by Kyla Stone
Maddox Cage was going after Ezra. She was certain of it. He’d be filled with rage that the old fool he’d mocked so often had been the one to harbor Eden and Dakota right under his nose.
He would see it as an affront. An insult. And he would demand payback.
And Maddox wouldn’t go alone, either. Not that close to his home base. His father had a small militia at his disposal. Neither of them would hesitate to use it.
Maddox didn’t care about fairness or justice or honor—only winning. He would descend on Ezra’s cabin with fire and fury.
She had to warn him.
But the old man didn’t have a landline phone or a cell, only the P.O. Box in town he checked once a week. He had his ham radio, but she didn’t know how to find one to contact him.
Trying to warn him was futile and a waste of time. She had to get there first—
Her mouth went dry. Eden had told Maddox about Ezra four days ago.
Four days.
They were already out of time.
“We have to go.” Dakota seized Eden’s hand. “Right now.”
43
Dakota
Dakota, Eden, and Julio exited the tent hospital and turned east toward the Sheraton. The sky above them darkened to charcoal. A light rain spat into their faces.
Everywhere was crowded with civilians—the roads, the sidewalks, the parking garages, the loading and unloading areas. People milled about, their expressions anxious, bewildered, shell-shocked.
“What are we doing for transportation?” Julio asked.
“Maybe the car rentals are still in business,” Dakota said doubtfully. “Or maybe Hawthorne can get us the truck. I don’t even know what they did with it once we got here. We’ll find something. Let’s find our people and get out of this mess first.”
She pushed through the growing crowd toward entrance D in domestic arrivals, keeping a tight grip on Eden’s damp hand.
It was raining harder now. People were groaning and shouting, covering their heads with their arms, and surging toward the arrival’s doors beneath the overhang.
“Whatever happens, I can’t get stuck in a FEMA shelter,” Julio said urgently. “I’d never get back to my wife.”
“Are you still headed north to find her?” Dakota asked.
“I finally got through to Palm Beach last night when Hawthorne let me use his phone. We talked for ten minutes before the connection cut out.”
“Is she okay?”
Julio grunted as a heavy-set man in a Marlins cap shouldered past him. “My wife and sister-in-law and her girls are okay. They’re safe, for now. The radiation didn’t reach them. But they’re having the same power outages and gas shortages as we are. The grocery stores are almost empty. Luckily, my sister-in-law likes to be prepared. She’s stocked three months’ worth of food in their garage.”
“Good. She’s smart, then.”
“She is. But if things continue like this for much longer…I fear what will happen.” He touched his gold cross and closed his eyes briefly, like he was saying a prayer for them. He opened his eyes. “Their house is too urban. It’s not a long-term solution.”
“Not many places are.”
Someone shoved into Dakota’s back and almost knocked her over. Julio offered a steadying hand. Less than a minute later, Eden tripped, too. People kept knocking into them. It was way too crowded; something was going on.
Dakota’s pulse thudded against her throat. Her palms were damp—and not just from the rain. She hated all these clammy, sweaty bodies pressed against her, bumping and jostling and shoving.
It made her feel helpless and out of control—two emotions she despised.
“Where’s Hawthorne?” she growled. “We need to get the hell out of here.”
One, two, three. Breathe.
Stay calm. Stay focused.
She just had to get through this. Get through and make it to Ezra before Maddox did. Because if he got there first…
She pushed down the fear tangling in her belly. Right now, she had to focus on escape. Then she could worry about Ezra.
“I’d like to bring my family to this safehouse of yours, Dakota,” Julio said.
“I can’t promise you anything,” Dakota said honestly. She was sick and tired of lying. “I don’t know for sure if Ezra will accept new mouths to feed.”
“They’re both hard-workers. Yoselyn, my wife, she’s a cook at an elementary school. She knows how to make anything from scratch. My sister-in-law is a pediatrician. They have money and skills. Even the kids would help. They’d be assets. They’re good people.”
Everything had changed. She couldn’t lead anyone into a potentially dangerous situation without their knowledge and consent again. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t. “There’s more. There’s something else I need to tell you—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Shay appeared in the crowd. “Dakota! There you are!”
She struggled toward them, her arm slung around Park’s waist. His right arm was bent at a ninety-degree angle, wrapped in a cast, and cradled against his chest in a sling. He wore too-large khaki shorts and a loose yellow Minions T-shirt. His pallor was still a sickly yellow, but he was on his feet.
“Well, this sucks hairy coconuts, doesn’t it?” he grumbled as someone bumped into him. He winced but managed a feeble grin for Eden. “Heya, kid.”
“How’re you feeling?” Julio asked.
“Like I was hit by a Mack truck. But the morphine they gave me is reallllllyyyy good.” He slapped his pocket with his good hand. “I’ve got a prescription of oxycodone to keep me nice and numb for a while.”
“Are you coming with us?” Dakota asked.
“Hell yes,” Park said. “I’m all about the adrenaline high of a good thrill. Getting stuck in a crowded, stinky FEMA camp indefinitely isn’t my idea of fun.”
“It’s no one’s idea of fun,” Dakota said.
Shay touched Eden’s shoulder. “How are you feeling? Better?”
Eden nodded with a tentative smile.
Shay turned to Dakota with her own grin, but it slipped from her face when she saw Dakota’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
“She hates crowds,” Julio said.
“I hate people,” Dakota muttered. “We need to go. Now.”
“Dakota!”
Dakota peered anxiously through the crowd. She raised her free hand and waved. “Over here!”
Fifteen feet away, Logan shoved through the jostling bodies. They parted easily for him, swallowing their curses and insults when they caught sight of the scowling, formidable warrior inked in dangerous tattoos. He moved like a panther among rabbits.
Dakota exhaled in relief. His presence alone brought a measure of calm.
Logan stalked to her side, his scowl deepening. His damp black hair was slicked to his forehead, his clothes splattered with rain. “What the hell is going on?”
Vanessa and Carson followed behind him, both pale and terrified. Vanessa’s perfect hair was matted. Rain dripped down her temples. She looked haggard and at least a decade older, her face drawn and her eyes haunted.
“They announced everyone had to exit the hotels and make their way here,” Carson said.
From somewhere behind them, a woman shouted into a bullhorn. “Please make your way into the airport and follow instructions to your concourse. Buses will be waiting to take you to shelter.”
“Wait—we don’t want to—” Dakota started.
But it was too late.
There were too many people. Hundreds. Thousands.
It was like a strong tide, too strong to resist without risking falling and getting trampled. She might risk it for herself, but not with Eden.
Dakota and the others found themselves swept along whether they wanted to be or not.
Dakota clutched Eden’s hand. “Don’t let go!”
Shay wrinkled her nose and twisted around to look behind her. A huge linebacker of a man elbowed her in the side as he brushed past
and almost knocked her over. “But I’m supposed to—”
“Just go with it,” Julio said. “Otherwise, we might get crushed trying to get out of here.”
They were pushed along by the crowd into the airport. Colorful murals and artwork and advertising shared the wall space. The lights in the large, airy spaces were dimmed to conserve energy.
They followed the sea of people through the main concourse, passing restaurants, snack shacks, souvenir kiosks, and designer shops, most of them shuttered with rolling, barred gates.
“This is certifiably insane.” Park looked around wide-eyed. “They’d have better luck herding goldfish with chopsticks.”
“It feels like that’s exactly what they’re trying to do,” Dakota said.
“What’s going on?” Julio asked an airport security guard.
The woman ignored him, just kept gesturing for people to continue on. “Keep straight, keep straight!”
“We need to fight our way out!” Dakota hissed. “Right now, before it’s too late.”
“It’ll be too hard to fight our way out of here,” Logan said, his voice tense. “There’s too many guards and soldiers everywhere. We’ll just get ourselves arrested.”
Dakota glared up at him. Since when had Logan become the voice of reason?
“He’s right,” Julio said. “Just be patient.”
Patient was the last thing Dakota felt right now. Her insides were a snarl of tension, worry, and dread. She wanted to punch something as hard as she could. Preferably a person.
They were crowded onto the Skytrain and herded off a few minutes later in terminal D. The tile floor was slick from hundreds of wet shoes. Dakota tightened her grip on Eden. She was tempted to grab the back of Logan’s shirt to stay close to him but resisted.
“Please take a seat in D10,” another soldier directed a group in front of them, gesturing at the rows of quickly filling seats.
By the time they reached him, he was pointing right and ushering everyone into the next section. “Please have a seat in D11. Sit in D11, please. Thank you. Ma’am, please have a seat.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, please settle down and we will explain the details to you,” said a soothing female voice over the speaker system. “Please be patient. More information is forthcoming.”
Out the huge windows, Dakota watched dozens of buses pulling onto the tarmac and lining up in rows: school buses, Miami-Dade County metro buses, and even some from Broward County Transit. Airport workers were rolling mobile stairwells to each of the gates.
Ice water flushed through Dakota’s veins. The government was shipping them off to the FEMA camps, whether they wanted to go or not.
There were hundreds of people here. Thousands.
This was going to turn into an epic disaster, guaranteed.
They had to get out of here.
44
Dakota
“There’s another soldier over there.” Julio pointed at the check-in counter for D11, where a female soldier holding a clipboard stood close to two airport security officers, their heads bent in serious discussion. “I’m going to see if we can get anywhere with her.”
He moved through the crowd, apologizing repeatedly as he accidentally jostled and bumped into people. Logan caught Dakota’s gaze and rolled his eyes. He hadn’t apologized to anyone.
“Sit down, ma’am,” the soldier repeated to Dakota.
“We need to leave,” Dakota said.
“Ma’am,” the soldier said with a hint of impatience. “You need to sit down and wait patiently. The buses are already here. Pretty soon you’ll have hot food and hot showers. A safe place to stay.”
“I don’t want to go to the FEMA camps. We don’t need to go. We have someone to stay with. Do you understand?”
The soldier shifted uneasily. He was a young Irish kid, maybe twenty, with buzzed red hair and a constellation of pimples sprinkling his oily forehead and soft, stubbled chin. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the city is full of civil unrest right now.”
“We know,” Logan said. “We experienced it firsthand.”
“Then you of all people should understand we’re trying to keep everyone safe. The city no longer has the law enforcement personnel to protect its citizens. We don’t have the manpower for an escort.”
“We’re not asking for an escort,” Dakota said through gritted teeth. “We understand the risk and we’re willing to take it.”
“We can’t have refugees getting hurt or killed. Or engaging in looting and destruction of property for food and shelter. The government is going to provide what you need. You don’t need to worry about that. We’ll take good care of you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Dakota muttered.
Logan stepped up beside her. “You can’t keep us here against our will.”
The man’s face reddened. “I’m sorry, but as of an hour ago, the president declared martial law. Civil rights and laws are suspended, as is habeas corpus. By order of Governor Blake, all displaced persons must be placed in FEMA-sponsored shelters for their own safety and protection.”
The soldier turned away for a moment, directing a Haitian family with two crying babies toward a few empty seats in the back along the windows.
Julio pushed through the crowd and returned to the group. “They’re not letting anyone leave,” he said in frustration. “You have to get on the bus and go to whatever place they’ve set up—Watsco and FIU stadiums, local high schools, one’s at a big Jewish community center—then FEMA will assign everybody a case number and work through the files to figure out who has somewhere to go and who needs to stay for who-knows-how-long. It’s a nightmare.”
“This is ridiculous,” Dakota muttered.
“Beyond ridiculous,” Park said. “This is turning into a dumpster fire.”
“FEMA isn’t evil,” Vanessa murmured. “The government’s trying to help us.”
“No one said they’re evil on purpose,” Julio said. “But they’re unprepared and overwhelmed. That’s not a recipe for a positive outcome, unfortunately. I truly hope I’m wrong.”
“It’s the best option for people who don’t have somewhere else to go,” Shay said. “But I don’t think they should force people.”
“I don’t care,” Vanessa said, shaking her head sharply. “I would rather be safe than stuck out there in that madness.”
Carson nodded. “Seems like it’s the lesser of two evils.”
Dakota was surprised at their willingness to head to a FEMA camp. Maybe they thought their elevated social status would ensure them a cushy suite at the Ritz. They would be sorely mistaken. A hard, plastic stadium seat and a lumpy pillow was more like it.
Uncle Sam didn’t care any more about them than he did anything else.
Dakota wanted to give a sarcastic retort, but she glanced down at Eden, who was frowning up at her. Eden liked these people.
Dakota sighed and swallowed her irritation for Eden’s sake. “Go with FEMA. I hope it works out for you.”
Vanessa squeezed her husband’s hand. “Thank you. We will.”
Carson wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She sank into him gratefully. It was good they were together. If they were going to make it, they would need to be a team.
Carson glanced at Logan and Dakota, his expression apprehensive, like he knew getting on those FEMA buses wasn’t the best idea, but he was resigned to their fate.
He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it. He frowned and tried again. “I—I was wrong, back there, with the truck. We should have listened to you. Our actions put all of you in danger, and you still saved our lives. Thank you.”
Logan gave him a small nod.
“We understand,” Julio said, benevolent and forgiving as always. “It was a stressful situation for all of us.”
Vanessa leaned down, pulled something out of her pocket, and pressed it into Eden’s hands. “Take this, honey,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “You might
need it.”
It was a wad of wrinkled tens—at least a hundred dollars’ worth. She must have snuck it through the decontamination center, or maybe the cash survived just like Dakota’s map.
Eden offered a tentative smile and waved goodbye.
Vanessa hugged her quickly, and she and Carson moved into D11, searching among the groups of sullen teenagers, crying toddlers, and anxious families for two available seats.
Dakota stared after them for a moment, startled. Never in a million years would she have guessed those two were capable of such selfless generosity and human decency.
“What do you know?” Julio said. “Miracles happen every day.”
Dakota rolled her eyes. “If I knew miracles were on the agenda, I would’ve wished for a different one.”
The red-headed soldier stepped in front of them, his jaw set, fresh out of patience. “Ma’am, I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t obey my orders right now, I will be forced to escalate this situation.”
“You gonna kick us out?” Dakota snapped. “That would be highly ironic.”
Julio put a restraining hand on Dakota’s arm.
She waved him off. “We already told you, we don’t want to go.”
The soldier’s face hardened. “If you don’t obey, I will be forced to detain you.”
Dakota raised her eyebrows, incredulous. “You’re gonna lock us up? Because we don’t want to be extra mouths the government has to feed?”
His expression wasn’t cruel, but annoyed and more than a little nervous. He was a grunt, an order-follower. It wasn’t his business whether the orders were wrong or not. “Let me assure you, the United States government will do what we need to do to restore order and ensure the safety of the populace.”
He placed his hand on the grip of his pistol at his side. He kept it low key, but his actions spoke volumes. He was done playing nice. “I will not ask you again.”
Julio gripped her arm more forcefully. “We understand, sir.”
“D11 through D19 are full now. Move along to D20.” He gestured with his free hand. “I will personally escort you.”
