“What do you need?”
She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolded it, and pushed it across the table. “We have a couple hundred volunteers to help with the spring planting. I have a list. Dave, Annette, and I have organized them into teams and assigned each one a specific farm.
“We need armed patrols with each group to keep watch while people are working. I could use your input on which people to put where, to best use their strengths.”
Liam raised his brows. “I’m impressed.”
“Organization and leadership are key. We have hundreds of seedlings growing in the greenhouses we’ve built. Jamal and Tina have constructed some hydroponics farms with solar grow lights. They can build more with the proper supplies.
“We need PVC pipes, plastic tubing, Styrofoam containers, buckets, and pea gravel. We also need more fencing for the goats, chickens, and cows we want to keep in town. It’s getting harder to source what we need. And of course, it’s impossible to send out scavenging parties with the General breathing down our necks.”
“I’ll make the list, but I need every soul we have to man the perimeter and blockades.”
Hannah sighed. “I figured.”
Liam reached into his pocket and withdrew his everyday carry—a hard-shelled sunglasses case. It contained his multi-tool, stainless steel tactical pen, small LED flashlight, two lighters, a folding knife, lock-pick set, and a handkerchief wound with paracord.
He pulled out the tactical pen, flipped over the paper, and wrote names in his messy scrawl.
“Wow. That’s some handwriting.”
“Beautiful handwriting wasn’t a job requirement for the army.”
“Good thing, too. That looks like a tangle of hair in a shower drain.”
Liam snorted. It was an accurate assessment.
Charlotte attempted to stretch her chubby arms across the table and seize the pen. He pulled it safely back out of her reach. “Not this pen, little one. This beauty is a weapon.”
“What makes it a tactical pen?” Hannah asked. “It looks normal.”
“Ordinary pens are made from flimsy plastic.” Liam balanced it on his palm, then flipped it and gripped it in his fist, the ballpoint facing up, the hard pointed tip facing downward. “This is constructed from military-grade titanium. It has these rigid handles for a superior grip if you need to use it for self-defense. In the hands of the right user, this pointy end can do serious damage. It’s designed to penetrate and injure, to incapacitate.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Now I’m impressed.”
He adjusted his grip from kill-mode to writing mode. “It’s a glass-breaker, too. It’s discreet. I carry it everywhere, including through airport security.”
“Not anymore.”
A pained look crossed his face. “No, not anymore.”
She returned her attention to the list, her brow wrinkling. “We’re building something good here. People depend on us. We have to protect it. We have to.”
Ghost raised his head, ears pricking.
The Great Pyrenees leapt to his feet and let out a booming bark.
17
Liam
Day One Hundred and SIx
Liam tensed. He snatched the Glock and lowered it beneath the table between his legs, out of sight but ready to use.
Footsteps sounded outside the bar. The bell over the door jangled, and Corinne Marshall strode in, followed by Dave and Annette, and several townspeople.
Molly, Quinn, and Jonas jostled in the back of the small crowd, along with a few local farmers. He recognized Dwayne Lawson and Kale Burrows, two of the men who’d accosted him in this very bar not two months ago.
Evelyn was busy in the medical bay, but Travis was present, baby L.J. balanced on his hip. He gave Liam an encouraging smile.
Everyone crowded into the bar. A sweaty, unwashed scent hit his senses, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
Their faces were thinner, harder. Wrinkled clothing hung from tough, ropy frames. They were armed with shotguns and handguns. Many boasted knives along with the occasional axe.
Satisfied they weren’t a threat, Ghost trotted up to Dave and sniffed his hand. His plumed tail waved in greeting as Dave scratched behind his ears.
Liam rose to meet them, back straight, standing tall despite the pain. He’d meet his fate like a warrior.
Corinne Marshall stepped forward. The owner of the local hardware store, she was in her forties. She wasn’t old, but her skin had been etched by hardship and adversity. Her husband, Wayne, had been killed in the final battle with the militia.
She said, “We’ve decided.”
The bar fell silent. No sounds but for breathing, a shuffling of feet. Everyone watched Liam’s face, their own expressions inscrutable.
He watched them in return, his nerves raw, every muscle tensed. His stomach knotted in trepidation.
It mattered to him. He hadn’t realized how much until this moment. How bitter it would be when they turned on him. E Tu, Brutus?
Corrine stood staring at him with that grief-hardened gaze, not an ounce of pity or softness in her.
“Go ahead, Corinne,” Dave said.
“The General claims he represents Lansing. That Governor Duffield sent him. Yet when we rebuffed his soldiers, he retaliated by murdering two of our own. Two innocent civilians. It is our belief that no legitimate member of the United States military would commit such a heinous act, no matter the uniform he wears or the authority he claims. General Sinclair is the same as Rosamond and Sutter, or worse.”
Corinne’s gaze slipped to Hannah. “We’ve dealt with a tyrant before. It took us too long to recognize the signs. We were complacent until it was too late. We paid a dear price for it, too. But we’ve learned from that mistake, and we won’t make it again.”
Liam stared at her, his mind scrambling to make sense of her words. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. He found himself completely unprepared.
Corinne paused. “Fall Creek refuses to submit to his demands.”