“True. But the first rule of survival is to stay alive. Then regroup and reassess as needed. We accomplished that, at least.”
Dice gave him a fist bump. “Now we just have to convince the others that Frost’s death is a good thing.”
“They’ll fall in line. They won’t have a choice.”
“Are you sure we should rebuild this place?” Dice asked. “With Edison gone, I’m not sure keeping the Trading Post alive is a good idea.”
“There’s still a benefit. If nothing else, it stabilizes things. A return to normal, so to speak. That’s important until we launch Phase Two.”
“I’m still not sure why you decided to use the repellant on Edison’s people. Seems a little counterproductive.”
“Keeping an enemy an enemy enables them to remain hyper-aware. Never a good thing.”
“Ah, you want them to let their guard down. If they think tensions are less now that Frost is history—”
“Roger that. It diffuses their mind-set, providing an opportunity when the time is right.”
Dice paused for several beats, then nodded, his face letting go of the concern. “At least we took care of the biggest problem.”
“An imperfect plan for an imperfect situation.”
“You got that right, boss. On both counts.”
Fletcher smiled, appreciative of Dice’s loyalty and the man’s candor. Both were valuable, more so since he was going to need Dice to rally support within the remaining ranks. There would be resistance. That much he expected, but Dice had the ear of the others, secretly laying the groundwork for weeks, ever since Frost tipped his hand.
Fletcher walked alongside Dice as they walked to their vehicles parked to the east, his mind slipping into analysis mode.
No matter what history might say about Simon Frost and the way he managed his men, their former commander was never afraid to charge ahead and complete a deal he’d made.
That part of his reputation had remained intact until his very last breath, as brutal as it was. However, as it often turns out, a leader’s relentless reputation is also that leader’s greatest weakness. It makes them easy to anticipate.
In Frost’s case, his gung-ho, ‘kill everyone who pisses you off’ motto was precisely the reason his undoing was possible. The man never saw it coming. He was too consumed with finding a reason to justify taking out Edison and assuming control of everything.
Even his dog saw the end coming and defected. That said something.
Doctor Liz Blackwell tore through the hallway that connected to the stack of switchback stairs leading to the surface of the silo. She’d traced those same stairs many times before, but never with the type of news she carried today, the weight of it pressing on her chest.
She’d thought about reversing course on the way up as her feet pounded at the metal steps, not wanting to relay the news boiling her heart.
However, that wasn’t the only pain in her chest at the moment. She’d skipped her cardio workouts recently, a fact that was all too evident as she stopped to catch her breath. She continued on, taking two more rights once she reached level one.
The shortest of the two guards stationed at the entrance pulled at the interior blast door, swinging it open on its massive steel hinges.
The other man moved forward and stepped into the connecting corridor, then opened the matching outer door, letting her continue her trek without stopping.
Neither man said a word as she passed, a fact she appreciated more than they knew. Her mind was elsewhere at the moment, trying to summon the proper words she’d need when Krista and her convoy arrived.
Liz could have traveled slower to buy herself more time, but for some reason, she felt compelled to push her legs up the stairs. Maybe it was guilt. Or remorse, given that she’d kept Morse’s secret for much too long.
She wasn’t sure which emotion it was, even though they were her own feelings. Feelings she knew all too well. Granted, it wasn’t her decision to keep mum, but she was culpable regardless.
Liz had known a handful of physicians who were never able to get over the agony of delivering bad news to a patient. Of course, that was before The Event, long before she became the sole healer in this underground society.
Now the notification duties were all hers, whether she wanted the job or not. There would be no relief shift to rescue her at the last minute, nor would another doc step up and volunteer to take her place.
Liz had pushed herself early in her career to become desensitized to the process and its related anxiety during the long walks she’d have to make to meet with an unsuspecting patient’s family. No medical professional wanted that job, but someone had to do it.
If she stopped to think about it, she was sure she’d remember each and every pair of eyes that had ever waited for her in one of those freezing consultation rooms. Hospitals kept the temperature low for a reason, and it wasn’t always related to a medical reason.
She often thought the frigid air was pumped in on purpose, to act as a distraction, refocusing the family’s attention on something other than the butchery masquerading as surgery in a sterile room not far away.
A moment later, her mind went into flash mode, showing her a slew of those waiting eyes from her past. One after another they came to her, taking her mind off the chore that awaited her on the surface.
Some of the flashes showed young eyes; others featured old, all of them studying every nuance of her body language as she approached, hoping and praying her prognosis was good. Even the slightest facial twitch, unplanned body motion, or a subtle change in breathing patterns can give the news away.
It’s a learned skill that every physician is asked to master. Otherwise, remaining detached while meeting with a family to deliver news would fail. More so when you know the words you’re about to speak will stick a dagger into their collective hearts.
One mistake and you amplify their grief. That’s something they can never teach you in medical school. You just have to push through it and keep it as brief as possible, then offer hugs to whomever needed them.
She thought she had conquered this task long ago. Unfortunately, those previous efforts weren’t helping her today. She knew the next few minutes would be the most difficult of her career.
CHAPTER 4
“What’s taking so long?” Summer asked from the covered bed of the truck, kneeling to see through the access window behind the driver. The dog’s breathing had changed, becoming more labored than before. Time was not something they needed to be wasting.
Krista was forward in the driver’s seat and leaning, with her arms draped over the top of the steering wheel as she peered through the windshield. Her gaze held firm, aimed across the narrow entrance to the valley ahead. “Just give it a minute.”
Summer squinted to sharpen her vision, keeping a close watch on the massive wooden barn in the distance. “Come on, already.”
Krista pointed at the structure. “There it is.”
Summer saw it, too: the signal—a series of light flashes—two long and one short—coming from deep inside the access door on the second floor. The observation scout in the hay loft had just scanned the area around the barn and given his go-ahead to approach. “It’s about time. This is frickin’ ridiculous. I could’ve told you nobody followed us.”
Krista released the brake pedal and stomped on the gas, taking the transport ahead on a direct path to the barn. “We have to be sure, Summer. It’s too important.”
“Yeah, I get that. But there has to be a faster way. Especially today.”
Krista didn’t answer, her eyes focused on the dirt road ahead.
Summer latched her hands onto the bottom edge of the window frame as the uneven terrain slammed into the undercarriage of the truck. The road—if you could actually call it a road—was more than rough, the treads on the tires smashing into rocks and ruts across the surface.