Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(30)

“Good,” Dave said. “That should work.”

Hannah had her notebook out and was scribbling intently, eyes bright. “We’ll designate families for each space and coordinate team leaders, just like we’re doing with the farms. Once that bell rings, people need to move immediately.”

“So, what do we do next?” Annette asked.

As one, all eyes flicked to Liam.

Liam turned from the window. “You won’t like it.”

Dave raised both hands, palms out. “You’re our expert, Liam. We’ll defer to your judgement.”

“We need to be more than ready,” Liam said. “We need to strike first.”

The council members stared at him in shock, faces blank.

“What?” Dave sputtered. “With what army?”

“We don’t wait for the General to make his next move. That gives him too much power.

It makes us reactive instead of proactive. We go after him first. Not a full-frontal assault—we wouldn’t last ten minutes. Guerilla warfare. A coordinated sneak attack on weapons, fuel, and supplies. We’ll only have one shot. He won’t be expecting it. It’s our best—probably only—chance to take him by surprise.”

Perez leaned forward, her black hair slicked behind her ears, her expression intent. “Hell yeah. I’m in.”

“We have no hope of defeating him,” Liam warned her. “But we can make it harder for him. Eliminate or steal resources he’d use against us. Wear him down. Drain and weaken his soldiers as much as we can. Hungry soldiers aren’t so eager to fight.”

Annette looked sick. “That seems risky.”

Liam glanced at Hannah. Her gaze was steady, grim but undaunted. He took strength from her. “Everything we do or don’t do is a risk.”

Perez waved a hand, grimacing. “We’re waiting around to be attacked. It feels like death warmed over. Like we’ve already given up, like we’re just rolling on our backs and showing our bellies.”

“In other words, we agree with Liam,” Reynoso said wryly.

Weary nods around the room. Their faces were grave, expressions bleak but not yet broken.

Liam’s gut knotted. The threats facing Fall Creek loomed over them. The responsibility for their lives was a thousand bricks pressing down on his chest.

“Don’t forget about the Syndicate,” Perez said. “They’re still out there, too.”

Liam clenched his jaw. “I haven’t forgotten. Not for one second.”

With one last glance out the window, Liam headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Bishop asked.

“We’ve got a hell of a lot of work ahead of us. First, there’s someone I need to see.”





19





Liam





Day One Hundred and Seven





Liam shined the flashlight in James Luther’s face. “Looks like I have a use for you after all.”

Luther scratched his unruly beard, blinking blearily. He was rank. His rumpled clothing stank of sweat and B.O. and other bodily functions. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

“Does that light have to be so bright?”

Liam lowered the flashlight. He’d covered the bulb with a red transparent film to make it less noticeable.

“Thank you,” Luther said. “You have any food? I’ve only had a can of bean sprouts in two days.”

Liam handed him a small package of cornbread wrapped in a square of aluminum foil. “Molly wants the foil back. Can’t waste anything these days.”

He waited with restrained impatience while Luther consumed the cornbread, stuffing it into his mouth and shamelessly licking the crumbs from his fingers.

They stood in the semi-darkness of the abandoned house where Liam had stashed Luther several days ago. It was a two-story colonial with a vaulted ceiling and dusty pictures of kids on the walls.

Someone had ransacked the house long ago—cupboard doors hanging open, the fridge emptied, cushions shredded, mattresses dumped off beds and clothes strewn from tossed dressers.

It stank almost as bad as Luther did. Liam fought the urge to gag.

Earlier that night, he had dropped in on Evelyn and Travis. He’d held L.J., carrying him around on his hip while L.J. laughed and laughed. He had Jessa’s honey-brown skin and Lincoln’s arresting gray-blue eyes. The same as Liam’s own.

The last vestiges of his sickness and lethargy had disappeared. With Molly’s home remedies, Evelyn’s medical expertise, and Hannah’s generous donation of breast milk, L.J. had transformed into a healthy, cheerful baby.

Liam longed to be with them, not in this stinking hovel.

Luther inhaled another bite and spoke around it. “I want to do something to make up for…for before. Tell me what to do.”

Liam eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t trust this man. He loathed him. And yet, he required him.

Liam had experience running case agents, or confidential informants. The most reliable CIs did it for God or country. Less reliable were paid operatives. Because their allegiance was to money, they were easier to turn if discovered.

What was Luther’s motivation? To look himself in the eye in the mirror? That wouldn’t last long. His motivation was his father. And saving his own skin.