Edge of Anarchy (Edge of Collapse, #4)

by Kyla Stone

The endless blizzards and snowstorms had finally relented. The sky was dreary and gray, with more clouds coming. It would snow again soon. Gross. She hated winter. Loathed it with every fiber of her being. If she ever escaped this place, she was heading straight to Florida and never coming back. They were probably spending the apocalypse on the beach hanging out in hammocks, sipping Mai Tais, and basking in the warm sun. Quinn was pretty sure she’d forgotten what the sun was even supposed to look like.

Sour acid burned the back of Quinn’s throat. Nausea swirled in her gut as dismay filled her. She knew what happened next. She’d seen it before. She barely had time to seize Milo by the back of his coat, spin him around, and shove his face against her stomach. So he couldn’t see. So he wouldn’t have to watch. Desoto squeezed the trigger. He fired a double tap into the man’s chest. The gunshots shattered the air. The sound exploded against Quinn’s eardrums. Milo clapped his hands over his ears. A flock of birds resting on a telephone wire took to the sky in a startled flurry of wings and frantic squawking.

Quinn didn’t take her gaze off Desoto. He strode down the porch steps, carrying the rifle low, not exactly pointed at Milo but not pointed away from him, either. “Milo!” Quinn shouted. Brave, fearless Milo acted like he didn’t even see the gun. He ran straight at the fake soldier and pummeled his stomach with his tiny fists. “Go away! Leave us alone and go away!”

Quinn exhaled—and released. The quarter-inch steel ball launched with tremendous velocity, whizzing through the air at a couple hundred feet per second. At twenty feet away, Quinn did not miss. She never missed. She shot Sebastian Desoto in the throat. The steel ball struck him below and just to the right of his Adam’s apple. It was not a bullet. It was not powerful enough to break the skin, but it could still do damage. And it would certainly hurt like a mother.

She stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, her head cocked, her lip caught between her small white teeth. She wore gray sweatpants and a soft pink sweater that she’d found in one of the closets upstairs. They fit her nicely. The pink brightened her cheeks. She was looking healthier. It was more than that, though. Her green eyes were shining. Her chocolate-brown hair was brushed, clean, and swished around her shoulders. She’d cut it. It looked…good. She looked good. Beautiful, even. As if she could read his thoughts, she blushed and gave him a shy smile. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Liam found it difficult to look at her for too long. It was a bit like looking into the sun. Warm and inviting, but painful. Her presence did something to him, unnerved him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. She threatened to awaken a longing inside him that he didn’t deserve and could never have.

Her company had been enjoyable. More than enjoyable. And the food wasn’t terrible, either. If he was completely honest with himself, maybe he’d been putting it off. Three weeks ago, he’d been eager to deliver her home and be rid of the burden of responsibility. Now, the thought of delivering her to her husband and heading north alone to his own isolated homestead left him feeling strangely bereft.

After they’d driven Pike’s snowmobile off the bridge, Liam had wanted to scale the embankment and hunt for that maniac until he’d found his body and made 100 percent sure. Hannah’s preeclampsia had made the decision for him. Though it defied his training and soldier’s instinct, he couldn’t risk her life. His instinct to protect—to save—had been stronger.

He circled the house, his boots sinking deep, and studied the snow for tracks, for any sign of the intruder. There it was. A mass of fur and bloody entrails staining the pure white snow. The carcass was hidden just inside the tree line, downwind about thirty yards from the back of the house. It used to be a wild hare but was now a message from an enemy—an enemy who should be dead but wasn’t. Pike was alive.

This deranged psychopath was dying today. Full stop. In his military career, Liam had killed hundreds of men. He’d killed dozens more just in the last few weeks. They were the enemy; he was the soldier who took them out. This, however, was personal. After what Pike had done to Hannah, the irreparable harm he had caused her… Liam wanted the scumbag to die a slow, painful death. For Liam’s face to be the last thing he ever saw.

Milo’s face fell. Guilt pricked him. Noah had spoken too harshly. He hadn’t intended to. He cared about Quinn, but she was still a kid, idealistic and naïve. She had a kid’s notions about how the world should be. Should be, not the way it was. In the real world, you had to make concessions and compromises. Sometimes, you even had to do things that made you dislike yourself. He squeezed Milo’s shoulder. “Hey. That wasn’t cool. I’m stressed out, but that was no excuse. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Love for the infant in her arms tightened her chest. She had been so afraid she wouldn’t be able to love her, that she would feel the same loathing and revulsion for the child as she did for the monster responsible for creating her, who shared her genes. What if she’d looked like Pike? What if she had his darkness, his evil? What if every time Hannah looked at her, she saw her captor reflected in her child’s eyes? But she didn’t. She looked like Hannah. She looked like a baby: innocent and blameless. Pike had no part in this. Her daughter was hers and hers alone.

The purple room where Charlotte slept—peaceful, innocent, and utterly oblivious to the darkness hunting her. She bypassed it. She had to keep Pike away from it, away from her daughter. The only coherent thought in her head was a desperate prayer. Stay asleep. Please, dear God, make her sleep. That, and escape. Find a way out. Get away. Stop him.

Anger sprouted in her chest. Rage mingled with the fear and grief and dread. This man had stolen everything from her. From her family. From her son. Her children. Milo and Charlotte. The two chambers of her heart, beating in tandem.

Hannah gave a grim smile. “Who said it would be me?” She took a step into the hallway. Wiped her bloody hands on her sweatpants and seized the handle to the garage door. She opened it wide. She didn’t have to tell Ghost what to do. He already knew.

Pike toppled backward, Ghost on top of him, teeth bared, snarling and snapping. They landed with a crash. Pike screamed, flailing wildly. The dog didn’t hesitate. Ghost lunged in. His sharp teeth ripped through the coat at Pike’s neck, shredding fabric like tissue paper. He closed his powerful jaws over Pike’s jugular. Pike let out an unearthly howl that cut off abruptly in a wet gurgle as Ghost ripped his throat out.

Hannah breathed in and out. Her heart thudded in her chest. She stared down at her bloodied hand for a moment like it didn’t belong to her. Alive. She was alive. Pike, her nemesis, her monster, was finally dead. Ghost—beautiful, brave Ghost—had meted out justice for them both.

Her heart swelled. She thought it might explode right out of her chest. She petted him with both trembling hands. She wrapped her arms around Ghost’s neck and nestled her cheek against his giant head. “I love you, you know that, right? You are the best dog in the whole wide world!”

She ascended the stairs, Ghost beside her. Not ahead or behind her, but right at her side. He leaned against her, providing steady support, strength, and comfort. Just like he always did. Somehow, he sensed just what she needed, and when. With each step, she felt herself growing lighter. The darkness shedding like a snakeskin. Felt the strength returning to her limbs, vigor to her soul.

Ghost padded over and touched his nose to Charlotte’s cheek. He sniffed her from head to toe as if checking to make sure she was okay. Seemingly satisfied, he gave a low chuff of approval. “She’s yours now, too,” Hannah said softly. Ghost cocked his head, pricked his ears, and gave her a look, as if he found that fact quite obvious. He chuffed again and took up a position in the doorway. He sat tall and alert, keeping watch—a handsome prince of a dog intent on guarding his little flock. His plumed tail thumped the floor in a slow, contented rhythm.

Ghost scratched at the door and looked back at her imploringly. “If anyone could still be alive out there, it would be him.” The dog went to her, poked his nose against her palm, then circled back to the door. His tail swished back and forth. He pressed his muzzle against the door handle. “You want to go out there. You want to go find him.” Ghost gave a low chuff of assent. “It’ll be dangerous. It’s deadly out there, Ghost. I can’t—” She sucked in a breath, her eyes stinging, and tightened her hold on Charlotte. “I can’t lose you, too.” Ghost rose onto his hind legs and pressed his front paws against the door. He was taller than she was. Strong and beautiful and courageous. She bit her lower lip but nodded slowly. She raised her chin. “Then I guess we’ll both have to be brave.” Ghost glanced back at her, a question in his beautiful brown eyes. “You are so brave. So good and brave. I have one more request of you, my friend.” Ghost waited expectantly. “If he’s alive, find him and bring him back.” Hannah reached for the door handle. “Find Liam.”

His nightmares stalked him, images of his past haunting him—Jessa and Lincoln and the babe he’d left behind, his namesake. His nephew. Thoughts of Hannah slipped in and out of memories of Jessa. He saw them both—Jessa’s warm brown skin and generous smile, Hannah’s delicate freckled face and those green eyes shining like gemstones, beckoning to him, whispering an answer he desperately needed, but no longer remembered the question to. Sometimes, he no longer knew what was past or present. Where he was or why. Who he’d been chasing, who he needed to get back to.

I’m already gone, Jessa said. You aren’t yet. Don’t leave me, he thought. I need you. No, Jessa responded, her voice already growing dim and distant. You don’t. He knew he’d never hear her voice in his head again. Just as he knew that she was right. It was Hannah he needed now. Hannah he needed to get to. It wasn’t just a mission anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. His frozen heart thawing painfully, achingly slow, but thawing all the same. He cared for her. He cared for Charlotte. He had to get back to them. Wanted to get back to them, with every beat of his heart. He would crawl to her if he had to.

He yelled Hannah’s name as loud as he could. His mouth formed the shapes to make the correct sounds, but he heard nothing. He shouted again. The sound was so utterly obliterated by the wind that he didn’t know whether he’d made a sound at all. He was a soldier. He was trained for this. Trained to survive in any conditions, anywhere. That was who he was. It was bred into every fiber of his being.

The shape moved again. Darting from tree to tree. So blurry and indistinct, he might be imagining it. It was no man, no human. A ghost maybe. It was Lincoln, returning for vengeance. His eyes accusing. How could you leave me? How could you let her die?

She scratched Ghost beneath the chin. “Good boy! I knew you could do it. There’s fresh water and food waiting for you in the kitchen. I’ll stoke the fire in a minute and get you both warm.” Ghost shook himself, spraying snow all over Hannah. Chunks of ice and snow still clung to his coat. At least he had thick, insulating fur. He was born for this, his ancestors bred to withstand below freezing temperatures in the Pyrenees mountains. He’d be fine. Liam wouldn’t. Liam needed her.

Urgency gripped her. Liam was hypothermic. He was alive now, but if she didn’t act quickly, he wouldn’t be for long. Only three weeks ago, Liam had found her weak and shivering in the middle of Manistee National Forest. He’d taken care of her. Now, it was her turn to take care of him.

She stared down at him, her hands on her hips. “Liam Coleman, take your clothes off, right now!” He flinched, as if jolted out of his fugue. “J-Jessa—” “This is Jessa.” A part of her hated herself for the lie. A bigger part was willing to do whatever was necessary to keep him alive. If he’d listen to Jessa, so be it. He could hate her later. “I’m Jessa. And I’m trying to save your life. For Pete’s sake, take off your damn clothes!”

Quinn studied herself in the mirror. Her black roots were showing. The vibrant blue hair that she’d maintained for years was quickly fading. It was funny how quickly priorities changed. She didn’t care much about makeup or hair dye anymore. Blue was her favorite color, but that wasn’t the real reason why she’d kept it dyed. She stared at the black roots until her eyes blurred. With her dark hair, everyone used to say how much she looked like Octavia Riley. Her meth-head mother was the last person she’d wanted to resemble. Now Octavia was dead. Now it didn’t matter. She didn’t miss her mother. She told herself she didn’t. What she missed was the mother she was supposed to be. It still felt like a hole in her heart that would never heal. Even the scar tissue hurt when she pressed on it.

It had nearly broken him to leave that child behind. His heart had already shattered into a million pieces at the loss of Lincoln and Jessa. As much as he’d loved his nephew, his heart hadn’t been able to bear any more loss. Once again, he’d chosen isolation over love. Loneliness instead of connection.

They were two wounded people. So different and so much the same. Both of them survivors. Both of them suffering from trauma and loss. Mirrors to each other’s suffering and struggles. But she couldn’t save him. Just like he couldn’t save her. Not really. The hard work had to be done yourself. But that didn’t mean you had to make the journey alone. He realized then that it wasn’t humanity he had given up on. He had given up on himself. He’d given up on a chance for a life of meaning, of human connection, of love.

Liam couldn’t take his eyes off her. Once again, he’d fallen for a woman he could never have. He’d fallen completely, utterly, and wholeheartedly. Liam was in love with Hannah Sheridan.

Liam was on his feet again, but his bout with hypothermia and his back injury had taken a lot out of him. He’d endured too much. He wasn’t a robot, much as he wanted to pretend he was. His body weakened, just like anyone’s. It could fail. It could break. She’d left Liam resting with Charlotte snuggled on his broad chest, his hand resting protectively across her back. The sight of them together had done something to her, warming her and squeezing her heart at the same time.

She needed to go home. The rumble of engines drew Hannah’s attention. In the eerie silence of the new post-EMP world, the engine noise seemed deafening. It cut through the quiet like a knife through butter. Her heartrate accelerated. Instinctively, she slunk back into the shadows beneath the awning of a hair salon. She didn’t want to be seen. It was best to avoid even the possibility of trouble.

Hannah squinted against the bright sunlight as she read the hastily scrawled words: “Fall Creek Police Department.” Blood rushed in her ears. A wave of vertigo washed through her. Her legs went weak and watery. She leaned against the glass door of the salon, steadying her nerves. She’d read it wrong. She’d read what she wanted to see, not what was really there. The first truck passed. She focused her gaze on the second truck. The white one. The spray-painted letters large, black, and crystal clear. She stood frozen with indecision. Hope bloomed in her chest, warring with caution. Hope won. Hannah dashed into the street. Her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath caught in her throat like a prayer.

“It’s providence,” Bishop said, not an ounce of doubt in his voice. “A miracle. God is watching over us all, even now.” “Whatever it is—luck, aliens, voodoo—we’ll take it.” Reynoso turned to Hannah. “I’ve got a police chief who’ll kill me if I don’t bring you back to him ASAP. Hop in and we’ll bring you home.” Her heart surged at the thought of home. Finally, after five long years, Hannah was going home.

“Holy hell,” Perez said. “Do you see this?” Reynoso looked up at Hannah, his face gray. “You know who this is?” She said nothing, just watched him carefully. “This is Gavin flipping Pike. Rosamond Sinclair’s son.” “I know.” “The superintendent is going to freak the hell out,” Reynoso said. “She’s gonna go postal over this.” Perez straightened. She stared at Hannah with a grave expression. “Who killed him?” Before she could open her mouth, Liam spoke from behind her. “I did.”

Annette frowned, but she didn’t argue with him. Noah didn’t feel like it, either. He was tired of delivering bad news. “I’ve asked Sutter to retrieve some books from local libraries, but he doesn’t seem too keen on it.” Annette glanced at Noah, as if weighing her words. “It’s almost like they don’t want us doing anything for ourselves.”

“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.

“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.”

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.

“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.

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.

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. Like the world hadn’t turned upside down out there; like their lives hadn’t imploded in here.

“The things that were done to me…I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to get over that. For not being able to unknow it.” “That won’t be a problem.” She wanted to share her past with him, the way she’d shared it with Liam. But Liam wasn’t her husband. She understood that this was different. That it was an incredible burden to ask another to bear.

She understood that he was seeking a distraction. Noah had never been great with uncomfortable emotions. He would rather smooth things over and pretend everything was okay, even if it wasn’t. Even amid catastrophic change, some things remained the same.

Her heart constricted at the mention of Rosamond Sinclair. Gavin Pike’s mother. Her mouth went dry and thick, like it was stuffed with paper towels. It was time to tell him. Even if he wasn’t ready for the details, he needed to know this.

Dizziness washed through him. Gavin’s death was more shocking to him than what had come before. His half-brother. His mother’s precious, favorite son. Dead. A competing jumble of emotions snarled in his gut. He waited for the sorrow, the gut-punch of grief. It didn’t come. He knew how he should feel. He should be weak-kneed, overcome with horror and loss. He felt none of those things. Numbness spread through his body. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was something else. His older brother had cast a large and ominous shadow. He’d always seemed larger than life. Too evil to die.

She took it with shaking hands. Her whole body was trembling, quivering with grief. She looked like she’d aged a decade in five minutes. Her eyes were red and wide, but she did not weep. Julian had never seen her cry, not once. Julian realized he should’ve been the one to check on his mother, to get her a drink, to comfort her, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Rosamond waved Sutter away, and he and Desoto returned to their seats. Reynoso and Perez watched her like she was a bomb about to explode. Probably because she was.

Gavin hadn’t been murdered. He’d deserved every gunshot and stab wound and then some. Julian was certain of it. Whoever this soldier was, he’d done the world a favor. In doing so, he’d also found himself on the wrong side of Rosamond Sinclair. That was his fatal mistake. Julian knew better than to speak his thoughts aloud. His mother wouldn’t change her mind. He had little inclination to try. This was happening, with or without him. This was his chance to get back on her good side. To prove his worth to her. To prove that he was better than his brother.

Liam Coleman. Bitter acid rose in the back of his throat. In the three days since Hannah’s return, Noah’s instinctive dislike toward Liam had only grown. He knew it was petty and spiteful. He knew it and couldn’t help it. Maybe he was a lesser man than he’d always believed himself to be. Jealousy ate away at him every time he saw Liam and Hannah together. Since Liam was still staying in their downstairs guest room, that was a lot. How she looked at him with trust and respect. How she moved and spoke and laughed with such ease around him. Noah had been trying. He was trying with all his heart and soul to reach her. Things were getting a little better, but they were still awkward. He loved her. She was his wife, and he wanted her to remain that way, forever and ever. He wanted to raise Milo with her, grow old beside her.