Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(84)

But Liam ensured he had a back-up, one unlikely to be discovered even in a strip-search. The key was the difference between mission success and utter failure.

Mindful of every microscopic movement, Liam pinched the tiny key between his fingers and maneuvered it into the lock.

Don’t drop it. Whatever you do, don’t drop it.

The cuffs bit into his wrist-bones. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Vertigo washed through him.

The cuffs clicked open and clattered to the concrete.

Liam climbed to his feet. He closed his eyes, tamping down the panic surging into his chest, the dizziness.

His legs gave out on him, and he staggered against the shelves, nearly falling. With great effort, he pulled himself up.

The pain was incredible. His spine on fire. His ribs cracked, maybe broken. His entire face felt like someone had shoved it into a blender.

With a moan, he used the shelf to hold himself up and reached for his clothing, hoping, praying, desperate that it was still there. Please, God, please…

There it was. It sat atop his folded jacket next to the sunglasses case—the discarded pen.

Just a pen, not a weapon.

Except it wasn’t. Not in Liam’s hands.

Six and a half inches long, discrete, with a removable cap on each end. One side, a normal ballpoint pen. The other side, a hard tungsten carbide head designed to pierce human flesh with one strike.

He only needed a chance to use it.





62





The General





Day One Hundred and Fifteen





The door slammed open.

The General marched into the freezer. He held a silenced Colt 1911 pistol in his hand.

Besides Luther, three of the General’s bodyguards crowded into the room. Dobson and McArthur moved to the right. Luther sidled to the left, standing behind Gibbs.

Behind them, the door remained open.

Outside, Baxter waited nervously—the man was squeamish; he had no stomach for bloodshed.

The General held no such qualms.

Lansing had moved fast. Furious, Lauren Eubanks had called him, demanding answers and insinuating that he might have had a hand in Governor Duffield’s untimely demise.

Luckily, she couldn’t prove any of it.

Governor Duffield hadn’t updated her on the General’s air raid on an American town. The General’s secrets remained safe.

He only needed a little more time.

At this very moment, his troops were headed for Fall Creek. He’d sent them early. Because he could. Because he wanted to see the look in Coleman’s face when he told him.

Gibbs had reported that many of the National Guard had balked at engaging noncombatants. The General had threatened them with a court-martial.

They knew what that meant. He would shoot every one of them in the head before he allowed them to defy orders.

When it came to it, they’d buckle down and obey. Their lives or the lives of strangers; it was no contest.

As soon as the General gave the word, they would descend upon Fall Creek with the fury of a hurricane.

And once it was over, it was over. Feelings would be hurt; outrageous accusations made. If it ever came up in a future congressional hearing, he could blame it on Poe.

In the end, the feds only wanted results. The General would give them those results.

Just as soon as he took care of this little problem.

The General stared at Coleman kneeling on the floor. The prisoner cowered before him, wretched and pathetic, his shoulders hunched, head down in abject misery.

Blood dripped from his hairline. Cuts, scrapes, and old scars marred his bare, muscled chest. The wound in his side leaked red. The tendons in his neck stood out.

He trembled, quaking with terror and dread. A man gripped by the terrible knowledge of imminent death. Finally, he’d revealed himself as the gutless coward that he was. That deep down, all men were.

The General smiled.

All men were made of flesh and blood and bone. All men broke.

The General broke them.

He stepped forward. Raised the pistol.

“Don’t get too close,” Gibbs warned, but the General ignored him.

Dark energy hummed through him. He would relish this moment, would wring every ounce of pleasure from it. “My troops are moving in on Fall Creek right now. Your friends are about to die.”

Coleman said nothing.

“Look at me!”

He wanted to stare into Liam Coleman’s desperate eyes as he squeezed the trigger and fired the kill shot. He wanted the man to know who brought his death. Who wielded ultimate power and meted out ultimate defeat.

He longed to see the despair in his gaze.

The man refused to raise his head.

The General took another step closer. “I said, look at me!”

Still, the man remained motionless.

An unreasoning fury seized the General. He strode forward, intending to press the muzzle against his prisoner’s lowered forehead. “You will obey—!”

General Byron Sinclair never finished his sentence.

Liam Coleman exploded into motion.

The General’s brain barely registered that the prisoner’s hands were no longer bound. The pistol was struck from his startled grip.

Before his bodyguards could react, Liam pounced upon him.

A glint of something small and pointed streaked toward his face. A blur of sharpened steel.