Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(95)

Day One Hundred and Eighteen





Liam was alive.

Alive, but crippled.

The shrapnel had clipped his spinal cord. He was numb from the waist down. Couldn’t feel a thing. Not his toes, not his shins or knees or anything else. His spine busted, his legs ruined.

Locked in this damn bed, forced to lay still and straight to not further injure his spine. He was hooked to an IV and a catheter, monitored for low blood pressure, respiratory complications, blood clots, and any neurological issues.

“Am I paralyzed?” he asked, just wanting the truth.

“I can’t answer that,” Evelyn said. “It could be spinal shock or transient paralysis. Inflammation can put enormous pressure on your spinal cord. If it’s temporary, it could last for a few hours or a few weeks. Or…”

“Or it’s permanent.”

Evelyn’s gaze softened. She touched his arm. “I’ve found some methylprednisolone for the inflammation, but that’s all we have. I’m sorry.”

After years of his body performing like a well-oiled machine—powerful, efficient, dynamic, capable—he’d finally suffered the consequences of his actions. The punishments his body had endured.

He’d understood the risks. He’d known the crushed discs in his spine would eventually fail him.

His identity was encapsulated in his ability to shoot, to wound, to kill other human beings with precision and accuracy.

He was a soldier.

The sheepdog standing between the wolves and the sheep.

Who was he now? Who could he protect or defend?

And yet. Despite how wrecked he felt, he accepted it. He knew how lucky he was.

He had a steady stream of visitors. Hannah hardly left his side. Bishop took a rotation as well. Quinn, Milo, and Charlotte were often nearby, along with Travis, Evelyn, and little L.J.

And Ghost. The loyal canine kept a constant watch at his bedside during the day, guarding Hannah at night and returning to Liam’s room each morning.

Once upon a time, Liam would’ve shut them out and retreated in isolated misery. Now he was a different man.

He’d learned his lesson the hard way, but he’d learned.

Letting people in didn’t make you weak; it made you stronger.

Even amid the worst of his suffering, he found comfort in their presence. Hannah and Charlotte, L.J. and Milo. Quinn, Bishop, and Ghost. Travis and Evelyn. Reynoso and Perez.

His people. His family.

He needed them more than he needed oxygen. More than he needed anything—even his legs.





73





Liam





Day One Hundred and Twenty-One





“I’m broken,” Liam said.

Hannah sat on the cot, her hip resting against his. He couldn’t feel it. “Liam.”

Fear constricted his throat. He’d been dreading this conversation. It had been six days with no feeling, no movement, no nothing.

Liam sat in the same damn bed in the same damn position, his legs lumps of lead.

It was evening. A kerosene lamp glowed on the counter, draping the makeshift hospital room in shades of warm golden light.

“I have to say this,” Liam said in a choked voice. “You aren’t beholden to me. You should be free to…to be happy. I may never walk again, let alone fight or…”

Hannah put a finger to his lips. “Do you think I love you because you can kill a man twenty different ways?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

She took his free hand and slid her crooked fingers between his and squeezed. “I love you, Liam Coleman. I love everything that you are. Everything. I accept it all.”

He glanced down at their linked hands in the lamplight. Looked up and met her steady, unflinching gaze.

Hannah held up her misshapen hand, still holding his own, and said, “Broken doesn’t scare me.”

She laid down then, scooting herself against him on the cramped cot. She nestled her cheek against his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her and drew her close.

Nothing had ever felt more right, more true, in his entire life.

Whatever the future held, whatever joys and sorrows, as long as she was by his side, he would face it with his head held high.

“You’re still here,” Hannah said. “You’re still trying. That’s what matters.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was the men and women who chose to keep going, no matter what catastrophe or torment assailed them. Through the bleak and hopeless nights, the haunting nightmares, through every battering storm.

To show up, to be present and accounted for—to find a reason to smile in the face of despair.

Maybe that man was the real hero.





74





Liam





Day One Hundred and Twenty-Two





On Liam’s seventh day in the medical ward, his old friend Charlie Hamilton came to see him.

Hamilton didn’t even blink. He was the same gregarious, convivial soldier that he remembered from the spec ops missions they’d shared overseas in Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq.

“I was hoping torture would improve your looks,” Hamilton said with a wide beaming grin. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, but no such luck, my friend.”