Whether Luther was still his asset or had gone rogue was a massive unknown.
Thirty-six hours ago, the would-be kidnappers had invaded Fall Creek’s perimeter. Fourteen hours ago, Liam’s assault teams had sabotaged the General’s transport and supply vehicles.
And still, the scouts had clocked no movement from the General’s soldiers.
He was waiting for something. But what?
Maybe he was playing with them like a cat plays with its dinner before biting off its head. Using psyops—psychological operations—to terrify the town into surrendering before firing a single round.
Liam grew more and more edgy. His nerves were raw. Four hours a sleep a night for the last week. Weariness tugged at him, but he was used to sleep deprivation.
He remained vigilant. Alert and aware. Even wounded, he moved with swift efficiency, light on his feet, as lithe and powerful as a panther.
Through his NVGs, he scanned fields and farmland, pockmarked roads, squat buildings and occasional houses.
Nothing moved. Nothing appeared out of place.
A two-story office complex appeared ahead. He paused along the exterior wall of a flooring store to scan the empty parking lot. The second story north-facing windows would give him a good view of the intersection ahead.
He listened intently. Night sounds filled the air—the cool breeze rustled through matted grass and weeds. Night insects churred.
A rustle as a pair of rats scurried across the road. Their beady eyes glowed, their fur bristling along their hunched backs.
Vermin. They multiplied faster than the corpses could pile up.
Dead bodies brought the rats. Rats brought diseases.
Since they disposed of corpses immediately and regularly checked houses—both occupied and vacant—Fall Creek had remained relatively unscathed.
Outside Fall Creek, it was another story.
According to Dave’s ham contacts, plague was already cropping up in Chicago, Detroit, St. Louis, and Cincinnati, along with tens of thousands of deaths to tuberculosis, cholera, and typhoid.
Several rats scuttled out of sight as Liam approached the rear door of the office complex. With the lock picks in his everyday carry case, he jimmied the lock and crept inside.
The air stank of rotting trash and rancid food. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and strung sticky and glistening across doorways.
He batted them away as he cut the corner, leading with the M4.
The hallway opened into a larger space, a reception area, a couple of large offices, everything glowing in shades of green—a sprawling desk, a circular table covered in paperwork, notepads, files, and scattered blueprints.
After clearing the building, he headed upstairs and found a window with a solid vantage point of the intersection. He pushed a desk against the base of the window, then slid the window open.
Liam shrugged off his go-bag, leaned it against the wall, and pulled out a tripod mount for the M4. He put the gun to his shoulder and steadied himself against the desk.
Putting his eye to the scope, he turned the focus ring until the trunks of the pines at the edge of the road three hundred yards distant came forward, weirdly lit in the greenish glow of night vision. So close he could almost reach out and touch them.
His heart rate quickened. With the scope, he panned left and right in several great sweeps. The carbine hardly moved.
He half-expected to see something in the lens other than trees, abandoned highway, the humped shapes of stalled vehicles—a figure, a face in the dark, staring back at him with sinister eyes.
There was nothing.
He settled down to watch, periodically checking the radio for Luther’s checkin. 2300 hours came and went. Then midnight.
Every hour, he switched the radio to their private channel and keyed the mic twice, paused, then twice more.
If Luther were available and in range, he would find a secure place to respond.
While he waited, Liam field-stripped his weapons and topped off his magazines. He cleaned the Glock and carbine and examined the contents of his go-bag and everyday carry.
He’d replaced the paracord used to bind the prisoner’s feet, but he was running low on bandages and blood-clotting granules.
When he finished, he repacked each item for ease of access in an emergency. Then he sharpened his Gerber, checking the window every so often.
His thoughts strayed to Hannah.
He had little use for humanity. A few people made the whole thing worth it. And for those people, he would willingly sacrifice everything he had, including his life.
For little Charlotte and L.J. For Travis and Evelyn. Quinn, Milo, and Molly. But first, last, and always—Hannah.
He wished she were here beside him, her warmth, her laughter, those beautiful green eyes he could get lost in.
He missed her with every beat of his heart. In her presence, the nightmares faded. With her, he believed he could be more than a soldier with blood on his hands.
Liam pushed every thought out of his mind and forced himself to rest.
Time passed.
He didn’t sleep but instead allowed himself to drift into a state of half-awareness, stilling his body, aware of his physical senses, alert only to a potential threat.
As the first blush of dawn pinked the sky, he sat up, wide awake.
Liam suppressed his frustration as he flicked up his NVGs and stashed them in his go-bag at his feet. He took out his water bottle and drank before returning it to its proper pouch.
It was past time to go. He’d be late meeting Quinn. He had a full day’s worth of chores, training, and security on the docket. After that, a few stolen minutes with Hannah.
He couldn’t waste another moment on James Luther.
Luther had failed him. Liam should’ve known better than to take a chance on someone like him. He should’ve— The radio crackled. “This is Echo Three. Alpha One, you there?”
38
Liam
Day One Hundred and Thirteen
Liam seized the radio. “This is Alpha One. You’re a go.”