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

  “I’ll try to figure something out,” Noah said. As if he needed one more thing on his plate.

  “Before the collapse, I read about a recent study that suggested Tylenol could be used to block or deal with emotional pain as well as physical pain,” Lee said. “It’s worth a shot.”

  Noah nodded. “I’ll talk to Sutter.”

  “There’s something else.” Annette took a step closer. “Tina Gundy told me that the gas station is no longer open to regular folks. I went over during a break to check for myself, and she’s right.”

  “Did they give you a reason?” Noah asked.

  “The militia standing guard said supplies were running low. What was left was needed for those that are keeping the town safe.”

  Lee gave an easy shrug. “Hey, things aren’t easy, but they aren’t easy anywhere. It’s true that our first responders need the gas more than we do. I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Can you spread some of that positive attitude around? We desperately need it.” Noah sighed and scratched at his stubbled chin. He was three weeks past a good shave, but lately, a smooth face had been the last thing on his mind. “It’s only temporary, until the militia finds a fresh supply.”

  Annette nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. “This wasn’t voted in by the council, Noah.”

  “We didn’t get a chance to vote.” The meeting three days ago hadn’t gone well. People too stressed, too divided. Half were on Rosamond’s side, the other half loudly against. It had dissolved into a shouting match between a bruised Darryl Wiggins and a furious Mike Duncan. Before it came to blows, Rosamond ended it early and kicked everyone out.

  “Still, that’s not exactly protocol—”

  His radio belched static. Grateful for the distraction, Noah stepped outside and raised it to his mouth. “Sheridan here.”

  “Noah!” Bishop nearly shouted.

  Noah pulled his head back. “Woah there. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing! Absolutely nothing’s wrong!”

  Noah hadn’t heard such happiness in Bishop’s voice since before his family had been slaughtered. He couldn’t imagine what this could possibly be about. If it was good news, he’d gratefully take it. “What is it?”

  “My friend, you’re going to need to sit down for this.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “It’s a miracle! I still can’t believe it. I’m standing here looking at her and I don’t believe it.”

  “Atticus Bishop, if you don’t—”

  “It’s Hannah.”

  Noah’s heart froze inside his chest. The world stopped. The birds ceased singing. The sun went still in the sky. “They—they found her body?”

  “Oh no! It’s so much better than that. We found her. We found Hannah. And Noah—she’s alive!”

  Noah sat down hard. Right on the curb. His legs turned to water and his stomach flipped upside down. Cold, wet snow leaked through the butt of his pants. He didn’t feel it.

  He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He struggled to form a coherent thought. His mind buzzed like a beehive, everything fuzzy and distant.

  He couldn’t comprehend Bishop’s words. They didn’t make sense.

  He’d dreamed this scenario a thousand times. Each and every time, he’d awakened drenched in sweat, pulse racing—only to return to a cold silent bedroom and grief punching another hole through his heart.

  “Did you hear me okay?” Bishop’s booming voice brought him back. “Noah, did you hear?”

  “I—I heard you. This…it can’t be. Bishop, don’t lie to me. Don’t do this to me.”

  “It’s real. She’s real. This is real, Noah. This is happening.”

  Bishop would never lie about this. He wouldn’t make a mistake, either.

  Noah ripped off his gloves with his free hand and let them drop to the snow. He stared at his wedding ring glinting in the sun. His hands trembled. His whole body trembled.

  “Chief Sheridan, are you okay?” Annette King asked, bending over him. “Is something wrong?”

  He barely heard her, barely registered her voice. He was shaking all over. Hope, however frail, never died. Never. It sprang to life in his chest, stronger and fiercer than ever.

  He didn’t remember starting to cry. Tears ran down his face into the stubble of his beard. His nerves raw and vibrating. Everything was raw and bright and beautiful.

  He swallowed hard. “I—can I hear her voice? Can I talk to her?”

  “I’ll do you one better!” Bishop bellowed. “Get your son. Get Milo. We’ll be at your house in thirty minutes. We’re bringing Hannah home.”

  30

  Hannah

  Day Twenty-Seven

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Liam said.

  “No!” Hannah seized his hand. Guilt pricked her. She immediately dropped it. “I mean, I don’t know. I want you here. Please. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  They stood on the front porch of her family’s new home in Winter Haven, the self-sufficient community in Fall Creek. Large beautiful chalets, cabins, and lake cottages were nestled amongst the trees at the edge of the river.

  The house itself was huge and a little imposing: a modern two-story log home with an expansive wrap-around porch and huge windows.

  A few moments ago, Bishop had dropped Hannah, Charlotte, Liam and Ghost off at the front drive. He’d radioed ahead so Noah and Milo knew they were coming.

  A tsunami of emotions roiled through her. “What if he doesn’t recognize me? He was three. He won’t know me. I shouldn’t expect him to. That’s asking too much. What if he doesn’t like me? What if it’s not—if it doesn’t turn out—what if it’s all wrong—”

  Liam touched her shoulder. “They’re your family. That’s all you need to remember.”

  She nodded and patted Charlotte’s back. The infant was swaddled against Liam’s chest, tied with strips of a sheet beneath his coat. He’d offered to carry her, so that Hannah would have her arms free to hold her son, to hug her husband.

  She could hardly believe it was real. That this could really be happening.

  She turned and glanced behind her. The sun was shining. The sky was a rich cobalt blue. The white snow sparkled like diamonds. It was so bright it was nearly blinding, but she did not look away.

  Ghost had been prancing around in the front yard, trying to catch the melting clumps of snow falling from the branches. He seemed to sense that she needed him.

  He dashed through the snow, bounded up the steps, and skidded to a halt. He didn’t bump into her but halted neatly at her side. He pressed his muzzle into her hand with a comforting chuff.

  She breathed deeply. “I needed that, boy. Thank you.”

  She steeled herself and lifted her chin. A lifetime of memories cascaded through her—washing Milo in the tub, Milo covered in soap bubbles and giggling; dancing with Noah in the kitchen; singing Milo to sleep, snuggled together in his too-small bed.

  She rang the doorbell. Her hands shook. Her emotions were too big for this. Anticipation, hope, anxiousness, longing, fear.

  She’d waited for this moment for so long. Prayed for it. Yearned for it. Lived through hell to get here.

  The door opened.

  A boy stood on the other side. Tall, so much taller than she remembered. The chubby baby face of her memories lengthened into an eight-year-old’s. His body slim and gangly, all elbows and knees. But that familiar olive skin. The unruly black hair curling around his ears. Those big, solemn eyes.

  “Milo,” she whispered.

  He stared at her, not speaking.

  It was all she could do not to grab him and pull him against her, to enfold him in her arms.

  She restrained herself. She would be a stranger to him. Of course, she would. She had to remember that. She had to think of his feelings.

  Her eyes stung. The lump in her throat too large to swallow.

  “Hi Milo,” she tried again. “I’m—” I’m your mother. I love you
more than the whole world. I went through hell and back to get to you. She didn’t say any of those things. Not yet. “I’m Hannah.”

  Milo glanced back at someone inside the house, then back to Hannah. He scrunched up his face. He looked nervous, confused. Maybe a little frightened.

  The door opened wider.

  Noah stood there. Her husband. The man she’d married. Danced with. Slept with. Made a home with.

  He looked the same, but different. The same build, the same easy, athletic gait and dark brown hair. He looked older. His face was harder, leaner. Still handsome. He’d always been handsome.

  Noah’s features contorted. He stepped around Milo, strode onto the porch, and opened his arms. His eyes were red, tears glistening on his cheeks. He’d already been crying.

  “Hannah,” he said. “Is it really you?”

  “It’s me,” she whispered. “It’s me.”

  Noah hugged her. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him back. Nothing had prepared her for this. She didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like.

  They had fit together so easily before. Now they didn’t know where to put their arms. It was awkward, like they were pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.

  With a low growl, Ghost shoved between them.

  She stepped back. Noah released her.

  He wiped at his eyes. His wedding ring glinted in the sunlight. He still wore it, she realized with a pang.

  Five years. He hadn’t remarried. He hadn’t taken it off. He’d waited for her.

  The tears came then. She couldn’t hold them back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For losing you. It was my fault. I should have gone after you. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault. It was the fault of one person, and he’s no longer here.”

  She saw the question in his eyes, but he didn’t ask it. This wasn’t the time.

  She cleared her throat. “Noah, this is Liam Coleman. After I escaped, he found me in the woods. He saved my life. Three or four times, actually. I wouldn’t be here without him.”

  Liam gave an uncomfortable half-grunt, half-cough. “She held her own.”

  Noah stepped forward. He clasped Liam’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you, Liam. Thank you so much. We can never repay you. We can never thank you enough.”

  Noah seemed to notice the infant swaddled against Liam’s chest for the first time. “Oh, you have a baby. How wonderful.”

  Hannah’s stomach clenched. She knew this was coming. There was no good way to say it. “She’s not his, Noah. She’s mine.”

  Noah blanched. A complicated array of emotions passed across his face in rapid succession. She saw the moment it hit him.

  The words she couldn’t say, but they hung in the air like a shroud: She’s mine…and from the monster who kidnapped me. She is a product of the most horrific thing one human can do to another. She’s also beautiful and she’s mine and I love her. Please, please love her, too.

  Surprise crossed his face, followed by a swift shadow of revulsion, replaced almost immediately by shame. He forced a smile that looked plastered to his face like a sticker. “That’s okay. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

  He said it more to himself than to her or Milo. She understood his reluctance, that gut-reaction of repugnance. Hadn’t she felt the same for nine months?

  Still, it hurt. Something dark and hollow opened up inside her chest.

  Noah waved his hand, flustered. “Where are my manners? Come inside. Please. We’re so excited—Milo and me. We would’ve been waiting for you outside, but we thought—we wanted everything to be okay for you. We didn’t want to overwhelm you with hugs and kisses…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m rambling. Come in. This is your home.”

  It didn’t feel like her home. She pushed that thought down deep and moved into the foyer.

  It was warm and bright, with walnut plank flooring and vaulted ceilings. The house was richly furnished. It looked like a picture out of a magazine. The electric lights hurt her eyes.

  She unzipped her coat and removed her hat and gloves. Liam did the same. Noah gathered their things and hung everything in the coat closet.

  He turned back toward them. He caught sight of her damaged hand. It wasn’t disgust or revulsion that crossed his face, but dismay, pity.

  She’d thought pity would be better than the alternative. She was wrong.

  Anger mixed with shame flushed through her, followed by defiance. She resisted the desire to hide her hand. She wasn’t going to hide anything anymore.

  Noah’s gaze slid away from her deformity and returned to her face. He smiled then, happy and genuine. “You’re here. You’re really here. I can’t believe it. Milo, it’s your mom. She’s home.”

  Milo didn’t say anything.

  Hannah’s heart constricted.

  Ghost pushed between Hannah and Liam’s legs and entered the house ahead of them.

  “A dog!” Milo said. His face brightened. A bit of his reluctance faded. “May I pet him?”

  “Of course. His name is Ghost. He’s a hero, too. He saved my life.”

  Ghost circled Milo slowly. He sniffed Milo’s socks, his pant legs, his belly, arms, and chest. The Great Pyrenees was so large that he barely had to lift his head to smell Milo’s face and hair.

  Milo held very still. He didn’t look scared, but awed. Cautiously, he reached out and scratched behind Ghost’s ears.

  Ghost woofed happily, ducked his head, and pressed the top of his skull against Milo’s small chest.

  “He likes you,” Hannah said.

  Milo gave a tremulous smile.

  Hannah sank to her knees. She couldn’t take her eyes off her son. He was so beautiful. He’d grown so much, more than she could have imagined.

  He was everything she’d dreamt of, everything she’d held on to so fiercely during those dark, miserable years. The only splinter of hope in a hopeless existence.

  The desire to hold him was nearly overwhelming. There was nothing more in the entire universe that she wanted than to draw him into her arms and never let go. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

  He was like a deer in the forest, wary and hesitant. One wrong move and he might bolt.

  This moment was made of glass. Everything so fragile, so easily crushed.

  Sensing her distress, Ghost returned to Hannah and sat at her side. He nuzzled her neck and chuffed softly.

  “Milo … do you remember me?”

  Milo dragged his gaze from the dog and looked at her. Slowly, he shook his head.

  She had steeled herself for it. Logically, she’d known better than to believe otherwise. It still struck her like a punch to the gut.

  There was no going back in time, no recovering the lost hours, days, months, and years. The lost moments of laughter, tears, anger, heartache, joy, love—they were gone forever.

  Milo’s childhood had been ripped from her. Milo’s mother had been stolen from him.

  They were not the same people they were that Christmas Eve five years ago. How could they be? Each of them was scarred, damaged, and haunted in their own way.

  Hannah wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. Her absence had left a gaping hole in their lives. Their shapes had changed into something jagged and broken.

  In that moment, with her husband a stranger and her son almost unrecognizable, she feared their broken pieces might never fit back together.

  The grief struck her so hard and so swift that her legs went weak. If she wasn’t kneeling on the floor, she might have collapsed. Ghost leaned against her side, offering his strength.

  “Hannah,” Liam said, concern in his gruff voice. He touched her shoulder again. “Are you okay?”

  The fear crept in. What if she no longer remembered how to be a wife? Or worse, a mother? The expectations of her reunited family bore down on her with a tremendous weight. She did
not bow under it.

  “I’m okay.” She exhaled, steeling herself, and looked at Milo. “I know it’s weird and strange and uncomfortable. I’m…I’m a stranger to you. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay to feel that way. We can get to know each other again. Let’s start with being friends. You can call me Hannah. Is that okay with you?”

  She didn’t breathe until he nodded. He thrust out his hand with that same tremulous grin. “Deal.”

  Her fingers closed around his, so warm and small and wonderful. She felt her heart shattering and mending itself all at once. “Deal.”

  31

  Hannah

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Later, after Milo had collapsed into sleep and Noah had gotten Liam set up in a guest bedroom down the hall, Hannah and Noah at last found themselves alone with each other. Hannah had fed Charlotte and put her to sleep on the deep sofa surrounded by pillows.

  Ghost had settled himself in the kitchen at Hannah’s feet. He lay with his head on his paws, his alert gaze alternating between Hannah and Noah. Keeping watch.

  He’d taken an instant liking to Milo but kept giving Noah the stink eye. If Noah got too close to Hannah, he gave a low warning growl.

  Noah moved nervously around the kitchen, making sure to give the dog a wide berth. “You want some coffee? I can make decaf. Or hot chocolate? We have cookies. The last of our eggs were about to expire, so Milo and I made double chocolate with peanut butter chips.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Hannah’s stomach was too knotted to eat. She sat at the kitchen island on a wrought-iron stool with a polished wooden top.

  Ornate white cabinets gilded with glass doors and crown molding towered on all sides of the huge kitchen. The vaulted ceiling gave her the feeling of vast empty space.

  She stroked the large marble island with her fingertips. “This is a beautiful place you have.”

  “Thank you. After the EMP, Milo needed a house with electricity and heat.”

  She bit her lower lip but didn’t say anything. It felt so strange being here. Sitting in a bright white kitchen with her husband, electric lights shining down on her head, talking about coffee and baking cookies like everything was normal.