by Kyla Stone
Liam hissed through his teeth. “Guess it’s a good thing I can’t feel anything.”
“I’ve seen Girl Scouts whine less than you.” Reynoso said. “He’s good. Let’s go.”
“No going into shock and dying on us,” Bishop said. “We came all this way. You know how many people shot at us? It’s been quite the day.”
“Did we—?”
“Win?” Reynoso grinned through the soot streaking his face. “Hell yes, we did.”
“It’s over, brother. It’s over. Your friend Hamilton showed up to save the day. In fact, he sent a few of his own men with us to get you out. They’re clearing the hotel and providing overwatch. Hamilton’s the one who got me this fancy med kit that’s saving your life.”
“Is—”
“Hannah was with Hamilton. She’s fine. And the others, they’re okay.” Bishop winked. “Except for Reynoso, but he’s always been a little cracked in the head.”
Reynoso rolled his eyes. “Less chatting, more moving!”
“On three.” Bishop and Reynoso lifted the board, one hundred percent dead weight.
Bishop grunted. “Ever think about a diet, Coleman?”
“Only fat man in the apocalypse,” Reynoso deadpanned.
Together, they moved from the kitchen into the alcove and started for the stairs.
Liam blinked blearily. “I think I—love you.”
“You hear that?” Bishop said. “He loves us.”
Reynoso smirked. “You’re never gonna live that down, Coleman.”
Through the tremendous pain, Liam felt his lips twitch into a semblance of a smile.
They’d come for him. His people. His brothers. He’d thought he understood it, but it was only now that he truly did. All this time, he’d shouldered the burden alone when he didn’t have to.
He was no longer a man apart.
He wasn’t alone. He never had been.
72
Liam
Day One Hundred and Eighteen
Liam was alive.
Alive, but crippled.
The shrapnel had clipped his spinal cord. He was numb from the waist down. Couldn’t feel a thing. Not his toes, not his shins or knees or anything else. His spine busted, his legs ruined.
Locked in this damn bed, forced to lay still and straight to not further injure his spine. He was hooked to an IV and a catheter, monitored for low blood pressure, respiratory complications, blood clots, and any neurological issues.
“Am I paralyzed?” he asked, just wanting the truth.
“I can’t answer that,” Evelyn said. “It could be spinal shock or transient paralysis. Inflammation can put enormous pressure on your spinal cord. If it’s temporary, it could last for a few hours or a few weeks. Or…”
“Or it’s permanent.”
Evelyn’s gaze softened. She touched his arm. “I’ve found some methylprednisolone for the inflammation, but that’s all we have. I’m sorry.”
After years of his body performing like a well-oiled machine—powerful, efficient, dynamic, capable—he’d finally suffered the consequences of his actions. The punishments his body had endured.
He’d understood the risks. He’d known the crushed discs in his spine would eventually fail him.
His identity was encapsulated in his ability to shoot, to wound, to kill other human beings with precision and accuracy.
He was a soldier.
The sheepdog standing between the wolves and the sheep.
Who was he now? Who could he protect or defend?
And yet. Despite how wrecked he felt, he accepted it. He knew how lucky he was.
He had a steady stream of visitors. Hannah hardly left his side. Bishop took a rotation as well. Quinn, Milo, and Charlotte were often nearby, along with Travis, Evelyn, and little L.J.
And Ghost. The loyal canine kept a constant watch at his bedside during the day, guarding Hannah at night and returning to Liam’s room each morning.
Once upon a time, Liam would’ve shut them out and retreated in isolated misery. Now he was a different man.
He’d learned his lesson the hard way, but he’d learned.
Letting people in didn’t make you weak; it made you stronger.
Even amid the worst of his suffering, he found comfort in their presence. Hannah and Charlotte, L.J. and Milo. Quinn, Bishop, and Ghost. Travis and Evelyn. Reynoso and Perez.
His people. His family.
He needed them more than he needed oxygen. More than he needed anything—even his legs.
73
Liam
Day One Hundred and Twenty-One
“I’m broken,” Liam said.
Hannah sat on the cot, her hip resting against his. He couldn’t feel it. “Liam.”
Fear constricted his throat. He’d been dreading this conversation. It had been six days with no feeling, no movement, no nothing.
Liam sat in the same damn bed in the same damn position, his legs lumps of lead.
It was evening. A kerosene lamp glowed on the counter, draping the makeshift hospital room in shades of warm golden light.
“I have to say this,” Liam said in a choked voice. “You aren’t beholden to me. You should be free to…to be happy. I may never walk again, let alone fight or…”
Hannah put a finger to his lips. “Do you think I love you because you can kill a man twenty different ways?”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
She took his free hand and slid her crooked fingers between his and squeezed. “I love you, Liam Coleman. I love everything that you are. Everything. I accept it all.”
He glanced down at their linked hands in the lamplight. Looked up and met her steady, unflinching gaze.
Hannah held up her misshapen hand, still holding his own, and said, “Broken doesn’t scare me.”
She laid down then, scooting herself against him on the cramped cot. She nestled her cheek against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her and drew her close.
Nothing had ever felt more right, more true, in his entire life.
Whatever the future held, whatever joys and sorrows, as long as she was by his side, he would face it with his head held high.
“You’re still here,” Hannah said. “You’re still trying. That’s what matters.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe it was the men and women who chose to keep going, no matter what catastrophe or torment assailed them. Through the bleak and hopeless nights, the haunting nightmares, through every battering storm.
To show up, to be present and accounted for—to find a reason to smile in the face of despair.
Maybe that man was the real hero.
74
Liam
Day One Hundred and Twenty-Two
On Liam’s seventh day in the medical ward, his old friend Charlie Hamilton came to see him.
Hamilton didn’t even blink. He was the same gregarious, convivial soldier that he remembered from the spec ops missions they’d shared overseas in Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq.
“I was hoping torture would improve your looks,” Hamilton said with a wide beaming grin. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, but no such luck, my friend.”
Liam grunted. “Sorry I couldn’t oblige you. I had more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Like saving your town? All of Michigan? I know, I know. Some guys are real glory hogs.”
“Did you come here just to insult me?”
Hamilton paced the room like a lion in a cage, all tense, coiled energy. “Much as I detest staring at your ugly mug, I thought you guys deserved an update.”
“It’s about time we got some good news around here,” Bishop said.
Hamilton glanced at Hannah and Bishop, who were seated at either side of Liam. “Glad you two are here to hear this.”
Bishop had cajoled Liam into a game of Monopoly Deal, which he was losing. Badly. Charlotte sat on Hannah’s lap between her arms, trying to grasp the cards in Hannah’s hands to gnaw on them.
&nbs
p; “You saved our collective butts,” Bishop said.
Hamilton grinned and hooked a thumb at Hannah. “She’s the one who risked a treacherous Paul Revere midnight ride to get the truth to us. Once I made a couple calls to a few friends in high places, I could confirm her actionable intel.”
Hannah looked at Liam, her lips pursed. “Almost too late.”
“Hell, the only things that get done are in the nick of time.” Hamilton paused in his pacing to rake his eyes over Liam. His gaze snagged on Liam’s immobile legs, two lumps beneath the blanket.
A shadow passed across his face—a flicker of sadness, of regret—and then it was gone. “Lucky this bulldog got to General Sinclair, or this story would’ve had a much different ending.”
“When the National Guard showed up, they didn’t attack,” Bishop said. “If they had, we’d be toast.”
“They didn’t attack because the General never gave the final go-ahead. Turns out Liam had already turned him into a pin cushion. Most of the soldiers were ambivalent. It didn’t feel right to them, either. They were more than relieved to stand down, and then it was a matter of relaying the true state of affairs along the chain of command.”
Hamilton’s unit had joined the battle against the Syndicate and managed to turn the General’s five hundred guardsmen. Together with Fall Creek and the Community Alliance, Hamilton had led them in an organized assault.
Within an hour, they’d routed the Syndicate.
Broken but not destroyed, the remnants of Poe’s army had retreated across the border, fleeing back to Illinois to lick their wounds.
“And Poe?” Hannah asked.
Hamilton resumed pacing. “Half their armored vehicles were ruined. At least four hundred killed by the guardsmen. Crippled as they are, they won’t attempt another attack for a while. I don’t plan to give them another chance.”
“Who’s in charge in Lansing now?” Liam asked.
“Homeland figures that Governor Duffield was murdered. General Sinclair had a hand in it, we’re certain of that. The Secretary of State, Lauren Eubanks, was sworn in last week as the new governor of Michigan.”
Bishop frowned. “Don’t know much about her.”
“Me either. But she’s got great taste in leadership.” He halted at the foot of Liam’s cot, a broad grin splitting his face, and gave a sweeping bow from the waist. “You’re looking at the newly-promoted Lieutenant Colonel and Michigan Task Force Executive Officer.”
Liam managed a smile. “Couldn’t happen to a better guy. Good thing they don’t promote based on looks.”
Hamilton ignored him. “Governor Eubanks, she’s smart. Got a good head on her, from what I can tell. Capable and decisive. And mad as hell about General Sinclair going off the rails. She may even visit Fall Creek to apologize in person, but I get the feeling she’s got a crap-ton on her plate right now, including cleaning up the mess Duffield left behind.”
“We haven’t received any help from the government since the Collapse,” Hannah said. “You think she’ll be different?”
“She told me her priority is guarding the Michigan border and protecting the rural counties so they can get crops planted and start farming. It’s not just empty words, either. She’s putting her money where her mouth is.
“She’s diverting some troops from Detroit from the 1st Battalion, 119th Field Artillery Regiment. They’re MORTEP certified—they’ve got mortars and know how to use them. We’ll have a few hardened drones at our disposal. Mortars and artillery. A half-dozen Black Hawks. The governor ordered me to engage Poe’s forces and eliminate him from the face of the Earth with extreme prejudice.”
Relief flooded Liam. It was the best news he’d heard in a long, long time.
“That’s fantastic,” Hannah said.
“Even better, I’m in command of Southwest Michigan.” He winked at Liam. “You’ll be seeing a lot more of me, gorgeous.”
Liam snorted. “Can’t wait.”
“How does she plan to feed all these soldiers?” Bishop asked.
Hamilton gave a careless shrug. “That’s above my paygrade. But my takeaway is that whatever she does will be fair and reasonable. She passed my B.S. meter. And Liam, you know I’ve got a good one.”
“Since you dish it out so often.”
Hamilton grinned. “Guilty as charged.”
Charlotte stretched for the cards in Hannah’s hands, bouncing and gurgling happily to herself. Hannah tried to raise them out of the baby’s reach, but Charlotte snatched a card and waved it with enthusiasm.
Bishop tried to distract her with one of her colorful, crinkly, and appropriate baby toys, but she ignored him.
Hamilton made a silly face, and she burst into giggles. “See? Even the baby knows how amazing I am.” He glanced at his watch, then examined the cabinet counters crowded with medical supplies, the desks and stacked chairs shoved in the corners. “The new governor’s giving her first State of the State Address. You got a radio nearby?”
“Annette has one in the principal’s office.” Bishop retrieved the emergency wind-up radio and set it on the counter. Hamilton fiddled with the knob.
The emergency broadcast that had looped for the last four months was no longer on repeat. Instead, the new governor’s strong, confident voice filled the room. “…when the government failed you, you worked hard to save yourselves. You’ve made it this far. You’ve survived. Until we get through this, I intend to do everything that I can to support that rugged indefatigable spirit that defines us all as Americans. I will do everything I can to protect you so that you can continue to work hard to farm, fish, hunt, and otherwise feed your families.
“I can promise that I will always be truthful. I won’t lie to you. This crisis will not last a season, or even a year. It will take several years before parts of the power grid are running again or the national supply chain restored. We will pull together. We will endure. And together, we’ll figure it out…”
Once it was over, Hamilton switched it off. “Not bad, right?”
“Still sounds like a politician,” Liam said, not impressed. But then, he despised politicians.
Hamilton beamed at him. “Right you are. But I think we found ourselves a unicorn—a politician who genuinely cares about her constituents. And you know what they say about unicorns.”
Liam rolled his eyes. It was the only part of his body that wasn’t hurt or numb.
“Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” Hannah said.
“Please, call me Charlie. You’ve earned it.”
She rewarded him with a radiant smile. “Charlie, then. The General told Liam that the EMP attack started World War III. The world is at war, and our government has kept it from us. Is that true?”
Hamilton cracked his knuckles, not speaking for a moment. “It’s been rumor and hearsay up to this point. Brass has been tightlipped about the whole thing, but it’s finally getting out.”
He sighed. “Here’s what I know. Russia and China colluded to attack us. They had plans to weaken us with the EMP, then put boots on the ground and eradicate our people. Russia just wants us obliterated; China wants to destroy our political power and cripple us for good.
“The entirety of our military assets stationed outside the EMP’s range have converged on the Middle East. We’ve wiped Iran off the map. The entire world has been impacted. No one has officially called it World War III, but a rose is a rose by any other name.”
“Or a steaming pile of cow dung,” Liam said.
“That, too.” He shrugged again. “Sorry I don’t have more details beyond that.”
Hannah shook her head, at a loss for words. For several minutes, no one spoke.
“Are we winning?” Bishop asked.
“We’ll win,” Hamilton said gravely, no joy or satisfaction in his voice, “but at what cost?”
Liam imagined an entire country razed by nuclear warheads—cities reduced to rubble, cars melted, millions of bodies incinerated in an instant. The devastation of a war over Amer
ica taking place on another continent.
Everywhere, people suffered.
“We’ve already paid,” Liam said.
“Right you are.” Hamilton looked at his watch again. “I’ll check in again soon. Turns out, keeping Michigan from being overrun by hooligans is a full-time job. Who knew?”
Bishop shook Hamilton’s hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Charlie.”
Hamilton nodded. He winked at Charlotte and saluted Liam. “Stay frosty, friends.”
“Always,” Liam said.
Bishop walked the lieutenant colonel out.
After they left, Hannah turned to Liam. “What do you think? About what’s happening out there.”
“It’s the way it’s always been,” he said. “Those with the power vie for more, destroying the innocent in the process. It happens everywhere—Venezuela, Iraq, Syria. Our job is to survive the here and now, to outwit and outlast the enemies at the door, not the ones an ocean away. Our military will deal with them, of that I have no doubt.”
“You’re right.” Hannah leaned in, a fierce intensity in her gaze. “Our world is here. Everything is here. Everything that matters.”
Liam didn’t look away. “I know.”
75
Liam
Day One Hundred and Twenty-Three
That night, Liam slept peacefully for the first time in a decade. No nightmares. No dreams.
On day eight, the pain returned with a vengeance.
Like a thousand needles puncturing his flesh. Molten lava poured into his spine. An ice pick hammered through each vertebra.
On day nine, he could twitch his toes.
On day ten, he could move his ankles.
On day eleven, he could hobble out of bed with the aid of a cane—Molly’s cane.
The pain was a monster—a constant, living thing inside him, eating him alive. His nerves scorched raw. His feet like concrete blocks dragging behind him, incredible effort put into each battered step.
