Collapsed World: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Saga Filled With Fascinating Characters & Prepper Info
Author: Grace Hamilton
Date: 2023-06-14 07:00:00+00:00
Description: When the world ends, all they have left is family. But can they survive what’s coming? Laurel and her husband, Bear, have finally reunited with their daughter Mae. But their daughter’s loyalties are divided, leading both Bear and Trent to get swept up in the turmoil as Mae is forced to pick sides. With her family separated once again, Laurel needs to figure out how to save them and remind their daughter that family comes first in the battleground of post-apocalypse America. And it isn’t long before a new crisis threatens everything they’ve worked so hard to build. Now Laurel must work out how

EMP AFTERMATH

Broken World

Chaotic World

Dangerous World

Divided World

Collapsed World

Lawless 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, JUNE 2023

Copyright © 2023 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

When the world ends, all they have left is family. But can they survive what’s coming?

Laurel and her husband, Bear, have finally reunited with their daughter Mae. But their daughter’s loyalties are divided, leading both Bear and Trent to get swept up in the turmoil as Mae is forced to pick sides.

With her family separated once again, Laurel needs to figure out how to save them and remind their daughter that family comes first in the battleground of post-apocalypse America. And it isn’t long before a new crisis threatens everything they’ve worked so hard to build. Now Laurel must work out how to rescue not only the Freemen but the Militia as well.

People are dying as the two groups clash, loyalties are tested, and Laurel and Bear must make the hardest choice of their lives. In the fight for survival, they struggle to answer a single burning question: how much can the ties of family withstand?

1

BEAR

For several long minutes, Bear was marched through the trees. He could hear nothing except a muffled, staticky duet of stomping feet and cackling soldiers. He kept expecting his daughter to turn around and look at him. Instead, she marched ahead, shoulders back, head held high.

Rather than being angry with her, Bear’s stomach twisted with sympathy; it gave him no pleasure to say he was right about her superiors, and no pleasure to see Mae being manipulated the way she was. From just the few brief minutes he’d spent in the presence of Captain Cornell, Bear had figured out precisely what kind of man Mae’s Captain was. Bear had worked with guys like him before. He’d had captains like him before, and all of them had shared a common trait; their personal ambition, not their sense of duty or morality, was what drove them. This one, though, possessed an added streak of cruelty. Bear could smell it a mile off. He saw it in the way Cornell looked at Mae and had heard it in the way he spoke to her—before he’d ripped Bear’s hearing aid from his ear, of course.

Surveying their route, committing any noticeable landmarks to memory, Bear realized they were not heading in the direction of the ammunition depot. He’d expected them to pass it, but instead, they stayed clear and stuck to the trees. Clearly, Cornell was avoiding it, which at least meant that Art King and his Freemen were holding the Militia back. For now.

Despite coming nowhere near any action between the Militia and the Freemen, they passed too many dead bodies. Soldiers who looked too young to be soldiers. Militia who’d been killed by the Freemen.

Looking at the face of a young female soldier with dark hair, a pale face, and open, unblinking eyes, Bear swallowed hard. The branches above her were reflected in her empty pupils. As Cornell’s men averted their eyes and tensed their jaws, Bear understood how easy it would have been for Cornell to persuade his troops that the Freemen were the enemy if this kind of confrontation had happened before.

The more Militia lives the Freemen took, the more ammunition Cornell had to fuel his assertion that they were the bad guys.

Bear breathed in slowly, noticing his nostrils flare with frustration.

Neither side was right in this. Neither side could take the high ground. Someone needed to capitulate—give up the depot and whatever was so important inside it—but that didn’t look likely any time soon.

* * *

Eventually, they emerged from the forest onto a wide country road, which they followed toward the nearest town. Bear studied Cornell carefully. He didn’t seem nervous or particularly alert, which implied the Militia had been camped out in Gentry for a while. This in turn implied that the Militia had the townsfolk under their thumb, or at the very least, frightened into submission.

The streets on the outskirts were deserted. From the movement of the sun, Bear calculated that they walked for another twenty minutes before turning off the main thoroughfare. With the sun hovering just past midday, they reached a large, imposing warehouse, which stood alone on a dusty plot of land. Corrugated steel walls, no windows, and large double doors at the front told Bear it was probably used for storage, but that Cornell had decided it would make an ideal bolt-hole while the Militia waited to take control of the depot.

With rough hands on his arms, Bear was marched toward the warehouse. Mae still hadn’t looked at him. All he’d seen since they started walking was the back of her head. While Cornell rapped his knuckles on the door, Mae stood back with the others.

A face appeared, a young man about Mae’s age. When he saw Mae, his mouth dropped open a little. Bear couldn’t see his daughter’s face, but the look in this kid’s eyes told him he knew Mae and was shocked to see her.

The young soldier said something that looked like, “You’re alive?” his breath catching in his chest as Cornell gestured for Bear to be brought forward.

As he was shoved toward the door, Bear finally caught a glimpse of Mae’s face. Without looking at her father, she dipped her head and said something Bear couldn’t interpret to the soldier at the door. Then her lips twitched. Not a smile, just recognition of the fact they were perhaps more than colleagues.

Shakily, the young man stepped aside to let Cornell pass. He strode through the entrance, beckoning for Bear to be brought along behind him.

Inside, it took a moment for Bear’s eyes to adjust. He scanned the room, expecting to see signs of a camp: supplies, beds, weapons. But the interior of the warehouse was dark and completely empty. It was just a huge, cavernous space with small windows of natural light illuminating it through cracks near the ceiling—perhaps so that, to potential intruders, it would look at first glance like nothing more than an abandoned warehouse rather than a Militia hideout.

Ahead, Cornell stopped, said something to the soldiers who were holding Bear’s arms, then spun on his heel and disappeared through a smaller door to their right.

For a moment, no one moved. The young man who’d been shocked to see Mae said something to one of the others. For the first time, Mae’s eyes darted toward Bear. Then she gestured to his mouth, to the gag. Was she asking them to remove it? Bear was trying to interpret what she was saying from the movement of her lips, but he’d never been good at lip reading.

In unison, the soldiers shook their heads. The three of them argued for a moment. Then, finally, the young man stepped in and seemed to talk Mae down.

As Bear was led farther into the belly of the building, Mae walked beside him. He couldn’t be sure whether she stayed silent because she knew he couldn’t hear her or because she didn’t know what to say. Either way, her lips remained tightly pressed together.

Finally, they reached another door. The young man unlocked it with a large key, hanging from a ring of other large keys.

It led to a large yard, enclosed by a tall metal fence and barbed wire. The light stung Bear’s eyes. He blinked. In front of them was a stack of rusty-looking shipping containers.

The boy pointed to one of them. The other two soldiers nodded. Then, leaving Mae and the boy hanging back by the doors, they dragged Bear forward.

As they heaved open the container, Bear’s stomach lurched a second time. His throat constricted. He felt like he might vomit. They were going to lock him in? For how long?

A pair of hands landed on Bear’s shoulders, spinning him around. The tallest of the soldiers who’d escorted him squared up to Bear and stared into his face. The guy had a shock of jet-black hair, and a scar on his upper lip. His cheeks reddened as he spoke loudly, the sound just about breaking through the static in Bear’s ear.

Beneath his gag, Bear tried to yell, “I can’t hear you, you idiot,” but before he’d finished, the soldier planted two firm hands on Bear’s chest and shoved him backward.

Stumbling, Bear tried to catch Mae’s eyes. She was too far away. The door began to close. Before sealing it shut, another soldier—not the dark-haired one—paused and yanked the gag from Bear’s mouth. Perhaps he was worried Bear would suffocate inside if he couldn’t at least take full breaths.

Immediately, Bear turned his head and shook it, indicating his hearing aid needed to be put back on his ear. The soldier who’d taken out the gag moved as if he was going to help, but the dark-haired one held him back. Mae looked away. Then the door was closed, and Bear was alone.

Sealed in the dark, Bear’s heart beat faster and faster. He tried to slow his breathing, but his skin was hot and prickly, and he still felt as if he might vomit. He could hear nothing. As if he was underwater, his ears were filled with nothing but a kind of muffled static.

He was trying to slow his thoughts when the slight movement of air near his shoulder made him jump. He froze, stock-still, staring into the darkness.

Slowly, he turned. “Who’s there?” he said loudly, hoping his voice was scary enough to stop whoever was in here with him from doing something stupid. “Listen, buddy, I can’t hear you. Those assholes took my hearing aid so—”

Something moved behind him and awkwardly brushed against his arm. His entire body stiffened. Then, suddenly, fingers caught Bear’s wrist and squeezed gently. In his bound hands, the fingers traced a shape in Bear’s palm: T.

“Trent?” Bear’s breath caught in his chest. “Is that you, kid? Squeeze once for no, twice for yes.”

Two squeezes of his hand caused Bear to breathe out heavily. “Okay. Okay, kid. You tied up too?”

Squeeze, squeeze.

“Right, okay… give me a second to think this through.” Slowing his thoughts in line with his breathing, Bear sat down. His arms were twisted at an awkward angle. He stretched his shoulders back, ignoring the pain in his elbow, and tucked his hands underneath himself. Then, drawing his knees up to his chest, he moved his tied hands beneath his butt, tucked his feet inside them, and jerked them up so they were now in front of his chest instead of behind his back. Reaching up, he looped his hearing aid back on his ear.

Immediately, he heard Trent’s voice. “Bear? Where’d you go?”

“I hear you, Trent. I’m here,” Bear replied, leaning forward and tugging at his bootlaces. “Sit down.”

“Sit down?” Trent’s voice was shaky.

“Do as I say.” Bear reached up, hands still tied, and tugged Trent’s pant leg. “Sit down, then sit on your hands and loop them forward over your feet, so they’re in front of you.” He waited, hearing Trent grunt as he followed the instructions. “Have you done that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve done it.”

“Right, now take out one of your laces.” Bear pulled his own lace free from his left boot. “Tie it tight around your foot. The tightest knot you can. Leave a length spare.”

“Okay….”

“Now tie the other part of the lace around the duct tape between your wrists. You’re going to use your feet to snap the duct tape with the lace.”

“Will that work?” Trent asked, incredulously. “I’m not as strong as you are.”

“You don’t need to be strong. It’ll work. Ready? We’ll do it together.”

“Gimme a sec.” Bear thought he heard grunting before Trent added, “Ready.”

“One, two, three….” Bear leaned back at the same time as he pushed his foot forward, using all the strength in both his legs and his arms to put pressure on the lace and the tape. After just a few seconds, the tape snapped and he jerked backward with a grunt of his own.

“It worked!” Trent cried. “Holy moly, it worked!”

“Hate to say I told you so.” Bear stood up, reaching out with both hands until he found Trent’s slim frame in the darkness. “It’s good to see you kid,” Bear said, pulling Trent in for a hug.

“You mean it’s good to not see me,” Trent replied.

Chuckling, Bear shook his head. “Actually, despite your ugly mug, I’d prefer to be seeing you right now,” he said, his eyes still trying desperately to fix on anything except darkness. Reaching out, squeezing Trent’s shoulders, he added, “Are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m good, PB. Apart from being alone in the dark thinking I was going to be murdered for the past who knows how many hours.”

“Right.” Bear shook his head. “About that… you better tell me what the heck happened.”

2

LAUREL

“Be careful,” Laurel called, looking back at the stretcher and the men carrying it. “There are large roots here. Do not drop her or jostle her too much.”

“We know,” snapped Eric—a tall guy with shockingly blond hair—flashing her a frustrated glare.

Squaring up to him, through gritted teeth, Laurel whispered, “Listen to me, the only chance this woman has of walking again is if we keep her still and steady. Got it?” She stopped short of grabbing him by the shoulder; that wouldn’t help to steady the stretcher, would it?

His expression faltered a little, Eric nodded. “Yeah,” he said, glancing back at Sharon, whose eyes were closed. “I got it, Doc.”

Farther down the hill and into the trees, Laurel looked up to see if she could spot a flash of sky and an indication of how much time had passed since they’d started walking. All she could see, however, was grayish-blue sky and grayish-white clouds. “Damn it,” she muttered, shaking her head. “We’re too slow.”

They’d reached a section of the forest where the trees seemed to be thinning and the ground leveling when Laurel heard noises up ahead. Footsteps. People trampling over leaves and twigs. Reaching for her gun with one hand, she gestured for the men with the stretcher to remain still behind her.

She lifted her weapon, aware that they couldn’t run or hide if they wanted to keep Sharon steady. A man appeared up ahead. Dark hair, dark beard, and civilian clothes.

“It’s okay,” someone shouted. “It’s Shane. The EMT.”

A rush of air involuntarily left Laurel’s lungs. An EMT. Thank God. “Shane?” She jogged up to him. He looked anxiously past her, clocked Sharon and sucked in his cheeks.

“How is she? Art told me what happened.”

“Where is Art?” Laurel asked as they began walking once again.

“Back at the depot. After he sent the stretcher, he came to find me. Told me you might need help.” Shane glanced back over his shoulder and then repeated his question. “How is she?”

Pushing her glasses on top of her head, Laurel pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to keep her voice steady. “It’s hard to tell. The flagpole fell on her. That’s at least one hundred pounds of metal, maybe more. Right onto her back.” Lowering her voice, Laurel added, “Art moved her.”

“Oh no!” Shane replied quickly. “How’s her pain?”

“She’s not in any pain.” Laurel looked straight ahead, trying to blink back the moisture in her eyes. “Right now, she can’t feel her legs.”

Shane opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Shaking his head, he took a long slow breath.

“It could just be shock,” Laurel said, drawing back her shoulders and trying to sound like she believed what she was saying. “They have a medical bay set up at the depot?”

Shane nodded.

“Good. We’ll get her in there and assess her.”

“How can we assess her properly with no imaging equipment?” Shane hissed quietly. “We have nothing. Just our hands and our eyes, neither of which can tell us whether she has a spinal cord injury.”

“Shane….” Laurel’s tone darkened. “I know, okay? I know we have no equipment. But we’ll think of something.” Laurel clenched her jaw and wrapped her arms around her waist. “We’ll think of something.”

* * *

With Sharon finally inside, while Shane helped Art’s men transfer her onto a bed in the medical bay, Laurel paced up and down the corridor outside and tried to rearrange her thoughts. In pretty much every medical situation she’d come across so far, she’d found a solution. Broken limbs, open wounds, Liam’s blood—she’d managed to do something. But for Sharon, right now, she was drawing a blank.

Shaking her arms at her sides, splaying her fingers to try and release some tension from her aching body, Laurel turned back to the door. She was about to open it when Eric and the others strode through. As he passed her, he flashed her a stony stare but then quietly said, “Let me know how she does, Doc,” and disappeared down the corridor.

Inside the medical bay, it was at least a little quieter than outside. Although the shooting seemed to have stopped, it seemed the Freemen were attempting to secure the perimeter before the Militia regrouped. Everywhere, people were shouting, yelling instructions, running, carrying, fetching. She’d never suffered from PTSD—not the way Bear had—but memories of her time in the Middle East were still unwelcome. They broke her concentration, made her feel heat instead of cold, and brought back visions she’d rather not see.

Laurel let the door swing closed. With the rush of air, her thoughts returned to the present. She walked slowly to Sharon’s bedside. Sharon was flat on her back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

“Hi, Sharon.” Laurel sat down next to her.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” Sharon asked, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve treated animals with paralysis before. Most of the time, we put them to sleep.”

“Ah-ah,” Laurel said firmly. “I won’t have any of that talk. We haven’t examined you yet. The paralysis could be temporary.”

“Does that happen often?” Sharon asked, her tone skeptical rather than hopeful.

“Whatever happens, Sharon, we’ll be here to help.” Laurel put a firm hand on Sharon’s arm. Shane was lingering behind her, looking pale and worried. As Sharon’s gaze landed on Laurel’s fingers, she sucked in a sharp breath and Laurel noticed moisture spring to her eyes.

Before Laurel could say anything else, the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside made them both look up. Standing slowly, Laurel picked up her weapon and positioned herself in front of Sharon’s bed. But when the doors were flung open and Lisa appeared, Laurel lowered her gun and stepped aside.

Her expression etched with worry, Lisa pulled off her baseball cap and ran to Sharon’s bedside. Clasping her wife’s hands, she looked down at the blanket covering Sharon’s lower half. As she stroked Sharon’s face and kissed her forehead, Laurel looked away and gestured for Shane to do the same.

What little she knew of Lisa had told her she was a tough cookie. Right now, she looked terrified, and it didn’t feel right to watch the two women’s intimate exchange.

“We’ll wait outside for a moment.” Laurel was about to motion for Shane to follow her to the corridor when Lisa caught her arm.

“No, Laurel, stay. Tell me what’s going on. Please… Art said a pole fell on her?”

“A flagpole.” Laurel’s jaw twitched at the memory. “It fell on her lower back.”

Interrupting them, in a shaky voice, Sharon whispered, “I can’t feel my legs, Lis. I can’t feel them.”

Turning to Sharon, Lisa swept her palm over her wife’s forehead. “Shhh,” she said softly. “It’s okay.” She looked back at Laurel and then at Shane. “It’s going to be okay, right?”

“We suspect she has a fracture in her lower spine.” Shane spoke up before Laurel had a chance to. “But without imaging equipment—”

“Without imaging equipment,” Laurel cut in, “I’m afraid it will be a case of waiting to see what happens in the next few days. We simply don’t know how much damage she’s sustained.”

“But a spinal fracture?” Lisa’s eyes widened. “That’s bad news, right? That’s not the kind of thing people recover from.”

“Not necessarily,” Laurel said, ignoring the pessimism simmering on Shane’s skin. “Some spinal cord injuries do improve over time. The cord can regenerate, but it depends on the injury site and just how much damage was done.”

For a moment, Lisa simply nodded. Then, as if she was purposefully trying to be upbeat, she turned to Sharon and squeezed her hand. “See? It’ll be okay. Just means you get some downtime for a while. I’ll find you a stack of books. I know there are some around here.”

“Sounds great,” Sharon replied, smiling back.

“Lisa?” Laurel stepped around the bed so she was closer to Lisa. “While I try to examine Sharon a little more, there are some meds we need. Could you go with Shane and fetch them from the stores?”

Lisa’s forehead crumpled into a frown. “I’d rather—”

Exchanging a purposeful look with Shane, Laurel indicated that he should step in.

A little hesitantly, he got the hint. “I’d appreciate your help,” he said. “If the stores don’t have what we need, we might need to make a trip to the pharmacy, and with Militia around, I’ll need backup for that.”

“I’m okay, Lis.” Sharon nodded at her wife. “You go.” She smiled, her breath tight in her chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sharon kept smiling, blinking at the ceiling, until the door closed, and Laurel stepped over to her. Then, with a heavy shake of her chest, she began to cry.

“It’s okay, let it out.” Laurel pulled up a stool and sat down, placing a gentle hand on Sharon’s shoulder.

For several long moments, the two women sat side by side. Sharon cried quietly and then, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, took a deep breath before exhaling loudly. “All right, Doc,” she said determinedly, “let’s figure out how bad the damage is.”

Slowly, starting with Sharon’s neck, Laurel examined her. When she reached her waist, she nodded and said, “Looks like your top half is fine. You can move your head now, Sharon.”

Relaxing her shoulders, Sharon turned her head to the side and smiled at Laurel. “Well, that’s something,” she said before turning her gaze toward her feet. “But I’m guessing it’s not such good news about my bottom half?”

Looking around the room, Laurel searched for a hospital gown or something that Sharon could change into. Finding nothing useful, instead she unfolded the blanket from the bottom of the bed and draped it over Sharon’s waist and legs before very gently removing her boots, socks, and pants.

Rummaging in the drawers next to Sharon, she found an old, laminated ID card and—without looking at the photograph printed on it—proceeded to use the sharp corner to test the sensation in Sharon’s lower extremities.

“That’s not good,” Sharon said darkly. “I don’t feel anything. Not a thing.”

Sitting back down, Laurel slotted the card into her pocket and braced her hands on her thighs. “Let’s just take this one day, one hour, at a time,” she said softly. “Without scans, it’s simply too early to tell. Even with scans, it’s often a case of waiting. You know that, Sharon. You’re a vet.”

“Yes,” she replied, meeting Laurel’s eyes. “I’ve euthanized many animals in this situation.”

Laurel’s jaw twitched. She pushed her glasses up onto her head and released a heavy breath. “Sharon….”

“Laurel, I’m not being melodramatic. But it would have been bad enough before…” she waved her hand at the ceiling, “all this. Now? With no lights, no power, no way to take scans, or electric wheelchairs… I’m not sure I can do it.”

Before Laurel could reply, the door behind them clattered open and Lisa strode in. Behind her, Shane was holding the medication Laurel had asked for and deposited it on the end of the bed.

“How are you?” Lisa asked, taking in Sharon’s bare feet, protruding from the blanket and wrapping her fingers around one of them. “Your feet are freezing.” She turned to Laurel. “Can we put her socks back on?”

“Of course,” Laurel nodded. “I’m finished for now.”

Gently, Lisa rolled Sharon’s socks back onto her feet. It was an intimate gesture, which made Laurel feel as if she should look away. Shane looked away too.

“I have to go. There are others who need help.” Shane nudged Laurel’s elbow. “Let me know if you need me?”

Laurel nodded at him. Alone with just Lisa and Sharon, she stood up and offered Lisa her chair at Sharon’s bedside. “It will be some time before we know what level of movement Sharon will regain.”

“If any,” Sharon added solemnly.

“That’s right.” Laurel folded her arms in front of her stomach and studied the two women. “And I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you—it will be difficult. Especially here. Like this.” Laurel unfolded her arms and tilted her head toward the window and the muffled noises of the chaos outside. “But,” she said, “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to help. If we can find some textbooks, I’ll be able to advise you on some PT.”

“I’ll help,” Lisa quickly interjected. “I’ll help her however I can. Just tell me what I need to do.”

Moving to put her hand on Lisa’s shoulder, Laurel nodded at her. “I know you will, but this will be hard for both of you. Emotionally as well as physically.” She held her breath in her chest for a moment before adding, “When Bear was injured and lost his hearing, no one warned us how difficult it would be. How much of a strain it would put on our relationship, or how important it was that we tried to keep communicating with each other.”

Lisa and Sharon locked eyes as Lisa reached for Sharon’s hand.

“Whatever happens, you need to remember that.” Laurel moved toward the door. “I’ll go find some water and some food. You need something in your belly before you take these pills.”

“Laurel?” Sharon’s voice made her turn around. “Bear still loves you. Whatever you two went through, he still loves you.”

Laurel met Sharon’s gaze but couldn’t find the words to reply.

“He went through hell to get to you,” Lisa added. “You were the only thing he could think of. So, whatever happened between you two, I hope it’s fixable. For both of you.”

“Thank you.” Laurel’s voice came out a little hoarse. She cleared her throat and nodded at them. “Thank you. I’ll be back.”

3

BEAR

“I’m sorry I lost her.” Trent’s voice was quiet. “I was trying to get her back. That’s why I ran. I’m sorry I lost her.”

“It’s okay, kid. Jess is tough. She’s probably with Laurel right now, or off chasing rabbits.” Bear nudged Trent’s shoulder with his own. The two of them were sitting at the back of the shipping container, in the dark, backs against the cold, corrugated metal wall.

Having checked every square inch of the container as thoroughly as he could with not even a glimmer of light to see by, Bear had given up and decided to conserve his energy. “I was hoping their jail cells would be a little more roughshod,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You mean something we could break out of?” Trent asked, sounding hopeful.

“Mmm. No way we can use force to get out of here,” Bear replied, rapping his knuckles on the nearest piece of wall.

“We could,” Trent said, “if we charged them. I mean, they’ll have to bring us water at some point, right? Let us out to pee?”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Bear muttered in reply.

“Well, if they do, we could wait inside the door, rush at them. The two of us could take them, PB. I know we could.”

Bear shook his head, even though he knew Trent couldn’t see it. “Too risky, Trent. They’re armed. They’ll be expecting us to do something like that.”

Trent inhaled sharply as if he was about to say something else, but then breathed out just as hard, making a raspberry with his lips. “So, what do we do then?” he asked. “Wait for Mae to come to her senses and break us out?”

Bear noticed the disapproving tone in Trent’s voice and had to fight the urge to stick up for his daughter. After all, he couldn’t blame Trent for being mad at Mae; Bear wasn’t exactly thrilled with her himself. “She could be talking to the captain right now,” Bear said, in a tone that betrayed the fact that even he didn’t believe what he was saying.

“Bear, she betrayed you. She let them throw you in here. She betrayed Sharon too, and Lisa. They’ve been taking care of her. They nursed her back to health. They trusted her, and the whole time she was—”

“Okay, kid,” Bear growled. Then, softening his voice a little, he repeated, “Okay. I get it.”

Wrapping his arms around his knees, Bear pushed his fingers through his hair. Trying to convince Trent that loyalty in the Army was a complicated beast, and that it was impossible to know how he’d behave in Mae’s situation, would be pointless. Trent had matured in a lot of ways since the beginning of their journey together, but he was still a kid. A kid who couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be part of something bigger than himself.

Instead of continuing their conversation, Bear slid down the wall until he was lying on the hard floor of the container. “Try to get some sleep, Trent. We don’t know when we’ll need our energy.”

Huffing a little, Trent shuffled down too. Despite his protests, within minutes he was snoring. Bear contemplated taking his hearing aid out, but something about the sound of Trent’s breathing was comforting. So he left it in and closed his eyes.

He was just drifting off, finally having found a position that didn’t irritate any of his old injuries, when a loud clunking sound made him jump bolt upright.

Stumbling to his feet, he pressed his back against the wall. As the door opened, and light flooded in, he looked down, shielding his eyes.

Trent was crouched in front of him. Bear hauled him to his feet and the two of them exchanged a brief nod, pleased to see one another’s faces. Remembering the pact they made last night—that Trent would survey the inside of the container while Bear gathered intel on what was going on outside—Trent immediately began scanning their surroundings.

Squinting at the now-open door, Bear noticed that the sun had dipped lower in the sky. He looked past the silhouette in the doorway. Outside, Militia were scurrying back and forth. Two men carrying a large trunk were walking from one side of the yard to another.

“Dad?” Mae’s voice made Bear’s eyes snap to the foreground. She stepped forward into the container. Behind her, the guard from the door—the young one who seemed to know her—was watching them with his rifle in his hands.

Bear raised his palms. “I’m not going to try anything, Mae. You can tell your Boy Scout to stand down.”

Mae blinked at him, her lips tightening. “I brought you some food.”

Bear looked down at her hands and realized she was holding a large bottle of water and two energy bars. She tossed him the first energy bar, but instead of catching it, Bear let it fall to the ground. He folded his arms and stared at her.

Examining him, Mae’s eyes flickered from Bear’s face to his wrists, then back up to his hearing aid. She didn’t ask how he’d broken free from his restraints. A voice inside his head wondered whether she would report him; then he hated himself for wondering it. Had it really reached the stage where he did not trust his own daughter?

Swallowing hard, Mae gestured to the floor and placed the remaining bar and the bottle of water down. “I’ll just leave these here, then,” she said, already turning as if she was going to leave.

“That’s it?” Bear stepped forward. The second he moved, the young guard shakily raised his rifle. Bear sensed Trent watching him. The kid was right, they could charge right now, but where would it get them? Whoever let Mae be the one to come in here must be certain that they had enough backup in the yard to stop Bear getting very far, or they’d never have okayed it. “You’re just going to leave? You’ve got nothing to say to me, Mae?”

With her back to him, Bear watched Mae’s shoulders drop. She wrapped her arms around her waist and then turned around. “Captain Cornell will let you out eventually,” she said. “I just need to prove to him that he can trust me. If he trusts me, he’ll trust you. Then he’ll let you out.”

Before Bear could answer, Trent waved his arms and yelled, “Are you serious, Mae? Can you hear yourself? You’re deluded! You let them lock us up!”

As if she’d only just noticed Trent was there, Mae closed her eyes for a moment and breathed slowly in and out. “Trent, you don’t understand. You’re just a kid.” She looked back at Bear and met his gaze. “But my father does understand. He’s a soldier. He knows what it means to take an oath… to make a promise you can’t break. He gets it.”

Bear held his daughter’s gaze for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, Mae,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

Her mouth open, Mae frowned at him.

Bear didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. “They’ve locked up a kid, Mae.” Bear gestured to Trent. “They might think I’m a threat, but what about Trent? What has he done?”

Mae’s eyes widened. Her pupils were large and dark. “I have no idea. I didn’t know he was even here until—”

“So start asking some questions,” Bear said sternly. “Ask why Trent’s locked in here with me. Ask what they’re planning to do next to the Freemen.”

“It’s not my place—”

“Your mother is with them, Mae.” Bear’s voice boomed inside the container and bounced off the walls. He knew his cheeks were reddening. A slow heat was creeping up his throat. Trying to slam the lid back on his frustration, he shook his head and exhaled loudly. “Your mother is with the Freemen, Mae. If the Militia attack them again—”

“Shhhhh.” With fire in her eyes, Mae waved her hands at him. “Stop talking about the Freemen. If you want to get out of here, you need to prove you can be trusted. Yelling about Mom being with the Freemen isn’t going to help, is it?”

Bear bit down hard on his back teeth. His jaw twitched. Closing his eyes, he drew every bit of composure he could muster into his chest, then said, “Okay. If you can’t get us out of here, could you at least get us transferred to a less hellish jail cell?” Bear looked back into the container and then at Mae. “It’s pitch dark in here, Mae. We don’t even have anywhere to go to the bathroom.”

“I’ll ask the captain,” she said quietly. “But I can’t make any promises.”

And then she was gone. The door closed, and they were in darkness again.

Several long moments passed before Trent finally spoke. “She’s pig-headed. Like Laurel.”

Bear let out a deep chuckle. “Yeah,” he said. “She is.”

There was another pause before Trent added quietly, “Do you think she’ll really ask that captain to move us?”

A heavy weight settled in Bear’s stomach as he considered Trent’s question. While Mae had stood in front of him, he’d been torn between studying her and studying the surrounding yard. Looking at her, he’d seen no sign of repentance or sympathy in her face; just a firm belief that Bear and Trent being locked up was some kind of test and that it would all be sorted out as soon as she proved to Cornell she could be trusted.

“Well, even if she does, I’m not sure Cornell will think much of the idea of us being moved someplace else.”

“No,” Bear said, scratching his beard with his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t think he will.”

A thick silence filled the air between them as Bear waited for Trent to tell him they should come up with a plan. But he didn’t. Trent stayed quiet and let Bear think. After a while, reluctantly, Bear said, “Okay, kid. You’re right. We need a plan.”

“I didn’t say—”

“I know, but you were thinking it.” Bear pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that reminded him of Laurel. “And you’re right. As much as I want to believe Mae will help us, she’s in too deep. She’s not going to disobey her captain. I saw it in her eyes.”

Trent made a clicking sound with his tongue as he ripped open his protein bar. He took a large bite, chewing loudly. After swallowing, he took a swig of water, then said, “So, what do we do? Did you see a way out of the yard?” Trent edged closer, bringing warmth with him. “Because I studied this container we’re in, and I’m telling you, PB, there’s only one way out of it.”

“The door,” Bear muttered, weighing his own food up and down in his hand without breaking into it yet.

“Yeah, the door.” Trent became a little more animated as he said, “We could charge them, like I said.”

Running through the scenario in his head, although his instinct had been to say no, Bear nodded slowly. “We might have to,” he said, rubbing his cold knees.

“What if it’s Mae?” Trent’s question was quick and direct. “Would you be able to do it?”

“No.” Bear answered honestly. “I don’t think I would. If it’s Mae, we’d have to wait.”

“And what if that’s why Cornell sent her?” When Bear didn’t answer, Trent added, “He sent her to bring the food because he knew you wouldn’t try anything with her.”

Bear breathed out heavily. He hadn’t considered that. “You could be right,” he said. “No way to tell. If it’s Mae, we wait. See who comes next time. If they keep sending her, then I’ll have to rethink my position.”

Trent didn’t answer. Bear pictured him nodding and rubbing the back of his neck, deep in thought.

Longing for even a sliver of light so they could see one another’s faces, Bear looked in the direction of the door. Nothing made it past the corrugated metal of the container. “It takes our eyes a while to adjust to the light, but it also takes their eyes a while to adjust to the darkness.” Bear began to tap his fingers on his thigh. “As soon as we hear them unlocking the door, we position ourselves on either side of it, pressed back so we’re in the dark as long as possible. If it’s not Mae, we jump them. If there’s one, I’ll take them down. If there’s two, I’ll take the bigger one.”

“Okay.” Trent sounded confident, but Bear sincerely hoped the kid wouldn’t have to attempt to jump a soldier. “Then what?”

“We get their weapons and use them as a shield to get out of here. Head left. There’s a gate in the perimeter fence. One armed guard. They see us with their buddy and let us out. We run.”

“You’re making it sound easy,” Trent laughed.

“No, kid. Not easy. Not easy at all. But I don’t see what choice we have. Judging by all the movement out there, Cornell is planning a second charge on the depot. Right now, it still belongs to the Freemen. Right now, Laurel is with the Freemen. We have to warn them before someone gets hurt.”

“Okay then,” Trent said firmly. But after a few quiet seconds, he added, “Guess we just have to hope they don’t have snipers or something watching the yard.”

Bear tightened his grip on his thighs. “Yeah, kid, I guess we do.”

4

LAUREL

Passing through the corridors of the depot, Laurel felt as if everyone knew where they were going and what they were doing. Everyone except her. The place was a maze of sealed rooms and heavy doors, with just a few small windows, high up, letting in slivers of natural light.

She was jostled and shoved as Freemen rushed past her. Some were injured, blood trickling down their faces, but they seemed intent on carrying on. Her stomach lurched as she spotted a young woman who bore a striking resemblance to her daughter. She had Mae’s complexion, and Mae’s pale blonde hair. She was running, but stopped and leaned forward onto her knees, taking several deep breaths.

Laurel darted over to her and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Are you all right? Do you need medical help?”

The young woman looked up and frowned. “I don’t recognize you,” she said in an accusatory tone.

“I don’t recognize you either,” Laurel said tightly.

“I’ve been stationed here at the depot for the past few weeks,” the woman replied.

“And I’ve been living with Art up at the campsite. I’m a doctor. I’ve been helping Shane.”

The young woman’s eyes flickered in recognition of Shane’s name. “I’m Cassie.” She stuck out her hand to shake Laurel’s.

“Laurel.” She returned the gesture. “Can you do me a favor, Cassie? My friend Sharon is injured. She’s in a medical bay just down there on the right. I need someone to sit with her and her wife while I find them food and water.”

“I was supposed to be helping to secure the perimeter fence. Militia blew a hole in it on their way out.” Wavering a little, Cassie leaned against the wall and breathed out heavily.

“Doesn’t look like you’re up to doing anything very physical right now,” Laurel said. “And I really do need them to have company.”

Cassie bit her lower lip, clearly torn. But then she gave a curt nod of the head and said, “All right. Which room?”

“Down there on the right. Third or fourth door, I think.” Laurel pointed in the direction of the small medical bay.

Before Cassie could leave, Laurel said hurriedly, “Have you seen Art on your travels? He was there when Sharon was injured. I think he’d want to know how she’s doing.”

“Last I heard, he’d gone after a runaway horse and a bunch of supplies.” Cassie pushed her fingers through her hair and made a tsking noise. “Could use him here, to be honest, instead of gallivanting around in the forest.”

“Without those supplies, being here won’t last very long.” Laurel waved at their surroundings. “If we get penned in by the Militia with no food or water, our position will be weak. Art’s right to secure the supplies, and he wouldn’t put people’s lives at risk. I’m sure he left someone in charge.”

Cassie narrowed her eyes and examined Laurel’s face, clearly surprised that this woman she’d never met before was coming to her leader’s defense. “What happened to your friend?” she asked, turning in the direction of the medical bay.

“A flagpole fell on her. It’s likely she’s going to lose the use of her legs.” Laurel breathed in slowly, feeling her nostrils flare. “She mustn’t be moved.”

A look of sympathy, mixed with horror, crossed Cassie’s face. She cleared her throat. “Sure,” she said. “I get it. No moving.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Laurel turned and looked both ways down the corridor in front of her, which branched both left and right.

Sensing she had no idea where she was going, Cassie said, “You can try the stores near the canteen. Take a right, then another right, then a left.”

“Thank you.” Laurel met Cassie’s eyes and offered her a quick smile, then turned and hurried in the direction of the stores.

Following Cassie’s directions, she ignored the flurry of people heading in the opposite direction to her, and kept going until she reached what was clearly the area Cassie had referred to as “the stores.”

Her guess was that, under normal circumstances, the doors would be heavily guarded. Right now, however, she was able to walk straight in and take what she wanted from the shelves.

Laurel had lit a candle she’d found on a nearby shelf, grabbed a large bottle of water and was pocketing some oatcakes sealed in silver foil packets when the doors behind her swung open. She turned, instinctively reaching for a gun she wasn’t holding.

The figure who entered was bent double, struggling to catch their breath, shoulders shaking. As they moved their head, Laurel caught sight of the red scarf around their neck. “Art?” She moved closer.

Art King snapped his eyes up and rose to his full height. When he realized it was Laurel speaking to him, he softened and let out a heavy sigh. “Doc. What are you doing here?”

“I came to fetch water for Sharon. Are you all right?” She put down her bottle of water and took Art by the elbow.

His head was bleeding, and he was still breathing heavily. Gently, Laurel guided him to perch on an upturned wooden crate. Art braced his hands on his knees and shook his head. “Managed to retrieve the supplies, but Frankie the horse was injured. She made it back here with the cart, but we had to…” He cleared his throat, his words thickening in his mouth. “Had to put her out of her misery.”

Art looked down at his hands as if he expected to find them stained with blood.

“All the Militia I’ve shot, and a horse is what gets me.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking hard to keep back the tears.

Laurel opened her mouth to tell him she understood, that her unit had to euthanize one of their service dogs out in the Middle East, and that it nearly broke the lot of them. But instead, she offered Art a bottle of water and put her hand on his shoulder while he drank.

Seeming to have caught his breath, Art looked up and her, replaced the bottle lid, and said, “Sharon? How is she?”

“She’s okay.” Laurel sat down on a crate opposite Art. “She doesn’t have any feeling in her lower extremities, but we’re taking it one minute at a time. With no scans or tests, there’s not much else we can do. I’m going to keep her still for a while, and hope some of the inflammation goes down. It’s a difficult balance, though. Inflammation is what protects the body, so it really is a waiting game.”

Art bit the inside of his cheek, then shook his head. “How on earth will she cope? If she can’t walk? We don’t even have electric wheelchairs now, do we?”

For the first time since she met him, Laurel saw something close to hopelessness on Art’s face.

“One day at a time,” she said. “We’ll figure out how to help her. But we can’t think too far ahead.”

Nodding, Art stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Well, there are some things we’ll have to figure out sooner rather than later.”

Laurel frowned at him.

“We can’t stay here. We might have won the fight for now, but the Militia will return. They know we’re weak, they’ll try again, and next time they’ll succeed.”

Before Laurel could ask why the Militia were so desperate to keep hold of the depot, Art continued.

“At first light, we’re leaving. We’re down to two horses, so we only have two carts. Everyone will carry a pack each with rations and weapons.”

“It’s far too soon for Sharon to travel, Art.” Laurel stood up too and folded her arms. “She needs to be still. Resting.”

“We don’t have time for that, Doc. So you’ll have to figure out a way to transport her. We can make room in one of the carts.”

“Even so, lifting her up there is enough of a risk, let alone traveling over uneven ground.” Laurel was thinking aloud. Pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, she allowed it to twitch from side to side. “Besides, where are we going?”

“There’s a campsite north of here. It should have everything we need.” Art turned toward the door. With his hand on it, he paused. “I know you’re thinking of your family. Wondering what will happen if they return and we’re gone, but I’m sorry, Doc. We can’t wait.”

With that, he pushed open the door and left.

* * *

For a moment, Laurel waited in the dark storeroom, staring at the flickering orange glow of the candle she’d secured in a holder near the door. She breathed slowly and deliberately, trying to push thoughts of Bear and Mae from her mind.

They hadn’t returned yet. They should have returned. They should be here by now, but they weren’t.

Her instinct was to go and look for them—to run from this place and scour the woods screaming their names—but she couldn’t abandon Sharon. Not now.

In that moment, she made a decision; she’d help Sharon get to wherever Art wanted to go, then she’d leave the Freemen and find her family.

Having a solid plan in her head helped her heart to stop racing and her vision to clear. She shook her arms at her sides, then picked up the large bottle of water, along with a packet of chocolate chip cookies, and hurried back toward Sharon and Lisa.

She was passing a pair of large double doors when she heard a familiar voice. The doors swung open, and a harassed-looking woman with flyaway hair and a grim expression on her face ran out.

“Hurry! I need those supplies now!” the voice called after her.

“Shane?” Laurel muttered, tucking the water bottle under her arm and nudging the door open with her hip.

Beyond the doors, she found what looked like the canteen now turned into a triage area. Beds had been set up, patients were holding bloodied heads and poorly bandaged arms. In the midst of the chaos, Shane was stitching an elderly man’s leg. He looked up, did a double take, then waved. A sigh of relief shook his chest as he said, “Laurel. Dr. Rivera. Thank God.”

Finishing his stitches, he patted the man’s arm, gave him a bottle of water, then stood up. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve as he walked over to Laurel. “Did Art send you to help?” he asked hopefully.

“No, but I will.” Laurel gestured to the doors. “I need to take these supplies to Sharon and Lisa, but then I’ll be back.”

Without waiting for Shane’s answer, she jogged from the room. When she reached Sharon and Lisa, she found both women sleeping. Sharon was stock-still, lying rigidly on her back in the same position Laurel had left her in, while Lisa was hunched over with her forehead resting on her arms.

In the corner, Cassie was dozing too. Her eyes fluttered open. She noticed Laurel and sat bolt upright, sheepishly muttering, “I was just closing my eyes.”

“It’s okay, Cassie, you should rest while you have a chance.” Laurel set the spoils of her trip down on the table next to Sharon’s bed. She noticed Cassie’s expression brighten as she clocked the packet of chocolate chip cookies.

“They’re for sharing,” Laurel chuckled. “Sugar is good for shock.”

Cassie nodded, accepting a bottle of water and taking a long drink from it.

“I have to go help Shane triage the injured, but I’ll try to send someone with some hot tea when I get the chance.”

“You want me to stay with them?” Cassie asked.

Laurel bit her lower lip as she considered the question. “Just until they wake up. Tell them I’ll be back soon, then go see what you can do to help Art.”

Cassie nodded.

“He’s planning to move everyone out of here tomorrow morning,” Laurel said quietly. “So there’s a lot to do.”

“Move out?” Cassie frowned. “We only just secured the place.”

“Art doesn’t think it’ll remain secure for long,” Laurel said darkly. “Not once the Militia realize how weakened we are.”

Cassie grimaced. “Right.” She glanced at Sharon. Clearly, she was thinking what Laurel had been thinking; how on earth would they get a woman with a spinal injury out of here without damaging her further?

“Keep this between us for now,” Laurel whispered. “Until I’ve figured out how we’ll transport Sharon.”

Meeting Laurel’s eyes, Cassie nodded firmly. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Laurel patted the young woman’s shoulder. Her eyes traveled to Cassie’s long blonde hair. Visions of Mae flashed in front of her eyes. Not now. She couldn’t think of her now.

Pushing the visions aside, she thanked Cassie again and returned to the triage ward. She found Shane standing almost where she’d left him, looking completely overwhelmed.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said, shaking his head. “I should be able to handle this. I’m a paramedic.” His voice wavered and Laurel caught his elbow.

Squeezing gently, she said, “Take a deep breath.” She breathed exaggeratedly in through her nose, motioning for Shane to do the same. “Now out.”

He exhaled loudly.

“All right. Good. Now tell me, have you assessed all these people?”

Shane shook his head.

“Then that’s our first job.” Laurel held out her hand and flexed her fingers. “Do you have a marker pen?”

Shane blinked at her.

“Okay.” Laurel turned to address the room. Raising her voice, she called, “Does anyone have a lipstick or an eyeliner we could use?”

A hand rose shakily into the air. A teenage boy with dark eyeshadow and thick black lines around his eyes reached into his pocket and held out an eyeliner pencil.

“Great. Thank you.” Laurel gestured for Shane to follow her. “We assess each patient. Those who need urgent care get a number three on their forehead. Those who need minor care get a number one and—”

“Everyone in the middle is a two?” Shane asked.

“You got it.” Laurel pointed to the beds nearest to them. “We’ll start here. Move together. Two at a time. Right?”

Shane nodded firmly, pushing back his shoulders. “Right, Doc. I got it.”

Laurel met his eyes and smiled gently. “I know you do.”

But as Shane began triaging the patient nearest to him, and Laurel turned her attention to a woman with a bullet graze on her thigh, she couldn’t help thinking that if Bear were here this would all have happened a lot more smoothly.

The two of them shared the same past. They knew what to do in these situations, they were programmed to be good in a crisis.

She could only hope that whatever crisis he was in right now, he was able to handle it.

5

BEAR

Keeping track of time while sealed in a pitch-dark container was proving impossible. For a while, Bear tried to count the seconds, but every time Trent spoke it threw him off track. In the end, they settled for Trent pressing his ear up against the door and assessing how much muffled sound was coming from the other side.

When it seemed to grow quiet, they assumed it was night and took it in turns to sleep. With no bathroom on site, they designated the rear corner for peeing and slept as close to the front as possible, so they’d be ready if someone came to open the door. To keep warm, they did star jumps.

Bear was on shift, lost in a memory of Mae as a little girl having a make-believe tea party on the porch with Deb and Laurel, when he heard the first clunk of keys on metal that told him the door was about to be opened.

“Trent,” he hissed.

“I’m awake,” Trent replied.

“Position?”

“Yep,” Trent whispered back.

Pressing himself against the wall of the container, Bear pictured Trent doing the same on the other side and prayed that the person they were about to see was, first of all, not his daughter and, second of all, alone.

With bated breath, Bear waited. The door swung outward with a creak. A shadowy figure stepped forward, the yard behind them cast in an early-morning haze. Brilliant, it was the big guy with the scar. But he was alone. No backup. Just a large rifle slung across his chest.

Pausing with the door half open, the guard called over his shoulder to someone else. “You got those bottles of water? Captain says we’re not supposed to let them die just yet.” As a throaty chuckle rippled the guy’s chest, Bear took his chance. He’d already clocked the knife on the guard’s belt and, in one swift movement, lunged forward, pulled it free, wrapped his arm around the guard’s neck and cut the rifle off him.

“Grab it, kid,” he yelled to Trent, slamming his hand over the guard’s mouth and keeping his arm tight around his throat.

Without hesitating, Trent picked up the rifle and pointed it at the guard. Immediately, he stopped struggling.

“Cuffs on his belt,” Bear instructed.

Trent hooked the cuffs free and handed them to Bear.

“Make one sound and I’ll break your neck,” Bear muttered, taking his hand away from the guard’s mouth to fasten his hands at his back.

To his surprise, the guard remained still and silent as Bear cuffed him. The yard was empty. Whoever the guard had been yelling at was not in sight. Bear gave him a shove. “Move. Gate. Now.”

They crossed the yard quickly. Beyond the gate, Bear could see the dark outline of the forest. If they could make it to the trees, they’d be safe. They just needed to make it to the trees.

Stopping at the gate, Bear rapped on the guard’s booth. The young soldier who’d greeted Mae when they arrived stared back at him. Stumbling out, he looked with horror at Trent.

Trent simply held his rifle tighter.

“Let us out or your buddy won’t live to see sunrise.” Bear jerked his chin at the sky. The sun was creeping up over the horizon.

The young soldier swallowed hard.

“Just do it, Gideon,” Bear’s prisoner snapped.

“Captain Cornell…” Gideon stuttered.

“Screw Cornell. I don’t want to die just because he’s got grief with Peterson and her old man. Let them go.” The guard tugged his arms against Bear’s grip. “Open the gate, Gideon.”

Nodding, Gideon stumbled back inside his booth and returned with some keys. When they reached the gate, he tried three before finding the right one, then pulled the gate open. Bear and Trent backed out through it, still facing Gideon.

“Close it,” Bear ordered.

“No way.” The guard strained to pull himself free, but Bear maintained his hold.

“When the gates are closed, we’ll leave you here for them. They can let you back in when they see fit.” Bear looked at Gideon. There was movement in the distance. People were appearing outside. One of them could be Mae; he couldn’t see that far. “Now!” he yelled, directing his knife at the guard’s pale throat.

Nodding, Gideon grabbed hold of the gate and pulled it closed. When they heard the thunk of the lock, Bear pushed the guard free, took the rifle from Trent, and whacked the guard on the head with it. He promptly fell to the ground.

“I don’t like that guy,” Bear muttered, taking hold of Trent’s elbow and nodding at the trees. “Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here.”

Moving quickly through the trees, they kept going until they reached a small clearing. Leaning onto his knees, Trent waved for Bear to stop. “Need to catch my breath, PB.”

Bear stopped too and looked at their surroundings. “Can you hear anything?” He strained his ears. He couldn’t make out the sound of footsteps behind them or leaves rustling, but he knew Trent was more likely to hear them than he was.

Straightening up, Trent looked around the clearing too. “No,” he said. “I can’t hear anything. I think we’re alone.”

Bear nodded, letting out a rush of air from his lungs. He was desperately thirsty, and wished they’d had the opportunity to grab some supplies on their way out. “Need to get my bearings,” he said, sketching a map in his head of the way they’d traveled to the warehouse.

“Are we heading back to camp?” Trent asked, his breath finally back to normal.

“They might have moved out by now. Possibly to the depot. We’ll start there. We need to warn them Cornell’s planning another attack.” At the thought of Laurel being caught up in whatever Cornell was planning next, Bear’s stomach twisted. Leaving the warehouse meant leaving Mae with the Militia, but right now he didn’t see any other way. He had to warn Laurel and the others. Mae might be on the wrong side of this, but at least she wasn’t in imminent danger.

“This way.” Bear gestured ahead. “We’ll keep going for a while, then loop back on ourselves. We don’t want to come too close to the warehouse.”

Nodding, Trent put his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugged his shoulders up toward his ears. “Still cold,” he muttered, peering up at the snatches of sky that were visible through the trees. “I thought the weather would be warming up by now.”

“It can still snow in March, kid,” Bear said, wondering whether snow might be a good thing because at least it would slow down the Militia’s efforts.

Making a pfft sound with his lips, Trent trudged off in the direction Bear had indicated. Following behind, Bear stooped and picked up a couple of large stones. He slipped them into his pockets, keeping his fingers wrapped around the biggest one just in case they needed a weapon. Noticing what Bear was doing, Trent copied him. “My aim is terrible,” he said, chuckling. “Hope you’re not expecting me to knock someone out with one of these.”

“Maybe just alarm them with it,” Bear replied, smiling.

They were hardly more than a few yards from the clearing when something caught Bear’s vision. Up ahead, there was a flash of white among the dark green trees.

Bear stuck out his arm so that Trent bumped into it. “What’s up?” he asked, looking from Bear’s face to the trees.

“There’s something up there. Could be an animal.” Bear narrowed his eyes. “Slowly. Follow me.”

Weighing his stone up and down in his palm, Bear crept forward. A few paces farther, he realized what he was looking at. “A swan,” he muttered, tilting his head.

“A swan? Cool.” Trent stepped closer and narrowed his eyes. “What’s it doing?” Trent frowned. “It’s making a weird noise. Can you hear it?”

Bear strained his ear. “Yeah, I hear it.” He moved closer, still holding his stone. The large white bird was bobbing its long neck up and down, like it was nudging or pecking something on the ground.

Finally, Bear understood what the swan was doing; a fluffy gray cygnet was on the ground at its feet. It was trapped in a tangle of clear plastic—the kind that held together six-packs of beer.

“Shall we help it?” Trent was staring at the cygnet. It had clearly been fighting to free itself for a while and was now exhausted. It was lying perfectly still, its mother nudging it with her beak and making her strange guttural noise.

Bear looked at the mother swan. It was a huge bird, and swans were known for being bad-tempered at the best of times. “Stay here,” he told Trent. “They can do a lot of damage. Let me handle it.”

Half wondering what the heck he was doing, Bear emerged from the trees, holding up his hands. He moved slowly and quietly. The swan noticed him immediately. As he approached, she watched him, raising her wings and straightening her neck in a display of “get the heck out of here.”

“I’m going to help,” Bear said quietly, gesturing to the cygnet. “I’ll help.”

The swan opened its beak and hissed loudly at him, but Bear ignored her. Bending down, he put his hands on the cygnet and tried to figure out how it had gotten so tangled. It seemed its head had gone through one of the plastic rings, but somehow it had gotten far enough down to now be constricting the bird’s stomach. Its foot was trapped too, sticking up at a strange angle and pinned against its chest.

Bear tried to move the plastic. The cygnet started to squeak. The swan rose up even higher and batted Bear on the shoulder with her wings. Trying to stay calm, he simply turned his back toward her and continued to ease the cygnet’s wing free of the plastic. “If I can free your wings, little one, we can get this off,” he said softly.

But when he pulled a little too hard and the cygnet’s squeak changed pitch, the swan began to chant. A mixture between a hiss and a growl, she battered Bear’s back with her wings and lunged to bite his ear.

Waving her off, Bear scooped up the cygnet and started to walk away, but she followed him. Bear was about to give up when he heard Trent yell, “Don’t worry, PB, I got it!”

The next thing he knew, Trent had lunged at the swan. Wrapping his arms tight around it, he pinned its wings to its sides. “I’ll hold her until—” His voice was swallowed up by the sound of the swan hissing. As she began to writhe beneath him, Bear realized Trent hadn’t pinned the entire wing; he’d only caught the top half, leaving the swan free to batter him with the remaining half of her wingspan.

Cursing under his breath, while Trent yelled at the swan, Bear fumbled with the plastic, desperately trying to free the cygnet before Trent became swan pulp.

“It stinks!” Trent yelled, still holding on even as the swan curled its neck around and pecked at his scalp. “Why does it smell so bad?”

“Because it spends its time swimming in murky river water, that’s why,” Bear snapped back. “Just hold on. Now you’re there, hold on.”

“I’m trying!” Trent lowered his head, burying it in the swan’s feathers as the huge bird continued to try and knock him free. “Hurry up!”

Finally, Bear eased the plastic over the cygnet’s wings. Next, its foot was freed, then its head. As he pocketed the plastic, he walked over to Trent. “Let her go,” he said.

“You sure?” Trent asked, yelping as the swan took a bite of his ear.

“Do it, now.” Bear lowered the cygnet to the ground at the same moment Trent leaped free from the swan. As they backed away, she flapped her wings ferociously and hissed. Then she noticed her baby. Stumbling into the trees, they left the swan and her cygnet behind.

Putting his hands on his hips, Bear looked Trent up and down. Blood was trickling from his ear and a bruise was forming on his cheek. “What in the heck made you decide that was a good idea?”

“I was trying to help. I didn’t think it’d be so hard to hold. I thought it’d be like wrestling a turkey or something.” Trent winced as he raised a hand to his injured ear.

“And you’ve wrestled a lot of turkeys, have you?” Bear turned Trent’s head to inspect the damage.

Trent mumbled something Bear couldn’t quite work out.

“What was that?”

“I said I’ve watched a few videos on YouTube,” Trent muttered.

“Right, well, that’s one thing I’m glad we don’t have to worry about anymore; kids getting dumb ideas from videos online.”

But as Trent rolled his eyes and let Bear clean up his ear with the edge of his shirt, Bear had to force himself to stifle a laugh. He didn’t miss the internet, but it sure would have been good to have a camera, so he could capture that fiasco and laugh about it with Laurel later.

6

MAE

“Where’d you get takeout cups from?” Mae asked, frowning at the out-of-place stacks of white cardboard coffee cups that sat on top of an upturned crate.

“Hill and Warren went scavenging for supplies. This was the best they could come up with.” Angelica, a woman with jet-black hair and hazel eyes, sloshed hot black coffee into one of the cups and handed it to Mae. When Mae narrowed her eyes at it, Angelica added, “Want me to write your name on it in black marker pen?”

Mae looked up at her.

“I haven’t got anything else to offer you,” Angelica said, eyebrows raised.

Tentatively, moving from one foot to the other as the cold morning air wrapped itself around her limbs, Mae said, “Could I have two more?”

“More? One each, Sergeant.”

Swallowing forcefully, Mae lowered her voice. She and Angelica had never been best friends, despite being two of the few female soldiers in the unit, but they’d always shared a bond. They had each other’s backs. “For my dad and the kid.” Mae met Angelica’s eyes. “If they have to be in that thing, they could at least have something hot to drink.”

For a moment, she was certain Angelica was going to say no. But then she relented. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered, hurriedly pouring two smaller cups of coffee.

Mae took them gratefully. “Thank you,” she said, smiling.

In reply, Angelica simply waved her arm at Mae and gestured for her to clear out.

The warehouse Cornell had commandeered was a sprawling mass of connected rooms, all empty. Whatever had been stored here once had been cleared out long before the EMP hit. In fact, it looked like the place had been abandoned for years. Rooms were dusty, windows were caked in thick layers of grime, and the entire building had an unsettling smell. It didn’t help that Cornell clearly did not intend to stay here, and so hadn’t thought properly about how to set up camp or what they’d need. In fact, Mae couldn’t work out what the heck they’d all been doing while she’d been away.

Everything seemed to be in disarray. Wherever she looked, people were moving urgently, shouting or talking quickly at each other. But no one had seen fit to share with her exactly what they were doing.

“Peterson?” A steely voice stopped her in her tracks. Mae turned to find Hill, a tall blond soldier with a very square jaw, staring at her. Looking her up and down, Hill folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Three coffees?” He eyed up the bundle of cups in her hands.

“Good find,” she said, ignoring his question and trying to seem super pleased that he’d done such a stellar job by bringing takeout cups back to base. “Reminds me of simpler times, you know?”

After a long beat of silence, Hill’s eyes softened a little. “Right,” he said. “That’s what I thought. Warren wanted to leave them but I said the guys would appreciate it.”

“Well, you were right.” Mae flashed Hill her best smile and started walking again. Casually, over her shoulder, she shouted, “You know where Gideon is this morning?”

“On shift at the gate. In the yard.” Hill was watching her walk away. The look on his face made her stomach clench, and not in a good way. “Good to have you back, Peterson.”

“Good to be back,” she called, slipping through the door into the yard.

At first, when she stepped outside, all she could think about was the cold air on her face and how much nicer it smelled out here. Then her other senses started to kick in. Someone was yelling. No, not just one person—lots of people. Over by the gate, Gideon was surrounded by four other soldiers, all shouting and waving their arms at him.

Instinctively, Mae moved to stride over to him, but then something stopped her; her eyes landed on the shipping container. The one that should have been sealed tight, with her father and Trent inside, but was now wide open.

Cursing under her breath, Mae sprinted over to Gideon. “What happened?” she asked, aware she was still holding too much coffee but unsure what to do with it.

“Your dad broke himself out of here, that’s what happened,” Gideon replied through gritted teeth.

“Broke himself out? How?” Mae’s fingers twitched. She wanted to push her fingers through her hair, but she was still holding all this coffee.

“That’s what I want to know,” one of the others retorted.

“Gideon!” A voice floated toward them over the gate. “Let me back in, you idiot!”

“Is that Eric?” Mae asked, eyes wide.

“They held him hostage.” Gideon fumbled with the keys he was holding, found the correct one, then handed them to Warren who instantly began to unlock the gate and heave it open. “The kid was pointing a gun at him.” Gideon fixed his eyes on Mae as he spoke—as if somehow she was responsible for what had happened here.

As the thought occurred to her, a lead weight settled in her stomach. If Gideon thought she was responsible for this, someone else certainly would too.

She was turning around, looking for somewhere to deposit her coffee, when everyone suddenly stopped talking. Silence descended on the yard.

Eric, who’d just been hauled back inside, was holding his head with his cuffed hands. Blood trickled down the side of his face. Warren was holding him up.

Mae felt Cornell’s presence before she saw him. His shadow fell over hers, sending an ice-cold shiver down her spine. When she looked up, he was staring at her. Still looking only at her, he very slowly said, “Would anyone care to tell me what is happening out here?”

“Captain,” Eric spoke up, relishing the chance to stir the pot. “The prisoners escaped. They attacked me when I went to deliver their morning rations. Took me hostage.”

Cornell’s eyes flashed briefly toward Eric before settling on Mae again. “And where are they now?” he asked, tilting his head slightly while studying the coffee cups in Mae’s hands.

“They escaped, Captain. Into the woods.” Eric winced and raised a now-free hand to his head.

Suddenly spinning on his heel, Cornell turned his back to Mae and strode toward Eric. “Did they have help?” He moved his face so it was barely an inch from Eric’s. “Did they have an accomplice?”

Mae’s blood ran cold, then hot, then cold again. She felt like she should run, but at the same time was unable to move.

“Not with them, Captain.” Eric looked past Cornell and stared at Mae as he spoke. “But they knew things… they knew I had a knife. Knew exactly when I was coming. They were hiding, ready for me. And somehow they knew there wouldn’t be anyone else in the yard.” Eric paused then turned his gaze on Gideon. “Except Garber.”

As his face paled, Gideon shook his head. “I had nothing to do with this. I was only put on duty this morning because Walbeck was puking his guts up.” Gideon’s eyes widened. The look on his face made Mae wish he could find a backbone. Then she hated herself a little for thinking that about her friend.

“Take him to the medical bay,” Cornell snapped, waving his hand at Eric. As Warren helped him limp, rather exaggeratedly, across the yard, Cornell turned back to Mae and Gideon.

Mae inched closer to her friend, but he didn’t look at her.

“Peterson, why are you holding three cups of coffee?” Cornell stood tall, shoulders back, arms by his sides, staring at Mae.

With no option but to tell the truth, Mae replied, “I took some for my father and Trent, Captain. I felt sorry for them. Their holding cell wasn’t exactly—”

“They escaped remarkably easily, wouldn’t you say?” Cornell inched closer.

Meeting his eyes, standing tall, Mae replied, “Are you accusing me of helping them escape, Captain?”

“If the shoe fits, Peterson.” Cornell was now so close she could practically feel his breath on her face.

“With all due respect, Captain, why would I fetch them coffee if I knew they’d be gone by now?”

For a moment, Mae thought Cornell might be about to back down and admit he was wrong about her. But then something flashed across his face—anger, pure anger. With one swipe of his hand, he knocked the coffee cups from Mae’s grasp and sent them crashing down. Hot black coffee scalded Mae’s hands and sloshed onto the ground. She inhaled sharply and grabbed her fingers.

“You think I give a damn about the coffee, Peterson?” Cornell’s cheeks turned beet red as he yelled.

Gideon shrank back into himself while the others watched with a look of mild amusement on their faces.

“Did you or did you not help your father to escape?” He hadn’t stopped shouting.

“No, Captain, I did not.” Mae stopped rubbing her hands and dropped her arms by her sides. “Why would I? I’m trying to prove to you that you can trust me. I let you lock him up in the first place.”

“You let me?” Cornell barked, globs of spittle landing on Mae’s cheek as he spoke. “You let me?” He tipped his head back and laughed. “Well, then let me do something for you.” Cornell took Mae forcefully by the arm.

Looking at his fingers, she blinked. His grip was hard. No one was telling him to let her go.

“I’ll give you one last chance to win your way back into this unit.”

Locking her gaze with Cornell’s, Mae yanked her arm free. “All right,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

“Your father taught you how to hunt?”

Mae nodded.

“You know how to track animals?”

She nodded again.

“Good. Then you can track these two, can’t you?” Cornell turned to Gideon. “Garber, unlock the gate. Peterson and I are going for a stroll in the woods.”

* * *

Alone and unarmed with Cornell, Mae’s thoughts were racing. The way he’d manhandled her had caused something in her brain to snag. Somehow, it simply didn’t fit with the narrative she’d constructed for herself. He was her Captain. He was rude, mean, and hellish to work for. But he’d never overstepped his professional boundaries before. Grabbing hold of her, though? Squeezing her so tight she now had a ring of purple bruises on her wrist? That was different. A step too far. As if a thin veil had been lifted, she was now looking at him differently and her head was in turmoil. He was still her superior. She should still obey orders. But were they even a proper unit anymore? Were they still fighting to protect people? Or had Cornell’s fight become about something else?

“Which way?” Cornell towered above her as Mae crouched down and pointed to signs that her father and Trent had passed this way.

She stood up and gestured into the undergrowth. “This way,” she said, nodding. They were pushing aside branches when she said, “Of course, if you really did believe I helped them escape, then coming out here alone with me is pretty silly because my father is probably watching you right now.”

“Is that a threat, Peterson?” Cornell stopped and turned to face her.

“No, Captain. It’s an observation.” Mae tilted her chin up, staring straight into Cornell’s shallow gray eyes.

His jaw twitched. He looked like he was about to say something in response; then his gaze shifted to something behind her. “There,” he said. “What’s that?”

“Looks like a swan,” Mae muttered, “and a cygnet. Best circle around, Captain. They’re very protective of their young.”

Nodding, still giving off the aura of someone secretly fuming with anger, Cornell followed Mae’s lead. They were weaving between some thick-set pine trees when Mae held up her hand and pressed her index finger to her lip.

Cornell narrowed his eyes at her.

Mae gestured ahead. There was someone there, in the undergrowth. Walking slowly forward, Cornell behind her, she approached the flash of movement. She saw Trent first. He was sitting on an overturned tree trunk, head tilted, wincing as Mae’s father dabbed the boy’s ear with a torn piece of cloth.

“Never knew an ear could bleed so much,” her father muttered, reaching for the hem of his shirt and ripping a piece of fabric from it. “Here, hold this to the wound. When we find Laurel, she’ll stitch it. For now, let’s get moving.”

Mae watched as her father straightened himself up. Her heart beat faster in her ribcage. Behind her, she could feel the heat of Cornell’s stare burning into her back. A hand appeared in her peripheral vision. Mae’s stomach lurched up toward her throat; Cornell was offering her a gun.

“Well, Peterson…” he growled, pressing the gun into her grasp. “This is your moment. Go get them.”

As Cornell shoved her in the back with his palm, Mae stumbled out from her hiding spot. In their small clearing, her father and Trent froze. Staring at her, her father let his arms hang loose at his sides. Trent remained seated, looking furtively from Mae to her father.

Mae’s fingers twitched. Slowly, she raised her gun, noticing her father’s eyes widen in surprise. “You shouldn’t have run, Dad,” she said calmly.

No reply.

“You need to come back with me now.” She nudged the gun in Trent’s direction, gesturing for him to stand up. “Both of you. With me.”

“Why would we do that, Mae?” Her father slotted his hands into his pockets, almost casually, as if to make clear that he didn’t see her as any kind of threat.

“Because we are on the right side of this,” she replied, jaw tight.

“We?” Her father remained stock-still, eyes fixed on her face. “The Militia?”

“Yes,” Mae nodded. “You might be able to see that, if you were willing to listen to reason.”

“Reason?” Trent suddenly stood up. Scoffing, he added, “Lady, you’re cream-crackers.” He tapped his forehead and rolled his eyes at her. “You’re holding a gun in our faces and asking us to listen to reason? Your dad might not want to stand up to you, but I’m not scared to say it. I don’t give a rat’s hoo-ha if you like me or not. You’re willing to pull a gun on your old man?” Trent jerked his thumb at Mae’s father. “The guy who risked his life to come find you? And you think we’re the ones who need a lesson in reason?” Trent shook his head, lowering his hand from his wounded ear and ignoring the blood that began to trickle.

“Trent,” her father said gruffly. “It’s okay, kid.”

“It’s not okay!” Trent waved his arms at Mae, made a pfft noise, then turned around. “Let’s get out of here. She might be crackers, but she’s not going to shoot her own dad.”

Mae’s heart was thudding so loudly she could hardly think straight. Her skin was hot and cold at the same time, violent prickles breaking out on her skin. She was stuck. Frozen. Unable to move or speak. Then Cornell’s voice broke the spell.

“Isn’t she?” He stepped from the shadows like a villain from an action movie, looking from Mae to Trent. “You see, I think she might. Because if Sergeant Peterson wants to keep her position, and prove her loyalty to her unit, she needs to show she’s willing to put the cause above all else.”

“The cause?” Mae’s father took his hands from his pockets and stepped forward. “What cause? Killing innocent civilians because you want to get your grubby hands on whatever’s in that depot back there?” He jerked his head toward the trees.

The expression on his face, and the tone of his voice, made Mae close her eyes. She didn’t want to hear this. It was too confusing. She knew what was right. Following orders. Doing as she was told.

“Stop!” The strength of her yell surprised her. “All of you, stop.” In a tone that reminded her of her mother, she strode forward. “This is not the time for talking. It’s the time for moving.” She stared into her father’s eyes and added, “The kid’s right, I wouldn’t shoot my own father.” Slowly, she moved her aim sideways. “But he means nothing to me.” She flicked her gaze at Trent as she pointed her gun straight at his chest. “I’d shoot him in a heartbeat. So, I think you should both do as you’re told.”

For a long moment, no one moved. Her father’s expression changed into something she didn’t recognize. He studied her face, as if he was searching for a way to get through to her. Then his shoulders dropped. He nodded at Trent. They exchanged a look that made Mae’s stomach twist—the kind of look two people share when they’re close, when they’re family, when they know each other’s thoughts and feelings so well they don’t need words—then her father held out his wrists.

Without speaking, he remained still as Cornell pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs and said, “These aren’t quite as easy to break free from.” The snap of metal as the cuffs locked around her father’s wrists made Mae swallow hard. Next, it was Trent’s turn.

“Kid needs someone to look at his ear,” her father said as Cornell tugged the bloodied fabric from Trent’s hand and tossed it to the ground. “I said someone needs to look at his ear,” her father repeated himself.

“We’ll see to it,” Mae replied on Cornell’s behalf, but her father didn’t look at her as she spoke.

By the time they reached the warehouse perimeter, the silence was weighing so heavily on Mae’s shoulders that she was finding it hard to breathe.

Still at the gate, Gideon let them in. Mae couldn’t meet his eyes; she didn’t want to know whether he pitied her or was angry with her.

As they walked to the center of the yard, movement stopped. Everyone was watching them. Cornell stopped too and clapped his hands loudly. “We have apprehended the escapees,” he hollered. “Sergeant Peterson will now escort them to a more secure cell,” he said, turning his gaze to Mae. “Inside. Cuff them to the metal struts in the empty storage space.”

Mae nodded slowly. “Then come and see me.” Cornell lowered his voice, fixing his eyes on Mae’s. “As you’ve proved yourself, Peterson, I want you to lead our next advance on the Freemen.”

Mae blinked quickly. Everyone knew the first advance was the most dangerous. This wasn’t a reward; it was a continuation of her punishment. “Yes, Captain,” she said, standing up straight, heels together. “It will be an honor, Captain.”

“Good,” Cornell replied, licking his lower lip. “I’m sure you’ll be up to the task.”

7

LAUREL

When Laurel woke, her head was almost too fuzzy with tiredness to understand what time of day it was. Lying on her uncomfortable cot in the corner of the triage room, she looked up at the sliver of light leaking through the window above. Morning, early, but later than daybreak.

Sitting up, she swung her legs free from the tangle of blankets and leaned forward onto her knees. She was taking some deep breaths, trying to push exhaustion from the creases of her face, when a hand appeared in front of her. A coffee-holding hand.

“Morning, Doc. Did you sleep?”

Laurel looked up to see Shane standing in front of her. She took the coffee and stifled a yawn. “Maybe an hour. You?”

“Same.” Shane sat down next to her, causing the cot to sag in the middle. He took a long slurp of his own coffee and nodded at the room. “We did it, though. They’re stable. No fatalities.”

“Except for the ones in the field,” Laurel added quietly.

“Yes, except for those.” Shane pushed his fingers through his hair, sighed, then glanced at Laurel’s coffee mug. “I added sugar. Thought you’d need it.”

“Sugar?” Laurel raised her eyebrows. “Wow, this place really was worth fighting for.”

Laughing dolefully, Shane tilted his head from side to side. “I’d say so.”

After a pause, pulling a blanket around her shoulders because the large open space around them was laced with cold, Laurel said quietly, “Seriously, though, Shane… why did the Freemen fight so hard for this place?”

“Why do you keep talking as if you’re not one of us?” He met her eyes. “You fought with us. You helped us.”

“I’m not taking sides in this,” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ve seen terrible things. Things committed by both sides.”

Shaking his head, Shane whistled through his front teeth. “There are different factions, breakout groups, groups calling themselves Freemen,” he said stiffly. “You know that—Art explained that he doesn’t condone that kind of violence, but he can’t control what other people do using our name.”

Laurel nodded and took a long sip of coffee. “He did explain that, yes, but I’m still not taking sides.” She pulled the blanket tighter and shivered. She didn’t usually feel the cold like this. Perhaps months of poor sleep and poor nutrition were finally catching up with her.

“I should go check on Sharon,” she said eventually, forcing herself to stand up.

“If you want to shower, there’s a hot water system out back.” Shane stood up too.

“Are you telling me I need to shower?” Laurel laughed.

“Absolutely not.” Shane looked slightly alarmed, then, realizing she was joking, relaxed. “Just let me know if you want it.”

“Thanks.” Laurel swallowed another yawn, then gestured to the door. “I’ll check on Sharon, then shower, then come and do rounds with you. Can you stay until I get back?”

Shrugging, Shane looked around the room at their sleeping patients. “Got nowhere else to be,” he said, adding, “For now, anyway.”

* * *

From the triage room, Laurel made her way through the rabbit warren of corridors to where Sharon and Lisa had spent the night; the first-aid room she’d set Sharon up in yesterday.

Both women were awake and looked up as she walked in.

“Morning,” Laurel smiled.

Lisa was holding a cup of water awkwardly to Sharon’s mouth, trying to help her drink while lying down. “We need straws,” she said curtly, sitting back in her chair and putting the cup down loudly on the small table next to the bed. “If she has to stay lying down like this, we at least need straws. There must be a bar in town that hasn’t been plundered of its straws. I’ll go later.” She squeezed Sharon’s hand. “I’ll find some.”

“Lis, it’s okay,” Sharon replied, but Lisa simply shook her head.

“I’ll go to the library too. Look for those PT books we talked about. And some of those silly rom-coms you used to read.”

“Lis—” Sharon tried to interrupt, but Laurel stepped in.

“How did you sleep, Sharon? Did you get any rest?” She moved to the other side of the bed so Sharon could see her properly.

“Slept like the dead,” she replied, causing Lisa to tut. Correcting herself, Sharon said, “I slept really well, thanks.” Then she added, “Any news on Bear? Did he turn up last night?”

Trying not to let her feelings show on her face, Laurel gave a quick shake of the head. “No news. Must have run into problems. I’ll try to arrange a search party later.” She glanced at Lisa. “Maybe we can search for Bear and swing by the bar and the library at the same time?”

“Of course,” Lisa replied, nodding fiercely. “We can leave now if you—”

“Maybe let’s get you both some breakfast first.” Laurel was about to ask whether Lisa wanted to go with her to the stores, to give Sharon a few minutes alone, when something made her turn toward the door. “Can you hear that?” Her stomach tightened. “It sounds like….”

“Like a dog barking.” Sharon’s eyes widened.

Lurching toward the door, Laurel threw it open in time to see Art King striding down the hall with a bedraggled Jack Russell attached to a piece of rope at his side. “She won’t stop barking!” Art handed the rope to Laurel. “Can you get her to stop?”

Her heart almost bursting with relief, Laurel crouched down and smoothed her hands over Jess’s soft ears. “Shhhh, girl. It’s okay. It’s all right. I’m so pleased to see you. It’s all right.”

But Jess still didn’t stop. Ducking out of Laurel’s grasp, she took the makeshift leash between her teeth and pulled on it.

“She wants to play? Is that it?” Art shouted above the sound of Jess’s incessant barking. “Get her a tennis ball, for pity’s sake!”

“No, she wants me to go with her.” Laurel stood up, her mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper. “She was with Trent. She wants to take me to him.”

“Then go, for the love of silence, go!” Art waved his arms at her. As Laurel opened her mouth to object, Art ticked his head toward the medical bay. “Is Sharon stable?”

“Yes,” Laurel nodded.

“Is there anything else you can do for her right now?”

“No.” Laurel stood up.

“Then go before I shut that dog up myself!”

Laurel hesitated for a second before thrusting the leash at Art and saying, “One second. I have to tell Sharon.” Ducking back into the room, she tried to move with less urgency as she bent over Sharon and smiled. “I think Jessamine is trying to tell me where Trent is. I have to go look for him.”

Sharon squeezed Laurel’s hand. “Of course you do.”

“I’ll be back soon.” Laurel hesitated. “I should be back before you need more meds, but the dosage is on your chart if I’m not. Shane’s around. I’ll tell Art to make sure he checks in on you.”

Sharon nodded, smiling. “I’m all good, Laurel,” she said. “Go find Trent.”

Laurel was back in the hallway, taking Jess from Art’s hands, when the door behind them swung open again. Stepping out, Lisa took hold of Laurel’s elbow. “I’ll come with you,” she said, fixing her baseball cap back on her head.

“You should be with Sharon.” With Jess pulling on the leash, Laurel started to move down the corridor.

“She told me to come. I think she wants some space, and she’s worried about the kid.” Lisa swallowed hard and met Laurel’s eyes. “Let me come with you,” she said quietly. “Honestly, I think I need a minute too.” She tried to smile. “Plus, we really do need those straws. When we’ve found the kid, maybe we can detour for them.”

Putting her hand on Lisa’s shoulder, Laurel nodded. “Sure. Okay. Let’s go.”

They were almost out of earshot when Art called, “Doctor Rivera….”

Laurel stopped and turned to face him.

“One more night. Then we’re out of here.”

Laurel met his eyes.

“I’m not doing it for you. My men need to recharge their batteries before we attempt the journey. But we can’t stay beyond tonight.”

Nodding firmly, Laurel gave a half-salute of agreement. Then, leaving Art nursing his headache, the two women followed a manic Jess out of the main building, out of the gates, and into the trees. “Shall I let her off?” Laurel asked, gun in one hand, leash in the other.

“I’d keep her on the leash for now,” Lisa said. “If she runs off, we’ll never keep up.”

“Right.” Laurel glanced up at the sky. How long had Trent been missing? Forty-eight hours? And Bear?

As if she knew what Laurel was thinking, Lisa nudged her and said, “They might be together. Those two have a habit of finding each other.”

Laurel chuckled. “That’s true. They do.”

“He’s a good kid,” Lisa added, ducking under a large branch.

“He really is.”

“What’s the plan after you leave us?” Lisa seemed, for the first time, suddenly keen to talk.

If it was a strategy to take her mind off Sharon, Laurel was happy to indulge her. “Head up to Thunder Bay. The four of us.”

“Mae too?”

Laurel nodded, trying not to let herself think about what Bear told her before they left the caves. “Mae too.”

“One happy family,” Lisa said quietly.

“That’s the idea.” Laurel’s arm was jerked almost clean out of its socket as Jess changed direction. “If we can keep the family together for more than five minutes without someone running off.”

Suddenly, Jess stopped pulling on the leash and sat down. Looking up at Laurel, she barked. Then she stood and started sniffing the ground. “Was he here?” Laurel asked. “Was Trent here?”

Still frantically sniffing, Jess turned in circles, getting tangled in her makeshift leash.

“Here,” Laurel handed the leash to Lisa, “take her a moment while I look around.”

While Lisa crouched down and held Jess close, Laurel began to examine their surroundings. It could have been days since Trent was here. It hadn’t rained or snowed, but wind and wildlife had done a good job of obscuring any tracks he might have left.

“Looks like this is the easiest route through the trees.” Laurel pointed to a section of less dense foliage.

Lisa nodded and stood up. “All right, that way it is.”

On the move again, this time Jess was quiet. She walked silently at Laurel’s side, the leash slack between them. The trees began to thin. Laurel glanced at Lisa, and the two women exchanged an apprehensive glance.

“Keep going,” Lisa said. “Looks like a road up ahead.”

Laurel flexed her fingers on the leash as they moved forward. Lisa was right; ahead of them was a wire fence, separating the forest from what looked like the road to an industrial site.

Directly in front of them was a hole in the fence. Laurel ducked through it, and Lisa followed. Staying in the shadow of the nearest building, they looked up and down the street. It was deserted. At the farthest end, however, a large imposing warehouse stood out among the rest of the buildings.

“There’s a cart out front,” Laurel whispered, glancing at Lisa. “No horses, but doesn’t it seem an odd place for a cart?”

Lisa tilted her head to the side. “Someone could be inside, clearing out whatever that place stored before the EMP hit.”

“Maybe Trent found it. Got into trouble somehow?” Laurel looked down at Jess. She no longer seemed to have Trent’s scent, and didn’t show any signs of recognizing the building, but that didn’t mean Trent hadn’t been there. Of all the places nearby, this made the most sense if he was looking for food or shelter.

Slowly, Laurel and Lisa approached the warehouse. “I’m not sure about this,” Lisa whispered as they drew closer, still in the shadows. “Something feels off, Laurel.”

“This way.” Laurel gestured back at the hole in the fence. “It looks like this runs parallel with the warehouse. If we stick to the trees, we can investigate the perimeter without being seen.”

Without waiting for Lisa to agree, Laurel ducked back through the hole and quickened her pace to move through the trees.

When they drew level with the warehouse, Laurel looked down at Jess. “Stay quiet, girl, okay?” She stayed close to the fence and moved quietly along it. For at least a hundred feet, all she could see was the large outer wall of the warehouse, but then a yard came into view. A yard heaving with people.

Instantly, Laurel moved back into the shadow. Lisa was at her elbow. “What’s going on in there?” She frowned. “Is that…?”

“Militia,” Lisa answered, pulling her cap down farther over her forehead. “We found their base camp.”

As the two women watched, Laurel prayed Jess would remain silent. In the yard, Militia soldiers moved quickly. Some were transporting what looked like weapons from one area to another, others simply standing and talking in hushed voices. Then someone pointed at the gate at the rear of the yard. A young soldier unlocked it and pulled it open.

Studying the gate, Laurel’s breath caught in her throat. She reached for Lisa’s hand and squeezed it to stop herself from calling out, then dropped to the ground and wrapped her arms around Jess to prevent her from seeing what Laurel was seeing: Bear, Trent, and Mae being marched into the center of the yard.

As fury and fear bubbled in Laurel’s stomach, she searched her daughter’s face. She didn’t look afraid. “She’s got a weapon,” Laurel muttered. Her brain was struggling to catch up with her eyes. Mae had a weapon. Bear and Trent were in handcuffs. Mae was holding a weapon.

Crouching down next to Laurel, Lisa hissed, “Is she…?”

But Laurel couldn’t bring herself to answer, because it looked for all the world like her daughter was holding a gun and pointing it at her husband.

8

LAUREL

“We have to go.” Lisa’s grip tightened on Laurel’s arm. “Laurel, we can’t get them out on our own. We need backup, but we know where they are now.” She tugged hard and Laurel slowly turned her head.

“Mae….”

Sucking in a deep breath, Lisa planted two firm hands on Laurel’s shoulders. “I know. I saw. We can process it later. Right now, we have to go. If there are patrols in these woods, and we’re caught too, no one will be able to get them out. Right?”

Shaking, Laurel nodded. “Right.” She took one last look at the door Bear had disappeared through, then followed Lisa back through the trees. To her relief, Jess was still quiet. Perhaps because she hadn’t seen Bear and Trent, perhaps because she trusted that her job was done now that Laurel knew where they were.

They walked in silence. The journey back was longer, and by the time they reached the depot, the sun was beginning to dip in the sky. A cold wind blew across the open space beyond the depot gates. Laurel looked up; storm clouds were gathering.

When they finally entered the building, Laurel followed Lisa silently down the hall toward Sharon’s room. “I don’t want to upset her,” she said, stopping outside the door. “I should stay out here until I’ve composed myself.”

“Nonsense.” Lisa shook her head. “We’re your friends. Sharon will want to help, and she’s better at advice than I am. Plus,” she added, clearly trying to be lighthearted, “we need to explain why we didn’t get those straws.”

Without saying another word, Lisa pushed the door open and ushered Laurel inside. Trotting in with them, Jess jumped up onto the bed and gently curled herself at Sharon’s feet.

On the bed, Sharon’s eyes had been closed, but they sprang open when she heard the door close. Clearly, however, she had not felt Jess appearing at her side, because she looked at the small dog with a confused frown. Turning her head just slightly sideways, she spotted her wife, smiled and said, “Lisa? Did you find Trent?”

Silently, Laurel lowered herself into a chair next to Shane, who was holding Sharon’s makeshift chart and studying Laurel carefully.

“We did,” Lisa said slowly. “But we couldn’t get to him.”

“I’m sorry.” Sharon’s shoulders twitched. “What happened?”

“Mae betrayed them.” As the words left Laurel’s mouth, they seemed foreign—as if they didn’t belong to her.

“Mae?” Shane ducked his head to meet Laurel’s eyes. “What do you mean? Betrayed who?”

“Trent was with Bear,” Laurel said, looking first at Shane then at Sharon. “They were at some kind of warehouse. Mae had a gun. She was pointing it at Bear. She….” Laurel trailed off; she couldn’t get the words out.

“Looked like her captain told her to lock them up,” Lisa interjected. “Bear and Trent were in handcuffs.”

Laurel nodded in agreement. “Bear didn’t resist when she took him away. He just followed her. Like there was nothing he could do about it.”

Silence hung in the air. Shane opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

On the bed, Sharon simply squeezed Lisa’s hand.

“We don’t know the story behind what happened. All we know is what we saw. Mae pointed a gun at Bear and Trent, then escorting them inside the warehouse.”

Before anyone else could say anything, there was a rap on the door and Art entered, holding a flask that Laurel prayed was full of whiskey but which she knew probably contained only coffee.

“Did something happen?” he asked instantly, examining Lisa’s face.

Glancing at Lisa, Laurel removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t have the energy to explain it all again, and Lisa seemed to understand because she told Art the same thing they’d just told Sharon and Shane.

Art listened carefully. He looked at Laurel and then at Jess, who was lying with her head on her paws with an utterly dejected expression in her big brown eyes.

“Well, shoot.” He sat down hard on the end of a nearby bed. “All this time, Peterson really was a mole.”

“We don’t know that. We don’t know what power her captain has over her. He could have threatened her.” Laurel leaped to her daughter’s defense without meaning to, and without considering whether she meant what she was saying.

“Threatened her into using a gun on her own dad?” Lisa wasn’t angry. In fact, she was being surprisingly soft. “Laurel, if Mae had wanted to, she could have switched sides and taken the captain hostage. She could have gotten them out easily. If she wanted to.”

Laurel was quiet for a moment before muttering, “I know.” She blinked moisture from her eyes. “I can’t believe what I saw. I can’t believe she’d do that to her father.”

“Well, she did.” Lisa’s tone sharpened. “So, we’ll just have to get Bear and Trent back on our own.” Lisa turned to Art. “Perhaps not all on our own, though?” Letting go of Sharon’s hand, she walked over to Art and folded her arms. “Perhaps you can spare some men? Help the Doc?” Lisa glanced at Sharon, then back at Art. “She has helped us, Art.”

With his thumb and forefinger, Art rubbed his beard. Then he adjusted his scarf around his neck and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Laurel. “As much as I’d like to help you, Dr. Rivera, I can’t. My men are my priority.”

“Art, Laurel did everything she could to help me,” Sharon added. “Bear and Trent are our friends.”

“They’ll fight for us if we help them,” Lisa said sternly, appealing to Art’s sense of practicality. “Bear’s a good fighter. He’s worth having on our side.”

“Art, please.” Laurel stood up, joining Lisa. She was about to start begging, because at this point she would do anything to get Bear and Trent back, when Art raised his hand and shook his head at them all.

“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “All right? It’s nearly supper time. I’ll think about it tonight, but I’m not making any promises.”

And with that, he left.

* * *

Leaving Lisa to apologize to Sharon for their lack of straws, Laurel accompanied Shane to the mess hall to collect some rations for the four of them.

They walked in silence. Jess had stayed with Sharon, curled up on her feet in a pose that brought a lump to Laurel’s throat. They were almost at the mess hall when Shane stopped and shook his head. “I can’t believe she’d do that to her own father. I knew she was loyal to the Militia once, but I thought her time with us might have made her see things differently. I certainly never thought she’d….” He trailed off and sighed heavily.

As they began walking again, Laurel said quietly, “Me either. I’m still in shock, I think. I just keep seeing it over and over. Mae’s gun pointed at Bear. It doesn’t seem real.” She frowned and pushed her glasses up onto her head. “What could have happened to her in the last few years to take her to a place where family means so little? You’re supposed to give your life for your family, not threaten to take it from them.” As she spoke, the numbness in her belly turned into anger. Stopping abruptly, she let out a loud yell and slammed her fist into the nearest wall.

Immediately, as pain ricocheted through her knuckles into her wrist, she regretted it and cradled her hand against her chest.

“Laurel,” Shane gasped, taking hold of her arm. “What are you thinking? You’re a doctor. We need you in one piece.”

“I’m thinking how could she do that?” Laurel met Shane’s eyes, aware her own were swimming with tears.

“I don’t know,” he said, his own face full of dejection. “I really don’t know.” He looked up, glancing at the mess hall doors. “But we’re not going to find any answers hidden in the wall insulation, are we?”

Laurel almost laughed as he met her eyes.

“Let’s pick up our rations, and then we’ll go find some dry ice for that hand. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.” But she wasn’t okay; after what she saw, she didn’t know how she would ever be okay again.

* * *

It was dark outside. Lisa was asleep in the chair next to Sharon. Shane had gone to the triage hall to check on their patients, and Laurel was sitting cross-legged in a chair in the corner of Sharon’s room trying not to think about her daughter. In a few short hours, they’d be leaving the depot for Art’s campsite; she should be thinking about how to move everyone safely. How they were going to manage those who could barely walk, and whether there would be enough room for their supplies and the people who needed to ride in the carts.

No matter how hard she tried, though, all she could think of was Mae. Her mind was torturing her with memories. Mae and her mother, Mae and Bear. Teenage Mae. Tiny baby Mae. Toddler Mae.

Every single version, even the way Mae had been in her moody teenage years, made sense. They fit. They formed a part of the whole that was Laurel’s beautiful, tenacious daughter.

But the woman she saw today? The woman who pointed a gun at her own father? She didn’t fit. She didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing—a big piece—and Laurel simply didn’t have enough information to figure out what it was.

She was burying her head in her hands when a huge bang rocked the building. The entire place shook. The walls rattled. The floors creaked.

“Was that an explosion?” Sharon’s voice filled the room, high-pitched and scared.

Laurel looked over to the bed, jumping to her feet.

Lisa was standing too, hand on Sharon’s shoulder.

Another bang. BOOM.

“We’re under attack,” Lisa said, meeting Laurel’s eyes. “The Militia are back.”

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Laurel replied quickly, running to the window and straining to see out of it. Before she could catch a glimpse of anything useful, however, another BOOM rocked the complex.

At the same moment, the door flew open. Cassie, the blonde who’d helped Laurel with Sharon when they first arrived, skidded to a stop, bracing her hands on the door frame. “Art says we’re moving out. We’re under attack. We have to evacuate. Now.”

“Evacuate?” Lisa looked at Sharon. They’d briefly discussed Sharon riding in one of the carts, but had yet to figure out a solid plan for her transportation. They’d planned to spend a bit of time in the morning finding the best position and making sure she was secure and wouldn’t be jostled too much. This was not the sort of thing that could be done in a hurry.

Cassie nodded, her tousled blonde hair falling over her face. “Art wants your help, Laurel. He says he needs everyone with military experience.”

Laurel glanced at her friends. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them, even for a few minutes, but Lisa was already straightening her shoulders and painting a stoic expression on her face. “It’s okay, Doc. You go. We’ll wait here.”

“I’ll be back.” Laurel nodded firmly at them, then swiftly followed Cassie into the hallway.

“Art needs you to help Shane with the triage patients. There’s not much room in the carts. One is for supplies. The other’s for transport. Sharon will take up half the space, so that won’t leave much.” At the doors to the triage bay, Cassie stopped, gave Laurel a quick squeeze on the arm, then hurried away.

Laurel found Shane helping patients from their beds. The room was dimly lit by the candles positioned at its edges, and panic vibrated in the air. There had been no more explosions, but gunshots were now ringing out from the perimeter. On a bed near the back of the room, an elderly gentleman sat gripping the edge of his cot. His eyes were wide, and his face was pale.

“Sir? Are you all right?” Laurel crouched down and looked into the man’s face.

He swallowed hard but didn’t reply. Laurel had seen this look before, on Bear and on others who’d experienced active combat. The explosions and the guns were taking him back. Perhaps just to a few days ago when he was injured. Perhaps to a time before then, when he, too, served in the military.

Gently, Laurel placed her hand on his knee. He flinched, then his eyes flickered and he looked at her.

“We’re going to get you out of here. Can you walk?”

The man looked down at himself, flexed his feet, then nodded. “Yes. I can walk.”

“Okay. Then I need you to gather your things and head over there.” Laurel pointed to where Shane had instructed the other capable patients to congregate. “You were issued a backpack yesterday?” She scanned the immediate area and saw one sticking out from beneath the bed.

The man nodded. “I was told we were moving out at first light.”

“That was the plan, but we’re having to adjust our schedule a little.” Laurel tugged out the backpack from its hiding place, then helped the man to his feet. Pressing the pack into his arms, she gestured to the others. “Over there, sir. Please.”

Still dazed, the man nodded. “Over there,” he muttered. “I’ll wait over there.”

Laurel had barely released her breath before Shane called her over. “Most can walk. Only two have said they don’t think they can manage it.”

“Good.” Laurel nodded, looking around the room at the fearful faces in front of them. The Freemen put up a good fight the last time the Militia attacked, but now they were weakened and afraid, and Laurel didn’t hold out much hope for victory; Art was right to evacuate. “What now?” she asked, zipping up her jacket in readiness for facing the outdoors.

Pulling a blueprint of the depot from his pocket, Shane jabbed a finger at it. “Art wants everyone to gather at this exit. It’s farthest away from the main weapons stores, so it shouldn’t be of interest to the Militia. He’s got men on the gate ready to let us out, and the horses are being harnessed to the carts as we speak.”

“Good. I’ll meet you there.” Laurel scanned the map, imprinting it on her memory. “I have to get Sharon.”

“How will you move her?” Shane asked, picking up his jacket and throwing it on before grabbing his pack too.

“Her bed’s on wheels. We’ll push her to the exit, then get her into one of the carts. Make sure there’s room for her.”

Shane nodded, then held the door open for Laurel and ushered her through. “See you soon, Doc.”

Tearing down the hall toward Sharon’s room, Laurel tried not to think about whether her daughter was on the other side of the gunfire that was peppering the outside of the building—or what the Militia had done with Bear and Trent while they staged their attack.

When she threw the door open, Jess barked instinctively, sitting up at the foot of the bed and tilting her head at Laurel’s disheveled appearance.

“We have to go,” she said, already moving toward the bed and kicking the locks from the wheels. Meeting Lisa’s eyes, she repeated what she’d told Shane. “We’ll push the bed to the rendezvous point at the back of the building. The carts will be ready for us.” Moving her gaze to Sharon, she added, “We’ll be as gentle as we can when we lift you into the cart. We’ll keep you on the mattress and secure you so you’re as still as possible. But you should know this is far from ideal. There’s a significant risk. We could cause more damage if we—”

“If I stay here, do you think the Militia will take care of me?” Sharon asked, raising her eyebrows. “No. Of course, they won’t. I’m going.” She folded her arms over her chest and gave a small nod of the head. “So, let’s blow this joint.”

Locking eyes across Sharon’s bed, Lisa and Laurel exchanged a purposeful glance. Laurel looped Jess’s leash around her wrist, so she couldn’t jump free from the bed, then pushed while Lisa held the door open.

Slowly, they inched the bed into the corridor, careful not to bang the sides on the doorframe. Once free, they were able to move more quickly.

Following the map in her head, Laurel took the lead. She guided them back past the triage bay, past the food stores, and down three more corridors. For a while, the sounds of shouting and gunfire grew quieter. When they emerged in what looked like a large loading bay with huge open doors at one end, sounds of a different kind filled the air.

Art and several others were directing people into lines. Outside, in the moonlight, Laurel could see that the gates to this side of the depot were being heavily guarded by Art’s men—ready to open up when everyone was in place.

“How many are holding the fort out front?” Laurel asked as she appeared at Art’s elbow.

“Enough,” he replied. “They’ll soon be out of ammo, though. They’ve been instructed to run when that happens. Try to lead the Militia in the wrong direction while we escape into the hills.” He looked past Laurel at Sharon. “How are we going to…?” he trailed off, pressing his lips together.

“I need some strong volunteers to lift her into the cart, and some rope to secure her to the mattress.”

Immediately, Art yelled for rope and volunteers. Cassie appeared almost instantly, holding some camping cords. “Will these do?” she asked.

“Perfect.” Laurel took them from her and rushed to Sharon’s side. “Lisa, help me feed these under the mattress and secure Sharon across her middle. Just so she doesn’t move too much when we lift her into the cart.” Laurel gently lifted her side of Sharon’s mattress just enough to feed the cord through. Lisa did the same and tugged it out the other end. Then they secured the cord across Sharon’s stomach.

“Got to hurry, Doc. We need to get out of here.” Art smiled at Sharon as he spoke to Laurel.

“Got those volunteers?” she asked.

Art stood aside as three burly-looking men and Cassie stepped forward.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Cassie said, meeting Laurel’s gaze.

“I don’t doubt it,” Laurel replied. Then she turned to the others. “Okay, we need three of us on each side of the mattress. We’re going to lift on the count of three, then walk the mattress slowly to the cart and slide it on.” Firmly, she added, “It’s important we keep Sharon as still as possible. Everyone clear?”

Everyone nodded.

Laurel tried not to think about how Sharon must be feeling right now; humiliated, scared, defiant. So many things. But there wasn’t time for that. “On my count. One. Two. Three.”

On three, everyone lifted at the same time. They were slowly moving toward the cart when another explosion rocked the building behind them.

“Keep her steady. Focus,” Laurel yelled. “Don’t rush.”

While Art kept the horse and cart still, they slowly eased Sharon into the cart and slid her forward.

“Okay, good job.” Laurel shook her arms to release some tension. “Sharon, we’ll keep the cord in place, but your arms are free. Is that okay?”

Sharon gave her a thumbs up.

“We have to move.” Art waved at the others. “Shane, you said there were two who can’t walk. Get them in the cart now. Everyone else, ready on my say-so.”

They were at the gate when Laurel heard someone yell, “Fire!! The depot’s on fire!”

9

BEAR

“Toilet break.” A tall, bulky woman with a bad case of acne shone a flashlight in Bear’s face, then hauled him to his feet. It was almost pitch dark. When she lowered the flashlight, her face was cast in an eerie glow. With rough hands, she unfastened the handcuffs that had been securing him to the large metal pole in the middle of the warehouse.

“No thanks.” Bear tried to jerk free from her grip. “I can hold it.”

“Captain said toilet breaks every three hours. You go now, or you hold it until breakfast.” She kicked Bear’s boot with the toe of her own in an effort to move him.

“I kinda need to go, PB,” Trent muttered, stifling a yawn.

Bear glanced at him, then pursed his lips and nodded. “Fine. But be careful with the kid. He’s still sore from—”

“From the big bad swan?” The woman laughed, a raspy cackle that sounded like it was laced with stale cigarette smoke.

“Yeah, the swan.” Bear glanced at Trent. As he was freed from his cuffs and moved away from the pole, he turned his head and Bear realized the kid’s ear was still bleeding. “Hey,” he said, grabbing Trent and pulling him closer.

“Stop that.” The woman pulled her gun and pointed it at them. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring her, Bear examined Trent’s ear. “The boy needs medical attention.” He gestured to the ear. “Stitches.”

“Sorry,” the woman shrugged. “Not my job. I’m just here to make sure you empty your bladders.”

Nudging Bear between the shoulder blades, she trudged them toward a door at the back of the room. Down a small corridor, they came to a makeshift toilet, the usual bucket contraption. It reeked; clearly, no one had been emptying it very regularly.

After forcing himself to pee, Bear stood back and let Trent relieve himself too. Bear looked around for soap or hand sanitizer but found none. “You’ll be getting dysentery if you don’t keep this area clean,” he snapped.

“You volunteering?” the woman asked, eyebrow curved.

Bear simply narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m just trying to help.”

“We won’t be here much longer, so I don’t suppose it matters.” The woman waved her gun to indicate that Bear and Trent should start walking again.

“We’re moving out?” Bear asked.

As if suddenly realizing she’d told him too much, the woman pressed her lips together and shrugged. “Quiet, if you know what’s good for you.”

They were almost back to their post when a door opened and the sound of shouts and stamping feet bled into the room. “They need backup! Everyone move out. Peterson! You’re up.”

Bear’s stomach lurched at the sound of his daughter’s name. He strained to hear what was being said, to make out any other words or phrases that might tell him what was happening, but caught nothing before the door closed again.

Next to him, Trent stopped and braced his hand on the wall.

“Keep walking.” The woman with the gun kept moving, but Trent didn’t.

Bear turned and put his hands on the kid’s upper arms. “Trent? You okay, son?”

He was deathly pale, and he winced as he touched his ear.

Anger bubbling in his stomach, Bear spat, “This ear needs to be seen to. It’s been bleeding for hours. Could get infected if it’s not cleaned.” Meeting the woman’s eyes, he made an effort to soften his tone and give her something close to a smile. “Please. Just bring me a first-aid kit and I’ll do it myself.” He hesitated, wondering if she herself had kids. “He’s just a boy. Please.”

Sucking in her cheeks, their jailor snapped the cuffs back on their wrists and secured them to their post. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said curtly, then strode away.

Once again, as the door opened and closed, the muffled sounds of chaos filtered through. Bear strained to catch a glimpse of what was happening, but it was dark, and the door closed too quickly.

When darkness descended, Bear whispered, “Trent? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, PB. Never knew swans had such nasty bites… or that ears could bleed this much.”

“You’re lucky it didn’t take the darn thing off,” Bear grumbled. “Swans look nice, but they’re dangerous when they’re angry.”

“A lesson I learned the hard way,” Trent chuckled, trying to make light of the situation. After a pause, he added, “What do you think’s going on out there? They yelled for Mae. Did you hear them?”

Sighing, Bear said, “My guess is they’re attacking the depot again. They know the Freemen are weakened, so they’re going back in while they’re on the back foot.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “I’m just hoping Cornell hasn’t put Mae in danger to prove a point.”

“You think that’s what all this has been about?” Trent asked.

“He’s trying to make her prove herself, but it’s more than that. With men like him, it’s about power. They like to break people, mold them into their own image. Maybe Mae was too curious. Maybe her face didn’t fit. Maybe it’s because she spent time living with the Freemen…whatever it is, he’s trying to stomp it out of her.”

Bear heard Trent clear his throat and knew what the boy was thinking.

“I’m not saying she’s blameless. I’m just saying Cornell is the manipulative type.”

“Gotcha,” Trent replied. He’d taken a deep breath, like he was preparing to say something else, when the door opened and a different guard walked in. This one, Bear recognized as the young officer who was friends with Mae.

“Gideon?” he asked, studying the young man’s face in the light of the gas lamp he was holding.

“I was told to give you a first-aid kit.” Gideon stopped in front of them and tossed the plastic green box into Bear’s lap. His eyes darted toward Trent. Taking in the kid’s ear, he grimaced a little, but then painted his face in neutral colors again. “Can you manage?”

Bear slid his arms down the pole. His hands were cuffed, but he could move his fingers and wrists enough to open the box, and if Trent ducked his head, Bear should be able to at least clean the wound and apply a Band-Aid. “We can manage,” he said firmly.

Gideon nodded and had turned away from them when Bear called after him, “Cornell can’t be trusted. Especially around Mae. If you care for her, you’ll watch out for her.”

For a long moment, Gideon didn’t move. Bear watched his shoulders move slowly up and down. Then very quietly he said, “I’ll always watch out for her.” Before he left, he set his gas lamp down on the floor, leaving Bear just enough light to see by.

At least Mae had one ally in this place. Bear could only hope it would be enough to keep his daughter from harm. Despite everything, she was still his little girl.

10

MAE

“They’re escaping! Round back!” Gideon slipped on a sodden piece of earth as he hurried toward her, and Mae grabbed his arm to steady him. “Where’s the captain?”

“No idea,” Mae fired back. Her eyes were scanning the perimeter of the depot. Something was off, but her brain was struggling to catch hold of what exactly it was.

She’d been standing there for a long ten minutes while Gideon was sent off solo to assess the back of the building. Another game of Cornell’s; a test to see if Gideon was worthy, while Cornell stayed nice and safe in the cover of the woods.

While she waited, she’d tried to focus on what was happening around her, but her mind kept returning to the first time she and Gideon met. They were both younger then, but Gideon had always seemed younger than his years. He had the aura of a slightly irritating younger brother—one you wouldn’t want to be without but found infinitely frustrating. At least, Mae imagined that was how people felt about their younger brothers. She had no siblings, so had always envied those who knew what it was like to grow up with an ally. A partner in crime. Someone who shared the same baggage because they grew up in the same house, with the same parents, and the same issues.

Gideon was the closest she’d ever had to that. They grew up together in basic training. They shared the same stories about their gruff superiors and back-breaking training exercises, as well as the good times. They were deployed to the Middle East together and were about to embark on another tour when the EMP hit.

To Mae, he would always be her irritating little brother. Her friend. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t see his shortcomings, the biggest of which was his need to be liked. He had always coveted being in with the in-crowd. Cornell had clearly sensed this character trait and was exploiting it for all it was worth, making Gideon his pet project, manipulating him into being his right-hand lackey.

It had started when she was away. She knew as soon as she returned from the Freemen that something was different, and now she was certain. Gideon still disliked Cornell, but he’d seen the opportunity to become liked by his captain and had seized it with both hands.

And that meant doing whatever Cornell asked without question. Including surveying the perimeter of a building that could be booby-trapped. Alone. With no backup.

Mae pushed her fingers through her hair and wished her ponytail wasn’t tied so tight. It was making her scalp hurt. Tension was creeping down over her forehead to settle in her temples.

Up and down the tree line, the Militia were hiding out of sight, hurling firebombs at the ground in front of the complex. The bombs were creating a lot of smoke, noise, and chaos. They were impacting the Militia’s vision as much as the Freemen’s, and it was becoming almost impossible to see how they were going to get in.

“It’s on fire!” someone yelled. “The depot’s on fire!”

“I told you not to hit it.” Cornell appeared from the shadows, striding out into the open as if he believed he was impervious to bullets. “What’s the point in taking it back if there’s nothing but ash and rubble when we get in there?” he bellowed.

Glancing at Mae, Gideon hesitated, then scurried forward. Raising his hand like a preschooler asking where the restroom was, he approached Cornell and stuttered, “Captain, the Freemen are leaving. They’re running. I saw them loading supplies onto carts around back.”

Cornell narrowed his eyes at Gideon. Then a smile came to his lips. “Good,” he barked. “Let the weasels run.” The sound of gunfire had stopped; the Freemen were no longer fighting back. Cornell noticed too and strained his ears. Beckoning for everyone else to show themselves, he crowed, “They’re retreating. In we go, men!”

“Captain.” Mae sucked in a deep breath as she emerged from her hiding place. “We should survey the perimeter first. There could be snipers or traps—”

“Snipers? Traps?” Cornell let out a loud, thunderous laugh. “They’re not real soldiers, Peterson. They’re everyday morons with guns. You think they’re organized enough to set traps? You think they’re staging their escape and have left snipers to take us out one by one?”

Mae furrowed her brow. He was making fun of her, but yes she did think they were organized enough to do both of those things. “Captain, they’re not as stupid as you think. Plus, they’ve had access to whatever’s in that building. We should—”

“Mae….” Gideon muttered, shaking his head at her as if he wished she’d be quiet.

“You’re not trying to delay us, are you, Peterson?” Cornell moved toward her, studying her face with dark eyes.

Slowly, others emerged from the trees. Only a small group had left the warehouse for the first attack, but more would be following soon. They were all staring at her, watching as Cornell sowed seeds of doubt in their minds about whether she could be trusted.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t understand what you’re trying to ask me.” Defiantly, Mae held his gaze.

“I’m asking you whether you’re trying to delay us so that your friends can escape. Whether perhaps you think the longer we’re out here talking, the less chance there will be of us coming across stragglers and shooting them.”

The thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to Mae, and it took her a moment to formulate her reply. As she stared at Cornell, part of her wondered why the thought hadn’t occurred to her. She’d spent weeks living with these people, and yet not even a small part of her was concerned for their safety.

Involuntarily, she frowned. She was frowning at herself, but Cornell noticed the change in her expression and pounced.

“Well?” he raised his voice, not seeming to care that it was drawing attention to them now that he was convinced he’d won.

“No, Captain. That is not what I’m doing.” Mae slotted her fingers together behind her back and stood with her back and shoulders straight, waiting for further instructions. She’d tried; there was nothing else she could do. If Cornell was willing to charge in without properly surveying the area, that decision was on him. Not her.

For a moment, Cornell looked like he was trying to think of a way to humiliate her a little further. But then he changed his mind, spat on the ground at Mae’s feet, and turned to the rest of their group.

“We’re heading in through the main gate. It’s unguarded.” Cornell pointed down toward the front of the depot. From where they were standing, on a slight incline, they could see the wire fence and metal gates out front. They could also see that the place seemed deserted.

Seemed was the word that was snagging in Mae’s mind. If she was in the Freemen’s shoes, would she simply run and hide? It was doubtful. Highly doubtful.

But Cornell was intent on following his own nose, not hers, and ordered everyone to start moving. Weapons at the ready, they started off toward the gates.

* * *

Spreading out, they followed the fence down to the front entrance of the depot. Distant shouts and hollers suggested the Freemen were still fleeing. Everything else was silent. No gunfire, no Freemen in sight.

“This isn’t right.” Mae moved closer to Gideon and whispered in his ear. “The Freemen wouldn’t simply roll over and leave.”

Gideon shrugged. “I saw them. They’re running, Mae.”

Ahead, one of the men turned and shot Mae a look that made her shiver. She backed off and let the space widen between her and Gideon. Rule number one if you suspected trip wires or traps was not to stay too close to one another. If one person was taken out, at least that way, the entire unit wouldn’t be lost.

They were almost at the gate when the line stopped. Ahead, she heard whispering. A tall soldier she didn’t recognize was talking to the captain. Cornell nodded and pointed down the line. The soldier turned toward her. He was almost as broad as he was tall, in Army fatigues, and with a black scarf pulled half up over his face. It covered his mouth and nose and left only his eyes and forehead free. Staring in Mae’s direction, he strode toward her.

“Captain says you first, Peterson.” He folded his arms and stood, feet apart, in front of her. His stance was the standing version of manspreading, and she hated it—the way guys like him jutted their hips out slightly, broadened their shoulders, and puffed out their chests like mountain gorillas to intimidate females in the unit.

She’d encountered one or two like him in the past, but mostly her unit had always been full of good guys. The kind you’d trust with your life. The kind who respected their wives and mothers, and who would do anything to protect their friends.

Since the unit had started joining forces with civilians, however, and had become Militia rather than Army, more and more of those men had been cropping up. Unfortunately for Mae, and the other women in the Militia, Cornell seemed rather fond of this kind of soldier.

“Did you hear me?” he snapped.

Mae sensed Gideon staring at her but didn’t return his gaze. “I heard you,” she replied.

“After you, then.” He held out his arm, like a chauffeur waiting for a celebrity to exit a car, and waited for Mae to walk past him. Then he followed her, too close, as she approached Cornell.

Refusing to give Cornell the pleasure of seeing her nerves, Mae simply looked at him and said, “You’d like me to go first, Captain?”

“You’re the expert in Freemen booby-traps, it would seem.” Cornell flicked his eyes to the imposing concrete building next to them. “So, it only seems fitting that you go first and let us know if you spot any signs of danger ahead.”

Mae breathed in slowly through her nose. Her nostrils flared, the way her mother’s did when she was angry, and she hoped Cornell hadn’t noticed that she was struggling to keep her cool.

As Cornell watched her, waiting for her to answer him back, Mae’s mind began to scroll through everything she knew about the kind of traps the Freemen might use. Turning from the captain, without answering him directly, Mae gestured for the others to gather around. There was a moment’s hesitation, but when Gideon moved so did the rest of them. Mae silently thanked him for remaining loyal, at least for now, and shot him a quick—discreet—smile.

“Okay, the captain has asked me to be the first on site. So, I need you all to listen up. The Freemen have no electricity or batteries for timers, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have set up some rudimentary traps and trip wires that would cause hidden grenades to detonate. Which means we need to be vigilant. It seems odd to me that they’ve just abandoned this place after trying so hard to keep control of it.”

“You’d know,” muttered the guy with the scarf. “Seeing as you got in bed with them.”

Mae didn’t even allow a flicker of movement to cross her face. She simply carried on. “We’ll go in as before. Keep at least three feet between you and the person to your front and back. Be on constant watch of your surroundings. That means looking at your feet too. Watch for signs of something catching the light, tripwires, that sort of thing. Listen. If you hear a pop or a pinging sound, shout a warning and drop to the ground.”

“If a bomb’s about to go off, shouldn’t we run?” asked one of the others.

“There might not be time to get far enough away. Best thing to do is press your body to the ground and shield your head. Avoid impact.”

Behind her, Mae could almost feel the heat coming off Cornell’s rigid body. He was seething. He’d expected Mae to be nervous, scared, to ask if someone else could go with her. And she was not only defying his expectations; she was taking control.

Perhaps now he’d see that she was a valued member of this unit. Perhaps finally, after this, he’d stop tormenting her and let her get on with her job. Perhaps he’d agree to let her father go.

Mae blinked hard, pushing the image of her father and Trent from her mind. That was something she’d have to sort out later. Not now.

“Ready?” She glanced over her shoulder. “On my signal.”

The stretch of concrete between the gate and the main entrance of the depot was clear. Nothing untoward. When they reached the door, Mae assessed the corridor before gesturing for them to follow her. They continued moving slowly, and she was about to suggest they light some flares to see by, when Cornell shouted, “Okay, fan out. The place is empty. Keep Peterson’s advice in mind when you’re searching the place. Any Freemen you find are to be captured and detained.”

“Captain—” Mae stopped and turned around, but Cornell was already striding off in a different direction. He was about to reach for a doorhandle when Mae heard it; the distinctive pop of a tripwire being triggered. “STOP!” Mae screamed at the top of her voice. Before Cornell could whirl around and yell at her, she added, “Captain, don’t move. You’re standing on a trap.”

* * *

Everyone was stock-still. Only a small sliver of moonlight was illuminating the corridor, but when Mae inched forward, she saw the light catch and knew she was right; Cornell was standing on a trap. If he moved, most likely, a bomb would go off.

“Everyone else, back the way we came.” Mae gestured to the others. “Retrace your steps slowly and carefully and wait at the perimeter near the trees.”

Without moving, Cornell yelled, “What! Peterson, what are you doing? No one is going anywhere!”

Gritting her teeth, Mae ignored Cornell and repeated herself. Then she added, “If I can’t get the captain off the trap without triggering it, we don’t know what will happen. The whole place could go up. Do you want to be here for that?”

Almost instantly, the others began to nod and turn around. Just as she’d instructed, slowly, they moved back toward the exit. For a moment, the soldier wearing a scarf hesitated, but then he shook his head, shrugged, and hurried after the rest of the group.

Mae looked at Gideon to tell him to go too, but he simply raised his eyebrows at her in a look that said just you try and make me leave. Slowly, she approached the captain.

“It looks like you’re standing on some kind of metal pad,” she said, stopping herself from adding, despite the fact you were supposed to be watching your steps. “It’s attached to a tripwire.” She pointed at a thread of what looked like fishing line, which led from beneath the captain’s foot up to the top of the door, where it had been threaded through the crack.

“The wire was probably pulled taut against the top of whatever you’re standing on. Putting your foot down pulled the trigger. If you take your foot off it, the line will loosen and the trigger will too.”

“And then… boom,” Gideon muttered.

“Yes, boom,” Mae repeated. She looked up at Cornell. His lips were pressed tightly together, beads of moisture clinging to his heavily lined forehead.

“So, find something to replace my foot and get me out of here,” he snapped.

Mae nodded, looking up and down the corridor. “Wait here,” she told Gideon, then very carefully headed in the opposite direction. The third door she opened seemed to be the Freemen’s supply room. They’d left behind several crates of bottled water, and plenty of other items that would need to be categorized and inventoried when the rest of the unit got here.

“Gideon!” Mae yelled out of the door. “It’s safe. I need your help.”

When Gideon appeared, he assessed the storeroom and nodded approvingly. “Nice,” he said. “Can we use these for the trap?” He pointed to a crate of water bottles.

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Mae shoved her pack from her shoulders and stooped down. Doing the same, Gideon helped her lift the nearest crate, and they carried it back to Cornell. When he saw them, his shoulders visibly relaxed.

“Hurry up,” he snapped. “Come on, hurry.”

“First.” Mae gestured to the wire. “Gideon, you need to hold the wire. But you need to hold it exactly in place. Completely still. Just as a backup in case I mess up this end.” She tried to smile, as if it was funny and not at all probable that she would fail. But it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Gideon nodded quickly, then dropped to his knees and examined the wire. Moistening his lips, he held out a shaky hand. His fingers were trembling, but he extended them slowly.

As he pinched the wire between his thumb and forefinger, Mae held her breath. Cornell was looking in the other direction, as if he couldn’t bear to see what was about to happen.

“Okay.” Gideon glanced up at Mae, barely moving. “I’ve got it.”

“All right, Captain.” Mae pushed the crate of bottles along the floor and lined them up behind Cornell. “I’m guessing the hinge is here. Otherwise you’d have tripped over it.”

“Guessing?” Cornell still wasn’t looking at her. Now he was staring straight ahead. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face and his fingers twitched as if he wanted to brush it away but daren’t.

“When I say so, you slide your foot forward but keep the pressure. Okay? I’m going to slide the crate on from the back. And as a failsafe, Gideon has hold of the wire. So it should be fine.”

“Should be?” Cornell scoffed.

“I’m not an expert, Captain. It would have been much easier if you hadn’t stepped on it in the first place.” She’d allowed herself to snap. It was the kind of thing her mother did; let her mouth run away with her when she should really keep quiet. But for once Cornell wasn’t in a position to do much about it. He was so scared he didn’t even dare shout at her.

“Right. Get on with it.” Cornell drew in a deep breath.

Mae counted to three.

He began to move his foot.

Slowly, holding out his arms like a figure skater on TV, Cornell slid his foot until Mae saw the flash of metal. Quickly, she pushed the crate until it butted up against Cornell’s heel. “Okay, keep moving, and I will too.”

Putting all her weight into it, she followed on Cornell’s heel. Finally, he was free. He staggered, panting as if he’d just run a race, then leaned forward and breathed between his knees.

“You can let go now, Gid,” Mae said. “We’re okay.” As Gideon let go and stood up, backing away quickly, Mae turned to Cornell and added, “We’ll need to find out what’s on the other side of that door and dispose of it. Also sweep the rest of the building before we let everyone else in.”

Cornell met her eyes and nodded, his lips still pursed.

“I’ll tell the others.” Mae paused, then looked back at Cornell. Stiffly, she reached out and patted his arm. “That was scary, but you’re okay, Captain.”

Cornell simply pulled his arm away and followed her outside.

As they emerged, the group waiting by the trees erupted into cheers and hollers. Mae’s cheeks flushed. Cornell’s did too, but not with pleasure. She was about to say something to him, something like don’t worry, sir, it could have happened to anyone when the others came hurtling toward them.

After claps on the back and a million questions for Mae, they turned to Cornell. Shaking off his visible signs of distress, Cornell repeated what Mae had told him about securing the building and figuring out what was on the other side of the door.

But while he spoke, Mae noticed Gideon standing slightly apart from the group. Mae headed over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. You did good,” she said.

Gideon nodded slowly.

“You okay?”

He glanced sideways at her. “When you were gone, looking for something to replace his foot, Cornell…” Gideon trailed off.

Mae raised her eyebrow. “Cornell what?”

Gideon wrinkled his nose. “He asked me to take his place. Asked me to stand on the trap instead of him. Said he was more valuable to the unit.” Gideon mumbled the last line and looked down at his feet.

“He was scared,” Mae said. “People do stupid things when they’re scared.” But as she watched Cornell suddenly becoming the hero of his story, something settled in her gut. A swirling mixture of doubt and distrust, which she had no idea how she was going to dislodge.

11

LAUREL

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER

Wiping sweat from her forehead, Laurel looked up at the pale sun and the clear sky that surrounded it. For an entire day and night, they had trudged through mud and rain, although it had been almost impossible to tell what time of day it was because of the thick black rainclouds that hung above them.

Now, finally, the rain had stopped.

“It’s stuck again,” Lisa’s voice rose above the dull mumblings of the crowd. “The cart’s stuck again.”

Laurel nudged her way forward, leaving behind the elderly couple she’d been keeping pace with for the past few hours. They were walking uphill, a steep incline, which was making it almost impossible to handle the strain of carrying their possessions and wading through mud at the same time.

She found Lisa, Art, and Shane staring at the cart. In front, a large black horse called Nightshade was scraping her mud-caked hoof against the ground, creating a deep groove in the sticky earth. “Woah, girl, hold it,” Art said, stroking the horse’s shoulder to stop her moving; every time she did, it jolted the cart, and with Sharon in the back, this was not a good thing.

“How much farther?” Lisa asked, turning to Art. “It feels like we’ve been on this road for days.”

“In good weather, we’d have been there yesterday,” Art said, avoiding giving Lisa an answer.

Lowering her voice, Lisa gripped Art’s elbow and hissed, “She can’t keep doing this, Art. She needs to rest. Who knows what kind of damage we could be doing—what this could do to her recovery.”

“I know that, Lisa, but what would you have me do?” Art snapped in return. “Wave a magic wand and clear up the mud?”

“There must be another route. Proper roads. The highway?” Lisa asked, her voice strained with desperation.

“There isn’t another route, Lisa. It’s a campsite.” Art pulled a map from his pocket and jabbed his finger at it.

“And what if someone is already there? What if it’s not empty? What if we travel all this way and—”

Stepping in, Laurel slotted herself between Lisa and Art. Sharon was watching them from the back of the cart. Positioned on a couple of mattresses Art had his men drag with them, she looked exhausted—her face drained of color, big dark circles beneath her eyes. In the crook of her arm, Jess was curled up tightly, watching but remaining very still, as if she knew Sharon needed to be.

“This isn’t helping,” Laurel said firmly. Turning to Lisa, she added, “I agree with you, Lisa, this is far from ideal. But we’ve come this far. We’re only a few hours away from the campsite. When we get there, we can make Sharon more comfortable. But standing here in the middle of the road arguing with each other is achieving nothing.”

To the people behind her, Laurel called, “We need help shifting the cart. Volunteers up front. Give your packs to those closest to you.”

For a moment, no one moved. Laurel’s eyes widened.

“You heard the doctor. Volunteers, up front, now!” Art bellowed.

Finally, there was movement. Four men and three women shrugged off their packs and headed to the front of the line.

“When we’ve freed the cart, we’ll need to keep pushing it up the hill so it doesn’t get stuck again,” Laurel said, using her hands to direct the others into position.

When Lisa moved forward to help, however, she shook her head. “Get in with Sharon. Hold her still.”

Lisa didn’t hesitate, just swung herself quickly into the rear of the cart and curved her body over her wife’s.

“Ready?” Laurel looked at Art and he returned to Nightshade’s side, taking hold of her reins, ready to encourage her forward.

“One,” Laurel shouted to the others, “two, three, push!”

In a maneuver they’d practiced far too many times on their short journey, while Laurel and the volunteers pushed, Shane and his friend Mark got on their knees and used sticks to try and clear the rivets of mud from the front of the wheels. At the same time, Art encouraged Nightshade to walk slowly forward.

While this method had worked so far on the journey, this time it failed miserably. Four times, they tried to inch the cart out of the mud. Four times, nothing happened. Eventually, Nightshade gave up, huffing and puffing and refusing to try again.

“Damn it,” Laurel cursed, throwing her hands in the air and pacing away from the cart. Facing the trees instead of the group of people who seemed to be waiting for her to fix the situation, Laurel breathed heavily and braced her hands on her thighs. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head from side to side, her neck clicking with the momentary release of tension. As the short, sharp popping sound vibrated in her ears, so did a memory. The image of wood cracking and splintering filled her head.

“I’ve got an idea.” She stood up, waving at the others. “Someone find a large branch. Really large. Thick as possible.”

For a long moment, no one moved. They just stared at her as if she’d forgotten what they were trying to achieve.

“Trust me, find the wood,” Laurel repeated. But as they began to move off toward the trees, she caught Lisa’s arm and said, “Can you get me some rope?”

Lisa narrowed her eyes, clearly wondering what the heck Laurel was up to, but agreed.

A few minutes later, Laurel selected the two widest and longest pieces of wood, hurled some rope at Shane, and told him to copy what she was going to do. He watched curiously as Laurel began to strap her piece of wood to the top of the cart’s back, right-hand wheel.

“Will this work?” he asked, mirroring her actions with the rear, left-hand wheel.

“My dad used this trick to get us out of a snowdrift once. So, yeah, it should work. In theory.” Laurel grunted as she pulled the rope tight, fixing the wood so it would turn with the wheel and provide both leverage and propulsion out of the sticky mud.

When they’d finished, glancing at Laurel, Shane stood up and said, “Okay, what now?”

“Now, we stand back, ask Nightshade to walk on, and hope I haven’t just wasted our time and energy.”

Shane raised his eyebrows at her. Jumping back into the cart, Lisa positioned herself to steady Sharon once more. Then Laurel gave the signal for Art to ease Nightshade forward.

This time, the jumping motion created by the wood-adorned wheels was even more intense. Lisa winced and did her best to keep Sharon steady. Laurel held her breath.

Finally, just when she was about to tell Art to stop, it happened. The wheels squelched free, and the cart started moving.

A series of whoops and claps broke out. Shane thumped Laurel on the back. “Good job, Doc. Impressive.”

“Lucky,” Laurel replied. “Not impressive.”

Gesturing for Shane to do the same, she knelt down and unfastened her length of wood, then heaved it up into the cart in case they needed it again. She was done before Shane, and was taking a drink from her water bottle when he clambered to his feet and stared down at his mud-caked pants. Shaking his head, and shaking a damp boot, he muttered, “I’ll have trench foot by the time this journey’s over.”

“Not far to go.” Laurel fell back in line with the others as they returned their packs to their shoulders, then took up the position she’d suggested at the rear of the cart. “Lisa? Why don’t you hop down and we’ll let the kids take a turn in the back.” Laurel turned and gestured for the parents to bring their kids forward. The smallest were being carried, but the six and seven-year-olds who were too large for their parents’ help were exhausted.

Crouching in front of them, Laurel smiled and said, “Okay guys, I have a special job for you. You get to ride in the cart, but we need you to help keep Sharon nice and still. All it means is you have to gently hold her shoulders, her arms, and her legs. Think you can manage that?”

Laurel could feel Lisa’s reluctance; it was coming off her in waves. But the kids needed to rest, and they were capable of helping.

Although the two other patients in the back of the cart weren’t as badly injured as Sharon, they weren’t strong enough to help her.

Ben nodded enthusiastically. “We can do it, Doctor Rivera.”

“Okay then, moms and dads, help them up,” Laurel said. “Be very careful not to jostle Sharon, though. That’s it.” She nodded up at them, smiling. “You three on one side, you three on the other….”

As the kids positioned themselves, and Jess jumped down to stretch her legs, Lisa looked away. Watching them jostle for position so close to an injured and helpless Sharon was too much for her. But the kids seemed to innately understand the gravity of Sharon’s situation. Gathering around her, they followed Laurel’s instructions.

Sharon smiled at them. “Well, this is a nice surprise,” she said, craning her head to look at each in turn. “I hope you’re all game for a sing-along.”

The smallest of the kids, a little girl called Martha, grinned a toothy grin. “What are we going to sing?”

“How about that song from that cartoon about the robot? You know that one?” Sharon started to hum and, immediately, the kids joined in.

Allowing her own breath to relax in her chest, Laurel patted Lisa’s shoulder. “She’s okay. It’s a good distraction, and they’re good kids. They understand.”

Lisa nodded, but her lips were pressed together. Resting her hand on her chest, she said quietly, “Sorry, I just… I feel like I can barely breathe right now. I need to get her to safety. Somewhere we can get her set up, nice and quiet, nice and still, where I can take care of her.”

“I know.” Laurel put her hand on Lisa’s back as they began to walk again—Nightshade and the cart setting the pace. “Not long now.”

“Good thing we left the other cart,” Shane interrupted, glancing back as though they might see the silhouette of the cart they’d been forced to abandon not long after leaving the base. He shook his head. “No way we’d have made it with the two of them.”

Laurel nodded. Even though leaving it had meant that everyone had to carry twice as much as they’d normally manage, with no second horse, there was no way they’d have been able to pull the other cart up the slope. “I might be able to retrieve it when I go back,” she said, almost to herself. “I could take Nightshade—”

“Back?” Lisa narrowed her eyes. “You’re going back?”

“For Bear and Trent.” Laurel adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Did you think I’d forgotten them?”

“No, of course not.” Lisa removed her baseball cap and tucked it into her jacket pocket. “It’s just… you’ve come all this way with us and then you’re going to turn around and go back?”

“I can’t abandon them. Either they’ve been left in that warehouse, alone and chained up with no food, or they’re in the depot with the Militia. Either way, I’m not leaving them. I’m getting them out.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Shane said, “What about Mae?”

“Mae?” Laurel’s mouth became instantly dry, her tongue like sandpaper against the back of her teeth. “Truthfully, Shane? I have no idea.”

“You’ll need help,” Lisa said, her gaze fixed on Sharon, her lips twitching into a smile as Sharon reached the crescendo of the sing-along. “But I’m not sure I can leave her.”

“It’s okay, Lisa, I wouldn’t ask you to. Besides, Art won’t spare any men. It’s going to take weeks to get the campsite set up to something even remotely like what you had back in the woods. He’ll need all the hands he can get.” Laurel straightened her shoulders and allowed her breath to settle heavily in her chest. “This is my fight. Mae’s my daughter. If I have to get my family back alone, I will.”

12

LAUREL

“It’s been abandoned,” Laurel said, brushing damp hair from her face, which was flushed from the exertion of their final hour’s trek.

“I came out here to scout it out as a backup location a while back,” Art said, hands in his pockets. “I was hoping no one else had come across it.” Walking proudly toward the center of the campsite, he stretched out his arms as if they’d just discovered the Garden of Eden. “There are water pumps, plenty of flat space to set up camp, several defined areas we can use for toilets.” He nodded, clearly still proud of his discovery. “We’ll have it feeling like home in no time.”

While Art was trying to make the best of the situation, the rest of the Freemen seemed utterly deflated from their journey. Many had traveled with injuries, many more had lost loved ones in the first siege on the depot, and several—like Laurel—were hoping family members who were lost would return to them. That they would somehow find their way to Art’s secret campsite, even though it grew more unlikely by the hour.

Looking up at the darkening sky, Laurel suggested they make tents a priority. “Half of us should set up the tents, so we have shelter come nightfall, while the other half sort out the fire and the food situation.”

For a moment, a flash of annoyance crossed Art’s face, as if Laurel had some nerve to start bossing people around. But then, perhaps remembering she’d been more than a little helpful the past few days, he deferred to her instructions and echoed them politely. “You heard the Doc. Split up, half on tents, half on fire and food.” Glancing at the gaggle of weary children in their midst, Art said, “Kids, see the horse is fed and watered. Jess too.”

Pleased to be given an easy job, the older children jostled the younger ones into action and they set about seeing to the animals.

Laurel headed for the back of the cart carrying Sharon and peered in. She was sleeping, and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“I’ll help get your tent set up,” Laurel told Lisa, offering a hand to help her down from the cart. “We’ll get her comfortable. Don’t worry.”

Stifling a yawn, Lisa brushed down her clothes and nodded. Turning to Art, she asked loudly, “Does it matter which pitch we take?”

“First come, first served. Anywhere you like,” he replied, already heaving his own tent and backpack onto his shoulder and heading for a spot that would position him at the front of the group. The first target if anyone did come across them—either by design or by accident.

Working in silence as the sun continued to dip lower in the sky, Laurel kept her mind firmly on Sharon and what she could do to help her settle in. Truthfully, she had no idea how long she should leave it until she tried to help Sharon sit upright. The thought of her being confined to a tent, on her back, staring at the ceiling for days made Laurel’s stomach drop.

Obviously thinking the same, Lisa said quietly, “We didn’t even have time to find her some books.”

“No, we didn’t.” Laurel crouched down to bang in a tent peg, happy to take her frustration out on the small metal peg. “But we’ll ask around. I’m sure someone has some reading material they’ll be willing to share.”

Standing up, Lisa braced her hands on the small of her back and glanced over to the cart. Sharon was alone. Nightshade had been unhitched from the cart, and secured to a nearby tree, leaving Sharon by herself. As they watched, however, a flash of white scurried across the campsite and jumped up beside her.

“At least she has Jess for company,” Lisa said, her lips twitching into a sad smile. “I won’t be able to be with her all the time. Not while we get set up here.”

“I’m sure Art will excuse you from whatever’s going on,” Laurel said gently. But when she met Lisa’s quivering eyes, she realized what she meant; she couldn’t be with Sharon all the time. It was too much to watch her suffering and not be able to help. Reaching out to squeeze Lisa’s arm, Laurel nodded at her. “We’ll take it in turns. If she needs company and you need a bit of head space, I’ll sit with her, or Shane will. I’m sure. Even Cassie.” Laurel looked around, trying to spot Cassie’s blonde hair in the crowd.

“She reminds you of Mae.” Lisa stood back and folded her arms. The tent was up, and she was examining their work.

“Yes,” Laurel said quietly. “She does.”

“When will you leave?” Lisa asked softly.

“When everyone is settled. A day or two, maybe.” Laurel gestured to the cart. “Let’s find our volunteers and get Sharon situated, shall we?”

* * *

It was dark outside. Laurel was sitting with Sharon while Lisa went to fetch them some food. Through the gap in the tent’s opening, she could see the flickering of the fire.

“Laurel?” Sharon asked, her voice a little hoarse. “How long do I have to lie down like this?”

Laurel had been mulling this over since they arrived. The accident was three days ago. Sharon had been completely still—as much as possible—since then. Laurel’s instinct was that if Sharon felt like she wanted to sit up, they should let her. But the fact that she couldn’t see what was going on inside her friend’s body had caused a constant throbbing sensation to lodge in her temples.

“You don’t know, do you?” Sharon asked, turning her head to study Laurel’s expression. “It’s okay to say that you don’t.”

Kneeling down beside Sharon, Laurel reached for her hand and squeezed it. “No, Sharon, I don’t know. I have no idea what’s going on inside your body. So I have no idea whether sitting you up is the right thing to do or not.”

“What does your gut say?” Sharon asked, still holding Laurel’s hand.

“My gut?” Laurel shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s the best gauge of whether or not we should do something.”

“Okay, so then I’ll tell you what my gut says.” Sharon winced as she tried to push herself up on her elbows. Laurel lurched toward her and steadied her as Sharon gave up and lowered herself back down. “My gut says, I can’t stay like this. I’ll lose my mind if I have to just lie here and stare at the ceiling. Sit me up. Let me at least watch you all from here.” She pointed a shaky finger at the tent’s opening. The smells and sounds of dinner being cooked on the crackling campfire filtered toward them on the breeze.

“Bear with me.” Laurel stood up. “If we’re going to sit you up, we need something for you to lean against. I’ll see what I can find.”

Outside, she scanned her immediate surroundings. She spotted Shane by the campfire and strode over to him. Noticing her approaching, Shane smiled. “Doc, there you are. Dinner’s nearly ready.” He gestured to a large cooking pot full of noodles, and another that seemed to contain a mixture of canned vegetables and copious amounts of soy sauce.

“Good. I’m starving. I’m just trying to find something for Sharon. Something we can use to help her sit up.”

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Is that a good idea? I mean, is she ready?”

Laurel shrugged, trying to ignore the tugging sensation in her belly. “I’m not sure, but she wants to. So I said I’d help.”

“I see.” Shane scratched his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “All right. How about a crate? We have one that we brought the water bottles in. It’s empty now.”

“It’ll need to be sturdy enough to support her weight.”

“We could put the bottles back in it. Store them in her tent.” Shane gestured to the makeshift storage area situated a few yards away from the fire. “I’m sure no one will mind.”

Laurel thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s try it. Can you give me a hand?”

Grinning, Shane nodded and beckoned for Laurel to follow him. In the storage area, he picked up the empty crate and stood still while Laurel dropped bottles back into it. They were large bottles, huge two-liter ones which—as yet—had not been opened.

Back at the tent, they ducked carefully inside and lowered the crate to the ground. Lisa stood up, folded her arms, and scowled at them. “Sharon says you’re going to try and sit her up? Is that a good idea?”

“It’s not Laurel’s decision, it’s mine,” Sharon said, her voice straining as she tried to turn her head to an angle that would allow her to see everyone properly. “And I’ve decided I want to.”

Lisa looked from Sharon to Laurel. If she wanted to object, she clearly thought better of it and simply said, “All right. How do we do this?”

“We set up the crate behind Sharon. It’s filled with water bottles, so it won’t budge when she leans against it. And we pad her back with these.” Laurel gestured to Sharon and Lisa’s packs. “We’ll make some pillows, but for now the packs will have to do.”

Sharon nodded eagerly, smiling at Laurel. “Thank you,” she said, with the feeling of someone who truly meant what they were saying.

With the crate and the backpacks in place, Laurel and Shane hooked their arms around Sharon. She clung on tightly as they eased her upright. A sharp intake of breath from Sharon made Laurel stop. But Sharon quickly said, “No, no, I’m okay. Really.”

Slowly, they helped her lean back onto the packs and the crate. Her face softened, and a smile spread across her face. “Thank you.” She reached for Lisa’s hand and squeezed it. “The world is the right way up again.”

Wiping a tear from her eye, Lisa kissed Sharon’s forehead. “It always will be as long as you’re in it,” she muttered.

“Oh dear,” Sharon laughed. “I must be in bad shape if you’re breaking out the romance!”

“Oh hush.” Lisa rolled her eyes and stood up.

“You two wait here.” Laurel motioned for Shane to follow her. “We’ll bring you some food and open up the tent so you can watch what’s going on.”

With sparkling eyes, Sharon nodded.

Taking Shane with her, Laurel headed to the campfire and waited in line to collect Sharon and Lisa’s portions of food. Shane fetched them some hot tea, and from the dessert table, he was given two small squares of dark chocolate.

By the time they reached Sharon and Lisa’s tent, the chocolate had melted a little, so the two women ate their squares quickly before tucking into their main meals.

“Wait here. I’ll fetch ours.” Shane patted Laurel’s shoulder and headed quickly back to the fire. When he returned, he sat cross-legged next to Laurel.

Squashed together, the four of them ate and watched as the rest of the campsite filtered over to enjoy their own meals. At first, the atmosphere was hesitant and muted, but as food and drink warmed their bellies, chatter began and laughter started to ripple through the camp.

When Art broke out his ukulele and started singing, a few even got up to dance. Lisa glanced at Sharon and gave her a sympathetic look. Laurel interpreted it to mean that Sharon would have loved to get up and dance if she were able to, but Sharon kissed Lisa’s hand and whispered something only her wife could hear.

It made Lisa smile, which warmed the tightness in Laurel’s chest.

Finally, as the fire dwindled and people started to wander back to their tents, Laurel stood up and wished Sharon and Lisa goodnight. In the middle of helping Sharon change her socks, Lisa stood up and gave Laurel a quick hug. “Thanks for all your help, Doc.”

“You don’t ever need to thank me,” she replied.

She was collecting their empty dishes when Sharon started to giggle. Laurel frowned at her, exchanging a slightly worried look with Lisa as they both tried to work out what was so funny.

“Jess, stop it.” Sharon was waving her hands at Jess, who was lying at her feet. “That tickles.”

Instantly, Laurel’s heart beat faster. Lisa’s eyes had widened. In the doorway of the tent, Shane froze on the spot. “Did you just say it tickles?”

Lisa knelt down and gripped Sharon’s hand tightly between hers. “Sharon? Did you feel something?”

With a shaky voice and tears in her eyes, Sharon looked down at her feet. Rather sheepishly, Jess tilted her head to the side.

“Jess… she licked my feet.” Sharon let out a short, sharp laugh and clapped her hands over her mouth. “I felt it. I felt her licking my feet!”

13

LAUREL

THREE DAYS LATER

“You’re sure you’re going to be all right?” Laurel was standing in the center of the tent, looking at Lisa and Sharon.

“We’ll be fine, Laurel.” Sharon nodded as Lisa helped her into an upright position and eased her back onto the box-backpack-backrest construction behind her.

“We’ll come back. When I’ve got them, we’ll come back.” Laurel met Lisa’s eyes as the other woman stood up and tucked a strand of short black hair behind her ear.

“No rush, Doc,” Lisa replied. “We’ve got plenty to be doing, and we’re not going anywhere.”

“Lisa’s going to try and enlist some help to build cabins.” Sharon looked proudly up at her wife. “If we’re staying here for the long haul, we’ll need proper structures, not just tents. For the elderly, and the kids. Especially once the weather starts getting cold again.”

Laurel nodded; it was obvious Lisa’s desire to build cabins for the Freemen was driven by her need to do as much for Sharon as possible. An instinct to keep her safe, and to do something because something was better than nothing.

“Bear will help, when I bring him back.” Laurel offered Sharon a quick hug, patting her hard on the back, then nodded goodbye to both women and ducked back out of the tent.

She was heading for the campfire, to top up her water bottle with some boiled water instead of taking fresh bottled supplies, when she spotted Art pacing up and down on the other side of the fire.

“Art?” Still holding her bottle, she edged around the fire pit. Art stopped pacing and fiddled with the scarf at his neck.

“Laurel.” He scanned her person, as if looking for her backpack. “Are you leaving?”

“As soon as I’m packed up, yes. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me taking some of the boiled water and a couple of days’ rations.”

“Of course,” Art replied, but his gaze was elsewhere. He seemed distracted, absentminded.

“Is something wrong?” Laurel moved to catch his eyes.

Art opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. Behind him, Shane emerged from one of the tents and jogged over, his warm breath puffing in misty clouds and mingling with the chilled morning air.

“Have you told her?” Shane asked.

Art shook his head.

“Told me what?” Laurel’s fingers tightened around her water bottle. “What’s happened?”

“Laurel is leaving today. We agreed.” Art glanced purposefully at Laurel and folded his arms.

“Art, if something’s happened and I can help, I can delay a few minutes.”

“It might take more than a few minutes, Laurel,” Shane replied. “People are getting sick. It started yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Chapman presented with vomiting and diarrhea. No fever. Then her husband. Now, there’s at least a dozen showing the same symptoms and I’m sure there will be more.”

“Food poisoning?” Laurel asked, frowning.

Shane shook his head. “No one has eaten anything fresh. No berries, mushrooms, meat… nothing that could cause this.”

“I’ll take a look.” Laurel deposited her water bottle next to the fire and patted Art’s upper arm as she passed him.

“Laurel,” he said, catching her hand. “Thank you.”

Meeting his eyes, Laurel nodded, then followed Shane toward the tent he’d just exited.

Inside, the stench of illness made Laurel’s breath catch in her throat. “I’m so thirsty.” Mrs. Chapman’s voice cracked as she looked weakly up at Shane.

“I’ll fetch some more water,” he said. “Just as soon as Doctor Rivera’s examined you.”

Pulling her scarf up around her face, Laurel knelt down next to Mrs. Chapman. “You’re right, no fever.” She examined her belly, checked her skin for blemishes, then sat back and asked Shane to open the tent door so she could assess Mrs. Chapman’s reaction to the light. “No photophobia,” she muttered, again pressing her hand to the older woman’s forehead.

Moving along to Mr. Chapman, she repeated the same exam, then gestured for Shane to duck back outside with her. “Where are the others?”

Shane gestured to the flurry of tents set up around the camp. “Spread out,” he replied.

“All right, take me to them, but my initial thought is that we need to create a quarantine zone. Keep all the affected patients separate until we know what this is and how it’s spreading. We’ll need masks and gowns, and a way of hygienically disposing of any biohazardous waste.”

Striding over to Art, Laurel repeated what she’d just told Shane.

“It’s that bad?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“It could just be a stomach bug,” Laurel replied. “But in these situations, caution is our friend. If it is something more serious, we need to stop it from spreading.”

“What can I do?” Art drew his shoulders back, making it clear he was ready for action.

“Right now, find something to cover your face with, then go tent-to-tent asking if anyone else has symptoms. Also, find volunteers. Anyone with experience as a nurse, a vet, a hospital orderly, caring for an elderly relative… anyone who’s willing to help us triage the patients and keep them hydrated.”

Laurel had barely finished speaking before Art turned on his heel and began doing as she said.

Following Shane, Laurel accompanied him to the other patients’ tents. All presented the same symptoms as Mrs. Chapman and her husband.

Grabbing a handful of wild lavender, Laurel rubbed it under her nose, then tucked it into her bra strap. Copying her, Shane tucked his into the top pocket of his jacket. “Good idea,” he muttered.

“Go find Art,” she said, glancing back at Sharon and Lisa’s tent. “We need his volunteers to help us set up a quarantine zone.” Scanning the area, she gestured to a large empty space beyond where they’d set up their main camp. “We’ll set up over there. We’ll need buckets, bleach, hand sanitizer, and bags for the waste. Everyone should know this already, but they need to be briefed on proper hygiene procedures, and no one must dispose of anything near the main site or the water sources. For now, we bag it and bury it in the woods. I’ll mark out a designated area. Anyone coming into contact with the sick should wear masks and gloves, especially until we’ve figured out what we’re dealing with.”

Nodding, but looking more than a little overwhelmed, Shane swallowed hard. “I’ll get started.”

“Good. I’ll go warn Lisa and Sharon.”

* * *

“Lisa? Sharon?” Laurel pulled her scarf away from her face and waited for Lisa to open up the tent.

“What’s going on out here?” Lisa stepped out. “Sharon’s sleeping. She’s sleeping a lot. Should I be worried…?” She trailed off, her eyes catching on the flurry of movement behind Laurel.

“Some of the others have gotten sick. We’re quarantining them until we figure out what caused it.”

Lisa hugged her arms around her waist. “What kind of sick?”

“Vomiting and diarrhea. Bad.” Laurel flexed her fingers. “Don’t worry, I sanitized.”

Wrinkling her nose, Lisa instinctively stepped back a little.

“We’re telling everyone to take charge of their own waste disposal. No more communal area.” Laurel gestured to where the quarantine area was being set up. “Those who are sick are burying their waste east of the quarantine zone, in the woods, and we’re setting up a barrier around the area so anyone stumbling across it knows not to dig there. Everyone else should use the woods on the south side of the camp.”

Nodding as Laurel spoke, Lisa chewed the inside of her cheek. “Do you know what caused it? Was it something they ate?”

“I don’t think so.” Laurel pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d been trying to put the pieces together, but nothing seemed to fit. “We’ve ruled out food, so there’s the possibility of a contaminated water source. We were drinking from bottled water at the depot and on the road. If it was something from the camp back in the woods, symptoms would have shown up before now.” Laurel’s gaze came to rest on the water pumps just beyond the campfire. Art was there, pumping water into a large pot to boil over the fire. “The pumps,” Laurel muttered. Meeting Lisa’s eyes, she said quickly, “It could be the pumps. Make sure you and Sharon stick to bottled water only for now. Not boiled water. Bottled. And only prepackaged food, nothing that’s been boiled or cooked on the campfire.”

“We’ve still got the bottles we were using to weigh down Sharon’s crate,” Lisa said. “But if others need them…”

“Keep them here for now. If we need to ration them out, I’ll let you know.” Laurel stepped back outside, then took off at a run, heading straight for Art. “Stop,” she said, shaking her head at him. “We need to rule out the pump water as a source of the bug before we allow anyone else to drink it.”

“We’ve been boiling it, Laurel. We’re not stupid. Everyone here knows not to drink water straight from the pumps.”

“Even so, some pathogens aren’t eradicated at high temperatures.” Laurel glanced toward the supply tent. “How much bottled water do we have?”

Art breathed out heavily through pursed lips. “For all these people? Enough for a couple of days, maybe, if we ration them. But the sick need to stay hydrated. Factoring that in, maybe twenty-four hours.”

Cursing under her breath, Laurel took off her glasses and put the end of one of the plastic arms in her mouth. She chewed it for a moment, trying to slow her thoughts.

“Laurel, you’re assuming it’s the water, but what if this is something else?” Art’s tone darkened.

“Something else?”

“Something biological.” He raised his eyebrows purposefully at her.

It took Laurel a good few seconds to realize what Art was talking about. “A biological weapon?” Laurel shook her head. “No. The Militia wouldn’t go that far, and even if they would—more of us would be sick.”

“Wouldn’t that depend on what it was? Who’d been exposed? How it was transmitted?” Art fixed his gaze on Laurel’s. Everything in her gut was telling her this wasn’t the result of a Militia attack. That would have to have happened before they all left the depot, and she couldn’t think of anything that would take several days to take effect. Having said that, though, her knowledge of biowarfare wasn’t extensive.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to talk to her husband, Laurel’s stomach twisted hard. “Bear would know what to do,” she whispered, glancing up at the sky. Still blue, thank God, because the last thing they needed was a storm.

“I’ll figure it out,” she said, putting her glasses back on. “I will, but in the meantime tell everyone to stick to bottled water and prepackaged foods.”

“And when those run out?” Art asked stiffly.

“If they run out, we can try filtering the water. Boiling it, then using cloth and charcoal to cleanse it, but it’s not foolproof. It’s a worst-case-scenario option, okay?” Laurel reached for Art’s forearm and gripped it hard. “I need to know you understand the gravity of this, Art. Okay?”

Art glanced at her hand, then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “But you’d best hurry, Doc. Because twenty-four hours isn’t long to find an answer.”

14

MAE

For what felt like the first time in days, the sun was shining. The sky was clear blue. Mae could see snatches of it through her window. Yawning, she sat up and swung her legs out of bed. The injury that had first taken her into the Freemen camp was now healed, although the shadow of an ache sometimes made her twitch first thing in the morning.

In the cot next to her, Gideon was asleep with his arm over his face. He’d been snoring all night, much to the disdain of the other soldiers in the dorm. “Gideon,” Mae nudged him. “Wake up. It’s morning.”

Most of the others had already cleared out, ready to continue the process of securing the depot and making it their own now that they’d rid it of the Freemen.

“It can’t be,” Gideon groaned. “I’m still exhausted.”

“That’s because we’ve been working eighteen-hour days.” Mae yawned again as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “Cornell seems determined to work us all into the ground. It took three days just to dismantle that damn booby trap.”

“And it wasn’t even boobying anything good,” Gideon groaned.

Mae chuckled at him and shrugged in response. “Just the canteen,” she replied. “Perhaps they figured that was the most likely place to get us—thought we’d head there for supplies.”

“Or perhaps they had no time and just set it up there because it was easiest.” Rolling his eyes, Gideon glanced over toward the door. Soldiers were filing out of it, off to gather their breakfast rations of watery oats and coffee. “How’s your dad?” he asked. The question came out casually, as if they were two friends meeting in a bar asking about one another’s families.

“Fine. He’s in a more comfortable cell.” Mae ignored the cold chill that crept up her spine and stood up, bending over to lace up her boots. “And he’s next to the kid, so he’s not alone.”

Gideon stood up too, shrugging on his heavy jacket. “Cornell hasn’t given us any idea when he might let them out?”

Mae’s lips tightened. “Not yet.” She tried to smile. “But he will.”

“Are you certain about that?” Gideon lowered his voice. Since the incident with the tripwire, both of them had been a little more critical of Cornell’s behavior. Although neither of them had spoken it out loud.

“We should go get breakfast rations,” Mae cut in. “Before they run out.”

For the third morning running, on entering the mess hall, Mae was met with a round of applause. Lingering behind her, Gideon rubbed the back of his neck and stepped to the side while Mae glided past tables of soldiers shouting her name.

“Okay, guys, enough.” She waved at them to sit back down. “That’s enough. Find someone else to worship.”

“Oh, come on, Peterson, I’ve been looking for a chance to worship you ever since we got here,” one of the thick-necked soldiers shouted. Mae ignored him. His group were not originals; they were civilians who’d joined the Militia while Mae was undercover with the Freemen. They were unruly, untrustworthy, and unsavory, and she’d been doing her best not to associate with them. The one who’d worn the scarf was the worst, and he had the kind of eyes that made her shudder when she looked at them.

“Your fellow soldiers are simply trying to congratulate you on a job well done.” Cornell’s acidic tone met Mae’s ears and sent a shiver of ice down her spine. Turning slowly, just in front of the rations station, Mae stood up straight and looked up into her captain’s face.

“Yes, Sir.”

Cornell’s lips twitched. He hadn’t sent Mae into the depot first expecting her to come out a hero; he’d sent her in expecting her to die. Expecting her to fail. When she rescued him so spectacularly, his plan had backfired, and Mae was fighting every urge inside her to keep the smile from her face.

“I have another job for you, Peterson. As you’re now one of my most trusted lieutenants.”

Mae’s purposefully blank expression faltered. “Lieutenant?”

Without a smile or any hint of a compliment, almost as if it was something entirely insignificant, Cornell shrugged. “After your recent performance, I thought it was time for a promotion in rank. But, of course, if you don’t feel you’re up to it…?”

Mae shook her head and straightened her shoulders. “I most certainly am, Captain. Thank you, Captain.”

“Very well.” Cornell nodded. “As I was saying—now that you are a lieutenant, I have a job for you.”

“Of course, Captain,” Mae answered, pride swelling in her chest. “What would you like me to do?”

“There’s a sickness going around. Five soldiers have taken ill. They’re in the triage hall. I’d like you to investigate.”

“Investigate?” Mae’s forehead creased into a frown. “Captain, I have no medical expertise. We have field medics who’d be better qualified—”

“The field medics don’t know what’s wrong,” Cornell hissed, gesturing for Mae to move aside and allow Gideon past. In the corner of the room, he continued, “Your mother is a doctor. She worked at a big fancy hospital, you told me once.”

Mae couldn’t remember telling Cornell anything about her mother, but nodded anyway. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then let’s hope you learned something by osmosis growing up with her. It’s your job to find out what’s making my men sick, and how to fix them. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.” Cornell moved his face closer to Mae’s. “Got it?”

“Yes, Captain.” Mae held his gaze. She knew Cornell well enough by now to know that not showing any outward signs of weakness was the best way to stay on his good side—if he had a good side.

Mae remained stock-still until Cornell had left the mess hall, then allowed her shoulders to relax. Returning to the ration station, she accepted her mug of black coffee and her serving of oatmeal.

At a table nearby, she sat down next to Gideon, who’d already begun tucking into his oats. But suddenly, Mae just didn’t have the stomach for them. Pushing them toward him she said, “Here, you can have mine.”

“What did Cornell want?” Gideon asked, gladly accepting the food.

“Apparently there’s some kind of sickness going around. He wants me to figure out what it is.”

Gideon fought back a laugh. Then his eyes widened when he realized she was serious. “How does he expect you to do that? You’re not a doctor, Mae.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Mae rested her elbows on the table. “I know I’m not, Gideon. Somehow, he found out my mom’s a doctor. Maybe he thinks medical knowledge somehow runs in the family. I don’t know. All I know is that it’s now my job to figure out what’s made people sick.”

“How sick are they?” Gideon asked, lowering his voice even though they were alone at their table.

“No idea.” Mae picked up her coffee, downed it in a few gulps—despite the fact that it was hot—then gestured to the doors. “But I better go find out. Are you coming?”

“Did Cornell ask for me to…?” Gideon trailed off, his face paling at the thought of being around sick people when they had no idea what the illness was.

“No, but I thought as my friend you might want to give me a hand. Or at least keep me company while I fail at the task I’ve been given.” Mae put her hands on her hips and waited.

Eventually, Gideon stood up. But as they left the mess hall, he said quietly, “Mae?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think that’s why Cornell asked you to do this?” He kept staring straight ahead instead of meeting Mae’s eyes. “Because he wants you to fail?”

“No,” Mae replied quickly. “Why would he—”

“Because he expected you to fail the last one and you didn’t,” Gideon replied.

Mae shoved her hands into her pockets and moistened her lips. Being set up to fail was not a nice thought, but it was precisely something Cornell would do. She’d passed her last two tests; she recaptured her own father, and she led the Militia successfully into the depot with no casualties at their end. Perhaps Gideon was right; perhaps Cornell needed her to fail this one so he could finally punish her.

* * *

“Caraway?” Mae’s nose wrinkled as she stepped inside the triage hall, looking for the chief field medic, Nigel Caraway. Behind her, Gideon pulled his jacket up to cover his nose and started to cough. Despite the fact there were only six patients inside the hall, it smelled rotten—literally rotten.

Striding over to them, Caraway waved his arms and said, “Why aren't you wearing masks? You can't be in here without protective gear on. We have no idea what’s wrong with these people.”

Mae looked around expecting to see a stash of masks, and gloves, and perhaps plastic aprons, but there were none. So, she copied Gideon and pulled her jacket up around her face. Feeling slightly silly speaking to Caraway from inside her jacket, she spoke up as she said, “Cornell sent us.”

“For what?” Caraway snapped, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of a gloved hand.

“To help,” Mae replied. “He said people are getting sick and that you don't know what's causing it.”

“And he thought you'd be able to help?” Caraway replied curtly; clearly, he was not one of the ones who was impressed with Mae and her performance when they took back the depot from the Freeman.

Sighing, but trying to keep a note of confidence, in her voice, Mae replied, “I don't know. My mother is a doctor, so perhaps he thinks—”

Cutting her off with a roll of his eyes, Caraway snapped, “There are six people here with vomiting and diarrhea. They can't keep anything down. They have no fevers, no rashes, and no other symptoms. You want to help? You find out what made them sick. ’Cos I sure can’t figure it out.”

“All right,” Mae replied tersely, blinking calmly at Caraway. “Can I talk to them?”

Caraway’s jaw twitched. He was about to reply when the door behind them swung open again.

“Peterson?” It was the one who cat-called her earlier; the one with a thick neck and tattoos who did not look like a soldier.

“There are too many people in here. Get out. All of you,” Caraway said, ushering them toward the door. “Whatever this is about, discuss it outside.”

As Mae, Gideon, and the thick-necked guy stumbled into the hallway, Thick Neck turned and looked Mae up and down. He licked his lower lip. Then, as if remembering that he was there to tell her something, said, “I have a message for you from the captain. One for each of you, actually.” His eyes moved from Mae to Gideon.

“Yes?” Mae said, folding her arms.

“Captain says your father is showing signs of being unwell and perhaps you should talk to him as well as the other sick people.” Thick Neck’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, watching Mae’s face closely.

Beneath his gaze, her cheeks paled. She could feel the color draining from them. “He really told you that? Cornell told you my father is ill?” she asked, trying to read anything in the soldier’s expression that might betray a lie.

Thick Neck nodded. “That's what he said.”

Butting in, Gideon raised his hand like a kid in class waiting to ask a question. “You said he had a message for me too?” he asked.

Thick Neck rolled his eyes, as if he found Gideon intensely annoying. He said, “Your job is to keep morale up. Word about people being sick is spreading. Cornell says you're a bit of a clown, so you should be good at it.” Thick Neck smirked and rolled his tongue around the inside of his lower lip.

Gideon opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. His cheeks were flushed. Mae could tell he was unsure whether Cornell giving him a job was flattering or not. And it was impossible to tell whether the insult about Gideon being a clown really had come from Cornell or if Thick Neck had made that up all on his own.

“See ya,” Thick Neck said, turning and stalking away.

After he rounded the corner and disappeared, Mae allowed herself to breathe, then leaned forward onto her knees. She counted to ten, then said to Gideon, “Are you coming? If my father is sick, I need to speak to him.”

But Gideon simply shook his head. “I’ll wait here,” he said. “You probably want to speak to him alone.”

Mae nodded, stopping herself from rolling her eyes at him, because it was obvious he was terrified of catching whatever it was that was making people ill.

“Besides, I’m supposed to keep morale up. So, I better….” He trailed off, biting his lower lip.

“Go juggle for them?” Mae added bitterly, instantly regretting being snappy.

Gideon didn’t reply, just twitched his nose from side to side and said, “Let me know how your father is, Mae.” Then he turned and left in the same direction as Thick Neck.

15

LAUREL

Evening was fast approaching. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, cooking smells did not fill the air. Even when they’d been on the road—traveling from the depot to the new campsite—they’d cooked over a fire in the evening, shared a meal and told tales about their lives.

Tonight, the camp was eerily quiet. Those who were still healthy quickly grabbed protein bars or oatcakes and hurried back to their tents. The bottled water supply was already dwindling. Cassie had been put in charge of rationing it and informed there was an emergency supply in Sharon and Lisa’s tent, but that it was best to keep that under wraps for now.

For the time being, people were taking it well. But if more fell sick and panic set in, Laurel was aware the mood could turn nasty very quickly.

“Laurel?” Shane tugged down his mask and rubbed sanitizer into his hands as he walked toward her.

“What’s happened?” She knew the look on his face; it wasn’t one that came with good news.

“Mrs. Chapman’s now complaining of stiffness in her limbs, and we’ve got three more patients.”

“Damn it,” Laurel cursed under her breath and scraped her fingers through her hair. Her brain started looping through the symptoms. “Anyone else have stiffness in their limbs?”

“Not yet, but Mrs. C was the first to fall ill.”

Laurel pressed her lips together. One word was reverberating in her head, but she was trying hard to force it back down, because that would be a disaster.

“What are you thinking, Doc?” Shane’s forehead creased as he studied her face.

Checking they weren’t going to be overheard, Laurel stepped a little closer and cleared her throat. Her mouth was suddenly sandpaper dry, and her skin prickled with sweat. “Cholera, Shane. I’m thinking it could be cholera.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Shane moved toward a log near the fire and sat down hard. Laurel sat next to him, and the pair of them stared into the flames.

“Are you sure?” he asked finally.

“No. I’m not sure, not by a long shot. But it fits the symptoms, and it would make sense if we’re talking about a contaminated water supply. It’s not particularly scientific, but from the people I’ve spoken to, everyone who’s sick drank water from the pumps or ate food cooked in water from the pumps.”

“But we ate food cooked from the pump water and we’re not sick,” Shane said frowning.

“Maybe we were lucky. Maybe ours was hotter, cooked at a higher temperature. Or maybe we’re just not sick yet.”

There was another pause. Then Shane said, “So, what do we do?”

“What do we do about what?” Art’s deep voice made Laurel jump. Without standing up, she motioned for him to sit with them and quietly repeated what she’d just told Shane.

Holding her breath, she waited for him to lose his temper—to behave like so many other male leaders had behaved when she gave them news they didn’t want or like.

Instead, Art drew in a long, deep breath that pushed his chest out like a Christmas robin. He braced his hands on his thighs, met Laurel’s gaze, and said, “Okay, if it’s cholera, what do we do? What can I do to help these people?”

* * *

For a long time, they talked through their options. It was pitch dark by the time Laurel said, “At the end of the day, we can’t do anything until we know for sure what we’re dealing with. And the only way to do that is to find the water source.”

“Wait there.” Art jumped to his feet and ran to his tent. When he returned, he spread out a map on the ground and pointed to their location. “We’re here. Can you work out where the water’s coming from?”

Laurel tilted her head and studied the map. Shane leaned in too and began to trace his finger over the paper. “Here. What’s this?” He prodded the map. “It looks like a water plant.”

“It’s right between the depot and where the Militia were hiding out before they attacked us,” Laurel said, her stomach tightening.

“You think they poisoned it?” Art asked gruffly.

Laurel pinched the bridge of her nose. “It feeds their water supply too, so that would be foolish of them. I’m more worried about crossing their path if we go to investigate.”

“What other option is there?” Shane asked. “What’s the treatment for cholera?”

“Hydration and, in severe cases, antibiotics.”

“Do we have antibiotics?” Art asked.

“Not enough.” Laurel’s mind flitted momentarily to her friends and colleagues at South Minneha. Right now, she’d give anything to have Janet at her side, giving her advice. Helping her decide what to do next. But Janet was too far away. All her friends were. “And not enough clean water either, if the source is the problem.”

“What if we boil the stuff from the pumps?” Art asked.

Laurel shook her head. “In theory. But that’s assuming we know for certain what’s making people sick. That’s part of the problem. If that isn’t it, we’ll just end up making everyone sick. To be safe, we’ll need bottled water or a new water source.” She looked up at the sky. It was clear now, but a few days ago they’d been battered by rain.

Drawing in a deep breath, Laurel looked from Art to Shane. “First thing in the morning, I’ll leave for the water plant. I’ll confirm whether or not the water source is what’s making everyone sick. If it is, then we’ll have to find a way to get more antibiotics and more water. While I’m gone, you should get everyone who’s able to set up systems to collect rainwater. If we’re lucky, we might have another downpour.”

16

MAE

Approaching the western side of the depot, the air seemed to grow colder. There were fewer windows here, and darker corridors. Barely any movement compared to the inner hub where the mess hall, dorms, and medical bays were situated.

Mae had not visited her father since he’d arrived, the day after they took back the depot from the Freemen. Cornell had him brought in, blindfolded, along with Trent, and Mae had watched from a distance as the two of them were marched right past her nose.

She’d felt the others’ eyes on her. They were all watching, waiting to see what she’d do. No doubt they thought her father had committed some kind of crime—worked for the Freemen, betrayed the Militia somehow—and this was the final test of her loyalty.

If Cornell had been expecting her to voice a complaint, ask for leniency for her father and destroy the good standing she’d achieved with the other soldiers, he was to be disappointed. Instead, she’d watched and said nothing. Later that day, she’d crept through the darkness while everyone else was drinking and congratulating themselves on their victory and stood outside the cells. Despite the fact the cells were locked tight from the outside, there had been two guards on duty. Mae had stopped before they noticed her and stood in the shadows, listening.

She’d heard Bear telling Trent everything would be okay. She’d heard him saying that they’d figure out a way to get free. She had not heard him say that he believed she would help him. After what happened at the warehouse, she couldn’t blame him.

The guards on duty sniggered and banged their fists on the cell doors. “Shut your mouth, old man,” one of them had snarled.

At that, Mae had turned and walked away.

Now, she found Alyssa on duty. Tall, with angular features and jet-black hair, and a wicked sense of humor, she was the sort of woman Mae would have been friends with under different circumstances. As it was, however, she was one of the Militia who’d joined from a different faction. And Mae was not one- hundred percent sure whether she could trust her.

“Peterson,” Alyssa said, standing up and kicking her stool backward so it scooted along the floor and clanged against the cell door. “What are you doing here?”

“I received word my father’s sick,” Mae said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “Cornell asked me to investigate what’s making the soldiers ill. As my father’s in isolation, he’s a sensible starting point. He’s had less exposure to outside stimuli than the others.”

Alyssa narrowed her eyes. “Right,” she said. “Well, seeing as I can’t radio in to check out your story, I think I’ll need to ask you to come back with Cornell and have him tell me himself.”

Trying not to let irritation into her voice, Mae kept calm as she said, “I don’t need to go inside. Just talk to him through the door.”

Alyssa clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Mae reached for her weapon, turned it around and handed it over. “You’ll be next to me the whole time. You can listen to everything I say.”

Finally, Alyssa nodded. “Fine,” she said, stepping aside. “Go ahead.”

Moving closer, Mae took a deep breath and reached out to pull down the small hatch in the middle of the door. She crouched and looked through it. “Dad?” she called, scanning the dim interior of the cell. “It’s me, Mae. Are you all right?”

“No!” a voice from the neighboring cell rang out. “He’s not okay. He’s sick. He’s been crippled with stomach cramps all day and no one has given him anything.”

Mae winced at Trent’s irate tone. He was so protective of her father, it was as if he was the child and she was the stranger.

“Dad?” Mae peered into the cell. Finally, her father emerged from the shadow at the back.

She saw his feet appear, swinging down from the hard metal bed to land with a thud on the concrete floor. “Mae?” He stood up and moved slowly toward her. His arm hugged his stomach, and his back was slightly hunched as if he was in pain.

“Are you all right?” she asked, examining his gait and his slightly gray complexion.

“Stomach flu, probably.” Her father straightened himself up but winced as he did so.

“What are your symptoms?”

“That’s what you’re here for? To get me medical treatment?” he asked with a note of disdain in his voice.

“Yes. No.” Mae sighed and shook her head at herself. “I’m here to find out what’s making people sick.”

“There are others?” her father asked, lowering himself into a chair at the side of the room.

“Six others,” Mae replied. “Worse than you. Vomiting non-stop.”

“Then maybe you’d be better off speaking to them.” Her father looked up at her, then pressed his hands to his knees and levered himself back up. “Good luck, Mae.”

And with that, he turned his back on her and returned to the shadows.

* * *

Caraway was not pleased to see Mae return. He greeted her with a steely gaze and a tight jaw, but this time didn’t approach her. Instead, Gideon was the one who walked over and handed her a mask. “Found these in the supply closet. Caraway has a stash of them. Just didn’t want to share.” He also handed her a pair of latex gloves and a plastic apron. Watching her from beneath his mask, he added, “How’s your dad? Is he okay?”

“Not as bad as these guys. Stomach cramps. No vomiting yet.” Mae fixed the mask over her face and pulled on the gloves. “Have you spoken to any of them?” she asked, glancing over at the sick soldiers.

Gideon shook his head. “Thought I’d better wait for you.”

Mae bit back the urge to roll her eyes but couldn’t help muttering, “Of course you did.” She knew she was being unnecessarily sarcastic toward her friend, but after visiting her father she was on edge. Seriously on edge. And the pressure of knowing Cornell expected her to fix this—as well as knowing her dad could get sicker if she didn’t—was giving her a tension headache that was making her crabby.

Ignoring the wounded-puppy expression on Gideon’s face, Mae walked over to the first cot and hovered next to it. The soldier on the bed was holding his stomach. He looked clammy and deathly pale. Before Mae could say anything, he lurched sideways. Mae jumped out of the way just in time for him to vomit hard into a bucket next to Mae’s feet.

Immediately, Caraway appeared, mopped the soldier’s brow, gave him a bottle of water to sip, then took the bucket away to be cleaned.

Mae waited until the soldier had finished sipping his water before she said, “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Pete,” the guy replied croakily.

“Hi, Pete, I’m Mae. Do you mind if I ask you some questions? The Captain is very concerned about you all. He asked me to try and figure out what’s going on here.”

Barely able to focus on her, Pete nodded, “Ask what you want, but I already told Caraway everything I know.”

“All right, well let’s start with when you got sick.” Mae took a notebook from her pocket and started to scribble as Pete spoke. When he’d finished, vomiting again the second the bucket was returned to him, she moved on to the next soldier.

All six told her much the same story; they’d eaten in the mess hall with everyone else, drunk the same water as everyone else, and not been anywhere except the depot since they arrived a few days ago.

With each assigned to different duties in different parts of the depot, it was almost impossible to connect the dots. “The only thing they have in common is the food and water, but if it was the food or the water, then far more people would be sick.” Mae stared at her notepad. Gideon was at her elbow, reading her scrawled notes.

“What about before we came here?” Gideon asked. “You asked about their movements since we got here, but what about before that?”

“We were all at the warehouse. Same story. More people would be sick,” Mae said quietly.

They were standing near the first bed, the one belonging to Pete. Coughing, he sat up shakily and said, “You said Cornell sent you here to help us, but what’s he doing to help us? Does he care that his men are getting sick? Or is he enjoying his new digs so much he can’t be bothered to show his face?”

Blinking at the soldier’s animosity toward their captain, Mae tilted her head at him and said, “Pete, I know you’re not feeling well. You’re scared, that’s understandable, but—”

“Of course I’m scared. We could die. Couldn’t we? No one knows what’s wrong. We’ve got no real doctors and no real medicine. And the best Cornell can do is send you down here to play detective?” Pete reached for his bucket and heaved a glob of acidic bile into the bottom of it. Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, he shook his head. “Screw the captain, that’s what I say.”

From the other beds, a chorus of agreement broke out. “Yeah, screw him. He should be down here trying to help us. He should be out finding real doctors.”

“Hey!” Gideon’s voice surprised her. It was louder than usual. Stepping into the center of the room, his face half obscured by his mask, he raised his voice again and snapped, “That’s enough. Captain Cornell is doing his best to help you. Right now, your worries and paranoia are achieving nothing except affecting your fellow soldiers. You all need to stay positive. You need to look out for each other, and remember this is no one’s fault. We’re doing the best we can to help you.”

As Gideon stopped speaking, the sick soldiers turned away from him. No one was interested in being preached to, especially not while they felt so sick.

“Gideon, ease up a bit. Okay? They’re sick. They don’t need a lecture.” She tugged his arm lightly and moved him toward the corner of the room.

Pulling off her mask, gloves, and apron, Mae deposited them into a black bin bag, then sanitized her hands. “We’ll be back,” she called to Caraway.

Without answering her, Caraway gave a wave of the hand.

A little sulkily, Gideon shed his protective gear too and followed Mae into the corridor. Mae was about to lay into him a little more for being so sanctimonious back there when two soldiers came stumbling around the corner ahead. One was supporting the other, who looked practically green around the edges. “Caraway in there?” asked the less green of the two.

Mae nodded. “Yes. Inside.”

The female soldier nodded briskly, then pushed the door open. As the door closed again, Mae heard her saying, “Caraway? We’ve got another one.”

Her stomach dropped. Whatever illness was affecting the soldiers, it looked like it was rapidly becoming a mass outbreak, and she was not looking forward to telling Cornell.

17

MAE

“Peterson?” Cornell looked up from his desk. In front of him, spread out, was a large blueprint of the depot. Cornell swiped some other papers on top of it to obscure it from view, then sat back and folded his arms. “Well?” He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

“Captain, I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you expected me to find. Caraway and the other medics have already been investigating—”

Cornell scratched a long fingernail against the wooden desk top. “So, what you’re trying to tell me is that you made no progress?”

Mae glanced sideways at Gideon, who was standing with his arms behind his back. “No,” she said. “No progress, Captain.”

“And you?” Cornell turned his gaze to Gideon. “Have you at least managed to stop news of this from spreading?”

Stuttering, Gideon shook his head. “I’m afraid news of the illness has made its way to most of the soldiers, Captain.” Gideon forced a smile to his lips. “But I did as you asked. I told them to remain upbeat.”

Cornell pressed his lips together. “At least one of you is doing the task I asked you to do.”

Opening her mouth to speak, Mae clenched her fingers together behind her back and drew in a deep breath. “Captain, there seems to be no commonality between those who are sick. They’ve eaten different things, been to different places.” She cleared her throat and added, “My father is showing signs of sickness too, but again he’s eaten and drunk differently from the soldiers who are sick.”

“What are you suggesting?” Cornell said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“I’m not suggesting anything, Captain. Except maybe it’s something environmental. Something in the building.”

“Maybe the Freemen left something behind,” Gideon ventured. “Some kind of bioweapon?” He looked to Cornell for approval, the needy expression on his face causing Mae’s stomach to twitch with annoyance. Why was he so desperate for Cornell’s approval, especially after he wanted Gideon to take his place after he hit the tripwire?

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Mae replied tightly. “Although, granted, I don’t know exactly what kind of weapons are stored here.” She looked pointedly at Cornell, studying his face for something that might give away what he was thinking. But his expression remained rigid.

Before Cornell could reply, there was a knock on the door. Being closest, Mae pulled it open to see Caraway standing on the other side, rubbing his hands over his face.

“More soldiers have fallen ill,” he said, his face gray around the edges. “Three more.” He glanced at Mae. “And I heard your father’s condition has worsened.”

Trying to keep her face from showing any emotion, Mae nodded slowly. Her mind began to race. What would her mom do in this situation? She’d find an answer. She’d know what to do, but it had been so long since Mae had spoken to her mother about her work or paid any attention to it that she couldn’t conjure her voice or imagine what she would say. Picturing her mother’s face, all she saw was the way she’d looked when they were reunited in the woods. She heard no advice, remembered nothing useful that might help her.

“Captain,” she said, turning around sharply. “I believe my father could be the key to this. He’s had little contact with anything outside his cell. If I can find the link between him and the others—”

Cornell cut her off by waving his hand dismissively at her. “I understand the thinking, Peterson, you don’t need to spell it out for me.” Waving again, he snapped, “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on.”

* * *

As Mae and Gideon hurried down the corridor in the direction of her father’s jail cell, she found herself furiously chewing her lower lip. Eventually, she couldn’t hold her words in any longer and rounded on her friend.

“Since when are you Cornell’s number one fan?”

Gideon’s pace slowed and Mae noticed his cheeks flush. “I’m just doing what I’m told, Mae. Same as you.”

Mae frowned, shoving her hands into her pockets and continuing to walk fast so that Gideon had to trot to catch up with her. “No, you’re sucking up to him. That’s different.”

“It’s no different from what you’ve been doing since you got back,” Gideon huffed.

“Yes,” Mae said, “it is…. I’ve been trying to prove to Cornell that I can be trusted. What you’re doing—trying to boost morale the way you did—it’s not you. It’s not natural.”

“Well, maybe I realized that being me hasn’t gotten me very far.” Gideon’s reply was laced with dejection. But rather than feeling sympathy toward him, Mae felt a twinge of annoyance.

“Gideon, you don’t need to change your personality to fit in around here. Being you should be enough.”

“And you’re you around Cornell?” Gideon asked. This time, Mae could sense his eyes boring into her as he spoke. “Marching your own father back to the depot at gunpoint was truly something you believed you had to do?”

Mae breathed in sharply and clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “All I’m saying is that you should be careful around Cornell. Don’t drop your guard. His motives are rarely benevolent.”

There was a pause, in which Mae felt confident she’d said enough to get through to her friend. But then his tone sharpened as he said, “Maybe, Mae, you should trust that for once I know what I’m doing. Maybe I know exactly what Cornell’s like and I’m using my position as his new, trusted BFF to rein him in. Soften him. Maybe if I’m someone he trusts, he’ll listen to me if I tell him he’s going too far.”

“Gideon, I think you’re vastly overestimating how close you and Cornell are,” Mae laughed, giving an almost-snort that made Gideon tsk loudly at her.

“Well, we don’t all have your experience, do we?”

Stopping in her tracks, Mae whirled around and put her hands on her hips. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she scowled.

“It means you’ve had plenty of practice getting close to your superiors in the past. Maybe you can share some tips?” Even as Gideon spoke, his eyes widened as if he knew he’d gone too far. When he finished, his mouth fell open and he muttered, “Mae, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t mean it.”

Mae studied Gideon’s blushing face for a moment, then shook her head. “Yes, Gideon,” she sighed. “You did.” She began to walk, and when Gideon moved to follow her, she held up her palm to him. “I’ll go speak to my dad alone, thanks.”

“Mae, please….” Gideon’s voice trailed off as Mae strode away from him.

Instead of answering him, she simply shook her head and disappeared around the corner.

18

BEAR

“Are you okay, PB?” Trent’s voice was muffled as it bled through the wall that separated their cells.

Bear was leaning forward onto his thighs, clutching his stomach. He’d been vomiting steadily now for hours, and had nearly filled the bucket in front of him. Now he was starting to wonder what he’d do when he ran out of room.

“Yeah, kid, I’m okay,” he replied stoically, but Trent didn’t seem to be falling for it.

“PB, I’ve been listening to you retch for the last few hours. It’s getting worse, isn’t it? We need to call someone.”

Stifling another jolt of nausea in his throat, Bear managed to reply, “The guard said she was telling someone and that they’d send help soon.” But even as he spoke, he didn’t believe what he was saying. Would they really spare resources for him and Trent? He doubted it, and he doubted Mae would have any sway over the matter either.

She might have come to check on him, but it had seemed more like a fishing expedition on behalf of her captain than any real concern for her father’s well-being.

Knowing that his daughter was so close, but that she cared so little for his health, was a bitter pill to swallow. The knowledge sat heavily in the pit of his stomach, swirling and merging with the cramps and the nausea, making him feel hot and clammy all over.

“How about you, kid? Are you okay?” he asked as loudly as possible, even though his mouth felt like it was made of sandpaper and like his tongue was too large against his teeth.

Quickly Trent replied, “I’m fine, totally fine.” After a pause, he added, “What have you had that I haven’t? What did you eat today? Yesterday?”

Clearly, Trent was trying to figure out what was going on, but Bear had been trying to figure it out too. He’d been thinking of nothing else for the past twenty-four hours—ever since his cramps had begun and he’d heard Alyssa the guard whispering with someone outside about others being sick—and couldn’t think of a single thing that he’d had that Trent hadn’t.

Clearing his throat, wishing he had some more water because his bottle had run completely dry, he said, “I don’t know, kid. Honestly, I don’t know. We each had oatmeal this morning. We each had bottles of water.” He paused to retch into his bucket again. But now, nothing much was coming up, which was both a relief and extremely painful on his throat.

“What brand is your water?” Trent asked. “Mine is Mountain Spring. What does your label say?”

With barely any strength in his hands, Bear picked up his empty water bottle and examined the label. “Mountain Spring,” he replied, “same as yours.”

“Then what the heck is this thing?” Trent asked. “Where did it come from?”

“Like I said, kid, I don’t know,” Bear muttered. “All I know is that if Laurel was here, she’d have figured it out by now.”

“She sure would,” Trent replied. He was saying something else, but his voice was cut off by the sound of feet outside. Bear sat up and glanced toward the small window in the door. It dropped down with a clunk, and he expected to see Alyssa’s distrustful face on the other side of it. Instead, for the second time that day, he saw his daughter.

“Dad, they said you’re getting worse?” She looked worried this time. Earlier, she’d shown very little expression at all on her face. Now, her features were sort of crinkled at the edges. Her nose twitched as she took in the bucket of vomit in front of Bear’s knees. He didn’t make the effort to get up. “Yeah, I’m not doing so great,” he said, finding it hard to look at her.

He was watching the window when Mae’s face disappeared and became just shoulders instead; she was standing up, talking to Alyssa. The two of them were whispering in hushed voices. Finally, a key turned in the lock and the door swung open.

Instinctively, Bear examined the area behind Mae and Alyssa for an obvious escape route, but he knew he wouldn’t have the strength in his legs to follow it even if there was one. With a gun in her hand, Alyssa watched as Mae took a nervous step into the cell. From her pocket, she took a mask and slotted it over her face.

“Here to clean out my slop bucket?” Bear asked, trying to smile as he looked at the wretched puke-filled container in front of him. “Isn’t that what kids do for their elderly parents when they get sick?”

“You’re not elderly,” Mae replied quickly. Was that a glimmer of humor he saw in her eyes? Or was he imagining it? “I’ll have someone take it away and bring you a clean one,” Mae said. The glimmer had disappeared, and her speech was stilted and awkward. When they had first been reunited in the woods, the conversation had flowed surprisingly easily after years apart. Relief had eased their nerves and awkwardness, but now it was back with a vengeance.

Bear did not know what to say, or what to think. The woman in front of him didn’t feel like his daughter—she felt like a stranger, and he had no idea how to handle that sensation. As it merged with the nausea in his stomach, he rubbed his knees and leaned forward again.

“Have your symptoms changed?” Mae asked, folding her arms in front of her chest.

“No,” he replied. “Same ones, just worse.”

“Diarrhea? Vomiting?”

Bear nodded. “Mostly just vomit and cramps now, which is a relief.” He flicked his eyes toward another bucket in the corner of the room. This one had a lid and was lined with plastic. It was sealed shut, but Mae swallowed hard; the room was undeniably wretched.

“Has anyone given you anything?” Mae asked. “Pain relief?”

“Nothing. I need more water.” Bear lifted his empty water bottle and squeezed it, making the plastic crackle beneath his fingers.

Mae tilted her head but did not take the bottle from him. She was looking at the label when she said, “Trent isn’t sick.” A statement, not a question.

“No, he’s not,” Bear replied. As Mae opened her mouth to speak, he added, “We’ve been drinking the same water and eating the same food. Mountain Spring bottles, both of us. Same oats, same water. I’m sick, he’s not.”

Mae pinched the bridge of her nose in a gesture that reminded Bear of Laurel. “If Mom was here she’d—”

“She’d have figured it out by now.” Bear finished Mae’s sentence for her.

“Yeah,” she said. “So what would Mom do? What would she do next? Because my captain wants me to figure this out. I need to figure this out. More soldiers are getting sick, and you’re getting sicker, and nobody knows why.” There was a note of desperation in Mae’s voice that made Bear wince.

“Cornell knows you’re not a doctor, right?” Bear asked.

“Yes, he knows,” Mae replied tightly. “I guess he’s hoping that because of Mom….” Mae trailed off. Did she really believe what she was saying? Did she really believe Cornell had asked her to do this because he thought her mother’s medical skills might have transferred to Mae via osmosis in the womb? How did she not see that he was, at best, setting her up to fail or, at worst, deliberately putting her at risk?

“Are you sure he hasn’t asked you to investigate because you’re the one he doesn’t mind exposing to whatever the heck this is?” Trent hollered through the wall. Clearly he’d had enough of being quiet.

“That’s not what is happening here,” Mae replied. “I’ve proven to Cornell that I can be trusted.” She glanced at Bear’s wrists. No longer in handcuffs, but with red marks where they had once been.

With Alyssa still watching them, Bear kept his eyes on his daughter and said, “Mae, seriously, do you believe what you’re saying? You believe Cornell trusts you, yet he still has us locked up in here?”

There was a long pause. Before Mae could speak, Alyssa let out a warning, “Careful, Peterson. Don’t let him try and talk you around. These two have been jabbering about escaping for the last two days.”

Mae shook her head. “Don’t worry,” she said, “he’s not going to talk me around.” Meeting Bear’s eyes, she added, “Cornell assured me that you will be set free when he knows you won’t cause any trouble. Just toe the line, Dad. Stop talking about escaping. Just sit here and wait.”

“Easy to say, but what if he dies while he’s waiting?” Trent yelled. “You’re really just gonna leave him here with no medical help? He’s your dad!”

As Mae looked away, Bear spoke to the wall. “Kid, it’s okay.” He was mid-sentence when his stomach lurched. Pain gripped his insides, squeezing like a vice until he doubled over. He gripped the sink next to him and cried out.

Immediately, Mae lurched toward him, but then he caught Alyssa grabbing her elbow and dragging her back. “That’s far enough, Peterson,” she said. “No farther.”

“He needs help.” Mae turned to Alyssa. “He needs to go to the triage ward.”

“He’s fine,” Alyssa replied. “He’s better off here. He’s got his own private room. Better to puke in private than in front of a bunch of other guys, right, Mr. Peterson?”

Sweat had broken out on Bear’s forehead. He wiped it with the back of his hand, but by the time he looked up, the door was closing and Mae was disappearing back into the corridor.

“I’ll be back,” she said, lowering her face to the window. “I’ll bring more water and I’ll see if there are some painkillers for your stomach, and some rehydration salts.”

Bear simply grumbled in reply. He didn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm for words. Mae clearly wasn’t in the mood to listen to anything he had to say, so why waste his breath?

As her footsteps disappeared down the corridor, and the small window was slammed shut again, Bear leaned back onto the cool, hard wall behind him. He pictured Trent doing the same on the other side of the wall and prayed that Trent remained healthy. Sick or not, Bear would find a way to get them out of this hell hole. He hadn’t survived the Middle East just to die behind bars with someone like Cornell calling the shots.

19

MAE

Mae practically jogged down the corridor. Passing the triage hall, she took a right, then a left, then another left and eventually arrived at the stores.

Thick Neck was on guard, clearly taking great pleasure in holding a shotgun. Noticing Mae, he licked his lower lip and looked her up and down. In the real world, if a guy had looked at her like that in a bar, she’d have punched him in the face and enjoyed watching blood spurt from his bulbous nose.

Here, she had to grin and bear it.

“I need water,” she said, standing with her feet apart and her chin held high.

Thick Neck held out his hand. “Papers?” he asked. When Mae frowned, he added, “Ration papers?”

“I don’t have papers. People are sick. They need hydration, and they need it now.” She took out her own weapon and moved forward. “So, either let me past or shoot me.”

Thick Neck’s eyes flickered as if he was genuinely intrigued by the possibility of putting a bullet in Mae’s skull. He was precisely the kind of person who shouldn’t be anywhere near a weapon, let alone part of the Militia.

“Well, shoot, Peterson, there’s no need to get all cranky about it.” Thick Neck stood aside and waved at the door.

Without turning her back on him, Mae nudged the door with her shoulders and stepped inside. She’d gathered several bottles of water into a spare pack by the door when she stopped. She had one in each hand. Both were Mountain Spring, but one was heavier than the other. Mae weighed them each up and down, then peered at their caps. “The seals,” she muttered. Then, louder, “Hey! Get in here!”

Immediately, Thick Neck appeared. With a toothy grin, he strode over to her. “Need a hand, Peterson?” he asked with a drawl that made her shudder.

“These bottles,” she said. “The seal’s still intact on this one, but this one is broken. Why is that?”

Thick Neck didn’t answer.

Scanning the rest of the bottles on the shelf, Mae pointed to several more with broken seals. “Where did these come from?”

“Beats me. I just guard ’em.” Thick Neck shrugged. Before he could say anything else, Mae had darted past him and was on her way back to Cornell’s office.

Without knocking, she barged in and slammed the bottles down on his desk. It took her a minute to register that Gideon was there, standing in the corner holding a crystal whiskey glass and a large bottle of bourbon.

Mid-pour, he stopped and glanced at Cornell. Without looking at Gideon, Cornell held out his hand and took the glass. Then he lowered his eyes to the bottles.

“Peterson? What is this?” he asked.

“Captain, these bottles… some still have their seals intact. Others are broken. Where did they come from? Were they here when we arrived?”

“The sealed ones were, yes. Ten cases of six, if I recall the inventory correctly.”

“Okay, but we’ve been here six days and there are one-hundred-and-forty-eight personnel here, so have the bottles been refilled since we got here?” Mae tapped the lid of the one with the broken seal.

Cornell’s eyes widened slightly. He took a long sip from his whiskey glass, then nodded. “I believe so. You’d have to consult the sergeant in charge of rations, though. I have bigger things to worry about than how many bottles of water we’ve got, and when and how they’re replenished.”

“With respect, Captain, I don’t think there is anything bigger to worry about right now. The soldiers who are sick are getting worse, and more are falling ill.” She picked up the bottle with the broken seal. “I believe these might be the answer, if the bottles are being refilled with water that hasn’t been properly purified.”

For a moment, Cornell simply nodded, clutching his glass between his long thin fingers. Then to her surprise, he slammed it down hard on the desk. “Then why in God’s name are you standing here talking to me about it instead of stopping whoever’s in charge of refilling the supply?” he bellowed.

Mae blinked at the force of his words. She glanced at Gideon for backup but he said nothing, staring into his glass and avoiding making eye contact with her.

Scoffing at him, Mae spun on her heel and left.

This time, she headed straight for the triage bay. “Caraway, who’s in charge of rations?” she asked, storming over to him despite not having her mask on.

“Michaels, I think. He’ll be in the canteen about now getting supper ready. Why?” Caraway looked exhausted. Following her to the door, he pulled his mask aside and breathed the cool, fresh air of the hallway. “What is it, Peterson?”

“I think some of the water bottles are being refilled from unpurified water. They all look the same, but some are sealed and some are refills.” She gestured back to the triage hall. “Go check your patients’ bottles. Take anything that isn’t sealed. I’ll be back.”

From the triage hall, Mae jogged straight to the canteen. For now, it was empty—not yet time for the soldiers’ supper—but in a few short minutes, the place would be heaving. Banging her fist on the countertop in front of the silver serving hatch, Mae waited for Michaels to appear.

When he did, he tilted his head at her and said, “Peterson? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?”

“Michaels, have you been refilling the water bottles?”

He nodded. “Yes, why?”

“You’ve been refilling the Mountain Spring bottles?” Mae repeated.

“Yes,” Michaels said with irritation.

“Where do you get the water from? For the refills?”

“Outdoor pumps,” he replied.

“Outdoor pumps,” Mae repeated.

Michael’s eyes twitched at their corners. “Oh, no, you’re not blaming me for those people getting sick, are you? I’ve already had Caraway here scrutinizing my food. I know what I’m doing. The water’s boiled and filtered, then bottled.”

“I’m not blaming you for anything,” Mae said sincerely. “I just didn’t realize the water was coming from a different source, and if some soldiers have been having fresh and some bottled, well, that would explain why not everyone’s getting sick.”

“We boil it and filter it,” Michaels repeated.

“I know, but maybe that’s not enough.” Mae put her hand on his forearm. “For now, don’t cook with anything other than sealed water. That includes tea and coffee. Made from the pre-bottled stuff only.”

His mouth dropped open as he looked toward a bubbling pot of pasta that was cooking over an open flame.

“I’m sorry,” Mae said. “Just until we figure this out. Tell everyone. Only drink sealed.”

As Mae disappeared out of the doors again, Michaels called after her, “And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to find out where the water supply comes from,” Mae replied.

* * *

“Captain, it’s the water. It’s definitely the water.” Mae was panting for breath by the time she returned to Cornell’s office. This time, a gaggle of soldiers she didn’t recognize were with him.

“We’ve been boiling and filtering water from the pumps outside, using it to refill the Mountain Spring bottles. They all look the same, but some soldiers have been drinking fresh stuff and some boiled.”

“Boiling and filtering should eradicate any pathogens, should it not?” Cornell asked coolly.

Mae shook her head. “I don’t know. I think so, but some can probably escape it.”

“Some can probably escape it?” Cornell scoffed. The soldier to his right copied him. “That doesn’t sound like a very convincing argument, Peterson.”

“I don’t see anyone suggesting any alternatives,” Mae snapped back. Then, doing her best to release the tension in her chest, she added, “Look, Captain, this is the only thing that makes sense. There must be a water plant nearby. The source of the pumps. I’ll take some men and check it out.”

“You’ll take some men?” Cornell repeated, shaking his head. “No, absolutely not. I don’t have the manpower to spare. The Freemen could attack at any time. We’re down on numbers as it is.”

“You’ll be even more down on numbers if the rest of the soldiers fall ill,” Mae replied quickly. “I’ve spread the word that only sealed water should be used for drinking and cooking, but we don’t have enough for everyone. Those who are sick are severely dehydrated already. More could fall ill if they’ve consumed the water in the past few hours.” Fixing her gaze on Cornell’s, Mae said, “Sir, you asked me to find an answer. I can’t do that unless you give me help to locate the plant.”

The other soldiers in the room had fallen silent. Scanning them, Mae realized Gideon was still there and still holding a bourbon bottle. Since when had he become Cornell’s private butler?

Reading the room, Cornell clearly decided it was better to at least look like he was trying to help his soldiers, and finally he nodded. “All right. First light. You can take Garber and I’ll send two more. But that’s it.” Cornell opened a desk drawer and pulled out a folded map, thrusting it toward Mae. “You go in, and out, and don’t linger. I want answers and I want them quickly.”

Mae nodded, slipping the map into her pocket. “Thank you, Captain.” She turned quickly away before Cornell could change his mind, but when she reached the other side of the door she stopped. She should have asked him about her father, about moving him somewhere more comfortable than that dreadful cell.

She had turned and was about to knock and reenter when a thunderclap of laughter rang out inside. Pressing her ear to the door, Mae held her breath. “It’s all right,” Cornell was saying loudly. “Garber here will keep an eye on Peterson. Won’t you, Garber?”

There was a pause in which Mae couldn’t make out anyone speaking.

“We can’t trust her on her own, Garber,” Cornell continued. “So it’s your job to watch her. Make sure this isn’t some kind of ploy to let her Freemen friends into our midst.”

Mae frowned and rubbed her temples. Cornell was the one who’d asked her to investigate the soldiers’ illness, and now somehow he was making it sound like she’d contrived the whole thing herself in order to betray them? She knew he didn’t like the way the others were treating her since the tripwire incident, but she’d never have expected him to go to such lengths to tarnish her reputation.

Her heart was thundering in her chest.

“If she gets out of line?” someone asked. A voice Mae didn’t recognize. And then it dawned on her… Cornell’s cronies were all civilians. The kind of guys who’d do whatever he told them to because they liked power and they liked feeling important. Not real soldiers who supported their own and would have been horrified by his underhanded behavior.

“If she gets out of line, my boys will take care of her. After all, what’s one more dead body, hey Garber?” Cornell laughed again. Loudly. “We’ll just throw her in the pit with the dead Freemen out in the woods.”

Mae’s stomach lurched. She felt like she might vomit. Dead Freemen in the woods? Presumably they were the Freemen injured when the Militia first attacked their camp. She was about to leave, because she wasn’t sure she could handle any more, when she heard Gideon laughing too. A reedy, nervous laugh, but all the same it filled Mae with fury. She turned away from the door, fists bunched tightly. Gideon was supposed to be her friend, and he was willing to betray her like that?

As she walked away, something tugged at her stomach. A voice began to whisper in her ear. A voice that said, it’s not nice to be betrayed by one you trust, is it, Mae?

20

LAUREL

The warmth of Jess’s small body curled against her stomach reminded Laurel of cuddling a hot water bottle on cold nights in the Middle East. Out there, it was quiet too. Early mornings had been Laurel’s favorite time of day. A time when she could snatch a few minutes to herself. This morning, though, she’d have given anything to not be by herself.

“What do you think he’s doing right now?” Laurel asked, stroking Jess’s ears. “Plotting a grand escape? Yeah, I reckon so too.”

Rolling onto her back, Jess wagged her tail and wriggled into the corner of Laurel’s sleeping bag. Laurel was giving her a good, hard belly scratch when Jess suddenly flipped over and sat up straight. Ears pricked, she tilted her head to the side.

Laurel reached for her gun and stood up slowly, inching toward the front of the tent. Slowly, she pulled down the zipper, then stepped outside.

The cold morning air stung her skin. The light was muted, hanging between the pine trees and creating strange shadows that Laurel couldn’t interpret. Too late, she realized she’d left her glasses inside the tent.

Jess appeared at her side. “Wait, girl,” Laurel whispered, turning slowly and peering into the near distance.

This time, she heard it too. The snap of a twig. Jess barked. Laurel looked down at her. The Jack Russell’s tail had begun to wag.

Heart hammering, Laurel searched for a silhouette. The outline of a person. “Bear?” she called. “Is that you?”

Then someone appeared. Laurel stepped forward. Without waiting to be told it was okay, Jess scampered toward the familiar figure of Lisa. Short black hair tucked under her navy baseball cap, same dark green jacket and gray pants. Same large boots, and same slightly irritated expression on her face.

When she saw Laurel, she raised a hand to wave. Then Laurel realized Lisa wasn’t alone. Two others were behind her, members of the Freemen camp she recognized as Cody and Rebecca’s parents.

“Art sent you?” Laurel rushed forward and embraced Lisa, hugging her tight.

“Not exactly,” Lisa replied, shrugging. “But I’m persuasive when I want to be.”

“We trekked all night,” Rebecca’s mother said, yawning. “My legs are throbbing.”

“Laurel, this is Marie, and this is her husband, Brad.” Lisa introduced her companions, and Laurel shook their hands.

“I’m very grateful,” Laurel said sincerely. “Why don’t we have breakfast? Some coffee? Then we’ll plot our route to the water plant.”

Ducking back into the tent, Laurel retrieved her glasses, then helped Lisa light a fire. Marie and Brad didn’t seem like Art’s most capable fighters, but they were at least willing, so Laurel told herself not to complain.

“What made you decide to accompany Lisa?” Laurel asked, handing Brad a cup of not quite boiling hot coffee.

“My sister’s sick. Matilda Johnson.” Brad wrapped his hands tightly around his mug. “She’s getting sicker.”

Laurel glanced at Lisa, then nodded slowly. “Well,” she said, taking a long sip of her own coffee, “hopefully this trip will give us the answers we need.”

As Lisa reached into her pocket and pulled out a map, Laurel took out her own too. “This way?” Lisa asked. “Along the river? Seems like the easiest route.”

“I agree.”

“What do we do when we get there?” Marie asked. “I mean, what are we hoping to find? Dead animals floating in the water? What if there are? What’s the treatment?” She was staring at Laurel.

“I don’t know yet,” Laurel replied, keeping the word cholera firmly to herself because she was aware that kind of name could induce blind panic in those who heard it. “It really depends on what we find.”

Marie looked at Jess, who was sitting quietly by the fire. “Your dog’s coming?”

“She’s my husband’s dog and, yes, she’s coming.”

Marie wrinkled her nose a little then made an exaggerated show of sniffing. “I’m allergic,” she said, glancing at her husband.

“You’re not allergic,” Brad replied. “You just don’t like dogs.”

“I’m allergic,” Marie snapped back, inching away from Jess as though she might burst into flames if she got too close.

Standing up, leaving them to bicker about the fact that Marie couldn’t put aside her petty dislike of canines even though Cody and Rebecca had been begging their parents for a puppy for years, Laurel tried not to smile as she started packing up her tent. “Reminds me of me and Bear,” she said when Lisa came to help her. “We were like that toward the end—disagreeing over nothing in particular. Turning the smallest thing into an argument.”

“And that’s funny?” Lisa asked, frowning.

“No, not at all.” Laurel sighed and shook her head. “It’s just ironic that we finally started to get along, and now I might lose him.”

“You won’t lose him.” Lisa squeezed Laurel’s shoulder. “We’ll figure out what’s making everyone sick, and then I’ll help you get him back.”

“Art said—”

“I don’t care what Art said. Bear’s my friend, and so are you. Plus, that irritating kid kinda grows on you after a while.” Lisa chuckled a little as she spoke about Trent. “I promise you, Laurel. After we fix everyone up, we’ll get Bear out of that depot.”

* * *

“What are those things? They look like UFOs,” Marie muttered, narrowing her eyes at the four large, shimmering circles below them. They were standing on a slight incline, looking down at the expanse of the water treatment plant marked on the map.

“Do they collect rainwater?” asked Lisa, frowning.

Stepping forward, and pointing to the circles, Brad shook his head. “My brother used to work in one of these places. Never paid a whole lot of attention when he talked about it—not exactly Sunday dinner conversation—but I think water from the sewers flows into those large containers back there. It goes through a primary treatment phase, then filters into the big circle ponds for a second treatment, then a couple more in those things that look like giant beehives, then it’s pumped back out into the river.”

“With no electricity, surely it won’t be pumping anything out?” Laurel asked, frowning as she tried to make sense of the maze of pipes and structures in front of her.

Shrugging, Brad bit his lower lip. “It’s been seven months since the EMP. Long past when people would have stopped flushing their toilets, but for at least a few days most probably kept using their bathrooms. Found it too gross to think of another option and thought the power would come back on.”

Laurel began to nod as the pieces slotted into place. “And if the plant wasn’t running because the generator was out as well as the power, then anything flushed into the sewers would have ended up here, but wouldn’t have been treated properly.”

“Makes sense,” Brad said. “And the natural movement of the water in the system could have forced it through into the river—”

“And to the pumps at the campsite,” Laurel finished. At her feet, Jess wagged her tail eagerly—as if she thought the watery pools down below might make a fun swimming spot.

Brad cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just guessing about that part, though.”

“Do we even need to bother, then?” Marie crossed her arms and flexed her hips from side to side as if she was fighting a lower back ache. “If it’s likely the water’s contaminated, why do we need to go all the way down there and take samples? Why not just assume it is and start treating everyone?”

“Because medicine doesn’t work like that,” Laurel said firmly, trying not to be too short in her tone. “We need to know what we’re dealing with. Even if we’re pretty sure the water source has been contaminated, we need proof so we know exactly what to do next.”

Pouting a little, Marie adjusted her backpack on her shoulders and moved to lean against a nearby tree. “I was just thinking out loud,” she said huffily.

“I know.” Laurel tried to soften her voice. “But unfortunately, we really do need to go down there.”

As the four of them set off down the slope that led to the wire fence surrounding the plant, Jess trotting along eagerly as if she thought it was all a fun day out, Lisa drew a pair of wire cutters out of her pack and held them up, grinning. “I should have been a Girl Scout,” she said, “always prepared.”

Laughing, Laurel patted Lisa’s shoulder. But as they approached the fence, the wind changed and a strong, sulfurous odor filled their noses.

“Oh my God.” Marie pulled her jacket up to cover her mouth and nose. “What is that?”

“Sewage, Marie,” Brad snapped. “What did you expect it to smell like? Roses and lavender?”

“Do you always have to be so sarcastic?” Marie bit back.

“Okay, you two.” Lisa physically stepped between them. “We don’t have time for a marital disagreement. Let’s keep moving, shall we?”

They’d reached the fence, and Lisa swiftly cut a big enough hole for them to enter through.

The plant was eerily silent. Before the EMP, Laurel hadn’t given much thought to places like this—huge industrial complexes that were the unseen heroes of keeping their modern world going. She hadn’t really ever wondered what a water treatment plant looked like or how it worked. She didn’t think much about the factories that produced their food or how electricity reached their homes.

Now, all over the country—possibly the world—thousands of places just like this were sitting abandoned. Futuristic relics of a time when things were very, very different.

Walking past the huge, shimmering pools of water, Laurel felt small in comparison. Everything here had been built on a grand scale, and seeing it abandoned—despite the smell—was more than a little sad.

“What are we testing?” Lisa asked. Her eyes had landed on a ladder that ran up the side of one of the concrete containers, but Laurel shook her head.

“Best to test the river water, I think, as that’s what’s feeding the pumps.”

“Couldn’t we have tested the pumps themselves?” Marie asked, wrinkling her nose as she accidentally inhaled through her nose.

Laurel was drawing in a frustrated breath, on the verge of telling Marie she should wait at the fence, when Lisa replied, “Well, yes, we could have. But we don’t have a testing kit. They should have some inside the main building somewhere, right, Laurel?”

“Right,” Laurel replied through gritted teeth.

Marie’s eyes widened. She muttered, “Oh, right,” and her cheeks flushed. Perhaps now she’d stop asking ridiculous questions and let them get on with what they came to do.

* * *

“Smash the window, Brad,” Marie said, gesturing to the glass pane in front of them. “Or we’ll be out here all day.”

Giving his wife a withering look, but thankfully not answering her back, Brad did as she suggested and hurled his elbow into the window. The glass splintered. He whacked it again, and it fell from the frame. Reaching over the spikes of broken glass, he used his jacket-clad arm to wipe any remaining fragments from the window frame itself. He looked like he was about to climb in when Laurel stopped him.

“I’ll go,” she said. “I’m smaller.”

She shrugged her backpack off her shoulders and dropped it on the ground, then accepted a leg up from Lisa and clambered in.

Inside, the main building was silent and almost pitch dark. Laurel unlocked the door from the inside and invited the others in, with Jess looking at her as if she was a traitor for having disappeared for a few moments. “We’re looking for a storage area. They must have manual testing kits here somewhere.”

“Almost certainly,” Brad agreed. “My brother told me once they test weekly with a manual kit to make sure the equipment is functioning and hasn’t given bad readings.”

“Great. Then we just need to locate one,” Laurel said, nodding at him.

“Let’s split up,” Lisa suggested. “Brad, Marie, you go that way.” She pointed left, down a dark corridor. “Laurel and I will go this way. Meet back here.”

“Should we split up?” Marie asked a little weakly. “Isn’t that what they say not to do?”

“In horror movies, maybe,” Lisa chuckled. “But I think you’ll be okay out here.”

“What about looters?” she asked, glancing down at her gun. “I mean, I’m armed, but I’m not sure I’d know how to use it.”

As Lisa gave Marie a disbelieving look, Laurel bit the inside of her cheek. What the heck was the point in this woman coming if she couldn’t fire a gun and was too scared to be apart from the group for five minutes?

“We’ll leave Jess on guard at the door,” Laurel said firmly, looping Jess’s leash around the door handle and telling her to sit. “Okay, girl? You’re playing the part of a rottweiler in this exercise, so channel your inner guard dog.” Laurel laughed and ruffled Jess’s ears. She was the least scary guard dog Laurel had ever seen, but she did believe she’d at least bark if there were intruders nearby.

“Come on, Marie.” Brad started to walk off and jerked his head, suggesting his wife should follow him.

She hesitated for a moment, then did as she was told and scurried behind her husband.

When Marie and Brad were safely out of sight, Laurel’s shoulders relaxed and she heard Lisa sigh with relief. “I’m sorry,” Lisa said. “If I’d known she was such a pain, I’d have left her behind. But they volunteered.”

“I get the feeling Brad volunteered and Marie came along because she enjoys torturing him,” Laurel laughed, starting off down the corridor to their right and taking a flare from her pack to light the way. When she lit it, it made a pleasing fizz and filled the corridor with a brief burst of light, just enough for them to make out two doors up ahead.

The first opened into a dimly lit office with a desk, an extinct computer, and a lot of paperwork strewn about the place.

The second, however, revealed a storage closet with floor-to-ceiling shelves. A small rectangular window, almost at ceiling height, let in a minuscule amount of light, but Laurel was reluctant to waste another flare. Instead, she lit a match and held it within a whisper of the shelves while she searched their contents.

After just a few seconds, she found what she was looking for, a testing kit in a small cardboard box. It contained tubes, litmus strips, and a small flyer describing how to perform the test and how to interpret the results.

“Got it!” Laurel grabbed the box and held it triumphantly in the air. “Best grab a few more. We can test the water from the pumps, like Marie said.”

As Lisa held open her pack, Laurel scraped the remaining kits into it. She counted ten. A good find.

“Right, let’s find our friends and get out of here.” Laurel gestured to the door.

In response, Lisa shook her head and laughed a little. “Do we have to find them? I mean, what if we simply couldn’t find them and they were stuck here? Indefinitely.” She raised her eyebrows playfully. Laurel liked this side of Lisa—cheeky and warm.

Putting a hand on Lisa’s shoulder, Laurel chuckled, “Come on. Maybe we can have a sing-along on the way back to lighten the mood.”

They were almost back at the smashed-in window when they heard Marie scream. She appeared from around the corner, waving her arms and panting heavily.

“What is it, Marie? Where’s Brad?” Lisa pulled her gun and grabbed Marie, dragging her behind Laurel to keep her safe.

But when Laurel looked at Marie, she was frowning, pulling her arm from Lisa’s grasp and saying, “He’s right there.”

Brad appeared from the same corner. He was holding something in his hands. It was small and gray.

“He found a dead rabbit. He says it’s fresh enough to cook.” Marie scraped her fingers through her hair and puffed out her cheeks as if she was struggling not to vomit.

“You’ve been eating rabbit for months,” Brad scoffed, holding his prize up by its hind legs.

“How did it get in here?” Laurel frowned at the animal. “It looks fresh. How did it get in?”

“Who cares?” Brad shrugged. “It’s food, isn’t it?”

As Marie tutted and turned away, Laurel and Lisa turned at the same time in the direction Brad had come from. A tap-tap of claws on vinyl flooring. A scuffle. And then… Jess?

Laurel laughed and tipped back her head. Of course, Jess had escaped her post and brought them a dead rabbit. Why wouldn’t she? Crouching down, Laurel ruffled Jess’s ears, then looked up at Marie. “Jess brought us a present,” she said. “Isn’t that nice?”

Marie did not reply.

Ignoring her frosty stare, Laurel scooped Jess into her arms. “We’ll grab Jess’s leash, then go carry out the test. If we’re quick, we can probably make it halfway back before nightfall.”

21

MAE

“Well, you’ve clearly got a sore head this morning.” Mae rolled her eyes at Gideon. He’d been in a mood since they left the depot, and she was getting fed up with it. If anyone should be angry, it should be her. Gideon was the one who’d stood there laughing at Cornell’s comments. Gideon was the one who’d betrayed her. Not the other way around.

“I’ve got a headache,” he muttered, rubbing his slightly red eyes. “Give it a rest, would you?” Clearly, Gideon had stayed up drinking with Cornell and the others. Mae had no sympathy for him. If he wanted to pretend to be one of the boys, he’d have to learn to live with the consequences.

As she looked at him, striding ahead and trying to strike up a conversation with Garvey, Mae shook her head. Try as he might, Gideon simply wasn’t ever going to be in with the in-crowd. Since the beginning of their time in their infantry unit—before it became a Militia operation and was still a genuine part of the U.S. Armed Forces—she and Gideon had stuck together. Outsiders who didn’t really want to be part of the cool kids’ gang anyway. Like high school outcasts who didn’t go to prom and, instead, sat outside drinking beer and making fun of the popular girls’ dresses, Mae and Gideon had been quite content not to be invited into Cornell’s inner circle, and she missed that part of him.

Now, however, Gideon seemed desperate to change his status. Perhaps because Mae had been gone for so long, and he’d had to fend for himself. Perhaps because he’d recognized that in this new world they were living in, it was eat or be eaten.

Whatever the reason, it was going badly; it was obvious he was uncomfortable. His jokes were forced, his tone laced with neediness that made the others instantly recognize him as easy prey.

“Peterson, heads up. We’re there.” Garvey waved a chunky arm at Mae, so she quickened her pace and stepped up beside him. “But it looks like someone beat us to it.”

Following his gaze, Mae saw what he’d seen—a hole in the wire fence. Jogging down toward it, without waiting for the others, Mae studied the hole. She crouched down and brushed her fingers across a patch of trodden-down grass. “People have been here,” she said. “Recently.”

Garvey glanced at the others. Cornell had also sent Watson and Green. Together, Mae mused, the three of them sounded like a seedy law firm. Garvey, Watson and Green—no win no fee.

None of them, even Gideon, were particularly enthusiastic about Mae’s idea to come here, and she could see them mentally weighing up whether they wanted to risk going inside.

“We still need answers,” she said.

“Could be Freemen. Maybe we should go ask for backup.” Gideon was attempting to sound forceful, but instead came across as scared.

“We don’t even know if they’re still here—whoever they are—or how many people are inside. If we go back to Cornell and ask for backup because of a fresh footprint, he’ll go ballistic,” Mae said, putting her hands on her hips.

Garvey looked at Gideon, then at Mae. Somehow, he’d managed to worm his way into the position of leader of this little excursion, and it was sending hot prickles of irritation down Mae’s spine. “Peterson’s right. Cornell would blow a gasket if we went back with no evidence.” In an exaggerated gesture, like a soldier in a straight-to-release movie, Garvey made an “eyes peeled” gesture with his fingers, then said in a low voice, “We go in, scout out the place. If we clock Freemen—or anyone else—we find out how many there are, then report back to Cornell.”

“We should make getting the water sample a priority,” Mae said. “Not scouting for Freemen.”

Garvey flashed her an icy stare. “Clearly, Peterson, I meant that we’ll scout for Freemen on the way to get the sample.”

“Ah ha,” Mae replied, raising an eyebrow at him. But then she looked away, pushed her hair from her face, and said, “Look, enough talking. Let’s just get in there.”

Back at the depot, her dad was sick and could be getting sicker; they didn’t have time for this.

They’d ducked through the hole in the fence and were crossing a large open space toward four huge circular water tanks when Mae stopped. She was sure she’d heard something. “Is that…?”

“Sounds like a dog barking,” Gideon added.

The five of them stopped and instinctively formed a circle, scanning their surroundings for the animal making the noise. Mae’s eyes caught on something—a flash of movement, then a shadowy figure in the distance. She reached for her gun. “Ten o’clock,” she whispered.

Another figure appeared, then another. Then a blur of white.

“Jess?” Mae breathed out as she spoke, her heart almost flipping over in her chest.

“There’s the dog,” Gideon said, nudging Garvey. “It’s with…” Gideon paused to count. “Four people.”

“Freemen,” Garvey muttered—with such venom it was as if he was speaking the worst curse word imaginable.

Before they could be spotted, the five of them darted behind the nearest container. “They’re coming this way. They’ll be leaving by the hole in the fence,” Garvey pointed out. “If we wait here, we can ambush them.”

“Ambush them?” Mae’s stomach was now doing somersaults. If Jess was here, there was a high probability her mother was too. “Shouldn’t we find out who they are before we do that?”

“Okay then,” Garvey grinned, “it’ll be a gentle ambush.”

“I’m really not sure—” Mae started to speak, but was cut off by Garvey jumping out from his hiding place and yelling.

“Stop right there, hands where I can see them!” He was pointing his gun. Mae could see him, but not who he was pointing it at.

Gingerly, she followed Gideon and revealed herself. Instantly, her eyes snapped to her mother’s. A moment of recognition passed between them, but Mae looked away before the others could notice it. If they knew they were staring at Mae’s mother, they’d make sure she was captured and taken back to Cornell. The captain would love that; both of Mae’s parents in a jail cell.

“I don’t think so.” Mae’s mother had raised her own gun. Lisa too. She didn’t recognize the couple with them, but they’d taken out their weapons too.

It was a standoff. Neither side had the upper hand, and if either one started shooting the other would too.

“We’re just here to test the water supply,” the woman said. Her voice was quivering. Lisa gave her a withering look and the man next to her muttered, “Marie, shut up. Don’t give them any information.”

Marie swallowed hard. Her hand was shaking her gun.

Mae glanced at Garvey and the others, praying no one was dumb or bloodthirsty enough to start a gunfight.

“Test the water or poison the water?” Watson spat.

“Poison it?” Mae’s mother frowned. A look crossed her face that Mae couldn’t interpret. Her mother’s gun-free hand twitched at her side. Something was sticking out of her coat pocket. It looked like a small, slim cardboard box. Mae tilted her head, trying to read the lettering on top of it, but her mother turned and angled herself so it wasn’t visible. “Why would we poison it?”

“Revenge,” Green replied. “Doesn’t take a genius to work that out.”

“Clearly,” Mae’s mother said. She’d barely looked at Mae, certainly hadn’t shown any hint of recognition on her face. In fact, she was doing everything she could not to look at Mae.

“Listen,” Lisa said firmly. “This is clearly a lose-lose situation. If you shoot, we shoot. If we shoot, you shoot. The best thing all of us can do is lower our weapons and walk free.” While she spoke, her eyes roamed over Mae and her colleagues’ persons as if she was trying to spot a clue or a sign as to why they were here.

“Screw that,” Watson spat. Glancing at Garvey, he added, “We can take them.”

“Of course we can’t.” Mae stepped in.

“Of course, she’d say that. She’s probably in on it.” Green turned his eyes on Mae. “She could have lured us here. Did you think of that?” Green moved his gun from Lisa to Mae. “Tricked us into coming out here so that—”

“For what?” Mae cut him off. “So the Freemen could bump off five completely insignificant members of the Militia?”

“Insignificant?” Green’s voice rumbled like thunder in his throat.

“Let’s face it,” Mae said, lowering her weapon, “Cornell would hardly send a search party out looking for us.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt….” Mae’s mother spoke up. She was backing slowly in the direction of the fence, the others slightly behind her. “We’re leaving, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us. Unless you want this to be your last ever sunset.” She glanced at the sky, which had only just started darkening. They were going to have to camp out here instead of going straight back to the base, the very thought of which filled Mae’s stomach with acid dread; her father was sick, and she knew the longer it took to find out what was making him sick, the more he was likely to deteriorate.

Now, studying her mother, she didn’t want to believe that she’d be in charge of something as sinister as poisoning the opposition. But Mae herself had done some stuff her parents were probably pretty shocked about. So, perhaps she shouldn’t be so sure.

It did seem odd that they were out here. Unless they were sick too, and were here looking for answers just like the Militia were. Whatever was sticking out of her mother’s pocket was a clue but, without insisting she hand it over, there was no way to prove things one way or another.

Unfortunately, as far as Cornell was concerned, Mae already knew how he’d judge the situation. It looked bad for the Freemen, and Cornell would jump at any opportunity to paint them as the bad guys.

As she watched her mother backing away, Mae wished she hadn’t asked for backup. If she and Gideon had come alone, she might have been able to talk sensibly to her mother, work as a team. Especially if she told her that her father was sick, her mother would be desperate to help her. But with Garvey, Watson, and Green in tow, she didn’t stand a chance of encouraging a sensible conversation. Plus, she didn’t trust that they wouldn’t simply take her mother hostage and drag her back to the depot.

As her mother reached the hole in the fence, the last to step through, she finally looked in Mae’s direction. But the last thing Mae saw was her shaking her head. She had the look of a mother who is truly disappointed in her child.

22

LAUREL

ONE DAY LATER

Twenty-four hours had passed, and Laurel was still reeling from seeing Mae at the water plant. While Marie and Brad had been convinced the Militia were there to poison the water supply, Laurel and Lisa didn’t buy it; they were there for the same reason, which meant people in the Militia camp were sick too.

The problem was, they didn’t have any proof. They’d been forced to leave before testing the river water, and Laurel felt certain that now the Militia knew they’d been there, they’d station more men at the plant.

She had the water testing kits, but no water to test! And she was certain that as soon as they returned to camp, Brad and Marie would start mouthing off to Art about how they’d caught the Militia red-handed.

“The fact they were there proves it,” Marie said defiantly as they took their final approach to camp. The weather had stayed dry, but there was a thick gray drizzle in the air that was making the journey uncomfortable at best. It was the kind that didn’t seem too bad, but stuck to your skin and made you damp and chilled after prolonged exposure.

“It doesn’t prove anything,” Lisa sighed.

“Of course it does,” Marie said. “Why else would they be there?”

“For the same reason as us,” Lisa snapped back.

“It doesn’t really matter why they were there, does it?” Laurel said. “We failed. We went to the plant to test the water supply, and we’ve got nothing. No answers. Except Brad’s theory about the bacteria building up naturally after the EMP.” Laurel looked at Brad, hoping he would stick to his usual habit of contradicting his wife.

Instead, Brad’s pupils widened, and he shook his head. “Too suspicious,” he said. “Besides, it’s exactly what they’d do, isn’t it? They hardly play fair.”

“But how would they even know our water supply comes from the same place?” Lisa was losing her patience. She took her hat off and scrunched it between her hands, like she was trying to wring a cloth free from dishwater. “And from the look of the map, the depot is fed by the same plant. They’d be poisoning themselves!”

“Maybe they did it before they took the depot back,” Marie ventured, almost as if she was speaking to herself. “They poisoned the water supply, hoping to kill us all off, then got fed up waiting and staged another siege.”

Laurel exchanged a worried look with Lisa; they were both certain Marie was wrong, but her theory—for once—sounded plausible. Art might buy it, which was a distraction they didn’t need.

They’d barely reached the top of the slope when Art’s tall figure came jogging toward them. “Well?” he said, not stopping for pleasantries. “What are we dealing with here, Doc? Tell me you came back with some answers, because the sick are getting sicker and we’ve had three more fall ill since you left.”

Laurel screwed her eyes shut and removed her glasses. Pushing them up on top of her head, she shrugged off her backpack and gestured to the fire. “Let’s sit down. I’ll fill you in.”

Defiantly, as if they knew Laurel and Lisa would try to play down the presence of the Militia, Brad and Marie followed and sat down too.

After Laurel gave her explanation of events, Marie barely let Art draw breath before she launched into her version. Halfway through, Art raised his hand and took a deep breath. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, shaking his head. “Why would the Militia poison their own water supply?”

Laurel caught Lisa’s lips twitching a little. As Marie started to explain, Lisa stood, pressed her hand to Laurel’s shoulder and looked pointedly toward the direction of her and Sharon’s tent. Laurel nodded at her and whispered, “Go check on her, I’ll be okay. Take Jess, she’ll be pleased to see her.”

“Perhaps you should go too,” Art cut in, looking at Brad and Marie. “Brad, your sister would appreciate a visit, I’m sure. Remember to ask Shane for a mask and some gloves.”

Hesitantly, Marie stopped talking. Brad held out his hand and helped her to her feet. Then they stalked off, looking like dejected teenagers.

“I’ll admit,” Art said when Marie and Brad were out of earshot, “I believe the Militia are capable of poisoning the supply. And Marie’s idea about them trying to make us sick and weak so they could take over the depot has legs.”

Laurel closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“When I say they’re capable, Laurel, I mean it. My nephew Neve was a Militia soldier. He was shot and his friends, his unit, left him to die because it was too much of a risk to try and get him to safety.”

“I had no idea,” Laurel breathed, leaning forward so the heat of the fire danced on her cheeks.

“His death was the first domino that led to me pulling the Freemen together to fight back,” Art explained. “But whether they poisoned the supply or not, I’m not sure it really matters,” he said, a long sigh shaking his chest. When Laurel frowned at him, he added, “We need to make the sick people better. That’s the priority. Is there anything they could have poisoned the water with that would lead to these symptoms? A chemical, perhaps?”

“Like a bioweapon?” Laurel breathed out hard. “It’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely.”

“But that would heavily influence your treatment plan? If it was something like that instead of a bacterial thing like cholera?”

Laurel nodded. “Yes, it would.”

“Then the plan stands—we need to find out what the heck is in that water.”

* * *

Leaving Art by the fire, Laurel went to wash up and fetch herself a plastic-sealed nut bar for supper. It had been nearly four days since they ate a proper meal. They had their rabbit on the road last night, but one rabbit between four people and a hungry Jess wasn’t very much rabbit to go around.

As Laurel ripped open the protein bar, her stomach growled angrily at her. She ate it slowly as she walked toward Lisa and Sharon’s tent. Studying Art’s silhouette by the fire, her breath caught in her chest. Mae was part of the Militia, and the Militia had done some horrendous things. A little while ago, she wouldn’t have thought her daughter capable of doing something as awful as leaving someone to die. Now? After seeing her march her own father out of the woods at gunpoint, Laurel wasn’t sure what she believed.

She’d struggled to even look at her daughter when they crossed paths at the water plant. When she finally did, she was filled with such a tsunami of mixed emotions that she had to look away again.

She should feel guilty for thinking these things about Mae, but instead, all she felt now was cold. In truth, she had no idea who her daughter had become. And she didn’t understand how such a transformation could have taken place. The Mae she saw in the woods with Bear, the one who betrayed her own father, and who could very well have been poisoning innocent people, was nothing like the girl and young woman she raised.

Sighing, she shoved her glasses back on and kicked the ground hard. She should be thinking about their next move, not wasting energy wondering whether her daughter was cold-hearted enough to infect their water supply. She’d promised Art she’d come up with a Plan B, but so far she was coming up with big fat zero.

She was about to call out to Lisa and Sharon when she heard someone shouting her name. She turned to see Shane jogging toward her. When he reached her, it quickly became obvious that he was even more frazzled than before.

“What’s been happening?” Laurel asked.

“Some of the ill patients have taken a turn for the worse.” Shane shook his head. He looked like he’d barely slept the past two nights, and his eyes were lined with deep shadows. “Did you manage to find out what’s going on?” As he asked the question, it was as if he’d already sensed that she had not. “Should I give them antibiotics?” he asked.

Laurel put her hands on her hips, then folded her arms. She was completely torn; if it was a bacterial infection making people sick, antibiotics could help. But if it wasn’t, it would be a waste of their medications, which were in very limited supply, and could even make things worse.

“My hunch is that we should treat the two sickest, but keep what we can while we figure out what’s happening.”

“Do you think that’s likely?” Shane’s voice was soft, but his words made Laurel’s heart beat more ferociously in her chest. “I mean, do you think you’ll be able to find out?” His eyes were wide. It was an honest question.

Without answering him, Laurel told Shane to let her know immediately if the patients got better or worse or if they simply stayed the same.

She had the water testing kits—inside the cardboard boxes were several sealed packs of test strips along with instructions—and she could use it on the water here, but she was still convinced the sample from the pumps would be too diluted. And a false negative wouldn’t help anyone.

“I need to speak to Lisa and Sharon for a moment, but then I’ll come help. I can take over while you get some rest.”

Shane looked as if he was about to object, but Laurel shook her head. “No arguments. Go. I’ll be there soon.”

As he walked away, Laurel called out for Lisa. The tent was swiftly unzipped and Lisa stepped outside. “She’s doing really well,” she said, motioning to where Jess was—once again—licking Sharon’s toes and Sharon was giggling.

A wave of relief swept through Laurel’s body. “Thank God,” she whispered.

As she breathed out, and her shoulders drooped, Lisa put her hand on Laurel’s upper arm and guided her into the tent. She handed her a sealed bottle of water. “Not many left now,” she said, “so make it last.”

Laurel took a short, unsatisfying swig from the bottle, then closed her eyes and tried to think. She needed a plan, and she needed one now.

23

MAE

“Captain will see you now.” Thick Neck grinned at Mae and remained standing in the doorway as she squeezed past him. He made her skin crawl.

As the others filed in behind her, Mae realized they were going to let her take the spotlight—and the heat—before speaking up. She tried to meet Gideon’s eyes but he looked away, down at his feet. Coward, she thought.

“Well?” Cornell looked up from his desk.

Mae wanted to ask how her father was, but knew how that would go down. So, instead she asked, “How are the patients? Have they gotten any sicker?”

Cornell narrowed his eyes. “How about you tell me the fruits of your expedition first, then I’ll fill you in on what happened while you were away.”

Taking a deep breath, Mae pressed her lips together. But she didn’t offer a retort, she just told him the facts. “When we arrived at the water plant, it was obvious someone else had been there before. There was a hole in the wire fence, cut with wire cutters by the look of it, and freshly trampled earth, which indicated the persons who’d cut the hole might still be present.”

Behind her, Green sniggered, “Geez, Peterson, it’s not a police interview.”

Ignoring him, she continued. “We came across four individuals and a dog. They were clearly Freemen, but insisted they were there to test the water, not to tamper with it.” She shot a glance at Garvey. “It is possible, of course, that they were lying. But I believed them. I think it’s highly likely that the Freemen are sick too. If our water supply is contaminated, they could have been drinking from it before they—”

“What did you do with them?” Cornell interrupted.

Mae cleared her throat. “It was a standoff, Captain. There was nothing we could do. We had to let them go.”

Cornell’s eyes twitched. He rubbed his chin, then stretched his arms out across the desk like a cat in the sunshine.

“Peterson’s right about that, Captain.” To Mae’s surprise, Gideon had spoken up. He was standing with his fingers laced behind his back and was rocking gently on the balls of his feet. “If any one of us had fired, it would have been a bloodbath.”

“And I figured that if we let them go, we might find evidence of what they’d been doing there,” Garvey added smugly.

“And did you?” Cornell asked, rising slowly from his chair.

Garvey’s eyes widened. His jaw twitched. “Sadly not, Captain. The plant was abandoned. We found signs that the Freemen had broken into the main building, but no clue as to why.” Quickly, he added, “Probably because they were covering their tracks.”

Mae frowned and couldn’t help scoffing at him.

“Do you have a problem, Peterson?” Cornell drawled.

“I don’t think they’d go to those lengths,” she said tentatively.

“Of course they would!” Cornell banged his fist on the table. “All manner of dangerous goods have been stored in this depot over the years, Peterson. It’s entirely possible they took something with them. Some kind of biological weapon. And that they’re poisoning our water supply to force us out! Wouldn’t you say, Garvey?”

The others were nodding when Gideon waved a nervous hand and said, “Captain, perhaps we should take a minute to—”

Ignoring Gideon completely, Cornell stepped out from behind the desk and put a fatherly hand on Garvey’s shoulder, drawing him nearer to a large map on the opposite wall. “We need to plan an attack,” he said firmly. “As soon as possible. I have men out scouting for the Freemen’s location. As soon as we lock it down, they’re ours.”

Mae exchanged a worried glance with Gideon. Purposefully seeking out the Freemen in order to attack them was different from doing it because they had to—to defend themselves or to take back the depot. As Mae watched Cornell’s eyes brighten, a heavy weight settled in her stomach. This was exactly what he wanted; the excuse he needed to go after the Freemen again. He didn’t care about making the sick soldiers better. He cared about eradicating the Freemen completely. And he’d do anything to make sure that happened.

“Captain Cornell,” Mae said firmly, striding into the center of the room.

Without even turning around, Cornell held up his hand, showing her the back of it. “That will be all, Peterson. Go to the sick bay and ask Caraway if you can be of assistance.” He turned to look at Watson. “Pass the whiskey. Pour five glasses.”

Mae’s legs were aching with tiredness. She was dirty, and hungry, and needed caffeine. But she was also desperate to see her father, and Cornell wanted her to go straight to work while he and the others drank whiskey and plotted a massacre?

Fear and rage bubbled in Mae’s gut. She met Gideon’s eyes. Her cheeks were flaming. She widened her eyes at him, giving him one last chance to prove he was on her side. But when he looked quickly away and accepted the glass Watson had offered him, Mae hung her head. “Screw you,” she muttered.

Before Cornell could ask what she’d just said, she’d stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

24

LAUREL

By the time the sun started its slow ascent over the horizon, Laurel’s eyes were stinging with tiredness and her limbs ached. Back when she was a med student, she’d pulled all-nighters all the time. In fact, she’d prided herself on being able to work longer and harder than most of her fellow students.

With just a double-espresso, some Haribo, and a large flask of water, she’d tackled twelve-hour shifts with ease, often rolling into another straight after and with only a blink of rest in between.

Now, she was struggling. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact she hadn’t had a decent meal in months. She’d hardly been well-nourished back at med school, but at least coffee had plugged the energy gap. In their new post-EMP world, she didn’t even have caffeine as her fallback. Especially now their water supply was so limited.

Sitting hunched against a nearby tree with a sleeping bag around his feet, a woolly hat on his head, and a large women’s scarf bundled around his neck, Shane looked worse than she felt.

While she was on her two-day excursion, he’d carried the brunt of patient care all alone. The only saving grace was that he hadn’t gotten sick himself. Laurel hated to wake him, but in the early hours of the morning—when most of their patients had drifted into fitful sleep and the entire camp was shrouded in darkness—Laurel had made a decision; she had to go into town. It was risky, but they needed water, medication, and answers to what the heck was going on.

She knew it was dangerous, likely swarming with Militia. Especially if they were sick too. But she didn’t see any other option.

Nudging Shane’s upper arm, Laurel crouched in front of him and held out a fresh bottle of water. Bleary eyed, he took it from her, twisted the lid until the seal cracked, then took a thirsty gulp. When he stopped drinking, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and examined the bottle as if he was wondering how much was left and how long it would have to last him.

“We’re dangerously low,” Laurel said. “The communal store is pretty much out. Lisa and Sharon still have their emergency stash, which can be handed out, but when that’s gone, we’re….” She trailed off, pushing her fingers through her hair.

“Screwed?” Shane asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Pretty much.” Laurel sat down next to him. The ground beneath her butt was cold, and damp. Shane unzipped his sleeping bag and spread it out so it covered both of their laps. “Thanks,” she smiled.

“So, what do we do?” Shane looked at the untidy collection of tents in front of them. Setting up a quarantine zone had been difficult. Those who belonged inside it had been too sick to help move their tents, and those who weren’t sick didn’t really want to get involved in case they became sick. In the end, everyone had pitched in. But pretty soon the entire camp would be a quarantine zone, so perhaps they shouldn’t have bothered.

Laurel shook her head a little, trying to nudge the negative thoughts from her brain. “We need water and antibiotics, and we still need answers about what happened to the water supply.”

“There are rumors it was a Militia attack,” Shane said quietly, fiddling with the label on his bottle.

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” Laurel conceded. “Technically, a biological weapon could do this. I just don’t think it fits.”

“The symptoms?”

“No, the logic. The depot feeds off the same water supply we do; they’d be poisoning themselves. Besides, they don’t know where we are.”

Shane nodded slowly.

Laurel glanced at him, then quickly and firmly added, “Which is why I’m going to go into town.”

“Town?” Shane’s eyes snapped to hers. “It’s too dangerous, Laurel. The Militia—”

“We have no choice,” she said, rubbing her thighs for warmth. “We need clean water and antibiotics.”

“We don’t even know if the antibiotics have worked yet.”

“If we wait until we know whether they’ve had an effect, it could be too late. Besides, if I go to the library, I might find some more maps. Something that tells us whether there are any other clean water supplies nearby. If we can find a lake or stream that doesn’t feed off the same supply, we can at least boil the water. And we have the testing kits. We can make sure it’s safe before we drink it.”

Shane bit his lower lip. “Did you test the pump water?”

Laurel nodded. “We have two kinds of tests. Boxes and boxes of test strips that give an indication of harmful bacteria. But only one that will identify the bacteria. I used the test strips on the pump water and they were positive but—”

Eyes widening, Shane said, “Well that’s great. We can use the other one and figure out what it is.”

Laurel shook her head. “I’m concerned that the sample won’t be strong enough so far away from the source. If it’s too weak, we won’t get an accurate reading and the test will be wasted. So, we either need to go back to the water plant and test the river water, or find another source close to the plant that we can test.”

“Where’s the map?” Shane flexed his fingers at her. “Let’s take a look.”

“It cuts off just north of the water plant,” she replied. Then, slowly standing up and folding her half of the sleeping bag back into Shane’s lap, she added, “Which is why I need to go into town. More maps, more water, more medicine.” Her lips curled into a resigned smile. “There’s no other option, Shane. The only question is whether Art will agree to let some of his men come with me or if I have to go alone.”

* * *

By the time the sun was inching toward midday, Laurel and Lisa had almost reached the outskirts of town. As soon as Lisa heard Laurel’s plan, she insisted on coming along. Art had looked at Brad and Marie—as if he was expecting their merry little foursome to remain intact—but Laurel and Lisa had pointed out that this time it was probably better to keep the numbers small and inconspicuous.

The look of relief on Marie’s face had matched the swell of thankfulness in Laurel’s belly; she didn’t think she could handle a half-day trek into town with Marie in tow.

“Where first?” Lisa asked as they passed the “Welcome to Gentry” sign, which was now wonky and had weeds growing around its stump. They had left Jess back at camp with Sharon, but Laurel found herself constantly checking for the small dog’s presence, forgetting she hadn’t come along this time.

Looking up, she said, “Library. We’ll search for maps.” Glancing at Lisa, she noticed that her friend was chewing her bottom lip, deep in thought. “I’ll search for maps while you look for PT books for Sharon,” she said, adjusting her backpack on her shoulders.

Lisa smiled and nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “I know there are more important things right now.”

“Don’t be silly.” Laurel nudged Lisa with her elbow. “Sharon’s rehab is very important. And we’re here anyway. It would be silly not to look.”

This time, Lisa’s smile spread a little wider and Laurel noticed a more purposeful spring in her step.

“Library, then anywhere that looks like it might contain drugs or water.”

Lisa laughed. “Usually it’s drugs and alcohol people are looking for when they go looting.”

“I wouldn’t say no to a vodka tonic right now,” Laurel replied. “Keep your eyes peeled. Can’t hurt.”

They were deep in conversation about their favorite cocktails when they reached the road that led into the middle of town. A large town map, printed on a tourist-style billboard, stood at the side of the grass strip that bordered the road. Laurel traced her finger along it, searching for their location.

“You’re here,” she said, pointing to a red dot. Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes and scanned the town’s main streets. “Ah!” She tapped the map several times. “The library. Four blocks from here.”

“Good.” Lisa looked furtively around as she said, “Keep your eyes peeled, though. That warehouse we saw Mae take Bear to isn’t far from here, which means the Militia won’t be far either.”

“I’m hoping they’re all up at the depot.” Laurel’s fingers twitched next to her gun.

“Me too.” Lisa paused, then added, “When we’ve found the maps, maybe the warehouse is a good place to look for water and pills. The Militia could have left some stuff there when they evacuated and moved to the depot.”

“Not likely,” Laurel replied. But then her heart tugged in her chest and her eyes widened. “But they could have left Bear and Trent. If they didn’t think they were valuable, maybe they left them there.” She swallowed hard. A heavy sense of dread had settled in her stomach. “What if they’ve been there all this time? Tied up? Unable to escape?”

Lisa stopped and took hold of Laurel’s upper arms. “Then we’ll find them.” She met Laurel’s eyes and firmly said, “Library first, then the warehouse.”

Laurel breathed in sharply. “I can’t,” she said quietly. “Medication and water is our top priority. I can’t abandon that because I think my husband’s in trouble.”

Putting her hands on her hips, Lisa raised her eyebrows. “You just told me Sharon’s rehab was important enough to spare a few minutes looking for PT books. Don’t be a hypocrite.” Before Laurel could answer, she added, “Besides, we really could find water and meds there. If the Militia had a good stash of them, maybe they haven’t finished moving stuff up to the depot yet. It’s worth a shot.”

“All right.” Laurel nodded. They’d started walking again and were nearing the library. She released a long, slow breath. “Thank you, Lisa.”

Lisa nudged her hard, the way Laurel had done a few minutes ago. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “Bear’s my friend. I want him safe.”

“So do I,” muttered Laurel. “So do I.”

* * *

“Where the heck is it?” Lisa took off her baseball cap and looked up and down the street. They were standing in front of a large, imposing building with a statue to the right of its front steps. But the sign on top of the building read TOWN HALL instead of LIBRARY.

Laurel frowned and closed her eyes, trying to recall the tourist map. “It definitely said the library was here,” she muttered. “Right here.”

“Maybe they got rid of it.” Lisa scraped her fingers through her cropped, dark hair, then twisted the baseball cap in her hands. “They were doing that all over, weren’t they? Removing funding for public libraries. Maybe they thought it’d make a nice, fancy town hall instead.”

“Let’s go find out.” Laurel gestured for Lisa to follow her and jogged up the steps. The doors weren’t locked and swung open with ease when she pushed them.

Inside, a large entrance hall welcomed them. An inscription in the middle of the floor read, Books give us knowledge, knowledge gives us power.

“So it was the library.” Laurel pointed to the quote. It wasn’t necessarily one she’d have chosen; something about inspiring the imagination might have been more appropriate. But it was proof, if they needed it, that this building once contained the town’s library.

As the two women made their way from the entrance hall to the space beyond the double doors, their footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls. It was bright outside, and light streamed in through a big glass dome on top of the building. Its glass was slightly grubby now, after months of not being cleaned, but it felt good to be somewhere that light could still reach. Even if it was muted.

The room they entered was clearly once the main library floor, but was now empty. Perhaps it was used for town functions or charity events. Laurel breathed in slowly and fought the urge to yell with frustration.

“Looks like some store closets down here,” Lisa called, poking her head out of a door at the farthest end of the room. “Worth checking out before we leave.”

Laurel followed her, and she was right. The corridor they were standing in had doors on either side. Each one opened onto a storage closet. The first contained cleaning equipment. Laurel pointed to the bleach and suggested they take it, as the camp’s supply would soon be running low.

Quickly, Lisa shoved it into Laurel’s pack, then continued to the next door. This one contained a bunch of plastic kids’ play equipment; the kind that was used for mom and baby meetups. Laurel had avoided them like the plague when Mae was little, as they always resulted in Mae coming down with some kind of virus or cold. And because she found she had very little in common with the moms who devoted their whole lives to filling their kids’ schedules, making organic baby food, and doing mom and baby yoga.

The third closet, however, held several rows of filing cabinets. Laurel’s heartbeat quickened. She and Lisa exchanged a hopeful glance. Then, without speaking, they started opening drawers and flicking through their contents.

Laurel was about to give up, having come across nothing more than invoices for electricity bills and employee files, when Lisa thumped her fist on top of the cabinet she’d been searching and yelled, “Bingo!”

She turned to Laurel, clutching a fistful of paperwork. “These were in a folder labeled Waste Filtration Contract. Looks like they were accepting tenders for management of the water plant. And look what’s included with the financial stuff.” She thrust a folded-up piece of paper into Laurel’s hand.

Laurel’s eyes widened. “A map of the town’s water supply,” she muttered, tilting her head to examine the red and blue lines that traversed the paper.

Without saying any more, the two women bolted from the closet and headed back to the entrance hall. Underneath the light from the glass dome, they spread the map on the floor.

“There’s the camp.” Laurel indicated Art’s campsite. “This is where our other map cut off.” She pointed to the space to the north of the site.

“And here’s the water plant.” Lisa tapped her finger on it. “These red lines show which areas are supplied by the plant.”

As the two of them studied the map, Laurel’s chest tightened. She breathed out heavily and sat back on her heels.

“It feeds the entire town,” Lisa muttered. “Everywhere.”

Laurel met Lisa’s eyes and nodded. “Looks like it.”

Slightly frantic, Lisa started identifying rivers and streams, but each one was fed by the same plant.

“Only way to find something not fed by the water plant is to move out of town.” She traced her fingers over the area that lay about twenty miles north of the campsite.

“It’s a newer town,” Laurel muttered. “They must have constructed the lakes and rivers when they built it.”

“So, none of them come from natural sources, they all come from the water plant,” Lisa added. “That’s….”

“Shortsighted?” Laurel tsked and stood up. She needed to move, to pace back and forth and hope a solution wrangled its way into her brain.

“Just a bit,” Lisa replied. After a long pause, in which Laurel continued to pace the width of the entrance hall, Lisa said, “So, we need to leave the campsite. That’s the only solution, right? Except we can’t because everyone is sick.”

Laurel stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Right. So, we stick to our original plan. We test the water, find out if it’s cholera. If it is, we give everyone antibiotics and clean water. When they’re well enough to travel, we leave town and find somewhere with a fresh water supply. Straight from the mountains or a lake that’s not going to become infected.”

“Leave town.” Lisa muttered. She was clearly thinking of how Sharon would manage a long journey. As she stood up, folding the map, Laurel met her eyes.

“We’ll make sure Sharon’s comfortable,” Laurel said firmly.

Lisa simply nodded. As they headed back outside, she looked longingly over her shoulder. “I wonder what they did with all the books.”

Laurel’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Lisa. Sorry we didn’t find the books for Sharon. But we’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah,” Lisa smiled thinly. “I know we will.”

Outside, Laurel looked up and down the street. Her mind, usually clear and able to make decisions, was foggy. She had no idea what to do first.

“We should check out the warehouse, right?” Lisa asked. “See if we can find any water or medicine?”

“Right,” Laurel said slowly.

Obviously sensing Laurel needed a minute to clear her head, Lisa took charge and pointed to a spot on the map. “This lake is between the water plant and the campsite. It directly feeds our pumps, but looks close enough to the main supply that we’d get a decent reading for the test.” She raised her eyebrows, studying Laurel’s face. “What do you think? Warehouse first, then the lake as we loop back round toward the campsite?”

With a swell of relief in her gut that someone else had come up with a plan, Laurel nodded. “Yes. Yes, let’s do that.”

“Good. Okay then, Doc. Let’s go.”

25

MAE

For nearly ten hours, Mae had waited to be allowed access to her father. When she’d approached his guard—a soldier she didn’t recognize—he told her he had no idea who she was but that Captain Cornell had made it very clear no one was to go near the prisoners.

Mae had argued, shouted, tried calling out to her father and to Trent. Neither of them had answered, and the guard hadn’t acquiesced. So she’d waited in the corridor, watching him through the small window in the door, waiting for the change of shift.

Eventually, when morning came and her eyes burned with tiredness, another soldier arrived. This one she did recognize: Gideon.

Her heart thumping in her chest, Mae waited until the previous guard was out of sight, then pushed open the door and strode over to her friend. He looked hungover. Again.

Dark circles lined his eye sockets, and his face was deathly pale.

“Are you hungover or sick?” Mae asked sharply.

Gideon blinked at her as if he was surprised to see her there. “Hungover,” he said. “I hope.”

“Have you thrown up?” Mae asked.

Gideon shook his head, but then gripped his temples as if that had been a very bad idea.

“Anything else?” Mae’s eyes flickered to Gideon’s stomach.

“No, nothing else,” he said. “I just have a headache.” He paused then added, “Mae, about last night—”

“I don’t have time to discuss your blossoming friendship with Cornell, Gideon. Not now. I need to see my father. I’ve been waiting all night. No one has checked on him or taken him food and water in that time. I have no idea how he is.”

Gideon frowned and glanced at the door behind him. “They told me he’d had food and water, and been checked over by Caraway.”

“Not in the past ten hours,” Mae bit back. “I’ve been watching the whole time. No one has been near.”

Fumbling with the keys to the cell, Gideon located the right one and—without asking any more questions—heaved the door open.

Immediately, a nauseating smell hit them.

Curled in a corner at the back of the room, her father looked barely conscious. Mae scanned the room. Two buckets full of vomit sat near the door. At the back, another sat half-full, next to her father.

“Check on Trent too,” Mae said, waving at Gideon as she ran into the room and crouched down in front of her dad.

“Dad?” She touched his forehead. He was burning up.

Slowly, her father turned his head to look at her. He blinked as if he was having trouble focusing, then said, “Mae, thank God.”

“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked, pulling the bucket out of the way because the stench was making her feel nauseated too.

Her father gave a small shake of the head.

“Water? Have they brought you fresh water?” Mae looked around the room for signs of empty bottles, but there were none.

“Nothing since yesterday,” her father replied, his voice painfully thin and raspy.

From the next-door cell, Gideon yelled, “They gagged him!”

The next moment, Trent’s voice filled the air. “They got sick of me yelling for help, so they came in here and gagged me. Where is PB? Is he okay? I heard him throwing up all night. Mae? Are you there? Your dad needs help. You have to do something.”

“Mae.” Her dad reached for her hand and squeezed it. He was trying to sit up, but it was taking too much effort and he stopped. “I don’t want you to do anything that will get you in trouble. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Dad.” Mae wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand, then hesitated. Should she be wearing a mask? Should she be this close?

As if he sensed what she was thinking, her dad said, “Wash your hands when you leave.” He gestured to the door. “Go on. I don’t want you sick and I don’t want you in trouble with your captain.”

Mae stood up gingerly. Her legs were fizzing. She felt hot and cold at the same time, like panic was embedding itself in her spine. “I’ll get help,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I promise. I’ll get help.”

Outside the cell, as Gideon locked Trent’s back up, Mae met his gaze.

“I’m going to speak to Cornell. Please try and find him some water. Sealed. Not a refill.” She grabbed Gideon’s hand and squeezed it, praying that some whisper of friendship still existed between the two of them. “Please, Gideon. He’s my dad.”

She waited, holding Gideon’s gaze, until he nodded. “I’ll try,” he said. “I swear I’ll try.”

Then she nodded back and raced away down the corridor. When she reached Cornell’s study, she didn’t even knock, just flung the door open and strode inside.

True to form, Cornell was sleeping on the leather couch in the corner of the room. He opened one eye, took in Mae’s panicked appearance, and remained lying down. Without moving, he closed his eye again and said, “What is it, Peterson?”

“My father is very sick, Captain. He needs to be moved to the sick bay immediately. He’s also dangerously dehydrated. He’s been vomiting and without water for at least ten hours.”

“People survive for longer than ten hours without water, Peterson. You’re being a little dramatic.” Cornell still hadn’t opened his eyes.

Fury was building in Mae’s gut. Her hand flexed next to her gun. She could end this right now. She could shoot him, and then what would happen? Would all the soldiers who’d been sucking up to him still want to carry on with his wicked plans, or would they stop caring once there was no one in charge?

Immediately, a tsunami of guilt rocked Mae’s limbs. She was unsteady on her feet, her knees weak. She steadied herself on Cornell’s desk. Then she drew in a deep breath, braced herself, and knelt in front of him.

When he sensed she was close, he turned his head and opened his eyes. A flicker of pleasure crossed his face at the sight of her. Usually, that look would make her stand up and run. But if she had to beg to help her father, she would; she was the one who brought him here. She was the one who betrayed him, and all because she thought… what did she think? She didn’t even know anymore.

“Captain Cornell, please.” Mae laced her fingers together in a literal symbol of prayer. “My father could die if he doesn’t get help.”

Cornell’s eyes flickered. He sat up slowly, swinging his legs around so his feet were flat on the floor. Mae stood up, inching away from him. “As you’ve made such a compelling case,” he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Mae frowned. She opened her mouth to speak but before any words could come out, the door flew open and Garvey tumbled in, with Watson, Green, and Thick Neck at his heels.

They looked at Mae, then at the Captain. Thick Neck smirked.

Mae’s face burned beet red.

“Captain,” Garvey said, almost trembling with excitement. “We have located the Freemen.”

“How?” Cornell poured himself a shot of early-morning whiskey, downed it, then turned to the map on the wall. “Show me.”

As Garvey launched into an explanation about finding an abandoned cart on a track outside of town, then following the track to a campsite, Mae backed slowly out of the room. Cornell didn’t notice. Neither did the others. They were so pleased with themselves, they’d forgotten all about her.

She was in the corridor, letting the door close quietly behind her, when she heard Cornell holler, “This is it, boys! Good work. Excellent work. We’ll launch a fresh attack tomorrow morning. Before sunrise. They’ll never see it coming.”

* * *

Mae raced back to her father at lightning speed. When she reached the cells, Gideon had fixed a mask over his face and was helping her dad take a deep sip from a bottle of water.

He looked up when he heard Mae’s footsteps and said, “There’s sanitizer there on the chair. And a bottle of water for the kid.”

Mae nodded at Gideon, rubbed on the sanitizer, then held out her hand for the keys to Trent’s cell. He hesitated for a moment, then handed them over.

“What did Cornell say?”

“He won’t help.” Mae paused in the doorway of the cell. Her shoulders shook with rage. “And he’s planning another attack on the Freemen.”

“What?” Gideon stood up slowly. “When so many men are sick and we haven’t figured out why? He’s going to lead another attack?”

“He wants to exterminate them,” Mae whispered. “And I don’t think he’ll stop until they’re all dead.”

“Your mother.” Her dad’s voice was hoarse but she understood what he said. “Your mother is with the Freemen, Mae.”

“I know.” Mae looked down at the keys as she weighed them in her hands. “Which is why I’m going to do something to stop Cornell.”

Gideon took a step toward her, but she held up her hand.

“It’s better for you if it looks like I forced you to help me,” she says. “If Cornell thinks you handed over the keys, you’ll be in just as much trouble as me.” She turned and stepped out of her dad’s cell. Then she unlocked Trent’s door and said, “Come on, kid. You’re free.”

Trent blinked at her from the darkness of the cell, then stumbled to his feet. In the hallway, he accepted the water Mae was offering him and drank thirstily from it. Then he looked at Mae’s father. “Bear?” he muttered. “Look at him. He needs help.” He lurched forward as if he was going to run into her father’s cell, but Mae grabbed his arm.

“Yes, he does, which is why I need you to escape.”

* * *

“Escape? Mae. You can’t.” Gideon grabbed Mae’s arm and tugged her so hard she was forced to whirl around and look at him. “Cornell—”

“Screw Cornell!” Mae screamed at the top of her voice. “For days, I’ve had this dreadful seasick sensation in my gut. Ever since we took over this place. Cornell doesn’t have our best interests at heart—or the interests of the town. He’s a megalomaniac who wants one thing… control. I don’t care if you don’t see it, Gideon. I do. I’ve been in denial too long, and now I’m finally seeing clearly. I am not risking my father’s life just because Cornell says so. I don’t care what happens to me.”

While Gideon stared at Mae with large, frightened eyes, Trent clapped his hands loudly and shouted. “Hallelujah! Finally!” He glanced at Mae’s father. His face changed, his features hardening with determination. “I’ll do anything to help Bear. Tell me what to do.”

Looking up and down the corridor, listening for the sound of soldiers approaching, Mae spoke quickly. “I’ll get you out of here. From the back of the complex, you go right. You’re heading in the opposite direction from the Freemen’s original camp. You keep going until you reach a dirt track, then stay on it. When you pass an abandoned cart, you’ll know you’re heading in the right direction. Cornell’s guy said it’s half a day’s walk from here to the cart. So, if you leave now, and move as fast as you can, you’ll make it before sunset. When you get to the camp, find my mother. Tell her my dad’s sick and that Cornell is planning to attack the camp. She’ll know what to do.” Mae breathed in sharply. “She’ll fix it. She always fixes it.”

Trent’s eyes softened as if he’d heard the note of childlike desperation in Mae’s voice. Then he quickly nodded and said, “Okay. I’m in. Let’s do it.” Quickly leaning into Mae’s dad’s cell, he shouted, “PB, I’m going to get help.”

“Trent….” Her father tried to stand up, but stumbled and ended up in a heap on the floor.

“I’ll help him. You go,” Gideon said, lightly touching Mae’s elbow.

But she shook her head at him. “Like I said, it needs to look like I forced you to give over the keys, Gideon.” She took her gun from its holster. Gideon’s eyes widened as she raised it. Without pausing to think about what she was doing, she hit him hard across the side of the head.

Gideon went down instantly, and Mae gestured to Trent to help her heave him into Trent’s now-empty cell.

“Sorry, Gid,” Mae whispered. Then she left, locking the cell behind her, and hoping Gideon wouldn’t take too long to wake up.

When she sealed her father back in, she met his eyes and promised him she’d be back. “I’ll get Trent out of here, then I’ll come back,” she said, smiling because she wanted him to believe she had everything in hand. “Keep drinking the water.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Her father managed a small grimace as Mae shut the door.

After turning the key and locking her dad back in, Mae allowed herself a split second to panic. She felt the fear bubble up in her gut and breathed through it; if Cornell found her father alone, unguarded, while she was gone—and Trent missing—she didn’t want to think about what he’d do to her father in retaliation.

When her half-second of panic was over, Mae grabbed Trent’s hand and sped down the corridor. They were heading away from Cornell’s office and the main body of the depot, past the rooms that had been set up as dorms, toward the loading bay.

“Won’t it be guarded?” Trent asked, wide-eyed.

“Probably,” Mae said, drawing her weapon for the second time that morning.

“This is going to get you in big trouble, isn’t it?” he said.

“Definitely.” Mae met his eyes and smiled. “But it’s worth it. Come on. Coast is clear.”

They were halfway across the loading bay when Mae heard footsteps behind her. As she turned quickly, raising her gun, a familiar figure appeared from the shadows. Thick Neck grinned at her. He was holding a gun too, but he wasn’t pointing it at her. Not yet. Eyeing Trent, then Mae, he tutted. “Well, well, well. Isn’t this my lucky day. Here I am, just hanging out, having a quiet smoke, and I come across a naughty little deserter. Betraying her unit. Her captain.” He shook his head, stepping closer. “This won’t go well for you, Peterson. So you might as well give up now.” He paused, then, moistening his lower lip added, “Of course, I could always soften the blow if you returned the favor.” He tweaked his eyebrow at her when he said the word “blow,” sending a jolt of red-hot anger to Mae’s stomach.

Barely pausing for breath, Mae allowed a smile to twitch her lips. Then she fired her gun. Once, hitting Thick Neck in the leg. Twice, the arm. Perfect shots. As he fell to the floor, writhing in agony, she ran over and took his weapon from him.

“You’re a dead woman, Peterson!” Thick Neck cried, rolling onto his side, trying to stand up.

Mae ignored him. Pressing the spare gun into Trent’s hand, she nodded at him, then pointed to the two-foot gap at the bottom of the loading bay door. Stuck that way, presumably since the EMP, it was just big enough for Trent to crawl out through.

“You’ll have to scale the fence. Check the area first. Don’t get caught,” she said as he lowered himself to the ground.

“Take care of PB,” Trent replied, meeting her eyes.

“I will.” Her answer was sincere, and Trent seemed to realize that something significant had shifted deep in Mae’s gut because he nodded at her, smiled, then disappeared through the gap.

26

LAUREL

It was almost mid-afternoon by the time they reached the section of dense woodland that would take them to the lake. At the warehouse, they’d found nothing useful. No water, no medicine, and no sign of Bear or Trent.

Laurel had to fight with every fiber of her being not to turn around and go straight to the depot to look for them. Instead, she focused on the people back at camp. People who she knew were sick. Right now, Bear could be fine. He could be absolutely fine. But there were people who needed her who were not fine. So she had to do what she could to help them.

The journey had been hard going. Staying to side streets, checking every corner, then once they were out of town, sticking to the shadows, taking the more hard-to-travel paths because they were less likely to bump into Militia there than on the easier ones.

For a while, they’d talked about Bear and how he had met Lisa and Sharon. Laurel told Lisa how hard she’d found it when Bear first returned home injured, and how she’d almost felt responsible for his injury because she hadn’t stopped him from signing on for another tour.

“I feel that way about Sharon,” Lisa said quietly. “Like what happened to her is my fault somehow, or like it should have been me.” She chuckled darkly and shook her head. “I’m the grumpy one. Sharon’s the ray of sunshine. It should be me who’s injured, not her.”

“Do you think she’d want that?” Laurel asked. “Do you think she’d want to swap places with you? She’d hate it if she heard you talking like this.”

“Which is why I’ll never say it to her,” Lisa replied.

Smiling, Laurel turned from Lisa and focused on the road in front of them. The weather was growing warmer by the day, and for the first time in months, Laurel found herself unfastening her coat and turning her face up toward the sun.

“I can’t imagine us being friends in real life,” Lisa said quietly.

“Real life?” Laurel laughed. “Isn’t this our real life?”

“Okay then… before life.”

“You don’t think you’d have liked before Laurel?”

Lisa shrugged and chuckled a little. “No, I think before Lisa would have considered her a highly strung workaholic.”

“Oh, thanks,” Laurel said in a mock-offended tone.

“But I like this Laurel,” she said. “I’m glad we met.”

“Well, ditto.” Laurel wrapped her arm around Lisa’s shoulders and squeezed. Before she could say anything else, though, Lisa pointed to something in the distance. A shimmer of blue beyond the trees.

“Looks like a lake to me,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“Does to me too,” Laurel replied, quickening her steps.

At first, when they emerged from the trees, Laurel’s heart lifted at the sight of the large expanse of water. But then she frowned. The water level was extremely low, probably due to the weather in the area, and it was almost completely motionless.

She turned, scanning the area around the lake.

“Over there.” Lisa pointed into the distance. “Looks like people were living here at some point.”

Laurel gestured for Lisa to follow her and headed for the abandoned campsite. Signs of a long-extinguished fire were in the middle of the camp. Ropes. A beaten-up tent. Even a pile of pots and pans.

“People definitely lived here for a while,” Laurel said, bending down to nudge a piece of candy bar wrapper that was protruding from a pile of dirt.

“Laurel,” Lisa called her.

Laurel stood up and walked over to where Lisa was standing. She was pointing a little way down the shore.

“Looks like they set up some nice outdoor toilets.”

Laurel followed Lisa’s gaze. “Right next to the lake,” she muttered.

“There’s even a trench, look.” Lisa nudged Laurel’s arm and motioned to a deep trench that seemed to run from the toilets.

“So their waste was washed straight into the water.” Laurel sighed and shook her head.

“How could anyone be so stupid?” Lisa asked incredulously.

“Maybe they thought if they boiled the water, they’d be okay.”

“So, it’s the lake that infected everyone? Not the water plant?” Lisa asked.

“I don’t think there’s any way to tell. It could have happened the way Brad suggested, and whoever was living here got sick because of it. Or it could be that their waste was what caused the harmful bacteria. Either way, we need to test the water to find out what we’re dealing with.” Laurel knelt down and pulled her backpack from her shoulders. Opening it up, she moved aside the bleach they’d taken when they were in the town hall and found the testing kit. It was far more complex than the simple color-change strips she’d used on the water pumps at camp.

Spreading the instructions out in front of her, she studied them carefully. Over her shoulder, Lisa did the same.

Laurel held up a small test tube. “Okay, take this and collect a sample. Wear the gloves.” Laurel gestured to the gloves supplied with the kit.

As Lisa did as Laurel had asked, she readied the rest of the kit. Several pieces of litmus paper were spread in front of her. There was a line of dots on each one.

When Lisa returned, Laurel pointed to them and said, “I need to put three drops of water on each of these dots. The lines will spread. Then we can compare them to the chart.”

Lisa crouched down, holding the test tube so Laurel could use the pipet included with the kit to collect the water and deposit it onto the testing paper.

Carefully, she deposited three drops on each dot. Then she sat back on her heels.

“What now?” Lisa said, tilting her head to examine the tests.

“Now,” Laurel said, “we watch and we wait.”

27

LAUREL

“How long do we have to wait?” Lisa asked, standing up and walking to the water’s edge to dispose of the leftover water in her test tube.

“Fifteen minutes,” Laurel said.

As Lisa peeled off her gloves, Laurel did the same. She took Lisa’s and bundled them together back into the plastic bag they’d come from, then squeezed them each a blob of sanitizing gel into their palms.

“I can’t just stare at it,” Lisa said, taking her baseball cap from her pocket and putting it back on. “I’ll search the camp. See if there’s anything useful.”

“Just be careful what you touch,” Laurel warned.

“Sure thing, Doc.” Lisa nodded and strode off toward the dilapidated tent nearby. Laurel watched her duck inside it, then emerge holding an armful of stuff.

“What is it?” Laurel asked keenly, hurrying over.

“Remember any of this?” Lisa lowered her finds to the ground and spread them out.

Laurel crouched down and examined them. “Holy heck,” she said. “A laptop.” She laughed and picked it up. Opening it, she absorbed the familiar click of the lid, then ran her fingers over its useless keyboard.

“And a phone.” Lisa said, waggling an eerily lifeless iPhone and holding it to her cheek. “I was surgically attached to one of these,” she said, smoothing her hands over the metal casing. “Never left home without it. Spun into a blind panic if I thought I’d have to go more than a few hours without checking my emails or texts.”

“Me too.” Laurel was still holding the laptop. A crazy part of her wondered whether she should take it with her just in case the power came back on soon. So she could contact people. But then she sighed and slowly put it back down. The power had been gone for seven months. It wasn’t coming back now. This was it. Their new world. The after.

“I need to pee,” Laurel announced. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t go too far,” Lisa called after her. “Don’t want to come across the Militia with your pants around your ankles.”

Laurel laughed loudly. As they grew closer, Lisa was growing funnier. Letting her guard down. It was nice to see her like that.

By a tree just inside the woods, Laurel crouched to pee, concentrating on the flashes of blue sky she could see above her through the branches. When she’d finished, she was buttoning her pants, kicking some dried leaves in place, when she wobbled. She almost lost her footing, stumbling over a large tree root.

Slamming out her hand, she steadied herself on the tree. But as she looked up, she realized there was something on the other side of the tree. What looked like a large hole. A really large hole. She stepped gingerly toward it, fear and dread solidifying in her gut.

When she looked down, she vomited. Instantly. Hot, acidic vomit spewed onto the ground in front of her. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and gasped for air, then yelled, “Lisa!”

Lisa appeared almost instantly. “What is it? What happened?” She was holding her gun, but lowered it when she saw that Laurel was alone.

A second later, Lisa saw what Laurel had seen.

“It’s a grave,” Laurel whispered. “A mass grave.”

“Jesus.” Lisa slapped a hand over her mouth. “There’s at least ten of them.” She whirled to face Laurel. “You think the Militia did this?”

But Laurel shook her head. “No, there’s no sign of gunshot wounds. No bloodied ground in camp. I think these people got sick. Really sick.”

Lisa swallowed hard, removing her hat again and holding it in front of her like a mark of respect. She glanced back in the direction of the lake. “They got sick and had no one to rescue them.”

“If they started vomiting, they’d have known to keep hydrated. Consumed more water.”

“Making themselves sicker and sicker,” Lisa muttered.

Laurel breathed out hard and turned away. Away from the shadow of the trees, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and bit back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her. “Test should be done by now,” she said as Lisa emerged behind her.

Silently, she walked over to where they’d left the test papers—weighed down with rocks. She picked up the instructions and compared the lines on their paper with the lines in the examples.

“Well?” Lisa asked a little impatiently.

“We were right.” Laurel stood up, her mouth suddenly dry and her voice hoarse. “It’s cholera.”

* * *

“We need to make it back to camp before nightfall. Don’t want to be caught out in the open.” Laurel held out the map and pointed to a route she thought would offer a shortcut.

“We’d need to cross the river,” Lisa said. “Will that be safe?”

“As long as we don’t drink it,” Laurel replied dryly. When Lisa raised her eyebrows, Laurel muttered, “Sorry. I’m cranky. Too long without coffee.”

“And food.” Lisa patted her stomach, then reached into her backpack and took out her empty water bottle. “And water.”

“Are we totally out?” Laurel checked her own bottle too. “Yep. Looks like it.” Answering her own question, she shoved the bottle back into her pack and sighed. “I’m trying to think,” she said as they started walking.

“Steady,” Lisa quipped.

Ignoring the sarcasm, Laurel shook the map and flicked it with her index finger. “We know what’s making everyone sick, but we haven’t found a fresh water supply. So we need to figure out how to clean the water we do have.”

“You said boiling wasn’t enough. What other option is there?” Lisa frowned and rubbed the back of her neck. “We could go back to the water plant. They must have stuff there. Chlorine? Something like that?”

“They probably will, but first, I don’t think we can risk going back there. Second, even if we did find something to treat the water with, it would run out eventually. We’d need a fresh supply eventually.” Laurel flexed her shoulders, pushing them back as if she was trying to squeeze a pencil between them—a move she used when she was on long shifts at the hospital and needed to release some tension in her exhausted body. Glancing at Lisa, she said quietly, “We can boil the water. It’ll work as long as we boil it for several minutes and don’t store it or re-boil it, since there’s no way we can keep the containers sanitized sufficiently.”

Lisa stopped in her tracks and whirled around to stare at Laurel. “Boiling works? Why the heck didn’t you say so?! All this time—”

“Because if it was a biological agent, boiling wouldn’t have worked. And if people thought it would work against bacteria, they would have decided between themselves that it was more likely to be bacteria and carried on drinking it. And if it was a bioweapon, they’d have gotten sicker and sicker.” She looked back in the direction of the abandoned campsite.

“The people by the lake must have boiled their water,” Lisa said. “And they still got sick. They still….” She trailed off.

“Most people don’t continue to heat water for longer than a few seconds once it reaches boiling point, and like I said, if it’s stored in sealed containers the bacteria can continue to grow.”

“Okay, so we boil the pump water. That’s solution one.” Lisa gave Laurel an optimistic smile. “What about the antibiotics? We didn’t find any at the warehouse. Do we have enough?”

“I hope so. If we can get those who are the least sick properly hydrated, they might not need meds. We have enough for the rest, and tomorrow I’ll ask Art to—” Laurel stopped, wondering whether to say out loud what she was thinking.

“Ask Art to what?” Lisa put her hands into her pockets. They’d reached the river near the Freemen camp and were staring at its fast-moving flow.

“To go negotiate with the Militia.”

“What?” Lisa frowned violently. “You must be crazy, Laurel. You’ve lost your mind. Why would we—?”

“Because I think they’re sick too. If they are, they might need our help. And if they do need our help, they might be willing to swap medication for answers.”

“That’s a lot of ‘ifs’,” Lisa said tightly.

“It is, but now we know they weren’t poisoning the supply, there can only be one reason they were out at that plant.” Laurel pointed to the closest rock and hopped onto it. Lisa followed her, wobbling a little.

“And you think they’ll be willing to hold fire long enough to hear us out?”

Laurel took hold of Lisa’s arm to steady her before jumping to the next shallow patch of river. “I have no idea,” she said, pursing her lips. “I have no idea.”

When they reached the other side of the river, Lisa stopped and took Laurel’s hand. The gesture made Laurel flinch with surprise. “Are you worried about Mae?”

Laurel nodded. “And Bear, and Trent. If cholera sweeps through the Militia….”

“Okay.” Lisa let go of Laurel’s hand and straightened her shoulders. “Okay. We’ll speak to Art. See if he’s open to the idea.” She looked in the direction of the camp and they started walking. “I’ll back you up.” She paused, then shoved her hands into her pockets. “But we’ll still need to leave, won’t we? When everyone’s well enough?”

Laurel knew exactly what Lisa was thinking; that it was hard enough for Sharon to cross the small distance between the depot and the campsite, let alone leave the area completely. “We will, but we’ll make sure Sharon’s okay, Lisa. I promise you that. And maybe wherever we end up will have those PT books you need.”

Lisa dipped her head, but then frowned and looked up. “You won’t be coming with us?”

Laurel breathed in slowly and pushed her glasses up her nose. “No,” she said. “I won’t be coming. When I’ve got my family back, I’ll be going to Thunder Bay.” Her lips twitched into a smile. “With Bear.”

“And the kids?” Lisa laughed.

“And the kids,” Laurel replied. Although, deep in her heart, she still had no idea how—or if—she could bring Mae back from whatever dark place she was in. A place that had made her take her own father hostage. A place that, right now, could be putting her and Bear in terrible danger.

28

MAE

Mae’s heart was racing. She felt nauseated. Her entire body was on fire. For a moment, she wondered whether she was sick. Whether she’d succumbed to the same illness her father had, but she knew that wasn’t the cause; she was on the verge of vomiting because she’d left Thick Neck bleeding in the loading bay. He wasn’t unconscious. In fact, he’d been dragging himself along the floor after her, but she’d slammed the door closed and bolted down the hallway back toward the cells.

She wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to kill him, since dead men tell no tales. But she quickly shook that thought away. Mae knew she’d done some bad things that she would have to atone for, but she couldn’t kill someone in cold blood. Not like that, and now she wasn’t sure whether she was hoping someone had heard the gunshot in the loading bay—and gone to help him—or that they hadn’t, and she’d have more time before anyone realized what she’d done.

She was fumbling with the keys, trying to unlock her father’s cell. When she finally managed it, she hurried inside and skidded on a wet patch of floor as she got closer. She landed in a heap, accidentally kicking the nearby bucket and sending it flying. As she coughed and gagged at the smell, and righted herself, she realized what she’d slipped on. The bottle she’d given her dad was lying on the floor, top off, its contents spilled. Next to it, her father’s limp hand was unmoving.

“Dad?” Mae scrambled toward him. He’d passed out. His breathing was shaky and shallow. She shook his shoulders, but it was no use. “Dad? Wake up. I need to get you out of here.”

“I don’t think so.” Captain Cornell’s acidic tone caused Mae to freeze on the spot. Slowly, she turned to face him. He held out his palm. It was covered in blood. “I just discovered one of my men bleeding to death in the loading bay,” he said, remaining in the doorway—presumably because of the smell.

Mae’s mind was racing. She had no idea whether to lie or come clean. In the time she faltered, Cornell stepped aside. Garvey and Watson appeared. They both wrinkled their noses and coughed as they reached for Mae and dragged her outside.

“Wait! My father is unconscious.” She tugged against them, then met Cornell’s eyes. “Captain, he’s family. He could die. You have to help him!”

“This unit is your family,” Cornell spat, so close to her face she could feel a spray of moisture hit her cheek as he yelled at her. “And you betrayed one of your own today, Peterson. You shot one of your own men and left him for dead. Does that feel good? Does that feel honorable?”

Mae stuttered, trying to find the right words to make the others see just how twisted Cornell’s behavior had become. But before she could, Cornell ordered Garvey to open up the other cell. “Throw her in there,” he said. “I want her out of the way while we deal with the Freemen scum at that camp.”

Garvey nodded enthusiastically. As he let go of Mae’s arm momentarily to open the cell, she took the chance to jerk free from Watson and lunge at the captain. Anger surged through her veins. Her vision clouded. She quite literally wanted to end him. Right here. Right now. She pulled back her arm, and with all the momentum she could muster, slammed her fist into Cornell’s face. She was reaching for her gun when Watson tackled her to the floor. Practically sitting on her back to keep her still, he yelled, “Captain, are you okay?”

“She broke my nose!” Cornell’s nose was bleeding. Blood streamed down his face, staining his uniform. He pinched his nose and tilted his head back. Spluttering as blood entered his mouth, he barked, “Lock her up, now!”

There was a fumbling sound behind her. Mae remembered Gideon, knocked out in the cell, then saw him appear at her side. He was kneeling, holding his head. “What happened to you?” Garvey asked.

Without looking at Mae, Gideon winced and said croakily, “She hit me. Knocked me out and locked me in.”

“So, you’ll help your family, but your friends and colleagues mean nothing to you?” Cornell towered over Mae. A drop of his blood landed on the side of her face as she looked up at him. “I knew you were a bad apple from the moment I met you, Peterson. At least now you’re finally showing your true colors.” He turned, stalking away from her. “Gideon, with me. Garvey, Watson, lock the Peterson family up and meet me in the strategy room. We have a siege to plan.”

“Gideon,” Mae called as Garvey helped Gideon to his feet so he could follow Cornell. “Gideon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Mae raised her voice but was silenced when Watson’s boot landed in her stomach.

* * *

For a long time, Mae called out for her father, but he didn’t answer. She thought she might have heard him groan, but couldn’t be sure, and couldn’t make out anything else with a thick concrete wall between them.

Staggering to her feet, she searched the cell for anything that might help her escape. It was painfully dark. Garvey had made sure to pull the window covering across so that not a sliver of light made it into the cell. So, using her hands, she inched around the cell, sweeping every nook and crevice.

But there was nothing. Nothing but four walls, a floor, and a door.

Pressing her back to the wall, she slid down it and sat with her arms looped around her knees. How had she gotten into this situation? Her father was gravely ill, and now she was locked up and completely unable to help him. If she hadn’t brought him back here—if she’d stood up to Cornell sooner and trusted the twisting sensation in her gut that told her she shouldn’t be putting loyalty to her unit above loyalty to her family—he wouldn’t be in this situation. He wouldn’t be close to death right now.

A deep sob wracked Mae’s chest. She unfastened the tie holding her hair back. Usually, she wore it tight and neat. But right now, the sensation of it being held in place was making her scalp feel unnaturally tight. Sliding the band onto her wrist, she flicked it a few times, enjoying the snapping sound and the short, sharp shock against her skin.

It calmed her a little, but then she remembered that Cornell was about to lead another charge on the Freemen. Her fellow soldiers were being driven to fight, even though most of them were sick. Would Cornell make them fight too? Or just those who were well?

She groaned loudly. In all her life, she had never felt so conflicted about being in the military before.

“Mae?” Her father’s voice made her look up. Through blurry, tearful eyes, she blinked into the darkness.

“Dad? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Still breathing,” he said, trying to be funny.

“I’m so sorry, Dad.” Mae stood up and pressed her palms on the wall as if it might help her father hear her better or understand how deeply she meant her apology.

“Don’t waste your energy on apologies, Mae. I’m just glad you’ve realized that these people aren’t good for you.”

“I should have realized it sooner.” She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose.

“You were a loyal soldier,” her father said. “But Cornell is Militia now, and that’s not the same as being in the Army. He’s making his own rules, playing his own game….” A fit of coughing caused her dad to stop talking.

“Stop now, Dad. It’s okay. Stay quiet. I’ll think of a way to get us out.”

When there was no reply, Mae leaned forward and rested her head on the wall. The tiles were cool and soothing against her forehead. She was taking deep breaths, trying to think of something—anything—that might help them get free when the sound of keys in a lock made her spin around.

A silhouette in the doorway caused Mae to stand up straight and reach for her gun. Except Garvey had taken her gun. She was unarmed and at a severe disadvantage. Cornered. For a moment, she imagined it was Thick Neck and that he’d come to enact his revenge on Mae for leaving him shot and bloodied in the loading bay.

But then she saw a face she recognized. “Caraway?”

The doctor stepped inside and reached for Mae’s hand. Pulling her into the corridor, without speaking, he turned to her father’s door and unlocked that too. “Damn,” he muttered as he strode inside. “The barbarians left you like this? Here. Let me help you up.”

Mae watched as Caraway helped her father to his feet.

“Wear this.” He gave her dad a mask, then sprayed some sanitizer on his hands. Then he turned to Mae. “Come with me, be quick.”

Immediately, Mae ducked to her father’s right-hand side and looped his arm around her shoulders. Caraway took his left, and together they helped him down the corridor. They were heading back toward the loading bay, and a little way from the big double doors, Mae spotted a trail of blood on the floor ahead. She swallowed hard, but before they got close Caraway veered right and pushed open the door to an empty stairwell.

“This way.” He stepped beneath the stairs, then took another key from his pocket and unlocked an inconspicuous-looking door. It opened into what looked like a janitor’s office. A small desk, some metal filing cabinets, and lots of mops and brooms filled the place.

Immediately, Caraway eased Mae’s father into a nearby chair and then flung open one of the cabinets. He took out a bottle of water. Before Mae could ask if it was fresh, she heard the crack of the seal, and Caraway handed it over. “Drink,” he said. “You’re severely dehydrated.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sachet of rehydration salts. Being careful not to spill any, he sprinkled them into the bottle, and her father shook it a little to mix the salts with the water. “They’ll help,” Caraway said.

“What’s going on here, Caraway?” Mae accepted her own bottle of water and drank thirstily.

Caraway was about to reply when footsteps sounded from outside in the stairwell. He raised his palm at her, indicating she should be quiet. Then the door handle moved. Mae held her breath. She looked from Caraway to her father as the door swung back. But then….

“Gideon?” Mae breathed.

Gideon clocked her, smiled, and stepped inside. With him were Green, the female guard from her father’s jail cell, and two others.

“What’s happening?” Mae blinked as Caraway struck a match and lit a lamp in the corner of the room. The entire place dimmed as Gideon shut the door, a soft glow taking over from the harsh light of the stairwell.

“We don’t agree with what Cornell is doing,” Caraway said, fixing his eyes on Mae. “He’s putting a petty vendetta above the lives of his troops.”

“Green?” Mae turned to the third member of the sleazy legal team. “You agree with this?”

Green nodded. His face softened. It looked different from how it was before. “I’m sorry, Mae,” he said. “I should have spoken up sooner, but Cornell….” He shook his head. “When he started fixating on attacking the Freemen instead of getting help for the people who are sick, that was the final straw.”

Gideon nodded in agreement. “He’s telling the truth. We talked after the others passed out drunk. We decided we have to do something about Cornell.”

“What kind of something?” she asked, moving closer to her father and looping her arm through his.

“Well, we need more people on our side. Once we have that, we’re going to out Cornell and vote for a new leader.” Gideon glanced at Green. “Green thinks I might have it in me….” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But that’s not what’s important right now. First we have to get rid of Cornell. Then we can figure out his replacement.”

Mae tried to absorb Gideon’s words. Her head was spinning. Would the Militia really vote for Gideon as Cornell’s replacement? She narrowed her eyes and ticked her head from side to side. “I’ll do anything I can to help,” she said firmly.

“Me too,” her father added, squeezing Mae’s arm. “If I can stay standing long enough.”

29

LAUREL

“You go find Sharon. I’ll speak to Art.” Laurel gestured across the campsite as they approached.

“You’re sure you want to do that alone?” Lisa asked.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll let you know if I need backup.” But as they walked the next few feet together, a commotion over by the main entrance to the site made them both quicken their pace.

They arrived to find a group of Freemen gathered around something on the ground.

“Is he sick?” one was saying.

“I don’t think so,” another replied.

“Don’t get too close,” said a third.

“Let me look.” Laurel nudged her way through the group. “Come on, everyone, move, let me look.” When the crowd finally parted, Laurel gasped and threw her hand to her mouth. It was a gesture she thought people made only in movies when they were trying to look genuinely surprised, but in that moment it was instinct. Her body’s gut reaction to what she was seeing.

“Trent?” She kneeled down. In front of her, unconscious, Trent was sprawled on the ground.

A barking sound came from somewhere behind them. There was another flurry of movement, and Jess appeared. Forcing her way between the legs of the onlookers, she hurled herself at Trent, furiously licking his face, his hands, every exposed piece of skin she could find.

As she started licking his ear, which looked very badly stitched up and was crusted in blood, Trent groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

“Thank God,” Laurel breathed, reaching for her mother’s gold cross, which she still wore around her neck. “Trent, honey. It’s Laurel.” She took hold of his hand and told him not to move. While Trent blinked up at her, Lisa started shooing the others away.

“Get back, give them space, you’re not needed here,” Lisa snapped. “The boy’s clearly unwell. Stop gawping.”

When the crowd finally started to filter away, Laurel and Lisa hauled Trent to his feet and helped him to Sharon’s tent. As they entered, Sharon’s eyes widened. A smile spread across her face.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she breathed.

“I’m pleased to see you too,” Lisa replied warmly.

Blushing a little, Sharon laughed. “I was talking about the kid,” she said. “But it’s nice to see my wife back in one piece too.”

“Here, Trent, sit down.” Laurel helped Trent to the ground while Lisa took one of their few remaining sealed water bottles and handed it to him.

Barely pausing for breath, Trent opened the bottle and gulped down huge mouthfuls of water. “I’m sorry,” he said, panting, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I don’t remember when I last had something to drink.”

“It’s okay.” Laurel put her hand on his shoulder. Her body was practically vibrating with the need to ask Trent about Bear, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She needed to give him time to recalibrate, catch his breath.

“Bear’s sick.” The firmness of Trent’s tone surprised her. He met Laurel’s eyes. His were wide and watery. “A lot of the Militia are sick. Vomiting. Stomach cramps.”

“Aching limbs?” Laurel asked.

Trent shrugged as if he felt guilty for not knowing the answer. “I don’t know. Maybe. Bear was being kept in a cell next to mine. To start with, he was talking to me, but after a while, he went quiet.”

Laurel tried to fight the dizzy sensation that was taking hold of her head. Next to her, Lisa and Sharon exchanged a worried glance.

“How did you get out? What happened?”

Trent took another sip of water. Lisa handed him a candy bar and he ripped it open, his stomach growling loudly. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Laurel.” He fiddled with the wrapper, scrunching it between his fingers and staring at the chocolate he’d freed from it. When he looked up, he drew back his shoulders and said quickly, “I was captured by the Militia. They were holding me hostage when they caught Bear too. He was out looking for me with your daughter Mae.”

Laurel nodded, reconstructing the timeline in her head.

“They held us at a warehouse. In some kind of storage container. We managed to escape. We got as far as the woods and would have got away, but there was this incident with a…” Trent mumbled something that sounded like swan.

“An incident with a swan?” Laurel frowned.

Trent pointed to his battered ear. “Long story,” he said. “But it held us up and, well, I guess it gave the Militia enough time to catch up with us.” Again, Trent breathed in deeply. “Mae was the one who recaptured us.” He winced as he spoke. “She held a gun to us. Marched us back to the warehouse. Had us locked up again.”

Laurel closed her eyes. She pressed her lips together tightly and sighed. “I know,” she said. “We saw you.”

Trent frowned and sat up a little straighter. “You saw us? How?”

“Laurel and I were looking for you,” Lisa said. “But we couldn’t see a way to get you out, and then the attack on the depot happened before we had the chance to go back for you.”

Trent rubbed his palm over his hair. “Jeez,” he said. “So you knew what Mae did?”

Laurel swallowed hard. “Yes,” she said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”

“She helped us.” Trent grabbed Laurel’s hand. “I don’t like the girl. I think she’s loopy-loo crazy,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But when she realized how sick Papa Bear was, she got me out. She let me go, told me to come here and find help.”

“Oh, Mae,” Laurel breathed, relief washing through her.

“And she also told me to warn you that the Militia are planning another attack first thing in the morning. They found out where you are, and they think you’ve been poisoning their water supply.”

“Damn it.” Laurel shook her head. “They think we’re poisoning them and instead of trying to find help for the sick they’re coming here for revenge?”

Trent nodded solemnly. “Just about sums it up,” he said.

They were all talking over one another, wondering out loud what the heck they should do next and how they’d fight off another Militia attack when half the camp was ill, when Art’s tall frame appeared at the tent’s entrance.

“You,” he said, looking at Trent. “You’re back.” He moved his gaze to Lisa and Laurel. “Did you find him in town?”

Laurel stood up, telling Trent to stay with Sharon, and ducked outside with Lisa.

“He just turned up,” she said.

Lisa met Art’s stare and bit the inside of her cheek. “He told us the Militia are planning another attack. Tomorrow morning. They’re blaming us for poisoning their water supply. They’re sick. Like us.”

Art’s face visibly paled. He adjusted his scarf, then laced his fingers together and squeezed so hard his knuckles whitened. “Did you find any answers?” he asked with desperation in his voice. “Did you find out what’s making us sick?”

Laurel nodded slowly. “We did. Art, it’s cholera. The test was conclusive.”

* * *

Art stumbled over to the fire and sat down hard. He leaned forward onto his knees and didn’t look up for a long time. When he did, he looked like a man who had been well and truly defeated.

“What do we do?” he asked, his eyes wide and pleading. “How do we fix this?”

“It’s okay.” Laurel sat down next to him and put her hand on his forearm. “We have a plan. We need to give antibiotics to those who are most sick, and get everyone rehydrated.”

“But how?” Art almost wailed his question. “We can’t drink the damn water.”

Laurel hesitated, then repeated what she’d told Lisa; that the water could be drunk if it was boiled long enough and not kept stored, but she’d held this information back because of the tiny chance it was something that wasn’t bacterial in origin.

“We can boil the water?” Art clapped his hands. A grin spread across his face. “We can boil the water. Okay, let’s get started.”

“Art.” Laurel caught his arm as he stood up and pulled him back down. “We still have the Militia to deal with, and we can’t stay here without an alternate water source.”

He rubbed his chin and nodded.

“I’d like to suggest trying to negotiate with the Militia,” Laurel said tentatively. “They’re sick. They might be willing to agree to a cease-fire if we give them information about what’s making them ill.”

“No.” Art shook his head. “No way. We’re not helping those monsters. They can rot for all I care.” He stood up and yelled at the top of his voice. “Everyone who’s able! Out here now. Emergency meeting.”

“Art.” Laurel tugged his sleeve for a second time. “My family is there. Bear is sick, and Mae—”

“Your daughter betrayed your family, Dr. Rivera. And you’d still risk the lives of those who are loyal to you to help her?”

Laurel closed her eyes. Emotion swirled in her gut. “She helped Trent escape. She sent us the warning. I can’t leave her, and I can’t leave Bear.”

Art paused, staring down at her. “What you do is up to you,” he said. “You’re not officially one of us. If you want to go find your husband, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to help you. I’m staying here and fighting off the Militia once and for all.”

“Art, please, think about what Laurel said.” Lisa stepped in front of Art, but he simply nudged her aside.

“My people come first,” he said. As others started appearing from their tents, he beckoned them over. “We have good news and bad,” he said solemnly. “The good news is that Doctor Rivera figured out what’s making us sick.” Art paused, glancing at Laurel and Lisa. Avoiding the word cholera he continued, “The doctor’s tests confirmed there is bacteria in our water supply.”

“How is that good news?” Marie’s familiar nasal tone floated toward them from the back of the group.

“Because we know that we can make the water safe again if we boil it for long enough. Two minutes at boiling point. And we must not store it after it’s been boiled.”

“That’s it?” Marie frowned. “After all this, we just have to boil the water?”

“Those who are the sickest will need antibiotics,” Laurel chipped in, standing next to Art despite the voice in her head that was telling her to turn around and leave right now. “We have enough to get us started, but it will deplete our supply. We’ll need to find more, and a different water source going forward.” She glanced at Art. His face creased with annoyance. Clearly, he wanted to keep the news about moving their location for another time.”

“We have to leave? Again? When everyone is sick?” Brad asked, bustling forward to stand beside his wife.

As the crowd started to murmur among themselves, Art shushed them and waved for them to settle down. “Before we even think about the future, there is a more pressing issue to deal with. The bad news.” He sucked in a deep breath and arranged his features into a determined frown. “The Militia are going to launch another attack. Tomorrow morning. They’re coming for us.”

There was a moment of calm. No one spoke. Laurel’s heart thudded against her ribcage as she prayed the Freemen would have enough sense to tell Art not to fight. That they were too weak, too low on numbers. But instead, a series of grunts and cheers broke out.

“Then we’ll take them down!”

“We’ll win this time!”

“How dare they? We know they’re coming. We can take them by surprise.”

As Art began to draw up his battle plans, Laurel sighed heavily and pushed her way out of the crowd. When she was free, she took a deep breath and braced her hands on her thighs.

Lisa appeared behind her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “His heart is in the right place.”

“Maybe, but I’m not staying to help.” Laurel met Lisa’s eyes. “If the Militia are here fighting, it’s my best chance to get into the depot and get Bear back.”

Lisa closed her eyes and breathed in slowly through her nose. “I can’t go with you, Laurel. I have to be here to protect Sharon.” She glanced at the tent she shared with her wife. A visible shudder rocked her shoulders, and Laurel knew what she was thinking; Sharon was almost completely defenseless. She could hold a gun, but if the Militia overwhelmed the camp, she couldn’t even run from them. She was stuck.

“You could put her on a cart and get out of here,” Laurel said. “Leave after nightfall. No one would know.”

Lisa opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. She shook her head. “I can’t. The Freemen are my people. I can’t abandon them.”

But as they headed back to the tent, to tell Sharon and Trent about Laurel’s plan to leave, Laurel prayed that in the next few hours Lisa would change her mind.

30

MAE

“So, what’s the plan?” Mae put her hands on her hips. “How are you going to overthrow Cornell? He still has a lot of allies.”

“He does,” Caraway agreed. “But there’s also an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. When Cornell was trying to turn us against the Freemen, people were willing to play along. But now that he’s putting his nasty vendetta above the health of his troops? They won’t stand for it for long.”

“We need to be careful,” Gideon said. “If we start talking, and the wrong person gets ahold of what we’re planning, they’ll tip off Cornell and we’ll all be shoved in jail cells. Or worse.”

“What are you planning, though?” Mae asked, looking around the room. When no one answered, she said, “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

Behind her, her father sighed and lowered himself to the floor. Mae crouched down and put her hand on his shoulder. “Dad? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mae Bug.” He squeezed her fingers. “The room’s just spinning a little. That’s all.”

Looking up at Gideon, Mae kept hold of her dad’s hand as she said, “So…?”

“Cornell’s planning to attack in the morning. Tonight, we’ll gather as many allies as we can. In the morning, we’ll go with him to the Freemen camp, but we’ll turn on him when the fighting starts. Get him to surrender.”

“That sounds risky.” Mae chewed her lower lip. “Really risky. What if he has more support than you’re anticipating? What if the others turn on you?”

“That won’t happen,” Green said confidently. “The tide has changed. People are just waiting for someone bold enough to stand up to Cornell.”

Still not convinced they had anything close to a good enough plan to oust Cornell, Mae stood up and gestured to her father. “And what about my dad? What about me?”

Before anyone could answer, a high-pitched wailing sound rang out. Gideon’s eyes widened. “Wait here,” he said, visibly sucking courage into his lungs before ducking out of the room.

When he returned, his face was even paler than usual. “They’re leaving now. Cornell’s sounding the alert. They’re rolling out. He’s looking for us.”

“Now? I thought he was going to attack in the morning.”

“Guess he changed his mind,” Gideon said darkly.

“Wants to get them in their sleep.” Mae’s father coughed as he spoke, then took Mae’s arm and hauled himself to his feet. “Looks like you’re too late. Your friends are leaving.”

“Then we should go after them,” Gideon said. “We should go now.”

“I can’t.” Caraway shook his head. “I’ve already been away from my patients for too long. I can’t leave the depot entirely.”

“Green?” Gideon asked, raising his eyebrows.

Green hesitated for a split second before saying, “Yeah. Of course I’ll go. But can we do this? With only two of us?”

Gideon’s eyes widened. Mae recognized the expression on his face; fear mixed with dread. “Gideon.” She grasped his hand and forced him to look at her. “You have to kill Cornell.”

“Kill him?” Gideon snatched his hand back. “Just the two of us?”

“As far as Cornell’s concerned, you two are still on his side. You can shoot him in battle and it will look like it was an accident, but you have to go now or he’ll be suspicious. Start wondering where you were and why it took you so long to respond to the alarm.”

Green sucked in a shaky breath. Gideon looked like he might vomit.

“Peterson’s right.” Caraway nodded solemnly. “We don’t have time to rally supporters. Our best shot now is to assassinate Cornell and make it look like an accident, then hope to talk sense into the others once he’s gone.”

Mae put both hands on Gideon’s forearms and stared into his eyes. “You can do this, Gideon. And when Cornell’s gone, you should surrender. Tell the Freemen you want help. Tell them you know Laurel Rivera. That’s my mom. She’ll help you.”

Gideon was shaking beneath Mae’s fingers. As she took them away, he said, “All right. I can do it.”

“Go now.” Caraway gestured to the door.

“What about Mae and her father?” Gideon glanced from her to Caraway.

“I’ll give her father some medication and see they get out of here. Just in case you don’t manage to dispatch Cornell.” Caraway nodded at Mae.

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

“Gideon, if we’re doing this, we should do it now.” Green put his hand on the doorknob and tilted his head toward it.

Mae watched Gideon take a deep breath and then nod at Green. He didn’t look back at her before he left.

* * *

To the soundtrack of the wailing alarm, which must have been giving the soldier winding the crank arm ache by this point, Caraway told Mae to stay put while he went to fetch medicine for her father.

“I’ll be back. Stay here,” he said gruffly.

“What if they realize we’re gone?” Mae asked, her heart fluttering.

“They’ve got bigger things on their plate. And I don’t think they’d come looking for you here.” Caraway reached into his pocket and handed Mae the key he’d used to let them in. “Just in case, lock the door when I’m gone.”

Mae nodded and took the key. Following his instructions, she locked the door as soon as it closed. She stared at it for a moment, wondering what in the world she could possibly say to her father that might make up for what she’d put him through—what she’d done to him.

She inhaled deeply, straightened her shoulders, then turned slowly. But when she looked at him, he was asleep, breathing heavily, curled on the floor.

“Oh, Dad.” Mae slid her back down the wall next to her father and sat beside him. She hung her head, tucked her knees up toward her chin, and wrapped her arms around them. Then she waited.

After a while, the siren stopped. A little while later, there was a knock on the door. “Peterson, it’s me. Let me in.”

Gingerly, ready to slam it shut if she needed to, Mae turned the key in the lock and opened the door just barely an inch. Caraway appeared to be alone. He stood patiently waiting for her to decide whether it was safe, then hurried inside as soon as she opened the door wide enough.

Shoving a small backpack at her, he said, “There’s antibiotics inside. Just three days’ worth. I couldn’t spare more. Rehydration salts, and some clean water. Sealed. Not from the pumps. Some sleeping bags too. Couldn’t find matches.”

“We’ll be okay.” Mae’s father had woken and was staggering to his feet. “We don’t need matches. But thank you for the rest.” He extended his hand. Then, as if he’d just remembered he was sick and Caraway might not want to, he took it back and simply smiled.

Caraway nodded in response. “I’ll escort you to the loading bay, but from there you’re on your own.”

“Thank you.”

“Now’s a good time. Pretty much everyone who’s able to walk is leaving from the front.”

“Dad?” Mae turned to her father. “Can you manage it?”

“I’ll be okay, Mae Bug.” Her dad straightened his big, broad shoulders and tried to look as if he was steady on his feet.

Even so, she slipped her arm around his waist and steadied his weight as they headed down the corridor away from their hiding place. When they reached the loading bay, Mae tried not to look at the large red stain on the floor. Her father caught her staring at it, and his forehead creased a little. “I brought Trent out this way,” she said. “Someone tried to stop us.”

Her dad pressed his lips together. “Thank you for protecting him.”

“You’re pretty fond of him, huh?” Mae asked, an unwonted note of jealousy in her voice.

“He’s a good kid.” Her dad smiled and squeezed Mae’s waist. “So are you, Mae Bug.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Caraway was standing next to the loading bay doors. “But we better get this show on the road. I need to get back to my patients. Think you two can fit through this gap?”

Mae assessed it. Trent had managed the small space with ease, but she wasn’t so sure she and her father could squeeze through.

“We’ll fit,” her dad growled determinedly, lowering himself gingerly to the ground and lying flat on his back.

“Dad….” Mae moved to help him, but he was already shuffling sideways, sucking his chest and stomach down and pressing himself unnaturally flat against the floor. Turning his head sideways, he inched through the gap. For a sickening moment while he was beneath the door, Mae found herself imagining what would happen if all the electricity in the world suddenly came back on and the door crushed him beneath it.

The thought made her wrap her arms around herself and hold her breath until he was safely out the other side. When he was gone, a hand appeared, and he curled his finger at her. “Your turn, Mae.”

Quickly, Mae thanked Caraway, then shrugged her backpack off and pushed it through after her father. When she bent down, she looked through the gap and smiled. Her dad was waiting for her. “Come on, slowpoke.”

Copying his moves, Mae flattened herself against the floor and turned her head sideways. Just before she disappeared, she looked for Caraway to thank him again, but he’d already left them. From this point on, they had only each other to depend on.

* * *

Making it through the fence and into the woods took nearly every ounce of energy her dad had left. They were barely inside the tree line when he dropped to his knees, panting, and shook his head. “Sorry, Mae. I can’t. I need to stop.”

“Just a little bit farther.” She bent over and tugged his elbows. “Not far. Just a bit. So we’re not so close to the depot.”

When her father didn’t reply, Mae gave his shoulders a shake. “We got this far, soldier. Now, come on. Get up.”

Slowly, her dad looked up and met her eyes. A smile twitched his lips, but Mae kept her expression stern.

“Up!” she repeated firmly.

With a heavy groan, her dad gripped hold of her arm and used it to lever himself up. “Okay,” he said, “Just a little farther.”

True to her word, Mae only made them travel far enough to ensure they weren’t right on the edge of the woods—easy targets for soldiers in the area. They found a fallen tree, which had created a kind of archway with its branches, and stooped beneath it. Inside the archway, they sat and caught their breath. Mae took Caraway’s supplies from the backpack and told her father to drink some more rehydration salts. “You’ve stopped being sick,” she said. “That’s a good sign, right?”

“I hope so.” He smiled at her, then took a long sip. As he lowered the bottle, he wrinkled his nose. “Always hated the taste of these things. They gave them to us in the Middle East if we ate something bad and got sick.”

Mae was listening, but she was also scrabbling around the nearby forest floor, looking for items she could use to construct a bow drill. When she’d found the appropriate pieces of wood, she pulled the cord from the backpack’s neck and used it to create the bow part of the drill. Then she set out a small bundle of dry moss and twigs, and began.

Her father watched her quietly. When she started to create smoke, he clapped. She grinned, surprised by his enthusiasm.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked, obviously impressed.

Mae shrugged and tucked her hair behind her ear. “When you went off-grid, I started doing some reading. In case I came out to visit you and we went hiking or something.” She looked down at the fire as it crackled to life.

“You really did that?” her father asked.

Mae glanced up hesitantly. She met his eyes and nodded. “Yep.”

“But you never visited,” he frowned.

“Never got an invite.” Mae smiled, taking her own bottle of water and drinking a few large gulps of it.

“Well,” her father said, sitting up so he was leaning against the tree behind them. “You’re getting an invite now.”

Mae frowned, trying to interpret what he meant.

“When all this is finished, your mother and I are going back to Thunder Bay. I have everything we’ll need for a good life there, Mae. And it’s away from…” He waved his hand at their surroundings.

“People trying to kill each other?” she asked.

Her dad nodded. “Precisely.”

Fiddling with the sleeve of her jacket, Mae inhaled slowly as she considered her response. “Will Trent be going too?”

“And Jess,” her father said. “We’re a team. I can’t leave the kid behind.”

“Or the dog,” she added.

“Definitely not the dog,” he replied. After a pause, he said, “Mae, Trent is a good kid. He’s had a lot of loss in his life. But he’s been there for me when I needed him. Helped me through some pretty tough spots.”

“Unlike your actual kid?” she snapped before she could think about what she was saying.

To her surprise, her father didn’t correct her. Didn’t tell her she was wrong to be jealous. Instead, he held out his arm and gestured for her to come lean against his shoulder. When she did, she hesitated before relaxing a little. Despite being sick, and dirty, and not having washed for at least a week, he still somehow smelled like her father. The way she remembered him. And he felt the same, too.

“Mae, we’ve got a lot of making up to do. A lot of history to sort out. I’ve made mistakes, so has your mother, and so have you. None of us are perfect.”

“But you never held a gun to my head and handed me over to be locked up.” She swallowed hard, emotion scratching at her throat.

“No,” her dad chuckled a little. “But I did kill your cat.”

“My cat?” Mae snapped her head up, frowning at him.

Her dad breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring. “That cat you had when you were six or seven?”

“Fluffy?” Mae remembered the animal’s thick ginger fur and the comforting vibration of her purr when she was curled up in her lap.

“Yep. Fluffy. I ran her over. By accident. Never told you.”

Mae blinked several times, struggling to compute what her dad just confessed. “You ran Fluffy over? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I? You loved that cat more than anything. I couldn’t tell you I did it.”

Trying to recall the memory, Mae said, “You told me a fox got her. We had a burial service and buried her in the garden.”

Her dad nodded. “See, I’ve made mistakes too.” He looked sideways at her.

Mae shook her head, almost laughing. “Holy crap, Dad. You killed my cat.”

“You held me at gunpoint.” He raised his eyebrows. “My point stands—we’ve all made mistakes. But we can repair the damage if we work on it.” He paused and reached for his water again. “You don’t have to answer me now. Just promise you’ll think about it.”

Pulling the sleeping bag from the pack Caraway gave them, and spreading it out over their knees, Mae yawned. The exertion of the past few days was catching up with her, and her eyes felt suddenly heavy. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

But before she could give it any thought at all, she was asleep.

31

LAUREL

“I’m coming with you.” Trent put his hands on his hips. He was glaring at Laurel with the passion of a teenager who knew he was right about something; Mae used to fire her a similar look when she was determined to get her way. “I know the building. I know where Bear is being kept. It makes no sense to leave me here. Especially when the Militia will be here any minute to start shooting us.”

Laurel’s eyes flicked to Sharon and Lisa. “Sorry,” she offered on Trent’s behalf.

“It’s all right.” Sharon shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She squeezed Lisa’s hand. “I’ve got Lisa to protect me.”

A little guiltily, Trent dropped his arms to his sides and shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he said, looking apologetically at Sharon.

“It’s okay, Trent, really.” Sharon smiled at him. “I’m not worried.”

As if she’d suddenly had enough of all the disagreements, Jess left Sharon’s side and stood in front of Laurel. Looking up at her, she barked and scraped Laurel’s boot with her paw.

“It’s okay, girl. We’re not fighting.”

But Jess barked again. This time she ran to the zipped-up opening of the tent and scratched at it.

“You need to pee?” Laurel moved to unzip the tent, but as she put her hand on the zipper the ground shook. A loud noise rumbled through the air, shaking the tent pole and causing the canvas to quiver.

“Was that…?” Lisa drew her gun.

“They’ve come early.” Laurel pressed her lips together and tried to fight the rising sense of panic in her chest. Gingerly, she pulled the zipper down. Outside, Freemen were emerging from their tents. A section of trees near the entrance was on fire. The guards Art had left there were firing, seemingly aimlessly, into the dark.

Art ran past her, pulling on his jacket, and holding a shotgun. “Stick to the plan! Defend the sick. Give them all barrels. Push them back.”

Laurel met Lisa’s eyes. Art’s commands were enthusiastic but were offering little actual direction, and had resulted in people running and shooting with little thought for strategy.

“Trent, stay with Sharon.” Lisa bent down and pulled two spare guns from a hiding place behind her backpack. She gave them one each. “Use these if you have to.” She looked at them each in turn. For a moment Laurel thought Trent might object, but then he nodded and said, “I will. Nothing will happen to her, I promise.”

Lisa squeezed Trent’s shoulder. “You’re a tough cookie, kid. So I believe it.” Then she nodded at Laurel, and the two of them headed toward the center of the fighting.

“It’s a lot of smoke and noise, but their numbers are low,” Laurel shouted. “We can push them back if we’re organized.”

She was pointing to a section of high ground, near the entrance to the camp, which would allow them a better view of what was happening, when Shane appeared at her side. “What’s happening?” he asked, wide-eyed. “The patients are terrified. Most of them are armed, but they’re in no state to fight.”

“Go back and tell them to stay put. They’re at the farthest edge of the camp. Hopefully we’ll stop the Militia before they get that far.” Laurel gave him a physical nudge. “Go, Shane. Before they decide to start running or fighting.”

“Art, this way!” Lisa was shouting at Art. He fired a shot into the smoke that was clouding the camp, then ran to her. “High ground. We need to see what’s going on.”

When they reached the sloped ground at the camp’s entrance, it immediately became clear that Laurel was right. The Militia’s numbers were small. They could easily be overpowered.

“Get everyone up here. Leave a few as a distraction,” Laurel said quickly. “See, they’re hanging back, trying to scare us. It’s quite literally smoke and mirrors.”

To Laurel’s surprise, Art didn’t argue. Instead, he did as she said. He returned a moment later with five others, including Brad and Marie. As soon as Laurel clocked them, she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Anyone but them; he could have brought anyone but them.

“Start taking them out,” Laurel instructed. “But shoot to wound, not to kill.”

Art frowned at her, then raised his voice above hers. “Just shoot,” he said. “I don’t care how many Militia get killed.”

For several long minutes, it seemed that Laurel’s strategy was failing. The Militia soon realized where they were positioned and diverted troops to the bottom of the slope. It was an even fight, and no one was gaining any ground. Laurel fired at a soldier trying to advance, hitting his foot and causing him to fall to the ground.

“Art, we need more numbers,” Lisa yelled. “The Militia are gathered here. If we had men to go around the back and pen them in, we’d win this.”

“We have no more men,” Art shouted above the sound of another smoke grenade being thrown.

“The patients.” Lisa glanced at Laurel. “Those who are able. If they could—”

“They’re not well enough,” Laurel replied, shaking her head.

“Do it.” Art nodded at Lisa. “Go tell Shane to get anyone who’s able to bring their weapons and encircle the Militia.”

“Lisa?” Laurel grabbed her friend’s wrist.

“Sorry, Laurel.” Lisa tugged free. “I can’t let them get into camp.”

She was thinking of Sharon. Fear swam in Lisa’s eyes as she stared at Laurel, so Laurel let go and dipped her head. “Be quick,” she said, turning back to the fight.

Within minutes, Shane and ten of the fittest patients appeared through the smoke. Just as Lisa had suggested, they looped around the back of the Militia. Laurel heard a voice she thought might be the Militia’s captain shout, “Don’t stop! Do not surrender!”

But, despite his orders, the shooting slowly stopped.

Stepping forward, as the smoke cleared a little, Art shouted into the night, “We are not your enemies! We know you’re sick, and we know what’s making you sick. Anyone who surrenders and joins the Freemen will be treated for their illness and will not be harmed. You have my word.”

“What’s your word worth? You’re the ones who’ve been making us sick!” someone shouted.

“That is a lie,” Art bellowed. “We believed the same, but our doctor has proved categorically that the reason we’re sick is not down to poisoning. It’s down to nature. Bad luck. That’s all.”

“It’s true.” Laurel joined Art and held up her gun, making a show of lowering it back into its holster. “We can help you.”

Murmurs rippled through the Militia. Laurel glanced at Art. Her fingers twitched next to her gun, ready to start fighting again if she had to. But then someone down below said, “I’m sick. Can you help me?”

Laurel strained her eyes to see who it was. A young woman with dark hair staggered forward. “Can you help me?” she called.

“Jones! Get back in line now!” The captain’s voice came from the back of the crowd, but Jones ignored him.

From beside Laurel, Lisa jogged down the slope and took the soldier’s hand. Laurel quickly joined her, and Cassie followed. “Anyone else?” Laurel asked as Lisa took the soldier’s weapon and handed her over to Cassie.

Mutterings began. The captain shouted again but still didn’t make himself visible. Two more stepped forward. Then another. One by one, Laurel and Lisa took their weapons and lined them up behind Cassie.

Shane appeared and smiled kindly at them. “Come with me,” he said. “We’ll get you all checked out.”

Laurel exchanged a relieved look with Lisa; it was working. But then a shrill voice from behind them yelled, “Stop! Are you insane! Letting them in? They’re sick. They could make us sicker. And they’ve been bent on killing us for months!”

Marie was incensed, waving her arms, gun still in her hand.

“Marie’s right. This is madness.” Brad pointed at the soldiers who were gathered with Shane.

“They can’t make us sicker than we already are,” Laurel bit back. “We are sick because of the water. It’s not airborne.”

“She would say that! Her daughter’s one of them. She hid in our camp for weeks, then betrayed her own father.”

Anger swelled in Laurel’s chest. How did they know about Mae? “My daughter has nothing to do with this!”

“She has everything to do with this. We all know what she did. People talk, you know.” Marie put one hand on her hip. With the hand that was holding her gun, she pointed at Laurel like a schoolteacher telling off an unruly child. “You think you’re better than the rest of us just because you’re a doctor. Well, I was someone important once too, you know. I managed the biggest chain of hair salons in the county. I was respected. I’m not as stupid as you think.”

“Marie, I never said you were stupid. Of course you’re not.” Laurel glanced at the gun. Marie was not an experienced weapons handler, and was far too emotional to be waving it around.

For the second time, she waggled it at Laurel. Then she took a step forward, her eyes flashing with anger. She was about to raise it to Laurel’s chest when a flash of white flew between them.

“Jess!” Laurel shouted as Jess sank her teeth deep into Marie’s hand.

Marie screamed and dropped the gun. Quickly, Laurel grabbed it, flipped the safety, and shoved it into her back pocket. As Marie shook Jess free, Jess ran to stand behind Laurel, teeth bared, growling.

“You took your guard dog role a little too seriously,” Laurel muttered.

In front of her, Marie was cradling her hand and wailing. “The wretched animal bit me! It needs to be put down! It bit me!”

Several people in the crowd muttered that she should shut up. Brad appeared at her side and tried to take a look, but Marie pulled her hand away.

“Marie, Jess was protecting me. Let’s take a look.” Laurel gestured to Marie’s hand, speaking softly. She reached out, nodding at Marie to let her see the injury, but Marie jerked away.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled. Then she fixed her eyes on Jess, who was now simply sitting behind Laurel watching what was happening.

In a flash, Marie lunged for her. She pushed Laurel out of the way, trying to plow her boot into Jess’s side, but Jess easily dodged her. Marie was reaching down, attempting to grab Jess’s collar, when Laurel finally snapped.

Grabbing hold of Marie’s jacket, she pulled her upright and shoved her until she was standing. “Marie?” Laurel barked, sucking in her cheeks.

“What?” Marie stared at her with wide eyes.

Without speaking, Laurel clenched her fist, pulled her arm back, and punched Marie hard in the face. As blood streamed from her nose, Laurel scooped Jess into her arms, then glanced down at Marie’s hand. “Jess barely even broke your skin. But at least now you’ve got a real injury to complain about.”

32

LAUREL

As the Militia continued to surrender, Laurel allowed herself to take a long-overdue deep breath. It rushed from her lungs, releasing the tension that had held her shoulders tight and straight. Next to her, Lisa said, “I think we did it. I think it’s actually working. They’re surrendering.”

“Stop!” The voice Laurel had pegged as belonging to the one in charge rose above the crowd. “Return to your positions. Stop! If you cross that line, you will be executed! You will be traitors to your country, your unit, your—”

“You’re the traitor!” another voice called out. This one was younger. Slowly the remaining soldiers parted to reveal an older man and a younger man staring at one another. Illuminated by the bright full moon, the older man aimed his weapon—right at the younger man’s chest.

Laurel lurched forward to intervene, but a hand on her arm stopped her. “Let them kill each other if they want to,” Art growled. “It’s not our business.”

But still, he stayed to watch while Shane started ushering those who’d given themselves up toward the quarantine zone.

“You brought us out here to fight when we’re sick, and outnumbered! You refused to help Mae when she tried to find out what was making us sick, and you attacked these people in the middle of the night using dirty underhanded tactics.”

Laurel’s heart jumped in her chest. She looked at Lisa. “Did he say Mae?”

Lisa nodded. They were both studying the young man. He looked, frankly, terrified of the older one, who was clearly a captain. He was shaking as he drew his weapon, and his voice had a tremor too.

The captain’s eyes narrowed. A sadistic smile spread across his face. “You really think anyone here will listen to you, Garber? You’re pathetic. A weasel. A good-for-nothing clown. These men pity you. They’ve all seen you scurrying around after Peterson, desperate to get into her bed.” The captain strode closer. If he shot Garber from this close range, the boy would be dead almost instantly. “The only reason you turned on her was because she didn’t return your obsession. And now you’re turning on me to try and win her back. It’s pathetic. Everyone here can see it.”

“Who can?” Garber replied quietly. To Laurel’s surprise, this boy who apparently was in love with her daughter drew back his shoulders and moved even closer, so the captain’s gun was pressed against his breastbone. “There’s no one here, Captain. Everyone has deserted you. Everyone with an ounce of sense has realized what you are.”

“And what is that?” the captain spat.

“A spineless sociopath, who’ll do anything to anyone if it helps him achieve his own ends.” Garber’s eyes flicked sideways. One of the few remaining Militia spectators drew his weapon and pointed it at the captain. In the time it took for the captain to turn and look at him, Garber grabbed his wrist and knocked his gun to the ground.

As the younger man kicked the gun free, Lisa grabbed it. The one who’d drawn his weapon to distract the captain was now being attacked by another soldier. Large, with big, thick hands that were tightening their grip around his throat.

“Green! Get your gun!” Garber called to his friend. “I can’t get a clean shot.” He was trying to help, but he was right; any shot he took could just as easily hit Green as it could hit his assailant.

Staggering back, Cornell watched as Green and his attacker wrestled. Green managed to pull his gun free. The attacker realized what was happening and tried to grab hold of it. They wrestled. No one intervened. And then a muffled shot rang out. Both men froze. Green jumped back, and his attacker fell to the ground clutching his stomach.

Immediately, Laurel ran to him.

“Why are you helping him?” Art growled, grabbing her arm.

“Because I’m a doctor.” She tugged free and pressed her hands to the bullet wound.

Green was staring at the bloodied body of his colleague when his eyes flicked up and he yelled, “Garber, watch out! He’s running!”

Garber whirled around. The captain was sprinting away from them, arms powering at his sides like he was in the final leg of a marathon.

“Shoot him, Garber!” Green shouted.

Garber lifted his weapon. He aimed, and fired, and the captain fell to the ground. “Holy heck,” he breathed, his eyes wide. “I hit him.”

* * *

“So, you know my daughter?” Laurel asked as she applied clean, warm water to a cut above his eyebrow.

“You’re Mae’s mom?” Garber asked, wincing at the pressure on his wound.

Laurel nodded. “And you’re her boyfriend?”

“Friend.” He was blushing, poor kid. “I’m her friend. Name’s Gideon.” He looked up and hesitantly added, “She gave me a message for you, actually. She told me to tell you that she’s okay. She’s with your husband. The doctor from our camp was helping her escape.” He winced again.

“Sorry,” Laurel said, lowering her hand and taking the cloth away.

“I can take you to her tomorrow.” Gideon smiled. He had a nice smile, but Laurel could see why his love for Mae might be unrequited; he was a nice boy, and historically, Mae preferred not-nice boys. Often unavailable, with large motorbikes.

“Laurel?” Shane interrupted them. Treating everyone by the light of the moon was not easy, but he’d been doing a job worthy of a medal.

Patting Gideon’s shoulder, Laurel promised him she’d be back and headed over toward the quarantine zone with Shane.

“I’m sorry about the gunshot soldier,” he said. “You did your best.”

Laurel wiped her hands and laced her fingers together. “I know. I guess we’re lucky he was the only fatality. An attack like that….”

“It helps that most of them were so sick they were barely able to stand,” Shane replied. “Speaking of which…I came to say we’re already seeing signs of improvement. Those who started their antibiotics yesterday are looking a little brighter. I’ve dished out the rest to those who are the sickest, and the Militia guys say they have a larger stash they can share with us if we go back with them tomorrow.”

“Water?” Laurel asked, looking toward the fire.

“Lisa’s supervising. Making sure there’s a pot constantly on the boil. Each one is boiled for fifteen minutes, then dished out to be drunk right away. Not stored.”

Laurel smiled, sighing at the same time, and making her lips flutter a little. “Fifteen minutes is probably overkill, but it won’t hurt to be safe rather than sorry.” She paused and shoved her hands into her pockets; now that she’d slowed down, she realized how cold it was at this time of night. “How’s the captain?”

“His name’s Cornell. Gideon hit him in the leg. Nothing more than a graze, unfortunately.” Shane grimaced. “He’s fine. Cuffed by a tree over there if you want to speak to him.”

Laurel nodded. “Yes, I do. Very much. You need anything here?”

Fighting a yawn, Shane mumbled, “No, I’m good. You go.”

Glancing up at the night sky, Laurel crossed the camp quickly. She spotted Cornell instantly, cuffed and tied to a large oak tree. He was sleeping, chin to his chest. She studied him for a moment. Could one man really be the cause of all this trouble?

Picking the leg that wasn’t injured, Laurel kicked Cornell’s boot and he woke with a start. “Who are you?” he barked.

“Mae Peterson’s mother,” Laurel replied, staring down at him with anger swirling in her veins.

A slow smile spread over Cornell’s lips. He looked Laurel up and down. “Well, well. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Clearly.”

For a moment, Laurel considered biting back. Giving him an earful like she did when Mae was young and one of her teachers was rude to her or caused her to cry. Instead, she found herself crouching down in front of him and saying quite simply, “You’re not worth the breath it would take to explain to you what a waste of human life you are.”

Then she stood up and walked away.

* * *

Laurel fell asleep sometime before sunrise and woke shortly after, snatching perhaps an hour. Not enough to rejuvenate her, but enough to instead make her feel groggy, as if she was walking through molasses and her eyes were blinking through tiny pinpricks of glass.

With aching limbs, she unfurled herself from the sleeping bag and looked over at Sharon. She was still sleeping, so Laurel rose quietly and ducked out of the tent before pulling on her boots and her jacket. From a nearby tent, Jess came trotting over. Trent wasn’t far behind her, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“You did a good job looking after Sharon last night.” Laurel hugged him and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

To her surprise, unlike Mae when she was a teenager, Trent didn’t shirk away from her but smiled and said, “Didn’t do much. Just sat there and held a gun.” He sounded a little disappointed not to have seen any action. But Laurel was unbelievably relieved that it hadn’t gone that far.

“So, they just surrendered? Just like that?” Trent asked as they headed for the coffee station. Already, Laurel’s skin was fizzing at the thought of caffeine.

“Not just like that, but once we pointed out they were outnumbered and sick, and that we could help them, they started to see the light. Then Mae’s friend Gideon—”

“He’s the one who helped us escape,” Trent said. “Well, sort of. He opened the cells so Mae could give Bear some water, then she knocked him out and stole the keys.” He laughed and shook his head. “Some daughter you’ve got there, Doc.”

“She knocked Gideon out?” Laurel laughed and shook her head. “Poor kid. No wonder he likes her. Boys always fall for the girls who are mean to them.” She glanced at Trent. “Remember that as you get older, and you’ll go far.”

Ignoring the reference to his future love life, Trent scooped Jess into his arms and said, “We’re going to find Bear today, right? We can’t leave him out there much longer.”

“As soon as we’ve fueled up with some coffee and some breakfast, we’re out of here. Gideon’s going to go with us. Lisa too.” Laurel looked sideways at Trent, then added, “And you’re coming too, right?”

Trent turned to stare at Laurel with a look of utter surprise on his face; clearly, he’d been expecting to have to fight for a place on the trip to retrieve Bear. “You bet I’m coming,” he said, grinning. Then he pointed toward the coffee station. “You take sugar in your coffee? I’ll get it.”

“Not usually, but today seems like a sugar kind of day.” Laurel swallowed a yawn and looked up at the brightening sky. It was going to be bright and clear. Surely that was a good sign?

She was sitting by the fire savoring the first overdue taste of caffeine when the familiar sounds of a commotion behind her made her close her eyes and sigh. “Not now. After the coffee,” she muttered. “Couldn’t it wait until after?”

Expecting to see Shane rushing toward her with an emergency, she stood up and readied herself to launch into action. But it wasn’t Shane, it was Marie.

Practically wailing, she raced toward Laurel, but then stopped and glared at her. “Where’s Art?” she hollered. “Where is he?”

“He’s sleeping,” Laurel replied in a hushed voice, hoping it might encourage Marie to be a little quieter too. “Marie, what happened?” Marie came closer. Her hand where Jess had bitten her was heavily bandaged and Laurel rolled her eyes, knowing that Shane would never have done that. “Marie?”

The woman looked around as if she was hoping Art would magically appear. Laurel blew out a breath and was about to walk away when she finally told her. “It’s Cornell. That awful captain.” She flailed her bandaged hand in some attempt to point, and Laurel’s coffee nearly spilled over the rim of her mug. “Someone set him free.”

33

MAE

While her father slept, Mae had spent the night staring into their small campfire. He’d asked her to go with him to his home in Thunder Bay. After everything she’d done, he’d asked her anyway. When she thought of it, replayed the moments when she pointed a gun at him and marched him through the woods to the warehouse, allowed him to be tied up and imprisoned, and then thrown in a jail cell, she felt sick to her stomach. Her entire body felt hot and prickly, as if small currents of electricity were running through her veins.

When her mother found out, she would surely be horrified. She’d look at Mae the way she used to—when she caught her sneaking cigarettes or boyfriends into the house or when she did poorly at her exams or told them she didn’t want to go to college. After that, she’d probably give her a speech, try to forgive her. But it would be there—the disappointment—always hovering in the background when they were in a room together for too long.

And her dad? Well, her dad would do as he said; he’d put it behind him, try to see the best in her, try to keep the peace.

For the hundredth time since her father fell asleep, Mae hung her head in her hands and sighed. How could she go back to living with her parents? They hadn’t exactly gotten along when there were things like cell phones and laptops and Netflix to distract them from each other. How would they cope with long, quiet evenings? Play board games? Read classic literature while curled in quaint little armchairs around a roaring fire?

She tried to picture it. Then she tried to insert Trent into the picture. She didn’t know him well, but knew he was a good kid. A funny kid. A kid who was clearly more loyal to her father than she was.

With her in the picture, it looked bleak. Full of quarrels, uncomfortable silences, and frustration. Without her—thinking of just her parents and Trent—the picture looked a lot rosier. The three of them laughing, playing with Jess, enjoying one another’s company and their chance to do parenthood with a kid who wasn’t anywhere near as much trouble as she’d been at Trent’s age.

“You look deep in thought, Mae Bug.” Her father’s deep voice made her jump.

“Sorry,” she said, tucking her knees up under her chin.

“How long have you been awake?” Her father heaved himself into a sitting position and rubbed his thumb over his too-long beard. Mae liked him with a beard, but not this much beard.

“A while,” she replied, shrugging. “Not much to offer you for breakfast, I’m afraid. How’s your stomach?”

Her father wrinkled his nose and rubbed his abdomen. “Sore, but a little better, maybe.”

“You didn’t puke up your salts,” she said, handing him a fresh bottle. “That’s a good sign, right?”

“Must be.” He tried a smile. It was weak, but it was there.

“Here, take another pill.” Mae handed him the second of Caraway’s three antibiotics and watched as her father swallowed it down with a swig of water.

“Will you be okay on your own for a while?” Mae stood up a little too quickly and whacked her head on the branch above her.

“Why? Where are you going?”

“Don’t stand up, Dad.” Mae waved at him to stay wrapped up in his sleeping bag. “I’m going back to the depot. I need to find out what happened last night.”

“You can’t go inside, Mae. If Cornell is back, and he knows what you did….”

“I’ll be careful,” she said firmly. “And I trust Gideon. I trust that he succeeded.” Her father pressed his lips together. Studying his face, Mae folded her arms and raised her eyebrow. “What does that look mean?”

“Gideon seems like a good kid. But not the most macho of the bunch.” Her father shrugged and took another long drink of water. “But you know him better than I do.” He met her eyes, then reiterated, “Please be careful, Mae.”

Ducking out of the cover of their small, sheltered spot, Mae released a long, steady breath. She looked up at the canopy above her and inhaled the scent of the nearby pine trees. Her father was right about Gideon; he wasn’t the most likely candidate to stage a coup. But perhaps all this time she’d misjudged him. Perhaps he was stronger than she thought he was; she’d never have guessed that he was capable of going behind Cornell’s back, but that was precisely what he had done. In order to save everyone.

Following the same route they took from the depot, Mae retraced their steps and headed back toward the rear of the complex. When she reached the treeline, she stopped. Looking down at the wire fence, she still hadn’t figured out how she was going to get close enough to speak to Caraway without risking being seen when a figure in the distance made her stare a little harder.

Limping along in broad daylight, disheveled, alone, and seemingly unarmed…. “Cornell?” Mae whispered under her breath, watching as he stopped for breath.

As if he was trying to straighten himself out, Cornell pushed back his shoulders and smoothed down his uniform. Mae couldn’t see his face from this distance, but she could tell that his stance was different. Something in him had broken. Gideon had succeeded; he must have.

Drawing her gun, Mae emerged from the trees and ran toward him. The instant Cornell spotted her, both hands flew into the air, palms out in a gesture of surrender. “Peterson, it’s me.” He attempted to smile. He’d never smiled at her before, and in that moment, Mae was glad of it because it contorted his face into an unnatural grimace. Like someone who truly had no idea what a smile should look like on a person’s face.

“I know.” Mae stopped, widened her stance, and raised her weapon.

Cornell’s eyes flicked to the gun and back to Mae. “Peterson, don’t do anything rash.” The smile was gone, his usual tone and jagged expression replacing it.

“What happened out there?” She tipped her head in the direction Cornell had come from. His nose was still swollen and red from where she had punched him. A swell of pride settled in her stomach. “Tell me,” she demanded.

Blinking at her, Cornell sucked in his cheeks and said calmly, “Your friends staged a coup. They switched sides. Betrayed their unit, their fellow soldiers, their—”

“I didn’t ask for a speech,” Mae snapped. “I asked you to tell me what happened. Now I know Gideon succeeded, I know what to do next.”

Cornell’s eyes flashed with anger. “Really? And what’s that?”

“I’m taking you into custody. You will likely be removed from your position pending an investigation into your conduct in the past weeks.”

Cornell scoffed loudly. “An investigation into my conduct? You’re the one who—”

“Stop talking.” Mae spoke quietly, shaking her head. She’d heard enough from Cornell to last her a lifetime. Now all she wanted was to hand him over to Caraway and let the others deal with him.

Aware she had nothing to restrain him with, Mae stepped forward, keeping her gun poised. She moved behind Cornell and pushed the barrel into his back. “Move. Now.”

When they reached the door Mae used to escape the complex yesterday, she called out. No one answered. She banged a fist on the metal door. Still, no one answered. But there was no way she could risk sliding underneath with Cornell in tow; it would give him too much opportunity to overpower her.

She’d raised her fist to bang for a second time when a flash of movement made her stop. She turned just as Cornell plowed his fist into the side of her face. She stumbled at the pressure, fell backward into the metal door, but managed to keep hold of her weapon. She was trying to raise it when Cornell whacked her wrist. The gun fell. He shoved his knee into her stomach, and she doubled over.

He reached for the gun, but she was faster and, doubled up, already closer to the ground. Lunging for it, she grabbed the gun, and flipped over onto her back. Flat on the ground, for a split second she stared up at Cornell, but her grip faltered and she was forced to spring to her feet so he didn’t get the chance to overpower her.

With a roar, Mae slammed every ounce of her body weight into Cornell’s chest, pushing him into the door behind him. She held the gun close to his head. Then she shoved her face close to his as she pressed it to his temple.

“I’m done with you, Cornell,” she growled. “Done.”

“Mae—” Her father’s voice didn’t seem real at first, but when she glanced over her shoulder, there he was, leaning against the gate, waving at her. “Stop… you don’t want to kill him. Not like that.”

Mae blinked and realized her eyes were full of hot, salty tears.

“Listen to your father,” Cornell whispered.

Mae ignored him.

Slowly, her father limped toward her and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll see it in your memories for the rest of your life, Mae. Do you want this scumbag’s face in your head forever?” He put his hand on the gun and slowly lowered it.

Mae looked down at their fingers, touching, then back at Cornell. “No,” she said. “I never want to see him again.”

“Good girl.” Her father gently tugged Mae back, taking the gun from her hand. When she was standing beside him, Cornell straightened himself up. He opened his mouth to speak, but before even a murmur could come out, her father slammed the gun into his temple.

Cornell dropped to the ground, holding his head. Blood dripped down his face.

“You touch my daughter again,” her father spat, “I’ll kill you myself.”

* * *

“Hand him over to the Freemen.” Caraway slapped a lazy Band-Aid onto Cornell’s bleeding head. “They might want him, but I don’t.”

Having found them outside, he’d fetched handcuffs for Cornell and had secured him to a nearby drainpipe.

“Should we wait for Gideon to come back or should I go find him?” Mae asked as they stepped away from Cornell.

“We didn’t get that far when we were planning,” Caraway replied sheepishly. “Truthfully, I never expected it to actually work.”

“I’ll go, then.” Mae took a swig of the water Caraway had offered her. “I’ll find Mom, and Trent, and bring everyone back here.”

“I’ll come with you.” Her father had been sitting on the ground, back to the fence, and stood up gingerly.

“Dad, you look like you’re going to pass out. Just getting down here from the woods was too much. You should stay here. I’ll be fine.”

“Might not have to go anywhere.” Caraway nodded at something in the distance, causing both Mae and her father to look up.

“Bear?” Her mother’s voice floated toward them. “Mae?” She started to run. Behind her, Gideon, Trent, a large black horse, and a small white dog were following.

Her father staggered forward a little, then gripped the fence to support himself. His entire face brightened. A smile came to his lips, and Mae was almost certain his eyes had become watery. Hanging back, she watched as her mother threw her arms around her father’s neck, then apologized for almost knocking him over, then held his face in her hands and said, “Are you all right? You look terrible. Are you sick?”

“If I am, you’re probably a little too close.” He laughed, but Mae’s mother shook her head and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I don’t care,” she whispered.

Looking away, Mae caught Trent’s eyes. She offered him a smile, and he smiled back. At their feet, Jess was barking—overcome with excitement. “You okay, kid?” Mae asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. Then it was his turn. He tucked himself under Mae’s father’s arm and was squeezed by both him and her mom. “Glad to see you still standing, PB,” Trent laughed.

“Only just,” he replied. Then he looked at Mae. “Mae Bug, get in here.”

She hesitated, but when her mother nodded at her, she stepped forward and let them pull her into the middle of the group hug. Trapped in her parents’ arms, she found Gideon watching them. She gently patted her dad’s back and squeezed free.

“You did it,” she said, lightly punching Gideon’s arm.

Gideon nodded, smiling to himself. “Yeah,” he said. “Not just me, though. I’m not sure it would have worked if your mom hadn’t been there.”

“You misplaced something, though.” Mae glanced over at Cornell and chuckled.

Gideon swiped his fingers through his hair and hung his head. “I’m sorry. I have no idea how he got free. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“Me too,” Mae muttered. “But perhaps he’s more useful alive.”

“Art kept him alive because he wanted to question him,” Laurel’s mother interrupted them, smiling gently at Mae as she slipped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “We should take him back to camp.”

“Why doesn’t the camp come here?” Caraway asked.

“Enemy territory,” Mae’s mother replied. “Plus, a lot of them are too weak to travel right now.”

“I have antibiotics if you need them, but I have people sick here too,” Caraway replied.

As he and Laurel’s mother walked away from the group, slipping into doctor-speak, Mae glanced at her father. He smiled warmly at her, arm around Trent, but then his smile dropped. He wavered on the spot. Then he fell to the ground.

34

BEAR

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER

Bear couldn’t figure out what he was staring at. He’d expected to wake up and see the grayish-blue sky above the depot. Laurel and Mae staring down at him with worry etched on their faces. Trent wide-eyed but ready to make a joke to elicit a laugh. Instead, he seemed to be looking at a stretch of dark green fabric. Lifting his head a little, he craned his neck and realized he was in a tent. He wriggled his legs, and found they were straining against the inside of a sleeping bag. Next to him was a bottle of water with a label on it that read, KEEP DRINKING. He recognized the handwriting—scrawly and barely legible, it had to be Laurel’s.

Sitting up, Bear took the water and unscrewed the cap. Taking several large gulps, he used his free hand to adjust his hearing aid, thankful it was still working.

He was taking another drink, assessing the fact that his stomach felt empty and on the verge of growling with hunger rather than raw and endangered, when a flash of light brought his attention to the tent’s entrance.

Slowly, as if someone was trying hard not to wake him, the zipper moved down toward the ground and the opening grew wider. A face appeared.

“Lisa?” Bear moved to sit up.

“Stay there,” she said. “Bed rest. Doctor’s orders.” Removing her baseball cap, she ducked into the tent and knelt beside him. After a slightly awkward pause, she gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re okay, PB.”

Laughing, Bear punched her lightly on the arm. “Ditto.” He looked behind her. “Sharon’s not with you?”

As he spoke, Lisa’s expression changed. She pushed her fingers through her short, dark hair and bit her lower lip. “I was going to wait to tell you but….” She inhaled sharply. “Sharon had an accident. She’s okay, but she can’t walk.”

As Bear processed the words, instinctively, his fingers went to his ear. It had been bad enough losing his hearing. He wasn’t sure how he’d have coped if he’d lost more than that. “I’m so sorry, Lis.”

“She’s okay,” Lisa repeated. “She’s being very Sharon about it. Putting on a brave face.” His friend’s voice brightened a little as she added, “The good news is that she’s got some feeling back. She felt Jess licking her toes a few days ago. So Laurel’s hopeful she could at least get some movement back eventually.”

Noticing the strain in Lisa’s voice, Bear refrained from offering her a comforting hug; she was the kind of person who liked to keep it together in situations like this. She wouldn’t thank him for making her cry.

Instead, he asked, “Is she here? At the depot?”

Lisa frowned, then laughed a little. “We’re not at the depot, Bear. We’re at the Freemen camp outside of town.”

Bear looped back through his memory. The last things he could recall were hitting Cornell in the head, seeing Laurel, then….

As he thought of smacking Cornell, a smile twitched his lips. But then he shook his head. “I don’t remember. How did I get here?”

“You were pretty out of it. Caraway gave you some IV hydration and we kept you down at the depot for a few hours, but we needed to get back and tell Art what had happened. So we put you on the horse and came back here.”

“And Cornell?” Bear asked, his tone darkening.

“Well, first of all, well done for knocking his lights out. Second of all, you two shared a ride. We brought him here and handed him over to Art.”

“Is he…?”

“Art kept him alive. For now. He wants to know what was so special about the depot. Why it was so important to Cornell.”

“Munitions, I’d expect,” Bear replied, scratching at the almost-gone label on his water bottle.

“Yes, but there are plenty of other places he could have secured those. Easier targets. There’s something about this place that made him desperate to take it back from the Freemen. Art wants to know what it is.”

“Can’t imagine Cornell being too keen on sharing that kind of information.” As Bear spoke, his stomach gurgled loudly.

“Looks like you’re ready for food.” Lisa raised her eyebrows at him. “I’ll go fetch you something.”

“Lisa, I’ve spent the past few weeks in confined spaces with no natural light. I need to get out of here.” Before Lisa could object, he added, “I’ll deal with Laurel.”

“All right. If you insist.” Lisa stood and offered him her hand.

Bear took it, heaving himself upright and letting his sleeping bag drop to the ground. As it did, Lisa let out a clap of laughter and shielded her eyes.

“Might want to put some pants on first, though, buddy.”

At the same moment he looked down, Bear realized there was a breeze around his legs that was making his hair stand on end. Instead of wearing pants, he was standing in front of Lisa in a pair of black boxers. “Right,” he said, looking around. “Pants.”

“How about these?” Lisa, still averting her eyes, gestured to a pair of khaki pants that were slung over a discarded backpack.

“Yep. They’ll do,” he said gruffly, cheeks flushing.

* * *

Outside, before Bear could even blink, a whirl of white fur barreled into his leg. Stooping down, he pulled a wriggling Jess into his arms and held her close while she furiously licked his chin and lips.

“I’m pleased to see you too, you big goofball.” He gave her another hug, then put her down and watched as she ran off—presumably looking for the juiciest stick she could find in order to entice him into a game of fetch.

“I’ll go see if Sharon’s awake. If she is, you want to come say hi?” Lisa asked.

“You bet.” Bear patted Lisa’s shoulder. Already, he was eyeing up what looked like the food tent. “I’ll be over here. If you see Laurel—”

“If I see Laurel, I’ll tell her you’re breaking the rules.” Lisa winked and jogged off in the opposite direction.

At first, Bear tried to stride off the way he normally would. But despite the fact that he was feeling a million times better, his legs were still a little wobbly. So he slowed to a gentle stroll instead. At the large trestle table, he picked up a clipboard and read the rules on what rations people were allowed to take.

“Trusting,” he muttered, noting that there was no one on guard, just trays and boxes of pre-sealed food set out ready for consumption.

“A lot of people are still sick.” Trent’s voice made Bear turn around. The kid was next to his bad ear, and he hadn’t heard him approaching. “They did this so they can take something if they feel like it without waiting for a main meal. Also, because they’re still having to boil the water extra-long and most people are feeling funny about eating stuff cooked in the pump water.” He tipped his head toward the water pumps nearby.

Pulling Trent in for a quick hug, Bear nodded his understanding, then turned back to the food. His stomach was growling angrily now, and he felt distinctly light-headed.

“I’d go for the oat cakes,” Trent said, picking up a small silver foil packet. “Laurel says they’re bland but filling. Exactly what you need.” He tossed Bear the packet and laughed at the disgruntled look on his face. “You can have something fried and greasy when you’re better.”

“I am better.” Bear tore into the packet with his teeth and closed his eyes as the first food in days passed his lips. Even though it tasted like cardboard, it was palatable cardboard and it was food.

“Better enough for coffee?” Trent glanced at the nearby fire. A pot of water was bubbling away. “It’s boiled to death before anyone’s allowed to drink it, so it’s safe.”

“Don’t tell Laurel.” Bear pressed a finger to his lips while Trent grabbed two metal mugs and tipped a teaspoon of coffee into each. “Do they have sugar?”

Trent laughed and shook his head. “Not on open rations. Strictly guarded. But coffee without sugar is still coffee, right?”

“Right.” Bear stopped for a moment to assess the boy standing next to him. He looked taller, but had the same cheeky spark he’d had when they first met. With everything they’d been through, he couldn’t imagine his life without him now, and he hoped Mae understood why Trent coming with them back to Thunder Bay wasn’t even a question.

At the fire, a light-haired guy with a strangely clean-shaven chin looked up as they approached.

“This is Brad,” Trent said slightly scathingly. “He’s the hot water guy today.”

“Hi, Brad.” Bear extended his hand but Brad didn’t take it.

Instead, he said, “You’re the doctor’s husband?”

Bear nodded. He didn’t like the tone of this guy’s voice when he said the doctor. “That’s me.”

Looking back into the fire, Brad didn’t reply, just gestured to the pot and said, “It’s been boiling forever. Help yourself.”

“Forever? That’s specific,” Bear muttered, picking up the ladle and scooping hot water into the mugs Trent was holding. As they walked away, he looked at Trent and tipped his head in Brad’s direction. “What’s that guy’s problem?”

“Jess bit his wife.” Trent looked like he was holding back a laugh.

“She bit his wife?” Bear almost dropped his coffee. “She’s never bitten anyone in her life!”

“Apparently the woman—Marie—isn’t a fan of dogs. She’s had it in for Jess from the start. Then she started waving a gun at Laurel.”

“That guy’s wife pointed a gun at Laurel?” Bear’s throat constricted with rage.

“She….” Trent looked like he was about to explain but then changed his mind. “It’s a long story. She’s an idiot. Jess bit her hand, she dropped the gun, then Laurel punched her in the nose.”

Bear raised his eyebrows at that. He could picture the exact look on Laurel’s face in that situation; it was the way she used to get with Mae’s teachers if they dared to suggest she wasn’t performing well at school, or with older kids who were mean to her on the playground. Indignant. Defiant. A mama bear who’d do anything to protect her family. He wished he’d been there to see her hit the woman. At least Jess tore a chunk off on his behalf.

As they rounded a corner, heading for what looked like an upturned tree trunk turned into a bench, Jess emerged from the trees. As predicted, she was carrying a stick and hurtled toward Bear, wagging her tail.

Careful not to spill his precious coffee, Bear threw it for her and was surprised that he still had a fair amount of strength in his arm.

When they reached the log and sat down, Bear gestured to Trent’s ear. “How’s the swan bite?”

“Can we not call it that?” Trent asked. “There’s a girl I’m trying to impress, and if she knows I got this from a swan it’ll be curtains for me.”

“A girl?” Bear puffed out a breath from between pursed lips. “What’d you tell her?”

Glancing at Bear sideways, Trent shrugged. “Wolf,” he said. Then added quickly, “It’s not a total lie. I have fought wolves before.”

“Ha!” Bear slapped Trent on the shoulder. “Yeah, I suppose you have. Okay. How’s the wolf bite, brave young warrior?”

“Okay. Bit sore. Laurel said you did a terrible job stitching it up.”

“I was in handcuffs. In the dark,” Bear muttered in his defense, although he was secretly looking forward to Laurel reprimanding him so he could flirt with her. “Where is she? Laurel? And Mae?” Bear cast his eyes around the camp. “Are they all right? Have they been…?”

“Talking? Yeah, they talked. Laurel was pretty angry about what Mae did to us, but she also helped us get free, so I guess Laurel’s like half-proud half-angry?” Trent shook his head. “You’ll have to ask them yourself. I’m staying out of it.”

“Good call.” Bear slurped his coffee and almost hummed with pleasure at the feel of warmth in his mouth. He was about to ask if Trent wanted to head over to Sharon’s tent with him when he heard movement behind him. Assuming it was Jess, he stood up and moved closer to the trees.

But it wasn’t Jess. It was people.

“So, have you made up your mind?” He’d know Laurel’s voice anywhere.

“Not yet,” Mae replied. Hanging back, a little guiltily, Bear strained his ear to listen as Mae continued. “Do you really think it’s a good idea, Mom? Last time I lived with you guys we didn’t exactly get along.”

“I know, Mae, but things are different now.”

“I blamed you too. When you and Dad split up. I was angry, and mean, and—”

“As your grandma would say, that’s all water under the bridge. We’re family. Family sticks together at times like this.”

There was a long pause. Bear’s heart thudded heavily in his chest as he waited for Mae to speak again.

“But do you actually want me there?” Her voice came out small and was hard to capture. Bear moved closer to the trees. “Do you really think it would work out, or do you just feel obligated to take me with you? Because the set-up you three have with Trent… I dunno. You guys gel better than the three of us do.”

“Mae, you’re our daughter.” Bear pictured Laurel taking Mae’s hand.

“I know, but he adores you guys. He doesn’t have a difficult history with you. He hasn’t ever slammed doors in your faces or yelled or smoked weed behind your back.”

“You smoked weed behind our backs?” Laurel’s voice went up a few octaves before she corrected herself and said, “Mae, look, that doesn’t matter. It’s not a competition. We care for Trent. He and your father have been through a lot together. But that doesn’t change the way we feel about you.” There was another pause; then Laurel said, “This could be good for us. It could be what we need to get our family back on track.”

“I—”

“You don’t have to decide now. We said we’d help Sharon and Lisa get settled wherever Art’s headed next. Take your time. But know that your dad and I both want you with us. Truly. And all that other stuff… it doesn’t matter.” A shuffling of feet indicated that Laurel had moved closer to Mae. “I love you, Mae, and I always will.”

Sensing they were about to emerge from the woods, Bear jumped back and returned to the bench. Trent gave him a quizzical look, but he ignored it and tilted his head toward the trees.

When Laurel and Mae stepped into sight, Laurel’s first reaction was to yell, “Bjorn Peterson, what are you doing out of bed?” Her second was to rush over and hug him.

Pulling her into his arms, Bear breathed in her scent. Still the same, somehow, despite the fact she had no access to her fancy perfumes or body creams. “I needed some air,” he said, watching over Laurel’s shoulder as Trent conspiratorially hid his coffee mug for him. “Managed an oat cake, too.”

“Good.” She stood back and examined his face. “That’s good. You look brighter. A few more days of antibiotics and rest, and you should be good as new.”

“You two okay?” Bear looked from Mae to Laurel.

Not giving any hint of the conversation they’d just had, Mae nodded. “All good,” she said. “Saw Jess running past us with a giant stick.”

“She’s teasing me. Wants me to run after her, I reckon.” Bear laughed and scratched his beard. It was still far too long.

“Want me to trim that for you? Your hair could do with a trim too,” Laurel pointed out as the four of them headed back toward the main camp.

“No thanks. I’ve seen your hairdressing skills,” Bear chuckled.

“Well,” Laurel huffed, putting her hands on her hips, “they’re not as bad as your suturing skills. Trent’s ear is a complete mess.”

“It’s okay. I kinda like it.” Trent pulled a macho face and growled.

“It has character,” Bear retorted. “Not some boring old straight line you can barely see.”

As Trent and Laurel started to laugh, Bear glanced at Mae. She was watching them with a slightly far-off look on her face.

“What do you reckon, Mae Bug?”

Blinking at him, Mae shook her head. “I reckon we find a couple of dead pigeons and have a suture-off to settle it,” she quipped.

“Ha!” Trent punched the air. “Love it! Just don’t tell Kermit if we see him again. Not sure he’d approve of pigeons being used like that.”

“Who’s Kermit?” Mae frowned.

Trent exchanged a knowing look with Laurel and Bear. The three of them began to laugh, then simultaneously they answered, “Don’t ask.”

35

LAUREL

THREE WEEKS LATER

Seeing the campsite without tents, laundry hanging on lines, trestle tables, and a big roaring fire felt strange. Despite the fact they hadn’t stayed long, it had grown to feel like home. Especially since Bear, Mae, and Trent returned.

Having been on the move for so long, it had made Laurel realize how much she longed for a sense of permanence after the drama of the past months. Now, at last, she hoped they were close to that.

One last stretch and then they’d be on their way to Thunder Bay. From her place by the wagon, helping to load the last of their supplies into it, Laurel searched for her daughter. She found her with Shane, helping him stock-check their remaining medication. As Mae laughed and smiled at him, Laurel smiled too. Seeing her daughter in civilian clothes, hair loose, with slightly flushed cheeks, was like a much-needed tonic. And it proved that there was more to Mae than the person she’d become while with the Militia.

Laurel turned back to the wagon. They’d fetched and repaired the one they left on the hill when they first came to the camp, so now there was one for Sharon, the kids, and the medication, and a second for food, weapons, and other supplies.

“Almost done?” Art had been stroking the horse’s head, but now moved around to where Laurel was standing and folded his arms in front of his stomach.

“We’re good. Just waiting on Shane to finish with the medication. He’s got a list of things we need to top up. We could detour to my old hospital, but that’s pretty far out of our way.”

“We’ll find somewhere. There will be hospitals en route.”

Laurel nodded. She hadn’t allowed herself to think much about what would happen when the world ran out of antibiotics and painkillers. “What happens when we meet up with the other Freemen?” she asked. “Will you set up camp with them? Because Bear and I would like to stay and help get Sharon settled before we carry on back to Canada.”

Art looked at her sideways. It was a look that made her feel decidedly uneasy. Adjusting her glasses on her nose, Laurel waited for him to speak.

“The Freemen we’re meeting,” Art said slowly. “We’re going to ask them to join us.”

Laurel frowned; she thought the idea was for Art to find his Freemen friends and ask to join them. “Join you?”

Sighing a little, Art turned to Laurel and braced his hand on the side of the wagon. “Laurel, we can’t just let Cornell get away with what he’s done.”

As Art spoke, Laurel closed her eyes. She could already sense where this was heading and she didn’t like it one bit. “Art, it’s over. We agreed that we’re leaving. Cornell is in custody. The Militia has disbanded. Most of them have joined us. What’s the sense in—”

“But it’s not just Cornell and his men.” Art lowered his voice, then took Laurel’s elbow and guided her away from the wagons. “Members of Cornell’s inner circle have shared information with us. Information that suggests Cornell is just a cog in a much bigger machine. All over the country, offshoots of the Militia are doing what they did here. Hurting people. Destroying families. Ruthlessly attacking people who try to protect themselves.”

Trying to sift through what Art was saying and sort out truth from motivational speech, Laurel closed her eyes. But Art, still holding her elbow, gave her a little shake and made her look at him.

“Laurel, we have to take down the head of the Militia. Taking Cornell out isn’t enough. Only then will it truly be over.”

“The head of the Militia?” Laurel hissed. “You’re serious?”

“There are papers back at the depot. Papers that detail who these people are and where they are.” Pushing his shoulders back, finally letting go of her, Art added, “We’re going there now, then we’ll join the other Freemen, and then we’ll put an end to the Militia. For good. It’s the only way to be truly free, and we need every able-bodied person to help.”

* * *

As Laurel crossed the campsite, looking for Bear, she felt slightly dazed. Her emotions had gone from one extreme to another in a matter of minutes. She’d thought they were finally on the home stretch. Now Art was asking one more big thing of them, and she had no idea what was the right thing to do.

“All set?” Bear emerged from the very last tent—Sharon and Lisa’s. “Sharon’s ready. We’ll take down the tent when she’s in the wagon. Didn’t want it to start raining on her.”

“It’s a clear day,” Laurel replied absentmindedly.

“Clouds rolling in.” Bear looked up at the sky and she followed his gaze. He was right; dark gray clouds were slowly drifting toward them. “You all right, Doc?” Bear asked, wrapping a familiar arm around her waist. He’d been lighthearted, but when he studied the expression on her face his forehead creased and he said, “Okay, what is it? Tell me.”

“Art wants us to go with him.” Laurel scraped her fingers through her hair.

“Ah ha.” Bear rubbed his now-neatly-trimmed beard. “We knew that. We said we’d go with him to the new campsite, help get Sharon what she needs, then—”

Laurel shook her head. “Not to the new campsite.” She breathed in sharply and ducked out of Bear’s grasp. “He wants to take down the Militia.”

Again, Bear looked confused. “I thought we already did that.”

“Apparently, there’s a bigger organization fronting the whole thing. Art got info from Cornell’s cronies. He wants to take down the whole Militia. The head guy. Finish them altogether.”

As Bear absorbed Laurel’s words, he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Damn it,” he said, his lips curling into an almost-smile. “I thought we were finally—”

“Out of danger?”

“Something like that,” he added. Then he breathed in and straightened his shoulders. “There’s only one thing to do.”

Laurel’s heart fluttered a little. Bear had a solution. Thank God she wasn’t the one having to decide.

“We vote.”

* * *

Half an hour later, as Art loaded the last of the wagons, Laurel waited inside the trees behind the water pumps. Tapping her foot impatiently, she studied the gap in front of her. Finally, Bear’s tall, sturdy figure appeared. Behind him, Mae and Trent ducked into the shadows too. Trent was holding Jess’s leash, and she wagged her tail eagerly as if she was wondering what exciting game they were all going to play.

“What’s this all about, Dad?” Mae asked, her voice prickling with curiosity.

“Are we forming a secret club?” Trent asked, grinning.

“Not quite,” Laurel replied. Then she looked at Bear.

Quickly, because Art was hollering for everyone to gather at the wagons, Bear repeated what Laurel had told him. When he reached the end of it, he looked purposefully from Trent to Mae and said, “So, we have a decision to make.”

They both stared at him.

“We’re going to vote as a family. Do we go our own way? Or do we help Art defeat the Militia?”

At the word Militia, Mae hung her head and pressed her lips together. “I’ll do whatever you think is best,” she said quickly.

“Nah ah.” Bear shook his head. “That’s not how this works. We each vote. Majority wins.”

“What did Sharon and Lisa say?” Laurel asked.

“They’re with Art,” Bear said solemnly. “They’re worried about what’ll happen with Sharon, but they said if there’s a way they can help take down the Militia, they will.”

Laurel inhaled slowly and pushed her glasses up onto the top of her head. “You first,” she said to Bear. But he shook his head. From his pocket, he took out a piece of paper and a pencil.

Tearing the paper in half, he looked at them and said, “Write stay or go. Everyone takes a turn with the pencil. Then we count.”

One by one, they each scribbled on their voting slip, then handed them to Bear. “Okay,” he said, sifting through the pieces of paper. When he looked up, his eyes were sparkling. “It’s unanimous. The Peterson family is going to help take down the Militia.” He reached for Laurel’s hand and squeezed it. “And after that we’ll get our happy ever after.” He looked down at her and smiled. “I promise.”

EPILOGUE

JANET

With the sun lazily creeping up over the horizon, Janet looked at the empty wheelchair beside her. It had remained here, in this exact spot, since Laurel left; a tribute to Deb, and a place most of them had visited—at one point or another—to seek counsel and advice.

Of course, Deb had never answered. How could she? But, somehow, looking out from the hospital roof over South Minneha’s skyline brought a sense of peace that almost all of them associated with Deb Rivera. Up here, it was easy to believe that everything would be okay. It was easy to believe that Deb was watching over them from wherever she was now, and doing her best to keep them safe.

Janet flexed her fingers and tapped the steaming metal mug she was holding. It was filled with weak, sugarless coffee. Some days, she managed to persuade herself she’d grown used to the taste. Today was not one of those days.

Raising the mug to her lips, she slurped a mouthful and winced as she swallowed. There was barely enough caffeine in their watered-down rations to keep a mouse going all day, let alone the hospital’s only working nurse.

Hannah had been trying to help her, of course, but the poor girl’s morning sickness had become so bad over the last two weeks that she was barely able to get out of bed. She’d hardly eaten in days, and Janet was beginning to worry. Hannah was still smiling, and telling Bulldog that it was completely normal, but both women knew this kind of extreme morning sickness was both uncommon and very nasty. Janet had been putting off starting her on intravenous fluids, in case they were more necessary later on, but it seemed they were inching closer to “later on” and that the IV might be needed sooner than she’d hoped.

At first, when Laurel left, she hadn’t minded being the most senior medic on the premises. She’d felt confident that they’d weathered the worst of the illnesses, and the drama, and the bullet wounds, and that she’d be able to handle whatever was thrown at her. She was an experienced nurse; there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen or dealt with in her time, and okay, she didn’t have Laurel’s field experience or ability to problem-solve in the blink of an eye. But she did know her stuff. Proudly so.

So many weeks later, however, her confidence was beginning to waver.

It wasn’t just medical issues she had to contend with; the building was falling apart, their supplies of pretty much everything were running perilously low, and she’d heard the others talking about whether it might finally be time to jump ship.

She’d tried speaking to Bella about it, but as always, the woman was reveling in a spectacular level of denial and refused to take Janet’s concerns seriously.

“We’re a family,” she’d said. “No one is going to leave, Janet. Stop worrying.”

But Janet was worried. She’d seen this before, not long after the EMP first happened. People getting scared, wondering whether they’d be better off going it alone, whispering between themselves late at night before finally making the decision to leave.

Even Laurel had gone about it that way. She hadn’t discussed it with them or let them know what she was thinking. She just sprang it on them; a foregone conclusion.

Janet supposed she should have expected it, after Deb’s passing and Laurel’s husband returning, but it had still come as a shock. She’d tried to be supportive; Laurel was her friend, and she understood the need to find out what happened to her daughter. Nevertheless, now that things were becoming so difficult, Janet was finding it hard not to feel bitter about Laurel’s decision.

Glancing down into her coffee, she swilled it around the inside of the mug before drinking it down like a shot of tequila. Unlike tequila, it didn’t burn her throat or make her feel warm and lightheaded. It slid down and settled like a slightly murky puddle in the bottom of her stomach.

“Okay, Deb.” She patted the arm of the wheelchair before standing up. “Time to face the day. Any last words of advice?”

She imagined Deb smiling at her, lips painted in bright red lipstick, a glamorized throw around her shoulders. As long as you go to bed tonight knowing you did your best with the day, that’s all you can ask of yourself.

Janet wasn’t sure whether that was something Deb had ever said, but it sounded like the kind of nugget of wisdom she’d dish out. She smiled, almost convinced she could still see the outline of a person in the empty chair, then took a deep breath and forced herself to leave her happy place.

* * *

Inside, if it was even possible, felt colder than outside. The stairwell that led down to the belly of the hospital was dark, damp, and hadn’t smelled right for weeks.

When she reached the bottom, before she’d even pushed the door open, she could hear a commotion in the hallway.

“Everything all right?” she asked, straightening her shoulders and striding through the door. She was short, but mighty when she used her assertive voice.

In front of her, the boys, Peter and Liam, were clearly arguing with one another. They sprang apart and stared at Janet with flaming pink cheeks, hands behind their backs and sheepish expressions on their faces.

“You weren’t fighting, were you, boys?” Janet folded her arms and gave them her best stare; it was the stare her own mother had used, and was guaranteed to make the object of the stare shudder.

“No, Janet,” Peter muttered.

“Yes, we were,” Liam countered. Shooting Peter a fierce glare, he added, “Peter’s dad wants to leave, and he’s told us not to say anything, but I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, and I definitely don’t want to sneak off in the middle of the night without telling anyone. It’s not fair.”

“Dad never said anything about sneaking off.” Peter’s voice hitched up a couple of octaves as he sprang to his father’s defense.

Pushing aside the tugging sensation in her gut, Janet cleared her throat and unfolded her arms. This time, she rested them on her hips. “Now, boys,” she said. “This is a discussion you need to have with Peter’s dad, and it’s certainly not worth falling out over.” Softening a little, she positioned herself between them and wrapped her arms around their shoulders. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go and find him.”

“He won’t listen,” Liam sniffed. Glancing down at him, Janet noticed tears in the boy’s eyes. She hugged him a little closer.

“I’m sure he will if you tell him how you feel.” She took a deep breath, aware of what she was about to say but also that it needed to be said. “But you also need to remember that Mr. Jenkins has your best interests at heart. If he thinks it’s best for you to leave the hospital, then you need to listen to him. He’s your guardian.” She met Liam’s eyes.

“Not officially,” he muttered.

“Maybe not, but he has taken care of you, and he cares for you.”

“You want us to go?” Peter asked.

Janet stopped and nudged the boys so they were standing side-by-side in front of her. “No,” she said, “of course I don’t. I want us all to stay together.” She looked up at the ceiling. It was thick with mold from a pipe that had burst not long after Laurel left. “But this place isn’t the same as it was. Peter’s treatment has finished. You’ve both been doing well, and summer’s on the way. So, if Mr. Jenkins feels—”

“If Mr. Jenkins feels what?” Chris Jenkins’ soft voice drifted over from the doorway to their right. He was leaning against the frame, and Janet had no idea how long he’d been listening.

Patting the boys’ heads, Janet told them to go play while she chatted with Peter’s father. “You can have your own talk with him later,” she promised.

At first the boys hesitated, but when Chris told them to go ahead, they chased off down the hall, already friends again and over their disagreement.

“They told you we were thinking of leaving?” Chris asked, stepping in line with Janet as they made their way slowly in the direction of the atrium.

Janet nodded. “Yes, they told me.”

“I’m sorry you had to hear it from them instead of me.” Chris scraped his fingers through his hair. It was long and becoming scraggly around the neck area. His beard was long too. Janet wondered if he’d trim it in the summer or if he intended to keep it.

“It’s all right,” she replied. “I understand.”

“I just feel that this place isn’t safe for the boys anymore. It’s becoming a target, Janet. Since we boarded it up, it’s helped. But the boys are trapped. They barely get outside.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a cousin in Iowa. He had a cabin he used for fishing. Out by a lake. Away from….” He waved his hands at their surroundings.

“Trouble,” Janet finished.

“Now that Peter’s doing so well, and the meds have run out, I want the boys to have some freedom. To try and give them something normal.”

“If he gets sick again,” Janet said quietly. “If either of them gets sick again…”

A darkness flickered across Chris’s face. “If either boy gets sick again, you and I both know I won’t be able to fix them, and honestly, I don’t think Peter would want to go through that again.” Beneath his beard, Chris’s throat reddened as he spoke. “As to Liam… I don’t know.”

Janet put her hand on his forearm and squeezed lightly. “It’s a good decision,” she said quietly. “You should go.”

“What about you?” Chris met her eyes as they simultaneously pushed open the swing doors into the atrium. “What about this place?”

Janet cast her eyes around the large glass-ceilinged entrance hall. The panels above them, once clear and glistening, were now almost opaque with grime. Outside, weeds were becoming increasingly unruly. Inside, glass still crunched underfoot from when a large tree had careened into the building in a storm a few weeks back. It had taken Bulldog, Bella, and Chris days to chop it down, remove it, and board up the gaping hole that was letting rain and wind into the building.

“We’ll stay until Hannah has the baby,” she said. “Then we’ll decide.”

Chris pressed his lips together. For a moment, Janet thought he might hug her, but before he got the chance to, the doors behind them clattered open.

“There are people at the ER doors.” Bella stood in the doorway, bracing the left-hand door with her foot so it didn’t close on her.

“We boarded them up,” Janet replied. “We agreed.”

“I know, but one of them is bleeding. Bulldog checked from the windows upstairs. They’re telling the truth.” Bella folded her arms. “You’re the nurse. It’s your call.”

Janet’s chest tightened. The skin on her arms prickled. She closed her eyes, then inhaled slowly and said, “They need help. We should let them in.”

END OF COLLAPSED WORLD

EMP AFTERMATH BOOK FIVE

Broken World, July 13, 2022

Chaotic World, August 10, 2022

Dangerous World, September 14, 2022

Divided World, May 10, 2023

Collapsed World, June 14, 2023

Lawless World, July 12, 2023

PS: Do you love EMP fiction? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Lawless World, Burned World, and Survive the Fall.

THANK YOU

Thank you for purchasing ‘Collapsed World’

(EMP Aftermath Book Five)

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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

The final battle for survival has begun…

Reunited with his wife and daughter, Bear knows his family will never be truly safe until the Militia has been eliminated. Determined to end the threat once and for all, they agree to help the Freemen with one final push against this dangerous enemy.

Meanwhile, Laurel struggles to combat a new sickness sweeping through the Freemen ranks before they lose anyone else. Seeking vital medical supplies, they travel to Laurel’s former sanctuary, South Minneha Hospital. But a lot has changed since they left to go find Mae. The hospital is in ruins and the remaining residents are struggling to survive in the wreckage.

The Militia have one final trick up their sleeves — weapons of war, that survived the EMP — and General James Bruce plans to rain fire upon his enemies. Bear, Laurel and the others have no choice. They must fight to survive.

But against such overwhelming firepower, is all hope lost?

Get your copy of Lawless World

Available July 12, 2023

(Available for pre-order now)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

* * *

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Laurel

Splinters of sunlight landed on Laurel’s closed eyes and warmth spread from her cheeks to her throat. She tugged at her scarf and shoved it into her back pocket, then unzipped her jacket.

Finally, the days were getting warmer. They still began with a crispness that made climbing out of her sleeping bag a feat of willpower, but by midday—and with the effort of the trek—she was usually hot enough to remove her bulkier layers.

“I’ve worn padded coats, and layers of sweaters, for so long I almost forgot I had a body under here,” she said, glancing at Bear.

“I hadn’t,” he muttered, a smile twitching his usually stoic lips.

Laurel rolled her eyes, tucked the jacket beneath her backpack, and tied it around her waist. The scarf, which her mom knitted her, she looped through the left-hand strap so it hung close to her. For a moment, she allowed herself to touch the gold cross she’d worn every day since her mom passed. She let memories wash over her, counted to ten, then shook her arms at her sides and strode through them.

Ahead, Mae’s long blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders. She was talking to Shane, her face animated and her cheeks flushed. Laurel smiled to herself; Mae might keep insisting it was the effort of walking that was making her blush, but moms always know when their daughters are lying. Even if they’re lying to themselves as well as everyone else.

“She likes him,” Laurel said, nodding in Mae’s direction.

“Who are we talking about?” Nudging himself in between Laurel and Bear, Trent stretched up on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around their shoulders.

“Mae and Shane,” Bear replied, a note of fatherly annoyance in his voice.

“I like Shane, he’s cool.” Trent released his grip on them, took a candy bar from his pocket, and ripped it open.

“If you keep eating one a day, your stash will be gone before the end of the week.” Bear fiddled with his hearing aid as he spoke. When he caught Laurel watching him, he stopped and tried to act as if nothing was the matter.

As Trent jogged off ahead to go annoy Mae, Laurel gestured to Bear’s ear. “It’s bothering you? Do we need to try and adjust the fit?”

Bear’s nose wrinkled involuntarily. He scratched his beard, avoiding her gaze.

Studying his face, Laurel narrowed her eyes. “You’re nearly out of battery aren’t you?” She skipped in front of him, momentarily walking backward to force him to look at her. “Bear, you should have said. We passed through a town two days ago. We could have—”

“We didn’t have time. Besides, I think we’re daydreaming if we believe we’ll be able to find a never-ending supply of hearing aids that weren’t damaged by the EMP.” His forehead wrinkled and, as Laurel stepped back in line with him, he put a firm hand on her shoulder. Sighing, he added, “We should start planning for when….”

Laurel reached up and squeezed his fingers. “For when there’s no more hearing aid?”

Without looking at her, Bear nodded. “In the cabin, on my own, it wasn’t a problem. I chose not to use them. But now.” He finally turned his head to look at her. This time, his smile was more melancholy. “We have too much to talk about, and we haven’t had time.”

Trying to lighten the mood, Laurel was about to tell him he’d have to write her a love letter instead, and that big speeches were never really his thing anyway, when she caught a flash of movement up ahead.

Breaking ranks from the group, Mae was jogging toward them. “Mom? It’s Shane. He’s not looking good. The rash is back and he said his throat feels scratchy.”

“Oh, no.” Laurel quickly shrugged off her pack, pushing it into Bear’s arms, and ran after Mae.

While the rest of the group was still moving, Shane had stopped beneath a tree and was sitting down, clearly struggling to catch his breath. Scratching his arm furiously, he offered her a weak smile. “Sorry, Doc, don’t mean to hold everyone up.”

“Don’t be silly. When did it come back?” Laurel crouched down and gestured for him to roll up his sleeves. As well as peppering his forearms, hives had broken out on Shane’s neck and face.

Mae put her hand on his. “Try to stop scratching,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

Coughing, Shane nodded at her. “Yes, Ma’am,” he chuckled. But the laugh brought another coughing fit. Clutching his chest, he leaned forward.

“This is an allergic reaction.” Laurel gestured for her own pack. Bear put it down next to her. “Have you been taking the Benadryl I gave you?”

Shane nodded. “Skipped it this morning. We’re running low and a couple of others look like they’re…” Shane drew in a deep shaky breath. He looked on the verge of panic, which was the worst thing that could happen when he was already short of breath.

“Enough talking.” Laurel started rummaging for the Benadryl. “In through the nose.” She pulled out her medical kit and quickly unzipped it.

“Mom, he looks really flushed.” Mae grabbed Laurel’s arm and squeezed hard.

“Laurel.” Shane gasped and clutched his throat. “Can’t…breathe….” He began wheezing. Tears sprung to his eyes.

Finally, she had her hands on the Benadryl. Laurel pressed it onto Shane’s tongue. “Can you swallow?”

He shook his head, eyes wide, a nauseating rasping sound shaking the back of his throat.

“Does anyone have an epi-pen?” Laurel stood up, heart hammering, yelling at the top of her voice.

As if in slow motion, the other Freemen stopped and began turning around. But no one said “yes” or charged forward waving one in the air.

When Laurel turned back, Mae was leaning over Shane, shaking his shoulders. “Give him space, Mae.” Laurel tried to tug her back, but Mae wouldn’t budge.

“Shane? Shane? Can you hear me?” Mae’s voice cracked and she slumped back onto her knees. Bear appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her and helping her to her feet. She began to sob, turning to press herself into her father’s chest.

“He’s gone, love, I’m sorry,” Bear whispered.

Laurel breathed out so fast and so hard it stung her lungs. Suddenly too hot again, she pulled her jacket from her waist and threw it to the ground. “Damn it!” She crouched down, rocking on her heels, and took off her glasses, leaving them hanging from her forefinger.

“What happened?” Art’s deep, gruff voice broke through the commotion behind her. “What happened to him?” He moved as if he was going to step forward, then stopped and cursed under his breath.

“Anaphylaxis,” Laurel muttered. “He went into anaphylactic shock.”

“An allergy?” Art shook his head. “What was he allergic to?”

“I have no idea.” Laurel could barely speak. The words were like sandpaper on her tongue. “But he said others were showing the same symptoms. That was why he didn’t use his allergy meds.” Muttering now, speaking mainly to herself, Laurel said, “I’ll examine him for insect bites. We’ve been walking through thick forest for days.”

“Snakes?” Art asked. “Could it be a snake bite?”

“Not likely. He’d know if he was bitten by a snake, and with others—”

“Stop!” Mae’s cry was high-pitched and loud enough to make everyone around them fall silent. Wiping tears from her cheeks, she strode over to Laurel and shook her head fiercely at her. “He just died and you’re talking about him like he’s a cadaver in a morgue that you can experiment on.”

“Mae, that’s not….” Laurel sucked in her breath and evened out her tone. “I’m sorry.” She reached for her daughter’s elbow, then gently nudged her closer. “I’m sorry, Mae, I didn’t mean to sound uncaring. I’m trying to stop this from happening to anyone else. We don’t have epi-pens. If something is causing this—”

Tugging away from her, Mae shook her head. “Do what you want,” she said darkly, shaking her head. “You always do.” Then she strode off, arms wrapped around her own waist, quietly sobbing.

* * *

“I handled that well.” Laurel nodded to where Mae and Bear were sitting, nearby but not close enough for Laurel to hear what they were saying to each other.

Lisa, who’d been staring at Shane’s unmoving body, offered Laurel a bottle of water and said, “She’s upset. She liked him. Don’t take it to heart.”

Sighing, Laurel pinched the bridge of her nose, then looked at the water. “Have anything stronger?”

Secretively, Lisa reached into her pocket and took out a small metal flask. “Don’t tell anyone I shared,” she said. “Don’t want to ruin my reputation for being uncaring.”

“I’m not sure you have that reputation at all,” Laurel replied, taking the flask and downing a large swig of whiskey, which stung the back of her throat.

Ignoring the compliment, Lisa put her hands on her hips and gestured to Shane. “What are we going to do?”

“With Shane or with the other people who are sick?” Laurel tried to keep the hint of exhaustion from her voice, but it was almost impossible; the thought of another illness sweeping through camp so soon after they defeated the last was almost too much to handle.

“Both.” Lisa looked over her shoulder. The other Freemen were huddled together, talking in hushed voices, upset but too worried about their own safety—in case what had killed Shane was catching—to get any closer.

Laurel was about to reply when Art reappeared from the middle of the crowd. “We need to bury him,” he said. “Is it safe to be near him?”

“It was an allergic reaction,” Laurel replied. “Whatever he had isn’t contagious, but the same allergen could be making others sick.” She gestured to the shadowy trees next to the road they’d been traveling on. “Could we take him into the forest, so I can examine him in private?”

Art rubbed his beard, then nodded. Gesturing for Bear to come and help him, the two of them lifted Shane and carried him into the woods.

“Where’s Mae?” Laurel asked as Bear and Art lowered Shane to the ground.

“She went to talk to Sharon. She’s okay.” Bear stood up and squeezed Laurel’s hand. “She’s upset, but she didn’t mean what she said.”

“Yes, she did. But it’s okay. I’ll talk to her later.” Laurel smiled at him, hoping he understood that—whatever happened—she was not going to revert to the way things were; somehow, she was going to learn to communicate with her daughter so that by the time they reached Thunder Bay, they’d be able to live a happy, peaceful existence with no tension or arguments.

After asking the others to give her some space, Laurel examined Shane’s wrists, forearms, and lower legs. When she reached his left ankle, she breathed out heavily and sat back on her heels. “Not what I wanted to see.” She turned around. “What did Shane eat for breakfast? Anyone know?”

“Same as us,” Bear replied. “Rabbit and some of those goose eggs we found yesterday.”

“Rabbit.” Laurel returned her glasses to her nose and stood up. Pointing to Shane’s exposed ankle, she said, “He has a tick bite. They can cause something called Alpha-gal Syndrome.”

“Alpha-what?” Art asked, frowning.

“It’s also known as a tick bite meat allergy. It causes severe allergy to red meat. Pork, lamb, beef…” Laurel breathed in heavily. “Rabbit.”

There was a moment’s silence, in which Bear and Art continued to frown at her as they absorbed what she was saying.

“I’ll examine the others who have symptoms but, to be on the safe side, we should make sure we stick to birds and fish as our protein sources.”

“And then everyone will be fine? No more allergies?” Art asked.

“If they’ve developed, the allergies are there to stay. Which means we need to secure more allergy meds and, ideally, some epi-pens.”

“But if we avoid red meat—”

“Art, listen to me.” Laurel stepped forward and took her friend’s arm. “I know you’ve got a fire inside you. I know you’re desperate to take down the Militia. But at this rate, we’ll all be too sick to fight when we do reach them.” She sighed and folded her arms in front of her stomach. “We were still recovering when we left the depot. We’ve been walking for weeks. We need to replenish our supplies especially if we’re going to be fighting.”

“We picked up plenty from the town back there,” Art tried to counter.

“Yes, but not medical supplies. Candy bars and whiskey, sure. Antibiotics, allergy meds, pain meds, sutures, disinfectant.” She pursed her lips and met Art’s gaze. “Don’t be like Cornell. Don’t force your men to go into a fight unprepared and unwell.”

At the mention of Cornell, Art’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but eventually he dipped his head and nodded. “All right, Doc. Then where do you suggest we go for these supplies? Last I checked, there wasn’t a medical supply warehouse in the local vicinity.”

Glancing at Bear, Laurel gestured for Art’s map, opened it up, and tapped her finger on a town thirty miles from where they were positioned.

“South Minneha?” Art tilted his head to read the town’s name. “What’s in South Minneha that’s so special?”

Meeting his eyes, Laurel smiled. “Help,” she said. “Help, medicine, and friends.”

Get your copy of Lawless World

Available July 12, 2023

(Available for pre-order now)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

Burned World

BLURB

The apocalypse is over. But the struggle for survival has only just begun…

A hard-won peace has been earned by the McDonald family’s Georgia settlement, Hickory Falls. The rural community offers shelter, food, and safety. At least for now…

But in the aftermath of the solar flare, and the fall of the old world, danger takes many forms. It begins with a drought that threatens crops. Then a flood of refugees arrives, driven from their homes by a raging wildfire. They’ve lost everything, and the inferno is spreading.

Taking in the dispossessed means more mouths to feed—but it also means willing hands to do vital work. And one refugee in particular has valuable skills. Greyson was a firefighter, and he’s got a plan to make Hickory Falls safe from the encroaching fire.

But there’s something a little off about the man. Beth, the McDonald matriarch, doesn’t trust him—though she can’t say why. But, like it or not, he’s part of the community now.

Will his preparations save Hickory Falls? Or plunge the community into fiery doom…

Get your copy of Burned World

Available October 11, 2023

(Available for Pre Order Now!)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

BLURB

Survival of the fittest becomes harsh reality in the blink of an eye.

Greg Healy isn’t fooled. The hunting trip is merely a ploy contrived by his wife and mother to force Greg and his father to end their estrangement. Not even Greg’s teenage daughter or his father’s hunting buddies along for the ride will be enough of a buffer to heal the rift of long-standing resentments. But the helicopter has barely dropped them in the remote Canadian wilderness when they discover their new equipment is dead with no explanation. Now they’ll have to rely on each other and resort to Old West ingenuity to find their way home—before the hunter becomes the hunted.

For seventeen-year-old Darryl Healy, things aren’t much easier on his grandparents’ cattle ranch. Not when his highly intelligent and successful mother keeps hounding him about college applications. But college quickly loses its allure when the lights go out after a cyberattack. Frightening responsibilities fall squarely on Darryl’s unproven shoulders as a power-hungry politician is determined to confiscate the ranch’s resources—by any means necessary.

Danger and death await the Healy family as each group attempts to navigate this terrifying new post-apocalyptic world while the vast wilderness separates them. When deceit arises from within their ranks, they’ll face threats as lethal as the grizzly bears and mountain lions lurking in the shadows.

And in order to survive the nightmare, a deal with the devil might be their only saving grace.

Grab your copy of Survive the Fall (EMP: Return of the Wild West Book One) from www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

* * *

EXCERPT

Chapter One

The rotor blades kicked up such a fierce cloud of dust and debris that Greg had to shield his face with his hands. The limbs of the trees whipped wildly, and the backwash of the rotors made the cold air sharp, stinging his exposed flesh. And then the helicopter was moving away, its deafening roar shifting tones as it flew out across the valley. Greg brushed stray leaves and dirt off his shoulder and watched the bright-blue Bell 407 disappearing in the pale eastern sky. As it went, he felt civilization going with it.

Well, we’re in the wilderness now, he thought. No backing out of this.

Still, he remained frozen in place until the sound of the helicopter had completely faded. Only then did he turn, willing himself to move. The others were scattered across the clearing already against a backdrop of massive lodgepole pines, black spruce, and larch trees that dominated the mountainous area. It was raw British Columbia wilderness, just about as far from civilization as you could get without parachuting into the tundra.

All of their gear that had been unloaded from the helicopter formed an impressive pile. Greg’s father, Tuck, was already working hard to arrange the bags and boxes of tarps, ropes, blankets, and more. The leathery old man was all skin and muscle these days. Somehow Greg’s father had retained his farmer’s strength, though his flannel shirt and jeans hung loose, and he’d shriveled a bit in recent years. As Greg watched, his father grabbed a massive tent pack and heaved it off the pile like it was nothing.

Well, this is it, Greg thought. Quality time with the old man. It’s now or never. Marion wants me to make this work, so I’d better make it work.

He sighed and crossed the clearing. The pressure was on. Tuck heard him coming and turned. Greg’s father looked so much like him, it was as if someone had taken Greg’s broad face, shrink-wrapped it over his skull, and charred the skin slightly in an oven. That was an uncharitable assessment, of course, and Greg knew it.

“Hey there, Dad,” Greg said. “Can I help you out?”

Tuck was heaving the packs off the pile, carrying them over to the tents and setting them down one by one in a neat row.

“Suit yourself,” Tuck replied, in that rough voice of his. The man had a remarkable ability to make the least little comment sound like a complete and utter dismissal.

He doesn’t mean it. That’s what Marion would say. That’s also what his mother would have said. Greg’s wife and mother were thick as thieves when it came to this forced reconciliation.

Greg grabbed a big bundle of sleeping bags that had been lashed together and worked it off the stack. As he did, Tuck picked up another one of the tent packs and hoisted it up like a hay bale, carrying it over to the others.

Greg heard what sounded like distant thunder, and he glanced up at the sky. The only clouds to be seen were gathered just above the treetops to the west, but they didn’t seem threatening.

“Well, looks like we might get rain during our first night camping. A nice, chilly autumn rain. I suppose I don’t mind.”

“If it drops a few more degrees, we might get snow,” Tuck replied. “You can handle a little precipitation, I hope. The big city hasn’t coddled you that much.”

“I can handle whatever,” Greg said, struggling to lug the sleeping bags over to the tents. “I just hope it clears up by morning. I plan to hit the river tomorrow. I’d like to get some fishing in first thing in the morning.”

“I was thinking we ought to hike the area first,” Tuck replied. “It’s always best to get a lay of the land.”

Already a disagreement. Greg was caught between wanting to keep the peace and wanting to go his own way out of sheer, hateful habit. But their friendly little father-son chat was interrupted when Dad’s buddy walked over and proceeded to have one of his coughing fits.

Eustace Simpson was a former smoker whose lungs and throat had yet to fully recover. He was a huge burly chap with an impressive red beard and a massive Cro-Magnon cranium. He wore a thick, red flannel jacket that strained at the buttons, and his hands were calloused and rough. Eustace was an acquaintance of Tuck and Tabitha Healy, and he also claimed to be an avid fisherman and hunter. However, Greg had his own reasons for accepting the man’s invitation, reasons he hadn’t shared with anyone, though he wondered if the man sensed his purpose.

Eustace knows I’m an environmental lawyer, Greg thought. Surely it has crossed his mind that I have my eye on him.

“Sun’s going down,” Eustace said in his deep voice. “We’d better get these tents set up before it’s too dark.”

“I got you covered, buddy,” said Tommy Riedel, a small guy with a scruffy beard—one of Tuck’s other friends. “Let’s do this.”

“Dad.”

The last member of their camping trip was Emma, Greg’s fourteen-year-old daughter. She was a bit heavy on the eye shadow these days, and Greg thought it made her eyes look bruised, but he still saw the round-cheeked little girl she’d once been. She had her mother’s brown eyes, and wisps of blonde hair poked out of the edge of her toque.

“Dad, I want to set up my own tent,” she said, coming up beside him. “By myself. I know how to do it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s not a simple setup like a dome tent. You’ve never set one of these up before.”

“I can do it. Watch me.” She brushed past him.

Emma’s long-range plan was to become a park ranger, and she wanted to prove herself this year. She’d made that very clear. Greg was tempted to give her a bit of advice anyway, but he bit his lip and walked over to Eustace instead, helping him unfold the support poles for his much larger tunnel tent.

“What do you think?” Eustace said, taking in the surrounding wilderness with a broad sweep of one arm. “I keep a nice campsite, eh?”

“It’s a lovely area,” Greg replied. And, indeed, he was excited to see what it had to offer. He’d never camped this far from civilization, and the looming mountains and towering forests were breathtaking.

“Everyone thinks we mess with the land,” Eustace said, “just because we’re a natural gas company. But you can see for yourself. This is virgin land. We haven’t done a damned thing to hurt it.”

I’ll be the judge of that. We already know more than you think, pal, Greg thought, as outwardly he merely said, “Looks that way.”

Tuck’s little friend Tommy was flitting about the camp, apparently too excited to focus on any one task. As Greg watched, he tried to help Emma set up her tent, but she shook her head and waved him off.

“I did it, Dad,” Emma said. She’d set up her tent in record time, and although it didn’t look perfect—sit seemed slightly out of alignment—it was serviceable. Greg gave his daughter a round of applause.

“Excellent,” he said. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

She gave him a withering look that suggested she didn’t believe he meant it. “Well, now I’m going to start the campfire. I can do that, too!”

She moved to the center of the camp and began clearing a firepit among the rocks. Greg was genuinely impressed with his daughter—not just her ability but her self-reliance. He’d tried to encourage it in her over the years, and it seemed to have taken root.

That’ll serve you well, kiddo, he thought.

As she began stacking up kindling, Greg went to his gear and picked out a small plastic suitcase. He undid the combination lock and popped it open to reveal a rather expensive satellite phone tucked into foam padding.

Time to make a call, he thought. Marion will want to know we’re settling in.

The phone looked somewhat like an old Nokia cell phone from the early 2000s, though it was larger and had a much longer, thicker antenna. It was packed with a charger, a backup battery, and a bunch of other attachments and accessories that he rarely used. He worked the phone out of its padding, tucked it into his shirt pocket, then walked across the campsite, trying to appear like he was taking a casual stroll. Best to be far from Eustace, just in case he had to mention the case.

Greg pulled the sat phone out of his pocket and pressed the on button. It usually took a few seconds to turn on, so when it didn’t respond right away, he didn’t think much of it. He double-checked to make sure he was pressing the button firmly. When it still didn’t respond, he pressed the button a few times repeatedly, shook the phone, and pressed the button one more time.

Battery must be dead, he thought. He went back to the briefcase, grabbed the charging cable, and plugged the phone into the backup charger. He gave it a few seconds, then tried to turn it on again. Still nothing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “This damn thing is practically new. I tested it yesterday. Yesterday.”

With a pocketknife, he worked open the battery case, then swapped out the battery with the extra in the briefcase. This time, he pressed the power button as hard as he could and held it there for almost a full minute. The phone still didn’t turn on.

“Son of a—” He bit off the curse. Emma was close by, her fire already crackling. Marion didn’t like it when he cussed in front of her.

“Dad, look. It’s already going pretty good.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw his daughter adding sticks to a small, steady fire. She was doing a great job, but the sudden anxiety spoiled the moment for him. He needed this stupid phone to work.

“Very nice,” he managed to say, then turned and smacked the satellite phone against his palm.

He tried the power button one last time and got no response. Disgusted, he tossed the phone back into the briefcase, dumped the battery charger on top of it, and slammed the briefcase shut.

“Problem?”

He looked up into the bony face of his father. Why did the man always look like he’d sucked on a lemon?

“The stupid sat phone is dead,” Greg replied. “It was working this morning. Somehow, between the time we left the hotel and the time we landed at the campsite, it died.”

“Well, we are supposed to be roughing it, after all,” Tuck replied. “Maybe nature did you a favor.”

“I need…we need that phone,” Greg said. “What if there’s an emergency?”

“We have first aid kits,” Tuck said.

“I promised Marion I’d get in touch with her so she’d know we all arrived safe and sound.”

Eustace walked over then, brushing his big, ruddy hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Take the battery out. Let it sit overnight inside your tent. Maybe the cold messed with it. Try it again in the morning.”

“That’s…” A stupid idea. But it wouldn’t help his cause to say it, so he pressed his lips together instead. “Yeah, I’ll try that, Eustace. Thanks.”

He picked up the briefcase, carried it over to where he intended to set up his tent, and dumped it on the ground in disgust.

The batteries were brand-new. The phone was working just a few hours ago. It doesn’t make any sense.

Grab your copy of Survive the Fall (EMP: Return of the Wild West Book One) from www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

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Table of Contents

- EMP Aftermath
- Copyright
- Collapsed World
- Blurb
- 1. Bear
- 2. Laurel
- 3. Bear
- 4. Laurel
- 5. Bear
- 6. Mae
- 7. Laurel
- 8. Laurel
- 9. Bear
- 10. Mae
- 11. Laurel
- 12. Laurel
- 13. Laurel
- 14. Mae
- 15. Laurel
- 16. Mae
- 17. Mae
- 18. Bear
- 19. Mae
- 20. Laurel
- 21. Mae
- 22. Laurel
- 23. Mae
- 24. Laurel
- 25. Mae
- 26. Laurel
- 27. Laurel
- 28. Mae
- 29. Laurel
- 30. Mae
- 31. Laurel
- 32. Laurel
- 33. Mae
- 34. Bear
- 35. Laurel
- Epilogue
- End of Collapsed World
- Thank you
- Make an Author’s Day
- About Grace Hamilton
- Sneak Peek: Lawless World
- Sneak Peek: Burned World
- Also By Grace Hamilton
- Want more?