Edge of Valor (Edge of Collapse, #7)

by Kyla Stone

Few people looked to libraries for crucial tips on surviving the apocalypse. It wasn’t just the non-fiction sections they should check, either. Quinn had an entire list of skills and ideas she’d gleaned from her favorite post-apocalyptic novels crowding her bookshelves. Namely, how not to die from sheer stupidity.

Standing watch, alert for any threats to her people, ready and willing to fight to the death—that was her wheelhouse.

“Man cannot live by meat alone,” Gran quipped. Quinn blinked. “Try me.” “Ever heard of scurvy? You need vegetables. Fruits. Green things! Canned food is already getting scarce.”

“I have no intention of—” Gran’s wrinkled face hardened. “You don’t always choose it, girl.” Chagrined, Quinn’s mouth clamped shut. She knew exactly what Gran meant.

This is sad but true.

“You young people think you’re invincible. You’re not. You’re made of meat and bone, like every creature on this cursed earth. You’re not special. You can die just like anybody else.”

“The world still needs beautiful things,” she said gruffly, like talking about anything that even hinted of sentimentality gave her hives. “For every thousand people who kill and destroy, there’s one gifted enough to create, to make something out of nothing.”

The General didn’t have the patience for mind games. He preferred to orchestrate them himself and loathed when others attempted the ploy. “Don’t waste my time. What the hell are you doing?” “Be more specific.” The voice was deep and resonant. Persuasive. Though he was essentially no better than a mafia don, the man’s English was perfect—clipped, impatient, implying a smooth, manipulative intelligence. “Don’t play mind games with me, Poe.”

I figured as much.

“Remember who’s in charge here.”

He had met Poe once at a fancy fundraiser dinner for the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. A mob kingpin, but he was no tracksuit-wearing thug. He was educated and intelligent, poised and graceful as a leopard.

He was utterly ruthless, with no family, friends, or loyalties. Ambitious and greedy.

They both desired the whole world on a platter.

his Syndicate formed a wide network of thugs, gangsters, and criminals he’d built over two decades ruling the underbelly of crime in Chicago. But he couldn’t do real damage without upgrading his weaponry. He needed the keys to the kingdom. Keys which the General had generously provided him. For it was the General himself who’d supplied Alexander Poe with the resources he needed to gain control of Chicago. And from there, most of Illinois.

The locations of local armories. Access to certain clandestine storage facilities. Covert military shipments authorized to...

They looked like soldiers, intentionally preying upon a civilian’s natural inclination to respect and obey American armed forces.

Poe had spread like a cancer throughout the cities and suburbs, and then through the rural towns, sweeping through FEMA camps and exploiting their government-provided resources to feed his growing army. Whatever he didn’t need, he often burned or killed, leaving large swaths of death and devastation in his wake. And fear.

Poe had served a valuable purpose. But that purpose was now waning. He would soon outlive his usefulness.

They never realize when they create their monsters they usually end up getting swallowed up by their own creation. A tale as old as time but that's what greed gets you I guess.

From the beginning, Poe had insisted on calling him Byron rather than by his title, a subtle slight that the General had overlooked. He regretted that now. The General had Poe handled, but he was not an enemy to underestimate.

See there. Idiot.

Poe was more than a problem. He was getting out of hand.

Like, how are you surprised. This is your doing. You gave him everything he needed to destroy you. This family is just… dumb. They think so highly of themselves but can't do simple math.

No time to think. To weigh the pros and cons. Evaluate the risks. If she didn’t act, she was dead, and Charlotte gone. She acted. Hannah lifted the .45 with both hands. Braced the butt with her bad hand. Aimed to the right of center mass, exhaled, and squeezed.

Instinct and training took over. She lowered slightly and fired again.

the bundle in his arm dropped to the carpeted floor.

Every fiber of her being longed to rush to her child, but she couldn’t. Not yet. She couldn’t focus on anything but eliminating the threat. She knew better than to turn her back on a wounded animal. Especially the human kind.

Hannah planted her feet and aimed between his eyes. “No one messes with my family!”

Molly wore a white long-sleeved nightgown. Quinn wore an oversized Metallica T-shirt and red snowman pajama bottoms. Neither wore coats. Quinn was barefoot, mud and grass caking the bottoms of her feet.

They was ready!

His body sported three new holes. One round had torn through the meat of his upper right shoulder. The second buried itself in his upper thigh, missing his femoral artery. The third shot had lodged above his crotch, in his groin. Hannah had done a damn fine job.

She looked at him with burning eyes. “He wants you dead. He wants my baby.” “He’s not going to get what he wants.”

“This family is poison. It’s like they never die. When Pike was chasing us, that’s how it felt, like he was the devil himself.”

“The evil in that family. Do you think it started with Rosamond’s father? What if it’s a genetic curse passed from generation to generation?” “We all have choices,” Liam reminded her. “No one is born evil.” “What if Charlotte has it?” “She doesn’t. She won’t. You’re raising her with love, kindness, everything good.”

He lifted one hand and brushed her hair back from her face. “I will protect her, I promise you. I will lay down my life for hers.” He hesitated, his eyes dark and bottomless. “I would die for you, Hannah.”

Finally! We getting somewhere.

He glanced down at her hand, looked up at her. Longing in his eyes. The same desire throbbing in her own chest reflected back at her.

Something released inside her. A letting go, an opening up, like a butterfly’s wings unfurling.

Liam leaned forward and kissed her.

Yeeees!!!!! It's about time!

They loved each other the way hurt people loved. Cautious, stretching carefully, testing their injured souls, checking to see if their damaged hearts still beat.

“I’m no good at this stuff. I—I love Charlotte like she was my own flesh and blood. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I was hers. And Milo, I care for him, too. He’s smart and brave. And you…” He cleared his throat. “Hannah…”

“I want to be with you. I want to be where you are.” Hannah’s eyes glistened. “I want to be with you.”

“I mean it.” This time, he did not hesitate. He laid himself bare. “I’m all in, Hannah. Whatever happens next, I need you to know that. You, Milo, Charlotte.” His voice choked. He struggled to continue, to get it out. It was important to say. He needed to say it. “If you will have me.” She leaned in, her forehead touching his, her green eyes bright. “I will, Liam Coleman. I will have you.”

Yes! Say the words honey! Let it out!

He wasn’t a poet or an orator or one prone to religious experiences, but he’d give anything in the world to remain in this moment forever. Here in this place, here with her. With this beautiful woman he didn’t deserve, but still loved with every beat of his heart.

He’d never felt so warm. So cherished. So completely loved.

All along, this was where he’d belonged: in Hannah’s arms.

Yes it was! Awwwwwww!!!!!!

“How much did we lose?” “Our ammo, fuel, and transport supplies were attacked, sir. Five transports filled with supplies. Fourteen Humvees destroyed. Half of our ammo supply blown to bits.”

Dead bodies brought the rats. Rats brought diseases.

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.

He sounded remorseful. Liam recalled a comment Quinn had made about Luther: a polite killer was still a killer. She’d made a good point.

The rank-and-file guardsmen don’t like him, but they obey him.”

“Gran!” Her mouth was open; she was screaming but she couldn’t hear the sounds emanating from her own throat. “Gran!” The Black Hawk came shrieking toward them, miniguns lighting up. Time stopped.

Nooooooo! NO NO NO. This isn't about to happen. Not Gran. Not Quinn. I can't take it.

Something heavy smashed into her. She fell sideways, falling hard to her knees behind the truck.

People coughed, sobbing and screaming. Someone moaned. Shapes on the ground appeared through the haze. Figures moved, struggling to rise. Some didn’t move at all. “Gran,” she croaked. And then louder, “Gran!”

Gran who’d pushed her out of the way. Gran who’d taken the hit, not her.

“Not without Gran!” she screamed.

“But Quinn, she’s—” Quinn didn’t want to listen anymore. Didn’t want to hear what he had to say. The thing she feared in the deepest recesses of her soul. “No!”

Omg. I can't. Not Gran. Omg.