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.
She wanted to shoot something. Or curl into a ball and weep for a century. Or both.
She stood at the rear of the Crossway Church property. Perched on the corner of Main and Riverside Road, the stone church’s steeple towered above her. Plywood boarded up the shattered stained-glass windows.
Three months ago, she’d staggered from this building drenched in other people’s blood, Milo’s small trembling hand clenched in hers.
Quinn had dragged Milo out of hell itself.
“You can come closer,” a deep voice boomed. “No need to sneak around.”
Quinn flinched. She’d thought she was alone. Some super spy she was.
Several yards from the parking lot, Atticus Bishop knelt beneath a cluster of barren maple trees. Caught in her reverie, she hadn’t noticed his presence.
In front of him, three wooden crosses rose from three mounds of packed dirt—one large, two smaller. Each cross was about three feet tall, constructed of nailed two-by-fours.
Still kneeling, Bishop twisted around to look at her. He hunched his broad shoulders, his face gray with fatigue and sorrow. Two wet tracks traced his cheeks into his bristly beard.
He’d been weeping. Grieving his dead family.
Quinn was a trespasser. She shouldn’t have come.
She swallowed, her mouth dry as a desert. “I wasn’t sneaking.” Though she had. Kind of. “I’ll go—”
“No.” Bishop swiped at his reddened eyes with the back of his arm. His face cleared, and he smiled. “Please. I want you to stay.”
Bishop had never treated her with anything but kindness. She couldn’t say no to him.
She glanced at the crosses again, then nodded numbly.
“Couldn’t keep away, huh?” Bishop meant it as a joke, but it fell flat.
Quinn didn’t know what drew her back to this place, the origin of her nightmares. She had to come, like a moth drawn to a flame.
The scent of fresh paint was unmistakable in the crisp air. Glancing around, she caught sight of several empty cans clustered outside the side door that led to the recently reopened food pantry, along with a stack of two by fours, a bucket of nails, and a paint-splattered canvas tarp.
Rolls of ragged carpet leaned against the outside wall. Bloodstains had leaked through the carpet backing.
Her gaze flicked away, her heartbeat quickening. She hooked her thumb and pointed behind her. “You’re repairing the church.”
Bishop’s forehead wrinkled. “I couldn’t leave it like that. The house of God, a place of refuge. It felt…desecrated. I’m repairing what I can. The people need a place to worship. To heal. I need it, too.”
“Oh.”
“I’m working on plastering the bullet holes. You’re welcome to help if you’d like.”
Her stomach did a sour-sick somersault. She didn’t know about that. Hell, she was pretty sure she never wanted to step inside Crossway again. “Maybe later.”
“I’d like the company. Of course, it’s up to you.”