“We’ll win,” Hamilton said gravely, no joy or satisfaction in his voice, “but at what cost?”
Liam imagined an entire country razed by nuclear warheads—cities reduced to rubble, cars melted, millions of bodies incinerated in an instant. The devastation of a war over America taking place on another continent.
Everywhere, people suffered.
“We’ve already paid,” Liam said.
“Right you are.” Hamilton looked at his watch again. “I’ll check in again soon. Turns out, keeping Michigan from being overrun by hooligans is a full-time job. Who knew?”
Bishop shook Hamilton’s hand. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Charlie.”
Hamilton nodded. He winked at Charlotte and saluted Liam. “Stay frosty, friends.”
“Always,” Liam said.
Bishop walked the lieutenant colonel out.
After they left, Hannah turned to Liam. “What do you think? About what’s happening out there.”
“It’s the way it’s always been,” he said. “Those with the power vie for more, destroying the innocent in the process. It happens everywhere—Venezuela, Iraq, Syria. Our job is to survive the here and now, to outwit and outlast the enemies at the door, not the ones an ocean away. Our military will deal with them, of that I have no doubt.”
“You’re right.” Hannah leaned in, a fierce intensity in her gaze. “Our world is here. Everything is here. Everything that matters.”
Liam didn’t look away. “I know.”
75
Liam
Day One Hundred and Twenty-Three
That night, Liam slept peacefully for the first time in a decade. No nightmares. No dreams.
On day eight, the pain returned with a vengeance.
Like a thousand needles puncturing his flesh. Molten lava poured into his spine. An ice pick hammered through each vertebra.
On day nine, he could twitch his toes.
On day ten, he could move his ankles.
On day eleven, he could hobble out of bed with the aid of a cane—Molly’s cane.
The pain was a monster—a constant, living thing inside him, eating him alive. His nerves scorched raw. His feet like concrete blocks dragging behind him, incredible effort put into each battered step.
Without access to top-notch x-rays, MRIs, CAT scans, and other tests, Evelyn couldn’t confirm whether his injuries were permanent or whether he might regain significant mobility with months of rehabilitation.
“It’s in God’s hands,” she told him. “And yours. Something tells me that if anyone can recover from this, it’s you.”
Liam damned well planned to try.
He shoved his hand into his pocket and felt the lumpy knitting, closed his fingers around the tiny hat. Thought of his twin brother. And Jessa. How he’d brought his nephew home.
He’d done a few good things with his life. Kept a few promises.
His chest thrummed with the ferocity of his love—and his resolve. He was down, but he wasn’t out.
Not by a long shot.
76
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Thirty
Luther’s father died in his sleep.
Lee had warned Hannah that the time was near. She sat beside the old man’s bedside and held his hand and spoke to him as his weak heart failed and his breathing became more and more labored.
She told him how Fall Creek had been saved, how his son had redeemed himself in the end, sacrificing his life for Liam’s.
James Luther had died a hero.
“I hope he knew I was proud of him,” the old man wheezed.
“I’m sure that he knew,” Hannah said and clasped his trembling hand. “He knew.”
At ten-fifteen p.m. on May 2nd, two weeks after his son, he died at peace, a look of contentment upon his withered face.
Afterward, Hannah called her brother on Dave’s ham radio. “I just needed to hear your voice.”
“It’s good to hear from you, sis,” Oliver said, his voice both close and far away. “It’s funny, I think I missed you more in the last two weeks than the last five years. I guess…I guess I didn’t realize how lonely it gets here, you know?”
“Come to Fall Creek,” she said. “I want you here. I want you to meet my family.”
He hesitated for a moment. She waited, heart in her throat.
“It’s a long journey. It’s dangerous.”
“This place—it’s special. We’re doing more than just surviving. I want that for you, too.”
“Okay,” her brother said. “I’ll come. I’ll come to you.”
Hannah closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of gratitude.
“It’ll take me awhile,” he said. “To gather supplies. Scavenge enough gas and plot the safest course.”
“Take your time, Oliver.” She smiled to herself. “We’re not going anywhere.”
77
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Thirty-One
The next day, they paused in the busyness of spring planting to conduct a funeral for those who had sacrificed their lives for Fall Creek.
James Luther was included among their number. Robert Vinson and Dallas Chapman had given their lives in the final battle. And Molly, who had offered her life to save Quinn and little Joey. They were all heroes.
At the funeral, Hannah sang, pure and clear and euphonious, her voice filling all the empty spaces, rising over the trees and soaring into the sky, up and away toward the heavens.
Bishop spoke words of remembrance, encouragement, and hope. Everyone brought wildflowers to decorate the graves. Quinn painted the crosses in shades of vibrant greens, browns, and blues—flowers and vines and trees and snaking rivers. It was beautiful.
Afterward, they went to Molly’s place and set up camping chairs and folding tables in the backyard, bringing out a smorgasbord of food they’d grown with their own hands.
They had mourned their losses. Now, it was time for gratitude. To give thanks and celebrate life. To appreciate everything—and everyone—they still had.
May was turning out to be lovely. Flowers sprang up everywhere overnight. The fragile, dewy scents of jasmine and lilies infused the warm air. White fluffy clouds drifted across the cobalt blue sky like rafts of cotton candy.