by Stone, Kyla
Eventually, after much disagreement and discussion, they’d hammered out a tenuous proposal. Those families that had owned Winter Haven houses prior to Rosamond’s takeover were allowed to return to their homes.
That left twenty-three available houses. The old, sickly, and infirm, as well as families with babies and children younger than five years old would share seventeen homes—three to four families a house. Each house was a good six to eight thousand square feet, boasting five or six bedrooms and as many bathrooms, most with finished walk-out basements.
Fall Creek residents would use the remaining five homes on a rotating basis for showers, use of washers and dryers, refrigerated food items, recharging batteries, communication headquarters, etc.
The schedule was still being hammered out—Hannah could already foresee it as a source of tension and squabbles, but it seemed like the most equitable option. For now.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was survivable.
Though Hannah qualified for one of the Winter Haven homes based on Charlotte’s age, she declined. Living on Tanglewood Drive meant hardship and incredibly hard work, but it also meant she saw Quinn and Molly daily, along with Bishop, Reynoso, and of course, Liam.
The warmth and connection in the mini-community they’d built was precious to her, and she wouldn’t give it up, not even for a hot shower.
The discussion finally turned to the matter on everyone’s minds these last few weeks—the fate of one James Luther.
“Bring him out to us!” shouted the old farmer, Albert Edlin. The crowd rumbled in agreement. “We know how to deal with a traitor!”
Dave and Reynoso tried to rein in the crowd, while Bishop watched with a stricken expression. Annette King looked resigned, like she was too exhausted to care as Samantha Perez sat ramrod straight, her firm jaw set in a scowl.
Hayes and Duncan said little, likely too cowed to take a stand. Darryl Wiggins, the priggish, sour-faced manager of the now-defunct Community Trust Bank, was also unusually quiet.
Hannah’s gaze wandered over the crowd. Molly sat in the front row, her cane and the Mossberg leaning against the chair next to her legs. The seat beside her reserved for Quinn remained empty.
Molly kept her shotgun slung over her back any time she left the house. She was an amusing sight—a stooped, white-haired grandma lugging around a shotgun and a cane.
Still, she’d surprise the hell out of anyone who failed to take her seriously. Hannah had seen her shoot.
Molly flashed Hannah a wry, can’t-live-with-them-can’t-live-without-them grin and winked, her weathered face breaking into a network of wrinkles. Her blue eyes were still as sharp and clear as ever.
Hannah managed a tight smile in return before scanning the room for Quinn, finally spotting her slumped against the back wall next to Jonas Marshall and Whitney Blair.
All three teens wore sullen expressions. They were out for Luther’s blood, too; Hannah didn’t blame them.
Despite herself, her gaze fell on Jonas’s mother—Corinne Marshall, the owner of the hardware store and the woman who’d brought Liam the names of the townspeople willing to fight the militia.
She’d helped them win. She’d also lost her husband in the trade.
Corinne Marshall gazed boldly back at her, her eyes blazing behind her purple-framed glasses. She crossed her arms over her chest, her shoulders stiff, every cell of her body telegraphing her fury.
A sliver of guilt stabbed Hannah. She recognized the pain beneath the woman’s anger.
She understood it because she felt it herself.
Luther wasn’t just a member of the militia; he’d set fire to Noah’s house and nearly killed Milo, who was sleeping inside. He’d claimed he didn’t know of Milo’s presence, but Milo had nearly died, accident or no.
Hannah had as much right to despise him as anyone, but personal feelings didn’t change what they needed to do.
“Luther murdered our people—he needs to die!” Dwayne Lawson bellowed.
The rumble of the crowd’s displeasure grew louder, more reckless.
“Why is he still here, being fed and sheltered, when I can’t get a second can of green beans? How is that fair?”
“Death by firing squad!”
“Why waste the bullets? String him up!”
“Hang him!”
“If you won’t do it, we will!”
Dave and Annette exchanged uneasy glances. Reynoso pushed back his chair, getting ready to call his security team to wade into the fray and physically pacify people.
That would only make the situation worse.
Her hands went clammy, her mouth going dry. Someone needed to intervene. Someone
needed to do something. Like last time, it might as well be Hannah.
She let out a loud whistle, stood, and clapped her hands. “Your attention, please!”
Startled, the people quieted, if only briefly. She would have their attention for only a few moments; she needed to act.
She spoke loud and clear. “We will not kill James Luther.”
“What the hell?” Corinne cried, rising to her feet in outrage. “Why not?”
“We gave him our word. Liam Coleman and I stand by that.”
Mutterings of disgust roiled through the room. A few people cursed. “That’s B.S.!” Sandra Perkins yelled.
“We made a deal,” Hannah said. “Luther’s life for the weapons depot. We won with those weapons. And we won without losing even more lives.”
Corinne’s face contorted. “A deal with the devil doesn’t count.”
“We will not drag that man out into the streets and murder him,” Hannah repeated, her pulse thudding loud in her ears. “It will not happen.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Annette said. “Truly, we all are.”
Corinne turned her scathing gaze onto Annette, so much grief and fury boiling off her that the principal flinched. “Sorry? You’re sorry? Sorry won’t bring my husband back, now will it? Sorry won’t give me and my son justice!”
“Corinne—” Dave started. “We understand—”
“Clearly, you understand nothing!” Corinne jumped to her feet. “We willingly fought against Rosamond, Sutter, and the militia. We were willing to fight and die. We gave everything! Now you’re going to spare that monster? He killed our people. Now we kill him. That’s justice!”
“I don’t disagree,” Perez said. “The minute those psychopaths opened fire on civilians, they lost their right to be human. We should dispose of him like the trash that he is.”
The room erupted into chaos.
“ENOUGH!” Bishop didn’t need a megaphone. His deep baritone voice slammed through the noise, shocking people into silence.
“Corinne and Jonas,” he said, still loud but gentle, “I understand your pain—and your anger. To every family member that has lost a loved one to the militia, we know your grief. We grieve with you. We suffer with you. But more bloodshed is not the answer.”
Grudgingly, the crowd settled, expressions still grim and angry, but contained. No one could argue with Bishop. Every single person present knew how much he’d lost, his wife and daughters sacrificed in Rosamond’s ploy to insert the militia and own the town.
The townspeople might not agree with him or believe in his faith, but they respected him. Every one of them. She could see it in their eyes.
“The fact remains that Luther is a prisoner of war,” Bishop said. “He voluntarily relinquished himself into our custody, providing invaluable information in exchange for his life. It would be unethical to kill him. He will remain a prisoner until the council comes to an agreement on an alternative option.”
“Ethics aren’t exactly relevant anymore!” Tina Gundy said.
“Ethics and morality still matter,” Bishop said evenly. “As long as I have any say in it. Though we may be on our own for now, America is still America. I will abide by its laws and constitution as much as I am able. As God as my witness, I will strive to do the right and moral thin
g.”
“As chief of police, so will I,” Reynoso said.
“As will the council,” Dave echoed.
Chagrin flashed across Perez’s face, along with disappointment and anger. She shoved her short black hair behind her ears, jaws clenched, but said nothing. She disagreed, but maintained sufficient self-control not to argue in public.
Disgruntled, Corinne shook her head, frustrated, defeated, still furious, but she didn’t speak out against Bishop, either.
Instead, she turned, shuffled past several people to the middle aisle, and stalked to the rear of the room. Several dozen heads turned to watch her go.
She motioned to her son, and Jonas followed her out without a word. At the door, she paused, turning to face them. “Mark my words, you’re going to regret this decision.”
The door shut behind them with an echoing click.
11
Hannah
Day Eighty-Eight
“If we are fractured, we fall,” Hannah said.
“I agree,” Bishop said. “We have to work together.”
Annette shook her head wearily. “It sounds good, but it’s no use. You saw them in there—absolute mayhem. Everybody’s bitter, angry, scared. It’s a miracle if any of them agree on anything.”
After the rancorous meeting, the townspeople had finally trickled out, returning to manual labor, making meals from scratch, planting gardens, gathering firewood, sterilizing water, and manning the blockades and conducting security patrols around the town.
The council had remained behind to hash out a few more details.
They’d voted to banish Luther on pain of death if he ever returned, but hadn’t yet set the date or the specifics.
Perez cracked her knuckles, her expression still glowering. “You know how I feel about Luther, but a vote is a vote. I’ll stand with the council. As for those complainers out there, anyone who isn’t with the program can pack their bags and march on out of here. Or maybe we spring some capital punishment on their sorry butts, too. See how they like it.”
“We can’t exactly hang people for bad attitudes,” Dave said wryly.
Perez slouched in her seat. “You sure?”
“After that disaster in there, I’m starting to side with Perez,” Annette said.
“Give the people another chance,” Hannah said.
“We’ve given them plenty of chances. They still don’t get it.”
“Give them one more.”
Perez rolled her eyes but finally relented. A full-figured Latina, Perez was short-tempered and fiery, and could hold her own in a fist fight, gun fight—any kind of fight. The kind of woman you wanted on your side.
“At least they care enough to show up, I guess.” Annette rubbed her face. She looked more frazzled than Hannah had ever seen her, her eyes bloodshot, her short silver hair mussed.
“Annette, are you okay?” Hannah asked.
“Truthfully? No. I’m exhausted. Running the shelter is worse than herding cats or managing classrooms of recalcitrant teenagers. The people are apathetic. They spend most of the day slumped on their cots or sitting against the walls, staring at nothing. Some of them, it’s like they’re vacant. Not all of them, but enough.”
Hannah recalled the numbed disconnect she’d experienced during her first months trapped in Pike’s basement, her brain rebelling against her new reality, her body petrified by shock, horror, and disbelief.
If she’d remained that way, she’d have capitulated to despair, her despondent mind abandoning her body to wither and die on that moldy mattress.
She’d nearly lost herself.
Instead, she’d forced herself to get up, to exercise daily, to sharpen her mind by composing songs and writing lyrics, to mark the days with chalk on the concrete wall, and most of all, to bring her formidable focus to bear on the one thing that mattered—surviving in order to get home to Milo.
Compassion welled through her, but also a renewed determination.
She pushed her hair behind her ears and sat forward, her elbows on the table. “They’re still in shock. They feel useless. Worse, they’re becoming hopeless. We need to get them up and moving, working for something, taking responsibility for themselves.”
“How?” Bishop asked.
“We close the shelter.”
“What?” Wiggins sputtered. “You can’t do that!”
Bishop shot her a hard look, frowning. “That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“In a few weeks, we’ll be near the end of April and past the freezing point. They can return to their homes. They’ll feel better just sleeping in their own beds instead of those cots all crammed together like sardines. Able-bodied people need to work for food. We can’t afford to give away supplies for free.
“And they need it, too. They need to feel like they’re a part of something, like they have a bit of control back, even if it’s just a little. It will help.”
Annette sighed heavily. “I suppose we can try anything. I was about to quit, anyway.”
“We need you, Annette!” Dave said, aghast.
“I’ll still help. I just need a break.”
“We asked too much of one person,” Bishop said. “Annette needs to take care of herself. If we all work together, pitch in, and take responsibility for this town, we can do it.”
Dave reached out to squeeze Annette’s hand. She looked a bit taken aback, but then gave him a tentative smile in return. “We can even thrive.”
Hannah watched them for a moment, hope beating in tandem with her heart. Despite their struggles, despite the stress and the in-fighting, people could connect. They could find each other. Friends, family, lovers.
People needed each other now more than ever.
“I don’t care what you do with those people,” Wiggins said darkly. “At least we’re swimming in supplies. There’s plenty to go around.”
“Not that much,” Reynoso said in his typical placid manner. A former Marine in his forties, Jose Reynoso was a reticent man, loyal and pragmatic. And built like a tank. “Especially after we give back to the Community Alliance.”
Wiggins blanched. “What? That can’t still be on the table.”
“It is.” Bishop ran a hand through his afro. The big man wore his favorite black leather jacket over a tangerine-orange Hawaiian shirt dotted with yellow pineapples. “We can’t keep the stolen supplies. They aren’t ours.”
Wiggins glared at him. “Like hell. Our people fought and died in that battle you were so keen on, Pastor. Where was the so-called ‘Community Alliance’? Nowhere. We fought for those supplies, and we won them, fair and square. They abdicated their claim on anything when they refused to fight.”
Perez shot him a pointed look. “I don’t recall your presence in the fighting, either.”
Wiggins’ face turned a bright shade of purple. His mouth opened like a fish, no sound coming out.
He shot daggers at Bishop, then Hannah before practically spitting the words, “I would have gladly taken up arms. Unfortunately, I was otherwise detained.”
Wiggins hadn’t forgiven Hannah, Liam, and Bishop for restraining him in his own home and holding him at gunpoint. They hadn’t trusted the former banker not to warn the militia of the impending attack; once the fighting was over, they’d released him.
He’d hurled a plethora of colorful insults at them that night and several times since.
Over the last few weeks, his anger had reduced from a boil to a simmer, though Hannah didn’t doubt that Wiggins despised them—and Quinn, too. He certainly held no fondness for Ghost.
“As much as I hate to admit it, Wiggins isn’t entirely wrong,” Perez said. “We desperately need that food. Giving it away…It feels wrong.”
Mike Duncan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Altruism is well and good, Pastor. But shouldn’t we be thinking of ourselves first? I feel for our neighbors, but we have needs, too. We need to take care of our own.”
The owner of the now defunct gas station,
he was a reserved man and spoke little, but he’d fought alongside Reynoso in the battle and earned a permanent limp because of a bullet to his thigh.
“It wasn’t ours in the first place,” Bishop reminded them. “We are simply returning what the militia stole. It’s the right thing to do. Anything less would make us complicit in their suffering.”
Duncan nodded reluctantly. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Besides, we’ve already told them we’re giving it back,” Dave said. “That’s how we got them to agree to come to Trade Day at the fairgrounds.”
“They’re coming, then?” Annette asked.
“In part due to Dave’s diplomacy,” Hannah said.
“And Hannah’s,” Dave said. “We’ve both been working hard.”
As part of organizing the countywide event at the Youth Fairgrounds, Dave and Hannah had contacted local community leaders in Niles, Stevensville, Buchanan, St. Joe, Dowagiac, Watervliet, and Coloma, including Mick Sellers, the leader of the Community Alliance, to discuss sharing security and supply needs.
Benton Harbor had been overrun by gangs, so they had steered well clear of the city limits.
Dave scratched at his beard. “It wasn’t easy to get them to commit to anything. Flynn and some of the others still blame us for the militia’s raids. Returning the supplies will build trust and cooperation between our communities.”
“Don’t see why we need them, anyway,” Perez said. “We can take care of ourselves. We’ve proven that.”
“Against fifty,” Bishop said. “What about when it’s against a hundred? Two hundred?”
“We can’t rely on them,” Perez argued. “They flaked on us when we asked for their help once. Who’s to say they won’t do it again?”
Hannah shook her head. “We must trust them, just like they’re going to have to trust us.”
Perez made a face like she was sucking on a lemon. Hannah’s chest twinged; Liam often made a similar acrid expression.
He wasn’t a fan of the proposed alliance, either. The man was incredibly stubborn; he’d still do everything alone if given half a chance. He hated to rely on others, especially anyone he didn’t know and trust.
