The weeks that followed had been horrific. The brutal winter had killed millions with hypothermia, starvation, and disease from poor sanitation and tainted water. Hundreds of thousands of medically fragile people perished without access to the machines and critical medications that kept them alive.
And the violence. People murdered each other for a can of beans or a bottle of antibiotics. Gangs and cartels fought for supremacy in the power vacuum left by impotent local and state authorities.
“Evil is difficult to eradicate,” Bishop said. “It sprouts everywhere. You cut off one head, another appears somewhere else. With the collapse of civilization, those with wicked intent have become emboldened. They believe there is nothing to stop them from doing whatever they wish.”
“I’ll stop them,” Liam said.
“What if he comes with hundreds of armed men?” Reynoso asked. “Real soldiers. That’s a far cry from a bloodthirsty band of untrained militia. We’re talking about the military, here. We couldn’t face that.”
“What do we do?” Molly asked. “What’s the game plan?”
“Could we run?” Dave asked. “Gather our people and flee Fall Creek?”
“And go where?” Liam asked.
“The neighboring towns—”
“Would put themselves in his crosshairs,” Bishop finished. “We wouldn’t be safer with them.”
Perez shook her head, dark eyes flashing. “Like they’d even agree to shelter us. I doubt that. Not after the way the Community Alliance abandoned us.”
“Then we go further,” Lee said without conviction. The blood had drained from his face. He looked as sick as Hannah felt.
“With what vehicles?” Hannah asked. “We only have a handful of working trucks, tractors, and ATVs. Not enough for a thousand people.”
“It’s not logistically feasible,” Liam said. “We would run out of fuel and food. We would starve.”
“I’m not leaving,” Molly said. “This is my home. It was my daddy’s home before mine. I spent forty years with my husband in that house. No way I’m giving it up to a bunch of turdballs with guns.”
“Then how can we defend ourselves?” Lee asked.
“How many men?” Bishop rested one hand on the pistol holstered beneath his leather jacket. Like he wanted to confront this new enemy that second. “How well trained? With what weapons? Will they have military gear? The seal of approval from the government? What are we facing here?”
“All questions we needed answers for yesterday,” Liam said.
“When will it end?” Quinn asked.
“When we end it,” Hannah said with more conviction than she felt. “And we will end it.”
Bishop placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hannah’s right. We’ll face this threat together. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Despite her brave words, a frisson of terror raced up her spine. A coldness seeped into her flesh, a coldness she couldn’t shake.
The evil that plagued this town was not yet extinguished.
She couldn’t picture this man as a human being of flesh and blood, but rather a faceless shadow, a monster made of nightmares.
Another Sinclair rising like a ghost from the ashes, threatening everything she held dear. After all they’d been through, after all they’d endured.
With a wince, Liam rose, one hand pressed to his bandaged side.
“Sit back down,” Evelyn ordered.
“No time,” he said between gritted teeth.
Evelyn clapped her hands. “Okay, that’s enough for now. I have two patients who need their rest.”
“Later,” Liam said. “I can’t rest—”
“Today, you are.” Evelyn raised her voice, her jaw set. She was having none of it. “Give your orders to Bishop, or to Reynoso, or Dave, Annette, or Perez. You have a dozen people waiting at your beck and call.”
“Liam,” Hannah said, her throat tight.
Evelyn had cleaned, restitched, and covered his wound, winding a fresh bandage around his torso, but not before Hannah glimpsed the angry red infection flaring from his injury and creeping outward in vivid scarlet and purple streaks.
She tasted the sour acid of fear in the back of her throat. Evelyn wasn’t exaggerating; in this world without ambulances or hospitals, an out-of-control infection spelled disaster.
Liam kept pushing and pushing. Something had to give. Something would break.
She understood why he’d needed to go after the Brooks and then Quinn, but that didn’t mean she didn’t worry. It didn’t mean the potential consequences were less dire.
For a long moment, he looked at her, emotions warring across his rugged face.
A fierce affection squeezed her chest. He might not own the title, but he was their leader. The one they all depended on.
He knew it and bore the burden willingly. It was a burden he couldn’t shed at will. It was in him, a part of him. He wanted to protect them.
That went both ways. They could take care of him, too.
If he learned to let them—to let her.
As if sensing the tension in the room, Ghost lifted his head and gave a low distressed whine. He cocked his ears and chuffed.
“It’s okay, boy,” Hannah soothed. “We’re all in agreement, now. Aren’t we?”
Bishop stepped forward. “Tell me what to do, brother.”
Subdued, Liam sank back onto the cot, scowling. Surrender wasn’t in his nature. “There’s a map of Michigan in my go-bag. Bring it to me. We need to get ready. Right now, we’re blind and vulnerable. We need to send forward observers north to warn us of what’s coming. The defense of Fall Creek starts now.”
Quinn
Day One Hundred and Three
Quinn slogged through soggy, half-melted snow. Every movement brought jolts of aches and pains. Her entire body felt bruised.
At the edge of the parking lot, she hesitated. The chilly air pricked her exposed cheeks.
Dense gray clouds roiled across the sky. The temperature hovered in the forties. It was downright balmy after the wind chill in the negative double digits for months on end.
A cold wind whipped at her hair. She wore a coat, her AR-15 slung over her shoulder, one hand thrust in her pocket, fingers closing over her slingshot.
The cuts in her palm throbbed through the bandages, pulsing with her heartbeat, with her grief, regret, and anger.