The Escape Page 24

  A woman in the crowd looked heavenward with a smile.

  “Grand Central is under martial law,” Jenna continued. “The leader is Colonel Lanche, and he’s corrupt. Very corrupt. All of the women have separate sleeping quarters from the men, but it’s . . . it’s turned bad. Many of the women are being abused and raped, or forced to prostitute themselves to survive.”

  There were murmurs among the people.

  “My friend Taryn was executed, and I was next but I escaped. Barker here was an unwilling soldier, and he escaped as well, with Clarissa.”

  Jenna paused. How could she tell them everything, explain everything so that they’d understand that they needed to free the citizens of Grand Central?

  “You have something amazing here,” she said. “Freedom. A chance to live. Food, community. We were starving at Grand Central. People were shot just for talking about things the Colonel deemed off-limits. Our very group has been labeled terrorists. They killed our friend Roy.”

  She looked at Barker, unsure how to continue.

  He stepped up and took her trembling hand.

  “We need to go back to Grand Central,” Barker said, his voice carrying across the marketplace. “To free the people there. To free Annie, and Mary, and all of the other women who are being abused. To free a boy named Evan, who was taken hostage. And if we’re lucky, maybe we can even wake up some of the soldiers, if there are any like me, who see the injustices being done and don’t want to take part anymore.”

  Trent nodded. “I can’t ask you to risk everything,” he said, addressing the people. “I can’t ask you to risk what we have here in Letliv for my sister, or for the others. But I’m going with them, to fight. Because when those people went to Grand Central for help, they weren’t expecting it to turn into a prison. They have a right to be free, like us.”

  The crowd was silent, and Jenna knew then. Knew that no one would help, just like no one had helped them at the camp. It was too hard to fight when it was so easy to sit back and do nothing.

  A man in the crowd raised his hand. Jenna waited for him to tell them that they were crazy to risk their lives, that they were insane for even thinking about presenting the idea to the town. The idea of a battle.

  But then the man said, “I’ll join you.”

  Jenna gasped.

  More hands raised. Mostly men, but quite a few women. Women, perhaps, who would want to know—if they were ever in a similar situation as the girls on the Tracks, good people would fight for them, too.

  “We have to prepare,” Trent said. “We can’t do this without a plan. But we can do it. And we can set those people free.”

  Jenna turned to smile at Clarissa, but Clarissa was watching Trent with tears rolling down her face.

  “I know how the soldiers work,” Barker added. “We won’t be going in blind.”

  The people began talking among themselves, the crowd animated, excited.

  Trent raised his voice above the rabble. “First thing everyone should do is take inventory of their weapons and ammo. Anyone who is willing can join us at the church tomorrow morning to start forming a plan.”

  “Thank you, Trent,” Jenna said. “For helping us.”

  “The battle’s not over yet,” he said. “It hasn’t even begun. We might lose some of those volunteers before the time comes, or gain others. I won’t lead the people of Letliv into a slaughter. We need to do this right.”

  “We will,” Barker said.

  God, he seemed so sure. So confident. She wrapped her arm around his waist, wishing some of his calmness could seep into her by osmosis.

  “We should figure out where we’re going to stay here in Letliv for the time being,” Barker said to her. “We can’t stay on Trent’s floor forever.”

  She nodded, looking up at him.

  “You do want to live with me, right?” he asked.

  Jenna smiled. “Yes.”

  “Good, because I want to live with you, too.”

  She hugged him fiercely. “You’re a good man, Barker. I’m lucky I found you.”

  “Actually, I found you, remember?”

  “I don’t want you to get killed,” she whispered. “I love you too much.”

  Barker pulled back and looked at her. “What did you say?”

  Oh God, what did she say?

  “That just slipped out,” she said.

  “I know, but did you mean it?”

  Of course she meant it. Fuck, she wasn’t the sort of woman to hold anything back. Why start now?

  “Yes, I meant it. I love you, Barker.”

  “I love you too, Jenna. And I don’t want to lose you either.” He kissed her, hard, and she kissed him back.

  If he loved her, then it would all be okay. It would work out. Even if they had to die to set things right in New York—or, hell, in the rest of America, if it came down to it—it would all work out.

  But Jenna wasn’t planning on dying anytime soon.

  “Don’t we have a date to go sailing?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  “That we do.”

  Barker took her hand and they walked down to the docks. God, it felt so good to be with him. So right.

  The salty sea air tasted like freedom.

  “Hey, man,” Barker called to a young guy raising the sails on a worn boat. “Can we give you hand?”

  The man nodded. “The New Yorkers! Welcome aboard. Know how to fish?”

  “It’s been a while, but I’m hoping it’s like riding a bike,” Jenna grinned.

  When the boat got under way, Barker wrapped his arm around Jenna’s waist, hugging her to him tightly.

  The wind flowed through her hair, and she smiled up at the sun.

  Thank you, God, for giving me this moment.

  And for him. Thank you for giving me Ken Barker.

  It was the best prayer she’d said all year.

  “We’re going to make it through all this,” Barker whispered in her ear. “And we’re going to go fishing whenever we want.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she laughed.

  “How about this for a plan? I’ll bring home the fish, and you can fry them up for dinner.”

  Jenna raised her eyebrows, smiling. “Maybe I’ll be late with dinner on purpose, so you can spank your fifties housewife.”

  “I’d rather take you to bed early if there’s no supper on the table,” Barker said. “I think we could make good use of the extra time together.”

  Mmmm. “That sounds about right.”

  And he kissed her.

  * * *

  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.

  Was America really being invaded? Could she even trust anything that came through on that radio at all?

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

  “Hey,” Trent said, coming up to her. “Are you okay?”

  She 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.”

  “Yeah.” Trent smiled.

  Her hand fluttered to her neck before she remembered her necklace, her only picture of her daughter, was gone.

  Trent stood silently next to her, looking out at the people of Letliv, his handsome fa
ce 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,” Clarissa 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.

  “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.

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

  Here, she’d have a chance at a better life. But she wouldn’t be able to let go of her old one until Grand Central was freed.

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

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my editors Julia Fincher and Adam Wilson at Pocket Star, along with the whole Gallery/Pocket team for working with me to make the Pulse trilogy the best it could be. Thank you to my literary agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan of SJGA. Thank you to my family for supporting me in my writing career. I love you, DH! Let’s move to Letliv, and live happily ever after.

  And for you, my readers, I love you too—without you, I’d be writing into the abyss. Special shout-out to the Shoshanna Street Team—you guys are awesome. I am truly blessed to have readers like you.

  To find out when my next book releases, please sign up for my mailing list on my website at ShoshannaEvers.com, and follow me on Twitter @ShoshannaEvers and on Facebook at facebook.com/shoshanna.evers. Let’s stay in touch!

  THE PULSE TRILOGY CONTINUES IN

  Keep reading for an exclusive preview . . .

  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 the 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 shoot-out 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 shoot-out, 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 h
er 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,” Clarissa smiled. “I shouldn’t stay with them. They should have their privacy.”