by Stone, Kyla
Hannah caught a flicker of loss in Liam’s eyes. He had loved Jessa. If Jessa’s parents were any measure, she must have been something special.
Evelyn squeezed Hannah’s arm. “It is such a pleasure to meet you. We’re looking forward to settling in, seeing how we can help, and getting to know everyone. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that L.J. will have a playmate.”
Travis’s expression tightened as L.J. broke into another coughing fit. “At the shelter, few babies made it through the winter. I imagine the same story played out in most places.”
“L.J. is a blessing,” Evelyn said. “So is your daughter.”
“I know it.”
L.J. coughed, a horrible rasping bellow that sounded like his little lungs were ripping apart.
Molly frowned. “That’s a nasty cough he’s got there. A teaspoon of fresh garlic juice taken two to three times a day is a potent treatment for respiratory illnesses. I can make him something. Boil cloves of garlic for half a day and sweeten with honey and ginger for a natural cough syrup. He’ll like the taste of that one. Elderberry syrup works, too. They both help break up the congestion with bronchitis.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, relief in her voice.
“Do you have formula here, too?” Travis gestured toward L.J. “We’re out. He’s had far too little for weeks.”
Evelyn’s face went hard. “The formula they gave us was terrible. I did my best, but four infants died under my watch, and they wouldn’t give us antibiotics or formula. We would’ve tried cow’s milk, but they didn’t give us any. I mashed what I could, but toward the end, they were barely feeding any of us.”
Molly made a tsk sound with her tongue. “We can fix that problem right as rain. Commercial baby formula wasn’t even a thing before the 1950s. How do you think all those babies survived? Babies can drink evaporated milk. I myself was raised on the stuff, and I am standing here today as a shining example of health and fitness.”
She eyed everyone in the room, daring them to disagree. No one did. “I helped my mother feed my younger siblings. Still remember the recipe, in fact. A thirteen-ounce can of evaporated milk mixed with nineteen ounces of boiled water and two tablespoons of Karo syrup to help with constipation.”
Evelyn glanced from the babe in her husband’s arms to Molly. “Are there any cans available? I can’t pay you, but my medical expertise is all yours—”
“Bah!” Molly waved her hand in dismissal. “Liam Coleman vouches for you, that’s all I need to know. I have some cans I can give you, and I also have a hand-cranked food processor. We can mash fruits and veggies into a puree—even strain the water to feed him liquid vitamins if we need to. Won’t be long before both these kids can start on solids. They’ll be fine.” She nodded her chin in L.J.’s direction. “Just gotta get some fat on this little one’s bones.”
“A low dose of amoxicillin in his bottles will help, too,” Evelyn said.
“L.J. is weak and sick,” Hannah said. “In his case, nothing beats a mother’s milk.” She hesitated for only an instant. “I can feed him. At least until he gets healthy again.”
“Are you sure?” Evelyn whispered.
“Wet nurses have been a thing for thousands of years. And breastmilk would give him my antibodies too, right?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Then, yes. I’m sure.”
“From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” Evelyn looked down at the baby before raising her gaze to Hannah. There was a haunted look in her eyes, but also hope. “I am forever in your debt.”
“You kept Liam alive,” Hannah said, her throat thick. “I believe it’s the other way around.”
Hannah took the baby in her arms and stepped out into the darkened locker-lined hallway for privacy. As long as she ate well, she should have enough supply for both babies until L.J. put on some weight and his health improved.
The baby kept coughing, a wet, sickly sound that sent concern flaring through her. He was so thin compared to Charlotte’s chunky rolls. So light in her arms, like if she didn’t hold on tight, he might float up and disappear.
“We’ll hold on tight, Little Liam,” she whispered into his tiny seashell ear, her heart already going out to him. He was Liam’s nephew. For that alone, she already loved him. “I promise you.”
34
Hannah
Day Eighty-Nine
Within twenty minutes, L.J. was sated and sleepy.
When Hannah returned to the room, Evelyn was leaning against the cinderblock wall, her eyes closed, her face gray from exhaustion and fatigue. Travis stood beside her, one arm around her shoulder, swaying on his feet.
“Forgive me, you’re exhausted,” Hannah said. “We need to get you guys to a warm bed so you can rest.”
Travis took the infant and patted his back. “It has been a long night.”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Liam said.
“Dave Farris has a room for you at the Fall Creek Inn. In the next few days, we’ll get you a place to stay where you can settle in.” Hannah glanced at L.J. again, who was sleeping in Travis’s arms, letting out ragged little snorts as his chest rose and fell. “We have a great street; the neighbors take care of each other.”
Molly sniffed. “It was great before the riffraff started moving in.”
“No fair mocking the wounded.” Liam gave a rare half-smile, half-grimace. “Rules of engagement and all that.”
Molly turned her attention to Quinn, who’d finished daubing the apple cider vinegar on Ghost’s cuts and scratches. “Time for us to be getting home, too. We’ve got our new haul to organize.”
Reluctantly, Quinn patted Ghost’s head and rose. There was something in her eyes, a distant, thousand-yard stare.
“You okay, Quinn?” Hannah asked.
Quinn gave a noncommittal shrug, revealing nothing. Hannah wanted to hold the girl down and pry it out of her, but it had been a long and stressful day for everyone. The truth was, her focus was on Liam.
Later, she told herself. She’d check in with Quinn again tomorrow.
Molly flashed Hannah a knowing look and winked. “We’ll bring Milo with us, so you just take all the time you need with Liam, dear.”
Hannah blushed. Quinn, who’d normally roll her eyes to the heavens and heave a dramatic sigh, showed no sign she’d noticed other people in the room.
Five minutes later, Dave swung by to pick up the Brooks and take them to the Inn. Molly, Quinn, and Milo left with great fanfare, after Milo had hugged and kissed Ghost a dozen times. Molly had promised to bring some evaporated milk over for L.J.
Lee stopped in to give Liam some Advil and grab some fresh sheets from the cupboard for another patient. After he’d gone, they were alone but for Charlotte and Ghost, who’d curled up on the blankets Quinn had laid out for him at the foot of the cot.
Liam stroked Charlotte’s silky-fine hair. The baby nuzzled into his neck with satisfied little coos. “What’d I miss? A lot, it seems.”
Hannah sat on the edge of the cot, careful not to disturb him, and told him everything. Trading Day. The town hall meetings degenerating into contentious arguments over the fate of James Luther. The hostilities with the Community Alliance, and the destruction wrought by unseen forces.
“And if that’s not enough, I’m worried about Quinn.”
“She’s getting worse.” A statement, not a question.
“I’ve tried talking to her, but I don’t think she heard a thing I said.”
“Maybe something else will help, something besides talking. I’ll go see her tomorrow.”
“When you’re healthy, and not before. You heard Evelyn.”
He rolled his eyes, but with a long-suffering air. “The world won’t wait.”
“It’ll wait for you.”
“I doubt it.”
Charlotte squirmed and let out a hungry cry. Liam handed her back with a wry grin. “Can’t help with that, little one.”
Hannah nursed Charlotte discreetl
y as they continued to talk, discussing everything that had happened to Liam on his journey. Liam’s rugged face hardened, his eyes steel. “The things the Syndicate did to those people…”
It took everything in her not to seize his hand again. “You saved your nephew. You brought them home.”
He nodded, his gaze distant as if he were still working on convincing himself. “I did.”
As much as she worried for him, she would never chastise Liam for risking his life for others. He was a soldier, a warrior. A protector. It was in him, a part of him, bred into his bones.
Still, her heart skipped a beat at the thought of how close she’d come to losing him.
In this new world, it was far too easy to die.
“I—I missed this,” he said, studiously looking anywhere but at her. He smoothed the sheets, checked and rechecked the bandage wrapped across his ribs. Finally, he looked up and met her gaze. “I missed you.”
Her body went hot, her heart beating hard. Her face flushed.
Despite everything—the world crumbling around them, Pike and Rosamond, the militia, Noah—her heart whispered a truth she hadn’t been ready to face. Still wasn’t.
All the same, the truth remained.
What she felt for this man—it wasn’t going away. It was growing deeper, stronger, day after day. She’d missed him like she’d missed the sun in her basement prison—like a piece of herself was missing.
Now, gazing into those steel-blue eyes, she felt that missing piece clicking into place.
Instead of joy, a spear of fear plunged into her heart.
“Hannah?”
Pike’s face flashed behind her eyes. The thin red line of his mouth. The click, click, click of that horrible lighter loud in her ears.
“Are you okay?”
She hadn’t realized she’d stood up, that she was backing away, her mouth dry, palms damp, face on fire.
Ghost hobbled to his feet, alert to her distress. She tightened her arms around Charlotte. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m sorry.”
Hannah turned and fled, Ghost at her side.
35
Sutter
Day Ninety-Two
Sutter gripped the satellite phone and turned from the bonfire.
It’d taken days before Xander had trusted him enough to return his things, days more before he could drift from the perimeter of the crowd without a dozen suspicious eyes—and weapons—pinning him.
He’d spent the last week as the camp’s requisite servant—cooking meals, cleaning up after the filthy, lazy thugs. They were warming to him, but Xander was bound and determined to keep him in his place.
Once Sutter had exacted his revenge on Fall Creek, Xander Thorne was the next name on his hit list. But first things first.
Sutter didn’t consider himself a sadistic man. He wasn’t a psychopath, not like Rosamond’s firstborn son, Gavin Pike.
He didn’t kill because he enjoyed it; it was a business transaction, a means to an end, the elimination of a problem. When Sutter killed, it was in his own best interest.
However, in Liam Coleman’s case, he would make an exception. He’d imagined it a hundred times in his dreams, down to the last detail.
He planned to relish every second of Coleman’s slow and agonizing death.
If that meant Fall Creek had to burn along with him, then so be it.
A hint of doubt slithered into his mind. He hoped his cover wasn’t blown. The element of surprise was extremely rewarding. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected the blue-haired girl had recognized him.
Why those idiots had to get so close to the fairgrounds was beyond him. And then they’d inserted themselves into the dog fight before Sutter could do anything to stop them.
No matter. It was unfortunate, but it didn’t alter the end game.
Coleman would still die, whether or not he knew Sutter was coming for him. His plan would move forward just as before.
Sutter risked a glance at the dozens of people ringing the massive bonfire.
Dozens of rolling desk chairs surrounded the fire; a bunch of crazy idiots scooting around, bumping into each other and laughing hysterically, the sound high-pitched and grating, like shrieking hyenas. They’d used splintered legs from desks and broken chunks of bookcases as kindling.
He tried and failed to ignore the delicious scent of roasting meat, his empty stomach gnawing at him. They were eating chunks of seared venison with their hands, licking their fingers.
He’d hunted and killed the deer for them. They were worthless for hunting game; they were marginally better at hunting human beings.
At any rate, there was plenty of meat—he’d partake soon, but first, he needed to make contact.
“It’s me,” Sutter said when the connection went through.
A hiss of static and then a voice on the other line, so familiar and similar to his own father’s that a chill scraped down his spine. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Mattias Sutter.”
A pause which lengthened into a tense silence.
Sutter clenched his jaw. “Your nephew.”
“How the hell did you get this number?” With the rasp of a former smoker, gruff and impatient, like every word he spoke was an abysmal waste of his precious time, energy, and focus. “This is a secure line. You don’t have the security clearance—”
A fresh wave of resentment roiled through him. Byron Sinclair, aka, the General, was a Grade A jackass. Always was, always would be.
Sutter had never been one for sentimentality or family ties, but the General took egotistical, miserly narcissism to an entirely new level.
Yet, he was a jackass with the power that Sutter needed, so he swallowed his towering hatred and forced himself to play nice.
“I know what happened to your daughter,” Sutter said.
That stopped the General in his tracks. Sutter doubted he was capable of something as human as love, but blood was blood. It meant something.
That’s what Sutter counted on. The man cared little for his wayward brother or his brother’s son, but his daughter was his bloodline, his legacy.
If there was one thing his uncle cared about beyond power, it was his legacy.
“Where is Rosamond?” the General growled.
A shout went up around the bonfire, more of that damned chanting. Sutter took a few quick steps and rounded the corner of the closest building.
Here the shadows were thick, the cold licking at his exposed face, neck, and hands. He hunched his shoulders, bracing himself. “Your daughter is dead.”
It was quiet on the other end of the sat phone.
“A few weeks ago, she was murdered.”
Silence so thick Sutter felt it oozing through the phone, dense and menacing.
“It happened in Fall Creek. Her people turned on her.”
He imagined the silence like a black smoke curling around his fingers, winding up his arm, encircling his neck. “I thought that you would want to know.”
The General breathing in his ear was the only sound as the laughter and shouts from the bonfire faded away to nothing.
“Tell me what happened.” The man’s cold voice cut through time and space like a scythe. “Leave nothing out.”
Sutter told him a curated version of events with Liam Coleman at the heart of the disaster of Winter Haven. “This ex-soldier orchestrated the massacre of my men. He murdered your grandson, Gavin Pike. And he killed Rosamond. I did everything I could, but I was only one man. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”
Of course, Sutter had flown the coop by the time Rosamond met her demise. He may not have been present at her death, but he knew with certainty that she was gone—and who was responsible.
“I will come,” the General said in a clipped tone. Was his voice raspier? Thick with a rare display of emotion? Sutter couldn’t tell. “My plans have been…delayed. But events are falling into place. A few last boxes to tick, and I will depart soon.
“Until then,
continue to harass the town without outright attacking it. When I arrive, I will contact you with further instructions. Send me your current location via GPS coordinates. Do not allow anyone access to this communication device. Do you understand?”
Sutter bristled. The General spoke like he believed Sutter was too stupid to think on his feet. Little did he know. “You got an army with you? You’ll need it.”
“Do not concern yourself with my resources. Rest assured, I will arrive prepared.” A pause. “More prepared than you were.”
Sutter flinched at the insult. Acrid resentment burned through him, a loathing so palpable he could taste its bitterness on his tongue.
He forced himself to focus on the prize—Coleman’s death, the plum of Winter Haven once again in hand, even a possible promotion as the General’s most valuable associate.
“I’m sure you appreciate the crucial intel I’ve just shared,” he said.
Silence again on the other end.
“I expect to be duly rewarded.”
“I reward my men in accordance with their value.”
As if Sutter hadn’t already proved his value a hundred times over. He flexed the thick calloused fingers of his free hand, imagining Coleman caught in his trap, no way out, no escape. He squeezed his hand into a fist until his ragged fingernails bit into his palms.
“Is that all? I’m rather busy.” A curt dismissal, eerily similar to Rosamond’s style.
Sutter gritted his teeth. There was one more thing he needed to know, but Sutter had no intention of telling him, not until the General treated him the way he deserved.
“That’s it,” he lied.
36
Quinn
Day Ninety-Five
Quinn sighed. “Tell me we’re almost finished.”
“I don’t lie,” Liam said.
For the last hour, they’d built a cinderblock rocket stove on the backyard patio of the Brooks’ new home on Tanglewood Drive. The house had no woodstove, but now they could cook meals outside all season long.
