they moved out, scanning the rooftops, Bishop going left, Liam right, Bishop low, Liam high, with Reynoso guarding their six.

  Their every movement was choreographed in perfect concert, three bodies acting as one efficient, lethal organism. His heart pounded, the adrenaline rush pouring through his system, amping every sense. He was in his element.