However, he would still order smaller units to cover fuel depots, munitions storage, and transport. The usual logistics.
He craved a snifter of Hine Antique XO Premier Cru Cognac. Instead, he licked his parched lips and thought again of his dead nephew. His last living family member.
No. Not his last.
In his last conversation with Sutter, his nephew had revealed a juicy little detail.
For the last two days, the General had examined it from every side, searching for cracks or defects and finding none.
“There’s one more thing you should know,” Sutter had said in that sniveling voice. “Rosamond wasn’t interested, but I think you might be. There’s a woman in Fall Creek who claims Gavin Pike was the father of her baby.”
Only one thing held the General back from destroying Fall Creek utterly.
Through his daughter and psychopathic grandson, a part of the General still existed outside himself.
They were both dead. But their seed lived on. His seed lived on.
The General had a great-granddaughter.
And he very much wished to meet her.
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Four
Hannah shivered. It was the second week of April, but the morning temperatures hovered in the low thirties, the sky cloaked in heavy gray clouds.
The wind chill made it feel twenty degrees colder. The frigid breeze scythed through her clothes and chapped her exposed cheeks.
Ahead of her, Ghost growled.
Hannah paused, Milo at her side, holding the jogging stroller handle with her bad hand. With her right hand, she tightened her grip on the .45 in her coat pocket.
For the meeting, she’d chosen Greenway Park, a small park along the riverbank, just past the bridge over Fall Creek.
In summers past, they used the large open area for picnics, soccer games, and kite flying, with live concerts featuring local bands in the evenings.
Snow patches dotted the field. Birds twittered from the naked branches of the trees lining the river. The large pavilion with a black metal roof and open sides loomed ahead of her.
A dark shape stood in the center of the platform, a familiar blue camo backpack slung over his shoulder. The hood of his coat shielded his face, both hands plunged deep into his pockets.
Her pulse quickened. She stiffened.
Milo tugged her coat sleeve. “Who is that?”
She glanced at his cherub face, pointy chin, and big dark eyes; he’d inherited his olive skin from Noah’s Venezuelan heritage. His unruly black curls poked out from beneath his winter hat.
A fierce affection swelled in her chest. “No one you need to worry about.”
“Can I play on the playground?”
Her gaze strayed to the figure on the platform. He hadn’t moved or registered her presence. He didn’t pose a threat to them, but she remained wary.
It was early in the morning, and no one else was at the park. Few people had time for leisure these days. The trees sighed in the wind. Water lapped along the riverbank.
She released the stroller and squeezed Milo’s hand. “Don’t wander from the playground. Ghost, stay with him.”
Ghost let out a disgruntled whine, like he’d rather remain near Hannah to keep a sharp eye on James Luther. The dog didn’t trust him. Neither did Hannah.
The Great Pyr returned to her side and pushed his head against her thigh, as if that would change her mind. She rubbed his ears with her free hand, crooked fingers scratching just the way he liked. “I’ll be fine. Watch Milo.”
Ghost chuffed unhappily but obeyed, trotting after Milo with a swish of his plumed tail. He still favored his hind leg. He could run, but not like before.
The bite he’d received defending Quinn and Milo from the feral dogs was healing, but he might never regain his full speed or strength.
With one last glance at her son, Hannah turned her focus to Luther.
Half the town wanted him dead. To protect him, Liam had stashed him in one of the abandoned houses outside of town.
She’d sworn she’d kill him herself if he ever set foot in Fall Creek again.
And yet, here he was.
He’d helped rescue Quinn. He’d saved Quinn and Liam during their escape from Vortex.
That was the one and only reason she didn’t shoot him dead where he stood. It was also the reason she’d agreed to meet with him. A onetime courtesy she already regretted.
Anger slashed through her. He was still militia. He always would be.
She pushed the jogging stroller across the bumpy ground and halted ten feet from the stage. Her right hand still in her pocket, fingers curled around cold hard steel. “What do you want?”
Luther hunched his shoulders against the wind and squinted at her. He was tall and skinny, almost gaunt, with sun-weathered features. Though he wasn’t old, his face held a dour, world-weary look.
“My father,” he said. “Is he—is he still alive?”
“We traded with the National Guard stationed at Cook Nuclear. They had medical supplies. I got him a few more oxygen tanks, but they’re running out. There’s no way to manufacture them —not here in the States, anyway.”
She almost apologized but caught herself. The state of the world wasn’t her fault.
She owed this man nothing.
Dave and Annette had moved Luther’s father from the house at Winter Haven to a room at Fall Creek Inn. Dave had organized a rotating group of volunteers to care for the elderly and sick in the community.
She unhooked the radio from her belt and held it out. “Dave’s on the other end. He’s with your father. You can talk to him for five minutes. That’s it. You understand why we can’t bring him to see you—or vice versa.”
The old man was near death. To bring him to the park and expose him to the elements would risk his deteriorating health.
And allowing Luther into town was a bad idea of another sort.
Hannah handed him the radio and then gave him some privacy. Luther loved his father. She couldn’t begrudge him that.
She pushed Charlotte along the sidewalk ringing the field, alternating between watching Milo and Luther, who clutched the radio to his ear and paced the stage in narrow, restless circles.