By the time her father arrived at the library, Grace had coaxed Anne out from under the reference desk, but the older woman wasn’t yet coherent. The helicopter had flown over Woodland Park several times, sweeping over the town in a way that suggested a search pattern. Grace had run outside as soon as she realized what she was hearing. Once, the Black Hawk had passed over so low, she’d been able to see the pilot and co-pilot, their eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses, as well as the shadowy forms of two crew members behind them. Every instinct had told her to hide, and it had taken all the nerve she possessed to stand her ground, but she needed information. Giving in to her fear wouldn’t serve.
Anne had tried to follow her outside, but her terror had been too great. When the helicopter swung to the north and faded out of hearing, Grace re-entered the library to find Anne weeping and rocking, hands over her ears, huddled under the desk while Persephone danced in anxious half-circles around her. Grace knew Anne had suffered a terrible experience on Fort Carson – her dad was certain “Anne” wasn’t her real name – and the sound of that helicopter must have brought it all back. Grace found a bulky sweater hanging on a hook in the tiny kitchen area – it had probably been there since the librarian who owned it died in the plague - and wrapped Anne in it. She had just managed to get her to take a few sips of water from a coffee mug when her father walked in with Naomi on his heels.
His sharp eyes assessed and analyzed. “She okay?”
“Not really.” Grace moved aside so Naomi could take her place. Anne leaned into Naomi’s embrace, shuddering and shaking, trying to gulp out words. Naomi rubbed her back and just listened, doing what she was so good at, doling out comfort and reassurance. Persephone climbed into Naomi’s lap, licking her chin once in greeting before turning her attention back to Anne. The little dog had an infallible instinct for the person with the greatest need; between her and Naomi’s warm mothering, Anne would be set right. Grace pretty much sucked at anything maternal-ish, so she left them to it and moved to join her dad.
“It was a Black Hawk, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” His forehead was creased with concern. “I don’t know that much about them, but I didn’t see any external fuel tanks. If I’m remembering correctly, their range is about 300 miles…”
“320 nautical miles, depending on payload.” Grace gestured for her father to follow her to a nearby table where her pet project was organized. “It has a combat radius of 368 miles, and can carry from eleven to fourteen fully equipped combat soldiers – sources vary on that – or twenty lightly-armed personnel.”
She looked up to find her father gazing at her with an expression she saw too often on his face these days: a mixture of anxiety and pride. “What?”
“Nautical miles?”
“Equivalent to 1.15 miles. It’s an ancient measurement, actually –”
“I know what a nautical mile is.” He looked down at the stacks of books and papers, then picked up a yellow legal pad and started to flip through her notes. “What I wonder is why you know.”
Grace clenched her hands into fists to keep from snatching the notes away from him. She hated it when people touched her stacks. They might look disorganized, but she had a system and knew where everything was. The papers and books were part of a physical matrix that fed and supported her mental one. Shifting even a single paper disrupted both systems. “I’ve studied what materials we have here on the helicopters that were part of the Combat Aviation Brigade on Fort Carson – mostly kids’ books and archived newspaper articles.” She gave up the battle and twitched the legal pad out of her dad’s hands, flipping to the correct page before returning it to its proper orientation. “It was logical to assume the gang would eventually try to get them in the air.”
Again, with the anxiety and pride. “Logical,” her dad agreed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded at her project. “There’s more than information on helicopters here. What is all this?”
“Projections. Predictions.” Grace shrugged. “Guesses, really, based on what I’ve studied of military strategy, what I know of the gang, calculations on when they would run low on resources in the city and begin to look farther afield.”
“And how does the helicopter we just saw impact your calculations?”
“They’re running a little behind what I thought they would be, but it’s still bad news.” She paused. “Really bad news, dad.”
“I know.”
The front door of the library opened, and Thomas, her dad’s second-in-command, hurried in. Not even a minute later, the rumble of a pair of ATV’s announced the arrival of Andrea and Paul, a sister-brother duo that were heavily involved in the community’s security. Rowan was moments behind them, her eyes honing in on Anne, who was still hiccupping with sobs in Naomi’s arms. Last to arrive was Ignacio. He usually represented the folks that had congregated on Turkey Creek, and he had Ethan with him.
Grace nodded to herself – that was good thinking. Ethan had military experience. He had come in with Piper’s group but had stayed when the rest of the group left, settling near Ignacio’s ranch with his woman, Elise, and her twin children, Sam and Beck. From what Grace had heard, the twins and Quinn were besties now. The three of them were Ethan’s faithful shadows which made her wonder if he had brought them with him this morning.
As always, her heart leaped up to lodge in her throat at the thought of seeing Quinn. She leaned to see around Ignacio and Ethan, hoping, dreading, but they were alone. Her heart sank in both relief and disappointment. She had also heard that Quinn was only rarely seen without Lark balanced on his hip or cradled against his chest in a baby sling. Seeing the baby would take more of her resources than she could spare right now. The arrival of that helicopter signaled a huge change for them all, and it was her job to make them see that.
They gathered around her table, and her dad spoke, skipping even his usual abrupt greeting. “We saw one Black Hawk with what looked like a crew of four. We were at Naomi’s cabin – they came from the south, then circled over to the east and disappeared.”
Murmurs of confirmation went around the table, and Ethan spoke. “It was probably a combination training flight and reconnaissance mission, checking us and other small communities out. The Air Force Academy is due east of here – I’m sure they, whoever ‘they’ are, wanted a look at that, too.”
Grace nodded her agreement, but maintained her silence. She and her dad had discussed it, and it worked better if she spoke as little as possible, only answering questions directed specifically to her. Some of the adults were still struggling with the concept of an inexperienced girl providing so much of what they perceived as guidance and leadership, and Grace was the last person that could clarify for them. She provided information, data she had gathered and organized. It was up to her dad and the rest of the adults to decide what to do with that information.
Her dad nodded as well, then turned his gaze to Grace. “What can you tell us?”
Grace picked up the yellow legal pad and flipped a few pages, though she didn’t need it. She had these numbers memorized. “We can’t confirm exactly how many aircraft were on Fort Carson before the plague hit, but when the Combat Aviation Brigade reached full strength, it should have included around a hundred helicopters – a combination of Chinooks, Black Hawks and Apaches. The last newspaper article I could find that mentioned actual numbers was two years old. At the time, there were six of each aircraft on the post.”
Grace paused, then looked up at her dad. This was hard information to deliver, harder to hear, and it helped if she pretended it was just the two of them. “Even if they never added more helicopters, even if it were just those eighteen, they could still move enough personnel into our area to outnumber us by four-to-one. Both the Black Hawks and the Apaches have a cruising speed of around 170 mph. They could take off from Fort Carson and overwhelm us in under 15 minutes. A single Apache helicopter has enough firepower to destroy both of our settlements if it’s armed with Hellfire missiles and Hydra rocket launchers, not to mention the 30mm cannon. Dad, those Apaches are the most sophisticated attack helicopters ever created. They’re just about indestructible. And they might have dozens of them.”
Total silence met Grace’s pronouncement. Long moments later, it didn’t surprise Grace at all that Naomi was the first to breach the stunned hush.
“Okay.” The older woman’s face was lined with anxiety, white with fear, but her mouth was set in a determined line. In times like these, it was hard for Grace to reconcile the lean, no-nonsense Naomi with the soft, fluttery mother Piper had told her about. “Okay,” she repeated. “Let’s start at the beginning. First, are we assuming this is the gang?” She turned to look at Ethan. “Or might someone else be responsible? Brody and the men with him – are any of them pilots?”
“Tyler is a mechanic, and, if I’m not mistaken, he also had his pilot’s license. At the very least, he would know the rudiments of getting a helicopter into the air. And it would surprise me if Brody didn’t know at least a little about it as well.” Ethan frowned. “What’s less likely is that they would reveal their capabilities. Brody played his cards tight, and he always tended towards the covert. This doesn’t feel like something he would do.”
Andrea spoke. “Could it be help from the outside? You know, like the National Guard or something?” Before anyone could answer, she grimaced. “Scratch that. They would have landed, spoken to us for at least a few minutes, and asked what our needs were.” She looked down and swallowed hard. “It’s stupid, I know, still hoping the cavalry will ride in.”
“Not stupid,” Grace said. “Dangerous. The people supporting the gang in Colorado Springs aren’t all bad people. They’re just desperate for someone to help them, which makes them easy to control.”
Andrea spared her a resentful glance. “I know that.” She shifted her gaze to Martin. “But why should we proceed from the assumption that they’re hostile? What if we had a helicopter? Wouldn’t we check things out first, too?” She looked down at the table in front of her, and though Grace didn’t feel things as the others did, Andrea’s longings were easy to read. “We’re safe here. It’s a waste of resources to be constantly focused on defense.”
Grace pressed her mouth into a tight line and folded her hands together, squeezing until her knuckles turned white. But keeping her lips zipped didn’t do much good when Andrea could so easily detect the frustration Grace had refrained from giving voice to.
The older woman glared at her. “We are safe! The people that have come from the Springs haven’t caused any trouble, and we don’t have enough for that gang to bother with – not enough people, and not enough resources. I’m sick of having to be suspicious of everything, all the time.” She closed her eyes, her shoulders drooped, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m just so sick of always being afraid.”
A deep silence followed Andrea’s words. Grace’s eyes darted around the gathered faces, where she read sympathy, understanding, agreement. Oh, this would not do at all.
She pushed to her feet. “I get that you feel that way, but here’s the thing: You’re not safe. None of us are. What we thought of as ‘safe’ in the time before doesn’t exist, and it probably won’t again, not in our lifetimes. Believing you’re safe is the most dangerous thing I can think of, if you want to survive.”
Her father flinched, and in spite of herself, she met his gaze. His dark eyes were filled with emotions that were easy to read – guilt, sorrow, pain – and when he spoke, his words were meant only for her. “I hoped that you were starting to feel more secure.”
Grace didn’t know what to say to make him feel better, so she told the truth. “It’s a relief that this is happening, Dad. I knew it would, and waiting for the other shoe to drop was nerve-wracking. There’s no such thing as ‘security.’ This community and everything we’ve built could be destroyed in a matter of hours. The majority of us would likely die in an attack, and those of us that didn’t die…” She swallowed. “There are worse things than dead.”
“I hate that you know that.”
“I know.” They might have been alone in the room. “But I do, and I can’t pretend that I don’t.”
“I should have kept you safe. It’s a father’s job to protect his daughter.” Before she could protest the impossibility of that belief, he pulled out his mind-reading trick and answered her. “I don’t really care that it might not have been possible for me to keep you safe, even if I’d been with you right after the plague. Calling it ‘impossible’ doesn’t change how I feel.”
He swallowed the rest of what she suspected he wanted to say, out of respect for her privacy. Almost everyone knew Grace had been through something, but very few knew exactly what. And even her father didn’t know all of it.
“I’m sorry.” She dropped her gaze. She didn’t know how to comfort him. She really did suck at this stuff. So she took refuge in what she was good at. She focused on the group one at a time and delivered her data.
“If my predictions are correct, the gang will invade in eight to twelve weeks. They’ll let us do the work of summer – growing crops, putting by provisions for the winter – then they’ll come in sufficient numbers to take it all, supplies and any people they have use for.” She couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer, flipping through her notes to hide her gaze. “Women and female children, especially. They might offer a place to people who want to work for them, but it’s more likely they’ll just massacre the rest of us – no chance of bothersome retaliation or rescue attempts that way.”
During the silence that followed, she looked around, reading reactions as best she could and noting the people who were still making eye contact with her, especially Ethan, who was nodding. He spoke when her eyes met his.
“I agree with Grace’s assessment. One of the first rules of survival is to defend what you have. You have to prepare for the fact that someone else is planning to take advantage of your planning. They know we’re here, they know you survived the last winter, they know we’re busy getting ready for the next one. With a group our size, they’ll infiltrate with spies, if they haven’t already. They’ll know just how to hit us when they do, the locations of our stockpiles, and what our defenses are.”
“I don’t agree! Why are we listening to a traumatized little girl, anyway? Of course she thinks everyone in the outside world is hostile – everyone knows she was –” Andrea bit off her own angry outburst, her face twitching with the effort of controlling herself. Then, she simply slumped forward on the table, hid her face in her crossed arms, and began to cry quietly. Her brother’s face was almost comical with alarm as he scooted his chair closer to her and began to pat her back awkwardly.
Her father had leaned forward protectively as soon as Andrea started in on Grace, and he leaned back slowly, taking deep breaths. Grace recognized the expression on his face; he had a handle on himself, but just barely. Andrea’s outburst had further eroded the stability of the group’s dynamic. Not for the first time, Grace wondered if the increased intuitive knowing was an evolution or a step backwards for humanity. And also not for the first time, she was grateful it hadn’t happened to her. How did people even think, with all that emotional garbage going on?
Back in control of himself, her dad picked up the ball. “It’s pretty obvious we need to hope for the best but prepare for the worst.” He looked at Grace. “Do your predictions include recommendations?”
Grace nodded, but had to push past dread to speak. No one was going to like hearing what she had to say. “We need to leave.”
Her voice sounded tentative, even to her, so she tried again. “We need to leave,” she repeated, with conviction this time, “Relocate. As far away from any major metropolitan area as we can get."
This time, instead of silence, her pronouncement was met with a soft, despairing, collective sigh. With the exception of her father and Ethan, every person around the table seemed to shrink into themselves, and Naomi’s face was pale with shock.
“Leave? You mean for good? Forever?” Her voice was a thread of sound. “Leave our homes, and our dead, their graves? Gracie, there has to be another way.”
Grace reached across the table, tapping a stack of books on disaster preparation. The top two were from Naomi’s private library. “You gave me these books,” she said softly. “They were your husband’s, and you said you’d read them.” She held Naomi’s gaze. “You know what they say. Survivors should join with like-minded people and get as far away from large cities as possible. It’s why Jack and the others planned their route the way they did – to avoid populous areas.”
Naomi’s eyes flickered to Martin. “But what if we hide, when they come? Your dad and I were just talking about this.” She leaned forward, her expression shifting from stricken to determined. “We create bolt holes where we can hide on a moment’s notice. We cache food and supplies in secret locations, so we can survive while we rebuild, if they do raid us. Why couldn’t that work?” Her gaze shifted to Ignacio, who nodded at her. “That could work.”
Grace looked down and trapped the words she wanted to say behind tight lips. She had the deepest respect for Naomi, and she wouldn’t shred her argument, not in front of all these people. She was profoundly grateful when Ethan gave the answer she didn’t want to voice.
“Naomi, I’m sorry to say I just don’t think that’ll work. Ya’ll have been lucky here. The geography has protected you from being overrun, but it won’t last. Even if they didn’t have the helicopters, they would come. They’d find a way to open the pass, or stage a larger invasion from Rampart Range Road. As the crow flies, we’re less than 20 miles away from them. It’s just not far enough.”
With the sensitivity he was becoming known for, even among their newly sensitized community, Ethan zeroed in on Ignacio and Andrea, whose faces were set in lines that mirrored Naomi’s determination. “You have to understand the mindset. They’re not builders. They don’t innovate or create, and they certainly don’t cooperate with outsiders. They take, control, and use. What they don’t need, they destroy. It’s all they know.”
Under the pressure of his gaze, Andrea’s face twisted, and her tears broke free. She gazed back at him, her voice jerking with angry, hiccupping sobs. “Then what’s to stop them from finding us after we move? Do we run forever? Do we just become nomads? When do we take a stand and defend our homes?” Her eyes shifted to her brother. Paul’s face was rigid, but his eyes mirrored her grief. “Our people helped found this town, over a hundred years ago. We’ve been here for generations. This is our place, where our roots sink deep. I’d rather die defending it than abandon it.”
Her despair was so potent that it touched even Grace, and the effect it had on the others in the room made the polarities obvious. Naomi and Thomas were nodding their agreement. Ignacio reached across the table to pat Andrea’s hand, clucking and shushing as he would with one of his horses, and Paul reached to hold her other hand.
By contrast, Ethan, Rowan and Anne were making troubled eye contact and shifting in their seats. Her father was glaring at the table top, but he looked up at her when he felt her gaze. She saw in his eyes the same knowledge that had brought her to this recommendation and knew he agreed with her. His next words, though, surprised her.
“I grew up military, and spent most of my adult life deployed, or stationed somewhere I didn’t have a lot of choice about. I don’t have the kind of roots you’re talking about, Andrea, and I don’t think Ethan does either.” He glanced at Ethan, who nodded confirmation. “We all need some time to think through the ramifications before we come to any kind of a decision. In the meantime –”
Thomas’ angry voice cut him off. “There’s nothing to think about. If people want to stay, they stay. If they want to run, they run. Simple.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed, and he drew a deep breath in through his nose. His jaw tightened, but again, he surprised Grace with his moderate tone. “It’s not simple, and that kind of aggressive attitude doesn’t help. Take some time to think it through before you –”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Thomas’ chair screeched on the floor as he shoved back from the table, obviously ready to stand and storm out. “And you can damn sure stop telling me what to think!” His eyes cut around the circle. “We’ve got a choice to make. Either we run and hide with our tails tucked between our legs, or we make a stand. We may lose some people, but if we fight back hard enough, they’ll decide we’re not worth it and move on to easier prey. They’re bullies, pure and simple. You stand up to a bully, they back down. That’s the way the world works.”
“But they’re not bullies. You’re not analyzing the situation correctly.” Grace’s voice shook. This was a catastrophe. Without Naomi and Ignacio’s buy-in, the community would stay put, and they would be slaughtered. She was certain of it. All eyes swung to her, and she pressed on. “Bullies are about bravado. The leaders of the gang – they’re predators. They’re trained killers, all of them. Like Ethan said, they don’t know anything but ‘us and them.’ They only understand cooperation as it benefits them, and their idea of community is extremely limited. It’s like that kids’ movie, with the ants and the grasshoppers…”
She broke off and looked down. What a stupid example, serving only to remind everyone how young she was. Her heart was pounding with anxiety, and she really thought she might throw up. She made herself look up, viewing the group through prisms of tears. “Please listen. Please. They’ll come, and they will show no mercy. We’re a different species to them. They learned to disassociate so they could go to war, or so they could survive their childhoods, or whatever. They don’t think of us as people. They don’t think of their own supporters as people. They call them ‘sheep’ and they know just how to control them.”
A mocking voice echoed up out of her memory, and she flinched, swallowing the burn of bile in the back of her throat. “’Feed ‘em and fuck ‘em.’ That’s what they do,” she whispered, staring at the table, seeing leaping flames and contorted faces. “They control by giving with one hand and beating with the other. They protect and provide during the day, then spend their nights raping and killing, where everyone can see. They make sure everyone can see.” Her eyes met Thomas’. He was staring at her, horrified and fascinated. “They create and feed off fear, but they don’t feel it. They’re not bullies. They’re subhuman. The world doesn’t work the way you want it to. Not anymore.”
She left then, walked away from the stunned silence, so grateful she couldn’t feel their pity. Her dad started to rise to go with her, but she waved him back. She needed some time alone to find steady ground, and they needed to argue this out. She had said everything she could say, and she was sure her continued presence would be a hindrance rather than a help. And while she could hardly stand to imagine what would happen if they decided to stay, their decision wouldn’t affect her own long term plans. Nothing could alter those.
Heading for the door, she whistled softly between her teeth, and Persephone shot to her side. Grace held her arms out and the little dog leaped without hesitation. Cradling the dog’s sturdy warmth close, Grace pushed through the library doors and stepped into the midday sunshine.
A crowd had gathered, which wasn’t surprising. People were clustered in groups of five or six, hands flying in excited, agitated gestures as they talked among themselves. Grace spotted the tight cluster of Woodland Park kids and ducked her head, veering in the opposite direction. No love lost there, and at least on Grace’s part, no desire to change that. She buried her nose in Persephone’s soft, musky fur and wove through the crowd, keeping her eyes down. On the edge of the crowd, nearly home-free, a pair of familiar boots made her freeze mid-stride.
Her eyes snapped up. Quinn was as frozen as she was, staring. Lark was drowsing against his shoulder, and oh, how she’d grown. Before, the baby had made Grace think of Benji, but she had changed. She might have come to life straight from Grace’s baby book, so much did she resemble her mother. Lark’s sleepy eyes blinked, then slid her way as Grace watched. The impact of her dark eyes stole what little breath Grace had left. Such ancient eyes, so sad. So knowing. Those eyes saw straight into Grace’s heart and knew all. Knew her. Lark lifted a chubby arm and stretched it towards Grace, her fingers splayed like a tiny, yearning starfish.
Grace’s head went light. She stumbled back a step, then two, and bumped into someone. The contact broke the connection between her and Lark, and Grace looked up, ready to murmur an apology and get the hell out of here. Seeing her father’s face made the world spin.
Her dad steadied her, though his eyes were locked on Lark. In his face, Grace saw not shock, not surprise, but longing. He gazed at the baby for long, long moments, then looked down at his daughter. Grace’s face felt numb, and she realized she hadn’t taken a breath since she first locked eyes with Quinn. She sucked in a huge lungful of air, then another, but it was too late.
Too late. The words echoed through her head as woozy black narrowed her vision to a pinpoint.
Too late. He knew.
Dimly, she heard her father’s voice calling her name, but her legs folded and the black became complete.