Author: Grace Hamilton
Date: 2022-07-13 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Post Apocalyptic; Dystopia; Survival
Description: No power. No law & order. No safety net. The world as everyone knows it is over. Laurel is stabilizing a patient in the ER when the power goes out. As she struggles to keep her patients alive, she faces an ugly truth—the world as everyone knew it is over. The smart thing to do is run and try to survive, but Laurel refuses to leave her patients behind—least of all her sick mother. There’s only one choice to make. She’ll have to stay and fight. Bear is done fighting. War and PTSD have cost him everything—his job, his self-respect, and his wife - Laurel. But when he can no longer deny the old wor

EMP AFTERMATH

Broken World

Chaotic World

Dangerous World

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JULY 2022

Copyright © 2022 Relay Publishing Ltd.

All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Grace Hamilton is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Post-Apocalyptic projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.

www.relaypub.com

BLURB

No power. No law & order. No safety net. The world as everyone knows it is over.

Laurel is stabilizing a patient in the ER when the power goes out. As she struggles to keep her patients alive, she faces an ugly truth—the world as everyone knew it is over. The smart thing to do is run and try to survive, but Laurel refuses to leave her patients behind—least of all her sick mother. There’s only one choice to make. She’ll have to stay and fight.

Bear is done fighting. War and PTSD have cost him everything—his job, his self-respect, and his wife - Laurel. But when he can no longer deny the old world is gone, he gains a new purpose. Laurel is hundreds of miles away from his mountain cabin, but he knows she needs him.

After so long being a lost solider, he finally has something worth fighting for. The highways are clogged with dead cars. Frantic survivors want his truck, his tools, his supplies. He'll face treachery, desperation, and endless miles of unforgiving wilderness, but he's going to find his wife. Together, they can survive anything.

He just has to reach her.

CONTENTS

1. Laurel

2. Bear

3. Laurel

4. Laurel

5. Deb

6. Bear

7. Laurel

8. Laurel

9. Laurel

10. Laurel

11. Bear

12. Bear

13. Laurel

14. Trent

15. Laurel

16. Bear

17. Laurel

18. Bear

19. Deb

20. Laurel

21. Bear

22. Laurel

23. Laurel

24. Bear

25. Laurel

26. Bear

27. Deb

28. Laurel

29. Bear

30. Laurel

31. Laurel

32. Bear

33. Laurel

34. Laurel

35. Bear

36. Arlo

37. Laurel

38. Laurel

Epilogue

End of Broken World

Thank you

Make an Author’s Day

About Grace Hamilton

Sneak Peek: Chaotic World

Sneak Peek: No Rescue

Also By Grace Hamilton

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1

LAUREL

“What have we got?” Laurel rushed forward, clutching the tablet she hadn’t gotten used to using yet. Casting a hurried glance at the triage area, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and pinched it between her thumb and index finger. Too many patients, not enough staff. South Minneha Hospital was supposed to be different, yet just a week after opening, they were running into the same old problems. Plus some new ones.

In front of her, a female paramedic gestured to a gurney. Laurel couldn’t remember her name. A young male was strapped to it, barely conscious, eyes rolling as he grappled for the oxygen mask on his face. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, which clearly wasn’t his biggest problem.

“Twenty-three-year-old male, Tommy Jones, front passenger seat, collision with a truck, signs of internal bleeding.”

As the paramedic reeled off the boy’s stats, Laurel’s mind was already three steps ahead. “He’s going to need a chest tube,” she said loudly. “Bay Three!” She gestured to the biggest of the empty bays as her team gathered around her. Two nurses and a resident. Allison Park. Not the worst resident she’d ever worked with, but not the best either.

As Laurel pulled on a gown and gloves, Park took the tablet and started to swipe at it. She was attempting to enter the patient’s information. A step suggested by the bureaucrats who ran the new, extra high-tech hospital that Laurel had found herself working in.

“It’s not connected—”

“Leave it,” Laurel snapped. “You think we have time for that? Gown up, Park.”

Taking a second to gather her breath, Laurel made herself look at the boy in front of her—really look at him. For just a second, she allowed the weight of the responsibility she held to crush her. Then she shook it off, opened her palm and said, “Scalpel.”

A longer-than-usual beat passed. Laurel looked up.

“I can’t find—” One of the nurses, Janet, was scrabbling in an instrument drawer. “It’s not where it’s supposed to be.”

“Help her,” Laurel gestured for Park to look too, but as the resident moved away, a series of alarms began to sound. “He’s in v-fib! Crash cart!”

Laurel started compressions, heaving her entire body weight into the movement, thankful—not for the first time—that she still worked out six days a week.

“Where is that crash cart!” She looked up, over the top of her glasses. Park was staring wildly around the room as if the cart might appear from somewhere.

“It’s not here. I thought we were supposed to have one in every room?” Park’s expression froze as the color drained from her face; she was beginning to panic.

“What is wrong with you people!” Laurel glared at Park. “Take over,” she growled, then ran from the room. There was a cart in Bay Two, she’d used it yesterday.

As fast as she could, she lurched out of Bay Three, into the bay next door, and grabbed the cart. When she returned, the alarms were still ringing. At this rate, they’d lose the kid before they even got him to an OR.

“Charge two-hundred,” she yelled, slapping pads onto the boy’s chest. “Stand clear!”

After the third charge, the alarms stopped. Instinctively, Laurel held out her hand and, this time, Janet pressed a scalpel into it.

* * *

With Tommy finally on his way to surgery, Laurel put her hands on her hips and marched back into Bay Three.

“That was an absolute shit show!” she yelled. “What was that? We could have lost that kid, all because no one knows their ass from their elbow! I shouldn’t have to run out of the room to grab a crash cart. It should have been there. One of you should have noticed it was missing.” As Janet, the two other nurses—Sandra and Maggie—and Park blinked at her, Laurel continued. “I was a field medic in Iraq for three years, and never had to put up with performance as dreadful as this.” She paused. Janet was shaking her head. Park looked like she was about to cry, Sandra and Maggie were blushing. She was being too harsh. This wasn’t her usual management style. She was good with people. She didn’t shout or scream. Something about this place, though, was getting to her. Just a week in, and she was beginning to realize that South Minneha wasn’t as shiny and perfect as she’d been promised it would be.

Opening her mouth to speak, Laurel noticed Janet narrow her eyes a little. The gesture made her stop, press her lips together, and leave before she said anything else.

Twenty minutes later, she was waiting in line for the coffee cart when Janet lightly touched her elbow. “Tough day?” she asked, raising an eyebrow to indicate she was not sympathetic.

Laurel sighed. “Coffee?” She’d reached the front of the line.

Janet nodded and allowed Laurel to buy her a double-shot latte, and then the two of them headed over to a bench nearby. Positioned under a large tree, looking out at the impressive fountain at the front of the hospital, it was a beautiful place to sit. Yet, somehow, it made Laurel uncomfortable.

“I think I’m having a hard time adjusting,” she said as Janet sat down beside her. “All this.” She gestured with her coffee-holding hand to the neatly manicured lawn, which had clearly been designed to convey the idea that South Minneha was not a run-of-the-mill hospital. This place was something special. Something new. “I said no to another tour so I could work here.” Laurel shuffled uncomfortably in her seat and sighed a little. “I’ll admit it, I was swayed by the Board’s proposal. Brand new equipment. State of the art facilities. The kind of resources I’d only ever read about in medical journals.”

“But—” Janet added, pausing for effect.

“But it’s so different from what I’m used to. I used to enjoy my work, but here it feels like I’m fighting fires I shouldn’t have to be fighting. Does that make any sense?”

After sipping her coffee, Janet nodded. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you leave? You don’t have to stay here.”

Laurel hesitated for a moment. She hadn’t told anyone about the real deciding factor in her move to South Minneha.

Watching her, Janet sighed, then straightened her shoulders and sucked in her cheeks. She was a friend, but not the kind of friend to tolerate poor behavior or excuses.

“Look,” she said, folding her arms in front of her plump stomach. “You made a choice. You chose to come work here because the money’s good and because they promised you a bunch of shiny toys.”

Laurel nodded, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“From where I’m sitting, that’s exactly what you got.”

“What’s the use of shiny toys if we can’t get the basics, right?” Laurel almost laughed.

“Okay, so some things need work. We’re all new here, Laurel. But I’m telling you now—you’re not going to make any friends if you carry on like this.” She paused, softening her tone slightly. “Let’s be honest, there’s no way you’re quitting. You’re not that kind of person. So you should probably start thinking about taking a different approach. The nurses are doing their best. Even Park is doing her best.” Janet stood up, clearly not in the mood to sit and make further conversation. “You’re in charge of the ER. You want things done differently? Then screw the Board and do them differently. Just don’t take it out on us.”

Laurel was about to apologize—a sincere apology—when a noise near the entrance interrupted. Following Janet’s gaze, she rose to her feet.

“Great,” Janet said through gritted teeth. “Looks like more inmates have arrived.”

“More?” They started to walk back toward the entrance, watching as a prison transport pulled up and three large guards piled out onto the sidewalk.

Banging a fist on the side of the van, one of them yelled. “Shut up! We’re here. No nonsense or we’ll take you straight back.”

The van doors opened just as Laurel and Janet drew level with them. Inside were two gurneys, each with a prisoner handcuffed to it.

“We were told there’d be a maximum of six per week but that’s got to be…” Laurel trailed off as she tried to recall how many had arrived yesterday and the day before. Janet was chuckling. “What?” Laurel turned to her. “What’s funny?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Janet stopped and looked up at the imposing white building in front of them. “The only thing the people in charge of this place care about is money. They didn’t build this hospital because they wanted to use the wonders of modern technology to help people. They built it to bring in big bucks from big donors, big pharmaceutical companies, and big-pocketed patients. More prisoners in the inmates’ wing equals more money.”

“If you’re so skeptical, why are you here?” Laurel asked, folding her arms in front of her chest, tilting her head as she waited for Janet’s answer.

“Same as you. Money. Fancy equipment.” Janet glanced back toward the coffee cart. “And I like the coffee.” Without offering a smile, she tossed her empty takeout cup into a nearby trash can and stalked back inside, sashaying a little as she walked.

As Laurel finished her own coffee, she watched the prison guards wheel the inmates inside. Straight through the main entrance, despite Robert Sullivan’s promises about them being kept completely separate from her ER.

Taking out her phone, she flicked to Robert’s name and typed out a quick message: Need to talk ASAP.

He’d avoid her, of course he would, but she wasn’t going to let him get away with this. Janet was right; Laurel was in charge, so she darn well needed to act like it. Normally, she’d never even dream of kowtowing to someone like Robert—nice but, ultimately, interested more in the hospital’s bottom line than anything else. The problem was, after everything Robert had done to get her mother into the trial—the only one in the country getting results for her type of cancer—she felt indebted to him.

Somehow, she needed to draw a line between the two things. Robert did her a favor, but she did him a favor too by agreeing to head up his fancy new ER. She was good, and he knew it, or he wouldn’t have gone to the lengths he had to secure her. It was about time she reminded him of that.

* * *

In the break room, Laurel took off her coat and hung it on the back of a nearby chair. Janet, who’d sat down with a group of other nurses, looked up and raised her eyebrows. From the couch in the corner of the room, Park swallowed hard as if she was expecting another telling off.

“Excuse me, everyone,” Laurel said, trying not to shout. When no one except for Park and Janet looked up, she cleared her throat and raised her voice a little louder. “Excuse me?”

Finally, they noticed her and stopped talking.

“I have an apology to make.” She flexed her fingers at her sides, resisting the urge to fold her arms.

Janet’s mouth twitched as she bit back a smile.

“Many of you have worked together before, but I’m new here, and I’m not happy with the way I’ve been conducting myself. This is not the way I like my ER to run, but that’s on me. Not you.”

As the frowning faces in front of her softened a little, Laurel tried not to fiddle with her hair. Before her shift started that morning, she’d tied it back into a bun, neat and smooth at the base of her neck. After just a few hours on duty, strands were snaking free and tickling the side of her face. She gave in and tucked one behind her ear, then offered the nurses a smile.

“I promise you,” she said, “I’ll be taking my concerns to the Chief, and I’ll be talking with the Board about some other matters too. First, though, I want to know what’s not working for you. So, please, tell me… which procedures need to change?”

“You mean apart from those infernal tablets?” Janet asked, prompting a ripple of laughter from the other nurses.

“Yes, apart from the infernal tablets,” Laurel replied, biting back a smile. “I believe they’re here to stay, but we could certainly address the way they’re used.”

“Shouldn’t all this have been worked out before the place opened?” Mark, a nurse about Laurel’s age, said gruffly.

“In an ideal world, yes.” Laurel stopped herself from saying that in an ideal world Robert and the rest of the Board would have thought to ask the person they were actually employing as head of the ER to advise on procedure, rather than some overpaid consultant who barely looked old enough to have graduated. “But we are where we are, and this hospital has the potential to be great. If we work hard to make it great. So, hit me with your ideas. What can we do to whip South Minneha into shape?”

Laurel was jotting down comments in her small black notebook when the breakroom door opened. Expecting to find one of the residents, warning her of an incoming trauma, she turned to stand up and reached for her coat in one fluid motion.

But it wasn’t a resident. It was Robert Sullivan. One of the hospital’s most influential Board members.

“Robert?” Laurel glanced at her phone. “I didn’t expect you to come all the way down here.”

Lingering in the doorway, puffing out his chest—the way he always did to compensate for his lack of height—Robert frowned.

“Is this about my email?” Laurel asked, lowering her voice and motioning to the others that their meeting was temporarily suspended.

“What email?” Robert shook his head. His hair was thinning at the front. “I came because your mother asked me to.” Robert stepped out of the door back into the hallway. Laurel followed, sucking in her cheeks.

Whenever Robert talked about Laurel’s mother, he did so with a slightly disdainful look on his face—as if Laurel was abandoning her daughterly duties by working, despite the fact he was the one who’d employed her.

“Is she all right?” Laurel still hadn’t quite gotten used to the idea that Robert and her mother had once been romantically involved. Yes, it was a long time ago—before her mother and father were married and before Laurel was even born—but it was still something she couldn’t bring herself to picture. Her mother was so beautiful. Free-spirited. Wildly intelligent. She lit up every room she walked into, even now that she was sick. And Robert? Well, she couldn’t imagine Robert Sullivan being anything other than the rigid, white-haired, humorless guy she’d met when he tracked her down in Texas and offered her a job.

“She’s having a bad day, Laurel. She’s asked to see you.”

Glancing back into the breakroom, Laurel drew a long slow breath into her chest and folded her arms. She couldn’t leave in the middle of a shift, no matter how much she wanted to and especially when she was trying to make amends to her team, not isolate them even further. “I’m sorry, Robert, I can’t right now. We’re still short-staffed and we’re having problems with some of the new systems. Could you tell her I’ll come up after my shift?”

Robert pressed his lips together and nodded. “Problems?” His eyes twitched as he narrowed them.

“Yes. I was hoping to speak to you, actually—”

“Of course,” Robert replied quickly. “Perhaps when you’re less slammed?” As his lips stretched into a smile, Laurel caught herself tapping her foot against the slightly sparkly gray tiles that adorned the floors in the hospital corridors.

“I’ll call your secretary to make an appointment,” she said, a hint of her Texan accent bleeding into her speech the way it always did when she was trying to hide the fact she was annoyed. Luckily, Robert didn’t know her well enough to know that.

“Do,” he replied. “And don’t forget your mother, Laurel. I’ll tell her you’ll visit after your shift.”

2

BEAR

Pulling his small wooden boat up onto the shore of the lake, Bjorn “Bear” Peterson looked at his scruffy white terrier and smiled. As always, Jessamine was bounding across the tiny beach as if she’d never felt sand before, tail wagging frantically, ears alert.

“No need to wait for me,” Bear grumbled as he climbed out of the boat and slung his fishing rod over his shoulder. His cooler, lighter than usual, housed the fish they’d caught that morning. A small catch but enough for supper for the two of them.

For a moment, Bear allowed himself to turn toward the lake and feel the air on his cheeks. Without his hearing aids, the noises Jessamine heard—gentle lapping of the water, birds in the trees, the movement of leaves as the fall breeze tickled the branches around the lake—were muffled. Indistinct from one another.

Having lived thirty-eight years of his life with sound, Bear could imagine those noises. His brain could attempt to fill in the blanks. But after everything that happened when he left the Army, he’d become pretty okay with not imagining anything. In fact, especially since he’d moved out toward Thunder Bay, he’d grown to like the quiet.

“Okay, girl, let’s go cook up some lunch.” Bear turned away from the lake and strode across the beach. In just a few steps, he was in the tree line. “Jess?” he called, patting his leg to encourage his dog to hurry up and follow him. Almost instantly, she was at his heels. “Good girl.”

Back home, after being discharged, Bear had felt self-conscious when he spoke. Conscious that he could be speaking too loudly or too quietly. Laurel had been sympathetic at first, but as he withdrew from making conversation if they were out of the house, her frustration had begun to show.

Bear blinked hard as his wife’s image careened into his mind. As always, he pictured her the way she’d looked on their wedding day. Long black hair, skin glowing, her eyes dancing as she smiled at him over her shoulder and called for him to run along the beach with her.

Adjusting the fishing rod on his shoulder, Bear started to sing. Out here, there was no one around to notice whether he was too loud or completely off key. Except for Jess, and she didn’t care so long as he was nearby and paying attention to her.

As Jess scampered off into the trees, Bear glanced up. Little patches of blue sky flashed between the branches above him. Clear blue—there wasn’t a cloud in sight, but the pale-yellow sun made it clear it was fall, not summer. Soon the snow would come and there were a lot of things he needed to do before then to prepare for the winter.

Last winter, his first since he moved to his little wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere, had been an unmitigated disaster. Despite all the supposed survival skills he’d learned in the Army, he had been woefully unprepared for the harshness of the Canadian winter and had come close to both starving and freezing to death when the route to town was cut off during the worst of the winter months.

This year would be different. Yes, he was still off-grid, but he’d at least purchased a generator and had spent the past six months stocking up on non-perishable goods and supplies.

With food taken care of, his next job was to finish weatherproofing the place. As soon as he and Jess had enjoyed their fish, he’d begin reinforcing the cellar hatch. The last thing they needed was for it to cave in after a heavy snowfall.

They were approaching the cabin, the trees growing sparser as they reached the clearing, when Bear noticed that Jessamine had stopped on the front step.

“Dang it,” he muttered, depositing his rod and cooler on the ground and jogging over to her. “How in the heck…?” Bear rubbed the back of his neck. Somehow, in the time he’d been gone, a tree branch had fallen smack through his front kitchen window. He looked up, trying to locate the tree it had come from. “Had to be the cedar, didn’t it?” he muttered. When he caught Jessamine tilting her head at him, he added, “Come on, you know they burn like crap,” then set about pulling the branch free from the window.

An hour later, sweat dripping from his forehead, Bear sawed the last piece of branch in two and threw it onto the pile he’d created nearby. Jessamine was over by the trees, sniffing the cooler he’d abandoned in favor of fixing his window.

“Not yet, Jess. Need to get this patched up first.”

When Jessamine snuffed at him, shaking her head as if she’d truly understood what he said, Bear smiled and raised his eyebrows at her. “You forgotten we’re in bear country out here? Because I sure as heck haven’t. Last thing I want to wake up to is a brown bear in my bed.”

Picking up the cooler, Bear deposited it inside on the wooden table that had been in situ when he bought the cabin and headed for the cellar. Spare panes of glass had been on his list of things to purchase from town next time he visited, so for now, he’d have to make do with a sheet of plywood nailed to the window frame.

As he jogged back upstairs, Bear shuddered. Having stopped working, he was feeling the chill in the air, but there was no point lighting the stove until the window was sealed up.

Fed up with watching him work, Jessamine had curled up on the couch and followed him with her eyes as he passed through the room. “I’ll be done soon, promise,” he said, wondering when he’d become the kind of guy who worried about his dog catching a chill.

Setting down the plywood, Bear pulled his sleeve over his hand and started to brush the remaining fragments of glass free from the frame. Most came loose without a fuss, but one large shard was fixed firm. Rolling his eyes, Bear jabbed it hard with his elbow. On the second jab, the shard toppled inside the frame and fell into the sink, but as Bear moved backward his foot nudged against something. Looking down, he saw Jessamine standing in between his legs; he hadn’t heard her come outside.

“Jess,” he mumbled, lifting his leg. But Jess moved at the same time he did, and Bear tripped awkwardly into the cabin wall. Trying to steady himself, he reached out and yelped as his hand scraped along the jagged lower rim of the frame that he’d yet to clear of glass.

When he raised his hand, it was bleeding. “Shoot,” he said, holding it up to try and stop the blood flow. “Where’s the first-aid kit?” he asked, as if Jessamine might run inside and fetch it.

At the kitchen table, after managing to clean and bandage his hand by himself, Bear sat back and flexed his fingers. Laurel would, no doubt, have had something to say about his doctoring skills; it didn’t exactly look like a professional job, but it would suffice.

For a moment, Bear considered leaving the window. He was tired, hungry, and his hand hurt. He could take a break and fix it after lunch. Shaking his head, he forced himself to stand up. Get on with it, Bear. This is what you wanted. Life off the grid. Which means getting off your lazy ass and fixing stuff when it gets broken.

An hour later, stopping every few minutes to rest his injured hand, Bear stood back and admired his work. The window was sealed. Nothing was getting in and, until he bought a replacement pane and figured out how to fit it, this would do nicely.

Just one more nail to go.

Bear picked up his hammer and, channeling the last of his frustration against the dying old cedar tree into his arm, whacked the nail as hard as he could.

As the hammer met with the nail, Bear’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?” he yelled, almost laughing, but not quite; his hammer had broken clean in two. Just like that. The handle had snapped, and he was now holding nothing but a wooden stump as the heavy metal head rolled across the cabin’s small wooden porch.

He had picked it up and was staring at the two halves when Jessamine padded outside. Catching her in the corner of his eye, he looked at her and waved the hammer pieces.

Jess tilted her head to the left. The gesture had always made Bear think they were destined to be together, because he tilted his head to the left when he was trying to hear with his one semi-functioning ear.

“I can’t fix it,” he said. “Which means…” He trailed off as Jessamine wagged her tail at him. “Yeah, yeah. I know you love going into town, but I avoid it. As much as possible.”

At the word ‘town’, Jess stood up and started toward the truck.

“Not today, Jess. We’ll go tomorrow. We’ve done enough hard work for one day.”

Bear tossed the broken hammer over the railing, imagining its fall with a thud onto the ground below.

“Tomorrow. Right now, we’ve got fish to eat.”

3

LAUREL

“What did Sullivan want?” Janet slotted her tablet into its charging dock and grabbed a new one. Above them, the electronic board displayed just ten names; finally, they’d cleared their backlog of patients.

Laurel pursed her lips. She hadn’t told anyone about her mother’s presence in the hospital, but she was beginning to realize that if she hoped to make friends here, at some point, she’d have to tell people something about herself. Janet seemed like a good person to start with.

“To make me feel guilty about my mother, mainly.” Laurel sighed and folded her arms across her stomach.

Janet tilted her head to the side. “Your mother?”

“When I said I came here for the money and the equipment, that wasn’t entirely true. I also came because South Minneha was the only place running the Hauser trial.”

“The Hauser trial?” Janet frowned.

“My mother has Stage Four pancreatic cancer. She’s in a room upstairs.”

“Oh, Laurel.” Janet put down her new tablet and squeezed Laurel’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Ignoring the sickening thud-thud-thud of her heart, Laurel tried to smile. “I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t want people to….”

“I get it,” Janet said quickly. “But listen, if you need to go see her…” She gestured toward the elevators. “It’s quiet in here, so—”

“Thank you, but it’s fine. I’ll see her after my shift. Robert just—” Laurel sighed. “He and my mother are old friends. I don’t know him very well but when he heard about her illness, he pulled some strings. Got her into the trial. Offered me this job so I could move up from Texas to be with her.”

For a moment, Janet’s expression didn’t change. Then her eyes widened and Laurel could almost see the dots connecting in her friend’s head; how Laurel must be finding it difficult to stand up to Robert because she felt she owed him something, and how she really did have no option but to stay.

Laurel grimaced and reached back to adjust her bun. “That’s why I didn’t want anyone to know. Because as soon as they find out, they’ll assume I only got the job because of Sullivan’s connection to my mother.” She met Janet’s eyes.

“I don’t think that,” Janet said, raising her palms. “And no one else will either.”

“I made it very clear when I took the job that I wouldn’t let the situation with my mother’s care affect my role here.” Laurel glanced at her tablet; no incoming traumas. “I just don’t think Sullivan believed me when I said it. Now that I’m starting to push back, I’m not sure he knows how to handle it.”

“Stand your ground.” Janet nodded firmly. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your mom.”

“Thank you.” Laurel inhaled deeply through her nose and pressed her palm to the gold cross she wore around her neck; her mother’s.

“Hey, listen,” Janet said as they headed toward the waiting room. “You want to get a drink after work? A few of us are going to Cal’s across the street.”

Laurel’s lips twitched into a smile. “Sure,” she said. “That’d be great.”

“Good. Now, go see your mom. Please. I can handle things here for half an hour and I can call you if there’s an emergency.”

Glancing toward the triage area, Laurel breathed in slowly. Her head was telling her not to leave mid-shift, but her heart was pounding with the need to see her mother. “All right,” she said, already turning around. “I won’t be long.”

* * *

Laurel was only halfway up the stairs when her phone began to ring. “Rivera,” she said, spinning on her heels.

“Incoming trauma, mother and daughter, mugged while out shopping. Sounds like the mother’s beat up pretty bad.” Janet’s voice was steady but urgent.

“On my way.” For half a second, Laurel allowed herself to glance up toward the floor her mother’s room was on. Then she shook her head and ran back to the ER.

As she burst through the doors, a gurney was being wheeled in from the entrance on the opposite side. A little girl, no more than seven years old, with blonde hair and big brown eyes, was walking, guided by a paramedic. Her face was pale and there was blood on her hands, but it didn’t seem to be coming from an obvious injury. Probably her mother’s. As soon as Janet reached the child, she put her hand on her small shoulder, reassured her that her mother was being taken care of and steered her toward a bed to examine her. Pulling the curtain, Janet met Laurel’s eyes. Laurel nodded. This girl was too young to lose her mother.

“Park,” she yelled, “with me.”

“Sarah Rodgers, thirty-eight years old, mugged, two female assailants. Signs of blunt trauma to the lower left abdomen,” the paramedic said as Laurel pulled on a clean pair of gloves and directed the gurney to Bay Two.

“Sarah, I’m Dr. Rivera. I’m going to look after you, okay?”

Pulling aside the oxygen mask on her face, Sarah looked as if she might try to sit up.

Laurel leaned in closer. “Sarah, please keep still. I’m going to examine you now.”

“My… daughter. Anna.” The words were barely audible.

“She’s fine. She’s being taken care of. She’s with my best nurse.” Laurel smiled, a mother-to-mother smile, and put her hand on top of Sarah’s. “Now let’s take care of you, so you can take care of Anna, okay?”

Nodding, Sarah allowed Laurel to place the oxygen mask back on her face.

“Okay, Park, we’ve got a lot of bruising here and some swelling. We’re going to need an emergency CT to check for internal bleeding.”

“Are you concerned about her spleen?” Park asked, quickly tapping away on the tablet to warn CT they were on their way.

“Yes, call me as soon as you’ve got the results.”

Without missing a beat, Laurel marched over to where Janet was dressing a cut on Anna Rodgers’ hand.

“Anna?” she said, smiling.

“Where’s my mom?” Instantly, the little girl tried to stand up, craning her neck to try and see around the curtain.

“We’re going to take some scans of her belly, to check for any bleeding that might be inside. Bleeding we might not be able to see just by looking. She’s being taken very good care of, I promise.” Laurel perched on the end of the bed and squeezed Anna’s uninjured hand.

“I told her to give them what they wanted.” Anna’s eyes began to water, and she sniffed hard. “Her phone and her purse. They’re not important. She should have just let go of them.”

Smiling thinly, Laurel was about to tell the child that people didn’t always react in the most logical way under circumstances like that when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing at Janet. “I have to go. Anna, I’ll update you on your mom very soon.”

Ducking back behind the curtain, she looked at her phone. “Cai?” she answered while heading back to the board.

“Laurel, I’m en route with a patient.”

“En route?” Laurel stopped, flattened her palm on her forehead and frowned beneath her fingers. “You do ride-alongs on your days off now?”

“It’s my dad, Laurel. Heart attack.”

Laurel swallowed hard. Dr. Cai Vong was one of the few attendings who’d been nice to her when she arrived, despite the fact he’d interviewed for the job Robert eventually gave to her. “What’s your ETA?”

“Five minutes. He’s awake and communicating but still experiencing chest pain.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Hanging up, Laurel grabbed a tablet from one of the charging docks and logged in to view Sarah Rodgers’ scans. At the same moment, Park appeared at her elbow.

“Mrs. Rodgers has a ruptured spleen. They’ve taken her to the Hybrid OR.”

Laurel nodded, releasing a shaky breath. “Who’s operating?”

“Burns.”

“Good. She’s good.

“Listen, Park, Dr. Vong is bringing his father in. Suspected heart attack. Could you—tactfully—update Anna Rodgers about her mom’s condition, then meet me in Bay One?”

Park nodded. “Of course.”

She’d only just made it outside and was marveling at the fact it was still daylight when it felt as if she’d been inside the hospital for at least an entire day, when a noisy—very, very old—truck pulled up in front of her. In seconds, Cai was out of the cab and opening the passenger side door.

Ready with a wheelchair, Laurel helped Cai ease his father down into the chair.

“Mr. Vong, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Laurel said, smiling at the man in the chair, who couldn’t be much more than seventy years old.

With wide eyes, Vong Sr. tried to smile at her, but his eyes were watery and his breath short.

“Bay One is ready,” Laurel said, heading for the entrance as Cai pushed his father’s chair. “We’ll give him an ECG, then determine treatment. Did he lose consciousness?” When Cai didn’t immediately answer, Laurel spoke a little louder. “Dr. Vong? Did your father lose consciousness?”

Shaking his head, as if trying to physically shake free the worry that was grabbing hold of him, Cai managed to say, “No. No, he didn’t. We were playing golf. He just went down. He said he’d been feeling unwell all day, but he didn’t tell me.”

As Park helped Mr. Vong into a bed, Laurel put her hands on Cai’s elbows and met his eyes. “Do you need a minute?”

“I’m fine, Laurel—”

“Because if you need a minute, that’s—”

“Dr. Rivera! He’s crashing!” Park yelled from behind Bay One’s curtain. An alarm began to sound.

“Start CPR!” Laurel and Cai spoke at the same time, but Laurel pushed in front of him. “Hold compressions,” Laurel glanced at the monitors. Nothing changed. Behind her, another alarm sounded. Except this one was different. Was it the fire alarm? “Okay, let’s shock him.”

As she grabbed the paddles, she was aware of the noise behind her escalating. Talking. Some shouts. Phones ringing. As if every single person in the hospital was getting a phone call at the same time. Her own phone buzzed in her pocket.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“Charge on three. One, two, three. Clear!”

Now another alarm. What the hell was that?

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“On three. One, two, three. Clear!”

The monitor didn’t change.

“Laurel….” Cai stepped forward, his jaw tight and his face gray.

“What the hell is going on out there!” Laurel yelled. “Charge to three hundred. One, two—”

Before she could say ‘three’, the lights went out.

4

LAUREL

“Resume compressions, Park.” Laurel stepped back, keeping hold of the paddles. For several heartbeats, she waited for the lights to return, for the whirr of the generator and the flicker that meant they were back in business. She’d done this before. In the field. She wasn’t panicked by the dark.

When nothing happened, however, her throat tightened. Just a little.

“What the hell’s going on? Why isn’t the generator kicking in?” Cai yelled.

“Maggie, go and find out.” Laurel spoke calmly to the nurse who’d been monitoring the machines—machines that were now completely black.

Maggie nodded and scurried from the room.

“Why haven’t the generators kicked in?” Cai looked from his father to Laurel and back again.

“I have no idea.” She swapped places with Park and took over the compressions. “I have no idea.”

Seconds later, Maggie was back. She stood in the doorway, holding the curtain, gripping it so hard her knuckles had whitened.

“What is it?” Laurel asked, out of breath as she continued to press up and down on Mr. Vong’s chest.

Maggie swallowed hard. Her face had drained of color. Her lips were thin. “They’re saying it was an EMP. The Government sent an alert saying we were about to lose power. Then it went.”

Below the panicked throng of voices outside, the usual hum of machines and equipment was gone. Which meant that in every other trauma bay, operating room and patient room in the hospital, doctors would be in similar situations as Laurel.

Before her mind could start cataloging all the possible scenarios that could be taking place right this second, Laurel shook her head. She needed to focus on what was happening here. In her ER.

Her arms were burning but Mr. Vong was showing no signs of responding to the CPR. Cai moved to take over from her. Although she knew she shouldn’t, she stepped aside, rubbing her elbows. “We have generators. State of the art ones, I’ve seen them.”

“Well, they’re not working, are they?” Cai muttered through gritted teeth. His face was red. He was staring at his father. “Come on, Dad, come on.”

“Dr. Rivera! We need you!” Janet’s voice. The noise level was rising.

“Go.” Cai nodded at her. “Go.”

Laurel hesitated, then brushed down her coat, looked at Park and said, “Stay with him. Take it in turns.”

Beyond the curtain, the commotion of the ER hit her like a wall. In that instant, she could have been back in Iraq. She felt the heat. The sweat dripping from her brow. Heard the soldiers screaming. The helicopters overhead.

She blinked three times and tried to ground herself. The board was blank. The tablets were blank. She looked at her watch—the fancy fitness-tracking kind that tells you how to eat, sleep, and breathe. Blank. Her phone too.

All around her, people were doing the same. Prodding their phones, looking at their watches. Patients waiting to be treated were whispering to one another. Should they stay? Should they go? Others were demanding information about their loved ones.

Instinctively, she looked at the board to see what was happening in the trauma bays, but screwed her eyes shut when she was met with nothing but an empty screen.

“Laurel, what do we do? The machines are down. We’re manually venting three patients. Everyone’s panicking. Is the power coming back on?” Janet was at her side, steering her away from the hubbub.

“I have no idea,” she said, trying not to think about her mother. Upstairs. Alone. “For now, we need to make the best of what we’ve got.”

Janet nodded. “Right, and how do we do that?”

* * *

“Okay, we’re going to need to think on our feet for this.” Laurel looked at Janet’s face—pinched with worry—then glanced toward the door. Leaving the security guards to try and contain the chaos in the main body of the ER, she steered her friend toward the break room. Out of earshot of those who might panic even more if they heard her talking about the harsh realities of the situation they’d just been plunged into, she began to pace up and down.

“We don’t know when the power’s coming back. From what Maggie told me about the alert, it could be a while.” Laurel swallowed hard but tried not to let her voice waver. Janet was waiting for her to come up with a plan, but her brain wasn’t moving as quickly as she needed it to. “Do we have clipboards?”

“Clipboards?” Janet spluttered a nervous laugh. “You think South Minneha has a secret supply of clipboards? We’re supposed to be using Sullivan’s fancy tablets, remember?”

Laurel smoothed her palms over her hair and nodded. “Okay. Notebooks. There are some in the supply closet down the hall. When we leave here, go get them. Give one to every member of staff. We’ll divide the room into sections, take names and details.” Laurel rushed to her locker and pulled it open. Taking a lipstick from her handbag, she waved it at Janet. In her other hand, she was holding an eyeliner. “We need to triage everyone who’s waiting. Those who require urgent treatment go to beds one through six. People who need treating but can wait get a red cross.” She waved the lipstick. “Scrapes and bruises get a black cross and are told to wait or go home and put a band-aid on it.”

At that, Janet flinched, but Laurel didn’t have time to discuss it.

“New arrivals are assessed at the door,” she continued. “Security will keep them out until they’ve spoken to a doctor or nurse unless it’s clearly something urgent.”

“We’re going to keep people out?” Janet took Laurel’s makeup and put it into her pocket.

“Only until we’ve assessed them.” Laurel put her hands on Janet’s shoulders and met her eyes. “In situations like this, people gravitate toward hospitals as a safe port in the storm, but if the power went out all over the city, more serious injuries could be on the way. We have to preserve our manpower and our limited resources.”

Janet nodded gravely.

Barely out of the door, while Janet went to fetch the notebooks, Laurel began to make a mental map of what was happening in her ER. She had two attendings, Park—a resident—and six nurses on shift. Enough for a quiet day at a newly opened hospital. Not enough for a national crisis.

In Bay One, Dr. Rebecca Jones—who Laurel had barely exchanged two friendly words with since she started at South Minneha—looked up from where she was switching a patient onto a portable oxygen tank. Handing over to a nurse, she strode over to Laurel with her hands on her hips.

“Dr. Rivera, what is happening with the generator? It’s not on yet. Almost everything relies on us having power. We—”

Laurel pursed her lips. The doctor in front of her was relatively young. At her last hospital, she’d worked with colleagues who remembered the days when things were done by hand. Before there was a quicker, easier, technology-driven way to do almost everything. Here at South Minneha, her staff had probably never even had to do a patient intake without a list of boxes to tick and prescribed questions to ask. Did they even know how to monitor blood pressure without an electronic cuff?

“Dr. Jones, we’re doctors. We have instincts,” she said tightly.

“With all due respect, instincts can’t replace CT scans,” Rebecca said, folding her arms.

“No, but they can get us further than you’d think. I have field experience. I know Mark does too.” She glanced at the male nurse standing beside the security guard at the entrance, hands laced together behind his back, looking like a soldier. Trying to soften her tone, Laurel put her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “If the situation continues, and the generators don’t come on, I’ll think of something. For now, if there’s something you can’t do, come find me. I’ll show you how. If I can.”

For a moment, Rebecca simply blinked slowly, as if she was contemplating throwing her hands up and saying, Nah, I’m out. But then she rallied, nodded her head, and said, “Okay, but you better pray the generator does come on, because there’s only one of you and a heck of a lot of patients. Even you can’t be with everyone at the same time.”

As Dr. Jones turned back into the throng of the ER, Laurel shook her head. Of course the generators would come on. Any minute now.

After checking on Janet, confirming that—for the moment—no one was in urgent need of help, Laurel headed for Bay Two, praying she’d find Cai’s father awake and lucid. She’d barely managed two steps when Dr. Park emerged from behind the curtain, spotted her, and ran over.

“Dr. Vong is still performing compressions,” she said, a desperate look on her face.

“Still?” Laurel glanced at the clock, then shook her head because it hadn’t moved since the lights went out. “That’s got to be nearly an hour, Park.”

Park nodded and brushed her hair back from her face. “We’ve been taking it in turns but I had to stop, Dr. Rivera, I couldn’t continue—” She looked down at her limp arms. Laurel could see them trembling from the effort of what she’d been doing.

“It’s okay, I’m coming.” Laurel put her hand on Park’s shoulder and rushed across the room. Behind the curtain, Cai was barely managing to keep pumping his father’s chest. When he saw Laurel, his shoulders dropped. His eyes were watering but he shook his head and growled, “I’m not giving up on him.”

“Cai…” Laurel gestured for Park to stay where she was and stepped into the room. “It’s time to stop now, Cai.”

“Not like this,” he said, looking at his father instead of Laurel. “Not like this.”

“I’m so sorry, Cai.” Laurel put her hand on top of his and squeezed. “It’s time to let go.”

* * *

“Janet, what are all these people still doing here?” Laurel marched toward the entrance, where people were still filtering in. She’d left Cai with his father. Finally, he had stopped compressions, but without a working clock they had been unable to call time of death. Out of earshot, Laurel had asked Park to find a blank clipboard to list any fatalities. She hadn’t yet thought of a solution for what to do with Mr. Vong’s body. Perhaps the temperature in the morgue would hold long enough for the generators to kick in?

“Their cars won’t start, Laurel. Most of them live miles away. They’re stranded.” Janet, usually unflappable, sucked in her cheeks and looked toward the waiting room. It was completely full, and people were starting to gather in the lobby. “Several are asking about their families.” Janet handed Laurel a bottle of water and took a long swig from her own. “Relatives who were being taken for scans or up to the OR.”

“Of course.” Laurel nodded. She hadn’t thought of that. “Ask Maggie to take their details, see if the relatives remember where the patient was going. Which department. Then send her to find out what’s going on.”

Janet clenched her fingers around her water bottle. In the beds nearby, patients were being treated as best they could be, but without CT or X-Ray equipment, a lot of doctors were at a loss.

“I know it’s tough,” Laurel said, dipping to meet Janet’s eyes. “But right now, we need to just patch up as many people as we can.”

Before Janet could reply, Rebecca Jones, who was by the check-in desk, waved them over. “Dr. Rivera, beds two and five need X-Rays,” she said, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear.

“For?”

“Suspected radius fracture in two and possible pneumonia in five.”

“Splint the fracture and give the patient pain relief. Start the suspected pneumonia on antibiotics and fluids.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, nodded, and returned to her patients.

“A patient in Bed Six needs sutures,” Janet said, “Could you?”

“Of course.” Laurel followed Janet and smiled broadly when she reached Bed Six.

“Mr. Banks, this is Dr. Rivera. She’s going to fix up your hand.” Next to Laurel, Janet started readying the tray for Mr. Banks’ sutures while Laurel sat down on a stool opposite him.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled again. Sutures didn’t require technology. Sutures, they could deal with.

“Henry was looking for you,” Janet said quietly as Laurel began to stitch up Mr. Banks’ lacerated palm.

“He was?” Laurel’s stomach tightened. Henry was the ER’s on-shift janitor. Perhaps he had news about the generators. “Go find him for me, would you?”

Barely a minute later, Janet returned with Henry. In his mid-fifties, Henry was the kind of guy who rarely smiled. When he did, it was genuine, from the heart, and so it meant more. Stepping up next to Laurel, he glanced at Mr. Banks’ hand and looked away quickly. For someone who worked in a hospital, he seemed remarkably uncomfortable around the injured.

“Everything all right, Henry?”

“Yes, Dr. Rivera.” Henry shuffled his feet, his hands behind his back. Lowering his voice, he added, “I was just wondering, is there anything I should be doing?”

“Do you have family you’re worried about?” Laurel asked, feeling as if maybe he wanted to leave.

“No, no.” Henry shook his head. “I just feel strange carrying on as normal when everything is—” He shrugged. “Upside down.”

Laurel smiled at Mr. Banks and asked if he’d mind waiting one moment, then turned to face Henry. “Actually, there is something. Could you find out what’s happening with the generators? They should have kicked in well before now. They’re in the basement.”

“Of course.” Henry brushed a hand over his super-short hair. “I’ll be back.”

Watching him walk away, Laurel nodded to herself. Any minute now, they’d be back in business. She was sure of it.

5

DEB

The view from Deb’s window didn’t change when the power went out. Outside, it remained a sunny afternoon. Clear sky. Puffy white clouds and, she imagined, a chill in the air. The hospital, however, did change.

The light above her bed wouldn’t switch back on. The buzzer she used to call the nurses didn’t buzz. Her TV went blank. Even her Kindle wouldn’t turn on, which was strange. She tried tapping it, shaking it, flicking the little button on the bottom of the device. Nothing happened. When she looked at her watch, she shivered. That had stopped too. 3:05 p.m. A few hours until sunset.

Deb waited for what felt like a very long time, but could have been just a few minutes, before getting gingerly out of bed and walking the five steps to the window. Her legs were wobbly and her portable morphine drip was cumbersome.

Untangling herself from its wires, she peered down at the neatly paved entrance and manicured lawn that welcomed people to South Minneha Hospital. In the distance, she could see the parking lot. The cars didn’t appear to be moving.

As she gripped the window ledge, Deb saw the man who ran the coffee cart, which provided valuable fuel for doctors and nurses on their way into work. He was standing in front of his cart, looking at the sky, scratching his head. After a few moments, he pulled down the metal shutter and walked toward the entrance.

Deb headed for the door. It was closed, muffling the noise from the rest of the Oncology ward—not that it was a particularly noisy place—but if no one was going to come and tell her what was going on, she’d find out for herself.

The thing she hated most about being sick was how old it made her feel. She was in her sixties, not her nineties! Yet, most days, she struggled to walk, let alone anything else. Everything hurt. She was short of breath, nauseated all the time, and exhausted.

When she reached the door, she caught sight of her slimmer-than-usual reflection in the glass door panel and shook her head. There was a time, when she was younger, when she’d pursued ridiculous diet after ridiculous diet in pursuit of keeping her figure. Now, she couldn’t care less. In fact, she hated this new, pinched, malnourished look she possessed. Oh, for a bit of plumpness in her cheeks.

Tucking her thin dark hair behind her ear, Deb pushed the door open and leaned on the frame. She’d expected Robert, at least, to come and find her. Perhaps he’d already gone home for the day.

As Deb peered up and down the ward, she shivered. Being out of bed was making her skin prickle, even though the ward was stuffy and warm. Spotting a nurse, she was about to wave her over when someone else shouted, “Carol, I need your help!” and the nurse disappeared.

Deb bit her lower lip. The air had changed. Not its temperature or its smell. It was the sound that was different. Thinner. Quieter.

Looking up and down the corridor, Deb contemplated going for walk to find another nurse. Someone who could tell her what was happening, but judging from the panicked voice that had called for Carol, perhaps now wasn’t the time.

She’d turned and was pushing her door back open when she heard something in the room next door. A person. A person sobbing.

Deb hesitated. Normally, she’d call for a nurse to go and check on whoever it was. With her immune system compromised, she’d been told to avoid contact with other patients as much as possible. Robert had made a point of it when he’d secured her a private room.

“Never in my life have I ignored someone who needs help,” she muttered. Then, using her IV stand to lean on, she moved slowly toward the noise.

When she reached her neighbor’s door, she knocked. No one answered, so she pushed it open.

In the chair beside the bed, a woman with pale freckled skin and a silk scarf on her head was burying her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking.

“Excuse me?” Deb said quietly.

The woman startled and looked up, swiping thick tears from her cheeks.

“Are you all right, dear?”

The woman looked about Laurel’s age. Perhaps a little younger, but aged by whatever form of cancer she was battling.

“I…” the woman blinked several times, her green eyes still moist.

“What’s your name?” Deb asked as she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Beth.”

“I’m Deb.” She extended her hand and Beth shook it.

“Do you know what’s happening out there?” Beth asked, pulling a dark green cardigan a little closer around her slim frame.

Deb shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t. I expect whatever caused the power outage will be fixed soon, though.”

“I thought hospitals had generators,” Beth said quietly, glancing around the room at all the silent pieces of technology.

Instead of saying anything, Deb patted Beth’s arm. “There’s no need to be frightened. We’re perfectly safe.”

Beth met Deb’s eyes and smiled thinly. “I’m not frightened of whatever’s going on,” she said. “Although perhaps I should be… I’m frightened of what my doctor has to say.” Patting her silk scarf, Beth took in a shaky breath. “She was supposed to come and see me this afternoon to talk about my progress. I think it was going to be bad news.”

“Why do you think that?” Deb asked calmly, slipping effortlessly back into therapist mode as if Beth was one of her patients—if she hadn’t been forced into early retirement by this wretched disease she was battling.

“The look on her face the last few days.” Beth reached up and fiddled with the end of her scarf. “The way I feel.” After a pause, she added, “Stage Three metastatic melanoma.”

“You’ve been having chemotherapy?”

Beth leaned back in her chair, as if the effort of talking was making her tired. “Yes. Have you?” She glanced at Deb’s hair.

“No,” Deb replied. “I have Stage Four pancreatic cancer. An old friend of the family who works here arranged for me to join a trial that was having good results.” Deb looked up at the ceiling, gesturing to the building. “My daughter, Laurel, is a doctor, and she joined the hospital staff to be closer to me.”

“Is it working? The trial?” Beth asked, shifting in her seat and wincing at the discomfort.

“Some days, I think so. Other days….” Deb shrugged and tried to smile. “Who knows? I was due to have some tests this week but…” she trailed off. They’d probably be delayed now, but that didn’t matter. She was in no rush to know whether her prognosis had changed. In truth, she was mostly glad that she and Laurel were in the same place at the same time. Her daughter’s career in the Army had taken her all over the world, far away from Texas and her family. Now, for the first time in years, they were living in the same city and seeing one another every day.

“Would you like some water?” Beth gestured to the jug of water on her bedside table. “There’s a spare glass.”

“Thank you.” Deb poured herself a cup, even though the jug felt heavier than normal, and then one for Beth too.

“Cheers,” Beth said, sniffling. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her voice was wobbly.

“Cheers.” Deb took a long sip and closed her eyes. She was tired. Talking was tiring, but at the same time she was feeling restless. “Why don’t I see if I can find your doctor? Was it Doctor Harris?”

“Yes,” Beth said, but shook her head. “But, really, there’s no need. I can wait.” As she spoke, her voice cracked and a tear ran down her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she said, wiping it away. “I don’t know what’s got into me.”

“I’ll go and see if I can find someone.” Deb stood up, once again using her drip stand to steady herself. “I’ll be right back.”

At the elevator, without thinking, Deb pressed the call button and waited a full ten seconds before remembering it wouldn’t come.

“Shoot.” She looked toward the stairs. Laurel was only one floor down, but she hadn’t done stairs on her own in weeks. A couple of times, Robert had encouraged her to go for a walk and they’d attempted a couple of steps—to keep her strength up—but only ever a couple. Never a whole flight. “Well,” she said, summoning a jolt of determination from somewhere deep in her belly, “it’s not like I need to rush. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

Half an hour later, however, her determination had vanished. She was covered in a cold sweat, her hands were clammy and even hanging on to the railing was a task too much. Dragging the IV bag with her didn’t help either. Sitting down on a hard middle step, Deb looked behind her. She’d managed just half a flight. There was no way she’d manage to make it all the way down to the Emergency Room and back again.

Just as she’d told herself this and was summoning the will to get up and return the way she’d come, a door above her clattered open and a familiar voice shouted, “Deb? Are you all right? What are you doing down there?”

“Robert….” Deb turned and looked over her shoulder. Robert was jogging down the steps, two at a time, to reach her. Stooping down, he patted her face and shoulders as if he was checking for an injury.

“Did you fall? What happened?”

“I was looking for Laurel,” she said, smiling; it really was sweet of him to worry about her so much.

“Why?” Robert helped Deb to her feet and slotted his arm around her waist as they turned around and started back up to the ward.

“The woman in the room next to me was worried about her scans. I thought Laurel might—”

Tsking loudly, which he often did when he was frustrated and overworked, Robert rolled his eyes. “Laurel is head of the Emergency Room, Deb. She’s got nothing to do with the Oncology Department. You should speak to one of the nurses.”

“Of course.” Deb stopped to catch her breath. Her body hurt. Her skin felt sore and her lungs felt tight. Today had not been a good day. “I’m sorry, Robert. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Nonsense.” Robert smiled at her and tweaked an index finger under her chin. “You’re never trouble, Deb. Never. Now, let’s get you upstairs, shall we? You can see Laurel later. When she’s less busy.”

Deb nodded slowly. She was clinging tightly to Robert’s arm and stopped moving as she said, “The power is coming back on isn’t it, Robert? The hospital has generators?”

“Of course,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Any minute now, I’m sure we’ll be back in action. Any minute now.”

6

BEAR

With no hammer, Bear had to make do with the end of a screwdriver, which wasn’t strong enough to use on his nails and plywood. Instead, he fixed a large piece of tarp over the broken window with duct tape.

With the job done, albeit poorly, he retreated inside and finally lit the stove and the fire. His hand was still sore, which made each task take a little longer than usual, but he managed to grill the fish, boil water for rice, and pour himself a glass of whiskey without too much trouble.

From the couch, Jess watched him. She only moved when the fish was plated up, and then trotted over to the table and jumped into the chair opposite Bear’s. On the plate in front of her, he’d mushed up some fish and rice and mixed them with her kibble.

“If Mae could see this, she’d love it, but she’d think I’d lost my mind,” Bear said, smiling with the corner of his mouth as he shoveled a forkful of fish into it.

As he always did when he thought of his daughter, he glanced toward her photograph. Framed, it was sitting proudly on the mantelpiece that he’d constructed last winter. Sometimes he wondered why he’d chosen a picture of her in her Army fatigues. He could have chosen a photo from her graduation or her prom or from the family dinner they’d had for her twenty-first birthday.

Forcing his eyes away from Mae’s smiling face, Bear nudged a piece of fish with his fork. His daughter’s decision to enlist had caused the first of many quarrels in their relationship. Laurel and Mae had fared better, but Bear simply hadn’t been able to handle it. Not after what had happened to him.

“Why would you put yourself in harm’s way like that, Mae? After everything I’ve told you. After everything you’ve seen.” He had been pacing up and down on the deck outside their soon-to-be-sold family home, shouting, although he couldn’t be certain how loudly. He remembered it making his head hurt.

“Until you were discharged, you said that joining the Army was the best thing you ever did!” Mae had lit a cigarette, noticed him frowning at it, and taken a deliberate drag. “Besides, it’s my life, Dad. Can’t you just be happy I’ve found something I want to do? A career I’m excited about?” She’d paused then added, “Mom gets it.”

“Don’t bring your mother into this, Mae. She has a different perspective on things.”

“But yours is the only right perspective?” Mae had folded her arms, her cigarette burning orange in the glow of the muted early evening light, her blonde hair falling around her face—just the way her mother’s did.

Bear shuddered as he remembered how the conversation had ended.

“Can’t change the past,” he muttered, instinctively running his index finger across the scar that ran from his temple toward the back of his skull. Hidden by his hair, but still there beneath the surface.

Looking down at his plate, he swallowed hard. He’d lost his appetite, but knew the food needed to be eaten; he could have run a decent sized fridge-freezer on his generator—it was powerful enough—but somehow it didn’t feel ‘authentic’ to what he was trying to achieve out here. Back to basics meant back to basics.

Forcing down the remainder of the fish, while Jessamine watched closely in case he decided to throw any leftovers her way, Bear watched the light fading beyond the window. Sunset was both his favorite and least favorite time of day. In the summer, he’d enjoyed it more. The days had been longer and, by the time the sun had gone down, he’d had only an hour or two to fill before going to bed. Now it was fall, and winter was approaching, the hours stretched out in front of him. Dark and quiet. The perfect recipe for remembering.

Bear scraped his chair back from the table. He didn’t hear it, but he felt the vibration of wood upon wood and noticed Jessamine’s head tilt to the side. In the sink, he washed the dishes with cold water, dried them with an old dishcloth, then stacked them back on the rack above the countertop.

He’d finished his whiskey and wanted another, but he was keenly aware that if he moved from one a night to two a night, the journey to three or four would be a short one. Instead, he lit the stove and put the kettle on to boil.

While he waited for the puff of steam that would tell him the kettle was whistling, he surveyed his cabin. It was how he’d wanted it. Simple. What he needed, nothing more, nothing less. Despite that, he couldn’t help wondering what Laurel might have done if she were here; a vase of dried flowers, some throw pillows on the couch, a rug to warm their feet on cold mornings.

Perhaps he’d buy something in town tomorrow. A brightly-colored blanket for Jess to curl up on. Turquoise. Laurel’s favorite color.

When the kettle finally boiled, Bear made a cup of strong black coffee and headed for the couch. Instantly, as he took out a pack of playing cards and set it down on the coffee table he’d cobbled together from an old wooden pallet, Jess was on his lap.

“Clock Patience or Solitaire?” Bear tapped the pack.

Jess blinked at him.

Cradling his coffee, Bear leaned back into the couch. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood either.” He looked toward the door. A cold draft was creeping in. He stood up, fetched a couple of towels from the cupboard by the sink, then rolled them up and used them to pad the gap above the doormat. Another thing for his list: a draft excluder.

“You know, girl, I think I might just go to bed.” Bear returned to the couch, picked up his coffee cup, and tipped it down the sink.

Perfectly happy to snuggle down as soon as possible now it was dark outside, Jess trotted after him to the bedroom. Before long, Bear was beneath the blankets and Jess was on top. Curled into the crook of his knees as he lay on his side, she was a living, breathing hot water bottle.

For a few minutes, Bear tried to allow his mind to drift off. His muscles relaxed, he sank into the comfort of the mattress, but then something happened and the sleepiness he’d felt when he first lay down disappeared. He’d started to think of Laurel. That was what did it, and he knew that when he started to think of her, the only way he’d be able to get to sleep was if he got the thoughts out of his head and onto paper instead.

Pushing himself up on his pillows, Bear fumbled for the matches beside him and lit the gas lamp he used as a bedside light. Next to it was a large red notebook, a birthday gift from Mae.

Grumbling at him, Jessamine shifted onto her feet as he stretched out his legs; she’d been comfortable and wasn’t happy with the sudden change of plan.

Opening the book, Bear leafed through its pages.

Dear Laurel, I miss you.

Dear Laurel, I’m sorry.

Dear Laurel, I’m thinking of you.

Dear Laurel, Dear Laurel, Dear Laurel.

Pages and pages of letters he’d never send. Letters that helped him sleep because, somehow, it was as though, by getting his thoughts onto paper and writing her name beside them, they might reach her.

Dear Laurel, I cut my hand today and it made me think of you. You would have laughed, I’m sure, at the patch-up job I did…

Bear wrote until his hand hurt and his head was empty, and then he fell asleep.

* * *

When he woke up, he was screaming. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it. His heart was thundering in his chest, so hard he could barely breathe. The air was pulsating around him. Pressing down on him. Pinning him to the bed. He opened his eyes, but it was pitch dark. Too dark. He stumbled out of bed, waving his arms wildly, feeling for the door.

In the hallway, he traced his fingers along the wooden paneling. Hall. Hall. Hall. Living room. He pushed the door open, felt it thwack back against the wall. It was a little lighter in here. He hadn’t closed the shutters. A sliver of moonlight was breathing through the trees outside, illuminating the couch. Bear ran for the door. Fumbling with the locks, he kicked the towels from the doormat, then heaved the door open and ran down the steps.

Hands on his thighs, he bent double, focusing on the moss-covered ground beneath his bare feet. He twitched his toes, nestling them into the moss. It was cold, but he could barely feel it.

Slowly, his heartbeat began to settle. Jessamine was at his side, leaning against his calf. He slumped to the ground and pulled her into his chest. He felt her heart beating against him. Slower than his. Softer. He matched his breathing to its rhythm. In. Out. In. Out.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered.

When she looked up at him, he nodded.

“Same dream.” He stroked her ears. “Except, this time, I didn’t think I was going to stop. I thought I was going to kill her.”

Jess blinked at him and licked his hand.

“I know she doesn’t blame me.” He breathed in, sucking cold air into his lungs as he looked up at the clear night sky. “But that’s why I’m better off out here. Far, far away from her.” He paused and closed his eyes. Laurel’s face was still there. “She’d never have left me, so I had to. I had to leave her so I couldn’t hurt her.”

7

LAUREL

“It’s going to be dark soon.” Laurel was standing on the roof of the hospital. Beside her, Janet was smoking a cigarette. The sky was a surly shade of gray. Clouds had moved in, which meant the full moon would barely be visible. Beyond, the city was darkening too and clouds of smoke, rising in turrets on the horizon, warned that more patients would arrive in the morning.

“I haven’t smoked a cigarette in three years,” Janet said, closing her eyes. “But I guess the end of the world’s as good a time as any to lose my resolve.”

Laurel wanted to say, It’s not the end of the world. It’ll all be sorted out by tomorrow. But she didn’t.

For the past few hours, she had been so busy battling to control the situation in the ER that she hadn’t had the chance to think about what was happening elsewhere. Now, the magnitude of it sent a cold chill up her spine.

“I thought we’d see more casualties arrive,” Janet said, stubbing out her cigarette and tucking her neat black hair behind her ear.

“We’re a ways out of town,” Laurel said darkly. “If all the ambulances are in the same state as the cars in the parking lot, there’s no way for people to get here except on foot….” She trailed off.

“Perhaps tomorrow.” Janet shoved her hands into her pockets and shuffled from foot to foot.

“Perhaps.”

“Doesn’t seem like the power will be back any time soon,” Janet continued. “Or that Henry’s had much luck with the generator.”

Laurel swallowed down an irritated sigh. “No, it doesn’t.” She wanted a cigarette. Badly. But she’d quit when she returned from Iraq, and she didn’t intend to start again now. No matter how tempting the smell was. “We need to find a way to light the ER,” Laurel said, turning back toward the darkening building. “Now we’ve got a handle on the worst of it in there, I’ll go and see what I can find out. Someone must have a plan.”

Janet nodded slowly. Laurel wondered if she was thinking of her family, back home in South Korea, the way Laurel was thinking of Mae. “Do you think it’s like this everywhere?” Janet whispered, as if she’d read Laurel’s mind.

“I hope not.” She pulled her white coat closer around her waist. “I really hope not.”

Back inside, after a long walk through eerily quiet corridors, they reached the ER. “Janet, can you and Maggie see what can be done about food and water for the staff? Patients are being seen to, but you all need to keep your energy up too. Also, could you make a list of the staff we’ve got on site? Find out who’s intending to stay and who needs or wants to leave?”

Janet nodded, her stomach growling loudly at the mention of food.

“Good. Thank you. I’ll be back soon.” Laurel had turned and was about to go hunting for Robert or another Board member when Mark appeared from behind the curtain of Bay One.

“Laurel,” he said quietly, turning to look back at the bay. “Dr. Vong is still in there. His father was taken to the morgue an hour ago, but he hasn’t moved and we need the space.”

“Thanks, Mark. I’ll see to it.” Laurel nodded, then walked quickly over and pulled back the curtain. Drawing it again behind her, she moved forward and crouched down in front of Cai. He was still sitting beside the bed, staring at the empty spot where his father had been. Laurel put her hand on his forearm and smiled gently. “Cai? If you’re up to it, I could use a hand figuring out how to keep this place lit when the sun goes down. It’s soon going to be too dark to see what we’re doing.”

Staring at her as though he was having trouble understanding what she was saying, Cai didn’t move. Then slowly he breathed in and said, “I thought the Medical Director might have been by with—”

“A master plan?” Laurel tilted her head to the side and shrugged. “That’s probably a little—"

“Too much to ask?” Cai said, almost smiling despite the gray edge to his features.

Laurel nodded and stood up, moving toward the curtain and hoping Cai would follow her.

After taking a deep breath, finally, Cai pushed himself up from his chair. He let his fingers linger on the side of the bed for a moment, then exhaled, straightened his shoulders, and swept a hand over his short dark hair. “Let’s raid the supply closets. There must be some flashlights around here somewhere.”

“Will they work?” Laurel asked quietly as they crossed the room.

Cai raised his eyebrows at her.

“They’re saying—the people who saw the Government alert—they’re saying it was an EMP. Don’t those things….”

“Take out everything electronic?” Cai rubbed a hand over his jaw and said, “Let’s hope not.”

In the hallway, as the door to the ER closed behind them, Laurel allowed herself to pause for a moment and drink in the silence.

Usually busy corridors were now deserted. The hum of quiet chatter in the Emergency Room was muted by the distance between them. With twilight closing in, it was as if they’d entered another world entirely.

“It’s almost peaceful,” Laurel said, but just as they were about to turn the corner, she spotted someone ahead, moving quickly down the hall toward them.

“That’s Dr. Burns. She was supposed to be in the—” Laurel stopped.

“What is it?” Cai asked, watching Dr. Burns slow her pace and walk solemnly toward them. Her red hair tied back in a ponytail, loose slacks and low-heeled shoes gave away nothing about her talent or seniority.

“She was operating on a patient of mine. Thirty-eight-year-old mother with a ruptured spleen. Her daughter’s still in the ER waiting for news.” Laurel swallowed forcefully. Her palms were moist. She put them into the pockets of her coat, then took them out again and laced her fingers together in front of her stomach.

Dr. Burns stopped in front of Laurel and put her hands on her hips. “Laurel. I think you know what I’m about to say.”

“Sarah Rodgers? Had you finished before…?” Laurel looked up at the extinguished strip lights above their heads. Before the world got turned upside down.

Dr. Burns shook her head solemnly. She didn’t need to say any more.

Pressing her palm to her forehead, Laurel turned away and blinked quickly, trying not to cry. Reaching beneath her glasses, she wiped her eyes. When she turned back, she opened her mouth but Dr. Burns spoke first.

Usually someone most people in the hospital called ‘cold’ or ‘emotionless’, Dr. Burns’ voice wavered as she said, “She should have lived. It was a perfectly straightforward procedure. I heard she has a child?”

“Anna. Seven years old.” Laurel thought of the girl, all alone, in the darkening ER.

“She’s in the ER?”

Laurel nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll go and find her. Tell her the news.”

“Are you sure that’s—?”

“What else would you have me do? Leave the child there alone?”

“Of course not.”

“I need to get home to my family. I’ll find out where the girl lives. See if she has any relatives, and in the morning, when it’s light, I’ll take her with me.”

“You’re leaving the hospital?” Laurel glanced at Cai and back at Dr. Burns.

“I have two young children at home, Laurel. They were with a sitter overnight. My shift was due to finish at eight a.m. I have to get back to them.” She met Laurel’s eyes and shook her head. “I don’t want to go, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“Of course.” Without really meaning to, Laurel stepped forward and hugged the woman in front of her.

“When I’ve fetched my kids, and when I’ve reunited Anna with her family, I’ll return. I promise.”

“Of course,” Cai said softly, putting a hand on Dr. Burns’ arm. “Do what you need to do, Dr. Burns.”

As they watched their colleague walk away, Cai turned to Laurel and said, “What about your mother, Laurel? Isn’t she upstairs?”

“She is, but I’m sure she’s being taken care of.”

Cai shook his head quickly at that. “You need to go check on her. I’ll figure out the flashlight situation.”

“I can see her later.” Laurel’s heart twitched in her chest. She wanted desperately to go see her mother, but her duty was to her patients and the hospital first.

“See her now,” Cai said firmly, his eyes beginning to water. “She’s your mom.” Clearing his throat, he put a hand on Laurel’s shoulder and said, “Go see your mom. When you’ve made sure she’s okay, go look for the MD. Her office is on the Oncology floor. In the meantime, I’ll find some flashlights.”

Laurel nodded. It felt strangely good to let someone else make a decision on her behalf. She didn’t remember the last time anyone had done that. “All right. I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

“Mom?”

Having passed through several empty corridors, Laurel finally reached the Oncology floor. Since opening, the ER, her mom’s ward, the Hybrid OR, and the Prison Wing had been the busiest areas of the hospital. Others were still in the process of being populated. “Thank God we don’t have a full NICU,” Laurel muttered as she pushed open her mom’s door.

“Mom?” she repeated, her breath catching in her throat when she saw her mother’s bed was empty.

“Over here, darling.”

Laurel turned and pressed her hands to her chest. Her mother was sitting in a chair by the window, hidden by the shadows that had formed in the dimmed evening light. She smiled and stood up. She looked shaky.

“Mom, sit down.” Laurel rushed to her and eased her back into her chair, pulling the shawl from the back of it and draping it around her mom’s shoulders in a practiced movement. “Are you all right?” Laurel bobbed down in front of her mother’s chair and clasped her hands between her own.

“I’m fine, my darling, fine.” Her mom smiled and cupped Laurel’s face. “But you look so tired. I can’t imagine what it must be like down there.”

“It’s quieted down a bit now,” Laurel said gently, moving to perch on the end of the bed.

“Do they know what happened?”

“Not yet. We’re hoping the generators will kick in soon, and I’m sure we’ll hear from someone in the morning. The National Guard. The police.” Laurel hoped she sounded convincing.

Her mom nodded slowly.

“Have the nurses been checking on you?” Laurel asked. She hadn’t seen anyone out on the floor when she’d walked in. She hoped that was because they were busy rather than absent.

“Oh, yes. Darling Patsy said she was going to find us some candles, and the other one—I always forget her name—she went to find us something to eat.”

“Good. That’s good, and your meds?”

“Don’t worry, Laurel, everything’s ticking over nicely.” Her mom smiled again, and it eased the aching in Laurel’s chest.

“I wish I could stay up here with you,” she said quietly.

“Oh, nonsense.” Her mother waved a hand at her. “You’re needed downstairs. You’re doing very important work down there. Dealing with emergencies. Up here, nothing much is going to change for us in the immediate future. We’re all right.”

Laurel knew that wasn’t necessarily true; the Oncology ward didn’t tend to suffer as many emergencies, but its patients were fragile.

“How’s your pain?” she asked, moving to pick up the chart at the end of her mother’s bed, then frowning as she remembered all the information that was now locked, inaccessible, on a dead tablet.

“Fine, Laurel. I’m fine, I have Bob.” Deb gestured to her drip. A few weeks ago, when she’d been having a bad day, fed up with feeling like she’d aged fifty years and depressed by the idea of carting a morphine drip around with her for who knew how long, Deb had drawn a face on it. Since then, it had been known affectionately as Bob among the staff on the ward. “But there’s a lady down the hall who was on one of those…” Her mother wiggled her fingers and indicated pressing a button. “A morphine button?”

“A PCA. Right.”

“It’s not working now, and she’s got no way to ring the nurses for medication when she needs it.”

“I’ll sort something out,” Laurel said, standing up and nodding.

“There’s also a young woman next door. About your age. She thought her doctor was going to give her some bad news today. They’d done some scans. They were supposed to update her, but she hasn’t seen anyone. I know you have a lot going on, but—”

Laurel leaned forward and kissed her mom’s forehead. “I’ll see to it,” she said firmly. “I’ll ask her doctor to come and talk to her.”

“Because no matter what else is going on, news like that—” Her mom trailed off, biting her lower lip in the way she did when she was trying not to let her emotions get the better of her.

“Don’t worry, Mom. I understand.” Laurel straightened herself up and began to walk toward the door. If she didn’t leave now, she’d end up staying all night. “I’ll be back in a little while, as soon as I’m able.”

Looking small and fragile, with her silk scarf and diminutive frame, Laurel’s mom blew her a kiss.

Laurel caught it and pressed it to her heart.

“Oh, and Laurel, if you see Robert?”

Laurel paused, trying to fix her smile on her face. “I’ll ask him to come by,” she said.

“Thank you, darling.” Her mom eased back into her chair and closed her eyes. She was by the window. Without the sun or the underfloor heating to keep her warm, Laurel worried she’d catch a chill, but before she could stride back in and insist her mother get back into bed, her mom opened one eye and said, “Now, go. Before I ask a nurse to escort you out.”

8

LAUREL

Laurel had only just finished talking to the Oncology nurses about her mom’s friends when she spotted the familiar figure of Robert Sullivan emerging from the stairwell.

“Robert.” Laurel marched over to him and put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on? Have you seen the Medical Director? Why aren’t the generators working?”

Robert blinked slowly and frowned. His eyebrows were too large for his face and made him look permanently grumpy. “I’m on the Board of Directors, Laurel. I’m not in charge of emergency procedure.”

“Okay, so who is?”

“Well, like you say, Karen, the MD, but she wasn’t on site today.”

“She wasn’t?”

“There was a meeting in town with potential investors.” Robert almost looked guilty but was hiding it well. “I’m afraid most of the top brass were on their way there when….” He allowed his voice to peter out, then looked past Laurel toward her mother’s room. “I assume you saw the alert?”

“No, I was performing CPR on a patient when the lights went out. I was told about it, though.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Laurel folded her arms in front of her stomach. Good that she’d been doing CPR or good that she’d been told the Government sent out a two-minute warning that all hell was about to break loose?

“Well, of all people, I’d have expected you to be comforted by it.” He paused, then sighed as if he was already bored by explaining his thought process to her. “You were in the Army, weren’t you? If the Government knew what was about to happen, don’t you think they’d have mobilized the armed forces? If the power’s not back on soon, which is a big if because frankly I can’t imagine this going on for much longer, then I’d expect the National Guard to swoop in at first light. Take charge.”

Laurel’s mouth dropped open. Mobilize the troops? National Guard? First light? Was he mad?

“Don’t worry, though,” he said slowly, “I’ll make sure Deborah is taken care of. I’ve already put my medical skills to good use elsewhere today. Stepped in to lend a hand in the Hybrid OR.” Robert’s eyes lit up, but Laurel’s darkened. She knew what had happened in that OR. “I’m sure the nurses here will appreciate an extra colleague on deck in case of an emergency.”

Laurel pursed her lips. Robert Sullivan had barely practiced medicine for more than a few years before becoming a pharmaceutical rep. How he’d ended up on the Board of Directors of a place like this still perplexed her, and instead of taking charge when most other senior medical staff were absent, he was gloating about pitching in on a surgery that ended in a woman’s death?

“I have to go.” Laurel stepped around him and headed for the stairs.

“I’ll update you if I receive any news,” Robert called. “And I’ll take good care of your mother. I know it must be even more important to you, considering your husband and your daughter aren’t here.”

Laurel paused, her hand on the door. Her entire body was quivering with the urge to turn around and yell in Robert’s face. Why are you so awful to me? Is it because my mother didn’t choose you all those years ago? Is it because I remind you of what you could have had if she hadn’t married my father? Well, maybe there’s a reason! Maybe she chose him because he was the better man!

But she didn’t. She slammed the rage down into the pit of her stomach and left as if she hadn’t heard a word he said.

* * *

“Laurel?” Cai stepped out of the Emergency Room just as she was heading toward it. “Are you okay? You look ashen.”

Laurel tried to laugh. “It’s the lighting, it’s dreadful,” she said, gesturing to the flashlight he was holding. When Cai humored her with a chuckle, she added, “The flashlights are working? That’s great.”

“Not many.” Cai shook his head. “None of the ones from the storage closets on this floor, but I found some in the basement. In a metal lock box with a bunch of other tools. Two big ones and three small.”

“We should conserve the batteries,” Laurel said, “for any incoming traumas.”

“My thoughts exactly. Except for this one. I’m returning it to Henry. He’s working by candlelight down there and—”

“You found candles?”

Cai gestured for Laurel to follow him back toward the basement and shook his head a little. “Turns out, one of our patients sells homemade craft stuff at a market nearby. Her truck was in the parking lot. Full to the brim with luxury scented candles. It smells like a day spa in there now.”

An expected jolt of laughter bubbled up into Laurel’s throat. “Oh, wow. I’ll have to snitch some for my mom’s ward.”

“The woman has enough to keep the entire hospital lit for weeks,” Cai said.

“And she was okay with us using them?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, “She was when I said the hospital would reimburse her.”

“Right.” Laurel adjusted her coat collar, unsure whether she was hot or cold. “Well, I’m sure the Board will be happy to find room in the budget.”

As they descended the stairs to the basement, despite the flashlight illuminating their journey, Laurel shuddered. The stairwell was cold and pitch dark. It was as if they were traveling into the bowels of the building.

“Kind of creepy down here, huh?” Cai read her mind and held his flashlight a little higher.

“Very.” Laurel adjusted her collar, pulling it up to shield her neck from the chill.

When they reached the door to the generator room, they paused. There was no sound coming from within; Laurel had hoped at the least to hear Henry banging something. Using tools. Fixing.

“Henry?” Cai pushed the door open. At first, Henry wasn’t visible. All they could see was the soft orange glow of some candles, sitting up high on a shelf, not doing much to illuminate the room.

As Cai swept the flashlight around, finally, it landed on Henry. He was sitting on the floor, back against the first of three big black generators, head in his hands. As the light landed on him, he looked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay, Henry.” Laurel reached out her hand and helped Henry to his feet. “Thank you for trying.”

“No, I mean, Dr. Rivera….” After a pause, in which the janitor looked as if he might cry under the weight of what it meant if they couldn’t get the generators up and running, Henry cleared his throat and stood back to gesture at the metal panel he’d pulled to one side. “I don’t know what to say because these generators are not complete.”

“Not complete?” Laurel’s voice tightened.

“What do you mean, not complete?” Cai was frowning.

Pointing to the unit inside the metal casing, Henry shook his head. “It hasn’t been installed. It’s been put here, ready, but it hasn’t actually been hooked up to anything. See, the wires are just—”

Laurel stepped forward. “Not installed?” She pointed to the other two generators. “None of them?”

“I guess they figured something like this wasn’t going to happen any time soon, so they left it until they had more funds?” Henry looked from Laurel to Cai and swallowed hard.

“How could they be so stupid?!” Laurel jumped as Cai kicked the metal panel and sent it clattering to the ground.

“I wish I knew how to help, but this kind of machinery is well beyond anything I’ve ever worked on.” Henry scraped his fingers through his hair and, again, said, “I’m sorry.”

Shaking her head, Laurel put her hand on Henry’s shoulder. “No. Don’t be sorry. This is not your fault.” Allowing herself to smile a little, she gestured to Cai. “On the bright side, we found flashlights.”

Henry looked at Cai’s flashlight. His eyebrows twitched. “You found a working flashlight?”

“They were in a metal case.” Cai glanced at Laurel. “Protected from the EMP, I guess.”

“Really, that’s what they should have done here.” Henry looked up at the ceiling. It was unfinished. Wires hanging loose and uncovered. No ceiling panels in place. “Looks like maybe they intended to but didn’t get around to it, so even if the generators had been installed properly, they’d likely have been fried.”

Tensing her jaw, Laurel pressed her lips together. “What is the sense in building a place like this and opening it before everything’s finished? It’s backward logic.”

“No use thinking about it now,” Cai said tightly, breathing in deeply as he looked at the metal door he’d kicked to the floor. Clearly, there were other things he was trying not to think about too, like his father.

“Dr. Vong is right.” Laurel gestured for the three of them to head back toward the stairs. “There’s no point in crying over the generators. They’re not working now and they won’t be working any time soon, so we need to inventory what we’ve got. Coordinate with the other departments and come up with a plan for the coming days. We don’t know how long this will last and we have sick patients who are relying on us. Without power, we’ve got no access to medical records, no access to scans or test results. Most of our equipment is redundant.” As they reached the door, Laurel straightened her shoulders. Her mind was moving quickly now. She’d been in situations with no power in the Middle East. It wasn’t the end of the world. “It’s going to be tough,” she said, looking at Cai. “But if we work together, we can do this. We can keep everyone safe until the power comes back.”

At that, Cai nodded slowly. He was frowning. “If it comes back.” As Laurel blinked at him, he added, glancing at Henry, “What if it doesn’t come back? Then what?”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” Laurel said, folding her arms. “Cai, you’ve been through a lot today, but I need your help in this. We have to be calm and organized. It’s the only way.”

Interrupting, Henry put his hand on Laurel’s forearm and said, “I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Dr. Rivera. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you, Henry.” Laurel turned to Cai.

After a long pause, he nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Of course I’ll help.”

But as they headed back into the body of the hospital, Laurel couldn’t shift the sense of dread that had settled in her stomach. It was all very well making plans, but the truth was that if the power didn’t come back on soon, the hospital would struggle to keep people alive, let alone safe.

9

LAUREL

7 DAYS LATER

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for us to be leaving the hospital?” Cai adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and looked at Laurel with raised eyebrows. They were in the parking lot with a group of four civilian volunteers following behind them.

“We agreed,” Laurel replied tightly. “There could be people who need help, and we need to scavenge anything we can from the nearby buildings before other people do.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Cai said, lowering his voice. “We’re unarmed, Laurel, and we won’t be the only people who are getting desperate for supplies.”

“Bill has a gun.” Laurel looked over her shoulder at sixty-something-year-old Bill with chronic psoriasis who was holding the gun as if he was absolutely terrified that he might have to use it.

“Yeah, but do you think he knows how to use it? Couldn’t you suggest…” Cai nodded as if Laurel, as someone with more experience, should offer to take the gun from him.

Sucking in her cheeks, Laurel sighed. She’d already asked Bill whether it might be best for her to be the one who was armed, but he’d vehemently refused. It was his gun and he was the only one who was going to use it. In truth, Laurel had hoped for more volunteers, but it seemed Cai wasn’t the only one dubious about stepping beyond the hospital boundaries.

When the staff had met late last night to discuss sending search parties into the buildings nearby, Cai had made it clear he didn’t think this was something the doctors should be doing.

“We’re needed here,” he said. “Patients are scared. A lot of them are getting sicker.”

“Which is why we need to go,” Laurel had countered, folding her arms and giving him the kind of look she used to give Bear when she disagreed with him about something important and wanted him to see her point of view. “We’ve been holed up here for a week waiting for help, but no one’s coming. No cops. No firefighters.”

“We have enough food and supplies to last—”

“How long?” Laurel had cut in, forgetting that twelve-or-so other doctors were watching them. “Do you know how long we can last on our current supplies? Because I don’t. Allegedly, someone’s been put in charge of cataloging what we’ve got, but I’ve yet to see any sort of record of it.”

At that, the others had started to join in. Some agreed. Some didn’t. Some wanted to wait until the now infamous Dr. Sullivan—who’d anointed himself the one in charge and was supposed to be organizing the distribution of hospital resources —was present.

“Where is Dr. Sullivan?” Cai had asked.

“Who knows?” Laurel had muttered. “Schmoozing with patients, having a nice lie down in his office with a glass of whiskey?”

Eventually, it had been decided that Laurel was right; they needed to at least assess whether the nearby buildings—mostly commercial units and offices—had anything useful to offer and check for casualties in case there was anyone who’d been injured as a result of the EMP or who’d been trying to get to the hospital and hadn’t made it.

Laurel had been the first to volunteer. “I’m used to working in the field,” she’d said, pausing to almost-laugh. “More in the field than this. I’ll ask the civilians in the foyer if anyone will accompany me.”

“I’ll come too.” To her surprise, Cai had nudged her elbow and nodded purposefully.

“I thought you believed we should stay here?”

“I do, but I don’t want you to go alone.”

After that, they’d spent the rest of the evening traversing the hospital corridors and the foyer, looking for recovered patients, relatives, or civilians who might be willing to join them. Of everyone they’d asked, only four volunteered. Four. Everyone else, it seemed, was too comfortable to leave.

Now, leaving the parking lot, the ground sloped down toward the industrial area that South Minneha towered over. Laurel looked back at the hospital, wondering whether her mother could see her from her window and remembering how she’d felt when she first saw the place, all those months ago when Robert had asked her to come and see it. When he’d shown her the Oncology ward. When he’d convinced her that this place could heal her mom.

It had been breathtaking then and it was breathtaking now. Beautiful, with the sky pinkening behind it. What had been happening over the last week, however, was not beautiful.

For a day or two, they’d carried on doing the best they could. Living moment to moment. Patching up patients who came seeking help, steering others away if they were merely lost or looking for comfort. After a while, though, the people flocking to South Minneha from town simply refused to leave.

Now, most were gathering in the foyer. Under its big glass dome, they were camped out, lying on the cold hard floor, sleeping with blankets taken from storage cupboards or sleeping bags they’d brought with them because a hospital felt like a safe place and, surely, a big new hospital like South Minneha would be able to help them.

Someone had begun a missing-persons board.

Someone else had been handing out food and water, under instruction from Robert, but their supplies were dwindling. South Minneha might have been state of the art, but it wasn’t designed to feed and house an entire town, and although Robert was making a big show of being the one in charge, Laurel wasn’t convinced he actually had a handle on things.

Around the third day, the truth had begun to settle among both staff and patients.

“No one’s coming, are they?” Janet had said as they covered yet another patient with a white sheet and asked Henry to wheel them down to the morgue.

“I’m not sure.” Laurel had looked away, unable to look at the expression on her friend’s face. The part of her that wanted to control things, organize things, make sure everyone was where they needed to be and that there was a plan in place, had longed to run from the room, call a meeting, and start delegating. But Robert wouldn’t have liked that and, somehow, he’d managed to convince everyone that he was doing a good job of managing the situation.

Everyone liked him. Everyone except Laurel and, by extension, Cai.

“Where we headed first?” Bill’s gruff, raspy tone interrupted her train of thought.

It was cold and as she spoke, her breath puffed visibly into the air. “We’ll scout out the stores and offices closest to the hospital first. If we have time after that, we’ll fan out farther. There’s a restaurant, a deli, a pharmacy, and some office buildings spread across the next few blocks. Then there’s the movie theater.”

“There’s a laundromat too,” a woman whose name Laurel couldn’t remember spoke up, tucking her bright red hair behind her ear.

“Good. We could use some detergent and some more cleaning supplies.” As they reached the restaurant that Robert had taken Laurel and her mother to on their first visit to town, Laurel stopped and took a piece of paper from her pocket. Handing it to the redhead, she nodded. On it, she’d listed what they needed in order of priority. “We’re looking for anything non-perishable to eat or drink. Clothing, blankets, and anything else that looks useful. Start with the food and water. Fill your packs. List anything you can’t carry with a location so we can send a team back later.”

“What will you be doing?” asked Bill.

“Bill, I want you to come with me to the pharmacy. If we’re going to run into trouble, it’s most likely we’ll find it there.” Turning to Cai, Laurel said, “Will you go with the others?”

Cai nodded. “Reconvene here at noon?”

“See you at noon.”

* * *

Leading Bill away from the others and toward the pharmacy, Laurel glanced at the gun and sincerely wished he’d hand it over to her. She understood why he wouldn’t; the world was crumbling and it was his only form of protection. But she knew she’d be a ten times better shot than he would if they really did run into trouble.

“What kind of pills are we looking for?” Bill asked as they stopped outside the pharmacy. The front window was broken, shards splintered onto the sidewalk outside.

“Anything, really,” Laurel said quietly. “The hospital’s well stocked right now, but as time goes on…” she trailed off. As time went on, they’d be facing problems and there were things she couldn’t simply head to the pharmacy for, like her mother’s trial meds. Like the chemo meds that six patients on the Oncology ward plus three in pediatrics were relying on.

Did Robert know this? Laurel bit her lower lip. Had Robert done the math, like she had, and figured out they didn’t have too many weeks left before things like that ran out? Or was he simply hoping the National Guard would arrive to fix things?

“Are we going in?” Bill adjusted his gun in his hand, as if it was too heavy for him, and tweaked the barrel toward the broken window.

“After me.” Laurel moved slowly forward, straining her ears for signs of movement within. “Mind the broken glass,” she whispered as she lifted her leg over a protruding shard and lowered her foot with a crunch on the other side.

Straight away, she realized that the shelves had already been ransacked.

“Looks like someone beat us to it,” Bill whistled, tucking his gun back into his waistband.

“Sure does.” Laurel pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then stopped. Her eyes had landed on something at the far end of the store. Something red greasing the floor in front of the counter. “Bill,” she whispered. “I really need your gun now.”

Bill frowned and opened his mouth but before he could speak Laurel grabbed his wrist.

“That’s blood,” she hissed, pointing to the floor. “And it’s fresh, which means we might not be alone in here.”

Bill swallowed hard. With a shaking hand, he passed Laurel the gun. Instantly, she raised it and waved for Bill to stay back.

“Follow me and stay quiet.” She inched forward. When they reached the blood, she bobbed down and touched it. She was right. It was fresh. “Is anyone here?” she called, voice steady. “I’m a doctor. I can help you. I’m armed but I mean no harm.”

No reply.

“Let’s get out of here,” Bill hissed.

“Wait.” Laurel gestured for him to stop, but Bill was already turning around and heading for the door.

“I’ll find the others,” he said quickly, almost tripping in his hurry to reach the exit. “I’ll tell them to come help.”

“Bill,” Laurel hissed. “Come back here.” But he was already gone.

Moving toward the counter, Laurel kept her gun raised. When she reached it, she peered over. Here too, the shelves that should have been full of prescription drugs waiting to be bagged up were empty. On the floor, more blood.

Levering herself over, Laurel called again, “Is anyone there? I’m a doctor. I can—” As she rounded the shelves, she stopped. On the floor, a middle-aged man sat cradling his shoulder. “Sir? Are you all right?” Laurel flicked the safety on the gun and tucked it into her pants.

The man looked up at her. His eyelids were heavy and his complexion gray. He’d lost a lot of blood.

“Sir? Can you tell me your name?”

“Arlo,” the man croaked. “Name’s Arlo.”

“Great. Arlo. What happened here, Arlo?” Laurel knelt down in front of him and gently touched his shoulder. He flinched.

“I was looking for meds for my kid. Got shot.” Arlo grimaced, chuckled, then coughed. “Had my gun with me. Wasn’t quick enough.”

“Okay, I’m going to take a look. Is that all right?” Laurel waited for Arlo to nod before tearing his T-shirt at the collar so she could expose his shoulder.

He groaned as she began to inspect the wound.

“It looks like the bullet went straight through. Believe it or not, that’s good news.” Laurel smiled, looking around to see what was left that she could use. “We need to clean it and stitch you up.” She reached into her backpack and handed him a bottle of water. “Drink this. I’ll be back.”

Hurrying back into the main body of the store, Laurel located some sterile wipes, some bandages, and the kind of sewing kit her mother always put in her suitcase when they went on vacation—as if someone was bound to have an emergency sock-darning situation.

“Ideally, we’d put you on a course of antibiotics too,” she said, setting out her supplies and sanitizing her hands with a gel from beneath the counter. “I have some at the hospital. My friends and I could take you back with us?”

“Can’t leave my kid,” Arlo growled, looking away as Laurel cleaned his wound with the sterile wipes and pressed the skin together, ready to start stitching.

“Okay, so maybe fetch your….” She paused and met Arlo’s gaze. “Son? Daughter?”

“Son. My son.”

“So, fetch your son and bring him with you. You said he needed medicine. Is he okay?” Laurel wasn’t entirely sure whether she believed that Arlo had a son, or that he’d been the reason for the man’s visit to the pharmacy, but she needed to keep him talking while she worked.

“He’s fine. He doesn’t like hospitals, though. We’ll be okay. Thank you.”

“All right.” Laurel sat back and examined her handiwork. “Well, you’re patched up but you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’ll feel woozy for a few hours at least.” She reached back into her bag and handed him a candy bar. “The sugar will help.”

Glancing toward the door, Laurel stood up and offered Arlo her hand. He shook his head. “I’ll stay put for a while. Thanks, Doc.”

Laurel nodded. “Okay. I’m going to grab a few supplies on my way out. Take care of yourself and your boy, Arlo, and if you need anything I’m at South Minneha. Dr. Rivera. Laurel Rivera.”

“Thank you. Dr. Rivera. I’ll remember that.”

10

LAUREL

As Laurel waited for Cai and the others, she realized she had Arlo’s blood on her coat. She wiped at it, but it simply smudged further into the fabric.

When she saw Cai emerge from the laundromat with a worried-looking Bill at his side, she waved. Cai immediately jogged over and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay? Bill said you found blood in the pharmacy?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. A guy got himself shot. I stitched it. Tried to persuade him to come to the hospital but he refused.”

Cai breathed out slowly. “Any luck gathering any meds?”

“There was hardly anything there.” Laurel opened her backpack to show Cai its contents. “I got some sterile wipes, some bandages, a few sewing kits, some insulin, but someone’s already cleared the place out.” She resisted the urge to say, We waited too long and instead asked, “What about you guys?”

“I’ll show you when we’re back.” Cai motioned for them to get moving. “Come on.”

They’d barely made it to the front of the ER when Henry rushed outside to greet them.

“Dr. Rivera. Dr. Vong. Thank goodness you’re back.” He pushed past the security guard at the entrance as if they’d been gone for weeks instead of hours.

“What’s the matter?” Laurel gestured for the rest of the team to head inside and told them to wait in the staff break room to go through their packs.

Henry winced before he spoke. “It’s the morgue,” he said tightly. “It’s full.”

For a moment, Laurel simply blinked at him. Full. The morgue was full, which meant both that they’d lost enough patients over the last week to fill it and that they would now need to start thinking about how to dispose of the bodies.

She glanced at Cai. His father was in that morgue.

“Come with me, Henry,” Cai said. “We’ll think of something. Laurel?” He paused, waiting for her to follow.

“Sorry, I just need a minute.” She wiped her palm over her forehead and shook her head. “Feeling a little… I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time.” Cai put his hand on her shoulder, then turned back to Henry.

As she watched them leave, Laurel sat down on the little wooden bench outside the hospital and looked over at the coffee cart. Since they left this morning, it had been turned over. Literally. Now lying on its side, it had been gutted of anything that could be consumed; bottled water, almost-moldy pastries, chips, oat bars. The only thing left was the napkins. She wondered whether it was hospital staff or looters from town, then supposed that, probably, it didn’t really matter as long as the looters didn’t try to get into the hospital.

Looking down at her coat, Laurel shrugged it off her shoulders. It was early morning. Cold. She needed it, but she couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. The specks of blood and the dirt, now accompanied by fresh blood from the man in the pharmacy, had built up and up over the past week. At least Cai had found cleaning supplies. If they could find someone willing to work in the hospital laundry for a few hours, they could probably get all the doctors’ coats bleached and back to something resembling respectable.

She shuddered and looked up at the sky. It was clear and pinkish orange. Beautiful. Somehow, the beauty made her breath catch in her throat. “No one’s coming,” she muttered. She’d known it for days, but now the knowledge was settling like lead in the pit of her stomach. Smoothing her hand over her hair, she tied it back into its customary bun. “No one is coming.”

Footsteps from behind made her jump.

“Laurel? I’m sorry. We’ve got a kid who’s experiencing bad stomach cramps and Dr. Andrews has gone off shift. Could just be lack of food. I’ve asked Maggie to find him something, but I think you should take a look.” Janet looked exhausted as she put her hand on Laurel’s shoulder. Her face was pinched, her skin pale, her movements slower than usual but, like Laurel, she had nowhere else to be. No one else to be with.

“Of course.” As she stood up, she wobbled a little and steadied herself on the bench. “Sorry, got up too fast.”

“Looks like you need something to eat too. Did you eat before you left? They’re dishing out porridge in the canteen.”

Laurel shook her head. She didn’t have the time or the appetite to line up and wait for her daily serving of what could best be described as gruel. Porridge made with oats, water and a sprinkling of powdered milk.

“I’ll go when I’ve checked on this kid.”

Inside, ditching her backpack in the storage closet, Laurel weaved her way past the patients who were waiting to be triaged toward Bed Six, where the stomach pain kid was waiting for her.

As thoughts of her own family danced in front of her, Laurel sucked in a deep breath and took hold of the curtain surrounding Bed Six. She rubbed its surprisingly smooth fabric between her fingers for a moment, picturing Mae’s face. When she saw Bear, however, she shook her head, released the air from her lungs, and fixed a smile on her face.

* * *

“It’s an appendicitis.” Laurel was pacing up and down in the corridor outside.

“Are you sure?” Janet asked, her eyes widening. She must have suspected as much or she wouldn’t have come to fetch Laurel in the first place, but was probably clinging onto the hope it was simply hunger pains because the alternative meant….

“We’ll have to operate.” Laurel pressed her lips together and laced her fingers behind her neck, moving it from side to side to release some of the tension that was almost crippling her.

Janet nodded. So far, they’d avoided having to operate on anyone. The worst injury they’d seen was a six-inch gash in someone’s leg, which the patient had suffered when their truck lost power and careened off the highway into a streetlight.

“Go find Dr. Vong,” Laurel said. “Then we’ll take the patient up to OR Three.”

“I’ll be back right away.” Janet scurried off toward the as yet unused orthopedics wing of the hospital, which they’d turned into sleeping quarters for the doctors and nurses who’d chosen to stick around. Cai had been on a late shift last night and should have been catching up on his sleep, but instead, he’d gone out with her. She called out to Janet, “He’s with Henry!” Waving her hand, Janet switched direction.

Laurel needed Cai. She could not—would not—attempt this procedure on her own.

When Cai arrived, he took one look at Laurel’s patient and grimaced.

“Seventeen-year-old, Max Simmons. Suspected appendicitis.” Laurel smiled reassuringly at Max and hoped it looked believable.

Cai folded his arms in front of his chest and nodded slowly as Laurel sat down on the stool next to Max and took hold of his hand.

“Max, I think you have appendicitis, which means we need to operate to remove your appendix.”

Max’s eyes widened and he looked from Laurel to Cai. “Operate?” He let out a clap of nervous laughter and gestured around the room. “How? There’s no power. No machines.”

“It’s a procedure both Dr. Vong and I have performed many times and, yes, you’re right. It won’t be easy without electricity, but I was a field medic in Iraq for five years. I’ve operated in the field plenty of times, under much less sanitary conditions and with patients in much worse condition.” When Max swallowed hard and gripped the side of the bed, Laurel nodded at him. “It’ll be okay, Max.”

“And, frankly,” Cai added, moving closer, “if Dr. Rivera doesn’t operate, and your appendix bursts, you’ll die.”

Max shoved himself up the bed, then grimaced and grabbed his right side. Groaning, he doubled over. He was sweating, and the color had drained from his face.

“Max, we need to do this as soon as possible. Are your parents here?”

“No. They’re away. Visiting my grandparents in Wisconsin.”

Laurel glanced at Cai. “Okay, then I’m afraid you’re going to decide this one on your own.”

“I… I…” Max scraped his fingers through his floppy hair. “I don’t want to die.”

Squeezing his hand once again, Laurel said, “If it was my daughter in this situation. I’d be telling her to let her doctors do the surgery. Electricity or no electricity.”

Finally, Max nodded. “Okay,” he said as he jolted forward again and panted through the pain gripping his stomach. “Okay, do it.”

* * *

“I thought we were going to lose him.” Laurel pulled off her gloves and shook her arms at her sides. With just two OR nurses holding flashlights and two others monitoring his blood pressure and pulse by hand, there’d been more than one moment throughout the procedure when she thought it was going to go south. Somehow, though, she and Cai had managed it. “Thank God you’re here,” she said as he handed her a bottle of water.

She took a large drink, then gestured toward the canteen. “While Janet’s watching him, why don’t we go get some coffee? We’re allowed one per day and I haven’t had mine yet. I’ll see if I can pick up something for Mom too. Breakfast tea, maybe.”

Cai looked at her for a moment as if he was thinking about something more important than tea versus coffee, then nodded. She knew he didn’t like being told what to do. What to drink, or eat, how much and when. For Laurel, who’d spent five years in the military, it was easier. Although it was not easy with Robert Sullivan doing the telling.

“You know, Robert still won’t agree to merge the wards?” Laurel folded her arms in front of her chest and sighed.

“You spoke to him again?”

“Last night. After the meeting. He was with Mom when I went up there.” Laurel grimaced a little. “I thought if I asked him in front of her, he might say yes.”

“He’s agreed to everything else you suggested. Implemented it like it was his idea; the supply missions, the search parties, the staff rotas, but not the one thing that would make the biggest difference? Does he realize how hard it is spreading staff and resources throughout the hospital instead of having everyone in one concentrated area?”

“Apparently not. Maybe if I get everyone together. Encourage the other heads of departments to speak up.” Laurel shook her head. “Even then, I’m not sure he’ll listen. He says he wants to keep things ‘as normal as possible’ for when the power comes back on. Like he’s expecting his investors to turn up tomorrow and ask for a tour.”

Cai bit back a laugh. “He still thinks the power’s coming back on?”

Pulling her hair loose from its tie, Laurel shook it, ran her fingers through the ends and tried to change the subject. “I need to shower,” she said. “A hot shower. Can you imagine?”

Cai paused. They’d reached the coffee station and were showing their ID so they could be crossed off the list and given their allocated cups.

“Perhaps,” he said as they walked away, clutching small cardboard cups, “perhaps it’s time we accepted the truth too.” He stopped next to a tall artificial plant with shiny dark green leaves.

Laurel tilted her head.

“Laurel,” he said, lowering his voice. “We can’t stay here.”

As his words sank in, Laurel frowned. “What are you talking about? Yesterday, you were all for staying here. You were dead set against leaving to go on patrol.”

“I know.” Cai exhaled loudly. “But after what we saw this morning… There’s barely anything left already and it’s only been seven days. Everyone’s looking out for themselves. The idea of making South Minneha a safe place, it’s… idealistic. Misguided.”

“You don’t think supplies are dwindling everywhere? Where else will be better than here?” Laurel could hear her voice rising in pitch. How could Cai have changed his mind so quickly from wanting to stay put to wanting to quit?

Cai took a sip from his cardboard cup and looked at her over the rim. His eyes were dark with gray shadows underneath and lines at the corners that hadn’t been there before he lost his father.

“We’ll figure something out,” Laurel said firmly. “We can’t just leave. Patients are still arriving every day, and not only patients. People who need help. People who are lost or who’ve lost family.” Laurel gestured around the canteen. “We’re doing okay. Everyone’s pulling together.”

“They are now, but it won’t last.” Cai’s jaw twitched. “You know what people are like when they’re scared. Sooner or later, it’ll start to fall apart. It’s only been a week, but when the cracks start to show… I don’t want to be here for that, Laurel.”

As indignation swirled in her gut, Laurel shook her head, her hair falling over her shoulders. “We can’t simply leave, Cai. If we hadn’t been here, that boy we just operated on would have died. We’re practically the only doctors left who are qualified to operate. If we hadn’t gone out scavenging this morning, the guy in the pharmacy might have bled to death. We were only out there for a few hours. There could be more like him.”

“Laurel,” Cai put his hand firmly on her arm. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Laurel was fighting the urge to start gesticulating and raising her voice; the last thing they needed was a canteen full of panicked patients who’d heard them arguing.

“Where would we go?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her chest, suddenly not in the mood for coffee anymore.

Taking hold of her elbow, Cai steered her farther into the corner of the room. Quietly, he said, “My dad’s farm. He’s got a generator. It might be working and, even if it’s not, he’s pretty much self-sufficient out there. He’s got goats, pigs, chickens. A larder full of canned stuff. A well for clean water.”

Laurel bit down on the inside of her cheek, hoping it might help her to think clearly. “Cai, my mother’s upstairs. You know that. I can’t leave her, and I certainly can’t see her walking however many miles to your dad’s place.” Closing her eyes and releasing a long breath, she added, “Thank you for thinking of me, but I can’t.”

She’d barely opened her eyes when Cai leaned in so close, she could feel his breath on her ear. “Laurel, my dad’s truck is still working. I pushed it down to the parking lot a few days ago, tried it out of earshot of everyone.”

“What?” Laurel squeezed her cup so hard the coffee almost sloshed over the edge. “It’s working? How?”

“Old, I guess. I was speaking to a guy in the foyer the other day. He said EMPs take out pretty much anything electronic unless it’s protected somehow—like the flashlights in the metal toolbox—or maybe really, really old.” Cai shrugged and smiled a sideways smile. “I have no idea. I stopped listening after a while, but it works. So I guess I shouldn’t have had such a go at my dad for keeping it all these years.”

For a moment, Laurel pictured herself climbing into the passenger seat of Cai’s truck, driving away in the middle of the night, spending the rest of her days tending chickens and goats and pretending the outside world didn’t exist. Then reality hit. “Cai, my mother is sick. The only thing keeping her alive is the trial Sullivan got her onto. Here, she’s still able to get the treatment. If we leave—”

“And how long will the meds last, Laurel?” Cai’s expression changed. He was frustrated. She could feel it coming off him in waves. “They’ll run out, and then what? You’ll be stuck here. If you come with me, we can make sure your mom’s comfortable. We can take enough pain meds to make sure she’s—”

“Absolutely not.” Laurel slammed her cup down on the nearest table and frantically started tying her hair back from her face. “She’s staying here. I’m staying here. When the power comes back, they’ll deliver more meds.”

“Laurel….” Cai moved to take hold of her hands, but she pulled them away.

“If I leave, the nurses will leave too. The patients will be abandoned. That boy we operated on this morning will likely die without proper aftercare. And my mother? If I make her leave, it’s a death sentence for her. You think I can do that? You think I can make that decision?”

“Laurel,” Cai repeated. Softly this time, as if she was in utter denial.

“I’m not abandoning my patients and I’m not abandoning my mother. You go if you have to, but I’m not coming with you.” Her cheeks were burning and her limbs were almost trembling with the adrenaline coursing through them.

As they stared at each other, Laurel expected Cai to apologize. To say he’d wait a few more days or another week. To say she was right. Instead, he nodded solemnly. “All right,” he said. “But if you change your mind, come out to Roundacre Farm and I’ll be waiting.”

11

BEAR

For an entire week, Bear had delayed his trip into town. As if she knew, Jessamine had rushed to the door every morning and sat wagging her tail. Every day, when Bear ignored her and made coffee instead of grabbing his coat, she’d trotted off disappointed. Today, however, after a long breakfast, a walk to the lake, and a long lunch, Bear finally gave in.

Ditching his coffee cup in the sink before he could change his mind, Bear grabbed his hearing aid from its shelf in the kitchen and shoved it into his jeans pocket.

“Why do I hate wearing it?” he asked Jessamine as he fixed her collar around her neck. “Why do you hate wearing this thing? Because it’s uncomfortable, cumbersome, and feels like something that’s not really a part of you?” He stood up and widened his eyes at her. “Well, there you go. That’s your answer.”

Blinking at him as if he was crazy, Jessamine barked and scratched at the door.

“Okay, okay, but listen,” Bear said as they walked to the truck. “I’ve got a list of all the supplies we need for the winter. I don’t intend to make this trip again, so fill your boots. Make the most of sniffing your friends’ butts and bribing old ladies for treats because for the next few months, it’s just going to be me and you.” Bear climbed into the driver’s seat and Jessamine jumped in after him, clambering across his lap and waiting for him to open the passenger side window. As soon as he did, she stuck her head out of it.

“At least one of us enjoys this,” Bear grumbled, sticking the keys into the ignition.

Instinctively, as the almost-antique engine rumbled to life, Bear reached for the radio. He paused with his finger above the ‘on’ button, just one of a thousand tiny gestures that reminded him he was a different person now from the man he’d been a few years ago, then slowly withdrew it.

Instead, he patted his pocket to check he’d remembered his list, then headed down the track, away from his cabin and toward the small lakeside town of Laberge, Ontario.

* * *

Usually, when he journeyed into town, Bear came across one or two other vehicles en route. Not many, just one or two. When he reached the edge of the forest, he’d stop the truck and put his hearing aid in, then continue, waiting for the first vehicle to appear on the road up ahead so he could offer a customary wave and a nod.

This afternoon, however, he’d reached the outskirts of Laberge and still hadn’t met another soul.

Glancing at Jessamine, Bear noticed her lick her upper lip. A gesture that usually meant she was nervous about something.

“What is it, girl?” he said, reaching out to pat her head. “Not feeling it today?”

Jessamine simply sat back on the passenger seat and stared ahead. He was fiddling with his hearing aid, wincing at the way it pinched his ear and trying to get used to the engine noise vibrating in his head, when something flashed in front of the truck. Jess barked. Bear slammed on the brakes, his heart thundering in his chest, arms tense, fingers gripping the wheel.

“Holy crap,” he breathed. “A deer.”

Jess had stopped barking but was quivering from head to tail, desperate to jump out of the truck window and chase the young deer that was standing in the middle of the road, staring at them.

The deer blinked slowly and then, from the trees, six more appeared, leaping across the road as if they had somewhere important to be. Bear had seen deer before. Plenty of them, but usually at dawn or dusk, not in broad daylight.

Scraping his fingers through his thick blond hair, he wished he hadn’t thrown away his cell phone. This would have made a good video. Something to send to Laurel, maybe. To open the lines of communication. Hey, stranger, hope you’re doing good. Look what jumped out at me today. Maybe you should come visit some time….

Except, after what he did to her, he knew those were words he’d never ever allow himself to say. Cell phone or no cell phone.

The engine still idling, Bear shook his arms to loosen some of the tension in his shoulders and continued along the long road into town.

Laberge was the kind of place Bear had always imagined when he’d thought of Canada as a kid. Few houses. One main street that looked like it had been frozen in time a couple of decades ago. Everything you needed but nothing you didn’t.

It was perfectly adequate. Appropriate for the life he was trying to live and, in the woods around town, there were a fair few others like him. Folks who’d gotten tired of the pace of things in the cities. The only thing he really missed was a bookstore. The nearest one was a couple of towns over, but the grocer’s—McNealty’s—would order in anything specific if he really wanted it.

The last thing he’d ordered was a copy of Pride and Prejudice. One of Laurel’s favorites, which he’d never read but promised her time and again he would.

“You’ll love it,” she’d told him. “Just give it a go.”

What else had she asked him to read? Perhaps he should ask McNealty to order some more books to see him through the winter, although that would mean another trip into town and he’d sworn he wouldn’t be coming in again until next year.

Pulling onto the main drag, Bear frowned. Something was off. Jess seemed to sense it too, and instead of whimpering with the urge to jump out onto the sidewalk, she’d flattened her ears and was simply watching.

It wasn’t until they’d passed McNealty’s and he was parking in front of the hardware store that Bear realized what it was; there were no cars. Sure, even in the tourist season when people came for the camping and the lakes, Laberge wasn’t a hubbub of activity, but it was busier than this.

Bear climbed out of the truck, shoved his keys into his pocket—beside his list and his wallet—and motioned for Jessamine to follow him. He’d never used a leash with her but today, more than usual, she stuck close to his side.

Pushing the door to the hardware store, Bear waited for his hearing aid to pick up the sharp ring of the bell that announced his presence. No sound. No movement either; the door was locked. He moved to the window and peered through the glass, cupping his hands in front of his face.

The store was empty. Dark. Again, he fiddled with his hearing aid. Was the darn thing even on? It was so quiet he could barely tell.

“What the devil is going on around here?” Bear put his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun. “Some kind of town party no one told me about?”

At Halloween and Thanksgiving, Laberge hosted the kind of huge, raucous barn dances that attracted the entire population of the town. Stores would shut down for an entire afternoon while garlands and decorations were strung along the street, but there were no decorations today. No streamers. And Halloween was two weeks away.

Spotting one of the town’s bright blue newsstands, Bear strode over to it and picked a newspaper from the top of the pile. Frowning, he turned it over in his hands. It was a week old. He let it drop to the ground and rifled through the remaining papers.

“They’re all a week old. So, either nothing’s been printed in a week or Laberge suddenly dropped off the delivery route.” Bear had put his hands on his hips and was trying to think logically about what to do next when something whistled past his left ear. Instinctively he reached for his hearing aid, but quickly realized it wasn’t the hearing aid malfunctioning. It was a bullet. A freaking bullet!

“Jess! Down!” Bear lurched behind the newsstand, but his heart jumped into his throat when he saw Jessamine bolt for the truck. Someone was shooting at them. She’d gone for the place she felt safe, but he couldn’t reach her. The truck was too far.

His dog, and his gun, were out of reach.

12

BEAR

Turning his hearing aid up to the max, Bear tilted his head and strained his good ear for the smallest hint of sound. Where the hell was this guy? A building nearby, probably. High up. Invisible with the sun at his back. Fighting the instinct to run to the truck and retrieve Jess, Bear waited for another shot to sail past, then bolted for the glass door behind him. It was closer; he’d never make it to the truck without taking a bullet.

Shoving his body weight into the glass, Bear felt it shatter and jumped through. Inside, he ran for cover behind the cash desk. He knew the layout of the store well, could picture it in his mind as if he was floating above it. Six aisles, wide, crammed with hardware supplies. Guns behind the counter. In a cage. Locked.

Crouched with his knees pulled up to his chest, back against the wall, Bear stared up at the gun cage and tried to slow his breathing. He’d been shot at plenty of times, but that was part of the problem.

After he was discharged, struggling to come to grips with his hearing aid, every snap or crackle had sounded like gunfire to him. It had gotten so bad he’d barely been able to leave the house. Even the click of Laurel’s lipstick lid had set his nerves alight. Now, his chest was tightening just as it had back then. As whoever was shooting at him burst into the store, their feet crunching on the broken glass, Bear reached for his shirt and—even though it was unbuttoned at the neck already—pulled it looser.

“Focus, Bear, focus.” A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. His hands were shaking, but then he remembered Jess. Cowering beneath the truck. Waiting for him to come back and fetch her. And he snapped himself back into the room.

Staring up at the gun cage, he began to snake his fingers along the shelf beneath the counter. There, a key, but he needed a distraction. Reaching for an old can of oil that had rolled out from somewhere, Bear picked it up and threw it as hard as he could into the far corner of the store.

As the shooter’s shadow moved and gunshots were fired in the opposite direction, Bear sprang up, unlocked the cage, and pulled out a handgun and some bullets. Back on the floor, he loaded it. A few seconds and he’d managed to arm himself, but he was still hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. In truth, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to use it even if he needed to.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Bear shouted, remaining hidden behind the desk but aware that by speaking he’d given away his position. “I came from a cabin nearby. Has something happened here? Has there been an incident of some kind?”

“Was it you?” A shaky voice drifted across the room. Middle-aged. Male. “Was it you? Did you do this? Are you with them?”

“Sir, I promise you, I’m not with anyone. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if we could talk—” Tentatively, Bear raised his fingers above the counter. Instantly, a shot fired, bouncing off the gun cage and hitting the front window so that it splintered into a million pieces.

Another shot came after that, and another. Clearly, this guy wasn’t in the mood for talking. Below the vibration of the gunshots, Bear thought he heard Jessamine barking. Don’t come in here, Jess. Stay where you are. I can handle it.

Bear swallowed hard and rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. He was a sitting target. The second he stood up, no matter how quick he was on the trigger, this guy would shoot him. He needed a distraction. Turning around, he began pulling things from the shelf beneath the counter. A notepad, a bunch of pens, a hammer—ironic—screws, matches, and then… a flare. That could work.

Hardly hesitating, Bear rose so that he was stooped behind the counter, then deliberately raised a hand. When the shooter fired, he strained to hear which direction it had come from. Over by the first aisle? These days, he wasn’t confident in his skills. Not the way he used to be. But there was no time for second guessing. Swiftly, Bear lit the flare and threw it in what he hoped was the shooter’s direction. As orange smoke filled the room, Bear leaped out, raised his gun and fired.

One, two, three.

The guy was down. Face down on the floor.

As the smoke cleared, Bear walked over and kicked the dead man’s gun away from him. He didn’t allow himself to look at the man’s face. His body was slim and tall. He’d sounded middle-aged to Bear, but he could have been younger and Bear didn’t want to know about it if that was the case.

The guy had tried to kill him. He’d preserved his own life. Period.

At least, he thought as he headed toward the door, he still had what it took to protect himself. He was bending down, scooping Jessamine out from beneath the truck, when it occurred to him that not a single person had come to see what had happened.

There had just been a shoot-out in the middle of town. Broken glass. Shouting. Gunshots. Yet not one person had come to find out what was going on. Not a person. Not a cop. No one.

“Something’s happened here, Jess. Something bad and, whatever it is, we missed it.”

* * *

As he wandered down the main drag, Bear peered into each store window, hoping to see someone inside. He found no one. At the same time, he was watching the rooftops. “Let’s hope there aren’t more gunmen where that one came from,” he muttered to Jess.

At the bakery at the end of the street, Bear stopped and leaned against the wall. Surely the entire town wasn’t deserted?

He was about to turn around and head back to the truck, drive to the next town, look for someone—anyone—when he noticed Jess’s ears prick up. Fiddling instinctively with his hearing aid, he followed her gaze. Something moved. A flash of something from around the corner of the building opposite. “Person or animal?” he muttered.

In case it was the former, and they too were feeling trigger-happy, Bear swung his rifle onto his back and raised his hands in the air. “Hello?” he called. “Is there someone there? I don’t mean any harm. I came to town looking for supplies and found the place deserted. Perhaps you can tell me what’s going on?”

He paused, studying the shadows in front of the building. After a few long moments, a person stepped out. A boy. Young. Perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He wasn’t armed.

“I’m Bear. Do you have a name?”

“Trent,” the boy replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. When he saw Jessamine, his eyes brightened a little. “That’s your dog?”

“Meet Jess.” Trusting his instincts, Bear indicated to Jess that she could go say hi. The boy crouched down and fondled her ears.

“Hi, girl. You’re lovely,” he said, pressing his forehead to Jessamine’s.

As Bear moved forward, he studied the boy. Scrawny with curly black hair and dark brown eyes, he looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten properly in days, and his clothes weren’t nearly warm enough—scruffy jeans and a thin sweater. No jacket. Sneakers instead of boots. When he stood up and walked a few steps, he was limping.

“You okay there, son?” Bear asked, pointing to Trent’s feet.

“I walked here from Cloud Falls. Took three days. My shoes aren’t made for walking.” He shrugged but winced as he scraped his foot against the sidewalk.

“You mind telling me what’s going on around here?” Bear looked around at the empty buildings, then up at the sky as if he might see an alien spaceship go floating past.

“You’re kidding, right?” Trent frowned, examining Bear’s face, then laughed. “Jeez, Mister. Where have you been? Living under a rock?”

Bear chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Something like that,” he said.

“You didn’t get the alert?”

“Alert?”

“Your phone.” Trent widened his eyes and gestured to Bear’s pockets where, of course, any normal person would carry their cell phone.

“I don’t have a phone,” he said curtly.

Breathing in deeply and widening his eyes, Trent said, “Ohhhkaay,” then gestured to a nearby bench. “You might want to sit down for this.”

“Please,” Bear said. “Just tell me what’s happened.”

“The alert said there was going to be an EMP. An Electromagnetic Pulse.” Trent pronounced the words slowly as if Bear might have trouble understanding them otherwise. “They said we’d lose power but didn’t know how long for. That was a week ago.”

“Lose power?” Bear suddenly realized what had been off—apart from the lack of people—it was quiet. Too quiet. The traffic lights on the way into town had been out. There were no lights in the store windows. It was like someone had flipped the ‘off’ switch on the entire town.

Trent nodded and slotted his hands into his back jeans pockets, his thin elbows jutting out to the sides.

“Just here or…?”

“The alert said global.” Trent swallowed hard, even though Bear wasn’t sure a fourteen-year-old would grasp the full implications of a global power outage.

“Shit,” Bear muttered, turning away and looking back at the town. If he’d come into town a week ago to replace his darn hammer, like he was supposed to, he wouldn’t have spent the last seven days living in blissful ignorance. Seven days when who knew what had been happening elsewhere.

Adjusting his gun on his shoulder, Bear tried to slow his breathing. Already his mind was with his wife and his daughter.

“Where’s your family?” he asked, suddenly realizing that Trent seemed to be completely alone, and that he’d walked for three days to get here.

“My folks—” his voice faltered. “They were driving when it happened. Their car went through a barrier into the river. I wasn’t there. My neighbor told me.”

Bear shook his head and breathed out heavily.

“I came here to find my cousin and my aunt, but their house is empty.”

“It looks like the entire town abandoned ship,” Bear said, more to himself than to his companion. “Right, come with me,” he said gruffly, striding back across the street.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to put as many supplies as we can carry in my truck, then we’re going to go find my wife.”

“Your wife?” Trent jogged to catch up with him. “Your truck? Mister, didn’t you hear what I said?”

“I did,” Bear said, pretending not to notice the boy staring at his hearing aid. “But it seems my truck survived.”

“Survived?” Trent was frowning. They’d reached Bear’s truck. He patted her hood. “Probably because it’s so old,” Trent said, smirking.

“Probably.” Bear gestured to the hardware store. “I’m going to go in and fetch the tools I need. Go to the grocery place down the street and start stocking up on anything non-perishable.”

“Non-what?”

“Stuff that won’t go off. Canned stuff. Dried stuff. Protein bars. Bottled water.”

“Right. Right. I got it.” Trent nodded quickly and turned toward the town’s only grocery store.

“And find something for your feet. Boots. And a jacket so you don’t freeze to death.”

“Yes, sir,” Trent said eagerly. “Will do, sir.”

As Trent ran away, pushing through the pain in his feet, Bear tilted his head. Something about the boy had made Bear instantly want to protect him. Maybe because he’d met boys like him in the Middle East. Boys who’d lost their families through no fault of their own. Boys who’d been abandoned to take care of themselves well before they should have to. Maybe because when the end of the world happened, you were supposed to help people who needed help. Maybe because it was what Laurel would have told him to do.

“Focus,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t start thinking about Laurel. Not now.”

Heading for the hardware store, Bear forced himself to pause and consider his options. He didn’t have to take care of the boy. He could grab what he needed from the store, jump in the truck, head back to the cabin and just carry on doing what he’d done yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. What he’d wanted to do ever since he’d left his family; live alone, cut off from the world, for the rest of his life.

But he knew he wouldn’t do that.

His wife was alone, with her sick mother, at a fancy high-tech hospital in Minnesota. She’d be fighting all kinds of fires right now. Fighting to survive. A place like South Minneha wouldn’t just have gone quiet—like here—it’d be in chaos and Laurel would be there trying to save it all. Trying to help everyone. Putting everyone else above herself.

Which meant it was Bear’s job to try and help her.

Watching Trent disappear into McNealty’s, Bear nodded. He’d take the boy. If he wanted to come. Another pair of hands would be helpful. They’d fill up the truck with goods from town, get what he needed from the cabin, then get on the road.

His priority was Laurel. It always had been, and now, for the first time in a long time, rather than running away from her, he knew the only place he needed to run was toward her.

13

LAUREL

“They’re all leaving?” Janet stood in the ER entrance, at Laurel’s side, watching as streams of patients and staff began to filter out from the foyer.

“Cai going was the last straw,” Laurel said, closing her eyes. As soon as word got around that Dr. Vong—who, alongside Laurel, had been one of the most visible doctors on staff since the incident—had quit, more and more people came to find her to ask if it was true. Just after mid-day, the first group of nurses told her they were leaving. Shortly after that, patients who were well enough to leave and those who’d come to the hospital for refuge began to pack up their things too.

“What do they think they’re going to find that’s so much better out there?” Janet asked, shaking her head solemnly.

“I don’t know.” Laurel leaned against the doorframe. She’d finally ditched her white coat and was feeling the chill. It wouldn’t be long before she’d have to go take a look through the locker rooms to see if anyone had left a hoodie or sweater she could borrow.

“I just don’t get it. We have food, water, shelter.” Janet looked up at the building behind them. Imposing. More glass than concrete. A shining beacon of what the future of South Minneha town would look like with one of the state’s most future-proof hospitals to its name.

“But the food and water are running low already,” Laurel said, motioning for Janet to join her back inside. “And perhaps they’re hoping to find news, reinforcements, in a bigger town.”

“Will we be all right?” Janet surveyed the ER. Maggie and Dr. Park were splinting a broken ankle. Mark was stitching up a head lac. A few other patients were waiting to be triaged, but at least there were no emergencies. Not right now anyway.

“We need to find out how many staff members are left in the hospital. Robert should be keeping track of this. He told me to butt out, but we were already thin on the ground. After today—” Laurel rubbed her neck, looking toward the ceiling in the direction of her mother’s room. Despite claiming to have a handle on the running of the hospital, Robert had been spending most of his time at her mother’s side. While she was grateful her mom wasn’t alone, it was time Robert either stepped up to the plate or put someone else in charge.

“I’ll take care of things here.” Janet reached for the chocolate bar she’d been carrying around in her pocket for three days and finally ripped it open.

“I’ll see if I can find another doctor to come down here and help,” Laurel said quickly, already heading for the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Before starting her search, desperate to wear something fresh, Laurel ducked into the staff locker room near the stairs that led to the basement and opened the first locker she found. It was empty. As was the second. The third, however, contained a pair of light blue jeans that looked like they’d fit her, and a bottle-green sweater.

In the corner of the room, Laurel peeled off her old clothes and tossed them into the trash. Then she headed for her own locker, turned the key, and took out a large bottle of water. By the sink, she splashed its contents over her face and skin, washing as best she could without soap or hot water.

She then rolled on some deodorant, freshened her hair with dry shampoo, and looked at herself in the mirror. Apart from the dark circles under her eyes, she looked a little more like herself. Even if she didn’t feel it.

Hit with the urge to sit down and sob, Laurel braced her hand on the locker beside her and took a few deep breaths. Since the power went out, she’d been the most experienced doctor in the hospital, but she hadn’t felt alone until now. Without Cai, and with so many others jumping ship, the weight of her responsibility pressed down on her shoulders so heavily she feared she wouldn’t be able to move.

It was only when she heard a quick, short tap on the door that she looked up.

“Laurel?”

It was Henry. “Yes,” she said, straightening herself up. “Henry. Is everything okay?”

Stepping gingerly into the locker room, Henry leaned on his mop and shrugged. “I saw you come in a while ago. Wanted to check you were all right. I know you haven’t been taking care of yourself, Dr. Rivera.” He held out his hand. In it was a protein bar.

Laurel smiled and, despite the fact her stomach was churning, took it and ripped it open. Taking a bite, she nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” she said.

“You know there’s only yourself, Dr. Park, and Dr. Andrews left?” Henry moved farther into the room, the door closing softly behind him.

“Really?” Laurel frowned. “That can’t be… three of us? For the entire hospital?”

“And maybe fifteen nurses,” Henry said. “I watched the others leave.”

Laurel swallowed the lump of protein bar she’d been chewing, barely able to force it down. “Jesus,” she muttered. “How will we manage with…” she trailed off. “Wait. What about Dr. Reynolds?”

Henry blinked slowly at her.

“He was overseeing the Prison Wing. He—”

“He left just after Dr. Vong.” Henry grimaced.

“So who’s watching the prisoners?” Laurel shoved the remainder of the bar into her pocket and strode toward the door.

“I don’t know, ma’am,” Henry said darkly. “I don’t know.”

Running back to the ER, Laurel threw open the door and made a beeline for Janet. She was with a patient in Bed Two, putting ointment on a nasty-looking burn.

“Henry says Dr. Reynolds has left.” Laurel was whispering, but barely.

“Wasn’t Dr. Reynolds watching over the…” Janet turned away from her patient and mouthed ‘prisoners’.

Laurel nodded. “He was making sure they had food and water, keeping them there until we managed to get word from the prison.”

“So who’s up there now?” Janet’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know, but if the guards left along with Reynolds….” Laurel trailed off when from the corner of her eye she spotted an unexpected figure: Robert Sullivan.

Charging over to him, Laurel took him by the elbow and hissed, “Robert, what is going on in P-Wing?”

Robert tilted his head at her. He’d been bandaging an elderly woman’s hand and turned to her, smiling gently. “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Calder,” he said smoothly.

“Since when do you treat patients in the ER?” Laurel said as they stepped out of earshot.

“You weren’t here. I thought your staff could use the help.”

Laurel studied Robert’s face. He was unfathomably hard to read.

“Now, what’s this about the Prison Wing?”

“Dr. Reynolds has gone. Who’s in charge up there? Are the guards still here?”

Robert blinked slowly at her, then chuckled. “Laurel, don’t you think you’ve got enough to worry about down here? I’m sure it’s being taken care of. The guards wouldn’t abandon their post.”

“Have you checked? Because pretty much everyone else has gone and if the guards left too, we’re in serious trouble.” Laurel was fighting to keep her voice under control. “Henry says there’s only fifteen nurses and three doctors left in this whole hospital. Do you have the rota? We need to take a look at it and figure out how we’re going to manage—”

“Henry?” Robert cut her off. He was looking back over at his patient, clearly keen to leave the conversation and continue what he’d been doing.

“Our janitor. He said—”

“I’m not sure you should be taking the word of a janitor about the severity of the situation, Laurel. Now, why don’t you go see your mother while I’m down here overseeing things? Forget about P-Wing. It’s not your problem. And I’ll sort out the staff situation.”

Laurel opened her mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. Every time she challenged Robert’s authority, he threw her mother into the conversation. A not-so-subtle reminder of why she was here and the part he’d played in it.

Not your problem. Well, it would be her problem if there was no one up there keeping the prisoners under control and she had to wade in to sew them back together when they started fighting one another.

Instead of saying this, however, she bit the inside of her cheek, smiled sweetly at Robert and said, “Good idea. I’ll go check on Mom. I’ll drop in on the other departments on the way. Check whether Henry’s numbers are correct.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, Robert licked his lower lip and waved his hand. “No need. I’m done here. I’ll check on the staff. You focus on your mother, Laurel. Leave everything else to me.”

“Great.” Laurel nodded. “Of course. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Already wandering off, Robert muttered, “Yes, yes.”

Laurel followed him and watched as he headed toward the pediatric floor. As soon as he disappeared into the stairwell, she waited a beat and turned back. Past the ER. Past the stairs that led to her mother’s floor. Toward P-Wing.

* * *

The corridor that led to the Prison Wing was empty, dark, and surprisingly warm. While the rest of the hospital was beginning to feel chilled from the increasingly cool air outside, here it was stuffy and airless. With no windows and no lights, Laurel ran her hand along the wall to guide her. Her sneakers squeaked as she rounded a corner. Ahead was a large door with a small window in it. Light came from the window, casting a strip of brightness down the center of the corridor.

Laurel strained her ears. She couldn’t hear anything, which surely was a good sign; whoever Reynolds had left in charge was managing to keep the prisoners in line.

As she drew closer, Laurel considered whether she should have come up here sooner. The power had been out for more than a week and not once had she thought to come and check on the patients up here. Some had been in pretty bad condition when they were brought in. A couple of times, she’d asked Mark to check in with Dr. Reynolds, though, and he’d say Reynolds was coping okay with his skeleton nursing staff and the guards. So Laurel had focused on her ER and left him to it.

At the door, she paused. She’d been in enough high-risk situations in her career to know she could handle herself, but having said that, in the past she’d usually been carrying a weapon and surrounded by colleagues who would cover her back. Here, now, she was alone and unarmed.

Gingerly she pressed her palms to the door. It swung open, allowing her into the chamber that had been used to x-ray staff entering the floor and prevent prisoners from leaving. She expected the door in front of her to be closed, sealed shut, and to have to knock or shout for a guard or a nurse to come and let her through. But that was not what she found.

“Shit,” Laurel muttered. Rarely one to curse, as the word escaped her lips, her stomach flipped over and she was suddenly nauseated. The door she was looking at was open. Wide open. An upturned table had been wedged in the doorway, preventing it from closing. Which meant there was nothing keeping the inmates inside.

Now, the silence from within the ward wasn’t comforting; it was frightening.

Laurel looked back over her shoulder. She should probably go straight back to the ER and find some backup. So far, they’d been careful not to allow anyone armed onto the premises, but there was a chance someone in the foyer could have snuck a gun in. They hadn’t been searching people, simply suggesting nicely that if they wanted help, they should be unarmed.

By the time she got back downstairs, though, and brought reinforcements, it could be too late. Prisoners could be running loose in the hospital. Perhaps Dr. Reynolds had left the door like this and they hadn’t yet noticed?

Stepping over the table, Laurel looked around for anything she could use as a potential weapon, but there was nothing, just a hallway and a series of doors.

Slowly, she walked the length of the hall, peering through the glass of each one.

Every single room was empty. Not one prisoner. Not one guard.

Rushing back to the check-in desk, Laurel leafed through the paperwork on the desk. No files. No lists. Nothing to indicate how many prisoners there were or what had happened to them.

Turning back to the ward, she braced her hands behind her head. “Where the hell are they?” she muttered. “Where did they go?”

14

TRENT

“Woah, sweet place, Mister.” Trent stood in the center of Bear’s living room, staring at the walls of the cabin as if he was in a five-star hotel. “You’ve got like everything you could possibly need for an EMP right here.” He rushed over to the small fridge-freezer below the counter in the kitchen and opened it. It was cold but empty. “You’ve even got a generator? How come it’s working?”

“I suppose, like my truck, it’s too old to have been knocked out,” Bear said gruffly as he began to empty the kitchen cupboards. He was a strange kind of guy. Tall. Blond. Surly but with what Trent’s mother would have called ‘kind eyes.’

Trent shuddered as he thought of his mother.

In the kitchen, Bear had slammed a cardboard box down on the counter and was stuffing it with canned goods. He was loud. His movements and his voice. Trent figured that was because of the hearing aid. “Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Shoving his mother’s face from his mind, he jogged over and peered into the box. “Why are you packing?”

“Because we’re not staying here,” Bear said, grabbing another box from the cupboard below the sink.

“Not staying? Why the heck not?” Trent folded his arms and frowned at Bear. The guy was losing his mind. “You’ve got a ready-made hideout. Why would you ever leave?”

“Because I need to find my family.” Bear glanced toward the fireplace, at a framed picture of a blonde girl with a big smile.

“Her?” Trent moved to take the photo down. Holding the frame in his hands he looked from the picture to Bear then back again. “This your daughter?”

Bear nodded. “Mae.”

“Where is she?” He looked around, almost expecting her to step out from behind a door.

“It’s not her I’m going for,” Bear said, snatching the frame and removing the picture so he could fold it into the top pocket of his open backpack.

“It’s not?”

“Mae joined the Army. Last I heard, she was in the Middle East.”

“Damn,” Trent breathed. “So you don’t know where she is?”

“No. I don’t.” Bear turned back to the kitchen cupboards. Now he was taking out dishcloths and soap.

“So, if you’re not going after her? Then who? You got more kids?”

“No,” Bear replied tightly, fiddling with his hearing aid. “But I need to find my wife.”

“She doesn’t live here?” Trent had jumped up onto the dining table and was swinging his legs back and forth. Bear shot him a look that made him stop, then shoved a box at him.

“Fill this with canned goods from the cupboards.”

“Okay, but your wife?” Trent looked around the room, then headed for the kitchen.

“You talk a lot, don’t you?” Bear asked.

Trent shrugged. “And you don’t talk at all, so I guess we cancel each other out. Huh?”

Sighing, Bear shook his head. Beneath the gruffness, he looked like he might almost be smiling, but then he pursed his lips and said, “My wife is in Minnesota. We’re separated.”

“Minnesota? That’s miles away.” Trent stopped gathering things and folded his arms. “You’re going to travel all the way to Minnesota for a wife you’re not even married to anymore?”

“We’re still married. She’s still my wife, we’re just separated.” Bear stood up straighter and put his hands on his hips. “Listen, kid, I’m going. You can come with me or you can go it alone, but I’m taking my supplies, so there’ll be nothing here for you.”

“Oh, I’m coming,” Trent said, a little too quickly, the idea of being alone again making his stomach twist. “Big guy like you with a dog and a gun, you think I’d turn down the chance of that kind of protection?”

“Okay, then.”

“But why take all your stuff? When you come back—” Trent waved his arms at the room around them. “Won’t you need it?”

“If I don’t take it, chances are someone will ransack the place while I’m gone. Plus, I don’t know how long it’ll take to get to Laurel. Winter’s closing in. If we end up stuck somewhere, we’ll need all the supplies we can carry.”

Trent swallowed hard. Winter: snow and sub-zero temperatures weren’t going to be much fun without heat and light and, although he hadn’t encountered too many people on his long walk to town, he didn’t think much of his chances if he was forced to stick up for himself alone. Trent twiddled his thumbs as he watched Bear continue to pack. He had at least said ‘we’, which meant he was intending on Trent accompanying him for a while. He opened his mouth, about to ask whether Bear had meant that Trent could come with him on a permanent basis—like ‘we’re in this together now’—or a temporary one—like ‘thanks, we reached Minnesota, so see you later kid’. Before he could speak, he stopped himself. He’d been here five minutes. It was too soon. If he came across as needy and weird, Bear might change his mind. Leave him behind. Sneak out in the middle of the night.

So, instead, Trent gave a thumbs up, said, “Gotcha,” and continued to fill his box.

* * *

A little while later, having helped Bear drag some huge jerry cans of fuel up from the basement, Trent stood back and looked at their supplies. Bear’s dog, Jessamine, was standing next to him. He crouched down to stroke her. He liked dogs. He’d always wanted one but his dad was allergic. Or at least, he said he was allergic. Trent had always wondered whether it was simply an excuse, because his dad didn’t seem to have any problems around next door’s German Shepherd.

Surveying the boxes, Trent’s eyes widened a little. They had enough to fill the back of the truck, for sure. Enough to keep them fed, watered, and safe for far longer than Trent would have managed if he was alone. Enough for a long journey.

For a moment, just one small moment, as he thought of how desperate he’d been feeling right before he spotted Bear in town, Trent’s bravado faded. Glancing at Bear’s bulky frame as the man emptied rice into a pan in the kitchen, he said, “Listen, Mister, thanks for letting me tag along.”

Bear turned and looked Trent up and down. Nodding, he said, “No problem, and it’s ‘Bear’ not Mister. Now, what do you want with your rice? Beans or beans?”

Trent’s mouth twitched into a grin as he skipped over to the kitchen. After a pause, he leaned back on the counter and tipped his head toward Bear. “So, you wear a hearing aid, huh?” As fast as it had faded, Trent’s fizzling energy returned. “Does that mean you’re deaf? Like totally deaf or only partially deaf because I had an aunt who was totally deaf. I can do sign language. Can you? See… Hi, my name is Trent.”

As Trent spelled his name with his fingers, Bear looked away and not-very-discreetly turned down his hearing aid. “That’s better,” he mouthed at Jessamine. “The kid sure can talk.”

Laughing, because his grandfather used to do the exact same thing to his grandmother, Trent smiled to himself. Bear might find him annoying but he’d asked Trent to stay, and that, right now, was everything to a boy whose whole world had collapsed just a few short days ago.

15

LAUREL

Laurel’s heart was beating ten to the dozen by the time she reached the ER. As she entered, she scanned the room and tried to arrange her features so they looked less panicked. Catching Maggie’s eye, she waved her over.

“Are you all right?” Maggie peeled off the gloves she’d been wearing while she sutured a patient’s hand and examined Laurel’s face.

“Dr. Reynolds… who did he leave in charge of the Prison Wing?”

Maggie frowned. “I don’t know. Mark helped out up there a few times, maybe he knows?”

Laurel nodded and whirled around before Maggie pointed in Mark’s direction. “Thanks,” she said, hurrying to where he was scribbling patient notes on a clipboard chart.

“Mark?” Laurel spoke purposefully quietly.

He looked up and clicked his pen with his thumb. “You okay, Doc?”

Sidestepping in front of him, as if someone close by might read her lips if she didn’t, Laurel tried not to let her voice sound panicky as she said, “The Prison Wing? Do you know who Reynolds left in charge?”

“He said the prisoners were all secure in their rooms. Nurse Carmichael was on duty, and Dr. Reynolds asked me to swap with her later. Said he left the keys with Dr. Sullivan and that he’d agreed to supervise.”

“Sullivan?” Laurel narrowed her eyes. “You mean Robert? Robert Sullivan?”

Mark nodded, his forehead creasing into a frown as he tried to figure out what the problem was.

“And were the guards there when Reynolds left?”

“As far as I know.” Mark paused, lowering his voice. “Is everything all right, Dr. Rivera?”

“No, Mark. It’s not all right.” She sucked in a deep breath and held it in her lungs for longer than usual. “Someone has let the prisoners out, and Nurse Carmichael and the guards are nowhere to be seen.”

* * *

Laurel had searched the length and width of the hospital and ended up back at the ER when she finally found Robert. To her utter bewilderment, he was sitting in front of a young woman with a swollen and bruised knee, examining her while chatting away as if he was used to doing this all day every day.

Taking hold of the woman’s chart and examining it, Laurel cast a stern glance in his direction and said, “Robert? I’ve been looking for you.”

“I was with your mother but she’s sleeping now,” he said. “She’s sleeping more and more these days and, well, I wanted to continue to make myself useful. All this has reminded me what fun it can be. Helping people.” Standing up, he patted the patient’s arm and said, “I’ll send a nurse over with some pain killers. Unfortunately, for a dislocation there’s not much we can recommend except rest. Normally, we’d ask you to ice it but—” he shrugged and chuckled. “Given the situation, our best hope of that is an early snowfall.”

“Oh, I don’t think we want that,” the woman said, shaking her head but smiling as if Robert was the most charming man she’d ever come across. “We’ll all freeze if the snow comes.”

“Nonsense, South Minneha is a safe haven. We’ll light fires, roast marshmallows, it’ll be toasty as you like.” As Robert glanced at Laurel, realizing she was standing with her arms folded waiting for him to step away, he added, “When you’re patched up, you’re welcome to head to the foyer and sign up for a bed. Everyone is welcome here.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied, taking Robert’s hands between hers. “Thank you so much.”

As they walked away, Robert sighed contentedly. “Another happy customer,” he said.

“I’m not sure you should be encouraging people to stay if they’ve got a home to go to,” Laurel said, sucking in her cheeks a little.

“That’s not very philanthropic of you, Laurel,” Robert said scathingly as he sanitized his hands. “I thought you’d want to help the local community.”

“I do, but we have limited resources, Robert and the bigger this place gets, the more chance of—”

“Of what?” Robert folded his arms and tilted his head at her.

“Disagreements. Right now, everyone’s getting along, but the last thing we need is for—”

“Pah. Nonsense. It’s all under control,” Robert said, flicking his hand at her. “Now, was there something you wanted to talk to me about? I got the feeling you were itching to speak to me?”

“Yes, actually, there is.” Laurel gestured to the doors and asked if they could speak in private.

Nodding slowly, Robert followed her and once free of any eyes watching them finally let his smile drop. “What is it?” he asked bluntly.

“I heard that Dr. Reynolds left you the key to the Prison Ward? That you were supposed to be supervising it?”

Without answering her, Robert licked his lower lip.

“I just went up there and the prisoners are gone, Robert. The guards too, and the nurse who was on duty. The ward is empty.”

“Is that so?” Robert’s eyes widened, but something about his tone made Laurel’s skin prickle; why didn’t he sound surprised? After a pause, he said, “Probably a misunderstanding. I’ll sort it out.”

“Sort it out?” Laurel was tapping her foot on the floor. “A misunderstanding?”

“I asked Dr. Vong to help out,” Robert said quickly, “He probably relocated them along with the guards to somewhere closer. Somewhere we can keep a better eye on them.”

“You asked Dr. Vong?” Laurel’s stomach twisted sharply. “When was this?”

“An hour or so ago,” Robert said, his gaze starting to wander as he became bored with their conversation.

“I see.” Laurel nodded slowly. Robert was lying. Cai had left first thing this morning, and there was no way he’d have suggested moving patients from a secure Prison Wing to another part of the hospital, but whatever was going on here, her gut told her she needed to keep this knowledge to herself until she’d figured it out. Forcing a slow smile, Laurel gave an exaggerated sigh and swept her hand over her hair. “Thank goodness. I’m sorry, I panicked a little, but you’ve obviously got it in hand. You and Dr. Vong.”

“Not a problem. I know you’re extremely stretched at the moment.” Robert placed a heavy hand on Laurel’s shoulder. “The worry about your patients, and your mother, it’s a lot to deal with, Laurel. Make sure you get some rest. We can’t afford to start letting things slip, okay?” He was smiling, but there was no lightness in his eyes and, in that moment, Laurel finally understood what had bothered her about Robert ever since she’d met him; it wasn’t anything tangible. Just a feeling. A feeling she got whenever she was around him that there wasn’t much depth behind his emotions. She’d met men like him before, and almost all of them had turned out to be dangerous.

“Thank you,” she said, still smiling. “In fact, while it’s quiet I might go take a break right now. If that’s all right?”

“No problem.”

“Would you mind staying? Overseeing things while I duck out?” Laurel looked back toward the ER. As much as she hated putting Robert in charge, even for an hour or two, if he was occupied playing the big ‘I am’ with the staff and patients, it would give her space to think and formulate a plan. Figure out how she was going to handle this without much in the way of backup.

“Of course,” Robert replied emphatically. “Go rest. Get your mind back in the game.”

By the time Laurel turned to walk away, her cheeks hurt from the effort of smiling.

* * *

An hour later, having finally washed her hair because she thought the cold water might do a better job than dry shampoo at jolting her brain into being a little more clear-thinking, Laurel made her way back to the ER. Unfortunately, the cold water hadn’t helped much; she was certain that the prisoners had not been relocated. Why would they be? Cai certainly hadn’t been involved because he wasn’t on the premises, and why would anyone risk moving the inmates for no reason? Robert, however, most definitely was on the premises that day. And he definitely knew something more than he was letting on.

If he hadn’t had some part in letting them out, he’d have been a heck of a lot more concerned about a bunch of inmates running loose in his hospital. The way he’d reacted proved to Laurel that he knew something, but what? Why would he collude in letting them out? What could he possibly gain from that situation?

She was fastening her hair back into its neatly tied bun, steeling herself to find some answers, when she realized she could hear someone singing. Not just one person. Lots of people.

Pushing open the doors to the ER, Laurel was met by a host of nurses and patients, all gathered around singing “Happy Birthday” at the tops of their voices. In the center of the group, Maggie was blushing.

“Maggie? It’s your birthday?” Laurel shuffled past Mark and reached out to give Maggie a hug. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea. My birthday calendar was on my phone.”

Maggie shrugged, still smiling. “I didn’t expect anyone to remember,” she said, blushing.

“Of course we remembered.” Mark put his arm around Maggie and pulled her in for a hug. “We even arranged for a party. A few extra supplies. A few bottles of something nice.”

“Coke?” Maggie asked, eyebrow raised.

“Cut-price vodka from the store in town. A guy in a hoodie came up here a few days ago trying to sell it, and we traded some prenatal vitamins for his girlfriend.”

Stopping herself from asking if the girlfriend had been urged to come in for a check-up, Laurel watched Maggie’s face light up.

“Cut-price vodka?” She made a pretend ‘I’m impressed’ face. “You know how to treat a girl, don’t you?”

“Dr. Rivera? You going to join us?” Mark asked, turning to Laurel. “The patients are stable, and Dr. Sullivan said he’d keep watching over things while we take an hour out for Maggie.”

“Dr. Sullivan offered to watch the ER?” The hairs on the back of Laurel’s neck bristled. Under her breath, she muttered, “Again.”

“He’s really pitching in,” Maggie said, nodding at Janet.

“Have to admit, he’s surprised me today.” Janet, who didn’t usually compliment anyone, raised her eyebrows.

“So, are you coming for a drink?” Mark and the others were making their way toward the break room, but Laurel was having trouble gathering her thoughts. It had been days since she’d slept properly, and the issue of the prisoners wasn’t going away. It needed to be fixed.

“Come on.” Janet scurried back across the room and took Laurel’s elbow. “You need a break.” Lowering her voice, she added, “And it wouldn’t hurt to let these folks know you’re human. It’s just an hour, Laurel. Then you can get back to saving the world.”

Laurel desperately wanted to tell Janet they shouldn’t be drinking when they had patients to look after, when something terrible could go wrong at any minute, and when there was only a handful of staff left in the hospital. However, she also knew—from her time in the Army—that blowing off steam was essential. Her team needed a break. They needed a slice of normality. Just a small slice.

Finally, Laurel smiled. “All right,” she said. “Lead the way.”

At the break room door, she looked back into the ER. Robert was talking to a patient. Smiling, waving his hands, acting like God of the Hospital. The patient, a woman who didn’t look unlike Laurel’s mother, was lapping it up.

“Here we go! Vodka and lemonade. Isn’t that everyone’s favorite?” Mark had unscrewed the vodka and was pouring it into small paper cups. “Just two cups each. We’re on duty, remember.” He cast a meaningful glance at Laurel and she smiled.

“Maybe three,” she said, lingering eyes still on Robert. “If they’re sensible measures.”

“I’ve never known Mark to pour a sensible measure in my life!” Maggie laughed.

“Who? Me? Sensible is my middle name.” Mark was laughing too.

As her colleagues raised their cups and toasted Maggie’s birthday, Laurel forced herself to look away from Robert, pulled her hair loose from its bun, and headed inside. “Right,” she said. “Where’s that drink?”

* * *

Almost an hour later, they were about to start packing up their cups when the break room door swung open.

“Oh, Laurel, there you are.” Robert crossed his arms in front of his chest and tilted his head at her. “I didn’t expect you to be—”

“We invited her,” Janet said, getting to her feet. “I’m sorry, Doctor Sullivan, did you need Doctor Rivera for something?”

“Oh, no, not me.” Robert stepped into the room, allowing the door to clatter closed behind him. He moved over to Laurel and lowered his mouth to her ear as if he was going to whisper something. Speaking purposefully loudly, however, he said, “It’s just that I thought if you had time to spare, you’d want to be with your mother. She so wants to see you, Laurel. She’s worried about you and she’s in pain today.”

Laurel gritted her teeth. As Robert straightened up and headed back to the door, she watched his back, wishing she could lunge at him and tackle him to the ground.

Everyone had heard what Robert had said. They were staring at her. She began to blush and tucked her hair behind her ear. The small amount of alcohol she’d consumed had slowed her retort reflex and, instead of being able to change the subject or say something to make herself sound less awful, she simply called, “Thank you for telling me. I’ll visit her as soon as I can.”

When the door closed, Laurel looked at Janet, who wrinkled her nose as if to say, You’d better explain or they’ll start talking.

Taking a deep breath, Laurel looked around the room. “I don’t want to dampen the mood,” she said. “But you all heard what Dr. Sullivan just said, so I think I should explain.” She smoothed her hands over her hips and tried to release the tension in her neck by moving her head from side to side. “My mother is a patient here at South Minneha. She has Stage Four pancreatic cancer and Dr. Sullivan got her into a trial that’s been helping her. I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want to mix my personal life with work.”

As she spoke, just like that, the good will she’d garnered from finally behaving like part of the team rather than simply the boss of the team disintegrated. Maggie pressed her lips together. Mark turned away and began gathering cups. The others filtered slowly out of the room.

When it was just Janet and Laurel left, Laurel sat down and hung her head in her hands. “Why does he hate me so much?” she whispered.

“Hate you?”

“Sullivan. He did that deliberately. And something’s going on with the prisoners. Something’s not right, Janet. He’s hiding something.”

Bobbing down in front of Laurel, Janet took her hands between her own. “I think you need some sleep, Laurel. It’s been days since you had a proper night’s rest. Leave the ER to us. Get some sleep. Everything will look better tomorrow.”

As Janet stood and left the room, Laurel sat back in her chair. Perhaps Janet was right. Perhaps a good night’s rest would make everything seem brighter tomorrow.

Except, it wouldn’t. Would it? Sleep wouldn’t bring back the lights. Sleep wouldn’t stop Robert from tormenting her. Sleep wouldn’t get the inmates back to their rooms.

Laurel stood up and looked at the half-empty vodka bottle on the table. Sleep wouldn’t solve all of those things, but at least it’d mean she wouldn’t have to think about it for a few hours.

16

BEAR

“So, how far is Minnesota?” Trent was sitting beside Jessamine in the front seat of Bear’s truck, jigging in his seat as if he already needed the restroom even though they’d been on the road less than fifteen minutes.

They had spent the night at the cabin. By the time Bear had finished packing, it was too dark to contemplate leaving.

“Better to go at first light and travel as long as we can before stopping.” Bear had said, spreading out a map on the dining table. “Under normal conditions, it’d take about seven hours to get to South Minneha.”

“That’s where your wife is?” Trent had asked, stroking Jessamine’s ears as he yawned loudly.

“Last I checked,” he said. “Which means if we leave at first light, we should be there by nightfall.”

At that, Trent had nodded slowly and begun to chew his lower lip. Poor kid probably thought that as soon as Bear was reunited with Laurel, he’d want to be rid of him.

“Laurel will be pleased to meet you,” he said, awkwardly patting the boy’s arm. Since when did he forget how to talk to kids?

Now, Trent seemed nervous. “You know,” he said slowly, watching the woods flash past the window as Jessamine crawled into his lap, “the roads aren’t exactly like normal.”

“They’re not?” Bear narrowed his eyes.

Trent was peering at the map he’d spread out on the dash. “You want to take the coastal road?” he asked.

“No, kid, I thought I’d take the scenic route, stop for a picnic on the way.” Bear scoffed and nudged Trent with his elbow.

“It’s just—” Before Trent could finish what he was about to say, Bear saw exactly what had been bothering him.

Ahead, as they pulled off the small road out of Moose Hill to join Highway 61, cars were dotted up and down the road. Some, which had obviously been traveling at some speed when their engines were fried, had careened into one another and were now conjoined, mangled wrecks in the middle of the highway. Others had simply been abandoned or had run off the road and been stopped by the trunk of a large tree. Nearby, a small white house looked like it had been looted. Its windows were smashed, reinforced with plywood, graffiti on the door, no signs of inhabitants.

Trent whistled a long low whistle, which made Bear’s hearing aid pulse uncomfortably in his ear. “That’s what I was trying to say.” He gestured to the road ahead. “It’s going to be like playing foosball weaving through that parking lot.”

Bear turned off the engine and looked up and down the road. This was the fastest route to Laurel. Straight down Highway 61, over the Canadian border and down to Minnesota. He could be there in a day, but it was a busy route, and the Thunder Bay area wasn’t likely to be the worst place for abandoned cars.

Here, they could just about make it through. Farther down the line, as they rolled through bigger towns, he guessed the abandoned vehicles would become more difficult to navigate. He glanced at the graffitied house and then at his gun sitting behind him. Out here, too, they were more likely to come across people who’d be pretty interested in a working truck.

“Okay,” he said, grabbing the map. “Change of plan. We’ll use the back roads. It’ll take longer, but it’ll be safer.”

Trent breathed out, as if he’d been holding his breath in his chest, praying they wouldn’t continue along the highway.

As they turned around and headed for the network of smaller roads that would take them past Wamsley down toward Cloud Lake, Bear drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced in Trent’s direction. The boy was stroking Jess, but his mind was elsewhere.

“Whereabouts were your folks driving, Trent, when they went off the road?”

Trent swallowed hard.

“Oh, so it’s only you who gets to ask questions?” Bear tried his best to be humorous, but it didn’t raise a smile from Trent’s lips. “We’d have passed it if we’d continued on the Highway, right?” Bear asked, focusing on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” Trent answered quietly. “We would.”

Bear nodded and made a hmm sound under his breath. That made sense. In which case, it was best on all counts that they took a different route.

After a quick three-point turn, Bear headed back the way they’d come. A couple of miles down the road, before they reached the turn that would take them back toward the cabin, he made a left down a dirt track, which he knew joined up with a larger road that would bypass the highway.

He was settling into the drive, aware that Trent had become uncharacteristically quiet since their change of direction, and was about to ask the kid to tell him more about what had happened to his family—why he hadn’t been with them and where they’d been headed—when he came out of a sharp bend to find an enormous pine tree blocking the road ahead.

“Shoot,” he muttered.

Jess’s ears pricked up. Trent sat straighter in his seat. “That’s a big tree,” he said, eyes wide.

“Sure is.” Bear pulled the truck to a stop, turned off the engine and climbed out. He glanced back toward the highway, but as the idea of turning back crossed his mind he caught Trent’s eyes. As if he was reading Bear’s mind, he jumped from the passenger seat and quickly—desperately—said, “I’ll help you. We can move it.”

Hurrying over to the tree, Trent leaned down and began to tug at one of the branches. When nothing happened, he stood up, scratched his chin and said, “You packed an ax, right? We could chop it? Then move it?”

“That’ll take hours, maybe days,” Bear said, shoving his hands into his pockets and surveying the situation.

“You have a winch? We could try that?” Trent seemed pleased that he was being helpful, offering solutions, using his brain.

“Ordinarily, I’d say yes, but we’ve got limited fuel. How do we know we won’t just come across another tree a few miles from here? Normally, the park rangers clear this stuff as soon as it’s reported. Now? Well, there’s no way of reporting it and no one to report to, so we could clear this, then find another two miles down the track. And there’s not likely to be a gas station anywhere nearby, so—”

Trent inhaled sharply. “I get it,” he said. “What about this?” Trent had moved around to the back of the truck, and was peering in at something.

As Bear walked over, he saw what it was; the chainsaw.

“Will that work?” Trent asked, straining to reach for the saw over the side of the truck.

“Same logic. I’d have to use some gas from the truck,” Bear said, shaking his head. As Trent’s expression fell, Bear put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll have to go back and take our chances playing foosball with the cars, I’m afraid.”

Jess, who had perched herself next to Trent and was leaning against his leg, rubbed his palm with her nose. Nodding slowly, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then turned away from Bear. His shoulders had dropped but, as Bear watched, he took another deep breath and straightened them. “All right,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”

As Trent stalked back toward the truck and climbed in, Bear looked at Jess. She was watching the boy with her head cocked to one side. “Go look after him,” Bear said quietly, reaching down to pat her head. “Go on.”

Immediately doing as she was asked, Jessamine trotted after Trent and jumped into the front of the truck with him. Bear paused at the driver’s door, taking one last look at the tree. His head was telling him to turn around but his heart—particularly when he looked at Trent’s face—wanted to say screw it, use the gas, and chop the tree to pieces to let them past.

But he’d never been one to listen to his heart over his head.

Taking the road south once more, they rejoined the highway and found themselves back where they’d been an hour ago. Looking at a highway littered with abandoned vehicles and nothing but a long, winding route through them.

“There’s another turnoff a few miles ahead,” Bear said as they began to inch forward. “We’ll take it if we can.”

Trent swallowed hard. He was looking down at his lap.

“You know where it was that your parents…?” Bear trailed off. He didn’t want to say it out loud.

“Not exactly.” Trent shook his head. “Just know they went through the barrier. Dad was driving too fast. Mom always said he drove too fast.”

Bear nodded, then paused. “How’d you know he was driving fast? You were home. Right?”

Trent looked up and blinked at him. He licked his lower lip and, for a moment, Bear thought he was going to say something important. When he spoke, however, all he said was, “He always drove fast. That must’ve been what happened.”

Turning back to the road, Bear flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Something about Trent’s explanation felt off. He couldn’t figure out why, but his gut was telling him there was something the kid wasn’t saying. And his gut wasn’t often wrong.

They’d been winding their way in and out of burned-out, crashed, or just abandoned cars and trucks for what felt like forever when Bear noticed Trent lean forward and grip the dash. He was peering at something. His face was ashen.

Slowing down, Bear followed the boy’s gaze. There it was. A broken barrier and a trail of flattened undergrowth leading toward the river that ran beside the highway.

Without saying anything, Bear stopped the truck.

“What are you doing?” Trent’s eyes widened. He was rubbing his hands on his thighs.

“You think this is it?” Bear asked, turning to look at the boy.

Slowly, Trent nodded.

“Then we should get out. You should say goodbye. We may not come this way again. It could be the only chance you have.” Bear reached over Trent’s lap and opened the passenger door, then put his hand on his own door handle. “I’ll come with you if you like.”

Looking toward the door, Trent remained strangely still. His palms were flat on his thighs, his body rigid, facing forward, while his head turned to look at the scene beyond the truck. Without speaking, he nodded and climbed out of the truck.

When Bear joined him, Trent was standing in front of the barrier. Hands clenched at his sides. Shoulders trembling.

“Trent?” Bear asked quietly. “How did your neighbor know about the accident?” He left the question hanging in the air for a moment. Didn’t follow it up or push. Just waited.

Eventually, Trent sighed. As if all the air had left his body, his shoulders drooped. “There was no neighbor,” he whispered. “I… I was in the car.”

Although Bear had suspected as much, hearing it out loud caused him to close his eyes and inhale a deep shaky breath. Poor kid. Poor, poor kid. “What happened?” he asked, putting his hand firmly on Trent’s shoulder as the boy began to cry.

“I was playing my music too loud. Mom told me to turn it down. Dad joined in. She told him to focus on the road and let her handle it. She told him he was going too fast. They started arguing. I hate it when they argue. I turned my music up louder. And louder. Mom turned around. She unbuckled her belt and reached for my phone. Then—” Trent moved forward and crouched down, placing his fingertips on the ground.

“The EMP. Your dad lost control of the car.” Bear crouched down too.

Trent nodded. “We went into the water. It happened so fast. Mom got me out of my belt. My window was open. I swam out. I thought she was behind me but she must have tried to help Dad.” Tears were rolling down Trent’s cheeks. A lump formed in Bear’s throat. “I should have gone back.” Trent stood up and began to yell. “I should have gone back! I just sat there. I just sat there while they drowned!” He’d started to thump himself on the chest. Hard. Looking at Bear, he repeated himself. Still yelling. “I just sat there while they drowned! I did nothing!”

In that moment, Bear recognized the exact expression on Trent’s face. The torment. The anger. The guilt. The pain. It was like he was looking into a mirror and seeing himself after Iraq. Charging forward, while Jessamine watched with wide nervous eyes, Bear pulled Trent toward him and wrapped his arms around him. Squeezing as tightly as he could without hurting the boy, Bear said nothing. He just held him. At first, Trent pounded his fists against Bear’s abdomen. He struggled. Then he went limp.

They stayed like that for many, many minutes. When Trent had stopped crying, Bear let go and guided him toward the hood of a nearby car. “Sit,” he said, then went to the truck and fetched some water and a protein bar. “Drink. Eat,” he said.

Taking a long swig of water, Trent met Bear’s eyes. “Do you think I’m a terrible person?” he asked quietly.

Sighing, because the question made his heart hurt, Bear leaned against the hood and drank from his own bottle. “When I was in Iraq, I was in a similar situation.” He glanced at Trent. “I wasn’t able to save a friend. In my heart, I know there was nothing I could have done. But that doesn’t stop my head from tormenting me with it.” Breathing in slowly, Bear turned and put his hand firmly on Trent’s shoulder. “You did nothing wrong. Your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to put yourself at risk trying to save them. They loved you.”

Trent opened his mouth to speak but Bear interrupted him.

“I’d sacrifice myself ten times over for my daughter. Trust me, kid. They’d want you to be sitting here with me. They’d want you to be okay.”

Finally, Trent nodded.

“It’ll take a while for you to get that. God knows, I’m still struggling and it’s been years since….” He trailed off, then stood up. “Let’s say a prayer for your folks. Down by the water. We’ll say a prayer, then we’ll continue on our way. Yeah?”

Trent stood up too. He looked toward the water. “Mom would be glad I found you,” he said as they walked through the broken barrier.

I’m glad too, thought Bear.

17

LAUREL

Despite her promise to Janet, instead of resting, Laurel slipped upstairs and into her mother’s room. She was sleeping. In the corner of the room, a nurse had lit a fire in a metal trash can, but it was dwindling and the air around the bed was cool. Taking some wood from the supply that Henry had coordinated and had delivered to each ward, Laurel added it to the fire, tucked the blanket higher under her mother’s chin, then sat down in the armchair opposite.

Drawing her knees up to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her legs and closed her eyes. She’d always liked fires. The crackling and popping. The way they cast dancing shadows all around them. The fierce heat when you got too close.

“It is because you were born under the sign of the monkey,” her mother had said. “In Aztec tradition, the monkey gave man fire because he loved them. Love, compassion, and fire. That’s my Laurel.”

Laurel was beginning to drift off when she heard her mother groan. Instantly, she was on her feet, crossing the room, checking her mother’s pulse and pressing her palm to her forehead.

“Mom?” she said softly.

But her mother didn’t reply. She might have been in pain. She might have been dreaming. There was no way to tell.

Swallowing hard, trying not to give in to the emotion rising in her chest, Laurel returned to her chair. This time, she sat up straight, one leg crossed over the other. She did not close her eyes.

Instead, she took a piece of paper from her pocket. On it, with the help of the pharmacist Roy, she’d scribbled a list of the key medications they had in stock and how long they would last. He’d left five days ago, before Cai and the others, and Laurel hadn’t been to the pharmacy since, but she knew the numbers would have changed since then; every day, they were using medicines that were not being replenished.

Laurel bit her lower lip and reached into her other pocket. Her fingers touched a small plastic bottle. She shook her head at herself, taking her fingers away because she couldn’t quite believe that she’d been so deceitful. It wasn’t like her. Stealing medication when Roy wasn’t looking just in case her mother needed it one day.

As she watched her mother now, however, the guilt started to fade. Now, it wasn’t a case of if her mother would need it but when. And she couldn’t feel guilty for that. Not for helping her own mother.

Resting her hand on the outside of her pocket, Laurel glanced at the list one more time. First thing tomorrow, she’d update it. They were already rationing supplies, but the time was coming when they’d have to make some tough choices. Perhaps even consider sending a team of people out to a nearby town to look for more.

As she began to reel through scenarios in her mind, Laurel felt her eyes growing heavy. She didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to watch her mother until the sun came up but, eventually, she couldn’t resist any longer. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift away.

* * *

“Laurel, sweetheart?” Her mother’s voice woke her. The fire had gone out. In her right hand, she was still clutching her list.

“Mom? Are you all right?” Laurel sat up a little too quickly. Her head spun and she leaned back into her chair.

“I’m fine, but you look exhausted, Laurel.” Her mother moved to swing her legs around to the side of the bed but Laurel got quickly to her feet and crossed the room.

“Don’t get up, Mom. It’s cold in here. I’ll light another fire and Hannah will help you take your exercise later. Okay?” Laurel perched on the side of the bed and took hold of her mom’s hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine, dear. Honestly. You have enough to worry about, so don’t spend your time fussing over me. I’m perfectly comfortable.”

Laurel looked down at the paper in her hand. The light outside indicated it was still early. If she left now, she’d have chance to take inventory in the pharmacy before things started getting busy.

“Mom, I have to go.” Laurel stood up, undid her bun, scraped her hair back and redid it, then kissed her mom on the forehead. “I’ll come back later and check on you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her mother smiled and, as Laurel reached the door, she added, “I’m proud of you, Laurel. You know that, don’t you?”

Laurel’s stomach clenched. She wanted to stay. She wanted to do what she should have done before all this but never had time to—stay, read her mom a book, play a game of cards, reminisce about the old days back home. “I do,” she said quietly, and then, fixing a smile on her face, she turned and blew her mom a kiss. “I love you, Mom. I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

Downstairs, Laurel headed straight for the pharmacy. Since Roy had left, various nurses and doctors had taken it in turns to be on duty, but they probably needed to sort out a new schedule now that their numbers were so badly depleted.

Laurel was making a mental note to get together the remaining members of staff later for another meeting when she stopped in her tracks. Ahead of her, the pharmacy door was open. It was never open. Rule number one when on duty was to keep it locked at all times. Now, with people from all over town showing up at the hospital every day, it was more important than ever that no one had free access to South Minneha’s drug supply.

Pushing the door with her foot, Laurel peered inside. “Hello?” Not for the first time since this whole thing started, she wished she had a gun. “Is anyone there?” She moved farther into the room. Rows of shelves ran up and down through its center but, while they used to be stocked full, many now looked worryingly sparse.

“Is anyone in here?” Laurel had reached the row farthest from the door when she heard movement. She held her breath. There were prisoners loose in the hospital and the drug store was wide open. This couldn’t be good news. Looking around for something she could use as a weapon, she picked up a bottle of cough mixture. Not great, but heavy enough to at least distract someone if she threw it at them. Raising her arm, she readied herself to throw it and stepped out from behind the final row.

“Stop what you’re doing—” She was holding the bottle above her head. “Robert?”

The figure in front of her, who had been reaching for something on the top shelf, stopped in a freeze-frame and turned his head. “Laurel?”

“What are you doing in here? You left the door open. Who’s on shift?” Laurel lowered her arm, shoving her bottle of cough mixture back onto a shelf.

“I am.” Robert shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to look at her. “I was just going through the antibiotics to see what we’ve got left.”

Laurel began to frown, then stopped herself. That wasn’t where the antibiotics were kept. Once again, Robert was hiding something.

“I was just about to do the same thing,” she said. “Roy was keeping track of everything, but since he left—”

“Oh, I’ve been keeping track since he left. You don’t need to worry about that.” Robert gestured to a large leather notebook that was tucked under his left arm. He patted it. “I know exactly what’s going in and out.”

Trying not to narrow her eyes at him, Laurel nodded. “Good. That’s good. Is there a new rota? To be honest, I’m not sure who’s still on site now, so we should probably come up with a new one.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Robert moved toward her and Laurel realized he was intending to escort her out. “Was there anything specific you needed, Dr. Rivera?”

“No,” she replied, flinching as his palm met the small of her back. “Like I said. I just came to do inventory.”

“Well, I’ll handle that.”

At the door, Laurel paused and looked at it pointedly. “You know, you really should keep this locked, Robert. There are prisoners on the loose.”

Rolling his eyes, Robert made a psssh sound that caused saliva to fly from his lips. “Stop worrying about the—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a scream from somewhere down the hall shook the air. Immediately, Laurel ran toward it.

“Get off me! Let go!” It was a female voice. A scared female.

Laurel headed for the sound, aware that Robert was somewhere behind her, not moving as quickly. As she rounded the corner, she saw who was yelling; a young nurse named Miranda.

“I said let go!” Miranda yelled, tugging backward as a six-foot-tall inmate in an orange jumpsuit towered over her. He had hold of her wrist and he was grinning at her.

“Hey! Stop that!” Laurel charged over, wishing she’d kept hold of something she could throw. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What’s it to you?” The inmate turned to Laurel but didn’t let go of Miranda’s wrist.

“I was trying to help him,” Miranda said. “He’s cut his head.” Turning back to the prisoner, she added, “I just wanted to take a look.”

“I don’t need help from folk like you,” the prisoner spat.

As he moved to shove Miranda up against the wall, Laurel charged forward and grabbed hold of the man’s shoulder. “Stop this. Now,” she repeated.

“Or what?” The inmate stared down at her, his dark eyes practically begging her to do something that would give him an excuse to knock her out.

Before she could answer, a voice interrupted them. “Or there will be very grave consequences.” It was Robert, standing in the middle of the corridor with his hands in his pockets as if nothing about this situation was in any way alarming.

In front of her, the prisoner narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he loosened his grip on Miranda’s wrist. Laurel reached for her, grabbing her and pulling her out of the way. Then she turned and watched the inmate saunter up to Robert.

“What kind of consequences?” The inmate was almost a clean foot taller than Robert, half his age and twice as muscular, but Robert didn’t flinch.

In a voice that was so low Laurel couldn’t hear what he was saying, Robert muttered something.

The prisoner looked at him for a moment, then looked back at Miranda and Laurel. “Fine,” he said. “Have it your way.” Then he turned and stalked back down the corridor. Past Laurel, in the direction of the canteen.

When he was out of sight, Laurel let go of Miranda and waved her arms at Robert. “What the hell was that?” she asked, mouth aghast. “How did you know him? Robert, what’s going on?”

“Know him?” Robert tilted his head. “I don’t know him, Laurel, I just explained that I’m the head of this hospital and that the people who want to stay here play by my rules.”

Laurel glanced at Miranda, hoping for some backup. Surely she could see that what had just happened was off. Robert was one of the least physically intimidating people you could meet, which meant he must have had something else to threaten the prisoner with.

But instead of nodding in agreement with Laurel, Miranda simply hurried over to Robert and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Dr. Sullivan. Thank you so much. If you hadn’t come along I don’t know what would have happened.”

“You’re very welcome, dear.” Robert was patting Miranda’s shoulder, allowing her to embrace him, but he was watching Laurel and something in his eyes sent a chill down her spine. “Now, come. Let’s get you back to your ward. Where are you working today?”

“The ER,” Miranda replied, wiping tears from her eyes as Robert put his arm around her shoulders and steered her past Laurel.

“Perfect. Me too.”

For a long moment, Laurel lingered in the middle of the corridor. Her body tingled with the need for rest, but she wasn’t going to let this go; as soon as Robert had disappeared, she headed back to the pharmacy.

This time, the door was locked but, like every other head of department, Laurel had a key. Stepping inside, she once again took her list from her pocket and started to run her eyes along the shelves.

“This can’t be right.” She’d reached the row where the tramadol was kept. A few days ago, they had twenty bottles, but now there were just five. Fifteen bottles in a few days? That was impossible.

Continuing along the shelves, Laurel referred again and again to her list. Heart medication, diabetes medication, and antibiotics were all at the level she’d expect, but the painkillers—particularly the opioid painkillers—were down. Way down.

She stopped and leaned against the dispensing bench. As the thought formed in her mind, it sent a cold shiver down her spine. Robert had set the prisoners free, and Robert was stealing drugs, but why? Why would he do that?

18

BEAR

“What is that?” Bear leaned forward and squinted into the distance. Something large and black was in the middle of the road. Not another tree, surely?

It was late, nearly dark, and Trent was sleeping in the passenger seat. They should probably have stopped before now, but while the boy was sleeping, Bear figured they might as well keep going for a while. Plus, it had given him the opportunity to take his hearing aid out. First, to conserve its battery. Second, to enjoy the feeling of a naked ear un-pinched by plastic.

As he slowed the truck, Jess tilted her head at him.

“I know, I know. I’ll stop soon,” he whispered, aware he would soon be too tired to focus properly on the road ahead. “Or I’ll stop now.” As they neared the large object, Bear was forced to brake. In front of him, a haulage truck had spun sideways, caught fire, and was now lying there—a burned-out husk—right in the middle of the road. With debris scattered around it, Bear had no way to know if his own truck would make it past or if they needed to shift things out of the way.

Sighing, he turned off the engine and climbed out. Trent didn’t stir from his sleep and when Jess tried to follow, Bear told her to stay. “Keep the boy company. I won’t go far,” he said.

Walking toward the haulage truck, Bear shoved his hands into his pockets. It was cold. Getting colder by the day. If he could reach Laurel and get her back to the cabin in the next few days, maybe searching out more supplies on the way, they could get whatever else they needed from Laberge on their return, then hole up at the cabin for the winter.

Glancing back at the sleeping boy in his truck, Bear shivered. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to wonder whether he was now some kind of guardian to the kid or whether he’d be better off finding a couple—a family—to take the boy. Probably there would be someone at the hospital. Someone more suited than he was. Laurel, of course, was a wonderful mother, but Bear knew his own shortcomings. He’d been physically absent for most of Mae’s most important years when she was younger, and when he finally returned home, look at what had happened.

“He’ll be better off with someone else,” Bear muttered, nodding to himself.

Nearing the truck, he looked into the driver’s cab and swallowed hard. Nausea sloshed in his throat. Had the driver escaped? He inched closer and bent down, then something caught his eye. Something shiny inside the cab, catching in the twilight.

Grabbing a stick from nearby, Bear returned to the cabin and used it to fish out the object. A ring. Bear turned it over in his hand, then squeezed his fingers closed around it. Whoever had been in that truck was now no more than dust and ash. Looking at the ring, he considered burying it, but then he bent down and put it back exactly where he’d found it.

If this guy’s family came looking for him, they’d need answers. The ring would give them that, at least.

Leaving the top end of the truck, Bear walked slowly around the rest. “Shoot,” he breathed, “there must have been a car involved.”

There was too much debris to have possibly come from the truck. Wheels and a burned-out chassis that could only have belonged to a car. It would take him forever to move it himself.

Bear slotted his fingers together behind his neck and surveyed the area around the road. The last thing he wanted was another detour, but the ditch on either side was steep, and he had no idea if his beat-up old truck would handle it.

Above him, the sky was darkening, the sun creeping slowly beneath the skyline.

“Best wait until the morning,” he said, biting back a yawn. “Everything is always clearer in the morning.”

* * *

When Bear woke, he realized at once that he’d forgotten to put his hearing aid back in before going to sleep, which was both dangerous and foolish. Sure, Jess would alert him to danger, but what good was that if he couldn’t friggin’ hear her?

Groaning at himself, he sat up and blinked, willing his eyes to adjust to the daylight. When they finally did, he looked to his right. expecting to see Trent snoring with his mouth open and Jessamine curled up beside him.

Except Trent’s seat was empty.

In one swift movement, Bear was up and out of the truck. With his feet on solid ground, he groped in his pocket for his hearing aid and quickly fixed it in place.

“Trent? Kid? Where the heck are you?” He’d parked up about twenty feet away from the haulage truck, angled so it would hide them from view if anyone came along while they were sleeping. Downwind to ensure that, hopefully, the smell of burned fuel would hide their scent from any nearby bears.

His heart was beginning to beat faster and faster when Jessamine appeared at his feet.

“Jess,” he said, leaning down to scoop her up. “Where’s the boy?”

Jess quickly scrambled out of his arms and bounded over toward the truck, where Bear discovered Trent crouched down, staring at the inside of the cab, just as he had the day before.

“You think there was a person in here?” Trent’s voice cracked as he spoke.

Bear stood behind him and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Possibly,” he said. “But there’s no sign of anyone. I’m guessing they escaped before the fire got really bad.”

Bear glanced toward the ring. Still where he’d left it, but Trent didn’t seem to have spotted it or, if he had, he hadn’t gathered its significance.

“Come on, let’s get some breakfast. Although not too much. We’ve got a bumpy ride to suffer.”

Trent stood up and frowned. Bear had forgotten the way teenagers’ expressions always seemed amplified, as if everything they thought and felt was ten times more intense than it was for grownups.

“The only way around that,” Bear pointed to the truck, “is down there.” He turned and gestured to the shallower of the two ditches.

“No way!” Trent’s mouth dropped open. “She can’t take it. Surely?”

“She?”

“Aren’t cars and trucks always ‘she’? That’s what my dad used to say.”

Bear tilted his head and smiled. “You know, actually, my father used to say the same.” Looking at the truck, he shrugged. “I think she can do it.”

Trent shook his head and began to laugh. “Okay, but you’re on your own for this one. Me and Jess will wait on the other side.”

“What?” Bear laughed too, pretending to be outraged when actually he’d been about to suggest the same thing. “Quit when the going gets tough, I see.” They reached the truck and Bear nodded at the ditch. “Okay then, off you go. Stand back and I’ll meet you on the other side.”

At first, Bear felt pretty confident. He reversed as far as he could, got up as much speed as he could, and hurtled down the ditch, hoping to have enough momentum to propel him up the other side. He’d almost made it and could see Trent cheering him on the other side when he lost it. He revved, pushed forward in his seat as if his own body weight might help, but the truck simply stalled and began to roll backward.

Slamming on the brakes to try and limit the damage if he crashed at the bottom, Bear held his breath. The truck stopped.

“Dang it,” he growled; he’d hoped to conserve fuel and avoid using the winch, but winch it was.

“Kid!” he yelled, grabbing the anchor from the truck, “Take this and fix it around the sturdiest tree trunk you can find up there.”

Trent scrambled down the ditch and grinned. “Told you she couldn’t do it,” he snarked.

“No one likes a know it all,” Bear replied, pulling the winch cable from the front of the truck and following Trent to the tree.

“Good job,” he said as he checked the anchor was secure. “You used one of these before?”

Trent shook his head.

“So, you fix this on here…” he clipped the D-ring onto the anchor. “Check it’s secure.” He tugged, hard, to make sure it didn’t move. “Then you’re good to go.”

“Cool.” Trent glanced up at him and smiled. Bear nodded.

“I’m going to operate the remote from inside the cab.” When Trent frowned, Bear added, “It’s plugged into the truck, not battery powered.”

Trent made an ‘I see’ expression with his eyes.

“I need you to stand here at the top and tell me when three-quarters of the truck are over the edge. Then I can step on the gas to help her that last bit.”

“Sure.” Trent grinned, pleased to be given a job.

Bear didn’t tell him that he didn’t really need his help; after what the boy had been through, boosting his self-esteem and giving him something to feel proud of would only help him.

A few minutes later, as the truck trundled over the edge of the ditch, Bear gave Trent a giant thumbs up, but just as her rear wheels made it over, the front wheels caught on something. A rock. The truck jolted hard and a huge thunk on his undercarriage made him cry out. But then he was back on the road and Trent was clambering into the passenger seat with a huge grin on his face.

“That was cool,” he said, eyes wide.

Still wincing and pressing his hands on his thighs, Bear looked at the kid and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess it was cool.”

19

DEB

“Thank you, Hannah.” Deb patted the young nurse’s hand as she took away her empty tray. Porridge again, but today there had also been a small tangerine and—because she wasn’t feeling nauseated—some coffee.

“Give me a shout if you need anything,” Hannah said gently. She was a sweet girl. With smooth skin and long blonde hair, she couldn’t have been older than her mid-twenties. Every day, Deb had expected to wake up and find her gone. Afterall, why in the world would she want to stick around on a cancer ward at the end of the world?

Every day, however, Hannah had surprised her.

“I’ve got no family in town,” she’d said softly when Deb asked her about it. “They’re in Florida, and that’s a pretty long journey to make on foot. So, for now, I’ll stay put. Take my chances here.” Shrugging, she’d looked around the room, then gestured to Deb’s coffee. “Besides, we haven’t got it too bad, have we? We’re safe, we’ve got food and water, and I’m sure the power will be back soon. The police and the Army are probably working their way to us right now.”

At the mention of the Army, Deb had blinked quickly and turned away. She couldn’t think of it without thinking of her granddaughter, and wondering where Mae was—whether she was even in the country—made her heart hurt.

She’d thought too about Bjorn. Her son-in-law; she never had gotten used to addressing him as ‘Bear’. Although Laurel hadn’t spoken his name in months, she’d always believed the two of them would find a way to put their differences aside. Bjorn just needed time to heal—that’s what she’d told Laurel.

“No, Mom. It’s bigger than that,” Laurel had sighed.

Deb could picture her face, even now. Utterly defeated, which was so unlike her tenacious daughter.

Pushing the thoughts away, Deb rose from her chair and walked to the window. It was a bright day, but there was a frost on the ground. She shuddered a little. She had blankets and candles, and they’d already set up small firepits in trashcans to help keep the chill out of the rooms. The fires made Hannah nervous because some patients required oxygen and she didn’t want to mix the two too closely, so they had to be careful.

The thought that most of the patients on the ward were still here made Deb a little sad. Several were old, like her, and had nowhere else to go. No family to look after them. Although, of course, Deb had Laurel, so she couldn’t be counted in that boat herself. And Laurel was here, even if she didn’t see her very much.

Others, like Beth next door, had traveled from out of state for treatment at South Minneha. They were too weak to leave and were hoping their loved ones would make it to them. Beth, especially, was praying her husband and children would make the journey. Although, at the same time, she said she was praying they wouldn’t; she hated to think of them in danger.

There was just one patient who had family staying with her. An elderly lady called Maggie, whose husband Frank had managed a whole five miles in his ancient farm truck—which miraculously still worked—before thieves had dragged him from it and driven off, leaving him at the side of the road.

He’d walked for two days to reach the hospital and when he’d arrived, he was almost dead from dehydration. Laurel had fixed him up, like she’d fixed so many others, then brought him up to be with Maggie.

The sight had warmed Deb’s heart; her daughter and the way she helped people. She really was miraculous.

Thinking of Laurel, Deb decided—in a flicker of a second—to do something nice for her daughter. She’d been working non-stop since the power went out. She was frazzled, drained, and on the brief occasions she managed to sneak away to see Deb, she usually ended up drifting off to sleep in Deb’s chair.

Today, Deb felt strong. Stronger than she had in a long time. Strong enough to pick a few sprigs of foliage from the lawn and deliver them to Laurel in the ER like a bunch of flowers.

Nodding in the direction of the lawn, Deb pulled her shawl around her shoulders and slipped her feet into her shiny red sneakers. Today was a red sneaker kind of day. She even felt well enough to unhook herself from her drip.

It still took her a little while to reach the bottom of the stairs but when she did, she nodded to herself; if she could do that, she could make it outside.

* * *

Deb exited the bottom stairwell into a dark corridor. She’d been down here before, to visit Laurel when they’d first arrived, but she couldn’t remember which direction the ER was in. Right or left?

She decided left. She could see a door at the end. Light was coming through it, so it must lead to somewhere bright, and the ER would have to be bright in order to treat patients.

As Deb moved slowly toward the door, she strained her ears. She could hear movement inside, but it didn’t sound the way she’d expect an ER to sound. Perhaps that was because of the power being out. Nothing sounded the same anymore.

At the door, Deb took a deep breath. She felt shaky. She’d intended to simply take a peek at Laurel working—because she loved seeing her work—then go through the main foyer out into the garden out front. But feeling like this, perhaps she’d need to sit down for a moment.

She allowed herself another few deep breaths before shaking herself out of it and carrying on. Pushing the door, she braced herself for a busy room, lots of people, Laurel rushing about. Before she could open it, however, through the glass she noticed a flash of orange.

Deb frowned, stopped pushing, and stood on her tiptoes to look through the window. “This isn’t the ER,” she muttered. In front of her, a group of men with shaved heads and tattoos were playing cards around a small table. They were all wearing orange. Deb frowned, then clasped her hand to her mouth. They were inmates. Prisoners. She stumbled back and pressed herself flat against the wall. Thank God she hadn’t just marched in.

With trembling legs, she hurried back the way she’d come. Every couple of steps, she glanced over her shoulder, praying no one had heard her or decided to leave their game and take a look around.

When she reached the stairwell, she closed the door quietly and breathed hard. In and out. In and out. She must have gone down the wrong stairs. She looked up. Adrenaline pumping through her veins was keeping her going for now, but she knew she’d be exhausted by the time she reached the top.

Fighting back tears, because she’d wanted more than anything to surprise Laurel and would now not only have no flowers but would have to give her very grave news indeed about dangerous men being loose in the hospital, Deb heaved herself up the steps.

When she got to the top, she was tempted to stop but knew if she sat down, she’d never be able to get herself up again, so she pushed on.

In the center of the ward, she looked up and down for Hannah; she’d tell Hannah what she’d seen and ask her to run down and tell Laurel or Robert. Except she couldn’t see Hannah or Dr. Knowles, the oncologist who’d been flitting in and out while also trying to manage the pediatric Oncology ward above them.

Deb looked toward her room. She couldn’t just go and sit down and keep this to herself; she needed to tell someone. Next to her own, Beth’s door was open. Deb walked slowly toward it.

As she stepped into the room, she began talking before she’d even checked that Beth was awake. “Beth, dear, I’ve seen something. I don’t know what to do. I can’t find Hannah or Dr. Knowles and I’m not strong enough to make it down to Laurel. There are—” She stopped talking. Beth was in her chair. She wasn’t moving.

“Beth? Are you all right, dear?” Deb walked closer, leaning on the end of the bed for support. “Beth?”

Deb gently shook her friend’s shoulder. Her head lolled to the side. Her eyes were open.

“Oh no. Oh, please, no.” Deb sank down onto the bed and put her head in her hands.

Beth wasn’t breathing.

* * *

“It’s all right, Deb. It’s going to be all right.” Robert put his arm around her shoulders and ushered her out of the room. On their way out, he leaned toward Hannah and said sharply, “She should never have seen this. Where the hell were you?”

A single tear rolled down Hannah’s cheek.

“Cover her up and take her to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” Hannah wiped the tear away. Deb met her eyes. She wanted to comfort her but she was too numb to speak.

Back in her room, Robert helped her into bed and bundled two thick blankets on top of her. “It’s too cold for you in here now,” he muttered. “I think I’ll have you moved. My office gets more sun and has more space for a better fire.”

“I like it here,” Deb said quietly. “I have friends here.”

“Don’t be silly, Deb, these people aren’t your friends.” As Deb blinked at him, Robert shook his head and glanced toward Beth’s room. Sitting down beside her, he clasped her hands in his. “You have to distance yourself from the emotion of it,” he said. “Look after yourself first. That’s the name of the game here.” He smiled at her and passed over a bottle of water with a straw.

Deb removed the straw and drank from the bottle. She didn’t have the energy to disagree. “Do you know what happened to her?” she said quietly.

“Cardiac arrest, I expect,” Robert said softly. “Without machines to set off alarms, and with the staff absent—”

“You can’t blame them, Robert, they’ve been pushed to their limits. It’s not their fault.”

“Still. I don’t want the same thing happening to you.” Robert squeezed her hand.

Deb flinched. Beth’s cancer was in its final stages. That was what her scans had revealed. She wasn’t at that point yet, was she?

Seeing the look on her face, Robert shook his head. “No, no, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just meant that…” He sighed and scraped his fingers through his white hair. When he looked up, his eyes were a little watery. “I care for you, Deb.”

Softening, Deb patted his arm. He was a good man. “I care for you too, Robert.” She smiled gratefully but then something in Robert’s expression changed. He didn’t look away from her and a gentle smile crossed his lips. Reaching out, he stroked the side of Deb’s face.

The unexpected contact made her blink. His fingertips were rougher than she’d expected. “Robert?” She sat back a little but he moved with her.

“Deb. I’m sure you know this, but I need to say it out loud.”

Her stomach tightened. No, Robert, don’t say it.

“It’s been forty-five years since we dated, but I’ve never loved another woman the way I love you.”

For a moment, Deb was unable to move. Robert’s fingers were on her neck, just below her ear. He leaned in, half closing his eyes, but as he moved to kiss her, she turned her face and his lips brushed against her cheek instead.

Had she been feeling less exhausted, she’d have probably leaped out of bed, but being stuck, she simply laughed and laced her fingers together in her lap as she said, “Oh, Robert, you silly old thing. You’re letting your emotions get the better of you. It’s been a hard week, for all of us.” She laughed again and tilted her head, trying desperately to warm the frosty air that was settling between them. “You always have been an old romantic, but we’d drive each other crazy, you know that.”

At first, Robert didn’t move. It was like he was stuck in a freeze-frame. Then he started to blush.

“I see,” he said, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I care for you too, Robert, really, but you know that things between us have always been more on the platonic side, don’t you?”

Robert nodded, but his eyes had narrowed. He was either furious or horribly embarrassed and Deb couldn’t tell which.

“Yes. Of course. I’ll come check on you later.” He turned away from her, then looked back as if he was about to say something else. He opened his mouth, breathed in through his nose, then gave a little shake of his head and strode out without saying goodbye.

20

LAUREL

Laurel was on her way to check on Henry, who was splitting his time between the ER and the other departments and single-handedly cleaning the entire hospital, when she heard someone call her name.

Spinning around, beneath the large glass dome of the foyer, she saw her mother’s nurse, Hannah, hurrying toward her through the crowd.

“Hannah?”

“I saw you duck in here,” she said quietly. She was terribly pale.

“Is Mom okay?” Laurel’s legs twitched, ready to run, but Hannah nodded.

“She’s fine. She had a rough morning, though.” Hannah took a bottle of water that was being offered to her by a lady with a cart and unscrewed the cap. Taking a long drink, as if she hadn’t stopped all day, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and said, “Her friend Beth passed away. Your mom found her in her room.”

Laurel closed her eyes. She hated the part of her, deep down inside, that breathed a sigh of relief that it was someone else who’d died and not her own mother. When she opened them, Hannah was watching her.

“That’s not all,” she said, pulling Laurel to one side so they were out of the main throng of people. “She went for a walk. She was feeling good when she woke up and wanted to stretch her legs.”

“That’s good,” Laurel said hesitantly.

“But she told me something a little worrying.” Hannah screwed the lid back on the bottle and started to fiddle with the label. “She told me she saw some inmates in the canteen downstairs. She was looking for the ER and took a wrong turn, I think, but she says she definitely saw a group of men in orange jumpsuits. Playing cards.” Hannah shrugged, as if perhaps Laurel’s mother had been imagining things.

Laurel pressed her lips together. Hannah was young. She was the only constant member of staff left on the Oncology ward; Laurel couldn’t risk scaring her off, but at the same time, she didn’t want to lie or make her mother seem delusional.

“Okay, Hannah, what I’m about to tell you mustn’t go any further. All right?”

Hannah’s eyes widened as she nodded.

“The inmates from the Prison Ward escaped. I’ve been trying to locate them. I think Dr. Sullivan had something to do with it but—”

“Dr. Sullivan?” Hannah’s voice darkened.

“You don’t like him?”

“Something about him gives me the creeps,” Hannah said, wrapping her arms around herself.

Laurel tilted her head from side to side; she had to agree with that and she was a little relieved to have, at last, found someone who thought the same way she did about the man.

“I’ll handle this,” Laurel said firmly, squeezing Hannah’s arm and trying not to think about how much she reminded her of Mae before she cut her hair short.

“How?” Hannah followed Laurel as she made her way back through the foyer.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

“You’re not going to confront them, are you?”

“Someone has to,” Laurel said. “We can’t just let them run loose.”

Lowering her voice, Hannah cleared her throat and looked in the direction of a group of people near the door. “If you need a gun, I think one of the men over there has one. I didn’t say anything before because he seems harmless. He’s a dad. Chris Jenkins. His kid Ben is on the Pediatric Oncology ward, but I’m sure I saw one in the back of his jeans when he bent to pick up Ben’s teddy bear the other day.”

Laurel followed Hannah’s gaze. “That one there?” She pointed to a tall red-haired man with a beard and a thick sweater.

“That’s the one.”

“Thank you.” Laurel patted Hannah’s shoulder. “I’ll be up to check on Mom later. Really, Hannah, thanks.”

As she crossed the room toward the man who might or might not have a gun, Laurel tried to loop through her options; how she played this would determine the outcome. What she wanted was for the man to trust her enough to let her borrow it. What she thought would happen was that he’d deny having one altogether.

“Mr. Jenkins?” Laurel tapped the red-haired man on the shoulder and smiled. “May I have a word? I’m Dr. Laurel Rivera.”

Having previously been engaged in a lively chat with his group, Chris Jenkins’ face dropped. “Is it Ben?”

“No, no it’s nothing to do with your son, Mr. Jenkins. Ben is just fine.”

“Then what is it?” The man’s face hardened. He folded his arms in front of his chest.

“Honestly? I could use your help. Do you have a moment?”

* * *

Of the two scenarios she’d predicted, Mr. Jenkins insisting on accompanying her to confront the inmates wasn’t one of them.

“Mr. Jenkins, your son needs you. If anything should—”

“And the hospital needs you, doesn’t it?” he growled.

Laurel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. “Well, yes, but….” Sensing he wasn’t going to give in, she nodded. “Very well, but you’re there as backup. You are not to use your weapon under any circumstances, understood?”

Mr. Jenkins nodded. “Understood, Captain, and you should call me Chris.”

“You were in the Forces, Chris?” Laurel asked as they made their way down the corridor.

“Marine Corps. Until Ben got sick.”

“I understand.” Laurel nodded and gestured to the door in front of them. “This way.”

Pausing at the entrance, she motioned for Chris to stay behind her and quietly pushed open the door.

It took a good minute for anyone to realize they were there and in that minute, Laurel surveyed the room. There were about ten prisoners, four playing cards with their backs to the door, two sorting through a stack of presumably stolen hospital food supplies and another two yelling at one another. Just as the two yelling scraped their chairs back on the floor and puffed up their chests, one of the ones playing cards turned and spotted Laurel.

“Who the hell are you?” He stood up but his words were drowned out by the commotion breaking out behind him.

Laurel glanced at Chris and gestured for him to keep his gun hidden.

Another prisoner joined in with the two who were fighting. Someone picked up a glass ketchup bottle and threw it across the room. It was only when a shard of glass glinted in the light from the window that Laurel decided to intervene. “Stop!” she yelled, twitching her fingers at Chris. When no one listened, she yelled again, “Stop this now!”

Chris slowly took his gun out from his waistband.

The prisoner who’d spotted them, who was young and clearly too green to have got involved in the fight, said shakily, “Hey, guys, they have a friggin’ gun!”

At that, the fighting stopped.

“Drop the glass,” Laurel stepped forward and pointed to the one who’d picked up the shard. “Drop it. Now.”

Chris moved beside her. Still not pointing the gun at anyone, aware that it being there would make them think twice about trying anything.

As the shard of glass dropped to the floor, the guy who’d been holding it stormed forward. He was a few paces away when Laurel held her palm out indicating that he should stop. “That’s enough,” she said firmly. “Now, would someone please tell me what is going on here?”

“What business is it of yours?” The prisoner in front of her licked his lips as he spoke.

Quickly, Laurel scanned the room for the prisoner who’d attacked Miranda. He wasn’t here, which didn’t feel like good news. Taking a deep breath, Laurel allowed her posture to relax. “What’s your name?” she asked politely.

The prisoner tilted his head sideways. “My name?” He moved forward a little, swaggering.

Chris allowed his fingers to flex on his gun.

“People call me Bulldog.”

“Well, Bulldog,” Laurel said calmly, “I don’t want any trouble, but this is a hospital. It’s a safe place for sick people. We are dealing with an unprecedented situation right now and, frankly, I can’t have you running around the place terrorizing my nurses and patients.”

Bulldog blinked at her. Behind him, his friends were laughing.

“Now, I don’t know what you did or why you were up on the Prison Ward but if you want to stay here, you’re going to have to start playing by the rules. We’re working together here. Not against one another.”

“And if we don’t play by the rules, you’ll shoot us?” Bulldog narrowed his eyes at Chris, then tilted his head back and started to laugh. “Yeah, right! Listen, sweetheart, we don’t take orders from you. We’ve got a friend in high places. And our friend says we can stay.”

“What friend?” Laurel knew the answer before she’d even asked the question.

“Doc Sullivan!” One of the prisoners from the back of the room, younger and scrawnier than the rest, yelled out, thumping his chest.

“Yeah,” someone else joined in. “He let us out. He told us if we do stuff for him, he’ll do stuff for us.”

“What kind of stuff?” Laurel stepped back and looked from Bulldog to the others, but Bulldog waved his hand at them.

“Shut up,” he snapped. “She doesn’t need to know this, and he ain’t going to shoot nobody.”

Glancing at Laurel, Chris moved to raise his gun, but she shook her head at him.

“Fine,” she said. “Then I’ll go talk to Doc Sullivan and get him to make sure you mind your manners.”

Turning around, Laurel gestured for Chris to follow her. When they reached the door, Bulldog began to howl, like a wolf at a full moon. It made her skin prickle.

“What do we do now?” Chris stepped to the side of the door and looked at Laurel for an answer. “Talk to this Sullivan guy?”

Rubbing her palms across her face, remembering the days when she’d have worried about smudging her neatly applied makeup, Laurel sighed. “Robert Sullivan is on the Board of the hospital. He’s got the most seniority of any staff member left here and he’s a doctor. People trust him.”

“But you don’t?”

Trying not to audibly scoff, Laurel glanced back at the doors. “He released a bunch of prisoners, and I think he’s been supplying them with drugs to keep them on his side. So, no, I don’t trust him.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I have no idea.” Laurel gestured for them to start walking and wrapped her arms around herself as they moved away from the canteen.

After a few moments of silence, Chris spoke. “I suppose it makes sense.”

“It does?” Laurel stopped and looked at him.

Looking up at the ceiling and opening his arms to gesture at the walls, Chris nodded. “This place is a sanctuary. Big building. Supplies. Medicines. Out of town. It’s like a castle.”

“So, you think Robert wants to be king of the castle?”

“And if you’re going to be king, you need guards.

“And who better to guard your empire than a bunch of men with no scruples who’ll do anything you ask in exchange for food, shelter and—”

“Drugs.” Laurel’s mind flitted back to the pharmacy and its depleted supplies. Muttering, almost to herself, she said, “He’s been siphoning off drugs to bribe the prisoners so he can take charge of this place. The hours he’s put in in the ER. The sickly-sweet behavior with patients and nurses.”

“He’s building his kingdom,” Chris said darkly.

Laurel scraped her fingers through her hair. “He’s building his kingdom.”

21

BEAR

“How far until we get to the turnoff?” Trent was twitching in his seat as if he needed to use the restroom.

“Not far.” Bear gestured up ahead. “Couple of miles.”

“Then can we stop for food?” Trent looked at Bear hopefully.

“Stop? One of the joys of being in a truck instead of on foot is that we don’t have to stop for food. We can just keep on driving.”

“So, we’re gonna keep driving all night?”

“You can sleep.” Bear fiddled with his hearing aid, contemplating turning it down again, but before he could, the right side of the truck started to bump-bump-bump against the road. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bear tightened his grip on the steering wheel and groaned.

“What is it?” Trent was oblivious to the problem but Jess was watching Bear closely.

“We have a flat.” Bear pulled to a stop at the side of the road and climbed out.

“How’d you know?” Trent clambered after him and bent down to examine the tire.

“Must have happened when we hit that rock coming out of the ditch.” Bear braced his hands behind his neck and kicked the tire. “Dang it. It’ll take us until Christmas to get there at this rate.”

“Bad luck comes in threes.” Trent stood up and shrugged. “That’s what my mom always said. We had the tree, the ditch, and the tire. So, that’s it. The rest of the journey should be plain sailing.”

Bear wanted to remain angry. Sometimes, it felt good. Taking out his feelings on something like this, but the optimistic expression on Trent’s face got to him and he smiled. “Right. Plain sailing.” Moving to the back of the truck, he pulled back the tarpaulin and motioned for Trent to help him. “Come here. Help me unload the spare.”

Pulling the spare, and his tools, down onto the ground Bear opened his tool bag and handed Trent three pieces of wood. “Go wedge these under the three good tires. Stop the truck from moving.”

Trent nodded and immediately did as he was told.

“Hand me the screwdriver.” Bear crouched down and when Trent handed him the correct tool, he unscrewed the hubcap and laid it on the ground. “Now the lug wrench.” Bear held out his hand. After a pause, Trent pressed the wrench into it. Bear raised his eyebrows, impressed the boy had picked the right one.

“You ever do this with your dad?” Bear asked as he started work on the first lug nut. It was stiff. Refusing to budge.

“My grandpa, a couple of times. Not often.” Trent sat cross-legged beside Bear and peered at what he was doing. “My grandparents live in Florida.”

“Nice. The Sunshine State.” Bear grunted as he tried another of the nuts. Every single one was so stiff he could barely get any purchase on them. “Hand me the can of WD40.” Bear motioned to the tool bag.

That one was easy to find. A bright blue can with the brand name on the side.

“Here. Spray the nuts for me.” Bear sat back and watched as Trent sprayed each one. “Good. That should do it.” He tried again. This time, the nuts moved. Eventually, after managing to free them all, he was about to start jacking up the truck when Trent tapped him on the shoulder.

“Bear?”

“Ahh ha?” Bear stood up and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“You’re not going to like this.” Trent pressed his lips together.

“What?”

“The spare has a nail in it.” Trent said the words quickly, as if he was worried Bear might explode or start yelling.

“A nail?” He almost laughed. “What kind of nail?”

Trent gestured to the wheel. He was right. Sticking out of the top of the spare wheel was a huge nine-inch nail.

“How the hell did that get there?”

“Was the spare in the truck when you bought it?” Trent asked.

Bear nodded. “Yeah.”

“You never checked it?”

“I didn’t think—” He trailed off. How could he have been so stupid?

“What do we do now?” Trent looked from the spare tire to the flat one.

Bear was trying to think. Tiredness was catching up with him. He wanted to sit down, rest, drink a cup of coffee, but there was no time for that. He needed to get to Laurel.

“You look a bit pale. Maybe you should sit down. You didn’t eat this morning.” Trent hurried to the truck and fetched a bottle of water and a can of beans. “Here.” He passed them to Bear, then returned for a spoon. “Beans are protein, right?”

Bear nodded as he pried open the can. He hated cold beans. Nothing worse on the planet. But the boy was probably right. “Okay,” he said. “You win. We’ll eat and rest for a few minutes while we come up with a plan.”

Trent nodded, although he didn’t seem as pleased as Bear had expected; maybe it was starting to dawn on him that without the truck, they were screwed. Without it, they couldn’t continue on their journey, but they couldn’t go back either. They’d brought all of their supplies with them. They had nothing to return to.

“There must be a truck similar to yours around here somewhere.” Trent was looking up and down the road as Bear silently forced himself to eat his beans. “Surely we can find a tire that matches?”

Bear pressed his lips together. The texture of the beans inside his mouth made him feel a little nauseated, probably low blood sugar, which made it even more important to actually eat. “Good idea.” He nodded at Trent.

“Really?”

“Can’t think of a better one,” he said. “When we’ve finished these, we’ll start looking.”

As they finished eating and Bear tossed their empty cans into a black plastic bag in the truck, Trent picked up a stick and threw it for Jessamine. Immediately, she ran after it and brought it back, tail wagging, ears pricked.

“You’ve started something now,” Bear said, smiling. “She won’t let you stop.”

Trent grinned and threw the stick a second time. While Jess chased it, he looked at Bear. “What’s going to happen when you reach your wife?”

“What do you mean?” Bear frowned.

“You think she’ll be pleased to see you? What if she’s not even there?”

Bear straightened his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought about that. All he’d thought about was reaching Laurel. “She’ll be there.”

Without elaborating, Bear pointed north in the direction they’d been headed. “I’ll take this way.” Then south. “You take that way. You’re looking for any vehicle of a similar size to this one. If you see one, shout, and I’ll come look.”

Trent nodded and made an army salute kind of gesture. “Yes, sir.” He clapped his heels together.

“Go on.” Bear waved his hand. “Go.”

He was a good hundred feet away from Trent and had been searching for what felt like forever, trying to look only at the size and shape of the vehicles instead of their contents—half-open purses, a kid’s toy, a tablet—when he heard something. Raising his head, focusing on the sound, he heard it again. It was Trent. “Bear! Bear, come quick!”

At first, Bear smiled, but then his smile dropped. That didn’t sound good. It didn’t sound good at all. In the distance, Jessamine started to bark and Bear broke into a run.

“Trent? Jess?” He wove through the cars, faster and faster, pulling his gun from the back of his jeans. He spotted his truck, moved past it. Then he saw Trent. He was standing behind an open car door. Jess was to his side, in the open, barking. In front of them was a man.

Clean shaven, tall, skinny, in a crisp shirt that made him look like he’d just stepped out of the office on his lunch break. The man raised his palms at them. “I don’t mean you any harm,” he said.

“You okay, kid?” Bear put his hand firmly on Trent’s shoulder. Jess had stopped barking.

Trent nodded. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay.” Bear flexed his fingers on his gun and stepped forward. “Sorry,” he said. “The boy was a little spooked. Can I ask your name?”

The man clocked Bear’s gun. His eyes flickered but then he stretched his smile wider and said, “Jim. My name’s Jim. And yours?”

“Bear.”

Jim waited for Bear to add something else. When he didn’t, he moved slowly forward, extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Bear. Is this your son?”

Being sure to offer an extra firm grip, Bear shook Jim’s hand. “This is Trent.” He didn’t feel like offering this guy any details.

“Trent. Nice to meet you too. Where are you headed?”

Bear allowed the question to percolate for a couple of beats while he ran through his options. The guy seemed unarmed and polite. Having said that, things might change once he figured out that they had a truck full of supplies.

“Our truck got a flat tire.” As Trent spoke, Bear winced. “We’re headed south. To Minnesota. To find Bear’s wife. She’s a doctor.”

In his head, Bear cursed. Why not just give the guy the keys to our truck and be done with it? he thought to himself.

“You have a working truck?” Jim laughed as if Trent was making up a story.

“We do.” Again, Bear allowed his fingers to twitch beside his gun.

“Well, I’ll be. You must be the only folks for miles with working transport. Lucky you. But you have a flat? I can help you change it if—”

“Our spare’s got a flat too. We’re looking for a new one.”

“Oh.” Jim’s eyes widened. “I spotted a truck a few feet back.” He looked past Bear toward their own vehicle. “Is that yours? It looks similar. A newer model but I reckon it’d fit. Let me help you.”

Bear sucked in his cheeks. “Thank you, but….”

“Don’t worry,” Jim chuckled. “I get it. I’m freaked by strangers too, but I don’t mean you any harm. I’m heading south too. My daughter’s at a hospital down there. My wife traveled down last week.”

“You didn’t travel with them?” Bear narrowed his eyes.

“Had some things to wrap up at home. I’m transferring down there. Seems like she’ll be in the hospital for a while, so…” Jim trailed off. “Sorry. I talk too much when I’m nervous.”

Bear chewed the inside of his cheek. “Which hospital?”

“South Minneha. Middle of nowhere, but it’s state of the art.”

Bear released some of the air he’d been holding in his lungs. “Well,” he said, allowing his guard to drop just a little, “you won’t believe this, but that’s my wife’s hospital. That’s where we’re heading.”

“No way!” Trent looked from Jim to Bear and back again.

“That’s one heck of a coincidence.” Jim pushed his fingers through his hair. “Maybe the universe wanted us to meet and make this journey together.”

Not usually one for talk about the universe and fate, Bear nodded slowly, but then he looked at Trent. Maybe this guy Jim had a point. After all, what were the chances of meeting someone going to the exact place they were? Pretty darn slim, he’d say.

“You might be right, Jim.” Bear began to walk forward. Breathing in sharply, not quite believing he was about to, he gestured south. “So, how about you show me where this truck is and, when we’ve changed the tire, you can travel with us to South Minneha?”

“Well, that’s awfully kind.” Jim reached out and patted Bear’s shoulder. “Awfully kind indeed.”

22

LAUREL

“Thank you, Chris.” On the stairs between her mother’s ward and the pediatric floor, Laurel nodded at her new ally and shook his hand.

“Any time you need backup,” Chris said, clearly happy to help out but unwilling to offer her his only form of protection.

“I hope that’s not soon, but considering what just happened, I’m worried.” Laurel realized she was being more candid with this relative stranger than she had with anyone since Cai left.

“You’re right to be. They have no place in a hospital.” Chris looked up toward the floor where his son was. “We need to find a way to get them out of here.”

“How? Round up more guys with guns?” Laurel was being sarcastic, but Chris tilted his head from side to side as if to say, ‘not a bad idea’. “Go be with your son now. I’ll find you if there’s any news.”

As Chris took the stairs two at a time, Laurel took a deep breath and bit her lower lip. Somehow, it had fallen to her to find a solution to what was going on at South Minneha. As more and more staff disappeared, more responsibility fell on her shoulders. The only person with more seniority than her was Robert, and now Laurel knew for certain that he was the one who’d set the prisoners free.

“Mom?” She pushed open her mom’s door and tried to erase the worry from her face as she entered.

“Laurel.” Her mother smiled a broad smile and pushed herself up in bed.

“I hear you’ve had a bit of a day.”

As her mother started to repeat the tale Hannah had already told, Laurel settled down onto the bed and adjusted the pillows behind her mom’s head.

“I’m so sorry about Beth.”

“She knew it was coming. It’s just so sad that her husband and her children couldn’t be with her.”

Laurel’s cheeks flushed as her mother met her eyes. She knew how her mom felt about Bear; she still believed firmly that one day soon he and Laurel would get back together. As for Mae, her mother had never understood the rift that had developed between them. Truth be told, three years later, Laurel wasn’t sure she understood it either.

“Have they…?” Her mom swallowed hard and gripped the edge of her blanket. Her nail polish was peeling; Laurel had promised her a manicure weeks ago and hadn’t gotten around to it.

“Have they what, Mom?” She perched on the side of the bed and took hold of her mother’s hand.

“Have they moved her? I heard Hannah talking about the morgue being full and I just can’t stand the thought of poor Beth still lying there on her own.” Her eyes had filled with tears. She took a tissue from beside the bed and wiped them.

“I’ll go check. If they haven’t, I’ll see she’s taken somewhere comfortable.” Laurel stood up and kissed her mother’s forehead. “I’ll be back later,” she said, smiling and hoping she’d managed to arrange her features into an expression that would convince her mom she was doing okay. “I’ll do your hair and your nails. How does that sound?”

“Laurel, you don’t have time for that.” Her mom reached up and stroked Laurel’s face.

“I’ll make time.” Laurel nodded firmly. “I promise.”

Outside, in the hallway, she found Hannah leaning against a wall drinking from a half-empty bottle of water. When she saw Laurel, she screwed the cap back on and sighed. The poor girl looked exhausted.

“I don’t think I can do this much longer,” she said as Laurel approached, her lower lip already trembling as she spoke. “I’ve only got three patients left. Three. Before the power went out there were ten.”

Laurel adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and tried to ignore the jolt of nausea that had formed in her throat.

“I’m the only Oncology nurse left.” Suddenly, as if all her energy had suddenly disappeared, Hannah sank to the ground and put her head in her hands. “I can’t do this. I can’t just keep watching them die.”

“When was the last time you got some rest? Has anyone been up here to relieve you?” Laurel crouched down and spoke softly.

Hannah shook her head but didn’t look up. “No one. It’s just been me since so many people left.”

“All right. So, here’s what we’ll do.” Laurel tweaked her index finger beneath Hannah’s chin, forcing her to look up. “I’m going to fetch the janitor and one of my best nurses, Mark, to help move Beth’s body down to the morgue. Then I’ll send Mark back here to take over while you get some rest.”

Hannah’s eyes started to water. She didn’t wipe them. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Hannah, what you need to remember is that you are doing vital work here. These people depend on you. They need you as much for comfort and reassurance as they do for their medicine.”

Nodding, Hannah allowed Laurel to help her to her feet. As Laurel watched her, she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“What is it? Is there something else you need?” Laurel asked, keeping eye contact.

“It’s just….” Hannah cleared her throat. “It’s a little difficult now that Dr. Sullivan’s taken control of dispensing meds. I mean, he comes around regularly but without access to pain meds I can’t respond if a patient needs them straight away.”

Laurel put her hand on her chest. She felt like she’d been thumped with a sledgehammer. “Dr. Sullivan took away your med supply?”

“He said the hospital was pooling its resources and that he’d be around with our allocated rations twice a day.” Hannah was examining Laurel’s face. Hesitantly, she added, “He’s also taken over your mom’s trial meds.”

“Her trial meds?” Laurel stepped back and allowed herself to lean against the wall. Pressing her palms against it and trying to focus on the coolness against her skin, she breathed deeply. “I’ll talk to him.” She looked at Hannah, nodding to convey that she’d sort it out. “After we’ve moved Beth down to the morgue, I’ll talk to Dr. Sullivan.”

“Thank you.” Hannah smiled. It was a weak smile that wavered at the corner, but sincere.

“I’ll see you soon.” Laurel nodded at her.

* * *

She found both Henry and Mark in the ER. Henry was mopping the floor with a weak cleaning solution—another thing they needed to replenish—and Mark was tending to a recently arrived patient who seemed to have horrendous blisters on her feet.

“She walked here from Little Oak. Took her three days.” Mark rubbed his palm over his face as he stepped away from the patient. “She’s dehydrated. Her feet are a mess. Apparently, news hasn’t reached Little Oak yet that South Minneha is not the hot new place to be.”

Laurel looked at the woman. She was young. Probably about Mae’s age, with long red hair that perhaps a few weeks ago had been shiny and straight, but was now dull with grease and knotted.

“Treat her wounds and send her to the foyer. They’ll get her cleaned up and give her a bed.” Laurel pinched the bridge of her nose. The only upside of so many people leaving was that at least they had beds to spare, even if their food supplies were running low. “When you’ve finished, I need a favor.” Laurel lowered her voice. As she explained that she needed help getting a body down from the Oncology ward to the morgue, the words felt thick and bitter in her mouth. She’d seen plenty of dead bodies in her time as a doctor. She’d never had to move one before.

As he listened, Mark’s face paled. It was one thing putting a deceased patient on a gurney and letting Henry wheel them away. It was another thing entirely to carry that patient down two flights of stairs.

“I can’t think of another way,” Laurel said. “Without the elevators—”

“It’s okay.” Mark pushed up his sleeves. “I get it. I’ll finish up here and meet you up there.”

As Laurel fetched Henry and headed back to her mother’s ward, she began to weigh up her options. Clearly, Robert was using the hospital’s drug supply to bribe the prisoners. So if she could persuade the prisoners to leave, he’d have no one to bribe and would have to relinquish control.

In the stairwell, just before they opened the door onto the ward, Laurel turned to Henry and said, “Henry, I’m sorry to ask but I need a favor.”

Henry stopped and looked at her. “Of course, Dr. Rivera, anything you need.”

“You spent some time in jail, didn’t you? Before you came here?”

“I did, yes. Many years ago.” Henry’s voice had tightened.

“I need someone to try and persuade the prisoners to leave. Someone who can speak to them on their level.”

Glancing down at a large tattoo on his left arm, Henry nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I will speak to them. But I can’t promise—”

“Just speak to them, that’s all I ask,” she said hurriedly. “Ask them what it would take to get them to leave.” Watching Henry’s face, Laurel paused. She wasn’t sure how much to tell him, but she had to trust someone and Henry had been loyal to her since the beginning of this thing. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Henry, we need those men out of here. Dr. Sullivan’s the one who set them free, and I think he’s been bribing them with medication from the hospital’s supply. The nurse on my mom’s ward says Sullivan’s taken over dispensing meds to the patients.”

Henry blinked at her. “Dr. Sullivan?”

Laurel nodded gravely. “Yes. Dr. Sullivan.”

Henry was about to say something else when Mark’s heavy footsteps sounded behind them. Laurel met his eyes, hoping desperately that he understood this information should stay between them. Henry offered her the smallest nod, and Laurel released her breath. He got it.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Mark quickly caught up with them. “I left a gurney at the bottom of the stairs,” he said.

“Good.” Laurel pushed open the door and stepped into the dim corridor of the Oncology ward. Glancing at Henry, she added, “Where are we….” She cleared her throat. “Now that the freezers are full, where are we…?”

“The floor.” Henry said bluntly. “But I believe it’s time we talked about what to do with the deceased. We cannot keep them there forever.”

Laurel nodded. Her blood had turned to ice. “I’ll arrange a staff meeting later. We’ll discuss what to do.”

They’d reached Beth’s room. Laurel prayed her mother would stay in her own until they’d finished.

“Ready?” Laurel looked at the men beside her, then steeled herself and pushed open Beth’s door.

She’d seen dead bodies before. Too many to count. For some reason, this one was different. Laurel steadied herself on the doorframe as her legs began to tremble.

The woman in the chair could have been sleeping except for the position of her head. She was about Laurel’s age, her skin smooth but ghostly pale. She still had a blanket on her lap and her hands were clasped in front of her. Her nails were red. Laurel’s mom’s favorite shade.

Laurel screwed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. The image of her mother and Beth sitting together, smiling as her mom painted Beth’s fragile nails, was too much. When she opened her eyes again, instead of seeing Beth, she saw her mother.

Henry’s hand on her shoulder forced her to turn and look at him. “All right, Dr. Rivera?” he asked, meeting her eyes as if he could read her thoughts.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I’m all right.”

She stepped into the room and walked over to the chair. Beth could have been sleeping, but she wasn’t.

23

LAUREL

“I’m sorry, Dr. Rivera. I spoke to the prisoners but they’re not going to move. They have everything they want here. I don’t think we could tempt them away, and we certainly don’t have the manpower to force them away.” Henry looked deflated, as if he’d failed her somehow.

Laurel sat down on the edge of the empty bed in Bay Two and rubbed the back of her neck to ease the tension in her shoulders. “That’s okay, Henry. Thank you for trying.” Looking beyond the curtain to make sure Robert wasn’t anywhere nearby, Laurel added, “Did they tell you anything about Dr. Sullivan?”

“They’re very close-lipped about him, which tells you something in itself.” Henry leaned against the wall and laced his hands together in front of him. “When I told them I knew it was Sullivan who released them, they agreed, and they didn’t disagree that he was bribing them with drugs.”

“But they wouldn’t tell you why?”

“They’re loyal to him,” Henry said, swallowing hard.

Breathing in slowly, Laurel grimaced. “All right. It’s time we took this to the other staff members. Pass the word about a meeting. Tonight. After Robert’s done his final round.”

Henry nodded. “You need a hand here in the meantime?” He looked at the mop and bucket Laurel had been using to wash down the floors.

“Thank you,” she said. “The last thing we need is a superbug taking hold.”

“I know we’re running low on cleaning supplies, but we’re running low on water too.” Henry took the mop and began to run it over the floor beneath the bed.

“We need Sullivan to stop the games he’s playing,” Laurel said tightly. “We don’t have time for it. We should all be pulling together to keep this place running, not thinking about who’s in charge.”

“Fact is, though,” Henry said, straightening up, “someone has to be in charge. Situations like this, everyone starts off thinking they can work together for the greater good, but humans don’t work that way. Someone has to be the boss.” He met Laurel’s eyes and held them. “And I’d rather that person was you, Dr. Rivera, than Dr. Sullivan.”

After a pause, Laurel smiled a little. “I think it’s time you started calling me Laurel rather than doctor,” she said. “And thank you. For your loyalty.”

At that, Henry shrugged. “I’ve been around the block,” he said. “I know a good person when I meet one.”

“Do you mind me asking why you were in prison all those years ago?” Laurel asked, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and dropping down to her knees so she could scrub behind the bed.

“Robbed a convenience store. With a gun.”

Laurel didn’t look up from where she was scrubbing. “When you were a kid?”

“Seventeen.” Henry had stopped mopping. “My brother died in Beirut. I couldn’t handle it.”

“I see.” Laurel sucked in her breath. Just the mention of serving overseas in that part of the world made her think of Bear, and of Mae, and she’d been trying so hard not to think of them.

“You were in the military too,” Henry said. A statement not a question.

“Army. My husband too.” She shook her head, pushing herself back up to stand. “And now my daughter.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.” Henry sprayed disinfectant onto a cloth and began to run it over the bed rails.

“We haven’t spoken in a long time.” Laurel took off her gloves and put them into the trash can, then shoved her hands into her pockets. She’d expected Janet to be the one she talked to about her family but, somehow, Henry made it feel easy. Natural. “My husband was injured badly in Iraq. He lost his hearing almost completely and had a very tough time coping when he was discharged. It drove a wedge between us. Then Mae, out of nowhere, decided to join up. Her father and I hated the idea. She did it anyway.”

“That’s rough.” Henry was leaning on his mop. “I don’t have kids. If I did, I sure as heck wouldn’t want them fighting in any wars.”

Feeling her eyes starting to prickle, Laurel looked away.

“You know where she is?” Henry looked up at the ceiling, at the lights that hadn’t worked in more than ten days. “In all this.”

Laurel shook her head. “No. My husband’s in Canada. He bought a cabin and went off-grid.” She chuckled a little; thinking of Bear living in the wilderness alone was something she still couldn’t quite get her head around. “He probably hasn’t even realized the power’s out.”

“That must be nice.” Henry chuckled too. “Blissful ignorance. I could use some of that about now.”

“Me too,” Laurel smiled at him. “Me too.”

* * *

As the hospital descended into the now familiar eerie darkness of nightfall, Laurel watched Robert carefully. Every night, he went to check on her mother when the sun went down. Tonight, she wanted with every fiber of her being to follow him and challenge him about what he’d been doing, but that wouldn’t work. The only way to deal with him, and the prisoners, was to get the rest of the staff on her side and come up with a plan.

“We can’t stay long,” Janet said as she entered the break room. “There’s no one manning the doors.”

“It’s okay,” Laurel said, “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

As Henry, Mark and Maggie entered, Laurel looked around the room. Dr. Anderson, who’d been overseeing most of the other wards while Laurel dealt with the ER, slipped in and stood with her arms folded.

“Is this everyone?” Laurel looked at them. “Hannah’s not joining us?” she asked Mark, her heart twitching in her chest because Hannah was the only other person—apart from Henry—who felt the way she did about Robert.

Mark shook his head. “A patient took a turn for the worse.” Hurriedly, he added, “Your mother’s fine. It’s Mrs. Lucas.”

Laurel closed her eyes. She couldn’t allow herself to think about her mother. This meeting needed to happen quickly, and it needed to end with everyone being on her side.

“Okay, everyone. We have a lot to talk about. Our supplies are dwindling. Food, water, cleaning supplies, and staff. We need a plan of action.”

A rumble of agreement passed through the room.

“But, first, I need to talk to you all about something else.” She inhaled sharply and held the air in her lungs. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that the inmates from the Prison Ward were freed and that they’ve been roaming around the hospital.”

Maggie and Janet exchanged worried glances. “Miranda left,” Maggie said. “After Doctor Sullivan had to save her from that prisoner. She said she couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Right.” Laurel nodded at Maggie. “And, in fact, it’s Doctor Sullivan I want to talk to you about. This might come as a bit of a shock, but there’s no easy way to say it so I’ll just come out with it… I believe Doctor Sullivan released the prisoners on purpose and that he’s been bribing them with our drug supply to keep them under his control.”

Laurel listened to the words roll off her tongue and watched the faces of her colleagues. By the door, Henry nodded at her, but the others didn’t move. Mark’s eyes had narrowed. Janet was twiddling her thumbs nervously, and Maggie looked like she just didn’t really understand what Laurel had said.

Dr. Anderson was the first to speak. “I’m sorry,” she said, laughing a little, “You think Robert did what? Why would he do that?” She looked to the others, who nodded and hmm’d in agreement.

“I know it sounds like a stretch.” Laurel adjusted her glasses. Her Texan accent was leaking through into her words, the way it always did when she was under stress. “If Hannah was here, she’d tell you that Robert took charge of the medication for all the wards. He confiscated it and has been dispensing it himself.”

“Because we’re running low,” Dr. Anderson cut in. “I talked with him about it. I agreed it was sensible that one person was in charge.”

“Ah ha, but the reason we’re running low is that Robert has been siphoning off meds to give to the prisoners.”

“Why would he do that?” Maggie asked, looking at Mark and back at Laurel.

“It does seem a little unlikely,” Mark agreed.

Biting her lower lip, Laurel glanced at Henry.

“I spoke to the prisoners myself,” he said, cutting in and causing Laurel to sigh with relief. “It’s true that Doctor Sullivan released them.”

Mark blinked a couple of times before saying, “Okay, and did they confirm what Laurel said? That Doctor Sullivan’s been giving them drugs?” As Mark asked the question, the words seemed stilted and clunky, as if he didn’t believe a word of it.

Henry paused.

Just lie, Laurel thought. Just tell him they admitted it.

“Not in so many words, no, but—”

Before Henry could finish, Dr. Anderson raised her arms in the air and waved them at Laurel. “This is ridiculous. I have patients to look after. I don’t have time for conspiracy theories. I thought we were here to talk about how to keep this hospital running, not playing silly games and making wild accusations.”

“Dr. Anderson.” Laurel bristled, a jolt of adrenaline shooting through her spine. “I don’t like your tone. Do you honestly think I’d have called everyone together if I didn’t believe this to be true?” Looking around at the others, Laurel added, “If we want this to be a safe place for people, we need those prisoners out of here, and we need access to medications. I’ve been checking the supplies myself. The numbers don’t add up. We went from ten bottles of Tylenol to two in just a few days.”

“Because we’ve been using a lot of Tylenol and had no deliveries coming in!” Dr. Anderson pushed her long blonde hair from her face and shook her head, storming toward the door. “I’m having no part in this. I’ve known Dr. Sullivan for years. I’ve known you five minutes, and from what I hear you haven’t exactly been truthful with your staff in the past.”

Laurel looked around the room. Her mother? They were using the fact that she hadn’t told them about her mother to accuse her of being dishonest?

“Come find me when you’ve got something constructive to say.”

“Dr. Anderson. Cassandra. Please.” Laurel moved to take hold of her colleague’s arm, but Janet stepped in between them.

“Laurel,” she said quietly, guiding Laurel to the other side of the room while the others filed out, shaking their heads and muttering. “I really think you need to get some rest.”

“You don’t believe me?” Suddenly, the bun at the base of her neck felt tight and uncomfortable. Laurel pulled it free. “You think I’m making this up? Why would I?”

“Look. Something’s going on with you and Robert. I get it. You two don’t get along, but from what I’ve seen he’s been doing good things. He’s pitched in. He’s worked hard. If he let the prisoners out, maybe it’s because he thinks they’re people too and they don’t deserve to be locked up in cages when the world’s crumbling to pieces.” Janet raised her eyebrows, as if the reason Laurel didn’t want the prisoners on site was because she disliked them rather than because they’d been terrorizing people.

Laurel took a step back. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“You haven’t slept properly in days. Please. Go rest. When you’re thinking clearly, we’ll talk to Dr. Sullivan. I’ll go with you. We’ll get it sorted out. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

As Janet walked away, Laurel sank down into a large blue chair near the break table. Henry walked over and sat down next to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have—”

Laurel shook her head. “No. You did nothing wrong. I’ll just have to find another way to convince everyone.”

“How?” Henry ducked his head and met her eyes.

“I have no idea.”

24

BEAR

“You look beat. Why don’t I take a turn at the wheel?” Jim asked, looking from Bear to the pitch-dark road ahead. “We’ll be at the border by morning. If you have enough fuel.”

“I’m okay.” Bear straightened up in his seat and tightened his fingers on the wheel. His eyelids were heavy, and his ear hurt, unaccustomed to having the hearing aid in for so long. “And, yeah, I brought enough fuel.”

“I get it. Your truck, you drive.” Jim chuckled, adjusting his shirt collar. “Then let’s stop. Yeah? Get some shut-eye.” He glanced at Trent, who’d been asleep in the groove behind the front seat for at least an hour. “Won’t do any of us any good to run off the road because you’re asleep at the wheel.”

Bear didn’t want to stop. The border was so close. Once they were over it, he’d be only a few hours away from Laurel. Only a few hours away from seeing her face, pulling her into his arms and telling her everything would be okay and that he was sorry—so sorry—for what he did.

However, Jim was right. Bear had been driving for more than ten hours with barely a break—except to top up with fuel from the jerry cans he’d brought with him—and could feel himself dangerously close to falling asleep. He could let the guy drive, of course. He seemed okay. Talkative. Like Trent. The two of them had nattered on about EMPs, what caused them, what the government was doing right now, whether the power would ever come back, and what they’d miss the most if it didn’t for so long that it had given Bear a headache. Even Jessamine had gotten sick of it and retreated to the back to sleep.

When Trent joined her, leaving Jim and Bear up front, Jim had attempted a similar level of conversation with Bear but had soon realized that Bear wasn’t the kind of guy who did conversation.

After asking about Bear’s hearing aid, and Bear telling him briefly that it was an injury he’d gotten overseas before leaving the Army, Jim had finally shut up and settled on navigating with the road map.

“As we get closer, my guess is we’ll come across more and more abandoned vehicles,” Jim said. “Easier to navigate those in the daylight.”

Bear sighed. He’d never been good at knowing when to quit, but maybe it was time he started to learn. “All right,” he said. “We’ll pull over and light a fire. Might as well eat if we’re stopping.”

As if he’d heard the word ‘eat’, Trent woke with a start. “We’re stopping?” he asked as Bear slowed the truck and pulled over.

“Our chauffeur needs some shut-eye and a meal,” Jim said, opening the passenger door. “Help me light a fire, kid?”

Eager to help, Trent clambered out of the truck. Jess followed him and quickly disappeared into the dark beyond the truck. Probably off to pee on a tree and sniff out rabbits.

His limbs almost vibrating with tiredness, Bear leaned against the truck and watched as Trent and Jim lit a fire. After a while, it took hold and grew to a decent size. Trent picked two cans out of a box in the back of the truck. “Beans or tuna?” he asked.

“Tuna.” Bear took the can and peeled it open. “My guts can’t take any more beans. Tuna for Jess too.”

“I’ll have the beans.” Jim smiled. “I’m just grateful to you for sharing, although I’m surprised you’re giving your tuna to a dog. She doesn’t like kibble?”

Bear stopped eating and looked up at Jim. “Sure, she likes kibble, but she likes tuna more.”

Jim smiled again and laughed. “Well, she’s one lucky pooch.”

Cutting in, seemingly unaware of the slight edge in Bear’s mood all of a sudden, Trent gestured to Jim’s backpack. “You pack light. Didn’t bring anything much from home for your journey?”

When they’d come across Jim, he’d had nothing but a small backpack with him, which hadn’t bothered Bear at the time but—now that he was thinking about it—seemed a little odd.

“Didn’t have much with me,” Jim said. “I was in the car, heading south to join my wife and my daughter. My wife already took most of her luggage when she went down to South Minneha a few weeks ago. When the car gave out, I just took what I had. Clothes, wallet, and a packet of potato chips.”

“Good thing you found us then,” Trent said, biting the end off a protein bar that he was eating for dessert after wolfing down his own can of tuna.

“Certainly is.” Jim smiled. “Shall I make coffee?”

Bear shook his head. “Not for me. I need sleep. Caffeine keeps me awake for hours.”

“I’ll have some.” Trent nodded at Jim. “I’ll keep watch while you both sleep.”

At that, Bear raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure that’s—”

“Bear. I’m not a little kid. I had some sleep in the truck. It makes sense for me to take a turn since I’m not driving.”

Bear tilted his head from side to side, his lips pressed together. “Okay. Trent’s on first watch.” He stood up and went to the truck. From the back, he took a handgun. Loaded. He handed it to the boy and watched his eyes widen as he weighed it up and down in his hands.

“You see someone, you wake me. Don’t shoot unless you know they mean you harm. Understood?”

Trent nodded. Bear glanced at Jim, who raised his eyebrows. “Big responsibility, a gun,” he said.

“It is,” Bear agreed. “But you can handle it, can’t you, Trent?”

“Sure.” Trent listened intently as Bear showed him how to release the safety and shoot.

“Good. Then I’m off to sleep.” Bear tossed Trent a blanket so he could keep watch by the fire, then climbed back into the truck. Leaning out of the window, he added, “Kid? I said watch it. Don’t stare at it.”

From his place by the fire, Trent looked up and frowned. “Why?” He’d tilted his head, the way he did when he was waiting for Bear to tell him something interesting. The way Jessamine did when she was waiting for a treat.

Bear drummed his fingers on the window and resisted the urge to reply, ‘because I say so’. “Because,” he said, “it makes it harder to make out objects in the dark if your eyes are used to looking at the light. Got it?”

“Got it.” Trent nodded and deliberately looked into the distance instead of at the flames.

“I’ll sleep out here too.” Jim stood up and gestured to Trent. “Keep the boy company.”

“Fine,” Bear replied.

As if she’d sensed Bear was settling down for the night, Jess bounded back out of the dark and jumped into the truck with him. “Actually, girl,” Bear muttered. “I want you to keep an eye on the boy, okay?” Jess blinked at him, then immediately jumped back down and settled into the crook of Trent’s crossed legs.

Trent offered him an army-style salute. “It’s under control. See you in the morning, Bear.”

“See you in the morning, kid.” Bear rested his head on the truck window and closed his eyes. He reached for his hearing aid. Then he stopped himself. Tonight, he’d keep it in.

* * *

Jessamine’s bark woke him from a deep sleep, but it was muffled. Like he was underwater. Bear sat up, rubbing his neck, which was aching from the odd angle he’d slept in. He reached for his ear. Shit. Sometime in the night, he’d pulled his hearing aid out. “Dang it.” Bear fumbled for it and put it back in. As he switched it on, the sounds from outside the truck became clear.

Trent was yelling something. “Go on, get away!”

Bear scrambled out of the door, stumbling as his feet hit the ground. Pulling his shotgun round to his front, he raced around the hood of the truck and lifted it. Then he stopped.

“Bear. Look at this stupid raccoon.” Trent pointed up at a nearby tree. Jess was at the bottom of it, barking her head off. Above, the raccoon was simply staring at her, taunting her with its big bushy tail and dark ringed eyes. “Jess wants to eat it but it’s just sitting there watching.”

“It wants our food, I reckon.” On the ground beside the truck, Jim stoked the fire, then stood up and offered Bear a mug of coffee.

“You should have woken me,” he said. “It’s well past sunrise.”

“We thought you needed the sleep.” Jim motioned to the coffee. “But as soon as you’ve drunk up, we’ll go.”

“I wish I had my phone to take a picture.” Trent looked back at Bear.

“Sketch it,” Bear said curtly.

Trent rolled his eyes.

As Bear sipped his coffee, he began to feel a little more alive. Too much rest was never a good thing; it made him lethargic. Less likely to get moving. He’d learned that early on when he first moved to the cabin; to always keep moving. Always keep busy.

Looking at the road in front of them, he sighed. More cars to dodge and, Jim was right, they appeared to become more and more dense as the road went on.

“We better get going,” he said, taking the map from his pocket and opening it up. “I want to get over the border and make some headway before dark. Couple more hours and we should be there.”

As the others extinguished the fire, Bear sprinkled water on his hair and let it trickle onto his face. He wanted a shower. Badly. He rubbed his hand over his chin. His usual stubble was becoming a beard.

“Ready?” He gestured for Trent and Jim to get back in the truck. Finally, Jessamine left the raccoon and jumped up next to him.

“USA, here we come.” Jim thumped the dashboard, smiling broadly as Bear pulled back onto the road.

“Here we come,” he muttered. “Laurel, not long now.”

25

LAUREL

When Laurel woke, she knew instantly that it was late morning. The light filtering into the on-call room was different. Sitting up, she pushed the blanket off and swung her legs around so that her bare feet met with the cold floor.

The fire she’d lit before reluctantly going to sleep had gone out. She shivered. At some point, she’d need to go into town and find some winter clothes. Or to her hotel room. She’d been in South Minneha such a short amount of time before the EMP that she hadn’t found an apartment and had been living out of suitcases at a hotel across town. With all the doors controlled by electric key cards, though, she doubted she’d be able to get in without something to knock the door down with. Raiding a store would probably be easier.

Looking into the mirror above the sink, Laurel splashed water on her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes were practically gray with tiredness. Sitting down on the end of the bed and pulling on her boots, she couldn’t help wondering whether she’d still be here if it wasn’t for her mother. What would she have done? Would she have gone with Cai?

As Cai’s face flashed across her mind, she shuddered. She hadn’t allowed herself to think it until now, but perhaps she should have gone with him. Two weeks ago, she’d still been sure the National Guard would come. Or the cops. Someone who would take control. Yet, there had been nothing. No help. No word from the wider world. They were on their own, which meant—even without Robert’s involvement—that her mother’s trial meds would soon run out.

The nearest hospital was forty miles away. Even if she could walk there and back in time, they wouldn’t have the meds her mother needed; South Minneha was the only place running her clinical trial. Briefly, she wondered whether she could go through the trial documentation in the Oncology Department and find out where it was manufactured. Get to the warehouse. Bring some back. Save her mother.

As the thoughts flitted through her mind, she knew it was a ridiculous dream. The truth was that soon, she’d need to resort to simply keeping her mother comfortable and pain free, and if she’d gone with Cai, she could be doing that on a beautiful farm far away from the madness of the hospital.

Laurel shook her head and stood up. Brushing her hair, she braided it, sick of her customary bun, then reached for her glasses. Pushing them up her nose, she looked at her white coat. Now less than white, it still did its job; it told people she was to be trusted. That she knew what she was doing and that she could help them.

No matter how worried she was about her mother, she needed to remember that—as a doctor—she took an oath; she had a responsibility to her patients. At least so long as her mother was under Hannah’s care, she knew she’d be okay.

With renewed resolve, Laurel headed for the foyer where breakfast and coffee were handed out each morning. She needed fuel. Last night, she’d seemed frazzled. Exhausted. On edge. If she approached everyone today, perhaps one on one, and spoke to them calmly and rationally, she’d convince them she was right.

On previous days, breakfast had been a bowl full of porridge and some canned fruit. Today, there was no fruit and the bowl was less full than usual.

Laurel moved ‘food’ to the top of the list of supplies to secure, then looked around. The foyer wasn’t as full as it had been a few days ago, but there were still plenty of people around. Chris Jenkins had helped her unquestioningly, so if the hospital was low on staff they’d just have to start recruiting from the general public.

As she walked back toward the ER, Laurel noticed a purposeful bounce in her stride that hadn’t been there last night. That was her plan; talk to the staff one by one, present them with a plan—to survey the members of the community who they had on site and recruit anyone who could be useful into teams that would manage food, water, fuel, and sanitation. Then she’d speak to them calmly about Robert and suggest that if he had nothing to gain from the prisoners staying, he’d agree to allow Chris Jenkins—and anyone else with a gun—to force them off the hospital grounds.

Reaching the ER, she pushed open the doors forcefully and strode in. Clutching her coffee in one hand, her mind less fuzzy from exhaustion, she almost felt like her old self. Until she saw Henry. He was standing outside the breakroom door and when he saw her, he beckoned her over.

“They’re holding a meeting.” Henry glanced at the door.

“A meeting?” Laurel frowned.

“Dr. Sullivan called everyone together.”

“Without me?” Laurel’s eyes widened as the truth settled in her stomach. “About me?”

“Someone told him about last night—” Before Henry could say anymore, Laurel waved at him to stop.

Straightening herself up, adjusting her coat, she put her hand on the door handle and opened the door. As everyone turned to stare at her, she smiled. “Morning, everyone. I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was a meeting scheduled for this morning. Do continue.”

She stood, arms folded, in front of the door and looked around the room.

Janet avoided her gaze. Maggie and Mark looked at one another. Dr. Andrews tipped her chin up. So, it was her who told Robert. Of course it was.

“Dr. Rivera. I’m so glad you could join us.” Robert was standing in the middle of the room and smiled at her. “I was just explaining to everyone that I took charge of the hospital’s pharmaceutical supplies because I felt it was sensible to have one person who was keeping track of it all.”

He was holding the ledger Laurel had seen him with in the pharmacy and drummed his fingertips on it. Opening it to a page covered in neat, looped handwriting, he walked toward Mark and showed it to him, then Maggie, then Janet. “You see, I’ve been keeping track of everything that’s gone out of the pharmacy.”

Janet looked at the page, studying it as she pulled it toward her a little. “He’s right,” she said, looking up. “Seems like we’ve simply used it all, Laurel.”

Not letting herself waver, Laurel nodded slowly. She was about to play her trump card; forcing Robert to agree to get the prisoners out of the hospital. In front of everyone. But he spoke first.

“Unfortunately, it’s not me who’s been dishonest with you all.” He folded his arms. “Dr. Rivera has been under a lot of stress. She’s exhausted and she’s very worried about her mother. I’ve been picking up the slack, taking on more tasks in the ER, helping where I can, because I care for Laurel and her mother deeply.” Robert sighed heavily.

Laurel narrowed her eyes at him. Where was he going with this?

“It pains me to say that while keeping a close eye on Dr. Rivera, I noticed her stealing from the pharmacy.”

Without meaning to, Laurel scoffed loudly. “Oh, come on, Robert. Surely, you don’t expect anyone to believe that?”

“Would you empty your pockets?” Robert tilted his head at her. His expression was totally blank. Not betraying even a hint of emotion.

“My pockets?” Laurel was about to turn them inside out when a cold, sickly sensation of dread crept down her arms. The painkillers she’d kept for her mother. How did he know? She could feel the bottle in her pocket. “You can’t really expect me to…?”

“If you’ve got nothing to hide.” Dr. Andrews raised her eyebrows.

Laurel closed her eyes. Quietly, she said, “I took one bottle. For my mother. In case she needed it.” She reached into her pocket and took out the bottle, opening her palm to show everyone.

Janet looked away. “Oh, Laurel,” she muttered.

“It was one bottle.” Laurel waved her hands at the ledger. “The stuff written in there is a work of fiction. It’s make-believe. He’s—”

“I think that’s enough.” Robert stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m afraid, Dr. Rivera, that I’m relieving you of your duties effective immediately. I will take control of the ER and Dr. Andrews will continue to oversee the other departments. May I have your keys?”

As Laurel watched Robert’s face, she nodded slowly. He wanted her to make a scene. He wanted her to prove his theory to everyone, to start yelling and crying, hurling accusations. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “As you wish.” She dropped her keys into his hand and then, without even looking at her colleagues, held her head high and left.

26

BEAR

“Shoot. This whole stretch of road is impassible.” Bear stopped the truck and pointed up ahead. In front of them were more cars than they could count. Most looked like they’d caught fire at some point after careening into one another. A truck that had spilled fuel was on its side. “It’s totally blocked.”

Jim opened his door and climbed out. Bear followed, turning off the engine.

“There’s fencing all the way down this stretch.” Jim pointed to it. “If we can find a way through, you think the truck would make it across rough ground until we join up with the highway again?”

Bear nodded, remembering the ditch and their flat tire. “She should be able to.”

“Then let’s split up.” Jim motioned for Trent to join them. “You two take that way, I’ll take this way. Look for a weak point or an opening in the fencing that we could get the truck through.”

“Bit of a long shot.” Bear grimaced.

“We have to try. We got this far, we’re not giving up.” Jim’s voice had become strangely strained. Bear hadn’t sensed this level of desperation in him before, even when talking about his sick daughter, and it caught him off guard.

“It’s all right,” Trent said, putting his hand firmly on Jim’s arm. “Don’t worry. We’re not giving up. We’ll get you back to your family. Right, Bear?”

Bear nodded. “Right.” But as he and Trent headed away from the truck and began examining the fence, he couldn’t help looking back over his shoulder at Jim. His gut was telling him something, but his gut had been wrong before.

“Look. Here.” Trent was waving at something. Bear hurried over. “Looks like a car tried to make it through the fence.”

Bear swallowed hard as he realized there was blood on the dash and more blood on the airbags. He hoped Trent hadn’t noticed. “It’s weakened the fence,” Bear said.

“You have wire cutters?” Trent asked.

“Yeah. Usually, I’d say they wouldn’t be strong enough, but since it’s weakened already...” He looked up, examining the points at which the wire fence was straining against the pressure of the car.

“Go fetch Jim. I’ll get the cutters.”

A few minutes later, as Bear returned to the fence with Jess and his wire cutters, Jim clapped him on the shoulder. “Good find, you two.” He was back to being unnaturally cheerful.

“I’ll need your help to move the car back and out of the way. Then we can cut the wires.”

Jim nodded.

“You too.” Bear gestured for Trent to get around the other side of the car with Jim while he forced the car into neutral. Stepping back out he waved at them. “Put all your weight into it. Jess, out of the way. Ready? Push!” Bear heaved his shoulder against the inside of the car. On the passenger side, Trent and Jim did the same.

Slowly, it began to move.

“Couldn’t we use the winch for this?” Trent yelled.

“We could, but I’d rather conserve our fuel.” Bear shouted back. “Nearly there, keep pushing. There’s a dip that’ll take it the rest of the way. There. Let go.” As they moved back, the car kept moving, rolling down a small slope in the road.

Jim leaned forward onto his knees, out of breath, his shirt damp under the armpits.

“Now, these.” Bear picked up the wire cutters and headed back to the fence. He examined it for a moment, then put them down and without saying anything went back for the truck. As Jim and Trent watched him, he positioned the truck where the car had been, then climbed onto the hood and reached up to cut the wires overhead.

A few minutes later, after cutting to make a truck-sized hole, he stood back and allowed himself to breathe properly. “There,” he said. “Welcome to America, folks.”

* * *

When the truck had finished wheezing and spluttering across the rough road beyond the fence and finally rejoined the highway, Jim and Trent whooped loudly. Jess barked, and Bear smiled.

“We did it,” Trent said, leaning forward from the back of the truck and resting his chin on Bear’s shoulder. “We made it over the border. You’ll be with your wife before you know it.” Trent’s smile wavered. In the mirror, Bear caught it and knew what it meant; the kid was wondering what would happen to him when Bear was reunited with Laurel.

“Laurel will be really pleased to meet you,” Bear said, focusing on the road ahead. “I’ll be sure to tell her that I owe most of my survival so far to you and Jess.”

At that, Trent sat back, smiling to himself.

From the passenger seat, Jim looked at Bear and nodded approvingly. “Nice thing you’re doing,” he whispered. “Taking the kid on. You must be a decent guy.”

Bear tilted his head to the side and leaned his elbow on the windowsill. “Maybe,” he said.

A few hours later, as they approached Silver Bay and the sun began to set in the distance, Bear found himself yawning. After a good rest last night, he’d hoped to keep driving non-stop until they reached South Minneha, but the release of adrenaline when they made it over the border had triggered a wave of exhaustion. Looking at Jim, he hesitated before saying, “Listen, buddy, I’m beat. You feel like driving for a while? I don’t really want to stop. We’re just a few hours out.”

Jim rubbed his hands on his thighs and flexed his fingers, then smiled. “Sure. Pull over, cowboy.”

“Trent,” Bear said, leaning over to the back. “Get some shut-eye. We’ll be there by morning.”

“You too,” Jim said, handing a folded-up blanket to Bear as he settled into the driver’s seat. “By the time you wake up, we’ll both be back with our loved ones.”

Bear took the blanket and nodded. He’d rest. With his eyes closed, but he wouldn’t sleep. He’d just rest.

* * *

Bear was fighting the urge to drift off when he noticed the truck slowing down. Prizing his eyes open, he sat up.

“I need to take a leak,” Jim rolled his eyes. “Too much water. Sorry, buddy. Go back to sleep.”

Bear shuffled upright in his seat. “No problem.” He glanced over his shoulder at Trent and Jess. Trent was asleep but Jess was sitting up, ears pricked, looking out at the darkening sky around the truck. As Bear watched her, he noticed her throat begin to vibrate. She was growling.

“What is it, girl?” Bear reached over to stroke her, but Jess began to bark. Immediately, Trent opened his eyes.

Bear felt the truck door open behind him. At the same time, he instinctively reached for his gun. His fingers snaked along the seat.

“Bear….” Trent had sat up and was pressing himself against the back of the truck.

“I’d like you both to get out of the truck.” Jim’s voice was hollow in the darkness.

When Bear turned, he saw exactly what had happened to his gun; Jim was pointing it at Trent. As the boy scrambled back, Jess stood in front of him barking.

“Tell the dog to shut up or I’ll shoot it.” Jim tipped the gun toward Jess.

“Jess, quiet.” Bear twitched his hand at her, and she settled into a low growl, still standing in front of the boy.

Bear’s heart began to beat faster. The hairs on his arms stood on end. If it had been him, alone, he’d have tackled Jim for the gun and he was pretty certain he’d have got it. But the gun wasn’t pointing at him, it was pointing at the kid.

“All right.” Bear reached for the truck door, giving Trent a look that he hoped said, It’ll be okay. “I’m getting out.”

Slowly, he lowered himself out of the truck. It was twilight. This stretch of highway was almost empty. In the distance, the sun had all but disappeared on the horizon. As he inched backward, he scanned the ground. There was nothing he could use as a weapon. Nothing.

“You too,” Jim told Trent. “Out. And keep the dog under control.”

As Trent climbed out, visibly shaking, Jess ran to Bear and stood between his feet. Bear reached for Trent and pulled the kid behind him. “Just do what he says,” Bear whispered.

“Good advice.” Jim turned to them, closing the passenger door behind him. “Now, this doesn’t have to get ugly. All I want is the truck.” He kept his eyes trained on Bear. “That’s all. Give me the truck, you’re free to go on your way.”

“We need it. It has everything.” Trent started to speak but Bear shushed him.

“Jim. Let’s be reasonable. We’re heading in the same direction. There’s no need to—”

Jim had started to laugh. “You believed that? Wow. You really are gullible. I thought you were on to me.” He wiped his forehead with his gun-free hand.

Bear bit his lower lip. It was a lie. Of course it was a lie.

“You really think it’s likely you’d meet someone heading to the exact same place as you?” Jim had started to move backward toward the hood of the truck. Staring at Bear, he said, “I lied.”

“You knew my wife’s hospital?”

Jim tipped his head at the truck and laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lucky guess. The kid said your wife was a doctor. I saw a news special on your wife’s place a few weeks ago. I have to admit, I didn’t think it’d be quite so easy to con you.” He shrugged. “Now, back up. Over there. Over to that car.” He pointed to a red Honda. “All you have to do is stand there and let me go. No one gets hurt.”

Bear gestured for Trent to do as Jim said, but his mind was racing. He’d been conned. He had been conned. It hadn’t even been a clever con, just a lucky one, but Bear had fallen for it.

As Jim moved around the hood of the truck, still pointing his gun at Bear, Bear’s gut lurched. He needed answers and this bastard was going to give them to him. Flicking his fingers toward Jess, under his breath, he muttered, “Jess, squirrel.”

Instantly, Jess’ ears pricked up. Bear looked left. Jess’s eyes followed his and, instantly, she darted off into the undergrowth at the side of the road, barking her head off.

“What’s she doing?” Jim panicked. His eyes widened. He fired into the bushes, and that was Bear’s chance. Lunging forward, he hurled himself around the hood of the truck and right into Jim’s torso. With all his body weight, he pushed him to the ground.

They struggled. The gun fell from Jim’s hands. Bear grappled for his arms to pin him down, but Jim reached up and punched Bear hard in the ear. His hearing aid sent a brain-rattling screech right into Bear’s skull. Bear cried out and grabbed it, pulling it free. Before he could reorientate himself, Jim had wriggled away from him.

Bear stood up, ready to lunge again, but Jim had the gun back.

“Stop! Don’t!” From nowhere, Trent lurched in front of Bear at the exact moment that Jim fired.

“No!” Bear screamed. As Trent fell to the ground, Bear grabbed him. His leg was bleeding. Blood was soaking through his jeans.

Jim lowered the gun. “Good luck, Bear. Sorry about the boy. He’s a good kid.” And then he was in the truck, starting the engine, reversing it up. Gone.

27

DEB

“Just topping you up,” Hannah said, smiling as she dropped a fresh log into the trash can fireplace in the corner of Deb’s room.

“Thank you, dear.” Deb was sitting in her armchair and shuffled uncomfortably as she tried to cross her legs. Realizing she couldn’t, she sighed and when Hannah noticed, she brought over the footstool that had ended up beneath the window.

Helping Deb lift her legs onto the stool, Hannah pulled the blanket tighter around her hips. “We’ve got to keep you warm,” she said. Then she glanced over at Deb’s IV. It was nearly empty. “I need to top that up too.”

“Dr. Sullivan hasn’t been by with my medication?” Deb noticed that her voice was becoming reedy. Thin. Weaker than it had been a few days ago.

“Not yet.” A flash of something that might have been worry crossed Hannah’s youthful face, but she shook it off and smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be by soon.” After a pause, she added, “You two are close?”

“We were once.” Deb looked down at her nails. Her red polish was chipped and needed to be repainted. Laurel had promised, but now that they were in this strange new world, red nails seemed very unimportant. Looking back up at Hannah, she shuffled further into the cushioned chair back. “Before I met Laurel’s father, Robert and I dated. Not for very long. When I met Paul, my husband, I’m afraid I forgot all about Robert.” Deb shrugged. “It never seemed that serious to me. I certainly never realized he was….”

Hannah raised her eyebrows. She was perched on the end of the bed, waiting for Deb to continue the story.

“In love with me.” Deb laughed a little as she spoke, and tucked her hair behind her ear, remembering the days when she’d had glowing skin, full red lips, and luscious dark hair.

“He told me the night before my wedding. When I said I didn’t feel the same, he walked away and I didn’t hear from him for years.” She shrugged, picturing Robert’s face when he’d tried to tell her the exact same thing only a few days ago. “He got back in touch when Paul died. We exchanged letters, then emails, never anything more than friendship but—”

“But you’re the one that got away,” Hannah said, smiling. “He still carries a torch for you.”

Inhaling deeply, trying to resist the urge to cough that came with the breath, Deb tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Yes. I think he does. I didn’t realize it when we first arrived, but maybe that was naïve of me. I thought he was reaching out as a friend who wanted to help me.”

“I’m sure he does want to help.” Hannah stood up, fetched another blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Deb’s shoulders. “You can’t help being mesmerizing, Mrs. Rivera.”

At that, Deb laughed, more loudly than she’d expected to. “Oh, you are a dear girl,” she said, patting Hannah’s hand. “You remind me of my granddaughter.”

Hannah tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. She used to wear it up in a tight ponytail but, lately, had started wearing it down. It suited her. “I’ll be back in a little while when Dr. Sullivan’s brought your meds.”

“Thank you, Hannah.”

As Hannah closed the door behind her, Deb sighed. It made her chest hurt but she wasn’t sure whether the sensation was of physical pain or emotional pain.

When she moved to South Minneha with Laurel, all those weeks ago, her world shrank. In Texas, even when she got sick, she’d had her friends around her. Lunches. Theatre trips. Charity events. She left it all to get better, but almost instantly she’d found herself confined to the hospital. Occasionally she’d visited the canteen, the coffee cart out front, or the roof if she could persuade Laurel to take her up there. It had all felt so small, and Laurel had been so busy with her new job that she’d found it hard to make it by more than once a day.

Deb sniffed loudly and realized she’d started to cry. Robert had been the only constant in those early weeks. Even after the EMP, when everything went dark and her world grew even smaller, he’d kept coming. Despite his enormous responsibilities to the people of the hospital, he’d kept coming. Would he still come now he knew their relationship couldn’t ever be anything but platonic?

Slowly, painfully, Deb stood up and walked to the window. She gripped the sill. Outside, the sun was dipping lower in the sky. Perhaps she’d ask Laurel to take her to the roof one day soon. Without the glow of the city lights on the horizon, the stars would be beautiful.

She was turning away from the view, ready to get into bed and wait for Hannah to bring supper and a fresh drip, when the door opened.

Except it wasn’t Hannah. It was Robert.

“Deb,” he said, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. He was pushing a wheelchair. Deb smiled; a trip beyond the Oncology ward. How had he known she’d been desperate to see a different set of walls?

“Oh, Robert.” Deb walked over to him, a little unsteady on her feet, and lowered herself into the wheelchair. “I was just thinking how wonderful it would be to get out of here for a few minutes.”

“Good.” He put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “That’s good. I was thinking the same. That you must be longing for a change of scenery.”

“I didn’t think you’d come back.” Deb spoke softly as Robert opened the door and wheeled her onto the ward.

“Why ever would you think that?”

“Well….” Deb swallowed uncomfortably. After a long pause, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I was being silly. I should have known you wouldn’t abandon me. Should we do my medicine before we leave?”

They had reached the reception desk. Robert didn’t stop. To Hannah, he said, “I’m just taking Mrs. Rivera for a turn around the floor. We’ll be back soon.”

“She’s due her meds, Dr. Sullivan—” Hannah stepped out from behind the desk but Robert kept moving past her.

“Robert? It’ll only take a moment, and I am feeling a little—”

“Don’t worry yourself, Deb.” Robert’s tone had changed. It was clipped. A mixture of annoyed and assertive. “We’ll be back soon. You can trust me.”

28

LAUREL

From the roof of the hospital, everything outside could have been perfectly normal. It was only when you looked more closely that you noticed the un-cut grass. The fountain that no longer spouted water. The abandoned cars. The smoke that still hung over the horizon.

Laurel looked down at her coat. She wanted to take it off, but it was cold. It wouldn’t be long before winter was upon them and, not only had she failed to make the hospital safe for her patients and her mother, but she’d also made it more dangerous. Somehow, Robert Sullivan was now the one in charge. He and his prisoners were running the place, and no one seemed to have realized that this was a terrible idea.

As the door clattered behind her, she turned expecting—hoping—to see Henry. The one ally she had left. When her eyes met with the short stature of Robert Sullivan, her heart sank.

“Laurel, I’m very sorry about how things turned out this morning.”

“No. You’re not.” Laurel crossed her arms in front of her chest.

For a moment, Robert paused. He stopped walking and just looked at her. Then he marched over, leaned against the railing, and sighed. “Who are we kidding? You’re right. I’m not sorry.” He smiled. A smile that made Laurel’s stomach flip over. “I think it’s time we parted ways.”

Sucking in her cheeks, Laurel nodded. “We’ve already done that. You took my keys and turned my staff against me. Remember?”

“I do, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Robert pressed his fingertips together, then turned to look out at the horizon. “I’d like you to leave, Laurel. It’s become clear to me that the world out there is becoming a very dangerous place. We have the chance to create a refuge here. You could have been a part of it, but you just can’t seem to get along with others.”

“A refuge? With prisoners as bodyguards? Using fear to control people? Withholding medication from people who need it so you can pay your thugs?” Laurel turned to face him but Robert remained staring outward.

“See, you just don’t understand,” he sighed. “So, it’s time for you to go.” Finally, he turned. As he did, he took hold of her wrist and squeezed. Hard. “Leave, Laurel. In the middle of the night. No fuss.” He breathed in and held her gaze. “Or I’ll see to it that something very, very unfortunate happens.” Still holding her wrist, Robert looked over the railings at the ground far, far below.

Laurel’s skin went cold. Pulling back from him, she tugged her wrist free and started to move toward the door. “You don’t have the guts or the skill to kill me, Robert,” she said, turning to look at him as she reached the top of the stairwell.

“No,” he said. “But I know people who do.”

“And my mother? The love of your life? What will you tell her?”

Usually, when Laurel mentioned her mother, Robert’s eyes softened. Now, however, they did the opposite. “Your mother?” He scoffed, spittle spraying from between his front teeth. “I’m done with your mother, Laurel. She’s ungrateful. She doesn’t appreciate what I’m doing for her any more than you appreciate what I’m doing for this place. So you can both leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither is my mother, and if you lay one finger on her, Robert, I swear to God—”

“You have twenty-four hours to decide. In the meantime, there are some bodies in the morgue that are starting to smell. They need to be disposed of. See to it.” Robert turned away from her and reached into his pocket. Drawing out a cigar, he flicked his wrist at her. “You’ve been given very clear instructions, Dr. Rivera. We’ll speak again in twenty-four hours.”

Laurel lingered in the doorway. She could charge at him right now. Send him flying over the edge of the building, deny all knowledge, and be free of him once and for all. With no security cameras, no one would ever know.

As the image danced in front of her, she forced herself to turn away. She might live to regret it, but she wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.

Letting the door close behind her, Laurel braced her hands on either side of the stairwell and inhaled slowly. She had twenty-four hours to come up with a plan. Just twenty-four hours. Quickening her pace, she hurried down the first flight of stairs. Chris Jenkins. She’d find Chris Jenkins and—

“Doc Sullivan says you need an escort to the morgue.” Bulldog’s deep, sickly drawl emerged from around the corner in front of her. Now wearing a security guard’s uniform instead of prison scrubs, he smiled at her. “Lead the way.” He extended his hand.

Laurel began to shake, more from anger than fear, but forced herself to walk past him and continue. Past the pediatric floor. Out into the foyer. Past the ER. Through winding corridors.

Finally, they reached the morgue. As Laurel pulled the door open, an eye-watering smell hit her nostrils.

Bulldog coughed. “No way I’m going in there.” He positioned himself in front of the door. “I’ll be out here. Doc says you’re to stay here for twenty-four hours. Says you need time to think.”

Laurel looked at Bulldog. She’d faced bigger, badder guys than him before, but she’d always been armed and backed up. Here, now, there was no point fighting; Robert was right, she did need time to think. She needed time to think of a way out of this.

“Fine,” she said, pulling her sweater up over her nose. “I’ll shout if I need a pee break.”

“Don’t bank on it,” Bulldog chuckled.

As the door closed, Laurel looked around the room. Barely lit from the light coming through the small high-up windows, it was full of black, zipped-up body bags. She swallowed hard. The corpses needed to be disposed of. Burning them was the best option. Perhaps they could even get the incinerator going. But she couldn’t allow any of the deceased to be cremated without keeping a record; if their families came looking, they’d need to know what happened to their loved ones.

If Robert was in charge, he’d simply get rid of them.

At least this was something she could do right.

Taking a clipboard, a pencil, and a mask to shield her from the smell, Laurel approached the first body bag. Hospital number, name, any obvious cause of death. She created three columns on her piece of paper, then held her breath and unfastened the zip.

* * *

An hour later, Laurel had barged past Bulldog and demanded a breath of fresh air from the corridor when Janet appeared in the distance. Spotting Laurel, she waved, but Laurel didn’t wave back.

“Meet my bodyguard,” she said to Janet when she was within hearing distance. “Bulldog.” As Janet’s eyes widened, Laurel added, “Or should I say my jailor.”

Janet blinked from Bulldog to Laurel. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’re busy, but we have a patient who really needs your help. Dr. Andrews is in pediatrics, and I can’t find Dr. Sullivan. Plus, it’s a complicated one. They traveled a few weeks ago. It’s something I don’t recognize. None of us do.”

Laurel looked at Bulldog to see what his response would be. If she had to guess, Robert probably told him not to be too harsh on Laurel in front of other staff members. That would shatter his good-guy act somewhat, wouldn’t it?

“You need her? No one else can do it?” Bulldog asked gruffly.

“Yes. We do. Desperately.”

Bulldog thought for a moment. Laurel could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. Eventually he nodded. “Okay. Come.” He tugged Laurel’s arm, but she pulled it free.

Upstairs, as Bulldog positioned himself in the corner of the examination room, Laurel pulled on some gloves and pushed everything else from her mind so she could examine the patient. She was about to start when Robert entered.

“What’s happening here?” He looked from Laurel to Bulldog, then at Janet, and softened his expression. “Dr. Rivera is not supposed to be treating patients,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need her. The patient just got back from a trip to the Philippines a couple of weeks ago and we can’t discern what’s wrong with him.”

“What should I do, Dr. Sullivan?” Laurel raised her gloved hands, palms out, watching him calmly.

“Fine, fine.” Robert gave in and pulled Bulldog back out of the way. “See to it.”

As Janet and Robert watched, Laurel turned to her patient. He was barely conscious. “I’m Dr. Rivera,” she whispered, looking to Janet to supply a name.

“Tony,” Janet mouthed.

“Tony… I’m going take a look at you. Hold still for me.”

After letting her work for a long few minutes, Robert finally cut in. “Well?” he asked. “Have you seen this before?”

“He’s displaying symptoms of meningitis but it’s not a typical presentation. As he’s been abroad, I’m afraid it could be a roundworm infection. I’ve seen it before but it’s hard to diagnose without working equipment.” Laurel gestured for everyone to step beyond the curtain. Her mind was racing. This type of infection, even with treatment, was usually fatal. Especially if it had gotten this bad. But if she told Robert, she knew what he’d say; that it was a waste of good medication to try and keep the patient alive.

“Start him on codeine and corticosteroids. Check his stats every hour and let me know how he’s doing,” Laurel instructed Janet. To Robert, she added, “I’ll need to stay here and monitor him closely.”

Hesitating, Robert nodded. “Fine. See to it. As soon as he starts improving, back to the morgue.”

Watching him leave, Laurel told Bulldog to stay out of her way if he was going to be in her ER and watched as he positioned himself in the corner. Then, following Janet back to Tony, she pulled the curtain behind them and whispered, “Janet, I need you to trust me. I need to see my mom but Bulldog isn’t going to let me leave.”

For a moment, Laurel thought Janet was going to tell her she was being paranoid, but as she watched, her friend’s expression crumpled. “Laurel, I’m so sorry I doubted you. The way Robert’s behaving. Sending you to the morgue. Making that thug watch over you. I recognize him. I know he’s a prisoner. I’m sorry.” She clasped Laurel’s hands. “What can I do?”

“Just distract him while I slip out. Please?”

Janet nodded firmly. “Done.”

After hooking up Tony’s IV, Janet dutifully did as she’d promised. With her best smile, she asked Bulldog if he’d like a cup of coffee. “I have a secret stash,” she whispered.

“Do you now?” Bulldog leaned forward, smiling at Janet.

Swallowing down her nerves, Laurel turned her face away from them and hurried past, through the door, into the corridor. She paused for a moment. No one followed her. Then she ran.

When she reached her mother’s room, she paused, heart thumping against her rib cage. If she could just see her mom, talk to her about what was happening, maybe she could give her some information about Robert that would help talk him down from this crazed quest he was on.

But when she opened her mother’s door, the bed was empty. So was the chair.

“I’m sorry, Laurel, I tried to stop him.” Hannah’s voice from behind her was reedy and quivering.

Laurel turned slowly. “Tried to stop who?” She gripped the doorframe.

Hannah was crying. “Dr. Sullivan. He put your mother in a wheelchair and he took her.”

“Took her where?” Laurel put her hands on Hannah’s shoulders. “Where did he take her, Hannah?”

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know where he took her.”

29

BEAR

“The bullet only grazed the skin. You’ll be okay.” Bear pulled Trent’s lower pant leg back down and stood up.

Trent grimaced, reaching down to hold his injured leg. He spoke, but without a hearing aid, the words blurred in Bear’s ears.

“I can’t hear you.” Bear gestured to his ear. “My hearing aid broke when that son of a bitch punched it.”

“Oh, shit.” The expression on Trent’s face made that one pretty clear.

Standing up, Bear braced his hands behind his neck. Jim had taken everything. The truck. Their supplies. His spare hearing aid. Their first-aid kit.

Jess was sniffing Trent’s leg. Bear closed his eyes and tried to think. Despite the bullet not penetrating his body, the boy’s wound still needed to be cleaned and dressed. Out here, especially, with no antibiotics and no painkillers, it could turn nasty very quickly. “Stay there,” he said, trying to modulate the volume of his voice even though it sounded like he was hearing it through a thick brick wall. “I’m going to search the vehicles nearby for a first-aid kit.”

As Trent nodded, his eyes widened. He was scared. It was written all over his face.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be okay. I’d just feel better if we had one.” Leaving Jess guarding the boy, Bear began searching the nearby cars and trucks. Most were empty. One contained a small black purse, lying open on the front passenger seat. He emptied it, hoping to find some painkillers, but all that fell out was a ladies’ wallet, a pen, and a strip of contraceptive pills. He glanced into the back. There was a scarf on the seat, which he pocketed to use as a bandage.

A tap on the shoulder made him jump. He turned to find Trent, leaning on a large branch he must have pulled from the undergrowth, grinning.

Bear frowned but then realized Trent was holding something. He lifted it up and handed it to Bear; Jim’s backpack.

“So, the guy was either not totally heartless or he was just stupid enough to leave this lying around.” Bear nodded and crouched down to open the bag.

Reaching in, he pulled the contents out onto the ground and started to sift through it. Clothes, mostly. A flask of something that smelled like cheap whiskey. A notebook. He glanced up at Trent and handed it to him. “There was a pen in that car over there.”

Trent frowned and asked something that sounded like it started with, “Why…?”

Tapping his ear, Bear clenched his jaw. “I can’t hear you. I get snippets of sounds sometimes but the rest is….” He struggled for the words to explain. “It’s like someone’s holding a thick blanket over my ears, and I never got used to lip-reading.” He gestured to the notebook. “So, if you want to say something important, you’ll have to write it down.”

As Trent nodded and hobbled toward the car to look for the pen, Bear almost—almost—smiled. The rate Trent talked, he’d have gone through every page of the notebook before sundown.

Searching the rest of the things he’d tipped out of Jim’s bag, Bear tossed aside a wallet and a cell phone but kept some spare pants and shirts plus a six-pack of protein bars, a bottle of water, the cheap whiskey, a copy of Treasure Island—in case Trent wanted to read it—and a pocket knife. No first-aid kit, though.

Bear looked up at the sky. No map either, and Jim had been handling the compass. When Trent returned, pen already poised to write something, Bear put his hands on his hips. “Okay, we need to join up with the highway. From my memory of the map, if we keep heading east on this road we’ll reach it soon.” He looked at Trent’s leg.

Reading his mind, Trent scribbled: I can walk. I’ll be ok, and gave Bear a thumbs-up.

“Sit.” Bear gestured for Trent to sit down, then took out the scarf he’d found in the car and wrapped it around the wound. It was red and angry, but he hoped it would be okay long enough for them to get to Laurel. If they got to Laurel, she’d fix it. No problem. And they couldn’t afford a detour.

Looking at Jessamine, Bear nodded. “Okay then, you two,” he said. “Let’s roll out.”

Tugging Bear’s sleeve once again, Trent motioned to the cars they were passing and made a ‘searching’ motion with his hands.

Bear wrinkled his nose as he thought about it. It would be sensible to search the cars they passed, but it would take time. Eventually, he nodded. “Yeah. We’ll take a look. Anything edible, medical, or that we could use as a weapon, we take it.” He looked up at the sky. It was almost white today. “Clothes too. We’ll need all the warmth we can get without the truck to sleep in. Hoodies. Coats. Blankets. Spare backpack. Use your head.” Bear tapped his temple, wishing he’d used his own head when they’d met Jim and left the guy alone instead of falling for his BS.

Pursing his lips, Trent nodded. “Okay,” he mouthed, and began to walk, leaning on his stick.

Bear wasn’t sure how long they’d been traveling when Trent spotted a white van with the back doors open. Waving at it, he looked at Bear, who nodded that they should go check it out. As they peered inside, Bear’s heart skipped in his chest. It was a van carrying water. Crates and crates of it.

Trent’s eyes widened. Bear clambered in, passed Trent a bottle, then opened one for himself. Perching side by side on the rear lip of the van, they drank in silence. At least, Bear was in silence. Trent was talking to Jess.

A few days ago, the silence of his cabin in the woods hadn’t bothered him one iota. Alone, he hadn’t felt as though he was missing out. He hadn’t felt off-kilter or less effectual because he couldn’t hear what was going on around him. Now, however, he had to admit that he was missing the kid’s incessant chatter more than he’d have ever expected.

After scribbling on his notepad, Trent passed it to Bear. The sun is setting. Should we camp overnight somewhere?

Bear read the message. As he did, something began to niggle at the back of his mind. Sunset. The sun was setting. He looked up at the sky and instantly sprang to his feet. “No,” he muttered. “No, no, no. How?”

Trent had gotten up too and was frowning at Bear. “What?” he mouthed. “What is it?”

Bear pointed at the sun. It was setting in front of them. About to slide down behind the trees on the horizon. Trent shrugged; he had no idea what the problem was.

“The sun sets in the west,” Bear said, pointing again at the sky. “The road must have curved round.” He looked back the way they’d come. “Or I was totally disorientated.” Kicking the side of the van with a thud that made his knee hurt, Bear waved his arms in the air. “We’ve come the wrong way. We’re heading west.” Skirting around the van, he headed to the side of the road and walked a few paces until he spotted a signpost. Yep. There it was. He was heading away from the highway. Right into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, which would take days to traverse.

Trent and Jess were at his side. Trent read the sign, understood what it meant, and breathed out heavily. His lips vibrated like a horse going pfffft. He scribbled on his notepad. His handwriting was dreadful. What now?

There was a time when Bear was good at problem-solving. Not just good at it; he thrived on it. In the military, it was part of his life. Since he left, and after everything that happened after, it was like his brain worked slower. Thoughts didn’t join up the way they once would have. Something he would have laughed at in the past now felt insurmountable.

Laurel, focus on Laurel, he reminded himself.

“We’ll camp in the back of that van overnight.” Bear rubbed his arms. It was already getting cold, but there were no other vehicles on this stretch of road. “Search the front of the van for coats, blankets, food, anything useful. I’ll go gather some firewood.” He placed his hand on his pocket. At least he had a lighter on his person. Perhaps the only good news from the past twenty-four hours.

As Trent opened the front of the van, Bear entered the trees that ran along the side of the road. The farther he went, the denser they became. In the twilight, it was becoming hard to see.

Focusing on the ground in front of him, Bear started to gather pine cones for kindling and branches for fuel. He had stooped to pick up a good-looking branch when he spotted something ahead, sticking out from behind a tree.

A deer. A dead deer. Bear brushed his hand through his hair and smiled. At least they’d travel faster tomorrow with full bellies. Setting down the firewood, Bear adjusted Jim’s bag on his shoulder. The pocket knife was inside it. He could skin a deer with that for sure.

He’d swung the bag around and was opening it, reaching inside for the knife, when he stopped. In front of him, he could see the large lifeless body of the deer. But it wasn’t alone. It was being eaten by wolves.

For a moment, Bear thought the creatures might not have spotted him, but then all at once they looked up. He raised his palms, staying stock still. He tried to count. One, two, three, four.

The fourth wolf, the biggest, with a damaged ear and a scar on its nose, broke ranks and began to stalk toward him. Lowering its head, it bared its teeth. It was growling at him.

“It’s okay, boy, I don’t want your dinner.” Bear began to back away. Slowly. So slowly it was making his calves hurt.

The wolf drew closer. Its pack mates joined it but Bear maintained eye contact with the leader. If he could just make it to the edge of the woods, he was certain the pack would back away. Wolves didn’t attack for no reason. If he could prove he wasn’t a threat….

A flash of white in the corner of his eye made him jump.

“No! Jess!” Bear lurched forward but couldn’t grab her quickly enough; Jessamine had raced forward, hackles raised, yapping as if she truly had no idea that she was a fraction of the size the wolf was. Time stood still. Bear looked from Jess to the wolf pack. They were staring at her, growling.

“Jess! No!” Bear took a step forward and reached for her. He’d gotten hold of her collar and was pulling her toward him when the pack lost their patience. At once, they surrounded him. And then they attacked.

Bear let go of Jess’s collar, raising his arms to shield his head and neck. Teeth clamped around his arm. He screamed. More teeth on his ankle. He groped for the bag, for the pocket knife, but the bag was no longer on his shoulder. He couldn’t see Jess. Then someone grabbed hold of him. Fingers were on his arm, dragging him backward. He was free of the wolves, and the wolves were running. Jessamine was there, in front of them, and then she disappeared into the trees and they hurtled after her.

Bear looked up, tried to stagger to his feet, and stumbled. Trent had hold of him and didn’t let go. Heaving him to his feet, Trent slung Bear’s arm over his shoulders and the two of them began to limp into the trees.

“Jess. We have to—” Bear swallowed down his words.

If Trent replied, he didn’t hear it. He didn’t want to. He was still thinking of Jessamine when he passed out.

30

LAUREL

At first, as Laurel trawled the hospital looking for her mother, she remained calm. Her mom was a person; you can’t hide an entire person. Plus, she told herself, no matter what Robert said, he still cared for her mother. He wouldn’t hurt her. It was just a game. A manipulative game designed to show Laurel who was in charge and give her the final push toward leaving.

As it grew dark, however, Laurel began to panic. She could feel it rising in her chest. She’d never experienced a panic attack before. Bear had, when he first came home, and she remembered feeling so desperately sorry for him because they came suddenly and violently and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Now, however, she wondered whether she was close. The tightness in her chest was building. Her limbs felt hot and cold at the same time and her head was pounding.

Traversing a long, unlit stretch of corridor, aiming for the flickering light at the end, Laurel tried momentarily to think of something else. Stopping to lean against the wall, next to a large photographic print of the South Minneha skyline, Laurel pulled her braided hair loose and scraped her fingers through it. As a door opened and closed at the end of the corridor, causing the distant light to flicker, she jumped. With prisoners roaming the hospital, large swathes of it being unlit were not a good idea.

If she’d still been in a position to call a meeting to make suggestions, she’d have pushed more to merge wards and move patients. But Robert was in charge now, and she knew he liked his staff as far away from one another as possible so they couldn’t compare notes.

Twenty-four hours. He’d given her twenty-four hours to make a decision. If she agreed to leave, she was pretty sure he’d return her mother straight away—seeing as he wanted both of them off the premises—but how could she do that? Where would she go? Cai had said she’d be welcome on the farm, but there was no way her mother could travel that far. Best-case scenario, they’d have to camp out in an abandoned house in town with no food, water, or pain meds.

Taking a deep breath, Laurel forced herself to stand up straight and head back toward the stairwell that led up to the Oncology ward. Perhaps, just perhaps, Robert had seen the error of his ways and returned her mother to her bed.

When she reached the ward, however, she found Hannah sitting on a bench in the corridor. She was warming her hands at a trashcan fire, holding out her palms and staring into the flames. When she saw Laurel, she looked up.

“Is she—?” Laurel looked toward her mother’s room.

Hannah shook her head. “He hasn’t been back, and my other two patients need their pain meds.”

Laurel sucked in her breath. “I’ll try the ER,” she said. “If I can’t find Robert, I’ll get Dr. Andrews to open up the pharmacy for you.”

“You don’t have a key?” Hannah looked at Laurel’s belt, where her keys were normally hanging.

“He took them.” Laurel sighed and sat down next to Hannah. In front of the fire, she realized how cold she’d become. “He wants me and my mom out of the hospital. I’m… getting in the way.”

When Laurel glanced at Hannah, she wasn’t moving. Just staring into the fire. “Take me with you?” Her voice was small. Looking at Laurel, she repeated, “Take me with you. If you go. I can’t take it here anymore. I can’t take it on this ward. Just watching people get sicker and sicker and knowing there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Mrs. Lawson and Mr. Forbes are on chemo. They’re not showing any signs of improvement?”

Hannah almost laughed. “How would we know? We have no scanning equipment. They feel like crap from the chemo. They want to be with their families. Mr. Forbes was ready to leave a week ago and now Mrs. Lawson’s saying she’s had enough too.” Hannah rubbed her thighs and slumped forward. “Even if they weren’t ready to quit, we’re nearly out of the chemo meds.”

Laurel opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. “We should start a hospice ward,” she muttered. “We need to merge departments, rotate staff to ease the emotional strain.”

“That’s a good idea.” Hannah sat up a little straighter and raised her eyebrows. “Dr. Rivera. Don’t go. Please.”

“I thought you just said you wanted to leave?” Laurel put her arm around Hannah’s shoulders. In that instant, she wasn’t sure whether she was seeing the young nurse or her daughter Mae.

“I do, but if you’re in charge I’ll stay.” Hannah pushed herself to her feet and offered her hand to pull Laurel up too.

“Then we need a plan.” Laurel folded her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits.

“Do you have one?”

She bit her lower lip. Her brain had ticked onto an idea, but it wasn’t one she was comfortable with. “I need time. Time to convince everyone that I’m right about Robert.” Lowering her voice as if Robert might spring out from behind a closed door, Laurel leaned in. “There’s a patient in the ER. He has angiostrongyliasis. When it reaches the stage he’s at, it’s fatal.”

Hannah’s wide blue eyes blinked back at her.

“I’m the only one who could identify it, so Dr. Sullivan had to let me treat him. I told him, and the others, that the patient could be saved.” Laurel shook her head, still uncomfortable with her actions. “I’ve never lied about a patient in my life, but I needed to be allowed to stay in the ER. Right now, they think I’m the only one who can treat the patient. Get him better. Robert won’t give a hoot about whether the patient lives or not, but he definitely won’t want to show that he doesn’t care. If I confront him in front of the others, he’ll have to agree to let me stay on the case. So, if I can just keep him alive a while longer….” Laurel trailed off. It sounded despicable even as she said it. The words were bitter on her tongue, and a clot of nausea had formed in her throat. “Oh God. What am I thinking? I’m talking about keeping a patient alive out of convenience for me. I’m talking about using someone else’s pain to—”

“If that’s what you have to do to keep everyone else safe, then that’s what you have to do.” Hannah spoke curtly and determinedly, meeting Laurel’s eyes. “As long as the patient isn’t suffering.”

Laurel shook her head. “Of course not. He won’t be aware of what’s happening.”

“Then that sounds like the start of a plan.” Hannah walked over to the reception desk and reached behind it, taking out a small metal flask. “Mr. Forbes gave me this.” She handed it to Laurel. “It tastes like rocket fuel but it might steady your nerves.”

Laurel nodded, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig before she had time to wonder whether it was a good idea. Whatever was in Mr. Forbes’ flask burned her throat. She coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Hannah laughed. “Told you,” she said, taking a swig for herself and coughing even more than Laurel had.

“Okay. I need to get back to the ER. Buy myself some time, then figure out how to convince everyone that Robert is not the good guy here.”

“If I can do anything, please let me help.” Hannah took Laurel’s hands between hers. “I’ll tell them what I think of him. I don’t care if there are repercussions.”

“Thank you.” Laurel smiled and squeezed Hannah’s hands. “I appreciate that more than you know, but I need evidence. I need irrefutable evidence that Robert can’t wriggle out of or explain away.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“I don’t know yet.”

* * *

The ER was surprisingly quiet. Laurel’s angiostrongyliasis patient was still in Bay Two. The curtain was open, and Robert was by his side next to Janet and Mark.

As Laurel approached, they turned to look at her. “There’s no improvement,” Janet said.

“Where have you been?” Mark asked, frowning at her.

Robert said nothing, just watched her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was in the resource library. Looking for material that might help.”

“Did you find anything?” Robert raised his eyebrows at her. If he knew that she’d been looking for her mother, he didn’t show it, just waited for her to answer.

“No. I’m afraid not, so we’re just going to have to rely on my memory. The last time I treated a patient like this, they scraped through, but barely. It takes a lot of monitoring and careful balancing of their meds.”

“Are those resources we can afford to spare?” Robert asked, the words slipping out before he’d had a chance to think about how they might be received.

“If we can’t, then the patient will die. Is that what you want?” Laurel folded her arms and met Robert’s eyes. She was not going to back down.

“Dr. Sullivan, you should let Dr. Rivera treat him.” Janet had stepped forward. She might doubt Laurel’s emotional state, but she didn’t doubt her ability as a doctor.

“I agree.” Mark nodded. “If she says she can help him, we should let her.”

Still holding eye contact, Robert’s mouth twitched. Laurel could almost see his brain whirring. Her twenty-four hours were almost up, but if he wanted to maintain his good-guy image, he’d have to give in and let her stay. At least for now.

Taking a chance, a bold one, Laurel smoothed down her coat and said, “While we’re here, I’d like to give you my notice, Dr. Sullivan.”

Robert’s eyes flickered. “Your notice?”

“I’ve decided it will be best for my mother and me to leave the hospital. So, as soon as the patient is stable, we will be leaving. I didn’t want to leave at short notice, so thought it best to warn you that’s what I’m intending to do.”

“I see.” Robert’s lip twitched as if he was trying not to smile. Nodding, he added, “Well, if that’s what you’ve decided.”

“It is.”

“Laurel?” Janet stepped forward, shaking her head. “You want to leave? What about your mother’s care?”

“Sadly,” Robert cut in, “we’re nearly out of the trial meds that Laurel’s mother was taking. Soon, it will be a case of providing only palliative care.”

“Which is better provided in a hospital, surely?” Janet’s cheeks had flushed. She didn’t understand. Why would she? What Laurel was suggesting was reckless and irrational.

“Dr. Vong said I could join him at his farm. He’s got supplies. He’ll help me keep Mom comfortable.” Laurel turned and focused her gaze on Janet, willing her to see that she needed to stop asking questions.

For a flicker of a second, something in Janet’s eyes changed. She’d got it. Finally. “Okay,” she said. “If that’s what you think is best.”

“Very wise.” Robert put a heavy hand on Laurel’s shoulder and squeezed. “So, it’s decided. When the patient is stable, you and your mother will leave for Dr. Vong’s farm.”

“If that’s all right with you, Dr. Sullivan?” Laurel widened her eyes, her voice purposefully sweet.

“Of course,” he said, lapping it up. “I understand.”

“There’s just one thing—” As Robert started toward the door, Laurel caught his elbow. “Hannah mentioned you’d taken my mother for a turn around the hospital in a wheelchair? Did you return her to the ward? She wasn’t there when I stopped by after leaving the resource library….” Laurel trailed off and watched Robert intently. How would he get out of this one?

“Ah.” He glanced at Janet and Mark. “Yes. I did.”

“So, she’s back in her room?”

“Actually, no. She’s in my office.” Robert put his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “She wanted a change of scenery.”

“Wonderful. Can you take me to see her?”

“Your patient—”

Turning to Janet, Laurel paused to do the math. “He looks like he weighs about eighty kilos, so let’s start him on a combination of albendazole and dexamethasone—1600 milligrams of albendazole and three milligrams of dexamethasone in a slow drip. Also start him on forty milligrams of methylprednisolone for the pain and inflammation. Keep a note of his stats. We’ll see how he responds. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Janet nodded, already moving toward the patient’s bed.

Stepping up to Robert’s side, Laurel smiled at him. “I have time.” She held out her hand. “Lead the way.”

They were at the door when someone brushed past Laurel’s side. Turning to frown at them, she realized it was Henry. He was staring at her pocket.

Quickly, Laurel looked away from him. As she and Robert headed toward his office, she slipped her hand into her pocket. Inside was a piece of paper that definitely hadn’t been there before. Laurel curled her fingers around it and, when they reached Robert’s office and he stepped in front of her to unlock the door, she read it.

Found stashed drugs. Can get you in. H.

31

LAUREL

“Mom?” Laurel crouched in front of her mother and reached up to cup her face. She was pale and shivering.

“Laurel,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her skin was ice cold.

“You didn’t even light a fire in here? What’s wrong with you?” Laurel spun to look at Robert. His face didn’t change.

Shrugging, he moved back toward the door. “I’ll leave you ladies alone for a moment.”

“Stop.” Laurel smiled reassuringly at her mother then crossed the room to stand in front of Robert. “Have you given her today’s meds? Where’s her IV?”

“She’s been given painkillers.”

“Robert. She needs more than painkillers.” Trying to steady her voice, Laurel put her hand on Robert’s forearm. “Come on, Robert. I’ve agreed to leave. You’ve got what you wanted, but you need to keep Mom safe and comfortable while I work. Otherwise, the deal’s off. Let her go back to her room.”

“Fine.” Robert didn’t even look at Laurel’s mother as he spoke. “When we leave here, I’ll go to the pharmacy and fetch what she needs, and then I’ll take her back to Oncology.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

Folding her arms, Laurel sucked in her cheeks. “I’m going to return to the ER and check on my patient, Robert, but when I’m done there I’m going to come up to Oncology. If my mother’s not safe and warm in her bed and hooked back up to her IV, I’ll gather the staff together and I’ll ask them to help me figure out why Dr. Robert Sullivan would treat a patient that way. A patient he’s supposed to care about. And I don’t think even you will be able to come up with a satisfactory answer for that one.”

“Laurel….” Her mother’s voice drifted croakily across the room but Laurel held out a hand to signal for her to stop.

“Well?”

Slowly, Robert nodded. “Very well. Your mother stays safe and well on her ward, but the second your patient shows signs of improvement, you keep your end of the bargain, or she’ll be back here before you can say ‘poor me’. And next time, I might forget where I put the key.”

Laurel held out her arm, gesturing to her mother’s chair and then to the door. “After you.”

As he wheeled her mother out into the corridor, Laurel stooped beside her and whispered, “It’s going to be okay, Mom. Robert’s going to take you back to the ward now and I’ll come check on you very, very soon.” Laurel met her mother’s eyes. She understood.

“All right, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.” She smiled, playing along, pretending she was too sick to realize that something strange was going on.

As Laurel watched Robert wheel her mother away, in the direction of the pharmacy, a lump formed in her throat. She wanted to run after them. She wanted to take her mother right now and leave this place, but she knew Hannah was right; she couldn’t abandon South Minneha Hospital to Robert Sullivan. And if she wanted to have a chance of taking it back, she’d have to gamble on the fact that Robert believed she would keep her word and leave.

Hurrying back to the ER, Laurel read Henry’s message again. As soon as she was through the double doors, she checked on Tony. As she’d suspected; there was no change. He looked comfortable, but his stats had neither improved nor worsened.

“Thank you,” she said to Janet. “Keep an eye on him for me while I find Henry?”

Janet nodded, opened her mouth to speak, but didn’t because Laurel was already walking away.

In the empty triage area, she found Henry mopping the floor. It was late and dark. By this time of night, the hospital usually quieted down and Henry usually retreated to the janitor’s office to sleep. Tonight, he was clearly waiting for her.

When she approached, he kept mopping and spoke quietly. “You got my note?”

Over in the corner of the room, Bulldog was watching them. He had moved closer.

Loudly, not looking in Bulldog’s direction but very aware he could hear her, Laurel said, “We’re almost out of cleaning products, Henry. What are you going to do about it? What’s your plan? If we don’t clean this place up, and soon, all sorts of deadly bugs will start circulating. Someone came in here with a norovirus just a few hours ago. If we’re not careful, the entire ER staff and patients will start throwing up.”

Henry’s lips twitched. Looking over her shoulder, he nodded. Laurel took a chance and glanced toward Bulldog. As she’d intended, he was hurrying over to the sink to disinfect his hands.

“Okay, we don’t have much time.” She lowered her voice and moved closer to Henry. “You said you found Robert’s stash?”

“I followed him from the pharmacy. He’s siphoning off drugs to bribe the prisoners with. Keeping them in a locked storage closet near his office.”

“You saw him deposit them there?”

Henry gritted his teeth. “Not exactly. I saw him leave the pharmacy with his pockets full of something. I saw him unlock the storage closet and one of the prisoners arrive. I saw him hand them a bottle of something, then go into the closet and come back out with empty pockets.”

“Okay, so not enough to convince everyone that it was actually drugs he was moving.” Laurel pushed her fingers through her hair. She hadn’t tied it back into a braid and it was bothering her face.

“’Fraid not.”

“Then we need access to that closet.”

“Sullivan has the key and it’s guarded by one of the other prisoners.” Henry hesitated. “I think….” He wrinkled his nose. “I think I could get the key from him. I’m not proud of it but, back in my youth, I was quite a good pickpocket.”

Laurel patted her own pocket. She hadn’t even felt Henry deposit the note into it. If he hadn’t purposefully bumped into her, she’d never have known. “Okay. Good.”

“But we’ll still need to get past the guard.” Henry stepped back a little and tilted his head in Bulldog’s direction. He’d finished scrubbing his hands.

“You handle the key. I’ll handle the rest. Give me a signal when you’ve got it.” Laurel paused as Henry nodded, then raised her voice. “All right. Good. We’ll see to it, and make sure the norovirus patient is isolated. The last thing we need is an outbreak.”

* * *

It was the middle of the night. The moon was bright, casting streaks of light through the doors at the front of the ER. Probably because it was so much harder to get to the hospital in the dark without any streetlights, after nightfall the ER became the quietest she’d ever known it and, with just their roundworm patient in Bay Two, Janet and Laurel were the only ones on shift.

“Henry’s working late,” Janet said as she hooked Tony up to a second IV.

“He said he’s having trouble sleeping.” Laurel purposefully didn’t look at Henry, who’d been cleaning the triage area for far longer than necessary.

“Laurel?” Janet stood back and folded her arms. “Is something going on? Something you’re not telling me?” She lowered her voice, looking sideways at Bulldog, who was still standing in the corner like a bouncer at a nightclub. “Because I feel like….”

Before she could finish, the door swung open, and Robert entered. Marching in like a Jack Russell who thought it was a Rottweiler, he made a beeline for Laurel and Janet.

“Your mother is back in her room. Safe and sound. Hannah’s sorting out her meds.” Robert glanced at Janet and forced a chuckle. “There was a bit of a mix-up with Mrs. Rivera.”

“I’m glad it’s sorted out.” Laurel looked at the patient, then back at Robert. “There’s been no change here. So, Dr. Sullivan, if you wouldn’t mind overseeing things for a moment, I’d like to check on my mother?”

Robert’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Janet. He couldn’t say no. “Of course.” He smiled. “Bulldog will accompany you.”

Laurel thought about saying no, but then she remembered Henry. He could use all the opportunity he could get if he was going to swipe Robert’s keys.

“Fine,” she said, then, shouting over her shoulder, “Bulldog? Walkies!”

In the corridor, Bulldog leaned in close, taking hold of her elbow. “Watch it,” he said. “The boss says I’m not supposed to hurt you, yet, but that could change.” He was so close that Laurel could hear his breathing. She tilted her head. It was heavier than normal, and it sounded a little rattly.

“You know,” she said. “You sound a little asthmatic. Can I ask what you were brought in for? Before the EMP?”

Bulldog frowned at her. He was holding a flashlight, one of their few working ones, wasting the battery. He pointed it into her eyes. “Asthmatic?”

Laurel tapped her chest. “You’re wheezing. Does your chest feel tight?”

“Maybe.” Bulldog frowned and lowered the flashlight, quickening his stride to keep up with Laurel. “Is that bad? Asthma?”

“It can be, but it’s simple enough to treat. All you need is an inhaler.” Laurel gave an exaggerated sigh and pushed her hair back from her face, tying it loosely at the bottom of her neck. “When we get up to Oncology, I’ll ask Hannah to fetch you an inhaler. I believe one of her patients was asthmatic, so she should have a spare hanging around.”

“Was?”

“He’s dead now.” Laurel looked straight ahead, not blinking.

“You want me to use a dead guy’s inhaler?”

“Me? No. I don’t give a crap if you have an asthma attack and die. But if you want to stop that wheeze turning into something nasty, I’d recommend you use the inhaler. No matter who its previous owner was.”

They’d reached the stairwell. Laurel pushed the door open and started taking the stairs two at a time; if she was right, and Bulldog had to hurry to keep up with her, hopefully by the time they reached the top his breathing would be bad enough to make him pretty keen on the inhaler idea.

At her mother’s floor, she was about to stop when her mouth twitched into a smile. “Just one more flight,” she said. Bulldog was a few paces behind. He coughed. She kept climbing, reached the next floor, opened the door then threw up her hands. “Oh, gosh, we went too far. Sorry. Back down.”

Bulldog had barely reached the landing when she walked back past him. By the time they reached the reception desk on the Oncology ward, he had to stop and lean forward onto his knees. “I think,” he said between gasps, “I think I need that inhaler, Doc.”

“Of course.” Laurel put her hand on Bulldog’s back and looked up. Hannah was walking toward her down the corridor. “Hannah,” she said warmly, fixing the nurse’s eyes with her own. “This is my friend Bulldog. We think he’s a little asthmatic. Do you have a spare inhaler? Perhaps one that belonged to poor Mr. Frederickson who passed away?”

At first, Hannah’s forehead creased a little. There was and had never been an Oncology patient called Frederickson. Then she got it. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Take a seat, Mr. Bulldog. I’ll fetch it for you.”

As Bulldog sat down, still wheezing, and Hannah began to fumble behind the reception desk for the inhaler, Laurel slipped into her mother’s room.

Quickly, she rushed to the bed and put her hands on her mother’s shoulders. She was sleeping. Laurel hated to wake her, but she had little choice.

“Mom?” Laurel looked around the room as she waited for her mom to come round; at least Robert had kept his end of the bargain. The fire had been lit and the IV was back.

“Laurel?” Her mom’s eyes widened, and she pushed herself up on her pillows. “Oh, thank goodness. What’s happening? Robert’s gone mad. He’s—”

“It’s okay, Mom.” Laurel lowered her voice and looked furtively at the door. “I’m handling it, but I don’t have much time. I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything.” Her mother clasped hold of Laurel’s hands. “Ask me anything.”

Laurel looked at the small bottle of painkillers Robert had left on her mother’s bedside table. “Mom, can I take these? I need to—” Before she’d even explained what she needed them for, her mother had picked them up and was pressing them firmly into Laurel’s palm.

“Take them. Do what you need to.”

“I’ll get you more. If things go to plan, I won’t need long.”

“Just take them.” Her mother straightened her shoulders and smiled. She might be sick, but she was the same woman she’d always been; strong, indomitable, brave.

“All right.” Laurel stood up, kissed her mom on the forehead, then headed for the door. “I’ll be back soon. I love you.”

Back by the reception desk, Hannah was watching Bulldog as he breathed slowly and steadily, pressing his hand to his chest. “Better?” she asked.

He looked up at her and nodded. In that moment, he looked just like any other patient, vulnerable and a little bit lost. “Better,” he said. “Thanks, nurse.”

Hannah looked at Laurel. “You were right, Dr. Rivera. Mr. Bulldog here is asthmatic. I’ve given him a brown and a blue inhaler. One to take….” she looked at Bulldog.

“Every day. The brown one,” he said. “And the blue one for emergencies.”

“That’s right.” Hannah smiled at him. Laurel really did like this girl. She was an excellent nurse.

Standing up, Bulldog put the inhalers into his pockets and cleared his throat. “You, ah, you can call me Charlie if you like.”

Laurel’s eyes widened.

Hannah’s expression didn’t waver. “Thank you, Charlie. Come see me if you have trouble with the inhalers. Okay?”

“Are you ready?” Laurel had folded her arms and was staring at Bulldog. Tearing his eyes away from Hannah, he nodded. “Ready?

“Yes. Back to the ER? Dr. Sullivan told me not to be long.”

Bulldog straightened himself up and gestured to the door. “Right. Yeah. Well, let’s hurry up then, shall we?”

As they headed back down the stairs, much more slowly than when they’d ascended them, Laurel smiled to herself; she knew exactly what to do next. She was just praying Henry had managed to keep his end of the deal.

32

BEAR

Before Bear opened his eyes, he saw flashes of orange on his eyelids. Blinking, he tried to sit up but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. For the first time, perhaps in his life, he wished for his hearing aids.

As he kept on blinking, Trent’s worried face came into focus. Bear was on the ground and the boy was crouched over him. He was holding up his notebook. Bear tried to focus on the words. Pain was vibrating through his arm and his leg. He felt like he might throw up.

Jess gone. Wolves bit your arm and your leg. Wounds look nasty.

Bear nodded as he read Trent’s message. Looking down at his arm, he saw that Trent had used his own shirt, ripped into strips, to bandage it as well as Bear’s leg.

“You’ll freeze,” Bear said, about to try and shrug out of his own shirt.

Trent shook his head and put his hands on Bear’s shoulders, then gestured to the fire. It was a pretty good one. He’d been paying attention when Bear taught him how to do it. Standing up, Trent started to jog on the spot, then flung his arms sideways and did a couple jumping jacks.

“Okay, okay. I get it. You’ve got ways of keeping warm.” Bear tried again to sit up. This time, Trent helped him, shoving Jim’s backpack behind Bear’s shoulders.

Looking around them, Bear shuddered. It was bitterly cold even with the fire. They were in the woods, surrounded by wolves, and he was pretty sure his wounds would be infected within hours if they weren’t cleaned and stitched up.

As his head began to spin, Trent pressed the notebook into his hands again.

My grandpa said pine sap can clean wounds. Shall we try it?

Bear frowned. Had he heard that somewhere too? “You barely knew how to light a fire or which direction the sun set in but you know that?” He almost chuckled.

Trent shrugged sheepishly.

“Sure. Can’t do any harm.” He started to get up but Trent shook his head. “Stay,” he said, clearly enough for Bear to read his lips.

At the word, Bear flinched. It had made him think of Jess. Jessamine, who’d run through the woods to lead a wolf pack away from him and Trent. Jessamine, who was probably….

He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand; he couldn’t think about it. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Since coming home from Iraq, that dog had been his one constant. The one being who hadn’t judged him or wanted more from him than he could give. His one calming presence throughout all the chaos.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Thankfully, Trent was too busy hacking at the lower branches of a pine tree to notice. Looking around, Trent searched for something to squeeze the sap into. Finding nothing, he held out his hands and waited while—painfully slowly—sap began to ooze from the broken branch.

After a few minutes, he scurried over, showing Bear his palms.

Bear nodded. Not much, but it was better than nothing. “Okay. Be gentle.” Bear untied the bandage Trent had tied and winced as the fabric pulled away from his broken skin. At the sight of the wound, he swallowed down a knot of vomit. The skin around it was deep purple and swollen. The wolf’s teeth had pierced the skin and torn a chunk off.

“You cleaned it?” Bear asked.

Trent gestured to the water bottle.

“Couldn’t boil it, I guess?”

Trent shook his head.

“Okay, then we better hope this sap is a miracle cure.” Bear looked away and held out his arm. He was going to count to three but before he’d even said ‘one’, Trent’s small fingers had begun to rub the pine sap onto Bear’s open wound. “Damn it!” he yelled and dug his fingernails into the soil beneath his hand. As Trent continued rubbing, Bear started to pant. He was dizzy. The trees around him were spinning. The flames were dancing. He was going to pass out.

Then it stopped. Trent sat back, picked up the bandage, retied it, then hurried back to the tree for more.

Bear sank down onto Jim’s backpack. A few hours ago, he’d been worried about Trent’s bullet graze, but this was a lot more serious. They’d gone off track. They were miles farther west than they should have been, and he had no idea if they’d reach Laurel before his wounds became septic.

“You should put this on your leg too,” Bear said through gritted teeth. “Do your leg first.”

Turning his head toward Bear and speaking slowly and miming where necessary so he would understand, Trent grinned. “Already did. While you were sleeping.” He waggled his leg and turned back to the tree.

Closing his eyes, Bear tried to picture the map. All he could see was the Boundary Waters Canoe Area stretching out for miles and miles. Their other option was to go back the way they’d come and rejoin the highway, but that, too, would take time. Too much time.

When Trent returned and started work on Bear’s leg, he grabbed hold of a stick and clenched it between his hands. “We’ll have to travel through the Back Waters,” he said. “It’s not ideal but it’ll be faster than going back to the highway or looping back around to rejoin it farther south.”

Trent nodded. He was focusing on smoothing sap over Bear’s leg. It didn’t look as bad as his arm, thank God, but it still hurt like hell. When he’d finished, he sat back on his heels and offered Bear a drink of water.

“We don’t have much,” he said. “No idea when we’ll find more. We should save it.”

Trent’s shoulders dropped a little. He was looking around them into the undergrowth and Bear knew what he was thinking; he was hoping Jess would come bounding back to them.

Bear leaned forward, wincing at the pain in his arm, and squeezed Trent’s shoulder. “You did good, kid. Thank you.” He shuffled into an upright position and leaned on the tree behind him. “But, listen, from now on I’ll need you to be my ears.”

Trent shuffled closer and tilted his head, listening, for once.

“If I’d had my hearing aid, I’d have heard those wolves before I stumbled on them. I’d have been able to dart quickly back to the highway and nothing terrible would have happened.” Pushing his hand through his longer-than-usual hair, Bear sighed. “Wolves don’t usually attack humans for no reason. They attacked because I startled them when they were eating and because Jess—” He broke off, looking down at his hands, then cradling his injured arm with the opposite hand.

In his notebook, Trent scribbled: OKAY.

“Get some sleep.” Bear blinked hard, trying to focus on the woods around him. “I’ll keep watch.”

After rolling his eyes, Trent scribbled again: You JUST said I have to be your ears. It’s pitch dark out there. If you can’t hear, how will you know if a wolf is about to eat us?

Bear opened his mouth to reply but Trent stood up, pointed to the ground and stomped his foot. Then he made a sleeping gesture and pointed at Bear.

Bear couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, kid,” he said. “All right, I get the hint. I’ll leave guard duty to you.” Gesturing to Jim’s backpack, he said, “There’s a pocket knife in there. Keep it on you at all times, okay?”

Trent opened up the bag and started to rifle through it. When he found the knife, he slipped it into his belt and gave Bear a thumbs-up.

“There’s also some whiskey in there. I would suggest we save it, but seems now’s as good a time as any.” Bear gestured for Trent to look for the flask.

When he found it, Trent unscrewed the top and took a long sniff. It made him cough, which made Bear laugh.

“Want some?” Bear asked. Sure, the kid was only fourteen, but he’d just saved Bear from a pack of wolves. He deserved a drink.

Trent, however, screwed up his face in disgust and simply handed the flask to Bear.

“Bottoms up.” Bear tipped up the flask and winced as the alcohol hit his throat. “Let’s hope I wake with a magically healed leg thanks to your grandpa,” he muttered, taking another swig before shuffling down onto the ground which, usually, would have been too hard to contemplate sleeping on but now—somehow—felt extremely tempting.

Trying to focus on Trent, who was pacing up and down like a sentry in a castle, Bear blinked several times. His eyes were heavy. He yawned. His leg was throbbing and the pain in his arm was radiating up into his shoulder. Finally, sleep felt like a better option.

* * *

When he woke again, it was light. The fire was still going and Trent was crouched beside it, prodding it with a large stick.

Bear looked at his arm. He might have been imagining it, but it felt strangely, just a little bit, better than it had the night before.

“All right,” he said, standing up shakily. “If you’re okay, we should get going.”

Trent nodded. He looked tired and pale. Bear wished he could fix it, but right now, the best thing he could do was get them moving.

“Some of the lakes around here have cabins,” he said, searching the ground for a stick he could use to aid his leg. “If we find one, we might be able to find supplies. Food. Medical equipment.”

Trent gestured to the pine tree with half a smile.

“Your sap idea was good, but we both need a first-aid kit.”

Stooping down, Trent picked up part of the branch he’d broken in order to get to its sap. He handed it to Bear. It was the perfect length to use as a cane. He’d found a smaller one for himself.

“Great. Good. Ready?”

“Ready,” Trent repeated.

Looking up at the sky, barely visible through the trees above them, Bear was about to suggest they find a clearing so they could tell which direction to go, but Trent handed him a piece of paper.

I checked this morning at sunrise.

Bear looked up. Trent was pointing into the undergrowth, then pointed at a large ‘E’ on the piece of paper.

“That way’s east?”

Trent tapped the ‘E’ again and nodded.

“Good.” Bear grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “Then we go this way. South. Eventually, we’ll be through the Boundary Waters and we can rejoin the road to Minnesota.”

Easy as pie, Trent scribbled on the notebook.

“Easy as pie,” Bear repeated.

They’d been hiking for perhaps an hour when Trent stopped, leaned on his makeshift cane, and wrote something else.

“I knew you couldn’t last much longer without asking me something,” Bear chuckled, taking the piece of paper as they continued walking.

As he read Trent’s question, he bit the inside of his cheek.

How come you and your wife aren’t together anymore if you still love her?

Bear read it and re-read it, then scrunched it in his fist and tossed it to the ground. Without looking at the boy, he kept walking. If he could have stridden ahead, he would have. A few minutes later, however, the ache in his chest started to subside and he found himself saying, “Because I was no good for her.” He didn’t look at Trent, didn’t know if he was listening, but kept talking anyway. “When I came home from Iraq, I wasn’t in a good place. She stuck by me while I tried to handle my injury. Learn to live a new kind of life. My daughter decided to join up. Join the Army. That wasn’t good for either of us. Neither of us wanted her to do it but Laurel’s approach was different from mine. She didn’t like the way I handled it.” Now, he did look at Trent. He was watching his feet as he stepped over a log but glanced at Bear and nodded for him to continue.

“What made me leave was….” Bear sucked in his breath. He’d never told anyone this before. He’d never said it aloud and, although he couldn’t hear himself, the feel of it on his lips was enough to make him want to scream. “I had PTSD. It’s better now, but after Mae said she was joining up it got bad. Very bad for a while. One night, I had a night terror and—” He cleared his throat and stopped walking. “I woke up and I had my hands around Laurel’s neck. I was choking her.”

Trent had stopped too. Grabbing his notebook, he scribbled: But you didn’t mean to. It was an accident.

“Accident or not, I was no good for her. I hurt her and I’m supposed to protect her. I had to leave. For everyone’s sake.”

Trent breathed in slowly, pen poised, then wrote something else. This time, he took longer. Bear waited, his heart beating hard against his rib cage.

If you love her, make it right.

33

LAUREL

It was morning by the time Robert left the ER. All night, Laurel had watched over her patient, adjusted meds that she knew at this stage wouldn’t make any difference, and tried desperately to stop him from getting either worse or better. The best she could hope for was to make him more comfortable.

As the sun rose up behind the parking lot, illuminating the lawn outside, Robert yawned. Maggie and Mark had returned from getting a few hours’ sleep and, when they entered, Robert greeted them with a sickly-sweet smile. Loudly and vivaciously, he looked around the room and said, “Why don’t I go and fetch coffee? I’ll see if the kitchen can’t rustle up something nicer to eat than porridge, too. I think we all deserve it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sullivan, that would be nice.” Janet smiled and sat down in the chair behind the check-in desk. She’d clearly been itching to get Laurel alone all night, but Robert hadn’t given them the chance.

Over in the triage area, Bulldog was snoring loudly, sprawled out across some chairs. Robert looked at him hesitantly but, clearly figuring Laurel could be trusted by now not to do anything silly when her mother’s safety was at sake, decided to leave him sleeping.

“Back soon,” he called as he strode off. Leader of the pack. Gatherer of coffee and treats.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, Henry—who’d spent the entire night cleaning things that didn’t need to be cleaned—rushed over to Laurel.

Pulling the curtain across Bay Two so they couldn’t be seen, Laurel looked at him expectantly. “Got it,” he said, holding up a single shining key.

“And I’ve got this.” Laurel took her mother’s pain meds from her pocket. “Henry, I wish I could do this myself, but I can’t.”

“Tell me what you need.” Henry’s lips set into a determined line.

“Go to the closet where Robert’s keeping the drugs. Bribe the guard with these. Tell him you’re not looking for drugs, just a notebook. Tell him it’s yours and Robert took it and you want it back.”

“A notebook?” Henry frowned. “But I thought we were trying to—”

“Even if we show everyone the closet, Robert will come up with an excuse for it. What we need is evidence and, if I know him like I think I know him, that evidence will be in the leather notebook he was carrying around.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“He’ll want to know who owes him what, how much medication they’ve had from him, so he can leverage his advantage over them. He’ll have written it down.” Laurel breathed in through her nose. It was a gamble, but a gamble she had to take.

“I’ll go now.” Henry pocketed the drugs.

“When you’ve got it, gather the rest of the staff and bring them here to the ER. We’ll challenge him in front of everyone. He’ll never get out of it.”

Henry nodded. As he pulled back the curtain and hurried away, Janet looked over at Laurel.

Laurel sighed. She wanted to tell Janet what was going on. A few weeks ago, she’d have named Janet as one of her only friends, but when she needed a friend the most, Janet hadn’t stuck up for her. So, for now, she was going to rely on those she knew were in her corner: Hannah and Henry.

* * *

When Robert returned, he handed out coffee and fire-scorched toast with peanut butter on it as if he was giving out gold bullion. He even offered some to Laurel, and she took it with a smile on her face.

After they’d finished, however, Robert headed straight for Tony Santiago in Bay Two. Standing over him, he asked Janet for Tony’s chart. Examining it, he looked up at Laurel.

A cold sweat had broken out on the back of Laurel’s neck, but she kept her expression steady as she watched him.

“He’s not improving.” Robert folded his arms and handed the chart back to Janet.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Laurel dipped her head and looked at the young man lying on the bed. It would soon be time to let him go. Soon, but not quite yet.

“Then I think it’s time we assumed that you’ve done your best and simply focus on making the patient comfortable in his last hours.” Robert was trying to look as if he was sorry about this, but it didn’t translate to his eyes.

“I agree that we’ll soon be at that point, Dr. Sullivan, but it hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet. Let’s give him a little more time.” Laurel looked at Janet. This was her chance. Her chance to step up.

Laurel almost whooped for joy when Janet said, “I agree, Dr. Sullivan. It’s too soon to write him off. Let’s give Dr. Rivera a few more hours. If his stats haven’t improved, then she can re-evaluate if we need to change the course of treatment.”

Laurel nodded. “Good idea.”

Robert’s eyes twitched. He wanted Laurel out of his hospital, and he knew if they waited a few more hours then he’d have to wait until tomorrow; he couldn’t kick her out in front of everyone just before nightfall. But he was cornered. “Fine,” he said, pressing his fingertips together. “Good. Yes. Six hours.”

He was about to stalk away when the ER doors opened. It was Henry. Walking straight past Bulldog, who’d resumed his post watching over Laurel, Henry strode toward her. He was carrying something. Laurel’s heart flipped over in her chest. The notebook. He’d got the notebook.

Robert’s eyes had landed on it too. The color instantly drained from his face, but he seemed frozen to the spot.

When Henry reached Laurel, the doors opened again. Looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else, Dr. Andrews walked in, followed by a handful of nurses including Hannah.

Laurel caught her eye and smiled.

Without saying a word, Henry handed Laurel the notebook. It was open and showing a double-page spread with hand-drawn columns. Laurel scanned it. Her skin was tingling both with a feeling of triumph and a feeling of dread; surely, Robert couldn’t wriggle out of this one. He had started to sweat. Small beads had broken out on his forehead. One trickled down from his temple to his neck.

Clapping the notebook closed, Laurel marched into the middle of the ER. “Excuse me, everyone, I need your attention please.”

“Dr. Rivera? Do you remember what our—” Robert began to speak but Laurel held up her hand at him.

“I’m sorry, Robert, but this time I’m the one speaking.” Looking around the room, she waved the notebook. “I know I haven’t been here long. Before all this started, I hadn’t gotten to know many of you and I’ll admit I didn’t handle my new role here as smoothly as I’d have liked to. I rubbed you the wrong way. Many of you thought I was cold, dictatorial and, quite frankly, a bitch.”

As she moved her eyes slowly around the room, everyone except Hannah and Henry looked away from her. “So, I understand why your instincts would tell you to trust Dr. Sullivan instead of me. I get that. He’s a distinguished Board member. He’s shown himself to be selfless, kind, compassionate.” Laurel waved the notebook again. In the corner of the room, Bulldog was looking at Robert as if he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to do. “Which is why I wanted to present you with irrefutable proof that Robert Sullivan has been siphoning off drugs in order to bribe prisoners.”

Laurel opened the notebook to the incriminating ledger and handed it to Janet. “Could you pass this around please, nurse Park?”

Janet’s eyes scanned the page. Her face became gray, and she swallowed hard. Passing it to Mark, she looked at Laurel and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

Laurel nodded at her.

Trapped in the middle of the circle, as the ledger reached Dr. Andrews, Robert lurched to grab it but Dr. Andrews stepped backward. “I’d like to take a look at this,” she said sternly. After a long moment, running her finger along the page, she began to read aloud. “Prisoner Tank. One bottle tramadol. 20th October. Prisoner Sparks. One bottle prednisone. 22nd October. Prisoner Calhoun…” She stopped and looked around at the others, who were shaking their heads grimly. “It’s full of lists. Names and dates. Prisoners and what he gave them.” She pressed her finger to the page. “Note. Bulldog. Good as guard. Muscle but no brains. Note. Nurse Maggie…” As Dr. Andrews continued to read, Robert began to physically recoil. Finally, Andrews slammed the book shut, pushed past Robert and handed it back to Laurel.

“Dr. Rivera, I apologize. Unreservedly.” She folded her arms and looked at Robert.

“Dr. Sullivan,” said Mark darkly, “I think it’s time we took your keys away, don’t you?”

Robert’s mouth dropped open. A couple of spluttering sounds escaped, like a goldfish gasping for air. Then his expression changed. “I did this for you!” he yelled, whirling around and staring at the doctors and nurses surrounding him. “I did this to keep South Minneha a safe place. It’s all very lovely to believe people will behave well and be kind and look after one another, but in a situation like this the truth is that the biggest baddest guys win. I was the one who was big enough to acknowledge that and do something about it. Do you think anyone will mess with us when we have people like Bulldog watching over us?”

By the door, Bulldog folded his arms and said nothing.

“You really want to send them away? Fend for ourselves?”

“We want to treat our patients!” Hannah stepped forward, looking around at the others. “We want to have access to the medication we need and work together to keep this hospital functioning because that’s what the community needs. You’re using meds that we need in order to bribe and intimidate.” Standing up straight and pushing back her shoulders, Hannah raised her voice. “He took Dr. Rivera’s mother from my ward. He locked her in a room, took away her meds, and threatened Dr. Rivera to make her leave this place. Is that the behavior you’d expect from a man who’s looking after his hospital?”

As everyone turned to look at Laurel, Henry nodded gravely and said, “It’s true. We just needed proof to make you all believe it.”

“Lies!” Robert whirled around, panic visible in his eyes. “It’s all lies!”

“I think it’s time you left, Dr. Sullivan.” Mark stepped forward. He was taller than Robert and twice as broad. He took hold of his arm.

“Let go of me.” Robert tried to tug his arm away, but Henry took the other.

“I agree,” he said.

Moving in front of Robert, Laurel held out her hand. “Your keys please, Dr. Sullivan.”

Robert didn’t move, so Mark let go of his arm and rummaged through his pockets. When he located the keys, he tossed them to Laurel, then began to frog-march Robert toward the doors.

Janet and Maggie looped arms, huddling together. The others hung their heads.

With Henry and Mark practically dragging him outside, Robert kicked and screamed. By the time they tossed him onto the sidewalk, however, he’d started to cry. “You can’t just leave me out here! You can’t abandon me!”

Dr. Andrews stepped forward. “Actually,” she said, ripping the ID badge from Robert’s neck, “we can.”

As they turned to walk back inside, Robert dropped to his knees. He was sobbing. For a fraction of a second, Laurel wondered whether they should let him stay. Whether he’d have learned his lesson. She had turned to take one last look at him when she realized he wasn’t there.

“Where did he—?” She spun around at the exact same moment that Robert hurtled past her, back into the ER.

“Stop him!” Laurel ran after him, but Robert was already inside.

Someone screamed. It was Janet. Robert’s arm was around her neck. A scalpel was in his hand. “Nobody move!” he shouted. “Or I’ll kill her!”

34

LAUREL

“Robert. Put the weapon down.” Laurel gestured for the others to stay back and held up her hands. “This isn’t how you want this situation to end.”

Janet was trembling. As she reached up, grabbing at Robert’s arm, trying to pry herself free, she stared at Laurel and began to cry.

“Janet, it’s okay. Robert doesn’t want to hurt you.” Laurel looked from Janet to Robert. “Do you?”

Almost growling, he tightened his grip. “How do you know what I want? You know nothing.”

“Okay, so then, tell me.” Laurel was slowly inching forward, scanning the room for anything she could use as a weapon. “What do you want to happen here?”

Behind her, the others were watching with bated breath. She prayed none of them did something stupid and tried to be a hero.

“This is my hospital. I’m staying.” Robert pointed the scalpel at her. “I’m staying!”

He was still backing away when the ER doors flew open. Laurel held her breath as six of Robert’s prisoners walked in. “What’s all the commotion?!” yelled one of them.

“Looks like you’ve got a little situation here, Doc,” said another as two more began to raid the instrument tray in Bay Three.

As the prisoners were handed weapons and lined up behind Robert, Laurel tried to think. She had no gun. No weapon. If she went for one, the situation could become very nasty very quickly.

“Listen,” she said, “I think we need to—” but before she could finish, Bulldog lurched forward, grabbed hold of Robert and yanked his arm so hard that the scalpel went flying across the floor.

As Laurel opened her arms, pulled Janet into them and passed her over to Maggie, Robert stepped back, pressing himself against the wall. “What are you doing? Bulldog? You work for me. You all work for me.”

Tilting his head, Bulldog narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think I want to work for you anymore, Doc.”

Behind Bulldog, one of his fellow prisoners, growled, “Doesn’t look like you’ve got many people on your side, does it, Doc?”

“Looks to me,” said another, “like we’re the ones in charge now.”

“No.” Everyone looked up as Laurel marched into the middle of the room. Standing in front of Bulldog, crossing her arms, she said again, “No. That’s not how this is going to go. You all need to leave this place.”

Bulldog didn’t say anything.

“Leave?” yelled a prisoner holding a scalpel. “Why would we do that? This place is—”

“This place is a hospital. Sick people need us. You might need us one day.” She looked purposefully at Bulldog. “Besides, hasn’t anyone told you that our supplies are running out? Before long, we won’t have drugs or food or water. We’ll be just like every other place in this town. Fighting for survival.”

The prisoners exchanged glances. One of them lowered their weapon a little.

“If you leave now, peacefully, we’ll give you some food, some water, and some pills to take with you, but this is a one-time offer. You need to decide. Now.”

Looking over his shoulder at his friends, Bulldog nodded at them. “I say, we go. Who wants to be here surrounded by sick people anyway?”

The others blinked at him for a moment, then began to nod.

Turning to Laurel, Bulldog said, “All right. We’ll go.” He gestured to the doors. “Better go fetch our goodbye gift, don’t you think?”

Laurel breathed in slowly. “Henry,” she said, turning back to the others. “Go to Dr. Sullivan’s storage closet and fetch each of these gentlemen a bundle of their favorite pills. Hannah, would you go and get them some water and some food from the canteen?”

Henry and Hannah immediately ran from the room.

Watching from his spot up against the wall, Robert looked down at his feet. “I can’t believe you’re letting this happen,” he muttered but, before he could say any more, Bulldog grabbed him by the collar.

“I think it’s time you shut the hell up, Doc. No one wants to hear from you. Got it?”

Robert’s eyes widened. He nodded frantically.

As they waited for Henry and Hannah to return, time seemed to pass at no more than a snail’s pace. The prisoners stood holding their weapons. Bulldog allowed Janet to return to Tony Santiago to check his vitals while Robert cowered by the wall.

Finally, Henry returned holding a backpack full of pill bottles. Hannah was close behind, pushing a trolley stacked high with water and food.

From next to Laurel, Dr. Andrews muttered, “If we let them take this stuff, how exactly are we supposed to survive?”

“We just need them gone, then we’ll figure out what to do.” It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the best they could do.

Bulldog and the prisoners examined their loot, then finally stood back and nodded. “All right then.” They kept hold of their weapons as they moved toward the door. “We’ll be on our way.”

Before they’d reached the entrance, Laurel caught Bulldog’s arm. “Bulldog? Do me a favor? Take him with you?” She looked back at Robert.

Bulldog’s mouth twitched. He rubbed his palm over his neatly shaved head, then Laurel noticed him catch Hannah’s eye. “Sure,” he said. “One good turn deserves another.”

Grabbing Robert by the arm, Bulldog leaned down and whispered in his ear, “When we get out of those doors, I suggest you run, because if my friends have their way, they’ll want to make your life a misery for a while.”

“Wh-why?” Robert stuttered. “I helped you. I—”

“You treated us like thugs just like the rest of the world,” Bulldog growled. “You used us because it suited you. Plus, we don’t like guys in suits.”

They were at the entrance. Bulldog gave Robert a shove to the middle of his back. He stumbled, righted himself, looked from Bulldog to Laurel to the prisoners, and then—as Bulldog had suggested—he ran.

Tripping as he hurtled down the path toward the parking lot, Robert righted himself again, then kept running. The prisoners did not chase him; Laurel hadn’t expected them to.

As the others sifted through their prizes, slapping each other on the back and heading for the town, Bulldog stopped. Laurel was about to close the doors when he put his foot between them.

“We had a deal,” she said.

“We did.” He breathed in and removed his foot. “But I was hoping maybe you’d think about letting me stick around.”

Laurel looked at Dr. Anderson, who raised her eyebrows.

“I didn’t take Sullivan’s drugs and I didn’t hurt anyone.” He put his hands into his pockets. “I’d like a chance to prove I can be something more than people expect me to be.”

“I’m sorry, Bulldog, I don’t think—” Laurel stopped. Henry had nudged his way to the front.

“If it counts for anything, Dr. Rivera, I wouldn’t be here in this hospital if someone hadn’t given me a second chance.”

After a long deep breath, Laurel finally nodded. “All right,” she said, stepping aside. “I hope I can trust you, Bulldog.”

“You can.” Following her, Bulldog brushed down his guard’s uniform and held his head a little higher. “You can, and I’ll prove it to you.”

* * *

“So, then we locked the doors and all pretty much collapsed in a heap.” Laurel was sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed, telling her what had happened to Robert while she ate Jell-O that Laurel had found in the canteen.

“Poor Robert.”

“Mom, how can you say that?” Laurel checked her mom’s IV. She looked brighter already. “Whatever he’s been giving you, it wasn’t the right dosage. Don’t you feel better? Since I started the new IV?”

Her mom nodded. “Oh, yes, dear. Well, of course, he’s a terrible man, but he didn’t use to be that way. Once upon a time, he was kind and loyal. I wonder what happened to make him like this.”

“Well, we’ll never know now, will we?” Laurel tucked her feet up under her chin.

“No. I don’t suppose we will.” Putting down her Jell-O cup, Laurel’s mother began to smile. “So,” she said, “are you planning to stick around here for a while?”

“I am.” Laurel frowned, wondering what her mom was up to.

“In that case….” She reached into the drawer beside her bed. “My nails really do need seeing to.”

Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Laurel grinned. “Of course. For you, Mom, for the rest of today, I have all the time in the world.”

35

BEAR

When they emerged from the trees, a shimmering lake stretched out in front of them. Bear exhaled slowly. His leg hurt. His arm hurt, but this was beautiful. Like the lake back near his cabin, except bigger and bluer.

Trent’s lips formed the word, “Wow.”

Slotting his hands together behind his head, letting his makeshift cane fall to the ground, Bear looked up at the sky. The sun was setting. They’d managed to stay on course, but he had no idea how far they’d traveled. Between their injuries and their lack of energy from no food or water, it had been slow going.

Crouching down awkwardly, unable to bend his left leg the way he needed to, Bear trailed a finger in the water. “If we can find a container somehow, we can boil this.” He looked around. “Maybe catch something for dinner. A rabbit or….” He stopped talking. A short distance away on a small sandy stretch of ground at the water’s edge was a campsite.

He pointed at it. Trent followed his gaze.

“Looks like it’s abandoned.” Bear headed for it, wishing he could run, because he could already see the remains of a campfire and a large metal container they could use for water. Trent limped beside him, grinning.

When they reached the abandoned campsite, Trent waved his arms and opened his mouth wide to, Bear assumed, whoop with joy; there might not be any food but at least they had a way of cooking it if they caught some.

Scribbling on his notepad, Trent held it up.

We were due some luck!

Bear started to smile. “We sure were, kid. We sure were.”

* * *

“Gently, don’t be too eager.” Bear leaned down and tapped Trent on the shoulder. Instantly, Trent swatted Bear away and gave him an exaggerated wide-eyed look that said, I lit the fire last night, didn’t I? I don’t need your help!

Bear raised his palms and sank back down onto his log. “Okay, okay,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So, I suppose you know how we’re going to catch something for dinner too, do you?” he asked, waiting for Trent to scowl at him.

When, predictably, Trent waved his hands in a ‘leave me alone to do this’ motion, Bear chuckled a little.

“Fine. I’ll leave you to it and go assess what’s around here. There might be fish in the lake. Maybe we could make some kind of spear….” He was thinking aloud, but Trent seemed too preoccupied by trying to light the fire to notice.

As Bear limped around the abandoned campsite, he tried to picture who had been here and why they had left. The remains of the campfire were cold, but with the air temperature plummeting that didn’t necessarily indicate too much about when the previous inhabitants left. As there was nothing much around, Bear assumed they’d been passing through like him and the boy. Travelers, but traveling to something or away from something?

Bear scuffed his boot in the dirt. The sun was setting. He’d been wearing his fleece when Jim hijacked them. Trent had been wearing a hoodie, but their thick coats were in the truck accompanying Jim to wherever he was headed.

Thinking of Jim, Bear kicked the log he’d been sitting on and winced even though he’d used his good leg. What kind of guy lied about having a sick kid? A coward, that’s who. He wasn’t strong enough to simply take the truck from Bear when he first met him; he had to get Bear’s defenses down first. Weasel his way into Bear’s trust before snatching his most precious possessions right out from under him.

For a moment, Bear wondered what he’d have done if Jim had simply asked him for a share of the supplies he’d brought from the cabin. You’d have said no, he muttered to himself. You’d have told him to take a hike.

“Any luck?” Bear walked back over to Trent, asking the question at the exact moment the fire finally caught. “Yes!” he said loudly, clapping Trent on the back. “Well done, son.”

At that, Trent turned his head slowly and blinked up at Bear as if he might have misheard him.

Bear felt himself start to blush. Rubbing the back of his neck, he reached for his cane and muttered something about going to see about making that spear. Trent didn’t say anything in reply. What was there to say? He wasn’t Bear’s son. They hadn’t discussed what would happen after they found Laurel or how long Trent would continue to travel with Bear. After the last twenty-four hours, though, Bear had to admit that he was struggling to picture a world without Trent in it. A world where he said, “See you later, kid, thanks. Good luck.”

He was about to turn back and tell Trent as much when his bladder stopped him. Suddenly, keenly, he needed to pee. A few feet away, facing into the undergrowth, Bear was wondering whether it was okay to pee here or whether it would attract animals—like the wolves—when his foot caught on something. He looked down, refastening his zipper before he’d even had the chance to properly unfasten it.

“A snare….” He tilted his head and crouched down. Whoever had been here before had stayed long enough to create a makeshift hanging snare. Using just sticks and wire, they’d positioned it close to a small hole that looked like the entrance to a burrow. And in the snare hung a rabbit. A brown, lifeless, meaty rabbit.

Lifting the sticks, and the rabbit with them, Bear leaned on his cane and limped quickly back to Trent. “Guess what I found?” he asked, probably a little too loudly.

When Trent turned and saw the rabbit, Bear thought the boy’s eyes were going to pop right out of his head.

“Looks like someone’s watching over us.” Bear cast his eyes toward the darkening sky, then at the fire. “Shall we?”

Trent nodded fervently.

A fire and a rabbit. They really had happened upon a little slice of luck.

* * *

A while later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Trent and Bear watched their rabbit cook while they warmed their hands and bodies next to the fire.

Writing something on his notepad, Trent handed it to Bear. Thanks for bringing me with you.

Bear read the note and chuckled darkly. “You still think accompanying me was a smart idea?” He gestured to his leg and shoulder, then to Trent’s leg. “’Cos we’re not in great shape.”

Trent blinked at him for a moment, then spoke. His lips moved too fast for Bear to understand.

“Write it down,” he said, tapping the notebook with his index finger. “I don’t understand.”

At that, Trent smiled slowly and shrugged. I’ll tell you another time, he wrote.

Bear nodded. He thought about challenging him, but who was he to lecture people about being open with their thoughts and feelings? Changing the subject, he pointed to the canoe that had been dragged up onto the shore of the lake. “I think we should use that,” he said. “I’ll check it over in the morning, when it’s light, to make sure it’s fit for use, but it’ll sure make our journey quicker if it is.”

Trent was looking at the canoe too.

“I know the water’s scary for you, but it’ll be safe. We’ll be together.” Bear dipped his head, caught Trent’s eyes, and nodded. “Right?”

“Right,” Trent mouthed.

“Good. Now, let’s see how this rabbit’s doing.”

They were sitting side by side, eating rabbit legs and drinking the water they’d boiled in Jim’s now-empty whiskey flask, when Bear noticed Trent’s body stiffen. He tugged Bear’s elbow, then pulled his own ear and pointed into the undergrowth.

“You hear something?” Bear whispered.

Trent nodded. His eyes were wide. He’d reached for his knife with one hand and was writing in his notebook with the other. Shoving it across the dirt to Bear, he rotated it so Bear could read his message.

WOLVES.

Bear stood up slowly and gestured for Trent to give him the knife. Moving closer to the fire, he yanked Trent to his feet and positioned the boy behind him. His heart was hammering in his chest. He shouldn’t have peed in the bushes. He should have gone in the darn lake.

Looking down at his injured leg, wondering if the wolves had smelled the dried blood as well as the pee and come to finish what they’d started, Bear bent slightly at the knees as if he was preparing for a fight. “Still hear it?” he whispered.

Trent nodded.

Bear tightened his grip on the knife. Then he saw it. Something moving in the bushes. He held his breath. Then he started to cry. A deep, guttural sob that took him completely by surprise. Trent grabbed his arm and rushed forward, then saw what he’d seen and punched the air.

A small white dog had hurtled out of the undergrowth and was galloping toward them.

Despite his leg, Trent ran to meet her, opening his arms wide and welcoming Jess into them. Smiling, tears streaming in rivers down his cheeks, Bear sank back down onto the ground and rubbed his hair with the palm of his hand. He could wait his turn for a hug. His dog was back, so he could wait.

36

ARLO

Arlo Staaf was pacing up and down, his grubby boots grinding dirt into the once-plush carpet that lined his executive office. A few weeks ago, that carpet had been steam-cleaned every night. The desks had been polished. The windows had been washed. The plants had been watered. Now, the plants were shriveled and dying—or dead—and the windows sported an ever-thickening layer of grime.

He’d never have expected things to deteriorate so rapidly. When the power first went out, he didn’t even send his staff home for the day. He told them to stay put and wait. They’d all seen the message. The Government and the National Guard would get them back online before sunset.

As the sun went down, however, it became clear from looking down at the abandoned vehicles in the parking lot below their office building that the power was not coming back on any time soon. Thinking of his son, home alone after being home sick from school for the fifth time in as many weeks, he’d capitulated and told the staff to go home.

“I want you all back bright and early tomorrow,” he’d said as they scurried out, adjusting the collar of his expensive shirt and puffing out his chest the way he did when he was asserting his power.

But no one had returned the next day. Only him and Liam.

“Dad, why didn’t we stay home?” Liam had asked as Arlo had helped him up the stairs to their floor.

“Because when the world switches back on, Staaf Industries is going to be ready to jump into action,” he’d said, noticing the hint of arrogance in his voice but doing nothing to stop it.

They’d camped out there for two nights. Then three. On the fourth, Arlo had finally agreed they should leave. He’d done all the paperwork-shuffling and jotting down of plans that he could. Things were shifting outside. People were beginning to prepare themselves for a different kind of future, and he’d suddenly realized that if he didn’t act soon, he and Liam would be left behind.

“We’ll gather as many resources as we can from the stores nearby,” he’d said, heading for the safe on the back wall of his office. Taking out his gun, he’d turned to smile at his son. “No one will mess with us, Liam, don’t you worry.”

“Dad.” Liam had been sitting on the couch by the window, shadows cast eerily across his face by the candles lining the room. “I’m not sure I can….” Trying to stand up, he’d wavered, his legs visibly trembling, then fallen back onto the couch with a thud. “I don’t feel too good.”

“All right, son, all right.” Arlo had put the gun down and rushed over to his son. All night, Liam had tossed and turned, burning up, aching, crying for his mother.

The next morning, Arlo had made his first trip to the pharmacy. Leaving Liam asleep on the couch, tucked up under a blanket, Arlo had headed out at first light. When he got there, it was as if it was any other day. Nothing was out of place. The door was closed.

Arlo had tried pushing it with his shoulder but when it didn’t budge, he’d been forced to use a trashcan from nearby to shatter the front window.

Inside, he’d found what he’d come for—Tylenol for Liam’s temperature—and a few things he hadn’t—water, protein bars, vitamins.

Over the next few days, he’d gotten used to coming and going as he pleased and not encountering another living soul. He gathered bottled water from the pharmacy and the movie theater, food from the restaurant, and blankets from the laundromat without so much as a soul trying to stop him.

Being in an industrial area a good few miles out of town, he figured most folks were too busy fighting over supplies near their homes to remember there was good stuff out here. If they did come this way, they probably headed straight for the big fancy South Minneha Hospital, which used to light up at night like a beacon, encouraging people to flock to it for help.

On the sixth day, Liam got worse. The Tylenol had brought his fever down, but he was so weak, he could barely get up off the couch.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.” Arlo had slipped his arms beneath his son’s increasingly bony frame.

“No, Dad, please. I hate hospitals. Mom….” Liam had trailed off, screwing his eyes shut as he began to cry.

“All right. Okay.” Arlo had stood up, bracing his hands behind his neck. He was not a clever man. He knew this about himself. He’d made his money more through luck than judgment and had spent most of his life being overly bullish in the hope that it would prevent anyone from challenging him; if they did, they might find out that his lavish lifestyle and successful company had happened accidentally. That his wife had been the clever one. The one who’d had the ideas. All he’d had was the guts to follow through with them.

“Maybe you’re anemic,” Arlo had muttered. “Uncle Tom had that. Iron deficiency. Mom took him to the doctor, they gave him tablets and he was right as rain.”

“Let’s try that.” Liam’s eyes had widened, desperate to avoid the hospital at any cost. “Please, Dad. There’s no point bothering the doctors at the hospital if it’s easy to fix, is there?”

Ignoring the seasick sensation in his gut, Arlo had nodded. “Okay.”

As soon as he reached the pharmacy, however, he’d realized that someone else had beat him to it. Shelves that had still been full a few days ago were now empty.

Feet crunching on the broken glass, he’d heard something toward the back. Raising his gun, he’d shouted, “I’m armed and I’m not afraid to use it.”

He’d barely made it around the corner when he heard a gunshot. Felt the fierce burn in his shoulder that told him he’d been hit.

He never saw who did it, but he knew that he’d been careless. If it hadn’t been for the doctor who stumbled upon him and stitched him up, he’d have left Liam without a father. Alone. Unable to care for himself.

After that, Arlo Staaf decided it was time to take control of the situation. He’d built Staaf Industries up from nothing using persuasion and intimidation. He could do it again.

Now, several long weeks later, Arlo stopped pacing and looked back at his suite of offices. Sprawling across the twelfth floor of the building, they now contained enough supplies to keep him and Liam fed and watered for the winter months. And those supplies were protected by soldiers. His soldiers. Men and women—the dregs of humanity—whom he’d found, one by one, and offered a share in exchange for their loyalty. All armed, all willing to kill if he told them to simply because he’d made them believe he had a plan and that he was the one to lead them in this new, dangerous world.

Swallowing hard, Arlo looked down at his son. Asleep on the cot Arlo had erected behind his desk, Liam was sweating, feverish, and his shirt was stained with the remnants of yet another nosebleed.

“What you gonna do, boss?” Fi, a skinny woman with long black hair and sunken eyes, sidled up beside him and nodded at Liam. “Looks like he needs a doc.”

Arlo clenched his jaw. “Yeah,” he said, flexing his fingers on the gun that was now permanently within his reach. “And I know exactly where we can find one.”

37

LAUREL

Sometime in the middle of the night, while Laurel slept peacefully in her mother’s room, Tony Santiago passed away. When Laurel arrived in the ER, having washed, changed, and put on a fresh white coat, she found Henry cleaning Bay Two.

“How is the morgue looking?” Laurel swallowed hard as she asked the question.

Henry shook his head.

Thinking of the zip-up black bags she hadn’t had the chance to finish going through, Laurel closed her eyes. They had a lot of difficult decisions to make and, somehow, they were going to need to get more hands on deck. “We need to start canvassing everyone in the hospital,” Laurel muttered, “find out who’s got what skills so we can come up with a plan going forward.”

“A plan?”

“We have so few staff and medicines left that if there’s an influx of patients, we’ll be in trouble. Plus, winter’s coming. We need to get organized before the snow comes.”

“Of course.” Henry rested on the end of his mop and, for perhaps the first time in days, smiled. “You can do it, Dr. Rivera. We’re in safe hands now. You restored order around here. The rest will fall into place. Just wait and see.”

At that, Laurel softened a little. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Henry.” She put her hand on his shoulder.

Meeting her eyes, Henry patted Laurel’s hand, then straightened up and leaned his mop against the wall. “Shall I take you to check out the meds Dr. Sullivan stored away? There was a lot there. The hospital might have more left than you think.”

Laurel pushed her glasses up her nose; she’d hoped not to think about Robert for a while, but Henry was right; the drugs Robert stole needed to be returned to the pharmacy and put under lock and key.

“Yes, okay,” she nodded.

A few minutes later, asking Janet to join them, partly because she wanted a second witness to whatever they found, Laurel followed Henry through the ever-colder hospital corridors.

“Now that Dr. Sullivan is gone,” Laurel said, looking sideways at Janet, “we’ll start to move the patients.”

“Move them?”

“It’s getting colder. With patients and staff spread out across the entire hospital like this, we’ll waste time and resources. There’s no need for different departments now. We’ll organize the wards by severity of the patient’s illness. Hospice, critical, intermediate and minor injuries.”

Janet nodded. “You suggested that before,” she said quietly. “I should have agreed with you when Robert vetoed it.”

Biting through the twisting sensation in her stomach that still took hold when she thought of how no one—apart from Henry and Hannah—had believed her when she tried to tell them about Robert, Laurel stopped and turned to Janet. “Robert manipulated everyone. He wanted the wards separate so that no one noticed when he kept disappearing. So he could play us against one another. I didn’t spot it at first either, so don’t blame yourself, okay?”

Laurel felt Henry watching her and met his approving eyes; he knew she was saying what she was saying in order to make Janet feel better and not necessarily because it was the truth.

Wiping the corner of her eye with her thumb, Janet nodded and straightened her shoulders. “Okay. Thank you, Laurel.”

When they reached the storage closet Robert had been using to store his stash, Henry drew the single key from his pocket and passed it to Laurel. “You can do the honors this time,” he said, gesturing to the door.

Laurel tightened her grip on the key, then slotted it into the door and pushed it open. On the nearest shelf were the drugs. Boxes and boxes of them stored in no particular order. “There’s more here than I was expecting.” Laurel began to sift through them.

“These aren’t all ours.” Janet had taken a bottle from a nearby box and was peering at the label. “Some of these are from the pharmacy near the laundromat.”

Taking the bottle, Laurel frowned at it; Janet was right. It was from the pharmacy where Laurel had treated the guy with the bullet wound. “He must have sent someone to raid it. He’d never have done it himself,” Laurel muttered.

“There’s more….” Henry called to her from the back of the room. He was pointing to a row of plastic crates lined up on the floor. “Alcohol, food….” Henry stood up and pointed to the crate nearest to him with his foot. “And knives.”

“Knives?”

“He was stockpiling weapons,” Henry said tightly, disgust lacing his voice.

Breathing out through pursed lips, Laurel shook her head. How could her mother ever have loved a man like Robert Sullivan?

* * *

“Laurel, we need you. There’s a bunch of people arriving on foot. Heading for the hospital.” Janet tapped on the staffroom door as she entered.

Laurel and Dr. Andrews both looked up. For over an hour, they’d been going through Laurel’s suggestions for getting the hospital in better shape. “You go,” Dr. Andrews said, closing the notebook she’d been writing in. “I’ll put together a team to start canvassing the patients on site. See who has expertise we could use and who’s willing to be trained for basic first-aid duties.”

“Thank you.” Laurel stood up and pulled her white coat from the back of her chair. Shrugging into it as she followed Janet from the room, she adjusted the collar. “Are they injured?”

“Hard to tell. There’s at least ten of them. We haven’t opened the doors yet.”

“Okay. Let’s find out.” Laurel grabbed a clipboard as she strode through the ER. When she reached the doors, she looked for Bulldog and asked him to stand beside her. Perhaps not a bad thing after all, having a bodyguard around the place.

As the crowd approached, Laurel frowned. She recognized one of them. “I know him,” she muttered.

“What is it, Doc?” Bulldog asked, following her gaze.

“That guy in the middle? I treated him for a gunshot wound a while back, just after this all started.”

“Gunshot?” Bulldog turned back to look at Arlo. “Want me to tell them to go?”

Laurel was about to say yes when she realized that Arlo was carrying something. A body. A child. “Open the doors,” she said. “It’s a kid. He’s hurt. When I met him, he said he had a sick kid.”

As Bulldog pulled back the doors, Laurel stepped out. “Is everything okay, Arlo?” she asked, not making eye contact with the crowd of menacing-looking men and women behind him.

“My kid’s sick. I want you to fix him.”

“Of course. I’ll take a look at him,” she said, glancing at the boy’s sickly pale face. “But I’m afraid your friends will have to stay outside.”

At that, Arlo shook his head. “No deal. They go where I go.”

“Then you’ll all have to stay outside.” Laurel was standing firm. They’d just got rid of one problem, they didn’t need another. Especially not one that was heavily armed.

Bulldog, too, had clocked Arlo’s weapon and the fact that the others were all armed. “Careful, Doc,” he whispered.

“Arlo, you know me, you can trust me. I’ll help your son, but only if you leave your men and your guns outside.”

Looking down at the child in his arms, Arlo hesitated, then looked up. “Sorry, Doc. No can do.” He nodded at a woman standing next to him. Instantly, she raised her gun. The others did too. “We’re coming in,” Arlo growled.

As Laurel’s mind raced to think of a way to defuse the situation quickly, she spotted movement in the corner of her eye. “Bulldog!” she yelled, “Robert!”

Behind them, the shadowy figure of Robert Sullivan was trying to sneak back into the hospital. Bulldog lunged for him and grabbed him by the collar, throwing him to the ground in front of Arlo.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Arlo tilted his head.

Looking up, Robert began to snivel. “I can get you in. I used to run this place. I’m a doctor. I can help your boy. Get me back inside and I’ll help you. All I ask is that you keep her out.” He looked at Laurel with pure hatred in his eyes.

For a moment, Laurel thought Arlo was going to be swayed, but then he looked at the woman next to him, said, “Fi. Get rid of this guy,” and watched as the woman shot Robert between the eyes.

Slamming her hands over her mouth, Laurel staggered back a few paces. From inside, she heard Maggie scream.

“Shit.” Bulldog was looking away from Robert’s body, screwing his eyes shut. “What did you do? Why’d you do that?”

“I’ve had enough of this!” Arlo screamed. He moved forward, bringing his gun-wielding friends with him. “We’re going inside and you’re going to help my boy. Now!”

Looking at Bulldog, Laurel nodded. “Do what he says,” she whispered.

Solemnly, Bulldog nodded and stepped aside.

38

LAUREL

Arlo Staaf and his armed guards were inside the hospital. While the guards stationed themselves at the doors to prevent anyone entering or leaving the ER, Arlo carried his son.

“Where do you want him?” he asked Laurel, a flicker—just a tiny flicker—of fear crossing his face.

“Bay Two.” Laurel gestured for Janet to pull back the curtain and followed Arlo over to the bed.

Across the room, Bulldog was standing with his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together, frustration lacing his face, because even a guy of his size was no match for a room full of people with guns.

Glancing at Arlo, Laurel breathed in through her nose, held her breath for a moment, then exhaled. Squeezing a dab of sanitizer onto her hands, she approached the bed.

“Hi,” she said, smiling at the boy in front of her. “My name’s Dr. Rivera but you can call me Laurel.”

“I’m Liam,” the boy croaked.

“How old are you, Liam?” Laurel asked as she pressed the back of her hand to the boy’s forehead.

“Seven,” he replied.

“Janet, could you find me a thermometer, please?” As Laurel turned to Janet, Arlo moved to stop her. Laurel put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Staaf, if you want me to help your son, then my colleagues need to be able to do their jobs.”

Arlo opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and simply nodded, adjusting his gun on his shoulder.

“I also need you to be honest with me.” Laurel gestured for Arlo to sit down on a chair next to Liam. “Tell me what’s been going on with your son, Mr. Staaf.”

Arlo’s fingers were drumming lightly against his thigh.

“When I helped you with your shoulder, you said your son was sick and you were looking for medicine to help him. Was that true?” Laurel raised her eyebrows.

“It was true. He hasn’t been himself for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Before all this. A couple of months. Started complaining he was tired all the time. Didn’t want to play soccer anymore. Slept a lot.”

“Did he develop a fever?”

“Not then, but he’s had one for more than a week now.”

Laurel turned to Liam and began to examine his stomach. “Anything else?”

Arlo rubbed the back of his neck. He was wearing a light blue shirt. The kind you’d wear beneath a suit jacket, but with a khaki green weatherproof jacket on top and a gray T-shirt beneath. His hair was red, like Liam’s, but his beard was darker with a hint of gray. “Ah, he’s weak on his feet. We’ve been camped out in my office block since the EMP.” He paused and lifted his chin up a little. “I run my own company. CEO. Staaf Industries.”

Laurel nodded, unimpressed.

“To start with, he came out with me on patrol but then it got too much. When I saw you in the pharmacy, I’d been looking for iron tablets. He started getting these bruises, so I thought he might be anemic. My uncle had that. Anemia. Bruised like a peach.”

“Did you find any?”

Arlo nodded.

“How much did you give him?”

“Just one a day. I wasn’t sure—”

“Did they help?”

“No.” Arlo reached for Liam’s hand and squeezed it. “Then a couple of days ago, he started having nosebleeds.”

Laurel straightened up. Nosebleeds. That changed things.

When Janet returned with the thermometer, she slipped it gently into Liam’s mouth and asked him to hold it there. As Janet took Arlo’s place beside Liam, Laurel took Arlo’s elbow and guided him to the other side of the curtain.

“Mr. Staaf, there could be any number of things wrong with your son. You were right to consider anemia, but as the iron tablets didn’t help, and with the addition of the nosebleeds, under normal circumstances I’d be suggesting you consult an oncologist.”

“An oncologist? That’s….” Arlo’s face contorted into a frown. “Cancer? You’re saying my kid has cancer?”

“No, Mr. Staaf, I’m saying that Liam may have cancer.”

“What kind of—”

Laurel breathed in and clenched her jaw. Gently, trying to sound neither flippant nor worried, Laurel said, “This is not a diagnosis, Mr. Staaf.”

“What kind?” Arlo’s fist clenched at his side.

“Leukemia. With the symptoms you’ve listed, Liam’s ongoing fever, the nosebleeds, the fatigue and the bruising, I’d be investigating Liam for leukemia.”

“Okay, okay.” Arlo had begun to pace up and down. From across the room, Bulldog was watching him.

“Arlo? What’s going on?” Fi, the tall dark-haired woman who shot Robert Sullivan, came over and took Arlo’s arm. “What is it? Does she know what’s wrong?”

Arlo tugged his arm away and turned back to Laurel, puffing out his chest. “If you think it’s leukemia, then what’s the treatment? Chemo? Drugs? What?”

Laurel smoothed her hand over her hair and shook her head. “We can’t start treating Liam until we know what’s wrong. Even though I suspect leukemia, I’d need to confirm it before treating him and, right now, treatment would be difficult. We have limited resources. Our chemo drugs are in short supply and getting the dosage right depends on—”

“Stop giving me excuses!” Arlo’s sudden increase in volume made Laurel jump. “I don’t want excuses. I want you to find out what’s wrong and treat him. This is a hospital, isn’t it? You’re a doctor. So, fix him!”

As Bulldog began to stride over, Laurel folded her arms in front of her chest. “Mr. Staaf, I know how difficult this must be for you, but to diagnose leukemia we’d need to perform a bone marrow aspiration and a biopsy. Not easy procedures—”

Arlo blinked at her for half a second before reaching for his gun. Whirling around the room, he strode over to where a young female patient was sitting nursing a cut hand. Grabbing her by the shoulder he heaved her up, then wrapped his arm around her throat. “Whatever tests you need to do, you do them. Find out what he has and fix him. Or she dies.”

* * *

“Liam, when I insert the needle, you’ll feel some pain. It’ll hurt but not for long. It’ll be over quickly.” Laurel was standing next to Liam’s bed. By the time she’d persuaded Arlo to allow Janet, accompanied by Fi, to fetch the equipment they needed from the Oncology Department, it had begun to get dark outside.

With the light fading, Laurel had asked Bulldog to stand behind her with a flashlight, but Arlo had insisted one of his own men do it instead.

Now, with Liam on his side, Janet was clutching the boy’s hand. By the curtain, Arlo was still holding his gun but had left Fi pointing hers at the female patient. Behind Laurel, a skinny gap-toothed man with a revolver was holding a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other.

“I would be able to concentrate a little better if at least everyone in this room put down their guns.” Laurel folded her arms and looked at Arlo. “Mr. Staaf, I’m about to insert a big needle into your son’s back. It would help if I could focus on him rather than the fear of being shot.”

“Fine.” Arlo nodded at the guy with the revolver to lower his weapon. “Can you give him something so it doesn’t hurt?”

“We’ve applied a local anesthetic but as we don’t know what’s wrong with Liam, at this point I’d rather avoid heavy sedation. Local anesthetic is normal for a procedure like this. It’s not pleasant but it will be over quickly.”

Arlo breathed, flaring his nostrils. “His mother should be here for this.”

Taking the needle from the tray Janet had prepared, Laurel considered asking what had happened to the boy’s mother, but she wanted him as relaxed as possible, not upset.

“Mr. Staaf, if there’s a song Liam likes, perhaps you could sing it to him?”

For a moment, Arlo didn’t move, but as Laurel pressed the needle to Liam’s skin and Liam began to whimper, he darted around to the other side of the bed and began to hum. Then, nudging Janet out of the way to hold Liam’s hands, as Laurel focused on moving as quickly and gently as possible, Arlo began to sing.

It wasn’t a song that Laurel recognized, but the man had a surprisingly tuneful voice. Liam had stopped whimpering.

Finally, Laurel withdrew the needle. “Okay,” she said. “I have the sample.”

Smoothing Liam’s hair over his forehead, Arlo kissed him, wiped a tear from his eye, then stood up. “Right. What now?”

“I need to examine it in the lab upstairs.”

“Fine. I’ll come with you.”

“Mr. Staaf, you should stay with your son. Send someone else with me if you must.” Laurel looked purposefully at Liam, who was watching his father through half-closed eyes.

Slowly, Arlo nodded. “Fi. She’ll go with you.”

* * *

“Well?” Fi was standing behind Laurel. For the past ten minutes, she’d been peering over Laurel’s shoulder, her hot breath on Laurel’s exposed neck making her want to tell the woman to back off. “Can you tell what’s wrong with him?”

Laurel sat back in her chair and adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I can.”

“And?”

“I was right.” Laurel turned and met Fi’s eyes. “Liam has leukemia.”

“Well, now you know what it is, you can fix it, right?” Fi asked, her angular face twitching.

“I need to speak to Arlo.” Laurel stood up and put her hands into her pockets. “We should go back to the ER.”

Downstairs, as they entered the ER, the room fell silent. It was almost pitch dark outside with just candles lighting the now-eerie interior of the hospital. Arlo’s men were still in position. The patients who’d been there earlier were still waiting for treatment. It was like time was standing still because of one man. One man and his desperation to save his son.

Laurel exchanged a worried look with Maggie and Mark as she crossed the room. If Arlo was willing to kill someone to get Liam a diagnosis, what would he be willing to do to get him treatment?

“Mr. Staaf.” Laurel stepped into Liam’s curtained-off room and glanced at the bed. Liam was sleeping.

Arlo stood up. “What is it? Can you tell what’s wrong? Is it cancer?”

“I’m afraid I was right.” Laurel laced her fingers together in front of her stomach. “Liam has leukemia and, from what I can see under the microscope, it is in the advanced stages.”

“Advanced? What does that mean? Advanced?”

“Mr. Staaf, I’m not an oncologist….”

“But you’re a doctor. So, tell me. What do we do? How do we make him better?”

“Arlo…” Laurel softened her voice. “I don’t think we have the resources to—”

“No.” Arlo shook his head. “No, no, no.” He had screwed his eyes shut but now looked straight at Laurel, strode forward, and gripped her shoulders as his face contorted with pain. “My wife died of cancer. She died in my arms when Liam was five years old. He is not going to die. Do you hear me? You’ll save him.”

Arlo stepped back, pulled the curtain aside and strode into the middle of the ER.

“You’ll save my son, Dr. Rivera.”

He raised his gun.

“Or every single person in this room dies.”

EPILOGUE

BEAR

His fleece was damp. The air was so heavy with cold that it was seeping into the fabric and weighing it down. He’d hoped they would make it through the Back Waters before the weather turned, but this morning he’d woken up with a knot of apprehension in his gut that told him they might not be that lucky.

So far, the battered old canoe had served them well. They’d rubbed Trent’s trusted pine sap on her outer skin to give it some extra protection from the water and had done the same on the inside. The paddles weren’t in great shape but worked well enough, even though Trent’s smaller one looked like it might break if he used it with too much force.

They still had a long way to go, though, and with only the supplies from Jim’s backpack and whatever they managed to catch and kill to keep them going, they tired too easily. After an hour on the water, Bear noticed Trent struggling to match his pace. An hour after that, Bear’s good arm would start to ache as much as his bad one. Three hours on the water and they were forced to stop.

With the days becoming shorter too, Bear was beginning to worry he’d made the wrong decision.

Out here, they were alone. Perhaps they’d have been better off going back to the highway, following the road, finding civilization. When he started to think this way, and voiced it, Trent would jab his finger at the map and frown—a reminder that even if they’d taken the main roads it would have been a good few days on foot until they reached a town and the possibility of finding help.

The boy was right; traveling by water was faster and easier on their injured legs. If the weather turned, however, it would be a very different story.

Perched in front of Bear, Jessamine looked up at the sky as if she could read his thoughts. Bear tried to straighten his leg, but it hurt so he stopped. Behind him, he could feel Trent’s presence and wished—not for the first time—that he could hear the kid talk. While they were on the water, he couldn’t even pass notes. Plus, his notebook was fast running out of pages.

When they were on land, they’d developed an odd form of sign language. Trent had started trying to teach Bear the little he’d learned from his deaf aunt and, grudgingly, Bear was picking it up. They’d also developed some of their own signs. A rub of the stomach for I’m hungry. A panting tongue for Jessamine. A snarling face for grizzly bear, which Bear sincerely hoped they’d never have to use.

Turning in his seat, Bear pointed to the sky. “It’s white,” he said. “Could be snow.”

Trent’s eyes widened. Bear had given him the clothes from Jim’s backpack, because he carried less meat on his bones and had practically turned blue their first day in the canoe, but a few days later he’d developed an almost permanently chilled expression. Hunched. Like his body was trying to trap the heat inside his skin.

Trent gestured to the shoreline and shrugged questioningly.

“We’ll keep going for a while. Could pass.” Bear turned back and checked the position of the sun in the sky. It was barely visible now behind cloud cover. If it disappeared from view, they really would have to stop. The last thing they wanted was to end up going in the wrong direction entirely.

A while later, as the shore in the distance began to turn from rocks to pine trees, a cold wind began to whip across the lake. Bear looked at Jessamine. She was shivering, curled between his legs. He looked up. The sun was gone. Still there but not visible.

“Kid, we’re going to have to stop.” Bear looked over his shoulder and pointed at the sky. “Can’t navigate properly in this and, if I’m right, a storm’s moving in. We need to find cover.”

Immediately, Trent nodded. The idea of a fire and a little warmth was far preferable to another hour on the water.

“We’ll get past these rocks, then head for shore.” Bear turned back around and increased his pace. His arm was burning, the pain shooting up into his shoulder and his neck. Jess sat up and looked at him, as if she knew he was in pain and wanted to help. “Don’t worry, girl, not long and we’ll have a fire started.”

They were nearing the end of the rocky bank to their left when it began to rain. “Shoot,” Bear muttered as he felt the first cold, heavy drops land on his skin.

Scrabbling closer, Jess hid her face beneath his knee; she’d always hated the rain.

“We need to get a move on,” Bear shouted, aware the wind and rain would be drowning out his voice.

Without looking back, he focused on the shore and began to turn them toward it. Beneath the canoe, the surface of the lake was becoming choppy. Dark. And they were moving against the flow of it. With the wind too, and the rain that was now battering them in thick stinging stripes, they traveled more slowly by the second.

Bear grunted with the effort of moving the paddle through the water. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see Trent grimacing, his thin arms shaking.

By the time they reached the shore, the rain was slowing.

“Thank God,” Bear breathed as Jess bounded out of the canoe and into the trees.

Barely stopping for breath, Bear gestured for Trent to help him drag the canoe up into the tree line. Trent stood up straight and pointed at the canoe, then the beach. He wanted to leave it here.

“If the storm gets worse and we lose it, we’ll be in big trouble,” Bear said, already starting to pull the canoe. “Come on, kid, help me.”

Trent limped forward, Jim’s backpack on his shoulders, then dropped the paddles onto the beach. Digging his heels into the ground, he began to pull.

“That’s it,” Bear yelled. “Just a little farther. If we put it on its side between these two trees, we can create a windbreak.”

With the canoe finally in position, Trent hobbled back for the paddles while Bear began to gather firewood. Not long now and they’d be warm. Much warmer. At least the rain had stopped.

They’d only just managed to light the fire and were huddled together beside it when the wind picked up, whipping around the sides of the canoe and threatening to extinguish the tiny flame. Trent stood up and held out his hand. Through the branches of the trees above, spots of rain were falling on them. Trent was looking at his hand, then up at the sky.

Bear frowned. Trent made a fluttering motion with his fingers.

“It’s not rain,” Bear muttered. “It’s snow.”

Springing to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg, Bear walked around the canoe and looked out at the lake. Wind slapped his cheeks.

“It’s a snowstorm!” he yelled, running back into the trees.

Trent pointed to the branches above them, but Bear shook his head.

“If it comes down hard, even the trees won’t help us. We’ll freeze out here.” He looked at the canoe, then at the fire. “Here, kid. Help me.” He started pulling it. Trent did the same.

“Here, we’ll shelter beneath it.” Bear crouched down, gesturing for Trent to do the same as they lowered the canoe over themselves. Leaning the canoe against the tree opposite them, he left a gap of about a foot that would allow smoke to escape, positioning the canoe over both their heads and the fire. “The fire won’t last long,” he said. “It’ll go out soon, but we can trap some of the warmth in here.”

Trent’s eyes widened. For the first time since the wolf attack, the kid looked genuinely afraid of what was about to happen.

“It’s okay.” Bear wrapped one arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled Jess in between them with the other. “It’ll be okay, kid.”

As the snow continued to fall, and the fire went out, Bear could think of only one thing. In the dark, shivering, clinging on to the warmth of a small boy and a dog, Bear thought of Laurel.

If he died here, tonight, frozen in the snow, she’d never know.

She’d never know how much he still loved her.

She’d never know he was trying to get to her.

END OF BROKEN WORLD

EMP AFTERMATH BOOK ONE

Broken World, July 13, 2022

Chaotic World, August 10, 2022

Dangerous World, September 14, 2022

PS: Do you love EMP fiction? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Chaotic World, No Rescue, and Erupting Trouble.

THANK YOU

Thank you for purchasing ‘Broken World’

(EMP Aftermath Book One)

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ABOUT GRACE HAMILTON

Grace Hamilton is the prepper pen-name for a bad-ass, survivalist momma-bear of four kids, and wife to a wonderful husband. After being stuck in a mountain cabin for six days following a flash flood, she decided she never wanted to feel so powerless or have to send her kids to bed hungry again. Now she lives the prepper lifestyle and knows that if SHTF or TEOTWAWKI happens, she’ll be ready to help protect and provide for her family.

Combine this survivalist mentality with a vivid imagination (as well as a slightly unhealthy day dreaming habit) and you get a prepper fiction author. Grace spends her days thinking about the worst possible survival situations that a person could be thrown into, then throwing her characters into these nightmares while trying to figure out "What SHOULD you do in this situation?"

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BLURB

Society falls. Anarchy rises. Courage endures…

Laurel survived the collapse of civilization. In the aftermath of a devastating EMP disaster, she fought to turn Minneha Hospital into a place of refuge. Now, the hospital has become a beacon of hope—but a beacon can attract predators, too.

Predators like Arlo, the brutal leader of a ruthless gang. Desperate to save his dying son, Arlo takes over the hospital and gives Laurel an impossible ultimatum: save his terminally ill boy… Or watch everyone she cares for die.

Meanwhile, Laurel’s husband Bear continues his trek across Minnesota, alone save for his loyal dog, Jessamine. The last time he teamed up with a fellow survivor, he was betrayed and almost killed. Now he keeps to himself, as the remnants of society turn to violence and bloodshed in a savage fight for survival.

Bear can take care of himself—but it’s cold, and it’s getting colder. And if he wants to reach Laurel before winter hits, he’ll have to do the unthinkable.

He’ll have to trust someone…

Get your copy of Chaotic World

Available August 10th, 2022

(Available for pre-order now)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

* * *

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Laurel

The pain on Arlo Staaf’s face was visible. His features had crumpled into a contorted grimace. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his gun. It was clear to Laurel that he meant what he’d said: he would kill every man, woman and child in the room if it resulted in him getting treatment for his son.

Laurel had seen this kind of emotional pain in parents before. It was why, after a rotation in pediatrics during her residency, she’d opted to specialize in trauma medicine. Trauma was quicker. There was less time to become invested in the patients and their lives. Yes, there were hard moments, but it wasn’t the same. For a while, at the beginning of her career, she’d felt bad about her decision. As if she was, somehow, opting out of something.

Before she became an Army medic, the ERs she’d worked in had felt like assembly lines. Patch ’em up, ship ’em out. When she became a parent herself, however, when Mae was born and her heart swelled with so much love she thought she might burst, she knew she’d made the right decision. There was no way she could watch other parents, day after day, fearing for their children’s lives. Be by their sides. Comfort them. Tell them everything was going to be okay when it clearly wasn’t going to be okay ever again.

Working in ERs, that part of the job was someone else’s responsibility. She’d met nurses, and doctors, who found it difficult; the fact that once their patient was sent up to surgery or admitted to a ward, they often didn’t know the outcome of the case. For Laurel, however, that was exactly the way she wanted it.

Now, the exact look she hated, the look that struck fear in her belly and made her think of her now grown-up daughter, was etched all over Arlo’s face.

He was terrified for his son’s life. While everyone else was fighting to survive in a world with no power, he was fighting for his son. And that made him far more dangerous than Robert Sullivan or men like him; Arlo wasn’t fighting for power, he was fighting for love.

Unfortunately, he was also clearly a man who was used to getting his own way and he was holding a gun. He was armed, surrounded by people who were willing to shoot the second he told them to, and he was prepared to do anything to save his son’s life. Except, perhaps, listen to reason.

“I mean it!” Arlo flipped the safety on the gun. His hand was shaking. “I will shoot everyone in here. You think I won’t? Don’t test me, doctor.”

All around her, people began to scream. The ER hadn’t been full when Arlo had barged his way into the hospital, but it was full enough for the noise to make Laurel suck in her breath and wish—just briefly—that she could turn her ears off like Bear could. That was the kind of thing she’d never have dared to say out loud to him. If she had, he’d have told her she had no idea how hard it was to lose one of your senses, to suddenly be less of a person. He’d have told her his injury wasn’t a gift. It was a curse. Nevertheless, how was she supposed to think straight when people were allowing themselves to panic?

Holding out her hands, palms-forward, as if she was approaching a caged animal, Laurel spoke softly. “Arlo. I want to help Liam. Of course I do.” From the corner of her eye, she looked at Mark, praying he could use his own military experience to calm everyone down enough for her to have a sensible conversation with Arlo. Nodding at her, he began to quietly and firmly ask the other nurses and the patients to remain still and quiet.

The gun dipped slightly in Arlo’s hand before he raised it back up. “Then do it. Help him. Help my kid.”

“I will.” Laurel fixed her eyes on Arlo’s and, barely blinking, said sincerely, “I swear I will do everything I can to help Liam, but that’s not because you’re holding a gun. It’s despite the fact you’re holding a gun.”

Arlo blinked at her. His lips tightened into a grimace.

“You’re obviously used to being able to get people to do things your way. You’re a businessman. A good one, from what I’ve gathered.”

At that, Arlo cleared his throat and Laurel noticed his shoulders straighten a little before he said, “Yeah. I am.” So, he responded to flattery, even if he didn’t want to show it. Good to know.

“The thing is, Arlo — Mr. Staaf — in medicine, things don’t happen the way you want them to simply because you shout louder than everyone else.” Laurel glanced at Janet, who looked as if she was about to pass out with fear. Robert Sullivan and his cronies had been a danger to the hospital — a grave danger — but at least Robert had pretended to be a good guy. A gun-wielding maniac who wanted treatment they were ill-equipped to provide was an entirely different scenario.

Laurel lowered her hands. She was standing only a few feet in front of Arlo now. “I detected leukemia cells in Liam’s sample.”

Arlo’s jaw twitched.

“Under normal circumstances….” She paused and gestured to the defunct lights above their heads and the blank trauma board hanging over the reception desk. “Under normal circumstances, Liam would be transferred into the care of the oncology department and they would do lots more tests to figure out what type of leukemia he has and whether it’s spread. They’d come up with a treatment plan, which they’d discuss with you and Liam—”

“What do you mean? ‘Figure out what type of leukemia’?” Arlo narrowed his eyes as if he suspected Laurel might be lying to him.

Keeping her voice steady, maintaining eye contact, Laurel said gently, “Leukemia simply means cancer of the blood. There are different kinds.”

Cutting in, Fi strode forward and growled, “So, just give him chemo. That’s what you do for cancer, right?”

From what Laurel could work out, Fi was Arlo’s right-hand woman, but Laurel had met people like her before; people who weren’t fighting for a cause but simply for the opportunity to fight.

“Again, it’s not that simple.” Laurel ignored Fi, noticing her voice tighten, and turned back to Arlo. The glimmer of patience he’d shown a moment ago had vanished.

“I don’t want excuses!” he yelled. Then BANG — he fired at the ceiling. BANG. BANG.

Maggie screamed. So did the patients. Mark put his arms around a young couple he’d only just calmed down and pulled them with him behind the seats in the triage area.

Across the room, Bulldog looked like he was ready to charge. He’d stepped forward and was quivering from head to toe. Laurel waved her arms to stop everyone from moving. Arlo had fired, but he hadn’t aimed at anyone. He’d just blown three bullet-sized holes in the ceiling.

“That’s enough!” Laurel shouted before she could stop herself. “I will not have my staff treated this way. Intimidated. Threatened.” She put her hands on her hips. “If you want me to help your son, you’re going to have to prove to me that you can play nicely or it’s no deal.”

Beside Arlo, Fi opened her mouth as if she was about to tell Laurel to shut up — or worse — but Arlo shh’d her with his hand.

“You’d let these people die? I don’t think so,” he growled.

“You’re probably right,” Laurel said tightly, moving closer, so close she could see the beads of sweat in Arlo’s hairline. Her entire body was quivering with nerves but she couldn’t let him see that. She needed him to believe she was just as ballsy as he was. “But I promise you this… if you harm a hair on one person’s head — if anyone in this hospital is harmed by you or your men — I will not help your son. I will hate myself for it—” Laurel drew up her chin and raised her voice. “But I will let Liam die.”

Laurel could almost hear Janet sucking in her breath from across the room, but she held firm. It was a battle of wills.

Arlo looked toward Liam’s cubicle. His shoulders dropped a little. Slowly, he lowered the gun. When he looked back at her, his eyes were moist, but he quickly blinked it away.

“I’ll do what I can to help Liam, but you have to allow my staff to continue their work. There are other patients here who need help just as badly as he does.” Laurel looked purposefully around the room at where her nurses and patients were caught in a freeze frame, trembling, barely daring to move.

Arlo nodded. As he replaced the safety on his gun, he said, “Fine, but my men stay and you work on Liam. Right?”

Checkmate.

“Right.” Laurel pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Moving toward Liam’s bed, she raised her voice and called to the rest of the room, “Okay, everyone. Mr. Staaf and his friends are staying while we treat his son, but you’re to carry on as normal while that happens. See to your patients. Come find me if you need me.”

For a moment, no one moved. Everyone simply stared at her. Janet was the first to speak up. “Come on,” she said, clapping her hands and purposefully not looking at the armed guards that still surrounded them. “You heard Doctor Rivera. Back to work.”

Get your copy of Chaotic World

Available August 10th, 2022

(Available for pre-order now)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

No Rescue

BLURB

A rising storm. A sudden catastrophe. No hope of rescue…

A storm looms on the horizon as Ruth Garber and her granddaughter Stella travel by helicopter to an offshore drilling rig. Ruth, a world-class geologist, is there to consult on a software upgrade. Stella, a geology student, just wants to prove herself to her legendary grandmother. They don’t know their trip will become a grim struggle to survive…

When the helicopter goes down after dropping them off, they realize they’re in trouble. The platform loses power. Cell phones don’t work. Everything electronic is dead. Stranded with a skeleton crew on a steel platform miles from shore, battered by massive waves, the deadly truth of their predicament slowly sinks in.

Meanwhile, John and his son Curtis are in a fishing boat, suddenly adrift when the engine fails. The waves are getting higher, and the storm has them on a collision course with the rig.

As the castaways on the rig struggle to survive, they discover the back-up generator has been deliberately damaged. When people begin to disappear, they come to a grim realization.

Someone in their tiny group is a saboteur.

Get your copy of No Rescue

Available December 14, 2022
www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

BLURB

An ailing father and a son determined to get him home…

Matthew Riley wants to believe people come together in times of struggle, but as chaos sets in after a massive EMP event, he discovers the only people he can trust are family. His father, an Army vet, has skills to survive this dark new world, but with no medication for his heart, keeping him alive may prove an impossible task.

She’ll protect her daughter and reunite her family…

Kathleen doesn’t share her husband’s optimistic view of humanity. When the power goes out during a visit to her brother in prison, she and her teenage daughter must find their way out before starting the long trek back to their family.

They’ll defend their home…

With the rest of the Riley family gone, it’s up to Ruth and her grandson, Patton, to keep their hotel safe for the family they know is coming back. But food is running low and some see an elderly woman and a pre-teen boy as easy pickings.

In a broken civilization, there is strength in numbers. One family is determined to survive, but will they be able to defend themselves against desperate survivors?

Grab your copy of Erupting Trouble (EMP Catastrophe Book One) from
www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

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EXCERPT

Chapter One

From his spot in the cashier’s line of Wilson’s Antiques, Matthew Riley smiled at the gorgeous expanse of blue sky that he could see outside the shop’s windows. It was turning out to be a beautiful day, and not just because of the spring Wisconsin weather: he’d junk-hunted through rickety wooden chairs and strange metal plush seats from the ’60s, and had found the perfect set of green velvet chairs. They’d be perfect decor for the hotel's summertime grand opening. Even his daughter, Allison, would think them retro-cool instead of outdated-gross. The ticket to claim and purchase rested in his palm.

“If this line moves any slower, I might keel over,” David grumbled beside him. His father wasn’t wrong—it seemed a lot of people had the same idea of taking advantage of the weather to hunt for trash turned to treasure. They were near the back of the line, and up ahead, the cashier was doing her best to keep the line moving.

“We have nowhere else to be,” Matthew told his father. “You can consider this mission a success. We found everything we came for here.”

“And some things we didn’t expect to find. What is this thing, anyway?” David asked, gesturing to the items in the basket Matthew held.

“It’s an old-timey coffee grinder,” Matthew said.

“Could just buy a new one,” David responded, peering at the squat wooden box with a rotating handle. “Looks like a Jack in the Box. Remember those toys?”

“It’s about the aesthetic. The River Rock Hotel is a mountain resort, and that’s what our guests will expect. We won’t use it, but doesn’t it look cool? People will imagine what it was like, exploring the mountains and finding ways to get their morning joe while watching the sun come over the mountain.”

“Should’ve kept my coffee grinder from when I was a young man. It might not have had the same aesthetic, but at least it worked and looked old. You could’ve used that for free instead of paying twenty bucks for something that cost fifty cents back in the day.”

“Fifty cents might’ve been the same amount as twenty bucks,” Matthew said. The lights above flickered, almost as if someone was playing with the light switch. “It’s called inflation, Dad.”

David snorted a laugh. His blue eyes crinkled in amusement. The lights continued to stutter, casting a dim flickering glow over the customers. Then, with a sudden bright surge like the bulbs had been pushed to their max, the store fell into darkness. Around him, the customers in line groaned.

“Sorry, folks,” the cashier said in a loud voice. “Looks like we lost power, again.”

A collective groan rose louder than the first.

“We’ll just wait for it to kick back on, and then we’d be happy to give you all a 10% discount for your patience and understanding,” the cashier finished. She pushed straggling hair off her forehead and had the look of a rabbit caught in a trap.

“I can’t wait for you to get your store back in order," one woman near the front said. "You should be prepared for this. It’s Madison, for goodness sake. The electricity is always unreliable in the spring.”

“It figures,” a young man said to his friend just in front of Matthew. “These kinds of shops aren’t investing in tech or updating their contingency plans in case something happens. Something like this could send them under. You need to take steps to ensure you aren’t losing your customer base just because the electricity goes out. The winter ice must've done a number on their infrastructure.”

Some of the customers rolled their eyes and pulled out their phones as the grumbling continued, and Matthew sighed, wondering if he should speak up. He understood why everyone was frustrated—the world was a hustle-and-bustle kind of economy, where listless time meant money lost or accomplishments not achieved. Still, the poor cashier looked flushed and stressed, and Matthew tended to have a strong, soothing personality. If everyone just understood that they were in the same boat, things would calm down. Matthew had found, over his years, that people had good hearts that got lost underneath the go-go-go life they all lived. Sometimes it just took a little nudge for everyone to remember that goodness. He opened his mouth.

“Don’t even think about it,” David said under his breath to him. Matthew gave his father an irritated, if fond, look. The two of them were so similar, yet their experiences had shaped them into two very different men.

“I wasn’t going to do anything,” Matthew said, but even he could hear the lie in his voice. “While we’re waiting, I’ll check in on Kathleen.” He pulled out his phone and dialed his wife, wanting to keep her abreast of the situation. She'd been on his mind all morning. He knew today would be hard on her.

“She’s inside a prison,” David said to him gently. “I bet neither she nor Allison can answer. Especially during visitation hours.”

Matthew kept the phone to his ear, but he couldn’t hear anything. The phone was eerily silent. He ended the call with a frown. His battery was fully charged. Why wouldn’t the call go through? “It’s not that. The call doesn’t even go anywhere.”

David shrugged, even as he pulled out his much older cell phone. “This old building probably has too much concrete blocking the signal, plus the electricity is out. Maybe a tower’s down. I don’t have signal either.”

“It’s all right. I just wanted to check in with her. It’s tough for her, seeing her brother locked up. I feel bad not being there with her.”

“You can’t be in two places at once. She’ll be all right,” David said. “Plus, the hotel is like having another child. You were needed here.”

Matthew swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, steering the conversation back into familiar territory with a joke. “At least it’s a child we’re raising together.”

“The most time-consuming money-sink of a child I've ever had."

Matthew smirked, knowing his father liked to pretend the hotel hadn't given him some purpose in his retirement years. "You fuss over the place more than I do."

"Never thought I’d be a retiree,” David mused and scratched at his temple. He had the same sandy-blonde hair as Matthew, only his was cut military style and had been for decades. “In all honesty, opening this hotel together will be as good for me as it is for you.”

“It’s been Kathleen’s and my dream for a while now. It’s about time we took the steps to make it happen. I'm glad you and Mom decided to be part of that dream too.” Matthew paused. “I know we told Mom we’d be back early this afternoon to help her and Patton clean up the rooms, but they’ll understand why we might be late.”

David grinned. “Patton’s probably driving Ruth up the wall.”

“Hey, he elected to stay behind and help clean.” Matthew held his hands up, palms out. “Sometimes I don’t understand that child of mine. I wouldn’t be caught dead having to clean, especially on a nice day like this.”

"Oh yeah, as opposed to shopping, which has always been something boys enjoy."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny."

Up ahead, the cashier held her hands around her mouth. “Hi there, valuable customers! Since the power doesn’t seem like it’s coming back on right away, we are going to ring out customers with cash purchases only. If you have a cash purchase, please form a new line to the right.”

“Are you serious?” the woman near the front yelled. She walked out of line and around the numerous displays, leaving her pile of things in the middle of the store. “You’ve just lost my business.”

“I’m with that lady,” another man seconded, and abandoned his items.

"I'd be more than happy to put your purchases on hold until tomorrow," the cashier said, her face crumbled with distress.

"You think I'd ever come back to a mismanaged establishment like this?" The bell above the door jingled as the woman stormed out.

“That’s uncalled for,” David said, his gruff voice low. “No need to be rude.”

“They’re just frustrated.” Matthew released a sigh and looked down to his basket. “I don’t have much cash on me. Not enough to get the chairs, that’s for sure.”

David bit his lip as most of the customers left their items strewn about the store or dumped on displays. “Maybe we should come back when things aren’t so hostile.”

“Yeah, this poor lady has enough to deal with. Let’s go put our things back. The furniture hasn’t been pulled yet.” Matthew ran a hand through his short, wavy hair, and placed the coffee grinder back on the shelf.

He turned a watchful eye on his father, who was placing a few art deco hinges and doorknobs back, and searched for any signs of distress. It had been a couple of hours, after all.

“This whole thing has been a bust,” he said to David. “Feel like heading home? We can try again another day.” He shouldn’t push his father to keep going and explore the other antique shops in Madison.

“You read my mind.” David rubbed his gnarled hands together as if to warm them. His eyes skittered around the shop, always taking in his surroundings. Old habits died hard. Matthew nodded, and together they walked out into the bright sunny day.

The warmth hit Matthew’s face, dispelling his worry over his wife and daughter. It was hard to be upset on a day like today. Together, David and Matthew headed to Matthew’s silver truck—a couple years old, but still up to date. They hopped in the truck’s cab, and Matthew clipped his seatbelt before reaching to start the car by hitting the button.

Usually, a green light flashed at him when the car started up and his phone connected to the Bluetooth. Now, the light flashed yellow. With a frown, he pulled out the key fob from his pocket and held the angular piece to the button. The button flashed green, indicating the key was near, but when Matthew tried to turn the car on, nothing happened. “C’mon,” Matthew said, pressing the button again. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I’ll go check it out.” David laughed, opening the truck door to get out.

“There’s no way,” Matthew said, holding the fob closer to the button, only now, no colored light flashed to even indicate the key was present. He didn’t hear any clicking or whirring indicating that the system knew he was in the car. He followed his father out of the cab and popped the hood.

David lifted the hood up and hooked it open. Matthew bit back the admonishment to be careful. Ever since his heart attack, his father had been sensitive to Matthew’s hovering. David poked at the looping wires bundled along the engine, checked a few things that Matthew had no idea what they did—a master’s in business did not a mechanic make.

“What’s it look like?” Matthew asked.

“I can’t see anything wrong,” David said slowly. “Probably left an interior light on that drained the battery. Happens to the best of us. You’re low on washer fluid.”

“What should we do?” Matthew looked around and saw that despite the exodus of people from the shop, a lot of cars still filled the parking lot. “Call a tow?”

“If you have signal. Honestly, we should go back inside and see if anyone can give us a jump.”

“Good idea.” Matthew smiled at his father. “I’m sure someone will help us out.”

David patted Matthew on the back, and together they turned to head back inside Wilson’s Antiques.

Grab your copy of Erupting Trouble (EMP Catastrophe Book One) from
www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

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