A keening started deep in her soul.

  “Where’s Mike Vinich?” Lauren flinched when the nurse tightened the gauze bandage. The bullet had struck the vest low on the right side, but the massive bruise covered her entire chest.The nurse glanced up briefly. She had brown eyes and bleached blonde hair with black roots. “In surgery.”

  “Is he going to make it?”

  “I can’t answer that until the surgery is over.”

  “What about Hutch, the truck driver? Just before I passed out, I saw soldiers pulling him from the cab. Did they bring him here?”

  “Sorry, but I don’t know a thing about him. Pretty sure he was not brought to the hospital. But so many people came in. Hell, we’re still processing the wounded from that business at the refugee camp.”

  Lauren tried to breathe; pain knifed through her.

  The woman finished the bandage, stood back to check her work, and then pointed a finger in Lauren’s face. “Now, you listen to me. The hospital is overwhelmed, so I’ve been ordered to turn you loose. You’re free to go, but don’t think you can resume your normal activities. You should find a bed and sleep for a few days. Without that vest you’d be dead. Your liver is badly bruised, as are your ribs. You hear what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah. I hear.”

  “You’d better,” she said in a hostile voice, as though she expected Lauren to disobey and already resented her for it.

  Lauren slid off the table, stifled a cry, and went over to pick up her shirt from where it lay on the chair. While she finished dressing, she watched the nurse clean up.

  Just before the woman left, she turned and said, “Captain Ragnovich is outside. He wants a word.”

  “Okay.” Careful of her side, Lauren eased down onto one of the chairs to wait. Mindless, hollow. The M4 kept vibrating in her arms, the brass flying, bodies breaking, jerking, falling...

  When Captain Ragnovich stepped in, he met her eyes, nodded, and took a position by the door. He was wearing damp and mud-stained ACUs, his cover under his left arm.

  A curious fluttery sensation tormented her stomach. Of their own accord her shoulders and fists knotted. She was about to pay for her actions. For the murder of all those people.

  “Ms. Davis,” Ragnovich said, and indicated the other chair. “May I?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  He dragged the chair around so that it faced her and sat. For a moment, he studied her thoughtfully. “How you feeling?”

  “Fine. Nothing broken.”

  “You saved Vinich and the truck out there.”

  “No, I—I didn’t. Hutch, he-he…” She stammered to a stop. “He got us out of there. Without him, we’d be... We’d be..."

  “Take it slow. I want to hear your side of the story. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Lauren swallowed hard, sick to her stomach. “When they started shooting at us... I mean, the bullets snapping past my head. Hitting the truck. I was so scared. Shaking. It was just instinct. Mike and I started shooting back.”

  “Wait, go back. What happened before the shots were fired?”

  “Mike had climbed up on top of the ration boxes. He knew something was wrong. Barn doors were wide open. Guards were missing. He ordered Hutch to turn around. That’s when the men came out of the barn with guns.”

  “They fired first?”

  “Yes, sir. Told us to surrender the truck. Mike ordered Hutch to turn around. Then they started toward the truck. Started shooting. I mean there were people all around us. They didn’t care. And I...I...”

  She closed her eyes, fought a sob that speared pain through her ribs. I murdered all those people.

  Ragnovich ran nervous fingers through his hair. “All right. I’ll make a report to Colonel Mackeson. As far as I’m concerned, this is over. You were defending yourselves. Anything you want to add?”

  “There were women and children.”

  “I’m aware of the body count. My understanding is that they were going to mob the truck. That true?”

  She jerked a nod. “They just kept coming.”

  Ragnovich’s voice softened. “You know what would have happened if you hadn’t acted? All three of you would be dead. They’d have taken the MTV.”

  She shook her head, wondered if the surreal sensation clouding her thoughts was there to stay. “Nurse said Mike is still in surgery. Is he going to be okay?”

  Ragnovich’s wrinkles rearranged into worried lines. “They had to remove one of his lungs. It was shot to confetti, I guess. But surgeon says he’s got a real chance.”

  Behind her eyes, she could see Mike looking up at her with blood foaming on his lips. He must have thought he was dying, but he hadn’t cried or thrashed around in panic. He’d just focused on her face like it was a lifeboat.

  “Lot of people are calling you a hero,” Ragnovich said gently.

  “Me?” The word stunned her. “Hutch was the h-hero. He got us out of there. I was just scared shitless, doing whatever I could to keep the truck from being overrun. There were women. Kids. I just…I had to…”

  Ragnovich leaned back. “I know. There will be a final report.”

  Despite her pain and weariness, Lauren caught his meaning. Dear God… She stared at him with empty eyes.

  “Believe it or not, I know how you’re feeling. Been there myself. Back in Afghanistan,” Ragnovich said in a kind voice. “But people were shooting at you. We counted nearly two hundred bullet strikes in the body of the truck. It’s a miracle you’re alive.”

  “I shouldn’t be.”

  “Lauren, our intelligence tells me they were planning on stealing the MTV, using it to spearhead an assault on the north fence. We’d have probably stopped them before they got to Cheyenne. But most of the rest would have come flooding through the hole they tore in the perimeter. It would have been a blood bath. The dead and wounded would number in the thousands. Which is a whole lot less than died at the camp today.”

  She frowned at the tan vinyl flooring. “Captain, what happens next? With the camp, I mean.”

  “After today’s events?” He shrugged. “What happened today was a catalyst. The perimeter fence is like a war zone. They’ve started shooting randomly at our people. We return fire. A lot of people gave up after today’s incident. Decided they’d be safer somewhere else and started south. Others went east. We’ll monitor them with drones.”

  Lauren shook her head. “There’s nothing to the east or south except death and misery.”

  “True. And that really sucks the big one, doesn’t it?” Ragnovich paused. “Anyone tell you that Hutch is dead?”

  Lauren sagged forward. “What?”

  “He kept driving, trying to get you and Vinich out of there, even though he had four bullet holes in him. You’re right when you call him a hero. Tough as they come.”

  The antiseptic smell of the hospital suddenly nauseated her. She searched for the words. Couldn’t find them.

  Ragnovich said, “A car’s waiting outside to take you back to the hotel. Take a few days and get some rest. From here on out, the Guard will be covering your room and meals. I’ll have your bike brought over. You’ll need time to heal.”

  She nodded dully.

  Ragnovich rubbed his hands together. “Got some good news for you today. Breeze Tappan rode in out of the blue. She made it, Lauren. Got out of Colorado.”

  Lauren closed her eyes, tears rising hot and wet to break free and trickle down her cheeks.

  Breeze? Alive?

  Lauren’s thoughts turned to her last conversation with Breeze. Her best friend had been crying, heartbroken that Jimmy, the love of her life was dead. Shouting that Lauren had murdered him. Screaming she should have never gotten behind the wheel.

  All things that Lauren believed herself.

  God, I’m a worthless human being.

  Ragnovich rose from his chair. “When you’re ready to go to work again, report to the supply depot. They’ll tell you what to do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pivoted and left the hospital room.

  Lauren braced her elbows on her knees. When she closed her eyes, trying to block out this world, and the images that skittered and flashed white. Human beings blown apart. By her.

  Something slithering around inside her.

  It felt alive.

  The despair.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When darkness came at the Plains Hotel, it got worse. The nightmares took on a vivid new twist until several times she woke screaming, the sheets twisted around her sweating body.

  Each time, she climbed out of bed. Stared out the window at the night. Looked down on Central Avenue, deathly quiet, devoid of traffic. Not even a pedestrian passed. When the tears threatened, she crawled back in bed and tucked the pillow tight.

  She dreamed of Tyrell, of her arms around his warm and muscular body. Forced herself to feel his lips on hers, his hands moving reverently over her face, down her throat. She fantasized that they made gentle love.

  Until the next nightmare blasted through the dream…

  And it started all over again.

  “Where are you, Ty?”

  A reddish-orange morning light burned through the now-constant brown haze. It just kept blowing in from the west, sometimes blanketing the mountains, always carrying a faint stink, like burning plastic.

  She sat up and reached for her jeans where they lay across the foot of the bed. She almost screamed at the pain. Felt like her chest was broken. She’d been kicked by a horse once during her rodeo days. So, yeah, she knew how badly bruised ribs could hurt, but nothing like this.

  She walked over to the pill bottle. Pain killers. Paracetamol. Which was probably worth a bloody damn fortune given that when the last of the supplies in Cheyenne were gone, there would be no more. She still had four left.

  Save them. Tough it out, woman.

  What time was it? Was it the same day? Or two days since the battle? Each hour seemed to bleed into the next.

  Blinking back tears, she finished dressing and strapped on her gun belt.

  Was Ty off fighting Chinese invaders? Were Seattle and San Francisco really invaded? Or were those just the insane inventions that crazy minds had turned into rumors with a life of their own?

  Lauren left her room, closed the door behind her. Ribs aching she made her way step-by-step down the stairs to the restaurant.

  The chalk board outside advertised, “Homemade bread.”

  From here on out, that was the only kind there would ever be. There were three specials: beef sandwich with boiled rice, steak with beans, or a bowl of chili. The whole place smelled like hot grease.

  Lauren entered and went to sit in her regular booth. She was still full of pain killers and felt lightheaded and stupid.

  “Hey, Lauren,” the waitress, Lucy, said as she strode up. “What can I get you?” She wore her red hair pinned into a bun tonight. Her freckles looked huge.

  “The sandwich sp-special,” Lauren stuttered. “And a Coke.”

  The waitress wrote it down, but hesitated. “You okay? Heard you got hurt out there.”

  “I’m fine. Just hungry.”

  She started shaking. Couldn’t stop. She’d be all right for a few minutes, then another bout would accost her.

  Lucy said, “Honey, you sure you don’t want a whiskey? Might settle your nerves.”

  “No. Thanks.”

  Lucy gave her a worried look and left.

  When the plate was set before her, Lauren blinked in surprise. She’d lost several minutes and had no idea where they went. She stared blankly at the cold beef sandwich. White rice.

  “Get you anything else?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m good.”

  Lauren had to grip the Coke can in both hands to get it to her mouth to drink. Tasted sweet and cold. Then she set the can down before her shaking hands sloshed it empty.

  She knew she’d better enjoy every sip. Supplies around the city were vanishing. Word was that salt would be available through trade with the factories on the Great Salt Lake in Utah, but condiments like black pepper, vanilla, and cinnamon would soon be memories. Along with chocolate. What kind of world would it be without coffee and chocolate?

  Prices on so many things were already rising beyond even a hint of credibility.

  Normal things. Think of normal things.

  She took a bite of her sandwich and leaned back in the booth. Another bite. Swallow. Dear God, was that her ribs hurting, or was that her liver?

  Don’t think about the look in Mike’s eyes. The blood bubbling on his lips.

  She chewed and tried to focus on conversations going on in the restaurant around her.

  Normal things.

  A WNG captain sitting with a lieutenant at the table five feet away said, “You think that’s crazy? I heard that one of the executives at the refinery east of Cheyenne offered ten thousand barrels of gasoline for a case of insulin for his diabetic daughter.”

  The lieutenant shook his head. “What did the governor say?”

  “Guess Agar got the message loud and clear. He ordered a twenty-four-hour armed guard on all pharmacies.”

  “Good move. A single bottle of antibiotics is already worth a fortune, but I feel for the exec at the refinery.”

  “Me, too, but what else you gonna do?”

  “Heard that Agar ordered the chemistry department at the University of Wyoming to start working on how to make insulin from scratch.”

  She glanced up when two people walked into the restaurant. The man was obviously Wyoming Militia—maybe a logger or a construction worker before the collapse. He had that durable and muscular look to him. Maybe thirty. Scuffed lace-up boots. Beard—which had become the new normal—worn jeans, ball cap on his head, and longish hair that didn’t quite fall to his collar. The rifle over his shoulder and bandolier of cartridges spoke eloquently as to his current occupation. Must be guarding the border.

  The woman behind him had long black hair in need of washing. Her once-pretty face had a gaunt look, smudged, but traces of makeup remained. Lauren figured her for early thirties; the muddy hiking boots on her feet would have set her back a couple of hundred dollars at REI. She wore two-hundred-dollar designer jeans with half of the sequins missing. The knees had recently had the mud scuffed off. A tailored jacket hugged her shoulders and conformed to her thin waist, and a couple of buttons were missing from her form-fitting white cotton shirt. She must have been some kind of professional in the big city.

  “Tory, you sit here,” the man told her, pointing to the table next to Lauren’s booth. “Don’t move. I’ll go get us a room.”

  The woman nodded, worked her lips, and dropped into the chair. She didn’t watch him leave the room, but stared down at her hands, at the broken nails that had once been painted red.

  When she glanced Lauren’s way, it was to fix on the sandwich with a longing that almost vibrated the air.

  Lauren leaned over and handed her the remaining half. “Here. If you’re fast, you can chug it down before he gets back.”

  “Thank you. Really.” The woman grabbed it the way a starving wolf took a baby rabbit, devouring it in five big bites, while she watched the door.

  “Where you from?” Lauren said softly.

  The woman’s eyes widened with panic. “Boulder, Colorado.”

  “You’re lucky. You made it across The Line.”

  Tory nodded, relaxing, her slim fingers lacing together. “Yeah. Just...never thought I’d be...here.”

  Lauren tilted her head in the direction of the militiaman. “You think he’s worth the price?”

  “I’ll live.” A pause. “More than I can say for Jill and Aleesha.” She stared into some private hell.

  “Pretty bad down south?”

  “You have no idea.” A pause. “I got on my knees and begged. Can you imagine? I did that. I told him I’d do anything to get across the border.”

  “People do what they have to.”

  Images flashed. Like video replaying in Lauren’s head, visions of the human beings she’d shot down in the camp. The crushed human bodies that Hutch had run over in their desperate escape.

  Tory said, “I had dreams once. Good dreams.”

  Lauren managed to take a deep breath. “What did you do in Colorado?”

  “I was a professor before the cyberattack shut down the university. Dr. Tory Sanders. Taught Law.” The woman dusted the bread crumbs from her fingers onto the floor. “Equal opportunity law. Women’s issues.” Her mouth trembled. “Is that rich, or what?”

  “Right now all that matters is you’re alive.” The room shifted, spun slightly. Lauren rubbed her eyes, praying the disorientation would go away.

  “Dear God, what happened to us?”

  “Us?” Lauren looked up.

  “Americans! What happened to us? It’s only been a couple of weeks and we’ve turned on each other like animals.”

  Absently Lauren stared at her right index finger. She could almost feel the M4 vibrating. Hear the screams. She fought the flashback. “We are animals. I am. You are. All of us.”

  Tory frowned, then looked away for a solid minute. Finally, she asked, “You come up from the south?”

  “Colorado Springs. I worked at a bank.”

  “How did you…? I mean… What did you have to do to get across the border?”

  “I killed a man.” Without a trace of emotion Lauren went back to her plate and finished the rest of her potato chips.

  “You hear that the North Koreans invaded Los Angeles?”

  Lauren blinked. “I…I heard it was Chinese in San Francisco and Seattle.”

  “Where was our military? Why didn’t our Marines push them back? Is America so weak that we can’t defend our own people? Why didn’t they do something?”

  The militiaman appeared in the doorway, and Tory instantly went still. The guy called, “Come on. Got a key.” He held the card up so that it glinted in the restaurant lights.

  Tory whispered, “Take care.”

  “You, too.”

  As Dr. Tory Sanders slipped out of the booth, she softly said, “I’ll be okay. After what I’ve been through, servicing one more man’s no big thing. And I don’t have to do it on the ground with an audience.”