Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(62)

Jonas had retrieved her rifle for her; it lay at her feet, filmed in dirt and dust. The boy sat on the next cot over, close but not too close, his hands knotted in his lap. He hadn’t let Quinn out of his sight since they’d arrived.

Hannah strode to Quinn and knelt on the hard concrete floor in front of her. Quinn barely registered her presence.

She took Quinn’s limp hands in hers and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

There weren’t enough words in any language to express the enormity of loss they’d all experienced, but especially Quinn. Quinn, who’d lost her mother, her grandfather, and her grandmother in less than four months. And Noah. She’d lost him, too.

Hannah gazed steadily into her anguished, downcast face. “You are not alone. We are right here, and we’re not going anywhere. Do you understand?”

Quinn gave the tiniest jerk of her chin. Tears tracked her soot-stained cheeks.

Hannah’s heart swelled with compassion. She scooted onto the cot and gathered the girl into her arms. With her bad hand, she massaged Quinn’s back. Without realizing it, she hummed “Blackbird” into Quinn’s snarled hair.

Quinn allowed herself to be held. Her shoulders quaked as she wept.

They didn’t speak. There was nothing else worth saying. She held the girl until her wracking sobs finally subsided.

Gently, Hannah tucked the blanket over her shivering form. “Rest now. You need to rest.”

Hannah hated leaving the girl, but there was too much work to be done. She glanced over at Jonas, who nodded wordlessly, already anticipating her question.

He’d stay with Quinn. He’d watch over her.

Before she did anything else, she checked on Charlotte and Milo.

Travis had taken charge of the children separated from their parents. Most of the kids stared blankly, stunned, or retreated into sleep. A few were awake and alert. Joey, the little boy Quinn had saved, slept on his older brother’s lap.

A few feet away, Milo held Charlotte on a cot, bouncing her on his knee. A couple of kids made silly faces, trying to get her to giggle.

Ghost never strayed more than a few feet from Milo’s side. He snuffled the kids’ faces, serene and patient as they patted his head and fondled his silky ears.

She blinked the sudden wetness from her eyes. Something released inside her chest. The dog seemed to know where she needed him most.

With her kids safe, Hannah busied herself comforting those who needed it.

“Here you go.” Hannah handed Becky Grisone a recycled bottle of sterilized water and a clean folded blanket.

The hair stylist and owner of Tresses Hair Salon slumped on a cot pushed against the wall. She looked up at Hannah with a vacant stare.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Hannah asked.

“My son,” she said. “We got separated. I haven’t been able to find him…”

Hannah gave her an encouraging smile. “We’re making a list of survivors. Remember, there’s also the middle school bomb shelter and the one at town hall. And those who hunkered in their basements. As soon as we know more, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Stacey hugged the blanket to her chest. “Thank you. For everything.”

She was shaken herself. Devastated, grief-stricken, hounded with worry for Liam and Bishop. She refused to give in to it.

Her family and friends needed her. These people needed her. She would do everything in her power to help them, soothe them, and keep their spirits up.

As a leader, she had a responsibility.

And Hannah had never shirked responsibility in her life.

Hannah moved on to the next traumatized survivor, and the next, offering words of comfort and encouragement.

It was surprising how little it took to ease a stricken heart—a smile, a kind word, a gentle touch. And seeing to their physical needs—a blanket for warmth, a little food, some water.

The gunfire outside the school stilled. Gradually, the fear pervading the shelter dwindled to a low humming dread. The room was tense but quiet, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

After she’d run out of blankets and water, Hannah made her way across the room to Dave and Annette, who huddled beside the bomb shelter doors.

Both swayed on their feet, utterly exhausted.

Apprehension pushed her heart into her throat. “Have you heard from Liam?”

“I went topside a couple minutes ago to get better radio reception,” Dave said. “Those crazy daredevils did it. They crashed the damn chopper.”

“Oh, thank God,” Annette said.

Relief flooded her, her legs going weak. Hannah closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, releasing some of the tension knotting her insides.

Liam was safe. Bishop was safe. They did it.

“I’ll make the announcement in a minute,” Dave said. “We need to stay down here awhile longer. The reaction teams are clearing the town before they give the all-clear.”

Hannah shivered and hugged herself. “It’s still hard to believe they opened fire on American citizens, even after seeing it with my own eyes.”

“They labeled us terrorists. No evidence required.”

“How many have we lost?” Annette asked.

“Too many.” Dave’s eyes darkened with sorrow. “At least ten, including Molly.”

If Liam hadn’t sounded the alarm, giving them almost five precious minutes of advance warning, how many more might have perished?