by Kyla Stone
Liam thought of the repercussions of a crippled America rippling ever outward. The aftershocks unsettling the foundation of the civilized world, causing even more damage.
It was an overwhelming and utterly depressing thought.
“When the lights come back on in America, the entire planet will have realigned itself. What superpower will emerge to dominate the world? China and Russia are both vying for that position. The U.S. is determined to keep that from happening.
“The world has cracked open. Opportunity is everywhere—diamonds lying abandoned in the streets. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together is vying for their piece of the pie. It’s a fascinating time to be alive, isn’t it?”
Liam didn’t answer. The General could be lying through his teeth. Or he could be speaking the absolute truth. It didn’t change their situation.
Fury thrummed through every cell of his body. He imagined all the ways he could kill this man.
He only needed his hands free. He only needed a few precious seconds.
The General steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “All that aside, it doesn’t matter what happens here in this inconsequential little town in this insignificant corner of a trivial state. No one cares. I should say, no one cares right now. In the future, they will. We tear down to rebuild something better and stronger. No one will remember what came before.”
Liam shook his head. Agony spiked through his skull. He tasted coppery blood on his tongue. “This place matters. What happens here matters.”
“When I report tomorrow to the Secretary of Defense that Michigan is in hand and under control, he won’t ask questions. He doesn’t have the time. I could murder all of you, and it wouldn’t matter one little iota.”
The General’s eye twitched. A tightness to his mouth. It was a lie—or a partial lie.
There was still a government operating, however dysfunctional and crippled. There were still rules of operation and lines that a government official could not cross without consequences.
“I doubt that.”
The General sat back with a satisfied smirk. “I’ve just received word that Alexander Poe and his Syndicate army have breached Michigan’s border. They’re swarming across the state line now.”
Liam’s heart stopped. “No.”
“At first, I admit I was quite vexed. However, I’ve reconsidered my position. The Syndicate will attack from the south. We will come from the north and kill two birds with one stone. In the end, who’s to say who killed who?”
His smile took on a ghastly tinge. “What a tragedy it will be. Don’t worry. We will avenge your deaths. We will retaliate with the full might of the Michigan National Guard. Maybe we’ll even immortalize you as tragic victims. That’s the wonderful thing about history. It can be revised with a simple swipe of a pen.”
“You will be held accountable for every evil that you’ve committed.” Liam thought of Bishop. “In this world or the next.”
“Ah, the archaic concept of justice. Of honor, truth, right and wrong.” The General shook his head with an air of annoyance. “It’s tedious. It’s asinine. What matters is power. What matters is who sits on the throne, and who tells the best story. What people believe. Not the truth, but what they’re told. That’s it.”
“You’re wrong.”
The General leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, his head tilted, a hard curious look in his eyes. “Why do you keep fighting? Why do you struggle against impossible odds? It’s pointless.”
“We fight because we have to.”
The General’s gaze hardened. “I’ve known men like you. You have a hard-on for glory, is that it? You believe valor matters. That an honorable death means something. Let me tell you something, soldier to soldier. It doesn’t. It never has.”
Liam squared his shoulders. “I say it does.”
A small man scurried into the room, squeezing between the huge bodyguards. “Um, sir? A quick word.”
His eyes were red-rimmed and wet. His head bobbed, his nervous gaze skimming Liam’s battered form and skittering away.
The General gave an irritated grunt. “As always, your timing is impeccable.”
“General, Lauren Eubanks is on the line, sir.”
The General waved a dismissive hand. “I have no interest in answering.”
“She says it’s urgent. Claims she’s the new governor. Something about Governor Duffield perishing of a heart attack, sir.”
The General hesitated, as if mulling the potential repercussions of ignoring a governor, particularly a new one. “Fine. Let me take care of this. Gibbs, are we ready to attack?”
“The men are ready. There are just a few logistic concerns for you to sign off on.”
The General stood heavily. His knees cracked. He covered up a grimace with a sneer as he turned to Gibbs. “Soften him up. But keep him alive. I’m not finished with him yet.”
The General swept from the room.
Four of the mercenaries closed in, led by Gibbs. Big men, ropy with muscles. Men skilled at winning fights, at breaking bones, at smashing the human body into a bloody pulp.
They were also killers.
Liam braced himself for what was to come.
Gibbs cracked his knuckles and flashed a flat, vicious smile. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll wish you were dead.”
60
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Fifteen
“Sound the alarm!” Hannah said.
“I’ll do it!” Quinn volunteered.
“Go with her,” Bishop told Jonas. “Then meet us at the south blockade.”
“Everyone to their positions,” Reynoso ordered.
In her haste, Quinn knocked over a metal folding chair as she raced for the exit, Jonas at her side. Everyone was on their feet, reaching for weapons and heading for the front doors.
“Quinn!” Hannah called after her, her throat tight.
For an instant, Quinn paused and looked back.
Affection swelled in her chest for this fierce girl. She wasn’t a girl anymore. She was a woman. A fighter. Her AR-15 slung across her torso, pistol strapped to her side, her expression tough and determined.
Hannah said, “I’m proud of you.”
A flurry of emotions crossed Quinn’s face. She raised her chin and flashed a strained smile.
Then Jonas grabbed her arm, and they sprinted for the double doors, off to do their part to save Fall Creek.
It felt like trying to save the whole damn world. Like trying to hold back the raging sea with a flimsy fishing net.
Reynoso’s radio crackled. “Alpha Two, this is Echo Two.” One of the scouts—Mara Wright. “Bravo One couldn’t reach you. She had to bike three miles before I was in range.”
His expression tense, Reynoso brought the radio to his lips. “Go ahead.”
“Bravo One spotted movement at the Boulevard Inn. The General’s forces are readying transports and gearing up. They’re moving early. They’re coming now!”
Reynoso’s features hardened. “We’ll be ready for them.”
Bishop turned to Reynoso and clasped his forearm. “Godspeed, brother.”
Reynoso nodded “See you on the other side.”
A chill raced up Hannah’s spine. Fear for Liam filled her thoughts. Where was he now? Was he being tortured? Was he already dead?
Anxiety torqued through her. Her good hand strayed to her misshapen fingers. Once, her old destructive fear would’ve taken over, but not anymore.
She was fully present, fully here. Her mind was clear.
As the church bells tolled the call-to-battle alarm, she knew what she needed to do.
Liam’s fate was out of her hands.
For everyone else—what she did now could still make a difference.
She moved for the doors.
“Where are you going?” Bishop asked her.
“To get more help.”
“Hannah, you shouldn’t—”
She touched his arm. �
��Even with the Community Alliance, I fear it’s not enough. We need help. I have one last idea, but it has to be done in person.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to Hamilton.”
She didn’t have to answer; he saw it in her face.
She’d been trying to get ahold of Hamilton for the last three days. With the repeaters out, she hadn’t made contact. Liam had intended to go himself—but the Black Hawk attack had waylaid his plans.
Now, though, they were desperate. Now, they had no choice.
“It’s too dangerous—”
“Every person here is risking their lives. Liam is. You and Quinn. Everyone. I’m no different.”
“I should go with you.”
“You’re needed here. You know you are.”
“God forgive me.” Bishop closed his eyes and sighed. “What route are you taking?”
“I can take Shawnee Road. It’s out of the path of the General. If I take the ATV, I can use the old snowmobile trail to skirt the barricades and traps Liam set on Snow Road.” She hesitated. “I can do this, Bishop.”
Bishop drew her into a quick fierce hug. And then he let her go.
Outside, the chilly air bit at her cheeks. She inhaled sharply. The bracing air crystalized her thoughts, her purpose. The night was dark, the clouds thick and low. No stars anywhere.
She’d left Ghost and her children with Evelyn and Travis, who’d taken them to the high school bomb shelter. It was well defended and the safest place for Charlotte in case the General sent more men after her.
Before she’d left, she asked the question she’d dreaded speaking aloud: “If I don’t return, will you…will you take my kids? Will you keep them safe?”
Evelyn had gripped her bad hand in both of hers. “We will defend them with our own lives.”
Hannah knew it was true. It gave her a measure of peace—and motivation. People depended on her. People she loved.
“You might want the keys,” said a voice behind her.
Hannah spun, her good hand moving toward her holster.
“Woah, there, warrior princess! Stand down.” Perez took the front steps two at a time and halted in front of her. She dangled an ATV key fob from her fingers. “What? You didn’t think I’d let you go alone, did you?”
“It’s dangerous—”
“Damn straight. Which is why I’m coming. Us girls need to stick together.”
Hannah stared at her. “You okay, Samantha?”
Perez rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You need someone to watch your back. Besides, Liam would kill me if he discovered I let you go into the wolves’ den alone in the middle of the night. And I’d rather stay in his good graces when he gets back.”
“He’s coming back,” Hannah said, wanting it to be true with all her heart.
Perez flashed a maniacal grin. Her teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “He’s Liam freaking Coleman. Damn straight he’s coming back. We just need to concentrate on keeping ourselves upright and breathing.”
“That’s the idea.”
“Where are we headed?”
“The nuclear power plant.”
Her brows lifted. “Huh.”
“Maybe it’s a long shot, but it’s all I’ve got.”
“I love long shots. That’s why I have horrible taste in men.”
Hannah snorted.
Perez palmed the keys and headed for the ATV. “We doing this or what?”
“Oh, we’re definitely doing this.”
Hannah settled onto the front seat, Perez squeezing in behind her as they strapped on their helmets.
Hannah started the engine. The headlights flickered on.
Perez drew her pistol, did a quick check, and rested it against her thigh. “I’m shooting anything that moves. You just drive.”
61
Liam
Day One Hundred and Fifteen
The mercs knocked Liam to the floor. They took turns punching, kicking, and hitting him, then started over again.
Even with his hands bound, he managed to fight. On his back, he shot out a savage kick and nailed one in the face.
Dobson staggered back, blood streaming from his split lips, and spit out two teeth.
The victory was fleeting. The truth was, he could barely move, let alone fight.
Liam was beaten before he’d started.
Electric pain shot up his spine. The half-healed wound in his side burned like a hot ember. Still woozy from the concussion, they left him a broken and bloody mess.
“The General wants him alive.” Luther sounded distant, like he was underwater. “You better lay off.”
Gibbs directed a savage kick at Liam’s injured ribs. He curled into himself with a groan. “Looks fine to me.”
“What do you think the General will do to you if you accidentally kill him?”
Gibbs swore, but he backed off. “I need some water.”
“I’ve got something better than water,” Luther said. “Besides, Coleman smells rancid. We need a break. Come on.”
Liam’s skull pounded. His ears rang. Dimly, he heard receding footsteps and a door slamming shut.
They’d locked him in. They’d left him alone.
This was his chance.
His temples throbbed, his vision blurred. His tongue thick and swollen in his mouth like some alien thing. Everything hurt.
With incredible effort, Liam rolled onto his side, his cheek scraping rough concrete, and scanned the freezer.
It was devoid of anything he could use as an improvised weapon. The steel shelves were welded to the wall and floor. No furniture, no kitchen utensils or cooking tools.
Nothing but his pile of discarded clothing and the sunglasses case Luther had carelessly left behind.
Liam used his elbows to shove himself into a seated position, then rocked onto his knees. Images swam before his eyes, dimming at the edges.
He was dizzy, disoriented. Everything lurching and jerky.
With a groan, he moved his bound hands under and forward beneath his buttocks, his arms almost yanked out of their sockets. It took several tries. Leaning forward, he folded his legs to get his hands past his feet and in front of him, wincing as sweat broke out on his brow
Gasping from the effort, he maneuvered his bound hands to his lower right side and gingerly peeled the medical tape from the bandage over his ribs.
Adrenaline surged through him. Pain and panic made his fingers fumble. He didn’t know whether he had minutes or seconds.
He was running out of precious time.
Frantic, unable to see what he was doing, his fingers searched for the object he’d hidden within the bandage earlier that night—Reynoso’s handcuff key.
Luther had known about the key sewn into Liam’s sock. The handcuff ploy was part of the plan. Luther’s betrayal was not.
But Liam ensured he had a back-up, one unlikely to be discovered even in a strip-search. The key was the difference between mission success and utter failure.
Mindful of every microscopic movement, Liam pinched the tiny key between his fingers and maneuvered it into the lock.
Don’t drop it. Whatever you do, don’t drop it.
The cuffs bit into his wrist-bones. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Vertigo washed through him.
The cuffs clicked open and clattered to the concrete.
Liam climbed to his feet. He closed his eyes, tamping down the panic surging into his chest, the dizziness.
His legs gave out on him, and he staggered against the shelves, nearly falling. With great effort, he pulled himself up.
The pain was incredible. His spine on fire. His ribs cracked, maybe broken. His entire face felt like someone had shoved it into a blender.
With a moan, he used the shelf to hold himself up and reached for his clothing, hoping, praying, desperate that it was still there. Please, God, please…
There it was. It sat atop his folded jacket next to the sunglasses case—the discarded pen.
Just a pen, not a weapon.
Except it wasn’t. Not in Liam’s hands.
Six and a half inches long, discrete, with a removable cap on each end. One side, a normal ballpoint pen. The other side, a hard tungsten carbide head designed to pierce human flesh with one strike.
He only needed a chance to use it.
62
The General
Day One Hundred and Fifteen
The door slammed open.
The General marched into the freezer. He held a silenced Colt 1911 pistol in his hand.
Besides Luther, three of the General’s bodyguards crowded into the room. Dobson and McArthur moved to the right. Luther sidled to the left, standing behind Gibbs.
Behind them, the door remained open.
Outside, Baxter waited nervously—the man was squeamish; he had no stomach for bloodshed.
The General held no such qualms.
Lansing had moved fast. Furious, Lauren Eubanks had called him, demanding answers and insinuating that he might have had a hand in Governor Duffield’s untimely demise.
Luckily, she couldn’t prove any of it.
Governor Duffield hadn’t updated her on the General’s air raid on an American town. The General’s secrets remained safe.
He only needed a little more time.
At this very moment, his troops were headed for Fall Creek. He’d sent them early. Because he could. Because he wanted to see the look in Coleman’s face when he told him.
Gibbs had reported that many of the National Guard had balked at engaging noncombatants. The General had threatened them with a court-martial.
They knew what that meant. He would shoot every one of them in the head before he allowed them to defy orders.
When it came to it, they’d buckle down and obey. Their lives or the lives of strangers; it was no contest.
As soon as the General gave the word, they would descend upon Fall Creek with the fury of a hurricane.
And once it was over, it was over. Feelings would be hurt; outrageous accusations made. If it ever came up in a future congressional hearing, he could blame it on Poe.
