Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(25)

“The U.P.,” she echoed in growing dismay.

“Your brother is right. There are far fewer people. Plenty of land for good hunting and gardening, more lakes for fishing and fresh water.”

Her heart beat faster. Her mouth went dry. “You want to leave.”

“I don’t want to.” He shook his head. His hands opened and closed at his sides, something lost and vulnerable in his gaze. “I fear we need to. You and me, Travis and Evelyn, Milo, the babies. And Ghost.”

He paused as if steeling himself, testing his own resolve. “The journey will be dangerous, but we can take the back roads. We’ll have a couple of shooters and plenty of weapons and ammo.

“We stop at my cabin outside of Traverse City and stock up on supplies. It’s out of the way and likely undiscovered. We can bring another six months of food, seeds, tools, and other essentials with us to Oliver’s place. We could do it, Hannah. It would work.”

The vision shimmered behind her eyes. The reunion with her brother. Her parents’ house in the woods on thirty acres, surrounded by forest and lakes. The barns and outhouses, goats and chickens, and fencing for horses and cows. The flourishing gardens behind the chicken coop, a freshwater creek running the length of the property.

Her parents’ house was situated on the top of a hill at the end of a ten-mile dirt road, isolated—and defensible.

They could be safe. Her children could be safe.

They could make a life there, her and Liam. A life together.

Her eyes burned at the promise of something she so desperately wanted.

“And Quinn and Molly?”

Liam’s features tightened. He dropped his gaze, unable to hide the naked pain in his eyes—or the shame. “There’s no room. We don’t have enough vehicles or fuel.”

“They’re family.”

His mouth thinned into a bloodless line.

“And Bishop?”

He shook his head wordlessly.

“Bishop has been a brother to us. Reynoso and Perez. Dave and Annette. How could we abandon them?”

“If we stay, I cannot promise your safety. Or Milo’s or Charlotte’s.” He grimaced as if the words were bitter on his tongue, as if speaking them aloud was repugnant, antithetical to everything he stood for.

Her voice softened. “You never could.”

He looked tormented, his rugged face gray in the flickering light, his eyes hollowed. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

She fought the urge to fall into his arms. To draw him close and ease his suffering. “These are our people.”

“I know.” His voice was gruff with restrained emotion—frustration, regret, fear. “Trust me, I know. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s foolish to stay. Tactically, our best chance of survival is to retreat. To flee.”

The temptation was almost too strong to resist. A promise of safety, of freedom. Of life.

A promise that didn’t truly exist.

No one could promise anyone’s safety, not even before the Collapse. People died in accidents and car crashes, of heart attacks and strokes. People stole and cheated and murdered.

It was worse, now. They survived on a knife's edge. No safety net. No room for error or self-delusion.

More safe and less safe. That was it.

And even if there was absolute safety—could she leave her community, her home, even to save her children?

Hannah felt torn in two. Conflicted to her core. Her children were her heart and soul. But so was Fall Creek. The people here, the community they’d built—she loved them, too.

Quinn was like a daughter to her; Molly, the grandmother she’d never had. Bishop meant more to her than words could say. Dave and Annette were dear friends.

She loved this place, these people, as much as she loved herself.

If she escaped with Liam and her children, she doomed her friends to certain death. Cursed to live with the insidious, inescapable guilt for the rest of her days.

If she stayed to fight, she placed her children in incredible danger. Liam might die anyway. They all might perish. Odds were, they would.

Damned if you do, Damned if you don’t.

Her ruined hand strayed beneath her coat for the American Ruger .45 holstered at her hip. She always wore her oversized western-style silver buckle so she could rack the slide one-handed.

The Ruger had been a gift from a kind, fierce woman named CiCi. A woman who’d taken in strangers, who had graciously fed and sheltered them in the face of grave danger.

A foolish decision, but also one of mercy, of extraordinary grace.

CiCi’s act of kindness had cost her her life. But it had saved Hannah’s.

She gazed down at the gun, felt the smooth, comforting heft of it. Her crooked fingers curled over the grip. Her misshapen hand—broken and re-broken in that dank prison basement. Once a source of shame and horror, but not anymore.

Her scars no longer a symbol of her weakness, but rather her strength.

Hannah looked up. “I won’t do it. I won’t leave.”

Liam said nothing, only watched her with those sharp, penetrating gray-blue eyes.

“Pike wasn't an anomaly of the universe,” she said. “There are others like him. Inhuman. Those who feed on fear, suffering, and destruction. Those are the wolves the EMP has unleashed. And they’re coming for us. They’re coming for everything good in this world.”