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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Letliv, Connecticut

  GOD, things had changed so quickly after the power went out, over one year ago. The lights never came back on, the power grid completely destroyed by the Pulse—an electromagnetic pulse from a nuclear bomb set off high in the sky.

  But here in a small coastal fishing town in Connecticut—a town the people had renamed Letliv—Clarissa could have a chance at a better life. Their motto of “Live and let live” sounded good to her. Like freedom.

  Anything was better than the previous year in Grand Central Terminal, the main FEMA camp in New York. The camp, created to help them all, had become hell on earth—a place with fear, starvation . . . and rape. Every place in America was under martial law, with each area controlled by its own authorities from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, and the army, and National Guard.

  With all that in place, how could the United Nations be taking over? Was that really happening?

  Evan had told her the UN may have waited a year to make their move so that most of the American population would be killed off already. Ninety percent dead within a year, just for lack of electricity and running water. Unbelievable, and yet . . . it had happened.

  She never would have met Evan if he hadn’t escaped his camp in Connecticut when he turned eighteen, running from the draft. That was the first Clarissa and her friends had even heard of a draft, or of the possibility of America getting taken over.

  One thing Clarissa had learned about the radio—the one working radio she had access to that hadn’t been fried in the Pulse—was that she couldn’t trust the words that came out of it. Who knew what was real or true anymore?

  It was the radio that said Grand Central was safe, and God knew that was a lie.

  And that teenager, Evan, he’d been kidnapped—taken to Grand Central after their shootout with the soldiers. As much as it hurt to even think about, they were probably torturing him to reveal the whereabouts of Clarissa and Jenna and Barker.

  The camp had become a prison. No one was allowed to escape. People who did—people like her friends Emily and Mason, or Clarissa with Jenna and Barker . . . well, Colonel Lanche clearly was afraid of them.

  Afraid they’d rise up against him once they were no longer under his thumb.

  Clarissa laughed softly. For once, the despicable Colonel was correct. They would rise up against him, and they would free every woman living on the Tracks at Grand Central, those women who were forced to prostitute themselves to the soldiers just to survive.

  Soldiers. Clarissa grimaced at the word. Those men weren’t soldiers any more than Barker had been one. Barker was a lawyer who’d been given a gun and a bloodstained uniform when the Colonel realized he needed to replenish his troops with young men—any young men who would blindly obey his authority. But Barker was no longer blind. He’d woken up. Barker had taken Jenna and he took her, and they’d escaped.

  Would the other soldiers wake up to the atrocities of the camp too? Or were the people of Letliv going to have to fight to liberate the innocent citizens imprisoned in Grand Central?

  Everything was so different here, in Letliv. No martial law, no soldiers, no government or tyrannical dictators enforcing their will upon the people.

  Clarissa looked at the people bustling around, trading supplies, the scent of the salty sea air carried to her on a breeze.

  Clarissa could be happy living here in Letliv. Living a free life. Maybe someday she’d be able to forget about the time she spent at the mercy of those men. She’d let go.

  But not until Grand Central was freed.

  Clarissa looked over at the docks, watching Barker and Jenna embrace on the boat. They looked so happy together, so strong, despite everything that was happening.

  “Hey,” Trent said, coming up to her.

  She turned to him, thunderstruck, as always, by the man’s kind voice, and the strong lines of his handsome face. If Trent Taylor hadn’t let them into Letliv when they were fleeing down the freeway after the shootout, they never would have survived.

  And it was Trent who had agreed to help them free the people of Grand Central. His sister Annie was still living there, and Clarissa knew that had to be the main reason he was willing to risk his life. But motivations aside, Trent was helping. That’s what mattered. They’d need all the help they could get.

  Not many men had helped her before without . . . without wanting something in return. Something she could no longer give, because if she did she would turn into an empty, used-up shell of the person she once was. Hell, she was already halfway there.

  The one man other than Barker who’d been good to her, other than Evan (who was more of a teenager than a man, in her mind), had been Roy. Her attempt at finding comfort in Roy’s arms hadn’t gone particularly well—she just wasn’t ready to sleep with a man again, not even a good one. But the Colonel’s men had taken Roy from her too.

  They’d taken everything.

  It was up to her to reclaim it.

  Trent was still looking at her, concern on his handsome face. His dark hair and tan skin contrasted vibrantly with her own pale skin, her red hair. Standing together on the docks, Clarissa imagined they looked so different. He was so big, muscular, and tall . . . she felt small near him. And she was sick of feeling small, of knowing she could be physically overpowered.

  Too many men had proven that to her.

  Fuck that.

  “Are you okay?” Trent asked. His voice was soft, and she relaxed a little in his presence.

  Clarissa nodded, brushing her tears away with the back of her hand. “I’m really glad we’re going back to get Annie and Evan and everyone. But it’s so dangerous. Those soldiers . . . they killed Roy. It happened so fast. One moment he was alive, the next . . .”

  “I’m . . . really sorry for your loss,” Trent said.

  “I guess we’ve all lost someone.”

  “My wife,” Trent said. “She died shortly after the grid went down. After her insulin ran out.”

  She looked up at him. “That’s where you got those flowered oven mitts.”

  The night he’d made them dinner, pulling the stew out of the fire with distinctly feminine oven mitts, Clarissa had assumed he’d scavenged them the way everyone did these days. But now it seemed clear. He had lived with his wife in that same house before the Pulse. Her memory must be everywhere for him.

  “Yeah,” Trent smiled.

  Clarissa’s hand fluttered to her neck before she remembered—her locket, her only picture of the infant daughter she’d given up for adoption as a teenager, was gone.

  Trent stood silently next to her, looking out at the people of Letliv, his handsome face so serious.

  “My friends are going to live together,” she said finally. “I couldn’t help but overhear them.”

  “They’re in love,” Trent said. “I could see that coming a mile away. Barker looks at her the way I used to look at my wife.”

  “She loves him too. Took her long enough to realize it,” Clariss
a smiled. “I shouldn’t stay with them. They should have their privacy.”

  “Are you asking to bunk with me?”

  She blushed, shaking her head. But Trent took her hand in his large one and turned to her, overwhelming her with his sheer size and muscularity.

  “You can, if you want. You could move into my room—”

  “No,” she whispered, putting her palm on his chest to stop him, stop him before he scared her. And yet, when she touched him, there was no fear. Only the warmth of his skin radiating through his shirt.

  Only his heat.

  “And I would sleep on the couch,” he said, smiling. “That’s what I meant. I would never . . . I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  Clarissa nodded, unable to speak.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he whispered. He took a step back, and her hand dropped from his chest.

  “We all have. And your sister . . . Annie’s still going through it. We need to save them.”

  “We will, Clarissa.” Trent kept his distance, physically, but now all she wanted was to feel his arms wrapped around her, comforting her. “I promise.”

  “Annie will be so happy to see you. She’ll like it here. Evan too.”

  “Do you like it here?” he asked.

  “I think,” she said softly, “that someday I just might.”

  * * *

  The sun was setting, and Clarissa had no idea where her friends had gone.

  Probably to be alone somewhere. She couldn’t blame them. Jenna and Barker hadn’t had real privacy in a long time. And then there was that time on the road when she’d almost shot Barker when she found him on top of Jenna.

  That had been a misunderstanding, clearly. Clarissa shook her head. It might be a while before she could even comprehend why someone would not just have sex with a man, but enjoy it, too. Too many nights on the Tracks had screwed up her memories of what good sex was. Consensual, loving sex.

  She found Trent carrying a basket down the road along Main Street.

  “Hey Trent,” she said, making her voice sound cheery, even though she was nervous. It was a trick she’d learned from years of working as a waitress. Approach with confidence and smile.

  “Hey there,” he grinned. “I’ve got some fresh fish for dinner if you’d like to join me. You are crashing at my house, right?”

  Alone in a house with Trent. The mere idea thrilled her and terrified her at the same time. Yes, he was safe. She could feel it in her gut. And he was Annie’s brother, which counted for a lot.

  But still, he was a man.

  “I won’t hurt you, Clarissa,” Trent said, frowning. “You know that, right?”

  Clarissa nodded. “I didn’t mean to hesitate.”

  “Probably smart to ask questions and keep your eye on your own safety in this day and age. Can’t fault you for that. It’s kept you alive this long.”

  “Where are Jenna and Barker, do you know?”

  “They’re borrowing my tent and camping in the apple orchard. It’s warm enough that they’ll be comfortable until they can find their own place.”

  The basket slipped in his arms and Clarissa rushed up to him to help him right it before their dinner toppled to the road.

  “Thanks,” he said, smiling. God, those teeth. So white.

  (The better to eat you with, my dear.)

  Clarissa shook her head. Trent was not a wolf, he was not a danger. At some point she’d have to learn to trust men again.

  Roy had been a good man, after all.

  They walked in silence up the hill to Trent’s modest home.

  The living room was dark but cozy when they entered.

  “I’ll get the fire going,” Trent said.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nah. Let me take care of you tonight.” Trent smiled, but Clarissa’s heart raced.

  He’d meant it to be nice, of course, but she didn’t want to be indebted to anyone. Especially not if she was sleeping under his roof.

  “I want to help. Let me clean the fish.”

  Trent raised his eyebrows. “Go relax. I insist.”

  He was buttering her up, trying to make her drop her defenses. For what purpose?

  “I think . . .” Clarissa looked at the door behind her. “I think I’ll sleep outside tonight. I’m used to camping. No need for me to intrude on you.”

  She reached for the door but Trent stopped her with a look. Not an angry look, just a look of . . . confusion.

  “Am I so terrifying to you?” Trent whispered. “What did I do to scare you, Clarissa?”

  The door, freedom from expectation, of the possibility of getting hurt, beckoned. But so did this man. A good man. Annie’s brother.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll stay. It’s nothing you did, I’m just . . . not used to nice guys, that’s all.”

  “You’re making me scared for my sister,” Trent said softly.

  “Yes,” Clarissa said. “I’m scared for Annie too. I wish we could have taken her with us, but with her broken leg . . . she wouldn’t have made it.”

  Trent knelt by the fireplace and struck his flint into the kindling on the bottom until it sparked. He blew on the glowing embers gently until a flame emerged from the ashes.

  “How did she break her leg?”

  Clarissa settled on the couch and watched him work. “A soldier pushed her onto the Tracks. Just left her there. It took three of us to get her back up, and without proper medical care, without proper nutrition . . . it’s just not healing right.”

  The muscles in his back seemed to tense under his tight T-shirt as he stared into the fire, not looking at her.

  “I want to kill whoever did that to Annie.”

  “Maybe you’ll have your chance. When we go back to liberate her.”

  Suddenly, Trent turned to face her. “Clarissa, I need to know. Did those men . . . did they . . .”

  “Did they rape her?” Clarissa finished for him when the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s not my place to tell you those things, Trent. You’ll get to talk to her soon yourself, I know it.”

  “What about you?”

  Clarissa’s cheeks burned, she felt ashamed, even though she knew it wasn’t something to be ashamed about. “A lot of the men there have lost their sense of what’s right and what’s wrong. Why talk about it? Why reopen fresh wounds?”

  “I want to know what happened to my sister, that’s all.”

  “But you asked about me.” Clarissa tucked her knees into her chest.

  “I’m sorry.” Trent got up from the fire and went into the kitchen, returning with the fish and a pan. “It’s none of my business.”

  “Well, it’s good to know what we’ll be walking into when we go back to Grand Central,” Clarissa said. “The women there won’t know who to trust. If we march in with guns blazing, they might cling to what they know and want to stay. Who knows? Colonel Lanche has done a great job of convincing everyone that the only safe place is in his camp.”

  “Like brainwashing, huh?” Trent flipped the fish over the fire, and the scent of dinner in the air made Clarissa’s stomach rumble.

  “Yeah, like brainwashing. Indoctrinating, almost. He gives speeches all the time, scares the shit out of everyone. Reminds us all how lucky we are to be among the survivors and to have him protecting us.”

  “If the UN’s really taking over America, he’ll capitalize on that,” Trent said. “Use an outside threat to make the people cling to his authority even more.”

  “Think people will consider the world’s peacekeepers a threat, though? Aren’t they supposed to help?”

  “If by help you mean putting America under international law, yeah, they could see the globalists as a threat. Rightfully so. We would lose everything that makes America the home of the free.”

  “Is it even really happening?” she wondered.

  “Who knows. Maybe the President allowed the radio to
be taken over just to get everyone focused. Maybe it’s a psyop.”

  Psyop.

  “I don’t know what that is,” she admitted.

  Trent dropped a crispy fish onto a plate and handed it to her with a fork, keeping one for himself. “Watch out for the bones.”

  He took a bite of the white, flaky fish, savoring it in his mouth before answering. “A psyop is a psychological operation—a specific kind of military operation. They do things, put messages out, stage events, that sort of thing, to influence how the enemy reacts.”

  “But we’re not the enemy,” Clarissa said.

  Trent laughed. “They’re not supposed to use psyops on Americans. But they probably weren’t supposed to set up a camp where the women were all systematically abused, either. So I’m not giving them the benefit of the doubt, forgive me.”

  Clarissa ate her fish in silence, listening. “Maybe the speeches Colonel Lanche gave, all those public punishments at the big clock in the main terminal . . . maybe that was all a psyop too, then. To get us to obey. To be afraid.”

  “Never say never. But you also have to realize . . . the United Nations, they have psyops too. If this is real, if they are invading, that explains the radio broadcasts from them trying to get our cooperation. If everyone in America is lulled into thinking that they’re just here to help, then we leave the door wide open for them. They won’t even have to kill us to take over, because we’ll be letting them in with open arms.”

  She’d been so hungry her fish was already gone.

  “If you’re still hungry, I’ve got apples,” Trent offered. “Let me get you one.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Psyops. What a world.

  “Trent,” she called. “What if they really are here to help? The UN?”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. “And I hope to God I don’t see it. They’ll stay far away from Letliv if they know what’s good for them.”

  Trent sounded so territorial, so protective of his town.

  “Why would it be so bad, to have help come?” she asked.

  “They have a long history of taking things over, forcing laws made by unelected authorities on citizens. Yeah, maybe they’d help. But help doesn’t come without a price.”