by Kyla Stone
Heavy shadows were everywhere. The dark shape of the crib. Window on the far wall. Dresser beside the closet door.
Movement to her left.
The flash of a knife.
A human-shaped shadow lunged out of the darkness.
Hannah’s heart seized. Panic nailed her to the floor.
A flurry of white erupted. Ghost flung himself at the shadow, growling, snarling, jaws snapping with savage fury.
One hundred and forty pounds of solid mass barreled into human flesh, knocking the assailant backward into the crib. Two forms writhing, grappling with each other. A crash and a thud.
The assailant shrieked. The sound cut off abruptly by a wet crunch. Wrenching and tearing. Mangled cries.
Ghost crouched atop the fallen figure, ripping his throat from his body.
From the crib, an infant’s incensed cry rang out. For a second, she thought it was Charlotte. Then she recognized L.J.’s scratchy wail.
She started for the crib, her only thought for her baby.
“Don’t move!” a gravelly voice said.
A second assailant stood in front of the window. A dark hulking figure, dressed in black, his shape bulky with tactical gear.
Ten feet away.
A bundle squirmed in his arms. Charlotte.
The bundle shifted to the left as he adjusted his hold, clutching the child in one arm. Charlotte squealed in protest. The glint of a muzzle barrel rose toward Hannah.
Time slowed.
No time to think. To weigh the pros and cons. Evaluate the risks.
If she didn’t act, she was dead, and Charlotte gone.
She acted.
Hannah lifted the .45 with both hands. Braced the butt with her bad hand. Aimed to the right of center mass, exhaled, and squeezed.
The pistol bucked in her hands. The shot exploded in her ears.
The assailant jerked. He yelled a ragged curse. Charlotte and L.J. screamed louder.
Instinct and training took over. She lowered slightly and fired again.
His body spun to the right. With a thud, the bundle in his arm dropped to the carpeted floor.
Hannah flinched. Her mind screamed in fear and outrage, but she kept her focus. Fired a third time, aiming for his pelvis below his body armor.
He stumbled backward. He lost his footing and smacked into the wall, then sagged beneath the window.
Sounds came from behind her. Muffled and distant. Raised voices, cries of alarm.
Someone shouted something. Words that made no sense. Her ears rang.
Light bobbed along the hallway, bathing the nursery in flaring shadows. Dimly, she sensed Evelyn and Travis crowding into the doorway behind her.
Every fiber of her being longed to rush to her child, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She couldn’t focus on anything but eliminating the threat.
She knew better than to turn her back on a wounded animal. Especially the human kind.
She strode toward the assailant and loomed over him. Blood leaked from his right shoulder. It pooled beneath him from a hole in his groin.
He twisted away from her, cursing and gasping. He crawled, scrabbling along the floor in search of his weapon. It fell when he’d dropped her daughter.
She kicked it away.
He looked up at her, expression twisted in pain and hatred. Coal-black eyes, narrow cheekbones, grizzled beard. “You little b—”
Hannah planted her feet and aimed between his eyes. “No one messes with my family!”
30
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Ten
“Wait!” Liam’s voice thundered through the nursery. He shouldered into the room and sprinted to her side, Bishop right behind him. “Don’t shoot him!”
Hannah hesitated.
Bishop trained his Heckler and Koch .45 with the extended suppression barrel at the assailant.
Liam put a firm hand on her forearm and lowered her pistol. “We need him alive.”
She stood, swaying on her feet. Blinking and uncertain. Her pulse a roar in her ears. “But I have to—”
“I’ll do it, Hannah.” Still holding the Glock, he grasped her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “It’s over. We’ll take it from here.”
She nodded dully. It took three tries to flick on the safety and slip the .45 into her pajama pocket.
Someone had brought in a lantern. Liam? Or Travis? She didn’t know.
“Charlotte and L.J.?” Liam asked tersely.
“L.J.’s fine,” Travis said. “We need to check Charlotte. Hannah saved her from that dirtbag.”
“And Milo?” Liam asked.
“He’s at the house, sleeping.”
“I’ll send Perez over to stay with him.” Bishop unhooked his radio. “Any other assailants?”
“Only two. Ghost got that one,” she said, suddenly lightheaded.
The adrenaline dump seized her. Waves of dizziness washed over her, her legs going weak and rubbery.
Liam and Bishop had things under control. Charlotte. She needed Charlotte.
She staggered across the room and crumpled to her knees. “Charlotte, I’m here. I’m right here, honey.”
The baby waved her chubby arms, screaming and red-faced, her eyes squeezed shut in outrage. No visible wounds, but a rug burn reddened her left cheek.
Hannah couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, her stomach in horrified knots. What if her neck was broken? Or her spine misaligned, her skull bruised, or worse?
“Don’t move her!” Evelyn knelt beside Hannah, dressed in silk pajamas, her black hair in disarray. “Let me check her first.”
Against her every instinct, Hannah sank back as Evelyn examined the baby, monitored her vital signs, and checked for internal injuries.
Travis collected L.J. from the crib and cradled him to his chest, rocking him gently and whispering in his ear. The baby’s desperate cries hushed to hiccupping whimpers.
Liam and Bishop dragged the wounded assailant to the corner and shoved him up against the closet door. After frisking him, Liam knelt while Bishop stood watch at the window.
The assailant whimpered and begged for mercy. Liam offered him none.
“I think that one’s good and dead now, buddy,” Travis said to Ghost.
The dog’s jaws were locked around the neck of the first assailant. Ghost gave a last vicious shake of his head. With a snarl, he released his prey.
The mangled body sprawled between the wall and the crib in the corner.
Ghost clambered off the corpse. His hind leg faltered; he yelped in pain.
He must have reinjured himself in the attack's exertion. Undaunted, he hobbled across the room toward Hannah.
Crouched protectively over Charlotte’s tiny form, Ghost glared at Evelyn. A menacing growl rumbled from his throat. His ears flattened, his jowls pulled back from his wet red fangs.
Evelyn froze, one hand pressed to Charlotte’s chest, Ghost’s jaws inches from her wrist.
In a heartbeat, he could snap her bones to splinters.
The Great Pyrenees was huge in the small dark room, all teeth and claws, his thick fur spattered with blood. He looked wild, half-crazed with bloodlust, like a savage beast from fairy tales, a demon wolf from the underworld.
He was ferocious, acting on instinct to guard his precious charge from all creatures not in his herd.
Hannah stretched out her bad hand and placed it on Ghost’s wet muzzle. His panting breath hot on her palm. Her fingers brushed razor-sharp teeth.
Hannah felt no fear. Not from Ghost. Never from Ghost.
He was her dog, and she was his person.
“Good boy, good boy.” Gently, she closed his jaws with her crooked fingers. “Evelyn’s a friend. You know that, boy. You’re worked up from protecting your people. I get it.”
She stroked the top of his snout. Gradually, his growls subsided. “You did everything right.”
Ghost’s tense, bunched muscles relaxed. His ears pricked as he responded to Hannah’s soothin
g voice.
“You warned me. You protected us. You did everything perfectly. Just perfect.” He tilted his head so she could rub at the scruff of his throat. “You’ve definitely earned some jerky tonight.”
Ghost plopped onto his haunches and lowered his head to Charlotte. He nosed her tiny scrunched face, then tenderly licked her tears, whining in concern.
Charlotte wept fiercely, but she sensed the big dog above her and reached for him eagerly. She adored Ghost as much as he adored her.
Her tiny hands batted at his bloodied muzzle. The jaws that had ripped out a man’s throat were as harmless to Charlotte as one of her teething toys.
“I’m helping Charlotte, Ghost.” Evelyn kept her voice low and steady. “She’s okay, boy. Thanks to you and your momma. She’s gonna be okay.”
“Are you certain?” Hannah asked in a choked voice.
Evelyn turned her head to meet Hannah’s gaze. She kept her movements slow and cautious. “She’s okay, honey. A contusion on the back of her skull that we’ll watch, but she’s fine.”
“Oh, thank God.” Pure relief flooded her veins. Hannah scooped Charlotte into her arms and held her against her chest. Her daughter’s small shuddering body sank into hers.
Charlotte nestled her head into the crook of Hannah’s neck. Hannah cradled her, rocked back and forth on her knees, and crooned sweet nothings against her soft head.
In the warm embrace of her mother, Charlotte’s wails subsided.
Ghost pressed close, leaning into her side and anxiously snuffling Charlotte’s cheeks like he wasn’t taking Hannah’s word for it; he needed to ensure his people’s well-being for himself.
“We have visitors,” Bishop said. “Friendlies.”
Footsteps pounded outside in the hallway.
Ghost raised his head, ears perked. Instead of growling, he let out a welcoming chuff.
“Who do I need to shoot?” Molly shuffled into the room, limping heavily without her cane, the Mossberg gripped firmly in two wrinkled hands.
Quinn shoved in behind her, holding the AR-15 in the low ready position, her face bone-white with fear and adrenaline. She took in the nursery’s utter disarray. “Is anyone hurt?”
“It’s over,” Hannah said. “We’re okay.”
“Darn it,” Molly said. “I’m always late to the party.”
Evelyn grimaced. “If this is what you people consider a party, I’ll pass on the next invite.”
Molly wore a white long-sleeved nightgown. Quinn wore an oversized Metallica T-shirt and red snowman pajama bottoms. Neither wore coats. Quinn was barefoot, mud and grass caking the bottoms of her feet.
“Ghost’s barking woke us,” Quinn said. “He sounded ready to take down an army.”
Travis gave a tired smile. “Pretty much.”
“Milo,” Hannah said. “Bishop sent Perez over, but I don’t know if she’s there yet. He’s alone in the house—”
Molly pointed the shotgun at the floor. “Say no more. I’m already there.”
As soon as she’d left, Liam did something to the hostile. He shrieked in anguish.
Travis’s face turned ashen. He left the room with L.J., Evelyn on his heels.
“I’ll stay,” Quinn said.
“I need you to help search the area,” Bishop said. “Go with Perez. Now that Milo’s safe, she’ll call in the reaction force to comb the perimeter.”
Quinn made a face like she wanted to protest, but she headed for the door.
Bishop radioed Reynoso. “You better get over here, Chief. We’ve got quite a mess on our hands.”
31
Liam
Day One Hundred and Ten
“How the hell did these guys get through our perimeter?” Reynoso asked.
“That’s one of the questions this one’s going to answer,” Liam said darkly.
Liam, Bishop, and Reynoso crowded into the nursery. A battery-operated LED lantern hung from a hook by the door provided light. Their pistols were holstered, their long guns stacked against the crib.
Liam held his Gerber MK II tactical knife low at his side.
At the sight of it, the hostile’s eyes widened in fear. Good. Let him piss his pants a little.
By the stench of ammonia in the room, he already had.
It was nearly 0200 hours. They hadn’t bothered to wake the rest of the town council; this was a job for the security force.
Perez had several teams combing Fall Creek in case of a secondary attack. So far, they’d found nothing.
Molly was staying with Milo at Hannah’s house; fortunately, the kid had slept right through the commotion.
Travis and Hannah had settled the babies in the Brooks’ master bedroom, since the nursery was in use for interrogation.
After nursing Charlotte back to sleep, Hannah busied herself in the kitchen, cleaning Ghost with a bucket of fire-warmed water and tending to his injury.
Evelyn and Travis had wrapped the mangled corpse in a tarp and dragged it to the woods behind the property. No one wanted to waste good firewood on burning a body, but they couldn’t leave it for the feral dogs to tear up, either.
Nothing like discovering a severed hand on your back porch with your morning coffee.
As if anyone still had coffee.
Tomorrow, they’d transfer the corpse to the burial pit at the west edge of town, where they’d used a couple of backhoes to dig a hole to bury their dead a safe distance from nearby water sources.
The second hostile would join his partner shortly. But not before Liam got the information he needed.
Liam turned his attention to their prisoner. Outrage thrummed through him. It took incredible self-control to keep himself from tearing this maggot apart with his bare hands.
Forget Ghost. Liam could rip this man’s throat out himself without an iota of remorse.
How close he’d come to losing Charlotte. To losing Hannah.
Jaw clenched, he crouched before the hostile. Bishop and Reynoso stood behind him, watching with hard expressions.
Liam tapped the flat blade of the Gerber against his open palm, the edge glinting. “There’s only one way this ends. How much suffering you endure is up to you.”
“Go to hell!” The hostile still had fire in him, but he was fading. His skin was ashen, the circles beneath his eyes like smudges of charcoal.
They’d tied his ankles with paracord from Liam’s everyday carry case; his hands bound with a pair of Reynoso’s department-issued handcuffs.
His body sported three new holes. One round had torn through the meat of his upper right shoulder. The second buried itself in his upper thigh, missing his femoral artery. The third shot had lodged above his crotch, in his groin.
Hannah had done a damn fine job.
Evelyn had dressed the hostile’s wounds enough to slow the bleeding. She’d used strips cut from a sheet rather than precious bandages, antiseptic, or antibiotics.
“It is my job to heal. To give life, not to take it.” She’d met Liam with a level gaze. “That being said, in times of crisis, we perform triage and focus on the ones we can save. There’s nothing I can do to save this one. Do you understand?”
Liam had nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her voice lowered. Her eyes sparked with anger—and steel. “You, however, are not bound by that oath.”
Liam estimated the hostile had an hour before it was lights out. He was already dead. He knew it, too.
“Are you going to torture him?” Bishop’s expression was grim, his complexion waxy. He looked physically ill.
Liam glanced up at Bishop. “We know he’s guilty. There’s no question. This is our only opportunity to glean crucial intelligence. You know that.” He raised his voice. “If he tells the truth, I won’t touch him.”
Bishop raked a hand through his afro and gave a resigned sigh. “What I know in my head and what I feel in my heart are two different things. It doesn’t feel right.”
It felt fine to Liam, but he didn’t say so. He gave B
ishop an out. “Why don’t you radio Perez and link up with her reaction force? Make sure we’re clear.”
Bishop nodded, relief on his face. He turned on his heel and marched from the room.
Bishop was an honorable man. A better man than Liam. This moment might haunt his nightmares later, but he could live with that. It had to be done to protect the people he loved.
Liam shifted his gaze to Reynoso. “You in or out?”
Reynoso’s bronze skin looked distinctly pale, but he didn’t waver. The man was solid as a rock. “Do what you’ve got to do.”
Liam returned his attention to their prisoner. “Who sent you and why?”
“I’m not telling you anything—”
Liam leaned forward and poked the tip of the knife into the man’s wounded shoulder.
The prisoner howled.
Liam continued with his work. Within a few minutes, the hostile was writhing in agony.
Liam eased back. “Let’s start a little easier, shall we? What’s your name?”
“Jenkins,” the man said.
“That’s better. Who are you?”
“Security contractor.”
Liam nodded. The hostile’s Sig Sauer M17 and M4 carbine were army-issued. He carried himself like former military.
“How did you sneak past the perimeter?”
Jenkins’ mouth pressed into a thin line.
“How did you get in?”
“Go screw yourself.”
Liam went to work again. The prisoner squealed in anguish. Liam worked harder.
“On foot!” Jenkins said. “By bike on Boone Trail. Then we…we hiked in through the woods to avoid the blockades and patrols.”
It made sense. Fall Creek’s security teams had enough warm bodies to watch the roads, which were the most likely entry points. Liam had stationed a few observation posts in the woods, but not enough.
For anyone truly determined, especially on foot—there were a hundred points of entry to breach the perimeter.
“Who sent you?”
Jenkins refused to answer.
Things progressed for several minutes. Finally, he broke. “General Sinclair! It was the General who gave the orders. We’re acting on government authority!”
