Edge of Collapse Series (Book 4): Edge of Anarchy Read online

  She needed to reunite with her son and husband. Her entire family whole and together.

  She needed to go home.

  The rumble of engines drew Hannah’s attention.

  In the eerie silence of the new post-EMP world, the engine noise seemed deafening. It cut through the quiet like a knife through butter.

  Her heartrate accelerated. Instinctively, she slunk back into the shadows beneath the awning of a hair salon. She didn’t want to be seen. It was best to avoid even the possibility of trouble.

  Her good hand went for a weapon. Liam had retrieved her pocketknife from the basement. It was tucked into her pants’ pocket; her .45 snug in her coat pocket—locked, loaded, and ready to fire.

  The rumbling engines grew louder, closer.

  She strained her ears, trying to parse where the sounds were coming from. She shielded her eyes with her bad hand, her good hand stuffed in her pocket, her fingers closing around the .45’s grip.

  Down the street about thirty yards, three trucks turned the corner and rumbled toward her.

  She felt for the door at her back with her bad hand and tried to pull it open. It was locked. Unlike the other shops and cafés on this street, the hair salon’s windows and doors were still intact.

  Adrenaline shot through her. Her palms went damp inside her gloves.

  It was too late to make a run for it. Sudden movement would draw their eyes. Hopefully, the deep shadows would provide enough concealment, and they’d just drive on by.

  “Ghost!” she whispered urgently. “Come here!”

  Sensing the tension in her voice, Ghost stopped nosing the snowdrift half-covering a fire hydrant and loped back to her.

  She pushed on his back. “Sit. Stay with me.”

  Obediently, he sat. He watched the trucks approaching, his gaze alert and wary. So did Hannah.

  The trucks were old and rickety, made sometime in the 1970s. One was white, one black. The third one was probably some version of beige, but it was too coated in dirt and grime to tell.

  They were outfitted with snow tires and drove slowly, maybe ten miles an hour. As the first truck drew even with her hiding spot, she noticed something was spray-painted along the sides of each truck.

  Hannah squinted against the bright sunlight as she read the hastily scrawled words: “Fall Creek Police Department.”

  Blood rushed in her ears. A wave of vertigo washed through her. Her legs went weak and watery. She leaned against the glass door of the salon, steadying her nerves.

  She’d read it wrong. She’d read what she wanted to see, not what was really there.

  The first truck passed. She focused her gaze on the second truck. The white one. The spray-painted letters large, black, and crystal clear.

  She stood frozen with indecision.

  Hope bloomed in her chest, warring with caution. Hope won.

  Hannah dashed into the street. Her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat like a prayer.

  She raised her arms, pistol still in her right hand, and waved wildly. “Stop! Please stop!”

  The white F150 slammed on its brakes. The tires slid. Hannah jumped back out of the way. Ghost bounded to her side with a thunderous bark.

  The truck stopped in the middle of the street. The driver’s door opened, and a man clambered out. He wore a police uniform beneath his winter coat, a pistol holstered at his hip and a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  He shoved back his coat and rested his hand on the grip of his service weapon. “Can we help you?”

  She could hardly get the words out. “You’re from Fall Creek. You’re the Fall Creek Police Department.”

  “Yes ma’am. We are.”

  He looked familiar. A Hispanic man in his forties, he was thick-necked and built like a tank. He looked like he could smash watermelons with his fists. He was tough, but his face wasn’t unkind.

  Ghost pressed against her outer thigh. He didn’t growl, but his stiff, guarded stance was warning enough. Don’t mess with us, or else.

  The officer looked at Ghost. His eyes widened. “Big dog you got there.”

  “Yep.”

  “He friendly?”

  “Only sometimes.”

  “Guess that’s fair.” He smiled a little. “You wanna put away that pistol? I’m happy to talk if you want to talk, but it’s a bit difficult to focus with a deadly weapon flailing around.”

  He sounded nice. Nice could mean anything. Anyone could act nice.

  She kept her guard up. She lowered the gun, aiming it at the ground, but kept it in both hands. Finger tickling the trigger guard. If she needed to, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

  “No offense,” she said, “but I’m not putting it away.”

  “No offense taken.” He was watching her, studying her. He frowned in confusion. “Do I know you?”

  “I think so. Maybe.” She exhaled. Memories from another lifetime flooded her head. “You worked with my husband. He’s a Fall Creek police officer. His name is Noah Sheridan.”

  The officer’s face went ashen. His mouth contorted. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head back and forth. “No. No way.”

  The passenger door opened. A female officer hopped out, a shotgun in her hands. She circled around the front of the truck and stopped beside the first officer.

  She was Hispanic as well, full-figured and broad-shouldered, her black hair cut in a bob at her chin. She looked like she could hold her own in a fist fight, gun fight—any kind of fight.

  She tucked the shotgun against her shoulder and aimed it at Hannah. “Is there a problem, Reynoso?”

  “I’m hallucinating,” the first officer—Reynoso—said. “I’ve finally lost my marbles. That’s what’s happening.”

  The female officer glanced from Reynoso to Hannah. Her eyes narrowed. “You look familiar.”

  “You recognize her?” Reynoso asked. “I’m not crazy, right? She’s really there.”

  “I’m really here,” Hannah said.

  Reynoso looked at her like she was a ghost. He crossed himself. “Perez, she says she’s Sheridan’s wife.”

  The female officer—Perez—made a face. “Sheridan’s wife is dead.”

  “I’m not dead,” Hannah said quietly. “I’m very much alive.”

  She recognized Reynoso now. He and Officer Perez had both been Noah’s coworkers. She didn’t remember their first names. She hadn’t known them well, not like Noah’s good friends. Not like—

  Ahead of them, the black truck’s door slammed open. A big, burly black man sporting an afro barreled out of the truck and sprinted toward them with surprising speed. He was dressed in jeans and a purple and yellow Hawaiian shirt beneath a worn leather jacket.

  Hannah’s heart skipped a beat.

  The man slowed as he approached her. His mouth dropped open. “Holy mother of—Hannah? Hannah Sheridan?”

  Her blood rushed in her ears. Her whole body tingled from her toes to her scalp. She felt like crying, screaming, and laughing, all at the same time. Too many emotions to name washed over her like a tsunami.

  He knew her. And she knew him. “Atticus Bishop.”

  His whole face lit up. Grinning broadly, his arms spread wide, he strode toward her.

  Ghost leapt between them with a growl. Bishop stopped short.

  “It’s okay, Ghost,” Hannah said, tears choking her voice. “It’s Bishop. He’s…he’s a friend.”

  Ghost gave a reluctant chuff but allowed Hannah to push him out of the way. Bishop crossed the space between them in one long stride and enveloped her in his arms.

  He squeezed her so hard that she could barely breathe.

  She thought she would hate it, that she’d instinctively recoil from a stranger’s touch, but he didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like the old friend that he was.

  She’d forgotten the overwhelming strength of his bear hugs—but it came rushing back in an instant. A flood of memories that had been locked away for years, locked a
way so that she could survive, just waiting for this moment to break free.

  Reynoso and Perez watched them, gaping. Slowly, Perez lowered her shotgun.

  Bishop pulled Hannah back at arms’ length and gazed down into her face. “Hannah! It’s really you. It’s you. I can’t believe it. You’re alive! This is a miracle. Truly, a miracle! How can this be?”

  She didn’t wipe away her tears. She let them stream down her face. “It’s a long story.”

  “I bet it is!” He grinned, his white teeth gleaming, his whole face beaming. “But we’re not the ones you want to tell, I bet. Not yet.”

  He let out a loud, exuberant whoop that echoed in the crisp air.

  “Look at me!” he shouted. “I’m happy as a kid on Christmas morning. What a gift! Praise God! He brings joy even in the midst of sorrow. And what a joy this is. Noah will be—he’ll be ecstatic!”

  “And Milo?” Hannah whispered. Her throat went tight. She could barely say his name. So much could have happened in five years. She had no idea if he was even—

  Bishop saw the look on her face. “He’s fine! Milo is fine. Oh Hannah, wait until you see him. He’s a good kid. Just fantastic. You’ll be so proud.”

  She sagged in relief. Only Ghost pressing against her legs kept her upright.

  “I hate to break up the reunion,” Reynoso said. “But we’re on our way back to Fall Creek now. We were only in Watervliet to pick up the father of one of our people and bring him back to town with us. We were on a rescue mission searching for some missing residents. We found a couple of them. It’s damn lucky you even saw us.”

  “It’s providence,” Bishop said, not an ounce of doubt in his voice. “A miracle. God is watching over us all, even now.”

  “Whatever it is—luck, aliens, voodoo—we’ll take it.” Reynoso turned to Hannah. “I’ve got a police chief who’ll kill me if I don’t bring you back to him ASAP. Hop in and we’ll bring you home.”

  Her heart surged at the thought of home.

  Finally, after five long years, Hannah was going home.

  28

  Hannah

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Hannah led the group from Fall Creek back to the house. She introduced them to Liam, who greeted them at the front door with a scowl and the barrel of his AR-15.

  He didn’t warm up to them, but at least Hannah convinced him to allow them inside the house.

  Bishop wept with joy when he held Charlotte. “Children are such a gift,” he said in a choked voice.

  Ghost circled him, whining anxiously like an overprotective mother hen. Ghost clearly didn’t trust these people with the baby he’d been tasked to protect from all threats.

  Liam looked just as flustered. He didn’t like his sanctuary invaded. He didn’t like strangers.

  They weren’t strangers to Hannah. They were her people.

  No one asked who the baby’s father was, but she saw the inquisitive looks from the officers. They were itching to interview her, to find out where she’d been and what had happened to her.

  “There’s more,” Hannah said, soft but steady. She went to the basement door. “The man who kidnapped me five years ago. His body is down there. You should probably see it.”

  She opened the door. The fetid stench of a decomposing body assaulted them. Perez stepped back with a gasp.

  Hannah remained at the top of the stairs while Reynoso and Perez descended, covering their mouths and coughing from the stench. Ghost stood beside her, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

  She wasn’t afraid to go down in that basement. She simply didn’t need to. Not anymore.

  At the base of the stairs. Reynoso crouched over the body. Perez flicked on a flashlight and examined the remains.

  She heard their voices as if far away. “Where’s his throat? Look at this, he’s basically been eviscerated.”

  “Holy hell,” Perez said. “Do you see this?”

  Reynoso looked up at Hannah, his face gray. “You know who this is?”

  She said nothing, just watched him carefully.

  “This is Gavin flipping Pike. Rosamond Sinclair’s son.”

  “I know.”

  “The superintendent is going to freak the hell out,” Reynoso said. “She’s gonna go postal over this.”

  Perez straightened. She stared at Hannah with a grave expression. “Who killed him?”

  Before she could open her mouth, Liam spoke from behind her. “I did.”

  29

  Noah

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Before Noah signed off for the day and headed to Quinn and Molly’s place to pick up Milo, he’d stopped at the shelter in the high school gym to check on things.

  It was just as depressing as he remembered it. A couple of hundred people crammed into far too tight a space, cots and sleeping bags covering the floors, kids running around, babies crying.

  He heard the people murmuring, everyone watching him while pretending not to. Some of them looked disgruntled. Others angry or downright miserable.

  Their faces were thinner, some gaunt. Even with the militia feeding everyone, no one was eating as much as normal. The stress was taking its toll.

  “How are things going?” Noah asked the former principal, Annette King. She’d volunteered to run the shelter along with Shen Lee, their pediatric nurse.

  “They’re going,” Annette said. In her mid-forties, she looked frazzled and tired. She wore no makeup. Her pixie-cut silver hair still looked good, unlike most people’s hair these days.

  She gestured behind her. “There’s a small group of slackers. That sullen group in the corner over there. It’s like high school all over again, just with grumpy adults.”

  “Hey, chief!” Lee said as he strode up to Noah and Annette. A slightly overweight Chinese American in his mid-thirties, Lee was a friendly, gregarious guy and a damn good nurse.

  “We’ve been working hard to get everyone involved and invested,” Annette said. “Everyone has a rotating schedule so no one’s stuck on latrine duty all the time. We’ve divided them into teams to deal with cooking, meal clean up, sanitation, trash, childcare, and education. A couple of people remain in charge of a certain area without rotating for continuity and efficiency.

  “Norman Clay is a chef, so he’s in charge of the kitchen, for example. Rachel is one of my best teachers. She makes sure the kids are getting at least two hours of instruction every day, along with some arts and crafts and outdoor play time. Some of the parents are really struggling. We’re trying to keep things as healthy as possible for the children.”

  Noah took a second look. On closer inspection, he saw the three tables in the corner covered with construction paper, scissors and glue, and scattered textbooks. Three people were sweeping, and in the cafeteria kitchen to his left, several folks were busy doing an enormous load of dishes.

  Annette pursed her lips. “I think we need to add some new curriculum to the basics of math, reading, writing, and science. Maybe foraging? Identifying edible plants? How to build a fire? We’re going to need to learn those skills again, I fear. All of us.”

  Lee made a face. “We’ll be fine. This may last longer than anyone wants it to, but in the end, it’s temporary. Next year at this time, we’ll have Netflix and Facebook back, and things will go back to normal.”

  Annette frowned, but she didn’t argue with him. Noah didn’t feel like it, either. He was tired of delivering bad news.

  “I’ve asked Sutter to retrieve some books from local libraries, but he doesn’t seem too keen on it.” Annette glanced at Noah, as if weighing her words. “It’s almost like they don’t want us doing anything for ourselves.”

  “They’re just incredibly busy,” Noah said. “I’m sure we have some residents with knowledge of the old ways. I know Molly knows her stuff. Maybe she’d be willing to come by.”

  “That would be great,” Annette said.

  “Any issues lately? Everyone getting along?”

  Annette’s frown deepened. “
Everyone’s still talking about what happened at Winter Haven.”

  “It was an unfortunate situation,” Noah said tightly. “One I hope we can avoid in the future.”

  “Agreed,” Lee said. “People just need to do what they’re supposed to, that’s all.”

  “Two people are dead,” Annette said quietly. “A lot of people are shocked and upset.”

  “Hey, law and order are important,” Lee said. “Folks gotta know they can’t just do whatever they want. Not in a crisis. We all have to work together for the good of everyone else. You ask me, the militia are a Godsend. They’re keeping us fed and warm, aren’t they? I don’t have a negative word to say about them. Rosamond’s doing a great job. So are you, chief.”

  Annette made a face like maybe she disagreed. But when she turned to Noah, her smile was genuine. “We appreciate you coming over so often to check up on us, Chief Sheridan. That matters.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ve got to take care of each other. Anything else I can help you folks with?”

  Lee grinned. “Now that we’ve got the water issue ironed out and people are properly filtering their water, things have been better. We’re still dealing with pneumonia and a flu bug going around.”

  Annette half-turned to look at the people huddled behind her. “People are stressed. It’s one thing if you’re in your own home, but with everyone squeezed together and no privacy, and no end to this crisis in sight? It’s wearing on people.”

  “I admit, I am getting a little worried about mental health issues cropping up.” Lee lowered his voice. “I’m seeing a lot of depressive symptoms, anxiety, PTSD. Anger issues, too. Kids are acting out. Adults, too.”

  “I’ll talk to Sutter about looking for Prozac and anti-anxiety meds.”

  Lee shook his head. “You can’t just dope people up. Not when their whole lives have been upended like this. I don’t know. I try to keep everyone’s spirits up, but a good pep talk just isn’t doing it.”

  “I wish we had some psychologists on hand,” Annette said. “We could really use some help on that angle.”