by DJ Molles
She walked the remaining block to her house, and only paused a moment before she opened the door. She fixed a tired smile on her face, and then pushed through.
***
Staley felt sick to his stomach as he stood in his daughter’s room.
She was an adult. She deserved to live on her own. But that was not how the world worked anymore. People had to make do. They lived in tight quarters. And so she lived with her father. He didn’t mind. Sometimes, he felt that she did.
He looked at the bed. The dresser. Cheap furnishings. Battered and reclaimed.
After everything she’d been through. After everything they’d been through. When she’d been taken by the Followers. And the desperation that he’d felt as he searched for her. The surreal elation that he’d felt when he’d finally found her again. The guilt. The wondering. About what they’d done to her.
She didn’t say, but he knew. They all knew.
Oh, my little girl.
How could he possibly distrust her? After everything she’d been through?
Claire will clear this up.
But then why was he standing in the middle of her room?
He’d learned long ago not to ask questions when you didn’t want to know the answer. But that didn’t always work. When he’d searched for her, when he’d chased the Followers and their psychotic cult leader halfway across the state, he’d known that he might find her dead one day. But he still had to do it. He was compelled.
Just as he was compelled now.
He had to know.
He moved methodically through the room. He searched slowly, and with care. He put everything back where he found it.
His mind was in knots. Dealing with the lives of battalions of American Marines had never done this to him. Only when you were dealing with your own child did it turn your stomach like this.
Your own daughter.
He fervently hoped not to find anything.
But the universe rarely cared what he hoped for.
He found it in her dresser.
There was a small space, between the back of the bottom drawer, and the back of the dresser itself. When he gently pulled the drawer all the way out and laid it on the floor next to him, he saw it. Duct-taped to the fiberboard backing.
He didn’t touch it for a while.
And then he did.
Why else was he there?
He pulled the satphone from its spot. Gently, so as not to mess up the tape. It was identical to the ones that they had been using between Fort Bragg and the other settlements. It was one of the one’s from Lee Harden’s bunkers. It was easy enough to imagine how she’d gotten ahold of one. When they were first getting established here at Fort Bragg, their inventory systems had been nonexistent.
He powered it on. Then he went into the call log.
There was only one number in that log. A number that had been called over and over again.
Staley didn’t need to check the slip of paper, but he did anyway.
He prayed for just one digit to be off.
But every number matched.
He shut the satphone off.
Sat there for a long time, on his knees, on the carpet, not looking like a colonel at all. Certainly not feeling like one. Old, hard-assed devil dog. Laid out like this. Laid bare.
Claire will explain this, he told himself again.
But then, he had to ask himself, How? How the fuck do you explain this?
He went through many options at that point. He weighed them all. The courses of action. The consequences. Who to tell. Who not to tell. Whether to tell anyone at all.
Eventually, he put the slip of paper with the number back in his pocket. Taped the satphone to the back of the dresser again, and replaced the bottom drawer. Closed it. Stood. Brushed off his knees. Straightened his uniform. Looked around the room and saw that everything was how he had found it.
And then silently walked out.
End of Book 1
The next adventure is coming soon!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
D.J. Molles is the New York Times bestselling author of The Remaining series. He is also the author of Wolves, a 2016 winner in the Horror category for the Foreword INDIES Book Awards. His other works include the Grower's War series, and the Audible original, Johnny. When he's not writing, he's taking care of his property in North Carolina, and training to be at least half as hard to kill as Lee Harden. He also enjoys playing his guitar, his violin, drawing, painting, and lots of other artsy fartsy stuff
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