Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(72)

His heart hammered against his ribs. Static buzzed inside his skull. Despondent, he sank into the sofa cushions, head in his hands.

Liam was one man. He couldn’t repel an army. Not on multiple fronts with multiple targets.

Before he’d even started, he’d failed.

And yet.

Without the General’s vendetta, the National Guard had little reason to attack Fall Creek. Maybe they would’ve wanted Winter Haven—but without the community’s solar power, it held little value.

Get rid of the General, and Lansing would send someone else, someone who didn’t give a damn about this town, or Charlotte.

This started and ended with General Sinclair.

Take him out and Fall Creek would have a chance. Hannah would have a chance.

But how? With more time, Liam could devise an ambush to lure the General into a trap. Or set up a sniper hide and take him out via a long-distance bullet to the brain.

But from Luther’s intel, he knew the General was careful. He had taken the penthouse suite; the only wall of windows faced Lake Michigan. No tall buildings nearby with rooftops or windows for sniping.

Liam was out of time. Out of options.

There was only one way out.

Something snagged his gaze. The crooked green and gray hat peeked between the sofa cushions.

Liam pulled it out and held it in his hands, turning it over and over, running his calloused fingers over the lumpy knitting.

He had made it for L.J. He’d worn it once within hours of his birth. Liam had kept it to remind him of Jessa and Lincoln, of his dead family and the baby he’d left behind in Chicago.

What had once symbolized his failure had transformed into a gift, a symbol of hope. When Hannah entered his life. When Charlotte came red-faced and bawling into the world.

His thoughts crystalized. What he must do. And how.

The path forward had never been clearer.

The General wanted Liam. He wanted to kill Liam himself, with his own hands. Which meant he would need to get close. Face-to-face close.

Perhaps, close enough to kill.

Doubt and uncertainty needled him. It was a significant risk. The chances of success were slim. The odds of survival non-existent.

Even if Liam could get his hands on the General, he couldn’t fight off the mercenaries who’d unleash hell in revenge.

He didn’t have to.

Getting out wasn’t the important part. Only getting in.

For a second, he considered calling Bishop, organizing an assault team. He dismissed the thought. They needed every fighter to defend Fall Creek. Besides, he couldn’t bear the idea of sending his friends into a kill zone with little hope of survival.

Ironically, he had never valued his life as much as he did now. He wanted this life, flawed but beautiful. He wanted to carve out a place in this world with Hannah at the beating center of it.

Only now did he fully understand what he must lose to save them.

Liam called Luther on the radio.

When he picked up, Liam said, “I need you.”





51





Liam





Day One Hundred and Fourteen





Liam geared up.

This mission required speed and agility. He planned to leave his go-bag behind, but he strapped on his chest rig and did a weapons check, counted his ammo and magazines.

He kept his everyday carry case with the folding knife, paracord, tactical pen, and multi-tool in his jacket pocket.

He’d borrowed Hannah’s sewing kit for a couple of last-minute alterations and a couple of items from Reynoso’s home as well. Reynoso didn’t know—he was busy on night patrol.

It was time to go.

Liam had thought out every contingency and back-up plan, every move and countermove until it solidified in his mind.

He was prepared for a one-man war.

Ghost was on his feet, watching him intently with those intelligent brown eyes, ears pricked. He knew something was about to happen.

Liam scratched his floppy ears and rubbed beneath his muzzle. “Take care of them for me.”

Movement in the shadows of the hallway.

Adrenaline shot through him. Liam spun, Glock in hand.

Quinn spoke in the darkness. “It’s me.”

Liam lowered the pistol. “What’d I tell you about sneaking up on people?”

“To get better at it. Looks like I did.”

Her glassy eyes sparkled in the dim moonlight trickling through the living room window. She wore red flannel pajama bottoms, a Metallica T-shirt, and Hannah’s pink slippers. She looked so young.

He holstered his pistol. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.”

“Touché.”

Ghost trotted up to her and sniffed her hand. She scratched him behind his ears. He snorted in pleasure and pressed the top of his head against her thigh.

Her gaze slid from Ghost to his face to the M4 on its sling, the chest rig bristling with gear. “You’re leaving.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“There’s something I have to do.”

“Does Hannah know?”

“She will.”

“Which means she doesn’t know.”

Truth was, he couldn’t bear to tell her. He knew what her reaction would be. He didn’t want to say goodbye. Not that she couldn’t handle it—he couldn’t.