The Thrust Read online

  Clarissa saw all this, heard it happening around her. Waited for Trent to stand up and find her. But he didn’t.

  Trent, where are you?

  Please, God. Don’t let Trent be dead.

  But it made sense. If he was the instigator—the man from Letliv who’d started it all—he’d be the one every soldier in a uniform would be aiming for, right?

  God, no. Don’t let me be right. I don’t want to be right.

  And then—she saw him. Lying by foot of the huge stairway that led up to the upper level.

  “Trent!” she ran to him, maneuvering around the hordes of people. Men and women moved past her, in front of her, blocking her vision so she couldn’t see him.

  “Trent!” She finally reached him, panting. He lay on his side, as if he’d struggled to get up and failed. Blood pooled around him.

  “I’m here, Trent,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

  “Clarissa,” he said, smiling up at her weakly. “Are you okay? Did the women get out?”

  “Yes. We’re all okay. And we won, Trent. All the men who fought you, they’re—they’re dead.”

  Trent didn’t look happy about that, but she hadn’t expected him to. He wasn’t a violent person by nature. Fighting was a last resort. But he’d gone into this battle—this thrust—knowing people would die.

  “I wish it didn’t have to be that way,” he said. He grimaced as he tried to sit up.

  “Where are you hit?” she asked, and patted down his body the way she’d seen Emily do, looking for what was hurt.

  “Everything hurts,” Trent said. “I don’t know. My legs buckled.”

  “Emily—I need you!”

  Emily rushed over to them and kneeled by Trent’s side. She looked him over quickly and pressed her hands over his thigh, where blood seeped through his pants. He groaned in pain.

  “What’s your name?”

  Trent frowned. “You know me. It’s Trent.”

  “Do you know what happened?” Emily asked.

  Trent looked at her like she’d gone crazy from the sight of the wounded, but Clarissa knew better. Emily was checking if he still had his wits about him.

  Emily had once told her that just by asking a patient some basic questions she could quickly assess if he was breathing, if he was alert, oriented, even if his lips were moving symmetrically, whatever that told her. So Clarissa kept quiet and let Trent talk to her.

  “The soldiers all took their shirts off,” Trent said. “I thought—I thought everyone was on our side. There were so many. I really thought we could just walk out of here and no one would die,” Trent said. “But then we were ambushed. That’s when the shooting started.”

  “Okay,” Emily said, nodding. She ran her hands up and down his body, feeling for injuries. At his chest, he grimaced.

  “I think you cracked some ribs when you fell on these stairs,” Emily said. “But you’re breathing fine, so that’s good.” She took her knife out and, lacking any extra material on her own clothes, cut the sweatshirt Clarissa wore. Karen’s sweatshirt.

  “You’ve got a big scrape on your thigh,” Emily said, wrapping it tightly. “I think a bullet grazed you, but it didn’t do much damage.”

  “It’s nothing,” Trent said. “The ribs hurt more.”

  Emily glanced at Clarissa with a reassuring smile. “Let’s get you more comfortable. The bleeding stopped with the bandage.”

  “Is he gonna be okay, Em?” Clarissa asked.

  “Yeah,” Emily said, but she frowned. “He didn’t lose too much blood, which is good. But we have to make sure he doesn’t get an infection. All these men—we need to keep their wounds from getting infected in the next few days and weeks.”

  Annie came over and tapped Emily on the shoulder. “I bet those men from the UN brought antibiotics. We just need to find them.”

  “Yes!” Evan added, right behind her. He wasn’t going to let Annie out of his sight any time soon, it seemed. “I’ll get some guys who know the supply area. We’ll find them.”

  Trent sat up on his elbows. “We won’t be able to move on until the injured men are doing better.”

  “There are plenty of men and women here who want to stay,” Clarissa said. “They’ll have access to medical supplies and food that were denied them before. And when they’re better, they can go wherever they want.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, careful to avoid his injured ribs. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispered. “I was so scared.”

  “Me too,” Trent admitted. “Terrified.”

  But what terrified Clarissa the most, deep down, was just how close she’d come to losing the one man who’d come to mean so much more to her than any other man before.

  She’d promised herself long ago that she’d stay independent. Stay strong. Yet when it came to Trent, she couldn’t seem to help wanting to be with him all the time. To never leave his side.

  If he had died, what would she have done? As hard as Roy’s loss had been, losing Trent would have been . . . unbearably worse. Their lives were constantly at risk in this new world. The only way to keep her heart safe was to distance herself emotionally.

  To not let herself fall for Trent.

  She looked down at his handsome face, covered in sweat and smeared with blood and gunpowder.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” she whispered.

  It was difficult to tear her gaze away from those soulful eyes of his, but she did. She did.

  JENNA

  When the fighting stopped, Jenna found Barker first thing. He was fine, thank God. Already up and walking around, helping the others.

  But Jenna had to see Colonel Lanche. One last time. Had to see his corpse, to know for sure that he was dead and gone.

  The OCC was just as they’d left it, with bodies strewn about haphazardly. Blood splattered the walls and pooled beneath the victims.

  Not victims. They’d gotten what they deserved.

  Still . . .

  I killed a man. What did that mean now, for her conscience . . . and her soul?

  Before the Pulse she’d been an office manager. Now she was carrying a rifle and staring at the late great leader of Grand Central. His skin was bluish gray, his eyes, open and staring.

  Colonel Lanche had given her nightmares before, but now . . . would he haunt her for the rest of her life?

  Someone knocked on the open door. Jenna whirled, gun ready.

  “It’s just me,” Barker said softly. “Can I come in?”

  Jenna nodded, then threw herself into his arms and sobbed.

  “What’s wrong, Jenna?” he asked. “You got him. He’s dead. He can never hurt you, or anyone else, ever again.”

  “I think I’m still trying to process that,” she whispered. “Lanche did horrible things to me when I lived here. He even . . . he made me tell him where Emily escaped to, when she first ran. I was so brainwashed, Barker! So blind. I believed that bastard when he told me it was all for the greater good. For our safety and security. That he just wanted to talk to Emily.” Jenna laughed wryly, a wet sound. “Ha. Just talk, my ass. He threw her to the brother of the guard Taryn killed, a man who wanted her dead. Emily told me everything.”

  “Emily killed that man because he was going to kill her,” Barker said. “Just like Taryn killed that soldier who was going to kill you. And . . . you shot Lanche—so did Emily—because he was going to kill Clarissa.”

  “Too much killing,” Jenna said. “Too fucking much.”

  Barker tilted her face up so she was forced to look into his eyes. “I’m glad for all of it. I’d rather have you alive than them. Any day.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Jenna asked.

  “Right now, we’re going to go help as many people as we can. Then . . . we’re going home to Letliv. We’ll get married. And we’ll never have to worry about Colonel Lanche, not ever again.”

  “I meant . . . will I go to Hell?”

  “You saved lives by pulling that trigger,
Jenna.” Barker hugged her again. “I don’t know what to say to make it all right. I’m sorry. But I’m glad you did what you did.”

  He kissed her tears gently. “I love you so much, Jenna.”

  Maybe it wasn’t exactly what she needed to hear to salve her internal conflict, but it was pretty damn close.

  “I love you too, Barker.” She’d never loved anyone more.

  EVAN

  Evan took Annie’s hand as they followed the soldier with the supply room keys. They had to find the antibiotics for the soldiers who’d been wounded.

  Annie looked at him, concern lining her pretty face. “You don’t look so hot.”

  Evan grimaced. His whole body ached from the beatings the guards gave him, and from being tossed around in handcuffs like a sack of rice during the showdown in the OCC. Right before the barrel of a gun was pressed to his head.

  “I came really close to getting executed tonight, Annie,” Evan said, but the words didn’t even begin to encompass why he looked and felt the way he did.

  “He’s really dead, huh?”

  Evan didn’t need to ask to know who she meant. Scar. The man who had tortured them both and taken a piece of Evan’s innocence permanently—he was gone. Dead.

  “I can’t believe it either,” he admitted. “It’s going to be a while before I’ll be able to sleep without one eye open, wondering if he’s coming for me.”

  Annie squeezed his hand. “That will never happen, never again.”

  The soldier ahead of them whooped in excitement. “Jackpot!”

  Evan stared at the shelves filled with antibiotics, huge containers filled with pills, even vials of medicine and IV bags. Emily would know best what to make of all of it, but it was safe to say this was exactly what they’d been searching for.

  They grinned at each other. Colonel Lanche had kept those essential supplies from his people when the UN had delivered them, but with Lanche out of the way—they could save lives.

  * * *

  It took all night, but by morning, the dead were piled outside, and the injured were seen to. The secret cache of antibiotics had been secured, ready to give to the men who needed it.

  Clarissa slept by Trent’s cot out in the main terminal, tending to him. He would get better. He would. He’d been one of the lucky ones.

  The bullet had indeed just grazed him, missing both the bone and the artery. A few more centimeters one way, he would have had to have his leg amputated. A few centimeters the other way . . . he would have bled out and died. Instead, he was up and walking with just a limp within a couple days.

  The truck went back and forth from the camp to Letliv, siphoning gas from stalled cars along the way, transporting any man or woman who wanted to move to Connecticut.

  “There’s always room for more freedom-loving people,” Trent said. “Letliv will just get bigger, that’s all.”

  As for Trent and Clarissa . . . they stayed to take care of those who needed it, and were back on the road, back to Letliv, in three weeks.

  Letliv, Connecticut

  EVAN

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Evan scraped the bark off another downed tree. Building a house wasn’t easy, but it helped that they were able to scavenge for parts from the abandoned houses outside of town. He wouldn’t have minded moving into one of those houses, but Annie wanted to stay close to the coast, and close to her brother.

  Evan couldn’t blame her.

  Trent had said they could move in with him, but that would be weird. Evan knew that Trent would want privacy with Clarissa, and Evan sure as shit wanted privacy for him and Annie.

  Problem was, he hadn’t asked her yet if she wanted to live with him.

  It was kinda presumptuous of him, he knew, but if he could just make them a house, on the back of Trent’s land—since he had his permission, of course—then maybe she’d say yes.

  Would Annie want to live with him? Or was all that talk just her way of making him feel better after everything that had happened in Grand Central?

  He sat down, taking a breather.

  Mason came up to him with two mugs of water. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Go ahead, man.” Evan took the mug of water from him gratefully.

  Mason didn’t talk, just sat there. Evan wondered if he was thinking about his friend Samuel again. He and Emily had taken that loss very hard.

  “Need some help?” Mason asked.

  Evan looked at the construction site around them and grinned. “That obvious, huh?”

  Mason laughed. “You’re doing a better job than some of these new folks. But I need to keep busy. Let’s do this.”

  TRENT

  Trent’s leg was doing great. It hurt less than his ribs did, although the ribs were almost better. Almost. Still hurt too much to hug Clarissa as tightly as he wanted to.

  But he’d gotten away easy.

  They’d lost only seven of their original group from Letliv; still, it wasn’t an easy loss to take. The memorial service . . . well, that had been hard. For everyone.

  One of the family men who’d lived at Grand Central with his wife and twelve-year-old son was a pastor, pre-Pulse. He hadn’t been allowed to hold prayer services at the FEMA camp, but Trent and everyone else was glad to have him. Their little white clapboard church could use a good preacher.

  Trent came into his home to the sound of water sloshing.

  “Clarissa?” he called.

  “In the bathroom. Come on in.”

  He walked in and grinned at the sight of Clarissa, naked in a soapy tub of water.

  “All the rain-catchment barrels were overflowing from when we were gone,” she said sheepishly. “So I figured I’d put the extra to good use. I’m almost done, want a turn?”

  “Sure.” He carefully stripped down, not even wincing when he had to take off his shirt.

  “Ribs treating you okay?”

  “Almost perfect now,” he said. “Leg too.” He pulled off his pants and showed her the healing red skin where the bullet had narrowly missed doing real damage. “Just a scratch, really.”

  He started to get in, but Clarissa shook her head, laughing.

  “You need a bigger tub,” Clarissa noted, and stood.

  Naked. Rivulets of water flowed down her pale body.

  She smiled and glanced at his hardening cock. “I see everything is in working order.”

  Trent laughed and shook his head. “It wasn’t me who insisted we wait until I was all better. I told you.”

  Clarissa blushed. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  They hadn’t had sex since the battle, since he’d been wounded. Trent thought it had more to do with something else—she looked at him differently now. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  Trent helped her out of the tub. God, he wanted to take her right then—if she’d have him. But he needed to get clean first.

  He sank into the soapy tub of lukewarm water with a sigh and lathered up his skin, washing away the sweat and the dirt. Clarissa came up behind him and massaged soapy water into his hair.

  “It’s growing back nicely,” she said, tugging on the short strands.

  “I’m glad you’re a redhead again,” he replied. “You look like you again.”

  She didn’t answer, just kept running her fingers over his scalp.

  “That feels good,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry if I’ve been distant lately,” she said finally.

  “Clarissa—when you moved in, I promised that you’d never have to feel obligated to sleep with me. I know things have been crazy, with all the new people from the camp moving up here, and me recuperating and—”

  “Yeah,” she said, “It’s been crazy. And you winced in pain every time you moved with those ribs of yours.”

  “I’m better now,” he said. “Not that that means . . .” He stopped himself awkwardly.

  Clarissa sighed. “It’s been hard, seeing all those women from the Tracks. Brings back a
lot of unwanted memories. When I’m with you, it all seems to disappear. I feel good when I’m with you, Trent, I do.”

  Trent stilled, not daring to breathe for fear she’d stop talking. It was the most she’d said to him that wasn’t about work or the battle since they’d come back from Grand Central.

  “It’s scary to be so . . . attached to someone,” she whispered. “To you.”

  Trent swallowed. It was scary. Losing Karen had been the worst thing that ever happened to him. When the shooting started and he thought he might never see Clarissa again . . .

  “I was so frightened you were going to die in there,” Clarissa said finally. “I kept calling your name, after the shooting stopped. Kept looking for you. Seemed to take forever to find you.”

  “But you did find me,” he said. “I’m okay.”

  Clarissa handed him a towel and he stood carefully, stepping out of the tub. “I know. But I never thought I’d let myself get into that position again.”

  Trent took the towel and carefully dried her skin, since she’d never dried off. “What position?”

  “You know. To get hurt again. To . . . to lose someone.” Her hand fluttered to her neck and she shook her head. “God, I keep forgetting it’s gone.”

  “What’s gone?” Trent wanted to hug her, to pull her close. But Clarissa looked perilously close to tears.

  “My necklace.” She exhaled heavily. “I had a little locket, but I lost it back when we had to leave Evan’s house. I was retracing my steps to find it, with Roy, when they found us.”

  She didn’t need to say who they were. He remembered when she and Barker and Jenna first came to Letliv. Right after a shoot-out with Colonel Lanche and his men. Right after Dobson killed Roy, and Lanche kidnapped Evan right out from under her.

  “I had a daughter, once,” Clarissa whispered. “I never told you.”

  Trent stilled. “What happened?”

  “I was still a child myself, pretty much. Sixteen. I gave her up for adoption. Over a decade ago.” Clarissa wiped hastily at the tear rolling down her cheek. “It was my only picture of her in that locket. The nurse took the photo right after she was born.”