by Stone, Kyla
Every sense alert, he focused on a single strand of wire since it required the fewest cuts. He snipped from the bottom up, cutting a large enough hole that he could slip through quickly and easily without snagging his pack or clothes.
He’d normally use twist ties to close the fence to pass a cursory examination from the guards, but he needed to bring Mr. and Mrs. Brooks and his nephew through as well. They might be running for their lives. Speed trumped all else.
He drew his Gerber tactical knife and moved east quickly and expertly, a dark form slipping from shadow to shadow, from modular building to modular building.
The trailers were packed close together with only a few feet between them. Every ten trailers deep, a wider parallel pathway led to bathrooms, the mess hall, workstations, or wherever the civilians needed to go.
Sentry one, a slim black man in his thirties with a goatee, dragged on his cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke, killing his night vision. Sentry two, a larger man sporting a beer gut and a beard, continued to doze, snoring lightly, his weapon not even in his hands.
Neither of them alert nor watchful. Neither prepared for what was coming.
That familiar cold calm descended over him. Time slowed, every sense crystalizing.
Liam bent, picked up a stone, and tossed it.
The first sentry turned toward the sound.
Without hesitating, Liam slipped up behind him, placed his hand over the man’s throat, and drove his knife through the base of his skull.
He dropped the hostile almost soundlessly and moved to the second one.
The dozing sentry snorted and jerked himself awake. His eyes bulged in horror as Liam slid his knife across the man’s jugular. He gurgled and gasped, clutching at his throat.
It took him a little longer to die, but he couldn’t speak; that’s what mattered.
Swiftly, Liam dragged the bodies behind the closest trailer. He wiped his knife on the thigh of sentry two and sheathed it.
These men were the enemy—he’d seen how they treated the civilians, especially the women. He felt no remorse or guilt.
He continued his mission.
The night filled with the quiet sounds of thousands of people sleeping—snoring, shifting and snorting, a toddler crying somewhere. The air smelled faintly of plastic, burnt food, and body odor.
He found the pole with the correct designation, “Quadrant 4: Zone C: Row 15,” and made his way toward it.
A door opened to his left. Heart hammering, Liam ducked behind the side wall of the closest trailer.
Footsteps thudded as a figure closed the door and walked a few steps. It was quiet for a moment, then the snap of a lighter and the smell of a cigarette being lit. Someone sighed in tired satisfaction.
The smoke tickled his nostrils, and he restrained a sneeze. Liam ducked low and peered around the corner, leading with the muzzle of the M4.
A woman wearing an opened coat over purple polka-dotted pajamas leaned against the trailer wall. She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, the lit cigarette tucked between two fingers.
Moonlight glimmered over her dirty blonde hair and highlighted the weary lines of her face. Not a hostile—a civilian.
The threat level was low, although she could sound the alarm if she saw him.
Liam made a mental note of her location as he moved along the backside of the trailer and hurried down the narrow aisle between the next several buildings.
He paused when he reached the fifth trailer down from the pole. The Brooks’ trailer was located one layer inside the grouping, surrounded by trailers crammed in close, less exposed than the ones located along the major pathways.
He circled it, staying alert for any passing soldiers or sleepless citizens. He saw nothing. A generator hummed softly, the lights along the perimeter fence buzzing dully in the silence. He could still smell cigarette smoke.
The windows were accessible but high, the front door constructed of flimsy aluminum, which wouldn’t provide much hindrance.
He slipped off his pack, unzipped a compartment, and pulled out his lock pick set. It didn’t take long to jimmy the front door lock.
Liam stepped inside the heavily shadowed trailer, shut the door behind him, flipped his NVG optics down, and took in his surroundings.
Moonlight streamed through the slats in the blinds. The trailer was tiny and resembled a camper—miniscule kitchen, with a table that folded so the living room also doubled as a dining room. The place was cramped but clean.
The narrow door to the single bedroom stood open. At the foot of the bed, a makeshift bassinet fashioned from a dresser drawer lay on the floor. His tiny nephew slept inside it.
His chest twinged—Hannah had done the same with Charlotte.
He lifted his gaze, continuing to scan the room, and jerked to a halt. A dark shape materialized in the bed, a shadow highlighted by the moonlight filtering from the window.
Evelyn Brooks sat up in bed. She held a kitchen knife in one hand and pointed it at him. “Don’t you dare come any closer.”
15
Liam
Day Eighty-Eight
Liam stopped in the doorway and lifted both hands, making sure his weapon aimed away from the bed, his movements slow and steady, voice calm. “It’s Liam Coleman.”
“Don’t move.” Mrs. Brooks fumbled for a flashlight on her bedside table with her left hand, flicked it on, and flashed it in his face.
He blinked, squinting against the harsh glare, but didn’t move. She needed to see that he wasn’t a danger. He repeated himself, “It’s Liam. Liam Coleman.”
She lowered the flashlight. “It’s…it’s you.”
Her husband rolled over in bed next to her. “Honey, what—” He caught sight of Liam and sat up quickly, eyes wide and round with fear. “Lincoln? Am I dreaming? I must be…”
Liam flinched. It had been a long time since anyone had mistaken him for his twin, since he’d glanced at his brother to see his own face reflected at him.
“Not Lincoln,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Lincoln is dead, honey. This is Liam. His brother.”
Mr. Brooks blinked and rubbed his face. “Liam? What are you doing here?”
“I shouldn’t have left you in Chicago. I needed to make sure you were okay.”
“In the middle of the night?” Mr. Brooks asked, incredulous.
He was slim, his wiry short hair and beard mostly gray, faint wrinkles lining his eyes and mouth. Jessa had told Liam that her father was a psychology professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Or, he had been before the Collapse.
“How?” Mr. Brooks said. “How did you get in here?”
Mrs. Brooks swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed. “The guards wouldn’t have let him in. He must have snuck in. And if he can sneak in, he can sneak back out.”
Liam’s mouth twitched. Mrs. Brooks was as astute and clever as her daughter, Jessa, who’d been an OB-GYN—and a damned good one.
“Those soldiers burned our farm down,” Mr. Brooks said. “They forced us here and won’t let us leave.”
“They act like they’re soldiers, but they’re not,” Mrs. Brooks said.
“No, they’re not,” Liam said. “Not even close. Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, I’ve come to get you out of here, to take you and the baby somewhere safe.”
Mrs. Brooks stared at him. “You have a way to get us out?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Though it poses some risk.”
In the few times Liam had interacted with her, she had always seemed like an intelligent, capable, and decisive woman. She did not disappoint him now.
Mrs. Brooks sucked in a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s go.”
She rose to her feet, came around the bed, and gently picked up the baby. He grunted and squirmed but didn’t wake up. “Call me Evelyn. And my husband is Travis.”
She cradled the baby’s sleeping head with her palm. In the dim light, he was all brown skin, tiny squished features, and black curly hair. “And this is li
ttle Liam. We call him L.J. The ‘J’ is for Jesse.” She gave a tight, pained smile. “Like Jessa.”
The name was perfect, but he couldn’t say so. Emotion surged in his chest, thickening his throat—gratitude, relief, love, loss, and regret. Emotions he couldn’t afford to feel right now.
He longed to hold his nephew again, but this was not the time.
He settled for a quick, closer look. The infant was small for three months old. Even in the dark Liam could see he was much too thin, especially compared to Charlotte, who was growing chubbier by the day. The baby waved pencil-thin arms and gave a pitiful little yelp in his sleep.
His gut twisted. “Is he okay?”
Something flashed in Mrs. Brooks’ eyes. “They promised us formula, but the rations are pathetic. The babies who can’t nurse are basically starving. The only supplies we have left are what we brought with us. I’ve done everything I can, but this sector alone has lost four infants in the last three weeks.”
“He’s sickly,” Travis said. “Most of the babies and young children are. Pneumonia, tuberculosis, strep throat. The soldiers just laugh. There are no doctors here. No medicine.”
“It’s bronchitis,” Evelyn said, fear in her voice. “And it’s getting worse.”
Anger flashed through Liam like an electric current. If he had the firepower to light up this place without harming civilians, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
He cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus on the mission. “We need to go. Get dressed and pack what the baby needs. Hurry, before the patrol returns.”
Evelyn frowned. “What happens if they discover us? They’ve hurt people who’ve tried to leave. They take people away and no one ever sees them again. Travis’s aunt, she had diabetes. They wouldn’t give her the proper amount of insulin. She died in here. They didn’t care. I already told you about the babies. And the young girls and women—”
“I know,” Liam said. “I’ll take care of it. Be as quiet as possible. And follow my lead.”
“We will.” Travis stuffed a bottle, a couple of cloth diapers, a few rags, and a single dented can of formula into a backpack. “We don’t want to stay here a minute longer than we have to.”
Evelyn dressed the baby in a coat and hat, then tucked him into a baby carrier and wrapped the straps around her shoulders and waist. L.J. coughed weakly and whimpered.
Tension torqued through Liam. “What if he cries?”
Evelyn held up a pacifier. “I have this, but it’s no guarantee. Babies cry.”
Liam nodded tightly. Not so long ago, he’d known nothing of the unpredictable little creatures. After two-and-a-half months with Charlotte, he was convinced he knew even less than before.
Travis rested his hand on Liam’s forearm. “I know how to shoot a gun. I’m no expert, but I enjoy skeet shooting and I’ve visited the range a few times. Please, let me help.”
Liam clenched his jaw. He didn’t trust anyone but himself, but if they were discovered, he would need the backup.
He unholstered his Glock 19 and handed it to Travis grip-first. “The magazine is loaded with a round already in the chamber.”
“Thank you,” Travis said.
Liam said, “Don’t thank me yet.”
16
Liam
Day Eighty-Eight
Travis held the door open for Evelyn and Liam. Travis went first with Evelyn and the baby in the middle, Liam taking up the rear.
The M4 rested on its sling against his chest within easy reach. He drew the HK45 for potential close-quarter combat; if he needed to use it, the silencer would buy them time.
The frigid night air hit them like a slap. Spring or not, the chilly midwestern nights still dipped into the low twenties. A few snowflakes spiraled from the dark sky.
The baby awoke. His skinny little arms flailed on either side of the carrier as he whimpered unhappily. It was cold, and he wasn’t warm and snuggled in his bed.
“Shhhh, sweetie,” Evelyn whispered, patting his back.
L.J. let out a few ragged coughs in between mewling cries, with a wet rasping sound in his chest that even Liam knew should never come from a baby.
His nephew was sick. He didn’t know how sick, but it wasn’t good.
They hadn’t gone a hundred feet when a voice called out from the darkness. “Hey! What are you doing?”
To their right, the cigarette lady stepped out from the shadows between two trailers. Her cigarette dangled from her lips. The ember glowed like a single red eye.
He kept the muzzle of his gun lowered at a forty-five-degree angle, but the threat was clear. “None of your concern.”
Travis and Evelyn halted, frightened and unsure.
He gestured at the Brooks and made to move around the woman planted in the center of the narrow walkway. “We’ve got to go.”
“You can’t go anywhere!” Cigarette Lady’s voice rose. “It’s not allowed. Who is this guy? Why does he have a gun?”
“Janet, please,” Evelyn said. “We’re not bothering you. Just pretend you didn’t see us.”
“Why would I do that?” Janet asked, bristling and obstinate.
“She’s trouble,” Evelyn said under her breath. She patted L.J.’s bottom and gave him his pacifier. The baby coughed but began sucking quietly. “She doesn’t like us.”
Liam checked their six. No one else had exited their trailer, no guards headed their way—yet. “Just walk.”
They kept moving. Their boots thudded across the worn dirt, dead grass, and slushy snow. The lights along the perimeter fence grew brighter, the shadows between the trailers dark and thick.
Janet followed them. Her nightgown billowed behind her, her coat flapping, her boots slapping the ground. “You’re breaking the rules! You can’t do that! Who is he? One of those insurgents?”
“No!” Evelyn said. “He’s just a friend. A soldier.”
Liam reached an intersection. He swept the silencer to the left, then the right.
Both worn paths were empty. Didn’t mean they’d remain that way, especially with belligerent Janet trailing after them. The scent of her damned cigarette was cloying, irritating his nose and throat.
“He’s not like these soldiers, that’s for sure.” Janet picked up her pace. “You trying to escape, is that it?”
“No!” Travis said tersely. “Please, Janet. Go back to bed.”
“Shut up!” someone yelled through the window of the trailer to their left.
Liam winced. They were making too much noise, drawing too much attention.
He scanned the area, checked behind them. Still no hostiles in sight.
“‘See something, say something’,” Janet quipped. “That’s what they told us. We get extra rations if we report suspicious behavior, you know.”
It never ceased to amaze him how easily people could be convinced to act against their own self-interests. This woman was willing to betray her fellow prisoners to endear herself to the tyrants who’d imprisoned her, too.
Maybe some people got so used to the walls of a prison that they wanted nothing else.
“I’m going to report you. I’m gonna—”
With a muffled grunt, Liam whirled around, anger slashing through him. He wouldn’t shoot an unarmed civilian, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted—or that he couldn’t make her think he’d do it.
He shifted the HK45 and aimed at Janet’s chest.
The woman paused in mid-step. Startled, her mouth opened in a big red O.
“Lady, you need to turn around right now. Go back to your trailer, crawl into bed, and go to sleep. This is just a nightmare. If you don’t want it to become real, obey immediately.”
Flustered, she took a wobbling step backward as her cigarette slipped from her fingers and dropped to the dirt. “You can’t—you have no right—”
She would not shut up. She was a threat.
Liam reversed the pistol, took two quick strides, and struck the side of the woman’s head with the grip before
she ducked or screamed. Not hard enough to harm her, though.
She went down immediately, lights out before she hit the ground. He didn’t like it, but it had to be done.
Travis gaped at Janet’s fallen form. “Did you just—”
“She would’ve shouted an alarm.”
Evelyn crouched awkwardly next to the woman, one hand steadying the baby, who let out a disgruntled cry, and felt the woman’s pulse. “She’s not dead. Just unconscious. She’ll have a nasty concussion.”
Travis helped his wife to her feet, squeezed her hand, and gave a resigned nod. “We understand.”
With Travis’s help, he quickly dragged Janet’s unconscious body behind the nearest trailer while Evelyn stroked L.J.’s hair and patted his bottom, soothing him. His lids half-closed, growing heavy, the rasping in his chest seeming loud as a chainsaw.
Liam felt no sense of relief. They weren’t out of danger. Patrols were everywhere, and their window of opportunity was closing fast.
They were running out of time.
17
Liam
Day Eighty-Eight
“I already cut the hole in the fence,” Liam said. “When we get there, go through it and run into the woods. I’ll lay down cover fire, then follow you.
“If we get separated, there’s a farm one mile straight south on Ridgeline Road, which you’ll hit past this strip of woods. Sun Haven Farm. Rendezvous there. Travis, anyone comes at you, you shoot them. Don’t hesitate.”
When they both nodded, he motioned for the Brooks to keep moving. He scanned their surroundings, examining each trailer, searching the shadows for movement, checking behind them.
Rapid footsteps sounded to their right.
Adrenaline kicked his heart. Liam spun left and pushed Evelyn and Travis around the nearest corner. They pressed against the side of the trailer, Liam in front of them, silenced pistol raised.
