He glanced at Hannah, at her shining face, warm and open and full of affection. It did something to him that he didn’t want to admit, was still afraid to acknowledge but knew was there, all the same.
Maybe it was because of this place, this house that felt somehow disconnected from the rest of the world of consequences and repercussions. In this moment, it felt like the three of them were the only people left alive in the whole damn world.
“Hannah,” he started, feeling incredibly foolish but bumbling ahead all the same. “I need to tell you—”
Outside the back door, Ghost barked.
Pike
Day Twenty-One
Pike crept closer. Hiding behind the trunk of a large pine tree, he raised the binoculars that he’d scavenged from one of the nearby homes and watched the house.
In his coat pocket, he carried a handgun. Most vacant houses had already been ransacked, but he’d discovered the Smith and Wesson M&P Shield handgun tucked beneath a mattress.
It held seven .40 S&W rounds in the extended magazine. No backups or spares. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough.
A plan hatched in Pike’s mind. He liked it more and more the longer he thought about it. If he could lure Soldier Boy out, Hannah would be alone in the house.
Pike had learned from his previous errors. Going after Hannah before Soldier Boy was eliminated would be a mistake.
Besides, he wanted to take his time with her. He needed to know that no one was coming to her rescue.
Not this time. Not ever again.
Just the thought set his blood buzzing. He tugged out his lighter and listened to the soothing click, click, click.
This was one of his favorite games. Let the prey get close. Lay a trap and wait for the jaws to snap shut.
It wasn’t without risk. Pike normally didn’t care for this level of risk. He liked to have more time to prepare, to make sure that everything went according to plan.
There were many ways for things to go wrong, but the reward was utterly tantalizing.
Click, click, click. He closed his eyes, relishing the delicious sound.
He fantasized that it was the crack and snap of Hannah’s bones instead: phalanges, the radius, the ulna, the carpals and metacarpals, maybe even a rib or two.
Pike opened his eyes and went to work.
Liam
Day Twenty-One
The kitchen filled with the delicious scent of alfredo sauce. Cold air blew through the window over the sink they’d opened temporarily to diffuse the fumes.
Hannah kept watch over the small pans of sauce and noodles cooking on the small propane camping stove that Liam had found stored in the garage.
Ghost had flopped himself in the center of the kitchen. They nearly tripped over him constantly, but he didn’t seem to mind. Liam had dried off his paws and fur with a wet towel. He’d found dog food in one of the nearby houses, so Ghost had already eaten his fill and was ready for a pleasant nap.
“We’re almost out of propane,” Hannah said.
“Another reason to leave as soon as possible,” Liam said gruffly.
Maybe it was for the best that Ghost had interrupted what he’d started to say. It would’ve come out all wrong, anyway.
He moved to the front of the house and checked the windows, Ghost padding along behind him. Nothing out of place. Still no movement in the streets. The gray sky was filling with dark clouds—another storm was headed their way.
He adjusted Charlotte in his arm and returned to the kitchen, pausing by the back door to study the yard again. He felt something. A prickle against the back of his neck. A sense he couldn’t name or quantify but trusted implicitly—the feeling of being watched.
He looked harder. Something snagged the corner of his eye. A glint in the trees twenty-five yards to the left of the house. The flash of binocular lenses reflecting off the snow.
With a low warning growl, Ghost leapt to his feet and bounded to the door.
Every muscle in Liam’s body went tense. “Hannah.”
Hannah immediately went to him and held her arms out for the baby. Liam handed Charlotte to her and seized the Bushmaster AR-15 leaning against the wall next to the back door.
He was already wearing his boots and two pairs of wool socks, plastic Ziploc bags wrapped between the layers to keep his feet dry. His coat was draped over a kitchen chair, but he didn’t waste time putting it on. He wore a long-sleeved undershirt and two sweatshirts.
“Get down. Stay away from the windows.”
She nodded and turned off the propane stove with one hand. Liam quickly closed the window and replaced the shim.
He went to the back door, peered through the glass, then threw the door open. He moved into the narrow space that he’d shoveled for Ghost’s potty breaks during the blizzard, Ghost at his heels.
He clambered up the steep drift on the right side, lifting his muzzle over the edge cautiously, then peered over the rim himself, rapidly scanning his surroundings for the threat.
Ghost ran back and forth in a tight circle, barking fiercely at the tree line.
His senses alert, pulse thudding, he climbed up and stood looking over the lawn, stock against his shoulder, muzzle up, straining his ears and searching for the tell-tale glint.
The freezing air bit at his exposed skin, tunneling straight through his sweater and long-sleeved shirt. The clouds were thick and low. Snow spiraled down from the gunmetal gray sky, faster and faster.
He studied the houses that lined the empty street, searching the windows and roofs for movement, for the glint of a rifle barrel. He scanned the trees behind the house.
He circled the house, his boots sinking deep, and studied the snow for tracks, for any sign of the intruder.
There it was. A mass of fur and bloody entrails staining the pure white snow. The carcass was hidden just inside the tree line, downwind about thirty yards from the back of the house.
It used to be a wild hare but was now a message from an enemy—an enemy who should be dead but wasn’t.
Pike was alive.
Liam rocked back on his heels. Darkness opened up inside him. A black rage sprouted in his chest, his whole body thrumming with revulsion.
The psycho was goading him, provoking him.
If this was an attempt to get him to abandon his training and rush headlong into a trap, Pike would be sorely mistaken.
Liam would hunt him down and kill him. Today. Right now.
“Ghost!” Liam commanded. “Stay with Hannah.”
The dog let out another great booming bark, his muscles straining in his eagerness to seek out the threat, but he obeyed.
Liam went to the rear door, moving backward, keeping his rifle trained on the woods. Ghost followed him.
Hannah was waiting for them. She held her daughter close to her chest. Her face was bone-white, her lips pale. “He’s not dead.”
“No.”
“You’re going to kill him.”
Liam hesitated. He felt conflicted to his very core. He did not want to leave her. Every instinct warred against it. She was his vulnerability. It put him between a rock and a hard place—for he needed to both protect Hannah and kill Pike.
“Go,” Hannah said. “He needs to die.”
Liam put on his coat and scarf and pulled his hat low over his ears. He pulled on his gloves and took three loaded magazines—two for the AR-15, one for the Glock—and stuffed them in his pockets. He missed his chest rig and military-grade cold weather gear.