by Kyla Stone
Without access to top-notch x-rays, MRIs, CAT scans, and other tests, Evelyn couldn’t confirm whether his injuries were permanent or whether he might regain significant mobility with months of rehabilitation.
“It’s in God’s hands,” she told him. “And yours. Something tells me that if anyone can recover from this, it’s you.”
Liam damned well planned to try.
He shoved his hand into his pocket and felt the lumpy knitting, closed his fingers around the tiny hat. Thought of his twin brother. And Jessa. How he’d brought his nephew home.
He’d done a few good things with his life. Kept a few promises.
His chest thrummed with the ferocity of his love—and his resolve. He was down, but he wasn’t out.
Not by a long shot.
76
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Thirty
Luther’s father died in his sleep.
Lee had warned Hannah that the time was near. She sat beside the old man’s bedside and held his hand and spoke to him as his weak heart failed and his breathing became more and more labored.
She told him how Fall Creek had been saved, how his son had redeemed himself in the end, sacrificing his life for Liam’s.
James Luther had died a hero.
“I hope he knew I was proud of him,” the old man wheezed.
“I’m sure that he knew,” Hannah said and clasped his trembling hand. “He knew.”
At ten-fifteen p.m. on May 2nd, two weeks after his son, he died at peace, a look of contentment upon his withered face.
Afterward, Hannah called her brother on Dave’s ham radio. “I just needed to hear your voice.”
“It’s good to hear from you, sis,” Oliver said, his voice both close and far away. “It’s funny, I think I missed you more in the last two weeks than the last five years. I guess…I guess I didn’t realize how lonely it gets here, you know?”
“Come to Fall Creek,” she said. “I want you here. I want you to meet my family.”
He hesitated for a moment. She waited, heart in her throat.
“It’s a long journey. It’s dangerous.”
“This place—it’s special. We’re doing more than just surviving. I want that for you, too.”
“Okay,” her brother said. “I’ll come. I’ll come to you.”
Hannah closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of gratitude.
“It’ll take me awhile,” he said. “To gather supplies. Scavenge enough gas and plot the safest course.”
“Take your time, Oliver.” She smiled to herself. “We’re not going anywhere.”
77
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Thirty-One
The next day, they paused in the busyness of spring planting to conduct a funeral for those who had sacrificed their lives for Fall Creek.
James Luther was included among their number. Robert Vinson and Dallas Chapman had given their lives in the final battle. And Molly, who had offered her life to save Quinn and little Joey. They were all heroes.
At the funeral, Hannah sang, pure and clear and euphonious, her voice filling all the empty spaces, rising over the trees and soaring into the sky, up and away toward the heavens.
Bishop spoke words of remembrance, encouragement, and hope. Everyone brought wildflowers to decorate the graves. Quinn painted the crosses in shades of vibrant greens, browns, and blues—flowers and vines and trees and snaking rivers. It was beautiful.
Afterward, they went to Molly’s place and set up camping chairs and folding tables in the backyard, bringing out a smorgasbord of food they’d grown with their own hands.
They had mourned their losses. Now, it was time for gratitude. To give thanks and celebrate life. To appreciate everything—and everyone—they still had.
May was turning out to be lovely. Flowers sprang up everywhere overnight. The fragile, dewy scents of jasmine and lilies infused the warm air. White fluffy clouds drifted across the cobalt blue sky like rafts of cotton candy.
Not everyone could enjoy the festivities. There were still patrols and sentry duty. Two defeated enemies did not guarantee there would not be more.
There would be.
Later, Hannah and Dave would do the circuit and bring everyone plates of cornbread drizzled with honey, Molly’s famous chili, salad with baby tomatoes, and potatoes sprinkled with pink Himalayan salt.
Mick Sellers had found the supplies so Jamal could repair the repeater stations, and they had restored contact with the Community Alliance and the surrounding towns.
Trade Day at the Berrien County Youth Fairgrounds was back on the docket, scheduled for the following Friday. Hannah had a lot of salt to trade.
Rumors were spreading of steam engine trains, pulled from museums, that were running again in Virginia. Nearer to home, Lakeland Hospital had procured an industrial diesel generator, and could power a couple of operating rooms and a few ICU beds.
The waiting list was long, but Hamilton had promised to get Liam on the list to honor his sacrifice for the greater good. He would work on obtaining a slot for Milo to get more meds, too.
In addition, the National Guard had brought in a well-guarded fuel truck to ration gasoline to local law enforcement and medical units. That was Hamilton’s doing, too.
Jamal and Tina had restarted a few of the Winter Haven solar panels. They’d hauled several rusty windmills from farms and wedding barns, restoring them to run a fridge, washing machine, or heater.
They had working farm equipment, generators, additional communications gear.
Even in the midst of sorrow, there was much to be grateful for.
Milo plugged the iPod into an old speaker and cranked up his and Quinn’s favorite rock classics from the 70s and 80s. They played Queen’s “We are the Champions,” Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’,” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.”
She breathed deeply, letting the music fill her senses, sink into her and swirl through her veins. How she had missed music. Once, it had been a part of her; it would be again.
Across the yard, Bishop held L.J. while Travis cradled a sleeping Charlotte. They were deep in conversation with Dave about their plans to raid the local breweries and wineries for parts to build their own stills.
Dave was after more moonshine, while Bishop wanted Fall Creek in control of their own biofuel. They were meeting with Dominique West, who’d agreed to teach them how to make it themselves.
Hannah surveyed the packed yard. Molly’s goat—now Hannah’s by default—moseyed around, her collar jangling, bleating and chewing grass. Children played tag, chasing each other around clumps of grown-ups chatting and laughing, drinking and eating.
From his kingly throne on the back porch, Ghost gave them a long-suffering look. He yawned, black jowls glistening, then flopped onto his side and stretched leisurely in a puddle of sunlight. With a huff of pleasure, he closed his eyes.
Thor, Odin, and Loki curled up on various parts of his body. For once, Valkyrie wasn’t hunting. She sat primly on one of the patio chairs, her tail twitching as she watched everyone trample her favorite patch of grass.
“What would Molly think of all this?” Hannah asked.
For a second, Quinn stiffened. Then she half-smiled, half-grimaced and rolled her eyes. “She’d yell at everyone to get off her lawn.”
Hannah smiled. After a brief moment, Quinn did, too.
And then they were laughing, the air brighter somehow. Their weary souls a little lighter.
“Here.” Quinn held several packages in her arms, wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper and held together with tiny strips of duct tape.
Quinn looked like a regular teenager—almost. Ripped jeans, black combat boots, a threadbare, oversized AC/DC T-shirt, her black hair streaked with the faintest threads of Windex-blue.
Her AR was slung casually over her shoulder, the karambit at her belt. Her bruises had long faded but for the jagged scar slicing through her lower lip.
Other girls
might have felt horror or shame; Quinn wore it like a badge of honor.
She was both different and the same. Quieter, reserved, more mature. A wisdom in her eyes hard-won through adversity.
She thrust a package at Milo. “For you, Small Fry.”
Milo’s face lit up. “I love presents!”
“I had a crazy hunch.”
Milo unwrapped Quinn’s slingshot. Also included was a wrist guard and a baggie of 1/8th steel ammo balls.
Milo’s eyes grew round as golf balls. He jumped up and down, curls bouncing, hooting in excitement. “For me?”
“I don’t see any other snot-nosed kid named Small Fry around here, do you?”
“Nope! Just me!”
“I also found one last jar of crunchy peanut butter behind a bucket of flour down in Gran’s secret lair. I was gonna trade it, but then I thought you might want a bite first—”
“Heck yeah I do!” Milo said.
“Language,” Hannah said, biting back a laugh.
Quinn narrowed her eyes. “No peanut butter for you until you hit the bull’s eye. This slingshot is a weapon. It’ll get you squirrels and birds, and might take out a bad guy’s eyeball if you need it to. It’s important to know how to use it. That means training. I’ll teach you. And I’m keeping the flechettes until you’re ready to use them. To quote a famous philosopher: ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’”
“That’s from Spiderman!”
“Superheroes can impart wisdom, too, Small Fry.”
Milo looked up at Hannah with a pleading expression. “Mom? Can I have it? Can she train me to be an awesome slingshot sniper?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll have a revolt on my hands if I say no, so I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Milo gave an enthusiastic fist pump. “Yes!”
Quinn grinned. Her features were tinged with sadness, but a bit of her old spark returned. A light in her eyes that would not be dimmed.
“With Quinn at the helm, what could possibly go wrong?” Liam quipped from behind them. With every step, he leaned on his cane, pain lining his rugged face.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “Is that an approximation of a joke, Wolverine? If so, keep trying.”
Liam hobbled to Hannah’s side. She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Milo shoved the slingshot and ammo in his overalls pocket and opened Quinn’s second gift. Inside a simple wooden frame was an exquisitely rendered charcoal drawing of Milo’s father.
Awestruck, Milo held it reverently in both hands, staring at the image of his father like he could drink it up.
Quinn had captured Noah at his best—the tousled dirty-blond hair and chiseled jaw, his eyes twinkling in anticipation as he grinned, believing the world was as good and perfect as he wanted it to be.
Without a word, Milo dashed toward their house to put it in his room, tucked amongst his most valued possessions.
Oreo let out a loud bleat and scampered after him. She was starting to think she was a human child.
“He says thank you.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “Manners. You’d think he’d been raised by wolves.”
“I, um, made this for you, too.” Quinn held out the last gift with a sheepish expression. Two red spots of embarrassment appeared on her cheeks, but she was beaming.
A second drawing. This one an accurate rendering of Charlotte Rose as a newborn—her rosebud lips, apple cheeks, downy skin, and seashell ears.
Quinn had begun the sketch days after Hannah had returned to Fall Creek, when Charlotte was a few weeks old. Already, she’d grown so much.
They’d had nothing by which to remember those early days.
Now, they did.
Emotion swelled in Hannah’s chest. “This is—it’s beautiful, Quinn.”
Quinn blushed.
“You have a gift, Quinn,” Hannah said. “Truly. We need things like this as much as we need bullets and Band-Aids.”
Quinn dug her boot in the grass, suddenly bashful. “Gran said something like that. No one needs charcoal and paper to survive.”
“You’d be surprised,” Liam said.
“I imagine people would trade for drawings of their loved ones,” Hannah said. “Most of us don’t have photos anymore, only memories. And memories fade.”
A shadow flitted behind Liam’s eyes, a reminder of everything he’d lost. “I’ll be your first customer.”
“Deal. But I charge difficult customers extra.” Quinn shot him a devilish grin. “That makes you double the price.”
Liam gave a pained smile. “You strike a hard bargain.”
She grinned back. “It’s the apocalypse. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
78
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Thirty-One
Hannah watched Milo return to Molly’s yard. He dashed across the porch, leaping over the Great Pyr’s snoring form and disrupting Loki’s nap on Ghost’s rump.
The cat meowed his displeasure before settling back into his nest of fur.
Milo flopped to the porch beside Ghost and scratched his furry head. Without opening his eyes, Ghost whined, his tail thumping in sleepy satisfaction.
Hannah squeezed Liam’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Hannah made her way through the throngs of her neighbors and friends and settled on the porch steps next to Milo. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Are we okay?”
Milo scrunched his nose. “What do you mean?”
She leaned over and brushed the unruly mess of curls off his forehead. The structure of his face was changing, lengthening and slimming. A version of Noah’s face emerged beneath her son’s disappearing baby fat.
She still sang him to sleep at night, though sometimes he asked for stories from Quinn or Liam. Liam was surprisingly good at it, his voice deep and resonant. He added descriptive details to imaginary battle scenes that Milo ate up like peanut butter.
“You and me,” she said. “I haven’t spent as much time with you as I’ve wanted to.”
“You’ve been busy saving the world.”
“You are the world. My world.”
She examined his complexion, the rise and fall of his chest, the skin beneath his eyes, always checking for signs of adrenal issues.
His meds would last a few more months. They’d need to find more—or make more.
Always more to do.
“I want to make sure you know that. That you’re okay.”
“Yeah.” He tilted his head and chewed on his bottom lip like he was concentrating. “I’m okay.”
She pulled her son into a hug, breathing in the sweaty little boy scent of him. He wrapped his skinny arms around her neck and hugged her back.
“I told Quinn I would share you,” he whispered into her scalp, his breath hot on her ear. “You can be Mom to all three of us, right?”
A pang struck her. A mix of sadness and joy and fierce pride. “That’s a great idea.”
“Can I tell her we’ve adopted her?”
“Of course. I think you’ll make a fantastic little brother.”
She felt his grin against her cheek. “Challenge accepted. And also, do you think she’d like a snake in her bed?”
“Knowing Quinn, she probably wouldn’t mind a bit.”
Laughing uproariously, Milo peeled away from her and scampered off. He whistled to Ghost. “Come on, boy!”
With an exasperated huff, the Great Pyr lumbered up and shook the cats off him. They scattered with a furious cacophony of feline yowls.
Oblivious to their outraged hisses, Ghost ambled after his boy, his majestic white tail streaming behind him.
He limped. He was still Ghost.
Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” popped up next.
“That’s Quinn’s favorite!” Milo crowed.
“Is not,” Quinn said.
He darted over, grasped her hand, and flashed that infectious grin. “Dance with me! Pulleaaaase?”
Quinn shot Hannah a helpless, tortured look.
Hannah waved her hand. “Have fun.”
“This is not even on the scale of fun!” She rolled her eyes in disgust as only a teenager could. Then she gave a devilish smile, grabbed Milo’s hands, and twirled him round and round, then slow danced with him while he shrieked and dissolved into giggles.
As the King’s crooning voice filled the clearing, Jonas rose and walked across the grass through the ring of camping chairs, toward Quinn and Milo.
His face bright red, he tapped Milo on the shoulder. “May I cut in and have a turn with the lady?”
“Lady?” Quinn sputtered. “What lady?”
Milo stepped back with a gallant flourish. “Of course, good sir!”
Flustered, Quinn’s gaze darted from Jonas to Milo to Jonas. “What are you doing?”
Jonas grinned from ear to ear. “May I have this dance?”
Nonplussed, Quinn mumbled a half-coherent response.
“I think that’s a yes.” Jonas took Quinn’s hand.
For a second, she looked like she might shake off his hand. Or bite him. Instead, her face turned an equally bright shade of red, and she managed a nod.
Jonas fumbled, suddenly nervous, unsure what to do. With a roll of her eyes, Quinn put her hands over his and placed them around her waist. They both grinned like Cheshire cats.
Hannah held back a laugh as they danced, awkward but sweet. This was a good thing. Quinn needed some joy in her life. And Jonas was kind; he would be good for her.
“No way I’m missing out on this.” Reynoso’s eyes flashed with mischief. He spun and searched for someone in the crowd. “Perez?”
Perez crossed her arms over her chest and gave an adamant head shake. “Don’t even think about it.”