Republic of Ruin: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series
Author: L. Blaise Hues
Date: 2021-02-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Young Adult
Description: Forget life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness... Surviving is a feat in and of itself. Seventeen-year-old Ellie Hudson immerses herself in the few things the Supply Wars haven't destroyed—her ranch work and secret baseball games with her best friend. But her power-hungry stepmother is leading a group of domestic terrorists in an effort to start another Civil War and frame Ellie as the instigator. Ellie’s lost her father, her home, and her country, but nothing can rob her of her need to preserve the American dream...or what’s left of it. Don't miss Book 1 in a post-apocalyptic survival ser

Contents

Also in the Series

Prologue

1. The Homecoming Gala

2. Running Home

3. Sick and Culpable

4. A Terrible Thing Happened

5. The Wedding Bells Rang

6. Mute

7. Kestrel

8. A Good Distance

9. One Less Casualty

10. Loser Dream Team for Losers

11. On to Something

12. The Heart of America

13. First Date

14. The Imposter

15. Knotwood Ink

16. The Lost Cleat

17. Shoot to Kill

18. Loveseat

19. The Hostage

20. At Gunpoint

21. Amy

22. Calculated Moves

23. “I’m Ellie”

24. Welcome Back to Knotwood

25. Retribution

26. The Whole Reason

27. For the Love of America

28. Violet’s Field

Epilogue

Also in the Series

FROM THE PUBLISHER

Also in the Series

REPUBLIC OF RUIN

SHATTERED STATE

CRIMSON NATION

Prologue

Once upon a time, I loved playing baseball in the yard with my dad. I loved the crack of the bat as it bit the ball and sent it soaring out past the cornfields. I loved the way he lifted me over his head and spun me after I rounded home plate. Most of all, I loved when my father smiled at me with his clear blue eyes as he exclaimed, “Ellie, you’re the best player in Texas!”

But once upon a time was over three years ago, and now, all of those things are dead. The corn. My father. Even baseball.

Rock Ridge had always been the poster-town for patriotism, with American flags proudly displaying fifty white stars along every block. Entrepreneurial children jumped up and down on street corners with handmade signs touting their ice-cold lemonade. Nearly every weekend, neighbors gathered in cul-de-sacs and backyards for barbeques with hotdogs, hamburgers, beer, and cans of Coke. State fairs and rodeos brought us all together in friendly competitions like mutton busting, team roping, and steer wrestling. Old women at craft fair booths sold their knitted hats and socks for newborns. Our great nation had baseball games with Cracker Jacks and thousands of fans singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” while they waved foam fingers and ate ice cream out of helmets.

We celebrated Independence Day with parades where policemen threw salt water taffy out the windows of their patrol cars for the neighborhood kids to snatch up, and we sat outside on blankets in the grass and watched fireworks burst open in the night sky, reminding us all that throughout every war in America’s history, “our flag was still there.”

But now, our flag isn’t “gallantly streaming.” We lost the war. Everyone lost. So much for the home of the brave. We were brave. But now, well, now we’re scared. And scarred. These days, the pomp of parades has been replaced with a doleful dirge.

When Rock Ridge was shelled during the Supply Wars, the dust from the rubble fell for weeks, as though some colossal volcano, just out of sight, continued to belch out debris. The earth shook with every round of missiles, and the fumes and chemicals left in their wake made the air toxic and dangerous, temporarily dimming the sun and completely blotting out the stars.  Any light that managed to show up in the dark sky filled us all with unspeakable anxiety. We were scared to leave our homes and terrified that if we stayed in them, some rocket would come through the roof, and the last thing we’d hear would be our own screams of agony.

To add insult to injury, some foolhardy leader recklessly set off a string of EMPs. The official name for it was a high-altitude nuclear electromagnetic pulse. It was a warhead detonated in the mid-stratosphere—a weapon of mass destruction. The ions interacted with the Earth’s magnetic field, making the EMPs stronger than they otherwise would have been. Perhaps some distant corners of the world, like Niue or Antarctica, were unaffected, but I doubt it.

Someone detonated enough of these warheads to cause everything running on electricity to completely die. I guess it was a bomb, like a nuclear explosion, but instead of taking out buildings, it knocked out all the power—nearly everything classified as “technology” short-circuited or blew up. All of the planes fell out of the sky, while ash, dust, and rocks continued to sprinkle around us like confetti at a party; though, I’m sure no one was celebrating the magnitude of death and loss caused worldwide by the Supply Wars and the subsequent EMP attack.

I don’t know how it worked, but here we were with cellphones, flat screen TVs, washing machines, and watches smarter than any human, all silent. No internet. No cellular communication. No shopping centers. Billionaires with offshore accounts were just as poor as the rest of us. Digital money didn’t matter anymore. It was rendered meaningless. Scattered about town were the remaining few who had working generators and old running cars, rare and coveted commodities in times like these. And everywhere we saw the return of bartering in order to conduct trade. And, in some instances, the return of slavery.

At least, that’s how I felt.

Prior to the EMP attack, technology had become some omniscient player in the world—like a friend or a vengeful god. In the war, that technology became an enemy, and someone thought that if they killed it off, it would end the war and the worldwide massacre. And they were right. It did.

For a while.

After every major city had been bombed and shelled, we, the survivors, were without basic necessities like clean water and adequate food—in addition to the various other commodities we’d come to rely on. While the foreign threats had been subdued—with millions now dead, and most technology rendered completely useless—here in America, we faced the barbarism of desperation. Men, women, and children were starving and dying.

When I was a child, I wanted to believe the world was a good place with good people trying to do what they thought was best even if it wasn’t.

But that’s not the world I have come to know.

The world is dark, and not just at night with only the glow of lanterns or candlelight. Human hearts can be darker than the blackest night.

I close my eyes and try to go back to that “once upon a time,” but it’s quickly fading, along with the last embers of my hope.

1

The Homecoming Gala

The thin metal handle from the five-gallon bucket dug sharply into my fingers as I walked quickly along the path from the well to the pasture. Despite my best efforts to keep the bucket stable, precious water sloshed onto my jeans and the dry, dusty ground at my feet.

Pushing the heavy metal gate open with my back, I swung it shut with my foot and grunted my way over to the steel tub in the corner of the pasture. My horses snorted with impatience and shook their manes at me.

“I’m almost there,” I said before dumping the water into their deep trough. I rolled my shoulders and stretched out my fingers as I took a moment to catch my breath, glaring at the useless mechanical pumps and piping stretching across the field from the back of the barn.

The wind refused to blow today, evidenced by the shiny, unmoving blades of the windmill pump. The rain gutters I’d taken from storage and laid out so cleverly around the garden and edge of the pasture seemed to laugh at me in the dry spring heat. And why shouldn’t they? At this point, even if a breeze strong enough to spin the steel blades managed to draw some water up from the green pump, it wouldn’t be enough to make it from the pump, along the gutters, and all the way to the few thirsty plants in the garden. I’d felt lucky when I found the old rain gutters in the top of the barn. Lucky. What a joke! If Lady Luck ever existed, she’d turned wicked and callous just like the rest of the world.

From the henhouse, frantic cries and scared squawks cut through windless air. I knew it was only a matter of minutes before someone started yelling at me; though, I’d expected it to be my stepmother or one of her daughters, not the hens.

Not again, I thought, gritting my teeth. Dashing across the grassy pasture, I threw open the rear door of the barn and bolted for the loaded shotgun hidden on the top shelf of the storage cabinets. My feet stirred up a small cloud of dust as I sprinted from the barn and up the hill toward the house and the chicken coop. My biggest hen could scream loud enough for me to hear from almost anywhere on the ranch, and at the moment, she was kicking up a nasty racket. And to think, I used to hate her for it.

As I approached the coop, I nestled the butt of the gun in my shoulder and cleared my throat. I was ready to deliver my threat when a familiar figure poked his head around the corner and smiled apologetically at me.

“Thanks a lot,” he muttered as he scowled at the hens who’d given him away.

“You trying to give me a heart attack, Johnny?” I asked, the tension releasing in my chest.

Johnny, my best friend since childhood, limped to the far side of the enclosure. I followed and cast a furtive eye at the house, wanting to be sure no one inside saw him out here. With a long exhale, I dropped the gun to my side.

“Sorry, Ellie.” He leaned onto his cane and nodded back toward my house. “I thought they’d be gone, but then I heard talking and hurried over here to hide. Didn’t the gala already start?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know when it starts.”

“Violet!” Savannah shouted through the front door. “Violet, get in here!”

When my stepsisters first started calling me “Violet” because of my bruised arms and legs, I resented it. But not anymore. Violet is more my name now than Ellie.

“That’s my cue.” I shook my head while the yells I knew had been coming, continued on. “Check those locks again,” I directed Johnny, pointing to the huge padlocks on the side of the henhouse. Then I sighed and pushed the gun into his free hand. “And make sure this gets put back where it belongs.”

I turned and walked down the hill toward the house, across the backyard, up the steps, and into the kitchen. After I dropped my dirty shoes into the basket beside the back door, I moved through the hallway and entered the front living room, taking my sweet time as I did so—partially because I was sore and partially to irritate Savannah.

My two stepsisters stood in the front room, striking silly poses—unintentionally, I’m sure—in front of the huge mirrors along the north wall. I stifled a chuckle, knowing they were attempting to be seductive models, but from the looks of it, they were failing miserably.

Seeing my reflection in the mirror, Savannah glared at me through her unnaturally long lashes. “Button me up,” she demanded as she waltzed up to where I stood, and turned around.

Obediently, I started slipping the mismatched buttons into the buttonholes in her handmade dress, careful not to pull on any of her long, red ringlets. “Please?” I muttered sarcastically, yet low enough for her not to hear me, forcing my shaking, sore fingers to cooperate.

Savannah had taken bits of frilly pink fabric and beige lace and stitched them together at what I can only guess was her attempt to recreate Victorian fashion. I thought the fabric already looked terrible in the guest room as pink window curtains. But she somehow managed to make them look even worse now that she’d wrapped her body in them. If she was trying to impress someone with her sewing skills, it wasn’t going to work.

Turning to look at me, Savannah eyed me critically. “How do you manage to get chicken poop in your hair when it’s so short? I swear you worship those birds.”

I had to roll my eyes. The fact that she was insulting my pixie cut again meant she’d run out of material. Fortunately, I hadn’t run out of patience. Not yet.

She was right about the chickens, though. If we hoped to survive, we needed them to stay alive, so I spent a great deal of time making sure their coop was secure and clean while doing all I could to encourage them to lay in their nesting boxes. She should have thanked me for it instead of mocking me.

Over a year ago—before the foreign power who decided to play God detonated their EMPs—everyone had bought their eggs and chicken at the grocery store. Back then, no one ever bothered with our chickens. Now, we get our food at the farmers market, trading eggs for bread and whatever else anyone has to offer. Eggs. Our new monetary system. I still had a hard time believing it.

“Do mine now!” Cheyenne demanded, adjusting her silver watch before pulling her shoulders back. Cheyenne had adorable dimples and clusters of freckles on her cheekbones that were hard to hide even when she attempted to follow the family tradition of scowling at me.

I suppressed a snicker as I saw the “dress” she’d been working on for the past week. Scraps from her older sister’s trash pile lined the edges, but for the most part, she’d haphazardly tried to turn an antiquated patchwork quilt into a ball gown. The end result was downright hilarious.

Without warning, Theresa bustled into the room. I tried not to cringe, but old habits die hard, and I automatically ducked my head. “Don’t even bother asking if you can come,” Theresa barked. As if I cared about going to the homecoming gala.

Theresa turned, and I zipped up the back of her dress. I had no idea where she found it, but it appeared to be an old wedding dress she managed to dye a deep purple. It might have been nice on a young bride, but it dipped far too low in front for a woman over fifty. I’d say she was well-endowed, but I’m pretty sure she bought her boobs before the wars broke out. Naturally, I’d never actually asked her.

“I don’t even want to go,” I confessed, casually surveying a new bruise blooming above my wrist. I thought it was a bit strange to hold a dance now. Granted the wars were over, but was it really appropriate to celebrate? Sure, it gave a good distraction from our mourning, but it seemed a bit ill-timed and ostentatious to me.

The most prestigious man in our town, Mayor Austin Wyatt, had invited all of Rock Ridge to his home for a gala to celebrate his son’s homecoming.

“You would choose to miss the opportunity to see a war friend of your deceased father’s? Not quite the ‘angel of a daughter’ he thought you were, are you?” Theresa goaded me, knowing full well she wasn’t allowing me to go anyway. She lifted her eyebrows, as if daring me to talk back. She always did that after delivering an insult, like she wanted me to test her and engage in some battle. Ever since my father’s death, she tried to find ways to needle me, layering on the guilt. I didn’t blame her. No one would after what happened. Yet, talking back didn’t take bravery or courage—biting my tongue did.

I began counting my breaths in an effort to diffuse my anger. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. I slowly drew my fourth breath. In. Calmly, with as composed a tone as I could manage, I delivered my response. “My want, or lack thereof, has nothing to do with him,” I half-lied. “I’m just not one for galas.” I shrugged it off, thinking instead of how I planned to spend my time while they were away. I dipped my head down to hide the grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth, already anticipating their departure.

Savannah narrowed her eyebrows. “You really don’t care about Captain Jackson Wyatt?”

I shrugged again. “I care about him. I mean, I’m glad he’s home safe. From what everyone says, he was quite the hero out there on the battlefield.”

As I tried to picture Jackson in his Army uniform, decorated with ribbons and medals, the only image that came to mind was the thirteen-year-old boy who the neighborhood kids and I used to play baseball with. But then his parents deployed again, and his nanny became so strict about his education and safety that he was almost always confined to his house.

Five years after that, when Jackson was finally old enough to officially become a soldier like his brothers, father, and mother before him, his parents came back home. As Austin’s youngest entered the Army, he retired from it to care for his ailing wife.

Sometime after the outbreak of the Water War, as chaos was on the rise and Jackson was away, his mother died of the cancer ravaging her body, just like mine had. Under any other circumstances, Austin would have gone back to minister as an Army Chaplain in the vicious war, but following the death of his wife, and with all of his sons away on the battlefield, I guess he didn’t have it in him to come out of retirement and rejoin the fray.

I would’ve loved to see Austin and Jackson. But Jackson wouldn’t remember me—not after almost seven years apart. Even back in our ball-playing days, we were on opposite teams, and he’d spent any free moment available flirting with the other girls. And I was sure Austin had no desire to see me.

Theresa and her daughters moved out of the front room to the wide, tiled entryway, just in front of a huge framed picture depicting a scene from the Revolutionary War—General Washington sitting regally on his horse while his men accepted surrender from the British.

Theresa cleared her throat and glared at the front door.

“Isn’t this a little ridiculous?” I asked, glancing back at the white flag in the painting. “Each of you is perfectly capable of opening it yourself.”

Theresa’s long index finger shot out, nearly jabbing me in the eye. “Don’t get sassy with me. It’s not about whether or not we can do it. It’s about respect.” I knew very well that it was about her twisted version of respect because all true respect had died with my father. Unchallenged obedience was the only law of the land in this house.

I ignored her and turned the large bronze doorknob, opening the solid mahogany front door. “Please give Colonel Wyatt my regards.”

My late father would have wanted me to be kind to his battle buddy, Austin, even though I never heard from him anymore. Maybe I resented the Wyatts for it, as if it was their fault that I still lived with Theresa. In my heart, I knew it had nothing to do with the Wyatts, but my father had asked Austin to look after me if anything ever happened to him. And then something did happen. But Austin never came for me. I don’t know what I expected him to do. Swoop in and scoop me up? Give me a room in his house? It wasn’t as though I were a child who needed him to hold my hand. He had endured his own series of losses, so it wasn’t really reasonable for me to hold any expectations of him anyway. Besides, he probably blamed me for his best friend’s death.

I walked my stepmother and two stepsisters out to the car, a red Camry, still in pretty good condition all things considered.

Cheyenne dipped her head, adjusting her onion-smelling dress before climbing into the old car. “If he asks, I’ll tell him you said hi.” She basically whispered it so Savannah and Theresa wouldn’t hear her.

On occasion she shows me a kindness that I’ve never received from her older sister or mother. It’s always in secret. Sometimes, I think she does it just to rebel against Theresa. Other times, it actually feels personal. I usually try not to assume that kindness is genuine. I mean, she is Theresa’s daughter. Any closeness could be used against me.

I went for the horses and hitched them to the front of the car as quickly as I could. When our vehicle had become useless, I’d removed everything that wasn’t essential for the its structural integrity, making a mental note of how to put it all back if the occasion came that we could return to using it as our primary mode of transportation.

Theresa took the reins from me and held them above the steering wheel. Gasoline was rare and expensive, and since Theresa and her daughters’ feelings of superiority forbade them from walking across town like most people, my stepmother and stepsisters rode to the gala at the Wyatts’ mansion in our makeshift horse-drawn car, complete with spare tires from the barn.

They were just out of sight when Johnny limped over from behind the rose bushes that were growing like crazy on the side of the house.

“You’re still not ready.” He rolled his eyes and propped himself up on the baseball bat he also used as a cane. His dad had it custom-made, so it was a little bit longer with a slightly larger handle for him to hold onto while he hobbled around. “So, we going or not?”

He twitched his head, brushing some of his hair away from his face. It was nearly as long as mine now, the top half anyway. He’d buzzed the sides and kept only the length on top, spiking it with cheap hair gel. His worn-out jeans covered the top part of his dirty sneakers. The laces frayed at the ends, and the soles threatened to peel off from the top. I’d offered him my dad’s shoes, but Johnny’s feet were too small. No surprise since my father had towered above me, and Johnny and I frequently had debates over who was taller, he or I.

“You gonna make me wait here all night or what?” he asked and playfully slapped my arm.

“Five minutes.” I smiled as I raced back inside.

2

Running Home

Three minutes later, I emerged in my dusty black compression leggings and the blue baseball jersey my dad had given me seven years ago. While it had been far too big for me back then, now it fit me like a glove. Actually, it fit me a lot better than my glove. Wearing it, I truly felt like the best player in Texas.

Johnny and I walked slowly across the wide stretch of dirt and brush toward the stadium. Fortunately for him, the stadium wasn’t very far. And if I’m being completely honest, it’s a bit unfair to call it a stadium. Certainly nothing like Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium used to be. Had it been any bigger, it would have been a target for the enemies. Fortunately, it was mostly intact except the seats behind left field, which had been leveled. Johnny hobbled on his left foot, the bat-cane gripped tightly in his right hand, while I listened to him tell me about his day. He could walk faster with his old crutch, but when I asked him what happened to it, he told me some bullcrap story about losing it. I could always tell when he was lying to me. The truth was, his pride forbade him from using it. Not that the bat was much better, but at least it didn’t scream, “I’m a cripple.”

I didn’t know what the big deal was. Everyone already knew. I’d have given Johnny the same rote speech about how being a cripple wasn’t something to be ashamed of, but it was pointless. Nothing I said would be enough to undo the looks, whispers, and accusations he’d faced since the final group of able-bodied men were drafted and deployed to the distant corners of our war-torn world.

“Mayor Wyatt’s hiring again,” Johnny said as he nudged an empty can out of his way, knocking it in my direction. “I was outside his house today while he gave a little speech to the applicants. He said he’ll continue to hire as many employees as he can because he doesn’t believe in getting something for nothing, and he won’t just give handouts. Says people have to learn to work or humankind will die off. He blames the earlier generations for getting too dependent on technology.” I kicked the can back to him, aiming for his chest, but he ducked behind a wide telephone pole. The wires above us hung like Christmas lights that had been in the box for too long. Tangled. Twisted. Useless. “You think he’s right?” Johnny glanced at me, an eyebrow raised.

“Probably. Austin’s a smart man. He knows more about this world than I ever will.”

Johnny nodded. “Seen more of it too.”

When he said that, I clenched my jaw. I hated it. Johnny always brought up the draft in subtle ways like that, as if it’s his fault he didn’t go to war—like it’s a bad thing. Not that I don’t understand him; I wanted to go to war too. Sitting at home wondering when we were all going to get invaded, blown up, or catch the plague du jour couldn’t have been harder than fighting for something.

The war and its aftermath basically brought us all back in time. Women weren’t allowed to go to war for the same reason you couldn’t hunt female deer. I mean, now that everyone was starving, you could shoot and eat whatever you wanted to. No one would stop you. But since men can’t get pregnant or nurse babies, it made them far more expendable in the eyes of the world.

Obviously, at that time, I wasn’t in any position to get married and have kids; it would have been pretty irresponsible to even consider motherhood, given the state of things. It didn’t matter that I was a teenager or that I’d never slept with anyone, I still got the speech about being careful. Those women who were past their “fertile years” felt it was their duty to preach their opinions to those of us who were still in them. They hid their selfish concerns about finite resources reaching their own mouths rather than an extra body in moral admonitions to “be safe.”

Everything is relative, though, because they also told us, “once the lights come back on, you’ll know it’s safe to turn them off.” As soon as the effects of the EMPs wear off, it’s back to rebuilding civilization as though food will magically appear again to support humanity, springing up from nothing. The older women explain that this is my duty. I say it like I hate the idea, but I don’t—I just hate the idea of doing it for the sake of society. I’ll be a mom and a wife someday, but it’ll be when I’m ready—not because the women in the Widows Club keep reminding me of the state of my reproductive wellness.

I stepped over a few more piles of mangled metal. Randomly scattered parts of cars and computers and farm equipment. Some people took to using this area between town and the stadium as a junkyard, especially for electronics.

“You’re not wishing you were at that fancy gala, are you?” Johnny asked.

“I’ve already forgotten about it.” I shrugged. Besides, without makeup, I’d probably look sort of boyish in a dress. Pixie cut and all. Thinking about my short hair brings me back to memories of my father and the war and why I had cut it off in the first place.

My father, Liam Hudson, was a Major General in the U.S. Army. He had held the position of Installation Commander at Fort Eckhert for as long as I could remember. He was among the first men in Rock Ridge to go away to the Money War in China, a battle over the United States’ unpaid debts. That was when we still had all the conveniences of electronics. He and I were able to keep in touch over the internet. Send emails. Video chat.

He came home briefly from China before he, and almost all of Fort Eckhert, got sent to the Middle East in an attempt to try and assist our allies who were getting overrun during the Water War that followed. He hadn’t been as available to talk then, and I busied myself with work on the ranch. Back then it had been monitoring the automatic sprinklers, making sure the grain got dropped for the cows, fixing any machines that were broken down on the farm… and gathering eggs. I swear I’ve gathered eggs every day of my life.

And when I wasn’t working on the farm, I was attending Rock Ridge High School. I studied for algebra tests and worked on group projects with all of the other jocks, nerds, valley girls, and misfits. Our well-intentioned teachers tried to salvage our dwindling childhood naivety, teaching us history as if it were more pressing than the dark reality of our current state. It wasn’t because we were trying to learn from the past; we were trying to escape our present.

Even though my dad deployed multiple times during the war, he rarely brought the burden of the battlefield back home to Rock Ridge. He let me keep my childhood of princesses, castles, knights, and fairy tales, and baseball.

But the savagery of war had stolen all of those loves from me.

Once China and Russia colluded with each other, and Africa began attacking the Western World, going after their medical supplies, food, water, and weapons, these collective wars became known as the Supply Wars. That’s when the draft announcement came over phones and posters, and flew by word of mouth, nearly as fast as messages could be sent through the internet and phone lines. The war was turning south. Things were getting bad. They needed more men. More boots on the ground. More trigger fingers.

By this point, my dad had been fighting overseas in the Middle East for fifteen months. And it had been sixteen months since he married Theresa, sixteen months of hell trying to live with her.

I wanted to get away, and I missed my dad, but I also envied the chance that he had to fight for what he believed in. Freedom. Kindness. Liberty. Safety. War for him was never about death and blood and tears. It was always about individuals. Little kids having a place to sleep without fear of artillery waking them. Pregnant moms with enough to eat to grow strong, healthy children. War, to him, was about those who had giving to those who didn’t have. But I knew, and everyone else knew, that Rock Ridge was basically bled dry of all its men.

The final day of the draft was the day before the last of the newly recruited Sailors, Soldiers, Airmen, and Marines were shipping off for a brief Basic Training. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that this particular day landed on Independence Day. July 4th. Instead of sitting outside with friends listening to the crash of fireworks, we huddled in our houses, ears pricked up for any ominous boom from enemy fire. I sat in my barn with the company of my horses to escape from my ‘family.’

I hated the world for how things were. The responsibility to live up to my name as a Hudson weighed on my shoulders and fueled me forward to take action when the final draft came through. I had to fight for my country. The plan was ridiculous and destined to fail. My father probably would have told me it was futile, or maybe he would have petitioned for an exception to policy to let me join, but either way, he wasn’t here. Johnny found me standing in one of the horse stalls and clutching the shears just as I’d lopped off the first handful of my long, blonde hair. This was my country. My home. I had every right to fight for it. This would be my crowning act of patriotism. I couldn’t celebrate this day with my family because they were all gone. America was no longer free. No longer whole. The best thing I could do was to follow the steps of the Founding Fathers and my own father.

“It won’t work,” Johnny had told me sympathetically. “They won’t draft you.”

I quoted to him one of my father’s heroes, Thomas Jefferson, “Every citizen should be a soldier. This was the case with the Greeks and the Romans, and must be that of every free state.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Johnny smiled, taking the scissors from my hands and helped me cut the rest of my hair off. Just as the last locks of my hair had fallen to the ground, he’d whispered, “Loser dream team for losers, right?” I’d nodded with a single tear in my eye, which I was quick to brush away.

The memory was bittersweet really. Johnny hobbled his way into the town center, utterly failing to conceal his limp, and I marched beside him, equally unlikely to be accepted to the draft. Being only seventeen was the least of our concerns. We’d exchanged a knowing look with each other, both deciding not to state the obvious: we had no chance. We never did. But we shared something in that moment. I knew that if I didn’t at least try to fight, I’d never be able to forgive myself. I’m sure the same went for Johnny.

But he still can’t seem to forgive himself.

I’ve never regretted cutting my hair and have kept it short ever since. It’s easier for me to do the work around the dying ranch this way. Besides, long, blonde hair never really suited my personality.

After the draft sucked the life out of our town, those who remained clung to their TVs and phones, trying to get updates on the wars and their loved ones. Most of the kids stopped going to school. When you’re in survival mode, you don’t have time for chess tournaments and Spanish exams. After the majority of the staff left, either for the war or to help out back at their homes, the school officially closed, as did most businesses.

Then came the EMP attack, bringing a swift end to the Supply Wars. And everyone got thrown back to the 17th century.

The days were dark, both literally and figuratively. The economy collapsed. With roads destroyed, shipping containers no longer arrived with supplies. People came around and killed a bunch of our chickens. Maybe it was just kids who were panicked over how scarce food was becoming. People are idiots. Though, I’m still mad about the chickens. Especially since they were good laying hens. Johnny came after that to help me guard the ranch at night until I got the locks in place. And every day I dreamt that when the sun came up, the air wouldn’t smell of smoke, and my daddy would come running up to me and lift me over his head again, smiling at me with those twinkling blue eyes.

It was a rough adjustment all around. Apparently, people figured if they couldn’t microwave a frozen dinner, they’d die. Maybe it’s naive of me, but I thought Americans, especially Texans, should have been more resilient. I wouldn’t be so hard on them if I hadn’t lived through it too. But I didn’t go around killing anyone’s chickens. I worked my guts out and invested in the future.

I, like everyone else in our town, assumed that since we didn’t get any more updates on the war, most everyone had died, or else they were stranded overseas with no working planes or helicopters to bring them home. I couldn’t imagine what fighting would be like without technology, modern warfare depending so highly on it.

We had no news source. And any information from the surrounding towns of Knotwood and Elm Grove was slow to reach us. Eventually, we learned that Knotwood was in an even worse state than we were. People became more desperate, and some unsavory residents, including members of the Knotwood Militia, would raid Rock Ridge, looking to take food and supplies where they could. Soldiers who were supposed to serve and protect, became primal and self-centered. As our mayor and local chaplain, Austin posted volunteers on the top of the chapel. Their job was to set off the tornado sirens, alerting us to when any armed men were spotted entering or attacking our town.

Alternately, the silence from Elm Grove was deafening, and we began to wonder if anyone there had survived at all.

To keep my hopes alive, I’d thought of my father daily, picturing all the things he could be doing. I imagined him fighting, engaged in hand to hand combat, and saving kids in distant lands. I wanted to keep him like that forever.

But then, I couldn’t.

Less than a week after the EMP attack, my dad came home. And a week after that, just as suddenly as he returned, he left forever. One minute, he was right there with me, and everything seemed like it was going to be okay. The next minute, my father was dead. I knew he would die someday, but it should have been in a great act of bravery, selflessness, and courage, witnessed by soldiers firsthand and relayed around the world. He was never meant to go the way he did.

In the front of our house, at the end of the driveway, sat a concrete block with the words “The Hudson Home” carved in it. On the back was my handprint. As a child, I only vaguely remember pressing my hand into the fresh concrete. I had to have been no older than six. It didn’t make any sense for me to leave the concrete block in front of our house now. It wasn’t “The Hudson Home” anymore. Everything that had made our home what it was had disappeared. I used my horse, Auburn, to pull the block over to my father’s final resting spot behind the house on the top of the hill where most of the wildflowers grow.

My father was gone. The house was gone. The Hudsons were gone. That day, and for countless ones afterward, I felt gone too.

Sometimes, I still do.

As Johnny and I stepped through the splintered doors of the stadium and onto the field, a sense of peace came over me, and I felt the heartache from my mind flooded with painful memories ebb away.

We’d managed to clear the smaller pieces of cement and metal off the field, but some blocks of cement couldn’t be moved by the two of us alone. A patch of persistent weeds kept trying to hide third base, but I was winning that battle.

I would have brought my horses down and let them draw the cement off the field, but I’m used to how it looks now. Besides, I didn’t want Theresa coming to look for the horses and tarnishing this place with her presence. Everywhere else in this dilapidating world had issues. But here I could lose myself in the game and forget all of my troubles.

I jogged over to home plate while Johnny hobbled to the pitcher’s mound. Doing this at least three times a week kept me sane. Though Theresa didn’t bring me a stepbrother, which probably ended up being a good thing based on how terrible her daughters were, fate had brought me a kindred spirit long before that in the form of Johnny. He and baseball were some of the few things keeping me from abandoning Rock Ridge all together.

We couldn’t play baseball on a team—there were no teams. Besides, the stadium wasn’t in good shape, and these days most people spent their time ensuring survival, not seeking entertainment or having fun. There was no major league baseball. No crowds of cheering fans armed with hot dogs and peanuts, beers at their sides, ready to watch their teams compete on the field of battle.

No. The American pastime was dead—killed in the war. But here in this lifeless stadium with Johnny, I could resurrect the memory of it, if only for a little bit.

First pitch was a ball, thrown completely too far to the side for me to hit; Johnny admitted it himself. Second was a foul. Even though I’d made contact with the ball, it flew off at a bad angle, hitting our imaginary fans.

On the third pitch, I felt the hit clear through my shoulders.

“It’s outta here!” Johnny shouted as we watched the ball soar out of the stadium. It was only that feeling right there—the home run—that made fetching the balls later worth it. I dropped the bat and took to the bases.

There’s a thing I do when I hit home runs, where I look down at my feet. I watch them come—left, right, left, right—as I run, and I see them stir up the dust. I plant my foot deliberately in the center of first base, then do the same as I run to second and stomp that base. On third, I’m winded even though I could technically walk the bases and get home just fine. Instead, I get progressively faster and hit the plates harder until I sprint, full out, for home.

Home base isn’t just a piece of rubber or plastic placed in the dirt of an abandoned field. It’s the home for all my memories with my father. The home for all my hopes in the future. A home free of my worry and doubt and anger and guilt.

Home base isn’t a base at all; it’s just home. My home.

The muscles all through my right leg tensed as I stomped on the base with all my strength.

In that moment, the only thing that mattered was baseball, and I believe the simplicity of that joy is part of what used to make America great.

3

Sick and Culpable

Theresa, Savannah, and Cheyenne returned from the gala around three in the morning. And yes, they insisted I wake up and help them get undressed as if they were completely incapable of unbuttoning each other’s clothes. Theresa walked through the front door beaming. Too happy to even scold me. Too happy to shout.

So happy that it seemed sinister.

Theresa’s happiness continued on through the next evening, even after she awoke. Finally, curiosity about the night got the better of me. Everyone in Rock Ridge had been asking about Jackson Wyatt, the son of the Austin Wyatt. As one of the few surviving males of marrying age in our town, all the women fought over him like the last piece of cake, and they carried some sense of entitlement to him as if it was their birthday.

Apparently, even Theresa had suggested that Savannah pretend to have weak knees so she could lean on him. Based on her current mood, it would seem that Jackson had worked as Savannah’s handsome cane for the better part of the gala. After my imagination ran its course, exploring possibilities as far-fetched as Jackson literally proposing to one of my two stepsisters, I asked Cheyenne the reason for Theresa’s high spirits. What came next was so unexpected, I had to ask her again. Surely, I heard her wrong.

“What?” I practically shouted. For a second, I stopped scrubbing the potatoes for dinner and gaped at her. Cheyenne rested her feet on the farmhouse table that I’d just cleaned, leaning back slightly in her chair. Her auburn hair sat in a messy bun at the top of her head. She’d only halfway washed her makeup off, so remnants of thick eyeliner were smudged down her cheeks and clear back to her ears.

“Mayor Wyatt asked Mom—my mom—on a date. Said he wanted to get to know the woman who had enchanted his best friend into marriage.” Cheyenne sounded gleeful, yet her words made my throat constrict. I clenched the potato in my hands, trying to stop them from shaking. Surely managing to be the mayor and before that, a full bird colonel, Austin Wyatt was a smart man. Couldn’t he see through her fake smiles and sympathy-winning complaints and lies?

But my dad was a smart man. The smartest man I’d ever known. And she’d duped him.

“Oh.” It was all I could manage to say as I was now scrubbing so hard that the peel of the potato nearly came off with the dirt.

“I did give him your regards, by the way.” She fiddled with her silver watch, tracing her name engraved on the band.

“Who?” I scrubbed harder.

“Captain Wyatt.” She twirled a few loose strands of her hair before tucking them back into the bun on her head.

“You mean Colonel Wyatt?”

“Him too.”

“Captain… you mean Jackson?” I turned around. “He remembered me?”

Cheyenne smiled and met my eyes. “I knew you cared.”

She’d been fishing, and I took the bait. “Did he ask about me specifically, or are you just trying to irritate me?”

Cheyenne humphed and eyed the potatoes again. “I’m too hungry to talk about this. Ask me again after dinner.” She wandered out of the kitchen and up to her room, likely to nap. They’d been out very late. So had I, but they didn’t know that.

I finished washing the potatoes and tossed them in with the corn chowder. Everyone had come to ignore the expiration dates on their canned food. We were just lucky that my dad had left us a huge hoard of food storage when he died. Theresa pretended to be too good for expired food, yet she would have starved—and I would have been happy to let her—but I wasn’t about to allow her to donate our expired food.

I started a fire in the fireplace and hung the pot above it. Strange really, going from a gas fireplace and oven to cooking over a woodfire. Things can change faster than anyone expects. Lucky for me, an open fire was commonplace in my home and has always brought me comfort and security.

The kitchen is one of my favorite rooms in the house. I love the farmhouse sink, clean white backsplash, wood-like tile flooring, and the gorgeous, rustic light fixtures. Even though they don’t light up anymore, they still add an aura of majesty to the room.

I used to spend hours in this kitchen as a child. Johnny would come stay at my house when his father had to work late nights, and we would get into typical kid mischievousness until my father would calm us down with some sort of animated movie. We’d bake those little cookies that were precut with little pictures on them. Then the three of us would sit on the oversized couch with our plate of already half-finished cookies and a big bowl of microwave popcorn in our laps.

Now microwaves and cheap baked cookies are a thing of the past, faded away like the movies we no longer watch.

A half hour later, I rang the dinner bell extra loud.

“I’ve told you not to ring the bell like that.” Theresa wandered in still wearing her pajamas and nursing a headache. Her thin, greying hair stood out at all angles, and it was a rare moment when her appearance reflected how crazy she really was. “Bring me some painkillers.”

I shouldn’t talk back to her, but acquiring painkillers of any sort was difficult and expensive. The big bottles of ibuprofen and Tylenol that my father and I put away in our emergency storage were nearly empty. “We don’t have many left—“

“Violet Hudson! I shouldn’t have to remind you that when Liam married me, everything in this house became mine. It’s not your job to ration out my own things! Bring me the damn ibuprofen!” She rubbed her temples, the vessels on her forehead looking like they were just about to burst.

I hurried downstairs to the food storage closet, pulled out the lockbox holding the medicine, and dumped two of the oblong white pills into my hand.

After I resisted the urge to slam them down onto the long farmhouse table in front of her, I took a seat at the opposite end of the room and not once lifted my head to look in her direction for the remainder of the meal. Theresa didn’t enchant my father into marriage. She conned him—a crucial distinction. And if Austin were a wise man, he’d remove his rose-colored glasses and keep her as far away as possible from himself and his family.

Once I’d cleaned up dinner and washed all the dishes by hand, since obviously the dishwasher was now just one giant drying rack, I wandered up to Cheyenne’s room, still looking for answers.

“So, tell me about the gala,” I said while I brushed her long, red hair. As much as it pained me to hear about Theresa and her games, I couldn’t handle the risk of being in the dark. Just as I’d expected, Cheyenne bored me with details I didn’t care about. She told me about the food, the paid servants who waited on them like royalty, the beautiful (and ugly) dresses, the live music, and finally, Captain Jackson Wyatt. She talked about him like he was some prince rather than a regular human. It was only when she started to become particularly drowsy that she told the story I’d wanted to hear.

“Jackson and Mayor Wyatt came up to us before we left. Mom told him about how hard things have been without Liam. She said she’s so lonely she can hardly stand it, and that supporting three daughters gives her so much stress. She told him that she worries for our safety living out here so close to Knotwood with no men to protect us.” Her eyes widened briefly. “And I, her own daughter, didn’t even know she was living with so many emotional burdens!” she said, her mouth gaping wide open as she yawned.

“Go on,” I urged her.

“Well, Jackson asked where you were tonight, and Mom said you were sick. At first, he was worried you had something serious, but Mom explained to him that you just weren’t fit to be in public…” She trailed off for a moment before continuing on. “Then Mayor Wyatt kissed Mom’s hand and asked her if she was free next week. She played it off like it was nothing and like she was too busy, but he asked again, and she agreed. Can you believe our mom is dating the mayor, and a war hero at that?” Cheyenne fell onto her pillow, and I envied her teenage innocence. But Theresa is not my mother, and I knew her lust for importance and power knew no boundaries. I’m convinced that’s the only reason she targeted my father for marriage. It was the only reason she now had her sights set on Austin. Lust for power. She didn’t care about people. She cared if they cared about her.

But there was nothing I could do to change her or to warn Austin. Not without looking legitimately crazy and sabotaging any good thoughts he might have left about me. If he had any good thoughts left about me anyway. My father was dead, and it was my fault. Was it any wonder that Austin kept his distance? Was it any wonder he didn’t come to help me? Before I had any chance of warning him about Theresa, I’d have to address my father’s death. An impossibility. There was nothing to explain. No adequate justification for what happened. No, any efforts that I’d make to raise red flags about Theresa and her quest for power would be completely overshadowed by Austin’s opinion of me. I wasn’t just unreliable; I was culpable. I was dangerous.

When Austin came around the next week to pick up Theresa for their first date, I really was sick in my bed. Sick with worry. I was one of the few people who really knew what sort of madness Theresa was capable of.

Just as I feared and predicted, one date turned into two. Two turned to three. Despite the sick feeling in my stomach every time Theresa left the house for a date with Austin, I’d try to disappear and pass the evening in the stadium with Johnny. Sometimes we played. Sometimes we just talked about life before the war and who we were then. We tried to figure out who we were now. We daydreamed of running away.

Some days, I couldn’t go with him to the stadium at all because, like it or not, I had to keep the house in order and run the ranch.

Sometimes we dusted the house from top to bottom, which seemed useless between the dry fields and the ash and soot of the war. But my father and I kept a few of our special things in the china cabinet in the dining room. Johnny and I spent one day cleaning it out, dusting off my father’s treasures, among them a Russian Nesting Doll family with their big eyes and bright, floral-painted clothes, and pieces of blue and white pottery. The only item in the case that matters to me to this day is the single picture I have of my mom and me together. The rest of our pictures were lost when we moved to Texas shortly after her death.

In the framed picture, I’m two years old. She’s looking at the camera, beaming and holding me the way a child hugs a teddy bear while I’m staring up at her with sheer confusion. I assume it’s because I wasn’t used to taking pictures or something. I love looking at her long dark hair and happy, brown eyes. Dad told me she was a fighter and battled cancer off and on for over a decade. She had surgeries and treatments, but eventually the cancer won. Or maybe she did. My father, the great general, said that sometimes ending a battle counts as a victory.

Johnny also helped me outside as much as he could, where the work was usually far more pressing. The cows had been gone for a year now, but we still had a dozen chickens, two horses, and a few acres of land for me to attempt to plant. We didn’t have a lot of seeds left, but we had some. Pumpkin. Squash. Eggplant. Okra. Tomato. We even had some corn, but probably not enough for them to cross-pollinate and produce. Perhaps I could get my hands on more to make planting them worth the work. The real issue was having enough water when everyone always scrambled for it. So far, our well still supplied plenty of water for the animals and the household. Sometimes I dropped off a few barrels of it at the farmers market. But most people gathered rainwater in buckets, tarps, and upturned umbrellas to ration and store. People lack foresight, though. We have to save water for the plants, or they’ll die. And without the plants, we die.

But people are stupid. Apparently, even Austin Wyatt.

Walking down the upstairs hall, I half-listened to Cheyenne and Savannah arguing over who was going to wear the last of the lipstick when they said something that captured my attention.

“He won’t notice you! You’re too young for him anyway!” Savannah snapped.

Curious, I poked my head into their room. “Who?” I asked, trying to keep my voice lazy sounding, as though I were completely disinterested.

“Cheyenne has a crush on Jackson!” Savannah couldn’t help but exclaim to anyone showing an interest even if it was only me. “And they’ve invited us to dinner.”

For just a moment, my heart lifted with excitement. Maybe this was my chance to warn the Wyatts and tell them what a terrible mistake they were making.

“Tonight?” I clarified.

“Not you,” Theresa hissed from the other room, overhearing our conversation. “Get in here.”

I quickly obeyed and walked through the open doorway to find her tugging her shirt down in front so it would show more of her purchased cleavage. As a general rule, I don’t set foot in her room. It was my father’s room. A safe haven. The place where he’d sat me on his lap and read me stories while I watched the roaring fire turn to embers as I drifted off to sleep, only to wake in my own room come morning.

And now Theresa kept threatening to tarnish every memory of my father by calling his room her own. I remained looking down, wanting to keep the room forever in my memory how it had been when this home belonged to just the two of us.

“Are we having dinner with the Wyatts?” I asked nervously.

“Yes, but you’re not.”

“I wasn’t invited?” Though I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it offended me to not be invited, it did come as a surprise. A small part of me hoped that I was, but those glimmers were fading with each passing day. I thought that Austin would at least want to check on me and talk to me. But who was I kidding? My father died. And not in the way he should have.

“You were invited.” My eyes darted up toward Theresa’s face for a moment, and then right back down after finding a truly hateful expression. “But that doesn’t mean you’re welcome,” she sneered. “I’ll tell him you refused to come. And I can’t make you do anything, so I couldn’t force you to come.” But she could make me do whatever she wanted, and she was making me stay.

I wanted to brush it off as I tried to decide if I didn’t care. “Why don’t you want me there?” The question fell from my tongue before I had a chance to think about it. I stared at her, trying not to cower away from the revulsion I felt emanating from her entire body.

Theresa whirled away from me and scowled at my reflection in her mirror as she put on a gaudy pair of diamond-looking earrings that I’m sure were made of glass rather than any kind of rare jewel. “I don’t want you anywhere except where I allow you to be. You think you can just get whatever you want and go wherever you wish. No, child, you don’t always get what you want.” A wicked grin spread across her face, causing a chill to run down my spine. I briefly wondered if she knew that I snuck out to the stadium when they were away. “Well, actually, I usually do.” With a wave of her hand, she dismissed me, signaling that nothing more was up for discussion.

The only silver-lining of the night was that I got to play with Johnny. Not just that night, but almost weekly afterwards while the “Three Demons,” as Johnny liked to call them, continued to attend the Wyatts’ for dinner. I didn’t really mind. Less for me to cook, more time to do what I wanted to do. But deep down I knew something worse was coming.

4

A Terrible Thing Happened

Late one afternoon, two months and thirteen evening dates later, I was humming away to myself as I knelt in my small garden—I’d managed to cultivate a small twenty-foot by twenty-foot area—and the seedlings were just beginning to sprout bigger than a hand high. It was hard work hauling the water and keeping the plants from dying, but I was happy with how well it was going.

A large shadow cast across the rows of growing plants, and I looked up to see Theresa standing there, staring down at me with a disapproving eye.

“Do you plan on singing them to life?”

I turned red but refrained from replying.

“Not that it matters. You don’t need to worry about the garden anymore, or anything else around here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Austin proposed.” I couldn’t help my jaw from gaping in surprise. “And I said yes. After the wedding, we’re moving into his grand house.”

Words weren’t forming. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We were moving, leaving this home. Austin proposed. How? What was wrong with him?

Apparently, my shock was too evident across my face, and my stepmother raised her hand as if to slap me across the face. She stopped right before she would have connected with my cheek. “You’ll do well to keep your feelings about this marriage to yourself,” she said in an almost growl. “Now, get into the house, we need to start wedding plans. After all, we only have two weeks.”

Two weeks. Two weeks? It would take me more than two weeks to wrap my head around the idea. Proposed? As in, marriage? Was this really happening? My stomach churned as though I’d swallowed stagnant water. Dazed, I all but stumbled into the kitchen, clutching the chair for support while Theresa spouted off instructions for her wedding to Mayor Austin Wyatt.

The excitement of the event apparently warranted telling all the residents of Rock Ridge, and even some from Knotwood. Whether or not the entire state of Texas knew about her wedding wasn’t really my concern. What worried me was that very soon, all of us would move away from the only home I’d ever known.

I thought I knew Austin Wyatt simply because my father did. But as it turned out, I didn’t know Austin Wyatt at all.

The only reasons I could think of that a man of his intelligence would fall for someone like Theresa is because of his overwhelming sense of duty to country and friends, and the intensity of loneliness. I know about loneliness. My life was lonely on and off throughout my childhood when my father was off at field training with then Lieutenant Colonel Wyatt. Dad offered to hire a nanny, but with Johnny’s house so close, I never saw a reason, both of us practically living at each other’s homes when our fathers were away. My father hired help for the ranch when I was really young. Once he realized I could do it, he hired me.

With the engagement official, Theresa even abandoned her usual demands for waiting on her hand and foot and instead insisted that I write up wedding invitations for every single resident of Rock Ridge. Though, I think it was just another means of torturing me.

I went to the farmers market and bartered a dozen eggs for a stack of thick, crisp paper for the invitations. I’m sure the seller I acquired them from pilfered them during one of the riots that broke out after the EMPs disabled security. It didn’t matter much that I was buying stolen goods. Finders keepers was the law of the land now. I carefully placed the paper in my backpack, and as I walked the dusty road home, I thought of how I could sabotage the wedding. An idea came to me as I passed the barn. At first, it seemed unreasonable—irrational even. But it was so simple that it had to work!

I washed up, sat at the farmhouse table, uncapped the black gel pen, and wrote as neatly as I could. By the time I finished the twentieth invitation, my cheeks started to tingle from smiling so long. I’d write her invitations for certain, and I’d deliver them like Theresa’s personal courier. And when no one showed up for her wedding, she’d never think to blame me. Because she never checked my work.

Until now.

“You better have washed your hands before you started,” Theresa barked as she strode into the kitchen.

“Of course,” I said, carefully resting my hand over the date I’d just written.

“If there’s a single, grubby fingerprint, you’ll have to rewrite them all!” She reached for the stack of completed invitations.

My heart began hammering as she lifted them up. One second dragged into two seconds. I used those two seconds to brace myself. Maybe she wouldn’t catch—

“What the hell is this?!” she shouted right into my ear. She jabbed her finger onto the date before rifling through the rest of the invitations I’d written.

Trying to look as innocent as possible, I squinted at the date and then shifted my gaze up to her face.

“This date is an entire week after my wedding!” She slapped the back of my head.

I ducked down to avoid another hit as I refrained from rubbing the growing sore spot. “Oh, I must have misunderstood. My mistake.” I tried to talk my way out of it, but I could tell by her pursed lips that she wasn’t buying my story. “I’ll turn the 7 into a 1.”

“You tried to ruin something important to me. So, I will ruin something important to you.” Her voice bounced with child-like retaliation.

“I’m sorry.” Fear rose in my throat. “I made a mistake. I’ll fix it. I’m sorry,” I repeated. She hurried up the stairs, and I followed one step behind her.

“You’re not sorry yet. But you will be,” she promised, throwing open the door to my bedroom. She grabbed my baseball mitt off the end of the bed, pushed past me in the doorway, and dashed down the hallway to my father’s bedroom. I saw what she was about to do only half a second before she threw the mitt into the fireplace.

Watching the fire lick at the sides of the leather, I tried not to flinch. Tried to hide the emotions welling up inside of me. I shut my eyes in an effort to block the tears that were desperately trying to slip their way down my cheeks as I turned my reddening face away from her. I couldn’t let her see the effect, couldn’t let her think she’d won. But inside, my heart felt like it had shriveled up a little bit. My stubby fingernails dug into my palms as I clenched my fists. If I were smarter or more clever, maybe I could have found a way to stop her, even physically overpowered her and snatched it from her hands. Had it been my jersey, I would have. I’m not much for fielding anyway, I rationalized to myself. Because, what was the point of crying about it?

I would never dream of destroying Cheyenne’s silver watch, the only tangible thing she had left from her own father. She wore it everywhere, even to bed. Kept it safe. Maybe I should have done that with my mitt.

Like many times before, I, yet again, imagined running away.

But if I did run, where would I go? With the world in chaos, running away from my home and a reliable source of food and water would mean death. I bit my tongue, something I do hourly it seems, and made my way back to the kitchen table. I finished rewriting and writing the invitations for the town of Rock Ridge.

When I completed the task, I had the job of delivering them to everyone even though she could have hired a courier to do it. I first left a stack at the farmers market—which was open every day for bartering—and managed to skirt around any questions that came my way. Too bad we couldn’t just email the invitations and call it a day, yet another technological casualty of the Supply Wars.

After I extricated myself from the market, I went about stuffing them into every mailbox in Rock Ridge. As I walked around town, delivering the handwritten invitations, I cringed at the congratulatory words in response to Theresa’s engagement, but I sort of enjoyed overhearing people whisper once they thought I was too far away to hear.

“Why is he marrying her?”

“She’s beautiful but terrible. Sort of like a hurricane. I don’t know what he sees in her.”

A grin crept across my face at that comment. A hurricane. At least I wasn’t the only one who knew she wasn’t wonderful. She wasn’t even decent. She was abusive. Manipulative. And here I was doing her advertising. I ran around the entire town, and for the first week in years, I had no time for baseball. But I also didn’t know how to tell Johnny that my mitt was gone forever, so it didn’t bother me much.

When I went to bed at the end of my busy week, I dreamt about my father, memories and nightmares colliding with one another. He and I were lost in a snowstorm, trying to find the cows and bring them back to the barn, but shrouded figures kept popping out of the piles of snow to shoot at us. The cows started staining the snow bright red with their blood as they fell down and spilled their insides around my feet. I spun around and lost my bearings as huge snowflakes weighed down my eyelashes until I couldn’t see my father or the cows anywhere. I could hardly breathe because the snow was so thick.

I woke up freezing cold from the inside out and threw another thin blanket over myself. I shook, and I wanted to believe it was because of the cold. Only, it wasn’t really cold. No, I shook as the fearful remnants of my dream clung to me. It never was really cold here. I think that’s one reason my dad decided to settle down in Texas. When I was really young, maybe two or three, we lived near an Army base in upstate New York, but Dad told me that any time he made me go out into the snow, I became positively manic. Apparently, I’d sob and shake and scream. He said we moved to Texas because he couldn’t bear to keep making me face the bitter, cruel cold. I think it was also because my mother succumbed to cancer in New York, and he needed a change of scenery.

The nightmare kept me awake for a few more hours as I thought about the cows and my father and how much worse it had been to lose him in my waking hours.

5

The Wedding Bells Rang

“Wake up, Violet!” Theresa’s shrill voice brought me out of my slumber as she tossed something scratchy and soft onto my face. My eyes shot open, and I pushed a pile of hair off me. A week had passed since the invitations went out. I took in a long breath, trying to emotionally and mentally prepare myself for this day. The wedding day.

“You’ll wear that and look like a decent, proper woman. Not some filthy, crossdressing slave,” she barked. Her fingernails sparkled with gold paint, and her eye makeup was spread so thick that it made her look like an Egyptian carving. I picked up the pile of hair again as I moved to a sitting position.

A wig. She wanted me to wear a blonde wig to her wedding. The wedding that would mean adding more power and importance to the woman who somehow managed to make my life more miserable than it already was as an orphan in a time of war. It wasn’t as though Austin Wyatt was king of America, or even Texas for that matter. America was still a democracy last time I checked, but he might as well have been a king in our little corner of this drab world. Or perhaps a chief. Chief of the Rock Ridge Tribe. Not that we really made a great tribe. While we had made some great progress in terms of unity, evidenced by our amicable farmers market and the reduced number of people shooting each other’s livestock, we still had a long way to go. For most of us, we just wanted our lives back. But until then, the Wyatts ran the town. Kept it alive. Kept us moving. They were revered and respected. With Theresa at the helm, I knew that reverence would turn into fear and submission.

“You honestly want me to wear this thing to the wedding?” I pointed to the hideous wig Savannah was having a hard time securing to my head. “What about every time I see Austin and Jackson after that?” I asked as I stood in the front room, having already hitched up the horses to the car, so nobody else would have to “get dirty,” heaven forbid. Cheyenne buttoned up my dress, and by “my dress,” I meant the dress Cheyenne had worn to the gala, the patchwork-quilt one that reeked of onions. Theresa had found a way to procure a green dress for Cheyenne that only came halfway down her thighs and a light brown prom dress for Savannah that scarcely managed to cover her chest.

“You think it’s a coincidence you haven’t had a moment to interact with Austin and Jackson? Please,” she scoffed. “I’ve orchestrated this exactly the way I want it to go. No, you won’t be seeing much of them. Or anyone really. You’ll have your own room in the Wyatts’ home and your own set of servants to wait on you.”

“Why won’t I be seeing much of anyone? You expect me to just stay in my room… for what? Forever?” I dared ask, barely hiding my incredulity.

Theresa batted her eyes at me, a menacingly gleam in her look. “Yes, in fact, I do.” My blood ran cold as she spoke. “You see, I’ve told Austin that you’ve become mute since your father’s passing. I’ve informed him that you aren’t right in the head anymore. And you’re suffering from serious mental illnesses. War hasn’t been kind to you, and now that everyone you know and love is gone, you’ve tried to take your life as well. Since you’re the only living reminder of Liam’s love I have left, I simply couldn’t let you do that to yourself.”

“Take my own life! How dare you—“ I started to shout when she slapped me across the face. It hurt my pride more than my cheek. I balled my hands into fists but told myself to be the bigger person as I clamped my mouth shut.

“Austin has agreed to take you in so that we can better keep an eye on you and help nurse you back to health.” She glanced at her nails glimmering on her right hand, as if already bored of our conversation. “Perhaps after a year or so, you can make progress. Since you won’t be working anymore, your bruises will heal and maybe eventually, so will your mind.” Her mouth curled up like she was some self-satisfied snake who’d just bit me.

“You told him that I don’t talk anymore and that I’m not right in the head?” I said through gritted teeth. “Sounds like you have a great relationship based on trust and honesty.”

“I’m absolutely serious,” she spat, her full attention on me as she grabbed my face in her cold hand and squeezed my cheeks, her long nails biting into my skin.

I went to brush her fingers away, but she held me there for a moment before she finally released me. Trying to keep my words controlled, I could still feel the anger boiling up inside as I replied, “What makes you think I’ll pretend to be some suicidal mute?”

Theresa chuckled. “Oh, Violet. Of all people, you should know not to underestimate me. There are still things in this world that you care about. This home, for example”—she gestured to the room around us—“is not fireproof, you know. Johnny also comes to mind. He still has one good leg, correct? And doesn’t he pitch with his right arm? Shame if something were to happen to his shoulder. Well, then there’d be no more baseball for either of you.”

My mouth dried up. They were empty threats, right? Just words meant to intimidate me. And they did. I could return her threats, but I’d never follow through. Instead, I just stood there helpless as I stared at her with the meanest, coldest glare I could manage. She was right. And I wanted to hate her for it.

Thud, thud, thud! Someone knocked on the door, breaking the uncomfortable silence. My heart dropped when I heard, “Ellie?” As soon as Johnny spoke, I felt sorry for him.

Theresa whipped the door open and raised her eyebrows. “What the hell are you snooping around here for? Food? Work? Women?”

“I was just coming to tell Ellie that I watered the garden and checked the hens. The horses are getting a bit anxious in the driveway. And I wanted to see if she needed help with anything else.”

“She doesn’t need you for anything. No one needs you! You’re a disgrace to America with the way you dodged fighting for us. When all the rest of the men stood up and honored us, you cowered here because that’s what you are—a coward. Your very presence here is an insult to the memory of the man who owned this house!”

Johnny said nothing. He just turned and limped away. I watched him through the big windows and paid careful attention to his good leg. It’s only because I know him so well that I know how much her words cut him inside. And it’s because I know her that I know how easy it would be for her to hurt him on the outside.

I should have piped up in his defense or thanked him for helping. I should have showed my face and apologized for Theresa. He knew she was lying, didn’t he? He knew we needed him—I needed him. He must have known. Still, I never should have tolerated her speaking to him like that.

“I can’t believe she sleeps with him,” Savannah hissed to Cheyenne.

“I don’t think she does,” Cheyenne replied. And she was right. I wasn’t going to start another fight over the dynamics of my relationship with Johnny, but I wouldn’t pretend like I didn’t appreciate her defending me.

“Really, Chey, she sleeps with farm animals. Of course, she sleeps with the gimp,” Savannah scoffed.

At this point, my pride was more crippled than Johnny. I wanted to run away with Johnny. Keep him safe. I guess I could have, but I didn’t. I sat down and stayed silent while Savannah adjusted my wig and Cheyenne painted my face, both talking about me like I wasn’t there.

Cheyenne and I could be friends if her mom and sister weren’t truly wicked. I think Cheyenne wanted to be nice to me. But she couldn’t disappoint her mom and sister, or she’d also become their target. I didn’t blame her for not risking that. She seemed a lot younger to me than I was at fourteen.

I shut my eyes and tried to will this reality away. My mind went back to baseball with my dad and tuned out their insults while they made me up for the wedding. I could feel from their makeup brushes that I probably looked more like a clown than a flower girl. A flower girl at seventeen. The very thought made me laugh and cringe inside at the same time. I didn’t want to look at my reflection. A mirror would only make me mad. I refused to see the laughingstock they’d turned me into.

“Girls,” Theresa said, donning silver earrings, “Johnny has just reminded us of something important here.” She glared at me. “From now on, we must call her Ellie. We want to treat her right, don’t we? You’re my girls, aren’t you? And I always treat my darlings the way they deserve to be treated.”

Savannah and Cheyenne looked at me, and their faces made it clear that they didn’t expect these changes or didn’t understand what their mother was really saying.

“Why do I have to wear this hideous thing?” I asked, pulling at the gown’s long sleeves.

“Hideous?” Cheyenne asked, her voice hurt.

“Because as hideous as you find that dress, your violet arms are far more hideous, and I won’t have anyone seeing them and making nasty accusations.” Theresa wiggled her dress down in front for the fourth time that day and motioned for the door, which I reluctantly opened.

As we stepped out of the house, Theresa’s dress sparkled like starlight in the sun. It was sheer enough that her push-up bra was visible through the white fabric and everyone in Rock Ridge would be able to see it. She wasn’t just embarrassing me this time. She was embarrassing the Wyatts. Austin was either under some actual magical spell falling for her, or else the man that I’d revered and respected my whole life was a fool. I don’t believe in magic, but in this case, I wanted to. And maybe some of that magic could take Johnny and I far away from this day, far away from here.

I leaned against the white brick of the house and stared absentmindedly at the huge pecan tree, the buds on it in full bloom. Years prior, I’d nearly fallen to my death from that tree. The grass covering our front lawn was now a spotty green and brown. It should have been lush, but with water scarce, why water an unyielding crop? I turned back to my house.

My house was all white brick. In the winter, it stood out in contrast from the brown that surrounded it, and then appeared like a hovering cloud when the trees and bushes filled with leaves and blooms. Every inch of this house and the surrounding property held memories for me. From the white columns beside the front door to the French windows that lined the exterior of our home to the square hedges I’d spent countless hours pruning.

The click of heels striking the red-brick path pulled my attention to the three of them as they made their way across the front yard.

“On we go to a new life,” Theresa announced, and we all climbed into our absurd horse-drawn car. She said it as though it were good news, and my heart ached.

Theresa and Savannah talked the whole way there, with Cheyenne piping in at various intervals, but I just stared back at my home, mourning myself.

We passed the corner of my house where Johnny and I had set up our first lemonade stand at a mere seven years old. Dad warned me we wouldn’t have many customers so far from town, and he was right. Only Johnny’s dad and our neighbors, Nitti and Arnold Molinsky, came out and patronized our little stand. They overpaid and heaped praises on us even though I’d doubled the sugar Dad told me to add. Johnny and I ended up drinking the majority of the lemonade, which resulted in mild bellyaches, but we’d still made enough change to go buy a giant pack of green bubble gum baseball chew for each of us.

Turning the corner of our street onto the main road, the ghosts of my lifelong past followed me as we rode away from the only place I’d called home. The mall where Johnny and I liked to buy baseball cards was completely leveled. At one point, I considered going through the rubble with him to see if we could find any cards amid the debris. Somehow it still felt like stealing. Anyway, I’m not sure I cared as much about the cards anymore.

We wove through the rest of Rock Ridge, riding by the empty farmers market and among the clustered houses, out toward the Wyatt Mansion. There was no room for our car on the highway since all the cars that had broken down with the EMP attack still waited to come back to life. We stayed along the side of the road until we reached the base of a large hill. Sitting on the top, like a scene from a children’s book, was the Wyatts’ home.

The Wyatt Mansion stood four stories tall, with wide, framed windows and a three-story archway. The gray-stone exterior gave it the appearance of a French chateau, with its slate pyramidal roofs and rises at every level.

As we pulled up to the front door, the sound of trumpets blasted. It was all way over the top for me even if the house itself held Hollywood movie magic. I couldn’t enjoy it. Not in this dress with this fake hair. My wig itched like it had fleas, which, unfortunately, I’ve had experience with. And I tried not to think where it had been before me.

As a pair of young female employees opened the doors for us, I ducked my head and muttered, “Thanks,” before clamping my mouth shut as I remembered Theresa’s clear instructions that I was not allowed to say a word. I followed behind the procession as if I were a lost dog. Inside, the guests were already gathered. My guts knotted up, and for a minute, I thought maybe I had actually gone crazy.

I paused at the doors, looking over the room. What may have normally been a huge lobby or parlor, and a living room that opened up to the dining room, was now set up as a reception center for the day. Gray tile spread from the entryway to the front atrium, where rows and rows of folding chairs, all filled with guests, led up to a small carpeted area near French doors.

I found the source of the music at the far end of the room—an organ. Not actual trumpets after all. Theresa nodded to the organist, and he began playing music again.

“Get up the aisle!” Theresa hissed, and the three of us hurried up to the front of the huge room while she waited behind to make her own grand march between the chairs. She’d intentionally been late for her own wedding as a way to draw even more attention to herself—truly a despicable woman. It was only then, as I got closer to the front, that I lifted my head enough to see Austin Wyatt, and at his side, Captain Jackson Wyatt in his dress greens.

I froze. The thick, curly dreadlocks he’d loved as a teenager had been traded in for a high and tight. His brown eyes still looked kind but no longer distracted. My eyes caught his, and my heart pattered inside my chest as he gave me a hopeful smile. Jackson was a man now. Colorful ribbons decorated his uniform. His arms were huge. Strange as it may seem, I suddenly imagined him pitching. His fast ball would be incredible.

I’d forgotten how smooth his dark skin looked, though all I could see was his face, neck and hands. My first instinct was to compare his skin to chocolate, but maybe that wasn’t appropriate. Then again, maybe it was. Didn’t make a lot of sense, though. It wasn’t as if I wanted to eat him. Not that he didn’t look good, but I just—

Savannah jabbed me in the ribs, snapping me back to the ceremony. “Move!” she demanded. I ducked my head back down and hurried forward.

Music filled the room as Theresa paraded down the aisle, waving at her audience as if they were her fans.

Maybe I should have run away with Johnny. Because standing here was nearly intolerable. I pinched myself repeatedly, checking again and again if this was some sort of nightmare.

It was, but there was no waking up from this one.

Austin really was marrying my evil stepmother, and I was moving into the Wyatts’ home as a complete stranger to myself. I’d thought that Theresa couldn’t take anything else from me. But standing there, watching them say their vows to each other, I realized that she could take more. She was taking more. If I stayed here in the Wyatt Mansion, I’d lose Johnny, baseball, and the home I grew up in. I’d also lose my father’s grave, which felt like losing him all over again.

A new thought crossed my mind, and a grin started at the edges of my mouth. This wedding was exactly what I needed: something to distract Theresa. I’d take my things and run. It wasn’t too late for me to escape from Rock Ridge with Johnny. I could take my horses, and Johnny and I could make our way somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The idea of running away had been too sad for me before. I couldn’t voluntarily leave my father’s home, but now I was being forced to leave it either way.

The wedding bells rang, and my heart sang with them. This absurd wedding was my ticket to freedom.

6

Mute

The wedding ceremony lasted forever. The people in the reception line shook Austin’s hand, and nearly everyone hugged Theresa and congratulated her—even the people who had whispered their naysaying comments as I delivered the invitations. I knew there were a few of them who had heard her berate me time and time again. I should think that most of them knew she called me “Violet.” And yet, they may have only thought it as a term of endearment. I guess it was only me who knew how truly dangerous Theresa was. Call it bias. Call it enlightenment. Call it whatever you want.

Once the reception began, she guided me to a seat at a small table behind the wedding altar and told me to stay put. I was supposed to seem uncomfortable with the crowd. That was an easy role to play. I was quite uncomfortable. And sitting there all evening with an unsightly view of Theresa’s pink thong through her sheer dress didn’t do much to improve my comfort level.

In the giant reception room, lit entirely by lanterns and towering candles, we ate a large meal of cornbread and potato chowder for dinner. A large group of hired waiters and waitresses came out and served us. I recognized a few from my high school, back in the days when that was still a thing at all, even so, when those kids I’d collaborated with for group projects brought my dinner over, not a single one of them recognized me. Not with the wig and makeup.

Once I’d received my food, I tried to choke down my meal even though it tasted like sawdust in my mouth. Sitting alone in my corner, I had quite the vantage point. Better to see the guests and the house, yet too far away to make out any of the conversations. Instead, their words came to my ears as rumbles broken up with intermittent laughter.

The entire thing made me sick. This extravagance held no place amid the poverty afflicting the world at this time. A time when the whole world was still rattled from the widespread destruction, and most everyone was trying to claw their way out of the emotional darkness of recent events. It should have just been a wedding between two people. She managed to turn it into an outrageous public appearance where she rubbed our neighbors’ faces in her new wealth and position.

Austin tried to come over to me at one point. He and I even made eye contact. A glimmer of hope crossed his face as I met his eyes, but Theresa grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him away.

“Not now. She’ll have a fit if you try to talk to her right now with all these people around. Just give her space.” Theresa spoke in her faux-sweet voice. Jackson stood up next to come my way, but she caught his attention before we could acknowledge each other. “You, too,” Theresa commanded him, a little less sweetly. He paused a minute, looked my way again, then back to his father before he sat down. How could no one else see how terrifying this was? Already she had control. Command of a colonel, now mayor, and his son. She now outranked them. Gave them orders, and no one even batted an eye.

Though I was by myself, I didn’t mind much. Not with my plan of escape to work on. As I thought of how to get out of this house that was supposed to become my prison, I watched Jackson. It was still so hard to believe how much he’d changed and how much he was still the same. He floated around the room, complimenting all the girls who fawned over him, flirting as well as I imagined he could fight. It was hard for me to picture him in battle with his assault rifle, trading enemy fire. On the other hand, it was easy to picture him commanding others. He always had a commanding presence, even more so now.

In my defense, I didn’t focus strictly on Jackson. I noticed the other men that came in, but there just weren’t that many in my age group. The draft had claimed nearly all the able-bodied men around us between the ages of fifteen and forty-five. The ones who’d been left home, like Johnny, were deemed unfit for war, some due to physical ailments, others for mental or emotional reasons. I don’t know how other towns handled it, but most of the girls in Rock Ridge determined that if a man was unfit for war, he was unfit to date or marry. There were a few veterans who had come back because of injuries they’d sustained prior to the EMP attack. Though their disabilities were often more extreme than the men who’d been denied the right to fight, they still paired off very quickly. Most of the time, I tended to get along well with the girls in town—on the rare occasions when I saw them at the farmers market or in passing. But when they talked about Johnny and his limp like it was something shameful or disgusting, I just about lost it. Why a prosthetic would be okay, but a natural limp wouldn’t, simply couldn’t add up in my mind.

Yes, there had been times when I imagined what it would be like if Johnny replaced his real leg with a perfect prosthesis. Those daydreams always led to me thinking of him as a soldier and mapping out the lives we might have had. He’d have been shipped off to war, and I’d have been left alone with Theresa in Rock Ridge. For that reason, I was grateful for his limp. I can’t imagine what would have become of me otherwise. I shuddered at the thought.

For a long time, I’d determined that I’d marry Johnny. It’s the only thing that ever made any sense. I loved him. He’d been there for me for so long. The idea of living with him forever made me happy. Except, once I started playing the scenes out in my head, I felt weird. I pictured our wedding, a very small event in my own backyard. A few friends, laughter, and food—nothing wrong there. But when it came to, “You may now kiss the bride,” every time that image played in my head, we both would laugh, and I’d turn my face away so he could kiss my cheek. I couldn’t kiss Johnny—not like, really kiss him. There was just no passion there. No spark between us. And if kissing was a no-go, then all the wedding night stuff was absolutely out of the question. Johnny deserved someone who could see him as a lover instead of a brother. Someone wonderful who would happily bear his children.

Someone other than me.

Midway through the night, another un-maimed man named Kendrick McDaniels came to the house and drew off some of the female attention that had been smothering Jackson. Kendrick was from Knotwood, but Jackson greeted him with a hug as if they were brothers. I suppose that’s why they call them ‘brothers in arms.’ Unlike most of the other soldiers, he didn’t wear his uniform. In fact, Kendrick’s casual attire made him look rather out of place at the event. Yet, that didn’t stop Savannah from immediately having her hands all over him. I mean that literally.

Johnny showed up part way through as well; I tried to get his attention by reaching up to scratch the wig and staring at him until he finally looked at me, but Theresa was quick to shoo him away like he was some panhandling druggie. His glimpse of me was so short, I don’t think he even recognized me, just like most of the others there. With so many of our friends and neighbors missing and dead, I think sometimes we forget the living.

Once we’d finished up dinner and the guests had retreated to their homes, Theresa came over to me. She lifted me by the elbow and whispered into my ear, “Stay silent and come with me.”

She strode up the main staircase and down the hall to the left to a room at the very end. “This room is yours. There’s plenty in there to keep you entertained, so don’t leave until I come for you. I shouldn’t have to remind you what will happen if you disobey.” She opened the door beside my room, revealing a half bath. “You have a shared bathroom with the servants working in this side of this house.”

“We usually just call them employees,” Jackson said, emerging from around the corner. His voice was low and strong and the slightest bit raspy. My heart jumped at the sound of it, though I had no idea why. I couldn’t get over how built he looked in his military uniform—even more so than in his old baseball uniform. Maybe it was the uniforms that got the women fawning. I’d try not to fall victim.

“Right—paid servants, employees, it’s all quite the same, isn’t it?” Theresa forced a small laugh. Her fake giggle did nothing to ease the sudden tension between them, and when he failed to react, she rose to his silent and subtle challenge. “I said, isn’t it, Jackson?” Her voice was a bit firmer that time, obviously demanding confirmation. Still, he didn’t respond, and I had to try to conceal my amusement at Theresa’s mounting frustration.

“Ellie,” Jackson finally said, turning to me.

“As me and your father have both told you, she doesn’t speak anymore,” Theresa said emphatically, shoving me into my room. I turned around, expecting the door to slam behind me. Instead my eyes locked with Jackson’s, who had moved into the doorway. Theresa scooted behind him so that I could look at both their faces at the same time, but he couldn’t see her.

“I thought you’d come to dinner at least once after I returned home.” He paused after he spoke as if waiting for an explanation. I stayed as still as a deer caught in the headlights.

“She’s very difficult,” Theresa said. “Don’t bother trying to get her to talk. She won’t say a word.”

“Is that true?” Jackson asked. I lifted my eyes and found Theresa. She raised her arm, pretending to pitch. Her form was terrible, but she’d delivered her message successfully.

I dropped my eyes to the ground, wondering if I should nod or something. Do mutes nod? Probably, but suddenly, I wasn’t sure.

Jackson stepped closer to me, and my heart pounded. He was so tall now. He placed his hand underneath my chin, gently lifted my face toward his, and spoke authoritatively. “Ellie, I’ll find a way to help you. I mean, seven years ago, no one in the town could get you to shut up.” He smiled, and I couldn’t stop the grin that tickled my lips. His cool fingers on my face made me tremble. “I know just as well as anyone how terrible and traumatic war is. When you do decide to talk, I’ll be here to listen.”

Theresa cleared her throat. Jackson didn’t turn around, but she caught my attention. My eyes left Jackson’s face and moved to her horrible one. “It’s best to give her lots of space. Pressuring her to talk only makes her more dangerous to herself and others,” she insisted.

Jackson moved until our eyes locked again. “I’m here to help, okay?”

I nodded. Surely mutes can do that. He smiled, a little more relaxed. “Well, at least you respond to yes-no questions.”

I nodded again, trying not to smile too big. He was close enough now for me to smell a hint of cologne. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d smelled men’s cologne.

“You remember me, right?” he asked. It wasn’t as if I’d suffered blunt force head trauma or amnesia. How far exactly did she expect me to take this charade? I nodded again, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. Theresa’s presence loomed beside us like a dangerous storm cloud.

“You still play ball?” he asked. “You used to have one heck of a swing.” Theresa shook her head in my peripheral vision. I hesitated. Pretending to be mute was one thing, but denying my love for baseball was akin to denying my own existence. But there was Johnny to think about as well, and I knew all too well what Theresa could be capable of. It killed me, but I repeated Theresa’s action and shook my head from side to side, the long blonde strands of fake hair whipping my face before I dropped my chin again.

Jackson sighed, “Yeah… I guess no one does anymore.”

Theresa placed her newly ringed hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “It’s been a long day for her. She needs her rest.” I hated that she touched him—that she told him what to do.

Jackson eyed her hand on his shoulder uncomfortably and then looked at me for a long five seconds before saying, “Goodnight, Ellie.”

Once he was out of sight, Theresa reached for my wrist, probably giving me more purple bruises in the process, and pulled me violently into my room. She shut the door and clicked her tongue, the sound of the catching lock signaling my doom. She reached for the light switch. I stared at the bright bulb for a minute. I didn’t realize that the Wyatts had electricity. “Nodding and shaking your head is dangerously close to talking,” Theresa warned.

“I disagree,” I whispered. “I’m not going to pretend to be some brain-dead vegetable!”

“Don’t give me ideas,” she hissed, leaning into my face. All I did was stare at her, expressionless. I decided not to fight with her. I’d be free of her tonight anyway as soon as I could gather my things and slip away. On the one hand, the idea of leaving made me want to spit out all the horrible things I’d thought about her and never said, but I knew it would be foolish to provoke her before I made my move. If she had any idea I was trying to run away, she’d stop me and who knew what else she’d do.

“The servants will be by with your meals and to clean your room each day. Don’t speak to them. Don’t speak to anyone.”

“Except you?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Not even me. I’d have cut out your tongue a long time ago if you weren’t so good at biting it.” And I’m sure she would have followed through with that. Then her hand shot out, and she gripped my arm and began squeezing it as hard as she could. I flexed my arm, only to try to mitigate the bruising.

“You won’t cry, you won’t talk, you won’t laugh, and you won’t tell anyone anything about me, or I swear, they’ll find Johnny’s body half-eaten by vultures in the bottom of a ravine with not one, but two broken legs.” I tried not to move a muscle, but I began to shiver. She bent down until her nose almost touched mine. “If you don’t do exactly as I say, exactly when I say to do it, I will take everything that matters to you. And I will destroy it. How many more deaths do you want on your hands? How much more blood can you stomach?”

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she left the room and shut the door behind her. She thought she was winning. She thought just because she’d won Austin over that she was on her road to fame and power. But she’d only changed the playing field. She no longer had home field advantage. And yet, her words still shook me to my core.

7

Kestrel

I said nothing. I just sat on my twin bed in the corner of the room and slipped my shoes off, taking deep breaths as I tried to will my heartrate to slow down. Johnny is safe, I told myself. He won’t end up dead in the ravine. You’ll keep him safe.

My clothes were already packed and ready to go, Theresa having only allowed me to bring one bag of my belongings over. One of the Wyatts’ employees had already brought it up to my room, and it sat against the small dresser by the door. I was going to wait a couple hours until I knew Theresa was asleep, but with everything she’d just said about Johnny, I knew I couldn’t wait that long.

I hurried to the window, finalizing my plan in my mind. If I pressed my cheek to the glass, I could see the edge of the stables, which is where they’d have taken my horses. Johnny and I needed both of them if we were going to get far away. We’d gather food from my house and Johnny’s, maybe even stop by the farmers market and see if I could cash out on some of the credit from all the eggs I’d delivered. It’s not like Cheyenne or Savannah needed it anymore. Then we’d ride. I didn’t know exactly where, but away. Maybe out toward Houston or Corpus Christi and take a vacation on the beach. I imagined the sun setting on the water, with silhouettes of dolphins over the clear water. But more than likely, it was a beach littered with garbage and debris from the wars. I stepped away from the window and looked around the room.

The gray walls in the room held only a mirror, and a small giclée print of bluebonnets—the state flower of Texas. The floor was wood-like tile, just like my home. As I looked around the room, I thought maybe I could be happy here. Some old movie posters were taped up on the wall opposite of the window. I didn’t recognize some of them, but the iconic ones stood out to me: a poster of a man in a metal suit flying through the air; another with a ring floating above the hand of its infamous bearer; who could forget the famous space opera of the angsty lad with his saber pointed to the sky, lighting up the darkness around him—classics everyone knew.

I marveled at how big the Wyatts’ mansion was. And their employees would do all the work that I’d been doing; I only had to sit here and pretend like I cared about nothing and no one. And then it struck me that I’d never truly be happy here. Because a nice bedroom and pretty decorations were never what made me happy before. I needed exercise, freedom, baseball, and people to talk to. I needed Johnny to talk to. Even though this room was pretty, it was just as much a prison as if there had been a cement floor and bars in place of the door and windows.

The pillow cradled my head as I lay back into it and pulled my legs up onto the bed. Jackson wanted me to talk to him. He wanted me to confide in him. But why did he care about me at all? Who was I to him? Surely Austin had told him about my father’s death.

And then there was the whole dinner with the Wyatts thing. Was it Theresa who didn’t want me to go to dinner with them? Or was it Austin? Or was it both? Then a horrible thought struck me like a dart to the heart. What if they bonded over the horrible death of my father? What if it was my fatal mistake that brought them together? I could picture it well enough. Austin could have approached Theresa at Jackson’s homecoming gala and offered condolences over my father. Theresa would have done the same for his wife, Kassandra. “Cancer doesn’t have any boundaries. No respect at all,” she’d probably said.

And Austin, with a disapproving shake of his head, would have replied, “We did everything we could to save her. Shame Ellie can’t say the same for Liam.”

“It’s her guilt that’s driven her mad. Only fair after what happened.” I could see Theresa stroking his arm while Austin nodded in agreement.

I suppose that as opposite as they seemed, they did have one thing in common.

I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow. Times like this, the guilt threatened to strangle me.

Suddenly someone knocked at the door, snapping me out of my overwhelming thoughts. If they hadn’t let themselves in immediately, I’d have spoken and told them to come in. But that would have broken the new rules. Rules that demanded complete silence from me. Rules that required me to lie. To lie to those I cared about.

“I’m not exactly sure how this is supposed to work,” said the girl standing in front of me. She had long, straight, black hair, tightly pulled back into a ponytail. Her red lips contrasted with her fair complexion, making it look like she was wearing lipstick, but she wasn’t. Her jeans had holes in the knees, and she wore a loose, blue and red sweatshirt. I had no idea how old she was. My best guess was fifteen. Maybe sixteen. I didn’t recognize her from school.

“They told me that you don’t talk anymore. I guess you haven’t for years. At first, I thought that meant that I should just be quiet around you, too, since maybe you prefer silence. But truth be told, I’m not one for silence. Actually, even around people who talk, I usually dominate the conversation because I just hate any silence. I find it both boring and uncomfortable, and I have to find a way to fill it either with talking about animals or plants or nonsense really. It’s just that words make me more comfortable than emptiness. If I’m not talking, I’m probably singing. Would you prefer that I sing?” She stared at me, finally taking a minute to breathe.

“Are you laughing at me?” she asked. I nodded, stifling my giggling. “Well, okay then. I guess you like me. I mean, they made it seem like you had some sort of serious mental and emotional illness going on, but you seem… well… pretty normal. Except for the not talking part.” She grimaced at her comment and then added, “I hope that didn’t come out mean. I wasn’t trying to be mean. My mom has depression, so I know a few things about that beast. Not that I’ve had to battle it myself, but I have a respect for the challenge it presents. I’ve never actually been around a mute before. I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Kestrel Schnee. Just got hired this morning, right before the wedding. I grew up over in Knotwood. Things have been a little crazy there, so my mom and I came over here to Rock Ridge. My brother has a job in Knotwood, but Mom insisted the two of us try getting work here with the Wyatts. And they hired us! No kidding, right! They even gave us room and board since we’re on-call medical personnel. She works day shifts here. I work nights. Eventually, we’re going to try and get our shifts lined up so we have a chance to spend time together, but we didn’t want to be too picky when Mayor Wyatt hired us. Don’t want to seem ungrateful. I don’t mind at all really!” Kestrel pursed her red lips concernedly.

“I guess I should stop talking and… clean… or something. I know I’m supposed to look after you. Do you need anything?” She looked around the room, then back to me. “I guess you can’t really tell me, can you?” I laughed again. “Do you… write stuff down? I mean, is the problem you have with communication altogether or just with talking? Just wondering. You don’t have to talk to me. I can do all the talking. I don’t mind!”

At this point, I was nearly bent over in half with laughter. She joined me with a laugh like a goose, which made me laugh even more. It was quite the contrast to Cheyenne’s laugh, which sounded a lot like crying, and I’d gotten so used to being the brunt of it, that I’d forgotten how nice it was to laugh with someone. We laughed for a few minutes until I worried Theresa would come in, at which point, I sighed and quieted down as I waited for Kestrel to talk again.

She didn’t disappoint me. “You know, you seem like… the least suicidal person ever. And I’m going to get paid three dollars an hour to make sure you make no attempts on your life. Am I in the wrong room or something?” she asked, a bemused, yet bewildered look on her face.

Three dollars an hour… three dollars an hour! Before the war, inflation had driven minimum wage up to $33.50 an hour. The destruction of the American economy brought us back decades, if not centuries. It wasn’t funny; it was fascinating. Not that I’d ever studied economics or anything. It made me wonder how the Wyatt family had enough liquid money to hire so many people.

Kestrel looked around the room and laughed at the poster with the soldier holding a shield with the Texas star emblazoned on the front.

“Well, I have some makeup removing wipes for you to use.” She handed them over and just stared at me while I cleaned my face. I knew that Cheyenne had used a lot of makeup, but after the fifth face wipe came away black and brown, I sort of wished I’d seen myself in a mirror. By the seventh wipe, my face finally felt clean, and my skin could breathe again.

Kestrel smiled at me and took the dirty wipes to the trash can for me. “Most of the time I think makeup makes people look prettier, but you look better with it off. Younger, too!” I nodded. “You really look like a completely different person.” The timing was perfect, so I pulled the wig off my head. Kestrel let out a gasp, and for the briefest second, she almost looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Woah, no, NOW you look like a completely different person. Why the wig? Seems strange…” I offered her the hairpiece, hoping that she knew that if she didn’t want to touch it, she didn’t have to.

“I’ll take it,” she said without flinching. I stretched my arms, debating for a minute if I should change in front of Kestrel or find a way to non-verbally communicate my desire for privacy. Though I didn’t care if she saw me in a bra momentarily while I put on some comfortable clothes. Something less hideous that, preferably, didn’t smell like onions.

I unzipped my bag and pulled out some worn blue jeans and a T-shirt. Without me having to ask, Kestrel unbuttoned my dress. It was odd to have someone so freely helping me out. She reminded me of myself, and I wanted to say thanks. Something never said to me. I bit my tongue, regardless. In the side of my bag, I found my grey Converse. I ignored the confused look from Kestrel.

“You sure have a lot of bruises…” Kestrel stared as I got dressed. “Did you do those to yourself?” She basically whispered it. I shook my head. “They look painful. Especially those ones.” She pointed to one on my upper arm and a huge one spreading across my thigh where Johnny had lobbed a fast ball. He rarely slipped while pitching, but every so often his leg wobbled out from underneath him, or he’d lose his grip on the bat-cane during the windup. Pitching while balancing on one leg or leaning on a cane never looked easy, so I refrained from giving him too hard of a time about it. His guilt and apologies always lasted longer than the pain. Still, the rounded, brownish-violet mark did look pretty impressive. I shook my head again.

“Is it okay if I keep talking? Cause otherwise it’s going to be a really long eight-hour shift.” I nodded in reply. “Excellent.” She grinned. “I guess I should have said this first, but congratulations to your mom.”

I whipped my head violently toward her, and before I had a chance to think, I shouted, “Theresa is NOT my mom!”

Kestrel stood right up, eyebrows so high they nearly lifted off her face. “Oh, my goodness!” She covered her mouth with her hands. “You do talk!”

I dropped my head and bit my lip.

“Do you want to say anything else? That was amazing!” she asked excitedly. “I should tell Captain Wyatt. He asked me to tell him or his father if you make any progress. You said…” she counted on her fingers, “five words!”

I grabbed her arm and pulled her over to sit on the bed. Looking cautiously at the door, I prayed Theresa didn’t manage to find some functioning video or audio recording device to spy on my room. I’m getting paranoid.

“Kestrel, I talk. And I’m perfectly mentally sound. The bruises are from farm work and baseball.” And Theresa, I thought. “But you can’t tell the Captain or Mayor Wyatt. You can’t tell anyone!” I whispered.

“Oh,” she said, speechless, which I would guess is a rare thing for her.

Might as well dive in headfirst and tell her everything. Now that she knew I could talk, I guess it meant I would need to take a leap of faith and trust her.

“I’m Theresa’s stepdaughter. She’s a horribly mean person who has been awful to me since before my father died. Only this morning before the wedding, she told me that she’d been lying to Austin about me. She’s been telling him that I am unstable and mute from the trauma of the war and losing my father.” I sighed. “Until today, I didn’t know how awful the lies were that she’s been spreading, and I’m not really sure why she is. She said I had to do everything she told me to, or she’d hurt my friend.”

Kestrel nodded. “That’s horrible! Why didn’t you just, like, run away?”

I laughed quietly. “I’ve thought about it. Lots of times. But I didn’t know where I’d go if I ran away. And if I said and did what I’ve thought about saying and doing, but stayed here in Rock Ridge, it wouldn’t be safe for me or my friend. So, I’ve put up with it, and I remind myself of something my father taught me: ‘Be courageous and kind.’ He repeated it over and over. The crueler she is, the more determined I am to be kind. It takes more courage to show kindness.”

“That’s really quite admirable,” Kestrel said sincerely. “But it still seems like a lot to put up with under the pretense of being kind.”

“Well… thanks, I think.” I blushed. “But today changed everything. I’m not sticking around anymore. I have to get out of here.”

“Like, actually running away?”

“Yes, running away. I don’t deserve to put up with her lies and blackmail anymore. If I stay, I’ll be a prisoner in this room, forced to pretend to be a liar and whatever else she decides for me, for who knows how long.” I shook my head.

Kestrel fidgeted with her dark hair thoughtfully. “I think I understand. You do have to leave. You have a right to leave. And I’ll help you. I don’t mind… but you can’t leave tonight.”

8

A Good Distance

“I can’t leave tonight? Why not?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. As if this girl was going to stop me.

“Well,” Kestrel said as she scratched the back of her neck, pulling a few of the dark strands of hair to the front. “A few reasons. Since the wedding was today, it will probably be really busy. Someone could see you. And also, it’s my first day on the job. And my single purpose is to keep you safe. If you leave tonight, I’ll get fired for sure. My mom, too, probably. I’m not trying to be selfish, but I don’t know what my mom will do if we both lose our jobs. It’s been hard enough as it is.” Kestrel pulled a plastic card from her pocket. “Besides, the doors are already locked. You won’t be able to get out of the mansion without a keycard like this.”

I looked at the card, then to the door where I remembered seeing a card swiper and keypad on the outside handle, much like that of a hotel room.

Thinking, I rubbed the toe of my Converse on the wood-like tile. My goal wasn’t to get her in trouble. She’d come here from Knotwood to find a job. She’d found one. It was true that if I just disappeared while she was watching me, she’d get fired.

Unless…

“Okay,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “I have a plan. You probably won’t like it, but hear me out.” She didn’t protest, so I continued. “Theresa has already established that I’m a danger to myself and others. What if I overpowered you, stole your keycard, and escaped?”

Kestrel narrowed her eyes. “Seems a bit ambitious. Define… overpowered.”

“I’ll have to either tie you up and gag you, or knock you out… or at least, pretend to knock you out. Basically, we just have to make it obvious that my escape wasn’t in any way your fault.”

Kestrel bit her scarlet lip. “Okay.” She nodded and handed me her plastic keycard.

I couldn’t believe she agreed so easily.

“Do you have rope or something in here?” she asked, and I shrugged my shoulders. I hadn’t done much rummaging since Theresa had left me in here.

We searched all over the room looking for rope, but there wasn’t any, and not much else we could use. I glanced around the bedroom, but all things considered, the room was pretty bare. Nothing under the beds—not even dust bunnies. Nothing in the closet except one empty metal rod and a couple plastic hangers.

The only thing that would work for some kind of rope were the sheets. They were nice, probably with some high number thread count. Maybe Egyptian cotton or something equally fancy. I didn’t want to rip them, but I had to. I snipped a little notch in the end with a small pocketknife from my bag and tore a long strip off.

Kestrel sat quietly while I tied her hands together. “You should hit me in the face—give me a black eye or something for good measure.”

“Hit you in the face? No.” I looked around at her, aghast.

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh, come on, it won’t bother me. If you just tie me up, it’ll be suspicious. At least do me the favor of making it look like I fought you.”

“Can’t I just slap you? Make your face a little red?” I asked, looking from my hands to her fair complexion.

Kestrel shook her head. “A slap won’t do it. You need to give me a bruise.”

“That’s absurd. I don’t give people bruises. I get bruises.” I showcased my arm for her again.

She shook her head. “Feels insufficient. Nope… it’s not good enough. I’ll need a bruise to show for it.”

“I’m sorry but tying you up will have to do. I’ve never hit someone in the face, and I’d like to keep it that way,” I insisted, double-checking the contents of my backpack.

“Fine,” she said casually. And before I could do anything, she threw her knee up to her face and hit herself on the bone right below her eye. A large lump formed immediately. “Ouch!” She winced and blinked a couple times. “Now when they find me, I’ll tell them you hit me. But if it ever goes to court, I promise to tell them I kneed myself in the eye socket.”

“If it ever goes to court,” I chuckled.

The judiciary system was nonexistent. The court had been the last bit of the government to fall. When the snipers came, they killed the President, the Vice President, and the Speaker of the House. They then worked their way down the line of succession until all that remained was the Secretary of Homeland Security. He was the only one to successfully go into hiding and still manage to communicate with the remaining leaders of the military. Any surviving generals, as well as whomever else was in charge, took whatever means necessary to eliminate the foreign threats. Russia and China teamed up with the Middle Eastern nations and went for our allies first. All active-duty personnel deployed. Then reserve units. By the time the enemies were at our door, the standing army was scanty. That’s when the draft happened. The police enforced the men’s draft before being shipped off as well. Last I’d heard before the EMPs were detonated, the FBI had tracked down some Russian moles living in the States who had killed off any and all high-ranking U.S. officials they could get to. They’d targeted any person they could reach from Supreme Court justices down to state governors and military officers.

Our enemies took out the leaders because they didn’t see everyday people as a threat—the same way that Austin Wyatt didn’t see Theresa as a threat. She might not be threatening to destroy America, but she wasn’t out to save or help anyone except herself, and she was threatening to destroy me.

I couldn’t save America, but I could save myself and Johnny. And the first part to doing that was to escape from Theresa’s clutches.

“Thanks for everything, Kestrel,” I said as I tied the gag around her mouth.

“Tighter,” came her muffled words around the fabric.

I sighed and pulled it a little tighter. “Sorry,” I muttered. Even though she offered to do this, I still felt terrible about leaving her here. I could only hope the wrath Theresa kept showing me wouldn’t fall so hard on Kestrel.

I pulled the hood of my blue, orange, and black striped jacket over my head, grabbed my fully stuffed backpack, and cracked open the door.

A few small lights lined the hallway. Just enough to illuminate my way down the staircase and toward the hall that led to the main lobby.

I walked past some framed portraits of the Wyatt family from before the war. Austin and his wife had five children. Five boys. Jackson was the youngest. The older four never came back from the war. At least, not yet. Lots of men were reported as “missing” rather than “killed.” I sometimes wondered what life would be like if my father had never come home. If he’d never gotten hurt. Would I be better off wondering if he was still out there? Not like now, knowing he was never coming back no matter how much I hoped and prayed.

The front doors to the Wyatts’ home, which had been thrown wide open for the wedding ceremony, were now shut. Beside them, on a teal recliner, sat a security guard. In his lap, he held a small computer.

I stayed behind the corner, hoping he couldn’t see me from my hiding spot. I waited there as I surveyed the area, which was more brightly lit than the hallway. Finding my target, I saw a light switch panel only ten feet away from me. Now, I just had to hope this guard would take a break soon. Guards need bathroom breaks, right?

Minutes passed as my legs grew restless. I kept glancing behind me and hoping no one would come walking up, especially her. I looked back at the guard as he stood up and made his way around the corner. Holding Kestrel’s keycard, I darted over to the light switch and checked one more time for any sign of the guard before I flipped all the lights off.

Quickly I walked over to the door where a keypad on the door sat waiting for me, inviting me to freedom. Pushing Kestrel’s keycard into the slot, I pulled it out quickly, and the little light blinked red. Getting a bit frantic, I realized I’d put it in backwards. I tried again, this time with the strip facing the correct direction, and was rewarded with a solid green light and a buzz.

Opening the door, I stepped out of the house and took a deep breath of the dry, night air.

I was free. What an idea, freedom. My father spent his life giving it to others, and without a fight, I’d allowed my stepmother to take it from me.

Outside, the night seemed to push in on me. The Wyatts didn’t have any porch lights, or at least they didn’t have them on at the moment. I’d never noticed before.

The door clicked shut behind me, and while I could have taken the main road from the mansion through the center of town, I started sneaking around the side of the house. Kestrel had been correct; it was a busy night. There were probably a good number of people still around town. Though no one had recognized me during the wedding, they’d be sure to recognize me now that I looked like myself again. I suppose I did spend most of my time away from public gathering areas, either playing baseball with Johnny or working the ranch. I crept alongside the house between the large, sharp holly bushes that grew all over the stone wall. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I stepped out onto the dirt and began to jog.

After I turned the corner of the house, I’d be able to run out to the stables where they’d boarded my horses. I’d been able to see the corral from my bedroom window, and I knew just where to go. I’d get both of them, find Johnny, and then we could leave, with just dirt, sagebrush, small shrubs, and rocks all the way to freedom.

As I rounded the corner of the Wyatts’ house, I crashed into something. A person. A tall, strong person. He didn’t fall. I did.

“Ouch,” I said, sitting down hard in the dirt. The man extended his arm to me as I murmured an apology.

His cold hand made the hair on my arm prickle. How long had he been standing out here at the corner in the chill air?

Looking up, I saw it was him. Jackson Wyatt. No longer in his dress greens. His face looked more relaxed now. He wore a brown and red plaid button-up shirt, slim-fitting blue jeans, and worn out cowboy boots.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asked curiously. Then he bent down and picked up the plastic card from the dirt. “You dropped this.”

If it hadn’t been so dark, he would have seen my face turn red. The side with Kestrel’s name on it had been face down. I don’t think he’d read it.

“Oh.” I snatched the card and shoved it into the mesh pocket on the side of my backpack.

“You look like a refugee,” he remarked.

I didn’t know how to reply. Thanking him would be odd, but engaging in conversation could be dangerous.

“A refugee?” I shook my head. “No. I’m just heading back home,” I said coolly.

“Well, it looks more like you’re running away. You know, you could just put in a resignation form. No reason for you to sneak off.”

“I’m… not…” I didn’t want to lie to him outright. There had to be a way to imply something other than the truth without being completely dishonest. “I’m leaving.”

“Obviously.” He gestured to my bag. “But why?”

“Well,” I began. I had to find a way to be sneaky with my words. Not lie. Yet, not tell him the full truth. “I was working for Theresa… and…”

Jackson snorted, throwing back his head while he did. “Oh, say no more. I get it. I’m just laughing because she’s only been here half a day, and already you hit the ground running away from here. I can’t help but wonder what the staff will look like in a week if it keeps going at this rate.”

I chuckled with him. The truth burned inside me, but it was too complicated. He’d already been lied to about who I was. If he knew, he would probably just think I was running away because I’m crazy. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d believe me if I told him how awful Theresa was. Maybe the Wyatts would kick Theresa out. But too much rested on that maybe.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

I looked back toward the house. No one was following me unless they were hiding in the holly bushes I’d recently emerged from. I spared a glance past him to the darkness that whispered freedom.

“Are you playing hard to get?” he asked jokingly, noting my delay.

“No. I am actually hard to get. And my name is… well… they call me Violet.” I rubbed my arm where the newest bruises from our collision bloomed just beneath my jacket.

“Well, Violet, I’m Jackson. Just Jackson. Not Jack.” He sat on the dirt and jerked his head to the spot beside him. “Take a seat.”

I could have refused and left right then. I knew that talking to him was dangerous, but I was already out of the house. Though I had no way of knowing when they’d find Kestrel, I decided the best idea was to sit with him for a few minutes. If I were too insistent about leaving, Jackson might get suspicious. And besides, it had been a very long time since we’d talked. Who’s to say I would ever see him again after tonight?

“What kind of work do you do? What were you doing for Theresa, I mean?” he asked before I could make up my mind to take the offered seat.

“Oh, well, a little of everything. Laundry. Sewing. Cooking. Planting. Cleaning. Taking care of the chickens and horses.” He looked at me. I looked at him, then back to the darkening shadows from the bushes and trees barely within my line of sight.

“Wow, all that in the last hour?” He eyed me suspiciously. “You came with her, didn’t you?”

For one horrible sinking moment, I feared that he knew everything. Maybe he did recognize me after all these years. Before I had a chance to reply, he clarified what he thought he knew.

“You worked for Theresa back on Hudson Ranch, right? But you didn’t want to quit in front of her. So, you’re using the marriage as a distraction for your disappearance.” He smiled, no doubt feeling very clever.

I adjusted the straps on my backpack as I remained standing, trying to find a way to busy my fingers and communicate nonverbally that I was ready to go. “That’s not too far off,” I admitted, tightening the left side. “All you need to know is that I’ve worked for her long enough, and I’m ready to move on with my life.”

Jackson nodded, looking out into the darkness of the city. From up here on the hill, we could see small orbs of light flickering in different houses—battery powered lanterns or wandering flames from kerosene lamps and candles. “Fair enough,” he said. “You have a question for me before you go?”

“What do you mean?” I listened to the crickets chirping and the rustling of the breeze through the leaves of the trees and bushes.

“I mean, I asked you a question, so it’s only fair that you ask me one.” His tone made me think he wanted me to ask something flirtatious. And right now, I was hardly in a flirtatious mood.

“Why not Jack?” I asked, finally taking a seat next to him, all while keeping a good distance between us.

“It’s just not for me.” He shrugged, glancing in my direction. Even in the darkness, his brown eyes were captivating.

“Well, it’s hard to get a more American name than Jack.”

“What does America have to do with it?” he asked.

Why was everyone so fast to give up on our nation? Jackson, a war hero, should have had more patriotism. “Why doesn’t America matter to people anymore? It has to do with America because we keep burying everything that makes us American. Haven’t we buried enough things without adding our culture to that as well?” I tried to steady my voice, but he’d touched upon a topic I felt deeply about. “And also, because America is dying. America is wounded, and we’re bleeding out, not just our men to war and our women and children to sickness, but we’re losing all of those things that make us American.” He nodded as I kept going, “If I were a guy and my name was Jack, I’d feel like… eating apple pie or a Philly cheesesteak and playing baseball. Singing the national anthem or something like that.”

“Well, Violet, America does matter to me. She isn’t dead yet.” He smiled. “Jackson or Jack regardless, I love baseball.” His eyes were twinkling now, or maybe it was just the moonlight. “You play?” he asked.

He had no idea that only a few hours prior, he’d asked me that same question. This time, without Theresa hanging over my shoulder, I could be honest. Embarrassment over my sudden angry outburst pricked at me. Grateful for the change of topic to something less heated, I replied, “Actually, yes. Sometimes I do.”

“So, you’re pretty, you cook, clean, sew, plant, I’m guessing you make a delicious apple pie, and you play baseball? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Ha, ha, yes. There’s plenty.” I started to laugh and felt my cheeks warming at his compliments. Pretty? I can’t remember the last time someone called me pretty. Talking to him was fun. It made my heart race. But I couldn’t stay here and keep chatting any longer. The clock was ticking. Johnny was in danger. Kestrel was in danger. I was in danger too.

I had to get out of Rock Ridge, and fast.

I shifted my feet to stand when Jackson planted his hand on top of mine. I tried to pull away when his fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist.

“Let go—“ His other hand shot up to cover my mouth. Before I could push him away, his mouth was at my ear.

“I think we’re being watched,” he whispered. If this was a weird sort of pick-up line so that he could touch me and get closer to my face, I’d—

Jackson tackled me to the ground just as gunshots fired at us from the bushes below.

9

One Less Casualty

I cowered on the ground for a few seconds, Jackson weighing me down and shielding my body. His weight made it hard to breathe, and the rough dirt ground into my face. My pulse raced from my chest through the roof of my mouth and into my head. Fear coursed through me. I felt like we were sitting ducks until he pulled a handgun from behind his back and returned fire.

“Scoot along the wall until we reach the front doors,” he directed. If I’d tried to speak, my voice would have been quivering, and I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to form any coherent sentences in reply, my tongue completely paralyzed. His voice was—all things considered—calm. “Stay beside me.”

Bullets bit the stone walls beside me as I stumbled back through the sharp holly bushes. If they were cutting my arms and face, I didn’t feel it. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, urging me forward with every footfall. Fortunately, whoever was shooting at us either had terrible vision or terrible aim. If they had both, we might survive this.

Jackson herded me along the house as we wound our way between the bushes and stone. When we turned the corner, he yelled at me to sprint for the door. They were bolted shut, and I couldn’t figure out where I’d put my keycard—Kestrel’s keycard.

“Jackson Wyatt!” he hollered, coming up behind me. The door buzzed open, and we ran through it. He pulled it shut behind him and started punching buttons on a dial pad located in the wall. The young-looking security guard, who I’d slipped past only minutes earlier, stood up, saluting Jackson as we neared him. I looked up, startled by the burn marks across the bottom half of his face. Black ink decorated his arms, or what I could see of them. Without all the tattoos, I would have thought he was younger than me because he had such a baby face, but I didn’t recognize him from high school or anywhere else around here.

“Specialist Brennan, lock it down,” Jackson commanded the computer and the guard at the same time.

The Specialist picked up a walkie-talkie. “Code Black,” he said sharply before running down the hall.

Jackson stood fearlessly in front of the glass doors while I hid behind him, peering out just enough to see what was happening. It was dark, but the glass and doors were obviously bulletproof. The bullets clicked off them, never penetrating.

My fingers and hands shook. I balled them into fists to try and control the trembling. Figures drew closer. Jackson and I were clearly visible, illuminated by the lights inside the entryway. The darkness of the night obscured the attackers… until Jackson pushed another button on the wall. Floodlights turned the sea of darkness into a tanning salon. Five men, dressed all in black, hid their faces from the blinding light and quickly retreated, fumbling over rocks and each other as they fled.

Jackson stared at them until they were beyond the lights, veiled again in the dark of the night.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hard expression melting away to genuine concern.

I nodded, my mouth still too dry to speak. I didn’t want to risk talking and having my words reveal how shaken I was.

Five men, wearing bulletproof vests and carrying assault rifles, entered the room and stood at attention. Jackson quickly relayed to them what had happened while we were outside. “First Sergeant Framingham,” he said as one of his soldiers approached us. First Sergeant Framingham was in his Army Combat Uniform (ACU’s). The green hues made his skin more olive-toned than it might have otherwise looked. Since his hair had been cut clear down to his scalp, the thick, red scars all across the back of his head and neck poked out like earthworms. First Sergeant Framingham pulled his helmet over his head and barely looked at me, all his focus on Jackson. “Head out after them. Make sure the town is secure. Don’t shoot to kill. These are fellow Americans, and we just need to find out what they want.” The men saluted him and ran out the doors.

Jackson sighed, relaxing again now that it was just the two of us.

“Let’s get you somewhere to sleep.” He started walking down the hall to the left, but I didn’t budge. Theresa was down there in that part of the house. Lurking, plotting, scheming, or something. Maybe berating Kestrel as we spoke.

“I have to get out of here!” I said through ragged breaths, my body trembling as I spoke.

“Violet, you can’t leave. We’re under lockdown. Five men from Knotwood came here with guns because they wanted something. We don’t know what that is. They could still be out there. My company and I are gearing up to go see if those men are gone or if they’ve moved on to attack the city.”

“How’d you know they were from Knotwood?” I tried to picture the men again after the light had come on. All I could remember was that one of them towered above the others with arms as big as my thighs.

Jackson’s voice showed no trace of irritation as he explained, “One had an alumni t-shirt from Knotwood High School, and another had something similar to a tattoo of a vulture across his forearm. We’ve seen more and more men who have attacked residents of Rock Ridge, sporting these tattoos.”

Even as I pictured them, I couldn’t remember those details. I’d been looking at their faces, trying to see them through the cloud my own fear.

I shook my head. “I still have to leave… now. I can’t let Theresa see me. I… it’s too late for me to come back here,” I explained. I imagined sneaking back to my room, untying Kestrel, and telling her we had to do it all over again tomorrow. There was just no way. Her eye was already bruised. I had to leave tonight, or my only opportunity would pass me by. Escaping now was my best bet, my only bet.

But inside of my persistence to leave, fear sprung up in my chest. The gunshots echoed in my head. I used to think it would be sort of neat to be able to say I’d been shot at, especially since we all praised those who had lived through firefights. But now that it had happened, there was nothing neat or even heroic feeling about it. My heart was trying to beat itself out of my chest, my breathing coming and going in haggard breaths. My nails made little indents in the palms of my hands where I’d been digging into them to stop them from shaking.

“You’re scared. That’s okay.” Jackson reached up to pat my shoulder or hug me, or something I had no clue of. Instead, I batted him away.

“Don’t,” I said angrily. “I can’t be here. When Theresa finds out I’m gone… I can’t be here when that happens.”

Jackson placed his hands on my shoulders and gave me all his attention. His eyes looked at me with such concern and sincerity that I’m sure it only intensified my heartbeats. For a dooming three seconds, I knew he recognized me. And I waited for him to say my name.

But he said nothing. He stared at me, narrowing his brows, the concentration just about making me crazy.

“What?” I shouted the word at him.

“It’s just, you remind me of someone.” His voice was still calm and level as he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

I blinked, my heart pounding in my ears. I reminded him of me, and yet, he didn’t say anything. Did he not recognize me after all? Maybe not. It had been over a decade. Back then I’d still worn my hair long, and I carried baby weight in my face longer than most kids.

And the version of me that he’d just seen and been told was “Ellie,” had long blonde hair and mounds and mounds of makeup all over her face.

I shook away the thoughts of how years spent working on the ranch had changed my physique. For whatever reason, Jackson didn’t recognize me. But as soon as Theresa reported me missing, he would know.

“Can I go now?” I asked impatiently.

Jackson placed a hand on my shoulder. “Violet, I’m not trying to be insensitive to your situation. I’ll take your word for it. You left Theresa. You don’t want her to see you ever again. But I can’t let you leave this house. Not tonight. It’s not safe out there.”

The shaking in my hands began to travel up my arms—whether out of fear for the men from Knotwood or the fear of what Theresa would do if she walked out of her room right now and saw me, wigless, talking to Jackson. She’d kill me or Johnny or both of us. Maybe not ‘kill,’ well, maybe, actually kill.

“Please.” I could hear the pleading in my own voice. “I’d feel safer out there with those men than I would in here with Theresa.”

Jackson looked over his shoulder. “Come with me,” he said, his handgun now visible in the holster at his side.

We wove down the hall into the complete opposite side of the ranch house from my room. I followed him up a flight of stairs and down the hallway to my right. Four triangular flag displays rested on a long, rustic wooden table. Enormous mounted longhorns hung above it. We stopped at a door beside a large painting of the Founding Fathers.

Jackson entered four numbers into the keypad outside of the large wooden door. He turned the knob, and we walked inside.

The chill of the evening dissipated as we entered the room, and immediately, I noticed the red, glowing embers of a fire in the fireplace. The vermillion, brown, and burgundy striped rug in front of it looked recently vacuumed. It smelled like pine, probably because of the green candle on the tall dresser, but I couldn’t help but attribute it to the pine dressers and headboard.

A huge painting of George Washington kneeling down in prayer covered the far wall above the fireplace. When I turned, the mounted elk head made me jump. As I moved backward, Jackson placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” I hissed, pushing his arm away.

“Are you… scared of me?” His brows furrowed, a look of hurt in his eyes.

“No… I just…” I rubbed my arm and took a few steps back and turned around. “I’m a bit shaken, and I wasn’t expecting you to take me to your bedroom.”

“I brought you here because you said that you don’t want Theresa to find you. I don’t know where she is, but I know that she isn’t in here. I also brought you in here because it’s the one place I can guarantee your safety and keep you away from her. I’m just amazed you don’t trust me.”

“I wouldn’t say that I don’t trust you, but I wouldn’t say that I do.” I moved over to the coffee-colored leather loveseat.

“I’ll try not be insulted by that since I just saved your life.” His voice became slightly rough and defensive.

My words rushed out, unfiltered. “I appreciate that, but isn’t it habit for you by now? You won’t let me fight because the law forbids me to as a woman. And you won’t let me leave because you don’t trust that I can take care of myself.” I spoke out of fear, but it sounded more like anger. I sat in the middle of the chair, deliberately making it so there wasn’t room for him on either side of me.

Jackson took a deep breath before he answered. His voice still carried a bit of an edge, but he kept it much more controlled than I had. “Not many good things came from the war, but I can tell you a few that did. I won’t send you out into potential danger because this war, this series of wars, awoke something inside of men that had been caged away. It’s inherent in us men—and yes, I feel that I can speak for most men—to protect women and children. Not because women aren’t strong enough or smart enough to fight, but because it’s our God-given responsibility to keep them safe.”

The walkie-talkie on his waist beeped. A voice came over. My bet was First Sergeant Framingham on the other side. “All clear, Sir. No sign of them.”

He picked it up and replied, “Roger that.”

I said nothing for a few moments. Instead, I looked around the room again, letting the scent of pine fill my nose while I steadied my breathing before I spoke again. “Like… chivalry?”

“Yes, something like that.” He walked over to his dresser and pulled a few electronic items from the top drawer. And here I’d thought chivalry had died alongside Ladies Luck and Liberty. That was one less casualty for me to mourn. I watched him curiously for a minute, realizing how heavy my eyelids had become. I looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw that it was already almost midnight.

The two-way radio beeped again.

“Jackson,” the voice said, “whisper.”

Jackson changed his radio to channel four. “Here.”

Austin’s voice was easy to recognize even over the static of the connection. “All clear?”

“Yes. Just some men from Knotwood.”

“Were you alone?” Austin asked.

“No, I was with a friend.” Jackson said it without reservation or hesitation.

“Is she okay?” Austin asked. I don’t know how he knew I was a girl, but I guess even Jackson’s own father knows how much his son likes to flirt. It wouldn’t make a lot of sense for Jackson to be out in the night with one of his guy friends. Or maybe Austin was just making a guess based on the male to female ratio.

“Yes. She’s fine.” Jackson looked at me and offered a small smile. I mirrored it without thinking.

“Meet me in twenty.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jackson said immediately, before turning his radio back to the previous channel. Channel nine.

I waited a second before saying, “You didn’t whisper.”

“It didn’t mean literally whisper. It just meant he wanted to talk. You’re a little hasty with your judgements.” Jackson pulled two more walkie-talkies from his dresser.

“So are you. I mean, you pretty hastily decided I was worth saving and that it would be safe to take me to your bedroom and tell me what ‘whisper’ means.”

Jackson laughed. It reminded me so much of when he was a teenager and he used to throw his head back and his dread locks would fly across his face every time an ump made a terrible call during our pick-up games as kids. He was laughing at me. Like I’d told a joke.

“I have no reason not to trust you, Violet. But anyone with a brain would be able to tell that you’re worth protecting.” He tossed one of the walkie-talkies across the room to me, and I caught it. “You a fielder?” he asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Usually first baseman or shortstop,” I said. Worth protecting? I couldn’t decide if he was complimenting me or insulting my ability to protect myself. My mind went back to my mitt, the old worn mitt that Theresa had thrown into the fire without regret. I flipped the black plastic box around in my hand. “What’s this for?”

“I can’t stay with you, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t care what happens to you or that I don’t want to help. You’ve made it very clear that you need to leave, and having Theresa see you is the last thing you want to have happen. I’m going to get you set up in one of our guest rooms for the night. I have to meet up with my dad and figure out what those men wanted.” Jackson stood and walked over to the door. I followed him. Popping his head outside, he checked for anyone coming by, then beckoned me out. We walked only three doors down the hall from his room.

“Jackson Wyatt,” he said into a small mic in the keypad.

The word “welcome” flashed across the small display screen. He punched in four numbers. I didn’t catch what they were.

“Enter a PIN,” Jackson directed. Remembering four numbers would be much easier than keeping track of a plastic keycard. I glanced at him while I pressed ‘1-2-0-6,’ wondering at first if I should try to conceal it from him, but obviously the entire home security system was voice-activated. All he had to do was say his name, and the door would open.

And contrary to what I’d previously said, I actually did trust him.

Mostly.

Jackson pushed the door open. We both walked in, and he closed the door behind us. This room was half the size of his room but twice the size of mine back home. The comforter on the bed was fluffy and tan and covered with a half-dozen earth-toned throw pillows. It smelled like old books and leather. Some nicely framed vintage movie posters decorated the walls, similar to those that hung in the room Kestrel now sat awaiting her fate with Theresa. I hope she’s going to be okay.

My eyes widened with excitement when I saw the display case in the corner, and I quickly ran to it.

Signed baseballs from almost everyone who was anyone sat like freshly scooped mounds of ice cream on their wooden pedestals. The one signed by Ted Williams had been given special attention; it wasn’t hard to understand why. He’d been most like the Wyatt boys—loved baseball but gave it up to protect America. Just like him, all but Jackson had paid with their lives.

“Ted Williams,” I gasped, placing my open hand on the glass like a child outside of a candy shop.

“Right?” Jackson beamed. “It was my brother’s. He saved for years to buy this ball. Then he shipped off for Basic Training about a year later. I was twelve. I always pretended that he bought it for me. His sort-of subtle way of giving me yet another reason to follow in the family footsteps and join the Army. I was so excited to add my name to the list of American Soldiers. I only prayed I’d be worthy of the position.”

When I was about twelve years old, my dad had bought a brand-new baseball and asked me to sign it for him. I’d laughed but signed it anyway. He purchased a nice glass case for it and kept it in the china cabinet in the dining room with the Russian nesting dolls. When I got a little bit older, I asked him why he kept it.

“You’ll be the first woman to play in the majors, and when that day comes, I’ll sell this to the highest bidder,” he said, and then he’d winked at me. I’d just shaken my head as a warmth spread from my heart to the rest of my skin. My dad really did believe I was the best ball player in Texas. But deep down inside, I knew that even if I did become famous someday, he’d never sell that ball.

Right after Theresa moved in, she’d unceremoniously threw the ball away. Thinking about it raised my heartrate again. My gaze dropped away from the case, and I turned to look at Jackson.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said from the doorway, probably taking note of my sudden irritation. “Get some rest, and if I don’t come by in the morning, turn your walkie on at eight to channel one. I’ll be in touch between eight and nine.”

I nodded but then asked, “You want me to just sit here until then?”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s only eight hours. Just sleep. And don’t worry—Theresa hasn’t reported anyone missing.”

“But once she does, it’ll be harder for me to leave,” I stated, knowing that if he realized I was Ellie, he might not be as keen on helping me out. No, I had to make sure to get away from here before he connected the dots.

“You’ll be fine. If she notices and makes a scene, then maybe my father will see what a terrible choice he’s made.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

I scoffed. “Don’t be sorry. I get it,” I said. Then muttered, “Better than anyone, I bet.”

He shut the door, and I heard the lock slip into place. I pulled my comfortable pajamas from my backpack, slipped them on, and promptly fell asleep in the queen-sized bed.

No worries of Theresa.

No worries of the men attacking from Knotwood.

No worries for Johnny… yet.

10

Loser Dream Team for Losers

I woke up a dozen times that night, mainly between the hours of midnight and three in the morning. I turned on the walkie-talkie each time. First, I went to channel one. Just static. Then I went to channel nine. It was mostly soldiers monitoring the perimeter of the property. Checking doors. Making sure everyone knew when their shifts ended. Not a word from Jackson. The last time I woke up and scanned through the channels, I heard him. Jackson. I knew it was a breach of privacy since I was on channel four, which, to the best of my knowledge, was meant to be exclusive communication between the Wyatts.

“So, where is she then?” Jackson asked, his voice crackling over the speaker.

“She’s in her own room,” Austin replied.

“Why did you get married if you’re just going to have separate rooms? I don’t really understand why you even brought her here.” His voice rung with irritation.

“We’ve talked about this, Jackie.”

Jackson’s replying sigh was loud enough to hear across the radio waves. It seemed that ‘Jackie’ was a soft reprimand. “I thought the plan was for you to check on Ellie like you said you would. And now I have a stepmom. I’m not trying to be childish about this, but this wasn’t the plan we’d discussed. It seems rushed to me.”

“You must not understand how important she is to me,” Austin said.

I rolled my eyes. At that, I shut the walkie-talkie off. I didn’t want to hear about how important Theresa was to Austin. It wasn’t only disgusting, it was disheartening. And maddening. I pulled the blankets clear up to my chin and went back to sleep, trying not to imagine the rest of the conversation.

When I woke up, I could tell that I’d slept for a long time, much longer than I’d planned. For one thing, I’d created a pile of drool on the pillow, and for another, I felt less sore than I had in years. I checked my watch. It was almost nine. I’d slept so deeply. No dreams. No one yelling at me to bring them breakfast. Nothing.

But it was almost nine. And I’d left the walkie-talkie off since I dropped back to sleep for the last time.

Surely Jackson had come by at some point. I’m typically a light sleeper. And I would have woken up if someone had knocked or opened the door. Throwing back the covers, I jumped out of bed and pulled my clothes back on.

Then I held down the rubber button on the walkie-talkie, turned to channel one, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

At 9:08 a.m., I decided I was an idiot for staying here the whole night. If I got caught now, especially after what Kestrel had done for me, I don’t know if I’d forgive myself.

I threw my bag over my shoulder and opened the door. A few people stood together down the hallway. Probably talking about how Ellie had disappeared in the night. My throat got a bit dry. Why did I let Jackson talk me into staying here for this long? So foolish. I pulled the hood from my striped jacket over my head and walked purposefully to the lobby.

Framingham, the First Sergeant from the night before, cleared his throat while I walked past him and to the door. The metal knob didn’t budge beneath my hand.

“You have to clock out,” he said, extending a hand.

“Oh, I’m not an employee. I was a guest,” I stated. Didn’t he recognize me as the girl Jackson had heroically saved last night?

“You have a PIN?” he asked.

I marched back over to the keyboard on his laptop, not bothering to conceal my irritation. I punched in ‘1-2-0-6,’ and a green bar appeared on the screen.

“Sorry about the inconvenience.”

“It’s fine,” I muttered.

The door opened, and the fresh morning air filled my lungs. This time, I didn’t waste a second. I sprinted down the main road and right through town, looking for Johnny.

First, I went to Johnny’s house. He lived alone on the far edge of Rock Ridge with a few broken-down houses and old trailer homes. Even though his living conditions were a stark contrast to my own, we had very similar household dynamics. He and I were both raised by our dads since we lost our moms at very young ages. I wish I could have met his mom. If she was anything like Johnny, then we’d have gotten along great. If she’d been alive, maybe it would have been like having my own mom. When Johnny was only two years old, she was hit by a drunk driver. She died on impact, and the paramedics spent hours trying to get Johnny out of the twisted, hot metal.

His father, Rick, was a really nice guy but very protective of Johnny. Quiet. Worked hard. Overly respectful whenever he and I spoke. My dad’s rank in the Army tended to make some people sort of uncomfortable around me. Rick was one of those salt-of-the-earth kind of guys even if he did get a little stiff talking about “General Hudson.” He enlisted right after the Water War started. We have no idea when, where, or how he died. But after two years with no contact, it seemed clear that Rick was never coming home.

Now Johnny lived alone in an actual brick and mortar house in the midst of the old trailer park. It was only two bedrooms—a rare thing in Rock Ridge, which used to be a pretty affluent town. Johnny almost always met me at my house or the stadium when we hung out. As if social standing still mattered to anyone anymore. Least of all me.

The few times I’d come to his place, Rick always made me feel like a guest of honor. I sort of felt uncomfortable, though I knew he meant well.

The first time I met Johnny, I was seven, and he was six. Though he’s only two months younger than me, I remember thinking for a while that I was much older and wiser than him. The difference between six and seven is exponentially larger than the difference between two seventeen-year-olds born fifty days apart.

I’d gone to the stadium with my dad, only to find a group of kids my age playing together out on the field. Dad told me to join them and make some friends. They were out there learning to play baseball just like me. I walked over with trepidation. Dad found a seat in the bleachers and opened his computer to do some work while I shuffled my way over to the dugout. I looked up at him one last time, and he gave me a nod and a smile.

“No girls allowed!” one kid growled as I came up to their group. I don’t remember who it was. I only remember a bunch of faces glaring at me and sticking their tongues out. But not Johnny.

“Of course, she can play with us,” Johnny had piped up.

“Girls don’t play baseball!” the boy argued back.

“Bet she plays better than you do!” Johnny laughed.

The boy barely even looked at me. “No one wants her on their team.”

Johnny tossed up the ball and caught it. Barely. “I want her on my team!” He motioned for me to come sit beside him on the bench.

“Some team you’ll make, you and her,” the boy teased, kicking the base of Johnny’s little crutch. That was the first time I noticed his leg as he fell forward and grabbed the chain-link fence to catch himself from toppling off the bench. At the time, I thought he just had a broken leg or foot or something, and that it would eventually heal over time. I didn’t know it would be forever. Not that it would have made any difference.

“Just watch,” Johnny’d said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “We’ll show them.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Loser dream team for losers,” the boy scoffed.

“They’ll see.” Johnny gave me a wink.

And that they did. We became inseparable over the years, winning more games than losing against the Shadows. The older Johnny got, the less they could compete with his throwing arm. He could pitch ‘em, and I could knock ‘em from Texas to Kentucky. Our loser dream team for losers became the winners that couldn’t be beat or brought down.

Until the Supply Wars killed baseball altogether.

I approached Johnny’s house and slowed my run, catching my breath. The front gate of the wooden fence wasn’t closed all the way as I pushed it open, the bottom dragging on the ground. Jaunting over the big cracks in the sidewalk path to his door, I pounded on it with my fist. The knob turned easily, and I poked my head into his dark house.

“Johnny, you here?” I shouted. No answer. Just dust and the faint smell of rotten food.

I walked in and looked around the kitchen, poking my head into the small bathroom and both bedrooms. Johnny wasn’t here.

I scribbled a note on an old piece of mail—Meet me at the Stadium tonight. Soon as possible.–E

I could have just sat around and waited for Johnny to come back, but quite frankly, the house smelled bad, and if I stayed, I’d feel inclined to clean it up. Which would be a waste of time since we were getting out of Rock Ridge tonight.

My stomach gurgled at me like it knew that there was still a bunch of food in the cupboards back at my house. I’d take this opportunity to grab more bags and raid my own pantry before we left.

I took off down the road, happy that spring afforded me enough cover in the form of blooms and blossoms all over the brush along the edges of the road, that I didn’t feel too exposed. I jogged the whole way back home, my heart racing in anticipation the entire time. Ten minutes later, my ranch—my great white home—came into view, along with groups of men tossing everything into cardboard boxes and taping them up with screeching rolls of box tape. I slowed down and crouched behind a row of bushes. Theresa didn’t tell me that the movers would be here this soon. I watched for a few moments as they packed up my life, including all my chickens. They left the big things since the boxes had filled their cart, and besides that, most of the furniture in my house was made of solid wood. It twisted my gut to see them taking my stuff. Stealing, since they didn’t have my permission. But they had Theresa’s. Her control would reach no bounds.

Someone touched my shoulder, and I nearly dropped to the ground, my heart slamming in my chest.

“Johnny, don’t scare me like that!” I whispered through gritted teeth. “When did you get so sneaky?”

He laughed, showing his crooked teeth. “Right, well, that’s another vote against getting a motorized scooter.”

I looked him over. His arms looked fine—uninjured. His legs looked, well, normal for him. At least, he wasn’t in a ravine. Theresa hadn’t gotten to him yet. I exhaled the long breath I’d been holding in.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

I smiled, meeting his gaze. “I’m just happy to see you.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were checking me out.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “Good thing you know better.” I pulled him in for a hug, not wanting to let go.

“You know, if you wanted to feel my biceps, all you had to do was ask.”

With an abrupt step backward, I playfully punched him in the arm and gave him an exaggerated grimace. “I don’t.”

“It’s fine with me. Friends can feel friend’s biceps.” He reached for my arm, and I batted him away.

“Friends? You didn’t even say hi to me at the wedding. I had to sit alone in the corner and pretend to be some emotionally-scarred mute.”

“You? A mute! Yeah, I heard. That’s just downright hilarious!” He gave me a little shove. “Can’t very well have a conversation with a mute, can I?”

“Well, Theresa threatened… me. I had to play the part. You still could have come over and said hi to me.”

“First of all”—he raised his eyebrows and stared at me—“no offense, but you looked like a creepy forgotten doll from some horror movie. What with that wig and layers of makeup.”

I punched him in the arm again. “You can’t say ‘no offense’ and then insult me.”

“I didn’t insult you. You’re gorgeous. Big bright eyes. Sassy hairstyle. But that makeup and that wig, wow, that was awful.”

“Oh, shut up.” My face got a little warm. “I guess it’s better you didn’t come over. You probably would have blown my cover.”

Johnny shrugged. “Someday you’ll take my advice and run away from Theresa.” He knew. Of course, he knew. He could see just as well as I could that this was the moment.

“Guess today’s the day I finally listen to you.” I winked at him and half-smiled even though my heart was not so jovial. I’d breathe easier when we were clear of Rock Ridge. “I thought we’d raid my pantry and go over to Knotwood. Get more food and supplies from there and head out into this damaged country and see what we can find. Maybe make for Corpus Christi, or even Houston.”

“Yeah, I’m prime company for traveling cross-country.” Johnny wagged his bad leg at me.

I slapped myself on the forehead. “I forgot to get the horses…” I confessed, realizing my mistake having been so distracted just trying to get off the Wyatts’ property and away from Theresa.

“Smooth,” Johnny said. “Well, we can’t raid your house while they’re packing anyway, and we can’t get anywhere without the horses.” He pulled a ball out of his backpack and smiled his toothy grin again. “If it’s going to be our last day in Rock Ridge… you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Of course.

We went to the stadium and played ball in what I could only assume would be our very last time. I got a bit nostalgic looking over the empty seats. We used to play games against Knotwood and Elm Grove and a couple other nearby towns. The stadium never filled up for us, but sometimes we’d get enough fans cheering that I could actually hear them above my heartbeat when I hit home runs. Occasionally, a few minor league teams played their games here. When I think about those games, I can still smell the hotdogs and buttery popcorn. It made me hungry, and we finally left, having paid our tribute to the field.

Johnny’s house was about a mile away. Between the stadium and the south edge of town where Johnny lived, it was mostly just sand and a smattering of scraggly bushes.

“Think they’re still packing up your house?” Johnny asked, taking the path that would lead us to his place. I’d walk him home and figure out my next steps to get us out of here.

“I doubt it.”

“If they left for the night, they’ll probably be back in the morning. Does Theresa know you’re gone?”

“By now, probably. I’m surprised it’s not national news.”

“Well, you have a lot to compete with on that front. You know, between the sky falling and everyone living in the 1800s again. A missing stepdaughter probably doesn’t make the cut.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. My plan to run away was poorly organized. Especially, now that I’d forgotten the horses. I looked back at Johnny. He wouldn’t complain about traveling around Texas, but it would be hard on him without horses. All too easily, I could imagine him making jokes about himself like, “And you thought I couldn’t get any skinnier,” or if he fell and broke his good leg, he’d say something like, “at least now they match.” I shook my head at the idea. There was a reason I hadn’t left Johnny here, and there was a reason we hadn’t left together.

Maybe I wasn’t really thinking through all my options. Plan A, I could sneak over to the Wyatts’ right now, but the stables might be locked by the security system. I could try my guest PIN and see if it opened the doors. But that was still a risky option. Plan B, I’d wait here at Johnny’s. See what Theresa did. But Theresa could easily come to expect I’d be hiding out at Johnny’s house, and I know how that would end.

We stopped walking for a minute, and I looked at Johnny. What if there was a Plan C? I could find Jackson and tell him everything. Tell him I was actually Ellie, and Theresa was a horrible narcissist, and his suspicions about her were spot on. But then what? Ask him for his protection for Johnny and me? Even though he didn’t like Theresa, would he really believe my word over hers once he found out I hadn’t been honest with him? I’d never lied directly, but lies can also be subtle—implied.

Tornado sirens interrupted my train of thought, the wails filling the whole town. My heart raced. The men from Knotwood must be back. We were only about half a mile from Johnny’s house. Johnny’s eyes didn’t widen, but he furrowed his brow in painful concentration as he tried to limp faster. I looked up to the hill. Three men rode on horseback, brandishing shotguns and rifles as if it were the Wild West. The sun hung low in the sky like fruit waiting to be picked. It cast long shadows off the men and their horses. If they made their way to us and were out for blood, Johnny would be an easy target.

It reminded me of the first few weeks after the EMPs shut down the power grid in America. No electricity. Dams shut down. Newer cars stopped working. Phones became obsolete. Everywhere getting ransacked as people looked for food. Good people became violent. A few men came to town and just started shooting people under the premise that it would save lives in the long run because we needed to make our food last. Austin Wyatt got together some soldiers and chased the murderers out of town. Or killed them. He never explained, and no one ever asked.

Johnny had been shot at a few times. Never when I was around, though I can’t say for sure what I would have done. Shot back, sure, but with the intent to kill? Maybe, I don’t rightly know. Anyone with any sort of disability got targeted in those early days because they wanted to make sure that the ‘best’ of us lived on past those dark days. Idiots. Johnny is the best of us.

The whining sirens pierced my ears, deepening my urgency to flee, and I moved in front of Johnny and squatted down. “Get on my back,” I ordered.

Johnny sort of laughed and sighed. He looked up to the hill where the men rode around, trailed by clouds of dust. We couldn’t hear gunshots over the sound of the sirens, but it was easy enough to imagine. “Hard to say no to a free ride,” he finally acquiesced and looped his arms around my neck.

When we were younger, I often gave Johnny piggyback rides. I told him it was thanks to him that I was such a fast runner. A few years had passed since the last time, now that Johnny had been trying to hold on to whatever pride he had left after the draft—but I’ll bet he still weighed less than I did. He and I both played off the piggyback rides like they were just for fun, but now, as I sprinted over the sand with Johnny on my back, my heart grew heavy. Right here, in this moment, I felt it break a little bit. Even though I carried him to save him from potential danger, I felt that this action stripped any remaining pride he had as a man. The fact that we were able to travel considerably faster when I, a girl, carried him, than when he hobbled along on his own two feet, only proved that he was unfit for war and so much more. A burden more than a help. If I didn’t know Johnny so well, I could hope that he was thinking about something else. But I know Johnny, and his thoughts mirrored mine.

Making it to his small house, we stumbled through the open gate and all but fell through the front door. Inside was decorated with only a few pieces of furniture. A big recliner that I hadn’t seen anyone use since his dad deployed, a long saggy couch with indents in the middle of each cushion, and a small dining room set with four seats. I sunk into the couch while Johnny locked the door and brought me a glass of water.

“You’re out of shape,” he said, passing the lukewarm drink to me.

“Apparently,” I panted.

“Well, in your defense, I have been bulking up.” He flexed his biceps as if to prove his statement.

I moved the glass away from my lips. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m drinking. I’ll choke.” I caught my breath before I took another drink. “I’d put you on the starting lineup of my loser dream team for losers.”

This time Johnny spat out his water, laughing. “Loser dream team for losers,” he mused. “That guy was such a dick. Wonder whatever happened to him.”

I think we both could guess. He probably got drafted and died overseas.

We sat, silently listening to the sirens, knowing that if the armed men showed up here and started banging down doors, they could easily find us and would most likely kill us on sight. I suddenly missed Jackson. His calming presence. His handgun.

After twenty minutes or so, the wailing of the sirens stopped. Eerie silence hung over Rock Ridge like a ghost. The sun would set soon, and Johnny and I hadn’t gotten anywhere. We’d lost the day, and I didn’t have any more time to try and think of the best plan. I just had to pick one and commit to it.

Plan A it was then. I’d just have to try my PIN at the stables, and if it didn’t work or if I got caught, I’d tell Jackson everything. Knowing what I had to do, I put the “what if’s?” and the worst-case scenarios from my mind.

11

On to Something

“I’ll get the horses and then come back and meet you in my barn. I’m betting Theresa told the packers not to bother with anything in there.”

“I’ll be there. Might help myself to your shotgun while I’m at it.” Johnny gave me a smirk as he turned in the direction of the ranch. I went the opposite way, heading back toward the Wyatts’.

“Be my guest,” I said, waving my hand behind me. If Johnny thought it was a bad plan for me to go back to the Wyatts’, he didn’t say so. He knew he couldn’t stop me from doing something I wanted to do. No one could.

I didn’t worry about Cheyenne or Savannah being outside. They hardly left the house back on the ranch, and now that they had employees waiting on them almost as if they were royalty, I doubted they’d ever leave the Wyatts’ mansion. Imagining what the turn-around rate of employees would be made me laugh. As well as the expectation that they’d both put on some extra pounds.

I can’t speak for how Americans used to view those who were overweight, but now that so much of the American population has starved to death, it’s probably normal to look at heavier weight people with disgust. As if they are the ones personally responsible for others’ starvation. It saddens me the way some people let their minds work.

The dirt crunched beneath my shoes as I approached the stables. Stepping gently, I strained my ears for the sound of anyone else. If someone approached me and asked me what I was doing, I’d need to lie.

But lying doesn’t come easy to me.

It’s too complicated. As long as I told the truth, I knew that no matter the outcome, my integrity would remain intact. But what did the truth matter, when the outcome of telling it spelled harm or even death for the people I cared about, like Johnny?

I pulled at the stable door, but just as I’d expected, it was locked. My fingers trembled a little as I pressed ‘1-2-0-6’ into the keypad. The wait lasted half a second, and for that half-second, my heart froze.

When the keypad lit up green and the door opened, I breathed again. While I was pretty certain there wasn’t anyone out here in the stables, I still kept my eyes and ears alert. I was determined to get my horses, no matter who or what tried to stop me. Once inside, the darkness dominated. Most of the horses slept, though a few whinnies and snorts broke the silence. Wood creaked as horses pressed against it. The familiar stench of horsehair and manure filled my nostrils.

After a minute or two of walking around, my eyes adjusted. I only needed to find Chestnut and Auburn, the two horses belonging to me. They wouldn’t protest. They always preferred me. Even to my own father.

The hinges on a door to my right creaked. I shifted around, my feet crunching the straw as I tried to decide whether to hide, run, or stay put. But it was clear that I wasn’t alone anymore.

All I could see for a moment were white eyes staring back at me in the darkness. My heart stopped. My lungs froze. Our eyes locked, and I looked at the figure, waiting for my pupils to dilate. The door shut behind his tall form, and my heart caught in my chest as I waited for him to speak first.

“Hi,” he finally said. His eyes stayed on my face. In just one word, I felt peaceful, his voice like a salve on my frayed nerves.

“Hi,” I repeated.

“What happened this morning?” Jackson asked. “I came to your room to talk, and you were gone.”

I broke away from his gaze and turned to the side. “You were late.”

“Well, I’m not usually late. If it had been a date, I wouldn’t have been.” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

I shook my head. Such a flirt. Though I had to give him credit for not recycling compliments. He often had new pick-up lines and slighted praises.

“I was eager to go. I’d made that clear last night.”

“Right. Well, you’ll have to excuse me; I’m not so eager to let you out of my life,” he said before gesturing around the stable. “Then why are you here? Where have you been all day?”

I scooted the straw around in the dirt with my shoe. “I came…” I tried to lie, but it was too hard. “I came to get my horses.”

“Your horses?”

“Yes,” I asserted.

“Don’t you mean Theresa’s horses?”

I shrugged. “Depends how you look at it.”

“So, you’re here to… steal horses?”

“I would never steal,” I snapped.

“Are you lying to me?” Jackson stepped closer to me. Maybe to intimidate me. Maybe just to get a closer look at me in the dimming light. But he managed to intimidate me.

“I wouldn’t dare.” I lifted my chin boldly.

“Are you being sarcastic with me? Because I honestly can’t tell at this point.”

“I’m serious in that I wouldn’t dare lie to you.” Not blatantly.

“But you just told me that if you took these horses, it wouldn’t be stealing.”

“Right,” I said, biting my bottom lip. “They’re not Theresa’s horses. They belong to Ellie. And she always let me take them out… when I needed them.”

“I see.” He was apparently working through something in his head while he bit the edge of his lip. His eyes widened as if he just realized something. “Of course, you would know Ellie, having worked at Hudson Ranch for Theresa. I should have known! How is she? How was she? How long has Ellie been like this? I have a lot of questions about her condition and Theresa. I want to trust Ellie, and I only trust Theresa about as far as I can throw her.”

Crap! This was going to spiral if I didn’t get a handle on it, and fast. But how could I lie to him, and yet not really lie? I needed to be able to talk about myself in the third person without being completely dishonest.

“I’m sorry, but Theresa has forbidden me from talking about Ellie Hudson.” I stated it without guilt.

“But you know her?” His eyes remained wide and interested.

“Yes, I know her.”

“You know her well?”

I played with the words in my head before answering. “Pretty well. I think she’s doing a lot better than she looks. And… she… um, I think that’s all I better say.” I looked down at my hands and picked nervously at a hangnail so I didn’t have to look at him while I twisted the truth.

“I’ll say this outright—you seem like you’re not telling me something.”

He wasn’t going to let it go. But I couldn’t have this conversation. It was too dangerous. “There are things about Ellie and Hudson Ranch that I’m not at liberty to talk about. I’m sorry.”

“Violet, you’re an interesting person. You run away from Theresa only to come back to my father’s stable to steal Theresa’s, I mean, Ellie’s horses, and you tell me that you can’t tell me anything else. And you expect me to be okay with that?”

“I told you that I wouldn’t lie to you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you everything.” I shifted uncomfortably from my right leg to my left.

“Why were you taking the horses?”

“Well, I have to get them to our friend Johnny.” I looked up at the white ceiling and blew air out into the group of short hairs hanging over my eyes. “See, he’s… like… half-lame. I mean, he walks irregularly.”

“Johnny Kensrue?”

“Yes, Johnny Kensrue.”

“I know Johnny.” Jackson smiled. “Nice guy. Good arm. When I was a kid, he pitched in most of our pickup games. He and Ellie were always thick as thieves. You’d never see one without the other. They’ve always had something of a thing.”

A thing? What sort of a thing did he think we had? “I don’t know about a thing, but I know she’d want me to make sure Johnny stayed safe. When you stopped me yesterday, I was headed to his place. I have to get both of us out of here and away from Theresa. I need these horses so we can leave Rock Ridge. Theresa warned me that if I didn’t do… that if I left, she’d hurt Johnny. She said he’d never play baseball again.” The words cut me again as I repeated her threats.

“That bitc—“ Jackson bit his lip. “I don’t like that woman,” he stated. Before I could blink, he reached over and set his hand on mine. “I’ll go find Johnny myself, and I’ll bring him here.”

“But Theresa will see him.”

Jackson waved his hand as if to dismiss my fear. “I’ll hire him on as Wyatt Staff, not as Guest Staff. He’ll stay in the Employees Only part of the house. Besides, if he’s in my house, I can keep him safe.”

I don’t know why, but the way Jackson said that bothered me. I guessed because it was operating under the assumption that Johnny needed Jackson’s protection. But wasn’t that the whole point? Isn’t that exactly what I was trying to do too?

Jackson continued, “We’ll just make sure he’s never alone. If she finds him, she won’t be able to do anything here. I have security cameras throughout the house. She seems to be working desperately hard to make sure that my dad doesn’t see her true side.”

I could have bit my tongue, but instead, I let my question out. “I’m curious, not trying to contradict you, but what makes you hate her so much?”

“It’s sort of a long story, and I’m not sure I have a lot of time to explain it all right now. I was in a meeting when Brennan alerted me that you were in the stables. I snuck out under the premise of taking a bathroom break. I’ll keep this brief; otherwise, my absence will begin to be noticed.” He smiled his perfect-teeth smile. “Basically, I didn’t know Theresa at all. But I knew Ellie. She was a tom-boy who played with us a lot growing up. She had one heck of a mouth and even more of a swing. I don’t know if you got to know that side of her. But my dad’s friend—Ellie’s father—married Theresa shortly before he passed away. I didn’t see Ellie a lot once my nanny got serious about my schooling before I left for the war. A lot changes with war.” Jackson shook his head, pausing for a minute as he looked down at his hands.

“When Theresa first started dating my dad, it just felt weird. I’d ask her about Ellie, and she told me that Ellie wasn’t herself anymore. But her story didn’t really make sense. She kept talking about how much she’d helped Ellie, or at least how much she’d tried to help her recover from shock and loss and stuff. But Ellie wasn’t one to be that way. I didn’t believe it until yesterday when I finally got to see Ellie at the wedding. Her face was so smeared with makeup that I couldn’t even recognize her. Maybe I wouldn’t have anyway, but the worst part was the way that she wouldn’t talk. She just… refused.” Then Jackson chuckled. “She did laugh a little, though. I hope being here will help her. I think I can get her to open up to me. What do you think? Is it possible?” His direct questions caught me off guard.

“I guess… if I personally thought I could help Ellie, I would stay. But the best way for me to help her, is for me to leave.” I tried to tiptoe around the truth. I wasn’t used to talking in the third person. It felt very close to a lie.

“Did you spend a lot of time with her? Did she talk to you?”

I scratched the back of my neck and averted his eyes. “I spent almost all my time outside on the ranch and in the barn. With the animals. I did some work in the house but very rarely in Ellie’s room.” I moved the conversation back to him. “So, you don’t like Theresa because of how Ellie looked at the wedding? And because Ellie didn’t come to dinners with your family?”

“No, you see, the only thing that could have made Ellie become so physically superficial and emotionally damaged is years of abuse. And Theresa was her provider. So, yes, I blame her. I mean, you’re running away. Doesn’t that mean I’m on to something about Theresa?”

My heart nearly stopped beating, and my face must have shown it.

“You all right?” Jackson asked, setting his hand on my shoulder.

“I just… I can’t say anything else about it. Theresa or Ellie. I would help you if I could, but… I can’t.”

He shrugged. “If you can’t say more, then you can’t say more. But your face and flight from Theresa have confirmed at least some of my misgivings.”

Jackson seemed very intent on helping me—Ellie —even now. I had to know if I’d been reported missing yet. Surely, Theresa had noticed by now. And if she did, why hadn’t she said anything?

“How is Ellie today?” I asked while staring at the ground where my shoes had cleared the straw away.

“She’s fine.” He lifted one shoulder. “Pretty weird, actually.”

“Today?” I repeated, turning to him.

“Yeah, I stopped by this afternoon, and she was more silent than yesterday. I couldn’t get her to laugh or anything.”

“You stopped by and saw Ellie today?”

“Yes.” Jackson looked at me suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just… clarifying.” My mind began to race.

“Yep. I went by to talk to her about a missing employee. I tried to ask her a few questions, but she just stared at the floor. Looked sad. Scary hair and a bit disheveled with completely overdone makeup. Nothing like the Ellie I knew.”

“Did you find the missing employee?”

“No, but you know how it is. With millions missing, it’s hard to know where to start.”

“Well, maybe they’ll turn up.”

“Or maybe Theresa scared her away the way she did with you. I wasn’t completely joking about a mass exodus of employees. We’ve already had a few people ask to be moved to another part of the house. A couple left right after the wedding, if it could be called that.”

I swallowed hard. “People can only take so much, but I think she’ll turn up.”

I’d run away from Theresa and now—now she wasn’t even reporting me as missing. What was she plotting next? There was a girl in my room, masquerading as me, and I had no doubt Theresa was behind it. Somehow, she’d found a replacement. Or hired one.

Or coerced someone.

Then it struck me—Kestrel. The missing employee. My replacement. It had to be her. She was still in my room.

And she was being held prisoner.

I couldn’t steal the horses.

I couldn’t tell Jackson that I was Ellie.

And now I couldn’t run away with Johnny because, before anything else, I had to make sure Kestrel wasn’t in danger. I had to find out what Theresa was up to, keeping someone up there who wasn’t me. And if she had Kestrel up there, who knew what she was doing to her or how she was treating her.

The small, purple bruises on my arm gave me some idea. Would Theresa go so far as to hurt Kestrel as well?

12

The Heart of America

“Are you okay?” Jackson asked, opening the door to the stables again. The light from the setting sun lit up the sky behind him. His silhouette in the doorway looked so big and strong. Almost regal.

“Yeah,” I said uncertainly. “I guess so.”

“Come with me.” He made his way around the side of his mansion. I followed, thinking too much about my replacement—about another life that was in danger because of me—to decide where I should be going right now. Or what I should be doing.

I was free of Theresa, at least temporarily. Jackson would hire Johnny as an employee. By the way it sounded, a live-in employee. Johnny would probably have mixed emotions about it. He’d been applying for jobs at the Wyatt Mansion for the past few months to no avail. I asked Jackson, and he agreed to hire him instantly. Maybe I should keep that detail to myself.

We walked across the stretch of land between the stables and the back side of the enormous house.

Jackson spoke his name into a microphone, and a painted, white door unlocked. He pulled it open, and we entered a part of his house I hadn’t seen before. He took just a few steps down the hall and turned to the right. We walked into a den decorated in Americana, and he sat down on a leather, brown recliner, gesturing to the one across from him.

“I thought a lot about what you said last night,” he began. Though a bit hesitant, I took the proffered seat. “You’re right. We’ve been so focused on preserving American soil that we have been losing what makes America, America—to be perfectly blunt.”

“Oh, yeah, I did say that,” I replied as I pulled myself out of my spiraling thoughts and tried to remember everything I’d told him the night before. It’s strange to me that I can be so reserved with how I talk to Theresa and so careless when I speak to others. It was true that I used to have quite the mouth. Theresa taught me not to be so blunt. To get a filter. But I only really used it with her. Maybe being blunt was me rebelling against her. Either way, blunt could still be kind… I think.

“My dad suggested we should start a committee to save the culture of Rock Ridge. A cultural preservation project. America is vast, but we can start here. Then share it with surrounding areas and, eventually, the whole Republic of Texas.”

“The Republic of Texas?” I repeated.

“Well, that’s the plan. It’s the best option for restoring what we had. It’s not like we have to reinvent the wheel, or the Constitution, or the culture.”

“So, the plan is to become the Republic of Texas?” My voice sounded irritated. I guess I was. “Not the United States of America?”

Jackson shifted, leaning toward me and softening his expression. “We have to define a new normal.”

“I don’t want to define a new normal. The old normal was perfect. East coast colleges. West coast beaches, Hollywood—“

“Violet, I get it. We want to go back to how things were, but we have to start small. Model it after the old one while forging new paths. It shouldn’t take that long.” He stood up and walked over to stand in front of an unlit fireplace, where a large painting of the original American flag with her thirteen stars and stripes hung over the mantle. “Once we restore communication, we can unify the States again. The effects of the EMPs will wear off in about a year. Then we can assess what to do about America then. But the first thing we have to do is get our town figured out. Then our county. Then our state. Then our country. It sucks, but it’s just the truth.”

I turned away. “I’m not really interested in the politics of it.” Johnny would know what to say here. He’d have an opinion about forming the Republic of Texas. While I wasn’t politically involved enough to know what was best for everyone, Johnny surely did. At least, he thought he did.

Johnny! Surely, he was worried for me by now. It doesn’t take that long to get horses for an escape. Apparently, escaping wasn’t in my skill set or my future.

“You don’t have to be involved with the politics of it except for when it comes time to vote.” Jackson walked over and rested his hand on my shoulder. “But I am asking you if you want to be on the Cultural Committee.”

I whipped my head around and wiped his hand off my shoulder. “You want me on a cultural committee for preserving aspects of the American culture? I don’t understand.” I couldn’t hide the confusion in my voice.

“Yes, I do. You know a few things about America. Names like Jack, apple pie, Hollywood, rock and roll, country music… you identified a lot of aspects of America that we don’t want to lose.”

I gave Jackson an odd look.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Why me?”

“Why not?”

“You only just met me. You have no idea who I am.” I looked down and pulled my left foot onto the chair I was in and started fiddling with the laces. He really has no idea.

“And yet I do. You showed me last night that the heart of America still beats in people like you. People who care about where we came from. You just said the old normal was perfect. Maybe we can’t bring everything back from those days of old, but we have a chance to show the people of our town that we have not forgotten who we are or what we’ve endured.” Pointing up at the flag above the mantle, he continued, “That’s what they fought for, what I fought for, what I will always fight for.”

Jackson’s impassioned speech touched on those parts of my heart that had been oppressed and made to lie dormant.

Then, he said something that took me by complete surprise.

“You gave me an idea last night too. I’m going to organize a baseball team for Rock Ridge. Holding tryouts next week. I’m spreading the idea to surrounding towns so we can compete with one another once again. Nothing like a good friendly competition.”

“You’re putting together a baseball team?” I almost jumped up in excitement.

“You sound mad. Don’t you think it’s a good idea?” he asked.

“I think it’s a great idea!”

Then he started asking me which players I liked best and which seats I preferred. “Help me put together this team for Rock Ridge.”

My heart dropped a bit. He thought I meant that I loved watching baseball, which I do. Or I did when there was any baseball to watch. But the real joy came for me when I played.

“Yeah… I mean, I’d love that.” I don’t know why I didn’t just clarify. It would have been easy to just say, ‘No, I love playing ball. Put me on your committee, and then put me on your team.’ But the mood between us was really fun. Happy. He seemed to think I was cool, and the way he kept casually touching me was sort of nice even though I knew he was flirtatious with pretty much every girl in Rock Ridge. I’d postpone telling him for now; maybe I’d just show up at tryouts and surprise him there.

“So, will you also be on the committee?” Jackson asked, now standing close enough that I could smell his cologne.

“Sure,” I said. “But no boring meetings.” I wagged a finger at him.

“Deal.” He reached out his hand, and I shook it, sure to make a firm grip.

“Wanna meet up again tomorrow and talk about some more ideas?”

“I just said no boring meetings!” I raised my eyebrows, pretending to scold him.

“It won’t be a boring meeting. Just you and me… and lunch?”

A date? A meeting? Again, I could have just clarified, but if it wasn’t a date, then suggesting it might be awkward. My heart hammered quickly at the idea of a date with Captain Jackson Wyatt, but my head mocked me. Why would he ask me on a date? That was so silly. He wouldn’t. It was more of a business lunch or whatever.

“Sure,” I echoed my last agreeable reply.

“Great. And now that I’ve taken the longest bathroom break ever, I need to get back to my boring meeting.” He winked and started for the door. “I’ll put Johnny’s info in the system right after I’m out. He should be able to get set up within a couple of hours. They’ll give him a photo ID with a PIN and everything. I can go pick him up after I’m out and bring him back here.”

I panicked. Johnny was probably already in my barn where I’d told him to meet me.

“No!” I said, a little too abruptly. Jackson raised his eyebrow. “I mean, it’s getting late, and you have your meeting. I can just go let him know.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” If Jackson went to Johnny’s house, and then if he—nope, there was no other solution.

Jackson nodded. “Okay. But make sure you come back here before it gets too dark. It’s not safe to be outside at night right now.”

“Yessir.” I smiled, and Jackson rolled his eyes, laughing. “What should I do when I return?”

“Whatever you’d like. You can go back to your room. It’s down the hall from here and up the flight of stairs; you should be able to find it from there. Order dinner.” He shrugged and stepped out of the room. “I’ll be in touch about lunch tomorrow.”

I nodded and then waited until he had been gone for a few minutes before I started analyzing everything about our conversation. Had I been flirting with him? Was I rude? Was I nice? How did I look? I still had on the same clothes from last night.

I found my way back to the lobby and quickly through the front doors, never knowing who I might run into if I lingered anywhere near the left side of the house. Normally, I’d have just run back to my place to check on Johnny, but I was already tired, and I didn’t want him getting nervous if it was taking too long.

Accessing the stables was far less anxiety-ridden this time. And when the keypad flashed green, Jackson didn’t come looking for me. Auburn snorted and stamped her feet happily when I found her. “Hey girl,” I said, briefly resting my forehead between her eyes. I reached for the blanket, intending to saddle and bridle her, but then I dropped my hand. The fastest I’d ever safely saddled her was about seven minutes, and that was only because she was extremely cooperative.

“We’re going bareback. Are you going to be careful with me?” I stroked her face and looked into her eyes. She tossed her mane as if to ask me when we were going to get out of these unfamiliar stables.

I could ride her without bridle and reins, but she didn’t always respond to my signals and efforts to steer. And it was already pretty dark now. I tried to imagine Paul Revere taking his midnight ride without reins or a saddle. He was in a hurry, but he hadn’t been stupid about how to go about his ride. Auburn would be very careful with me, but I didn’t know the last time she’d been taken out by a saddle boy now that she was at the Wyatts’. Not to be presumptuous, but I think I’m her best friend. At the very least, she missed me.

I’d forego the saddle, but I needed the reins. She made it easy for me when I slipped the bit into her mouth. Three minutes later, I had the reins in place and decided it was good enough.

I opened the gate, and she followed me out and through the corral, where I swung the larger gate just wide enough for her to get through. Chestnut, my other horse, would have bolted at the prospect of freedom if I wasn’t holding his reins tightly. Auburn got even closer to me and pushed her nose into my back, anxious.

“I’m coming.”

I lead her next to the fence so I could use it to get up on her back. As an American Quarter Horse, she was very fast at sprints, but I’d never clocked her going more than forty-five miles an hour. We weren’t going to be breaking any records tonight. Not with so much random debris in our path.

Climbing up, I gave her a hug before sitting up straight and tall, as if she were saddled. My legs flexed, redistributing my weight, and Auburn understood my signal. She started to walk. “Little more now, sweetie,” I said, tightening my grip with my legs. She transitioned to a canter, and I fell into beat with her rhythm.

It’s funny how much you can love an animal. Not funny, I suppose, after everything we’d been through together. I hardly even had to steer her. I think she wanted to go home.

She slowed down at my direction as we came up to the far side of my corral. While I seriously doubted any of the movers were still there or that Theresa had sent anyone to my house to look for me, I couldn’t be too careful. I jumped off her back and opened the rear fence. Even without holding the reins, she followed me up to the edge of the barn, where I could see a hint of light coming from below the doors.

“Johnny,” I said. “Don’t shoot us, okay?” The door creaked as I opened it, and the first thing I noticed was a metal lantern, with a glass chimney and a flickering candle within, sitting on the barn floor and casting small shadows across the walls. Auburn trotted in behind me and helped herself to some of the hay, happy to be home. I quickly walked over to the lantern. A couple of mice panicked and ran back to their hiding places in the far corners of the barn.

I heard Johnny’s breathing before I saw him. Slow, deep, calm. Johnny had made up a bed on a pile of hay, using some of the spare blankets. He was peaceful there, resting up before what he believed would be our grand escape from Rock Ridge. Was he going to be happy we weren’t leaving yet? Or would he tease me for being so fickle?

I stared at him for a minute while he slept, just to watch him. His bat-cane leaned against the side of the barn right beside the shotgun that he’d obviously put within arm’s reach. Lot of good it did him, I thought, easily getting within striking distance.

“Johnny.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I have something to tell you.”

He muttered and then sat up suddenly, his eyes widening for half a second until he registered that it was me. “Oh,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “And you said I was the sneaky one.” He looked around and saw Auburn, then kept looking around. “Where’s Chestnut?”

“I didn’t bring Chestnut.”

He nodded slowly as if coming to an understanding. “I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“Explain what?”

“You’re not wrong. You’ll be better off leaving me here, but won’t you miss me?” Were those tears in his eyes, or was the candle playing tricks on me?

Suddenly, it dawned on me. “Oh Johnny.” I grabbed him tightly. “I’m not leaving you, you idiot!” He returned my hug and held me close for a few seconds. “I only brought one horse because we’ve had a change of plans.” He let go, and I sat back up and smiled, seeing the relief on his face.

“We’re not leaving?”

“No, Jackson told me he was looking for you today, to let you know that your application was approved, and they want you to start first thing in the morning.”

“Jackson? As in Austin’s son? You’re here to tell me that I have a job at the Wyatts’? Ellie, a job isn’t a good enough reason to give up our plans.”

“It’s not just that. Theresa is up to something, and I want to know what it is before I leave her here to unleash another war.”

“I thought you gave Theresa the slip?”

“I did, but I’m still staying at the Wyatts’, just on the other side of the house. Away from her.”

“So, we’re staying?”

“For now,” I said. “Just until we have a better plan. Won’t hurt for you to make a little money for the trip either.”

“Okay, I’ll come to the Wyatts’ first thing in the morning and see what job they’re offering. You play the spy and figure out what Theresa’s plans are. Then, when you’re ready, we run.”

“Deal,” I said. “Do you want a lift back to your house?” I waved at Auburn waiting patiently. “Or are you staying here tonight?”

“I’m already here. No reason to leave.” He’d spent more nights on my barn floor than I had. “You’re welcome to join me. Plenty o’ straw to go around.” He gestured to the huge piles of hay. “Or if you’re looking for a little bit of a firmer bed, you could always try one of the bags of fertilizer.” He smirked as he gave the bags lining the wall a sidelong glance. They’d been easier to buy in bulk, but now I doubted we’d ever use them all.

I shook my head with a chuckle and a playful punch to his arm. “Yes, and come morning, I’d smell like heaven itself.”

Johnny laughed so hard, he snorted, startling Auburn, who perked her ears up and whinnied. “You’d still smell better than Theresa.”

It was my turn to snort with amusement.

“Sorry, I have to get back. Use the right-side entrance to get into the Wyatts’ tomorrow. Stay away from the left wing of the house,” I warned him. “Sweet dreams. Don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

“I’ll bite ‘em back.” He grinned as he lay back down on the hay, crossing his arms behind his head. I led Auburn from the barn and closed the door gently behind me.

Auburn took the ride back a little more slowly, and I didn’t blame her. Trips home are normally shorter than trips leaving, but were we going away or coming home? An odd thought that I dismissed as I got her safely secured back in the stables and entered my PIN on the right side of the house.

My stomach threatened to keep me awake all night if I didn’t get some food, but I figured the room service that Jackson had mentioned couldn’t still be running at this hour. Following Jackson’s directions, I found my way back to my bedroom, where I took a quick shower. Just as I threw my shirt on and finished getting dressed, someone knocked at my door.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

“Room service,” Jackson called from outside my bedroom. I opened the door, still drying my hair with my other hand. “I got a notification when you got back. Wanted to make sure you don’t go to bed hungry.” He handed me a bowl of warm chowder with bits of scrambled eggs mixed in a salty broth.

“Everything go okay with your meeting? No one questioned your bathroom habits?” I asked with a smirky grin, sipping up a delicious spoonful of the soup.

“I might have mentioned something about the laxatives in the MREs,” he said. I knew firsthand how those military meals, ready-to-eat, could wreck your GI system, and my face must have shown a bit of concern. “I’m kidding. No one said anything. It was fine. I’m fine.”

I swallowed the liquid, downing my meal more quickly than was polite. “Johnny said he’ll be by in the morning,” I told Jackson between bites. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

“Great,” Jackson said, taking my dishes once I was done. “Get some rest, Violet. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say, feeling a bit unsure about all the service I’d been receiving in his home.

He left, and I checked to make sure the door shut and latched. Then I fell onto my bed. Too tired to think about Johnny, or Jackson and our possible date, or the fact that Kestrel might not have left my room yet. I wondered if maybe she’d misunderstood my instructions when I’d tied her up and ran. But I’d been pretty clear. Clear enough that she’d given herself a black eye to look like she’d fought me. Not to look like she was me.

But for now, I was too tired to think about it anymore. Too tired to worry about Theresa or anything at all.

Too tired to even change into something more comfortable than jeans.

My eyes closed, and my mind shut off moments after.

13

First Date

“You have a working car!?” I shouted in delight as Jackson threw the tarp off a blue pickup truck.

He’d come to my room just after breakfast and told me to get ready. Though he’d originally said it was a lunch date, apparently, he meant it as a day-date. Thankfully, I’d showered the night before.

And it became obvious pretty fast that it was, in fact, a date. First, because of his casual attire. He came to get me, wearing a light blue V-neck shirt and worn jeans that fit him nicely on the butt. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice. Secondly, because he would only be taking me for a joyride in his truck if it were a date.

“Yes, I have a truck.” Jackson chuckled as he opened the door for me, and I climbed in, heart pounding excitedly as if I were about to ride on a roller coaster.

He climbed into his seat, turned the key, and the engine gurgled alive. It sputtered, and I laughed as we started down the bumpy dirt. His house sat on the edge of Rock Ridge. Behind it lay desert. Desert and a mostly dried-up river.

Of all the things I missed—my father, movies, music, and baseball—I never anticipated the little things war would take from me. As the engine growled beneath the rusty metal top—a beautiful sound, like an old friend to me—we sped off down the dirt road and left our small town in the rearview mirror. Dust flew out behind us, dancing to the music in my heart as we drove.

Jackson didn’t say anything, and neither did I. Air blew all around us through the open windows, making my hair do crazy things, and my heart even crazier things.

We drove for only about ten minutes, but those ten minutes felt like heaven. For that little window of time with Jackson, the world felt right. Like two country kids out for a joyride. No worries about the war. Not two kids forced into adulthood by tragedies. I turned to him. Our eyes met, and I felt like we shared the exact same thoughts.

He pulled up near a large pile of boulders near the riverbank and turned the key. I jumped out of the car and walked to the edge of the ravine. At the very bottom, near the cracks and patches of dry earth, a tiny trickle of water wove its way down toward Rock Ridge.

“Let’s walk for a bit.” Jackson reached out his hand.

I looked at his smooth, dark skin, and it invited me. How easy it would be to take his hand, but I’m stubborn. I couldn’t make it quite that easy for him. Instead, I looped my elbow with his as he pulled his green camouflage backpack over his shoulder.

I could have asked where we were going, but I didn’t care. And it didn’t matter. He followed the river upstream, and I went along.

“Did Johnny get in okay this morning?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s working as a supervisor in the kitchens. Good fit for him?” Jackson raised his eyebrow hopefully.

“I mean, he’d rather be the official pitcher for Rock Ridge, but that should suit him nicely for the time being. Thank you.” I was able to rest easier now that I knew Johnny was safe.

“I’ll take it into serious consideration,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye. “So, Violet, tell me about yourself.”

I stared out at the trickling water. “Well…” I had to be honest with him. Not lie about anything. Not outright anyway. But I still couldn’t stand to tell him that I was Ellie. That Theresa was a horrible person. That someone sat in my room in his house possibly being held without her consent while forced to impersonate me. None of which makes for good first date material. And to be honest, I wanted to have a second date. “I like fall,” I said finally. “I like apples and baked goods. I prefer fresh ones, but I actually don’t mind the ones packed with preservatives that have been around forever. Frosting is still frosting.” I met his gaze, and he smiled at me.

“Oh, yes, you like classic America. Apple Pie. Country music. Classic rock. Baseball.” I smiled back as he spoke. “But tell me more.”

I felt my face get warm, and I thought again for a second. “I don’t like cats.” I paused as I considered why. I didn’t like that they always decapitated the mice in my barn and left their bodies for me to clean up. I made sure to leave that particular detail out, though.

Jackson laughed. “What else?”

“I think it’s your turn.”

“Oh, please, you already know enough about me.”

“Oh really? What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one, you agreed to come with me today.” He gave me a smile that sent tingles down my spine. “Which means you must have a pretty decent opinion of me. I’d hate to spoil it by telling you about all my unsavory characteristics.”

“Unsavory, you say?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “Unfortunately, I do have some.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.” I was well aware that I was flirting. At least, I was trying to. I didn’t actually have a lot of experience in this arena.

We stepped over some larger rocks and through a few sparse bushes fiercely clinging to the edge of the mostly dry river.

“Tell me what you do know about me.” He unwound his arm from mine and took a seat on a large rock beneath an ash tree. I sat beside him, close enough that my heart pattered, but not so close that we were touching anymore.

“You’re Jackson Wyatt. You’re a Captain in the United States Army.” I thought for a minute before saying anything else. If I said too much, he would know that I knew him before the war. If I said too little, then I had little reason to have trusted him to take me away from town like this. “People say you were some type of hero on the battlefield.”

“Oh, do they?” he said, scratching his face.

“You like baseball. You love America. You love Texas. You’re charming…”

“What was that?” he asked with a grin.

“I didn’t want to say flirtatious because that can have negative connotations, and I was trying to stick to your good qualities.”

“So, charming is a nice word for flirtatious?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, I suppose I should say thank you, then, but I’m not sure it would be appropriate.”

I looked down at the little bit of water and followed its path with my eyes. Some branches and rocks had fallen in and created a dam. The water pooled here. Not a large pool, but it was pretty, the little ripples refracting the sunlight.

“I’m impulsive,” Jackson said. “I’m competitive. Overly assertive at times. Too passive at others.” I looked up at him, the serious tone catching me off guard. His eyes weren’t as playful anymore. “And I’m a bit too flirtatious, it would seem.”

“Now you’re taking things out of context. I intended it as a compliment.”

Jackson shrugged and pulled the backpack to the front of him. “Just for the record, I say nice things to lots of girls, but I only take those who catch my interest for rides and picnics.”

He reached into the backpack and pulled out a few peanut butter sandwiches, two apples, and one large bottle of water. When I reached for the sandwich, he moved his hand so that I grabbed his fingers instead. I flinched but regretted it immediately. His touch was cool, just unexpected. Turning his hand over, he gave me the peanut butter sandwich, a small smile on his face.

For the rest of the date, we talked about the stadium. Cleaning it up. Rebuilding some of the seats. We discussed Rock Ridge, not ourselves. But I thought about him. I watched the way he moved. The way his muscles contracted when he picked up his backpack. He reached out to help me up, but afterward he took his hand away.

The ride back filled me with nearly the same happiness as the ride out, except I was a bit troubled. Did he really like me? How many girls had he taken out for a picnic? Had he figured out who I was? Maybe he’d just given me a chance to tell him, and I’d missed it.

Or maybe he liked ‘Violet’ and genuinely wanted to get to know her. Maybe I’d said stupid things or offended him when I didn’t want to hold his hand. Should I reach over now while he was driving, and touch his arm?

A hundred questions plagued my thoughts until we got back to the mansion. He threw the tarp back over the top of the truck, and we walked together to the same house. It would have felt strange, except that his house, being so large, felt more like a hotel.

“Thank you. It was fun,” he said, giving me a quick hug. I wanted it to linger. Gently wrapped up in his arms gave me a sense of peace. My head rested briefly on his huge shoulders, and I breathed him in, wishing to rest there for a while. But he pulled away.

And I let him.

Back in my room, I stared at the ceiling. Not that I was bored, but it felt wrong not having more work to do than was possible. No having to feed my chickens or water the garden or brush my horses or make meals. I didn’t mind the break, but it did make me feel sort of, well, sort of useless. Or at the very least, less useful.

The more I thought about everything, the more confused I became over what to do. I began to second guess my original plan to run away. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of staying here. But it made more sense than trying to take my horses out from under Theresa’s nose and smuggle Johnny out of Rock Ridge.

We currently had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Besides, there really was nowhere to go. Southern hospitality might not have been snuffed out, but she was definitely comatose for now. Generosity wasn’t really a crowning attribute of people anymore. You don’t share your food with strangers, you shoot them. And at the very least, you let them starve. While that reality, that version of America broke my heart, it was the world we lived in... for now.

I had to be at peace with the decision not to run away from Rock Ridge with Johnny. And the only thing I was sure about was that I didn’t want to leave without him. He was all the family I had left.

But the matter that Theresa hadn’t reported me missing and “Ellie” was still in my old room had me nauseous with worry. And while I knew Theresa could stoop to such low depths for her ambition and power, it hurt that Cheyenne and Savannah, who were surely in on it, didn’t miss me at all. Especially Cheyenne. She was a pain and a brat, but she at least sort of felt like a sister. Sometimes. I’d held her the first time a boy broke her heart, and wiped the tears off her freckled cheeks. I’d been there to console her when Savannah stained her favorite comforter with nail polish.

It stung that my ‘sisters’ were just going along with the charade. Neither of them would ever wear that wig or don that makeup. And the very idea that they would subject another person to such treatment as well turned my already nauseous stomach into more knots.

My only conclusion was that Kestrel had completely misunderstood when we swapped places, or she was being held against her will. And the latter is what had me the most anxious.

Either way, my stepsisters didn’t even care.

About me...or Kestrel.

14

The Imposter

I would have preferred not to think about where Theresa crept around in the wee hours of the night, but I had to wonder. Thinking about her made me so livid, and I didn’t like that side of me. Bitter. Angry. What Austin had said to Jackson kept ringing in my ears. “You must not understand how important she is to me.”

I wasn’t finding out about who this new Ellie was for Theresa or out of revenge. I had to know what Theresa was going to do with my name and with my father’s legacy. And if Kestrel was in danger, I had to get her out of there.

My plan was simple, and likely flawed, but I didn’t care. I snuck out of my room around two in the morning and wove my way downstairs and around the halls. I passed a couple of employees cleaning and one sleeping on a sofa in the lobby, before getting rather lost. While I assumed one of them could point me in the right direction, I had no business being on the same side of the house as the women I’d shared my home with.

Almost ready to give up, I finally found my room. At least, I was pretty sure it was the right room. All I needed was just to peek in.

A cold sweat coated my fingers as I placed them on the handle and tried to open it. I intended on seeing the person, and then leaving. I’d have to get more information later. But I didn’t want to get my information from Jackson. It felt too weird and too much like deception. Which it was. Our entire relationship was deception in a way, though I hadn’t really lied about anything. I am Violet just as much as I am Ellie. Actually, lately, I’m much more Violet than I am Ellie anymore.

The door didn’t budge. Of course, it would be locked. I thought about trying my PIN, but I didn’t know if Theresa would be able to figure out if someone else had attempted to get in. Kestrel’s keycard was still in my room, and now that I had a PIN, I’d stopped carrying it around. Then I remembered that my bathroom was shared with the “servants” as Theresa had called them. I wandered around until I found the other entrance to the bathroom. This one didn’t have a keypad or card swipe, but it wouldn’t open, either. I’d held out hope that I would learn something from my expedition, but instead, I’d just wasted time.

Irritated, I jostled the knob once more. And then, I heard a click.

“Mom?” a familiar voice whispered.

I panicked, thinking I must have had the wrong room, when suddenly, I was face to face with Kestrel. She’d really done a number on herself with her knee to the eye socket. The purple and black marks still decorated her face.

“Kestrel?” I asked.

“Ellie!” she whispered, her eyes wider than the Grand Canyon. She wrapped her arms around me in a hug and pulled me into the room. Hastily, she locked the door and motioned me over to the bed.

“You’re… posing as me?” I asked, hoping it was as simple as her misunderstanding me. She was supposed to say I overpowered her and report on my absence. Not fill it.

“Ellie, oh my word, it’s so good to see you here. Things got a bit out of hand. I did what you said and told Theresa in the morning that you’d hit me and run away. She was certainly surprised but didn’t really buy into the whole thing. She was so angry and so mean, and I completely understand even better now why you had to leave. But you’re here. So... wait, you didn’t leave?” She barely paused long enough for me to reply.

“No, I didn’t leave—”

She placed her hands on my shoulders, and her expression grew desperate as she scanned both doors and then looked back into my face. “She made me pretend to be you. It sounded like she needed you here for something, but I don’t know what. She threatened to hurt my mother, so I had to do what she said. Wear the wig. Not talk. Act really depressed.”

“She threatened your mom?” I whispered, hardly able to keep my voice low. My gut instinct had been completely correct.

“Yes, my mom’s name is Bonnie. I’m sure she’s completely sick with worry.” A pain hit my gut as I thought of Kestrel’s mom somewhere around the mansion going crazy wondering where her daughter was. “So I’ve had to stay here and pretend to be you, which isn’t all bad. I get treated pretty great. Your sister came in to do my makeup before Jackson stopped by. I didn’t know what to do. He came by looking for me. Asked if I knew where Kestrel was. Of course, I didn’t say anything to him. I don’t know what to do. I never imagined myself an actress. Or going under cover. And it feels so dishonest. And, wow, I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Dozens of thoughts buzzed around my head. Jackson knows Kestrel is missing. What if he figures out I used her keycard to leave the other night? Why didn’t Theresa just report me missing? And why threaten Kestrel to maintain the image of me as a maniac? What was her plan, and should I let her continue with it? Or should I just go wake Jackson right now and tell him the whole ordeal? Kestrel would back up my story and make me look a little less crazy.

“Should we tell my mom that I’m okay?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged and placed a hand on Kestrel’s knee. “Are you all right, or do you need to get out of this mess?”

“For now, I’m... okay. Especially since I know you’re okay. Just anxious about my mom being worried about me. Theresa is not what I’d expected. And I sorta, well, I was worried about you as well.”

I grinned. “That’s really nice of you, Kestrel, but you don’t have to do this. I can go get Jackson right now, and we can tell him how insane Theresa is.”

“Okay,” she said, getting excited. “It won’t be hard to prove it. Not with your word and my word. And Jackson might hate her too. The tension between them earlier today was so thick I could almost see it.”

I hesitated for a second as I bit my lip.

“What is it?” she asked as the smile on her face fell a bit.

“The only thing is, I don’t really want to call Theresa out, at least, not just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s up to something. A plan. Something bad. And I know it sounds crazy—”

“It doesn’t,” Kestrel cut in.

“It sounds sort of crazy, but I want to know what she’s up to. I want to know if we can catch her in something bigger. I want to escape, and I wouldn’t say I’m one for revenge, but I sort of feel like Theresa is my problem, and if I leave, I’m leaving her to make a mess of someone else’s home and so many others’ lives.”

I rubbed my hand where it had brushed against Jackson’s. I couldn’t leave Theresa to ruin his family the way she’d destroyed mine.

Kestrel grabbed a pillow and pulled it onto her lap. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

I chuckled, thinking of my previous plan to escape with Johnny and how unfortunate that one had played out. “I’m not sure I’m great at plans, but here’s what I was thinking just now. You stay here. As me. Keep doing what you’re doing, but as soon as it becomes unsafe, you tell Jackson. Just straight up tell him that your name is Kestrel, and you’re being held in his house against your will. And he might think you’re crazy, but he’ll also investigate. He already has some misgivings about Theresa anyway.”

“Okay, so I keep doing what I’m doing. And what are you going to do?” She sounded brave.

“I’m going to do some digging. Find out what Theresa is up to—why she needs me… or more importantly, why she needs people to think that I’m here. I’ll come back tomorrow night and wiggle the doorknob.”

“Okay,” she said, biting her lip.

“One last thing,” I said, almost forgetting. “Theresa trusts Cheyenne, but Cheyenne likes to feel important. If you can make her feel important, she might confide things to you. Compliment her hair; you’ll see it do wonders for her trust.”

“Oh, good advice. Thanks, I’ll do that. Compliment Cheyenne. She’s the younger one, right? I haven’t seen the older girl, Savannah. Not since the wedding.”

“Yes, she’s the younger one. Wait... Savannah’s missing?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, that simplifies things. Anyway. I have to ask,” I said, hoping not to be rude, “but how do you manage to be quiet? I mean, it was hard enough for me not to talk, but it seems like talking is sort of a big deal to you.”

Kestrel laughed, honking like a goose just once before pulling the pillow up to her face. “It is a big deal for me, and it’s really hard not to. But I know I can do it—for my mom and for you.”

And for Jackson, I thought.

I double-checked one more time that Kestrel was okay with our plan before I made my way toward the door. Leaving the room, my stomach knotted up, and I hoped my plan wouldn’t backfire—again.

* * *

First thing in the morning, I hurried off to find Johnny. I should have checked on him before, but I’d been so busy. Besides, Jackson had reassured me that he was settling in well to his new job as a supervisor. It wasn’t too hard to locate the kitchens since I no longer had worries about wandering around on the Wyatts’ side of the house. Their employees weren’t people that recognized me. When I walked by the break room, I saw Johnny sitting on a black folding chair, munching a bran muffin.

“Hey,” he said, mouth full of muffin.

“Hi.” I pulled my chair over close to him. I meant to tell him right off about Kestrel posing as me and that Theresa was up to something. I’d intentionally never told him anything about Jackson and me. He’d be jealous. Probably tell me I was stupid for liking him and falling into a cliché. I didn’t need his doubts.

So, of course, Jackson had to walk in at that moment. “Violet!” he said, his perfect smile giving me little butterflies.

Out of the corner of my mouth, I whispered to Johnny, “Please don’t talk. At all.” I turned away from him to face Jackson.

“What are you doing back here?” Jackson pulled up a chair beside me as he spoke.

“Oh, I was looking for Johnny. Just wanted to, erm, talk to him about some ideas about, erm, baseball. Like you said, Johnny is a really great pitcher, and I thought I’d pick his brain about the committee. Unless it was intended to be some sort of classified committee.” It was definitely the closest thing to a lie that I’d told. While I did want to ask Johnny about baseball, it wasn’t why I’d come back here. I fidgeted in my seat.

“Hmm,” Jackson said. “Well, lucky I ran into you. I won’t interrupt. And no, nothing about it is classified. Share away!” I couldn’t help but notice his cologne again. If Johnny hadn’t been there, I might have rested my hand close to Jackson’s as an invitation for him to try and hold it again.

But there was no way Johnny would shut up if he saw me holding Jackson’s hand. I stopped looking at Jackson’s hand and glanced up into his warm brown eyes.

“Great,” I said. Jackson stood up, and though I was relieved that he would leave me and Johnny alone, it felt like a giant masquerade. So many deceptions and secrets. They nudged at me from inside. And then, Jackson relieved me of one.

“I had a lot of fun yesterday. Lunch again today?”

I didn’t dare look at Johnny to see his expression. “Yes.” I nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll meet you at your room then. Noon. Don’t be late!” he said before flashing me a wink. I sighed out of joy. Another date. Today. I couldn’t believe it.

Jackson walked away and out the door, leaving only Johnny and me in the tile-floored break room.

I turned back to Johnny, and he just stared at me and chewed. Then took another bite, chewing it really slowly. Deliberately saying nothing.

“So…” I said, baiting him.

“Mmm... good muffin.”

“Stop it! Just say whatever it is you want to say,” I demanded.

“If you don’t have anything to tell me, I guess we don’t have anything to talk about.” He stuffed the rest of the muffin into his mouth.

“Fine.” I looked around again even though we were alone. “I went on a date with Jackson.”

“Oh.” He continued to feign disinterest.

“You know, I don’t have to tell you everything that happens in my life. It’s okay for me to have secrets.”

“Clearly you’re more comfortable with secrets than you used to be. He has no clue who you are, does he?”

“No,” I muttered, reaching for the other muffin on the table.

“It’s fine.” He crossed his arms.

“Don’t be like this. I was going to tell you eventually, but there were other things going on. Stop acting like you have really hurt feelings or something. It doesn’t change our friendship. I can’t understand why you’re acting like you’re jealous. You’re a brother to me. No guy is going to change that.”

“It’s not a matter of jealousy. It’s a matter of honesty. I just thought we were closer is all.” Johnny shrugged and wouldn’t look at me. “C’mon Ellie, you told me when you started your period, but you didn’t tell me about your big date? Bit of a double standard if you ask me. You could have at least stopped in for a few minutes, even last night in the barn… given me the juicy details.”

“It’s not that serious. But I guess I wouldn’t mind if it were. I don’t know. It’s hard to be honest about things when I don’t know how I feel or what I want. I assure you, there are no juicy details.”

“You like him,” Johnny said.

“Yes. We had a lot of fun! I know that he can be flirty with a lot of girls, but it feels different from just… flirting. I like the attention and the compliments and the way he looks at me and how he makes me feel.”

“And the way he holds you and kisses you?” Johnny’s voice was jovial, but I knew what he was really asking.

“No, Johnny. We haven’t kissed. It’s just casual.”

“Oh, I don’t care if you’ve kissed. I still got your first kiss. No one can take that from me.” He puffed up his chest, and I punched him in the arm.

“You’re the worst,” I said. “That was just for fun. And I don’t know why you’re bringing it up when I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

“Why bring it up? It’s my crowning achievement in life.” He laughed. “Now, you’re saying you want to have a serious conversation.” He raised his eyebrows. “But you just said it wasn’t serious.”

I rolled my eyes. “I originally planned to have a serious conversation with you, but instead we’re wasting time talking about the few times I’ve hung out with Jackson.”

“Oh, so now it’s a few times? I thought it was one date?”

“I’ve seen him a few times, okay? And no, it’s not serious. Sheesh!”

“Okay, it’s fine, don’t get all worked up.” Johnny took the muffin from my hand. “But before we switch gears, who does he think you are? Wouldn’t want to blow your cover or anything.”

I took a deep breath in and decided to let him keep the muffin. “I bumped into him when I was trying to leave on the night of the wedding. I told him that I go by Violet. But it’s not like our relationship is built on lies! I barely lie to him. I just haven’t told him everything yet. If he outright asked me if I was Ellie, I would say yes.”

Johnny laughed, a few pieces of muffin falling from his mouth. “Right, because he is going to straight-up ask you if you’re someone else.”

I didn’t answer. I know Johnny was just teasing me, but it made me genuinely irritated. The butterflies that Jackson had brought flew away.

“Okay, but can I give you just one piece of serious advice?” Johnny asked.

“You will either way.”

“True.” He reached over and touched my hand. “Be honest and be yourself. Because you’re awesome. And don’t let him hurt you.” Then he pulled away and smiled. “Because if he does, he’ll have to deal with me.”

We laughed until I remembered why I’d come to talk to him in the first place.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you about Theresa. She’s up to something.”

“What else is new?” he said as he finished my muffin.

“I mean, she—”

The door creaked open, and four employees came in and grabbed some muffins and water from the counter before sitting beside us.

“Talk later?” I said to Johnny.

“Sure thing! Besides, you gotta go get ready. Don’t forget. Noon. That’s three hours from now! By your room!” He wiggled his eyebrows as he said the last words, and I couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Thanks.”

I walked across the white tiles to the door. As it shut, I heard Johnny shout, “Good luck!”

15

Knotwood Ink

When I walked out of the room, I nearly knocked someone down. Or they nearly knocked me down as I ran into them. “Woah,” I said.

Looking up, I saw Jackson. Déjà vu. I’m not a clumsy person, so I don’t know why I’d literally run into him twice in a few short days. He caught me by my waist and righted me, keeping his hand on my hip.

“Were you just waiting out here to trip me and then play the hero?” I spoke out of surprise, a slight edge to my voice, before realizing that they weren’t particularly kind things to say. “I mean, thanks,” I muttered, a slight blush warming my cheeks.

He laughed, his smile giving me goosebumps. Or maybe it was his hand on my waist.

“I was about to come back in to talk to Johnny,” he said. “Provided you’re done with him, that is.”

“Yeah,” I said, enjoying the moment being close to him. His hand on my waist. “Oh!” I suddenly remembered my plan to spy on my stepfamily. “Do you have a hat or hoodie or something I could borrow?”

Most of my clothes were still stuck in my room with Kestrel or else boxed and stored someplace I had no idea where around this mansion. It wasn’t as though I had an emotional attachment to any of it, besides the jersey from my dad, and I had that stored safely in my backpack. I needed something to wear as a disguise while I tried to get close to Cheyenne or Savannah.

I wasn’t willing to risk getting near Theresa. Because even though Johnny and I felt secure and it seemed secure in the Wyatts’ home, security can be shockingly fleeting.

“You need a hat?” Jackson verified.

“Yeah.”

“Sure. Anything you need like that is in my closet. But I don’t have time to walk you down there right now.”

I dropped my shoulders. I sort of needed it to be now.

“But your PIN will get you into my room. You’re welcome to go find whatever you want.”

“Really?” I asked. I put a hand on his shoulder, and in a breathless second, he pulled my entire body into an embrace.

“Were you going for a hug?” he asked, his arms wrapped tightly around my back. It took the wind out of me, but it also made me feel so wonderful.

“Mmhmm,” I muttered. Again, not entirely true, yet I felt no guilt in it.

As he released me from the hug, he sort of raised an eyebrow and asked, “What do you need the hat for? You’re not stealing horses again, are you?”

“No.” I sort of laughed. “I was hoping to wear a hat as, well, a disguise.”

“Oh, are you spying on the other side of the house? Gathering intel?”

“That sort of thing, yes,” I said playfully.

“Okay, but take the walkie-talkie I gave you the other night. It’s still in your room. If you get caught or whatever, call me for backup. Deal?”

I nodded and made my way back toward his room. He joked about me getting caught, but I could picture it happening pretty accurately. Theresa jumping from behind a pillar or something and snatching me. Taking me back to my room. Keeping me prisoner as a mute by whatever means necessary. Would I even have a chance to call for help from Jackson?

Unless Theresa snuck up with a syringe, I’d fight her off. But it was all ridiculous anyway. She wasn’t looking for me. She hadn’t reported me missing. All I needed was to figure out why.

By the looks of it, there were some security cameras throughout the home. Maybe they’d catch her in the act. Or maybe they wouldn’t.

When I got to the keypad at Jackson’s door and entered my PIN, it worked—my PIN, for his bedroom. Evidently, he’d set it up that way. I wondered if he’d been selective about which rooms I had access to. Had he given me access to his room from the beginning, or was it something I’d earned? I tried not to overthink it.

Being in his room again reminded me of our first conversation. It hadn’t been that long ago, and at the time, I told him that I didn’t trust him.

Did I now?

He seemed to trust me. He let me into his room unsupervised. A nosy voice inside my head tried to tempt me into rummaging through his drawers or nightstand. But to look for what? Besides, that would just betray the trust that he’d put in me.

I went right for the closet and pulled out a grey beanie and a black sweatshirt. I ended up taking some big, dark sunglasses too, just for good measure. I hadn’t asked about the sunglasses, but I felt pretty safe assuming that he wouldn’t mind. For goodness sake, he said I could take whatever I wanted.

Looking in his mirror, I pulled on the baggy sweatshirt, the beanie, and the sunglasses. Nope. They wouldn’t recognize me if they saw me. Which I would try to avoid at all costs.

I slipped out of Jackson’s room when the hall was clear and jaunted the few doors back to my room for the walkie-talkie. Stuffing it into the pocket of the hoodie, I discreetly walked the path back to “Ellie’s” room.

Though I’d never been to Cheyenne or Savannah’s new rooms—assuming they didn’t share—they had to be located near my room. I didn’t want to linger near the lobby and Specialist Brennan, seeing as I currently bore a close resemblance to a convenience store thief.

I walked slowly, listening for voices when I heard her. The sound I hated and feared most in the world.

Theresa.

Followed by the click of footsteps from inside a room heading to the closed door on my right.

I panicked and looked around. A little farther down the hall from me, a short bookshelf nestled in a corner beside a beige wingback chair. I jumped into it and grabbed a random book. I managed to throw it open and cover the bottom half of my face just as Theresa stepped into the hall.

The same space of the hallway that I’d occupied only seconds earlier. My heart thumped so loudly, I thought for sure she’d whip her head around and point her finger at me and call me out on my deception.

Her red hair sat in a huge bun at the top of her head. From where I sat, her left shoulder and a purple bra strap peeked out from the side of the doorway.

“Just get the letter out already,” Theresa hissed very quietly. I held my breath, desperately trying to hear every word.

“Sorry,” came Cheyenne’s muffled reply around the corner. She sounded on the verge of tears. My heart ached for her a little bit.

“Don’t be sorry, just be done with it!” Theresa must have pushed Cheyenne out of the room based on the speed of her exit. I only caught a glimpse of her as she all but flew out the door and down the hall in the opposite direction.

As soon as Theresa slipped back into the room and the door shut, I bolted down the hallway after Cheyenne.

I had to stay just far enough back that she didn’t notice someone as obviously inconspicuous as me, trailing her. She entered a PIN on the computer keypad, and the huge front door clicked open for her. Specialist Brennan sat in the teal chair and stared at me. I felt the weight of his eyes and looked his way, nodded to him in a friendly way, and put in my own PIN, quickly following her out the door. After realizing that I’d been holding my breath, I tried to relax. Slowly, I slunk around the side of the house, this time avoiding the sharp bushes but still using them as concealment.

At the top of the hill, Cheyenne stood in front of me, right out in the open. Behind her sprawled the unmaintained gardens beneath the second-story balcony. Ahead of her grew some of the dry, scraggly bushes native to the area. They grew everywhere from Elm Grove to Knotwood, and right now, they seemed more ominous than ever before even in the bright morning sunlight.

She held an envelope in one hand and chewed the nails of her other hand. I scooted a little closer. I was a bit nervous that she’d see me, and then I’d have to deal with the awkwardness of running away. The majority of my uneasiness came from the location she’d selected to stand. I’d sat there, probably just a few feet from where she stood, with Jackson the very first night I’d tried to run off. And then we’d been shot at. I looked down at the bushes below, knowing how silly it was to be scared at the sight of them. It wasn’t as if the Knotwood Militia had set up a permanent base there. Besides, no one was shooting at Cheyenne.

Then the bushes moved, and the branches wiggled a little bit. I tried to convince myself it was a squirrel or something. I stared harder and glimpsed an arm poking through the thick, wild branches. I was sure I’d seen someone. Someone dressed in black.

I looked back to Cheyenne.

Crap. She stared right at me. And I couldn’t run because I was certain a gunman hid in the bushes.

“Can you take it down to him?” Cheyenne whispered. To me? Who did she think I was?

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She took a few steps toward me.

“I’m sorry. I’m scared. I told her I didn’t want to do this. Just, can you take it back with you instead?” Her voice shook with terror. I was terrified but not like Cheyenne. She was only fourteen, and her mother had ensured that her life had been sheltered. Free from trouble. Free from terror for the most part. But now, Cheyenne embodied terror.

The bushes moved again, and the man scooted out a little bit more. I swallowed hard. At his side, he carried a rifle. He wore dark gloves that came up to his wrist. A black sweatshirt. Greasy, black hair poking out from the bottom of his hat. Sunglasses.

Suddenly it dawned on me. Cheyenne thought I was one of them. One of the soldiers from Knotwood. And she wanted me to deliver the note for her.

She held the letter out, and it trembled in her shaking hands. “Please?”

I nodded, stepped forward, and snatched it. As soon as I held the paper in my hands, she sprinted back around the house.

What was I thinking taking that letter? Of course, I was dying to read it. I needed to know what Theresa wrote and why on earth she used Cheyenne to deliver a letter to a man wearing black and hiding in the bushes on the side of the Wyatts’ home? None of it made sense.

And now I held the answers in my hand. But what would the armed man do if I opened it? Would he shoot me? Was he the same man who had shot at me the previous time?

In a matter of a couple seconds, I knew what I had to do. This was no joke, and it was far more serious than a few sharp words or terse threats. Theresa had something truly dangerous and wicked planned in her future. In my future.

I had to risk opening the letter. As I started down the hill toward the bushes, I flipped the paper open.

Noon today. Lobby. -Theresa Flannen

And that was all. What did that mean? Lobby at noon? And what would happen. The last name she signed made no sense at all. She could have written Hudson, a name she never deserved. Or Wyatt, a name she probably didn’t deserve. Her maiden name was Harris, and I didn’t know a single person named Flannen. I flipped the paper back down and took the final steps through the dirt to the unknown figure waiting in the bushes.

I extended the letter with considerably less trepidation than Cheyenne had when handing it to me. He grabbed it, and then I saw a vulture tattoo on his forearm. I don’t know how Jackson saw it in the floodlights from so far away that first night, but now I knew the truth. This guy, this armed man two feet in front of my face, had taken a shot at Jackson and me. He opened the letter and looked it over.

“Who are you?” he finally asked.

“Am I?” I coughed out, having just breathed in some dust.

“Amy? You must be Pete’s replacement.”

My body went into autopilot, and I felt myself nodding.

“I’m Clifton. Keep your head down, Amy. We’ll be in touch depending on how it goes today.”

I kept nodding like a bobblehead doll. Clifton gave me a weird look and then jerked his head back to the Wyatts’ home. When he turned, I saw that the right side of his face was swollen and bruising all along his jawline. Looking at it made me cringe.

“Don’t linger. Get back in there!” he commanded. I didn’t need to be told twice. I turned around and scurried up the hill, all the while coughing on the dust I was kicking up. And then I hurried around to the other side of the house, my heart pounding so loud in my chest that I could hear the thrumps in my ears.

16

The Lost Cleat

I ran clear around the house to the complete opposite side so I could be in the north wing immediately upon entry. I stashed the sunglasses in the sweatshirt pocket. My PIN opened the side door, and I darted down the halls, probably causing alarm in my haste. Finally, I reached the break room and asked around for where to find Johnny.

“He’s some supervisor. With a cane,” I explained, too hurried to mess around with descriptions of height, weight, hair, and eye color.

“He’s in the dining room,” a girl finally told me as she gave me an odd look.

“Thanks.” I pulled the beanie off my head and proceeded to push through three sets of doors until I came to the dining room. It looked more like a banquet hall. The room held four huge tables, and employees busied themselves clearing the tables of their dishes and picking up trash and food from the floor.

Johnny sat in a large chair on top of a table.

“How the heck did you get up there?” I asked.

“Don’t insult me with your questions,” he replied in a fake British accent. “Off with her head!” He pronounced the words emphatically while brandishing a dowel in my direction.

“That was the French, not the British.” I knew my dad would be happy I’d remembered his lessons. “And I need to talk to you. Now. And it’s not a joking matter.” I spoke just loud enough for him to hear, though his voice continued to bound off the hardwood floor so everyone in the room could hear.

Johnny looked at the clock on the wall. “I get off at noon, but I’m pretty sure you have a previous engagement. Did I just use the word ‘engagement’? I mean, you have other affairs.”

I scowled. A few of the workers beside me stared and stopped their conversations to eavesdrop on mine. I jabbed a finger at him. “You’re taking a break now. You know where to meet me. I’m getting changed, and I’ll see you there in twenty minutes. I’m serious.” I turned quickly and walked out, the eyes of the other employees in the room heavy on my back as I left.

If I didn’t engage his banter, he’d know it wasn’t time to mess around. I’d considered having him just follow me back to my room to talk, but I knew how that might look if Jackson saw us going in or coming out together. And I needed to run off some of my stress.

I left Jackson’s clothes and the walkie-talkie in a pile on the floor beside my bed before I threw on my blue jersey, covered it with my striped jacket, and then took off for the field.

Johnny didn’t disappoint me. Though he was a little late.

“You’re going to get me fired, you know that, right?” he laughed, throwing the ball at me.

I caught it with my bare hand and winced.

“Where’s your mitt, anyway?” he finally asked, taking a seat beside me on one of the less fragmented benches in the bleachers.

I sighed and stopped delaying the inevitable as I finally told him the painful truth. “Theresa burned it.”

He shook his head back and forth. “I hate her. You sure you don’t want to just take the horses and run off all on your own? You might like it. You’ve always been independent. Besides, I’m pretty set here at the Wyatts’ with this job.” He was trying to absolve me of my undying loyalty to protect him, but I wasn’t having it.

“I’m not running off alone,” I said abruptly, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “I’ve got too many things keeping me here.”

“Like Jackson.”

I shrugged. “Yes, like Jackson, and like you.” I nudged him with my elbow. “But stop fishing for compliments. Theresa is more than just mean. She’s bad. I found out today that she’s really up to something beyond dressing me in drag. Today I borrowed some of Jackson’s clothes so I could spy on Cheyenne and Savannah.”

“I would have thought you were wearing them just because you like the way he smells,” he teased.

I ignored his jest and told him about the note. And delivering it to the man from Knotwood who had come twice to the Wyatts’ to shoot up the place.

“It said noon,” I restated.

“I see.” He tapped on the bat. “And that conflicts with your date...”

“You’re beginning to legitimately annoy me. You know that, right?”

“Okay, okay.” He straightened his back. “I see that there’s a real problem here. Theresa is obviously up to something if she’s passing letters via Cheyenne to men from Knotwood. I guess I fail to see what it has to do with me or what you want me to do about it.”

What did I want him to do about it? And what was the point of telling him? I tugged at some of the hair poking from the back of my worn baseball cap.

“I just needed to talk it through with someone.” I rested my face on my arms and then felt his hand on my back.

“Just go to the lobby at noon and spy again. See what happens. Jackson can wait a few minutes for you while you’re doing more recon.” I sat up, and his hand slipped off my back.

“Yeah, that’d work.” Should I really go play baseball now at a time like this? Or should I focus more on trying to figure out the riddle of the letter before noon?

“Anything else, or can we play?”

There was so much more to tell him about. Kestrel posing as me. Theresa’s plan somehow involving the need for my absence to go unannounced. And I could have made him stay here and let me talk though it, but like he said, “what did it have to do with him?” Johnny was great for jokes and baseball games and matters of the heart, but for this type of thing, conspiracy and whatnot, I think I needed a different sounding board. Maybe he was right, and a little baseball would clear my head.

“You have plenty of time before your spying and date,” he said, a little too jovial for the situation.

I shrugged and took the bat. He took his place on the pitcher’s mound. I settled into the dirt around the rubber plate.

Johnny threw the ball and slipped a little, lobbing it to the far side of me. The second ball, I barely nicked, though it was a little outside the box. It rolled straight back to Johnny.

“Gimme something I can work with!” I yelled. Johnny wound up, taking a moment to adjust his grip, and threw it. I knew his tell—it was obviously a fastball, right down the middle. I smashed the bat into the ball. The crack sent shivers of pleasure off my spine, and I felt my face glow as I watched the ball soar over the bleachers and out of the stadium. Seconds later, I would have taken off running the bases, but I heard someone clapping in the distance.

When I saw him walking down the steps above first base, my heart about dropped out of my body. Jackson. Was he following me?

I should have been happy to see him. Called his name. But I’d just hit a home run right in front of him. Just like Ellie used to. Had I blown my own cover? Did he know it was me—the real me? The heaviest part about not telling the truth is the fear. Fear of being discovered and found out. And the strange, tangled hope that the truth comes out only makes it all that much worse.

“Hey, man,” Jackson shouted. “Where did you learn to hit like that?”

Man? He called me man. My heart leapt in relief. He had no idea who I was.

And I had to keep it that way.

I turned my back to him and let my legs loose.

“Wait,” he shouted, no doubt trailing me. But I hoped I had enough of a lead.

As I sprinted away from the stadium, the laces on my left shoe flapped around. The knot must have slipped out. I widened my gait to avoid stepping on the dirty lace. But the wider steps left me a little unbalanced, and when I jumped over a pile of broken concrete near the exit, my left toe caught the corner, and I fell down. My knees bit the ground, but my hands saved my face from the same fate. My baseball cap stayed securely snug on my head.

But as the toe of my shoe had caught the edge of the cement, my baseball cleat slipped off my left foot entirely. I jumped up, glanced around just long enough to see Jackson gaining on me, and dashed off.

With an uneven gait, I turned around the side of the stadium and hid in the storage closet of an old vendor’s stand. I wish it smelled like popcorn. Instead it reeked of ash and smoke.

If Jackson found out that the ballplayer he’d seen hit the home run was me, he’d be able to put Ellie and me together. He’d know who I was and that I’d been lying to him.

My breathing slowed as I curled my legs back into my chest. I needed to tell Jackson the truth, but the lie about being some other girl named Violet had become comfortable. He liked Violet. And to be honest, so did I.

But I knew I was better than this. Better than running and hiding. Better than lying, even if it was lying by omission, to someone I cared about.

The metal walls made a terrible pillow, but I rested my head against them anyway. Yes, I would tell Jackson everything. Absolutely everything, but timing it right was essential. I had to tell him soon because if he found out on his own, it would make everything so much worse.

I waited, cramped up like a mouse in a mousetrap, only moving when I heard Johnny calling for me.

“Ellie,” he shouted. “Ellie!” His voice carried down the empty halls. Hoping that he’d waited for Jackson to definitely be gone, I pushed the door open and stretched. My back cracked twice before I jogged, albeit awkwardly with just one cleat, back to Johnny.

The grin on his face made it look like he’d just thought of a lame pun or something.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded, placing my hands on my hips. He burst out laughing. I shook my head, chuckling, waiting for him to finish. When he took a break from laughing, I bombarded him with questions. “What did he say when I ran? What did he ask you? What did you tell him?”

“Well, he picked up your cleat and looked at it for a while before he said, and I’m quoting him directly here, ‘What kind of baseball player has feet this small?’” Johnny rolled backward, laughing again.

“What did you say?”

“Well, you know how hard it is for me to conceal my intelligence, but I’m quite talented, so I played dumb. I shrugged and said, ‘I just came to pitch.’”

“And he bought it?”

“He’s no idiot, Ellie. He knows that I know who you were, but he also knew that I wasn’t going to tell him.”

“Good.”

“But you need to tell him,” he said, getting serious.

“I will.”

“Soon.” Johnny picked up his mitt and hobbled over beside me.

“I’m just worried that telling him will jeopardize our relationship,” I confessed. Johnny reached up and scratched his head, then rubbed the side of his face.

“It might, but if he doesn’t accept you for the real you, both Violet and Ellie, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

But how did I tell my sort-of boyfriend that I’m his sort-of sister through a recent wedding to a woman that I hate, and I’m also the ball player he wants to recruit to his all-men baseball team? How did I tell him that I’m the girl, Ellie, who has been missing but never reported as gone? How did I justify keeping secrets from him?

But most of all, how could I keep lying to someone I care for?

17

Shoot to Kill

Jackson surprised Johnny and me by taking my cleat. I’m sure he meant it as leverage against the mysterious ballplayer. Maybe he’d already figured out who I was.

Time would tell. I showered, got dressed in some clean clothes from my backpack, and parted my hair on the right side, trying to look half-way nice for Jackson. I checked my watch a hundred times before giving myself permission to sneak out to the lobby. I brought Jackson’s sunglasses with me and a book to hide my face. The same guard, Brennan, nodded to me in greeting before I awkwardly sat on the couch opposite him. I lifted the book and pretended to get lost in its pages while I scanned the room.

The Specialist tapped on the keyboard. Click. Click. I turned to the entrance. I couldn’t see anything outside. Nothing weird.

Then I heard her again. Though, it didn’t startle me quite so much this time to hear Theresa’s voice. The lobby grew noisy as she bustled in with what looked like an entire entourage. Theresa looked ready to hit the clubs in a flashy purple dress. Austin wasn’t accompanying them, wherever they were going. I hadn’t seen him at all since the wedding. Only Theresa. Behind her stood Cheyenne, and then I saw her—“Ellie,” but I knew it was Kestrel. She wore the hideous onion-smelling dress. The wig made her look older. And the makeup, well, let me just say that Savannah was always a little more skilled in that area. Clearly Cheyenne had done it. But Savannah wasn’t here. Where was she anyway? And where could Theresa possibly be taking “me” out of the house?

“Open the doors,” Theresa barked at Specialist Brennan. She and the group of nine women filled the lobby and huddled near the door as it clicked open. Through the glass doors, I saw a group of men rush from the side of the house. I barely had time to take a breath, but despite their speed, I identified the weapons in their hands.

The doors opened, and immediately the pop of bullets echoed off the walls. Pop, pop, pop! Fear gripped me. I screamed and crawled underneath the couch as a steady stream of men dressed in black swarmed through the open door.

Pop, pop, pop! The pop of bullets continued to ring in my ears. Glass shattered. Women shrieked. Some ran away. I saw Brennan’s boots move toward the men from Knotwood, and then I saw his body as he fell flat onto the cold, hard tile. He scrunched his face up and grabbed at his leg where bright blood stained his clothes and painted the floor.

Think! I urged myself. What would Jackson do? And where was he right now when we needed him? I knew where he was. At my room. Thinking he had a date with me. But instead, I cowered in the corner of the lobby in the middle of a firefight that I’d helped plan.

Noon. The lobby. Theresa knew they were coming. She’d told them to come. She opened the door for them!

I looked around for Theresa. She was already gone. Nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, she was cowering in some corner. After taking a shallow breath, I pulled myself out from beneath the couch. I rushed over to Brennan and pressed my palms into his wound with all my strength and bodyweight. “Hang in there,” I heard myself say to him. “Hang in there!” I repeated. But his eyes rolled back. His chest still rose and fell. Perhaps it was the blood loss that made him faint. Maybe it was the pain. The warm blood on my hands should have bothered me, but it didn’t.

It was complete chaos with men shooting walls and vases and the computer system before they backed out the front doors. But they weren’t shooting people. No one other than Specialist Brennan had been injured, it seemed.

I turned and stared at them as they retreated, then I saw her—one of the women, taken as a hostage. Already, she was too far for me to identify. From here, all I could see was her struggling, though I heard her screams for help. Should I try to run after them? With no weapon or training? Would I delay them long enough for someone else to show up?

“Shoot to kill!” Jackson bellowed, sprinting down the hall toward us. I filled with relief at the sight of him, but his face was nearly unrecognizable, contorted in anger.

Militia members ran out the doors after the men from Knotwood, but they’d already loaded up into a car. In the distance, the wailing of the tornado sirens began.

Jackson kept shouting orders to the militia, but all I heard was, “Shoot to kill!” He kept giving the order to kill fellow Americans. Men. And maybe he had to. These men broke in, shot a man in the leg, and took a hostage.

Yes, they deserved to die. It made sense that they needed to pay for their act of war. These men had been treating Rock Ridge like some neighboring enemy tribe. Their continued attacks left Jackson with little choice, but it still made me uncomfortable. Shoot to kill. To kill.

There was a permanence in that, and it weighed on me. If a member from the Rock Ridge Militia killed a man from Knotwood, it would be because of Jackson’s orders.

But Jackson wasn’t a violent person. It wasn’t as though he liked killing. I assumed. I hoped.

He had been honored as a hero of the battlefield, which most certainly meant either saving a lot of lives or taking a lot of lives. Maybe both.

Trust his training, I told myself. Trust his experience. Remember, they took a hostage.

A short Indian woman in a crisp lab coat and tall wedges showed up out of nowhere. Glancing up, I saw that the name, Dr. Mary Patel, was embroidered on her white coat.

“It’s okay. You can let go now.” Her voice sounded foggy to my ears as she gently lifted my hands off Brennan’s leg and placed her fingers on his wound. She reassured me he would make it before directing some of the soldiers to help transport the bloody guard in a stretcher down the hall.

First Sergeant Framingham, still in his ACUs, took me to a bathroom across the lobby area and helped me wash off my hands. They were so red. There had been so much blood coming from the soldier’s wound. The water swirled around the sink, spinning and twisting my stomach along with it as it spiraled its way down the drain.

Blood is thicker than water, I thought. But what is blood? And all at once, I felt very lonely. The blood on my hands, it reminded me of something.

Someone.

My father. His wounds. So bloody at the end. His death. And how hard I’d tried to save him, but failed. And I’ve continued to fail him by my lies. How have I been courageous or kind?

I can hardly picture my dad in civilian clothes. He almost always wore his fatigues. When he came home from the base, he didn’t waste time showering and changing since he knew that he would only have to shower and change again. Before Theresa came, life had been nearly perfect. We had each other. His fellow soldiers told me how the lower enlisted guys were terrified of him. I would assume that fear was based only on rank. He knew how to yell but never in a mean way. I’d never seen that side of him. I only knew the man who helped get a baby chick untangled from barbed wire. The man who helped our goat give birth before going in for physical training before sunrise. The man who taught me how to calm a frightened horse. That memory is very clear to me.

Our horse Chestnut had seen a snake one evening. I was still very young, and Chestnut terrified me with the way he reared up and beat his hooves into the ground.

“Daddy, make him stop!” I’d cried. He knelt down and placed one hand on my shoulder and one on my cheek.

“I could do it,” he’d said gently, “but so can you. And I want you to learn what you’re capable of doing.”

I’d taken a deep breath and made small steps toward Chestnut, trying to be brave for my father. And for myself.

“How do I do it?” I’d whispered back to my father. Immediately, I felt his hands on my shoulders. He’d never left me alone to calm Chestnut. He’d stood behind me the whole time.

“The same way you do everything. Be courageous and kind. It works with people. And it works with animals. It works with everything.”

He was right. I calmed Chestnut that day. But now, as my hands shook while I kept washing them again and again, I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.

I tried to steady my breathing and my rapidly beating heart. Be courageous, I reminded myself. Horror. Guilt. Confusion. All of this, the attacks, Theresa’s note, and Kestrel pretending to be me, lying to Jackson about who I was—I vowed there to stop what I could.

For the sake of my father, I’d tell Jackson everything. And even though I had no physical proof that Theresa was responsible for the attack, I had to come clean.

I wandered back to my room sometime later, resting on my bed until I fell asleep. My dreams consisted of blood and bullets and Theresa’s grating laughter. In my dream, she was a snake on the baseball field, chasing Johnny while he limped around, and she spat bullets.

“Violet,” Jackson said. I sat upright and balled my hands into fists near my face. My breathing quickened.

Jackson stood at the edge of my bed. Walking around the side, he placed his hands slowly on my shoulders and looked at me with a gentle, patient expression. It was then I realized how hard I’d been breathing. I put my hands down and gradually relaxed.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded at first but then shook my head. Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them quickly away, looking at the door and remembering he could unlock it. “What are you doing in here?” My voice was hoarse as I spoke.

“After what happened, we tried to tail the men from Knotwood. But we lost them. And then my dad set up an emergency meeting with the Mayor of Knotwood. I hope he can be reasoned with. Rumors have circulated that he’s a bit shady. And we still don’t know who was taken, or why. Only one person got shot, and if rumor serves correctly, a spunky, smart, beautiful girl with short hair and Converse sneakers saved his life.”

I sort of shrugged. “I tried to help.”

“You were amazing today,” he said. “You saved Brennan’s life.”

My eyes began to swim, the tears that had been threatening to spill were building up again, and any second, I didn’t think I’d be able to control them much longer. The rush of emotion made me so embarrassed, which just made everything worse. I tried to turn away and hide my expression. He noticed and pulled me close instead. I rested my face on his chest and listened to his heart while I tried to steady my breathing.

“I was so scared,” I whispered. And then I cried. Because I felt so alone, and because the war at home wasn’t over, and because Theresa had orchestrated this terror, and because somehow, it involved me.

Jackson held me closer, and it made me cry that much harder. “I’m sorry,” I tried to say, but it didn’t come out right. And he didn’t ask me to explain myself. He didn’t make me feel weak or embarrassed for my emotions.

He just held me and gave me peace. For a few minutes, there on the soft bed in the warm room, with Jackson’s arms around me and his breath in my hair, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years.

I felt safe.

Safe here in his arms.

We stayed there for a while, and I soaked up the joy, feeling at home with him. The goosebumps on my arms turned into prickles of excitement while I inhaled a mix of him and his cologne.

“Are you hungry?” Jackson finally asked me after we’d spent a long time cuddling on my comforter.

“My stomach does feel weird.” I sat up, quickly scooting off the bed.

“Does being near me make you that uncomfortable?” Jackson asked.

I tried to grin. “It’s not that.” But maybe it was a factor. “It was today. The invasion. I’d hoped we were past that. I hoped we, as Americans, were better than feudal wars.” I took a drink from the water bottle on the dresser. “My dad would be ashamed. He had friends in Knotwood. It’s times like these, I wish he were here.”

Jackson didn’t need to ask where he was. I could tell that he knew that my dad shared the same fate that his brothers likely had. “I bet he was an incredible man. Especially to have raised such a strong and independent daughter. A hero of the battlefield.”

I rolled my eyes as we both sat on the edge of my bed.

“You were!” he insisted. “I do have one question, though.”

“Okay,” I said. Checking my hands again for any sign of blood.

“Why were you in the lobby when we were scheduled to have a date?”

I bit my lip. I had to tell him.

“When I borrowed your clothes earlier today, I spied on Theresa. And I, well, I intercepted a note from her to a man from Knotwood. He was the one who had the vulture tattoo on his arm. All it said was ‘Noon. In the lobby.’ And I didn’t know what that meant.”

“Wait a minute,” Jackson interrupted and placed his strong hand on my arm. “Theresa planned the attack?”

I hesitated. He’d think I was crazy. He’d think I just wanted to spite her or frame her. “I can’t prove it,” I replied. My heart sunk. “But I know she wrote the note, and I know it was given to the men from Knotwood.” My conscience urged me to tell him my role as the messenger, yet my heart refused to let me.

Jackson clenched his teeth. I watched the muscles of his jaw tighten as he thought about the implications of my last words.

“I went to the lobby because I didn’t know what the note meant. I just knew it involved Theresa and the men from Knotwood, and now I wish I’d told you beforehand. Of course, if I’d known what was going to happen, I would have done everything I could to stop it. I just thought it was going to be a meeting or a drop off or something. Not a home invasion. Not a bloody kidnapping. I’m so sorry.” I hung my head.

“Violet.” I kept my head down. “Vi,” he said, calling me a nickname I’d never had before as he placed his hand under my chin. Immediately, the gesture brought me back to my first night here. Hanging my head, only that time as Ellie, he’d put his hand beneath my chin and lifted my eyes to meet his gaze.

He had to know who I was. The familiarity of the scene couldn’t only hold true for me.

I stared at him, anxious to tell him everything. And in the same breath, terrified of the implications of telling him the whole truth.

“I believe you,” he said. “I need to run and do something, but I’ll be done in half an hour. Meet me in my room for dinner?”

He meant it as a date, but for me, it would be a confession. An awkward, difficult confession of my identity.

“Of course,” I replied. He ran out of the room, and while I wanted to know where he was going, and what he could possibly do with the small bit of information I’d given him, I knew it was none of my business.

18

Loveseat

I spent the next twenty minutes trying to decide how to state my true name for Jackson. I tried speaking it aloud. Just to see how it sounded. “Jackson, I know that you’ve been calling me Violet. Especially since that’s what I told you to call me. And the reason I told you to call me that is because my sisters called me that on account of my many bruises. My sisters, Cheyenne and Savannah, who you know as… your new sisters…” I shook my head and pulled at my hair. I had to keep it short and sweet. “Hi Jackson, I’m Ellie. Confusing I know, especially because there’s another girl pretending to be me in the room on the other side of your house, but she’s not me. I’m me. And I was trying to get away from Theresa because she’s the total worst, but then I ran into you, and I felt bad leaving this mess of my family in your house.”

No matter what way I said it, the situation sucked. It really did. So bad. You’ve been through worse, I reminded myself. You saved a man’s leg today, if not his life. You put up with Theresa for years without murdering anyone, especially her. You buried your own father. You can tell your crush your real name.

But how could I get all of the truth out before he ran away or before he either wanted me to prove it or he got so hurt or embarrassed by my deception that he kicked me out of the house completely and voided my PIN. Maybe he’d get really mad, and I’d end up in Knotwood. At least Johnny would be safe with Jackson here. Or would my lies get Johnny kicked out too?

Worried and scared, I gathered up Jackson’s clothes that I’d borrowed and left my room.

I walked over to his door and knocked first, but there was no answer. Entering my PIN, I entered and found it empty. I put the clothes back in the closet and took a seat on the couch by the fireplace. The flames danced and entranced me until the door clicked, and Jackson came in.

“I found these for you.” From behind his back he presented me with a scraggly bunch of flowers.

“Oh,” I said as I took them, warmed by his gesture, though it made it all the harder to tell him what I had to. “Thank you.”

“You can just set them on the table if you want. Dinner should be here any minute.”

I barely spoke. “Okay.” I needed a full belly to stomach the truth I was to lay on him.

Shortly after arriving, someone dropped off two trays of chili and cornbread. Jackson set a tray on my lap and took the seat beside me.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said. Apparently, he took my subdued demeanor to be a result of the invasion, a perfectly reasonable assumption.

“I know.” I stuffed my face with the soup, grimacing as it almost burned my tongue. He scooted his water over for me. I took a drink and said, “Thanks.”

“I’ve decided that since our date today got interrupted, we needed to reschedule for tonight. So, I have two rules for the evening,” Jackson said. “No talking about today’s invasion. And no discussing Theresa.”

“But—” I started to object. I hated to ruin the night for him. But I had to. Before I could say anything more, he reached over and placed his cool hands on my lips.

“I mean it. I think that both of those topics give you a lot of stress, and I want tonight to be enjoyable.” He smiled coyly.

“I understand, but—” He pressed his fingers to my lips again.

“Vi, don’t break the rules.” The sound of him speaking his nickname for me gave me tingles all the way down my spine. “We can talk about baseball, America, your hobbies, but we can’t talk about things that make you stressed. We’re going to have a relaxing evening.”

I waited until he dropped his hands. “I understand, but there is something I was going to tell you. Something I need to tell you before any more time passes.”

“Is it some deep, dark secret from your past?” he asked.

“Sort of.” Maybe he already knew.

“Then, I don’t need to know.”

“You don’t need to know?” I repeated his words more as a question than a statement, pinching my eyebrows together in mild confusion.

“You see, you’re mysterious, and that’s one of the things I like about you. You’re bold and fearless and smart. And you get this cute little crease in your forehead when you’re stressed. And while it’s cute, I want to make it disappear.” He rubbed his thumb in the crease on my forehead, and I smiled. “Ah, that’s better.” He sat back in his chair.

He liked that I was mysterious. And bold.

“Where did you go after I told you—”

“Stop,” he said. “You know the rules.”

I sighed.

“This is what I have planned.” He walked over the to the wardrobe and pulled open two doors, revealing a DVD player and flat screen television. Opening a plastic case, he removed a disk and popped it into the machine.

“Are we really going to watch a movie?” I laughed. The theatre had a generator, but it only ran if the movie was sold out. I never went. There was always too much work to do. Too many things to try to finish. Cooking. Cleaning. Gathering eggs. And normally, I spent the free time I had available playing baseball.

“Yes, and you’re going to sit here and let me hold you like I did this afternoon, for the entire movie.”

I sort of giggled. “Oh really?” I asked. He jumped onto the loveseat and moved to one side. “I want to, but I really did want to talk to you about something.” I pressed the matter one more time. I couldn’t give up, not when I had the courage, or some kind of courage, built up to tell him the truth.

“You’re sort of a hard person to get to shut up.” He laughed and reached out for my wrist. I let him gently pull me onto the couch beside him. “We’re going to sit here together and enjoy a movie.”

The blue FBI warning flashed on the screen while Jackson wrapped his arm around my waist and slid me closer into him. His touch was cool and exciting. The hair on my neck stood up in anticipation of being so near to his body. At this point, I was basically sitting in his lap. The same feeling of peace from earlier started to warm my chest.

“Jackson,” I said softly. “I need to talk to you about this.” He had to know who I was, and if I didn’t tell him tonight, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be brave enough to own up to the truth.

“Okay.” His voice was calm as he sat back up. I’d clearly killed the mood. “I’m not trying to say that I don’t care about what you’re trying to tell me because I do care. But it’s been my experience that after a stressful day like today, it’s not the best time to start spilling secrets.”

“Why’s that?” I asked hesitantly.

“Because it’s been a traumatic and exciting day. You might start telling me things that you wouldn’t have otherwise wanted to tell me, simply because of the high emotions that you’re feeling after the invasion.”

I paused, looking into his sincere eyes. “So, you think that I’m trying to share something with you because I’m in an emotional state of mind?”

He gently picked up my hand and offered me a half-grin. “I’m not trying to get you to shut up. I’m here to listen to whatever you want to tell me about. But I don’t want to take advantage of the situation simply because it’s been a stressful day. I don’t want you to later regret anything that you say to me tonight.”

He raised his eyebrows.

I looked down at our hands. Maybe it would be okay to hold off telling him everything. It had been a bit too crazy of a day.

“I can wait to tell you about it…” I met his eyes once again. “But I’m just sort of having a hard time focusing on anything else.”

Jackson moved between my face and the screen. “Maybe this will be a good distraction.” He let out a soft laugh and then looped his other hand behind my neck.

I gasped and shut my eyes as he moved in and rubbed his warm lips against mine. My heart fluttered, and my hands felt his back muscles contract as we kissed. His tongue flicked against my teeth while I tasted him, forgetting all about the movie.

I’d never been so happy as I was sitting there safe in his arms.

It didn’t matter if I was Ellie, or Violet. He wanted to hold me and kiss me. For the next couple hours, I lost myself in his arms and kisses. Lying back against the couch, he held me close against him as his tongue tickled my mouth. When we would get breathless, we would lie there, wrapped in each other’s embrace until one of us started to tease the other with kisses on the face or neck, the movie a low rumble in the background behind us. Not until the movie credits rolled, did we come back to earth.

Reluctantly, he checked the time on his watch. “I guess I should let you get some sleep,” he conceded in a raspy, whispered voice.

“Probably,” I said as I untangled myself from his embrace. He kissed my fingertips before he took my hand and slowly walked with me toward his door. My skin prickled and burned in elation. “Thanks for tonight.” Was it weird to thank him for kissing me and holding me?

He gave me one more kiss on my forehead as we reached my door. “Thank you, Violet.”

“Goodnight.” I let go of his hand and quickly slipped back into my bedroom.

It took me forever to calm my heartbeat and stop replaying the night. His smell. His taste. His hands on my neck and in my hair. As long as I thought about Jackson, I’d stay awake, every cell in my body buzzing with excitement over him.

I had to turn my thoughts back to Theresa and Kestrel before I could calm my mind enough to consider sleep. But by then, it was almost two in the morning. I had to tell Kestrel about the note. And see how she was after the invasion. I’d only seen her for a minute before the shooting started. She was probably pretty shaken. And I’d told her I’d return to her room tonight. In the midst of the everything, I’d completely forgotten.

I slipped my shoes back on and left my room, this time much more confident of the direction I should go.

The hallways were mostly empty except for a few employees busying themselves with cleaning or quiet conversations. I made my way back to my old room unhindered.

As I neared the door, I heard some voices. Assuming, at first, that they were cleaners or other employees, I kept walking. But then I looked up and paused.

Cheyenne stood next to a man right in front of Kestrel’s room. Or my room. I backed up and held my breath. They hadn’t heard me coming, or they hadn’t cared to turn and look toward me. I ducked behind the corner, breathing hard. My first thoughts went to Kestrel and her safety. Did they know who she was? Then I peeked out again. Slowly, so they didn’t notice.

It was dim in the hallway, but I knew the man in front of Cheyenne. I’d just spent the night making out with him in his bedroom. But why was Jackson with Cheyenne outside of my “Ellie’s” bedroom? I recognized his low voice even though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. My heart thumped with worry as she reached out, and he took her hand. I blinked. It was dim, but I wasn’t blind. Jackson was holding her hand, maybe even rubbing it while they talked. The face of her silver watch glinted in the light as her hand moved. I watched the two of them standing so close to each other, hands held.

What were they up to? It took a lot of self-control not to run over and demand that they tell me what they were doing meeting up in the hallway in the dead of the night. I could hardly take my eyes off their hands. They stood side to side, whispering, and I wished it didn’t make me so uncomfortable, but it did. Not just uncomfortable. It hurt inside my heart. It felt like betrayal. I ached with worry that Jackson was dating both Cheyenne and me at the same time. Cheyenne had those lovely dimples and adorable freckles. I always knew that. And she was more feminine. She certainly seemed like a classier fit than me for a war hero Army Captain.

I glanced around the corner again. He was still holding her hand.

When I had just about convinced myself that the meeting was nothing terribly nefarious, it happened. He touched her. And he didn’t just shake her hand. I blinked repeatedly as he reached out and pulled her in close to him. And though, I ran through all the options I could think of, there were no good reasons for him to hug her like that and for that long. Unless….

Unless he liked her.

Maybe he loved her.

And to add to the pain, I heard Cheyenne stifling a laugh. Her stupid cry-laugh. Jackson looked down the hallway then the other way before he pulled her by the hand and led her quickly out of sight.

I could understand why he would like her, but then what was I? Why the dates, and why tonight? Why would he kiss me if he was also kissing my sister? The same sister who maintained that I wasn’t missing when she should have been worried about me. The betrayal stung from both Cheyenne and Jackson. I’d have to find Kestrel tomorrow. Even though they’d moved away from the door, I didn’t want to see anyone right now.

I turned away and snuck back to my room.

The hot tears embarrassed me, even in the quiet of my bedroom. It was stupid. Stupid for me to cry. Even stupider for me to think that Jackson had feelings just for me. He was a player. Playing the field. And I’d gone and let myself feel special.

19

The Hostage

By the time I woke up, it was almost ten in the morning. Under normal circumstances, I would have scolded myself for sleeping so late. I didn’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but it was early. Definitely past three in the morning. I’d tortured myself, replaying what I’d seen in the hall and trying not to impose meaning on it. I rubbed my eyes.

Had I dreamt the whole thing up? Jackson holding me and kissing me seemed too wonderful to be real. Seeing him and Cheyenne in the hallway, holding hands and then hugging each other and laughing, I just, I couldn’t understand why. Was holding my hand not good enough? Was I so inexperienced at kissing that it wasn’t enjoyable for him at all? Maybe he took her back to his room later and they watched a movie and kissed, and he held her on the same couch. I couldn’t stop the hurricane of assumptions overtaking my thoughts. Was I making too many?

I checked the time again as my stomach growled. Back home, I woke up early and worked hard trying to keep my dad’s dream alive, but here I had no purpose. I’d spent my time and energy pursuing the idea and fantasy of a relationship. And it was fun. It was incredible up until I found them in the hallway. I bit my lip for a second. While it had been fun, I regretted every moment of last night. Kissing. Letting him hold me like that. I regretted the way I’d let myself fall into thinking that he and I had something special. My emotions and hopes carried me away, and Jackson lulled me into some magic spell. Maybe it wasn’t fair to blame him. I’d known how flirtatious he was from the beginning. Honestly, this emotional mess was my fault.

Emotional mess. That seemed a little dramatic. Yes, my feelings were hurt. I had certainly thought that Jackson and I had some sort of exclusive relationship, but I had never stated it, and neither had he. He’d implied we were exclusive, and I’d implied that I wasn’t Ellie. I shook my head. So many lies. Too many lies to trust each other. Too many lies to build anything on.

It didn’t need to be an emotional mess. I’d write it off as a fling. It was just a fling. Two lonely people flirting and then kissing in a noncommittal, nonexclusive way. The thought didn’t sit well with me, but it made me feel less stupid when I phrased it like that.

Knowing that I’d never be okay with that sort of a relationship, I told myself there was a simple solution: casually end things with Jackson. I mean, there was also the option of asking him about Cheyenne, but how would I fumble through that conversation? Besides, I would only make a hypocrite of myself. After all, I’d be asking him for honesty when I hadn’t even told him who I really was. But I knew who he was. I’d always known.

I thought back to one of our pick-up games as kids. Back to when the stadium was brand new and the lawns were mowed every week. Back to when I was eight or nine.

My blonde hair was long and usually tangled. Dad had a hard time brushing it out, and I never bothered making it a priority, either. Jackson sported short dreadlocks. He had dust all over his uniform and scrapes on his legs from dramatically siding into bases even when it was completely unnecessary. At the time, Johnny used a little pair of crutches to hobble to and from the pitcher’s mound.

“Your pitcher needs to run the bases!” one of the guys on the Shadows shouted when Johnny didn’t get up to bat. I think his name was Shaun.

“Don’t be a dick!” I’d yelled from the dugout.

“Oooh,” the Shadows all chanted back.

“Good thing your little girlfriend’s got your back. Seeing as you can’t stand up for yourself. You can’t stand up at all!” Shaun yelled. I didn’t understand why people gave Johnny such a hard time about his limp. To me it was, and had always been, just a part of him. Not something to hate or love. But Johnny hated it.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I’d yelled.

“I’ll take the bases.” Johnny’s cheeks were bright red. I followed him with his crutches as he hobbled to home plate.

First pitch was a strike. Second pitch was a foul. It was the third or fourth pitch when Johnny hit the ball as a line drive right between two of the fielders. I’d scrambled to help him get his crutches where they needed to be, and he swung and planted their rubber stops in the dirt, just about flying toward the base.

But the ball got there first. Shaun held it in his mitt and tagged Johnny’s crutch.

“You’re out,” he leered. He and Johnny promptly got into a debate.

“You touched the crutch. It didn’t count,” Johnny said, staying cool.

“You didn’t tag him. So, he’s safe!” I shouted, coming to his defense.

Jackson had wandered over to the fight at this point. He’d winked at me. I still don’t know why.

“You have to tag the player,” Jackson argued. “So, technically, Johnny’s safe.”

“I tagged his crutch. It’s basically a part of him!” Shaun taunted.

“Crutches are crutches! They aren’t part of his body!” I yelled.

“Then he shouldn’t be allowed to run with them!” Shaun retorted.

Jackson put his hand on Shaun and then the other hand on my shoulder. I remember staring at it, trying to decide if it was helping me calm down or making me more upset.

“If I don’t get out now, I’ll get out next time. It’s fine,” Johnny said, heading back to the dugout. “It’s just a game.”

“Games are supposed to be fun!” Irate, I’d stepped away from Shaun and Jackson.

“You know what’s fun, kissing tag. We were going to play after the game. You in?” Jackson asked me, having followed me toward the dugout.

I scowled. “The game is over as far as I’m concerned.” I ran home, heart pounding.

Sort of like it was pounding now, almost a decade later. Because I guess he’d finally won. Years later, Jackson got me to play his kissing game. And I’d lost.

I lay back on the bed in the guest room, still thinking about what I’d seen and heard between Cheyenne and Jackson. My heart pounded painfully. I really cared about him. I’d even told Johnny that things were special. But Jackson clearly had different expectations and priorities than I did as far as a relationship goes.

I slid on some jeans and put yesterday’s clothes in my backpack. Something bulged in my pocket. I pulled it out. Kestrel’s keycard. I sighed. To get away from Jackson, I’d have to leave the house. But that would separate me from Kestrel and make it so I wasn’t able to help her or spy on Theresa. I had to bite the bullet. Keep a friendly relationship with Jackson but draw some boundaries. Then I could stay in the house, maybe stay on the committee, and eventually join the baseball team Jackson had talked about. He and I would probably be fine teammates, just nothing more. But I couldn’t let Kestrel down.

Someone knocked on the door, and my eyes shot over to the barricade I’d built with a couple chairs and the trunk from the end of the bed. After Jackson had let himself in once, I was willing to bet he would do it again, but I couldn’t get any sleep wondering if he was going to come in at any moment.

The lock beeped, and the door barely moved. The wood pressed into the cushioned back of the chair, unable to open more than half an inch at most. “Violet?” Jackson called. I smirked. I’d read him like a book. And my barricade proved successful.

“Just a minute,” I said and started scooting the furniture away from the door.

“Everything okay?” he called through the small crack.

“Mmhmm.” I pushed the trunk out of the way with my legs.

Jackson opened the door and stepped in, looking at the furniture and then back to the door. “Did you get worried about the Knotwood Militia?” he tried to guess.

He almost sounded concerned about me. And maybe he was. Maybe you can care about more than one person at a time, but I hurt too much to think about his perspective for very long.

“Not so much them, actually.” I avoided his warm eyes. Looking at him made me more upset because it still gave me butterflies.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He reached for my hand, but I pulled my arm away.

“You know, I’m not really in the mood to talk,” I said tersely, walking toward the door. He narrowed his eyebrows in a look of confusion. Probably denial. I just didn’t want to hear his explanation. Besides, he hadn’t let me tell him what I’d wanted to yesterday. He’d shut me up by kissing me. And now, I’d shut him up by walking away.

“You’re not okay. What’s going on?” Jackson reached for me again.

“I’m fine.” I spoke through gritted teeth. “I have to go.” I knew that if I stayed, I’d say things I’d regret later. Unkind things. Things like, ‘Is it because she’s got smoother skin?’ Or ‘Maybe it’s nothing personal. Is it just that you relish the attention and take it anywhere you can get it?’ Instead, I bit my tongue.

“Where?” he asked, and for a minute, I almost told him how hurt I was. How rude he’d been for flirting with Cheyenne, and how gross it was, given that he was now her stepbrother. Theresa was her actual mother, whereas Theresa was nothing to me. Nothing but a menace and a threat.

I braved looking at his face again. I scanned over his lips, and for a second, I swore I could taste him again. I dropped my eyes. Only hours prior, I’d wanted to tell him everything and let him into my secrets. Good thing I hadn’t. Good thing he’d kissed me and stopped me from baring my soul. No, I’d keep my feelings to myself.

“Out. I’m going out,” I said, and I ran down the hall, banking that he wouldn’t follow me.

And he didn’t.

When I got to the dining hall, the same employees busied themselves picking up food and garbage, only this time, not under the supervision of a gangly, white kid in a chair on the table. I looked around to see if Johnny was working, but I didn’t see him anywhere. Evidently, I made them all uncomfortable as the room hissed with whispers, a heaviness and sorrow in the air.

I walked up to the young girl I’d spoken to the day before. “Have you seen Johnny?” I whispered, not wanting my voice to carry through the large room.

She looked around as if only just noticing his absence.

“I saw him briefly this morning. Haven’t seen him since Mayor Wyatt made the announcement,” she said, taking her washcloth to a brown spot on the tile. “I think he got quite bothered by it.”

“What announcement?” I asked, suddenly a little nauseated.

“About his daughter, Ellie.”

I just about swallowed my tongue hearing my own name, and in the context of being Mayor Wyatt’s daughter. My eyes grew wide.

“You haven’t heard?” the girl asked, gently touching my arm. “The hostage they took yesterday when they broke in is Ellie.”

I stumbled back a few steps.

Ellie. But not Ellie. Kestrel. My head swam.

The men from Knotwood had come for me. And they’d taken Kestrel. If I hadn’t been so selfish, I could have gotten her out before the men came. If I hadn’t delivered that note for Cheyenne, maybe Kestrel would still be here. The room began to spin. And here it was, almost twenty-four hours later, and I was just finding out. If I’d gone to her room last night, I would have found it empty. My heart hammered, and I started breathing loudly.

I had to find Johnny, tell him about Kestrel, and that she’d been taken.

And then another thought nearly knocked me down like a second emotional tsunami. I’d never told Johnny about Kestrel. Never so much as breathed her name to him.

“Did Johnny hear that the hostage taken was Ellie?” My voice barely came out as a whisper.

“Everyone did. Except you, I guess,” she said quietly, steadying me with both hands now.

Immediately, I knew what that fool had done.

He’d gone to rescue me.

20

At Gunpoint

I ran to Jackson’s room, driven by impulse and spite. I punched in my PIN, and the door clicked open. He wasn’t here, and the room looked untouched from when I’d been here last night. On that couch. Forget it and move on, I told myself. I went to his closet and took out his sweatshirt and the beanie again. For the second time, I stashed his sunglasses into my pocket and left.

My own striped jacket was an option, but it was memorable. It stood out and seemed to shout out my age and inexperience. Blending in was crucial, especially where I was going.

One quick stop by my bedroom for my backpack, and another at the kitchens, moments later, to stuff it full of food before I made a mad dash for the stables. Last time Jackson had shown up shortly after I’d put in my PIN. The system must be tracking me or something. I knew I didn’t have any time to waste and needed to be quick.

My fingers shook as I pressed the buttons, and I dashed into the stables, not bothering to look around or shut the door behind me. I ran along the straw-strewn cement, looking through the bars for my father’s horses. My horses.

My red beauty, Auburn, wasn’t there, but I found Chestnut. I’d rather have taken Auburn, but I couldn’t find her. Maybe a stable boy had her out for a quick ride. Or maybe she’d gone missing with Savannah. Yet another name added to the list of missing persons. If nothing else had been going on in my life, I would have wondered about her, but with Kestrel and Johnny gone, Theresa planning terrorist attacks, and whatever happened with Jackson last night, I didn’t care where Savannah was.

“C’mon Chestnut!” I said, slipping the bit into his mouth. I threw the reins over the top of him and flung open his gate. “Let’s go.” I jumped onto his back, not wasting time with a saddle, and gave him a little kick.

Chestnut either sensed or felt my anticipation and impatience because he ran like a wild storm out the gate, down the hill, and along the ravine. Dust stung my eyes, bringing tears to them as we raced along the same route Jackson had driven me in his truck.

That had been such a good day, and now I was riding away without giving him any chance to explain himself. And without giving an explanation of myself. It seemed pretty clear that he didn’t want to hear my secrets. The wind blew his oversized sweatshirt behind me like a cape as we flew across the desert.

I realized that my tears came mostly from my emotional state, but I continued to curse the dust under my breath until Chestnut slowed and I had enough sense to put on the sunglasses as protection from the flying dirt.

When Chestnut took a break to drink from the trickle of water in the ravine, it finally gave me a moment to think. I’d go to Knotwood. That much was clear. But where would I stay? What would I do? And how would I find Kestrel? It seemed safe to assume they didn’t broadcast her location. If I couldn’t find Kestrel, then Johnny probably couldn’t find her either.

I suppose I half-expected to run into Johnny en route. I could almost picture him hobbling along the ravine for Knotwood. An image of him lying at the bottom with a broken arm or broken legs flashed in my mind. He’s fine, I told myself. He’s not an infant.

The priority had to be Kestrel, and if I happened to find Johnny, all the better. Johnny, my best friend and brother, would have to take care of himself. He’d left of his own volition, but Kestrel was doing this very much against her will. And she’d already been with her captors for a whole day.

Knotwood jumped out of the horizon like a ghost town from a western movie. Broken cars and other mechanical parts littered the sides of the roads. The water tower, with its peeling white paint, teetered in the wind. Like Rock Ridge, the stoplights sat like useless antiques or unsightly decorations over the streets. The rows of shops mostly held “CLOSED” signs, but the red convenience store at the corner had a line of people waiting by the doors. I grew warm under the beanie but didn’t bother taking it off. I knew I’d feel much bolder with my head and face covered.

Chestnut slowed as we approached. Though it was strange to see a combination of bikes and horses parked like cars on the street, it was a strangeness that I’d become more familiar with. Two other horses were tethered outside the red, pueblo-style shop. I tied Chestnut up with them and told him not to let anyone steal him. As though he’d have a say in it.

I walked in and slipped into a corner booth beside a window. The wind had thrown layers of dust onto the glass, making it rather hard to see out of, but I could tell Chestnut from the other two horses, and I’d notice if someone tried to take him.

From my backpack, I took out my water bottle and nearly downed the whole thing in one swig. Knowing that what I was about to do would require more than my usual levels of courage, I reasoned with myself. You’ll have to lie. And while lying isn’t kind, letting people get kidnapped is far worse. Trying to get Theresa imprisoned wasn’t kind to Theresa, but it would sure be kind to Rock Ridge and to the Wyatts.

Then it dawned on me. I’d spent so much of my life trying to live by the guidance from my father to be kind and courageous, that I’d forgotten how he meant it. His voice came back to me, and the context of the advice became clear. My father wanted me to be kind. Kind to people and kind to animals. Courageous in the face of adversity. For years, I’d spent my energy trying too hard to be kind to Theresa, Cheyenne, and Savannah, that I’d forgotten to be kind to myself. I’d lacked the courage to stand up for myself. In my heart, I apologized to my father. Going forward, I’d be kind, and I’d be brave, but I would never allow anyone to use me again. I’d do whatever it took to stop Theresa from starting anymore wars. People were getting shot and kidnapped, and I’d been worried about being kind.

Grabbing a roll from my backpack, I stuffed it in my mouth and scoffed at myself. It was time for me to be brave. To be willing to change. To show integrity and strength and get a bigger perspective on what kindness really was.

A horse whinnied, and I looked out the very dirty window again, a worry edging in my heart that someone really was going to take Chestnut. But he remained tied up. A man in black tethered his horse beside Chestnut as his hooves stamped into the dirt excitedly. What was his deal? I wandered back to the door and peeked out to see Chestnut nudging Auburn playfully in the side. My horse, Auburn.

Quizzically, I locked eyes with her rider. “Is this your horse?” he asked, gesturing to Chestnut.

Resisting the urge to say, “They both are,” I nodded. His arms were so big, it’s no surprise he wore a sleeveless muscle shirt with arm holes so big I could see his pecs and abs.

“Sorry,” I said. “He’s friendly.” Then I ducked back into the shop, intent on avoiding any more conversation with the man who’d stolen my horse. My favorite horse. I could steal her back, but then I’d have to leave Chestnut, which seemed equally unfair. And if things went wrong, this man could crush me like a bug. Besides, if he then mounted Chestnut, they’d catch us. Auburn was the faster horse, but she’d more than likely slow down for Chestnut.

I watched the large man come into the store, order rice and beans, and then, to my luck, he sat beside me. Now I could see the left side of his body. An enormous black, red, and orange tattoo of a vulture spread from his left pec, down his arm, and clear to his elbow. Its wide wings wrapped around his arm, and since it had no eyes, it gave the impression that it didn’t need to see me in order to know I was watching it.

The vulture had enough similarities to the small one I’d seen on the man who took Theresa’s note about the lobby to be sure of one thing.

Both guys were members of the Knotwood Militia.

Within five minutes, a woman had joined him in his booth. I crossed my arms and pretended to nap.

“Any word yet from Flannen on when or where?” he whispered. Immediately, my ears perked up.

Flannen. The name Theresa had signed for the note.

“Not yet,” the woman said, keeping her voice low. “Don’t get restless.” I listened to them eat for a minute. Then the woman spoke again. “How’d you get here so fast anyway?”

The man chuckled. “I found a horse. The gimp left her tied outside.”

The what? I gasped. Johnny had taken Auburn. That made so much more sense. But before I could think through what that meant, I had two pairs of angry eyes on me.

“Did you just gasp?” the woman asked.

“What?” I picked at my fingernails. “No, I coughed.” I pretended to cough.

I glanced at the man, now that he stood so close. He was built like a football player. Maybe a linebacker in high school. If I had to, I’d probably be able to outrun him. Given enough of a head start.

“Grab her,” the woman said.

I jumped up, making a dash for the door, when he seized me by the wrist. I spun around, using my other hand like a hammer. I started throwing punches and yelling. I landed one on his face before he scooped me up like I was a bale of hay. He slipped his arm around my neck and smiled while he said, “Goodnight.”

The lights on the ceiling faded as the room went dark, and I felt my legs give out.

* * *

I awoke with a jerk. Where was I? Where was my attacker? I opened my eyes, only to find they’d placed a cloth bag or an old t-shirt over my face. I tried to bring my hands to my face in defense or to remove the cloth when I realized my wrists were bound. Dirt dug into my bare arms as I involuntarily twitched on the ground.

“You’re awake,” the man said as he roughly lifted me to my feet. I thrashed out with my elbows, hitting nothing, and only succeeded in further disorienting myself.

“Let me go!” I yelled. I felt the rope at my wrists pull forward, forcing me to take a few steps or else catch the fall on my face. In the few seconds I’d been out, they’d tied my wrists and carried me outside. The man clicked his tongue, and the rope pulled again, leaving me with no choice but to walk.

Taking a wild guess, I shouted to Auburn. “Whoa, girl.” The pull stopped. So that was it then. The man held one end of the rope and forced my own horse to pull me behind her. “Come here, girl,” I said, hoping she’d give me enough slack of the rope to do something with it. I heard the man jump off my horse and felt the rope pull taut again.

He called out to the man and woman he’d been eating with. “You guys take the horses. I’ll bring her.”

“Let me go!” I yanked on the rope, and it bit into my wrists. Tug of war against him was beyond futile, but I resisted as hard as I could. “I won’t come!” It was a lie.

I did come. Unwillingly.

I fought and yelled the whole way, but I came. He led me through the streets, where I almost tripped several times, and finally up some stairs and into a building with smooth floors.

“Just once more,” the man said, and while I should have known what was coming, I wasn’t prepared. He did the same choke as before, his arm cutting off the blood supply to my brain, and within seconds, my consciousness clicked off.

I don’t think he caught me when I fell because my right side throbbed as I awoke for a second time, even more livid that I’d been fifteen minutes prior. I would have flailed my arms and elbows with twice the zeal, except they were now zip-tied behind my back. The old cloth they’d covered my head with sat on the floor beside the rope. I still couldn’t tell if it was a shirt or a bag, and at this point, I didn’t care. After jerking my head around left and right and left again, I realized that I was alone, and took stock of my surroundings.

I was seated on a cold, metal chair in the middle of a dirty room. The air smelled of rust, cleaner, and sewage. When I tried to kick my legs, plastic dug into my ankles. They’d zip-tied those too. Seemed a bit over-the-top to me, given that I was a hundred and forty-pound girl. Granted, I’d given that burly man a heck of a fight back in the booth and as he’d led me down here, despite my size and being unarmed. My wrists barely budged as I moved them around, attempting to gauge how much space I had. If they tied me so well, knowing nothing about who I was or what I really wanted, what had they already done to Kestrel and Johnny?

My best guess was that I was in some kind of abandoned government building. Since everything in the room had been taken out, likely in the series of raids after the EMP attack, I couldn’t tell if it was a library, a bank, or a hospital.

If it had been a library, there would have been some loose pages or bookshelves. And a bank wouldn’t look like this. Craning my neck, I turned to see the door. Peering through the glass, I found the face of the man who’d choked me unconscious. Before quickly looking away, I read the word on the glass door backwards. Laboratory.

A hospital or some medical facility. Maybe this was the clinic I’d visited as a child. How ironic. Now, if I died, perhaps there was even a morgue conveniently located beneath us. No Ellie, I told myself. Don’t think like that.

“She’s up,” the man at the door shouted. The one who’d put me to sleep. Twice. I narrowed my eyes at him as he and the woman from the convenience store hurried in.

“Who are you?” the woman asked, staring me down. Her voice was gravely and lower than I expected, coming out more like a hiss and a threat.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. A whirlwind of fear and anger and uncertainty spun around inside me, and it was all I could do to stay calm. Appear confident. My father told me that the goal of terrorists is to make you feel fear. Live in fear. Anytime you let yourself be afraid of them, they’d win. And I couldn’t let that happen.

“I asked you a question,” she shouted, trying to scare me. It might have worked except that I’ve lived under Theresa’s threats for years. Compared to Theresa, this was banal.

“Me?” I asked, blinking repeatedly. My vision started to swim, but I didn’t think I was as scared as my eyes seemed to look.

“Yes, you.”

“I should be asking you that,” I spat back. “You have no right to tie me up.”

The woman scoffed with a single glance at the largest man. He reached to his side and pulled out a handgun. My confidence dissolved.

“I will ask you one more time,” the woman said, motioning to the gun. “And if you don’t give me an answer, Draven will shoot you in the leg.”

I took a deep breath and narrowed my eyes at her.

“I’m one of you!” I shouted. Yes, it was a very bold move, but it was the only one I could think of. I’d passed as one of them before when I’d delivered the note for Cheyenne. Even she had thought I was a member of the Knotwood Militia.

“You’re obviously not one of us. You don’t carry the Vulture,” Draven growled. “Cora and I both do.” I squinted at the man, who flexed his left arm, making the vulture appear to spread its wings menacingly. I looked back at the woman. On her neck, only one wing was visible, but she had a vulture too.

“I don’t. No, I don’t carry the vulture.” I eyed them with disgust knowing what that meant. They’d looked me over. Checked my body for a tattoo of a vulture. “I work at the Wyatts’ undercover.” I tried not to hold my breath.

“Every soldier vetted by Flannen gets marked by a vulture. You didn’t pass initiation. You’re not one of us.” Draven’s voice gargled like he had something stuck in his throat.

My mind raced. “Not everyone.” I thought of Theresa specifically. I’d seen her mostly naked for years. So had everyone else due to her penchant for wearing sheer clothing and her need to be the center of everyone’s attention. There was no way she had the tattoo.

“I didn’t get marked because, as I said, I work at the Wyatts’. For Flannen. If I was marked after initiation, it could have given away my identity,” I explained.

“Do you have any ID on you?” Draven asked, tapping his finger against the handle of the gun.

“Of course, I don’t carry ID on me! Who carries ID anymore? What is this, an airport?” My fear turned into sass somewhere as the last words came out. “Why am I the one being interrogated, anyway?”

“Because you’re the bitch tied to the chair,” the woman named Cora said, leering. “Shall we get on with it?” Her eyes flashed, and for a moment, she actually looked like Theresa. Not just the danger and threat on her lips, but the way she moved.

I held back my inclination to apologize. I didn’t owe these people anything; I had to remind myself of that. They were terrorists, likely among those who’d shot at Jackson and me. Thinking about Jackson transitioned my emotions at least. I thought back to his couch. How comfortable I’d felt. How safe it had seemed with him. Even if he was cheating on me with Cheyenne, the safety hadn’t been a lie. While I was with him, I was safe. At least, physically. I kept my mind in that safe place, grounded and calm.

Cora moved closer to my face, and I cringed, thinking she was about to hit me. “Why the hell are you here in Knotwood if you work for Flannen undercover at the Wyatts’?”

Trying to ignore the gun in Draven’s large hands, I looked back at Cora. Her eyebrows were tattooed on, and her long hair contained a lot of gray. I tried to humanize her as a way to minimize the threats she made.

“I swear, if you’re screwing with us, I’ll mess you up so good that your own family won’t recognize you.”

If I hadn’t been scared, I would have chuckled at the irony. I squared my shoulders and steadied my breathing. “I was sent here by Flannen to check on the status of the hostage, Ellie.”

Draven ran his finger along his lips. “There’s no way to prove that. And we don’t have time for games.”

“Give me the gun,” Cora said. “I’ll take care of this.”

“I think you’ve fired enough shots today, Cora.”

“You’re out of line, Soldier!” Cora whipped her head toward him with a snarl. “You think war and a couple of chevrons on your uniform gives you the right to order me around? Just because you’ve fired a gun and fought overseas, doesn’t mean you understand how to wage and win a war. You’re only a boy, barely out of high school!”

“And you’re acting like an addict hungry for your next hit.”

“Of course, I like the rush. I’m human, after all. You know I didn’t enjoy what happened today. But it had to be done.” She wrung her hands. No rings. Short fingernails. Cuticles looked like they’d been bitten down. Behind her cold calculated gaze was another look, flashing briefly in her eyes—an uneasiness or maybe trepidation over her victim—before it was gone.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Draven muttered, gripping the gun tighter.

“You wanted me to show her mercy? Have pity? Puh-lease,” Cora said, wringing her hands again. While it gave me some relief that the conversation had moved past me, curiosity and concern ebbed at my mind. Who had she shot? “The Flannens have made it very clear what we are supposed to do with traitors.”

“Are you telling me you already shot Ellie?” I blurted out, holding back the horrible idea. Trying to keep my heart from bursting out of my body.

“No, not yet. Not before schedule—” Draven said to me.

“None of your damn business!” Cora snapped, cutting him off. She checked her silver watch, then pulled her sleeve back over it.

Apparently, someone from their militia had betrayed them. And Cora shot her. I guess I felt sad that someone had died. I wanted war to stop. This was sounding more and more like a gang than a functioning militia. But if Kestrel was safe, and Johnny was safe, that was more than I could have hoped for.

“You should be happy she’s not here because of your lapse in judgement!” Draven said, gesturing to me. They both stared at me for a moment. I tried to keep a bored expression.

I decided to cut in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and honestly, I don’t care. I’m not here to ask about traitors to the cause. I’m just here to check on the status of the plan moving forward, and Ellie.”

“How are we supposed to know that you’re telling the truth? That you really are working with Theresa? I’ve never heard of you.” She looked back to Draven.

My heart continued to race. “It’s true! I’ve been the messenger for her,” I insisted.

“Is there anyone here who can vouch for you?” Cora asked, her fists clenching and releasing before eyeing me with a look of pure contempt mixed with eager anticipation. “And spare you from a most unfortunate injury?”

I nodded, racking my memory. “Yes.” I was trying my very best to sound calm. The man I handed the note to had told me his name. Clemson? Clayton? Clinton?

That was it. Clinton. “Clinton can vouch for me,” I shouted frantically, knowing I should have kept my cool.

The woman stared at me skeptically. My heart pounded, filling me with uncertainty and apprehension. Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe his name was Clayton. “Clinton?” the woman repeated, and for a moment, I worried that I’d gotten the name wrong.

I shut my eyes and replayed the scene. Remembering correctly this time, I shouted, “Clifton! It was Clifton.”

Draven raised an eyebrow. “We only met one time,” I explained.

The woman rolled her eyes. “And who should we tell Clifton we have in our custody? Who are you?” she asked again.

I smiled, hope dangling by a single name. I tried to own it, like it really was mine. “Amy,” I said confidently. “My name is Amy.”

21

Amy

Draven and Cora hurried out of the room without giving me any indication of how long they’d leave me there. Though they’d said nothing to me, I assumed they’d gone to find Clifton and ask him about me. Honestly, I didn’t think Clifton would remember me. For all I knew, he’d long since discovered that I was a nobody, and certainly not a member of their militia.

The emptiness of the room, coupled with the dismal chance of Clifton vouching for me, gave me only one option. Escape. I had to escape, and I had no idea how long I had before Draven’s gun fired a bullet into some part of my body.

Years prior, my dad had taught me what to do if I got kidnapped. Basic Morse Code, self-defense, and how to kick out taillights. He’d even tied me with zip-ties, not unlike the ones currently restricting my wrists, and shown me how to raise my arms above my head, then throw my arms down, snapping the zip ties as my wrists hit my hips. That method clearly was not going to do me any good here with my hands behind me as I sat in the chair.

I remembered the broken window. Maybe there was some glass on the ground. I tried to imagine tipping my chair over, somehow getting my fingers on the glass, and all without getting the glass in my fingers. Maybe then I could use the shards to cut the plastic on my wrists. I scanned the room again. There had to be a better option, some plan that gave me some semblance of hope.

Click. I turned my head as the door opened again. I’d been too slow. But even if I had hobbled my chair beside the shattered window, I definitely wouldn’t have been able to cut my wrists free in that amount of time.

Draven entered with Clifton. I only recognized him because he wore the same clothes as he had the only other time I’d seen him. Only now, he had some blood on the bottom of his shirt. Unsure of what to say, I just stared at him expectantly.

“Amy,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Clifton,” I replied. No pleasantries in this militia, I suppose.

“So, you know her?” Draven asked, placing his gun back in the holster on his side.

“Yep,” Clifton said as he pulled out a pocket knife. In one second, I thought he’d stab me, but in the next, he cut me loose. “She brought the note from Cheyenne. Gave the time and location for the pickup.”

“About time,” I muttered, rubbing my wrists where they’d already become red and raw.

Draven towered over me. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For helping us grab Ellie. Couldn’t have done it without you playing your part.”

“Right,” I muttered, dropping my eyes. It sounded so much worse when he said it. I’d facilitated Kestrel’s kidnapping. Me.

My stomach started doing cartwheels.

“You said you’re here to check on her?” Clifton asked.

“Yep.” I tried to keep it casual. Business as usual, if your business is abduction and conspiracy.

“Wait just a minute,” Clifton said to me as Draven flagged him over. Even though they whispered, the room carried their voices, allowing me to hear most of what they were discussing.

“...she really so restless that she’s sending her people to check in already?” Clifton whispered.

“Apparently,” Draven replied. “Take her to see them.”

Clifton looked back over to me. “Maybe she’ll know what we should do with the gimp hell-bent on sharing Ellie’s grave.”

Poor Johnny. He was set on saving me with no idea that I was trying to save him or that I hadn’t even been taken hostage.

“Come on,” Clifton said. I started to follow him, intent on not looking at Draven again. Once we left the room, it became obvious that we were indeed in what once was the Knotwood Clinic, though now it served as headquarters for the militia. Knotwood wasn’t known for much, and their clinic wasn’t nearly as great as the one in Rock Ridge. Some of their staff had never been very friendly, and if the matter was anything serious, they’d send you to the hospital in Rock Ridge anyway. My dad brought me here a few times though, simply because the hospital tended to be very busy.

The time that came to mind was when I needed stitches in my hand after trying to fix the barbed wire fence. Dad had mentioned it needed to be done in passing one day, just sort of sighed that he was too tired to get to it for a few days in a row. I felt bad for him, so I snuck out and tried to repair it on my own. But all I succeeded in doing was making his day even longer with a trip to get my hand stitched up. I’d been six at the time.

Walking down the now somewhat familiar hallway, it looked quite different from how it had when I was a child. Graffiti images of vultures with hollow eyes covered the walls. Spray painted words were intertwined throughout them, but I was able to read most of the phrases plastered all around me.

“Dominate!” “If they run, shoot!” “Unite or Die!” “We don’t fear death; we feed off it.”

We continued walking, Clifton eventually taking me down a winding stairway that I had no memory of. Ahead, in bold red paint, read, “Flannens Forever!”

The “s” captured my attention. Flannens? Was there someone else besides Theresa related to her? She had definitely used it as a last name, not as a title. Not for the name of the group. I’d heard someone call it “Flannen’s Army.” But maybe they’d been saying “Flannens’ Army.” There was no way for me to know unless I asked. At this point, I didn’t dare ask anything. Especially considering that I was supposed to already know everything. My livelihood hung on the farce that I was one of them.

Obviously, their loyalties were to a person, not a place. The Knotwood Militia had no reason to have a public execution. But they were no militia. They’d evolved into a group of Vultures who went around preying on the weak, dealing death rather than drugs. They’d transformed into something grotesque under their new leader... or leaders. They were now a terrorist organization, proud to call themselves the Knotwood Vultures, members of Flannens’ Army.

“We’re keeping her in the old psych ward.” Clifton said as we walked down a dank hallway.

“Seems appropriate,” I blurted out. “And the... the, uh, gimp?” Johnny would have tried to murder me had he heard what I’d just called him. Without much difficulty, I’d gone my entire life without ever calling him that name, and here I was pretending that I didn’t know him. Pretending that I only knew him by his disability. Blood rushed to my cheeks. And thankfully, it was too dark for Clifton to notice.

“He’s in the room next door to Ellie. Had to use the straps on him, though. Put up a helluva fight. I tried to recruit him, but he damn-near knocked my head off,” Clifton said.

Johnny? Putting up a fight? The only time I’d seen him fight was with me over whether or not a pitch was a ball, or a hit was a foul. Did they have a different guy?

We turned down a hall, and based on the number of armed men and women, this was the place. Kestrel and Johnny wouldn’t be far. Clifton took me to the first door on my right.

“She can’t see you, but you’ll be able to see her.”

The huge window to the psych hold room showed everything. When I saw Kestrel, peace flooded me. She was alive. She was okay.

Kestrel sat on the edge of the hospital bed, kicking her feet and talking. All things considered, she looked very easy-going.

“Who’s she talking to?” I asked. If she told them she wasn’t Ellie, and then gave any sort of description of me, I’d be dead. And so would she.

“According to everyone down here, she hasn’t stopped talking and singing since she came in. We’ll gag her for the execution so she’ll finally shut up. Should we gag her now?”

Shocked that he’d asked me, I didn’t answer at first. “No.” I finally spoke, shaking my head. “No, don’t bother gagging her.”

She sat alone in the room, surrounded by some remaining pieces of medical equipment and exposed wires, looking borderline bored. When I’d pictured her, I’d imagined her cowered in a corner, with her knees pulled into her chest, sobbing. I’d been wrong. If she knew they were going to kill her, which she had to know by now, she faced it with bravery in the form of indifference. Or ignorance.

“Questions? Or do we proceed as planned?” Clifton asked.

“Questions…” I wanted him to review the plan with me but worried that would raise questions of his own. “Has there been anything… unexpected?” I phrased it so he could tell me if Kestrel had renounced her name of Ellie.

“Well, her hair was a wig, but other than that, nothing unexpected. We’re ready to record the execution and send the tapes over just as soon as Flannen gets back with the equipment. He said it wouldn’t take long. It’s going to make for a great show of force. Then when the Wyatts and their little army leave their fortress, we’ll raid their place from the back. Once we get that house in our control, it’ll be game over for those Rock Ridge pacifists.”

Flannen was a “he”? Then I began to wonder. Savannah and Cheyenne had told me their father died, but what if, what if he hadn’t? What if he was the one leading this assault on everything I loved? And was Theresa...?

“Do you have what you need?” Clifton asked, obviously eager to leave.

“Can I see the other one? The guy you said you had to tie up?” I couldn’t live with myself if I uttered the word “gimp” again.

“Sure,” Clifton said, and we left. I turned back to look at Kestrel one last time. For now, she was okay. And there wasn’t really anything I could do for her. It wasn’t as though I could overpower the men in the hall or con them into releasing her. Even if I gave myself up as Ellie, they’d likely end up killing all of us just to be sure they got the real Ellie.

You’re a scout. Not a one-woman rescue team, I had to remind myself again and again. I knew the only hope Kestrel had of getting out of here was if I didn’t expose her for who she was by trying to break her out.

We saw Johnny next door from Kestrel in an identical room, only his held four armed men. One of them had Johnny’s cane propped up on his shoulder like he wanted to take a swing at his combative prisoner.

Rather than sitting contently at the edge of the bed, Johnny was strapped on his back. Through the glass, I could hear him cursing, saying words I didn’t even know were in his vocabulary.

“Doesn’t quit, this guy,” Clifton said. “I’m not joking when I say it’s admirable. I’m going to feel much worse spilling his blood than hers.”

Best to ignore the retorts on my tongue. I listened to Johnny for a second before I finally understood what he was saying. He wanted to die by Ellie. Said they’d have to go through him first. Promised there would be hell to pay.

“He wants to be in the same room as her,” Clifton explained. “Though, if he doesn’t shut up soon, someone’s gonna shoot him. It’s exhausting.”

“Oh,” I said, not knowing how else to reply. But how could I calm him and not let him know that I was there? What would he do once he saw that I wasn’t in the room? Would his rage redirect to Kestrel for misleading him? No, Johnny wasn’t that way. But he’d calm down for sure if he knew I wasn’t in danger.

“Don’t shoot him.” I tried not to say it like my heart wasn’t imploding at the very idea of losing Johnny. “Once I’m gone, you should probably just put them in the same room.”

“I was thinking that too! Makes for a more compelling video with two people.”

The taste of blood tinged my tongue as I bit it. Hard. I had to return to Jackson. We would need the Rock Ridge militia to get Johnny and Kestrel out of here, and time was dwindling.

“As soon as Flannen gets back from his meeting with Mayor Wyatt, we can move in.”

Flannen was having a meeting with Mayor Wyatt? With Austin? I was pretty sure Theresa was having more than a meeting with him. Or was it the other ‘Flannen’ Clifton had mentioned? He? Whoever ‘he’ was. There was so much I didn’t know and so many pieces I didn’t have. Maybe that’s how Jackson felt. Maybe he needed the pieces from me to solve this and fix the disaster crashing down upon his home.

“I have to go now,” I said. Mostly because if I kept watching Johnny thrash and wail about how badly he wanted to save me, I’d give myself up. But I couldn’t give up. Not when there was a chance for me to get the people we needed to save them.

I knew their location. I just needed to make it to Jackson.

“Where’s my horse?” I asked. “I must get back to the Wyatts’.”

Clifton walked me out an emergency exit from the lower level and showed me to the horses. I couldn’t take both of mine, so I opted for Auburn. She was happier to see me anyway.

“You comin’ back later?” Clifton asked me as I fumbled for the reins with shaky hands.

“I don’t know. I’m just following orders as they come.” I grabbed Auburn and probably bruised her sides from how hard I dug my heels into them, begging her to get me to Jackson and back in time. I’d been detained for a few hours, at least. And now it was dark, making the ride all that much more difficult. The whole time I berated myself for not doing something to stop Theresa sooner.

Auburn and I were both winded when the Wyatts’ huge home rose into view. I jumped off her, hoping she wouldn’t go far, and sprinted up the grounds.

22

Calculated Moves

Getting close, I crept up to the house and slipped the beanie off my head. I needed to find Jackson. I’d go straight to his room and tell him everything. About me, about Theresa, about Johnny and Kestrel. I’d draw a map of the hospital for him and the Rock Ridge Militia to use. And then, once Johnny and Kestrel were back safely, I could talk to him about us. I could tell him honestly how I felt about him and how it hurt me to see him with Cheyenne.

Once Theresa was arrested and Austin had annulled his marriage to her, which I felt sure he would do after he found out what she’d been planning, I’d worry about myself. Only then could I think about the things that made me happy: Jackson, Johnny, and baseball.

Until then, happiness had to be put on hold. The keypad on this side of the house greeted me with a red light after I punched in my PIN. There was no reason to think that Jackson had cancelled my access to the house even though I’d been curt and cold this morning. Was that just this morning? Only twenty-four hours prior, I’d been blissfully making out with him in his bedroom. How much of this could have been avoided if I’d just told him then who I was? My dirty fingers left smudges on the numbers as I pressed my PIN again.

A green light was followed by sweet relief. I must have entered it wrong the first time. Soon I’d be with Jackson. Then my heart could be at ease for Kestrel and Johnny.

The only lights in the hall illuminated the floorboards. I took a few steps forward, holding back the urge to sprint to Jackson’s room.

“Stop,” I heard a voice command me from behind. I whipped around to see a member of the Rock Ridge Militia standing at the door. He leveled a handgun at me. “Don’t move,” he demanded. Then I recognized him from his uniform and the nametape on his chest. First Sergeant Framingham. His voice was calm, and his hands were steady as a rock. “You’re being detained.”

“Framingham, it’s me, Violet,” I said, raising my hands slowly near my face. “There must be a mix-up. I have a guest PIN. I’m allowed entry here.”

“Don’t move. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court hearing.”

“A court hearing?” I repeated. There was no court. He had to be confused or mixing me up with someone else. “Why am I being detained?”

First Sergeant Framingham pulled a walkie-talkie from his waist. “We’ve got her,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to me.

Did they know I was Ellie? Was he working for Theresa? Was he some double agent from Knotwood, sent to see if I really was some girl named Amy? Anything I said would give away something he might not know, so I remained silent.

“Step outside,” he ordered. “You will be escorted to a holding cell. If you run or give any indication of trying to escape or injure us, we won’t hesitate to shoot.”

My legs wobbled as I stepped back into the cold night air. “Can I speak with Jackson?” I asked. “There’s been some sort of misunderstanding. If I could talk with Captain Wyatt, we could clear this up.” I walked slowly. In the distance, a group of men rushed toward us. As they approached, I recognized them as more members of Jackson’s militia.

“He’ll come in a little while. You’ll have to wait in the holding cell,” First Sergeant Framingham insisted. I didn’t want to tell him anything. Without knowing who he was or where his loyalties lay, spilling secrets might land me or someone I cared about in a puddle of blood.

One of the other soldiers kept looking at me and shaking his head in disbelief. “How could you do it?” he finally asked as we stepped over some sagebrush. His uniform top told me he was Specialist Lopez. I’d seen him at the front desk while Brennan was recovering. Apparently, he’d seen something on the screens that he misunderstood.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Poor girl was devastated by her father’s death to the point of being mute and suicidal. And you planned for her abduction? I can only imagine what sort of a toll that will have on someone already in that state. It’s despicable.” Lopez continued to shake his head as he looked away.

“I didn’t do anything like that!” I insisted.

“The security camera shows otherwise,” he said.

Security cameras? Where? And what had they seen?

“I don’t know what you mean. What cameras?”

“It’s on tape! You—handing off the note to the Knotwood Militia. We know you’re one of them!”

Now it was clear. They thought I was a Vulture. And I couldn’t very well blame them. I’d spent the past couple hours trying to convince Draven and the trigger-happy lady, Cora, that I was a spy.

All I knew was that I had to get back to Jackson. “I’m not one of them! You can check. I don’t carry the vulture!”

“Carry the vulture? What the hell are you talking about?” First Sergeant Framingham asked. How much did they know about the Knotwood Militia and their swayed loyalties to their corrupt leaders?

“The militia members, they all carry the vulture. A tattoo of a bird. I don’t have one. You can check!” I volunteered. “This is not what it looks like.” We stopped outside an old deli shop a couple blocks south of the Wyatts’. He pushed the door open and walked me to the back. The empty room, littered with plastic and paper wrappers, aggravated my unease. Built into the wall was an old freezer. They opened the door with a PIN of their own and motioned for me to walk inside.

“The holding cell is a freezer?” I asked as I remained in place. Even with the power out, the idea of staying inside a freezer made my insides grow cold as my hair prickled up.

“Yes, get in,” he directed.

“Will I be able to breathe?” I could feel my breaths getting shallow as I begin to panic. “How long before Jackson can come talk to me? We have to get Ellie before they execute her!”

“Is the guilt getting to you?” Lopez sneered. “I’ll tell him you have intel.”

He didn’t answer my question about air. He jerked his gun toward the freezer again, and I walked in.

“Please tell him to hurry.”

“Sure thing,” Lopez replied sarcastically.

The door shut, and I didn’t bother going to check if it had locked. Even if I managed to bust out of the freezer, I wouldn’t know where to find Jackson. And breaking out would have made me look guilty of something. The air seemed colder in here even though I knew it was only my mind playing tricks on me. I know how freezers work. And locks. I had to tell myself to breathe. To relax. I cringed at the cool walls and floor.

Jackson would be here soon, and I’d tell him… what would I tell him? “Jackson, I pretended to be part of the Knotwood Vultures so I could go find Kestrel and Johnny. Oh, and by the way, Kestrel, the missing employee, yeah, I convinced her to let me leave my very first night here. She wasn’t supposed to take my place, but Theresa, well, Theresa’s the mastermind behind everything.” It sounded ridiculous. Very hard to believe, especially if they’d been piling evidence against me. With all of their security measures, how had they seen me deliver a note in the bushes outside of the house, but they hadn’t seen Theresa do anything nefarious. Was my luck that bad?

I needed to lie down. My head pounded, probably from dehydration. Or hunger. Maybe even from overthinking everything. I shut my eyes. My chest felt so heavy. Was the air getting thin? Where were Kestrel and Johnny now? I should rest. Just until Jackson came back.

Beep! The freezer door clicked as someone unlocked it, and I sat up, hope bubbling inside me, warming me. I’d be safe. I’d be just fine. Jackson was here, and once I told him everything, whatever the video tape showed would then make sense.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, standing as the door opened. I looked up, and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach as I saw her face. A huge red bun sat on the top of her head. Her eyes gleamed with malicious hatred for me.

“Are you?” Theresa asked, pointing a pistol right at me. “You make one move toward me, and I’ll pull the trigger. It’ll be very easy, and you will be very dead.”

Dead vs. very dead. What was the difference? It was so ridiculous, I would have laughed, save for the gun staring directly at my chest. Surprisingly, my legs didn’t shake. Adrenaline kept me from feeling fear. Or maybe I’d spent so much of the day in fear, that I’d become numb to it.

She wore a long-sleeved black blouse, and her jean leggings were so tight that I’m sure little would have been left to the imagination had I been able to take my eyes off her hateful glare. “So, what did you figure out? Who have you told, and what do you know? Spill fast so I can finish this,” she hissed at me. I eyed her finger on the trigger. It would be simple for her to do it. And she’d enjoy it.

“You should have run when you had the chance,” Theresa said in response to my silence. “I don’t know how much you know or how you ended up looking like the guilty one here. But you made this a piece of cake for me. I saw that you intercepted the note from Cheyenne. Clever of you, but then you still delivered it. Whatever possessed you to do a thing like that?”

I tried to make my words brave but not as malicious as hers. “That’s what they have on camera? Me taking the note from Cheyenne and delivering it to your men from Knotwood?” I asked incredulously, ignoring her question to me.

“My men?” she said, bringing her free hand to her cleavage in a false display of shock. “If you say so.” She looked so smug standing there. “As you understand, I can’t let this get out, and since everyone believes that Ellie is about to be executed, I can’t very well let you go off telling everyone whatever it is you know or who you really are. I have to keep my secrets closer than anything. Or anyone.”

“If the Wyatts saw the video, is Cheyenne detained as well? Have you let your own daughter get holed up in a freezer in some other abandoned shop in town?” I pressed her. “Is Savannah gone too? Did you take measures to ensure that each of us stays silent?”

“That’s sweet. Now you’re worried about Cheyenne and Savannah. Savannah ran off right after the wedding. Hell if I know where she is now. And conveniently the tape was corrupted, nothing to implicate Cheyenne. The only bit of the video we found was of you. So, tell me, Violet, when I’m done with you, are there any loose ends I need to tie up? What do you know?”

I hesitated before answering in hopes that I’d prolong my life. “I know you needed people to believe I was here, so you kept Kestrel as your prisoner. And you arranged for your friends in Knotwood to take her so you could start a war with Rock Ridge. You want power, just like you always have. You crave authority, and you’ve manipulated whoever you need to in order to get it!”

She shrugged. Was this boring her?

“But why did you need me to be dead? What did I ever do to you?” My voice cracked.

“I didn’t need you dead. I wanted you dead. Why wouldn’t I want the person whose fault it is for my late husband’s death to be anything but gone? It should have been you!” Her words cut like a knife right to my heart. I hadn’t stopped blaming myself for his death, and she continued to take every opportunity to let me know that the fault lay solely on my shoulders. “But once you disappeared, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized that the girl in your room wasn’t you and that you were nowhere to be found. Austin hasn’t stopped asking questions about you since that damn gala months ago. He’s easy to con, but he’s not stupid. He would have figured it all out soon enough. So, I sped up the timeline because now I needed to get you and the fake you out of the picture.” She went on. “The feud between our two towns created the perfect opportunity. Once we merge Knotwood and Rock Ridge, we’ll have twice the resources and twice the people we control. Then Royce and I can move forward and take Elm Grove next.”

“Who is Royce?” I asked vehemently.

“Royce is my husband.”

“Husband? What about my dad? What about Austin?”

She laughed. “I don’t love them. I don’t even really love Royce. But he and I understand each other. I married him because it made sense. The rest of my marriages were all… calculated moves.”

My heart thumped like a glove beating into a punching bag. “So that’s your plan? That’s been your motive for years now? Conquer our bruised nation and become what, first lady to Royce? You just keep marrying whomever you meet that will fulfill your power-hungry plan?”

She waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “No, it’s not a democracy. People are twisted and dark and dangerous. They can’t govern themselves. They need a queen. But really, you should know all this since you’ve been snooping all around Knotwood looking for your friends. Marriage has always been a power move. And I’ve mastered how to use it. Your father was perfectly set up to become the leader of Rock Ridge. But thanks to you, he died and ruined that chance before we could orchestrate it. And yet, ironically, my dear, I couldn’t have done this without you. Your dad married me because he thought it would help you, thought you needed a mommy. Austin was no different. It’s better with you dead in the end. You see, it takes tragedy to unite people.”

My hopes at having a mother-figure had blinded me to her lunacy. I’d always known she was a bad person, but the depths to which she’d been willing to stoop stunned me.

“We’ve had enough tragedy. America will not go back to tribal wars and dark-age mentality.” I stepped forward.

She clicked her tongue and tapped her fingernail on the metal of the gun. “You know what the real shame is? That girl, whoever she is, will be buried next to your father. And you’ll go down in history as a traitor, a nobody, known only as the one who sent poor Ellie Hudson to her death.”

My heart hammered. There was no escape for me here. If I tried to physically lunge at Theresa, she’d shoot. Optimism has always been one of my traits, but I couldn’t see a scenario here wherein I came out alive. Out of desperation, I spoke up once more, “Switch us out again. Take me to Kestrel and have them kill me instead. You wanted to kill Ellie Hudson, well, just have them kill me. Not her. And let me be buried beside my father. Don’t kill Kestrel. You have nothing against her. Just kill me.” I could hear myself practically begging her by this point.

Theresa laughed, wagging the pistol. “Oh, Violet, you’re as good as dead already.”

23

“I’m Ellie”

Sleep deprivation inhibited my ability to reason, and I ducked low before tackling Theresa to the ground. She fired off one shot into the wall behind me before I ripped the gun out of her hands and chucked it out the door of the freezer while I planted myself on top of her chest. If she hadn’t been an old woman, I would have pummeled her face. Instead, I dug my forearm into her neck, the soft skin so warm against my flesh. I leaned forward, trying to block her air.

“You played with my dad’s emotions. He loved you!” I was screaming at this point, the rage and pain of the months and years of abuse pouring out of me. “And then you went and did the same thing to Austin. You’ll kill innocent people just to get what you want. You’re a monster, and I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done. What you’ve tried to do!”

With her long nails, she clawed into my skin, sending beads of blood down my arm.

“You’re making this too easy,” she gagged out. Immediately, I realized she was right, but it was too late. I looked up as the door to the deli creaked open. In the doorway stood a soldier in fatigues. Boots laced tight. Dust coating the camouflage pattern. Jackson. His face was… bewildered. But his confusion didn’t cause him to hesitate for a moment. He picked up the gun I’d thrown out and wagged it in my direction, not really pointing it at me.

“Off! Now!” he barked. I jumped off her and dropped my arms to my sides. They shook out of rage, like leaves in a tornado, the realization of what I’d been doing sweeping me away. In an attempt to stop shivering, I balled my hands into fists while drops of blood from Theresa’s gashes made their way down my arm to the floor.

“Shoot her!” Theresa demanded, scrambling off the floor of the freezer. “That maniac tried to kill me. Shoot her!”

I stared at Jackson. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he did. They had video footage of me passing notes to Vultures. He’d just seen me attack his new stepmother and try, albeit unsuccessfully, to choke her unconscious. But before he shot me, I had to tell him my name. Then I could die without that on my conscience.

“I’m Ellie,” I said, falling to my knees. I shut my eyes, unable to bring myself to watch him shoot. I sobbed out the next words. “It’s me, Ellie Hudson, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

I heard the gunshot at the exact same time I felt the bullet graze my shoulder. The heat of the blood forced my eyes open. He missed.

Looking across the freezer, I found Theresa with a second pistol, ready to take another shot just as Jackson knocked the gun from her hands. He hadn’t shot me. Theresa had, and if Jackson hadn’t been there, she would have done it again.

“Hands in the air!” he shouted. I tried to raise my hands, but the wound on my shoulder wouldn’t allow it.

“Not you,” he said to me while pushing Theresa into the freezer. He looked at me and jerked his head to the door. “Get out of here, whoever you are.” I scooted out of the way on my butt, nearly bumping into a pair of boots just outside the freezer door. Framingham stood there with his own gun pulled and pointed at Theresa. He moved to the side and waved me out.

I finally got to my feet, somehow making it outside, before I fell back to the ground and steadied myself. I rested my head on the cool glass of the deli’s front window. “You’re staying here until I figure out what’s going on.” Jackson’s voice echoed against the steel walls.

“I’m the victim here!” Theresa’s voice was a shriek by now. “You saw that girl trying to choke me to death. She’s insane. She’s part of the Knotwood Militia. She’s a Vulture! She’s the reason Ellie is going to die!”

Jackson cocked the pistol and said two words that I’d never had the courage to speak. “Shut up!” He pushed the door closed. I could no longer understand what Theresa was shouting from the other side. My shoulder burned like fire, and my fingers made for poor bandages.

Jackson rushed to my side. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He ripped some cloth from the bottom of his shirt and tied it around my shoulder.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to. That question could be asked about any number of things I’ve done in the past few days.” I grimaced. “It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you the whole thing, but right now, we need to go save Johnny and Kestrel.”

“Kestrel, the missing employee? She’s the fake Ellie?” he asked. I guess it didn’t take much for him to piece it together.

“Yes, Theresa forced her to pretend to be me so that it could look like the Vultures kidnapped me. She was only supposed to... well, we don’t have time for that now.”

“Fair enough.” He just about lifted me off my feet as I looked into his sincere face.

“I’m sorry. I mean it.” And I did.

Jackson didn’t seem angry. Sad, I guess. Maybe disappointed. Confused. But not upset. He ran his thumb along my jawline for a minute before dropping his hand. “I really should keep you detained, but since you didn’t shoot anyone in there, and you have information I need, I don’t know if I want to.”

I hadn’t realized detaining me was an option. “You don’t have to trust me, and I can definitely see why you wouldn’t, but I promise I won’t lie to you ever again.” I tried to think of how to summarize my history while making a compelling argument. “Theresa, Savannah, and Cheyenne all called me Violet after my father died as a way to tease me about my bruises, so it wasn’t a lie. I do go by Violet.”

“So, it wasn’t all a game to you?”

I guffawed. “No. None of it was a game to me. And I just want you to trust me now.” My shoulder burned terribly, and I tried to put the pain out of my mind.

“Do you deserve it?” he asked, helping me to squeeze my shoulder and stem the blood flow. It hurt, but I knew he was helping to slow the bleeding.

“Did I deserve to get shot?” I snapped back, my face contorted in pain and confusion.

He chuckled. “No, I know you didn’t deserve to get shot. I’m asking if you deserve my trust.”

I glanced at my shoulder and then looked back to Jackson. “I think I should have told you the truth from the beginning, but it was all very complicated. I did try very hard not to outright lie to you,” I admitted, staring right at him, his brown eyes giving me butterflies, even in the midst of all this chaos and fighting.

“I’m just glad you’re safe. I was worried about you after this morning.” He surprised me when he reached his hand beneath my chin and tried to kiss me. I glanced briefly at his mouth, so inviting, before I turned away. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asked.

“One reason is that we really don’t have time for this. Johnny and Kestrel are going to be killed. And Flannen plans on taking a video of it and sending it here for you to see. Their hope is that you’ll all leave the mansion and go looking for them. They plan to sneak into your house, take over, and make it their base of operations. Probably because the hospital where they’re holed up currently is too exposed or something.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked and started walking. I followed him.

“I went undercover and snooped around when I found out Kestrel was missing.” I told him tidbits of information about what I knew about Theresa and Johnny and Kestrel as we made our way around some broken down cars in the parking lot. The story was probably disjointed and crazy sounding without much context.

“You’ve had a busy day,” he said, waving his hand to someone behind me.

I turned, realizing that the First Sergeant was now standing at ease in front of the door to the deli since Jackson had come out. He jogged on over to us at Jackson’s beckoning.

“I want you to gather a few men and be ready. I’m going over there now. Be prepared at the border of Knotwood and Rock Ridge if we need you for backup. Hopefully, it doesn’t get ugly. But we have no idea what we’re getting into there. Tell Specialist Brennan to lockdown the mansion. And warn all residents to stay inside. Keep the channels clear.”

“Yessir.” Framingham turned and headed back toward the mansion at double speed.

Jackson led me toward his truck. He started the ignition, and the truck roared to life. We sped across the dirt, his headlights illuminating the bushes and dust. I didn’t say anything until we made it to the backroad between Knotwood and Rock Ridge.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “They wanted to kill me.”

“You lied to me, but now that I see how many people are after you, I understand why.” I nodded as he continued, “I’m still figuring it all out. I mean, you’re Ellie and Violet, but you aren’t part of the Knotwood Militia, correct?”

“Right, I just ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then I used that misunderstanding with their men so I could find out where Johnny and Kestrel were.”

“That was very dangerous,” he said gently.

“I know.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I was right about you when we first met. You don’t trust me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If you trusted me, you would have told me everything you knew about Theresa as you found it out.”

“I…” I couldn’t explain my reasons, so many of them coming from mistrusting those around me, to not wanting him to get hurt, while a myriad of other thoughts and justifications flooded my mind.

“You should have told me that you were Ellie, my childhood crush.”

“I was not your crush!” I protested, his statement catching me off guard. “You only ever talked to the other girls.”

“I didn’t talk to you because I was intimidated by you. Because I liked you, and I was young and didn’t know what to do with that emotion. You weren’t exactly available either.”

I shook my head and pressed my thumbs into my temples. “I can’t believe you’re confessing all this to me right now. I’m literally bleeding from a bullet wound in the front seat of your car, and my best friend and the girl everyone thinks is me are about to be killed.”

He chuckled. “Fine, let’s change topics. So, Johnny, best friend, not boyfriend, when he heard that ‘Ellie’ was taken, assumed it was you?”

I rolled my eyes but answered, “Yes.”

“Because he didn’t know about Kestrel.”

I nodded. “Johnny knows that I’m Ellie, but he doesn’t know that Kestrel isn’t. Well, he probably does by now.”

“I think I’m tracking.” He pulled off to the side of the road. “Let’s get your arm stitched up, and then we will go to Knotwood. It’ll take just a few minutes.”

We got out of the car, and he grabbed a first aid kit from the glove compartment. Before I could say anything, he gripped me by my waist and sat me on the tailgate. He took a syringe from the box and injected some numbing agent all around my shoulder. The shot hurt, but the numbness quickly overpowered the pain in my arm.

“Are you certified to give stitches?” I asked.

“Are you certified to do recon in enemy territory?” he retorted.

I chuckled. “I’m really sorry.” I felt guilty as I watched his hands work quickly with the needle.

“Don’t look.”

I kept staring anyway, and he shook his head.

“If you pass out on me, I’ll have no choice but to resuscitate you.” He gave me a little half-grin.

“I won’t pass out,” I promised. As I watched him work, I tried to decide how I felt about him. My heart pounded, and my breath caught in my throat as I barely felt his fingers brush against my arm. I guess it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that I loved him, but he was right about one thing in particular. I didn’t trust him. Even now I didn’t. I hadn’t trusted him with the knowledge about Theresa and my identity. And I still didn’t know what the deal was with him and Cheyenne. I realized that it was because I cared about him so much, that it hurt so badly to imagine him with Cheyenne. Of all people, my little stepsister.

“That’s gonna have to be good enough for now,” he said as he finished putting a small piece of tape over the square gauze covering my grazed bullet wound.

“Good enough is good enough.” I looked at my shoulder for a minute. “Let’s go find Johnny and Kestrel before it’s too late.”

Jackson hadn’t even started the truck when a Chevy pickup came speeding toward us and stopped in the middle of our path, blocking our way.

A man wearing a cowboy hat stepped out, the setting sun casting his long shadow all the way to the front of Jackson’s blue truck. I didn’t recognize him until he came much closer. Not even when Savannah climbed out of the other seat and stood at his side. Then I remembered the last time I’d seen the two of them. At Theresa’s wedding. She’d been hanging all over him for most of the night. Kendrick McDaniels. Apparently, he really had made quite the impression on her, or her on him. I had no idea at this point, and nor did I care.

Savannah’s expression was difficult to read. She seemed both distracted by the man holding her hand and avoidant of any eye contact with me. Maybe her own guilt refused to let her really acknowledge me. I didn’t want to look at her either. I’d quite liked thinking she’d gone off for good.

But now they were both back, and at a very inconvenient time.

Savannah rushed over, peered into the back of the truck, and then looked to Jackson. “Tell me you know where she is.”

“Who?” I asked.

Savannah turned to me. “Cheyenne. Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” Jackson said honestly. “But here’s what we do know. Theresa has been—”

“Sorry,” I interrupted, placing my hand on Jackson’s shoulder, “but I just don’t think we should be confiding all of this to them so freely.”

Jackson gave me a short nod. “I understand your misgivings about Savannah, but I know Kendrick from basic training. I can trust him. I’ll only fill him in on a few things. Be right back.”

“McDaniels, a word,” Jackson called Kendrick over.

Jackson kissed my cheek and left me alone with Savannah. Her red hair looked wilder than I’d ever seen it before. There were a few haphazard braids thrown in. Amazing, since I was pretty sure she didn’t even know how to brush her hair without me. Her clothes were dirty, and her makeup was clearly wearing off.

“Let me guess, it’s nothing personal?” she asked.

“I’d say it’s strictly personal,” I admitted.

Quicker than anyone else could have seen, Savannah flashed her eyes at me with what I knew, without a doubt, was complete hatred. Just as suddenly, her expression softened.

“I understand,” she said, now making her voice calm and slow, like a lullaby. I’m sure she meant it as a way for me to gain more trust in her. She was far beyond that for me. “Something happened with Mom, didn’t it?”

I scoffed. “You’ve made it very clear that she is not my mother. She’s yours and Cheyenne’s.”

“Is Cheyenne okay?” she asked, obviously refusing to tell me where she’d been during all of this.

“I don’t know where Cheyenne is.” I shrugged. I didn’t know how Savannah knew I was here.

“You’re telling me that war is about to break out here in Rock Ridge, and you haven’t even had the presence of mind to find your sister?” Her eyes widened as her hands visibly tightened into fists before she raised her voice in reprimand. “What’s wrong with you? She’s fourteen years old! She’s a child!”

“It’s not my job to babysit Cheyenne. She has a mother!”

“You and I both know she’s in no condition to be taking care of Cheyenne. She’s completely unstable! At the very least, you should have been there, keeping an eye on Cheyenne!”

I could have fallen over in surprise. For just a moment, I lost my balance and shuffled my feet on the gravel. Savannah knew her mom was crazy? I had no idea.

“I’ve been a little busy.” I eyed my shoulder where my blood still stained the shirt. I couldn’t read her expression. Maybe it was just that her features resembled Theresa’s so much, that I always assumed that she looked on me with deceit and hatred. But she had a point. Cheyenne seemed to be missing. She’d been helping Theresa deliver notes but clearly didn’t want to. And what had Theresa said when I’d asked her about Cheyenne’s whereabouts. I tried to remember. I don’t think she really answered the question. Just said that the tape was corroded when it showed me passing the note off to the Vulture.

Savannah’s voice grew desperate. “What could you have possibly been doing that was more important than keeping her safe? Screwing around!” She threw her arm toward Jackson.

“Even if I hadn’t run off like you, I would have been locked in my room. I thought you were in total agreement for me to play the crazy mute. It wouldn’t have helped Cheyenne for me to be there either.”

“I never had any say in the wig or the charade. But you still should have stayed there. Chey would have known where to find you if she needed you!” Savannah hissed, looking so much like her mother that it gave me goosebumps.

I snapped back at her. “Well, I wasn’t screwing around! I was busy getting shot by your mom.”

“That doesn’t make it better. It makes it worse.”

“Worse how?” I asked, my voice raising to a shout. “And where have you been?”

“Worse because if Mom’s gone crazy enough to shoot you, what makes you think she’s not crazy enough to shoot Cheyenne?”

I shook my head. It was too outlandish of an idea. Too erratic. Theresa was insane, that was certain. But to put Cheyenne in physical danger for the sake of power? No. I wouldn’t believe it. I couldn’t.

Should I…

“You know, you’re not the only one who wanted to get away! I used the wedding as a reason to give Mom the slip, and you know what, I’ve been having the time of my life, thanks for asking!” she spat back.

I scrunched up my eyebrows. “Why should I care that you were having the time of your life with your new boyfriend?”

“Fiancé!” she corrected. Engaged? And yet, she accused me of screwing around while her mom waged war. Savannah’s voice grew suddenly quiet. “You mean you don’t care about me? You didn’t worry about me at all?” Her voice sounded genuinely hurt.

I almost shrugged but then the pain returned to my shoulder. “Why would I worry? Why would I have cared? You never cared about me.”

She huffed and paused before replying. Her voice was even quieter now, almost cracking. “I always thought you did care. That’s why you always did nice things for me. I figured if I’d gone missing, you’d at least worry a little bit. Wonder a little bit. We’re sisters, Ellie, aren’t we?” She stared at me expectantly. “Weren’t we?”

“Sisters? You made me your servant. Why would I have worried or cared once you disappeared?” It seemed to me that she was just like Theresa. She didn’t care about me, but she cared if I cared about her.

“You wouldn’t have let me touch a thing on your dad’s ranch to lend a hand. You never even considered sharing him or the yard or even the kitchen sink with us.” She looked away from me, back toward Kendrick and Jackson. “Whatever.” She waved her hand, as if trying to ward off the sad, hurt feelings she had. “The problem isn’t you being heartless and horny. It’s about Cheyenne. We have to find her.”

I still doubted she was in any real danger, but I nodded. “Okay,” I reassured her. “I’ll find our sister. But not tonight. Meet me at the Wyatts’ in the morning.”

She nodded in agreement, albeit with tears in her eyes. Jackson and Kendrick came back a few minutes later, rescuing us from the awkward tension. Without another glance, Savannah took Kendrick’s hand and went back to their car, driving away from us as they headed back toward Rock Ridge. We continued down the road and drove on to Knotwood.

“Are you worried about her?” Jackson asked.

I kept my eyes ahead as I replied slowly, “Savannah?”

“She seemed pretty upset.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you worried about Cheyenne? I heard a little bit of the conversation. It was hard not to.”

“No, are you?” I asked. My voice was more than a little bit sharp.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m worried about everyone.”

I nodded. Jackson didn’t know where Cheyenne was right now, but the last time I’d seen her was when they were together, hugging and laughing in the hallway. The image still made my heart feel tight. Cheyenne wasn’t malicious, but she also wasn’t entirely innocent in all of this. She was Theresa’s errand-girl. Guilty of making this war come about. An accessory to ‘Ellie’s’ abduction. At the same time, while she wasn’t blameless, what were her options? Abandon her mother? Run away like Savannah and I had? I don’t know what I expected from her. But growing up she’d been the one who seemed to actually like me. Actually care about me. She’d stood up for me on more than one occasion.

A lot of thoughts drifted in and out of my mind during the remainder of the drive. Had Savannah actually called me ‘Ellie,’ tonight, not ‘Violet’? I quickly pushed the thought away. Besides, why hadn’t she come looking for me the way she had for Cheyenne? Why did Savannah think that I could help find Cheyenne? What made her think Cheyenne was missing anyway?

For the first time, I actually did get worried about her.

24

Welcome Back to Knotwood

We approached the town, the headlights of Jackson’s truck flashing across the worn wooden Welcome to Knotwood sign. The clinic was located down the road, closer to the center of town. I didn’t know when they’d move Kestrel and Johnny, or what time they planned to kill them. And I had no idea how they were going to kill them. Heck, I didn’t know if it was already too late.

The moon, a waxing gibbous, began to light the streets, the dead lampposts casting skeletal shadows on the dark pavement below. Just then, our headlights illuminated an armed man in his early twenties running toward us and two others riding on a horse. They didn’t have to get very close before I recognized the man on the front of the horse. Shadows obscured his face, but I’d know Johnny anywhere. Even with someone’s arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Johnny?” I shouted, jumping from the car as Jackson slowed the truck. I rubbed my eyes. Pulling on the reins, he slowed the horse, and I could see it was Chestnut. Both figures dismounted from the horse. Kestrel first as Johnny held her hand and helped her to the ground, handing her his bat-cane before he very slowly and awkwardly slid off Chestnut’s back. Taking his cane back, he held onto the reins as he leaned heavily on Kestrel while they walked toward us, both looking up at the sound of my voice.

“Nice timing,” Johnny said. His voice was much more coarse than usual. As he came closer, it became clear that the shadows on his face weren’t shadows. It was blood. His limping was far worse than usual as he all but dragged his leg behind him.

“What happened?” I asked, pulling him into the car as Kestrel took Chestnut’s reins.

A long laceration on his forehead oozed down the side of his face, matting his hair with dirt and bits of coagulated blood. Each one of his knuckles looked like his forehead. Raw. Red. Painful. “Oh, stop looking at me like some poor rat the cat dragged in,” he chided without answering my question as he waved me off. “You trade me horses or something?”

“Something like that.” I turned to Kestrel and held her in my arms. “I was so worried about you! Thank goodness you’re safe.” She returned my tight hug as their companion stopped behind me.

“And who is this?” I asked, turning to the man with the assault rifle and coming face to face with Clifton. My blood turned cold.

His face reflected my own expression as his eyes widened. “What the hell?” he spat. “Kessie, watch out!” Clifton lifted his gun toward me as Jackson pulled his own weapon and leveled it with Clifton’s head. Kestrel held tightly to Chestnut as he whinnied next to her, spooked by the sudden yelling around him.

“Shh, shh.” I could hear her calming him down as I stood there between the two pointed guns. She seemed more concerned with Chestnut than she was with the loaded weapons.

“Put it down,” Jackson commanded. Clifton lowered the gun slowly, letting it hang by his side again.

“Please, stop it!” Kestrel’s eyes pleaded with all of us. “Clifton, that’s Ellie. Ellie, this is my brother, Clifton. I told you about him.”

I scanned my memory, unsure I believed Kestrel had a brother. But Clifton? The man with the tattoo on his arm who had shot at Jackson and me the first night? “You never told me about him,” I asserted, holding my hands in tight fists.

“Sure, I did. First night in our room, I told you I had a brother in Knotwood,” Kestrel insisted, patting Chestnut’s head.

“Are you the one who shot at Jackson and me?” I sent an icy glare in his direction.

“I shot the wall behind you!” Clifton retorted. “Just to scare you back inside. I wasn’t going to shoot some couple on a date.”

“We weren’t on a date,” I muttered, remembering when Jackson had tackled me to the dirt. How confused I’d been. And how my heart raced at his touch, still does for as much as I’ve fought it.

Kestrel grabbed Clifton’s hand and gave him Chestnut’s reins. “You ride! We have to go. They’ll be here soon!”

Clifton took them but continued to eye me with the same suspicion. “That’s Ellie?” He glowered. “Ellie’s a member of Flannens’ Army? She’s the reason you’re in this mess!”

“Theresa’s the only reason any of us are in this mess. Stop trying to fight with her, and let’s get out of here!” Kestrel shouted.

A thousand questions burned behind my lips, but I didn’t have a chance to ask them. Clifton pulled himself up onto Chestnut’s back, and the rest of us jumped into the car just as we heard gunshots ahead near the clinic, but without any electricity lighting up the streetlamps, we could only see as far as the shine of the pickup’s headlights. Maybe the whole militia waited just beyond our field of sight. I could picture them—Cora and Draven, putting my head in their scopes as we drove away. But no one fired. It must have all been in my imagination. Sleep deprivation had already made me do crazy things tonight. Jackson accelerated, and we turned off the main road away from Knotwood, heading for the backroad toward Rock Ridge. I glanced in the rearview mirror, praying Clifton would keep Chestnut safe and no stray bullets would catch them as we made our way back to the mansion.

Once I was able to take my eyes off the darkest corners of Knotwood, I turned around, intending to ask how they all had gotten out, when Kestrel scooted over to Johnny and thanked him.

“You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met,” she exclaimed, I couldn’t look away as she planted her hands on his bloody cheeks and pulled him into her face. Johnny placed his raw hand behind her head as their lips met. They kissed for a good ten seconds, Jackson and I just staring at them before Johnny shouted and broke us both out of our reverie.

“Watch the road, would ya’?”

Jackson floored it, sending the truck, with the four of us rolling around inside, careening across the road between Knotwood and Rock Ridge. We passed the edge of town where Framingham and a group of soldiers were waiting for Jackson’s command for back-up, if necessary. Seeing us drive by with Clifton riding next to us, they approached on horseback and followed us down the road and back toward town.

By now, the moon was high overhead with millions of stars about. Once again, the light of day had abandoned us to darkness. And not just the dark of night.

A minute later, Johnny placed his hand on my shoulder, he and Kestrel having untangled themselves from each other’s arms. “You brat! You told me that you were hiding out at the Wyatts’! Not that you’d actually switched places with someone who was pretending to be you!”

“I’m sorry.” I decided I shouldn’t tell him that I’d seen him—lying on his back in that room in the clinic, thrashing and fighting. Without saying anything, he knew I’d made it to Knotwood. How far, he wouldn’t ask. And I definitely didn’t want to own up to the horror I’d felt imagining his death. Fortunately, with Kestrel in the car, I didn’t have to pester them with a hundred questions. Now that her mouth wasn’t occupied with Johnny’s, she started sputtering out their tale, almost as fast as we drove.

When I glanced back though, I saw her fingers still intertwined with Johnny’s.

“When they kidnapped me, Clif was among them. Of course, he didn’t recognize me until later after they took off my wig and some of the face paint. Seems almost unbelievable, but seriously, he didn’t! Just hours after mom and I came and got a job, he heard about the Flannens’ plan. Since he’d known that one of the Flannens was in the Wyatt house, he put himself on the front lines, hoping to get me and my mom to safety.

“Then mom told him I was missing, so he started looking for me. Obviously once he saw me less painted up, he recognized me. Clif knew he needed to get me out of there, but if he told them I wasn’t really Ellie, they’d kill me. And they’d still want to kill you. He kept a close eye on me, anxious to spring me from their custody as soon as the opportunity came. And then Johnny showed up. I heard him yelling for Ellie and all that, and then Clifton put him in my room. The three of us talked, and even though I wasn’t you, Johnny swore to do everything he could to save me.” She squeezed his hand. “You were incredible,” she said to him, gazing into his eyes. The way she looked at him made me feel so weird.

“But how did you get away?” I asked.

“Clifton took us into his custody. He actually said he was under orders to walk us outside to meet up with Royce. By the time we made it out there, it was obvious Clifton had lied. They started shooting at us; Clifton shot back, and Johnny knocked three guys out cold.”

“With his fists?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. Johnny’s arms weren’t much bigger than mine.

“Nah, with rocks,” Johnny said. “Pitching. It’s a useful tactic.” He winked at me, or maybe his eyelid was just swelling.

“And your face?” I asked, cringing at the sight of it as I heard the rip of fabric.

“It’s nothing.”

“How’d you find Chestnut?”

“He was with all the other horses that were tied up behind the building when we left. Seems he and Auburn switched places.” We exchanged glances, but that was all. “Kestrel helped me untie him,” he continued. “He made for an easier getaway.”

Kestrel looked at Johnny once again with that same doe-eyed expression she’d had on her face since they’d ridden up to us in Knotwood. Johnny smiled back at her and gave her another kiss on the cheek. “Ellie, do you have any water?” Kestrel asked, gingerly moving Johnny’s hair away from the cut on his head.

Jackson nodded to the floor, where a small canteen was rolling about. Handing it to her, I watched as she gently dabbed at the long cut on Johnny’s forehead above his eyebrow. Slowly, she cleaned up his face with the water and torn cloth. Wincing a couple of times, he quickly tried to mask the pain. He kissed her hand gently the next time she reached up, and I turned back toward the front of the car, my stomach oddly flopping around.

“They tried to retaliate using my technique with some more rocks,” Johnny explained. “Though their aim wasn’t so good. They’d make for lousy players. Probably shouldn’t recruit them.” He couldn’t hide that twinkle in his eye, even in the dark night.

As we pulled around to the side of the Wyatts’ house, Clifton came riding up only a couple minutes later. Framingham and the militiamen just behind him as well. Handing Chestnut off to one of the soldiers to be stabled, Clifton walked over and opened up the truck door.

“Doesn’t look like we were followed.”

“Good.” Jackson spoke up before any of us could get out of the truck. “Okay, Clifton, from what Kestrel tells us, you’re not loyal to the Vultures, so tell us how to stop this civil war before people die.”

Clifton told him everything—Theresa and Royce Flannens’ plan to conquer Rock Ridge, the paths the various teams would use to come to the mansion. He laid it all out much more concisely than I would have been able to. And far more detailed. Then it made sense. Royce Flannen was the mayor. The leader of Knotwood. And a terrible leader at that.

“That was all the previous plan,” Clifton said. “Now that we didn’t execute anyone, I’m not sure what they’ll do. I don’t think they’d move up their timeline from their original plan to attack right before dawn.”

Jackson nodded, biting his cheek methodically. “Theresa’s locked in a freezer, and the mayor, I mean Royce, is at a meeting with my dad. I’ll radio him, and we can take Royce into custody. Without their leaders, will they bag the op? Or do we still only have a couple of hours before they come?”

Clifton shrugged. “It’s possible many of them won’t show. This is the Flannens’ war anyway. Most of the guys are only in it because they’re bored or hungry and don’t know what else to do.”

Jackson nodded. “We need you to get back in there. Spread the word to the militia that the Flannens are done. We’ll kill them both if we need to send a louder message. If this is a matter of desperation and boredom, Rock Ridge would be happy to have the people from Knotwood come work here. We have food and resources. We can offer jobs. But we don’t want any more violence. Can you get that message through?” Jackson asked.

Clifton scratched his head. I eyed the vulture on his arm again. “Well, I just ran out shooting at them. My cover’s blown,” Clifton said. “I can’t get back in there. They’ll kill me on sight.”

“Then what would you suggest?” Jackson asked. He narrowed his eyes. It was clear that he didn’t want to be pessimistic, but we were running out of viable options that didn’t include actual war.

“We need someone they still trust. Someone in the Knotwood Militia who they probably won’t shoot on sight.”

“Where are we going to find someone like that?” Jackson asked.

Clifton looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Amy?”

“Who’s Amy?” Jackson asked, looking around.

My heart froze with his suggestion. It was the only plan that made sense. Someone in the Vultures who they trusted but was actually not on their side. I was their only option. I turned to look at Jackson apologetically and then sighed as I raised my hand. “I’m Amy.”

25

Retribution

Jackson turned to me with wide eyes. They weren’t angry or morose. Just baffled. We both got out of the car, and he came around the other side to stand in front of me. “You’re what? Who?”

“I’m Amy. It’s not a real person.” I told him about delivering the note for Cheyenne, and how I’d coughed, and it came out sounding like Amy, and then I just went with it. “I got my intel after I was captured.”

Kestrel scooted out of the car and said something about taking Johnny to the med wing as she went to help him inside the mansion with Clifton’s assistance. Hopefully, Johnny could get stitched up soon. The amount of blood on his clothes and right side of his body left me feeling shaken. He tried to give me a reassuring smile, but his face was drained of color, and I could tell he was trying hard to mask his pain.

Jackson stared at me in disbelief. “You were captured?” He sounded incredulous as I went into the details. The more I explained, the more concerned he became. He only seemed to hear the parts surrounding me getting zip-tied to a chair and being held at gunpoint, his face a mixture of emotions.

“When you said you went to their base at the clinic and saw Kestrel and Johnny, I thought you walked in as Violet... that the Vultures thought you were one of them to begin with, not that you were taken there against your will and forced to prove your membership. And then to come back here, only to be locked in a freezer and held at gunpoint again, this time by Theresa.”

I sighed and tried not to act as tired as I was beginning to feel.

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” I said admittedly.

“My word.” He pulled me into a tight bear hug, sending pain shooting through my shoulder while simultaneously setting free a few butterflies in my insides.

He heard the sharp intake of air from me and released his arms.

“I’ll radio my dad and tell him to detain Royce. At the very least, the Knotwood Militia shouldn’t be advancing without their leaders. With Theresa safely locked up, we’ll have some time. Let’s get to my dad and fill him in on everything you know,” Jackson said to me.

Jackson’s dad. Mayor Wyatt. Austin. It was finally time, after everything, for me to talk to him. He was the closest thing I had to a dad on this earth, and while I was very excited to be able to speak to him, I carried with me a deep fear. Fear of his opinion of me after hearing about my lies. Fear of what he’d see underneath my mask. Fear of what he thought of me after all this time. Fear that he held me responsible for the death of his best friend. And now, I had no idea how he would respond to me accusing his new wife of terrorism, abduction, and murder.

Jackson radioed him on the walkie-talkie four times. But Austin didn’t reply.

“Guess we have to drive there,” Jackson said. We jumped back into his car. I noticed the gas gauge getting dangerously close to E. He must have too.

I looked up at the dark sky, realizing how hard it was to see now that the moon was no longer visible, and the stars were beginning to wink out as well. This meant only one thing. Clouds. The wind also started to pick up as it often did at night.

“No time to fill up the tank. But it’s not far. We’ll make it,” he reassured me. I think he was reassuring himself as well. The wind started to hiss, but it sounded like threats to me. Threats in some other language.

“Where is he anyway?” I asked, ignoring the wind whispering in my ear.

“They usually meet up in the historic Lakota Barn. Right on the border of Knotwood and Rock Ridge, but out of sight.”

He revved the engine and sped off down the road. I can’t believe he had any sense of direction in the pitch black of the empty dunes.

I let him worry about how to get where we were going; I had enough other things to worry about. Like the few drops of rain that I was pretty sure had plunked down sporadically on the top of my head and the windshield.

But for the most part, my mind was on Austin. Mostly Austin.

I wasn’t sure how Austin would take the reveal that I’m Ellie. That I don’t have long hair or PTSD so severe that I no longer speak. I peeked at myself in the mirror. Big mistake. The little lights on either side of the mirror illuminated my face, which was now covered in dust and had streaks where I’d been obviously crying earlier. My hair was matted and crazy. My clothes reeked. Austin was both the first person I wanted to see in my time of pain and distress, and the last person I wanted to see in my current state.

My brain jumped around like a frog on caffeine, trying to make sense of everything. I began running through the facts I knew, trying to make sure I had my bearings. Johnny and Kestrel were safe. That was the most important thing. Strangely enough, Kestrel and Clifton were siblings. Kestrel and Johnny had some romance thing going on. I pictured them kissing again in the back seat. I turned around, looking back at the seats where they were recently sitting. Resting on the middle seat was Johnny’s bat-cane. And he’d just left it as though it was meaningless. As though he didn’t need it. For walking or baseball. I don’t know why it left me feeling irritated and unsettled. It should have been the least of my concerns.

Speaking of romances, Savannah and McDaniels were engaged. And Savannah was surprised that I didn’t care. Did I care? According to Savannah, Cheyenne was missing. She’d probably just run off like I’d wanted to. Like Savannah did. But with whom? I don’t know what she’d do on her own. I expected she’d come back once she got hungry. Did Jackson know she was gone or where she’d went? Had she told him something last night?

I stared out the window. Jackson rested his hand on my leg, and I nearly hit my head on the top of the car from how high I jumped.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, rubbing my leg.

“I know,” I muttered.

“Lots to think about, huh?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t bother asking Jackson to move his hand because, honestly, it still comforted me. Besides, the more time I spent with him, the less I believed that he and Cheyenne were up to something together.

My mind hopped around some more. Theresa hadn’t just conned my father into marrying her; she’d also duped Austin. And he’d very distinctly said to Jackson, “You don’t understand how important she is to me.” He wasn’t going to take the news very well. I kept thinking about that and how he said it, repeating it over and over again in my mind until we pulled up to the Lakota Barn. Our headlights drew shadows across the rough wood that towered above us.

I’d been here once on a field trip as a child. The details hadn’t seemed important then, and they surely weren’t now. Which is probably why I was having such a hard time remembering why it was a historic building. Something about it being the first barn in between Knotwood and Rock Ridge. The towns had a fight over who owned it, and it became a protected landmark. It didn’t impress me. It was just a big barn on a patch of wild land. A few of the windows were broken from kids who liked to make the trip out here just to smash a few of them on a dare. The place looked pretty much untouched by war but tired from time. Probably because it was too far away from other buildings, from the whole rest of the town, for any foreigners to have bothered with destroying it.

“Do we proceed with caution?” I asked as Jackson parked the car between what had to be his dad’s and Royce’s vehicles. “Or do we pretend this is just a casual visit, and we happen to run into them?”

“Definitely proceed with caution,” Jackson said, picking up the rifle hanging from the back of the cab before handing me the pistol. The same one that Theresa had shot me with. The numbing medicine was working to some extent, but my arm still ached. I grabbed the weapon and nodded to him. Finally, just for a moment, I stared at him.

His face was set with resolve. Determination. His hands were filthy but steady as he held the rifle. He crouched down a bit and took mini steps toward the front door of the barn. I mimicked his walk and realized that even if Jackson was a total player, and even if he was sort of toying with my emotions, I was still happy that he’d given me his attention. Maybe he was indecisive. Maybe he was interested in a few different girls. But he wasn’t cruel or flippant with my feelings. He definitely cared about me even if it wasn’t exclusive. And to be honest, I wanted nothing more than another chance to be alone with him, away from all this chaos, and tell him everything. How I felt, what I feared, what I wanted.

The front steps creaked underneath his feet. Now that we both stood near the door, we could hear Austin.

“It was your men. Your Vultures. They came into my house and took my daughter. And for what?”

Royce didn’t waste any time with his reply. “It was our understanding that you have captives in your home as well. Captives from Knotwood.”

“Bullshit!” Austin shouted. “Anyone who has come here from Knotwood is here because they needed a job. They need structure. I don’t know what the hell you’re even doing over there to keep the peace!”

Someone scoffed. A chair scooted back.

“Is the militia under your command, or not?” Austin’s voice was meaner than I’d ever heard it.

“Of course, they are. They do exactly as I command them to,” Royce said. There was nothing familiar to me about his voice. “Send everyone from Knotwood, back to Knotwood, and then we will give Ellie back to you.”

Austin growled, and it sounded like he hit a table or something “I do not negotiate with terrorists. This is kidnapping plain and simple. You knew this would push me.”

Royce chuckled. “I did. That was the plan.”

In the distance, two little holes of light poked their way through the dark nothingness. Another car, winding its way through the dust. Heading this way. Jackson jerked his head toward it. I nodded. I didn’t know if he was ready to bust into the meeting or wait and see who was in the car. I, for one, wanted to get Royce tied up as soon as possible. Especially if he had backup en route. And we were already lucky enough to have arrived without running out of gas. I swear we got here on faith and fumes.

So, I did a very impulsive thing. From Jackson’s side, I kicked my shoe into the old wooden door. It swung open. Without missing a beat, Jackson stepped right in front of me, bellowing, “Royce Flannen! Hands where I can see them!”

The only light in the room came from a lantern on the middle of a small, round table, where Royce and Austin sat on opposite sides.

Royce stared at us with wide eyes, then raised his hands slowly above his head. Royce was a skinny man. Honestly, he looked like a band geek who had been picked on in high school. Bushy red eyebrows. Red unkempt hair. But his eyes were exactly like Cheyenne’s, only meaner. Even if I hadn’t known this was her biological father, it would have been obvious with one look.

Austin, though confused, probably would have tackled anyone else who had come into the barn. Clearly, neither of the men were armed. Austin waited patiently for Jackson to explain himself. He obviously had a great deal of trust in his son.

“We had an agreement, Austin!” Royce growled. “What’s this all about? I thought you prided yourself as a man of your word.”

“There’s a time and a place for that,” Jackson said. “You broke the rules, leaving us with no choice.” Jackson didn’t move the rifle even though Royce’s hands were above his head.

I stepped out from behind Jackson and finally met Austin’s gaze. His eyes widened. His mouth opened slightly, and his shoulders dropped.

“My God…” he exclaimed. He jumped up and closed the distance between us in three strides. “Ellie!” He wrapped his arms around me, sending a dull throb of pain down my arm from the gunshot.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying not to cry. As I stood there, for that second or two, it felt like my father was holding me again. Like I was just a little girl, and my dad was going to protect me, no matter what.

Royce started fidgeting. “Don’t even think about it,” Jackson threatened.

“What’s going on?” Austin said, keeping one arm around my good shoulder. “What happened to your arm?” His eyes filled with overwhelming concern.

Jackson gave me an encouraging look. “Go ahead, Ellie.”

“Well,” I thought I heard tires on the gravel outside, “that’s a long story, but this is Theresa’s husband. Father of Cheyenne and Savannah. And they’ve been plotting civil war for years with the end goal of becoming monarchs.”

“Go on,” Austin prompted. I couldn’t believe he didn’t even try to refute what I’d said. He didn’t even seem very surprised that I was talking and acting pretty normal, despite what Theresa had told him about me.

“I snuck away, and then one of your new employees got blackmailed into pretending to be me. Theresa needed me to go away, so she arranged for her abduction but pretended like it was me. But now the girl is back safely. They’d planned on recording what was to look like my death as a decoy to lure everyone away from the mansion. Now the Knotwood Vultures are just waiting for the word from Royce and Theresa, otherwise known as the Flannens, to give them the green light to attack your house. They plan to come at dawn.” I felt like Kestrel for how fast I was speaking.

Austin looked at me and then to Jackson and then to Royce.

Royce’s eyes exuded pure hatred. “It’s fine. I have a backup plan.”

I whipped around just as the door flung open, and four soldiers, tattooed with vultures, burst into the room. Each of them was armed. We had only seconds, if that, before we would all be dead. Jackson turned and shot the lantern in the center of the table, throwing us into complete darkness. Austin pushed me into a corner beneath the old wooden stairs. I shoved the pistol into his hands, just before the air began popping.

A heavy thud told me that Jackson had taken out one of the men, leaving three armed men against Austin and Jackson. And me. Unarmed, untrained me. I held my breath. Rain began to fall down much faster now as it sang against the tin roof. The inside of the barn had become like the bottom of the ocean. Dark. Cold. Dangerous. The thump of running against the wooden floors quickened my beating heart. In seconds, I’d lost both Jackson and Austin, and the only weapon I had. But it seemed of much better use in Austin’s hands. I figured Austin put me here because he wanted me to stay here. I wanted to be obedient.

A few feet away, a soft click preceded a beam of light. I’d be exposed by the searching light. Jackson didn’t have a flashlight, and Austin would have known that even though a flashlight made it so he could see, it also made it so we could see him. It had to be one of the other two men. The beam of light flew from one end of the wall to the other, dancing over the sole of my shoe in the process. As the light came back, a gun popped, and the flashlight exploded. The man who’d been holding the flashlight as it was shot out of his hand, fired shots in my direction. I scooted toward the door. As I crawled across the wooden boards, I found the man Jackson had shot. I averted my eyes and moved closer to the door, only marked by the line of light coming in from the bottom.

“Get outside,” Austin whispered in my ear. I don’t know how he saw me. I’m not even sure where he stood in relation to me. “Now.” I jumped to my feet, ran for the door, tore it open, and sprinted through the darkness and rain for the cover of Jackson’s truck.

My head and heart pounded.

I crouched beside the car, leaning against the wet, cold metal. This can’t be real, I thought, shaking my head. None of this can be real. I shuddered as another shot fired from inside the barn. I turned around, seeing a few beams of light from a flashlight’s flicker across the broken windows.

I had to get back in there and help. But I didn’t have a weapon. Without a weapon, going back in would be stupid. Or maybe I should just let the Wyatts do what they’d been trained to do. I hated the idea of sitting out here alone, letting them fight for me. I guess it was a bit too symbolic of the war and how I’d be left out of it again.

Not this time, I told myself. You can’t sit out this round.

I pulled open the car door and began looking everywhere for another weapon. A pocket knife. Another firearm. My eyes fell on the bat sitting on the backseat. I think I actually grinned. While I’d never used it as a means of self-defense, that bat might as well have been an extension of myself. I knew the weight and how to swing it hard. Really hard.

As I snatched it up, the familiar wood in my hand filled me with confidence.

The front door opened and out here with the moonlight slightly streaming through the rainclouds, I could see Royce’s bright red hair, even amid the downpour. He carried a heavy-duty flashlight in one hand and a handgun in the other. I didn’t even hesitate as he turned around the back end of the truck, heading for his own car.

I swung the bat into the hand holding the gun first, hearing the crunch of what had to be bones snapping while the gun flew a few hundred yards behind him. Far out of reach and sight.

“WHAT THE—” he yelled as I wound up and smashed the flashlight out of his other hand. I’d missed his hand, but the flashlight went soaring.

“You won’t get away,” I growled, lifting the bat up for a third time. But in the time that it took me to raise the bat, he’d dug a switchblade from his pocket and slashed it across my left forearm.

It didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Adrenaline kept me swinging, but it was clear he had cut something pretty important. My fingers didn’t grip the bat the way they should have, and with the steady rain dripping down around my hands, I dropped it. The bat fell to the mud beside my feet. He was screaming. I was screaming. I could scarcely bring myself to look at my arm. Agony branded my muscles and flesh, sending ripples of pain throughout my body.

Royce lunged at me, the silver of the blade glistening with rain as he aimed it toward my chest. I grabbed for his arm and tried to twist away, when we both ended up in the mud, grappling for the knife.

It must have slipped, or else he dropped it, because soon it was only he and I wrestling in the rain and the mud and our own blood. Temporarily, all my pain was gone. But his size advantage left me with little chance. In a matter of seconds, he sat on my chest. He looped the arm with the broken hand around the back of my neck. He moved his good arm across the opposite side of my neck and pushed the bone of his arm right into my main blood vessels. I gagged as he tightened. I fought him and the swelling dizziness. I pulled at his clothes and tore the front pocket off his shirt. A silver watch tumbled out into my hand. Keeping a tight grasp on it, I tried to get to my side. Bury my chin away from his hands. Nothing was working.

Darkness ebbed in from the edge of my vision, and just as he was about to choke me unconscious, someone tackled Royce to the ground. Nothing made sense. I couldn’t even see very well. I tried to roll over, but my body didn’t obey. The rain pelted me in the face as my head and back sunk into the mud. Royce had the knife again, then it disappeared into Jackson or Austin’s gut. I couldn’t tell who it was from here.

One of the men crawled away. The other one, the one who’d saved me, stayed in the mud.

I don’t know how much longer we both lay there bleeding as I cried until Jackson stood over me and asked me some questions. Unable to answer any of them, I just shut my eyes. That was it then. Royce had stabbed Austin and then crawled away. Escaped. And I’d just let him.

Austin was going to die, and it was my fault. Yet again, it was my fault. As my mind drifted away into the sweet embrace of darkness, I saw my father’s face swimming on the edges of my consciousness, taking me back to when he had come home to me, just before I lost him forever.

I’ll never forget the moment I saw my father hobbling toward the house less than a week after the EMP attack. I assumed it was Johnny. But as the figure came closer, I noticed it was a man. In uniform. Walking beside a bike.

My dad—my strong, amazing father—limped his way home to me.

Dad had been shot three times in the leg. He didn’t tell me the story behind it, really. Just that he had flown back to the states, went back to Fort Eckhert, and had been shot there after the EMP attack.

“How will we manage without technology?” I had asked him, trying not to sound too scared. I had made him up a bed on the couch that first night because the stairs to his room had been too difficult for him to climb.

“There are far worse things that could have happened, Ellie,” he told me, holding my hands tightly. His blue eyes sparkled as he smiled with what almost looked like relief. “Some things we can live without. Some things we can’t. The EMPs destroyed things we can replace. We’ll manage.”

Since he had spent most of my life as the Installation Commander over all the soldiers at Fort Eckhert, in top secret briefings with foreign dignitaries, generals, and ambassadors, he held more secrets than any one man should ever be privy to. You might have thought he’d overflow and spill them someday, but he never did. He knew more about the EMP attacks and the Supply Wars than he would tell me, I’d read that much on his face. He probably knew which countries we could blame for throwing us all centuries back in time. But I had no business asking him, and he had no business telling me.

Fort Eckhert was just over forty-five miles west of Rock Ridge. I don’t know how he managed it, but I figured he’d ridden his bike all the way here, even with three bullet holes still in his leg. It honestly didn’t matter how he got home, just that he was home at last. And to stay, by the looks of it.

Honestly, I think Theresa was more upset about his injury than he was. I’d meant to tell him how awful she was to me, but I wanted to give him some time to adjust to being home. After all that he’d been through, I couldn’t bring myself to complain to him about being called ‘Violet’ and putting up with her abuse, not after everything he’d endured. He deserved at least a few days of peace. Maybe even see if he could figure out how awful Theresa was for himself. But that never happened.

In the weeks prior to my dad’s surprise arrival, people had been savagely stripping the flesh off our cows’ bones in the middle of the night, trying to butcher them alive. A few days after he came back, our cows were attacked once again. In an attempt to help me save them, he got an infection in his leg wounds. We didn’t save them, by the way. The cows all died. Every single one of them.

At the moment, I thought it was the worst thing that could have happened to us. But then my dad’s infection worsened, bad enough that we knew he needed medicine, or he’d die. I went to the hospital in Rock Ridge. Alone. Theresa said she couldn’t bring herself to go there. We had heard that the hospital was a scene from a horror movie. The way people spoke of it made it sound like a zombie attack.

When I got there, the descriptions I’d heard didn’t even come close to how bad it was. Everything was gone—equipment ransacked, medicine stolen. And that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the bodies. Bodies everywhere. Some people dead from disease, based on the rashes that were spread across their faces. Some dead from injuries. Many of the bodies housed rats. Maggots literally crawled out of people’s faces. The air hummed with flies, and the stench was nearly unbearable. My eyes stung, and while I know I’m tough, I too have my breaking points. I threw up more than once walking through there, wandering the hospital, hoping to find something, anything, that could help my dad.

It was the first time I felt truly hopeless—like life was over, and the fight to survive was futile. I had sunk down onto the cold tile of the hospital floor and stared at the bodies, knowing it was only a matter of time until I joined them. And I assumed it wasn’t just here. All over the state, the country, the world, I’m sure were other scenes like this one. Bodies everywhere. Death everywhere.

I could have gone over to the clinic in Knotwood, but I had no doubt that I’d find the same thing lining their brick hallways.

I finally gathered the strength and desire to head home. Except, death was there too, waiting to greet me.

As I approached the house, I heard wailing. Uncontrollable hysterics. My father was gone, and I’d missed my chance to say goodbye. Theresa was a complete wreck, screaming at the top of her lungs. She blamed me because I’d asked him to help me with the cows. And I hadn’t found any medicine. And she was right. I should have tried to save the cows myself. He was in no condition to be out there. I should have gone earlier to find medicine for him, scouring the county high and low. I’d waited too long, and I’d failed him.

I had to drag his body outside by myself. And I dug his grave by myself with the same shovel he had used to teach me how to transplant tomato plants and peppers.

Theresa said she couldn’t stand to look at him once he was dead. She hated him for dying, I’m sure, but I don’t know why. You can’t hate someone for dying.

No one knew or loved my dad as much as I did. And I was grateful that no one was with me to help me bury him. Not even Johnny, though he would have if I’d asked. I buried my father where I could walk past him every day, tell him about baseball, and Johnny, or just sit and watch the sun set over his makeshift headstone. As time wore on, the less I visited his grave. Guilt isn’t light, and it doesn’t feel pretty. But I wore it around my throat like a prized family heirloom because, after all, I’d earned it. The more my guilt grew over his death, the more I bore it like a nasty scar right across the middle of my face. I became sure that no one could so much as look at me without seeing it—seeing me—for what I’d done. For what I’d failed to do. And every loss that had come afterwards, well, it was retribution that I deserved.

26

The Whole Reason

I woke up with an IV in my arm and a woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to Kestrel standing beside me.

“How are you feeling?” she asked me.

In my groggy state, I slowly rolled my arm over, finding fresh stitches all along the wound inflicted by Royce before he escaped. I sighed, but amazingly nothing hurt.

I meant to answer her, but I must have just made a few incoherent noises.

Even after all that we’d done, Royce had slipped away, taking the life of the only other man I’d thought of as a father to me. I threw my head back into the pillow, a tear slipping down my cheek.

“Kestrel and Johnny and Jackson are outside waiting for you. I told them to stay put until I’d finished stitching you up, and you were awake. Should I bring them in?” Her face was kind as she spoke.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“You up?” came a voice that I hadn’t expected to ever hear again.

Turning my head, I found him a few feet away, lying in the bed right next to mine and hooked up to his own IV. “Nice to have some morphine on hand, am I right?” Austin laughed, reaching for me. I extended my hand and placed it in his, shock clearly written across my face.

I tried to talk even though I barely felt lucid enough. “I was worried about you,” I confessed, giving his hand a little squeeze. “I thought…” I didn’t want to finish off what I thought.

“Well, that’s sweet of you, but I’m just fine. Been through much worse.”

“I bet,” I said, pulling my arm back. I thought for a minute. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“We’ll get to them. In time.” He winked at me.

I waited. Then I slowly sat up. “You recognized me?” I asked. “Right away at the barn, you knew I was Ellie.” I’d assumed he still had the image of me from the wedding in his mind. Blonde wig. Tons of makeup.

“Of course, I recognized you. I’m your godfather. I’ve watched you grow up. Seen you in the stadium playing ball with Johnny and Jackson.”

“But the wedding. I thought Theresa had tricked you into believing that I was a mute.”

“No.” He shook his head. “She manipulated me in many ways but not with that.”

“Are you sad, that she ended up being, you know, so terrible?”

He sighed. “I knew she was up to something. I thought that by moving you all into the house, I could keep a closer eye on you and her, but for different reasons. When you showed up for the wedding the way you did, that was the first time I was deeply worried about you. That was when I didn’t recognize you. I wanted to understand why you did that, looked like that. And I figured that if you were living with Theresa all this time, my gut reaction that you’d run away from her, couldn’t be right. After all, you’d stayed.”

“I shouldn’t have,” I muttered. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Theresa manipulated me because she understood something that you apparently still don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“How much you mean to me.”

I stared at him. “But how? After all I’ve done. After all this time. You don’t hate me?”

“Why would I hate you?” Austin looked at me with the same concerning look my father had when I’d crawl into his lap and ask him one more time about my mother—What was she like? Did she love me? Did she know who I was? Did he miss her?

“Because he died. Because it’s my fault he’s gone. You never came for me. I thought,” I started to weep openly now, the tears falling hard and fast, “I thought you blamed me for his death too.”

“Oh, Ellie,” Austin said, his voice filled with both sadness and love. I heard his bed creak, and through my bleary-eyed vision, I saw him hold onto his IV pole and move closer to the edge of his bed to better reach out to me. “I never blamed you. Not once, not ever. Your father’s death is no one’s fault except this bloody war. You couldn’t have stopped him. I heard what happened, and you know, deep down in your heart, that he’d have been right there by your side regardless if you’d asked him for his help or not. I’m not a doctor, but I’m willing to bet he already had a deadly infection in his leg when he got home. You can’t blame yourself. I know Theresa’s words are evil. She hinted at a few times that it was your fault he’d died, but I knew the truth. I always did. I thought you did too. Now, you need to accept that truth. You need to stop blaming yourself. He, of all people, wouldn’t want that. And neither do I.”

I leaned against his hand and let the tears of guilt fall. Tears from losing him that I’d held inside so tightly because I didn’t feel worthy to shed them, poured out like rain. He put his hand on my hair and slowly brushed his fingers over my head.

“I’ve loved you like a daughter, Ellie. I always will.” He went on to explain to me everything I’d needed to hear since my father’s death. The night of the gala, he’d been keeping his eye out for us —Theresa, Cheyenne, Savannah, and me. When they showed up and I wasn’t there, he’d inquired with Theresa if I was okay. She’d made excuses and said I wasn’t feeling well. Austin told her he intended to come see me that very night. But she wouldn’t let him.

Even before the gala, he asked again for what he explained to be the fifth time if I could come live with him. Being that she was my legal guardian, he didn’t think it would be right to just take me away. Especially not after what Theresa told him—“Ellie could never leave that ranch. She doesn’t want to live with you. That ranch, those chickens, they’re the only thing in this world she loves. She wouldn’t leave it even if you begged her. And it would be cruel to take that home from her. Especially after everything Liam did to ensure her stability.” Theresa had lied to him, mixing it with truths so that he couldn’t take me in.

Austin patted my back again, telling me more about their exchange. “With that explanation and her refusal to allow you to come live here under my care, I was left with little choice. She told me I shouldn’t show up out of the blue to see you because of how that would affect you. When I asked her why you wouldn’t come to visit a single time, she told me that you weren’t well, you weren’t speaking, and your mental health had taken a turn for the worse. Which didn’t make a lot of sense since you still went out to play ball. Then again, baseball doesn’t necessitate a great deal of conversation. It became clear that the only way to get you here was if I took in the whole family. And the only way to do that was through marriage.”

My eyebrows raised halfway up my forehead. “You married her… for me? But marriage is a huge deal. Not something you do as a compromise.”

“Throughout history, that is exactly what marriage has been. An alliance. A deal. A trade. A bargaining chip. And she knew that. She knew I wanted to get to you, and I figured she just wanted the spotlight being a mayor’s wife. At the time, I didn’t know what dangers she had planned; I thought it was purely vanity.”

Suddenly it all made sense. I was the sole reason he had married Theresa in the first place. To keep me safe. To help me heal. And that night, when I’d overheard him on the walkie-talkie speaking to Jackson, he’d been talking about me. Not Theresa. I was speechless because he was right. I’d let myself feel abandoned. Forgotten. But Austin had been watching all long. He’d let me have my independence and space. Yet he even knew that I still played baseball after all this time. I really hadn’t understood how much I meant to him. I thought he blamed me; the guilt I’d let consume me led me to believe he didn’t care. But he cared, he cared so much more than I’d realized. More tears fell as I let everything sink in, looking at this man who’d been watching my back since the day my father and I moved to Texas. He’d been there for me almost as long as my father had been, and when he died, Austin was still there for me, whether I knew it or not.

The door creaked, and Jackson rushed in. Johnny followed with Kestrel at his side for support, along with the nurse who’d fetched them. Johnny’s bat was probably half-buried in the mud outside of Lakota Barn. Clifton held back and waited awkwardly at the door.

“Sorry, l know this isn’t the best time for introductions, and you’ve already met, but Mom, this is Ellie. Ellie, meet my mom, Bonnie.” Kestrel gestured to the nurse standing next to her.

“Thank God,” Jackson said, hurrying over to his father and me. Seeing my tear-stained face, he became immediately worried. “You okay?”

I don’t really know what that means—to be okay or not to be okay. “I’ll make it,” I replied. He bent to kiss my lips, and I turned away. He pecked my cheek instead and looked my arm over.

“Drama queen,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “Leave it to you to be the center of attention.”

“Oh, shut up,” I laughed. “Wanna trade places?”

“With the bed, sure. With where you’re going? No thanks.” His face got somber for a minute.

Looking out the window of the small infirmary-like room, I realized that it had to be time for Knotwood to attack the mansion. And I hadn’t yet gone back in as Amy.

“You don’t have to do it,” Jackson said, seeing my face and knowing the thoughts that were crossing my mind.

Clifton cleared his throat. “But if you’re going to, you need to go now. Otherwise, there’s no point.”

I didn’t want to show how tired I was. It wasn’t even fear that held me back. It was exhaustion, in every sense of the word.

Austin squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to do this,” he reiterated his son’s words, a look of genuine concern mixed with exhaustion written across his face. Slowly rolling over, he lay back in his bed with Jackson’s help as he eased his father gently back onto the pillow.

I nodded. “Yes, I do.” I was resolved. “I don’t want anyone else to lose their loved ones. Too many have already died in these bloody wars. I will do everything I can to stop these mindless, selfish killings.”

Jackson looked right into my eyes while I said this, and wordlessly leaned over and took my hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he sat down next to me on the bed.

I turned back to Bonnie, Kestrel’s mom. “I’m sorry about all this.” I wasn’t sure how much of the blame for her emotional toll I was willing to take. I’d asked her daughter to help me, and as a result, Kestrel had nearly died.

“It’s over now, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Kestrel’s home. You’re all back safe. That’s all that matters to me.” She pulled Kestrel close to her and kissed her forehead before Kestrel walked around the bed with a makeup bag.

“I came to get you cleaned up,” she explained. “You know, to make it look less like you’ve been half-dead in the mud all night.”

“Thanks,” I said. She hurried to my side and began washing my face and applying just a bit of foundation over some cuts and bruises. Instantly, I remembered Cheyenne. “The watch!” I said, brushing Kestrel’s hand out of the way as I glanced over the bed and checked my pants pockets.

“Jackson, where’s the watch?” I asked. He reached over to the nightstand on my side and picked up the silver watch. The broken band, though smudged with mud, still carried the engravings CHEY.

In my whole life, I’d never seen Cheyenne take the watch off her father had given her. And there was little to no chance that he just happened to carry an identical one in his pocket. My heart plummeted through the floor.

For maybe the first time in Savannah’s life, she was right. Cheyenne was in trouble. But how did she know that Cheyenne was in trouble? How much did Cheyenne and Savannah know about their father anyway? Had Theresa had kept them in the dark about their father still being alive? If she hadn’t, why would they have agreed to leave him and get a new father, my father? And then, Jackson’s father?

No, there was no way they knew their father was still alive. They would have let it slip at some point. There would have been secret visits. There would have been conversations. I’m not an idiot. I would have known if they had known. But now, I knew. What would I tell Cheyenne and Savannah? Did I have an obligation to tell them about him? About the extent of wickedness that he and Theresa had plotted together? And where were they all now?

“What is it?” Jackson asked.

“This is Cheyenne’s watch,” I said, having finally gathered my thoughts enough to speak.

“Crap,” Johnny whispered.

“Why is that a bad thing?” Kestrel asked innocently.

“Because it’s not on her.” I stuffed the watch into my pocket. “I’m going to Knotwood. Now.” Only I wasn’t just going to stop a war. I was going to find my sister.

27

For the Love of America

Kestrel worked as fast as she could to make me look alive and human again, and by the time we made it outside, the sun was already sneaking over the horizon. Jackson insisted on driving back to Knotwood with me, just to the edge of town. This time, we took his dad’s car.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked. “It’s a pretty bad plan. And you’re going in blind. No backup. I don’t like it. We have no idea where Royce is. For all we know, he could have gone back to Knotwood.”

“It’ll be fine, or it won’t,” I conceded. I had to do this quickly while I still had drugs in my system, or my pain receptors would turn back on, and I’d likely pass out again.

Jackson ensured that the Rock Ridge Militia sat on high alert, defending the streets. Jackson and I both agreed they were better positioned there, protecting the children and majority of our town just in case I failed. My decision to go back to the clinic was my own. We’d brainstormed who I could possibly go in with, but there was no one. They knew Jackson, and Johnny, and Clifton—who I still wasn’t convinced wouldn’t try to shoot me later.

Jackson reached for my hand. “All this time, I sorta think I knew deep down,” Jackson admitted. “Only Ellie has been able to make me get weak in the knees. It should have been obvious to me from the moment that you ran into me, that you were Ellie. I feel dumb for not fully realizing it.”

I shrugged.

“Love makes you blind, right?” he laughed. And I noticed that he’d used the word love. It sent my blood racing through my veins. I’d tried to smother any semblance of hope for him and me, though. And here he was, saying love in reference to us. He threw it in casually, maybe gauging my reaction. I didn’t know what I felt or thought, and I’d built a wall around my heart until I knew what sort of a game Jackson was playing.

For now, I had to focus on ending this war before things got any bloodier. The image of Johnny’s torn face entered my mind again. I needed to get in and find someone to spread the word that the operation was a bust. Try to convince some of the soldiers to come to Rock Ridge and get a job instead of coming to take over. And finally, get all of us back to some semblance of normalcy. We all craved it. Peace. Simplicity. Quiet.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, pulling my hand free of Jackson as he stopped the car. “See you soon.” Getting out of the car, I backed away before he could try to kiss me or something. I sprinted down main street like I’d just hit a home run, small puddles of mud splashing against my legs. I didn’t look back, but I hated running from Jackson. Maybe I was running from him, or from his affection, or maybe I was running from the word he’d said.

Love.

This isn’t the time for this, I reminded myself, turning the corner. I pushed all the thoughts of him out of my mind and focused on the task ahead. If we couldn’t stop the militia, how many lives would be lost in the process? What would happen to Rock Ridge and Knotwood if these men and women showed up at the mansion out for blood? Was I to be the first one executed in the name of this crazy scheme started by my stepmother, and now fueled by the hunger and hopelessness of the residents of Knotwood? Hopelessness was something I actually understood.

What do you cling to when the cost of hope is too high? Some opted for submission. Others for desperation. But not me. No, I couldn’t afford hope, but grit, I had that in spades.

I moved one determined step in front of the other, just like when I ran the bases. Left. Right. Left. Right. And though the clinic loomed out of the shadows in front of me, I didn’t slow. Didn’t delay. Just ran straight ahead, until I’d gone right up the steps to the tall metal double doors. I heard a rapid succession of clicks. On any other day, I would have been mortified at how many guns were pointed at my heart and head, but this was what, the fifth time already today? And I was still alive. At this point, it was either bravery, stupidity, or sheer dumb luck.

“I’m here with a message,” I said in the boldest voice I could muster. “I know about what happened with Ellie. I have word from Rock Ridge to share with everyone.” If I had any idea how the chain of command worked, outside of basic Army rank structure taught to me by my father, I would have asked for someone specifically. The Officer in Charge. Platoon Sergeants. But the more details I gave, the more likely I was to land a bit of lead in my brain.

“Show me you mark,” one of the soldiers demanded—a man dressed in worn fatigues.

“Seriously? Are we doing this again?” I rolled my eyes. “I just had this conversation with Draven like, a few hours ago. No, I don’t carry the Vulture. Yes, I’m here regarding the Flannens.”

The man shrugged to the woman beside him. “I’ll take her to Draven,” he said.

Draven—at least he was still here, and he’d recognize me. Now, would he vouch for me as Clifton had? The air, heavy and muggy, reeked like some foul mixture of sewage and dead bodies. Suddenly, I was grateful for the darkness. If I’d been able to see clearly, I might have lost my conviction and the contents of my stomach a few times over, the putrid air bringing back memories of the Rock Ridge Hospital just after the EMP attack. Far down the hallway, a cluster of candles glimmered, leaving mysterious shadows dancing on the walls.

Every part of me wanted to turn around and run back to Jackson. Every part of me except the corner of my mind screaming about reason. And yet, somehow, I was able to steel myself against the doubt. I knew what had to be done. Things were escalating. They needed me to try and stop this group of desperate, hungry Americans from starting a civil war. And all for what? The Flannens? Did the Vultures even know? Did they have any idea what Theresa or Royce’s plans were?

We approached the candlelight, and even in its dim glow, I recognized Draven’s huge silhouette. He leaned against the wall, tapping the buttstock of his rifle anxiously.

“Draven,” I said, my voice borderline-too-friendly.

“What are you back here for?” he growled.

“You know her?” the guard asked.

“Yeah, I know her. Already spoke with her earlier today. What do you want, Amy?”

“Where’s Cora?” I asked for her because it seemed like she’d been in charge the last time.

“Dead,” Draven replied. He didn’t sound too worked up about it either. “Royce shot her after he found out about his daughter.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, and as my stomach dropped, I somehow immediately knew that Cheyenne wasn’t coming back home. “Draven, please tell me.” I dropped the tough-girl act, the hair on my arms standing on end. Something truly horrible had happened.

Draven surprised me by not answering me flippantly. He spoke clearly. Slowly. And I appreciated that. “The girl came back here demanding that we return Ellie to the Wyatts. Insisted that she was going to sabotage the whole plan. She claimed that the real Ellie was some other girl, and that Royce was going to pay for this thing or that or whatever it was. Cora worried about what her behavior was going to do for the militia, so she took her out back…” Draven gestured to the door behind him. “I told her it was a bad idea, and that Royce was going to be even madder.”

“Then what?” I whispered, my blood turning cold inside my chest.

“She shot her. I don’t know how many times. Then Cora took her watch. Royce saw it when he came here, and, well, mad doesn’t begin to describe it. Cora screamed for hours before I finally had pity on her. I mean, she had no chance of survival after what Royce did to her.”

I reached into my pocket with my shaking fingers, gripping the cool metal in my hand. Royce had taken the watch back from Cora after she’d… I shut my eyes and felt the tears bead in my lashes.

“Sorry,” Draven said. I even think he meant it. “I told her we shouldn’t be killing kids. But seriously, all the Flannens are crazy.”

“All?”

“Don’t you know? Cora is Theresa’s sister. Or was. Guess that doesn’t make her a Flannen, but you know what I mean.”

By now, a dozen or so armed men and women gathered around the flickering flames. Restless, and anxious. The air hung with urgency as though they’d been sitting waiting for the word from Royce to attack. But it had been hours now. Hours of restless unease.

Might as well share my message here and now. There was no guarantee a better time would come. But I couldn’t even think straight now that I knew Cheyenne was actually gone. Dead. And by the sounds of it, her body had been carelessly dumped just out back. I couldn’t breathe for a moment. I was surrounded by Knotwood Vultures with the promise of delivering a message.

Focus, I begged myself. It was too late for Cheyenne, but it wasn’t too late for everyone else.

I jumped into the conversation with the naivety and hope of a child jumping into a kiddie pool. Once I started, it felt more like a cliff dive into the frigid ocean. “The plan from the Flannens is a bust,” I said. “Theresa and Royce are in the Wyatts’ custody already, and they have a huge army. It’s massive.” I exaggerated my information. “And so many guns and soldiers. If we so much as walk in their direction, we’ll be dead. All of us dead.” My eyes widened as I spoke. Lying came easy to me now. Whispers started, growing louder as more of the Vultures gathered in the lit waiting room.

“How’d you figure this out? Were you in their custody?” Draven asked, echoing some of the questions from the crowd.

“Yes,” I sighed. “They took me to a freezer inside a deli, being used as a holding cell. And then Jackson, Captain Wyatt came. Talked to me for a while. Then sent me here to deliver a message.” I cleared my throat and spoke authoritatively. My voice echoed off the walls and to the people in the darkness. All armed. No doubt upset that I had come to tell them to put away their weapons. “I’ll tell you what I told them. I’m Ellie Hudson. The real Ellie Hudson. Royce didn’t care who you killed. They wanted to kill Ellie Hudson, even if the Ellie Hudson they put in the ground wasn’t me, so long as others who knew me, who cared about me, thought it was.  Royce told you to kill me because he wants war and chaos. But I don’t think that you do. I think you want what I want. Rock Ridge is going to open their doors to any Knotwood citizen who wants to move there. They have vacant homes and plots. They have jobs and storages of food. If you come into town unarmed, you’ll be welcome. Maybe even employed. If you come in with a weapon, or you commit any acts of violence, there will be zero tolerance.”

Draven fiddled with the magazine on his gun. “They’ll kill us.” He stated it more than asked.

“Yes, they’ll kill you.” I caught myself looking toward the back door. Chills began climbing up my arms again. But the anger of the people pulled me back to the present, indignant murmurs shooting out at me.

“We’ll kill them!”

“What does she know?”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Then Draven started talking. “Some days, doesn’t it feel like we’re already dead. Like, what’s the point anymore. There’s little food here. Barely any water. No jobs. And everyone who went to war came back broken either in body or spirit.” He sighed. “I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore. Just fighting cause that’s what we’ve been trained to do.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and moved closer to him. “I’ve been where you are.” I tentatively placed a hand on his forearm. “We need to reunite as Texans, as Americans. We need to remember what used to make us happy. What makes us proud to be Americans. We’ve all been through hell. That’s guaranteed. None of us would be here if we hadn’t. All of us placed hope in Theresa, and some of us placed hope in Royce that they would help us. Guide us. Bring us to a better future. But they failed us, and their plan conned us into feeding our anger. The terrible things y’all have seen while abroad aren’t the things you want to bring home. The horrors here weren’t brought by us, they were brought by our enemies. We are not our enemies. We cannot be enemies to one another. It’s a dark world, and there are still so many things we don’t know. But the question we should be asking is: if we are fighters, and we are, then what are the things we should be fighting for?” Even I heard the confidence growing in my voice as I started to shout. “We can fight for unity. We can fight for good leaders. We can fight for schools and teachers for our children. We can fight for love. But this fight isn’t one to be won with guns and bullets.” I stopped for a second. “For the love of America, put them away,” I pleaded. “Put them away, and let’s build our country back up, starting with remembering the things we love. Let’s bring back country music and rock and roll. Apple pie. Town fairs. And baseball. Let’s bring back our home!”

I stopped and peered around. Good thing it was so dark. If I’d been able to see all the faces of the people standing there, I’m not sure I would have made it through my message. I had just one more thing to say before they all decided to either cuss me out or throw my body in the mud with Cheyenne’s. For one more moment, I had their attention.

“You each decide what is best for you. But I’m going back to Rock Ridge.” I spun on my heel and didn’t look back.

“Let her go,” Draven said behind me as I walked away.

With only the light of hope to guide my steps, I walked out of the room, unhindered, and to the front door. I couldn’t stomach going out back to find… not right now. Not alone.

When I got to the edge of town, Jackson pulled me into his arms and planted his lips on mine. Only for a moment. Only until I just tasted him, and my pulse raced. Then I pulled away. I didn’t want to fall into him again or let my emotions sweep me away. Not when I didn’t know if he’d let me down once more. Not when I was already focusing all of my attention on not falling apart right there in front of him.

“Why do you keep pulling away from me?” he asked. His eyes looked hurt. If only he could see my heart. Which currently felt like it had shattered into a million shards of glass.

I couldn’t answer him. All I could gasp out was, “Cheyenne is dead.” Saying it aloud was so much worse. So much harder. The reality too great for me to bear. I wanted to close my eyes and let the world disappear.

Jackson didn’t say anything as he picked me up in his arms, but the sorrow manifested itself all over his face at the devastating news. Without uttering a word, he carried me to the car and drove me back to the bed with the morphine.

After Kestrel hooked me up to an IV with fluids, Dr. Patel came in and pulled Jackson over to the corner to talk to him. They spoke in hushed tones, and I couldn’t catch anything, though I could tell something was wrong by the looks on their faces. It was then that I realized Austin was no longer lying in the bed next to mine. With a nod, Jackson thanked the doctor and came back to my side.

“What is it, Jackson?” I couldn’t say anything further; my insides were too knotted up.

“My dad had another surgery. He’s okay right now, but they had to open him back up. He had some more internal bleeding, and they ended up doing another blood transfusion. He’ll pull through.”

One step forward, two steps back. Every victory seemed to be saturated in failures. At least we weren’t dead. At least Knotwood had surrendered. I couldn’t think of any more victories. Tears melted into sleep, and I spent the majority of the next day in a numbed slumber.

* * *

I awoke late in the afternoon to Jackson bringing me lunch. I should have been famished, but I barely took two bites before I put the tray on the little table next to my bed.

Jackson was sitting on the edge of the bed as I looked over to the empty bed beside me.

“He’s stable,” he said as he took my hand. “He’s resting, but he’ll be just fine. How’s the arm?”

“Fine.” I couldn’t even feel my arm. “What about Knotwood?”

“It’s been all quiet on the western front,” he commented. Jackson said most of the people showed up in Rock Ridge that morning, unarmed. He’d tasked First Sergeant Framingham with overseeing the relocation of the displaced Vultures and their families to the abandoned apartments in the middle of town.

Apparently, my speech had done something. No attack happened. And it seemed clear that Royce hadn’t gone back to Knotwood for help or shelter. Walking across the tile and up to the window, I watched the leaves of a big oak rustle in a light breeze. Other than that, there was little activity, and all remained calm. No militiamen stomping across the lawn, no soldiers wielding rifles. Just a typical late spring afternoon.

And yet, the peacefulness outside the walls of the Wyatts’ did little to quell the current turmoil inside of me. Taking in a deep breath, I gathered up the courage to ask him what had been weighing on me since that night I’d seen my stepsister in his arms.

“Were you dating her?” I paused briefly, biting my lip, and turned around. “Did you love her?”

“Who?”

“Cheyenne,” I said, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Seriously?” He spoke with a sharpness to his words. Defensive. I recognized it from one of my own techniques. “You can’t be serious, Ellie. She was fourteen. She was practically a child; she was a child.”

I tried to proceed with caution, not lacing my assumptions and fears with spite or anger. Even though anger and bitterness at the whole ordeal pained me from the inside. “I don’t know. Why were you two sneaking around at two in the morning, holding hands, laughing, and hugging? I guess… I just assumed that you took her back to your room once I’d gone to bed.”

Jackson stared at me and blinked a few times. “You spied on me?”

“I wasn’t there to spy on you; I was there to check on Kestrel, but you and Cheyenne were blocking her door. I like you, Jackson, I really do. But I don’t want to play games.” I crossed my arms protectively. I could feel my argument crumbling away, seeing the disbelief on his face.

Jackson continued to stare at me incredulously, remaining silent, though the depth of offense was obvious in his eyes. I didn’t dare to say another word until he replied. He took a deep breath, clearly weighing his words before speaking. “You thought I took my fourteen-year-old stepsister back to my room in the middle of the night? When you said my biggest weakness was being flirtatious, I never imagined what you really thought me capable of. Is your opinion of me really so low?” He shook his head and scoffed quietly.

His words began to sink in. My heart felt heavy and uncomfortable in my chest as though a weight had settled on my lungs. Did I really think of him like that?

“You don’t want to play games,” he muttered, looking down. Thirty seconds of silence passed painfully. “Violet, Ellie, Amy, whatever you want me to call you, the only game I play is baseball.” He waved his hand in the air. “I don’t owe you an explanation, but I find your deep lack of trust in me so disconcerting that I’ll give you one anyway. Maybe, on the one hand, I can almost see why you thought that, but you really should have just asked. I’d gone upstairs to check on Ellie, or who I thought was Ellie, when Cheyenne told me that she’d been taken. She felt so bad. And she looked terrified as she started to tell me what Theresa was up to. Said her mom was crazy, had only married my dad for power, and planned on starting a war. I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but I thanked her and hugged her while she was crying.”

I started to play over everything in my head. Cheyenne’s crying did sound a fair bit like laughing, a thought that hadn’t crossed my mind at the time. I’d just felt so betrayed, never considering that she was about to betray her own mother. And pay for it with her life. Shame began to flood my body, blood rushing to my cheeks and ears. I put my hands behind me on the ledge of the window for support as Jackson continued explaining. “I walked away with her because she said she had to go do something else. Asked me to help her get outside so she could get some air. I didn’t realize where she was going to go after that. And now that I know, I regret it. I should have kept a better eye out for her.”

“Oh,” I managed.

Regret and remorse over my misinterpretations of their actions washed over me. “I should have kept an eye on her too.” I tried hard to brush the thoughts away, but I couldn’t. “That was an awful thing for me to accuse you of. For me to think. I don’t know why I even thought it. I know you better than that. You’d never do some—I just don’t know what to think anymore… I’m sorry,” I said, to both him for the assumption and to Cheyenne’s memory. My next words came out in barely a whisper. “I really am sorry.”

Jackson watched me as he replied, “I forgive you for this, given everything that’s happened, but you understand, we can’t build a relationship on deceit and distrust.”

I nodded, unable to reply, my throat catching. I tried to will the tears away, guilt over my assumptions—no, it was worse than that. I’d made accusations about a man who obviously cared about me, and immediately afterwards, without a moment’s hesitation, he forgave me? I didn’t deserve it. Any of it. I sunk down to the floor, pulled my legs up to my chest, and put my head on my knees, the tears I’d been fighting so hard against, spilling down my face.

Jackson came over and knelt down next to me, gently placing his hand on my back. I couldn’t look up at him. I couldn’t face him. I wanted to keep my head buried here forever.

Quietly, he said my name, “Ellie.” I didn’t look up but tried to steady my breathing.

“Ellie,” he repeated. “Honey, look at me.” This time, I knew I couldn’t ignore him and slowly tilted my face up to his. And there he was, looking at me with no anger, no spite. Just care. And understanding.

“Listen,” Jackson said softly, placing his cool hands on my warm cheeks. I stared back into his eyes as he spoke calmly to me. “I know you’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster for a very long time now and putting faith in people has backfired on you in the past, but can you just try to trust me?”

“Yes,” I said quietly. I would try, very hard.

“I thought I was being clear with you before, but if you need me to be more direct, I can be more direct. I understand why you didn’t tell me that you were Ellie. And I’m not mad about it. It doesn’t change how I feel about you. Not a single bit.”

“And, how do you feel about me?” I asked timidly.  How could he have any good feelings toward me after everything I’d just put him through? I know he forgave me, but forgiveness didn’t tell me he wanted to have me in his life as a friend… or anything more.

Jackson laughed. “Ellie, Violet—I’m in love with you.”

His eyes were filled with such a look of love and adoration, that I believed every word as my skin prickled with relief.

My vision got blurry as tears welled up in my eyes again. I could hardly speak. “Just Ellie, it’s just Ellie,” I muffled out. “And I think I love you too.” His face was so sincere and his touch so gentle. There was no way that he was being anything but completely honest. He loved me, despite anything and everything else.

“Is it okay if I kiss you now?” he asked.

I nodded with a smile. He gently slid his hand toward the back of my neck while he leaned in. I grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling his delicious lips onto mine. Picking me up mid-kiss, he carried me over to the bed and set me down, joining me on the top of the soft blankets.

“Oh, Jackson,” I whispered after our lips had parted. I lay my head down on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me there for how long, I didn’t know. I just knew that I was finally beginning to feel safe in his arms once again.

As the sun began to dip toward the edge of the horizon, I made one last request. “I… need your help with something.” My voice was tight with emotion once more.

“Anything,” he replied.

I took in a deep, ragged breath, knowing the tears would fall as soon as I said it. “I need to get Cheyenne’s body and bury it beside my father.”

28

Violet’s Field

We arrived in Knotwood to an abandoned clinic. The only remnants of the Vultures’ occupation were sprayed on the walls and littered on the floors.

In my backpack, I carried three clean white sheets. I tried to keep myself from feeling too many emotions. When we got to the back door, I hesitated. I knew I had to do this, not just for Cheyenne, but also for myself. And for my father. He told me to be courageous and kind. Finding her body and properly burying her would probably be the hardest thing I’d ever done. And if I spent too long thinking about it, I’d never be able to do it.

I went out back, trying not to look at the carnage too closely—too many bodies in various states of decay littering the ground. Fortunately, I recognized Cora—barely—and Cheyenne. The tears streamed down my face as Jackson and I wrapped her up in the sheets and carried her body to the bed of the truck.

We didn’t speak as we drove up to my house, and he backed up to the makeshift headstone. We didn’t speak as we scraped shovelfuls of the muddy earth out of the way. We didn’t speak as we gently lowered her into the grave, and I broke out into hysterical sobs.

I surprised myself when all I said after burying her and staring at the pile of dirt through my tears was, “I should have let her be my sister. I should have been her sister.”

Jackson took me back to my original guest room. He was kind enough not to bother asking me to share my feelings or anything like that.

It took me two weeks to feel somewhat normal again.

It wasn’t until then that I found out Theresa had been released from her prison the same night that Royce escaped. Once again, Savannah and McDaniels were missing. And I guess Jackson and I were the only ones who knew where Cheyenne now rested.

For the next few days, I didn’t think about the Flannens or those I had previously known as my family. I moved back into my father’s home. With some help from Jackson and Johnny, I unpacked my things and settled into the master bedroom, wiping away every trace of Theresa’s vile touch across my father’s room. With my chickens and horses finally returned to me, I had work to do. Jackson offered to hire some help for me. I was grateful, but for now, I wanted to do it myself.

The first night I was ridiculously lonely in my big house. The next day, I invited Kestrel and her family to move in with me, and they happily agreed. I wanted a mom and a sister, and let me just say, it wasn’t as though there were big shoes to fill. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to having a man in the house that wasn’t my father, but I stayed amicable toward Clifton, despite the gnawing discomfort I felt at having him there.

Bonnie was quite the opposite of Theresa, which took some adjusting for me, believe it or not. With Kestrel, at the house, Johnny came by with even more frequency than he had when inviting me to play ball, only now he didn’t come for me. I was happy for them, but I wasn’t just happy about that.

The grand plan for an epic rebirth of baseball finally came to fruition a few weeks later, just when I thought I’d told Jackson everything.

With the help of all the new residents, my stadium had been cleared off and rebuilt. Even the persistent patch of weeds near third base was gone. Everyone took a break from hatred and basic survival, to come play or watch the first ever post-Supply Wars baseball game.

“The game is about to start,” Jackson said, squeezing my hand. I sat with him in the dugout, watching our team warm up.

“What are you so nervous about?” I asked, seeing the little wrinkles around his eyes as he scanned the field. The field had never looked so good. All the rocks had been cleared. The grass freshly mowed. The broken seats repaired with wood and nails. As I looked around, I think it was the first time I really believed that dreams could come true. Draven sat in as the umpire. Kestrel and Johnny played for us, but Clifton had no issues teaming up with some of the other members from Knotwood.

“I spoke with my father yesterday. He was awake for most of the afternoon. And he said we get to name the field,” Jackson said. He’d asked me to go see Austin, but I wasn’t ready. I pictured him sitting up in bed, and felt a little more hopeful about the future.

“Oh, what ideas do you have?” I took a seat with a bowl full of popcorn in my hands.

“I already named it,” he laughed. “Violet’s Field. In memory of the girl I loved for a few days.” He winked at me.

I laughed with him as I shoved a handful of popcorn into my mouth, yet my heart swelled, and my stomach fluttered with butterflies.

“Are you going to be able to play with a stomach full of popcorn?” he teased. When he showed me the finalized list of the starting lineup, I saw my name, Ellie Hudson, as shortstop.

“I’m on the team?” My shock was evident in my voice.

“You were always on the team. From the beginning.”

“You asked me to help you put together a team as if I was a manager or avid fan or something.”

Jackson shook his head. “No, I asked you as a team co-captain. From the moment you caught the walkie-talkie, I knew I needed you as shortstop.”

I grinned. He’s always wanted me on the team. “Of course, I can play with a stomach full of popcorn,” I insisted, taking another huge handful.

He scanned the crowd of what appeared to be the entire town of Rock Ridge and Knotwood combined as they filtered into the seats. He was looking for someone, and I had enough sense and security not to worry if it was another woman.

“I was really hoping for another player. Someone Johnny was pitching for a while back.”

As he said it, I didn’t know whether to laugh or feel bad. In all the turmoil and amid our budding romance, I’d never told him that he’d stolen my cleat. I hadn’t really missed it since Johnny hadn’t been begging me to play so often, preoccupied with his own newfound relationship with Kestrel.

I was about to tell him the truth when First Sergeant Framingham and Specialist Brennan stepped ceremoniously onto the field with the color guard, and the crowd hushed immediately. The color guard stepped in sync, marching while a boy beat his drum in perfect rhythm. We all stood.

Framingham shouted, “Color guard, post the colors!”

They respectfully unfolded the triangular flag and quickly raised it to the top of the newly constructed wooden flagpole. My eyes immediately filled with emotion as I saw our flag gallantly streaming in the sunlight. Despite everything that had happened, her colors still waved bright and bold.

I placed my hand over my rapidly beating heart as Kestrel stood at home plate and took a deep breath, beginning to sing the first chords of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” At first my gaze was fixed on the broad stripes and bright stars of our flag, but then I looked out across the people standing in the dugout. Johnny beamed with the same pride that welled within me. Jackson rendered a hand to his brow in reverent military fashion. And I imagined my father behind me, saluting our flag while he stood perfectly straight, every muscle tensed, his attention fixed on the symbol of our nation’s freedom. I began to sing along with Kestrel, and the crowd joined us. Austin, Jackson, Johnny, Bonnie, Clifton, and even Draven, joined in. Our voices grew to a roar at the rocket’s red glare. As we finished our National Anthem, I flooded with gratitude. We were still the land of the free and the home of the brave. We were still here. Still a nation. Still united.

The song ended, and I quickly tried to dry my eyes as the players took the field.

“I guess that hitter isn’t going to come,” Jackson said softly, looking at me and wiping one last stray tear from my cheek. “Or maybe I don’t recognize them.”

“Maybe they need their shoe,” I suggested, my voice still husky as I knelt down and pulled my backpack into my lap. I dug around for a second.

“Well, I did bring it!” He jabbed a thumb to his camo pack, and I slipped on my blue jersey.

“Jack,” I said, pulling my cleat from my backpack. “I, uh, forgot to tell you one more thing.” I smiled coyly. He looked at the cleat in my hand and the jersey on my back and shook his head as he smiled.

He took my other cleat from his bag. “You’re in trouble now.” He tossed it over, and I caught it. “Like I said, love made me blind.”

“Right, right.”

“I’ve been wanting to compliment you on that hit for weeks!” he said in reference to my game with Johnny.

“Thanks.” I leaned in for a kiss, lingering as I caught a whiff of his cologne and tasted his lips on mine. Then he shooed me away, beaming.

“You’re up.” As I turned to leave the dugout, he slapped my butt playfully.

With the fresh dirt beneath my feet, and the wood in my bare palms, I felt at home. Right where I belonged.

I held my breath as the ball flew toward me.

The bat cracked when it bit the ball, sending it soaring out past the newly planted cornfields. Love filled my heart as I ran the bases and rounded home plate just in time to hear Jackson shout, “Ellie, you’re the best player in Texas!”

Once upon a time I thought everything I loved was gone forever. I’ve lost a lot, but I got a lot of it back. The town. A family who cherishes me. Someone who loves me. Even baseball.

Epilogue

I wanted to believe that I’d trekked through the worst trials of my life. That from here on out, it was baseball and romance, with hamburgers and liberty to follow. That Theresa had left for good, and Rock Ridge was finally free to go back to a state of peace, restored to its former glory. I wanted all the wars to be over, but every time I walked past Draven and saw his vulture tattoo, eye-less and dead-looking, my conscience whispered, “It’s not over, Ellie. They aren’t dead. They’ll be back.”

Every time a vulture stared at me from the skin of a soldier, my conscience cautioned me, “Don’t hold your breath. This is only the calm before the storm.”

Also in the Series

REPUBLIC OF RUIN

SHATTERED STATE

CRIMSON NATION

FROM THE PUBLISHER

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