The Escape Read online

  “Yeah, but you—”

  Trent paused as the radio went to static. He tried recranking it, but it was still static. “That’s weird. It usually plays in a loop.”

  A strange clicking noise took over, loud and sharp:

  TKTKTKTKTKTKKTK

  “What’s happening?” Clarissa asked, taking a step back as if the radio might explode.

  “I don’t know, I haven’t heard it before,” Trent said. “But I only check it at night, so that doesn’t mean anything.”

  Suddenly a booming voice came out of the tinny radio. It was different from the message they’d just heard. A woman’s voice, light and sweet.

  “Welcome to Global Victory Radio. President Powers has a special message for all Americans, and we are pleased to relay it.”

  The words were clipped and short, with some kind of accent that sounded like English wasn’t the woman’s first language. Jenna couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “The United Nations has generously donated its help and expertise at rebuilding America, bigger and better than before. We are happy to have their troops here to help us keep the peace.

  “With aid from the UN, America can be better. No longer will there be hunger, or injustice. Everyone will be equal.

  “The United Nations troops are here to help America.

  “Obeying them will mean our survival.

  “We are Global Victory Radio.”

  Barker cursed. “That’s not good. That’s really not good.”

  “Shhh—there’s more,” Jenna said, and they listened, but it was in Spanish. They couldn’t understand it.

  “Probably just replaying the whole thing in Spanish, maybe?” Clarissa asked.

  “I have no idea,” Barker said. “But why would President Powers change his stance if he’d declined help from the UN before?”

  “He had no choice,” Trent said grimly. “Notice it wasn’t Powers himself saying any of this. For all we know, he’s dead.”

  Clarissa gasped. “Oh no.”

  The strange clicking noise came on again, followed by the original American Victory Radio message. It was harder to hear, more static than words.

  TKTKTKTKTKTTKKTK

  “This is scary,” Clarissa said. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s just a guess, about the president,” Trent said. “I don’t know any more than you do. But I do know one thing. That message from the UN—that’s what we call a psyop.”

  Barker frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you should know,” Trent said. “A psychological operation. Or maybe not, if you weren’t a soldier before the EMP, or listened to any alternative news media. In a country they were occupying, our government would put out leaflets, messages, radio broadcasts, any way they could get their message across to the people, to lower resistance. Gain support.” Trent stared at the radio with distrust. “It was called a psyop.”

  “Are people actually going to listen to that, and believe it?” Clarissa asked. “Because I wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, people will believe it,” Trent said. “If they say it enough times, it becomes its own sort of truth. By the time the UN gets here to ‘help,’ if they haven’t invaded already, most of the people left in America will just roll over like puppies because they think that the troops really are here to just keep the peace.”

  Jenna looked confused. “You don’t think the UN would help us?”

  Trent frowned. “I’m not the only American who doesn’t like the idea of being under globalist occupation. Ever hear of the New World Order?”

  “Yeah, from conspiracy nuts,” Barker said dismissively. “How’d they get control of the radio?”

  “Same way I did,” Trent said, shrugging. He gestured around the empty radio station, which had probably housed a local DJ and some country tunes before the Pulse.

  “I just . . . took it,” he said. “And no one stopped me.”

  Trent’s home

  JENNA

  Jenna looked over the list of names again by the firelight in Trent’s living room, wanting to make sure she wasn’t missing any people from Grand Central that she knew. The people of Letliv were all so hopeful.

  But aside from Annie, there was only one other name she recognized. And even that one she wasn’t one hundred percent sure about, since she didn’t know the woman’s last name.

  Barker and Clarissa only recognized Annie’s name. And if it had been just Barker, well—he wouldn’t have even known that “Annette Taylor” was Annie in the first place.

  “I’m so sorry, Trent,” Jenna said, handing him back the list. “Remember, just because we don’t recognize the names doesn’t mean they’re not alive or even living at Grand Central.”

  “A lot of people died, I know that,” Trent said. “It’s not surprising, especially in a crowded place like New York City. We . . . we lost a lot of folks too.”

  “How are we going to break the news?” she asked.

  “We’ll post it on the board and talk to the people tomorrow morning at the market.” Trent pulled the pot cooking above the fire out with flower-covered oven mitts. “Fish soup, our usual.”

  The strong aroma of the soup, which had been flavored with wild scallions from his front yard that he’d cultivated, made her almost dizzy with hunger.

  “Thank you,” she said, when he handed her a bowl.

  Barker smiled at Jenna, and she wanted to hug him. He was such an amazing man, the way he understood and forgave her for what happened with Clarissa. Any other man would have walked away.

  She wasn’t going to sabotage her second chance with him. Not for anything. Because if she could start seeing herself through Barker’s eyes . . . see herself the way he saw her, then she’d be happy. Even better—she’d be content.

  I am happy, she realized. And content. Being with Barker felt right. It felt like home, when nothing had felt like home. Not even before the Pulse, when she was working and going out with her girlfriends and going to bed and getting up to do it all over again.

  All this time they’d been on the road, and yet she’d finally felt comfortable going to sleep at night, as long as it was in his arms.

  What did that mean?

  Barker sipped his soup, talking with Trent. The two men were so handsome, so muscular. A few weeks ago her first thought would have been to try and have a threesome with them. Jenna laughed softly to herself. The funny thing was, now . . . the only man she wanted was Barker.

  From the moment she met him at Grand Central, he’d been different than any other man. Different toward her, anyway. Barker treated her with a respect and reverence that made her want to respect herself. To be good to herself.

  And good to him.

  So yeah, being monogamous no longer seemed like a hardship. Not if she had him.

  Oh my God. Am I really falling in—

  Jenna looked down at her soup, her face burning.

  No, she wasn’t falling in love. She’d already fallen.

  I’m in love with Barker.

  Jenna didn’t feel any different now that she’d identified her feelings. But it changed everything. Because what would that mean for her, if she was in love with him, when at any moment either of them could be killed?

  No, not here. Not in Letliv. They were safe there.

  But they couldn’t stay in Letliv forever. Evan was still being held hostage at Grand Central, and Annie was there. And all of those women on the Tracks. All of those families, the people who were struggling to eke out a miserable existence under Colonel Lanche’s martial law.

  They had to save them. The only way to do that was a . . . a thrust. A surge of battle against the soldiers at Grand Central. That meant war. It meant shooting.

  It meant being shot at.

  It was how Roy had died. She knew that they weren’t impervio
us to bullets. Now that she knew she was in love, how could she risk losing Barker?

  He looked up at her and caught her staring. “How’s your soup?” he asked.

  Jenna smiled. Pushed thoughts of battles and gunshots and hostages out of her mind. “It’s really good.”

  “Good,” he said, and smiled back.

  Grand Central Terminal, the Tracks

  Evan woke up to a cool washcloth on his forehead. His head was killing him. Everything was killing him, actually.

  “Shh,” a woman’s voice whispered. “You’re okay. They’re not here.”

  Evan opened his eyes and looked around. He was on a dimly lit subway train, but it wasn’t moving. The door of the train car was open, looking out onto a burning garbage fire.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “You’re with me. Annie. On the Tracks.” Annie looked at him with a worried expression on her pretty face.

  “Hey,” he said, struggling to sit up. “Are you okay?”

  “My leg hurts, but it’s not your fault, you know that, right?” she said. “They’re animals. Monsters.”

  “Oh my God,” he moaned, remembering what was happening right before he blacked out. He looked down to see if he was still naked, but somehow he was in his clothes again. “Did they . . . when I was out, did Scar . . .” He couldn’t say the words.

  “No, they didn’t touch you. Like that, I mean. After Scar hit you, I don’t think they were expecting you to go unconscious the way you did. They brought us back down here, and Josephine got us the water and bandages.”

  Evan nodded, even though he had no idea who Josephine was. At least someone was helping. Someone existed in this place who wasn’t trying to terrorize him . . . them.

  “You knew Clarissa?” he asked, remembering what the Colonel had said. “That’s why they dragged you into that?”

  “She was my roommate here. On the Tracks. Clarissa took care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself.”

  “Why’d she leave you?” he asked.

  “Same reason you got left behind, I imagine,” Annie whispered. “No choice. But they know we’re here. And they’re going to come back for us.”

  “Do you really believe that?” he asked hopefully.

  “I know it.”

  Annie dipped the washrag from his pounding head into a pail of cold water, wrung it out, and gently placed it back on his head.

  “We just have to survive until they get here, then,” he said. “Just survive this minute.”

  After the horror of the last few days, Evan was able to find comfort lying there on the floor of the subway train with Annie watching over him.

  “When Barker and Jenna and Clarissa and Roy come back . . . no, not Roy. They killed Roy.” Evan closed his eyes. “When they come back for us, Colonel Lanche won’t let us go without a fight.”

  “I know,” Annie said.

  “The Colonel told me that they’re terrorists. That they’re going to get everyone killed. Do you think that’s true?”

  Annie paused, as if thinking about it. “Some things are worth dying for. I’d rather die trying to be free than live here on the Tracks forever. And they know that. The Colonel knows it, but so do our friends.”

  Letliv

  BARKER

  Wrapped up in a sleeping bag, Barker pulled Jenna close to him. They were on the floor of Trent’s living room in front of the dying embers of the fireplace. Clarissa was sleeping in the hall by herself. She’d said she felt safe enough around Trent to not feel the need to sleep in the same room as Barker and Jenna.

  “Barker,” Jenna whispered.

  He kissed her. “Yeah.”

  “We need to figure out a way to get the people in Letliv to join us when we fight the Colonel.”

  “We have to get them to trust us first,” Barker said. “We can’t just ask them to risk their lives for strangers.”

  “But Annie is Trent’s sister! Surely that has to mean something.”

  “I bet Trent would join us, to get Annie back. But we need more than just Trent. If we’re going up against all of the soldiers at Grand Central, then we’ll need an army.”

  Jenna nodded. “Not if we can convince the soldiers not to fight us.”

  Barker laughed. “That would be nice.”

  “It’s not totally crazy. You woke up, after all. There have to be some good guys there. Some, at least. Maybe enough to convince the others to let everyone go.”

  “Are you worried about that message on the radio?” Barker asked. “The . . . the psyop?”

  “If it’s true, if America is being invaded, like Evan had talked about—you know, with that draft? Then . . . we’re going to need a much bigger army than we thought.”

  “That’s too much to deal with right now,” Barker said. “We need to focus on getting Grand Central back before we can think about getting America back.”

  “How are we going to do it?” Jenna asked. “Any suggestions?”

  Barker tried to think about it, but her body was tantalizingly close, and it was distracting him. “Can we talk battle plans in the morning? At some point, we need to relax and unwind.”

  He kissed her ear, suckling on the lobe until her breath caught.

  “What do you think about what Trent said about finding a place to stay in Letliv?” she asked.

  Barker ran his tongue down her neck, dipping it into her décolletage. The idea of making a permanent home, somewhere that they could live freely, and actually enjoy life . . .

  “It sounds like heaven,” he said.

  “You know what’s heaven?” Jenna said, guiding his head back to her lips. “This. Being with you.”

  His heart wrenched at the words. She couldn’t possibly know how much it meant to him, for her to say that. That she felt that way.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said.

  “Hey,” she whispered. “Just in case you didn’t know, I only want to be with you. No one else.”

  How could such a wonderful sentiment hurt so much?

  Because, he realized, I love her.

  Would she—could she—ever love him back?

  Fucking hell, he loved her. But loving Jenna was a risky thing to do with his heart. Especially if they were truly planning on leaving the safety of Letliv to free the citizens at Grand Central.

  “I want to be with you too,” he said. “But I don’t want you to come back to Grand Central when we make our move. It’s too dangerous.”

  Jenna shook her head. “No way I’m letting you do that without me. I have more of an axe to grind than anybody when it comes to Colonel Lanche. I’m saving a bullet for him.”

  “I forgot you’re not the damsel-in-distress type,” he said.

  “No, but I play the part well,” she smiled. “Remember when you captured me and tried to bring me back to him?”

  Barker winced. “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  “You’ve made it up to me since then,” she whispered, and kissed him deeply.

  His cock hardened against her soft thigh, and he pushed himself up to lie on top of her.

  “I’m going to make it up to you for as long as I can,” he said.

  Jenna wrapped her legs around him, drawing him inside her. She felt so good, the wet heat of her pussy clamped on his cock.

  They rocked together, their bodies moving as one. Jenna gasped when she came, stifling her cries of passion.

  The sound sent him over the edge. He came hard, bucking his hips, thrusting into her as fast as he could, riding her through his orgasm until she came again beneath him.

  When the last spasm went through her, he collapsed, laying his forehead on the floor by her blonde hair.

  Her ear was so close to his lips. He was dying to tell her. Even if she didn’t love him back. Even if they might
die tomorrow.

  He still loved her.

  “I . . .” Fuck. Telling her now would feel so right. But it could ruin everything.

  “You what?” she asked, turning her face to look at him.

  “Nothing,” he whispered.

  “Okay,” she said quietly, rolling out from under him and snuggling against his chest. “Good night, Barker.”

  He waited until her breathing had evened out, until her face was lax, her body relaxed. She was asleep.

  “I love you, Jenna.”

  * * *

  Main Street was bustling the following morning, with almost everyone in Letliv assembled, carrying baskets and bins of produce, eggs, and fish. A woman who must be Sharon had a table set up with jars of raw milk.

  Jenna watched as Trent stood by the posting board and put up his note.

  If only she had better news for the people—if she could tell them that she knew for certain that their families and friends were living at Grand Central.

  “Hey,” Sharon called from her table. “What’s the note say?”

  Trent frowned. “There was a new transmission on the radio last night. It sounds like the globalists are making a move on America after all.”

  Suddenly it was quiet. The talking stopped. The only sounds were of some children laughing and jumping rope on the sidewalk.

  “What do you mean?” Sharon asked.

  Trent relayed the message from the UN, nearly word for word. Jenna was amazed he was able to quote it so well after hearing the broadcast only once. But apparently the thought of UN troops coming to America as “peacekeepers” really freaked him out. From the looks on the townspeople’s faces, it scared them too.

  “I don’t know anything else. We’ll have to keep our eyes and ears open. But about the people in New York . . .” Trent looked at Jenna. “You can tell them.”

  Jenna took a deep breath and spoke loudly, across the throng of people. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  No one spoke. No one moved. All eyes were on her.

  “We looked over the list,” Jenna said. “We recognized two names, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more there, people whose names we just don’t know.”

  “My sister Annie is there,” Trent said, and to Jenna’s surprise, everyone clapped. “And possibly Mary Jenkins, although Mary is a common name.”