He flicked his eyes toward Jake. “Your call.”

  It didn’t take Ray long. He stepped outside and within a few minutes, four of Ray’s men, including the big guy—Gun—slipped away into the night to circle around to the front of the base. Two others stayed up top at the back entrance to hold the line.

  There were a lot of assumptions in this plan and Caleb didn’t like it. But he’d thought through the alternatives, and they were all worse. Lana had identified the one with the highest chance of success.

  Lana. He glanced at his daughter. The light of the zippo lighter left open and burning on the floor cast shadows across her cheeks and almost hid the drying blood. Almost.

  Elizabeth’s fingers brushed the back of his hand and he turned to find her staring up at him. The flicker of light danced in her eyes and Caleb swore she understood all that floated and swirled in his head—this jumbled mess of love and fear and grim determination.

  Now wasn’t the time to work through it, though. Not when they needed to be focused. Not with Ray sharing the same oxygen. Caleb didn’t like the man. Not the way he held himself, the way he looked at Caleb’s rifle, and especially the way he glanced at Elizabeth and Lana both. If he was colder, he’d have taken Ray, Jake, and the two standing guard outside out as soon as he was sure the others were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear the gunfire.

  He needed the extra bodies, though. Someone to take a bullet that might otherwise be meant for Liz or Lana.

  He shifted position and inhaled a slow breath. It was hard to say how long they waited in tense silence. Long past the last gasp of fuel in the zippo and the sputtering and dying of the flame. Long enough for the cold to settle into Caleb’s body, leeching away warmth even through the heavy combat vest and the layers beneath it. Adrenaline and activity had kept him warm before. Standing around waiting for men he didn’t trust didn’t generate the same heat.

  Sometime after the first shiver he couldn’t control hit him, the radio crackled at his hip. “Machert.” Gun’s static-laden voice cut across the dark. “All clear.”

  Caleb exhaled slowly. The channel was set to 8.3 and should have been jammed. Masterson had restored the comms system, most likely by reloading the whole thing. There was a good chance that he’d pick up their chatter.

  “Acknowledged,” he replied into the radio. “We’re coming in. Back elevator still inoperative. Let’s go knock on the front door and see who answers.”

  “Roger that,” Gun answered.

  There was no way to know for sure that Masterson had picked up the communication, but the ploy was meant to be icing. The more men Thomas sent to the front elevator to wait, the better. He probably wouldn’t leave himself isolated, of course, but at this point, he was running out of things to lose.

  He put the radio back on his hip and shot a wary glance at Ray before turning to Elizabeth. He found her cheek with his hand and leaned down, brushing her lips with his. She pressed into him, teeth catching his lower lip for just a second.

  He let the kiss go on a moment longer, then moved his mouth to her ear. “No matter what,” he whispered, “you keep behind me. Understand?”

  She nodded against his palm.

  A short time later, the ground shuddered from a large explosion. Caleb crossed his fingers. If Gun and his men did it right, then the main elevator was now inoperable and the front entrance blocked. If the general wanted to deal with them, there was only one way now.

  The light in the enclosure came on. Bingo. The elevator groaned to life. One by one, they withdrew from the room to wait on the other side of the open door. Caleb and Derek took one side, Ray and Jake took the other. Lana and Elizabeth waited behind, rain splattering their bare heads. If all went according to plan, the burns would be worth it.

  Caleb raised his rifle and trained it on the elevator. When it finally opened, they painted the inside of it red.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CALEB

  Horse Creek Base, New United States

  Friday, June 18th, 11:22 pm EST

  Derek and Jake pulled the last of the bodies out of the elevator while Caleb, Lana, and the rest of them retrieved the rifles and any extra magazines. He stepped over the threshold and a memory came out of nowhere.

  Lana, three years old, still chubby with baby fat, holding his index finger instead of his hand as they waited for elevator doors to open. A Christmas party, was it?

  She bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet, waiting with anticipation. The elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and she hesitated at the precipice, little eyes straining to peer into the gap between the floor and the elevator. Caleb had lifted her up with one hand and swung her over the gap before picking her up to mash the button for the tenth floor.

  When the elevator gave a lurch and began to rise, Lana’s eyes had widened, and Caleb had watched with a smile he couldn’t help as she bent her knees and bounced a little, exploring the strange change in her world caused by the inertia. The look on her face had been one of wonder, confusion, and delight. Magic.

  He watched her now, face sober and grim at the opposite corner of the elevator. No magic. No wonder. Only iron determination and white knuckles.

  “Relax your grip,” he told her. “Try not to tense up.”

  She glanced at him and nodded before shifting a bit on her feet. Her shoulders lowered and her knuckles regained some color. Her chest rose and fell in a slow and deep breath, and she focused, just like he’d done so many times before a conflict.

  Had he made her that? Or had she just adapted to the circumstances?

  The elevator slowed and he shoved his thoughts—of Lana, Elizabeth, even his concern about Ray and Jake—out of his mind. It was do or die in the next few moments. Go time.

  “Anyone in fatigues.” Caleb spoke to the group as a whole. “Anyone with a weapon in hand. There are unarmed civilians inside as well, so keep your eyes sharp.”

  “Yes, sir,” Derek replied.

  The others just gave various grunts and nods of understanding.

  They pressed themselves to the sides of the elevator, just barely covered by the narrow walls on either side of the inner door. The compartment settled with a rattling jerk. The doors opened slowly.

  An awful smell flooded the elevator immediately, and Caleb’s eyes took in a floor stained with dark, greasy-looking liquid that had streaks dragged through it where bodies had been moved. He tipped forward enough to get a quick look around the door.

  There were men at the end of the hall. Some standing, some kneeling. They’d stacked crates and boxes to make a barricade for cover. But they didn’t immediately fire, even though they’d had to have seen him peeking out.

  “What are they waiting for?” Elizabeth whispered.

  Caleb shook his head. He didn’t know. Maybe they were worried about damaging the only exit from the base that was left?

  Ray had the front spot on the other side of the elevator and cast him a look of suspicion. “Somebody’s gotta take the first shot,” he growled.

  Before Caleb could weigh whether that was true, the general’s voice came over the intercom speaker in the hallway. “Staff Sergeant Machert. This is General Thomas. You have one chance to stand down and turn yourself over. Do so, and your family will be safe. You have my word.”

  “He’s lying,” Lana whispered.

  Yes, he probably was. But the fact that he was playing any kind of game at all meant that he was nervous. He knew how few men he had left.

  Caleb glanced at Derek, his voice low. “Anyone else here have doubts about the general’s methods?”

  Derek met his eyes, and his lips thinned, but his face remained uncertain.

  Maybe every soldier left was a fanatic. But maybe they weren’t—and if all they were was afraid, then they didn’t deserve to die, or to live under a madman.

  One way to find out. “Listen to me,” Caleb called into the hallway ahead of them. “Whatever you think General Thomas is going to accomplish here, whatever he’s told you, it’s not the truth.”

  He took a deep breath. “Topside, it’s nothing but freezing acid rain. The soil won’t grow food for years, the surrounding towns that aren’t flattened are going to be picked clean. The coast is unlivable, people are fleeing west. More and more people.”

  He glanced at Derek. “Are you really prepared to keep killing every civilian coming this way who General Thomas deems unworthy?”

  There was no response, but he hadn’t expected it right away. They needed to hear it, sit in it.

  “Ask yourself this,” he went on. “What kind of nation are you going to make with corpses? What kind of New United States can you build on ash and poisoned soil? And who are you going to be when he’s done with you?”

  Derek shifted behind him, and Caleb raised his voice even louder. “I get it—this base feels like safety and structure that we all lost when the rock hit us. It seems like an island of order in all this chaos. But it’s not.”

  He glanced at Elizabeth with a grim smile. “The only thing I want in the world is to keep my family safe, and when we got here, I was willing to look past my own doubts because I needed this place to be a shelter for them. I needed to feel like I was doing something; like I was getting the job done. But that’s not what this place is. It’s a grave.”

  He wished he could see even one soldier’s face to know if he was getting through. “If we stay here, if we let the general bury us, body and soul, that’s what it will be for us. You don’t have to follow him. He’s not the king he wants to be. Not yet. Not unless you make him one.”

  He waited almost a minute.

  The general’s voice came over the intercom again. “That’s a nice speech, Machert. But your time’s up. Lay down your weapons and come out with your hands up, or my men open fire.”

  He looked to Lana and his wife. Both shook their heads. They were in it together. “We’re not doing that,” Caleb called. “This only ends one way.”

  “Very well. Light ‘em up.”

  All six of them tensed, pressing to the walls of the elevator. The crack-crack of automatic burst-fire filled the hallway. But no bullets struck the back wall of the elevator or the walls outside.

  When it was quiet, Caleb leaned out to grab a quick snapshot of the scene. It took a moment to process before he leaned out again more slowly.

  At the end of the hall, behind the barricade, there were fewer soldiers. Two of them had their rifles raised—but not at the elevator. One of them met Caleb’s eyes, then lowered his weapon. The other remaining man did the same, and from around the corner another stepped into view, his rifle lowered.

  “I didn’t join the Army to kill civilians,” one of them shouted.

  Caleb closed his eyes with a sigh of relief. “I know you didn’t,” he replied, and moved to step out.

  Ray hissed at him, face twisting with incredulity as Elizabeth grabbed Caleb’s arm to pull him back.

  “You crazy?” Ray demanded.

  “Caleb,” Elizabeth whispered, her eyes wide with the same uncertainty. “It could be a trap.”

  “I don’t think—“ Caleb started.

  Before he could finish, Derek stepped away from the wall, rifle hanging from the strap, his hands raised. Lana made a choked noise and flinched toward him, but he stepped away from her and to the door. “We don’t have to be what he wants to make us.”

  After a few seconds of standing in the open, Derek lowered his hands. His face was white. His eyes twitched toward Caleb, and he gave a shallow nod before he stepped out of the elevator entirely.

  Caleb watched him go, then tugged gently out of Elizabeth’s grip and went out after him. One by one, the others filed out.

  The men at the end of the hall came forward, stepping around the barricade. All of them had wariness written on their features, their eyes rimmed with dark circles. Though cautious, they met Caleb as he took the lead in front of Derek to approach them.

  “What are your names?”

  “Private Colby Anders,” the first one said.

  “Private Charles Mulaney,” another answered.

  “Private Willis Washington,” the final one said. “Army Reserve. There’s a six-man detail in the situation room, sir, and two more pinch points at the west and north corridors, both barricaded, two men each.”

  Caleb nodded, surveying the three men, then looking past them to the splayed bodies behind the barricade. He frowned and searched the eyes of the three soldiers. “I’m sorry.”

  Private Anders swallowed hard and focused on the wall behind him. The other two gave slow, grim nods. None of them wanted to be here, killing civilians or fellow soldiers.

  “We offer everyone the chance to stand down,” he told them. “Anders, Washington—you two find any civilian staff you can and make sure they’re secured and out of danger. Mulaney, any idea if there are more men topside?”

  “Don’t think so. Not that I’ve heard. Thomas gave the order to withdraw and secure the situation room and the corridors leading to it when the… the bomb went off.”

  All according to plan. Caleb motioned toward the elevator. “You head back up. Stay covered when you get there and tell the two men topside you’re with Ray, and that you need to get the survivors inside and out of the rain. Head south of the elevator, keep your hands off your rifle and in the air, and tell them Staff Sergeant Machert gave the all-clear.”

  “Sir?” Mulaney asked. “You sure you want to bring them into this?”

  “It’s raining acid and close to freezing. There are kids. They can’t be out in this any longer. By the time you get them down here, we’ll have this place cleared.”

  Ray snorted. “You can’t be serious. You can’t just bring a bunch of—“

  Caleb rounded on him, quieting the man with a look. “This isn’t a discussion.”

  Ray fell silent, a scowl turning his features even uglier.

  Caleb looked over the group. “Let’s move in. Slow and careful.”

  They waited for the elevator to close, then filed around the corner with Anders and Washington on point. At the end of the hallway, the two privates peeled off and headed toward the north end of the base to carry out Caleb’s orders, and he brought Ray up to lead point with him.

  The six of them reached the first pinch point within a few minutes, and Caleb glanced around the corner to find a barricade set up just like Private Washington warned him. The concrete near his face exploded as they fired, and he jerked back to avoid the spray or a bullet. When the fire paused, he offered them the same chance he had the others. “You don’t want to live in the world he wants to make.”

  Derek didn’t step out this time. Neither did Caleb. He knelt and checked again and got only another round of fire in response.

  Ray spat. “So much for the great leader speech.”

  Caleb ignored the man. “Get me some cover fire.”

  “Gladly,” Ray muttered.

  Derek pressed forward. “I’ll go low.”

  The two of them inched to the corner, and after a short count, both swung their rifles around and fired down the corridor.

  Caleb sucked in a breath and dropped to a knee as he moved into view. One of the men popped up briefly, then appeared to the side of the barricade, training the barrel of his weapon on Caleb. Caleb snapped his aim to the side and down and fired twice.

  A burst of powdered concrete plumed into the soldier’s face and the second shot took him in the cheek. He fell back. The other man came up firing over the top of the barricade.

  Caleb threw himself sideways, his finger locked on the trigger. The last rounds in his clip emptied in the soldier’s direction. One of them took him in the chest, but only after a searing line of fire burned across Caleb’s upper thigh.

  Derek broke cover a split second after, keeping low as he stalked down the corridor. He reached the barricade and fired again. “All clear.”

  “Caleb!”

  Elizabeth pushed past Lana, who tried to get a hold on her mother, and rushed to Caleb’s side as he began to stand. “You’re hit.”

  His thigh burned as he put weight on it, but it didn’t buckle. He took Liz’s shoulder to keep her upright when she moved to check his wound. “Just grazed,” he assured her. “Stay in the back, I don’t want you—“

  “Get down!”

  Two more men emerged from the far end of the corridor. The team from the other route to the Situation Room. The wall behind them exploded as bullets struck concrete, pelting Caleb’s shoulder and back with jagged shards as he plowed into his wife and hurled them out of the line of fire. Before they struck the floor, something hot struck his left calf.

  He and Liz went down hard even as he tried to catch himself with an arm and keep her from slamming onto the floor. His arm buckled as he twisted, and his shoulder crashed into the concrete with a loud, wet crunch. Another burst of agony blossomed across his upper body.

  He ignored it, rolling to cover Liz with his body. There was a short chaos of shouting and gunfire. Pain radiated from his calf, from his thigh, from this shoulder, all coalescing into a searing throb. Liz’s breath came hot and labored against his neck, and she flinched at every renewed round of fire.

  At some point, it was over, gunfire replaced by his wife’s sobs.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered hoarsely, and pressed his cheek to hers. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Lana?”

  “Here,” Lana called, “I’m here—oh, no! Derek!”

  Before Caleb tried to push himself up, Derek and Lana were on him, pulling him off his wife. His shoulder screamed as he rolled over it, and he barely managed to contain a howl of pain. White spots filled his vision as he grit his teeth and tempered the sound down to a pained growl.

  “Here.” Derek handed Lana his knife.

  Liz pushed herself up to kneel at Caleb’s side and her face paled as she looked him over.

  He started to rise.

  “Stay still,” Lana ordered. “Mom, keep him down.”