“Hush, child.” Molly’s cane clattered to the floor. She shrugged off the Mossberg 500 shotgun, leaned it against the wall, and shuffled to her granddaughter.
She leaned forward and cupped the girl’s mangled face in her hands with incredible gentleness, as if cradling a fragile baby chick.
Before she could say anything, the hulking form of Atticus Bishop filled the doorway, his billowy afro making him appear even larger. Pastor of Crossway Church on Main Street by day, super soldier by night.
“Where’s my girl?” he boomed.
Three more figures crowded into the room. Dave Farris, the owner of Fall Creek Inn, ham radio aficionado, and town council member, and Jose Reynoso, the newest Fall Creek Police Chief. He was quiet and easy-going, solid as a rock.
Samantha Perez shouldered in behind them, her short black hair pushed behind her ears, an aggrieved scowl on her face. Her law enforcement uniform was wrinkled, and fatigue lined her bronze skin.
For a moment, the medical ward went dead silent as everyone absorbed the shock of Quinn’s condition.
Dave removed his winter cap and twisted it in his hands. His warm smile didn’t fade, though his weathered face lost some color. “We’ve been worried sick for both of you.”
Never one to mince words, Perez flat out asked what everyone was thinking. “What the hell happened?”
In a halting voice, Quinn told them. Her meeting with Xander Thorne and his crazy band of nihilists in the woods. How she’d glimpsed Mattias Sutter. Her rash decision to go after them and kill him herself.
How Sutter had gained the upper hand and outed her, though they’d both ended up in Xander’s makeshift prison cell. The attack on the warehouse.
Their escape as she fought side by side with a killer. How when Sutter had turned on her, she’d stabbed him.
Everyone listened in rapt silence.
“How did you know where to find me?” Quinn asked.
“Milo,” Hannah said.
With a wince, Quinn closed her eyes and nodded.
“You gave me a heart attack,” Molly said. “I could’ve died from worry. You’ve got good people who give a damn. Pardon my French, pastor. Don’t go taking that for granted.”
“I know,” Quinn said through split lips.
Molly jabbed her withered finger at Liam. “That goes for you, too, big soldier.”
Bishop shook his head, guilt in his eyes. “I should have gone with you.”
Liam waved a weary hand. “I asked you to keep them safe. They are. You did everything I needed you to do.”
“Still, you shouldn’t have to go it alone. No soldier should ever be alone. I should’ve had your six.”
Liam shrugged him off. The attention made him uncomfortable. As a Delta Force Operator, he’d had a team of brothers. His army unit always had his back.
In the years since, though…
Before the Collapse, he’d sought isolation, hiding away on his homestead in northern Michigan. It was easier, safer.
And devoid of purpose, joy, or meaning, a voice in his head reminded him.
Here, he’d found all three. Here, he’d found Hannah.
“We made it home. That’s what matters.”
“They’re right,” Evelyn said. “You both have people who care what happens to you. Getting yourself killed in the name of honor doesn’t help anyone.”
She handed clean dressings to Hannah to finish binding Quinn’s palm and returned to Liam’s side. She unbuttoned his shirt and eased him out of it.
Cold air hit his chest, his skin pimpled with goose bumps. Old scars marred his torso—slashes from knives, circular white blemishes from a bullet or two, the raised nubs of shrapnel peppered across his bicep and left upper ribs.
Evelyn told him to lay back as she peeled the pus and blood-soaked bandages from his lower left side.
With a scowl, she pointed at the red pucker of his most recent gunshot wound. “You can die of an infection as easily as the next guy. You must allow yourself to heal. No more heroics.”
“Point taken,” Liam said. “But I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“What does that mean?” Perez asked.
“There’s more.”
“How can there be more?” Dave asked.
Reynoso kept his steady gaze on Liam, already expecting the worst. “Out with it.”
“The Sinclairs,” Liam said. “There’s another one.”
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Two
Hannah’s heartbeat thudded in her chest, her ears. Trepidation shot through her. “What do you mean?”