by Stone, Kyla
He hooked a thumb at the two guys on either side of him. “This is Tyrell, and this surly one we call Jett. Dahlia’s around here somewhere. You’d like her.”
Quinn didn’t take her eyes off Xander Thorne.
The others reacted to him with respect, with a sort of thrilled adoration, but she sensed an edginess, a jittery agitation, like maybe he was a bit unpredictable and liked it that way.
This was the leader of the pack.
“How did you find us—me?” she asked.
Xander smiled, his gaze latched onto hers. “We were just driving along Old 31, minding our business, and we heard a commotion. The road is a few hundred yards away. It’s not like we had any pressing destination. That life doesn’t exist anymore, does it?”
“I guess not.”
“We can go where we want, when we want. So, when I heard all the barking, I wanted to check it out. Looks like it’s a good thing I did.”
“You saved us—me and Ghost. Thank you.” He seemed like the type to want admiration—and gratitude. “I owe you one.”
Xander didn’t smile this time, but he didn’t scowl either. He didn’t go for one of those crazy weapons, which was the important thing.
“What do you want us to do, Xander?” asked Jett, the big guy with the mace.
Xander scratched his head and studied her, his gaze roving from her boots to the top of her head and back down again.
The hairs rose on the back of her neck. She stood still and didn’t move. It felt like she was being weighed, or judged; like if she came up wanting, the result wouldn’t be pretty.
These people had just saved her life. That didn’t make them the good guys.
32
Quinn
Day Eighty-Nine
“You alone?” Xander asked.
Quinn hoped the thick boughs of the spruce shielded Milo from their line of sight. If they searched, they’d find him, but if you weren’t looking for a short little kid clinging to a tree above you…
She raised her chin. “It’s just me.”
Xander watched her with suspicion. “You sure?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze. He had a wild, almost unhinged gleam in his eyes. It was unnerving. “I’m sure.”
He visibly relaxed. “Excellent, excellent. Well, then. Since you’re a lover of dogs, as I am, I’m going to give you a pass.”
He didn’t say a pass from what. Quinn knew better than to ask. The group behind him offered a mixture of responses—relief, disappointment, excitement.
Her neck prickled. “Can I lower my hands now? I’ve got a Beretta without ammo and a slingshot in my pocket.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “A slingshot! We don’t have one of those in our arsenal.”
“It’ll take out an eye if you’re good. Or leave a nasty bruise. Not much more than that.” She left out the part about the flechettes.
He grinned and gestured at the various weapons bristling behind him. “We have an affinity for creative weaponry, if you haven’t noticed.”
Swords. Maces. Ancient knives. Spears. A part of her wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but instinct warned her that these people took their whole getup very, very seriously. To mock it would be the wrong move.
“I noticed.”
His grin broadened. “Can I pet your dog?”
She dropped her gaze to Ghost. His body was stiff, his hackles raised.
Though he was injured, his leg leaking blood, he hadn’t moved from his protective position between her and the strange group.
“He’s had a rough day,” Quinn said. “He’s kind of worked up.”
“We all are. I get it.” Xander squatted a couple yards away and stared at Ghost. Ghost stared back. Xander beamed at him, his narrow face lighting up.
For a moment, that wild gleam in his eyes dimmed, and he appeared normal, just a boy enjoying a dog—if not for the medieval weaponry attached to his belt.
Jett cleared his throat. “Xander.”
With a sigh, Xander rose and stepped back. His gaze returned to Quinn, and he tilted his head as he examined her. “What do you think about the state of things? Since the Collapse, I mean.”
Another test. She still didn’t know the consequences of failing, but the way Jett gripped his mace like he couldn’t wait to use it—or maybe expected to—set her on edge.
Apprehension slithered through her, but she couldn’t let the tension show in her face. “The world sucks. Everything sucks. What else is new?”
She could see by his expression that it was the right answer. He rubbed his hands together like he relished this moment, the tension, the test, whatever it meant. “And electricity?”
“I’m doing fine without it.”
“You miss it?”
A subtle intake of breath. The group watched her warily. How she answered this question was important.
She eyed them. They were scruffy, dirty, unwashed. She could smell the stench of B.O. from here. And those primitive, old-school weapons…
There was something different about them, something off.
She gave the unexpected answer. “Not really. No.”
The forest let out its breath. Some in the crowd nodded their heads, others stared at her with blank, mild expressions. The right answer, then.
Still, she didn’t relax, her muscles tense, her nerves strung tight.
Xander’s smile remained fixed, but his eyes went hot and bright. “The world before was a lie. All illusions and denial. Electricity blinded us, technology numbed us. But no longer!” His voice rose with a lyrical, almost mesmerizing cadence, his group nodding, hanging on his every word. “We’re tearing it all down. Brick by brick, light bulb by light bulb.”
“Death to power,” one girl said with a maniacal grin.
“Death to power!” several of them chanted. A few let out eerie howls, raising their battle axes and rifles affixed with bayonets, punching fists high in the air.
Every hair on the back of Quinn’s neck stood on end. Where had she heard that phrase before? Or seen it?
The body, twisting in the wind. The cardboard sign pinned to his dead chest.
Her stomach knotted, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. As if sensing her fear, Ghost’s hackles raised, and he growled low and deep.
The others were too busy chanting and howling to hear him.
Keeping her expression placid, she put her hand on his flank, calming him. Easy, easy. No sudden moves.
Milo was still hiding away, unseen. They needed to get out of here alive and intact. Right freaking now.
Xander watched her with hawklike intensity. “You got a problem with that?”
“As far as I’m concerned,” she said, “the world can burn.”
It was far too easy to say the words, to feel like she meant it. The darkness inside her burned bright as a lit match.
He scratched at his greasy scalp and nodded to himself. His gaze flicked to Jett on his right and Tyrell to his left. Tyrell gave an enthusiastic nod; Jett could’ve been a statue for how little he moved.
Whatever Xander was looking for, he must have found it. “Congratulations. I like you, and your dog. We’re always looking for new recruits. Like-minded souls and all that. It sucks to be alone out here.”
He gestured to the group behind him. A few raised machetes, crossbows, and daggers. Several gave bright, friendly smiles, but there was an intensity about them, something rabid.
She returned her attention to Xander, cautious and watchful, analyzing his words, his posture, his eyes. It seemed to be an invitation rather than a demand.
She could walk away, and they would let her. Probably.
With a casual shrug, she forced a smile. “Not really a group-type. I prefer being alone.”
Disappointment crossed his face, but he didn’t argue. “You change your mind in the next couple weeks, we’re holed up at the Vortex headquarters in St. Joe.”
Vortex Corporation was a famous, nationwide company that pro
duced appliances—refrigerators, dishwashers and dryers, stoves and microwaves.
“Seems apt, you know? A paradigm of industry and technology—now utterly useless.” His eyes flashed. “We enjoy the irony.”
She nodded, her sense of foreboding increasing. Ghost remained in front of her, a low growl vibrating from his chest.
Xander whistled to his group and pointed back the way they’d come. “Let’s go!”
As the group turned to leave, those at the front spread apart and a momentary space opened, revealing someone standing at the back of the crowd. A man she hadn’t noticed before.
As he turned to follow the others, he glanced over his shoulder at her. A man in his thirties, bald and built like a bulldozer, with broad shoulders and bulging arms, thighs like tree trunks.
It was his dark cunning eyes that drew her, caught her like a fly in a web, her body going stone cold as recognition slammed through her.
Sutter.
33
Hannah
Day Eighty-Nine
Hannah sat next to Liam, Charlotte in her lap, concern and fear tying knots in her belly.
She’d hardly breathed since Dave had announced Liam’s return—and his injury.
Liam lay in a cot in the center of the room, his back propped with pillows, sleeping restlessly after passing out during the bullet’s removal. The room smelled of Betadine and vinegar. A few kerosene lanterns provided light.
She hadn’t left his side since they’d brought him to the high school where the nurse, Shen Lee, had set up a makeshift medical center in a few former classrooms.
Molly had brought Milo and Quinn in with Ghost, who was on his feet but covered in blood. A dog attack, Quinn had said vaguely. Milo didn’t say much at all.
Reynoso had beefed up security, increasing patrols with Hayes and Perez while Bishop took a team to hunt down the rest of the pack. The Fall Creek police department had escorted the Community Alliance from the premises with their fresh supplies before another fight broke out.
Dave and Annette were busy closing Trading Day and cleaning the fairgrounds with Jonas Marshall and some of the teens.
Hannah’s heart felt torn to pieces. Her beloved dog and Liam were both hurt. She’d wanted to wrap Ghost in an enormous hug but feared hurting him. Liam, too, for that matter.
At least Ghost was stable. Lee had debrided the leg injury, inserted a flexible, sterilized tube for drainage, and applied Neosporin before binding the wound.
He’d instructed Quinn how to clean and disinfect the remaining cuts—which were minor enough to heal on their own if infection didn’t set in.
In one corner of the room next to a stack of unused desks, Ghost lay on his side on a couple of blankets, offering occasional whimpers.
Quinn knelt over him, a bottle of Bragg’s Apple Cider Vinegar in one hand, a clean cloth in the other, her bluish-black bangs in her eyes and her brow and lip rings glinting in the lantern light.
Milo helped spread Ghost’s fur and keep him calm while Quinn dabbed his cuts with the vinegar, which acted as a natural antiseptic and antimicrobial treatment against infections, bacteria, and fungus.
They tended to Ghost as well as Hannah could herself, though she yearned to be present at both Ghost and Liam’s sides.
She didn’t need to worry; Ghost was in excellent hands.
Molly sat in a metal chair against the wall near the door, leaning on her cane and overseeing the proceedings. “Natural honey and fresh garlic also work well. Garlic is a strong antiseptic with antioxidant, antibacterial, antifungal, antiviral, and antiparasitic properties.”
“Is that why it works on vampires?” Milo asked.
“There’s no proof of that,” Molly said with a mischievous grin. “Find me a vampire and we’ll test it out.”
Charlotte gurgled and cooed and wriggled in Hannah’s arms. She was so curious, wanting to touch and taste anything within reach.
With a moan, Liam opened his eyes.
Hannah’s heart gave a little jolt. “How do you feel?”
He grunted. “Like I’ve been shot in the ribs.”
“That good, huh?”
He glanced down. She’d been holding his hand and hadn’t even realized it. Embarrassment shot through her as she quickly withdrew her hand, heat flushing her cheeks.
Liam’s brows narrowed, but he said nothing. He shifted in the cot and sat up straighter, wincing.
He looked thinner from his journey, a bit ragged around the edges, but he was still Liam. Broad shouldered and muscular, rugged features and chestnut stubble filming his jaw. And those arresting gray-blue eyes slicing straight through her.
She cleared her throat. “I can ask Lee for a stronger painkiller.”
“Save it for someone who needs it.”
“You need it.”
“Pain is just a distraction. I’ve learned how to live with it.” He swung his legs around and made to stand.
“Are you sure you should you be—”
“I’m fine.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” A tall, slim woman stalked into the room, a frown on her face. “Liam Coleman, get back in that bed.”
“I was just—”
“Absolutely not. You’re off your feet for at least another day. You need to be monitored for shock, blood loss, and hemodynamic instability.”
Liam’s face fell, but he didn’t argue. With a defeated sigh, he sank back onto the cot. “Hannah, meet Evelyn Brooks.”
“We met while you were unconscious,” Evelyn said, glancing at Hannah.
“It was a pleasure,” Hannah said.
“The pleasure was all mine.” Evelyn gestured toward Liam. “He saved us.”
Hannah smiled. “He has a way of doing that.”
Evelyn was an attractive woman in her mid-fifties, well put-together despite the weariness lining her face. Even dressed in dirty, wrinkled clothes, she exuded elegance and grace.
Her husband, Travis, trailed after her. In his arms, he held Liam’s nephew, who was a few weeks older than Charlotte, though he was smaller, skinnier, and weaker.
Hannah shook hands and made introductions around the room. Molly hid her usual snark and displayed consummate graciousness. Quinn was polite, though she was busy with Ghost. Milo was so intent on helping her, he didn’t look up.
Evelyn and Travis were courteous, warm, and kind. Hannah already knew they would fit in with Fall Creek just fine.
“Make yourselves at home,” Hannah said. “We can’t promise things will be easy, but we’re working hard to build a community here. A place to be safe—and free—no matter what’s happening out there.”
“Thank you,” Travis said, “from the bottom of our hearts.”
Evelyn checked on Liam’s bandages. “I removed the bullet. The wound is clean. Change your dressings once a day if the bleeding remains minimal. If it’s not kept clean, infection can set in rapidly. Puncture wounds breed bacteria.”
“Got it,” Liam said.
“And you need fluids with electrolytes. I’ll ask Lee for something.” Evelyn set a small white bottle with a blue label featuring happy, swimming fish on the cot beside him. “Take these.”
“I’m not a fish.”
“Amoxicillin is amoxicillin. It works on humans, even incredibly stubborn, mulish ones.”
Liam snorted. “Point taken.”
“You’ve put tremendous demands on your body,” she warned him. “You’re in terrific shape, but the body wears down. It’s physics. You need to be careful. Contrary to how you may feel, you aren’t Superman, and now you’re injured. I want to see you taking it very, very easy for the next few weeks.”
Liam grunted in response.
“That’s not a yes,” Molly said. “You’ve got to watch this one. He’s slippery like that.”
Evelyn fisted her hands on her hips. “I suppose I need a written agreement signed in blood, then.”
“Good luck with that,” Hannah murmured.
“Might have to tie h
im to the bed.” Molly leaned on her cane and flashed him a wicked grin. “I have some zip ties. Or duct tape. Also, paracord works quite well.”
“You have experience tying men to beds?” Hannah asked.
Molly winked. “I sure do. One of the greatest moments of my life, matter-of-fact.”
From the floor, Milo glanced up at them with a confused expression. Fortunately, the reference had gone right over his head.
Quinn gave no sign that she was listening—so focused on Ghost, she didn’t hear them. Or maybe it was something else.
Evelyn shook her finger at Liam. “I mean it. The bullet tore through muscle and fasciae. If you aren’t careful, you can make it worse. Much worse. I don’t have the tools, facilities, or anesthesia to perform emergency surgery on you, at least not one you’d have a decent chance of recovering from. It is imperative that you take care of yourself before we get to that point.”
“Heard you the first time,” Liam grumbled, refusing to meet Evelyn’s gaze.
Evelyn turned to Hannah. “If he won’t listen to me, maybe he’ll listen to you.”
Hannah lifted her chin. “I’ll do my best.”
Ignoring them both, Liam held out his hand to Charlotte, who cooed and batted at his fingers. “She’s already so much bigger.”
“Babies grow fast. She’s doing good. Happy and healthy.”
“May I hold her?”
Hannah’s heart squeezed. “Of course.”
A look of pure joy crossed Liam’s features as he took the baby. Hannah could tell it caused him physical pain to hold her, but he didn’t let it show.
He nestled her in his big arms, and she melted against his chest, nuzzling her little face in the crook of his neck. Liam’s little knit cap looked like it belonged on her, like they went together.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from them. There was something about a powerful man cradling a fragile baby that undid her, heart and soul.
“I miss those long late-night car rides we used to take when Jessa was a baby,” Evelyn said, her voice wistful. “That child never slept more than two hours her first year.”
